#i have been attempting to not spoil what i’m going to write content wise so we don’t get henry’s reaction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

michiieewrites · 4 years

Text

THORST COLLAB: Bakugou - Starving till I tasted you

A/N: First: IF YOU’RE UNDER 18, BEGONE FROM MY BLOG SINCE I WRITE MATURE CONTENT!! This one has been sitting in my documents for almost 2 months now. This week inspiration finally struck me once again tho!

This fic is actually a Thorst Collab between my lovely friends & I on Discord. I’m the first one to post mine, so I can’t wait to see what the others will write!

Now.

STRAP ON YOUR SEATBELTS CAUSE THIS MOTHERF!@#$%CKER IS 4.2K+ WORDS LONG

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

If someone told you a year ago that you would have enough money to pay off your student debt, buy your dream apartment, help out your family and friends, move abroad and drive in a ’67 Chevrolet Impala, you would’ve died laughing at the joke.

You told yourself it was stupid, buying that lottery ticket. But here you are; $100.000.000,- on your bank account. A young and now rich Omega in her prime. After making sure you had spend part of it wisely, you made sure to live the rest of your life on interest alone.

The first month had been nice. Decorating your new place, going out for dinner every day, getting a new wardrobe, spoiling yourself silly. You got new nesting materials, softer blankets and bigger pillows. It felt nice. Until it didn’t anymore. It started to feel pointless and empty. You felt like you were becoming one of those people that flaunt their money and that isn’t the type of Omega you are.

So here you are. Sitting in your peach colored dress and a numbered paddle in your hand. Tonight, you attend a charity auction. The charity was a rehabilitation program for criminals who want to get back on the right path.

The auction items aren’t exactly… items. They’re Pro Heroes. People could bid on having a date with some of the most desirable Pro Heroes, Alphas, Betas, Omegas, all of them. Even No. 1 hero Deku and No. 4 hero Red Riot are up for auction, both being Omegas.

One of the last dates are being auctioned and you realize you have been zoning out. Not having bid anything yet, you put up your paddle.

“Going once, going twice… SOLD TO NUMBER 917 FOR TONIGHT’S HIGHEST BID OF $300.000,-! A date with explosion pro hero Ground Zero!”

Oh lord. Yes! You got- wait… You got actually got it? You won a date with Pro Hero Ground Zero. Wasn’t he the one with the explosion quirk? Impressive power and always capturing the villains. What separates him from Deku is his social skills. Or lack thereof, to be more precise. Ground Zero isn’t really the type of hero to stick around the people he saved to see if they’re okay.

On top of all that he’s also an Alpha. Highly sought out by Omegas who want a pup, but not the Alpha. His genes are what people want, not the man himself. His personality also making it harder for people to approach him. And you just won a date with the most desired and aggressive Pro Hero Alpha there is.

“Oi!”

The voice behind you pulled you from your thoughts. The subtle scent of caramelized candy apples caught your attention. You turn around and find a handsome Alpha standing there. Arms crossed, cardinal red eyes watching you and his lips in an almost angry looking pout. This is the man you just bought yourself a date with.

“H-hi!” you manage to stammer out.

With a huff, he places a card on your table. You pick it up and see that it’s a business card from Ground Zero’s agency. At the bottom, writing in sleek handwriting, is a phone number. You look back up at him, ready to ask him why he gave this to you. But he’s already turning around and heading for the exit.

“Just contact me when you wanna plan that date things.”

And just like that, you had Ground Zero’s personal phone number.

~ A few days later ~

You’re sitting at a small booth, sipping on your matcha latte. You were a half hour too early, so you decided it wouldn’t hurt to go ahead and order a drink before Bakugou would arrive. In his very first text he made it clear to call him ‘Bakugou’ and not by his hero name. He said that it would feel too much like an interview otherwise. In return you told him to just call you ‘Y/N’.

After some back and forth texting the last couple of days, you two agreed to meet up at a local coffee shop. Not a lot of people know about this shop. It’s small and the interior looks more like cozy living room than a flashy coffee shop. It was your favorite place to sit down and enjoy a cup of coffee, tea or like right now, matcha latte.

Neither of you had any set plans for the rest of the day. Just kind of going with the flow seemed like the way to go. This would give you the freedom to hopefully have a quiet ‘date’. But you can’t really know that for sure when the person you’re on a date with is a Pro Hero.

The sound of the bell above the front door rings. You look up and see him walk in. Sitting all the way in the back, you can’t even smell him scent. Weren’t Alpha’s supposed to have very strong scents? Maybe he’s on suppressants?

He scans the shop, probably looking for you. His eyes land on you. He walks over and sits across from you. He leans back against the chair and swings his right arm over the arm rest while the left one is resting on the table. His eyes trail down from your face to the drink in your hands.

“I see you couldn’t wait for me to arrive,” he gruffly says.

“Uh-uhm, yeah. Sorry, I was super early. I hope you don’t mind.”

The silence that spreads between you two makes your Omega feel uncomfortable. Something doesn’t feel right and you’re starting to think that the Alpha in front of you truly doesn’t want to do any of this. So, to make it a little more bearable for yourself, you pump out a small amount of calming pheromones. Just to take the edge of this meeting.

Bakugou keeps looking at you. Until he finally picks up the menu card and says: “It’s fine. It’s your day, after all.”

He was right, you figured. But you still wanted him to have a pleasant time today too.

And so the day continues. The conversation isn’t very lengthy or deep. You discuss basic things like work, hobbies, favorite food. After a while the conversation kind of dies down. You suggest you two head out and into town. The man in front of you doesn’t seem overly thrilled about it, but still agrees.

When you go up to the front to pay, you hear him quickly walking up to you. He pulls your arm back. Surprised, you let out a small sound of shock and look up at him. A confused look is on his face and he pulls his hand away from you.

“The heck are you trying to do?”

Confused, you say: “Uh, paying?”

“I see that, but why? Omegas don’t pay when they’re with Alphas.”

Wow. At first you didn’t know how to respond to this remark. True, Omegas usually aren’t the ones paying on dates. In the past an Alpha would go out and hunt for their Omega. Since the hunting days are over and many Omegas work nowadays, treating them on dates are a way to show the Omega they can provide for them.

“Well,” you say as you hand over the money to the Beta barista behind the counter and thank him, “I don’t know about other Omegas, but I’m perfectly capable of paying for drinks too. I can provide just as well as any Alpha.”

You two walk outside and turn left to head into town. You’ve been meaning to go to the bookstore and hopefully find some new reading material. Two birds, one stone, right?

“Tsk, should’ve known a rich Omega like you doesn’t like to be told what to do,” Bakugou mumbles to himself.

You stop in your tracks. What? Was that really what he thought of you? A rich and snobby Omega?

Realizing you’re not walking beside him anymore, Bakugou turns around. Your head is bowed in shame. Normally your scent smells like peaches and hazelnuts, but now it turns into that of rotten fruit. You feel called out. For winning the lottery, for treating this Alpha to some drinks, for basically buying yourself a date with someone who clearly wishes to be anywhere else but here.

Your voice shakes, but you gather all your courage. “I’ll admit I was given a lot more financial freedom recently. And yes, I don’t like being told what to do. I believe everyone should be treated equally, regardless of their second gender. But I have never in my life asked for something. I was taught to work hard, to help people and to help and reward the people that help you.”

You pick up your head and look him straight in the eyes, politely smile and say: “I’m sorry you had to do this. This isn’t really how you planned your day would go. You can go, if you want to.”

As you pass him, determent to still go to the bookstore, you feel a weight being lifted from your heart. It really is unfair to the Alpha to make him go on a date with someone he doesn’t like. Deep down inside your Omega whines sadly. She recognized a good and safe provider in the Alpha, one who isn’t driven by hormones to just get an Omega pregnant. One who isn’t controlled their Alpha status. Too bad his Alpha isn’t interested in the Omega.

“Fuck, crap- wait! Shit!”

The cursing Alpha quickly catches up to you. He stops in front of you, holding up his hands to halt you. “Okay, fuck-just… let me explain.”

You cross your arms at him and wait for him to continue.

“Okay, so… Listen, I’ve been a real dick to you. Not just today, but basically since that charity event when I gave you my card. It was wrong of me assume anything about you. Shit Y/N, you’ve been nothing but nice to me. You don’t mind carrying the cost of a date, you’re not flaunting it around town that you’re spending time with a Pro Hero, you put up with my shitty responses and that isn’t how you should be treated. Or anyone for that matter! You deserve a proper date. So just, maybe I can make it up to you?”

By the end of his apology, Bakugou practically gives you angry puppy eyes in an attempt to ask for forgiveness. He reminds you of an angry Pomeranian. Smiling, you tell him that you forgive him. This day is supposed to be a fun one.

“But! You’ll have to carry the books I’ll buy as a punishment. And just so you know, I always come out with two shopping bags,” you tell him.

Bakugou just grins. “Fine. They’ll probably weigh nothing for me.”

Something in the air changes. A little sniff of your nose helps you identify the change. The scent coming from the Alpha next to you is slightly peaked. You heard that when an Alpha is preening their scents get stronger. You hardly think that’s the reason. Maybe it’s just because he’s in better mood now. Whatever the reason, you find yourself agreeing with your Omega; it’s a very nice scent.

~ An hour and a half later ~

“I’ve never met someone who spends over an hour inside a bookstore!”

“I told you when we came in that it could take a while,” you reply to Bakugou’s complaints.

“You do this with nesting stuff too? You know, blankets and shit,” he asks.

In both his hands, Bakugou is carrying a bag containing close to twenty books you can add to your bookcases back at home. Even underneath the sleeves of his hoodie you can see the muscles of his arms. He’s not as bulky as Pro Heroes Deku and Red Riot, but those muscles are pretty impressive. You bet your money that those thighs could squish a watermelon. You can practically feel the water filling your Omega’s mouth. She wants nothing more than to chomp down on those delicious shoulders. And honestly, you wouldn’t mind that either.

You remember you were asked a question. “I do. How else am I gonna know I made the right choice? All of those blankets and shit, as you put it, go in my nest. I’m at my best with a perfect nest.” A confident smile forms on your face and from the corner of your eye you can see Bakugou looking at you. A small smirk creeps up on his face.

While enjoying our little banter, you both failed to notice the Alpha towards the two of you. Until he opened his mouth. “I bet I can make your nest even better, little Omega.”

The other guy stops right in front of you, completely ignoring the Alpha next to you. You’re shocked and take a step back to create some distance between you again. But the guy doesn’t let up and steps closer again.

“No, now get lost,” you firmly say. This wasn’t the first Alpha-asshole you encountered.

“Awh, why the sour face, baby? Bet I’ll be more fun than the hedgehog here.”

“Oi, asshole! She said to get lost.” The smells of pheromones of two Alphas are dominating the air. The strongest one being the creepy guy, Bakugou’s not so much. You honestly confused on that point. With an Alpha as desirable as Bakugou, you truly expected a stronger scent.

You can’t help but release your own distressed scent. The tension is getting to you. Even other people noticed and are stopping to see how this plays out.

The creep briefly looks at Bakugou before returning his attention on you. “Come on, baby. Ditch this guy and then you and I can have our fun. What do you say?”

He extends his hand to put it on our waist and before you know it, you slap his hand away and punch him in the face. He stumbles back while cupping his now bleeding nose. Screaming in pain and shouting names at you. He’s beyond pissed; punched by a fucking Omega!

The adrenaline is pumping through you and every instinct in your body is telling you to run. Hide. Find an Alpha to protect you. You’re frozen on the spot. Your mind shutting down.

That’s when you feel a hand tugging you away. Your Omega recognizes the person this scent belongs to. Caramel candy apples. Bakugou.

You don’t know where he’s taking you. Your mind still processing things. All you know is to follow. ‘Cause he’ll lead to safety. Alphas keep Omegas safe. Follow. Safety. Alpha.

By the time you get to take in your surroundings, you realize you’re in an office. An office? What are you doing here? You look around and see a wooden desk with a black leather chair. A small bookcase, a closet and a couch with coffee table. A puffy black rug is covering the wooden floor, complimenting the one black wall behind you. The other walls are a tinted orange color.

The scent hanging in this office is… comforting. Soothing. Safe. You’re safe in here.

You’re seated on the couch. Wrapped in something soft. A blanket. A big, fluffy and soft blanket. The scent is even stronger on the blanket. You slowly inhale, imprinting this delicious mix of sweetness. After a couple seconds you finally notice the man next to you. Bakugou grins as he sees your focus shifting to him.

“I take it the blanket is approved,” he jokes.

You slowly nod. This small little cocoon makes you feel less vulnerable. Just like the presence of Bakugou next to you. It feels right. “Where are we?”

“Oh yeah, fuck. We’re at my agency. This is my office.”

You’re confused. “Your office? Why? I’m sorry, I kind of… froze. Can you tell me what happened afterwards?”

The smile that spreads on his face makes you feel funny inside. “What happened?! Y/N, you punched that fucker right in his fucking face! Shithead had it coming, tho. You just beat me to it. Omega or not, you know how to fight.”

You two look at each other and burst out laughing as you think back to that glorious moment. The creep definitely didn’t see your punch coming. It feels good to know the man next to you thinks you’re a decent fighter. He seems to actually be enjoying your company. Maybe he’s one of those people that are careful with who they get comfortable with. It feels good to know he feels like he can relax a bit more around you now.

You jokingly nudge him and say: “I bet I can even take you on, you big grump.”

“Oh yeah?” His eyebrow is raised, grinning with his canines on display. “Prove it then.”

Knowing a challenge when you see one, you keep your eyes fixed on his cardinal ones and slowly lean in closer. Baring your neck to the side in submission to lure in his Alpha. Your Omega is very pleased by the motion. Just as he moves to lean in too, you throw the blanket in his face, grab his neck and shove him down on the ground. Stradling him and jabbing your elbow into his side, pressing your nails into the skin of his neck.

Smiling down at the man below you; “How’s that, Alpha?”

A short lived victory as he snarls and the two of you roll over, with Bakugou keeping you pinned underneath his weight. He may not look like it, but this man weighs a ton!

“If you’re trying to be a worthy opponent, why not call me by my first name? It’s ‘Katsuki’,” he breathes heavily atop of you.

Next to your ear you hear a low grumbling sound. Still seeing this as a playfight you laugh and reach back. Your fingers finding pressure points in his neck, making him let go of you. This gives you the chance to overpower him again and straddle him once more while holding his wrists above his head.

Victorious once again, you look down. Growling and teeth bared, the air around you growing thick. The smell surrounding you hits you like thunder. The caramelized candy apple scent overwhelming your senses. Your eyes travel down to his neck and see something you failed to notice before; gland patches. Patches to block someone’s scent from becoming too noticeable. That’s why the other Alpha smelled so much stronger. But now, now you’re drowning in it. You can pick up on rage, possessiveness and… arousal. As much as he’s growling and snarling at you, you know that he’s enjoying this too.

Chuckling at you, he cranes his neck. His face now closer to you than a moment ago. “I’m pretty sure I just got my ass handed by the most perfect Omega.” His words push through the alarm bells his instincts are sending off. His Alpha is not pleased about being pinned down. But as it takes in the Omega’s scent of peaches and hazelnuts, it can’t help but lie down and surrender itself to this tasty smelling Omega. An Omega that can fight back. An Omega that can hold him close. An Omega worthy of carrying his pups.

His Omega.

Before either can properly get out any words Bakugou has wrestled his hands free and grabs a hold of your hips while your hands pull his face closer and seal the distance between your lips. The taste of sugar coated apples is even stronger on his lips and you can’t get enough of it.

His fingers press deeply in your skin, kneading the flesh. His hips pushing upwards while holding you in place. The low rumbling sound in the back of his throat being accompanied by your mewling. You wanted more of him, your Omega needed more.

The Alpha makes his displeasure heard. You both part to breathe in fresh air. His lidded eyes are on fire and following every movement you make. Your hands slip down to his collarbones and settle on his shoulders. The path of your hands make Bakugou throw back his head. His body is pressing into yours desperately, like he has no control over it anymore. His growling increases in volume.

Through gritted teeth he manages to speak to you. “Fuck, Omega. What are you doing to me?”

Taking a leap of faith, you answer: “I don’t know. All I know right now is that I need capable Alpha to take care of me. Are you that Alpha, Katsuki?”

Before you can even blink, you’re being rolled over again. This time you’ll let him have his way. His hands are sliding their way up to your chest, grabbing the front of your shirt and tearing it apart. You try to protest, but you’re stopped by the warning growl of his Alpha. You lay back down and occupy yourself with running your fingers through his hair. Your gently massage making the Alpha let out a content sound.

Entranced by the man above you, you hardly even notice his onslaught on your clothes. And his own clothes. Getting those replaced will be a worry for later, your Omega decide. All you need to focus on right now is Katsuki. You want this Alpha to mate you and it needs to happen right now, or else your Omega just might perish on the spot.

That’s when you feel it. The hard and heavy feeling of his cock rutting itself against your core. Your body can’t help but react to it and release a good amount of slick. Katsuki’s mouth nipping along your collarbones as your bare you neck in submission. You feel his fangs graze your scent glands and you start to whimper desperately.

“Fuck, Y/N. Keep making those pretty noises,” Katsuki says.

“Yes, Alpha, yes. Just-ah shit! Just fuck me already!” you loudly exclaim.

Now who is Katsuki to deny such a nice plea from such a good Omega?

Wasting no time, he slides himself inside. The stretch making you cry out for more, deeper, more, anything he can give you. You just know you need more. Barely able to hold himself back from ramming himself inside and fucking you like you’re in a heat, he takes his time for your to fully take him in. A sigh of satisfaction leaves you both when he finally does.

Your legs wrap around his waist and try to pull him deeper in. Your fingers curl around his spikey locks and tug harshly to get him moving. Grunting, Katsuki finally complies. Being buried inside you sends him into over-drive. You feel too damn good around him. He feels too good inside you as he sets in a brutal rhythm. You’re pretty sure no other man could ever make you feel this good. No other Alpha could ever please your Omega ever again. Feeling his body slam into yours like his life depends on it is possibly the best feeling in the world. Your lungs are sending out a mix of his name, pleas for more, for him to go faster.

Katsuki can’t help it, he can’t stop himself anymore. He need to do this, he needs you, his Alpha needs to mate your Omega. Give her everything she wants and all that she’ll take. Only the best for his Omega, he will be worthy of giving her pups.

You can feel the base of his cock starting to inflate. His knot. His knot is growing. As soon as you notice, you start to claw at his back. A need filling you till the point you’re almost bursting.

“Alpha! Knot, please- Alpha, knot me- I need- Need your knot, Alpha!” you scream in desperation.

He wants to. Oh, he wants to so badly. But in the back of his mind there’s one braincell left that tells him that now is not the time nor the place. His Omega deserves better.

“You deserve better than to be knotted in my office, Y/N,” he moans, “please give me a chance to give you something better one day. I’ll be the best fucking Alpha there is!”

You love the sound of that. Something better. Somewhere in the future. A future with Katsuki. “Yes, Kastuki! Only you, you’re the only Alpha, please, I’m so cl-“

The moment he sinks his teeth into the flesh just above your collarbone, you’re send into a world of blinding lights and exploding fire. His name keeps falling from your lips. The waves of fire keep pulsing through your body.

The tight grip around him becomes too much for Katsuki. He needs to pull out or else he’ll knot you for sure. When he you keep chanting his name, he pulls out and covers you in thick, long, white streams of his cum. Covering you in his seed, marking you as his in an obscene, but beautiful way.

“Look at you, perfectly covered in my cum,” he pants.

You preen at the compliment. A content scent is released. The smell of a happily fucked Omega. Katsuki could get addicted to this smell.

With the shredded pieces of clothing he cleans you up. He pulls the blanket you discarded earlier over you both as he lies down next to you. Your tired and warm body cuddles closer to him. He drinks in your scent a you purr softly.

“What did you have the blanket for in your office?” you ask with a yawn.

Katsuki looks down at your half-asleep face. A smile forms on his lips as he gently kisses the top of your head.

“I kept it for my future mate.”

Tagged: @reinawritesbnha @thots4daze @hipster-merchant-of-death @aizawascumslut @strawbirb @ravenfeet222 @sailor-manga @yanderart @league-of-villians-headcanons

#bnha #bnha fic #mha fic #bnha bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou katsuki #alpha bakugou #alpha bakugou katsuki #alpha bakugou x reader #michiiee writes #bnha smut #bnha a/b/o #omegaverse #bnha omegaverse #bakugou x reader #plus ultra #bakugou fic #bakugou smut

4K notes · View notes

acrispyapple · 4 years

Note

why do you watermark official pics that aren't yours? i'm honestly shocked cybird hasn't had you banned for dcma laws + spoiling paid stories and epilogues, but you do you. you made it so i never have to pay money for any of the cybird games + mlqc. also i read why you aren't posting the sprites which is cool and all but you shouldn't be posting game elements either way. that's super shitty of you to do because spoiler THE ARTWORK ISN'T YOURSSSSSSS. the pic of victor on your twitter isnt yours 2

heya! i’ve already answered an ask like this recently and ignored the follow up ones because i don’t really wanna keep repeating myself. but since you’re very persistent and it’s still the same thing, here i go! putting under a cut because it’s long and has images – with stuff written on them! dun dun dunnnn (¯▿¯)

to start things, i’m the wrong person to accuse of being irresponsible with my posts because i’m very mindful of posting etiquette. have you not seen all my campaigns about not stealing from artists, from blogs, etc. i ask for permission for everything, even for random text i want to translate from someone’s post. even for cosplay i’ve seen other people freely post, i always go to the source and ask. i hope my answer clarifies things for you because i don’t really wanna have to repeat it again! (*^^*)♡

re: watermarks (complaint mostly about mlqc because i don’t really do it for cybird)

re: cybird

i’m not exactly a hidden secret blog, so i’m pretty sure cybird is well aware of me. plus, they’ve left comments on my blog in the past. sooo, there’s nothing shocking about it at all! maybe what’s shocking is you somehow expected cybird to not have noticed my blog all these years. do you actually know what the digital millennium copyright act covers? (dmca not dcma btw) as long as i know how to read and understand rules and i’m always within its boundaries, there’s nothing being violated. always post obstructed cgs / never full, snippets of 10 for screenies, never in consecutive order, etc. you should read the rules tbh, you seem unfamiliar with it. ☆

re: you never having to pay money for any cybird game

again, snippets = not full stories. everyone can post snippets. paid or not. that’s so weird that you feel you don’t need to pay for ~any cybird game~ anymore because of my blog. i haven’t been consistently posting paid content for so long. even ikesen epilogues. because i don’t have the time. and i’ve skipped posting a couple of events on my blog too. i don’t post ikerev / midcin consistently either. i’ve posted from two ikevam events in the past months with epilogue snippets. i guess you only played those? that’s hardly everything. nice attempt at creating an issue about me making cybird lose money tho! for someone who thinks i do dodgy things, you sure do like reading from my blog– if what you’re saying is true. but you seem to not know my blog content either. (⌒_⌒;)

i have another answer for this from an ask from 9 months ago:

re: not paying for mlqc

they allow posting everything from their game, i even verified with their team! but even i don’t have the time or post slot to post everything from it. i mostly post about victor soooo, i guess that’s everything you need to know about mlqc then? yay for you only needing victor! ♡

re: game elements

what?

anyway, moving forward to my twitter header:

it’s from this post i made, where i screenied scenes (and edited them a bit to look brighter and prettier) from the pv of the new chapters in the ch version.

now, i just put my username there as a marker and it was already covered in the first part of this ask. (how it helps me keep track of my posts, helps me when people are able to identify it’s from my blog and alert me of it being posted elsewhere, etc.) but i wanted to show it even clearer so you can finally let go of whatever it is you’re burning with. ( ˙▿˙ )

it just says acrispyapple on this screenie i took (that’s right, it’s just a screenshot lmao), it’s a random word or name. i made it small and inconspicuous so it wouldn’t distract from the image. the weibo watermark is bigger and clearer but i don’t use it– i can, but i don’t. when people see it, they know it’s official art and that’s it. there’s no “made by acrispyapple™©®”

(thanks for visiting my twitter btw! it doesn’t really have a lot of followers haha)

sooo, there’s weibo and its automatic watermarks (location can be changed).

