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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 3 years ago

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hi I’m here to review the Clementine comic. it’s not good.

Does this even need an introduction? You know why I’ve gathered you all here today. You know the comic exists, and you probably know that it’s not great and we’re all upset about it.

Myself included. I am not okay. At all.

Skybound could’ve literally spit in my face and I’d come out feeling better than I did reading this comic, because this comic is an insult to the original Telltale games and Clementine as a character.

This comic is a fancy fanfic. Glorified fanfiction. It’s not canon, and Skybound and Tillie can pretend that it is, but it’s not. Bold of them to assume we’d just accept this from people who didn’t work on the original games and never wrote for Clementine before, and based on this comic alone, any chance of us taking it seriously is gone.

I’m gonna go through every single page, every panel, of this comic and give you my review. So I guess if you’re worried about spoilers [though at this point why would you?] then be warned, spoilers for the entire comic ahead.

I also wanna add that I have nothing against Tillie Walden. I know a lot of dingdongs are harassing her on insta over this comic and that’s not okay. You telling her how much you hate her isn’t going to change anything. If anything, you keep being assholes to her and she’s just gonna block everything out, even things simply critiquing her work in hopes that it helps her improve.

You’re allowed to be upset about the comic and share your feelings about it, but don’t take it out on the actual human being like that. Besides, like I’ve said before, if Tillie wasn’t gonna make the comic, Skybound would’ve found someone else to do. This was coming no matter what because Skybound wants that coin.

That being said, I’m not going to hold back my opinions on this comic. Skybound and Tillie made this comic, they put it out there and asked for money for it, therefore I’m allowed to explain why it’s garbage as well as ponder over the questionable intent and whether or not Tillie actually has played these games. Y’know, it’s like how I have nothing against Kent, but sometimes he says things I disagree with and well, y’know how it goes.

Alright, this is gonna be long, so let’s go--

The first few shots we get are of the school, two people sleeping, and Clementine’s empty bed. Nothing super note-worthy, we have no idea who is sleeping in the beds, it’s just there to establish that it’s early and everyone’s still asleep.

The drawing of the school looks fine? Not super accurate, but I can give it a pass since it’s a few years later, I assume. What I can’t give a pass is how you managed to already mess up on the first page of your comic.

Because..... why are you implying that Clementine’s room is upstairs? First of all, seems kinda dumb to put Clem, who has only one leg and has to walk with crutches, upstairs. Also, if you’ve played TFS and paid any attention to where her room is actually located [the dorms] then you’d know there isn’t any stairs leading to their floor. It’s the side building next to the admin building, you walk through the door, go down the hall, take a left and their dorm is right there sooo.....

Oh right, it’s probably done this way so that we can have such a suspenseful moment where Clementine is sneaking out while the others are asleep and her foot makes a creeeeeeakk that could wake everyone up, thwarting her plans of abandoning everyone quietly so she doesn’t have to deal with any consequences.

Because yeah, Clementine is sneaking out with all of her supplies because apparently, she’s been planning an escape from this place for a while.

And just look at how gosh darn happy she is about it. You can’t see or hear me, but know that I’m laughing. Don’t worry, I will talk about her abandoning everyone later.

But first, I have a gripe with Clementine's design in this comic. It doesn’t look like her. This art of her right here is the most accurate we get throughout all 12 pages, and it’s the best looking, too.

Moving on, she slams the door shut while this walker changes faces and hair between panels, so that’s cool. I will say, I like the idea of the Ericson crew putting spikes on the door. That’s fun.

Though Clementine slamming the door shut while trying to sneak out seems counter productive but it fits with the theme this comic has of inconsistency, so it works.

Next we have Clementine going to what I believe is the fishing shack by the river, and she’s going through some things that she’s stashed away, telling us that she’s been planning this escape for a while.

Oh good, she has a map. Well at least now she won’t get lost out there in the woods while she makes her escape... also that last panel with her profile.... why does it look so funny? Like this page of the comic doesn’t look too bad, but there is something off putting about her eye there and how she has zero expression.

And it turns out that rustle was a walker, and Clementine is super inconvenienced by this and gives us our first piece of witty dialogue.

Yeah you dumb walker, can’t you see Clementine is busy running away from home and abandoning all of her loved ones without a single goodbye so she doesn’t have to witness the consequences of her selfish actions?? Gosh, so rude.

Just a heads up, the dialogue in this comic is stilted, emotionless, and bland. The words have no flow, no charm, and never feel like they should be coming out of Clementine’s mouth. Then again, the upcoming graphic novels this is tied to are for young adult/middle graders so I guess we have to dumb everything down so their baby brains can process it.

.....Why does her face look like that? Also, interesting that she decided to move her ponytail to the other side of her head.... which is a thing that happens throughout this comic, her hair will randomly change sides.

I believe it’s a metaphor for her changing and inconsistent personality.

So yeah, Clementine is just making off with the supplies she gathered [I’m sure Ericson doesn’t need ‘em anyway] and she’s just so gosh darn annoyed at all these small inconveniences bothering her.... because it’s just too early for this.

.....Again, why does her face look like that?

I’m sorry, like I get it, Tillie’s style is supposed to be purposely messy yet minimal but it doesn’t work. When you do a comic in a more messy style, usually it has charm and heart put into it. Effort goes into the messy look, and when things are minimal, that usually means more clean, yeah? So you put them together and just..... that is nothing resembling Clementine’s face.

Can we just--

Look at canon Clementine’s face. Look at the way her eyebrows are shapes, how wide her eyes are with her eye lashes. The dirt on her skin, the lines-- there is so much personality in her features. It doesn’t matter if she’s wearing a neutral expression or she’s expressing anger or joy or sorrow or whatever.

Now, is it fair to compare a model of Clem from the games to the Clem in this comic? Well, I assume that if Tillie is doing this comic, she would use references from the game to ensure that Clementine is recognizable, especially now that she’s no longer wearing her signature hat.

So why does she look like this? Why do I look at these drawings of her face and see nothing but a pair of eyes, a nose, and a mouth? You might as well draw me a simple smiley face. And I get that it’s a comic, and it’s a lot of work to draw the same character over and over again and you gotta cut corners somewhere, but maybe put some effort into the close up shots of her face so that we can actually see it’s her?

Other fan artists have made comics in their styles that shine bright with Clementine’s personality, so what happened here?

Anyway, surprise..... it’s not a walker annoying Clementine.

........Why does AJ look like that??? I’m sorry, I hate to do the same thing I just did but--

Just because you put Clementine’s hat on AJ that doesn’t automatically make it him. I just.... wow. This feels like there wasn’t a single reference involved, like if someone gave Tillie a basic description of AJ and she just did this.

But appearances aside, what is AJ saying? He says that he knew it, that Clementine’s leaving and I cannot stand this dialogue. It’s unnatural. Again, I know you wanna dumb it down for all of us because I guess we dumb.... but this conversation does not feel natural.

“I knew it. You’re leaving.” “AJ....” “I’m coming.”

Even if you changed it to, “I’m coming with you.” it would sound more natural. Hell, he doesn’t even question WHY she’s leaving, he just stands there like “I’m coming” like??? I’m sorry, have you ever heard a single word this murder baby has said? I assume you have because I assume you actually played TFS, right? Soooo.... what happened here?

.....whY DO THEIR FACES LOOK LIEK THAT KSAJDLKJAS:LKDJLKASJD:L--

So now we’re getting into it.... into the bullshit.

Clementine tells AJ to go back to the school, and AJ says that she wasn’t even going to say goodbye..... and then more bad dialogue that sound unnatural when you try to fucking read it.

First off.... AJ’s reaction to Clementine attempting to leave is barely anything. Again, I hate to keep questioning if you actually played TFS, but AJ would throw a fucking fit if he caught Clementine out here ALONE like this, attempting to leave.

And then he says “Like last time? You were going to come back?” this sentence makes my brain hurt. I just.... “Like last time, right? You’re coming back?” UGH

Wow, I feel nothing.

I’m sitting here watching these two imposters with fucked up faces who are supposed to be Clementine and AJ and I feel nothing.

I’m not even going to comment on the faces anymore. You can see it. You know.

So yeah... AJ tells her the #1 rule, and reminds her that she promised.

Y’know.... she promised that she would never leave him again? Remember? At the McCarroll ranch? That flashback that was in TFS? The one you would watch if you played the game?

Why is she looking straight at me when she should be looking at AJ as she says this? Is this Clementine’s way of telling me she’s sorry for what a shitty direction this is taking? I wouldn’t know because her face isn’t doing anything. Just because you draw a couple of tears that doesn’t mean I’m feeling the emotional heartbreak you’re attempting to convey.

I don’t have enough middle fingers for this.

Well, my hat’s off to you. Ya did it. Ya fucked up everything single part of Clementine’s character in the span of two pages, I’m almost impressed.

First off, the baby thing is weird. Why is she calling him that? She’s never called him that, which you should know.

Second, she’s not happy and that’s why she’s leaving. Clementine isn’t happy, and AJ can’t make her happy. Ericson can’t make her happy. So she’s going to go out on the road to.... what, be unhappy by herself?

I’m sorry, but apparently we need a few reminders here of who Clementine is, because this isn’t her.

This is Clementine.

Clementine fought for years to find a home, something she hasn’t had since she was an eight-year-old girl before the apocalypse. The motor-inn wasn’t a home, the cabin wasn’t home, the ski-lodge, Howe’s, Wellington, Richmond, Prescott, none of them were home.

She struggled for years, dealing with trauma after trauma while out on the road. She went from group to group, watching people she cared about die and she was powerless to do anything about it. Whenever she let her guard down and become comfortable, it bit in her in the ass and left her heartbroken.

She was there when AJ was born. She grew close to Rebecca while she was pregnant, she let herself do that even after everything she went through with Christa. Clementine had a bond with AJ even before he was born, and after Rebecca died, she did what she could to keep him safe, despite play choice.

She cried when she thought AJ died and when she found him in that car again. She swore to protect him, to raise him right and love him. All they had was each other.

And when she joined the new frontier and AJ got sick, she risked everything to save him and she was devastated when they took him away from her. When she found out he was alive, she is willing to go as far as helping Lingard overdose [INJECTING HIM HERSELF IF SHE HAS TO] to figure out his location. She did shitty things to find him, she killed people at McCarroll Ranch to find him again.

Clementine raised him and he is her family, do you understand that? She went to hell and back for him, she taught him how to protect himself, and even though she made mistakes she sacrificed everything for him. She promised him that they would have a home of their own one day, she talked about how much she wished for a world where she didn’t have to worry about fighting and killing and AJ could just be a happy kid.

She fought for Ericson, she watched her friends die or become mutilated by someone from her past. She allowed herself to be vulnerable enough to pursue a romantic relationship with Louis or Violet because she felt safe with them, felt safe at Ericson because it’s their home now.

And when Clementine was bit, she thought she was going to die but she still fought to make sure AJ would be safe and happy without her and it was heartbreaking. She’s dying and the only thing she cares about is AJ. Not herself, not what’s going to happen to her after she dies or turns... no, she tries to make AJ smile again, she makes sure he remembers the rules, and she tells him that she loves him.

Then he cuts off her leg, and she survives. AJ saved her fucking life, and she got to wake up at home and live to see her family again. She got to push AJ on a tire swing, she got to eat a hot meal and laugh with her friends, she got to make plans with her lover/best friend for what’s next for Ericson, and she got to talk to AJ and tell him the truth... and she asked him if she did a good job, and he’s honest with her right back.

Hell, she tells him to keep her hat. Her iconic hat. The one thing she has left of her father, possibly her more cherished item. She lets him keep it.

The last time we see Clementine, she’s happy. She’s sitting on the steps by herself, staring at her family with such fondness in her eyes and a smile on her face because she finally did it. She finally found a home where she can breathe. She has a bed to sleep in, she has AJ with her, she has a boyfriend/girlfriend who loves her and who she loves back, she has friends she can rely on.

Clementine smiles, and lets out a small laugh.

She doesn’t have to run anymore.

And now you have the balls to tell me that AJ and Ericson don’t make Clementine happy anymore.

She abandons everything to go back out on the road again, and that’s proof enough for me that you don’t understand a damn thing about Clementine or her journey.

“ I don't even know the person I'm talking about... It's like all we have in common is the same name.”

....Anyway.

Wow, Clementine found a car and kept is stashed. How lazy and convenient for this bullshit plot.

And this is the part where I have to tell this comic to fuck off.

What, you think if you throw in an incredibly inaccurate flashback next to a current pair of hugging Clem and AJ that I’ll feel anything but anger? That flashback is a slap to the face. It’s snowing, but the only time we’ve seen snow is in S2 when AJ was a literal new born, so why is he that big? Is that supposed to be from ANF because that ALSO doesn’t look like that AJ, and that’s not the outfit Clementine had on... AND there was no snow. This is cheap and meaningless.

Any fan of the series who has played through the games could tell you this.

So.... AJ runs into the woods and then we get this garbage.

This comic is awful. It misses the point of everything TFS, and the rest of the series, stood for. There is no heart here. I feel no happiness in reading it, and I don’t detect any passion behind it. It’s a lifeless comic that retcons everything in order to throw AJ away and start fresh with a new adventure for Clementine that makes no sense because the cow isn’t profitable unless it’s milked.

This isn’t canon, and it won’t ever be canon, and honestly? At this point, I have no faith in the graphic novel trilogy. It will take a lot to do a turn around from this, and I don’t even know if that’s possible.

Again, to reiterate, I don’t have anything personal against Tillie Walden herself. She’s just doing her job, and from what I’ve seen of her as a person, she seems like a sweetheart. I don’t want anyone giving her shit because I think the comic isn’t good or that you agree with me. All of my anger is directed at the comic itself, her work, not specifically her.... and a little bit at Skybound, because they’re the reason this is even a thing in the first place.

So yeah.... there ya have it.

#twdg #twdg clementine #twdg aj #twdg louis #twdg violet #i got mad while writing this up #i had to chill and make tea #i don't want to be mean but like.....#this comic makes me mad #it's dumb because it shouldn't make me mad but it does #and because it does that only makes me madder #hahaha #i am just not a happy camper right now #ugh #long post

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lilith-of-rivia · 4 years ago

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The Bard’s Sister

Geralt X Reader

Part 2

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Masterlist

Summary: Geralt of Rivia and his long time travel companion Jaskier find themselves in Jaskiers home land. A place Geralt had not only never seen nor heard of. Jaskier is ready to reunite its his family after traveling and exploring the world for 20 years. The one person he missed the most was his baby sister (Y/N). Who he hadn't seen since she was 5. The journey is long, but the pay off is grander then they would ever be able to predict. This is still part of our introduction to the main characters and their personalities in this story. Next chapter will be more about (Y/N) and Geralt. I know I am trash at summaries.

I would like to state that I do plan on adding a pregnancy in the future to this story. (I know Geralt is steril. Just bare with me and the story line I’ve created) I just wanted to let eveyone know because I would hate for someone to get attached to the character and story only to have a plot line they do not like for themselves. I know not everyone like pregnancy plot lines but I’m such a sucker for dad!Geralt.

Trigger warnings: Cursing

Pairings: GeraltxReader JaskierxSister!reader

Word count: 6,369

(Changed from 3rd to 1st person)

The sun was high in the sky, it was nearly two in the afternoon. The garden below the large windows of the castle was shining brightly. The birds chirping, children playing in the river that ran through the center of the city. Life was good. The sun was shining a little brighter today. It was because Jaskier was finally home.

I hadn’t realized how much I missed him till he was back. After breakfast, we walked around the castle’s courtyard. He and Geralt introduced me to their horses. To my pleasant surprise, Roach took a particular liking to me, as did her owner. He was nothing like the rumors. There were many times that I traveled out of our borders into the western part of the continent, and every time people had nothing but cruel fowl things to say about the poor witcher. Sure he wasn't perfect, but no one was.

“Would you like to see my studies?” I asked as we walked down the long corridors that lead to three separate staircases. I glanced between the two men that were on either side of me.

“Your studies?” Jaskier asked looking down at me. I couldn’t help but smile.

“I told you in my letter that I’ve been working with a man over the last couple of years. He has trained me well. But I have many books, drawings notes all sorts of stuff that I’ve written about the world outside of our home.” We approached the base of the three staircases.

“I’ve never seen a castle so big in my life.” Geralt’s sultry voice flooded my ears once again. I couldn’t help but smile up at him. He was so polite. He never turned his nose at us. I knew he didn’t have a very positive history with others like us. Yet he sent no judgment towards myself or my parents. He just listened, followed, and learned. I had never met someone so open to the world yet so closed off that the same time, and we’ve barely even begun to get o know each other.

“Our mines are some of the richest you’d ever see in your life. From coal to diamonds. Nearly 85% of all ores get mined and sent out to the rest of the continent.” I started walking up the staircase on the far left, the stairs led up a long corridor that was open and bright, the mountains that shielded us from the rest of the world in perfect view. Both were still by my side. I stopped at the first picture that hung on the wall.

“That’s my great-great-grandfather, he only recently passed but he started all of this.” I looked towards Geralt. He was listing intently, his eyes on me as soon as I looked in his direction. I knew Jaskier knew our history so I wasn't too worried if he was paying attention or not.

“He came here from Termieria with his 6 younger brothers. The mines here had been closed for many many years. The town was completely deserted. There was a serious necrophage problem that no one wanted to deal with, so they just up and left. Leaving the plentiful mines full for someone else.”

“Necrophages?” Geralt questioned his eyebrow tiling in curiosity.

“The people who inhabited the lands before we did, had not known of the creatures. Didn’t properly bury the dead. My grandfather wrote in his journal that when they got here the streets were lined with bodies that had been drug out of their shallow graves, crypts had been broken into. His best guess is that a flue came before the people fled, killing many in a short period.” I started walking ahead of the two men, down the hall towards my room. I pushed the door open walking in placing my books on the night table as they followed in slowly behind me. Their eyes wandered over every inch. Jaskier started wandering through the room looking at every picture on the wall. Most of them were sketches, mostly of him. Or the people he sang about in his ballads. He grabbed one off the wall and laughed softly.

“Who is this supposed to be?” I walked over to him and laughed softly, my cheeks turning a soft shade of pink.

“That, that uh was my first sketch of Geralt.” The sound of his name got his attention, he was trying to be polite and not snoop. Although I didn't care if he wanted to look around. He walked away from the door over to Jaskier and me. He lingered behind me, very close behind me. I could feel his body heat on my back and his warm breath on my face as he peered over my shoulder at the parchment Jaskier was holding.

“How old were you when you did this?” Jaskier asked.

“Eighteen, maybe nineteen. It was after your first balled about your adventures with Geralt that started to spread like wildfire. I went to a tavern one night with a friend and someone was singing it. I was intrigued by the song and asked them who they sang about. I was told they didn't write the song, our very own Prince had. So I listened to them play it over and over. I asked around the and so see if people knew what the famed witcher looked like. I got conflicting answers from nearly everyone I asked.” Geralt reached his arm over me, his hand gently brushing my arm, sending chills down my spine. His hand grasped the paper as he looked at it closely.

“They got the hair color right. That was about all. Some people have some very wild depictions that I drew, but none in any seriousness.” The particular one they were examining was nothing like Geralt. They got everything wrong but his hair color. Many people said he was a scrawny young lad with the strength of thousands of men, making him easier to blend in with the crowds. Granted this was very early on in my brother and the Witcher’s adventures together so not many people had paid close attention to the witcher.

“You drew what people described?” Geralt asked.

“Yes, some people tried to pay me but I told them to give it to the needy. I traveled with Serena for a couple of weeks right after I turned nineteen, we didn't venture far past the mountains but it was enough.” I couldn't help but frown at the memories of the people in the towns scowling and sticking their noses in the air when I asked about the Witcher and my brother.

“Can I see the other ones?” Geralt’s question took me by surprise.

“I don’t know…”

“Oh come on, you're very talented (Y/N), let him see them,” Jaskier said and shoved my shoulder playfully. I smiled softly at him but shook my head.

