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kpopaeipathy · 3 years ago

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Relax (Eun Woo Oneshot)

Pairing: Guard! EunWoo x Royal! Reader (gender-neutral)

Genre: Fluff, maybe slightly angst

Word count: 1,987

No warnings

Summary: When Eun Woo wants to protect you, but you just want him to relax and enjoy.

A/N: This was inspired by this prompt.

The mountains that surrounded the city reflected the colors of the sky more clearly, as if they were its own starless, self-lit expanse, lacking only by the hardy winter trees. Looking at them brought a feeling of peace and tranquility, protection even, because no one would dare tarnish such beauty. But it was not the splendor that prevented the invaders.

The few who tried to cross them quickly understood the dangers that probed the ground covered with frozen water in crystalline form. A sound at the wrong time would cause the crime to be covered by the cold, deadly hands of the natural shield of that small royal town.

The entire realm, in fact, was devastatingly beautiful and intimidating, hidden between mountains and valleys, protected by nature more than by guards and armies. They didn't need to get unstuck much to deter invaders and thieves. Never, in all its grand history, had the kingdom of Hanian been so threatened as to demand extra protection from any royal or its subjects.

Therefore, the citizens of Etherna, the royal city, did not understand the gravity of the situation and continued to offer their grandiose balls and banquets, to which the royal family could not refuse to participate, as the flaunting would be more dangerous than the possible invaders.

Also, there was the fact that this city was the most protected and the most difficult to enter or leave. Which in itself was a danger, as escape was unlikely. Even so, they were all gathered in the magnanimous gardens of Lady Khmer's mansion, dancing to flutes and violins.

"Would it kill you to relax?" you provoked your personal guard.

Since before you left the palace, Eun Woo had been alert, rigid, ready to attack anyone who got in your way (which almost happened when one of the guests who had already arrived at the dance drunk bumped into you and fell in front of you). Cha Eun Woo was the best guard in all of Hanian, assigned to you to protect the sole heir to the throne, but the fact that he was inordinately good bothered you a little, mostly because you would do anything to see a smile on his perfectly shaped lips.

“Probably,” he responded to your teasing, still scanning his surroundings as if searching for some hidden killer. “Likely it would kill you too. That's rather the point."

You smiled. Eun Woo's acid humor and straightforward responses were the traits you liked best about him. Of course, you also appreciated the symmetrical face and satin skin, with eyes so expressive they made up for the constant serious and focused countenance. The body was also not to be thrown away, with defined muscles and prepared for any battle.

“I'll risk it,” you said, drawing the guard's gaze to you, and held out a hand. “Dance with me.”

Eun Woo frowned and didn't move, noting the gloved hand in front of him.

Before he even opened his mouth to respond, you already knew what the words would be, so you just spoke before him: "It's an order."

A deep sigh was the only clue to the tormented state of your personal guard, as he remained serious and alert as he gave in to your request and took your hand to lead you onto the dance floor.

The smile on your lips deepened when you saw Eun Woo sigh once more at the scandalized looks of the other guests. It wasn't the first time you decided to shock royalty by dancing with your personal guard. In fact, that was your most common rebellious act and you didn't understand how the nobles and burghers weren't used to it yet.

“Look at me,” you ordered as Eun Woo's dark orbs scanned the hall on your first lap of the track.

He didn't sigh this time, just looked into your eyes and stayed that way for the rest of the time. The muscles were still stiff under your hands, a clear indication that he was still prepared to jump in front of an arrow to defend you.

“I'm not going to tell you to relax,” you stated, realizing that your words had exactly the opposite effect.

That was your best-known trick, at least between the two of you. After so many years as monarch and personal guard, you and Eun Woo had forged a kind of friendship that no one in the realm understood. Sometimes even you didn't understand. However, you came to appreciate the man in front of you so much that you used every resource in your power to make him relax and have fun whenever you could. Eun Woo never complained, not even to his companions, who often blurted out near you that Eun Woo had already commented on appreciating your dedication to his mental health.

He had never questioned you either. From the first time you had tried to make him relax, Eun Woo had accepted your orders like any other, as if your every word mattered. Until this moment, of course...

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, his husky voice invading your senses and raising the hairs on the back of your neck.

"I don't like to see you so stiffened."

"I have a duty here, Your Highness." Despite the firm tone of voice, you could feel that he was dancing calmly, as you intended. “If anything happens to you because I was careless for a minute…”

“Nothing will happen,” you interrupted him. “We are in the most protected kingdom in the world, in the most difficult city to penetrate. I have the best guard ever.”

“None of this is a guarantee…”

“If someone breaks a plate somewhere, you will stop your steps, put me behind your back, and verify who was responsible so you can kill or forgive. If a hum invades the melody that surrounds us, you will scan the surroundings with those deep eyes and find the reason to decide whether to hide me or continue dancing.”

"Your Highness..."

“I'm well protected,” you wouldn't let him speak and stiffen again. After all the turmoil your kingdom was going through, you and Eun Woo, as well as everyone in the royal family, deserved that night's rest. "I have you so I'm fine."

He sighed again, this time more softly. And for a split second, you saw the corners of his beautiful lips move upwards as if they were trying to smile.

“You overestimate me,” he said, causing you to snap back to reality and stop dreaming of a completely relaxed Cha Eun Woo.

“No, I'm a realist. It's different,” you replied, still smiling.

You were silent again, enjoying the last chords of the waltz that lulled you. Eun Woo was by far the best dance partner you've ever had and the fact that you talked and interacted in those few minutes made it the dance you'd most enjoyed in your entire life.

When you left the dance floor and returned to the secluded and sheltered corner you were at before, you treasured that night even more, as it was the first time Eun Woo had held your hands together for so long after the dance. He only released you when you were stopped and alone again.

“Your Highness,” he called softly, drawing your eyes to the perfect face that didn't even resemble that of a royal guard. "I appreciate your concern and I admit that perhaps I overreacted tonight."

Even though your eyes widened at the unexpected words, you managed to control yourself in time to joke and say, "Perhaps?"

This time, contrary to everything you knew and recognized about Cha Eun Woo, the smile rehearsed on the dance floor actually appeared on the guard's face, reaching his dark eyes, which thinned as they smiled along with his lips. Your heart raced in such a way that you thought you were having a cardiac arrhythmia.

"As I was saying," he continued, keeping the corners of his lips raised and your heart pounding, "I may have overreacted tonight, but I need to ask you not to distract me again."

“What? Why?" You didn't understand. You even won a smile with your endeavor, how could he not want you to do that again?

"I cannot lose you."

Frustrated, you took a deep breath and huffed, clenching your hands into fists before you began gesturing as you said, "I already told you, I know I'm well protected..."

"You'll always be," it was Eun Woo's turn to interrupt you, "that's not the point."

"Then what is?" you asked, moving closer to him when you noticed the smile leaving that face you cherished so much. "Why can't you just have a little fun with me?"

“But I have fun with you all the time…”

“Eun Woo…”

“Your Highness,” he spoke pointedly, cutting off any argument that began with his name that would make him keep silent if you ordered him to. "I wouldn't forgive myself."

“What are you talking about?" you asked, furrowing your brow.

Again, he sighed. Then, once again contradicting your expectations and shocking anyone who looked at you, including yourself, he placed his hands on your shoulders to stop the advance you kept making towards him. But he kept you close enough that the whispered words that came out of his mouth could only be heard by you.

“I can, yes, pay close attention to my surroundings and protect you faster than any other royal guard, but even I have my limits, and having you in my arms, looking at the smile that paints your face, is a very powerful distraction.” Once again, your eyes widened at the words. “At any other day, any other time,” he continued, “I wouldn't mind not resisting you. But we are facing a unique threat, an enemy that knows how to penetrate our defenses that should be impenetrable. I can't afford the distraction. If I lose you, I won't forgive myself.”

That was definitely the longest speech that Cha Eun Woo had given you in all your years together. Not only because there were so many words, but also because there was still so much he was saying between the lines. And it was everything you've dreamed of hearing since setting eyes on that perfect-in-every-way guard.

You knew you could never ask for more from him than that, knew you could never get what you really wanted from him because it wouldn't be fair for you not to be able to give it back. Your eyes filled with tears at the realization that you couldn't respond to unspoken words. Your lips trembled with the force you took to hold back the answer that was on the tip of your tongue. You loved him. With all your might. Nor would you forgive yourself if you lost him.

So you understood and accepted his argument, nodding once firmly so that he could see that you were agreeing without saying anything. Eun Woo watched your face and opened his eyes a little wider than usual, in his own expression of surprise, before reluctantly releasing your shoulders and taking two steps away.

“I promise not to distract you anymore,” you finally managed to say.

"Thank you," he muttered, looking away from you and taking in his surroundings.

Once again, you looked at the icy mountains that surrounded the city and wished that protection was enough to bring peace to Eun Woo's mind and body, you prayed to any of the gods that the threat would be neutralized so that your guard could relax in your arms again.

You smiled then, looking back at Eun Woo, who once again had the mask of concentration and seriousness on his face.

"But can't we even take a walk in the gardens?"

"Sure," he responded to your teasing, "I can put a target in your head too if you like."

The acid humor was still the man's best feature.

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spenciegoob · 4 years ago

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Swing to the Stars

this fic swap is for @reidgraygubler ... I really hope you like it, shadow :)

A/N: AAAAH! this is my first fic swap and I’M SO EXCITED!!!!

Summary: Spencer meets someone in his little hiding spot, and desperately hopes to see them again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral!Reader

Category: fluff with a dash of angst

Content Warnings: mentions of Maeve & William Reid, talk of a case involving teens, mentions of bullying, mentions of guns and pepper spray (not used)

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

___

The first time I climbed that treacherous hill, dirtying my converse for all to see what my night activities truly consisted of, I was alone. I enjoyed it like that, I came here by myself, and I intended to keep it that way. When I sat on the swing dangling by two dangerously flimsy ropes, I thought how ridiculously large the slap of wood used to make it was. My elbows were bent a little over a 90 degree angle just to reach both sides, but I never thought past it. I had other things on my mind that night.

I thought about my mom. I knew she would have loved a secluded, little space like this. She would’ve probably read to me here, using different voices that held deep emotion to convey each story with a precise amount of dedication and love. Each story to her was special, and I silently thank her every day for passing that trait down to me.

Unfortunately, if I thought about my mom, I thought about my dad. William was never a kind man, and I could pride myself on one thing; I would never be like him. He didn’t deserve to know a place like this. It was too serene, too beautiful to house a man so willing to abandon the two people who should’ve been the most important to him. I was glad he would never get the chance to sit on this swing.

I thought about my family. How Garcia would jump with excitement at the prospect of having a picnic overlooking the city, yet quiet and missing the sounds of cars zooming by or overlapping chatter. I thought about JJ, and how Henry would beg her to push him in the swing, because to a little kid, it was perfect. He didn’t look at the frayed rope and fear that it would snap. I hope he never starts to fear the world like that.

The second time I found myself back at the bottom of the hill, I made it halfway to the top before seeing a couple getting up from the swing they were sitting together on. I realized then why it was so comically large; it was meant for two people. Thankfully when I reached the top only half out of breath, the two were starting their descent to where I came from.

This time when I sat down, I thought about Maeve. I would’ve brought her here, shared the little secret corner of the world I built for myself. She would’ve loved something like this, and I know if life wasn’t so cruel, and I was given the chance to show her, we would’ve talked for hours. So that’s what I did that time; I talked to Maeve. To anyone else, I probably looked like a crazy person talking to himself, but much to my delight, not many people made the trip up the hill to find this place.

Now I go whenever I need a break from my mind, which unfortunately is more times than my schedule allows me to take that leisurely walk. I spend my nights sometimes after a particularly hard case there no matter the time, using the ropes that scratch my hands as my lifeline down to Earth. I watch the stars, screaming and cursing at the world in my head and waiting for the sky to respond. It never did, and the next case always came in the following morning.

This particular time that I found myself at the bottom of the grassy hill waiting to be climbed, the case I just returned from involved kids across the board. A teenage unsub was killing his fellow classmates that have wronged him. Unfortunately, the BAU had to witness his stressor recorded for the whole school to see. It involved vile insults being thrown at the young, defenseless boy only for the bullying to escalate to violence.

It was awful.

As I trudged up the hill with less excitement to look into the vast unknown than usual, I couldn’t stop thinking about the unsub. All he wanted in life was a friend, someone to talk to, laugh with, share memories together. No matter how wrong it was, I saw myself in him. Our souls held the same scars given to us by people who had no right to go digging for such a deep part of ourselves. If I didn’t make it, would I have turned out like him?

When I reached the top, completing my journey once again, I saw them. Sitting there, staring out into the sky, mimicking my thoughts to do the same on the jet ride home. I could only make out half their face lit up by the light casting down from the full moon, but I didn’t need to see more to know they were breathtaking.

I would have turned around to return home to nothing more than books reread thousands of times and stale coffee, but I already made the mistake of stepping on a rather large branch that broke in half. The crunch coming from their right immediately had them on edge, and reaching for their bag that I could only assume had some sort of weapon inside. I hope it was legal.

I felt terrible for breaking them from the trance they were in. They were deep in thought about something that was probably going to become a solution if I hadn't interrupted their musing.

“H-hi, I’m sorry to scare you. I didn’t expect anyone here this late. Not that you being here is a problem! I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I frantically shouted, although there was less distance between us than I originally thought, and probably seemed crazed by my volume level.

They just giggled at first, but upon seeing my distraught expression, their face turned more kind than humorous.

“That’s okay. I’m just glad I didn’t jump so fast to pepper spray you. That would definitely be the worst case scenario.” I let out a breath of relief for some reason. Here I was, in front of a total stranger thankful that their weapon of choice wasn’t a gun. I’ve been on the wrong end of too many during my years.

“Did you know Chemical Mace, more commonly known as pepper spray, was invented in the 1960s by a man named Alan Lee Litman and his wife Doris Litman at the time. Their reason was actually because one of Doris’s female coworkers was attacked and robbed, so they thought to create a nonlethal weapon with easy accessibility and use, considering not everyone is able to use a gun. It wasn’t until 1987 however that the Litman’s sold their creation to Smith and Wesson where it was mass produced and later sold to law enforcement.”

“Wow, I don’t think I did.” They laughed again, but something in my heart told me it wasn’t meant to come with malicious intent. “Do you do that a lot?”

“Do what?” I asked, even though I had some inclination of what they were referencing.