“damn, all the users on weibo are claiming stuff as their own!!!! it’s not just a marker that a certain thing was posted from a certain blog!!! they’re claiming it as theirs even tho it’s clearly very easy to see that it’s one of many free-for-all official images!!!” (≧◡≦)

and i’ve seen people use the cards as banners for fanfics and other stuff, or even memes where they put random stuff on it like this:

but writing a random word on it, just because you know my blog is somehow a great sin? it’s not even acrispyapple.tumblr.com ✿

would it maybe make you feel better if it wasn’t just acrispyapple? i can use random words and it’ll still serve as a marker for me lmao

anyway anon, it pays to actually listen and read before you get mad and accuse. i’m not breaking any rules and i’m very much aware of what’s not allowed and what’s allowed. (^ ^*)♡

edit:

i kinda like it. (^◔ᴥ◔^)

side note: if you have a vendetta against me, you’re free to have one. but please don’t try to make stuff up just to yell at me. you can hate me quietly from afar or just avoid me altogether. or if you want to find a reason to yell at me, at least try to educate yourself about what you’re planning on yelling at me about. it’ll save me time trying to explain stuff! i also don’t like wasting my post slots for the day. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

i would suggest looking at my actual content first, so your lack of knowledge of it doesn’t give you away. also, try asking yourself if you really think cybird’s en team would miss me after all these years and if you’re somehow the only enlightened one who can see all my ~misgivings~? are you aware of mlqc’s rules?

it’s funny because i’m not even close to covering everything for mlqc and there are blogs that cover far more than i do. i answer a lot of asks (i wish asks were paid content, as in i get paid to answer asks), but game content-wise, i’m faaaar from covering everyone. unless you really consider victor the whole game (♡). in which case i’m still missing his ch11 and ch19 screenies and one date. oh and the recent rumors&secrets! if you take a look at my posts, it’s mostly announcements, asks, fanart, general info, avatar posts, etc. i think you blindly went in with salt. ( ˙▿˙ )

i don’t really interact with people unless i have to talk about reposts and fanart-related stuff. i also just talk about games on my blog. so i don’t know what i could’ve done to merit your hatred. maybe you dislike that i ask for basic courtesy or that i enforce rules given to me by artists? i’m always polite tho. hmm, mystery-desu! ✩‧₊˚

#asks #anon #personal #saltier than the dead sea #plz come because i have watermelon #(っ˘ڡ˘ς)#showing comic sans some love

80 notes · View notes

emeraldtawny · 4 years

Text

Dazai Osamu Character Analysis: How Human Is He?

Before I get into this, allow me to preface this with a disclaimer: I AM NO EXPERT IN ANY OF THE TOPICS I AM ABOUT TO DELVE INTO, THIS IS JUST WHAT I INTERPRET PERSONALLY. This is just a fan of the character rambling about him and his real-life counterpart for the sake of sharing the thoughts rattling around inside my brain. However, I will link all sources that I used at the end of this so you may wish to investigate further if what you read piques your interest.

Okay, so… Dazai Osamu. This man is as much of an enigma as he was in real life (which… makes sense). Whether Cybird did this on purpose for a gradual build-up to his route or because he just wasn’t as popular a character, who knows? (I like to believe the former just for hope’s sake gbsdukgdx). Because we know very little about him in-game, the majority of what I will be mentioning will relate back to IRL Dazai. If you know little or nothing of Dazai Osamu, please proceed with caution if discussions of substance abuse, depression and suicide upset or trigger you. Consider this your disclaimer. Now then, let’s dive in.

History of Dazai Osamu

Born in 1909 into a wealthy family as Tsushima Shūji, that didn’t ease his early life from burdens. His father was a politician and often spent long periods away from home. His mother was often sick so he was mostly cared for by his aunt and the family’s servants. His father died of lung cancer when Dazai was 13, but he seemed mostly unhindered by the death of his father and continued through schooling before being accepted into the literature department of Hirosaki University in 1927.

Things started taking a more outward effect on Dazai around this time, the linchpin likely being the death of his idol - author Ryūnosuke Akutagawa - who committed suicide. He started losing interest in his studies, investing more time into alcohol and prostitutes. He also experimented in Marxism, even joining the Japanese Communist Party. His first suicide attempt was in 1929 - right before his school exams - by an attempted sleeping pill overdose. This wasn’t enough to kill him so he subsequently survived. He graduated from Hirosaki the following year, then moved to Tokyo University in 1930. There, he met a prostitute that he ran away with, prompting him to be disowned by his family.

His second attempt at suicide came that year - an attempted double suicide with a young woman he barely knew. They threw themselves into the ocean. Sadly, she died, and Dazai was rescued by a passing fishing boat. He was suspected in the woman’s death, but his family’s influence saved him. He then married the prostitute he ran away with.

It was after this that Dazai began networking with established writers and started publishing his own works, his pseudonym of Dazai Osamu being established with his short story ‘Ressha’ in 1933. In 1935, he attempted suicide for the third time by hanging, failing once again. That same year, he suffered from appendicitis and was admitted to hospital where he developed an addiction to a morphine-based painkiller. He was admitted to a mental institution in 1936 and was forced off of his drug addiction. When he was getting treated, his wife had an affair with his best friend. With their marriage deteriorating, both Dazai and his wife attempted a double suicide - Dazai’s fourth attempt. They both consumed sleeping pills in an attempted overdose. Both survived and Dazai divorced his wife after this.

The 1930s and 1940s were Dazai’s golden years literature-wise. He wrote many novels and short stories. When World War II rolled around, he escaped being drafted due to tuberculosis. He continued writing through the war period and met and then married his second wife in 1941. They had three children together.

The last years of Dazai’s life produced his most infamous works - ‘The Setting Sun’ and ‘No Longer Human’ - in 1947 and 1948 respectively. Around this time, Dazai met a woman who he left his wife and children for to take as a mistress. On June 13, 1948, Dazai and his mistress committed suicide by drowning in the Tamagawa Reservoir in Tokyo. In a cruelly ironic twist, their corpses were discovered on what would have been Dazai’s 39th birthday - his fifth attempt was the one that succeeded. An unfinished novelette eerily titled ‘Goodbye’ was left behind, many believing this as his last will.

Dazai’s works became a cult classic after his death, his undertones of nihilism in a postwar society greatly appealing to the masses. ‘No Longer Human’ became his most famous piece, eventually being translated into many languages and is among the most popular books in Japanese literature. He inspired different movies and anime (and otome) with the story of his life and the works he crafted from his experiences.

(All info in this section is derived from Source 1)

No Longer Human’s Effect

When you think Dazai Osamu, it’s not uncommon to immediately think of his novel ‘No Longer Human’. Whether you’ve read the book or not, worry not, as I will not be discussing any plots in the book; I will instead address the overarching themes and (the lack of) conclusion and message the novel leaves you with.

Many consider ‘No Longer Human’ - and many other of Dazai’s works - as semi-autobiographical, as he took many of his story’s ideas from his own personal experiences. This is illustrated through the way in which he wrote his stories; focusing on first-person perspectives to an excruciatingly analytical degree. This was and still is known as the “I-Genre” in Japan and became a staple for Dazai, the viewpoints and mindsets he wrote his characters in portrayed very vividly in a way that made you question how much of it is the character, and how much of what he wrote was the author’s own words and feelings to the world.

‘No Longer Human’ is not a happy story. It follows the story of a man through childhood, university and finally adulthood - the story written in three parts as notebooks to show his progression of age. Without spoiling the contents of the novel in case you wish to read it for yourself, the story focuses on an overarching question: is being a human the solution, or the problem in and of itself? Throughout the novel, it’s clear of how questioning the main character is of this, almost to the point of obsession and compulsion. However, his language always shows how unconvinced he is; a “mundane and dream-like writing, incessantly miming the words “I think … ,” “I am … ,” “I could … ,” “I should … .” Dazai’s characters are never quite convinced.” (Source 2).

The character Dazai portrays is relentless in his self-examination, which leads to his estrangement - not just from those around him, but to the very species he is meant to be a part of. Estrangement is common throughout the story and “It is this fundamentally unhuman feeling that, paradoxically, reveals to Dazai’s characters exactly how human they are.” (Source 2). The inner monologues and conversations can be unsettling if you find yourself relating, alien if you don’t, but ultimately leave you walking away from it questioning even an inkling of what you thought was innate and normal.

‘No Longer Human’ is not a story designed to tie up all of the loose ends it produces. Dazai leaves it up to you - the reader - to interpret for yourself. The character is infuriatingly, yet ultimately in character, indecisive in how he wishes to perceive the world; “To be a nonentity strangely indifferent to all the accoutrements of human life and society, and yet strangely drawn to the unhuman world of sky, rain, sand, sea, this is where Dazai’s novel ultimately leads, and it’s at this point that it has to end.” (Source 2).

Depression and Nihilism

I mentioned earlier that Dazai was admitted to a mental institution. From the sources I found, I couldn’t find anything concrete about why he was admitted aside from battling his drug addiction. However, mental illness was prevalent in Dazai’s life and it’s widely believed depression was a large part of this. Few recounts of people who talked with Dazai recalled his dark, wry tone in his writings, yet found his humour witty and oftentimes exaggerated (hmmmm…). Since I found nothing credible for this discussion beyond this, I’m going to step away from psychology and instead have a look at philosophy, specifically Dazai’s philosophy on life.

Again, this is just assumptions. However, I find this more comfortable theorising about over sensitive topics like depression and mental health (plus, I find this incredibly interesting, personally). You could argue that Dazai believes in sophistry - the use of clever but false arguments, especially with the intention of deceiving - but I’m inclined to disagree simply because of how deep Dazai digs himself into his own deception; if he himself believes what he tells others, I think it’s a more deep-rooted philosophy than false arguments. I mentioned nihilism earlier and this is what I ultimately believe is the philosophy in how Dazai saw the world. What type of nihilism is the question.

Most people think nihilism and assume the whole “God is dead, I feel nothing” hypothetical; I know I used to always assume so. But, of course, it’s not as cut and dry as that (nothing is simple…). There are different types of nihilism, but I will only talk about the one I think applies to Dazai. Throughout his stories, despite the gloomy atmosphere, there’s usually a(n attempted) glimmer of hope - a snag in the character’s mindset that draws them back into their repeating thoughts of what they should and should not perceive and believe in. Because of this, cosmic nihilism (also called cosmic pessimism) can be eliminated - Dazai’s characters don’t renounce everything they feel and take meaning in as illusions to make existing easier, they’re slightly more lenient in believing what they perceive.

I offer the type of nihilism I believe Dazai’s mindset for writing - and subsequently his actual mindset - falls into: existential nihilism.

Existential nihilism operates on the premise that there is no inherent meaning or purpose; “existence itself–all action, suffering, and feeling–is ultimately senseless and empty.” (Source 3). While not denouncing beliefs like faith and love like cosmic nihilism, existential nihilism relies on values being created and sustained lest they risk falling into the mindset that there is no hope, the world is truly empty and there’s no point in existing in a world that doesn’t even try to give you a reason to hold on. Existential nihilists don’t believe that happiness doesn’t exist; they simply believe that “miseries vastly outnumber pleasures, happiness is impossible” (Source 3) and, therefore, are constantly at odds with themselves over striving for this impossible happiness or simply leaving it behind to find something else to root themselves to reality. Many of Dazai’s character’s internal conversations echo this philosophy; they either despair over being who they are, or they despair because they can’t be who they think they are. In a specific example, they feel estranged and uneasy about how they think - being what they deem “not human” - or they feel trapped and alone in believing that they can’t be who they think they are, so they’re forced to play a character - a facade - for their entire life so as not to be discovered.

Search up ‘Dazai Osamu quotes’ on Google and you’ll find a plethora to read that seem to portray this very idea. Constantly battling within himself over what he should believe, what he should feel and, ultimately, never voicing his pain to the world itself. These two screenshots from the game seem to mirror this sentiment.

Soo… what does this mean for Ikemen Vampire Dazai?

… Who knows? I don’t work for Cybird so I couldn’t possibly tell you sorry :3. The PV for his route had heavy implications of atonement and death being the only true salvation, so I’m intrigued on what angle they’re going to tackle that from, since Dazai’s reasoning for being revived was “well, death wasn’t what I thought it would be lol”. (Unless it’s a red herring… who knows with this eccentric man gbdukgdfx).

So… yeah. I just wanted to ramble and with his route dropping in Japan before April is done, I thought it was a good time to just ramble into the Tumblr void. Please feel free to broach further conversations about this, correct me if I slipped up anywhere or to just say you’re excited for his route (because I know I am huehuehue).

Sources can be found here (Source 1 | Source 2 | Source 3)

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevam #ikevam dazai #dazai character analysis #okay....I think I did okay gbeuidsgknds #I had to stop myself for the sake of my own sanity but wow this stuff is interesting to me #and hopefully it was interesting to you if you decided to read :3 #tawny rambles #tawny is sad over this man's life and needs to go think of happier things now gbudgkndsf

46 notes · View notes

dusky-dancing · 4 years

Note

For the ask meme, can you do #17 and rikunami?

Thank you for the ask, anon!

See this post for the full list!

I admit that I was a little nervous since I’d never written RikuNami before, but they are so fun to write! Hope you enjoy :)

Here’s #17, A Kiss to Distract

——————————————————————————————–

After helping the Radiant Garden Restoration Committee unlock more data from Cid’s computer, Riku had needed a breather. A quick detour before he headed back to the Land of Departure, nothing else. His heart led him to the same place it always had, and for the same reason. Next he knew, the warm sun and green forests that cradled Twilight Town greeted him on his descent.

For the first time, it hadn’t been Namine who greeted him off of the gummi ship, but Hayner, Pence and Olette who were eager to put him to work.

So much for a breather.

The “work”, turned out, involved throwing Namine a party for her new birthday, the day that her heart was returned to her. Of course, the day had been the anniversary of many things, but they’d wanted to focus on the positive like the good friends they were.

The others had already been busy getting all of the decorations, and the three before him were in charge of handling all of the food. With smiles all-too suspicious, they’d volunteered him to keep Namine company for the next few hours while everyone else set up, and he’d agreed to the task almost embarrassingly quickly. For one, he’d have done anything to avoid being in a small space with several people again. And two, he’d just…wanted to see her. She’d been his whole reason for visiting the quaint town in the first place.

Hayner had told him to have her back by six o’clock, but his tone had reflected that of a protective sibling as much as an eager party-planner.

He found her sipping tea alone outside of a cafe. Time always seemed to slow the moment her eyes found him, and this was no different.

“Riku!” She stood and faced him. Neither of them were fully comfortable initiating or participating in things like hugs, but he felt content just being in her company. “Xion told me they had a surprise for me today, but I wasn’t expecting something this great,” she smiled.

A lump formed in his throat, and something between a groan and a cough escaped. “Yeah,” he gave her a subdued smile, which he knew paled in comparison to the one he was receiving, “guess I’ll try not to disappoint.”

“Never,” she gestured down the street. “Join me for a walk?”

Yes, a walk. Anywhere that wasn’t near the usual spot. Or a gift store. Or anywhere that sells food. Shouldn’t be too hard.

As he scaled up his singular task in his head, he realized she was still standing a few paces ahead of him and waiting for an answer.

“Uh, yes,” he said and hastily joined her side.

He’d never get tired of exploring Twilight Town. The real place was so much more lively than what Ansem the Wise had generated in his computer. Though his task of keeping her oblivious made it harder to just enjoy the colors of the town.

When the gang had said they’d be around town gathering supplies, they hadn’t been kidding. Whether it was Axel and Isa with a giant banner that said “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NAMINE”, Roxas and Xion trying party hats on each other, or Hayner and Olette picking out cupcakes, there had been spoilers around almost every corner. He swore they could teleport too. With how many times he had to quickly herd Namine out of view, he was surprised she never caught on. One thing he knew: he had to get her out of the main portion town.

A brief train ride brought them to the appropriately named Sunset Terrace, and Riku immediately appreciated the lack of familiar faces.

“So,” he said as he walked, “it’s been a year since you moved here. How do you like it?”

“It feels like a home,” she folded her hands in front of her chest. “Thanks to the people here, the happy memories here far outweigh the sad ones.”

The sad memories, in which she was essentially held hostage for a second time, all while being belittled and dehumanized. Most of those memories he’d been a bystander for, and he wondered if being around him now caused her any pain by association. It was a miracle that she granted him any of her time at all. Perhaps returning to his rightful form again helped make their friendship possible, or perhaps she was just that kind.

Namine seemed to follow his thoughts. “You know,” she said, “with my time in the mansion, some parts were painful, but some were happy too.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm,” she nodded, “Atleast I wasn’t alone.”

He chuckled, “I would’ve hardly considered myself company.”

“You were struggling, but you were there.” She giggled, “In a way, we were both these strange beings overwhelmed with guilt, yet still determined to set things right.” She leaned and brushed a hand over his arm as she walked. “Thank you, Riku.”

He searched himself for reasons that he could possibly deserve a ‘thank you’, but came up empty. Why was he making this day about himself, anyways? And why was he making her recall painful memories? She certainly didn’t look unhappy, but he wanted her to remember the day - remember his company - fondly.

“Here, come with me.” Out of nowhere, she grabbed his hand and began running up Sunset Hill, turning him into a stumbling mess after her.

He’d been to the top of the hill before, but now he could fully take in the view. The town itself seemed to end while the rest of the world stretched out in an endless green forest.

“What do you think of the view?” She asked.

“It’s nice.” He kept the strong words to describe it, and even stronger words to describe how she looked, to himself. “I haven’t been here since-” he caught himself, hating that he seemed to fail at lighthearted conversation.

“Since you let me go,” she smiled.

“You’re giving me too much credit,” he chuckled. “It was the least I could’ve done.”

A commotion down the hill in the marketplace caught Riku’s attention. From where he stood, he could see that it was Pence struggling to carry a giant cake. He rolled his eyes, grateful that Namine’s back was turned to it. He played it cool and refrained from staring too long. It wasn’t difficult to keep his attention on her anyways.

Despite his efforts, the conversation kept coming back to their memories in Twilight Town. Maybe leaning into the topic would be better than forcing small talk.

“It was a two-way street in the mansion, you know,” he said. “You helped me too.”

“I helped restore Sora’s memories,” she muttered, “but-”

“I don’t mean that,” he interrupted. “I thought I was…cursed. But when I saw you use your powers to restore Sora’s memories, it made me want to do more than just conquer the Darkness. It - you - inspired me to walk the road to dawn, even if it took a while,” He looked straight into her light blue eyes. “So, thank you, Namine.”

She hung her mouth open, as if she wanted to respond, but settled on one of her humble smiles.

“And on a less complicated level,” he added, “you’ve been there for me as a friend ever since,” he hung on the last word and left the sentence unfinished, both unable to and knowing she wouldn’t need him to.

Being separated from his best friends weighed on him heavily over the past year. Even though he knew he and Kairi were working together to save Sora, and he couldn’t imagine what kind of loneliness she was going through, the events of a year ago had left him with no one to confide in.

Well, no one but the woman in front of him.

Her cheeks reddened, and her eyes reflected a deep empathy. If anyone knew how badly one needed friends, it was her. “It’s the least I could do.”

He’d thought his connection to Namine had only been through some combination of Kairi or his replica, but that delusion shattered the moment she’d placed her hand in his. In the tiny contact, there had been neither a familiar spark of an existing friendship, nor a drive to protect solely out of obligation.

No, there had been something more. He found himself coming to her for seemingly no reason, and she always made time for him amidst her new found family. Every strong face and misleading “I’m fine” from him had fallen apart under her gentle gaze. The more he thought of her, the more that the word “friend” failed to fully describe who she was to him.

A loud yelp echoed from where Pence was, and Riku didn’t have to look to know his attempt to carry too much had failed. An earsplitting clatter followed, along with many more gasps.

Unfortunately, Namine hadn’t resisted the temptation to look. As she began turning around, time slowed, and Riku panicked internally. He had one job - don’t spoil the surprise for Namine - and her seeing Pence dropping a birthday cake was probably considered a mission failure. His mind ran through several excuses he could tell her, but none were convincing.

There was one thing he could do to keep her focused on him; something he might just be mad enough to do. Before he could talk himself out of it, he mustered up all of the courage he possessed and took her face within his hands. This new touch along with the surprised look she was giving him was enough to turn his stomach into nothing but nerves, but there was no going back.

Next he knew, his lips were on hers in the gentlest, most inexperienced of kisses. Her lips were just as soft and warm as her heart, and he wished he could stop time to cherish it a little longer. Her hands came up to brush over his own and settle on his arms.

Kissing her was less like fireworks and more like finally breaching a surface he never knew existed. Everything, from breathing to smiling to jumping to crying, felt waves easier.

When he pulled away, her eyes stayed closed a moment longer before fluttering open.

“Riku…”

The way she breathed his name so fondly made him want to lean back in for more, but he waited. Waited for her to move first. To say something else.

Only she didn’t. She remained still, looking up at him with both surprise and tenderness.

Guilt quickly pulled him back under the surface. He meant every second of kissing her, but how could he fumble something so earnest on a distraction? Had it only been a distraction, or was the distraction just an excuse to kiss her? Whatever it was, it had worked on both of them, because the commotion down the hill was the furthest thing from their minds now.

“I’m sorry,” his hands fell from her face, to her shoulders, to her arms. Even her hands felt far more than he deserved to touch. “That was…selfish of me.”

Her hands caught his wrist as he tried to back away. When he dared to meet her eyes again, her expression hadn’t changed. She shook her head. “You deserve to be a little selfish sometimes.”

As she stepped closer, the distant clock tower chimed to signal half-an-hour until six. Walking back now would barely make them punctual, but hopefully Pence’s accident had afforded them a little more time.

It was then that Riku decided making her a little late to her own surprise party was worth taking the time to kiss her properly.

—————————————————————————

Thank you for reading! If I recall correctly, the Kingdom Hearts character files revealed that Namine goes to live with the Twilight Town gang after the events of KH3, which I thought was super sweet and everything she deserves. The sea-salt family just keeps growing, and I loved the idea of Namine joining their little found family. It was also really fun to think of all the things Riku admires about Namine, and in what circumstance he’d kiss her as a distraction.

This was my first RikuNami fic, so I hope you all enjoyed it:)

#kingdom hearts #kh fanfiction #ask #answered #writing ask #writing prompt #kiss prompt #rikunami #riku #namine #kh3 #post kh3 #my writing #dusky writing #anonymous

42 notes · View notes

fabulousquel · 5 years

Text

GreedFall: Tips + My Review

So I picked up this game out of curiosity because I’m currently working on an RPG style historical fantasy that draws inspiration from a similar time period. I wanted to see how someone else handled the ‘flintlock’ genre and told a story with elements of this era. I am in no means a pro game reviewer but I completed the entire game yesterday and I have a lot I want to say.

There are some spoilers in this, so if you’d like to avoid reading them, don’t read the "Story” section.

Tips:

Do your companion quests early and as soon as they pop up. There are some incredible lore bits and development of your character as well as your companions within them. Also if you sideline a companion for too long, they might leave your party in ways that might surprise or unsurprise you.

Certain dialog options will give you more quest content. For example, you’ve caught a criminal and you are given the choice to kill them on the spot, or capture them for trial. If you kill them, your quest line ends there. If you decide to trial them, another quest line opens up and you get a lot more flavor.

You can essentially just follow the main quest line if you want to speed-finish the game, but you lose a lot of context and additional dialog options if you do so. You will also wind up fighting the final boss at a much lower level, thus making the fight harder, but not impossible. They may have made this an option for people coming back wanting a challenge or to try a different build. But in my opinion, they should’ve made the side quests a mandatory thing because it’s a huge disservice to the context of the main story without them.

Don’t forget to give your companions gear upgrades- especially if you’re playing on more challenging modes.

If you want to avoid bloodshed and sneak into a camp, make sure you put on a chest piece of that faction.

Put some skill points into Stasis no matter what build you roll with.

The Soundtrack:

It’s amazing. The snare drums going off in combat sequences create a very distinct and powerful mood. The zone music is very well orchestrated. It’s now up on spotify as well!

