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friendlyneighborhoodcrow · 10 months

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Stolen Heart

Hello there, folks! It has been a while, haha. But I am back after my unexpected hiatus. And I am back with something slightly unexpected, a Marvel fic! X-men was kinda my first love when it comes to superhero movies, and after rewatching a few movies, that love has made a resurgence. In particular, Quicksilver! I can not express how much I adore him, so I wrote a fic. I won’t lie to you, dear reader; this is rather self-indulgent, but I tried really hard to capture the essence of Peter Maximoff.

But anyway, imagine you are a mutant working and training at Xavier’s school, and after a particular incident, you realize, you may have some more than friendly feelings for the silver hair speedster.

Mutant fem!reader (No use of y/n. plant control mutation)

Relationships: Peter Maximoff x reader

Warnings: None really, all pretty fluffy. Just good ol’ friends to lovers!

Word count: 2.5k

You had a list of problems, but currently, settled on the very top; was your best friend, Peter Maximoff. You had known Peter for years, you were closer to him than you thought possible with a friend, and maybe it was. It had been a week since your revelation, an entire week of dodging the speedster to understand what was happening. It was awful. You missed your friend and hated him at the same time. How could he be so effortlessly striking? With his silver hair, band t-shirts, silly goggles, and handsome face? It was not fair! Peter was your best friend! Why would the world curse you with feelings that crept from the deepest corners of your mind? Despite all your denial, the newly discovered truth remained, you were in love with your best friend.

The chaos of your thoughts was hard to escape, and it only worsened when you were in Peter's presence. So here you were, in the privacy of the garden. The lush vines of the garden constricted and writhed as you sat amongst them, attempting to puzzle out why your relationship had changed so suddenly. Sighing, you opened your eyes as it seemed that even your thinking place offered no answers. The plant life of the school's garden calmed and settled into its rightful places as you regained control of yourself. You thought back to the day it happened and could see it so clearly in your mind’s eye.

It was a chilly spring day, and you had a rare day off from the intensive X-Men training. It had seemed obvious that you would spend the day with Peter, the two of you often seemed joined at the hip, but recently, you had both been called on for missions separately. Now that you both had some time to relax, you agreed to visit Peter’s house to see his family and have a day away from Xavier’s school. Thinking hard, you remembered how you had felt nothing abnormal when Peter wrapped an arm around your waist and held your neck, getting ready to speed off to his Mother’s house. As you thought about the events following, you felt the flowers around you blooming and the vines once again crawling toward you.

“Peter!” Lorna called as she ran toward the both of you at the entryway of the Maximoff household. Her laughter as Peter hugged her made you smile vibrantly.

“Hey there, Lorna! Miss me?” Peter questioned his sister.

“Yeah, I did!” She had a giddy expression as she led you into the house, talking about all the recent happenings at home.

Chuckling at a comment about an incident involving missing cookies, you spotted Miss Maximoff in the kitchen. You walked in, and she stood to greet you.

“Oh, it’s nice to see you, hun! How have you been? Has Peter driven you up the wall yet?”

“It’s good to see you too! I’m doing well, a little worn out perhaps, but it’s no fault of Peter’s, Miss Maximoff.”

“How long have you known me, hun? I think we're at the point where you can call me Magda,” she looked at you almost sternly, but her facade broke as she continued,

“Well, I’m glad you’re well, but I don’t know how you can keep up with him sometimes.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Peter said, suddenly holding a stack of snack cakes.

“Alright, Mom, it’s good to see you, but we are going to the basement.”

In a flash, you were in the middle of Peter’s room, which seemed to be equal parts dragon hoard, as always. A dizzy spell set in as you clutched your head, slightly hunched over. You groaned as Peter flopped onto the couch.

“I hate when you don’t warn me, you know?”

“I don’t think you hate anything about me, hun,” he started, mocking his mother’s endearment for you.

“So what do you wanna do? We could play ping pong or maybe try to beat my high score on Pac-Man,” he said, waving a hand toward his undeniably stolen arcade machines.

“Maybe, we could go into town and-”

“How does a movie sound?” you interrupted his fast-paced string of ideas.

“Oh sure, that sounds great,” he jumped up to root through a box overflowing with VHS tapes, “Can’t believe I didn’t think of that!”

You chuckled and sat on the couch beside Peter’s now empty seat. His room had always been fascinating to you. It was like a reflection of Peter when he was a teen, filled with stolen signage, snacks, goods, and electronics, Peter’s room had a little bit of everything, and you loved it.

“How about John Dane in The Jaws of Death?” Peter said dramatically, raising his arms toward you.

“Sure,” you laughed, “But Who is John Dane?”

“No idea!” Peter told you as he readied the small television to play the movie.

As you reclined on the couch, he appeared next to you with an armload of snacks, including the cakes he had retrieved most recently. Leaning over, you grabbed a box to open as you questioned the nature of the film.

“I don’t know, it’s supposed to be a horror, but don’t worry if you get scared, my arms will be open,” he chuckled and threw you a sly smile.

“My hero.” Rolling your eyes, you broke into a bag of sugary goodness.

“Always will be!” he said in his normal upbeat tone of voice, but looking over, he sported a soft smile.

As the movie began, you settled into your seat next to Peter with a contented sigh, and he mimicked you, putting his leg up and onto the table in front of the couch.

The volume of the tense music began to rise as one of the characters slowly crept down a darkened hallway. The character, Stacy, wore a nervous expression that translated through the screen to you. Under your breath, you murmured; what a stupid idea. Peter turned to look at you, now nestled into his side and asked you to repeat what you had said.

“I said, what a stupid idea, she’s going to get herself killed!” You whisper-shouted, practically right next to Peter’s ear.

“Well, isn’t that the whole thing with half of these horror movie babes? They walk down dark hallways, and the monster gets them,” he stated like it was a fact as he looked back at the television. “But don’t worry, I’d never let that happen to you.”

“What a prince charming,” you said, “do you think I’d make it?”

“What do you mean, hun?”

“As a ‘horror movie-babe’ like you so wonderfully put it.”

“Well, you're pretty enough, but are we talking with or without the freaky plant control?”

It appeared that Peter was making a point of not looking at you now. His warm brown eyes were glued to the tv screen as Stacy jumped away from something in the dark. His leg bounced faster than average, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked tense. It could be the movie, you thought. But as you absorbed his words, you felt yourself grow warm. Did he think you were pretty?

“Of course I do! I mean, who wouldn’t? You’ve got nice eyes, and you’re great to talk to and- and-” Peter trailed off as he turned to look at you.

Your face grew even warmer as he answered what you thought was just a thought. Peter’s cheeks sported a dusting of a rosy pink colour that reminded you of your flowers back at the mansion. It looked nice on him- oh man, now where were these thoughts coming from?

In silence, you stared at one another. Despite how foreign it seemed, there was no discomfort, and it almost seemed natural. Peter’s brown eyes seemed to search your face, and you were sure your own eyes did the same. Peter was your best friend, he was funny, he was always there for you, and he was handsome, you couldn’t deny it. He cared about you, and you cared about him. Maybe that’s why you found yourself learning further toward him on the worn couch. With a clear sense of trepidation, Peter inched closer to you. You were sure you’d never seen him move so slowly before. Meeting each other’s eyes-

“Oh no! Oh God, please, no!” A loud shriek ripped through Peters's basement.

Peter and you jumped back and looked at the tv, hearts racing. You started laughing suddenly as a many-toothed-monster took a comical bite out of Stacy.

“Are- are you seriously laughing? At that?” Peter said, starting to laugh as well, though the redness of his face remained.

“I- yeah, sorry, it’s just- it looks so silly, doesn’t it?” you smiled as poor Stacy continued to scream.

Peter scrutinized the screen as a broad smile began to curl up his face, “Yeah, it looks like- like ketchup!” Peter snorted as he looked back at you.

“I’m glad we spent the day together,” you expressed awkwardly.

Peter paused for a moment. He opened and closed his mouth before speaking, “I am too.”

Once the movie was over, and you said your goodbyes to Magda and Lorna, Peter sped off with you to the school. The day was waning, and the warm sunlight cast golden rays over the school. You were glad to be home. Peter told you he had to talk with Scott and quickly sped off before you could ask him why. Now alone, you walked toward the garden to mull over the day's events. The flowers were creeping up from the ground, and with a gentle wave of your hand, a vibrant bloom of wildflowers stared back at you. Plucking a sizable daisy, you examined the lovely blossom. It reminded you of the days when you, alongside your friends, would pluck the petals asking if the latest school crush liked you back. You smiled at that thought and returned to examining the flower. It had an odd amount of petals; that means he loves me, sounded a voice within your head.

At that very moment, it felt like your world changed. You wanted Peter to love you. A cascade of romantic images flooded your mind as you recoiled from the daisy, dropping it to the ground. Oh no, this isn’t good. Alone in Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters garden, you realized you loved Peter Maximoff.

“Hey, are you- woah, are you okay?”

A familiar voice called your name from somewhere in the garden. Snapping your dazed eyes open, you realized a wall of flowering vines wrapped itself around you and writhed closer together with every passing second. The voice called again, muffled by the thick green ropes that twisted around you.

“Listen, we need to talk, but I can see you want to be alone,” the muffled voice said dejectedly.

Panic struck your heart as the voice registered. It was Peter! Peter was here! Quickly, you raised your hands and took a breath. With a steady mind, you lowered your hands, attempting to drive the tangling mess of plants into the ground. The Vines were slow to move, and you worried Peter would leave before the chaos of flowers and greens would disappear.

“Peter, wait!” You shouted in the direction you guessed he was in. You cursed the plant's reluctance to move and focused more of your energy on forcing them away. The plants began to shrink back more quickly, and you breathed a sigh of relief as Peter’s figure came into view.

He stood before you in his usual gear but without his typical air of confidence. He slumped forward, and his face with painted with a slight frown as he fidgeted with his hands. He met your gaze and smiled a little, but it did not seem to meet his eyes as you rose to meet him.

“Listen, I know you’ve been avoiding me recently, but I don’t know why!” Peter started as though the words leapt off his tongue.

“But you’re my best friend, and I want to be there for you, so whatever is up, you’ve just got to tell me!” He continued, and your heart twisted like the plants around you as his words circled your mind.

Despite your best attempts to evade the speedster throughout the week, he wasn’t mad, only worried for you. Before you could properly think, you threw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. You closed your eyes and babbled something about being sorry and how he didn’t deserve your treatment.

“Hun, I know you wouldn’t just up and leave someone, even a loser like me.”

Opening your eyes and gazing at his face revealed his goofy smile, and you smiled back as you maintained your hold on Peter. I want to kiss that smiling face all the time! You thought as Peter looked at you. Your smile faded as you realized there was no going back. Peter was your best friend, but you couldn’t continue to hold onto such tangling feelings. Letting go of his sides, you pulled him down to the grass to sit opposite you.

“Peter, I’ve been thinking,” you began slowly.

“You’re my best friend, and you’ve always been there for me, and I hope I can be there for you,” you breathed unsteadily as his eyes took in your face.

