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katsheadinclouds · 8 months

Text

chapter 4

joel miller x gn!/f!reader

series masterlist - chapter 3

summary: A horse ride outside the walls of Jackson with Joel is a welcome change to the normal pace of the town, but at the same time it brings up memories that you’d like to forget.

rating: mature

chapter warnings: angst, hurt and comfort, anxiety, panic attack, grief, descriptions of violence typical for the TLOU world, temporary mutism, no use of y/n, reader is described to have hair

word count: 6.1k

notes: Thank you for reading and sharing this story so far, I appreciate you all <3 If you leave any comments, I'll be answering through my main blog singaboutbeingfree since this is a side blog :) This is a heavy chapter and I wanted to give a warning for a panic attack described in this one. But I pinky promise this will have a happy ending and people will get help!

divider by cafekitsune

Joel is a little surprised to see Maria behind his door one morning. She looks a bit reserved as she plays with her fingers in front of her growing baby bump, but there is still a smile on her face when he opens the door for her.

“Morning,” she says smoothly, her voice warm. She smooths her hands down her stomach.

“Morning,” he answers back, confused what she’s doing here at this time. Or why she’s here at all.

“Can I come in?” Joel moves aside, letting her step through the door and take in the home that he’s starting to make their own. If you can even call a few outside clothing items, a record player and some picture frames without pictures making a home.

He knows he should be making this house feel a bit more personal, but there really isn’t much that he wants, or needs. And according to Ellie, most of the things she wants are going to the garage and so far she is making sure her things are where she wants them.

Most of the stuff in the house was already in place when the house was offered to him and Ellie and it’s been comfortable so far. Yet he’s not sure how to make it seem like it belongs to them rather than a place for them to stay in for a while.

“How’re you settling in?” She asks conversationally. He looks at her and knows immediately she’s not here to have a chat.

“Good, thank you.” He talks like he has a program in his brain telling him what to say. She turns towards him but stays silent, studying him. Discomfort settles and grows in his chest the longer she stares at him.

“Would you like anything to drink?” He finally asks, moving towards the kitchen while taking a long, silent breath.

“Water is fine, thanks” she follows him and sits by the kitchen island.

“Ellie has already gone to school,” he tells her, not really knowing why he said it. He knows she’s not here for Ellie. She chuckles, seeing right through him.

“I wanted to ask you a favour, since you’re not on patrol duty today.” He sets the glass of water in front of her. He tentatively sits down opposite her, running his hands on top of the counter.

He doesn’t know why she intimidates him so much.

At the same time he does.

He can definitely see why Tommy got attracted to her, she’s just his type. Determined, confident and straightforward. He always admired women like her, but he was always too scared to go for them. Who knew a damn apocalypse would make Tommy finally realise what he had always needed in his life.

She reminds Joel of Tess.

Joel nods and Maria takes a sip from the glass.

“The stables, they have been having some problems with the doors, some get stuck, and some won’t close properly,” she keeps measuring his movements. The way she speaks makes Joel tilt his head and look at the table, until she finishes and waits for him to say something.

“Why won’t you ask Tommy?”

“He’s busy renovating a room. It’s for the baby.” They look at each other with sharp eyes.

“I know you don’t like me,” Joel doesn’t need to ask her that.

“You got that right,” she raises her brows in challenge.

“So, are you testing me?” This he does want her to answer. And he catches her off guard. She takes another sip of her water, before gently touching her bump, soothing it.

“I don’t like you, but I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” Her words make Joel smile and shake his head once.

“So Tommy sent you?” Joel chuckles and follows his hands as he sets them flat on the counter. He knows he’s right and she’s not going to deny it. It’s better to be upfront with her, just like she is with him.

“I might have my reasons not to like you, yet,” Joel looks at her and it’s her turn to surprise him. He has been ready to not make any friendly connection with her by the way their first meeting went.

“But the community is judging a book by… I don’t know…”

“Rumours?” Joel fills and they both seem to relax at that.

“If they could maybe get a sense of who you are, that you’re part of this community and ready to help out, I think that would help you quite a bit.”

“So you want me to prove myself?”

“Yes, and for them to see that you’re not the person they make you out to be, because they don’t know you.” He catches the double meaning behind her words. She doesn’t know him either.

He must admit she has a point. But it’s him who doesn’t say anything to her, give her an answer right away. She sees that he’s unsure about this arrangement.

“And Tommy thinks that you’re scared of me so of course he sent me to talk with you. Since you won’t come by ours for dinner it seems,” she talks like she’s thinking out loud and he looks at her under his brow, shaking his head slowly.

“Tommy’s always been as subtle as a hammer.” She laughs at his words and finishes her water.

“I wouldn’t mind for you to come over for dinner though, the invitation stands.” She does seem like she might be interested in getting to know her brother-in-law even at least a little bit.

The thought of that word makes him clench his jaw. It feels foreign in this world. Her relaxed expression does soothe him a little and when he nods, she gives him a small smile that is open for the first time.

It’s not one of those that you give to someone to seem polite or like you tolerate them, it’s one of those that make you feel at ease. A somewhat comfortable silence falls between them and he looks at her, and then at her baby bump, that she’s still caressing gently.

“I know what you’ve done. Tommy has told me quite a bit about your past, both of your pasts in fact,” she tips the empty glass slightly, letting it roll between her fingers while many thoughts run through her head.

She sees the way he looks at her bump and the pain in his eyes stops her from saying anything about it. Her eyes narrow for just a moment before she knows to not breach the topic of kids with him, at least not right now.

“And what do you think, do I deserve to be part of this community?” He asks her. He didn’t mean to ask the question out loud, but he’s almost happy that he did. The question that he has been mulling over in his head for the past week.

He has stayed home when he’s not on patrol duty, not wanting the attention he always gets when he’s walking on the street. People have calmed down, but there are still some, who act weird around him. Maria sets the glass down and her brows furrow just the slightest.

“I think everyone here deserves a second chance. Everything’s not black and white and I’m not a judge, I’m not here to tell you what was right and what was wrong when you were trying to keep yourself and your brother safe. We’ve all done some things that we might regret or what might not be seen as good. But the world has changed. Sometimes we need to do the things that we wouldn’t normally do, just to survive.”

He doesn’t answer her, what could he even say? He takes her words in, thinking about what he has done. All the things that he regrets and the things that he would do again and again just to protect someone else.

It’s all just a pile of actions in his mind, things that he must look at as only things and not attach any feelings to them. He’s become a master at that, separating feelings from his actions. If he wouldn’t, his past would eat him alive.

“I just need to get to know you, and not the stories of you,” Maria adds, a little conspiratorially. Joel cocks an eyebrow and faces her fully.

“The stables you say?” he asks, making her smile wider.

It’s a beautiful early afternoon, sunny and just slightly breezy. It feels like a promise of a similar summer. He walks to the stables and is greeted by Dan, the same man who he saw when he went out with Tommy the first time. It’s been a couple of weeks, though he has been on some of the shorter patrol routes a few times since them.

He hasn’t been in the stables though since Old Beardy has always been ready for him. He has enjoyed patrolling, even though he hasn’t really connected with the other patrollers. Maybe he should just give them a chance and try a little harder.

Mostly the rides have gone by in silence, what with some pointless small talk. He knows he should be more open, but it just seems difficult with some people who seem to want to probe on his past and to know if what they hear around town is true. And then the ones who aren’t like that let him be silent and they end up not talking at all unless something that has to be addressed happens.

Dan shows him the doors that they’ve been having problems with and even from a quick look, Joel can see it’s going to be an easy fix. Joel makes some adjustments to the hinges and levels the doors that have become uneven and crooked over time while Dan stands next to him, ready to jump in and help if needed. Even though it has been a while, Joel’s skills haven’t vanished. He is precise and Dan ends up just watching him and testing the finished work.

In the end it doesn’t take Joel long time at all to fix what Dan shows him in the stables. But with Dan smiling and clapping his hand on Joel’s shoulder, he feels like maybe Maria mainly tried to help him connect with someone rather than test him.

Dan asks Joel’s opinion on fences for the horses and they stand outside, planning what materials they’d need if they were to enlarge the enclosure. He even tells Dan that he’ll be there to help, when they get the materials they need.

Joel heads back inside the stables to get his jacket, when he hears a quiet voice talking in one of the stalls. He slows his steps and moves quietly, as he peers inside each one to see where the voice is coming from.

It’s Beardy, and you. He stops and listens, barely hearing your voice as you murmur your words into Beardy’s neck, brushing your fingers through its mane.

“I was supposed to talk to someone about my day, tell them about me. Can you believe it, that I’d need to make a friend? I guess it makes sense, it’s a tightknit community, of course I’d need to have friends. Why is it so hard? Why can’t I just be friends with someone and not tell them about… everything.” You speak so gently to the horse. Something tightens inside Joel’s chest at your words.

You sigh and say your name to the horse, then that you made your way out of North Dakota, trying to find Jackson. You pause and say nothing for a while.

“I’m… I’m alone and I have no one left and…” Joel feels like he’s intruding.

He should’ve said something earlier and now he feels like he shouldn’t be standing here at all, trying to even out his breathing and not be so curious about you and what you’re telling the horse.

It feels wrong standing here. It’s like he’s one of those townspeople who are only interested in gossip and what they can find out about the new people inside the walls. Hell, he shouldn’t be eavesdropping when he knows you’re still uncomfortable speaking out loud.

Maybe that’s why you sought out the company of a horse. If he’d need to tell someone his thoughts and secrets, it wouldn’t be a person either. Sometimes it’s just easier to speak to someone, or something, who can’t judge you.

He shuffles back as gently as he can, not realising there’s a broom right behind him. He stumbles on it, barely catching himself, but the wooden handle clatters against the floor, echoing so loudly that it almost hurts his ear.

He looks up and sees you clutching your chest, half outside the stall. Your eyes are wide open and you’re trying to catch your breath.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Joel holds his hands out. He tries to relax his shoulders, but he can still feel his own heart jumping in his chest. He moves slowly to pick up the broom and lean it against the wall before he stuffs his hands into his jeans pockets. He takes a step forward and looks at you apologetically.

“How… much did you…” you stammer out, speaking even more quietly when you check if there’s anyone else around.

“Quite a bit,” Joel admits. He doesn’t want to lie to you, even though he feels like it’s going to make you uncomfortable knowing that he heard you speak to the horse about what is wanted from you. You turn towards the horse and card your fingers soothingly through the coarse mane.

“Do you want to go for a ride?” You suddenly ask, still quiet, but there’s new intensity in your voice and the way you hold yourself. Joel raises his brows and the question takes him by surprise.

“There’s a trail that leads to a cliff close by, it should be clear,” you tell him, letting go of the horse and take a step towards Joel. He instinctively moves to straighten his back, but his arms are still in his pockets. He stands still. How would you know anything about what’s outside the walls?

“Okay,” he tells you, taking in your sudden urge to leave. You move with determination as you saddle Old Beardy and another horse, Willow.

Joel hands you all the equipment you need, giving you space to do what you need to do to get the horses ready, while watching you and trying to figure you out. He feels something bubbling in him, a dread of something that he can’t name.

You hand him Beardy’s reins and let him follow you as you lead Willow out of the stables. Joel takes his jacket and pulls it on while Beardy stands next to him peacefully.

Once outside you take out your notebook, write something down and go to Dan, who’s loosening hay piles in the enclosure. You almost jog to him and let him read whatever you had written.

Joel sees Dan say something and he nods at Joel, who answers it with a nod of his own. Dan takes out his walkie-talkie and radioes someone. You come back and climb on the horse, Joel following your moves. You seem to know where to go so he rides Beardy behind you. But there is odd tension in the air around you. It makes Joel want to stay in the town, inside the walls, and not follow you out.

At the gate the guy gives you both a long look while the outside comes slowly into view. Once you’ve ridden through and hear the gate close behind you and Beardy’s hooves hitting the ground in a steady rhythm, you feel like you can breathe.

You ride your horses in silence. This time the silence isn’t completely comfortable. It’s laced with an unknown pressure that you can’t quite understand. You can feel Joel’s presence behind you, physically following you and Willow, but also taking you in and what you’re doing. You can feel his eyes on you and the air is thick with questions and answers that go unsaid.

The sun is slowly turning orange as the afternoon is letting early evening take its place. You feel the warmth on your face and neck as you lead Joel to follow you to a cliff that looks over the whole of Jackson. It takes just under an hour for you to get there at the pace you’re moving, but by the time you’re there, the horizon is doused in different hues of red and yellow, making your surroundings look like they’re gently burning.

There’s a soft breeze in the air and it ruffles the delicate, lightly green tree leaves. There are bird songs that you don’t recognise, some you do, and you listen to the lively harmony when you swing your leg over Willows back and step down.

Your feet hit the ground with a light thud and you look out towards the town, marvelling at the scenery in front of you.

You’ve been here a couple of times before, with Dan, but those times were only for you to see a safe place where you can come if you want to get away for a moment. Apparently the area is surrounded by barbed wire fences in the forest to make sure you can’t be surprised by infected.

Dan and Sasha are the only people you’ve found yourself spending your time with at the dining hall and they’ve even invited you over to their house once or twice. You just haven’t actually spoken with them. They don’t seem to mind it though, as the couple manages to have a lot to say without you contributing to the conversation at all. Especially Dan likes to talk your ear off and you haven’t minded that. But you still find yourself not entirely comfortable around them.

There’s something about Dan that lets you know he’s trustworthy but also something that keeps you quiet. He’s disarming with his jokes and easy-going nature that you’re not used to. And Sasha, she’s incredibly caring and kind, always bringing you leftovers to the stables for you to take home and telling you when there’s new pieces at the clothing shop or when people are going out hunting. Without her you would miss out on the good stuff everywhere even though you don’t really care about that. You’re happy with anything. You know why they’re doing it, being friendly. They care. But you also feel a little suffocated at times, like they care too much. You need your space.

They also know they can trust you, otherwise Dan wouldn’t have shown you this place, let alone let you leave on your own, or with Joel, outside the walls. Not everyone can leave the town just like that, especially with horses.

“Tommy brought me here just last week, it’s quite something,” Joel moves silently when he comes to stand next to you closer to the edge of the cliff. You glance at him before turning your attention back to the scene in front of you. The darkening sun bathes the town in gold and the lights inside the walls slowly flicker on.

You fill your lungs with the fresh air and breathe out through your mouth, closing your eyes with the feeling of your body relaxing. You slump on the ground. You drape your arms around your other leg, leaning your chin against the knee.

Joel follows your example and sits next to you, but he keeps his distance. You look at him from the corner of your eye. The strong silhouette of his face: the arch of his eyebrows, the sparkle in his brown eyes as the sun hits them, the bow of his nose, the softness of his lips, the solid curve of his jaw and the way it twitches as he bites his teeth together.

His neck is long and firm, muscles relaxing in his shoulders as he settles and takes a more comfortable position. You take conscious breaths and try to find comfort in this moment. But there’s that hint of expectation in Joel, that you can feel radiating off him.

And something else, something that’s making you feel sad. He doesn’t look at you, he’s giving you space. There’s a stiffness in him, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. It makes your skin shiver.

You let your knee fall and you come to sit cross legged, your hands in your lap as you fiddle with your fingers.

“Can I talk to you?” Joel faces you instantly, watching you, trying to decide what you mean. You can still see the surprise in his eyes, in their softness as he narrows them against the sunlight. You’re not sure if it’s from you actually talking out loud or if it’s from you breaking the silence between the two of you. He looks at you for a long moment, his chin dropping until he’s gazing at you through his lashes, shadows forming on his face.

“You want to tell me about… Your day? Or how did you put it? Everything?” You hear the teasing in his voice and see him look away, his grim smile dropping just as fast as it appeared and his eyes scrunch closed. Like he’s embarrassed about bringing it up? Or even hearing you talk at the stables.

You feel your cheeks heating up at the words you spoke to Old Beardy earlier. You turn to watch the town again and you let out something like a chuckle, but it dies down in your throat, turning into a cough.

“The doctor in town thinks I should start talking to people, get myself friends,” you finally explain to Joel who nods slowly. You turn towards him and relax when you realise he’s just listening.

He’s not trying to make you talk or force you to tell him about your past. He’s simply sitting still, not expecting for you to keep on talking, but also not minding if you do.

“You should be more social, use your voice to communicate, everything else will be much easier then,” you mockingly imitate the doctor who doesn’t understand you at all.

You’ve had a hard time going to see him when you know you’re not being heard even when you spell the words out on paper. When he told you that he’s going to need you to actually speak, not use your notebook anymore, you decided that you’re not going to go to your weekly check-ups anymore.

“They want to move me into a shared house at some point, soon I guess, and before that the doctor wants me to get a few friends.” You move your hand in the air dismissively and roll your eyes.

“And you don’t want to do that,” he fills in. You shake your head and exhale the air from your lungs that starts to burn. You don’t know why you’re in such a panicked state, your whole body freezing and trembling in waves from your anxiety.

“And what is it that you need to talk about? What do you need to tell people?” His head tilts with the question.

His voice rings in your ears and the questions go round and round in your head. You lose your ability to speak.

You feel it in your throat first. You open your mouth and look at him straight in the eyes, ready to tell him something, but the images flood your vision. Everything shifts.

You feel yourself falling, even though you’re sitting firmly in place. You feel your stomach turning, your limbs going numb, your brain going blank and your heart? It shatters.

It all happens so fast, the way you can’t control yourself, and at a snail’s pace at the same time. You relive those moments with your siblings, with your group, over and over, every little detail coming into view like you’re trying to decipher a mystery.

Like one of those details could change everything and bring you answers and solutions.

And as a new addition to your usual panic attacks, you’ve started to remember all of the moments when you were the one hurting others. Like it’s a cacophony of all the things that bring you pain.

You can see faces, hear voices. You can remember being thanked and praised for being a good shot or inflicting pain on those who deserved it.

At the time it felt good to hear those words of appraisal, but now they sour in your memory. You know you can’t change the past, but every time this happens, you change.

There’s something in you that gets dissected and put back together. Every time it means that you have to figure that part of yourself out again.

You know you miss the weight of a gun in your hand, but you don’t miss the moment when you hit a living, breathing human. You want to feel the kickback of a gun again, but you don’t want to hear the sound of a bullet piercing someone and the way their body reacts to that.

You miss parts of the violence, but you don’t want to be someone who has death in their hands.

You don’t know what has happened, but you suddenly feel Joel’s hands on your wrists, gently holding you in place, his face just inches from yours. His close proximity makes your body tight and as your eyes take in the lashes surrounding his deep, dark eyes, his quick breaths puffing on your face and you hear the vibrating sounds of his soft voice without registering the words, you say something to him.

Your quiet, barely there voice tells him about your sister, how she was right behind you, pushing you over the fence, yelling for you to keep running, and then she was gone.

The black gap in your memory, it’s not there anymore.

You see it like it’s happening right in front of your eyes. The way her face contorted in an indescribable agony. How her blood splattered from her head when the bullet burst through her skull. They way her body just slumped against the fence. How her voice was suddenly gone and you could only hear your own terrified breathing when you turned around, left her, and kept on running into the dark forest.

You can hear yourself telling him all this in your head. There’s an animal screeching somewhere far away, the noise making you sad even though it’s just an echo in your ears. It’s like you’ve heard the sound before, in your nightmares.

He recoils and lets go of your wrists, his eyes wide with shock. How could he react that way, when you’re just talking to him, telling him something that makes you vulnerable?

It’s not until you realize those echoing cries aren’t from an animal in the distance or from the terrors that wake you up at night. It’s you, screaming and gasping for air, staring right at him while you try to hold yourself together by bring your arms to hug yourself tightly.

Your ears slowly focus on your terrified voice and when you can hear yourself loud and clear, without the hazy curtain of memories and panic, you shut your mouth.

You breathe through your nose harshly, determined to keep your screams inside. You don’t want to talk, you don’t want to hear your voice. You don’t want to face what’s in your head.

As your breathing finally settles into a rushed stream of air flowing through your nose, Joel’s face finally loses that horrified look as well. He moves so gently, like you could run away and disappear. He stands on his knees, brings the other leg forward and leans towards you with his palms facing you.

“It’s just you and me, no one else. Just you and me. Look at me,” he tells you so softly that you can’t believe he’s even saying the words. Maybe it’s just your head imagining it. But then you look at him, into his eyes, and see his mouth moving as he keeps on demanding you to look at him with so much tenderness that it coats your fear with cotton wool.

He takes your arms from your midriff gently and pulls you forward. His eyes don’t leave yours, when he very carefully drags you to lean against him and you slump into his arms as exhaustion washes over you and settles deep into your limbs.

You inhale his smell and close your eyes. You can smell the stables, the laundry detergent he uses and him. His warm scent that you remember from months ago with hints of Jackson. Leather from his jacket. The soap he uses that is also in your bathroom. The earthy spring air that has caught to him during the day, and just a hint of soft perspiration.

He closes his arms around you and holds you tightly against his chest. Your forehead is firmly against his neck, and you cling to him. Your hands squeeze his shirt into your palms and you let him take care of you.

He sits down, adjusts his leg so that you’re almost in his lap, on his straightened leg while his other thigh supports your side. He hugs you securely against him, drawing circles against your back with his hand.

His other hand is on the back of your neck, squeezing gently every once in a while. You listen to him breathe, the sound humming against your ear that’s now pressed against his chest.

His chin is on your head and you can feel the scruff of his beard sticking to your hair. You relax against him and let his steady figure lull you to presence.

You can’t remember when someone held you, made you feel safe. When did you last feel safe? It has to be years. Your hands ease on his shirt and come to lay on his chest. His arms tighten around you for just a moment, his hands stop their movement, and you hear his heart thrum in his chest just a little quicker. But then it calms, he relaxes and keeps on soothing you.

The air turns cold when the sun has set. The last rays sink behind the mountain range and you shiver when a cool gust of wind blows around the two of you. You move slowly away from Joel and lean your hand against the ground between his legs.

You look up and see his face for the first time in what seems like hours. His eyes are filled with shadows, his sandy dark and greying curls are windswept and his lips are just slightly parted. And there they are, those deep creases on his forehead. Worry, fear and anxiety. He’s taking you in and trying to evaluate if you’re any better.

His hands are still on you, steadying you, the other on your upper arm, the other on your side. A steady pressure that you welcome, but also want to push away. He keeps his eyes on you and you can feel heat crawling up your neck to your cheeks. It nips on your skin and your breath comes out shakily.

You move to sit on the ground before you stand up, your limbs stiff from being in the same position for so long. You give him your hand and help him on his feet. He steps close to you and you can feel the way he’s searching, demanding you to look up so he can see your face.

When you give him that, when your eyes lock, your stomach turns with something completely different. A feeling that lurches deep inside you, making you shudder.

His palms are on your arms in a second, rubbing them up and down for just a moment. He must think you’re cold. What you really feel is deep shame. Here you are with this man, who you don’t know and he has seen you at your worst.

You take a step back, putting space between the two of you. His hands drop from your arms. You feel cold all around.

“I’m so sorry, so so sorry,” you whisper and you’re sure you’re only repeating it to yourself. You’re not sure if he even hears you. You turn away from him, hide from him. Protect yourself from him.

“We should go,” he says quietly. You nod and feel him brush past you to the horses. With wobbly feet you mount Willow. You start your way back towards the glimmering town, him leading in a quick pace.

“Will you be okay on your own tonight?” Joel asks when you get back to the stables. You walk Willow back to her stall and take your riding equipment off her. He’s standing outside, Old Beardy already in his stall.

He’s waiting for you to speak, but your shrieks from earlier haunt your ears. You nod as an answer, knowing that you’re not fooling anyone with your shaky movements. You feel like you want to be alone, even though you know it might not be for the best. And even if you wanted company, you can't admit it.

You feel so humiliated by your panic attack. And it’s still not completely over, you know it. It’s just waiting on the outskirts of your breaking point, letting you function somewhat securely before it’ll knock you right off your feet when you least expect it.

You’re supposed to be stronger than that, you’re supposed to be so many other things. But your head is shackling you to the horrors you’ve witnessed.

You don’t want to face him. You wish this was all a weird dream.

He doesn’t say anything, but you see him stop his movements for a moment. You work in silence as you brush Willow and put a blanket on her for the night. When you close the gate, Joel’s already waiting for you. Beardy stands calmly in his stall, chewing slowly on hay.

Joel walks with you and you’re side by side for a moment before you have to turn towards your house. You’d like to say how sorry you are, repeat it again and then once more and then thank him for comforting you. But you know you can’t. Not tonight.

You try to keep yourself together and take deliberate deep breaths before you turn towards him. You know you have to do something, communicate somehow. But your hope dies down quickly. He stands completely still, his whole body stiff. There’s a deep crease between his brows, clearly his thoughts are taking him somewhere else. You take in the expression on his face and can only read it as him wanting to get away from you. His eyes are cold, his mouth in a tight line, and when he swallows it looks like it pains him.

He looks like he’d like to say something to you as well, his jaw twitching as he’s grinding his teeth together, but he can’t seem to find the words. The moment stretches on and you feel like a failure. How on earth are you supposed to fit into this community when you feel this broken. When you seem to be nothing but a damaged person.

“Goodnight,” he suddenly forces out of his mouth, his deep, rumbling voice washing over you in the dark. You know he has his eyes locked on you even though you can’t look up anymore. You’ve tucked your chin tightly against your chest.

You see his feet turning and he walks away, his boots hitting against the ground with force. You stand still, waiting for something.

For him to slow his steps for even a moment before continuing.

A wish for him to say something to ease your racing thoughts.

But that doesn’t happen.

You dare to look up and you watch him until he disappears from view and then just a moment longer. That hope still lingers in your tight chest, your anxiety closing your throat the longer you stand still. You’re alone. You know he’s not coming back.

You imagine it though, that he’d come back.

The hope twists into a desperate plea for him to tell you that you’re going to be okay. That you don’t have anything to be ashamed about. But your brain likes to remind you that you’re a broken person, who just had an uncontrollable panic attack in front of Joel. Mortification flows through you like a tidal wave, drowning you.

You don’t know how long you stand there, in the dark. When the evening brings in a cold wind and it whips against your face, you slowly start your way to your house. You wrap your arms around yourself to keep the bitter air away.

You can still feel his hands against your back. You rid of it by rolling your shoulders back and suddenly the feeling is gone.

But you can’t shake the images of your past from your memory.

#the last of us fan fiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x gn reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #katsheadincloudswrites #fractured fic

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krikeymate · 1 year

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I have a weird idea I can't seem to get out of my head for some reason I'd though I'd share it with you. For the most part, people with mental illnesses are usually more creative or have more creative outlets, right? So what if when Sam left, she was on a mission to get better not just for herself but for Tara as well. She knew she needed help she started seeing things years ago, but Christina was no help. (She might have even thought it was a good thing because it made her like Billy. I can even imagine that after she found out, she started leaving her alcohol in plain sight to see if she would drink to quiet the voices like Billy did.) Thankfully, Deputy Hicks and Mrs. Meeks-Martin said they would look after Tara, and both told her to keep in touch and that they would be there if she needed them.

Sam struggled through getting sober and finding help for her mental health, but she managed to keep going. One of the things that she found she loved through it was art she loved escaping into different worlds anywhere that wasn't where she was. It helped her escape and forget how hard things where.

Someone notices her drawings and asks her if she could draw his dnd character or someone from a story he was working on she does because she's broke, and he said he would pay her. He loves it and posts it. A few other people ask for similar drawings. Eventually, she falls into a creative crowd that introduces her to a bunch of people working on different things. She learns to make illustrations for smaller indie media, and it's a nice hobby and way to make extra cash. One day, she gets a message from someone who said they say a few of her drawings and asked if she would be willing to make a few different covers for a story. Not thinking much of it, she said yes, next thing she's getting contacted by a large publisher asking to use one for the cover of a new book series. She ends up being asked to design more covers and illustrations from different publishers and can finally start saving up for when she went back home.

She becomes a popular freelance artist. Sam even has a few fans from a comic she worked on with friends. She uses the artist named Sam Soto since part of her is scared Christina would find her and ruin everything, and because her grandmother was her favorite person after Tara, so she used her last name to remember her. She's thankfully for that choice after all the theories start gaining traction.

