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starlight-bread-blog · 2 days

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My Interpetation of The Southern Raiders: Part 1 – A\ang

Warning: The views expressed in this analysis will be very critical of Aang. If you aren't critical of him in this episode, you aren't going to enjoy this post. This is your chance to leave. I probably won't have a debate for personal reasons.

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The Southern Raiders is probably one of the most discussed episodes in the fandom. Everyone knows Zuko Alone is great, but the discussion surrounding this episode is a war zone. In this essay I will try to answer every question posed in the discourse. This is part 1 out of three. In this part, I will discuss A\ang. I believe that understanding both Zuko and Aang's decisions in this episode will give us great insight into Katara's. Because the this episode is hers.

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1. Is Aang's philosophy of forgiveness valid?

(1) "Revenge is like a two-headed rat viper. While you watch your enemy go down, you're being poisoned yourself".

(2) "You do have a choice: forgiveness". // "It's easy to do nothing, but it's hard to forgive". // "Forgiveness is the first step you have to take to begin healing".

This philosophy is indeed morally sound. Revenge comes from rage, a negative emotion that causes harm in the long run. Forgiveness is letting go of that rage, which is healing. I cannot write a full thesis, this essay is not about that. But on paper, I do agree with A\ang. He's right to say that letting go of rage is a better alternative than getting consumed by it. (However, his philosophy might not help some).

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2. Was A\ang being insensitive when talking to Katara?

First I must reiterate, a lot of people frame the conflict of the episode as one regarding the ethics of murder. In my interpretation, it is not. During this episode Katara was in a deeply emotional place. Her rage stemmed from intense grief and those around her should treat her as a mourner - with great sensitivity.

Now, was Aang being this sensitive with Katara? Well, in my opinion, very much so.

Imagine a scenario where A\ang just happens to meet Haru, and he's about to go on a quest to find revenge on who imprisoned his father. He tries to help him with the following sentences:

(1) Um ... and what exactly do you think this will accomplish?

(2) Wait! Stop! I do understand. You're feeling unbelievable pain and rage. How do you think I felt about the sandbenders when they stole Appa? How do you think I felt about the Fire Nation when I found out what happened to my people?

(3) I don't think so. I think it's about getting revenge.

(4) Haru, you sound like Jet.

(5) The monks used to say that revenge is like a two-headed rat viper. While you watch your enemy go down, you're being poisoned yourself.

(6) Haru, you do have a choice: forgiveness.

(7) No, it's not. It's easy to do nothing, but it's hard to forgive.

(8) You did the right thing. Forgiveness is the first step you have to take to begin healing.

Everything makes sense, right? The pieces fit.He just talks about his cultura\personal values, nothing about what Katara needs at the moment. He could have had this exact conversation with Haru without changing a thing.

Therefore his lines are impersonal and thus preachy. In this conversation he doesn’t show signs of trying to convince Katara not to end her mother’s killer because she is, fundamentally, a good person and couldn’t live having committed murder. He shows signs of trying to make her obey his cultural ethos. This is highly insensitive. Katara was in a very emotional place, filled with rage and grief. And his response was, intentionally or not, to impose his own cultural principles onto her.

But his lines weren’t insensitive just because they were preachy, some of them were judgmental and even harsh. When A\ang is first confronted with Katara’s intentions, he says:

A\ang: Um ... and what exactly do you think this will accomplish?

You can tell from his tone and how the rest of the conversation plays out that he does know what Katara thinks this will accomplish. He asks the question as a form of disapproval - that he thinks that going after Yon Rha won’t accomplish anything. He’s not being genuine, he’s casting judgment on her. He’s almost looking down on her and Zuko, looking down from a moral high ground and sarcastically interrogating the two. Another line that sticks out is

A\ang: Katara, you sound like Jet.

He says she sounds like the man who wanted to flood an entire village full of innocent civilians. He’s insulting her, and greatly so, all the while wanting to keep a moral high ground. This is incredibly rude and condescending.

In the next scene, right after the intense argument concludes, it appears as though A\ang comes around to the journey Katara was about to go through.

A\ang: I wasn't planning to. This is a journey you need to take. You need to face this man.But when you do, please don't choose revenge. Let your anger out, and then let it go. Forgive him.

While he’s still discouraging Katara, it’s not outright condescending. But it’s as clear as day that he’d just preferred if she didn’t go on the journey at all. When he sees Zuko and Katara taking Appa to find Yon Rha, he says:

A\ang: So you were just gonna take Appa anyway?

Clearly disapproving of Katara. He doesn’t want her to go on the journey to find inner peace, he wants her to forgive the man who killed her mother right here and right now. He couldn’t change her mind on the subject, so he’ll advise her the next best thing. It is worth noting that in the beginning, before he advises her, he cracks a joke.

A\ang: It's okay, because I forgive you. [Pauses.] That give you any ideas?

Overall, A\ang’s behavior is unsympathetic and callous.Instead of placing his focus on Katara’s wellbeing, he preaches about Air Nomad teachings and goes as far as insulting her. Even when he comes around, it’s not because he realized his mistakes, it’s because he knew he couldn’t change her mind. And then he makes a humorous remark while giving him his supposed new found advice. The answer is: Yes. Aang was very insensitive when talking to Katara.

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3. Did A\ang know what Katara needed?

I don’t think he did. A\ang thought Katara needed to forgive Yon Rha, and as we previously established, without going after him. But even if we look at his second advice, she still doesn’t follow it.

A\ang: This is a journey you need to take. You need to face this man. [Katara situates herself on Appa's head.] But when you do, please don't choose revenge. Let your anger out, and then let it go. Forgive him.

Katara explicitly didn’t forgive Yon Rha, and yet the whole point of the ending is that she’s in a better place now. No matter what Zuko says, A\ang didn’t know what Katara needed. And considering that his lines in the episode were as impersonal as they were, it isn’t a surprise.

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In conclusion, A\ang’s behavior in The Southern Raiders is questionable at best. He might have had pure intentions, and had a good message, but the way he put out the message was degrading and preachy. And in the end, he didn’t know what was the right thing for Katara.

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aq2003 · 8 months

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ten

#i have series 4 on my computer now. but i have not started it. i am scared of it.#tenth doctor #dr who #ten is so he is soooooo. god. the doctor is so very defined by his loneliness. how he outlived everyone he cared abt #and what i love so much about nine is that you see him growing closer to rose. letting himself be happy #and post-timewar and losing all of his people (and blaming himself/being responsible for it?) that's so important for him to have #ten is like the opposite of this. he was created out of nine's love and sacrifice for rose. his personhood is basically defined by it #so you have his memories of losing his people in the timewar clashing with his inherent need to Be Next To Someone.#so losing people just breaks him. even after nine (ten? does timewar doctor count?) previous lifetimes of seeing death #when i saw ten's wiki blurb w him being described as one of the most human doctors. after watching christmas invasion i was like. 'what'#But Now I Know. they were talking about how he feels grief and pain so acutely. in a way a human might and not a 900y/o near immortal alien #10 era

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texas-bbq-pringles · 2 months

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#cw vent #cw family death #cw medical trauma #i'm in bereavement counselling for my nana rn and we were talking about different types of grief and it's just got me so confused #like i'm already struggling with the painful memories and knowing how bad things got for my nana but i was a little more prepared for that #and now i'm having to confront the fact that i've spent ages mourning the health i never had and it doesn't feel like a tangible loss bc #there was no before with my illness- i'll always have this condition and even of for the most part i get to live a normal life it's always #gonna be slightly abnormal and idk how to put that into words bc it doesn't feel like i can say i lost it when i never had it???#idk i'm just a little confused rn and mental health care for chd patients (and parents) needs to be so much better #it's practically nonexistent rn i had a therapist learn i've nearly died but he ignored it bc i was so young at the time like?????#and i didn't even know loss of health counted as bereavement like nobody talks about bereavement and it needs to be so much more normalised

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evilminji · 5 months

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You know how... world leaders can't just? SAY stuff? Because when they DO it's the Offical Stance(tm) of their Country?

That makes their Fuck Ups(tm) all the more serious. It's WHY they have press teams.

But!!!

WHAT IF?

They said something, PUBLICLY, on LIVE TELEVISION, that? Can not be taken back? Full on "masks off, behold the horrors you have payed for" moment?

Sure, they could SAY "that wasn't me" and "I was brainwashed" etc etc. But? If it's BIG enough? UGLY enough? TRUE??? People WILL find it. Dig and dig and dig like termites in the walls. Hunt like bloodhounds.

Riot in the streets.

Because? All it would TAKE? Is ONE half ghost, a few too many long nights trying to balance college classes and his internship, a bigotry filled call from back home, and staring down that empty fridge with just one box of moldering take out, because he's been too busy and stressed to remember to get GROCERIES AND-

Ah.

So this is what "so stressed you feel calm, I have run out of Fucks too give" feels like. Neat. *picks up phone* Hey, Sam? You still at that protest? Outside the presidential speech? Neat. Don't move.

One Phone Line Express later. SAM is telling him to breathe. Maybe... maybe calm down. Think about this. Others around her can see the same "spark of madness" glint in his almost zen like smile.

It Fiiiiine, Sam.

He's just here to Talk.

He disappears. Sam's freaking out. President stumbles but catches himself on the way to the mike. Up in the watch tower, various Magic users choke on their lunches, because a ghost just possessed the United States President.

ON LIVE TELEVISION.

He taps the Mike, smile, leans in real close like he's gonna Tell You Folks A Secret.... Aaaaand~

"The second you Die, you no longer have human rights. Doesn't matter how brief. Heart stops? You're sub-human scum! Non-sentient by American law. We here in the United Stares PROUDLY desecrate the bodies and graves of the dead. Tear apart the immortal souls of the innocent. And condemn you to oblivion crying, begging, and screaming for mercy! Why, obviously, is an act. Because souls don't have the RIGHT to feel fear or pain!

And YES. We do mean EVERYONE'S. Atlantian, Kryptonian, Martian. Canadian, Mexican, Russian, AND Chinese! I could keep going! Once you die? You belong to the United States to experiment on as we see fit! You're PROPERT now! So turn your nonrights having, nonsentient self in to the nearest GIW! For the good of AMERICA. Ectoplasmic Scum!"

*drops mic*

Jaws are on the floor. This was VETERANS DAY. Dead military Heros and smile for the cameras. A cake walk. Do a patriotism, rah rah. There.... there are DIPLOMATS in the crowd. Sure as SHIT, were more then a few foreign nationals WATCHING. Religious leaders looking on in fury, grief, and horror.

Reporters. Oh sweet Jesus the reporters.

The press secretary faints.

PANDEMONIUM. The president, still dazed and confused from being possessed, gets PUNCHED on live television be his VP, a deeply religious if moderately shady man. Take bribes? VP is cool with that. Bootstraps, peasants, and all that. But how DARE you fuck with the Souls of the dead. How DARE you!

Phones are blowing up, questions are being shouted, the JLA Dark FEEL like they should tell somebody about the ghost kid... but also this feels VERY "Call for help-y" so they might throw their weight around instead and pretend they know nothing. World leader are meaningfully staring at their Dear Beloved Dead Grandmother's photos as they send LIVID assistants to hound the American into answering the DAMN PHONE-!

And Danny?

Danny feels calmer now. He has stolen like....700 bucks from secret security's various wallets. He's going to buy himself BOUGIE groceries. Some...some NICE take out. Maybe a little cake. Yeah~ Cake for Danny~

If anyone needs him? No you don't. He needs to go do some shopping, eat, lie on the floor of his shower and just... vibe for a bit under the spray. In the dark maybe. Sleep for a week. Have his food. Yummy little treats.

Or he's gonna fuckin LOSE IT, man.

(Tucker is actively hacking his college schedule as they speak. He KNEW it. Called it! Too many classes! But does Mr "I can handle it" listen? Noooooooo! Now look what happened! Holy SHIT, Danny!)

@hypewinter @hdgnj @ailithnight @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt

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patronsaintofelsewhere · 8 months

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Thoughts on Angel Crowley & Healing from Trauma

(Minor Good Omens S2 Spoilers)

As someone who’s endured my own Trauma and dealt with the resulting PTSD, watching Crowley’s journey from a joyful, silly, and entirely innocent angel to a withdrawn, lonely, hyper-vigilant demon as a result of the Fall both shattered my heart and confronted me with the fact of myself, and I’d like to talk about it.

When you* experience Trauma, you experience an existential disorientation and a profound sense of grief over the world you thought you knew–one where you were safe and nothing bad had ever happened to you. “Innocence died screaming,” and all that.

You're also therefore mourning the loss of who you were, and struggling to make sense of who you are now. Which is why this conversation is so gut-wrenching:

“I know you.” “You do not know me.” “I knew the angel you were.” “The angel you knew is not me.”

This dialogue admittedly still makes my eyes swim. It’s reminiscent of the many conversations I’ve had with people close to me who knew me Before and After. Not only are you grieving the loss of your own innocence, so are those around you, and it feels like you’re wearing their loved one’s face like a mask.

And then underneath the grief, there’s a river of–what you’ll later discover is misplaced–guilt. They want you to be who you were. Fuck, you also want to be who you were -- to not have experienced what you did -- but you can’t.

And when they catch a glimpse of something that reminds them of Before-You -- because it's not like that you has just up and vanished, you've just changed -- they say things like, “I feel like I have you back!” Like the After-You is a consolation prize, something to be tolerated while they wait for the Before-You to return.

