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chainofclovers · 3 years

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Ted Lasso 2x10 thoughts

GOOD GOD.

“No Weddings and a Funeral” is like being hungover but also coming out of a hangover. Having a terrible cold but also feeling better and appreciating every breath that comes through your nose. Embarking on an organizational project and accidentally falling into a photo album and crying about the pictures and organizing almost nothing tangible but making a few things more clear in your brain.

So much of this episode is about the AWFUL POINTLESSNESS OF DECORUM. How loud is too loud when you’re drinking stolen wine and shrieking about sex in a church right before your father’s funeral? How should you feel--thirty years later, as an accommodating, anger-averse person--about having been too angry to attend the funeral for your father who killed himself? What expression should you make when you show up really late to a different funeral? Why must you wear uncomfortable shoes just because someone died? What happens in your mind between standing up to give a eulogy for a man you’re still angry with and choosing to Rick Roll your mom and everyone else as an act of complicated love, humiliatingly incomplete until someone else starts to sing? Should you worry about your therapist seeing your normally tidy flat in a full-on state of depression mess? Is it okay to be offended that your boyfriend is so uncomfortable about death that he can’t stop making morbid jokes? Should you care about other people caring that you’re crunching an apple in church or squealing with joy to be reunited with a friend you’ve not seen in awhile? Are you obligated to explain your behavior if your kid doesn’t understand how you could stay with someone unfaithful? How far behind the counter should you sink when your [undefined relationship person]’s mother has just let you know she can see your dick through your underwear? Is a funeral reception an okay place to find a hookup? Is a funeral reception a decent spot for a break-up? Is a funeral reception a good time for a love confession when you know the person you’re confessing to is happy with someone else? And who do you make eye contact with when you can’t look directly at the person asking you if you’re okay when there’s so, so much about you she doesn’t know yet? Even if--for this tiny little moment within a vast swath of many okay and not-okay moments--you’re honest when you tell her that you are?

I fucking adored this episode because it answers all these questions very simply: Show up. Show up for yourself. Show up for your friends. Try not to harm yourself. Try not to harm your friends.

I love that this episode is about the messiness of adulthood and the things we bring with us from childhood and that it takes place partially in Rebecca’s childhood bedroom, and in Ted’s childhood memories. Dwelling in those places (whether physically or mentally) isn’t an automatic recipe for regression, but it does get everyone closer to the things that made them who they are, to the unresolved and half-buried parts of them that still make them tick today.

Forever obsessed with every single detail about Rebecca’s childhood bedroom.

Forever obsessed with Deborah’s decision to Rick Roll herself every single morning of her life.

Forever obsessed with Rebecca’s decision to Rick Roll her father’s funeral as a way to not have to make up a single word about her father and to do something very vulnerable and kind for herself and her mother and everyone.

Forever obsessed with Ted’s decision to Rick Roll Rebecca Rick Rolling her father’s funeral.

Forever obsessed with an entire found family backing it up.

I love that it is Isaac’s leadership that ensures every single member of the team attends the service for Paul.

I am very, very interested in Jamie’s love confession to Keeley because I do think it will spark some reflection in Keeley but I do not think it’ll go the cliched love triangle route.

Each scene with Rebecca and Sam struck (for me, a human being sharing a subjective perspective on the internet) the tender-awkward-beautiful-stressful chord I was hoping it would. I think it’s wonderful that Sam is honest with Rebecca about how difficult it is to keep their relationship a secret, and I love that Rebecca has a million mostly-unarticulated reasons for why she’d much prefer the secret to continue. I like that Sassy, Keeley, and Nora respond to the revelation as friends; they might be tempering their judgments in part because they’ve all gathered to bury Rebecca’s dad, but I don’t think their reactions would’ve been that different even on a happier occasion.

While there are a million and one different reasons why a continued relationship between Rebecca and Sam could cause serious ethical problems, I really love that when people share big news on this show, the people who care about them generally react by trying to see why the person is doing what they’re doing. Doesn’t mean they shouldn’t also hold each other accountable, but in my book it’s OK that Keeley’s first reaction was to feel happy that her friend is having some fun.

Also everyone has been making weird judgment calls this season, and this episode felt like a moment of real breakthroughs in terms of people telling the truth about things that happened to them and leaving themselves open to honest responses from others.

September 13, 1991. It’s so tenderly, beautifully, overwhelmingly meaningful that there’s still so much Ted and Rebecca don’t know about the things they have in common in these parallel lives they’re leading. The scene between Sarah Niles and Jason Sudeikis is so beautifully acted, and so is the scene between Hannah Waddingham and Harriet Walter. The way they intertwine to communicate that Ted and Rebecca basically lost the ability to trust their fathers simultaneously, from an ocean away? In the hands of lesser storytellers, it would feel too perfect a mirroring, but here it feels heartbreakingly imperfect. All the things they still don’t know. All the questions they try to ask each other. All the things they don’t dare ask yet. And then the storytellers are holding a candle up to all of it and letting the audience bask in the glow of this connection even if Ted and Rebecca can’t fully understand it yet.

I am so proud that Rebecca and Deborah were able to embark on the beginnings of a conversation about the ways Deborah and Paul’s relationship might have resembled or not resembled Rebecca and Rupert’s. It feels possible that they could get to a point where Rebecca truly internalizes her mother’s pride that she broke a cycle by leaving Rupert, and could maybe even understand why her mother made the choices she made. I love that in the final scene, they’re still relying on their old mother-daughter conversational patterns—the frustrations, the snippy shorthand, the passive-aggression. Mothers and daughters!

I am also proud that Ted—albeit via a joke about Sharon charging him for the house call—indicates that he understands the value of Sharon’s work. He’s changed a lot, all in realistic ways for someone who loves learning and really does want to meet people where they are and appreciate them. I’m very moved that instead of putting himself in a real harmful situation by showing up to the funeral on time at any cost, he did what he needed to do to take care of himself and accept care from someone else. And then Sharon’s suggestion that he think about things he loved about his father? And the way he’s able to share a positive memory of Rebecca’s own father at a time when she really needed it? Gosh.

Awkward, undecorous transition from 1991 to present-day incoming...but SASSY! She’s just, like, a whirling dervish of loyal friendship and not giving a fuck and penis size discussions and being casually, delightfully cruel to Rupert, who so deserves it. Rebecca was going on a real face journey when Sassy goes off with Ted at the end, and I’m sort of *eyes emoji* about all of that, but I continue to feel like Sassy is the most imperfectly wonderful friend-from-the-past kind of person and I love everything she and Nora get to do in this episode.

Keeley saying “That baby is whack” might be my favorite line in the episode? Maybe the whole show? Not really but really.

FUCK YOU, RUPERT. Bex and Diane, y’all are fine. And I truly feel for Nate...whatever scheme he’s getting suckered into. Whatever insecurity Rupert is preying on. I want Nate to go to therapy, too.

I feel like it was an unpopular opinion at the time, but I loved Rebecca’s 2x1 revelation about vulnerability and fear of getting hurt and needing to let someone love her. Sassy doesn’t always word things in the most nuanced way, but I think there’s a real possibility that she did ask Rebecca to really consider what it means to feel either safe or unsafe with a person but to know that in either circumstance, that person could end up causing her pain. Standing in that closet with Sam, managing to make it clear that she’s not asking for a break because she knows he will hurt her but because she has to figure out how to be with a wonderful person who could cause her pain...the growth, man. Makes me emotional.

I emerged from this episode feeling, of course, stunned by all the amazing parallels and revelations and beautiful acting and Rick Rolls and just, everything. I also emerged feeling sad/raw/tender because messiness and decorum and growth and coping mechanisms and death and dramatic irony and not knowing things about people and not knowing what you don’t know...it’s a sad, raw, tender place to be.

To quote a guy who got a whole sitcom (lol) named after him, life is real hard.

#ted lasso #ted lasso s2 spoilers #meta by me #ted lasso 2x10 #a lesbian watches ted lasso #lotta feelings in here y'all #cw suicide

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beclynn-herondale · 3 years

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Similarities that I see between Jace and Céline

(these are just my thoughts. Press read more to see them.)

↑ this chaotic energy. You think he got it from Stephen? Nah.

Her anxiety reminds me of Jace's. And like their thought process was similar in ways.

They both struggled with belonging.

Céline corrected Robert when he said "Just like a warlock. Always for sale."

And Céline was like "Always on sale."

Again Jace energy.

Céline knew Amatis, Stephen's wife. At least, she knew enough. Amatis was sharp-tongued and stuck up. She was opinionated, argumentative, stubborn, and not even that pretty. There were also rumors that she still secretly associated with her werewolf brother. Céline didn't much care about that—she had nothing against Downworlders. But she had plenty against Amatis, who obviously didn't appreciate what she had. Stephen needed someone who would admire him, agree with him, support him. Someone like Céline. If only she could make him see that for himself.

Jace's smile was as bland as buttered toast. "Go on, go after him. Pat his head and tell him he's still your super special little guy. Isn't that what you want to do?"

But he couldn't look at Simon without wanting to kill someone.

“And even back then, in that stupid coffee shop. When I saw you sitting on the couch with Simon, even then that felt wrong to me—i should have been the one sitting with you. The one that made you laugh like that. I couldn't get rid of that feeling. That it should have been me.”

↑ Their bitterness, anger, jealousy, and envy towards the person who had the person they wanted and in general has the same energy in my opinion.

They both were angry and jealous of people who had it better or they considered to be good—Like, that was why Jace hated Simon so much at first, because Simon was everything Jace thought he'd never get to be, he just didn't realize it.—And Céline was angry of the kids in the academy who had loving parents and good childhoods, and weren't damaged like she was—they both were angry because somebody was someone or had something they thought they'd never get to be or have. (In Céline's case she never actually got it, not really.)

They both like to wander around when upset.

They both aren't too fond of the Silent Brothers. And I think that has to do with their head being full of certain things they don't want others to know, and the Silent Brothers speak in your mind, almost like they're reading your thoughts.

They're both observant, which could be from growing up in abusive and toxic environments but could also just be they're observant people.

They both can tell when someone is off. We see this when Céline sees through Valentine's mask. Jace often saw through the lies of people in TMI and still does.

And the both hate being pitied. Like it angers them when people pity them, we see that with Jace quite often in TMI, but we see it when Dominique says this: “Every Downworlder in Paris knows about poor Céline Montclaire, wandering the city like a murderous little Éponine. We all feel a little sorry for you.”

And then Céline thought this: Céline lived with a steady, secret simmer of rage, but now she felt it boiling over.

↑ Again, the above reminds me of Jace. He lived with anger that he kept under control but would boil over when triggered.

They're both sensitive. And get hurt easily.

“I wish I could be more like you,” she admitted.

In what sense?

“You know, just shut off my feelings? Feel nothing. For anybody.”

There was a long pause, and she wondered if she had offended him. Was that even possible? Finally, his cool, steady voice spoke.

This is a wish you should dispense with. Feeling is what makes us human. Even the most difficult feelings. Perhaps especially those. Love, loss, longing—this is what it means to truly be alive.

“I think—my father was sorry he had a parabatai,” he said. “Now I have to go live with a man my father was sorry about. I don't want to be weak, I don't want to be sorry. I want to be the best.”

If you pretend to feel nothing, the pretense may become true, said Jem. That would be a pity.

↑ They both wished to feel nothing, and had Jem tell them that wasn't as great as they thought. But they both still desperately wanted to not feel.

When she was a child, her parents had often refused her iratzes after training sessions, especially when her injuries were caused by her own mistakes. Let the pain remind you to do better next time, they told her. All these years later she was still making the same mistakes.

“No! it's better for your parents not to know it happened at all. It was just bad luck that one of them got me. I'm a good fighter,” Jonathan protested sharply.

“It's my fault I got hurt,” said Jonathan. “I know excuses are for incompetents. It won't happen again.”

↑ this bit on making mistakes, or when getting hurt.

Céline always carried a misericord blade.

↑ Reminds me of someone else who always carries blades.

They both were aware of the consequences of putting a rune on someone that they weren't 100% sure were Nephilim, and it was different circumstances but they did it anyway. Jace gave Clary her first rune and Céline gave Rosemary her first rune (I think).

More furious at her own instinct for mercy. After all, her parents had never shown any to her. Her parents had done their best to teach her that mercy was weakness, and cruelty was strength.

Jonathan said the word "weakness" with horror. Jem wondered what a man who had drilled a boy to fight like that might have considered weakness.

↑ Mercy, kindness, gentleness, etc. Was taught as weakness to them both growing up.

They both hate being predictable. Kinda like when Rosemary knew Céline would keep her secret. Céline hated that she knew that. Remember in CoA when everyone was guessing that Jace said no to Valentine, and he hated it.

They both never really felt like they were ever a kid. Because again, the environment they grew up in forced them to grow up faster than they should have. Which is why Jace didn't think of himself as one when he threw himself into battle.

like Jace I don't think Céline liked to upset the balance of things, meaning they don't pry and don't pressure. Which often gets them labeled as "not too bright" or "unobservant" they're both observant, they just don't say it out-loud. Jace is definitely like this, but I see Céline as this too. Stephen said she always needed to be told what to do, but I don't think it was that exactly, I think she just didn't like to upset things. Which growing up in an abusive and toxic environment does that. But I think it's also just part of who they are.

That sweet and obedient daughter of the provençal countryside. They knew how devoted she was to her parents. Such a dutiful daughter.

↑ Valentine often called Jace his obedient son. I see Jace in this part as well. Sebastian called him Valentine's "sweet boy."

She could close the door on the past, start again. She could choose a life without pain, without suffering or fear.

But who would she be without pain?

This also reminds me of Jace. Obviously he did end up choosing to walk away from Valentine. But there are times he doubted, because in reality he himself didn't know who he was without the pain he'd experienced, without his past with Valentine. And they both believed that the pain and suffering had made them stronger. Jace later knows that isn't true, but I see the similarity there.

They're both said to have vulnerability about them that made you wan to protect them. To keep them safe. Jocelyn said you couldn't really hate Céline, and I think it's kinda the same with Jace.

Both of them refused to ask for help. Thinking they could do it all on their own.

Céline could tell how much it hurt—and how determined the woman was to reveal no pain. She knelt by her side. Rosemary flinched away. “Let me see—I can help."

“Tell me what happened first.” She tried to yank her wrist back, but his grip was incredibly strong. “I can help you.” — this is in Clary's pov.

↑ Their willingness to help the pretty stranger they didn't know.

They both often felt they didn't have a choice in some things.

They both felt achingly alone at some point. And very much misunderstood.

The thought of losing the only family they ever had scared them, and they were willing to do anything to keep them. Even if in Céline's case hers wasn't that real.

They were both said to be beautiful, and breakable. Fragile almost. These were Jocelyn's words. That beautiful things were easily broken.

They both grew up denied of love and care.

Céline had low self esteem in a lot of areas. We often see Jace as the confident character who doesn't have insecurities or low self-esteem. but he does. Jace didn't like himself, his looks don't play a part here, he didn't like himself. He actually didn't feel good enough or worth much, that's why he made so many superiority jokes, because he truly didn't feel good enough but had to make everyone believe he did. Céline didn't feel good enough either, but she tried not to let it show.

Their childhood gave them bad coping mechanisms and suicidal tendencies. They both self harmed in ways, believing that pain made you stronger is one of them.

We often look over the fact that while some of Jace's mental struggles did come from the trauma of his childhood and growing up around war, that he was already at a high risk with a mother who experienced similar things. Because if you have a parent who has mental illness the offspring are at higher risk of developing one. And his childhood didn't help with that.

And we know what they both truly wanted was to be loved and safe. Really. Jace always thought he wanted to fight all the time, but by the end of tmi he realized he just truly wanted to be happy and left alone, he just wanted Clary and his family. Céline wanted that too, but she never got it.

You all realize they would understand each other, right? Like if Cassie ever did something where they somehow met, Céline would understand Jace and he would understand her.

Céline would have never raised Jace with anything but love and care. She would have made sure he never knew a childhood like hers. But he did. He ended up knowing what that was like. And it would have broken her even more to know that.

But she would probably stab Valentine in the face, which I'd like to see.

Friendly reminder that Jace looks like her around the eyes (no I won't shut up about this.)

There's probably more but until we learn more we won't know. Just remember he may be a Herondale but Céline is also there.

@khaleesiofalicante I tagged you 😎

#celine montclaire #celine herondale #jace herondale #jace lightwood herondale #tsc #the shadowhuter chronicles #tst #the secret treasons

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undyingskies · 3 years

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Days Like This

request: yes, Okay so I’ve never asked anyone to right a fic before butttt I was wondering if you could do one were you’ve had depression for years and you haven’t told anyone even Owen your boyfriend and after it getting really you breakup with him because you don’t want him seeing you like that and somehow he finds out and comes over and takes care of you even though you don’t want to do anything

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy!

Warning: Depression is mentioned in this. Please remember that if you are feeling this way you are never alone and you are not weak if you ask for help! Take care of yourself, you deserve it!

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It’s just a bad day, just one bad day, you constantly repeat to yourself in your head. You can feel the numbing feeling taking over your body and your breathing getting shallow.

You don’t want to feel like this, but it happens. You try to fight it because you don’t like the feeling or how it drags you down for days. There’s no shame of feeling this way or dealing with depression, it’s just hard to manage sometimes. Especially because you keep it to yourself, the only people that know is your mom and best friend.

You liked it that way, keeping it to yourself meant it affected less people and didn’t make people treat you differently. It seems like anytime someone hears you struggle with depression they start to act different and you didn’t like that. You didn’t like that at all.

You’ve been in bed for a few days now, just trying to tell yourself that it’s just a bad day, each day. But the bad day has now turned into three and it doesn’t feel like you’re escaping this feeling anymore.

When you get like this, you tend to block most people out. Your phone is too overwhelming and interacting with people just feels draining. You know it’s not the healthiest to block people out when you start to feel like this but healthy coping mechanisms is something you’re still working on, it’s a process. Nothing to be ashamed of you remind yourself.

The problem now is the fact that you’ve been blocking out Owen, your boyfriend. The two of you have been dating for about 6 months now, and you still haven’t brought up the fact that you deal with depression and depressive episodes.

It’s not like you didn’t want to tell him but it never felt like the time, especially because the last few months you’ve been doing really well. You’ve been going to therapy and practicing the healthy coping mechanisms your therapist was teaching you. You believed that maybe you wouldn’t have to tell Owen because you were doing so well.

Here you are though, a new wave of tears coming over you. You knew you weren’t doing well now. You just wanted to be alone.

As that thought makes its way through your mind a knock on your door pulls you from it. You hoped that if you didn’t move, the person would go away. You were wrong, the knocking just got louder and faster.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there.” You can hear Owen yell as he knocked a few more times.

You force yourself out of bed, wiping away the stray tears on your face before you make your way to the door. You open the door slightly, your body blocking Owen from coming in.

“What do you want Owen?” You ask him already feeling exhausted from the interaction. You just weren’t up for this.

“What do you mean, what do I want? It’s been three days and I haven’t heard anything from you!” Owen almost yells, you can see and hear the frustration coming off of him.

Logically you understand why he’s upset, anyone would be. But right now you can’t handle it.

“It’s nothing Owen, I’m fine. Please just go away. I will talk to you later.” You say while going to close the door, but his hand stops you from shutting it all the way.

“That’s not gonna cut it Y/N, you don’t get to ignore me, tell me you’re fine, and then just close the door in my face.” He tells you. “Just let me in, please.” He goes from yelling to almost whispering. You can see the sadness and confusion on his face.

“No, Owen. You just need to leave, I need my space, okay?” You yell back to him. You just want time to yourself right now, normally you’d be aware of how harsh you’re being but right now it doesn’t seem to matter to you.

“You can’t just shut me out like this for no reason Y/N, what’s going on?” He asks.

“Nothing is going on Owen, please just go away.” You tell him again.

“I’m not just going away like that Y/N. I’m worried about you. You’re my girlfriend and I want to be here for you.”

“Ya know what Owen? I’m not your girlfriend anymore so goodbye.” You tell him, anger seeping through you.

The look of sadness on his face almost breaks that anger. He’s hurt, really hurt. You close the door on him before he can get another word out.

The door closes and realization hits you. Tears stream down your face as your words replay in your head. You know you weren’t thinking rationally, fighting right now was just too much for you. You just wanted him to go away and apparently you were ready to say whatever it took to make him do that.

That feeling of exhaustion taking over you, you make your way to your couch and flop onto it. You let your tears fall from you for a while longer before sleep takes over you.

It feels like you slept forever when knocks on your door wake you up. You turn and look at your clock it’s 11 PM. The last time you remember looking at the clock it was light outside and not even 1 PM yet, you really did sleep forever.

You had what you called a depression nap, where you’re just so tired from your intrusive thoughts and all those overwhelming feelings, you sleep for almost the whole day, sometimes longer.

It’s weird that someone is knocking on your door so late but you still make your way to the door. You stand on your toes to look through your peep hole, you’re met with blue eyes and blonde hair. Your heart skips a beat for a second.

You open the door slightly again; you just stick your head through to look at him.

“Hi.”

“Hi Owen.”

Both you just stand there looking at each other, letting the silence and awkwardness take over the both of you.

“Can you please let me in?” He asks you; it almost sounds like a beg.

You don’t say anything, you just open the door for him. The sadness on his face breaks your heart, especially because you know you’re the one that caused it.

He makes his way into your apartment and sits on the couch moving your blankets out of the way. He looks up at you and pats the spot next to him.

You make your way over to him; you sit a little further away from the spot he patted. A frown makes its way onto his face.

“Can we talk about what happened earlier? I’d like to believe that you don’t want us to actually be over.” He says all while scooting closer to you, your thighs touching.

You nod your head yes, keeping your eyes on your hands that are placed in your lap. You’re embarrassed by your actions.

“Please Y/N, look at me, please.” The softness in his voice makes you look up at him. Your eyes meet his blue ones, you see them glossy and some tears pooling in them.

You reach up and wipe away some of the ones that had fallen. Your heart breaks at the sight of him.

“I’m sorry O, it’s just I don’t even know where to start.” It’s true you don’t. You never had to tell someone all about your mental health. Your mom and best friend were there with you through your process of finding out your struggle with depression and your diagnosis, so you never had to explain it to them.

“It’s okay love, just take your time.” He says to you, he grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers together.

You sigh knowing you’re going to have to tell him the truth. He was right you really didn’t want your relationship to be over. You loved him, if you wanted it to work you needed to be truthful and honest with him.

“A few years ago I was diagnosed with depression. I go to therapy to get help with it, but sometimes I deal with depressive episodes. That’s what I have been dealing with the last few days.” He just looks at you carefully, listening to you and taking all your words in. You continue. “It’s hard, I get overwhelmed easily by my phone or even just talking to people. I usually just lock myself in my room until they pass. I know it’s not the healthiest way to cope but I’m doing my best to work on it.”

You continue to tell him about your depression. You tell him everything, when it started, when you started to go to therapy, all of it. It really did feel great getting it all off your chest. Owen listens carefully the entire time, he never interrupts you.

“I know how hard that must of been to tell me, Y/N. I appreciate you letting me in and telling me about it.” He says and pulls you in for a hug.

“I know I can’t fix it or change the situation, but I want to be here for you. A shoulder you can cry on or lean on when you need the extra support. I want to be a part of your life, every aspect of it, not just some player on the sideline.” He tells you.

His words bring tears to your eyes. You’re the only one who can work on yourself, you can put the time and work in to help better your mental health. But a shoulder to lean on doesn’t sound so bad.

“Hey, hey, you okay?” He asks you, putting a finger under your chin to get you to look at him.

“Yes, Owen, I’m fine. Your words and you just mean a lot to me. Thank you for understanding.” You tell him. He smiles at you.

“So are you my girlfriend again orrrr?” He asks laughing a little, you laugh a little too.

“As long as you’ll have me.”

“Of course I will. I love you.” He tells you.

You smile back at him, “I love you too O.” You lean in and your lips meet for a sweet kiss.

“Is there anything we can do? Or something I can do to help?” He asks you.

“Considering it’s now past midnight, I think I’m okay.” You laugh. “Plus I’m tired O, I still feel mentally exhausted too. I could still use a day of relaxing here.” You tell him honestly.

“That sounds good to me. Is it okay that I stick around? We could cuddle.” He has the cutest smile on his face. You couldn’t say no to him, even if you wanted too.

“I like the sound of that O.”

After that the two of you made your way into your bedroom. You both lay in bed next to each other and cuddle into each other’s sides. You fall asleep that night a smile on your face. No one’s perfect, but it was nice to know that Owen accepted you and was willing to help you through whatever challenges you faced.

#owen patrick joyner #owen joyner #owen x reader #owen joyner imagine #owenjoynerimagines #owen joyner x y/n #owen joyner x reader #owen joyner fic #owen joyner fanfiction #owen joyner fluff #julie and the phantoms #julieandthephantomsimagine #jatp

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prince-of-elsinore · 3 years

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Sam and Dean: psychological analysis and headcanons

In response to this anon ask from the 66 SPN Questions:

6. Do you have any psychological headcanons (or canon interpretations) of the characters?

Anon, this is probably not what you asked for. But I started writing, and kept finding more I wanted to say, until I thought--why not just say it all? And by all, I don't actually mean all--this is by no means exhaustive. But it was a wonderful, self-indulgent opportunity to organize my thoughts on Sam and Dean's psychologies, and even find some new ideas as I was writing, and to put them out there so others can read and discuss. (Always happy to discuss any of this! Inbox is open.)

As a disclaimer, I know most of these thoughts are probably not original and may be retreads of many things fandom has been discussing for years. I'm not claiming to be breaking new ground here. Also, I sorta float backwards and forwards chronologically in my discussion--some parts pertain more to them when they're young, some to when they're older, and I don't always clarify which. Also, these are generalizations! I point out patterns I notice; that doesn't make them all hard and fast rules, because Sam and Dean are each human and complex!

Here's what you'll find below:

1. Core motivations 2. Happiness 3. Approval and secrets 4. Approval from authority figures 5. Need and attachment re: others 6. Sympathy and empathy 7. Walls—hiding vs. performing 8. Need and attachment re: each other 9. Ambitions and goals 10. Normality and monstrosity 11. Guilt and self-loathing 12. Autonomy and sacrifice 13. Personal identity 14. Concluding observation

1. Core motivations: Dean’s purpose is to protect Sam, obviously. Sam’s purpose, though a little less clear, is to save Dean. Sometimes it’s explicit, as in s3 and s9-10. But I think Sam also wants to save Dean, in general, from himself and from the life. It’s why he pushes against Dean’s obedience to their father. It’s why he tells him to get out and go to Lisa after he jumps in the Cage. At a certain point, I think Sam accepts he can’t “save” Dean without changing who he is, so he chooses to stick by him—because at least then he can make Dean happy.