“I just don’t think I can keep this inside anymore! You saw the plants, for goodness sake,” you laughed, hoping to relieve the tension that weighed down your figure.

“Listen, I-” Peter started, but you quickly interrupted him.

“I understand if you don’t feel the same and if you don’t, we can forget about all of this, but I-” You began to shake as Peter’s expression became unreadable.

“Well, I, I- I think you stole my heart.” You finished with a breath as the weight of the week lifted from you.

Silence took over the garden as Peter stared at you. You didn’t dare move for fear that he would leave. Peter didn’t move for fear that he would wake up from such a wonderful dream. After what seemed to be an eternity of stillness, Peter leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours.

You struggled to keep in a gasp as he quietly whispered for your consent. You swallowed, nodded, and met his lips in a chaste kiss. The world seemed to disappear as Peter reached an arm around you. His lips were soft, if not slightly chapped, and his arm held you loosely. The kiss seemed to last for an eternity and a second, all at once. It was soft and filled with a light that you had never felt. It was like flowers blooming. The feeling of bliss continued as he leaned away with a growing smile.

“It’s a habit of mine,” he sighed, “Besides, I always liked flowers.”

His grin became rather sly as he looked over your blushing face.

“So, how does a date sound? Maybe a bad horror movie at my place?”

“I’d like nothing more!” You laughed as Peter stood with you, leading you out of the garden, bright daisies blooming around where you had kissed, all with odd petals.

I hope you enjoyed and I really appreciate your reblogs and comments :)

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happypeachsludgeflower · 29 days

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“No beta we die like men” and thank god they’re dead

#no beta we die like men #and sometimes you can *tell*#there are just some fics that you read and go ‘yea this one needed some quality time with a second set of eye balls #I respect that someone took the time to write and post a fic (especially when I never have)#but sometimes I can only stare in horrified awe at the truely terrible grammar error present in My Immortal level fics #ao3 funny #ao3 author #fanfic stuff #ao3 tags #ao3 fanfic #memes #tumblr memes #funny memes #meme #fanfiction #fanfiction woes #fanfic

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lovenpeace-pkmn · 1 month

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✖ - a repressed memory

(under the cut for child abuse + gaslighting)

[The room is empty, and cold, and Concordia doesn’t know why she’s in here. It’s a punishment, for sure, but it doesn’t seem like there’s a reason. She’s done all her chores, and been polite to the Sages, and hasn’t yelled at N, and remembered to feed all the Pokémon this time and, and…and she’s been good. So why...?

The door clicks open, and Ghetsis enters.

Concordia looks up, hurriedly wiping away her tears. She’s fourteen, that’s too old to cry. “May I come out now?”

“That depends,” Ghetsis says, his velvet-soft voice cut through with ice. “Are you ready to apologize for lying to N?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She really doesn’t. That’s another thing she’s tried hard at—to be a good follower of Truth, and answer every question as honestly as she can. “Maybe I said something wrong by accident?”

Ghetsis shakes his head, looking disappointed. “I expected better of you, Concordia. I give you a noble purpose and shelter from the world, and you repay me by deliberately bringing their lies and propaganda into my home?”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t mumble.”

She stops, takes a deep breath, and forces her diction into something clearer. “I do not know what I did.”

“Don’t play games with me, Concordia. If you’re not ready to come clean, then you can stay in here until you are.” He turns to leave, long coat swishing behind him.

“Wait!” she calls. “I’m sorry—”

Ghetsis ignores her.

Just before the door closes, Concordia catches a glimpse of Hydreigon’s eyes staring at her from beyond. And then it’s gone, and the door locks, and she’s all alone again.]

#pokemon irl #pkmn irl #pokeblogging #memory ask game #writing tag #child abuse tw #abuse tw #gaslighting tw #cult tw #//this. has been in my drafts. for MONTHS #//i forgot it was in here #//i'm too tired to read it over for quality rn so i'ts just going in the queue. no beta we die like men

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borbonsg · 5 months

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send me 🍹 for a short fanfic/headcanon of our muses // @notprinceadonis

i don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you.

— no archive warnings apply, jason hatzis/nicolás amadeu borbón y grecia, bisexual disaster nicolás amadeu borbón y grecia, violence, period typical violence, blood, angst with a happy ending, getting together, and they were medieval roommates, adonis mentioned, not actually medieval, like early 1800s, no beta we die like men.

DIA 1.

jason foi carregado para casa por dois homens desconhecidos. seu rosto e corpo tinham múltiplos machucados e aqueles eram certamente o motivo pelo qual ele estava desacordado. na sua mesa de trabalho nico cortou a roupa que ele estava usando, encharcada de sangue e obstruindo a visão do que era o maior corte de facada que nico já tinha visto. limpando com mais cuidado ele pode ver, sem tanto sangue no local, que não foi uma facada e sim um corte de uma ponta a outra, profundo no músculo e feito com lentidão. quem quer que tenha feito aquilo com jason queria que aquilo fosse lento e doloroso.

— o que foi que aconteceu com ele? — seu sotaque espanhol atrapalhou suas palavras enquanto ele gritava olhando sobre o ombro, mas os homens apenas deram de ombros. um deles estava claramente bêbado e o outro não parecia estar em completa posse de suas faculdades mentais. inúteis.

nicolás fez questão de expulsá-los antes de seguir cuidando do seu amigo. limpou tudo com cuidado e por mais que torcesse para que ele seguisse dormindo ao suturar seu braço, jason acordou com gritos de dor no segundo ponto. ele havia servido ao exército britânico na guerra, trabalhou como médico e ajudou incontáveis homens a não morrer com a perda de sangue: estava acostumado com os gritos e com a luta que pessoas travam quando sentem dor. era claro que jason ia tentar sair de perto dele. ele estava pronto para a luta, mas não para ver o amigo em dor.

— jason, sou eu! — ele tentou segurar os braços do outro contra a mesa, mas jason já estava delirando de dor a ponto de não conseguir ver que estava seguro. nico podia ser um curandeiro, mas ele não tinha tudo em mãos. precisou desmaiar o outro com uma mistura de ervas que nem deveria ter dentro de casa. ver o outro de olhos fechados e saber que ele não acordaria tão cedo ajudou nicolás a fazer o seu trabalho.

duas horas depois, nicolás havia terminado. quatro horas depois, jason acordou.

— o que aconteceu? — nicolás não estava ao lado de jason quando ele acordou. a voz grave dele fez seu caminho até a cozinha, onde o espanhol estava limpando toda a sujeira que ele havia feito. quando percebeu de quem se tratava, nicolás largou tudo e foi correndo até o quarto, assustado com algo que não sabia o que era.

— você está bem. — ele sentou-se nos pés da cama, cenho franzido e deixando bem claro que não estava nem um pouco feliz com toda aquela situação. em que confusão jason havia se metido? — em que confusão você se meteu dessa vez? — sua voz não saiu tão controlada quanto ele imaginava.

— eu… não foi culpa minha. — sua voz estava fraca, rouca. — eu não lembro direito. eu estava voltando da padaria e… eles me cercaram. — enquanto tentava de forma desesperada lembrar dos fatos, jason levou a mão a cabeça e sua expressão se transformou numa de susto. — meu cabelo…

— está horrível, eles cortaram quase tudo. — jason não tinha cabelo longo, mas com certeza não estava tão ralo quanto estava agora.

— por que… por que eles fariam isso? — jason tentou se arrastar na cama em busca do pequeno pedaço de espelho que guardava numa mesa de cabeceira, mas foi impedido por nicolás.

— não! nada de se mexer! ordens médicas… — ele mesmo pegou o pedaço de espelho e ofereceu a ele, mas jason apenas ficou olhando para o mais velho. alguns segundos se passaram antes que nico tentasse indicar o espelho novamente, mas ao invés de pegar o objeto, jason deu um tapa na mão do amigo e se retraiu. nico estava pronto para começar uma briga ao ver que o único espelho que eles tinham agora era lixo, mas foi impedido ao ver que jason estava com medo genuíno. — eu acho que… eu acho que é melhor eu ir.

acima de tudo, nico não queria forçar respostas de jason. o que quer que tenham feito com ele foi o suficiente para fazer ele ter medo de uma aproximação de quem conhecia tão bem. ele jogou o peso do seu corpo com força sob a cadeira da cozinha. encarou a cadeira do lado oposto, onde nessa hora jason estaria dividindo os detalhes do seu dia após voltar do trabalho e nicolás estaria escutando tudo religiosamente. trabalhar de casa o fazia entrar em um tédio típico, mas estaria mentindo se dissesse que esperava jason só porque sentia-se entediado.

aos poucos, ele terminou a limpeza do local, intercalando em ficar com ódio daquela situação toda e com medo. medo das reações futuras de jason. ele já havia visto aquilo, é claro. homens que iam para a guerra tinham seus traumas. mas aquilo não era guerra, aquilo era diferente.

— jason? — nicolás bateu na porta do quarto uma hora depois, carregando consigo um prato de sopa. era tudo que eles comiam, normalmente. o dinheiro era apertado e eles faziam questão de dividir tudo que tinham, comida principalmente. a cabeça loira, agora meio raspada, levantou levemente. — eu trouxe comida, você deve estar com fome.

aquilo foi suficiente para que jason tentasse, da melhor forma, levantar seu tronco. nicolás ajudou ele, com movimentos lentos para não piorar a situação, tanto do emocional quanto do físico dele. levou o prato na direção do colo do dele ainda com movimentos lentos, mas conseguia ver que seu olhar estava distante. apático as coisas que aconteciam ali.

— você consegue comer sozinho?

— sim, consigo.

— eu vou te deixar sozinho. mais tarde eu busco o prato. — mas não era aquilo que ele queria dizer e sentiu-se estúpido por dizer. queria ficar ali, do lado de jason como o outro havia feito tantas vezes por ele. queria ser burro e teimoso e insistir naquilo, insistir em mostrar que era seguro confiar nele. porém, o lado de nicolás que sabia que aquilo não ajudaria em nada falou mais alto.

quando ele mesmo havia terminado de jantar, na cozinha, ele retornou ao quarto para recolher o prato e viu que jason não só havia comido bem, como já estava dormindo novamente. contra todos os seus instintos, ele se permitiu olhar o outro dormir por um instante. um pé já fora do quarto, mas suas costas encostadas no batente da porta. o peito dele subia e descia no seu ritmo normal, estava sem camisa ainda, seu peito coberto por ataduras que provavelmente ainda doíam mais do que nico podia imaginar. havia botado um pouco de sonífero na sopa, é verdade, pois não sabia se jason iria receber bem remédios vindo dele depois do episódio de mais cedo.

ele conseguiu se arrastar até a cozinha ainda mais uma vez e jogou os pratos usados na pia, jogou com um pouco mais de força do que o necessário. sabia que ia voltar para o quarto dali alguns segundos para dividir sua noite ao lado de alguém que amava tanto, que estava tão machucado e ele nem ao menos sabia o que tinha acontecido. não sabia se ainda corriam risco ou se jason ficaria bem. talvez fosse esse o momento em que sua sabedoria falharia com ele, talvez não tivesse dado remédio suficiente ou o remédio errado e seu prezado amigo nem acordaria na manhã seguinte. talvez não tivesse percebido algum detalhe sobre a saúde de jason que o fosse levar no meio da noite. os talvez o acompanharam ao tirar a roupa, o acompanharam ao entrar debaixo do lençol da sua cama e o acompanhariam em seus sonhos.

ele deitou-se virado para a cama de jason, mas não o conseguia enxergar, de qualquer jeito. logo quando começaram a dividir a casa, que por via das dúvidas, era minúscula, ele foi o primeiro a dar a ideia de usar um armário velho e um lençol para fazer algum tipo de divisão no quarto e há um bom tempo ele já se arrependia. com certeza aquela não foi sua escolha mais sábia e agora ele talvez não fosse mais ter a oportunidade de mudar de ideia.