It’s not malicious. They love you. They want you to be happy. But it just serves as a reminder of your loss and suddenly you’re acutely aware of how alone you are with the Thing that hurt you.

After trauma, you’re lonely and you're afraid. But those emotions make you feel quite naked, because both of those things would require you to depend on other people to feel better and, at this point, the thought of doing that is far too scary, so to the world, you’re angry. Thus begins the cyclical self-fulfilling prophecy.

And that cycle goes a bit like this: People see the mistrust and the bitterness and the volatility (the shield that keeps people at an arm's length and helps you feel safe). They don't see the profound sustained fear underneath, the desperate need to feel seen and accepted. And so people pull away.

And that real or perceived abandonment feeds the monster that’s taken up permanent residence in your ribcage and screams at all hours that you’re not worthy of love, that you’re irreparably broken, and you’ll always be alone. And you pull away from the people that love you. And the cycle repeats. And you start to believe all of the bad things about yourself that the monster tells you.

Being confronted with a character who you adore and who you also relate to closely is bittersweet in that it’s both immensely painful, but also offers you an opportunity to interrupt that cycle, to explore a different -- perhaps more forgiving -- lens through which to view yourself. To practice self-compassion by proxy, if you will. After all, we tend to extend far greater empathy and forgiveness to others than we do to ourselves.

Angel Crowley, "who squeaked and squealed when he was happy; who flailed his arms around and made explosion noises with his mouth to explain nebulas; who preened when told his stars were pretty,” (joycrispy) reminded me a lot of “Angel T,” or rather myself before Trauma.

And Crowley's story is tragic. I was heartbroken and angry for him; I felt the depth of the betrayal he experienced at the hands of someone he loved who he'd believed loved him; I found myself wanting to protect him, to comfort him. Crowley did not deserve what happened to him.

And, over a decade later, I realized that I’d finally accepted that I’d been an innocent, just like Crowley had, and I didn't deserve what happened to me, either.

And -- if you find yourself relating to this post -- neither did you.

Once we can tell ourselves that and actually believe it, we can start to lower the shield. We can allow people closer, including ourselves. We can bring the parts of ourselves we may have hidden away back to the surface. We can soften again. We can truly start to heal.

Crowley, at his core, remains the same. He is still kind, deeply loving, playful, silly, and – against all odds – hopeful. But his trauma has changed him; his innocence is gone.

He struggles to trust others; fears abandonment; engages in unhealthy coping mechanisms; finds it easier to prioritize and tend to Aziraphale's needs and desires than his own; and has difficulty expressing his emotions.

But he also gained an abundance of empathy, a deep love for humanity, and a strong sense of justice.

We adore Crowley exactly as he is now; we don't wish for him to be who he was before the Fall. And neither does Aziraphale.

In kind, we won’t be who we were — nor should we try to be — but we can be something new, a different version of ourselves that is equally good, equally worthy, and equally deserving of love.

After over a decade, I think my Trauma wound has mostly healed, as much as Trauma wounds can, anyway; it’s a dull ache rather than an acute pain. Yet Crowley's story assuaged that remaining hurt like a salve I hadn’t realized I needed.

So thank you to @neil-gaiman for giving us such a beautiful story, and to David Tennant, Michael Sheen, and the rest of the cast and crew who bring the characters we love to life on screen.

Good Omens truly is a gift. May it continue to inspire us to offer kindness and love to ourselves and one another. 🖤

* I am aware that I say “you” when I should use the singular first-person “I,” but I still struggle with this when talking about my own trauma. So I’m using “you” and you, reader, will deal with it x

#good omens #good omens season two #good omens 2 spoilers #aziraphale x crowley #anthony j crowley #angel crowley #anthony crowley #crowley #crowley good omens #good omens crowley #crowley trauma #gos2spoilers #go s2 #go season 2 #good omens 2 #aziracrow #david tennant #good omens character analysis

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dragonmuse · 6 months

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Keep It In The Box : An Essay on OFMD Season 2 and the Failure to Heal

(here in is my season two reaction. It contains many many spoilers. It's also about 3k words long so you know what you're getting into.)

“See, I have a system for dealing with all the terrible things I've seen. There's a box in my mind, and I put the things in the box..” -Frenchie, Season 2 of Our Flag Means Death

…..and then he never opens it. Chekov’s locked box has no key in season two.

On first watch, it seemed clear to me that Frenchie’s declaration was a narrative plant. Clearly the whole season would be about that box of pain and trauma being opened, sorted through and at least the beginning of healing. The show had developed a reputation after season one of being kind and focused on queer narratives of healing from childhood. Ed and Stede’s parallels in their childhood traumas were frequently on display through season one and were repeated in flashback throughout season two. Jim’s season one arc about becoming someone who doesn’t think just of revenge and can now forge meaningful connections was profound, beautiful and often funny. Izzy is an antagonist because he doesn’t want Ed to move on or stop acting like the trauma-response version of himself. The antagonist wants to stop healing. The point is to grow, to change, to learn how to love. It’s one of the things that made season one work for me at the time, despite reservations about pacing and tone.

So naturally season two should follow suit. It’s a kind show! About healing and falling in love!

For the first several episodes, the remaining crew on the Revenge go through a gauntlet of trauma, forced to do and receive violence at Ed’s whims as he careens from self-destructive behavior to self-destructive behavior. This is the wounding setup. It was dark, but it seemed like it would have a payoff and at first it did.

Perhaps one of the most beautiful moments of the season comes in one of the small respites in those early episodes as Jim recounts Pinnochio to Fang to soothe him through his grief. That was the show that I expected. The kindness of that moment struck me very deeply. It gave me some understanding of Archie too, who seems to fall for Jim right at that moment.

That scene is the show season one promised. Season two led with packing Frenchie’s box full to bursting. Here is the fight to the death between lovers, there is a first mate who is mutilated and rotting in the very walls (the rot of the Revenge itself), and there is the storm of Ed’s rage and pain that threatens to consume all of them.

So surely these remaining episodes would concentrate on finding the humor in healing from those moments. That is the setup. Frenchie has a box. The box must eventually open.

Except time and again, all the characters who suffered are told that the only way to deal with what they’ve been through is to stick it in the box and never open it again.

Pete tells Lucius that he’s unable to move on and needs to let it go. Izzy has a story about a shark. Ed’s apology to the crew which doesn’t even contain the words ‘I’m sorry’ is just…accepted. I kept waiting and waiting for a meaningful apology to the people Ed had hurt the worst with his actions, but it seems all we get is Fang saying ‘eh, no problem, I got to hit you back so I feel better’.

The playful theme of ‘pirates are just violent sometimes’ from season one becomes a grinding horror machine in season two when every atrocity visited on someone is forgiven because the narrative needs it to be. Ed and Stede spend more time making amends with each other over the bloodless night on the beach than either of them spend trying to repent for their actions towards anyone else.

And let’s talk about Ed. Arguably this season pivots on his narrative, on his path to healing and growth. A path that starts at a very low point. His moment in the gravy basket, deciding he wants to live because there are still things to live for is so great! So one might assume that what would follow would be him pursuing those things, making amends, making connections. He and Stede have a wonderful moment, talking about being whim prone and how they’ll work to avoid that, build a relationship by going slower.

Yet, at no point do either of them stop following whims. They never heal or learn from what’s happened to them. They both keep running from thing to thing, particularly Ed. It’s a whim to sleep with Stede, it’s a whim to run off to fish, and the finale gives us just more of their whims. Ed drops fishing as fast as he picked it up. He finds those leathers in the ocean, murdering the symbolism of leaving them behind. Even the inn is a whim, one of those things Ed decided he’d be good at without evidence. And Stede joins him in that without a single on screen conversation about it ahead of the moment.

Ed needs to heal himself and to do that he needs to confront what he’s done and do the work to heal the wound. Instead, he doesn’t meaningfully apologize to anyone, besides Stede and Fang. Despite Izzy’s dying words (we’ll get to that), not only do we never see the crew caring about Ed, working to make him family in the same way they do with Fang and even Izzy, he also doesn’t choose to stay with them. So what is the point? Where is the healing? Or does even Ed, beloved main character, have to live with it all stuffed in a box?

He ends the season in the leathers he threw away, in a relationship that’s barely stabilized, going to live in a house which we are told by the narrative (in that they are very very clearly paralleling Anne and Mary with Ed and Stede or why do we even get that whole Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? episode) will only end in them setting fire to each other to stay warm.

But Vee, I hear you cry, it’s a ROM-COM. This is all meant to be ha-ha funny and you are taking it so seriously!

Cool beans. Then why the hell isn’t it funny? Healing is often filled with comedy because people deal with pain with humor. You can heal and laugh at the same time. The finale especially is almost entirely devoid of laughs, almost entirely devoid of joy until the last minute for that matter. The episode that should show off with a flourish how far everyone’s come, mostly serves to show that no one has grown.

Okay that’s Ed. I want to talk about Lucius next. Our former audience surrogate (that’s taken away in season two when he doesn’t get enough screen time to perform that role and no one takes his place) really goes through the wringer. He experiences many many terrible things, including sexual assault (which is made into a grimace-laugh line that doesn’t take away from it’s seriousness because oh hey, that can be done as it turns out). He’s nervous, he’s smoking, it’s clear he’s suffering.

There’s a beautiful moment where Pete tells him ‘hey, I was also in pain. I grieved’ and that’s great. It’s good that Pete sets a boundary about Lucius not obsessing over the past to the point of occluding their future.

We even get our comedic moment where Lucius pushes Ed off the boat (still not apology, but I’d lost hope for that by then) and that doesn’t help enough. So Izzy comes in with a shark and the advice that you just have to move on.

Just…you know. Play pretend. Forget.

Shove it in a box. Ed didn’t take my leg, a shark did. Ed didn’t kill you, a shark did. Live with the person that tried to murder you because it’s your fault you dangled your leg over the side of a boat. That is the show’s message. I thought on first watch, that surely this would also come back up and be explained that you can’t live that way, that that is no way to heal. That it would become clear that this was no way through. You cannot make everything into sharks.

Lucius can move forward and still carry pain. He can still want a meaningful apology and still want to talk to his lover about what he’s dealing with while moving forward toward a brighter future.

And what of the flirtatious promise of relationships and connections being the way to heal? Look to Oluwande and Jim, whose heartfelt romance from season one was relegated to the bins of history in favor of a narrative that made him a brother Jim once had sex with. They could have had Archie AND Oluwande, who in turn could also have Zheng, but that never seems to be an option. With a single short conversation, they are broken up with, despite a brief tease at the birthday that they still ‘dance’ together, it never actually manifests. Jim and Archie never talk about what they went through. It’s swept under the rug as fast as knives are lowered.

Lucius also no longer flirts with other people, the solution to his pain is to propose and get married (but not too married, lest we forget that they’re two men, they don’t even get to be husbands or even the more respectful mates, no. They’re mateys.) This season proposes that the only happy endings are monogamous ones, where no one talks about anything painful that went before.

To ensure that message, beyond assuring the success of Oluwande and Zheng’s relationship, Jim and Archie almost entirely disappear from the narrative. Sorry you guys were given layers of trauma and no growth and not even much to do this season, we need to make sure that everyone remembers Oluwande is the break in Zheng’s day so when he says that to her five minutes later we know exactly what he’s referencing. No time for Archie to learn what an apology is or for Jim to get one line in with Oluwande that isn’t affirming their newfound broship. Must do more flashbacks to things we just did two episodes ago!

The show even dangles the conversation of the Revenge being a safe space. Why would any of them ever feel safe when the man who tortured them is allowed to walk among them and they are expected to forgive and forget? What’s safe about that? The ship is never made safe for any of them, but that’s never addressed.

And Zheng! Amazing, hysterically funny Zheng! She loses her ships, her entire way of life, the kingdom she built for herself and then…she doesn’t even get to captain the Revenge. We don’t know what becomes of her fleet, of her plans, her ambitions. Don’t worry about it, she has a romantic partner and isn’t that what every lady wants in the end?

(But Vee, I hear you cry again, there will be a season three! Maybe it will be All About Zheng! To which I say: then why did they present us with the most series finale feeling episode ever? If there’s more, I have no idea where it’s going. BUT VEE: BUTTONS AS SEAGULL ON THE GR- Fine. It’s time.)

Let’s talk about Izzy Hands.

Izzy manages more healing than anyone else this season. He reaches his lowest point, suicidal in the bowels of a ship that’s become a prison (very much in contrast to Ed’s suicidal low). The person he loves most in the world has shredded him physically and emotionally (and if you’re in the camp that thinks Izzy deserves the abuse that Ed gave to him, I would really like you to sit quietly with yourself and ask why you think there is ever anything anyone can do to deserve that treatment). He’s low, he shoots Ed to protect everyone, and then seems to plan to drink himself to death, mourning his losses.

And then another beautiful moment! The crew move past their own pain to help him. They work together for the first time and it’s to give Izzy mobility back. He treasures it. He cries over it. He uses that kindness extended to him to reach a new understanding of Stede and help him succeed, doing the work to make real amends. He sings in drag, he’s vulnerable and beautiful, celebrating the side of himself that he must’ve loathed in the first season. He’s an elder queer man, coming into himself.

He never gets an apology though. (‘Sorry about your leg’ without eye contact is not an apology. There is no responsibility taking, no acknowledgement of the weeks of torture that came with it.) Izzy also never really has an honest conversation with anyone about what it means that the man he loves punished him so severely for the crime of trying to protect the crew (yes, lest we forget, Izzy lost his leg because he was trying to keep Ed from re-traumatizing the crew and himself).