“Spout random facts. I’m not complaining, that was very cool, but I am fully intrigued.” They smiled again at me fondly, the kind of smile that left me a little breathless, even more so than the 45 degree incline I had to climb to find myself in front of them. There was nothing to convince me they weren’t authentic in every word they stated.

“I do it quite often, yes. It gets annoying after a while though.” It was true, I was told on many occasions that my rambling got old very fast. I suppose that’s what happens when you’re close to me for too long. I tend to stop being the awe-striking genius, and become the nagging, walking encyclopedia.

“I don’t see how that could become annoying.” It sounded sad coming from them, like I had insulted their oddity. I would never, and I was really hoping to find out what it was.

I had nothing further to say that would express my shock, and slight fondness over their praise, wary of its honesty even if it did come from them. I hadn’t known them for more than 4 minutes and 36 seconds, but it was enough to figure out that they weren’t a liar. It wasn’t from profiling either.

“You know, there is room for two people here if you wanted to join me. I’m sure you didn’t climb that hill for nothing.” They continued for me. If they noticed my surprise, they said nothing about it.

Usually, I would be skeptical of being in a close proximity with a stranger, but as I approached them carefully, even if their hand was no longer reaching for mace, I felt the passing between our eyes. It was as if we had shared every part of ourselves with eye contact, and as crazy as it sounds, I felt the somber thoughts that lingered from their previous reflections.

So I sat down, grabbing onto only one of the scratchy ropes, and enjoying the way I could rest my elbow against my side now that I was using the swing to its fullest potential. I stopped caring about the probability of the ropes snapping under our combined body weight. The worst that could possibly happen was I bruised my tailbone a little bit, but I wouldn’t care past the initial embarrassment. At least I had someone to show that with.

“Do you ever think about what’s out there?” They asked once I was settled on the wood slab as comfortably as I could muster. Being boney didn’t necessarily help. Before I could answer, they continued. “I can tell you’re a man of science, if the fact dump wasn’t any indicator, but I mean beyond the facts, and the known.”

“No, I don’t think about it.” It was a lie, I think about it every time I’m here, but I wanted nothing more in this moment than to know how they saw the stars.

“I do. Quite frequently, actually. I mean, I’ve read every book there ever was about the stars and space, but there is still no answer to my question.”

“What question?” I had to know.

“What’s exactly written in the stars,” they replied, using their hands to showcase the sky above us. I sat back and thought for a while. Like the books they’ve read, I too didn’t have the response to their question. God, how I wish I did.

I don’t know how long we sat there quietly. One of the perks of total darkness in the dead of night is that the moon couldn’t tell time the way the sun did. We got lost in the cosmos together, contemplating sharing our own troubled thoughts with each other. It would have felt right if we did, but alas, the ringing of my cell phone dropped a pin in our reflections.

“I- I’m sorry, I have to take this,” I rushed out before standing up and accepting the incoming call from Penelope. I knew it was a case before her bubbly voice rang through my celular. I allowed the disappointment to bleed through my tone when I told her I would be back at the BAU shortly, hoping that the small release of the emotion would be enough to ward it off in time to turn back around.

It didn’t.

They were already looking at me expectantly when I made my way back to the swing, bending down to retrieve my satchel I had abandoned on the ground. The amount of guilt on my face must have been enough to tell them I had to leave abruptly, despite the fact that the only thing I wanted to do was stay for even just a second.

“That’s okay,” they spoke softly, giving me a tight lipped smile. “We’ll see each other again.”

“How do you know?” I couldn’t help but be skeptical. Life never did work out in my favor. They looked up at the sky once more before answering.

“Just a feeling.” I let a full grin break out at their response, the first one I’ve had when visiting this place. I turned around to start my journey back to the office where dark, and twisted things lurked behind manilla folders. Before starting my descent however, I spun around quickly, almost losing my footing and taking a tumble.

“Woah there tiger, don’t hurt yourself,” they giggled at me, one that I returned with my own breathy laugh.

“I just don’t know your name.” It baffled me a little bit that I hadn’t thought to ask before this, but they just gave me one last smile, tilting their head in faux contemplation.

“Ask me next time.” I will.

***

It’s been a year since I met them, and I haven’t seen them since. Not for a lack of trying however. After that case, I went there every night until a new one arose, this time taking me to Oregon. They hadn’t been back, and part of me wondered if it was because of me. Did I not try hard enough the first time? Should I have ignored my ringer until my phone had 5 missed calls from Penelope?

But then my eidetic memory swooped in to save me from going down that road, one of the only times it wasn’t the cause of my self destructive thoughts. Because while I replayed the conversation over in my head wondering where it went wrong, I remembered their eyes, and their smile.

I remembered what it felt like to sit with them, and thankfully that was enough to convince myself our meeting wasn’t in vain.

I never was the kind of man to believe in the universe. The whole notion that “everything happens for a reason,” felt like a lie created to somehow blame an external force on the chaos in one’s life. There were so many things in my life that had no reason for happening, and to blame that on anything or anyone but myself would be a cheap excuse of a way out.

But for some odd reason, the universe aside, I believed in them, and strangely enough, I don’t think they would have blamed me for the life I had to live. So, as I sit down tonight on this familiar piece of wood, I choose to stare at the stars instead of the ground, and believe that if I spoke aloud, maybe they would hear me.

And they did, because my efforts to sit on one side of the swing in case they returned to me were not in vain. I didn’t look over, I didn’t have to to know it was them. I had already relaxed once their presence was known in my peripherals.

“Y/N,” they spoke, causing me to change my view on the stars to their side profile. It wasn’t all that different than staring at the constellations spread around us. “My name’s Y/N.”

___

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fics-n-stuff · 3 years ago

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Home

Pairing: Kaz Brekker × Reader

Summary: Y/N and Kaz were once childhood friends, later reunited in the Barrel. After a business dealing went awry, Y/N has been in hiding for almost a year and the time apart has brought up a lot of feelings for Kaz.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: touch aversion, alcohol consumption

A/N: I haven't actually read SoC yet but I have done my research so I really hope I wrote Kaz accurately enough 🤞🏽 Let me know!! I left the reader gender neutral so all parties can enjoy 😁

Update: Pt 2 here!

You stared out of the window, watching the nightlife of the Barrel in full swing below you. It had been almost a year since you had been able to be a part of it all and, even though you had lived in Ketterdam all your life, you felt like an outsider now.

There was a knock on the door and you froze, head tilting to listen out for any threat. After a moment there was another knock, loud and heavy – certainly not the result of somebody’s knuckle hitting the wood. With a sigh, you stood up from the window ledge and crossed the room to the door.

Kaz was waiting on the other side, looking unamused as ever, and you waved him inside quickly and hurriedly shut the door behind him.

“I am one of three people that knock on your door, Y/N.” He said flatly, removing his hat and placing it atop your desk.

“I can’t be too careful, never know when someone might come sniffing around here.” You replied with a shrug. Kaz hummed shortly in acknowledgment before producing a small stack of envelopes from his coat. You snatched them from him eagerly, but careful to ensure that your fingers made no contact with his gloved ones.

“I’m getting tired of being your courier.”

“Well, I’m getting tired of being in hiding.” You huffed, leafing through your letters. “But I’d rather not walk around in a city where I’m actively being hunted.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten caught then.” Your head snapped towards Kaz at that, and you raised your eyebrows challengingly.

“I should slap you for that.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Kaz’s face remained largely unchanged but you could see the shine of amusement in his eyes.

You had first met Kaz as a child, while visiting family in the village where his family lived. He was a sweet child, and you had struck up a fast friendship in the few months you spent there. You had even written letters back and forth for a couple of years until one time you never got a reply.

When you met again years later, entirely by chance, Kaz was a changed person. Your family’s fortune had taken a steep downturn and you found yourself alone, living in a tiny room in a boarding house in the Barrel, when Kaz came across you pickpocketing outside the Crow Club. He had recognised you, but you hadn’t recognised him at first. Everything about him was so departed from the sweet boy that you had known as a child.

He refused to tell you what had happened to change him in this way. He never gave you a cause for the ruthless person he had become to climb the ranks of the Dregs and earn the name Dirtyhands, never even told you what had brought him to Ketterdam at all other than that his father had died. He never pushed you away though. Kept you at arms length, yes, but he never tried to dissuade you from sticking around.

The longer you knew him the more you realised that he wasn’t as cold as his demeanour portrayed. He was fiercely loyal, you could see it in the way that he was with his Crows, and you were certain that he would do anything to protect those he cared about most. You admired that about him.

“You don’t have to come, you know. You could send Inej with my letters, she already delivers me food.” You said, turning away at the realisation that you had been looking at each other in silence for a few seconds too long. You went to sit down, picking up the envelope from the top of the pile and pulling up the wax seal. Kaz didn’t respond for a long while. You tried to read your letter but found yourself distracted with anticipation of what he would say, if he said anything at all.

“I commend your commitment to your business.” He said finally, and you smiled at the compliment. “Eleven months trapped in this apartment and you’re still keeping up with it all.”

“Being in hiding is no excuse to get lazy. If anything, it gives me more of a reason to keep on top of things. Work keeps me sane and keeps coin in my pocket.”

“And how long do you intend to keep conducting your business through letters and underlings?”

“For as long as I have to, Kaz. You know that.” You answered with a quiet sigh, setting down the letter that you definitely hadn’t been reading and turning your head to face him again. You saw his jaw tense and the grip on his cane tighten, but you didn’t know what it meant. You were worried that somehow you had done or said something to upset him.

You had learned, in the few years since your reunion, that sometimes even the most seemingly innocuous things could put Kaz in a black mood. You had caught on quickly to the way that he avoided touch at all costs, and adapted your behaviour accordingly. He had still never told you why being touched triggered such a strong reaction in him, but he knew that you would always respect that fact.

It didn’t matter to you what traumas Kaz had suffered to create these traits in him, only that you knew how to navigate being in his space without violating his boundaries, because deep down you knew that Kaz was the most important person in your life. He took you in and offered you support when you needed it, given you structure and taught you skills to survive without even necessitating that you use those skills to serve his gang, all because of the friendship that you had shared as children. It didn’t matter how heartless people said the Bastard of the Barrel was, you knew that Kaz cared; perhaps not in the same way that you had come to care for him, but he did care.

“Maybe you should go, I’m sure you have work of your own to do.” You mumbled, your eyes drifting downwards anxiously. “And anyway, I have letters to read.”

“I could protect you.” He blurted. His voice was a little louder than usual, his tone less flat, and your brow furrowed in confusion and curiosity. “We could. The Crows, and the Dregs.”

“I don’t need your protection.”

“But you’d have it.”

You turned fully in your chair, straddling it with one leg either side of the backrest, and leant your forearms on the top of it. There was something in Kaz’s eyes that you’d never seen before and, although you prided yourself on being able to tell how Kaz was feeling and what he might be thinking about, you couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Do you know something that I don’t?” You questioned.

“Of course not.”

“Do you suddenly not trust my ability to keep myself safe?”

“Nothing like that, Y/N.”

“Then what?” You rested your chin on your arms, looking up at him expectantly. He held your gaze, but you could see the cogs turning in his brain as he calculated his next sentence. You were preparing for an argument to start, so you certainly didn’t expect the words that came from him next.

“I’m concerned about how long you’ve been alone here.” He answered. You blinked.

“Concerned?” Your voice cracked a little with your surprise, and Kaz clenched his jaw as he averted his eyes from you.

“I just thought that maybe all this time on your own might have had some affect on you. And I... hold a certain sense of responsibility.” His voice never wavered or faltered, other than the one pause there was no suggestion in his speech that the words held any significance to him, but you could see the tension in his shoulders and the tight grip that he maintained on his cane.

You narrowed your eyes, taking a moment to examine his face and his demeanour. Everything about him was wound tight, like he was making a particularly tricky deal rather than talking to a friend – you hoped that he considered you a friend – and though he was looking in your general direction you noted his avoidance of eye contact.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you were saying that you miss me, Mr Brekker.” You said, your mouth turning in a small smirk. You saw Kaz’s chest tighten as he silently took in a sharp breath, and you chuckled lightly. “I’m fine, Kaz. Inej visits often enough, and I’m happy to see you when you deliver my letters. I will say though, I miss drinking with your Crows.”

Truthfully, you did feel rather trapped in your tiny apartment. For almost a whole year your entire world had consisted of only three rooms, and even if you didn’t admit it you were going slightly mad. Not being able to leave was frustrating, and living your whole life in one room (because really, who spends that much of their day in the bathroom or kitchen?) made you feel like a caged animal.

He didn’t reply. He also didn’t move. You watched him, standing straight and stiff as ever in the middle of the room, for a few moments. Usually he would have said something or made a move to leave, so you knew that he was deep in thought about something. You slouched further down against the backrest of your chair.

“If you’re planning on sticking around then you should at least sit down.” You sighed. “I have some kvas, or whisky if you’d prefer.” Kaz shook his head no to the drink but made a move towards the window seat. You watched him cross the room and sit down, his grip remaining on his cane as he placed it between his knees. “What’s on your mind, Kaz?”

“It’s not important.”

“That can’t be true.”

“And why is that?” He questioned dully.

“Because you’re still here, with me, staring into space like you’re waiting for the wind to tell you a secret.” He looked at you then, and you could see a conflict swirling behind his eyes. You resisted the urge to furrow your brow in worry. He still didn’t say anything, and that didn’t do anything to ease your concern because Kaz Brekker was not often one to be at a loss for words. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes.” He murmured, his head nodding slightly.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” You asked softly. He looked into your eyes for a few seconds before turning his head away, clearly deciding not to answer. You were almost expecting him to get up and leave the apartment right then, remove himself from the uncomfortable situation like he had been known to do before, but he made no move to stand.

You stood instead, abruptly moving through to the tiny kitchen and pouring a glass of whisky for yourself. You took a long sip as you came back out into the living space, picking up a wooden staff on your way. You kept up your combat training while in hiding, though it wasn’t often that you got an opponent.

“Humour me, will you?” You smiled, spinning the staff in your hand and setting your drink down.

“There’s not much space in here.” Kaz commented.

“Then we’ll be careful. Get up and fight me, coward.” You goaded. He gave you an incredulous look but stood anyway, tossing his cane up and grabbing it at it’s middle as he came towards you. Your grin broadened, and you waited just until the was in your range before you swung at him.

Your staff collided with his cane, moved up just in time to block your attack, and he watched you with challenging amusement. You let him make the next attack, knocking his cane away when he swung it towards you.

You exchanged blows, each of you managing to block all of the other’s attacks but you were starting to corner him. It seemed like you were about to get the upper hand when he swiped his cane towards your middle, making you jump back, and before you could move to swing on him he had pushed the crow’s head handle into your chest, not so hard that it was painful but with enough force to knock you backwards.