Combat & Talents:

Of the RPGs I’ve played, this most reminded me of a combination of Red Dead Redemption, Final Fantasy with the option to semi-turn style with spells & traps, and a very versatile talent tree system that is really...fun. It’s the first time in a while that I felt I could make an effective solid build and playstyle around what I wanted to do most. Combat takes getting used to but I set up my keybinds to be a lot like ESO and I adapted very quickly. I went shortsword / gun tactical and it was immensely satisfying.

The Story:

[SPOILS AHEAD]

The difference between historical fiction and historical fantasy is that a historical fantasy does not seek to retell history accurately, but rather take inspiration from it. How heavy this inspiration goes varies from story to story. This is how I approached interpreting the story, even in its very realistic parts. As I played through, there were several themes that became very clear to me. Keep in mind that I played through the game with De Sarde taking the Neutral Good alignment choice in most dialog options.

The Elephant in the Room: Colonialism. This is one of the big criticisms I see with the game, and truth be told, it is a point of criticism for myself. The game treats the colonizing factions exactly like colonizers of real history, and it’s a subject that still rightfully touches nerves. One faction seeks to profit, another nation seeks to convert, and another seeks to experiment on. While there are subgroups of these factions that are more extreme than their leadership- the leadership seems complacent about it until condemning evidence is brought up. While extremely problematic this is, it is very true to what has happened in history surrounding colonialism, and places you in one uncomfortable situation after another in a frighteningly realistic way. It makes your decisions as De Sarde in some instances painful but it can be satisfying to see how your actions affect justice in these matters.

Some critics have said that De Sarde’s choices do not always condemn truly objectionable events enough. I agree that more depth could have been added. But in my playthrough, De Sarde’s role starts out as a truly neutral party looking for truths, and they gradually became more adamant on stances as the game progressed. By the end, my De Sarde was about to 1v1 Theleme, and drag out the Bridge Alliance governor. So I am unsure if this is a perspective coming from those who haven’t completed the game in its entirety with all side quests which influence reputations more & seem to flesh out more dialog options.

Humanity Has a Sickness This was written both physically and metaphorically in how humans are as susceptible to committing atrocities as they are to growing ill. Throughout the story as De Sarde, you play almost a detective in uncovering the truth about the people you were raised to believe were benevolent. De Sarde does not take these accusations of corruption lightly, but they also treat it very seriously. Piece by piece, De Sarde learns more about each factions true intentions, and the lies, corruption and greed that intertwine. But at the same time, the story attempts to reveal the potential for all people to ‘do better’ and change- and some of this is seen when you use De Sarde’s charisma + intuition dialog options. This theme especially became clear in the arc when De Sarde finally gets to speak to the god of the island, En on mil Frichtimen, who expresses to him that the malicor (sickness) is a result of them poisoning their own land with their lack of care or concern for it. En on mil Frichtimen urges that the colonists need to listen and learn from the Islanders’ ways if they wish to heal the sickness.

Where to Draw the Line at “For The Greater Good” I feel like this is a theme that crops up with any story involving Utopian ideas. GreedFall does a good job of backing up each faction’s actions with their point of view, whether it is morally misguided or not. This truly emphasizes the human element in the mix, underlining that no perspective comes without its flaws. As De Sarde, one thing you are constantly faced with as a detective is defining a line of where something has gone too far. It is sobering and somewhat frustrating to watch factions step over a line that could have easily remained morally sound. But it is also equally satisfying to see how much influence you can have in swaying others to make a different choice. This theme becomes the summit of De Sarde’s character progression when he is forced to make the choice of taking your dear cousin, Constantin, out of power, or joining him. And when you’ve done all the side quests there are in the game, the decision becomes far more meaningful than this just being the final boss fight.

This theme also seems to come full circle by the end of Petrus’s quest line, when you discover your true origin- how your mother was kidnapped from the island in a rash attempt to bring a healer to the continent. This realization that everything you’ve known has been a lie and kept secret from you...all for the “greater good”.

Things I Liked:

I appreciated how much love and care went into the worldbuilding- especially with the native Islanders. From what I understand, a linguist was hired to write a language for them that was a mash-up of Flemish, Breton, Gaelic and Irish. I appreciated that they brought forth inspiration from the Gauls and Celtic nations of the Iron Age in Western Europe before they were subjected to Christian Missionary activity.

The art & atmosphere was amazing. While there are a few clipping issues with hair, even big AAA games have them. The level of detail put into the game art wise is just very visually pleasing.

The devs did a good job in making a fantasy world that was LGBTQ+ friendly, and giving us diverse character customization. Anyone from any faction had a diverse set of features.

Things I am Critical of:

While I understand that there is a point of growth to watch De Sarde go from neutral to invested in a cause, I really do think they should have been given less complacent responses earlier in the game. I understand limitations but I don’t think it helped with handling colonialism in a truly neutral way.

I wish you could start the game as someone from a faction of your choice, rather than only the Merchant Congregation, especially considering how your origin is written.

IT’S DEPRESSING. A lot of the game is depressing... which maybe makes all the little things you do that shine some shred of goodness still in humanity all the brighter. But it definitely hurt my soul in places and back to point #1, I wish I could have been more aggressive with De Sarde earlier in the game.

Recycled assets: there were quite a few of them- mostly noticeable with buildings in the main cities, which is probably what marks the difference between an AAA game and a more independent studio.

Potential Triggers:

There’s a lot of heavy subjects in this game including religious abuse, manipulation, some body horror (though it’s not super grotesque), one instance of suicide that I know of, xenophobia, and general violence.

Features I Wish it Had:

You can’t ‘jump’...but you don’t really need to. I still wish I could though.

For all this beautiful scenery, I wish they gave us better screenshot taking options.

Different fights for the different Coin Arenas and a meta achievement for completing all of them.

I wish I could play it with friends.

More armor options!

I wish the companions had better and more in-depth romance options. They fall a little flat in diversity of personalities.

Final Thoughts:

I personally enjoy diving into stories that we should be morally critical of, and I like it for what it reveals in the best and worst of humanity. Colonialism has done and continues to do irreversible damage to peace and prosperity among people and nations in real life. Spiders picked a topic that nearly everyone has been affected by in one way or another and it’s understandably a heated subject. Some folks do not want to dive into such deep subjects, just as there’s some stories I cannot stomach comfortably. So I respect and understand that.

Overall, GreedFall exceeded my expectations but there’s definitely some hiccups. It’s a fun game if you’re into a detective-style RPG, political intrigue, history, and interested in exploring this sort of setting. While I think the story could have been written better in places, I was satisfied with the outcomes I triggered, even if that satisfaction took a very slow build up to. It left me feeling hopeful? That perhaps people still have a chance at treating each other better than they do.

#greedfall #review #just thoughts #big post

37 notes · View notes

themerrysous · 5 years

Text

Comic-Con Preview Night Thoughts:

(yeah I’m like a week behind but seeing as Pennyworth debuts tonight, it seemed like a good time to chime in)

Batwoman (CW, airs in October, I think?): Wow. They went like...gay-gay. Not like gay, like gayyyyyy-gay. Here for it. Sadly that's about all I'm here for. Heavy-handed dialogue and establishment of character relationships (expositional dialogue is so 2000-never, please stop this travesty today), possibly some of the worst fight choreography and filming I have ever seen (hard to explain succinctly but fight choreography elements need exposition when new elements are added, and need a variety of wide shots, close ups, and specials/inserts, and this was ALL wide shots sans necessary establishing elements), and super angsty lesbian drama worthy of The L Word. It's like they knew they would get fans simply for having Ruby Rose and wlw content and didn't attempt anything more. A bit insulting, really.

If I watched this show, it would be purely to see Rachel Skarsten’s performance as Alice. In a role that could easily devolve into caricature or simply a regurgitation of any version of the Joker or the Riddler, Skarsten found a way to walk the line between “outright mad” and “playing at being mad because it’s her aesthetic”. Her Alice definitely has a wink-wink nudge-nudge air that keeps her lines (most notably the infamous “why is a raven like a writing desk?” riddle) from being too forced. She’s working deftly with what little she’s been given. Kudos, girl.

My genuine hope is that CW sees how badly Batwoman did at SDCC and reshoots a few scenes (god please reshoot the unbelievably creepy “rescue” scene because that was like...uncomfortable to watch. please don’t make batwoman a creeper.). I would love for this series to be good, right from the start. None of this Breaking Bad “oh you just have to get through the first three seasons and then it’s great” bullshit.

Pennyworth (Epix, airs July 28): Oh my god. Oh. My. Gaaaawd. First, stellar opening credits (JauraProps and I have A Thing™ about credit sequences). Second, beautiful cinematography and a colorist who knows their stuff. Third, nice bit of wink-wink nudge-nudge foreshadowing in regards to Alfred Pennyworth’s future. Fourth, PALOMA FAITH IS KILLING IT, Y'ALL. I haven't really seen her stretch her legs, acting wise (granted I haven't seen her in anything else besides St. Trinian’s, but love her music!), but she's already proving delightfully deranged in her role. Fifth, I'mma be real here: I have less than pure levels of admiration for Dorothy Atkinson, particularly when she gets to be just a little bit vicious. I love her in Harlots, I adore her in Mum. I would probably watch this show just for her face. At the start, I was afraid she was going to be put in a flatter, quieter version of her turn as Jane in Call the Midwife, stuck playing a sighing and beleaguered housewife--but without spoiling too much, let’s just say she ends her part of the episode with a kick. Then entire ballroom erupted into cheers and laughter at her moment of victory. I can’t wait to see where her character goes in this series, as well as the rest.

All in all, this is a story that makes you lean in. Even secondary and tertiary characters have distinct voices and enough of a backstory to make you want to know more. Stellar crew, adept and well-matched cast with a Peaky Blinders vibe.

Prodigal Son (Fox, airs Sept 23): I’m gonna be a bit petty here: Tom Payne legit has one of the most unsettling faces I have ever seen. I was shocked to realize he played Paul “Jesus” Rovia on The Walking Dead--because in this role, he looks nothing like the laid back dude from the zombie apocalypse. He’s lost weight, his hair style is...not flattering, and the whole unshaven thing definitely gives credence to the idea of a character who’s coming unhinged from insomnia and debilitating nightmares. If he showed up at my police station to help find a serial killer, my first question would be: “yo, bro, you sure it ain’t you? because you look like someone who makes human skin lamps in your free time.”

The story follows a young man (Payne) who happens to be the child of a prolific serial killer (played by the incomparable Michael Sheen). In fact, the son was the one who found his father’s last victim and called the cops. For years, he met with his father in a high security asylum as they attempted to “crack the code” of psychopathy and serial killers. However, at this point, it’s been a decade since he’s seen his father--and now he’s a profiler for the FBI. His ability to think like a killer makes him a prime candidate for solving murders...and yet it’s also what has him living in fear of his self.

Michael Sheen is the reason to watch. Who else could instill such genuine sweetness into a performance that actually has you looking at a horrific serial murderer and going “ah, he’s not so bad”?! And by sheer witchcraft, ineffable holy miracle talent, Sheen is able to give warm smiles that seem truly deep and genuine at a glance, while maintaining a cold calculating deadness in his eyes. He’s the kind of guy you want to believe, the guy you want to trust, even when you know that perhaps you shouldn’t. Every Sheen scene is a masterclass in acting. If nothing else, literally fast forward through everything else and simply watch his scenes.

My one issue: these bitches have freaking BELLAMY YOUNG playing Payne’s mother. Like she ain’t legit barely 13 years older than him. I’m assuming they’re going to address how youthful she looks eventually (at least give us a throwaway line about botox or something) because it literally kills the whole “suspended disbelief” vibe. Though Sheen is also only 14 yrs older than his “son”, at least he was able to grow out his beard, the added silvers giving a little more credence to a wider age gap, whilst Bellamy is looking dewy as always. Also that reminds me: note to self, stalk Bellamy Young’s skincare regimen.

#random thoughts #comic con preview night #batwoman #pennyworth #prodigal son #rachel skarsten #dorothy atkinson #tom payne #michael sheen

13 notes · View notes

weasley-wizard-writes · 5 years

Text

The Funny Thing

George Weasley X Reader

Hi! I would be happy to do that for you! All of my friends tell me I’m the queen of angst (not that I believe that) so I hope I can make them proud and do this ask justice. I really hope you enjoy! :)

I am writing a slight trigger warning here just because there is death in this oneshot and at one point it seems as if a suicide attempt has been made and I do not want anyone getting upset over something I wrote. I hate to spoil some of the events as I love writing little twists most wouldn’t expect to surprise people, but I would rather spoil some of my fun than have the chance of upsetting someone.

Angst Prompt #1: “What the fuck have you done?”

Angst Prompt #9: “I’m dying.”

Angst Prompt #15: “I can’t fucking lose you again!”

Genre: Angst

Content Warnings:

Angst

Death

Word Count: 2,890

“I’m dying.”

The words are hard for you to say, but you know they’re even harder for George to hear. The two of you had been together since your fifth year at Hogwarts, people called you inseparable, as even the cold hand of death forming a fist to knock on your front door hadn’t torn the two of you apart. It had been during the second wizarding war, someone had used the knockback jinx on you, one that had sent you flying backward into a brick wall where you had hit your head so hard you passed out on impact. The healers at St. Mungo’s had been certain you would never wake up despite their best efforts, but even so George had refused to give up hope, visiting you each and everyday even as he carried the weight of his twin brother’s death on his shoulders. It had taken three months, ninety whole days for you to wake up from your comatose state, dazed and confused but awake nonetheless, and two weeks later George had been allowed to take you home. From there George didn’t seem to believe in waiting anymore, he had gotten right to planning your wedding despite the fact that when the two of you had gotten engaged just six months prior he had told you he wasn’t in any sort of hurry. The next year during the spring the two of you had gotten married just outside the burrow as George’s older brother, Bill and his wife Fleur had done. It had been an absolutely beautiful wedding, all of your friends and family had attended and both you and George could safely say it was the happiest day of your lives. Shortly after your wedding you and George left to go on your honeymoon, which ended up being in France, a place neither of you had ever been to before. Of course, it wasn’t as if you and George had explored the beautiful country much anyway, as most of your time together was spent in the luxurious double bed that resided in your hotel room. It was because of the amount of time the two of you had spent in that double bed that neither of you thought much of it when you started to feel ill most days a few weeks after returning home, growing sensitive to things that had never bothered you before like sunlight and certain foods. You had both assumed you were pregnant, and you were so terribly excited to have a child together that you were too afraid to take a test for fear it would be negative, you didn’t even go to the healer to talk about your symptoms. At least, not until today.

It had been two and a half months since your honeymoon in France, and you felt the worst you had felt yet, horribly nauseous and so intensely dizzy that you were afraid you might fall over whenever you stood up. Unfortunately for you George had gone off to work for the day, and since you had assumed it was just yet another symptom of your pregnancy you figured it made no sense to bother him, not to mention the fact that it was extremely difficult for you to reach him while he was working. After about two hours of feeling like utter crap you decided it might be wise for you to head over to someone’s house so you wouldn’t be alone if something bad happened to you. That just so happened to be the only wise decision you made for the entire duration of you feeling ill. In the end you decided to use the floo to get to your mother-in-law’s house, and the second she saw you she could tell something was wrong. You looked terribly pale in the face and you were shivering as if it weren’t ninety-eight degrees outside. You greeted her as you normally would, taking a single step out of the fireplace before you suddenly pitched forward with no warning at all, your head smacking off of the ground before Molly could do anything about it. The next thing you knew you were in St. Mungo’s hospital and the head healer had something of dire importance to tell you. You were dying. You had been dying very slowly from the moment you hit your head against that wall during the second wizarding war. Those symptoms that you had been so sure were from pregnancy had really just been symptoms of a slow brain bleed you had been experiencing since the day you acquired your injury. And that’s exactly what you told George after he arrived at the hospital and you informed him of your upcoming demise.

“Isn’t there something they can do? They’re healers for Christ’s sake Y/n, they can’t just let you die!” George shouted, his voice thick with grief and anger as he wiped his tears on the jacket of his work suit, his eyes staring up into yours, desperation obvious within them. You smiled sadly and reached over to run your thumb across his cheek in slow and loving motions in an attempt to calm him down, “There isn’t anything they can do to help me now, Georgie.” You cooed soothingly at him, “Maybe if I had come in a few months ago things would be different but...” You found yourself growing a bit choked up and cleared your throat. You had to be strong for George, there was no use crying over something you couldn’t change. “But things aren’t different and all we can do now is cherish the time we have left together.” You watched as your husband looked up at you, his eyes so filled with tears that they overflowed, allowing the salty liquid to run down his pale cheeks and off his skin. It tore you apart to see him like that. “And how long is that?” He whispered out as you slowly began to wipe away his tears with your thumbs, “How much time do we have left together?” You swallowed thickly, clearing your throat once again as you offered him another sad smile, “They don’t know George.” You whispered out softly, “They just don’t know.” You sat up in your hospital bed, your legs hanging over the edge as you turned in his direction, cupping his face in your hands, “But none of that matters my love, none of that matters at all. However long we have we’ll make due, and we’ll be happy together all the same. This doesn’t have to change anything about the way we live, I don’t want to spend the rest of my days sad, I don’t want you to spend the rest of my days sad. I want us to be as we’ve always been, happy and so so unfathomably and irrefutably in love.” George allowed his tears to flow freely as he placed his hands on yours on the side of his head, “How are you so okay with this?” He whispered out softly, “How can you be so calm about dying?” You smiled softly and leaned down to press your forehead against his own, “I’m not okay with this Georgie, I could never be okay with anything that involves having to end my life with you early. But I don’t want to die sad and afraid. If I have to die I’m going to die as I lived. Happy, carefree, and in love.”

With the knowledge that there was absolutely nothing that the healers at St. Mungo’s could do for you concerning your health, you and George both decided that it would be for the best if you went home with him so you would be able to live the remainder of your life, no matter how long or short it was, at home where you belonged. For the first week everything seemed to be just fine, George even went back to work each day to help with the sense of normalcy the two of you wanted, in fact everything was going incredibly until Wednesday, which was the one week mark. It meant you had lived another seven days and lived them just as you would have lived any other. It also meant one week less time for you on earth. You had decided to go to the grocery store just as you would have done any other Wednesday, picking up the things you would need for George’s lunches and the dinners for the next week. You had left right after George had gone off to work and were only gone for about an hour and a half, but by the time you returned something was very off about your house. You could sense it as soon as you opened the door, something wasn’t normal and it bothered you tremendously that you couldn’t figure it out. You spent a few minutes standing in the open doorway before hesitantly stepping inside, wondering if it was just your imagination as you closed the door behind you. It hit you the moment you took your shoes off what was so weird about the house. You weren’t the only one in it. Right beside where you had taken your shoes off, placed right where they always were sat George’s shoes, the ones he had worn that morning when he had headed off to work, and up on the coat rack hung George’s coat, also the same one he had worn to work that morning. Wondering what had happened that had caused your husband to come home so early you called out his name, hearing nothing back in response but a muffled curse and quick movement coming from upstairs in your bedroom. You placed the grocery bags down, hanging your coat on the coat rack before you walked upstairs, passing the guest bedroom and the bathroom and heading straight towards your bedroom, opening the door only to be met with a most horrific sight. There was George, your loving, funny, beautiful husband sitting on the ground with a knife in one hand and a deep wound in the other.

“It’s not what it looks like, I swear love!” George cried, placing the knife down beside him in a pile of other materials that you vaguely remembered from potions class but couldn’t quite remember their use simply because currently they were not your concern. You stood in the doorway, trembling as you slowly watched the blood from his hand drip on to the ground, staining the carpet beneath him. “What the fuck have you done?” You whispered out, horrified by what he had done to himself and unable to fathom why he would do it at all. “Why would you do this” George jumped up before you could say another word, shaking his head wildly, “I swear on my life this isn’t what it looks like, I would never do anything like what you’re thinking, never in a million years, love.” George promised. You walked closer slowly, taking his still bleeding hand and inspecting the wound carefully before looking up at him, “Then what are you doing, George?” You asked quietly, only to have your husband look to his feet, ashamed. Shocked at his reaction to your question you pulled away, walking towards the pile of materials he had laying on the ground beside where he had previously been sitting. Upon closer inspection you could tell exactly what he was doing, and you immediately knew why he hadn’t wanted to tell you. You whirled around to face him, tears beginning to prick at your eyes as you looked up at him, “Please tell me you aren’t doing what I think you’re doing, Georgie.” You pleaded, your entire body trembling with sorrow and fear, fear that he might try to do it again, fear that he might succeed at what he was trying to do. “Please tell me you aren’t trying to create that vile potion.” George’s eyes moved away from your own once again to look at the ground out of guilt, and then he opened his mouth to speak, “I’m sorry.” He said softly, his voice thick and his vision growing cloudy with tears, “But if I told you I wasn’t doing that I...” George choked on his words, sadness filling his voice as he continued, “I would be lying to you.” Before you even realized what you were doing you were on your knees, destroying each and every object you successfully could to keep him from trying this again, to keep him from ruining his life to save your own. George Fabian Weasley, your best friend, your husband, your everything had just tried to create a potion the two of you had learned about long ago in your first year of potions class. It had been so long that you couldn’t remember the name, but that didn’t mean you didn’t remember the materials one needed to make it, and it certainly didn’t mean you didn’t remember what it did. The potion George had tried to make was one that, in certain circumstances, was not even a little bit dangerous, in fact it was known to bring the dying back from the very brink of death. But most of the time the potion did little more than end two lives rather than one. The potion, if consumed by two people, would link said two people together in a way few other things could. It linked their souls together. It was frequently given to a dying person and a person of health, which then allowed those two people to share one soul, and sometimes, as long as one person was dying of something that could be cured in a short period of time, or a wound that could be fixed, the potion worked successfully, allowing both people to live until one of them died, which caused the other to die consequentially due to the fact that they shared one soul. In most cases though, the potion would be given to someone who was dying and someone of health and the strength of one person could not outweigh the weakness of another. If the healthy person did not die because they became just as sick or injured as the person they shared the potion with, they would die because now they shared a soul with someone who was incurable or far too injured to be saved, and with that persons death came their own. It was extremely dangerous, no longer taught, and very rarely used. If George were to use that on you and himself he would surely die, and there was absolutely no question about that.

You stood up from where you were kneeling on the ground, walking right past your husband and into the bathroom. When you returned you had gauze in one of your hands and antibacterial gel in the other. Looking around the dirtied room that was now covered in broken bits of potions materials and small droplets of dried blood you decided you didn’t want to be in there any longer and guided your husband out into the hallway to dress his wound. The two of you sat on the ground in front of the guard rail that kept people from falling down the area where there were no stairs as you gently wrapped his hand with gauze. Upon finishing you looked up at George only to find him staring at you, his eyes not looking away even after you caught him looking. You took his uninjured hand in both of yours, giving it a gentle squeeze and sighing softly before speaking, “Why George? I don’t get it, I told you there was nothing that could be done and you told me you understood that, so why are you doing things like thi-” “Because I can’t fucking lose you again!” George shouted suddenly, cutting you off before you could finish asking your question. “Because I went months without you, and the thought of losing you again terrifies me! I did what I did because I’ll do anything to keep you with me, because anything is better than losing you.” He whispered out, his voice pained and cracking with each word as you watched him, shocked at his sudden outburst. He had been working so hard to act normal that he hadn’t been letting any of his feelings about the situation out at all. “Oh George, my husband, my love, my everything, you aren’t going to lose me.” You whispered softly, feeling your own tears begin to run down your cheeks as you spoke, “You’ve never lost me.” You choked on your tears, sniffling softly but forcing yourself to go on, “As long as you love me I’ll exist in your heart, the same way you’ll exist in mine even when it stops beating.” You pulled him close and hugged him around his shoulders, all but pulling him into your lap as you held him as close to your body as you could. The funny thing about that position you were holding him in though, was that it was the same position he held you in as he begged you to wake up when he found you lying on the ground, cold and dead, in the same spot you had held him just three weeks prior when you had promised him he would never lose you.

