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itoshisins · 8 months

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IF ONLY MAYBE — GETO SUGURU

synopsis: even after all these years, you two just had the worst of luck.

cw: 1.3k words. angst w no happy ending, major character death (reader), depictions of blood and death, mentions of unhealthy coping mechanisms, takes place 10 years after geto's defection, amateur writing.

notes: not a writer at alllll. first post on this acc. i am an avid fanfic reader but i had a simple idea i wanted to flesh out and write in hopes of helping me be more creative in my school work :p enjoy!

Being a jujutsu soccer was never something you could imagine not doing. You loved every part of it; learning, helping others, going on missions that fill you veins with adrenaline that almost feels euphoric, and teaching students who were so eager to learn from you. Danger was just part of the contract you signed, despair and tragedy were all to familiar with the job, and you learned to cope with it in several different ways. Whether it was alcohol, those cancerous sticks Shoko offers you, or getting lost in someone else’s cotton sheets. Losses were faced everyday and just maybe, a small part of you died with every loss you’ve ever faced, eating away at your soul and the very essence of who you are at your core. Sometimes, days were so hard that the adrenaline of completing a mission wasn’t enough to fill the empty void within you, and the only option was to bury yourself with so much work until you couldn’t have a second to just take a moment and think. Maybe that was your demise, that you had no moment of clarity and it’s the reason for your impaired judgment because something else was always occupying your thoughts like a parasite to its host.

That’s it, maybe, that you’ve let too many parts of you die that there’s nothing left. You think to yourself that perhaps this is all you’ve got to offer and you’ve given too much until you’re a shell of the person you used to be. If you did things differently, then the day could be ending so differently.

You groan weakly as you lay on the cold hard concrete, pain surging through every muscle for any minuscule movement you make, coughing and wheezing for air to fill your lungs. You reach one hand slowly to your abdomen, and the thick dampness of your navy shirt confirms your thoughts. It was just supposed to be a simple special grade curse, something you exorcise in your sleep, but God is it agonizing to not only be shown how weak you’ve become, but that your work and effort has amounted to nothing if these are going to be the last breaths you take.

“Geto-sama! There!”

A shrill voice interrupts your train of thoughts, letting out a shaky breath at the name. Swift and light footsteps charge in your direction and before you know it, his figure is standing right above you. You faintly hear him tell someone to go ahead before you hear light footsteps walking away, further and further until you can’t hear it.

He’s changed, you note. His hair is longer and down, no longer neatly tied up. Is that how he feels too, that he’s free and no longer constricted? He’s notably taller, frame larger than you remember as he looms over you and casts a shadow from the bright street light that’s illuminating from above. A worried look is cast onto his features, hesitating to get too close you as you take in his face, and God was it painful seeing his pretty face be contorted in such a pained expression. His breaths are uneven, a slight hiccup when he inhales can be heard if you listen closely. His honey coloured eyes, oh how you could get lost in them even after all these years, seem like there’s a war waging in them- torn between an expression of hurt and one that wants to mask it. Suguru is so much older now, small frown lines and a slight wrinkle forming at the outer corners of his eyes if you look closely enough, but you can’t help but think that he’s still your Suguru.

“You w-weren’t supposed to be here. What a-“

“I- I was around,” you say quietly with a soft chuckle. “I was using my day off to visit here, l-like before,” you explain, flashes of three years of your adolescence with Suguru popping up in the forefront of your mind. You curse yourself for being sentimental, for being soft, maybe that’s why you’re going to die.

“I would have nev- you weren’t supposed to be here” Suguru says shakily, as if he’s trying to reassure you that he would never even think to hurt you, or lay a finger on you. He softly kneels down next to you, his bottom lip quivering slightly at the sight of seeing you like this. He starts to think he’s cursed, that he never had a chance for happiness even after defecting, that his mission oriented persona was only a facade to search for happiness that wasn’t meant to be for him. That’s the reason, he thinks to himself, otherwise the world would simply be cruel if this is the first time seeing you in 10 years, dying because of a special grade curse carrying out his orders.

“I s-still exorcised him though, so we’re just even,” You say weakly as you mention the curse under his orders, offering a pained smile as you begin to shudder at the sudden feeling of coldness engulfing your body. You don’t have reverse cursed technique like Satoru, and the damage is irreparable that even Shoko’s presence wouldn’t help if she was here. You close your eyes for a second longer than usual, the warm tears spilling from your eyes and rolling down your cheeks. It’s uncomfortable and foreign, being consumed with the emotions that swirl around your head and spill out in the form of shaky breaths and salty tears. Your bottom lip quivers as it dawns on you that this is it, your last day on earth, and both you and Suguru know it.

“I’m s-“ Suguru stutters before he’s cut off by the stern sound of your voice. It’s firm, yet filled with a tenderness that he’s been missing all these years, one he’s been searching for anytime he calls you on a payphone to hear your greeting before you hang up in confusion due to the unresponsiveness.

“I know, Suguru,” you answer quietly, and that look in your eye makes him want to let out a choked sob right then and there. Those eyes that always looked up at him with so much patience and care, despite you being in this position because of him. Truthfully, you don’t exactly know what it is he’s apologizing for. Maybe it’s for all the lives he’s ended, maybe it’s for his defection, or maybe it’s for being the reason you’re slowly loosing consciousness. Maybe it’s for all of it. Whatever it is, you know, and you couldn’t bring him to say the words out loud because you know more than anyone it’d only hurt more.

Suguru gently brings your head up, laying it in his lap carefully. Hesitantly, he caresses your hair in an attempt to comfort you and soothe the winces of pain escaping your pretty mouth. It seems so natural to him, being comforting you, like it’s the sole reason he was put on this earth. He doesn’t say anything more, afraid that a suppressed sob would escape him instead of the words he’s trying to piece together in his head.

“The moon looks so beautiful tonight,” you whisper gently, barely audible as the exhaustion becomes so much more evident in your voice. You begin to settle into his warmth, needing it more and more and you feel your blood run colder and the breeze of the night get harsher. ‘I’ve done enough,’ you think for a moment as it feels like the world around you begins to stop and your breaths become more shallow. You close your eyes one last time.

“It does, doesn’t it? It’s always so beautiful,” Suguru whispers into the dead of the night, eyes fixated on your limp body resting on his lap so peacefully. Your eyes don’t open again, and he finally lets out a loud cry that echoes in the empty streets.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen fic #geto suguru #geto suguru angst #geto suguru x reader #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #geto suguru fanfic

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ttttaehyungie · 4 years

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sincerely, but no longer yours | chapter 5

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sincerely, but no longer yours | ex!kim namjoon x reader

genre | angst, smut, exes au

summary | It started as a coping mechanism as getting the words out provided a form of catharsis. But now you can’t stop writing these love letters, even with the knowledge that they’ll never get sent. After all, who writes love letters to their ex?

word count | 5.2k

chapter rating | 18+

warnings | angst, smut (but it’s angsty smut lksjdflk help), nipple play, dry humping, alcohol consumption, someee intense jealousy

a/n | FIRST OF ALL im so sorry this is so incredibly late lskjdflkjs life has been extremely busy for me 😪 but it’s here!!!! thank you to everybuddy who’s been waiting patiently for this 🤧🤧 but i think this is one of the most angsty chapters of the series soooo 🙃

Namjoon’s an expert at avoiding uncomfortable topics, even if they’re massively serious. It’s something you absolutely hated and it was the cause of many arguments in your previous relationship, and perhaps was even the ultimate cause of your breakup.

But right now, you’re really beginning to understand the appeal.

The first time he swung by the museum for lunch after his birthday celebration - a paper bag in hand filled with bagels still warm and toasty from the store on the corner that you adore - you were caught entirely off guard.

Your mind jumps to the unread messages sitting in your texts and you regret ignoring them. Not because the guilt had hit you, but because maybe if you had been contactable, you would have received a heads-up that he was coming by.

Some might call it selfish, but you prefer to call it self-preservation.

To be fair, it’s not like you were going to leave them unanswered forever. You just needed space to collect your thoughts and make sense of your confusing emotions first, lest you begin the conversation prematurely and drag Namjoon down into the dizzying depths of your current state. As it is right now, your thoughts are like nodes floating in a decontextualized void, the web still unformed because you haven’t had the time to grapple with everything yet.

But here he is, inspecting the cross-section of each bagel Soo-eun pulls out of the bag, trying to identify which is which. Yeri’s at his side, gushing about how great the bagels from this place are. The three of them are crowded around the paper bag that sits on the wooden bench, the paint peeling from the way it’s been bleached by the sun in the museum’s outdoor area. Here he is at your workplace. With your friends. You can’t ignore him now, not without rousing your friends’ suspicion.

But what you can ignore is the issue.

It’s not the time nor the place to talk about this anyway. The atmosphere is warm and light, carrying traces of last night’s celebratory mood. The lunch treat is Namjoon’s way of appreciating the surprise you guys organized for him last night. And there’s a bagel stuffed full of salty sweet ham and sticky melty cheese waiting for you to sink your teeth into. Really not the time for serious conversations at all.

So when Namjoon’s eyes search yours, all wide and probing, as you step in to grab your share, you simply smile and thank him, before slinking away to join Soo-eun on the next bench. Not too far - barely five steps away - but far enough that it gives you space to breathe. Even if Namjoon notices your attempts at escaping, he doesn’t have time to call you out on it. Not when you slyly shoot Yeri a wink. Seamlessly, she catches the cue and sits herself down on the bench, tugging at his arm. For once, you welcome Yeri flirting with Namjoon.

“Let’s eat! I’m starving,” she says.

You don’t miss the way Namjoon’s gaze flickers between you and Yeri, but you ignore it and take a generous bite of the bagel in your hands.

“Mm, so good,” you say, and turn to Soo-eun. “Don’t you miss the days before this place got really popular?”

“No, because you and Yeri insisted on going there every day. I can only ingest so many bagels a week.”

“____ hasn’t changed one bit.” Namjoon chuckles. “This time in middle school, she ate tater tots every single day for three weeks straight. She had to be banned for a week.”

“Are you weaponizing my middle school past against me?” you ask amidst your friends’ laughter. “Too bad. I don’t regret it for a second. Tater tots are too delicious to regret.”

Lunch falls back into the easy rhythm of lighthearted jibes, the kitchen debacle receding for now.

Procrastination is a real bitch of a habit to kick. As soon as one reason to put it off expires, your brain churns out another two in its place like a modern-day Hydra.

As for Namjoon? Well, you’re not surprised when he makes no moves to initiate the difficult conversation. After all, you’re adopting his bad habit.

Eventually it gets to the point where you might as well not talk about it at all. Everything’s going fine so far without it. Or as fine as it can be with this beast looming in the backdrop.

You know you need to just get this damn conversation over with. But you can’t. Not till you figure out what exactly is going on with your emotions. Without it, there’s no way you can cauterize the wounds and invalidate your excuses for what they are -- excuses.

It’s not that you haven’t tried. But it’s presenting itself as a real Herculean effort. Mulling it over has you tossing and turning in bed, only leaving you with a headache and a steadily growing desperation. It’s desperation enough that you leave the comfortable warmth of your bed to sit at your desk, shivering as you pen the familiar words once again.

Dear Namjoon,

The words flow in their usual, unrestricted manner. Before, it had been like a dam breaking, the tight restraint that was normally kept on your emotions finally released and the wave of emotions gushing out till it reached a peaceful equilibrium. But now, your emotions are just a whirlpool and your words you pen mimic its spiralling, chasing your thoughts in endless loops.

You’re not over him. But so what? It’s not like getting together is an option. Not when he hasn’t grown out of one of the major things that caused the end of your previous relationship. And not when you haven’t even talked that out, if you ever will.

So what can you do now? Kicking him out of your life will mean having to deal with the loss that his absence will bring again. Going back to pretending the other doesn’t exist will mean dancing around each other again every time you bump into each other in this too small city. And with the way your social circles are intertwined now, that would mean a bunch of explaining to do.

But having him close yet holding him at arm’s length? Walking the narrow margin that is being friends with your ex? A misstep in either direction would be torturous but inevitable - too close and it’s alarming, but too far and it’s a painful reminder that he’s not yours.

Far from the illuminating effect you were hoping it would have, your letter to Namjoon only leaves you deeper in confusion. You throw your pen down. Giving up, you fold the paper up. Sealing the letter in an envelope doesn’t bring the same sense of relief it did before. The Hydra remains unslain.

And so the problem gets shoved away - the same treatment the letter gets as it’s roughly tossed into the desk drawer - into the same corner of the recesses of your mind that your breakup resides in.

You know that Namjoon’s confused. Heck, you are too. It’s a strange dance the two of you are involved in, caught between the compulsion to continue yet knowing the risks it bears. Neither of you are bold enough to take the lead. And so this strange stasis drags on as it has for weeks now.

It’s as if the kiss unearthed something in him. Actually no, it’s unearthed something in both of you. And the tension - the fucking tension - is unreal. The tells are so obvious that you wonder how neither Yeri nor Soo-eun have said anything about it yet. There’s certainly no subtlety in the way his eyes linger on your lips in the middle of conversations that you wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it.

And when it’s just the two of you? It’s infinitely worse.

It’s hard to blame him. Touch has always been your love language and Namjoon knows it. Physical touch wasn’t just a thing of your previous two-year relationship. It was a thing of your decades of friendship too, the little touches so casual and almost subconscious. Rekindling your friendship without them had taken intentional effort.

You’re not sure who started it. Maybe both of you just fell back into it, the casual little touches slipping their way back in. But what’s not casual at all is the way your heartbeat goes erratic at the most simple of gestures. The way he blithely sweeps the crumbs from your lunch off your lap. The slightly too long side-hug he holds you in, the warmth of his arm around you permeating through the layers you wear and has you simultaneously freezing up while also turning your insides to goo. But it isn’t overtly romantic either.

At least, that’s the excuse you give yourself when the comfort of his touch gets too tempting and you end up succumbing to it. The familiarity of it all makes you feel like you’ve finally arrived home. As if you’ve been on this long, arduous journey and you’re finally here. You get to drop the heavy backpack and rest now.

But the voice of rationality in you tells you this wrong wrong wrong. You’ve got to get out of here.

And that’s how you end up here. White-knuckled grip tight on the edges of the sink as you stare yourself dead in the eyes in the bathroom mirror. The music outside thumps away albeit muted through the door to the ladies’. But the way your heart thumps has nothing to do with that.

Even without shifting your gaze, you can tell that your cheeks are slightly reddened and warm. You can feel it tingling. No, you don’t shift your gaze. It stays fixed on the intense stare that your reflection throws back at you like a challenge, the ferocity of it enhanced by the sharp eyeliner you’re wearing tonight, an uncharacteristic look for you.

Heck, this whole night is uncharacteristic.

You could take the easy route and blame it on Yeri. God knows she can be real persuasive - it’s why she’s excellent at her job. So getting you all out to the club on a Friday night to celebrate nothing other than the simple joy that - c’mon guys, we’re all young and alive and free and tell me that’s not worth celebrating and I’ll fucking fistfight you right here and now even with my freshly manicured nails - is no feat for her.

Still, no one really expected your simple reply, tone nonchalant and eyes still glued to your work screen, “Yeah, I could use a night out.”

Soo-eun had remained silent but you could feel her stiffen slightly beside you. Yeri had been surprised too but more elated that she didn’t have to get through your usual ten solid minutes of whining and half-baked attempts at slithering your way out of it.

But back to the present. Your bodycon dress - one of the rare pieces that survived not just your college partying days but also the wardrobe purge that occurred when you had to downsize everything to fit into the tiny apartment that’s quintessential to city-living - expands with your chest as you take a deep breath. Gripping the hem where it sits mid-thigh, you yank it down slightly. It’s been a while since you’ve worn this dress. And while the younger, more risque version of you that was your college self had been enthralled by the daringness of the dress, your current self has to dig deep to muster up that same boldness.

Relenting as you realize that this is the limit to how much you can stretch the length of your dress, you let go and your fingertips unintentionally brush your thigh as it falls back to your side. It elicits a shudder, the sensation of your own fingers too close to the electrifying feeling of someone’s thumb skimming across it. It was electrifying enough that your brain finally powered up again, voice of rationality sending you skedaddling away, out of reach of his touch, and pathetically seeking refuge in the washroom.

You roll your shoulders back and shake your head, dispelling the thoughts. Standing upright, you look yourself in the eye again. You can do this. You’re going to go out there, and you’re going to have a good time with your friends. You’re going to have a good time with Namjoon. With a nod of affirmation, you turn and saunter your way back to the club with a confidence that has your chin firmly tipped upwards.

You push the door open and look for your friends. The sight that greets you immediately punctures your confidence and your steady posture falls limp.

It’s hard to miss her silvery dress - the dress you knew she would wear and the dress that your very own was meant to counter. It catches the light and grabs attention. And at this moment, it grabs your attention so you can witness Yeri standing between Namjoon’s manspread thighs as he’s perched on the barstool, her hands all over him.

Whatever puffed up confidence you’d had is knocked out of you with that sucker punch of a sight. You turn away, needing to look anywhere but at them.

And that’s when your line of sight falls on a curly-haired man, oddly familiar, and apparently someone you know since he’s waving to you.

“____, hey!” he yells over the music.

“Dong-In?”

He nods and smiles at you. “It’s been a while.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “I was supposed to get back to you on brunch, wasn’t I?” Damn. You’ve been so wrapped up with Namjoon that you totally forgot about Dong-In. “I’m so sorry, I’ve been really caught up with things.”

“It’s no biggie.” He shrugs boyishly. “The exhibition, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sure, the exhibition. Let’s go with that.

“And nothing to do with…” he directs his gaze - and yours along with it - to none other than Namjoon who’s now drinking with Yeri.

Your gaze snaps back to Dong-In and his cheshire grin.

“Nah,” you feign a laugh. “He’s just a friend.”

“The hand he had on you sure didn’t look like just friends.”

“I said we’re just friends,” you snap, then gasp, taken aback by your own outburst. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Nah, I should be the one apologizing. I hit a nerve there, didn’t I. D’you wanna talk about it?” His voice is warm and mellow and oh so inviting. And you very nearly give in.

But you can’t pull him into your problems. It’s not his burden to bear.

“Not really. But thanks, Dong-In.”

“That’s cool.” He nods, and relief fills you. This is what you’ve always liked about Dong-In. He’s chill. “Well since we’re here, wanna get buzzed?”

You laugh. “I won’t say no to that.”

The bar isn’t too far from where you are, and it doesn’t take long before the burn of alcohol is sliding down your throat. Picking up the conversation again, you have to admit, you’d forgotten how easy it is to talk to Dong-In. He’s got that effortless charisma and an easy sense of humor that you can vibe with. Things are simple with him. There’s no line to be tiptoed. Flirting - now that you’re no longer obtuse and you’re finally aware that he is indeed flirting with you - isn’t accompanied by guilt or fear.

And after weeks of this complicated situation with Namjoon, simplicity is what you crave.

“Hey, do you wanna dance?” you ask suddenly. Surprise colors his features for a moment but he laughs it off.

“Is the conversation boring you? You could have just told me to shut up if you wanted me to,” he jokes.

“No!” You laugh. “There’s just a good beat going and-”

“I’m just kidding. I’d love to.” He smiles and grabs your hand.

The two of you weave your way through the mass of gyrating bodies. Lightly buzzed, the fog and the strobe lights blurring everything around you other than your dance partner, you finally find the courage you’ve been searching for this whole time. Dong-In hasn’t been very subtle about checking you out all night, and it gives you that extra boost of confidence that’s finally quelled the antsy thoughts and calmed the fidgety adjustments to your dress’s hemline.

So when his hands find your waist, you step in a little closer and run your hands through your hair, shaking it out and finally letting loose as your hips rock to the pounding beat. Dancing with Dong-In is much like conversing with him- easy and simple fun with just the slightest tinge of excitement. As your hips sway together in languid synchrony, you catch a whiff of the slightly intoxicating combination of his cologne and the undertones of his own natural scent. You give in to the giddying sensation of his hands running lightly over your body and press in closer, eyes fluttering shut, and just feeling. It’s thrilling. It’s risque. It’s-

A solid grip on your wrist yanks you forward and stumbling into a hard chest.

His voice is gruff as he bites out his words, “Get your hands off her.”

“Namjoon?” you gape.

“We’re leaving.” His eyes fix on yours, steely and piercing. A shiver runs down your spine - in all your years of knowing him, you’ve never seen him like this. He tugs on your wrist once more. “Now.”

Dazed by this brand new persona, you don’t even get to say goodbye to Dong-In, just pulled along by the force that is a quietly fuming Namjoon. Everything happens so quickly that it’s all a blur until you’re in the Uber with him, silently clutching onto your purse as an anchor in this sudden whirlwind of events. The anger emanates off of him even in the dimly lit backseat.

“What the fuck?” you whisper, but the shock diminishes the level of conviction in your voice.

He turns to you, the same hardness still in his gaze. “I should be the one asking that.”

“What?!” you snap. In your peripheral vision, you see the Uber driver jump slightly. Lowering your tone, you hiss, “What gives you the right?”

“What gives me the right?” he echoes incredulously, scoffing and turning away from you to face forward instead as he rolls his eyes. “This is ridiculous.”

The car slows to a stop and you recognize your apartment building. You scramble to get away from him. But it seems your confrontation is far from over. Namjoon unbuckles his own seatbelt to follow you.

Terse silence sits between you, the aggravated stomping of your feet as you climb the stairs the only thing that fills the sound.

You turn sharply round the corner, stalking off to your apartment door. “You don’t have to escort me y’know, I’m perfectly capable of getting home by myself.”

“Really?” He folds his arms and leans on the wall next to your door. “It’s hard to trust you when you go off getting drunk and throwing yourself at a random stranger in the club.”

“Is that what the problem is?” You finally ram the key in, and the click as it unlocks is as harsh as your tone. “Sorry to break it to you, but I have a life apart from you. He’s no stranger. His name is Dong-In, he’s Yeri’s friend, and he’s a great guy.”

You shove the door open. Your heels get kicked off and left haphazardly at the entryway, shoe cabinet ignored.

“Wow, some great guy he is,” Namjoon slams the door shut and his shoes get discarded off his feet in the same fashion, “drunkenly feeling you up in a club.”

“Fuck!” You turn, wringing your hands in your hair. Your glares rival each other. “You say it as if I was strung along by him. Well I wasn’t. I initiated it.”

His glare flickers for a moment. He stays silent.

“Just admit that you’re jealous,” you whisper. You unsling your purse and dump it on top of the shoe cabinet, never breaking eye contact.

“Fine.” Namjoon’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I am.”

He skulks forward and traps you between him and the cabinet, gaze holding yours. Namjoon’s always towered over you, but at the moment it isn’t his height that makes you feel tiny.

“Watching his hands all over you like this,” Namjoon’s hands slowly skim the back of your thighs and up your sides and you bite back a whimper, “makes me jealous.”

“And watching you respond like this?” He continues as a firm hand presses the small of your back to close the gap between your torsos. “Glued to him like this? It makes me jealous.”