DIA 2.

nicolás sempre acordou cedo, era natural para ele. escutou o sino da igreja próxima tocar e ele, com seu sono leve, se pôs de pé. observou enquanto se vestia que jason ainda estava dormindo. bom. a dose ainda não havia passado e pelo que parecia, a noite havia sido tranquila.

ele largou todos os seus afazeres, botou uma placa de fechado na frente de casa, onde normalmente atendia enfermos tão pobres quanto eles e correu para o outro lado da praça principal onde a padaria que jason trabalha fica. tratou de avisar o chefe, que não ficou muito gostoso, mas que aceitou ao nicolás dizer que o homem poderia ir ver o empregado a hora que quisesse. felizmente, o homem barbudo preferia aceitar do que se locomover algumas quadras.

nicolás voltou para casa de mãos cheias, tendo usado suas últimas moedas para comprar um pedaço de pão, uma garrafa de leite e um pote de mel. o mel era para os machucados, mas dependendo de quanto jason pedisse, nico deixaria que ele usasse no pão. ele nunca foi um homem extremamente rígido e jason tinha o dom de amolecer ainda mais o coração e as supostas regras impostas por ele.

a casa ainda estava silenciosa quando ele chegou, mas meros segundos após ele chegar, um estrondo seguido de um baque surdo fizeram nico largar tudo correndo na mesa da cozinha e seguir pelo corredor até o quarto.

— eu disse que você não podia levantar ainda! — ele quis gritar, quis ser rígido, mas não conseguiu. jason havia tentado se apoiar no armário que separava as camas de ambos e acabou derrubando um vaso de flores que tentava, falhamente, decorar o quarto sem vida.

— eu lembrei de algumas coisas, acordei assustado e… — sua voz ainda estava fraca, mas agora ele tinha um pouco mais de certeza nas palavras. — foi uma briga de bar, eu acho…

— o que? te torturaram por causa de uma briga de bar? — aquilo não fazia sentido para nicolás e ele não fazia questão de esconder. seu olhar incentivava o loiro a seguir falando, mas sua prioridade era ajudar ele a voltar para a cama.

— não! não foi exatamente assim, eu não estava no bar. o senhor walton pediu para eu ficar até mais tarde trabalhando, eu acabei saindo muito tarde, já tinha passado da meia noite quando eu resolvi voltar. — nicolás não se orgulha disso, mas quando jason não voltou naquela noite, uma pequena parte dele sentiu ciúmes. agora ele se arrepende de ter pensado o que pensou. — eu só vi quando eles me cercaram e…

— você não precisa continuar… — ele começou, mas foi interrompido antes de terminar.

— eles acharam que eu era o príncipe adonis.

o silêncio tomou conta do quarto. nico ficou encarando o amigo, procurando qualquer sinal de que ele esteja brincando, mas era óbvio que não. ele jamais brincaria com algo assim. o fato de que jason carregava uma semelhança absurda com o príncipe já havia sido muito discutida, o próprio príncipe já havia conhecido sua cópia plebeia, apesar de que havia ficado bem claro que aquele não era um fato apreciado.

— por que eles fariam isso? — nico perguntou, não mais alto do que um sussurro.

— eu não sei. — jason sibilou ao tentar dar de ombros, a dor com certeza tomando conta de si. — eles acharam que tinham conseguido sequestrar o príncipe, estavam bêbados e queriam dinheiro.

— isso não um simples… sequestro. eles quase te mataram. — sabia que havia levantado o tom e sido ríspido demais quando viu que o outro se deixou ser fraco e começou a chorar. de todas as situações possíveis que nicolás havia imaginado durante a noite, enquanto tentava desenhar a sombra de jason dormindo do outro lado do lençol, nenhuma delas chegou nem perto disso.

ele deixou que jason chorasse por alguns minutos antes de se levantar e ir até a cozinha. da pata direita da pia, dando cinco passos para a frente e um à direita, havia um alçapão escondido. era um buraco pequeno, mas lá estava o bem mais caro de nico: um rifle. ele sabia que não podia esconder a arma de jason se pretendia levá-la para o quarto, então não tentou.

— eu sei que você está com medo, mas você confia em mim, não confia? — ele saiu falando antes que o outro pudesse pular para conclusões. o medo de ver uma arma poderia cegar ele, mas ainda era nicolás ali. ainda era o homem que havia gasto todo a sua energia em cuidar dele nas últimas vinte e quatro horas, que teve todas as chances de machucá-lo e não o fez. jason apenas concordou e deixou seu olhar fugir enquanto nico largava a arma em cima do armário.

— eu preciso trocar o seu curativo. — nico já tinha pegado o mel, as ervas e as ataduras limpas. sabia que o processo de limpar os curativos seria longo e doloroso, então optou por fazer as coisas ao contrário do que normalmente fazia. — mas antes você precisa de um banho. eu tentei te limpar o máximo que consegui, mas ainda tem sangue seco no seu pescoço e no seu cabelo. falando no seu cabelo… — ele aos poucos se aproximou, levando a mão com todo o carinho do mundo a cabeça de jason, tocou algumas partes e tentou olhar onde ele estava encostado no travesseiro. estava claramente mal cortado, mas aquilo era o de menos, considerando que eles haviam cortado a pele de jason em vários locais. — a gente precisa fazer algo sobre o seu cabelo.

jason apenas concordou e nico percebeu que ele havia voltado ao seu estado apático. essas coisas iam e vinham, era normal. nicolás guiou o amigo pela próxima hora, ambos sem falar uma palavra. o espanhol havia esquentado água do lado de fora da casa e a princípio pensou em lavar o cabelo do outro nos fundos da casa, onde tinha mais luz, mas não achou que seria uma boa ideia. acendeu uma lamparina perto da bacia e lavou com calma a cabeça dele. às vezes jason se esquivava, considerando a posição vulnerável que estava: sentado num banco, de costas para nicolás, mas nico era insistente. quando isso acontecia, ele segurava o rosto de jason com calma, olhava nos olhos dele por alguns segundos, esperando que o homem voltasse a si. que as memórias parassem um pouco. nesse ritmo, lento e preciso, nico conseguiu lavar o cabelo dele e depois tentar alinhá-lo com uma tesoura. algumas partes doíam, por causa dos machucados e nessa questão ele não insistiu muito.

— obrigado. — foi tudo que jason disse quando nico terminou de secar sua cabeça. o mais velho ainda estava sentado atrás dele e portanto eles não estavam se olhando diretamente. — obrigado por cuidar de mim, sei que estou tomando seu tempo e…

— não. — nico o cortou. tudo que ele menos precisava agora é que o loiro se culpasse. — você não toma meu tempo. você faria o mesmo por mim, não é?

— sim, mas…

— mas?

jason apenas negou com a cabeça e nico o deixou. o que quer que eles tivessem para conversar poderia esperar, como estava sendo adiada há muito tempo.

de novo deitado, jason não falou uma palavra enquanto nicolás trocava suas ataduras. era óbvio que doía, o tecido grudando nos machucados e nos pontos, precisando ser retirados com toda a calma do mundo por nicolás, que observava cada mínima reação para tentar evitar que aquilo tudo piorasse. voltou os mesmos remédios de antes e o mel.

— eu trouxe pão e leite. está com fome? — e em resposta, o estômago de jason roncou em alto e bom som.

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

mais tarde naquela noite, ambos já estavam deitados em suas camas e quase dormindo, mas algo ainda incomodava nicolás.

— você não devia ter aceitado ficar até mais tarde naquele lugar. o seu chefe é um ser humano horrível.

o silêncio se prolongou por um tempo a ponto de nicolás achar que o outro já havia dormido, mas jason não dormia tão fácil e ele não havia posto sonífero dessa vez.

— eu perderia o emprego se dissesse não. você sabe disso. — jason pareceu irritado com o comentário do outro, mas ele sabia que nico carregava uma teimosia imensa e aquilo não era suficiente para ele.

— talvez você não devesse trabalhar lá. — nico já pensava nisso há muito tempo, mas tinha receio de comentar. — peça demissão.

uma risada veio antes da resposta de jason: — e o que você sugere que eu faça da minha vida?

— é óbvio, não é? abra uma padaria aqui em casa.

— nicolás…

nico soube automaticamente que havia tocado com toda a sua força em um machucado ainda aberto. jason já tinha tido uma padaria antes e foi assim que eles se conheceram. ele ainda morava com a sua família e trabalhava com seu pai, dedicando seus dias a fazer o que amava e fazendo do seu jeito. e é claro, nicolás lembra com a maior clareza do mundo do dia em que eles se conheceram. ele tinha acabado de voltar da guerra, estava descontente com tudo e com todos e desejava imensamente voltar para o seu país de origem um dia. trabalhava igual um cavalo, dia e noite, como ferreiro na esperança de juntar dinheiro o suficiente para embarcar de volta para a espanha. esse plano desandou quando conheceu jason. era o homem mais lindo do mundo inteiro e de repente sua vontade de ir embora sumiu e sumia toda vez que ele gastava libra atrás de libra comprando tudo e qualquer coisa que jason produzia. eles viraram amigos rapidamente e ainda eram amigos quando a padaria fechou.

as vezes que nicolás deixou claro para jason que a culpa em nenhum momento foi dele ou de sua capacidade foram incontáveis. era importante que o outro soubesse disso.

— eu não estou brincando. tente novamente.

— eu já falhei uma vez. — foi tudo que jason respondeu, mas nico não estava feliz.

ele se levantou rápido e impulsivamente, sentindo sua visão ficar preta por um segundo. a determinação sumiu do seu corpo antes mesmo que ele pudesse puxar o lençol da sua frente. alguns segundos se passaram antes que ele se sentisse estúpido. o que faria se passasse dali? tomaria, finalmente, a coragem de dizer tudo que pensa para jason? tiraria todo aquele peso de seu peito que insistia em lhe incomodar?

— nico…? — sua voz foi um sussurro, puxando o espanhol de volta para a realidade. claro que jason podia ver ele ali, ponderando entre o que fazer. — eu nunca gostei desse lençol.

— nem eu. — confessou também, tirando o tecido do seu caminho, podendo finalmente ver o outro. aquilo não o ajudou muito, sentindo o afeto que nutria pelo outro queimar no seu peito ao vê-lo ali. quando tudo isso passasse, nicolás se perguntaria como que conseguiu cuidar dele sem sofrer junto.

— pense sobre isso. eu vou te ajudar quando puder.