You landed on the edge of your bed with a groan, letting the staff drop from your hand in defeat.

“No fair, your cane is basically an extension of your arm.” You grumbled. Kaz let out a short breath, the closest thing to a laugh that anyone could get from him.

“You picked the fight.” He shrugged, lowering his cane and righting it at his hip. “I could have told you that you wouldn’t win it.”

“Mean!” You exclaimed in exaggerated offense, sitting up. When you looked at Kaz his expression was soft, the worry behind his eyes seemingly eased, and you smiled. “I could beat you if it was hand to hand.”

“I don’t doubt that.” He replied, the almost compliment catching you by surprise once again.

It had been a while since you and Kaz had spent any significant amount of time together. He was a busy man, particularly so over the last few months it seemed, so other than his brief drop-ins to deliver your letters you hadn’t seen him. It was nice to have his company again, even if he was a little off.

“Do you remember those drawings of Ketterdam that I used to send you with my letters?” You questioned softly, tucking your knees up to your chest. “I used to walk around the city looking for spots to sketch. I’d spend hours sitting on the street with my pencils trying to get the picture perfect to show you what it was like. I think, now, you probably know the city better than I do.” You smiled wistfully, resting your head on your knees as you looked up at Kaz. You saw his Adam’s apple bob with a swallow.

“You miss it, don’t you?” He asked.

“Of course.”

“You could go out there, stop hiding. You know I would look out for you.”

“I can’t put that burden on you, Kaz.” You chuckled lightly. “Enough people want you dead already, you don’t need to be looking after me while I’m being actively hunted.”

“How long do you plan on staying locked in here then?”

“As long as it takes, we went through this earlier. I have a big deal coming up, with the money from that I’d be able to smooth over some edges and maybe I could come out of hiding in a few months.” You theorised. “I’d still have to watch over my shoulder all the time but it would be an improvement.” Kaz’s jaw tightened again, and he bristled with agitation.

You hugged your knees tighter, doubt and worry overcoming you. Was Kaz not okay with coming to see you here anymore? Was he trying to get you out of hiding to lighten the burden it had put on him, getting your letters delivered to the Crow Club and having to bring them to you? The thought of not being able to rely on his short visits was enough to fill your chest with a mixture of dread and guilt.

“Like I said before, you don’t have to keep coming if that’s the problem.” You added, hiding the dejection in your voice. “Inej can-"

“No.” He interrupted bluntly. You blinked, pressing your lips together in contemplation. Was he upset that Inej was bringing supplies for you? Or worse, had something happened to her? Was that what was bothering him so much tonight?

“Why not?”

“Because I-" He cut himself off. He took a step back as if regaining his balance, his gaze falling to the floor, and you watched him flex his fingers around his cane as he organised his words. “Do you remember how you got sick while you were visiting your family?”

“Kaz.” You murmured tentatively, craning your neck to try and get a better look at his face that was turned away from you. Kaz didn’t like to talk about the past. Even bringing up the letters that you sent each other had been pushing it, but for him to choose to talk about your childhood was something he had never done before. Still now, it looked like the mention of the past was making him nauseous as he moved to sit down in the window once again. Your curiosity was growing by the second.

“You got sick and you could hardly get out of bed for almost a fortnight.” He continued, dismissing your concern. “I went to visit you every day. I picked flowers for you to make you feel better, and your mother baked oatmeal cookies but I refused to have any unless you did because you weren’t eating enough.”

“I remember.” You nodded. “You never let my glass of water get empty. It was sweet. But why does it matter now?”

“I can’t... I can’t stop worrying about you. But unlike when we were kids, I can’t just walk up the street and check on you every day.”

You felt as if all the air had been knocked out of your lungs and for a second you genuinely wondered if you had made that up in your head. Kaz very rarely expressed any emotion – the mask he wore hardly ever slipped – but here he was telling you that he worried about you. For Kaz, that was practically him baring his soul for you to see.

“You don’t have to worry about me.” You said shakily. “I’ve been fine so far, haven’t I?”

“But what if you’re not fine for much longer? As long as you’re holed up here I can’t keep you safe, and I can’t come to check on you because if I come here too often people might notice. Honestly, it’s a miracle that they haven’t already.”

“I didn’t think you believed in miracles.” You mumbled. Kaz glanced up at you, and the vulnerability on his face was unlike anything you’d seen before. It struck you in the heart and made you feel a need to comfort him, to put him at ease. “I can take care of myself, Kaz. I promise."

He was silent for a moment, his gaze downcast once again, then he took a deep breath and spoke.

“I think I’ll take that drink now.”

You watched him for just a second before you got up, crossing over to your desk and picking up the glass of whiskey that you had left there. The glass was half full since you had admittedly poured a little too generously.

You held it out to Kaz, who reached for it without looking. Although you were careful to hold the glass at the very top, his gloved fingers still brushed slightly over yours as he took a hold of it. He immediately stiffened, and you were quick to pull your hand away, taking a step back to give him space. He downed the drink in one, his face scrunching just slightly at the burn it left in his throat as he set the glass down by his feet.

“I just want to be able to watch over you.” He said, his voice barely more than a whisper, and you could practically see how difficult it was for him to verbalise his feelings.

“I think... I understand what you mean, Kaz. But I’m safer staying here than being out there, even with the Dregs protecting me. You have to know that, right?”

Kaz pushed a peice of hair out of his face, his gloved hand smoothing over his head as he let out a long and quiet sigh. Finally, he looked up at you.

“I know.” He answered.

“I appreciate your concern though.” You smiled. “Honestly, I didn’t think you cared about me that much. Or, well, I knew you cared but I just didn’t think... nevermind.”

“You didn’t think what?” Kaz’s question made you pause, anxiety pooling in your chest as you contemplated coming clean about your feelings. You thought about lying, about keeping your secrets to yourself, but Kaz had been so sincere it only felt right to return his honesty. With a deep breath, you worked up the courage to finally tell him the truth.

“I didn’t think that you cared as much as I do.” You replied. The sentence hung in the air for a moment as you moved back to sit in your desk chair, heart pounding in your chest. “I’ve kind of found myself caring a lot, actually. I think it’s only fair, really. I mean, I kind of owe you my life and all so it makes sense that I care. That’s not to say that it’s sensible but it is at least understandable, I guess.”

You bit your lip to stop your rambling, dropping your head so that you didn’t have to look at Kaz. There was a long stretch of silence.

“I care more than I might show.” He spoke softly, much more softly than you think you’d ever heard his voice. When you looked up Kaz was gazing right back at you, your eyes locking and his stare going deep into your soul. He didn’t need to say more, that simple sentence and the look in his eyes were enough to tell you what he was confessing. A smile pulled at your lips.

“Be careful what you admit, Brekker, or I might think that you’re going soft.” You joked, and he shook his head lightly in amusement. You leaned forward with your elbows on your knees, letting go of the anxiety that had been coursing through you.

“I'm serious, Y/N."

“I know. You don’t make a habit of saying things that you don’t mean.” You nodded. You glanced up at the clock on your wall with a sigh. “You really should get going, it’s dangerous for us both for you to stay too long.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” He muttered.

He stood after a moment, his hand flexing over the crow’s head handle of his cane. You reached back to pick his hat up from the desk, and he held a hand out for it, but instead of passing it to him you placed atop your own head. It was too big, and you had to push it back on your head so it didn’t slide over your face.

“You know, I rather like you without the hat.” You smiled.

“Is that so?”

“Yep. I can see your face better this way so I can tell when your emotions manage to break through.” Kaz’s lips quirked upwards a little as he took the hat from your head and put it on his own. You jutted your lip out in an exaggerated pout and he let out a huff that seemed suspiciously close to a laugh.

“Do you have any letters you need me to send out?”

“No, not this time.”

“Alright, then I’ll be on my way.” He gave a quick nod and turned towards the door. He had only taken a couple of steps when you twisted in your chair and called after him .

“Kaz.” He stopped and turned back to you. “I’m doing what I can to get out of this apartment, I promise.”

“That’s not something that you owe me, Y/N. It’s your freedom and your safety. But I await the day that you come waltzing into the Crow Club ready to make Jesper lose all the coin in his pocket.” He replied lightly, making you smile. “And if you need anything then I’m here, all you have to do is ask.”

“Thank you, not just for this but for everything. Everything that you’ve given me since that night outside the Crow Club. I might be dead if it weren’t for you.” You let sentiment out freely, finally feeling able to show your heart to Kaz now that you knew that your affections weren’t one sided. His expression softened, and he seemed to contemplate something deeply, before he took a single step back towards you and held out one gloved hand.

You hesitated, unsure if he was initiating what you were thinking, but he maintained eye contact. He gave a small nod, a mix of permission and encouragement, and you tentatively reached for his outstretched hand.

Kaz took in a deep breath when your hand made contact with his, and you watched him carefully ready to pull your hand away. After a moment he released the breath, wrapping his fingers lightly around yours and running his thumb over your knuckles.

“You’re the closest thing to home that I have.” He croaked. “I didn’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t.” You affirmed. Kaz released your hand, and you found yourself missing the feeling of the leather glove. He took a small step back, trying to hide the shake in his breathing.

“I’ll come back soon, as soon as it’s safe to.”

“Okay.” You smiled. “I’ll see you then.”

Kaz left the apartment without another word between you, he paused before closing the door after himself just to look at you for a moment longer. You watched out of the window to see him leave the building and start off through the street, a broad smile on your face.

#shadow and bone #six of crows #shadow and bone netflix #sab #sab netflix #soc #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker fic #kaz brekker oneshot #grishaverse #leigh bardugo #crooked kingdom #jesper fahey #inej ghafa #dirtyhands #bastard of the barrel

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make-me-imagine · 4 years ago

Text

Violets: Loyalty and Devotion

Valentines Special: Day Six

Day One: Morning Glories Day Two: Blue Salvias Day Three: Sunflowers Day Four: Pink Camellias Day Five: Yellow Tulips - Day Seven: Lisianthus

Plot: The reader keeps receiving flowers and sweet messages every day from an anonymous source leading up to Valentines Day. But who is sending them?

Choose your own character ending (coming on Valentines Day).

Gender!Neutral Reader x ???

Triggers: None Words: 1,535

Marvel Taglist: @aquariuslavenderhoney, @thebookbakery, @groovyfluxie Requested Taglist: @spuffyfan394, @gaitwae, @fablesrose, @kitkatd7, @thefallenbibliophilequote, @beksib, @destynelseclipsa, @criminaly-supernatural, @tammythompson-singslikea-muppet, @belloangelus, @snarky--starky, @saintbootlegloras, @wecallhimbrowneyess, @empath-bunny, @okkulta, @katinthemoon, @wecallhimbrowneyess, @ravennight41, @youcancallme-rae , @radhumandragonclam, @unfortunateidiotinadilemma, @past3l-w1ngs , @okkulta , @anonymous-pls-dont-click (just daily), @username23345, @hulkswitch, @theofficialzivadavid, @lainphotography, @fred-deeks-ben,

February 11th

It was early-morning as you were lying in your bed, still comfortable under the covers. You had stayed up till late at night with the others as you discussed Tony’s Valentines party. Tony was hiring some party planners and caterers today to set everything up.

You were also bombarded with questions about your secret admirer. And everyone was questioning whether it was one of them, but of course no one spoke up or admitted it. If it was one of them, they played it off very well.

As you were lying there, you were flicking through the notes you had received over the last five days. You had read over them countless times now, the words embedded in your mind.

You tried to match the language of the words with the people you knew. The most obvious would be Loki and Vision. They both had a way with their words that came off as poetic. But then again, maybe the way the notes were written were purposefully written in such a way as to throw you off.

Reading over the note that had been attached to the Sunflowers, your eyes read over one part again and again “I adore your grace, and elegance, your compassion, kindness and bravery. There is no way I could not absolutely adore every fiber of your being.”

This part made your heart swell. ‘every fiber of your being’, the good and the bad. You smiled at the words as you continued to flick through them. You felt like a bashful teenager reading through texts from their crush.

You began thinking about Tony’s party. You wondered if Valentines Day was what all of these notes and flowers were leading up to. It seemed to be that way, and you hoped it was. Though, you were very nervous about it. What if everyone except you secretly knew who it was? God you hoped it wasn’t going to be a public admission. You cringed at the thought.

After glancing at the clock you figured you had been lying in bed for long enough. Getting up, you took a quick shower and got changed before leaving your room. You weren’t headed anywhere in particular, you had no work you had to do today, so you were free to relax, but you got bored sitting in your room all day. Maybe you’d go for a walk?

Rounding a corner, you see Bucky, Steve and Sam coming from another hall. Upon seeing you they all smiled and greeted you.

“Hey” you replied as you approached them “What are you guys up too?”

“We’re about to go train a bit, wanna join?” Steve suggested.

“I would but I have been demanded that I not do anything strenuous today because of what happened yesterday.”

“Sounds like a good idea, just in case.” Bucky commented, while smiling fondly at you. “How are you feeling anyway?”

“I feel fine. I’m think I’m gonna go for a walk.”

“A short one” Sam said, as he pointed at you.

You nodded and laughed “Yes, just a short, non-strenuous walk. See you guys later” you said as you parted ways.

As you began walking towards the exit of the building, you were stopped when a man at the front desk called out to you “Agent L/N!”

“Hey Gene” you greeted as you walked over to him.

“This letter was left here for you” he said handing you a small pale blue envelope, a sticker with your name printed on the front.

“Oh, thank you. Uh, who was it left by?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t see, I was talking to someone else and when I turned back around, there is was.”

“Oh, hmm, thanks Gene” you said as you walked away from the desk and opened the letter. You immediately recognized the font of the letter and your heart began to beat rapidly.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ Y/n,

I was so glad to see that you were alright after what happened yesterday. I was so afraid that you were more badly injured. Especially as I sat next to you in your hospital bed, and you seemed so faded. I hope you liked the flowers I left for you again.

Also, I am sorry for what curiosity and confusion all of this might be causing you. But I must admit, I also hope that you are getting some form of enjoyment or excitement from it as well. I’m sure you must be wondering, when will I finally show myself? And maybe you have already guessed that it will be on Valentines Day. I think it quite suiting, and hopefully romantic.

So, please wait patiently for only a few more days, and then all will be revealed.

But until then, you still have 3 days before then, including today. I’m not sure when you will receive this letter, but you should have another present waiting for you at your door, perhaps you already received it. I hope you like it.