“You don’t own me,” you whisper but it only elicits a sardonic laugh from him.

“You say that, but you know damn well that’s not the truth. Tell me. Are you jealous?”

“What would I-”

“Yeri.” Damn. Straight through the bullshit. With an eyebrow cocked, it’s obvious he knows the answer and he’s not budging, not even an inch.

“Yes,” you admit quietly. “I’m jealous.”

“Silly girl.” He traces the hemline of your dress. “I only want you.”

A soft keening noise spills out of you. “I’m so sick of holding back.” You tug on his dress shirt, and the feel of his plush lips finally, finally meeting yours snips the final frayed cords of self-restraint you possessed.

Namjoon is quick to reciprocate, and you moan as his tongue licks at your bottom lip. Hooking your arms around his neck, you pull him closer, needing nothing else but to have him close after all this time of distance. He hoists you up, and your legs circle his waist to aid him. The world around you sets into motion as he walks you to your bed, and you anchor yourself by pressing kisses to his neck.

With how tiny your apartment is, it takes no time for him to carry you from the entryway to your bedroom. The cool sensation of your unmade sheets envelops you as he lowers you down onto the bed. He barely gets a moment to appreciate the sight of you, hair mussed and lipstick smudged, lounging on the bed and waiting for him. Desperate for his touch and running out of patience, you gesture to the zip on the side of your dress. Hurrying, he pulls the zipper down as you tug your arms out of the thin straps of the garment. You sit up and let the torso of the dress fall to bunch up at your waist, revealing your bare chest to him.

The quiet gasp that escapes him as he beholds you is infinitely flattering. It’s but a momentary pause. He dives forward into action again. An arm looped around your back to support you as your chest arches upwards, he crouches over you to take one perked-up tit into the heat of his mouth, his free hand coming up to toy with the other. His tongue laves over your nipple in a slippery flick. The other gets pinched and rolled, leaving you gasping at the delicious sensations.

“Namjoon,” you moan out breathily, and it only eggs him on. You whimper as he begins sucking on the bud and wetness pools between your thighs. Your fingernails rake down his back, muted through the layer of his dress shirt.

“M-more,” you plead. He releases your breast and moves his mouth upwards, trailing gentle pecks till he kisses along the length of your collarbone.

“Come here,” he commands, his words breathy and hot as they puff against the thin skin of your clavicle. He scoots back to lean against the headboard, and you follow hastily.

You clamber on top of him, knees bent and straddling his lap as he helps you hike the skirt of your dress up. But before you seat yourself atop the prominent bulge in the lightwash denim of his jeans, he holds you still with a firm grasp on your hip.

His thumb trails the lace detail of your panties, the patterns snaking across your hip bone, baby pink like your dress.

“Gorgeous,” he mumbles. His fingers wander to your clothed core, the material slightly sheer from the damp spot of your arousal. He strokes it tenderly with the pad of his finger, so light that it has you quivering as you hover above him.

His fingernail grazes your slit through the wet material and a gasp catches in your throat. You clench around nothing as carnal desire throbs through your core.

“Namjoon, please,” you whine.

Finally, he gives in to you and pulls you down. Your laced core meets his rough denim-clad one. The stiff material of his jeans pokes through the delicate fabric of your underwear, the friction rough as he drags you over his clothed bulge. The burn is delicious. His hands on you set a slow but steady rhythm that you follow easily, canting your hips in time. It’s enrapturing to watch the way you grind on one another, your clit rubbing up on the apex of his bulge in mutual pleasure.

A finger tips your chin up from the sight you were fixated on.

“Eyes on me.”

It’s difficult. Pleasure has your eyes drooping shut. But the intensity of his gaze compellingly holds yours and you manage, even if barely. His expression is stoic, and it’s only the twitch of his dick that betrays how affected he is. You, on the other hand, are completely abandoned to pleasure. Hands scrabbling across his upper back and up until they settle themselves as fists gripping tufts of his hair, teeth clamped on your bottom lip as moans spill out of you at increasing frequency as your pleasure climbs and climbs and climbs until-

Burrowing your face into the side of his neck, you pant as you cross the peak. Hips now stilled, your climax has you throbbing against his hardened member. You cling onto him with your arms around his neck as you free-fall in the subsiding pleasure. Bare chest brushing against the smooth material of his dress shirt, you catch your breath and yield to the moment.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Shit.” Louder this time. “Shit, shit, shit.”

The regret in his words yank you out of the heady fog of lust. There’s no time to bask in the afterglow. Reality comes crashing down hard and mercilessly.

Suddenly, you feel so small and so exposed. You read his regret as rejection. Your nudity and previous salacious actions make you feel stupid.

Namjoon attempts to extricate your arms from around him, but shame has you clutching to him tighter, hiding your face in his neck. You can still feel him under you, but it’s now an uncomfortable reminder of the act you just committed.

“Hey,” his voice is gentle now, pleading, “look at me? Please?”

You refuse. It’s impossible to look him in the eye right now.

“Fuck.” Even whispered, the panic laced in his tone is blatant. Gently, he maneuvers both of you to turn over. Feeling the mattress underneath you as you’re laid on your back, you release your hold on him and swiftly turn and tug your blanket up to hide away from him.

“____.” He tries. You grip the sheets even tighter as you feel him trying to pull it away from your face. “Please.”

Embarrassment. Guilt. Mortification. They overtake you and you curl in on yourself. You just want to disappear.

“____,” he tries again, hand stroking your head. But you don’t allow yourself to succumb to its comfort. “Talk to me. Please.”

Oh, now he wants to talk.

Why couldn’t you have just talked things out earlier? Why only now when things have fallen apart? Why now when you’ve just done something so stupid and so reckless?

Why now when it’s too late? What can talking possibly do to fix this now?

His pleas are met with silence.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” he says resignedly.

More silence. He sighs. You feel the mattress shift as he gets up. From where you’re still hiding in the stuffy darkness underneath your blanket, you hear his footsteps return and the muted thud of the glass getting placed on your bedside table.

The silence returns, but you can feel his presence. You imagine he’s staring at your blanket lump on the bed.

Finally, the heavy quietness is broken with a deep breath, and you hear him say softly, “Get a good night’s rest, okay? Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”

The light clicks off and you’re plunged into lonely pitch-black darkness. In the distance, you hear the heavy opening and closing of your front door as Namjoon leaves.

Unearthing yourself to the coolness of the night, your dress an uncomfortable lump around your waist, your breasts slightly sore from his previous ministrations, you stare up at the ceiling as hot tears leak out.

It’s well into the afternoon by the time you drag yourself out of bed the next day. Sleep came intermittently and was far from restful, but waking up meant facing the nightmarish reality of what had transpired. So you hid under the covers for as long as you could. But you know you can’t stay there forever.

The buzzing notifications of your phone had woken you up on more than one occasion in the night. But you ignore it and leave your phone next to the glass of water - still untouched - in favor of washing up. It’s more pressing anyway, you surmise. You can feel your make-up, now icky and caked on your face. It’s awful. Your skin is probably revolting against you now and you don’t even want to think about the mess it probably left on your pillowcase. But last night, you were simply paralyzed by the weight of what you’d done, crying till sleep finally came for you.

You take your time going through an extensive skincare routine, even busting out the clay mask you had impulsively bought together with Yeri when it was on discount. You’re doing it because your skin needs the pampering and definitely not because you’re procrastinating getting to your phone.

But there’s only so many steps you can do with the limited skincare products in your apartment. And you know your friends are probably worried about your abrupt disappearance last night. Getting to those messages first, you quickly assure Soo-eun and Yeri that you’re safe at home. Looking at the remaining notifications, you sigh.

Missed calls Namjoon (8)

7 unread messages from 2 chats Namjoon: are you still sleeping? Namjoon: hey, you still asleep? Namjoon: text me when you’re up please? Namjoon: are you awake?

Dong-In: hey! Dong-In: not sure what exactly happened at the end there haha, but it was rly great seeing u again. Dong-In: i’m still waiting on that brunch reschedule, by the way.

Memories from last night come back to you. Dong-In runs his hands through his curls, an easy grin on his face as he leans in to listen to you over the loud music of the club. Things are simple with Dong-In. And, standing on the precipice of a mental spiral whenever you think of Namjoon, the same craving for simplicity from last night returns.

[2:06pm] ____: well it’s a little late for brunch right now

[2:06pm] ____: but you still up to grab a bite?

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problematicfavesareproblematic · 3 years

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If You Need It, Then I Need It

Johnny Martin x Reader

Summary: The death of Eugene Jackson weighs heavy on each and every soldier in Easy Company. You and Johnny find comfort in each other

Warnings: mutual infidelity, SMUT, ROUGH SMUT, BADLY WRITTEN SMUT, weak attempts at making it fluff, a terrible example of safe sex (don’t risk it, wrap your biscuit), unhealthy coping mechanisms, ANGST PROBABLY BC I HAVE A PROBLEM

And ,guess what? Another song-inspired fic! Title and feels brought to you by Need It by Half Moon Run!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You never knew a kiss could hurt so sweetly.

The way John’s mouth pressed against yours was bruising and unyielding, tasting of salt and guilt and such a deep sadness you feared you may drown in it.

But it was everything you wanted- everything you needed.

The death of the young Eugene Jackson had been the metaphorical straw that broke the camel’s back for many people, all the years of death and destruction and cold and hunger and loss seeming to come to a head in the sleepy town by the river. You felt as if you had aged decades in the span of five years.

Hope had died for you somewhere in Holland. The painful ache of disappointed resolve could only take you so far, and for some reason Johnny Martin’s face had made it clear that it was no longer sustainable.

You were lonely, you all were so hollow and lonely that you were amazed no one had yet cracked in two.

When the two of you had found each other that night, it suddenly didn't matter that you were both spoken for. You didn’t care that you were expected to marry a cold man of your father’s choosing when you got home, and when John had locked the office door behind him you knew that his loyalty to Patricia was the furthest thing from his mind.

The song the two of you had been dancing to these past four years had finally reached its crescendo, all of the shared nights of quiet reassurances and lingering looks and too-affectionate touches finally demanded resolution.

And he’d been the one to kiss you, after all.

But any guilt you’d expected to feel failed to come, your hands clutching at him as if he were the only thing keeping you alive.

A broken sob slips out of your throat when he bites at your lips, but he doesn’t seem to hear it.

Maybe he’s worried about drowning, too.

You shove his coat off of his shoulders, the cold in your bones crying out for the warmth only his skin could provide.

“I know, Baby- I know…” he mumbles against your lips, his own hands clawing at your clothing as well. “I’m comin’, I’ve got you- Fuck—”

You claw your nails down his back, knowing you were probably being too rough but the fire in your veins sings for more, more, more.

More of what? You had no idea.

John seemed to, though. He seemed to know exactly what you needed.

Hands in your hair crank your head back until he’s looming over you with kiss-swollen lips and bright eyes.

He shakes his head in something akin to disbelief.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, aren’t you, Kid?”

When you let a wicked smile curl your lips upward, he growls like some sort of beast.

“I can think of worse ways to go….Sir.”

The hand that latches around your throat only makes you grin wider.

He’s gotten you down to your tank top, and you watch his eyes catch how your nipples pebble in the cold night air. His jaw is slack with desire, the hand on your throat pulling you from your seated position on the table so you are standing toe to toe.

“You want this, right?” John’s breathing is rough, his warm breath washing over your face and making you drunk. When you don’t immediately respond he tightens his hand around your throat ever so slightly and brings his other hand down to fist the material of your shirt at your breastbone.

“Hey- look at me. Tell me you want this or I’m not doing another fucking thing—”

You cut him off with a vicious kiss before quickly slipping your hand down the front of his pants and squeezing. Swallowing his groan greedily, you nuzzle at his cheek until you get him to turn his head enough for your lips to find his ear.

“No,” you whimper, and when you feel him about to pull away you bite at his earlobe. “I fucking need this….I need you, John Martin.”

With a curse of your name, he seals his mouth back to yours, hands sliding down your torso and tugging your clothes out of his way.

No one called him just ‘John’- not his mom or his sister or his men or even Patty. It rolled off of your tongue so sweetly that before now he’s always had to fight the urge to chase it with his lips.

No one had ever just wanted John Martin.

Yet here you were, needing him.

You could feel how much he liked knowing that.

As your pants slide down your legs you feel his bruising grip on your freshly bared flesh, desperately hoping that you’ll have marks on your skin after this is all over.

“You don’t mean that,” Johnny chastises, gasping against your neck as hips buck unexpectedly into your borderline torturous touch. “Fuck, Baby- don’t say that to me unless you mean it….”

One of your hands fists in his hair and brings his face between your newly exposed breasts for him to explore with his tongue.

“You told me to be selfish, didn’t you?” You remind him. “You said that if I wanted something, I needed to make it mine and take it, didn’t you?”

At the time, he’d been trying to reassure you that it was okay to say no to things- more specifically, John had been referencing your family’s predetermined plans for you and your happiness.

“Your life is your own, Y/N Y/L/N. And after all that you’ve seen and done- you deserve to be happy. Take what you want and make it yours, take it if you gotta. You’re too bright to be snuffed out…”

When you look down your chest and see the piercing heat in his eyes, you almost lose your nerve.

He’s sinfully beautiful, the hungry incubus your mother had tried to warn you of when you told her of your plans to join the Airborne’s medical staff.

Debauched, single-minded, dangerous.

God, how you loved it.

His teeth bite into the soft skin of your breast, refusing to free you from his wild and wanting gaze.

“If you won't give it to me, let me go so I can find someone who will.”

Judging by the snarl that twists his face, he doesn’t like your insinuation one bit.

As he straightens up to shuck off his trousers, you turn around and shove your underwear down to your knees, pressing your forehead onto the cool wood of the table you’d been sitting on and offering your backside to him like a crude and carnal oblation.

Biting kisses are bestowed across your shoulders and down your back as his fingers spread your slickness across the petals of your sex, pinching and plucking at you until you are writhing before him. You know that you’re breathing too loud but cannot find it in yourself to keep quiet.

“Please,” you mewl, hands reaching blindly behind you in a vain attempt to get a grip on some part of him. “Please please please please—”

Rough hands grip your hips and twist you back around so you are facing him before you are shoved back almost violently.

Your head is spinning, a foggy delirium of desire making you pant stupidly up at John.

Hands press your knees upwards and outwards, opening you up for him to admire and praise.

“Don’t beg, never beg—goddamn it, Kid, you never gotta beg me for anything….Fuck, look at you. Never hide your face like that again”

His cock is in you before you can fully process his words (namely the word again), a broken cry being swallowed by his kiss before it can grow any louder.

It’s rough and sloppy and desperate- your bodies twisting and turning like flames of a wildfire. You’re sure the table beneath you will break but John is holding you so fucking tightly that you think that it almost wouldn’t matter if it did.

You babble mindlessly into his ear about how good he feels and how good he’s making you feel, and in turn John calls you beautiful and perfect and tells you how good you are which only serves to drive you crazier.

In a move you hadn’t expected, his rough fingers reach between the two of you and pinch at your clit, jerking it up and down in a motion similar to the way you’d stroked his cock.

Good God, you’d never considered touching it like that.

“Oh shit,” you curse, back beginning to bow at the overwhelming heat coiling in your lower stomach. “You like that, huh?” his voice is smug in your ear. “God knows I like it, Sweetheart- fuckin’ do this whenever you want, Baby—”

“Shut up,” your voice is high and wavering, unfamiliar to your ears. “Don’t say that if—”

“I do fuckin’ mean it. Come.”

Lightning- that’s what it feels like. Electricity dancing wildly against your skin and throughout your body, the crackle of release curling and skating from the top of your head to the tip of your toes.

And it just doesn’t stop.

You know that John is kissing you, you know that he is shooting deep inside of you, you know that he’s apologizing while he pumps into you without hesitation.

“I know I shouldn’t I’m sorry I’m sorry I didn’t ask I didn’t mean to Please don’t stop.”

Your eyes are open and unseeing, relying on your hands to find his ass and pull him into you so he doesn’t stop.

“It’s okay It’s okay I need you so much You feel so good Please don’t leave me.”

The lips that had been at your cheek kissing tears away now give way to gritted teeth, John’s breath hot and wet against your skin as he rolls his hips once, twice more before stilling inside of you.

Still quaking beneath him, you turn your head to share his labored breath and open your mouth obligingly when he licks at the seam of your lips.

“Too much?’ he asks breathlessly, the damp strands of his overgrown hair tickling your face as he lets his head fall into your shoulder. “Was it….did I take too much?”

You shake your head no, kissing at his sweaty temple and lethargically wrapping your arms around him.

“You’re perfect, John Martin. God help me, you are nothing less than perfect.”

In this moment, you can’t think too much about what you’ve done- the implications and inevitable fallout for your transgressions that you will both will have to face once the afterglow has faded and the cold morning takes its place.

As if he knows your train of thought, John nuzzles further into your neck and kisses your sweaty skin sweetly.

“Stay here,” he commands, his voice a soft and sleepy rumble in his chest. “I’m not going anywhere, just stay here with me….”

Closing your eyes you nod and rake your hand through his hair.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay.”

Your sins can wait.

You can both be selfish for a little bit longer.

~ ~ ~

*toes ground awkwardly* so...here we are again. me: writing smut unprompted, you: wishing I would knock it off and finish a multi-chapter fic FOR ONCE IN MY LIFE. WELL, GUESS WHAT? I totally understand and am working on it I PROMISE! Thank you for reading and I love you more than Nixon loves alcohol ok bYE!

Taglist: @mrseasycompany @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite @happyveday @sunsetmando

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers x reader #john martin x reader #johnny martin x reader #johnny matin imagines

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ikea-lingonberry · 3 years

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Character Analysis: Hargreeves Siblings

Luther: He grew up being treated as the leader, and readily filled the role. This meant he directly answered to Reginald, and was often expected to play the middleman and peacekeeper. At first this was overwhelming for him, but he and his siblings fell into their roles over time. When the siblings hit their rebellious stage, Luther stayed the course with Reginald. This led to the rebellion often being directed toward him rather than their father. Luther does his best to keep a level head, but once he becomes upset it is difficult to calm him down. Unfortunately, it can be difficult to tell what will set him off. Sometimes it is big things, and other times it is small things. It depends on how much he has bottles up and what the last straw will be. As an adult, Luther has clung to the way he grew up and struggles immensely to view things differently. Even when he tries, he often falls into the same patterns. He tends to believe that he is always right and that he should lead each thing the siblings do. He knows he shouldn’t do these things, but it is easier said than done.

Diego: We often know Diego has the antagonist to Luther, always pining for that Number One spot. However, it wasn’t always like that. When he was young, and up into his pre-teens, he struggled with a horrible stutter. Grace helped him immensely, but the experience was still scarring. It would not have been, if not for Reginald and Luther hounding him for it. Reginald would constantly ask him questions, and make him respond. When he stuttered, Reginald would say “speak up, boy,” “enunciate your words,” “act like what you’re saying matters,” etc. Luther, always the favorite, began to echo these behaviors even in the absence of their father. As Diego finally improved, he chose to speak often. He became very assertive, and particularly aggressive toward Luther. He couldn’t, of course, be aggressive toward Reginald. He tends to be in a hyper-alert state around Luther, as though always preparing for an attack. While Reginald and Luther were the primary aggressors when it came to his stutter, all of his siblings - with the exception of Ben and Vanya - made fun of it at some point. Sometimes it was in good fun (often Klaus), but other times they used it to attack him in an argument (Allison). As adults, this is no longer a problem. His siblings have long since apologized for their bullying behavior, aside from Luther. He is still very defensive in general and tends to be on high alert nearly all the time. He has a high degree of empathy and care about others a great deal, though he refuses to show emotion himself in most instances.

Allison: She experienced some of the least trauma from her father, primarily due to her ability to alter reality using her “wishes.” This meant she could get away with a great deal. As a young child, she took advantage of this and often bragged to her siblings. As she got older, she changed her thought process. She then began to use what little additional freedoms she had to benefit them as well. She grew up with an indirect fear of Reginald - not so much because of her own experiences (though she definitely had a few), but because of what she saw him do to the others. For a great deal of her life, and into early adulthood, Allison viewed her power as a gift. She used it to help her further his goals, wants, and desires. However, after her divorce and loss of Claire, she flipped this perspective. She now considers her power evil, and does everything in her power not to use it. She actually used her power on her siblings a lot when she was a child, and has considered telling them and apologizing now that she is an adult - but she hasn’t, both shame and fear being the primary stopping force. Moving forward, Allison is going to need to find the balance of when to use, and when not to use, her power.

Klaus: He was generally a fun-loving child, that had a tendency to somehow, someway, get into trouble even in the oddest of situations. He didn’t always play the role of clown among his siblings, but, rather, developed this trait between the ages of 8-10. He had two reasons for this: 1) it was a coping mechanism for his own struggles, especially after being locked in the mausoleum, and 2) he learned it provided an escape for his siblings. He was known to goof-off at the worst times, and, while it seemed random, often did so to take the heat off of one of his siblings - namely Ben, Vanya, and, sometimes, Diego. This absolutely led to extensive punishments for Klaus, who ended up with a great deal of Reginald’s anger and disappointment resting on his shoulders. As an adult, he struggles with the vices he developed during his teenage years, and scraped by as best he can. He siblings have done little to help him - but it’s not their fault, and he knows it. He doesn’t open up to his siblings often, and certainly hasn’t told him why he would do what he did, the struggles he had personally, and the fears he experiences. Much like his powers itself, he prefers to block out these thoughts and move on.

Five: He has always been book smart, inquisitive, and innovative. He often would spend time scouring the library for a book on some obscure topic, and often practiced with his powers in his free time. He did (and does) have a superiority complex toward most of his siblings - with the exception of Vanya and Ben. This came from the observation that the others had a tendency to speak first and think later. This frustrated him, and he had no desire to hide it. After he teleported to the future, against Reginald’s advice, his world came crashing down. He spend several days desperately trying to go back, to no avail. After about a week of scrounging for food and water and sleeping beside the destroyed Academy, he decided he had to do something. The first thing he did was bury his siblings, leaving makeshift headstones of stick and bricks. It was while he was sifting through the debris that he found Ben’s statue, and realized he had died many years prior. He spent two weeks burying his family, and another week desperately searching for Vanya in the debris. Finally, he decided he had to walk away - though it is something he regrets to this day, even now that he has returned to the timeline where his family is alive. His time in the commission was necessary, but he despised every moment of it. He could hear Luther in the back of his mind, still trying to tell him the plan. He could picture Ben releasing The Horror on his mark. And those were his waking hours - his nights were worse. Plagued with insomnia, nightmares, and night sweats, he would often stay up late into the night just to avoid sleep. These issues have followed him into his adulthood. Now that he has rejoined his siblings, he has made an effort to embody the person he was when he was younger. Often this means putting on a mask, and hiding the parts of himself that came to be while he was gone. He is still extremely smart, and very logical. However, he feigns his confidence far more often then he will ever admit - and he is always so tired. But with the apocalypse constantly looming over him, he refuses to show his siblings this side of himself - worried it will discourage them, or make them afraid. Of course, he has desperately wanted to. His arrival at Vanya’s flat is a testament to this. Eventually he needs to be able to rest.

