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gaiuswrites · 3 years

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King of Cups || Chapter 9

Chapter 9: The Hanged Man

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | eight

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: After some time apart, new conclusions are met.

Word count: 7.8k~

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SMUT, fingering, unprotected piv sex, emo emo emo (are we even surprised any more), mature themes, abandonment/family trauma, loss

Notes: Friends, wow. I'm honestly embarrassed by how long this took. Thank you for your patience. I hope you find the reward worth the wait. This chapter is nearly all in Din's POV until it switches and blends in the last chunk. If you’re new to KOC, you’re more than welcome to start at this chapter! Love you guys x (gif credit: @bestintheparsec)

“Din.”

Familiar fingers brush through his hair, a hand he knew once combing over his overgrown locks. He feels the drag of nails across his scalp, tucking a truant curl behind his ear, and the act feels like home— like hearth.

Somewhere beyond his open window a morning bird trills, perched in its roost nestled into the forked branch of the elm.

He breathes a sigh, the sound thick with sleep, and turns to his pillow, burying himself deeper into the linen.

“Din, honey.”

He blinks— lazily, molassesed— her shape clearing into focus.

Green eyes peer back at him, fine lines framing the corners of them, and crescents crease around her lips, pulled warm into a soft curve.

Small toys— wooden things, baubles and bits, dolls made from scraps of old fabric—litter the floor, spilling from the chest butted against the stone of the wall. A book, well-loved and dog-eared, rests on his nightstand—the one he insisted she read from each night, the story he couldn’t possibly fall asleep without hearing—the images written on the page, dancing in his small mind to the tune of her voice.

It’s all there now as it was then before.

“It’s time to wake up.”

She sits at the edge of the bed—his bed—the weight of her arm draped over his shoulder like a blanket— like shelter. Like never being fearful again. Like never dying. Like summer, forever.

“I am awake,” he murmurs, and it is with his own tongue that he speaks. Not that of a boy, but a man—unfiltered, unmodulated. Stripped of his helmet, he hardly recognizes the tenor of it, of its richness, but he feels the words reverberate against the hollow of his throat and he knows they belong to him.

Light casts through the window behind her—particles of dust, trapped in the tines. Floating there, suspended on strings.

She only smiles, and strokes a thumb across the sweep of his cheekbone, there in the room he last felt safe.

“No, not yet.”

It’s time to wake up. It’s time to wake up. Wake up wake up wake—

“Not yet.”

His eyes blur open with a flutter of his lashes, the lifeless durasteel ceiling coming into view—the jade of her gaze fading, fading. Blowing away.

He shifts a hand through his hair— through the long strands in dire need of trimming— lying on his bedroll, spine knobbing into the thin mattress. The cold metal overhead stares back at him.

His chest rises. Falls.

Din can still feel her, the warmth of her, there on his cheek.

///

There is no part of this that comes easy.

He knows what you’re thinking, he can see it in the guard you’ve encased yourself with— your glass walls, your glass house. Transparent but impenetrable, Din can only look. A spectator, watching as you go about your routines— a stranger on the outside.

And he sees how you look at him.

You think he’s fine.

You think he’s marble. Unbreakable. Impervious to time, to cold, and he does nothing to correct you; no, he allows the belief. He lets you believe the calloused veneer of his beskar— lets you assume he is more machine than man.

Din thought it would be simpler. Convenient. Din thought it would hurt less.

Because how can he tell you? How can he possibly communicate the imprint you’ve left on him— how his mind revolves around the imagery of that evening in vicious figure-eights. How he can’t unremember your heat curling around his fingers, how he can’t unbridle the pulse of his cock in your palm. How he can’t unspeak that which he called you, his virgin tongue flicking new and flighty around the word.

Cyare.

It tripped—in the midst of his pleasure, it sprang clumsy from him how the inevitable always seems to where you are concerned: transport to Coruscant, his past, his history, his identity— it just happens, reasonless, illogically. Some driving magic beckoning him to buckle, wishing him to give.

Your moans, your gasps, how you prayed his name— this is the white noise murmuring through the ship, harmonizing with the tinny mechanical beeps and settling groans of the bulkheads. You churn like smog through his helmet. Ever present, the memory of you is constant— invasive. It’s suffocating him.

He’s been dealt plenty of injuries and contusions— he has the scars enough to prove it— but it’s this. It’s this that’s killing him. It’s you.

All of these paintings, life-like and lurid, and yet it is this wound - untended, uncauterized - that scalds most: the moment Din, that beskar apparition, slipped away from you. You were there, hip under the weight of his glove, and he simply

went, like fog.

He watched your face crest and fall—felt your heart, skipping nervous like a stone over a morning pond, little waves rippling lightly, lightly out and out until it puttered quiet and

sank.

He abandoned you there. He left you before you had the opportunity to convince Din that you wouldn't do the same to him. Because Din has learned this, his suit of armor a trudging reminder of the inherent fact: good things leave.

You’ll be gone soon. You’ll leave him—he’s taking you home and you’ll leave him. His son will leave him.

He’ll be alone again. He’ll have the Crest, he’ll have the Guild—he’ll have the life he once cast in stone for himself, the life he’s worn as proudly as the Mudhorn emblem he boasts on his pauldron. But that was then - before - and he can never find his way back to that now; now that he knows what he knows—of breakfast and bitter caf and laughter like church bells and warmth and goodness and you.

There is no part of this that comes easy.

There in the galley, lamp-lit iridescence caressing your countenance, you asked him once if he was scared of anything and he told you he wasn’t sure— not yet.

Din lied.

As a rule, he doesn’t make a habit out of dishonesty; it doesn’t typically suit him, he is blunted to a fault— earning allies and enemies alike with the very attribute—but he lied to you then. Maybe his fears are the same as everyone else’s, maybe they’re simple. Human.

Maybe he’s scared that you’ll unchain him from his armor, of his shortcomings and tragic flaws and see the pulpy heart of him—that you’ll look and look and look, and you will like nothing that you find there. That he’s just a man.

And perhaps, he’d rather remain unknown than risk the chance of being unlovable.

For there is a certain hollow you befriend in the aftershock of loss—there is an aperture loss gores you with. There are some holes time can never fill; they remain trenched, dug from rusted trowels— left to fester, left to ill.

Sometimes, in the surly vacuum of space, in those dulled moments in which he has nothing but to count the seconds as they tick clocklessly away, Din attempts to conjure the last word his mother gave to him. He didn’t know it then—he didn’t know it was intended as a gift, boxed and ribboned and bowed. He didn’t realize—a child, wide-eyed with naivety, drenched in fright—that he should cherish it. Remember it. Keep it safe.

No matter how hard he tries, how hard he strains, he can’t recall it. He practices the nightmared memory of it, transports himself into that war zone, dodging shrapnel and brimstone just to catch sight of her face— and he can see her lips moving, can feel the fan of the flames as his world is reduced to cinders, but he cannot hear her.

Was it goodbye? Was it I love you? Was it be safe? Was it hide? Hide hide hide for me. Be good and hide, kind boy—

It dogs him. The nothinged mumble, his silent passenger.

There is no part of this that comes easy.

He heard you. There in Valentia, the city buzzing cacophonously like an orchestra tuning their instruments, he overheard the Twi’lek translate for the older woman.

Family, she said. You have a beautiful family.

Din has never in his life considered forsaking his Creed— forgoing the thing that saved him, made him, honed him to tungsten, sharp as a blade.

But he did then.

It was a flash, something fickle and brief— like the flicker of a candle before it diffused to smoke— but in that nanosecond he saw himself ripping off his helmet. He saw himself going to you, pulling you close to his plated chest. He saw the surprise wash over you—the shock that bubbled to elation. He saw you smile, that crippling gorgeous thing, with his own naked eyes and—

And then suddenly you were there before him, snapping Din from his reverie, blanket snug to your chest, the child — his child— slung beside you. He wished he had an explanation, but before he could process his actions his hand was drawing itself to your body, tugged by some unseen force—robbed of his autonomy— and rapturously, he touched you. He felt you.

His knuckles grazed your arm—your warmth, radiating past the aged leather of his glove—and the wisdom that woman uttered, the plain truth only the ancient could learn— only a mother could know— rattled around his mind, unanchored and barreling.

Yearn for the past. Reclaim time.

Hold onto them hold onto them hold on—

Never let them go.

Ready? he asked you, arm resigned to his side, feigning monotony beneath the cover of his visor.

You threaded an even smile to your lips, as if Din were none the wiser— as if he hadn’t catalogued every lick of your expressions, every curve and bow and wrinkle as your emotions sung across your face. As if he didn’t know when you were lying. As if he didn’t know when you were falling apart.

Ready, you replied, swallowing past the disappointment welled in your throat.

Both your hearts broke then. Perfectly—the same.

This is the Way.

///

Din is gone over a week. It’s the longest he’s ever been away for a hunt—it’s the longest nine days of your kriffing life.

The ship feels vacant without him; she’s cumbersome, too cavernous for the likes of only you and his foundling. Her durasteel sidings yawn morose against the wind beating restless against her—her metal stretching like a lothcat in a patch of sun. The doors and hatches complain ajar and gripe shut, as if she’s recalcitrant to go about her standard operating procedures without Din’s presence. The old gal misses him, down to her steely bones and dual ion turbines, and in truth — and despite yourself— you suppose a small part of you feels the same, shares an inkling of that same loneliness.

The rituals and dog-eared routines you’d drawn comfort from are now rinsed in a forlorn wash.

The single bowl of food you prepare looks wrong without its twin beside it.

You scroll a finger over your display screen, flicking through various articles, the faint light from the holopad basking the contours of your face in a lonesome shade of inanimate blue.

Anything good you hear him ask, there in your inner ear— the memory of his voice leaving a nick among the many wrinkles of your brain.

You sigh, quietly— alone. Never.

Even Munch misses him, although he expresses it differently. He’s been a downright terror with Din gone. At first it was a vacation, a luxury retreat; you and the child gorged yourself on crackers and grava berries and dried bantha meat—mindful of sweeping up the crumbs on whichever surface you snacked. You giggled and ran amok and shared secrets in code only the two of you could decipher.

But one day grew to two, and two to three and three to four and by the fifth you were out of treats and your patience too had dwindled to short supply.

The child is special— unquestionably unique. And as much as you adore him, would lay down your life for him if it came to it, Maker he is uniquely qualified to send you round the bend twice over. He’s baffling, infuriating— just like his father. Of all the things he could have inherited from the man, of course he decided to latch on to his vexing penchant for mystery.

You lost him for half a day. He was somewhere aboard the Crest, of that you knew that for certain, but he managed to enact a stunt that could’ve puzzled even the most illustrious of illusionists with how quickly and effectively he vanished, seemingly out of thin air.

He emerged eventually for dinner, babbling wickedly. There was that, at least: you could always count on Munch to — well, munch.

Over a week of this— nine days, sixteen hours, and twenty-two minutes, to be exact… But who’s counting.

The sky glitches with lightning, sparking like a bulb in dreadful need of changing, and veins of violet skitter along the horizon, chased by the clapping hammer of thunder. Fat drops of rain trace down the transparisteel, the metalled drum of their pattering against the Crest lullabying your eyelids to a slumbered close. You drift, weightless, waxing and waning in and out of a reoccurring dream that always blurs to mere suggestion - to shadow - as soon as you wake.

The harsh sound stirs you—the ramp’s gears springing to life, signaling the Mandalorian’s return. Rapidly, you blink clear the slog of sleep from your eye, re-emerging from the forgotten depths of your subconscious and half-roused, you bound from the copilot’s chair. You rally from your stupor, instinct urging you to meet the bounty hunter by the entrance—some tittering, foolish part of you still so glad and girlish just to see him.

Hobbling down the ladder with veteraned coordination - one leg one arm one foot one hand - you hop the last two rungs to land catlike on the balls of your feet, heading towards the stern of the ship and—

You don’t make it three steps.

He’s there. Din is there— nine days later and finally, like a hallucination, he’s here— ominous and backlit by the glow seeping in from the galley. An obelisk, undaunted.

Your gut somersaults, flipping until it dizzies.

Knee-jerked and reflexive, the basest part of you demands you go to him, to cross the threshold separating you— the time and space and uncertainty dredged like a moat between you two. But instead of greeting him as you wish— two arms thrown around him, welcoming him home—back to the Crest, to the child, to you—you stand there, dumbstruck and wanting.

The passage of the corridor is like a strait. It's so narrow you can smell him— his carbon musk, his petrichored sweat—and it furls thick into your sinuses, fogging up your vision, clotting the faulty wiring of your mind. He’s brought the wet in with him, drip dropping from his hulking frame to splat puddled onto the deck.

plop

A beat ferments, hanging ripe from its branch as the tempest rages outside the sheltered hull of the ship. Distantly, thunder booms from above.

“Din— hi.”

“You’re up.” He doesn’t move from the archway. Stiffened, composed from granite, the man hardly breathes. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” you offer hastily—untruthfully.

Din scans you: your obviously tousled hair, the drowsy flush kissing your jaw, the tell-tale crinkle of your tunic. Your tongue darts out to skip over your lip and his lungs pull, aching beneath his ribs.

Maker, you’re pretty even when you lie.

“Go back to sleep,” he assures, but you hardly register it; it’s scarcely above a murmur by the time the words hum through his modulator.

“Can I make you some food? Can I—"

There’s a tarred shake of his helm, tiredly dissuading you. “No, you—you’ve done enough.”

“But you must be exhausted, Din. Let me help you,” you urge, sincerity shaping the lilt of your voice. “Please, I—” You falter. Vision finally adjusted in the dimmed hall, it is then that you spot it.

Your mouth runs dry.

He’s dappled in a violent scarlet, foreign red splatters contrasted against all that silvered grey, bleeding with the rainwater to roll sanguined down the rounded edges of his armor.

Blood. He’s covered in blood.

Something pitted—something vital— in you contracts; horror, prickling the fine hairs along your forearm. “Maker, what happened?”

Eyes gaping fearful, you skitter around his breastplate, his vambraces, the paneling of his flight suit, roving meticulously in search for the source of his injury. Thoughtless, consumed with only one concern - is he hurt? - your hand flies to his chest where it rests—solid. Fretting. “Stars, are you—”

He can see it—he can see you, always—how your gaze swells, laced with a surge of adrenaline, of care, and Din lays his broad palm flat over your knuckles, grabbing your frantic attention. “It’s not mine—hey, it’s not mine.”

Your shoulders deflate, relief visibly relaxing the rigidity in your spine, and for the first time in what feels like minutes you release the breath you’d fostered high behind your teeth.

He doesn’t know what overtakes him. Perhaps it’s your sleep swollen lips or the soft petal of your cheek— taunting Din, daring him to feel you again, as he did before— or perhaps it’s the all too apparent fact that you simply give a shit about him— despite everything he’s done, all of that which he has left unsaid. That you worry. That you care.

Puppeted, arm hoisted by some invisible strings of fate—those unseen threads of inevitability—he reaches for you. Din’s thumb roams the slope of your cheekbone, the buttered hide of his glove gliding over your skin. Something rattles flustered in your chest, and you must look pathetic— how your eyes bat at him and your mouth parts, breathy and demure.

“Dala.” He sounds pained when he says it, as if it’s poisoning him; the very syllables like hemlock dripping down his tongue—slowly gradually, ending his life— this life.

This life as he knows it.

You nuzzle into the cradle of his palm, encircling a hand around his wrist, urging him still. You both know he could break away from you without an ounce of strength squandered, but he doesn’t; he listens, he quiets for you. Enchanted, neither of you dare move— neither of you, willing to shatter the profound spell of intimacy you’ve stumbled onto.

He holds you like this, and you hold him to you. His hand on your cheek; yours over the birdcaged throb of his heart— burning - devouring - its entombed aril like the heart of a dying star.

“Where’d you go?” you whisper, heathered, into the heel of his hand. There is something broken in your cadence, like the chipped rim of a fragile cup, and it punctures him just there beneath his sternum.

Where’d you go?

Where’d you go before? When you left— where did you spirit away to?

Why didn’t you take me with you?

A sick wave rots his stomach. He couldn’t answer you then, not when you were wobbly and coltish beneath him—Din can barely answer you now. His digits twine into your hair, cupping the arc of your neck. The gesture is not unkind. It is delicate— urgent, too—and the following hush you share speaks tomes for the both of you, the sob of his leathered fist admitting what he cannot utter.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t.

Maker, if you could see him. See how his face folds for you, grief lined into the shallow grooves that mark him. The cycles of it— how they bend him into something contorted. Something in need - I need you I need you I need - something ugly, he thinks. Leftover. Hidden. Hide hide hide hi—

You turn, pressing a kiss into the rough of his palm. It’s a soft thing— trepid and cautious—too worried you might frighten him away to offer anything more than a chaste brush of your lips—too worried you’ll send him scurrying back into the cratered unknown he crawled out from.

But he doesn’t.

Din doesn’t turn tail and run, he stands firm—weaving his hand further into your scalp, guiding you closer to him with a throaty sound. The forehead of his helm sinks to yours, and through its filter you discern the tremor of Din’s breathing, made fuzzy by the tinny modulator.

This is nothing like before. Din was hot blooded and vicious then, possessed by the infernal likes of some great beast, but he has since been tamed, if only momentarily—coaxed into a certain meekness by the frail ache of his heart—by the grace of your kind mouth, kissing his gun-worn glove.

He groans your name, mumbled and brassy. The two of you so close, so merged, that if it weren’t for his helmet, you’d feel the tickle of the syllables as they sweep over your face. Din repeats himself, repentant—praying for forgiveness on the cross of your name—your kiss, a benediction.

Again, he calls you. I’m sorry.

Again, you kiss him. There is nothing to forgive.

Again. Again.

With a flutter of bravado, you sling a lumbered arm over the span of his neck, notching yourself into his chest, an interlocking piece finding it’s match. Din’s forearm comes to coil around your waist, wide hand spanning the small of your back, and if possible, gathers you nearer— a growl emanating somewhere from under his beskar.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathes, bullet riddled—grating—warring with the countless shards of himself he has yet to reconcile; but his body betrays his intentions as Din’s grasp finds itself lower, filling his fingers with the plush of your ass. “Tell me, please.”

Arousal rushes to pool in your depths—at the proximity of him, the hungered way at which he paws you—and it’s a reaction you feel mimicked by the iron rod straining against Din’s flight suit, pressing into your thigh. You shake your head, gaze colored earnest, and you shift, applying a grind of your hips against him in response.

Din lets out a defeated groan; weak to you, a fabled Mandalorian warrior brought to trembling knees by the guile of a good woman. And suddenly, like striking a match in a room swarmed with gas, you are incendiary.

He’s everywhere— groping and kneading your arms, your ass, your neck and waist. You are malleable beneath him, sculpted like wet clay under his eager touch—as if he is committing your form to memory; the fervor of his grip, reclaiming time.

He hooks a hand under the crease of your knee, yanking you to the column of his armor, sealing your bodies together. Gyrating your hips against him, your clit yearns against his thick outline as you dig into the cowl draped over his shoulders.

Sliding his hand down your backside, he presses his palm into your clothed heat from behind, pads of his fingers insistent as you saddle your spine into his touch, granting him better access. His cock brays, straining beneath his many layers, and a withered moan breaches past your lips.

“Gods, Din.”

Din. He can’t stand that—his name, lush in your wet mouth—and without ceremony, drops your leg from where he’d glued it to his hip. Like a beggar, impoverished and need-stricken, he begins to fight with your clothing, half tempted to rip the damn things off you, leaving you tattered; he’d happily buy you a new wardrobe if it meant having you as he’s wanted for these long months—naked and vulnerable and his.

Your tunic and pants come off in a flurry, your underwear too, discarded hastily in some forgotten corner—and with a hand on your chest, he walks you backwards until your bare ass connects with the durasteel, a jagged inhale tearing through you at the chill. A question knits your brows to meet as Din paces away from you, increasing his distance.

“What are you-”

He interrupts you with a groan. “Just - gedet’ye - just let me—”

His gaze drips like wax down your body—eyes dressing over your clavicle, the supple weight of your breasts, the gorgeous dusting of hair at your mound, the sweet press of your thighs as you clench them together, your pretty knees, your pretty ankles, your pretty feet, pigeoned inward nervously.

Pretty pretty pretty—fuck, all of you. So fucking pretty.

With the cock of his chin, his gaze returns to the heave of your breasts—tracing over your nipples pebbling in the everpresent draft of the Razor Crest— and you rile under him, heart stammering loud—so loud you’re convinced he can hear it with the aid of his helm. And Maker above, the way you’re fucking staring at him—all hooded lids and flushed cheeks. Din wants to fucking ravish you.

Dismantle you.

Pick you apart bit by bit until you’ve come undone completely.

And as if slogging through gravity itself, movements prowled, he steps to you. Din finds your hips, running the whisper of his gloves along the slopes of your sides; a master of patience, commanding time to his will, he crawls up your skin

slow

deliberate.

You’re all but helpless to the shiver that traverses the planes of your body, zipping along your synapses like the fault lines of a quaking planet—cracking you open, exposing your molten core. You’re not proud of the noise you make when he cups your breasts. Starved, you whine as he takes you into his hands, pinching and groping until you’re pert and sore and you drive your pelvis into him, rutting yourself against his frame like some flea ridden slum-mutt in the prime of her heat.

Din seethes, mumbling in Mando’a—spitting curses you can’t pretend to comprehend, but that blot warmth along your cheekbones at the oaky depravity of which he utters them.

He seals over your mound, blood pumping at your seam, bundle of nerves pulsing steady against the heel of his hand. Immobile, he waits, hovering stagnant and teasing before his lust to feel you outweighs his desire to make you be good and wait—and parting through your curls, he kisses the tips of his orange gloves into your honeyed cunt.

It’s dirty. He’s dirty, he’s fucking filthy—covered in foreign blood and alien soil—and you feel depraved, unclean. Powerful. You feel, perhaps, as the Maker intended—wild and without shame, to roam his gateless garden and sully the soles of your feet.

You feel raw. Din Djarin sands you raw.

The pump of his wrist is merciless, pistoning in and out in shallow thrusts, knuckles angled to prod at that spot— that piece of primordial heaven sequestered at the channel of your cunt—and he keeps discovering it over and over again with a sharp shooter’s precision—zeroing in on his mark and releasing the trigger. Dead eyed.

You grab greedily at his bulge, at his cock begging for regard beneath the protective fabric covering him, and you squeeze the best you can. The angle is awkward and unweildy and it’s not nearly enough for either of you, but it conveys your intention well enough.

Can I have this? Will you give this to me?

Din growls his reply, leaving your pussy to fumble with the waist of his trousers, fidgeting over the pesky buttons—the final of the flimsy holdouts separating you and the tempered steel hanging solid between his legs. It bobs free from his pants, ruddied tip straining and pining for you, and without spending another moment idle, he rediscovers the warmth of your naked body— molding himself to your form, his grip once more finding the pit of your knee and bracing it to his side.

He ruts the underside of his shaft through your slick folds, his blunt head nudging at the swollen cleft of your center—each pitch of Din’s hips sending bolts of pleasure crackling through your core. He’s stifling a string of moans while he does it, while he undulates against you, the sighs and gasps digitized to near silence as he coats his cock in your gloss—and not for the first time do you find yourself considering how fucking colossal Din is. How fucking virile and engulfing, like blaster smoke and tabacco and cedar. Like coaled smog from a cremulator. Like giving life, like taking it away— like mercy. Vengeance.

Din swipes your standing leg up to match the other in a fluid motion, effectively levitating you off the ground with only his palms secured beneath your hamstrings and your strangled hold around his neck to suspend you.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He’s practically begging you now, anguish wrecking through the timber of his voice—grasping blindly for an excuse not to lose himself in you completely, not to bury his primal drives and fears into the chasm of your sex.

You’ll leave him you’ll leave him he’s terrified you’ll leave him

“I-I don’t want you to stop— I want this. Din, I want you, I missed you. I miss you.” You miss him. He’s right here, cock streaking through your middle and still, you miss him. You’ll never stop missing him—wanting him. An unscratchable itch at the median of your back, burning for his affection, for his touch.

He releases a husked sound at that, as if hearing it from you hurts— your words, purpling a bruise into the bloody beat of his heart—and like a dipping sun sinking below the crust of a darkening planet, the last of Din’s resolve fades to utter black as he finally - finally - buries himself into where you weep for him.

Oh Maker. Fuck, fuck—

You muffle a relieved cry, forehead collapsing to the slope of his shoulder. Your walls shutter, blinking and gasping around his cock as he rolls up into you, lips pulling taut around his girth with each drag through your cunt. Din fucks you slurred and languid—his pace, sweltering like a summer fever—heavy, punitive. Smothering and thick. You can feel every vein, every silken ridge, as he notches himself inch by inch— the cant of his hips meditated, aiming to melt you open with each wave.

Stuffed to the hilt inside you, he rakes in a ragged breath, calming the race of his bloodstream drumming percussive in his ears.

It occurs to you then that he might be trying to be careful with you, curled around him like this, crushed up against the bulkhead. You think he might be treating you as a jeweler would handle a rarified gem— gentle and tip-toed, afraid of letting you clatter to the counter, of scuffing your facets— devaluing you.

But you don’t want that. You don’t want cautious or considerate or any of those awfully pious things. You want to be owned. Devoured. You don’t want to feel anything else but him. You want him to need you so terribly, so primally, he bleeds. You want to forget your own damn name and replace the memory of it with his—just his, to sit besot like liquor on your tongue. Din Din Din.

“Fuck me— please - please - fuck me harder Din.” Fuck me like you need to. Fuck me like you want me— please just tell me you want me. Tell me I’m wanted. Tell me I’m worth this.

You can see the deliberation span over his mask, the light glinting off the steel there hesitant, wary. Are you sure?

“Fuck me.” I want this. I want you.

He wants to give this to you somewhere soft— somewhere you deserve. With a feathered mattress and molted down pillows and gauzy curtains billowing in a sea breeze as light dapples prismed patterns on your dewy skin. He wants to give this to you somewhere beautiful—perhaps on that planet you once probed him about - Adega - with its red trees and warm nights and friendly natives you’d cherish and keep aloft in your breast.

He wants you to feel safe. Adored.

But what he wants and what he needs are two vastly different things—two opposing extremes at odds with the other. Because he needs to fuck you here— it has to be here. Needs to score your backside with metaled bites from the Crest’s unforgiving interior; needs you crumpled and sloppy, panting out his name to echo shamelessly into the deviled bowels of his gunship.

He needs you charred for him. Scorched earth.

And with your panted pleas, lilting addictive and irresistible, he is all but helpless to deny you— to deny himself. Relenting, resolved, his voice bottoms out.

“I-I’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

He fucks you frenzied. The snap of his hips drives you into the wall; he lifts you off his cock just to spear you on it once more, fucking up up up into you, unleashing all his strength— his neglected need—into the grail of your womb. The salted slaps of skin are loud enough to make a lecher blush. It’s a chorus of beskar rattling, wet and ugly and Maker, he’s splitting you open and all you can do is mewl.

You screw your eyes shut, lost to oblivion—crown of your head shoved back, jugular bared for him like prey before the slaughter.

“No.” Leveraging his mass against you, Din clasps at the nape of your neck to command your focus, forcing your chin. “No, look at me,” he orders, brutal and sinewed and there’s desperation there. Din needs you looking at him — seeing him— the embrace of your gaze like a life raft, tethering him here, grounding him to this plane of existence, the one where he has found salvation—if only fleeting, if only like hourglassed sand sifting through his fingers—within the temple of your body. Struggling and led-lidded, you pry your lashes apart, shivering as you drink in the punishing expression leering across his visor; and as you always do, you peer past the murky T there, meeting his eyes camouflaged in their sockets behind it.

“There you are. There you are, my pretty thing - hnng—” He silences himself with a hoarse moan, the sensation of you clenching firm around him, gripping Din like a man would a rope, dangling some feet above the ground, hiccuping him to stutter. “T-That’s it, dala—fuck, y-your pussy is so godsdamn tight.”

You go boneless at the praise—at how he tongues out those fond epithets, vehement and covetous and brined in sincerity—and your breathing quickens as you soak the coarse weave of Din’s flight suit, chafing your clit to shambles with each bow of his starved sex.

You’re close. Stars, you’re so kriffing close—reach out and touch it and you’re there, a promise fulfilled dancing at your fingertips—and you almost tell him; you wish you could - don’t stop don’t stop please right there Din - but you’ve lost your voice, vocal chords stricken with tension. More than that, you’ve lost the wedge of your brain that recognizes articulation all together. Speech itself. You’re wasted. You’re shattered. You’re being fucked within an inch of your sorry life.

Nimbled, without a word of warning, Din relocates— grappling under the plats of your thighs and bracing you featherlight to his chest—negligible in comparison to the ton of armor he dons cycle after cycle, weightless when compared to that of his Creed, hanging like a yoke around his gullet. You yip in surprise and scramble around him, calves digging into his back, forearms clamped around his shoulders—his cock remaining delved within your pussy with each footfall.

Four long strides and he’s reached his destination: a large crate, stranded just outside the hallway leading to the galley. Stooping at the waist, he lowers you down with astonishing ease until you’re flush on your back, knees flanking his frame. You heave a sigh, petulant and wanting, when he slips from you mid-adjustment, a lewd squelch accompanying the movement. It is to the fervor of your clawing, desperate nails scratching down metal - please please please - that he glides back into you with one deft sweep, a satisfied gasp tumbling loose from him.

He looms over you now— Din, a tower unyielding—thrusting into you rough and hard and perfect. He’s filling you in undiscovered places long gone unrealized, nooks you didn’t know you had—the length of him completing you, making you whole.

“Tell me to stop,” he pants, orange pads of his gloves dimpling your hips.