Just before the attacks She was getting ready to reach out to Tara she finally felt stable and safe. Just needed to gather her courage and find the right moment. In the last 5 years, Sam learned that not everything she touched was going to get hurt or destroyed like she was always told she could also create things that where beutiful and made people happy.

Of course, after the GF attacks, Sam feels guilty. She almost lost her sister and the twins, and she did lose Wes and Judy Hicks. She threw herself at taking care of Tara, and when they moved to NY, she did make the smallest room and make it to her office/studio, and she didn't let anyone in. She found something that she loved that let her escape, but she had to leave Tara behind to find it. It made her afraid Tara would hate her art or think Sam was better off without her. What if she thought Sam was doing great and chose never to go back until she had to? How do you explain that she worked hard to get better for her but was to scared to go back when she did? It leads her to just brush off questions about the time she was gone, saying she just worked freelance and did some projects here and there.

Tara does hate it she knows Sam isn't being honest, but she's back she's here with her, and she promised never to leave again. After a fight, she storms into the studio and finds everything, even a print of a cover for the book she was reading, signed by Sam Soto. Looking around, the main thing that catches her eye is a framed drawing it's an old and worn-out drawing of her when she was younger. It's not as good as the rest of the drawing around the room, but you could tell it was the most well loved.

My friend this isn't a weird idea, this is LOVELY. I LOVE it, I LOVE you. I think saying "people with mental illnesses are usually more creative or have more creative outlets" is probably... not great, but I think you mean well. Happy to discuss that more in private if you message me off-anon (no judgement involved, I'll keep it all to myself, just wanna talk about it).

I think I've mentioned this before, but I 100% believe that when Sam left, she did it to recover - something she wouldn't be able to do in Woodsboro - and to get better, for herself and for her sister. The idea that Christina started leaving alcohol out to see if Sam would start drinking like she did is incredible, we all hate that woman, we only make her worse every time we talk about her.

Artist!Sam. Her using her grandmother's name as a pseudonym, being ready to reach out to her sister when life does it for her. All amazing. The way she learns through art that she is not destined for destruction, but that she can bring life and love into the world, heartbreaking.

The idea that Sam hides her art, terrified that Tara will hate her for leaving her and building this whole new world for herself is so so real. Because of course, what else could Tara think? Sam left and she made a name for herself and she found something that made her happy, because her sister just wasn't enough. And Sam only came back because Tara got hurt, because she felt guilty. Why wouldn't she assume that Sam was just going to stay away with her new name and her new life and her happiness? But Tara wants that for Sam, she wants her to be happy (she wishes she could have that for herself), so she feels guilty, because she's dragged Sam back into all this pain into her life and she's stuck here in New York looking after her fucked up little sister.

They're having an argument. Sam's trying to tell her she can't go to a party as if she has any say in what Tara can and can't do. "How am I supposed to focus on my work when I don't know where you are or whether you're safe," Sam screams at her. Tara screams back, "WHAT WORK SAM? YOU WON'T TELL ME ANYTHING ABOUT WHAT YOU DO BUT YOU EXPECT TO CONTROL EVERYTHING ABOUT MY LIFE."

The words cut at Sam deep. Because she's right. She won't tell Tara anything about her life, but she wants to know every part of hers. The truth hurts and she doesn't know what to say, how to react. She just turns and walks away back to her room. But Tara isn't done, she's too worked up, she storms after her, pushing the door open before Sam can close it.(A part of Sam wonders whether she wanted her to see. She's so much stronger, she could have held the door closed, she could have stopped her).

Tara takes in the room. The desk with the tablet and computer, the sketchbooks, the pens and the pencils, the canvases and the paints in one corner. She framed prints on the wall, the sketch of herself framed above Sam's bed. She takes it all in and thinks Sam didn't want to share this with me, and walks away, locking her door behind her.

She doesn't go to the party that night.

#/mp #ask box #Scream #Sam Carpenter #Tara Carpenter #miscellaneous scream au's #-artist sam

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lightlycareless · 1 year

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First, it hurts— [side story]: Hinata takes Satoru horse riding.

Depictions of brief sucession mentioned on the main story, First, it hurts—, a Naoya Zen'in x Reader fic, which you can find here! (totally recommend reading that first :>)

Summary: When Naoaki, Naoya's oldest brother, takes Y/N to feed the horses his family owns, they share fun stories and experiences relating to the equestrian activity. Y/N briefly mentions the time Satoru was screaming his heart out when Hinata, her sister, took him out for a ride. She recalls it as a somewhat funny story, but doesn't go any further than that— this is that story.

Chapter warnings: none :> except that Satoru is super annoying.

A/N: Been wanting to write this side story for a while, and finally, it's here! I've been through somewhat allot these past few weeks, but i'm slowly getting through it. I have more stories to write before I set a date on updating the main storyline, but rest assured, I'm working on it :>

Also, this idea ended up being very different from what I initially wanted (shorter, if you must haha) but I still liked how it ended nonetheless! I hope it's to your enjoyment! I really did like writing Hinata in a... different light 😏

As always, reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated ❤❤ Happy reading!

Ao3 link.

"That sounds interesting, but ” You sigh, plunging your back towards the wall and relaxing into the feathered comfort of your pillow "I don’t feel like going, so I’ll stay here instead"

"Aw, come on Y/N!!" Hinata beseeched, attacking you with the combination of pouty lips and puppy eyes for dramatic effect "It's going to be fun!"

"I don’t doubt that" you reiterate, eyes falling down onto your pink Gameboy, the same one you couldn't stop from customizing as soon as you found someone that did such work—showing how unaffected you were by her adorable manipulation. “But I’d rather do this instead” you then nudge towards your newest distraction, waving before her a brand new copy of the game of the season: Pokémon Emerald.

It was the first time you’d be able to play after days and days of waiting to get your hands on it—an expected occurrence for the preceding games were an absolute success, meaning that it was bound to sell out as soon as it hit store shelves—and you weren’t about to waste the opportunity of playing it on your first free day of summer!

A date that would’ve arrived earlier… had the reason for your struggling not been your father.

Eiichi was the kind of father that was very supportive of his children’s lifestyle, even if he didn’t understand most of it personally.

However, his encouragement shifted when he came across an unfavorable article about the growing otaku community, one that painted them as weirdos with no bright future and were “effectively” heading towards souring the population.

A tabloid with no intention of actually understanding them, or objectively stating that there’s always a radical end to these groups and that not all of them were like that.

But given his worrisome nature towards his children, especially you, his youngest… well, let’s say that he didn’t need to read more to grow weary of your involvement with those kind of people and the danger they could entail to your persona, thus, under the pretense of your hobby becoming too distracting of your studies, he prohibited you from joining the wait line of your favorite video game store, leaving you stranded in the island of seclusion as the world basked in the newest, marvelous installment of your favorite franchise.

But where there is a will, there is a way, and it wouldn’t take long before you’d find yourself discreetly texting a close friend of yours and asking them to get you a copy of this highly sought-for game in exchange for monetary compensation plus an extra for the inconvenience.

Days later, the unsealed cartridge is in your hands.

“Why are you always so against going to the stable anyways?” Hinata ponders, as she always does whenever you reject her invitations, hoping to finally catch an explanation, for in her mind, there is no way you can’t like such a fun activity. “Is it the smell?"

"No, not really” You didn’t mean for the following statement to be a brag, but you think you’ve had worse. Curses can be quite… intolerable in the odor department.

"Then what is it?" Hinata shoots another question "You don’t even have to ride the horses if you don’t want to, just be there, yeah? Although I would really like it if you did…"

"It's because of that, that I don't like going" You sigh, laying the Gameboy down to your lap before looking up to her "I wouldn’t mind accompanying you, but I know it’s inevitable that you’d ask me to ride one. And let’s say I agree to do so, I always feel like I'm going to fall, no matter how hard I try to hold on to the horse! At the end of the day, if I’m not going to be riding… what’s the purpose of me being there?"

"It's all about the stance, the legs!" Hinata interjects, hoping to ease your worry and convince you to give it a try "You just gotta connect with the horse, you know? And it’ll only be a matter of seconds before you feel the wind!"

"That literally—I feel like I’m back at square one" You chuckle, amused by Hinata’s tendency to ramble when she’s talking about things that excite her… and how she doesn’t make any sense when doing so. Nonetheless, you’re grateful for her attempt to cheer you up, however, you delegate this matter as one of those things that only those who experienced them can understand. "Well, whatever that means... thank you, but I won't be going"

"Not even if I tell you that horse-riding amateur Gojo Satoru will be... joining us?"

You perk up your ears.

"...Satoru?" you repeat, steadily, but slowly. A gotcha smile appears on Hinata's lips.

"The one and only. I invited him over a few days ago, which ended up aligning with some political matters that he has to tend here. He’s going to stay a few days so I thought, why not show him the stable?” She explains "I'm still surprised the Gojo's don't have any horses on their property, but they do have that huge temple instead…” Hinata sighs in disappointment—mourning the missed opportunity to gallop through the impressive meadow they had under their ownership.

"Not everyone is as obsessed as you are with animals, sis" You smirk and she shoots you a sharp glance.

"I'm not obsessed, just passionate” She defends her devotion "Anyways, now that you know he's coming over, do you still want to sit this one out?"

You look down to your lap and begin to analyze her invitation.

Spending the rest of your day locked in your room to play your long awaited game is what you’d call an ideal start for your summer vacation.

However… Now that your sister approached you with the possibility of seeing the narcissistic Gojo make a fool of himself (yet again) via an activity that’s known to be of his dislike… Now that’s something that you can’t miss.

Thus, without pondering much on the pros and cons of her offer, you concede. You take the pink device from your lap and place it on the small wooden nightstand beside your bed, followed by standing up to reveal your decision.

“I’ll go then” you say, stretching your arms and legs as far as physically possible and releasing a groan of satisfaction whilst doing so “How did you get him to agree?”

“Oh, he doesn’t know” Hinata nonchalantly confides and you freeze. “Which makes it all the better, he won’t see it coming”

“What?” you blink, frowning “What do you mean he doesn’t know?”

“Let’s say it’s a surprise”

“Seems more of a the thing you’d be into, not the other way around”

“Ooh, let’s just say I wanted to try something different for a change. We always go out to do a thousand things, and while I do like spending time out in the city, why not spend it inside the estate? We have all kinds of entertainment here too! And think about it, we’d be saving money, as well as supporting the local businesses”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think your sister was trying to hide an ulterior motive behind the sunny notion of supporting one of the many villages under your family’s protection…

“Anyways, we should get going. Sumire told me that Satoru arrived a few hours ago, so he might be already done with the meeting by now” Hinata makes way towards the door and slides it open, looking back to gesture at you to step out first. You walk through the frame and wait for your sister to follow behind.

Once outside and with the door closed shut, you and Hinata start heading towards the east wing of the estate, passing by various staff members and greeting them, and onto the location of the meeting hall, where conferences tend to always take place—the public ones, at least.

“Why aren’t you there, by the way?” you curiously inquired. If Satoru’s visit were for political reasons, wouldn’t it make sense that all the authoritative figures in the family be present? Such as the heir of the L/N clan, your sister ?

Ah, if only it were that easy.

"I dunno, misogyny?” Hinata shrugs “Dad told me I wouldn't be needed today, and in the same breath, he asked me to not seek an explanation from the elders because I tend to get a bit… angry with them— but it’s not my fault they give me the dumbest excuses to kick me out of meetings, if they were a bit more creative with them then I wouldn’t be that way”

"You should stop terrorizing dad, Hinata" you banter "You know he can’t help but worry for you… however, aggressive negotiations have always been your specialty—guess he should know that by now"

"That sounds too… violent. I would rather call it a diplomatic solution" the two chuckle "But that doesn't matter, I'll get to them later, for now, let's get ready for our horse riding adventure"

"About that… If you don’t mind me asking, why horse riding? Why not something else? You know Satoru doesn't really like it, and I personally would rather do something else where I can be involved”

Hinata goes quiet, and then, she stops. Her eyes emotionlessly set on the floor as she seemingly plunges into the labyrinth of her thoughts. An eerie visage, more so when seconds continue to pass and she doesn’t respond to your question.

You’re about to repeat your inquiry, wan ting to believe that either Hinata didn’t listen to your question, or she was suddenly jolted with the remembrance of a forgotten task (anything to remove that bizarre image of your emotionless sister) but before you’re able to enunciate the first letters of your question, she suddenly glances back at you and gives you an innocent, totally-not-suspicious smile.

"Oh, for no reason. I just thought it would be nice if he did something that I liked with me once in a while, since we always end up doing what he wants, or what Suguru wants. Or Shoko… And I don't really feel like going out today, so… why not?"

“I… guess” You frown, hesitantly accepting her… seemingly fabricated response.

The way your sister can act as if she hadn’t been staring off into nothing like a complete madwoman baffles you, to say the least. It’s so different from the straightforward sister and sorcerer you knew—the one that was assertive with her actions: if anyone had an issue with her, they could deal with her directly.

There’s no doubt now in your mind that she’s hiding something… but what ? And what relationship did that have with Satoru?

It’s no secret between the three siblings that Gojo never liked horse riding. Or any outdoor activity for that matter.

Just like you, his hobbies are inclined more into the world of videogames—him being one of the main instigators of you liking them in the first place.

However, that wasn’t the only reason he disliked partaking in equestrian activities. His distaste for anything that represented an affluent life spread to it as well.

Riding horses was rich people shit, Satoru would say from time to time, and because his hatred for those at the top was immeasurable, it would be unthinkable that he would attempt to duplicate their lifestyle.

It was a wonder how he and Hinata never argued for that reason—although you can guess that the emotional significance of this activity towards your family was what kept him at bay, and eventually, removed him from being invited to partake in this hobby.

«But… that doesn’t clear why she invited me to go in the first place.»

Whatever it was that your sister had planned, whether innocent or not, it had become apparent that she wanted some kind of witness. And you were to play that role.

A witness to something to be revealed yet, an uncontrollable itch in the back of your mind that you didn’t seem to be able to pull away from. Even if you tried to focus on anything else.

Knowing well that asking her again will bring no new information to the case you’re building, you relegate yourself to quietly follow her into the original destination, hoping that time will reveal whatever she’s brewing.

Completely ignoring the glint of mischief in her eyes, for the highly anticipated punishment towards the heir of the Gojo clan is about to take place in a matter of minutes.

"Hey, Satoru!" You’re the first one to chip in as soon as the familiar batch of white hair becomes apparent in the distance. Because of this peculiar description, finding him in crowds was always an easy feat—who else would have white hair, if it wasn’t an elderly person or Satoru himself?

Upon hearing his name being called by the recognizable tune of his future sister-in–law, Satoru’s head turns.

When you and your sister expected him to replicate the same kind of greeting you gave him upon setting eyes on them, which was by energetically waving your arm, he decided to surprised the two by racing towards your direction, and with less than necessary time to react, he swiftly raises you into his arms and begins to twirl you on the spot—a gesture that immediately has you regretting making the first contact.

“Hiii Y/N-chaaaan!!” He’d shamelessly attempt to greet whilst tormenting you, as if you were able to say anything else than groans and pleads for him to stop, for you were getting dizzier by the second and you really weren’t looking forward to alleviating yourself on him.

Satoru would eventually let you down, but the damage was already done—the world was spinning around you, and you wanted it to stop by stretching your arms towards your sister and leaning on her to regain your balance.

You’d begin to feel better, unfortunately, your reaction was not enough to quench Satoru’s insatiable appetite for trouble, and would soon attempt to do the same towards your sister.

But always the one to abstain from his childish antics, Hinata manages to avoid his clutches by swift movements that remind you of her talent as a sorcerer.

“Nope” she says, moving to the right.

“Just one—”

“Nu-uh” Hinata reiterates, now moving to the left “Not a chance”

“Not even for your future husband?”

Hinata scoffs and her frown deepens.

“ No”

And with that, Gojo reluctantly accepts defeat. Hinata’s willful nature once more proves too much for him to handle. Well, it’s not like he didn’t know she was that way—besides, it’s his duty as her future husband to cherish her just the way she is, isn’t it?

Satoru was lucky Hinata wasn’t a mind reader, for she’d smack him for saying such convenient things when it's for his defense.

“Well, now that’s done… How have you two been? It’s been a while since I saw you, Y/N” Satoru, to everyone's surprise, decides to act like a decent human being and ask a courteous question towards the sisters.

“Good, boring” you respond with a shrug ” You know how life can be at the estate”

“More when you’re playing terrible games such as Pokémon Emerald” Gojo smirks, and there it is—the moment he was waiting for to strike. You feel silly for believing that Satoru could be anywhere near modest.

“Oh, Suguru told you, didn’t he?” you frown, moving on to realize there was only one way he would know of your newest acquisition… a betrayal of confidence from someone you’d never expect it.

“I ought to let you know that I was the one that bought the game, little sister” He arrogantly reveals and your mouth falls agape “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be playing that now”

“I told Suguru to keep it a secret from you!” You shrilled. “I knew you were going to make fun of me if you got to know about it!”

“He did, it’s just that he was having trouble finding it, so I jumped in to help” he explains “Don’t be too harsh on him”

“Aghh, does that mean I owe you a favor now?” you wince in disgust now that you discarded your disappointment for Suguru—it seems he didn’t openly go against your wishes, he only wanted to help you obtain what you wanted. It’s sad that he had to get obnoxious Satoru involved, but if there really was no other way…

It’s the intention that matters in the end.

“If you simply accept that Digimon’s greatness into your heart, I shall consider your debt forgiven”

“Oh my god, just because you like Digimon it doesn’t mean you have to brag about it—nor does it make Pokémon any less good!”

“You’re right. Digimon’s importance is something that needs to go unspoken for, thank you for reminding me” Satoru smirks, and you’re left dumbfounded by the talent he had for twisting your words and curving the environment to his benefit; something worthy of admiration if you must.

And now that you think about it… Very similar to your sister.

From as long as you can remember, Satoru always liked to think of himself as vastly different from her. Far more down to earth, likable, less of a teacher’s pet. And Hinata would believe the same, with the exception of the teacher's pet part, although it ended up being kind of similar, since the elders and other adults alike often doted on Satoru, whether for his prestige or good looks.

However, both fail to realize that they can be as persistent and annoying as one another, at least from your experience. Satoru with you accepting Digimon as the superior franchise, and your sister with horse riding.

«Guess they really are what people call a match made in heaven… or however the saying goes» you conclude as you look back to your sister, who couldn’t look any less amused by Satoru’s repetitive sermon «Hinata would hate me if I ever tell her that»

You smile. Even if they’re annoying as hell from time to time, you couldn’t imagine a life without them.

“Welp, we’re not here to talk about videogames, we’re here to do something far more interesting” Your sister says, clasping her hands together and the noise is enough to draw your and Satoru’s attention back to her.

She looked excited, eager, however, there was something behind the recognizable enthusiasm in her eyes—more than looking forward to spending time with her equestrian friends, she was waiting for what came afterwards, like dessert after a meal.

What could’ve irked your sister so much, to the point of wanting to plot something against Satoru?

A question that does nothing to narrow down the possibilities, when it comes to Satoru of course.

After all, it’s… him that you’re talking about. With him in the equation, it could be anything really. However, considering that it was only Satoru that got invited, and not Geto or Shoko , means that he was the only one involved.

Yet again, doing nothing to pinpoint a possible cause. Well, whatever it was that has your sister bothered, she kept it a well-guarded secret.

“What are we going to do?” Satoru queries, oblivious as you expected him to be. “Are we going to the movies? Shopping? Perhaps some fine dining on this wonderful day? I didn’t bring any fancy clothes” He begins to trail off.

“Nope” She shakes her head, a grin parting her lips. “Something far much better, something that the two of you have been pushing to the side for far too long—but not anymore”

“Oh no, I know that face” Satoru’s voice shivers “Don’t tell me… you’re planning on taking us—”

“Horse riding? Yeah” Hinata announces as she presses her eyebrows together. Sure, she might’ve been somewhat accurate with her hints but she didn’t expect Satoru to catch on to it quickly. The thought of Satoru dangerously approaching the uncovering of her intentions is enough to have her anxiety creeping through her spine, a sensation that she compares to being pushed down to a lake of ice cold water. “You guessed pretty quickly”

“I mean, you’re not a very interesting person, Hina-chan. You kind of only have like, 1 trick. Do you even like anything else?”

Hinata lets out a long sigh of relief, proceeding by rolling her eyes. Seems like her concerns were for naught, and they soon fall to into irrelevancy once she realizes that Satoru was only being his usual rude self. «At least my cover is still safe» she attempts to console herself «I must be careful with my words from now onwards»

“Yeah, whatever” Hinata dismisses him and Satoru chuckles “Anyways, just follow me into the stable, I’ll give you all the details once there”

And by the way Satoru obediently follows him, without questioning her anymore or shooting her one of his traditional jabs, it’s evident that he wholeheartedly trusts Hinata with his safety, and thus, the idea that she might be planning his demise seems nothing more than a fallacious possibility.

That, of course, is not even close to the truth.

“A quick and easy stroll, something to stretch the horse’s legs, nothing more, nothing less” Hinata says as the group arrives at the outer section of the estate, just past the north wing and into the familiar wooden door that guards the storage room—the place where all safety gear for today’s activity was to be found.

Hinata might be planning something mysterious, but that doesn’t mean she’ll do it precariously.

“Are you planning on taking Ume?” You ask, carefully observing your sister as she slides the storage door open, stepping aside to let you and Satoru in first, before going in herself and closing the door behind.

The first thing that you notice upon stepping inside is that the room had remained virtually the same since the last time you were here, and that had been years .

If anything, the more noticeable aspects would have to be the curtains of a different color, as well as the new location of the same wooden table that’s always been there, and the addition of a picture frame, carrying the portrait of your mother alongside her favorite horse, Ume . You smile at the picture before focusing back onto your conversation with Hinata “She’s… quite old”

“I was hoping you’d help me with that” Hinata smiles upon noticing your glance on your mother’s picture—she’s the one that placed it there upon noticing there was nothing of her there, considering that she was the one that actively spent most of her time tending the stable. Although she suspects this was her father’s doing, still mourning her absence. “I just need you to take her on a stroll, she might be old but she still needs to move from time to time”

“I thought that was what we’re going to do anyways?” Satoru interjects.

“ Without a rider” Hinata scorns “You’d know if you focused on anything else than just being annoying”

“How old is Ume by the way?” You step in, hoping to put a stop on this senseless bickering before it grows too big to control. They weren’t even married yet and they’re already acting like an old couple. Oh, what their future awaits…

“Hmm, I don’t know, maybe like… 17-18 years old? She’s around Ren’s age so… no, a bit older, since she was only a pony when mom received her”

“Oh, really?” you reflect on her age—had Ume really been around for that long?

“Yeah, remember what mom said? Dad got Ume for her as some kind of wedding gift, and Ren was born roughly a year after”

“Hmm, guess the math does add up” you acknowledged “Looks like Ume has been with us for far longer than I can remember”

“That’s why we have to take good care of her! She’s like a part of the family now” Hinata cheers “You’ll help me, right?”

“I… guess” you murmur, crossing your arms “I don’t… know if she’d want me though, she always looks far more comfortable with you”

“That’s because you always run away from the stables, if you’d spent more time with me, then you wouldn’t feel that way”

“I won’t do more than accompany you from time to time to feed her, if that’s what it takes for her to like me”

“Ah! That’s it!” Hinata sings as enlightenment dawns in her mind ”Maybe next time you can feed her!”

“Nope” You frivolously shake your head “What if I get my hand bitten off?”

“Gah! What is an old horse like her going to do?” Hinata replies skeptically, as if the mere question brought great offense to her “I wouldn’t ask you to do something if I thought you’d be in danger”

And with that comment, you can’t help but feel a bit guilty for the way you responded. At the end of the day, her invitations always came from a place of wanting to spend her free time with you, as little as it may be, doing what she likes before diving back into work.

From a news perspective, you conclude that you’ve secluded yourself a bit sternly from her.

“Alright” With a new purpose, you confidently walk over to the closet you rightfully assume most of the gear to be and unlock the doors, eyes scanning through the carefully organized entourage of protective gear “Do I even have things for myself anymore?”

“I don’t think so” Hinata guessed as she too heads over to the closet and glances over your shoulder “It’s been quite a while since you’ve been on the actual saddle, so maybe you’ve already outgrown whatever you had? Well, you’re not going to use them today since you’re only going to walk Ume—Satoru, on the other hand, needs at least helmet”

“Oooh, is there a special helmet just for me?” Satoru chides in, his towering height skips him the need to lean over your or your sister’s shoulder by looking over your heads instead.

“ No . Although I probably should’ve with that big head of yours…” she snickers as she reaches for the nearest helmet. A black colored one of a matte material with light scratches on the top, revealing heavy usage.

If this wasn’t enough to dictate that the helmet was hers, the peculiar sticker of a sunflower on the left side would.

“This is mine—hold it for me?” she says, handing it over to you as she reaches for the next one, this time, with less signs of wear, barely visible unless inspected with a magnifying glass, almost as if it was taken straight out of the box, but with another noticeable sticker on the left side: a lotus . “And you’ll wear this one”

“Oh, is this Ren’s?” Satoru asks upon noticing the flower “It looks quite big, are you sure he doesn’t have a bigger head?”

“ Ha!” Hinata chortled “The nerve to say that, when it’s impossible to ignore that nest of birds you have on your head”

“Hey! My hair is well groomed, must you know” he attests “It’s quite popular with the girls”

“You have no game, Satoru. I’ve seen it. You’re lucky I’m forced to marry you”

“See? It worked”

“You two already bicker like a married couple” you murmur under your breath. What you thought to be a comment for yourself ended up being heard by the couple before you, making Hinata's face twist into one of surprise and embarrassment whilst Satoru’s beams into one of a cheerful grin.

“We do not!” she cries back, face now ruby red “How can you side with Satoru, Y/N?! My own sister!”

“Hey, hey! I’m not siding with anyone!” You laugh nervously.

“Oh, you wounded me, Y/N-chan! How am I to overcome this painful betrayal, how am I to move forward with my life, knowing that my cute sister-in-law rejects my relationship with her own sister? A place in her family? What will the Gojo’s say once they learn that the L/N don’t want me anym—"

«Oh, god» It’s now your turn to feel the embarrassment «They’re both so dramatic!»

“Anyways” You cough, setting a distraction to distance yourself from this act “Is there anything else that we need to get?”

Hinata snaps out of her trance and plunges back into recollecting the rest of the stuff, zeroing on getting everything ready to continue on with her plan, almost as if she were trying to avoid the fact that she’d blushed because of Satoru…

Either way, it’s no use to dwell on what’s basically assumptions, and once everything was set, the trio make their way out of the storage room and onto the far side of the room that once opened, revealed a breathtaking landscape of a warm summer day; an ocean of green leaves and fragrant grass, all underneath a cloudless sky.

And in the distance, the presence of a small wooden barn can be seen, which is possible to be reached thanks to the connecting stone path.

It’s been so long since you’ve seen this part of the estate that you can’t help but be captivated by its natural beauty—a scenery so astonishing, you’d almost find it pitiful that it would be the stage for Hinata’s hidden motives.

Moving forward, the group follows down the designated road and onto the stable, where Hinata decides it appropriate to begin gearing up..

“Y/N had a helmet, right?” Satoru asks as he places the helmet on his head, immediately feeling that it needed adjustments—something that he took as your brother having a much bigger head, a petty remark that remained in his mind as to bring it up later and torment your sister with it. “If so, what sticker does she have?”

“I did, but I never placed a sticker on it” you respond, helping him adjust the straps on his helmet.

“We had different colored ones back in the day” Hinata explains “Mine was yellow”

“And mine was [favorite color]” you add.

“It’s easier to find more… attractive helmets when you’re gearing a younger rider, I don’t know why they turn monochromatic when it’s for bigger sizes—adults just have to make everything so dull ” Your sister complains “And custom made are so expensive, that’s why I just place a sticker on it! At least it keeps the fun, you know?” she taps at the sunflower sticker.