— não quero falar sobre isso, não mais. por favor.

e nico acatou, como sempre fazia. se fosse daquela maneira, tudo bem, mas aquela resposta não acalmava seu coração. as implicações de como jason ficaria quando ele fosse embora haviam mudado. aquele era para ser seu melhor amigo. nas peças e livros que nico havia lido, um homem como nicolás deveria descrever jason como um irmão. alexandre dumas, charles dickens, ernest hemingway e muitos outros já haviam escrevido amizades como a deles, mas nunca terminaram como nico queria que terminassem. será que esses homens sabiam da existência do amor que nicolás nutria por jason? será que eles sabiam que homens como nicolás jamais descreveriam jason como a outra metade de sua alma e o chamariam de irmão logo em seguida? que se o destino reservasse para nicolás uma vida sem jason, isso simplesmente não lhe bastaria?

— nicolás? — jason chamou e pela expressão em seu rosto, ficou claro que não era a primeira vez que o chamava. — você pode… pode me dar remédio para dormir? eu estou sentindo muita dor.

a resposta certa seria não, mas a clareza de que nunca poderia dizer não a jason já havia tomado conta dele.

— claro.

nicolás deitou ao lado de jason após dar o remédio eles dormiram juntos, o sono tomando conta de nico bem depois do que o normal.

DIA 3.

nicolás acordou com o barulho da porta dos fundos batendo. ele saltou da cama apenas quando viu que jason já não estava ao seu lado. pavor tomou conta do seu corpo, automaticamente se culpando: se haviam entrado aqui e pegado jason novamente, como que ele não havia acordado? saiu correndo da maneira que pôde, sem sapatos e com rifle em mãos, pronto para atirar em quem aparecesse na sua frente.

os fundos da casa deles era um chão de terra, molhada pela chuva constante, um banco velho embaixo da janela e um cocho que há muito não via comida pela ausência de um cavalo, pois o último que nicolás tinha foi vendido no último aniversário de jason.

esperava tudo, menos ver jason sentado no banco, como se não estivesse completamente remendado, chorando enquanto olhava para um pedaço de papel que ele conhecia muito bem e achava estar guardado muito bem.

— onde você achou isso? — com certeza não foi o seu momento mais inteligente, escolhendo mal suas palavras.

— você vai embora?

não havia hora certa para contar para o seu amigo machucado e traumatizado que você tinha comprado as passagens para a espanha. não havia momento certo para contar ao homem que você ama que você o ama e apesar disso o vai deixar sozinho.

— eu… — jogou seu corpo no banco ao lado de jason, encostando o rifle do seu lado no banco. — eu vou. — automaticamente a expressão de dor e traição tomou conta do rosto de jason, seus olhos com claras lágrimas. — são muitos motivos, não é apenas porque eu quero. eu recebi uma carta da coroa, eles estão me expulsando do país, eles não querem que eu siga praticando… meus trabalhos aqui.

— e você não pensou em me contar isso antes? nicolás eu…

— você o que, jason? — agora nicolás estava com um pouco de raiva. ele não devia nada ao outro, na verdade não devia nada a ninguém e tinha feito questão disso. — o que mudaria se eu tivesse lhe contado antes? seria só mais tempo para você ficar me olhando com essa cara. — nicolás arrancou o papel das mãos do amigo, botando o rifle no seu ombro novamente e estendendo a mão livre para que o outro pegasse. — e eu achei que tinha deixado bem claro que você não pode se mexer, muito menos se arrastar até aqui fora. está frio! você quer pegar uma gripe e morrer? — a bravura na sua voz era inexistente, deixando bem claro que estava preocupado apenas.

DIA 6.

três dias haviam se passado e nada havia melhorado, como nico sabia que ia acontecer. jason é bom demais para fingir que a notícia da partida de nicolás não havia o afetado. nada daquilo melhoraria até que ele estivesse em um navio para o outro país. ou talvez isso só fosse piorar tudo. talvez jason iria o atormentar eternamente. de qualquer modo, ele precisava tentar e descobrir.

— voltei! — jason já estava um pouco melhor, já conseguia caminhar normalmente e já conseguia limpar seus machucados sozinho, então nico voltou a anunciar quando estava em casa.

— de onde você tirou esses livros? — foi a primeira coisa que jason perguntou quando nico pisou no quarto deles, segurando dois dos quinze livros que o espanhol tinha guardado.

nicolás havia começado a fazer as malas dois dias antes, não era muita coisa como sempre, mas agora ele estava juntando toda a sua vida para levar para outro país. precisava de mais organização.

— eu roubei. — ele deu de ombros, sorrindo ao ver jason deixar seu queixo cair, surpreso com esse lado secreto de quem conhecia tão bem. — antes de trabalhar como ferreiro eu trabalhei como jardineiro. pessoas ricas tem muitas coisas que dão valor e vão perceber imediatamente quando forem roubadas, mas livros normalmente não faz parte dessa lista. e você tem que saber quais roubar e tudo… mas é, roubados.

— você nunca me disse que tinha livros. — jason pareceu um pouco chateado com isso, mas não era nada muito profundo.

— você nunca perguntou. — ele deu de ombros, tentando ignorar a leve melancolia que tomou conta dele. — fique com eles… os livros. — nico separou a pilha de livro de suas coisas e botou do lado de jason do quarto. — será meu presente de despedida. vou arranjar livros na minha língua materna quando chegar lá. — a dor que sentia em dizer tais coisas com certeza não tinha nada a ver com seu apego aos livros — agora chega disso, vamos jantar. eu comprei batatas novas.

foi durante a janta, ambos a mesa, que jason falou:

— eu… eu posso ir com você.

não foi uma pergunta, mas mesmo assim nicolás respondeu com rispidez e certeza.

— não. — ele negou com a cabeça e seguiu comendo, como se dizer aquela palavra de três letras não fosse contra tudo que ele queria dizer naquele momento.

— nicolás, aqui não é seguro-

— não. você não vai comigo. se mude para o país de seus pais, vá para a frança. você se daria muito bem na frança, sabia? — nico seguia comendo, observando seu prato com a maior atenção do mundo. — mas não para a espanha.

— olhe para mim. — o pedido veio com uma voz calma, diferente do rumo que a voz do espanhol estava tomando.

— você não pode fazer isso comigo, jason… — foi quase uma súplica. apenas de olhar nos olhos azuis do outro, nico soube que não poderia ir embora sem deixar as coisas claras. — eu vou tomar isso como uma chance de recomeçar, de esquecer você. não peça para ir comigo.

— você quer me esquecer?

— sim.

— por que? — agora sim jason estava machucado, no escuro e sem entender o que havia feito para o amigo para receber uma reação tão drástica. por mais óbvios que seus sentimentos por nicolás fosse, ele jamais imaginou que o outro iria correr dele daquela maneira. ele nunca imaginou um final feliz para eles, mas sempre esteve longe daquilo.

— amar você é a coisa mais fácil e desesperadora que eu já fiz. eu me pergunto se você sabe o que significa quando eu tento de todas as maneiras afastar você de mim. você sabe? — jason apenas negou, tentando processar as palavras que tinha acabado de ouvir. — não é porque eu te quero menos. é porque eu te quero tanto que acho que o mínimo passo em falso vai fazer você fugir de mim.

— então você vai fugir?

— você sabe que eu não estou apenas fugindo.

— está sim! — jason não havia gritado com nico há tanto tempo que o ato fez com que ele encolhesse os ombros. a comida estava na mesa, há muito esquecida. — você pode usar qualquer desculpa que você quiser, mas você está indo embora por um motivo muito claro! e é por minha causa. você quer olhar nos meus olhos e me dizer que está fazendo isso para me esquecer? como você ousa dizer isso se nunca ao menos teve a coragem de me beijar?

aquilo quebrou nicolás e qualquer fachada que ele tentou manter. foi o suficiente para ele se sentir a pior pessoa do mundo. ele quis beijar jason desde o primeiro momento em que se conheceram e não o fez por medo. medo das implicações de um beijo correspondido acima de qualquer medo de rejeição. nunca houve medo de rejeição pois nico sabia que o que quer que sentia, jason sentia o mesmo. então quando ele tomou o rosto do loiro e o beijou, nico sabia que seria correspondido. sabia que não poderia voltar atrás, que não importa o quão longe ele fosse, ele jamais esqueceria jason.

DIA 44.

— eu sinto que você ama mais essa cavalo do que eu. — jason observava nico escovando o animal de pelagem castanha da porta da casa deles. o sol da espanha batia forte na cabeça de nicolás ele sabia que já deveria ter entrado há uns bons minutos.

— não me peça para escolher entre você e strawberry. não temos dinheiro para mandar você de volta para a inglaterra. — nico tirou suas compras das costas do animal, entrando em casa e sentindo o alívio ao estar na sombra novamente.

— como estão as coisas na cidade?

— a senhora martinez pediu que você faça mais dois pães de nozes, o senhor e a senhora gomez querem aqueles negocinhos pequenos… os…

— croissants? – a voz de jason vinha da dispensa, já separando algumas das compras para começar a produção de pedidos na primeira hora da tarde, para que desse tempo de nico voltar na cidade com tudo pronto e fresquinho.

— isso mesmo, croissants! eles querem trinta desses para um chá da tarde amanhã, então esses eu levo amanhã de manhã… a esposa do barbeiro -

— marta?

— isso, marta! ela quer uma torta de maça com conhaque. tem também pedido de cinquenta pães para a padaria do centro da cidade, eles disseram que pagam mais dessa vez e eu disse que falaria com você primeiro.

— cinquenta é muito, eles vão ter que pagar bem. — jason parou para comentar, antes de voltar para a dispensa com ainda mais coisas. strawberry era um cavalo forte.

— quinze por cento a mais do que da última vez foi a oferta deles.

— diga para eles que pode ser, mas você vai ter que me ajudar! - o grito de aviso veio antes de jason voltar para a cozinha. nicolás odiava cozinhar, mas ele fazia o melhor quando o assunto era ajudar o outro nas encomendas que tinha.

ele estava morto de cansado, o caminho entre a casa deles e a cidade levava mais que quarenta minutos e ele o fazia de manhã e de tarde, fazendo o máximo para manter os clientes felizes. seu corpo doía por inteiro, mas nico era um homem forte o suficiente para não se ver cansado, pelo contrário. toda vez que via jason na porta de casa o esperando sabia que precisava repor as energias o mais rápido possível para que toda vez ele pudesse puxar o outro pela cintura para mais um beijo para a lista de tantos outros. para poder sentir o corpo dele grudado ao seu, justificando todo o resto.

— ouvi dizer que você criou confusão com o joalheiro. — jason comentou, entre um beijo e outro, fazendo nico se afastar levemente, com um sorriso culpado.

— isso foi ontem de tarde, como que essa fofoca chegou aqui tão rápido? — mas ele sabia, é óbvio que nicolás sabia da índole fofoqueira de vários vizinhos dali, de alguns em específico. — não foi uma confusão… — ele começou a se explicar, ignorando a expressão de desdém de jason. — ele só não para de insistir em saber para quem eu dei aquela aliança.

nico não precisava olhar para saber que a aliança estava no dedo de jason.

