#i have never been broken up before but damn reading her farewell letter do be feeling like a break up

[aryomengrande]

pause i js learned that my fav tr writer from wattpad retired and decided to discontinue her ongoing work

[surpassingvalour]

grief, in isolation

for anon, who requested “angsty nolofinweans after fingolfins death”

~

Fingon didn’t get to say goodbye.

That was what kept coming back to him: again and again he lost those he loved, never getting the chance to give them a last farewell. His mother hadn’t been able to face him after the Kinslaying; he’d been in the middle of a pointless spat with Arakáno right before he was killed; Turukáno and Írissë and Itarillë had vanished without warning, the better for the secrecy and security of Turno’s kingdom, he said in the letter he left behind.

What a load of horse shit. Secrecy be damned, Fingon missed his family. He didn’t know if they’d made it safely to Ondolindë, what had befallen them there, if Itarillë had gotten up the courage to kiss that girl she’d been so enamoured with before she abandoned her, too—

And now he’d lost his father also. Fingolfin hadn’t even left a note like Turukáno. He’d just...left. Charged into battle with no care for anyone other than himself—no, not even for himself. An eagle had been spied carrying his body away, and if it truly was Thorondor as the rumors said, well. Fingon would have words with him about that. He didn’t even get a body to bury. Why would Thorondor return Fingolfin’s corpse to Hithlum when it would be safer in Ondolindë?

He had Maedhros, at least, to comfort him. Maedhros who had lost his own father centuries before, Maedhros who loved him more than he deserved, Maedhros who Fingon trusted would never, ever leave without a goodbye. Not after the last time.

But aside from Maedhros, Fingon was alone.

~

Turukáno knelt by the cairn he had built with his own hands. Sorontar had watched, solemn and silent, as he had dismissed the watchers and tended to the broken form of his father’s body with his own hands. It was not beneath the King of Ondolindë to honor his father like this, even if Ñolofinwë had not also been High King of the Ñoldor.

He even turned aside Itarillë, urging her to keep Maeglin away from the sight. It was not fair that the lad would never meet his grandfather, but Turukáno did not want Maeglin’s only memory of Ñolofinwë to be the bruised and battered thing he was in death.

Now the work was done, and his hands ached. His robes were stained with dirt, his cheeks with tears, his heart with yet another grief. It was too much, too much. And he was alone—by choice he was alone. He had banished his daughter and his nephew to spare them this misery, shunned his friends and lords when they offered to help. This was something he had to do by himself, no matter how it pained him.

He was so lonely in Ondolindë. This was his glorious kingdom, a living memory of Tirion upon Túna, and he was proud of it, proud of his people—and he was so alone. Elenwë was dead; Írissë was dead; Arakáno was dead; Ñolofinwë was dead. All that remained of his family were Itarillë, sweet Itarillë who he loved more than anything, and Maeglin, the ill-fated child he tried to love in his sister’s place.

And Findekáno, somewhere out there, rising to take the throne. Turukáno should be there, standing beside him, supporting him, and yet—

And yet he had risked everything to create this place of safety. He could not leave, not even for Findekáno’s sake. Not when letting Írissë roam free had led to her misery and death.

At least he had a grave to mourn by. Findekáno did not have even that.

~

Itarillë’s hands shook as she attempted to make her words as smooth and elegant upon the page as they once had been. She breathed deep, and still they trembled. But she pressed on regardless, because she needed to write this letter. She had to let her uncle Findekáno know that his father had been laid to rest.

Her father did not allow communications from the outside world. But Sorontar was here, and Grandfather Ñolofinwë was dead, so surely this would be an exception. Itarillë’s heart broke at the thought of Uncle Finno all alone without any family to comfort him—any family but Maitimo, that was. And though she was not as resentful of her Fëanárion cousins as her father, gone were the days where she smiled and sat on Uncle Maitimo’s lap and read him stories written by her mother. She could not muster hatred for him, but neither could she muster love.

Dearest Uncle Findekáno, she wrote, and then paused. Was it alright to write in Quenya? She knew her uncle went by Fingon now, that with Thingol’s ban upon their tongue everyone outside of Ondolindë had changed their names...but surely an Eagle-borne message would not be scrutinized by the King of the Sindar. Then again, if she ever hoped to leave these walls, she ought to practice her Sindarin.

Dearest Uncle Fingon, she tried again, this time in Sindarin. Yes, this was better; it took more effort to think in this second language, which meant she could not spend so much energy purely upon grief.

I write to you because my father will not. I am certain you know this already, but your father and my grandfather, High King Ñolofinwë Fingolfin, has perished...

Itarillë wrote until her hands cramped and her mind went blank—and then she threw the letter in the fire. How could she write to Uncle Finno now, about her grandfather, when he didn’t even know his sister, too, was dead?

~

Maeglin was used to the stares. He was different, an outsider, the only newcomer to Gondolin since its foundation. At least, the only newcomer who yet lived. Everyone seemed to discount Eöl.

So of course people stared at him. It wasn’t all bad; many of them were just curious. And they got used to him after a time, especially when he started to work in the forge and they came to appreciate him for his craft. And then the king his uncle had declared him a Lord of Gondolin, with all the pomp and circumstance that entailed, and people looked to him as some sort of leader instead of a stranger. He still wasn’t quite used to that.

But these stares—this time they unsettled him.

They weren’t looking at Maeglin, Eöl’s son, the stranger, the half-Avari changeling, the boy who flinched from loud noises and couldn’t stay long out in the sun. They weren’t looking at Lómion, Írissë’s boy, the poor royal orphan, the young man who stuttered through his Quenya and couldn’t make any friends. They weren’t looking at Maeglin the smith or even at Lord Maeglin of the House of the Mole.

No, for the first time, people stared at Prince Maeglin, grandson of Fingolfin, the castaway heir of a broken throne.

Maeglin had never met Fingolfin. Turgon hadn’t even let him see the body. He didn’t know if he resembled his grandfather, if Fingolfin would have loved him or hated him, if he would have been welcomed into the great Ñolofinwëan family as Aredhel’s son. And now even the unrealistic fantasy of meeting those relatives of his who still lived was being crushed.

He only had the one grandfather. Eöl had been one of the Unbegotten, fatherless, woken at Cuiviénen. That had seemed wondrous and exciting when Maeglin was a child, and Eöl had for once been happy to talk about the past, eager to remind his son that he, too, had woken alongside Finwë and made the journey west. Only he was braver and better than any Ñoldo, because he had done it alone.

But Maeglin had loved his mother’s stories more, when it came down to it, though the legends were not as grand when he saw them up close. He didn’t feel like Fingolfin’s grandson, not when he’d never met the ellon. And now he never would.

~

Anairë hadn’t known who to go to when she felt her marriage bond break. Eärwen still had her husband, the Valar had doomed Ñolofinwë to his fate, most of her old friends had left with her husband when he marched away from her. It had been centuries—she had tried to move on—she had closed their bond long ago. She didn’t expect it to hurt so much when he died. She didn’t even expect to know.

In the end there was only one person she could talk to. But drawing Nerdanel out of isolation was not an easy task.

The first years after the Flight of the Ñoldor were hectic and dreadful. Nerdanel, Anairë, and Eärwen had stuck close together for survival, but when things began to settle down... Well, Anairë and Eärwen had always been closer to each other than to Fëanáro’s wife. They loved Nerdanel, of course, but...well. She had distanced herself from the line of Finwë even before her husband’s rebellion. And her husband...

And so they drifted apart. Anairë never felt alone, not with Eärwen, and later, not with Arafinwë, too. How strange that her husband’s little brother would welcome her into his bed! Such a fate was not one she could have predicted when she married Ñolofinwë. She had believed then that they would never be parted, that strangeness of Míriel and Finwë and Indis was unique. She knew better now.

And yet: Eldarin marriage was forever. The bond had broken with Ñolofinwë’s death—she didn’t even know how he had died—but it was still there, just...in pieces. Anairë didn’t know how to start reassembling them, if she even could.

Nerdanel’s house was empty the first time she worked up the courage to visit. The second time, her once-sister turned her away. The third time, however, Nerdanel invited her inside.

It was awkward and painful and confusing. But Nerdanel confirmed what Anairë had guessed: yes, this meant Ñolofinwë was dead. No, it would not be possible to rebuild their bond, not with him still confined to Mandos’ Halls.

“But,” Nerdanel had said bitterly, “your husband was a valiant king. I have faith that he will be released someday.”

Anairë did not need to ask about her opinion on Fëanáro’s fate. She, too, had known the Spirit of Fire.

The visit was worth it, though it did not bring peace to her heart. At least now Anairë knew that she was not alone in her strange grief, supposed to be foreign to the Blessed Realm.

And Ñolofinwë would return to her, someday. She just didn’t know if she would return herself to him.

~

[also available on AO3]

[luvbotclub]

stay — part one: mark lee.

it’s not me, it’s you— you had a change of heart. what kind of change of heart was that and why didn’t feel it? or in which mark doubts himself as an idol, a boyfriend, and a person.

content warning for angst, i’m sorry markzens. 4,867 words.

this can be read as x reader or x oc since i didn’t give mark’s girlfriend a name (this applies to the other parts as well). the other parts may be a little delayed since i’m working on some other fics as well, but i’ll try my best to finish this series! i hope you will enjoy reading this one :D

the sun was shining outside his window. the sunlight seeped through his silk curtains, and for some reason, mark lee didn't feel like sliding them aside and welcoming the april warmth with open arms today, or any other day to be honest. he didn't bother getting up and cooking himself some delicious breakfast, nor did he get up and at least fix his appearance a little bit. he was so disheartened to do anything ever since she left.

but mark has been feeling less like... well, mark nowadays, so there was no question as to why he was acting the way he is. but who could blame him? almost five months has passed and he has made close to no progress with moving on from her. her departure and the demise of them has impacted mark in the worst ways there is to exist.

mark has managed to go out with taeyong and jaehyun for some coffee two days prior to this unfortunate saturday morning without somehow making everyone around him feel burdened by his troubled presence.

mark hated that feeling the most ㅡ the feeling that he’s slowly becoming a burden to the people around him. and perhaps he is, indeed, starting to become a burden to the people around him.

he's tried. he's tried so hard. but it hurts, so so much. the feeling of her warm embrace and the sound of her laugh and the way she smiles are all fucking imprinted in his mind. there was no escape from her torturous murder. the poison she uses is cutting into his skin… slowly, leaving a trail of rotten memories behind.

maybe if she hadn't left him so harshly, mark would've dealt with her farewell a lot better than he is doing right now. maybe, just maybe, if she hadn't been so cruel enough to just tell him straight in the face that it's not me, it's you, you had a change of heart; mark would've forgiven himself faster. his chest would have been filled with something other than guilt and confusion to what he's done wrong, why did she leave, who made her leave, what kind of fucking change of heart was that and why in fuck's name didn't he feel it.

mark has tried to spend more time with her. he really did try, but success came for his group faster than nct and sm entertainment had expected, and he trained longer in the practice room for six days per week for their tour and comeback to make a bigger impact than before. but, in the end, when he's back in their shared apartment, it feels like everything he did wasn't enough. the awards he won, the effort he put into dancing, each lyric he sings out every blurred, sweaty night just for millions to hear. they weren't enough to make her smile reach her eyes. they weren't enough to make her satisfied with him.

they weren't enough for her to stay.

sometimes, mark would think. maybe he's really the one to the blame. maybe he should have just taken more breaks and spent more time with her ― cook lunch with her, cuddle with her on the couch, give her massages while she ranted and ranted about the rude customers at her workplace, the marais. maybe, instead of sweating and singing his heart out, he could have stayed home. maybe he should have been a better boyfriend. maybe he wasn't good enough.

for the past few days, mark's mind has been filled with maybe's and what if's and i'm never going to be good enough's. it was strange. he felt all this remorse ― he even blamed himself because he was doing what he had been wanting to do for a long time ― and all this confusion because of a girl who has sent his friends snapchats of her playing just dance with her workmates a day after she said goodbye, because of a girl who left him on a living room floor with a heart that fell into pieces and the echoes of his pleas for her to please stay with me in each corner of the room ㅡ haunting him, crawling to his skin like the remnants of a bad dream.

it was selfish for mark to think, nor to say aloud, but a despicable part of him wished she felt somewhat guilty for leaving him behind in the dust like this ㅡ or even be concerned about his well being. but no. she left in the first place without a care ㅡ why would she care about whatever’s happening in mark’s mind, now that she has a great life without an idol boyfriend who's always dragging her down?

but today. today. it felt like the day to start living his life again, to live like mark lee who could make people smile just by the sound of his laugh alone. he's disappeared for exactly two weeks from television appearances, family dinners, and friendly get-togethers ㅡ even company parties, he couldn't attend. he was in the stage of denial in the first week, like he was mourning over a death of a loved one. fans have left comments, questions as to why he disappeared all of a sudden all over nct’s twitter and instagram pages and they’ve started to worry whether mark was doing okay or not. his family grew concerned for his well-being, so did his fellow members. they sent him food with stupid little hearts taped to the lunchbox (taeil once sent him naengmyun, along with a paper heart with a classy dad joke and his well wishes scribbled on it). they sent him encouraging messages almost everyday ― the fans, his family, his fellow members. they're all there for him, because they knew that mark isn't okay.

mark decided to get up from his bed an hour after he finished the piece of toast and cup of coffee he both made in a haste. he didn’t even bother putting anything along with the toast, and it was burnt. everyday, his breakfast gets worse. but he needed to put something in his stomach ― he's not going to be in this state forever and he still needed to take care of himself.

mark's grip on the plate was tight, knuckles white as he rested the ceramic plate on the sink. he turned his head after washing his hands and saw the shoe and coat rack by the front door. it was strange to see her newly bought pair of nikes and her ivory coat gone from the racks ― they were her least favoured articles of clothing. maybe she could have left them with him, so he could have something that reminds him of her presence.

but, no. that's way too cruel, isn't it? she did mark a favour of not leaving a single trace of her behind, even as little as a speck of dust from her belongings or a smear of her red lipstick on his favourite white mug. she knew she was practically death itself to him ― her name a lethal spoken curse, her scent a guilty pleasure, her voice a melody so deadly. to love her will be a death wish, but he feels and loves her without a single trace of fear that it'd harm him one day. he loves her. every inch, every night spent watching stupid random shows in the tv, every kiss, every parent joke they've cracked together. he misses them. he misses her. and sometimes he didn't even care if it were his fault or hers ― because either way, she'll still leave an empty shell in his chest, a shell that longed to be filled with her love again.

mark lee never thought it was possible for his heart to ache for someone so much.

he closed his eyes and breathed out a heavy sigh, wanting nothing more than to scream out his frustrations and drink some good fucking coffee right now. but the coffee maker was broken, and mark didn't feel like going out to town and buying a new one. it might sound like it was a stupid reason and he knew perfectly well of the fact, but he doesn't want everyone to see him like this... whatever he is right now.

is he even human at this point? he feels like someone ripped half of his body and soul and he just feels the opposite of the caring mark everybody adored. he feels like he doesn't even have a heart beating right now as his eyes are closed to the darkness — just an empty chest and an empty head.

mark wants to be somewhere else other than this damn apartment. it was way too depressing and he finally got sick of being burdened by it all — it was way too exhausting to be so burdened all the time, to have your head weighed down by thoughts of what could have happened. maybe he can go to a clear field with a nice, baby blue sky, or the coffee house in town where soft jazz played. he didn’t even like jazz. maybe anywhere, just to get away from this place. even the recording studio sounded inviting right now.

the roar of mark's ringtone ripped through the silent room, and it took him a few seconds to recover from the small jumpscare he got before he grabbed his phone that was in his sweatshirt pocket. mental note: put your phone in silent mode next time.

it was a text from jeno.

