#unovasknight ; a roleplay and writing blog for NPC Nate of PKMN B2W2. This portrayal is gameverse with mangaverse influence, heavily headcanon-based, and affiliated with my portrayal of Champion Rosa.
Exploring themes such as tempering anger through constructive action, channeling frustration for personal growth, making amends for past mistakes, leaning on family for support, maintaining unwavering loyalty to your friends, being the shield that protects others, and struggling to move on when your heart simply refuses to let go.
I have created a thread tracker for this blog, though it's missing some things at the moment (some of them are starters or asks that people answered for me that I don't have a corresponding post on this blog for yet, so I can't add them...)
If we have something going that's not on here, please let me know! Unfortunately, the fact that I've been up since 4-something am EST has caught up to me, and I just won't be able to get anything done tonight beyond organizing this stuff. orz
Feeling brave enough to face certain death at Hilda's hands, Nate walks up to her and lightly nudges her side with his foot. "Dude, you okay? Those fish just clowned you."
When she eventually uncovers her eyes, he holds out a kabob to her. "Consolation prize?"
First, limbo and now this? The fishing contest was even more of a disaster. She doesn't know if her pride can take much more today.
Feeling the foot nudging her accompanied by the remark has one of Hilda's eyes twitching in annoyance from beneath the arm draped across her face. Is he trying to make her feel better or just irritating her further?
Hilda's arm falls away from her face to glare up at Nate, silently giving him one (1) warning to shut it. The temptation to grab his leg and drag him down to her level and push his smartass into the water is incredibly high. He better tread these next few seconds very carefully. Her features soften the next second though at the sight of the kabob being offered to her.
Hilda exhales an aggravated sigh, dispersing any remaining frustration as she sits up to take the kabob from him. "I'll let the clown thing go because you come bearing food. Next time, I'm pushing you in the water."
summary: It takes the worst kind of darkness for Nate to find his light.
tw: claustrophobia, panic attack
"Quick, they're coming! You two need to hide!"
Before Nate can process what's happening, a strong hand grips his collar and yanks him forward. The world around him blurs as he's propelled through an open door, alarm bells already ringing in his head as he realizes where exactly he is.
A tiny janitor's closet.
Rosa's already inside, her back pressed tightly against a narrow row of shelves, and Nate lets out a hushed sound of distress as he stumbles forward into her. He instinctively catches himself, his hands bracing against the cool, hard surface on either side of her head, and she presses herself back against the shelves with a sharp inhale.
The door slams shut, and the absolute lack of light immediately turns the small space into a suffocating tomb.
Nate's lungs seize instantly, refusing to expand against the heavy, stagnant air. His heart pounds against his ribs like a bird trapped in a cage too small, the sound deafening in his ears. The darkness feels suddenly physical, heavy and solid, pressing down on his chest as if to crush him.
A sudden rush of steps can be heard outside. If he makes a sound, those bastards will kill them both. If he stays here, he dies.
A desperate gasp tears itself from his throat as he drags in air that won't reach his lungs. It’s like breathing in sand. The dark walls are closing in on him. His knees begin to buckle.
"I-I can't," he chokes out, his voice a raw whisper. "I can't breathe."
He needs out. He needs the door open. Just an inch. Please.
Suddenly, two hands grip his face.
Rosa's fingers press into his skin, anchoring him with firm, unyielding pressure. She leans forward, pressing her forehead against his, creating a single point of solid reality in the vast darkness.
"Nate. Ignacio. Listen to my voice," she whispers, her breath brushing his lips. His eyes snap open. They're too close. Way too close. "Focus on me. Just me."
Her touch is warm against his clammy skin. She smells like the outdoors, like wind and tall grass, wildflowers, honey, and vanilla. She is real. The walls are not.
"Breathe with me," Rosa guides softly, expanding her chest against his. He can feel her pulse against his ribs. "Slow. In for four. Hold. Now out."
He closes his eyes, focusing entirely on the heat of her palms and the rhythmic movement of her chest, trying to match it. Slowly, the phantom walls stop pressing inward, locked in place by her steady grip. The darkness stops crushing him. The frantic trembling from life-or-death panic begins to fade.
And yet, Nate's heart doesn't slow down.