Izzy does all this work, but even he’s not allowed to take it out of the box. It’s a shark, not Ed. Ed is just ‘complicated’ (the language of abuse here is so upsetting and I think not even intentional).

And then he dies. His last act? To apologize to the man who tortured him and shot at him. To have done all this work, to take on all the blame. And then die.

In a rom com.

This show ends in a profoundly unfunny moment of telling the audience: this is the one character that did the work, that made amends, that tried his hardest to accept the parts of himself that he had a hard time embracing and formerly embittered him. He’s fully accepted his queerness and turned it into beautiful music. He’s disabled, and he worked hard to accept that. The man he loves will never love him back, so he worked hard to make Stede able to meet Ed on an even playing field. The Giving Tree gave up its limbs and its trunk, and it’s not even allowed to be a stump to sit on.

Kill the queer elder, who has managed to figure out how to live and in his own way how to heal. Kill him before he manages to teach anyone else how to meaningfully move forward (he almost gets it with Lucius, almost, but it’s meant to be rule of three, you know. Cigarette..shark…and then…and then fuck it, Lucius doesn’t even get to say a word at his funeral).

The message of this season again and again is that there is no healing, just moving forward. Like a shark. Like a bird that never lands.

That is not a kind show.

Season two is not a kind season.

It splinters people up and jams them back together without purpose or reason. It tells everyone who experiences pain that they should shove it in a box and not deal with it. No one who really needs one gets an apology of any sincerity. No one puts in the work to gain forgiveness. (Ed wearing a onesie is not The Work. Ed fixing a door is not The Work. Ed broke people that the show wants us to care about. Ed never does the work of making those amends. He fires off a Notes app apology at best. After all, it’s what he told himself via Hornigold in the gravy basket: you move on or you blow your brains out! Good thing he took his own advice and therefore had to change nothing to get his just rewards.

I would’ve taken just fifteen minutes of Ed trying to actually make amends. It could’ve been hilarious! Imagine awkward Ed trying to dance around what he’s doing with Jim and the two of them having a knife throwing competition about it. Or him and Frenchie attempting to make music together, writing a song about the raids they went on! It’s not just the crew robbed of their healing because of this, it’s Ed himself. He never meaningfully changes or makes amends. How is he any different at the end of the finale then he is standing on the edge of that cliff with Hornigold? He hasn’t moved on, he hasn’t healed. He tried one thing (fishing) that doesn’t fucking work and then he runs right back.

No one leaves this season better than they went into it. They’ve lost an elder queer, they’ve lost their joyous and queer polyamory, they’ve lost a chance for meaningful reconciliation with Ed and Ed lost any chance of looking like he gave shit if they did. Stede grows enough to accept the crew’s beliefs as important and then leaves them behind without a care.

Izzy gets a beautiful speech about piracy being larger than yourself. Ed and Stede, within twenty minutes of that speech, leave piracy. They are incapable of giving themselves to something bigger, apparently. They haven’t learned to be a part of a community. They haven’t healed from their childhood trauma or their fresher wounds. They are still just following their own whims.

Zheng’s life work is in tatters, but it’s fine, she has love. Oluwande and Jim aren’t together, but it's fine because they both have dedicated monogamous partners. Lucius was deeply scarred by what happened, never recovers much of his first season personality, but hey he got-well it’s not married exactly- but you know good enough!

Frenchie, who has a box forever locked in his head, is captain. Because the key to success is to lock it all in a box and never open it. What a message. What a show. Conceal, don’t feel. Smile because it’s a happy ending. Don’t mourn the dead, don’t try to tell people what happened to you (they will literally run away or cry too hard to listen and really you’re just bumming them out), and any meaningful change you make is only rewarded with death.

Frenchie is now a pirate captain with a box in his head full of trauma that’s never been opened, leading a crew with more wounds than scars. Wonder how that could turn out? Wonder how many years before he might want to retire and then happen to run across a gentleman pirate. As if no one learned anything at all.

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd spoilers #the strangest message sent #and no idea if it was on purpose #I kind of think it wasn't somehow #but boy howedy did it come across

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ponderingmoonlight · 2 months

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Megumi losing his will to carry on until (y/n) shows up

Pairing: Megumi x reader

Word Count: 1,5k

Synopsis: Megumi can't take it anymore. All the death, the grief, the misery he caused. He'll never forgive himself for losing you...But are you really dead?

Warnings: THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS! but more in a really decent way, like I actually think if you have no idea of the manga you don't get that these are spoilers lol, HEAVY angst but also comfort, poor Megumi is at his lowest so TW if that offends you

I know I promised you a Sukuna fic it technically is and I will serve, but this basically wrote itself so I hope you like this as well hehe

Take a deep breath in and out, calm your tingling nerves, allow your feet to walk at normal pace. You waited so long for this moment, recovered from your endless injuries Sukuna conflicted on your body and soul. It took Shoko forever to stitch you up again, to make you look like a human being again. But there you go, walking on your very own legs, to finally see the true love of your life again.

When was the last time you spoke to him? Oh, you remember it exactly.

“I’m scared. Scared of what will happen, scared about the things we’ll lost…”

“Hey, you’ll never lose me, okay? I will always stay by your side.”

Little did both of you know he’ll break that promise a few weeks later and that he won’t return to your side for over a year. How hard you fought, how desperately you tried to stand a chance against Sukuna – only to get thrown out of life yourself.

“Are you sure you can handle this, that you are fit enough?”, Yuji questioned with his hand resting on your shoulder.

“You know you don’t have to-“

“This might be the only chance to get him back, right?”

Yuji smiled at you with that pained expression on his face you saw countless times these last months.

“Yuta and I think it might work. After all, everyone knows how much you mean to him.”

You clench your hands into fists. There is no doubt in the fact that Megumi Fushiguro is still in there, that he is still the boy you know and adore with all your heart. Even if it means you’ll get attacked again, even if it might end your life, you’ll have to try.

-Megumi-

Megumi’s body doesn’t move an inch, lifeless eyes staring into nothing but darkness. What time is it? He couldn’t care less. No, time doesn’t make any sense right now. Not when he lost everyone he loved. His family, his friends, his self-control. You.

His heart stings immediately. Oh, your gorgeous face hunts him down like nothing else. The way you talked, the way you laughed. The way you looked at him with widened eyes when your lifeless body fell to the ground, the way your blood pooled around his brown shoes.

Why? Why didn’t you listen to him when he told you earlier to stay away from Sukuna? Why did you decide to show up anyway, without Yuji or Yuta by your side? There was absolutely nothing he could do to save you.

Just like his sister.

Just like Gojo-sensei.

Just like everyone else.

It seems unreal to him. Unreal that he’s the one still alive, that all these people lost their lives through his very own hands. Oh, he’ll never forget the way you cared for his sister, your dumb inside jokes with Gojo. He’ll never forget the way you held his hand that one night, how your soft smile outshone the heavy moonlight.

“Don’t worry Megumi, everything will turn out alright eventually!”

Oh, how wrong you were. How awful these words make his guts turn, how desperately he wants to close his eyes forever.

No, you didn’t deserve your fate. Everyone didn’t deserve their fates. But he? He deserves nothing but death.

Nothing but emptiness.

Nothing but darkness.

“Megumi.”

Is he hallucinating again? Is your voice hunting him down like it always does? It sounds so clear, near to reach. As if he could open his eyes, stretch out his hands and-

“Megumi.”

Again.

His skin suddenly starts to feel warm, as if someone touches his arm. Impossible, no one should be here, it’s just him in this prison that never ends-

“Hey, I’m here. It’s me, (y/n).”

“(y/n)?”

That name. That gorgeous name he adores to the moon and back, that last name that saved him from giving up until you died in front of his eyes.

“Hey, it’s been a while.”

“You’re dead.”

That voice sounds so unknown, so far away that you flinch for a second. Is this really Megumi and not just a cheap copy of him? You swallow hard, desperately try to contain your emotions. Oh, how much you longed for this moment, to finally hold the love of your life again. But on the other hand, you can’t take the sight in front of you. Him laying curled up on the cold floor, face showing absolutely no emotion.

You shake your head. No, you have to be strong right now. If not for yourself, then for him.

“Open your eyes, silly. I’m right here”, you reply.

Gently, you cup his cheek with your hand the way he always secretly adored. This just has to work, you need to get him back.

He hesitates for a moment, breath stuck in his throat. Is this really you or just his own sorrow reminding him of the things he’s done? But what…

He opens his eyes.

His gaze finds yours.

Time stands still.

“I missed you, cutie patootie.”

Reality hits him with full force. This might be a cruel trick, a hallucination. But that nickname was always a little secret between both of you, how you called him in private. No one except you knows about it. No one except you looks at him with so much love gleaming in their eyes. No one except…

“(y/n)”, he breathes out.

“I know you think I’m dead but…I made it, Megumi. I never gave up hope to see you again.”

You can’t hold back the waterfall of tears that now streams down your cheeks, eyes holding onto his gorgeous face for dear life, afraid to lose him all over again.

“(y/n).”

And for the first time since you know him, his eyes get watery to the point where they overflow with tears, the salty stream getting caught in your hands.

“(y/n)”, he whimpers again.

“Don’t feel sorry for what happened. It wasn’t you but him. I don’t blame you”, you blurt out immediately.

“(y/n)!”

Faster than you’re able to comprehend what’s happening, he wraps his longing arms around you, presses you so close that your lungs refuse their service for a second.

“I thought you’re dead. I thought…I killed you.”

The sheer agony in his voice forms a painful lump in your throat. Oh poor Megumi…He doesn’t deserve to feel this way, doesn’t deserve to hold all these horrible memories. How much you’d wish you could simply take his pain away, could make him forget what happened.

But all you’re able to do is holding him tightly.

“You would never harm a single hair on my body-“

“But I did!”, he screams.

“I hurt you! I almost killed you! Just like Gojo-sensei, just like Tsumiki!”

His voice breaks, a dry whimper escapes his lips.

“I…I can’t do this anymore. I can’t hurt another soul. I don’t wanna li-“

“Stop right there.”

Desperately, you force him to look into your reddened eyes.

“This wasn’t you, Megumi. Did you hear me? No one ever thought it was you. We loved you, we missed you, we want you back. When Shoko stitched me up, all I was able to think about was you. Fuck that shitty jujutsu world we’re living in, fuck all the curses and monsters and humans. Think about us, Megumi. Think about what you told me back then, that you’ll always stay by my side. Because that’s were I need you, this is why I love you more than anything else. In my eyes, you’ll never be anything apart from Megumi Fushiguro!”

Without thinking twice, you press your despairing lips against his, taste the salty tears of him and you that mixed on each other’s faces. His arms wrap themselves around your back and waist, hold you into place while you get lost against the lips you know so well but yet not at all. Megumi just needs to come back to you, needs to find his willpower again.

“I need you”, you mutter against his mouth.

“I love you.”

The agony radiating from his voice becomes almost unbearable, lets you hold onto his neck even tighter. No, Megumi didn’t deserve what happened to him. He didn’t deserve to see his loved ones die right before his eyes. He didn’t deserve all the things he’s been through. But this right here, this is just right.

This is a reason to hold on, right?

“Promise me you won’t give up”, you urge.

“Promise me you’ll give yourself the chance to heal, that you’ll stand with me and Yuji and the others. Just promise that you’ll come back.”

“I swore to myself not to be a burden to this world anymore, that I’m done with my pathetic life, that I deserve to die. But you’re alive, you’re lying in my arms…And now I’m too selfish to do that.”

Again, he caresses your lips with his in the gentlest way while his arms hold you in place.

“If I’m not able to look at myself in the mirror, I’m able to look at you.”

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain @risuola @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz@darkstarlight82 @satoreo @luwumii @tachiharazsstuff @kentocalls @cheesemachine44 @ryva@kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299@busyreader17 @4pgletter @okay-it-is-ivy @iluvtoru

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kitten4sannie · 2 months

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ꜱᴄᴘ: ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ʙʀᴇᴀᴄʜ

ᴛᴇʀᴀᴛᴏᴘʜɪʟɪᴀ/ᴛᴀᴍɪɴɢ ➠ ꜱᴀɴ

pairing: past lover/SCP! san x researcher! reader (fem) feat. resaercher friend! mingi

genre: SCP au, horror elements, angst (there’s a hopeful ending i promise ;;), smut

summary: having seen everything under the sun as a researcher at the SCP foundation, you didn’t think much of SCP-1117. it wasn’t until he started appearing as your late husband that you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

w.c: 3.4k

warnings: past character death, ANGST (i’m telling you now…), hard dom! san, bratty sub! reader, brat taming, cnc, san’s a heartless monster here so yeahh, he also has monster features yk (sharp teeth, black eyes, monster cawk), dirty talk, degradation/name calling, brief tit play, brief spit play, restraints, choking, rough oral (giving), deep-throating, kissing, fingering, squirting, like…so much cum…, finger sucking, rough sex, mating press, dacryphilia, creampie

a/n: listen ik it’s filth fest okayy there’s def filth in this but i also used this one as an angst outlet so just know this one’s got a little kick to it,, im sorry my lovelies i just couldn’t help it </33

Now Playing:

ꜱɪᴍᴘʟᴇ ᴍᴀᴛʜ ʙʏ ᴋɪᴅ ꜱɪꜱᴛʀ

0:01 ❍─────── 4:28

Volume: ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇ 100%

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

SCP-1117 was a curious one. Neither you nor your coworkers knew what its true form looked like, due to its ability of morphing into whatever it pleased. You couldn’t quite figure out what it truly was either. It was simply an amalgamation of pure chaos. One that you found yourself being drawn to ever since it began to replicate your late husband’s image.