[jeno]: hi hyung. you up for coffee later with jaemin later? XD

mark suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the emoticon. jeno could be really ridiculous (and cringy) sometimes, yet he couldn’t ignore the letters that were practically glowing at his eyes, screaming for his reply to be fuck yes i am up for this, but as mark was somewhat in mid reply (and it was an awfully nonchalant yeah, sure with no stupid emoji to support his message), his fingers stopped typing.

would it be worth it, though? he doesn't even have the mental energy to go out and buy his own food, let alone go out for coffee (even though he's succeeded once...). a small part of him felt bad for jeno. all the boy wanted was to drink coffee with his members, but mark's fucking sadness is stopping him. it's not even jeno's fault mark turned out like this these past few weeks.

after a few seconds of contemplating, mark continued typing his message, feeling a little afraid of making jeno think he was uninterested.

[me]: yeah, sure. 😃 can you pick me up?

he tapped the send button, instantly regretting that he added the smiling emoji at the end (because now he sounds so enthusiastic to go, even if a part of him really did) and the fact that he just asked his friend to do him yet another favour. mark felt bad for jeno, he really did, but he didn't even know where the coffee shop was, and, knowing mark, he gets lost sometimes because the boy had no sense of direction whatsoever. jeno's response came a few seconds after, which amazed mark for a bit since jeno was never the fastest replier.

[jeno]: geez, hyung 😒

[jeno]: i'll be there around 1, jaem had to run some errands so he’ll be a lil late. see you later!!!

feeling relieved jeno didn't pry any more into the subject, mark locked his phone and put in his sweatshirt pocket. he felt more fresh, somehow, he felt like his steps won't be heavy and that his life will actually improve today. like an imaginary weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. maybe he should treat jeno and jaemin with lunch one day, if the day went well.

after a few hours of sitting in the sofa and listening to a bunch of songs taeyong has sent him over the past few days, mark went to take a nice, warm shower and changed into his “outside” clothes (...which were the same as his stay-in clothes) and waited for jeno and jaemin outside his locked home, foot tapping on the pavement out of habit.

as promised through his text, jeno arrived at mark's place at the same time when the clock in mark's phone read 1:00 pm. mark felt like grabbing jeno and giving him the biggest hug he's ever given to another member once he jumped off of the black van he arrived in ㅡ the boy's done so much for him ㅡ sending lunchboxes, agreeing to meet up with him in 3am nights where mark couldn't sleep at all, and, now, agreeing to pick mark up right on time even if he probably had million of things going through his mind right now, with nct dream's comeback slowly approaching them.

“hey, hyung,” greeted jeno, brown hair swept to the side messily. after a very long time, there was a genuine smile on mark's lips ㅡ he was happy to see a familiar face in the midst of this chaos. “you ready to go?”

mark gave the younger man a nod, and pocketed his phone in his pants.

a few minutes of catching up led them to full time story-telling, which is totally typical of the parent-like pair of friends. mark was smiling the whole time, because, again, he was with a familiar face and he hadn't been able to speak his mind to another person for a few days, constantly insecure of what others would think of him and his thoughts.

they were overcome with surprise when the driver pulled up on the pavement since they were too caught up in their conversation to pay attention to their surroundings, signalling that they've arrived in the said café. it seemed like the other cafés he's visited before. it had treats and specials lined up by the baby blue tinted window, ranging from strawberry cream puffs to the manager's favourite mushroom pizza. mark looked at the café’s exterior in astonishment and glanced back at jeno. jeno had good taste.

mark looked at the café one more time. he still had a few moments before they went inside; jeno was taking too damn well to adjust his facemask. it was perfect ㅡ black tables at the patio with white chairs as a contrast, fancy little plants lined up just by the café's entrance.

it was all fun until his eyes darted over to the shop's logo, etched in a fancy script font and a mighty golden colour. the light in mark's eyes faltered and the smile plastered on his face dropped in desultory, as the letters made his throat go dry.

the marais.

singing is a stupid thing now. he doesn't feel like singing a bunch of twisted words just for millions to hear. no. he doesn't feel like doing anything. getting scolded at for not singing a note properly is getting tiresome. constantly redoing certain parts because the producer didn’t like it is getting tiresome. thinking of her at any given opportunity is getting tiresome. doing this, whatever it is... it's tiresome.

“i hope you’re happy today,” came the soft muse of donghyuck through his headset. it was strange that mark felt something strong snap in his chest just because of these words. they were going through the songs in the album and mark didn’t know why he was even required to be here for that — he wasn’t even in make your day.

when he heard his dongsaeng’s verse, he felt like crying again. he’s gotten so bad — this was just all so fucking tiring. all he can think about is the way she looked that day in the café, stunned to see the two tall idols in her sight and soon seeing jaemin rush into the shop without much care if he was causing a ruckus or not. she didn’t think that she would see him ever again, thinking that she’s ran away from all of that, the exhausting world of mark lee and being constantly shoved to the side.

“i'm ― i'm sorry," his voice is weak. the words were strained coming out of his throat. he couldn't breathe, but he had to do this. “i can’t do this. not today, no.”

am i really doing this?

mark's heart skipped a beat. yes.

he removed his headset quickly, the song cutting off just as jaehyun’s part began. mark grabbed his cap and mask from the table and put them on. he felt no feeling of hesitation or remorse from his actions as he stared at the producer and members, all staring back at him and obviously stunned. mark shook his head and turned his back on them, ignoring donghyuck’s tired and annoyed stare burning at the back of his head. he really tried to be okay for one day, but he can't do that. the closure she gave wasn't enough — well, was there ever any closure in the first place? he had to give his own closure, or else he'll explode from all these feelings burning his insides with guilt that he didn't even have to feel in the first place if he just became a better boyfriend, a better person.

“mark, come back here,” taeyong’s tired drawl came, echoing through the halls. mark stopped walking but didn’t face his hyung. “you’re really going to skip a recording just for a girl who doesn’t even want to see you anymore?”

taeyong’s words stung, but mark swallowed and gave a firm, “yes.”

as he walked down the hallways and ignoring the incredulous burning stares of the crew, wondering why the hell he was out in the hall instead of being in the recording studio like his schedule declared so, mark thought of all the things he'll say. they need to make sense or else skipping a recording session will all be for nothing and the scolding from taeyong would make him feel even guiltier for the rest of his entire life. i love you, you heartless prick. no. that's way too blunt. i love you, and i don’t need you to say the same thing. i just want you to say goodbye one last time.

that’s all mark ever wanted.

that’s all mark ever needed.

he called a taxi and immediately got in, telling the driver his destination which was the marais. a frown was evident on the young idol's face as his phone vibrated text message after text message, all either from taeyong or taeil telling him he has the next two hours to get his ass back to the studio or else they were telling the ceo about it. it was tiring. he was debating whether to ignore them or reason it out like the adult he was, because he was feeling annoyed at their lack of understanding and at the same time he just wanted to be mature with them.

both of mark’s options sounded too far out of his reach when the taxi driver suddenly stopped his car and told him they were already at his destination, and he was forced to lock his phone instead, ignoring the constant vibration of the device.

he started shaking as he gave the driver money, and his hands became sweaty when he exited out of the car and slammed the door shut. mark walked over to the café with a heavy heart, his legs wanting nothing more than to retreat to the studio and spare his ego the embarrassment, but he was here now. there was no point in turning back. he’d embarrass himself anyways if he came back to the studio, he could practically hear donghyuck cheekily saying “i told you so” and the small knowing smirk on the younger’s face. mark shuddered at the thought.

as he went through the door of the shop, he instantly got a whiff of the strong coffee they were brewing — their bestseller and the same coffee she used to bring home for mark to drink. the boy only swallowed the fear in his throat and shook the memories off.

he walked up to the counter, legs still shaky as the employee working the cashier looked at him with a bright smile, “um, hi. i’m looking for someone who works here? is—”

“mark?”

mark looked up at the sudden voice, his words cut off halfway. if his heart was already beating fast even before he'd seen her, mark was pretty sure it’d jump right out of his chest as he made eye contact with the woman who got him into this predicament in the first place. he exhaled heavily and bowed his head to the employee behind the cashier, apologizing for the interruption before walking over to her who was standing just by the kitchen door and dressed in the white coat she hated so much. the sight made mark want to go home for some reason.

“what are you doing here?” she laughed nervously as he came closer. “aren’t you busy? i heard you guys are having a comeback?”

mark shook his head, ignoring the urge inside of him to tell her i skipped a recording for you. he knew it wouldn't matter to her anyways. “i’m not busy at all. i just want to talk to you about something. is that okay?”

she nodded yet the look in her eyes clearly said she really didn’t want anything to do with him at all. “sure, do you want to step out for a bit?”

mark only noticed the stares of the customers at the pair of them when she glanced around the room, and he immediately nodded. the last thing he needed was for someone to recognize him and spread rumours (even though he knew that was practically unavoidable at this point—people were already starting to point). she took hold of his hand and led him out of the coffee shop, ignoring the incredulous whispers of everyone.

once they were outside, mark was the first to pull his hand away from her grasp in such a haste. he almost apologized when he saw the brief shock emerge in her face at the brash action, but at this point, he didn’t have time for games anymore — figuratively and quite literally, since he only had an hour left before taeyong and taeil will call the ceo on him.

“so what is it that you want to talk about?”

“i wanted to talk about us,” mark exhaled, finally feeling a weight being lifted off of his shoulders. he saw her face contort a little, obviously displeased at the topic. “i just — you gave your closure. but i didn’t.”

“mark, it’s been months,” she laughed, the sound coming out as breathless. “you still haven’t moved on?”

“how could i do that?” mark started laughing too, albeit humorlessly. he ignored the pang in his chest as he realized that she found the entire situation funny. “everything i see, everyone i talk to. everything reminds me of you. i can’t even do anything right, i can’t even live normally anymore, because i keep thinking, why? why did she break up with me? was i a bad boyfriend?”

“mark— no,” the smile on her face dropped. “you weren’t a bad boyfriend. i just—”

“then why did you tell me i had a change of heart?!” mark was enraged. he didn’t want to be angry. he didn’t mean to raise his voice like that. he didn’t mean to let his tears cascade down his cheeks. he probably looked so pathetic right now, practically seething at the image of himself, tears falling and eyes pleading for an answer, for anything. “i didn’t. i didn’t have a change of heart. if i did then i would have been the one who ended things. if i was such a good boyfriend, then why did you leave me? right when i needed you most?”

mark didn’t even let her open her mouth before he spoke up again, the pain in his voice raw. “i tried so hard. i’ve always tried so hard but you made me feel like i didn’t. i’ve always protected you from everything and everyone. i’ve always defended you. you made me feel like everything i’ve ever done, for myself, for you ­— they weren’t enough for you. i always thought that maybe i wasn’t good enough to make you stay. i guess i was right, wasn’t i?”

“i was scared,” she answered calmly. “i fell out of love with you and i didn’t want to admit that. it was my fault. all of it. i only said that so i wouldn’t feel terrible about leaving you but i didn’t realize it was too harsh of me to say that right away. i’m sorry, mark, for everything. please stop blaming yourself.”

mark only nodded, wiping at the tears that were on his cheeks and blinking away the ones that threatened to fall. he got what he wanted. he got the truth. he gave his closure. so why did it still hurt? why did it still pain him to see her, looking at him like he was the saddest, most pathetic person to ever exist? the pitiful stare she was giving him made mark feel so sick in the stomach that he had to look away so that the feeling won’t resurface.

“just know,” mark breathed out shakily, fingers trembling and aching to brush the stray hair that fell on her face aside. he bit the inside of his cheek to stop the urge until he tasted blood. “i still love you and i don’t think that will ever change. even if you hurt me. even if you broke my heart so bad to the point that i didn’t know if i’ll be fine by the end of it all. you became a part of my life no matter how bad it got in the end.”

“i love you too, mark,” she smiled warmly and mark knew she was lying straight to his face right now. but he didn’t care. it felt good, strange almost, to hear those words tumble out of her lips again. “i don’t want to leave you like this but i have to go now. i made some plans with a friend. maybe we can hang out together soon? i can call you?”

“it’s okay,” mark shook his head. “i’ll be busy anyways. enjoy your day. thank you for everything.”

he was pretty sure his friends had already deleted her number from his contacts (it was either johnny or donghyuck who did it). after this, he was going to back to the studio and suffer the consequences of his actions, he’d have to put up with the hyung line staring at him with disappointed glints in their eyes during the entirety of the car ride back home and donghyuck bombarding him with questions about what happened once the younger boy has cornered him somewhere in the dorm. but he wasn’t bothered or even annoyed that he’d be experiencing these things soon.

mark was about to turn away and find a taxi when a tall man approached them, his long arms soon snaking around her shoulder and pulling her into an embrace. mark was quite surprised but shook his head — he was going to stop caring about her from now on. whatever business this man had to do with her, he didn’t care.

“who’s this, babe?” the nickname caught mark off guard.

“hyunwoo,” she mumbled under her breath, obviously uncomfortable at the current situation. “this is mark. remember? i told you about him.”

“oh, the idol?” ‘hyunwoo’ turned his head to mark and the shorter boy nodded. “nice to meet you! i heard you’re quite acquainted with my girlfriend here. she told me a lot about you.”

“oh, girlfriend?” mark was surprised at the cool tone of his question. “well, yeah. i used to be quite close with her.”

“we’re not dating or anything,” she tried to laugh off, but the nervous glint in her eyes screamed otherwise. “i’m just friends with hyunwoo. it’s like what it looks like, mark—”

“it’s okay,” mark smiled warmly, looking at her then back at hyunwoo. “i don’t care who you date. it’s not like you owe me an explanation of any sort.”

“i—yeah, of course,” she mumbled to herself, looking down at the ground before looking back up at mark. “it was nice talking to you. we’ll get going now. keep in touch, okay?”

mark nodded and the warm smile on his face didn’t falter even for a second. after the two had walked away, mark stayed in the same spot. he didn’t miss the way the two shared a short kiss before hyunwoo opened the car door for her and helped her inside before hopping in the driver’s seat and driving away. once they were gone, mark’s phone began ringing, calls from taeyong flooding his missed calls.

mark only smiled to himself, pressing the call button on taeyong’s number while his eyes were still fixated on the spot where hyunwoo’s car was previously parked.

i’ll forget about you, someday.