His breathing stutters. He’s suddenly overcome by a completely different kind of paralysis as the absolute certainty of his feelings hits him harder than the terror ever could.
She is the only thing keeping the walls from crushing him. If she walks away, the dark wins. He needs her.
He loves her.
So many moments have brought him to this realization, all leading up to this one. The way her laughter can light up the darkest corners of his mind and how her presence wraps around him like a warm blanket. The way her smile can shift his entire mood and how she knows when to push him and when to hold him. How she is the only one who can talk him off the cliff, the one who can save him when he falls into a tailspin. She is his anchor in the storm.
Rosa's delicate thumbs glide along his jawline, and Nate swallows hard, feeling his throat go dry. He's terrified she'll notice his pulse skyrocketing again, but for very different reasons.Â
In the pitch black, he can barely make out her luminous blue eyes, but he can feel the exact shape of her breathing, matching his. Suddenly, he realizes he no longer wants the closet door to open. He wants to remain here, anchored to the universe entirely by the touch of her hands.Â
"Nate?" Rosa whispers into the space between their lips, her voice laced with concern. "Are you back?"
He loves her.
"Yeah," he chokes out, his voice like gravel against his throat. His hands, which had been hovering uselessly at his sides, twitch upward but stop short of touching her waist. "I'm back."
summary: It takes the worst kind of darkness for Nate to find his light.
tw: claustrophobia, panic attack
"Quick, they're coming! You two need to hide!"
Before Nate can process what's happening, a strong hand grips his collar and yanks him forward. The world around him blurs as he's propelled through an open door, alarm bells already ringing in his head as he realizes where exactly he is.
A tiny janitor's closet.
Rosa's already inside, her back pressed tightly against a narrow row of shelves, and Nate lets out a hushed sound of distress as he stumbles forward into her. He instinctively catches himself, his hands bracing against the cool, hard surface on either side of her head, and she presses herself back against the shelves with a sharp inhale.
The door slams shut, and the absolute lack of light immediately turns the small space into a suffocating tomb.
Nate's lungs seize instantly, refusing to expand against the heavy, stagnant air. His heart pounds against his ribs like a bird trapped in a cage too small, the sound deafening in his ears. The darkness feels suddenly physical, heavy and solid, pressing down on his chest as if to crush him.
A sudden rush of steps can be heard outside. If he makes a sound, those bastards will kill them both. If he stays here, he dies.
A desperate gasp tears itself from his throat as he drags in air that won't reach his lungs. It’s like breathing in sand. The dark walls are closing in on him. His knees begin to buckle.
"I-I can't," he chokes out, his voice a raw whisper. "I can't breathe."
He needs out. He needs the door open. Just an inch. Please.
Suddenly, two hands grip his face.
Rosa's fingers press into his skin, anchoring him with firm, unyielding pressure. She leans forward, pressing her forehead against his, creating a single point of solid reality in the vast darkness.
"Nate. Ignacio. Listen to my voice," she whispers, her breath brushing his lips. His eyes snap open. They're too close. Way too close. "Focus on me. Just me."
Her touch is warm against his clammy skin. She smells like the outdoors, like wind and tall grass, wildflowers, honey, and vanilla. She is real. The walls are not.
"Breathe with me," Rosa guides softly, expanding her chest against his. He can feel her pulse against his ribs. "Slow. In for four. Hold. Now out."
He closes his eyes, focusing entirely on the heat of her palms and the rhythmic movement of her chest, trying to match it. Slowly, the phantom walls stop pressing inward, locked in place by her steady grip. The darkness stops crushing him. The frantic trembling from life-or-death panic begins to fade.
And yet, Nate's heart doesn't slow down.
His breathing stutters. He’s suddenly overcome by a completely different kind of paralysis as the absolute certainty of his feelings hits him harder than the terror ever could.
She is the only thing keeping the walls from crushing him. If she walks away, the dark wins. He needs her.
He loves her.
So many moments have brought him to this realization, all leading up to this one. The way her laughter can light up the darkest corners of his mind and how her presence wraps around him like a warm blanket. The way her smile can shift his entire mood and how she knows when to push him and when to hold him. How she is the only one who can talk him off the cliff, the one who can save him when he falls into a tailspin. She is his anchor in the storm.