Was it to entice you? Punish you? You weren’t sure. What you were sure of was that you couldn’t bring yourself to escape from its clutches, remaining at work during the late night hours, always telling your coworkers that you were simply running tests on it, when in actuality, it was running tests on you. Testing how much pain and pleasure you could take. Testing how much it could take from you and give to you without completely swallowing you up.

Oh, how it would love to.

࿏࿏࿏

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be staying here so late…and you shouldn’t be around SCP-1117 so often. It’s too dangerous…” one of the researchers you were closest with told you in a hushed voice inside the hauntingly white, sterile hallway of the facility, placing a hand on your stiff shoulder, his fingers squeezing into your plain white lab coat, hints of coffee still on his breath.

“Thank you for worrying about me, Mingi,” you began softly, looking up at him past the smudged lenses of your glasses, taking a sip from your own cup of stale black coffee. “But I’m getting closer to a breakthrough. I need this…The foundation needs this.”

“We still don’t know what its intentions are though…What if you get hurt?” Mingi pushed, concern present within his hushed, though gravelly voice, studying you with his sad, deep-set eyes. He searched the pristine tile floor for something he couldn’t find, finding it even harder to look back up at you. “I feel like…ever since the passing…you’ve been…”

You offered him a gentle smile, reaching up to pat the side of his cheek, interrupting him, “Mingi, I’m fine, really. I just need something to focus on instead of the grief, and this is it.” Something inside you shifted, the edges of your facade fading for only a moment, causing you to push your glasses up past the slope of your nose. “Research is all I have left as of late.”

Mingi inhaled sharply, suddenly feeling like shit, causing him to bring you into a warm, tight hug, whispering into your shoulder, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Please, do what helps you.” He squeezed you a little tighter, as if you would slip away from him at any second. “Just don’t forget, I’m here for you, Y/N. Night or day, I’m here.”

You stayed still inside his grasp, wanting to feel comfort from his gentle, loving touch, but instead feeling nothing at all. All you felt was the muddled memory of what love was to you. You heard it whispering into your mind and onto your skin, tormenting you with what you once had access to. “Thank you, Mingi,” you replied sincerely, slowly reaching your arms around him to hug him back, settling into his embrace. Before you even realized it, you had begun to hold him just as close, nuzzling his shoulder until your glasses fogged up.

Eventually, Mingi left you to your own devices, and you found yourself heading down to the basement floor, your high heels clacking loudly against the tile inside the large, empty hallway as you made your way to the entity’s room.

Once you pressed your keycard into the room’s security system, a small blue light flashed across your eyes, scanning your identity, before it let you into the vast, dark room.

Little by little, the plain room morphed into what used to be your late husband’s office, that in real life, was shut off from the rest of the world with a key, as you were never internally prepared to walk into a space that he had spent so much time inside. Here, it was perfectly clean and kept-up. Inviting. Warm, even. Not covered in thick layers of dust and shrouded in darkness, like in your reality. A reality you were relieved to have an escape from once again.

“You took so long to see me, honey. I’ve missed you dearly,” a deep, masculine voice called out to you, causing you to turn around and see your late husband sitting at his computer desk, wearing a coat similar to yours, his glasses slipping down his nose like they always did, a pout on his classically handsome, feline-like face.

“San, I’ve missed you too,” you called back, running over to him just as he got up from his computer chair, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Missed your touch.” It was then that you heard a slow, calculating chuckle ring out inside your ears. It sent a shiver right up your spine, your idyllic fantasy quickly falling apart at the seams like it always seemed to do.

“Oh, did you now? What did you miss, honey? My cock in your ass? Your throat? Or your wet little cunt?” he remarked filthily, the dark amusement inside his eyes reminding you that he was not your husband, and that this wasn’t the life you had. This was a cold, empty room, and you were in the arms of a nameless monster that wanted nothing more than to ruin you.

The feeling was mutual.

“I’ve missed it all. Need you,” you admitted hastily, opening San’s work shirt up to reveal his pretty, tan skin, simultaneously letting him push you back into the desk, watching him rip open your top, the buttons flying off and skidding across the floor.

“You’ll have me, slut. Relax.” San pulled your bra off, immediately encompassing your tits with his large, warm hands, squeezing them roughly and kneading them around, making you squeak. “Missed these tits of yours.”

“Yeah…? I bet you jerk off thinking about them when I’m gone. Pervert,” you tested him, hoping to provoke the beast, reaching down to grab his hardening cock through his tight work pants.

San sneered at you, showing off his sharpened teeth. “Why would I need to jerk off when you come here every night and willingly give me your holes to fuck as I please? Huh?” He lowered his mouth to your chest, spitting on one of your tits, before sucking on it sloppily, licking at your nipple with his forked tongue. “Or did you forget how fucking filthy you are?”

“Might need a reminder…”

“I forget just how truly mindless cock sluts are,” San mused to himself, flicking your other nipple roughly with his pointer finger, making you jolt from the sudden twinge of pleasurable pain. “I'll remind you, my dear.”

The entity suddenly swiped all the things off of his desk, from the large, ancient computer that your husband never wanted to get rid of because of the ‘lovely vintage aesthetic’ it apparently brought to his office, the various knickknacks he was never able to part with, from romantic poetry books he never got to read, to clay cats he made in the pottery class he begged you to join, knocking everything onto the floor so that he could place you onto it, with enough force that you felt a bit dizzy. With his hands pressed onto either side of the desk, San hovered over you, his now fully black eyes boring into your half closed ones, drool falling from his lips onto your flushed face. “Show me how wet you are, Y/N. Show me now.”

You obediently slid up your work skirt and lowered the lip of your panties, showing off your glistening, plump folds, your lips forming a playfully wicked smile. “Is that enough for you, 1117? Hm? Does it make your cock stiff?”

You both knew that you using his given name pissed him off more than anything, which led to him sending one of his fists straight through the desk near your shoulder, with so much ease, it was almost as if he was slicing through butter. You didn’t flinch, and he loved you for it. He loved his perfect little playtoy. You always knew how to press his buttons just right. Maybe that’s why he didn’t swallow you whole just yet. “You know, what does make my cock stiff is the thought of fucking that bratty mouth of yours until‌ you’re dripping drool and my load all over yourself…”

“Well, what are you waiting for, huh? I don’t have all night, you know. The morning crew comes in early,” you deadpanned, your heart hammering away inside your chest, your mind and body vibrating with an excitement that you haven’t felt since, well, the night before.

“I’m going to be cumming early too, when my cock’s ramming down your throat…” San climbed off of you and moved your body around to his will, so that you were laying on your back with your head hanging off of the desk. He ripped off his belt and looped it around your wrists, tightening it up until you whimpered. It was then that he pulled out his long, veiny cock, the tip of it dripping obscene globs of pre-cum onto your face, some of the saltiness getting on your lips. “Y/N, tell me, did your husband ever fuck and claim your throat for himself? Or did he do something disgusting like eat you out for your own sole pleasure instead?”

Visions of your late husband worshiping your body like a temple, with love in his eyes and praise on his lips, flashed across your mind, filling your stomach with lead, just as San, the monster, the entity that you couldn’t understand, filled your mouth and throat with his large, pulsing length, not giving you a chance to answer, instead snapping his hips forward.

“Oh my god, that’s it, right fucking there,” San groaned gutturally, closing his talons around the sides of your throat, watching the way his cock made an obscene bulge inside it each time he thrusted roughly into it, amused by the dribbles of spit escaping past your stretched lips. “Hey, do your coworkers know that you’re a whore for SCP-1117? Do they know that you study the way my balls hit your fucking face every time I thrust into this tight throat of yours?”

You gurgled noisily around his rapidly moving length, his salty pre-cum leaking into your mouth, not even having the ability to gag anymore from the amount of times that you’ve taken him inside, your throat already used to the shape of San’s enormous cock. “Mmmmfff…”

“Uh-huh, I know, baby. I know how much you love it,” San mused knowingly, reaching past your throat to rest one of his hands on the opposite edge of the table to thrust more easily into your tight throat, one hand already on your messy cunt, his talons returning to normal hands, a wedding band present on his ring finger, eagerly rubbing from your clit to your slit just to hear your juices squelching through his fingers. “I know how much you love being a hole for me.”

You spread your trembling thighs open, bucking your hips against his fingers, your moans sending pleasant vibrations onto his cock. It was when he stuffed your cunt full of his fingers that your moans were near constant, your eyes rolling up into your head, drool sliding up your face from the upside down position you were in, drops of it landing onto the floor near San’s black work shoes.

“Your pussy’s leaking so much, baby, did you know that? You must be really desperate for my cock, huh? Even though I pound you into a coma every single night? Are you that much of a brainless cum dump for me now?”

“Mm-hmm...!” Your thighs suddenly clenched around his rapidly moving hand, encouraging him to force them back open, most likely leaving a bruise on your sensitive skin.

San let out a significantly more pleasured groan than the rest that he was letting out, his cock throbbing deep inside your open throat, sweat dripping down the side of his temples, his hair starting to stick to his forehead, his wire glasses threatening to fall from his face. “You’re such a pathetic slut, god, it’s gonna make me fucking cum…”

Clear liquid suddenly gushed past San’s thick fingers, your muffled moans crescendoing into an equally muffled scream, your thighs going limp against the now slippery desk. You closed your eyes, and for a second, you saw your real husband standing at his desk, proudly holding up one of his crudely painted clay cats for you to see, showing you his pretty dimpled smile and sparkling, affectionate gaze.

It was then that San tore you away from your brief blissful memory, bringing you back to reality with his wet hands closing back around your bruising neck, his throbbing cock rammed completely down your contracting throat. “Go on, do what you do best and drink it all for me, baby,” he purred, just as he unleashed load after load into your mouth, some of it spilling out and dripping along your sweaty face and into your hair.

You simply laid there, still trembling, your wrists straining against your leather restraints, doing your best to swallow the endless amount of cum down without choking on it. It was so much that you almost found yourself beginning to pass out from the lack of oxygen, too busy guzzling down cum to breathe, your brain and fingertips growing tingly. How nightmarish would it be for the morning crew to come to find you passed out in SCP-1117’s room, your body covered in squirt and semen. Though it couldn’t be much more of a nightmare than the one you were already living in.

Once San’s balls were sufficiently drained in that moment, he slowly pulled out of your throat and mouth with a lewd pop, lifting up your practically lifeless body and flipping you around so that you were on your back again and gazing up at him. His face had grown more monstrous, his curled, sharp teeth starting to grow into his cheeks like they were sewn into his flesh, his glasses now gone, his eyes, like portals to an abyss you couldn’t seem to look away from, unintelligible symbols carved into the skin of his neck and collarbone. “What’s wrong, honey? You look frightened. Is something the matter?” he asked with faux concern, a deep chuckle emanating from his tattooed throat.

“Shut up and fill me with cock, already, 1117,” you sighed, reaching up to rub the cum from your glasses the cloth of your shirt, simply smearing it around instead.

Growling animalistically, San grabbed onto your hips, sinking his sharpened nails into your skin enough to elicit a small whimper from your lips, positioning his hardened cock against your cunt, rubbing his cockhead along it, just teasing your slit, instead of actually giving you what you wanted. “You’re just asking for it, you goddamn brat. You’re lucky I love fucking your whore hole this much or else I would’ve eaten you up a long time ago…You’d be so…tasty…”

Just as San began to drool on you again, you reached your restrained hands up so that you could have your wrists resting behind the monster’s neck, his overheated body impossibly close to yours. “Eat me up, 1117,” you whispered near his lips, catching his mouth against yours when he lunged forward, his split tongue slipping over yours and down your throat.

San pushed himself inside the tight heat of your cunt, immediately getting to work, pistoning himself in and out of you like a well-oiled machine, having no plans of stopping until he was pumping monstrous amounts of cum into your womb.

You sucked and licked at his long, agile tongue the best you could, watching strings of saliva spread in between your panting, parted mouths when San pulled back. “Fuck me harder,” you demanded, choking on your spit when San rubbed his fingers roughly into your clit, watching him bring his fingers up to your lips, taking them inside to suck your arousal off of them.

“Relax, little slut. You already know I always fuck you within an inch of your life.” San suddenly brought his legs up onto the desk, using his obscene strength to easily position the both of your bodies so that he had you in a mating press, thrusting viciously into your hot, leaking cunt.

Your already loud moans began to grow even louder, threatening to somehow escape the soundproof room. You couldn’t do anything but take everything San gave you, his thick, impossibly large cock drilling so roughly into your squelching cunt, he punched a prolonged, breathy whine out of you each time. “S-aaaan, pleaseee…!”

“Please, what? Don’t tell me you forgot how to use your words. Is it because I’m in your guts, baby? Is that why?” San began to laugh evilly near your ear, his tongue slithering past his curled lips to lick the salty tears that began to drip down your cheeks. He thrusted once more, this time feeling your squirt dripping in between your sticky bodies, driving him to fuck you even harder than before, the desk slamming roughly into the side of the wall over and over. “Is that your squirt leaking all over my cock? Fuck, you always cum so hard when I use you like this…Makes me wanna cum too…Gonna fill your womb with my load, Y/N. It won’t stop dripping out of you until tomorrow night when I fill you up again, and again, and again.”