MASTERLIST

Ko-fi

Here is where I keep my tag lists, whether they’re permanent or just for a specific series or character. If you would like to be added to my taglist let me know and I’ll add you :)

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley oneshot #george weasley angst #george weasley fic #harry potter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter blog #harry potter x reader #harry potter x reader fic #harry potter x reader angst

211 notes · View notes

bigdogclem-blog · 4 years

Text

Lit Alpha-bio

Bible

The bible was probably one of the first books that I was introduced to. The bible is a book of Christian scriptures from the Old and New Testaments. It teaches you about God and Jesus and how he lived and things that he created and accomplished. This book is the way of life for me and my family. It helps me stay positive and up because of the many things that God has done for me. The bible is also a way for us to get closer to God because the more you read about him the more you will personally know him.

Poetry

Poetry is a huge overflow of powerful feeling. Some people may say that poetry is not a turning loose of personality, but its an escape from emotion. I started to feel poetry a little bit because of Tupac Shakur. Tupac was the protype of a street poet. He was mainly known for his poem “The Rose That Grew From Concrete”. Tupac poems were just so deep they touched everybody in the building just like his music. Some say that Tupac music was basically poetry for the hood.

less

Diary of a Wimpy Kid

I used to read the Diary of a Wimpy Kid all of the time when I was younger. It was one of the only books that I read then. The Diary of a Wimpy Kid is a children novel by Jeff Kinney. This book is about a boy named Greg Heffley and how he attempted to become popular in middle school. Greg Heffley is also often teased by his older brother Rodrick. The first time he teased him in the book is because his mother bought him his school supplies. Greg also has a little brother who is spoiled called Manny. His father Frank does not like that Greg sits around and play the video game all day instead of going outside. And that is basically small summary about this novel. I always used to look at the book and tell Greg Heffley to turn up and he would always say back to me in my head that he got me.

Onomatopoeia

Onomatopoeia always come to mu head because it literally means “to make a name (or sound).” That is saying that the word means nothing more than the sound it makes. Like the word “slap”, is not only the sound that is made but also the action of hitting something with a open hand. Some water sounds are bloop, splash, spray, sprinkle, squirt, dribble, drip, and drizzle. Some vocal sounds are giggle, growl, grunt, gurgle, mumble, and murmur. Collision sounds are like bam, bang , clang, clank, clatter, click, screech, and thump. Air sounds are flutter, fwoosh, swish, whizz, and whisper. Animal sounds are arf, bark, bray, buzz, cheep, and cluck.

Express myself

I try to express myself through whatever I am writing. By expressing myself I can release emotions and can firmly believe in myself thus building a life worth living. When I am writing something that I am interested in my emotions are running high, my ideas are flying, and opinions are in full supply. I simply combine my inner thoughts and feeling with what I perceive in the outer world and put it into words. You give me a pen and a piece of paper then my ideas will come pouring out. Self-expression is the heart and soul of all types of creative writing from fiction and poetry to essays.

Article about me

I read all types articles about myself. If u type my name in on google you will see that I have a long line of articles about down the line. I always wanted to google my name when I was younger, so every now and then I will take the time out to google my name. The article about me are mainly about football, interviews, and things in that area. And that’s just some stuff that I like to read because it excites me. I also read up on article about other athletes too.

less

Kindergarten reading and writing

In kindergarten we were taught the basic pillars of English and grammar when we started our elementary school year. They taught me capitalization, simple punctuations, prepositions, plural nouns and how to start short sentences. I also learned new words and how to connect them with the real world. In kindergarten we also did a lot of shared reading. Shared reading is an interactive reading experience that occurs when students join in or share the reading of a book or other text while guided and supported by a teacher. The teacher explicitly models the skills of proficient readers, including reading with fluency and expression. Kindergarten was the most critical learning in all of my years.

Understanding reading and writing

Skills that are important for school, at work, and at home are reading and writing skills. Literacy is your ability to read and write. You start to learn language as a baby. We learned how to say sounds and put them together also. All of those are early speech and language skills that help us to learn and write. And as we got older to started to read more and learn more, and that’s when we really started to understand reading and writing.

Sports magazine

See my Dad is barber so when I was younger all I ever did was sit in the barbershop with my daddy after school to wait for him to get off or take me somewhere. Sitting there was boring but he had sports magazines to read and I was very interested in them. I used to read all the sports magazines like ESPN The Magazine, Sports Illustrated, Sports Illustrated Kids, USA Today Sports Weekly, Outdoor, and etc. Sports magazines was one of the top things that I liked to read.

Lyrics

When I was younger, I used to want to be a rapper, so all I used to do was sit around write lyrics. The lyric is basically the word of the song. All you need is a sheet of paper, a pen, and your mind then you can write some powerful lyrics down. Tupac was one of the most lyrical rappers that I ever seen, and he motivated me to try to do it. Without the lyric of the song there is no song.

less

Nonfiction

A nonfiction book is content that tells the truth and has good accuracy regarding information, events, or people. Nonfiction literature is based off a fact. My favorite nonfiction book to read when I was A kid was The Michael Jordan book. I like to read his book because it talks about Michael Jordan childhood and how he became a superstar. And one day I want to be like him in the sport world. So basically, nonfiction books just keep it real.

Fiction

A fiction is water downed, fabricated version of something. It is usually based off someone’s imagination instead of a fact, something like a novel or a short story. It is often based on actual events and can have different points of view. My favorite nonfiction book to read is The Hunger Games. The Hunger Games is about a boy and a girl that were chosen and forced to compete in The Hunger Games and fight for their life.

Interviews

I did plenty of interviews throughout my life since I play football and Job interviews. During these interviews you a have to make sure that you come with your head on straight because if you don’t you might say the wrong thing. When I do these interviews, I was taught that so you can have a better interview you should code mesh. Code meshing is the act of putting together local, vernacular, colloquial, and world dialects of English in assignments or conversation. I have become more comfortable with during interviews because I took speaking classes. Speaking classes helped me out big time.

Meetings

Over these past couple months, I have been involved in plenty of meetings. These meeting are mostly about football and school. And a wise man named Mike Norvell told me to never come in a meeting without pencil and paper ready to write. So now when I come into meetings, I always make sure I have something to write on s I can jot down everything I need to. When you write a lot a meeting you also become a better writer. And the better writer you come, the better you will be in meetings.

less

Riddles

When I was younger my Uncle used to tell me all types of riddles and just couldn’t figure them out because they were so hard. But as I grew, I began to like riddles, I found them interesting. So, me and my Uncle would just sit down and make up riddles and try to solve them, And or even google riddles to figure out. Just incase you did not know a riddle is a mystical, misleading, or puzzling question posed as a problem to be solved. When I think of a riddle I first think of the super hero, Riddle Man.

Crossword puzzle

I also used to like to do crossword puzzles in my spare time. See in my Uncle’s house it was full of different newspapers with crossword puzzles, crossword puzzle books, and everything dealing with words or reading. I even had sum crossword puzzle books of my own. Cross word puzzles helped me become a better reader and it expanded my vocabulary. Crossword puzzles are usually on a square or rectangular grid and the games goal is to form words with all of the letters that you are given. Crossword puzzles are great to do on your spare time.

Word search

When I was younger, I also participated in word searches too. See these types of games were just music to my ears, I don’t know why but they were. A word search is a puzzle consisting of letter arranged in a grid, containing several hidden words written in any direction. In elementary school we had word search competitions and I came out on top almost every time. Some may say that word searches are second nature to me. Word searches help me read and find words faster than ever. This all played to me expanding my vocabulary.

Jalil

Jalil is my name and ultimately the first word that I ever spelled. My name is a Muslim name and it means great, exalted, and magnificent. My name means a lot to me because it has great meaning. Also my name was the first word that I ever spelled out. During kindergarten we had to write out names out multiple times and I’m pretty sure that I was spelling it before school.

less

4 notes · View notes

ryokeiyumitori-blog · 6 years

Text

Looking for RP: Ryokei Yumitori/Balmung

BASICS –

NAME: Ryokei Yumitori

AGE: Unknown, appears as an Elder.

RACE: Elezen (Appearance)

GENDER: Male

ORIENTATION: Heterosexual, is comfortable around others though. SIGN: Llymlaen the Navigator

SERVER: Balmung

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE –

HAIR: Variance of colors, natural hair color is white. Currently brunette with silver streaks. Short or long depending.

EYES: Hardly ever shown, but when they are. The color of fire, one darker eye than the other. Ember.

HEIGHT: 6′7

BUILD: Slim build, athletic. Nothing distinguished with armor on, off in swim suit wear. Toned legs for all that *jumping*. Described as handsome mostly, but he doesn’t pursue over this. Average according to himself. Your typical Elezen male.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Runic markings etched into his skin, upon his chest mostly. Upon his features are that of scars, riddled along his jawline.One over his left eye, crossing down to the left cheek. Another beneath his right eye.

COMMON ACCESSORIES: Golden necklace (sometimes). His lance, through and through has this weapon been his pride.

PERSONAL –––-

PROFESSION: Studies into the medical field. Commander recently promoted for the Seventh Regiment. Romance Author on the side (Has many books out dating back from years prior, we’re talking thirty some odd.) Doctor for Ishgard within the Pillars, mostly seen attending the Veterans that cannot do much for themselves no longer. A musician, but only at the tavern during Wednesday nights, violin.

HOBBIES: Going to Burlesque shows. Yes, he supports them. Socialization, writing. Reading other books to keep his mind fresh. Crime books is a favorite pass time. Along many other hobbies, when he has time for it. Adventuring is something he does daily.

LANGUAGES: Common tongue, Eorzean, lastly. Doman. Yes, you read that right. Doman. CRIMINAL HISTORY: Once near framed as a heretic, jailed for a month due for it. Barely missed execution until proven innocent of his ex-wife.

RESIDENCE: The Mist, at the tavern.

FEARS: Spiders. Those eight-legged creatures can go somewhere else!

RELATIONSHIPS –

SPOUSE: Not married. No relationship currently. Had interests, still does, but all taken. Unfortunately. More fortunate for them. He’d spoil them.

FAMILY: Unknown for the most part, an ancient soul otherwise or so proclaimed as told by others.He has one legit brother Lancefer, the other is adopted. An Au Ra by the name Ryosen. He resides with the Skyhawk family, the head of the Estates he’s Lord to ironically is his ex-wife.

PETS: None currently, too much travel. Only his faithful companion mount, Nightmare.

TRAITS –

extroverted / introverted / in between

disorganized / organized / in between

close minded / open-minded / in between

calm / anxious / in between

disagreeable / agreeable / in between

cautious / reckless / in between

patient / impatient / in between

outspoken / reserved / in between

leader / follower / in between

empathetic / apathetic / in between

optimistic / pessimistic / in between

traditional / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy / in between

cultured / uncultured / in between

loyal / disloyal / in between

faithful / unfaithful / in between

VICE –––

SMOKING HABIT: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

POSSIBLE HOOKS –

Ishgardian Knights of any, having dealt with many endeavors. He knows of the Estates as well -houses- within Ishgard.

Medical staff, or healers from the area. Some within Ul’dah if they travel there. He frequents the Quicksands to meet new faces.

Authors. Why not?

Pirates, yes. Pirates, due for his ex-wife being one he’s localized with many, if not all of them. Some he’s not even heard of yet!

Doman. Othard mostly, Xaela or Raen. His adopted brother is Ryosen Yumitori whom named Ryokei years ago his given name shedding his Ishgardian name he were given to honor the family.

Of the Yumitori family.

Nobles of Ishgard. He is a Lord after all. The Skyhawk Estates is revered with its status to keep peace between the others as long as there are no heretics proclaimed involved. Even though they do some dealing with him.

Ishgard military. Due for the Commander of the regiment he’s within. He would know you from another branch/section of Ishgard.

Seen around the cities, there’s a possibility someone might have heard of him as being an author. His face isn’t posted on -every- book, only some limited edition copies in the back of the jacket. Perhaps they know him simply due for the fact of his silver tongue. Suave.

WHAT I’M LOOKING FOR ––––

Anything really goes with this Dragoon. He’s a chatter box to some extent, though reserved by his own rights. He adores to meet new faces, man or woman!

Marriage is all right in game. I have three characters married off already, and I have a flexible schedule for roleplay all the time.

Just whatever comes this dude’s way. He’s really a relaxed yet wise character with a general understanding of most situations. He will assume if he’s not correct on something, he’ll take the down fall for it.

He’s loyal to a fault, friends are what he’s looking for. (Or relationship)

Medical or anything of the sort! He researches the ley lines of the universe so to speak. Anything Aetherial involved he’s all for for topic!

Engineers. He’s attempting to become one himself to avoid going to the armor smith to fix his armor. There’s a lot more that goes into it than just *fixing*

Romance enthusiasts!

OOCLY, I AM/DO’s/DO NOT–

Relaxed, easy going. Prefer to keep ooc out of ic content, but I like to discuss what goes on involving roleplay for plot. As well like to know ahead of time if there’s a change happening so I can prepare for it. Emotions happen man, emotions happen.

I do not /roll fights, but I will do so if I must.

I don’t care what you roleplay, I’m free-willed. You want to roleplay a Lupan, go ahead. You want to roleplay a dragon, sure! They are my favorite! I don’t care what it is, as long as you are having fun as I. It’s a game, not reality even if we do get sour on subjects. It happens.

I work for GameStop as a Manager, so yes, upcoming game title releases I’d be more than happy to discuss with others.

I love lore, adore it. If you find a way to work your character into it somehow and it makes sense. Go for it.

I am an author, and attempting to publish my second book. My first is yet to hit shelves! Waiting on final publish will let everyone know the title if asked privately!

US East Coast for timing! I work with other time zones as well, sometimes it doesn’t always work out though depending on job restrictions.

We as a roleplay community are very misunderstood but there’s so many of us. I love the communication between others. I am on the server Balmung US, and sometimes Mateus if need be for extra roleplay.

I don’t do discord heavy roleplays, I have a forgetful mind with stress IRL this year. So, I apologize before hand for that. I’ll start something, then it won’t be finished until a few days later.

I DO HAVE OTHER CHARACTERS I ROLEPLAY ON IF INTERESTED! Seven total on Balmung. Three on Mateus.

YOU CAN CONTACT ME VIA –

Tumblr, Discord, and in game. I’m always on, in some way shape or form. I have tumblr on my mobile device as well Discord. PM me for Discord addy through my tumblr page.

@aizaepocan @zankriaskyhawk @worrentigre @interdimensionalpeacekeeping @balmungrp

#Roleplay lookout #Ryokei Yumitori #Fun times

45 notes · View notes

jchichibu · 5 years

Text

Things that God told me.

Hi, this took me a little long to pen down. It’s not because I’m too busy or I’m procrastinating – but simply because I am someone who tends to rank priorities wrongly. Penning down my thoughts about my 7-month journey in SOT (School of Theology) was something I was tasked by Lester, but something I really wanted to do even before he asked for it. Take it as a reminder for me, and take it as a 17-minute read of my 7-month endeavour for anyone who is interested.

My name is Jasmine, better known as Chichibu or CCB (Titus 1:15 lol) and I am 24 this year (it’s still 2018 as of 6:43 PM 31 December 2018 as I pen this on my way home from Malacca on the coach :P). I graduated from City Harvest Church’s School of Theology Class of 2018, and the course began from 26 Feb and I graduated on 30 Sep. As quoted by one of my favourite persons in my life Claria, I am certainly the “last person ever you will think of going SOT”. True, SOT never once crossed my mind even being in church since I was 16 and every year they ask you to tell your neighbours “Join SOT!”, but I never wanted to, or never thought I needed to. Throughout my Christian walk, the OG and most tangible thing was the love of God. I was never the most holy, most spiritual, most caring, most enthusiastic person for Christ and I might feel somewhat stagnant in my walk (but I was contented honestly). I was becoming lukewarm. I forget to read the Bible, spurt vulgarities or flash finger signals I probably should never ever have, think or covet for things I should not and did things I’m not proud of. I sometimes would not want to show I am a Christian because I don’t want people to think badly of Christianity. I am just not a standard girl you would expect to want to go SOT.

However, a week before the closing of registration of SOT I had a push from God to join SOT. I went for a jog and I remembered clearly at the uphill of Toh Tuck Rise I made a decision to register for SOT. Yea, people who are not from my church will think I really sot, I just got lifted my burdens of having 4 private tutees out of my full time job, and now am I really doing this to myself? To burden myself with SOT, full time job and attempting have a social life? I was also motivated to have my routine of working out every morning and even had plans to sign up something with Ling Hui at the gym. SOT is a commitment and yes, I have to wake up at 7 AM everyday for SOT at 8.45 AM and end work generally when the sky is dark. Ok la obviously I just yolo-ed and ‘took a leap of faith’, said goodbye to chill 2018 and registered for SOT!!! Through it all I know that God will carry me through and nothing is too hard for Him. Though at that moment I really can’t believe I’m doing this to myself.

I am not going write about what SOT is about, but I am going to pen my revelations. I did keep a dated record of things that spoke to me throughout my journey and I hope some of these will relate to some of you and serve as a reminder for me as the year closes. Hopefully the (long) introduction above gave you some sort of context as to who I am, and now I begin: Things that God told me.

1. It is not by my might that I am saved, or that God loves me. You can rely on Jesus to forgive you, but do not take it for granted. Cheap grace is not what we are looking for here. When God forgives, remember to learn something from it and avoid the mistake again.

2. Since 16, I recalled every moment that I prayed for something, gets it eventually and forget that it was God. Countless times with my knees bent worshipping God in SOT, I was reminded of how smooth my life has been. I remember when I was 18, I was praying to get into a local university because my results were not fantastic. I was scared. But look, I got accepted into my first choices for the 3 local unis. I remember when I was 21, I got into exchange programme without even meeting the critieria of cGPA 3.5 (lol). I remember when I was 22, I was so anxious after my paper because I felt I would fail the paper and that means I will retain and not graduate with my peers (Ely do you remember us drinking Tiger at ahlian? Haha). Look, I scored a D or something in the end but I graduated as planned.

3. I’ve disappointed God several times, I am in church but I feel like shit, you know. I have had bad days, where I feel freaking unworthy of God to love me and I want to run away. Having the revelation that God has not disappointed me a single time makes me more mindful how mighty He is, and how weak I am, and how much I needed to stop disappointing God. We cannot not sin, truth is, we all have. But we can make a decision everyday to rely on God. The authority to defeat Satan is in me. God loves me so much. So so so so sosoososososososoooooo much what is my next move?

The woman was left alone. Jesus stood up and spoke to her. “Woman, where are they? Does no one condemn you?” “No one, Master.” “Neither do I,” said Jesus. “Go on your way. From now on, don’t sin.” (John 8:9-11)

4. Learn to wait upon the Lord. Those who know me personally know I am a relatively fast paced person. I do not really like to wait or queue up for things and I speak super quickly.. I know Jeremiah 29:11 very well but I still plan things for myself anyway. Is this lack of faith/disbelief in God that I am experiencing? But I know God has a plan for me. You see, it gets very conflicting, for fear that my impatience will ‘spoil’ God’s good plans for me. As 2019 becomes less fast paced and I become older, may I calm my tits down and tarry in the Lord. It means to stay longer than expected and be patient in hope. Because for the record, God’s plans has always been good to me – when I see the big picture now for the uncertainties I felt in the past, everything makes sense. I need to truly believe that God will provide, God is truly the overseer of my life, God’s timing will come.

But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you. (Matthew 6:33)

5. Be thankful to God and always be. If you are thankful, you will always find your way back to Jesus. Take thanksgiving to God more seriously, EVERYDAY. And I thank God that every night before I sleep I always have something to be thankful about up.

6. Right values and right spirit translates to right actions. I’ve learnt to set boundaries for my value system, not everything is okay, even if my free-spirited soul tells me “aiya yolo” countless times. Spirit wise, I need to talk to God more consistently. The Holy Spirit is something I learnt to engage more in SOT, and I need to remember to communicate with it more (considering how slack I was in the past and it has yet become a habit). I am a reflection of my own routine.

7. To not find ways to see how close I can go without stepping over the line. Instead, think how far I can be from that line. This was mentioned during one of Pastor Ed’s session, struck a chord in me since then. People like me, free-spirited, come-what-may kind of personality, running away from things I deem as fun (but not exactly morally upright) is hard. I crave excitement and adventure. I need to learn, not everything that makes me happy is beneficial for me. I am responsible for my own freedom. Deliberate habitual sinning makes us okay to cross this line and it’s scary. I forget that it is actually not pleasing to God, I forget that it will hurt me, because I’ve gotten used to it, I’ve gotten immune to it. I do not feel bad anymore. And that itself, is toxic.

8. Repentance, I need to repent from things in my life. Inward change + outward action = repentance. I feel constantly that I’m doing both half-heartedly. It’s hard to truly 100% repent if I continue this way. Deal with the heart problem.

9. Life is worth living for the Lord. Quit thinking that life without acknowledging is my Saviour is better. I used to have thoughts that life would be better without being a Christian – I don’t have to feel shitty about having done something bad, I can sleep till super late on a Sunday, look my friends who are unchurched are living alright too… I envy them sometimes. Then I realised I need to be secured in my identity in Christ. I am a child of God, and knowing Jesus should be one of the best decisions of my life. Yes, people who do not know God can lead a good life too. But I should not think that knowing God has compromised my happiness and freedom in life. God gave us free-will and there is freedom in Him. Quitting Jesus will likely mean I am not returning.

You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh ; rather, serve one another humbly in love. (Galatians 5:13)

10. If we think closely about most of the things in our lives, there must be an exchange. I gave the auntie my 3 dollars in exchange for a plate of chicken rice this afternoon. The handicapped uncle busked in the streets in hope that someone could give him some money in exchange for his time. Jesus died in exchange for the forgiveness of our sins. I cannot keep taking for granted that I will go to heaven if I keep doing things not according to the will of God; I need to exchange something. Is it my lack of discipline, is it a person, is it a hobby? Surrender.

11. My life should not be a paradox. Make my words precious. From my heart, motives and mind, I need to understand why things cannot be done. Does my verbal profession translate to moral obedience? My life is the most powerful message for people. No one has seen Jesus but they have seen me. Live my life for Christ. Be mindful of what I speak about, don’t say or do things I don’t mean. Treat people genuinely. I should learn to not just receive God’s love, learn to give God some love too by loving His people. He deserves it. When people say my name, what do they say about?

Don’t fool yourself into thinking that you are a listener when you are anything but, letting the Word go in one ear and out the other. Act on what you hear! Those who hear and don’t act are like those who glance in the mirror, walk away, and two minutes later have no idea who they are, what they look like. But whoever catches a glimpse of the revealed counsel of God—the free life!—even out of the corner of his eye, and sticks with it, is no distracted scatterbrain but a man or woman of action. That person will ﬁnd delight and afﬁrmation in the action. (James 1:22-25)

12. I can live at my own level of faith. I always categorise my friends as upz and never felt equivalent to them. You see, I don’t speak or edify people so much, I don’t lead people, I speak whatever comes my mind (#uncensored) and I am not a standard example of a holy person. Then I talked to some people I deemed as upz and I realised we are all human beings with real temptations and fears; whatever I face they face too, just differently but we have inadequencies. Maybe I’m just more vocal about these things, but everyone’s fighting their own battles even if they looked perfect on the exterior. I learnt that God did not create robots, but created us in His image… and we can be comfortable with who we are. I do not need to be whoever for God to love me more, God is happy with who I am, as long as I live my life with integrity, offline and online, real life or secret life. I can just stay rooted in Him based on my own pace. God isn’t impressed by human strength. If I want real and divine strength and power, first I have to be weak by the standards of this world. When I’m weak by the standards by the world, then I can get the grace to become strong in God. I need God.

For I say, through the grace given to me, to everyone who is among you, not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think soberly, as God has dealt to each one a measure of faith. (Romans 12:3)

13. Leadership is not about title, leadership is about influence. Note to self about my life as a teacher or colleague or friend. I want to influence positively, I want to be someone who honours my word, that what I believe in is in sync with how I act out and live out.

14. God does not waste every experience I face in my life. No one knows the full shit I’ve experienced, the real training that I’ve been through but when the situation calls for it, I can be useful to people around me. Don’t come out of experiences empty-handed, instead bring treasures of darkness.