Ben: He has always been flighty and nervous, with The Horror being the primary reason. While the others had powers they could control, The Horror was like a separate entity within himself. It would try to break free. And once let loose? He didn’t really decide what it did at that point. It was horrendous and terrifying, for him and others. Once the siblings began their training in force, he always tried to fade to the background. Of course, it didn’t work. Every time he released The Horror, he felt less like himself. And the others saw it too. They would look nervous and repulsed after he used his power, even if they tried to mask it. If Vanya saw him release The Horror, the fear on her face was enough to make him wish he’d never been born. The next bit is entirely speculation: During a mission, Luther told him to release The Horror is a very confined space in order to eliminate a threat. Ben tried to argue, but Luther ordered him to, and chewed him out for talking back. So... he did. Once The Horror was released in the space, it eliminated the target - but it also didn’t stop. Ultimately, Ben was killed by The Horror itself - when he found himself as the only target the Eldritch creature could find. While it is not something he would tell Klaus, he has found a great deal more happiness in death. He no longer had to utilize The Horror, and it no longer tried to break free. While there were, of course, drawbacks, he was so happy just to be able to be near his family without seeing that endless fear on their faces. Of course, he always wished he could do that in life instead. He never had a chance to see his siblings after his death (other than Klaus, of course), aside from when he was manifested at the concert. And, of course, when he went to save Vanya. While it was hard for him, his ability to talk with, touch, and actually help even one of his other siblings was something he had desired for the last 17 years. He wouldn’t have wanted to go any other way.

Vanya: She grew up at the outskirts of the household. While some parents emphasize that children should be seen and not heard, it was instilled in her that she should not be seen or heard. Once she was rumored to believe she was ordinary, she spend her days in her tiny closet of a room with her violin or doing whatever menial task Reginald had for her. She also, unfortunately, became the scapegoat of the household - after all, she couldn’t defend herself. Reginald would, at times, call her to his office and berate her; sometimes more. He took out his frustrations and angers on her instead. Luther, of course, followed suit. The others then realized they could pin the blame on her and often redirect Reginald’s anger to her from themselves. Of course, as children, they had no idea what kind of harm this would do. After leaving the household, Vanya spent the next decade desperately separating herself from her past. She wrote her book, Extra Ordinary, originally at the recommendation of her therapist, who advised writing about her traumas to help move past them. It did help a great deal and, while she was nervous when she published it, she found that many other people could relate to her experience. That sort of support and understanding helped built her back up. Shortly after, she began putting more effort into her violin, offering lessons, and aspiring for first chair. When she went back home for Reginald’s funeral, she knew her siblings would be mad about the book, even though it had been published years prior. And the tension was heavy, and remained that way. He discovering her power became icing on the already treacherous cake, as she began to struggle with more and more from her past that she had been fighting to avoid for so long. And now, there was something that could have prevented it all along. When Luther locked her in the soundproof box, that cake finally toppled. Her own siblings had hurt her, and now she was alone. Again. And afraid. And she couldn’t escape. A mental break followed her panic attack, that manifested auditory and visual hallucinations and a lack of control. With her power now readily accessible, chaos began. Of course, none of it was intentional; she would later say she remembered it happening, but not actually doing any of it. Her time in the 60s was important for her recuperation, and allowed her to find some rest. However, the unfortunate reality is that when her memory returned, she found herself at Ground Zero all over again. She needs time to rebuild herself, and her trust toward her family, as she moved forward.

Disclaimer: This includes a LOT of headcanons and predictions! This is just my take!

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jordm · 3 years

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Heartland 14x01 - Keep Me in Your Heart

So, just because I put off watching this episode for so long, I feel like I know most - if not all of the plot points thanks to my timeline but in any case, here I am - finally sitting down to watch the episode proper. I’m going to try to watch “live” and type as I watch but uhhh lets see how this goes.

Let’s start with the looming plot point - Ty’s passing.

First, i’ll start by saying, by no means do I blame Graham for wanting out. 14 years is a long time to have the same job, and if you don’t have passion for it anymore, it is by far better to leave then give a half ass effort. Did he think that the series would go on for this long? Probably not - nor did I. But if they knew Graham wanted permanently out and not just temporary, I do agree with this route. It allows Amy to move on, explore some new storylines and eliminates the whole absentee father aspect of it all.

A thought: do we think that they filmed this opening scene last year, knowing how the story was going to end? I mean, it is summer here, same clothes and scenery as where last season ended, so it’s entirely possible they filmed this last year. Plus, we know that Graham wasn’t really on set with any other characters this year, so i think there’s a strong case to be made.

The house they were building on the plot of land was abandoned and a lil rusty. A metaphor shall we for how Amy is feeling. I wonder if the house will slowly get built as Amy heals her heart and slowly starts to live life again as the season goes on. So, as Amy slowly recovers and heals, the house will be built, representing a new beginning of some sort. Moving forward but never forgetting the past. (PS i wrote this before i got to the end of the episode so this was just a forethought OOPS)

Seeing Lyndy so carefree probably also mirrors real life - where children have no idea of what really happened or the gravity of the situation. I remember when I was a kid (around 5), at a funeral of my grandpa having the time of my life playing with my cousins, not realizing how serious things were. Of course, in real life, the twins probably had no idea what happened, just that “daddy” wasn’t on set haha.

All the flashbacks just hurt my heart. Seeing circa S5 Ty and Amy (or whatever season that was) at the fishing cabin, Ty and Amy working together to birth the foal & Ty at night with two mugs in hand and how those memories related to current day events was a good reminder that the smallest action/word can trigger a memory. Something as simple as a saw could trigger a memory. I was also reminded of how good the older seasons were and how much the entire cast has changed over the past 14 years - 14 years.

I loved hearing about Grandma Lyndy and Jack’s experience with dealing with his loss. As much as good intentions Tim has, I think Jack is the person to get through to Amy, the one with the one who can relate to her the most with his experience. I feel like we know so much about Grandma Lyndy, but also, so little so hopefully Ty’s death allows for a little more Jack story time.

Of course, just as Tim and Jack think that Amy needs to take on some clients, at the cabin they come across some trapped horses. Perhaps its just the thing to distract her from the event coming up - or the thing to bring up some memories and get her to finally open up. Either way, I loved that Jack was there for her and I love the relationship that they have.

Georgie falling off course during her run because she thought she saw Ty speaks volumes to how much Ty was always there for her during her competitions and the special relationship that they have. I was thinking that Georgie burying herself in school the last year may have been her coping mechanism to deal with the death. She said at the dinner table that she was too busy with school to come back, but it could be that she just couldn’t bear to come home to a place that reminded her so much of him.

The others at the memorial speaking about their memories with Ty, while the flashbacks play in the background was powerful. Ty had an important part to each one. He was Caleb’s best friend, Jack’s surrogate son, Lou’s first dance student, Amy’s best friend/inspiration/husband, Lyndy’s father. Even Tim acknowledged how crazy in love Amy and Ty were (even if it didn’t seem like it in the past few seasons haha). Ty was important to everyone and his loss will be felt throughout the entire season.

But onto other topics, it was nice to see Georgie and Quinn still together, as well as Mitch and Lou... engaged?!?! Plus, we even got a Katie appearance and it was nice to see the two cousins bonding, which has been rare up to this point. And, Quinn grew out is hair (even though I’m totally partial to the short haired Quinn)!

It was nice to hear that Georgie was focused on school and happy. The past few seasons has felt like the same-same for her, the focus on school and horse jumping and trying to juggle it all and the one year time jump allowed Georgie to do just that (without having to show it explicitly) which may not have been the most exciting television. Now that Quinn is her coach, I wonder how this changes their dynamic going forward- if they can get through this season and with him being her coach, then that is just good news.

Lou loving being mayor, or telling herself that she liked it seemed like an Omen for the future that her mayoral duties are about to become a lot more complicated. I look forward to the dynamic that her and Aidan bring to this season.

Also, the Spencer Twins are more vocal than ever and it just plays out so well on television!! They’re so cute

The disadvantage to the one year later jump, is all the things we missed out on. It means we missed out on a lot of events I would have wanted to see such as:

* the start of Quinn and Georgie’s relationship (clearly its serious, they’re still together a year later)

* Mitch proposing to Lou?? Um, details please! I’d like some backstory on this please!

Overall, I really enjoyed this episode - dare I say favourite of the season so far? (ha ha ha). I will miss Ty but can’t wait to see how his passing affects the rest of the season.

#heartland #keepmeinourheart #recap

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ravenqueen89 · 4 years

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the howling of the wind {patreon}

@vulptilla gave me the awesome privilege of once again getting to write her epic character Katla Hawke. This is set in Inquisition times but the burden of the past remains, as ever.

In summary: Katla goes to Skyhold at Iliana’s request and has a ‘friendly’ catch-up with Cullen. Those two have survived Kirkwall (more or less) but have also been on opposite sides of the conflict for a long, long time, so some things need to be ironed out. Past Katla/Thrask mentions, of course.

Of note: mentions of death, trauma, drinking as coping mechanism, survivor’s guilt.

(also on ao3)

Skyhold is an imposing sight when Katla emerges from the forest path, but all she can see is its ruin. All she can see are its walls, waiting to close in around her.

Voices up ahead make her pull the hood of her cloak tighter around her face, hiding the famous redness of her hair. She’s been travelling mostly at night, doing her best to avoid the various conflicts along the road but danger looms past every shadow and her every sense is alert with possibility.

The group ahead reveals itself to be a merchant caravan and Katla breathes a sigh of relief and joins them, taking advantage of the anonymity. The merchants are jovial and discreet, asking no questions but offering gossip aplenty. They even share their spiced wine and it makes the freezing climb to the fortress far more bearable than it would have been otherwise. It also calms some of the storm inside Katla, the way her mind is screaming at her to run the other way, to put as much distance between her and another end of the world as possible. She doesn’t want to ever fight for this hellhole ever again, but Iliana asked and Katla can’t just leave her without back-up. Katla has little to give, but she’s here, despite the illusion of comfort the shadows offered her in her wanderings, away from it all. She’s here, despite her constant grief, despite her constant fear. It doesn’t feel like triumph.

Katla slips into Skyhold unnoticed, the merchants attracting all the attention. Night has long since fallen, snowlit and cold, but Skyhold’s courtyard is full of activity and she doesn’t stand out in any way, which suits her fine. She should seek out Varric or Iliana, but there is one stop she must make first, one visit she has been thinking about constantly during the trip. It takes her quite a bit of aimless walking before she asks a nearby scout for directions, but still no one recognises her.

Katla climbs the freshly icy steps to the tower with single-minded focus, not even noticing the way her limbs ache with the cold. Her mind feels clear for once, awake, and she bursts through the door to Cullen’s office, ready for confrontation. All she finds is emptiness and silence, the candlelight and torchlight flickering in the draught she has caused.

There are letters on Cullen’s desk, a quill dripping ink on parchment, indications that where he has gone will not keep him long. Katla walks around the office, finding nothing of notice, and then she sits on the edge of the desk, sending some reports flying. Adding to the general chaos brings her some satisfaction, but she is fidgety and cold and irritated. She wants this meeting over with, wants the ghosts of Kirkwall to grow quiet, wants them to stop reaching for her. Katla doesn’t think this will make them fade, but it can’t hurt to scream at someone other than herself for a change.

She catches the glint of a bottle on the desk, winking at her with promise, buried under things of lesser import. The bottle is stoppered and dusty with no indication of vintage, but Katla does not refuse such gifts like Cullen does. She doesn’t bother to find herself a glass, making quick work of opening the wine and taking a careful sip of it, followed by a mouthful, and another. The wine is heavy and rich on her tongue, like chocolate, like perdition. It tastes like drinking it is a sin, which means it’s definitely from Tevinter. It would have been entirely wasted on Cullen.

The bottle is half-empty by the time Cullen returns, and the way he freezes when he sees Katla would be comical if not for all the memories his face brings. Rage boils over in her veins once more at the unfairness of it. Cullen is here, alive, in front of her, like he has a right to it, like he’s better than the dead, like he’s not just a lucky coward. Her magic howls like the ghosts but Katla breathes, takes another gulp of wine. Neither of them are in Kirkwall anymore. Neither of them are whole.

Cullen hasn’t recovered enough to speak, but he closes the door behind him and gives a wary glance to the bottle in her hand. She smirks at him and keeps on drinking, waiting for him to make a move, waiting to jump right at his throat if he makes a false one. Katla knows he is not an enemy, but she can’t trust him. She needs to establish if Iliana should. That is why she is here. She will not allow Iliana to be torn to shreds by a role others have made for her.

‘I was not told you were here, Champion,’ Cullen finally says, fidgeting, looking from Katla to his chair to the doors of the tower. He’s very much at a loss and Katla feels vindicated by his worry. She could very much be a threat to him and it’s good for him to know it.

‘I did not announce my presence,’ Katla replies, her smile sweet poison. ‘I have something to discuss with you first.’

Cullen nods, his words faltering again, his hand on the pommel of his sword like he’s trying to remind himself he is the commander of the Inquisition. Katla wonders if the ghosts scream at him too.

She drinks some more, staring at him until he starts fidgeting again. ‘You’re doing a piss poor job of protecting Iliana,’ she says, cutting off his protest with a wave of her hand. ’That wasn’t a question, Cullen. I’m here to make sure you put her first. I don’t give a shit about any faction. You put her first, or you will pay.’

Silence stretches in the wake of her words and she fills it up with more wine. Cullen is angry now too, and her own anger rejoices at the sight.

‘You dare question my motives-‘ he starts.

‘I very much dare. Your motives have always failed before,’ she finishes, her hand growing numb from its grip on the bottle.

Cullen walks around her to stand behind his chair, holding on white-knuckled to its back. Katla can see his pallor, the vague tremor in his fingers, the shadows under his eyes. She doesn’t care about the cause. Everyone is responsible for carrying the weight of their own choices.

‘I would give my life for the Inquisition,’ Cullen says with gravitas, like the words matter.

‘I don’t care about your Inquisition. It’s yet another shoddy faction in a long line of shoddy factions. I care about Iliana and if she’s not already your priority, make it so, Cullen. Enough good people have died for the causes in this shithole of a land.’

The dregs of the wine are bitter but she finally feels warm now, words crowding on her tongue, demanding to be spilled into existence. Cullen watches her, his eyes empty for a moment, like he too is haunted. Katla speaks, and she doesn’t know if her voice belongs to her or the ghosts.

‘Do you ever wonder why we’re alive when people infinitely better than either of us are not?’ she says, her tone steady and colder than the night surrounding them. ‘Do you sleep at night without dreaming of their bodies? Are you really willing to risk adding her to that pile?’

With each word, Cullen looks shakier, like he’s about to collapse, blood draining from his face at an alarming rate. Katla knows that expression on his face. She sees it every time she doesn’t manage to avoid her reflection. This mark of Kirkwall, once gained, can never be lost.

‘I don’t,’ Cullen tries to say, his voice barely a whisper. ‘I’m not…’

Katla waves him off, irritation creeping back in alongside the grief. She doesn’t have time for his poor attempts at explaining himself. They both have to bear the suffocating weight of the past. She’s heard it all before.

‘You remember Thrask, don’t you?’ she asks, and the name grabs her by the throat with all the memories attached to it. She hasn’t said his name in years, only allowing herself to remember him in fragments, lest she be swept away by the immensity of the loss.

Judging by the look on his face, Cullen remembers Thrask well enough, so Katla doesn’t wait for a reply. ‘He was a good man. We owed him, Cullen. He deserved to live more than anyone, but we’re the ones standing here. I won’t fail at protecting someone I care about yet again. Are you willing to bear the consequences of that failure?’

Cullen shakes his head, still holding on to the chair like it’s a shield between him and Katla, between him and the memories.

‘We fucked up in Kirkwall, Cullen. You know it, I know it. We failed to avoid predictable disasters. Iliana deserves better.’

Cullen rubs his hands over his face like he’s trying to obliterate whatever images his mind is conjuring in response to Katla’s words. For a moment he barely looks alive in the flickering torchlight, fear written all over him.

‘I loved him,’ Katla says, and it’s not what she meant to speak into existence but it hangs between them regardless. The wine was more potent than she realised, burning secrets out of her. She can see Cullen’s expression morph into pity but the look she gives him melts it away.

‘There were rumours,’ Cullen says, and of course there were, but there was nothing ever concrete enough. She can still feel all the secrecy and all the hiding, meeting Thrask only at night, only in the shadows. As usual in Katla’s life, freedom remained elusive, and now she will never know how freedom with him would have felt.

Katla’s words dry up as quickly as they came. She can still hear the howling of the ghosts, or perhaps the howling of the wind. She can feel the walls of Cullen’s office closing in and she has to remind herself to breathe. Cullen looks at her like he understands, as if he could ever possibly understand, and she wants to snap at him but there’s no point to it.

‘You’re right,’ Cullen finally says, some time later. ‘Iliana will be the priority.’

Katla tips the empty bottle at him in mock salute and moves away from the desk, opening the door to the howling and the cold. Before she disappears into it she turns and says ‘don’t worry, I’ll stick around to remind you if you forget’ and then she is gone, leaving Cullen alone with his own ghosts.

#my writing #katla hawke #i love katla infinitely #writing her always feels cathartic and awesome #all of numps' characters are legendary and i would die for any of the #*them #patreon

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silenthillmutual · 5 years

Text

One Punch Man, thus far

all Genos/Saitama, unless otherwise specified (i still have a few on my ‘marked to read later’)

Top 10:

Colourless Saitama and his Years of Training by rironomind, M (fluff, humor, angst, hurt/comfort, adventure, romance, drama) A lonely eggman living in the 21st century finds a cyborg who endeavours to keep him.

Connect Your Heart to Mine by Notsohappycamper, T (fluff) When Genos is left in critical condition and must stay at Dr. Kuseno’s for much longer than he’d like, Saitama is more than happy to stay connected to him.

everybody’s looking for darjeeling by Batman, G (AU) In which Genos takes up a part time job, Saitama is upset by purple aprons with sunflowers on them, and Sonic is a very tired supervillain. (Or, that one coffee shop AU now with 76% more cyborg baristas.)

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH DEMON CYBORG by nicolet, T (humor) Today we will be interviewing Demon Cyborg, 19 year old Hero Genos LIVE! Stay tuned for more!

From, Anonymous: Be my friend? by One_Punch_Chan, T Saitama wants to connect with his younger roommate as if he were any other human the only way he knows how: The power of the anonymous internet.

It’s always the internal stuff by fabulousreaper, T Here he was, the strongest man in the world, brought to his knees by a fucking cramp.

Knock Knock, I’m Back From Space by Notsohappycamper, T In which Boros lives, learns to find peace with his human rival, and comes over for tea every so often. I.e., in which Boros visits Saitama while Genos is away.

Missed Connections by batneko, T If the person you like doesn’t like you back, the healthy thing to do is move on, right? All Saitama wants to do is help Genos get over that mystery jerk who doesn’t appreciate what he could have had. And all Genos wants to do is get over Saitama, but how can he when he has to see him every day?

One Hundred Contest Entries by batneko, G Genos gets roped into an embarrassing publicity stunt, and no one is happy about it.

You’ll find me where the monsters are by supercrunch, T Genos stares. For a very long time, because he’s standing in the street with one shoe on, fighting a half-naked man who’s threatening to eat his other shoe, and now there’s an actual naked bald man with one raised eyebrow like he can’t even tell Genos is on his way to short-circuiting. “Oh.” (Either this ‘Saitama’ guy has very bad luck, or he genuinely enjoys getting attacked by monsters every week. Genos, for the life of him, can’t tell which.)

the rest!

Action and Reaction by Astarea (fluff) Saitama has come to terms that he can never confess, but it still hurts.

All The Makeup That MAC Can Make by Sacramental_Wine (hurt/comfort, fluff) “Did he have freckles once? Was he always smoother looking? Did his face always seem to have that plasticine finish? What would Saitama think when he came home to Genos looking…alive for a change?”

Black Is Your Brightest Color by daughterofMyou (fluff, angst) -A Valentine’s Day fanfiction; Saitama and Genos go for a walk in the park, then attempt to cook each other their favourite desserts. Not everything goes as planned.

Brand Loyalty by batneko (AU) Genos encounters a man who looks exactly like Saitama… but with hair.

First Crush by batneko A conversation over dinner about crushes and fandoms.

First-Name Basis by batneko (AU) Genos gave up on finding his soulmate when he gave up his skin. Saitama just isn’t looking.

Gray Matter by batneko (fluff) Some parts aren’t so easy to replace. And the injuries you can’t see can be the most dangerous.

Hands by Bloodsbane Genos asks to use Saitama’s hand as a drawing reference.

Hollow Spaces by twisting_vine_x Saitama hadn’t realized how alone he was until Genos came into his life.

“I’m his husband.” by batneko The obligatory accidental marriage fic.

It’s Cold Without You by your_tomodachi (fluff) Genos is invited to a party organised by the Hero Association on Christmas Eve. He decides to take Saitama along and everyone thinks they’ve come together as a couple. Really, Saitama only came because he heard there’s free food.

Love Bite by batneko (fluff, angst) “Maybe we should stop fooling around.”

Marks on Metal, Dents on Flesh by notsohappycamper (fluff) The boys explore the imperfections of each other’s bodies.

Masks by batneko Superheroes wear masks. Everyone knows that.

Morning Routine by rironomind (fluff) Waking up next to someone who loves you

Mr. Right by OldBeginningNewEnding Flowers in hand, Saitama takes a trip with Genos for a long-overdue introduction. And maybe a request as well.

my love has come along by lowsywriter (fluff, angst, AU) Genos knows himself too well to not notice that his feelings for Saitama are more than friendship, and with graduation looming he is gonna miss his chance to make a move.

never change by determination Saitama doesn’t know how to handle Valentine’s day or his feelings. But he’s learning, and maybe a romantic holiday is all he needed to nudge him in the right direction.

Obliviously by batneko Everyone can see how much Genos cares for Saitama, but can Genos? (No, no he can’t.)

Our Two Dads by aactionjohnny (fluff) A day in the lives of the robo babies.

The Pocket Trials by 8ball (friendship, fluff) Genos apologized at the end of the fight, like he always did when Saitama had to help him stand or gather his parts or just flat out carry what was left of him. But it bothered Saitama that Genos was apologizing for failing to defeat the monster, rather than failing to keep himself unharmed.

R.A.M Sleep by CAPSING “Genos,” Saitama finally speaks, with an uncharacteristic hint of urgency in his voice. “Yes, Sensei?” Genos straightens his back slightly, attentive; he sets his chopsticks down. “This morning, on patrol…” Saitama is clearly struggling. “I –“ There’s a pause.“I wondered what we’d have for dinner.”

Robot Parenting 101 by batneko (fluff) Dr. Kuseno’s latest project is useful, but unconventional.