Rosa's delicate thumbs glide along his jawline, and Nate swallows hard, feeling his throat go dry. He's terrified she'll notice his pulse skyrocketing again, but for very different reasons.Â
In the pitch black, he can barely make out her luminous blue eyes, but he can feel the exact shape of her breathing, matching his. Suddenly, he realizes he no longer wants the closet door to open. He wants to remain here, anchored to the universe entirely by the touch of her hands.Â
"Nate?" Rosa whispers into the space between their lips, her voice laced with concern. "Are you back?"
He loves her.
"Yeah," he chokes out, his voice like gravel against his throat. His hands, which had been hovering uselessly at his sides, twitch upward but stop short of touching her waist. "I'm back."
I'm here to shatter the illusion that Nate is the perfect soldier by revealing that he has claustrophobia, which he hid during his application process for Interpol special forces, knowing it would be disqualifying. He only managed that because, as an adult, he's developed greater mental resilience through aura training with his Lucario, which has helped him manage his symptoms and panic to the extent that he was able to complete the screening process and special forces training without flagging for disqualification. However, his symptoms were particularly severe when he was younger.
The triggering event for his phobia was a traumatic incident in his childhood, where he got lost in the Castelia sewers and got stuck in an enclosed, confined space until his older brother's Growlithe sniffed him out hours later. The suffocating panic that he felt while he was trapped was amplified by his body freaking out over the low oxygen content in the space, and he just spiraled.
After that, he couldn't go anywhere near the sewers; elevators made him freak out, and windowless rooms brought on bouts of panic. Narrow tunnels were a bit better, but only as long as he could see they were still open. With his move to the countryside for Trainer School, he rarely encountered any of these hazards, so Rosa and Hyu had no idea he was severely claustrophobic until they found themselves hunting Neo Plasma in the Castelia sewers. Nate simply could NOT deal with it at the time, so he had to stay back.
It became the first instance where he felt like he failed Rosa and Hyu during their journey, and also the driver for him to fight back and actively work on controlling his symptoms. As I mentioned earlier, training with his Lucario was a great help in that regard.
Present day, unexpectedly ending up in an enclosed, underground space could still trigger a panic attack for him. However, he's developed a remarkable ability to focus and compartmentalize his anxiety, especially when he's on missions. He can confront and navigate tight spaces and mask his internal struggle so he doesn't lose his composure and endanger the mission. However, once he's out, the toll the situation took on him will be evident in the form of shaky, clammy hands and an accelerated heart rate.
@unovasknight asked:
"You..." Nate points at Damien like they're the Spiderman meme. "You're like me."
That moment when an aura guardian comes across another aura-sensitive person. Damien's aura is like a beacon, strong enough to draw Nate's attention from halfway across Lumiose.
"...?"
What. What's going on right now. He glances behind him, trying to see if there was anyone behind him, but nope. Just him and the stranger...
So he slowly points at himself.
"Me? I don't think I'm following."
Nate looks puzzled for a moment, tilting his head to one side as he studies Damien. Most humans aren't aura-sensitive, but those who are have always been very distinct to him. There's something about the intensity of their aura that differentiates them from others, and this guy's aura certainly stands out.
"You're aura-sensitive," he states matter-of-factly. "So am I. You can see people's auras, can't you?"
For muns who aren’t into explicit sexual content, but don’t mind approaching the topic.
Feel free to cross out any questions you aren’t comfortable with!
Is your muse a romantic? Do they dream of love and marriage?
Is your muse a deviant? Are they overly flirtatious or forward?
Is your muse good at kissing? Are they experienced?
Does your muse initiate a lot of physical contact?
Is your muse comfortable with public displays of affection?Â
Does your muse steal clothing from their partner?
Is your muse the big spoon or the little spoon?
Is your muse comfortable with, or proud of their body? Are they insecure?
Is your muse attracted to any features in particular?
Have their crushes been mostly male, mostly female, or evenly split?
Have their partners been mostly male, mostly female, or evenly split?Â
Is your muse easily flustered? Do they blush, swear, etc.?
Where is your muse most sensitive?Â
Is your muse more submissive or dominant in a relationship?Â
Would your muse ever tempt their partner, e.g. flirting, wearing tight/sexy clothing?