15. Read the Bible more, spend time with the Holy Spirit more, pray more. I was forced (ok, at the last feel moments of SOT I was truly forced due to time constraints) to complete the Bible and I realised how much wisdom the Bible has and how little I’ve read it through my years. Contradicting isn’t it? I fail to read the sole thing that was given to me to know God better. As I said earlier, my relationship with God is based on experience – experiencing His love. What if one day I stopped experiencing God’s love during sessions, will I still follow Jesus? The word is indeed important, in times of need I can become a blessing. I beat myself up for the fact that I lost time in my years as a Christian not reading the Bible as much as I should have, but may 2019 be a year where I find time on my own to look deeper into His word and know His word.

Preach the word! Be ready in season and out of season. Convince, rebuke, exhort, with all longsuffering and teaching. (II Timothy 4:2 NKJV)

Pray until inadequacy leaves me. Pray until my prayer is answered. Pray until my burden is lifted. Be close to the Holy Spirit and ensure that when God knocks at my door, I am available and present to answer it. My thought pattern is developed through years and I need to undo this thought pattern by the Holy Spirit, prayers and word of God.

But you, when you pray, go into your room, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in the secret place; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you openly. (Matthew 6:6)

16. Make decisions when you are not emotionally unstable. Decisions is rooted in your character. Learn to stop acting on impulse. Learn to say no at times. Align my decisions with the will of God.

17. Whatever I focus on grows. Become wiser this year about the people, the finances, the health, the things i spend my time on...

Get wisdom—it’s worth more than money; choose insight over income every time. (Proverbs 16:16)

18. God loves me so much… through SOT, I am certain of the love of God. Now remember this and know that nothing I do or not do can make God love me lesser or more.

19. I can decide what comes into my heart. Let what is worth it come into your heart.

Keep vigilant watch over your heart; that’s where life starts. (Proverbs 4:23 – 27)

20. Be secure in myself, no need to strive to prove myself. If I’m good people can see.

21. If God speaks, will I be willing to listen?

Sooooo, is SOT necessary? To be honest, no. I was so tired at that time, thankful that my dad was able to send me to work straight after SOT at 1 PM. I had no time for myself at all, there was something to do that I cannot cancel everyday. SOT was more of a routine that I learnt to follow, a controlled environment for me to know God more. I had to praise and worship every morning, pray with my peers, read the Bible, complete assignments to graduate. It gave my life some sort of order because everyday I am put in an atmosphere that allows me to meet God. However life after SOT is what really mattered the most. Certainly I got distracted and travelling a lot during my holiday did not help. However, the experiences and revelations in SOT, those are things that cannot be taken away from me... that I just need to regularly be reinforced in my head and heart. My biggest takeaway for me is that nothing will make me leave God and nothing will make God leave me.

May life after this see me becoming more matured, where I have self-realisation as to what is good and bad for me, having a mature love for God that knows no fear because I’m fully convinced that God loves me sooooo super much. Live life with integrity!

This is by no means a 2019 New Year Resolution post because I don’t want that shit anymore (typing this on 31 Dec simply ‘cuz yo girl kept forgetting to do it since 30 Sep after graduation). I’m sure I am bound to make mistakes and bound to screw up and get lost again in my life time but I just want to live my life to my best. Life never really turn out the way it is planned – some parts better than you planned, some parts worse than you planned. A general word for 2019 though, Gr. Apokaradokia: To wait with expectation with head raised and eyes ﬁxed over the horizon –

+ Apo: Means to turn away with concentration. Ignoring other interests.

+ Kara: Means head.

+ Dokia: Means to stretch forward.

Two of my favourite verses throughout my SOT times and have a blessed year ahead.

But he’s already made it plain how to live, what to do, what God is looking for in men and women. It’s quite simple: Do what is fair and just to your neighbor, be compassionate and loyal in your love, And don’t take yourself too seriously— take God seriously. (Micah 6:8 MSG)

God , your God, has blessed you in everything you have done. He has guarded you in your travels through this immense wilderness. For forty years now, God , your God, has been right here with you. You haven’t lacked one thing. (Deuteronomy 2:7 MSG)

2 notes · View notes

bluerosesburnblue · 5 years

Text

Liz Liveblogs Bravely Second: Final Thoughts

Alright, as promised, let’s take a deep dive into my experience with Bravely Second. I’ve done the postgame, not really much to talk about. All it really is is unused dungeons that appeared in Default, but not Second, repurposed to hold missing enemies with a set encounter rate. Game’s been 100% completed besides some of the Ba’al bestiary entries, which I’m working on. (And by 100% I mean all Bestiary entries completed, all item/equipment journal entries completed, all character levels and job levels maxed out, all songs unlocked in Chompcraft, and all Titles collected.) So, now that there’s nothing left to do but hope for the best at Fort-Lune, I’ve taken some time to organize my thoughts and gone back through the liveblog to see if any of my opinions have changed

Speaking of the liveblog, I saved it in a word document when the Tumblr purge happened, just in case, and that thing ended up being 98 pages/53823 words long. So wow. That’s more than the entirety my college thesis paper. Kinda nuts how much I can write when I’m motivated. So now I’m gonna write EVEN MORE

Major spoilers for Bravely Default, Bravely Second, and also Undertale follow below

I suppose I should start this post by talking briefly about my history with the series, since I only liveblogged Bravely Second and don’t think I’ve said much about Default before

I beat Bravely Default about three years ago (shortly before November 8, 2015 if the email I sent to my best pal anheiressofasoldier, who I will not tag as she’s avoiding Bravely Second spoilers, is any indication). I binged the game while at college, because I wanted to be able to play Bravely Second when it came out (...whoops). Around the time I really started getting into the game, indie darling Undertale came out, and I spent a lot of my time bouncing between playing Bravely Default and having Undertale playthroughs going in the background while doing schoolwork/grinding in BD. I learned one thing about my tastes during that time: I really love meta plots in games and the way that they both utilize the system’s capabilities to mess with the player and integrate the player into the story, expanding the lore and fostering the sense that you, behind the screen, really are a part of this story and a member of the world of the game, just like all of the other characters. It is a fascinating story mechanism, and it’s a surefire way to get me invested in the narrative

Makes it kind of funny that the Undertale spiritual sequel/AU, Deltarune, came out just as I was finishing Bravely Second. I guess the two series will always be tied together for me

For those unaware and who also don’t care about spoilers, Bravely Default and Undertale are both RPGs with similar twists at the end. Namely that you, the Player, are a full-blown character and active participant in the world of the story. And also that saving the game is an in-universe thing. Bravely Default reveals during its final boss battle that another realm exists, the Celestial Realm, and when it’s depicted the game uses the 3DS camera to show the player’s face, creating the narrative that the villain, Ouroboros, is attempting to break out of the “game” into the “real world,” and the entire plot of the game has been revolving around this fact. It is also revealed that “The Celestial” has been keeping Tiz alive and guiding him, and when he severs the bond between himself and the Celestial, he collapses and the game ends. You, the player, lose control of the character because he breaks your bond, which means you can’t play anymore

The first hint that there may be more to Undertale’s story of a human falling into the Underground land of monsters is during the final boss of a Neutral run (necessary to get the Pacifist ending and the first ending most people see), where the main villain, Flowey, abruptly crashes the game. Booting it up again causes the intro to glitch out and the save file to show what appears to be Flowey’s own save file. When accessed, the player is loaded into a black void with nothing but a save point. Accessing that causes Flowey to delete your save file (not unlike what Providence tries in Bravely Second), which begins the final fight against him. During the fight, he makes use of Save States to reload you back into the way of his attacks. This messing around with the player’s save data is only the first part of the game’s meta twist. Another reveal happens at the end of its Genocide route, where the player actively guides their character into eradicating every last monster in the Underground. You have to actively stay in each area of the game and kill everything you see until every enemy encounter becomes a blank screen with the message “But nobody came...” There’s no way to just accidentally end up on this route. Like, I cannot stress that enough. Very few people actually see the Genocide route, but its reveal is integral to understanding the overarching story

The final boss of the Genocide route is designed to actively screw with the UI (which is what I referenced when fighting Providence). His attacks change the shape of your action box, where you’re intended to dodge attacks in bullet hell segments, around. Some of his attacks are in the menu, hitting your icon in the text box and the buttons to select your action for each turn, constantly damaging you. There’s no downtime in this fight. You have to always be moving, because now he’s attacking your safe zones, just like Providence’s Bravely Second attack. There is no safe place from damage against these bosses. The trick to beating Undertale’s Genocide boss is to wait him out and dodge his attacks until he’s tired, and then use the time he’s asleep to move the action box into the menu to access your commands. Then, at the very end, you’re taken to a void and speak to a child you’ve never seen before, who informs you that you’ve both been controlling the main character of the game, Frisk. In a Neutral or Pacifist run of the game, this child is content to let you take control, and in fact may not even awaken as an entity possessing Frisk at all. In a Genocide run, however, they get so gung-ho about killing that they take control from you at various points. Noticeably, in the Genocide route, “Frisk” seems to act on their own a lot in cutscenes, something that they only do occasionally in other routes. The Mysterious Child informs you that they are the Fallen Child that the player named in the beginning, and that they also believe that they are some manifestation of... I don’t know how to phrase this. Game addiction? Completionist tendencies? They call themself “the feeling you get when your stats go up” or something along those lines. They ask you to destroy the world of Undertale with them and move on to the next game, where you’ll do the process over again together, killing all enemies and the “beating the game,” over and over until there’s nothing left. Accept their offer and the games ends there, the game’s world is erased. Refuse, and the Fallen Human informs you that you were never in control and attacks the player directly, causing damage numbers to be displayed across the screen and the game to crash instantly after. Booting it up again in either situation leaves you with nothing but a black screen with wind noises. 10 minutes after booting up that screen, the Fallen Human will offer to reset things so long as you sell them your soul. Accept, and every time you play a Pacifist route again the happy ending will play, before showing Frisk abruptly becoming possessed by the Fallen Human

I’d hazard a guess that what takes Undertale from being a goofy, lighthearted game with fun jokes and a lot of emotional moments into a ridiculously fascinating game to analyze is that reveal. The realization that the Player is a character takes that game’s story from good to great in a very short amount of time. Everything changes. And that’s exactly what happened to me with Bravely Default, which suddenly went from a cute throwback game to nostalgic RPGs (of which I have played none so there really isn’t any nostalgia there for me) that I genuinely enjoyed both the story and gameplay of to a brilliant game that I couldn’t get enough of. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that seeing that plot thread in Undertale is what made me appreciate its appearance in Default and hope that the lore there would be taken up a notch in Second. And honestly, I’d say it did. Gameplay-wise, it doesn’t go nearly as hard into it as Undertale does, but I don’t think it really has to. It’s not the same game, it just draws on similar themes, and I think it does that really well with the 3DS hardware. And to the Bravely Series’s credit, its integration of the Player into the narrative is done very well

So with all that said, what do I think of Bravely Second as a product? I had expectations, obviously. I expected to get more lore about the Celestial and the Celestial realm and was not disappointed. I went in spoiled on quite a few things, namely:

Anne is Airy’s sister, and is evil and works for a purple-ish pyramid named Providence

Ringabel is in it. Or at the very least, Alternis takes his helmet off. But it was probably Ringabel

The Kaiser’s real name is Denys Geneolgia

Obviously I knew who the asterisk holders were, since I had a list, so that spoiled Yōko as an antagonist to an extent, as well as a few tricky methods to beat bosses, namely Rev

A general overview of some sidequests, mostly Profiteur vs. Holly, Barras vs. Einheria, and Khamer vs. Alternis. You know, the controversial ones

Tiz/Agnès, Ringabel/Edea, and Yew/Magnolia are endgame ships

There is one time loop in the game. Not a world change, but a genuine time loop

I didn’t even pay much attention to pre-release info for Bravely Second, but try as I might, I can’t ever seem to completely avoid spoilers 😓. Oh well. The good news is that none of them really ruined the experience for me

Bravely Second is something that I haven’t seen in a long time: a good sequel. Good GOD have I seen games ruined by their sequels. Maybe I’m just bitter about the sequel hook in TWEWY Final Remix, which makes it seem like the writers have no idea what to do with a sequel, despite having a rich world to set it in. SO MANY sequels just rehash the first game, contradict its ending to get rid of everyone’s happy endings, or else try to explain things that didn’t need explanation (and explain them poorly at that). Bravely Second completely destroyed any of those worries for me. Everything feels like an expansion of the world and characters, done tastefully and with nothing but love for the first game that it’s expanding the lore of. I really felt the heart that went into making it while playing the game, and I have so much respect for the people who made it

Now, it does hit some similar plot beats, like the betrayer fairy who turns out to be working for an extradimensional being looking to mess with both the Celestial Realm and Luxendarc, but I love the twists it made to the formula. Bravely Default was a deconstruction of nostalgic JRPGs, where the helpful guide turns out to be working for the villain and tricked you into doing their dirty work, and instead of saving the world you were dooming it. Bravely Second then takes that plot and flips the perspective on it. They make the person being led by the fairy to open the Holy Pillar the villain, and he believes that he’s saving the world just as vehemently as the party did last game. Which almost makes him the perfect sympathetic villain, since he serves as a counterpoint to the main party who can understand exactly how he got into that position once the full extent of it has been revealed

At no point did I feel that Bravely Second’s added lore hampered the game, or ruined what I knew from the first game (I can easily ignore how silly it is that “oh all of the asterisk holders you killed last game were actually alive!” because I understand how much extra effort it would have been to design all new holders for old asterisks just to justify their inclusion in the game. It also might backfire for fans of the original characters who’d want to see their old favorites included.) Bravely Second’s lore expansions are only ever beneficial to its narrative. The expansion of the Celestial lore and the Plague, largely footnotes in Default, are turned into driving parts of the narrative in ways that only seem to make the world feel larger and older. Lived in. I can only hope that Bravely Third, or whatever it end up being called, keeps up the trend

And Bravely Default didn’t have the happiest of endings, with Ringabel getting a second shot to save his version of the party, but at the cost of abandoning the friends he’s made on this journey. Tiz is comatose, Til and Olivia are still dead, Edea is alone, and Agnès is left to reform her entire religion while fully believing that one of her friends is gone forever and the love of her life may never wake up. I am extremely grateful for being able to take that bittersweet ending and make it a happy one

On top of the amazing graphical upgrades, which stay true to the feel of BD while making everything feel grander, and the tweaks to the battle system to allow for minor enemy variation and the Another Round feature, which gives some incentive to carefully managing BP consumption, and some really fun new jobs, and I’d say I like Bravely Second even more than Bravely Default! (And browsing the internet, it seems like that’s an unpopular opinion. Dunno why, might be the fact that Second is goofier in its first half than the overall tone of Default and relies less on nostalgia for old RPGs). Bravely Second is where I feel the series went from a neat homage with some interesting gameplay innovations to a real adventure with its own unique world and story to tell

So what about the main characters, then? I’m gonna consider the main characters Yew, Magnolia, Edea, Tiz, Altair, Denys, and Anne, as they’re the ones who arguably drive most of the plot

Yew Geneolgia is the character that I was most worried about when I started playing this game. I was really expecting him to just be “Tiz but Younger” and I was happily surprised by what I got. If the liveblog didn’t make it clear, I LOVE YEW. He is such a genuinely sweet boy, who’s chipper and nerdy and so dedicated to his loved ones and I can’t help but relate to him. He’s like the perfect little brother I always wanted (I love my actual younger brothers but they ain’t perfect). His growth is incredible. He goes from a scared kid singing off-key to himself in the woods to keep calm to staring down the god of the realm of people that act as gods to him and telling him to get lost, all without ever losing his kind and dorky nature. He learns the importance of taking your mistakes and growing with them. His sense of familial duty is so wonderful to see, and he serves as an excellent foil to last game’s lead character, Tiz. We went from a low-class farmer and dutiful older brother to a high-class noble and dutiful younger brother, and the flip in perspective with the lead characters only serves to highlight the flip in perspective on the story as a whole. Yew is a Good Boy™ and I couldn’t ask for a better lead character in the game, especially since he’s not even on the cover of any version of the game? Bravely Second is Yew’s story and it’s a damn good one

Magnolia Arch is... honestly kind of underwhelming? She was marketed as the big female lead of the game, she’s the star of the teaser at the end of the international version of Bravely Default, she’s on the cover of some versions of the game! And I... uh... I like her just fine, but I don’t feel like she really served much purpose. She’s got a nice design, I like how sweet she is and her sense of curiosity as a newcomer to Luxendarc, but I don’t feel like she had much... point? She really feels like she was just there to introduce the major plot point of the Ba’als and be a love interest for Yew. I just can’t think of anything she really contributed to the game besides that. I don’t hate her by any means, I just wish there was a bit more to her than minor worldbuilding, especially with all of the buildup she got

Edea Lee is the person I would call the actual female lead of the game, just a different part of the game than Yew is. She’s the protagonist of the sidequests (sans the Yōkai quest, where she gets slightly lesser billing than Yew, but is still a major focal character.) Also, like Yew, she had little marketing. I really respect what they did with Edea. She was one of the most developed characters last game, having her whole arc where she learned to see the shades of gray in morality. So where do you go from there? How do you keep the character interesting without contradicting or repeating their character development from the last game? And my god did they do it with Edea. I love how she legitimately seems to have grown up in Second. She’s learned to see the complexities of situations and acts as a mentor figure to Yew, while still retaining her spitfire qualities... in the main story at least. Her development is actually about taking what she learned in the last game and applying it to a leadership role (which is what the sidequests are supposed to do, but really fail at in execution. More below.) She gets a different arc that complements her arc from last game, where she takes what she learned and now has to figure out how to apply it to a new role. The focus is less on learning to be a decent leader and mediator. It’s a continuation of her character, and it works really well. Ultimately, I’m happy with what we got of Edea (in the main story not... not necessarily Sidequest Edea, who may as well be a different character impersonating the real Edea for how much they have in common)

Tiz Arrior has a similar dilemma to Edea, and a different solution. What do we do with a character who’s already had a full game to be developed? Edea got a new arc that extends off of her first one, taking it in a new and mature direction. With Tiz, however, they decided that he would remain flat in Second, since he got the development in Default and seems content with where he is, personality wise. Like Edea, he’s placed in a mentor role, which I do really enjoy, but Tiz’s real strength in this game is how they used him for worldbuilding. He’s the perfect avenue to explore more of the lore surrounding Celestials, being the closest character to them thanks to his bond with one in the last game. So what does Bravely Second do? What it does best. It takes plot beats from the original and flips the perspective to give the player a new and better understanding of its world and characters. In this case, they take Tiz’s Celestial bond from the first game and give him a new Celestial to bond with, who is more than happy to exposit on his world and the world of Luxendarc. Like Magnolia, I feel like Tiz is much more of a worldbuilding device than a character in Bravely Second, though unlike Magnolia I can excuse this since Tiz already had a whole game that he was the main character of to be developed. We already like Tiz, so he has nothing to prove to us, and it feels good to see him get his delayed happy ending. Weird, though, how the two characters shown on box art for this game have the least impact as characters, though I suppose you could argue that they’re both tied to the main plot though other means. Other means such as...

Altair. Oh, Altair. You weird vegetable-loving alien man. He really grew on me, actually. I find it really interesting that despite constantly stating that the player is a Celestial and implying that the real world is the Celestial Realm, Altair comes in and almost seems to contradict that. Through him, we learn more about the Celestial Realm and, by extension, who and what kind of entity the Player is in this story. Is he aware of who we are? Who knows! He’s a good avenue of lore that I’m fond of. And if Yew is the emotional heart of the main story, then Altair is the emotional heart of the climax. His bond with Vega is what drives a lot of the overarching plot, and it’s a sweet romance. I dunno, I like Altair. I wish he was a little more meta-involved, and gave a little more info about the Celestial Realm, but he did good for what he needed to be. Team Dad’s good

Denys Geneolgia is tied for my favorite character with Yew and I’d talk about him but I already did and nothing’s really changed about my opinions since then, though the rewritten talk with Anne might need to be changed since she apparently doesn’t even know the player exists on the second loop, somehow. Oh well. I wouldn’t be upset if he was a party member in Bravely Third though *wink* *wink*

Anne is cool. Anne is a good foil to Airy, and my rage at realizing that she’s been playing the player since the beginning of Bravely Default is definitely a highlight. She’s a good foil to her sister from the last game. I mean she’s basically Airy taken up to 11 and without the pretense of being a good guy in this game. No, she got that out of her system last game and is in full blown Manipulative Bitch mode this game. She’s a fun villain to have on screen. Very punchable. I’m not sure if there’s much more to say about her, though. I would have loved to see her interact with the player more than the one scene where she taunts us. Just really rub it in that even though we’re a god in Luxendarc, she still managed to deceive us. Maybe expand on her relationship with Airy a little more, focus a bit more on her status as a foil to Denys. She’s a good antagonist, I just would’ve done more with her

We’ve covered the good, so what’s the bad? The sidequests. I’ve gone on a lot about the sidequests but I cannot stress enough how much I disliked all but the Chapter 6 sidequests. They are so formulaic, and that formula actually hampers the story they’re trying to tell with them. The sidequests are Edea’s spot to shine, and I can so clearly see what they were trying to do with them. They’re training Edea for her role as the Grand Marshal of Eternia, where she will end up facing two forces that oppose each other and have to make a decision about her nation’s involvement, which becomes evident during the Templar quest, which all of these seem to be leading up to. The problem, though, is that they’re trying to set up Edea as a mediator and then outright contradict that by having her just choose a side with no thought of compromise, desperately try to validate her choice as the only correct one, frequently claim that the other side’s argument has no merit, and then beats them down to make them agree with her. I mean, what!? That’s not mediating! That’s not my Edea!

By forcing us to make a binary choice, they completely gloss over any moral ambiguity in the situation, and the epilogues always focus more on how Edea feels about her choice, and not the impact that the choice has on the world as a whole. I can somewhat understand why they wanted to implement a choice system into the sidequests to make use of the second loop, but good gracious does it NOT WORK. And it doesn’t help that at least half of, if not 2/3 of, the sidequests try to make a situation morally ambiguous that really shouldn’t be? Or that has a clear correct answer? And all the rest are just really petty disagreements and none of them expand upon the world or characters in any meaningful way. Edea’s sidequest story of becoming a great mediator to make her father proud and grow into the role of Grand Marshal could have gone somewhere if that was a consistent thread between them and not a concept that solely exists in the Templar quest that tries to make the rest look good with hindsight. They really were the worst part of the game. The narratives weren’t enjoyable and the gameplay was just repetitive. Meet two bosses from the last game, listen to grievances, go through old dungeon from last game, pick a boss to fight, meaningless resolution. Rinse. Repeat. But in all honesty, the poorly written sidequests are my only big criticism of the game, and they’re entirely skippable to the average player. (I don’t recommend that you skip them because they offer useful jobs, but you certainly could if you wanted to)

Overall, I’d give Bravely Second a solid A. It is, unquestionably, one of the best games I’ve played in a while. Which is almost word-for-word what my final verdict for Bravely Default was in the email mentioned at the beginning of this post. This series consistently manages to suck me in and keep me invested in its world and characters. I adore it. I love the Bravely series so much and I’d happily buy whatever they come out with next so long as they never try that sidequest stuff ever again. Ever. (Though playing the game is probably gonna mean buying a Switch. Mmmm.)

Moving forward, what are my hopes for the hinted at Bravely Third? Ringabel’s certainly been teased a bit, so I’d hope to see him make a return. Especially as a playable character. I’d love to see his role with the Planeswardens expanded on and what their impact on the lore is. I could easily see Magnolia returning as a playable character, too, just for that little bit of extra development that she desperately needs and her implied relationship with the Planeswardens. I’d really love it if they brought Denys back and made him a playable character, finally giving him an actual, well-crafted character arc. Not to mention that his ties to both the Sword of the Brave and the Eye of Foundar make him an excellent candidate for the plot that the end of Bravely Second teased (also gives me more Geneolgia brothers content).