It was then that you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. You tossed your head back, getting lost in a bout of boundless ecstasy, finding yourself back in your husband’s office. This time, he brought you into his arms, enveloping you in his comforting warmth and scent, his kind eyes focused on your face. You couldn’t hear the words for yourself, but you saw his lips moving. ‘I love you.’ That was all you could ask for these days. Just a glimpse. Just a taste of what once was yours.

You were once again brought back to reality by the entity, his heavy, twitching body pressing fully against yours, filling your cunt up with an unending amount of cum, some of it having to spill out, drops of it hitting the ground.

San gazed down at you, his jaw appearing to be completely unhinged, long, jagged teeth curling downwards, easily able to crush you up until nothing remained, his large black eyes now multiplied like an arachnid, still staring deep into yours, seeing his own reflection in them. He stayed still, like he was debating on consuming your flesh and bones — though….if he did that, then his fun would be over. Without another word, San pulled your restraints off and climbed off of you, his horrific, vaguely familar form staying long enough for him to say, “Until tomorrow, Y/N.”

It was then that he disappeared, along with San’s office, leaving you cold and alone inside the seemingly empty room. Having been through this routine time and time again, you walked over to a locker in the corner, putting on a fresh set of clothes, fixing your hair and makeup in the small mirror that sat inside the locker, not looking at it long enough to realize that there were still tears escaping your bloodshot eyes.

You pressed your keycard to the door once more, the system repeatedly leaving a flash of red over your skin until you opened your blurry eyes wide enough so that the blue light could scan them and let you out of the room. Once you were back inside the empty, sterile hallway, you walked to the opposite hall, your heels clacking against the floor along the way, your hands inside your coat pockets.

It wasn’t until you made it to the elevator that you found yourself falling to your knees, not having enough strength to make it inside. Why you did this to yourself over and over was a mystery. Maybe it was the simple fact that you could still visit some version of your husband, even if he was a soulless monster. Maybe it was because you would rather punish yourself, than take the time to heal from what you lost. You weren’t very sure. What you were sure of was that you stayed in the dark long enough to see that there was always light on the other side. You were ready to crawl towards it.

It was then that the elevator dinged, the doors sliding open to reveal who was inside. Mingi stood there, his worried expression morphing into one of conflict, some sort of relief mixed with grief.

“Sorry, Min, I just…I couldn’t help it…I’m sorry…” you whispered softly, unable to speak more when he simply lifted you off of the ground into his arms. He held you tight, his warm body encompassing yours, reminding you of the person that was always with you, even if you couldn’t see him. He was there through the heartbreak, through the emptiness, through the fullness, the pain, the pleasure, the grief. He was there through it all, just a thought away. Even though he was gone in a way, he had never left you to begin with, and you knew that now.

You knew.

“Let me take you home, Y/N,” Mingi spoke up, gently carding his fingers through your hair.

“Okay,” you sighed softly, leaning your head against his shoulder, hearing your late husband’s soft voice whisper something into your mind. “Mingi?”

“Yeah?”

With your gentle eyes creasing at the corners, you gave your dear friend a smile filled with warmth, a smile that the love of your life offered you time and time again, your shoulders feeling just a little lighter in that moment. You thought about the clay cats, about how they should be cherished again. “When we get there, can you help me find the key for San’s home office? There’s something I want to show you.”

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#cultofdionysusnet #cromernet #wonderlandnet #ateez #ateez san #san #san x reader #san smut #choi san #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic

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rafecameroninterlude · 2 months

Text

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮

pairing: dark!rafe x fem!kook!reader

summary: ❝i lost myself and i lost you too.❞ — you leave rafe at the height of his addiction after a heated exchange. fast forward two years later, and you have everything rafe couldn’t give you.

warnings: addiction, mentions of drugs, domestic violence, recovery, so much angsttt

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i let my best friend read this and she told me i needed to make a second part where rafe and y/n run into each other and now it has me thinking lol. would y’all want that? let me know in the comments or ask box <3 series masterlist

“what the fuck did you do with my shit!” you followed rafe into his bedroom, tears streaming down your face as you watched him flip the mattress over. your heart ached at the sight of the man in front of you. “rafe..” you shook your head. the man you once knew was so far gone, you couldn’t wrap your head around it. “y/n, i’m not gonna ask you again.” he looked up at you, his eyes bloodshot as he grinded his jaw. terror flooded through you at being in this position once again. “i-” you sucked in a breath when he stalked towards you, his eyes narrowing, “i-” he took your arm, pushing you against the wall. “i flushed everything. every last bit of it. it’s gone, rafe.” he blinked at you, his expression blank.

“what the fuck are you talking about?” his grip tightened, the pain shooting up to your shoulder. “you’re hurting me,” your voice was small as the tears started falling again, rafe unfazed by your obvious discomfort. “what do you mean you flushed everything?” he let go with a push, running his hands through his hair as he jogged to the bathroom, looking down at the toilet bowl as if his coke would be there waiting for him. he stared down wildy, your blood running cold when he slowly turned his head in your direction. “you said you were going to stop!” you sobbed, falling to the floor as you recounted walking in on him doing a line before he tried to gaslight you into thinking you didn’t know what you saw.

he walked over, squatting down as he took your chin inbetween his fingers. “look at me,” your eyes softened at his gentle tone, the feeling of pure horror returning when he smiled. “i could kill you right now.” in a flash, his fingers went from your chin to wrapping around your throat, yanking you up with him. you thrashed against him, your hands flying over his own in hopes he’d let go. “you wanna throw out my stuff? fine. i’ll throw you out then.” he dragged you to the front door, pushing you outside before slamming it shut. you lost your footing, your knees and the ball of your hands scraping against the pavement. you hissed, your white dress adorning new dirt stains. physical pain couldn’t compare to the emotional pain you felt right now.

you stared at nothing, having moved yourself from the concrete to the grass. you couldn’t even think of any words to describe what you were feeling at the moment. empty, defeat, sorrow, grief. how is it that you were grieving someone who was still alive? you sat for a long time, just listening to the birds chirp as the sun began setting over the horizon. while the outside was beautiful and lush with green from spring, there was a storm raging inside rafe’s home that you couldn’t even begin to fathom. you thought about things, and reflected over your relationship with rafe for the past four years of your life, but you couldn’t ignore the fact that the bad outweighed the good anymore.

on sore legs, you tried opening the front door, and much to your dismay it was locked. making your way around the house, the back door opened with ease as you slipped in silently. you took a look around, your heart twisting in your chest. all the furniture was flipped over, shards of glass from shattered decor and picture frames covered the floor, even the tv was knocked on its side. you managed to walk around the mess, keeping an ear out for rafe just in case he tried to come at you again. it was eerily quiet but you made your way upstairs nonetheless. you walked past the bathroom, freezing as you noticed rafe lying on the floor.

you peeked in, examining the unconscious man. his knuckles were bloodied, along with a few cuts on his arm that you assumed came from punching stuff like a maniac. soft snores echoed through the air as you felt an overwhelming sense of flight. it was now or never. you needed to leave from here, from him, and never look back. you didn’t care about anything that couldn’t fit in a backpack, quickly packing enough clothes to last you for a few days. you were going to explain everything to your parents as soon as you got the chance, but right now your main focus was getting to the mainland before rafe could wake up. you threw your hair up in a clip as you speed walked down the hallway, not even bothering to look at rafe one last time.

as soon as you made it out the door, you ran like your life depended on it, and in a way you assumed it did. you ran until your lungs burned with each intake of breath. you glanced down at the time on your phone. 8:45 PM, the exact time of the last ferry for the day. you took a deep breath, stepping on as you handed the guy at the front ten dollars. you spent the ten minutes it took to get to the mainland silently crying, fighting the urge to go back to rafe.

two years later…

“damn! that was really close!” topper watched the golf ball fly in the air, landing by the hole. “move over, watch how it’s done.” rafe laughed, ultimately not making the goal. they had been at the golf course for about an hour now. “hey man guess who’s coming back to figure eight.” rafe shrugged, taking a sip from his water bottle. normally no one ever left figure eight, except for..

“y/n. my sister told me a few days ago that her parents gave her their estate as a wedding gift. crazy right?” rafe paused not knowing what to take in first. the fact that you’re coming back, or that the words ‘wedding gift’ just left topper’s mouth. he stayed quiet, pondering over what he just heard. “y/n’s married?” apart of rafe was hurt at the revelation, but he knew he didn’t have the right to feel anything towards you. except guilt for everything he put you through.

“yeah, my sister went to her wedding like a month ago..” topper examined rafe’s reaction, “i’m sorry i shouldn’t be telling you this, i know you two used to be serious.” he took off his cap, wiping the sweat from his forehead. rafe tongued the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. “nah, it’s alright. i don’t think she knows i’m still here. i gave my dad hell so i’m pretty sure the last thing she, let alone anybody else, would expect is that tanneyhill is mine now.” he sighed, his golf club long forgotten in the dirt. “we’re bound to run into each other at some point.” flashbacks of you two ran through his mind, nothing but shame and anguish flooding his senses.

“i gotta go ‘top, i’ll catch up with you later, yeah?” rafe booked it across the golf course, ignoring the concerned shouts from his friend. for the next few days, rafe felt on edge as old urges started to pick at him, his frustration only growing as he fought with the idea to pass by your place. he wasn’t going to disturb your peace or talk to you or anything, he just wanted a glimpse of you. ‘fuck it.’ rafe grabbed his truck keys, knowing he was going to regret this later.

your parents, now your house, was only a few blocks away from tanneyhill. rafe didn’t fully pull onto the street, instead he parked at the corner, your house in clear view. there was a small moving truck outside, a man with black hair carrying a box inside. he didn’t have a work uniform on. rafe’s suspensions were confirmed when the same man walked out, you following behind him with that same pretty smile on your face. as if moving in slow motion, rafe watched as your husband picked you up, his heart twisting at the sight of you two sharing a kiss.

sure enough, your boulder of a ring caught rafe’s eye, the diamond sparkling underneath the afternoon sun. tears welled up in his eyes at how happy you were. your hair was longer, cheeks fuller, you were still the epitome of beauty. he beat himself up the entire time you were gone, and he was probably going to forever hate himself for the way he treated you. blinking away the tears, he made his way back home, the house feeling even more emptier than usual.

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aether-starlight · 3 months

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Mending - Zayne

Pairing: Zayne x Reader

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1k

Summary: Grandma and Caleb’s absence is hard on you. When you find yourself in the emergency ward, Zayne shows up with a helping hand.

Zayne was the one to break the news of Grandma and Caleb’s passing to you.

The memory was a blur, a concentration of words that blended one into the other until they became a whole different language.

You hated to admit that for a moment you had wished you had gone with them. Then you wouldn’t have to feel so alone.

Burying yourself in missions and textbooks had come as easy as breathing afterward. The less time you had to spare, the less you thought about them.

It gave you a sick kind of relief not to have to remember your Grandma’s voice or her delicious cooking. The scent of her home or the wrinkles from smiling that framed her eyes.

Forgetting Caleb’s easy laughter and the weight of his arm draped over your shoulders felt infinitely easier than knowing you wouldn’t have it ever again.

Until the day came when working wasn’t enough. Missing them had become a phantom pain you could not get rid of.

Your poor sleep schedule and foggy mind caught up to you, and it was a little surprise that you ended up in the emergency ward.

It was pure carelessness, the way you had disconnected yourself from your body, how you hadn’t felt the graze of claws until you were slammed into your back.

Now you were bandaged up — with a dislocated shoulder—, and trying to remain focused as a nurse asked you if you had consumed any kind of sedative or psychoactive substance.

“I didn’t.” Your voice managed to crack in between those two words.

The nurse eyed you doubtfully, tracing the dark circles beneath your eyes and the fisted hands tightly pressed to your lap.

“I can take it from here, thank you.” A familiar voice broke through before she could inquire further.

“Zayne,” you called, feeling some of the tension upon your shoulders wane.

He pushed the curtains to your section closed, stepping until his thighs were a breath away from your knees.

Your foolish heart sped up when he leaned down until your eyes were at the same level.

He smelled like usual, something fresh and light, a trace of soap and lavender beneath the hospital’s antiseptic.

“I think I recommended that you rest and maintain good sleep hygiene as you recover.” He paused, assessing your reaction. “I believe I also suggested for you to see a grief counselor before returning to the field.”

You cleared your throat, forcing your voice to not come out as weak as it felt.

“I did. Go to the counselor, that is.”

“What about sleeping?” It was a futile question, for you both knew the answer.

“I can’t help it if it’s hard for me.”

You closed your eyes, furious at how defeated you sounded.

Zayne’s voice became softer, his hand pressing into your uninjured shoulder.

“Nightmares?”

You nodded.

“Look at me.”

When you opened your eyes there was no judgment in his face. You almost would dare say he seemed worried.

“You went through an extremely traumatic experience. No one would blame you for needing help.”

Your eyes stung.

“What help could you give me?” It wasn’t necessarily hostile, if anything, your tone was curious.

Zayne let out a slow breath, pulling back, face clouded with contemplation.

“My shift is over. Come with me.”

At your widened eyes, he hastened to add: “We’ll talk. Have a cup of tea. It will help you regulate your emotions and promote the release of serotonin, necessary for sleep.”

The ghost of a smile pulled at your lips. Zayne had a peculiar way of being sweet without meaning to.