[hrina]

Damn

hello! this is just over 1k of a little something to get my creative juices flowing again! it’s based on this prompt:

we bumped into each other in the street and you were grinning like a cocky asshole the whole time so i stalked off only to realise i’m wearing your shirt

if you like this, please don’t hesitate to leave me some feedback here (i’ll probably ask for your hand in marriage if you do). and if you want to check out the rest of my writing, my masterlist is here. enjoy!!

~*~

“Shit.”

You skid to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, your eyes widening almost comically. Someone curses behind you and then nudges their way past, shoving your shoulder roughly in the process. You pay them no mind, though, too caught up in the rush of adrenaline that has kicked all of your senses into overdrive.

He’s walking with a few friends, the small group chatting and laughing idly. His hair is much shorter than it had been the last time you’d seen him. The length does a wonderful job of showing off his sharp jawline and his small ears. You balk—is that an earring?

Briefly, you consider turning around and making a beeline in the opposite direction. But you’d promised your mother that you’d meet her at the quaint little coffee shop just around the corner and taking a detour would result in you being ridiculously late. You huff in frustration, kicking the toe of your running shoes against the ground nervously. The odds of slipping past him are slim, but maybe luck will be on your side today.

You swallow and pull up the hood of your grey sweatshirt, fishing your phone out of your pocket and looking down fixedly at the screen. With your heart hammering in your chest, you begin to move forward once more.

You can hear him as the proximity between the two of you diminishes. He’s mumbling something about having had one too many shots during a previous night out; you fight against a smile. He’s always been good with knowing his limits, but sometimes he grows tired of caring and decides to get fucked up for the evening. It consistently ends with him waking up at noon the next day with a pounding headache and a sworn vow that it would be the last time he partakes in that kind of behaviour. And he stays true to his word for a few months, but then it always happens again.  

You brush past him without a word, and for a second, you’re ecstatic that you’ve gotten away. The moment is fleeting, though, because just as a relieved sigh slips from your lips, you hear your name leave his mouth.

Damn.

You freeze reflexively and then silently curse yourself. You know that your momentary mistake can’t be undone, and you can’t keep walking. He’s seen your brief pause, and it’s undoubtedly enough to confirm his suspicions. You turn around slowly, staring up at him with mortified eyes.

He’s definitely got an earring.

“Oh,” you say. Your mouth is dry, and you press your lips together to try for a small smile. “Harry. Hi.”

“Hi,” he replies, smirking slightly. He turns to his tiny group of friends. “Go on without me, yeah? I’ll catch up.”

They all nod without sparing you a glance. As they walk away, Harry swivels his head around so that he can face you. He shoots you a small grin, digging his hands into the pockets of his loose-fitting jeans. He’s always looked good in blue.

“Y’look great,” he tells you, his eyes flickering down your torso momentarily. You have to fight the urge to cross your arms over your body. Despite having broken up a couple of months ago, he’s still able to make you feel all sorts of nervous. Your anxiety is even worse today, you think, because you hadn’t been expecting to run into him, so you hadn’t thought to make yourself look at least a little bit presentable. You feel stupid standing in front of him in a pair of sneakers, black compression leggings, and a damn hoodie.

“Thank you,” you say dryly. “So do you.”

If he notices the slight irritation lacing your words, he doesn’t point it out.

“How’ve you been?” he continues, leaning against the small strip of brick wall that separates the different shops on the block. He smiles at you, but there’s something inherently arrogant about his expression. It makes your stomach twist up into knots, and not in a pleasant way.

“Good,” you tell him, squaring your shoulders and straightening out a bit. If he’s going to be cocky, the least you can do is pretend like you’re not going to let it affect you. “Just finished my classes for the year. You?”

“Just finished the album.” He doesn’t miss a beat. The satisfied expression on his face makes you grind your teeth together. “Hope you’ll give it a listen when it finally drops.”

You’re sure that you will. But he doesn’t have to know that.

“I might.” You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “If I’ve got time.”

“Never go anywhere without your headphones,” Harry jokes, and you purse your lips, because he’s right. “’M sure you’ll find the time.”

“Maybe,” you choke out. You throw your thumb over your shoulder, desperate for a way out of the conversation. “I’ve got to go, sorry. I’m meeting my mum.”

“Tell her I say hello, yeah?” Harry gives you a cheeky grin, his green eyes twinkling mischievously. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Doubt it,” you breathe, a little too loudly. He snickers coyly, and you can’t stop the corners of your lips from dipping down into a small frown. “What?” you ask, perhaps a bit too defensively.

“Nothing.” Harry smirks, waving away your question. His cocky dismissal only frustrates you further, and you narrow your gaze before muttering a quick farewell and whipping around. You can feel his eyes on you as you stalk away, and when you turn the corner, you shake your head indignantly.

He can be so insufferable sometimes.

You spot your destination less than a block away. Your feet pedal toward the café with a newfound sense of determination, and you try to clear your mind of any thoughts regarding Harry. You comb your fingers through your hair, chancing a glance at yourself in one of the shop windows as you pass.

You catch sight of your outfit and freeze. This time, someone bumps into you, knocking you forward. You turn to apologize, but they’re already rushing off, paying you no attention. You slowly begin walking again, then, gripping the hem of your sweatshirt and stretching it out so that you can study the material properly.

Etched into the grey fabric are four black letters. You gulp as you read the word, easily legible even though you’re looking at it upside-down.

DAMN.

Suddenly, Harry’s arrogant expressions and overly-confident words make sense. And suddenly, you’re somehow even more embarrassed than before. You grit your teeth.

Damn.

[tsuki-kirigakure]

My Top 10 Voltage Men

I had a really hard time in doing this I can't choose. 😥 I'm probably gonna shuffle this again next time I do this because there are still tons of guys I haven’t added. 😅 I also took hours in making this because Tumblr is being a btxh and won’t let me save nor post this. 😒

Thanks for the tag @mandyinwonderland ♥

10th: Riki Yanase ♡ [Love Letter from Thief X]

Riki is one of the guys I've been very addicted to.  I would spend my days (if I'm not at school) and nights reading his stories. He kinds of come out as an arrogant guy but he's really sweet and loving and passionate about the people he loves. He would always make them happy and safe and would put them and their happiness first. 

9th: Huedhaut ♡ [Star Crossed Myth]

When I first saw the summary or the preview for Hue’s story, I knew that I had to read it and I wasn’t wrong. This guy is a snarky hot and smart guy which rules the Zodiac sign Aquarius. He makes the best wines and all but he’s broken and refused to acknowledge love again after losing you, the previous goddess of fate, the love of his life. He sacrificed one of the stars in his life to make sure that you live. His sarcastic and funny comments would make you laugh, his painful past with the goddess of fate would make you cry, but his sweet and flowery words and gestures would definitely make you swoon. I swear.

8th: Ryota Mochizuki ♡ [Our Private Homeroom]

Before I played this story I had reservations about playing this game. Since I wasn't fond of teacher-student relationships and only went for student-student and teacher-teacher types, but boy did this story proved me wrong. I was practically smitten with him for being such a cutie and A MATH TEACHER. HE LOVES MATH AND SO DO I. We instantly clicked y’know? What’s better is that he’s kind to all of his students and cheers them on and just shows how damn good of a teach he is. Then he can like see and recognize your hard work and would totally cheer you on when you’re losing faith on yourself. He would also prioritize you, your dreams and your happiness above anything and would sacrifice his job that he loves and fight for you.

7th: Kyohei Rikudoh ♡ [Scandal in the Spotlight]

BBY KYO ❤ THIS GUY MAKES THE ABSOLUTE BEST FRIED RICE APPARENTLY HEHE JUST A FUN FACT. It was love at first sight with this guy. He’s the sexiest man alive I think? Well that’s true for me at least hihi. Kyohei loves to tease you and do sweet things for you. He would sacrifice everything for you and always put you and your happiness first. He loves seeing you blush and smile and make all those “cute expressions”. He would protect, care, love and cherish those important to him. He’s strict with work but that’s because Revance is really important to him. He’s hot and he knows it. He loves spending time with you especially alone times hihi 😉 He may come off as arrogant to other people but really, he’s just a handsome and easily jealous cutie pie. ❤

6th: Toma Kiriya ♡ [Irresistible Mistakes]

HERE COMES ONE OF MY SNARKIEST MOST SARCASTIC BUT LOVING AND SWEET AND UNDERSTANDING AND SUPPORTIVE CUTIE. He loves sugary drinks tbh he says it gives his brain the energy it needs. He loves to work and he’s good at what he does, usually handpicked for big projects. He’s unstoppable with MC beside him hihi. He’s so cute when he blush like he’s such a cutie pie. He’s probably the best guy to have a conversation with, like literally he cracks me up every time and makes me happy every time I see his face. I’m in love hihi. WHY CAN’T TOMA EXIST IN REAL LIFE?! HE’S JUST SO PERFECT.

5th: Tsumugu Kido ♡ [Our Two Bedroom Story]

Here comes my awkwardly cute, blushes easily when he says or does something sweet or bold or when MC does the same, king of tightwads. He’s what you would call stingy but it’s just because of how hard it was for them in the past. He’s good with his work and has a “split-personality” hehe when he’s at work and at home. He loves the MC so much and knows how hard she works as well as how good she is at work but would never openly admit it in normal times. He’s such a cutie pie who loves strawberries and HIS SIBLINGS ARE SO CUTE AND PRETTY, sazuku being the cute and sakura and mizuki being the pretty ones. I love his puns and jokes. He loves seeing you happy and would be happy knowing that you are. HE’S SUCH A CUTIE I SWEAR BRO.  

4th: Izaac Martin ♥ [Gossip Girl Party]

YOU GUYS, DO YOU PEOPLE EVEN KNOW OR REMEMBER GOSSIP GIRL PARTY? BECAUSE I CERTAINLY DO. THIS GAME IS STILL AND WILL FOREVER BE IN MY HEART AND MIND AND NOTHING CAN EVER MAKE ME FORGET THIS ESPECIALLY MY BABY IZAAC. Y’KNOW SEEING THE FAREWELL MESSAGES THEY GAVE US WAS DEFINITELY HEARTBREAKING. I WAS FREAKING CRYING THE WHOLE ASJAKDDGDSNVKDJBVUD TIMES I READ THAT MESSAGE. WHY DID VOLTAGE HAVE TO REMOVE IT FROM GOOGLE PLAY? WHY CAN’T WE JUST KEEP THEM EVEN IF THEY WON’T UPDATE IT ANYMORE? 😭💔 But okay let me just say that Izaac is my forever babe even if I hated one of his stories that led me to uninstalling the app and reinstalling it again right away hehe. He’s like perfect. He would tease you with his words but would also say and do the sweetest things. He loves you so much and knows you so well. He’ll support you in the things you wanna do and he’d be really proud of you. I love this guy so much you know and I miss him so bad 😭💔

3rd: My Forevs Inspiration and Smexiest Cool Baby, Kiyohito Shirakami ♥ [Kings of Paradise]

OMG BABY KIYO OKAY HERE IT GOES WE’RE DOWN TO MY TOP 3. Kiyo is what would seem to be cold and indifferent. He would also be considered as strict and is like a robot who constantly works and doesn’t feel or show feelings at all. That’s what I thought at first too but his harsh words are actually very sweet in his own ways because he believes in you. He doesn’t want you to be sad and wants you to regain the confidence you lost. His story has inspired me to overcome my anxiety and do my best in the things I thought I couldn’t do. He would tell MC to decide on her own and he would grade her as well as to go beyond because she can. The story doesn’t just revolve around sweet stuffs tbh it also includes growth in both Kiyo and MC and it’s one of the best y’know. Kiyo also loves it when MC is being honest with him and is greedy with him as well. His ways have truly changed MC and you guys his story is really meaningful. And bro age doesn’t really matter here. I even forgot that Kiyo is younger than MC. hihi. 

2nd: My Precious Hot Ninja, Saizo Kirigakure ♥ [Samurai Love Ballad Party]

OKAY LAST TWO WOHOO HERE COMES MY BABE SAIZO!!!!! Okay so this guy is one of the best. He freaking write smuts HAHAHAHAHAHA kidding aside you guys saizo would seem like a cold, heartless killing machine but that’s because he was trained to be like that. He was trained in Iga to be a fearless killing machine that would carry out missions without feeling anything. But HAVE YOU GUYS EVER READ HIS POVS?!?!?!?! BRO THAT IS NOT HOW AN EMOTIONLESS KILLING MACHINE IS BRO HE’S SO SWEET AND PRECIOUS AND WOULD GIVE AWAY HIS LIFE FOR MC EVEN IF OFC WE DON’T WANT THAT! I WOULD NEVER WANT TO SEE MY BABY DIE LIKE I WOULD CRY AND MY WORLD WOULD STOP SPINNING AGAIN @voltageparty pls don’t do anything stupid. And so Saizo loves his little lady so much even if he doesn’t say it often but he would let you feel it. Your smile would brighten up his day and maybe even his life. You’re the only reason he wants to live because he wants to go home to you. He always wants you to be safe and happy. Baby ninja, always remember that the moon is beautiful. ❤

1st and would probably be always my first, the King, Eisuke Ichinomiya ♥ [Kissed by The Baddest Bidder]

AND HERE WE ARE TO MY FOREVER BABE EVER SINCE IT WAS RELEASED. Yes you read it right, I just fell in love with him before the game was released because at that time I thought that game was too mature for my age when I based it off their trailer. But I still tried it hehe Eisuke is known as the “King”. He owns the Tres Spades Hotel and the head of the Ichinomiya Group. He’s aloof, bossy and isn’t the type to be full on honest but he has a kind heart. He’s DEFINITELY HANDSOME and is a great leader and businessman. Despite his heartless facade, women would always surround him and beg for his attention even if he wouldn’t pay attention to them. He’s easy to misunderstand for being cruel and ruthless, but don’t be fooled, he’s doing things for a good reason.During his first season tho, he thought of you as a pawn, just something that he owns to be used, but the character development after passing through that phase was definitely tear-jerking and heart melting, all in a good way of course.  Another thing that I love about Eisuke is how his stories understands and helps solving one of the social problems in the world, shaming people, both physically, emotionally and also mentally. It has helped not only me, but many other people out there to love and accept who they are and that they don’t need to change and just be themselves. I’m really glad that I got to meet and fall in love with Eisuke for this long. He has and will always have a special place in my heart. The moon is beautiful, Eisuke and it will always be. ❤

I'm still wondering why people hate Eisuke like why

[gremlinquisitor]

Sending out some love in the form of prompts this afternoon! How about 38: "Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Who will watch the watchers themselves?" for your Warden Cousland?

for @dadrunkwriting and @lyrium-lovesong, a bit late as I started it in the middle of the night on my phone and wanted to reread it to make sure I didn’t completely disregard the lore. Thank you so much for the prompt!