“It is not that I’m self-conscious of my work, it’s the depictions of Geralt outside of our Kingdom, for the most part, were cruel and inaccurate beyond belief. I only drew them because I was wasting their time asking questions. I honestly don't know why I kept them.” I nervously rubbed the back of my neck, the idea of Geralt seeing those ugly, horrendous, depictions of himself made my stomach turn. He didn’t deserve the hate he received. I never understood why people despised Witchers the way they did. I only experienced it outside of our kingdom. For some reason, whether it be our pure lack of monsters or the abundance of sunshine, my people seemed happier. Less judgmental than the outside world. I was grateful to live in such a kind and caring place, but it does get rather dull after a while.

“I’d still like to see them.” Geralt said softly as he handed the parchment back to me. I sighed slightly uncomfortable with the idea, I took the parchment and hung it back up on the wall.

“Let’s make a deal,” I said turning to them both.

“Oh boy.” Jaskier teased.

“I’ll show you the drawings if you let me paint you now, so I have an accurate model. Not just words.” Geralt’s eyes looked over me, his arms crossing over his chest. A small smirk formed over his lips as he watched me intently.

“If you want to draw me so bad, just ask dove.” The nickname nearly threw me off my feet. My heartbeat quickened at a rapid pace and I couldn't even look him in the eye. Jaskier snickered and pulled out a chair by my desk. He was enjoying this way too much. I cleared my throat swelling thickly.

“T-that I uh..” I had never been one to not have words. According to my parents, I talked too much. Just like my brother. Yet here I was gobsmacked and wordless. I grumbled under my breath moving to the desk Jaskier was sat at and made him move. He got up and I sat down. I opened the top hatch of the desk, lifting out folders and files of archives. Some containing spells, some more drawing, history of the continent, and even monster facts that I knew I wouldn’t ever need. I placed the folders on the floor. Jaskier grabbed a few and moved to my bed plopping himself down kicking his feet up. My head snapped over to him as he put his dirty boots all over my fresh linens.

“Jaskier. If you don't get your boots off my bed, I will castrate you.” I warned turning back around rummaging some more. I heard him kick off his shoes. Geralt chuckled behind me.

“Fiery are we.” He teased but I ignored him. Finally, at the bottom of all my work, I found the folder. I held it up to him, not wanting to watch his face as he looked at the disgusting depictions of himself.

“Thank you, dove.” His lip was right next to my ear. I felt frozen.

I couldn't tell if it was genuinely just a flirt or if this was directed to me. Sure I had heard the rumors of the witcher and his many women of the night, including the sorceress Yennefer. But this seemed different. I snapped back to reality when he let out a low chuckle. I turned around and stood up, peering over his arm to see what one he was looking at. This one was particularly nasty. His eyes were slanted like snake eyes, large fangs protruded out of his mouth, and his hair was a crazy mess. His eyes were blood red, his nose crooked from supposedly being punched so many times. His face was littered with so many scars he had scale-like skin. I remembered the man who gave me that description.

“I met this man in a tavern in Solveiga, it’s the furthest I've ever been from home.” Jaskier stood up walking over and looking at the drawing Geralt was studying carefully. I didn't know why he was spending so much time on such a cruel piece.

“He said you came through a few winters prior, he and a bunch of the townsmen had gathered some coins so you'd get rid of a Striga. I knew was lying the moment he opened his mouth.” Geralt looked up from the payment, his eyes meeting mine.

“Why do you think he's lying?” I took the folder from him, and just as I expected the parchment below the picture he was looking at was full of my notes. Every time I traveled and spoke to people about it. My brother or his companions took incredibly detailed notes, I never wanted to forget anything. I took the parchment out before handing him the folder back. I began to read the notes:

“This man takes me for a fool. No more than some silly girl. While he sits here and tells the tale of the Wolf he seems to be forgetting the incredibly important fact about Strigas, they only hunt during a full moon. He keeps saying that the beast was hunting their people every single night, slashing children, men, women, animals, every night for months. He’s using it to fuel the people's hatred of the witcher. He’s attempting to claim that they sent for him as soon as they knew of her presence. Claiming the witcher waited nearly three months before coming to discard the beast.” I flipped the page over scanning the meticulous notes.

“He said the beast was killed on a new moon, he said he remembers it so vividly because of the lack of moonlight while he escorted the witcher to her crypt. I may not be a witcher, but I am not stupid. The man is trying to make matters worse by lying through his crooked yellow teeth. How dare he tarnish a name for the sake of his prosperity.” Geralt chuckled at the last part making me look up at him, he had an amused smile on his face, his eyes twinkled as he looked at me.

“Why are you laughing?” I tilted my head to the side slightly and he just shook his head, putting the folder of parchment into the desk. He knelt and began picking up the rest of the folders neatly placing them inside the desk where they came from.

“Because you got so mad that someone lied about me, yet you at the time were not even sure I was a real thing-“

“Person.” I quickly corrected him. His eyes glanced at me, he didn't move his head as he continued placing my papers where they belonged.

“What?” He asked.

“You called yourself a thing, you're not a thing Geralt. You're a real living breathing person.” His eyes found my own again. My heart raced as he studied my eyes. I had never seen anything so beautiful. His eyes were like hot pools of gold and honey. The complexity of the colors was mesmerizing.

“And I wasn't only mad that he was lying about you, I was mad that he was lying in general. About something anyone could disprove if they just picked up a book on monsters.” I noticed the parchment with the drawing he was just looking at was on my bed. I grabbed it to put it back on the desk. Geralt's strong hand gently grasped my wrist stopping me. His other hand gently grabbed the parchment from my hand.

“I’d like to keep this one if you don't mind.” I looked at him shocked.

“Why that one?? Of all the ones I've done you choose one of the most inaccurate and the crudest?” It made no sense to me. Why did he want that? Was it some fun game of his to think he was just some stupid monster?

“Because it shows your talent in a way the others don't. And besides, you got my nose perfectly. No one can do that.” I sighed heavily not liking the idea of him possessing such a cured drawing that was drawn purely on lies.

“Fine. Keep it.” He smiled vicariously. I’d let him keep every single one if he smiled like that all the time. The smile quickly vanished when Jaskier came back over with the first file he took. The one he had been studying was full of my notes on herbology and alchemy.

“You are incredibly smart (Y/N), I felt as though I was reading Yennefer’s notes.” A huge smile spread across my face at his compliment.

“Thank you, Jax.” Geralt was now walking around my room, hands tucked under his arms as he studied the drawing and notes hanging on the walls. Some drawings were of monsters, some of the random people I’d met on my short travels, some maps I’d drawn up so I’d remember where I wanted to go when I had the chance.

“Your talent is very wide-ranging, little dove. I have to say I’m very impressed with your knowledge.” That blasted nickname nearly kicked me off my feet again.

I looked out my window noticing the sun was getting lower in the sky.

“If you'd like to get new clothes I’d suggest we do it now, it’ll be dark soon and the shops close earlier in the week.” Gertrude turned to me, nodding his head.

“Please. These pants are so tight I’m afraid I may lose my legs.”

We walked down the street. The sun was close to setting in the sky. The cool air kissed my bare chest as we walked. It was a comfortable silence between the three of us. For the first time in my life, I felt comfortable in silence. I hated the quiet with most people, it left room for negative thoughts, negative energies. Most times when it was unbearably quiet when I was present was because I was shut down from talking by the people around me. I know they meant no harm, I knew I had a lot to handle at times. I was just lonely. Board. I only had a few true friends. Most of the people I grew up with were married and with children now. I spent a lot of time alone, I liked being alone. It gave me space to think about the world. The world outside my small one.

We approached the seamstress, walking through the wood door. A small bell rang in as we entered. Hildi walked out from the back, a bright smile on her face. She was a sweet older woman, not much older than my mum. She had been running this shop for as long as I could remember. She was the best seamstress in the country in my opinion.

“Princess (Y/N)!! What a lovely surprise!” She walked around the counter and hugged me softly. Her hands-on the sweater I was in. She made it for me many years back for a birthday gift. She always had the best gifts. Full of love. I did adore the woman. Her attention turned to the men next to me. Her eyes grew bigger, her hand gently coming up to her chest.

“My gods. The rumors were true. Jaskier!! How wonderful it is to see you again!!” Her hands wrapped around my brother who hugged her back. I couldn't tell if he remembered her or if he was just being nice. As she released him she looked at Geralt who was visibly tense, scared that she may try and hug him.

“You must be Geralt of Rivia!” He nodded.

“Rain!! Get out here!! And bring me my Witcher’s guide!!” Geralt's eyebrows furrowed at the mention of the book. He shot me a glance and I just smiled. A few moments later Hildi’s daughter Rain appeared. She was my age. We knew each other in school. She was never nice to me. Picked on me. Would make jokes about Jaskier not being around. I never told anyone, in fear people would think I was nothing but a stuck up princess. Her presence made me uneasy. I slowly took a small step back, inching closer to my brother. Rain’s eyes landed on Geralt. I could practically see the drool pooling in her mouth.

“Gods save me.” She moaned out. I had to fight off the urge to cringe at her outward burst.

“The tales are true then?” She looked directly at me.

“So maybe you weren’t lying all these years.” I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

Hildi was very blind to her daughter's cruelness. After her husband passed away it was just her and Rain. She’d do anything for her. I understood that. She was a devoted mother and wife. I knew how heartbroken she was. She walked to Rain and took the book from her hand and grabbed a quill that had been dipped in ink. She turned to Geralt, a very soft smile on her face.

“Would you sign this for me?” His eyes bulged out of his head.

“Y-you want me to sight your book?” I held back a giggle at his shock. He truly wasn't used to being appreciated.

“Yes, please. If it is not too much to ask. Your stories were what got me through my husband’s death. Had it not been for the ballads and tales of your great bravery I may have not made it through.” Geralt’s shoulders softened at her words. He nodded his head and walked over to the counter. She opened the book to the first page and he scribbled down his name before giving her a soft smile. She gently placed her hand on his arm and squeezed.

“You are truly a great hero here Geralt. If our country had a mascot, you'd be it.” Jaskier chucked lowly at her comment making me swat the back of his he’d. He hissed in pain and looked at me. I glared at him.

“Do not ruin this for him,” I whispered.

Hildi turned her attention back to me and smiled.

“What can I do for you today my dear?”

“Well as you can see, Jaskier has a sore taste in fashion and also doesn’t understand sizing. I was hoping you could fit them in some better, more comfortable garments. Maybe a set of nice clothes for my party as well?” She gleamed. She hurried around her counter, grabbing a piece of parchment and measuring tape. She came back around and wasted no time in messing the two men. I sat down at a table by the window and watched as she rummaged through somethings in the back of her store.

“So you're like a real witcher?” Rain’s voice caught my attention. She was leaning over the counter, her dress pulled down, the cleavage of her breasts on clear display as she dumbly curled her blond hair in her fingers.

“No. I'm a fake one.” Geralt said back unamused.

“But like are the rumors true?” She asked leaning even further over the counter. She was trying so desperately hard to get him to look down her dress. But he was simply uninterested. I felt my heartburn with envy. I hated that it did. He wasn't mine, he was nowhere near it. But the thought of him looking at her like that made my blood boil.

“Rumors about what?” He took a step back from the counter slowly making his way over to where Jaskier and I were.

“Ya know. About your huge cock.” Jaskier and I both choked on our spit. My hand flew over my mouth to keep my laugh in. It was a good thing her mother’s hearing wasn't all that great. Geralt looked visibly uncomfortable. He sat down in the chair next to me, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Jaskier and I were both trying to get ourselves under control after her question. She was completely unfazed. She thought she was hot shit.

“Common witcher. Tear me apart. Show me the real monster you can be.” That sentence made my grip on the chair so tight I thought I could’ve broken the arm in half. I probably could have if I did not have any self-control. I’m much stronger than I look.

“Do not call him that.” I hissed. My teeth were clenched so hard I was sure I was breaking them. Her eyes flicked over to me. She looked me up and down trying to size me up.

“Call him what? A witcher. Honey are you dumb. That’s what he is.” In a second I was inches from her face. I could feel my blood pumping thru my veins.

“Do not ever call him a monster again.” I was a bit shocked at how mean I sounded. I had never been this angry with her before. I wanted to punch her stupid smile in more than anything.

“(Y/N)..” I heard Jaskier’s voice behind me. He was very close to me. My hands were balled in fists at my sides. My knuckles were turning white with how angry I was.

“I promise you, studying princess, he's been called worse.” She smiled cheekily at me and her hand came up and she attempted to pat my face like I was a dog. My reflexes were much faster than she realizes. I grabbed ahold of her wrist in an intron grip. I began to squeeze and bend her wrist back away from my face. Her face contorted in pain. She wasn't expecting me to be as strong as I was.

“I said-'' I squeezed harder, and she gasped slightly as she tried to pull her hand away. “Do not call him that.” I threw her hand away from me before turning around and walking by the window. I hadn't realized both Jaskier and Geralt were standing behind me.

Moments later Hildi came out completely oblivious to the scene that just took place. She had a cloth sack filled with clothes and placed them on the counter.

“Alright, dearly that’ll be 45 coins.” She said as she wrote down the total in her book. I stood quickly pulling the amount from my coin purse and putting it in her hand. I smiled at her as best I could, Jaskier grabbed the bag of clothes.

“If something doesn’t go right, bring them back.”

“Thank you Hildi, very much.” Geralt said a charming smile on his lip. He gently shook her hand kissing the top of it.

“Thank you, Geralt. It was a pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger.” She patted his cheek as a mum does. I turned on my heels and walked out of the shop. The cold air hit my hot face. My blood pumped slow and hard through my veins as the anger disappeared from my body. Jaskier came out of the shop and threw his arm over my shoulders leaning into me.

“Thank you.” He whispered lowly, Great not being very far behind us as we walked to the castle.

“For?”

“Defending him. Many people don’t realize how much he’s heard throughout his lifetime. I’m glad I’m not the only one who wants to help.” I turned to him and smiled. I leaned into his side hugging him gently before, turning around walking backward as I looked at Geralt.

“If you would like, I’ll show you both to your rooms, and you can change. We can then have tea in the garden and I can draw you.” A soft smile graced his lips, his eyebrow rising softly.

“You seriously want to draw me?” I nodded my head and stopped walking, but he didn’t. He kept getting closer and closer till he was a few inches from me.

“Yes, Geralt I do. You have a special spot in my heart, not just because I believe you are a true knight. And many people are just too scared to admit that, but also for keeping my brother safe all these years. You deserve to feel appreciated.” His features softened as his eyes searched my face before settling on my own eyes. His hand gently came up and he moved a small piece of hair from my face.

“A deal is a deal, little dove.” I felt as though my soul was being sucked out through his hand. Every fiber in my body wanted to pull him closer to me, to show him love, and tenderness. Something I knew he never actually had.

“Good, follow me,” I said with a smile.

After I showed them to their rooms; my brother’s old room not far from my own, and Geralt’s which shared a wall with my room, I went down to the garden. My easel, charcoals, and paints were set up on the table as they came down from changing and freshening up. Geralt looked more beautiful in clothes he could breathe in. his attire was so simple yet he made it look like the finest silks and jewels. It was a soft cotton button-down, it was loos on him, his pants were tight, but in a way that allowed him to move and feel free. I could tell by the way he walked he felt much more comfortable and in his element.

“You look like you feel better,” I said with a smile. Even Jaskier changed. A white shirt. And some black pants. He looked as he always did when I was a kid. The obscene choices in fashion were only adopted after he left home.

“I do.” I plainly said, a small smile on his lips. He and Jaskier sat down and I poured them tea. They both snacked on a few fruit tarts while I began sketching the background of the garden. allowing them to eat and not have to sit still just yet.

“So...while I draw maybe you could both share a story?” I glanced behind my paper and looked at the two. Jaskier smiled and leaned back into his chair fixing his hair and popping open a few buttons for the portrait.

“What story do you want to hear?” Geralt asked. Leaning back, his shoulders relaxing, a small piece of hair fell from the bit that he had tied back. It looked deliciously messy. It made him look disheveled, nearly like he was right out of bed.

“Wait!” I yelled and grabbed his hand gently, pulling his hand back softly.

“I like it. Keep it.” his hand went back down to his leg to rest. His eyes watched me for a few minutes. I studied their faces beginning my base sketches.

“What story shall we tell her Geralt?” Jaskier asked as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back to the sky, the last of the light kissing his skin.

“We could tell her about the Djinn?” Geralt said back, glancing at Jaskier before looking back at me, a coy smile on his face.

“A Djinn?? I’ve only ever read myths about them. You encountered one?” My curiosity was blossoming, the urge to get more details about the creatures I had been taught about.

“Geralt here was going onto day gods knows what on no sleep. He was beyond grumpy.” Jaskier tilted his head back up and looked at me with a smirk.

“The git said my singing was like a pie with no filling!!” I couldn’t hold back my laugh. It was much louder than I wanted, not very ladylike at all.

“Oh… I may have to steal that one.” I said in between giggles, whipping my eyes.

“I was hoping to use a wish from the Djinn to help me sleep. But unfortunately, your brother got in the way.” As Geralt spoke I moved into his details on his face, my eyes traveling all over his beautiful face. From the way, his brows arched to the cute little dimple on his chin. His face was beautiful. Some scares were prominent enough that I could see them if I looked hard enough he had one on his cheek, it looked newer than all the others, the skin being a bit lighter than the rest of his skin.

“What did he do this time?”

“He decided that because I told him I no longer appreciated his singing that he would take the Djinn away from me till I took back what I said.”

“And let me guess, you didn’t take it back?” I glanced at him from behind my easel, he was watching me closely, his eyes slanted like he was studying a pray.

“No. No, he didn’t. And I almost died!” Jaskier shouted dramatically causing my eyes to drift from Geralt over to him.

“Don’t be dramatic Jaskier,” I mumbled, putting down the charcoal I had been using. Now turning my attention to the paints I had in front of me. I started mixing the colors Id need for Geralt’s skin tone.

“No, this time he’s right. He did almost die. Unfortunately for Jaskier, he refused to let go of the vase the Djinn was in. While we tugged on it, the lid came off. Maybe the Djinn knew I was a witcher and its curse wouldn’t work on me, or maybe it was just annoyed at Jaskier. Either way, it attacked him.” My eyes were focused on the painting, brows furrowed as he spoke. I waited a moment for him to continue but he didn’t.

“I’m listing Geralt, please continue,” I said my eyes moving to his, the colores pooling in my head as I prepared for what pigments id be using to paint them.

“I don’t want to interrupt.” I shook my head a soft smile on my face.

“I will,” Jaskier said as he sipped his tea, looking at me.

“The Djinn attacked my throat. Made it swell, I was coughing up blood.” My painting stopped as I looked at him. My stomach sank a little as he spoke. I knew Jaskier had been put in harm’s way before but hearing the first-hand accounts made my stomach ache.

“Geralt took me to an elven healer that wasn’t too far from where the river bed was. Unfortunately for me, he couldn’t help me. But he knew of a mage that could help.” My hand started to paint again, filling in the sketch with colors on Jaskier’s face as he spoke.

“We can skip over those details Jaskier.” Geralt huffed crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why? Don’t want my baby sister knowing that we had to sit threw an entier orgey just for you to speak to the mage?” Jaskier snickered looking away from me to his friend,

“Jaskier, shut up.” Geralt grumbled. His eyes avoided my own when I went to look at him.

“An orgey?” I had heard the word but hadn’t ever fully understood what it was.

“What’s that?” I questioned looking at my brother. His head fell back as he cackled.

“Oh dear sister how you’ve been so sheltered from the world.” My cheeks flushed red at his words.

“Jaskier don’t be rude,” I mumbled grabbing a fine liner brush from my pile. Adding some final detail into Jaskier’s blue eyes.

“It’s when a very large group of people get together in one room and have sex.” The blood rushed to my head at his words. I could feel my ears turning red. My brother was right. I had been sheltered about sex in my family. I didn’t have friends who I could talk to it about, and never really had anyone in my life I was willing to have sex with.

Unlike many women my age I never viewed my virginity like a sacred rose that no one could touch, I just wanted it to be lost to someone who deserved it. No someone I was forced to allow to deserve it.

“Oh look at how red she is.” Jaskier snickered standing up and poking my sides. I smacked his hands away glaring at him. He was now able to see the nearly completed painting. All I had left was my Geralt’s eyes and some details in his hair.