“Okay.”

“I can’t sleep.” You mumbled into the dark.

After hours of talking it had gotten quite late, and given your arm predicament, you were unfit to ride your motorcycle back home.

Zayne had kindly offered for you to sleep in his bed and was now on a futon beside it.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked, patient as usual.

“Things I don’t want to remember.”

The deafening sound of the explosion, the ringing in your ears afterward. Caleb’s last smile to you, and glimpses of your home blazed alight.

You closed your eyes as if that could stop the memories from pouring in.

“Can you come here, please?” You asked, feeling incredibly small. It wasn’t a feeling you cherished.

Zayne sighed lightly, but it wasn’t exactly annoyed.

“Alright.”

He laid carefully beside you, leaving a proper space between your bodies.

Your hand automatically reached forward, intertwining your fingers with his.

His hand was cold, but it felt nice, a break from the heated panic you found yourself in lately.

“Do you want to discuss it?”

“I don’t think I can.” You said honestly, then whispering: “I don’t want to break, Zayne.”

His hand tightened in yours.

“You’re not breaking. You are mending.”

A small smile cracked through your lips.

“Thanks. I hope so.”

A heartbeat passed before Zayne spoke again.

“What if…?”

“What?”

He shifted in place, turning so he was looking at the ceiling instead of you.

“Forget it.”

“Zayne.”

He sighed, knowing you wouldn’t let it go.

“What if we do that mindfulness exercise your yoga teacher taught you? The one you showed me.”

You smiled lightly.

“I’d like that.”

“Alright,” he murmured. “Close your eyes.”

“You’re supposed to cover them with your hand, silly.”

He huffed a small laugh.

“So impatient.”

Any mirth vanished from the air when he shifted closer, until your side was pressed to his chest.

“Are you comfortable with this?” He asked.

You nodded, adding in a quiet: “yes,” for good measure.

Zayne’s lips hovered close to your ear, breath fresh and just a bit cold. The mint of his toothpaste sent a shiver down your spine.

He smelled more of lavender and less of antiseptic now, his pajamas’ shirt soft against your arm.

When his hand covered your eyes, you let out a soft breath.

“We are children and you are coming home from school. We run into each other,” he whispers. “I approach you and treat you to something sweet…”

That night no nightmares come for you.

When you wake up, Zayne’s hand is cradling your cheek.

#love and deep space #love and deep space zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader

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saerotonins · 5 months

Text

the love that came back

ft. nanami kento x fem!reader

"what more could you wish for?

when the love you once lost, came back into your arms again,"

content warnings: jjk shibuya arc spoilers, angst, fluff if you really squint, little dialogues, going through grief and depression, pure pain, just reader's life through her perspective, implied major character death, bittersweet, depictions of the afterlife, happy ending (i promise)

wc: 4,933

note: i'll just be letting my feelings out because we're about to mourn LMAO enjoy!

inspired by and best enjoyed with: this love by taylor swift

October 31, 2018

when you heard a knock on the door, you expected kento to great you with a smile on his face and a sweet kiss to your lips.

but what you got instead is shoko right in front of your doorstep, giving you the news that your fiancée lost his life in the middle of the war across shibuya— then you felt like your world had crumbled right before your very eyes. he had promised. he had promised to come home to you tonight and come trick-or-treating and give the kids around the neighborhood some candies.

kento never breaks his promises, especially when it comes to you.

but there's always a first time, as they say.

you felt your knees turn into jelly as you fall onto the floor, eyes wide, and heart incredibly shattered. you couldn't believe what you were hearing, this must be a sick fucking joke. there's no way the love of your life is just gone like that. he doesn't fucking deserve this.

"i'm so sorry, y/n," you hear shoko said as she guides your limp body to sit on the couch but you could hardly hear her between your ragged breaths and the ringing in your ears.

what would her apology do anyway? would that sorry bring him back? would that bring him to your arms once again?

you feel your eyes swell with tears and let them fall off as they please. you wail in shoko's arms, you let out the loudest screams you ever let out in your entire life but none of those did anything to the amount of pain your heart is currently bearing. and for shoko, who has seen a fair share of gore and violence in her life, has never been so disturbed and heartbroken when she saw you wept and mourn for your lover.

that night when shoko left you on your own (not that she had the choice), you drank the fruit flavored champagne you usually sip with kento as he enjoys his whiskey, downing it like it was water but it tasted different.

there's this saying that alcohol tasted better when you're happy and around the people you cherish the most.

your sweet champagne started to taste bitter ever since, and a part of you died that day.

the days have gotten colder.

you miss the way kento's arms would wrap around you, you miss the warmth that he provided, something the heater in your shared home couldn't give.

you feel empty, everything has gone silent, and you hate it. at times like this, when kento is home, you would hear him hum with the vinyl he chose to listen to going along the silent rustle of either the newspaper or a book he had been looking forward to read.

now it's just silence. it's all new to you. you almost even forgot how your voice sounded like because you had no one to talk to.

for the past few weeks, your family and friends, even shoko had visited you to make sure you were okay. but whenever they try to initiate a conversation, they only get either a curt nod or nothing. they have also noticed the change you have been going through. the usual sparkle in your eyes gone, you've gone extremely quiet, your appetite has drastically changed, but they understood nonetheless.

a few days ago, with the help of his family and from the mercy of any entity that existed out there, the jujutsu tech was able to retrieve kento's body, whatever is left, that is— cremated him and finally held a proper burial. that's the least he deserves.

you asked if you could keep some of his ashes in a little urn, and his family, bless their hearts, agreed as they know that both of you share the pain of losing a loved one. there, it sits in his study together with his pictured frame. another one also sits on your chest, a necklace that holds some of your beloved. a piece of reminder that you and him will still be together.

you walk towards back to the living room, seeing the mess that has been made because truthfully speaking, cleaning up the house was the least pf your problems when you had a lot going through. it has been really rough. every night, at 7 pm, you yearn for the knock of your door, kento's voice declaring his arrival, "hon, i'm home," he would usually say.

now, it's all gone. the clothes he had worn the previous days still in the laundry bags, untouched, for the fear that his scent might go away.

it scares you. the thought of forgetting the sound of his voice, his smell, his warmth, his company, not being near your reach, terrifies you to the core. but you have to face it all. put on a brave face, live on a life where he doesn't exist anymore. but deep in your bones, your heart, and your soul.

he's still around.

he should be. he promised eternal life with you, willingly get on one knee to put on the prettiest engagement ring you had ever seen.

the saddest part is, he wouldn't be able to see you walk down the aisle. both of you had dreamt of a wedding so perfect. you designing your own gown that would compliment his, a small wedding enough for your family and closest friends, and a honeymoon trip to malaysia where you could just bask in each other's presence, forgetting everything and savor each moment.

he had promised you forever.

and kento never lies.

but then again, there's always a first time.

it has been months. nothing has changed.

you still feel so empty. nothing has changed around the house either. sure, the living room is clean enough but the bedroom you once shared with kento stayed the same.

you refuse to wash his clothes that was in the laundry basket, you refused to wash the bedsheets, you refused to even make up his side of the bed. and despite how much you missed him, you refuse to sleep on his side of the bed, fearing that sleeping over his scent would lose him completely. it was exhausting to yearn for someone you know is not going back, but you do it anyway.

from the tailoring shop you own, many bride-to-be's are going in and out to pick out wedding dresses with their pretty engagement rings decorating their hand. it feels like a slap to the face, angering even. why do these women have to be so happy picking out the perfect wedding gown while you're out there sulking, stuck with what if's and what could have been.

what could have been your gown? his suit? what could have your wedding venue look like? what could have happen in your honeymoon?

and when you realize that it will always stay that way, it fills you with envy, but more so with sorrow.

it's so unfair to be mad at these people who were lucky enough to find the one but you couldn't help it.

you just also hate the pity smiles they give you when you answer their question, "when's your wedding?" once they caught a glimpse of the engagement ring kento gave you with, "my fiancée passed away," with a forced smile on your face. you're just thankful they don't push you to answer any more questions.

the ring kento gave you is one thing that you will never remove. aside from your necklace, this is a reminder that kento loved you enough to propose, to ask your hand in marriage. that may not be enough considering your situation, but it is something, so you keep it around anyway.

when the shop has finally closed for the day, you come home, sit on his study and sketch more of the wedding dress ideas that you had on your what could have been wedding with kento. you have gone through almost 3 journals sketching everything aside from the dresses. it was venues, suits that he could've worn, your dress, and of course sketches of the both of you walking down the aisle.

whenever you sketch, a tear falls down, then another, and another, until you cry a river all over the page, not caring if the lead from the pencil is barely there due to the wet pages or the ink from your pen is smudging. when you go back to the pages, you see it. you don't mind that it has become messy, it represents the feelings that you have. the yearning, the grieving, the sorrow of a what could've been wife to a what could've been husband.

more months pass by and it's still the same.

it's empty, it's all routine. you wake up, wash your face from the dried tears that you wept from the night before, shower, get dressed, go to kento's study just to admire his face from the picture frame where his urn is placed and say your goodbyes as you kiss his pretty face through the the frame and off you go to work.

it's clockwork, but you don't mind. it's one of the few things that kept you sane, but a deep burning hole in your heart still fire ablaze, waiting to be set off. you doubt it will happen, but some coping might help, so you pretend that you don't mind.

when the night comes, you still prepare meals enough for two, it's muscle memory, you seem to master making portions of two and you plan to keep it that way. it's one of the only ways that keeps you alive. you either save the other half on the fridge or give them to your neighbors.

you had also convinced yourself to wash the bedsheets, but you always remember to spray kento's cologne on his side so it feels like he never left, but his clothes on the laundry basket remains untouched. you have gone through multiple bottles of his favorite perfume from spraying almost every surface of the house, it's expensive but it doesn't matter. as long as it helps to keep his memory, you don't mind.

your friends and family visit you from time to time, to check up on you. they know you're just putting a smile on your face, it's obvious, because your eyes don't shine like they used to, but that's fine enough for them. they also noticed how the house strongly smells like him, but they don't complain anyway.

and as you close your eyes, you take one careful sniff of his pillow that you have grown accustomed to embracing every night (but you know it doesn't feel the same but it would suffice), and drift yourself to sleep as quiet tears fall down.

today is a pretty quiet day. you took a week off from the shop but you're lucky enough that your sister is more than willing to help you. you've been doing nothing but cleaning around the house, watching shows, doing strolls across the neighborhood, visiting parks, and mostly sleeping. it wasn't the most productive way of spending your days off but these are just the things you do with kento when he was still... alive.

it was usually lively when you do it, but now it's quite different. the hums he would usually do to accompany the vinyl he is playing and the quiet rustle whenever he turns a page on his books, all gone. the silence is so loud that you could swear you can hear a hair pin drop. you could only hear the swirls of the fan and your breaths.

it's silent but it's deafening.

you stood up from the couch and decided to spend some time in his study. these months, you had been spending a lot of time there, doing whatever you can to bring some life into it.

kento has always been an organized man, not a speck of dust present or a single item misplaced. but ever since, you always thought that it looked like no one was there to inhabit it anymore. so, with a silent apology, you try rearranging things around, keep his lounge and study chair warm but that's about it.

once you entered his study, you remembered that kento has a lot of books left unread. he has been planning to get around and read it. but now he can't, the thought just broke your heart.

skimming through his shelves that was adorned with many books, one caught your eye. it was slightly misplaced, leaning towards another book with a bookmark sticking out.

kim jiyoung, born 1982, it read.

you remember this book.

October 24, 2018

"dear," kento had called out as you were scrolling through your phone with your head on his lap.

"you should read this book sometime, i think you'll like it," he said, making the book cover more visible so you can read the title.

"kim jiyoung, born 1982?" you read out loud.

"yeah, it's a very powerful book from what i've read so far, i think you'll feel the same way about it,"

you hummed, with the busy schedule around the shop, you're not so sure, "i'll borrow it from you when i finally have the time, besides, you can finish reading it first and tell me your thoughts about it, how's that sound?" you say with a smile on your face.

"sounds like a plan, but i can read it a lot to you right now?"

you like the idea he proposed, his voice is relaxing so you definitely won't mind.

"okay, but i like it better when you read it to me anyway,"

a small smile escaped from kento's lips as a playfully scoffs, "whatever you say."

you hear him clear his throat before reading, "when jiyoung was in fiftth grade..."

for the next few pages, you felt your eyes grow heavier as you heard his soothing voice grow quiet and let yourself drift asleep.

you regret sleeping on his voice that day. if you would've known it was the last time you would hear him read a book to you, you would've listened more attentively, record his voice, and listen some more. you feel your lips quiver as you feel tears threatening to leave your eyes.

you pick up the book and opened the page where the bookmark sits and you realize he's almost halfway through. you remember him saying that he'll get back to reading it after halloween once his schedule opens up.

guess that will never happen.

you sit on the lounge chair on the drawer where his urn and picture frame is placed. through shaky hands, you remove the bookmark and open the book wider.

"kento, i'm sorry if my voice isn't as soothing as yours but i will try and help you finish this, so just listen and relax, alright?" you voice is shaky and cracking, and you hope he won't mind, you he will listen just like you did, you hope he closes his eyes and rest wherever he is.

after releasing a ragged sigh, you read, "jiyoung's mother received information that the new..."

as you read through the pages, your ready becomes more and more sloppy, sometimes having to repeat sentences or words when you feel like you didn't say them properly. some of its pages soaked with your tears, and take deep breathes when the pain is caught up in your throat. you give kento a silent apology for ruining his books.

and you hope it's enough, because that's all you can do.

hope.

from then on, you finish book after book during your free time, slowly going through the unread books across his shelves. as time passes by, you may have gone through a lot of his books but reading them never goes easier. every time, you would flood the pages with tears, your breaths are never steady, and by the end of every reading, you would hug the book and close your eyes, sometimes creasing some of its parts.

and you hope he doesn't mind.