2. Happiness: Dean’s happiness—or perhaps contentment is a better word—is knowing that Sam is safe and alive. Sam’s happiness is Dean being happy. In Sam’s world, things are good when Dean’s good. I think that, conversely, Dean wants Sam to be happy, and Sam wants Dean to be safe, but they both know and to an extent accept that those things are not within their control, so they focus on what they feel they can control.

3. Approval and secrets: They are each other’s north stars, guiding principles, in different ways. For Dean it’s “look out for Sammy,” for Sam it’s “what would my big brother think/do.” Dean doesn’t need Sam’s approval. Sure, he loves it when Sam admires him, but if he feels he needs to do something against Sam’s approval, he doubles down because approval from Sam is not the top priority. He’ll do what he thinks is right, especially to keep Sam safe, no matter what Sam thinks about it. Sam, on the other hand, does crave Dean’s approval and cares very much about his opinion. It doesn’t mean he won’t go against Dean (all the conflict of s1-5!), but it affects him differently. This leads to different kinds of secret-keeping: Sam goes behind Dean’s back to avoid his disapproval; Dean goes behind Sam’s back so that Sam doesn’t interfere with what he thinks needs to be done.

4. Approval from authority figures: Dean does crave approval from others—specifically, respected authority figures. The big one is obviously John. I think in a way it’s Mary, too, when she comes back. But it only applies as long as the person has his respect. Sam doesn’t crave approval from other authorities in the same way, perhaps because his primary authority figure growing up was Dean.

5. Need and attachment re: others: Sam is the only person Dean cannot live without, but he also makes outside connections of a friendly nature fairly easily. He’s the more socially outgoing brother who latches onto people like Gordon, gets friendly with Ash, and forges connections with Jo and Charlie, just to name a few (and Castiel at times—though their relationship is so inconsistent and often convenience-based I hesitate to include it in this category). Though Sam is Dean’s core need, I do think Dean thrives with other friendships. I’m not talking about found family, though I’m well aware of Dean’s tendency to call people “family” quite readily. Honestly, I think this is a manifestation of his craving for connection with others. Dean has an affectionate and playful nature, and let’s face it, Sam isn’t always super receptive to that—so naturally, Dean seeks out people who are. (I think this is also, in some cases, related to Dean’s craving for approval from others). Of course, none of those other relationships come close to the depth of his relationship with Sam, and when his relationship with Sam is at its best, I don’t think Dean really needs anything else to sustain him. But in reality, it can’t always be at its best.

Sam, on the other hand, doesn’t forge outside connections easily—but when he does, they tend to be deeper than Dean’s easy casual associations (even when Dean has real affection for someone, he tends to keep the tone of the relationship light). It’s pretty clear Sam was a loner kid, and I imagine it took him a while to find friends at Stanford, and even though he loved Jessica he still clearly kept many secrets. That’s the thing with Sam—he’s got walls. Dean’s got his own walls, but they’re different. Sam can seem emotionally open, but he protects his innermost self very carefully and rarely puts his emotions out there in a truly open way—even less than Dean does. I think this is a consistent personality trait for Sam, not one born of trauma (though perhaps exacerbated by it at times). In fact, it’s in later seasons that I see Sam finally, in rare moments, let down those walls, with Rowena and Jack. When he’s young, I think this was partially a coping mechanism he developed for hiding his desires/feelings, even from himself, because he was so unhappy with his life. It means that even though he’s an introspective guy, he’s not as self-aware as he thinks he is until he’s older and more mature. He’s very good at self-deception when he’s young, because as a thinker, he can convince himself of just about anything.

To circle back to attachment, what this means to me is that Sam, while he certainly appreciates close friendships and has a lot to offer those he cares about, doesn’t crave friends in the way that Dean does. I think he desires to be understood (this is a natural human need) but he’s much more comfortable with himself than Dean is, and is somewhat of a loner by nature. This means he’s also not (usually) going to be too affected by the status of his relationships with others. Dean is much more volatile and easily hurt by others (this is where Castiel is a great example).

6. Sympathy and empathy: On the surface, Sam appears to be the caring, sensitive brother, while Dean is brash and insensitive. This is a very incomplete picture, however. It mostly comes down to the difference between sympathy and empathy. Empathy is an involuntary response, whereas sympathy is something that a person chooses to express, though that doesn’t make it necessarily superficial—it also comes from an emotional place. Dean tends to be more empathetic, and Sam more sympathetic. Dean, despite his performative walls, is more easily affected on a visceral level by others’ emotions. He is more sensitive, more easily hurt or swayed to anger, and also more easily experiences empathy. This has nothing to do with what Dean thinks is right—it’s another involuntary emotion. He is sometimes moved to express this feeling, but he’s not generally concerned about appearing sympathetic. Sam, with his careful emotional walls, isn’t generally so viscerally affected by others, but he is kind. This is expressed as sympathy, because he cares about others’ feelings, and he wants to be good/morally right. On the one hand, it comes from an intellectual place—“it’s socially acceptable/morally right to express care for this person” (which Dean is less likely to care about)—and on the other, it is an emotional response—“I know what that feels like”—but a more regulated one than empathy, where one almost directly experiences another’s emotions.

7. Walls—hiding vs. performing: It’s interesting that both brothers have their own walls, which they construct as a form of self-preservation, but they have different levels of effectiveness in protecting themselves from outside influence. One difference might lie in what the walls were built in reaction to. Sam built his walls at a young age to separate himself from the outside world because, ironically, it was precisely what he desired, but was not allowed to have. He therefore consciously distanced himself from it, to dull the pain of not having it. The goal of those walls was to have something to hide behind, where he could remain generally unnoticed, so he could conceal his pain from outsiders and even from his family.

Dean took a little longer to build his walls—or at least to consciously do so. He already no doubt fashioned himself after his dad as a kid, and often put on a brave face—for Sam, for his father—when he was not feeling brave. He therefore became accustomed to performing at a young age, and performed many roles for both Sam’s and John’s benefit. He was unconsciously building walls with these performances, concealing his true feelings and desires. Later, I think this started to become more intentional, especially in relations with women/sex partners and especially after the Stanford split, as Dean realized how vulnerable to hurt his sensitive nature made him. It was much safer to perform all the time, and never let his real feelings show. For Dean, even more than Sam, I think he often lost sight of what those real feelings were behind the walls as he tried his best to be the performance he was putting on.

For a visual metaphor, I think of it this way: Sam is a boy at the center of a self-constructed labyrinth. He is almost always able to maintain control over how close people get (except when a few slip past his defenses, at which point he may be susceptible to manipulation). Despite all those elaborate passageways, though, there’s still Sam at the center. It’s lonely there, but he knows himself pretty well at least. Dean is a man in a mask who wants the mask to be his real face. He does everything he can to fuse himself and the mask together. They probably are fused at this point, so it would hurt to take the mask off. His memory of the face under the mask is hazy. He’s afraid, if he looks under the mask, he’ll hate what he sees. He’s lonely because no matter how close others get—and he lets them in close, can surround himself with people—none of them will ever see his true face. But he’s convinced himself it’s better this way, because if anyone saw his face, they’d hate it.

8. Need and attachment re: each other: Clearly, both brothers need each other. Sam’s need for Dean is different than Dean’s need for Sam, though. The way I see it, Dean’s need is one that requires reassurance. Perhaps it traces back to the concern about Sam instilled into him at a young age. I think it was strongly exacerbated by the Stanford split, when Dean realized his and Sam’s desires didn’t align. In Dean’s mind, Sam left once and can do it again—he’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sam, on the other hand, has always been able to rely on Dean as a rock, a constant in his life—to the point that, in a way, he takes it for granted when he’s younger. Not in a spoilt, ungrateful way, but in that way that we, as children, might take our parents for granted—they’re always going to be there, right? That’s why, on the few occasions where suddenly, Sam isn’t sure of Dean’s devotion, the rug is ripped out from under him and he’s completely adrift and distraught—seasons 4 and 8 come to mind. Sam needs to be the center of Dean’s universe. When he fears that that’s shifted, that Dean hates him or has chosen someone else over him, it turns Sam’s whole world upside down. For Dean, the fear is that Sam will leave, but it’s a constant, background worry. For Sam, the fear is that Dean will hate him, but since he can usually count on Dean to be obsessed with him, it only comes up now and again. Only Dean can truly hurt Sam, while Dean is vulnerable to hurt from others—though, as always, the deepest hurt can only come from Sam.

9. Ambitions and goals: Sam is the one with greater needs and ambitions outside the scope of their relationship. For Dean, if he’s got Sam and he’s got hunting, he’s content. His greatest accomplishments are taking care of Sam and saving people, and that’s all he needs. I see Sam as craving other sources of fulfillment, though—academic/lore study for its own sake (the pursuit of knowledge), and a leadership/mentorship role. I thought it was very fitting that Sam finds these in late seasons, with leading hunters against the BMOL, then leading the apocalypse AU hunters, then mentoring/nurturing Jack. Dean has always had (and needed) a mentor/leadership/nurturing role with Sam, but Sam also thrives when he’s able to step into that role for others.

10. Normality and monstrosity: I’m just going to link to this post rather than repeat myself.

11. Guilt and self-loathing: This is something they both struggle with and at times, are defined by, but it manifests differently. I think their Hell traumas exemplify their different brands of guilt: for Dean, it’s perpetrator’s guilt. He knows he did something terrible and feels he can never atone for his past actions. For Sam, it’s victim’s/survivor’s guilt. He may not have done anything wrong, but there’s a certain amount of self-blame, especially for perceived weakness. This is another theme for Sam; one of the main faults he sees in himself is weakness—too weak to save Dean from Hell for instance—and as a result tries to shoulder things alone (killing Lilith, Hallucifer, etc). Sam has a need to fix things, to prove to others and himself that he is capable. Dean, I think, sees his main fault as neediness, but really, it’s a deeply buried sense of innate worthlessness. He was taught from a young age that his brother’s life—not his own—was of the utmost value. He internalized that his life was only worthwhile if he could save others, and has trouble with the idea that he, himself, has value beyond what he can do for others.

12. Autonomy and sacrifice: The above leads Dean to have a very constrained sense of his own autonomy. In general, he values duty/loyalty to others over autonomy (although when it comes to cosmic beings, he’s all about free will—see this post if you want more thoughts on that, and Sam’s autonomy). Often, his desire to control others comes from a place of frustration when Dean feels they are neglecting duty/being selfish. I think partially duty towards others is really a deeply ingrained value for him, but there may also be some buried jealousy at play, in that Dean wishes he could act with more freedom, put himself first every once in a while, but doesn’t know how to. Sam tends to value autonomy over duty (this doesn’t mean he doesn’t believe in any sort of responsibility—he’s willing to sacrifice for the greater good, after all). This means he also tends to respect others’ autonomy, though we all know he can get plenty unhinged where his brother’s safety is concerned. The theme of Sam and autonomy has been talked to death so I’ll stop there, but you can click the link above if you want more.

13. Personal identity: One of Dean’s biggest struggles is with how much of his personal identity is received rather than self-determined. He is tasked with taking care of Sam and he is trained to be a hunter; these become the foundations of his identity. He says it himself: taking care of Sam is not just what he does but who he is. Then in season 3, his own subconscious mocks him for his lack of originality, styling himself and all he loves after his father, showing that this is a source of deep insecurity. This discomfort with himself contributes to his fear of being abandoned and left alone with himself. He doesn’t know who he is without Sam—or rather, is convinced he is nothing without Sam, which is why he fights so hard to keep him by his side. It also contributes to his general desire for friends, or better, family: people who won’t abandon him.

Later in the series, I think Dean has come to embrace his genuine self more. He’s nerdy and excitable and playful—and I don’t see this is as regression, but rather a healthy embracing of what makes him happy—not tastes inherited from his father. If it seems juvenile, it’s because it’s the first time in his life he’s allowed himself to express and explore these things. I think his relationship with hunting is also healthier; it’s no longer something he does because it’s the only thing that can give him worth. He does it because he believes it’s right and genuinely wants to help people. He has a more complete sense of self, and while it’s still totally tied up in Sam, he has gained some self-worth.

[I should note that basically everything I’ve written about Dean supports the headcanon that Dean has BPD—a headcanon I accepted after I realized this. For some more great writing on Dean and BPD, see this post by @venhedish.]

Sam has always known what he wanted for himself and rejected what was given to/allowed him. Wanting what he couldn’t have, from a young age, helped him develop an individual sense of self, not defined by others. I think it’s this difference in their sense of individual identity that leads some viewers to think that Dean loves Sam more than Sam loves Dean. He doesn’t, and losing Dean is just as huge a loss and a grief for Sam as losing Sam was for Dean. Dean is central to Sam’s life, and he can’t feel complete without him; however, his identity and every desire has never revolved as entirely around Dean as Dean’s has around him, so Sam has a foundational sense of self that even losing Dean can’t completely destroy. It’s what allows him to rebuild in grief and carry on (whereas I have no doubt Jensen’s right and Dean would waste away in the back of a pool hall without Sam). Dean’s central role in Sam’s life never disappears, though, and it is, in fact, what allows Sam to carry on; an effort to honor his brother’s memory, living in a way that would make him proud. There’s continuity in that for Sam; the craving for his brother’s approval and happiness never disappears. Seeking those things is what makes Sam happy, both in their domestic years together before Dean’s death and in the years after. They are both, after all, co-dependent!

14: Concluding observation: Sam and Dean have many similar issues, desires, and insecurities: the desire for a normal life, the fear of their own monstrosity, the desire for love and friendship, their need and love for each other, their desire for approval/to be admired, resentment at their childhood, the feeling of being impure and unworthy, the desire for freedom, issues with bodily autonomy. Sometimes these are seen as the purview of one brother or the other exclusively, but that’s almost never true when you consider canon as a whole. The difference is in how these things are internalized, sublimated, reflected, and expressed for each of them. It makes sense they would struggle with so many of the same things, because their lives are deeply intertwined and they are in the same boat most of the time.

#spn meta #sam meta #dean meta #sam and dean #winchester brothers #my meta #the brodependency #long post #spn

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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 3 years

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Pairings: Sam Winchester x Reader

Trope: Enemies to lovers @serenityhayato ( WRITTEN FOR @negans-lucille-tblr‘s SPN FIC EXCHANGE )

Warnings: Death of a friend, Canonical Gore (werewolf attack), Cursing, Smut (rough Sam, light choking, hand job, oral if you squint- male receiving, unprotected sex), Probably sex at inappropriate times if I’m being honest

Word Count: 7500 (I am so sorry I didn’t realize until I went to post this that it had a 3k word limit… this was definitely my bad but I’ve spent a week writing this and really didn’t want to scrap the whole thing to fit the word limit. I didn’t realize how carried away I got in the set up)

A/N: I have never written anything for Sam before, much less smut, but I wanted to give it a shot. I’m sorry if it’s totally OOC. I was trying to go off the knowledge that he’s canonically pretty rough in bed. I also couldn’t imagine him being super talkative and vocal. I don’t know, I’m just kinda stressed about this one. Also, this was probably definitely an inappropriate time for them to get down and dirty but my brain was glitching on any other idea so I hope you don’t hate it! Happy holidays!

________________

Sam Winchester.

The name alone made your blood boil.

You’d met the man for the first time, just before your hunting career began and quite frankly, you weren’t sure if you could ever truly forgive him for what he’d done.

–

It was the first semester of your senior year of college, a proud graduate-to-be of your dream university. Life had been great since you got to college. Old toxic relationships with people back home had practically disappeared, you’d formed a group of the best people you’d ever met, and your academics had been going strong.

Life was going great until people started disappearing only to turn up days later, slaughtered and nearly drained of blood. Anxiety was running high all across the board. The university even turned all night classes to online courses to prevent the likelihood of someone being abducted at night. Your best friend had started acting weird. She constantly shook as if she’d drank a pot of coffee for breakfast and was always looking over her shoulder. “It’s okay, Beth,” You tried to reassure her, “I know everyone is on edge but we’re doing everything we can to stay safe. Just make sure to bring your wooden stake in case the vampire attacks.” You chuckled weakly, knowing your nerve-fueled joke was definitely inappropriate considering that four people had actually died from whoever was out there but humor was a good coping mechanism.

Beth didn’t appreciate the joke at all and had run out of your apartment, disappearing. When she hadn’t returned by seven that night, you got worried enough to go look for her. Grabbing every self defense weapon you had, which was pepper spray, a pocket knife, and a key chain that looked cute but was actually a form of brass knuckles with sharp extrusions on it, you left your apartment to look for Beth, surprisingly well strapped.

You started with her favorite spots: a hipster coffee shop on Main Street, Taco Bell, that one bench in the botanical gardens that overlooked the pond, and the fourth floor of the library. She was nowhere to be seen. You were on the verge of calling the police or those FBI agents that had been questioning people on campus, asking some weird questions from what people had told you. You’d never spoken with them but they did say to come to them with information if anyone had any. You didn’t but they’d be a good start to finding Beth. Where to find them though? Figuring it would be best to just start with campus police, you walked across campus, looking over your shoulder every few seconds. The hair on your neck stood on end and it was impossible to feel safe. Campus police was located on the opposite end of campus and the busses stopped running early on weekdays so walking was your only choice.

“No, please!” You heard a man whimper from somewhere in the trees to your side. You stopped in your tracks and your heart dropped to your stomach. Should you help? Should you run? Should you stay here and call 911?

But then you heard Beth’s voice, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I can’t control it anymore!” And then screams. There were deafening screams of pain and you decided to say screw it. You ran down to try and protect your friend, even though you knew it was probably the last thing you’d ever do. This was stupid. What could you even do? Who knew what was down there attacking them?

When you saw them though, you stopped, skidding to a halt on the leaf covered hill. Beth was knelt over a man’s body, his backpack thrown to the side and ripped open. Though you were quiet, she must have heard you because her attention was whipped to you in an instant. Her face and shirt were covered in blood. It was obvious she’d been eating him or something along those lines.

You felt like a deer in headlights, utterly frozen in terror, denial, and confusion. “I can’t control myself anymore…” she admitted, a regretful sob hiccuping from her lips.

“Why?” You breathed out the question, silent tears falling. Whether they were for fear for your life or just the knowledge that someone you cared about could do something so horrible, you didn’t know.

Before she could answer, there was a loud bang and she fell dead. You flinched and covered your head, crouching instinctively from the gunshot. Your best friend slumped over dead and, despite the fact that you’d just watched her brutally murder some poor stranger, you couldn’t help but call out in shock and horror, “Beth!"

Two men came running down the hill, one of them to Beth’s body and the other to you. "She’s dead. Werewolf, just like we thought.” The man with short hair announced in a deep gruff voice.

“Are you alright?” The one who had come up to asked. He looked a little younger than the other, with longer hair too.

You were shaking, “What the hell just happened?"

"I know this is hard to understand but your friend over there… wasn’t human.” When he said it, you almost scoffed. Of course she was human. What the hell else would she be? Monsters weren’t real.

“You’re kidding me…” You said almost angrily. Then something hit you, “Wait, you’re those FBI detectives.”

The one with short hair walked up to you and the man talking to you. The taller one spoke again, “I’m Sam and this is my brother Dean. We aren’t really FBI. We hunt monsters. Monsters like your friend over there."

"She wasn’t a monster.” You said, a single tear finally falling down your cheek. Glancing over, you saw her lying dead on the ground, “Not the Beth I knew."

"Well then you didn’t know the real Beth because one look at that thing will tell you she ain’t human.” Dean told you bluntly.

Sam noticed the confusion, fear, and anger in your eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen this. It was never easy to tell people they were close to the truth and he preferred to just stay out of it completely but that wasn’t an option this time. “Look, I know this is difficult to understand. But Beth was a werewolf. And yes, they are real. Most monsters are. We’ve been tracking her for weeks."

"W-was she always like this?” Your mind whirled as you struggled to comprehend, truly comprehend, what was happening.

Sam shook his head, “She was turned by a werewolf back in her hometown a few weeks ago. We tracked her from a pack we hunted down over there.” You remembered when she came back, she had a big bandage on her arm. When you asked about it, she brushed it off, saying she ate it racing her brother on longboards. It was probably the bite.

“The fact that she made it as long as she did without killing is honestly impressive. I’ve seen some turn and right away they’re slaughtering people.” Dean chimed in. You hoped their words would console you but they only served to make you angrier.

“So you’re telling me that she was attacked by a werewolf and then turned into one? She was probably terrified! She kept saying how sorry she was! You could have helped her! But you just killed her!” You screamed at them angrily.

“Your friend murdered a bunch of people. Once they turn, there’s no saving them. They’re killers.” Dean said with such conviction that it almost scared you.

Sam put a hand out to Dean, signaling for him to shut up, “There’s only one known way to stop the transformation but it has a really low success rate, is extremely painful, and needs to be administered almost right after the bite. I’m sorry.” He reached a hand out to comfort you but you dodged it, shrugging off his gesture and beginning to walk away.

“I need to go."

"Wait!” Sam called out behind you and you stopped.

“What?!” You snapped, spinning around to stare at him. It was rare that anyone dwarfed Sam Winchester but since you’d been walking up the small hill, you towered over him. The way you glared down at him made him jump.

His words faltered before he finally spoke, “You can’t tell anyone about this. If people knew monsters existed-"

"I’ll decide how I deal with the fact that my apparently werewolf best friend was just murdered by some dudes who think they’re Ghostbusters."

—

Sam saddled up to the bar next to you and promptly ordered two beers. You kept your eyes straight ahead, not sure of what you’d say to him if you made eye contact. You could feel him side eyeing you curiously. Finally, he looked over, "I’m sorry if this is strange but you look so familiar. Have we met?"

You swiveled in the chair to face him, "It’s been a while but yeah. We’ve met. Remember that werewolf at (your college) about a year ago."

Realization dawned on his face, "Oh… I knew you looked familiar.” He didn’t sound excited like people usually did when they saw old friends because he knew you weren’t old friends. In fact, he assumed you felt quite the opposite and he understood why. “I never did catch your name."

"Y/N.” You informed shortly, taking a sip of your preferred poison.

Sam rocked back on his heels, “Well, uh, what are you doing out here?” It was Middletown, Arkansas, not exactly a happening place, so seeing you of all people here seemed almost too good to be a coincidence.

“I get the feeling the same reason you are.” You answered, eyebrows rising to infer a hunt.

It didn’t take long for Sam to figure what you meant, “Wait, you’re hunting now? Why?"

"After you guys left, I was devastated. You’d murdered my best friend,” you watched him sink into himself a little when you said that but continued seamlessly, “I was left alone with the sudden knowledge that monsters existed. I decided one day that I wanted to protect people like Beth. You know, the ones that innocently stumble into dangerous situations and have their lives ruined by a bite or scratch."

The tall Winchester brother was about to say something but Dean called from a few tables over, "Sammy!” He called out, pointing to a booth on the side wall. The bar was fairly busy for it being such a small town, with people playing pool or eating fries with their gin and tonics. Music played in the background and, though it wasn’t a song you knew off the top of your head, it sounded like every other dive bar in towns like this.

Sam held up a finger to his brother, begging pardon for just a second, before looking back over to you, “Look, I’m really sorry about everything. I really am. I know it doesn’t help but I’ve lost friends who were turned as well so I know how you feel.”

“Yeah, well, shit happens, right?” Your voice sounded anything but forgiving but it also wasn’t hostile either. It was more matter-of-fact. As much as you had hated Sam Winchester for what he had taken from you, if there was one thing you had learned over these last few months it was that shit really does happen. As hard as you tried, you really couldn’t save them all.

Sam glanced back over his shoulder to see Dean wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at him, clearly thinking you were someone Sam was trying to pick up for the night. Sam rolled his eyes and turned back to you, “If we’re both here for the vamp nest, then do you maybe want to come work with us?"

You thought for a moment. In all honesty, you had been under the impression that it was just one vampire wreaking havoc on the small town. Call it a novice mistake, because in all actuality, you really were still a relatively new hunter. One vampire you could take, a whole nest would be trickier. "Fine. But just so we don’t die."

You hopped off the barstool, glass of liquid fire in your hand, as you followed Sam back to the booth Dean was sitting at. At first, the older brother looked confused as to why his brother would bring his company for the night to meet him but didn’t say anything about it when you sat down beside Sam across the table from Dean.

"This is Y/N. She’s gonna help us work the case.” Sam announced, not leaving much room for objection.

Dean’s eyes studied you, “You look familiar. You’re a hunter?” He asked, trying to piece together why he recognized you.

You shrugged, “Am now but you know me from ‘bout a year ago when you guys killed my best friend. She was bit by a werewolf. Remember, that college girl?"

Realization dawned on his face, "Oh… yeah. Sorry about that but she was, y'know, a werewolf. So-” he shrugged insensitively, earning him a hard kick in the shin from Sam under the table. Dean looked back with that expression of 'what?’ That little kids had when they got in trouble.

“Well, anyways, she’s hunting now and is in town for the nest. I figured working together would be our best option.” Sam tried to be a peaceful moderator but it was hard when he knew how much you loathed him. It was frustrating, really, that you wouldn’t just see that Beth had become a monster. He understood that losing friends was hard but she had been killing innocent people.

“What’s the plan, then? We want to pick them off one by one so there’s less to fight at once or-” you began before Dean interrupted.

He shook his head, chewing some fries he’d shoved in his mouth while he spoke, “Nuh-uh. Gank the whole nest at once. Get 'em all in one place and torch it."

"Okay, well where’s the nest then?” You questioned.

Sam shrugged, “We don’t know yet. That’s what we gotta figure out."

"I have a file of police reports and eye witnesses on my laptop back at my hotel. I was just gonna grab a map of the town while I was out tonight to try and see if I could draw a location from the attacks.” You hadn’t planned on actually bringing work to do at the bar. You’d mostly come to see if you could overhear any drunken tales of vampires around town but it had been pretty dead as far as crazy stories so far.