Soap by 54starr Genos accidentally confessiones his love to Saitama. Now he’s gotta wash his mouth out with soap.

Uncharacteristically nervous by oiltears (fluff) Genos and Saitama go on their first “real” date and Saitama is a small bundle of nerves

unwind by bluestrawberryiii (fluff) Saitama’s had a rough day.

Warm Like the Sun’s Rays by oodlenoodle (hurt/comfort, fluff) Genos and Saitama enjoy a sunset together and share memories from the past while creating a new memory of their own.

Yellow by transtrees “The person I love is so strong it worries me, So show your weakness to me alone! I’ll find you before the stars do, So please come straight home!”

Blending and Processing by aactionjohnny It’s just a blender.

Blush by SomeplaceToStay Genos can’t blush and Saitama doesn’t know if he’s upset by that.

Breaking the Fourth Wall by nicolet (fluff, crack, humor) Genos reads fanfic. That’s all there is to it.

Breathing Fish to Life by Magisey (fluff, angst, hurt/comfort) A fluffy hurt/comfort fic of getting together, love, and fishies

Condition of Learned Helplessness by Sheepnamedpig (drama, romance, angst, friendship) Genos fights, learns, launders, and loves.

Confessions by AlaianaPotter (fluff) He had not meant to send it. He had not meant to even write it, but sitting there in the morning as Sensei slumbered, it had just been far too tempting

Fraternization by batneko Saitama and Genos learn about a very inconvenient Hero Association rule.

Frustration by icarusforgotten (angst) It’s something so fundamentally human, so unbearably real, that it almost hurts to acknowledge it.

Greed by Sheepnamedpig I get a little bit Genghis Khan./ I don’t want you to get it on/ With nobody else but me.

Hands by Bloodsbane Genos asks to use Saitama’s hand as a drawing reference.

I Didn’t Know What I Needed to Know by The_Button_Harlequin (fluff, angst) Saigenos Week Prompt: Won’t you come home soon?

I Love You by nicolet (fluff) Just a touch, the briefest touch, and yet within it, a world of importance.

Kisses For Me by nicolet (fluff, crack) Genos keeps kissing other Heroes (accidentally), and Saitama is annoyed.

Lazy Day by Notsohappycamper (fluff) Relaxing on the balcony, doing laundry together, eating ice cream, and being in love.

Love doesn’t HAVE to be a many splendored thing, does it? by Ginncide Saitama’s never been an emotional guy, so he figured he wasn’t cut out for romance. He starts to wonder what being in love really is.

Mind Over Matter by yesterday “You want me to teach you how to what?” Saitama asks as they’re clearing up the dishes from tonight’s meal. Genos washes; Saitama gathers up the garbage. Tomorrow is burnable garbage day. Each pot and plate and dish is scoured to sparkling perfection before it goes into the drying rack. “Relax,” Genos says. “Sensei appears to have a lot of experience in the art of doing nothing, and recently Doctor Kuseno suggested that it would be beneficial for me to do the same.” “Doesn’t that guy make robots? They’re not exactly like humans, you know,” Saitama says. “And it’s not like I spend all day lying around the house. I’m a hero, a hero.”

Not Today by Sheepnamedpig (action, drama, romance) There is only one thing we say to death–

One Day (Love and Loss) by SugaSugar (AU, angst) By the time he’s twenty five, Saitama starts to wonder if Genos died before they could meet.

Paper Stars by Variastrix (angst) Saitama folds paper stars as a coping mechanism.

Phantom Warmth by KNACC (fluff) Genos is feeling odd reactions in his barely functional core as Saitama carries his wrecked body away from the Sea King fight.

Practice Makes Perfect by Humanitys_Shortest_Soldier (fluff, angst) Genos takes a lesson from Saitama a little too seriously, and Saitama is surprisingly okay with the whole thing.

Regret by Lazzuli (fluff, angst) Everyone has discussions, everyone fights. Even teachers and disciples.

Search Your Feelings by Chokopoppo (fluff) Saitama can’t believe Genos hasn’t ever seen Star Wars. Genos can’t believe Saitama thinks R2-D2 is the best robot.

Separation Anxiety by NanakiBH (drama, angst) Everything can be broken; something the strong forget.

Shift by Duskglass They’re both pretty bad at dealing with change, and Saitama just wants to avoid trouble. It sort of backfires.

Simplicity by rubyfiamma (fluff) Genos kisses Saitama, Saitama wonders what in the fuck

Sleeping Cycles by LennyFace (fluff, friendship) Genos can’t help but notice many details about his master, small things he observes from their routine and includes in his housework to facilitate his life.

So much time to waste by seiji Two heroes walk into a bar. The waitstaff survive, mostly.

synthetic by cyaneyed He tastes faintly of metal.

Twelve to Four by lightning027 (fluff) [[Or a story where Saitama makes a list, Genos buys a throw pillow, and they both sort of overheat]]

why isn’t he getting paid for all the merchandise though? There was a line between admiration and obsession and Saitama was pretty sure Genos was starting to cross it.

you’re digging graves into your skin (mark the headstones with my name) by rironomind (romance) Genos is self-destructive, Saitama is insensitive and Dr Kuseno is long-suffering.

All I Have to Give by needchocolatenow (fluff) Genos is in love with Saitama.

And so the Universe Cackled in Glee by I_dont_know_man (humor) Inspired by bleepbloop6969’s Ecchi AU: “Where everything is the same, except Genos keeps getting thrown into perverted positions with Saitama.”

First Aid by Zemmiphobia (fluff) Watching Genos prep for repairs gives Saitama a sudden realization, sparking Genos’ own revelation.

Friction by Usuishi (PWP) There were far too many times where they ended up in situations in that Saitama really couldn’t find the source of. They always ended up in erotic circumstances somehow, whether it was Genos or himself that initiated them. It didn’t matter where they were by this point. It didn’t matter one bit.

A Happy Accident by paperficwriter Genos discovers that Saitama is very, very sensitive to certain touches, and he decides to experiment.

A Hot Bath and a Hot Pot by aactionjohnny (fluff, smut) Or, “what the OVA didn’t show us.”

I Want You To Want Me by One_Punch_Chan Genos gets a super obsessive fan who keeps harassing him for dates etc. and the only way to get them to leave him alone is for Saitama to fake being his boyfriend.

Jupiter Has Seven Moons by Chokopoppo (PWP) Nothing like a cool robot boyfriend with weird sexual modules to make you appreciate the modern age of technology, and no time like the present to figure out how to use that.

Nightmare by batneko Saitama has a dream that shakes him, and some reassurance is in order.

Nobody Got Me Feeling This Way by Sacramental_Wine “Normally, he felt hard around the edges, something immobile and sturdy. But the music hollowed him out, making him fluid, floating, dancing along with a general ease that came from not seeing himself.” Genos discovers what it is to love the body he’s been given.

Repairs by shaunhastings2012 Genos needs to fix some of his wiring after a battle. It should’ve been a simple repair, but it wasn’t going quite the way he’d expected. However, Genos didn’t exactly mind what happened.

Self-Indulgence by EmpanadaDrabblez The alarm clock across the room shone red like those beautiful crimson irises. The blue moonlight through the sheer curtains glowed like the white cables of Genos’ neck when they were kissed. The small fan at his feet droned quietly like the overworked hum of Genos’ cooling system.

Sensory by Duskglass Genos needs some minor repairs after a fight, and is positive he can handle them on his own. It’s a little harder than he anticipated.

So Very Loved by lilith_swbf Saitama made him feel like he was his most precious treasure.

Untitled. by DesInDisguise (fluff) Gentle lovemaking was all that he could ask for. To be shown adoration, love. To be pulled away from their lives for only a moment, no remembrance of how he was a machine made for death. How nice it was to forget, or pretend that he was human for those moments. To be loved and cherished much like anyone else, for Saitama to kiss him without hesitation, giving him no time to apologise for being too stiff, too awkward, too fake.

Add-On by NyxMidnight Genos is a cyborg. Adding a bodypart is nothing to him.

Apartment-warming by Akumeoi (smut, romance) Saitama finally moves out of the Hero Association HQ and goes back to Z-City with Genos. They do some housewarming. (Translation: 2K smut)

Appreciation by EmpanadaDrabblez (AU, PWP) “You know I appreciate you, don’t you?” The question was easier to let out than Saitama expected, but it was the silence that answered him which made him anxious.

The Apron by Bloodsbane (angst, fluff) Shit. The word buzzed around Saitama’s skull like a mosquito, one he truly had no chance of squashing between his fingers. Shit, he thought, observing his disciple/roommate/best friend as he scrubbed furiously at a spot on the floor with a rag. He was on his knees, bent forward slightly, putting all his weight into removing an ugly soy sauce stain. The straps of the apron fell as if to purposefully frame his ass. Fucking shit.

Bathtime Bubbles Baby by Darke_Eco_Freak Saitama would really hate to burst them.

Beta Testing by Croik Taken from an anon prompt on tumblr: “Masochistic Genos who knows Saitama is going too far w/o realizing it while they’re banging.”

Blackout by Lindserton (fluff, smut) A storm is approaching and Saitama doesn’t seem concerned about it one bit.

Blooming Season by oodlenoodle It’s springtime and Saitama decides to visit Genos.

Break Me Open by spunlikesugar Genos ends up with his fair share of dents the first time he has sex with Saitama…and the second time. And many times after that.

Crime and Punishment by spunlikesugar (humor, smut) Genos uses a new tactic to get Saitama to attend a wedding with him. It backfires. Or not. Depends on how you look at it.

Egging Him On by banana-babies Genos and Saitama end up at King’s house with some sake and a lot of sexual tension. King ends up having a very bad time.

Evening Interlude by SweetAvidyaJones (angst) I have been thinking a lot lately about Genos fucking Saitama and I couldn’t stop so I wrote this.

Eyes (Only For You) by 8bitcyborg (smut) «That’s when he decided that it didn’t really matter. His heart told him it didn’t matter. Genos wanted him, and he wanted Genos. The reckless but still so perfect and loving cyborg, who could have anyone in the world, possibly the universe, but only had eyes for him.»

Full Color by NanakiBH Ever since Genos appeared, something began to change.

From a Cyborg’s Mouth by Emery (fluff, smut) Genos is much, much too polite, and Saitama decides that he’s had enough of it–especially when he knows that the cyborg talking dirty will get him off.

Frozen Sunlight by Aetherdrive Humanity is the best gift you can give to someone that has transcended it.

Hard Edges by Ixxen (smut) For the rest of the day there’s a peaceful lilt in Genos’ step that Saitama hasn’t seen for longer than he liked to think, and makes sure to let the blond catch him staring. Each time is a discovery, and the specimen is a smile outlined in vivid red; perfect, entrancing, and capable of skipping a step in Saitama’s otherwise perfect heartbeat. After that, he pays attention.

Phantom Limb by batneko Genos doesn’t have a penis, but accidentally discovers his brain can make do.

Pointless by CheekyKichi (PWP) Genos is very cheeky and Saitama doesn’t let him get away with it, even if they’re at a very important wedding.

The Quality of Being Hard by NyxMidnight A misunderstanding leads to good time, or “You just had to say so, Master”.

Reconsider by SpringTide “So, uh, Genos. Do you…have a thing for me?” Time stood still in the room. This was the absolute worst case scenario. Genos weighed his options while carefully maintaining a poker face. Saitama just kept staring at him with a blank, unreadable expression. “That’s. An abrupt question, sensei.” It wasn’t abrupt. Genos had lived there for months and fallen hard and fast. It was shocking it took this long for something to come up.

Stamina by toastycyborg (PWP) A drabble for Tumblr user sai-pop, based on an anonymous ask: “OVERSTIMULATED GENOS AND A SAI THAT CANT STOP BC HE HAS A SCARY AMOUNT OF STAMINA”

Through Different Eyes by NanakiBH (drama, hurt/comfort) For the first time, he wanted to know more.

Yellow by aactionjohnny Genos buys Saitama a gift. Well, really, it’s for both of them.

Yes, Master by Astarea Genos is very upset and Saitama is having none of that.

Always Gold by OldeShoestring (AU, fluff, humor) Genos lost a bet and the result isn’t as quite as he expects it to be.

Good Boy by doobler (PWP) Saitama wants Genos to want him to want to be praised. Right?

Head Full Of Nothing by hopelesswanderlust (angst) Sweet Mask makes him write a list about what it means to be human.

His Biggest Fan by Orihander (fluff) Genos just wants his sensei to be happy

I Know Your Face by paperficwriter Sonic finds Saitama, but something about him keeps him at an uncharacteristic distance.

Lazy Mornings (PWP) Saitama appreciates staying in bed longer than necessary a lot more than he should. Especially if there is someone else with him. Someone who doesn’t mind being ground against.

The Meaning of Flowers by paperficwriter (+ Metal Bat/Garou; fluff) A collection of drabbles based around flowers and their many meanings.

So Many Colors by OldeShoestring (fluff) Genos deals, listens and loves. Not necessarily in that order but he does all of them anyway.

#fic recs #one punch man #saigenos #genosai #opm #nori talks #ok to rb #long post #popular

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itskateak · 4 years

Text

Oceans and Stars - Chapter 9

Story Summary: A story of how Bucky Barnes falls in love with oceans, stars, and the woman who gave him the reasons to.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Velika Dante King (Fem!OC)

Chapter Summary: A woman in uniform arrives at the compound and everyone knows what that means.

Words: 3.8K (dang)

Warnings: Mentions of war, mild language, loss, grief

A/N: I'm not sorry about this. :) but I also kinda am.

Masterlist

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𝓕𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓻𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓰𝓸

The woman straightened her pencil skirt with shaky hands. She had done four notifications in the last week and they hadn't got any easier. These people had been her friends and seeing the faces of their families and friends deepened the hole in her chest.

The large compound loomed over her, casting a shadow that would've been intimidating if she hadn't been to Hell and back many times. The glass doors were easy to open and the chill of the air conditioning made her shiver. She approached the receptionist's desk, a file held in the crook of her elbow. The official report did very little to explain what had happened and it wouldn't provide any comfort to those who lost her.

"Hi, how can I help you?" The receptionist asked with a smile.

"Hello. I need to speak with those on the Avengers team urgently," She said, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"In regards to what?"

"Velika Dante King." The receptionist's smile fell and nodded.

"I'll page you through. Friday, please alert the Avengers to gather in conference room A."

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The moment Bucky walked into the room, he knew something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. His chest tightened and his stomach sank as the woman in uniform gave them all a sympathetic smile. He knew immediately what was happening and his heart pounded.

"I am Lady Belial of the Office of Afterlife Services, but I am here as a representative of the Kingdom of Morningstar and Queen Lunara." Belial set a file down onto the conference room table, the Kingdom's seal printed on the front. A name was scrawled across the front: Lt. Velika

"What happened?" Bucky cut to the chase, surprised that he was able to speak at all. His throat was tight and his right hand was beginning to shake. This couldn't be happening. It was just a bad dream and he was going to wake up and everything was going to be fine.

"Bucky, who says anything bad happened?" Steve asked though he didn't sound convinced himself. He was just trying to calm him down.

"Because I know what this is, Steve. We both know what this is. We were in the military. It's a notification. So, what happened to her?" Bucky turned to the woman, an edge to his voice. He clenched his right hand to try and steady it. His nails dug into his palm to ground himself - a coping mechanism that Naomi had berated him for time and time again.

"The official report states that most of her unit went MIA on the southern front two days ago, but it's bullshit." Belial's shoulders dropped. "Two weeks ago, her unit went missing. We found most of them, but Velika is still MIA. If not found in the next week, we have to change her active status to inactive, announcing her killed in action. I'm so sorry."

Bucky felt his breath freeze in his chest and his throat closed up. He knew from the moment he'd stepped into the room that this would be the news delivered but there was something else about having it confirmed. He closed his eyes and willed himself to wake up.

Wanda was wrapped in Vision's arms, crying softly. She'd already lost so much and it never got easier. Especially during the younger years of her life. Even as a young adult, now, she still continued to lose.

Sam had his arms crossed, eyes on the floor. A veteran like himself knew the chances that she'd turn up were low. He sniffed and scratched under his eye, acting like he wasn't about to cry.

"How close is the war to ending?" Tony asked, voice thick. He'd sunk into a chair after the news, no doubt thinking about how he was going to break the news to his spider-kid.

"In Earthen time, a few more months from my estimations. It's been thirteen years for us and we're all wanting it to end." Belial said.

"Isn't there something more you can do?" Natasha's brow was furrowed, tone sharp like she didn't believe the woman.

"I'm so sorry. We're doing all we can but even then I don't know if it'll be enough. It's a large realm to cover and some of the fighting has even pushed into Purgatory." Belial sighed. "We do know they're moving her location from what her unit mates have said. If she's even in Hell or Purgatory anymore, that is."

Bucky dug his nails into his skin hard enough to nearly draw blood. He was sure he was the only one who really understood what that might mean. Velika's history with Heaven was very rocky and if she wasn't in Hell or Purgatory...he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to even consider it.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked.

"It's possible they took her back to Heaven. And if that's true, there's no getting her back because they'll either kill her or put her under their control again." Belial looked grim.

"How could you let that happen? You knew it was a risk and still called her to fight. She knew it was a risk and she still went! She trusted that you wouldn't let it happen!" Bucky suddenly burst out, voice louder than he intended.

"Buck, I know you're upset, but don't yell at her. She wasn't responsible for what happened." Steve placed his hand on Bucky's shoulder and he shook it off.

"I wish there was more I could do. I really do. I know what they did to her. I know what happened. But if it was her decision to go and fight, then you need to respect it. It was her choice." Belial said. "You understand, Sergeant Barnes."

"She was drafted. I enlisted. There's a difference. I chose to fight. She didn't." He said through gritted teeth.

"She knew when she asked for protection from the Kingdom that if they were to ever go to war, she would have to fight. She chose that." Belial matched his tone. "Just like every other fallen angel who asked for the protection of the Kingdom. It was the price she knew to pay for her freedom."

"What kind of bullshit system is that? She wasn't free. She has a bag under her bed with supplies in case she had to run. Run to protect us because she was terrified someone would come for her and hurt the people she cared about." Bucky was shaking, anger surging through his veins. "That isn't freedom."

"The Kingdom would protect her."

"Just like they protected her from being taken on the battlefield?" Bucky shook his head in disbelief, tears pushing at his eyes. "She laid her life on the line to protect a Kingdom that didn't give a shit about her." He turned and left the room, ignoring Steve calling his name. He needed to be alone.

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𝓦𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓶𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓰𝓸.

It had been three weeks since they'd been told of Velika's disappearance and two weeks since she was officially announced as killed in action. Two weeks since Bucky had left his room.

Steve and Sam came to check on him occasionally, bringing him food and taking the barely touched plates with them. They never lingered long, sitting on the edge of the bed quietly and giving updates on the world around him. He had no interest in the world around him. Not now that she was gone.

"Buck, you have to get up sometime. I know it's hard, but you'll feel better if you just walk down the hall," Steve said during one of his visits, a hand resting on Bucky's calf. He hadn't tried to get him up and moving until the last few days, hopeful that they could just get him out of bed for a change.

Bucky didn't say anything. He never did. He didn't trust himself to speak, afraid that if he opened his mouth, a sob would come out. He was so tired of crying and his head hurt constantly from dehydration. He couldn't bring himself to drink water to solve the issue. He could barely bring himself to eat most days.

"I know you miss her. We all do. But would she want you to waste away in your room like this?" Steve asked, patting his leg gently. He knew Steve meant well and came from a place of concern but he didn't want to hear it.

"Get out." Bucky croaked, eyes screwing shut.

Steve sighed and quietly shut the door on his way out, leaving Bucky to his misery.

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Bucky stared blankly at the ceiling, spread out across his bed. He'd gotten up and showered at least, but that was all he could bring himself to do. It's progress. He thought. His therapist would've applauded him and hyped him up about it.

That progress was quickly dashed when he saw her dog tags on the bathroom counter and it had caused him to spiral into a breakdown. He'd collapsed onto the floor in tears, clutching the only thing left of her in his hand.

When he'd gotten to his bed and found himself staring endlessly through the ceiling, he had no idea. But that's where he was when someone knocked.

The door opened and he blinked to clear his vision. That only pushed more tears down his face and he let them fall. He didn't want to put the energy into wiping them away. A weight settled on the edge of his bed.

"Hey, man. Just came in to say that Steve and Nat are heading to take down a base in an hour. There's a spot on the helicarrier if you want it." Sam said quietly. He'd always had a soft voice when he came in, which was a nice change from Steve's loudness. His best friend had always been louder than he'd intended, even when he tried to be quieter.

Sam had been good company on the days that he wanted it. He had stopped teasing him as much, but he still poked fun at Bucky on occasion. Never for things like wearing the same shirt four days in a row or having his hair look like a mess when it hadn't been brushed in days or making comments when he did dare to venture out into the common areas. He still made fun of him for walking slowly in the halls or standing in a doorway for more than half a second or yelling at him when he sat in 'his spot.' He wouldn't admit it, but Bucky was really grateful for that.

"They'd like to have you join them, but if you don't feel up to it, that's okay. The Guardians have landed so Gamora has offered to fill in." Sam further explained in a casual tone that really eased his guilt of not wanting to go.

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but a sob slipped out. He drew in a shuddering breath, taken off guard at his own vulnerability.

"Are you okay? I mean, I know you're not okay. But what's up?" Sam turned with a soft expression, gently resting his hand on Bucky's knee in concern. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"I miss her," Bucky whispered, throat burning from holding back another sob. "I miss her so much."

"I know, buddy."

"We were s'posed to go out," Bucky turned his head to look at Sam, voice wavering. "We were s'posed to go dancin' or sight seein' and she was s'posed to tell me about her favorite constellation."

"Aw, man. I'm sorry." Sam gave him a sympathetic smile. "Have you talked to Naomi yet?"

Bucky shook his head. He'd canceled his appointments the last three weeks, but he figured it would maybe do him some good to see his therapist.

He just didn't want to leave the compound and face the world without Velika.

"I'll call her office and see if she can do a house visit, okay? Do you want me to stay?" Sam asked. He always left the choice up to Bucky. Never wanted to intrude if he wanted to be alone.

Bucky nodded shakily, shifting to look back at the ceiling.

"Aight, man. I'll stay until you tell me to leave."

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Bucky had ventured out into the common room on a brave day, spending his time idly watching whatever was on the tv. It was some reality show about a famous family and he could not care less, but it was just background noise that distracted him from his thoughts. He had his computer sitting on his lap and he was reading through some of the social media posts he'd missed. He scrolled past the fan works, not really paying them mind. People would do what they would. As long as he didn't know, he didn't care.

Peter came in after school had gotten out. He usually came after school on Fridays and stayed the weekend for training. He was humming along to whatever music he was listening to and set his backpack down on the table.

Bucky looked up, watching him bop along to his music, and head for the fridge to grab a drink. He shook his head fondly and scrolled down.