July 03, 2019

this is his first birthday that you would have to celebrate alone. and the thought breaks your heart.

as you set the cake on the table beside his picture frame and light the numbered candles.

you blankly at the flames on the cake. he would've been 28 today.

you take a very deep breath and started to sing.

"happy birthday to you," tears started forming in your eyes, singing the song out of tune and through your shaky breaths, "happy birthday to you,"

"happy birthday, my dearest kento," you take another deep breath.

"happy birthday to you." you sang for the last time before blowing out his candles.

another deep sigh. you kiss the pendant that sits on your chest, "i love you," and then the engagement ring on your ring finger, "so, so, much."

from then on, every time the 3rd of july comes around the corner, it becomes clockwork. you sing, blow the candles, kiss the pendant and the ring, and eat the cake all alone.

it never gets any better, though.

through the years you watch the numbers from the candles grow older.

but you know deep inside he doesn't. the ticking of his clock has stopped.

and so did yours.

October 31, 2019

you dreaded this day to come. on the same year, you managed to come across both of kento's firsts.

his first birthday without him celebrating with you and his first death anniversary.

ever since his funeral, you never had the will in you to actually visit his grave, where his family decided to bury his ashes. you were a coward, you admit.

but losing someone you loved the most is never that easy to get over with.

having to come face to face with your lover's grave is no easy task. you touch the tombstone where his name is engraved.

Nanami Kento

July 03, 1990-October 31, 2018

your soul will always be in our hearts

you sit onto the green grass, put your arms on his tombstone and rested your head over it.

for a while it was silent.

until a rain of tears eventually dropped.

"you're so unfair, kento," you said. your voice hoarse but considerably unnoticed as the pain took over. "you said you'd come home to me, but you didn't," you don't care if there were other people around you, you need to let go of the bottled-up feelings you had for the past year. and so you wail, and wail, and wail, and yell about how much of an asshole he is for leaving you alone. cursing every entity that exists for not protecting your beloved enough. the anger through your voice seeps in but you know deep inside that he's not an asshole. you're just mad and you don't have any way to cope but this.

but your cries have been met with silence, a daily reminder that he's really not here with you. and it breaks you.

"i love you so much, i miss you so much, i'm sorry for being mean. rest well, my beloved, you have done so much." you say and seal it with a kiss before going back home, if you could still call it that.

every year when this dreaded day arrives, you pick yourself up and go to his gravesite. but this time, you spend your time telling him new hobbies you picked up on, adventures you've gone through, and stories that you have already told him before.

when he was still around, he would ask some questions and reply with either a comment or a laugh.

but this time you were only met with silence.

conversations with him never sounded the same.

20XX

years had gone by without him. you didn't know how you did it either. every day is a new pain that you have to face but you suck it up anyway.

tonight is just a typical night, you were tired from managing the shop and just finished reading kento a book. nonetheless, you prepare yourself a meal as you feel your stomach growling.

as you sit down at the dinner table, you notice something incredibly wrong.

this is the first time you have prepared a portion enough for one.

that thought alone terrified you to the core.

every night you miss his voice still. you wish the voice messages that he left you on the phone would suffice but they didn't. through the phone, his voice doesn't sound as soft and as caring compared to what you usually hear when he's around. but it's not like you can do anything about it, can you?

you have gone through every voice message that he sent you, hundreds and hundreds of them, but you never get tired of it. it has been your lullaby for the past years. you convince yourself that this is the same as when you hear his words fresh from his lips, but you know it's not. it will never be the same. you miss the sound of his actual voice. every laughter, every chuckle, every syllable that escapes his mouth, you miss it.

the sound from your device isn't as comforting as it was, and it scares you to think that at some point, you will forget what his actual voice sounds like. you didn't like that thought one bit.

he had flooded your senses. his touch, his smell, his voice, his love, it had invade all of you and has become a part of you and you're afraid that one of those will be forgotten so you desperately try to keep everything alive.

even when he's not.

you're old now. wrinkles have adorned your whole body and you're not as strong as you used to.

but your love towards kento remained the same. it has become stronger, in fact. being old sometimes makes your memories a bit blurry but everything about your lover is something that you could never forget.

you browse through your photos in the album that has been left. you stroke through his pictures like you can still feel the heat through his skin. you miss the feel of his sharp features and the soft gaze of his eyes. you miss the way he would kiss every part of you and show you how much he loves you in every way possible.

everything still feels like it's yesterday. while everybody moved on, you stayed. deep inside you're still living in a time where kento was existing. you know he would've loved your nephews, nieces, and your grandchildren.

after him, you never loved anyone. you could never love anyone other than him. how could you, when he's all that plagued your mind, you keep on trying to keep his legacy alive, not a part of him forgotten, that he will always be remembered.

you've been diagnosed a chronic heart disease, but whenever a pain pangs in your heart, you're sure it's not your illness, but the pain of being left alone by a lover who swore to stay by your side.

you know you don't have much time left, and you have come to terms with it, happy, even. you want to meet your lover once again. you want to see kento right before your very eyes and reach him just like you did in your youth.

so by the summer, you have decided to visit kuantan, malaysia with your family.

it's the place you wanted to avoid the most but you know now for sure you're brave enough to visit it. he would've wanted you to go here, he wanted to go here. even if you're a little late, you're glad to make it just in time.

your eldest granddaughter have been guiding you along the shore. you bask in the fresh air and the sound of the waves from the ocean. every thing is so peaceful, but you wish kento was here to witness it with you.

you inhale the air with a weak smile in your face.

one of your nephews then had helped you tuck in for the night.

it was so peaceful. and for the first time in years, you have finally let out a big and genuine smile.

you feel your eyes getting heavy and you know it's going to be the last. and you've never felt any happier.

October 31, 20XX

you have finally died twice.

you were finally buried next to the love of your life.

in your funeral, your family used the picture you took a long time ago, back when you were 27, mourning and incredibly heartbroken for the lost of your lover.

the kind elderly photographer from the studio you took your photo from was confused as to why you could have been taking one while you're young and looking healthy.

"i don't want to pry sweetheart, but if you're still young and healthy, why are you taking a picture now?" she asked, but you don't mind it one bit.

"when i die i want to look like me and my husband were the same age," you answered with a big smile on your face.

since i too, died that day, you would add but decided against it.

the lady seems taken aback but appreciates the sentiment behind it anyway.

you let out a wide smile so that when both of your pictures are put beside each other, it would look like the one you wore when he was still around.

when you opened your eyes, you were greeted by the blue sky and a fresh breeze of air. you felt the grass tickle against your skin and it was pleasant. when you get up, you feel your body get lighter, it's as if you weren't old, that you were back from your youth. you looked on your arms and every wrinkle that you remember being present there was all gone.

you look around you and you see a very pleasant scenery. there were trees around and from far away, the splashes of the ocean can be heard. for some reason, everything feels light, including your heart. some butterflies swarm around you like you were a flower, you reach your hand out, letting some of them sit on the tip of your finger.

you were enjoying the company of the butterflies and taking in the beautiful scene before you.

"darling,"

you hear a very familiar voice, and your eyes immediately widen

this isn't a dream right? this is really happening, right?

you whip your head towards the direction of the voice and there you see it.

your lover, your soul, the love of your life, nanami kento.

he looks so ethereal, so peaceful, especially with the soft smile spread across his face.

you're dumbfounded but you take a step, and then another, and another, until you ran your way across the grassy field and leap into his arms. and it was—

oh.

it was so warm. just like how you remembered. you feel your tears fall from your face and weep as you bury your face on the crook of his neck. you decide to take it all in. you inhale his scent, one you have been longing for years, your hug tightens around him. oh he feels so warm. so, so, warm. it's like time has never gone by.

"i'm so sorry," kento said, apology obvious from his voice, "i'm so sorry i was weak—"

"no!" you say as you immediately face him.

"do not say that darling, don't, i know you have fought long and hard enough," you carefully lift your hand to touch his pretty face. you were shaking but you were careful, like he was something fragile, something you're afraid to break. when you finally place it on his face, he immediately leans towards your touch. "t-this is real, right?" he nods, his smile growing much wider, "we don't have to be apart any longer," kento declared with full confidence.

that sentence alone urged you to chase his lips onto yours, the kiss was full of yearning, it was passionate but never aggressive. all of those years, you share silent longings and the hurt between your lips. kento pulled you deeper into the kiss but he was careful enough to handle you gently. every apology was spilled onto both of your lips as you felt tears stream across his face, and that's how you knew he longed for you as you did for him.

without words, you knew how much kento appreciated you for keeping his memories alive. it was enough for you to know that he listened to every word you let out as you read the books in his study, every word that you sang during his birthdays, and every word that you let out whenever you visited his grave. he knew all of it. he watched you weep in sorrow which broke his heart because he doesn't know how to comfort you, but he greatly loved and cherished every gesture. and so, it is his turn to return all of it back to you.

and he now has forever to give you.

without words, you know what his lips spelled against yours.

i love you.

for once, the love that was once lost, the love that you had to let go free—

finally came back to you.

both of you have finally turned 28.

then, you feel the clock started ticking again until eternal ends.

another note: this is officially the first fic i wrote and i hope everyone enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. i feel like this piece will always be so dear in my heart. rest in peace, my beloved nanami kento, you have fought long and hard.

#nanami fluff #nanami angst #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento angst #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x yn #nanami x you #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jjk x reader

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calisources · 1 month

Text

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences here were taken from different media about possessive love, the thrill of the chase, banter, and competition regarding one's affection. Some have foul language so please beware but most are fun, banter, possessive fun. All of these are made for roleplay purposes. Change names, pronouns, locations as you see fit.

I love you. You’re mine. I’ll kill any bastard who tries to take you from me.

I spend a quarter of every day inside you.

I have never said this to anyone before.

But the idea of you with child is the most insanely arousing thing I’ve ever imagined.

Your belly all swollen, your breasts heavy, the funny little way you would walk … I would worship you. I would take care of your every need. And everyone would know that I’d made you that way, that you belonged to me.

You want to be free. You also want to be mine. You can't be both.

We can't possess one another.

Just because I can't have you right now, doesn't mean I'm okay with him having you.

I will be good to you, Myst. Please, I promise.

You are mine. And I protect what’s mine.

Of course I won't go alone. I shall take my maid.

No.You will take me.

The purpose of a knight is to protect. Why won’t you let him do his job to me?

I want you all to myself.

I can’t explain to you the joy I feel knowing it’s all mine. That you are all mine, that your body is all mine.

There is something in me that wakes up when I want something, a possession.

God knows he deserved you more than I do.

Listen well, for you belong to me.

Good grief, you’re such an adorably greedy person.

And when you fall in love with her just keep in mind that she’s mine.

She’s more than you could handle, anyway.

That almost sounds like a challenge.

I don’t need your permission to do anything.

Your hands will touch me and no one else, Meadow. That is final.

You chase off every man that’s ever been interested, and you do it without even trying.

You reject every suitor and yet, you keep entertaining me. I believe you want me too, and you are dying to be touched.

I don't own you, you just belong to me.

You’re my gold, your cunt is my liquid gold.

I will have your mouth, you will give it to me. Then I will have your spirit, Circe. I will own it. Always.

By the gods you have never been more beautiful than you are right now, spread before me, wrapped in my wool.

Once I take you, you are mine. My woman. No other man can have you.

I do not belong to you, or to anyone else. I will talk to whomever I want, whenever I want.

Not if it’s some ass who thinks he can put his hands on you.

You didn’t have a problem with me acting like a caveman last night.

When it comes to you… I don’t like to share.

Most men prefer to do the eating.

Do you know what passion is?

Most people think it only means desire. Arousal. Wild abandon. But that’s not all. The word derives from the Latin. It means suffering. Submission. Pain and pleasure, Nikki. Passion.

You’re wearing my colors, love.

I’m going to put you on your knees, Ruby. You’re going to hate how much you love it.

He is my king, he is my warrior, he is my husband and I am proud to say above all… he is mine.

You have rare beauty the like I have never seen but you will be more beautiful heavy with my seed.

You are my golden queen. You are my tigress. You are my Circe.

Never will I allow your gold to be taken from me. Never. Understand this, Circe, and never forget.

Maybe I fell in love with a version of him that didn't exist.

I would have you right here if you would let me. Fear you? I exalt you.

You could burn me a thousand times, and I would still want you for my own.

Everything has a price. The price, however, isn't always money.

You’re my scariest hell, You’re my perfect paradise.

Well, I admit my crib is pretty sweet. But a gold cage is still a cage, Harry.

I intend to the last.

If I win, then you shall be mine. Tonight.

You are so sure of yourself.

The game is simple. The women run, the men chase. If you catch the one with your color. . .well, that’s up to you.

But women have been running all their lives, most men don’t catch that easily.

We are in a maze, lost, and your hand is up my skirt.

Aye, but I don’t hear any complaints. The maze will hide our secret.

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #posessive meme #competition meme

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dilemmaontwolegs · 5 months

Note

would you write something about charles from the bucket list after she passes!