Something behind you caught Dean’s attention and he leaned in close to you and Sam, “Hey, I’ll be back. Don’t wait up.” He said with a smirk and a wink.

As his brother stood, Sam threw his hand up in exasperation, “Where are you going?"

"Hopefully for a homerun.” Dean winked with a cocky smirk before walking away. You turned around to follow Dean with your gaze and immediately saw his target sitting at the bar, a beautiful African American woman with bouncing curls and a sultry smile on her berry stained lips. Honestly, you couldn’t’ say you blamed the older Winchester one bit.

Sam let out a huff of disappointment and rolled his eyes at his brother’s priorities. “Guess it’s just you and me then…” He groaned, not at the prospect of having to spend time with you but just at his brother’s laziness. Dean always managed to find an excuse out of the research part.

“Great.” You responded, unamused. Of the two brothers, Sam was the one you had an issue with- the trigger man on the night that changed your life. “Well, we should get a start on all this so we can get out of here sooner. If you didn’t get any food, you wanna head back to my room?”

The second the words left your mouth, you realized how it sounded and you became a bumbling mess, “Wait- I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant-”

Sam bit back a chuckle and raised his hand up off the table, motioning for you to stop, “It’s okay. It’s okay.” He laughed, long hair shining in the dim light as he moved to turn away from you with closed eyes while he chuckled. It really was a shame that he had done what he’d done to you. An opportunity with such a handsome man just had to be killed by his lack of compassion all those months ago.

You slid out of the booth, “Alright, well, I guess I’ll drive. Looks like Dean will be needing your car.” You smirked knowingly as you glanced over at Dean who had the woman he’d had eyes on in stitches over something he’d said.

Sam followed your lead, “Sounds good. I don’t think I want to be in the car after whatever they do anyways.”

Your black 2007 Honda Pilot was clean enough to not be totally embarrassed about but then you saw Sam’s little snort, “A Honda Pilot?”

“We can’t all have cool muscle cars or old trucks, jackass. I can go all terrain with decent gas mileage. Besides, I’d rather sleep in the back of this than your gas guzzler. She’s surprisingly spacious.” You defended your vehicle rather seriously, running your hand across the dash soothingly. The funny thing was that you’d really never been all too attached to the car until Sam insinuated insulting remarks about it.

“She?” He quipped with a raised brow, climbing into the passenger seat.

You slammed the door shut and started the engine, “Yes, she. Dahlia.”

Sam put his hands up, resigning his teasing assault on your car. The drive to the motel was short. You never really liked travelling too far from where you were staying when you didn’t have to. Hunting on your own, especially as a newbie, made you anxious. When you pulled into the parking lot, Sam looked out the window, “You’re staying here too?”

You looked over at him, “You guys are staying here?”

He nodded and patted his pockets, looking for the room key but quickly finding the gesture useless, “Room 24. You?”

“34. You must be right under me.” You said, again visibly cringing at your poor word choice, “You know what I mean.”

Sam tried his hardest not to smile, “Wasn’t gonna say anything.” He assured. You pulled into a space right in front of room 24 and parked. Sam followed you up to your room, which was relatively untouched still. You’d only arrived that morning so, aside from your bag of belongings that was thrown onto the single queen bed, the motel room was still as you had found it.

Sam closed the door behind the two of you and you grabbed your laptop from the bag. So many rooms you’d stayed in had little tables or desks but you quickly noticed that this one was lacking. As Sam awkwardly shuffled up to the bed where you sat casually, you noticed that there wasn’t really enough room for the two of you to work on the ground either.

With a huff, you scooted over, “You can sit on the bed. Just no shoes on the covers.” You had toed your own shoes off on the floor before tucking your legs underneath you. Sam sat beside you, careful to keep a respectful distance between your bodies, while you opened the lid of your laptop and began typing away.

“Alright, this is what I have so far.” You began.

Time became lost on you and Sam as midnight rolled around and you were still discussing the facts of the case. “I’m still confused as to why the hell you think Lenora’s body turning up on Seventh St and Jason’s body turning up on Hargrove Ave means the nest is on Willow Dr.” You were getting annoyed at Sam. In all honesty, you were annoyed at yourself for not seeing what he saw because as much as you hated to admit it, he was probably right. He and his brother hadn’t earned their reputations for being wrong. But, geez, why did it have to be Sam Winchester?

“Because it’s not so much Jason’s body. The old lady, Meredith, made a phone call to her nephew, saying she was at Willow Dr, just before she attacked.” Sam pointed at the map of the town with one finger while leaning his weight back on the bed. His other hand reached back to prop himself up but you quickly flinched away when you felt his rough fingers blindly land on your own.

Sam’s eyes shot wide when you felt your sudden movement, “‘M sorry.” He said, moving his hand closer to his body.

The contact made your heart race in a way that made you simultaneously crave his touch again and be angry at yourself for feeling that way. You cursed yourself, scooting an inch or so away from Sam’s body. Clearly, your body was just blindly reacting after being touch starved for so long. You hadn’t so much as kissed anyone since before you became a hunter. It had to just be a primal reaction, nothing more.

“I’ll just take your word for it.” You grumbled, returning to the original matter at hand. You hated feeling like you were just letting him think he was right about everything but you were getting tired. “So what’s the plan? Gank ‘em all tomorrow night?”

Sam shrugged, “We’d have to talk to Dean. Most of them will probably be hiding in the nest in the morning to avoid the sun so at least they’d be in one place. But night gives us more time to plan. Who knows when he’ll be back.”

“Why don’t we just lure them all out into the sun and watch them burn?” You suggested, thinking it was a brilliant idea. You actually had yet to deal with vamps. This would be your first case hunting them and you were actually a little excited to learn something new.

The Winchester shook his head, “The sun doesn’t kill them. Think less Interview With a Vampire and more… bad sunburn.” He explained, “Have you never hunted one before?”

Again, you got defensive, “I’m still new at this. I mostly stick to werewolves and ghosts.” Admitting to yourself you needed to learn more was one thing. Admitting it to Sam was another.

He looked over at the gun on your nightstand, “Is that what you were gonna use?” He questioned, brows furrowed.

“No, I’m not dumb. I have some wooden stakes in the car.”

It took everything in Sam’s power to not laugh at you. At you felt like the wrong way to put it. He wasn’t laughing at you. He just found your determination to be a good hunter cute in an endearing way, even if you got your information from cheesy TV shows.

“What?” You asked, almost angrily, seeing the look of amusement on his face.

Sam shook his head, “Decapitation is the main way to kill vampires. Unless you have special bullets or weapons, cutting off the heads is the easiest way to go.”

Your jaw clenched and you turned away from him, upset that he of all people had to explain something that was apparently Hunter 101. You didn’t mind learning. Not knowing things typically was just an opportunity to pick something new up but this incident just felt like nails on a chalkboard.

“You know what? It looks like you and Dean have things handled here. I’m gonna go. Divide and conquer. I’ll just go find somewhere with monsters that I know about so you don’t have to babysit me.” You stood up aggressively, voice surprisingly calm and just almost convincing enough to make him think you weren’t being petty, which of course you were. You didn’t mean to be acting childish. It was just that running into Sam and Dean had been enough to handle. Having what was still left for you to learn shoved in your face was just the cherry on top.

Sam stood up after you, exasperated, “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re still new to this and everyone has to start somewhere. Hell, Dean and I are still learning new stuff all the time.”

“It’s not that. This was just a bad idea. I thought I could handle working with you but I can’t.” You shook your head, turning around just to reach around Sam’s body and grab the jacket that you’d discarded before shrugging it back over your shoulders. You started shoving the few things you’d unpacked- a gun, your laptop, and some files- back into your blue duffel bag.

Sam had always considered himself fairly level-headed and capable of dealing with difficult people but something in him snapped when he saw you packing up to leave over something so stupid, “Fine, go ahead and leave. We’ll deal with the nest without you. But you know what? Nobody asked you to get involved in hunting. You can’t just go run off every time someone dies.”

You scoffed, “I got into hunting to prevent people from dying. I got into hunting to try and save them from being killed by people like you!”

“You’re acting like we just kill everyone we come across. We kill monsters, Y/N. We save people by killing them. We prevent more people from getting turned into monsters by killing them. And you know what? Beth became a monster.” Sam’s voice raised to almost a yell as he gestured widely and aggressively.

“Beth was scared and you murdered her!” You shouted angrily, tears welling in your eyes.

“Beth was killing people!” Sam yelled at you before taking a moment to breathe, continuing more calmly, “Can’t you see that? Most of these monsters we hunt were just poor bastards in the wrong place at the wrong time. There’s not a lot we can do for people like that. But we can keep them from hurting others. If we had known there was a werewolf back in Beth’s hometown, we could have killed them before they could turn her and she would still be here. Would you be angry if we’d have killed the werewolf that turned her? Would you still be calling me a murderer?”

You chewed your tongue in your mouth hard, trying to use the physical pain to distract you from the urge to cry out of frustration. Why did he have to make sense? Why did he have to confirm every rational thought you’d ever had concerning the situation? You wanted to hate Sam Winchester for what he’d done but you knew deep down that it was never that simple. You knew he had a point but you didn’t want to admit it.

Sam saw the way your jaw clenched angrily, the way your throat moved as you swallowed hard, and the way your eyes glistened with unshed tears. He took a step closer to you and reached a gentle hand out towards your arm, “I am sorry that you lost your best friend.”

For some reason, the gentle sincerity of his voice is what broke you. Tears fell down your face in hot streams as you cried. They weren’t tears for Beth’s death. Those had long been drained from you, many nights spent mourning what you’d lost. These tears were for the final snap of your animosity for the Winchester. You had spent so long hating him. You wanted to hate him, needed to hate him, but how the hell were you supposed to do that when he looked you in the eye and truly meant it when he said he was sorry.

There was a twinge of pain in his own green eyes that made you realize that he truly had experienced the same sort of heartache that you did and that he was sincerely apologetic for being the cause of it. But it was also clear that, while he was sorry for hurting you, he was not sorry for what he had done. Part of the cause for your tears was that you were angry with yourself for not being able to hate him, despite knowing that he didn’t regret killing Beth. You were crying because he was right. She had become a monster and, in his shoes, you probably would have done the same thing. You would have shot your best friend.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, voice shaky as you did.

Sam used his light grip on your arm to pull you in slowly for a hug, his large arms enveloping you in a surprisingly comforting embrace. You buried your face into his flannel, tears staining the fabric. One of his large hands gently cradled the base of your head while his other rubbed up and down your shaking back.

He didn’t know what to say anymore. Your response had honestly surprised him. The girl that he was used to receiving nothing but animosity from was now shaking in his arms and apologizing. “It’s okay,” was all Sam could think to mutter out.

He held you like that for a while, though you weren’t sure exactly how long it was. It could have been thirty seconds or thirty minutes and you would be none the wiser but all you knew was that you didn’t want Sam to let you go and, for once, you didn’t hate yourself for it. The tears had dried, leaving only slightly stiff feeling skin in their place. Your breath had long since stopped leaving your lungs in wracked hiccups. Your arms had moved from resting on his broad chest to being loosely wrapped around his waist at some point.

You pulled back first, lifting your head from his chest but keeping your hands on his body still. Sam lifted his cheek off your head, where it had been residing in a surprisingly soft show of affection, and he gazed down at you. You were amazed by how completely you had let your rage blind you. Before tonight, Sam was nothing more than scum to you but now, looking into his eyes after forgiving him, you realized that he was easily one of the most beautiful men you’d ever laid your eyes on.

Even with the tears now gone, Sam still saw the dim light of the cheap motel lamp sparkled against the color of your irises and damn if it wasn’t beautiful. He slid his hand up from your shoulder to gently brush away a few thin strands of hair that had stuck to your cheek while it was pressed against his chest- a feeling he found himself missing. His breath caught in his throat when you reached up to cover his hand with your smaller one, pressing it gently to stay on your cheek.

Your eyes slid closed and you gently nuzzled against his hand before opening your eyes again, reaching around his neck, and oh so slowly pulling him down while you perched on your tiptoes. There was more than enough time for Sam to pull away but he didn’t. In fact, much to your surprise, he closed the gap between you faster. His lips pressed to yours, rougher than you anticipated, but enjoyably nonetheless.

The breath was knocked out of your lungs and you struggled to breathe against his lips but refused to pull away. You bit his lip gently while you kissed, slipping your tongue against his when he gave in to what you were craving.

Sam reached down under your ass and lifted you without you even needing to jump. A squeal of surprise was swallowed by his lips as he walked you both to the bed. Once his legs bumped the old mattress, he sat down, lowering you to land on his lap. Your knees fell to either side of his hips where you gave an experimental rotation of your hips against his clothed erection. He let out a strangle exhalation at the friction, his fingers digging into your ass and pulling you harder onto him. The fabric of his rough jeans rubbed delicious against your clothed core, a wetness beginning to form in your panties.

Slowly, you pressed your weight forward and Sam allowed you to push him onto his back. You laid on top of him, lips moving from his lips down his neck but he didn’t let you get far. Sam placed a supportive hand on the small of your back and managed to flip you both over so he was on top and before you knew it, he was devouring you. Lips kissed hot trails across your face and down your neck, across the tops of your breasts that were ever so slightly revealed by your v-neck t-shirt.

Your fingers tangled in his long hair and he let out a breathy groan when you tugged on the brunette locks, pulling him closer to you. Sam crawled down your body, his hands sliding up underneath your shirt to run across your burning skin beneath. He felt like heaven and hell all in one, burning with fiery lust and yet so sweet and comforting despite the fervor with which he moved.

You pushed yourself up, pushing Sam to sit back on his knees while you did, all without breaking the kiss, to shrug off your jacket. Your shirt was next, falling onto the floor with your jacket before Sam pushed you backwards again, your back hitting the mattress. His large hand started low your belly, running straight up between the valley of your breasts and then raking downwards, pulling the cups of your bra down and grazing your nipples deliciously with his calloused fingers.

It had been so long since you’d been touched like this that even the small act had your back arching into his body. “Sam…” You breathed out, eyes sliding closed at the sensation. Every flick against your sensitive buds sent a shock straight to your core that had you hooking your leg around his hip, pulling him closer into you. Your hands ran up and down his large biceps before moving to pull the sleeves of his flannel down his arms. He only pulled away from you long enough to throw the restricting clothing on the ground, his shirt joining short after.

Your mouth started physically salivating at the sight of the man before you, sculpted by the gods. Defined pectorals and rippling abs covered his torso, adorned with a symbol that looked like a pentagram inside of a sun- a symbol you were unfamiliar with. Sam didn’t give you much time to marvel though because he was back to kissing a line down your body, the light stubble of his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your neck and chest. He stopped to revel in your breasts, wiggling his hands under your body to expertly unclasp your bra and shimmy it off you. The second they were revealed to him, his tongue was dragging across the supple sick and his teeth were lightly nibbling at the sensitive buds.

“Oh my gosh-” You let out in a breathy giggle. Sam switched breasts, giving the other equal attention. Your fingernails raked lightly over his shoulders and across his chest and you felt Sam shiver at the touch. His lips trailed lower and lower until they found the waistline of your jeans. With a quick flick of his fingers, the button was popped and the denim material was dragged down your legs, taking your socks with them as they were pulled over your ankles. He kissed his way back up your legs, from ankle until he slowly inched closer and closer to where you wanted him most.

His scruff scraped along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and you bit your lip at the sensation, unsure if you were trying to hold back a giggle from the ticklish feeling or a moan from the shocks it sent to your core. Sam chuckled to himself when he saw the wet patch of cloth over your clothed heat. He’d barely touched you and you were already dripping for him.

He had a wicked idea though. He got closer and closer to your sex, the smell intoxicating, and gripped your thighs tightly, possibly leaving bruises. Just when his lips were about to land on your core, he moved to the left, kissing your hip bones instead and back up your belly.

Annoyed by the teasing, you sat up, pulling Sam up gently by the hair to be face to face with you. Your ass was a few inches from the edge of the bed, toes just touching the ground, when you pushed Sam back just enough to be able to reach his pants. You hooked your fingers into the belt loops on either side of his pelvis and pulled him close to you. His forehead pressed flush against yours, “Are you gonna keep being a tease or are you gonna fuck me already, Winchester?”

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He made quick work of his remaining clothing and hovered over you like a predator about to move in for the kill. “You want me to just fuck you already?” He mimicked, voice low and testing. His green eyes bore into your own orbs with a challenge that you refused to back down from.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” You challenged, standing up and sliding your underwear down your legs, all while keeping unyielding eye contact with Sam. Once they left your form with a small flick of your toes, a dark smirk krept up on his face.

“Turn around.” He demanded and, while you were inwardly more than happy to comply, you didn’t want him to think he had you quite that easy.

You rolled your eyes as you did, an sinful smirk playing on your lips, “Yes, sir.” You chimed sarcastically.

Before you knew it, you were bent over at the waist, face and chest pressed into the mattress by Sam’s nearly crushing body. His hand snaked around your front, picking up some of your slickness on his fingers before circling your clit while he growled in your ear, “Don’t know what the attitude’s about. You’re the one who asked to get fucked.”

Your knees quivered at his filthy words while his fingers worked your clit slowly and painfully. His rock hard erection rubbed along your ass, teasing your entrance every now and again as he rocked his hips against your body. He stood up and removed his hand from your clit. Your hips moved back, trying desperately to chase his fleeting touch. Sam groaned when your body slid over his cock, skin burning against his own. After a few experimental tugs at his own member, he positioned himself at your entrance, giving you a few moments to back out if that was what you’d wanted. Backing out was so far from what you wanted though. You wanted - nay, needed - him inside of you and you needed him now. You were convinced you’d combust if he made you wait any longer.

His hands landed on your hips to help guide a slow thrust forward. His length gradually entered you, the searing stretch to accommodate him making your muscles contract around him. Sam hisses out a sound of pleasure, “You’re so tight.”

His first few thrusts were slow, each time managing to grind impossibly deeper into you. “Fuck, Sam.” Your fingers wound tightly in the sheets with each thrust of his hips and your eyes screwed shut as your breaths came out almost as hisses through grit teeth.

Sam used his leverage on your hips to move your body in time with his thrusts. Each motion sent your body into the mattress, the bed shaking as he pounded into you. You let out little squeaks of pleasure every now and again but Sam wanted to hear more out of the girl who’d had nothing to say to him but spiteful things for so long.

A large hand came to clasp around your throat, not tight enough to choke you but enough to guide you up. You pressed your body up to your feet sloppily on your hands but standing proved to be a difficult task with Sam still moving relentlessly into you. Your thighs were shaking, barely able to support your weight, as this new angle allowed for Sam to hit that spot inside you that made your toes curl. His hand stayed around your throat, tightening along the sides of your neck when he lost himself in the way you felt around him- warm and soft. You were grateful that he was letting your head lull back against his shoulder otherwise you weren’t sure if you’d be able to stay upright.

Sam’s free hand first sloppily groped around the front of your chest until it found one of your breasts, kneading it roughly. The rough skin of his fingers grazed your nipples yet again, only adding to the pleasure you felt below. The knot was tightening and it was tightening fast.

“Please-” You managed to gasp out, not because of the choking (his grip wasn’t that tight) but because the electricity in the room seemed to have stolen your voice. Sam’s hand moved from your nipples down to your clit where he rubbed fast tight circles. “Oh my gosh, yes!” You whined, reaching up overhead to tangle your fingers in his hair. You forced his mouth down to meet yours and the pressure in your core snapped. Your moans and cries of pleasure were swallowed by Sam’s lips and he could have swallowed a thousand more.

He worked you through your orgasm until your body went limp in his arms. Slowly, he came to a stop before pulling out and quickly working himself in his hands. After catching your breath though, you turned back to Sam, placed your hands on his shoulders, and used them to spin the two of you around and push him back onto the bed. His long legs hung over the edge and you settled yourself between his knees, gently grasping his member, still slick with your wetness, and worked him with your hand.

Sam lied back on the white duvet, head thrown back in bliss at your touch. Your hand felt so much better than his own as it worked up and down his shaft before coming up to circle around the tip. He was rock hard and ready to burst at any given moment. When you leaned forward to like a long stripe along the underside of his cock, he was done for. A few more pumps and Sam fell apart in your hand, painting your hand and his stomach with his seed. “Shit!” The muscles of his abs contracted mesmerizingly as the waves of his high rolled over him.

Your hand slowed as his climax came to an end, his member softening in your hand. You wiped the mess he’d made on your hand on your breasts and stomach, knowing it would be easier to keep those parts of you off the covers than your hand. With a heavy sigh of crashing relief, your body fell onto the mattress beside Sam and you both stared at the ceiling in a fucked out post-coital haze.

“So, does this mean you don’t hate me anymore?” Sam asked after a few moments, surprising you with the genuine tone behind the semi-joking question.

You stared up at the chipping popcorn ceiling, “I didn’t for like two seconds but now I do again just because those were the first words out of your mouth.” Your voice was steady, unwavering, and Sam cringed inwardly, avoiding eye contact entirely. That is, until you sighed and continued, “But, I guess, if you wanted to take me out for a drink sometime there’s a slim chance I wouldn’t object.” This time, there was a teasing smile on your face when you turned your head to look at Sam.

#spnsecretsantaficexchange #SPN #supernatural #Sam Winchester #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fic #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #jared padalecki #jared padalecki smut #jared padalecki imagine

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mammons-tax-returns · 3 years

Note

"for one muse to kiss the other's scar" w satan pls? 👉🏻👈🏻

masterlist / 600+ followers event

Thank you for your request, anon! No pronouns were specified so I hope you don’t mind masc mc :’)

I kept getting scared that this was getting too lengthy (i have a short ass attention span so ik i cant read long stuff LMAO) so I redid a bunch of parts, i hope it’s not too apparent!

✖️MALE MC✖️

Anything with history is an eye-catcher to Satan.

Just like a good novel, things with meaning and origins deeper than surface level are so much more enjoyable and genuine than things that simply are there. Who says an Avatar of Wrath can’t be poetic?

But it’s often that things with such overwhelming sentiment that Satan feels become an eye sore much quicker than anything else. Some things of personal importance are meant to be remembered, but not belabored to the point of ruin.

He is forced to face this fact today when Lucifer pushes a boundary that may not have even existed before. At any rate, it does now. Skipping past the point of negotiation entirely, Satan now finds himself pacing his room, cursing his brothers name under his hissing breath.

MC patiently watches as Satan goes through his breathing exercises on his own, knowing that if Satan has learned to calm down on his own before, he can do it again. Just being in his room with him is enough.

On the other hand, Satan isn’t too keen on that idea.

Things have become enstranged between him and Lucifer— Even more so. At this point, it’s hard to tell that MC’s help had brought them any closer at all.

The recent fights and arguments continuously end in Satan peering at the long, winding scar wrapping around his wrist and forearm like a ravenous snake. Just its faded presence is enough to make him conflicted.

He received this scar long ago, at least thousands of years ago. From a day that Lucifer got a bit too close to Satan when he was angry.

Maybe that was the day that set the precedent. The precedent that stated that no matter how smart or calm he presents, there will always be some turmoil within him brewing like a storm.

The disappointment and weariness that shows in his own family’s faces when he gets worked up is so evident he wishes he could be anyone else than who he is. Even if just for a day. But isn’t it unfair to only expect chaos from him? Certainly he’s been doing better to keep his anger in check... Right?

Besides... It’s just his nature to be angry. So, maybe... No, he still is held accountable for his actions. He definitely should just—

“Satan? Are you... Are you okay?” MC quietly calls his name from his bed. Perhaps he should have called Satan’s name a little earlier? The demon stood staring at his clothed arm in absolute silence for a number of minutes until now.

Satan’s eyes open a little wider. “Huh..? Oh, I’m sorry. I must have spaced out... How uncharacteristic of me.” He can’t find it in himself to smile, and instead uses his left hand to hold onto his scarred forearm, pushing it aside in hopes to shake off his intrusive thoughts.

“Moreover... I feel like I have calmed down significantly. Thank you for being here MC, but perhaps you’ve been bored out of your mind here.” He gives a firm smile and quickly looks away. “You may leave if you’d like.”

MC doesn’t quite listen to his offer. Satan seemed more tensed than normal when he would have “calmed down”. If he were a danger to be around at that moment, he would have said so, anyways. And if there was any chance of being able to help him before he does something risky, MC would take it.

“Well... It wouldn’t hurt to stay just a bit more, would it?” MC gave him a small smile, in which Satan seemed to become a bit flustered upon seeing.

Satan wonders how to respond. MC was right. And it may just hurt more if Satan is alone with his thoughts. “Oh, MC.” He sighs with unsaid appreciation, then makes his way into bed beside the human, who is still sitting on the edge. “Sometimes I wonder who truly are the angels of the exchange program.”

MC giggles, rolling over so that the two males lay side by side. “I’m no angel, but humans aren’t so bad... Occasionally.”

Satan smiles to let him know that the response was well received. Lord knows how grim his expression was while he was subconsciously considering his past just moments ago.

“But, that aside...” MC turns his head to look at the blonde. “What’s wrong, Satan? I’m not forcing anything out, but I’m thinking I should start to worry.”

Satan could almost laugh at those words. Worry? For him? A demon who embodies fury and unrelenting rage? It’s... A little odd to picture.

“Hmph. Well... Now that I have to put it in words, it seems a bit silly when it really shouldn’t be...”

MC raised a brow. “Based off of how you were glaring at your hands earlier, I doubt that this is about it being silly, and more about you trying to downplay it. But I’d say that’s a rather common coping mechanism.”

Satan felt as if he were see through. A mere glass pane. How could someone see into his mind so well? He had barely gotten into his explanation at all. “Er. I guess you could say that...

“It would appear that the tension... Between Lucifer and I has caused some rather distasteful memories to surface.” Satan mumbles the words as if they would reflect his character poorly. As if they were something to be ashamed of.

MC picks up on this, and a frown deepens his features. “Satan...” He pauses to think about what to say next, “You see, this is the part where I have no idea what to add because you guys have thousands of years of age on me.”

Satan ruffles the male’s hair when he sees the small pout on his lips. “You’ll come to learn that most demons are petty, shallow creatures with personalities about as deep as a puddle,”

Coming to a stop, the Avater of Wrath subconsciously began to pull up his sleeve to reveal the very edge of his scar. However, he hesitates, and his throat tightens just barely.

What in the hell was he doing?

“...” MC can’t look away from Satan’s hands, and it seems that time has stopped for a moment. Even the air that previously entered and exited MC’s nose seized.