I see lots of art and things for the companions when Hawke stays in the Fade, but I haven’t seen a lot for the Warden.

~1300 words, Eorryn Cousland/Alistair, no warnings other than Alistair stays in the Fade

Read it here on AO3

ko-fi

“Warden-Commander Cousland.”

It’s a title that doesn’t carry as much weight this far west. Eorryn hasn’t been making use of it, so when someone calls out from behind her, that alone is enough to give her pause.

She turns back to see a red-haired dwarf materialize out of the crisp edge of a shadow, and she has to bring a hand up to shield her eyes from the sunshine that bounces off the scout’s armor.

“Yes,” she replies.

The scout steps forward, slips a fat envelope out of her pocket. “A letter for you. From… Sister Leliana, she said to say.”

Eorryn takes the envelope and turns it over in her hands. There are two wax seals - The Inquisition’s, as well as Leliana’s own. This is not the same agent who sought her earlier.

“What does it say?”

The scout take a step away as if startled, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I haven’t read it.”

“But you know what it will tell me. I heard it in your voice.” She moves to the side, angling them both away from the sun, and it’s there on the scout’s face as well. She has kind eyes, this one, and she knows it, too, Eorryn thinks, watching as the scout looks away.

“It’s not my place, ma’am. But… I am sorry.” She pauses, takes half a step forward and gestures towards the letter. “I grew up outside Redcliffe. I… I remember you. I know what you did, what you all did. Lots of people don’t, but…” She nods a little, almost to herself. “I should go. But I just wanted to say thank you, too.”

Her smile fits her face poorly these days, with too few opportunities to use it, but she tries, giving a little nod. The farther she is from Ferelden, the less important people consider her to be. Out here, it’s as if every one of them thinks they could slay an Archdemon. There’s comfort in it, in a way, but it’s left her ill-equipped for these moments, when they arise.

She lifts a hand in thanks and farewell to the scout, who turns to slip back into the shadows.

“Wait.” Eorryn moves forward to catch her, but the scout stops, looking over her shoulder. “How long?”

“Three weeks. You’re a hard woman to find when you don’t want to be found, Warden-Commander. I… wish I’d found you sooner. Goodbye.”

She watches until she’s sure the scout has gone, then turns on her heel and hurries up the street, returning to the library she’d left moments ago. Had it only been moments? The encounter had been brief, but already she feels her world slowing, tilting on its axis, her equilibrium lost.

The letter will not contain good news.

The librarian lifts his eyes from his scroll to regard her, not even bothering to nod as she rushes past him to the room she’s more or less commandeered. Her title doesn’t hold the power here that it would elsewhere, but there are few who are interested in his collections, so there had been space enough for her to set up a temporary base, with a cot in one corner and a desk covered in books and parchment and beads of candle wax.

She closes the door and leans against it, fighting against the fear that rises in her throat. So often they’ve had setbacks, not least this recent turn that sent Alistair underground. Of course he wouldn’t use his own seal on a letter that could be intercepted. How clever, then, of Leliana, to use her own instead.

She slices through the seals with her knife and unfolds the papers. There are fewer than she expected, but the pages are sturdy, meant to withstand time and weather, though now they tremble like leaves in her hands.

Warden-Commander Cousland,

Eorryn, my dearest friend. I am so sorry--

There is a smudge in the word, making the last letters almost unreadable, and somehow it is this, knowing that Leliana cried, that breaks her. She slides down the door, her legs unwilling to keep holding up the weight of her sorrow as she reads on.

She curses Alistair, even as she weeps for him, proud and unsurprised and furious at his sacrifice. Never did he learn that he loved the Wardens more than they would ever love him. This, too, will be forgotten in time, just as their deeds at Ostagar and Fort Drakon have been consigned to history. More will always be demanded of them.

She knows the name Hawke from other letters, the death of Anders and destruction of a city in the Free Marches, an ancient magister locked away by blood magic. Why should this Champion deserve to live, over the man who helped her stop the Blight? Eorryn’s hand held the sword, but he too was a part of it, with a ritual that ensured that she would be here today, that they could have a life together. Again, a sacrifice, this one never spoken of, wrapped in darkness and carried away as soon as the Archdemon was defeated.

Some part of Alistair lives on, then, in Morrigan’s son. The thought is pale and weak, and she doubts she’ll ever see the boy again, but it offers her something to cling to as waves of grief wash over her. It is enough to calm her so that she can return to the letter where it’s crumpled in her hand.

The Grey Wardens will be in ruins after what happened at Adamant, that much is clear from the letter, though Leliana offers few details beyond the Inquisitor’s choice to have them aid their cause. She had not known Warden-Commander Clarel well, politics and geography keeping them separated, and it seems that it was just as well, given all that has transpired. But now they are leaderless, unlikely to listen to what they will see as foreign intervention from Weisshaupt.

The realization settles in her, a bone-deep ache that stills her nerves and offers a grim sort of resolve. She must go back.

“I don’t want to.” She whispers it into the empty room like a petulant child as she curls in on herself, resting her forehead on her knees. She hadn’t wanted to leave her father either, hadn’t wanted to go into the Wilds, hadn’t wanted to fight an Archdemon.

Damn him for leaving her to do this alone! Didn’t he know that the only thing that made her a leader was that he was always right behind her?

The sunlight through the high window of the room darkens, turns golden and fades as she grieves, by turns sobbing until her throat aches and staring numbly into the middle distance, memories replaying in her mind. She holds the letter close to her heart, rereads it, curses the Maker for His vile sense of humor only to beg His forgiveness, to please, please bring him back.

Her body aches when she hauls herself up from the floor, using the edge of the desk as support. The map she’d set out earlier mocks her now, Grey Warden outposts marked in red ink. She sighs, giving the letter one last read before folding it carefully and tucking it into the satchel alongside all the others - love notes, correspondence from Leliana and Zevran, missives from Weisshaupt. She’s never thrown any of them away.

Eorryn hates that she knows she can do this on her own. Alistair had always believed in her, even when she didn’t, and that sustains her still. She will fix what is broken in them, for his sake, for this myth that he so loved. She will save them from themselves, and from the Calling, and perhaps that will be enough to buy her some peace.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, JENN! You’ve been accepted for the role of CRESSIDA Admin Rosey:  I had never expected Cressida to give me a reckoning. I expected her to be soft, malleable, somewhat broken by what her father has done to her. But you have given me all of that, Jenn, but ten thousand times more. You’ve given me her brokenness and made it iron, her kindness and made it gold. This was not at all what I was expecting when I thought of Cressida, but it’s much, much better than that. I am on the edge of my seat when it comes to the wild card that is this Madam Duval. I know I won’t be disappointed. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Jenn Age | 21+ Preferred Pronouns | She/her Activity Level | With work, I’ll probably get around to writing a couple replies at lunch and in the evenings when I’m home. So, that’s a few hours each day which is like a solid 6/10 for me :) Timezone | GMT+8 Current/Past RP Accounts | Both are inactive @lcarian & @littleflvme

In Character

Character | Cressida // Celeste Duval

You look in the mirror. Your bloodied mouth twists into a frown, and your eyes shine with disdain. What a damn waste of space. Yet again, you disappoint. “What wrong have I done? How much better would I be if I had been born a son?” It is unjust, unwarranted that your sex is deemed inferior all because you can make babies and not be the one who held a cock. “They are fucking wrong.”

You seethe at the sight of your name written in tasteless, serif font on the header of your journal. You strike it out, wanting to be rid of your family’s dictation and those dull letters, C. DUVAL. Instead, in the center of the page you put down these words in pink marker—permanence above all else. Your script is bold—vertical strokes, both straight and rounded, penned thickly in the cursive hand of not a child but a budding woman who, underneath it all, radiates conviction.

I AM CELESTE DUVAL AND I WILL RULE THE DAMN WORLD.

What drew you to this character? | We’d love to hear what about this character’s bio caught your attention! Make this as long or as short as you desire!

Celeste is a law unto herself. What she is made out of is nothing short of sheer will power—a storm with skin, a sun capable of razing whole kingdoms. She breathes the lethal combination of initiative and annihilation and perhaps that’s what her parents were too stupid to realise before branding her useless. She is, in fact, malleable and they lacked the faculty and interest in moulding her due to superficial beliefs. But blessed by the Fates, she had the propensity to be great and she knew that. She knew it in her very bones. I can’t help but find that she is an independent character with a complex engineering capable of masochistic deeds which she alone has accomplished. Because like Cressida, Celeste is painfully aware that in this very masculine world her sexuality is her advantage and power and acts on the fact.

But for all her cunning and edge, her fetters come in the form of family and a nauseating amount of obligation. In that sense, I feel that she’s very relatable—that gnawing feeling that compels you to make your parents proud. She doesn’t care for anyone’s feelings or reputation but her family’s, and even then it’s not out of love but necessity despite how contradicting it might come across. Take into account that she’s been born and bred in an environment that constantly exhorts her to seek the validation of her parents. Celeste is a commodity, a subject of the machinations of her father and she knows it well but she’ll be damned before she repeats the tragedies of Cressida (or her own father, for the matter). She won’t be dragged into the gutter the same way.

In short, I choose Celeste because she is a growing mastermind. I choose her because she is a woman capable of pushing past her boundaries, her liabilities—of brandishing her arsenal of wiles and manipulation at the most opportune moments,—of brilliant intellect and drive. I choose her because her family underestimates her, that she’s merely a chess piece to be moved then tossed aside, yet she protects them and I find that very admirable. I choose Celeste Duval because she bore the bitter cost of being sold into a loveless bargain—because she has long lost her rose-coloured glasses and has in its place adopted a more cynical view of the world, a world in which she is determined to be a wolf among dogs.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | Where do you see this character developing, and what kind of actions would you have them take to get there? 3 future plot ideas would be preferable.

FAREWELL, BASTARD // The biggest thorn in her side now is a slippery one. Easton. Craven. Deplorable Capulet scum. It’s a dynamic I am much too excited to explore. The angst will be one to speak of for centuries. Celeste wants to make him eat his words. He never much concerned her before but he made things personal, so she’s out for blood. A Duval isn’t offended without meeting out consequences. While I am pretty much open to anything regarding this unfortunate duo, I would love to write about the challenges Celeste will face in overcoming this villian in her story. Whether she fails or succeeds…I imagine it’s just a matter of moving the right pieces at the right time. “My turn.”

FOR TO BE WISE AND LOVE EXCEEDS MAN’S MIGHT // “Do you take Tomas Sabello to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The gods must have spared Celeste no mercy shackling her to Tomas. She is nothing if not fiery but with Tomas she feels…well, that’s the problem. She doesn’t feel anything for him that she wouldn’t feel for a mosquito. “I do.” At this point, she isn’t sure if he’s in love with her (perhaps, more the idea of her) or in love with love itself. If Tomas is smart, he’ll figure out that Celeste won’t be falling for him anytime soon. But when life gives you lemons…you make the best out of Tomas Sabello. To me, this connection is rather intriguing because I can see Celeste exploiting Tomas the way she has been exploited, to steer him to gain whatever it is she wants given his connections to the mob and his industry. But I can also see him threatening her happiness more than he already does. He unknowingly wields a double-edged sword—destroy her happiness and save her reputation, or destroy her name and let her grapple at whatever contentment she can seize. Cressida’s only odds stacked in her favour is that Troilus is ill informed on the subtleties of war.

THOU LAY'ST EVERY GASH THAT LOVE HATH GIVEN ME // And take those gashes she will, willingly. I want to say their love is the type that moves mountains, that swallows whole oceans, that transcends all time and space. “Alas, I cannot. Not yet, mia bella.” Isabella Gagliano—she’s smart, she’s beautiful, resourceful and most importantly, she’s honest. She brings out the best in Celeste (when they’re alone). Being together in Verona is a challenge Celeste did not see coming. On one side, a Capulet maw is waiting to devour her. On the other, Cupid’s bow struck true. And around her, the world watches. To be in love with Isabella is to be caught between a rock and a hard place. It’s only a matter of time before Isabella becomes tired of hiding. The truth will out and when the time comes, then there lies their final test—will love triumph over all? Or will power and respectability?

DO TO THIS BODY WHAT EXTREMITY YOU CAN // Wolves are known to trick guard dogs by sending out a female wolf. In the same manner, Celeste’s sexuality can be put to good use when brokering deals or negotiating an accord. I can see this being more than the stereotypical plot where a woman uses her allure to get what she wants. This touches on sexual extortion/exploitation in a very real way. There is so much space for flexibility with this plot and subplots where I can see her forging alliances, making enemies, making more promises she doesn’t intend to keep, etc. But overall, I see this as a very developmental plot for her character in that she will have no choice but to finally see herself for who she is and decide if she likes what she sees.

ONE TOUCH OF NATURE MAKES THE WHOLE WORLD KIN // I’m pretty sure she isn’t the only one in the mob to have been coerced (or “gently pushed”) into the position she’s in right now. This plot is not just about making friends—it’s about making friends in the right places be it Montague or Capulet. Celeste is ironically very much like her father. She’s ambitious. “And ambition can take you to very dangerous places. Better you cease your nonsense than fail.” Thanks, dad. But obviously, it takes more than words to deter her. Celeste is set on climbing out of her father’s shadow and making a name for herself but she can’t do it alone. I’m talking bribes, underhand dealings, secret arrangements It’ll be a nice bonus if they take out a few people on their hit list on their way up. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?

MEN PRIZE THE THING UNGAINED MORE THAN IT IS // Is the grass greener on the other side? Cressida’s whole story revolves around her being traded to the enemy. If shit does go down, this will be an extremely, 100% intense story driven plot device that can be used to spin a new tale for Celeste where she, like Cressida, is forced to or willingly betrays the Montagues to save herself. However, like all the plots I’ve listed so far, I’d love for this to be an organic progression for Celeste’s character especially in the choice she makes if she chooses to stay loyal to or double-cross the Montagues. Her sense of loyalty and obligation is an integral part of her identity and while I can see her evolving as a person, I wouldn’t want to force or distort it.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | I am, yes! Though Celeste promises she won’t go down alone, if at all.

In Depth

In-Character Interview: The following questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would if you were playing the character.

(tw: death mention)

There are two ways to end this interview—one where she spares a man, and another where she damns him. Won’t you stay to find out which you want more?

***

What is your favorite place in Verona?

Anywhere but home, if that’s what you can even call it, Celeste wants to say. The words were already poised on the tip of her tongue but the hearsay that will plague her hence promises too much displeasure especially if word were to come back of her less than picture perfect life. Nevertheless, she lets her lips part as if secrets were to be spilled that instance but the words were different from her thoughts.