“I guess…?” Satoru raises an eyebrow, only boring adults like her could find fun in such a thing “Anyways, why won’t you join us today, Y/N? I’m sure you’re much better than me”

“I never liked doing this because I always felt like I was going to fall, or worse, get stomped to death. I only did this once with my mom, and I had enough” your mind goes back to the picture your father took of that fateful day your mom placed you on top of Ume, the same one you were crying your heart out for sitting on top of a huge animal.

The one that you’ve kidnapped from the family album and stored it away from any prying eyes, secured in one of the many cabinets in your room.

“Wait, what?! Stom—stomped to death?!” He replies with a cry “Don’t make me nervous Y/N! Does that mean I’m going to fall?!”

Hinata can’t help but roll her eyes at his evidently fake reaction. The cynicism of him.... It makes her wonder how the inner mind of the great Gojo heir works if he’d only started worrying about that now .

“No, you won’t. Because you’re going to ride with me” she declares, having adjusted her helmet long ago whilst Satoru was panicking.

“W-what?” Satoru stammers, and when he once felt despair, there was nothing but relief, for his savior, Hinata L/N, had come to his rescue with a suggestion that implied more than she was letting on.

A gesture that he considered so… intimate, loving, that he couldn’t stop his cheeks from burning “Oh, Hina-chan… I—I don’t know what to say… that’s so unexpected and… romantic…”

“Stop it!” Hinata shrieks, putting a halting screech to his shojo-like fantasy “I’m only doing so because I don’t trust you with the horses!”

“Sure, sure” Gojo dismisses, looking away as a pout forms on his lips “I too would be shy if I were to be close with my beloved…”

“Alright, sure, whatever you say Satoru, just put the helmet on!” Hinata huffs and heads into the stable.

All that she wants to do is leave Satoru’s antics behind and move on with his plan, and what better way to relax her than personally greeting each and every horse inside the stable, by gently patting their manes and doting on them?

And she did just that, sharing her limited amount of minutes between each and every single one, commending their good health as well as their responsive nature, which had been the same adoring one she’d given them.

She continued to do so, that is, until she came face to face with the one that held a special place in her heart, the one that she considers part of the family, her favorite, the one and only…

“Ume!” Hinata bubbled as soon as her eyes landed on the familiar figure of the brown horse came into view, carefully skipping ahead (so as to not alarm the more sensitive horses) towards her and lunging over to hug her neck once in her grasp.

“Oh, Ume, how have you been?! It’s been so long since I last saw you! I hope the caretakers have been treating you well” Hinata reflects on all the time she’s spent away due to school and overall life as a sorcerer. She likes it, but she regrets the fact that she can’t be with her family as much as before.

And it seems that the horse feels that way, because Ume responds by neighing and eagerly brushing her neck against your sister.

“I miss you too” she says, carefully placing her fingers on her mane and petting her “And guess what? We’re taking you out today! On a stroll! Are you excited?”

Ume neighs once more, seemingly understanding your sister’s words, out of excitement. It’s been so long since she was taken out, at least by one of the L/N siblings, and she can’t wait to spend this wonderful day with either of them.

“Y/N, can you pass me the bridle?” Making haste of her time, Hinata asks you as she points to a nearby depot just a few feet away from her location, where you’re able to instantly spot the requested item. “And the leather reins as well”

“Sure” you nod, heading over to complete your request and head back over to your sister.

At the closeness between you and the mare, you inevitably lock your eyes onto Ume’s.

A normal, mundane gesture that passes unnoticed by Hinata, but not for you as you suddenly feel a shift it the atmosphere, and not exactly one that you’d call ideal.

From feeling comfortable, perhaps a bit like a fish out of water for it had been so long you’ve been there, you start to feel tense…endangered.

All because your mind believes to be seeing Ume looking straight into your soul, decisively, intimidatingly wondering whether to bite your hand off or stomp you to death…

Thoughts that become ludicrous as soon as Ume stretches over to your direction, using the tip of her head to reach as far as she can, in hopes that you’d pet her too.

“Aw, look! Ume wants you to pet her” Hinata notes, and at the sudden gesture, you retract away from her. “Don’t be like that, just place your hand on the top of her head and you’ll be fine”

“Don’t push it, sis. I’m already doing too much out of my comfort zone by talking her out on a stroll…” you murmur, and Hinata sighs.

“Alright, can’t deny that” She says, looking back at the horse “My sister is a bit afraid of you, but there’s nothing to fear, right? You would never hurt her”

You looked away, feeling a bit embarrassed for how grossly sweet she was talking to Ume, leading you to land your eyes on Satoru, which you expected to see twisting his lips into a grimace of revolt or disgust, perhaps even a smirk of mockery towards your sister.

However… none of that was to be found, and instead, he remained… serious while intently looking at your sister.

There were moments where you’d forget that even with his… aggravating nature, he was still capable of being a decent human being when it came to personal matters.

Ume had remained off limits when it came to his jabs, for he knew what she represented when it came to your mother, thus, he limited himself to solely observing his surroundings.

However, that wouldn’t last long once Hinata handed you a prepared Ume and made way towards the next horse.

One that demonstrated that Ume was being anything but intimidating.

“We’re taking Dio today”

It was at this moment that you knew that Hinata was planning something serious.

“Dad’s horse? That Dio?” the way your voice frets makes the alarms in Satoru’s head go off.

“Wait, that means something?” He asks.

“No, of course not” Hinata protested, hurrying to keep her cover, which was almost revealed due to your quick observation “Y/N just… doesn’t like that horse in particular, right?”

“I mean… I’m not fond of many…?” you falter, and your act unknowingly convinces Satoru to not give your question any more attention than necessary.

“I just wanted to try something different” Hinata explains “It’s been a while since I took him out for a ride, and dad asked me to take him out so… why not?”

For a wide variety of reasons, you’d wish to say.

Of all horses… Dio was… well, peculiar, to say the least.

Ever since he arrived at the L/N estate, he had earned quite the reputation amongst habitants and caretakers alike.

Beginning with the fastest speed and strength of all horses that have ever lived in the stable, as well as being blessed with good genetics that easily earned him the possibility of entering the equivalent of a pageant .

However, his name didn’t strike you as a concern because of his supposed beauty or skills… It was his personality that made you worry.

Dio, the magnificent dark stallion that your father brought as a possible partner for Ume, from the very first day that he arrived, hated every living thing inside the stable. Whenever possible, he’d neigh and startle the caretakers by grabbing the food out of their hands and tossing it away, even attempting to bite them if they got too close!

And let’s not even talk about his failed partnership with Ume, whose gentler nature never allowed them to get along. It got to the point that Ume would run from him the moment she noticed he was near—and with that, any chances to breed foals was effectively discarded.

The only two who had been to tame the beast had been your father, and Hinata subsequently, through much hard work and dedication; his personality became tamer when around them, giving the false impression that he’d calm down, only to be struck by realization by an assassination attempt under it’s hooves.

Thus, a silent agreement came to place, reminding everyone to keep away from him, unless it was Eiichi or Hinata.

Your assumptions of Gojo doing something unthinkable gain more ground by each passing second—but she couldn’t be planning on… murdering him… right?

“Are you sure that’s ok, Hinata?” you whisper over to your sister, low enough to keep away an already nervous Satoru at bay, but loud enough to show your concern. “What are you planning?”

“Oh, nothing” she voices innocently as she proceeds to place the necessary equipment on Dio “That you need to know yet ”

You shiver, and for the second time that day, a sting of fear strikes your body upon hearing her words.

You can see it now, a side of your sister that she rarely reveals to others stepping into the picture.

The mature, always the bigger person aspect of your sister is long gone, and in return, a vengeful one takes its place. One that’s eager to serve justice towards those that wronged her and by all means necessary.

To see her act so secretly, yet evidently threatening…

For the first time in your life, you pity the unsuspecting heir of the Gojo clan.

Once both horses and jockeys are set and ready to go, Hinata takes point and leads the group onto a large, spacious area of the meadow, void of any obstacles, to seemingly take the horses into a stroll.

You’d suggested a change of scenery, like going into the trails or even visiting the nearby waterfall.

Although appreciative of your participation, Hinata declines your offer, explaining that going deeper into the nearby forest with an older horse can put them into a difficult situation if Ume got injured, thus, remaining in a somewhat plain terrain where all involved could freely act was the best way to go.

She’d also wanted to keep the majority of control of what she’s going to enact, for the forest offered too many disturbances that could bend her plan in a way that she wouldn’t want to—but she wouldn’t tell you that , of course.

“Do you even know how to get on a horse?” It’s an inquiry that feels inconsequential considering Gojo’s imposing height, but your sister nonetheless finds it necessary to ask him, perhaps out of concern for his safety or Dio’s, your father’s stallion, or to make a mockery of him.

Whatever it was, Satoru responds nonchalantly.

“Just gotta jump on it, right?”

“I hope that wasn’t serious” Hinata raises an eyebrow “Place your dominant feet on this pedal” she points to the one on the right side of the horse “and propel yourself upwards, from there, you should be able to swing your other leg over the saddle with the momentum, and that’s basically it— here, let me do it first, it’ll be easier to help you up”

And before you’re able to react, Hinata was already on top of the horse and sitting on the saddle, just to show the level of comfortability she had in this area of expertise.

Had it been you trying to get on top, you’d probably still be stuck to the ground, wondering if there was any other way to get there instead of parkouring your way to the top.

Your sister adjusts herself to sit comfortably on the saddle, and once set, looks down to Gojo.

“Here” she says, stretching her arm towards him “I’ll pull you up”

“Am I going on the front, or the back?” he responds. His hand is making way towards Hinata’s, that is, until he feels the heavy gaze of your father’s stallion on him—a piercing look that only warns him to back off. Satoru retracts his hand, and Hinata subtly smiles at the interaction, her plan evidently working.

“The back, obviously” Hinata proceeds to reach out for his hand and pulls him towards her, Satoru inadvertently forced to jump onto the horse, lest he wants to crash into it. “I’m leading the horse”

“Does that mean… I’ll be… hugging you?” Satoru murmurs, putting on the act of a blushing bride as soon as he realizes the seemingly compromising position he’ll find himself from this moment forward.

“I knew where this was going” Your sister bickers under her breath “You can hold me, or the saddle, whatever makes you comfortable”

“Do you do this often with other men? Do you let them hug you too?” Satoru suddenly asks, jealousy interlaced in his voice—but it’s nothing more than an act, as most things often go with him.

“Do you think I have time to meet other men, with all the work we gotta do?” Hinata frowns. “I wish I could afford meeting someone, maybe they won’t be as annoying as you”

“You can start with Y/N’s friends! I’m sure one of them will catch your interest” Gojo curbs the ball towards you and you flinch. You’ve been so engrossed in their conversation (and avoiding getting eaten by Ume, apparently) that you’d almost forgotten you were there in the first place.

“Hey, don’t bring me, or my friends, into your circus” you chuckle “I’d rather be in my room than here”

“And what for?” Gojo raises an eyebrow “So you can play that new game? All Pokémon games are the same, just with a different cover art”

You sigh, noticing that he was being… uncharacteristically more annoying today, almost as if he were trying to provoke either of you.

You know how bad this would sound if spoken out loud, but you really can’t wait for Hinata to show him his place.

“ Anyways, are you ready?” Hinata asks, carefully placing her hands on the horse's dark mane and petting it. Judging by her gesture, you come to the understanding that in reality the question was intended towards Dio, and not Satoru. Not that the last would’ve known or care due to the way he responds soon after.

“Yep” He grins, giving her a thumbs up “Locked and loaded, whenever you’re re—”

Hinata doesn’t even allow him to finish his sentence before she swiftly whips the leather reins against the horse, the third call for the star of the show to start its performance.

There’s no preparation, no warning, not even a second to breathe, nothing that could help Satoru cope with the fact that your sister had planned on startling him—no, scratch that, frighten him by the stallions impressive reach to stop speed in less than a second, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust and your startled face as testimony of their presence.

It’s only a matter of seconds before Satoru’s shrieks become apparent, his voice traveling alongside the wind to warn each living existence of his great dislike of the equestrian activity.

You’d muffle your laugh, thinking of his reaction to be nothing more than outrageous. Who’d think that the man who always tried his hardest to look cool and dark would really let himself go like that? It’s a memory that will always be ingrained in your mind, one that you’d be able to bring in the future as blackmail, and you’re eternally grateful that Hinata brought you to witness it!

“Holy shit, Hinata!” You laugh, unsure if she’d be able to hear you but you still go on anyways “Was this your plan all along?! To scare Satoru??”

“Yes!!” Hinata chortled back, a reaction that only made Gojo scream louder “It’s been my plan ever since!!”

“Hinataaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!! Stop!! Stop!! ” he wails, pushing his head against your sister’s back as he attempts to hold on tighter to her, seemingly feeling the speed of the stallion grow impossibly faster and faster; was this even possible, or was it the adrenaline pumping in his veins that made him believe so?!

And to make matters worse, it seemed that the horse was also enjoying making Satoru suffer from the way it would jolt and rattle from time to time, movements that would earn him an additional streak from the white-haired man, a reward likened to applause for the performer.

All of this made Satoru wonder if even the horse was on board with the plan! Did Hinata and the stallion plan this?

And by the way you laughed, were you also knowledgeable of this?! That’s why you did nothing to stop her—even though you hated it as much as him?!

But those were subjects that would remain unsolved as Hinata made hasty work of her equestrian knowledge to push Gojo onto a new level of fear, doubled down by a now revealed cause.

“This is what you get from that time in the forest!” she hisses as she continues to gallop across the meadow “You—your little prank gave me a rash that I couldn’t cure for days!!”

But Gojo, as much as he wanted to respond and explain that it was never meant to get to that level, can’t do much through his pumping heart and deafening screams but murmur prayers for all of this to end.

“And to think that Geto was behind it too! I can’t believe I trusted you both! ” She condemns “Geto was lucky to sense I was planning something when I invited him over, but you didn’t! Because at the end, even after you brag yourself to be some almighty being, the strongest... you’re really, really stupid!!” she concludes with a victorious laugh. “I win this time!!”

To say that Hinata was drunk in arrogance was an understatement, however, it was with a somewhat justifiable explanation.

Before she’d fallen into this pit of overconfidence, she was disappointed. Very disappointed. She thought that by entering jujutsu high, things would start to change—after all, everyone that enters that school knows they’re on their way to becoming professional sorcerers, thus, a level of maturity is expected… right?

But she was to be slapped across the face with the harsh reality that not everyone was to be as dedicated as her—or stuck-up, as Satoru would call her— and if anything, this was just like any other school environment, with brash and careless students that just wanted to enjoy their youth, and not worry about the future!

A statement that became evident when these two goofballs did what they did.

Nevertheless, far from harboring feelings towards the perpetrators, she held them towards herself, for thinking that these dorks would know anything about common sense and respect.

Well, she knew she couldn’t expect much from two boys that thought of themselves as men. And if that’s how they wanted to play, then that's what she’ll do.

With much reluctance, she’d lower herself to their level and prove to them that even by playing by their rules, she’s still better.

And after careful planning and rehearsal, she finally did it.

It might not have been as hazardous as the one he performed on her, but it’s sufficient enough to give him the message that she’s not going to take it anymore—and certainly not from him!

This moment might go down as a short-lived, countable victory against him, but it’s one that she’ll make the most of—Hinata will never make him forget it.

“Wait, Hina—Hinata!!” Gojo continues to yell, hands now scrambling from your sister to the saddle as they precariously searched for a beacon of stability to uphold his stance on the horse, but because the jockey had resorted to exploit a combination of bumps and speed to disturb her companion as much as possible, Satoru was left with hopelessness and a continuation of his shrieks.

“Hinata—Hinata wait!” He’d gasp, throat hoarse as he’d envisioned one of his worst fears coming true ”I think I’m going to—”

You might’ve not been close enough to hear the rest of his yells, or make out through his lips if he’d said anything else to your sister, but even at your distance and inexperience, you were still capable to distinguish that the way he was quivering on the saddle was not normal by any means.

And by the way his body was struggling to keep up with your sister’s agile friskiness, as well as him continuously failing to find a secure spot to hold on to, it was only natural that disaster would ensue.

Hinata had long crossed the limit where her prank was no longer fun, and noticing that she was too deep into her revenge to care what was happening behind her, it was decided that you needed to step in.

“Wait, Hinata!” You cry, waving your arms in the air while attempting to move somewhat closer so she could either hear or see you better, but with enough care to not let go of Ume or startle her.

Unfortunately, it seems that your mother’s prized mare was also aligned to Hinata’s intentions, for she doesn’t move more than an inch upon sensing the your harsh pull on her reins, misjudging it as an act of aggression and retaliating by pulling back against you “Not now Ume! I need to stop Hinata!— Hinata!! ”

You cry harder, but it’s too late. When your sister finally decides to turn around and tend to the reason for your call, Satoru was already leaning over to the side, and before you can warn her to help him, his body hits the ground.

The loud thud is enough to snap Hinata out of her vengeful trance, and with her quick thinking and extensive knowledge of the activity, she efficiently avoids any further damage to the young man by guiding the horse away and preparing the horse to slow down.

“Satoru!” Hinata gasps, sternly pulling on the reins “Yield!”

The majestic stallion eventually comes to a complete stop. Hinata expeditiously jumps down from the saddle and rushes towards Satoru’s crouching body, who was tightly embracing one of his arms against his chest as he wept out of pain.

“Satoru, Satoru, can you hear me?” Hinata manages to ask through the thundering noise of her heartbeat in her ears as she carefully moves closer to him “Satoru, are you ok?”

“I—Hinata…I—I think I broke my arm” He weeps and Hinata’s blood runs cold as fear instantly settles in the very fabric of her core.

Her vision blurs as the consequences of her actions begin to unfurl before her, but she doesn’t let this happening to extend more than necessary.

She needs to focus on the emergency before her, and she needs to do it now .

“Y/N! Get the doctor!!” She cries as she wipes away the sweat from her forehead—Hinata’s desperation has her wishing she could move Satoru onto the estate and get him the help he needs, but she knows best to not move the patient unless the professional allows it, thus, she’s forced to voice her frustration onto you “ Hurry!! ”

Knowing well that time is of the essence in these urgent matters, you make haste to tie Ume onto a nearby wooden post so as she wouldn’t run away (although her old age wouldn’t permit it anymore, but you weren’t to take any risks) before sprinting back into the estate, crying and demanding for the family doctor to be called immediately, giving no further explanation to members of your clan whom grew worried upon seeing your pale face, aside that you needed the professional quickly.

Sumire, your closest friend, seemingly apparated herself out of nowhere and onto your side after briefly hearing the whole commotion from just a few rooms away—and unlike the rest of the habitants, she doesn’t ask anything, she simply reaches for the phone and calls the doctor.

“What happened?!” Sumire cries as the phone begins to ring, hands trembling as a million of terrible scenarios flash across her mind “Are you ok? Is Hinata-sama ok?!”

“Yes, yes we’re fine but… Satoru… he’s not!” You whimper and the revelation of the Gojo heir suffering a deadly injury is enough for her blood to run cold as well.

Once the doctor is on the other side of the line, Sumire urges him to come as quickly as possible to tend to an emergency. Luckily, for the man who had labeled himself to be just a phone call away (also known as the nearby village), wasted no time to confirm his presence there and hung up.

It goes unsaid that the main motivator for him to not ask for any more details was that the L/N clan was one of his highest paying clients, meaning that if you or anyone from the house needed him, he’d be there in a matter of seconds, just like what happened soon after he’d received your call, making way to your home’s main entrance, where you and Sumire barely greeted him before hurrying him towards his patient, who remained on the ground loyally accompanied by your sister who tried to ease his worries by reassuring him that the doctor was on his way.

Due to his many years of experience, the doctor only needed a brief inspection of Satoru’s arm to confirm his dreadful assumption, which places the last nail on Hinata’s coffin of regret and sorrow.

However, bureaucracy was still needed to make this statement official, thus, once he declared it was safe to move Satoru into a more appropriate setup, you, your sister, and Sumire carefully transferred him into the ambulance previously called by the doctor and transferred him into the nearest hospital with utmost secrecy—as much as it was allowed—for Satoru requested this matter to be kept a secret until he decides whether to tell the elders of his clan what happened… or not.

In any other circumstances, such as pertaining to jujutsu matters like a mission or a school assignment, that would’ve been the first course of action. But because the precede of his injury had been in an informal setting, and of petty revenge… it was a matter that had to be taken care of delicately.

Thus, it was agreed between everyone present that this be to be kept a secret, at least until everything cooled down. The servants that heard of the commotion, but not witnessed it directly, were also tasked to feign ignorance.

And now that all that was set… Hinata now had to face the consequences of her actions.

“How… bad is it?” Hinata asks for the nth time during that visit. The doctor has grown rather… annoyed by her repetitive inquiries, but just as stated before, because her family is one of the best paying ones, he doesn’t show his irritation.

“If he rests, I presume he’ll heal at around 6 weeks the earliest” The doctor reiterates as he continues to set the last adjustments of Gojo’s cast—the x-ray that was performed at the hospital confirmed the status of his broken bone and it’s severity, thus, the necessity of such a procedure. Another symbol that will forever haunt Hinata for her ill decision making. “It’s very important that he doesn’t do anything that might stress the arm, for it might not heal appropriately”

Hinata swallows, succumbing deeper and deeper into the pit of her regret, which only becomes darker as the doctor continues to explain Satoru’s situation, who, in return, has kept quiet in the face of pain, and possible anxiety for not being able to live out his life as he’d done up to that point.

The only thing that keeps both of them at ease is that they won’t go back to school until roughly 6 weeks, meaning that they will be able to keep this little incident a secret from the prying eyes of Jujutsu HQ, and their friends… because if any of them got word of this, it would travel around Japan like a wildfire, and by then it would be too late to make any excuses to cover it up.

That is, of course, unless they’re assigned missions…

Anyways, Satoru really couldn’t care less about facing the elders. If anything, that’s an affair that he considers even more tiresome than having to go to the hospital, get his arm checked, and stay at the L/N estate until it heals. If anything, he could take this whole thing as a sort of vacation from his clan!

Ah, if only you and your sister could have this naïve optimism.

“He’ll be able to leave the hospital in a few hours after we get his health insurance info and invoice ready”

“Oh, um, that’s fine” Hinata says in behalf of Satoru “Since I’m his fiancée I’m entitled to have all that information, just give me a few seconds and I’ll bring them to you”

“If that’s the case, you can just mail them to me and we’ll work from there”

And with that, the days seemed to pass awfully, regretfully slow, specially for Hinata, whom upon receiving Satoru in her house, has spent most of her time actively trying to avoid facing him at all costs, shamefully reprimanding herself for allowing such childish revenge to get the best of her and subsequently get him injured.

Her predicament worsened when the truth of his actions was brought to the Gojo’s and the L/N’s attention, earning her an earful from both, which was abruptly ceased thanks to Satoru’s and Eiichi’—your father’s—intervention.

The first argued that this was none of their concern, for it was only an incident and that Hinata wasn’t acting with the set intention of hurting him, while the last defended that they were simply spending time together in order to bond, as the couple they were to become in the future, and given their expected lifestyle, it was only a matter of time before one of them got injured.

However, your father would secretly confide to you that he was somewhat pleased with Satoru’s current predicament, for he never liked how rough his future son-in-law could be with you and your sister. Maybe this would give him the understanding to control himself… and now that women should be treated gracefully, displaying how oblivious he was at the fact that your sister was the one that got him in this entanglement in the first place.

As time passed, Satoru began to notice that Hinata was trying to avoid him, and would attempt to work a cheerful way to approach her, as well as you so that neither would remain gloomy all the time. After all, who looks forward to spending the summer with a broken arm and no friends? No one, that’s who.

But it didn’t work—Hinata would continue to ignore him, sharply turning around whenever seeing him on the other side of the hall and going the opposite direction.

And you… well, you’d kept rather quiet about the whole ordeal. The only times you tried to talk to your sister and reassure her that it wasn’t her fault that this happened, she would only tell you that she shouldn’t have done anything in the first place and exit the room.

You’d continue to approach her, but it was all for naught as their relationship seemed to become more and more distant with each passing day, making you believe that perhaps the only time they’ll ever talk to one another is when they’re exchanging vows on their wedding day.

Well, just because your sister doesn’t want to talk to him anymore doesn’t mean you should do the same.

Satoru needed support in this difficult time, thus, hoping to make his day more entertaining, you decide to bring him one of the consoles you believe to be his favorite—a PlayStation 2— with a few games, and set it up in his room. Although you briefly stopped yourself from time to time, wondering if he’d be able to do much due to his cast. Well, intentions are what always mattered anyways. If not, he can see you play.

Asides from trying to make his days more distracting, you were also looking for alternative options to speed up his healing process, such as contacting Shoko.

You knew this was going against the initial agreement between Satoru and your sister, but you really couldn’t stop from feeling miserable at their obvious distancing, or the pause his life had to make, and hoping to mend things between them, you thought that getting Shoko involved would be a good option.

Maybe your sister just needed to see Satoru all healed up to finally get over that emotional blockade she’d set between the two, leading to the two of them to talk about everything that happened, and before you know it, things will be back to normal!

A plan that was never set to occur, for Shoko had informed you that she unfortunately lacked the preparation to reconstruct bones with her technique, citing “I’ll only learn how to do that in medical school, and I have yet to graduate jujutsu high so… yeah. Besides, this experience will help Satoru build character” and that’s how your conversation with her ended.

“Ah, well… it’s not good to expect Shoko to cover up for all injuries” you conclude as you walk towards Satoru’s temporary room, attempting to comfort yourself “She deserves to enjoy her holiday as well, besides, if the doctor said it’s nothing too critical, his body should be able to do the work on it’s own”

You eventually reach the familiar guest room door, and while carefully balancing the console and controller on your other hand, you proceed to slide the door open, silently to not rattle Satoru awake if resting, or just to not seem disrespectful of his privacy.

However, the sight that received you was far more extraordinary than anything you would’ve expected.

It was so shocking, that all you could do as a reaction is drop the items into the ground, the sonorous crash ringing in your ears, as you exclaim:

“SATORU?!—Wha—Wha—How…. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

How do you even begin to describe what you say?

Satoru, in all of his glory, is laying on the floor, watching some random show on the T.V. before him—which was one of the first things he requested as soon as he moved into the guest room— while eating one of the snacks you presume some of the servants have brought moments before.

By a simple glance, it was nothing uncommon. An ordinary day for the injured Satoru.

However, here’s the catch. The reason why you were so startled in the first place.

He was resting on his seemingly injured arm… without a cast.

Having been startled by the sound of the crashing console and your shrilling call of his name, the man wastes no second to hurriedly push himself up from the ground and nervously grin, the expected reaction of one being caught in the act. “Oh, hey Y/N-chan!” he calls, voice trembling as he walks towards you in an effort to explain himself, if such a thing was even possible. “It’s—It’s a miracle! My arm is cured!”

“Cut the garbage! What is going on?!” You snapped, slamming the door behind you to avoid any onlooker setting their eyes on this… undesirable scenario until you get a proper explanation, and cornering him back to his spot.

There’s no way this was a dream, for the thunderous thud of the console against the tatami floor was enough to snap you conscious. There was no possible way that he would’ve healed this fast, 2 weeks into his injury.

That is… no, did he… could it be that he developed another technique?!

What?! Of course not! And even if he did, why did he remain quiet?!

Unless…

This was all a lie to begin with?!

“Does Hinata know about this?!” You cry “Does she know you—” he abruptly silences you by placing his hands over your mouth.

“No, of course not!” He whispers. “And you must promise me she won’t know!”

“Adnh wky wl aa gre t tht?” you groan. Satoru silently mouths a small o and proceeds to remove his hands from your face.

“Oh yeah, sorry—say that again?”

“And why would I agree to that?!” You hiss, and in less than a second he attempts to push his hands over your mouth once more, but unwilling to act as his fool, you move away from him.