Until the party. ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

You smiled at the letter as you finished reading it. Looking around the lobby, you tried to see if anyone seemed to be watching you. But seeing no one paying attention to you at all, and knowing you had yet to receive your next gift, you decided to go on your walk.

On your walk, you could not get the thought of what the flowers you will receive will be. The ones you’ve gotten so far have been so beautiful. You should press them, save them somewhere. Maybe a flower from each.

Unable to stop thinking about it, you turned back mid way through your walk to head back. You wonder when they always know when to deliver the flowers...

Making your way back into the tower and up to your room, you held an energy of nervous excitement. As the elevator door opened at your floor, you partially expected to catch them there, at your door. But, you were not really surprised when the door slid open and all you saw was a small plant at the base of your door.

It was small, and as you approached it, you could recognize what it was. A small potted violet plant, with blooming flowers sprouting from the top. You smiled as you picked it up, admiring it.

“Cute” you muttered with a smile as you unlocked and entered your apartment as you plucked out the note from the pot.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ Violets.

Violets hold the meaning of Loyalty and Devotion. Both are traits you have and both are traits I admire about you. But besides this, these are both promises. Promises of how I feel towards you. And they are exactly what you deserve. You are loyal to a fault, and you deserve someone to be loyal to you for as long as you live. You are devoted, to saving people, to helping people, to making people happy. And you deserve someone to be just as devoted to you.

I hope that I can give these to you. I have been loyal to you since before I remember having feelings for you. Because you are the type of person people trust wholeheartedly, as I do. And I promise, no matter what, to be devoted to your happiness. ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

You sat on the edge of your bed as you read the powerful words. “Do I deserve this person?” you wondered out loud. They seem so....well, devoted. You often caught yourself wondering what exactly you deserved out of love, and you have only been hopeful that you would find someone who could make you feel so important and loved. This could be that person.

Sure, you still had your hopes of who this person could be. One person in particular. But, you seemed to find yourself falling for this anonymous person anyway, even not knowing who they are. And to a part of you, it did not matter.

Was that crazy? Falling for someone when you don’t know who they are? I mean, apparently you did know them, so it wasn’t as crazy as falling for a complete stranger.

Falling back onto your bed, you stared up at the ceiling. “Only a few more days” you said out loud. Would they show themselves before Tony’s party, during? After? How would you react?

You only found yourself asking more and more questions throughout the day. Debating whether or not you wanted to talk to someone about it, you decided against it though. What if you ended up telling everything you felt and feared to them on accident. At this point, it could be any of them.

So, you kept it all to yourself. Any time you saw one of the others, they would ask you whether of not you had received another gift, or a note. You would tell them yes, but not go into detail. The notes were too personal, you couldn’t just share them with anyone. They were meant for you. And you would keep them stored away for yourself. Hoping that some day soon you could really talk about them with the one who wrote them for you.

xx xx xx xx xx

I hope you are enjoying these so far.

I know they aren’t great, since there is no real Character x Reader stuff in it, but I hope you are enjoying the build up and are excited for the endings.

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scribbles97 · 3 years ago

Text

Paris

From @gumnut-logic 's AU Where There Be Dragons

Specifically from THIS FIC exploring Eos' creation

Thank you for letting me play in your universe Nutty.

“Eos has promised to do no more harm. She just needs a chance.” Please, Gordon. A one-sided slow blink as the black spots danced. “I invoke Paris.”

Gordon’s eyes widened. “John, no. No, not for this. Please!”

“Worth it.” And John was falling, hands grabbing at him until he blanked out.

It was Grandma who saved John.

And Gordon who saved Eos.

Because John saved Gordon.

Paris was beautiful at night, there was no denying, John thought as he strolled the banks of the Seine with Penelope on his arm. The city was more to Scott or their father’s taste, all boutique tailors and nice places to lunch. Women that smiled prettily and batted their eyelashes until one paid attention to them.

Alongside him, Penelope was dressed to match the most elegant of ladies in the city. All tight corsets and coats that she complained pinched at her waist, and big skirts that took up more space in the carriage than John needed as a whole.

It was apparently the fashion though, and John had caught more than one so-called gentleman taking a second look at the pale pink dress she had been wearing over dinner. Even covered in her winter cape, thick, dark and heavy to protect from the cold night, he still caught others looking. He didn’t doubt the question in their eyes of what was under such a luxurious coat.

John had no such interest. The oil lamps that lined the streets blocked out the stars, their light drowned out by something artificial.

Penelope has asked for him specifically though, insisting that his brothers stay aboard Thunderbird Five nestled away deep within the English Channel. She had been unwilling to say more until they were well on their way to Paris from Calais. Apparently the other didn’t need to know until more information had been garnered.

With both Gordon still not operating at full steam, and Scott and Virgil insistent on mollycoddling, John hadn’t disagreed.

“What is on your mind?” Penelope murmured, turning slightly to look up to him, “I can hear the cogs turning from here.”

He knew his smile was tight and hardly reassuring to the lady that saw everything. To trick Penelope was fatal, and near impossible for his family. She knew them all too well, had spent enough days watching them all to know their traits and tells.

John wasn’t sure he would ever have reason to lie to her anyway.

“Gordon.” He admitted softly.

Her frown was brief but noticeable as she focussed on the path ahead, twirling her umbrella slightly as her brow dipped.

“I thought your brother was doing well?”

“He is.” John nodded, tugging at his scarf slightly against the frosty night air rolling in off the river, “As you saw, he is walking well now. The function he has regained, even at this point, is remarkable.”

“However?”

“You know my brothers, Penelope,” He smiled with a slight shake of his head, “They are not patient men. Gordon wishes to prove he is fit, that he can and should be allowed to return to duty alongside us.”

“He is not ready.”

“He is not.” John confirmed.

Her hand squeezed his arm tightly in a form of silent reassurance as she nodded ahead, “I believe this is the barge we were looking for.”

John followed her gaze, recognising the figure stood under the next lamp smoking his pipe.

“I would be inclined to agree.”

He took the step across first, holding his hand out for her as she stepped lightly from pavement to the boat. The river was still and quiet around them, much like the rest of the city hiding away from the frost bitten air of winter.

Allowing her to step ahead, he hesitated, eyeing the figure approaching the edge of the dock as he jumped more purposefully on to the coal barge.

“Parker.”

“Master John.”

“Parker.” Penelope turned back, umbrella folded as she smiled to them both, “I trust our hosts are expecting us?”

“That they are M’lady.” The older man tipped his cap to her, “Below deck h’I’m h’afraid.”

John could tell the lady wasn’t best pleased with the news, the light colour of her shoes would no doubt be ruined by the black dust left from the coal. He knew better than to expect it would put her off though. There was a goal in mind for the evening, and he doubted anything would disrupt her from it.

“Well I suppose we shan’t keep them waiting.”

Parker ducked ahead of them both, gesturing towards a hatch, hidden amongst the piles of coal, “This way M’Lady.”

John followed last, having to duck down in the low height of the hold clearly designed for people much shorter than himself.

“Good Evening, Mister Yost.” Penelope was saying, her focus aimed on the sole occupant of the room, a man tied to a chair in the centre of the space.

“Who are you?” He spat back at her, “What are we doing here?”

“I am aware that you have a hand in the designs for the tower that is to begin construction next year, yes?”

John glanced between her and Yost. Penelope knew exactly the man's part in the plans, knew what information she was there to gain.

“If you want ze plans I shall not give them to you.”

“It is not the plans I am in need of, Mister Yost, but I do not believe you are the sole architect as had been planned?”

“It was to be my masterpiece.” He uttered, eyes aflame even in the low light.

“Assist me in my queries and maybe it shall be.” Penelope offered, the young sweetness in her voice like a flame drawing in a moth.

The sneer from his face fell instantly, dropping to a slight glare before landing on something altogether more neutral. John could guess Penelope was using that smile of hers, the one that seemed to manage to get her whatever she so chose.

“What changes did the other architect make?”

He glanced towards John, the man’s eyes hardening again before looking back to Penelope, “To ze designs themselves very little. It was ze alloy zat he changed, a new material, one I had not heard of before.”

“Why?”

John missed the response, something above him scuttering along the tops of the boards. A glance towards Parker told him the older man had heard it too.

Being closer to the hatch, John turned slightly, stepping up onto the first step as he listened again.

The footsteps were meant to be quiet, he could hear how they were slow and cautious in their movement. Against the wooden deck of the barge, sneaking was impossible.

“We have company.” He murmured, glancing back into the hold.

Penelope’s tutt was loud in the small space as she turned to face him, “Might yourself and Parker deal with our visitors, I shall finish off here with Mister Yost.”

“Quite.” John smiled, “Try not to be too long.”

She almost laughed at his request as she turned back to Yost, and John focussed on making it above deck unnoticed.

Movement immediately caught his eye as he rose from the dusty hold, drawing his attention towards the port side.

A flash of blond in the lamp light was enough to have him straightening in fear as a figure in black wrestled with the shorter person. One set of feet against the deck were much heavier than the other, a whir of hydraulics accompanying each movement.

Parker alongside him hesitated, “H’is that…?”

“Gordon.” John confirmed under his breath, “I’ll kill him myself.”

“Not if we do first.”

Both spun at the voice, accent familiar english.

Parker was first to move, taking on the other Brit with a well trained hand. John knew he was more than capable, but the man was older, getting slower as life moved on by his own admission. It wasn’t something a Tracy did, to run in the opposite direction of those that may need help.

A cry of pain from across the boat reminded him that his brother was the one more likely to need such help.

He was off without further thought, not caring for how the coal may muck up the crisp lines of his evening suit. His shoes were slippy against the deck, made for walking along cobbled roads and not climbing across boats mounded high with wares.

Stumbling around the hatch they had emerged from, the glint of metal caught his eye.

“Gun!” He yelled, hoping his brother took heed as he raced for the assailant.

Gordon spun too fast, the hiss of his legs not keeping up, his balance off still as he adapted to the new legs. It may have been months, but learning to walk was a slow process, one the swimmer was yet to remaster.

The line of his fall flashed before John’s eyes as he tracked the squeeze of a finger on the trigger. The timing had to be right, he had to save his brother.

“No!” He screamed at the final possible moment, grabbing for the gun as he slammed into the man. Kicking hard, he buckled before him, giving John the desperate moment he needed to claim the gun.

A single solid thwack to the back of the head was enough to still the man that had been attacking Gordon.

“John!”

He would always react to the call of his name from a brother, though it was rare for such a call to set his heart racing. The fear and desperation so plain and clear.

In the rush he hadn’t heard the splash that he knew must have happened. He hadn’t had time to do anything other than allow it to, even if Gordon had yet to relearn to swim as he once had.

John had only hoped he had the upper body strength to keep himself above the water for long enough.

“Reach Gordon.” He encouraged, throwing himself half over the side, stretching as far as he could. Even from a distance he could feel the icy coolness of the river against his face, his brother would freeze if he didn’t get out in a moment.

“‘Ere!” Parker called, throwing a rope down into the water before John could look around, “Grab on Master Gordon.”

His brother did as the older man bade, grabbing on with hands the shook from equal parts cold and fear. Together, John and Parker heaved, pulling the swimmer from the water and to the damp boards of the barge.

John didn’t dare look, anger burning hot in his chest as he dropped the rope and looked straight to Parker.

“Get a carriage and get him out of here.” He spat, “Penelope and I shall finish here.”

“H’of course, Master John.”

He didn’t look back as he headed for the hold.

***

Penny had been the one to catch the blood staining his hair a darker shade of red. One look at him in the hold and she had been pulling the scarf from his neck to tend to the wound.

“We have what we need.” She had uttered to him, “Where has Parker gotten to?”

“I sent him to the hotel.” John murmured, wary of listening ears as Yost looked between them, “There was a complication.”

“Then we shall follow on.” She nodded matter-of-factly, “Mister Yost is of no more use to us.”

In the moment, John didn’t overly care for what Yost had or hadn’t told her. There were too many other aspects to consider. Scott and Virgil were going to give him so much grief for not only his wound but for Gordon sneaking along.

“You are fortunate,” Penelope whispered once they were in the cab, she hadn’t stopped fussing with his hair since they had set off, “”Tis a minor scrape, less than an inch and it would have been your head.”

He couldn’t help but scoff with a shake of his head, wincing as the world in front of him spun with the movement.

“You can blame Gordon.” He uttered back to her, “Dear brother followed us.”

Her silence had him worried, it wasn’t like Penelope to not have a response quick off of her tongue.

His head was starting to throb though and he really did not have the energy to look to her.

“Scott is going to kill me.”

Her gloved hand was warm over his, “He shan’t. We will deal with this and your brother need never know.”

Opening his eyes just enough to look down to her, John found himself smiling slightly. When it came to the Lady, he knew he had her word.

***

He awoke to the sun shining through the light lace curtains of the windows, it’s low light in the winter sky an indication that he had slept in far later than anticipated. His head still ached as it had the night before, the gash at his scalp pulling as he screwed his eyes shut again.

The bed was warm but the air around him cold. There was another reason for him to hate Paris, for him to dislike anywhere that wasn’t his ship.

The quiet hiss and pop of a fire assured him that the room would heat up soon, even if he wasn’t quite ready to venture from the warmth of the bed.

“Master John,” Parker’s voice was soft despite the harshness of his accent, “H’it is time you were h’awake.”

Sighing he hummed softly in some sort of response. The ride back would be hell if his head continued as it was.

“Her Ladyship has made arrangements for us to remain in the city for another day.” Parked continued, “She thought you might want to recover a little more before making the return journey.”

If he had been so inclined he would have kissed the woman.

“H’excuses ‘ave been sent to your brothers. Her Ladyship shall fill you in over breakfast.”

Shifting, he sat up in the bed, resisting the want to probe around in his hairline to asses the wound on his head.

“Might h’I recommend a wash before you make h’an appearance, Master John?”

Grimacing, he looked to Parker, “That bad?”

The butler tilted his head slightly, a smile hiding somewhere behind his eyes.

“How is Gordon?”

“‘E’s well. Though regretful of your injury.”

John frowned, they hadn’t run into his brother on their return to the hotel the previous night. Parker had done enough to assure John that his brother would at least live for the time being. It had been John’s aching head that had forced him to retire early, despite the conversations he knew he needed to have.

“Master Gordon ‘eard your return with ‘er Ladyship and caught a glimpse of you before you retired.”

That made more sense.

Reaching for his shirt he swung his legs out from the bed, “Send him through please.”

“Of course.” The butler nodded, stepping backwards towards the door, “Though, master John?”