"Oh, hi. Uh...Mr. Barnes, I-I didn't see you there." Peter said awkwardly, pulling his earbuds out.

"Don't think you saw much of anything while you were headbanging there, kiddo," Bucky replied with a friendly smile. "How'd that test go? History, right?"

"Uh, yeah! U.S. History, specifically. We've been talking about World War Two, so I pretty much nailed it." Peter shrugged.

"Helps to have us old farts around for your questions, huh?" Bucky had always found that conversation with the young Avenger came easy and even now in his very non-social state, it still flowed easily between them.

"Well, I mean yeah, but you're also fun to be around so it's really a win-win situation." Peter smiled and flopped down next to him on the couch. "Are you actually watching this?"

"Huh? Oh, no. It's just background noise. It was too quiet while I was just sitting here." Bucky looked up at the tv, brow furrowed. What an awful show. "If you want to change it, you can."

Peter grabbed the remote and navigated to one of the streaming systems. There was a bit of silence for a moment with intermittent plinks as he switched between titles. He gasped softly, which drew Bucky's attention.

"They have the Princess Bride! I haven't seen that movie in so long!" Peter grinned excitedly.

"What's that?" Bucky asked, looking up at the picture onscreen. He read the synopsis and became intrigued.

"Only like, the best movie ever? Have you not seen it?" Peter turned to him with a surprised expression.

"Uh, no. I think it was on the list that Velika...that Velika and I were working through." Bucky dropped his gaze to his laptop, the familiar ache in his chest returning. He missed her so much. The burning in his throat returned and he tried to hide how his breath hitched.

"Mr. Barnes, I know you miss her a lot...I do, too." Peter's tone changed immediately, becoming much softer and full of emotion.

"It sucks," Bucky muttered, not trusting his voice too much.

"It really does." Peter fell quiet after that, knowing that words weren't going to help.

Bucky was surprised when Peter pulled him into a hug. He turned and wrapped his arms around the boy.

"You looked like you needed a hug."

"I did, kiddo. Thanks." Bucky couldn't remember the last time someone had just hugged him. Steve would give him a one-armed hug around his shoulders, and Sam would pat his back. Natasha didn't really like physical affection so he never could count on it from her.

Peter didn't let him go until Bucky made the move to pull back. The hug had lasted long enough for the tv to go into sleep mode.

"So, you wanna watch it with me?" Peter asked, picking the remote back up.

"Is it worth it? Because Tony claimed The Fifth Element was the best movie ever made and that was a nightmare and a half." Bucky closed his laptop and leaned to put it on the coffee table.

"Mr. Stark is a tech genius. Not a movie genius." Peter grimaced. "The Princess Bride is fantastic. The book was even awesome."

"Alright. You've sold me. Let me get a drink."

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"Hey, Bucky. I was worried when you canceled your appointments but Steve told me what happened when I came in. I'm so sorry." Naomi perched on the side of his bed, glasses pushed to the top of her head. "I know how much she meant to you."

"You really don't," Bucky muttered, drawing his knees to his chest. He was sitting up against the headboard. He'd been having better days recently, but the last week had been very rough on him.

"Do you want to tell me about that, then?"

"I am...was in love with her." Bucky looked up at her with a vulnerability even she didn't expect. He'd never told anyone other than Steve. It was strange to say, but it felt right. Except it made his chest tighten in grief. "And I never got to tell her."

"Bucky...I'm really sorry." Naomi shifted and sat cross-legged at the end of his bed. "That's awful. I don't actually know what to say."

"We were supposed to go out when she got back. I asked her out on a date and she said yes. I was gonna take her out dancing." Bucky continued, eyes falling to the bedspread sadly. "Except she can't dance to save her life. Anything more than slow dancing and she'll step on your toes. I wouldn't mind, though. As long as she was having fun."

Naomi smiled, nodding along as she listened. She wouldn't correct him on his tense usage. Not yet, anyway. "Would you be interested in taking me down the trail that leads to the river? A walk through the woods always helped me and I think you could use some fresh air."

Bucky thought about it carefully. He hadn't been out there since he'd lost her. Granted, he hadn't been out of the compound much since they were given the news. He'd just barely started coming out of his room more than once a day. But a walk through the woods sounded nice. So, he nodded and unfolded himself from his curled up position.

An hour later, a photo was posted on his Instagram of the fallen tree across the river. He hadn't been around on social media at all since the official notice of Velika's passing had been put out. His messages and notifications were filled with condolences and support. He hadn't the heart to read them yet. He put a lot of thought into the caption, thinking maybe to go simple and talk about his favorite memory with her.

Bucky decided to be honest.

It isn't the same without my girl who once made me face my fears head-on. Now I have to face them on my own. I wasn't ready then and I'm not ready now, but I know she'd want me to keep going and take the leap. Fearing the fall will only make you miss the landing.

I didn't know what she had meant by that in the moment, but I understand now. I miss her every single day and I know several others do as well. My girl was special to me and to many people and losing her has been one of the most difficult things I've ever gone through.

This place is not the same without her, but the view is still worth the risk of falling. A part of me still believes that she's out there, somewhere, fighting to get back. I don't know if it's worth it to let myself hang onto that small hope. I keep thinking that this is all a bad dream and I'm going to wake up. It's been nearly three years since she left to fight, and nothing hurts more than the promises she didn't get to keep. That hopeful part of me is going to keep waiting.

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Bucky sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The ocean in the distance washed against the shore steadily, like the beating of a heart. He could barely see the inky water in the soft moonlight. The salty breeze blew past him, rustling the grass sprouting from the dunes below the deck.

Steve had decided that the team needed a retreat to take some time to recover. Being in the compound didn't give everyone time to heal from losing Velika, considering that everything around them kept moving on and there were daily reminders of the hole in their lives. A trip to a secluded beach had been his decision, which happened to be perfect as Tony brought up the fact he owned a private beach house in Greece.

The location only made Bucky miss her so much more. The stars twinkled back at him, but they had felt cold ever since he lost her. The constellations were not as friendly and intriguing as they had once been. He sighed again, pushing down tears. He was done crying.

It had been six months and they had received word that the war was over. Hell had won and her death wasn't in vain. Her brother had visited and could offer very little consolation before he had to leave to return to the business he ran.

The pain hadn't gotten any better, but Bucky had learned how to handle the daily heartache he felt. He wondered if it would ever get easier or if he would forever feel like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. Missions had become a great distraction to help him focus on other things, but at night, he was left alone with his thoughts. Like tonight.

Footsteps interrupted the sounds of the night, which warned him of someone approaching. He figured it was Steve, Sam, or even Nat coming to try and bring him inside. He couldn't sleep, so he came out to try and quiet his mind and find some peace. He didn't turn around to find out who it was, knowing they'd either move into his peripheral vision or speak.

"Hey, Bucky." He knew that voice. His eyes widened and he picked his head up. He didn't want to turn around, afraid that if he looked, it would be a hallucination. His heart was hammering against his chest, blocking out the sounds of the waves as it beat in his ears.

Against his better judgment, Bucky turned around and his breath caught in his throat.

"It's been a long time."

𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓾𝓼 𝔀𝓪𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰.

Taglist-

#oceans and stars #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x original character #bucky barnes x original female character #velika dante king #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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rhimorechill · 5 years

Text

be more chill (musical) & the stages of grief

note: this is not up to 3.0 because i don’t know enough about 3.0, but feel free to add on !

three characters are majorly influenced by the stages of grief over the course of be more chill: michael, mr. heere, and jeremy. jeremy is the least influenced, simply because at the time of the plot he's not currently mourning a loss. michael and mr. heere, however, independently go through arcs of grief.

michael goes through the stages of grief most clearly during be more chill. the person he's grieving for ? jeremy, of course. understanding his grief is key to understanding his character, since after the fifth song (fourth if you exclude jeremy's theme), he's grieving up until the finale. a rough timeline of his stages are as follows:

denial- the mall through the end of upgrade/loser, geek, or whatever, with a bit of time tacked on afterwards

bargaining- the bathroom fight immediately before michael in the bathroom

depression- michael in the bathroom until midway through the pants song, when mr. heere confronts him

anger- the confrontation with mr. heere through the play

note the absence of acceptance. michael's grieving cycle was cut off at the play, since jeremy came back to him. as the loss was undone, the need for grief was too.

so what do these stages mean in the context of michael's character, exactly ?

they give a framework for his general emotions, thoughts, and actions at a given point in the timeline. this framework also means that all his actions need to be analysed through the lens of whatever stage he was on to truly make sense.

for example: michael's inviting jeremy over during upgrade when jeremy had been ignoring him was in part due to him being in the denial stage. he wasn't being stupid, or clueless, or whatever. he couldn't accept that something was wrong, because he was in the denial stage.

another example: michael in the bathroom is a hard swing into the most hopeless stage of grief. he wasn't giving up on jeremy, since he wasn't in acceptance of his loss. obviously, getting in a fight with your best friend when you're just trying to help him hurts on its own, but combined with moving into the depression stage ? that's definitely going to hurt.

and it carries into the pants song when michael's burning momentos. that's not an act of spite in the least ! that's a sad kid trying to cope by getting rid of the things that are making him sad, i.e. reminders of his loss.

one more example: michael's demands for an apology. he's angry, and he's lashing out by insisting that he get something for bothering. i'll admit, i think the particular demand for an apology specifically, along with the wording surrounding his insistence, is due to words of affirmation being his primary receptive love language. he needs reassurance that he isn't setting himself up to get his heart broken all over again. he's also likely unaware how high the stakes are, and that squip is physically preventing jeremy from apologizing. but, regardless, when he drops any reluctances the moment jeremy shows he's willing to take michael back ? that's the closing of his grieving stages.

his immediate switch to helping out also serves to show his loyalty, which is partly an act of self-preserverance. as can be seen by him immediately seeking reassurance that jeremy wouldn't hurt him, michael doesn't want to be going through the stages of grief. he wouldn't dream of willingly going through them again if he can avoid it at all, especially when they fucked him over six ways to sunday the first time. jeremy, who will be working on relearning how to trust his instincts, the very ones that basically all scream that he loves michael, would definitely assuage michael's fears. therefore, michael is hard-pressed to leave, even without mentioning what having no friends in high school is like. it's not great that jeremy is michael's only friend, but it's the truth. high school can be ridiculously lonely without anyone to talk to, in any of your classes. and sitting alone at lunch is absolutely terrifying.

jeremy is the only person keeping michael's defense and coping mechanisms from falling apart. of course, jeremy also plays a role in one of michael's coping mechanisms- escapism- itself, but just having jeremy around makes it easier for michael to deflect any hurt.

this adds up to michael being absolutely unprepared for all the emotions of grief, along with his coping mechanisms, from crashing down. michael deflections can be seen when he called the "boyf riends" on their backpacks something that would please his mothers, as it makes it seem like he is coasting by any real processing of what people think about him. to be fair, he probably, rightfully, feels like he doesn't need to care about what other people think about him, because he has jeremy. michael's dependency on jeremy to stay afloat is also evident whenever he talks about him and jeremy being cool in college.

clearly, michael does a lot of deflection and running away from his reality, primarily to the future. the future, which he automatically includes jeremy in. this is where michael feels safe, where he feels secure. his fantasies of the future are contrasted with jeremy's fears of it. either way, when jeremy leaves him, all his dreams about the future fall apart. they were always dependent on jeremy.

speaking of stuff that's dependent on jeremy, mr. heere's arc through grief is. his arc is much harder to follow, because it's tracking two losses. the first one is, naturally, the loss of mrs. heere, and the second is the loss of jeremy. a rough timeline of his grieving is as follows:

(denial, bargaining, anger- pre-show)

depression- the beginning of the show until the confrontation with jeremy

bargaining (jeremy joins and leaves the ranks of the losses he's grieving)- the confrontation with jeremy through sometime before voices in my head

acceptance- voices in my head through afterwards, hopefully

his timeline is shaky, since he doesn't get all that much screentime, but his grief pushes the play in definite ways. the clearest way it does so is how michael is motivated by mr. heere's bargaining phase. the pants song is arguably one of the most vital songs in the musical: without it, the play would've gone off without a hitch. however, since mr. heere did approach michael, and michael was an overwhelmed teen swinging through big emotions with a desire to appease the nearest adult figure, michael enabled mr. heere's bargaining phase and the squips were destroyed.

but mr. heere getting pushed into a second cycle of grief also jumpstarted his first one. when the loss of jeremy loomed over the horizion, mr. heere was kicked into gear because he honestly would not have been able to cope with losing arguably the most important person in his life, again. thus, when the finale rolls around, he's landed in the acceptance phase, at least for now. he might still backslide, but all things considered, he's probably going to try to seek external help to make sure he doesn't.

the last way mr. heere's grief pushes the play is also the way in which the stages of grief matter in regards to jeremy's character. mr. heere's depression phase is part of jeremy's motivation for leaving michael behind: if mr. heere is that destroyed by someone he cared deeply about leaving, couldn't the same thing happen to him ? and nobody else could leave him but michael, who seems so sure he'll be amazing and popular in college- the very thing jeremy can't see himself as, but for michael ? definitely- and what's the easiest way to prevent pain ? shut himself off. cut michael out of his life before michael could hope to do so to him. it's misguided, because michael shows time and time again that he wants to keep jeremy around, but it makes sense with all of jeremy's insecurities.

having mr. heere's depressive phase push jeremy also means that when mr. heere shows up, ready to take on the world, in the finale, it helps show jeremy that even if he does lose michael, or someone important to him, he can still make it out okay. in the end, all of voices in my head is dedicated to that same thread.

#bmc #be more chill #bmc musical #michael mell #jeremy heere #rhi.txt #lmao enjoyyyyy this was fun 2 write

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dreamofcentipedes · 6 years

Note

I haven't what d o you think about amon and akira's character arc, ship and relationship with seidou?

I’d say the crux ofthe Akiramon relationship is ‘loss’.

Amon is a character haunted by loss. Inmeeting Akira, he finds a kindred spirit - someone reeling from the same woundhe’d received in Mado’s death. The loss of Mado fuelled their passion tocontinuation of his legacy in the dedicated extermination of ghouls. To them,he was a martyr whose legacy must be lived up to.

For Amon, it was the same for all his comradeskilled by ghouls, such as Harima and Kusaba. For Akira, her mother.

However, the idea of making Mado’s death meansomething was just a coping mechanism, and as they both come to realise, onethat relied on the genocide of a species just like them. To deal with loss, they would cause more loss. This was a pernicious cycle for both sides in TG.

Yet it was more than a matter of revenge,legacy or grief.

They were also acting out of fear that more of the people theylove would be taken away from them.

So they fought who they perceived the enemy tobe - ghouls - to keep it that way. But throwing themselves into the frayjust led to more loss.

This was the result ofthe fatal contradiction faced also by Kaneki at this part of the series - infighting against losing things, you risk losing everything. This contradictionled to Yomo’s original belief that “We can only live by losing things”,although as we see by the end of :re he changes his mind and comes to believeit is worth fighting anyway. So do the themes of the series come to progress.

But at this juncture, loss reigns supreme.

Amon realises the potential consequencesbeforehand (if the wrong way around) and tries to keep Akira out of thegreatest danger, but she scorns him for seeing her as Harima. She can tell thathe is projecting his past losses onto her, if not realising that she is doingthe same thing to him with her father.

We can see how Akira reminds Amon of Harimaagain in these panels, but also how Akira equates him with her father. To avoidbecoming too Freudian, I don’t think it’s surprising that Akira wants a strongpresence in her life she can rely on as she did with her father, even if it’s adifferent kind of relationship.

So right after she chastises Amon forprojecting onto her, he moves in to kiss him while she’s still projecting onhim (right after talking about her father). It is fitting that they have thismoment in a graveyard, as all their thoughts are fixated on the dead. Amonreflexively blocks her kiss, and Akira says:

Akira is bitter towards Amon here not becauseof spurned love, but because he wouldn’t indulge her comfort. While Akira doeshave burgeoning feelings for Amon at this point, I think the intended graveyardkiss was more to relax her melancholy attitude and fear of loss by clinging toa strong figure and distracting herself in intimacy. The tone beforehand wasnot romantic, after all.

This is why I think Amon blocked the kiss. Heknew instantly that it was out of place, and, being as conscious of proprietyas he is, he also knew that her father’s graveside was no place for such anact. Though it was a reflex reaction, he could read Akira’s intentions wellenough. The look on his face is one of pity, and the look on hers is ofshame.

However, Amon also projects his loss of Madoonto Akira - an inevitability given that she is his daughter. She represents tohim a chance to atone for the ‘sin’ of not being strong enough to save him(paralleling Kaneki’s mindset once again).

Akira also blames herself for not being strongenough for her father - for preventing him from being promoted, and perhapsthrough some leap of logic for his death as well.

Blame is a common response to grief, and sofor a time she directed her anger onto Amon when she tells him she hates himfor failing to save her father: but only to direct the blame anywhere butinwards, where it is just as undeserved.

Amon helped Akira open up after her grief andresentment of him had driven her into an isolated corner, and she had helpedinspire him to greater heights of strength and responsibility as her mentor aswell as coming to terms with his loss. So when fate separated them, the shadowof loss loomed hard on them both.

Akira takes a page out of Amon’s book andlearns to deal with her loss by becoming responsible for someone else; shebecomes Haise’s mentor. Akira is someone who has always found her strength andsecurity in her attachments to others; but relationships are fragile in such aturbulent world, as she will soon find again when Haise ceases to be Haise.

Amon meanwhile occupieshimself by trying to rescue his former comrades from the shadows - still fighting to protect against that ‘loss’. It is implied he is searching for Kurona, who he was powerless to help before as a CCG Officer but is able to now as a half-ghoul like her.

Perhaps the reason he was at Rushima was because he followed her tracks there.

Akira was also someone he wanted to protect, but he feared to face her head-on because of how he had changed. He may have also thought her safer that way, as Shironeki did with Touka.

Amon has become half of what Mado’s death led Akira to despise. His views have changed upon inhabiting this new body, but Akira remains human with her prejudices stronger than ever, now that ghouls have taken away Amon and Takizawa as well.

Despite this, though she may not realise it yet, Akira’s prejudices are already waning. Mentoring a half-ghoul, the very same one partway responsible for Amon’s ‘death’, is making her gradually more open to the idea of peace with ghouls. Though she partakes in the initial extermination attempt of Takizawa, she later risks her life to save him due to this gradual acclimatisation to ghouls. It is what will allow her to accept Amon later, and eventually, ghouls as a whole.

Speaking of Takizawa, now would be a good time to address that part of the question. Seidou was for both of them another person they wanted to avoid losing. So despite the blood on his hands, when they see him again Akira shields him and Amon refuses to give up on him.

Whatever the circumstances, they will not let themselves lose him again. What all of this means to Seidou can be read here.

Haise’s subversion of Mado’s mantra is also a point of interest.

I use a shot from the anime here because the translation of the manga I have at hand says “Fight even if your hands are trembling”. I don’t know whether that’s a mistranslation, but I think it’s significant that Mado says this in the anime because it clearly parallels with what Haise says later on, as well as matching the manner of his own death (perhaps it was a change requested by Ishida?). We can only speculate, but the similarity cannot be ignored.

Perhaps Akira taught Haise this version of her father’s mantra, altering it to keep him alive rather than risking everything for the kill. That’s how important it is to her to avoid losing her loved ones again like how she lost her father.

But when the people she lost are returned to her, she doesn’t know how to react.

After talking with Kaneki, someone with very similar experience with loss, Amon comes to understand how she feels.

Akira, who had lived for so long without Amon by her side, is now gripped with fear when he returns: does she open the walls around her heart again to let him in, or will doing so totally undermine her emotional defences should he disappear again?

Again it comes back to the ultimate question for these two: how do we deal with loss? Even her connection to her father is severed when Touka makes her question his actions, and, consequently, her own.

Touka accurately analyses Akira as someone trapped in the past, and makes her consider how destructive the cycle of revenge is.

She remembers Mado’s actions with pride - Mado, who was likewise stuck in the past, unable to cope with loss, and lived for revenge for his wife - when it was this toxic behaviour that led to his loss. So long as Akira continues to follow in his mistaken footsteps, she will continue to experience more loss.

When Touka tells her about her own father, about how he was kind to her but ruthless to Investigators, killing them solely for revenge for his wife until loss claimed him too: naturally it resonates with Akira.

They are parallel stories, and their respective family trees encapsulate the whole problem with the cycle of revenge. Mado and Arata both killed each others sides out of revenge for their wives, until Mado (together with Shinohara) wound up killing Arata. In turn Arata’s daughter killed Mado, so Mado’s daughter seeks to exterminate her. Even though Touka wasn’t aware that Mado was her father’s killer, it is not as if Arata had anything to do with Kasuka - the desire for revenge is not isolated, but covers the whole enemy species.

To see Touka reject her own father, despite having lived the same kind of story as Akira, makes Akira realise the truth behind her words. Inability to cope with loss is what led her father to his grave, and it is the source of all her misery, past and present.

She can no longer deflect her grief as anger against ghouls, so she has no choice but to face it head on. So now more than ever, Akira feels horribly, emptily alone.

Having discarded the symbol that her father was to her, she now discards the symbol of Haise, facing that loss directly as well.

Akira’s history of projecting her lost ones onto others - making them a symbol to her of her loss - is a habit she is breaking now. If she were to stay now, she would just end up projecting Haise onto Kaneki; always comparing them and lamenting what she has lost. She cannot do that if she hopes to live in the present. The problem is not that she can’t distinguish Kaneki from Haise, but that she can all too well: she can’t unite the two in her mind while the change - and the loss - is still so fresh.

But while Kaneki at this point can only remind her of the past, Amon now presents something new to her. Having changed so much from before, he is no longer a mere stand-in for her father. He presents new ideas and new perspectives.

Akira feels that without her past and the emotions she derived from it, she is nothing. But Amon tells her that a future is possible.

Akira is currently feeling emptiness, but as Amon says…

It is only through dealing with the emptiness of the present, where all the past has been wiped away, that one can find one’s own, truly independent path towards the future. It’s not an easy task but these two who understand that better than anyone can support each other through it.

And now, knowing that she is no longer projecting onto him, or onto herself…

He can accept her kiss, and her love, as they embark to find a new path for themselves in such an uncertain world.

When the time comes to save Kaneki, Akira can act against her father’s legacy with little hesitation. Though they now know how to move on from loss, it is still worth saving those they care about - they have simply grown mentally stronger and better equipped for the task. This is the new path they can walk - one of much more clear heroism.

When Hide tells Amon he is going to this effort because he loves Kaneki, Amon gives a knowing smile as he can relate. Though Amon seems to act for the sake of abstract justice, he has always been driven by this much more personal sense of loss - to honour the fallen and protect the living of his closest friends. We see this same kind of smile (with his eyes hidden again to draw emphasis to the smile) when Kaneki tells him he fights only for the people closest to him.

Here too, with his more accurate perception of himself, he relates. So he goes to help save Kaneki out of no perception of justice as has often misguided him; but because he cares about him. As Hide says, that’s all the reason he needs and it’s the only reason he’s ever really walked by.