— e o que foi que você disse para ele?

— com certeza não que eu dei ela para o meu… parceiro de negócios.

#answered.#notprinceadonis.#não abram o read more vcs irão se arrepender #no beta we die like men da metade pro final #se tiver erro foi escolha artística #eu escrevi errado nas tags vsf

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labelleizzy · 11 months

Text

Memento Mori, 5:40 am

Sitting on Mom's guest bed

Can't sleep, I go home later today.

Surrounded by photos of my own childhood

Her youth with my dad (gone 27 years)

Other family (some dear, many moved away)

I'm seized by the knowledge that

I'm running out of time.

Slipping through my fingers

So as best as I can I'll fling

Bottled letters into the time slips

Network some loved ones together I hope

I feel

I love her so much

I wanna take the pain from her

Her body slowly failing, crumbling

Her mind and memory bright like diamond

As she slowly continues releasing things

All the things that once made her feel safe

Or so I believe.

Things don't make me safe either, from

Loss we can't avoid

She's figured that out too

Blessing the world from her abundance

Friends, family, the charity shops

Her house gets less crowded

But

The tomato 🍅 plants in the side yard

We went to tuck them up safe in their frames

They flower, already setting fruit

And there, the worm 🐛 spoils the fruit

Drills the stem

She said I can dig up one of last season's

Volunteer tomatoes

(what we have always called the self seeded)

Take a little bit of her garden home with me.

I, too,

Will bless the world from her abundance

Hopefully to fruit and flower for more years

If I can be a frame to help her stand

I'll hold her up, like she's done for me

I guess all we ever have is the time we have

No way to know what that is, or how long

Seed, sprout, flower, fruit, seed, wither...

Sprout.

#words words words #izzy writes #izzy ages gracefully #or not as the case may be #izzy writes poetry #drain off the words #feelings on the page #i love you mom #time keeps on slipping #into the future #hopepunk #thanks for reading #i feel a little better #grief poetry #of course that's a tag #no beta we die like men #of course #that's the point #memento mori

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kiwibirdlafayette · 8 months

Text

chaos and balance- the capsize

"i don't think you understand what's actually happening here. If you'd just open your bloody fucking eyes, it's pretty obvious."

Chaos and Balance is a narrative playlist that basically comprises, in a chronological order, my headcanon for the progression of cTom Syndicate and cJordan's relationship through the course of S1, S2, the divorce arc (post-canon part 1), Mianitian Isles and the Aftermath (post-canon part 2, aka Gays on A Boat, Aitheaca, etc.) It started mainly because I really love the potential of using music to tell stories, and how lyrics can be representative of feelings seldom expressed any other way- based on both canon moments, moments I've interpreted as significant to their relationship/overall arcs, and little interludes I've written that take place in between episodes/"off camera" that connect things together in my head. All this being said, it is primarily headcanons, and is purely for fun. dont like dont read lmao

This specific being how keeping in the canon nonsense of capsize x jordan plays a role in cSyndisparklez from my pov :] enjoy!

(Red lyrics are representative of Jordan’s voice, green is Tom! Bolded black is both of them)

The shenanigans of Capsize happen just after falling for the villain,

in which Jordan is forced internally for the first time to come to terms with the fact that yes, he is in love with his friend/enemy/however you wanna put it. Despite how much he annoys him, despite all of his questionable behavior, despite it all, he has fallen head over heels for this absolute bastard of a man, and hates to admit it, but deep down has longed for a kind of affection that he could have.

I'll take my timeI'm not the forward thinker; you read my mind-

But a part of him still remains hesitant, and for one reason or another, refuses to give in, to openly admit it to not just others but himself. It’s at this point (I’ve written in) that Tom’s kissed him twice. The first, just a little peck on the lips he was able to brush off as a joke, just a hahaa ok cool bro that's funny. But the second time, as a cheap play by the zombie to get a purge kill having already caught the Ianitee off guard. It's irritating for sure, to have him weasel his way into free points by taking advantage of a distraction that worked a little too well, but why could he not get it out of his head? It hadn’t felt so wrong, actually, and… he had almost hoped it had been genuine. If it had been genuine, maybe he would have returned the gesture.

Better to leave it unsaidWhy can't I leave it unsaid

Instead they dance around it in banter, blathering on and on to one another in often complete nonsense, refusing to address what’s really on his mind. (You know I talk too much) He could confess, sure. But what happens then? All the meanwhile, Tom is scared he’s losing him. (As I hold your face, I can't find the words I need, and soon the opportunity is drowning)

Never someone all that good with words, he kind of hopes that Jordan will catch on. He has to catch on, sooner or later.. Right?Z

And then Capsize and the Ianitee pirates show up. To Jordan, it seems like she’s interested in him beyond him just being another follower of Ianite, and there’s his escape. Play along, play the part and maybe- maybe he’ll get over this.

You know my type, tightrope across the table I can't keep holding my breath

She seems to be into it. She’s responding to his flirting at least. See. He doesn’t need Tom. An Ianitee and another Ianitee seems more acceptable to him in his head, and maybe would be easier. That about, he’s not really sure.

New wave, no time Red velvet under pressure

But what Jordan does know is that he’s drawn to her. To him, it could be a way to forget about Tom. To the varied onlooker, it could just be that he’s happy to have another Ianitee around. Someone who can relate to his experience, someone who’s out to find their goddess just as much as he wants to. But he continues to conflate the two and pursue her in a way that he won’t realize for years is less than ideal.

It sparks my memory when we parked aside the shore, I kissed you there, the ocean air enchanting It escapes me quickly

Tom on the other hand, is for lack of a better word furious. Not in like a “I’m gonna murder this pirate captain for stealing my man” (because if he’s honest she’s one of the coolest people he’s met and he’s gonna befriend her whether Jordan likes it or not, with him claiming it to be ‘Mr. steal your gal’ which is??? Because does it really seem like he wants Capsize, if not as a spiteful thing)

When Jordan’s not around, Tom and Capsize hit it off, as she finds this zombie who doesn’t want to flirt with her at any given moment a lot more of an interesting person. As a Dianitee, he’s supposed to be their enemy, but for someone so supposedly dedicated to his god, he knows how to carve his own path away from being more than his god’s messenger- something she’s always admired in champions.

You call me poison, but you won't stop coming around- No, you won't stop coming around

For the purpose of perhaps getting Jordan to get the hint, Tom plays into their supposed love triangle, pretending to do things to ‘steal away Capsize’, only feeding into Jordan’s confusion. *Now Tom’s interested in her too? Is he trying to move on from me too? *- clearly to dense to realize Tom’s trying to get his attention back. She even admits to Tom that it's amusing that men seem to keep coming after her, when she’s very much more into women (abridged, but direct quote)

All I want is you- Your violet disposition, My unsound intuition

It all sort of culminates in that moment on Jordan’s ship where Tom, annoyed from his perch, watches his friend make an absolute fool of himself over Capsize, and decides to intervene, taking on the role of “fighting” Jordan over her. Capsize in a way is having a good laugh watching them roll around on the deck of the ship (I’ve drawn this, this is where it all started), starting to see it all sort of come together as to where Jordan could be coming from. At some point, Tom’s got Jordan pinned to the deck, and as one last desperate attempt at trying to communicate what he’s been trying to all along, he kisses Jordan, and much to his surprise, he kisses him back. They pull away, to Capsize’s approving nods, and it's all over.

(Jordan’s attempts at saving this are my interpretation of this conversation, aka one of my favorite chat threads of S1)

In the aftermath of all of that (If I had any semblance of a memory I’d pinpoint when exactly this interlude takes place, but im just ballparking it somewhere after Jordan dies in Tom’s vault bc Capsize doesn’t save him); in which he’s still thinking about what happened that day. Jordan reluctantly confronts Tom who spills it all. He tells him how much and how long he’s been in love with him, and how frustrated it made him that every time he kissed Jordan, Jordan never seemed to reciprocate no matter how obvious his feelings were. He’s tried so hard to make it clear that all he wants is Jordan, he wants to be loved back, he wants to be able to call him his lover. He did what he did in front of Capsize cause the fake ass courting set him over the edge because it pissed him off that Jordan would so quickly go after someone he just met just because she was an Ianitee or whatever to get away from him, because was he really that bad that Jordan had to try to hard to stay away from him? Tom knows he had himself to blame as well, but it felt like a step too far.

Always been looking for something to lose, when I needed something to hold onto.

(This sequence is followed by Pull Me Up, which. If you haven’t seen my CMV that’s the one xD)

Note. For my sanity I choose to perceive that any capsize x jordan moments following are more related to Jordan’s ‘holiest of all Ianitees’ attitude and feeling like he has to be her savior (which is a different aspect of his character arc from the romantic side, which is what I mostly wanted to focus on with this ramble, but i do touch on it a little. It's not as ever present as it could be because I haven’t found the right song to incorporate it into outside of Violet and Talk Too Much) But there is definitely more. This is from what i have notated in my stuff for these two sequences :] enjoy!

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arionawrites · 11 months

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one of my favorite things about ao3 is that no matter what fandom you’re reading for there’s always some variation of “no beta we die like [character]”

#reading aftg fics right now and was reminded of this because a fic was tagged no beta we die like seth #my favorite is in the umbrella academy fics where its ben #bc the original tag is no beta we die like men #and ben rhymes #and i just think thats neat

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cantuscorvi · 8 months

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Is there any life philosophy that young Raum has had to let go over the years? Any hopes or dreams Raum used to cling to even in his 20s that he has gradually abandoned or ones that were ripped out from him by force/trauma? Or perhaps opinions/beliefs he had that were crushed by experience? If older Raum, late 30s/early 40s, could say something to his 19yo self, what would it be?

@nezumivc103221

Oh absolutely. A bunch of things that shaped how Raum sees the world actually hit before he reached 20, especially regarding trauma, but you asked about this time period specifically, so I won't mention those here. The development of 20yo to 40yo Raum is like, a problem of just generally being young and stupid. His inexperience, decadence and idealism.

Raum has always had an issue with selfishness and with idealism of his own capabilities. He always wants to have his cake and eat it too. When he was younger — it made him a bit of a fence-sitter. He didn’t really have to think hard, or make any tough choices. He would follow whatever his father told him, and when he decided he didn’t like it, he would run to his uncle instead. He would jump back and forth on that seesaw however it suited him, basically playing them against each other so that he could feel the most comfortable.

Growing up spoiled like this, he was lazy. He had a philosophy that things should be handed to him without having to choose, or to take action. Or, that he could choose both options in any scenario and take advantage without having to lift a finger.

When you don’t commit to anything, then you never lose. Right?

Eventually he even grew fed up of that game of seesaw. He felt alienated by his father and suffocated by his uncle. So what to do? Well, nothing seems to be working out, so you throw it all away and start again.

Raum had an intention to leave his current life (both it's privileges and responsibilities) behind when he was eighteen. Travelling abroad to study seemed like a perfect excuse. Tired of feeling pulled in two directions by his family, and in effort to create distance and rethink the direction of his life, he wanted to take some steps toward independence. At that time, there was some part of him that wanted to disappear. He had an — admittedly, naïve — idea that he could just go to where nobody knew him and try becoming someone else.