Satan suddenly relaxes. It’s just MC. A human that knows all too well that this household could be dangerous and frightening. So he continues to pull up the bit of cloth covering peach skin.

“And sometimes, we tend to give into vainglorious temptations that only end up hurting someone, or everyone.” Satan finishes, voice barely breaking the border between a whisper and mutter. “I suppose I could have gone about pushing Lucifer’s buttons in a smarter way... But I didn’t, unfortunately. So I’m left with this loving scar from my brother.”

MC supresses a gasp, and gently takes hold of Satan’s arm. “It looks like it was super deep... I’m sorry this happened to you Satan.”

Satan watches MC trail his fingers calmingly along the edge of his river-like line along his arm. He rotates his forearm so that he can follow its path all around his arm.

“I appreciate that, MC... But I’m ‘over it’, for lack of better words. You see here, the scars actually make the silhouette of a cat on the untouched skin. It’s rather cute.”

MC laughs at the revelation. It was cute. But as much as he could admire Satan’s turning of an unfortunate event into a moment of entertainment for the two of them, he couldn’t ignore the weary look on Satan’s face.

“Awh... That’s adorable.” MC lightly mocks a babyish tone, and rubs his finger on the head of this imaginary feline. “It’s like a mini Satan cat.” He feels Satan’s shoulder move as he chuckles breathily.

“I value your adoration for my unsightly skin, MC. But if you’re so affectionate to this mere imagery of ‘mini Satan’ , perhaps you could spare a moment or two paying more attention to me.” He’s not sure if Satan means to sound dismayed rather than playful, even through the smile on his lips.

So he decides to gently grab onto Satan’s arm and press his lips against the indented skin on his forearm.

“M-MC-..!” Satan jumps, free hand freezing mid-air. His body heat is rising, and he’s sure MC can feel it.

“You’d better not be talking about Mini Satan like that, Satan.” MC mumbles against his skin. “He’s not unsightly. He’s wonderful and handsome, just like you.”

Satan can’t find a way to respond. Was he supposed to feel his heart squeeze? This seemed too menial of a response from MC for his heart to be racing like this. He simply smiles and shakes his head helplessly.

“Thank you, MC...” He lets out the breath he had been holding in.

Perhaps he could afford to be transparent every once in a while.

#obey me satan #satan x mc #male reader #obey me #satan

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artsy0wl · 3 years

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Maul: A Broken Evil Retrospective

On a Star Wars Amino I’m in, I had made an introspective on why I feel that Maul, while he is a villain is not whole heartedly evil, but broken. I took from said Amino post, with a few needed edit tweaks.

Chaotic Evil

Of course given the fact he was a Sith and some of the decisions he’s made, I don’t completely want to negate that in this discussion. If we were to use the alignment chart (lawful good, true neutral, chaotic evil, etc), he would probably fit best in Neutral Evil. From my understanding, Maul would fit Neutral Evil as a lot if what he does has to do with benefiting himself. Even if that means using allies (i.e. Ezra initially) and potentially betraying them (i.e. blinding Kanan once the Inquisitors were dealt with). He’ll follow things as he needs and can be calculating when he needs (like his take over of Mandalore). He’s not spontaneous enough or lacks enough restraint to be Chaotic Evil (like the Joker for instance), nor is he as calculating and “lawful” to be Lawful Evil (like say Thrawn and/or Palpatine). With that said, I’d agree that Maul has a darkness/evil in him considering all of the things he’s done. Obviously, he’s not winning any hero points by killing people like Qui Gon and Satine or blinding and attempting to kill Kanan.

Onto why I feel he’s broken.

Palpatine: Taken From a Young Age and Molded into what Sidious Wanted

Whether it be Talzin offering Maul as a child in Canon or his mother giving Palpatine Maul as a baby in Legends (Darth Plagueis), Maul was caught in a situation that he really didn’t have much control over. Granted, his life may not have been much better on Dathomir, given how the Nightsisters used their male counterparts, but there’s no telling what kind of life he could have had, had he not been handed over to Palpatine. Maul was molded into a weapon as Darth Sidious’ apprentice. And Maul spent most of his younger years being molded into what Sidious wants. Only to be “cast aside” when he is presumed dead. With Sidious being his only form of human contact/interaction, it’s fair to say that Maul feels a level of rejection/abandonment by the only person he had a bond with.

However, rather than having a level of depression because of it, he’s angry about it. For him that seems to be a common response, along with hatred and arrogance (the latter of which was used to explain how he survived the Phantom Menace). Sidious created a weapon out of Maul. And with that, a character with no real coping mechanism or knowing how to let things go.

A lot of, if not all of, Maul’s issues can be linked back to Sidious in some way. Sidious isn’t exactly Mentor of the Year material. Especially with Maul. Though that could be chopped up to him being a Sith and very manipulative. He wasn’t the kindest person to the Zabrak pre or post Phantom Menace (both in canon and Legends). Either way, a lot of Maul’s issues are a direct result of Palpatine’s involvement in his life.

If it weren’t for Sidious, Maul would have a normal life (or whatever that would equate to on Dathomir). He would have had his family, would have been more level headed and maybe less cocky, and he wouldn’t have enraged abandonment issues. The amount of grief, trauma, and hatred would be vastly different

Family: He Lost a Brother and a Mother

Let’s be real, thanks to Sidious, Maul’s lost a brother and a mother (two brothers when you count Feral, though he never got to meet him). By the time Savage came around in Clone Wars, we got to see Maul sort of build his character more than say the Phantom Menace (the novels did too, but I can’t say that everyone’s read them). We also get to see Maul exhibit more emotion where, again, the movie lacks as well as the introduction of his family, Mother Talzin, Feral, and Savage. And while Maul may not have been what you’d call an “affectionate” brother, he does care for Savage to the best of his ability.

Their deaths still haunted him years after the events of the Prequel Trilogy and Clone Wars. These deaths stuck with him psychologically to the point that he is still effected by it in Rebels. Which in turn, may have contributed some to him wanting Ezra as an apprentice (among other factors).

Torture After Loss

In Son of Dathomir after Maul tries to get back at Sidious, he is captured after his last battle with Sidious in Clone Wars (season 5). It starts off with Maul being interrogated and tortured by Sidious. He makes it through without faltering and escapes with the help of the Shadow Collective. That being said, we never really get to see where his mindset is. During Son of Dathomir, he gets a lot done, capturing Dooku and Grievous (taunting Sidious and working with Dooku to fight Obi Wan and a few other Jedi before escaping). However, we don’t get to see the mental toll Savage’s death here. Though with everything going on, I guess there wasn’t time.

Now the reason I bring this up, is because part of me felt like I should and the timing. Prior to Son of Dathomir, Maul had recently lost Savage. At the end, he loses his mother. The torture and the scheming in between shows how he didn’t catch a break. And while he was able to stay strong when he had to, they never really explored how the torture effected him, which one would think he would have been.

Obsession, Insanity, Arrogance: Maul’s Faults

I do feel like I address this point. I’ve already kind of touched on his anger and arrogance (synonymously with cockiness). While training Maul, Sidious didn’t consider how arrogant he had let the Zabrak become (according to Darth Plagueis, the novel). This has Maul’s Achilles Heel since the Phantom Menace. While having a healthy dose of pride never hurt anyone, a healthy dose, Maul dose not possess.

His obsession with getting Obi Wan and Sidious is another issue. This really only pops up after his apparent death in Phantom Menace. Because after that point, Maul finds out that he was replaced by Sidious (with Dooku) and that he was bested by a mere Padawan (Obi Wan). I feel like this obsessive tendency is a combination of his feelings of abandonment and having his ego damaged.

And of course, I feel like Maul’s roughly decade long battle with insanity really didn’t help his psyche. While his sanity was restored thanks to Mother Talzin and Savage, I do feel like that’s caused more harm than good. Something like that had to feel draining after getting his sanity restored. He was sitting on a trash planet and on his own. Along with not having anything from the waist down and forced to manage with what he had. Hatred may have helped keep him alive, but his psyche during those ten years didn’t.

He has a lot of internal conflict in an emotional and mental sense. Unfortunately, these negative emotions, obsession and pride especially, cause him more harm than good.

The Ezra Bond: Feeling a Need to Replicate a Connection, Even if He Approaches it Incorrectly

By the time Rebels rolls around, Maul is older and calmer (though still proud). Obviously, he still wants to get back at the Empire for what they (more specifically Sidious) did to him. And at first, Ezra seemed like someone that he could use. This is an element that is prevalent, however, not the only aspect of their relationship.

According to Sam Witwer, Maul’s VA, Maul did have a (platonic) fondness for Ezra. And on top of wanting to make Ezra his apprentice, Maul wanted to emulate a sense of brotherhood between him and Ezra. For example, his phrase in Visions and Voices when Maul says “...We can walk that path together. As friends. As brothers.” How he said it shows how he does miss Savage and wants that family back.

That being said, how he approached this connection could be seen as manipulative and more than likely one sided. Sure, over the course of Twilight of the Apprentice, Ezra grows on Maul, to the point where Maul wants to make him his apprentice and has an appreciation for Ezra. However, his pride and lack of planning cause a rift between them and there was a lot of mistrust on Ezra’s part, not that one could blame him.

Subsequent episodes show that Maul is hellbent on making Ezra his apprentice through any means possible.

Maul lost Savage and Talzin, and Ezra was one of the first few people to trust him in years. I think it’s safe to say that, in Maul’s mind, Ezra gave him a sense of belonging or connection.

Maul’s need for a connection could be interpreted as him trying to find something good in life. However, manipulative tendencies and how he was brought up, hinder him doing that in a healthy and positive way. With Savage, he didn’t need to do anything as they both had a similar plan when they met (Savage being indoctrinated into the ways of the Sith). But subsequent relationships (i.e. Ezra), Maul is at a bit of a disadvantage emotionally and morally.

Sure, he could relate to Ezra since they both lost people they care for because of the Empire (and by extent Sidious), but manipulation and harming Ezra’s allies hinder a smoother connection. Even if a force bond was eventually made. Ezra, arguably, could have been what he needed for what he wanted and a possible change/redemption/blank slate only for things not to entirely go as plan.

Could Maul Have Something Along the Lines of PTSD?

Now, I could do a mini theory about this as I’ve speculated that with another character before. It’d be an interesting way to look at Maul’s psychology. It’s one last little avenue I thought I’d address before closing this post out. Of course, it’s worth noting that I am not a Psychology major (as interesting as psychology is). I have, however, done some research.

I do believe that Maul, to some degree, may have PTSD. But instead of exhibiting panic/anxiety, depression or easily startled, Maul has more aggressive tendencies and is easy to anger. He still lives with the trauma of the death of his brother (and mother) and flashbacks of that and other events in his life, I’m sure he’d be effected by.

Conclusion

In conclusion, while I certainly think that Maul is no hero, his life experiences certainly effected what kind of person he became. Being raised as a weapon, abandoned, and tortured would bring any normal person way down. And because that was all Maul knew, I don’t think that entirely means he’s evil. Rather, he’s a character who’s been used and abused to the point that he’s mentally and psychologically broken. Unfortunately, that effects his life in ways that make him arrogant, hateful and obsessive. And when he tries to build bonds later in life, he doesn’t know how to in a way that, while laced in trauma, has manipulative and one sided undertones.

That being said, I feel like I should round out this introspective with a little positive. While he’s definitely been through a lot, Maul is pretty resilient all things considered. He’s cheated death and managed to live through a lot of abuse. The fact that he could keep bouncing back shows just hoe resilient and determined the character is.

#Darth Maul #Star Wars #Rebels #Clone Wars #Movies #Retrospective #Theory #Speculation #Discussion #PTSD?#Chaotic Evil #Maul #Star Wars Rebels #Star Wars Clone Wars #Zabrak #Prequel Trilogy

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night-filled-mountain · 4 years

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Out of nowhere and apropos of nothing, a rambling incoherent list of things about Nott and Nott-and-Caleb that give me Feelings.

On Veth Brenatto/Nott the Brave:

Nott’s entire life is all about seeing/presenting herself as less than she is.

She was bullied as a child, by her brothers and the neighborhood boys.

Then she was a contented housewife and mother, but always saw herself as second to Yeza--a support figure, depending on him, learning from him, not even necessarily deserving of his love.

“Not pretty and not brave and not coordinated and not smart and just...not.”

“He didn’t mind my strangeness...He was a brilliant chemist. I helped him and he took care of me.”

(When she reunites with Yeza, she undermines her ‘dabblings’ in alchemy in comparison to his apparent brilliance.) (Yeza himself disagrees.)

When she does acknowledge her strengths, she also acknowledges their origins, and they are either very sad (“I’ve been chased a lot in my life by boys making fun of me. I’m pretty fast.”) or serve to highlight someone else’s assistance and forethought (“a vial of acid that Yeza handed me”).

The transformation she was forced to undergo was a curse straight out of a fairy tale. It made her what she thought she was, and forced her to appreciate what she had been, but it was too late. (“But you’re so pretty!” / “I was.”)

But her whole life is about other people turning her into things, isn’t it? The bullies made her a victim, Yeza made her a wife/mother/alchemist’s assistant, and the goblins and their mystery woman made her a monster.

She was someone beautiful who could not see her beauty, someone wildly unique and “strange” who could not embrace her strangeness and flaunt it without apology...

...Until she was turned into a goblin.

Being a goblin has been so weirdly freeing for Nott. She felt that she had hit rock bottom, and in many ways, she just...let go. No more struggling to fit into social norms. No more squeezing into boxes of other people’s making. The Nott we know has always fought and shrieked, drunk to excess, stolen anything she admired, openly shared all her most outrageous suggestions, shown off her weird collections without shame.

I’m not saying all of this is healthy! Some of it is clearly coping mechanisms, and dangerous ones at that. And Sam has stated that he sees some of her excesses as being related to her goblin physiology, which emphasizes once again that this role, like all of Nott/Veth’s previous roles, is one that was forced on her. But. But.

So much of it (I would even say that “all of it” is a valid interpretation) is really just...Veth. Just Veth dialed up to eleven, without the constraints. Is she embodying a stereotypical view of goblins, or is she just letting herself be angry, messy, hedonistic, and weird for the first time in a short, sad life in which other people made her smaller than she was until she learned to do the same thing to herself?

Nott wants her true body back. She wants to be a halfling again. But she is not at all sure she wants to “go back.” To Felderwin. To her old life with the husband and son she loves. Of course she isn’t sure.

Because she’s grown so much bigger than that. Bigger and stronger and louder and messier than anything she used to be. Bigger than all the boxes she used to occupy. Bigger than anything Yeza or Luc can quite understand, because they weren’t there by her side, watching it happen.

On Nott and Caleb:

Nott defines herself by the people around her. She always has.

She met Caleb in that jail cell, saw him as small and weak and needy, and jumped at the chance to occupy a familiar role again: mother.

...Except that it was never that simple. That’s the piece that, for me, was missing from their relationship for so long. The piece that fell into place when Nott’s (former?) crush on Caleb was revealed, and made it all fit together. It was never that simple.

She wanted something from him. Veth never seems to have dared to want things from the people around her--she lived to serve her loved ones, to help and protect them. But Caleb? She wanted his magic. She wanted him to help her. And she didn’t tell him, not for the longest time. Call it ruthless, call it manipulative, or just call it a very understandable cocktail of hope and panic and shame--but it was her goal, her desire, and it meant that no matter how much she cared for Caleb and protected him, their relationship was never All About Him. She was playing her own angle the whole time. And also...

She was attracted to him. This was a fact that she absolutely could not acknowledge, because it was transgressive in so many ways. Extramarital attraction. A hideous, monstrous goblin attracted to a “handsome” human. A lifelong sidekick/helpmate/bit player in her own life daring to want a “great wizard” not only for his magic (that, at least, was permissible, because it could return her to her proper place, to her home and family; it could restore the status quo), but for his body, mind, and soul. She looked at him in that cell, in the moonlight streaming through the bars, and she wanted. And gods know it wasn’t because he ever invited her to.

(Though he didn’t scorn the idea either. I keep thinking about the scene with Keg in Shadycreek Run where she mistook them for a romantic couple and Caleb defiantly rolled with it. I even think about that early episode where Liam inadvertently used a German term of endearment for her that had romantic connotations. And the way they always slept cuddled together, and she rode on his shoulders, and they have always, always celebrated every aspect of each other--body, mind, and soul.)

But the point is that Nott’s relationship with Caleb is not one that he defined. She was always the stronger of the two; she called the shots. It was she who chose to be his “mother,” and the twin secret desires that burned deep down in her heart were entirely her own.)

On Nott and character development (ok, I just wanted to break up the bullet points a little, because goodness, this has gotten long):

...And she fundamentally did not know how to handle that. So she kept those desires buried, kept them secret. She tried to move back into her comfort zone, letting others define her and her relationships, going along with their assumptions without protest.

It is fascinating to me that the other players and characters and the viewers spent much of the campaign assuming Nott was a child. And she just...let it happen.

“I’m of child-bearing age,” she said when Jester asked, but even then, some of us (myself included, I confess!) just mentally aged her up to a rebellious teen.

To a man who she regarded simultaneously as a son, a love interest, and a tool for her own redemption, she was seen as a daughter or a little sister...and she went along with it in so many ways. It’s the lie she embodied from the first moment Sam introduced her, and referred to her as “a little goblin girl.”

Nott has always made herself lesser than she is...or let other people do so. She is so used to being diminished and self-diminishing, so leery of her own messy desires, that she would not even insist on her own adulthood until...until.

Nott’s heroic moments--the moments when she fully unleashes her own courage and strength and anger--are always the moments when her loved ones are in danger. She is the classic self-sacrificing wife/mother figure, whose self-dimmed light only shines out when others need it to.

Like when she fought the goblins and helped Yeza and Luc escape.

Like when Fjord threatened Caleb, and the others were all turning on him, and she needed to assert her own right and ability to protect him. (“But I am the parent, you do realize that, don’t you?”)

Like when she led the lizardfolk away from the others on Urukaxl. Like all the times she dove into the water for Fjord. Like when she didn’t disengage from the dragon.

“Nott the Brave” has so many layers--an ironic, self-mocking epithet, a badge of honor, and a promise to be brave for others. Only for others.

Because then it’s not really her bravery, is it? It’s borrowed from her loved ones. She is a coward who is occasionally made into something else by the brighter, stronger, worthier people she surrounds herself with.

“Self-diminishing” and “being defined by others” are the absolute fundamental cornerstones of Nott’s character. And this is both reinforced and very much complicated by her recent status as a goblin and her relationship with Caleb. (...You know how sometimes you don’t figure out your thesis statement until halfway through the essay?)

On Nott and Caleb, part 2:

The M9′s trip to Felderwin changed everything--everything--for her and for him and for the two of them. It was one of the most staggering turning points of the entire campaign.

I’ve written about this before. How one of the central “Will they or won’t they?”s of the campaign was about Caleb and Nott deciding to trust the group, and that was the point where it was resolved...

...and how, in trusting the group, they sacrificed their codependence to a large degree. How Nott’s infamous “Fuck him!” was less about anger, in the long run, than about taking her best friend off the pedestal she’d put him on, about acknowledging his fallibility, and being comfortable openly disagreeing with him.

It was about Nott becoming her own person, and Caleb learning to see her as her own person, and not just his “little friend” or protector.

But. But. It still followed the pattern.

It was about Yeza and Luc. It was about her family. It was the greatest disaster that had befallen her loved ones since the goblin abduction, and her reaction was correspondingly big.

Of course she could be brave. Of course she could be angry and assertive. Of course she could, for once, discount the feelings of her beloved wizard. Because her husband and son were in danger.

When will Nott get to be brave on her own behalf? To be angry on her own behalf? To want, want, want something, something ever so much bigger than a button, openly, unashamedly, on her own behalf?

And I think I might know the answer to that question: When she openly acknowledges something that she has already hinted at, danced around, in conversations with Caleb here and there.

“I ditched my husband in a den of monsters to go adventuring with you.”

She said this to Caleb while they were riding a moorbounder together in Xhorhas, and something about it has resonated hard with me ever since.

That conversation--and the other couple of conversations Nott has had with Caleb that deal with her own conflicting desires--felt strangely like a failure. Like Caleb was sincerely doing his best to help her, but wasn’t quite getting what she was putting down.

He doesn’t know how to stop her drinking, her constant anxiety. How to soothe her fears about the future. He doesn’t know what she needs.

Is it reassurance of her family’s love? That’s been offered to her repeatedly, by Yeza, by Luc, by Caleb himself, but it’s never had much of an effect on her darker moods.

Is it her own body back? That would help a lot, for sure. Like every other member of the Mighty Nein, she’s on a journey to find herself. She thought, initially, that it was purely a journey to find something she’d lost. Caleb and the rest of the M9 think so too, I think. But there’s more to it than that.

What Nott Really Needs:

“I think you have to find those answers,” Caleb said to Nott as she expressed her ambivalence about returning home and resuming her housewife role. “Can’t you just tell me?” she pleaded.

That’s it right there, that’s the crux of her journey. And it isn’t just a journey back to a body or a family or a life she lost--it’s a journey to something entirely new. Nott craves the familiar, the safe, the known; she keeps trying to make herself small and unimportant again, to convince others to define her. But they can’t. She is too much, too big, too weird and messy and wonderful, for anyone else to squeeze her into a box anymore (she always was; she just didn’t realize it). And Caleb is the one to tell her that.

“I ditched my husband in a den of monsters to go adventuring with you.”

“I love you,” she told him on the beach of Nicodranas, and sure, she meant it platonically (probably) (mostly), but it was more than friendship, more even than romance. She loves what he represents. And--the one thing she can never, ever, ever acknowledge, because it is completely antithetical to her journey as she currently sees it--a part of her loves who she has become while traveling and fighting by his side.

“These days I’ve spent with you are the most exciting of my entire life.” That’s something Fjord said to Caleb once. And I’ve posted before about how eerily similar Fjord and Nott’s journeys are.

They both had rocky childhoods marred by bullying and badly bruised self-confidence, then embarked on simple, well-defined lives/careers in which they felt utterly content...and then they both literally drowned, both lost their friends/family/life roles in the process, and both got transformed into something “dark” and “ugly” that they couldn’t come back from.

And the clincher? The thing Fjord was able to admit to himself and others, but that Nott carried around like a deep, dark secret and is still struggling hard with to this day?

They both fell in love with their new lives and roles in spite of themselves.

Yes, Fjord renounced Uk’otoa in favor of the Wildmother...but he still retains his warlock powers. Yes, Nott wants to, can, and probably will be turned back into a halfling--but she will never again be a person who was not a goblin.

She does not want to be a person who was not a goblin.

She wants Caleb, and all he represents. She wants adventure and excitement. She wants to be strong and brave and important, not only to protect her loved ones, but because those things bring her fulfillment. Because they have shaped her self-image in new ways that she cannot discard.

The duality of her names reflects this perfectly. She always uses “Veth” around Yeza and Luc, and wants them to use it for her, but with the M9, she’s still “Nott the Brave”-- or is it “Nott, the Brave”?

Caleb uses both names for her.

Caleb. Uses. Both. Names. For her.

Nott needs to be herself. It’s what all the members of the Mighty Nein need, really--this is a campaign about identity, as Matt has said--but I think it’s coming harder to Nott than any of the others, and that’s why I’ve had such a hell of a time pinning her down as a character...because she has had a hell of a time doing that, too!

Because she can’t acknowledge what may be the greatest possible shame for a stereotypical girl, wife, mother, or monster...

Wanting to be herself. Wanting things simply because she wants them. Wanting to be someone you can’t pin down, either literally (in a cozy little cottage in Felderwin) or figuratively (in any of the aforementioned roles).

Nott wants to define herself. But she doesn’t quite know she wants it. And she doesn’t know how to do it. But part of her definitely sees that getting her body back, while essential, is not enough.

And so she panics and drinks and goes into existential tailspins because no one else will give her the answers. Caleb has come closest, in telling her to seek them for herself...but Caleb has his own baggage, and can’t quite let go of his great ideal of Family, of Going Home Again. Of turning back the clock and erasing the dark corners of one’s past.

So he sees Nott’s happy ending as husband and son, hearth and home. And it isn’t enough. It’s as tidy and false and messy and comfortless as his time-travel fantasies. And that’s where their stories ultimately intertwine...their desires at cross-purposes, their solutions at odds. Nott longing for something that Caleb is giving her (adventure, excitement, a purpose, the privilege to bear both her names and faces and diminish neither, to be fully herself for the first time in her life). Caleb wants something that was taken from both of them. Neither of them yet fully understands that you can’t go back, that the only direction is forward. Into greater messiness, greater complexity, greater understanding of themselves and the things they can accomplish, alone and together.

But they’re getting there. They’re both getting there. And I absolutely cannot wait to see where their stories lead.

#critical role #nott the brave #veth brenatto #caleb widogast #fjord #widobrave #in another world maybe #nott #veth #caleb #long post #incredibly unbelievably long post #what have i done

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rmtndew · 4 years

Text

Begin Again ~ Chapter 3

Summary: Walter Marshall is a dedicated homicide detective doing his best to balance his work life with being a single father to a teenage girl. Fiona Sparks is a woman doing her best to take care of everyone and everything around her, except for herself. Neither has had the best luck with relationships, but once they meet, they’re willing to give it another shot, this time with each other. (It’s basically just romantic fluff)

Pairing: Marshall and OFC.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of death, cancer.

A/N - This is a sequel to ‘All I’ve Ever Known’. I started writing this because I needed an escape for some personal stuff going on and my coping mechanism included giving Marshall all the love that man needed, and imagining him being the softest boyfriend to me, then passing those details on to Fiona (my OFC).

I also made a Spotify playlist for this story, if anyone is interested - Begin Again Playlist

Tag list - @hollydaisy23, @alyxkbrl, @onlyhenrys, @omgkatinka, @speakerforthedead0, @gearhead66, @thethirstyarchive, @oddsnendsfanfics, @littlerinoa, @agniavateira, @aaescritora, @justaboringadult, @beenthroughalot, @seriouslygoodlookinggents, @xxxkatxo, @musicartmayheminmyheart

If you want to be added/removed from the tag list, let me know!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Hectic was the only word to describe the next morning. From the moment I stepped foot into Darcy’s office at Waverly, we were going non-stop. We had a massive delivery that had to be ready by eleven o’clock and even though we’d done as much prep work as we could the day before, it was still a huge undertaking for a single morning. Our saving grace was that the company was sending someone to pick it up for them instead of having it delivered, which meant we could work right until pickup time. And that’s exactly what we did.