“Keep it down, Y/N!” he warns, seemingly wanting to discuss this secret in secrecy. “Or I won’t tell you anything”

“...Fine” you groan, begrudgingly accepting his conditions with a pout. “What the hell is going on, Satoru? And why doesn’t Hinata know about this?!”

“Because she can’t! That’s the best part if you ask me, she hasn’t figured out anything at all!” He beams, clearly proud of his… fiasco? “All according to plan”

“Huh? Wait—waitwaitwaitwait, all according to plan?” you interrupted “What do you mean according to plan?!?” “Oh yeah, right—guess the cat is out of the bag” Satoru says, going back down to the futon, patting on an empty spot before him, as if inviting you to sit down beside him. You’re hesitant to accept, but the shock of being bombarded with this new version of the truth is enough to push you down and relax. “So… where do I begin?”

“From the start!” you smack him in the arm “Was this all fake?! Were you even hurt?!”

“Ouch—Kind of!” he attempts to cover himself from your sharp blows, only to end up chuckling when he realizes they're weaker than he expected—enough motivation for you to try harder; and you accomplish so successfully “Ouch!” he releases a genuine whine followed by an attempt to cower from your attacks, which only stopped after you deem the message to have been clear. ”Ok, fine—You see… It all started a long time ago, after your sister and I went on a mission with our classmates. It was quick and easy, nothing much to worry about, that is, until the incident happened. But that doesn’t matter either! It was just a little prank, so we mo—”

“Uh, incident ?” you cautioned skeptically “What incident? What the hell did you do to get my sister so angry in the first place??”

“Oh, she hasn’t told you? Guess that’s a story for another day” Gojo winks, and you’re more than ready to demand an explanation from him, but before you’re able to jump on his case, he continues on with this fanciful retelling of the facts. “Anyways, I moved on from the prank, we all did actually. I don’t think it was that serious, but your sister however… did not. When I noticed that she started acting weird towards me and Geto, that’s when I knew that she was planning to do something”

“And you never thought of apologizing for whatever you did, instead of assuming she was fine with it?” you frown.

“I mean—Now that you put it that way I feel kinda bad! But she went on with the prank anyways, so can you blame me for her holding onto grudges??”

“That still doesn’t explain how you knew she was going to do this ”

“I’m just that good” A confident demeanor emanates from his voice, but you’re not easily impressionable, less with the man who was torturing your poor sister with guilt, and he’s quick to catch on. “Fine, I might’ve slowly planted the idea in her mind”

“What do you mean?”

“I knew she wanted to do something to get back at me, but in order for me to still have the upper hand in this prank war I needed it to be something I could control but was alluring to her too, thus… whenever I could, I would bring up that I really disliked horse riding!”

His mind takes him back to an ordinary school day, one that saw them receiving a handful of math assignments —since jujutsu high was still expected to teach them “ normal ” classes like any other school— to finish that day.

Finding this to be his cue, Satoru proceeds by quickly browsing through the seemingly endless pages with an uninterested facade he considered very convincing, followed by an obnoxious groan that allows him to sell the part of lazy student to both the teacher before him, and your unsuspecting sister.

“Man, this sucks! Thousands of math problems to solve in less than an hour? Why do we have to do this? We’re going to be sorcerers!” Satoru would protest, tossing the papers down onto his desk “Well, at least it’s not horse riding, I'd much rather do this than that ! Talk about being boring…”

The teacher wasted no second to reprimand the young man for his frivolous reaction and unwanted commentary, a moment Hinata took to silently eye him and astonishingly wonder how he managed to make such a comparison—one thing was clearly out of the other’s league!

And while she might’ve thought of this as an unprecedented happening, Satoru was enjoying the first signs of a successful manipulation.

“Or like the other time we were classifying curses and I compared the smell of one of the curses to a horse! You should’ve seen the look on her face! If looks could kill…” Satoru sighs, like an old man remembering the golden days of his life. “When I eventually received her call inviting me over to the estate, I knew she’d taken the bait, and from there, the rest is history!”

“Uuuuhhh, I think you missed a few steps there, Satoru” you pointed towards the arm that, until a few minutes ago, you believed to still be broken. The biggest plot hole in his retelling “What about your arm? We were there when the doctor said you broke it, we saw the x-rays too!”

“All fake” he states matter-of-factly. “Everything”

“Wait, does that mean you… you somehow involved the doctor?!”

“Yep! I called him a few days before and let him know what I was planning to do, he obviously rejected my idea, but after I managed to convince him with a generous price, he agreed to it almost immediately!” Satoru beams, as if bribing a medical professional was something to brag about. “Although he did make me promise that I wouldn’t reveal his involvement in this, or he would get fired… Anyways! I wanted to bring in my own doctor, an actor actually, to avoid all that stuff, but I thought it would be more convincing if I brought along a familiar face”

“And what if I decided to call another doctor? The hospital, hm? Wouldn’t that mean your little plan was going to fail?”

“I planned ahead for all possible outcomes, I managed to get all the contacts of other doctors that had tended your family in the past, as well as the local hospital! There was no way I would allow this to fail”

«Satoru has too much money in his hands—money that he should be using for something better!» you quietly conclude at the ridiculousness of his commitment. «And yet, it still doesn’t explain why his arm is not broken!»

“What about the fall? You couldn’t have faked that—if anything, you couldn’t gotten hurt for real”

“All planned, little sister” he gestures to his cast “Because I am someone who appreciates the genuineness of a performance, I knew I had to give a convincing act for your sister to believe she’d injured me beyond reasonable doubt! Thus, I prepared myself with all necessary methods to perform a fall without hurting myself! Or keeping it to the minimum if I do get some kind of injury.”

He proceeds to explain that he took a few horse riding classes to familiarize himself with the horse and its movements, as well as how to lessen any chances of injuries if he were to somehow fall, such as switching his body in a certain angle so as to distribute the impact of the fall throughout the protective gear.

To secure his depiction, he even called Shoko , without giving much explanations of course (for he knew she would tattle tell to Hinata) on what kind of concussions could lead to a broken arm, just so he could replicate them under a safe environment.

And as he continues to explain the intricacies of his malicious plan, you feel yourself being pushed down to the muddy waters of disbelief, still struggling to believe anything of the things Satoru had just confessed to you.

You knew Satoru Gojo to be petty, annoying, arrogant… the host to many negative qualities a man could have.

But this ?

This was on a whole ‘nother level.

He’d really gone out of his way to plan all this just to get back to your sister before she even had the chance to do so herself.

Just when you thought Satoru couldn’t be any more unpleasant, he goes ahead and shows you that he, in fact, can be worse.

“Do you even hate horse riding at all?” you dare to ask, believing that maybe his dislike was also a ruse from the very beginning.

“With every inch of my existence” Satoru admits “It was a very difficult task for me to not bore myself to death when doing all this, but I think it was worth it!” “Why did you even tell me this? What if it was someone else that walked into your room? Was that according to your plan as well?”

“You know I can sense energy, right? I knew it was you from a while ago so I had nothing to worry about—as for your other question… It's quite lonely at the top. I planned all of this in secret, not even Geto knows about it! And I couldn’t bear the thought of someone not recognizing my success, so I decided to tell you” he smiles “You and I are the only ones that know the complete truth”

“That’s awful Satoru! Do you even care for how worried my sister is?? She’s been unable to do anything because she feels guilty for hurting you! She doesn’t even want to see you, but now that all this is a lie—”

“You’re making me feel like a jerk now that you say it that way…” Satoru pouts.

“Good! You should feel bad!” You double down “… The only right thing you’ve done right is when you stepped in for my sister when your family was basically harassing her!”

“And they shouldn’t have gotten involved. Nobody can mess up with my future-wife but me” He frowns.

“…How convenient to call her your wife, as if you hadn’t done what you did” You cross your arms “And now what? I hope you’re planning on apologizing soon”

“I will, I will, but you gotta promise me to not tell anyone! Especially your dad, he’s going to kill me if he learns I’ve been messing around with one of his daughters”

“Nice way to phrase that, champ” you wince in disgust “Fine, as much as I hate your prank and everything you’ve done to my sister, I’ll keep quiet, but only if you apologize”

“Thank you, Y/N-chan! You’re the best little sister I never had!” he lunges forward to take you into his arms, but you move away from him before he can even grasp you with his fingers. He whines in dismay as a bigger pout appears on his lips.

“Get apologizing, or I might even tell Ren about it too” you cautioned.

“Oooooh no, that won’t be necessary” Gojo trembles away from you at the mention of your older brother, who, in his own merit, can just be as frightening as your dad whenever angered. It goes unsaid that of all your siblings, Ren is the one that tolerates him the least.

“I’ll do the right thing now that you’ve made me see where I’m wrong. I mean, I was planning to do so I just didn’t know how to make the grand reveal, but don’t worry about it, I’ll do it!”

You find his response to be… cheesy, to say the least, with the feeling that he was simply playing along with your requests.

But that’d be the least of your concerns now that everything was revealed (meaning that he wasn’t injured, thank god) and he got what he wanted. From this point forward, all that you needed to do with Satoru was keep a close eye on him and hold him to his word.

Thus, once you made peace with the fact that your brother-in-law was a lil piece of shit, but was planning on apologizing to your sister, you proceed to recollect the items you distraughtly dropped onto the floor after this screeching revelation and handed them over to Satoru, under the excuse that he should be able to set them up himself , now that his “broken” arm was in perfect condition, before waving him a quick goodbye and heading back to your room with the intention of resuming the match you paused in order to visit him.

However, just as Satoru had managed to fool your sister, you had managed to play the fool as well.

When you stood there, listening to him reveal all the details of his preposterous revenge plan, you slowly came to the realization that his transgression, although primarily directed to your sister, affected you as well.

This wasn’t something of a first occurrence—Satoru had gone back and forth with your sister when it came to annoying her and vice versa, however, your sister had always taken the stance of the bigger person and ignored him for most of the part, that is, until she reached her breaking point and decided to do something about it.

Something that fell in her unforeseen failure.

Nonetheless, there is one thing that they never accounted for when they were too entangled in this cat and dog pursuit.

And that was… that you’ve been witness to it all.

You’ve miraculously remained uninvolved in their affairs, allowing you to play the part of bystander, or confidant for when the moment required it, such as today with your sister, who although might’ve not given much detail of what she was planning, she uncharacteristically revealed that she was working on something, or Satoru, who gave you his complete testimony on why —although partially— he did this, and how.

You were treated like an underdog of sorts, a person they consider far out of their circle, someone who is not interested in their lifestyles, thus, not someone worthy to rope into their madness.

Acts that lead them to lowering their guards and becoming sloppy when it comes to guarding secrets around you.

And while their assumption wasn’t that farfetched, as you weren’t really that interested in playing this game of chase they have going on, (or courting, as some weird elders would often describe it as) you couldn’t deny the upper hand this whole incident has given you.

It’s the perfect opportunity to make a plan of your own to make him repay for this little insubordination he’d committed against your sister—against your family.

Nobody could ever see it coming because they often spent their time underestimating you.

A smile appears on your lips as you set your mind into your new goal.

You’ll take advantage of this unprecedented position for as long as you can, carefully observing the unwary Satoru and exploiting his weaknesses.

You’re in no rush. After all, he’s staying at your house.

And you weren’t empty handed. You had assets to exploit, unaccounted allies such as your best friend Sumire, and your older brother Ren, who you knew would jump at the first opportunity to humiliate Satoru, just as he’d done in the past, to count with.

Oh, he would never expect this from you.

You’ll teach Gojo to not mess up with the L/N clan, that is, unless he’s willing to take the heat.

#series side stories: first it hurts—#gojo satoru x oc #jujutsu kaisen oc #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen

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steelandblood · 1 year

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Character Intros

So as I started writing some longer things and will hopefully start posting them soon periodically, I think it’s a good time to introduce the recurring characters that I will be using. These characters are based on PC’s (and a few NPC’s) from one of my DND campaigns, so most stories will have my PC as the main character and the whumpee (cause I obviously know and care about her the most and I’m uncomfortable torturing other ppls PC’s unless I’m DMing) and will take place in parallel universes, in the same vague fantasy DND forgotten realms settings. Also all names changed cause it’s not exactly the same characters but rather my interpretation of them, and more importantly to reduce the chance of anyone finding out. (though if you’re reading this you have no right to judge me cause you are here as well)

Character profiles under the cut. All portraits made in this picrew.

Mirwen (female 25)

Main whumpee. Half-elf oath of vengeance paladin. She grew up with her very abusive human father, and joined the military to get away from home. After several years she left to become an adventurer, which would allow her to engage in legally questionable vigilante activities. She is trying to keep an appearance of being strong and stoic but she’s very impulsive and uses anger to hide her fear. Would rather die then ask for help. She is the designated responsible adult of the party, and is extremally protective of the other party members and would happily sacrifice herself for them.

Rauna (18 female)

One of 2 main caretakers. Half-elf life domain cleric of Salune. She never knew her parents and was raised by nuns. She had a quite happy, but very sheltered childhood, and ran away from the monastery to become an adventurer to to see the world and use her powers to help people. She’s smart but very awkward, so often ends up accidently saying the wrong thing, but she is doing her best. Baby of the teem who can do no wrong and must be protected at all costs. Also she’s the main healer and the one with revivify so if she dies everyone dies.

Calina (23 female)

Party member Aasimar arcane-trickster rogue. She is from a well off family and grew up with loving and protective parents. She wanted to learn how to fight and learn magic so her parents reluctantly allowed her to go away and become an adventurer. She is the party’s resident ray of sunshine and probably the most emotionally stable one. She is very nice and friendly, and can talk her way out of most situations, and she usually sees the best in people, though sometimes she can be too trusting.

Thancur (20 male)

Party member Earth genasi battle-smith artificer. He was raised by his dwarvish adoptive father and grew up to be a blacksmith just like him. When his father disappeared under mysterious circumstances he became an adventurer in the hopes of finding or avenging his father. He is definitely the smart one of the team and he tries to act like a serious adult but can sometimes be childish or petty due to his naivete and youth. He is rather stoic and quite introverted, so though he likes his party, he can sometimes feel somewhat uncomfortable with how loud and emotional his teammates can get.

Alysa (28 female)

One of 2 main caretakers. Mirwen’s crush/S.O Aasimar life domain cleric of Eldath. She grew up with a single mother who was a midwife and she followed in her mother’s footsteps and became a healer. She never really left her hometown, quite content with living a safe and “boring” life and leaving the adventuring for others. She is calm and patient, but can be strict when needed. She is smart and good at reading people, but not the best with dealing with other’s emotions.

Firiende (~300? female)

The party’s employer/boss. Thuncur’s new mentor High Elf necromancer wizard. She is very intelligent and dedicates her time to the pursuit of knowledge, especially of dark and forbidden magic, not for some evil plans but out of genuine curiosity. She does not like risking herself though, so despite being way more powerful than them, she employs adventurers for the dirtier and more dangerous parts of her research. She is very calm and collected, and it’s near impossible to get a rise out of her. She is nice enough but doesn’t really get emotionally attached to anyone, especially from shorter lived species.

Adan (22 male)

Party’s “sidekick” and Calina’s boyfriend Human mercenary He is Calina’s childhood friend, they grew up together and they both always planned to go adventuring and see the world. When Calina went off adventuring he joined a well respected mercenary group. He met the party when they were off on a quest and dicided to join them so he could travel with Calina as they always dreamed of doing. He is not a full member of the party but more of a “sidekick” as, though he is a good fighter, he is still “just some guy” and not nearly as powerful as them. He is levelheaded and easygoing and does not involve himself with the others’ drama. He is always trying to learn new things and improve himself so he can be as powerful as Calina and prove himself to her.

Duke Amerik Ravengard (40′s male)

Whumper Human noble Honestly I don’t ever give whumpers much character, but what’s story relevant is that he is a power hungry noble that wants to build himself an undead army (dead soldiers are lower maintenance and cheaper than living ones) and will do whatever he can to get his hands on Firiende’s research that he believes will allow him to achieve that.

#character intro #character reference #character picrew #whump character #I'll probably reblog it periodically as I update it and add more characters #not me trying to be ~quirky and original~ with the though bubble things #dnd oc #dnd character #dnd whump #I'll hopefully post the first story this week

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brightoakgame · 2 years

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Halloween Short #1 - John Forster

To lead off, here’s a ghostly encounter with our esteemed Sheriff Forster, written in the style of O. Henry’s Western short stories. Extra special thanks to @remnantation and @herotome for being the quickest-draw editors around. Enjoy!

We’d been shambling along in the dusty purple twilight for several rounds of eternity when finally we crested the top of the hill, the moon peeking over the rise alongside us, fair and full. I was glad to see her, as it seemed likely our detour would be rather more tiresome than I’d hoped for in the optimistic light of day, and in turn she obligingly spread her blanket of silver light over the landscape before us, as if preparing a nocturnal picnic to which Estrella the horse and I were the only invitees in the wide world.

Scanning the lay of things, my attention was arrested by a smattering of buildings nestled between the hills, and with these sure signs of civilization ahead, I began leading Estrella into a hollow like the cupped palm of a giant’s hand.

“Easy, easy, chiquita. I know we’d just decided this whole rotten path was engineered by bad fairies, but look--it does lead somewhere, after all.”

A soft whicker beside me offered her doubtful take on the matter.

“Why, yes, I think it probably is long abandoned, as a matter of fact. But that just means we’ll have our pick of shelter, and we can continue down the hill by daylight instead.”

Before us lay the sort of small mining town that once cropped up all over the mountainous spine of the state, appearing almost overnight among the chaparral and oaks like the early summer poppies, only to burn out and collapse again. The sun-bleached facades of the main street stood out in the clear night air like tombstones, and though I am not myself given to flights of fancy, I shuddered slightly as the wind seemed to turn cold and mournful.

I wonder how long it’s been since--

Abruptly, Estrella dug in, whinnying sharply. The sudden halt nearly jerked my arm from its socket, and set the lantern I carried swinging wildly.

“Dammit, what--”

A pair of stout oak trees flanked the path before us like sentinels, and with a prickling animal awareness, I knew we were no longer alone.

“Funny sort of time to be out strollin’ the hills, Stranger.”

I whirled, following the semi-rhythmic jingle of spurs to their source: a pair of cracked boots, dusty and seamed leathers, an easygoing stance, a tall white Stetson hat. What moonlight succeeded in filtering through the canopy of the trees caught and snagged on the flash of a friendly grin, a canteen outlined in one hand, the glint of a gunbarrel in the other. I tensed up at the sight of that last, putting up my hands, lantern, reins, and all, but felt my shoulders drop a quarter inch as he raised his head, and a six-pointed star shone out from his breast like a beacon.

“Sheriff…?” I began. As beginnings go, it wasn’t much to be proud of, my voice shaky and hoarse.

The brim of the hat tipped cordially, a grubby forefinger touching it without releasing hold of the canteen. “That’s what they call me hereabouts. Sheriff John Forster, at your service. That is, so long as you ain’t here for the purpose of stirrin’ up some kinda trouble. If you are…”

“I’m not,” I answered, more in the vein of speed than dignity. “Just looking for a place to lay up for the night, so Estrella and I can make our way on to the other side of the mountain by daylight instead of starlight.”

The barrel of the gun buried itself back into its holster, and the sheriff took a tipple from the canteen before holstering that as well. “That strikes me as a fair plan. Always leave m’own horse snug in his stable while I make my night rounds; walkin’ in the dark is a good road to puttin’ a foot in a rabbit hole, but night ridin’ is a sure way to end up ass over teakettle in the dirt somewhere unpleasant. If you’ll pardon my language.”

He waved a hand down twice, slowly, as if gentling an overanxious beast, and I took it as my cue to lower my arms again. Estrella, however, seemed to take great offense to sharing the hillside--or indeed any other part of the world our eyes could touch--with the sheriff, friendly as he was, and continued tossing her head and balking. I figured the wafting scent of him on the wind (whiskey, something like campfire and sulfur) was the source of her restless objections, but being well mannered, I did not give the suspicion voice, merely smiling at him in an apologetic sort of way as she snorted and did her best to tear my arm off.

The sheriff’s bright, humorous eyes took in the situation at a glance, twinkling as he tipped his head in the direction of the derelict town.

“Nice enough creatures, but not much but hay and oats between the ears, have they? Though I suspect they think much the same of us. Lucifer ‘n’ I are less bosom companions, and more live in a state of uneasy truce. Shall we get that nag of yours to shelter?”

Appreciating his agreeable nature, I nodded, dragging the recalcitrant Estrella behind me. “I have to admit, I’m surprised to find any inhabitants this side of the mountain. Is there a stable in town?”

The sheriff’s easy gait fell in pace with mine, and he nodded.

“Sure. I suppose it ain’t much of a town these days, but that’s all a matter of perspective, ain’t it?”

Looking ahead towards the unprepossessing assemblage of buildings, I was hard pressed not to utter an exclamation of surprise, as I found I’d assigned the designation of tombstones prematurely. The warm light of home fires shone in the windows of the houses before us, plumes of smoke writhing and curling up into the sky like cats broken free from the shackles of gravity. Somewhere nearby, a guitar was being tortured into surrendering a bad likeness of Oh Suzanna, and what I took to be a saloon let a measure of laughter spill out into the street, liberally dosed with lamplight.

“I guess things look different at a distance,” I muttered, and the sheriff nodded his Stetson wisely by way of reply.

“Don’t they just. From where I stand, there are those that might not see much life in this place, bein’ situated as we are in the back of beyond--but me, I seen a city or two, and they don’t seem to be for nothin’ but show. Like the back of my own hand, this is, and I don’t want no truck with the back of anyone else’s. That said--and by no means do I intend to sound unfriendly--what brings you to my home, Stranger?”

All this time I had been dragging along my stubborn mare by main force, and my reply came back panting and rather heated. “Pass was blocked--rockslide. Couldn’t make it through. Thought--faster to go over the mountain--than around it. Saw the path--”

The sheriff shook his head sympathetically. “Aye, there are deer paths better maintained than that ol’ ossified and overgrown road. All the same, in the mornin’, you follow her on past the old fort, and you’ll hit Hillsfoot, sure ‘nough. And then it’ll be back to easier trails for you.”

I was flush with gratitude when we came upon the promised stable, and I was able to see the overanxious Estrella to bed in a snug stall, watered and fed and glad to part ways with our new acquaintance. The sheriff waved off my suggestion of payment, giving me an easy shrug.

“No need. Though, if you feel yourself indebted and ain’t averse to easy labor, I’d be glad of your company as I patrol tonight. It’s lonesome work, once the world goes to bed.”

“With pleasure,” I answered, reinvigorated as I was now that feeling was beginning to return to my arm. The exchange of Estrella’s companionship for that of the chatty sheriff struck me as a deal in my favor, given her earlier mood, and I was loath to sleep on such a bright night. “What are we patrolling for?”

The sheriff took another draw from his canteen, which I had since identified as the source of the whiskey-smell. “You familiar with El Muerto?”

Whatever I was expecting, it was not that, and I said as much, adding uneasily that I was unfamiliar with any individual subscribing to such an alarming nomenclature.

The sheriff nodded, his gaze fixing forward again. “Fella was a bad sort, so they say, and when the law caught up to him, they lopped off his head and tied his corpse to the saddle of his poor horse, as a warning to any considering a similar path of sin and poor judgment. Supposedly happened in Texas. Always struck me as a very Texas kinda story, that.”

“Lucky we’re in California, then. Unless you meant to suggest some sequel brought this El Muerto all the way out here?”

His eyes glinted at me from beneath the Stetson, a mild frown caught between his ruddy brows. “You don’t consider that a possibility, yourself?”

I gave an impatient shrug. “Why would a corpse from Texas end up in the California mountains? And what kind of harm can a dead person do, that you’re out on patrol?”

He chuckled, rich and deep in his chest. “Well, it can frighten children and horses, as it would seem. El Muerto is known to turn up all manner of places he oughtn’t any right to be, as it happens; seems he took it in his head--if you’ll pardon the poor choice of words--he oughta wander all the way over here to California, an’ New Mexico, an’ Arizona, too, as well’s traversing his own home turf. Thought you might like a friendly warning odd things are out ‘n about at night. But you don’t believe in apparitions, I take it?”

I shake my head, bemused. “Not at all. Don’t tell me--are we out hunting for ghosts in the night?”

His smile reached out and met mine in a handshake. “Well, one of us might be. I’m an open-minded sort, take things as they come. Phantasms, spacemen… strangers on a detour.”

“I am not a ghost.”

“Never claimed you was.”

Uneasy, I picked up the pace, easily matched by the clinking spurs beside me.

“So, what? The town is small enough they keep the sheriff up ghost-hunting through the night?”

“That there sounds like judgment on your part,” he observed casually.

“Not necessarily bad judgment, is it?”

The Stetson swiveled, the sheriff’s gaze beneath it steady and amused. “Ain’t the job of the sheriff to do more’n bring in those as would do harm. I’m neither judge nor jury; I’ll leave that to those better qualified. Word is this is haunted land, and that a ghost is on his eternal patrol hereabouts, for good or ill. Me, I’ll stand my ground to be sure that whatever might wander ain’t there to cause trouble.”

My apprehension eased, and I nodded cordially. “The town is lucky to have you for a guardian, Sheriff Forster.”

The remainder of the night, I couldn’t say with precision what it was we spoke of, but a fair accord was struck between us. By the time exhaustion finally caught up with me, we were closer than common blood could ever have fashioned a pair; he’d tell me ghost stories, and I’d respond with a measure or two of the common sense he seemed to be lacking, and if you asked me, to this day I could call to mind the timbre of his laughter as clear as if I’d heard it mere moments before, echoing in the lonesome night among the oaks and sleepy brushland.

I awakened just before sunrise, laid out on a wooden bench before the stables, the sheriff’s face looming over me. He wore a smile gentle as the dawn to come, apologetic and kind, and smelling stronger than ever of whiskey and brimstone.

“Here, friend. It’s time for me to head on home, and for you to move on down the road apace. Get that nag saddled up before sunbreak, and you’ll reach Hillsfoot by noon without hurrying.”

I rose stiffly from my makeshift couch, watching as he threw himself astride a sizable stallion, black as the depths of a night with no moon.

“Farewell, Sheriff Forster. Thank you for providing us shelter and companionship.”

He looked back at me over his shoulder, winking as the sky behind him began to lighten. “I could just as easily thank you for offering companionship, yourself. S’all perspective.”

With a laugh, I nodded, and turned to fetch Estrella.

----------------------------------------------------------------

“Stranger, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

The proprietor of the Hillsfoot Inn gave me a look of grave misgiving, and I did my level best to assemble a smile of reassurance for him. The result of my endeavor clearly did not do the trick, and he fell back a pace.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I replied, more weakly than I might’ve liked.

Observing me closely, he poured me a dram of something strong and clear as ditchwater, passing it across the bar. “Many I’ve heard say the same--though those that come from the hills above seldom believe themselves in saying it.”

I drained the ditchwater in my glass with a sputtering cough, and pushed it back his direction for a refill. “That town up there.”

“Ghost town,” he answered, pouring out another splash of whatever his bottle held, and returning it to me by express. “If it ever had a name, I never knowed it--but it’s been empty some decades now, at the least.”

I nodded, allowing the previous run at a beverage time to fully assault my innards before moving on to the next round. “The sheriff.”

The good innkeep went still, and then cut the middle man and exchanged the glass for the half-full bottle instead. “Met the sheriff, did you?”

I nodded, and the innkeep picked up my glass, downing it himself. “Friendly sort, Sheriff Forster,” I managed.

“I’ve heard. Friendly enough, so long as you don’t mean his town any harm.”

I uncorked the bottle, calling to mind the sheriff’s amiable visage briefly, before it was overtaken by another memory altogether.

“We patrolled through the night. But--just before dawn--”

The innkeep rested his elbows on the bar, and, realizing I had the ear of the entire tavern now, I squared my shoulders.

“Just before dawn, he saddled up and headed off to a hill at the edge of the town, and waited there, as if intending to see me off. The sun had just peeked up over the horizon. I rode through the empty streets, passing a load of tumbled-down buildings, clearly rendered uninhabitable by time and neglect, though hours earlier they’d felt full of life. And just before I passed out of view--”

I cleared my throat, knowing my voice to be hoarse and uneven, but the room hung on my every word all the same.