With a tremor of your chin, you moan—broken and chirping. “Don’t - please - please don’t - shit - don't stop—” Your prayers convulse, dying in your throat, sentence cut short as he circles his thumb over your clit, catching at your slippery bud. Ever the marksman, he’s debilitatingly attentive to you, the hide of his glove snagging against your cleft, and combined with the steady rock of his dick shredding you open, you’re all but defenseless to the dawning of your release, crawling closer and closer and—

“Din,” you pant, ”Din Din Din, I think I—I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna, oh Maker—”

The muscles in your stomach seize, a twisted expression cramping your brow. You scamper to his arms, reaching out for something - anything - a parcel of real estate to clutch onto while you unravel. You’re grappling with his pauldrons, the pulsepoint at your wrist humming over the symbol welded to his shoulder, and you mage into starlight. You’re fizzing. You’re blind. You’re atomic and phasing in and out of realities and you burn— a meteor hurtling through the upper atmosphere crashing crashing crashing and—

Language exhausted, all there is left for you to do is cry, the evidence of your orgasm ricocheting like a hail of gunfire against the Razor Crest walls.

“That’s a good girl, that’s a good girl for me—f-fuck." It’s like taking a jab to his solar plexus, how you cinch around him— the corset of your walls milking his cock until he’s shaking, stumbling. The drive of his pelvis has gone erratic, the throbbing bloom gnashing its teeth in his gut—that rabid thing desperate to be released, uncaged—teeters on the identical ledge you’d just leapt from.

“Tell me to stop - please - tell me to, tell me to stop—” You’re all eyes. Your whole face, swallowed by the sweet, glassy orbs notched below the quiver of your forehead, and you’re looking at him like he could hang the damn moon and it’s too much— it’s too much too much he can’t levee this raging need— and with a hurried gasp he pulls out of your heat to tug at his slicked cock— panting ragged as he gushes onto your stomach, your legs, your pretty pussy made pink and puffy with abuse.

His breathing is labored; you can see it in the mountainous rise and fall of his chest plate as his strokes slow, his other hand digging into your flesh, indenting you. He exhales, scraping clean the fissure between his lungs, and Din tips his head, angling it backwards— granting you a rare sliver of the stubbled swath along his neck. The sightly patch, treasured behind his silvered grotto, shouldn’t be the thing that plays upon your heartstrings like one would pluck a harp— not after he’s burrowed himself inside you, not after he’s carved you to his likeness— but it does. You’re butterflied and cherry blossomed and you grin— not so much on your lips but in your soul, and there is a purring warmth that’s radiating like candle flame from the anima alive beneath your breasts and—

And then, suddenly — like time, like memory— he is gone.

He leaves you. Mirrored, he does as he did that night—laying a squeeze into the meat of your hip, he transpires to atoms, dissipating round the unknown bend of a corner and you’re alone again—alone, with only the citric bile steeping in your insides to accompany you, threatening to rise up your windpipe.

No. No no nonono—

Din’s presence, a beacon in the moonless night, disappears— leaving you orphaned and moored and mortified. He’s done it again— he’s left you, he keeps leaving you— and it renders you sick; viscerally, you’re angered and ill and green-washed with naivety.

Fool you once, shame on them. Fool you twice, and what in Maker’s name did you expect? A declaration? An about-face? As if a Mandalorian could let the beskar from his blood. As if Din could reanimate the cadaver of his past—could slip into that old snakeskin he’d shed cycles before.

It paralyzes you. Immobile, you are chambered flat on your back in the resin of your embarrassment, bereft of your vision as you stare sightless into the steel. You’ve separated—your mind and your body disjointed like oil and water, and you don’t hear it. You don’t hear the tread of Din’s feet, you don’t register his aura, Illuminous in the archway; you don’t see the stray towel fisted in his grip, you don’t feel the clench of a frozen hand around your heart as he does his. For he sees you there—a tick in your jaw; eyes distanced, fogged—and he knows he’s done this to you. The scarring of how he derelicted you then tarnishing the new-leaf flesh of the present.

He steps towards you, closer now, and your alerted gaze pins to him. A surprised expression makes a home there, astoundment freckling your face— and although he hasn’t earned the right, it strikes him bullseyed between his plated ribs because it hurts— the obvious shock of him returning for you hurts. Din is not a good man— not all of him. Sometimes, you and all your heaven-lit gleam, you make him forget that.

But sometimes, you make him remember.

And Maker, if you don’t look good like this. Streaked with his seed, creamy white pearling the maps of your body, the shine of it catching in the cannistered shafts of filtered light.

There’s a word for this—for you, for how you look, splayed and painted with his cum—with him. It puffs up like petals would, there in the square of his center. He’s never said it. His mouth doesn’t know the feel of it, his lips don’t know its shape. It’s scribed in Mando’a, and as native as the language is to him—as fundamental as Basic, if not more so—the word itself is foreign. Gawky. The thought of it alone hobbles through his mind on foaled legs. Din keeps this word barred, its essence clinging to the iron partitions of his skull, its perfume clouding his senses, his better judgement, his confounded rationality dangling precarious by a string.

Beautiful. Mesh’la.

You shift under his watchful eye, knees steepling mousy, and gingerly, he prizes the two apart and you let him.

You let him you let him of course you let him.

Din runs a damp cloth up your seam, up those hypersensitive folds, towards the expanse of flesh leading to your belly, and you hiss—a startled chill icing through your body.

“It’s cold,” he informs you, well after the fact, and you chortle a note in response. He continues to lave you clean, the drag of the material smoothing over your stippled planes and it’s intimate—how he takes you under his care, how he unmakes his mess.

Your heart, silly flustered thing it is, it tells you the act feels worshipful—reverent, maybe—but your head convinces you to look away, to cower, to do anything but address the blaze left in the wake of the rag he’s swiping over you. It’s too much. You feel vase-like— fragile and dainty, for the bounty hunter to either fill with wildflowers or crush under the heel of his boot— and it’s too unbearable. Bringing a hand to your sweat-sheened face, you shadow your eyes, ostriching shyly— if I can’t see him, he can’t see me.

A clipped tone escapes his helmet and it’s a sound you can’t place— it’s short, a blip—and you presume he’ll remain mum until he speaks. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

You don’t have to hide from me. I don’t want you to hide from me.

You nearly whimper at that. There’s something endearing and bronzed about how he says it, something torn, too—and you peak through the curtain of your fingers to watch him perform his ministrations. Almost begrudginly, you remove your hand from it’s shelf, resting it on the swell of your breast while he passes the cloth along your inner thighs, erasing the sticky traces of himself. There’s a quiet pause, a moment of distilled nothing before—

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” you admit, small.

He soothes his thumb into the crook of your hip, voice blunt with guilt. “I know.”

Sighing, you nod a little thing, a half-gesture, practically creeping under the Mandalorian's radar undetectable. Thunder shouts, lightning cracks— the bombastic storm outside apathetic to the lull within. Din clears his throat, rasping. “Was that okay?”

You resist the temptation to snort. Din is such a juxtaposition—one you don’t imagine you’ll tire from any time soon. He’s dangerous and protective and clever and strong and kind, despite his best efforts to snuff his compassion to ash like the butt of a dead cigarette. Lifting your palm from its perch, you extend to him, measuredly sliding your fingers against the crate— stretching stretching until he meets you, dubious and toddling like a child’s first steps, orange-dipped digits touching nude flesh. Your everbright grin brightens all the more— bewitching, back-breaking—as you entwine your hands to mesh.

“More than okay,” you say coyly. “Was that-was that good for you?”

Din huffs out an airy chuckle rich with disbelief, like he can’t fathom you’re even asking him—like you’d even have to ask at all. “That was—that was good. Very good,” he confesses gruffly, never a man for poetry, breathlessness still apparent in the bleed of his vocoder. “Even better than I imagined.”

A feline grin unfurls your lips, boldly quirking the droll corners of your mouth. “You imagine this often, Mando?”

Smirking wry and devastating, Din ushers you up by your woven hands, your body pliable and easy to his will; uprighted, his hips slot between your pretty knees, and he expertly twists your arm behind your back, snaring it there. Spine swooped, breasts brushing against his beskar, your nipples pebble cold. “Don’t let it go to your head, dala,” he gravels, visor tilted down at your dwarfed form, tenting you.

“Well," you tease lightly, "I’ll try my best.”

And you look at each other with all the tender awkwardness of two people standing on the edge of a brave new unknown.

Nervous, girlish, you smile.

Fluttering, pussy-drunk, he smiles back.

///

Nested in the pronged branch of a tall tree spindling up from the graveled soil, Din— a man, a boy too— reclines supine against the bark. His feet dangle like they did then, back when he wasn’t so afraid, and the air is dusted with a rosy haze as dusk settles upon the tired day.

The sun sets. The world twinkles a midnight blue, winking starshine as she spins.

Somewhere, behind him, his mother calls him home for supper.

tags: @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @gracie7209 @thatonedindjarinfan @altered-delta @email2ash @stevie75 @shegatsby @onebrownoneblue @uniquebiscuitmongerdonkey @severinsnape @kirsteng42 @justanothersadperson93 @mrsbentalmadge @radiowallet @librariantothejedi @whataperfectwasteoftime @babydarkstar @punkremus @mandobloggin @alma-rt1 @not-the-droids @pedrostories @kylieann0716 @jk7789

#King of Cups #din djarin x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x ofc #din djarin #the mandalorian #mando x you #mando x reader #mando x fem!reader #din djarin fanfic #din Djarin smut #the mandalorian fanfic #star wars fandom

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lorelylantana · 3 years

Text

Savageries of the Heart Chapter 6; Heritage

First -Previous -Next

Chapter rating: T Overall Rating: E

Noodle turned out to be quite the escape artist, if the flickering of a forked tongue against her chin was any indication. Zelda’s giggle swiftly turned into a yawn. Noodle wriggled into her hair until Zelda lifted her head so the serpent could take her usual space coiled around her neck.

“Good morning, Dove,” Link cooed softly, kissing her shoulder as she sat up.

“Good morning,” she said with a stretch. She leaned on Link’s shoulder to look down at the slate in his hands. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just looking through some of the messages that piled up over our honeymoon,” he said, tapping out a reply to his latest missive. Zelda’s brow wrinkled.

“Don’t you do that in your office?”

“I could do it in our office,” he admitted, and Zelda felt him smile against her cheek, “but that would mean leaving you here to wake up alone, and that wouldn’t be very hospitable, would it?”

She grinned and shook her head.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” she asked, booping Noodle’s nose. Link clicked out of his messages and brought up a schedule.

“I don’t have many appointments today, so I thought I’d give you a tour.”

Walking through her new home felt like walking through a dream. Her breath steamed in front of her, even though Zelda fel perfectly comfortable, if not warm. Her bare feet walked across frozen stone floors as Link led her through chambers carved into the mountain. It was a surreal feeling, walking next to walls of solid ice, light filtering through in tendrils onto the floor. On her other side was a line of doors. Curious, she opened one, and was surprised to find a bedroom.

“For guests?” she asked, though she couldn’t imagine that many would willingly stay in a frozen abode such as theirs. Link shook his head.

“Children,” he clarified, then caught himself, “Not that we need them! I mean-” he sighed, “I didn’t marry you to pump out heirs. That’s not how we do things.”

“It’s how my family does things,” Zelda said. She wouldn’t say that she was a natural born mother, but there was this vengeful feeling that had grown over the years that was determined to continue her line, even if it was just to prove she could. Zelda ran her eyes down her husband’s figure. At the very least she had a strong set of genes to work with.

“In any case, It’s the one thing I can do to honor my family, making sure the weakest link doesn’t break the chain.”

Link paused then, turning to look her in the eyes. There was a tragic look in his eyes that would make Zelda bristle were it not for the rage burning quietly behind the melancholy.

“Is that how you see yourself?”

Zelda looked down, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze.

“It’s how my people see me.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.”

She looked up at him, a question on her lips, before he cleared his throat. “I think breakfast should be ready by now. Let’s go eat.”

An moment later, Zelda was seated at the table for breakfast, which gave Link an opportunity to help her settle into her new home and give her a brief explanation of what would be expected of her as a Warden’s wife. As a Mother of the Zonai she would be expected to handle domestic affairs. This included holding audiences and coordinating joint efforts between regions among other housekeeping tasks, handling the finances and presiding over festivals and rituals and whatnot. The Dragonlands were the political center of the Zonai, and marrying its Warden meant that she had an additional responsibility of leading an organization based on the Temple Mesa.

“Wait a moment,” Zelda held up a hand, “You mean to tell me the Hands of Hylia is a Zonai organization?”

The Hands of Hylia was a renowned charity that gathered resources from across Hyrule to redistribute them when needed. Their quick response to epidemics, famines, and other such disasters quickly earned them the reputation of the kingdom’s greatest first responders. Her uncle had poured a generous amount of money to the administration, if only to claim a portion of the glory and saving the castle embarrassment for it’s slow response time.

“I don’t understand. What’s the point in helping a nation that looks down on you so?”

Link leaned back, considering before putting his thoughts to words.

“You know the Sheikah once served the Hyrulean royal family,”

“I did,” Zelda nodded, “Because of Hylia’s blood.”

“Yes, but that’s not all. The Sheikah value knowledge, and so they served Hylia’s daughters, paragons of wisdom before they were usurped by their fathers.”

“What does this have to do with the Zonai?”

“Because the Zonai follow the Hero. At least, we follow his example.”

“I’m sorry, what ‘Hero’?”

Link gave her a quizzical look, “The Hero, the one in all of the stories.”

Zelda shook her head, drawing a blank.

“You really don’t know? No one told you? What about the history books?”

“My uncle had all the history books burned shortly after he took the throne,” Zelda said, in a trance, “Anything that referenced Hyrule’s matrilineal line was disposed of.”

Link cursed before getting up and taking her hand, pulling Zelda as he walked to the same alcove they materialized in the night before. He pressed a button, and they were gone in a flash of light,

Zelda expected her feet to form on top of the sandy beach, not the stone worn smooth by eons pressing against her skin like a well trodden path. Her gasp echoed over towering walls etched with a procession of men and women making their way towards the biggest statue of Hylia she had ever seen.

Zelda felt all at once so small yet nostalgic in a way that drove her forward, paying no thought to her bare feet and the casual slip hanging from her shoulders.

She had a place here, and she felt secure in this undeniable, instinctive sense of unity that swelled in her chest and seeped into her bones.

“What is this place?” she whispered.

“They call the Temple of Time the birthplace of Hyrule, but this,” Link gestured to the massive statue “Is where your bloodline began, when the Goddess Hylia came down to earth and brought her light to the land.”

Zelda walked with him as he led her over the uneven stone, wrapping her arms around his right. After years of precious little physical touch, going to be with her husband had been the release of a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, and found herself gravitating towards Link, who seemed more than receptive to her advances, holding her hand tightly in his while they walked upon the stone. They walked in revered silence until they finally reached the statue. Link took her hand and pressed it against the smooth folds of the Goddess’ robe.

A gasp fell from her lips, there was a hum that resonated in her chest, causing her heart to flutter. Link’s skin burned against hers, and she felt this surge of affection for him that felt much older than their marriage.

“Hylia’s line has survived for thousands, if not millions of years, surviving famine, disease, and several wars. Do you really think it can be extinguished so easily?”

Zelda shook her head.

“No.”

“Then we agreed,” he said, hooking an arm around her and bringing his slate around, “Now let’s go home.

Zelda had been sitting at her new desk when her translator began to chime. She glanced at her slate to see who it was.

Owlan (Resting Father of the Dragonlands)

“Owlan?” she said when the call connected. Was there anyone in Hyrule that wasn’t a Zonai in disguise?

“Hello Mother Zelda. I thought I’d see how you were settling in, and I wanted to say that you can call me anytime if you need some pointers for your new position. I was in your shoes quite some time ago.”

“Thank you, that means a lot,” she said, before clearing her throat, “How are things in the castle?”

“As you likely expected, Prince Nohansen wasted no time in commanding your old room to be refurbished for his occupancy.”

“What was wrong with his old one?” she asked. Owlan chuckled.

“It wasn’t yours, of course,” was his snide reply, “You should know the Commissioner returned from his sabbatical, he kicked up quite a fuss when he heard of your nuptials.”

“Really?” there was no love lost between Zelda and the Commissioner. Her uncle’s right hand man was adamant that she spend her days in the castle’s shadow rather than lend her talents to worthier pursuits. “You’d think he’d be glad to get rid of me.”

Owlan hummed thoughtfully, “I’m concerned he may know more about the Zonai than he’s letting on.”

“I could say the same of you,” Zelda quipped, she got a chuckle for her efforts.

“Fair enough. How are you adjusting to your new position?”

“I’m still a bit overwhelmed, but well enough considering the Zonai’s true nature,” she admitted, dragging her finger over her desk’s surface. A list of ingredients she’d ordered scrolled at her touch. Zelda had made her order hours ago, but still fiddled with the giant screen. The novelty of it all hadn’t quite worn off yet. “I must admit, the bath was divine. I’ve never seen such a lovely room.”

“I wouldn’t know, so I’ll take your word for it.”

That gave Zelda pause.

“But weren’t you Father of the Dragonlands?”

“The requirement for being a Zonai Caretaker is a family tie with the region’s Warden, what kind doesn’t really matter. It could be a parent and child, cousins, even best friends, if they sign an oath to one another. I’ve never had much interest in romantic relationships myself, but I was more than willing to support my sister as she watched over the land. In fact, I think you’re actually the first Mother who married in for quite some time.”

“Is that right?” Zelda asked. It seemed the older her marriage grew, the stranger it became. And then, before her eyes, strings of light condensed in front of her.

“What is it?” Owlan asked when he heard her gasp. Zelda shook her head.

“Just more Zonai wonders I have to get used to.”

Owlan blew out a laugh, “I can imagine. I’ll let you get back to the intricacies of Zonai culture. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. I’m at your service, Mother of the Dragonlands.”

The call disconnected. Zelda shook her head ruefully, looking at the piles of fruit and herbs within her reach. With a swipe of her hand, the recipe for the Zonai body paint was on screen. She reached for the nearest Armoranth.

It was time she got to work.

#link #zelink #zelda #loz botw #loz #legend of zelda #botw #botw zelink #legend of zelda breath of the wild #botw link #LantanaLore #zelink fanfiction

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icecreamkink · 3 years

Text

watched all of the untamed / cql in two weeks after my friend 1 told me abt mdzs a hundred years ago and my friends 2 and 3 tried to get me into cql for like two whole years and there are.

feelings.

very first scene is a very dramatic death in the middle of nightmare battle on sith planet land . i will forget abt it in the next tenish episodes and then will be very surprised when it becomes Extremely Painful

anyway magic flying gays and possession and human sacrifice! we are off to a great start

in retrospect, chaos goblin wei wuxian must have had a blast pretending to be so cRaZy and be as disruptive as he could as mo xuanyu lbr

listen. why is fire always evil coded. cant a magic clan wear red, black and orange and have flame motif while being wholesome?

For Legal Reasons These Are Not Zombies

i wish the politics of the sect were a bit clearer, especially at the beggining when the wen clan had sm power, was wen ruohan the chief cultivator? is that why they were so slow in responding to the attacks? im v confused by the pre yiling patriarch politics

fighting in the roof by the moonlight as way of flirtiiiiiiing. as i understand this is a wuxia/xianxia trope and honestly...... thank u for ur service

slight bullying and being a nuisance in general, as a way of flirting we love to see it

wwx: if i drink on the rooftop, thats not inside the cloud recesses! hmmm check and mate :D lwj: i will fuck u up so help me god wwx: :0

i lov them

through hell or high water (quite literally) wei wuxian rem ains a trashfire gremlin till the end and i love him with my whole heart

in the pt subs wei wuxian calls jiang cheng a stubborn duck and i dearly wish that had come back

my opinions on almost every character goes from love to hate u - Hmm Me Like U - BABY. ILY. and i am Very Pleased w that. its been a while since i loved such a complete cast so much i think

no really. i WONT go into a detailed rant abt what i love about each of these characters and each of their relationships to each other. but i COULD.

some lan disciples in the loudest whisper ever: YEAH THATS THE JIN BASTARD MENG YAO HEARD THE GOT SUPER HUMILIATED BY HIS DAD LOL SURE HOPE HE DOESNT TAKE SLIGHTS TO HIS CHARACTER TO HEART

lan xichen, immediately: i must Love him

being into problematic ppl is in the Lan genetics, we come to realize

wen qing deserves so many awards for so many things but not snapping and just stabbing wen chao is at the top

that scene at lan qirens class where wwx talks about using resentful energy to fight a violent spirit. exquisite.

It establishes Good Student lan wangji, wei wuxian as curious and questioning and not afraid of taboo, lwj sees that wwx is not, in fact, a dumb ass hes just a Dumbass, shows us the audience (esp. a western audience) how shocking the idea of disrupting the dead/dying and controlling resentful energy actually is, the theoretical foreshadow arguing, everyone else like ‘shUT UP’, “and how could you ensure that the resentful energy would obey you and not hurt other?” “well i havent thought that far” and of course, lan qiren just straight up lobbing a hard object at wwx head,. chefs kiss

fellas is it gay to bother the hot rule obessessed nerd from ur school and make drawings of him with flowers in his hair and then hide gay porn in his book to antagonize him and ask him to hold ur hand and be ur friend and talk to him all the time and get him drunk and give him bunnies bc you know he likes them and give him a lantern and always want his attention and dedicate yourself to getting him to smile-

and after all of that wwx rly said oh i Admire him, aksd like yeah we all were there in high school buddy

i have Learned. caves = gay.

accidental marriage +beint physically tied together with the sacred married ribbon+ gay panic+foreshadowing+bunnies! in the cave (1)

the story abt lan yi and baoshan sanren tho. i would like to see it

early days wen bros pull my heart strings like a guqin

EVERYTHING about the lantern scene; disaster hets jiang yanli and jin zixuan; how wwx made lwj a bunny lantern. how soft and touched lwj was. wwx gleefully pointing out he was smiling and lwj IMMEDIATELY PULLING HIW SWORD ON HIM LMAO. tragically foreshadowy promises to do right by pepople, living without regrets. lwjs 'oh no do i love him??' face. just. all of it.

i have it on good acc that in the novel lwj is explicitly Repressed Gay Panicked Big Horny which is delightful and rly Adds to the performance

baby lwj is really just conceal dont feel dont let them know u have EMOTIONS (derogatory)

jiang cheng rly went "why dont.u go play with HIM if u like him so much"

jc and wwx have big BIG annoying sibling energy dont think too hard abt it or youll cry

lotus pier is soo pretty :((((((((((((((((

up until episode 13 you could think this could be a magical ancient chinese gays pride n prejudice w swords and shenanigans ................youre just not prepared for the game of thrones of it all

seriously ha ha ha i cried so much w this show my eyes genuinely swelled up . like. physically. fun timez fun timez

that being said, its hilarious that wen xu goes to cloud recesses like 'come out or ill kill all these hostages' and then DOESNT WAIT FOR AN ASWER AND KILLS THEM ALL IMMEDIATELY. do u know how blackmail works sir

would like to make it recorded that from day one i was like 'CALL A GODDAMN CULTIVATION G20 THIS ASSHOLE SECT IS LITERALLY MASSACRING YALL!!' and it took them like 3 or 4 massacres to do anything and they STILL sent their heirs into their territory LIKE

when wwx cites the gusu lan rules to wen chao tho. that rebel/attention whore/cutie pie 'look lan zhan i DID memorize the rules after all' ‘also a big fuck you to the wen sect :D :D’ sweet spot that scene achieves . delicious

all the cultivator young masters being petty af even though they are practically prisoners at the cave is hilarious and i love them

hurt and comfort + gay mistunderstandings + watsonian gay declaration music + accidental evil acquisition! at the cave (2)

its like where do i start? the fact theyre both trapped and kind of heavily injured inside an isolated cave with a murder turtle? wwx gay panicking lwj into coughing up bad blood? lwj being jealous as wwx babbles abt mianmian? telling him he shouldnt play with people and wwx saying he never played him? wwx going Oh. I See what is happening. YOU like mianmian, and lwj absolute done face ??? (iconic) wwx touching the sacred married ribbon Again? the telepathic communication? the sword? WEI WUXIAN ASKING LAN WANGJI TO SING TO HIM AS HE IS PASSING OUT AND LWJ SINGING HIM. THE SONG. HE WROTE. FOR WWX. AND THAT HE CALLED. THEIR SHIP NAME????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

they are SO insufferable pleeeeease

in the words of my friend 1 : “CQL is so gay we were all amazed how it got past the censors Ofc unfortunately it can't be novel level gay But they did their best And we love them for it”

in the theme of songs THIS OST. WUJI HAS BEEN LIVING IN MY MIND RENT FREE SINCE I FIRST HEARD IT the whole ost is so so sO beautiful.

the costuming in this is also soooo exquisite. the embroidery? the fabrics? the details? how every sect and clan has a distinct style and architecture? (also ik they based each off of dif periods in chinese history which is REALLY fucking cool) just chefs kiss

the direction too!. i enjoy the unusual camera movements and i think they give it that Vibe, also their composition is PARTICULARLY good when it comes to telling the subtext through position of camera/position of character (like nhs off to the side in scenes he at first glance doesnt need to be/ how lwj is often centered when hes Jealous Yearning at wwx being affectionate w other ppl, wwx return from burial mounds etc)

ik madam yu is like Badass Milf Check and shes not getting any mom of the year awards but im delighted at how messy she is. IMAGINE that woman on tiktok

you better have enjoyed gay cave (2) bc its Just Pain from here on out!

jiang fengmian and madame yu win the Most Dramatic Way to show they do care about each other, actually ..... ever :)

i thought jiang yanli jiang cheng and wei wuxian forcing themselves to escape yunmeng barely holding on after their parents are killed was going to be the height of pain in this show. ha.

the family dynamics in general on this showwwww, both blood/ adopted/ found families, brotherly bonds and lifelong friendships just. rly. truly. fucked me up. theyre all so important and complicated and well rounded and beautiful and tragic

and beyond being a Win For the Gays im so glad the relationships w wwx and jiang yanli/ wen qing were NOT changed from platonic bc they are so much better like that imo. like maybe if we didnt Live In A Society it wouldnt be so, but the fact wwx and others can love and value them so much and theres nothing romantic or sexual abt it is like. so refreshing. especially @ jyl, with the way he and jc are overprotective of her and shes such a nurturing/care taker figure for them, it would just not vibe as well if they made it romantic

i love that this is a story abt Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch aka Actual Satan/Boogey Man/Village With/Public Enemy Number One , my dude is literally a necromancer who only dresses in black and has evil smokey black tendrils wafting out of him, but the really edgy one is still jiang cheng, pastel purple fashion icon

and speaking of best/worst siblings wei wuxian and jiang cheng *immediately starts crying*

The Golden Core Transfer i just. no thots only tears

wen qing and wen ning putting themselves in so much danger just.... to help them. wn saving jc from wen chao. wq finding a way to get wwx to transfer his core. like thinking about the monumental work these two did to help wwx and jyl and jc... jyl trying so fucking hard to be strong and keep on moving and giver her little brothers comfort after losing everything... jiang cheng. losing his parents and his home and his ability to do anything abt it and his complete desperation and lack of self worth and turning on them with agression when he didnt realize all that they did for him ... hhhhhhhhhhhhh

me, pointing at the whole cast “i just LOVE them mom!!!”

its sad tho, that BARELY ANY of the women have like.... actual important conversations let alone relationships with each other at all in the story. and like wq and jyl have stayed at the same place for extended periods of time, where wq actively took care of her TWICE, and still! not one measly convo, nothing! ................ .𝓌ₕᵧ

everyone in this show need a good sip of Self Worth and Stop Sacrificing Yourself juice

ngl the sword flying looks very dumb

“a-cheng, please bring a-xian back.” “i will, i promise.” ;-;

the whole calling each other by the More Intimate Version of the name, first as teasing and later as true intimacy. mmmhmmm yes

untamed where everythings the same but wwx evil flute song is eoeo

related that scene when wwx comes back from the burial mounds for the first time w demonic cultivation and he acts all formal and calls lwj hanguang-jun and keeps being evasive and distant and mean and soooooo................. facetious

and how hes kind of desperately trying to keep intense lwj at bay (A FIRST) and avoiding actually talking to either of them and its all tension ughhh and then he MOCKS his and lwjs relationship, he jokes w him in this like... mean echo of their usual ~banter~ oof

and like!!! uncertain but so relieved jc who just HUGS him w no reservations for once and its not like he isnt just as worried as lwj abt wwx and what hes doing, but he chooses in that moment to enjoy getting him back first and mmhmMMMmMm yes (maybe my favorite scene in the whole show? MAYBE SO. )

highkey hurt me but also. i might be into mean wwx. i will take no criticism.

lan zhans sad eyes tho :(((((((((

on one hand i wish we could have seen what happened at the burial mounds but on the other the timeskip adds so much flair to his return so im hnnn

also i love that hes been missing for 3 months reappears kinda melancholic and bloodthirsty and knowing malign tricks and jc is like 'so. are u sad bc of lan wangji'

when ur bae survived the war but he thinks ur evil/ might be evil so you cant kiss :///

hmmm talking at the rooftop under the moonlight not mentioning everything that stands between usssss

they are the two jades of lan and we’ll be the two heroes of yunmeng is the type of line u dont even need to know whats gonna happen to know thats gonna be sad

when they fight wen ruoshan at the nightless city i thought that was the battle we see at the first ep and its not and its so easy and theyre all like ‘yayy we won go wwx!’ i was just. SCREAMS WHAT is gonna HAPPEN

so like. post burial mounds/sunshot campaign pre yiling patriarch wwx is like. ultra arrogant, ultra mocking, peak lil shit and it gave me e v e r y t h i n g i wanted

even tho having the wen prisoners at the targets at phoenix mountain and still having wwx and jzx shooting the arrows was???? so.... tone deaf

wwx: fucking w demonic energy jyl: he has never done anything wrong in his life, ever <3 <3 (mood)

the parallels between meng yao/wei wuxian (and even xue yang a bit?) are Seen and they are Valid

wwx post burial mounds: can yall SHUT UP abt the goddamn sword (suibian left the chat)

LIKE truly, we talk abt the angst and yearning with wangxian. but what abt wwx and suibian. xianbian / xianqing angst and comfort 100k

take a shot everytime someone coughs up blood

zidian is simply the coolest spiritual weapon rip to suibian and chenqing and bichen and sendou and baixa........ but tis the truth

cons: everyones families died in a nightmare war! everyones homes burned to the ground! everyone is traumatized! pros: everyone gets cooler clothes and weapons!!

wen ning and a-yuan and yanli bestest babes squad dont touch me rn

everyone: brooding and fighting wq and jyl: why dont you try some acupunture/drinking some soup and calm down huh? how abt that bitch??

showing the battle/massacre at the nightless city first was genius actually bc then everytime we have a cute scene w yunmeng bros and theyre like 'we'll be together forever! uwu' youre like oh. oh no. oh no no no.

justice vs lawfulness vs means and ends 👁

jc: stay in the right path and practice the art of the sword wx: yeah thats not gonna happen chief

my reaction to wwx renouncing to the sect politics to help the wens was just that elmo burning gif in succession

the dramatic rain. wen qing desperately calling out to wen ning. the ghosts/puppets killing the guards. how terrifying wn actually was while wwx was controlling him :( lwj goeing after him to try and stop him and then he just; he Sees him and understands him even if he cant actually do anything about it other than let them go.