We had all the orders boxed up and ready to go, and Nick and I waited in the front room of the store for the pickup guy. Nick’s sole purpose for being there was to make up for his mistake from the day before: his punishment was to help with the loading.

I was double-checking the order (just for my own sake) when I heard the bell above the door alert me to someone coming in. I turned, mentally preparing myself for social interaction, knowing that I had to greet the customer with a smile. But as I took in the man walking towards me, I felt like puking.

“Fiona? Is that you?” Ezra, my ex-boyfriend, was smiling and walking towards me.

I didn’t answer him. Instead, I steeled myself and asked, “Are you here for the Mead-Holmes order?”

“Come on, Fi, don’t play like this,” he said, stopping far too close to me.

“Don’t call me that,” I said. “And what order are you here for?”

He put his hand on my arm. “Fi, I swear I didn’t know you worked here. I promise. Or I wouldn’t have come,” he said. “But maybe it’s a good thing.”

I took his hand off me, removing it completely. “Don’t touch me. Don’t call me Fi. Just tell me what order you’re here to get,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as I could manage.

He scoffed. “Wow. I really thought you’d be an adult about it whenever we finally ran into each other, but I was wrong.”

Nick stepped up. “Hey, I don’t mean to interrupt but I’m here to help load the Mead-Holmes order, so if you’re here to pick that up, you can go ahead and sign off on it and show me where you’re at and I’ll get these loaded for you.”

Ezra kept his eyes on me while Nick was talking and then a moment longer once he finished. Finally, he looked at Nick and let out a breath. “Yeah, that’s my order,” he said. “Where do I sign for it?”

Nick moved behind me, taking the clipboard with the order form from the counter, then handed it to Ezra. He scribbled out something that was meant to be a signature, but I was sure that a brain dead parrot would have had more legible handwriting. Nick had his hand out, ready to take the clipboard back, but instead, Ezra thrust it at me. I took it, trying not to give him the satisfaction of letting him see a reaction on my face.

“Thank you. A copy of the receipt is attached to the order and will be e-mailed back to your company. We appreciate your business,” I said. “Now, if you would show Nick to your vehicle, he would be more than willing to help you load your order.”

He took a set of keys from his pocket, aimed over his shoulder, and pressed a button. The van parked right outside the door beeped and the lights flashed temporarily as he unlocked it. “You can load them in the back,” Ezra said to Nick, not bothering to even look at him.

“Have a good day,” I said flatly, then turned to leave. I didn’t even take a step before he put his hand back on my arm again. My entire body tensed up. “Ezra, let me go.”

“You’re really just going to walk off without talking to me?”

“I did talk to you, but there’s nothing left to say except let me go.”

He removed his hand, then circled around so he was in front of me. “I’m here on business and you’re supposed to be representing your company. Being rude to me isn’t a great way to treat customers.”

I placed the clipboard on the counter and crossed my arms, trying to keep them out of his reach, then took a side step, allowing Nick access to the boxes stacked beside me. “I’m not being rude.”

He smiled condescendingly at me. “Look, I know that we ended on some...rough terms, but I hoped that when we finally saw each other, we could recognize it was for the best.”

“It was for the best,” I agreed.

“See? That’s my girl.”

My jaw clenched as my hands balled into fists. “I’m not your girl. I’m not your anything,” I said. “The reason I think breaking up was for the best is because I didn’t want to waste any more of my time with someone so shallow, and cold, and selfish as you. And the moment you finally revealed that part of yourself to me, the moment you showed me exactly who you are, I was done.” I shook my head. “The one good thing about you being as heartless as you were, was that I never spent a single second worrying about what I did wrong, or how I could have fixed things between us. I never cried myself to sleep at night missing you. Most people who have toxic partners don’t get a clean cut at the end of a relationship like I did. But that day at South York, when you broke up with me all of ten seconds after I’d told you that Dad had been in a wreck, you cauterized that line between us. So yeah; it was for the best.”

Nick made a low whistling sound right before leaving the store, the bell overhead echoing him.

“You know, it’s a little irritating that you always bring up this crap about ending things after your dad’s accident, but would you have preferred me to wait until after you knew that he was dead? Would that have made it easier? No,” he said. “I did you a favor. It was like a Band-Aid. I pulled it off quickly and got it over with. But you don’t see it like that, do you?”

“I’m not sure if you understand the definition of ‘quick’ but talking about it for the full twenty-minute drive to the hospital, where you basically kicked me out on the sidewalk, isn’t it,” I said.

“Do you hear yourself, Fi? You’re happy that I broke up with you, but oh, I should have held your hand and walked you into the hospital? Why so your mommy could yell at me then, too? Even you have to admit that was embarrassing, having Ava yell at me for you.”

My fists tightened, my fingernails biting into my skin. I’d never been so tempted to smack anyone my whole life. “I didn’t have her do anything. She was plenty mad enough to do it on her own. It was her husband who had just died when you dumped all of my stuff on her front lawn because seeing it was ‘too painful’ for you.”

“Well, rumor has it, it’s your house again now.” He took a step closer to me. “That you got fired and had to move back in with her.” He smirked. “Is that what happened, Fi? I wouldn’t marry you so you had to move back in with your mommy so someone would take care of you?”

The bell over the door rang again. I was expecting Nick to come over for more boxes and give me a way to escape, but he didn’t.

“Stop calling me Fi!” I snapped. “You don’t get to call me that anymore. Now I suggest you take your order and leave.”

He frowned at me mockingly. “Aw, am I making you mad? You’re so cute when you’re mad. You finally do that red hair justice,” he said. “You know, if you’d shown this much passion when we were together, I might have actually considered marrying you.”

“Thank goodness I dodged that bullet then.”

The humor left his face. “Whoever gets you next, they better like broken things.”

I looked him in the eye. “Do you honestly think you were strong enough to break me, Ezra?” I asked. “The only thing you could break were promises.”

He sneered at me, then let his eyes drift behind me. I was sure that he was looking at Nick, wondering how much of his true personality he was going to let a stranger see, but then I felt a wall of heat behind me. I turned my head and saw Walter. Comfort flooded my body the moment he was at my side.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, looking down at me.

I nodded. “He was just leaving.”

Ezra took a step back. His mouth was in a thin, tight line as he looked Marshall up and down. “Are you the owner?” he asked. “Because I’m here for an order and your employee here -” He crossed his arms and nodded his head at me. “- she needs to work on her customer service skills.”

“I’m not the owner. But I’m fairly sure she told you to leave.”

Ezra looked confused. I watched in his eyes as he tried to work out what was going on. “If you’re not the owner, then our conversation has nothing to do with you. You have no reason to intervene.”

“I’m here for Fiona. And how you’re talking to her, it isn’t acceptable. She’s asked you to leave, so if you’re here for an order, I suggest you take it and go,” Marshall said. He spoke slowly and deliberately, but each word was laced with anger.

Ezra smiled. “Are you serious? You’re with her?” He laughed, shaking his head. “Good luck to you. You’ll never be able to please her.”

“From what I understand, you never really tried,” Marshall said.

“Is that what she told you?” Ezra looked at me again. “You’re always the victim, aren’t you? You poor little bird,” he said mockingly. “Maybe one day you’ll grow up and see the truth.”

“You know, this immature gas-lighting bull crap that you and Demi both pull, it’s getting old,” I said.

He smirked. “Speaking of Demi, the next time you see her, tell her that I found her earrings. They were in my couch.”

I knew what he was trying to do and I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of succeeding.

“So you had the audacity to dump my belongings on a dead man’s lawn, but you don’t have the guts to return some earrings that she allegedly left at your place?” I asked. “But I’m the immature one. Sure.”

He was angry that I hadn’t taken the bait. He pushed his hair back from his face aggressively and stepped back from me. “I hope your boss realizes that you just lost a big client,” he said, then started walking away.

“Did we? Because I’m pretty sure that the company is called Mead-Holmes, not Mead-Holmes and Williams,” I said, turning and calling after him. “And I’ve never heard of a partner or CEO fetching lunch for his company. It seems to me that you’re just an errand boy.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, then slowly turned back around. He opened his mouth but didn’t get a chance to speak.

“Don’t say another word. Just turn around and keep walking,” Walter said, putting himself slightly in front of me. “Or I can escort you out. It’s your decision.”

Ezra looked from Marshall to me and I could see him trying to decide if he was going to back down and listen or try to get the last word in. Eventually, he made the smart choice for once and left, shoving past Nick, who was returning to the store, then climbed into his van, slamming the door hard enough to make his windshield wipers jump.

Marshall turned to me, blocking my view of Ezra. His face was softer, his eyes holding worry. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

I let out a breath. It was shaky. My whole body was tense. “No, actually. I’m angry. I can’t believe he had the nerve to come in here and act like that.”

“What do you need me to do for you?”

I blinked. It was a simple question, but it wasn’t one I was used to hearing. It felt like it took me a long time to unwrap it in my mind. Finally, I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I admitted.

“You should take a break,” Nick said. He was loading another portion of the order onto his cart. “I’ll tell Aunt Darcy what happened as soon as I’m done. She’ll understand.”

I chewed my lip for a moment, mulling it over before finally relenting. “Okay. Thank you,” I said to Nick. Then to Marshall, “Would you come with me?”

He nodded. “Where do you want to go?”

I led him through the store and out the back door, into the employee parking lot. The moment we stepped outside, the cold air hit me. I gasped. I hadn’t thought to get my coat from Darcy’s office. Walter noticed.

“It’s cold,” he said, taking off his coat. “Put this on.”

I shivered but shook my head. “No, I can’t take it from you.”

“Yes, you can.” He placed it over my shoulders and held it on me until I finally put my arms through the sleeves, then he pulled it closed in the front. It swallowed me whole. He smiled at me. “Perfect fit.”

I smiled back. “It’s pretty cozy. Thank you,” I said. “But I feel bad that you don’t have one now.”

“I guess I’ll just have to stay close to you for warmth,” he joked. He slid his hands inside the coat and placed them on my hips. Instinctively, my arms went around his neck. We looked like we were dancing, even though we were standing still. His smile grew. “Just like this.” He kissed the top of my head before pressing his forehead to mine. “Do you want to talk about what happened or do you want to forget it?”

I let out a breath. “I don’t - I don’t know.” I let my fingers wander into the hair at the nape of his neck, gently playing with his curls. “That was my ex. I haven’t seen him in two years. Part of me...a big part of me, just wants to forget about him, erase him from my memory and never think about him again,” I said. “But another part of me wants to go yank him out of his van and throw him to the ground and stomp his stupid teeth in. And I hate it because he’s the only person who makes me feel that way.”

“Do you want me to talk to him? The gun and badge tend to make people listen to me.”

I smiled but shook my head. “No. I just want you to stay right here with me,” I said. “Please.”

He didn’t say anything, he only nodded, moving my head slightly with his as he did. Then I closed my eyes as I tried to breathe calmly and let go of the anger that Ezra had stirred up in me. With every passing second, Marshall took over and pushed out any lingering pieces of Ezra. The heat of his hands melted away all remembrances of Ezra’s cold, clammy touch that always had an ulterior motive. The scent of him, clean and full of coffee, chased away the smell of expensive cologne that had always been applied too liberally. His presence was comforting and enveloping, not demanding and suffocating. It was like I’d been trapped in a burning building, inhaling smoke, and Walter was my first breath of fresh air and my lungs were screaming for him.

I opened my eyes and saw him looking at me. I blinked and it suddenly hit me that there must have been a reason for him being there and I’d been so caught up in myself that I hadn’t even thought to ask. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I doubt you came here for all of this.”

His hands tightened, pulling me closer. “I came here for you.”

“What did you need me to do?”

He smiled, just the corner of his mouth turned up. “Nothing.” I must have looked confused because he laughed softly. “I just wanted to see you,” he said. “I thought I might be able to take you for coffee?”

I felt my heart swell. My fingers pushed further into his hair, sinking to his scalp. Lightly I scratched my nails against it. He closed his eyes and sighed. “How did I get so lucky to meet you?”

His eyes stayed closed as he leaned back into my touch. “I’m pretty sure I’m the lucky one.”

“Mom, I’m home,” I called out as I walked through the door that evening. “I picked up dinner, too.”

“Already in the kitchen,” Mom called back.

I kicked off my shoes by the door, then went to the kitchen. Mom was at the table, papers spread everywhere in front of her as she wrote on a legal pad. One set of reading glasses sat perched on her nose, while another hung around her neck on a chain.

“So...what’cha doin’?” I asked slowly, standing in the doorway.

She looked up at me and over the rim of her glasses. “Last night, June mentioned that since I was sick on her’s, mine, and Aunt Rose’s birthday, it would be fun for the three of us to go away for the weekend and celebrate. So -” She indicated to the layers of paper in front of her. “I’m planning the trip.”

“A trip to where?” I asked. “What kind of weekend getaways call for this type of planning?”

She shook her head. “No, see, I looked up a few places, printed off a list of all their attractions, restaurants, hotels, what have you, and now I’m making a list of each with pros-cons and prices for them all, then we can decide from there.” She waved her hand dismissively over the papers. “This is all getting condensed. I’m not giving them an entire booklet.”

“So, when Dad said that you were a teacher’s pet, this is the kind of thing he was talking about. Right?”

“I wasn’t a teacher’s pet; I just like being thorough. There’s nothing wrong with that.” She stood and started clearing the table. “Those are pretty,” she said, nodding to the vase of flowers in my hand. “Where did they come from?”

“Marshall gave them to me.”

“He sent you flowers at work? That was sweet.”

“Actually, he didn’t send them. He took me out to coffee and bought them for me afterward,” I said, carrying the vase and takeout bag to the counter and setting them down.

“He saw you last night, and you have a date planned for Saturday, but he asked you out for coffee today?” she asked.

I turned to look at her and leaned back against the counter. I couldn’t help my smile. “He said he just wanted to see me.”

“I think this one might be a keeper, Fi.”

I laughed. “I think so, too,” I said. “Today was very nearly a dumpster fire and he extinguished it.”

She looked concerned. “What do you mean? What went wrong?”

“So, the big order we had today? Ezra was the one who picked it up.”

She paused her cleaning. “What?”

“Yeah. I was there to get the driver to sign off on the order, so I had to talk to him. I was hoping - a little naively, I guess - that we could just keep it simple and professional, but unfortunately that didn’t happen,” I said. “I tried walking away and he followed me, essentially saying that everything that had happened between us was my fault. He said that it was pathetic that you yelled at him after we broke up, making it sound like I’d had you do it for me. And then insinuated that he and Demi were having an affair, or they’re currently sleeping together now. I’m not sure. He was trying to upset me, but I don’t know if it was the truth or not. I didn’t fall for it and ask.”

“Well, if Demi is dumb enough to get involved with him after everything she saw him put you through, then she deserves what she gets,” she said. “And if he thought it was pathetic that I yelled at him, what did he think about throwing your stuff out on our lawn two hours after your father died? Is that not beyond pathetic?”

I shook my head. “I genuinely think he’s too narcissistic to even consider himself at fault. He said he got it over with quick for me.”

She rolled her eyes. “How kind of him,” she deadpanned.

“Then Marshall came in -”

Her eyes widened. “He came in while Ezra was there?” she asked, interrupting me. I nodded. “What did he do?”

“He told Ezra that how he was talking to me was unacceptable and that he needed to leave. Then he took me outside so that I could calm down, and once Ezra left, Darcy let me have an early break and he took me out for coffee and bought me flowers to cheer me up.”

“Oh, Bird. He really is a keeper, isn’t he?”

I put my hand over my chest and felt my heart speed up thinking about him holding me in the parking lot, telling me that he was the lucky one. I let out a sigh and nodded. “Yeah. He really is, Mom.”

That night Walter called me like he said he would. I’d always been rather bad at phone calls and even he had admitted that anything outside of work calls was out of his comfort zone, but for the three and a half hours that we talked, it didn’t seem that way. I lay in bed and talked to him like he was right there. Like we’d known each other forever. We only hung up because I started drifting off. He joked that he was boring me, but I tried to assure him that it was far from that. His voice was calming and soothing and every bit as warm as he was. Sleepily I told him that he was like sitting in front of the fireplace on a rainy day with a cup of tea. He laughed but said as long as he got to sit at the fireplace beside me, he didn’t mind the comparison.

I slept better that night than I had in months.

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill fan fiction #Walter Marshall #Walter Marshall fan fiction #Walter Marshall/OFC #Night Hunter fan fiction #Night Hunter #Nomis #Nomis fan fiction #Henry Cavill fanfiction #Henry Cavill fanfic #Detective Walter Marshall #Begin Again

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thebluelemontree · 3 years

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Is it wrong to say that Sansa uses an out of sight out of mind coping mechanism? I noticed it because it's what I do a lot. I know some ppl say she rewrites traumatic memories to make the memories bearable but it doesn't make sense. If that was how she coped, wouldn't she have been telling herself lies about Joffrey still in acok? Or found a way to erase/rewrite Marillion's attempt to rape her?

Yes and no. She does that except all the times she doesn’t. ;) I think that characterization is extremely reductionist (and ignores character complexity and growth) when it’s applied that broadly to every situation Sansa has been in. You have to take these things instance by instance because they aren’t all the same. Sometimes that labeling doesn’t fit at all. In many cases, it feels more like the fandom pathologizing the act of romanticizing or trying to push aside or reframe something unpleasant or even traumatic when that’s just something most human beings do now and then. Some do it more than others, but its all within the realm of typical coping behavior and being older or more educated or more “logical” doesn’t make one immune to it. So I hope you don’t let those interpretations make you feel abnormal or more fallible for identifying with Sansa in that way. Romanticizing doesn’t even have to be about coping at all, but simply expressing desire through daydreams. People imagine being in idealized scenarios with crushes all the time.

You also hit the nail on the head. Sansa just doesn’t go around making up false narratives about every objectively awful thing that happens to her. In fact, her actual responses to those moments can be a useful basis for comparison when we’re analyzing the unkiss, for example. Misunderstanding the unkiss is usually where a lot of these assumptions stem from. That’s a whole other can of worms in itself. The unkiss is just too long of a discussion to put here, so I just recommend this post as to the reasons why it isn’t about trauma and take a browse through my unkiss tag. It does bear repeating that Sansa factually remembers every scary thing that happened during the Blackwater and why it happened, indicating she has processed it honestly and critically, before any incarnation of the unkiss happens. The unkiss is a mismemory added on to the facts, which began as her being the actor that kissed him first. It’s not a lie to deny the facts or to excuse his behavior. It’s regrettable to her that Sandor was not able to be the person she could rely on to get her out of KL at that time. Nonetheless, this repressed desire is just so strong in her that it manifested in a kiss so real she could remember how it felt after the reality of his leaving KL for good sank in.

Early AGOT Sansa tended to want to move past unpleasantness rather quickly. Just sweep those red flags under the rug so everything can go back to blissful harmony. Sansa is naturally averse to conflict and just wants her present with the royal family to be smooth sailing into a bright future. Ned had a very similar tendency when it came to concerns over Robert’s true character. He saw things that disturbed him, but he hoped and clung to his idea of Robert anyway. For Sansa, this resulted in some misplaced blame and rewriting events so she could deal with the aftermath. This is mostly seen in her processing the Mycah incident after Lady’s death and how her perception of all the characters involved shifted in varying ways. This is after she knew perfectly well what really happened, because Ned says Sansa had already told him the truth of what Joffrey did while Arya was still missing. However, it would also be unfair to completely chalk this up to Sansa’s idiosyncrasies. We have to put her flip-flopping in the context of the situation as well. She’s also experienced a gutting loss with Lady’s death and the fact that the first blow to her innocence was her father volunteering to put Lady down. She doesn’t have Catelyn to go to with her confusion and hurt, and Ned has largely been silent. She’s also still engaged to Joffrey through all this, this is still a patriarchy, there are political ramifications to speaking against a crown prince, and she doesn’t know how to deal with seeing such cruelty and vindictiveness in her future husband. Especially when he responded to her tender concern and wanting to help him with venom and hate.

I mean, jeez, she’s 11. I don’t expect an 11 year old to understand how to identify the signs of emotional manipulation or see how this situation can escalate into domestic violence. Just because Sansa can’t articulate what is happening within her relationship with Joffrey, doesn’t mean she has blocked out any notion that Joffrey can turn his anger on her. Part of the reason she misplaces blame on Arya (and rewrites what happened) is because Joffrey turns scornful of Sansa for being a witness to his emasculating shame. He punishes her with the cold shoulder because she didn’t immediately take his side and pretended not to see instead. He regains power through making Sansa feel small and fearful of his moods.

“He had not spoken a word to her since the awful thing had happened, and she had not dared to speak to him.” -- Sansa II, AGOT.

Sansa looked at him and trembled, afraid that he might ignore her or, worse, turn hateful again and send her weeping from the table. -- Sansa II, AGOT.

This is coming from someone who is supposed to love her and someone she will spend the rest of her life with. To fix things, she must be unequivocally on Joffrey’s side going forward or suffer the consequences, which we can see happening as her story completely flips over breakfast sometime later. This is not saying Sansa is fully exonerated from not supporting her sister when she needed her, but that it’s understandable how she arrived at this point. Even when things start to get really bad after Ned’s arrest, Sansa still holds out some hope that she can appeal to Joffrey’s (and Cersei’s) love for her to get him to be merciful. Is it really her fault she believed a part of Joffrey really loved her (and thus was reachable by her pleas) if he also heavily love bombed her and treated her like she was the most special girl in the world? Love bombing is a classic feature of the seduction phase leading up to abuse.

So we can see Sansa does ignore truths and rewrite events sometimes and her personality is a factor; however, the context surrounding it matters a lot. Post Ned’s execution, Sansa does a full 180 regarding Joffrey and Cersei.

Sansa stared at him, seeing him for the first time. He was wearing a padded crimson doublet patterned with lions and a cloth-of-gold cape with a high collar that framed his face. She wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome. His lips were as soft and red as the worms you found after a rain, and his eyes were vain and cruel. "I hate you," she whispered. -- Sansa VI, AGOT.

Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head. Sansa would never make that mistake again. -- Sansa I, ACOK.

"A monster," she whispered, so tremulously she could scarcely hear her own voice. "Joffrey is a monster. He lied about the butcher's boy and made Father kill my wolf. When I displease him, he has the Kingsguard beat me. He's evil and cruel, my lady, it's so. And the queen as well." -- Sansa I, ASOS.

There’s also her conscious efforts to push away thoughts of her dead family and Jeyne Poole, but she states why she does that. It’s traumatic, the tears start flowing uncontrollably, and she is desperately trying to avoid falling into another suicidal depression. Her survival in KL depends on her holding it together and appearing loyal and obedient to Joffrey. Mourning her loved ones would imply to Joffrey she is plotting treason. Besides, she knows that even if she did ask Cersei or LF about Jeyne, she has no reason to believe they’d do anything but lie to her face in a patronizing way. There’s no point being plagued with wondering what the truth might be when she can’t do anything about it. Still, she prayed for Jeyne wherever she might be. She genuinely thought Arya had made it to WF on the ship and was safe at least until she got word of her brothers’ deaths and her home being sacked by the Iron Born, though there was initially a touch of projection and fantasizing about Arya being free while she remains captured. As of Feast, she believes she is the last Stark left alive and she has no one but Littlefinger to help her. So while she is suppressing her grief, it’s done with good reason, and it’s not being replaced with any false narratives to cope.

We also cannot ignore that her relationship to Sandor Clegane has instilled in her an appreciation for the un-sugarcoated truth now that she has experienced betrayal and injustice first hand. In his own way, he’s encouraged her to listen to her own inner bullshit detector. The rose-tinted glasses have become a lot more clear compared to where she started. This is a newly learned skill though, and her self-confidence has been wrecked by internalized verbal abuse. She’s also been left on her own to figure out people’s intentions by herself, which runs parallel to her mounting desperation to get out of KL as Joffrey’s violence escalates. Developing a touch more of a jaded, skeptical side does sometimes clash with her enduring idealism and faith in other people (like with the Tyrells). This struggle is not a bad thing. The goal isn’t to become as cynical as the Hound, but to arrive at an earned optimism that has been tempered by wisdom and practical experience.

Her situation with Littlefinger is much more challenging than anything she faced in KL. He moves her where he wants her to go with complex web of lies, manipulation, grooming, isolation, coercion, dependence, guilt and shame. Her safety and desire to go home are tightly bound to being complicit in his lies and criminal activities. She feels indebted to him for getting her out of KL, even though his methods push her past her boundaries and force her to compromise her moral integrity. The thing is, there are things Sansa does know about LF, but she doesn’t seem to be ready to try and put the puzzle pieces together. She’s not daring to ask probing questions about Lysa’s reference to the “tears” and Jon Arryn or about the possible dangers of Maester Colemon prescribing sweetsleep for Robert’s convulsions. While the subject of Jeyne’s fate is still one she doesn’t want to revisit, somewhere in her mind she does know LF took custody of her friend. If it feels like this is somewhat of a regression back to her early AGOT self, there’s probably some truth to that; however, it’s perfectly okay for positive character arcs to be an imperfect progress. There can be relapses, regressions, setbacks, missteps, and misguided actions. All that growth isn’t lost. Everything she knows is just stored in the back of her mind, not forgotten completely. The general trend line moves her toward successfully confronting Littlefinger with the truth when GRRM is ready to pull the trigger. She’s definitely aware of Littlefinger lying to her more than she lets on and she knows his help is not out of the kindness of his heart, but motivated by what he wants her to be to him. But it’s not like she has the option to go anywhere else, does she? She’s a wanted criminal with a bounty on her head and has no other friend or ally in the Vale she can trust with the truth of her identity. Confronting LF without any means of neutralizing his power over her isn’t the smartest thing to do when he’s shown her he can literally get away with multiple murders. Again, it’s not just her personality that makes her hesitant to pull back the veil and face the horrible truth head on. The outside forces pressuring her perceptions and behavior cannot be discounted either.