“Just before I passed out of view, I looked back, meaning to wave goodbye. The sheriff raised his hat--and I turned and I rode down that mountainside fast as a horse can go.”

I hesitated to give voice to what I thought I’d seen. After all, it could well have been a matter of perspective. Things often appear other than they are, at a distance. Maybe I should’ve taken the time to wave.

“Yep. I reckon Sheriff Forster is kind and fair,” an old-timer down the bar nodded sagely, his rasping voice cutting through the heavy silence. “Good man, and good enough company for a night--but come morning, you realize he’s got no head at all.”

#bright oak #halloween shorts #el muerto #headless horseman #o henry #western #sheriff john forster #man of the law #embarrassment to decency #spooky season #short story #short fiction #ghost story #cowboy #visual novel #interactive fiction #oelvn

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ragnarokcat · 11 months

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I just watched spiderman across the spider verse today, so here is my review. (Spoilers for the movie, obviously)

Across the spider verse definitely lived up and exceeded my expectations for it. It tells the emotional side of hiding something from the people you care about really well, while also maintaining a fun story and it's usual humor.

The Spot (One of the main antagonists, though he does not have as much screen time as Miguel O'Hara, still remains a crucial driving force for both Miles and Miguel) was well written, starting off as a weaker more humorous villain and growing to be more powerful at the end of the film. I anticipate that Beyond the spider verse would feature him in his more powerful form more than across the spider verse, as across the spider verse seemed to be more set up for a grand finale in beyond the spider verse.

Miguel O'Hara is another well written character, you can see why he is doing what he is doing, which is to try to keep the spider verse together and stable, even if his methods often involve the death of people close to the other Spiderman's, (Major Spoilers warning for people who missed the first one.) Which becomes a major factor behind the conflict between Miles and Miguel.

I could continue on with how well written the main characters are, with Miles and Gwen also being huge examples. For the sake of time and to not repeat the same reason over and over, I will talk about them both in this paragraph. Both Miles and Gwen struggle with living two separate lives. Gwen reveals who she is to her father at the beginning of the film, which causes her dad to go into a state of confusion, and ultimately pushes Gwen away, who promptly leaves with Miguel and Jess. Miles never tells his parents that he is his worlds spider man. Throughout the film, you can see him struggle with living two lives at the same time. His grades suffer (especially Spanish to his parents disappointment) and he is late for an important event two times during the film, both because he was busy fighting the spot or a variety of smaller villains or criminals.

The animation was incredible. Props to the animation department for making the animation as good as it was. The way they blended styles together was really well done, it felt like it both belonged (as in it seemed the character was actually there, as opposed to it feeling just plastered on, even with conflicting styles.) And felt like it didn't belong ( as in the character was from a different world). A good example of this is the Renaissance Vulture at the beginning of the film, or the live action prowler that was locked in the main "Spider base."

Overall, I think it was a good movie. It was well written and had incredible animation. It sets up the next film great ( Why can't they release it tomorrow). Ending in a cliff hanger helps build anticipation for Beyond the spider verse.

I would rate it 10/10. It was a fun movie to watch and contained a lot of humor, but was able to take itself seriously when it needed to. Its characters are well written and have motives behind what they do during the film. The movie also covers an emotional issue of keeping a part of you a secret from those you care about most, and the emotional struggle that comes with hiding who you are, and wanting to tell them, but not knowing how or if they'll accept you.

TL;DR:

Spiderman: Across the spider verse is a fantastic film. It has well written characters, a fun plot, and was fantastically animated.

#across the spiderverse #spiderverse spoilers #review #movie #spiderman #spider man: across the spider verse

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asianhappinesss · 2 years

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Memory Of Encaustic Tile

Summary

he year is 2002. There are 5 friends who live in the same neighborhood and attend the same school. They practically grew up together. Their parents also know one another. Some of them are good friends of each other and work as antique and cultural relic restorers in the palace museum.

Among the 5 of them, Shao Xue shares a special bond with Su Nian who lives just next door. He is 2 years older and she regards him like a brother. She is also close to Zhang Qi who is her classmate. As time passes and they grow older, the feelings among them also start to change. Su Nian and Zhang Qi start to see Shao Xue differently and begin to fall for her. But they hide their feelings and Shao Xue is oblivious to it all until much later.

Shao Xue’s dream is to venture abroad and explore the world. Su Nian prefers to stay put and wishes things will never change. But when tragedy strikes, hard decisions have to be made. Over time, the 5 friends also have different paths in life that they have to take once they leave school and become adults. Will Shao Xue and Su Nian’s relationship endure the passage of time and circumstances?

Review

Memory Of Encaustic Tile (昔有琉璃瓦) struck me as a nostalgic drama and it has been some time since I watched one. Thus, I thought why not and decided to just dive in without expecting much. Frankly speaking, this kind of drama has always appeared similar and predictable to me but they can still be interesting with proper plot execution. Whether this one managed to secure my vote as a great drama will be detailed in my Memory Of Encaustic Tile review below. But if I have to summarize my opinion in one word, I would say that it is slow-moving.

Heartwarming But Long-Winded

Memory Of Encaustic Tile gives viewers a very nostalgic and heartwarming feel. The friendship among the younger generation as well as their parents will touch you as you watch. Chances are you will cry for some of the scenes. You will be affected by both the sadness and heartening moments as the characters journey through life.

However, while there will be tears, I don’t find it to be as strong a tearjerker as Go Ahead which is also another coming of age drama. That one is more emotionally moving as the drama includes the characters’ experiences and bonding as kids. Memory Of Encaustic Tile begins with the kids already in their teenage years. Their lives are pretty much stable with loving parents who care a lot of them. A tragedy only occurred around the halfway mark. So, for the first half of the drama, you will merely see a bunch of kids with their typical teenage life that revolves around school, exams, crush, mischiefs, and friends.

Personally, I find the drama to be too slow paced. After 8 episodes or so, I can’t wait for the characters to grow up and give us a more interesting story. Maybe because the plot is just too predictable for me to have the patience to sit through it without skipping. It gets boring after a while to watch a few teenagers plodding through life. I guess if you like slice-of-life youth dramas, then Memory Of Encaustic Tile might fit your preference. But if you want something more from the plot, then this would be lacking.

A Subdued Romance

For those who are looking for a full-fledged college romance drama like To Fly With You or even Our Secret, I wouldn’t think Memory Of Encaustic Tile would fall into that category. Firstly, the couple got together pretty late in the drama. For the most part, their relationship has a brotherly-sisterly feel to me. Add in the various friendships among the characters, the drama does not have a strong romance flavor to it.

Secondly, the story to the main couple’s romance is not exactly well-executed either. There is a lot to digest once they started dating and problem cropped up. There are time jumps here and there that the story seems rushed towards the end. So, it is hard to figure out at times how long time has passed for some scenes. It also feels inconsistent with the slower pacing that dominates a substantial part of the drama.

Perhaps if you like a big brother to lover transition to your romance, then Memory Of Encaustic Tile will seem sweet. The guy really cares about the girl and they do like to be around each other. You would also know that they will end up together as you watch. Thus, it is predictable in that sense. That is why I also wondered if it could have been more interesting if the screenwriters have made it less obvious who the female lead would end up with. After all, 2 guys are in love with her and the time period stretches more than a decade.

Acting And Chemistry

I think the overall cast did a good job with their respective roles. Yukee Chen is still convincing as a high school student despite her age. I have only seen her in xianxia and historical dramas prior to this such as Ashes Of Love and Heaven Sword And Dragon Sabre. So, it is a change for me to see her in this drama with a teenager role. But she still managed to give life to the character with her cutesy antics and expressions. She projected a very bubbly Shao Xue to the viewers to give us the feel of a very energetic and cheerful lass.

However, some may feel that the actress’ portrayal is overdone and exaggerated as she is trying too hard to be cute. Some scenes may appear so but overall, I’m okay with her acting. At the very least, she doesn’t put me off. You would have to watch a few episodes to see if her portrayal resonates with you as her character largely remains that way for the whole 34 episodes.

As for Lin Yi, I don’t think his role is a challenge for him. After all, he has played a student before in Put Your Head On My Shoulder and Love Scenery. He appeared calm and cool as Su Nian and his emotions can be seen from his eyes. Although he is much younger than Yukee Chen, the age gap is not obvious at all in the drama. They have pretty good chemistry together but I wouldn’t term it as top notch. At most, they are sweet rather than sizzling as a couple.

My Verdict – Okay For A Youth Drama

I think you really need to like this genre to find Memory Of Encaustic Tile to be a great watch. You need to like the slice of life feel and coming of age stories to be able to relate to it. Yes, it is heartwarming and will make you teary. This is where this drama shines as it depicts the daily lives of the various characters who are neighbors and good friends. Not many dramas can effectively stir your emotions and this one happened to be able to do so up to a point.

However, it is also a little slow-paced and predictable. You wouldn’t enjoy it if you expect more to the plot and want things to move faster rather than be stuck with tales of school and teenage life for more than half of the total episodes.

In addition, it is also not a romance-heavy drama. In fact, I find the romance part falling flat with too much melodrama. The guy’s selflessness isn’t necessary and even seems a little cruel to me. Some may find quiet sacrifice as romantic but it is still too cliche to my liking. Furthermore, a guy who doesn’t know how to support his girl’s dream and talk things over is not good optics for a viewer when it comes to an ideal on-screen boyfriend.

Overall, I would give this Memory Of Encaustic Tile review a score of 7/10. It is okay to watch and remember to have a few pieces of tissues within reach. The fast forward button is always there if you start to find it boring like me. You won’t miss much even if you scan and skip. I would say forget the romance and just enjoy the interactions among the different characters. The romance wouldn’t make you swoon unless you really have a thing for childhood friend-cum-big brother vibes to your love story.

#cdrama

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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A new servant desperately struggles to understand what exactly Merlin is:

A cryptid? Arthur's boyfriend? Simply a dude? The court jester? Something else entirely? Who knows, certainly not the new guy.

The first time the new kitchen-hand, Tristan, saw The King’s dark-haired servant sprinting down the corridor, he couldn’t tell if the man was laughing or crying.

He was fast, faster than Tristan thought possible for someone whose arms were so full of laundry, but he politely steps out of the way, coming to the conclusion that he must’ve been late for something. At least... he did think that, until he turns the next corner to see three of The king’s most trusted knights peering out of windows and into random doors. Tristan freezes in the corridor, he’d heard that servants were treated extremely well here, but he’d only been employed for a few days and he didn’t want to risk anything by pushing past or addressing his betters.

One of the knights, Sir Leon, his brain helpfully supplies, spots him stood there, and his annoyed frown quickly morphs into a friendly smile:

“Pardon me, sorry, I don’t suppose you’ve seen Merlin around anywhere, have you?”

Tristan’s eyes go wide and the grip he has on his tray tightens, but he forces himself to take a breath and answer, trying his best to keep his voice even:

“Merlin is... The King’s manservant? Tall, with dark hair?”

Another knight pushes forward, he looks to be the oldest, with dark hair falling in an almost deliberately tousled way around his bearded jawline. His charming grin seems just a little too wide to be genuine, but Tristan isn’t quite sure if that’s because he’s about to take pleasure in punishing someone, or if he’s just being polite to a stranger:

“Yeah, yeah that’s him, seen him? Arsehole turned our shirts pink in the wash, and something tells me it was deliberate.”

Tristan gulps at the accusation and he takes a shaky step back, but before he can even think of defending the stranger that he now thinks must’ve been crying, the last of the three knights, a giant, if Tristan believed in such things, steps forward:

“Don’t worry, we won’t beat him too much.”

He says it with a grin and a quirk of his eyebrows, but once again the kitchen-hand can’t tell if it was cruel or genuine, if he was being sarcastic or not.

“Uh... yeah, he turned left at the end of this corridor, but I didn’t see where he went after that, I apologise.”

Sir Leon waves away his apology with a smile, looking to the long-haired knight with a raised eyebrow:

“The stables?”

The man grins widely, nodding his agreement as he turns his grin to the giant. Sir Leon offers Tristan another soft smile, murmuring his thanks before moving past him, elbowing the other two to prompt them in to thanking him as well. The three of them march down the corridor with almost vindictive smiles on their faces, and Tristan prepares himself to see a vacancy note, or possibly a funeral invite, posted on the notice board by the next morning.

When he passes a window that evening to see the King’s manservant being carried on the giant’s shoulders as five other knights pelt them with gloves, a grin on every face, he decides that... well... it’s probably best to just not to ask.

The next time he sees Merlin, a few days later, The King is also there.

This is the first time Tristan has been in Arthur Pendragon’s presence, and though the other servant’s all rave on about how awkwardly kind he is, he’s a bundle of nerves. Not even Cook’s stories about how often she whacks The King’s knuckles with a wooden spoon when she catches him about to pilfer something stops Tristan’s heart from racing.

The King was overseeing a few of the servants decorate the main hall for a feast, and whilst Tristan is certain that that’s not something The King normally does, he doesn’t question it, just thinks that maybe the other servants had been telling the truth, and he was a genuinely nice, but normal man.

Merlin stands at his side, and though Tristan can’t hear their conversation, the two of them are clearly bickering over something. The servant can’t help his curiosity, wanting desperately to move closer to find out what sort of things The King allows his servant to bicker with him about; luckily, the table right next to them has yet to be laid, so he moves towards it quickly. He doesn’t even glance at them, terrified of being caught out, but perhaps Merlin surviving the knights non-wrath the other day is encouraging him, and his steps don’t falter. Their words come in to focus, and he has to stop the confused, and slightly horrified, frown from spreading across his face:

“Arthur, I swear to the Gods, if you make me wear that hat again, I’ll piss in your wine and serve it to you in front of a crowd.”

The King scoffs just as Tristan shakily begins laying down the cutlery:

“That’s treason, Merlin.”

“Do I look like I care? Not only will I piss in your wine, I will not hesitate to push you over a balcony at the first opportunity. This hall is high up and it’s a long way down to the gardens. He drank toxic wine and turned loopy and tipped himself off a balcony and went splat! That’s what people will say. I’m not wearing the Godamn hat.”

Tristan has to focus extra carefully to stop himself from gasping; Merlin just threatened to kill The King... that’s got to be a death sentence. Pissing off some knights that he’s obviously friendly with is one thing, but threatening to kill The-

“Ha ha. Very funny. If you can’t tell, Merlin, I’m being sarcastic, I know you struggle with complex concepts like that.”

Merlin just rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as he says with no hesitation:

“My mind is more than capable of coping, My Lord, it’s your belt I worry about being able to cope nowadays.”

Tristan bites his tongue to stop himself from yelping and turns away so neither of them can see his horrified face. The King just makes an outraged noise in the back of his throat, and Tristan can hear Merlin snort in laughter at whatever expression Arthur was wearing to match such a noise:

“Go to the stocks. I want you there for three hours.”

Tristan lets out a confused breath; Merlin threatens to kill The King, and gets playful sarcasm, but he implies The King might be a tad overweight, and gets sent to the stocks for three hours? How is that-

“Yeah... no. Not happening. The feast starts in less than two hours and I still have to help Guinevere organise some stuff in the courtyard, do Gaius’ rounds for him, then put an extra hole in your belt and help you get dressed because, despite being a grown man, you’re still an idiot who’s incapable of putting clothes on in any sort of decent manner.”

Tristan finds himself relaxing a little. This seems to be the norm for them, but surely... surely The King had a line somewhere, and a servant just flat out refusing to be disciplined must be where it lies?

Arthur just scoffs, and Tristan angles his head in such a way that he can see him roll his eyes:

“Fuck off.”

Merlin grins, seeming to cast a suspicious gaze over the room to make sure no one was watching and somehow completely missing Tristan stood just there, before saying quietly:

“You love me really, you prat.”

With that, Merlin reaches up to yank at a lock of The King’s hair before hurrying off in the direction of the courtyard before Arthur can react. The King jumps slightly, clearly caught by surprise as an annoyed flush rises on his face, but Tristan just frowns in confusion when his shock gives way to a softly amused smile.

Huh.

The next few times Tristan saw Merlin made him fear for the servant’s safety. He was being taken on hunts by The King and his knights, that’s meant to be for squires, to learn the ropes and gain experience in tracking and riding.

He supposes it isn’t entirely unheard of for a servant to follow their master on a hunt, but with the way Merlin complains without pause, and The King in turn complains about his complaining, he thinks it would better for everyone if Merlin just... didn’t go. When he brings it up to another servant, a lovely woman named Guinevere who had helped him get unlost at least three times in his first week, she just laughs and smiles at him pityingly:

“I wouldn’t worry, those two have been like that forever, they’re practically inseparable.”

Tristan responds with a rather intelligent sounding:

“...What?”

Gwen laughs softly again, shaking her head and patting his shoulder consolingly:

“You’ll get used to it, they’re just... like that.”

She gives him one more smile before turning to wave the boys out of the gates and walking back to the castle as if this were the most normal thing in the world. Tristan supposes that it probably is.

The next time Tristan sees Merlin leave the city gates with the knights, Sir Elyan, Sir Mordred, and Sir Lancelot this time, it’s distinctly worse. Because he’d caught sight of the patrol rota last time he ran food down to the training ground, and he was certain that those three had a city patrol right about now.

Before he even has time to gape in shock, he hears Merlin’s pleading voice as he trails Sir Elyan like a lost puppy:

“Please, El, I promise to stay out of the way, I will do anything, but I swear to the Gods if I have to spend one more minute around that prat, I’ll hurl myself from the battlements.”

Swearing to the Gods and threating to hurl various people, including himself, from significant heights seems to be some sort of theme for The King’s manservant. Before Tristan can consider the implications of that, Sir Elyan turns to Merlin with a wide, teasing grin on his face:

“You know, I would’ve let you tag along for free, Merlin, but now that you’ve promised me something I feel the need to take advantage.”

Tristan tenses at that, a shot of ice spiking down his spine. He has keen eyes and sharp ears, he knows that Sir Elyan is the lovely Gwen’s brother, Sir Mordred seems to have an... odd worship for the servant, and he’s definitely picked up on the close bond between Merlin and Sir Lancelot, but is this where Camelot’s image comes crashing down in Tristan’s head? He knew that it was better here for servant’s than other Kingdoms, but there are always people who’ll take advantage of their position, no matter where you are. Merlin’s shoulders just drop and he asks in a sulking voice:

“What do you want?”

Tristan grits his teeth, moving his gaze so no one would catch him glaring at the knight as he tries to figure out a way to help, a way to get this virtual stranger out of being... abused, in such a manner. If he’d carried on glaring, he would’ve noticed Elyan’s soft smile and amused raised eyebrow:

“Next time you gather herbs for Gaius, bring back some more of those flowers that you got for Gwen. She said they added vibrancy to the house, whatever that means, but they make her happy, so...-”

Merlin just giggles and nods and Tristan relaxes, looking back to them with a confused smile on his face. That was... actually kind of sweet, he can definitely see the resemblance between the knight and his sister:

“-AND I want whatever Arthur’s having for dinner tonight, his food always looks way nicer than ours.”

Merlin lets out a faux annoyed groan, but then rolls his eyes and grins, nodding:

“Consider it done. Can we go now? I really don’t want to risk him seeing me and giving me some stupid chore to do.”

Elyan laughs and nods, and the four of them begin making their way out of the courtyard and into the city. Sir Lancelot finally joins the conversation, clearly amused as he says:

“You know it’s literally your job to do chores, right?”

Merlin turns to glare at him as Sir Mordred and Sir Elyan laugh, and Tristan only just hears his reply as the castle gates shut behind them:

“Fuck off.”

Tristan decides it would be pointless to bring this up to anyone again, he figures he’ll probably just get the same answer as last time.

The next confusing incident happens only a few days later. But Tristan supposes that at this point... it really shouldn’t be confusing. Gwen was right, he did just... get used to it.

He heard the steps pounding down the corridor before he saw him, but they were coming fast and hard, so he presses himself against the wall, holding the tray to his side to protect it as best he could as Merlin comes skidding round the corner.

He stops just long enough for Tristan to calm himself by spying the wide grin on his face, but he’s quickly sprinting down the hall again, laughing as he waves whatever it is he’s got clutched in his hands. The second set of loud, rapid footsteps stops Tristan from stepping away from the wall quite yet. Just a moment later, Sir Gwaine follows Merlin’s skidded path around the corner, though the heavier man overshoots slightly and he runs into the wall opposite Tristan with a crash and a deep groan.

The rebellious knight gives a wide-eyed Tristan an awkward nod before pushing himself off the wall and following Merlin’s blazing trail, screaming down the corridor:

“I warned you Merlin!! Don’t come between a man and his ale, now give that back you bastard!”

Tristan hears Merlin’s laughter grow louder, even from the two corridors away that the other servant had managed to race to.

He shrugs to himself, waiting for a moment to see if anyone else was going to come barrelling around the corner before sighing, and continuing his journey up to the visiting Lord’s chambers.

It was unusual, he thought, how quickly he’d come to terms with the fact that a servant was sassing The King and pranking the knights and inviting himself on various hunts and patrols that he really had no business on. Unusual indeed.

He’d learnt to ignore it. Or at least brush it off.

In the two weeks since Merlin had (presumably) stolen Sir Gwaine’s skin of ale, he’d seen the servant call The King a long list of imaginative insults (what the hell is a dollop head?), walk around with Sir Leon’s cloak on because he was a little chilly, accuse someone of treason (and somehow been right about it), and threaten to kill at least seven people; including, but not limited to: The King himself, The King’s already dead father, some stuck up Noble (though that was under his breath, Tristan just happened to be stood next to him), and Sir Percival.

And Gwen was... absolutely right. He's just... like that. He's Merlin, and that’s what Merlin does.

So when he turns a corner in a rarely used to corridor to see him pressing The King against a wall, snogging the life out of him, Tristan simply turns around and walks back the other way. Both of them look fairly happy with the arrangement, and they’d probably chosen this corridor for the exact same reason Tristan had: it was out of everyone’s way, and was unlikely to be inhabited.

He thinks it’s odd, how... un-odd he finds it. He absent-mindedly thinks that, with the way they acted around each other, he really should’ve seen this coming. A sudden thought occurs to him, and he ducks into a storage cupboard, laying his tray down carefully as he rummages through the boxes. He lets out a quiet “Yay” when he finds what he’s looking for, carefully picking up his tray with only one hand and nudging the door open again with his hip.

He walks back towards the corner he had just turned (and turned again) making a conscious effort to keep his steps quiet; he places the danger sign, usually used where walls had collapsed or windows had been smashed, in the middle of the corridor, a clear indication of “Do Not Enter”.

He nods smugly at his quick thinking and easy handy work before mentally planning the quickest route to the kitchens and following it hurriedly.

He casually wonders if he has time to circle around to the other end of the corridor so he could put another sign down before Cook gets angry at him for being late. Probably not. At least, not before they... finish up and move on. Hmm. He suddenly panics about the thought of them seeing the sign and knowing that someone had spotted them but... well. Hopefully they would just appreciate it and move on.

Yet again, he decides not to bring this up to anyone. He may or may not have overheard a few of the knights making some sort of bet, and he may or may not want to watch on with amusement as they fail to realise that all of them have already lost.

Tristan smiles to himself; working here had turned out to be rather entertaining, in the end.

THE END

I know it’s short, but I really didn’t know what else to add without it sounding like I was just repeating myself over and over😅

I hope y’all enjoyed it!!

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wistfulcynic · 3 years

Text

The Outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan)

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a schoolteacher, respectable and respected in the small town of Haven, Wyoming. She does her job and minds her business, but she has a secret. One that brings meaning to her dull life and excitement to her restless soul. One that she knows could end at any moment.

Killian Jones is a man with a powerful enemy and nothing to lose. He’s prepared to sacrifice every bit of that nothing for the sake of his revenge.

Or, at least, he was.

I am THRILLED to be here, kicking off the @cshistfic Historical Fics event! I’ve always loved reading romances set in the past and Westerns are a long-time favourite. Given how deeply entrenched the Western genre is in American culture, it’s funny to think about how a) most of it was made up for dime novels and, later, radio and television shows and movies, and b) the actual historical period that we call the Old West only lasted roughly thirty years—from the post-Civil War westward expansion under the Homestead Act to around the turn of the 20th century. This fic is set right around the end of that time—late 1890s to early 1900s—in the waning moments of the open range and the “lawless” frontier and the start of the modern era with its trains and barbed wire and cars and world wars. I’ve tried to capture a bit of that sense of transition in the story, mostly with the way it ends.

Huge thanks to @shireness-says for coming up with and running this event, and to @thisonesatellite for Just Being Her.

Words: 4.9k Rating: T Tags: Western AU, historical, outlaw Killian, schoolteacher Emma, all the historical detail, I did so much research for this

on AO3

The Outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan):

The hour was late, afternoon edging into evening in the town of Haven, Wyoming. ‘Town’ as a designation flattered it, this tiny settlement tucked back against craggy and striated formations of rock and nestled amongst ragged brush, being, as it was, scarcely more than a handful of rough-hewn cabins, a church, a general store, a blacksmith and livery stable, a saloon with its attendant whorehouse, and a school.

The store and the smithy did the town’s most active business; unsurprisingly, seeing as they were the only examples of either within the radius of a good fifty miles. The residents—those who lived within the town’s scant limits—were certainly insufficient in their numbers to support either one, but the owners of those ranches that lay outside the town, they and their ranch hands, their wives, and their daughters, frequented both with pleasing regularity.

The general store doubled, as such establishments generally did, as a post office, in which capacity it served as the sole tenuous link between this stark western land and the fashionable cities of the east. The Sears and Roebuck catalogue and that of Montgomery Ward, both prominently displayed beside the till, were tattered and well-thumbed, and the monthly mail delivery never came without piles of brown-wrapped parcels containing the latest in fashion and technology from the wider world—hints at the wonders promised by the new century.

Very little of this prosperity touched the actual residents of Haven. The lives they lived were hard ones, scratched from unforgiving soil, but they were good folk, honest and hard-working. They lived simply and piously and for the most part happily. They tended their gardens and their livestock, read their Bibles, loved their children, and whenever possible sent those children to school.

The Haven school, a single room with two windows, one on either side, and a disproportionate bell-tower on the roof—both this tower and the bell it contained were gifts from a local rancher, who considered them a better use of his money than blackboards or books—was located well away from the town’s main street. It had no fireplace, only a tiny, smoky, potbellied stove, and in the warmer months no breeze blew through the unglazed windows. The pupils sat on simple benches and copied their lessons onto slates that sold at the general store for rather more than their parents could comfortably afford; lessons their teacher laid out for them on a thickly-whitewashed wall with a piece of charcoal, the dust of which stained her fingers and her clothing, and embedded itself beneath her nails so deeply there were times she felt she’d never be free of it.

This teacher’s name, the one she used, was Miss Emma Swan. A solitary and self-contained woman of about twenty-six, far too pretty for a schoolteacher most said, and if pressed these same would likely agree that teaching was not what folks might refer to as her calling. Though none could deny that she did her best and was kind to the children—a thing not always guaranteed from schoolmarms—she exuded such a restless air, an impatience with the tedium of her job and the pace of life in Haven which she did not trouble to conceal, that it was a subject of great curiosity amongst the residents why she continued to stay there.

“I have my reasons,” she would say, whenever anyone dared to broach the subject, “and those reasons are my own.” There it was and there it would remain as far as Emma was concerned, and as the townsfolk knew her to be a courteous woman but one who never minced her words when riled, they declined to press the issue.

By the time Miss Emma Swan had finished up in the schoolroom on this particular late afternoon, the floor swept and the board cleaned and lessons all prepared for the following day, the sun was already slipping behind the craggy rocks at her back and casting upon the town a peculiar sort of distended twilight—shrouded in shadows beneath a glaring blue sky. As she made her way the short distance between the schoolhouse and her own cabin—or rather, the schoolteacher’s cabin, perhaps the most compelling perk of her job—a brisk breeze ruffled the hem of her skirt and the few flyaway hairs that had escaped her tidy Gibson bun. The night would likely be another chilly one, and Emma wondered absently if she had enough wood left to leave the fire high for an extra hour or two or if she should resign herself now to another cold, dark evening spent alone.