“Gods (Y/N), this is amazing.” He whispered his hand on my shoulder. I smiled softly, swallowing the spit that had gathered in my throat thickly.

“Thank you, please sit down and continue your story.” Jaskier did as I asked.

“The mage was Yennefer. She helped me. Saved my life. The mage and I may not get along, but I do owe her my life.” I smiled softly as he spoke of the mage I had heard so much about.

“I’ll be sure to thank her myself if I ever come across her,” I said with a smile. My attention turned back to Geralt who didn’t look please at the topic of our conversation. His eyes were on his leg that bounced slightly. He was anxious.

“Geralt love, I cannot see your eyes. That’s nearly all I have left.” At the sound of my voice, his head tilted up so he could look at me in the eye.

I smiled sweetly at him. I broke eye contact as I added in the different hues of orange and a bit of red. Some gold flecks showed themselves in his inner iris. The depth of the color was so enchanting. I could paint just his eyes forever. I finished with his hair after a few minutes of silence. Both men just enjoying the warm afternoon air. They both looked relaxed, peaceful, safe even.

“I’ve finished, boys,” I said whipping my hands on my apron. I stood up and turned the easel around to the two. They both sat up straight, eyes wandering all over the painting.

“You, my dear sister are beyond talented.” Jaskier mused looking at me, a bright smile on his face.

“We both are.” I smiled at him. Geralt was still examining the painting, his eyes flicking over every inch of himself. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not. It made me nervous.

“I know the hair isn’t perfect. I’m still trying to get the brush technique down-”

“It is perfect.” Geralt interrupted me, a smile on his face as he looked at me.

I smiled back at him, my heart beating a little quicker.

“Can I keep it?” Geralt asked.

“Seriously?” I asked him.

“Well, actually it’s probably best you keep it. I don’t have a home, so I wouldn’t want to ruin it…” I smiled softly, taking a step closer to him.

“I’ll keep it safe but if you ever have a place that you want to keep it, ill get it to you,” I said, softly stroking the stray strand of hair behind his ear. His face tilted up as he looked at me.

“I think I’m going to turn in for the night boys,” I said gathering my items in my hands.

“What about dinner?” Jaskier asked.

“I’ll grab something from the kitchen, I’m quite tired. I need a bath. I’ll see you both in the morning.” I said hugging Jaskier goodnight. I turned to Geralt, courage surging through my veins. I bent down and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Goodnight Geralt.” His cheeks turned a very, very soft shade of pink, but only for a moment. Our eyes locked again.

“Good night, dove.”

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stardestroyer81 · 3 years ago

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If the Fated Acolyte and Quincy T. Page are any indication, it's no surprise that I love creating self-inserts that are designed as faithfully to their source material/time period as I can manage! And after discovering two games that would ultimately shape this blog into what it is today— Rivals/Lovers of Aether respectively— it only took a couple of days before I decided to design a self-insert for the Aether franchise.

And I did! ... sort of.

Because designing a Rivals/Lovers of Aether self-insert would involve choosing an animal to base myself on as well as drawing him anthropomorphically as well as taking what I would come up with for his Rivals design and make a Lovers-accurate design based on it... the prospect of a Rivals/Lovers S/I was easier said than done.

However, I did have a general idea of what I wanted his character to be like for both iterations, and before long introduced Psycha, the Clairvoyant Enigma, to my blog in this post right here! It was after I uploaded this post that I began scouring the internet for inspiration on how to design an anthropomorphic sheep character, and while I did ultimately begin a sketch of Psycha's Rivals counterpart...

Longtime followers know which counterpart came first.

And as of today, February third...

It's been a full year since the creation of Psycha's Lovers of Aether design!

Personally, of all of the OCs and self-inserts that I've shown off on this blog, I think Psycha may very well be my ultimate favorite. While I make sure to design all of my self-inserts to have an aspect that I have— whether that means their personality or what they look like— I find that Psycha is the absolute closest to who I am as a person (Barring the fact that he's a 4'10" sheep, of course).

So, some time after I began speaking of him more and more in various posts on this blog, I knew that I wanted to draw him again for the one year anniversary of the design of his Lovers of Aether iteration. I initially intended on drawing up a completed art piece of his Rivals of Aether iteration, which is pretty much finalized by now, though...

I think it's safe to say that Psycha's Lovers design is the definitive Psycha.

Some might notice two interesting details in this drawing of Psycha; firstly, he's not wearing his usual blue plaid flannel. I realized when going into drawing him again that I had only drawn Psycha without it once, and that sketch didn't even end up being posted. I figured I ought to draw him in just the t-shirt he wears underneath it for a change— it's also the first time you get to see his full 'Supaboy' shirt design, which is modeled after the Super Famicom logo!

Secondly, proudly pinned to his chest is a heart-shaped bi flag pin. I decided to include this because, in all honesty, I didn't start embracing the fact that I was bisexual until a little after I designed Psycha, which was when I knew for certain that I swung both ways in terms of gender attraction.

It's kind of an unwritten rule at this point that all of my self-inserts are bisexual, though the most bi S/I of them all is for certain Psycha. Even in spite of his sheepishness, I feel as though he would be proud to show off who he is with such a pin, and it fits his design a lot better than I expected it to. Perhaps I'll make it a permanent addition!

I'm really proud of this drawing of Psycha, seeing as in some ways it's a fully realized version of this sketch, and I hope that you've enjoyed reading about the process of this art piece of Clairen's very canon love interest!

(As a side note... hey, Dan Fornace and @elranno, since it was decided to add the four new workshop rivals to the Rivals lineup... can we make Psycha canon to the Lovers universe for real? 👀)

#Rivals of Aether #RoA #Rivals #Lovers of Aether #LoA #Psycha #The Clairvoyant Enigma #S/I #Self-Insert #Self-Insert Art #Coolness #ONE YEAR OF THE BI SHEEP!!!#Drawing Psycha again was just SO much fun.#I at first wanted to draw a full-body of Psycha wearing a 'Clairen is my type!' shirt...#... like how I drew Clairen wearing a similar shirt on my self-ship sideblog...#... though I decided to save that idea for later #Interestingly— and I don't think I've mentioned this— I have ideas for MORE Rivals/Lovers of Aether OCs.#Right now I have two more that I want to design! Their names and species have been decided on... and get this #One of them only exists because of a really interesting result I got when plugging 'PsyClairen' into Wombo Dream AI #Perhaps you'll hear more of them in a future post!

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demonslayedher · 4 years ago

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Tanjiro Is Not Hot Stuff

and this is a good thing

It's easy to dismiss Tanjiro as overpowered, but in this post I'd like to disagree. For all his ability, Tanjiro is still a scrappy fighter, and his abilities have concrete reasons within the context of his shounen manga universe. Furthermore, despite Tanjiro's unique connection to the legendary Yoriichi, Gotouge continually drives home that he is just one character among many united in a common goal to eliminate all evil demons.

That phrase, 悪鬼滅殺, being the backbone of the Demon Slayer Corp, is engraved into each of the Pillars' swords. On that note, I'd like to first address that this may not be Yoriichi's sword. EDIT: On further reflection, because the color of the sword is only dyed once and being held by another swordsman doesn't change it, I've recounted on this theory and feel pretty certain it's Yoriichi's. But it was fun to consider other possibilities, and I'm going to italicize everything that I now consider an incorrect theory.

It's praised for it's Warring States/Sengoku era craftsmanship. This was a time with the swordsmen were first learning the Breath techniques (despite the Corp already having been around for centuries already). It’s also praised for its use of the singular "eliminate" idea encapsulated in the lone 滅 character. Haganezuka himself states that the person who wielded this sword must had been extraordinarily skilled. It's implied that, since Yoriichi also used a black blade (when it wasn’t red), and since this was inside the Yoriichi Zero Type battle doll, it must had been Yoriiichi's sword and therefore well suited to Tanjiro’s Hinokami Kagura techniques which he focuses on for the remainder of his battles.

However, let's think backwards a moment. This sword was produced in a time when Yoriichi, as an outright genius, had profound influence on the Demon Slayer Corp. Although everyone tried, no one could quite pick up his Sun Breathing, but they took the parts that worked for them and the Flame, Thunder, Wind, Water, and Rock techniques took form. We know that since the quality of demon slayers decreased after this generation (my guess is this is due to the mark killing them all off and therefore the lack of a mark in following generations made them seem less skilled over all).

It's unlikely that Yoriichi, the Sun Breath user himself, would have had any use for this training doll; instead it must had been used by one of those early Breath creators trying desperately to match Yoriichi's skill, and probably using a sword that was modeled with the ideal Sun Breath in mind, and not yet taken shape to suit the Breath that user would later polish. It was perhaps after further definition of their new techniques that they left the old sword behind.

Two more reasons I don't believe this is Yoriichi's sword: Yoriichi, a genius who probably didn't allow his sword to break with improper technique, was still using a sword with a single 滅 inscription when he faced Kokushibo in his old age, and we only see him use a sword with a hilt guard of this shape.

So then who used one with this shape?

We don’t quite see if any of the other Sengoku era swords are likewise inscribed with 滅 (and the lack of the swordsmith’s name implies that this was the swordsmith’s creative choice), but we do get a peek at a few other swords. None of them have a hilt guard quite the same, but this is as similar as it gets:

The character whom we see using a sword like this has hair in a black ponytail. It’s a little different from the Water Breath user who makes a few appearances, but not that different, and we never see what blade the Water Breath user is wielding.

I theorize that Tanjiro inherited an early Water Breath user's sword, which made it extra suitable for his techniques. Despite the differences between Hinokami Kagura and Water Breathing being stark enough that switching takes a huge physical toll on Tanjiro, I believe that Water Breathing will always have an influence on his performance of Hinokami Kagura, or at least draws out the aspects from which Water Breathing was based.

That brings me to another thought: Tanjiro’s seemingly overpowered ability to pick up other people's techniques, like the Thunder Breathing speed he heard about from Zenitsu. With Sun Breathing being the root of all other Breath techniques, Tanjiro has grown up already practicing the formative basis of all the other techniques, including Thunder Breathing. His speed (no pun intended) in adopting new techniques does feel more than a little overpowered, but Tanjiro has long shown a history of adopting new techniques and strategies in the middle of a fight. It's also a characteristic of Tanjiro to be constantly analyzing his fighting style and battle experiences even in his sleep, so that shows it's the result of his hardworking, eldest son personality to rely more on perseverance and practice than on natural ability.

That being said, the family history under the influence of tending fire does seem to give Tanjiro some innate suitability for Sun Breathing techniques, as implied by other characters like Haganezuka pointing out his red eyes and Shinjuro noticing Tanjiro's supposed mark right away and immediately interpreting this as an unfair amount of talent. Bring a humble charcoal farmer as opposed to a hardened swordsman may be what gave Sumiyoshi the ability to grasp the essence of Sun Breathing so thoroughly and efficiently (though we know Yoriichi taught his technique to others whom Kokushibo later eliminated, we don’t know if they could perform it as accurately, especially since the rest of the swordsman had so much difficulty with it). This point was so important that Gotouge even considered including charcoal references or the name of the fire god Kagutsuchi (commonly associated with hearths and purification) in the title of the series (see more about that here.)

But, get this, Tanjiro was not originally meant to be the main character. According to an interview in the first official fanbook with the first editor, Katayama, the following exchange took place after reviewing Gotouge’s sketches for a manga idea, “Kisatsu no Nagare,” in which the main character, Nagare, is a quiet, stoic type with fake limbs in place of ones he lost in the Final Selection (he feels a lot like Giyuu, in my opinion):

What changed it from “Kisatsu no Nagare” to “Kimetsu no Yaiba”:

(Continued from criticism of Nagare being a difficult character to build a series around:)

“...after determining that with these small changes we still wouldn’t be able to change the impact much, we threw around the idea of changing the protagonist. Since [Gotouge-]Sensei hadn’t yet moved to Tokyo from the countryside, I asked one day on the phone, “Is there any other character besides Nagare (in the world of “Kisatsu no Nagare”) that’s may a little more cheerful and normal?”

Sensei answered, “There is, but I don’t know if he’s interesting or not.” When I asked, “What sort of character is he?” the response was, “He’s a boy who sells charcoal, and his little sister got turned into a demon, so he enters the Demon Slayer Corp to try to turn her back.” And I thought, that’s it, that’s THE protagonist, and said, “Let’s go with that! A normal kid is good!”

I think we can all agree that Tanjiro’s oldest son personality is a big part of what makes him stick out as a protagonist. But, for as hard as he works and strongly as he feels, he is constantly aware of everyone else’s efforts and wishes, and he states over and over throughout the series that even if he should die in pursuit of his goals, someone else in the organization is absolutely certain to accomplish them in his place. We see the same sentiment among other characters who meet their doom, even powerful characters like Pillars, so it really drives home that this series is about the Demon Slayer Corp more than it is about any single child who has lost his family to demons. It’s for reasons like this that I really, really appreciate how the fanbooks, in how they present basic info, refer to Tanjiro like he’s just one example of a Corp swordsman; he’s not even worth introducing right away. It’s because of this focus on on everyone’s collective efforts that even if Tanjiro as the protagonist, I think it totally could have fit the story to have him die like implied in chapter 200, or proven right about his faith in everyone and be killed when he’s a demon.

Finally, a Taisho Secret around chapter 193 specifies that although Tanjiro has made a significant amount of progress in Hinokami Kagura, he's still not such Hot Stuff. If you break it into three levels, being able to go through the motions of something, then being able to refine and adapt it, and then being able to perform something in a way that maximizing its potential is all different. Even deep in the battle again Muzan, Tanjiro is only right about at the beginning points of being able to refine and adapt his techniques.

So there you have it, Tanjiro is special, especially for his naturally positive, hardworking, and empathetic personality. But, he's no Pillar (yet), nor is his will and experience worth any more or less than all the other Demon Slayers, swordsmiths, Kakushi, wisteria house owners, crows, Ubuyashiki Clan members, and all the other supporters across centuries of history working toward one common goal, one eternal feeling: eliminate all evil demons.

#Kimetsu no Yaiba #Demon Slayer #KnY fandom theories and meta #kamado tanjirou #kamado tanjiro

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mirthful-sonnet · 3 years ago

Text

Rise Above the Ashes | Chapter 2

Summary: Jean and Mikasa grow closer while battling with their inner demons. Jean feels alienated in his own country and realizes in a brutal way that the Alliance’s endeavors for peace may be harder than he expected.

Notes: Thanks once again to @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for beta reading this and putting up with my fandoms cause she must be so confused what this is about lmao

Warning: One short depiction of graphic violence

Ao3 link

“Stop moving.”

Mikasa froze, a startled look on her face as she tried to stay still.

Jean chuckled, turning back to his sketchbook. The afternoon was pleasant, with the bright sun profiled against a blue, cloudless sky. The only sounds were those of the light breeze and the strokes of graphite against paper.

The drawing was taking shape, the outlines of Mikasa’s likeness staring back at him from the page. He turned his eyes back onto Mikasa, and he thought that no matter how hard he tried he could never do justice to her actual beauty. She broke from her pose again and stared back at him.

“Mikasa,” he said, both in amusement and disapproval.

Mikasa ducked her head and muttered an apology, trying to go back to her former pose once again, with her body slightly turned away from him while staring to the side. They had found a secluded spot while everyone else was back at the farm. Jean had been trying to spend more time with her since their encounter at Eren’s grave.

He learned that she had a house near the farm while occasionally working as an informant for Historia and found himself as a constant guest along with Armin. The three of them had established a sort of routine in which whenever they had time they would meet up at her house and have dinner together. Jean would be lying if he said that being a part of this routine didn’t make him feel good.

Their current position in the grassy corner resulted from Mikasa catching him flicking through his old sketchbook. He did not plan on taking anything from his home in Trost when he reunited with his mother. But this sketchbook was a vestige from a time where there was much less violence and heartache in his life, and he took it with him.

There were portraits from most of the people he had met as a Scout. There was even a portrait of Eren, which Mikasa had stopped to stare at with an unfathomable look on her face before Jean broke the tension with a joke about what a lousy model Eren had been. It led to Mikasa asking him why he never drew a portrait of her, to which Jean could not offer any other explanation than that he had simply never worked up the courage to ask her.

Now they were in this quiet spot, enjoying the peaceful afternoon together. He added the finishing touches before sitting more comfortably on the spread blanket and admiring his work.

“It’s done,” Jean said, and Mikasa turned to him. He gave her the finished drawing, awaiting her reaction. She appeared taken aback when seeing her portrait, staring at it for a long while before turning to him.

“It’s amazing, Jean,” she said, and Jean felt a little embarrassed at the frankness in her face, not knowing how to react. “I would only say that she’s too beautiful to be me.”

There was a jesting tone in her voice, but Jean immediately replied. “Then that means I did an accurate job.”

Mikasa widened her eyes slightly before looking down, and Jean mentally berated himself.

He had been careful not to make things strange between them, especially now that his feelings were messier than ever. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable.

Jean had successfully locked away that part of himself when he realized the place Eren had in her heart. He resolved to be her friend and it had worked. Aside from that, he had certainly not wasted any time in seeking other companions. First during his years as a young Scout who was too curious and hormonal for his own good, and more recently as a glorified refugee in Marley with an uncertain status and plenty of need for pleasured distractions.

He was ashamed when thinking about his time in Marley, as he remembered the phase he had fallen into which he was too numb from the war and had excessively sought out those distractions. Moments of bliss were fleeting, and they would only lead to him relapsing into the same pattern and making him feel worse than before. The entrustment of the peace negotiations between Paradis and Marley into the Alliance’s hands had brought hope and a change that he desperately needed.

Still, why was he feeling so confused around Mikasa now? What he felt now was an echo of his former crush, similar yet so different. Whereas before it had felt like a small ache that he kept hidden, now it felt like a flame slowly spreading and threatening to overwhelm him.

“Earth to Officer Kirchstein,” Mikasa’s voice interrupted him, her hand waving in front of him.

“Oh, sorry, I got lost in my thoughts,” he told her, raising an eyebrow, “and I’m no longer a commanding officer, you know.”

Mikasa only smiled, laying back down on the spread blanket, her red scarf acting as her pillow. Jean was glad to see her smiling and acting with ease around him, since despite her calm demeanor he knew that she was still grieving no matter how much she tried to hide it. Sometimes he would catch her staring off into nowhere or holding her scarf a little tighter than usual. While he remained in this place, he was determined to be there for her as much as he could.

“Do you know how much longer you will stay here?” she asked suddenly.

Jean paused before replying, taken aback by her question. “Our stay has been extended indefinitely; it depends on how things go at our sessions. Though in any case, I imagine we’ll have to leave soon.”

Her face fell, “I see,” she murmured. “What do you plan to do after this?”

“I…” he trailed off, “I don’t know. Wherever the Alliance goes, I will end up going too. But my mom lives here, and I don’t want to leave her alone. Then again, we are not exactly welcomed here. I’ll just see what happens, I guess.”

“What about marriage and children?” She asked, quickly regretting her forwardness. She was about to apologize but he spoke first.

“Oh, that. Well, I’m not too sure about that either. I always dreamed of having my own family, but things are still too strange and uncertain,” he paused, looking away. “I don’t think I can truly settle down anywhere because I don’t belong anywhere.”

Mikasa stared at him, that dazed look that he seemed to constantly wear coming back, as if he were lost in a place where she could not reach. She grabbed his sleeve impulsively. These days she found herself doing that a lot when Jean would appear too lost in his own head.

“It…It’s probably not much, but I want you to know that if you’re in a pinch or need anything, you’re always welcome at my house,” Mikasa told him, not sure where these words were coming from, but knowing they were true. It was the least she could do.

Jean was visibly shocked, his face flushed. “Thank you, Mikasa.” he whispered, avoiding her gaze. After a moment, he turned to her suddenly.

“What about you? Do you have any plans?”