“there must be somewhere in this earth we can go to :(((((((((”

"IF I HAVE TO FIGHT THEM, I'D RATHER IT BE YOU. DYING BY YOUR HANDS WOULD AT LEAST BE WORTH IT." oh my god oh my god oh my goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooddddddd

also lwjs umbrella is white w black smoke.. . . nice

yiling patriarch / demonic farming burial mounds settlement is like one of my favorite concepts. they an "EVIL" FARMING COMMUNITY LED BY THE VILLAGE WITCH COME ON

they planted TURNIPS and LOTUS FLOWERS and ONE (1) baby and made lanterns and a common hall :(((((((

wen qing and wei wuxian, baddest bitches and genius science best friends i absolutely LOVED to see it. they rly went ‘is anyone gonna sibling/project partner that’ and didnt wait for an answer

both wwx and jyl getting lotus ponds at the burial mounds and in lanling bc they miss lotus pier ;;;;;;;w

;;;;; wish jyl had actually gone into the burial mounds. we were robbed of jyl and wq meeting again and jyl meeting a-yuan and seeing the settlement and the homes and all ;w; at least jc did go, stab wounds and broken arms and all

wwx like... having thrown his whole life away to help the wens (yeah the sect leaders and jin guangshan in particular wanting his stygian tiger amulet was an Element but still) and not.... necessarily regretting it, but grappling with all of the consequences of it... becoming moody and drepressed at times, missing his family and lotus pier and his friends and probably simply missing being around people and causing trouble, extrovert that he is, lashing out at the wens and at a-yuan, just in general the whole messiness of that experience

the way the resentful energy does affect his temperament is rly nice bc its not too in your face,(i mean outside of the Shaky Hands of Rage) but like he clearly has a much lesser control on his anger and impulsivity (tall order) than both before bm and after hes ressurected

on that note A-YUAN BABIEST BABY BOY BEST BOY

lan zhan being like oh hey there wei ying fancy meeting u and our son here. just passing by u know how it is hmmmmMm and then PLOT TWIST having defied orders to go see him and being punished for it. oof;;

they habent seen each other in like? a year? and now theyre tgt 10 seconds and are already parenting a child together

also lwj rly kneels down in the snow way too much to be healthy

wwx: calm down guyssss i wont lose control of demonic cultivation omgggg . spoiler alert: he loses control of demonic cultivation

did u enjoy cute children? good bc now the Real Pain Begins

jiang yanli and jin zixuan rly out there APROPRIATING both disaster gays AND bury ur gays huh ;w;

i KNEW jin lings birthday was gonna fuck something up but the GASP that left my body when wwx lost control of wn and killed jin zixuan .. . .

im sorry and thank you aaaaAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaAAAAaAAAAA

when wen ning and wen qing were telling wwx their plan i was saying NO NO NO NO NO NO out loud in despair

also can we talk abt how wq is definetely talking about only the both of them surrending themselves but then? everyone else just surrenders w them? IT MAKES NO SENSE LIKE WHY WOULD THEY what would be the Point

sometimes there are some pretty gaping jumps in logic and continuity that are just like ? ?

wwx: oh so when you try to murder me its justified but when i survive through dark magic and murder all of you its a "war crime"

unsurprisingly, his most feral, most spiraling moment talking to the sect leaders on the roof and attacking them and even fighting lan zhan is among my favorite scenes... its like, so painful to watch but also so thrilling (and maybe my wen bbs dying arose some resentful energy in me what can i say)

and its JUST, all they ever wanted was to do good but then... war. and trauma. and hubris.

jiang cheng on the ground clearly thorn between what to do and feel is a Mood, lets just say

i was already crying when jyl showed up, but if i wasnt-

i suffered SO MUCH through this series trying to figure out WHY jc would kill wwx. and when i understood. its somehow not as bad as i thought and also MUCH MUCH WORSE

a look into my group chat during the last flashback episodes:

SO ANYWAY. after the BLOOD BATH and RIPPING YOUR HEART OUT and FEEDING IT TO YOU the untamed goes ‘ayy back to the present!! tu du dud ud du’

literally it ends a quarter into an episode and then KEEPS GOING i had to pause and stare blankly at the ceiling for an hour

babie cultivators and detective soulmates . i do need some cute after All of That

(not that the pain is over LOL)

lwj is significantly less emotionally repressed in the present and its delightful. hes just ALL IN with wwx. and not just in the ‘i would and have killed various men and risked my reputation for you’ but also ‘ur tired here have a drink i brought it up cause i know u like it and it want you to be happy, always’

“when everyone praised me and wanted my power, you were the only one that challenged me. now that everyone hates me and wants me dead, youre the only one that stands by my side.” hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

and just filling in the blanks how lan zhan searched for him. for all of those 16 years he searched for him and was punished for it and raised a-yuan, the only survivor of the burial mounds settlement, as his own in gusu......

and jiang cheng. being the tough love uncle . having raised the yunmeng jiang clan from the rubble all alone, his whole family dead, some of it on the blame of his own brother, his siblings, his closest friends gone.......and only jin ling there needing his guidance.

THE PARALLEL BETWEEN JIN LING BEING A LIFELINE FOR JIANG CHENG AND A-YUAN FOR LAN WANGJI AFTER THE BATTLE AT THE NIGHTLESS CITY

great now i made myself sad

and like . the fact! that lwj and jc dislike each other!!. jc projects blame onto him for wwx both “leaving” him and indirectly causing their families deaths and when hes so consumed by it he makes wwx an enemy, lwj is there now? trying to protect him?? and lwj, who can never understand the pain that wwx , indirectly or not put jc through, but who was right there when jc tried to kill him and will never allow him to hurt wwx again. and how they like. in a way project blame of their tragedies onto each other while dealing with some type of survivor guilt and in their own way still loving wwx through it all??? amd in way its kind of fundamentally selfish but also tragically understandable? and like when u put it against the fact that after he disappears during the sunshot campaign they were looking for him together and fought together??

JUST. THE CHARACTERS. AND THE RELATIONSHIPS IN THIS. MAN. UGH. GOD.

and like i think thats what makes it so good? its such a sad and painful and violent story, edgy even, but its compelling bc at the center of it there are all of these relationships and different types of love and hope and. :( i love it

enough crying lets talk abt wwx sleeping at the jingshi with lwj and wearing his under garment for a minute 🙏

jin ling just has that Was Raised by JC energy tho lmao i love him

babie cultivator squad is the perfect ammount of cute and comedic relief while still bearing the weight? of the narrative in a way, both from sizhui and jin lings existences, and also. like. how do i put this. they feel hopeful? they were born after a war, they came of age at a time of relative peace, they dont hold on so closely to the resentments of their parents/father figures, they are specifically shown as more accepting and open minded. and its like.... Hope for the future

one of the ?? things i love the most is the fact that the main cast are often in situations where theyre hunted/running but they like. never wear disguises... just going around in their gorgeous expensive clan clothes and hair ornaments and distinctive spiritual weapons.... maybe w a straw hat on, just for kicks

wwx teacher 🥺🥺🥺

so this is why its called Yi City Misery huh

a-qing is such. an icon. im so sad. my girl even knew to leave xys dumb self rotting by the road but no one listens to her thats why theyre all dead or sad

her and xue yang measuring each other up was so entertaining lmao

its the funniest thing when hes like. HERES MY SAD STORY. FOR WHY IM A SADISTIC MURDERER. I BROKE MY HAND ONCE.

like ok someone broke his hand in a horrible way, and like Poverty, i get it but also like.......... that lost the brunt of a proper sob story like, 50 sadistic murders ago bby

and i love that xingchen does not entertain that for a second hes like ‘not ?????? good enough???’ and the best thing is he wasnt even like 'u hadto be the bigger person' or sth but ' well then break that dudes hand back, rip his arm off for i care, what do the rest of us have to do w anything???”

anjo sensato :(

xue yang is like..... the sexy sadistic evil version of a himbo..... a meanbo...

the fucked upness of xy’s feelings for xxc/ xxc and sl feelings for each other... like my dude literally gave his bf HIS EYES. and xy getting so attached to xxc .... the fucked up fake domesticity.... having him hurt sl..... then desperately trying to bring him back ...................... oof

song lan........... literally had his eyes AND tongue removed, his bfs eyes put in place, was almost killed, turned into a puppet by his bf unknowingly, manipulated by xy, sees his bf killing himself in despair.... and STILL finds the strenght to get up from there, and keep on traveling and helping people and attempting to fix xxcs soul.......... like, my man. damn.

wangxian looking at songxiao and seeing an Actually more painful parallel for themselves. ft. that Color Coding.

THE A-YUAN/SIZHUI REVEAL PUNCHED ME IN THE HEART but in a good way for a change

should have know that he would be the Best Boy the cute one w all the braincells

the butterfly AND the bunny lantern. i see how it is

u know is very convenient that no one can see the stark black veins on wen nings neck, ever

BAT WEN NING

wns face when lwj comes into wwx room like ‘:0 omg did u two finally get your shit together? good for you master wei good for u’

(they didnt) (yet)

DISASTER DRUNK LWJ. JUST. THRUST SOME CHICKENS TO SHOW UR RESSURECTED BAE THAT U LOVE THEM.

i have absolutely no idea WHY they gave lwj the same punishment for fighting his own sect/allies to protect the burial mounds as when they got drunk on cloud recess class days.... like? its such a ... emotional continuity error again

also is lwj gonna get an actual friend besides wwx , ever

mianmian marrying and having a family and a cute life after saying FUCK U AND UR SYSTEM TOO in a much less unhinged and dramatic way than wwx......... fills me w joy

also lol the idea that like. her husband not knowing that shes friends w satan/the boogey man/the village witch is hilarious

i love nie mingjue bc hes the resident Though Guy but also the most dramatic bitch in this show and thats Saying Something

jin ling cant have one uneventful relative can he

the fact that everyone present already knew “mo xuanyu” was wwx at the stairs is so funny, their faces are like ‘oh............ wow. that. sure is a development. shock”

in the tradition of extremely loud whispers wwx tells lwj with twelve guards standing like one meter away from them: HEY PSH LAN ZHAN PRETEND IM FORCING YOU TO STAY W ME DO IT

oh my god oh my god

the absolute Yearning on his face when he leaves wwx and a-yuan at the burial mounds and refuses to stay for dinner was already Enough but the fact?? they brought it back?? to this declaration of love?? their expressions??????? strike me dead right now just go ahead

lFor Legal Reasons We Cant Kiss but we will have a very sappy declaration of love and trust and look at each other in way that is the actualization of 💞💘💗💖💓💘💞💗💖💘💗💖💕💞

also icb all the sect leaders and guards are standing there watching them say they like like each other with a dozen swords pointing at their neck

i enjoyed the depiction of the fickle public perception and how easily it can be used to scapegoat people. when the sect leaders turn on jgy and wwx knows thats its more for convenience than anything else...

poor lxc is literally like 'oh so when YOUR problematic boyfriend gets called evil its a misunderstanding but when its MY problematic bf-'

ok like i cant get over nmj let jgy play a song that messed with his temperament at all, like maN u KNEW he might be shady wth

wwx: “hey dont say anything bad abt lan zhan hes not an arrogant dick, thats just his face.

ME ON THE OTHER HAND"

the cultivators as wwx is poking holes in their narrative is literally *nazaré meme*

"wei wuxian-!" "what did i break your leg, too?" not to be problematic but i laughed so hard

not as hard as "you dont have the rank to talk to me " tho

i Enjoy that, over the course of story, wwx sees that... theres nothing truly to Do, but move on. he saw how his arrogance and his mistakes hurt others, and hes trying to fix what he can, but he already did die for his mistakes and there are things he cant fix and that's. just how it is. even towards jgy, the narrative doesn't go gleefully and completely with "lets make THEM pay bc theyre the big bad" bc its not that simple, and it wouldn't lead anywhere but more pain...

re him and jiang cheng and the wens and kinda. isnt that what nhs did? scheming to displace jgy out of revenge more than any justice and doing so in the most painful way?

idk if that actually makes sense im truly just babbling

i thought the scene at the lotus pond would be CUTE but the context was PAIN again

jiang cheng finding out about his golden core and his conflict with wwx at the guanyin temple .... destroyed me but in a nice way kinda.... same way it destroys him look at his face oh god

and. the fact??? he sacrificed himself for wwx?? first?? and he'll probably never tell anyone much less wwx???? keeps me up at night

i havent decided if the neckbreak transition between jgy does sth super Evil or does he he does OR Does He yes he does O R does heeeee is sth i dislike or not

jin guangyao and wei wuxians most interesting parallel is that... theyve both seen 'hmm hey this system is fucked up' and wwx went 'so fuck it all i will renounce it and challenge it' and jgy went 'so fuck it i will use all of it to my advantage and manipulate it to my goals and whims'

the fact jgys mom was actually great and he loved her and his whole issue w it was more than simply being ashamed of being a bastard kinda got me ngl

never trust a dude with a fan.

nhs and jgy: the first rule to a convoluted and decades spanning violent revenge plot is to have fun and be yourself!

when a-yuan finally FINALLY remembers ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;-;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; wen ning has someone in his family back and a-yuan has someone to talk abt his wen family and wwx has him back bc he survived and lwj raised him anD HES THEIR SON. THEYRE MARRIED AND HAVE A SON. UGH.

and theyre allowed to heal. everyone is allowed to try and recover and be happy

netflix put all of the 3 endings on top of each other and it looks kinda weird actually BUT I DONT EVEN MIND :’’’’’’’’’)

the gasp that left me when lwj says ‘wei ying’ and wwx turns.........

there was also a screen with ‘thank you mxtx for creating these characters, we hope their wishes come true’ and i might. have cried then too. maybe.

that was . a ride. as is proven by this behemot of a ramble clearly i just really needed and Outlet. i am currently trying to convince dumb monkey brain to not consume the other medias of mdzs immediately bc i REALLY need to like. live. a life. and take care of real responsibilities. *longest oh boi ever*

#m.#ANYWAY #ENOUGH TALKING #THIS IS SO LONG #LOL #but whatever this is MY performative journaling i do what i want #rambling impressions abt what i watch is a thing i do now? apparently??#cql #untamed #the untamed #fun fact that chat is named 'k keeps on babbling abt the untamed' and it STILL wasnt enough #also it took me 15 episodes to realize lwj was yibo #IT WAS V SHOCKING #i did not recognize him at a l l #but in retrospect he WAS the perfect choice

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valkyriewarriors · 5 years

Text

bludgers (hp au)

Her hands tangled in his wavy brown locks she knew it drove him crazy. In a swift move, he hitched her legs around his waist and pushed her against the wall. Nesta gasped as his tongue ran down the side of her neck. She can almost feel his smirk as she squirmed in his arms. Her fingers yanked his head back and to his delighted surprise, she reached the hem of his jersey. He helped throw his jersey off, it being discarded somewhere in the dark closet. Nesta’s hands ran over the planes of his stomach and over his chest, a gesture that made him groan into the side of her neck. When she ground her hips into his he slammed her against the wall again, sliding his hands up her shirt towards the hem of her lacy bra.

“Yes, he should be in here somewhere.” Devlon’s rough voice boomed just outside the changing rooms. “The biggest match of the season and we can’t find him anywhere... unbelievable.” Devlon continued to grumble.

Nesta froze and Cassian threw on a flash of panic before gently setting her down. He put a finger to his lips and signaled to stay behind him. Nesta almost tripped on a set of broomsticks but was careful to not make a noise. Cassian whispered gently in her ear “I’ll be back,” and left her alone in the dark equipment closet. She was so embarrassed and thought about how this was karma for snogging the captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team in a shabby closet.

“Cassian my boy! This here is Rita Skeeter, coming to write about the Slytherin-Gryffindor match today and of course our star player.” Nesta crinkled her nose at the fake tone Devlon was using and could only imagine Cassian feeling the same way.

“Oh so this is Cassian! Gryffindor’s top and most handsome player might I add,” How old was this woman? Nesta thought.

“You should definitely add that,” Cassian remarked proudly, much to Nesta’s disgust.

“A star player indeed! A rising captain leading Gryffindor currently in a 9-0 season, with you catching every single match’s Golden Snitch.”

“I mean my teammates really help clean the field for me, our defense-”

“And you have such a tragic history, is the trial and death of your mother your motivation?”‌ There was silence and Nesta could feel her stomach turn, her head spinning almost in rage. How dare she-

“As you know I was taken in by a wonderful family and they have shown me what it feels to belong. And that’s how I lead my team– showing them that each one of them is needed out in the field to win.” Cassian said in a lower but stern voice.

“Of course always so humble. Another question is there someone special-”

“I think I’m done here.”‌ Cassian said which was followed by another awkward silence.

Devlon cleared his throat, “Yes the boy is very stressed, should I introduce you to the goalkeeper? She’s very..” His voice disappeared as he left the changing room.

Nesta heard light footsteps before the door to the equipment closet opened. “How much of that did you hear?”‌ Cassian asked her sheepishly.

“All of it.” She tried to avoid his eyes by straightening out her uniform.

“Sorry you had to hear all of that.”‌

She shook her head as she stepped out of the closet, “Rita is always out of line, her column is full of hearsay.”

“Even the part of me being handsome?” He led her through the back of the changing rooms, a route she knew too well.

Nesta finally looked at him, his face turned to throw a smirk back at her. “Especially that part.”‌ Her lips twitched slightly as he scoffed.

When they reached the outskirts of the castle Cassian turned towards her, “Will I see you tonight at the after-party?” His voice was quiet. Nesta had a feeling he imagined he was walking on thin ice. She swallowed as she took in the look of hope on his face, something she never wanted to crush.

When she took too long to answer he sighed. “Look, Nesta… I just don’t think I can do this sneaking around with you anymore if I’m going to get hurt in the end.”

“Why would you get hurt?”

He scoffed, “You tell me why Nesta.”‌

She tried to avoid his eyes again but he gently took her chin to face her. His forehead laid gently on top of hers, their noses touching. He was so close, she could feel his warmth despite the daunting cold. “What have we been doing these past two years, Nesta?”

She bit her lip, a gesture he followed with his eyes. “I just can’t. It’s my last year I have to focus on my-”

“Future.”

Nesta swallowed again, “What we had was just…. just fun.”

He stepped back and let the cold engulf her once again. “Just fun?” He asked incredulously.

The winter’s wind blew sharply around Nesta. “Today will be the last.”‌ She whispered. But still couldn’t look at him. She tried her best to look cool and collected. She didn't want to show him there was twisting in her gut. Nesta knew he could see right through it. She didn’t want to know if he felt the same way. So she promptly walked away, leaving him alone in the cold.

–

“God, I hate quidditch matches.” Emerie muttered beside her. Nesta was the only one to hear and couldn’t agree with her more. Being the Slytherin prefect, she had favorable seating for all their matches. But she didn’t want to see Cassian not just yet.

“Then why bother coming? You don’t have to.” Nesta retorted, eyeing the Slytherin players as they entered the pitch. Everyone in their section cheered proudly.

“Yes, but I would be so lonely in the dorms by myself and I don’t want to miss the after party and snog some players.”‌ Emerie winked at Nesta. She figured she’d tell her about Cassian later when they aren’t surrounded by the whole House of Slytherin.

A string of boos resonated as the Gryffindor team flew into the pitch. Nesta immediately spotted Cassian. He was always in the middle of their formation as they circled the pitch with hair unruly in the wind. And he spotted her too, from afar it wouldn’t look like much, but she could feel his hazel eyes bore into hers.

The match started aggressively as always. However, Slytherin and Gryffindor were the two most prideful teams of Hogwarts and their rivalry charged the atmosphere. Gryffindor lost one of their chasers as they were knocked off their broom and then Slytherin lost a chaser due to a foul in the pitch. 40 minutes in, Gryffindor and Slytherin were tied.

But all the while, Nesta kept her eyes on Cassian zooming through the pitch, an inch behind that golden blur. She never liked to watch him play, although she agreed he was a graceful flier, there was a special element of danger with seekers. The Golden Snitch tended to take the most dangerous paths through the opposing team’s defense. She’d have to watch Cassian dodge countless bludgers and chasers in heart-stopping flight paths.

“Slytherin has scored! Eris Vanserra plowed right through Gryffindor’s defenses and sent a scorching bludger through the goal post!” The announcer boomed through the pitch. An eruption of cheers followed as Slytherin took the lead, Nesta was obligated to clap but her attention was nowhere near Slytherin’s defense.

Cassian was gone, the snitch must’ve taken him to high altitudes. The clouds blocked her view and she could only imagine what was happening up there. Suddenly she saw the golden snitch appear again, diving straight down. Shortly behind it came Cassian.

“Gryffindor’s seeker is attempting a spiral dive to intercept the snitch!” The announcer proclaimed as everyone’s attention shifted onto Cassian. He was nose diving in a spiral fashion to accelerate his speed. Nesta’s heart was pounding, a million scenarios running through her head. It was hard to see what occurred at the ground level. But before Cassian could nosedive into the ground he pulled himself sharply up. He had the snitch in hand.

“Cassian has done it again! The snitch has been caught! Gryffindor wins!”‌ The pitch was silent as Cassian grinned triumphantly towards the Gryffindor’s cheering sections. Nesta hated how happy he was and how contagious his smile is. But then she saw a grey blur coming towards him, it was a bludger.

“Cassian!”‌ she screamed out. Cassian confused for second looked towards her, but it was that split second that the bludger collided into him. He was thrown off his broom, sent spiraling towards the ground.

His broom came sweeping in right before he crashed into the ground, but he still slammed in the snow-covered field. Medics and teammates rushed towards him and off to the infirmary. He was knocked unconscious from the fall.

–

Nesta rushed back to her room before any Slytherins could corner her and question her actions. She began to pace her room, wondering if she should go to the infirmary and visit him. There would be no doubt all his teammates would be there. Then she thought about the last conversation they had, she told him they were nothing, he was just fun. But she was lying and he knew it, but he’s unconscious now and it’s all her fault.

A knock came to the door before Emerie appeared, “What was that Nesta?” she exasperated. “One minute you’re yelling out the Gryffindor’s captain’s name and then the next you’re gone.”‌

“It’s nothing,”‌ Nesta said trying to keep her voice steady.

“Nothing?‌ Nesta, I know you’ve been pacing this room. So tell me what is going on.”

Sighing, Nesta gave up because she knew Emerie would not give up until she got it out of her.

“You’ve been snogging Gryffindor’s Captain?!”‌ Emerie’s eyes widened and she looked bewildered. “Ms.Slytherin Prefect?”‌

“I ended it this morning.” Nesta said in a harsh tone, trying to signal to Emerie to keep her voice down.

Emerie snorted, “No, you ended it with his face shoved in the snow.”‌ when she saw Nesta’s face twist she raised her eyebrows. “Do you really have feelings for him?”‌

Nesta didn’t answer, which was an answer to Emerie.

“Then what the fuck are you doing here?‌ Go see the golden boy at the infirmary.”

–

When she reached the infirmary she could hear voices engulfed in a conversation. She recognized her sister’s voice.

“Nesta wouldn’t do that. She’s above hexing.” Feyre said in a stern voice. A sense of warmth flooded her as she listened to her sister take her side.

“Why was she screaming out his name?‌” She recognized the voice as her sister’s boyfriend, Rhysand.

“To warn me,” Cassian’s voice was weak. He must’ve wakened not long ago.

“Why would she warn you?‌ Nesta doesn’t care about games. She’s always reading books during matches.”‌ Cassian said nothing to answer the question. Rhysand only sighed.

As she entered the infirmary her steps echoed through the room. His whole team and some other Gryffindors were there. They all immediately turned to her. She hated feeling small, especially in a room full of people who thought the illest of her.

Nesta straightened her back and walked right towards Rhysand, whose eyebrows rose as she stared directly at him. “You really think I would hex someone? Over a tiny quidditch match?”‌

Rhysand shifted his eyes away from hers and sighed, “No, I’m sorry Nesta… I’m just angry this happened.”‌

“Nesta.”‌ The room fell silent as Cassian spoke her name. Nesta looked at him lying on an infirmary cot, his left arm wrapped in a bandage. “You came,” His face had scratches all over but it didn’t stop his wide beamed smile.

The others moved away from Cassian as she sat beside his cot. She took some chocolate out of her pocket. “Take it, I know it’s your favorite.”‌ His smile faltered a little as he took it and bit into it, groaning at the creamy texture. “Thank you, Nesta.”‌

“I’m so confused about what’s happening right now,”‌ whispered Rhysand, even though Nesta could clearly hear him.

“Who cares, let’s give them some space,”‌ Feyre whispered back and the rest soon walked out of the infirmary.

“The party was canceled,” Cassian said smugly. “Guess you couldn’t be my date after all.”‌

Nesta shrugged, “I like this party better.”‌ She gestured for him to scoot over. Awkwardly he made some room for her on the cot allowing her to scoot close to him, careful not to touch his healing arm.

“I’m sorry I screamed out your name… I freaked out.” She whispered into his chest.

“You were warning me Nesta, I should be the one looking out for flying bludgers anyways.”‌ He squeezed her small figure. She brought her hand up to his face. A few bruises here and there but he was still a devastatingly handsome brute.

“And I’m sorry for lying to you.”‌ Her thumb swiped across his cheekbone, skimming a tiny cut there.

“I knew you were lying.” He whispered back smirking at her dismay.

“And I hate that I hurt you, and it took this,” she gestured to his bandaged arm, “to make me realize I shouldn’t let you go easily.”

“Honestly Nesta, I’d take a thousand more bludgers for you to realize that.”‌ He groaned a bit as she hit him in the chest.

“Shut up and kiss me golden boy.”

He raised his eyebrows, “golden boy?”

But Nesta didn't answer him and rose to bring her lips to his. Quickly his tongue swiped over her bottom lip and she tasted herbal medicine and chocolate. She laughed slightly as they pulled away, and Cassian stared at her in awe because her smile was his favorite, something he always cherished. He connected his forehead to hers once again, their eyes locked onto each other.

“I take it I can take you to Hogsmeade this weekend?” His eyes sparkled with that same glimpse of hope she saw earlier today.

She bit the inside of cheek in fake pension over the question before she laughed, “Yes, of course.”‌ Cassian beamed at her answer and gave her another kiss.

“Good because there’s this fantastic meat pie they do over at The Three Broomsticks and…”‌ Nesta only continued to stare at him as he went on and smiled at how excited he was to take her out. The hope in his eyes now turned to excitement at the endless possibilities for them, and Nesta felt the same way.

#nessian #acotar au week #nessian fanfic #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction

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yikestripes · 5 years

Text

Homecoming

Y’ALL CAN THANK TIK TOK FOR THIS ONE, I HEARD THE SONG THAT’S ITALICIZED IN A VIDEO AND I COULDN’T GET THIS IMAGINE IDEA OUT OF MY HEAD UNTIL I WROTE IT SO HERE YOU GO!

Older!Richie x Older!Reader at their high school homecoming dance!

Okay so they’re aged up in this one, they’re like 17; they’re juniors in high school. there’s the potential for a part 2 if i get any requests ;) lemme know what you think of this one, writing it was both great and fun but also tragic (as i’m painfully single and crying in the corner but we bounce)

Richie took a deep breath, and raised his shaking arm to knock on your door. You were all meeting at your house for photos, since it was your first school dance in years. It was homecoming, and although all the boys thought it was lame, somehow, you and Bev managed to convince them to go.

Sort of.

You managed to bribe Richie with candy and empty promises, and Beverly managed to convince Bill with something special. Wherever Bill and Richie went, the rest followed suit.

Not only was this YOUR first homecoming, but it was also the entire Losers club first. You’d all gone to the 8th grade dance together, all meeting at your house, where your mother’s gathered and gushed over how nice everyone looked. Your parents had never seen all of you dressed up in one room, ever since you became friends, there was never a purpose; until now.

You’d known the majority of the Losers pretty much your entire life; you’d met Richie, Eddie, and Bill in Kindergarten, and the rest was history. Henry gave you all shit constantly, and it sort of united you all. It started with Richie for having glasses and not knowing how to keep his mouth shut, Bill for his stutter that improved as you all got older, and your severe anxiety. Well, your “shyness” as you called it growing up. The Losers did a lot of speaking on your behalf, till when you got to high school, you finally found your own voice, and gained the confidence to speak your damn mind.

As your little “club” of sorts grew, you all became like a small family. Stan, Mike, even Bev. They all had your back, and you had theirs in return.