Does your muse initiate heated/sexual contact, or do they wait for their partner?
Does your muse leave hickies? Do they ask for them?
Does your muse like to be pinned down, or to pin their partner?Â
Has your muse reached first/second/third base? Home run?Â
Would your muse be interested in engaging with multiple partners?
Would your muse ever send a sexual text message? Would they send pictures?
Does your muse read smut, own magazines, or watch p-rn?
Is your muse the type to discuss their sex life or sexual prowess with others?
Is your muse a top, a bottom, or a switch? Do they have a lean?
How interested is your muse in sex and sexual activity?
Do they have sex frequently, occasionally, or rarely?
deep staining red. Ripped-out confessions, warm velvety whispers, and a heart like an open wound. Your love flows out like dripping blood, beautiful, flawed, and twisted. It's gut-wrenching, the type of painfully dramatic feeling that makes you clutch your chest, picturing tear-soaked monologues about love and loving and big-screen over-the-top scenes of sobbing into your pillow until you fall asleep. It rips out of you, clawing its way up your throat more so than tumbling out. Sticky words that just need to be let out, feelings so big they don't fit inside you. Your love isn't easy; it's a true bloody mess, dripping and staining everything it touches in a desperate attempt to be seen, to be felt, to be loved back. And you, you love so hard, so deeply, so much for someone who carries all that pain.
Atlas holding up the world, how are you? Is your love still flowing? Is your heart still open? Still pumping and bleeding and dripping with blood and tears? Still painting your beautiful pictures and writing your love letters in deeply personal red ink? Because I see them, I read them, I love them and you, you, you, you. Clench your chest, scream your love, cry it out. Spill your words of loving, keep your heart beating, keep your love coming, and paint the entire world red. Make it in your image, keep going, it's okay. Maybe one day the whole world can be red and loved and beautiful, just like you.
"Esra! You're okay, girl!" A young boy, no older than thirteen, has his hands cupped around his mouth whilst he tries to coax a startled looking Natu from high up in a tree. If Nate were to step toward, the boy would be quick to acknowledge him. "Something frightened my natu . . . I don't think she's stuck, but she might be too afraid to fly down just yet." // from Nata :)
"Her wings might be too small to fly down," he says, pursing his lips. "The jump down should be small potatoes for a Natu, though. Maybe she's just scared."
The first one I'll give you technically counts as both!
Nate has a clean, silver-tinted line splitting his left eyebrow, which is very hard to notice because of his bangs. He got this scar from the spike on the back of one of Luca's paws when Luca channeled a Metal Claw to deflect incoming enemy gunfire. Nate owes his life to Luca for that one.
He also has a rippled, discolored patch of skin on his right calf. During one of his battles against Team Plasma, an enemy Ekans spat an acid spray at him that burned through the leg of his wetsuit. The thick material of the wetsuit is the only reason the acid didn't do more damage.
ask me about Nate's scars | other scars | accepting until I run out of ways to traumatize him
Now for a scar from an injury that probably scared Aurel shitless at the time that it happened. On top of Nate's sternum sits a small, perfectly round, pale mark, the entry scar of a gunshot at point-blank range.
He was in Castelia City during a high-stakes extraction operation that went completely sideways. The betrayal came unexpectedly, delivered by a member of the target's personal security team, who was supposed to be working alongside Interpol's special ops agents. The traitor turned his weapon on Nate, who was positioned as the closest line of defense for the target (as the 'shield' he tends to be). Nate was shot with a hollow-point bullet at such close range that he had no time to react—no amount of aura-fueled reflexes could have possibly saved him, and even the STF material of his suit proved to be devastatingly ineffective. The bullet narrowly missed his heart, punctured his lung, and exited through his shoulder blade. He woke up in the ICU over a week later, with Luca firmly settled at the foot of his bed.
This falls solidly under the "almost died" category of incidents in Nate's scar collection, and he's only alive because Aurel and the rest of their team acted quickly enough to neutralize the threat and get him the appropriate, life-saving medical care.
—
Nate also has a pale, jagged scar shaped like a crescent across his right collarbone. That one is from his trainer days and came from a wild Braviary.