“Yes?”

“H’if I might say, h’I wouldn’ be too harsh on Master Gordon. There was no intention for ‘im to get you hurt. H’and I do believe ‘e was only lookin’ out for ‘er Ladyship.”

As much as John wished to deny it, he knew the older man had a point.

“Tell Penelope we will join her for breakfast in good time.”

“Of course, Master John.”

He dressed quickly, determined to keep out the chill of the room and have himself composed before Gordon turned up.

His family had always said his anger had burned as red and as hot as his hair.

It seemed ironic, he thought to himself as he warmed his hands by the fire, that red hair determined a hot temper when fire so often burned the yellow of Gordon’s hair. Everyone knew his younger brother wore his emotions on his sleeve, that you simply had to look in his eyes to know exactly what his feelings were on any matter.

“You asked for me.”

John looked up from the flames as his brother slipped into the room, layered up in clothes that didn’t quite fit him.

“Are you well?”

He looked okay, though John knew that looks could be deceiving.

“Bruised and sore,” Gordon admitted softly, still hovering by the door, “I spent the night by the fire, Parker ensured I was warmed through. I shan’t catch a chill.”

John nodded to his own fire, “You will do well to stay warm today brother, I do not know what I should tell Scott if you were to catch a chill. Where does he think you are?”

“Thinks I went up the coast to Dunkirk to meet some old Navy friends. I would rather we kept him believing as such.”

The swimmer had the decency to look guilty as he approached, sinking down in the armchair John directed him to.

“Fortunately that is possible as you did not take a bullet last night.” John uttered, voice low and dangerous, “Was there any thought as to the implications of your actions, Gordon? Do you not think we have already lost enough of you without the risk of losing more?”

He stayed quiet, not even fighting back as John knew his brother should have done. His anger was burning hotter than the fire though, heating his gut from the inside out as he glared at his younger brother.

“I am not Virgil, Gordon. I had no way to save you like he did. I do not even know if he could have saved you from that. Having your life saved once does not make you invincible brother, it would do you well to remember that!”

“I did not anticipate the situation.” Gordon uttered, not looking up from where he was wringing his hands together, “I did not expect for someone to attack me, John. I did not--”

He caught himself, looking away as his mouth twisted.

John frowned down at him, ignoring the pain in his head. He knew his brother, knew that it was so very unlike him to leave anything unsaid.

“What?” He prompted.

Gordon looked down as he shook his head, “Tis nothing.”

The voice was too soft and young, so unlike his brother.

“Gordon?” He stepped closer, shifting to crouch, “Brother, something is bothering you and I can see it. I may not be Scott or Virgil, but you know you can still talk to me.”

Amber eyes were wet as they looked to him, the sharp intake of breath a telltale sign that something was most definitely wrong.

“What am I, John?”

There were many questions John had heard in his life, he prided himself on having the answers to all that he could.

Except, he didn’t understand Gordon’s.

And there was no answer for a question he did not understand.

Shaking his head he reached out to the arm of the chair, “I--”

Gordon reached to the leg of his breeches, tugging just enough to pull up the hem and reveal the metal beneath.

“What has Virgil done to me?”

John shook his head, wincing at the pain briefly before refocusing on his brother, “Virgil saved you.”

Desperate hands grasped at John’s, amber eyes pleading as they reflected the firelight.

“Yes, and for that I am forever grateful. Is this not also a curse though? None of you shall ever allow me near a rescue again, I am not capable, last night was simple proof of that. I cannot even swim, something I have spent my whole life doing!”

The energy was all Gordon, burning as hot and as bright as the fire behind John. It burned his heart to hear the words, singed him to even think that his brother had all these feelings.

“I cannot do anything that my life has revolved around and with all that I am a monster. I must hide in the shadows for fear of either ridicule or theft. You and I know this world John, we saw what people will do last night, nobody shall ever know the truth outside of our family and that--”

A fist tightened as he pulled away, jaw clenching tight as he tried to blink away the dampness in his eyes.

“Virgil saved me, but now I do not believe I shall have a life.”

Long, cold fingers grasped at his brothers, pieces of the previous night falling into place all at once.

“Gordon,” He choked, “Tell me you did not ignore me last night. When you were in the river? Tell me you intended on getting out?”

His brother looked to his legs again, “The last days were the first I have seen Penelope since…”

John didn’t need him to gesture to the false legs before he continued.

“And until last night she had barely said more than two words to me.” A tired scoff as he shook his head, “I am well aware of the jokes you all make at my expense, because you all know how I feel for the woman. When she came for you though, whisked you away in her carriage without even a thought of me. What was I left to think, John?”

He could only bow his head in response, the thoughts of his brother irrational but so understandable all at once.

“My dear brother,” He whispered, squeezing the hands in his tightly, “Penelope, she--”

“I know.” It was whispered back as Gordon slouched in the seat, tears fresh on his cheeks as he sunk into the cushions, “Parker set me straight last night. It was about when he threw me the rope that I realised how wrong I was.”

“I love Penelope dearly,” John murmured, “As a friend, Gordon. She does not see you as anything other than the man you always have been. Penelope is a woman so very above material things despite her expensive taste.”

The comment had the desired effect as Gordon laughed, eyes brightening just slightly with the sound.

“And do you really think I would allow her to court me aboard a coal barge?” John continued, allowing his own smile to spread, “Of all the places in Paris?”

Gordon laughed softly again, nodding slightly in admission, “I’ve been out of sorts. I am sorry.”

John sighed, watching him carefully and knowing all too well what it felt like to be so very alone in a room full of people.

“You will save people again my brother, do not doubt that. You are still healing though, your injuries still fresh and raw to us all. We are your brothers and we shall always fear for your safety. There is no denying though that we cannot keep you from that life, and if you have started to believe that we would then I can only apologise.”

The wetness in his brothers eyes was gathering again, brightening the reflection of the fire as he focussed on John.

“Have we not proved so many times,” John continued, “That there is always a way my brother, whatever you need we shall do all in our power to make you well and make you happy. If that means to be on rescues we shall work towards that, or if it means courting Penelope then we will find a way.”

Taking a breath, John thinned his lips, “You are not the only one in our family to believe that you are so very alone. I promise you though Gordon, there is always someone when you need them.”

He didn’t expect the soft snort as a response, “Parker said the same thing.”

“Parker is a wise man.” John smiled softly, “It would do for you to listen to him once in a while.”

Nodding, Gordon sniffed, ��I am truly sorry John, I almost got you killed.”

Shifting to stand, John winced, the shift in height exacerbating the ache in his skull.

“Damn,” Gordon cussed softly, “Sit down before you collapse.”

He waved him off, “I am fine, just don’t tell Scott.” Softening he smiled as he rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “It is worth it for saving a brother's life.”

“In more ways than one.” Gordon murmured, “I owe you.”

John didn’t disagree as he glanced towards the fire, flames dying down quietly as the wood settled into place.

“Do not forget it, brother.”

#Thunderbirds Are Go #Thunderbirds 2015 #Thunderbirds AU #Steampunk AU #Where There Be Dragons AU #Nutty Writes #Scribbles writes #John Tracy #Lady Penelope #Gordon Tracy #Parker

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onesunofagun · 3 years ago

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Undeath in the Era of the Hero of Time : 1

aka Seeing the Hero’s Shade in this TP replay shook up all my feelings of agony again and now I’m working backwards from there because I like to hurt myself.

Part One: An Overview of How Fucked Things Are ™

aka The Blood Soaked Hyrule of OoT’s time

Take it as you will, in the Zeldaverse, the colour green has an overwhelming association with undeath.

Sure, sure, life too, I hear you. Farore came down and produced all the living beings that would uphold the law, apparently (specifically not claiming monsters and demons, but that’s another thing). On the surface, that make sense. Forests, lush green fields, prosperity, all of those good things. Green the colour of the most common rupee, green the colour of the Hero’s tunic. Green the colour of magic, and potions that revitalise the body and spirit.

The thing is, revitalising the body and spirit is a flexible idea. To imbue something with new life and vitality can have a lot of implications, especially when you stop talking about the strictly living.

I feel vitality is certainly the best word, not only because of it’s association with life and potency ala the Goddess origin stories, but in the ways that the game uses green itself, such as a measure of both magic and stamina. Green is the colour chosen to represent the unlocked potential within young Heroes.

Vitality specifically refers to a state of being strong and active, and it also refers to the continuance of something to exist. That’s a great thing for plants, or economies, or a potion taken by a young Link who’s swung their sword around or fired off a spell one too many times and feels a little low.

But the dead, though?

As it happens, Hyrule is absolutely littered with human remains, in no small part due to the very recently ended civil wars.

The Civil War, if you need the reminder, is described as a time when the many races of Hyrule were divided and each focused on establishing dominion over the Sacred Realm (because Triforce). I touched on this in my last meta post, but basically, its no holds barred to stop that from happening because if the wrong person gets into the Sacred Realm and makes a wish, it immediately malfunctions.

The criteria for getting into the Sacred Realm and touching the Triforce without royally fucking everything, is basically impossible for anybody not chosen by Hylia.

If you are neither of Hylia’s Bloodline (The Hyrulean Royal Family) or one of her Chosen Avatars (The current incarnation of the Hero), you are not supposed to touch the Triforce. Ever. You WILL be found wanting, it WILL shatter, the Sacred Realm WILL be corrupted by your selfish desires, it WILL unleash and onslaught of mystical influence (reflecting your heart) onto the country.

Now, if it’s Zelda or Link who touches it, that’s fine. Good vibes will pour out. An age of prosperity will ensue. The Sacred Realm is in its default state, a blank and neutral wellspring of magical force.

The game has been rigged from the get go because Hylia still had a job to do. She had to get creative because Demise almost captured the flag, so to speak, leading to the snafu of the Cycle and all that because she cheated at the game, but ultimately Hylia’s task was to guard the Triforce. And that still remains true, for the most part. The Hyrulian Royal Family (and the Shiekah by extension) had to stop at absolutely nothing to win the wars and unify the country, and retain the stasis of the Realm and Triforce, because that’s what their divine orders are.

That’s what they’re supposed to do, ‘the very reason that they’re born’, to lend a quote from King Daphnes. With Hylia on their side by default, they’re willing to do a lot of fucked up things to make sure that happens, ‘for the greater good’.

These dark times are a result of our deeds... -- TP Zelda

In OoT The Sheikah are known as the Shadow Folk. They are heavily associated with death, whether that is caring for the dead’s rest in the graveyard, or working as spies and assassins on behalf of the Royals, or dabbling in various forms of necromancy. Red eyes are an established trait of their people. I will note that, at least from a Japanese point of view, red is often used with the intention of intimidating evil spirits. But it is also a color identified with power and vitality.

So, one could suppose, the Sheikah red eye also symbolises power/control over evil and darkness (spiritually).

That’s a little something that plays nicely with things like the OoT Manga’s explanation of the tear on the eye (and the previous betrayal of the Royal family) and the high probability of a Shiekah faction defaulting during the wars and being banished with other traitors to become the Twili. I know the manga isn’t canon and also SS Impa has a tear, but if you squint, that might be because of her own feelings of personal failure to the Goddess after Hylia’s shedding of her Divinity. You could headcanon that. The existence of the Yiga later in BoTW as a similar happening of division and betrayal lend some more weight to things.

Also, Sheikah who defaulted during the civil war might have even been the ones who actually utilised the Shadow Temple.

Headline: Necromancer ninjas in the process of torturing enough info out of the enemies of the Royal family, who were reportedly seeking the Sacred Realm, decide ‘hey fuck it, let’s take it ourselves’.

That certainly fits into the description of, ‘interloper skilled with dark magic started to appear, seeking dominion of the Sacred Realm’, for me.

Anyway, to the point.

In ostensibly one of the most haunted areas of the game, Kakariko village, we’re treated to the Graveyard and the Royal Family’s Tomb, the Shadow Temple, and the Bottom of the Well. All of these showcase the obvious death and torture that went on, as well as the creepy byproducts of places so saturated with blood, pain, regret, and hatred.

There are skulls in little alcoves on the walls of the catacombs, literally built of bones, who deliver messages to Link. The ones that whisper these messages are all marked by the glowing green eye sockets. Here, the green is used to make the presence of a ghostly sentience inhabiting the skull.

Unsettling. Musty. 4/10 heebie-jeebies.

The Deadhand, giver of childhood trauma that it is, really does its job to hammer home the fact that there has been so many deaths, so much anguish and horror, that those remains can seemingly form into entirely new monstrosities. An amalgamate of undead flesh and nightmare fuel, made up of the body parts of torture victims and the grudges of lingering spirits, seeking to consume the living vitality of whatever comes near-- Link wearing green around the thing might as well be red to a bull.

When defeated in game, it typically drops a small green pot that refuels Link’s magic.

This is a common theme with undead enemies, specifically the ones that are of the zombie flavour. Redeads, Gibdos, Deadhands. All of them generally give up, effectively, distilled magic as a drop item.

Terrifying. Probably smells even worse. 11/10 heebie-jeebies.

Literal torture device. So many people died here, the room has a green tinge to it. It is soaked in the spiritual imprint of the pain and anguish that took place here. Blood sits here looking freshly spilled, despite the civil war ending many years prior and the Shiekah having ‘died out’, save Impa.

Elsewhere in the temple and under the well, blood splatters are darker red and at least have the decency to pretend to be old. This means one of two things:

Impa still has to make sacrifices to the Seal that contains Bongo Bongo, or feeds people to the undead creatures who lurk down in the dark so they don’t wander up. (Cue the gasp of ‘so that’s why she let the Hylians into Kakariko! Every so often one of them goes missing!’)

Which is a fun dark headcanon to play with, but probably not the case.

Or more likely, the residual spiritual energy that the green haze suggests manifests fresh blood in a manner typical of extreme hauntings. For the victims, their hatred and pain persists so strongly, that their blood seeps up from the cracks no matter how long it has been.

Poltergeist shit. Slip hazard. 8/10 heebie-jeebies.

Then there is this. Some people say its just another torture thing, it could have been intended to convey some sort of acid dip. If not torture, maybe bodily disposal. And sure, that’s a reasonable guess.

But it is at the very bottom most cavern of the Well of Three Features, and if it were acid-- for how long the bodies have just been marinating in it-- you can assume nothing would be left of them to stick out. And the fact that all the bodies are neatly spaced, with the arms oddly preserved. They’re presumably like that from lowering bodies in from the wooden beams, the victims may have been tied up with their arms straight upwards.

But, given the Redeads wandering around nearby, I’m pretty sure that’s what this thing does. Make Redeads.