However, with Richie, it was an entirely different dynamic. Although he did it to both you and Beverly, and virtually anything female that moved, his constant flirting never really seemed to bother you. You brushed it off as if you just thought it was amusing, which it was of course, but little did your friends know your heart was absolutely burning for Richie Tozier. It had been since kindergarten.

Little did you know, his burned for you as well.

“Hey (Y/N)! You’re so hot, you must be the cause of global warming!” Richie said, a shit eating grin crossing his face as he wiggled his eyebrows.

You giggled a little bit. “Actually, it’s because there’s too much carbon dioxide in the atmosphere.”

Richie looked somewhat deflated, but his smirk reappeared almost immediately.

“Wow, hot AND smart? I never thought I’d find my perfect woman!” You tried to hide your blush, but Richie almost certainly caught you, but you didn’t exactly care. He wouldn’t say anything anyway, you were sure of it.

Your mom opened the door, and pulled Richie into a tight hug.

“You look so nice!” She said said as Richie walked inside, and shut the door behind him.

“Oh, t-thanks Mrs. (Y/L/N).” He looked down at his feet and readjusted his glasses nervously.

“(Y/N) should be down in a minute, she’s just finishing her makeup.” Richie nodded, and continued to stand awkwardly.

Of course he was the first one here.

Movement at the top of the stairs caught Richie’s eye, as his jaw stood open.

You slowly descended the stairs, being extra careful as to not fall on your ass in your 5 inch heels.

Richie stood speechless. As he looked on, when you finally reached the bottom, he was staring at you as if it was the first time he’d ever seen you. He was looking at you like you were the moon and the stars.

“Y-y-you look… gorgeous.” He stammered, readjusting his glasses again. A blush crept up on your cheeks as you looked up, and he was still looking at you.

“Thanks.” You said, barely above a whisper. You stood close together, so close Richie could reach out and grab your hand, and more than any other moment before, he wanted to.

A knock at the door pulled you both from your thoughts, and as Richie reached up to scratch the back of his neck out of awkwardness, you ran to grab the door.

Soon, the foyer was filled with girlish screams.

“OH MY GOD YOU LOOK AMAZING!” Bev cried, running in and squeezing you in a hug.

“THAT DRESS IS PERFECT FOR YOU!” You pulled back to get a full look at your fiery haired best friend. She was wearing an emerald green dress that brought out the light in her eyes and the red in her hair perfectly. Bill was going to absolutely melt when he saw her.

“Aw look at you Rich! All dressed up with a bow tie and everything!” Beverly reached out and adjusted his askew bow tie and grinned as he hit her hands away.

One by one, the rest of the Losers showed up, the boys admiring each other in their suits, while you and Beverly chatted in the corner about how the boys forgot how to stand and walk normally, just because they were wearing suits.

Once the parents (save for Richie and Beverly’s) had taken enough pictures, some group shots, just the girls, just the boys, smaller groups, and individuals, you were ready to pile in your mother’s mom van and head to the dance.

You sat between Richie and Stan, and rested a hand on the seat for support while you turned around to talk to Eddie, you felt a hand atop yours for just a moment. Your breath caught in your throat as you made eye contact with Richie, and smiled at him, then looked down.

For just a moment, you thought you saw him blushing as you both pulled your hands away.

The ride to school was relatively short and next thing you knew, you were all unloading from the van and entering the school gym, which was all dark except for the string lights they’d hung around the room. The DJ played a familiar song as kids piled in, you and the Losers standing along the outskirts of the dance floor, looking around with mild curiosity. Bill and Beverly had disappeared within moments, only to return a bit later, slightly disheveled. You raised your eyebrows to Bev, who just grinned.

“I’m BORED.” Richie complained, readjusting his bow tie for the 5th time in an hour.

“Shut up, Richie. You’re not dancing, of course you’re bored! Do you expect to be a wallflower the entire night?” You asked, flinging a piece of hair out of your face.

“I’d like to do a certain kind of dance with you in that janitor’s closet over there.” Richie smirked.

You rolled your eyes and tried to hide your smile, not wanting to encourage him.

“Suit yourself! Not everyone can handle the Tozier charm.”

“Tozier charm my ass! Come on, let’s dance!” Richie’s confidence melted as you grabbed his hand, and dragged him to the outer part of the dance floor, away from the wall.

“I don’t even know how to dance!” He whined.

“Neither do I! Just do whatever!” You began moving your shoulders and your hips to the beat, and Richie followed suit.

“See! You’re doing great!” You grinned, happy to finally have a dance partner.

“Your moves are pretty good, I like that swing you’ve got to your hips!” He wore his shit eating grin as he looked you up and down.

You shook your head in an attempt to conceal your blush as the song came to an end.

A slow, familiar song began playing over the speakers, and you and Richie locked eyes.

“Uh, I think I’m gonna take a, um, break for this one.” You said, running a hand through your hair.

You began to walk away when a hand grabbed yours and gently pulled you back.

It was Richie.

“No, I kinda like this one.” Richie raised his eyebrows, his hand still in yours, waiting for a response.

You looked around and saw all the couples come together and converge in the middle. There was nothing stopping you, especially not Richie, so you returned to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You felt his hands on your waist, right above your ass.

Watching every motion in my foolish lover's game

On this endless ocean, finally lovers know no shame

Turning and returning to some secret place inside

Watching in slow motion as you turn around and say

You spun in slow circles, making eye contact with Richie every time you dared to look up. Each time you did, he offered you a sweet smile, almost as reassurance.

“I gotta be honest, Rich, I never thought you the type to want to slow dance with someone, let alone me.” You said with a small laugh. Richie made a face.

“What’re you talking about?”

“I don’t know, you’re all confident and flirty and stuff with everyone, I never expected you to be the slow dance type.”

“No, not that part. What do you mean “let alone you?”” He pulled you a little bit closer.

“I don’t know, i’m just the girl you knew from kindergarten who became one of your best friends.” Richie frowned.

“You know you’re so much more to me than that, right? Like, you’re shy and I’m not and you don’t think I see you laughing quietly at my jokes or hiding your smile behind your hair when I draw attention to you by flirting and stuff, but I actually do see you. What you don’t know is that sometimes I do those things just to see your response.” Your breath hitched in your throat, as you looked up at Richie with your sparkling (Y/E/C) eyes.

“Really?” You asked quietly, not breaking eye contact this time.

“Yeah.” He whispered back, searching your face for some sort of sign that you felt the same way.

Watching every motion in this foolish lover's game

Haunted by the notion, somewhere there's a love in flames

Turning and returning to some secret place inside

Watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say

Take my breath away

My love, take my breath away

The song continued in the background, little known to either you or Richie. You were still processing his words, and he was internally panicking because you weren’t saying anything.

“As dorky as this may sound, you stole my heart, Richie Tozier.”

Richie just grinned.

“(Y/N), that was the best thing you ever could have said.”

Richie closed the gap and kissed you.

It was the sweetest kiss you’d ever had. It was comfortable, familiar, and most of all, long awaited, which made it feel even better.

You heard the Losers cheering in the distance, but in that moment, you were entirely focused on Richie, who stood in front of you, heart on fire.

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mahnati · 5 years

Text

So now that I’ve finished the three main routes of Three Houses and my life can sorta go back to normal, I decided to write my opinions on the three lords. There will be spoilers, so... be warned.

Edelgard: Edelgard answered a long time question that nobody had, which was “if Mad King Ashnard and Arvis had a one night stand, what would their baby look like?”. She has the same ideals as Arvis, wanting an equal society and wanting to unify an entire continent in order to achieve that, while trying to achieve this dream by implementing Ashnard’s blunt methods, by conquering other countries, with only who she deemed to be strong and capable being worth of holding positions of power. Like Arvis, she decided to ally with a not so great cult who she is not a fan of, but can provide her with the power she needed to start the war. Like Ashnard, she also despises the current hierarchy and wants to create a world where only the strong thrive.

I love Edelgard. The story makes her spend time enough with her for us to sympathize with her motivations and does a good job in showing why she is the way she is when the events of the story takes place. She’s confident, charismatic, highly driven by her goals and has a gorgeous, GORGEOUS design, especially post-timeskip. Her relationship with Byleth also feels the most genuine out of the three lords, with Byleth being the reason why she becomes softer in her own route, after all, it is implied that she still harbors feelings for them regardless of the route that the player takes.

I also think that Edelgard is full of shit and cannot for the life of me see her an anti-hero. Yes, her motivations are sympathetic and she suffered a lot, but it is hard to defend someone who started a war against an entire in continent in order to impose your ideals on different societies. Part of me wonders how much Edelgard wanted this unification because she wanted to unify humanity against the Children of the Goddess or… simply because she wanted to restore the Adrestian Empire to its former glory, to get back at those “traitors from the Kingdom”. Her epilogue stating that Faerghus and the Church of Seiros were soon forgotten by the masses, implying that she erased both the Kingdom and the Church’s history from history books, which… yikes. I don’t see that as just nor noble. I also think that the story did a terrible job at showing her relationship against the Agarthans. Some people say that they were blackmailing her, but considering how Edelgard’s character was heavily influenced by Arvis, who did ally with the Loptr Church out of arrogance, thinking he could dispose of them when necessary… it just makes me think that Edelgard, the girl who was tortured by the same people who she is allying herself with in order to take down people who didn’t have anything directly to do with her tragic past, it feels super dumb from her part.

I wish Crimson Flower treated her right. Edelgard deserved better than a rushed, half-assed route. She could have been my favorite FE villain, but alas, that title still goes to Lyon. She’s still in my top three though.

Dimitri: I never expected to like this guy this much. I started with Blue Lions because that was the house with Ashe and Mercedes, but my heart was taken by this princely, damaged boy. As far as design goes, Dimitri was the one who left me the least impressed (yes, even his post-timeskip, I was still drooling over Edelgard). Unlike Edelgard and Claude, Dimitri doesn’t seem to have grand plans for Fodlán, preferring to focus on his revenge against the people responsible for the Tragedy of Duscur. This makes his route seem less focused on lore and the world at large, instead preferring to show the rebuilt of his decaying Kingdom. I feel like his story felt more personal and more about him than the other routes and honestly, I usually prefer character-driven stories, so I felt the Blue Lions route more engaging than the other routes. Dimitri is a tragic character, whose strong compassion for the oppressed at one point drives him to brutality and he needs the help of his friends (especially Byleth) to bring him back to the light. There is something about excessive compassion being treated as a flaw that fascinates me, so Dimitri hits a sweet spot for me. I think they could have handled his recovery a little bit better, but I just let that one slide.

I do think that Dimitri blaming baby Edelgard for the tragedy of Duscur to be hilarious though. Imagine thinking that a thirteen y/o girl is to blame for the massacre of hundreds of people. I know that anger can lead us to have irrational thoughts, but come on, it’s just funny. I also have issues with Dimitri saying that his fight is in benefit of the common people, yet he barely involves them or hears them when it came to making decisions. I still think that he is right in calling out on Edel’s bullshit, on how the world she wants to build that only favors the strong.

Dimitri also feels like the most realistic lord out there, in which he is not some 17 y/o with a master plan to dismantle a millennia y/o system and continued to follow with that plan for 5 years until their comatose teacher woke up and helped them with their plans and I admire that about him too and performed incrementalist reforms.

Claude: Claude is fascinating to me in that he is the smartest lord of the bunch, but his goals are so naive that I’m left with mixed feelings. Really, Claude? Your plan to ending prejudice is by uniting Fodlán as one nation and, once you achieve that, you can destroy the protected border between Fodlán and Almyra? Sure, making the interactions between two nations can ease some of the prejudices that both people have toward each other, but I doubt that this will end racism. His supports with Cyril tries to show that he has a blind spot for the suffering of people who were less fortunate than him back in his home country, but that’s not really brought up in the main story.

His route is weird, as it puts a lot of emphasis in lore and explaining what is up with the secret cult that has been pulling the strings from behind the scenes, but out of the three routes (excluding SS), his feels less like his story and more like a series of events in which he is there. I’ve seen people say that Verdant Wind is the most lighthearted route, but I think this has to do with the fact that Claude seems oddly detached from it. Things happen and he tries to turn them into his advantage, which is fine, it is in character and certainly paints him in a better light than a certain red lord, but it didn’t make me care about his story all that much. I think it’s interesting how he and Edelgard are not so different in the aspect of them wanting to conquer all of Fodlán in order to achieve their ideals, but I think Claude feels more sympathetic simply because he is not the aggressor in this case.

As far as character goes, I like characters who have a sunny and friendly disposition, but can be cold and calculating if needed. I like how he has troubles trusting people and letting get close to him, since he was always seen as an outsider no matter where he lived. Unfortunately, this also means that his relationship with Byleth doesn’t feel as genuine as the other two lords, at least pre-timeskip. And by genuine, I mean it’s hard to believe that his interest in Byleth was anything other than using them and the Sword of the Creator for his own goals, while Edelgard and Dimitri at least feel like they are more interested in them as a person and not as a tool. Their relationship gets better though.

When it comes to design, I think they managed to portray his easygoing, friendly personality well, with his pre-timeskip sporting a more wild hair and post-timeskip showing a more mature and serious side in his combed hairstyle. Also he’s just really hot, ok? Wow.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #long post

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cupofteaguk · 6 years

Text

exchanges (m)

summary: in which Jeon Jungkook is that friendly neighborhood superhero, you’re the face in the hallway that saved his high school career, and he can’t ever seem to get a grip around you. even when he makes you scream after a fated accident—not for the reason you may be thinking; get the thought out of your head!

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

genre: spiderman au | fluff/smut

warnings: descriptions of bullying, minor injury, unprotected sex

word count: 14k

(the present)

If Jeon Jungkook is against anything in his life, it’s one’s ability to exaggerate certain situations or problems to make those things seem much bigger than they probably were. Well, actually, take that back. It’s not that he’s against it per say, it’s just that his peer’s daily struggles of pop quizzes and missing the morning bus aren’t exactly headliner news—especially in comparison to what he has to go through.

Jeon Jungkook is against exaggeration, probably because he can’t get away with it himself. It’s not that he doesn’t like to exchange his fair share of embellished stories or fabricated events weaved into true experiences, it’s that he can’t afford to do so. Sharing stories of his nightly routines and dashing superhero adventures may seem great, but only if he could manage the burden of a personal life and a masked life intertwining.

As an 18-year-old boy, he can probably say it's safe to assume that he cannot. Manage the overwhelming, opposite pressure both of his lives take him, that is. It's difficult enough being a college freshman, a tiny fish in an ocean of whales and sharks, but throw in his late night Spiderman facade would be too much of a tale to share with other people and peers who probably ask too many questions and know too much about him. He's never liked the exposure that comes with being in the spotlight, and he can't hide behind his mask if people knew who he was.

Oh. Right. Speaking of his Spiderman facade, that's who is he. Haven't heard of him? You know, the dashing hero of Seoul, red and blue spandex attire with a web shooter, fine tuned senses and amazingly quick reflexes? The boy who swings around the city, volunteering for trouble and always coming out right on top? The boy who constantly maintains that casual, slightly amused tone throughout a majority of his rescues?

Yeah, well, that's Jungkook.

It's a role he has occupied gladly for about two years at this point, after an unfortunate accident at a lab he was interning at during his junior year of high school cursed him with these abilities of spider-like sensibility. Rather than run away from his powers, he chose instead to embrace it and it's almost been two and a half years at this point and he doesn't see any signs of stopping. He keeps that shadow of his life private, refusing to indulge, avoiding those conversations like the plague, keeping a wry eye out in a way that usually isn't perceived as paranoia, and for the first two years of his Spiderman role, he actually gets along quite nicely.

Until one eventful night, a day he remembers quite clearly leading up to that point. It's a Tuesday when it happens, a domino effect of bad luck prior to the inevitable in a way that tells Jungkook that perhaps he shouldn't have been all that taken aback that something like this would happen to him. First off, he had overslept his alarm that morning, leaving in a mad rush across the campus to try and get to his art lecture on time. His calculus professor had completely called him out today for his decreased academic performance on the last test—although to be fair, Jungkook actually didn't study for that test, he was too busy stopping an armed robbery at a bank. His history professor had dropped a pop quiz on the class, an assignment that Jungkook is almost 99.99% sure he had failed.

He had known that perhaps after all those things, the best way to spend the rest of his evening would have been to actually pick up a book and actually try to study for history or actually put some effort into a math question that would probably only take 10 minutes to complete. But no. Jungkook wouldn't be Jungkook if he didn't chase the nightlife, didn't chase after the rush and thrill of the powers he still hasn't completely grown accustomed to having. He had decided, instead, to dawn on the red and blue spandex, adjust the web shooters he had to manufacture on his own, before taking to the sky. There's always a difficulty sneaking out of the dorms, and even more so trying to get off the campus. But he moves with a certain stealth and a certain practiced grace that he's learned to embrace that excitement of sneaking off a college campus.

It's returning back that night that changes everything, all because of a dormitory power outrage and just the simple fact that Jungkook doesn't really know the layout of the building (or the placement of his room) as well as he thought he did. The ever-present darkness that encompasses the complex leaves Jungkook with little option but to estimate the area of which he believes his own dorm is located, as he crawls his way up the windows, pretty confident that he lived on the third floor, fourth window over from the edge.

Or was it the third floor, sixth window from the edge?

Fuck.

This momentary lapse in his assurance comes a little too late, however, because he lets down his guard at the sight of seeing an opened window. He always left his window open before leaving, so maybe he's been overthinking the situation and maybe he really does know the location of his dorm from the outside.

So he slides through, landing with a soft plop onto the carpet as he lets the exhaustion of the day finally start to catch up to him. Because of the darkness, the only light coming in through the moonlight, he fails to notice the Captain America posters that line the walls, or the polaroids from strings, or the floral print on the bed as he lets out a sigh into what he thinks is an empty dorm and practically throws himself atop what he thinks is his mattress.

A shift of movement underneath him, a startled scream, jerks Jungkook out of his lapse into dreamland as he springs out of bed at the same time the figure underneath him straightens up as well.

“What the fuck!” A startlingly familiar voice cries from below.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I thought this was my room—!”

At once, the lights overhead turn on and the sight makes Jungkook's heart drop, beat a sudden mile a minute, and also feel as if it might crawl up his throat all at once. He feels his breath catch in his throat, the color flush against his cheeks that would probably match the red of his uniform had it not been for the mask covering his face—but this reaction to seeing someone in a bed is not for the reason one may think.

Because sitting in said bed, blanket pulled up to chest, no makeup, hair reduced to waves and curls that spray out across shoulders, eyes wide, but still the same face that he's spent the past three years admiring and crushing on hard from afar—is you.

Yes, you. The same you he's been crushing on for three years, the same you who smiled at him in the halls as if he was the only person in the room that mattered, the same you who didn't hesitate to help him gather his books back when he was getting shoved into lockers and being told that he would never mean anything to anyone.

You were alway the exception to his tragic high school life, one that is defined by his attempts to get a hang of his powers whist balancing school and his worrying parents, and trying to stop flinching every single time he turned the corner in the school hallway. You were always better, always that shimmering stardust in the pits of his night sky, as cliche as that sounds. To say he's been in love with you for three years would probably be a bit dramatic, given that the pair of you have rarely ever even exchanged a word of conversation since he met you, but the small hellos and shy waves of acknowledgment the pair of you have been exchanging since the very first encounter would probably be enough to say that Jungkook has always been incredibly fond of you and nothing in his right mind was going to change that.

He had heard through the grapevine that you would be attending the same university as him, and felt a mixture of apprehension and excitement at the thought of being able to see more of you around the campus and outside of the embarrassment that was his high school career. Even though the college campus is much bigger, and the differing majors keeps the pair of you apart, he really does learn to cherish the moments he can catch a glimpse of you around the campus. Whether it's walking to your classes, or talking to a friend, or reading a book, or listening to the music, he feels like they're all pieces of the puzzle that make up your life and he wants to learn as much as he can. Is that creepy?

Maybe. But okay. Back to reality.

The reality where he's standing right across from you, close enough where he can see the rapid rise and fall of your chest and the wild look in your eyes. It looks as if you had been seconds away from drifting off to sleep and while he feels bad for interrupting that process, since he can only assume from the bags underneath your eyes that you aren't getting as much sleep as you would probably like, there's also a swelling in his chest and a rapid thumping of his heart because if he had known he was going to be seeing you today, he might have tried to avoid the sight of him in a ridiculously tight spandex attire.

Speaking of the spandex attire.

It's something your eyes brush down upon immediately, taking in the red and blue mix of the fabric to the black spider across his chest and your eyes grow wider, but with a different kind of recognition. You're about to open your mouth to say something, anything, and his heart is in his throat and he thinks you might scream again, but a sudden pounding against the door of your dorm startles the pair of you out of your resolve.

You meet his gaze across the way, eyes alert and a thousand questions packed into a flicker.

Another knock jerks you into movement as you kick off the covers and make your way to the door, leaving Jungkook little choice but to throw himself behind the bed and hope that the boxes and drawers you have packed underneath your bed would do enough to keep him hidden from whoever lay waiting on the other side.

He can hear you throwing open the door. "A-Ah, hey Namjoon, what's up?"

"You alright?" A deep voice inquires immediately, and Jungkook recognizes the voice and your acknowledgment of the figure on the other side as Kim Namjoon, the RA of the hall. Even though he knows he's in absolutely no position to feel this way, Jungkook can't help the pang of jealousy that spikes itself in his heart. Did Namjoon have any idea how difficult it was for Jungkook just to inhale oxygen around you? How could the older boy speak to you with such ease?

But Jungkook keeps his mouth shut. It's not like he's in a position to start snapping about that right now.

"I heard you scream," Namjoon continues from whatever previous conversation you and the older boy had been having while Jungkook was dozing off.

"O-Oh right," You say in a small, slightly squeaky voice. "Sorry for worrying you, I just... fell off the bed," You end lamely. "I was napping and didn't know the power had gone out, so when it did go on I guess I just started freaking out. Sorry about that."

"Oh, alright," Namjoon dismisses, although he doesn't sound entirely convinced. Jungkook wonders just how much time you and Namjoon spend together for the older boy to get accustomed to your tone of voice and how the air around you hangs and the thought only leaves an even more bitter tang in the pit of his stomach. "Just be more careful next time."

"I know," You wave away, and Jungkook can practically hear the smile in your voice, knowing the tone of it from his own personal experience from the handful of small conversations the pair of you have shared in the past. "But it's good now. Thanks for checking up on me."

"Of course. See you tomorrow."

That's the last words Namjoon gets to throw in before you're closing the door, and Jungkook can hear the shift of your movements as you spin on your heel to face the vicinity of your dorm once more. "U-Um," You stammer out. "You can come out now."

Realizing that you're talking about him, Jungkook springs up into a standing position with a little more force than necessary. The sudden gesture leaves him slightly winded and he almost tips over because of the sudden head rush, but he forces himself to keep his ground with the knowledge that if he said something or did the wrong thing then you would figure it all out. Although he has his doubts about your ability to see who he really was under the mask, given that the pair of you haven't exchanged enough conversations or spent enough time around one another to gain the knowledge about certain characteristics such as nervous gestures or a general idea towards the tone of each other’s voices, Jungkook stills finds himself worrying. He uses your momentary lapse of silence to think through his situation. How should he address you? Should he just whip off the mask and announce himself as Spiderman right before your very eyes? Should he keep the mask on and just play the role of the friendly neighborhood superhero? What if he mixed everything up? What if he kept the mask on, but stuttered and stammered so much at the very sight of you that you picked up on his identity immediately?

It’s always been easy to differentiate Jeon Jungkook from Spiderman, always easy to pretend like the mask was a way to actually hide away all the things that made Jungkook Jungkook—but things have never been easy when it came to you, which is ironic given that walking with you and being with you has always as easy as breathing. It’s a difficult sensation to describe.

His heart starts to pound quicker with the realization that his time to come up with a proper response to the issue at hand is gradually starting to dwindle. It’s hard to think and run through his options consistently, especially when you’re standing before him in nothing but an oversized t-shirt that’s about an inch above your thigh. The senses he had been gifted with are of no help, everything around him feeling like the intensity has been dialed to some double feature. It feels as if he’s hyperaware of everything now—from the breeze of the opened window to the movement of footsteps outside the hall to the overwhelming smell of lavender and he stiffens because you smelled like lavender—!

As it turns out, you end up being the one to find your voice first. “Holy shit,” You say by way of greeting, and Jungkook swears he can feel his head growing light from the sound of your voice. He’s pretty certain that you sound as if your vocal chords have been laced with strands of silky gold that float out every single time you open your mouth. “You’re Spiderman.”

He chokes on the next words, physically having to restrain himself from accidentally letting your name slip past his lips with the knowledge that that would bring on a whole other slew of questions. He covers the strangle in his throat with a cough, hoping that you would think he’s merely trying to clear his throat. “Y-Yes I am! Nice to meet you… here in your room.”

You follow the craning of his neck as his gaze flits over your wallpaper and your room. There is another bed next to the door and he briefly frets about your roommate but your next question does good work in ridding of that previous worry.

“Do you… attend school here?” You finally ask, incredulous voice and arms crossed over your chest and oh boy, oh boy, if you knew, if you knew.

Jungkook stands still under the facade, watching you just as intensely as you are watching him, and he wishes he could tell you everything right here but the timing of it all feels distant and awkward enough. If he could barely keep himself together with the mask on, who knows what kind of burning bridge he could create with the mask off.

“D-Don’t tell anyone,” He settles with disclosing, lowering his head slightly. “It’d be really helpful, and I would appreciate it.”

Lips still parted, you nod. “O-Of course.”

Seeing you in a momentary stump gives Jungkook the confidence to carry on with the conversation, finding it easy to not act like himself since you’re not acting like yourself either.

“Great, thanks,” Jungkook takes a few steps away from you to reach the open window. He extends his arms behind him to grip the edge of the ledge, deciding for a moment that he likes seeing you so taken aback at the sight of him—even if not for the reason he wants. “Sorry about the mix up, by the way.”

You’re still staring at him, and although your arms have lowered, your eyes are still widely fixed on him. “It’s okay,” You speak, voice barely just above a whisper.

Jungkook nods towards your walls. “I like your posters, by the way,” He remarks casually, gesturing to the giant photos of Captain America and you follow his head tilt as if you had completely forgotten you had Captain America posters in the first place. “Although I’m a more of an Iron Man fan myself.”

You whip your gaze back towards him. “Now wait a moment—!” You point out, but the rest of your words are swallowed back into your mouth when you turn your attention back to the window only to find that the space where Spiderman once stood is empty.

On the other side of the wall, Jungkook remains stuck to the outside right next to you window, heart stammering as he keeps his hands and feet firmly pressed against the plaster of the building. From his position, he doesn’t see the way your gaze lingers on the window, the way you look back at your Captain America posters, nor the way the corner of your lips turn up at the strange unexpected turn of your Tuesday evening.

(the past)

The first time you ever saw Jeon Jungkook, you are 15 years old, and he is getting shoved into the lockers right next to you.

It’s strange how well you hold this memory to your consciousness.

But it had been an unusual first-day-of-school, granted that you were moving in from a different town in the middle of the year and the experience is not unlike being thrown into the middle of a movie set where the movement and daily routine whirls around you and leaves you breathless and forced for adjustment. You had known before setting foot onto the campus that there was definitely going to be some catching up on your part, but you hadn’t known that you’d be encountering a bully attack right out of the gate.

So, naturally, you jump and make a little noise in the back of your throat as the contact of body meeting metal locker hits your ears. You tighten your grip on your books before it slips from your grasp as you immediately fix your gaze on the source of the noise. Standing next to you with his face scrunched in pain and teeth clenched together, the boy looks to be about your age, a tender 15-years-old, second year at this horror hell of educational means. Your eyes are quick to scan his appearance, gray jacket zipped up with the sleeves frayed from overuse. The hoodie he once wore over his head is knocked clean off the top, revealing a mop of unkempt black hair. He's got soft looking features across the paler complexion of his skin, and the sight makes your heartbeat quicken in your chest as a rush of sympathy and protective nature overcomes your nerves.

You long to open your mouth to say something, anything, but the rough voices behind you cut you off. "Watch where you're going Jeon; the morning excuses no one." The tone is rough and sharp, amused and cruel, before it's gone much too soon as if this type of activity is like clockwork and has been practiced on more than one occasion.

The thought isn't entirely comforting, which is probably what propels you to fix your gaze on the boy pressed against the locker. His eyes are still shut, and he's taking measured breaths. You notice almost immediately that no one lingers near him. No one stops to make sure he's doing okay, or that the shove hadn't caused permanent damage to his back, or if he can still manage a smile after this kind of morning. No one even makes eye contact with him as they rush past him with the excuse of making it to first period. The sight is practically heartbreaking as you watch students avoid the boy like he is the plague, no one desperate enough to catch his bad luck. He opens his eyes, casting them downwards, collecting his thoughts.

Still cradling the books in your hand, you shift in your standing position before attempting to reach an arm out towards the boy to ask if he's okay, but the boy flinches when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. He fixes his gaze on yours for the very first time and his eyes are like the night sky, a shade of darkness that is surprisingly far from angry or frightened or moody. Instead, there is a loneliness that lingers like glimmers of a night sky, an emotion that you feel brewing in the pit of your own stomach—the idea that it’s possible to be surrounded by people every single day but still feel entirely and inescapably empty.

You don’t know a thing about him, and he doesn’t know a thing about you, but you find yourself gravitating towards him at once. You sympathize for him, but you also relate to his feelings and you wonder if he can see the concern flickering in your wide eyes once the initial shock of a rather unique morning greeting starts to fade away.

You, however, do not get to find out whether or not he’s noted of the emotions in your eyes. As soon as you try to open your mouth to say something, the boy is gone. He is a rush of blurred movements, pulling further and further away from you until he is darting away and not even sparing you a second glance. He leaves you alone, standing in the gradually emptying hallway, questions springing into your mind like wildflower, until the tardy bells rings and you curse. Nothing to start off the first day of a new school by being late.