“Oh, you know what? I’m thrilled that you asked,” she says, an answer already taking form, waiting to be divulged. “My bath,” the tilting of her lips and closing of eyes as she inhales paint a picture of scented candles and a soaked body. “It’s very relaxing in the water. We’ve just had our house renovated. Tomas has such an excellent eye for design, you know. It’s never looked better.” The lies drip like sugar—sticky like a spider’s web and she at the center of it, a black widow waiting to strike. “You should come have a look one day.”

What does your typical day look like?

Now that was a question worthy of the likes of Lawrence Vernon—borderline prying, equal parts intrusive and dubious. But the limelight demands blood and that was the only currency that really matters. So, she bares her teeth with a grin, sweet as the devil and even slicker still. She, a darling of Verona, has more to say with a smile than with talking when she employs her perfect blend of truth and deception.

“Well, as you know I’m rarely on vacation here. Work takes up most of my time. Actually, we just did the photo shoot in the heart of the city—it’s for my next fall collection. So, it’s mostly just replying emails and finalizing edits with the photographer before the big showcase. A business cannot run itself, no?” she laughs, pausing to ascertain his satisfaction with her answer. He laughs with her. “But I find that taking a walk around the city after lunch helps with inspiration.” And allows time for a detour certainly. Emissary work always came first even in the middle of a work day. “We’re planning on launching in August. I can’t tell you much more than that I’m afraid. Or else my publicist will have my head!”

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

Allowing mediocrity to run through my veins. The fear of failing is so ingrained in her that it only takes two seconds before she registers her heart beating harder ever so slightly. It was a disgusting flaw, one she finds nearly impossible from which to separate. But she does. She stops, her mouth pouts in ponderance as if she isn’t waiting to end the interview already. “I love my fashion line. I love it, I do. My only regret is that I hadn’t started it sooner.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

Her whole life has been a task but one that takes the cake has to be pretending she wasn’t in love with Isabella, especially now when she was so close. The woman is life itself and without her, Celeste finds it hard to breathe. No, impossible. But pretences must be upheld lest the Fates be too tempted to lay waste to her even further. “Two things. One, building this business from scratch. Two, outgrowing my father’s shadow,” she laughs again though this time it doesn’t reach her eyes. As intended, the man fails to notice having been distracted by the way she folds her bare legs one over the other, the slit of her skirt riding up a small degree. “You know how it is. A woman with her own business is rather a challenge in itself, isn’t it? Thankfully, I’ve got all the support I need.”

The night went on as most interviews would go—a meeting at a nice restaurant, dinner, a drink, maybe two and that was it. But when they were the last two to leave, Celeste couldn’t help but feel something amiss. “What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?” she asks the man instead. Sharp eyes turned up at the question—a final question. It was what she had been waiting for. The perfect opportunity. “Ah,” she finally realises what was wrong, “We’ve run out of wine.”

She reaches up for the bottle and begins to pour. “Are we friends, Signor Henri? You know friends don’t lie. Let’s pretend we are. So, I’ll be honest for the first time tonight.” The glass is almost full by then and the bottle all but vertical like the hand of a clock at midnight—his time was nearly up. She answers her for him. “The Capulets are the dirt beneath the gold, a most unwelcome stain on this city. And you, dear friend, have been propagating their agenda despite our…propositions that you don’t.” The war will forever be a pissing contest, she cannot deny, but what does it matter if she plays for the winning side? “You should have done your work better. Damiano isn’t happy with what you’ve been publishing about us.” She says the words with pride. Us. The Montagues.

The glass brims with wine—scarlet overflows, crimson spreads and stains the white cloth beneath. His time was up and black clad men entered the room, the harbingers of his end drew near. All she had to do now is tell them whether to spare him or doom him. Celeste holds the bottle in her hand like the life she now holds between her fingers, tenderly, eagerly. Was this not what she wanted? Power. She sets the bottle down, signalling the men.

“Lucky for you, you won’t need to do any more damage control. We’ll say your last piece for you.”

The devil take thee, indeed.

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here! This is OPTIONAL.

PLAYLIST // a measure of ascendance

MOCKBLOG // ttitaness

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Chapter 18; I won’t be weak

And here we go with some Bucky/reader fluff. I hope you guys are enjoying these updates and I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Not really any warnings just pure Bucky fluff and maybe some small minor showings of depression but that’s really it, enjoy my lovelies :)

______________________________________________

It had been a week since the incident with Klaue and his death.  Wakanda enforcements could relax as well as its people knowing now that the biggest threat to ever walk in their homelands was finally defeated.  All except for the selected few like the royal family because they had to watch with utter solemn as one of their dearest and greatest friends had continued to suffer.

Ever since the accident, (y/n) had yet to utter a single word to anyone, even Bucky Barnes.  She would barely eat, she couldn’t sleep without having nightmares of losing her arm. She was practically a zombie at this point.  All she would do was sit outside for hours and hours staring out as the sun rose over the African country and literally sit there until the sun set and she would return to her bed and sleep but the nightmares would once again keep her up.

(Y/n) was in complete shutdown mode. 

One early morning, Morowa was packing up to leave when Bucky saw her ready to leave and he said.

“You’re abandoning her?” Morowa paused then turned around and said to him.

“I’m told that some of Klaue’s former business partners are coming to see why he hasn’t made his deals finalized, I have to draw them away from here before they find out what really happened to him”.

“She needs you Morowa!” She stopped her packing and turned towards Bucky and walked up to him, placed her hands on his shoulders and said straight into his face not breaking contact.

“She needs you Sargent Barnes, she needs someone who has been through what she’s going through. She doesn’t need a mother, she needs her brother to talk to her and bring her back into the light”. Bucky looked at the Wakandan woman and he said to her.

“How?”

“Use that connection of yours to start, don’t force her to do anything, talk to her as you would’ve wanted to be talked to a year ago when you were on the run, how did she talk to you?” Bucky sighed deeply and said.

“I’ll try but I don’t know what good it’ll do”.

“It’ll be a start. You think too little of yourself Bucky, you have more power than even I could ever have when it comes to (y/n), when the time comes, you’ll know what to do. You are her brother after all”. Morowa embraced him and whispered in his ear, “Take care of our girl for me, I’ll try to be back as soon as I can”. With that final farewell, Morowa left Wakanda. 

Later that day, Bucky had went to the one spot where he knew (y/n) would be and saw Shuri trying to talk to her about the plans for her suit hoping to get some input on what they could do now.  Like always (y/n) didn’t respond when Shuri finally snapped impatiently.

“That’s it Raksha! For an entire week you haven’t spoken a word! You haven’t eaten anything and all you do is sit here and sulk! Are you really gonna let Klaue’s last action affect you this much!? The girl I once knew wouldn’t let this beat her down this much!” Then for the first time in a week, (y/n)’s expression slowly changed from broken and far away to anger.

“Burn it” she muttered.  Shuri’s expression turned to shock and she said.

“Run that by me again?!”

“You heard me, burn it. Plans, the proto-type, everything! I’m not fit to wear that thing anymore, it was built for someone with two arms. Two Shuri! I’m a freak now and I don’t deserve to even wear that thing, nor and I worth all this trouble anymore! So for once all of you just leave me alone and let me deal with this on my own!” (Y/n)’s voice increased with each statement in anger while she got up into Shuri’s face before turning around heading back to her room completely ignoring Bucky who was hiding in the shadows. 

Shuri growled and threw the plans to the ground and Bucky came up and Shuri turned around and snarled.

“She’s so damn stubborn like my dumb brother!”

“Let me talk to her”.

“Well I wish you all the luck Barnes! I don’t think anything will get through to her at this rate” Shuri stated bluntly as she walked away with the plans. Bucky sighed softly then he walked into the direction of (y/n)’s room. 

Once he reached her room, he saw it closed with a sign that read in big bold red letters.  KEEP OUT. MAD WOLF! HEED WARNING OR DIE!! He rolled his eyes and shook his head softly before knocking on the door softly.

*1st Person POV*

I lay on my back on my bed trying to hold in my tears of anger when I heard someone knock at my door.

“Read the sign!” I exclaimed.

‘Wolfie it’s me’. Smelling the air I could tell it was Bucky-bear and just him at this rate.

“What is it?”

‘Can I borrow five bucks?’ I looked at the door confused.

“What?” I struggled to sit myself up with my one arm and I stormed up to my door as I continued, “I lost my arm and all you want to do is borrow money from me?” I opened the door to reveal Bucky giving me the puppy dog eyes as he said. 

“No, but I got you to open the door”. He smiled softly at me while I glared at him and turned back towards my bed and sat down. “You wanna talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about!” I snapped.

“Okay, well then can you come with me for a sec?” I soon saw him kneel down in front of me and he looked up at me with those puppy dog eyes again.  Damn him even though I’m a master at those eyes he does them better than me!

“Where are we going?”

“Just to a different room I know you’ll enjoy”. He helped me up and led me out of my room and we walked a couple of levels up towards the music room.  

He led me towards the grand piano and he set me down on the bench before taking his spot next to me.

“A recent memory came to mind, whenever my sister Rebecca was sad or feeling a bit down, I remember once playing for her all her favorite songs and singing to her, so I did some digging around trying to find a good song that would hopefully help out with this situation and after a full week of digging around, I think I managed to find that very song that could help you out, because I know it helped me when I first heard it, reminded me of us”. He wrapped his arm around me and brought me in a gentle one arm hugged before giving me a quick peck at my forehead before turning his attention to the piano. As he began playing the song, I soon began to recognize the tune of it.  It was from the first Land before Time movie, the song “If we hold on together”.

Play video

He then began to sing the song and like I once heard when I was in my coma state after the Civil War, his voice was a beautiful baritone and his piano skills were so advance, I could swear he could’ve been a composer or a famous concert pianist.

Knowing the song myself when the chorus came, I found myself softly singing the song alongside Bucky.  He then looked at me as he continued playing the piano and nodded at me to sing the next verse to which I did shakily but I still managed to keep my voice under control.  Our voices joined together again for the chorus once again and out voices blended together in perfect harmony.

He then belted out part of the next verse before I joined him as soon our emotions got the best of us as tears filled our eyes but we kept our voices in pitch and Bucky didn’t stop playing once.  I sang the next part before we joined back into our beautiful duet.  As we finished the song, Bucky ended the song on a beautiful note before we turned to each other and embraced each other tightly.

“You were right it is hard to hug with just one arm” Bucky chuckled softly as we separated from each other and he cupped my face in his hands as he said.

“There’s my Wolfie”.

“And about damn time too!” Shuri’s voice exclaimed, we both turned around to see her as well as Nakia, Okoye, and T’Challa standing there.  We both chuckled then I said to all of them.

“Guys I—”

“You don’t need to apologize (y/n), we know the pain of what you were going through. You have nothing to be sorry about” stated Nakia. I then stood up and walked up to the three Wakandans and said to them.

“I don’t want to be weak anymore, when I saw those men take Bucky away from me I was powerless to stop them, and this past week I actually allowed Klaue to think that even in death he kept me down and submissive like a dog should be. I don’t want his soul to think that about me, I want to prove him wrong”.

“I was waiting for you to say that, and I’ve got just the thing in mind”. Shuri then took my hand and she dragged me towards the lab where the two of us worked and spit balled ideas about my new arm. 

Within three days it was ready and made.  

I was sitting on the table with Shuri and the same doctors who installed Bucky’s arm coming in ready to operate.  Bucky sat down beside me holding my hand in his as I felt myself shaking. 

“It’ll be okay Wolfie. If I can do it, you can do it”.

“I know but it’s just—” I looked at him with teary eyes and he said as he stroked my cheek with his metal fingers.

“I know, I was scared too. But think of it this way, unlike me you have someone there to hold your hand the entire time. And I’ll make sure to not leave your side while you’re under”.  You see unlike Bucky, they decided it was best for me to be under anesthesia while they did my arm since this was my first time and they wanted to be sure to get everything right.

“You promise you won’t let go?”

“I’ll never let go, I promise Wolfie, Bucky-bear’s right here for you”.

“(Y/n), we are ready to begin, are you?” Shuri stated. I suddenly got so nervous but Bucky took my face in his hands and coached me through some deep breathings to get my heart rate down.  Once it was, gave them the nod to do it and as I kept my eyes on him, one of the doctors came in with the needle and injected me through my vein the anesthesia and at first my vision went blurry then bright until finally black.

*3rd Person POV*

Just like Bucky promised. He kept his human hand on top of mine squeezing it every now and then while stroking my hair with his metal one and talking to me, whispering in my ear while Shuri and the doctors went to work adjusting the skin by sawing it and making it more even before finally attaching the arm to each of her nerves.

Bucky kept his eyes only on his little Wolfie trying to ignore the sounds going on beside him as it brought back painful flashbacks from when he received the metal arm from HYDRA.  After about 4 and a half hours of surgery, they made the all-clear sign for her and they brought her to the recovery bed. 

Bucky remained by his sister’s side when he heard her beginning to stir.  He took her human hand in his and whispered to her.

“Hey you, there’s my girl”. He stroked the hair away from her face and saw her trying to force her eyes open. “Shhh, take it nice and slow Sora Mea, nice and easy”. He took her hand in his and gently kissed it and felt her squeeze his hand. He smiled down at her and soon her eyes slowly fluttered opened.

*1st Person POV*

My vision was fuzzy almost like I was just waking up from a long night’s rest before finally my vision was clear again and I saw Bucky sitting beside me smiling down at me.

“There you are, how you feeling?”

“Funny, and itchy”.

“It’s the anesthesia, it’s starting to wear off, and your arm’s gonna be itchy for a couple of days. Shuri said you need to get used to the Vibranium they had to drill into your shoulder”. Bucky then stroked my hair gingerly and he asked me cautiously, “Do you want to see it?” I nodded then he coached me to slowly try to lift both my arms up and when I did I saw my new arm.

Like Bucky’s it was made of Vibranium and while Shuri and I were designing it, she told me that this arm was more special because it would adapt to whatever form I was in so if I was in human form it would appear as a normal human hand but when I change into my wolf form, it would alter its form until it was a wolf’s front leg with enhanced claws that were sharper and stronger than my normal ones.

I was conflicted with so many emotions that I didn’t know what to say.  I turned to Bucky with wide eyes and he knew exactly what was going through my mind. He sat up and came around my left side to make it easier on me as he took my metal hand in both of us and like Bucky’s, I could feel things as they were like any other human hand.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but I swear to you (y/n), I’m gonna help you through this”.

“You promise?” I asked. He smiled and kissed my metal fingers softly and vowed.

“I making you a Wolf’s promise, I won’t leave your side for anything in the world, us metal arms have to stick together right?” We both smiled at each other then he leaned forward and kissed my forehead lovingly and he told me to get some sleep. I nodded then I shut my eyes as Bucky kept hold of my hand and softly hummed an old 40’s song to help me get to sleep.

[feyreofthewildfire]

Wasteland - Nessian Fanfic

Hey lovelies!!