“I don’t think so, I like living here.” She explained, “Kiyomi and her delegation insist that I go to Hizuru but I’m not sure I’ll do that any time soon. I did want a family but…”

He understood. That was impossible now that Eren was gone. The meaning of her words hung over them, and Jean felt a weird kind of sadness overtake him. He knew Mikasa would have been an amazing mother. Despite whatever pain and jealousy remained in his heart, he realized that he would have liked to see his two friends together with their own family. A welcome respite after years of misery and destruction. But Eren had to run ahead of them and set himself ablaze.

“Well, you can consider us your family now,” Jean said, referring to their friends, and wanting to ease her mind.

Mikasa beamed at him, “I guess you are,” she replied, coaxing Jean to lay down beside her on the blanket and he complied. From the new angle, she could make out a scattering of tiny moles on his neck that was not covered by his shirt. She hadn’t noticed them before and found herself strangely transfixed before she heard him speak.

“I’ll tell you what, no matter what happens, we’ll always be there for each other.” he offered, turning his head to her. Mikasa paused, rendered a little speechless at the openness in his hazel gaze. In that moment, she had no choice but to agree with anything he said.

~0~

Jean pressed the timer and waited for Armin’s next move. The blond was scrutinizing the chessboard before moving a knight.

“So this is it, the final countdown until we decide if we can stay or if we should be running for our lives,” Connie commented from his seat near the fireplace in the living room. The residence was bigger than they had remembered.

“The queen has ensured our protection,” Armin said, his gaze still fixed onto the board, waiting for Jean’s move.

“With the same people who want us dead.” Connie spat.

All sectors of the government had finally agreed to a voting session in which they would vote on the proposals from the Alliance and other nations. Soon, they were to show up at council with other delegates from Marley who had also worked with them.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Reiner replied, his hands busying themselves tying knots with an old rope. It was a habit he had picked up during his treatment at the mental facility and he kept doing it long after he was discharged. He found the distractions helpful when his thoughts would become too much. “There are people who are strictly loyal to Historia, and she knows who they are and how to pick them.”

There was truth to what Reiner was saying. They had misjudged just how divided the island would be when they arrived. Currently, there were all kinds of factions and insurrectionists on the rise, from imperialists who wanted Paradis to establish itself as a global power and expand its territories, to reformers who were advocating an alliance with the other nations.

“Whatever supporters we have seems meaningless as long as the Yeagerist faction is still in power,” Annie added, watching the game between the two friends.

Armin clicked the timer, unfazed, “We have had to deal with worse things; the liberation of Paradis started with a revolution from the Survey Corps, a group that was a mere minority and ridiculed by most. What we want to achieve isn’t impossible,” he paused, hearing a click from Jean. “This time we have the support of other influential nations and the protection of the queen, who is in turn protected by staunch monarchists.”

Jean listened quietly, a strange unease surging up within him. It seemed surreal that they had finally reached this point in their enterprise for peace between Paradis and Marley. They had worked tirelessly to present their motions to the government and recount their testimonies of the war which were carefully modified to protect Mikasa. The Ackerman had insisted on coming clean and bearing the blame for Eren’s death, but that suggestion was quickly shut down by Armin.

The rumbling had not only practically wiped out other regions that now had no choice but start all over again, but it had also left a good portion of Paradis destroyed and still vulnerable, a point that the Alliance had used to their advantage in lobbying for a new coalition of trade between the nations.

Their main objective was to establish a peace treaty. It was the most talked-about subject all over the island, and it had brought feelings of hope but also plenty of hostility. While Jean had busied himself as much as he could in his new duties as ambassador, the reality was becoming clearer to him: that he truly belonged nowhere.

In Marley, things weren’t any easier for someone like him. While there were major changes happening in the Marleyan government and the internment zones were being eliminated, many areas were still heavily segregated and Eldians were still looked down upon.

Jean found it easy to interact with his peers in Marley sometimes. He had his share of friends, and there was the usual neighbor who would greet him, the lady who would bring him warm meals, or the lovers who didn’t seem to care he was Eldian. But other times the animosity was obvious. Now he was experiencing the same feeling of ostracization, but it was worse because this was his home.

“Armin is right. The circumstances are too different now and we have a considerable advantage. For now, we must be patient and wait for the next hearing,” Pieck remarked from her place laying down on the sofa. Naps were becoming more common to her.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Connie said, then gave a tired sigh, “it seems like the violence never ends.”

“That is a reality we have to accept,” Armin replied, clicking the timer once again. “I heard Commander Erwin say that as long as humanity lives, they will always find a way to destroy each other. That is an indisputable fact, no matter how much it irks us to hear it. The cycle will always continue in one way or another.”

“And what do we do meanwhile?” Jean asked, breaking his silence.

Armin stared at him, before moving a pawn, and finally replied. “We keep moving forward.”

~o~

Mikasa stared at her friends bantering back and forth on her dinner table. Tomorrow would be the voting session and she had invited the group to have dinner in her house before the important day.

She felt an odd peace while watching everyone talking and enjoying the food. Back in her days as a soldier, such scenes were rare, and when they weren't, there would always be the knowledge that they may not live for long.

While things were certainly not perfect at the moment, this was a welcome change. It seemed so long ago since she got to have moments like this. It was why she had appreciated having Armin and Jean visit her whenever they could. Their visits took her mind off the troubling thoughts that plagued her at night. They slithered onto her consciousness when she was alone and only she would bear witness. The burden of guilt she still felt over Eren’s death had been like a shadow trailing on her feet, a bitter seed that she couldn’t cut out.

There were days where she felt a semblance of peace, where the prospect of a new dawn seemed like a possibility. She remembered the strange bird she saw on Eren’s death anniversary and the feeling of grief and hope that had overwhelmed her as it flew away. Free and glorious. A promise of new things to come that she didn’t dare believe in. But other days, the shadows of her dreams would morph and speak in a familiar voice.

Traitor.

The wounds were clear cut, its shapes still engraved in every crevice of her heart. The bloodstains of the boy who she had loved unconditionally still ran endlessly through her very being. She wondered if she was being too selfish in daring to have peaceful moments like this.

A movement by her side caught her attention. Armin was currently sitting beside her, his presence serving as an anchor even while he was engaged in lively conversation with Annie.

She was glad he had found someone, even if it took her a while to get used to the idea of them being together.

He had changed so much, from that timid boy who wanted to see the ocean to a determined leader with the same quiet strength. Now he was leading an enterprise that had the world’s eyes on him.

She didn’t know how he could stand it, or how he even looked at her with anything but repulsion. He was carrying an incredible burden for her sake after all, and she could do nothing but watch helplessly from the sidelines, knowing he would never forgive her if she spoke the truth.

Useless.

Her thoughts froze when she noticed that he had turned to her.

His bright blue eyes were narrowed for a moment before he gave her a small smile, as if he knew what she was thinking, and squeezed her hand under the table.

Mikasa could only smile back at him, a quiet understanding between them.

Currently, Reiner and Connie were engaged on a heated, drunken debate about whether cereal should be considered soup or not, having Pieck laughing uncontrollably while Annie looked like she would rather be somewhere else. For all that was troubling her, she liked seeing everyone happy.

One person was visibly quiet, and Mikasa turned her eyes to Jean. The former commanding officer was smiling and watching his friend’s antics. There was a distance in his gaze, one that she noticed too often when he was with her. She didn’t know what to make of it, but despite the time they constantly spent together she noticed that he had a certain guardedness, a wall he had carefully built up and she could not trespass.

She had appreciated him being here more than he could understand. In days when her mind was her own worst enemy, his presence had come as a haven of such comfort that she wondered if she even deserved it. Whether he was talking about how his day went, grumbling about having to argue with ‘constipated geezers’ as he had called them, or just remaining by her side quietly, his company had quickly become one of the highlights of her days. She only wished she could know what was going on in that mind of his.

Jean suddenly stood up from the table and excused himself. She thought he was probably going to the restroom. But after a while, he still did not come back. Mikasa eventually excused herself as well, with Armin reassuring her that they did not mind.

Her instinct told her to go to the backyard, which consisted of a small lawn with an apple tree and a wooden fence separating it from an extensive meadow. She stepped out into the yard, tightening her scarf in the cool breeze as she looked for Jean.

“So, you found me.” She heard him say, and finally spotted Jean leaning over the yard’s wooden fence, face half-hidden by shadows.

Mikasa quietly walked over to where he was. She noticed he had a cigarette in his hand and fought the urge to slap it away. At one point in their reunions, she had noticed him sneaking away to smoke but didn’t say anything, only earning shrugs from Armin when she turned her questioning eyes to him.

“Was Reiner and Connie’s debate that uninteresting?” He asked.

Mikasa grimaced, “remind me to never let them drink again.”

Jean snorted, “prepare yourself, because they’ll be at it for a while.” he said, taking a drag.

“I never took you for a smoker,” Mikasa prodded, narrowing her eyes at him. He looked a little embarrassed, looking away as he exhaled, whiffs of smoke swelling and disappearing in the darkness.

“Sorry, it’s a bad habit I picked up in Marley,” he explained, scratching the back of his neck, “I don’t do it a lot, but when I do it sort of helps.”

Mikasa nodded, figuring that he was nervous about the next day and deciding to not press him further about his new habit.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry if I’m bothering you too much, you probably wanted to be alone-”

“You could never bother me, Mikasa,” Jean interrupted her, then taking a deep breath, “I just- I guess I just realized that this is it. What we have been working for all this time has finally had a result. Isn’t that crazy?”

She nodded and beamed at him, “I know you will do great things.”

“I never thought it would come to this, it just hit me that I have no idea what will come next. I still don’t feel like I truly belong anywhere. Plus, I’m thinking that we probably won’t achieve anything tomorrow and this damn war will just keep on going. My mind’s been playing a lot of shitty tricks on me,” he explained, taking another drag before sighing and looking at her. “I’m sorry, you didn’t come here to listen to my problems.”

She immediately shook her head in protest, “I told you that I would be here for you, and I meant it.”

He looked at her fixedly, “what about you? You do know that you can tell me anything, yet I can’t help but sense that you’re not always honest with me. With any of us, really.”

As soon as he finished, he immediately regretted his words, suspecting that the alcohol had probably made him bolder than usual. He almost wanted to laugh at his hypocrisy, since he knew that he had also not been completely honest with Mikasa either.

“I’m sorry-”

“No, Jean,” Mikasa interrupted, looking elsewhere. “You’re right, I’ve been trying to pretend that things are fine now. And they are in a way, but other days it-it’s too much.”

Jean nodded in understanding, “I get it, you know; I’m not saying I’m entitled to hear everything that you’re thinking, but I also want you to know that you don’t have to hide things from me either. I know that you’re still mourning him, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

It happened suddenly, but his words caused her heart to constrict and unexpected tears to gather in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear you say that,” she whispered, her voice wavering.

Jean dropped the cigarette and crushed it with his shoe, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I really miss that idiot; I even dream of him sometimes,” he admitted. “I like to think it’s him talking to me, you know?”

Mikasa hummed in response, turning away so he wouldn’t see her tears. “I dream of him too, not a day goes by where I don’t think of him. I once believed I couldn’t possibly live without him, and yet I still killed him.”

“That was not your fault Mikasa,” Jean said firmly, his eyes like embers. She needed to understand that.

“But I keep asking myself what if I had done things differently? What if I had stopped him in another way? What if I tried harder? What if…” she trailed off, gathering her breath, “What if I had been honest about my feelings to him? Would it have changed anything? And I know the answer is no, but I keep asking myself the same questions anyway. I guess my mind plays tricks on me too.”

Jean looked down, “I can’t possibly tell you how to make it stop, but you must remember that you’re not alone. No matter what happens, you have us,” he said, pausing and then looking back at her. “You have me.”

Mikasa nodded jerkily, this time making no attempt at hiding her tears. “I do, don’t I?”

Jean stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.

Before he could regret it, she burrowed her head into his chest, his buttoned shirt quickly becoming damp with her tears.

He did not care, tightening his arms around her in his large frame, wanting to absorb every pain and every troubling thought she ever had.

Mikasa could only press herself even further into him as if she was seeking something but had to keep delving in for it. The night was quiet except for the whimpers that escaped her as they both hastened to get even closer, creating a cocoon of warmth, a little sun between their bodies. Whatever thoughts were troubling her before disappeared, and even if just for a moment, she could lose herself in Jean’s embrace and try to believe that things would get better.

~o~

They had done it. Despite the noises of protest that still echoed throughout the council they had done it.

Jean understood in that moment that they still had a long way to go, but this was an important step in the right direction. For now, a more peaceful world was possible.

They had achieved a quorum of votes in their favor, with Historia presiding over the hearing. The next moments passed in a blur of formalities and shaking hands with officials from all political factions.

He felt as if he were in a daze, every action, and every word he spoke coming almost as mechanical.

After the conclusion of the session, everyone made their way outside of the room, tension permeating the atmosphere. As expected, there were all sorts of manifestations for and against the peace treaty outside.

Jean could hear all kinds of insults outside as he followed Armin closely to the back of the building, where they were supposed to wait for a carriage to take them back to Historia’s residency.

Traitors. Murderers. Turncoats.

The past years had hardened him to any slander, and he could only hold his head up and continue walking to the main hallway, where he could see Mikasa waiting for them.

Her head perked up when she noticed them both, immediately walking towards them.

“Were you here this whole time?” Armin exclaimed over the background noise. They had seen her before the start of the session, but Armin did not think she would stay.

“There was no way that I would miss this moment. You were almost unrecognizable in there,” she said, recalling the scenes she witnessed from her front-row seat in the stands that were free to the public. “I’m proud of you two, of all of you. I had no doubt you would achieve it.”

“We’ll see if they don’t eat us alive first.” Jean retorted, looking grim as the noise of the crowds outside became more prominent.

They went to the back of the building, stepping out onto the cobblestones of an extensive alley. Mikasa had insisted that she could make her way back home walking, but Jean and Armin had none of it. Vehicles and carriages were coming and going in the dim light of the alleyway as the three friends waited for the rest of the group.

Jean could not help but think on how the island was just starting to use vehicles but still relied mostly on carriages. He had gotten used to the strange steel machines with time, which was more than he could say for Connie who had quite the record in car crashes back at Marley.

“Mikasa! You’re here!” Connie shouted as he emerged into the alley with the rest of the group trailing behind him. He gave her a crushing hug, and Mikasa smiled, heartily returning his embrace.

“Of course, I am,” Mikasa replied.

“This demands another round of drinks at your house. What do you say?” Connie said and Jean rolled his eyes. Leave it to Connie to invite himself to people’s houses.

“As long as you and someone else behave…” She commented while staring at Reiner, who was behind Connie and could only look sheepish and turn away.

“Is the carriage here yet? We better get away from these crowds of lunatics.” Annie added, looking shaken while Armin tightened her coat around her.

“There it is,” Pieck pointed to a coming carriage bearing the queen’s emblem. As they walked Jean stayed behind, letting everyone get into the carriage first.

Mikasa was the second last to get in, and Jean moved to help her up before he heard it.

“Death to the Alliance!”

He moved in a flash before they got to her and then he was falling backward, catching a glimpse of her horrified expression, with everything morphing into screams in the distance and the noise of steel tearing through flesh repeatedly.

“Jean!” He heard Mikasa scream.

Maybe it was sheer will, but he shoved the man who had brought him down, scrambling to get to him despite the blade that was lodged between his ribs. He managed to grab the bastard by the hair and hit his skull against the hard cobblestones.

The rush almost left him dizzy, but he kept slamming the man’s head against the ground until the hard noises of bones breaking were soon replaced by the slick sounds of blood and joints being torn. Not too far he heard the guards and his friends taking care of the man’s lackeys. Extremists, no doubt.

He should have seen this coming. Whatever strength he had left him suddenly, his grab on the man’s head loosening before he was shoved and felt two pairs of hands grabbing his neck to strangle him. It wasn’t long before Jean caught the flash of a red scarf and the man was pulled back abruptly and slammed harshly against the carriage, losing all consciousness. Jean clambered to his feet while coughing, feeling someone stabilizing him from behind.

“Jean, don’t move,” Connie said shakily, holding Jean by the shoulders. One look at Mikasa told Connie that they were both replaying another bloody scene from their past in their heads, where their best friend had been taken away from them with a single bullet.

“You’re hurt,” Mikasa murmured, her face looking pale.

The body of the man who had stabbed Jean lay carelessly beside her, as she had done a quick job in knocking him down.

Jean however appeared to not understand what his friends were saying, his eyes glazed over and his body beginning to wobble from side to side. “My suit got ruined,” he tried to joke but only groaned as he felt himself getting dizzier.

He heard the others come near him, but at that point, their voices were just cryptic noises and the lights from the lampposts stretched into long hazy lines. Someone gasped as the circle of blood on his shirt grew and dripped onto the cobblestones below. The violent encounter had given him such a rush that he barely registered any pain and did not notice that the bleeding was rapidly increasing.

“Jean, stay still! We need a medic!” He heard Armin shout as he ran from the place in search of help.

Jean still appeared lost, trying to shrug off Connie and Mikasa’s hold on him. He turned to Mikasa, who looked terrified as she saw Jean becoming as pale as a sheet of paper.

“What a drag, huh?” He said before his eyes rolled back and his body collapsed.

~0~

Everything looked black, with flashes of a fluorescent tree coming and going like waves, distant static noises, and a hand reaching out to him. He found himself surrounded by a dense white fog that engulfed him and then slowly dissipated, revealing an empty street. Jean suddenly recognized where he was, the street from his childhood home in Trost becoming apparent in all its simpleness.

The place was empty as Jean slowly made his way down the steps that interpolated with the old street. He kept walking down the steps, the silent streets appearing to be his only company.

Or so he thought.

“Jean.”

He froze and turned towards the voice, meeting a pair of unmistakable green eyes. It felt like all the oxygen left him as the reason for their current plight appeared before him.

“Eren?” He choked, watching as Eren stood in the middle of the street, tall and unmoving. He didn’t know whether he wanted to run and embrace him or beat him to a pulp. “What is this?”

“I wanted to find something meaningful; this is the first thing that appeared.”

Eren’s words were punctuated by a sudden noise, and he saw the flash of a boy running down the street and fading away. There was a youthful cry and Jean saw the same boy on another corner of the street with a woman. He soon realized that the boy was him as a young child and that the woman was his mother, who was kneeling before him and wiping away tears from his chubby cheeks.

“I don’t understand,” Jean muttered, turning to Eren.

Eren lowered his head, never looking at Jean directly. At least he had the decency to look remorseful, Jean thought.

“I…wanted to say goodbye.”

Jean let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, feeling all sorts of emotions surge up inside him.

“Why, Eren?” Jean said, his voice quivering.

Eren still wasn’t looking at him. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I needed to say goodbye.”

The word goodbye made his chest tighten, and he did not trust himself to even speak but he did anyway. “You-you left, you left and didn’t tell us anything! You acted on your own without trusting us. And now millions of innocents are dying because of you! Why?!”

Eren still avoided his gaze. “None of that matters anymore. I made my choice, and there is no going back for me now. I needed to see you before it happens.”

“Before what happens?” Jean pressed him, but Eren did not answer, he only stared at him with a look he couldn’t quite decipher.

The scene changed, with the streets morphing into indecipherable shapes before they found themselves in the dining room of the training camp. The place they had all met as young trainees. Before them, a pre-teen Jean was talking for the first time to Mikasa, his nervousness obvious through his red face and his awkward attempt at complimenting her hair.

Jean frowned, looking at Eren. “Why are we here?”

“This is your consciousness, I technically have some control, but these moments…they are all meaningful to you,” Eren explained, eyes fixed onto the scene before them. This was the first time he had met Eren and Mikasa.

Their surroundings changed into another scene in the same dining room, where he and Eren were brawling before Mikasa separated them. Jean felt embarrassed not only at their childish behavior but at the fact that Eren knew that Jean had secretly treasured these moments. He fixed his eyes on the scene.

“She always had to mother you around,” Jean murmured, referring to Mikasa.

“Mikasa was always protective of me, yet she never defended me from you. She would reproach me when we would get into fights. Even when you started them,” Eren said as Mikasa gave his younger self a disapproving look after separating them.

“It wasn’t always me. If you weren’t such a pain in the ass, it would have been easier,” Jean grumbled, his words contradicted by his behavior on the scene before them, where he had grabbed Eren in a fit of jealousy.