The liquid itself hurts Link, but Link is also alive, and this pool seems to be lacking much of a glow. It’s green, sure, but it’s not exactly teeming with energy. And I think that might be part of its designated purpose-- extracting that green vital energy from living prisoners, draining them until they’re dead. I’m talking juicing people and scooping out the good stuff like the pulp from a really disturbing OJ.

But still steeped in the juice as a corpse, you’re basically pickled in magic brine, so then those gross husks crawl out as Redeads. (Hey, you know what’s handy in wartime? Scaring the shit out of enemy forces by sending some zombies at them. And if they kill them, you’ve lost nothing. If the Sheikah could actually control them? Undead soldiers. Excellent stuff.)

But all the pulpy good stuff is gone, and has been for a while, so most of the bodies in there haven’t pickled in enough magic to reanimate, I suppose.

Human juicer that churns out zombies. Out of juice currently. 6/10 heebie-jeebies.

Now, THIS is active zombie juice, if I’ve ever seen it.

This is the Royal Family’s Tomb, by the way. Note the skeletons, picked clean, missing a lot of bones. And that’s a choice they made, because there are also full skeletons around to find.

There are plenty of Redeads down there, for good measure, so I’m going to assume the skeletons are potential graverobbers who were eaten. If Sheikah can presumably command the dead, then the Redeads down there might actually be a counter measure against thieves. If a thief freaks out in the dark when he realises there’s undead down there trying to eat their face, there is also a good likelihood they’ll trip and splash into this green death. A few seconds of exposure is probably enough to kill the average person, and then if their corpse stews for a bit, you have another Redead.

Their living energy revitalises the goop. Their body becomes bolstered security measures. It’s a self sustaining system.

Horrific but effective. 5/10 heebie-jeebies.

Also, there’s a chance that a couple of the skeletons or one or two Redeads down there are the remains of the Composer Brothers. But they will get their own special part in this series, covering Poes in particular.

But for the moment, let it be noted: their eyes are also that ghostly green.

Poes are spirits that are unable to move on and who have the unfortunate fate, if left unattended, of turning into phantom monsters who forget their human selves and prey on the living. They tend to pop up the most in two places. One, the Kakariko Graveyard, is obvious and somewhat expected. Dead people, lots of lingering spirits, most of them probably Sheikah and Knights of renown who died in the line of duty. Understandable.

So when you apply the same thought to the fact that Hyrule field is the second most common place to find them, you may as well be concluding that it’s an enormous mass grave of war casualties.

We have established that mass quantities of concentrated death, especially earth that is saturated by the spilled blood of strong soldiers and highly skilled warriors (full of life and magic, as it were), can result in creepy shit made from human remains reanimating over time.

Poes share their haunting of the field with these bumpkins:

These hauntings are not the result of Ganondorf, or the corruption of the Sacred realm. They are not a particular curse placed by anybody.

The Poes and Stalfolk are present in the game from the very beginning, and quite normal fare for Hyrulean life. Lon Lon ranch and castle town are walled off for good reason, and the drawbridge raises at night specifically in response to the literal skeleton monsters who roam around at night.

Stalchildren, specifically, seem akin to the Deadhand in that they are not a direct reanimation of any one particular set of remains. Rather, they seem to be mutated amalgamations of various parts. In the case of the Stalchildren, they rise up under the dark of night, a not-quite-human formation of bone and magic. They seem to possess an aimless drive to attack, perhaps possessed still by the orders of the soldiers who died there.

Interestingly, in a somewhat similar fashion to BotW’s blood moon reanimating the fallen monsters (due to the potency of Malice in the land peaking at those times), Stalchildren only seem to be active under the moonlight. They disintegrate when the sunlight touches them, which promotes the idea that they are the bones of the fallen possessed by the ghostly memory of the war.

They also appear to wear raggy leather kilts, which is a feature they share with the related monster, the Stalfos, who are often acting out the part of a soldier as well. Even better, those bastards are actually WEARING GREEN, to boot, which given the history of Hyrulean Knights prior and their uniforms (SS and Minish cap) is pretty self evident.

Stalfos, however, are also confirmed as humans who have died under certain unique circumstance (such as the magical influences of the Lost Woods) and reanimated as a consequence of what I assume is basically magic poisoning.

It could be a bit like an overdose, succumbing under the intense mystical forces at play within proximity to the Deku Tree (which the strong of spirit can resist). It could be a draining effect, maybe even just a gaseous version of what’s happening when people come into contact with the green goo, except extracted by the forest spirits and plants (also possible that the strong of spirit might resist). That could go either way.

The forest absolutely does eat people’s spiritual energy, though. RIP to Grog and Link’s mother. They’re Stalfos now.

"Anybody who comes into the forest will be lost. Everybody will become a Stalfos. Everybody, Stalfos."

Upon killing both kind of Stal, however, the bones rapidly deteriorate into flames.

You guessed it: green.

I’ve already pointed out a BoTW reference already, but to add more context back into this thing about the tie between green and things in Hyrule that refuse to die properly:

That last one is cheap of me I’m sorry but we’ll get to him too

So we have established that green has an overwhelming association with not only life, but states of undeath.

The overview is, things were already pretty fucked in OoT Era before Ganondorf got the Triforce.

On to part 2!

#tloz #legend of zelda ocarina #Ocarina of time #link #zelda lore #zelda meta #zelda theory #zelda theories #zelda discussion #death tw #blood tw #shadow temple #shiekah #stalfos #poes #undead tw #long post #hero of time #hyrulean history

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asherlockstudy · 3 years ago

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Rhett and Link’s problems with the Enneagram

I have now watched both Enneagram EBs and the second one actually set my gears to work (So Anon here it comes! I promise it was spontaneous).

After listening to Link and mostly Rhett talk about the Enneagram again and again, I realised I have a problem but I can not place its exact root. There is either something fundamentally wrong with the Enneagram itself or maybe it’s Rhett and consequently Link who talk about it in a way that made me feel a little uncomfortable.

My problem and cause of concern was that everything that was said during the two podcasts had a clear negative tone to it. I will have to bring in myself to it to give you an example so bear with me for a paragraph. I did the test and I am a 5 (Investigator - Observer, something like that) which suits me rather well, especially since it agrees perfectly with my Myers-Briggs INTP type. The results said I was a 5w6 (essentially an emotionless analytical robot) which is definitely wrong as I am clearly a 5w4 (a sad mess who analyses the world and searches pointlessly for the true meanings in life and wants to come up with the ultimate all-encompassing philosophy). I mean, OK, they are not described exactly like that but trust me, that’s the point. But despite all the flaws associated with it, especially in the fields of socialising and tremendous procrastination due to an insane fear of failure, I am actually very much in touch with it. I revel in analysing, in trying to see the bigger picture, to make up my own theory about life and the world. It gives me fuel to go on, it fills me with excitement, it gives me a purpose.

Now, what I kept hearing from Rhett and Link are the things they would hope to run away from. I can’t seem to remember a single positive thing they said about their personalities. All traits they mentioned ( which were all pretty one-dimensional for both I dare say) were presented in the context of torturing them and having to confront them. With these insights in their personalities and the spiritual deconstructions earlier, their old (surprising back then) statement that they are “fundamentally sad people” makes more and more sense. Some of their traits, like Link’s care for perfection to the smallest detail and his moral concerns could have been neutral or positive but, no, they are almost all given as clear negatives or at least as things that have an emotional toll on them.

This gives me the impression that Link and especially Rhett have found comfort in studying the Enneagram and try to find an explanation for what they are like, to feel part of a group, represented in their misery. In short, they focus on the analysis of the flaws of their personalities as a part of who they are and avoid dealing with the root that caused said flaws. Link is more self aware while Rhett still struggles to reach the root of it, which is his childhood. Not that he doesn’t know it but he can’t just deal with the people and the situations that impacted him enough to make him a three. For instance, Rhett seems to believe that he is a natural three that his parents made manifest even more strongly. It could be the case or the threeness we observe in him is the direct product of his parents’ constant judgement. By keeping chanting he needs to “be” instead of “do”, I am not sure Rhett will achieve much. Honestly, the one impactful step he needs to take is to stop caring about what his father thinks and I am sorry to say he is still not near achieving this. Especially when I take into account how scared he was during his videocall with his dad in GMM and how relieved he looked after the call was over without drama. In short, my problem with their take in the Enneagram is that it seems that Three is Rhett’s pack of unresolved issues rather than his complete personality type.

Furthermore, Rhett speaks knowingly about all numbers / personality types which proves he consumes passionately all Enneagram information that is available. For a man of his level of active lifestyle, hectic schedule and impatience, this shows that he indeed seeks comfort in finding a detailed description and an explanation for his personality, for the way he feels and acts. What does this mean? Well, that he does not like the way he feels about himself a lot. Not only that, but he is actually in a search of self. At this point, he is no longer cryptic about it but it is more serious than he lets on. He tries to make sense of himself and he tries desperately to find something in himself to love. I hope there are people in his life who let him know that he is worthy of their love, friendship and appreciation even though he is so deep inside his head that even the affectionate feedback can only help so much. Rhett will start finding some peace only if he takes the one step I mentioned above.

And then it seems that Link’s personality type is also exclusively a byproduct of his childhood and is aggravated by his relationship with Rhett. Link’s perfectionism doesn’t cause him enthusiasm - he just dreads the disturbance of his supposedly perfectly stable world. In all honesty, Link doesn’t strike me as an ambitious person. Link would just love to have his dear routine and a loyal person to share it with. Link needs stability and companionship. He is fine with just one person as long as this person contributes to the stability of their bond. Who that one person is in Link’s life is another story…

Link doesn’t care that much about the creative process and, frankly, he doesn’t care all that much about the comedy. Link cares to keep the environment Rhett and he work stable and safe. For Link, judgement from the audience is not as alarming as Rhett’s frustration because of it. Link cares to ensure that Rhett’s idea will be successful enough to keep working and to keep working together. So Link’s entire self-identification as a one seems to stem from his fear of abandonment and worthlessness only. Link fears he has not much to contribute to Mythical and he tries to counteract that by becoming the ultimate source of management and control. Because if he didn’t even manage the company, then what would Rhett need him for? Hence, Link’s obsession for control is a consequence of his fear, he doesn’t necessarily love to be in control for the sake of it. This is proven by his plane example, which shows that he finally relaxes when he does NOT need to be in control.

Link has been working hard most of his life to ensure his position next to Rhett. This brings even more insight in his resentment for Rhett that explodes from time to time. Link resents Rhett because he tries so hard to be always by his side but due to Rhett’s opportunitism, he can’t tell whether Rhett wants his companionship or he simply needs it for their brand. Even worse, Link dreads that the reason Rhett is his friend is because Link feeds his ego with his loyalty and admiration, because he takes Link for granted and not because he loves Link for who he is.

“Do you care for me or do you revel in the fact that I care for you?”

Now, I can’t get inside Rhett’s head but I doubt he uses people. I believe his genuine care for Link can be found in the weirdest examples - those from which Rhett has nothing to gain i.e getting frustrated when Link doesn’t enjoy food as much. Yes, this is a sign of love. Rhett enjoys food so much that he wants to share that enjoyment with Link. He can’t realise Link’s tongue works differently - he thinks Link is missing out and it frustrates him. Another silly example is Rhett buying Apocalypse equipment for a clearly disinterested Link and probably never getting its money’s worth back. This is important to Rhett for some reason and he is concerned enough to protect careless Link as well despite having no personal gain from it.

The truth is that these two men feed off each other; Rhett keeps Link attached to him to always feel worthy and Link keeps Rhett attached to him to always feel safe. However, the fact that Rhett is almost his entire source of safety and that Link is Rhett’s biggest calibrator of worth is indicative of the levels of love and need. Nevertheless, Rhett and Link are not independent people. They were constantly in search of support from one another and they lost themselves in the process of satisfying others or being safe. This is something they are realising only now.

Link’s fear of abandonment is so big that it frequently leads him to an almost paranoid behaviour. It is crazy that he felt left out when Rhett communicated with the audience during a podcast whose key purpose is to… communicate with the audience. His fear here has two sides: 1) that Rhett didn’t consider him an equally important business partner so he preferred to speak directly to the audience and 2) that Rhett isn’t emotionally invested in him in order to open up to him. And by saying he can deceive people if he needs, Rhett doesn’t help Link overcome his huge insecurities. This is why Link begs Rhett to talk to him about his feelings more. He does not understand whether Rhett loves him or uses him. The notion that Rhett doesn’t truly love or appreciate him is one of his biggest fears in life.

As for Rhett, it is certainly huge growth that he starts opening up and being vulnerable to a few thousand strangers yet it all still derives from his need to be accepted by said strangers as I am afraid that the late disproportionate criticism he gets for silly stuff on Twitter and Tumblr surely don’t help him deal with his issues, no matter how hard he tries. Therefore, Rhett is trapped in a vicious circle. Besides, Rhett was overly sensitive to be hurt when Link stated the obvious; that he was being vulnerable in hopes to be understood and accepted, because that was clearly what Rhett was openly doing. However, having someone discussing openly his vulnerability immediately made Rhett retreat back to his shell because no matter how hard he tries, Rhett hasn’t managed to separate vulnerability from weakness in his mind yet.

Long story short, Rhett and Link might be Three and One respectively but I am not sure they have a good understanding of themselves anyway. They may have figured out their types correctly but they certainly narrow their entire sense of being to their unresolved issues and phobias. They entirely lack a sense of self-worth and they probably have not realised the extent of the traumas in their youth. In the Enneagram language, the nine personality types have nine levels of development. I believe Rhett and Link are either in the average levels or the mildest unhealthy level. They are certainly not in the healthy top three levels.

Their obsession with the Ennegram helps only superficially but they seem to have based an illogically huge part of their self exploration on it. The Enneagram might offer some insight but won’t offer the resolutions they long for and badly need in order to find some relief. The ones that come when you confront your environment instead of overanalysing yourself and beating yourself up because of it.

#Rhett and link #ear biscuits #Rhett McLaughlin #link Neal #Enneagram #randl #r&l #mythical

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air-in-words · 4 years ago

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My Sorting Hat Chats Journey

So, hi! I'm back!

I've been doing fun stuff off in the real world, but I decided to talk a little bit about my own Sorting Hat Chats sorting journey, and how it says a lot about self-acceptance, and how understanding who you really are can sometimes only come from being an active participant in life. Here we goooo...