A period of experimentation, Raum spent the time in university trying to live as ‘normal’ a life as he could. He studied pretty hard because he was genuinely interested in his subject matter, ( history & conservation) but he also did a lot of drinking, partying, experimentation with sexuality and drugs. In the end, mostly normal student behaviours. After spending a lot of time under the control of others, he went a bit wild when away from their magnifying glass. He had a sense of freedom he hadn’t held before, but also a lack of personal growth. However, he was only able indulge that fantasy life for one year before Friedrich died.

Friedrich’s death essentially threw a grenade on any plans Raum might have had (tentative as they already were) and forced him to take over his position as the head of WC due to the process of his will. He didn’t really have room to refuse, to prevent the company stock from crashing and burning into the ground and everything being saddled under a mountain of debt. It was a time of emotional turmoil and fragility in his life. One where all of that pressure he had been avoiding was put upon his shoulders without warning. He couldn’t escape anything.

In the end, Raum crawled back to Cyrus for guidance on how to pick up the pieces, meanwhile silencing his negative emotions using those hedonistic activities that he had previously only dabbled in. He had to fix what he considered to be a broken company with a severely outdated business model, meanwhile the previous allies had turned into new competitors trying to profit from their potential demise.

In the end, he realised that by not choosing anything to start with, he gave up his free will entirely. Even with how he behaved to avoid his emotions ; he essentially got addicted to escaping. He gave up his opportunity to choose the path in his life. And throughout his twenties, even though it was still something he sometimes wished for, he eventually gave up on the idea of escape. From then on his approach to life totally flipped and he became very proactive about setting targets, making decisions, and taking steps to obtain what he wants.

To be honest, if Raum had to talk to his younger self he would just get so caught up in berating him for being dumb that he wouldn’t be able to offer any important advice LMAO. Hindsight really is 20/20 in this situation, there’s almost no way he could’ve predicted or prepared for what was out of his control. And, the only way Raum could offer any warning is if he knew the circumstances that caused Friedrich to die.

#nezumivc103221 #ask #long post cw #( ;corvinum )#v: undercover #v: undercover ; prodigal prince #no read mores we die like men #but i tagged it lmao #so i have been slowly chipping away at a timeline for this verse #part of that is in here.#which is why it's so fucking long #but oh well. i hope i answered your questions ksdjnflksdg

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industrations · 1 year

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🍓 :))))

Erinnnnn my guy my main man my buddy my beloved. You are literally on my ass every day fighting me for NO REASON. But I'm so thankful that we bonded last summer OVER LITTLE GAY PEOPLE. I feel like I can tell you anything and it'd be okay.

we talk every day and I never get tired of it and that is a lot for my introvert ass. I just love that we can be completely unhinged together you know? Putting on music and dancing around screaming. I genuinely will never forget that memory bc it made me feel so normal?? I'm not usually so comfortable with myself but you bring it out of me and I will forever be thankful for that.

ANYWAYS I can't be too too nice to you or you will cry and die and melt soooooo I'm gonna shut up now

anyways LOVE U <3

#indi's erin tag:#look at you go being active on tumblr #im also very proud of you for picking a new school and writing #you are so talented and i will beta read for you forever #my beta is dyslexic we die like men fr

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steph-is-asleep · 1 year

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meme/aesthetic board for eridan except the twist is that eridan made it\

i finally figured out an orientation that makes all the posts readable without having to click them! joyous occasion!

explanation under the cut:

it contains pretty patterned images multiple colors, and then some like poetry sad little meow meow images. I think Eridan takes himself much more seriously than most other characters, i feel like HE thinks hes misunderstood and has a soft little sweet center that nobody knows about and whether or not that’s true is dependent on who’s talking about him. i think Eridan also knows that he makes bad decision Pretty Often and doesn’t really have a good explanation for most of it but he still believes he had good intentions nonetheless ya know

#im about ot be so insufferable im gonna do this like five times #prepare to unfollow me bc this is all im gonna be talking about #also uhhhghhhghghghgh im sorryits not in 3x3 grid okay i really wanted you to be able to read the posts without having to click it #i had to sacrfice unity and perfection for accessbility #homestuck #eridan ampora #i changed my mind hehehehehe #tags we DONT die like NOT men #boards

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boyfrillish · 1 year

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Man now I’m also back to the very specific dynamic of mutual pining etc I had in my head through the whole playthrough (and which still kind of came through in my first HopVic fanfic, even if I didn’t actually finish & post that till a month after I actually finished playing the whole game i.e. all the way to completing the Galarian Star tournament)

Just. Victor starting out on the timid side, and just kind of being pulled along into everything by Hop but discovering that hey, he’s pretty good at battling and it’s a lot of fun! And even the Champion himself acknowledges him! But then there’s Hop’s attitude, and Victor’s kind of frustrated with that, but also he’d always admired Hop for his confidence and has a crush on him, which he thinks would never be requited. Then Hop’s angst arc happens and with how Hop always runs off after their encounters, there isn’t really any room for talking things out until much later (unless doing a fill-in-the-blanks approach there).

Meanwhile Hop... *points at everything*. I do believe he also has the (budding) crush from the start but he’s kind of caught up in his whole thing so it never really comes through (though there’s this delicious sidedish flavour of angst of “wanting to show off to his crush but turns out his crush has a knack for battling and beats him repeatedly” and yeah it’s a sweet mess of various flavours of angst here lol). Through most of the game pre-credits Hop and Bede aren’t too different toward the player (Bede being the textbook example of “get out of my school”-type of having a crush + condescending talk but with Hop not appearing so hostile) so it’s a little bit of flavour of “externalising the crush by teasing and all”.

Then the story climax happens, Victor winning the Championship happens, the epilogue happens – Hop gets his growth and realizing his own individual path. He starts studying to become a professor, while Victor goes off to the Isle of Armor and starts training at the Master Dojo, and the time apart kind of helps everything fall into place by the time Hop shows up at the Dojo for his survey + helping Victor with finding the max honey. By that time in the game Hop genuinely is proud of the player without condescending, and the flirting is really amped up (and while Hop is now very loud about his crush, Victor can be oblivious/overthinking about it for a bit because see above, still thinking it’s unrequited).

And for me anything post-credits (especially fast-forwarding till after the inaugural Galarian Star Tournament and when things really start with Victor having to do Champion duties, the next Gym Challenge starting, etc) is Victor Angst Hours – not being used to this pressure, still adjusting from kind of accidentally happening into everything, wondering if he ever really wanted to be a Champion like his rivals did, is he even cut out for it, etc ... and this time it’s his friends (and Leon as his like, kind of boss but especially mentor because that’s one of my favourite things ever too) that help him through his own angst arc. And if he and Hop are already (getting) together by that time, that’s just another added sweet flavour to it.

#frillishtxt #hopvic #(man it really shows that I only slept like 4 hours I am afraid to read over this again but like. YEAH. I have THOUGHTS again)#(and I really needed to get those thoughts out there!!! before they consume me completely like it's been since January 20 lmao)#(sidenote I also really really enjoy the platonic dynamics but since HopVic is my OTP and I ship them romantically––)#(–that is the spin I explore for myself. idk just thought I'd point it out lol)#(I'm just going to yeet it out right now without the usual compulsive re-reading for ages because yeah. we die like men today I guess)#(will future!me cringe over current!me like it happens? possibly! but have to deal with that or I never say or share anything ever huh)#boyfrillish writing tag

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rebellicnrising · 10 months

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zoe robins . cis female . she/her ➶ I RECOGNISE THAT FACE ! that’s AMARANTH , the TWENTY SEVEN year old UNDERCOVER MEDIC from DISTRICT ELEVEN. they’ve been in the capitol around SIX MONTHS , long enough to gain a reputation for being so GENTLE & ALOOF . they’re so lucky getting to live in the tribute center for the duration of the games! ( character IS part of the uprising )

BASIC INFORMATION

full name: amaranth nicknames: mara age: twenty-seven birthday: september 21 zodiac: virgo district: eleven gender: cis female pronouns: she / her orientation: bisexual profession: harvester, healer, rebel, undercover medic

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

face claim: zoë robins hair color: black hair style: braided, long- reaches down to the small of her back when not gathered up eye color: brown height: 5'8" scars: a thin scar on her left cheek from a fall as a child, an entry/exit scar on her right shoulder from a bullet

RELATIONSHIPS

father: taurus ( deceased ) mother: evangeline siblings: rue ( older sister, deceased ); osmanthus ( older sibling ), oleander ( youngest sibling ), two younger siblings significant other: tba

EXTRA

mbti: infp-a ( the mediator ) temperament: melancholic moral alignment: true neutral primary vice: pride primary virtue: charity element: earth

BACKSTORY

TW: sibling death, gun violence

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴍʏ ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ: ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴘᴀʀᴋꜱ

your mother carried you and your sibling together-- they against her heart while you grew under it and once you made you entrance into this world ( silent almost long enough for concern before letting that thin cry erupt from small lips and your parents breathed a sigh of relief ), you took the place against her heart while he rested against her back, the heat of the sun beating against the tops of your heads while she worked in the fields you would take your first steps in. sometimes the heartbeat would change- your father tying your sling against his barrel chest so your mother could rest or the fluttering rabbit heart of your big sister who patted your back with a hand that was still soft and round with her own baby fat as she held you against her chest, seeking shelter from the heat of the day under a shady tree -- but each beat of those hearts echoed with love. it takes a village to raise a child- much less three under the age of five- and you learn to be lulled to comfort by the sounds of your neighbors hearts as they lend their own arms and chests to carry you and your siblings as the days grow longer, the sounds of their voices whispering soft lullabies to keep you quiet and still. you wouldn't realize for many years just how little your family had but one thing that there was always abundance of was love-- you were raised on love, cradled by community.

oz learns to walk before you and little legs almost immediately start running after rue while you are still curled against those hearts and when your legs are finally strong enough to hold you and carry you up and down the rows of fruits and vegetables, you never venture far from your mother's skirts. another baby takes your place against her heart and then another. and then another-- and all at once, you're too big to be carried, too big to be held and lulled to sleep by the sounds of a heartbeat. too big to be carried but too small to follow after rue and oz as they scramble up to the tops of trees-- they try to teach you how to find the knots where your toes can grip, the branches that would support your weight and drag you upward-- but you're barely off the ground before fear paralyzes you and you scream out of fear. you don't stop screaming until your father's hands come to pluck you from the tree as easily as he would a low hanging apple.

he tells you to keep your feet on the ground and you cry, wailing about being left behind; rue and oz could flit from tree to tree as easily as the birds in the air but you-- you were planted deep in the earth, afraid to let yourself stray too far from the dirt that covers bare feet. some people were air- like oz and rue- and others were water- like your mother-- you were earth, planted and rooted. your father tells you that he's also earth and there's a peace in knowing that you share that with him; both of you planted with your feet firmly on the ground, firm and unmoving as mountains for the family that you love. and when oz and rue slip out like whispers of wind in the night to the fields, you stand watch beside the small and dingy window, large eyes waiting for them to come back on those feet guided by the air that whisked them one way or another-- always waiting for them to come back home.

ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏʟᴅ-ʏᴏᴜʀ-ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ, ʟᴇᴛ ʟᴏᴏꜱᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ-- ᴡᴇ ʙᴜʀɴ ᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟᴠᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀꜱʜᴇꜱ

you're only seven when rue's name is called, holding your younger siblings hands almost too tight to keep them from trying to run after her, seeing your mothers hands biting into oz's shoulders to keep them from doing the same. you think you understand- you know that the names that are called on This Day are faces that leave the district-- and they never come back. you haven't watched the games before-- not really, not with any sort of attention that would tell you what is really happening on the screen-- you're just a child whose attention was always occupied with games that rue invented and there's a sinking feeling that this year, there would be no distracting stories or games to keep you from seeing what is played on the large screens. ( an even more sinking feeling that maybe you would have to come up with the games this year for the littles and knowing that you were never as creative as rue. ) you want to ask your father what it Means but there's a look on his face while your mother sobs that has the question shriveling on your tongue.

the littles can only pay so much attention- you understand, it wasn't so long ago that you were five and four and three-- and your mom and dad can't peel their eyes away from the screen. neither can oz. you try to keep them occupied, telling them the stories that rue has told you- imaginary tales she spun from the thin air that she seemed to be able to walk on- and playing games with the rocks and dirt around the feet of those who stand frozen, focused on the screens. there are times when you tug on oz's shirt, asking them to tell you what's happening-- and you act as if you have any idea what they mean when they answer you. there's a part of your mind that doesn't want to understand, that wants to reject the idea that rue would be among those that didn't come back-- and for a moment when they tell you about how rue has found a friend in the bigger girl from twelve, there's this thought that maybe she won't be. after all, you've seen it from the time you were born: none of us can do it alone; everyone needed someone. and when your eyes lift to the screen, your youngest sibling curled in your lap sleeping, you see the same sort of warmth and light in katniss' eyes that you've seen in rue's when she looks at you-- the same light you know is reflected in your eyes when you look at the littles. it soothes your heart a little; rue has found someone in That Place that loves her and you feel like maybe that chance of her coming home is greater than most would think.

you would think-- until your mother screams and your head snaps up from where you've got the littles gathered in the dirt at their feet, listening to another rue story that falls silent on your tongue at the image of your sister with red blooming against her stomach. you're not too young to understand death and it hits you in the same place- grief like a wound, ripped open by the image of your sister falling back into the arms of the girl from twelve who loved her and the sound of your mother screaming- and your hands are reaching for the littles, gathering them close to you like a mother hen as tears trace lines in the dirt on your cheeks. you huddle them around your mother, holding the skirt at her waist as you cry, pressing the littles' faces against your shoulders or tucking them against your mother's legs-- they shouldn't see, you don't want them to see ( you're not even sure if they fully understand or if they're just crying because everyone is ).

you're certain your mother will never stop crying-- her wails have quieted but the tears keep falling; your father's eyes are dry but the look in his face is not that of the earthy man you've always seen yourself reflected in. he almost smolders as he stands with his back and eyes straight and when hands start to lift in that silent salute, his almost shoots up and that fire in his face blazes. it all happens so quickly- the way he pulls from oz, from your family, charging like a bull down the aisle and your mother's panicked voice is telling you and oz to get the babies as chaos erupts. you gather oleander in your arms and reach for a small hand, shouting at oz to come on-- because you can see that same fire burning in his face and it scares you to death.

you lose your sister and your father in the same night.

ʟɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ ꜰɪʀᴇꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ, ʀɪᴠᴇʀ ᴊᴀɢɢᴇᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴄᴀʀ ᴡᴇ ʙᴜʀɴ ᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟᴠᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀꜱʜᴇꜱ-- ᴀɴᴅ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜʙʙʟᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ

a year later, you think you'll lose oz too; you're not sure if your mother can handle another loss. the district healer comes by every day with fresh bandages and poultices made from the wild plants that grow on the outskirts of the fields and you're fascinated. you hover when they visit, wide eyes taking in each step and questions falling from your mouth, a mind eager to learn. their hands guide yours, bringing bundles of wild medicine and they teach you their names, their uses and how they work together in different ways to help heal and as that hole in oz's side begins to heal- with the healer's and your aid- there's a feeling of accomplishment and a small fire lit in your own heart-- a passion. something that you could look at and see the good and help that it makes.

your days are spent in the fields, trying to pick up where rue and your father left off-- there are still mouths to feed and your mother is only one person now; she tells you and oz that she's lucky to have such strong children. you play second mother to your younger siblings, directing and guiding them when exhaustion sweeps over your mother-- you fight with oz when they continues to sneak out like the wind at night, particularly when it looks like one of those younger siblings might try and follow them in the way they had followed rue. you're a mother hen trying like hell to keep your chicks gathered under your skirts, safe from the storms in the district that brew like low hanging clouds filled with lightning or the predators that lurk just outside the door, ready with sharp teeth and bullets. your father is dead and now it's up to you- that earthen daughter, built from clay and rooted in the ground- to be the rock for your family; no one gave you this duty but yourself.

your nights are spent in the healer's home, learning the tricks of their trade. you learn how to create tea blends that ease headaches or muscle pains, poultices and salves that pull out the sting of the sun or an insect bite, how to set and bind broken bones. as those storms outside the doors continue to brew and those predators grow more bold, you learn how to dig out bullets-- how to prepare the dead for burial. it's something you throw in oz's face, tears standing in your eyes, when they try to sneak out-- how long before you're cleaning out another bullet hole in them? how long before you're washing and wrapping their body in linen to be buried? would they do that to their younger siblings who have already had to bury a father and a sister? would they do that to your mother? to you?

time goes on and you and oz stand in those crowds, waiting for names to be called and then your once-littles. the healer grows older and so do you and the time spent in the fields is exchanged for the cool of the healer's hut, surrounded by hanging herbs and flowers or walking across the district to whoever might need a healer's touch, a basket on your arm filled with natural medicines and hands that have learned the body and how to mend. you bring babies into the world and ease the pain of the elderly before they slip out of it. you soothe stings and burns and broken bones and sicknesses that whip through sections of the district like wildfire-- and you learn that a healer's price is higher than most can afford and you meet their needs with mercy, demanding nothing in return but accepting whatever blessings they give freely. you find yourself caught in that storm whether you want to be or not. you never ask for forgiveness from oz for your harsh words and your anger at being caught in the same storm- of being in the eye of it; you only reach for their hand to let them know that they won't have to walk through it alone.

until the day they have to-- your anger at them being caught, of their face being known as part of the eye of that storm and how it would bring those predators to your door, is smothered by the fear for their safety-- of the heartbreak of knowing you can't go with them. not when your littles still have to stand in the crowds on reaping day, not when your mother stands strong in the face of losing yet another child. you're the rock after all, the one who stands firm and unmoving. your mother sends them with food and water; you send them with medicine and your love and a promise: that once the danger of losing those younger siblings to the hunger games passes that you would join them in thirteen. oz would carve the way and you'd follow that path with the rest of your family.

you never hear from them again-- you don't know if it means they reached thirteen safely or not.

& ɪᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ, ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴏᴍᴇɴ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ, ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ

years continue to pass and you mark the passing of time by those reaping days, breathing sigh after sigh of relief when they pass and your siblings are passed over by that angel of death. you devote yourself to that important work of a healer and the storm that continues to grow in district eleven, passing messages in tea bags and salves from those who couldn't move with the same freedom as a healer whose business takes them to all corners of a district. you watch those younger siblings and how they follow in the path carved by oz and your heart damn near stops when you realize it but the anger you had with oz has tempered over time to concern-- to worry. oh, how you worry about them.

you fall in love-- you don't expect it to happen and for a long while, you tell yourself there's no time for such things. but the two of you are caught in that same storm and before you know it, you're swept up in it and it's their hand that you reach for in the eye. you don't forget that promise to oz but for a while you pretend it isn't there-- you wonder if it's a promise even worth keeping, if they are even alive to still hold you to it. there are new promises whispered, foreheads pressed together and hearts that beat together with legs tangled; there are new dreams imagined and for once, you think maybe you understand the fire in oz's and your father's eyes because your beloved's fire sparks your own and it burns in your chest-- a love for rebellion, for a life with them without fear, for children that won't die on a large screen like your sister had.

there's a fire-- a real one, set by that rebel storm-- to train cars loaded down with the bounty of eleven bound for the capitol. the fire is set but before that storm can move, the peacekeepers are there with guns that mow them down; that riddle the bodies of those freedom fighters and you, who were waiting in the grass for trouble, go barreling forward the moment you see them hit by the biting bullets only to be caught in the hold of a peacekeeper. he drags you away from the fray, hand over your mouth and presses you against a tree and there's a fear in your heart when his hand goes for his belt, only for him to press a small handgun in your hands along with a small disc that he whispers quickly is full of information for the rebels-- for thirteen. he tells you that you have to be the one to take it to them, tells you to shoot him to make it look like you overpowered him ( because who knows better than a healer which places will heal or harm ); he tells you what paths to take and which to avoid-- wishes he could give you a map but that you have to run. there's no time to go back to your home, no time to tell your mother or your siblings goodbye-- no time to check on that beloved who had fallen, never knowing if they died in the dirt or not.

you aim for his knee, the gunshot lost in the chaos-- and you run.

ʙᴜᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ

it takes you nearly two months to make it to thirteen, following the directions the peacekeeper gave you- fully expecting it to be a trap. the journey isn't easy- it's longer than you expect to get from eleven to a place that isn't supposed to exist anymore- but is made easier when you run across others who are fleeing towards that same dream of freedom. it doesn't matter that you all hail from different districts or that your stories are so vastly different-- you're all pilgrims trying to reach that promised land and when you stumble upon it's ruins, there's a moment where hope almost fails. to think you have come all this way only to find a graveyard-- of course there was no district thirteen. movement from the rubble has your gun lifting, finger pulling the trigger and then pain explodes in your shoulder as you fall back into the arms of companions who scream out words that sound muffled: sanctuary! sanctuary! the gun falls from your hands as you're lifted into arms and the pain in your arm becomes too great and you fall to darkness.

when you wake, you think you must still be dreaming because it's real. district thirteen, hidden under the ruins of former glory and might, and you fish the disc from your side, pressing it into the palm of a healer who attends to your shoulder. time passes; you heal. time passes; you become another one of those healers in the white uniforms, treating those who have grown in the underground and those who fought like hell ( like you ) to find it. time passes; you train. you never find oz and after months of speaking to anyone who will give you the time to ask about them- to give detailed descriptions of your sibling, the scars on their body, the way their mouth turns up when they smile- you finally stop asking. oz never made it to thirteen and you're told death would be a kinder ending to imagine for them. you try to get news of eleven- of your mother and the littles who are now grown; you never learn much.

five years pass and you're approached with a mission-- to be sent to the capitol along with others to pose as a medic, infiltrating the tribute center and act as support for those who have been deep undercover as the clock ticks down on district thirteen making their move. it's been six months since you arrived in the capitol under the cover of night, set up in an apartment paid for by those who allied themselves with rebels with papers and credentials that make you a different person. for now, your job is to wait but the closer the games come, the more anxious you are for action-- you won't move until that signal is given but once it is? you'll let that fire consume you in the same way it consumed your father and your sibling.

if you're going to burn, you might as well burn bright.