The Bucket List - Two Years Later || CL16

Warnings: mentions of grief Main Story || Death Scene || Two Years Later || Bucket Moments

“Why are you so sad?”

Charles looked up from his hands, limp and lifeless on his lap. He cast his eyes around to see he was sitting on a bench at the edge of a park, a cold winter breeze biting him through his jacket. He couldn’t remember how he got there, he had just started walking, needing to get out of the house before he truly drove himself crazy. This time of year was always hard, even now, two years later.

Finally, his eyes landed on the little girl who waited patiently for an answer. She swayed side to side like there was music he couldn’t hear and he looked around for her parents, but the park was mostly empty at this time of year.

“Where is your mother?”

She shrugged but didn’t seem worried that she was alone, she was more interested in getting an answer. “Why are you sad?”

Charles swallowed and twisted his wedding ring around his finger, the habitual movement a way to distract himself. “I lost someone very dear to me.”

“Do you want me to help you find them?” She held out her hand and Charles almost smiled at the sweet innocence.

“I’m afraid she’s somewhere we can’t go, she’s in heaven now.”

Her hand fell back to her side as she smiled brightly. “Then she’s not lost, silly. You know where she is.”

“Angel!” Charles turned to the frantic voice coming from the footpath that wound its way through the park. The woman rushed towards the bench and dropped to her knees in front of the little girl as she assessed her for any scrapes or bruises. “Angelique, what have I told you about running off? You scared me to death.”

“Sorry, mama,” she apologised as her face fell. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s my fault,” Charles found himself saying, feeling sorry for the little girl as tears began to well in her big brown eyes. “She was checking if I was alright, she’s very kind.”

“She is.” Her mother smiled and pulled her into a hug but Charles could see the worry linger in her eyes. “And are you alright?”

“I’m better now,” he admitted with a weak smile. “I’m Charles.”

“Grace,” she said as she shook his hand, “and this is my Angel.”

“Charles was sad his friend went to heaven. I don’t know why anyone would be sad about that, it’s heaven! But I guess he just really misses her,” Angelique rambled quickly, recapping her mother with the conversation she had missed. Grace sent Charles an apologetic smile, her eyes catching on the ring he spun on his left hand. “Do you think she knows papa?”

The question sent a pang to Grace's heart and she stood up, brushing the leaves from her jeans. “I don’t know, mon ange, I imagine it is a big place.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Charles said as he caught the same pain across her face that he felt everyday. Looking at her hands he saw a ring on her finger too and sighed. “I should let you get back to your day.”

“Wait, Charles,” Grace called as she quickly caught up to him on the path. “How long?”

He kicked the stones at his feet and instinctively knew what she was asking. “Two years, you?”

“Three and a half. Everybody tells you it’s going to get easier, don’t they? Just give it time.” She wrinkled her nose at the idea.

“I’m still waiting for that part,” he chuckled humorlessly.

“It doesn’t get easier,” she said softly as she looked at the trees but her eyes were unfocused. “But I have found that a bottle of wine, or talking to someone who looks at you with something other than pity, does help. I can’t remember which it is that actually helps, but we could try both - if you want?”

Charles laughed, a sound that had been foreign to him this week as your anniversary came and went, and he found himself nodding. “I’m not sure about your selling technique but at this point I will give anything a try.”

“Free wine always works with the French,” she joked as pulled out her phone to get his number.

“The Monegasque,” he corrected, making Angelique giggle.

Turning her phone around she showed him the contact to make sure it was right before calling him: Charles Le Monegasque.

“It’s actually Leclerc.”

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction

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cowboyfromh3ll · 5 months

Note

Henlo! If it's alright, could I request some headcanons for Arthur, Dutch, Hosea, Micah, and Kieran being told that their S/O has been killed by the O'Driscolls? But nobody can find their body because it turns out they survived and took care of the worst of their injuries before making it back a week or so later. I am a sucker for hurt/comfort content. Thank you for your time and hope you're doing well.

HC For VDL Boys Being Told Their S/O Was Killed By O'Driscolls Ft. Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Micah Bell, Kieran Duffy

Ohhh nice and angsty

Warnings: Mentions of death, mentions of violence, angst

Arthur Morgan

He would be absolutely broken

I don't think he'd go as far as to go out and kill O'Driscolls for revenge

But a new cavity in his heart would open up, and his hatred of the O'Driscolls would intensify

He wouldn't be able to get out of bed, would be incapable of taking care of himself, needs people to remind him to eat

Constantly scribbling in his journal about you

Probably the first time anyone in camp has seen him cry in a long long time

Only thing he'd get up for was to go in searches for your body

Is incredibly anxious the entire time they're looking for you and tries to mentally prepare himself for the sight of your body in who knows what state of decomposition

Once you return he'd think you're an apparition

He would be absolutely over the moon and crying tears of joy and relief

Interrogates you about your time gone but doesn't push it if the memories are too painful, you can visit that later

Helps mend any of your remaining injuries

Incredibly protective of you now and refused to let you go off on your own for a while

Holds you so so closely in bed the following nights, absolutely blots out the rest of the world with his body because he's scared if he lets go you'll disappear again

Dutch Van Der Linde

Like Arthur, he'd be destroyed as well

His mourning would cause him to jump to the anger stage immediately

Colm has already taken one lover from him, and now he's done it again? Tensions between the two gangs would be higher than ever before

He'd use the presumed death as an excuse to target Colm and the O'Driscolls for the week

Used the search for your body as an opportunity to interrogate and torture O'Driscolls. For once, he tells Arthur to back off so he can get blood on his hands

Despite everyone else's warnings, he just keeps on going and killing more O'Driscolls

When you finally return, he feels like he's hallucinating you because of his grief, and anger

Allows everyone else a moment to check over you before ushering you over to the privacy of his tent

Allows Ms. Grimshaw to follow so she can clean you up while he talks to you

Holds your hand the entire time and looks into your eyes while reassuring you that he'll never allow that to happen again

Insists you don't lift a finger for weeks afterward

Does NOT tell you about what he did while you were gone and simply speaks of his grief and his now relief that you're back

Hosea Matthews

He'd be grieving, but silently

He wouldn't be MIA like Arthur, and he definitely wouldn't be blinded by rage like Dutch

But he'd be a lot quieter, understandably, and you'd be able to see the deep sadness in his eyes

He didn't expect to lose a second lover, and his heart is heavy with feelings of loss

Would spend a lot of time talking about you to anyone who'll listen, mostly good memories

Turns down any of Dutch's suggestions to go out and take revenge, sees right through his attempts to use your presumed death as an excuse to kill a bunch of O'Driscolls

When you return he is all over you and is overjoyed by your presence

Takes care of all your injuries on his own and holds you sooo close the entire time

Reminds you how much he loves you because he feels like he didn't do it enough before he thought he lost you

Spends so much more time around you. If he wasn't attached to you by the hip before, he definitely is now

I don't think he'd doubt your ability to handle yourself; in fact, it'd probably be enforced by the fact you kept yourself alive for a week. But there'd be a lingering anxiety every time you go out

Micah Bell

Similar to Dutch, he'd go out and kill a shit ton of O'Driscolls

His grief translates to anger, and because I can't see him as a very sentimental person besides in terms of anger, that's the only way he'd express it

Probably wouldn't cry or show moments of vulnerability, but he'd be a lot more brutal in his killings

He'd spend a lot of time away from camp with Dutch probably looking for your body

Wouldn't return to camp for days

So you'd probably return to camp while he's gone, so everyone else tends to you before Micah can

When he returns he insists everyone else get away from you so he can take his own look at you

I wanna say you wouldn't receive a big welcome back gesture from Micah besides a rare shred of vulnerability where he tells you how happy he is to see you back

Don't get too mushy over it or else he'll backtrack

Kieran Duffy

He'd be HYSTERICAL

On his knees crying and wailing in the middle of camp while people try to comfort him

Would be the same level as MIA as Arthur and wouldn't talk to ANYONE

Spends all his time around the horses and doesn't talk to anyone

If anyone does try to talk to him he just stares off silently in the opposite direction

The gang could probably hear him sobbing silently at night while trying to sleep

Drinks himself half dead because he doesn't know how else to cope

Drinks so often that when you come back he doesn't think you're real for a few minutes

It's a huge moment of vulnerability between the two of you where you see each other at your lowest

But it would definitely bring the two of you closer! After the two of you have cleaned yourselves up and taken care of yourselves, you'd have long, deep conversations about what you went through and how happy you are to be back

Lots of reaffirming his love for you, never leaves your side

Insists he comes with you every time you go out. Thinks he wouldn't be able to do much in terms of protecting you, but the sentiment is so so sweet

Becomes more of a way of comforting himself and quelling his own anxiety

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption community #writing #red dead fanfiction #van der linde gang x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #kieran duffy #kieran duffy x reader #micah bell #micah bell x reader #hosea matthews #hosea matthews x reader #angst #hurt/comfort

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starlight-bread-blog · 8 months

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Zuko and Katara Aren't Toxic to Each Other

I keep hearing this take that's biasically just different variations of this:

Zuko and Katara would bring out the worst in each other. They would be fighting constantly, and their similar tendency to anger will escalate these situations. They'd both grow miserable and bitter.

I don't like this argument for a number of reasons, but I'll adress just one: I feel as though these takes miss how Zuko and Katara have been shown to respond to each other's anger in canon.

For most of the story, they're enemies. Prince of the Fire Nation and the Avatar's friend & teacher. They fight because they're on opposite sides of a war. They do have an arc before they reconcile, there are fights from The Crossroads of Destiny to The Southern Raiders. But in my opinion they don't point at toxicity. They show how Zuko actually reacts to Katara's rage. And it simply doesn't escalate even before they become friends. So let's take a look at a few of said arguments:

The Crossroads of Destiny

At this point they are pure enemies. Katara didn't see Zuko's journy in the Earth Kingdom and they don't know anything about each other.

Zuko and Katara are in the crystal catacombs and Katara starts yelling & preaching at Zuko for all he did do them. At first Zuko just takes it all, just listens to her. But he hit his breaking point.

Zuko (calmly): You don't know what you're talking about.

Katara then rightfully gets angry. And opens up about how the Fire Nation hurt her personally – they took away her mother. Instantly, Zuko isn't angry anymore.

Zuko: I'm sorry.

He immediatly understands and offers comfort. And even, connect with his enemy.

Zuko: That's something we have in common.

Katara: I'm sorry I yelled at you before.

Now the argument is over. They were enemies just a second ago, but Zuko was able to put it aside, realize that Katara was well within her rights to get angry, see her pain and connect with her. So much so, that he tells her about his destiny, about how he feels he's free. And Katara offers to heal his scar to help him too. She too understood his pain, calmed down instantly and helpped.

The Western Air Temple

Zuko has redeemed himself, but not in Katara's eyes. She still suspects him after he betrayed her. She confronts him.

Zuko doesn't get angry if defensive, he knows why she's yelling and lets it happen. He understands her and knows his place.

Then, she threatens him with death. And what did Zuko do?

Nothing. It's not his place. He has gained the emotional maturiny needed to do nothing. To take her rage, knowing it's deserved.

The Southern Raiders

At this point Zuko is completely redeemed, he saved the Gaang just this day and proved he's trust worthy on multiple occasions. But that's still not enough for Katara. She makes a mean spirited comment about him not deserving any credit and leaves. Zuko follows her.

Thus the hostility begins. Zuko asks Katara why can't she trust him? He's proven himself, everyone already trusts him. It's a fair question, and fair frustration. Katara didn't provide substantial reasons to why she still doesn't trusts him yet. She just reminded him she was the first to trust him.

Zuko: What can I do to make it up to you?

He calmed down and tried to help, even when he had every right to be upset. In her next line, it became clear that she was projecting her grief onto him. Zuko realized this, what did he do? What did he do after finding out that Katara's rage at him isn't even about anything he personally did? What did he do after finding out that her rage is unfair and rooted in projection?

Says nothing & goes to her brother to help her solve her trauma. Regardless of it was healthy or not, Zuko was trying to help – not get angry at her.

All of these arguments happen before they even become friends. After they did, they are nothing but wholesome.

This argument that they'd bring out the worst in each other has no basis in canon.

"But it doesn't need to be prominent in canon! They didn't disagree yet, and we don't know what it'd look like".

They did once: Zuko agreed to an Agni Kai with Azula. He invited Katara just so he wouldn't have to do this. Katara finds it unreasonable. But she hears him out and trusts his judgement.

Yes, it does need to be backed up by canon. If it doesn't need to, you can pick any two traits of any two characters and think of how they could be miserable. It doesn't matter that that's not how they are, because it's a hypothetical. It doesn't need to be backed up in canon. Now I'm suggesting that Zukka would be toxic because Sokka's sillyness would clash with Zuko's anger. Sokka would joke around and Zuko would be irrutated & ask him to take it seriously. But it's stupid. I just picked two traits and went wild with it. Same goes for Zutara. They don't act like this, so it's irrelevant.

In conclusion: When Zuko and Katara were "fighting constantly" they were on opposite sides of a war. The first time they talked, it naturally starts as an argument, but turns into a beautiful moment where they both understand each other. When Zuko joins the Gaang, he waits pationetly to Katara's forgiveness, takes all her anger without being at all hostile, does everything he can to prove himself, stays calm even when it's unfair and helps her resolve her trauma. After they reconcile Zuko and Katara don't have a hinch of toxicity. They don't bring out the worst in each other.

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