The Beginning

So, my initial sorting was a Burnt Badger/Bird. This had struck me, because I'd never considered myself a Badger in ANY media. I was seen by my friends as a borderline loner, someone who didn't need anyone else. And yet, all the signs were there.

Looking back on my life, I've always migrated in groups, always looked for a nesting ground, and truly that's all I want. A place to nest, a place to rest, where I can feel safe and surrounded by people who love me. But, after a childhood filled with bullying, I found myself embarrassed of my bold face need for friends, and, for some reason, decided getting too close to people for too long was unwise, so I could probably never have a permanent home. And yet, I always found myself in these little "groups," little packs of people that all travel together.

I've always had these friend groups, where everyone knows each other, we all hang out together, and yet it always manages to eventually fall apart. I asked one of my friends how this keeps happening, and who keeps setting up these groups. She blinked sort of vaguely and said, "uh, you do." It was such a strange realization to look back and see myself as the "shepherd" I was, always creating a flock wherever I went. I had always been the spoke of my friend wheels, the only one that was friends with everyone, or actively tried to be friends with everyone. And I would attempt to hold it together, but it would always ultimately shatter, and I'd leave to find and form another. Family is important to me, and it isn't enough for me to bond with one person. I like for all my friends to be friends with each other, for us all to hang out together and enjoy each other's company.

So, although I still struggle, Burnt Badger came out on top, and I believe is still at the top to this day. I still search for belonging. I still search for family. And, yet, my heart seems to have no intention of unburning. Until recently, I had no idea why.

On the other hand, the secondary I received, Bird, seemed to fit like a glove, and was very obvious to me. I've been called the Encyclopedia before, I was made fun of for being caught reading the dictionary like it was a book, and I always seem to have a "fun fact" for every occasion. And all of this seemed to flow directly into me trying to use these facts and this knowledge to win people over, to get to see me as someone that could be their friend, or that I could be reliable as a member of their "group." So, Burnt Badger/Bird simply made sense. The reasons for me avoiding unburning my primary were irrelevant.

The Now

I'd been gone from this side of Tumblr for a bit, and decided to return on a whim. Saw @wisteria-lodge still posting as much as ever, and saw a lot of my posts had been passed around in the meantime (thank ya by the way) and decided to dive back in, because since then, so much of my life has changed. I've had certain people out of my life for a while that were a hindrance on my self-acceptance, I've moved out of my childhood home, and left a job I've had for the past 5 years. I've been forced to constantly LIVE, to make choices, actual choices, and have been offered the chance to be who I truly am, unapologetically.

So, I took the quiz again, curious if I would come up any different.

I got Burnt Badger/Burnt Snake.

This time, I was almost insulted. A flush of memories, of past feelings came to me, most of all the need to push back, to insist in exasperation I'M NOT A LIAR, as though I was tired of defending myself. As hard as I tried, I somehow couldn't seem to get Bird secondary to reappear.... at all. Which was so crazy, because before, that was pretty much all I could get.

So, I went to the experts, the aforementioned wisteria-lodge and @sortinghatchats .

I looked through the Snake secondary tags and found myself lost in memories I had pushed down, so far down even I couldn't find them, wracked with shame and a need to hide this side of myself, something I'd hidden so well I'd pretty much convinced myself it had never existed.

Being a Bird had always been a choice for me. I decided that was what people must want, becoming intelligent, knowing all of these things, showing off, that would make people like me. But, although I can devour books like nobody's business, and I tend to worry and whinge before every major decision, feeling unprepared, I would always find myself falling short of my own expectations. The amount of times I'd promised myself and others to create a plan and study hard, ultimately fail to do so, and then lie to everyone about it was astounding. My public image continued to be "air-in-words the smart girl" but my private image was still LIAR and FAKE.

I would still somehow get all A's. I was very good at remembering facts and excellent at taking tests. I always thought of them like little tricks themselves, meant to trip you up, but if you paid attention, you could figure out the patterns and be able to bluster your way through stuff you might not even fully understand. You can figure out certain words through context clues, and I was always very comfortable trusting my memory with little preparation beforehand. And yet, I still lied and told everyone I'd studied, at least as a child, before high school.

Math was what eventually messed me up, and sent my self-image whirling into the ground. My grades suddenly went from straight A's to D's and F's. My parents were aghast, what had happened??? I was so intelligent, so smart, such a good student. What had gone wrong?? And, although I never admitted it outloud to them, I knew the answer. With math, you can't trick your way out. You either know how to do it and give the right answer, or you don't. And I had never studied a day in my life, never practiced, never worked hard at all. It was my horrible little secret and math had outed me. It continues to out me, because rather than actually work at it and get better, I managed to keep my grades through high school afloat by leaning on my other grades and taking remedial math courses with a teacher who loved me very much and would let me off easy. To this day, honestly, I can barely count. I might actually have some form of dyscalculia, but I know that if I were willing to try a little harder I could get better. But, why would I do that, when this way works just fine? Just coasting through? But, again, no one could know. Not even myself.

Through high school, I began letting people in on my secret Snake, because being a "slacker" was suddenly cool. I still couldn't let my parents know, or the teachers, but coming clean about not being a keener was what earned me new friend groups. I wasn't some weirdo who actually studied all the time: I was a kid who maybe did 60-70% of my homework and slid by on my good memory and general interest in learning. And my reputation. My reputation was key to my success.

College would be the thing that completely threw me to the ground. There were simply too many sirens singing at me, distractions pulling me away from my work. I'd never looked less like a Bird than in college. I was always skipping class, always not studying, and in fact, would openly fail most of my courses. And I just didn't seem to care. I slid into what I guess must have been a sort of neutral zone, but I wasn't happy. The mask was slipping off and I needed out. I couldn't keep up this charade anymore. It was stifling, trying to be a Bird, going to college for a very Bird degree, surrounded by actual Birds, it was all very much what I didn't want. I wanted something less "academic," less, well, boring. Maybe more Snake like.

And, so, here we are. Currently dropped out of college, living in an apartment with my friend, away from my parents' prying eyes, and with a new job that I chose for myself. On the brink of finally understanding myself, and maybe accepting myself as I am.

My Badger primary is burned because of my Snake secondary. Because I thought I was a sham, a liar, a con, and I didn't feel like I deserved to have people close to me. Those traits are bad, and I was a bad person. No one should be tricked by me.

But, after reading some of the stories from the experts and other Snake secondaries, I found this crazy thought, that perhaps being this way isn't a bad thing. Maybe I'm not a bad person. Maybe it's okay to be who I am. Maybe I can use these "powers" for good, and they aren't inherently evil.

So, at least for now, I'm choosing to identify as Burnt Badger/Burnt Snake with Bird Model. Seeing how it feels to accept myself and not try and force myself to be who I think I should be, or who others want me to be (which is a Snake secondary thing in the first place. Lol!)

For Fun, Here's Some Crazy Actual Snake Secondary Things I've Done That I'm Trying to Be Less Ashamed of Now

When I was little, I used to make up crazy stories about things I'd done to seem more interesting. The one that makes me cringe the most is that my uncle has a statue in his backyard that comes to life and goes on adventures with me. My uncle DID have a statue in his backyard that I really loved but no, it didn't (and still hasn't) come to life.

Some of these, I can't explain, like this one, where I somehow had more than one teacher convinced I'd handed in every piece of homework before the one I was giving them the sob story about that day. I literally had a teacher look me in the face, tell me I'd been handing in my homework really well thus far and knew I was trustworthy, so they'd let me slide with no mark against me. Meanwhile, I had missed the homework for the past THREE WEEKS IN A ROW. I just smiled and let it go. Variations of this situation happened throughout high school and college. And, no, I had no good reason not to do the homework. I just didn't want to do it. Lol.

I usually live in the "neutral state" around my close friends, since I think it's disrespectful not to be straight with them, but I have had to turn it on to help them occasionally. One of my friends was having issues with an ex of hers, she was thinking that maybe she should go back out with the guh, and I had been my blunt, neutral self the whole time, telling her flat out that that was a bad idea. But, it wasn't working. "Neutral state" isn't like a Lion's forceful natural state, I guess. So, I decided I would have to push her in a certain direction to help her get through it. I told her she should go back out with him, and although she did sort of call me out for lying, knowing I didn't actually want that, I told her she should if she really think she should. The dude didn't last one date without showing his ass again, and she thanked me for making her do that. Lol.

Finally, at least for this list, my most prized shameful memory, is when I was taking an acting class in college. We were supposed to create a wordless scene as our final, and I hadn't prepared anything, so I just skipped the day we were supposed to do them. But, I decided to show up for the last day to see if I could still somehow pass. She's going through the grades, and looks up and asks me, "I don't have anything written down for you, I can't remember, did you give a performance or not?" I knew I hadn't then, but decided to give one now. I told her yes I had done one, don't you remember came up with a name on the fly. The same friend from the last story was staring at me like she was about to burst. She thought for a moment, then exclaimed, "ah, of course! Yes, I think I remember. I remember you'd done pretty well. What grade did I give you?" I hedged my bets and said A-. Lol. I had never been filled with more pride shame in my life.

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number-1-kuaidul-fanboy · 3 years ago

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Why I Can’t Read the Harry Potter Series the Same Way Anymore

(I know this is different from the stuff I usually post on this blog but… frankly I wrote three pages to vent about this and I wanted to publish it somewhere so just bear with me.)

So, I know what this looks like. However, this is not because of the… real life misgivings of J.K. Rowling. As a trans person myself, yes, she is transphobic. Also, she lies about what her books actually contain to seem more progressive than she actually is, like claiming Hermione was always black when she was described and pictured as white in the books and then played by Emma Watson in the movies that Rowling was personally involved with the production of. But that’s not what I’m here to argue because frankly, that’s an old argument and while it does taint my view of the author, it’s not what taints my view of the books.

I should preface this with this: I don’t hate Harry Potter. I read all the books and watched all the movies. I was an active fan of the series for a long time and I still enjoy the world and the characters. Heck, I still sort my friends and characters into Hogwarts houses for the fun of it. However, overtime, some of my issues with this series have started to weigh on my mind more and more as I’ve gotten older. I mentioned the Hogwarts Houses, which while it’s fun to sort characters outside of Harry Potter into these houses, the way they’re handled in the series is lazy at best and problematic at worst. First off, nearly every good character is in Gryffindor, while Slytherin is almost entirely made up of villains. Gryffindor is the designated good house where all the “brave” people go when barely anyone there actually embodies the house traits, besides Neville, Hermione, and maybe Harry. If you wanted a variety of personalities in one place, maybe you shouldn’t have made your sorting system based on personality!

In fact, here’s a whole list of characters who should not be in Gryffindor:

-Ron Weasley (Hufflepuff. He’s super loyal to the point where him leaving his friends in the final book felt out of character)

-Fred and George Weasley (Slytherin, they are some of the most ambitious, cunning characters in the whole series. Opening a joke shop IS an ambition and is a great example of a non-evil ambition.)

-Ginny Weasley (Also ambitious with her Quidditch to the point of spending years sneaking out to practice on a broom before she attended Hogwarts.)

-Percy Weasley (Ambition is his whole thing. He’s even a darker side of ambition. Him coming back to his family would be more meaningful if he were a Slytherin!)

-Dumbledore (Ravenclaw or Slytherin. He manipulated the ever-loving hell out of Harry, which I’ll get to, and is known as clever, wise, and a little eccentric. Either house could’ve been a better fit for him than Gryffindor.)

-Hagrid (Either Hufflepuff or Slytherin. Hufflepuff seems like the best fit for his current personality but Slytherin makes the most sense considering his backstory and history with Tom Riddle. The SuperCarlinBrothers made a really good video explaining this called “What House Was Hagrid in.” Go watch that.)

Leading into my next issue with the Hogwarts Houses, I have a serious issue with how Slytherin house is represented.

This has been said multiple times but the fact that every single Slytherin in the series is either evil (Voldemort, Bellatrix), assholes (Draco, Snape), morally gray (Slughorn, Regulus Black), or not in the core seven books (Albus Potter, Scorpious Malfoy, and Merlin), is extremely problematic. It makes the line between good and evil incredibly obvious and clear cut, with hardly any effort to blur those lines. The closest thing we got, especially in the author’s eyes, was Snape, who was not redeemed. He just wasn’t. He was a bully to his students, emotionally and physically, to the point where Neville’s biggest fear was him, and yet it’s suddenly all okay because he was in love with Harry’s deceased mother? That’s not how this works. His actions are not suddenly all okay because of that and frankly, he didn’t do enough to warrant saying he redeemed himself, besides indirectly letting Harry know that he needed to die to defeat Voldemort through the memories in the Pensieve, which just isn’t enough. Draco had more of a redemption and frankly proved he had good in him, yet we never got a true redemption from him because apparently all Slytherins are evil. Sure, there is a total of… one evil Gryffindor: Peter Pettigrew, who is pretty awful, but is there a single fully good Slytherin? No, they’re all either assholes, dabbled with evil, or are full on evil. Not only is it basic black and white morality, but it’s also downright harmful. The kids are sorted into their houses by their personalities and values. Some of the Slytherin traits are ambition, cunning, cleverness, resourcefulness, and leadership qualities, all pretty positive traits. The thing that divides these houses are their traits and values, so this is sending a message that traits such as “ambition,” “cleverness,” or “resourcefulness” are bad or evil, when they’re not. This is especially problematic when you remember that there is an official Wizarding World quiz that sorts you into a Hogwarts house based on your personality and likes and one of the houses you can get is this designated evil house. So if kids take this quiz and get Slytherin, they’re going to be disappointed and possibly think they’re evil. I’m especially annoyed at “ambition” ALWAYS being represented as a negative trait. That’s not just a Harry Potter problem but it still bothers me. Having aspirations and the guts to pursue them is not a bad thing, having evil aspirations is a bad thing. Ambition is a purely neutral trait, it can be positive or negative depending on what you’re pursuing yet it’s only ever shown as a “villain” trait.

(Look at this wonderful tweet I found while looking for images for this by the way:)

(Way to be even more blatant that you hate Slytherins and also have a poor understanding of racial issues. Speaking of which...)

This series tries to tackle racism… and it didn’t do it well. At all. It didn’t even tackle racism itself, it used elements of its magical world as an allegory for racism and these allegories just don’t work. The two that are most well-known are the wizard/muggle tension and the house elves as a whole. The pureblood purists are essentially an allegory for white supremacists, which has some troubling implications since wizards are literally genetically superior to muggles. Even if it’s not an objective fact, the books do imply that wizards are better than muggles from the story alone so this racial allegory doesn’t work when you’re saying one side is more powerful or better! The house elves are even worse. Their entire species is enslaved to these “genetically superior wizards.” In fact, if I remember correctly, house elves are enslaved mostly by rich pureblood families like the Malfoys and the Crouch’s, similar to slavery in the real world. But apparently, the house elves are happy to be enslaved (besides Dobby, who died) and were insulted when Hermione tried to free them. Winky in particular was horrified when she was freed by her master, treating it like a horrible punishment. Surely I don’t have to say how messed up that is.