The cabin where she lived, she and sixty years of schoolteachers before her, was small and rough like most in Haven and comprised only two rooms: a small bedroom to the rear and a larger space at the front used equally for sitting, cooking, and dining. In this front room was both a fireplace and stove, the latter surprisingly modern and another gift from a different rancher, to the previous teacher. Near this stove sat a small wooden table and two matching chairs; a soft and generous armchair had pride of place before the fire.

The bedroom was by far Emma’s preferred room. The walls in it were painted, in a pale and soothing blue, and on one of them a charming watercolour of forget-me-nots was hung. There was a white wardrobe with a mirrored door, a washstand and a vanity table, and a large bed with a sturdy iron frame. The curtains on the single window were of dotted swiss that Emma had sewn herself, and in the morning when she opened them she was greeted by the colours of the dawn.

Emma removed her buttoned boots the moment she was through the door; they pinched her toes and she disliked wearing them indoors. She replaced them with a well-worn pair of carpet slippers then headed for the bedroom, there to change out of her school clothes and into the more comfortable, loose wrap dress she preferred at home. When she entered the room she had already undone most of the buttons on her high-collared blouse and so made straight for the wardrobe, without so much as a glance at the bed.

The mirror on the wardrobe door as it swung open flashed the brief reflection of a face, just as Emma heard the sound of a chair leg scrape against the bare wood floor. She gasped and spun around, eyes wide and one hand pressed against her chest.

There could be no question that the man currently in occupation of her vanity chair, sprawled in it with an air as casual as it was deceptive, was one who had followed quite a different path of life than that afforded to the residents of Haven. His untidy hair and the thick scruff on his jaw might not be especially remarkable out in this still-wild corner of Wyoming, but the narrow cut of his coat and the embroidery on the waistcoat beneath it, the silver chain of his pocket-watch and the ostentatious knot of his tie marked him as a man who knew his way around a gambling table for both good or ill and could likely acquit himself equally well in both scenarios. A man who dealt with the hardships of life by shooting rather than working his way out of them—as the gleaming six-shooter currently pointed straight at Emma would most certainly attest.

Emma forced herself to breathe, slow and steady. Her heart was pounding. The man greeted her with a brusque nod, and cocked the hammer on his revolver.

“Don’t let me interrupt you, love,” he drawled, in an accent that suited this town less even than his clothes or his gun. “By all means, keep going.”

Emma swallowed hard and with trembling fingers undid the remainder of her buttons. Her blouse hung open to reveal the hooks of the corset underneath.

The man gave his gun a menacing wave. “All the way now, there’s a good lass.”

She shrugged off the blouse and let it fall to the floor.

“And the skirt.”

She unhooked her grey wool skirt and released it to pool around her ankles.

His voice rasped. “Take down your hair.”

Emma shivered.

Three pins and two combs held her hair in place. She removed them, dropped them into the pile of clothing at her feet; the bun tumbled down and over her shoulder.

“Shake your head.”

She did, vigorously. The bun unraveled further and strands of silky blonde fell across her face.

He swallowed audibly. “Now the rest.”

Emma hesitated, fingers hovering over the hooks on her corset. She wore nothing beneath it but a combination made of thin cotton lawn.

The man raised his gun and growled, “All of it.”

She tossed her head back, jutted her chin out high in defiance. Her belly churned with a dark thrill of anticipation as she unhooked the corset and flung it away. He chuckled, low and rough. Emma fumbled with the buttons on her combination as he uncocked his gun and set it aside, then undid the belt designed to hold it. His eyes locked with hers as he stood, pale blue and profoundly tired, eyes that had seen far too much.

She finished with the buttons but left the combination on, parted to reveal a thin strip of pale skin. Her heart thundered as he approached, her breaths short and heaving. He swaggered up and stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell the dust and sweat on him, so close she had to tilt her head again to see his face. His hand slipped beneath her shift to curl around her waist, fingers rough on her soft skin.

“I—” Emma gasped as he pulled her closer, flush against him. His voice was a rumbling growl in her ear.

“You what, love?”

“I was expecting you yesterday!” she snapped, and then she kissed him.

“Gold is dead.”

Emma’s head shot up from where it had been resting on the bare and hairy chest of Killian Jones. The most notorious outlaw in three states, or so the Wanted posters would have folks believe. Train robber, bank robber, high-stakes gambler—but only the trains and banks and gambling dens controlled by one particular man. A man in whose side Killian Jones had been an exceptionally troublesome thorn for near to six years. A man whose wife Jones stood accused of murdering. A man who was, it seemed, now dead himself.

Emma stared down at his face, at the sharp definition of his cheekbones and lines of strain around his eyes. Such heavy burdens he’d been carrying for as long as she’d known him, but now, despite the exhaustion writ plain on his face he seemed lighter. Relieved, in some intangible way.

“He is?” she gasped.

“Aye.” Killian nodded, grimly satisfied. “Shot him right through the place where his heart should be. That’s why I was late.”

“Oh, Killian.” It wouldn’t do to feel happy about a murder, even that of a wicked man, but Emma found that she too was grimly satisfied. “You did it.”

“Aye, it’s done. And now I have a price on my head so high I’d turn myself in if I could, and special team of bounty hunters hired by Gold’s son to bring me to him, dead or alive.”

“Oh.” Her fingers flexed on his chest and his tightened where they curled around her hip. “What—what will you do?”

“Leave the country.” He spoke as though the answer were obvious, and Emma supposed it was. “I’ve no choice.”

“Will you go back to England?”

“No. There’s nothing left for me there.” He paused and his hand slid up her back to tangle absently in her hair. “I was thinking South America. Argentina.”

“Argentina?”

“Aye. Land’s selling down there for cheap and I’ve enough saved to buy myself a ranch. I’ve never tried ranching before so it’ll probably be an utter failure, but the idea’s crawled into my head and made itself a nest there, so I think that’s what I’ll do.”

Emma slipped from his arms and out of bed. She could feel his eyes on her as she took her house dress from the wardrobe and wrapped it around herself, as she tied it at her waist with jerky movements.

“You must be hungry,” she said.

“I could eat.”

“Stew?”

“Perfect.”

In the front room Emma piled wood on the embers in her stove and coaxed a fire to life beneath the pot of stew she’d left on the hob. She swept the ashes from the fireplace, arranged the logs and the kindling, then struck a flint to light it. She could hear Killian in the bedroom washing and dressing in the spare clothes she kept on hand for him, and by the time she sensed his presence behind her the larger logs were catching nicely and the hearty aroma of stew had begun to waft in from the stove.

“Shouldn’t be too long before it’s ready,” she told him without turning around. “There’s cornbread too. It’s a few days old, but—”

“Emma.”

“—it should still be good if you dunk it in the stew.”

“Emma, love.” Killian’s voice was soft, full of the tenderness he showed only to her. “Talk to me.”

“About what?”

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known this day would come, this one or another very like it. She understood the dangers of the life he lived, out on the edges of society, pursued by an influential man with a terrible grudge, and she’d done all she could to make her peace with it. Killian could have died any number of times in the three years of their acquaintance; she had always been aware that every time she bid him farewell might be the last.

And now she knew for certain that it would be. Nothing had changed.

She heard him pull out one of the dining chairs and sit down in it, and though she kept her back to him she he knew he would be leaning his elbow on the table and running a hand over his face. She could picture the gesture in her mind’s eye with perfect clarity, so often had she seen him do it before, and her heart hurt because she knew he only did this when he was deeply troubled.

“Emma, you know—you know why I spent so long trying to kill Gold,” he said roughly.

“For Milah.” Her voice hardly broke on the name. “To avenge her.”

“Yes. That bastard hunted her like an animal, shot her right in front of me then framed me for the crime, and all because she couldn’t bear to spend another moment as his wife. He took her life rather than allow her to live it free from him, because he couldn’t countenance her finding happiness with another man. And I swore to her as she lay dying that I would make him pay for that.”

“Because you love her.”

“I did.” In the silence of the cabin, she could hear the rasp of his scruff against his palm. “I did.”

Emma had been watching the fire, now dancing merrily in the hearth, and it took a beat or two for his words to register. When they did her heart gave a shuddering thump and she spun round to gape at him. “Did?” she repeated.

Killian’s lip quirked and humour flared briefly in his eyes before they became solemn again, and heartrendingly soft. “It’s a funny thing, revenge,” he remarked. “It begins as a simple quest for justice but so easily descends into obsession—almost before a man knows what’s come over him, it’s all he’s got left to live for. That’s how it was for me, for years. Until…”

He trailed off and Emma found she was holding her breath. “Until?” she prompted.

He looked up at her. “Until I met you.”

She inhaled sharply as their eyes met, his own warm and such a brilliant blue, full of an emotion to which she didn’t dare give a name. “I kept after Gold because of my vow to Milah, yes, but also because I had to, because it was him or me. His life or mine. When that bullet pierced his chest and I saw him fall, I realised that it wasn’t about Milah for me anymore and it hadn’t been, not for a long time. I was fighting for my life, my right to have it and to live it in peace. That’s all I want, just peace and a simple life. And you.”

“Me?” gasped Emma, blankly and ungrammatically, as she attempted to grasp what he was saying.

Amusement coloured the tenderness on his face, alongside a hint of exasperation. “Don’t you know, Emma?” he asked with a shake of his head. “Why do you think I kept coming back here?”

She offered a weak smile and an abashed shrug. “My cornbread?” she ventured, and he laughed.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, darling, but your cornbread is dry. Try again.”

Emma elected to ignore this ungentlemanly slur on her culinary skills. “Well… I suppose the town is quite secluded, good for hiding out,” she observed.

“It is that. But that isn’t the reason, love.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You know it isn’t.” Killian stood and moved towards her, slowly as if she were a baby faun he was apt to startle, or possibly a sleeping mountain lion. “It’s you, Emma Swan,” he said softly. “You are what I will always come back for. You are the reason my soul is hale and unconsumed by hatred. Because it wasn’t revenge I was after, in the end. It was the future I wanted with you.”

Tears clogged Emma’s throat and pressed insistently behind her eyes. “Killian,” she choked, “I—”

“Shh.” He closed what small distance remained between them and folded her in an embrace to which she clung tightly, face pressed against his shoulder so the soft flannel of his shirt might absorb her tears. “Emma, I know I have next to nothing to offer you.” Killian stroked her hair soothingly as he spoke. “A tenuous existence in an unfamiliar country, backbreaking work that likely won’t pay off, a struggle for everything we have. I shouldn’t ask this of you. I should have the decency to walk away and let you find happiness with a better man than me.” She could hear tears in his voice now, and when she looked up she saw them glistening in his eyes. “But I won’t,” he continued gruffly. “I can’t, because I am a selfish bastard and I love you. I love you so much, Emma.” His voice broke. “So much. And if you could see your way clear to coming to Argentina with me, I would spend every day I have left on this earth working to make you happy.”

A rush of joy filled Emma Swan then, joy such as she had never known before. Her tears fell freely and unheeded as she tightened her hold on the man she loved and pressed her forehead to his own. In that stance they remained for some considerable time, until Emma became aware that the silence had drawn out far too long and she must speak. There were words he needed to hear from her, crucial words, and yet Miss Emma Swan, despite being quite a competent schoolteacher in all respects including her vocabulary, had always found words failed her when in the grip of strong emotion.

“Did I ever tell you I grew up on a ranch?” she blurted, then shook her head. That wasn’t what she’d wished to say.

Killian’s brow wrinkled. “You’ve mentioned it.”

“My daddy’s place out near Casper,” Emma pressed on. “A thousand acres of cattle, mostly, and some horses.”

“It sounds nice.”

“It was.” She snuffled and shifted until her head was resting on his shoulder and she felt cradled in his arms. This wasn’t the speech she’d planned but now she found herself determined to give it. “I was his only child, his only family after my mama died, and he reared me all my life to take over from him,” she continued. “But then when I was nineteen he got married again, and had a son. And suddenly ranching was ‘no job for a woman,’ or so he said, and I should look into teaching instead. Or better still get married and become some man’s pretty possession. Preferably the son of a neighbouring rancher, ‘for the future of our family’s land and legacy’.” She paused, remembering, and rubbed her cheek against his shirt. “I told him to go fuck himself.”

Killian’s laugh rumbled through the both of them. “That’s my tough lass,” he said, with a pride in his voice that warmed her, and made her desperate.

“But you do know what I’m saying, don’t you Killian?” she persisted. “You hear what I’m telling you?”

“What I hear is that in addition to being beautiful and brilliant and tough as old boots, you also know how to run a ranch. Which would be bloody useful I must admit, as I haven’t got the first faint clue where to start. Is that what you wanted me to understand?”

She nodded in relief. “That’s it.”

He brushed the hair back from her face with fingers gentle as the wing of a butterfly. “And is that... all you have to say?”

She felt caught in his eyes, and like to drown in them. “There may be one more thing.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It’s that I—I—” Emma drew a steadying breath. “I love you too, Killian, and of course I’ll go to Argentina with you.” A smile broke across his face, that rare and brilliant smile of his that set her heart to soaring and broke the dam that held her words in check. “I’d go anywhere with you,” she declared, laughing as he squeezed her tight. “To the moon. To hell itself, and then back out again.”

“Let’s hope that won’t be necessary.”

He leaned down to her and she swayed up to him and their lips met in a kiss that sang of love and of hope and of a most solemn promise, if something of a dramatic one. He dipped her back and kissed her until she was dizzy and overcome with laughter, and then swung her up again and into a dance.

Emma put her head on his shoulder and leaned into him as they danced to music they alone could hear, all around the cabin with the aroma of stew in the air and hope for the future in their hearts.

The disappearance of Miss Emma Swan, schoolteacher and respected resident, shook the town of Haven, Wyoming as nothing had before. Even the escape and subsequent stampede down Main Street of Mr Murchison’s pigs had caused less consternation, since, as the residents all agreed, for that at least there was an explanation. A rusty gate hinge, investigation later revealed, had been the culprit behind the Spectacular Pig Hullabaloo of 1893, whereas Miss Swan had simply vanished, with no explanation given or obvious method of egress. She owned no horse and had not boarded the stage; no one matching her description had been observed at the train station in Casper or anywhere else that a woman alone on foot might reasonably have been expected to turn up. She had taken nothing with her save some clothes and a few books and left nothing behind but a brief letter hastily scrawled on a scrap of paper—her resignation from her position as schoolteacher effective immediately, and a recommendation for her replacement.

Haven residents were thoroughly baffled, and for many months afterwards the Fantastical Vanishing of Miss Emma Swan was the number one topic of conversation amongst them. Theories were dismantled nearly as quickly as they had been constructed, replaced by newer and ever more fanciful speculations, and each resident had his or her own pet notion as to how and why the trick was done. Rarely had they felt so stimulated or enjoyed themselves so thoroughly, however time, as it inevitably does, soon began quite noticeably to pass, and the town’s attention moved on to other happenings. For although new events in such a quiet place may never again be as deliciously sensational as the mystery of the vanished schoolmarm, they do possess the not insignificant advantage of being new.

And thus Emma Swan passed into Haven legend.

Some years later, on the eve of her wedding, Miss Mary Margaret Blanchard—soon to be Mrs David Nolan—sat at the very table where Miss Swan’s letter had been left and composed a letter of her own, to an old friend she’d first met at the State Normal School of Colorado. In her letter Miss Blanchard informed her friend of the imminent blessed day and thanked her for the recommendation that had not only brought Miss Blanchard many years of enjoyable work as schoolteacher to Haven’s children but also led, in that roundabout way life sometimes takes, to her current state of blissful happiness.

This letter travelled by mail coach from the Haven general store—where Miss Blanchard posted it to the care of a P.O. Box in San Francisco—to the main post office in Casper. From there it went via train to Cheyenne, where it was loaded onto the mail car of the Union Pacific Railway and thence made its journey to the west coast. In San Francisco its fortunes underwent a curious change, for it was redirected by a clerk there, in accordance with instructions, and placed back on the Union Pacific, headed this time for Denver. From Denver it voyaged onwards to Kansas City, then Chicago, and finally to New York, where it abandoned train travel forever in favour of a steam ship bound for Buenos Aires.

Upon arrival at port it was placed in the charge of a courier who carried it along with a scant handful of others over the rough roads of the Argentinian coast to Puerto Santa Cruz and then inland, where it finally, many months after its departure, came to rest at a tiny, dusty outpost in southern Patagonia. And it was from this inauspicious locale that the letter was collected, at long last, by its intended recipient—a woman none of the residents of Haven nor indeed the erstwhile Miss Blanchard herself would be likely to recognise as Emma Swan.

The clothes she wore were utilitarian in design and plain in colour, liberally coated in fine brown dust. Her pale hair hung loose and wavy down her back, and her face beneath her wide-brimmed hat was tanned and marked around the eyes with the fine lines characteristic of those who spend a good deal of time squinting into bright sunlight. But these were superficial changes. The woman who collected the well-travelled letter and rode with it back to her ranch, who sat at the table in her kitchen and read it with a wide smile and sincere pleasure at the news from her friend—this woman was happy, as Emma Swan had surely never been. It was a happiness born of deep contentment and the satisfaction of a life lived on one’s own terms. And it was the happiness of a woman who is loved.

Emma was reading the letter a fourth time when the sound of boots on the porch alerted her to Killian’s arrival; she looked up just as he came through the door with a smile on her lips the like of which neither Mrs Nolan nor any other in Haven could ever imagine her smiling.

Killian hung his hat on a hook and met its brilliance with a smile of his own. “What are you thinking about, love, that has you so radiant?” he inquired.

“A letter from Mary Margaret.” Emma indicated the sheet of paper in her hand. “She’s getting married. Is married now, I suppose.”

“To a fellow worthy of her, I hope?”

“A rancher, but not one of the arrogant ones,” Emma replied. “I think he is. Worthy of her, I mean. I think they’ll be happy.”

“That’s good news indeed.”

“It is.” She set the letter aside and went over to him, tucked her head beneath his chin as he enfolded her in his arms. “But that’s not why I’m radiant, as you say.”

“I say it only because it’s true, darling.”

“It’s because I’m happy,” said Emma softly. She nuzzled her nose against his neck; he smelled of sweat and dust and horses. “For Mary Margaret, of course, but also for me. It struck me just now, reading her letter, how happy I am. I’m so happy, Killian.”

His arms around her tightened and she felt him stroke her hair, and when he spoke his voice was gruff. “No regrets then, about abandoning everything you’ve ever known to live out your days on the lam with me?”

“Nope.” Emma pulled back just enough to look up at him, to caress his cheek with her fingertips and press her forehead to his. “No regrets at all.”

Historical Note: Emma in this fic is based loosely on a woman named Etta Place. Very little is known about her, but she is thought to have been romantically involved with Harry Longabaugh, a.k.a. the Sundance Kid, and to have accompanied him and Butch Cassidy to South America. However, verifiable details about her are scarce—even her real name is uncertain—and only one photograph of her remains. Some believe she may have been a prostitute but in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid the writer chose to make her a teacher instead, and honestly I have always found that such a compelling tale. A “proper” schoolteacher having a secret affair with an outlaw, then running away with him to another continent? The romance, am I right?

And thus the inspiration for this story.

@ohmightydevviepuu @thisonesatellite @katie-dub @kmomof4 @killianjones-twopointoh @mariakov81 @stahlop @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @shireness-says @snowbellewells

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #cshistfic #captain swan #western au #historical fic #historical romance #Emma is a teacher #killian is an outlaw #many many historical details #like so many #i make no apologies for this #it's more of a warning #the outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan)#profdanglaisstuff

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the-king-andthe-lionheart · 3 years

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A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes - Arya Stark and her Cinderella Motifs

In A Song of Ice and Fire, GRRM often uses fairy tale motifs to help tell a character’s story. Sometimes this motif spans all throughout the characters arc while other times it will only be used for one or two scenes, or anywhere in between. And often one character can have several fairy tale motifs at different times in their arcs or even running concurrently. For Arya, she has quite a few fairy tale motifs in her arc, but for now I’m going to focus on her Cinderella motifs that are mainly prevalent in A Clash of Kings but do show up at other times all throughout her arc as well. I’m going to focus primarily on Arya’s A Clash of Kings arc, but we will be stopping by A Storm of Swords and A Feast for Crows a few times too. And I am going to use several versions of the retellings of Cinderella, including the Disney version, but only the 1950 original and none of its sequels. I also want to note that not all the parallels are obvious due to things being more metaphorical or symbolic, while other times being whatever subversion that tickled GRRM’s fancy at the time.

There are many common aspects across the board when it comes to Cinderella retellings. Often it entails the heroine losing one or both of her parents, being oppressed by her abusive stepmother and stepsisters and being forced into menial, backbreaking labor that leaves the heroine dirty and often covered in ashes. It usually entails a magical guardian who helps the heroine, magical transformations, ballgowns and a ball where she falls in love with either a Prince or a King. An identifying item is also involved, usually a slipper made of gold or glass, where one of the pair is lost when the heroine is running from her beloved. And the Prince/King almost always searches the realm for the woman that identifying item belongs to, and when he finds the heroine they usually marry.

Written out like that it’s hard to believe that this is a motif used for Arya. After all she’s not in the position to be going to balls and she’s just a child so it seems unlikely at the time she’s at Harrenhal she’s going to fall in love. However, this motif appears all throughout her arc in various and creative and subversive and repetitive ways, and motifs don’t have to be all or none and they don’t have to be in the order the original stories were laid out. A lot of people also don’t like the idea that Arya has an actual Disney Princess motif in her story because she’s a “tomboy”, but the fact is that Arya is a Princess at the time she’s at Harrenhal, it’s even explicitly stated in Arya X ACOK, whether people acknowledge it or not, where a lot of these motifs take place. I know some people will be dismissive of this and think I’m reaching, but I hope upon reading this I’ll have convinced you of this motif being present. :)

Step-Mother and Step-Sisters

Some of the two most common features in any variant of Cinderella is the “Persecuted Heroine” and the “Female Persecutor”. Often this manifests as the wicked stepmother and the evil step-sisters, but in some versions a stepmother does not appear, and it’s the heroine’s older sisters who confine her to the kitchens instead. In the opera, La Cenerentola, Gioachino Rossini inverted the gender roles where the heroine Cenerentola is oppressed by her stepfather. And in some retellings at least one of the step siblings is somewhat kind to the heroine even. We symbolically see these archetypes many times in Arya’s narrative with various types of inversions.

When we enter ACOK, we find a dirty and disguised Arya traveling with Yoren and the Night’s Watch recruits, having just lost her father (a subversion of the prevalent theme of Cinderella losing her mother very young). She is also being bullied by two older boys, Lommy and Hot Pie:

At Winterfell they [Sansa and Jeyne] had called her “Arya Horseface” and she’d thought nothing could be worse, but that was before the orphan boy Lommy Greenhands had named her “Lumpyhead.” - Arya I ACOK

That wasn’t the hardest part at all; Lommy Greenhands and Hot Pie were the hardest part. - Arya I ACOK

“Look at that sword Lumpyhead’s got there,” Lommy said one morning […] “Where’s a gutter rat like Lumpyhead get him a sword?”

[. . .]

“Maybe he’s a little squire,” Hot Pie put in. […] “Some lordy lord’s little squire boy, that’s it.”

“He ain’t no squire, look at him. I bet that’s not even a real sword. I bet it’s just some play sword made of tin.”

Arya hated them making fun of Needle. “It’s castle-forged steel, you stupid,” she snapped, turning in the saddle to glare at them, “and you better shut your mouth.”

The orphan boys hooted. “Where’d you get a blade like that, Lumpyface?” Hot Pie wanted to know.

“Lumpyhead,” corrected Lommy. He prob’ly stole it.”

“I did not!” she shouted. Jon Snow had given her Needle. Maybe she had to let them call her Lumpyhead, but she wasn’t going to let them call Jon a thief.

“If he stole it, we could take it off him,” said Hot Pie. “It’s not his anyhow. I could use me a sword like that.”

Lommy egged him on. “Go on, take it off him, I dare you.”

Hot Pie kicked his donkey, riding closer. “Hey, Lumpyface, you gimme that sword.” […] “You don’t know how to use it.”

[. . .]

“Look at him,” brayed Lommy Greenhands. “I bet he’s going to cry now. You want to cry, Lumpyhead?” – Arya I ACOK

In the first two quotes we have Arya likening the behavior of Hot Pie and Lommy to that of Jeyne Poole and Sansa. In AGOT, Sansa and Jeyne took on the “evil step-sister” archetype (and before anybody attacks me, I don’t think these two are actually “evil”, just children who think it’s okay to bully someone who is different from them), but now we are shown that this archetype has temporarily shifted onto Lommy and Hot Pie, with some subversions. These two are now male and they aren’t related to Arya in any way. Some variants of the Cinderella story do portray male siblings mistreating the younger “Cinderella” sibling though. One of the stories in One Thousand and One Nights depict a story called “Judar and his Brethren”, in which the main character is poisoned by his biological brothers in the end, depicting a rare tragic ending for this retelling. However, these subversions are completely fine because either way, they took on the role of the “bully” to Arya’s Cinderella archetype currently in the narrative.

Furthermore, while Septa Mordane was the obvious “wicked stepmother” archetype to Arya’s Cinderella archetype in AGOT, I think arguably this has fallen to Cersei now (and the Lannister’s as a whole). Cersei may not be present, but she is the reason why Arya is in the situation she is in right now. After all, Cersei takes on the role of “Evil Queen” for Sansa and Jon (they both share Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs motifs) so I do think she is the metaphorical “wicked stepmother” in this equation regardless of the fact that Cersei isn’t anything remotely close to a stepmother to Arya in the narrative, but she fits the general archetype of “female persecutor” the most in the current situation. For the case about Septa Mordane being a “wicked stepmother” archetype, I want to point to Cenerentola by Basile, in which the “wicked stepmother” started out as being the heroine’s governess, and Septa’s are the closest substitute to a governess in the universe of ASOIAF.

This isn’t the end to these archetypes being in play. As the early chapters of ACOK go on we see the animosity between Lommy, Hot Pie, and Arya disappear to the point where they become allies and then friends. With this shift in dynamic we see the archetypes disappearing with some of these same characters taking on entirely new Cinderella archetypes, while the “wicked stepmother” and “evil step-sibling” archetypes move onto other characters as well.

At Harrenhal we are introduced to two wicked women who next take on the “evil step-sibling” archetype, Goodwife Harra and Goodwife Amabel. These two even comment on Arya’s feet:

When Arya's turn came round, Goodwife Amabel clucked in dismay at the sight of her feet, while Goodwife Harra felt the callus on her fingers that long hours of practice with Needle had earned her. "Got those churning butter, I'll wager," she said. "Some farmer's whelp, are you? Well, never you mind, girl, you have a chance to win a higher place in this world if you work hard. If you won't work hard, you'll be beaten. And what do they call you?"

Arya dared not say her true name, but Arry was no good either, it was a boy’s name and they could see she was no boy. “Weasel,” she said, naming the first girl she could think of. “Lommy called me Weasel.”

“I can see why,” sniffed Goodwife Amabel. “That hair is a fright and a nest for lice as well. We’ll have it off, and then you’re for the kitchens.”

“I’d sooner tend the horses.” Arya liked horses, and maybe if she was in the stables she’d be able to steal one and escape.

Goodwife Harra slapped her so hard that her swollen lip broke open all over again. “And keep that tongue to yourself or you’ll get worse. No one asked your views.”

The blood in her mouth had a salty metal tang to it. Arya dropped her gaze and said nothing. If I still had Needle, she wouldn’t dare hit me, she thought sullenly.

“Lord Tywin and his knights have grooms and squires to tend their horses, they don’t need the likes of you,” Goodwife Amabel said. “The kitchens are snug and clean, and there’s always a warm fire to sleep by and plenty to eat. You might have done well there, but I can see you’re not a clever girl. Harra, I believe we should give this one to Weese.”