Story-wise, Bravely Default was centered around parallel worlds (or space), and Bravely Second explored the concept of time, so perhaps we could see alternate Realms/dimensions in Bravely Third. It would be interesting to see them expand upon the lore of the Celestial Realm, especially now that there are characters aware of the Player’s existence, such as Denys and Magnolia. Having Deneb around could also be an interesting choice, as she’d certainly know what the cataclysm in the Celestial Realm was and the capabilities of the Celestial Beings, since she is one. I’ve seen the idea of Deneb as a party member thrown around, and I wouldn’t be against it. Maybe if the whole party was made up of people aware of the Player’s existence, we could have more Player-party interactions. Dialogue choices in cutscenes for us, maybe, where we can talk directly to the party

I wouldn’t be against a Ringabel-Magnolia-Denys-Deneb party. I think that could work really well. Just a team composed of blond boys and silver-haired girls

I love Yew Geneolgia to death, but I think I’d keep him as a side character. He’s already had his story, though a look into what he did after Bravely Second would be much appreciated. Show me my son who reformed the Crystalguard and became the most well-loved member of House Geneolgia in history! At least give me a good sibling reunion! Give me the hug between Denys and Yew that I was robbed of in Bravely Second!

Don’t undo any of the happy endings everyone got. Tiz and Agnès are happily married and retired, and Ringabel and Magnolia make it back home safe to their significant others post-Bravely Third

I guess I’d also kinda like to see a good Cryst-Fairy around at some point. I like the idea I’ve seen around of the Player having their own fairy servant. That could be fun to play with. Maybe with those Party-Player chats I mentioned our dialogue choices could be telling our fairy what to tell the party. Speaking through our own, personal Cryst-Fairy, if you will. Though again, if we’re still expanding the lore, maybe they could go into the state of being of Cryst-Fairies more. Anne gave us a bit to work with, so I suppose I just want more elaboration on how they’re all siblings, how they feel about being siblings, etc. Maybe there’s a good fairy and a bad fairy in the same game and they bicker like real siblings

Also, can they give us confirmation as to whether Yōko was a Luxendarc native or not? And if not, can we see her home realm? That’d be cool. I’d like to see the Yōkai world please

I guess that’s really it, though. For now, that’s all I have to say on the Bravely series! Again, I’d like to give a huge thanks to everyone who’s read through the liveblog and/or commented on any of the parts of it. Seriously, you guys rock and I don’t know if the liveblog would’ve gotten as big as it did if it wasn’t for you guys and the support you provided. If any of you guys want to chat, don’t be afraid to hit me up. My ask box is always open

So! I’ve been Liz, this has been Liz Liveblogs Bravely Second, and I hope to see you all again if/when Bravely Third drops so we can all get lost in the world of Luxendarc together one more time!

#bravely default #bravely second #liz liveblogs bravely second #*fingers crossed for bravely third*

3 notes · View notes

noir0neko · 7 years

Text

seasons of you- jjk

the best things bloom in spring.

all genres, mature content / 15.9k words / reincarnation!jjk au / enjoy !

req(s); Jungkook; Reincarnation!AU, forbidden lovers throughout different lifetimes starting from royalty; but in the present lifetime, the reader is already married (+) a slice of both dom and sub!jungkook smut

a/n; i spent so many weeks and days and hours on this and it is the longest oneshot/fic i have ever written by far, bUt i loved writing it so I really really hope you love reading it ! give me your thoughts nd such if you would be so kind,,,, i’d super duper appreciate it for this monster, much love <3

“You never know how truly you love someone until you lose them,” your mother always told you. It seemed an obvious thing, nodding your head with a smile as she brushed through the ends of your hair at the vanity. Her opulent necklaces always glinted in the firelight, or the sunshine coming through the windows on early mornings, lips parted with wise concentration and dresses making hushed sounds against the old concrete when she swayed back and forth. She didn't believe in servitude, allowing them to keep place and tidy things in order to hold appearances, but when it came to personal tasks, and tasks regarding her children, your mother was certain the only way something was done right is if it was done by oneself. An idea that was deemed preposterous by much of the aristocracy.

You never understood the allure of royalty, the title of noble Lady holding such an snobby tone to it, one that your sisters wore with painfully obvious pride and arrogance. The palace felt far too large, even for the multitude of families who lived there, not to mention the king, Queen, Prince, Princesses, and all of the royal families’ bastard children, who ran amok unattended and judged based on their father’s decisions. You kept to the outskirts, never gathered in the fancied gardens, or dinner parties unless required, which was more often than you favored.

Like tonight, for instance, the annual King’s dinner and ball which was to be attended by all royalty and titled people living both within and in close proximity to the castle. Whenever people gathered here they seemed to have a hard time leaving, and those who lingered always ensnared themselves into the most troubling of situations.

Your mother’s fingers are soft and gentle as they work out the tangles of your hair. Since your father died when you were a young girl, your mother had blossomed, no longer kept down by the oppressive tendencies of men. She could go as she pleased, dress as she pleased, and her favor with the queen granted her access to any area she pleased. They were playmates as children in the palace, and while your mother spoke ill of no one, she never failed to minutely scrunch up her nose in distaste at mention of the king. She claimed that he dampened her friends once vibrant spirit, made her nothing more than a housewife, a domestic mother, and while your sisters wondered what else a woman could be for than to make heirs and tend to their husbands, you could see the inequality and dreary living that the scales of renaissance life possessed.

You never sought a husband, half out of disinterest and half never wanting to be controlled by anyone other than yourself, and if that earned you whispers and eyes behind your back so be it. Better to be standing with it to other people than constantly on it.

“What is this occasion for?” You ask, running kohl along the lines of your eyelids, “another ambassador in town?”

“Not quite so,” your mother's tone dissuades yours, catching her eye in the mirror as she sets the forgotten comb beside you, “the king's son has returned from his schooling and military exploits in Western Europe.”

“I didn't hear him announced,” you remark, wondering where you could have been when the trumpets went off, “the queen must be overjoyed.”

“On the contrary,” your mother stays silent for a moment, watching your face work out the puzzle. “He is the son of the king’s first mistress, who died in childbirth. The king favors him greatly, so don’t act as a shutin. Remember, those who favor those the king favors-”

“-get king's favors, I know,” you mock her, repeating the line she always did in order to get you to play nice, “but if he's a bastard, why would the king throw a celebration in his honor?”

The light catches the gold in her dress as she spins, firelight igniting her hair while she speaks. “I believe the king is aiming to get him legitimized. He has bribed the church a great deal and sum in order of persuade them into attending this event tonight, therefore we must all be present to show our appreciation and love for his son. You were playmates once,” she adds, “as young children.”

“I don’t remember that,” you state the obvious, continuing with your prior train of thought, “but if he’s legitimized, that would mean-”

“Yes, flower,” your mother silences you with her favorite nickname, “it means he would be king. And that centuries of tradition and birthright would be absconded in the name of male pride.” Her tone savors slightly of bitterness, bringing the trace of a grin to your lips.

“What's his name?” You ask, setting the stylo down and replacing it with a puff for rouge. “The son’s?”

“I believe it's Jungkook,” your mother says absently, drifting away to lay out your gown, “I'm quite certain it's Jeon Jungkook.”

You flip her response over in your mind, pinching your cheeks to pour some fire onto their smooth surfaces before taking a good look at yourself. If church officials were in fact attending this ceremony, there was more pressure on the invited to behave accordingly, especially because in many respects, the church held far more power than the king ever did. Not to mention, the king had the right to sever your head from your body if you embarrassed or dishonored him.

The dress your mother laid out for you is one of the seamstresses finest works, adding to the importance of this feast. The intricate patterns of silver and red silk weave little flowers and cinch your waistband in ribbons of gold that fall down the back of the white chiffon skirt and compliment the beige underlay of the see-through material. The dress has long sleeves, and no doubt runs long enough to cover your shoes, for any skin showing would shock the priests into running the other way. Red and gold were the colors of the church, and wearing this dress was just as much a political statement as a fashion one.

After a few struggling attempts, you manage to tighten up your corset and tie it closed with help of the mirror’s reflection. You can hear your mother humming from the other section of your chambers, wondering where your sisters were and why they were not already here, interrupting the nice silence of you and your mother’s companionship as they usually did.

“Where are the others?”

“I sent them for more ribbon quite some time ago,” her voice is farway, “probably weaved themselves into some trouble along the-”

“Mother!” Your two sisters come bursting through the door, young twins barely of age, but already searching for suitors every way they turned. Nearly inseparable, they commanded an air of mischief wherever they went, linking arms, whispering secrets and flirting with amused strangers. If they weren’t careful their reputations would be ruined before they were even of age to marry. Not that you could say much about yours.

You stand, watching as they fuss over your mother in regards of tonight’s attendees. “Dukes!” They exclaimed, “from neighboring kingdoms. Acquaintances of the King’s bastard, though not friendly enough to be a disgrace to marry! Isn’t that wonderful?”

“It won’t be disgrace at all if he becomes King,” you reply with a dry tone, watching your mother shoot you a disapproving look.

“King?!” They squeal, shifting their opinions as quick as the wind, “we knew there was more worth to him than just his good looks!”

“Have you ever even had his acquaintance?” You challenge them, wiggling the skirt of your gown around your waist. They give you an annoyed look and go to retort before their eyes settle on your dress, fabric billowing from your waist and falling to the floor.

“You always give her the prettiest ones, Mother!” They complain, stomping their feet like spoiled children.

“I don’t control what the seamstress spins,” she waves airily, dismissing their whines, “besides, you girls look lovely in lavender.” She gives you a small, knowing smile before pushing the girls onto the vanity bench to begin their hair.

Though yours was freely down, the braid you had left in it a day prior allowed it a soft wave, the silky strands falling along your back and tickling the nape of your neck, alongside a jeweled headband adorned with diamond flowers that sparkled in the light.

Before you were caught in another bidding war, you slide on your shoes and slip out the chamber door, closing it gently behind you. But the scene when you turn around is no more comforting than before, trays of food, flower arrangements and large ornaments being quickly carried in the direction of the ballroom, the hustle and bustle of things a change of pace from this usually quiet wing of the palace. Working your way with the current of people, you focus on the light coming in through the stained glass windows, making shapes on the opposite chamber doors.

Between the people moving, you can see a face coming opposite from the crowd. A face that stirs panic in your stomach. Lord Keyan, a man who had been mercilessly courting you for months, despite your obvious disinterest. But you could never outright tell him no, or refuse him, then not only you, but your entire family, and your sister’s chances of getting married would be ruined. He held high court with the king, and though you knew the marriage would be advantageous on paper, you could see no gain for you within. There were whispers around from servants, that he had been talking to the jewelers in the hopes of fashioning a ring, in your name, and the thought of him asking you to marry him and the thought of you having no other choice but to accept, broke your heart and shattered it into a million pieces.

Keeping your head down, you skirt around to the edges of the mass and flit towards a wall tapestry, hoping it will give you cover. Quickly looking both ways to ensure no one is watching, you slip behind the large piece and hold your breath, praying no one- namely the Lord hadn’t noticed you. There is no support behind your back though, and instead of leaning against a wall you stumble into an open space, no wider than your figure. There is hardly any light to see where you could be going, but the alternative of returning out is akin to social suicide, so with quiet feet, you feel your way along the stone wall to wherever the passage leads.

In less than a hundred feet, the space opens up into a dimly lit room. There is a musty scent, no windows, and despite being in the middle of two walls burrowed in the castle, the area is big, open. There is hardly any furniture, just a sofa, a plush rug, and a large fireplace, ash and dust collected at its base.

“Who are you?” A voice comes from behind you, startling a gasp that carries around the room. Jumping around, near the opening that brought you in, is a boy. He is tall, dark hair framing his round face and falling over the milky skin of his forehead. His eyes are dark, glinting from the flames and his lips are pink, full, and parted in the aftermath of his question.

“I’m Lady Y/N,” you dip your head, long enough to be respectful but short enough to not lose sight of the mysterious man. He is wearing long trousers, a loose white shirt tucked in and open at his chest, exposing a generous slice of his torso. There is something obviously beautiful about him, and his features mimic someone’s you’ve seen before, but you can’t place your finger on whom.

“Who are you?” You ask him back, both confused and intrigued on the minute smile that turns his mouth up. His expressive eyebrows are raised, and as he takes a step out from the shadows you get a better grasp of how he looks. His hair is a chocolate color, strands looking of honey running through it and his feet are bare, yet clean. You can’t place him, or determine his social status. He doesn’t behave as a servant, but what would a royal be doing in a hidden place like this before a massive celebration?

“I believe I have heard of your household,” he begins, with some thought, “and me? I’m late,” he half-answers you, “how did you find this room?” “I stumbled in,” you brush the hair from your shoulders, “behind the tapestry in the main hall, on accident.” You pause, getting more in before he can, “what are you late for?”

“On accident?”

“I’m trying to evade someone,” you admit, cheeks aglow with the yellow light.

“Family can be quite pesky,” he assumes, dusting himself.

“A suitor, actually, if you could call him that.”

“Aren’t suitors a blessing?” He counters, tilting his head to the side and looking back at you. His features are illuminated gold, skin shimmering.

You pause, unsure of how to respond in an appropriate manner, “I suppose for some. Marriage just seems like a more quaint phrase for control.”

He seems to understand what you are saying without you having to say it, reading between the lines and reading you, a small smile playing with his lips. “Though, it’s supposed to be about love.”

“That’s the reason for my evasion, his… affections are not what they ought to be,” you trail, unable to look him in the eyes, coughing awkwardly. “What is it you are late for again?”

His voice is soothing, sweet and low with compassion and curiosity, “the festivities,” he says, gesturing a soft hand towards your attire, “which it seems you will be attending.”

“Everyone is attending,” you reply, thankful for the transition, “it’s required by the king.”

He smiles, the look calling upon the wings of butterflies to float in your stomach, disliking the feeling. “Do you know what it’s for?” He asks, his tone light. He walks towards you, and you begin to imagine a million possibilities of what could happen before he passes, bending by the sofa to retrieve his shoes.

“The king’s son,” you reply, following his actions with a sharp gaze.

“I thought it was his bastard,” he sits down on the sofa, countering you.

“Still the king’s son,” you mutter before you can stop yourself, putting a foot in your mouth. Saying something like that, especially in front of a stranger, could get you into bad places very fast. And although your mother was in the queen’s favor, it didn’t mean you were.

But he just laughs lightly, turning to you with a gentle expression, “I suppose you’re right.”

He smells strongly of timber, the ones around Christmas time, strong and adventurous as he moves past you once more, no longer with naked feet. “I must be going, I’m afraid my father will near kill me if I am not on time” he says, turning back to you at the mouth of the passage into the real world, a wistful, appreciative look on his angelic features. “I suppose now I have a good reason to attend. I do hope to see you tonight, Y/N.”

You can’t seem to open your mouth, realizing he did not use your formal title, meaning he is either a station above you or just very rude. His figure disappears into the tunnel, a sliver of light appearing at the end as he slips away. You hadn’t even gotten his name, and perhaps that’s for the better, this feeling in your stomach, and flush to your cheeks means no good. Men, mean no good, especially when it comes to women.

But he seemed kind, loving, caring, and something about his demeanor intrigued you. And the tone in which he called you, brought a warmth to your soul that was unwanted but welcome. How did he find this place? Perhaps he was dodging someone, as you were? Or perhaps he discovered it on his own? Perhaps you were the one impeding on his personal hideaway.

By the slow raging of the fires and the dimming illumination around you, you can tell it is later than you want it to be. And you can also tell that your mother is probably worried trying to search for you, taking one last look at the hidden sanctuary before following in the young man’s faded footsteps down the alley.

As you approach the tapestry, you can hear the sound of people chatting, though it is much more quiet than before, allowing you to slip out and into the light. The air is warmer, nearly hot, and there is only a little boy who notices you, giving you a quizzical look before his mother commands his attention once more. You can hear music, indicating the ball has begun, and following at the last trailing of the rest of the guests, you keep to yourself while making your way to the gathering.

The harps and violins are loud, the sound of indistinct chatter filling the air. The ballroom doors are as large as the ceiling, grand and adorned with beautiful artworks from one of the kingdom’s finest painters. You loved to sit and trace the constellations on them during nights when cloud cover was thick, finding a way of feeling comfort in their white twinkling as you did with the outside stars.

“Where have you been?” Your mother gently hisses, coming from near the entryway to grab your arm.

“I’m quite sorry, Mother,” you give her a kiss on the cheek, “I found myself lost in all the commotion.”

“The queen truly outdid herself. As she does with every new event,” your mother admires the splendor around. Gushing fountains with chocolate and bright strawberries, raspberries, and boysenberries, surrounding freshly baked treats, tarts, and cakes, caskets of free flowing wine, dozens of red bouquets entrapped in gold vases, blooming and beautiful. The walls are lined with tasteful tapestry, religious depictions aimed for the church's liking and of course, the attendees themselves, all polished, perfect and prim citizens of the King's rule.

There are at least two hundred people in the room, easily three with the servants, and amongst all the movement you can't find the boy from earlier, searching for his dark hair and light skin in the crowd of faces. Your mother busies herself with a few fellow noble ladies, who still seem to be paying their grievances a decade after your father's death.

You wander off without your mother's eye, spotting your two sisters crowded in a circle around their friends, daughters of the noble women your mother shared acquaintance with, who did not care about your father's death a decade ago, and most certainly did not now. They're whispering excitedly about something, the six girls bouncing on the heels of their shoes to the music, their brightly colored dresses twirling about.

Abruptly, the music dies down, and the crowd of people part in the middle to make way for the king's page, a small round man who must've been running to get here, cheeks red with exertion.

“May I announce, the King.” He says, voice commanding much more attention than his figure. Everyone is bowing, continuing to stay down and lower their heads as the page speaks off the list of royals attending. You wonder if the boy from earlier is bending with you, or if perhaps he is one of the royals rattled off that you were too busy looking at the floor to see. You entertain the idea of looking up, but know that if you were to be caught by one of the Church officials or the King it would be highly disrespectful.

“And finally,” the page interrupts your thoughts, “may I announce, the guest of honor on this fine evening,” you peek your head up just an inch to get a glimpse of the mystery son, relieved to find others are doing the same. “The soon to be Prince, Jeon Jungkook.”

Without thought, your head flies up, the only fully upturned face in a crowd of hundreds to see him walk down the parted aisle with his family and smile at the page. It’s him, a dark and beige embroidered vest opened to reveal his tunic, now laced to cover his chest and his hair artfully swept back, dark and light like marbled chocolate. His boots are shined, tan to match the color on his clothing, pants pressed and tucked into his shoes. You are agape, eyes wide and stomach flipping once more at the sight of him. That is why he laughed when you coined a bastard as simply the king’s son, he was testing you. He is the king’s bastard, the king’s son, the guest of honor. The man whom the king is attempting to legitimize. He looked so familiar because you could see the ghost of the King’s facial features in him, and you observe him carefully, just as those he passes does.

The church officials are eyeing him, watching as he pays his respects to every one of them down the line. This is his first impression, this is when they decide. What they feel would not change from this moment, in their minds they were already making the choice as to whether or not the man before them would be fit to rule the country. The amount of weight on his shoulders must be immeasurable, and you find a part of you feeling sympathetic towards him.

Half of you wishes to catch his eye, yet the other part prays he will not notice you, moving behind a line of bowing people with as slow grace as possible, relieved when everyone regains their normal posture and you blend back into the crowds.

“Lady Y/N?”

You freeze, every bone in your body completely and utterly frozen in dread. Goosebumps appear on your arms, under your dress, and with polite a smile as you can muster, you turn to find the Lord Keyan standing there. His trousers are slightly crinkled at the knees, vest buttoned and collar stiff against his neck, with blonde hair reaching its peak. His eyes look over you, unabashedly, disgustingly, a smile morphing his face into a devilish fiend.

“You look ravishing,” he says, nearly salivating.

“Thank you,” you look past him, searching for something, anything to get you out of this situation as fast as humanly possible.

“How have you been enjoying the beginning change in season?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. You can see your sisters watching you from beyond the Lord’s figure, helplessly curious and nosy.

“It’s been quite enjoyable,” you force a small smile, feeling it come out more of a grimace.

“I must say the Spring light has revived you, as well,” his eyes rake over you again, feeling violated, “I’m sure winter will miss you when it goes.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” you bow lightly, using the opportunity to try and take your leave. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to-”

“Wait,” his fingers snake around your wrist, holding you in place while he fishes into his pocket. Your eyes widen, and your wrist feels as though it’s desiccating from his grasp. This is it. This is the moment. This is the second when everything you wanted with your life is over. You would never get to travel. You would never get to be free. You would be claimed by him. And be claimed by all of his ideals and abuses of rights. Pure and utter panic flutters across your face, and your sister’s must sense it because they begin furrowing their eyebrows with questioning looks.

“Lady Y/N, from the moment I laid eyes on you, I wanted you to be mine,” the way the words come out of his mouth stab you, each syllable a swift gutting straight to the heart. You could not refuse him. He had the power to ruin the name of your entire household. And by the achievement in his eyes you could tell he already full well knew that. He enjoyed the game. The hunt. Presenting the ring in front of you, you have to sink your teeth into your lip in order to keep from sobbing at the demise of your hope, eyes blinking rapidly and sister’s eyes like saucers and people around you beginning to whisper.

“Will you do me the hono-”

“Everybody dance! The musicians are playing a wonderful piece from abroad!” A booming voice interrupts the Lord’s proposal, and before you can utter anything, a hand is pulling you away into the middle of the filling ballroom floor, music livening up to drown out the guests voices in the surrounding area. It’s Jungkook who is holding your hand upright, then your body, an arm looping around your waist and floating you around to the sound of the music.

He is in fine form, a divine figure in front of you, around you, and you can’t think of anyone else in the world you would have rather been saved by than him. You can’t express your appreciation, giving him a shaky smile waterlogged with tears, trying desperately to blink them away and focus on the steps of the dance that Jungkook guides you into. He saved you. He saved you from saying yes. He saved you from the life you told him you never wanted. He saved you from the thing that haunted your dreams and froze up the blood in your veins.

“You saved me,” you manage to spit out, adjusting your posture and keeping your eyes on him as other couples join in the routine, “thank you.”

“I’m trying to make a good impression,” he says with a grin, and you’re not sure if he is talking about on you or the church, “you’re my first damsel in distress.”

“I’m not a damsel,” you scoff, feeling weird at the sparkle in his eyes.

“Trust me,” he pauses, following the steps in perfect rhythm, “I know.”

You can feel the way he’s looking at you, and you can feel the way it’s making you feel, an unusual sense of emotion choking you up. The way his hands feel on your body makes you feel so alive, the wind in your hair as he whisks you around to the beat of the orchestra has you spinning on cloud nine, and the weird sense of wholeness you had been feeling since the moment you met him pulls you in a million different directions.

“I think I need some air,” you blurt, abruptly stepping back from him and dodging through an opening in the crowd to the ballroom doors. You can hear one of your sisters call your name, ignoring her and pushing on until you reach the blessed night of the hallway, only illuminated by dim firelight from the celebration.

You can feel yourself trembling, turning to face the wall as Jungkook comes out after you, hoping you can melt away so he won’t notice. But of course he does, why wouldn’t he, coming closer and shielding you from the rest of the light with his body.

“Don’t push me away,” he says, taking your shaking hands into his and pressing you against the stone wall. Tears are now freely flowing down your face, and the terrible panic in your stomach continues to rage. You turn yourself away when a small gathering of people walk out, not wanting to draw any more attention than you already had with him.

“I think I need some air,” you repeat, seeing the endless night as refuge stretching on in the windows behind him, imagining the late spring to feel so nice on your skin.

“Okay,” he says, backing up and placing his hand on the small of your back, “let’s go.”

“But you must stay,” you fly a hand back towards the party, “the church-”

“My father has already forced their hand,” he says in a hushed voice, a secretive tenor to his tone, “this is more of a… formal display of respect.”

You furrow your eyebrows, “that means, you’ll be-”

“-yes, I will be King. Until Prince James is old enough in ten years to usurp me.”

You feel weak all over again, the sensation of his hand on your back melting you into a pool of jelly. Jungkook, soon to be King Jungkook is guiding you in a different direction than what you know, sniffing quietly and not speaking as he takes a servant’s path through the kitchens, empty and desolate due to the high staffing volume at the event.

“Do you know all the secret passages here?” You ask, nodding in thanks as he opens the door to a small courtyard.

“All I used to do as a boy was explore them. When my father wasn’t trying to teach me how to be King. I never listened. Never thought it was even possible-” He stops, looking at you with an odd expression, “but I suppose he has been planning this day since I was born.”

The air is crisp, wet and bursting with rain. The first flowers of spring had begun to bloom along the edges of the concrete, baby’s breath. Your favorite. Jungkook’s hand brushes against yours as he breaks eye contact and bends down to pet the plants, eliciting shivers down your spine.