Akira does so as well. Now in a more stable place, she finds herself capable of caring for Kaneki again. She shows that she understands he is ultimately the same man as Haise when she calls him by that name. Having spent this time away searching for her ‘present’ self, she can accurately see his present self too, separate from the mirage of the past.

Amon overcomes his past for good when he summons the courage to kill Donato, despite still loving him. He quite literally kills the past he doesn’t want to let go of. He could not have done this without the help of Takizawa, who dealt with his own losses by deciding to live for Akira and Amon, and he repays their kindness in full.

And so, as the epilogue shows us…

They remain together, five years later, still a part of human society. Seidou went off the grid with nothing more that he could do for them and, though he went on to live nobly, sadly his losses clearly stuck with him. These two, however, managed to finally break free from their past and the old cycle of the Black Goat’s Egg. They have found a way to live afresh.

#tokyo ghoul #tg meta #akiramon #akira mado #koutarou amon #seidou takizawa #haise sasaki #ken kaneki #touka kirishima #kureo mado

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moonhurts · 6 years

Note

+ Loss

╰ ⟨ RE: CAMDEN LAHEY ⟩

what do you do when you’re only eight years old and you lose your biggest hero? when cam goes away after joining the army, i think subconsciously, even as a young child, isaac knows he’ll probably never see him again – which is why he begs and pleads for him to stay. camden was his hero; the big brother that gave him shoulder rides, protected him from his mother and father’s arguments, bought him spider-man comics, and never pushed him away like so many other older siblings would do with their younger siblings.

they were allies in this home war, after all. it makes sense that camden would be drawn to fight in an overseas war instead. people are always drawn to the familiar.

it’s the first major loss isaac experiences, and it hits him like a ton of bricks. but he isn’t alone in his grief, and camden’s death? it has a domino effect in the lahey household.

‘promise you’ll come back?’‘of course i’ll come back, squirt. who else is gonna look out for you?’

╰ ⟨ RE: HIS MOTHER ⟩

it isn’t even six months on that he loses his mother. the same year, just a different season. she succumbs to the pressure – the loss of her eldest son is the breaking point for a woman suffering from ongoing emotional abuse, and the threat of it turning into something even worse with the explosive outbursts of anger becoming mr lahey’s own way of dealing with his grief.

all isaac wants to do is go back to the time where they’re dancing in the kitchen in their socks, waiting for their latest baking experiment to finish cooking. he wants to see his mother’s laugh again, and feel her fingers brush through his hair.

instead, isaac’s mother ends her own life when he’s eight years old, only two weeks before christmas. isaac finds her. he’s confused by all of this loss. it feels like a bad dream he can’t wake up from. the domino effect continues.

‘i love you, little bird. i’ll always love you.’‘if you loved me so much, then why couldn’t you stay?’

╰ ⟨ RE: HIS FATHER ⟩

it’s interesting, because isaac loses his father when he’s eight years old too. the difference is, unlike his mother and brother, mr lahey’s body keeps on breathing. it’s his mind – his empathy, love, compassion – that dies. isaac’s life is never the same after his mother’s funeral. that impulse control? that lid on his father’s anger? it disintegrates. it confuses him. an eight year old child who loses his hero, his mother’s kind eyes, and his father’s loving touch – all in a six month timespan. the first time his father hits him, it’s filled with apologetic eyes and an ice cream to soothe the broken trust.

it’s an ongoing cycle. broken trust, new toy car. broken bones, a trip to the arcade. broken skin, gentle hands cleaning him up again. it doesn’t last.

by the time he’s sixteen, there’s no more apologies. isaac’s punishments aren’t recognised as mistakes anymore. but despite all of this, isaac can’t help but wish for the return of the father he still remembers when he looks at the family photograph on his bedside table.

when his father is murdered, it’s shocking, but it also isn’t shocking. it hurts, but it doesn’t hurt as much as the loss over eight years ago. it’s been a long time coming, and isaac’s gotten pretty good at sensing death and its incoming scythe. it’s a relief, but it’s also a chapter closed on his life – one that holds fond memories and painful ones all in the same sentence.

‘your father used to lock you in the freezer in the basement to punish you.’‘he didn’t used to.’

╰ ⟨ RE: ERICA REYES ⟩

he finds a new home, a new family, in a twin soul with beautiful everything. they heal together. they comfort one another. they touch each other without intent, be it hand holds or hugs from behind, both knowing the other has never really experienced positive touch – at least not in this decade. erica and isaac share their dreams, let themselves get whisked away by the possibilities now that they’re no longer weak and pathetic. they’re like minded. they understand why the bite is a gift – how it’s changed their lives for the better. they’re best friends.

erica’s death is the first surprise isaac’s experienced in a long time.

someone with such a bright smirk, so recklessly full of life, shouldn’t die so young. and he certainly shouldn’t have been the one to find her body, discarded in a supply closet as if it were garbage. when he finds her, it horrifies him so much that his brain lapses – that it gives him psychogenic amnesia as a coping mechanism, because it traumatises him that much.

the fact that isaac’s mind didn’t lapse on a single memory of his abuse, his mother’s death, anything else horrific in his past, speaks volumes about how much erica meant to him, and how profoundly her death affected him.

‘i’ll see you ‘round, lahey.’‘yeah, yeah. don’t get into too much trouble without me.’

╰ ⟨ RE: VERNON BOYD ⟩

boyd and isaac’s relationship is a subtle one, read between the lines with quiet undertones. they probably weren’t extremely close before erica’s death, though obviously amicable and friendly. erica would’ve been the glue sticking these two together. her loss would have driven them even closer, if only to see the remnants of a beautiful girl in the eyes of someone who’d known her just the same. boyd and isaac wouldn’t have spoken a lot, but friendships don’t always need to be spoken to develop into something strong – someone to lean on.

the thing about boyd’s death is, it doesn’t really shock isaac. it hurts him, obviously, but it also could be seen coming from a mile away. all the threats. the looming alpha pack. boyd’s survivor’s guilt. isaac sharing of it.

when boyd tells derek it’s okay, isaac gets it. it’s clearly far from okay, but he gets it. they’ve both watched the guilt of erica’s loss eat their alpha alive. it’s a final, selfless act to vindicate him of any guilt.

it messes isaac up. there’s a pattern in his life, see. everyone he gets close to dies. maybe he’s the catalyst. maybe it isn’t derek’s fault. maybe it’s his.

‘think she’s watching over us, annoyed that we haven’t ran?’‘probably. guess we’ll find out someday.’

╰ ⟨ RE: ALLISON ARGENT ⟩

this is where it gets really messy. so you like a girl that almost killed you violently, using ring daggers. a girl that’s also your new alpha’s ex girlfriend. a girl that probably could never really like you back, but hey, you go for it anyway, because what’s life without a little bit of risk?

there’s probably an underlying part of isaac that genuinely believes someone like allison couldn’t die. she’s terrifying, capable, strong in ways he’s only dreamt of becoming, and very talented with weaponry -- distance based weaponry. isaac gets involved, because how couldn’t he when he can hear the way her heartbeat speeds up whenever he gets too close, or see the way she flushes along her throat when he says something risky.

it all works out, in the end. it pays off. they agree there’s something between them -- something that’s building, a culmination of thoughts and feelings, ready to bloom into something new. they agree to explore that.

and then allison dies. the real kicker here is, he genuinely thought he’d be the one that dies. he was so ready for it, with the familiar feeling of knives against his skin. but allison wasn’t having that.

she died saving his life. she died, because she was too distracted by taking care of him to take care of herself.

her death is absolute confirmation. his suspicions have now become fact. isaac lahey is a death curse. he’ll never let anyone get this close to him ever again.

he ruined scott’s life -- the loss of his soulmate, confessing her love in her dying breath -- simply because he couldn’t take care of himself, and cursed a girl to die a death that should’ve been his.

‘try not to crash.’‘yeah, been there, done that.’

- ̗̀ meme: send '+’ & a word for some meta! ̖́ - ╱ accepting.

#croianam #; i have a feeling u 100% were not asking to suffer this much #; and yet... here i am. bringing the Suffering.#; please don't knife me in my sleep ily xoxo #╰ ♡ 08. the secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources. ╱ META !#death mention /#mentions of suicide /#implied murder /#mentions of abuse /#domestic violence /#war loss /#grief /#survivors guilt /#; ALL OF THE FUCKING TRIGGER TAGS.#long post /

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court-0f-dreamers · 6 years

Text

ACOTAR: Restrung Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Fic Summary: What if it was never up to Tamlin to break the curse? What if, instead, in a true test of love, Amarantha sent out Prythian’s most abhorred and cruel Highlord, to watch his land fall into ruin while trying to change the heart of a hateful human? A Court of Bitterness and Jasmine…A Court of Rhysand. Set in the same universe as our favourite Sarah J Maas characters, but with a twist.

CHAPTER 3

He was livid. Rage pulsed off him in lashes of warm night. Idiot girl. Stupid, unthinking, impulsive girl. He continued pacing across the floor of his private study.

“She wouldn’t have done it if she wasn’t so scared, Rhysand,” Cassian snapped, from his seat in the comfortable brown leather chairs, “You should have given her more of a reception.”

“She jumped out of the window!”, Rhysand said through clenched teeth, unable to stop himself gesticulating wildly.

“She abseiled out of the window.” Cassian couldn’t help the small smile across his face as he corrected Rhys, “Using your priceless curtains.

“And you know, you could make her feel more welcome. Find out what she likes. Be less...this”, Cassian continued, pointing to all of Rhys.

And then he leaned back and put his dirty boots on the ebony coffee table.

Azriel sighed from his spot on the mantelpiece, “If you’re going to pick a fight with him, please do it after we eat.”

“I can’t just go into her mind and find out what she likes, Cassian”, Rhys continued. He moved in between Cassian and the table and tossed his feet back down onto the carpet. “The curse doesn’t allow me to just delve into her mind. If not, don’t you think I would have just made her fall madly in love with this!” He pointed at himself, repeating Cassian’s gesture.

Cassian pushed on, “Now that we’ve found her, can’t you just do your daemati business and make her like you-”.

“You know I can’t, Cassian”, Rhys responded with equal snap. But Cassian’s words had found their mark.

He turned hitting his palm on the coffee table with an uncharacteristic unchecked rage, “Dammit! If I could enter minds so thoroughly, I’d have fed Kier and his subjects out there pillaging my city to the damn Attors!” His expression was fierce as his anger grew, and a dark shadow of his wings appeared behind him. “And then I would mist them all while they were still being devoured.”

He locked eyes with his brothers. His brothers knew him so well that they hardly blinked at the Highlord mask he wore. They had unshakable faith in the man underneath. Faith that he would uphold his duty to his land, his people, and most of all to his family. Looking at them reminded him of what he had to do here - and all that he couldn’t do.

He sighed and sat down next to Cassian. “Amarantha’s spell was so cunning. So slippery and yet so pervasive. The more I try to delve into its magic, the more it evades me. Now that Feyre is here, it’s starting to change, starting to become...more oppressive.”

He put his head in his hands. “I can feel it inching towards the core of my power.”, he softly whispered.

He could see Cassian schooling his features to hide his surprise.

Some nights were harder than others, but for them, for his people, Rhysand would never give up. “I am trying. With Feyre, I will try better-”

Azriel coughed. Rhysand could hear hesitant steps down the hallway.

They all fell silent and waited for the door to slowly open.

When they brought her home, she was in no state to talk to anyone. The girl, Rita, who was with her was equally shaken, but Az made sure she was returned to her family, while Cassian flew Feyre back to the House of Wind. On arriving, the always courteous Cassian pointed out the closest bathroom, and asked her to meet them in Rhys’ study when she was done hauling her guts out.

Feyre slowly stepped in, shoulders hunched, head held low but unharmed. Rhys didn’t let himself imagine what would she would look like if his brothers hadn’t happened to be flying so close to the Rainbow.

Almost unharmed. Rhys’ eyes immediately went to the backs of her hands. The cuts there were relatively shallow, but dirty. He had spent enough time during the war with humans to know how quickly those simple wounds could become life-threatening infection.

She met his eyes, and straightened her spine defiantly.

He quirked an eyebrow. So you think you were right to come up with that ridiculous escape plan?, he thought.

The fire in her stormy blue eyes clearly answered the unspoken question.

He peaked his fingertips together and lifted them to his lips. His hold on his emotions tonight was taut, like a tightly pulled string. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

Azriel coughed again.

He sighed, anger deflating.

He was actually at a loss. How am I meant to treat you?, he thought, grappling for words. He was five hundred years old. He had ruled over two very different courts for most of that time. He used to command legions of Illyrians and Fae alike. And he didn’t know what to say to a 19-year old human girl. Not just any human girl.

He looked into her small, proud face, holding her gaze. Feyre Archeron, you could save us all.

“Sooooooo...” Cassian came and stood between Rhys and Feyre, breaking their intense stare, “you seem to have some battle scars there.”, he gestured to her hands.

She quickly tucked them behind her back.

Azriel looked pointedly at Rhysand.

Rhys broke his silence. “The Attors have their own poison. To prevent those from getting worse they should be cleaned. There are those I trust, in fact I can have Velaris’ best healer-”

Azriel coughed a third time. Rhysand’s eyes narrowed at him, I should punch him in the throat, give him something to cough about. The stoic shadowslinger barely moved a muscle, but the small gleam of light in his eyes betrayed his mirth.

Ok Rhys, big smile, he thought and forced a smile of his face, “Well, how about I’ll heal them myself. Please sit down, Feyre”.

*** *** ***

Cassian and Azriel subtly stepped out of the room.

Feyre had been terrified that whole walk into the study.

After their initial interaction, the highlord suddenly excused himself, remembering something important he had to tell the two males outside the room.

Feyre was left alone in the surprisingly personalised and homely study. Unlike the rest of the palace, the usually bald red walls were covered with rich tapestries and abstract artwork, with the most surprising being a wall-high landscape vista painted directly onto the stone face.

Amazing. She had never seen art like this.

The painting showed a beautiful waterside city, teeming with life. There were vibrant buildings, giant cargo-filled boats, lush trees and pockets of wildlife scattered throughout. And there were people - well, Fae. Fae from all different origins; High fae that looked like the highlord, and faeries that looked like those in the dockyard.

That was when she noticed how familiar the broadwalk looked, how if the light was different, the dark looming mountains that shadowed her flight here could be like the open and inviting peaks of the painting. And the city, the colourful, alive city, could have been like Velaris. She turned towards the window where a wretched dying mirror image of the painting looked back at her. Why did he have this here, only to create the world outside?

Wait, what are you doing you idiot!, Feyre started, You’re alone in his study. Stop examining the art and find something that will help you.

She began looking around. There were rows of books stacked neatly, a few choice artifacts on the low table between the couches, and in the far corner a desk with-

A desk! Feyre quickly moved to the desk hoping she would gleam any information that might help her.

She was ecstatic to find a map. She had never learned to read, she family too consumed by their own poverty to realise that she only knew her alphabet and nothing more, but she could understand a map.

Or so she thought.

There was neat scrolling writing throughout, possibly labelling cities, rivers and mountains. There were also lines all through it, making paths through various points on the continent. None of it makes sense, the script didn’t look like she expected. She squinted in the dim firelight, her eyes frantically trying to find the human settlements beneath the wall.

“Interesting technique. Not one I’ve seen before”, a cool voice said behind her.

Shit! Feyre said, jerking and dropping the map. Before it could hit the floor, he bent down snatching it up.

The Highlord of the Night Court. She dared to look him up and down properly for the first time since she returned - if only to see if he had any weapons on him. Instead, all she saw was his all-black fitted suit jacket and tapered pants, this one with violet embroidery on the edges. Even after midnight he looked pristine. Did he sleep in that? Feyre thought, despite knowing that she really had more emergent things to worry about that his sleep attire.

Just distraction as a coping mechanism. She knew being caught rummaging in his desk was only going to make her night worse.

“Maps,” he said, a self-satisfied tone to his voice, “are usually read with the inked side facing the reader, and the right way up.” He spun the map around.

Oh. She couldn’t stop the shame from blooming on her face.

His looked at her again, head cocked to the side.

She just stood there silently, holding her head low in a fake gesture of subservience. Try not to piss him off any more, Feyre, she told herself.

He rolled his eyes, not buying it, “Alright, fine. I’ll ignore your invasion of my privacy. Give me your hands.”

“What are you going to do?”, she tried to not let the very real fear show on her face as she whispered, “...Magic?”

She almost thought she saw a shadow of a smile, “Not today. Just antiseptic and bandages.”

He waved his hand and a metal table with various sized pieces of cloth and brown glass bottles appeared next to her. He carefully picked up her hands.

Silence descended over them as he methodically cleaned each scratch. He seemed content not speaking, which suited Feyre perfectly.

Her mind whirled with conflicting thoughts. It was hard to rationalise this male next to her. Here, in what had to be his personal study, there were personal touches and an inherent warmth that did not fit in with the dangerous and destitute city below and the dark highlord who ruled it.

Not to mention, he surely has more important things to do that tend to his latest prisoner’s minor wounds.

She was surprised by how gently he picked swabbed the fragile skin before applying a cool cream. She noticed he was careful not to touch her more than necessary. And she very much noticed that when his warm hands did lightly brush her skin, she didn’t want to jerk away.

Surprisingly, he hadn’t mentioned how thoroughly her escape plans had failed.

As if by thinking it, she had jinxed herself, he said “Unlike your cartography skills, I hope your survival instincts are sharp enough that I don’t need to elaborate just how insanely stupid your plan was tonight.”

And just like that every kind thought she may have had about him was gone; he is such a arrogant, self-absorbed…

“Not only was it stupid, but I would have lost something valuable to me,” he continued while tying off the clean bandage on her hand.

...entitled, egotistic... wait, what?

He looked up at her as he finished the clipping the gauze in place, “My beautiful curtains.”

...PRICK!

She snatched her hands back, huffing out a breath.

He stood up, nodding towards the door.

Feyre was sick of him having the last word; “Well the only thing truly beautiful in your disgusting city is that painting!” she blurted, pointing to the painted wall.

He didn’t say anything as he rearranged the bottles and gauze pads on the table. His head down, it was as if he didn’t even hear her.

She felt stupid standing there, after being so clearly dismissed by the highlord.

However, as soon as she stepped outside she could have sworn she heard him whisper; “I know.”

*** *** ***

She wasn’t sure how she managed to fall asleep that night, but at some point during her uninterrupted mental stream of swear words to describe Rhysand, she had drifted off into dreamless sleep.

She was awoken the next morning by gentle sunlight as Cerriwden pulled back the curtains. She could not recall the last time she had slept in after dawn, and it looked terrifying like midmorning already.

“The highlord requests your presence on the grounds this morning.”, she informed Feyre softly, while subtly ushering her out of bed and in the direction of the bath. Feyre’s eye caught on the tray Cerridwen had brought up, laden with breakfast food.

Food. She skipped the bath and immediately sat down devouring the fresh pastry and brightly coloured fruits.

Halfway through, a thought struck her and her eyes jerked up at Cerridwen, “Oh! Can I eat this? I mean, is this safe for...humans?”. Cerridwen looked at her with a small smile, “Yes Miss. I would never serve you otherwise. You are safe here.”

Safe. She held back a snort, Cerridwen sounded like a parrot for her prick of a highlord.

Although - she had been treated with nothing but kindness by her, Feyre wasn’t stupid enough to believe she could truly trust anyone in this world - she thought, as she relished a second serving of fluffy flourcakes and spiced milky tea.

“Sorry Miss Feyre, I’ll make sure that there is lunch waiting for you when you return, but the Highlord insists on your presence now”.

Feyre may have been dragging out her breakfast, particularly as as she doled out the last of a large bowl - which had likely contained a serving size for at least four people - of cream and strawberries onto her plate. She knew the highlord was waiting, she somehow sensed his…impatience.

“Miss Feyre--”, Cerridwen’s voice held a strong warning now.

Before she could shovel the plump strawberry with the perfect ratio of cream into her mouth, it vanished.

In the next heartbeat, the whole breakfast tray vanished!

And then, before she could voice her outrage, her table and chair vanished - landing her smack on her bottom on carpeted floor.

Fae prick! She narrowed her eyes. She had seen him perform his vanishing trick before.

Fine, I’m on my way.

*** *** ***

Rhysand squinted in the distance, fiddling with the coins in his pockets. The training ring on top of the House of Wind almost had a pleasant view, if you overlooked his ruined, sprawling city. He looked away and started rearranging the knives.

“We have company” Azriel mumbled.

A moment later, Feyre walked into their training room, her duelling emotions of surprise and agitation clear in her expression. It’s the tilt of your eyebrows, I can tell exactly what you are thinking, little darling, Rhysand thought.

He knew his little magic would have made her angrier with him. He was willing to pay what it may cost him - it was infinitely preferable than her being scared of him again.

He turned around reaching for her bow. Azriel had found it when he returned to make sure all the Attors were taken care of. Rhys had fixed it himself this morning with a bowstring that wouldn’t fail her again.

“Good morning, Prick,” she said.

Rhysand’s head snapped up in surprise. Oh!

“Good morning, Fiery”, he said, deliberately mispronouncing her name. He could almost hear Az rolling his eyes. His brothers had made it very clear later last night that his skills with the ladies had truly suffered in the last few decades, and he wasn’t doing a great job at proving them wrong.

“Well ‘Highlord’ seems to be pronounced ‘arsehole’ so why not?” she retorted.

“His name is Rhysand,” called Azriel, the nosiest shadowslinger he had ever met, from his spot near the grass.

Feyre pursed her lips, stopping herself from saying it.

“Oh. “No shove it up your arse” for Azriel here? He is saved from your loving nicknames, even though I am the one who made sure you had a delicious breakfast waiting this morning.”

“Do you expect me to thank you?”, she snapped, with none of the confused reticence she had last night.

She turned gesturing around her. “Since you seem to have so quickly forgotten. I am a prisoner here. I’m your prisoner, entirely at your mercy. My whole life and my family’s life is in your hands, and- and” she voice shoke, all her bravado stripped away, “And you expect me to be grateful?”

Her words hit him hard. He had sworn her safety to her family and to her. He had made sure her rooms were fittest with the most luxurious trappings, and even had Cerridwen, one of his most trusted employees watch out for her, and yet his city, his palace remained a prison. He shouldn’t have been surprised, its destitute walls were a cell for people who called it home, let alone a human he had forcibly brought here.

He suddenly wanted to do anything in his waning, fading power to help her. He would at the very least help her.

“Let me make you a bargain.” he said quickly, “In my lands, you will be safe, you will not be harmed by anyone’s hand, not even my own. And I promise that while you are here your family will not want for anything.”

It was intricate, difficult magic but he could do it. He understood more than a little of that magic now, and Cauldron-damn him it was the very least he could do for this girl that he had taken everything from.

“And what do ask from me in return?”, she asked cautiously.

Smart girl. “Your time. No more escapes. No more climbing out windows. No ripping up my curtains.” he replied, holding all emotion out of his voice.