You wish you could forget the boy as quickly as he could run away from you, run away from the bullies and the pain he’s probably hiding underneath that gray sweatshirt and eyes only you seem to be able to read, but life doesn’t work out in the way you wish it could. The earth continues to rotate, the day continues to pass by, the time continues to tick, and all of those things are like seeds of curiosity that plant themselves in your mind until you can physically feel it festering into a tree.

(the present)

The question of whether or not Jungkook would return the following night becomes a debate in it of itself as he spends a majority of the time leading up to the darkening sky pacing about in his dorm. His roommate has a tendency to let the day slip past his fingers wasting away in the library in desperate attempts to fill up his mind with Philosophical terms and conditional means—not that Jungkook minds the alone time. In fact, the constant absence of his roommate makes sneaking out all the more easier.

But sneaking out to chase trouble and sneaking out to see you, while both situations somewhat involve the same circumstances of Jungkook dressing into the suit and leaping through the opened window, feel different. Would using the Spiderman facade just to see you, and using the opportunity to have you see him not as Jeon Jungkook for once, be an abuse of power?

Maybe. Was that wrong, though? Was it wrong that he can’t get the mental image of you looking so taken by his physical appearance out of his head? Was it wrong to feel like the roles have reversed for once in his life and maybe catch a glimpse of what you saw every time he looked at you? Was it wrong that he finally had the covering he has always so desperately longed for that could help him look you in the eye for once in his life?

He thinks about feelings and validation, and starts out of his chair. He pulls the suit up and over his body, running a hand through his hair one last time before slipping on the mask, grabs the item resting upon his desk, and darting through the opened window. A web shoots out from the slinger, taking him across the way into the adjacent dorm building just a few feet away from his own. He rolls onto the rooftop, straightening and turning back around to face the structure he just escaped from. He stares through the windows, taking in the drawn curtains or the opened ones, the loud conversations and the ones he can’t hear at all.

Drawing only from his memory of yesterday, Jungkook fixes his gaze upon the general area he remembers lingering about in last night. Of course, his only real memory to draw from is the darkened area from the power outage, but maybe if he’s quiet and patient and the timing is right then maybe, just maybe—!

The answer presents itself to him within the next five seconds, when the flicker of movement from the window on the third floor, fourth from the edge, catches his attention and he narrows his eyes on the activity going on inside the room. In spite of the fact that everything he is currently doing is intentional, he can’t help the way his heartbeat quickens at the sight of you opening up the window of your dorm. Your hair falls forward like a curtain as you poke your head outside, as if you’re looking for something, before retreating back in.

The eleven o’clock hour finds you at your desk, as Jungkook watches you slip on your headphones and flip open the pages of a textbook along with opening your laptop. He finds himself tilting his head, curiosity blossoming in his features as he feels this desperate urge to know as much about you as humanly possible overcome him. The nerves grow in his chest at the thought of his arrival having a more negative, more distracting result, but the weight of the item in his hand brings him back.

Stealing away the hesitancy in his features, Jungkook leaps and shoots webbing just above your window, slipping in through and somehow managing a landing on his feet. The ruckus of his movement catches your attention as you jerk up in your seat and immediately pull the headphones out of your ear. “Spiderman?” You inquire incredulously.

He barely misses the way your lips quirk up at the sight of him, because he overshoots the sturdiness of his feet and accidentally tips forward enough to send him faceplanting onto the carpet of your dorm. “Hey—oh, shit!” He scrambles, but of course to no luck as he finds himself, once more, making a giant fool of himself in front of you.

As he tries to ready himself back up into a standing position, he fails to see the way your lips split out into a wider grin. “A-Are you alright?” You try kindly, reaching out for him, only to stop and bring your hands back down to your sides.

“Y-Yeah, of course. I’m great,” He brushes off, trying to keep his cool composure even though his cheeks feel like they’ve just been set aflame. “Thought I’d just drop by real quickly.”

‘Real quickly’. As if the thought of slipping into your room had been a spur of the moment idea, and not something that he has been losing his mind over for the past few hours.

You’re still staring at him, light smile dusting across your face, already looking more relaxed at the sight of his presence, as if you were expecting it, as if you were anticipating his return. “Any particular reason why?”

As soon as Jungkook has straightened up into a proper standing position, he notes the way you take a step closer and he hopes that the way he tenses up at the gesture goes by unnoticed. You’re so close that you have to look up at him through lashes, and he sees how big your eyes are, how many specks dance underneath the colors, and he’s fairly certain that he could get lost in the seemingly vast endlessness of the whole thing.

The way you quirk the corner of your lips leaves Jungkook to return to the fact that you had asked him a question and he coughs, knowing that the phrase ‘Because I was thinking about you’, while true, would probably not be appreciated and he did not want to make you uncomfortable with the knowledge that Spiderman was trying to flirt with you. Which, while may be the case, wasn’t something he was eager to drop on you right out of the fucking gate. As far as you knew, this was only your second encounter with Spiderman.

“Because,” Jungkook fills in after a moment. “I, well, I’ve brought something for you. An exchange of sorts.”

You raise an eyebrow. “An exchange?” You repeat. “I didn’t do anything wrong—you were the one who threw yourself on me—!”

“Alright, fine. Maybe the incident was my fault.” He finds himself smiling a little. “But I only want a small price from you—your name.”

You blink. “My name?”

He feels his lips quirking up into a wider smile. “Well, yes, don’t you have one?”

“Of course I do!” You retort, and he can’t help the laugh that escapes his lips, even though he already knows the answer to the question. “It’s Y/N.”

“See, was that so hard?” He finds himself teasing, heart racing when he catches your lips turning up as well. “Here’s my half of the exchange—an apology gift for scaring you yesterday.”

Suddenly, you laugh—that beautiful melody that makes him crack a smile of his very own. “It wasn’t that terrifying,” You brush off with a shrug. “And I was supposed to be getting up anyways for studying—so in a way, you actually helped out quite a bit.”

He doesn’t know what’s more satisfying: the fact that he’s not falling apart or the fact that you seem to be enjoying the conversation immediately. It’s probably part of your pleasant nature, sure, but he doesn’t feel that desire to say some practiced phrase before throwing himself off a cliff this time. “That’s reassuring to know,” He says, pulling the item from his side anyways. “Regardless, I’ve decided to bring you sometimes anyways.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” You gush, taking the gift from Jungkook. It appears to be a poster of some kind, rolled up into a cylinder shape, but you don’t comment as you unroll the paper. He can see the anticipation drawn heavily in your eyes, lips curled up as your gaze takes in the photo across.

It’s an Iron Man poster.

Your lips part slightly, darting your attention back over to him, already finding him taking a few steps back towards the window once more. “Now wait a minute—!” You retort.

“You’ll thank me later,” Jungkook interjects, raising two fingers towards his forehead to salute you off. “See you around Y/N,” He says, wondering and hoping that you could hear the grin in his tone, the promise in his words, the longing to see you again even before you’ve left his sight.

You’re still standing in the middle of the room, poster in hand, before you look up to smile at him. “See you around, Spiderman,” You return.

He sees your slightly timid wave before turning back around to face the window to hide his own embarrassment, as if the mask alone wasn’t enough to hide his own private smile. He wonders if you’ll hang up the Iron Man poster; but above all he wonders if you mean it.

(the past)

The sight of your second encounter with Jeon Jungkook, while it is so much more different than seeing him getting shoved into a locker, is equally as depressing. It’s enough to make you feel as if all hopes of attempting to rid your memories of the boy have gradually started to fade away.

The days since you’ve seen him—Jeon, they had called him, leaving you with a vague feeling that perhaps that was his last name—slowly start to turn into weeks that you can count with one hand. Your relatively quiet and knowledgeable disposition lands you a small group of friends after a success partnered chemistry lab, girls who keep to themselves just as you do. They give you a place to sit during lunch and invite you into their conversations, supplying backstories and names, sharing their childhood in exchange with yours. It’s the fastest group of friends you ever make, so your smile is one of genuine nature as you finally feel equipped to bring up a question that has been plaguing your mind since your very first day of school.

It’s a question you’re almost afraid to lead into the light until you see him taking a corner table at the far end of the cafeteria during lunchtime, the point furthest away from the crowds of other students. You watch carefully and openly, observing the way he takes nibbles of his sandwich and doesn’t look over his shoulder to see if anyone can see if he’s eating alone. Like he’s use to it.

“Who’s that boy over there?” You find yourself asking before you could think about the gravity of your question. “I saw him on my first day getting shoved into the lockers.”

Karly barely spares a glance at the direction you are gesturing towards. “Oh, that’s Jeon Jungkook,” She answers quietly. “He’s been a target of the bullying since freshman year.”

“Why?” You ask, only tearing your gaze away from Jungkook when Karly tugs hard at the sleeve of your sweater.

“The other boys say he’s too weird, or too smart, or too different…” Karly explains. “Don’t stare for too long, he’ll drag you down.”

Drag you down? You throw Karly an incredulous look at how she uses too much practiced ease to describe Jungkook as an offensive weight rather than an actual human being. Something about the way she says the statement doesn't sit entirely well with you, but the finality in her tone keeps you from saying anything more on the subject.

(the present)

True to the unspoken pact conveyed through words, longing glances, and shy smiles, Jungkook elects to return back the following night without an ounce of hesitation. The desperation to see you is something that he can feel throughout all his nerves, making everything inside of him shake and curl with anticipation. He makes his way to the college, to the dorms, to you, all with a smile tugging broadly at his features.

He brings Thai food that night with the excuse that he merely needed to continue with the apology gifts in the form of food, to which you excitedly exclaimed that you were desperately in need of a pick-me-up at the eleven o’clock hour. His lips quirk up when he sees the Iron Man Poster hanging over your desk, but he doesn’t bring it up and neither do you.

His active participation in your life starts to become a regular occurrence. Always at the same eleven o’clock hour, always accompanied with a gift of some kind, always provided forth with the same excuse of the little exchange game Jungkook has come up with. Always a present as a reward to hear about your day: from the bad to the good and the little small moments in between. Even though he has a full day of classes and studying (or, okay, perhaps not that much studying) much like you, it’s always interesting to hear about a life not threatened by the abnormality of outside robberies or attacks or having to listen to the news constantly or living practically every single day of a life to ensure that he could protect another.

He wants to hear about a day that’s, essentially, normal and untouched by the terrors of horrible people. You provide that reassurance, that comfort, by never asking too much or too little of him. By having his mask on, he gets to see you with yours off—and there is a freeness to your laughs and your smiles, your interesting stories and your ability to always see the positives in every situation. You indulge in your insecurities and it’s in those little moments where he’s Spiderman, but he’s never felt more closer to who he really is. He likes hearing about your classes, about your asshole of a math professor, or the roommate who rarely shows up because of her boyfriend.

“Do you have a totem?” You ask one particular evening, picking up a piece of orange chicken from the Panda Express takeout he had run by before coming over to see you. He’s also come to find that you’ll pretty much eat anything and your dislike of food is quite limited—again, it’s like another piece of the puzzle he has learned to take full advantage of in getting to know you better.

Jungkook stills momentarily. “Ah, what do you mean?”

“I mean,” You start, shifting a little and tugging down on your sweater before it could ride too far up your side. “You put yourself in a lot of danger, right? Sometimes, aren’t you ever afraid?”

He doesn’t say anything to the question. He stares down at the chow mein on your plate. “I-I don’t know,” He lies, because of course he’s been afraid. Who wouldn’t be afraid of the fear that one day, all the sneaking around and the hidden traces of his identity would be for nothing? Who wouldn’t be afraid of the thought that someone would find him and hurt not just him but everyone in his life who he loved and who he held dear to? He doesn’t speak of the nightmares that plague his dreams, the nights where he wakes up in a cold sweat because he hadn’t been careful enough. “I’ve, uh, never really thought of that before.”

You hum, studying him closely and Jungkook can feel himself shifting underneath your attention. How was it that you more often than not had these looks that made him feel that he was without the suit and you could see every raw emotion that danced behind his eyes? “Well, let’s just say that you were afraid,” You reply. “Is there anyone you could think of that could ground you? Or, at least, remind you that there is always a light at the end of the tunnel?”

Light at the end of the tunnel. The last part of your question stirs something inside of Jungkook, who knows the answer to it before processing it in his mind. His mind whirls back three years to that fated encounter in the hallway and the many different instances that followed, the first genuine smile of understanding and not of sympathy he ever got, the only person who made him realize that perhaps he could get through the remaining years of that hellhole called high school.

“Y-Yeah…” He replies rather breathlessly, keeping his eye on you as you lean over to grab another orange chicken. “There’s someone that I have in mind.”

“Aw,” You coo, adjusting your position on the ground, continuing to give him all your attention. “What’s this person like? A family member? A friend?”

“Oh n-no,” He stammers, turning his head to the side to scratch the back of his neck. “It’s this girl that I knew. From high school.”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, well, a crush, huh? Who knew the infamous Spiderman has a soft spot? What’s she like? Do you bombard her with posters of Iron Man as well?”

He laughs tightly at that, because if only you knew, if only you knew. “I-I do, but I doubt she knows that I exist. But she’s—wow. She’s amazing. She’s been through a lot with me and I just, I just wished she knew how much she meant to me. I would do anything for her.”

He sneaks a look back at you, heart stuttering when he sees the glimmer of admiration in his eyes, as if the thought of him finding happiness in the simplest things and the most seemingly insignificant of moments and people made you happy and holy shit. This is it. This is why he’s been in love with you for three years, this is why he’s had and will always have a soft spot for you. “It sounds like you’re really fond of her. Well,” You add, a hint of grand finality in your tone as you take the last orange chicken and grin at his whine of protest. “I hope you’ll get the courage to tell her one day. You should definitely go all We Bought A Zoo on her.”

“We Bought A Zoo?” He repeats, furrowing his eyebrows as he watches you take that last lovely piece of orange chicken.

“Yeah,” You exclaim. “You know, that line.” You swallow, gaping slightly at his blank look. “That line! ‘Sometimes all you need is just twenty seconds of insane courage’. That should be your motto.”

You finish up your chow mein, too preoccupied with the sudden consumption of your food to notice his own dazed disposition. He rolls the quote in his mind. Twenty seconds. It didn’t sound too hard in theory. It could take twenty seconds to pull the mask off, twenty seconds to spill his guts and his love for you, twenty seconds to say it all.

Or, twenty seconds to rip the mask off, kiss your cheek, and throw himself out of the window; never to be seen again.

“I’ll consider it.” That’s all he settles with disclosing, watching as you hum around your bottled water.

(the past)

The third time you see Jeon Jungkook, it's the end of the day and the sound of a body making contact with the ground snaps you out of your resolve as you whip around to see the boy who has been occupying your thoughts for the past few days on the ground. His books and paperwork are scattered about and he suddenly looks smaller than he did getting shoved into a locker or sitting by himself in a sea full of people. The same group of boys from before are towering over Jungkook, equal smirks and snarls across ugly faces as a notebook is kicked away from the boy's grasp. It slides across the floor, hitting the heel of your shoe as you linger near your locker, trying to blend in yet make your feet move at the same time, Karly's previous warning in your mind be damned.

The warnings that leave lips go by completely unheard of by you as you find that the only thing you can focus on is Jungkook and his crumpled figure on the school floor, not moving an inch in or out of place as the boys give each other one last side glance before heading off in the opposite direction. Given that it's the end of another school day, the hallways are completely devoid of students, with the exception of you and Jungkook now. You watch him, and you don't know if he's watching you, but he definitely makes a point not to look up at you as he pushing himself up so he could sit on his knees. He starts reaching out, grabbing for his fallen books and pencils and notebooks, reminding you that one of his own spiral bound journals is near your feet.

You settle with not closing your locker, afraid that the noise of the slamming metal would disturb the unusual peacefulness that has settled between the pair of you, bending down instead to gather the notebook in your arms. The boy is just finishing up his collecting before you kneel down next to him. "Uh, I believe this is yours," You say by way of greeting, cursing the situation at once because out of all the things you could have possibly said in the English dictionary, you just had to say that. Of course the notebook was his, how could it not be after someone thought to kick it out of Jungkook's grasp as he was reaching for it.

You wish you had given yourself a second just to mentally prepare what to say before opening your mouth, if only to make the first words you ever said to this boy to be ones of comfort or reassurance and not ones of obvious means.

Jungkook swallows thickly, flickering his gaze up to you and you see it again: the isolation and loneliness and these different emotions each taking up a glimmer in his dark eyes. There is more of a hopelessness this time that you can read as clear as a book, and you wonder if anyone has ever been close enough to Jungkook physically to see this type of activity. Even more, if anyone has seen his eyes the way you see it and has actually tried to do something about it.

Given that he's still here, alone, probably as he's always been, does not do reassuring things to your stomach.

"Thanks," Jungkook says stiffly, voice low and somewhat cracked from underuse as he takes the notebook without even trying to meet your gaze.

"I-I'm sorry you have to go through this," You say quickly before your mind could stop the words from escaping, not missing the way he visibly stiffens at your apology.

"You don't have to apologize," Jungkook grumbles, tucking the notebook you had given him underneath his arm. "You aren't doing anything wrong."

"I..." You start again, trailing off when the words fail you. For someone with too much to say, there seems to be only silence greeting you on the other side as there are so many things you long to say to Jungkook. But your shyness, your hesitance, your fear of disclosing too much and frightening him, or saying too much only to be met with even more quiet, keeps your throat closed. "No one deserves to go through what you're going through," You mumble instead, actually unsure if Jungkook can hear you or not.

With the way he suddenly turns his head to look at you, you can only assume that he has. Bravely, you lift your head up to meet his gaze, if only to take in that endless shade of darkness with a flickering of light that shimmers like a speck behind his eyes. You keep your eyes on him, even as his eyes roam across your face, clearly trying to gauge your expression for signs of sarcasm or amusement. You wonder if he's worried a group of people will come out with cameras, only to be told that the event going on before him had been nothing more than a means for a horrible, horrible prank. But you keep your silence, you keep your eyes on him to show off your genuine intentions.

Jungkook looks away suddenly, not quite sure how to hold himself in the face of you. You are, essentially, a stranger, yet you're here and you've somehow managed to say the right thing at the right time. He wonders if it would be appropriate to disclose how he recognized you immediately after he almost crashed into you that faithful morning at the lockers. Or, if it would be socially acceptable to blurt out how looking at you made him feel seen for the first time in his entire life.

But he doesn't say anything, and neither do you, as Jungkook straightens up and you quickly follow suit. The pair of you continue with your silence, unsure whether or not to break it, unsure if he should thank you for helping you out, or if you should continue supplying some kind of reassurance to the boy. For some reason, all those things feel excessive and unnecessary; which is why Jungkook leaves you by your locker with a sort of quiet understanding of one another. It's not a bad place to walk away from.

(the present)

Jungkook is no stranger to the white hot agony of physical pain, he’s definitely had his fair share of attacks that don’t always swing his way or enemies that have a lot more backup or quick wit or strength than Jungkook has. This is not new to him. In fact, the boy is actually quite use to returning back from his nightly adventures with bruises along his side or cuts along his face that take more than a few weeks to heal. He’s partially glad that his roommate nor do any peers bother to ask questions about his whereabouts or how he’s acquired certain scars in the first place—and it’s not like there’s anyone around him seeing him without a shirt on or anything of the sort. It helps with keeping his life private.

But this, this is new.

And by this, it means a knife wound right in his side, one that’s much too deep to rely on the healing abilities of his own body that makes every single step and every single flex of his body feel like someone is driving a metal fist right into his gut. A knife wound in the side, a slice along his cheek.

“Fucking shit,” He grunts, staggering out of the alleyway, gripping his side that’s warm and wet with blood—his blood and maybe some of the other guy’s too—but it doesn’t matter because there is pain and there is pain everywhere and he can practically taste it in his mouth and it’s like bile in the pit of his stomach. A part of him wants to roll onto the dirty sidewalk of the city, let the breeze take him away, but he can’t. He has something to return to, he has someone who’s waiting for him.

After a few moments of limping, he leans against a wall and pulls his hand away from the wound, only to be greeted with that burning torment of having a wound that deep so exposed. Immediately, he brings his wrist up and tugs at the fabric, exposing a watch.

12:03AM.

“Fuck,” He curses again, leaning against the wall, gritting his teeth, bringing a hand to his wound that now showed no signs of slowed bleeding. It was serious. He needed to go to a doctor.

He stills in his movement. No. He couldn’t do that.

He can’t even begin to lay out all the risks that come with going to the hospital. Doctors, as professional and careful and effortless they may seemed, asked question. Doctors required personal information. Jungkook didn’t trust doctors. He couldn’t.

He always thought that taking up the role of that friendly neighborhood Spiderman would keep people out of danger. And while it has, he’s put his own life at risk, threatened to bleed to death on the very ground he stood on.

He couldn’t go back home—his parents would have a fit and he wouldn’t survive the drive home.

He couldn’t ask his roommate—the boy would likely sell him out to Kim Namjoon and the whole school would likely find out. He couldn’t text his group from that one science project that one semester.

The boy furrows his eyebrows, but then it stops. His eyes widen.

He did have someone he could ask. He did have someone he could trust—someone he trusted more than was probably appropriate. But trust he did, and that was the best option he had so far. He had no choice. This was the only option.

After all, twenty seconds was all he needed to make up his mind, right?

(the past)

The fourth time you see Jungkook is marked by an aisle of novels and books, silence, and seeing him hunched over in the manga section of the school library. The sight makes you smile, as you are momentarily glad that you had dismissed yourself early from the cafeteria with the excuse that you really needed to check out a particular novel for an upcoming English assignment.

You find him so intensely immersed in his story that you almost feel guilty for breaking him out of his trance. But your need to say something to him is the driver of that last minute reflexive action as you take a step towards him. "Hi," You whisper once you're sure you're within earshot of the boy.

He jerks up at the noise so close to him, nearly dropping his book at the shock of your abrupt visit into his consciousness and you stare at him for a moment before he gives you a quick side glance and seems to deem your presence acceptance. "Uh, hey..." He returns, closing the book and reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "What, uh, what are you doing here?"

You hold up your required novel. "I have to read The Great Gatsby for an extra credit assignment."

He nods slowly, cheeks looking as if they've been set aflame and you wonder if this is the longest conversation he's ever had with another person.

You take in a breath, steering yourself for the alternative routes of direction your new conversation starter could lead to. "How are you feeling? After what happened the other day?"

The other day is something that Jungkook already seems to understand, and although he doesn't look entirely too keen on brushing upon that particular topic, he does look relieved that the responsibility of keeping silence comfortable is no longer something he has to worry about. "I'm okay," He says with the shrug of his shoulders, and you study him closely, having already partially expected him to come up with that sort of answer. “T-Thank you for helping me with that. I don’t think I, uh, got to tell you that.”

You smile a little. "Of course. Like I said, it's not fair what people are trying to put you through." You look at your novel for a moment, before casting another look in his direction. "I'm Y/N, by the way."

Your smile is meant to be one of comfort and reassurance, but it seems to only make him more nervous. "Jungkook," He stammers out, looking over at you through his lashes and the sight is so strangely endearing that you can't help but muster a laugh.

"Well, it's nice to officially meet you, Jungkook," You say, unable to help yourself from speaking his name. It sounds nice on your tongue, a rolling effect, a slightly pouting of your lips. "I hope we'll see more of each other soon."

"M-Me too," He returns, casting another look at you whist reaching up to run a hand lightly through the locks of his hair. You're immediately set on noting that this is gesture Jungkook does when he's nervous and you wonder if you'll ever get the complete puzzle set that is Jungkook.

The pair of you bid each other goodbye with one last shy smile, one last shy wave, before you're turning on your heel and down the aisles. You miss the way Jungkook's eyes seem to follow your departing figure as it grows smaller and smaller the further away you move. Just before you reach the end of the aisle, Jungkook looks back down at the text, fixing his attention back down on the drawings of titans and a certain Eren Jaeger flinging his way to safety.

You do not turn the corner immediately upon reaching the end of the aisle. You stall, lingering in your movement for a moment, before risking one last look over your shoulders. You watch Jungkook, watch the way his lips curl up at the corners as the images on the page before him seem to jump out. You wonder what kind of story he's reading, what kind of pictures draw themselves out in his mind, if he's as brilliant as everyone claims him to be, and you wonder why how someone so calm could call in such a storm.

Your high school experience with Jungkook is categorized in this manner: stepping forward and reaching out, shy glances in the hallways when neither of you think the other is paying attention, shy smiles in the hallways as your gaze pierces Jungkook's from across the span of distance usually always placed between the pair of you and he lets his heart race at how completely tangible he feels when under your gaze.

(the present)

Jungkook never imagined that crawling up a wall would turn into such a struggle, since he's always managed to perform the task as easy as breathing or walking. But, then again, he didn't have a knife wound in the side during those previous times. It feels like needles are pulsing underneath his skin with every movement he takes, every inch he's crawling upwards towards your dorm. The window is opened, but it's the fear that you'll close it and close him out of your life that keeps him propelling forward.

Each reach up, each inch upwards evokes a gritting of teeth and a grunt of pain along every fiber of his nerves that makes everything feel like his body has been set on fire. He doesn't know if he'll make it, because the third floor is almost the same painful and longing sensation as scaling a fucking skyscraper and it's not enough. The bonding movement of his hands to the walls don't feel like enough, his strength doesn't feel like enough, and it feels like he's going to die; he's going to die right here and fall to his death and he's never going to do it. He's never going to tell you how he feels about you, he's never going to kiss your cheek, or use his twenty seconds of insane courage.

Somehow, someway, through the force of his sheer willpower, he crawls in through the opened window and practically falls to the ground.

"You're late!" There it is, that beautiful voice, something that seems to momentarily blind him from the pain and the fact that he's going to be bleeding all over your carpet very soon. "I thought you said you were bringing over Star Wars tonight for our exchange. I was really looking forward to telling you about this really awful thing my History professor said to one of the students today..."

He coughs instead, the weight of the pain making his head spin and holy shit, he's never felt anything like this before. He might pass out if he's not careful, if he lets the pain cloud his vision and his judgment.

"S-Spiderman?" You inquire, voice considerably softer and filled to the brim with concern as he feels a presence kneeling down beside him, a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright—!" You cut yourself off as soon as Jungkook rolls over to expose all the cuts that decorate his suit. "Oh my god," You whisper.

Jungkook peels open an eye, taking in your panicked expression, gaze wide with worry, and he tries to speak up. "It's... only a scratch," He manages.

You scoff, unable to believe he's trying to mask his pain with layers of humorless amusement. "Doesn't look like a scratch," You protest. "Oh my god. Can, uh, can you sit up for me?" You move closer to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and allowing him to lean on you as you do your best to pull him up into a sitting position. "How bad are the wounds?"

"I think it'll need stitches," He grumbles. "S-Sorry, I didn't mean to drop by like this..."

"Don't apologize," You reassure. "You're lucky, I just finished a first aid class on the campus. Except, I don't know how well I'll be with a needle..."

"It's okay," He cuts in, breathing shallow. "I trust you."

There is a silence that hangs in the air, one that you are quick to break with a noise of understanding that sounds from the back of your throat. "Okay, I'm going to take you to my bed now, so I'm gonna need you to stand up..."

A nod of understanding, another grunt as Jungkook grits his teeth, bites his lip, does anything to keep himself quiet and not worry you even more than he already has. He finds himself leaning heavily on you, the pain making his head spin as he grips onto you with a little more force than necessary. You do not seem to mind, letting him hold you like this as he rests himself down on your mattress.

You disappear for a moment, reappearing from your closet with a first aid kit. Your eyes narrow, taking in the torn fabric of his uniform. You bite your lip suddenly, as if struck by an idea that makes you nervous. "S-Sorry Spiderman. I hate to say this to you but, um, the suit as got to go. I won't be able to reach your wounds otherwise..."

"N-No, it's okay," Jungkook manages, the reality of the situation sinking in at about the same time the words leave his mouth. He really did not think this through, did not think about how those twenty seconds of insane courage he had saving up on would strike him when he least expected it. He should have known that of course he would have to reveal his identity to you someday; just not under these unusual circumstances and not when he's grappling with the pain that feels like needles in his temple now. "I understand."

"I can look away if you want," You offer kindly, but Jungkook just grits his teeth again, shakes his head.

"It’s fine,” Jungkook cuts in. “D-Do you mind helping me with the mask though?”

You swallow, probably knowing the direction this was taking much like him. “Of course.” You slowly place the first aid kit onto the desk next to your bed. You take a step towards him, and he finds himself naturally parting his legs for you to move between them. The close proximity makes both of you very much aware of the natural body warmth both of you seem to be emitting off.

The silence feels tense and suffocating, and Jungkook knows that his time is running out. Although he's not sure he's ready for you to see him for what he is beyond the mask, he remembers your talk about twenty seconds of courage and knows that this is the right thing to do. And he means what he said to you. He trusts you.

"Um," You start hesitantly. "Can I...?" You're gesturing to his mask.

"Y-Yeah," He stammers back, holding his breath as you gently grip the edge of the mask right at the base of his neck. He keeps his gaze locked on you, as you do with him, before you tug off the mask in one swift movement.

He watches you very carefully for your reaction, honestly expecting a look of betrayal for the fact that Jeon Jungkook has been Spiderman this entire time, or maybe even something of hurt, but he doesn't get that look of anger flashing behind eyes or anything else of the sort. He sees something flickering in your eyes, recognition and something else: something deeper and fonder, before that concern comes back with the full force of a train. "Jungkook?" You whisper, his name on your lips like his favorite melody. You haven't stepped away from him, haven't tried to build that wall, instead taking that second of silence to scan his face. Your eyes roam across every inch, from his nose to the cuts along his cheek, to his lips, to his eyes.

He tries for a weak smile. "H-Hi Y/N," He whispers back. His hands twitch, desperately longing to place them on your waist, if only to generate some sort of reaction to the big reveal. But it's at that moment that the pain at his side returns as he hisses between his teeth.