#valyrianscrolls #sansa stark meta #sansa stark #joffrey baratheon #sandor clegane #littlefinger #cersei #asoiaf characterization #the unkiss #character arcs #my meta #anonymous

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ectora · 3 years

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REVIEW 313

took me some time to actually get into that review lmao But i really loved the episode. I know some people will probably have complains about it, but as someone who absolutely loves Abigael, I really liked it. And honestly the fact that abigael was finally included in the main story is not even the reason why. I loved the pacing, it actually felt like Charmed. The stakes, the construction, the format, it was all on point. It was genuinely their best episode alongside 307 (two episodes related to the tomb lmao) and one of their best in the show imo.

I've put it in "hidden" cause it ended up being so long I did not expect that im sorry 😭

SCREEN TIME

Maggie: 29m20s

Macy: 27m36s

Mel: 25m39s

Abigael: 20m17s

Jordan: 10m32s

Harry: 47s

Not gonna lie, I did not miss Harry this episode. Maybe it's just cause I don't like the way they have been writing both him and Macy this season, way too focused on the relationship, but his story does not really interest me. And I enjoy watching Macy interact with other characters a lot more. I think we could have had a little bit more of Jordan as well.

What I liked

where do i even start. I genuinely enjoyed so many things in this episode.

As said earlier, I really enjoyed the structure of the episode, to me it finally really felt like charmed. The way the episode was done was beautiful and I LOVED the trial in a general manner. They're terrible lawyers, but still loved it lmao

Ok hear me out, the fact they had abigael and macy say what the fan had been saying but reversing the roles was actually sent me lmao

I really enjoyed that they balanced the rights and wrongs of abigael. I'm part of the people who think that overall, most of what she did was not that deep tbh, but the episode allowed to have nuances and hold her accountable for things she did while also recognising that she did good things.

Abigael finally interacting with the sisters. To me, that's the sign of good characters tbh, how they can interact with different other leads/mains and such relationships being interesting. Abimel, i'll talk about it a bit later cause i have lots to say. But AbiMacy ? I absolutely always love their scenes, one of the reasons being that I genuinely think they're the two best actresses in the show and you can really feel it when they're on screen. They have easy chemistry and whatever they are doing, they just work. They also had one of the best potential of the show in terms of dynamic and I will never forgive the writers for ruining this, especially because it's in part because of a man. Anyway, their scenes were amazing to watch and I need more. I was especially happy because let's be honest, if Macy has valid reasons to dislike Abigael, they often miss-portrayed that in the show and it often came across as being mostly based on the whole love triangle between Macy Abi and Harry. But this time it really was not and Macy was quite fair, even reaching the conclusion Abi doesn't belong in there - she does not- and I liked that they actually were fair on Macy's dislike and distrust. Then there was AbiMaggie. Honestly, it's not a relationship i expected to enjoy that much but oh god i love them. I loved them in episode 207 and I still do. They just have such a funny dynamic, I can't even explain it correctly but it just work. They're throwing remarks at each other sure but it's almost in a sweet funny way. Abigael calling Maggie 'Legally Brunette" was so funny and cute at the same time.

Talking about Maggie, I really liked her this episode. I love how she reacts in situations where they need a cold head. She takes the lead, she does what needs to be done and she reaches the goal. I really enjoy seeing her taking that role a little bit more. Especially because to me Maggie was always the one with the most nuanced view on the world which I really appreciate. I loved her speech at the end and she grew so much since season 1, she's really so great. The more we advance in the show, the more she shines.

I really liked what happened at the end with the sisters recognising that they are themselves not perfect and are even chaotic. I have a point about being chaotic for later but anyway. Yes the sisters are not perfect. Honestly, they have done questionable things in the past themselves and often are the cataclysm of new things happening. I think it just makes them more interesting and better characters. Black and white can only get so long. Nuanced, imperfect, that's where the complexity lies and what is more interesting imo.

The perfecti really are good characters. I mean their logic was completely f*cked, but they are so entertaining to watch, it's actually great. I like also that they continued that idea that logic without emotion is dangerous. But in some ways tbh, the Perfecti are not even logical. They want to think they are, but their own logic is flawed and like Macy said, completely lacks context.

Finally the power of three and FINALLY, the plot goes forward. Maybe that's another reason I really enjoyed the episode, the fact that it actually had a good flow, it felt like one constructed episode and it actually advanced the story which cannot be said about a lot of the episodes. So I'm happy that happened.

And finally Abimel. I mean, no one can be surprised Abigael has feelings for Mel tbh, girl has not been subtle about it lmao But that declaration was actually cute and their scene at the bar ?? paralleling the one in season 2, it was so sweet. I just love them tbh, and I really think they could have been the ship a lot of us were waiting for in the sapphic community especially.

Abigael's past. Like I loved learning more about her past and her mom. Obviously her traumatic past does not exempt her from her own actions but I do believe it give strong grounds for redemption. it also gives us a lot of insights in her character. Her mom was an absolute monster and what she did to her was terrible. There is no surprise in Abigael's absolute lack of self worth and her unhealthy coping mechanism. Like her mom basically spent her life telling her she was deficient and then punished her for something she had no control on whatsoever. She punished Abigael for her own action and her own liaison with a demon. She probably projected her anger about that relationship on the child that came out of it and it's absolutely horrifying. Like no wonder Abigael is not fond of witches and went into the demon side tbh. Like that's not surprising at all. It also explains why she was so against the idea of witch = good that the sisters keep perpetuating because that's simply not what she experienced. Again, it does not excuse everything she did but I do believe it helps understand the character better and that ultimately, it gives space for a redemption. And again, kuddo to both poppy and the actress who played her mom. First that was great casting and it was really well played.

Remarks

To be honest, I don't really have things I genuinely disliked so I'm more gonna do like a section where i could criticise some of the aspect which to me did not necessarily made sense but were often still funny, and who knows maybe done on purpose. It's gonna be a mix of a little bit of everything.

One of the first thing I was kinda confused on was their use of the term chaos. Because, well, chaos doesn't equate evil. But that's the angle they started taking at the beginning which to me was confusing. It didn't make the episode bad, but the more I think about it, the more I'm like the defence they were going with had nothing to do with the charges 😭 Like, the sisters tried to prove that basically Abigael was a good person. But the charges were that she was chaotic. and by the end of the episode we did reach that kind of point where they said everyone was chaotic and everything - which i liked - but also didn't really match the angle they took the entire episode. Because, I personally never saw Abi as evil. But she is 100% chaotic like that girl is the definition of chaotic and I love her for it. But her doing good or bad is not necessarily what makes her chaotic. Good deeds can be as chaotic as bad ones. For example, Abi binding her own power could be considered as good by some people (it's not really but you see what I mean) but by doing so, she would lose the title of overlord and therefore end the treaty. In that case the war would start and that would definitely be chaotic. If she was to stay overlord however, and control the demon world, which can be seen as bad i guess, she is keeping the war from happening and stopping attacks toward witches and innocents, which is the contrary of chaotic. So yeah, the angle they took did not actually make that much sense cause the two are not the same.

Not gonna lie, bringing Godrik up was so weird to me cause like he tried to kill her first and they all know it, yet she was the one said to try to murder him and I was like ? did we all forgot what happened ? 😭

Some of the things brought by the perfecti - such as her killing those humans or demons - seemed weird because like, the sisters did the same in the past 😭 But also that's part of the whole lack of context aspect I guess.

No they really used Francesca as a witness out of all the people in the world like the woman is a whole child abuser who asked help to the elders, which have been established as like, not good people lmao I know it was part of the whole the perfecti are very selective on the information they actually take into account and they use the information as well as twist them to fir their own narrative but still it came across as weird because that woman was the definition of evil. But that's also what ticked the sisters so well.

Why did they not call Harry to testify was also kinda like ... weird. I mean at the same time I can't really complain but still, it was a bit odd. Also the fact they never thought about showing what was abigael actually doing with Jordan lmao I mean it wouldn't go along with the plot but still.

Ok, that take is subject to controversy and I know it but anyway : to me, Abi stealing Macy's power was ... not that deep. Don't get me wrong, the story was bad. The execution was even worse. In the show itself tho, objectively, as an act, it was not that bad. It actually made a lot of sense for Abigael to take it for herself. Macy wanted to get rid of her demon powers, no one was forcing her. And Abigael actually asked her multiples times if she was sure. Macy definitely had her reasons to do so. But at the end of the day, Abi picking them up when they were gonna disappear in thin air is really not that bad. It's logical. Don't get me wrong I'm glad Macy is getting them back, but I also think there has been a lot of mix up between the actual act of stealing the powers and the way it was done/optics ( I still don't understand how anyone wrote that scene and was like, yeah kneeling is a good idea ??? Like what's wrong with you 😭). But like ultimately, the act itself is not bad. questionable ? sure. Evil ? really not. Like let's be honest here. Abigael never hid who she was (past ep3 obviously). She did not pretend to be an angel, nor that she was a good samaritan. At the end of day, the sisters knew who she was and how she worked. They came to her knowing this. At some point, there is a need to acknowledge that, she was no angel, but they knew that and still went to her. She said it herself, she is used to fight for herself, and she'll sting to protect herself first - which i personally don't really hold again a character. If you go in bed with a scorpion, you can't ignore the fact there is a chance you're gonna get stung. Plus, when Abigael "stung" she also actually still gave them what they wanted/needed. I personally never saw self interest negating a good action. I don't really care if she gets something out of helping. Like at the end of the day, why wouldn't she take them ? In some ways however I do understand why Macy would be mad, she asked for help and she didn't realise Abigael stole them and she doesn't like abigael in the first place so why would she be ok with Abi taking them. That's valid too. But objectively, it was more a she was offended and mad that Abi herself had them more than a it's a terrible thing to do kinda feeling. So like it's a bit of a weird situation because Macy being annoyed and mad is valid but at the same time, it's really not that bad in itself. But overall that story should have never existed in the first place. And certainly not happen like this.

Abimel. I loved it but I also have issues with it. Mostly based on the fact we learned Poppy was leaving the show. And not gonna lie, I cant stop myself from feeling like it was almost a bit .. baity if I dare say. They had basically admitting having feelings for Mel and low key hoping it could lead somewhere when honestly, if she's leaving, they did not need to make it romantic. Because honestly, watching this episode not knowing she would leave ? You'd definitely could think it's happening, especially with all the other hints in the past. They could have made it like more about how Mel was the one giving her a real benefit of the doubt and they had a connexion and she wanted to be worthy of that. It would not be romantic. Especially cause she admitted caring about all sisters so it would have worked. Again, don't get me wrong, I want the most Abimel i can get lmao but also it feels a little weird. It's complicated. 😭

Jordan is definitely coming back, I just wonder what are going to be the circumstances. I completely understand why my boy needed a break. Like their time in the tomb was long. We don't exactly know how time works there but remember, in episode 7 when the sisters were stuck, the normal time was like what ? hours ? while in the tomb it was days for Maggie. So there it was days in normal time so in the tomb ? could potentially feel like weeks, months even. So yeah, give him a break and some time to breath. I know they're dragging this whole Joggie thing but because of Covid i also understand and will let it go. I really like them tho.

Abi has some alcohol problems I feel like should maybe be talked about. Like she uses it as an escape, as a way to numb her feelings. There is a reason it was used to symbolise her submitting herself to the tomb. And her first reaction after leaving the tomb was drinking. When she feels unhinged or vulnerable ? She drinks ? When she lost the title of overlord ? She drank. Alcohol is her escape which is a bit worrying.

Not about the episode but I think it needs to be brought up. I've seen people trying to say they brought up the abuse storyline for abigael out of nowhere and like. Listen I completely understand not trying to give more thoughts to a character you dislike, that's fair enough. But saying that storyline is out of nowhere is just a lie. The only new elements we had here were the details of the abuse she went through. They showed the clip again in the episode, where Abigael talks to Mel about her mom. She rejected her, she made her felt, deficient, wrong. All that is emotional abuse. She said her mom tried to fix her which can easily be thought about physical abuse. Like none of these things were new. To be honest, not a single thing they clarified/established for abigael this episode does not follow up with what was in the show in the past. Her feelings for Mel were honestly rather obvious at this point. Her not wanting TCO to get hurt ? There is literally a scene where Godrik tells her it's her head or the sisters and she never really even thought about throwing the sisters under the bus. She even asked who knew and it's easy to think it's because if no one knew she could put it under the rug. Again, it's fair enough for people to dislike her to not try to put more thoughts into her motivations or scenes in a general manner, but then you can't really say things are out of the blue.

And most importantly, I'm sorry, I don't care if you dislike the character, but if you dismiss the abuse just because of the dislike, that's a problem. What a character goes through in her past does not, in any way, have to change your opinion about them. Whatsoever. However when it comes to issues like child abuse, the bare minimum would be to be respectful of the subject and not say "she deserved it", "should have done more" or just say you don't care cause that changes nothing. Again, it doesn't have to change anyone's opinion at all and it does not excuse behaviours, but man, minimal respect is not that hard.

Highlights

This episode genuinely had such funny moments, i loved it.

« Is this a hard time to admit I failed debate in high school ? » and « could the defendant keep her commentary to herself » competing with each other for the funniest part of the episode. The delivery was perfect on both part. And Abi and Macy interactions are always so good and them bantering more or less seriously all the time is sending me. Macy was just so annoyed with her, i loved it.

« Need something legally brunettes » I said it already but I loved that little scene between AbiMaggie and that line particularly.

Abigael went from saying "I could care less about any of you" to "because I deeply care about her" followed by a whole ass declaration AND admitting she does actually care about all of them. My girl got absolutely played and it was genuinely so funny. Like Abigael was so freaking smug about testifying against herself and she got played so hard, she was SO annoyed it was actually hilarious.

"Every battle I fought, I fought alone" like excuse me while I'll go cry in a corner. Again, Poppy has been absolutely killing her role this season.

"Your arguments are illogical" the perfecti have such audacity like girl have you heard yourself ? 😭 no one is being less logical than you right now.

Lmao when Macy said Abigael belonged into the tomb, Mel was not agreeing 😭 And Maggie was having none of the drama either she just wanted out.

The sisters realising they had to be Abi's character witnesses lmao it was hilarious pleas idc.

Theories

With Poppy Drayton leaving, there are two theories I kinda have. Obviously Abigael is either gonna die or leave. Ngl, I can feel the dying one coming more but well, that brings the two theories.

Abigael would sacrifice herself. Which I don't like but honestly let's be honest, there are 95% chances of that happening. I could see her sacrifice herself for Mel or for the sisters in general. But that's where my abimel issues are coming. I love abimel. I want the most abimel i can have until the end. But Abigael admitting have feelings for Mel just in the purpose of having her sacrifice herself for her and to be 'worth it' ? that's not only a byg trope, it's also lazy.

If she just leave, which wouldn't really make sense to be honest cause why would she just leave, would she give up the title of overlord (why even) or would they bound her powers (i would hate that) ? but anyway, if that's the case, I could actually see her learn Waverly is not actually the one rejecting her. Waverly could very possibly not be the one who communicated with Jordan and the sisters. No one ever saw her, the letters are only signed by her name. It's a bit sus tbh, so nothing stops it from being Francesca actually impersonating her daughter to keep her away from Abigael.

I want to know more about the perfecti. We know they killed charmed ones before, and it doesn't seem like charmed ones existed when they were created ? Maybe the charmed ones were created after they went into the tomb ? I still am not sure about them going into the tomb by themselves tbh. But also they don't seem to be evil in the sense they want power or whatever, more in the fact like they consider themselves perfect and that if someone stands in their way, they'll just get rid of them.

#charmed #charmed cw #charmed reboot #charmed 2018 #macy vaughn #mel vera #maggie vera #abigael caine #abigael jameson caine #jordan chase #harry greenwood #abimel #mel x abigael #mel x abby #charmed analysis #charmed review #charmed 313

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northcarolinanative · 4 years

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𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐈𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐞 - Pope Heyward

Description: After John B and Sarah are gone and Ward was able to get the gold off the Island Pope feels the most defeated he ever has. He’s losing control of his friendships, his family, and his life. He slips into the unhealthy habits of his best friend, JJ. Y/N doesn’t like the person he has become, but what can she even say to start to make it better. TW// Drug use

A/N: I had this idea out of nowhere when rewatching Outer banks recently. Pope is so complex to me and I had a hard time trying to encompass him in this, so any feedback that you have would be so so appreciated. I promise I am working on collision and request this is just a lil break because all my requests are JJ (not that I am complaining haha). As always my Requests/asks/messages are open :)

It had been a few solemn days since Ward Cameron had flown off with the gold and John B and Sarah’s disappearance. The two young teenager’s fates hung like an unsolved mystery heavy over the rest of the pogues. The conspiracies that each person had come up with circled everyone’s thoughts anytime a silence fell over the group. The group felt utterly defeated at the loss of their friend, their brother. They lost the gold to the same man that sealed the fate of John B, angering them even more.

“I don’t even understand why Ward needed that gold so bad!” JJ said kicking the logs in the fire. The logs fell creating a flash of flames. The group flinched slightly at the sudden heat, causing JJ to step back, falling into his respective camping chair. “He’s already rich as fuck anyway.” He scoffed. He pulled a joint from his pockets placing it between his fingers and lighting it. We were used to JJ getting high to deal with the thoughts that overtook his brain. JJ wasn’t JJ without ‘taking the edge off.’

What did surprise me was how Pope leaned forward, skillfully taking the lit joint from JJ’s hand. He leaned back in his chair, bringing it to his lips. He took a visibly large hit, only letting out a few shallow coughs. He closed his eyes letting the feeling wash over him. JJ reached to take it back from him, only for Pope to pull it away from him. Kie and I shared a worried glance with one another before looking back at the two boys on the other side of the fire.

“He’s just a greedy Kook. Rich people get richer, and we don’t. We aren’t the Camerons, we don’t get second chances. Ward robbed us of our one chance to make it rich.” Pope spoke, his voice coming out slow and his drawl becoming more prominent. He was on his fourth hit from JJ’s blunt, no longer flinching when he took a long drag. He finally offered the blunt back to JJ, who practically snatched it from his hand.

“I was trying to get you to relax bro, not hog my shit,” JJ mumbled. Pope just responded with a groan. I kept my eyes trained on the boy in front of me. He had been worrying me lately. He had to have a lot of emotions building up inside of him. He had expressed to us many times that growing up, he never really learned the proper way to deal with emotions. We all knew Heyward expected nothing but the best for Pope, pushing him to be the best version of himself that he could be. Somewhere along the way, I think Pope worked so hard that he lost part of who he was to his studies. All he wanted to do was making his parents proud. I think that is why the treasure hunt was so important for him. It was developmental for all of us, but it allowed Pope to have fun and open up to experiences outside of the textbook, to live the rebellious teenage life.

We were all quick to tell him to come with us, to stop worrying about the essay, the interview, or his dad. None of us thought about how that would affect him. He walked out of his scholarship interview, giving up his one-way ticket to a better life, just to help us. That is the kind of friend that Pope is. Since then it had been tearing the boy apart. He didn’t say much, but whenever Heyward had us packing orders at the shop I could hear the sly remarks made about how Pope had the opportunity for a better life, or how Heyward was angry that Pope let something so good slip from his fingers.

My heart hurt for the boy sitting in front of me. If that wasn’t enough he had to sit with the girl that he confessed his feelings to, only to have her push him away. Kie told me about the interaction almost as soon as it happened. Every time I would catch his eyes wandering to stop on her face, or he would follow in behind her, my stomach would drop. I would do anything for Pope, he knows that. After Kiara told me about their conversation at Tannyhill, I decided that I was going to push my feelings for Pope down to the pits of my brain and forget them, even though that hadn’t been happening lately.

I definitely did not have the best coping mechanisms for this, but JJ was always down to flirt with anyone. I started responding to JJ’s empty flirtatious remarks more often. They almost always caused the two of us and Kie to laugh, but Pope was always seemingly in another world. He was always one to have a witty one-liner or the perfect roast to knock JJ down a few pegs, but he was quiet now. His sense of humor fleeting the group.

“That’s…” Kie started, looking between the group, trying to see a reaction from Pope’s train of thought. “Dark.” she breathed.

Pope scoffed before promptly getting up from his spot by the fire and quickly walking toward the water’s edge. I looked at Kiara and JJ with a confused expression. She nodded her head in his direction signaling that I should follow. I knew that things between the two of them were tense, but every time Pope had gotten upset over the past few weeks my heart broke further and further. He was turning into a shell of himself from the overwhelming amount of rejection that he was feeling.

I found him, leaning against a tree at the edge of the woods, his head hung low, looking at the sharp rocks that formed the jetty. The closer I got the louder the water crashing to the rocks became, helping to drown out some of the loudest thoughts in my head. I approached the tall boy, bringing my hand up to his shoulder, beginning to rub it in a comforting manner.

He pulled his shoulder away from me with a shrug. He shook his head slightly, before looking away from me. It hurt like hell seeing him have this reaction to me simply trying to be there for him. I felt the tears prick my eyes, the events of the past few weeks coming back to fruition as I watched the broken boy in front of me. The moonlight was bouncing off his skin making him glow in the darkness of the moment.

I decided that being by the water was the only way that I would feel calm at this moment. Saltwater ran in all of our veins, the closer we were in proximity to the ocean making us feel more at home. I stepped out and onto the jetty. Looking back at Pope, trying to elicit anything that I could out of him. I held my hand out to him, urging him to follow me to the waves. As his hand slipped into mine, I pulled him further and further from the edge of the island. I felt a glimmer of hope in the way that he gripped my hand and the soft smile that graced his face as we clumsily made our way over the jagged, mismatched rocks.

We finally got the edge, finding a larger rock, suitable for the two of us to sit on. We sat on the rock, our arms and legs brushing against each other due to the limited space. Pope’s eyes were once again were trained on the water that flowed against the rocks underneath us. The silence was heavy for a while.

Pope finally starting to speak. “I’m sorry that I went off like that.” He sighed, leaning back onto his arms letting his head roll back with his eyes closed.

I didn’t respond immediately. I was distracted by the way that his demeanor had changed the anger that had held onto him moments ago was now replaced with sadness. The way that the solemn look on his face made me want nothing more than to melt into him. “You have every right to be upset, Pope,” I said reaching for his hand again. He let me pull it into my lap, holding it between the two of mine, my thumbs rubbing comforting lines, back and forth.

“It’s just so much. I don’t know how much I can handle. I am never enough.” He said. I felt his hand tense up as he lifted himself to sit up straight. “I have literally disappointed my father so much, he won’t even look me in the eye anymore Y/N. I gave up my one good shot to get outta here, at a better life, to help some damn treasure hunt!” He said the urgency in his voice. I was at a loss for words, not knowing what to say to help him feel better. “I gave up everything and it still wasn’t enough for the others. They want me to help them with research and give up my time, that I need to earn back my father’s respect, to go on another goose chase.” He said scoffing.

“Hey,” I said forcing him to look at me. “They,” I said nodding my head back toward the other two. “May not get it, but I do. I realize that you gave up everything for your idiot friends. Me included.” I said, finally getting him to crack a slight smile. “And for what it’s worth, I appreciate every single sacrifice that you made through the entire treasure hunt, and I’m sure that if John B was here, he would too,” I said nudging his shoulder.

He let out a slight laugh at the mention of John B. It was always a toss-up to see how we all would react to the mention of him and Sarah, sometimes it was a reminiscent chuckle, sometimes it was a few straggling tears. “Don’t sell yourself short. We would have never found that well without both our brains.” He said nudging my shoulder back. I was happy to see a little more of the Pope that I know, the Pope that I loved, peeking through all the emotions again.

I laughed with him shortly before continuing. “As for your dad, he wants what’s best for you and I don’t think he knows exactly how to show his love for you, so he does it through pushing you to be better because he wished he had someone like that,” I spoke, recounting the time Heyward has told us about his family. I spoke softly trying not to overstep my boundaries.

Pope nodded his head in response, taking in what I had just told him. “I’m glad that they always send you after me.”

I snapped my head to look at him, my eyebrows knitting together in confusion. I met his deep brown eyes, filled with every emotion that he was feeling. Reading over my expression he became nervous about his statement. “I mean after everything with Kie, I just figured that they sent you.” He spoke in a low, uncertain voice, shrugging his shoulder, suddenly insecure in the moment.

“No, I always come because I want to. Last time you stormed off, I practically pushed JJ off the dock to get to you.” I said giggling at the memory of the overdramatic boy we were speaking of. It was Pope’s turn to return my statement with knitted eyebrows, as his eyes searched my face for the meaning of my words.

“After Kie…” He said, his voice shaky and low. No one really talked about Pope confessing his feelings for Kiara, we all pretended like it was a fever dream and did not happen. I heard him swallow before continuing,” rejected me.” He said with a sigh. “She said that she wanted something different?” He said, his word coated with confusion themselves. “I just felt like no one really wanted me around, or wanted who I was.” Silence fell over us as I gripped his hands tighter involuntarily, hanging onto every word that left his mouth. Every word he spoke about Kie tearing at my heart. “I don’t love her like that though, I don’t know why I did it.” My heart wanted to shatter for him, but I settled for picking up the pieces to hand to him to put back together. He spoke, regret now evident in his voice. “I don’t why I am doing any of this. I’m getting drunk and high, picking fights, like I’m JJ,” He sighed.

“I know we always said we wanted you to loosen up, this isn’t what I want” I laughed awkwardly trying to joke about the topic, but I meant every word that I said. “I want the old Pope back.” I felt him tense at my words.

Pope stood up, taking his hand out of mine and wiping the dirt off the back of his pants. “I don’t! It’s like my life went downhill after that interview and no one gives a shit! The old Pope was walked over by all these people and I am sick of it!” Pope said, his voice rising as the distress became evident. He started stepping over rocks to move back to the forest.

I quickly stood up, briefly contemplating the words that were about to come out of my mouth., I quickly swallowed my pride, not caring about the outcome. My heart was beating in my throat, making sure that the words had to claw their way out. “I care Pope! I have always cared! Probably more than just your best friend should!” I said. The tears started to prick at the corners of my eyes as the words left my mouth.

Pope stopped in his tracks, turning to face me, his eyes wide as he processed the words that I said. I grew bold in my actions, deciding that if I was going to put it out there that I had to put it all out there. “I’ve always been here Pope, I wished I could have made you seen it sooner before you fell for Kie, but for me,” I stopped closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, “It’s always been you. You’re little witty comments never fail to brighten my day, or how you effortlessly help me to do better at anything, even the way that we used to sit on John B’s dock in the middle of the night and have those deep ass conversations.” I said, feeling out of breath. “You’re it for me.” I managed to get out as my voice finally broke. I opened my eyes to see Pope, walking back towards me, His steps careful and calculated as he crossed the distance that had been created between us.