This is not an update to We’ll Go Together (woah), but a response to this post by @modernbookfae that got my wheels turning. Personally, when it comes to writing WGT I get most excited about writing from Nesta or Cassian’s point of view, so a Nessian centric story was not far behind that realization. 

Disclaimer: this fic got WAY out of hand. I'm a cat laser kind of writer, in which I don’t plot (at least not extensively) and instead word vomit all over a Google Doc. I somehow managed to shove one of my own OCs in here as well. I apologize for what you’re about to read.

Please enjoy anyway aha.

(Inspired by the song Wasteland by Against the Current) 

Candy coated lips You’re the sweetest kiss But a bad trip

Nesta burns.

Not with strength and fervor as she once had, but with passion and some sort of affection towards that damned overgrown bat. Her hands clench into fists as her chin threatens to fall, the parasitic and festering feelings that have been settling within her since she’d met the commander now the cause of her fall from grace.

Her heart is a fortress and he’s decided to lay siege—or she thought he had. Perhaps it had all been a game to him. He’d barreled through her defenses and instead of finding and cherishing her as she had desperately, fruitlessly hoped he would, he’d walked straight through the other side and left her there—heart wide open like a gaping wound, a ravaged wasteland of broken bits and pieces hidden behind walls erected even stronger than the ones before, giving the perfect illusion of constructed poise and grace.

It’s been two weeks and they have yet to speak. She’s retreated into the library, burying herself in books and characters that don’t exist, if only to rid herself of the reality she so feverishly despises, if only so that she doesn’t run into the blonde Third.

Nesta is almost ashamed of the way she avoids Morrigan—of the way she avoids everyone. But her dreams—no, her every waking moment, is haunted with the corpse of her father, with the sound of metal crunching through bone as she severs a sovereign’s neck, with the emptiness inside her where power once rumbled, with the sound of Cassian’s screams as Hybern destroys his wings.

It seems that every part of her is haunted.

Nesta knows that she is not needed in Velaris, not essential to the happenings. It’s only been a week since their return and she has yet to do anything. Elain no longer needs her, having found contentment in the garden she begins to grow behind the House. Feyre has become the queen of an empire, needing no one and nothing but her mate.

She supposes it could’ve been argued that Cassian needed her not so long ago, but she knows it’s not true anymore. He has his brothers and Mor.

So when Vassa asks her to leave with her to Scythia as Emissary after her curse had been broken, she leaves with the queen immediately, only remembering to send a letter to Rhysand at the last moment.

For the first time in a very long time, Nesta feels free.

She takes residence on the same ship as Vassa on the way back to the continent, though she’s given a wide berth when she deigns to go above deck during the day. She is not afraid to put her hair up, to show off the delicate points of her ears and the immortal beauty she’d been cursed with.  

When she truly feels alive is when the night comes.

Maybe it’s some remnant of her time spent in her youngest sister’s home or just the fact that it’s the only time she can speak to Vassa thanks to the queen’s busy schedule. The sound of waves over the sea calms her, the slight breeze caressing her face. Were it not for the scrutinizing stares, were it not for the mask she’s forced to wear, she’s certain she’d go above deck during the day.

Then they dock in Scythia and her fantasy, her adventure is over.

Nesta barely speaks within the walls of the Palais, all too aware of the wandering eyes and ears that poison every corridor and room of every castle she’s ever been. The joy she’d secretly found in the open sea is stifled in the dinners she’s forced to attend and small talk she’s forced to make.

Still, when she does change an opinion of an important advisor, she can’t help but feel important—she can’t help but feel needed. She is an emissary, after all. Her work is truly done in the homes of royalty, far away from the place she supposes she calls home now, if for no other reason than her sisters are there.

The only thing anchoring her back to that place is her sisters and the reports she sends to Rhysand. Letters come in every so often from all three, most commonly from Elain. The tales her sister weaves of the happenings in the House never fail to make Nesta smile, even if it’s only the smallest uptick of her lips. Elain is happy and cared for—more than what Nesta could’ve wished for not even two years ago.

Then she meets General Fionn.

He’s young, born of nobility and ancient traces of Autumn Court blood that gives him the smallest power over flame, carefully hidden away in fear of losing his position. His smiles are pretty and his words are smooth. It’s easy to banter with him, given the fact that he only laughs at her insults and poisonous words. It’s easy to find some sort of ally within him.

When she wakes up from a nightmare of Elain being tortured by Hybern, she asks him to train her.

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, simply nodding and agreeing. They have to run it by Vassa and Rhysand first, but the Queen and High Lord seem oddly nonchalant about the message their training sessions will broadcast to the world.

In three weeks she’s worked up into swordplay, her movements graceful and violent—strong and swift, laced with the High Fae elegance that had seeped into her veins from the Cauldron. Her immortal strength gives her the ability to knock Fionn over with nothing more than a shove, and she has to remind herself to hold back so that she doesn’t kill him on accident. While it would be interesting, it would be a shame to lose a friend and create a diplomatic disaster.

They move from swords to every weapon imaginable in the next two weeks and, occasionally, when they’re alone, she helps him with what little Autumn Court lingers in his blood. She’s by no means a qualified teacher, but he becomes surprisingly proficient at wielding the small bit of fire in his veins under her guiding hand.

When she pushes him against the wall in the armory and kisses him, she tells herself it’s because she feels something for him.

Their training sessions become more playful after that. Nesta has already learned how to use every weapon under the sun with decent proficiency, and they just spend hours sword fighting and sparring to pass the time.

She’s not sure when she begins to wear her hair down, or when her smiles become polite rather than serpentine, only that she’s convinced herself that she’s found home in a pair of human arms and distracting pet names.

When she pins him to the ground for the thousandth time, she doesn’t realize a smile’s bloomed on her face until Fionn’s eyes widen, a certain kind of reverence filling the blue orbs framed by thick lashes

So she kisses him again, unknowingly superimposing hazel over blue.

Then one of the other queens invades Scythia and he’s torn away to the western border.

He gifts her his favorite dagger and kisses her twice before leaving, bestowing upon her promises and promises of what they’ll do together once he gets back.

They send letters as fast as they can. Nesta has learned how to send letters through whatever magic allows such things to teleport long distances, though has to wait the three days it takes for his letters to get back to her through horseback. Scythia has the finest cavalry on the continent, and the messengers are well-trained and ride well, also giving them the fastest communications on the continent.

The gaping hole in her heart left by the commander across an ocean has begun to heal over, the wasteland behind the walls beginning to return to what it was once again. Every letter that arrives from Fionn and Elain gives her strength, gives her what she needs to rebuild herself and perhaps one day be able to look Cassian and Mor in the eye without wanting to hide away.

Perhaps she can find love outside of the small world she’s always found herself trapped within—her small world where love was nothing but a myth, a far-fetched tale told to the daughters that would be sold off like cattle one day.

Then the neighboring queen attacks the camp in the night and slaughters every soldier.

She doesn’t receive a condolence letter, she’s by no means his family or next of kin, but she thinks that perhaps receiving one would’ve helped with the grief, with the pain.

She doesn’t know if she was in love with Fionn or maybe just who he resembled, but the agony that ripples through her is enough to make her swear off soldiers, any man who walks into battle arms open and swords wielded, ready to greet Death as the old friend it is.

She shoves the training clothing to the back of her wardrobe and shoves the swords and daggers into a miscellaneous drawer, reverting back to braided updos and serpentine twists of her lips. It’s safer this way, she tells herself.

The walls around her heart reinforce once again.

Not a week later she’s convinced the last advisor to her side, gaining the support of the Queen’s entire court as she was sent to do. The next day Rhysand is standing in the courtyard, ready to winnow her back to the Night Court.

If he has something to say, she’s glad that he doesn’t say it. She’s wished all her farewells and her belongings have been packed up, ready to be sent back the moment she arrives in Velaris.

It’s only been three months, she knows this, and yet the place she’s supposed to call home is utterly unfamiliar.

Her heart has become a wasteland once again, torn to pieces by the man she’d chosen to give it to. Her words are more biting than before, her eyes more often narrowed then not. Every rise and fall of her chest reminds her of Fionn, of the merry laugh that always fell from his lips and the crisp apples he tasted of.

Then Cassian finds her.

He’d been off in Scythia helping with the incoming war, showing solidarity in the alliance formed between Prythian and a kingdom on the continent. He’d been her replacement after her job had been done, forcing neither of them to see the other.

She hadn’t even known he’d been arriving back, or she would’ve locked herself in her bedroom rather than sit in the exposed library.

“Hello, sweetheart.” The words drip with sarcasm, with an anger barely reined in. His place leaning against a bookshelf seems casual enough, though the crossing of his arms and clench of his jaw tells another story.

Her eyes flicker up towards him, finding that he looks exactly the same as she’d last seen him. His hair is pulled back and his Siphons gleam in the low light, a sword strapped to his back that makes her sick to her stomach.

“Commander.” Her voice is void of any emotion, the words monotone. Her hands clench around the book she’d been reading, the only sign of her distress.

He nods to the dagger strapped to her waist. “You know how to use that?”

She tenses, all the insults she wants to throw at him falling away. “It’s not mine.” She dismisses, standing from her place on the armchair and swiftly beginning to walk away, book clutched against her chest.

His eyes narrow, arm shooting out to block her path. The intricate sewing of the leathers nearly makes her sway where she stands. “Whose is it then?” He bites back, none of the careful, begrudged concern she’d come to expect in his eyes. There’s nothing but sheer will and fire in them.

She almost throws up at her own analogy.

“That is none of your concern.” Her voice raises for the first time. She will not fall apart in front of this good-for-nothing bastard. He had treated her as nothing, and she will do the same. She no longer owes him anything. She had been willing to die for him—willing to leave behind Elain. She’d laid her own body over his, looked Death in the eye and blinked.

He had made a proclamation about regrets, about having more time and yet when it had been given to him he hadn’t used it. He’d avoided her and fallen back into old habits as if the war hadn’t happened, as if she hadn’t been granted immortality and great power only to have the latter ripped away from her, as if he hadn’t had his wings shattered twice and expected death, gone running onto the battlefield arms wide open and a grin on his face.

“I heard some rumors about your time in Scythia,” He starts, unwilling to let her go, to leave her be. She doesn’t want to hear what he has to say. “I heard that you made friends with one of the generals there.”

Something inside her snaps.

“And why do you care?” The rise and fall of her chest quickens, “Why does it concern you? Why does my every move have to involve you, Cassian? I did my job. I followed every rule in the book and made a few of my own. Rhysand approved all my decisions. So why do you care?”

She’s not sure she’s ever said his name aloud, not without some insulting title following it. Her heel squeaks on the wooden flooring as she turns and struts away from him, careful to recollect the poise she’d lost in those moments.

A hand gently catches her wrist, the grip loose enough that she could rip herself away quite easily. But she doesn’t. She’s not sure why. A shaky breath falls from her lungs as she turns back to see Cassian once again, some sort of devastation laced in the strong planes of his face.

“I care about you, Nesta.” He answers her, an incredulity to his tone as if he can’t believe that she doesn’t already realize that little fact. “I care more about you than any of the shit that happens as a result of this war. I heard about what happened and I guess that was my shitty way of being concerned.”

She can only stare at him as if the answers to every question she’s ever asked lie in his features. There are so many things she wants to shout at him, so many things she wants to scream, and scream, and scream about. She wants to ask why he’d left her, why he’d avoided her and then sought her out once again like a child who’d had their forgotten toy taken away.

She’s so tired.

“I appreciate your concern, Commander.” The words are cold, formal, ones she’d spoken a million times in Scythia, usually followed by a contradicting retort.

But this is not a war room, and she does not owe the bastard anything. Not one single part of herself does she owe him.

When she walks away this time, he doesn’t stop her.

I Don’t Wanna Wake Up (Companion Fic)

[remnantoforario]

Fairy Tail Finale Reactions:

Well here we are. The final chapter of Fairy Tail is officially in the books, and I think it’s about time to do one final reaction post for old times sake. Here we go:

The cover page is nice. Nothing much else to say there. 

Nice to know that a year later Fairy Tail still doesn’t know how to behave in a public setting, but at least nothing’s broken. Small victories.

The fact that Natsu said that it was impossible for him to behave at a party saddens me to my soul. 

How many more nails must we put in Juvia’s coffin before we bury her?

So Lucy wrote this supposedly popular book that won a what i can assume is an important award...and she made no money from it judging by her living situation. I know there are thousands of authors that win awards and don’t get the big bucks, but damn Mashima you couldn’t give Lucy some shine in the end? 

I guess not even people IN UNIVERSE wanna read about Fairy Tail.

Anna’s around...because. I still have yet to figure out what her purpose is.

Has Gajeel not remembered who Anna is by this point?

What Lucy and Wendy don’t know is that Levy was talking about the food baby in her stomach. Girl really has to use the bathroom.

I like that Lucy added that Wendy was FORCED to perform. Always a good thing.

Her name is Chelia...come on Yonkou! Do better!

I can see now why Jiemma was so hard on Sabertooth. Without him around all they do is sit around and eat all day.

Ichiya as Guild Master of Blue Pegasus? I’m here for it.

What I am NOT here for however is this mistreatment of Mermaid Heel. Dammit, Mashima! Give Kagura her dignity back right now!

Oh, Gildarts...change. For the love of life.

If Juvia’s body is made of water how does she have a scar? Furthermore why has no one arrested her and Gray for public indecency?

It was at that moment Gray knew that he fucked up.

So Is Lucy just gonna turn into ship fangirl now?

I see Lucy hates Miraxus just as much as a majority of the fandom.

Mashima I see your attempt at being Meta, and raise you good storytelling. 

What the hell was in that appreciation letter?

Since when has Lucy EVER been worried about Jellal and Erza’s relationship? She never asked her once about him. Hell, Mira asked more than she did and that was only the one time.

After everything that went down the the Eclipse Gate...I don’t know how good Hisui is at making sound decisions.

And that’s all you get about Alvarez! The Spriggan 12? Who cares about them?! It’s not like Brandish, Dimaria, or the entire country’s infrastructure after their king’s death is important! What do you think was going to happen? World-building? Delusional fools.

Why were Oracion Sorciere rewarded? They literally did nothing of note during the war. Guess Hisui felt bad after she heard what happened with August.

Yes, Jellal. Live. That thing that both Erza AND Natsu have been telling you to do since Nirvana. Man you’re so determined not to be a fully realized character aren’t you?

So Erza never brushed her hair until now? How in the world is that possible? She should look like a tangled mess 24/7.

Makarov didn’t even die from using Law. Nice to know that Mavis’ lies were consistent throughout the story.

The more I think about it, the sadder him showing up with a drink in his hand is. I bet he is depressed all the time.

Riches to Rags: The Doranbolt Story.

You just couldn’t let Mavis and Zeref die could you, Mashima? You just had to dig up that corpse of a ship and threw our noses in it. You malicious fiend.

I am legit surprised Natsu didn’t attack Zeref then and there...it’s what I would have done. 