TFLDR + EXTRAS

the third of rue's siblings, born after oz

the lil momma hen of the siblings like def Acts like the Oldest even if she isn't

started becoming interested in healing after oz got shot and followed that passion to apprentice w d11's healer and eventually sort of took their place

at first was very against oz being involved with the rebellion but as a healer she ended up sort dragged into it whether she wanted to be or not and really just. got over it.

swore to oz that she would go to thirteen after the rest of their siblings were old enough not to be reaped

ended up falling in love with another rebel from 11 and almost doesn't keep that promise but when a plot to burn train cars full of produce for the capitol goes awry, she's pulled by a peacekeeper (secretly allied w d13) who helps her escape

meets up with some folks who are also trying to get to thirteen and ends up getting shot when they get there bc she's got that happy trigger finger and tbh she shot first

stays as a healer/medic in 13 for some time and trains to be a soldier when she realizes oz never made it to 13

gets picked to go undercover in the capitol as a medic to act as support for those who are also there-- has been in the capitol for about 6 months as 'mara'

CONNECTIONS

D11 CONTACTS-- people from the homeplace that would know her as the former healer of the district, people she grew up with, whatever-- just the home folk

LOST LOVE-- okay so,,,,,,, mara doesn't know whether her lover survived the clash at the trainyard or not. i think it could be. inchresting if maybe they did and they find each other after five years.

REBEL PEACEKEEPER-- ok so mara wouldn't have gotten out of d11 or to 13 safely without the help of this peacekeeper. they dont have to be currently assigned to d11 but would've been at least 5 years ago.

DONT BE SUSPICIOUS-- would love some non rebels who are squinting p hard at her bc lbr she Plays at being a capitolite medic but there's something Distinctly District about her and maybe her storylines slip from time to time and don't quite add up.

literally anything yall know the drill

#mj.intro #mara temp tag: intro.#me @ me: we're doing bullet points on this intro #me @ me: bitch why tf u lyin #anyway i did it #again no proof reading we die like men

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swingstep · 1 year

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Please drop mrd theatre au lore????

OH HOO BOY so. genuinely did not remember i never explained that au huh ksjdngd its been a hot minute since ive messed with that one, but lets see what i can dig up for it. as a disclaimer, its kind of an... abstract au, very rough around the edges as well. dont expect it to be anything too concrete WAHAHA

anyhow. tldr: the mrd theatre au is exactly what it sounds like: the plot of the game described entirely through the lens of a theater production! alternately referred to as the dance au, because... its a musical! major events are described through dance, each piece pushing the story forward with the power of music and expression. literally-- the story won’t move on without it. starring mad rat as the lead role, rat god as the director, and heart as... That One Guy, Sure!

the abstraction kicks in in its presentation though-- it's told through the framing of a stage-- however, the story itself is Real to the characters. their world is real, and as characters, they see it as such. to everyone else, it's exactly as its namesake: a play. the term "actor" and "character" go hand in hand, practically synonyms. actors are the characters. the narrative is their world. all in all: the theatre au is an inspection of the meaning of Reality and Perception, the meaning of what it is to be a Character or a Person, and a play on Stories and Roles. more under the cut.

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As it does in canon, the narrative starts with Mad Rat waking up, and Rat God telling him his situation. Y'know, he died, she's giving him a second chance, etc etc. However, she Specifically tells him that he is, in fact, a character in a play and, as someone outside of the narrative, she knows what to do and what paths to follow. As long as he followed her, he'd be able to make it to the end of his story a-ok, and finally get the ending he deserved!

In the beginning, Rat God starts out with a whole musical number as she narrates the scene (to both the audience and Mad Rat) to catch him up to speed on where he is, who she is, and why he died. As she finishes, hands off the (metaphorical) mic to Mad Rat to get a word in for his debut scene. Unfortunately, Mad Rat, having just recovered from a terminal case of Being Dead, Does Not In Fact Have The Nicest Voice. Seeing this, Rat God quickly interrupts and redirects to another option: Dance. Which is where a major quirk comes in: every character has a specialized dance style!

Rat gods style is tap/swing, which is what the intro scene Truly is! It's Rat God introducing Mad Rat to the concept of The Show in a duet swing performance. Specifically, in this performance, Rat God takes the lead role in this one for several reasons: 1) She's Extra and Likes Showmanship. 2) She's ensuring Mad Rat goes in the direction he's supposed to-- making sure he's following along. And 3) She's effectively re-teaching Mad Rat how to move after. Y'know. Being Dead. Swing is a heavily motion-focused and improvisational dance: Mad Rat Does Not Know How To Dance. However, Rat God is good enough at it that she can take the lead and turn his stumbles and missteps into motion and flair. It's essentially the tutorial stage!

The narrative is pretty much the same through the first third of the game, more or less. Mad Rat meets Heart, who doesn't really Dance but rather just cheers him on, and they begin "travelling" together, with periodical "intermissions" where Rat God, off to the side of the stage presents recaps, narration, and questions-- but it's never clear if it's to the audience or Mad Rat. Maybe both. What's really important is the Framing, though. Mad Rat (kind of) acknowledges he is just a Character, but doesn't really Understand it.

Despite the knowledge, he still functions through the frame of a Character. He perceives the stage as The World Around Him rather than A Stage, while Rat God is the opposite. This leads to Mad Rat essentially just Following Her Lead. Which ends up just seeming... brazenly reckless and incredibly dangerous-- because Mad Rat doesn't think it will lead to anything. Obviously he's the main character, so he's probably going to just... get to his goal and whatever happens happens, right? Rat God said which way the story goes so... whatever, right?

Which all culminates at Heart's intervention: Heart notices all of this and gets worried. Whatever this Mess about "shows" and "story" and "directors" is, Mad Rat is still being really really flippant about how many Near Death Experiences he's had (not to mention the whole "Seeing Things That Heart Doesn't" thing.) So he decides to step in.

This is the first time we ever see Heart dance! He'd always insisted on being moral support/backup for Mad Rat, not really stepping in in any major way. Turns out, he's really good at a lot of dance styles. It's the first time we have a music genre outside of showtunes and the adjacent. It's heart basically trying to tell him that, whatever bullshit about "Narratives" he's following, Mad Rat is still Here. He's still a contributor to the world around him-- he can affect It, and it can affect him. It doesn't matter what he knows about Whatever This Is because it all wont matter if he gets himself into Real Trouble. Which is a convenient segue to the next arc-- they go off-script.

The following arcs are pretty much just those two figuring out what to do and where they’re going. Mad Rat, up to this point, was just (kind of badly) trying to imitate the swing style from the beginning, but slowly starts figuring out his own specialty on his own. Mad Rat kind of dabbles through a lot, but is Particularly good at breakdance/krump. It’s a bit of a slow process, but he slowly forges his own place in a world he technically does not belong in.

All the while, Rat God is suspiciously quiet. They weren’t supposed to go that way, or do any of that, But she could improvise. She passively tried to mess with them from offstage-- changing the background scenery, tossing obstacles after them-- but they just. Kept going. Mad Rat even began Understanding the nature of The Stage and learning how to use that to his advantage, predicting the way things would move or shift, and using that knowledge to move even faster. It was only after Mimolette’s scene (which was Not supposed to be this early in the script, to Rat God’s chagrin,) that she Really started to get particularly miffed. They’d completely gone off-script, avoided Everything she sent after them-- but there was still an ending that needed to be told, and she was going to tell it no matter how messy it was to get there. Which leads to an intervention of her own.

As the director, she had direct control over a lot of things-- but she herself could never interact with the Narrative. She had no real Hold, as it were. She was barely a concept to the characters in the narrative-- they could not really perceive her. So, she decided to break that rule-- and interact with them directly. Rat God’s scene is incredibly similar to that in canon: Incredibly Chaotic and Hard To Track. She mostly keeps to swing, as that’s her specialty, but regularly switches it up to try and throw Mad Rat off. But things are different than their first dance.

Mad Rat has a grasp on himself and his goals. Rat God’s plan is already off its rhythm-- it was clear from the start that this was a last-ditch effort on her part to kill him. Despite her still trying to take control, Mad Rat was nothing if not stubborn. He was just as good at deflecting and navigating the scene as she was. But it’s hard to truly get rid of something like Rat God. She isn’t done until the Story was done. There was still a story to be told, so here she stayed. She could keep going as long as he could, and longer. So knowing what he did now, and understanding the circumstance, he did the only think of. The two had, to some extent, switched places: Rat God taking the stance of a Character/Participant in the scene, and Mad Rat seeing the full scope of The Stage and how it worked. The show was still going, so all he had to do was end it.

Tricking her into a monologue, he truly exits the frame of the narrative for the first time, grabbing one of the curtain ropes and letting it free, closing the curtains on the stage-- with Rat God behind them. And... silence. In the end, it was just the closed curtains, the audience, and Mad Rat and Heart in front of them. They saw the audience, truly, for the first time-- that larger force constantly watching over him from beyond his view, pushing the show forward not of their own actions, but of their presence alone. This is who it was all for. And seeing this, Mad Rat makes the decision... to ignore them.

They weren’t important anymore. The show was over-- the audience had no more use here. No more power here. They meant nothing to him. Nothing to them. He has one last talk with Heart-- they knew they weren’t alone, not truly-- but all that mattered right then was just the two of them. What they’d seen, what they’d been through-- it all had to come to an end eventually. But not by the hand of someone who had no stake in their story-- in their lives. Mad Rat gets to make his own choice about his future: And with no story left to tell... he gets up, and walks off the stage.

The Story Is Over.

#pikasks #mrd theatreAU #long post #no fandomtags we die like men #anyhow. thanks for enabling another essay of an infodump ur a real one <333 kdjgnkdjf #this au means The World to me but because its so... [waves arms around.] its very hard to explain in a way that feels Correct.#a lot of it is Vibes alone. feelings and concepts and notions of motion and song. as it is in canon too i think.#as with canon; its a play on tiers of personhood and control-- of who truly gets to choose fate; or if it really exists at all.#its about grabbing on with such fervor that the fabric of the world around you bends to your will.#about the inescapability of Role and Expectation; of Progress and Actions. how nobody in this story; truly; could choose how it ended.#not alone; at least.#rat god is equally bound to her role as director. she has no sway in this world. no matter how deeply she may want it.#the difference between her and mad rat is something tragic; to me.#two people in such similar roles reacting so differently they mirror each other perfectly.#surrender to a role you have no control of and hope it eventually benefits you-- or fight tooth and nail against forces stronger than you.#but these are the tags. im just waxing poetic at this point.#if you want a more clear read of the vibes this was inspired and started entirely by the mrd piano medley by tmsy.#please go check it out it slaughters me. id point out a specific part but its kind of all of them.#anyhow. thanks for reading and also enabling me. have a lovely day !! <33

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