This is enough to startle you out of your previous resolve as you jump slightly and look down. "Do you think you can take the suit off for me?" You inquire quietly. "I-I know it might be difficult I just, I don't want to hurt you anywhere..."

The fact that there is no drastic change in your attention or attitude, even with knowing the truth of his identity, helps Jungkook relax slightly under your care. He manages a nod, and gets to work attempting to peel the suit off his upper body. It's hell trying to get his arms out, and even harder trying to tug the material down his body, but he tries to remain careful as he shifts and rolls his body until the suit is bunched at his waist.

You turn your attention back to him, and he watches the way your eyes trace down, outlining the muscles along his figure, from his arms to his collarbone, down to his chest and finally to the increasingly obvious wound at his side. You start forward, instructing Jungkook to lay on his side as you ready the materials out on your desk. “Have you ever gotten a wound stitched?” You inquire.

He shakes his head. “Just do it,” He manages, gaze roaming across the room and realizing that he should probably try to focus his attention on something. Eventually, he settles on your face. He takes in the furrowed eyebrows and the eyes that study his wound. He grits his teeth, trying to remind himself that he is here and he is alive and he trusts you and your intentions on not hurting him too much, even after you start. There are little pinches of pain, some parts worst than others, but the sight of you here, not running away, is enough to keep Jungkook’s nerves and anxiety on the low. “Are you surprised?” He finds himself asking after a few beats of long silence that take on neither a comfortable or an uncomfortable sensation.

You’re quiet for a moment, clearly trying to decide how to go about his question. “I probably shouldn’t have been,” You finally settle on disclosing. “In hindsight, it should have been obvious. Only you would do something so selfless for the sake of other people.”

He stills at that, turning his attention up to the ceiling of your room, so caught up in your words that he doesn’t notice that you’ve finished healing up his wound until you’re wrapping it up.

“Okay, your side is done,” You say, placing the needle in the alcohol to clean it off. “Can you sit up for me? I want to take care of the cut on your cheek.”

Jungkook does what he is asked, gingerly pushing himself up to resume his position of sitting up on the edge of your mattress. Legs open, you step between them. His gaze continues to follow you as you bring a cloth to his face to start gently dabbing at the cut. It stings, but he keeps his mouth shut, and you can probably see the pain flaring up in his eyes like fireworks. He watches you the whole time, eyes big and adoring and careful all at once, that it’s almost necessary that he has to say the next words. “I’m sorry,” He whispers.

You pause. “For what?”

It’s almost amusing how quiet the pair of you are. It’s the weekend, the halls are probably deserted and your roommate had already given you the heads up that she would be spending all of her time in her boyfriend’s apartment so it’s not like anyone would come bursting in or threatening to break the air that has settled between the pair of you. But it’s like this moment is private, intimate, as Jungkook reveals a part of his life he’s kept hidden in the shadows for two and a half years and you, perhaps his biggest secret of all, telling him that it’s okay.

“For not telling you earlier,” He answers. You shift your gaze from the cut on his cheek to his eyes and the pair of you are so close that he’s fairly confident that you can hear his heartbeat. “I wanted to, it’s just…”

“I know,” You cut in gently and he breathes out, because that air of understanding that had developed in high school has only remained the longer the pair of you look at each other. He wonders if you can read his eyes just as he can, he wonders if you can see the overwhelming amount of affection that curls at his heart, the way he can’t stop flickering his gaze down to your lips, the way he’s practically shaking at the close proximity. “That question about the totem from the other day,” You bring up after a moment, lifting your hand up to cup his cheek, thumb lightly dusting over his skin in a gesture that seems almost mindless but Jungkook doesn’t care. “Who were you talking about?”

But she’s—wow. She’s amazing. She’s been through a lot with me and I just, I just wished she knew how much she meant to me. I would do anything for her. The words that Jungkook had spoken about aforementioned totem come barreling back to him. “I thought it was obvious,” He says, light humor and he averts his gaze. “I was talking about you.”

He turns his attention back to you, heart ramming in his throat, laying everything down on the line. He watches your unreadable expression carefully, before you flit your gaze and you’re staring right back at him. He sees the memories that unfold behind your eyes like flashes of a movie, from the very first time you saw him in the hallway, then the library, and every little moment afterwards that made him feel cared for and watched over.

Without a warning, your grip on his face tightens just the slightest to pull him upwards as you lean forward to deliver a chaste kiss against his mouth. Actually, it should hardly constitute for a kiss. It’s just a brushing of the lips, but it’s enough to send a shiver of electricity through Jungkook’s whole body. It’s like he’s being brought back to life, all the reflexive power returning back to his limbs. Just before you could pull back, he reaches up to grip your waist, pushing you against him so he could crush his lips back to yours. Your lips are just as soft and warm as he’s always pictured it to be, and the sensation of that on top of you lightly tracing patterns along his jawline makes him moan.

You pull away after a moment to catch your breath, but Jungkook keeps your body pressed to yours, hands tight on your waist, overtaken by the desire to plant kisses along your neck. “Jungkook,” You whisper breathlessly, trailing off, tilting your head to the side and getting lost in the sensation of his lips tracing across your skin. “Y-You’re hurt, maybe we shouldn’t—!” You start, already getting an idea for the direction this was heading, if the burning fire starting in the pit of your stomach or the hardness pressing against your stomach is an indication to go by.

“I don’t care,” Jungkook interrupts, hands traveling up to cup your face. “I’ve waited so long for this.” He brings you forward to kiss him again, and you melt underneath his touch, the tenderness you’ve always felt for him coming back to hit you with the full force of a bullet train. You can taste the sweetness on his lips, the softness and the love he holds for you in his touches, which are soft in contradiction to the frantic desperation of his lips.

Although you’re still hesitant about his injuries, Jungkook gives you little choice to dwell on the manner because soon, he’s scooting higher up onto your bed and bringing his hands back down to your waist to attempt to bring you up too. As soon as he settles back down, head on your pillow and body lying completely flat on the bed, does he pull you forward in to straddle his waist. You lean forward, planting both hands on either side of his head to ensure not putting all your weight onto his wounds before kissing him again. He kisses back urgently, angling his head, using a hand to curl around the back of your neck. You emit soft noises from the back of your throat as he continues dragging out your moans.

You’re close, but you’re suddenly not close enough, and he can’t seem to feel enough of you. Your warmth floats from your body, curling around him and blinding his senses to everything but you. He whimpers, using the hand still at your waist to push you against his body and you melt, you fold into his touches and his physical commands—!

Your knee accidentally nudges the wound at his side; a soft tap that feels intensified by a sharp spike of pain. There’s a gasp as Jungkook pulls away, the waves of pain momentarily electrifying a part of his brain that distracts him from the current subject at hand.

You pull away at once. “Are you okay?” You inquire immediately. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, did I hurt you—?”

It feels as if Jungkook is getting sagged back to reality and the question generates a violent shake of his head. “No, no,” He whines, opening his eyes when you cup his cheek with one of his hands, shaking his head again at the concern that floods his features. “I’m okay, just keep kissing me, please.”

He cranes his neck back up to kiss you again, swallowing your protests until you’re too caught up to continue speaking. You yield to him once more, and Jungkook desperately tugging up your sleeping shirt to feel along the hot skin of your waist. It feels like his mind is trying to roll through honey, still quite unable to believe that you’re here, on his lap, kissing him back. He chokes on a moan when you start rolling your hips against his, the additional friction making the blood rush straight down between his legs.

“Y/N,” He stammers, a panting mess as you pull away and immediately start dusting kisses along his jawline, down his neck, below his ear. He’s already a mess, he’s already too sensitive for this onslaught of emotions to his system. Both his hands have now found their way to your waist, holding onto you much too tightly, if only to keep him grounded when it feels like all he wants to do is spin out of control. “I haven’t… I’ve never done this before…” He finds himself confessing in a breath, letting it float in the around the pair of you.

He feels you smile against his neck. “It’s okay.” You shift slightly. “Just relax Jungkook,” You whisper against the shell of his ear, sending vibrations up his spine. “Let me take care of you.”

Suddenly, you push yourself up into a sitting position and tug off your night shirt. Jungkook’s eyes widen, jaw slacking when he realizes that you aren’t wearing a bra underneath. “Holy shit…” He whispers, drawing patterns along your skin as his gaze continues to stare unblinkingly at your exposed upper figure, as if he’s afraid that this is a dream, as if he’s afraid this would all fade away if he didn’t appreciate every second of this moment the way he should have. “You’re so beautiful—mm.” His voice fade away to a moan as you slowly start to rock your hips against his once more, applying pressure over his erection. Even with the cloth of his suit and boxers, it’s like he can feel everything and he whimpers. He cranes his head back, baring his neck towards you, hands curling tighter around your waist. Relying purely on instinct, he finds himself meeting your grinding movements in a way that leaves you breathless.

"You're not so bad yourself," You manage fervently, leaning forward to press your palms against his shoulders in order to steady yourself. The foundation of having something sturdy underneath your touch allows you to press harder, teasing your core over his length.

Jungkook lifts his head up, eyebrows furrowed, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed over, gaze narrowing at the movement of your hips against his. The sight of seeing him so wrecked because you is enough to make the desire pulse through you as you speed up the pace of your rolls.

Sucking in a breath between gritted teeth, Jungkook's head falls back against the pillows. "Y/N," He whines, high pitched and filled with so much need that it makes your head spin. "Y/N, I... I need..."

"What do you need, Jungkook?" You coax, trying to keep your mind together enough to ask him a question. "Tell me what you need."

The flush that dusts his cheeks merely deepens at the gentle request to spell out what exactly he wanted you to do to him. He's never been too eloquent with words, so he stammers. It doesn't help that you continue rolling your hips against his clothed cock, the additional fabric adding to the friction that only seems to dip his mind further into ecstasy. He opens his mouth, closes it again, swallows thickly when you lean down to kiss his cheek, his upper lip, the gesture surprisingly chaste for the hell you're putting him through down below.

You giggle lightly, smiling against his cheek, taking pride and amusement at your ability to render him completely speechless. "Do you want me to take the suit off?"

He nods quickly, thankful that you could not only detect his clear struggle, but also filling in his voice with your own. "Y-Yeah."

You pull back, flashing another reassuring smile as you move down his body just enough, tugging at the suit that has collected at his waist and pulling it down his legs. You only make it down to his ankles before he's pulling you back and using his own feet to rid of the rest of his suit and boxers. He kisses you harder, the excitement and the nervousness and the anticipation of what would follow making his hands shake, as they settle on the waistband of your sleeping shorts. He attempts to tug down once, twice, but he can't seem to get the direction right and you're laughing against his mouth.

"Don't laugh," He whines, tugging on your bottom attire once more time. "Take this off, Y/N."

"You're so assertive Jeon," You tease lightly, but you pull back enough for him to see your own glazed expression. Keeping your eyes on him, you tug down the last remaining articles of clothing separating the pair of you. The shifting in the bed signals the kicking up of your legs to rid of the shorts and panties entirely. Both of you refuse to break eye contact the entire time until finally, you break it to look down to take in the sight of his length, hard and needy with the tip spilling over with precum and the sight is so mouthwatering that a part of you longs to just slide down Jungkook's body to score a taste, to see if perhaps he tastes as sweet as his tongue does.

But the sound of his voice breaks you out of your previous resolve, his hands moving up and down your side to get your attention. "Should we, uh," He starts, clearly embarrassed and nervous and hesitant at the sight of being exposed to one another. "Do we, well, do you have a... um..."

Your face breaks out into another fond smile. You lean down to kiss reassurance onto his lips. "I'm on the pill," You report. "Are you sure about this Jungkook?"

He watches you carefully for a long second, that previous lust and haze in his eyes dissipating for just a moment and being replaced with something more steady, something more confident, something more loving. "I've never been more sure about anything in my life."

Your heart stutters in your chest for just a moment at his trust, at his hope, in you, and in what the pair of you could become. You sit up, lifting yourself up by the knees and gently taking him to rub him over your slit. Jungkook reacts immediately to this by sucking in a breath, and you hardly give him time to think or process or overcome the sensation before you're lining the tip to your entrance and sinking onto him. The stretch is overwhelming that you throw your head back into a whimper, eyebrows furrowing, as Jungkook is emitting something drawn between a desperate whine and a sigh of finally getting to feel you around him.

"Y/N," He chokes out, hands settling back at your waist as soon as you've gone hilt deep, fingers digging into the skin with more force than before, leaving you little doubt that there would be bruising within the next few days. But you don't care, and he doesn't care. Your hands find refuge on his shoulders once more, gripping tightly, finding foundational comfort in the touch, as you use that base to help you rise up his length slowly before sliding down his cock. "O-Oh fuck," Jungkook moans, arching his back at the sensation, just as you're whimpering out his name. "Oh fuck Y/N, do that again. Do that again please."

You're too caught up to reply, so you merely settle with repeating the movement until you've developed a pace that has the both of you whining and groaning in timing to the rhythm. Once Jungkook starts to gain a sense of the tempo of your hips, he acquires half a mind to start returning the thrusts.

"Mm, Jungkook," You whine, driving yourself faster down his length. "Just like that, ah!" You crane your neck up slightly in response to the overwhelming pleasure that floods your system right when Jungkook hits the spot that makes you sees stars. Feeling your release just right there, you bring one hand up to rub at your clit, the sensation making you dub over and Jungkook watches the sight of you adding additional pleasure to yourself with deep interest.

"Y/N," He groans out, trying to focus on helping you reach your end first before he could blow his load right then and there. It vaguely surprises him with just how long he's been able to last up until this point, but he's not going to survive much longer, as he feels himself beginning to get dragged towards the edge at an alarmingly quicker pace. "L-Let me."

You open an eye to peer down in time to see him brushing away your fingers from your clit, immediately replacing them with his thumb. As soon as he touches the bundle of nerves, you tense up, your lips parting slightly as the ecstasy you feel goes beyond the vocal capability. "Yes Jungkook," You whine. "Right there, right there, right there, oh god, I'm gonna—!" Your eyes shut tightly together as your lips part in a silent scream as the white hot pleasure courses through your system and light a fire to every single one of your nerves.Your hips slow down. Your legs tremble on either side of him before the high of your release fades away and is gradually replaced with overstimulation. With a high pitched whimper of protest of Jungkook's fingers still on your clit, he pulls his fingers away. He, however, does not stop pumping in and out of you. His thrusts increase in force, since he no longer has you to meet him halfway.

Overwhelmed with the large amount of pleasure washing over your body like a wash, you fall against the boy's chest, trembling from the new pace that he has set. Feeling you shake against him, Jungkook wraps his arms around your frame to keep you in place and, quickly forgetting the stinging in his side from the adrenaline surging through his body, starts rutting up into you. Still spent and recovering from your earlier release, you are left with no choice but to grip the blankets next to you to try and stop the room from spinning, gasping and whimpering Jungkook's name until he's reaching his own end. He groans loudly, his first release hitting him like a train as he drops a broken version of your name into the void. He rides out his high, slowing down the rhythm of his hips until he's stopping entirely.

The room is filled with the sounds of pants and heavy breathing, the frantic heartbeat against each of your chests gradually starting to slow down into something more normal as the pair of you bask in one another's presence.

Finally, Jungkook pulls himself out of you and you whine momentarily at the loss before you lift yourself from Jungkook's chest to roll onto his side. Your eyes roam his face, taking in the sweaty complexion and the flushed cheeks, the half-lidded way he's watching you, and you reach out to brush some of the hair out of his face.

"That was so..." Jungkook speaks after a moment, staring right back at you. "Wow."

You laugh. "Wow indeed."

"Does this mean..." He speaks suddenly, lowering his head slightly to show his bashfulness on the subject. "Does this mean that you... that we...?"

"Does this mean that I like you?" You fill in softly, soft laughter filling the room. "Well, I don't ask anyone if I could take off their suit."

Jungkook bites his lip, reaching over to take some of your hair and tuck it behind your ear. "I really, really care about you Y/N," He manages thickly. "And I don't think... I wouldn't want... It's just that I..."

You press a finger to his lips. "Did you mean it?" You whisper.

"Mean what?"

"That I was your totem."

He doesn't hesitate to answer. "Yeah." He nods. "I meant it all." He pauses for a moment. “Did you mean it?” He returns. “When you said it should have been obvious that I was Spiderman?”

“Well, maybe not obvious, but… it makes sense,” You explain. “You’ve always been selfless and understanding and thoughtful. You always care so much for other people, even if people might not care for you. And you’re really funny, Jungkook. You’ve always been quiet and trying to hide from the world.”

“But you always saw me,” He fills in.

“Of course I did.” You say this like it should have been obvious, and it’s in that statement that he’s sure. Twenty seconds, right?

"I know that me being Spiderman might... make things complicated,” He starts with a cough. “But, uh, do you think I could... if we could go out some time?"

You look at him, smile dusting along your features as if he's just returned from hanging all the stars in the sky just for you. "I thought you'd never ask, Jungkook." You shift slightly to prop your head up slightly. "Was there something you had in mind?" Your eyes widen as soon as you ask the question before you're leaning forward to rest a hand against his chest. "Wait. Can we go swinging around the city?" You inquire, bright smile reaching every corner of your eyes as you crane your neck up to stare at him fondly.

Jungkook's shoulders shake with his laughter as he moves downwards slightly to kiss your forehead. "Anything for you."

#jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts scenario #bts smut #bts x reader #jungkook fluff #repost: workofteaguk #traci writes

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theonceoverthinker · 5 years

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“The Heart of the Truest Believer” Unused Script Snippets Compilation

So, as some of you know, recently I was lucky enough to win a script for “The Heart of the Truest Believer” in an OUAT auction. I think scripts are some of the most fun things you can win in auctions like these -- it’s cool to see how lines change and develop over the course of the writing and filming processes, they open the door to additional fun fan speculation, and of course, we get to see lines and actions that didn’t make the cut and in some cases, maybe see a completely new product!

And now that I have the script, I wanted to share it with everyone so we can do all of that groovy stuff!

There were a fair amount of changes, additional bits of dialogue, and honestly just funny things I noticed that I wanted to point out to laugh at like a fourth grader! I put in every thing that was in the script, but not in the episode, but if there’s a scene or something from the episode that you want to see, please let me know and i’ll see what I can do to get it to you (Sorry, buying the scripts and scanning can get expensive and I’m going to London this summer)!

Also, there’s a fair amount of shippy stuff in here, namely for Swan Fire, Sleeping Warrior, and Captain Swan (Ergo, the early ship tags). It’s not all that’s in here by any means, but I do want you going into this knowing that.

Finally, as a personal plea from me, let’s please try not to go too beserk over this, or rather, like our fandom sometimes tends to do. I wanted to share all of this good stuff for fun and archival purposes and I’d hate to inadvertently cause the next fandom war. And look, I get it: Fandoms be fandoms and my plea probably won’t factor into much in the grand scheme of things, but hey, I had to try, am I right? Just remember to treat each other the way you’d want to be treated. Certain scenes and ship that you might not like could mean a great deal to others and we should all try and respect each other.

Okay! Now that that’s out of the way, without further adieu, join me under the cut and let’s get to it!

First off, here’s a little observation: Apparently, in addition to comforting Emma, the doctor was supposed to give Emma a tissue. And given the sentences before that note, she’d definitely need it. :(

Another small cut line, but it makes you think just what a war on magic would be like. Also, I love the buildup of Tamara and Greg as these big antagonists and a third faction to counter the efforts of Pan and the heroes, only to pull the rug up from them and the audience. Kind of reminds me of how Dragon Ball Z transitioned from the androids to Cell.

Okay, enough nerding out! Moving on!

I was so happy that we got a juicy little bit of Rumple-y goodness in here! While I’m personally okay with the scene being excluded from the final episode, I do love how this scene builds up Rumple’s transformation back into his Dark One persona. I love the idea of the most dramatic spinning in television history and that crescendo of suspense. You know Isham would’ve had a time and a half orchestrating this scene! Can you just imagine the strings and the percussion?!

And speaking of Rumple, here’s some more Rumple dialogue!!! It builds on what we got in the final version in a more detailed way and makes for a strong moment in the Emma and Rumple dynamic.

As an added bonus, if you look at the bottom left of the page, it appears that whoever previously had this script helped setting up the sets! So that’s nifty!

Tamara is Spider-Man. OUAT/MCU CROSSOVER CONFIRMED!!

In a similar vein, we see Greg and Tamara here trying to do a bit more damage to the enemies than what we got in the finished episode.

Phillip! That’s Lumiere’s line! Silly man...

We get a bit more unused dialogue here (Loving the “arrow” joke!)! It’s basically just exposition, but we do get a bit of colliding personalities in here, especially between Neal and Mulan. Considering that these characters don’t get a ton of screen time after this season, this was a nice discovery to uncover.

I also like the smidge of character development Mulan got from Belle -- she’s now taken an interest in seeking knowledge after seeing how effective it can be!

More towards the bottom of the page, here we get two things that I found cool. First, we see a bit more to the guessing game of what is attacking the Jolly Roger and for certain Killian fans, seeing a Kraken out there is pretty cool!

Second...look the descriptions of some of the actions in these scripts is just phenomenal. And if you ever want to ensure a good ole case of alcohol poisoning, take a drink every time the F word is used! You will be PLASTERED before long! XD

We get a lot of additional dialogue here with some twinges of both Swan Fire and Sleeping Warrior nestled neatly in the actions and dialogue. My friends, I’d have KILLED to see that hand hold in the final product! I also really admire Neal’s steadfast determination here! It’s very reminiscent of Baelfire and is just utterly heartwarming to see how much he cares about his family.

And on top of that, we get a smidge more lore for the after effects of the sleeping curse! I’m no lore snob and I do find the explanation to be a biiiiiiiit weird, but hey -- it’s OUAT and weird is what I signed up for! It works well enough for me.

Tamara, you can’t blame others for your actions! You know better...or at least you should. I don’t know. For a while, at least, you seemed pretty smart and devious.

But more importantly than that: THE DARK ONE IS BACK! ...I just really liked that line. It reminds me of that old movie Commando. Rumple was trying to leave his past behind...sort of, but to save what matters to him, he’s gotta go back to his old ways. It’s a great mix of menacing and oddly triumphant! Honestly, it just sounds badass and I love that script note!!!

Like I said...the drinking games that could stem from these scripts could KILL someone! ...There’s nothing new here: I just thought this was funny.

MOVING ON!

Once again, we see some more Neal and Mulan dialogue with both direct and indirect nods to Swan Fire and Sleeping Warrior! I just have a lot of feels for these two, okay?!

So, we’ll see this a bit later in more detail, but there seemed to be something of a D-plot about the Jolly Roger sinking as a result of the storm. It’s only mentioned in the final product during the scene where our team finally arrives on the island, but there’s quite a few lines about this being more of a substantial plot point than what we ended up getting. Once again, I’m overall okay with its exclusion since the conflict of them having to work together was the more important part of the conflict.

And hey! We get a little bit of CS dialogue too, and I’m not complaining about that at all! I can’t help but feel like had that been included, it (Namely Killian calling Emma a sailor) would’ve been one of those OUAT-y things that just makes its way into all kinds of fan works -- like an OUAT meme that’s not played for comedy. You get what I’m saying? Ah well!

Let’s keep going!

...Again, not new, but the script direction was just too funny to leave out of this post!

Here we get a bit more dialogue of Emma trying to get her reluctant teammates to listen to her. While I’m fine with the scene as we got it, I would’ve liked it if this went into the final version. It builds up Emma’s desperation nicely and gives their lack of teamwork a subtle hint of tragedy that a solution is literally right in their face, but they won’t listen.

I also like that there’s a bit more to Hook’s extra line. Does one take it as him not believing her alongside the group, or him believing her and tragically pointing out that no one else does? I think the ultimate interpretation would’ve come down to how Colin played it, but I appreciate the nuance of the line!

So, here, like I said before, here’s where we get more of the meat of the Jolly Roger sinking plot point. There’s more of a weight to it. As I said before, while I like this extra dialogue, I do think that the final version was effective enough in showing the team working together and that an extra scene wouldn’t have contributed that meaningfully to it in the overall grand scheme of things.

That all having been said, additionally, we get some awesome Emma here, and I am always a fan of that! We get to see a bit of smugness with that “I was right” line and some frack-a-lackin’great leadership as she leads the group onto Neverland’s shores! It’s an honestly cool moment and I’m picturing Jen slaying as she delivers these great lines!

As you might be able to see on the first picture in this set, there’s a bit of cutoff dialogue. Unfortunately, that’s how I got the script and it happens occasionally in this script. However, if I may speculate, going by Emma’s next line, it seems like Hook was telling her that if they follow through with her plan, Pan will know they’re on his island for sure and will likely be able to find them with relative ease. It’s fitting for Hook’s view of Pan for him to be apprehensive about giving Pan an in like this and makes Emma’s willingness to go into the metaphorical fires of Neverland to be even cooler!

Finally, we end off with another bit of Swan Fire, and it’s honestly pretty touching! Like, he cries over her and she’s the love of his life! That’s just sweet!

Also, I’m pretty sure that Robin line at the top is new, and it’s pretty funny! Robin’s character does snark really well!

And with that, our journey through the uncut side of “The Heart of the Truest Believer” is complete! I hope you all liked these snippets and maybe got a bit more material to think on! I know I did!

#ouat #once upon a time #ouat script #heart of the truest believer #swan fire #sleeping warrior #captain swan #emma swan #rumple #neal cassidy #mulan #aurora #phillip #killian jones #hook #greg #tamara #robin hood #Rumplestiltskin

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this-year-ive-read · 5 years

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Books I’ve Read in 2019 (A List in Progress)

The Devil and Sherlock Holmes - David Grann (***)

“The course of human events is not permanently altered by the great deeds of history, nor by the great men but by the small daily doings of the little men.”

Killers of the Flower Moon - The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI - David Grann (**)

“History is a merciless judge. It lays bare our tragic blunders and foolish missteps and exposes our most intimate secrets, wielding the power of hindsight like an arrogant detective who seems to know the end of the mystery from the outset.”

The Things They Carried - Tim O’Brien (****)

“They carried the sky. The whole atmosphere, they carried it, the humidity, the monsoons, the stink of fungus and decay, all of it, they carried gravity.”

“I survived, but it's not a happy ending.”

“But this too is true: stories can save us.”

Every Word You Cannot Say - Lain S Thomas (***)

“There are days when everyone needs you to be strong, even if you're dying inside, and you can only cry when no one's looking because you're petrified of letting them down.”

“I don’t know if I’m ever, really, ‘Here’”

Everything I Never Told You - Celeste NG (***)

“Before that she hadn’t realized how fragile happiness was, how if you were careless, you could knock it over and shatter it.”

“You never got what you wanted; you just learned to get by without it.”

Night - Elie Wiesel (****)

“To forget the dead would be akin to killing them a second time.

“Those who kept silent yesterday will remain silent tomorrow”

The Alice Network - Kate Quinn (**)

“Poetry is like passion--it should not be merely pretty; it should overwhelm and bruise.”

“What did it matter if something scared you, when it simply had to be done”

Love her wild - Atticus (***)

“We are made of all those who have built and broken us”

“A sky

full

of stars

and he

was staring

at her.”

When we Left Cuba - Chanel Cleeton (****)

“For the dreams that slip through our fingers.

May we hold them in our arms one day.”

“You can love someone and still not lose your reason.”

“Not all of us have the luxury of setting the world on fire, simply because we’re angry.”

Crush - Richard Siken (***)

“A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river

           but then he’s still leftwith the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away

           but then he’s still left with his hands.”

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you.”

“They want you to love the whole damn world but you won’t, you want it all narrowed down to one fleshy man in a bath who knows what to do with his body, with his hands.”

War of the Foxes - Richard Siken (**)

“Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.”

“I want to give you more but not everything. You don’t need everything.”

Murder on the Orient Express - Agatha Christie (**)

“The impossible could not have happened, therefore the impossible must be possible in spite of appearances.”

Fool Me Once - Harlan Coben (***)

“All love stories,” Maya’s father had told her many years ago, “end in tragedy.”

“There are moments in life when everything changes.”

Pirate Hunters - Robert Kurson (*****)

“They made a sound I’d never heard before but somehow had known my whole life, a waterfall of muted chimes, dense and deep and old”

“When John asked his grandfather about being heroic, Arison told him that he had not done anything special, just what he thought was right”

“The world came alive when a person got a chance to be good”

“Do it now. Tomorrow is promised to no one”

“And promised himself that no matter what, he wouldn’t put off until tomorrow what his heart told him to go for today.”

“He just looked out at the world knowing it was finally too late for his father to have an adventure, and nothing seemed in color anymore.”

The Lost City of the Monkey God - Douglas Preston (***)

“But then the teules [foreigners] arrived and everything fell apart. They brought fear, and they came to wither the flowers.”

Crashing Through - Robert Kurson (****)

“It wasn't who a person believed himself to be or what he pretended he would do in a given situation. It was what he did when he got there that defined him.”

“May opened his eyes. Electric dots of silver-white, as many as the sound of a rainstorm, ran to every space in the world, and when he tried to see where they led there was no world anymore, they led everywhere, across a blanket of night that had no edges, and for a moment May didn’t know where he was among these stars, if he was under them or around them or beyond them, they were everywhere and he was everywhere, he was where he wanted to be.”

Shadow Divers - Robert Kurson (*****)

“This is where the hangers on, and wannabes, and also rans, and once greats keep believing in the sea.”

“I love you and you’re not here for me.”

Ross Poldark - Winston Graham (***)

“The greatest thing is to have someone who loves you and—and to love in return”

“Autumn lingered on as if fond of its own perfection.”

Demelza - Winston Graham (***)

“Strange sometimes how easy bitter words came, how hard the kind ones.”

“Let me stay a little longer in the sun.”

Love Looks Pretty on You - Lang Leav (****)

“You turn him into poetry because you can’t have him any other way.”