She bit her lip, unable to hide the uncertainty on her face.

“Oh and - let’s throw in learning to read there too.” Rhysand said, picking invisible lint off his suit.

Her face became flushed and her eyes narrowed. He could see her weighing up lying versus admitting her vulnerability. He noticed how she misread the map, it was clear she didn’t understand what was written on it. Plus, he knew how cruel human societies could be towards their females, it wasn’t unheard of that she wouldn’t be given her right to education.

Come on, take my offer, he urged her.

“Okay”, she whispered, looking at Azriel, rather than Rhysand.

“What did you say?” Rhys pushed.

“I said Okay!”, Feyre growled at him.

With a half-smile, Rhys dug in deep, deep into the recesses of his power, and starting winding out the bargain magic. In response, he felt a twinge between his shoulder blades, just as he could see the tattoo forming on Feyre’s forearm. He couldn’t help but detail in night court-black ink, his beloved illyrian whorls, sprinkled dots shaped like Velaris’ unique starlight, and the leaves and blooms of jasmine, the flower of his court and his mother’s favourite.

He was surprised at the twinge of joy he felt looking at her arm.

And she looked appalled. “I didn’t agree to this. What is this?”

The unbridled consternation on her face took him the closest he’d been to laughing in half a century. His face remained impassive as he decided to add something to the already-completed tattoo.

A devious cat-eyed pupil winked up at from the middle of Feyre’s palm.

Her jaw could have hit the floor, and this time, Rhysand couldn’t hold back his smile.

*** *** ***

Eight hours later, Rhysand found Feyre where he had left her at her desk in her room. She knew her letters but she needed to practice her penmanship and progress to words if she was going to learn to read in the next few weeks.

Azriel had checked on her earlier in the day, and the shadowslinger had decided to stay in her rooms finishing off his own work and keeping her company.

Rhys was quite sure she didn’t wanted to talk to him, and he was happy taunting her from a distance. He had given her some provocative lines to copy, that she detested. Plus she was no doubt staring at that eye thinking he could somehow see her through it.

Strangely fun. He had had plenty of time to imagine what it would be like when he finally found the human, but fun was not what he expected. It was not an emotion he thought he could feel anymore; perhaps it wasn’t an emotion he deserved to feel anymore.

Despite his guilt, he found himself looking forward to seeing her progress.

He nonchalantly leaned against the door frame, “Ahem,” he said, crossing his arms in emphasis.

The shadowslinger nodded his hello from the couch across the room, but Feyre continued to ignore him. He didn’t expect any less. It was odd, he hadn’t known her for very long but he felt like he knew her responses exactly. Not that she was predictable, but rather, somehow, she was familiar.

“You know if you don’t speak, I can just hear what you are thinking,” he said.

Her head snapped up, shock in her eyes.

“Just joking.” Rhys said, using her distraction as a reason to jump up behind her and peer over her shoulder.

She smelled...nice. She smelled like citrus and a fresh cool breeze. And her hands, most of them were covered in his dressings, but he could see her long delicate fingers poking out of them. Her hands were poised gracefully, like an artist’s.

“Are you happy, Highlord?” she looked up at him.

He paused, lost in those stormy eyes. He took in a breath, that was the first time she didn’t look at him with fear, or anger, or feigned disinterest. She was looking at him with laughter.

He snapped back, quickly looking down remembering he was meant to be checking her progress.

In already surprisingly neat script she had 100 lines of Rhysand is the most pompous Highlord. Rhysand is the most conceited Highlord. Rhysand is the most FLATULENT Highlord.

Feyre sniggered. Cerridwen, making up Feyre’s bedroom, giggled. And he could have swore he heard quiet laughter from Azriel’s newly-vacated chair, where now only wisps of smoke remained.

Unable to stop himself, and even Rhysand let out a small but very real laugh.

*** *** ***

Nesta pushed through a bramble of thornbushes, and came upon a tree with dark peeling bark and sprawling roots - a very familiar, tree with dark bark and lots of roots.

“The fire of all the hells!”, Nesta swore aloud, likely realising this was the third time she had come upon this same tree in an hour, from three entirely different directions.

Cassian stepped out from where he was hidden from her eyes.

“Why are you here?”, he asked frankly and with authority.

She straightened herself, trying to hide the shock from her face. “None of your business. Leave me alone.” Her eyes darted from side to side, looking for an escape route.

Stupidly, she pulled out a kitchen knife, which she held with clear ineptitude.

He was tempted to roll his eyes.

He had been monitoring the Archerons. Rhysand had made sure they were cared for, the day he brought Feyre home. He had seen the poverty they lived in, and he knew Feyre had kept them alive. Cassian was there to make sure that everything went to plan, that they had everything that humans desired. He was on his way in when he scented the older Archeron sister in the woods. He scoffed, he could have just as well heard her. Not only did she swear every five minutes, but she wasn’t very good at keeping her position in the woods a secret.

In a few hours, her dress was already ripped, her shoes were falling apart, and her face covered in mud. But her eyes were clear as they looked up at him, instead of fear, he was fierce determination thinly veiling crushing despair.

Cassian didn’t want to feel sorry for this girl.

Damn myself! He thought - because he did feel sorry for her. Rhysand had shown him all of what happened that day in the cottage. This girl standing before him with squared off shoulders had let her little sister get taken away by a stranger, had not fought back one bit to keep her, had not used her last moments to bid her goodbye.

He understood what it was like to have family that rejected an innocent. Despite that, the girl was standing in front of him with her head held high.

“You are Fae. Show me how to get through the Wall.”, she demanded.

“Why?”, he demanded back.

“None of your business.” she retorted.

Cassian’s temper was uncharacteristically short. He wanted this girl back in her home. He didn’t want to have his Highlord or Feyre troubled by her insignificant family anymore.

He became the Commander of the armies of Night Court, the Lord of Bloodshed, and he held it all over this girl. Standing to his full height, letting his wings flare out.

Her eyes widened as she took in the wings he knew she hadn’t seen yet. Instead of cowering, she stood her ground, even widened her stance. And unblinkingly locked her stormy grey eyes with his hazel ones. That was not something even most battle-hardened soldiers could do.

“Tell me where the hole in the Wall is.” she said, this time slowly, vehemently.

“No,” he said, trying not to be impressed. “Go home.”

“You know her?”, her wall of ice chipped, there was some hope in voice.

“Yes.”

Despite the set of her shoulders, her eyes betrayed relief, and he could see the toll of physical exhaustion hitting her.

“Tell me.”

He sighed. “She is safe. She will not be harmed. And honestly, she is better off without you.”, he said, knowing his last words would find a mark. He needed her to stop looking for Feyre, and he needed to know.

“Now GO HOME. If not I can promise you the next time you run into a Fae in the woods, they won’t hesitate ripping you into little shreds.” he said. He pointed behind her. “Go that way, in about twenty minutes you will be on the border of your town. Now.”

She didn’t look like she was going to go anywhere. She gritted her teeth and stared him down. But finally, something in her snapped. Her shoulders sagged as she sensed the truth in his words. She turned around and started walking away, but not before imperiously glancing over her shoulder with one last word: “Bastard.”

How she knew he was from Rhysand’s court, he didn’t know. How she knew he wasn’t there to hurt and harm humans like some of the other Fae that made it over the wall, he had no idea. How she knew that that he could be trusted, that he would eventually give her the information she so desperately wanted, he didn’t know.

But he thought about it the whole way home.

*** *** ***

The Highlord watched Cassian fly back into the city borders. It was a common sight, the silhouette of the Highlord looking out of the watchtower above the heavy city gates. Most knew, and those who didn’t, suspected the truth; that the curse trapped the Highlord in Velaris. As payback for keeping this city a secret from Amarantha, he was sentenced to watch it fall. He could leave sometimes, when the terms of the curse allowed him to, but he could not leave of his own free will. They watched his harsh, cruel expression as he stood unmoving as a statue above the city dying around him.

No one noticed the hooded figure walking straight through the small service door in the iron fence. No one could truly see him, their brains filling in his image as a just another guard or part of a shadow. No one saw as he finally did what he had been planning for the last 49 years, the plans that caused him to stretch him magic further than he ever had before, the plans her arrival had solidified. He was going to save Prythian.

And as Rhysand, Highlord of the night court, winnowed away, no one would know.

#thank you krissy (rhysand-vs-rowan) for compiling all of Azriel's lines - it made me decide to use his first words!#acotar:restrung #acotar: restrung #acotar restrung #chapter 3 #my writing #acotar fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #acowar #rhysand #feyre #feysand #azriel #cassian #nesta #nessian

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mirage-krp · 4 years

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The guardians welcome [SHIN, JISEOK] to the city of Jeonseol. He is [UNDEAD] currently living in [CORAL] and working at/as [AN ASPIRING SINGER]

Welcome to Mirage! Please follow the admin twitter within 48 hours of acceptance, or your faceclaim will be freed up.

Faceclaim: Jeon Jungkook, bts

Name: Shin Jiseok

Nickname(s): Ji, Seok

Age: Physically 22, actually 37

Date of birth: September 1st,1982

Species/myth/cryptid/etc:

Undead

Jiseok was brought back by a Necromancer. He has the scars from how he died as a constant reminder his heart only beats because someone took pity on him due to his untimely death.

He cannot fall ill, because he isn’t technically alive. He’s also immortal, but can be killed if enough damage is done to his body. If he wanted to, he could survive without food and water for longer than a human could, and he feels little to no pain compared to other beings.

Weaknesses:

Prone to lethargy every now and then, he needs to sleep for about 24+ hours to rid himself of the feeling. Also always tired. He often has nightmares of his own death and as a result, tends to not get much sleep in general.

Not so much a weakness as a health problem: depression. He falls into a deep hole from which he can’t claw his way out on his own.

Skinship. Hugs, hand-holding, there’s just something about skinship that makes him feel a bit more alive.

Residence: Coral Houseboat 004

Occupation: Aspiring singer

Personality:

Jiseok uses humour as a coping mechanism. If he makes a joke out of the things that bother him then they have less impact on him, at least in that immediate moment.

He likes to deny there’s more to him than what you see, it’s easier that way. If Jiseok can remain the ever smiling, forever joking aspiring singer he so desperately wants to be, then he’ll be okay. He can continue ignoring the issues looming over him which he’s unhuried to sort out.

He’s also very honest. He believes that even though the truth can hurt, it’s better to be wounded than ignorant. Wounds are easier to treat, ignorance not so much.

There is a more somber side to him which doesn’t make many appearances. He can be very melancholic and negative, which he finds no fun at all and so he tends to hide that side of him out of fear he might bring others down with him.

Background: TW: death

As far as Jiseok can remember, he lived a good life before it ended.

He grew up on Jeju Island in a family of five, two sons and one daughter. With him being the oldest he often spent his time watching over his younger siblings. Sometimes it was tiresome, he’d rather be out with his friends or catching up on studying, but he did it for his parents. They worked hard for their children and he felt it was only right for him to repay them as best he could.

In 2004 the Shin family went on vacation. It was an extravagant Christmas gift to themselves, one whole week of luxury in Thailand, no work, no school, and no worries. Jiseok had never been out of the country before and the thought of flying made him uneasy but he was coaxed onto the plane with an early christmas gift, a new iPod Mini.

What he remembered most about Thailand was the day after Christmas.

He was watching the sky as he lay on a lounger by the pool, the sun shining down on him, the clouds slowly passing by, he was cloaked in a feeling of pleasant warmth. The headphones he was wearing drowned out most of the noise around him: other families playing in the pool, his younger siblings nagging their parents to join them in the warm turquoise water. The smell of sunscreen and chlorine was strangely pleasant to him. Everything was just right, it was exactly how he’d imagined a vacation to be.

The birds, that’s what he noticed first. A large flock of them flying over their hotel, larger than he’d ever seen anywhere else, flying away from the ocean and further inland. That was enough to tear his attention away from his music. He pulled his headphones away from his ears and sat up, directing a questioning look towards his parents. They just shrugged, so did he.

Next was a crash, thunderous and louder than anything he’d ever heard before. Everything fell silent around the pool as all the guests stopped what they were doing. Their attention was on the ocean now, which had seemed so far away just moments before but was now too close for comfort. They all watched in a curious daze as the horizon was swallowed by a giant wave. Most of them simply stood there, frozen, while others started screaming and grabbing their children and belongings.

Jiseok looked back at his parents for a sign, anything to tell tell him what he should do next. Neither of them were looking at him. It was only when his younger siblings started to scream that they seemed to realize what was happening, but by then they hadn’t enough time to think of a plan. Jiseok shouted at them, telling them to run back to the hotel, but the water reached them before they even got anywhere near the entrance.

The current was strong, far too strong even for a confident swimmer such as himself. He was pulled under, deep into the murky brown water, where debris collided with him as he was spun around. Disoriented and panicking, Jiseok fought his way to the surface but couldn’t keep his head above water for long. Soon he was back under again, swallowing mouthfuls of foul water as the air was forced out of him. His lungs felt ready to burst and a sense of dread gripped at his being as he was left with one thought. I’m going to die.

Bystroke of luck, he managed to grab hold of a fallen palm tree being dragged along by the current above him. The air was more than welcome and he greedily filled his lungs with as much as he possibly could. There was no telling when he might be without it again. The sound of water was deafening but he could still make out the terrified screams and desperate cries for help. There were a few times he thought he could hear his own name, but try as he might he couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from. His throat felt raw and his voice was hoarse but he called out anyway, going through his family’s names over and over, hoping at least one of them might be there.

Eventually, he managed to pull himself out of the current and into the shallows. The clay coloured water around him was speckled red with blood oozing from cuts, some significantly deep, others simply scrapes. Before, his adrenaline had been keeping him awake and numb, now he was beginning to calm down he could feel every scratch, bruise, and broken bone. His ankle was a nasty shade of purple, swollen and at a weird angle. His face stung, his arms and legs were covered in cuts, and his shirt was torn showing bruised ribs and a gash in his side. Exhaustion was setting in, it was all he could do not to sink to his knees and stay like that, but he had to find his family.

He had no idea where he was, nor how far he’d been swept away. The only thing he could see was ruin: buildings destroyed, abandoned cars turned upside down, trees completely torn up, roots and all. What bothered him most were the bodies. They lay completely still among all the debris, tangled in vegetation, crushed by rubble. Jiseok could only hope his family wasn’t among the dead. With an aching ankle and a stinging side, he limped his way through the knee-deep water, tripping and falling but never failing to get back up again, pushing himself forwards, fueled by the hope of finding his family.

As the sun was setting, Jiseok fell once more and this time he couldn’t get back up. After hours of searching and shouting, he was drained of all energy. Feeling so incredibly dizzy from blood loss and the heat, he lay in the muddy water and wept. Deep sobs he could barely afford to waste the energy on but he couldn’t stop them. He was alone and hurting, with no way of knowing if his family still lived or if the wave had taken them.

Once he could cry no more, Jiseok closed his eyes. Not long later he was found by a rescue team, who then carried his lifeless body to a hospital. He lay outside covered by a sheet, until his family reunited hours later and were asked to identify him. Eventually the family of five, now four, returned to Jeju Island where they buried their oldest son. Shin Jiseok, age 22, taken too early.

Days later, Jiseok opened his eyes once more. He stared into the face of a person he didn’t know, confused and aching all over. Every muscle in his body felt stiff, as if he hadn’t moved at all in quite some time. Which, he came to find out, was exactly the case.

The stranger, who claimed to be a necrormancer, explained everything to him. How his family had buried him, held a funeral for him. How he’d died in Thailand on vacation. How the necromancer had heard of the tragedy and thought bringing young Jiseok back would be a good deed. It took the newly resurrected 22 year old a long time to properly process what he was being told. It all sounded so bizarre, like the plot to a book or a movie.

For a while he stayed with the necromancer. Returning to his family wasn’t an option, no matter how much he wanted to see them again. They buried him, mourned their loss, and made peace with the fact their oldest son was gone. Jiseok turning up out of the blue would only cause confusion and harm, or so the necromancer told him.

In December 2019, Jiseok and the necromancer parted ways. He received an invitation to a live in a city named Jeonseol, where he wouldn’t have to pretend to be normal when around others. He could be honest about who he was, where he came from, and what happened to him, which was a thought that gave him a sense of freedom he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Any wanted connections?: The necromancer who brought him back, preferably someone older than him!

#( mirage : accepted )#( fc : jeon jungkook )

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foxcroft-rpg-blog · 7 years

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Congratulations, Emily! Honestly, your application was just beautiful. You really understand all the things that drive Nina. You see that she may be bruised, but she is by no means broken. I’m really happy you applied, and I’m happier to accept you. Can’t wait to see what you do with Nina!

Thanks again for applying! Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the masterlist as soon as you can. Welcome to Foxcroft!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Emily

Age: Twenty

Preferred pronouns: she/her

Time zone: GMT.

Activity: I would say that my activity is firmly a 6/7. I am in my final year of university, so that obviously has to take priority, but my semester finishes at the end of March. I do have essay deadlines and exams coming up across April/May, but they’re definitely manageable. So I’d say I’ll be pretty active – definitely on to do replies every other day or so and I’m pretty much always available to plot!

Anything else?: Nope! Just to thank you for looking over my app.

IN CHARACTER

(TW: Miscarriage)

Full name: Nina Florencia Delgado.

NINA: The name Nina may originate from the old Slavic word Ninati, meaning "dreamer" or “dream”. Nina had so many dreams. She would write them out on a notepad each day before she went to sleep, stick them up on the wall she shared with one of her siblings, memorise them and whisper them underneath her breath until they could become true. Willing them to be. It wasn’t much. She didn’t dream of grandeur, no aspirations to touch the ceiling of the world, or to be somebody. She only wanted happiness, to dedicate her life to the service of others and one day teach Spanish to her children and plait their hair. Unfortunately, that dream – the most longed for dream of all, if she’s being honest – was stolen from her in a cruel twist of fate. Many would have given up dreaming all together, curled up in a ball and allowed the pain to consume them. But not Nina. True to her nature, she allowed that dream to fade away, focusing on the others instead. Those will come true – even if she has to peel parts of herself off to make it so.

FLORENCIA: In Spanish the meaning of the name Florencia is: Flowering. Blooming. Nina doesn’t fit the conventional description of a flower. Her petals aren’t so easily torn. She isn’t something temporary, lasting for a moment. If anything, she’s the stable oak, roots plunging underground, stoic when the gale howls. But, in many ways, she is the bloom of summer, the inward beauty you cannot help but stop and admire. She’s an individual full of potential, someone capable of everything and anything, someone who continues to fight even when struck down, who continues to see the good and beautiful in the world, in spite of everything she’s endured. Through the winter frost, she comes out the other side – ready to grow again, ready to bloom.

DELGADO: Spanish and Portuguese: nickname for a thin person, from Spanish, Portuguese delgado ‘slender’ (Latin delicatus 'dainty’, 'exquisite’, a derivative of deliciae 'delight’, 'joy’). Although most people wear the names of their father, Nina chose a long time ago to don that of her mothers. Her father ran away without so much as a goodbye, a permanent hole in her life. So why would she want his name? No, instead, she chose her mothers. She chose to wear the mark of a woman who gave everything she had to her children, who loved in buckets, who has always been there for Nina whenever she needed it. Even when engaged, Nina was adamant about double barrelling her surname, wanting to carry that important part of her life – a part of her family – with her even in a life started far far away. However, it’s more than just the love she has for her family. It’s a mark of her heritage too – designating her as coming from Latina heritage, something she is immensely proud of. Even when far from their roots, Nina was raised to have pride in and to embrace their traditions – for example, they’ve always spoken Spanish at home and they’ve always maintained ties with the local Latin American community within Foxcroft, few as they may be. Names are important – and Nina is proud of hers.

Date of birth: July 7th, 1992

Cancer: Deeply intuitive and sentimental, Cancer can be one of the most challenging zodiac signs to get to know. They are very emotional and sensitive, and care deeply about matters of the family and their home. Cancer is sympathetic and attached to people they keep close. Those born with their Sun in Cancer are very loyal and able to empathize with other people’s pain and suffering. The sign of Cancer belongs to the element of Water, just like Scorpio and Pisces. Guided by emotion and their heart, they could have a hard time blending into the world around them. Being ruled by the Moon, phases of the lunar cycle deepen their internal mysteries and create fleeting emotional patterns that are beyond their control. As children, they don’t have enough coping and defensive mechanisms for the outer world, and have to be approached with care and understanding, for that is what they give in return. Lack of patience or even love will manifest through mood swings later in life, and even selfishness, self-pity or manipulation. They are quick to help others, just as they are quick to avoid conflict, and rarely benefit from close combat of any kind, always choosing to hit someone stronger, bigger, or more powerful than they imagined. When at peace with their life choices, Cancer representatives will be happy and content to be surrounded by a loving family and harmony in their home.

How long have they been in Foxcroft: Nina has lived in Foxcroft on and off for her entire life – mostly on. Born and raised there, it has always been – and probably always will be – her home. It’s the place where she grew up and as such, contains a thousand different memories, many of them positive, most of them centering upon her family. That, however, wasn’t enough to stop her ambition. It wasn’t so much for a hatred of Foxcroft than it was a desire and determination for more that spurred her to leave it once she graduated. Indeed, she could have stayed on at Foxcroft community college – and was initally tempted to, wanting to stay close to her family - but it was her mother who persuaded her to stay on. You’ve dedicated your life to us, now go live it. With her blessing, Nina moved on, attending a college within state, but several hours away from Foxcroft. In truth, she never thought she’d be back – especially once she met her future fiancé. There was simply no need return for anything more than visits, especially as her siblings grew themselves. As soon as she found out she was pregnant – and with their wedding looming – they put a deposit down on a house, far far away from the place she once called home. Now, they would build their own lives – and she would be free for good. It all seemed so permanent then. It was only with tragedy and heartbreak that she found herself calling up the real estate agent and asking them to find her an apartment back in Foxcroft. Nothing short of the total loss she had experienced could have brought her back. She wanted to find both solace and security in a familiar place and people. Now, she thinks she’ll probably be in Foxcroft forever – and it’s something she’s coming to terms with.

Sexuality: Labels aren’t something Nina’s ever been particularly enthusiastic about. You can diagnose an illness, you can prescribe antibiotics, but you can’t pigeon hole love. When it strikes, it strikes – and you have no control over that. Although she’s only ever been in a relationship with men (a man, in fact, someone she once considered to be the love of her life), she likes to consider herself open to the possibility of engaging in a same-sex relationship, even if it’s not anything she’s ever actively pursued. In fact, since breaking up with her fiancé, she hasn’t been on any dates. There’s a small part of her that thinks no one will ever want her now, that she’s a bit broken – no good to anyone. So she pulls away, reluctant to engage in such intimacy, where she knows that one day, she’ll have to confess – and break her heart all over again. So, if pressed on the subject, she’d probably describe herself as heterosexual, just because it avoids questions and because based off previous experiences, that seems to be the best designation, but she considers herself to be more flexible than that. Based on the kinsey scale, she’d put herself at a 3.