Judging by everything that happened between them, I can concur that everyone in Fairy Tail hated Mavis. Because if they didn’t there would be no way they’d let her walk off with Zeref. Reincarnation or no.

Jet & Droy, just let it go. You were given a life sentence to the friend zone the moment Gajeel joined the guild.

Max/Broom & Alzack/Bisca remain the best ships in the entire series. Fight me!

I like how Kinana doesn’t even seem all that happy about dating Cobra. It’s like even she knows how messed up/convoluted their ship is.

This will be the only instance I overlook Natsu breaking into Lucy’s place.

So I’m guessing “job” is Lucy’s trigger.

“I feel a great disturbance in the Force. As if millions of Na//Lu shippers suddenly cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced.” I think that’s how the quote goes.

It took Natsu a year to get permission for this 100-Year Quest? Dude is nothing if not persistent. 

Fairies may not have tails, but apparently they look like Zera. 

In all seriousness I do like the final shot being of Team Natsu going on a new quest. It’s how I would have wrote the ending. Seemed fitting. 

Farewell, Fairy Tail. We had some good times and some bad times, but I can at least say that it was entertaining. 

[yoseicosplay-blog]

You don’t belong here! (4)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Mark Tuan x Reader Fanfiction Genre: Angst/Fluff Author: YoseiCosplay

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry it has taken so long to post this chapter. I’ve started my new job and I’m working 8 hour shifts. I know how it feels to read a fanfiction that you actually like and it never gets finished. I’m never one to do that, so I promise, this WILL get finished. I also have another one in the works. A Got7!gang x Reader fic that my friend and I are co writing together, so stay tuned! Anyway, here you go!

Chapter 4:

“Thank you so much, everyone,” you say in Korean as you bow. You really do appreciate everything Got7 did for you. The group of idols smile at you and begin their farewells.

“We expect to see you tomorrow for the concert, so don’t forget about us!” Jackson dramatically expresses to you.

You laugh at his antics. “Of course I wouldn’t forget. That’s why I flew to South Korea in the first place.” You wink at him playfully, catching him off guard and making him faintly blush. The boys laugh at this exchange as they all wave you out of the restaurant. Unbeknownst to you, Jackson nudges Mark and gestures toward your retreating figure. Mark nods at him and follows you out the door.

“Hey, Y/N, wait up!” You turn to see Mark running after you, making you blush. You wait for him to catch up before you both continue walking. It’s silent for a bit, but not uncomfortable.

When you both reach the car, you turn to him and now your head. “Thank you again for helping me at the meeting. And for dinner. It was a nice welcome to the country.” You smile at him, making him turn pink.

Mark smiles back and nods. “Of course. I hate it when people bully others. Besides, us Americans need to watch each others backs.” He nudges you playfully, making you laugh.

Suddenly he looks very nervous. You tilt your head. “Are you okay, Mark?” You ask confused.

He nods and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. I, uh, just wanted to ask you something…” He trails off.

You wait for him to continue, When he doesn’t, you nod an encouragement. He gives you a small smile and takes a breath. “I was wondering i-if you, um, wanted to possibly go to dinner with me after the concert tomorrow night?” He smiles nervously.

You blink and just stare at him. “Um…what?” you ask in pure shock, not sure if you’re hearing right.

He laughs nervously. “Yeah, I just think you’re pretty cool and I’d like to get to know you more. Without the other guys around. I-if you want to.”

You nod your head slowly. “Y-yes! I-I would love to.” Your face turns three shades of red, making him chuckle.

Mark nods his head feeling a little more confident. “Good. Meet me backstage tomorrow after the show.” He leans close to your face and lightly touches his soft lips to your bright red cheek. He winks and heads back inside the restaurant. You stand there in utter shock, trying to process what just happened. Not only did The Mark Tuan just ask you out, but he also just kissed you.

Not realizing how long you were standing there frozen, the driver peeks his head out the window. “Miss? We go back now.” You snap out of it and nod, climbing into the car. All the way back to the hotel all you can think about is what tomorrow is going to be like.

Time Skip

‘Damn. I’m here two hours early and the line is still hella long.’ You groan to yourself. You were really hoping to have gotten there early enough so you didn’t have to deal with those types of fans again, noticing the weird looks you were already being given.

‘Man, they really aren’t going to like what I’m about to do next.’ You mentally facepalm. Sighing, you walk straight to the front of the line, making a lot of the crazy fan girls yell. Trying your best to ignore them, you walk up to the security by the door and tell them your name and show them your backstage pass. They nod and open the door for you, which in turn did NOT make the line of fans happy, as they started screaming and pushing.

Once inside the quiet building,you take a deep breath to calm your anxiety. You really hate situations like that. Looking around, you find the sign to the direction of backstage. Once you arrive, you show your backstage pass to the security again. They look you up and down before nodding and letting you pass. You bow your head in thanks.

Backstage was huge. The staff was running back and fourth making sure everything will go smoothly for tonight. You look around trying to spot the boys. Suddenly, you hear your name.

“Y/N-ah!” you turn around to see BamBam walking towards you with a smile You smile back and wave.

“Annyeonghaseyo, BamBam!” You greet happily. He opens his arms and hugs you tight.

“Follow me, the boys have been waiting to see you again!” He grabs your hand and drags you to a separate room. Once inside, you look around and notice all the make-up artists, stations and racks full of clothes. There were staff all over, making the necessary preparations for the show in two hours.

“Hey, guys, look who’s here!” BamBam says loudly over the bustle. Everyone’s head turns in your direction, making you turn red. The group of idols smile and come over to greet you with hugs, making you smile.

“Yay! Y/N-ah is here!” Jackson jumps to hug you. He’s followed by Youngjae who hugs you tightly, asking ‘How you feel!’ which, you told him you feel great. Yugyeom is next and squeezes you tight, lifting you off the ground in the process. JB smiles at you and give you a small hug as to not hurt you, knowing how hard Yugyeom likes to hug. Jinyoung hugs you tight as well, saying hello. Mark comes up to you last and smiles, hugging you tightly but not too tightly. His hug lasts longer than the rest, making you smile into his shoulder.

He releases you and blushes. “So, um, you excited for the show?” He asks trying to hide the fact that he touched you the longest.

You nod and smile at him. “Very much so. I’ve been waiting for this for months now.”

The boys all nod. “Hey. Y/N-ah. I like you shirt!” Youngjae says in english, making the boys look at it and agreeing. You look down at it and smile. It was your favorite shirt you had. It was a black tight V neck and it had all the members in chibi form drawn onto it, with their names underneath. The back said ‘Got7′ in large glow in the dark green letters.

“Thank you! I made it.” You smile proudly. The members gasp in admiration.

“Wow! So amazing!” Yugyeom says in english, making you laugh.

“Y/N! Can you make me one!” Jackson asks, bouncing excitedly.

“Me too!” Jinyoung raised his hand.

“I want one too!” BamBam smiled wide. All the members start getting excited, wanting a custom shirt from you.

You laugh as you nod. “Okay okay, I will since you all asked me.” They let out an excited ‘YES!’ all together.

Just then, their manager came up to them and spoke in Korean. The group of boys nod. “So, unfortunately Y/N, we gotta start getting ready to get on stage.” Mark says unhappily. You nod in understanding and smile.

“That’s alright. I can’t to see you guys on stage! I’ll be right there cheering you on!” You smile wider, making the boys laugh. You all said your goodbyes. But before you could leave, Jackson turned to you.

“Y/N! Before you go, I just wanted to ask something. We forgot to ask you at dinner who your bias wrecker was!” Jackson wiggles his eyebrows. At the sound of ‘bias wrecker’ coming out of his mouth, the boys stop and stare at you, anticipating your answer.

You instantly blush. “Yaaah, do I gotta do this right now?” The whole group nods fast. You groan and sigh in defeat. “Alright. If you want the truth. My original bias wrecker was… Jackson.” You say, making him yelp out a victory. “However.” This made him stop and look at you again. “After learning more about you guys and watching videos on youtube, I’m sorry but, Jinyoung pushed you right out of that spot with his pure savage and cuteness.” You turn to look at Jinyoung, who turned bright red after hearing your answer. (Poor Jackson sits in the corner, mending his broken heart)

Yugeyom speaks up. “Y/N-ah, what about me?” He says in Korean, thankfully you understand.

You giggle. “Honestly, you all could be complete bias wreckers. But, I have a soft spot for Jinyoung and an even bigger soft spot for my Bias, Mark.” You blush as you turn to look at Mark, who wink at you, red faced. The boys nod in satisfaction, poor Jackson still not over his hurt pride.

“Well, on that note, I better be going. I wish you guys luck! Fighting!” You say with a raised fist and a wink. You turn around and walk back out and head to the stage.

Behind you, Mark grabs one of the security guards and speaks to them in Korean. “Can you please watch out for her and make sure nothing happens to her? I don’t want another incident like at the fan meeting.” The guard nods and follows you out. Mark watches, hoping that you’ll be okay in that crowd.

[caranfindel]

Episode Recap/Review 12.21: "There's Something About Mary" (with bonus episode tag!)

THEN: Kill the hunters. Lucifetus. Mary and Ketch.

NOW: Can we just pretend this didn’t happen? Please?

{sigh}

Okay. A woman is running through a forest. It’s Eileen Leahy. She’s killed by a hellhound, who is under Ketch’s control. Now let’s get drunk and never think about it again.

I mean, seriously, goddammit.

I refused to believe it at first. Because the hellhound didn’t rip her apart; it just shook her and tossed her around. I told myself she was just unconscious, that Ketch was simply using the hellhound to catch her, and that she’d be held captive in the BMoL compound as bait for the Winchesters or something. (Why would Ketch use a hellhound to capture her? I don’t know. Why would he use one to kill her? Either is ridiculous.)

Farewell Eileen, you beautiful little badass. You deserved better.

Title card!

Sam and Dean enter a hotel room, looking for Mary. Sam is perfectly fine, which means that weirdness at the end of the previous episode, with Dean not being able to wake him in the car, was nothing. Thanks a lot, Show.

Seriously, goddammit.

(Sidebar: I started watching the show with half a glass of wine. At this point I got up and poured myself a full glass.)

Carrying on. All of Mary’s stuff is gone and she apparently hasn’t been there for a while. Sam suggests contacting the BMoL, since she’s been staying there as well, but Dean says Mick hasn’t answered a single call since they “sent him to London.” (Which I kind of like as a euphemism for violently murdered him.) He calls Ketch, who pretends not to know who he is (apparently asking “Dean who?”) and then claims to have not seen Mary in over a week. The guys know this is a lie, since Mary called two days ago and said she was on a case with him.

Sam’s phone interrupts this conversation. It’s Jody, calling with the news about Eileen being sent to London. Sam holds it together, but when he describes what happened to Eileen (“mauled by a wild animal in an area that doesn’t have animals that do that”) his voice gets a little shaky and then he turns away and puts his hand over his mouth and damn you, Jared. You got me. Her death is distressing not only because it’s Eileen, but because it’s the second hunter they’ve heard about in the last two weeks. (Honestly? Hunting’s a dangerous job. Two hunters in two weeks doesn’t seem that far off the mark.) Dean agrees with me and says that two hunters doesn’t mean a pattern. “But three would,” Sam points out. “Mom is a hunter, and no one knows where she is.” Duh duh duuuuuhhhh!!!

Sad boys! Worried boys!

And then Jared gets me even worse when we cut to the Winchesters at the morgue, with Eileen’s body. There’s no music, just Sam standing silently over her body. Dean gives him a concerned look, and I like that it’s acknowledged that she was Sam’s friend in particular. He’s clearly on the verge of tears as they discuss Eileen’s wounds and decide it had to be a hellhound. Although we’ve seen hellhound victims, up close and personal, and they weren’t just tossed around. They were clawed open. But okay. Dean doesn’t exhibit any PTSD symptoms that one might expect upon seeing a hellhound victim, possibly because Eileen doesn’t look like one at all, and questions why she left Ireland. Let me remind you that as I pointed out earlier, Ireland’s a lot closer to the BMoL homeland, so, maybe not so safe. (And yet America was obviously not so safe either.)

Sam and his unshed tears are KILLING ME.

Dean now says there have been seven hunter deaths in three weeks, so either they learned more about things that happened before the two-week window they mentioned earlier, or it’s been another week since they heard about Eileen and there have been more deaths. Dean wonders if all the things out there are suddenly working together, and Sam says monsters and demons don’t team up. (Spoiler alert: I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Sam.) But hunters are dying and Cas is AWOL with Lucifer’s baby mama and Mary is missing and Mick is missing and Ketch is lying and Sam says what we’re all thinking: he wants to punch something in the face. “Good,” says Dean. “Hold onto that. Cause it’s looks like we’ve got a hellhound to deal with, which means…”

Before we cut to what this means, let me point out that this is actually a lovely scene. It’s sad, quiet, dark, and intense. The lack of the typical sad piano music as Sam looks down on Eileen’s corpse effectively intensifies the horror of the whole thing. Whatever else Show fucks up tonight, they did a nice job here.

And it should go without saying that it was also very, very pretty.

And now, cut to Crowley, ordering a minion to find Kelly Kline, in case we’ve forgotten he was interested in that. (Yawn.) Next!

Next we see a hunter entering his house. We know he’s a hunter because he drops a bloody machete into an umbrella stand at his front door. So we also know he’s a sloppy hunter who doesn’t take care of his tools, cause that’s nasty. He’s surprised to find Mary Winchester in his living room, and even more surprised when she attacks and kills him (though he does manage to slice her with a broken beer bottle).

Cut to Mary waking up in the BMoL bunker. Was that a dream? Toni Bevell walks in and there’s a lot of talk but I don’t care. The gist of it is that Mary’s being drugged and brainwashed (“realigned” into natural born killer Mary Campbell, according to Toni), that the BMoL know about Mary and Azazel, and Mary finds out what John really did after she died. Mary sees a stitched-up cut on her hand and realizes she actually did kill that hunter.

Meanwhile, Dr. Hess is going through some files when we hear a familiar Limey voice behind her. This bunker has, like, no warding at all, does it? Crowley wants to make sure the arrangement he has with the BMoL in the UK will carry over to the colonies when all the American hunters have been killed. Ah, looks like monsters and demons work together after all. (Because people are monsters, get it?) Hess agrees that as long as Crowley’s demons stick to people who have signed away their souls, and share info as needed, they won’t have a problem. Um, what does that mean for unwilling demon vessels? Anyway, I’m sure none of the Powers That Be give a rat’s ass about this particular detail, but I like that this explains why Crowley was able to pop into Scotland unobstructed, lo these many years ago. We learn that Crowley is the one who provided a hellhound to Ketch, and that he and Hess are equally interested in finding the Lucifetus. Hess tells Crowley she’s not going to spare the Winchesters when it comes to eliminating the American hunters, and he doesn’t respond; he just smiles. Which could mean “absolutely” or could mean “ha, like I’m going to let you destroy my favorites, you silly twit.”