“I have been quiet lately, I know. Not because I don’t have anything to say but because I have too much.”

“I struggle with things that are as easy to others as breathing.”

“Here is the story of my life. Hoping they would care about me or wishing they wouldn’t care so much.”

“When love swept in like the ocean

And left me in drops, like rain.”

Jeremy Poldark - Winston Graham (***)

“Resentment and bitterness and old grudges were dead things, which rotted the hands that grasped them.”

“It isn’t where you’re born in this world, it’s what you do.”

Edgar: an Autobiography - Edgar Martinez (***)

“I concentrate on the moment and Don’t let the past or the future overwhelm me.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the greatest mariner of all time.”

Warleggan - Winston Graham (***)

“Their lives had been the tragedy of one woman who could not make up her mind.”

“It was not the cold of the night that she felt but an inner cold that no coat would cure.”

“Remember this she thought. In times of jealousy and neglect, remember this. He said: “so you are not to be rid of me, my love.” “So I am not to be rid of you, my love.””

The Black Moon - Winston Graham (**)

“Blemishes on the beauty of a person one loves are like grace notes adding something to a piece of music.”

“We can’t alter the world, we can only adapt ourselves to it.”

The Lost Girls of Paris - Pam Jenoff (*)

“It is simply not enough to be as good as the men. They don’t believe we can do this and so we have to be better.”

Emma - Jane Austen (***)

“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”

“I may have lost my heart, but not my self control.”

Wuthering Heights - Emily Brontë (****)

“Because he’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

“I have not broken your heart—you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.”

“The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her!”

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall - Anne Brontë (****)

“beauty is that quality which, next to money, is generally the most attractive to the worst kinds of men;”

“But smiles and tears are so alike with me, they are neither of them confined to any particular feelings: I often cry when I am happy, and smile when I am sad.”

“If she gives you her heart,’ said I, ‘you must take it, thankfully, and use it well, and not pull it in pieces, and laugh in her face, because she cannot snatch it away.”

“This rose is not so fragrant as a summer flower, but it has stood through hardships none of them could bear: the cold rain of winter has sufficed to nourish it, and its faint sun to warm it; the bleak winds have not blanched it, or broken its stem, and the keen frost has not blighted it. Look, Gilbert, it is still fresh and blooming as a flower can be, with the cold snow even now on its petals.—Will you have it?”

Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë (*****) {Reread}

“You think I have no feelings, and that I can do without one bit of love or kindness; but I cannot live so”

“He made me love him without looking at me.”

“I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you—especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I’ve a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly.”

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will”

“Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong!—I have as much soul as you,—and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you.”

#book list #book recommendations #reading list #books

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ofaphrvdite · 5 years

Text

silence ! raise the royal standard, for the princess of hungary, AURÉLIA VANCURA, has arrived. being 26 years old, she is third in line to the throne. many around the court call her the chameleon, by virtue of her being ebullient and audacious, while also being unscrupulous and perverse. — played by jodie comer.

- THE BASICS.

full name: aurélia katalinka vancura name meaning: aurélia ‘golden’, katalinka ‘pure’ known in history as: the little rose, light of the east date of birth: july 1st, 1992/1639 age: twenty six star sign: cancer profession: diplomat for the foreign and commonwealth office (modern verse) / princess of hungary (royal verse) loyalty: hungary, house vancura, the entente alignment: chaotic neutral mbti: entp spoken languages: hungarian, german, english, french, advanced dutch, intermediate spanish, basic italian (royal verse) / english, hungarian, mandarin, french, spanish, advanced german, advanced dutch (modern verse) mother’s name: gabriella vancura father’s name: richárd vancura siblings, if any: pál vancura (deceased), dominykas vancura (older), adelaida & angéla vancura (younger), dániel vancura (younger) height: 5’8” hair colour: golden blonde eye colour: hazel

- BACKSTORY / MODERN VERSE.

ever since she was a little girl, aurélia had always possessed a mind above the rest. despite sending her to the top schools, her parents found their eldest daughter continued to best her tutors at every turn. it was in her third year of secondary school that the school made the rare call to put her forward a year, sitting her gcse’s after only one year of study. exams that she passed with flying colours.

though the vancura family had always been a competitive one, aurélia rarely found reason to quarrel with her older brother dominykas. whilst their siblings bickered amongst themselves it was often them against the world, each making no secret that they were eachother’s favourite. and so it was no surprise that after her studies she chose to remain as close to her brother as possible. if there was one certainty, it was that she would always have him to lean on.

it was through university that she discovered a love for two things: diplomacy and women. though she’d been vaguely aware of the fact that she wasn’t interested in any of the boys in her school growing up, she’d put it down to always being a year behind them in age which made dating that bit harder - especially when they were always so much slower than her. it was at oxford that she realised her gravitation towards other girls had been more than a familiar kinship, but intrigue. something she was happy to indulge in for the first time while learning the ways of language and negotiation. two subjects she was fascinated with and would serve her well in her future career.

after graduating with a first, aurélia immediately took a position in the public sector as part of the civil service fast stream in the diplomatic service division. with plenty languages already under her belt and a strong mind for debate it didn’t take long for her to rise in the ranks and soon was being sent from country to country for months at a time to represent the people of the uk. the job involved plenty of dinners at various embassies and it was at one of these very events in vienna that she was seated next to one of the country’s most famed sportswomen. in a rare meeting of minds, aurélia was convinced by theresa von hapsburg to abandon her duty for the evening and instead spent it with it her. not only could the quick witted woman easily keep up with her ( even best her at times ), but she challenged her. made her embrace a much less structured life and taught her a freedom she hadn’t ever allowed herself. aurélia in turn offered the wild spirit a home and place to belong and the two have been living together in london ( amongst other abodes ) in between their various travels.

her life remained much the same for years. work, travel, theresa and in the middle of it her brother and his wife popped out a kid and life continued on much the same. except now she was cool and fun aunt lia with a baby to spoil and none of the responsibility. unfortunately her peace was to be short lived and the gentle routine she had found herself in, one she had come to rely upon, was ripped away in one cruel and tragic sweep. with her sister-in-law’s death came unwelcome ground. her brother was replaced with a man she did not know, a stranger, and her niece was all but orphaned. in a position she was not prepared for, aurélia stepped up in her brother’s mental absence as a somewhat guardian to laima.

over time she grew to be fiercely protective of her niece and in turn wary and somewhat disillusioned with her brother. though she knows he is suffering, and so she cannot abandon him, she feels for the little girl who has been left without a mother and a father - the latter she deems an unnecessary loss. her relationship with him has become somewhat strained, but she has never been one to give up and intends stick by his side and fix what others might see is impossible. always striving for more, for the very best, aurélia will only be content when her family is whole and happy once again.

- BACKSTORY / ROYAL VERSE.

once a headstrong princess, life’s plans have forced aurélia to adapt to the hand dealt to her. her house, though stable in its seat, had been a power hungry one away from prying eyes. with siblings vying for only one throne and keen to prove themselves strong in the eyes of watching europe, she has become far more calculating in order to survive. but before the perils of growing up ( and the responsibilities that came with it ) she was every bit the free spirit. keen to stir up trouble. always batting her eyelashes to get what she wanted, and really who was surprised when she had been taught by arguably the best there was?

keen to builld a strong relationship with their neighbours and allies, the hungarian king and queen sent their eldest princess to austria frequently as a child where she built up a strong friendship with the princess theresa. in her eyes the older girl was everything she wanted to be, and she hung on her every word as if her advice were worth its true weight in gold. in actual fact it was more the blind leading the blind, but either way aurélia attributes many of the lessons she learned to the most innocent period of her life. alone in her rooms, when there is no company but the stars, she longs for those summers again where she could be the freest version of herself with her truest friend. something impossible for her to return to as that girl was long dead and the distance between them too great after her friend was married off. quietly, aurélia found herself resentful ( perhaps even envious ) toward someone who she had thought would always be by her side.

life for the eldest vancura daughter was uneventful, as if god had decided to save up the tragedy all must face in life for one concentrated dose. she was betrothed to a rich duke, and that rich duke so very sadly passed away in the war before she ever had the chance to don her pretty white veil. aurélia felt no particular loss and grieved as was appropriate for a fiance in public ( the black skirts had been so very ugly, and she had never suited such dire palettes ), only a disruption to her life that proved a mild inconvenience. she did not like not knowing what was next, and she had been left in an unsure position. something that made the now pragmatic princess anxious.

it was at the peace summit in switzerland where the pieces of her fragmented life began to slowly fit together - not long before they would be torn apart. at bern she flourished. her mother had seen fit to give her the same education as her brothers ( smart women were often more deadly than well educated men. no one saw them coming. they could tear countries apart and no one would ever suspect the pretty smiling blonde. ) and so she was well prepared to take a seat at the table with lord’s not used to a woman commanding anything. she exuded confidence and made herself impossible to ignore, and proved herself a keen and useful negotiator. her belief in herself that had begun with theresa all those years ago, had only grown with the introduction to the daughter of an italian duke. lucrezia had been her mirror in every sense. both girls so warm and fun loving, finding comfort in the spotlight of balls, always giggling and taking great pleasure in pulling the strings of the men attempting to court them. it was with slow realisation that whilst she rejected every man that came to worship at her renowned beauty, it was lucrezia she wished to spend all her time with. not just to share in their latest debacles and laugh over silly things, but she found herself longing to see her face every morning she woke, and if a day passed where she did not speak with her it was a sad day indeed.

it was on a warm autumn day that her feelings of love surpassed anything platonic. the two girls had taken their horses out across the countryside and spent the afternoon playing in a lake far from prying eyes. half giggly on the champagne she’d swiped, and half because lucrezia was suddenly so close and the air was so heavy that she’d blame flushed cheeks on that, the other girl had kissed her mid laugh and aurélia had decided she never wanted it to stop. weeks would pass and the two young girls found themselves in and out of eachothers chambers, going beyond two youths trying to find their place, her heart belonged to the other and she could not foresee a time they would ever part. the logical part of her knew it must end, they would all return home eventually and be forced into marriages they did not want, but she was so swept up in something so pure she was sure it couldn’t be wrong.

it was a perfect tapestry that would always need to be unravelled, but never did she expect for it to happen so violently. the thread was not slowly tugged upon, instead it all went up in flames and left nothing but ash. during a coronation ball for the king of prussia, pirates invaded the castle and began slaying anyone in their path all in the name of chaos. ever together, the two girls escaped with crowded ballroom full of screams and their relief, they soon realised, came too soon. it was aurélia that had made it to the end of the corridor first, lucrezia’s expensive gown becoming ensnared on a loose nail and leaving her to catch up. she’d waited for her by the door to a chamber they could barricade until the shouts had sounded from down the hall and left the princess frozen in fear. if she waited they would both die, and both the girls knew it. she had seen the resignation of her fate in her lover’s eyes as men had grabbed her and without a second’s thought the princess had closed the door behind her to hide. but not before the screams of lucrezia had reached her ears and she had burned the memory of the sword through her chest into her mind forever.

hours passed and even after the screaming had died down, aurélia remained under the bed she had hidden beneath, unable to calm her sobbing as she spiralled deeper into shock and grief. it was only after her brother found her and managed to coax her from hiding that she began to calm down long enough to accept that lucrezia was dead. dead because of her. a thought that was soon solidified as she was led from the room and saw the remains of her lover being carried away from the pool of pool she had left behind. knowledge that her brother had too passed away in the attacks ensured the princess did not emerge from her room for quite some time. the things she had seen she shared with no one, not even her brother. her secret could not be uncovered, and her links to the dead woman must remain unknown for the sake of her reputation. her life must still continue on.

the attacks left her forever changed. no longer was the warmth she exuded anything but a product of a practiced facade. the free spirit once cultivated had been cut down and locked away. she could no longer afford to behave so foolishly, and be so free with her bleeding heart. for weeks the princess did not leave the safety of her rooms and only ate when the pain of hunger distracted her long enough from her grief. when she reemerged into court, it was only when she was attended by a guard. her trauma was stowed away deep down, forced to be forgotten. it was at night where her survivors guilt manifested as night terrors. so often did she wake herself screaming that her guards no longer ran to her. now sure the only harm inside her rooms that could be done to her was herself.

it has been months since the attacks and aurélia is now at versailles to represent hungary and its new king. in her time of self imposed exile she has learned to play the game perfectly. at surface level she is a perfect princess, her brains now buried deep where they can be used to subtly move others into the places she wants. though she smiles prettily, it is often a front meant to sway others into doing her bidding. manipulation now a part of her day to day life. it is as this new muted version of herself that she finds herself reunited with theresa, and all the old confused feelings she has long since buried. though she will play good friends, their reunion will be tainted with the knowledge that aurélia has asked for a betrothal. hoping that marriage will banish the forbidden longings of her heart for good, and give her the position of power she so yearns for.

#! * INTRODUCTIONS.#! * INTRODUCTION / aurélia.#YEET #she gets one before izzy because its gay rights #lets go lesbians etc

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fresh-outta-jams · 6 years

Text

Masterlist!

Admins: Mo (BTS, Astro, BlackPink) and MoRo (Monsta X, EXO, VIXX, NCT, iKon, B.A.P)

Groups We Write for Currently: BTS, Astro, BlackPink, NCT, Monsta X, EXO, VIXX

Rules: We don’t write smut, self-harm, abuse, or cheating.

Request Policy: Requests are always open, but we delete the ones we don’t like to keep the rotation fresh.

Other Info: Admin Mo has an Army Amino account that she posts fics on also, so if you see some fics that look familiar, they’re not plagiarized, they’re just from her Amino page. Admin MoRo has a Wattpad account so if any of her fics look familiar, they’re just from her Wattpad account.

BTS

Kim Namjoon

Tale as Old as Time - Prologue - 1

Status: (Ongoing) | AU: Disney

At the hands of an evil enchantress, Prince Namjoon has been struck with a beastly curse. Love is the only way to break the spell, but who could ever learn to love a beast?

Plastic Heart - Prologue, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, Epilogue

Status: [Complete!] | AU: Toy Story

When you get the highly-anticipated BTS dolls for Christmas, your life takes a turn in a way you never could have expected.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, Epilogue

Status: [Complete!] | AU: Soulmate

You’re in college when your soulmate tattoo arrives: an address. It couldn’t hurt to send a letter, right?

Exam Cram - College!AU, friends to lovers, fluff

While studying together for your finals, Namjoon seems to have something else on his mind...

The Boy Next Door - Fluff, best friends to lovers au

Namjoon has been your best friend forever. You know you have to do something when you can’t get him out of your head...

Creatures of the Night - Fluffy Fluff, Fantasy!AU, Werewolf!Namjoon x Reader

Mated Under Moonlight - Sequel to Creatures of the Night

Namjoon, the world’s clumsiest werewolf, finds himself in quite the pickle when he meets a special vampire in his Creatures of the Night class. And though she doesn’t know it, she holds his heart in her hands.

Kiss and Cry - Fluff, Soulmate!AU, Namjoon x Figure Skater!Reader

Go for the Gold - Sequel to Kiss and Cry

All of his life, Namjoon has had a name etched into his wrist, (Y/N) (L/N), a Winter Olympian on Team America. Tis the season to finally meet her, with the Olympics in Pyeongchang.

Makeup Joon - Namjoon x Makeup artist reader, where they fall in love through English/their smarts

Kim Seokjin

Of Spells and Spinning Wheels - 1, 2, 3, 4, Epilogue

Status: [Complete!] | AU: Disney

Jin is the prince of a neighboring kingdom, your betrothed and one of your dearest friends. It feels like your happily ever after has been written since the day you were born. But everything changes when Jin is cursed on his 21st birthday...

RJ the Snowman - Christmas Drabble, fluff

Giving Fate a Push - FLUFF, Soulmate!AU

Pulled By Fate - Sequel to Giving Fate a Push

With all of his brothers matched with their soulmates, Jin is more than ready to finally meet his. And with his cravings getting stronger and stronger, he knows she must be close.

Pink Camellias - FLUFFFF, Fantasy!AU, Merman!Jin x Reader

Red Carnations - Sequel to Pink Camellias

Kim Seokjin, the most handsome merman to lay foot- er, fin- on Magus’ Campus, has found himself hopelessly in love his best friend, the daughter of Persephone. So much so that he’d be willing to give up anything for her, even his voice.

My Pink Princess- Jin and reader living the domestic life while he’s on break from his schedule, fluff

Min Yoongi

So Far Away - Fluff, liiiiitle bit of angst if you squint, Soulmate!AU

The Man of my Dreams - Sequel to So Far Away

Yoongi has a pretty good idea of his dream girl, given he literally sees her in his dreams every night. But can their picture-perfect romance translate to the real world, or will it turn out to be a nightmare?

Cat Got Your Tongue? - Fluffy fluff, Fantasy!AU, Warlock!Yoongi x Reader

A Girl Made of Stars - Sequel to Cat Got Your Tongue?

Yoongi, a talented warlock and potion-brewer at Magus University, feels pretty confident in his abilities...until a spilled potion proves to have some unseen side-effects...

The Daughter of Yoongi - You and your husband Yoongi have a child. It’s a girl! Your adventures with him and your daughter and the adventures of Yoongi taking your daughter to different things with him like fan signs, music awards, photoshoots and the other boys playing with her.

Jung Hoseok

Morning on the Han - Fluuuuuuuuuuff

Early one morning, Hoseok decides to take you to see something beautiful...

Santa Baby - Christmas Drabble, fluff, Husband!Hoseok

Down Here - FLUFFFF, Fantasy!AU, Leprechaun!Hoseok x Reader

Fun-Sized - Sequel to Down Here

Jung Hoseok, perhaps the shortest person on Magus’ campus, given that he’s all of six inches tall, has always been a believer in true love. But confessing his love proves near impossible when she’s ten times his size.

Rainbow Connection - Fluff, Soulmate!AU

Living in Vivid Color - Sequel to Rainbow Connection

Hoseok, a brilliant and bubbly boy has been living in a world of gray, waiting for that one person who’ll bring his world into full color.

Park Jimin

Carol of the Bells - Christmas Drabble, fluff, slight angst, Guardian Angel!Jimin

The Voice in My Head - FLUFFF, Angst with a happy ending, Soulmate!AU

So Glad You’re Mine - Sequel to The Voice in my Head

Forever, she’s been a voice in his head, an ocean away. But tragedy strikes and time is running out for Jimin to find the love of his life in person.

The Beginning of Forever - Fluffffff, Fantasy!AU, Fairy!Jimin x Reader, Arranged Marriage AU

To Love the Sun - Sequel to The Beginning of Forever

Park Jimin, the fairy prince, has been betrothed to (Y/N) (L/N), the elven princess for his whole life. It’s always seemed like a curse. Everything changes, however, when he finds her on campus.

Beach Date - Fluffy Jiminie, Beach date with Jimin while he’s on a break!

Kim Taehyung

Red Ribbons - FLUFF, Soulmate!AU

Red Ballet Shoes - Sequel to Red Ribbons

Taehyung has always wanted to chase the red string tied to his finger. As it turns out, the fateful ribbon leads to LA of all places...

All I Want for Christmas - F L U F F, Christmas, Fantasy!AU, Elf Taehyung x Reader

I’m Allergic to my Girlfriend - Sequel to All I Want for Christmas

Kim Taehyung, the North Pole’s sweetest elf, finds himself in love with his own personal Christmas Angel.

Midnight Adventures - Fluff

Adventures with Tae in the cover of night

Jeon Jungkook

Here We Come a Wassailing - Christmas fluff, Christmas drabble

Since Forever - FLUFFF

Part 2

No Idea - Fluff, Werewolf!AU, Werewolf JK x Reader

Jungkook is your best friend, but you two are polar opposites in more way than one...

As You Wish - Fluffy fluff, Slight angst, Fantasy!AU, Genie!Jungkook x Reader

Inside the Dragon’s Heart - Sequel to As You Wish

Five hundred years in a lamp will give you a real crick in the neck. Jungkook should know. He’s been cramped up in one for a very long time. However, it seems the next person to give his lamp a rub has no intention of using her wishes, a very dangerous promise to say the least...

Two Bodies, One Soul - Fluff, Soulmate!AU

A Tale of Tangled Souls - Sequel to Two Bodies, One Soul

Jungkook is pretty convinced he doesn’t have a soulmate...until he switches bodies with her...

Tattoos and Tutus- You get a call in the dead of night, “Y/N-ah….I need you…please…It’s Ji Ran…” And you thought you were just his daycare provider who’s day ended when the last child left but you were sorely wrong. Single Dad! Jungkook x reader, Fluff with some slight scare

Tattoos and Tutus Part 2 - Fluff with some slight angst but then fluff makes up for it

Astro

Jin Jin

Coming Soon!

Eunwoo

Baby, It’s Cold Outside - Christmas Fluff, drabble

Imaginary - Imaginary Friend!Eunwoo x reader, fluff, angst

Part 2

Your imaginary friend was someone you hadn’t thought about in a long time. Little did you know he hadn’t ever stopped thinking about you...

Moonbin

Pizza Boys and Penguin Pajamas - Pizza Boy!Moonbin x Reader, fluff, Christmas

Snowed in, your friends decide to order pizza with an extra cute delivery boy on the side.

Rocky

Coming Soon!

Sanha

Coming Soon!

BlackPink

Coming Soon!

NCT

Taeyong

Library Love - There’s this one boy in the library who is always there. You slowly become friends with him but without ever speaking a word to him. What happens when you finally talk to him?

Johnny

Can You Hear Me?- 1 , 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

You were unconcerned about soulmate things because getting it was the end of your final year in collage and time was counting down until graduation. But what happens when your soulmate suddenly appears right before your finals exams and it turns out he’s been there for much longer than you knew? Having your soulmate in your head was not something you needed but the more you get to know him, the more you appreciate him being there. College!Johnny x reader

Status: (Complete!)

Mark

Cat & Mouse - Being the youngest mob boss in the history of Underground Seoul is rough but your inner circle, the “Dreamies”, makes life easier... except there’s this one “Dreamie” who gives you goosebumps and makes you feel like you’re in a complex game of cat and mouse. Is he hiding something or are you just being paranoid?

iKON

B.I

Life With Hanbin - Fluff and living with Hanbin

Monsta X

Jooheon

Jooheon’s Girl - Jooheon x Reader, fluff, helping in the studio

Cuddle Me? - Jooheon x Reader drabble, fluff

EXO

Kai

Soft Kai, Warm Kai, Little Dancing Machine - Fluff + steamy makeout sessions

Chen

What’s Going On? - You thought you were dating a normal guy who worked a 9 to 5 office job and worked lots of overtime. You were so unbelievably wrong. (Part of the Exodus Mafia Au)

VIXX

Coming Soon!

B.A.P

Yongguk

She’s in the Rain - This entire fic was inspired by the song “She’s in the Rain” by The Rose when a certain line hit me. You and your husband Yongguk were expecting a baby when you tragically had a miscarriage. As you struggle to cope with the death of your unborn child, Yongguk is by your side all along the way, never letting go. Angst, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of suicide(but no death), depression BUT THERE’S A HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE.

#masterlist #my masterlist #fresh-outta-jams #fresh outta jams #kpop wonderland #bts #astro #ikon #vixx #blackpink #exo #monsta x #nct #stray kids #b.a.p

1K notes · View notes

kirastrations · 6 years

Text

Loved the Way You Hated (me)

"I'm perfect for a killing game, I don't have any faith in humanity!"

Hair the colour of buttermilk swirls framed a face devoid of pigment, lavender eyes clouded over with a mist of hollow nothingness, with a smile that screamed "I want to win."

Tsumugi Shirogane had been instantly sold.

~Tsumugi reflects on her actions, and finds herself pondering over what could have been.

My piece for the @danganevents Valentines event, for @mastermind-madd ^^ Doubling it as a piece for @femslashfeb.

Read on ao3

Read on fanfic.net

The moment Tsumugi is alone with her thoughts, it hits her like a ton of bricks.

Or a box of shot-put balls, to be more precise.

She trudges through the dimly lit academy, drinking in her surroundings through eyes the colour of gravel and monotony, an arrow of doubt pierces her (one of those arrows from Maki's soon-to-be-revealed lab, for sure). Doubt at her existence. Doubt at the journey she'd made to get this far. Had it been worth it in the end?

Conflicting emotions blanket her core, not unlike a corrupted, malicious and double-dealing piece of fabric. Each thread is twisted and tangled, with no plans on loosening any time soon. Buttons of hope sew their way into the ground beneath her feet, and no matter how large and terrifying the darkness seems to be, they don't fall out. They endure each movement, each twist in the road, and it's beyond the cosplayer how it all works. Another voice tells her that hope is just a petty illusion, one that is unreachable and only attainable through fictional mediums. Hope fools the mind and defies all logic, logic which is hurled at one like a bullet from a gun.

Such is doubt.

What even is hope?

Tsumugi... doesn't think she really knows anymore.

Had she ever known to begin with?

Either way, she had been hoping to learn. Hoping that she'd be the one to show her, a final lesson to twist the final nail in a coffin that awaits the seamstress a mere five trials away.

Back to the present, Tsumugi finds herself walking, walking, walking. Where to? She doesn't know, but that's a lie.

Her head snaps up as a second figure comes into view. And the mask drizzles back down her face like a sickly sweet honey.

It's Shuichi Saihara, because of course it is.

As they cross paths, he doesn't bother meeting her eyes, choosing to remain hidden beneath the shadow of his hat. He doesn't even see her. A chill runs down her spine, and a fleeting he hates me so much dances across her mind.

He's so pathetic, says Tsumugi to Tsumugi.

Tsumugi purses her lips. She wants to agree, but knows she can't. She can't now.

She reaches her destination, plainly patterned shoes squeaking to a halt outside the not-so-plainly decorated door. Kaede's lab had been the easiest one to design, after all - there had been an 'Ultimate Composer' the season prior, so all it had really needed was a little bit of dusting down.

Sighing, Tsumugi slips into the leather stool, sliding up the piano's hood. She had no intention of playing it, of course - she'd damage her nails - and her characterisation, she supposes.

A hand ghosts the untouched Monokuma-coloured keys. Freshly-painted teal nails glint back at her, almost mockingly, as if to say you did this.

Kaede... such potentional for a protagonist. Closing her eyes, Tsumugi remembers the grovelling she'd had to do to get her the part. The strings she'd had to pull. The paycheck she'd willingly given up. The lows she had stooped to in the initial writing process. They'd eventually managed to persuade her to "Go back to basics, give the viewers a nostalgic kick up the rump!" And she had begrudgingly complied.

Danganronpa wouldn't be Danganronpa without that one shy-boy who could grow— Not too bad, she could fit that in alright. There'd always be that one student who can barely remember their own name— No biggie, Rantaro would be the best decision for that plotline. Oh, and of course, who in their right mind would be against a spicy romance plot— Astronaut and Assassin, perhaps? Typical normie suggestion, but it's not like she could say no at this stage. Fanservice is a must— Fine, fine, Iruma and Ouma could slot in there nicely. Case Three's gotta be a double whammy with a crazy twist, just like the old days— Eh, wouldn't be too hard, she supposes.

Oh, how naive she had been!

Tsumugi Shirogane had signed her livelihood, her dignity, her life off, for a single chance to see a girl take centre stage for once...

... Only to have her fucking die before the second arc had even started.

Tsumugi's eyes flutter shut. Oh, how fun she'd have been so fun to work with. To get to know. To see the absolute utter despair in her eyes when Tsumugi would finally finally tear off her bespectacled mask, and stab her puppet where it'd hurt most. The heart. Kaede would feel the knife before she'd lay her eyes on it. She'd be forced to look into the eyes of it's wielder, just two stands down from her. And Tsumugi would finally see it. Those eyes that had once been filled with determination and purpose, would be brimming with bitterness and absolute hate.

But even so, Kaede would have changed it all. She'd have changed the course of Danganronpa history. She'd have found some roundabout way of beating the tradition. She'd have rewritten the fiction that she'd confidently stated as loving so much all those months back.

A tiniest fragment within Tsumugi's jaded heart had believed, no, hoped that Kaede Akamatsu would have reignited the firey passion Tsumugi had had for Danganronpa all those years ago when she'd first joined the Team.

“I'm perfect for a killing game, I don't have any faith in humanity!"

Hair the colour of buttermilk swirls framed a face devoid of pigment, lavender eyes clouded over with a mist of hollow nothingness, with a smile that screamed "I want to win."

Tsumugi Shirogane had been instantly sold.

The audition tape plays in the cosplayer's mind on a loop, like a broken CD from the dead pianist's lab. Her stomach bubbles and pops with a feeling she can't quite place a finger on.

Despair, perhaps?

Ah yes, it was probably despair. Tsumugi has a sudden urge to race to the bathroom to relieve herself of the feeling. To dance into her special little room, throw on that blonde wig, and cackle and cry till her emotions run dry.

She'd succeeded, she'd failed, she'd succeeded, she'd failed. She'd finally, finally succeeded in channelling her inner-Junko, something she'd longed to achieve ever since she'd been a little girl, the moment her once-innocent eyes had been tainted with the fashionista's reveal and ultimate demise. But she'd also failed, she supposes.

All of her hard work, all of her endless efforts, all of her hopes to change Danganronpa into something other than what it's been for the past few decades. All of it currently lay crushed beneath a huge grand piano, painted red with blood, and stained pink with deceit.

It's so despairingly delightful.

Tsumugi bites back a shuddering sigh as the memories come flooding back. She chuckles, quietly reminding herself that someone else already has that character this time around.

Actually, speaking of...

Korekiyo. He'd been onto her both before and during the trial. Tsumugi's fists ball into her skirts. He (and Angie, much to her surprise) had been the only two to get remotely close to the 'true truth'.

She refuses be outed by mere side characters, of all people. They'd both have to go, and soon. Tsumugi makes a mental note to make the artist more appealing to 'Miss Shinguuji's' tastes further down the line.

Yeah, yeah, that should work.