“You like me?” Pope stuttered out. His face was one of complete and utter shock.

I shook my head and scoffed. “You don’t have to act so surprisedly.” The tears were falling freely down my face, as I tried to look anywhere but the curious eyes if the boy in front of me. I moved my hand to try and wipe away the tears that were falling down my face, embarrassed of how emotional I had become.

I was stopped by Pope’s hand moving at the same time to cup the side of my face forcing me to look up at him. I felt my face contort to show the pain that I was feeling. His eyes flickered between the two of mine. I couldn’t help but melt into the touch of his hand, trying to savor the way that it felt to be in his grasp.

It took me a minute to comprehend what was happening, but the Pope’s lips were on mine. I felt myself sway backward from the feeling. Pope wrapped his arm around my back to keep me upright as I kissed him back at a feverish pace. I settled my arms on either side of his neck, holding the back of his head in one hand. I wanted to pull him impossibly close. The world around us felt like it was spinning into nothing until it was just the two of us in the middle. I could feel the emotions of the night being poured into the kiss, the anger, the regret, but most importantly the passion.

We finally had to pull away from one another in a need for air, but we stayed entangled together on the teetering top of a jetty rock. Pope leaned down once again resting his forehead against mine. The eye contact was so intimate that I felt like I could hear his thoughts.

“Just so we’re clear. I meant it when I said I know that I am not in love with Kiara. I just thought that after all this time you would never see me the way I saw you, so I tried to move on. It really blew up in my face though.” He said, a small chuckle leaving his lips. He placed a soft kiss on the top of my head. “You’re it for me too.”

My Masterlist:)

Tagging those who asked :) -- @kikifromtheblock @bedazzledbanks @alexa-playafricabytoto @poguelifesurfshop

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 3 years

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If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Ninety Six

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

April 2nd, 1999

Emile shifted in his seat, looking apprehensively at the therapist across the room. Just because he wanted to be a therapist when he grew up didn’t mean he knew how he was going to be one, or what they were like. “Promise me this won’t stop me from getting whatever job I want in the future?” Emile asked hesitantly.

The therapist laughed. “I promise,” he said. “Even if you want to be a doctor, there’s no psychological evaluation you have to pass in order to get the job. You’re safe to speak freely here. What’s been going on, Emile?”

Emile took a breath, tried to sort through the mental breakdowns he had witnessed and experienced, the crushing pressure, and the blinding fear. “It’s kind of a lot...”

“Well, let’s start with what comes to mind first,” the therapist encouraged. “There’s no wrong answers here.”

February 16th, 2004

Emile braced himself as he heard Remy come down the stairs. He had gotten Remy to agree to see a therapist after his latest nightmare, but he was expecting some sort of fight this morning over it, now that Remy was more clear-headed. Emile wasn’t looking forward to it.

Remy came down the steps, peered into the kitchen. “I have a condition about therapy,” he said.

...Well. That wasn’t quite what Emile was expecting, but still wasn’t a great sign. “What?” he asked.

“You find a therapist too,” Remy said. “I need one, and I’m finally man enough to admit it. But you need one too, mio amore, I can see the stress in you constantly building and you need a healthy release for it that isn’t venting to me.”

Emile felt his grip on his coffee cup tighten, and he was almost willing to call off Remy getting therapy despite the near-constant nightmares making both of them unable to sleep through the night. Almost. “Why do you think that I need therapy?” he asked.

Remy sniffed a little laugh. “Have you seen yourself lately, mio amore?”

Emile was, admittedly, a little hurt at that. He thought he had been doing good. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

Remy sobered. “It means I’m not the only one jumping at shadows or drowning myself in distractions in order to cope with the day-to-day, Emile. You do that too, in a different way. I may need therapy for my parents, but you need therapy for your grandfather, and probably some other things that I don’t have the words to explain. You put the weight of the world on your shoulders, Emile. Let others help you with that.”

“But I...” Emile paused. He couldn’t find the words to explain the emotions he was feeling. “I thought I was doing good, this time.”

“You’re surviving, sure,” Remy said. “But wouldn’t you prefer to thrive?”

“I mean, sure. But—”

“—No but’s,” Remy said. “If you want to do better, you need to see a therapist too.”

Emile felt his heart sink. “Okay, I guess,” he said, nodding.

Remy tilted his head to the side. “What’s bugging you, Emile?”

“It’s just...I really thought I was doing good,” Emile said. “I didn’t think I was...I was failing.”

Remy tutted. “Mio amore... you didn’t fail. This isn’t a personal failing. It’s asking for help when something gets too much, right?”

“Right, but this isn’t too much!” Emile insisted.

Remy walked over to the coffee pot and poured his own cup. He took a nice, long drink from it, before staring down Emile. “I would argue that any amount of stress that prevents you from thriving is too much,” he said evenly.

Emile blinked. Remy had a point. He knew that. What was keeping him from seeking out therapy? Was it personal pride? A stigma against it?

“You don’t have to be perfect, remember, Emile?” Remy said. “You don’t need to be perfect. And you have my permission to fail. If you see yourself going to therapy as a failure, so be it. I gave you that permission months ago.”

“You know, if I didn’t know it would kill you, I would insist that you go to school and become a therapist,” Emile joked. “Because you’re getting scary good at this logic.”

Remy smirked, just a bit. “Thank you, Emile. That means a lot. To know I can get through that head of yours is...reassuring.”

“Yeah, I can be an idiot when it comes to my own mental health,” Emile laughed.

Remy didn’t. “That’s not very nice of you to say.”

Emile shrugged. “Am I wrong?”

“Yes,” Remy said. “You’re being wrong and mean. Stop it.”

Emile shook his head, holding his hands out. “It’s just a joke, Rem.”

“It’s a self-deprecating joke that you use for self-defense, and I won’t have it!” Remy said. “Stop it. Be nice to yourself.”

Emile was sulking a little bit in response. “What if I don’t wanna be nice to myself?” he muttered.

“Then your mental state is clearly one which needs a therapist,” Remy replied simply. “Which, speaking of. We should find one.”

Emile felt his skin crawl. Why was he more uppity about finding a therapist than Remy? “It doesn’t have to be right away,” Emile sighed. “It can wait.”

“Do you really want me dealing with more nightmares?” Remy asked.

“Well, no...”

“Then it can’t wait,” Remy said. “What you’re trying to say is, ‘But I’m not the crazy one.’”

“You’re not crazy!” Emile snapped. “Don’t say that you are!”

“I’m looking for a therapist, Emile. Doesn’t that qualify as crazy?” Remy goaded.

Emile was shaking, finishing the last of his coffee and nearly smashing the mug into the counter. “I know what you’re trying to do, Remy, and I don’t appreciate it.”

“Emi. Look at me,” Remy instructed.

Out of shock at the rarely-used nickname, Emile did so.

Remy had a mix of anger and pain and sorrow in his eyes, all burning with a fire of determination. “I know you’ve spoken to therapists to get a sense of the job before. But I’ve spoken to them too, and actually asked after some people at the shop, seeing what the shrinks and their partners say the best form of support I can give you is. And you know what they said? ‘You help as much as you can, but if you can’t handle everything, direct him to another therapist.’ Therapists see other therapists, Emile. Even, no, especially ones who are as empathic as you. You care so much about everyone, it wouldn’t shock me if you had to talk to someone to make sure that you didn’t burn yourself out with worry. Finding a therapist a little early is better; that preventative measure is already in place!”

“But I shouldn’t have to!” Emile protested. His eyes were growing hot with tears, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “I should be able to handle it! I’ve been able to handle it until now! I should be fine!”

Remy placed his hands on Emile’s shoulders. “Okay, I think we’re on different pages here, Emile. What should you be fine about?”

Emile hiccupped, looked away. “My grandfather,” he choked out, voice thick with tears. “He shouldn’t bother me as much as he does. Especially considering I’m talking to him over Spring Break.”

Remy blinked. “Hold up. You agreed to see him and didn’t tell me?”

“It didn’t seem like it would be a problem, and then you had all that stuff with your parents and I sorta...forgot for a while,” Emile said, flushing. “But that’s not the point!”

“Sure it is. It explains why you were so stressed for the past couple days. I know you took a call from your mom. She was probably relaying a message for you, right?” Remy asked.

Emile nodded, blushing. “I didn’t realize he got under my skin so much. I really am—” at Remy’s warning glance, he paused. “—Not monitoring my mental health well enough to recognize that.”

“I’ll allow that—for now,” Remy said. “Mio amore, come on. Even you acknowledged this is bothering you. It won’t stop you from becoming a therapist, if anything, it’ll give you resources for when the going gets tough. Just...help me find one for you, and you can help find one for me. Okay?”

Emile sighed. “All right.”

The two of them went to the office computer and searched for therapists in the area, each of them writing down a couple numbers to call when they got the time. Emile drove Remy to the shop, and then drove himself to school. He was fidgety. He couldn’t deny that the talk with his grandfather was coming up faster than he would have liked. He knew it was promising that his grandfather wanted to talk to him at all, but he couldn’t help but think of all the times he had butted heads with Remy’s mother. He kept replacing her with his grandfather and thinking how that would have felt.

His grandfather sneering and saying, “My grandson doesn’t associate with queers,” to Remy.

His grandfather lecturing him about how marriage was supposed to be, and not being with a woman went against God’s plan for him.

His grandfather showing up at their house, guilt-tripping him into trying to call off his marriage with Remy. Fuck. Emile wouldn’t do it, but if that didn’t hurt like all hell!

He was starting to understand why Remy was so traumatized through the years, and why he thought Emile needed therapy. Emile was shaking and breathing funny and...and he wasn’t calming down. Those thoughts just kept repeating over and over and before he knew it, his thoughts were drowning out the real world again. He mechanically walked to class, tears fogging up his glasses. When he sat down, one of his classmates gently shook him. He blinked, only being able to see Clara clearly for a second before the tears came back. “Christ, Emile, did Remy do this to you?” she hissed. “Do I need to give him a what-for?”

“N-n-n-no,” Emile stammered out. “Gr-Gr-Gr-Gra-andp-p-p—”

He couldn’t finish the title before Clara shushed him. “It’s okay, Emile. What about your grandfather?”

“He and I...talk...March...” Emile managed.

“What?! Why?!”

Emile shrugged, his breathing picking up.

“Oh, okay. Is that why you’re panicking?” Clara asked.

Emile nodded, beet red in embarrassment but thankful that Clara understood.

“It’ll be okay,” she said. “I won’t try and predict what he’ll want to talk about, but he won’t be trying to hurt you, no matter what he says. He loves you too much for that.”

Which meant, at the very least, he wouldn’t get physical. And that was nice. But it still left too many variables.

Clara glanced around, and said, “Class is about to start. Do you need to ditch today? Or can we talk after class?”

“Af-after,” he stammered.

Clara nodded.

Class went on, and Emile took the best notes he could in his current state. He knew others were giving him weird looks at him not taking the chance to pounce on all the questions, but Clara sitting right next to him, and asking plenty of questions herself buffered the effect a little bit.

After class, Clara and Emile hung back in the hallway, Emile no longer on the brink of a panic attack, but completely worn out and only semi-verbal. “Let’s make this easy,” Clara said. “Yes and no questions, okay?”

Emile nodded.

“Would your Grandfather knowingly hit you?”

Emile shook his head.

“Would he start yelling at you and calling you names for marrying Remy?”

That wasn’t his grandfather’s style. Emile shook his head.

“Would he try and force your hand to get you to call off the marriage?” Clara asked.

Emile hesitated. He didn’t know. And that was where his anxiety was stemming from. He might have to say “no” to his grandfather, for the first time in a very long time. His breathing was starting to pick up again, and the only word he could choke out, over and over again, was, “Panic! Panic panic panic panic—”

Clara put a finger to her lips and Emile pressed a fist against his mouth. “Well, I see where the anxiety stems from, as, clearly, do you,” she said. “Tell me this, Emile: has your grandfather ever tried to take something away from another person if he knew it made them happy?”

Emile shook his head. He genuinely couldn’t think of a time where that applied.

“Then he won’t take Remy away from you. Because Remy makes you happy. And yeah, I don’t know him. I know you think I can’t make that guarantee. But think about it. Would he really try something like that?”

Emile was pretty sure he knew the answer. His grandfather wouldn’t try that. He might make it clear that he never wanted to speak to Emile again, but he wouldn’t force Emile to call off the marriage. Sure, that option hurt, but at least it was realistic. “Thanks, Clara,” he breathed.

Clara nodded and smiled. “Of course, Emile.”

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

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malkumtend · 4 years

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I Like Your Laugh (A CrowSquirrel AU fic) - Chapter 10.

If a cat were to ask Ashfoot if her eldest son had ever gotten into fights before, her response would be that all-too-familiar mother’s laugh to the sky before laying down with a droll, “How long have you got?”

In other words. A lot.

Her son, as prickly as he was, didn’t help himself most of the time. He was no bully by any means, but he was no pushover either. He fought with all his might whenever he found himself in a scuffle, be it with clanmates or even other clan Warriors when encountered on the border.

Needless to say, Crowpaw was used to wounds. He could deal with a few scrapes or bites; all it would take was a day and they would close up again. And even though he hated losing, he understood the best thing was to suck it up and re-strategize for next time; then he would be the one basking in victory.

He was going to be a Warrior soon; he couldn’t afford to get bothered over a loss.

It was like a coping mechanism.

Now, it was failing.

Because, for some aggravating reason, he couldn’t force away the stinging in his shoulder whenever he moved, and the flashing wracks of pain in the clawmarks on his neck made him hiss softly whenever they panged.

The cuts hadn’t been too deep and whatever blood that had been drawn had dried. But none of that gave Crowpaw any comfort, he still boiled from the anger and indignity of his loss.

He knew it was stupid. He couldn’t have done anything, Brambleclaw had come out of nowhere, when Crowpaw’s back was turned. It also didn’t help how freakishly large the Warrior was, Crowpaw had felt like he’d have had better luck in pushing off a log than the Thunderclan cat.

But whatever he said couldn’t change the fact that the Warrior now held something over him.

He hated that.

Half of the sun was now visible over the shape of the hill, whatever light sprouting was now dull and toneless. The orange sky darkened and crept around the cats as dusk padded closer. At least the air had cooled and they were all full with prey. It would make the approaching night a tad easier to get through.

Not so much for Crowpaw.

He almost felt guilty, Squirrelpaw and Feathertail and kept close by him, trying their best to pepper him with light jokes and comforting purrs. Deep down, Crowpaw was truly grateful for their efforts, but it wouldn’t shake off the looks he had received from the others.

He didn’t mean the mistrusting, deceitful glares he’d typically receive, he couldn’t care less about those. It wasn’t like he trusted the other Warriors himself. No, it was how they looked at him now that bothered him, and it didn’t matter who it was, he would be furious to receive those looks from anyone.

Those soft, sympathising glances that made him turn cold.

Just because a cat had caught him off-guard, they all stared at him as if he was some wet kit crying for mama. He was almost a Warrior for Starclan’s sake! He was willing to fight again and again for his clan whenever he was needed, he deserved their respect not their thin compassion!

Feathertail had tried to tell him that the others would go easier on him now they knew he wasn’t looking for trouble. Crowpaw could have started spitting. They should have known that already from how much he’d tried to help the group, but no, it had to come because that hare-brain had attacked him. It was just bitter sympathy, nothing more.

Crowpaw didn’t need that kind of friendship.

He kept his gaze low so he didn’t cat any of those condescending glimpses anymore. Though he was still aware of the presences beside him. Nobody had said anything for a while now, an eerie silence loomed over them and no one really had the desire to say anything in fear of provoking anyone.

Like always, Brambleclaw had made his way to the front, but he was shadowed by isolation. Tawnypelt may have been only a few steps behind him, but it was as clear as the sun that she was aggravated by her brother’s actions. Whether or not Brambleclaw cared was not an issue as he hadn’t met a cat’s gaze since the fight, Crowpaw assumed it was just his fox-brained stubbornness.

Stormfur was walking closer to Feathertail than normal, they shared a hushed conversation, but it wasn’t a mystery on who it was about. Before, Stormfur usually was the most obvious in how much he distrusted Crowpaw’s friendship with his sister, but now he kept on sneaking gentle glances back on the apprentice. It stung Crowpaw like his cuts were frazzled with saltwater.

And Squirrelpaw.

She hadn’t left his side once.

And while part of Crowpaw desperately wanted to appreciate her friendship, a stronger feeling just made him feel sick.

He didn’t want her pity.

Even now, Squirrelpaw continued to stroll beside him. She wasn’t saying anything anymore, she’d learnt that was pointless after Crowpaw’s obvious lack of investment in small talk. But she was still there, close enough to be brushing fur with him, and she was warm and humorous and Crowpaw knew she only wanted to cheer him up. But those eyes! Those sad eyes that kept on finding him! They frustrated him so much!

“You don’t need to keep looking at them.” Crowpaw monotoned when his wounds felt her gaze for the hundredth time. “They’re already healing.”

Squirrelpaw had jumped enthusiastically when he actually spoke again, but her ears fell back in disappointment when she heard his tone. “I know. I’m just checking them.”

“Thanks, but I already said I’m fine.”

Squirrelpaw managed a wry smile, “I’m sure that’s what you thought before you were going to fight those kittypets with your scratched side.”

Always one for a laugh. If only Crowpaw was.

“These aren’t as bad as that.” He wasn’t lying to her. The wound from that thorn had been strangely deeper than Brambleclaw’s claws. “Just give it a night and it’ll look like nothing happened.”

Crowpaw winced when he saw Squirrelpaw’s eyes narrow. The Thunderclan molly shook her head weakly, “That isn’t the point.” Her gaze found the front of the group, narrowed on her target. “It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

Crowpaw felt a chill go through him. He couldn’t talk about it right now. It made his head hurt.

“Well, it already did. Just drop it.” Then they could try to move on at least.

“And if I say no?” Squirrelpaw remarked listlessly.

Crowpaw’s tail swung agitatedly. His jaw tightened. “What’s the point? Done is done. I can handle a few swipes.”

“You just want me to act like nothing happened?” Squirrelpaw asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that would be great!” Crowpaw wondered why his mind wanted him to sound gentle but his voice just came out cold. Idiocy. His tail drooped even further in guilt, but he couldn’t find the heart to apologise. Not right now.

Squirrelpaw blinked slowly at him. Her head dropped for a moment, rising and falling in a quick puzzled pattern, then reserved to face down with a heavy exhale. “Fine.”

Crowpaw’s eyes widened and he tilted his head to face her. She didn’t usually give up so easily, not with her natural stubbornness. What was going on? Yet, as if on order, she looked completely uninterested in what had been said before. She just wandered beside him, face up, blank expression, abnormally indifferent.

Wait? Wasn’t this what he wanted her to do. He wanted silence, and she’d given him silence.

The silence was deafening.

Crowpaw twisted away from her exasperatedly, whining softy as his neck stained again. Fox-dung! Now he was annoyed by something else that was completely unreasonable! This afternoon was stretching out like a nightmare! He couldn’t wait for it to get dark already so he could try and sleep this stupid day away.

A more uncomfortable quiet now surrounded Crowpaw, one that made his fur prickle and his mind fuzz. He swallowed and it felt like a river was overcoming a mound of sand. The cuts were not throbbing so frequently now, but he still felt ill at ease.

He knew what he wanted to do. Say something to her. An utterance of thanks. An apology maybe? Crowpaw knew it couldn’t be any worse than the nothing he had brought between them, but no words would form.

He didn’t feel like he deserved to say anything.

Not when the cat who he’d stood by her against had left him bleeding.

He grunted at his own stupidity, but he still wouldn’t bring his mouth to move.

And so the silence reigned until Crowpaw noticed someone slow down in front, only regaining the normal speed when they were right next to him.

“Hey guys.” The shadow remarked in a familiar tone, but an unfamiliar friendliness.

Crowpaw didn’t respond initially. But Squirrelpaw chirped with her normal comity, “Hi Stormfur.”

The Windclan apprentice could tell Stormfur was waiting for him to say something. Tough luck, Crowpaw considered. He wasn’t interested in whatever phony politeness the Warrior wanted to offer. Looking forward, he saw Feathertail looking back. Upon seeing his gaze, she gave him an innocent smile and looked away.

Of course. She had put him up to this.

“Are you doing alright?” Stormfur asked anyway.

Knowing he wasn’t going to respond, Squirrelpaw answered for him. “They don’t sting anymore he says.”

From the shadow, Crowpaw saw Stormfur nod. “That’s good. Brambleclaw really went for it, I was worried.”

He couldn’t resist. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

Stormfur gave out a small blow of air, and Crowpaw could feel Squirrelpaw’s eyes cutting into him. “Crowpaw!” She snapped, clearly holding herself back.

“No, it’s fine. I understand.” Stormfur sighed, his yellow eyes flashing with forgiveness. “Um, how are you holding up, Squirrelpaw?”

You would want to know that, wouldn’t you? Crowpaw rolled his eyes.

The Thunderclan apprentice exaggeratedly groaned, “Honestly, it feels like my paws are about to drop off.” Crowpaw could share that sentiment. It had been hard enough walking without the scars of that fight, he couldn’t describe how exhausted he was now.

“Ugh, I know what you mean.” Stormfur groaned. “I’m trying not to lose faith here, but I’m seriously wondering how long it’ll be before we start thinking about turning back.” He said, solemnly looking out to the endless hills.

Squirrelpaw rose with a start, “No, don’t say that!” She exclaimed, her tail pointing to the air. “We’ll get there eventually! Even if it takes until we are elders, we can’t just give up!”

Crowpaw could appreciate his friend’s optimism, but he too was beginning to lose hope. In all honesty, he’d been sceptical of this journey from the beginning, and now he was slowly fearing that he was right all along.

Not that he regretted coming along, of course. Even if he went back without some special message from Starclan, he had some things to look back on fondly.

Stormfur let out a raspy chuckle, “I feel like an elder now!” He said stretching his strained neck.

Squirrelpaw laughed along and Crowpaw could tell that the Warrior was blushing when he heard it. Crowpaw stiffened, as if things couldn’t get even more annoying.

Squirrelpaw whipped her tail excitedly, “Oh, you just need to loosen up a little! Like Feathertail!”

Stormfur seemed to flinch at his sister’s name, suddenly realising what he was there to do. “O-Oh yeah. Heh, you’re probably right there.” Starclan above, he was horrible at hiding his nervousness. “Um, listen Squirrelpaw?”

“Yeah?”

“Could I just have a word with Crowpaw?” Stormfur asked.

Crowpaw had to hold back an audible groan.

Squirrelpaw didn’t speak for a second. She looked at her friend, and Crowpaw wanted to give her a begging look. He couldn’t handle his friend’s company now, nevermind those he still didn’t really like. But he didn’t have the heart to do it. He couldn’t meet her eyes.

It’s that reasoning that made Crowpaw unsurprised when she agreed to his request.

She rubbed her pelt against Crowpaw once more, still smiling despite his mood. “Have fun.” She said, walking ahead to where Feathertail was, but still shooting cautious glances back at the two toms.

Crowpaw felt like he wanted to smile at her.

For a long time, the two toms did nothing. Just a replaced silence between two cats who were not as close. Inevitably though, it was Stormfur who broke the ice.

“So, listen,” Was that embarrassment in his voice? “About earlier?”

Crowpaw sniffed dismissively. It was just like he thought. All it was going to be was empty pity that didn’t mean a whisker, the kind you feel for a hatchling that’s been thrown out of its nest before you give it the killing blow.

But he had to just take it in now. Just take in his stupid sentimental dirt, chew it up and spit it out when he was most certainly looking. He knew what this was. He allowed his face to rise without meeting the warrior, already looking unimpressed.

“I’m sorry.”

Crowpaw was surprised.

FOX-DUNG!

He has to get this moving or else he would quickly lose his cool. He allowed himself to find enough strength to murmur. “About what? You didn’t do it.”

“No.” Stormfur quavered, “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry about how I believed Brambleclaw so quickly.”

(He did what?)

Oh… that. Crowpaw honestly hadn’t thought much of it at the time, he’d really been too furious at the rat who had just beat him up. But if he thought about it clearly, he could just about make out how sharp and full of anger Stormfur had been at Brambleclaw’s accusation.

He’d really believed Crowpaw had attacked Squuirrelpaw.

Thinking about it now, Crowpaw realised how angry that made him. He knew that Stormfur probably trusted a rogue with Feathertail more than he did Crowpaw, but to think he would just spring on her with tooth and claw out of nowhere?

He really had no brains at all.

But still… It wasn’t like they’d ever gotten along in the first place, Crowpaw would have probably thought the same thing if he’d seen Stormfur pinning down Squirrelpaw. Besides, if the fool was apologising with his tail between his legs, there was no reason to hold a grudge. It would just get tiring. He was already angry enough at Brambleclaw.

Plus, if he held a grudge against Stormfur, that would definitely incense Feathertail. He didn’t want that. Internally, Crowpaw shrugged. It wasn’t worth getting bothered about.

“Whatever, it’s fine.” Crowpaw said, flicking his ear carelessly at the Warrior.

Stormfur looked astonished. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, you don’t believe him anymore now, do you?” Crowpaw gave him an icy look, pointing towards his bruised face as an explanation.

“No, not at all.” Stormfur shuffled around awkwardly, “I shouldn’t have thought you’d try to hurt her.”

Crowpaw noticed Stormfur’s eyes soften at the mention of her. The Windclan cat let out an exasperated puff of air. At least that explained Stormfur’s anger a little more.

“No, you shouldn’t.” Crowpaw agreed stonily, “Just because that fox-brain said so, it doesn’t mean a mouse-tail.”

Stormfur seemed to take it on the chin, sighing guiltily. “Yeah, I know, I know. It’s just that…”

Crowpaw flicked the Warrior with his tail to shut him up. “I get it. He’s a Warrior; why would he lie? The answer is that he’s a self-righteous idiot.” Crowpaw fumed, his claws glinting as they flicked out.

Stormfur made a small humming noise, his fur shivering slightly. “Maybe. It’s just, I mean, he’s her clanmate. I thought he must have been right.”

“Well he wasn’t.”

“I know.” Stormfur’s lips turned up. “It was kind of impressive that you didn’t just take it, though.”