“You’ll be a great King,” you say, the words somehow seeming to fall so short of what he needs to hear. He spins around and plops down on his bottom, the grass cushioning him while music floats from within the palace. He gestures you to sit next to him with a hum, taking your wrist in his grip and enticing you to the ground. The grass can’t be felt through the thick material of your gown, leaning further until you’re lying on your back, gazing up at the stars.

They hadn’t been visible for some nights, and the appearance of them now soothes an anxious part of your soul. You feel at ease, with the sky, with Jungkook, sighing deeply and smiling when you feel him settle next to you.

“Why were you crying?” Jungkook ventures, the warmth from his body seeping into yours, “when the Duke proposed?”

“Because it wasn’t love,” you say without thinking, knowing it is true, “he looks at me as he does a deer. Like I would be great to boast about and hang on his mantle during the winter. I am a prize to be won in his eyes, that ring, and the obscene amount he paid for it, was his bid on me.”

“A fool,” Jungkook shames after a moment of silence, “men are fools.”

“I’m afraid most women are no better,” you reply, wistfully thinking about your sisters and their awed faces when you couldn’t force yourself to accept Lord Keyan’s proposal. But he had saved you, and the leftover adrenaline running through your system is making your mind race to places it shouldn’t be. Jungkook sits up, plucking one of the blooming flowers in the grass and tying it in a circular knot.

“What are you doing?” You ask, but he stays silent, observing the pink of your lips and cascades of your hair with blades of grass sticking from between its silk strands. You are no object, no deer in the woods. You are only beauty and-

“Love,” he finally responds, taking your hand from beside you and sliding the flower onto your pinky finger, the simple ring with no tangible price unlike the Duke’s, but wringing your insides with emotion. “I want you to promise me that you’ll marry for love,” he begins, “not all of us have that luxury, and not all of us have the strength to wait until we find it. But I want you to promise me you will, Y/N, you deserve nothing less.”

Your lips part, tears welling in your eyes and throat clogged up with appreciation, looking at this boy, this prince, who by some trick of fate managed to capture your heart in a mere two hours that felt like days. The heart you thought was locked up tight, away from anyone’s grasp or words. But right under your nose he stole it, swiped and devoured it in the sweetest way.

“Okay,” your hand wraps around his, looking up at him, “I promise.”

The faint trace of a smile bewitches his lips, and you close your eyes to the starry skies as he reaches down and runs his knuckles against your cheek ever so lightly. His skin is impossibly soft, the back of your eyelids going darker as he leans across your field of vision. You can feel his face inches from yours, staying completely still and letting him make the first move, lips descending upon yours with such gentility you question whether they’re there at all.

You grip his arm, indulging him in more, but also imploring him to stop, utterly terrified at the implications his kiss would ripple. He deepens his presence, moving to straddle you, staining his knees with grass and moving his body along yours. His lips are ethereal, opening to invite you into the heaven beyond, the warm recesses of his mouth swallowing yours whole. A whine emits from your throat, running your fingers through the art of his hair and pulling him closer to you, unable to resist the temptation welling in your bones.

You can’t feel anything but wonder, beauty, purity and sin all in the same breath that he steals from your very lungs. It is an out of body experience, being kissed by him, one of his hands fitting to your waist and applying liberal pressure in the most perfect of ways. Jungkook moves from your mouth, kissing down your jaw and arching your body up so he can mark along your neck, making sure to keep everything invisible to the physical plane. But emotionally, he is branding you with every touch, opening your eyes to the winking stars and dancing baby’s breath in the peripheral of your vision.

Running your hands down his back and around his sides, you marvel at the fine linens, wondering how much more there is beneath it, endlessly curious to feel the lines of his torso and back in their bare nudity. A part of you knows doing this out in the open is the opposite of smart, but another part of you doesn’t care, wanting to only feel his lips and hands all over you, wishing they would dip lower… push up the fabric of your dress… slip between your legs… and… completely, utterly, and totally destroy you with his-

“Y/N,” his voice is beautifully breathy, calling you back to reality. He has stopped kissing you, lips swollen and full when he comes up to look down at you. You understand the caution in his eyes, and feel ashamed that you didn’t stop it first, taking a huge intake of fresh air to cool your flushed skin and burning lungs.

“We’ve been gone for quite some time,” he says, tracing the outline of your face tenderly.

You nod, wordlessly, for he has sucked all the speech from your vocal chords. You watch as he stands, dusts himself off, and then extends a hand to you, which you take gratefully, following suit.

With your hand still in his, he places it in the space between your bodies, smiling down at the makeshift ring still on your finger. “Meet me,” he says, “tomorrow at noon where we first laid eyes on one another.”

You blink, exhaling slowly, “okay. I will.”

“Let me go in first,” he says, releasing swiftly and stepping back, the air suddenly seeming so cold without him near. “If you hear the music cease for ten seconds, you know it’s safe for you to return.”

With a shake of your head, he gives you one all knowing smile that combusts you before hurrying back in, leaving the kitchen door ajar behind him. Your head is spinning, the stars swirling and creating hearts in the sky. You can still feel his hair between your fingers, hear your name on his tongue. How could you have let this happen? How could you be locked up tight for all these years and then…

fall in love in one day?

The Spring was beautiful, as it always is in the kingdom and you never thought anything could rival the beauty of blooming flowers, blue skies, and sweet rain until you fell in love.

Everything you did with Jungkook had to be in secret, an open relationship between you two had the capacity to destroy his ascension to the throne and your chaste reputation into that of a mistress. But every Tuesday, in that little room hidden deep between the castle walls, you and him were allowed two hours of illustrious magic. You talked, drank tea, or coffee imported from the New World, sang and danced as you became high on its caffeine.

He was a King, and by his birthright you were equivalent to a commoner. But that didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Two months of constrained passion and quiet love seemed enough, the future suddenly did not matter as much as it had before. And instead of being alone for the remainder of your existence as you expected, you felt as if the small amount of time with Jungkook would keep your body full forever.

There had been many stolen kisses, touches, moments of pure ecstasy that were always stopped before they escalated too far. But a part of you no longer cared if you were ruined, for how could making love with Jungkook ever bring anything but brilliance, and heaven?

Yet a deeper part of you knew it would not last eternity. A slice of you died each time servants talked of him getting a bride from the river. You would wonder if he would kiss her like he kissed you, put flowers in her hair like he did yours, call her name in the way he called you. But as quickly as the dark thought came, light expelled them. He was yours now.

For the Spring.

You began coughing up blood a week before the new season was supposed to turn over. Just as the air became stifling hot, just as the windows were steamed with heat. He was chasing you through the fields of tall grass, arms outstretched, hands flexing and clutching at the air just behind your dress ribbons. You opened your mouth to laugh, but instead, you began to choke, abruptly stopping your light trot to bend over and stain the green blades a dark red.

Jungkook was by your side in an instant, holding back your hair and producing his handkerchief to wipe at the corners of your lips with worried care. He had shielded your body from any possible passerby with his, you arms weakly pushing him away as you turn your back to hack up chunks of fluid into the grass.

“You need to leave, I can make it back on my own.”

“Y/N-”

“It’s contagious, Jungkook,” you forced out. Everyone had heard about the spreading white plague. About the fast death time, about the untreatable disease, about the pain, the suffering, the suffocation, “it’s consumption.”

Jungkook remained silent, too stunned to say anything. You began to catch your breath, but it seemed your lungs would not allow a gulp of oxygen before it was being revolted back out, along with the very force of your life. Beginning to think Jungkook had left, you startle when his hand is on your back once again, quietly consoling you through the panic.

Both of you were well aware of what happened to those infected. They were quarantined. Locked away to die alone where they could not permeate others with the disease. Your father had died of it nearly a decade ago, and while you were sure you had been infected as you nursed him, you were not. And not even your Mother’s pleadings to the Queen would allow him to die in our chamber. He was ushered down, forced to bear his last breath by himself, surrounded by stones and the echo of silent death. Your love with Jungkook, especially the secretiveness of it, would get you nowhere. And the last thing you ever wanted to do was infect your family, or Jungkook.

You heard Jungkook’s wet lips part, but nothing comes out but wind through the trees. This was it. He pressed a handkerchief into your hand, muttering some kind of prayer under his breath.

“One season with you wasn’t enough,” he said rushedly, “we’ll find a doctor who can fix it.”

You smiled half heartedly, loving him more for his optimism in the face of certain doom, “I am afraid it is too late. I don’t think I can be fixed.”

“Someone has to know. Some people must have survived it.” But both Jungkook and you knew that there has been no such thing you had heard. He was fervent, insistent, and instructed you to act sick with cold and cough into the handkerchief to hide the blood as he brought you to the infirmary. You had begun to obey, the closer to the palace you returned, the more laborious your breathing became, and the more people looked upon with curious eyes. You could barely breathe, and Jungkook’s insistence on a swift getaway made the matter no better. Blood was beginning to seep through the white of his embossed handkerchief, and a million and one things were racing through your mind. At this rate, he would be infected along with you.

Purposely tripping on one of the stones on the garden pathway leading to the main entrance bridge, Jungkook hurried to help you up, a few guards stepping forward to do the same. You had taken the moment to breathe for one last minute, to look into Jungkook’s eyes, wide and bright and so stunningly devastated.

This angel would not go down with you.

You pushed Jungkook off, allowing the guards to get close enough to hear you before raggedly whispering the true name of your sickness, flashing the blood soaked handkerchief to their bewildered eyes and watching as they backed Jungkook away and harshly told you to stay in place and keep your mouth completely shut while someone fetched the mortician.

The mortician. The bearer of death. The true judgement man in the decision of life or what would come after. You had to gather enough courage to seek out Jungkook, the look on his face the true stamp of extinction, a wounded bird in such pain that it seemed you could feel the extreme degree of his hurt resonating within your own body. His lip was quivering, his eyes were glued to your crumpled form, and he had no will to move now that you had sealed the fate for the both of you in that one second decision.

You tried to communicate with a glance. You attempted to explain. To reconcile before the time passed. But his eyes wavered from yours as the mortician arrived to take you away, and the ticking of the clock continued on without you. You can’t recall anything the mortician said, you don’t even remember being taken away. The look on Jungkook’s face was imprinted on the back of your eyelids when you blinked, replicated on every stranger’s face who stared as you passed. You were not allowed to see your family one last time, and the selfish part of you desperately wished they would open the door as you went by, so you could at least tell them you loved them.

Jungkook followed behind on the journey, at a safe distance with a row of fully covered guards in between and lit torches to burn the air of its infection for his safety, but you could still feel him there, distantly. And you could sense his hands following behind your own as they trailed down the stone stairwell to the dungeons, just as they always traced one another with the field flowers.

They gave you the third door on the right to die in, the air musty and rank with desperation and death. The guards turned to leave abruptly, gagging at the smell but lingering on the stairwell when Jungkook didn't follow. With a long stick, the mortician had shoved you through the doorway, Jungkook holding up a hand to halt him a moment from shutting you in.

His figure was just on the other side, five yards away but an impossibly large distance separating you. He was now crying, mimicking what you hadn’t realized you were doing as well.

“I forgive you,” he had said, reading all the sorrow on your face.

The man asked him to back away, and slowly began closing the door, Jungkook on the other side with tears freely streaming down his cheeks. Your body suddenly caved with all the sadness you had tried to repress in the past hour, drooping with the horrible feeling of having to live out the days you had left in containment. Without him.

But a small sliver of hope stretched to your heart as he says he loves you one last time.

As you remember meeting him, his dance, his kiss, his body against yours, his smile, his eyes, his lips, his tongue and teeth and fingers and impossibly soft hair. You remember the months you shared, the laughter, the tears, the impending time clock that had loomed above and is finally striking the final hour. You think about earlier that day, you think of him helping you, trying to save you, like he always did.

You think of him loving you. And you loving him.

And the absolutely, positively, beautiful mess that made.

You hold onto that as the handle clicks, lock turns, and the solitary wilting of death that accompanies the grasp of summer consumes you whole.

Someone is screaming your name, coughing up ash and dust as the crumbling building around you settles. There is smoke curling in the air, and your blurry eyes and have conscious brain can barely register the thick beam of wood sitting atop your leg, blood staining the brown dark red.

The voice screams again, deep and masculine, commotion surrounding you as other fires are lit, intruders pillaging the streets. You can not see any members of your family, trying to crane your neck but it won’t move, chest lifting in small, shallow movements with your breathing. Part of you can’t believe that this has happened to you, everyone fears war, but no one knows of its true pain and width until it arrives on your doorstep. Until it knocks politely, until it introduces itself and throws a lit match past you to set your house ablaze.

Once they began it was impossible to stop them, and once the door was barricaded you couldn’t escape. Red, orange and yellow licks at the peripheral of your vision, getting closer with every second. There is a banging at the door, a thudding that resides deep in your brain, and a sliver of blue sky light reaches you as someone works themselves through the entryway.

You can only move your neck enough to just see the upper part of his figure, swallowing thickly and struggling to make out the detail of his features. Bright skin, smeared with gray ash and red blood, dark mop of hair, and a shiny white patch with a red t on the front, the red cross, a movement of volunteers birthed to aid those in need.

But this man, this stranger, is screaming your name, as if he knows you, lips too thin and papery to form a cry for help. You can feel your subconscious taking over your thoughts, blinking rapidly to try and stay awake until you know it’s alright to rest, for if you dozed off you could never wake again.

The material of your dress is scratchy and hot, beads of sweat layering your skin both beneath the dress and on your free skin, feeling the increasing heat of the flames as they approach. Your eyes are so heavy, little weights seeming to press them closed, a swift slap to the face from someone above you unable to stir you into consciousness.

“You can’t die,” the voice holds so much will you almost believe it, focusing solely on keeping your lungs filled with air and the sounds he makes as he tries to rescue you. He is coughing, affected by the smoke, grunting with exertion as he lifts the beam of wood from your leg. It feels like a dream, his voice sounds like someone’s you’d heard in a dream, and the lack of feeling in your leg confirms the fact you must be slipping away from reality into a dream.

He slaps you again, more forceful this time, neck falling sideways and eyes opening into small slivers, irises rolling back before he slaps you again. “I need to get you out of here,” he says, “you can’t fall asleep.”

Without being able to make any sounds to indicate you understand him, he puts his hands under your back and lifts you up, body weight solid and falling into him. He smells like smoke, but also like trees, the pine ones, something about it comforting you immensely. “Just a little bit longer, that’s all, a little more, stay with me, Y/N.”

You open your mouth, trying to ask who he is, but your throat is thick and brimming with smoke, coughing violently into his shirt until blood stains it, dread settling into the pit of your stomach.

The man hisses a profanity, cradling your head closer to him as he kicks at the door. “It’s not Spring yet,” his voice is broken, seeming to be begging some higher power to get you out, the entrance finally giving way and allowing him to run out into the streets. Fresh air hits your face, and small droplets of rain have begin to dot your cheeks. If only the storm had begun ten minutes ago, maybe things could have been different...

He lays you down in the grass across the street, kneeling over you and placing his hands on your chest, feeling the low pumping of blood from your heart. “Hold on,” he says, a ripping sound filling the air as he fashions a tourniquet with a slice of his shirt. His face is getting blurrier by the second, looking beside you to find flowers brushing up against your open hands in the wind. Baby’s breath… your favorite.

You feel his hand on your thigh, wrapping the cloth around it and cutting off circulation from the rest of your leg, coming up with bloody hands and a desperate face. “I’m going to take you to the infirmary,” he says, mouth moving faster than his words, “I need you to stay awake.”

But your conscious is already wearing thin, watching darkness take over his face and feeling a drop of winter’s rain purify your ashy cheek before eclipsing into oblivion.

Three months have gone by since that night, since he saved you. And while it was a miracle in and of itself that you made it out alive, it was even more of a miracle that nothing seemed to be wrong in the aftermath of it.

You’re running through the fields by your house, the remnants of the old ash and dust still lingering on the ground. Even in your haste, you stop to pick a bunch of winter flowers and sprinkle them over the remains, saying a hushed prayer to your family. Not everything died in winter, and not everything bloomed in spring. Jungkook had helped you mourn their deaths after that night, and everyday since he has held your hand and brought you through the darkness into the light.

It had been an entire week since you saw him, rushed letters the only correspondence you had, pretending to be one of his apprentices in the Red Cross so his family didn’t catch wind of anything. They had already arranged him a match from across the Ocean, her impending arrival in the spring making every single moment you and Jungkook had together that much more meaningful. A letter from Jungkook arrived at your aunt’s home this morning, saying that he would be alone for the day as his mother and father were gone to their old home until tomorrow evening, and that you should come keep him company as soon as you could.

Your aunt, while a smart, intelligent woman, was also insensibly strict, insisting you do every chore precisely and in certain orders before you were even allowed to properly dress in the morning. But as soon as you were finished, you slipped his favorite dress on, adorned with the red cape that reminded you of his red cross, slipping out into the freezing afternoon before she could make you stay.

Luckily, Jungkook’s large home is just down the street and around the corner, setback with all the other large houses for the wealthy elite. But if you didn’t know Jungkook was rich, you wouldn’t think it, his quiet, humble demeanor and careless way of dressing made him seem so common, average, and normal in all ways except his handsome face. He is already on his porch when you swing the gate with a creak, coming down the cobblestone path through the front garden to swirl you in his arms, laughter filling the air.

“I missed you, my flower,” he says, kissing your cheeks and forehead and lips tenderly, the cold of his nose colliding with yours. You smile so wide you think your face will split in two, letting him rush you to the warmth of his parlor. You’d only been in his house once, the night after he dragged you from the fire, when he insisted on taking you home to observe you until you were okay. His parents were kind, skeptical of you though, and were always sure to keep their distance and keep an eye on Jungkook when he was around you.

He was able to have his own personal parlor due to the size of his home, large couch, large, rectangular drinking table littered with charcoal and thick parchment paper, along with all of your handwritten letters. Below the window side of his property, there were two chairs facing one another and a couple books strewn in the space between their wooden legs, large fire crackling in the corner and warming the air. Jungkook unbuttons your cloak from the front, hanging it with his own.

“I almost forgot how posh this is,” you say with a teasing tone.

“I was starting to forget the lines of your face,” he responds, tracing them with a chilling finger, causing you to shiver. He is only wearing a loose long sleeved blouse, tucked into his high waisted pants and black suspenders. His hair is messy, as if he’s been running his fingers over it, palms smudged with drawing material.

“You best not get any of that on my dress,” you gesture to the smears, “I wore it just for you.”

“And you look just… transcendent.” He pulls you closer, purposely using all the parts of his stained hands with a twinkle in his eyes. You shake your head, attempting, but not trying to push him away before he steals your breath away in a kiss. His lips are chapped but impossibly soft, barely getting to enjoy the sensation before he pulls away and goes to the table.

“I’ve been working on something this past week,” he exclaims, his voice carrying that familiar excitement. The happiness that he got when he talked about medicine, or art. It is perhaps the most endearing thing about him, the genuinity he could possess, the raw emotion he could command and draw you in with. He flips around his masterpiece so you can see it, the crinkling parchment covered in a face.

Your face.

Jungkook had drawn you, stunningly accurate from memory, the curve of your jaw and rise of your cheekbones. Your hair has the perfect length, his hand able to apply the proper pressure to give an array of shades to it. His face is expectant, waiting for you to say something, but you can’t, opening your mouth and closing it again.

“It’s wonderful,” you manage, “I don’t understand how you’re so talented.”

“I’ve found my muse,” he says, a sheepish look on his face.

You smile, looking down at the floor to hide your blush. “It seems done to me…”

“Nope,” he sets it back down and comes closer, inspecting you, “not quite… I think a few more freckles have come along your cheeks since I last saw you,” he says, poking them on your cheeks, “only you would get them in the winter,” he smiles bigger when your face brightens with red, “the sun must live within you.”

“It’s you, Jungkook,” you lick your lips, his eyes swirling in chocolate hues, “you’re the sunshine.”

His expression deepens, humming in thought and planting a firm kiss on your forehead, pushing your hair behind your ears with a gentle hand, another shiver moving you. “Are you cold?” He asks, worry flitting over his face.

“A little,” you admit, not mentioning it is mostly him that gives you goosebumps. His mere glance igniting your nerves with fire. He purses his lips, suddenly spinning you around so your back is facing him. You had wisely chosen not to wear your hoop skirt today, the wiring so large you would not have been able to feel the heat from his body like you can now. His fingers tug at the end of your hair, and you’re just about to ask what he is doing before you feel his fingers on the strings of your dress, beginning to unlace its top.

“I’m making you warm,” he says for explanation, tone dropping fifty octaves.

“I highly doubt this will do that…” You trail, voice not entire convincing as the first teases of his fingers against your bare back set you ablaze. You can feel heat pooling in every part of you, Jungkook’s fingers moving excruciatingly slow with the ribbon, pulling them back through the hand sewn holes piece by piece by piece.

You let out a breath of air, the sound too loud in the extremely silent room. His chuckle sends indignance through you, pouting your lips and whining again. Reaching his hands beneath the now completely unlaced back of your dress, Jungkook rounds them to tap along your bare stomach, butterflying kisses onto your shoulder and neck and back, until pushing the dress top down your arms and causing the skirt to fall to the floor with nothing holding it up any longer. You had only bothered to wear a slip underneath, the cold air peaking your nipples and momentarily shaking your knees until Jungkook pulls you back against him, chest to chest, body to body, warmth to warmth.

His lips are parted, wet with saliva, using the soft pad of his thumb to tilt your head back so your mouths are parallel. His eyes reflect the racing of his mind, and you can see him somewhat quibbling with whether it is fair for either of you to continue, to keep going, to push all the way…

“You’re insufferable,” you tease, not giving him time to react before you smash yourself against him, letting him fill you up from top to bottom with jolting sensation. Everytime you kissed him it felt like the first time, and everytime he touched you it felt like the world spun faster and the stars shined brighter.

His hands are fast around your waist, gripping at the silk covering your body and guiding you near the sofa, your fingers hurriedly working at the waistband of his trousers, unhooking his suspenders before either of you can stop this, moving your body back so they can fall and Jungkook can step out of them. His gray drawers are tight against his thighs, leaving no line of muscle, vein, or arousal to the imagination, his shirt partially covering his already straining erection. Jungkook is hungry for you, like a starving man, sitting below you and not breaking contact as you settle atop him. The lines of his face are soft beneath the pads of your fingertips, his skin smelling of soap and tasting like his morning coffee. Your chemise shifts to settle around your hips, cold air shocking your extremities and wringing a moan into the air when Jungkook’s hands grip your bare thighs.

He rises up beneath the thin fabric, tapping his fingers against your skin and only allowing a second of air to move it over your head, then another to look at you, completely naked. As if a goddess, your breasts peak in the winter air, the soft curve of your stomach gliding down to your hips and then beautifully delicate flower puckering between two stretched legs. He is eager for the taste, the sound, the sensation, of your bodies interconnected with one another. He would ravish you. Destroy you. From the inside out.

Leaning back along the velvet throws, Jungkook raises his knee between your legs when you follow him down, smothering you in more osculation of the lips. Arousal pools between your legs, Jungkook’s bare thigh stimulating the area, beginning to rhythmically ride him and consume his lips and scrape his chest with your nails while moaning softly to the heavens. He feels ethereal, looks primordial, sounds serendipitous moving and craving and exploring all of the land he had yet to cover on you, the months of desire culminating into an epic explosion that erupted in the space between your bodies.

You turn your head so he can suck blossoms of purple beneath the intended line of your dress, the sun setting in a blaze of fire across the skyline, almost as beautiful and breathtaking as the boy beneath you, who with just one touch completely eradicates the air from your body and sense from your brain. In a slow rush, your hands swim below the surface of his shirt, warm muscle rippling and waving in response.

Jungkook whispers your name as his shirt is removed, bringing your eyes from the light planes of his torso to the melted chocolate of his eyes. “There is no place I’d rather be than right here, right now, with you.”

You cradle his face, a wisp of a smile on your lips, pausing for a moment to enjoy the languid peace of being with him. Nothing else matters, nothing else permeates the space of love and desire lingering like a bubble in the air. His hands swipe down your back, eliciting goosebumps along your skin, his patterns of touch like a song your body yearns to hear.