Eren only gave a sad smile as their surroundings kept changing, fading scenes playing one after the other like the strange projections of those films Jean had seen when they arrived in Marley. There were several moments with Marco, the part of his soul that had been violently ripped away from him. They landed in a different scene, where there were massive pyres of fire and a fifteen-year-old Jean was kneeling before the pyre that took the center, his body shaking in sobs.

“What-“

“You truly loved him, didn’t you? I think he would be proud of you.”

Jean winced, the shadows from the flames dancing all around them. The beautiful friend who had believed in him now turned into ashes. “I don’t think he’d be proud. I never amounted to anything, and now I will probably die trying to stop you.”

Suddenly they were in a different place, with throngs of people walking away hurriedly in their direction. Jean tried to move away but the people passed through him as if he were a mere ghost.

There was a stage set up at the front, where the statuesque figure of Commander Erwin could be seen standing still.

Of course.

This was the night he decided to join the Survey Corps.

They watched as almost everyone walked away to the promises of comfort and safety inside the walls, while only a few stayed. Even when watching as an onlooker, Jean could feel the weight of resolve and terror hanging over everyone that remained behind.

“That is not true. I know you do not want to hear this from me but he always spoke of you at every turn he could. Even the simplest thing would have him singing praises about you. He always said that you would be a leader. I didn’t believe him at the time, but I was proven wrong. Every decision you have made since you joined the Survey Corps has led you to this point… to saving humanity. If anything, you went further than anyone’s expectations.”

Jean felt a lump form in his throat, shaking his head. “I…don’t want to see this anymore.”

As if on cue, the scene changed yet again. The sudden brightness made him shield his eyes as the sun shone brightly and the smell of sea salt invaded his senses. The air was filled with the splashes of water and laughter. In the distance, he could make out the three figures of himself, Connie, and Sasha playing on the shore of a beach. Currently, his friends had succeeded in toppling him over the water, making him yell out curses as they cackled.

“Sasha…”

Jean felt something tighten painfully in his chest as he watched her. This was how he liked to remember his dear friend; happy and carefree, not cold and lifeless.

“I think this was one of the last times any of us was happy,” Eren said.

“Were you?”

Eren looked away, fixing his gaze on another trio by the shore who looked much quieter. Their figures standing still and seemingly staring into nowhere. “I can’t remember if I ever truly was happy.”

Jean scoffed at that. “That sounds like bullshit.”

The titan shifter paused as if in deep thought, then turning to Jean. “You’re right, there were happy moments. You guys…made it a lot easier.”

“And now look where we are. You still haven’t answered me why Eren. Why did you do this? Armin and Mikasa…they try to look strong, but you broke them both.”

“They will move forward just as I expect them to do. I don’t know the exact details of how everything will play out but Armin… Armin will lead humanity to peace with you close by his side. And Mikasa…she’s strong and will move forward with her life. She has always been so much stronger than me, while I didn’t even have the guts to tell her that I love her.” Eren said with a self-deprecating laugh.

Jean’s breath hitched as he heard him. “Then tell her that! You can’t let her go while she thinks you hate her!”

“It’s too late now, what I have done…there’s no way to come back from that. I didn’t always treat her like she deserved, you know. Now all I can do is encourage her to forget me and be happy no matter how much it hurts me.”

There were more shrieks of laughter, with Connie and Sasha now halfway sunk in the water as they swam around Jean, all three of them splashing each other. Not too far, Commander Hange was picking up seashells and staring at them in wonder while Captain Levi stood further from the shore, staring quietly into the horizon. Eren’s words sank in, and he felt a surge of anger and panic at the finality in what he said.

“You…you say that like it’s so easy. Do you ever think about the pain she’s going through? What you put all of us through? You did all this for what? Trying to play the hero for us? Fuck you!” Jean yelled as he lunged and punched Eren, making him fall backward and sending wafts of sand flying up. “You broke me too, asshole! Now I’ll have to live with that if I make it out alive!”

The background was changing yet again, blue skies turning into an azure shade and then into ink-black, with a few scatterings of stars. The beach was now dark and empty, and the air was dead silent.

Jean was breathing heavily, feeling hot tears running down his cheeks but not really caring. Eren was staring up at him, anguish clear in his bloody features. He scrambled to his feet, and Jean moved to help him up. He meant to let him go as soon as he was able to stand, but he only pulled Eren into his arms abruptly, hugging him tightly and letting his tears flow freely.

He didn’t know whether it was something in the atmosphere or the look in Eren’s eyes, but he could feel him fading away. The background changed in a flurry of colors and waves while they held each other firmly and finally landed in a different place.

Jean pulled back and soon realized they were in the barracks from their trainee days. The room was empty, the air only filled with the creaking noises of wood and the chirping of birds outside. He turned back to Eren, who had that same indecipherable look in his eyes.

“I won’t ask for your forgiveness, but I am truly sorry I brought so much pain to all of you. And…I know I have no right to request anything from you, but I am selfish, I have always been so selfish…so I need you to promise me, that no matter what happens, you will move forward and live your life to the fullest.”

Jean felt a thousand protests gather on the tip of his tongue, not ready to acknowledge the finality in his words. There was a certain heaviness in his chest that made him sit down in one of the bunk beds. “I’m not sure that I can.”

Eren knelt in front of him, “you can, you’re strong. More than you give yourself credit for. Promise me, Jean.”

The words echoed painfully, and Jean looked down, his voice coming out weak. “Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

He was met with silence and Eren getting closer, holding his hands.

Jean gasped as he noticed that Eren’s hands looked different.

Their surroundings were becoming dark again, and the fluorescent light that he had seen briefly now appeared to be spreading from Eren’s fingertips and extending towards him.

“It is time,” Eren finalized.

Jean froze. And as irrational as he knew it sounded, Jean could not help but deny what he was saying. “No! We-we can work things out, Eren. Please stop this and come back to us! Please!”

As he finished his desperate plea Eren pressed his forehead against Jean’s, a little frantically. “This is it, Jean. Please don’t ask me to come back. Just promise me that you will move forward.”

The light was spreading more rapidly now, their bodies illuminated in a searing light, two figures in a flame. Jean swallowed the lump in his throat, shutting his eyes tightly before nodding against Eren’s forehead. He felt him breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” Eren said, and it sounded like the saddest goodbye to Jean.

“I don’t know what to do. What will be left?” He choked, feeling completely helpless.

Eren lightly shook his head, his eyes sad but also alight with unspoken things. “I think you’ll be surprised by the things life has in store for you, Jean.”

Jean was confused by his words, but decided not to question him, knowing that he would disappear at any moment.

“Don’t look away,” Jean said, and Eren obliged, fixing his piercing gaze on him. They remained like that for a good while before the strands of fluorescent light completely engulfed them.

“Goodbye, Jean,” Eren said, a little broken but still strong.

“Goodbye, Eren,” Jean replied, his hands still holding onto Eren’s blazing form until there was nothing left.

~o~

The oil lamp was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. The flame appeared to be the only thing lighting up the room. Slowly but steady, everything was becoming clearer to him even if he still felt very strange. There was the sterile air, the smell of mercury and alcohol, the moonbeams filtering through the window, and the tears warming his cheeks, a last residue from his dream.

He didn’t know why he was remembering that vision now of all times. His last moments with Eren had happened in a landscape that wasn’t real, and that was something that he rarely if ever wanted to remember. All his memories with the green-eyed boy had contorted into a permanent bloodstain on his soul. And the fact that he did not follow his promise to Eren and instead became a pathetic shell of a man made everything worse.

But his self-deprecation did not last long as he noticed that he wasn’t alone, a shift by his side catching his attention. He could not see her very well, but Mikasa was now looking at him closely, shock and confusion on her face as she noticed his tears.

“Armin! He’s awake!” She exclaimed as she ran out of the room, and Jean heard muffled voices outside where he could only make out the words “doctor” and “Mrs. Kirschtein”.

Mom?

While the voices went on Jean remained dazed, moving the fingers of his right hand in front of his face. He felt so out of it that he barely noticed Mikasa coming back.

“Jean? How are you feeling?”

He only groaned in response, “wh-where am I?”

“The Hospital of Mitras. We were lucky it was close by. Armin went to find the doctor and your mother.” She explained, staring worriedly at the wetness in his face. Mikasa said something else, but he didn’t hear it, his body feeling like a thousand bricks.

“Mom?” he mumbled, scrunching up his face as he tried to move before Mikasa stopped him. “‘the hell did they give me?”

“You’re dosed on morphine. They told us you would be feeling drowsy when you woke up.” Mikasa took in how Jean seemed to stare at her but not at all at the same time.

His eyes were clouded and watery.

Since they arrived the day before, she had been hearing him make all sorts of noises in his unconscious state, muttering different names or things she couldn’t make out. One look at him could tell anyone that he was still heavily drugged. But she also wondered why he was crying.

She saw that he was sneaking a hand to touch the bandages on his ribs, and she immediately moved to pry his hands away. “No! You’re in a delicate state, you have to stay still.”

“Ah my hero,” Jean slurred, “so protective and gentle.”

Yes, definitely drugged.

She was gathering the blankets around him, remembering the way his body couldn’t stop shivering when they had first arrived and how nervous she had been with every single movement.

Reiner had helped carry Jean all the way to the hospital. While they had been lucky enough to be close to the hospital, Jean still caught an infection on the way according to the doctor. Mikasa had some hope now that he was awake, but she couldn’t help the fear that still plagued her. No. She wouldn’t lose anyone else. She would make sure of that.

Her thoughts were interrupted by him mumbling something she couldn’t hear clearly.

Jean’s eyes were blinking slowly, and he was turning his head from side to side. She leaned closer to hear what he was saying.

“It was him…Eren…he talked to me.” He muttered and gave an exhausted sigh, trying to fix his eyes on Mikasa even while she was blurry.

Mikasa was now frozen as Jean looked at her, his eyes still glazed over but there was something else in them now.

“I liked you, Mikasa, y’know? I think I even loved you. Since we were trainees…” he confessed, his voice still slightly slurred before he laughed. “Ah, what a stupid fool. It’s kind of funny,” Jean continued while laughing, a strange picture with the tears that were still drying on his face. He stopped with a groan when the strain was too much.

“Jean…” Mikasa muttered.

“Hmm…I wish he was here; I wish I could bring him back,” Jean mumbled, “I’m sorry I can’t do anything…I’m so sorry Mikasa…”

He turned his face into the pillow, looking like he was about to pass out. If Mikasa was planning to say something, it was interrupted by the doors opening abruptly. That didn’t seem enough to wake Jean from his stupor as the doctor walked in, followed by a trail of nurses. Mikasa could only stand aside as the doctor and the nurses covered Jean from her view, enveloping him in their prying hands and moving white garments.

She remained there as they worked on him, his dazed words replaying in her head like a broken record, his expression etched onto her mind. They had seen each other in the most brutal and vulnerable situations throughout their years as comrades, yet she felt at a complete loss with what she had just witnessed. She forced her intrusive thoughts into the back of her head and remained in her place, where she could do nothing but pray to whatever deity was listening that Jean would be safe and sound.

#jeankasa #snk #attack on titan #jean kirstein #mikasa ackerman #this chapter was long af #the erejean kind of jumped out in this chapter lol

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dancingkirby · 4 years ago

Text

Shipping

I’m sorry, but it had to be done. Do y’all think this would work better as a Short Story, or just a oneshot on its own?

DAY 1

To celebrate the tenth anniversary of his ascension to the throne, Zuzu and Mai were off on a world tour. Azula had been left in charge of ruling the country. While Azula was glad that he was finally realizing that she wasn’t always thinking about world domination all the time, so far her regency had been extremely boring. Now, she was more than halfway through it, and absolutely nothing of note had happened.

Today had started out like all the others. She hadn’t slept great the night before because of the high winds that had battered Capital Island, and they hadn’t ebbed down very much by morning. She’d had trouble getting her hair to stay in its topknot while training. But the morning council meeting had proven as tedious as ever. Azula was paying the exact minimum amount of attention required as the ministers droned on about tax brackets; most of her brain was occupied on what she would have for lunch that day. Noodles were always nice, but she’d had them for two days in a row now. Anytime she ate any food on multiple consecutive days, there was always the risk of speculation among the courtiers that she might be pregnant. Never mind that she hadn’t even done any sex acts that could result in pregnancy for years…

The door to the meeting hall abruptly swung open. An out-of-breath messenger stood in the doorway, blushing deeply as nearly twenty pairs of annoyed eyes scrutinized him.

“You do realize that you are intruding on a confidential council meeting, correct?” Azula inquired of him.

“I’m t-terribly sorry, P-princess,” the messenger managed to get out. “But I was told that this needed your immediate attention.” Could it be…that something interesting was about to occur for a change?

“All right. What is it?” she asked. At her hand motion, the messenger climbed up to the dais and whispered in Azula’s ear.

“Okay. I’ll be right there. We will continue this meeting at a time to be determined later,” Azula stated.

So here she was on a tugboat, looking at the enormous cargo ship that had somehow gotten wedged into the Strait of Azulon. Azula turned to the old salt who was leading efforts to remove it and said, “Explain.”

“That ship is called the Agni-Given, Princess,” the man said somewhat stiltedly; it appeared that he was trying to rein in a sailor’s natural tendency to use copious foul language. “It’s one of the largest cargo ships in the world. Today, it was passing through the strait when the high winds pushed it off-course and into a sandbar. It also got tangled in some old nets from the Gates. We’ve been trying out dam…darndest to free it, but no luck.”

Azula took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly out of her nose. “And what have these initial attempts included?”

“We attached every tugboat in the harbor to it to try to pull it out, but it didn’t work, Princess. That fu…freaking thing is stuck deep into a sandbar. Next step would be to try to dig it out.”

“Explain how that would be accomplished.”

“Yes…well…”–the old man paused–“We ain’t sure yet, to be honest. The problem is that the place where the bow is stuck is seventy feet underwater. All of the excavating machines available were built for use on land. We was thinking of trying to get some of those new forklifts, try to extend their reach, and bring them out on boats, but…that would take time.”

“Forklifts? Is that the best you could come up with?” Azula demanded. She found herself imitating her brother’s famed nose-bridge pinch. This would not do at all. She needed an ingenue, someone who could design a whole new kind of machine if need be. And she thought she knew exactly where to find one.

DAY 2

It had been the end of a long day, without much progress being made. Azula was just about to demand that the larger, more comfortable boat they’d made ready for her today take her back to the harbor when, at long last, the other ship that she had been awaiting arrived. After this watercraft was tethered to hers, a figure came running down the gangplank, arms outstretched.

“Azula!” Sokka exclaimed. “How’s it going? We haven’t seen each other in forever…hey!” His attempts at embracing her had been thwarted by the princess grabbing his shirt at arm’s length.

“Not in public, remember?!” she hissed. Then, just as formally as if he were any old dignitary, she added in normal tones, “Councilman Sokka. It is good to see you here. I trust that your journey here was uneventful?”

“Yeah, except we had to go around the long way because of…well…that,” Sokka replied, gesturing at the still firmly-entrenched Agni-Given. “So how do you want me to assist, O Princess?” He did a little bow, and could not quite manage to keep a straight face.

“Watch it,” Azula reprimanded again. Whenever they encountered each other, she always needed to remind him that their relationship was a melding of intellects and occasionally flesh; romance had absolutely no place in it.

“I recall that you designed a vehicle that could travel underwater,” she explained. “Would it be possible to modify this concept and attach equipment for shoveling? Or perhaps even the capacity for finer manipulation to untangle the net remnants?”

Sokka took a few moments to consider as he beheld the enormous ship. Finally, he replied, “Yeah, I think that’d be possible. It’ll take a while to draw up plans and get everything built, though.”

“Very well,” Azula told him. “I suppose we shall have to simply endure each other’s company for a little longer.”

“’Endure?’ Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Sokka gave a wink that was obviously meant to be seductive, but in fact only made him look ridiculous. Azula elbowed him in the ribs.

They did, in fact, end up fucking that night, after Sokka had eaten what seemed to be about half of the palace’s food supply for dinner. They hadn’t seen each other in more than three years, and Azula was scrupulous about taking her contraceptive tea, so why not?

Sokka tried to kiss Azula after, but she didn’t let him.

DAY 3

Zuko had sent a message asking if he should cut his celebratory tour short and come home to help with this problem, but Azula quickly scribbled out a reply that they had everything under control.

Today was the day that Sokka would first meet with the team of engineers assigned to resolve this problem.

“And I’m sure that all of you will give him the respect that he deserves,” Azula told them in the most pleasant voice she could manage. Some of them were obviously pissy about being forced to consult with a man who was half most of their ages. Well, too bad. Anyone who tried to ignore him would be upbraided with the utmost harshness personally by her.

DAY 10

The manufacturing process had begun. Sokka informed her that he had dubbed this new invention the “shovelmarine.” He did not attempt to conceal his sheer glee at this horrible pun. Azula threw a pillow at him.

While the two of them worked by day and screwed by night, things were starting to get out of hand in the Harbor District. The plight of the Agni-Given had captured the imagination of the public, and kiosks had sprouted all over the piers selling miniature models of the grounded ship. It seemed that every single street musician in the city had composed his or her own ballad about the situation. Fan magazines had been established simply for the purpose of publishing the flood of stories and art that the more creatively-minded citizens had concocted. Azula had gotten a hand on one of these volumes, and her favorite story was a somewhat graphic recounting of a speculated liaison between the Agni-Given and the statue of her grandfather. Apparently, the statue was the dominant partner in this relationship…just as it should be.

This magazine had also included a drawing depicting her own activities with Sokka. She knew that she should be furious about this; that the culprit should be tracked down and executed, but she found it just too amusing. The picture was even surprisingly accurate, except that Azula had not actually handcuffed Sokka to her bedpost. They had improvised with the sash from her nightrobe instead.

DAY 16

“Okay, lets see what these shovelmarines can do!” Sokka said as the contraptions touched the open ocean for the first time. The two of them watched from the boat that was by now almost as familiar to Azula as her own suite of rooms at the palace were.

As it turned out, the shovelmarines (Azula had grudgingly accepted this terrible name) could do quite a bit. Over the next several days, they worked steadily at the problem. Finally, three weeks to the day after the Agni-Given had first gotten stuck, it once again floated freely, although it would be have to be drydocked to repair all the damage.

In his excitement, Sokka had tried to kiss Azula. She had initially resisted, but he had used his ultimate weapon: polar bear dog eyes.

“All right, but only once. And on the cheek,” she cautioned him.

DAY 25

Sokka had departed two days ago, and Azula hoped that he wouldn’t try to send love letters or anything stupid like that. He should know how it worked by now. Whenever they happened to meet, they would rekindle their affair for the duration of the visit, and then they went their separate ways until their next encounter. Of course, they wouldn’t be able to keep this up forever, but it would be fun while it lasted.

And today…Zuzu and Mai made their triumphant return from their tour.

“Wow,” said Zuko as the two of them stood at the harbor, observing as the last of the debris was carried away. “You and Sokka took care of that whole mess all on your own! Thank you, Azula.” At this point, he obviously knew from experience not to make any comments about her relationship with the nonbender.

“Why do you sound so surprised, brother?” Azula asked, turning toward him and raising an eyebrow. “It’s almost like I am, in fact, a competent ruler and don’t spend all of my days dreaming of bloodshed and destruction! Who would have ever guessed?”

“That’s not what…” Zuko began, but he could say no more as Azula caught him by surprise, got him in a headlock, and began inflicting a merciless noogie on him.

“Admit it, Zuko,” she crowed. “I’m awesome!”

“Okay, I surrender!” he squeaked out. “You’re awesome.”

She released him. “There. That wasn’t so hard, now, was it? Now let’s go get some ice cream.”

And so they did.

#azula #sokka #fanfic #sokkla #sort of #keep in mind that this is a rough draft

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hecohansen31 · 5 years ago

Note

okay but king!michael langdon, hiring a painter to paint him, and the reader arrived, prepared with all their materials. except, michael wants the reader to paint him as he jerks off 🥵🥵🥵

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

Sorry for taking quite some time with this ask!