Back in Hell Adjacent, Lucifer’s little buddy is still working on releasing him, and I’m afraid I couldn’t care less. What I do care about is that while this is happening, Crowley is on the phone with Sam, claiming he knows nothing about the hellhound that killed Eileen. Because yay, angry Sam. Though it does seem like this is a call Dean would have made, not Sam, so I’m going to side a bit with you Dean!Girls who feel he’s being marginalized this season.

But still. Angry Sam bitching at Crowley? Come on. This is good stuff.

There’s some Lucifer/Crowley nonsense which I’m going to skip because I really, literally, do not care. Crowley wants to raise the Lucifetus as his own son. Did we already know this? {shrug}

At the BMoL, an unconscious Mary is carried into her room. Toni walks smugly down the hall and brags to Hess about her progress to. Ketch makes fun of her and she flounces out. Hess tells Ketch how proud she is that he’s willing to torture and brainwash Mary when he was sleeping with her just days ago, and that he might end up in charge of the American branch eventually. Or it might be Toni. (How much do I care? Guess.)

Back to “Lebanon,” although this city with a large post office and multi-story buildings is obviously not Lebanon. The Winchesters are picking up their mail, and Dean announces they have a letter from Eileen. She thought her phone and computer were hacked, so she sent snail mail four days ago. According to the letter, she was too scared to stay in Ireland and fled to the U.S. after finding a microphone in her room. Sam reads the letter aloud, his voice cracking when she asks if she can stay with them for a few days. And there’s an awful lot to dislike about this episode, my friends, but the way they’re letting Sam actually grieve Eileen… it’s fantastic. (Compare it to how glib Dean was about Sam being missing, at the beginning of the season, for example.)

I really am a sadist, because I love this.

Dean deduces that if Eileen was convinced the BMoL were after her, they might be the ones who killed her, and next we see the guys searching the bunker for bugs. Dean eventually locates the microphone under the table in the war room, silently signaling his discovery to Sam. They have a conversation about a mythical hunter named Terry who has figured out what’s going on, and set up a fake meeting.

Oh, yay, more Lucifer. His little demon buddy discovers that whatever he’s doing is increasing Lucifer’s power over Crowley as Crowley’s power over Lucifer decreases.

At the BMoL compound, Ketch and Toni are awkwardly training the hellhound. It’s a bit cute that Ketch says he’s not going to say “bad dog,” no matter what the dog does. Ketch tells her Mick’s job is practically his, and she tells him Hess told her the same thing, so now he knows she’s his direct competition. Once again, everyone on this show is so eager to play their hand. I’d have just said “oh, how nice for you,” and then laughed when I got the job. But I guess discretion doesn’t move the plot along, does it? (It’s not just Supernatural. Everyone does this.) One thing we learn is that Toni and Ketch’s relationship occurred while they were at BMoLwarts School for Young Psychopaths, which means it’s not something recent. Which means he could be the father of her son. Hmm.

Ketch is told Mary’s asking for him, so he goes to her cell. She’s affectionate, but he rejects her, saying they made it clear they didn’t have a relationship (Oooh, bet you regret that decision now, Mary). He tells her she doesn’t know the real him and wouldn’t want to, and we’re going to talk about that later. She embraces him anyway, but it’s a ploy to get his gun and try to kill herself. She should have shot him first, because when she puts the gun to her jaw, Ketch grabs it away from her. She then begs him to kill her, because “all I’ve had, all my life, other than my family, is my will, and it’s it going away.” She recognizes she’s putting her sons in danger, and she’d rather die. Ketch promises that this will all be over soon, and leaves.

Next the Impala pulls up at a warehouse, the location of the fake meeting with fake hunter Terry. A different big black car pulls up. Toni stays in the car, but two thugs with her sneak into the warehouse behind the Winchesters. Sam and Dean lock them inside (hee) while Toni watches angrily. She then gets out her little lady gun, but the passenger side window suddenly shatters. As she turns toward it and shoots, her own door opens behind her and Dean yanks her out of the car, causing her to drop her gun. They fight and he seems to lose but then she looks up and sees this.

That’s right, bitch.

Oh, lord, even more Crowley and Lucifer. Lucifer makes Crowley his puppet for a while before Crowley actually catches on, and I guess it’s cute, but I’m just over it. Let’s get the rest of this out of the way right now. Lucifer removes his chains and instead of zapping out, Crowley immediately tries sucking up and then tries to physically run. He’s stopped by Lucifer and gets flung around Hell Adjacent and then stabbed with an angel blade. There’s no flash of light, so we know he’s not dead. We see a mouse approach right before he’s stabbed, and when his “body” is dragged from the room, the mouse follows. Gee, I wonder who’s in that mouse. Will it be next week, or S13, when we get the flashback to Crowley invisibly smoking out and possessing the mouse?

And on to more important things. In the Impala, Sam keeps a gun on Toni and asks why she’s spying on them, and what she knows about Eileen. “Rule of thumb,” she says, “if you think we killed someone, then we probably did.” She’s not afraid of Sam, possibly because she remembers he could have killed her in that farmhouse basement and didn’t. She reminds the Winchesters that attacking a BMoL means they’re subject to punishment, possibly at the hands of their own mother, who is their “permanent guest.” Not just a guest, but one of their best killers. Dean snarks that Mary doesn’t like any of them, including Ketch, and Toni’s all ha ha ha, why is she banging him then? The guys are offended that Ketch said it was “some of the best sex he’d ever had,” so she quickly clarifies that it was definitely the best sex he’d ever had. (Sorry, Toni, I know that was hard for you.) Strangely enough, this doesn’t mollify them. I guess they’d have preferred that Ketch said she was a lousy lay.

The guys are stunned to learn that Mick is “quite dead.” (Sidebar: Toni uses quite the way an American would, to mean very, but I thought Brits used it to mean sort of. Of course, Toni’s dialog was written by Americans, I suppose, although now that I think of it, Eugenie Ross-Leming does sound like a very British name, and let’s just drop this and carry on, shall we?) She explains that Mick was considered too sentimental, too much like every American hunter, and that’s why every American hunter will also soon be quite dead. “Jody Mills, Claire Novak, all of your other flannel-wearing, whiskey-swilling friends. They’re dead.” The way she says that makes it sound like they could already be dead, but I choose to believe she means they are as good as dead. Because if they kill Billie and Eileen AND Jody this season, I’m going to be very, very unhappy. (Claire can go. I’m okay with that one.)

No mother jokes, Toni. They don’t go for that.

The Winchesters herd Toni down the bunker stairs, with Sam’s gun still on her. Dean instructs her to tell Ketch that if he wants to see her alive, he’ll get his “prissy ass” over here, because Dean assumes Ketch wants her kept alive. But Ketch’s prissy ass is already there, with three of his own thugs. Everyone points guns at the Winchesters and the first time I watched this, I thought Dean had his gun out as well and I was all, dammit guys, you KNOW they’re going to kill you, you’ve literally got nothing to lose here, JUST SHOOT THEM. But Sam’s the only one with a gun in his hand. Ketch tells Toni to disarm them and Sam relaxes his stance and I wait angrily for the disarming, but then they exchange a look and all of a sudden they jump into BAMF mode. As Toni reaches for Sam’s gun, he grabs her arm in slow-motion and shoots Thug #1 next to him. Dean grabs his own gun and shoots behind his back, because he’s Dean Fucking Winchester, taking out Thug #2 on his side. He then runs across the room, shooting action-movie style, at Ketch and the remaining thug, as Sam drags Toni and uses her as a human shield. Ketch sends Thug #3 down the hall (why?) but Dean intercepts him, then sneaks up behind Ketch with an awesome little slide and snags his gun.

I’m totally willing to act as Sam’s human shield if it means he’ll crush me against a wall like that. Just putting that out there. (Also, how big of a box do you think Toni is standing on?)

Dean holds a gun to Ketch’s head and demands to know where their mom is, which is of course Mary’s cute to show up, pointing her own gun. The guys are relieved to see her until they realize she’s on the BMoL side. Sam doesn’t fight at all as she relieves him of his gun; I’d elbow her in the face or something. No, I wouldn’t, but he’s Sam Fucking Winchester. He would. But he does, at least, recognize that they’ve done something to Mary, so at least he knows she didn’t turn of her own free will. He’s got experience; he knows what the BMoL can do to someone’s mind.

Ketch leaves with Mary, but when Toni goes to follow, he points his gun at her and informs her that she’s expendable and she’s not coming with him. Well, that’s one way to get rid of the competition. Awfully dumb of Toni to let him know she actually was the competition. I don’t think she’s very good at her job. Dean tries to get Mary to look at him and break the spell, because Dean knows that everyone who loves him has been able to break through someone else’s control to avoid killing him, but apparently the BMoL brainwashing is stronger than demons, officious controlling angels, and Lucifer himself. Or is it just that Mary is weaker than Bobby, Cas, or Sam? Discuss. Because this time, the power of love does not save the day, and Mary remains unmoved. Ketch tells them he’s locking the bunker from the outside, shutting off the water, and reversing the pumps that supply air, and they have two or three days of oxygen. He leaves with Mary, the red lights come on, and things do not look good at all.

Well. Some things do look very good.

Aftermath! As Ketch drives them back to the BMoL compound, he compliments Toni’s successful “treatment” and promises Mary it will become easier. “Easier to hurt people I love?” Mary asks. So, she knows. She remembers who those boys are, and that she loves them. “Easier to hurt people you don’t remember loving,” he responds. So that part’s going to go away. He asks how she feels, and she robotically says “Fine. I’m fine.”

The last scene is Lucifer standing on a lovely hilltop looking at a sunrise. Or sunset. Either way, he smiles and declares “my sun.” Or “my son.” Probably not much difference in his mind.

So.

The first time I watched this episode, I felt like this.

But on rewatch, it’s… I don’t want to say it’s good. But it’s not horrible, other than Eileen’s death. It does have some very good parts. It’s just hard to care about a lot of it because I’m really not interested in Mary, or the Lucifetus.

Eileen is dead. And obviously I’m crushed. But there are a lot of people calling for the Buckleming’s head(s) over this one, and we really can’t blame them. We can blame them for a lot of things - clunky exposition, annoying retconning, non-con tendencies, etc. But they don’t decide if a recurring character lives or dies. Someone gave them the assignment to kill Eileen, and I’m shocked to say that I’m at least pleased with how it was handled, with the way Sam was able to show his feelings, to actually grieve. Pleased and shocked.

Who is the “real” Arthur Ketch; the one he thinks Mary wouldn’t want to know? And why does he know so much about how she feels right now, after being “realigned?” I think it’s because he was realigned himself. In 12.20, Shifter!Ketch revealed that Ketch doesn’t even actually have a natural British accent. I think at some point, little American Arthur Ketch was picked up by the BMoL, perhaps “rescued” the way Mick Davies was, and realigned into a soulless killing machine with a Brit accent. And that’s why he understands what Mary is going through. Does this mean I’m going to be expected to have sympathy for him in the future? Because I just don’t see that happening.

Sam and Dean are obviously going to be forced to work with Toni, unless they kill her to save oxygen. (And I really, really hope they do that, but I’m not counting on it.) Well, there’s something new and exciting - Sam forced to work with someone who tortured him! Who could have possibly seen that coming? There is only one thing that could make me feel good about this particular development, and that is if they end it like this:

Bonus 12.21 coda!

~~~~~

An hour outside Lebanon, Toni’s headache has finally subsided. Ketch was probably being optimistic when he said there might be three days left of oxygen in the bunker; it took them two days to get out and she’s fairly certain that for most of day two, half of what she was breathing was carbon dioxide.

But that’s all behind them. The Winchesters figured out how to escape, and couldn’t have done it without her - neither of them would have fit in the ductwork she had to shimmy through - and though their alliance sits uneasy in the pit of her stomach, it is what it is. They’re speeding toward the BMoL compound, and they’ve contacted a few surviving American hunters to join them. Once Ketch and his reprobate crew are dispatched, she’ll be in a good position to take care of the remaining Americans, by persuasion or by other means, and claim her rightful spot as the head of the new American Men of Letters.

Sam Winchester turns from the front seat to look at her. He’s no longer wearing the pinched expression, no longer rubbing his forehead, so his headache must have eased as well. Time to make her pitch. “Well,” she smiles. “I suppose we’re even, now that I’ve helped save your lives. Let’s wipe the slate clean then, shall we? Start from scratch, as allies, and figure out how the British Men of Letters can guide you Americans into the future of monster control.”

Sam’s mouth twists into something that’s not quite a smile. He doesn’t reply to her, but taps his brother on the shoulder and points to the left. Dean pulls onto a rutted dirt road that leads to an old farmhouse. It seems abandoned, with peeling paint and overgrown shrubs surrounding it, but there are two cars parked outside. One is marked Sioux Falls Sheriff’s Department, and she sighs with relief. Looks like Jody Mills hasn’t been taken out just yet, which is in her favor if she wants to keep the Winchesters in her back pocket for any length of time. She doesn’t recognize the other car.

Dean pulls up next to the house, and she waits in the car until he opens her door. “The hunters are gathering here?” she asks.

“Yeah. We’ll meet here before we go take care of things.” But instead of taking the steps up to the porch, he steers her toward a cellar door against the foundation. He pulls the heavy door open and motions her down the steps.

“Ah. Secretive, aren’t we?” She hesitates.

Sam rolls his eyes at her and pushes past her to go down the stairs. “Jesus,” he says. “What happened to us being even? Have a little faith.” He pulls the chain dangling from a bare bulb on the ceiling, and she sees the cellar, bare and fairly clean, with a circle of chairs set up in preparation for a meeting of hunters.

“You know we don’t kill people if we can help it,” Dean says. “We’re too sentimental, remember? So come on.” He heads down the stairs himself, and if he’s willing to do that, willing to turn his back on her and leave her the opportunity to run… well, that’s promising. She follows him down.

It’s cool, and musty smelling, and she shudders at a sudden memory of the cellar in that farmhouse where she’d held Sam for questioning. But there is no single chair already fitted with handcuffs here, no icy shower, no table of implements. No reason for her to be afraid.

Until she turns around and sees Sam Winchester across the room, pointing his gun in her direction. Not at her head, or her heart. She throws up a hand and cries “no!” and her right knee explodes in agony. She falls to the ground, screaming. Through a haze of pain and terror, she sees Dean standing over her, pointing his gun at her other knee. “No, God, please,” she sobs.

“Whaddya think, Sammy?” Dean says, never taking his eyes off her face, or his gun off its target.

Sam walks over and stands at his brother’s side. “Nah. One’s good. We’re done.”

The Winchesters turn for the stairs out of the cellar. As Dean goes up, Sam grasps the chain to the light. He turns to her and smiles. “Now we’re even,” he says. As she howls in pain, he puts out the light and heads up the stairs, locking the cellar door behind him.

~~~~~

What did you think of the episode? And please help me remain unspoiled for future episodes!