“I love you,” you respond, kissing his suited reply away.

The true ephemerality of this moment is painful, the notion that tomorrow at this time he would be someone else’s, that he would belong to another, tore up your heart and shredded it into slivers of broken glass. You close your eyes, trying to suppress the rushing sadness by encapsulating every second with him to your memory, letting the feeling of making love, and being in love with him eternally brand your conscious.

Jungkook lifts up, with your weight, and slides his undergarments down his legs, your hands hurrying to help as his arousal is freed from its constraint, arching and pink and deliciously throbbing to feel you, your own body mimicking the lust. Sin is suddenly the only relevant emotion in mind, licking your lips and letting Jungkook dominant you, taking your hips in between his hands.

“Are you ready?”

You look at him, the love of your life, your moon, your stars, your universe. The only thing keeping you tethered, the only reason you were alive. Your savior. You wanted nothing more than to immediately say yes. Throw all caution to the wind, even though you know that the act was not a wise one. But love isn’t supposed to be wise, it’s impossible, and wonderful, and breathtaking, and a beautiful mess. Selfishly, you nod, blinking rapidly with anticipation.

Positioned above him, Jungkook settles you down an inch, ever so slowly, ever so gently, but a burning pain radiates from your core as you take him in, biting your lip and throwing your head towards the ceiling. You’re dripping wet, and swollen, his hand going between your thighs to distract you with clitoral stimulation.

It works.

He pinches the nub with one hand as he directs you up and down with the other, eyes half glazed as he watches your breasts move and hair shift with each of his movements. Faster, rougher, harder, he pushes and pulls in and out, completely controlling your movement and seething your name every time a high pitched moan tears itself from your throat. Almost as quickly as it came, the pain melts into pleasure, feeling his length in every inch of your body and soul. You’re biting your lip so hard you think you taste blood, Jungkook taking his hand from your clit to bring it up to the reddened caterpillars, pushing past their boundary into your mouth.

You look flawless like that, sucking on his finger while riding him, impeccably sexy, and all his to have, and to hold, and to love. He isn’t sure what he ever did to deserve you, overwhelmed with amazement at the fact that you came into his life and showed him ten lifetimes worth of happiness in just this one season that he’d been in love with you.

“Promise me,” Jungkook’s voice is breathy, rough, the words somehow giving you a strong sense of deja vu. He is surrounded by you, your body on fire, hips twitching and stomach rolling and toes curling.

“Promise me this is forever,” he holds you, weight of his words hanging in the air.

“I promise,” you lean down to kiss him, his hips crashing back into yours and continuing the discourse between you two. You can’t stop moaning, his lips feral and desperate against yours. You can feel your body building up, the power climbing up your spine getting ready to implode you from within. His hands follow the line of your back and around your backside, squeezing and spanking the skin roughly, as if he is pushing you off the edge into oblivion beyond.

You cry out his name, body spasming and walls tightening around him, clutching onto the silk strands of his hair and burying your face in his neck to shower sloppy kisses all over the hot skin. Your eyes are squeezed shut, color bursting on the backs of your eyelids with everyone of his thrusts, hips rolling and legs tightening with the beginnings of overstimulation.

He begins to growl, trying to hold himself back until you’re done so he can pull out and finish himself off, sweaty bodies mingling together as you struggle to catch your breath. Rising up from your burrowed position, you push the hair from his forehead and remove yourself from him, moaning with the blessed friction. Without him you feel empty, watching his face carefully when you grip his hard shaft in between your hands, the skin sticky and glistening from your own arousal.

He whines, indulging you to continue on, back arching and eyes rolling back. He is a chaotic artform, a demonic angel, a picture of glorious divinity and slice of life as you immortalize the sound of his ragged breathing as he begins to orgasm. Taking him into your mouth, you allow him to finally cum in ropes of white, letting him fill you up and bloat your cheeks. He lets out an absolutely gorgeously loud moan, repetitively breathing your name like both a prayer and a curse.

It takes him a few moments to calm down, looking at you with a devilish grin and wiping the excess cum from around your lips before forcing you down to smother him in a hug, smiling against him and losing track of time in the aftermath with peaceful pillow talk. He reaches his arm to the back of the sofa to drape the two coverlets over your bodies, their thick warmth cocooning you two in your own world.

“No matter what happens,” he says, kissing your nose tenderly, “I’m yours forever.”

You nod your head, laying it against the warmth of his chest to hear his beating heart, steady and soft, letting the wondrous silence of just being with him eclipse you. It is night, the stars glittering through the parlor window and winking at you and Jungkook, still caught up in the last remnants of soft love, nuzzling each other under his blankets, and marveling at the nothing and everything of each other’s company when there is a knock on the door.

You’re quick to cover yourself as Jungkook gets up from beneath you and puts his shirt on, round curve of his backside looking so smackable beneath the long shirt as he passes by, hiding your body with a blanket as he lets in the cold to greet the visitor. You wonder if you should hide, the frightening prospect that his parents could have come home early and caught you two in such a scandalous position positively terrifying. They would gossip to everyone, both in town, and in the neighboring village of how impure you were, hoping to forever ruin your reputation.

Not that in mattered, you would never belong to anyone else but Jungkook.

“Mail!” A boy’s voice calls, and a sense of relief settles over you that quickly turns to panic as you remember your aunt, who would no doubt worry more with each passing hour you did not return home. You rip off a piece of paper from one of Jungkook’s blank drawing pages, scrambling for a pen as Jungkook takes the correspondence from the boy.

“Wait!” You halt him, Jungkook peeking his head around the corner in question.

“My aunt,” you say, hearing him politely ask the boy to stay a moment.

Hurriedly, you scribble down an apology to your aunt, explaining that the hospital had an emergency and you were asked to stay and volunteer for the night, praying she would not go out of her way to go check on you as she occasionally did. The mailboy stands just beyond the doorway, waiting patiently for you to neatly fold and package the letter in one of Jungkook’s high class coverings, rushing over in your improper state of blankets.

“Send this to my parish, please,” you tell the young boy, “for my aunt.”

He nods wordlessly, none the wiser to the scene, rubbing the thick, expensive envelope between his fingers before trotting off with it, whistling an old hymn on his way. You wrap the coverlet closer around your shoulders when you step out to shut the door, teeth chattering dramatically and feeling weak in the knees. You give Jungkook a half worried and half relieved look, his smile easing all the tension out of your bones as he comes to give you a kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll make some tea,” he says, “your favorite.”

You smile warmly, going back to the sofa to wrap yourself in another one of his velvet coverlets, feeling the soft, heavy fabric warm your cold skin. You can hear Jungkook in the other room, moving things around to find where the housekeeper’s put things. You feel somewhat numb from the cold, trying to rub sensation back into your legs under the blanket, but as the left one stirs to life, the right one stays dead, not even a prickle or needles when you push down on your thigh.

Hitting it against the couch, you rap your knuckles onto the skin, furiously rubbing the inner stitching of the coverlet on your flesh in attempt to invoke some feeling. Yet, nothing happens, and confusion sets in your features when you hear Jungkook returning.

“I can’t feel my leg,” you say when he gets back by your side, taking the steaming teacup from his hands and sipping on the liquid, letting it warm your throat.

“What?” He asks, setting his own cup down.

“I can’t feel my leg,” you repeat, poking the skin of your thigh and feeling nothing once more. Jungkook does the same, feeling the skin for something you aren’t aware of, nowhere near a medically advanced as him.

“Y/N, I think it’s an internal infection, this is the leg that got wounded in the fire,” he holds around your thigh, turning it from side to side to infect the swelled, but otherwise unblemished skin, “I’ve never seen one spread so fast, or so suddenly after so much time, it’s nearly consumed your entire leg and hip.”

You’re too afraid to look, but can’t tear your eyes away, feeling nothing when he pushes his thumb down on your thigh. “Is it possible it’s just temporary? Maybe it’s asleep from the cold?” You ask, getting an immediate and sure ‘no’ from him, with a shake of his head.

“You would be able to feel at least something if it was just asleep. We definitely need to get you to a doctor before it spreads anymore…”

“Will it be okay?” You ask, finding him unable to look you in the eye. He doesn't respond right away, taking the time to slide your slip and dress back over your head, not bothering to lace it right up the the back.

“Of course,” he says, swallowing thickly and covering up the swollen limb with your dress before plucking you off the sofa. There is dread and sadness and what looks like regret all over his face, inspecting his features with worry until you are pressed into the soft white of his clean tunic.

The medic center is barely a stone’s throw from his home, just past the spread of mansions in a small, white, square building, painting with a big red cross on a sign swinging in the wind. You burrow into his chest to keep the cold night away, but noticing a thaw from the usual icy grass as winter tries to linger onto what it has left, hoping the letter you sent to your aunt reached her alright.

There are a couple other families in the infirmary, giving solace to their loved ones. Jungkook lays you on one of the far cots, away from the rest, and kisses your forehead before going to explain the situation to the doctor. Perhaps the fire had finally caught up to you, maybe there had always been an infection in your leg, it just took months to surface.

The head doctor introduces himself and uses various instruments and tools to assess you, humming and writing things down. You can feel your body breaking out in a cold sweat, feeling sick enough to throw up, but finding nothing in your stomach but chamomile tea. Jungkook watches the doctor like a hawk, following his every movement with the brown of his eyes to ensure your safety and his thoroughness.

“Your heart beat is very weak,” the doctor observes, placing one hand on your chest and another on your back as he asks you to inhale deeply. When trying to fill his request, you find that you can’t, only able to shallowly take in oxygen. Suddenly, it seemed all of the things you could do twelve hours ago with no issues were coming with great effort.

“I need to consult with another doctor about this…” He trails, hurrying from the room and shutting the curtain to give you and Jungkook some privacy from the rest of the people. Jungkook comes beside you and takes your hand, a look of extreme worry harrowing his features. You smooth his hair behind his ears, smiling.

“I’ll be okay,” you say, but he doesn’t respond, something about him off.

Before you can continue on, you can hear the medic’s shuffling shoes outside of the curtains, dread settling in your stomach as he has to stop and take a breath before entering, obviously being the bearer of bad news.

“Just as I thought, it seems the infection has spread from your leg to other vital parts of your body,” the medic says, a grave tone in his voice, “with our current technology, I am afraid there is nothing we can do. I am greatly surprised it took so long for you to feel any symptoms of such a condition. Your body seems to have begun to shut down on itself,” he hurries on, “you will feel no pain. You will continue to go numb, and then…”

“Please,” Jungkook interrupts the doctor, begging him to not go any further, to not finish his sentence, looking away with an anguished face until the man leaves the room in suspended silence.

He starts crying, nearly sobbing at the side of your cot. Dying coughs and moans surround you, feeling a tear slide down your cheek as well. “It’s nearly spring,” your voice is meek, “I won’t get to see the baby’s breath bloom this year.”

His face is flooded with pain, swallowing thickly. “I- I-”

“What?” You ask, losing more feeling in your legs. But oddly enough, you feel no panic, or dread. You feel happy with him next to you, unafraid of death. You weren’t ready for it when it came three months ago, but after living what felt like a million years of love with him, you could go satisfied. Content.

But the expression he wears is worrying you, something clogged up in his throat that he seems to want to get out but can’t figure out how. “Y/N…”

“Tell me,” you inquire again, “tell me what’s wrong, I pray of you.”

“We’ve met before,” Jungkook begins with a hurried confession, inhaling slowly to steady his words, “in 1630. We weren’t allowed to be together. But we were anyway, we were in love all Spring. And then, just as summer was about to begin, you came down with what we now know was tuberculosis. And died. We only had one season of love…” He continues, “and now, over two hundred years later, I kept having dreams of that past life, and then I somehow I found you again when my family moved, and that was when I knew the dreams were more than that. I kept seeing you around, learned the local language- I just wanted to watch over you from afar and make sure you were okay and real and not my imagination, but the night of the fire I couldn’t sit idle as you were inside... Now, here we are, not supposed to be together, but in love again. Because, my god Y/N, I love you. But it has only lasted a season. I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault, that maybe this is fate’s way of punishing us for trying to defy what we are supposed to be.”

“We are supposed to be together, Jungkook,” you say, sweat and tears running down your face, “I can’t remember any of that. But I know that from the moment I met you, I felt like I had known you before, that I had seen you before… that I had loved you before.”

His hand is gripping yours, openly crying now. The dark of his hair is matted from going so long by your side, cheeks a little caved from lack of appetite, and eyes dark from absence of sleep. “Be happy,” you tell him, “live long and live hard. “I’m sure we'll meet again. Promise me we'll meet again.” You give him a tiny smile, feeling your body start to go numb from the bottom up.

“But it’s too soon for this life,” he is desperate now, unable to tear his eyes from you as the last bits of your consciousness float away, “and I can’t Y/N, I can’t deprive you of your life anymore.”

“It’s not your fault,” you respond, but it obviously doesn’t convince him, “and if you won’t come to me, then I will come to you. I will try to remember and I will come.”

He bites his lower lip, kissing your forehead and pushing the hair from your face. “I love you.” He sobs, “I’m so sorry.”

“I’d rather have one season by your side,” you run your hand along his cheek, eyes falling shut for the last time with a breath, “than a thousand lifetimes without you.”

You open your eyes, gray light filtering in slants through the closed blinds. You can hear classical music, smell burning bacon, and stretch your arms in bed, wiping the film from your eyes. Your nightstand, your lamp, your phone, illuminated with missed notifications. And the time: 9:03 a.m, the latest you had slept in for quite some time.

“Honey!” Your husband’s voice calls, feeling disoriented, like you’re forgetting something, or someone, padding across the warm carpet into the hardwood of the hallway and then out into the kitchen.

He stands in front of the stove, suit pressed and clean, hair gelled and briefcase at his feet. A piece of bacon sits between his lips, which moves when he turns to smile at you, “morning, sleepy head, you must’ve been having some crazy dreams last night.”

He sets a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast down on the table, hurriedly chowing down the strip of food in his mouth and kissing your cheek. “Thank you,” you give him a groggy grin, appreciating the returning of your usual breakfast making gesture.

“Who is Jungkook?” He asks lightly, sitting on the couch and slipping his shoes onto his feet, giving you the strangest feeling of deja vu.

“Who?” You ask, sitting down and furrowing your eyebrows at him.

“Jungkook,” he repeats, “you kept saying his name in your dreams last night.”

You pull the bacon apart, biting off a bit of the deliciously burnt edges with a shrug. “I don’t know.” You rotate your plate, “must be someone random I subconsciously picked up.”

He hums in agreeance, standing up and telling you how he has another conference meeting at 10, and then at 2, so he’d be home at 4. You nod wordlessly, turning over the guy's name in your brain. You didn’t recognize it one bit, but something stirred within you when it fell from your husband’s mouth. Something distant, otherworldly, yet so present. Kissing him goodbye, you watch him walk out the front door with absent thought.

The eggs are a little runny, picking around the mucus like yellow to eat the substance, his playlist of classical morning music cutting off as his phone goes out of bluetooth range, eclipsing you into silence.

The sky is cloudy for a near summer day, and you can’t even count the cotton in the sky as you put your plate in the sink due to them being one congealed mess. The cotton of your pajamas feels itchy on your skin, and looking at the rain laden sky with the scratchy clothing brings you an uncomfortable sense of deja vu like earlier.

A sort of claustrophobia consumes you, and you suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to leave the house, throwing your sleeping clothes into the laundry and sliding on a sundress, knowing the future rain would not take the swamping humidity away from the air. Spring had barely passed and summer was already in full heat, the dread at the season to come filling you with nostalgia for autumn and winter.

“Where are my shoes?” You wonder aloud, not bothering to put any makeup on in your haste. Bending down to the floor, you see your discarded flats halfway under the bed, reaching your arms to fish them out and slide them onto your feet, then grabbing your purse and locking the door behind you.

There is a small coffee shop on the main street a few blocks from your apartment, the idea of an iced tea sounding refreshing in the odd weather. The streets are barren, only a few brave souls like yourself willing to brave the forecast. You watch the street lights change from red to green, allowing the small stream of cars to cross the intersection before timing out to yellow again.

The quiet hum of city life eases your earlier feeling, tapping your foot to an invisible beat when hitting the crosswalk button. The shop across the street looks fairly busy, a couple people walking out with iced drinks or fresh pastries, a man holding the door open for you with a smile as you slip inside. Your wedding ring glints off the fluorescent lights, observing the general crowd of studying college kids and elderly friends talking at the small round tables. You used to be one of those kids, and you were sure someday you’d be one of the elderly, a weird sense of unfulfilled panic encapsulating you as the true brevity of life washes over you.

“Just a small iced chai,” you smile, giving the cashier cash that she takes with chipped fingernails. You tell her to keep the change, watching her throw it into the tip jar and hand you a receipt with nothing but an unenthused thank you. Managing to snag a corner table near the straws and coffee sugar, you settle into the wooden chair and pull the book you always kept in your purse out just as the barista calls your name.

The pages of Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist are worn from the amount of times you flipped them, desperately in need of a new copy, but finding something so charming in the wear of the one you’d had for nearly a decade. The chai latte is heavy with cinnamon, the iced drink and air conditioner cooling you down from the walk over.

You’re just starting to get into your favorite part when a loud gasp comes from behind you and suddenly you’re being splashed with beverage, someone spilling their cup from the counter behind you. You startle, turning to find a man hurrying to get napkins, his head down in apology as he begins hurriedly wiping up your table before it seeps to the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, voice melodic and somewhat familiar to you.

“It’s okay, no worries,” you grab more napkins and attempt to help him, the sound of your voice causing him to look up.

Your book continues dripping with coffee, the liquid now spilling onto your lap in little cold drops as he stares at you. Dark hair sweeps along his forehead and an ‘o’ shape is forming along his pink lips. Something about him looks familiar, something about the white of his skin makes you want to cry, something about the glimmer in his eyes makes you want to fly.

You’re trying to remember where you know him from, where you’ve seen him, because something about his face is far too familiar for you to forget, another rush of deja vu sweeping you away.

“Do I know you?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, voice so hushed you can barely hear him, and then he is gone, the door bell ringing with his exit and his drink still dripping from the table. An employee comes to assist you just as the barista calls.

“Jungkook, your second caramel macchiato is ready. Jungkook?”

That name. The one your husband had asked about earlier. Was it that man? Was he Jungkook? What an odd coincidence, you think, shaking your head and sopping up the liquid from your dress and legs. The lady helping you is talking about how rude he was for leaving but you’re not paying attention, overwhelmed with the weird feeling of forgetfulness.

“Do you know him?” You interrupt her soliloquy, waiting until she returns from throwing the wad of paper away before listening to her reply.

“He’s come in a couple of times in the past week. Jungkook, I think. Weird he left without his drinks, usually he’s super kind, this is so out of character.”

So it was him. And with the realization a sudden sadness comes over you that he’s gone, and that you have no way of reaching him again. The thought embodies you on the way home, and if the clouds in the sky weren’t enough, a personal bunch of them seemed to have taken residence above you, following you and raining down confusion at who that man was all the way back home.

The house is still quiet when you return, husband not yet back from work and no animals to greet you, setting your stuff down on the table and sighing to fill the still air. The sense of something wrong begins to overtake you again, and you try to think of another place to go to fill your time with something else besides empty, oddly suffocating silence. You feel like there’s somewhere you should be, someone you should be with, mind flitting back to Jungkook for a moment before flying elsewhere.

But then, quietly at first, in the back of your mind there is a loud beeping. Sounding like a heart monitor, it is rapidly alarming you, so near it sounds to be in the room, yet turning around to find nothing but the gloom filled kitchen.

“Maybe it's the smoke alarm,” you wonder aloud, getting up to double check that the stove is off and that the ceiling alarm isn't blinking red.

There’s nothing, just the loud incessant beeping that makes your head spin. Your chest feels as if it's being weighted, palpating like you have the hiccups but no sound is emitting from your mouth or throat, vision feeling blurry and the sound of the monitor raising in tenor.

“Y/N?” A voice comes from beyond, drawing you down to the floor, “Y/N, can you hear me?”

You open your mouth to cry for help but you can’t speak, melting into the floor and onto the sensation of scratchy sheets beneath your skin. The beeping of the monitor steadies next to you, and your eyes begin to clear and allow you to see the picture around you.

“She’s stabilizing again,” a voice says, continuing to spout out some medical terminology you can't understand and injecting the needle in your arm filled with clear fluid as another nurse rubs the defibrillator together again, ready to use it once more if needed.

Your husband is at your side, saying something you can't hear over the ringing, his hand in yours and the movement of white coats swishing along the peripheral of your vision. The air smells sterile, clean, and you part your dry lips to ask what is happening but you can't, feeling your spouse smooth down your hair and hush you.

“Where am I?” You attempt to say, but it comes out as a babble of indecipherable words.

“Don’t try and talk, just rest,” he instructs, “you’re okay, it's going to be okay now. You’ve been in a coma since Spring ended,” he continues slowly, “I came home from work, you were lying on the kitchen floor and… and… it’s nearly September… But your heart suddenly stopped for six minutes, Y/N… we didn’t know what was going to happen.”

You try to move your hand, your leg, anything, finding you seemed to have lost feeling in your bones. Whatever the doctor injected you with keeps you from feeling panic, a serene calmness settling over you as your husband continues. You don’t know how you got here, or why, or when. All you remember is eating those runny eggs, sitting in the coffee shop, your ruined book…

“They need to run some more tests, but now that your heart rate has stabilized, they think you'll be fine.” He pauses, “the REM dial was going insane for those few minutes, the doctor said the portion of your brain that controls your subconscious recollections, was the most active they've ever seen in a sleeping person, let alone a medically… unresponsive one.” He says, tip toeing around the mention of death.

You can hardly remember any dreaming, though the loud beeping of your heart monitor is consuming any trails of thought you might've been able to walk down without it.

“Some people speculate that after you die,” the nurse begins suddenly, coming by and shining a light in your eyes to take your vitals, “that for those last few minutes of your life you relive all the important moments you’ve gone through,” she pauses, “do you remember anything, Mrs?”

You shake your head, the fuzzy recesses of your mind barely able to process the room you’re in, but the feeling as if you’re missing something important distantly tugs at you. Like an anchor. Weighing you down to somewhere you can’t see.

“Now that I know you're okay,” your husband speaks again, “there is someone here to see you. Came last night,” His voice sounds faraway, like he’s speaking to you underwater. “Is it okay if I let him in?”

You manage to nod once, feeling bad that your family had put their lives on hold to be by your side. The fluorescent light is blinding you and you can barely comprehend him telling the nurse to allow the person back here, focusing your eyes on the figure now approaching the door from across the hall.

His hair is dark, skin milky, and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Baby's breath. Your favorite. And definitely not a member of your family.

He stops at the precipice of the entry way, looking at you with an expression of both wonder and amazement in his eyes. Watching you as the realization hits you. As what was once subconscious from lifetimes ago becomes conscious in your brain.

You manage to rise to your elbows in bed, tears rolling down your cheeks of their own accord. You can almost feel his fingers wiping them away, as they did the night Lord Keyan proposed to you at the King’s celebration. You can feel him looking at you as he did when he first saw you in that hidden room, when he saw you again at the ball. When he saved you from the fire, nursed you to health, and then back into the grave with promises you didn’t remember to keep. When he spilt coffee all over your book, the confusion you felt when he point blank ran away from you with a barely there apology. You could never remember him in your waking life, the moment you took your last breath giving way to the few minute memorabilia of your lifetimes with him. Lifetimes of loving each other, only to get ripped apart. But somehow, the two of you always found your way back to each other, puppeted by the blessed hands of fate and somehow… this time, you opened your eyes again. You lived.

His name is on the tip of your lips, the word rolling off your tongue as if you could've spoken all along.

“Jungkook?”

He looks at you, cocking his head to the side and letting the flowers fall to the floor with a crushing sound. His eyelashes are wet with tears, droplets of water falling between his parted lips as he goes limp. He is in awe, amazement, complete and utter bewilderment at the sight of you, breathing, alive, beautiful. Everything is rushing you at once, the Autumn sun setting in the windows across the hall. Autumn. It is autumn, leaves falling with golden hues like the tenor of his astounded voice.

“You survived a season.”

~Admin Eggplant

666 notes · View notes