And before I leave you, I just wanted to denounce myself with saying that this is highly unhistorically accurate, although I just wanted to give some shoutouts to badass Reinassance and Maniersm artist ladies: Sofonisba Angussola, without whom we wouldn’t have Caravaggio and the infamous Artemisia Gentileschi (I have seen live the ‘Judith kills Oloferne’ and let me tell you... IT IS FUCKING GORGEOUS!).

Also the iconography of Michael is taken from ‘San Michael catches from Heaven the fallen angels’ by Domenico Beccafumi,

A lot of women artists were also given by the place I study at, for which I am very proud!

This is all (sorry I just had to give an history lessons, because I love art history!), have a nice reading!

WARNINGS: Historically Inaccurate, Art, Mention of Sex-Masturbation, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism.

Being asked to paint a cardinal was a great honor for your father, no matter how much he tried to dissimulate his talent and his ambition with a soft smile and a wave of hand.

He could think that Rome wasn’t much, but you were enthralled by its beauty, the golden shining and the ruins standing tall no matter how much time had passed.

And then you had met cardinal Michael Borgia, the man who your father would have to portray in his time in Rome, the arriving point of his career, after he had started in a small city in the center of Italy, painting mostly churches and altar paintings.

But for you, it’d be a starting point.

Girls were always supposed to ‘work’ as dutiful mothers and daughters, if not wives, by a certain time, as they grew old enough to bear children, but when your mother had died when you were nothing but a child, your father had grown you as a boy, and as his rightful heir in the artistic surroundings.

He had taken in you as his rightful apprentice, and he had insisted that you followed him to Rome to sketch the cardinal in order for him then to complete the drawing.

You knew that if you did well, your father might even make you direct some of the works in his shop, coordinating with him.

And maybe one day, you’d be the one called in to paint a cardinal.

‘I hope so, little flower’ he had smiled, kissing your forehead before you set up in your small private rooms inside the Borgia palace.

So, you couldn’t help but feel extremely nervous when you had your first sitting with the cardinal, knowing perfectly how haughty cardinals could be, acting as if they owned the place.

And Michael Borgia wasn’t an exception.

He appeared in his red robes, smirking teasingly at you as you bowed at him, although surprise also shone on his face, evidently not used to female painters.

Many weren’t hence why your father hid you.

“Your Sanctity” you uttered breaking the uncomfortable silence as you moved slightly to show him the sitting chair, so that you could go back to hiding yourself behind your canvas, checking the colors and the brushes, till the cardinal coughed lightly to obtain your attention “… is there something wrong, my lord?”.

“I just thought that the great Francesco Savini would have been a man, not a gorgeous woman” you were damnably ashamed by the flush on your cheeks at his compliment.

You weren’t classically beautiful, even less in your work clothes, composed by pants and a light shirt, enough to allow you easier movements, so that you could comfortably paint and give your best.

“… my father is Francesco” you squeaked almost as a little mouse “… I am (Y/N) Savini, and I’ll take the first sketch of you, and then my father will complete the drawing”.

He looked at you curiously as if you were a new toy solely for him.

Ready to be broken.

And the thing made you feel extremely uneasy, although you hid it, backing up further till you hit your own sitting chair.

“… naturally that will be, if you don’t have a problem with me sketching you, monsignore”.

He shook his head lightly, his elegant curls softly catching the light of the first hours of the day, since you had insisted to set yourself up in a room with a huge window when the sun was at its peak in order to be helped in conjuring the man’s unearthly beauty.

Although he wasn’t as famous as his dark brother Cesare, Michael Borgia was known for his heavenly appearance and you could confirm it with the way his hair shone with the natural light and his eyes pierced through you in an almost feline gaze.

Certainly, he had a predatory gaze in them.

“No no, it won’t be a problem” you had expected him to protest, insist that he would like immediately to meet up with your father.

That he couldn’t trust an apprentice.

A woman even more.

But he simply sat down on the chair and you immediately went back to your canvas, sketching the beginning scheme, till you heard again the rustling of robes and thought nothing of it, thinking that the cardinal was simply getting himself comfortable, but the rustling continued and you peaked lightly your head from the canvas.

And found out that he had discarded the upper part of his robe, leaving his chest naked, something which made you open your mouth, at first for surprise but then to take in the lean physique of the beautiful angel.

A painting of your own appeared in your mind, but soon your mouth found the ability to speak and you blurted out.

“… what are you doing, your sanctity?”.

He simply sent you a small smirk, but moved his hand away from the lower robes, something for which you were thankful, because his hips were already distracting enough.

“Hasn’t your father told you about what I asked of him for this portrait?” his tone now was damnably shaming, as if he was talking to someone beneath him “… I asked him to paint me as ‘Saint Michael pushing out of Heaven the rebellious angels’ and if I am not wrong…”.

He had smirked softly then and opened his plump lips to complete the phrase, but you didn’t catch the sound, too focused on the perfect shade of them.

“… angels are naked, aren’t they?”.

Not exactly.

It mostly happened if they were children or if they were simple models.

You, yourself, had studied the human anatomy on model, both males and females, much to your embarrassment, but to paint such a beautiful and powerful man, naked…

… it almost suffocated you.

“… oh yeah… ahem… but not completely naked” ‘please just spare me this’.

“I’ll keep my most intimate bits to myself, don’t worry lady Savini” he promised, and you just took a deep breath, remembering yourself that you just needed to be professional.

If not for your big occasion, to avoid your father any kind of shame.

“Thank you, my lord” you hid behind the canvas, gently relaxing yourself with the thought of your father’s praise “… whenever you are ready let me know and I’ll start”.

“Of course, lady Savini” he had promised with a smart smirk, before rustling of fabric had emptied the awkward silence between you two “… I am ready”.

And again as you had moved to face him, your breath had been stolen by your mouth and although he had indeed kept himself covered with a soft piece of white fabric his entire body was exposed to you and you couldn’t help but blush, again calming your breath with a deep huff before you started to sketch the position, trying to focus on the more technical part of it.

“Have you ever done something like this, lady Savini?” you were used to vases of fruits who didn’t speak so you couldn’t help but be startled as the man behind the canvas spoke to you and you almost made the pencil in your hands fall, grabbing it at the last second.

“… something like what, your sanctity?” you asked unsure, hiding further in yourself, as you traced sudden lines.

“There is no need for such formalities, when you have seen me almost naked, lady Savini” he insisted, although his tone was damnably teasing “… and I mean if you have ever done a portrait or if I am your first”.

The tone with which he had pronounced the words sounded downright sinful and you couldn’t help but blush, nodding almost as if he could see you.

“You are my first” your voice spoke with innocence “… portrait… I haven’t… men don’t take kindly to women ‘stealing their jobs’ “.

You almost wanted to eat back all you had said, but he simply laughed out loud.

“… on that I can agree, lady Savini”.

“Just call me (Y/N)” you mumbled softly, since he had been graceful enough to avoid the formalities and you weren’t exactly a lady “… and I am glad we can see eye to eye”.

“I do think so too” again that sensual smirk, as if his tone had a secretive undertone he was sharing simply with you “… I do like the fact that the person who portrays me has to have my same sense of things”.

“I’ll try to do my best” and then you joked softly, to alleviate the tense air “… and the talent of an artist should also be coordinated with the ability of the model”.

Michael laughed genuinely and you couldn’t help but love that soft laugh, almost scared of being heard.

And then you went back to studying his features, till you had the sketch down to a t, only the face being left outside of your drawing, making you wonder constantly about what you had to do to make it all better.

And Michael caught your uneasiness.

“Is something wrong?” you raised your gaze from the canvas, looking at him in the eyes and wondering what you could change.

“… I am just… I am just having trouble with the face” you hoped he wouldn’t take it as a personal offence, but Michael simply smirked “… I just don’t understand how… I can’t choose which one is the best”.

“… then let me help you”.

And then before you were able to understand what was happening, Michael reached softly under the white fabric, pushing it a bit further up in order for him to touch under the fabric… down there.

In a shameful gesture that looked so free and natural.

“I might have an idea” and even under the fabric you could see his hand tugging himself, in a way that sounded so obscene yet so damnably alive “… shouldn’t he look like he just received the ecstasy of God?”.

You didn’t know what to say, but he just kept on gently pushing his member to swell under the fabric, till its silhouette was visible.

And it made you lose any breath from your lungs.

And your inspiration suddenly spiked up, as your hand found itself on your pencil quickly tracing the gorgeous shape of Michael’s biting lips, and the way his eyes brightened just before darkening as he brought himself over the edge.

And you caught that delicious shapes of his eyebrows scrunching rather ungraciously, although it made the entire painting damnably human and as you shot a look at the canvas…

… you understood it was the best thing you would have ever painted.

#Michael Langdon #Michael Langdon Reader #Michael Langdon x Reader #Michael Langdon Imagine #Michael Langdon Fic #Michael Langdon Ask #Michael Langdon Blurb #Michael Langdon Drabble #Michael Langdon Smut #Smut #Michael Langdon Moodboard #Michael Langdon Writing #AHS Writing #AHS 8 #AHS Apocalypse

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valkyrisffvii · 4 years ago

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Secrets

Setting: Mithra’s apartment in the Shinra Building, Midgar

POV: 3rd person

Summary: Mithra invites Sephiroth over to her home so the new couple can spend time together, and she reveals some of her deepest secrets.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mithra sat on one of the barstools in her kitchen area, mindlessly staring at her phone. She finished cleaning up her apartment earlier to make it look presentable, as Sephiroth was going to be spending the night with her. Apparently, her apartment was nicer than even the 1st class SOLDIER’s, as it was originally a suite for Shinra’s guests.

The two of them had been together for about a week now. Mithra still felt somewhat overwhelmed and in disbelief at the fact, but Sephiroth had reassured her that he loved her and wanted the relationship. Also, thankfully, there were no rules in SOLDIER that forbade dating among members. Additionally, the two of them had agreed that their relationship could become public, as doing such would prevent fangirls from causing problems.

There was a knock at her door, and Mithra quickly hurried over. She peered through the peephole and saw the tall, silver-haired First standing on the other side. Heart racing, she opened the door to let him in.

“Hello, my dear,” his smooth voice did nothing to calm her down. He placed his duffel bag down and pulled Mithra in for a hug. Normally, Sephiroth would never perform such a physical act, but Mithra somehow brought out this side in him. Mithra hugged him back, burying her face into his shoulder.

“Hello, love,” she mumbled into his coat. She leaned up to kiss him, which he gladly accepted. Mithra then led him into her living area.

“Your home is very nice,” he said. “I now understand why Zack and Cloud like to hang out here so much.”

“I do my best to accommodate. I made Zack his own jar of puppy food.”

Sephiroth could not help but crack a small grin; Mithra knew her friends too well. The living area had a television as well as a large couch and a coffee table. The kitchen was in the same room, with a nicely-sized kitchen island that sported several bar stools. Sephiroth spotted several of Angeal’s cookbooks perched on the countertop, showing that Mithra had been borrowing them and experimenting with new recipes.

Mithra opened one of the doors that led out of the living area to reveal the bedroom. Maroon sheets and pillowcases adorned the king-sized bed, and a matching comforter was draped over the foot. Each side had a nightstand with a pink salt lamp, and the nightstand on the left had a caddy with several small items. Opposite of the bed was a full-length window whose curtains were currently drawn.

“You can leave your bag there.” Mithra gestured to the dresser against the wall next to the door. “The left side of the bed is my side. I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the right side.” She paused, getting nervous again. “Unless you don’t feel comfortable sleeping next to me, then you could sleep-”

Sephiroth shushed her.

“Relax, love. I’ll be more than comfortable sharing a bed with you. I’m sure your bed will be much warmer with me in it.” He winked at her, inciting a giggle from the now-relaxed Second. As she helped him get settled, Mithra could not help but adore the way Sephiroth could both fluster her to the point of blushing and instantly relax her all in the same breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The evening had consisted of the two talking about their lives and gossiping about their friends. Mithra cooked them dinner with the help of Angeal’s cookbooks, and, unlike the times she cooked with Zack, the kitchen stayed relatively clean. They also played chess, which Sephiroth won every single time. Mithra and Sephiroth only grew closer during that time. She had always known that they were more similar than she originally thought, having no clue who their parents were and being mostly solitary in their youth. It almost seemed like they were meant to be together.

It was 9 PM when they both decided to get ready for bed. Mithra showed Sephiroth to her luxurious bathroom, which sported separate shower, whirlpool spa, and toilet rooms that both connected to a vanity and sink area. Not even the prestigious 1st Class SOLDIERs had this amenity.

“I know that you’ll be taking a while with that hair of yours, so I’ll go and shower first.” Mithra gathered her clothes and went into the shower room, finishing her shower within five minutes. She changed into her preferred sleepwear which consisted of a sports bra and shorts, and she went back into the bedroom where Sephiroth was sitting on the bed.

“You look quite adorable,” he said playfully, which resulted in an equally playful punch in the arm. He pretended to be hurt and chuckled as he went into the bathroom to shower.

Ten minutes had passed, and knowing that her boyfriend would be taking a while, Mithra went to the bathroom and opened up the small skincare refrigerator that sat safely on a vanity away from the sinks. She applied her toner and creams, considering asking Sephiroth if he was interested in trying out one of her mud masks sometime. As she walked back to her bedroom, she failed to notice the large, slippery puddle that a certain someone had dripped in the middle of the floor.

“Fuuuck!” she cried as her feet slid up from underneath her. Luckily, before she could collapse on the floor, a strong pair of hands saved her by catching her under her arms. Instead of laying flat on her back on the floor, Mithra’s body was now propped up by her heels and her rescuer.

Mithra opened her eyes and looked up to see her silver-haired lover who currently sported the most smug face she’d ever seen. To add to her embarrassment, the only thing covering him was a white towel wrapped securely around his hips. She could feel the heat rising in her face as she gained her footing and looked away. Sephiroth stepped in front of her, smiling at how cute she looked. She looked up and was met face to face with a broad, naked chest, which she could not take her eyes off of. She was snapped out of her trance when she felt his velvety lips press against her forehead.

“Sephy! Why are you walking around and leaving puddles everywhere?” she cried. “Go dry yourself off and put on some clothes while I clean up the mess you made!”

“You know, I could use my towel to wipe the floor...”

“No!” Mithra practically shoved him back into the shower room and went to mop up the puddles, all while fighting the urge to peek in on him getting dressed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After she had wrung out her mop and left it out to dry, Mithra headed back to her bedroom and sat on her side of the bed. She laid back against the pillows as she doodled on her tablet with her prized stylus. Drawing proved itself to be a favorite pastime of hers. It helped her relax and unwind in between missions and long training sessions with Angeal. She had drawn portraits for all her friends, which they appreciated immensely.

Mithra was currently working on yet another sketch of Sephiroth. She knew that she was falling for him when she found herself drawing him over and over, constantly trying to get more and more accurate with her portrayal of the famous SOLDIER. Having spent plenty of time with him lately, she basically had his entire face memorized.

The bathroom door opened, and Mithra turned her head to see Sephiroth standing there. His hair still laid flat on his head with dampness, and he had slipped on a pair of black sweatpants, leaving his bare chest exposed. Mithra could not help but crack a small smile at him. He came over to sit next to her, peering at her tablet and the drawing she worked on.

“Drawing me again, aren’t you?” He asked teasingly. He looked more closely at Mithra’s work, his eyes sparkling.

“I’ll probably be drawing you a lot more, my dear,” Mithra responded, looking up at him and getting lost in his minty-green eyes. She noticed that his usual slit pupils had dilated slightly, now resembling ellipses. Before he had confessed his feelings towards her, Mithra had rarely seen him look at anything with the amount of love and adoration he currently exhibited. He was always so serious and dedicated to his work. He chuckled in response to her statement.

“If you ever want me to model for you, I’d be honored.”

“Remind me to bring my pen and tablet when we go to Costa Del Sol,” she laughed, placing her items down and scooting herself in between his legs with her back resting on his chest. Sephiroth wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace, burying his face in her hair. He then leaned back against the headboard and began to mindlessly fiddle with Mithra’s short brown locks, a stark contrast to his long silver mane.

As she shifted her head, he noticed something peculiar under her hair right behind her right ear. He pushed the hair aside to reveal a long, raised scar that marred her skin from right behind the tip of her ear to about halfway down her neck. He could not stop staring at it as his finger went to trace along it, causing Mithra to cease her movements.

“How did you get this scar?” He asked curiously. Mithra did not respond, as thoughts of how she’d explain its story swam in her head. Even though it had been so many years since that event, the memory was still fresh in her mind. It was one of the things that made her hate her life in the slums, and how glad she was to have been able to find a new life at Shinra.

“Mithra?” She turned slightly so she could look at Sephiroth from the corner of her eye, and her scar was still fully visible to him.

“I got it when I was sixteen. I was in the slums and I was leaving a bar because I had to return a stolen item to a client,” she explained. Sephiroth only stared at the mutilated skin, running his thumb along the length of the healed scar. “I was just outside the entrance when a man reeking of booze grabbed my arm and told me I looked pretty. He asked me if I was interested in having some fun with him; he was obviously trying to get me to sleep with him. I refused and tried to pull away, and he eventually got so mad that he slammed his half-empty bottle into my head. He aimed for the right side of my face, but I was quick, so it ended up hitting me behind the ear.” Her hand came up to meet his. “It still hurt like a bitch though. If I didn’t jerk my head I probably would’ve gotten glass in my eye and gone blind on that side.”

Sephiroth only looked at her in horror. How could someone do that, and to a sixteen year old no less? He concealed the anger and hatred he felt towards that man; Mithra was most likely safe from him for good now, but that wouldn’t stop Sephiroth from killing the offender if he dared to show his face. By now, Mithra had turned around to face him, her hands on his shoulders.

“I know what you’re thinking. I give you full permission to impale him with Masamune if you see him. I still vaguely remember what he looks like.” She paused to reach behind her ear and touch her scar.

“Experiences like that one are what taught me all the skills I’ve needed to survive. After I staggered from the pain, I ran for my life. It wasn’t until a year later that I had the courage to leave when I knew that I had had enough,” she sighed, looking down. “I had to hide from several people who were angered by my refusal to submit to them. That’s how I became so good at staying in the shadows and being undetectable. Well, my job as a thief helped me also.”

By now, she felt like she had said too much. Mithra hung her head, afraid to see her lover’s facial expression. His hand came under her chin and gently forced her to look at him, just like how it did when he kissed her a week ago. She stared into his eyes and swallowed thickly.

“Mithra,” he began, “I am so sorry that you had to experience that. I did not know that your skills were the results of such traumatic events.” He pulled her in for a tight hug, her head buried in his neck and his hand stroking her hair.

“You are such a strong person. I have seen the compassion you exhibit and the hard work you put into everything you do. You have overcome so much adversity, yet you still have a kind heart.” He pulled away slightly to caress her cheek, looking into her eyes yet again.

“I love you so much, Mithra, and I promise that I will do everything within my ability to protect you. If anyone tries to hurt you, they will have to go through me first.” By now, Mithra was blinking back tears of love and adoration. She slammed her lips against his in a long, passionate kiss, her arms wrapped around his neck and his arms around her waist. She knew he was the one for her, and he knew it too. They separated for air, resting their foreheads together.

“Sephy, you were the first man to catch my eye and the first man I fell in love with. I will always be by your side,” she said, her voice full of raw emotions. By now, there was an evident sleepiness in her voice, and, despite trying her best to look at him, her eyes were drooping. Sephiroth chuckled and kissed her nose in thanks.

“Someone is falling asleep. Why don’t we call it a night?” Mithra nodded eagerly, turning off the lamps. Sephiroth laid on his back, extending an arm to her. She happily nestled against him, her head on his bare chest. She could hear the calming rhythm of his heart beating. His arm came to wrap around her waist, and she tangled her legs with his. Peaceful slumber overcame her almost immediately, and her mouth was frozen in a small smile.

“Good night, my love,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. He soon drifted off as well, looking forward to what the future held for the both of them.

