#nooo mount dont romance me ahahahahaha

[n4zareth]

LOVE IN A TIME OF CLIMATE CHANGE. . .

* cross posted to AO3

mountain reflects, & he has a realization. — based on the poem “Love in a Time of Climate Change” by Craig Santos Perez, recycling Pablo Neruda’s “Sonnet XVII”

mountain / gender neutral ! reader ; a bit suggestive!

I don't love you as if you were rare earth metals, conflict diamonds, or reserves of crude oil that cause war.

 Mountain is a gentle lover. His hands are likened to the leaves that tickle your cheek when you pass through the greens leading into the ministry gardens: smooth, playful, even. His hands have touched every inch that you have let him touch, and he has twisted every one of your past flaws into present perfections with mere words. Your stretchmarks bring more life to you, he says; they are like the roots of trees, digging deep and being a constant reminder of the tree’s life. Lines are engraved into your face, he sees, and he does not mind. Your smile lines are living proof you have laughed in this life, he says. They are living proof that your smile reached your eyes, that it was real, and that you were happy—and if you aren’t happy right now, then these smile lines will remind you that you can and will be happy. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you not for all you are worth, but for all you are. If you were worth nothing, then let him have it, and let him be happy. 

I love you as one loves the most vulnerable species: urgently, between the habitat and its loss.

You are aging, and he might be changing. Mountain knows that he is replaceable, that at any moment he’d hear the click of a lightbulb appearing upon Sister Imperator’s head, another bright idea. One that might lead to his demise, his being, sent back to the pit. Mountain wouldn’t worry so much about this if he didn’t have his pack, if he didn’t have someone like you. Sometimes he regrets welcoming you into his heart, sometimes he wishes you’d just leave if only to spare him the pain of knowing what would happen if he was sent back. He wonders if, when you die, you’d be in there with him. He wonders if God will take you from him, if it truly is all about your morals as a human being rather than who you choose to worship; and if in the event you die, and you reunite with him, if he’d burn trying to hold your hand. You have so much time, both as a human and in the afterlife, & mountain doesn’t even know if he will be there for even half of it; so he loves you like it’s his last day every day.

I love you as one loves the last seed saved within a vault, gestating the heritage of our roots,

 Mountain cultivated strawberry gardens, planting each with care and washing them thoroughly so as to nourish the ministry with a sweet taste. He had grown quite fond of them; not for their taste, but for their beauty. Before you, Mountain never really ate. He was a ghoul, and ghouls were hell-spawns—they would never need to eat, because what would ‘starvation’ do? kill them? they were already dead. The moment you pressed a strawberry to his mouth, however, was when Mountain tried the fruit for the very first time. Now, it is his favorite, the only thing he can ever really eat. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the taste, or if it’s because it reminds him of you. He never fails to stop by the greenhouse during your dates, your hand in his as he scours through the strawberries and picks the ripest ones for the two of you. You still press the strawberry to his soft lips, and he still opens his mouth, willing. The sweetness that explodes on his tongue is second only to you.

and thanks to your body, the taste that ripens from its fruit still lives sweetly on my tongue.

 Strawberries. he associates you with strawberries. he doesn’t know why, you’re far from what strawberries usually are associated with. you are not soft, you’re rough around the edges, jagged bits capable of nicking someone if they pressed a little too hard, but when he lays his head on your chest the only thing he can think about is how much he wants to become one with you. to press as hard as he can. to bleed, and to bleed for you. your lips are not that red, but they still have the same sweetness the strawberries have—when you pull away from him, he chases not just your taste, but you. he finds that sweetness unique to you in spaces only he can touch, only he can feel. he understands Eve, now. She was so tempted by the serpent, falling to a mere fruit. if the fruit was as sweet as you were, mountain thinks, his forehead pressing against your knees, prying your closed legs open as he looks at you with pleading eyes, begging you to spread your legs just a little bit more, begging for your taste. if the fruit was as sweet as you were, he would’ve eaten it too.

I love you without knowing how or when this world will end. I love you organically, without pesticides.

 He is replaceable. he is replaceable. he is replaceable. it replays in his head like a mantra, instilled into him, constantly drilled into his head as if it was used to tighten the screws loose in his, as sister described, ‘worm-infested’ head. he wants to think that he’ll live out forever with you, that you’ll have eternity— that you’ll have time. He wants to think that just like his plants, he can simply nourish himself with water and sunlight and he’ll be healthy forever. that way, he won’t be replaced. he won’t be sent back, and he’ll be yours forever, but you can’t keep a plant alive eternally. it will wilt eventually, and he’s so scared for the moment that he starts wilting too, for the moment he falters one too many. he’s been thinking too much, recently. it hurts his brain in ways he cannot fathom, and he wonders if his brain really is worm-infested. It might as well be. he feels consumed, infected by something he isn’t aware of. he feels disease-ridden, like the only thing that’ll even brighten him up a little bit would be being lathered in pesticide and thrown back into the soil (to put it simply, death). He feels burdened, like he’s a burden himself. You think differently. Every time you love him, so easy it’s like putting a plant out in the sun, Mountain wishes he was a human. Mountain wishes he had a beating heart, one that could beat for you.

I love you like this because we'll only survive, in the nitrogen-rich compost of our embrace,

 Mountain’s back is pressed against your bed’s headboard, and your cheek is pressed against his chest—burrowing further, into his neck, inhaling his scent like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. He seems lost in thought, but in reality, he’s just lost in you. He asks you, “how?” 

 you smile, tilting your head and replying with another question. “what do you mean how?” your tone is calm and patient, but his tone is urgent. It’s almost panicked, and he says, “How could you love me? someone like me?” and you laugh. you laugh at him, and he looks at you with such bewilderment you laugh even more. You shake your head, shaking off your laughter in the process, and Mountain stares at you in awe as you speak of his flaws like they’re perfections, how you notice his absence, how you miss his presence, and how you love him so much and so easily. it hits Mountain so hard. It’s like a bat, swinging right across his face, knocking the breath out of his lungs; he’s so lucky to have you, he’s so lucky to feel this way, to be able to in the first place. He’s so lucky that he knows someone who’d cry if he was gone, for it only encourages him to just never leave. He’s so lucky to have you, to hold you, to hug you and to love you, he’s so lucky that he’s able to make you happy. He’s so lucky that he has you, and he’s even luckier knowing that you have him. He looks at you, lost in every pore on your face, every imperfection you mention that was never really imperfect to him, and especially, in the sparkle in your eyes as you smile up at him. He sucks in a breath.

 His voice comes out cracked. “I don’t deserve your love.” he states, and you stay silent. You press your forehead against his own, and you say, “You deserve my reciprocation.”

 he falls in love all over again, and it is magical.

so close that your emissions of carbon are mine, so close that your sea rises with my heat.

notes: wahhhh hello! writing debut ?! i decided to give mountain some lovin’ on this one, he’s my boyy<3 i hope you all liked the read!

kisses, arwen 🧡

@n4zareth …