“If you think so, Amabel.” They gave her a shift of grey roughspun wool and a pair of ill-fitting shoes and sent her off. – Arya VI ACOK

Later Goodwife Amabel even threatens to rape Arya:

Three Frey men-at-arms were using them that morning as Arya went to the well. She tried not to look, but she could hear the men laughing. The pail was very heavy once full. She was turning to bring it back to Kingspyre when Goodwife Amabel seized her arm. The water went sloshing over the side onto Amabel's legs. "You did that on purpose," the woman screeched.

"What do you want?" Arya squirmed in her grasp. Amabel had been half-crazed since they'd cut Harra's head off.

"See there?" Amabel pointed across the yard at Pia. "When this northman falls you'll be where she is."

"Let me go." She tried to wrench free, but Amabel only tightened her fingers.

"He will fall too, Harrenhal pulls them all down in the end. Lord Tywin's won now, he'll be marching back with all his power, and then it will be his turn to punish the disloyal. And don't think he won't know what you did!" The old woman laughed. "I may have a turn at you myself. Harra had an old broom, I'll save it for you. The handle's cracked and splintery—" - Arya X ACOK

Menial, Backbreaking Labor

When Arya is enslaved and forced into the oppressive walls of Harrenhal, she is forced to scrub floors and do other menial, backbreaking work from sunrise to sunset, just like Cinderella:

Weese used Arya to run messages, draw water, and fetch food, and sometimes to serve at table in the Barracks Hall above the armory, where the men-at-arms took their meals. But most of her work was cleaning. The ground floor of the Wailing Tower was given over to storerooms and granaries, and two floors above housed part of the garrison, but the upper stories had not been occupied for eighty years. Now Lord Tywin had commanded that they be made fit for habitation again. There were floors to be scrubbed, grime to be washed off windows, broken chairs and rotted beds to be carried off. The topmost story was infested with nests of the huge black bats that House Whent had used for its sigil, and there were rats in the cellars as well . . . and ghosts, some said, the spirits of Harren the Black and his sons. – Arya VII ACOK

She spent the rest of that day scrubbing steps inside the Wailing Tower. By evenfall her hands were raw and bleeding and her arms so sore they trembled when she lugged the pail back to the cellar. Too tired even for food, Arya begged Weese's pardons and crawled into her straw to sleep. – Arya VII ACOK

Magical Transformations and Mice

In Disney’s Cinderella, the fairy godmother transforms mice into different creatures. On the road to Harrenhal, Arya not only likens herself to a sheep, but a mouse and continues her time at Harrenhal referring to herself as a “mouse”. This is also a subversion, while Cinderella in the Disney incarnation befriends mice, in our story Arya becomes the meek mouse:

On the road Arya had felt like a sheep, but Harrenhal turned her into a mouse. She was grey as a mouse in her scratchy wool shift, and like a mouse she kept to the crannies and crevices and dark holes of the castle, scurrying out of the way of the mighty. – Arya VII ACOK

He does not know me, she thought. Arry was a fierce little boy with a sword, and I’m just a grey mouse girl with a pail. – Arya VII ACOK

She was very small and Harrenhal was very large, full of places where a mouse could hide. – Arya VII ACOK

Even Jaqen calls Arya a mouse:

She crept up quiet as a shadow, but he opened his eyes all the same. “She steals in on little mice feet, but a man hears,” he said. How could he hear me? She wondered, and it seemed as if he heard that as well. “The scuff of leather on stone sings loud as warhorns to a man with open ears. Clever girls go barefoot.” – Arya VIII ACOK

However, through Jaqen, Arya begins to feel more in control of her situation, stronger and is transformed, if only for a short time.

“…Some are saying it was Harren’s ghost flung him down.” He snorted to show what he thought of such notions.

It wasn’t Harren, Arya wanted to say, it was me. She has killed Chiswyck with a whisper, and she would kill two more before she was through. I’m the ghost in Harrenhal, she thought. And that night, there was one less name to hate. – Arya VII ACOK

I was a sheep, and then I was a mouse, I couldn’t do anything but hide. Arya chewed her lip and tried to think when her courage had come back. Jaqen made me brave again. He made me a ghost instead of a mouse. – Arya IX ACOK

Lucifer the Cat

In Disney’s Cinderella, Lucifer is Lady Tremaine’s cat who is described as being a sly, wicked, and manipulative mouse consumer. He spends the whole film trying to torment and catch the mice. I feel that Weese takes on aspects of this feline character, and I think this because of certain descriptors that are given to Weese to make him appear almost catlike:

“Weasel,” Weese purred, “next time I see that mouth droop open, I’ll pull out your tongue and feed it to my bitch.” – Arya VII ACOK

In his own small strutting way, Weese was nearly as scary as Ser Gregor. The Mountain swatted men like flies, but most of the time he did not even seem to know the fly was there. Weese always knew you were there, and what you were doing, and sometimes what you were thinking. He would hit at the slightest provocation, and he had a dog who was near as bad as he was, an ugly spotted bitch that smelled worse than any dog Arya had ever known. Once she saw him set the dog on a latrine boy who’d annoyed him. She tore a big chunk out of the boy’s calf while Weese laughed. – Arya VII ACOK

So here we have Weese purring, strutting, being compared to the Mountain who swats at peoples, and being watchful and observant, very much like a cat. And like in the movie, a dog attacks him. Now Weese didn’t fall from a tower window, but Chiswyck fell/was pushed. Considering these two are the two people Arya had Jaqen kill, I wouldn’t be surprised if they are meant to make up two halves of a whole in this regard. After all, they are both wicked creatures who prey upon the weak, just like Lucifer and they both got their just desserts for it.

Jaq the Mouse

In Disney’s Cinderella, Cinderella rescues mice from traps, as well as from Lucifer, and dresses and feeds them. They perform favors in return. At the beginning of the film, a mouse named Gus is trapped in a cage, and the leader of the mice finds him and retrieves Cinderella to free him. The leader of the mice is a mouse named Jaq, and he was also a mouse that was saved by Cinderella from a cage. This sounds awfully familiar…

Rushing through the barn doors was like running into a furnace. The air was swirling with smoke, the back wall a sheet of fire ground to roof. Their horses and donkeys were kicking and rearing and screaming. The poor animals, Arya thought. Then she saw the wagon, and the three men manacled to its bed. Biter was flinging himself against the chains, blood running down his arms from where the iron clasped his wrists. Rorge screamed curses, kicking at the wood. “Boy!” called Jaqen H’ghar. “Sweet boy!”

[. . .]

“Good boys, kind boys,” called Jaqen H’ghar, coughing.

“Get these fucking chains off!” Rorge screamed.

[. . .]

Going back into that barn was the hardest thing she ever did. Smoke was pouring out the open door like a writhing black snake, and she could hear the screams of the poor animals inside, donkeys and horses and men. She chewed her lip, and darted through the doors, crouched low where the smoke wasn’t quite so thick.

A donkey was caught in a ring of fire, shrieking in terror and pain. She could smell the stench of burning hair. The roof was gone up too, and things were falling down, pieces of flaming wood and bits of straw and hay. Arya put a hand over her mouth and nose. She couldn’t see the wagon for the smoke, but she could still hear Biter screaming. She crawled toward the sound.

And then a wheel was looming over her. The wagon jumped and moved a half foot when Biter threw himself against his chains again. Jaqen saw her, but it was too hard to breathe, let alone talk. She threw the axe into the wagon. Rorge caught it and lifted it over his head, rivers of sooty sweat pouring down his noseless face. Arya was running, coughing. She heard the steel crash through the old wood, and again, again. An instant later came a crack as loud as thunder, and the bottom of the wagon came ripping loose in an explosion of splinters. – Arya IV ACOK

So here we have Jaq who is leader of the mice, who also helps Cinderella by doing her favors. Then we have Jaqen H’ghar who is the leader of Rorge and Biter (this name seems even more fitting now) and who is performing favors for Arya, which leads me to Jaqen’s dual Cinderella archetype: Fairy Godmother.

Magical Helpers

Some versions of Magical Helpers come from fairy godmothers or talking animals or genies. In other versions this help comes to the heroine through her dead mother, often manifesting through animal aid. In One Thousand and One Nights, in the story of “Judar and his Brethren” Judar is our Cinderella figure, whose own brothers betray and poison him, but before that he was gifted a genie named Al-Ra’ad al-Kasif who granted Judar’s wishes. In the passage below Jaqen grants Arya three “wishes” which is typical for genies to grant in our popular consciousness:

She remembered that she hated him. “You scared me. You’re one of them now, I should have let you burn. What are you doing here? Go away or I’ll yell for Weese.”

“A man pays his debts. A man owes three.”

“Three?”

“The Red God has his due, sweet girl, and only death may pay for life. This girl took three that were his. This girl must give three in their places. Speak the names, and a man will do the rest.”

He wants to help me, Arya realized with a rush of hope that made her dizzy. “Take me to Riverrun, it’s not far, if we stole some horses we could—”

He laid a finger on her lips. “Three lives you shall have of me. No more, no less. Three and we are done. So a girl must ponder.” He kissed her hair softly. “But not too long.” – Arya VII ACOK

Later, we also see that “wishes” have consequences, which is also prevalent when genies are concerned. GRRM himself is a big fan of consequences and unintended side effects.

Jaqen is not Arya’s only form of Magical Help at Harrenhal however. Jaqen may take on the role of Fairy Godmother/Genie, but we also see Arya experiencing the help of not only an animal aid, but from a dead parent. For instance, the heroine in Aschenputtel, by the Brother’s Grimm, is given a hazel twig by her father that she plants over her mother’s grave. She waters it with tears and over the years it grows into a glowing hazel tree. The girl prays under it three times a day, chanting, and a bird emerges from it that grants her wishes. There are two instances of something similar happening in the books:

In the godswood she found her broomstick sword where she had left it, and carried it to the heart tree. There she knelt. Red leaves rustled. Red eyes peered inside her. The eyes of the gods. “Tell me what to do, you gods,” she prayed.

For a long moment there was no sound but the wind and the water and the creak of leaf and limb. And then, far far off, beyond the godswood and the haunted towers and the immense stone walls of Harrenhal, from somewhere out in the world, came the long lonely howl of a wolf. Gooseprickles rose on Arya’s skin, and for an instant she felt dizzy. Then, so faintly, it seemed as if she heard her father’s voice. “When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” he said.

“But there is no pack,” she whispered to the weirwood. Bran and Rickon were dead, the Lannisters had Sansa, Jon had gone to the Wall. “I’m not even me now, I’m Nan.”

“You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the north. You told me you could be strong. You have the wolf blood in you.”

“The wolf blood.” Arya remembered now. “I’ll be as strong as Robb. I said I would.” She took a deep breath, then lifted the broomstick in both hands and brought it down across her knee. It broke with a loud crack, and she threw the pieces aside. I am a direwolf, and done with wooden teeth. – Arya X ACOK

Here we see an inversion. Arya’s mother isn’t dead at this time, but her father, Ned is. He is who we hear through the heart tree giving Arya this empowering “Mufasa” moment that gives way to Arya’s true transformation in this arc, she reclaims her identity. And as soon as Arya asks the old gods for aid, a wolf howls in the distance as if in answer. It’s not confirmed but I do truly believe that this howl came from Nymeria, by way of the Old Gods/Greenseers, who somehow helped strengthen their bond. It is after this moment that Arya starts having full on wolf dreams in earnest and it’s through her first wolf dream that we see that Nymeria may have become Arya’s animal aid:

Her dreams were red and savage. The Mummers were in them, four at least, a pale Lyseni and a dark brutal axeman from Ib, the scarred Dothraki horse lord called Iggo and a Dornishman whose name she never knew. On and on they came, riding through the rain in rusting mail and wet leather, swords and axe clanking against their saddles. They thought they were hunting her, she knew with all the strange sharp certainty of dreams, but they were wrong. She was hunting them.

She was no little girl in the dream; she was a wolf, huge and powerful, and when she emerged from beneath the trees in front of them and bared her teeth in a low rumbling growl, she could small the rank stench of fear from horse and man alike. The Lyseni’s mount reared and screamed in terror, and the others shouted at one another in mantalk, but before they could act the other wolves came hurtling from the darkness and the rain, a great pack of them, gaunt and wet and silent.

The fight was short but bloody. The hairy man went down as he unslung his axe, the dark one died stringing an arrow, and the pale man from Lys tried to bolt. Her brothers and sisters ran him down, turning him again and again, coming at him from all sides, snapping at the legs of his horse and tearing the throat from the rider when he came crashing to the earth. – Arya I ASOS

We see here that Nymeria and her pack protected Arya, Gendry, and Hot Pie against their pursuers after their escape from Harrenhal.

Here is another instance of Arya praying under the heart tree:

Arya went to her knees. She wasn’t sure how she should begin. She clasped her hands together. Help me, you old gods, she prayed silently. Help me get those men out of the dungeon so we can kill Ser Amory, and bring me home to Winterfell. Make me a water dancer and a wolf and not afraid again, ever.

Was that enough? Maybe she should pray aloud if she wanted the old gods to hear. Maybe she should pray longer. Sometimes her father had prayed a long time, she remembered. But the old gods had never helped him. Remembering that made her angry. “You should have saved him,” she scolded the tree. “He prayed to you all the time. I don’t care if you help me or not. I don’t think you could even if you wanted to.”

“Gods are not mocked, girl.”

The voice startled her. She leapt to her feet and drew her wooden sword. Jaqen H’ghar stood so still in the darkness that he seemed one of the trees. “A man comes to hear a name. One and two and then comes three. A man would have done.”

Arya lowered the splintery point toward the ground. “How did you know I was here?”

“A man sees. A mean hears. A man knows.”

She regarded him suspiciously. Had the gods sent him? “How’d you make the dog kill Weese? Did you call Rorge and Biter up from hell? Is Jaqen H’ghar your true name?

“Some men have many names. Weasel. Arry. Arya.”

She backed away from him, until she was pressed against the heart tree. “Did Gendry tell?”

“A man knows,” he said again. “My lady of Stark.”

Maybe the gods had sent him in answer to her prayers. – Arya IX ACOK

In Cenerentola, the heroine’s (Zezolla) father is given a date seedling by a fairy and he gives it to his daughter. Zezolla cultivates the tree in which a fairy lives. This fairy gives Zezolla magical aid. When Arya prayed beneath the heart tree in the above quote it almost seems like Jaqen appeared from the trees, leaving Arya to question if the old gods sent him.

And like in Aschenputtel and Disney’s Cinderella, Arya spends time at Harrenhal singing/chanting to herself as well:

Barefoot surefoot lightfoot, she sang under her breath. I am the ghost in Harrenhal. – Arya IX ACOK

This is very strange for a couple of reasons. When we first meet Arya she claims not to like songs and doesn’t sing. She continues this up until she goes to Braavos. There she discovers that she likes the bawdy songs when she is using the name, Cat of the Canals. The only exception to this is when Arya is at Harrenhal. Another reason this is odd is because of where Arya is at physically and mentally. So either Arya was always lying about not liking songs, or Arya singing here is supposed to tell us something.

And while this might not mean anything, I found it interesting that Arya spends a lot of her time in ACOK barefoot. Now Cinderella isn’t really said to be barefoot in the stories, but she did usually lose a shoe when running away from the Prince/King, hence making her barefoot. When Arya decides to escape Harrenhal, she does don a pair of shoes again and from then on out she mostly wears them. This also leads to a fun bit of subversion. In the originals tales it’s always the Prince/King saving Cinderella from further oppression. But in Arya X ACOK, not only did she (a princess) plan the escape, but she saves Gendry, a lost (albeit bastard) prince, along with Hot Pie, from further oppression (and torture and death) by their slavers in their prison camp. (Hot Pie definitely reminds me of Gus Gus as well by the way :D)

From Rags to Riches

In many versions of Cinderella, we also see the heroine become physically transformed. The heroine is usually dirty, covered in ashes, and wearing “rags” before they are made over. In the most popular version, Disney’s Cinderella, the Fairy Godmother magically turns her from dirty household servant to highborn lady, adorning her in a silver ballgown and glass slippers. In Ye Xian, magical fish bones, help the heroine dress appropriately for a local Festival, including a light, golden shoe. And in Aschenputtel, the doves that emerge from her hazel tree, that grant the heroine wishes, drop a gold and silver gown and silk shoes down to her to wear to the ball. Also, noticeably, this is the time the Prince/King notices Cinderella and finally “sees” her.

While we didn’t get anything like that in ACOK, we don’t have to look much farther than ASOS, when Arya goes to Acorn Hall and meets Lady Smallwood, who puts her in two different dresses:

And afterward, they insisted she dress herself in girl’s things, brown woolen stockings and a light linen shift, and over that a light green gown with acorns embroidered all over the bodice in brown thread, and more acorns bordering the hem. – Arya IV ASOS

It was even worse than before; Lady Smallwood insisted that Arya take another bath, and cut and comb her hair besides; the dress she put her in this time was sort of lilac-colored, and decorated with little baby pearls. The only good thing about it was that it was so delicate that no one could expect her to ride in it. – Arya IV ASOS

And while there is no ball, Arya and Gendry spend their time in the forge together. This is the very first time Gendry has seen Arya look like a proper lady. Cinderella and Arya are no longer dirty and in rags and they are now in gowns looking their place in society, despite Arya’s dress not being nearly as grand. However, it’s enough of a change for Gendry to finally realize just who Arya truly is when it comes to her place in the world. And judging by his behavior after this event, he also begins to acknowledge that if he continues to stay by her side he could potentially love her romantically in the future as well:

Gendry reached out with the tongs as if to pinch her face, but Arya swatted them away.

[. . .]

Gendry put the hammer down and looked at her. “You look different now. Like a proper little girl.”

“I look like an oak tree, with all these stupid acorns.”

“Nice, though. A nice oak tree.” He stepped closer, and sniffed at her. “You even smell nice for a change.” – Arya IV ASOS

Runaway Princess

Now we may not have had a ball, but while taking shelter in a stone stable with the Brotherhood Without Banners, Arya does run outside, trying to get away from everyone:

His words beat at her ears like the pounding of a drum, and suddenly it was more than Arya could stand. She wanted Riverrun, not Acorn Hall; she wanted her mother and her brother Robb, not Lady Smallwood or some uncle she never knew. Whirling, she broke for the door, and when Harwin tried to grab her arm she spun away from him quick as a snake.

Outside the stables the rain was still falling, and distant lightning flashed in the west. Arya ran as fast as she could. She did not know where she was going, only that she wanted to be alone, away from all the voices, away from their hollow words and broken promises. All I wanted was to go to Riverrun. It was her own fault, for taking Gendry and Hot Pie with her when she left Harrenhal. She would have been better alone. If she had been alone, the outlaws would never have caught her, and she’d be with Robb and her mother by now. They were never my pack. If they had been, they wouldn’t leave me. She splashed through a puddle of muddy water. Someone was shouting her name, Harwin probably, or Gendry, but the thunder drowned them out as it rolled across the hills half a heartbeat behind the lightning. The lightning lord, she thought angrily. Maybe he couldn’t die, but he could lie. – Arya VIII ASOS

Now it’s not explicitly clear that it was Gendry who ran after Arya, calling her name, but due to the possible symbolism in the scene, and also his behavior in AFFC, it makes me think it was him. But whether he was or not I believe just Arya believing it might be him makes this applicable enough as a loose parallel for the Prince chasing after Cinderella, only for Cinderella to disappear like in many of the Cinderella retellings.

Searching the Realm

At the end of ASOS in the epilogue we learn that Lady Stoneheart and the Brotherhood Without Banners, who Gendry is a part of is actively searching for Arya:

The outlaw gave him (Merrett Frey) an encouraging smile. “Well, as it happens, we’re looking for a dog that ran away.”

“A dog?” Merrett was lost. “What kind of dog?”

“He answers to the name Sandor Clegane […] Did you see him at the wedding, perchance?”

[. . .]

“He would have had a child with him,” said the singer. “A skinny girl, about ten. Or perhaps a boy the same age.”

“I don’t think so,” said Merrett. “Not that I knew.” – Epilogue ASOS

In many retellings of the Cinderella story, the Prince/King searches the realm looking for the heroine with an identifying item, and typically that item is a shoe of some sort. Once the shoe is placed on the heroine’s foot it symbolically means the heroine is reclaiming her identity. Arya, however, didn’t lose a shoe, and I’d argue that when Ned/the Old Gods/the Greenseers spoke to Arya through the heart tree, empowering Arya, that’s when Arya reclaimed her identity, at least for that time as Arya must reclaim her identity multiple times in her arc. I’d argue that Arya’s connection to the North and her family is her overall identifying item. But I fully believe Gendry himself might be another “identifying item,” along with him still taking on the archetypal role of “prince”.

Why do I say this? Because in AFFC Gendry is stationed at one of the last known places Arya was sighted at with the Hound, the Crossroads Inn, where he is blacksmithing while also helping to look after orphans. He was likely stationed there by Lady Stoneheart and the Brotherhood Without Banners because he knew Arya the best out of everyone (remember LSH would probably have a hard time recognizing Arya after two plus years and a resurrection). So if she returned, he would not only have a better chance at recognizing her, but also possibly a better chance at keeping her there compared to anyone else. If people are doubting that this is Gendry’s role, just remember that the BWB is actively looking for Arya, and also note Gendry’s personality shift post-ASOS. Gendry has always been rude and moody, but in AFFC it has been taken to the extreme. He is absolutely furious and instead of being just plain rude, he’s actually become mean and more violent. He also seems to have something against the Hound now, someone who he previously had nothing against during the Hound’s trial by combat earlier in ASOS:

…The boy came and stood beside her, his hammer in his hand.

Lightning cracked to the south as the riders swung down off their horses. For half a heartbeat darkness turned to day. An axe gleamed silvery blue, light shimmered off mail and plate, and beneath the dark hood of the lead rider Brienne glimpsed an iron snout and rows of steel teeth, snarling.

Gendry saw it too. “Him.”

“Not him. His helm.” Brienne tried to keep the fear from her voice, but her mouth was dry as dust. – Brienne VII AFFC

That “him” was very pointed and because of the symbolism in the scene surrounding that “him” and the overall change in Gendry’s behavior I definitely take it to mean Gendry does have a problem with the Hound now. So what changed? The Hound kidnapped Arya. I think it’s safe to say that Gendry is just as invested as the rest of the BWB, if not more so, to finding Arya again, hence making him the “prince” searching the realm for his lost Cinderella.

A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes

In Disney’s Cinderella, songs like “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo”, “So This Is Love”, “Cinderella”, “A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes”, “Oh, Sing Sweet Nightingale”, and “The Work Song” are included into the film. This isn’t the first time we’ve seen something like this in the previous retellings however. Like I mentioned earlier the Brother’s Grimm, Aschenputtel, features this as well to some extant. In Aschenputtel, the heroine would “sing a chant” to call upon the white doves that came from her glowing hazel tree. These birds would help her grant wishes and help her complete tasks, and it was most likely the inspiration for why birds were included in the Disney version, although birds have featured in more than just Aschenputtel. I mention this because GRRM wrote Arya a song in the novels:

“My featherbed is deep and soft,

and there I'll lay you down,

I'll dress you all in yellow silk,

and on your head a crown.

For you shall be my lady love,

and I shall be your lord.

I'll always keep you warm and safe,

and guard you with my sword.

“And how she smiled and how she laughed,

the maiden of the tree.

She spun away and said to him,

no featherbed for me.

I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,

and bind my hair with grass,

But you can be my forest love,

and me your forest lass.”

This is very clearly a love song also and we know it’s most likely about Arya and her foreshadowing a possible future relationship with Gendry. And it’s very clearly about them as Gendry is a bastard Baratheon “prince”, hence the mentions of “yellow silk” and a “crown”, and also because Arya quite literally is dressed as an oak tree at this time and almost a maiden and will be a maiden when they reunite later in the series. We also know the song is meant to foreshadow them because of the context. Tom O’Seven’s specifically winked at Arya as he sang this song, and after the song was sung Lady Smallwood, when taking Arya to get changed into a different dress, said to Arya, “I have no gowns of leaves,” which further tells the readers that this song is Arya’s song, her future love song.

A Mother’s Legacy

In the Magical Helpers section above I mentioned that a dead parent may be the one to help the heroine instead of the typical fairy godmother, by either sending an animal to aid the heroine and/or granting wishes, or by the heroine’s mother transforming into an animal. In some Greek versions, in “the Balkan-Slavonic tradition of the tale”, and in some Central Asian variants, the heroine’s mother comes back as a cow who is then killed by the heroine’s sisters. The heroine eventually gathers the bones and from her mother’s grave the heroine is gifted wonderful dresses. In other variants, the heroine’s dead mother comes back as a fish or a female dog. These animals represent the heroine’s mother’s legacy.

Jon chuckled. “Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister. Wed Tully to Stark in your arms.”

“A wolf with a fish in its mouth?” It made her laugh. “That would look silly…” – Arya I AGOT

That night she went to sleep thinking of her mother, and wondering if she should kill the Hound in his sleep and rescue Lady Catelyn herself. When she closed her eyes she saw her mother’s face against the back of her eyelids. She’s so close I could almost smell her…

…and then she could smell her. The scent was faint beneath the other smells, beneath moss and mud and water, and the stench of rotting reeds and rotting men. She padded slowly through the soft ground to the river’s edge, lapped up a drink, then lifted her head to sniff. The sky was grey and thick with cloud, the river green and full of floating things. Dead men clogged the shallows, some still moving as the water pushed them, others washed up on the banks. Her brothers and sisters swarmed around them, tearing at the rich ripe flesh.

[. . .]

The scent was stronger now [. . .] Only the scent mattered. She sniffed the air again. There it was, and now she saw it too, something pale and white drifting down the river, turning where it brushed against a snag. The reeds bowed down before it.

She splashed noisily through the shallows and threw herself into the deeper water, her legs churning. The current was strong but she was stronger. She swam, following her nose. The river smells were rich and wet, but those were not the smells that pulled her. She paddled after the sharp red whisper of cold blood, the sweet cloying stench of death. She chased them as she had often chased a red deer through the trees, and in the end she ran them down, and her jaw closed around a pale white arm. She shook it to make it move, but there was only death and blood in her mouth. By now she was tiring, and it was all she could do to pull the body back to shore. As she dragged it up the muddy bank, one of her little brothers came prowling, his tongue lolling from his mouth. She had to snarl to drive him off, or else he would have fed. Only then did she stop to shake the water from her fur. The white thing lay facedown in the mud, her dead flesh wrinkled and pale, cold blood trickling from her throat. Rise, she thought. Rise and eat and run with us. – Arya XII ASOS

“So you sewed his head on Robb Stark’s neck after both o’ them were dead,” said yellow cloak.

“My [Merrett Frey] father did that [. . .] I only drank some wine…you have no witness.”

“As it happens, you’re wrong there.” The singer turned to the hooded woman. “Milady?”

The outlaws parted as she came forward, saying no word. When she lowered her hood, something tightened inside Merrett’s chest, and for a moment he could not breathe. No. No, I saw her die. She was dead for a day and night before they stripped her naked and threw her body in the river. Raymund opened her throat from ear to ear. She was dead.

Her cloak and collar hid the gash his brother’s blade had made, but her face was even worse than he remembered. The flesh had gone pudding soft in the water and turned the color of curdled milk. Half her hair was gone and the rest had turned as white and brittle as a crone’s. Beneath her ravaged scalp, her face was shredded skin and black blood where she had raked herself with her nails. But her eyes were the most terrible thing. Her eyes saw him, and they hated.

“She don’t speak,” said the big man in the yellow cloak. “You bloody bastards cut her throat too deep for that. But she remembers.” He turned to the dead woman and said, “What do you say, m’lady? Was he part of it?”

Lady Catelyn’s eyes never left him. She nodded. – Epilogue ASOS

In the Chinese retelling of Cinderella, Ye Xian, the heroine befriends a fish, which is the reincarnation of her deceased mother. In The Story of Tam and Cam, a Vietnamese version, the heroine Tam also had a fish which was killed by the stepmother and the half-sister, and its bones also give her clothes. And a typical scene in Kapmalaien tales is the mother becoming a fish, being eaten in fish form, the daughter burying her bones and a tree sprouting from her grave.