#couple goals #ooc #fanfiction #mithra valkyris #sephiroth #mithroth #all seph really needs is a girlfriend #final fantasy vii #myriad of mithra #also just imagine sephy in a towel

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rena-rain · 5 years ago

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Evidence for ADHD Marinette

Marinette has some tendencies in the show - that she does over and over again - that scream ADHD to me. Obviously I can’t cite every single instance in the show that points toward that, but here are some examples of ADHD traits/symptoms Marinette repeatedly exhibits on screen.

Forgetfulness, Time Management

Forgetting things. A hallmark of ADHD.

Let’s look at Timebreaker. Mari was all set to do her homework and wait for her parents’ client, completely forgetting that she was supposed to bring a banner for a race between her friends Kim and Alix - across town. Alya calling her at all didn’t even remind her, she had to be told explicitly what was happening before she remembered. Then proceeded to freak out because she’d accidentally made two commitments at the same time.

Marinette completely spaced on the race, even though it was important to her, because there was something else right in front of her: homework, her parents’ anniversary, and the Eiffel Tower cake. She was then certain that she could make it to the race and still be back at the bakery to meet Mrs. Chamack - which was a resounding NOT for anyone who watched the episode. The only way she got away with it was by literally being in two places at once. ADHD often comes with a bad sense of time, so while 20 minutes probably felt like enough time to Marinette it passed way more quickly than anticipated.

Forgetfulness, Distractability

Ah, another instance of Alya reminding Mari of her plans. In this case she’d lost track of time because of the Adrien ad playing on a loop on her computer - to the point that she was still not dressed even though all her friends were out and about (including the ones waiting for her at the pool).

As soon as she realized she was very late, Mari grabbed her stuff and sprinted out of her house without changing out of her pajamas. Even when Tikki told her she was forgetting something she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion - although she may very well have forgotten both her swim suit and to change.

Impulsivity, Creativity

Marinette improvises all the time. And she has a habit of diving headfirst into dangerous, crazy plans. The girl was facing down a T. Rex headfirst in Animan, and when she got her lucky charm her weird, creative problem-solving skills told her to jump into its mouth and jam it open.

In general, I think her use of the lucky charms indicates a wild creativity that’s characteristic of ADHD. Current research shows a very high correlation between ADHD and creative personalities, and Dr. William Dodson (who has been studying ADHD for 25 years) has found that “by the time most people with the condition reach high school, they are able to tackle problems that stump everyone else, and can jump to solutions that no one else saw.”

Marinette exhibits this surprising and unorthodox problem solving when she spots a series of seemingly unrelated objects that will somehow end the fight. Take Copycat for example. She got a freaking SPOON and she decided to make it into a homemade fishing rod to hoist the fake Chat Noir into the air by his belt. WHAT EVEN

more Impulsivity

Even before she got comfortable in her skin-tight supersuit, Marinette did demonstrate an inclination to take impulsive risks in the origins episode. Master Fu tested her by deliberately walking in front of a moving car to see if she’d save him.

There was no hesitation here. She saw Fu, saw the car, and immediately ran out to pull him to safety. The whole thing happened in a few seconds. Obviously this action was motivated by her inherent kindness; she didn’t do a dangerous thing because it was dangerous. Plenty of good people (none of whom seemed to be at the crosswalk that day, they all noticed nothing) would have wanted to do something but hesitated, or not reacted in time.

Not Marinette. While she was clearly scared for him, the high stakes of the situation didn’t faze her; she just acted instinctively. According to Dr. Dale Archer, ADHD brains do well under pressure, because high-stress situations get the dopamine flowing and those levels make them snap to attention.

Time Management, Impulsivity (again)

In Lady Wifi, Marinette ran into class late for no indicated reason, something she does frequently (and only sometimes it’s because of Ladybug duties) to the point where her chronic tardiness becomes a running gag. This is an extension of her inability to judge time accurately as discussed above.

Also demonstrated in this episode, ADHD’ers will often have outbursts and accidentally say things without thinking. Upon learning what happened to Alya from Nino, she lost control and shouted “What?!?!?!” not once, but TWICE. It could also allude to emotional dysregulation (a less-known ADHD symptom) because she was unable to keep her emotional reactions to her friend getting in trouble under control.

Hyperfixation, Emotional Dysregulation

Hey, remember when Marinette was so absorbed in that Adrien ad that she forgot about her friends and her clothes? I think the Adrien video hit her with a double whammy, because she’s deeply infatuated with him and this new thing about the guy she likes ensnared her attention.

So Marinette is obsessed with Adrien, right? I’m sure most of us would fawn over a new ad starring our crush-who’s-also-a-model. But she has a one-track mind when it comes to him. Hyperfixation is an extremely intense obsession and focus on a subject, and I think her crush can qualify because it tends to dominate her life and attention. While many things may be difficult for Marinette to maintain focus on, ADHD is great for focusing on things that are interesting, challenging, and new. So when that beautiful ad showed up, this new thing related to her fixation pushed all the happy dopamine buttons in her brain. She obviously finds Adrien interesting because she’s interested in him, and she keeps trying to get him to notice her romantically and that’s definitely a challenge.

If you’d like/need another example of Marinette hyperfixating on something, I give you: fashion. Okay, maybe that’s more of a passion than a fixation, but the episode Mr. Pigeon DID give us a hyperfocusing Marinette when she spent hours and hours on end designing and making the derby hat for Gabriel Agreste’s competition.

Moving on to emotional dysregulation. We’ve seen Marinette overreact to Alya being mistreated in Lady Wifi. Even casual watchers of Miraculous will know that Marinette has similarly powerful reactions to feelings and events concerning Adrien. I can’t even begin to count the number of times she's screamed around him.

Remember that time she publicly yelled at Lila in Volpina? Her jealousy and annoyance at her lies completely dictated her decisions here and she went way overboard - as Adrien was quick to tell her. She laid into her. NOT normal behavior for Marinette when she has her head on straight. Tikki sure wasn’t supportive of Marinette using Ladybug like this.

Tikki also wasn’t too pleased when she used her lucky charm to break up Adrien and Chloe slow dancing at his birthday party. This is another time her jealousy overtook her.

And one more little overreaction here. In Copycat, Marinette was totally spiraling in true melodramatic fashion about the consequences of stealing a phone. She imagined a life sentence. This is characteristic of how ADHD’ers often have trouble regulating emotions, leading to overblown responses to various stressors. Is it just me, or does she get particularly worked up when she’s fantasizing (both good and bad)?

I can’t find a picture for it, but another time Marinette was reacting very strongly to a predicament was in Mr. Pigeon when she paced back and forth, flipping through her sketchbook, and ranted at Alya about how difficult a derby hat design would be. She was pretty disheartened by her lack of immediate inspiration; she was even curled up on the bench dejectedly while Alya tried to help her.

It’s also worth mentioning that she totally ran into a wall after Adrien complimented her drawings.

I could add more, but this post is already basically an essay and I think you get the point. If you share the ADHD Marinette headcanon do please add any examples you think of!

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one-boring-person · 4 years ago

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Unexpected Resistance. (Part Three)

The Terminator (1984) x OC

Warnings: gun usage, violence, death

Context: The T-750 and the T-800 have a brief encounter.

A/N: I apologise for taking so long to update this! I will try to write more of it in a shorter span of time so that it's not so stilted, so please bear with me 😅💛

Edited and Co-written by: @jawline-of-steel

Masterlist

Sarah winces as she watches the T-750 break yet another pair of handcuffs, the cyborg easily snapping each metal loop off from around her wrists, dropping them to the floor and returning her hands to her sides, standing rigidly once more. The policemen surrounding her frown and murmur amongst themselves, one of them going to lock her up once more, forcefully lifting her hands into position behind her, cuffing them together tightly. Emotionlessly, the terminator simply breaks free again, staring at the men around her as they go to draw their weapons, her eyes momentarily fixing on the detective, who has called out to them to stand down.

From across the room, the T-750 makes eye contact with Sarah, keeping a constant visual on her target so that she doesn't miss anything, as is her directive. Her HUD registers a minor threat from the officers around her, but she follows the orders given previously by Sarah, which stated that attack is not a viable option. Flashes of data appear on the display, her inner CPU processing this at lightning speed, informing her system of everything that is occurring, providing accurate information on all necessary happenings in the room. With no real source of information regarding Kyle Reese, the T-750 is left to make the conclusion of his temporary safety, or capture at the hands of the humans in the police station. None of them, however, are willing to reveal his whereabouts or his current status. Considering this, the logical process of data that follows this acknowledgment is then as to the whereabouts of the pursuer coming after her primary objectives. Once again, white lines of text and encrypted data flood the HUD, the processors deciphering it and creating a realistic outline of the T-800's possible movements. A new directive is formed: locate and subdue the target.

Returning to the present, the T-750 registers that her target has moved away into another room, leaving no visual for the Terminator to track. Keeping a blank expression, the cyborg begins moving forwards, aiming for the door at the far end of the room, which has the highest possibility of being the chosen exit route for Sarah. Almost instantly, the cops around her jump into action, pulling their weapons and levelling them at her, one of them demanding that she stop, though the words go unregistered as orders in the T-750's CPU, the lack of obedience to this man meaning that she simply pushes him out of the way.

Just as she does this, a deafening crash echoes up the hallways, the sounds of splintering wood and tumbling bricks, as well as smashing glass and squealing metal all mixing into one crescendo of noise. The T-750's head snaps round, visual processors fixed on the origin of the disruption, the registered threat-level on her HUD spiking when gunshots begin to tear through the shocked silence that has filled the room. A new course of action is swiftly planned on her display, changing her route of travel so that she is now headed directly towards the point of conflict, where screams and cries of pain are now very audible.

Stepping out into the hall, her head rotates from side to side to determine the most efficient path. Her body turns in accordance and she begins striding down the corridor to her left, easily catching up to a police officer who is running in the same direction, an automatic assault rifle clutched in his hands. Firmly, she takes it from him, ignoring the shout of protest as she continues on, cocking the weapon with practiced efficiency, taking off the safety and placing a finger over the trigger. Returning all priority to the corridor ahead of her, the T-750 moves towards the ever-increasing sound of gunshots and screams, barely registering the sudden lack of clear light as the overhead bulbs are compromised, a new line of code flashing across her HUD:

_COMBAT_MODE_ENGAGED_:_AWAITING_TARGET_IDENTIFICATION_

As this function is activated, all secondary objectives are fazed out of her immediate recall system, only primary directives registering as important and referrable. Statistics for the rifle in her hands appear to the left of her vision, probability for success showing on the right, though this is mostly neutral at present, due to the largely unknown identity of the current threat. Turning a corner, however, she soon corrects this.

Bodies are strewn through this new hallway, blood pooling around them all as they lay there, some still alive, barely, breaths ragged and pained, eyes wide and terrified. A sparking circuit box is set into the wall a little way away, the door torn off and the wires emitting sharp cracks of electricity every few seconds, the systems evidently having short-circuited due to an overload of energy. The T-750 observes this and moves on, stepping over whimpering men as they clutch at her boots, hoping either to stop her walking into certain death, or to get help from her, neither of which she has any inclination of abiding to.

The gun clicks in her hands as she lifts it a little, prepared to shoot at the unknown threat as she rounds another corner, her visual sensors honing in on one particular person standing at the end of the corridor.

_TARGET_ACQUIRED_

The words are quick to register before she has depressed her finger on the trigger, bullets ripping from the muzzle of the deadly weapon. They tear into the back of her target, holes appearing in the tight leather of the coat. The wearer spins on his heel to address the source of this new attack, guns raised in an offensive manner. As his processors register the T-750, however, the T-800 pauses momentarily, his HUD having performed a automatic scan for hidden threat, her cybernetic nature is revealed to him instantly. In this brief moment, the other cyborg fires off another round of bullets, the damage registering on his display as minor, though the attack does catch his CPU off guard, due to the unexpected attack from a seemingly allied opponent.

Lifting his weapons, he shoots back at her, aiming to disable the other cyborg so that he may decipher what has influenced the programming of her CPU, every shot levelled at her abdomen, where there are no vital energy cells, so as not to induce permanent damage. As is usual with the terminators, she does not flinch or show any recognition of pain, maintaining a continuous onslaught of bullets, creating some more serious damage to his left shoulder, though the cybernetic joints of the limb are left intact due to their ability to deflect the majority of these aged bullets. Humans in the future were quick to realise that regular bullets have no impact on the killing machines, as the ammunition just crushes itself against the hyper-alloy endoskeletons.

The T-800 begins walking down the corridor towards the inferior model, shielded eyes fixed on her as he continues to shoot, only tossing aside the weapons when they run out of ammo. At this point, her own rifle seems to deplete it's rounds, the gun now in the process of being reloaded until the cyborg realises that her opponent is too close for firearm usage in any case. Throwing the gun down, she moves to meet the T-800 half way, expression as blank as his. Internally, the T-800 tracks the distance between them; six metres, five metres, four metres…

At three and half metres, he notices her remove a glove, the movement slow and calculated, the revealed hand turning to conceal itself slightly, closing into a fist so that he cannot determine anything from its current state.

At two point seven-five metres, he has formulated his own course of action.

The two lunge at each other, the T-800 grasping the smaller model's arms and throwing her to the side as his sunglasses go flying from his face to reveal missing skin and flesh around his eye, the sphere of metal now fully visible. Her body smashes into the wall, a large dent appearing in it as she slides to the floor, the T-750 attempting to get back up again, only to be picked up by her enemy and slung into the opposing wall again, the sound unbearably loud as support beams and bricks crack and falter under the immense weight. Scrambling to regain control of the situation, the female cyborg rolls onto her back and kicks out at the approaching killer, only to find her leg caught in a vice-like grip. Effortlessly, the T-800 uses this hold on her to swing her round into the wall once more, before bending down to pick her up by the throat, slamming her up against the very surface he just threw her into.

"Your model is registered under Skynet files as a decommissioned series. You have no place here." The T-800 states emotionlessly, face remaining unchanged.

"Your files are correct, I am a decommissioned series, but my mission parameters state that I must be in this time period, and so your secondary statement is incorrect." She responds, tonelessly, one hand coming up to grasp at the arm holding her captive.

"What is your mission? There is no record of any second Skynet model required for this objective."

"I am not a Skynet operative. I am a Resistance soldier."

The T-800's expression doesn't change, but his HUD begins running through every possible reason for this new response.

"That is not possible. You are Skynet technology." He finally states, tightening his grip around her throat.

"You are incorrect. It is entirely possible. I was developed and recreated by Skynet, but was captured and reprogrammed by the Resistance. I am no longer required to obey Skynet orders." As she says this, a sudden commotion interrupts them.

Both heads snap round, visual processors fixing on Kyle and Sarah as they stumble round the corner, only to come to an abrupt halt when they see the two cyborgs. Instantly, the T-800's targeting sensors flash in recognition, prompting a need to move on his located target, his grip tightening considerably around the T-750's throat, feeling her no longer useful to him.

"Leave the building. Now!" The inferior model suddenly calls out to them, her own mission objectives kicking in, "Get out of the city as quickly as possible! I will find you!"

The two humans nod, eyes wide as they race off back down the corridor, the T-800 going to follow, only for his head to be grabbed by the T-750, one of her hands on either side of his face. HUD flashing, he is forced to turn to her, his display registering a sudden pressure at the base of his right ear, minor damage appearing as she digs a finger into the vulnerable spot. His CPU finally works out what is happening and engages his defence mode, his grip constricting around her throat more.

The exposed metal finger of the T-750 pierces the soft skin, entering the port just below the endoskeleton's upper jaw joint. A transmission of electricity crosses between them, the identical charge of this energy neutralizing the superior model's own impulses, causing a system-wide temporary shutdown.

The T-800's eye widen minutely.

#terminator imagine #terminator 1984 #terminator #arnold schwarzenegger #linda hamilton #michael biehn #t-800

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ittybittywordsmith · 4 years ago

Text

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

August 2nd, 2014 — the 43rd anniversary of the death of Leon Reynolds.

This day was always the hardest. Even as it had gotten easier, even as time had done its sacred duty and healed her wounds, it was still the hardest day of the whole year. Aurora preferred to take the day to herself. Her children would have accompanied her, if she had allowed it — Circe knew that they, perhaps even more so that herself, deserved that right, but they respected their mother's wishes for peace and tranquility. Sometimes others would be there when she arrived, or would join her shortly after, but over the years, they had all dropped away quietly. All but one. But today — today Aurora could see no one waiting for her. That was fine. Some conversations were best had in private, were they not? The August air was warm as Aurora walked through the grounds of Elysium, the light breeze whistling softly through the lush green grass that surrounded tombstones and grave markers. Elysium was a beautiful place, for a cemetery. It wasn't where Aurora would have wanted her husband to be buried, but Leon had been an American hero as well as a wizarding spy, and it turned out national security still took priority in her husband's life, even after death. It took her several minutes of walking by names that had grown so familiar to her over the years, she could recite them off the tip of her tongue without ever having seen the faces they belonged to. Men and women who all died around the same time, who all gave their lives and sometimes their deaths for their people and their countries. Aurora had never learned their stories. She didn't need to. They each had their own to mourn them, after all, and she'd had her fill of tragedy without adopting theirs. So Aurora continued to walk, until she found the headstone she'd been visiting for more years than she'd even been married.

Leon Reynolds. December 9th, 1937 - August 2nd, 1971. Beloved friend, husband, and father. A hero to us all. A sigh escaped Aurora's lips — the same sigh she had been carrying around in her chest for the last forty-three years, it felt like — and she folded her hands across her abdomen. "Hello, darling. I know it's been awhile. . ."

When Aurora was twelve, she met Leon Reynolds for the first time, in a tussle with her eldest brother on the streets outside her family estate. Leon was a strange boy — grubby and skinny, with a touch of wildness about him that called to something deeper inside her. Aurora chased off her brother before he could do too much damage to this strange wild boy, and together, they ran so fast that Aurora thought her feet might very well lift right off the ground without the help of a broom at all. And just like that, he became her strange wild boy, and if her brother ever wanted to knock him to the ground again, he had to go through her.

"The children are doing well. I knew you'd want to know." Aurora spoke conversationally as she pulled the bouquet of dying flowers from the vase that had been sitting in front of her husband's gravestone for more than a decade now. The flowers had once been lovely, with large white petals — daisies, perhaps, although she didn't have an intimate enough knowledge of flowers to be certain — but they had wilted long ago, the petals beginning to curl into a dry and dismal brown. Aurora had no idea who had brought them here. Not herself, she was reasonably certain, but it could have easily been Celeste or Castor, or any of the number of random individuals she'd met throughout the years that had attributed their lives or their loved ones' lives to some action or another of Leon Reynolds. Aurora had never tried to keep track of them — the grief had been hard enough, back then, without the reminder that there were absolute strangers who knew more about that part of her husband's life than she did. "Celeste is still drawing star charts, though I find myself wondering if she will give it up any day now. New Orleans was a good place for her to settle — bright and vivacious, just like her, and just like you, really — but now that the children are all readying to leave the nest, I can see her growing antsy." Aurora twirled her wand around the vase, conjuring a new bouquet of deep red roses yet to bloom. She gave the flowers a tap, and a charm to extend their limited shelf life shimmered over the petals. It was a tidy bit of spellwork — if there was anything Aurora had learned by spending half her life in a school, it was how to keep her magic tidy. "If that husband of hers isn't careful, she'll drag him out to Timbuktu before he even knows what hit him." Aurora pulled a cloth from within her robes and began to wipe the dust from the vase. "Meanwhile Castor has thrown himself into his astrolabes. He seems to think he's on the verge of developing a new model that will nearly double how far we can project accurate astrological readings. I swear, that boy sends me a new letter about it twice a week. He's considering seeking a new patent for it." Aurora clicked her tongue and shook her head as she adjusted the vase, centering it against the headstone. She tilted her head just slightly for a moment, considering, before she gave a small, self-satisfied smile. "Still — our son, the inventor of a new and improved way to read our universe? Wouldn't that be something."