FC change: N/A. I couldn’t change Lindsey…I just…I can’t.

How do you interpret this character’s personality? How will you portray them? Include two weaknesses and two strengths.

Description:

Brave girl, they whisper under their breath when they see her. The girl who shot for the stars, but fell towards earth. Many people would like to define Nina in terms of not who she is, but what she failed to be. They would like to call her phoenix – and talk about how she crawled out from underneath the ashes. They would like to pigeon hole her because of her loss, dictate the terms of it, and pinpoint exactly how it changed her. To a trained eye, it can be done, because it has. But that isn’t the truth – not the whole truth anyway. The loss of her baby changed her, it burdened her with a grief she’s only just coming to terms with, rubbed away her soft edges. But it would be false to say that everything she is can be derived from that one moment. Nina isn’t a summary of one experience. She’s a product of her entire life – the good and the bad. The difference is, she’s always been drawn towards the former – and that’s all she’s ever allowed to shine.

Someone who has always been a beacon, a steady anchor to root yourself around, a permanent presence, Nina was made to be an Angel, a saviour of sorts. She would be fundamentally good. Self-sacrificing before she even knew what the term meant, she’s always been happy to put others before herself, drawing her strength from their happiness. At first, it was her family – the siblings she nurtured and protected, the brothers and sisters she orientated her life around – and the mother she counted as her best friend and closest confidante. Now, it’s her students, the young minds of tomorrow she so desperately wants to shield. She’s always been a little bit like that – an unseen shield, someone you may not even know is there. The ultimate mother figure and mom friend, she was constructed from concepts of kindness and compassion – and has always allowed them to shine through, being driven by their ideals. It is, after all, why she became a nurse.

And yet, despite that, you would be a fool for thinking that it made her delicate. She was never gentle, porcelain or easily shattered. She’s always been stronger than that. Hardworking and determined, she’s always known who she is and what it is she wants, confident in her identity. Even now, she isn’t some broken shell of a girl. She continues to be who she’s always been (that is, after all, why she had to break up with her fiancé, who treated her as if she were made of cotton wool), or at least, she’s trying to be. She’s not here for pity. That’s why she continued to follow the only dream she had left, determined to grasp something – even if it was the shortest of straws. Like a bird, she always wished to fly free, to escape Foxcroft and build something for herself, a life worth having, even if it was nothing more than simple pleasures, the most humane of human experiences. Nina has become a dreamer with her wings clipped, grounded to the dusty earth. But even then, she’s making the best of a bad situation, resilient in her force of mind.

Despite her efforts, despite gritting her teeth and burying her grief, she continues to be scarred by her experiences – albeit a mute one. Unable to speak out about what has happened to her, she feels a little trapped – rooted only by her singular desire to help others. Her pain has become a constant companion – one she’s learning to live with, one she’s trying not to let consume her. Never complaining, never wiltering, never faulting, she tries not to be haunted by the loss of her child – and the loss of the life she had wanted for herself. That will not be her story. She has more to give and offer to the world – and so she does, even if it is all of herself. Fundamentally, Nina is human. (Technically, no, but in who she is? Yes. ). She embodies the best of humanity, the versatility, the courage, the desire to better oneself, the care that is needed to rear another generation, the desire to put others first, to dedicate your life in their service. After all, what’s more human than that?

Character traits:

COURAGEOUS: not deterred by danger or pain; brave. Life is tough, but so is she. Even in the face of adversity, Nina has remained true to who she is, her goals and her morals, determined to remain who she is at that core. Doing that requires bravery and strength that isn’t found in every person, a characteristic that makes Nina truly Nina. She has always been strong, but now, there’s a newfound iron in her blood and manner to which she holds herself accountable.

ALTRUISTIC: showing a disinterested and selfless concern for the well-being of others; unselfish. Some people struggle to put others first – but not Nina. It’s been a defining characteristic throughout her entire life, beginning the moment her first sibling was born – and never fading, even until this day. Her choice of lifestyle and career means her concern spans far wider than blood – to close and weak bonds, to those she hardly knows. Pure-hearted and led with good intentions, every action is spurred forward by this desire – one she will never allow to fade.

STEADFAST: resolutely or dutifully firm and unwavering. Faithful and loyal, Nina isn’t the type to give up on a person, on herself or something she’s put her mind to. Determined and resilient, she remains an ever constant, refusing to let her experiences shift her away from the person she knows she has to be. It takes all of herself that she has to give, but she’s immensely proud of herself for doing so.

PRIVATE: not willingly revealing ones feelings. Although she encourages people to trust and confide in her, she finds it incredibly hard to do the same. Always used to being the strong one for everyone else, she’s all but forgotten how to confess in others. Keeping her pain and her secrets pressed close to her heart, she’s somewhat of a closed book. She doesn’t intend to be – but it’s simply the way the world has made her – and she’s not sure if it’ll change anytime soon.

MELANCHOLIC: feeling or expressing pensive sadness. She wasn’t always this way. Even if she wasn’t the peppy cheerleader, she always had a ready smile to give her siblings, feeding off of their happiness and love. But that changed when her baby died and she was told that she could never bear children of her own. In that moment, her heart was twisted, perhaps beyond repair. Now, although she tries not to be and does her best to remain cheerful, she is plagued by a sorrow she cannot shake, a grief that penetrates down to the deepest parts of her soul.

STRONG-WILLED: determined to do as one wants even if other people advise against it. Steel-minded, Nina is not so easily distracted or dissuaded once she’s put her mind to something, even if that decision could be costly. As selfless as she is, that’s usually a price paid by herself. Whilst it’s admirable that she’s so willing to sacrifice herself or her happiness, it’s dangerous – especially in the wake of her newfound abilities. If she isn’t careful, that resolution of hers is going to get her into more trouble than she can cope with.

Personality analysis: X

How did this character react to the death of Hazel Abrams? Adam Foxcroft?

As someone who’s call in life is to patch and mend, any loss of life is tragic. The death of anyone, stranger of otherwise, gives her cause to pause, a moment to lament, to pay her respects and wish them a peaceful transition. But a death in such a violent manner? In many ways, that might be worse than slowly wasting away. Nina couldn’t claim to know either individual well. Despite them being of a similar age to her, they were nothing more than familiar faces glimpsed in the hallways at school, the figure at the back of her class, a facebook friend you accept and don’t think twice about again. Thus, their deaths did little to touch her personally. She couldn’t claim to truly grieve them, to be devastated, or forced to string the pieces of herself back together.

Hazel’s death happened soon after her return, within weeks in fact. Dutifully, she turned out for the memorial, lit a candle in the square, gave her condolences to Hazel’s family and did her best to honour her own dead child. It did, however, touch her life in different ways. She was suddenly a lot more aware of the town, the people in it and the potential for darkness it possessed. She sat down her siblings and explained to them about travelling in pairs. She herself kept her keys between her knuckles as she walked to her car at night. When her students came to see her, she would ask after their mental health, not just their physical bodies. With Hazel’s death, something in Foxcroft had changed. She was afraid, to think that someone so violent could live among them – that they would escape justice. When the case went cold, a chill ran through her spine. Over time, however, a new normality settled in. And then Adam Foxcroft died.

Whereas some were less chilled by his death, almost shrugging it off with explanations of Well, he’s a Foxcroft or he ran in bad crowds, Nina was determined to honour him the same, seeing only the loss of human life, not the caveats that came with it. Once again, she felt her heartbreak as her thoughts inevitably turned to her baby, lost before its time. And then, she went through the motions again – the funeral, the memorial, the warmest of touches whenever she saw anyone who she knew had cared for Adam. Their deaths have certainly increased her awareness – and she now founds herself being slightly bound to them by her encounter with Neil – and his status as the primary suspect. But, more than anything else, it’s made her more determined. With all this death and destruction, what Foxcroft needs, more than anything else, is someone to heal.

How do they see the town and its people? Think about the different groups of people and prejudices the town holds about them.

Nina’s never truly been one to divide the town up into its factors and cliques. She sees them as individual people – not the groups that they might belong to. There’s no bad guy group for her, or the good kids – they’re just people. That perspective comes from her own experiences more than anything else. Absorbed with caring for her siblings as a teenager, she mainly skipped out on the typical high school experiences, which included the part where everyone became typecast into their factions. Thus, uninvolved in it all, she never learnt to see people like that, in terms of the prejudices Foxcroft holds against them. And, as someone who considers herself to be not judgy at all, she likes to think that she never would. In terms of how people perceive her, many people might ask who? Slipping under the radar during high school and mostly keeping to herself, her profile was low – and Nina didn’t care about making a statement for herself. Too many things were important. These days, a few might know her as the girl who didn’t get away, or by her job description as the nurse. Nina definitely isn’t someone who has much of a reputation in Foxcroft, which allows her to stay above the in-fighting and drama – exactly how she likes it.

As for Foxcroft itself, it isn’t so much the small-town life she’s opposed to than the small town she found herself in. When pregnant, diamond ring on her finger, she had planned to move to a small-ish town, to raise her child somewhere safe, where there would be good schools. There is a certain appeal to the life of a small town, in its comfort and security – if you find the right place. Foxcroft was never that – and she recognised that, practically from birth. There was never anything particularly wrong with Foxcroft. After all, her upbringing was not damaged by the place she inhabited. Despite that, she dreamed of making it out, escaping and setting up home somewhere else. She knew, from a young age, that she had a future to be claimed – prospects far far away from Foxcroft. In an ideal world, her dreams would have whisked her away – and she never would have had a reason to return other than for Christmas and Birthdays. But life is cruel – and she finds herself back where it all began. She’s trying not to feel bitter about that, to not resent being pulled back into its clutches, attempting to make something of herself in the town, in her job and new-found state. But it’s harder than it seems. And Foxcroft, with all its mystery and murder? It certainly isn’t making her aspirations any easier.

For non-human characters: What does this character know about what they’ve become? Have they had any experiences that made them aware that weren’t exactly human?

She had never believed in ghost stories. Sure enough, she would dutifully take her siblings trick-or-treating on Halloween each year and celebrated The Day of the Dead with enthusiasm, but the idea that there was something else out there? Please. Her world was centered on what was either real or could be achieved. Her dreams were not plucked from the world of fairy tales, but concrete desires she knew she could make reality. After all, she always worked for everything she achieved – so the idea that there was something supernatural was, well, a little laughable. She liked to believe that there was something beyond death, perhaps a heaven, or a place she would see her child once again, but that was an afterlife – something beyond death, not something beyond humanity. So, needless to say, she was more than surprised at what happened the moment she saw Neil Monroe lying at the side of the road.

It was easy to initially write it off as a dream. It was late at night – she was tired, she couldn’t be sure that what was happened to her was real. One moment he was injured – the next, he wasn’t. That seemed like a figment of imagination to her. And yet, the moment she woke up the next morning, her back aching and scars etched into her skin, she knew, definitively, that it hadn’t been a dream. It was a living sort of nightmare. She studied her marks in the mirror for the longest of times, dressing them with cream to soothe and bandages to heal – grateful that she at least knew how to treat her injuries. (All the while not knowing that what had drawn her towards her profession in the first place was the very reason she could do such things). Trying to make sense of it all, she wrote down everything she had experienced in the grief journal her therapist gave her.

Neil Monroe was injured.

I touched him. I tried to help him.

Now he is fine – and it is I who is injured.

Those three facts seem crazy (and she can’t confide them in anyone), but they are true. That is perhaps the most terrifying thing of all.

Yet, even then, she wasn’t quite willing to admit the truth until she saw the headline news. Neil Monroe: found safe and sound. It was then that she finally admitted to herself that something had happened the night before – and that she had a part in it. Watching him leave Police questioning that day, without scratch nor bruise (whilst she herself was in agonising pain), she knew that she had healed him.

That night, she added a fourth fact.

4. I healed Neil Monroe by touching him. His injures became mine.

Then, she locked the journal in her top drawer.

She could never name what it is that she is, or fully admit that she might not be human yet (because what is more human than wanting to help people?), but she does have a running theory: that she can heal people by touching them – and that she herself will take on their injuries. Right now, she can’t be sure whether it was a fluke, whether it was Neil who did something (and not her) or whether it will ever happen again. She wants to test her theory, but she doesn’t know what it was she did or how to trigger that part of herself, so she’s a little wary of doing so. But, one thing she does know for certain is that if she can control it, if she can, indeed, heal people with one touch – then she will. She wants to help people, happy to offer up all parts of herself to do so. This allows her to do so. This is perhaps a gift. And such gifts should be used.

Please include 1-2 possible plots your see for this character

THE HEART OF A HEALER: Nina is only just beginning to scratch the surface of who she is and what it is she can do. She’s always been a healer, yes, but she placed her trust in medicine and science, knowing that faith enough is not enough to sow a wound back together. Now however, she can do that. Her hands are more than just the tools to wield instruments. They possess power in themselves. Over the course of this roleplay, I’d love for Nina’s arc to concern her exploring her powers. She needs to work out what she can do and what it means for her to do. The first step of this is probably going to be trying to talk to Neil about what happened that night and then having the experience repeated. Once she does work out what she is (even if she can never place a label on it) then the path forward becomes clear. She’s going to help people. In a town as bloody and broken as Foxcroft, there’s a lot of damage – and she can begin to salve the wounds. It won’t be plain sailing. These abilities will push her to the brink of possibility and force her to grapple with the fundamental question – can I heal without breaking myself? Where Nina is concerned, she’s happy to give herself up in order to help others. The question then becomes – will she pay the ultimate price for that?

THE TIES THAT BIND: Relationships are important to Nina – and play an instrumental part in defining who she is and her priorities. Therefore, I’m equally as excited to explore the different relationships in this roleplay, for Nina to interact not just with predetermined connections, but with everyone. I will say that in particular, I’m looking forward to exploring both Nina and Summer and Nina and Wells. I’m a sucker for familial relationships, so Nina having Summer is just so important. Each of them has been through so much – and they both need a shoulder to lean on, someone to talk to at the end of a long day, to express themselves without fear of judgement. Summer is her closest friend – and she fulfils such an important role. Where Wells is concerned, they are one and the same. There are so many parallels between the pair of them, not to mention their status as Wyrths. Is there truly anyone that can understand the other like the two of them? They’ve both been through so much, lost people they love and can count grief as an old friend. Now, as they come to terms with who they are, they’re going to need the other as a shoulder to lean on, someone to confide in and perhaps – the truest of friends. In a sense, they’re almost like twinned souls, complementing each other. Exploring that – and watching it unfold – is one of the things I am most excited for.

WRITING SAMPLE

“This is a safe space. Anything you say here will remain confidential. You don’t need to be afraid. Look at the people around you – everyone is going through exactly the same thing.”

The group’s leader, their words calming and measured, did little to soothe her anxieties. Almost by instinct, Nina pressed her lips shut, burying her confessions where no one might ever find them. Eyes flickered from side to side, each person looking for the person who would speak up, who would break the tension that had fallen, who would bear open their soul. It was Nina’s fifth session – and she had done little more than state her name, occupation and bring doughnuts when it was her turn. I don’t mean to be so…useless, she once admitted, but I can’t give a voice to what happened either. Not yet. Grief takes time Nina. You are healing, bit by bit. So why didn’t it ever feel that way? Everyone said that time eased things and that the ticking of the clock was supposed to lift you up. But her heart felt as heavy as ever. Often, she blinked it away, forced the storm from her mind. As she worked, things would even feel normal (from time to time, when she didn’t see her baby’s still-closed, never-opened, blue eyes on a student, when she didn’t see the pregnant teacher walk down the hallway, blossoming). But then came the sorrow. Then came the remembrance. Nothing will ever be normal again.

“Nina?”

Firmly, she shook her head from side to side, offering an apologetic smile. She had never liked disappointing people, always happy to chisel off pieces of herself to put the world at ease. Until now, that was. “I’m sorry – I – not today. It’s been a long week.” Longer than usual. For whilst the touch of the grim reaper would so often blemish a smile, that wasn’t the only thing weighing down on her mind. When she closed her eyes at the dead of night, it wasn’t just a still not-wholly-formed body she saw, but a flash of rain and the blood of Neil Monroe. Sitting straighter in her chair, a shot of pain sent ripple waves through her body. Three days – and she hadn’t yet become accustomed to her new marks, the signal of change, of something new. Impossible to untangle, unable to make sense of it all, she prayed for them to heal. Perhaps then she could forget about it all. Somehow, she doubted it. It felt as if she lay on the cusp of the beginning – as if it was all only just about to begin. Absentmindedly, she wondered if they would scar – and if her body would come to resemble what her soul had become.

“Is everything alright?” A pause. “Other than the obvious, of course.”

She didn’t want to lie. That wasn’t who she was. Deceit and ill-intentions had never mixed well with her. She was far too simple for that, or so she had been. Just a girl who had wanted three simple things in the world – and who had the most important of them all stolen away. My life should have been so different from this. Even as she thought the words, she knew it was useless to wistfully wish for something that could not be. Never the sort of person to lose themselves in their mind, in hopelessness or in grief, she exhaled heavily, steeling herself for a response that would not appear to be so transparent. “It’s been a long week at work – that’s all.” People could always sympathise with that – assuming she might despise her job. For Nina, it was the opposite. She sometimes felt as if her job was the only thing keeping her anchored to the ground and hoped that by healing others, she might one day be able to heal herself. It was an idle, wistful thought, but she wasn’t sure what else to hold onto, other than that. Some people asked her if it was strange, to walk the same halls again. She would always laugh. I’m there more now than I ever was back then. How long ago her own high school days seemed, a time packed to the brim with family and hard work, with chasing dreams and endless possibilities.

“Of course. We understand.”

They did. Each person in this room had felt death’s touch one way or another. They all knew what it was to feel a piece of your soul torn away, to wake up and know that the person you loved was no longer in the land of the living. They lived in two worlds – the real one – and the one inside of their minds. “My daughter worked too hard as well.” A man to her side said that, his eyes wistfully turning over memories, smiling a little as he did. She wished she could reach that point, where she could think of her baby (someone she had been unable to name) and smile. But somehow, she doubted she ever could. For whilst these people had something to cling onto, an object, memories, something real – all she had ever had was potential. There had been her baby’s heartbeat at the first scan – how steady it had sounded. There was the first time they had kicked, just two weeks before they were lost all together. There was the time she had requested they (or, she supposes, he) be placed in her arms, wrapped in a blanket so you couldn’t feel how cold they were. But did that even count as a memory, if her child had been dead at the time? She had no wish to deprive the people around her of their memories. She only wished she had a few more of her own.

Ah, wishes, they’ll break your heart. Her mother had said that to her once, stroking her hair. Nina had never really believed in them, not really. She had never wished on shooting stars or when it turned 11:11 – and even donated her birthday cake wish to a sibling each year. I don’t need wishes to make my dreams come true. As it turned out, she would need a miracle.

Wasn’t that the worst, the most bitter of things? Whilst losing a person was bad enough, a child even worse – Nina had lost a part of her identity. Biology would deny her children to call her own, stolen her youth and all she had ever wanted.

No point feeling sorry for yourself. After all, you won’t let anyone. The pity of it all had been the worst. If at first she had crumbled, confined to her bed for days after the incident, she had quickly risen, biting her lip to prevent the pain, trying to restore normality to her life. I still have my two feet. I can stand on them. Her fiancé hadn’t understood that. At times, she wonders if he liked her weak. She asked as much the day she returned his ring. I’m sorry, but I can’t marry you. I can’t marry someone who looks at me as if I might break every time they touch me – because I won’t. I suffered a great loss – but I won’t let this be the story of my life. I still have more to offer, things to do.

And wasn’t that why she was in Foxcroft?

Maybe that’s what happened with Neil. It was a strange little voice that spoke, one that sought to question science and logic, that believed in the possibility of fate and destiny, that there might be a greater divine force. Maybe you healed him for a reason. It was the most human response of all, to search for clarity, for a why whenever uncertainty struck.

Nina wasn’t human. But she couldn’t have known that in that moment, nor might she ever. But in that moment, she certainly felt like one.

EXTRA:

How would you feel about this character dying?: I’m game for it. As much as I’d love to see Nina happy, I think that the true testament to her character is her willingness to put others first and in time, perhaps her readiness to sacrifice herself for them. Part of being a wyrth is grappling with the balance of saving others and saving yourself. I can definitely see Nina going too far one day, taking on an injury that ends up being fatal, or simply exhausting herself in the process. I’d love to know ahead of time – and perhaps collaborate on the circumstances of her death – but it’s definitely a yes from me.

Why did you choose this character?: I was torn between quite a few characters for quite a chunk of time – which is why I didn’t get this app in for the initial round of acceptances! But I think, for me, what really sold me was Nina’s strength. Fortified in the face of adversity, Nina is someone who has endured heartbreak and the weight of the world. She knows what it is to hope and dream – to come so close – but, in the end, to lose. And yet, despite that, she hasn’t given up. She remains who she always has been, a beacon of strength, an anchor, someone who is willing to dedicate everything about themselves to the service of others. I’m such a sucker for characters who have had the world thrown at them and who emerge stronger on the other side, the phoenix type characters, if you will.

Extras:

Mockblog: X

Headcanons:

Signing up for private therapy a few months ago, her therapist made several suggestions. One was to attend a grief group session – which she’s done, remaining silent in each one. The second was to find several coping mechanisms, ways to honour the past without truly letting go, in a way that would help her to define her future. Taking on their advice, she’s done this in two different ways. The first is through a tattoo. Inked in the space between her chest and her shoulder, where few will ever glimpse, there’s a single bird, a dove – small, childlike, standing with its wings open, as if it could take off at any moment. One bird for one child, a way of ensuring that her baby would be there at all times, even if it isn’t in the way she wanted. The second is through a headstone. Miscarrying at nearly six months, her child was more than a bundle of cells. They had limbs, a heart, fingers and toes. They had a form. It only seemed right to honour that human life, even in death. Thus, one of the last things Nina and her fiancé did was to bury their child, in a graveyard not far from where they both attended college. Although it’s a several hour round trip, Nina tries to visit the site and lay flowers every three months. She’s not sure if these two methods help her cope – she supposes that she won’t know until they do help.

Coming back to Foxcroft in a fragile and emotional state, Nina clung to the familairty to help her through it. Although she knew she couldn’t move back into the old family home (she loved her family, but both parties needed their space), she moved as close as possible, in an apartment just a ten minute walk from their home. She spends as much time as she can in her families presence – helping in whatever way she can, with group projects, cooking, telling stories – anything that makes her feel close to them. In a weekly tradition, Nina spends every Sunday with them. Now that her siblings are slightly older, they take turns with the cooking. One week it’s her mother, the next it’s Nina and the third all three siblings band together and make something edible. After stuffing themselves, they spend most Sunday afternoons playing old banged up card or board games, or watching re-runs of the same films on TV. Having always adored her family, she’s happy to spend time with them, glad to be close to them once again – even if it came about in the worst of circumstances.

How did you find us?: My friend Jade recommended you to me!

#rp #roleplay #rpg #nina delgado #accepted

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