So not only is Lady Catelyn a symbolic fish, a daughter of House Tully, but she’s also been resurrected (reincarnated), and is looking specifically for our heroine, Arya, who I believe will be gifted several various things (both good and bad) by this incarnation of her mother, but we shall see if the parallel continues when TWOW and ADOS come out.

Conclusion

I really hope that after you read this monster you were as convinced as I am that Arya indeed has Cinderella motifs, and an extensive amount of them as well. Whatever it may mean I don’t rightly know, but what I do know is that at the end of the day, the many stories of Cinderella are an analogy. An analogy about someone “who unexpectedly achieves recognition or success after a period of obscurity and neglect”. Of someone whose attributes were unrecognized in their society, only for them to be recognized. And I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty hand in hand with one of her other biggest fairy tale motifs as well that runs concurrently with the Cinderella motif, and that is the story of “The Ugly Duckling”, who after years of neglect, finds acceptance within society, as well as self-acceptance within themselves. :)

#arya stark #gendrya #asoiaf

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beevean · 3 years

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Opinion: How could Sonamy progress in IDW?

[note: the original article was written in Spanish by @latin-dr-robotnik]

Today we’re going to discuss a recurring topic on my blog, with a more complete perspective.

Today’s article was inspired by an ask I got a few days ago about my possible perspective on the future of IDW Sonamy. I thought it would be interesting to revisit and expand this topic, because it’s still something of great interest for thousands of fans all around the world, and because SEGA has recently adopted a very peculiar position on the couple and their dynamic. As I detailed on my article SEGA and its most recent Sonamy side – more canon than ever, the dynamic has been going through a shift that can be distinguished into two main parts: 1) the commercial potential of Sonamy as a merchandising and marketing icon; 2) the stability of the interactions in the comics, in the short monthly stories on Sonic Channel, and so on.

That being said, there’s no need to mention that we’re going to focus entirely and nothing more than on this ship. I usually suggest other articles for those who prefer to read on other subjects, but today I will recommend our Discord server [translator’s note: the server is mainly Spanish-speaking], where discussions about ships are limited on their own canal that is separated from other themes: general discussions, music, fangames and mods, fanfics, fanart and even gaming in general. As you know, if you want to bring something else to our community, or just avoid talking about Sonamy, you’re more than welcome to join. Now, back on track.

What’s going on with Sonamy in IDW?

To recap what’s happened in these last months: Sonic and his friends finally got through the nightmare that was the Metal Virus, he and Amy hugged a few times, and since very recently they’ve been involved in a short arc about Chao races in Twinkle Park Zone, with a sinister background. In these last months after the eradication of the virus, there have been much closer and warmer interactions between our two hedgehogs, and I suspect that part of this is what inspired that question in the first place: what’s going on?

As I commented in the article where I proposed that Sonamy is “more canon than ever” (I know that it’s an exaggeration, that was the point), SEGA is treading carefully and the main canon seems to be willing to negotiate a more open representation of the relationship between the two in their different continuities, from best friends to something more. What I did not expect to happen was reading an answer from Evan Stanley (artist and writer that replaces Ian Flynn) about their dynamic, summing it up with “they like each other”.

The redrawing of Sonic’s expression when Amy hugs him in a recent drawing of hers made people wonder if this was yet another example of SEGA’s “censoring” (comparison below), to which Evan answered that it was modified to keep Sonic in character: he’s a guy that does not show much emotional vulnerability or too many negative emotions, and this is why sometimes the artists have to adjust WIPs to keep in line with this official point of view. Evan assured that this is not any kind of confirmation that Sonic does not like Amy, and doubles down by highlighting that in the official material, in the wikis and on Sonic Channel they show that, and I quote: “They like each other, but Sonic just isn’t the kind of guy who is going to make goo-goo eyes at Amy or perform grand acts of romance. If you wanna see that, that’s what fan works are for.”

And Evan’s words are a great way to sum up what’s going on with IDW Sonic right now. When it comes to interactions, they’re working with two characters who deep down “like each other”, but both show it in their own way. Amy is much more proactive when it comes to express her feelings, while Sonic only sometimes shows a glimpse of his feelings, with a smile or a small gesture. But at the end of the day they’re still friends and, depending on the situation, the comic can focus more or less on these details.

Comparison between the first sketch showed by Evan and the final product. The modification of the expression was minimal: Sonic’s slight blush was changed into a smile, maybe being a little overwhelmed by the gesture of affection.

The “progression” of the dynamic in the future

A good part of the answer to this question is based on my idea that right now, when it comes to Sonamy, we reached some kind of comfortable plateau. What am I referring to? To the fact that there have been a lot of varied interactions in these last 3 years of the comic, and they’re everything I could have asked for and then some. When we talk about Sonamy in canon, as Evan said, we don’t tend to hope for great romantic gestures from Sonic, we barely even ask for a look that hints that they understand each other beyond what it seems at first glance, so the fact that the IDW continuity is betting so much on this ship is basically a dream come true. For this reason, I don’t think things will change much in the future.

If I have to make a prediction on Sonamy’s future in IDW, I believe that there are still a lot of possibilities that our known writers (and maybe new writers!) could explore more, to see what makes this dynamic work so well. Actually, about 10 years ago, Ian Flynn wrote that if they could take advantage of the abilities and similarities between the two characters as adventurous spirits and with a strong moral sense, they would be “like poetry in motion”. This largely happens in IDW Sonic if you look carefully, but there are always new stories to tell and opportunities for them to work together and explore a bit more their strong bond, stronger than other friendships that they share. When the next major arc comes (which seems to be getting closer), they could explore aspects of their dynamic that are slightly more experimental, like being separated for extended periods of time and under dangerous situations… as long as they don’t turn it into a painful experience like the Metal Virus arc.

What Ian Flynn wrote about Sonamy, what works and what doesn’t. This was written in 2011, when Archie Sonic was still the major comic continuity, and when, according to Ian, Sonic was still “tied” to Sally Acord, leaving little room to the writers’ opinions.

The reality is that I see a stable future for the dynamic in the IDW universe. Sonamy is not fit for a lot of drama (fights, breaking up, etc.) without feeling forced or completely out of place, and only fanfics and fanart could be capable of capitalizing on this kind of content. On the other hand, for reasons I detailed in past articles, SEGA would not dare to alter the established order of the dynamic, let alone new that they managed to recover and maintain control over the ways Sonamy is being portrayed everywhere. SEGA won’t pull a Dragon Prince, which ended up confirming the main ship and then they made them go through a crisis and break up in a heartwrenching way in the graphic novel that acts as a bridge between season 3 and 4.

In short

The future of IDW Sonamy is looking bright and stable. I don’t think there will be serious changes to what we’re experiencing right now, and this is why both Evan Stanley and Ian Flynn agree that the dynamic is practically in the perfect place, keeping in line to how SEGA wants them to be represented together. This means we won’t see more affectionate gestures than what we’re seeing now (I doubt we’ll ever see again Sonic offering Amy a rose like in Sonic X), but it also means that we have now a solid basis for our expectations. In the now old IDW Sonic #2, Sonic and Amy had the chance of seriously talking a bit about what they thought of each other, with Sonic being determined to keep living life his own way (although he wouldn’t mind Amy to accompany him… or even suggesting himself that she could come), and Amy being determined to respect his way of life, because that’s what she loves about him, and she doesn’t want him to change. Since then, all we have seen and we’ll keep seeing in the comic is a consequence of this key moment; the two philosophies that they have and they share, in a constant back-and-forth with some tense moments and some cute moments.

An interesting detail that wasn’t included in the ask and that makes me think is the possibility that all of this will feature in the games as well. This is a completely different matter for another day, but I like to think that there is the possibility that we’ll see SEGA being more interested in inserting more Sonamy in the games, even if in an indirect way like in Sonic Unleashed and its emotional support, especially if the rumors that we’re about to get a soft-reboot are true. Romance is not something Sonic games are famous for doing well… at all, but that doesn’t mean it would be a bad idea to add a little sprinkle of IDW Sonamy in the mix.

And finally, I think I’ve talked enough about this topic, As you know, we’re waiting for some news, and I hope we’ll see each other again here or on our Discord. We’ll see if on this 25th something interesting happens. In any case, see you next time!

The moment that shaped the present and future of their entire relationship, 3 years ago.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonamy #long post #translation #oh look just in time for that famous thursday 25th #keeping up the chronicles of sonamy's evolution #this was fun to translate lol #it's probably a little clunky in some places but it should be readable enough #anyway now i'm hyped lol

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emdeedot45 · 3 years

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I’ve been thinking about the Dawsey/Brettsey journey...

Dawsey had chemistry, they had a good friendship in the early days, they loved each other.

But ultimately, by the end of season 6 they did not have a healthy relationship. They were in a horrible place. Dawson was constantly leaving him out of big decisions and Casey was constantly bottling things and wasn’t asking for what he wanted. They needed time to re-evaluate and decide how they could fix this.

Except that isn’t what Dawson chose to do. She chose to leave rather than fix it. I’m sure she didn’t expect her time in PR to turn into what it did – but it did. As sad as it was for Casey, the fact that she found something she loved and something she was devoted to is great. As Casey said, she was born to do work like this.

Life is constantly full of choices and she chose the thing that, at that point of her life, made her the happiest. In doing so, she chose to walk away from her marriage and her relationships in Chicago. That loss was a consequence she was evidently willing to bear.

“But she asked Casey to go with her”

Her bags were packed, she was going without him, she asked quickly, she didn’t push it, she knew it wasn’t something that would come into fruition. She also knows Casey – he’s a Chicago guy. He wasn’t going anywhere, and Gabby was so independent that there was nothing he could do to stop her. He also didn’t want to stop her – he wanted her to do something that was right for her, but that didn’t mean he should have sacrificed what was right for him. The right thing for him being staying in the city he loves, in the job he loves with the people he loves.

Dawsey ending and both parties moving on does not take away from what they had. It doesn’t erase the good, it doesn’t erase the important impact they had on each other, it doesn’t erase that they’ll always care for each other. How could they not?

Just because their journey ended does not mean that they shouldn’t be allowed to find happiness and love again.

“But they left the door open, she could come back”

It’s a huge disservice to Casey to let him remain in ‘Gabby limbo’, just waiting for the *possibility* - not at ALL a certainty – that she will come back and they’ll just get back together. It’s also a disservice to want him to be in a relationship with someone who chose to walk away from him rather than fix what was broken. It’s a disservice to want him to be in a relationship with someone he was no longer in a healthy relationship with. It’s a disservice to GABBY to want her to go back to that too – because it clearly was not working or making them happy. They just couldn’t give each other what they wanted.

If it was me, I wouldn’t want to live the rest of my life wishing for a broken relationship to come back to me. I would want to be able to evolve, to build new relationships, to be happy – and that’s exactly what the writers are doing for Casey. They’ve been very honest about it, they’ve shown that he can get a bit stuck in everything, that moving on from someone isn’t an easy process, that sometimes it can be a real grey area.

As for the Brettsey of it all… from a dramatic TV perspective, having your main character fall for his ex-wife’s ex-best friend and partner is a juicy story that is full of opportunity based on a rich history of content. But MORE than that – having your main character fall for someone who has been in front of him this whole time, who is meeting him with the same generous, giving spirit that he gives people is the stuff of romantic dreams. Casey has lost so much, so allowing him to finally have his slice of stable, constant happiness is beautiful storytelling – and Brett and Casey have been on a stunningly written journey together.

“But she’s second choice!”

Is she? Because by that logic, Casey thought he and Hallie would be together forever, but she died – so wouldn’t that make Dawson his second choice (she wasn’t)? Life doesn’t work like that, we make choices that suit the place we’re at in our lives. Casey chose to move on from Hallie, Dawson chose to take a break from the relationship in season 3, they both chose to sign the divorce papers. There is no reason why Casey couldn’t willingly and completely choose Brett, a woman he admires and respects and loves as her own person, to be in his life at the point he is at right now. There’s no reason why he can’t have a third great love.

You don’t have to like Brettsey or Dawsey or Dawson or Brett or Casey – equally you have every right in the world to love these relationships and people - but the story that the writers are telling fits with writers who care and respect the characters they have built for the past ten years. It fits with a story that wants their characters to flourish and to just LIVE.

It’s time for Casey to be happy and the story they’re telling suggests that his happiness is in Brett.

And that’s pretty darn wonderful.

#brettsey #dawsey #matt casey #chicago fire #this is long but i had to get it out #i hope it actually makes sense

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retroyousei · 3 years

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Female characters in retro shojo [70s edition, part 1]

Ah, the 1970s (and early 80s), where a majority of the shojo manga stories took place in a distant European country or in America, surrounding either orphan girls from the 19th or early 20th century, who remain cheerful and have adventures, trying to find out who they are, making friends and falling in love, or epic historical stories filled with war, scandals and larger than life characters. If the manga was taking place in Japan, the plot was somehow more down to earth -though most of the time it restrained the same amount of unrealism- and it was either about following the journey of a girl who pursues the career of her dreams and evolves into a notable person, or a high school story filled either with melodrama and angst or a more heartwarming romantic comedy. But in this two-part article I won’t talk about plot tropes of the shojo manga of that era -as this topic deserves an exclusive article-, but about the female characters (I will dedicate an article on male characters some other time). Those characters are very important, as they set the standards of today’s manga and anime. But it should be noted that back then the formula of their design and characteristics are different from today’s. Those are the categories that I’ve noticed, regarding the appearance and personality.

The “average” protagonists

They are the most common category. Usually, they come from middle class and they are presented either as cheerful and a little dense schoolgirls, or plain looking and unrefined, as oppose to their antagonists or rivals who are well educated, beautiful and more talented, but this may serve as a determination for them to improve. Other times they are presented as headstrong heroines, ahead of their time, who refuse to compromise and for this they are a pain to their old-fashion society. Either way, they are kind, good, well-intentioned and want to help the others, that’s why they make friends easily. The thing that really works with these characters and makes them much more interesting than they may seem, is that they are independent and built their future on their own and they never give up, no matter what happens and what someone might say about them. Even when they are not sure of themselves, they always keep trying, until they reach to their dream. They use their obstacles as strength and determination to go on, proving that they are not average at all.

Maya, the protagonist of “Glass Mask” is a great example of this. She starts as a good-for-nothing daughter of a poor family, who isn’t particularly accomplished, but has a hidden passion for acting which she hadn’t realise it herself at that point. But when she is discovered by Tsukigake, a former legendary actress, she realises how much she wants to be an actress to a point that she lied saying that her mother allowed her to study to sensei’s acting school and ran away from home. Not even when her mother told her that she doesn’t consider her as her daughter anymore, she didn’t gave up, in spite of being very hurt by this. Her path towards acting wasn’t easy. Many times she has to face many who say that she doesn’t belong to that industry, or who are jealous of her talent and means her harm, but with her faith in herself, she always overcomes those obstacles. An admirable thing about her is that she dislikes fame, being shy, as she just wants to act and that she does not gives up, no matter what and even when she does, she quickly stands up. The most interesting dynamic of the story is her worthy rivalry with Ayumi, that is clearly a case of the trope “technician vs performer”, with Maya as the performer, as her standard method to learn how to play a character is to become that character. As the story progresses, Maya evolves from a girl with a hidden talent, to a young actress who portraits an original take to classic characters, but who still had much to learn, to one of the greatest actresses of her generation.

In “Yokohama Monogatari”, Uno starts as a plain, poor, orphan girl, who is ignorant about the world, as she hasn’t even seen the sea before and she believed that westerners were vampires who could drink people’s blood, that’s why they had blonde hair and blue eyes. She starts to work as a companion in a rich family to their daughter Mariko, who is the same age as her. Besides their differences, they become quickly best friends. While Mariko is a little spoiled, Uno, despite of her ignorance of world, can be more considerate and responsible in some matters. She also has a lust for learning and soon her and Mariko pursuade her family to go to school. There, she meets many people, among them there are a few foreigners too, she makes a lot of friends, and she excels at all of her studies, being hardworking. As the years passed by, Japan changes and allows exchange of ideas from many cultures -it’s Meiji era we are taking about, that means the last quarter of the 19th century- and Uno evolves from a poor, -many would say- hopeless for her situation, clueless of the world girl, to an open minded, educated and refined woman, surrounded by many people she loves.

In “Tokimeki Tonight”, Ranze -well except of being the daughter of Dracula and warewolf and having her own vampire powers as well- is an average girl who is friendly, sweet and little quirky girl who goes to school and falls in love with Shuun. Some may say that she is pretty basic, but in fact, she knows her self worth well, so even when her parents were disappointed with her not having any power yet, at the beginning of the story, she wasn’t particularly bothered by it. Also she is very headstrong that she falls in love with a human boy, while she knows well that a creature from the demon world and a human cannot be together. But in spite of all of that, she decides to stay true to her own feelings and even though she’s not so sure about Shuun’s feelings for her either, she doesn’t give up and waits for him, because she hopes and deep down knows that he likes her too and she is right. And even when her parents want her to marry prince Aaron of the demon world and even the king- learn that she likes a human, in spite of that being against the rules, she isn’t afraid to stand up for her beliefs. Later though, we learn that Shuun is the lost prince of the demon world, so he is not a human after all, but that’s another story.

In “Aim For The Ace”, Hiromi is a typical schoolgirl who struggles to get better in tennis, when she gets selected as one of the club’s main players in school by the new coach, as he saw potential in her. Some of her seniors are jealous of her because of that and at first she thinks that she is not worth such a discrimination, but soon she improves and realises how much she loves tennis. There’s also a very similar rivalry dynamic with “glass mask” between Hiromi and Reika who grow to be worthy opponents.

In “Haikara San Ga Toru”, Benio is a headstrong young woman who studies Kendo, drinks sake and prefers reading literature and feminist ideas, rather than being interested in housework. She also likes to dress in western clothes, rather than the traditional kimono and strongly believes that women should have the right to decide for their future on their own and they should marry for love. But her world turns upside down when her father announces that he has arranged a marriage for her. The one that he indends for her is someone she knew before, very briefly and accidentally, a lieutenant named Shinobu. Of course, she refuses, being loyal to her ideals and she goes out of her way to avoid him, just to satisfy her pride, in spite of actually starting developing feelings for him. When she moves to his grandparents’ house to get prepared as his wife, she purposely fails in all of her duties as a housewife and constantly argues with his grandparents, but all of that only makes Shinobu fall for her even more. It’s only when he leaves to go to the war, when she realises her feelings for him and during at that time when everyone thought that he was dead, she matured and became even stronger, remaining loyal to him and determined to work as a journalist to support his family, but also tracking him down, hoping that he’s still alive. Of course, at the very end, they live happily ever after together. Benio’s character development is admirable; starting as a clever, but headstrong girl, to an independent and wise woman, proving that you don’t have to disagree with everyone in order to prove that you are the one who chooses how to live your own life.

The villains

Their extreme pride and vain is their common nature. Most of the times they come from a wealthy family, so they are either oujo-sans who are always dressed elegantly, are seemingly refined and they tend to have curly, blonde hair -as blonde hair seem to be associated with wealth and sophistication in Japan-, or they are just spoiled brats that demand that everyone will do as they say. They are the main antagonist of the story for different reasons. The most common one is that they are jealous of the heroine, either because they are their love rivals and they are jealous of the heroine’s relationship with the love interest of the story, or because they are just pathologically jealous of the heroine because of her looks, her happiness, her luck and her loving nature. Another reason they act the way they do is because they want power and success, or they just want to secure all of that. The worse and least complex reason of all is that they are just mean for no particular reason.

Eliza, from “Candy Candy” is the typical alpha b*tch who is pathologically jealous of Candy. At first, she along with her brother, makes her life miserable, by blaming her for the bad things they do, such as hurting the horses in the stables, provoking her and then telling to their mother that she’s wild and leaving her alone in a town she doesn’t know and locking her in dark rooms. After that, during their time in London, Eliza says to everyone that Candy is an orphan who made her life miserable, even blaming her for Antony’s death. Later, having the habit of falling in love with the one that Candy likes too, school, she falls for Terry and constantly tries to turn him against her, failing miserably. She also writes a fake letter to her that it was supposedly from Terry and to Terry too, to meet each other in the stables at night and with this, she blabs them to the teachers and Candy, having no choice, leaves school. Later, when Candy was pursuing a career as a nurse, she continues her cruel ways and her mother also threats the director of the hospital where she was working, that if they won’t fire her, the Leagan family will withdraw their funds for the hospital and she also made sure that no hospital from Chicago will hire her, leaving Candy in a difficult situation. Those are only of few of the things that Leagan family did to Candy. The worst part is that they don’t pay for what they did at the end.

Fukiko from “Oniisama e” fits well this image; She is a refined lady from a rich family, the president of the sorority and very educated, that’s why she is admired by everyone. However, in reality she is manipulative, proud and very possessive. She wants to control everyone and she’s even willing to go out of her way to achieve what she wants. For instanse, she’s jealous of Nanako because she is close to Henmi Takehito, the one that she (Fukiko) is in love with, so to control her, she chooses her to be a member of the sorority and demands that she will stay away from him, even by pulling her into the lake and attempt to drown her . She also makes Rei’s life miserable, by stepping into her weakness, refuse to accept her as a member of their family and constantly manipulating her with the cruelest of ways. Also, it’s revealed that her friends from the sorority are feeling pressured because of her. Later, with the death of Rei, along with her realisation that Henmi and Kaoru No Kimi are truly in love, surprisingly, she regrets, gives up on her cruel ways and matures, growing even more beautiful for all of that.

Yoko from “Tokimeki Tonight” is a different case. She is the love rival of the story and the have loved Shuun ever since they were little. Being the only daughter of a rich businessman, she is spoiled and when something doesn’t go as she wants, she is is angry and demands that everything will go the way she wants. She envies Ranze for her close relationship with Makabe and ever since she accidentally saw her transforming, she tried desperately to prove others that she (Ranze) is a vampire. Her character is less dramatic and more comedic, as she is often grumpy and clumsy. But she isn’t really a bad person and she doesn’t really cause an awful lot of trouble.

In “The Rose of Versailles”, Madam Du Barry, the king’s mistress, wants to sustain her place in the court and demands that Marie Antoinette, who was at that time the dauphine, will speak to her. She also have tried to poison one of the court ladies. Countess De polignag becomes the queen’s best friend, for her own benefits and manipulates her without her (Marie Antoinette) knowing, like telling her to lie about being pregnant and also persuade her to start gambling in the court, which was illegal. She’s also Rosalie’s biological mother and accidentally kills the woman which raised her daughter and she’s the reason that her other daughter suicides, because she cannot handle the marriage the she arranged for her. Besides of her daughter’s death, she doesn’t seem to regret for any of her actions as she tries to make Rosalie merry the same man. Luckily Rosalie escapes. Also, she tried to sabotage Oscar many times and all this was just for the sake of power and money.

In “Glass Mask”, Norie Otobe, befriends Maya and she is supposedly her assistant, but in reality she just waits for the right moment to strike and steal Maya’s role and career. Unfortunately, she succeeds and it costs a lot for Maya, for a while. Luckily Ayumi discovers this and punishes her with the best way ever.

The tomboys

They are either mysterious, or lively, but one thing is for sure; they are dressed in clothes that are considered to be “manly”, they are handsome and they are constantly mistaken for a boy. They are also very elegant and educated and their image is that of a prince. That’s why they are admired by both women and men. Some may say that even though they are trying to be like a man, they are still weak, but they point out that just because they dress more “tomboyish”, doesn’t mean that it makes them less of a woman. After all, when they want to, they can transform into the most feminine girl of all. They also prove that their sexuality is not associated with their looks, as a “masculine” girl has the same possibilities of being heterosexual or homosexual, with a more “feminine” one. So, they break all the stereotypes regarding women. Many times, they are portrayed as headstrong heroines who stand up for their beliefs and their friends.

The most famous character that supports this image is Oscar from “the Rose of Versailles”. Oscar is one of the daughters of the Jerjeyes household. Not having any son, her father decided to raise her as a boy so that one day she will succeed him. Oscar dresses in boys’ clothes and learns activities like fencing and archery. When she was fourteen, she was tasked to serve as Marie Antoinette’s bodyguard. The manga often pointed out how different those two were regarding appearance and character, even if they were in the same age. Oscar has a strong sense of justice and she always protects the weak and is not afraid to challenge someone that she believes that isn’t right. Of course, she is admired by men and women alike and she is also a great and loyal friend. At one point she falls in love with Fersen, who loves Marie Antoinette. But because of her respect for the queen and her love of Fersen, she helps them, despite being heartbroken. At the end, she realises that she loves her childhood friend, Andre. She loves medieval combat, drinking heavy drinks, talking about politics and playing violin. Many pointed out that being a woman she was weaker but she always proved them wrong, pointing out that women can do anything and that it doesn’t matter if you are a man or a woman, only how skilful you are. She was hiding her femininity not because she wanted to be a man, but because that if she acted like a woman, the society might think that she was weak and she wouldn’t be able to have the access and the freedom to do what women normally wouldn’t do back then, because women were alowed to limited things. In the early 1970s, by the time this manga was ongoing, the second wave of feminism had already started and women started fighting for equal legal and social rights, so Oscar’s character was influenced by all this.

Rei from “Oniisama e”, is admired by her fellow classmates and is also called “saint Juste”, named after one of the leaders from French Revolution, due to her physical resemblance to him. She is very charismatic, excelling to sports, piano, guitar and theatre, she is very elegant and dresses often in a black suit. Unfortunately she is drug-addict, she smokes and can be suicidal, carrying always pills and a sharp object with her. She is also obsessed with Fukiko, the sorority’s president, for many reasons, causing her to be controlled and abused by her. She also lives alone in a depressing house filled with mirrors and this also causes to be depressed. Her best friend is Kaoru no Kimi, who’s also a tomboy, but they are entirely different and she befriends Nanako and her friends. In the end she suicides, taking too many sleeping pills, having everyone, especially Nanako, left devastated.

Also from “Oniisama e”, Kaoru, is a tomboy who is strong and energetic. She is athletic and excels at basketball, but she is also very cool and doesn’t seem to care that she is the best at something that she’s doing, that’s why she is admired by her fellow classmates who gave her the nickname “Kaoru no Kimi”, from a Japanese classical novel; “the tale of Genji”. She also has a great sense of justice, as when she sees classmates being bullied, she defends them and put the bullies on their place. She is also very loyal and supportive and cares deeply about her friends, helping them when they are in need, especially her best friend, Rei, for whom she is very concerned. But in spite of her energetic appearance, she suffers from breast cancer and tries to keep it a secret, pretending that she is healthy and that everything is under control. But in fact, she pushes away her beloved, Henmi Takehito, concealing her true feelings, in order for him to be happy without her and not suffer anymore, showing how selfless she is and how much she loves him to a point of sacrificing her own feelings. At the end, it pays off and they end up together, living happily.

Another honourable mention is Rei, from “Glass Mask”. Rei is the older student of Tsukikage sensei’s company and one of Maya’s best friends. She is a tomboy who wears those characteristic 70s jeans and for some reason is mistaken by a boy -much to her dislike-, despite of being obvious that she is a girl. Being an actress, she can transform into a beautiful princess in no time, but she also portraits very well a prince. In the first volumes, she portrayed Jo, from “little women” which was a role very suited for her. As a sister figure for Maya, she is loyal, friendly and the responsible one who helps the theatre company stay organised and is a very strict teacher to Maya, helping her because she knows her potential. Also from “Glass Mask”, Keiko from the “Ikkakuju group” is also mistaken as boy, but she can transform into a pretty princess in no time.

Note: At the first half of the 20th century “Little Women” were very popular in Japan, particularly Jo, who was tomboyish and outspoken and her character had inspired the first female mangakas of the 60s for their stories and characters.

#retro shojo #shojo manga #70s manga #80s manga #glass mask #Tokimeki tonight #haikara san ga tooru #Oniisama e #the Rose of Versailles #Candy Candy #Yokohama monogatari #aim for the ace #character types #Shojo

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