When Aurora was fifteen, she was in love with Leon Reynolds. Despite being two years older, that Reynolds boy was as good as Aurora's shadow, or so whispered the teachers at school. Aurora didn't mind. Leon still had a wildness to him, and being near it reminded Aurora that there was more to her than star charts and ink stains and her mother's expectations. Her greatest fear was June, when he would leave her behind in these cold stone walls forever, whatever he promised about summers and letters to be sent. But no matter how slow time seems, it never stops, and the day came and went. Aurora kissed him after he crossed the graduation stage before she let him go. A few days later she returned to her home estate and waited on the humid streets just outside, but her strange wild boy didn't come back that day, or for a very long time.

"The grandchildren are all growing like weeds — I'm sure you're not surprised, but still, it manages to catch me off guard all the time, and I see them more often than most grandmothers can claim, I think." Aurora had moved on to dusting the headstone herself. There was no need, really — either magically or otherwise, Elysium was well maintained, gravestones included — but still, it made Aurora feel better. Like there was something she could still do for her late husband. "You would be proud. Little Fae is busy working for Spirito Santo. Jeanne Marie is off putting her chaotic energy to professional use — much to Celeste's relief. I thought maybe she'd worry herself into an ulcer there for a little while. You'd think she'd have more sympathy now for how difficult it was when she was a teenager, but Celeste doesn't seem to enjoy the irony." Aurora smiled to herself as she brushed away a fallen leaf from a corner of the headstone. "Then again, I remember you used to get a little surly too, whenever I was right. And she certainly is your daughter." It was almost funny, how personality traits like that could manifest on their own. Celeste was her father's daughter, and Castor his father's son, but between them they could hardly manage a single coherent memory of Leon Reynolds. "Castor's twins graduated school this year. Calypso's ready to go out and grab the world by the horns — clever as the devil and twice as pretty, that one is. She looks so much like my mother, have I ever told you that? And Cassiopeia is going into professional quodpot. Do you remember the fights that you and Orion used to get into? You swore up and down that quodpot was the world's most useless sport — but oh, darling, how you would change your tune if you could see your granddaughter in the sky now. She's a natural — that part, at least, I'm certain she didn't get from you." Aurora sighed again, and pulled away from the headstone. It was perfectly clean now — had been clean in the first place, if that were something she was willing to admit, but now there wasn't anything Aurora could even pretend to tidy. "The others are still in school. Auriga, and Lucian, and Aquila. Even little Fox will start in a week or two. But before you know it, I'll be here again in a blink of the eye, telling you about how they're all making their way into the world themselves, young and proud and full of life. Like you and I did, not so long ago. Time is funny that way, isn't it?"

When Aurora was eighteen, she found Leon Reynolds mulling around the streets outside her family estate, casual as sin and waiting for her like it was just any other summer day from their childhood. Like there hadn’t been almost four years of absence, of grief and yearning and silence between them. Aurora had slapped him, quick and hard as she could manage, a burst of wildness that had suddenly returned to her after vanishing without a trace more than three years ago. She’d pushed him away — and then just as quickly, pulled him back, wanting nothing more than for her strange wild boy to make up for the years he should have spent touching her.

"They would have come, if they could. Celeste and Castor, perhaps even the grandchildren, if someone had asked them. If I had asked. But I didn't. I hope you'll forgive me." Aurora closed her tired eyes and took a deep breath. This was always the most difficult part — when she ran out of things to do, of things to distract her from the fact that she was standing in front of her husband's grave. In other years, she would have taken her leave at this point — but not this year. She still had more to say. "I don't quite know when I got this old," Aurora admitted to the headstone, the echo of a mirthless laugh in her voice. "Castor and Celeste have started to worry when I do things on my own — have started to worry, even, of my living in the school, as if I didn't have an entire army of house elves at my beck and call. And for this — I thought Castor was going to insist on accompanying me, really, but I suspect his wife talked him out of it. Perhaps that is selfish of me, not to bring your children here to see you. But they know where you are, and how to get here, and are perfectly competent in doing so on their own, I imagine. And you and I — well, they say parents need to take time to themselves too, don't they?" It wasn't a funny remark, not even to Aurora, but if Leon were actually here, and not merely a stone in the ground, she knew he would have smiled. "Mostly, I wanted to speak to you in private. To say the things that I have only been saying to myself for the past several years. I know you can't answer — I am not so aged out of my own wits as to expect a talking headstone — but. . . you can still listen. After everything you put me through, Leon Reynolds, you owe me this much."

When Aurora was twenty-two, her younger brother died. Little Altair, who in truth hadn’t been any smaller than Aurora herself, and only two years her junior. But he had always been clever, far too clever for his own good. His own cleverness had been his downfall — it had led to overachievement, and then to boredom, and then to experimentation. As it turned out, drugs didn’t care about cleverness, and in the end, the overdose won out. Aurora stood alone at the funeral while her elder brother supported their mother, and when Leon Reynolds showed up late to the wake, he hadn’t tried to stop her from yelling or shoving or crying. He simply waited until she wore herself out, and then offered her an escape — to run away with him, to marry him, to live with him in New York where the rest of his new life was waiting. Aurora loved her family and her home, but it was broken now, and maybe she loved her strange wild boy more, so she went.

"Did you know?" The breeze picked up into a short gust at her question, like the air itself could sense her agitation. Aurora didn't even know exactly what she was asking. Had Leon known — what, exactly? That he had sired a child on some nameless woman on another continent? That his child would one day go on to wreak the worst destruction magical America had seen in decades? That Aurora would one day be summoned to the presence of the Director of Magical Security and asked with pitying eyes whether she could identify her husband as the father of another woman's child? She shook with her rage and indignation, but closed her eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. Her anger wasn't the point here. "Would you have told me, if you'd had the chance? I can't imagine you had the opportunity. They say he's a little younger than Castor, and when you left, Castor wasn't — well, I suppose that hardly matters. Because I don't think you would have told me. You never wanted to tell me things, when they were hard. You always ran away when things were difficult, and blamed it on your job, your unknowable life that I could never be a part of, and I always took you back. Did you think I wouldn't have taken you back after this? You were probably right, but that doesn't make you any less of a Circe-fucked coward over it." Aurora bit down hard on her lip and looked away, trying to reign in her anger. It took her several long seconds before she could continue in a more controlled voice. "I didn't tell them." Castor and Celeste, she'd meant, and the grandchildren in turn. Hadn't told them about their father's betrayal, about Scott James sliding a picture before her and explaining that the man who had just struck such a blow against their nation had come about as part of her husband's infidelity. "How could I tell them? I raised them to idolize you, damn you. I told them you were a hero. And what's worse, I believed it. I let it dictate my life. The impossible standard of Leon Reynolds, war hero. Martyr. Love of my life. And now what have you left me with in my final days? Leon Reynolds, traitor. Adulterer. Liar." Aurora spat the words, feeling her rage draw tears to her eyes, but she didn't dare cry. She had never cried when she and Leon fought — only after he was gone, and had left her to pick up the pieces of her life alone, as she always did. "And of course, in a true coward's fashion, you went and died, and don't even have to deal with the consequences of this mess you've made. Damn you."

When Aurora was twenty-nine, she and Leon had a fight that would haunt her for the rest of her life. She had always hated this career of his, no matter what Leon preached about truth and justice and serving his country. She loathed this agency that had swept her strange wild boy away from her before he’d taken more than two steps from the graduation stage, that continued to take him away from her night after night, week after week. The nights when he returned home to her were the easiest — all she could remember was how she loved him, how she missed him, how to get lost in him, and after Celeste, the sounds of him murmuring stories in the dark as he tucked her into bed filled Aurora with a contentment that felt like it would never fade. But inevitably the nights when he would leave would come — those were the hardest. The incessant tapping of the owl at the window, and the feeling inside her heart as she watched him walk away into the night. Once, she fought back and asked him to stay — for her, for their daughter, for their growing family. The back and forth grew so loud, Aurora thought it would wake Celeste, and by the time the man who had once been her cherished strange wild boy strode into the night, she was not sorry to see him go, and not sorry that she didn’t tell him about the subtle swell of her belly.

"But do you know what I think I'm most angry about, Leon?" Aurora had grown quiet in her words, so intent was she on this lifeless gray headstone before her. A flock of hippogriffs could have begun mating rituals just behind her, and she wouldn't have noticed. No, she needed to have it out between her and her husband — even if he did quite conveniently happen to be dead. "If we put the lying, and the cheating, and the fact that you apparently fathered a mass murderer aside — I think what I'm most angry about is that you never did live up to your promise. Do you remember it, darling? I was standing in a cemetery just like this, after Altair. . . and you said that we could make a life worth living together. But we didn't, did we? I made it. We made Celeste, and Castor, but you were never there for them. You were never there for me. All those promises, and what did you ever give me? A lonely house, a cold bed, and an ugly headstone." How many years had Aurora wanted to say such an unthinkable thing out loud? All those years she had let those thoughts fester with the guilt inside of her. Not anymore. Not after this. Leon Reynolds, Circe rest his soul, did not deserve her guilt. "I love you," Aurora Belmont Reynolds whispered into the warm August air. "And I miss you. But the thing is, my darling — I missed you before you were dead."

When Aurora was thirty, an unfamiliar man showed up at her door and brought news that shattered her world. Her strange wild boy was dead in some strange wild land across a sea, and he would never return to her arms again. Their last words were argumentative, and mean, and full of hurt — but how could they have known it to be their last fight, their last conversation, their last chance to embrace, slipping through their fingers? Knowledge was power, they said, but what power could there be in knowledge that arrived too late? It took Aurora days upon weeks upon months to come to terms with the reality — that Leon would never be more than a figment of their daughter's memory, and a stranger to their son. It was cruel, and unfair, and all Aurora had left of the strange wild boy she'd loved all her life. It may have been Leon's story, but it was Aurora's to tell.

Tell his story she had — except she hadn't known quite all of it, had she? She hadn't known the full truth of the man she had always considered the love of her life. But she did now, and she had questions. And if she was being honest, it wasn't Leon she had come here to speak with.

#writing #my writing #tgswide #one shot #starter #character background #canon #stargazer #character specific #relationship #leora #who lives who dies who tells your story #rp #hp rp #npc #npc specific #leon reynolds #elysium #I actually wrote this as a thread starter for my site but I'm really proud of it so here it is

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writing-mermaid · 5 years ago

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Shades of blue

Summary : When a young artist is fascinated by the shade of blue in the eyes of the posing model.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader; Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter

Warnings : None

Word Count : 2067

Square Filled : @star-spangled-bingo : Model AU

Author’s note : Also written for @buckybarnesbingo ‘s fluffathon, with the prompts Admire, Art, After, Nuzzle, Cutie and Chocolate. Don’t forget that feedback is appreciated and really important.

Song of the title : Shades of Cool - Lana Del Rey

Masterlist

Star Spangled Bingo masterlist

Bucky Barnes Bingo masterlist

Buy me a ☕

Steve Rogers walks through the room, slaloming between the easels of his “students” of the day, while looking at their paper sheets. In the meantime, he looks at the model, his best friend James Barnes, who accepted to pose a few times a week because he needed the money for college. Steve understood why, because he too, had to look for a job to pay for his school fees. When he found that job, he knew it was the perfect one as he is majoring in arts.

Concerning James Barnes, rather Bucky, he needed it to continue his literature studies, his parents still had to pay for his five little sisters’ studies, and he couldn’t ask for them to have one more loan, since he lost his last job. When Steve told him about the model job, he frowned and said that he would try, even if he doesn’t think that this would be his thing, but he needed to eat and pay for his books. That’s how, for the first time in his life, Bucky finds himself naked in a room full of strangers, drawing him.

Sitting front row, Y/N Y/L/N is studying the handsome model’s eyes color. She cannot decide what color they are. Blue, definitely blue, but what shade ? Because it seems that the color changes when the light changes. At some point his eyes are bright blue, a minute later they can have the color of the sea, and a few seconds later, the color of a stormy sky. She’s concentrated on his face, and his face only, the rest of his body doesn’t interest her, just his face, his blue eyes, his red and kissable lips, that three days stubble, his short chestnut hair, her charcoal scratching the surface of the white sheet in front of her.

Steve stops by the Y/H/C haired girl sitting at the front row. He admires her work. Unlike a lot of people in the room who drew Bucky full or his body, or some parts, she’s only drawing his face. Steve looks at the precise lines she’s drawing. She seems to be mesmerized by Bucky’s eyes and Steve can understand why, his best friend’s eyes are sort of a mystery to themselves. Her gaze doesn’t live his and it seems that Bucky noticed. The way she looks at him above the easel makes Steve think about that scene from Titanic where Jack draws a naked Rose like as she says, “one of his French girls”. Steve works here for a few months now, and it’s the first time that he sees her. She puts down her black charcoal, searching for a blue one.

“This is an amazing work”, Steve suddenly says, making her froze.

“Thank you”, she answers, slightly blushing at the compliment.

“You really managed to capture everything of his face. His gaze, his mouth, nose, freckles. Though, you seem to be in trouble with the color of his eyes. I must admit that I myself never managed to find the good color.”

“How do you know that I have trouble with finding the model’s eye color ?”, Y/N asks, curious to know.

“Oh, Bucky is my best friend, and he was my very first model when I started to draw when I was a kid. Even now, when I happen to draw him, I still don’t find the right color, so I make drawings of my girlfriend Peggy or of landscapes, that’s less complicated”, Steve explains. “I’m Steve Rogers by the way”, he adds, extending his hand.

“Y/N Y/L/N”, she replies. “Sorry, I won’t shake your hand, or you’ll have charcoal everywhere.”

“Don’t worry, I’m used to it. Anyway, if you want to, I can introduce you to him after this session, which will be finished in fifteen minutes”, Steve adds, checking his watch.

“Thank you, Steve”, she smiles at him.

The last fifteen minutes pass like a blink of an eye and Steve thanks everyone for attending to his lesson and listening to his advice. Y/N starts to clean her easel, closes her sketchbook and puts her charcoals back in their box. Meanwhile, Bucky slips back the robe that he abandoned two hours ago on a stool next to him. At the second Y/N left the room to wash her hands, Bucky walks to Steve, who’s cleaning the leftovers.

“Who’s she ?”, he asks his blond friend.

“New one, just like you. Very good one though. She’s the only one that drew your face and not your body. I even saw one or two people very busy to draw your…”

“Please no, this is really embarrassing”, Bucky face palms himself.

“You should wait for her to come back; I think she has something to ask you. I told her that you were my best friend and that I can introduce you to her.”

“Please don’t tell me she wanna draw my wienie”, Bucky whines.

“Who wants to draw your wienie ?”, a beautiful brunette says, entering the room, making a beeline to Steve before kissing his lips.

“A new girl, very good artist, and I really don’t think she wants to draw his wienie”, Steve explains.

Steve tells Peggy about Y/N and her skills, saying he hoped that she would be okay to show her work to them. Y/N finally comes back in the room. Steve introduces her to Peggy and Bucky.

“Do you think you can show us your work ? If you want to of course.”

“Yes, sure, after all this is an art class and you are the model”, Y/N says, motioning to Bucky.

She opens her sketchbook again, revealing a few previous drawings before she finally found the one of Bucky she made barely an hour ago.

“This is really amazing”, Peggy whispers, as she’s afraid of saying this out loud.

Bucky looks at the drawing, speechless. He cannot believe how a drawing could look like him so much. It’s almost like he’s looking at himself in the mirror. Everything his perfect, every line, every freckle, his three days stumble, everything is there.

“May I ask you something ?”, Y/N questions, making Bucky getting out of his bubble.

“Yes, sure.”

“Would you accept to pose for me ? I mean not here but in private, I wanted to work on your eyes and it’s not possible in a room full of people. Of course, I will compensate you for your time.”

“I… I don’t know, it’s the first time I’m doing this, isn’t it unprofessional ?”, he asks Steve, turning to him.

“Not necessarily, you’re free to do what you want. You can pose for Y/N if you want to.”

“So yes, I’d love to”, Bucky says, turning to the young Y/H/C haired woman in front of him.

“Great”, she exclaims, “this is my phone number”, she adds, handing him a little piece of paper with her phone number.

And then, a week later, Bucky finds himself in a tiny apartment, under the rooftop. It’s a very small place but Y/N managed to make it her home. She even have sort of a balcony.

“Please make yourself comfortable”, she says from the kitchenette, “I’m coming as soon as the tea is ready.”

Bucky looks at the room, it’s a medium open space. In a corner, there is Y/N’s bed, a pile of book at its feet, not far from it, her desk, with a laptop and a few pictures of her friends and family, he supposes. In the middle of the room, there’s a couch and a tiny red table facing a small television. In the opposite corner of the bed, there’s an easel, a stool, a tiny chest of drawers and drawing material. A ginger cat walks along the window’s low wall before scratching the pane.

“Oh, that’s my cat, Oliver, can you open the window for him please ?”, Y/N asks Bucky.

Bucky nods and lets the cat in. Oliver rises his head towards Bucky, smells his hand and purrs when Bucky scratches him behind his hears.

“Here we are”, Y/N says, coming back in the room, carrying a tray with two mugs, a tea pot, different flavors of tea, and chocolate biscuits, along with a bowl of milk for Oliver. “Please, serve yourself”, she adds, while putting down Oliver’s bowl.

They talk about everything and nothing, whilst drinking the tea when Bucky finally comes back to the main subject.

“So, tell me exactly why you want me to do for you ?”

“Well, as I told you, I’d like you to pose for me. See last week during Steve’s lesson, I draw your face and I had a problem for your eyes. I mean, the light changed so many times and your eyes color changed with it. I’d like to find the best light to do them justice. Your eyes are really unique.”

The next week, Bucky comes back at Y/N’s apartment, to find her painting on her balcony when he enters her home. A few minutes later, he finds himself sitting face to face with her, under the natural light. It takes a few hours for Y/N to make a new portrait of Bucky with the accurate eye color. But then, it became a habit for the two to have posing seances. First, she works on his eyes, then she moves to his nose, lips, chin, hair after a few seances. During it, they both start to know each other, the more time they spend together, the more they start to fall for one another.

Y/N decides after a few weeks that she’d like to move on to his body if he’s still okay to pose for her. Bucky agrees, without admitting yet that he loves spending time with her. And when Bucky poses half naked, Y/N notices what she didn’t during Steve’s class, Bucky’s broad shoulders, his perfect abs, his strong arms, his beautiful hands. Oh, his hands, Y/N starts to think about what they would feel on her body if he used them on her. Oh jeez, she thinks, I start to have sinful thoughts, this is really no good.

One evening, after a long day of posing, Bucky sits on one of the low walls of Y/N’s balcony, one of his legs hanging in the air, leaning his back on one of the walls. The days has been quite hot, and the evening is still warm. Y/N comes back from the kitchen with two beers, Bucky is partially turned away, Oliver on his lap. Y/N smiles at the sight, thinking that she could get used to this.

“Yes, you’re a cutie”, Bucky is patting the cat’s back. “You’re the best kitty in the world.”

“Don’t start this with him, he’s gonna beg for it the next time you’ll be here.”

“I don’t matter”, Bucky says, “I like this little fellow, after all, he accepted me here, he didn’t have to at first, he could have thought that I would still his pretty mom from him.”

Y/N blushes at Bucky’s word. She sits in front of him, handing him a beer. She mirrors his position on the wall while the sun is going down. In the sunset light, Bucky’s gaze is more intense than in any other light she has seen him before. Oliver jumps of Bucky’s leg when Y/N moves closer to him. Y/N turns her head to the setting sun, her left hand on her leg. Bucky looks at her, she’s glowing in the sunlight and Bucky finds her more beautiful than he did before. She was so adorable with those stains of paint. Bucky moves closer, he wants to kiss her so bad. He extends his hand to lace his fingers with Y/N’s one. Y/N turns her face back to Bucky, their gaze meeting. Bucky leans towards Y/N who meets him halfway. Their lips touch softly, Y/N slides a little closer, climbing on Bucky’s lap. Once there, she deepens the kiss, sliding her fingers into Bucky’s hair. After a few minutes, she pulls away, catching her breath, her forehead against his.

“What about now ?”, Bucky asks.

Y/N doesn’t answer, she just gets up and grabs Bucky’s hand to lead him to her bed.

The next morning, Bucky wakes up nuzzling Y/N’s hair, her bare back to his bare chest. He props his head on his elbow, looking at her peacefully sleeping, silently thanking Steve for the model job.

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