Tsumugi absolutely adores the characters that are a threat, she always had done. It was only natural for her to want a whole cast full of them! It's why competent characters such as Korekiyo and Kirumi exist. It's why unpredictable characters such as Kokichi and Angie exist. It's why threats to her very existence, such as Rantaro and Kaede existed.

She loves them.

She loves their hatred.

Another sigh spills from the cosplayer's lips. The classroom is as dead as the night outside, as dead as it's owner, and the man she didn't kill.

And then, it's all empty again.

Tsumugi's empty.

She's empty.

The emptiness... is always there, but Tsumugi is a professional, she's great at hiding it, masking it with normal human emotions. No one is going to ask her why she's smiling. And in a Killing Game, no one will ask her why she's crying either. The emptiness hides everywhere, this emptiness, it floats around in hive-minded swarms, it hides between the cracks in walls. There isn't any getting away from it. The nightmares of her classmates seem to help fill it, the contents of which is mostly irrelevant. The feeling gets lighter with each corpse added to the growing pile of her former peers. Yes... that's it... Something has to go to shit, something has to be imperfect for her world to keep on spinning.

Something tragic. Imperfect. Exciting. Despair-inducing. Unplain. Or else there's no meaning to the killing game. No meaning to life. No meaning to her.

And so, in the midst of the emptiness, Tsumugi Shirogane grieves. There are no waterworks, no theatrics, no speeches of hope and friendship to pick her up off her feet.

Just an the familiar pit of emptiness Tsumugi thought would be quenched with a new kind of killing game.

No such luck.

Tsumugi grieves the loss of her precious new killing game, and with it, the loss of Kaede Akamatsu, the Ultimate Pianist.

She grieves the loss of the most treasured puppet in her collection.

In the world of Danganronpa, trusts are broken, and lies are told. For the puppets to believe in what they seek, they must know what it means to be what they don't want to be.

Being sad will make them realize how valuable being happy is.

Being weak makes them know what it means to be strong.

Being helpless is what makes them determined to be helpful. Mistakes happen tragedies occur, and then the process starts all over again.

But, by looking at the brighter sides of things, they might just be able to briefly smile one last time in life, and in the something just beyond that.

Tsumugi reapplies her makeup, sliding her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

And she gets back to work, slipping into the classroom adjacent. Those Kubs Pads won't make themselves, after all.

The other puppets are eagerly waiting her arrival, whether they know it or not.

Whether she likes it or not.

#kaede akamatsu #tsumugi shirogane #kaemugi #femslash february #ndrv3 #kirwrites

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verritytorres · 6 years

Text

post tbk depression - unfinished mini fics

“At least we’re going to die together,” Aaron said. Each word was like a knife, cutting deeper and deeper in his chest. His small, sad smile was the final blow.

“Bullshit,” Call hissed at him with a conviction he didn’t have before. He squeezed their laced fingers. “You’re getting out of this alive—”

A blast of heat interrupted him. Tamara flung a fireball at Alex, her face contorted with righteous fury. Alex scowled and flung out his hand, using his air magic specialty to throw the fire right at the boys. Call barely ducked in time, grabbing Aaron’s shirt and pulling him down.

The masked man holding Call screamed as Tamara’s fire ate at his shirt. He let go of Call and he jumped away, wincing at his leg. He yanked Aaron away with him, and the blond boy staggered to his feet.

“Havoc, get him!” Tamara screamed, summoning another fireball.

Havoc’s snarl echoed throughout the abandoned village and he launched himself at Alex. Aaron tried to take away his hand—to fight back, no doubt—but Call tightened his fingers, holding him in place.

“No heroics,” Call said, pinning Aaron in place with his blazing eyes. He opened his mouth to say something else, but a blinding light interrupted him.

Call and Aaron whipped their heads at Alex, horror striking their hearts when they saw the metal of the Alkahest glowing with power. Alex raised his arm, his face alight with cruel victory.

It’s been two years.

It’s gotten to the point where everyone doubts you. Hell, they probably even doubt your mental state. You’ve gone on endless rants about how “—I can feel him, Tamara, I can’t explain it, but he’s there—“, her warm brown eyes filling with fucking pity, and her soft voice telling you for the umpteenth time that Aaron was dead; his soul was taken by Alex Strike; that there’s no way for him to come back, even under normal circumstances. But you resent that.

First of all—and you hate yourself for thinking this, she’s your best friend, for fuck’s sake, and the only one available at the moment—who’s she to say what’s up with souls? She’s not a Makar. Sure, she’s read all the books about it, but she’s never known what souls look like—what his soul looked like. A thousand colors at once. It was warm on the outside, caring, kind, the Aaron everyone knew and loved; but you saw something else, too. Something that somehow, you can’t really explain—that seems to be a prominent issue with all this Makar-void-soul business—but it sure explained his occasional bouts of aggression.

Second—and this might come as a surprise to people—you’ve read the counterweight theories. You’re not completely hopeless in class. You know your shit. And in every reading about counterweights that Rufus assigned to you and Aaron, it always said: The Makar and their counterweight’s souls are forever linked. So if that “link”, or whatever, was severed, you of all people would know. You would stop feeling that rubber band. You would stop feeling these flashes of phantom pain. You wouldn’t feel anything at all, just a gaping hole you can never fill. Besides, when a Makar dies, they take their counterweight down with them; that’s a known fact. That’s why Aaron didn’t want you as his counterweight at first, remember? He was so worried you’d die. But you decided to do it anyway, and now he’s gone.

But you’re still here. Why are you still here?

Why are you still alive if he’s not?

Simple. He’s not fucking dead.

Tamara says differently. Rufus says differently. Alastair says differently. The whole fucking World of Mages says differently, with their memorial statues and grand funeral (with no body to speak of, by the way.) Your own brain says differently. It plagues you at night with constant replays of that fucking beam, of Alex’s cruel expression, of his hand in yours. Aaron blames you for it every night in your dreams.

(You don’t get much sleep these days.)

It’s been two years, and you still think he’s alive, somewhere, somehow.

But now you’re on your way to his grave with flowers.

The fallen leaves crunch under your boots. The winter chill came early this year, biting your face in sudden gusts. Students are already wearing their warmer uniforms. Yours is red this year, and your wrist glistens with gold. It was supposed to be your senior year—all three of you, finishing school with a flourish. The plan just doesn’t work with two.

His tomb is a bit extravagant for his taste, you think. Aaron wouldn’t want a statue of him like Verity. “I didn’t earn it,” he’d say. He’d want a small modest little stone, engraved with his name, the dates, and if he died honorably or otherwise. But the Assembly insisted on a big memorial near the Mission Gate with a plaque underneath.

You don’t really like it. The sculptor got his nose wrong.

The platform by Fake-Aaron’s feet is littered with dead flowers. A rumor went around that leaving a little token by Aaron would give you good luck on your mission. Even the Gold Years did it sometimes. And you can agree that Aaron always did project good vibes.

You gently set your small bouquet next to his left foot. It’s a bit miserable—colorless bluebells, pink lilacs, and a weird purplish one Tamara called “hyacinth”—but you grew it yourself. Gold Years learn to use earth magic to cultivate things at speed. Aaron would have loved it; he always did appreciate earth magic right after chaos.

You take a deep breath and whisper, “Aaron.” A gust of wind buffets your face, and you pull up the hood of your coat, shivering slightly. “I—I know you’re out there. I don’t know how I know, but I…” You open your mouth to say more, but the words catch in your throat. You swallow thickly. “At this point, I might just be imagining it. I’m sure everyone thinks that. So please—please—if you can hear me, tell me. Send a counterweight sign or whatever. Just—show me.”

Something rustles behind you. You whip around and stare wildly around because holy shit, what if he actually heard you, is that him, finally—

But there’s nothing there. You wait a few minutes more, eyes and ears peeled for something, anything.

Nothing. It was the wind.

It’s been two years.

You start to think he might not come back after all.

Master North had gone on a long spiel about the untrained Makars—or Makar, as of late—being a danger to the whole school; Alma kept trying to convince everyone of her outrageous conspiracy theory. Rufus was exhausted, both mentally and physically. He had spent most of this meeting loudly and vehemently protesting everything his students were being subjected to.

When the mages arrived at the Order village, Callum had been immediately clapped in irons and sent to the Panopticon, no questions asked. Tamara had been ushered away and locked in her dorm with the Chaos-ridden wolf, isolated from all contact, but at least she was safe. Rufus’ main argument throughout this arduous meeting was Callum’s ordeal. He was a child, for God’s sake. He may be the Makar, but he means no harm, and he certainly did not kill Aaron. And he most definitely is not the Enemy of Death. Rufus, of all people, would know.

As soon as the Masters’ meeting was dismissed, Rufus all but ran out of the room. He couldn’t manage to bust Callum out of prison right now, Master North made sure of that. But he had time. He would pull strings in the Assembly, anything to get the boy out. But right now, something else was on his mind.

“It’s history repeating itself!” Alma had screeched. “Constantine Madden had killed his counterweight too—“

“A terrible accident,” Master Milagros said coldly. She didn’t like Alma.

“Maybe, but it was his fault nonetheless! When counterweights die, Makars are weakened but not killed. Makars, though—when Makars die, they take their counterweight down with them. Does anyone remember Verity Torres?” Alma waited half a second before continuing, “She was murdered, and her counterweight fell dead on the spot at the exact moment. So tell me, peers,” Alma stared around the room, her eyes piercing daggers at every Master, “why is Callum Hunt not dead?”

Alma was raving mad during most of her speech, but she had a point there. Something wasn’t right.

As he hurried down the halls, Rufus noticed everything was quiet. Usually the cavernous halls of the school echoes with laughter and the sounds of elementals and magic, but all he could hear now was the occasional drip of water and the swift pattering of his own feet.

He got to the small docks where the small boats let into the underground river system. Rufus swiftly stepped onto one and didn’t bother sitting down. He closed his eyes and focused his thoughts on the water, feeling its need to flow, and willed it to take him to his office. The water happily complied, and Rufus sped down the river.

Rufus took the few minutes he had to organize his thoughts. [hackshshd]

He would have to look at Aaron to be sure. Rufus flicked his fingers and created a small air-phone in front of him. Master Amaranth appeared, feeding eyeless fish to her python. She didn’t notice him until he said her name.

Amaranth jumped, clutching her heart. “Rufus! Don’t scare me like that, how many times do I have to—“

“I’m sorry, Amaranth,” Rufus inclined his head. “But I have an urgent request.”

Amaranth sighed and wrapped her snake around her neck. “Well?”

Rufus made an effort to make his face look grief-stricken. It wasn’t hard. “I’d like to see Aaron.”

Master Amaranth was silent. Rufus wasn’t known in the Magisterium for being emotional. His tragic backstory was well known throughout the school—a Devoured Master, his first apprentice group dead or ostracized, his second going on that same path—but so was his seeming apathy. William Rufus showing emotion was as rare as two Makars in a generation.

“Okay,” Amaranth said. “They put him in the infirmary. You have five minutes.”

Rufus thanked her and changed the boat’s course.

It was summer again. Call lay on the grass, basking in the sun. And Aaron was with him, their palms together, their fingers loosely laced, and everything felt right.

Aaron squeezed their hands a little. Call turned his head to look at him, smiling softly. But Aaron wasn’t looking back at him. He kept staring at the sky.

“Hey,” said Call. “You okay?”

Aaron didn’t respond. Call propped himself up on his elbow to take a closer look at him. Aaron’s green eyes were glassy and dull.

“Aaron!” Call jostled his shoulder but Aaron still didn’t look at him. “Aaron, answer me—“

Aaron shot up abruptly, gripping Call’s throat with a vengeance. Call scrabbled at his fist, but only felt metal, and suddenly Call was back at the Order village. Aaron’s face melted into Alex’s and he said in a voice far too sinister for a sixteen year-old boy, “Power.” Light flooded out of the Alkahest and burned like hell, and Call was thrown back. Aaron lay there beside him again, but he wasn’t there, and Aaron’s hand was cold, Aaron wasn’t breathing, Aaron was gone—

Call has always been the kind of person that knew when he was dreaming and when he wasn’t. He knew he was dreaming when Master Joseph came to him and splashed snow on his face. He knew he was awake when he saw Aaron die.

#WOW THIS IS SENDING ME BACK #the bronze key #calron #callum hunt #Aaron Stewart #verr's great fic purge #magisterium

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itschesestik · 6 years

Text

Nothing Like Us

synopsis: it’s the anniversary of a tragic accident that left jungkook changed forever

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: fluff angst

word count: 4.2k

warnings: major character death

The night was odd. It was too cold to be summer and the skies that should’ve been filled with stars, were clouded. Jungkook sat against the railing of to the balcony connected to his hotel room. Everyone knew what day it was so they opted to leave him alone. His eyes stared off into nothing while he propped one arm up on his left knee that laid flush against his chest. His insides felt hollow, memories playing over and over again in his head.

“There’s nothing like us..There’s nothing like you and me together…” He closed his eyes as he softly sang out, leaning his head back as he travelled to the first day he met her.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The metronome ticked in the quiet band room. Y/N counted off the beats in her head. “1..2..3..4..” and begin to play. Her fingers moved gracefully over the strings, her hand moving the bow. The cello had always been her safe place. She drifted into another world as pla-

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

“Oooo, he put the moves on ya!”

Thunk. Thunk.

“Fake right, fake left. He shoots...he scores!!” It was them. She was interrupted yet again. With her head tilted back, a soft grown left her lips before she got out of her seat, setting her instrument down to the side. Her feet marched across the band room, swinging the door open and strutting over to the group of rowdy of boys in the hallway. Y/N hands crossed over her chest in annoyance once she stopped in front of them.

“If you don’t mind, some of us are trying to practice. Could you kindly take this racket someplace else?” She raised her right eyebrow, keeping a stern look on her face.

Jungkook’s head snapped up at the sound of her voice. His brown doe eyes glinting with mischief, listening intently to words leaving her lips. If he was gonna be honest, he heard her coming over to them from the first little groan she let out rooms away. Although she was angry, he still found beauty in her face. He always had seen beauty in her, no matter what she was doing. It could be considered stalkerish, seeing as he had been watching her for months now but he couldn’t help himself. The moment Jungkook laid eyes on her, he never wanted to look awake. Nevertheless, he still sent a smirk towards his friends before approaching her.

“If you manage to get the ball from me, we’ll go away.” That conniving smirk still playing on his lips as he bounced the ball in her direction.

Y/N immediately tossed the ball right back, a scowl appearing on her face. She nodded in agreement, moving into the open hallway. At this point, she would do anything to get them out of her way. “Just get the ball…” Y/N thought to herself, taking a deep breath in and then out. “Just get the damn ball, take it away from him and you can go back to your music. It’s that simple.”

Jungkook’s eyes filled with playfulness, seeing her agree to his offer. He felt like a puppy being played with finally(like a puppy, how ironic). Dribbling the ball next to him, Jungkook faked left and then right as she tried to reach for the basketball. Jungkook moved to a new position where he was switching the ball underneath his legs. Y/N reached once more only for him to fake again, and she ending up falling onto her hands and knees. Embarrassment flowed through her body, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red while Jungkook’s friends snickered behind him. Jungkook held out his hand to help her up, remorse showing clear on his face. He never wanted to make her fall, those were never his intentions. She grimaced at the sight of his hand and stood up on her own, wiping her hands off on her jeans.

“Just forget it.”

A small huff left her lips, her arms crossing back over her chest before she walked back. Upon entering the room again, Y/N let the door slam shut behind her. Her back pressed against the door, a few stray tears falling down her cheeks. Quickly, she tried to compose herself with long breaths, and soon headed back over to her seat.

Jungkook was listening in. He had picked up on how fast her heart rate was when she walked away from them. It was clear to his friends what he was doing, his face zoned out and concentrated on something. He heard the few sniffles coming from her lips before the long breaths until she calmed down. Not long after, the beautiful music she played all the time filled his ears. Jungkook needed to hear more. He absently tossed the ball back to his friends, not paying them any attention as he walked away towards the door she had previous left. Taehyung went forward to stop him but he was quickly pulled back by Jimin and Yoongi with a shake of their heads, letting him know he need to just let JK be. The doors swung open with a loud bang against the wall. Jungkook underestimated his strength once again. He had a painful look on his face before finally making a move to look over at her. There was an irritated look on her face, one eyebrow raised as she looked over at him.

“Can I help you?” Y/N puffed out her cheeks, dropping into a slouch poster.

“Yeah. I was just uh..wondering if I get your name?” Jungkook let a playful smirk make its way onto his lips as he stepped more into the room, the doors shutting much quieter this time behind him.

“And I should tell you because? So you can keep bugging me? Yeah, no thanks.” She rolled her eyes and sat back up, straightening her position once more. “Could you leave? I have to practice.” Y/N hoped he would leave, thus she placed the bow against the strings, beginning to play once again.

She hoped wrong.

Before the first chords of music could finish, Jungkook was clearing his throat while he leaned against the piano. Her eyes closed and she let out a sigh, turning her attention towards him.

“If you can play one instrument in here, correctly might I add, then I’ll tell you my name. Only in hopes that you’ll leave after.” She raised an eyebrow, letting her body fall back into the chair. “There’s no way someone like him can play an instrument.” Y/N thought to herself, a smirk on her face. Jungkook picked up on it even though he was scanning through the shelves of instruments. Abruptly, he stops, spotting the thing he was looking for.

“You said any instrument right?” “Mmmhm.”

Jungkook spun around to face her, a triangle in his hand and gave it a soft “ding” with the biggest cocky grin on his face. Y/N looked at him with a pissed off look on her face. She soon busted out in complete laughter, so much so that it began to hurt her sides all the while a huge smile was forming from ear to ear. Y/N found humor in what had just happened, not expecting it at all.

“Y/N. My name is Y/N.” Her voice came out in between laughs.

Jungkook stood there, quite confused at first with how fast her mood changed but soon enough he was smiling right along with her. He wasn’t able to take his eyes off her. “I know. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

It went as all love stories go. Jungkook kept showing up in that small room. Y/N kept feigning annoyance by him. This went on for weeks. Jungkook skipped many practices just to be in that room with her, hear her play that beautiful music. They grew closer, every break or chance they got was spent together. No longer was Jungkook watching her across the room during lunch period, he was actually spending his time next to her. Not soon after, he was beginning to reveal secrets of his own.

“I’m not that good at singing...I mean I can carry a tune. I mostly just sing in the shower” Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, a bit embarrassed as he spoke. He hadn’t meant to show his hidden talent to her. It just kind of slipped out.

Y/N looked over at him doe eyed, pushing her hair out of her face. It was only a few seconds but it was still too long to be staring. She shook her head, pulling herself out of the phase she was in. “Here, I’ll play something I came up with a few years ago, see if you can find some words for it.” Y/N spoke quietly as she made her way towards the piano.

“I didn’t know you played piano too..”

“It was the first instrument I learned how to play.” She responded, a soft smile appearing right as her fingers began to go over the keys and play the first set of chords.

Jungkook was overcome with awe, watching as Y/N’s eyes closed whilst her fingers continued on playing. He began to hum softly, getting a feel for where she was in the song.

“I wish that I could give you what you deserve..cause nothing can ever, ever replace you..nothing can make me feel like you do..” He sung softly, getting into the music.

Jungkook didn’t notice that she had stopped playing, too lost in himself and his thoughts. Once he finally opened his eyes, he saw Y/N staring back at him. A light pink produced onto his cheeks and caused him to look away. He wasn’t one to get embarrassed so easily, but the way she was looking at him had butterflies racing through his belly. Jungkook turned his head to face her again, met with her looking down at her lap. Without thinking, he reached forward and hooked his finger underneath her chin, pulling her head up to look at him. There was a small smile on his face before he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. It didn’t take long for her lips to move back against his.

It was history after that. The couple was practically inseparable from there on. The teen love story everyone wanted. Weekends spent together, cute love notes in the lockers, doodles of the others names on notes in class and surprises every other day. It was sickeningly cute to say the least.

“C’mon Y/N!! If you jump now, they won’t be able to notice that you’re gone!” Jungkook was whisper shouting. He was trying to remain quiet as possible considering her parents were still asleep.

Y/N was hesitant. She had never snuck out before but she wanted so badly to be with him tonight. Her head looked over her shoulder in one last attempt to make sure her parents wouldn’t come busting in during the last second. With a soft sigh, she threw one leg out of the window and then the other, jumping down where she was caught by two strong arms. Jungkook pecked her lips lightly a few times, a huge smile spreading on his lips after. He was taking her to one of his favorite spots. It was a little shed on the edge of his family’s property. The shed had the perfect view of the moon and stars when you sat on the roof. Once he got them both situated up there, Jungkook wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer to his body.

“Kook?” Y/N spoke up after a few minutes of silence, waiting for him to hum in response. “Why do you like me?” She turned her head to look at him now, watching his face turn into a confused expression. “Why do you like me..?”

“Well..uh..why do you think I do?”

Jungkook didn’t know how to respond to her questions. Honestly, he could go on for hours and even days about why he liked her. He even considered the possibility that he loved her. The question itself confused him, why would she question that, did she think he didn’t like her anymore?

“Honestly, at first I thought you only liked me because I didn’t like you..” Her words were quiet but he heard them anyway. He studied her face, even though she had dropped her gaze away from him at this point. Still, Jungkook used his finger to pull her chin up so she looked at him. “I’ve liked you since I saw you at freshman orientation two years ago..from the way you smile, to the way you walk, to the way you push your hair out of your face when you’re angry all the way down to the way you bounce on your toes when you’re anxious. I like it all.” Jungkook leaned forward after his little monologue and pressed his lips to hers in a soft kiss. Y/N brought her hand up to lay against his cheek, rubbing her thumb over it as they continued to kiss. He slowly began to lean her back, until she laid flat against the roof. Jungkook hovered over her, propping himself up on his elbows, deepening their kiss. A small whine escaped her throat as he nipped at her bottom lip, begging for entrance, which she would soon grant him. His tongue would gain dominance over hers in no time but it was cut short, a sound in the distance immediately pulling him away from her to listen.

“Kook? What’s wrong?” Y/N asked, moving her body away from his so she could sit up. “I don’t hear anything, are you okay?” She grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her. Instead of the brown hues she was used too, yellow one shined back at her before he quickly looked away from again.

Once Jungkook calmed himself, he looked at her. “We have to go now.” He spoke worriedly. Jungkook quickly got them down from the roof and into his car, speeding away as fast as he could. He knew she had questions about his eyes and what the hell was going but for now, he was thankful she was staying quiet. He didn’t know what was coming but the noises he was hearing struck pure fear through him. Right now, he needed to get her home safely and return to his home before anything bad happened.

Jungkook disappeared for weeks. He wasn’t returning any of her calls or texts and he hadn’t been at school. The first week was hard but eventually, Y/N fell back into the routine she had before him. She only went to band room for her breaks, sat alone for her lunch period and stayed to herself in between classes.

“Hyung..She needs me..” Jungkook spoke quietly, observing Y/N from the rooftop of the school. “Why can’t I tell her that I’m okay? She deserves to know..”

Yoongi stood quietly next to his little brother, an irritated look on his face. He was so tired of hearing JK go on and on about this girl. That’s all that had been talked about since they went off the grid. Yoongi was sick of explaining that remaining hidden was the best option for now, that she would be safer this way. With a loud groan, he turned to face his brother, leaning against the railing.

“Mom said that it’s better for everyone right now. That Alpha pack has crazy enemies after them right now. It’s just safer this way. She wouldn’t be able to protect herself...unless..” A sinister smirk crept onto his face as he talked. Yoongi knew exactly what he was doing. He would put the thoughts in his brothers head but there’s no way any of the Alphas would go through with it. She was too fragile, there was no way the bite would take. Still, why not have some fun while he was at it? If anything, it does work and he has to hear JK go on about her for longer. “We do have that entire pack here..they could easily bite her and turn her into one of us. You could always protect her then, train her and make sure she can help herself. Don’t you think it’d be amazing. Hmm?” Yoongi pressed on, watching the quizzical look on his little brothers face and how he was actually considering having someone bite his precious little girlfriend.

“Yoongi-hyung, you’ve gone crazy.” Jungkook laughed, patting his brothers shoulder. “I couldn’t ask her to turn into one of us. Especially when she doesn’t even know WHAT we are or what being one of us entails. She couldn’t survive her first full moon, she’s too weak.”

Jungkook walked away from his brother, not bothering to hear his final words. His head shook lightly as he made his way home, not believing he was actually considering turning the love of his life into one of them. Lycan. It was nothing special, their being alone was torture. They had to deal with being hunted all the time on top of those painful turns once a month when the moon reached its fullness. He couldn’t ask that from Y/N. He would never want that life for her. Yet, all he could think about was what if she could handle it? What if she did just fine with it all? Would his precious Y/N be able to be his forever? He let his heart take charge over his mind as he pulled out his phone. After dialing a number, he put the phone to his ear, letting out a deep sigh after the receiver picked up.

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“Hey babe. I know it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. I promise I’m still here. Family matters came up. Meet me in the band room tonight. 8pm. -Kook”

Y/N’s heart was beating so fast. She had to read the letter over and over again before finally comprehending what it was saying. Her head looked around at all the students around her, wondering when he had the time to slip this in. Y/N had to admit that she missed him more than anything and to finally hear from him made her heart flutter. With a nod, she closed her locker and held the note close to her chest while she walked to her next class.

The time seemed to fly by fast for him while the day went on agonizingly slow for her. It seemed like minutes turned to hours and the hours went so slowly but still the night was light. As soon at the clock hit 7:50pm, she was out the door, shouting to her parents about some last minute study session for one of her classes. Her car pulled up to the school at exactly 8. She quickly ran inside using the back door that had always been broken. Y/N was out of breath by the time she got to the band room, a huge smile on her face once she swung open the doors. “Jungkook! I miss-”

Nobody was there. Her face fell immediately once she realized he wasn’t in the room like he had promised he would be. Unbeknownst to her, Jungkook sat on the floor below in the locker rooms, listening. He could hear how fast her heart was beating, taking him back to that first day. Yet, he could also hear the footsteps of the heavy footed guy coming closer to Y/N. It took all of his power not to run to her and stop this before it started.

It was too late. Jungkook heard her breathing pick up, she must have turned around and seen the man. He stood at 6’4 height, almost double her size in both height and weight. She let out a blood curdling scream as he launched himself at her. Jungkook covered his ears after that, doing his best to block out the noise that was too come. His hands didn’t help.

Y/N was able to escape his initial attack, making a run for it past the gym and into the main part of the school. “Please help me, somebody help me..” She thought as she ran, trying to make it out the door and to her car as quick as possible. Her hand reached for the door and just as her fingertips touched the handle, she was ripped away and thrown to the side. She tried to drag her body away from the oncoming footsteps, screaming out for someone to help her. The man came up behind her, stopping her in her tracks. He held her down and pulled her shirt up, exposing her abdomen. “Please..Don’t do this..Please..” She begged one last time, looking him in the eyes.

The scream that came out made Jungkook fall down to his knees. He gasped for air, feeling like the wind was knocked out of him. He had to help her. The doors to the locker room slammed open when he took off to where the noise was coming from. Blood, he could smell the blood coming from her. Right as he entered the hallway, the alpha stood over her body, a wicked grin on his face while he took a defensive state. Jungkook charged at him, howling in pain when the elders claws made contact with his skin. He did his best to fight back, getting as many hits in as he could, all while his eyes searched for Y/N. She was making her way up the stairs, holding onto the gushing wound. Out of nowhere, Yoongi kicked in the doors to the entrance and began shouting at Jungkook to get Y/N out of here. The older brother fought off the alpha as long as he could, giving the couple a chance to escape.

They were both covered in a mixture of red and black. The red from the first bite and the black from her body rejecting it. Pain. Y/N was in so much pain. It’s like she could feel every fiber in her body rejecting itself, the black mixture beginning to pool out of her mouth. Jungkook took her to the shed, pulling the doors closed behind them. He collapsed on the floor, holding her in his arms. He took his bloody hand and intertwined it with hers, squeezing it tightly.

“Do you hate me..?” Jungkook asked, tears beginning to stream down both their faces knowing what was to come next.

“I could never hate you..” Y/N’s voice was quiet, much softer than normal, it was weak. “I knew..I knew what you were..you could hear things, smell things, see things nobody else could..the eyes, I really knew when I saw your eyes and still, I-I loved you..”

“You loved me?” Jungkook looked down at her, his bottom lip quivering just a bit.

Y/N nodded her head softly right before the pain got worse. She squeezed his hand so tightly, a loud moan of pain leaving her lips. Her body was starting to shake as the rejection wreaked havoc all over her body. Jungkook pulled her closer, pressing a hard kiss to her forehead, wanting somehow to ease the pain from her body.

“I-I can’t do it..” Y/N cried out, her head shaking back and forth before looking up at him, looking deep into his eyes. “Please Kook..”

Jungkook broke eye contact with her, looking away from her as tears filled his eyes. He knew what he had to do but it wouldn’t make it be easier. With a shaky breath, he changed their position, one arm wrapped around her waist while the other was wrapped around the back of her neck. Jungkook took a deep breath and began to hum the tune to the song she wrote. He wanted to put her at ease. When she started to hum back to the best of her abilities, he stopped, just listening to her go on. His eyes changed to that same bright yellow from before. Jungkook’s arms tightened around her, listening to her hum as his hold got tighter and tighter until she fell limp in his arms. Jungkook couldn’t help but yell out in agony while he held her close to him, tears steadily pouring down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He panted, not wanting to let go of her body even though the hands she originally had wrapped around his arm had fallen to the ground, lifeless. Every memory they had together played through his mind while he rocked them back and forth, eventually settling on the one he liked most. He cleared his throat, bringing her cold body closer to his as he sang.

“I-I wish I could give you what you deserve...cause nothing can ever, ever replace you..nothing can make me feel like you do..there’s nothing like us, there’s nothing like you and me together..oh..”

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