Crowpaw lifted his head in bemusement. “What are you talking about? I didn’t land a strike on him.” Bramblelcaw hadn’t been the one left almost limping, he didn’t have blood seeping through his fur. What did Crowpaw have to be proud of?

Stormfur chuckled lightly, “Crowpaw, look at him. None of us would have if we were pinned under that! I certainly wouldn’t have done much better.” The grey warrior looked down warmly. “But still, most apprentices would have been in tears if that had happened to them. At least you just got up without making a hassle about it.” Stormfur nudged the apprentice playfully. Friendly. “I, for one, respect that.”

Crowpaw stared at the elder cat, not knowing what to say. Stormfur respected him? Just because he’d tried to take on Brambleclaw back. “But that’s just what any Warrior would do?”

Stormfur laughed, flicking Crowpaw’s ear with his tail. “Maybe any Warrior, yes. But not just any apprentice. Only one as stupid and brave as you would do that, Crowpaw.” Stormfur piped.

Crowpaw could have cringed as he felt a sudden admiration burst for the Riverclan cat. This cat had only days ago claimed that he didn’t trust Crowpaw with his sister, and now he was openly praising him for just not taking Brambleclaw’s attack like a young kittypet? Despite himself, Crowpaw couldn’t deny the Warrior’s words gave him a jolt of pride.

Stormfur didn’t pity him at all. He respected him.

Luckily, Crowpaw was able to cover that up. “I’m not as stupid at him, at least. You still think he makes a good Warrior?”

Stormfur hardened with a sigh. “Skilfully? Without a doubt.” Crowpaw frowned but he too had to admit the mouse-brain was good in terms of strength. That’s clear enough… “But I have to admit, I am worried about his attitude?”

“It took you this long.”

“Shut up.” Stormfur quipped softly, making sure no one else could hear them. “I was talking to Tawnypelt earlier. Even she is getting concerned about how officious he’s become?”

Crowpaw winced. His own sister doesn’t trust him. The grey apprentice scoffed though; he certainly wasn’t going to give the fool any sympathy now. “He’s always been like that to me.”

Stormfur looked forward pitifully, “I was okay with it before when it was just him acting like a leader. But… if he loses it like that again…” Crowpaw could see fear begin to well inside Stormfur. Something erupting in his memory.

Crowpaw pursed his lips. Then he gave the Warrior a light push with his pelt. “Steady. After what happened, I don’t think he’d dare.” And he didn’t. Brambleclaw surely couldn’t be stupid enough to try that again after how it had made him look.

Stormfur gave the apprentice a gentle look. “Starclan, I hope you’re right. Or else-”

“WAIT!”

The two toms, along with every cat, spun their eyes towards Squirrelpaw. The molly’s nose was in the air, sniffing and quivering in excitement.

Beside her, Feathertail gave her a questioning glimpse. “What is it?”

The apprentice turned to her, eyes glimmering with joy. “Can’t you smell that?! It’s salt!”

They all stared at her, unsure whether to let the hope seize them. Crowpaw quickly lifted his mouth to taste the air. Sure enough, that disgusting taste he’d received from that Twoleg pond, days ago, came back to smother his tongue. It sent a shockwave of emotions through the young cat.

“She’s right!” Stormfur exclaimed, his gape contorting into a grin. “It’s close!”

As if seizing the moment, Brambleclaw thrust his head into the direction of the sun, storming off into a sprint. “Come on!”

Every emotion was swept away from the cats, leaving cold adrenaline. They all burst off after the brown Warrior, their muscles clenching with a thrilling power. Crowpaw’s heart pounded, not with exhaustion, but with hysteria. The salty tang was growing closer and closer, beckoning them all to their destination.

Then, Crowpaw raised a brow as he saw Brambleclaw skid to a halt. The apprentice was about to lash out until he looked closer; soon enough he and every other cat paused as they met the edge of a huge cliff, towering over an expanse of blue-green water, shifting across itself in spitting white waves.

In the furthest reaches of what they could see, the sun sank into the watery bed, casting a gleaming orange glow over the horizon.

Crowpaw felt a sudden giddiness creep across him, making him sit down as he felt his paws numb in amazement. This was it. Their destination. The Sun-drown place.

This journey hadn’t been all for nothing.

For once, Crowpaw was glad that he had been wrong.

“We made it.” Feathertail’s voice came from Crowpaw’s left. Her eyes sparkled against the golden rays, glistening just like the water below them.

Crowpaw nodded to his friend. “Yeah, we actually did.” Feathertail turned to him, smiling brightly at the tom, almost looking like she was about to cry from the relief.

“Was there ever any doubt?” Squirrelpaw cut in playfully, rubbing her tail between the two cats before resting at Crowpaw’s right. The grey cat sighed aside, not able to stop himself from smiling at the apprentice’s attitude.

“Not from you, Squirrelpaw. You know best after all.” Feathertail teased with a half-lidded smirk.

Squirrelpaw shook her fluffy pelt. “The words of a genius, Feathertail.” Against the glow of the sun, her orange fur swayed gracefully, almost mimicking a small fire. Crowpaw felt his stomach settle peacefully for the first time in hours, and he snickered before he knew it.

“Great work on finding the smell.” Crowpaw praised, gently pressing his tail against the cat.

Squirrelpaw may have blushed, but she shrugged so quickly that Crowpaw couldn’t tell. “Hey, I learnt from the best.” She smiled at him.

Crowpaw smiled back.

Then Brambleclaw cut into it. “We’ve got to hurry. We have to find the cave with teeth before it gets dark.”

As much as Crowpaw tensed at the sound of the idiot’s voice, he had to let it slide. Brambleclaw was right. They did need to move on and find Midnight as soon as they could. Just because they’d found where Starclan had directed them to, it didn’t mean their journey was over yet.

“Which way should we go?” Tawnypelt asked, looking out over the cliff face. There wasn’t a clear direction now, unless they wanted to submerge themselves in a watery grave.

Before anyone could even look around, Brambleclaw seemed to have made a decision for them. “This way.” He ordered, leading along the cliff face.

Crowpaw noticed the others looking between themselves questioningly. Clearly, Brambleclaw was losing his hold as a leader. However, there was nowhere else that could have been any worse, so they just followed along. Maybe one of us can spot a place to rest if he doesn’t. Crowpaw thought.

They all kept as safe a distance as they could from the cliff’s edge, but near enough to peer over to check for the cave. It filled Crowpaw with a small anxiety to imagine any of the cats tumbling down into those waters. Especially from this height.

He shuddered to think about it.

None of the cats said anything to each other as they walked. They were all concentrated on finding the cave. Crowpaw squinted down time and time again, but all he could see was the roaring waves, jagged rocks spiking from the bottom, and the land of the cliff slowly becoming less and less steep. The latter was a comfort at least.

Another comfort was that as they travelled, they could make out plenty of places where they could rest if they didn’t find the cave. From clefts in the cliff face, there had been several hollows made in the ruinous rock, but also creases wide and deep enough for the cats to gather if they needed to.

“There are plenty of places to shelter for the night if we don’t find the cave.” Stormfur pleasantly echoed their thoughts.

“We’ll find it!” Brambleclaw insisted roughly, jumping over another cleft as he did so. The cats shared a collective groan at the crude desperation of his tone. “Don’t lose heart so quickly when we’ve just found the Sun-drown place.”

“I’m not!” Stormfur exclaimed, exasperated. “I’m just saying we have other options.”

Brambleclaw grunted, not bothering to look back. “Well how about we stick with Starclan’s option until it gets dark. Then we can follow your lead, alright?”

Crowpaw exhaled deeply. Here we go.

Stormfur’s ears went flat against his head, his eyes burning into the tom’s back. But Feathertail wouldn’t let her tongue rest. “Would you mind calming down? How is snapping at everyone for no reason going to help any of us?” She hissed.

Squirrelpaw watched carefully over Feathertail, hoping her anger wouldn’t make her lose focus. “Careful now.”

“Better than another setback, at least.” Brambleclaw spat. “We’ve been out her for days, who knows what’s going on back in the forest? Our clans aren’t going to wait while we waste another day.”

“And they might not have anything to wait for, if we take needless risks!” Tawnypelt snapped, her tail flaring in a fury. “You may want to push yourself beyond your limits, Brambleclaw, but it isn’t just you that Starclan chose!”

Brambleclaw’s shoulders broadened at his sister’s harsh tone. When he spoke, his teeth were clearly clenched. “I’m just trying to make sure nothing happens to my clan. Is that so wrong?”

Crowpaw couldn’t stop his lips from whispering. “Knowing your judgement, yes.”

It wasn’t clear if Brambleclaw had heard what was said, but his ear flicked at the sound of the apprentice. “What was that?!” He yowled, looking over his shoulder maliciously.

Crowpaw stared him down, he wasn’t going to submit to this bee-brain. “Keep your eyes on the cliff.”

“If you want to keep your eyes, you’ll shut up!” Brambleclaw grumbled, clearly not caring who heard him as the rest of the cats drew back in shock.

Crowpaw wasn’t intimidated, but before he could laugh off the threat, Squirrelpaw started forward with a snarl. “Don’t you threaten him!”

“That’s right, favour other clans over your own, like you always do.” Brambleclaw growled, his tail shaking in anger.

Squirrelpaw’s eyes blazed like the sun over the horizon. “Oh yeah! Because you treated me soooooo well when we first set off! You’re a real good clanmate, you are!” She hissed sarcastically.

Brambleclaw’s eye appeared over his shoulder, along with the grit of his teeth. “If it wasn’t for me, you ungrateful kit, you wouldn’t even be here in the first place! You should be thanking me!” The Warrior seethed with an unbelievable venom.

Crowpaw pulsed, rage filling his heart. After ever insult, every cold shoulder, after his attack, this fox-heart still had the nerve to say that to Squirrelpaw. Crowpaw wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt as enraged as he did now. His fur was on end until he could have resembled a hedgehog.

But what he also knew was that Squirrelpaw was perfectly capable of speaking for herself.

The Thunderclan apprentice narrowed her eyes, not even blinking at her clanmate’s words. “Remember what you said? I would have come along anyway. I don’t owe you anything but a rake on the ears!”

As sharp as always.

Brambleclaw let out a growl that was more like a roar. He blazed with outrage, but he knew he couldn’t react, every cat was staring at him as if he was the bad guy. His expression twisted, he looked certain to say something else, even more hurtful.

“Brambleclaw, please just shut up for once!” Tawnypelt exclaimed, stepping forward to her brother cautiously. “This isn’t helping any of us!”

“What in Starclan has happened to you, Tawnypelt?” Brambleclaw hissed softly, stopping in place.

For once, Tawnypelt looked caught off-guard. “Excuse me?”

“My leader, my clan?” Brambleclaw’s voice was low and dangerous, bubbling with icy fury. “And now my sister. Why can’t any of you understand that I’m trying my best for you all?!” He spat ruthlessly, his back quivering as he did so.

Tawnypelt stared at her brother, silent for a moment, then her lips contracted into a grimace. “Will you stop blaming everyone around you?” She erupted, taking another heavy step towards the Warrior. “It’s no one’s fault but your own that you’re acting like this!”

“Acting like what? A loyal Warrior! Is that so wrong to you?!”

“No, it’s not-” Curtly, Tawnypelt stopped. The air around the cats dropped, becoming cold and hollow. The only thing they could hear was the crash of the waves below. “…Was that supposed to mean something?”

At that, every cat realised that it had. And they shivered when they put together what it was that Brambleclaw had meant.

If there had been any regret at his words, Brambleclaw didn’t turn to show it. He continued to shake, growling softly. That was his only frustrated reply.

The scrape of Tawnypelt’s claws against the rock became evident. The Shadowclan Warrior breathed slowly and roughly. “No, Brambleclaw.” Tawnypelt said with a remarkable, frightening calmness. “There’s nothing wrong with acting loyal. But there is something wrong when you’re acting like…” Tawnypelt stopped again, wondering if she was angry enough to stoop to that.

Every cat realised what she was about to say. Every cat’s eyes widened with caution. Brambleclaw’s head rose up sharply, his claws clenched in, and his breathing became fast and ragged. “Acting like who?” He dared her to finish.

She did.

“Acting like him.”

The roar of waves built up, crashing against the rocks violently. Brambleclaw didn’t move, only motioning with the shaky, rasping breaths coming behind his fangs. No cat could find the strength to make a move. A cruel tension had swept over them all. Suddenly, with a rush, Brambleclaw twisted to face his sister. Eyes wild with furious, aching tears. “DON’T COMPARE ME TO-”

He wasn’t able to begin on his tirade. When he turned, his paw had found the edge of the cliff face. He slipped on the cleft. The anger in his face subsided, panic welling as he tumbled sideways into the hollow.

That panic swarmed over the other cats as they watched him helplessly slip through the hollow. Brambleclaw tried to cling his claws into the loose vines, but it didn’t help as soil battered his face making him cough and fall further. Crowpaw watched the frenzy in horror. Even if he hated Brambleclaw, he didn’t want the Warrior to die! But what could they do? There was no way he was going to be able to cling on, and they couldn’t reach him even if he did.

That didn’t stop Stormfur though.

“Stormfur!” Feathertail wailed after him. The Grey Warrior leapt into the hollow after the Thunderclan cat, trying to cling onto his shoulders. It didn’t work. The soil was too loose and soon both began tumbling down at a more furious pace.

Crowpaw’s heart clenched with dread. That idiot! What had he been thinking?! Feathertail’s jaw hung with hysterical fear, wanting to go after her brother, but Crowpaw held her back. He couldn’t sit back and watch more cats potentially lose their lives. If they could just take a moment to think, just maybe they could find a way to reach them at the bottom.

Then Crowpaw watched as Squirrelpaw darted into the hollow with a yowl.

He watched as she landed on top of the falling cats, and saw when they fell out of the dirt, flailing into the water.

“No!” He yowled, grim despair enveloping his heart. But he couldn’t do anything but watch as they plummeted into the unknown.

“Brambleclaw!” Tawnypelt cried, peering over the edge, but the hollow blocked her sight to where they could have fallen. Horrifically, the soil beneath her feet crumbled and she too tumbled over the edge with a howl.

“Where are they?” Feathertail screeched, trying to find any signal that their friends were still alive. Crowpaw searched desperately as well, never before overcome by such sheer terror. His heart thundered as the sound of the water rushed through his ears, taunting him. The current carried along the cliff, slow but clearly heavy. Crowpaw rushed along beside it. He couldn’t even find the time to breathe.

Come on, come on, please! Please be alright! Had he ever been this terrified before? No. He didn’t care. He just had to find his friends! The other two ran behind him as he did so. But not as fast as him. He ran until his sides hurt and his scars felt like they were burning and it was painful to breathe and he was pretty sure he was crying and when he stumbled he got back up again in half a second to continue through the pain.

His body wasn’t in control. His mind was. And it was set on one thing.

He didn’t even question anymore why he was so scared.

That would just be stupid at this point.

…

How had she ended up here?

The short answer would be that she jumped off a cliff. But that was also the dumb answer. There were so many things running through her mind, and she only knew how to handle a select few.

On the one hand, they had found the Sun-drown place. They were one step closer in completing their journey. That was the good news, and it was amazing news after all they’d been through so far.

On the other hand, she was certain she was going to lose her mind over that grey apprentice.

She couldn’t get him out of her sight. Not once. She didn’t want to. Every time she tried to keep her eyes forward and focus, some part of her panged to look back, to check over him, to hope to see him better.

It wouldn’t stop.

And after it had become clear that he was in no mood to talk, she surprisingly didn’t find herself bothered that much. She understood. So she tried to keep it quiet, to lie that she would forget what had happened that had hurt him. She knew she wouldn’t, but she would try. If that would help him, she would try.

It was only when they had found the Sun-drown place that it had worked. That was when he smiled again, looking more like the cat she had grown to adore.

But that was when another problem had surfaced. When she saw his smile against the yellow-blue radiance of the water, fizzing around him like the aura of a star.

Squirrelpaw knew that something had changed. And it scared her. It scared her more than the roar of the waves below them ever had.

That was why she had kept necessarily quiet when Brambleclaw had started on his tirade. She had other, more important things to worry about. She couldn’t be. She just couldn’t.

She thought about how Feathertail and Stormfur would never see their father again because of his feelings.

She thought about Feathertail and the way she looked at Crowpaw.

She thought about the Clans back home.

And then she finally brought up her voice again when Brambleclaw had threatened Crowpaw. She wouldn’t allow that to go unrecognised, not after what he did. She didn’t care about whatever cruel comments he had to say about her, but he was never going to attack her friends if she had anything to say about it.

Maybe her heart throbbed a little at how much it had hurt Brambleclaw when Tawnypelt had said what she’d said, but her satisfaction that someone had finally said it was stronger. If Brambleclaw really wanted to wipe away the visage of that cat, he needed to hear it. Especially from Tawnypelt.

Then he had fallen into the hollow.

Squirrelpaw did not like Brambleclaw anymore. He had shown her nothing but insults and hurt throughout the journey; while the others had given her the confidence to speak up and treat herself like the Warrior she was going to be, Brambleclaw had seemed determined to remind her that he was the chosen cat and not her.

She knew that he had no respect for her.

But that did not mean that he wasn’t her clanmate. Her Clan flowed through her blood, and it meant that she would always protect them when she needed to. No matter who it was.

That was why she had jumped. It wasn’t a choice, it was instinct.

Although she had to roll her eyes despite falling through the hollow when Brambleclaw had protested her help. “No-go back!”

A little late to do that! He’d sure picked the wrong time to act like he cared!

The wind rushed in Squirrelpaw’s ears, and it was harder than she’d thought to keep her balance as they fell. She braced herself to be enveloped by the water, taking in a deep, life-saving, breath.

Only to be met with the heavy slap of pebbles.

Squirrelpaw hissed from the pain, looking around to find her friends, where her jaw dropped at what stood before them. The cave: a massive mouth of rock, splintered with sharp pillars of stone near it’s entrance. Fresh drops of water gleamed against the murky rocks, winking in the red sunlight.

It’s here! The cave with teeth! Squirrelpaw thought excitedly.

Squirrelpaw tried to stand on her paws, and was whisked back down as a torrent of water shoved against her backside, dragging the weight away from her feet. Taking a small breath, she stopped the salty liquid from entering her mouth, shifting her small weight in the waves and just about managing to find her balance.

Nearby, she heard a mixture of frightened yowling and coughing. Squirrelpaw turned and saw Brambleclaw writhing helplessly in the water, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. He must have swallowed and gotten an eyeful of the saltwater. A protective impulse pounded in Squirrelpaw’s mind and she forcefully kicked her paws into the direction of her clanmate.

The waves were strong, but Squirrelpaw was persistent. Once she was near enough, she latched her teeth onto Brambleclaw’s shoulder, dragging him up, making sure his head was above the draining water. The tom coughed out a splatter of saltwater, hazily blinking at his clanmate.

“No.” He rasped, water spilling out as he spoke. “You can’t-you’ll drown…”

So will you if I don’t help you, mouse-brain. Was what she wanted to yowl, but she couldn’t do that without letting go of him. She kicked her paws away from the sucking waves, furiously edging towards the cave. She settled slightly when she felt pebbles beneath her feet, and the tide changed, pushing them onwards.

She found herself on drier pebbles and she shifted all of her strength into pulling Brambleclaw along with her. By Starclan, was the tom heavy. It also didn’t help that the shallow water threatened to drag him back into the watery tomb. The pebbles scattered underneath her, almost causing her to trip. Then Bramblecla seemed to lighten, and Squirrelpaw noticed Stormfur behind, showing Brambleclaw along with his head. He looked so much smaller with his fur sodden and plastered against his skin. She’d hate to think how small she looked right now.

Finally, she and Stormfur had pulled Brambleclaw onto what felt like solid rock. Squirrelpaw released him, gasping and collapsing onto her belly. Every bit of strength had been sucked out of her and she felt clagged from the water soaked in her fur. She looked down at Brambleclaw who lay still, softly panting, his eyes dimming over.

Oh no you don’t! Squirrelpaw stumbled over to where the still tom laid, and she frantically prodded him with her paw. He didn’t have the right to leave them now! “Brambleclaw, wake up!” She shouted, feeling her heart pace at the thought of darkness taking over her clanmate. They all needed each other, every clan cat deserved the right to go home a hero.

Blinking lazily, Brambleclaw rose his head, opening his eyes finally and managing to meet Squirrelpaw’s eyes. She let out a sigh of relief. Even though he was moaning in pain, at least he was alive.

“Thank Starclan.” Squirrelpaw muttered, taking a step away to give the tom some space. “I thought you were dead.”

Brambleclaw grunted weakly, “I-I’m okay.” He said, seeming to choke as he did so. The haze faded from his eyes and he softly rose to meet Squirrelpaw’s eyes. Squirrelpaw was amazed, he actually looked… thankful. Well, he should have been, anyway. But he also looked fragile. Not so much the angry cat that had darkened her journey.

She sighed. What was she thinking? This wasn’t the place. Of course, she was glad he was okay.

Something shifted in Brambleclaw’s gaze and he suddenly made an effort to lift himself up. Retching, he vomited several mouthfuls of water, clearing his body of the heavy pain. As he shivered from the cold and the sickly tremors, Squirrelpaw never thought she’d seen him this vulnerable before.

“Feeling better?” She asked.

Brambleclaw spat out whatever saltwater was left and he nodded.

“Thanks to you, he will be.” Stormfur called. Squirrelpaw found him shaking his sodden fur, but his eyes gleamed with admiration for her. It made her blush slightly. “If it wasn’t for you, that could have ended badly.”

“Oh, it wasn’t like it was me alone.” Squirrelpaw purred.

“You still jumped in.” Squirrelpaw turned with a start towards Brambleclaw. Wearily, the tom lifted his head again, his amber eyes darkened with confusion. “You could have died… Why- I thought you said you hated me.” The tom challenged, his voice numb with fatigue and mystery.

Squirrelpaw rolled her eyes. That was the first thing he thought about. Starclan… what a bee-brain. “I did.” She affirmed, her green eyes flickering with annoyance. “But you’re still my clan. What else am I going to do?”

Brambleclaw only stared at her, his eyes hazing over again with a misty expression. His head dropped again, staring at the pebbled floor, when they all heard footsteps approach.

“Brambleclaw?” The tom turned at his sister’s voice. She approached him with a hard expression, her legs were damp with water, but her body was mostly unscathed. She must have been lucky enough to find her footing on the pebbles before the wave came.

Brambleclaw’s tired eyes brightened suddenly at the sight of his sister, then dropped again, the memory of their last conversation thundering over them. He frowned deeply at the floor, but his mouth was thin with visible conflict. As Tawnypelt’s steps closed in, Brambleclaw’s hard façade crumbled like the pebbles below him, making his mouth quiver and his tail dip between his legs.

It was only when she was right in front of him that Brambleclaw found the courage to raise his head. “Tawnypelt… I-”

He sounded off when Tawnypelt leaned close against him, rubbing her head against his tenderly. Brambleclaw’s pupils shrank at his sister’s action, but when he tried to speak she swiftly silenced him. “Just, shut up.” She yapped, her voice strained with relief.

The Thunderclan Warrior did shut up, and his eyes creased with unspoken words that needed to be said, and he buried his face back against hers, sharing in her momentary fondness.

Squirrelpaw and Stormfur looked on at the sentimental display. It was kind of cringy to look at, but Stormfur pointed out that he could see Squirrelpaw smiling. Perhaps there was some hope for them after all.

“Are you all alright?” Feathertail’s panicked tone erupted around the cave. The cats turned towards the cave. Just past the rush of water and the sparkling pebbles, the cave opened its mouth in a frightening invitation. The walls were large and smooth, mostly covered by shadow, except for a small hole in the roof.

Where Crowpaw and Feathertail peered through.

Squirrelpaw’s heart leapt with alleviation. “We’re okay now. Just a little wet.”

“Hold on! We’re coming down!” Crowpaw exclaimed. Squirrelpaw’s ear twitched at the panic in his tone. That was something she’d never heard before. The two cats padded quickly down a series of clefts and ledges safely embedded in the rock, until they too had found their destination.

Feathertail wasted no time rushing to her brother and enveloping him with loving licks on the cheek. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought I’d lost you!” The Warrior exulted through her fear.

Stormfur blushed under his sister’s affection but he rubbed against her comfortingly. “Hey, hey, we’re fine. Look around, we’re here.” He cooed as his sister continued to smother him.

Now Squirrelpaw didn’t mind that she was smiling. Feathertail’s happiness had that effect on cats. She heard pawprints coming towards her and she went to grin at Crowpaw. “Here we are! Pretty amazing, r-”

She lost her voice as Crowpaw pulled her into a tight embrace.

It came back like the roar of a lion.

He was so close. His paws were wrapped around her body, never breaking, like he was afraid to let go. Her heart began to thunder again, and she lost her breath like she had been submerged by another wave.

There was wetness were his cheeks were pressed against her. It wasn’t from her fur. Had he… Had he been crying? He’d been that worried? About her?

It no longer shocked her why that made her heart melt.

“C-Crowpaw…” Squirrelpaw sputtered, she felt his grip around her tighten.

“Mouse-brain.” He tried to hide the break in his voice. “You could have been killed.” There was a low anger there, but he never let go at all.

Squirrelpaw felt something bloom inside her. He really had been… scared over her safety.

Was she meant to want to smile this much?

“W-Well, I wasn’t.” She breathed, hoping wit would calm him down. It did a little as he let out a crooked note of a laugh, but mostly he just hugged her.

“Just be quiet.” He snapped, but she could feel him smile against her cheek. “And never ever do anything like that again.”

Earlier on, she’d wanted him to cheer up. Squirrelpaw wasn’t sure if this counted at all. But it had to be better.

Why else would it feel so good?

She knew why. That was why it was such a delight to wrap her arms around him and hug him back.

“I won’t.” She promised, knowing that she would break it like she did to so many.

It wasn’t like it mattered now.

It didn’t even matter that in a few minutes they would be thrown off by what Midnight really was, and the dreading news she was to bring about their clans.

That could wait.

All that mattered was now. And now was hugging Crowpaw.

Now. It was nice.

…

#crowfeather #crowpaw #squirrelflight #squirrelpaw #brambleclaw #Stormfur #tawnypelt #Feathertail #Warriors #Warrior Cats #warrior au #thunderclan #windclan #New Prophecy #fanfiction #crackship

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