Finally, my biggest problem with the Harry Potter series and the main reason I can’t stomach reading or watching them anymore, is the treatment of Harry himself. Harry was abused by the Dursleys. This is not me reading too into the book of reinterpreting anything, this is what is told to us directly. Harry is thin from being underfed in the first book, was forced to live in the cupboard under the stairs for eleven years, is frequently yelled at and berated by the Dursleys, heck Petunia and Vernon practically encourage their son to beat up Harry and frequently show favoritism to Dudley over Harry to an absurd degree. They make it clear to Harry that they don’t want him there. They also lock him in his room in the second book, literally boarding up the window and not letting him leave, passing him soup cans under the door. And all of this is just off the top of my head. Dumbledore left Harry in this environment. Dumbledore is fully aware of how Harry is being treated. Harry’s acceptance letter into Hogwarts literally has the address “the cupboard under the stairs” written on it. Yet they leave him in this physically and emotionally abusive and neglectful environment because the Dursley’s treatment somehow humbled him and made him the hero the wizarding world needed. Let me repeat that loud and clear: Harry is a hero because he endured abuse. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. I don’t care what your justification is, it is never a good thing to leave a child in an abusive situation. You are not good or noble or heroic or anything for staying with people who hurt you. And it’s not just Dumbledore. I understand that Harry living with Sirius wasn’t much of an option with him on the run from Azkaban and then dying in book 5 but what about the Weasleys? Why do they let him return to the Dursleys when they know full well what he’s going through there after Fred, George, and Ron bust him out? Oh yeah, he can’t leave because Lily’s love spell protects Harry when he’s in a blood relative’s house. He doesn’t have any other choice. This is a lazy excuse from the story to justify Harry staying with his abusers and frankly, doesn’t even work since he’s constantly trying to avoid his house, a pretty common response to domestic abuse by the way. So it’s not “protecting” him, even by that stupid logic. Harry was left with and forced to return to the Dursleys year after year solely because he’s the chosen one and needed to be put through hell because abuse apparently molds people into heroes and if Harry was even a little arrogant, he wouldn’t be a hero. And he wouldn’t have been prepared to die to Voldemort to destroy the horcrux in him. The story is framed in a way that glorifies Harry for being abused and I despise it. Dumbledore used Harry as a tool to defeat Voldemort, never taking his feelings into account and he’s just forgiven for all of this in the end. Everyone says Harry shouldn’t have named his kid after Snape? What about Dumbledore? Harry basically named his child after two of his biggest tormentors. It sickens me. It’s like the series is supporting and glorifying abuse, even if that wasn’t the intent of the author (and I doubt it was, since she was abused herself) that is how it feels. So yeah, I can’t really enjoy Harry Potter anymore the way I used to.

(On a side note, I hate “destiny” stories and Harry Potter is a good example of a terrible destiny themed story. Harry didn’t have a choice in anything. He was just forced into this scenario and twisted by the plot to be what it “needed” him to be, having no agency of his own. Great inspiring hero. -_-)

#harry potter #harry potter books #harry potter movies #slytherin #gryffindor #hp #albus dumbledore #severus snape #fuck both of them #the movies are decent adaptations honestly #I wouldn't mind watching them if they were on #but I wouldn't go out of my way to watch them #or even read the books #the fanwork is better than the series 90% of the time honestly #like lupin and sirius raising harry #that's a great AU

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golden-kettle · 4 years ago

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No Place For Love (Mista x GN!Reader)

Guido Mista x GN!Reader - CHAPTER ONE

TW// Strong language, slight violence

You’ve dedicated the beginning of your young adult years to Passione and La Squadra. You weren’t about to choose the enemy over the opportunity to finally get the pay you and your teammates deserved. Right?

Word count: 1,888

It’s been a hot minute since I posted something, so here’s the new project I’m working on! An enemies to lovers story with Mista :) I’m going to try and update as much as I can as I’ve been thinking about something like this for a while. hope you enjoy the first chapter 💕💕 Trusting anyone outside of your gang is a death wish. There's no room for love in the mafia of Passione. You knew this better than anyone else. Sure, you aren't the same as you were years ago. Naïve and inexperienced. However, would you be willing to throw it all away, the blood you've shed and the strength you've gained, for a singular person? That was the very question Risotto asked you when you returned from an incomplete mission, slightly injured.

"I shouldn't have to say what we all know, but this goal is what we live for," he said.

The goal he was referring to was that of taking over the drug routes of Passione, defeating the mysterious boss in the process. It was something you found was impossible, until Risotto told you and the other members of La Squadra that the boss had a daughter. And that daughter, Trish Una, was under the protection of Bruno Bucciarati and his squad members.

You were told to go and find their current location in Italy as if it was the last thing you'd do. You'd then place a tracking device on one of the members and leave as quickly as possible. Simple, especially for the traits and powers of your stand. So why were you sitting here in front of Risotto with the tracking device in the palm of your hand?

"You need to go back there."

You looked up at him with guilt in your eyes, a silent plea to let you at least spend the night at the base then try again tomorrow morning. Risotto understood right away, observant as he is. With a sigh, he spoke in a low whisper.

"You know that if I let you stay here any longer, the others will say I play favorites. Get going."

You stood up and brushed off your clothes, walking to the door to exit Risottos office. Putting your hand on the knob, you froze without turning your head.

"Risotto, I have one request."

He didn't say anything in response, keeping quiet. Although you knew he was listening.

"If I can't carry out this mission in 48 hours, call me a fool."

With that you left the room, swiftly exiting the base and paying no mind when Formaggio attempted to spark conversation. Deep in your gut, you knew Risotto had no clue as to why you took the time to say such things, but you did. Because before you failed at completing this mission, you ran into someone you've only seen in a photo on an information sheet. Guido Mista, age 18. Stand name: Sex Pistols.

The first time you saw him you intended on putting the tracking device on him. You would knock him out once he was alone, put the small device between the grooves on the bottom of his shoe. Then leave as if you were never there. Obviously, fate had other plans.

He was standing in line at a café, a small list in his hands. Presumably, what the rest of his squad wanted, you thought. When he finished ordering the list of pastries and drinks, he glanced over his shoulder to you. His eyes widened for a second until the cashier told him his total.

"Ah, yeah, let me get that."

You watched as Mista shuffled through his pocket, pulling out money to pay.

"I'll be paying for their meal too," he said as he gestured to you.

"Oh, that won't be needed sir," you said with a smile

.He returned your smile with one of his own, "what do you want?"

Is he trying to flirt with me? You thought before telling the cashier your drink order. Mista then paid for his and your order, walking over to a table to sit while he waited. You did the same until he waved you over. What's the harm in sitting with him while you waited? Perhaps you could get something out of him.

"So what's your name?" he asked, practically beaming when you sat down across from him.

You answered truthfully, there was no way for him to have any information on you. A staple of being on the hitman team is being anonymous, so there was no background on you. If you were to die, the only way you would live on was through the memories of your teammates.

"Ah, well my name's Mista, I haven't seen you around before, although you look Italian. You from the south or somethin'?"

"No, I'm from around here. I probably just got lost in the crowd. Or you aren't that observant."

Thinking that you might as well play along, you didn't feel guilty in teasing him a little bit. In fact, he seemed to enjoy your banter.

"Oh, I am insanely observant. Like for example, you have a stain on your shirt right there," he reached over and pointed.

When you looked down, he raised his finger and flicked your nose. You couldn't even be mad at his kindergarten teasing. You crossed your arms as he leaned back and laughed.

"Haha. Very funny," you said with a smile, "but are you willing to tell me a bit about yourself, Mista? I will say it's not every day I get someone to pay for my order."

"Sure can do, what are you dying to know?"

"Why did you decide to pay for my drink?" You knew you should ease into the questions so you could get something notable out of him.

"Isn't it obvious? I think you're cute."

You laughed softly at the statement, "you're right, I guess that's self-explanatory isn't it?"

Mista hummed, "my turn to ask you a question. What do you think of me?" he grinned, putting his chin between his forefinger and thumb.

You took a moment to think. No way in hell you were about to boost his ego more than it seemed to already be, but you weren't about to be flat at rude instead.

"I think you're generous, yet insane to be wearing a hat and knitted shirt in the Italian spring sun," you spoke out of a light laugh.

"That's fair."

You smiled, leaning against the table and rubbing the back of your neck. You turned your head to avoid his gaze, acting shy, as you spoke your next question.

"You have plans after this? I know you probably ordered for a group of people.. but maybe we can make a detour at my place?" you glance back at him with an innocent smile on your face.

"Well... I do have plans after this, but I'm sure they can wait. I want to get to know you after all."

How gullible can he be? Isn't he a gunman in the most notable mafia present in Italy right now? No matter the case, you just found an easy opening. This mission would be completed earlier than you thought.

After some small talk and retrieving your order, you lead Mista down the street and into an alleyway.

"My apartment is just on the left side once we get through here," you smiled, "but you won't be seeing it."

Mista glanced back to you, confused by the last few words of your statement. With that, you used your stand to push him to the ground, knocking the bag of pastries and cardboard holder with the drinks out of his hands. You watched as he reached for what you assumed was a gun in his boot, but straddled over him and pinned his hands above his head.

"Fucking hell, how are you so strong? What do you even want from me?"

"I want you to shut up and sleep," you spoke with a total shift in tone and attitude.

He grinned to your surprise, then in a flash he wrapped his leg around yours and flipped you over. Now he was pinning you down. He grabbed his gun and let go of your hands, pressing the gun against your forehead.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded."

I told you my name, Mista. Don't have me repeat myself."

He pressed the gun harder against your head, but your face remained neutral and unbothered.

"You're part of a gang, aren't you? What are you after from Passione? Or are you after us specifically?"

"Don't you think there's no point in asking me questions if I'm not going to answer them?"

Mista moved his gun in a flash, firing a bullet into the ground beside you. He then pressed its barrel against your forehead once more.

"I'm not messing around."

”You were a few minutes ago. Honestly, it seemed like you were so sure you were gonna get a kiss from me. Maybe more. Just how down bad are you, Mista?"

"Stop saying my name as if you know me."

"But I do know you, dear. That new capo, Bucciarati. He broke you out of jail and you joined his squad. The name of your stand is Sex Pistols, truly fitting for a man like yourself."

With that, he slapped you across the face. You froze for a second before speaking again.

"..Did you just slap me?" You spoke in a tone of utter shock.

"Want me to do it again, “dear”?"

"What are you, a sadist?"

"What are you, a masochist?" He replied, clearly mocking you.

This wasn't going to get you anywhere.

"I'm sick of this," you said, manifesting your stand behind him.

Your stand then put its arms around Mista's waist and pulled him off of you. You stood up and ran back to the crowded streets of the town, taking the shock he had of you being a stand user for granted. Once Mista gained his senses, he started to chase after you. However, it was a lost cause. You were already lost within the people.

It wasn't until you were running for a half-hour that you realized you didn't complete your mission. Risotto was bound to be pissed at you. Hell, you were pissed at yourself. You had no clue what came over you.

"What was I thinking?" you said to yourself.

You could've had your stand knock him out while he had you pinned down. In fact, that was the plan when you walked him into that alley.

He's attractive. That's why you didn't hurt him. You sighed. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, that was the only reason that made sense.

"God damn him."

As you walked back to your base you thought about what you'd say to Risotto. Maybe you could convince him to let you spend the rest of the day rethinking a new plan and get some sleep before acting on it tomorrow morning. Instead, you ended up saying nothing and let him scold you.

Now you were here, outside the base and walking back to the busy city Naples. Thoughts going at a hundred miles an hour, you knew Mista probably returned back to wherever the rest of his gang was. No way you could take them all at once.

You told Risotto to call you a fool if you failed to carry out the mission because that's exactly what you'd be. You thought about his question. Would you be willing to throw away everything you've built for only one person?

Only a fool in love would do that.

#guido mista #guido mista x reader #mista #jjba mista #mista x reader #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba part five #Golden Wind #Vento Aureo #reader insert #enemies to lovers #no place for love #kettle.writes

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nightshade-minho · 4 years ago

Text

-Nightmare- (12)

Warnings: mentions of domestic abuse, alcohol, violence is alluded to.

Wc: 3.8k

(Note: The song Y/n plays on her guitar is Sweet Night by V. I highly recommend listening to it for added ~feels~)

(Also- I can’t English hhhh. I apologize for the grammatical mistakes I make sometimes~)

Minho was woken up by your squirming. He looked down at you, eyes scrunched and frowning as you clutched his shirt tightly, and realized you were having another nightmare.

“Y/n...” He hesitated, kissing the top of your head and stroking it. “Shh, it’s okay...” He hugged you tighter, gently squeezing your shoulder. You opened your eyes as he did so, sweating and blinking rapidly, looking up at him with a confused expression.

“How did we...Where’s J-” You squinted, sitting up and slightly pulling away from Minho as you heard the doorbell ring.

“Fuck, it’s Juyeon...” You glanced at Minho, making a sound of frustration as you stood up.

“Oh. Why’s he here now...? Oh wait, never mind, I forgot.” He grimaced, sitting up a little and moving the blanket to the side.

“Maybe you should go hide or something...”

“Why the fuck should I hide? It’s not like you cheated on him with me or anything. Besides, need I remind you that this is my apartment as well?”

“So...you’re staying here?”

“Yup. I’ll get my things from Chan’s again. I obviously wasn’t planning on staying at Chan’s forever.”

You sighed. “Right.” You walked over to the door, running your hands through your hair and opening it.

“Baby!” He grinned widely, quickly pulling you in his arms.

“J-juyeon...can’t breathe-”

You giggled as he let you go, hesitating before kissing your cheek and walking in.

“Told you I’d be back early morn-” He stopped, frowning as he saw Minho on the couch, scrolling through his phone lazily.

“Why’s he here?” He asked, his voice calm.

“Dude. I live here.” Minho rolled his eyes, not looking up from his phone.

“Yeah, but I thought...”

“Y/n and I made up yesterday. Congratulations, by the way! Treat her well, or else.”

Juyeon rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

You looked between the two, stuttering as you excused yourself, going to your room to brush your teeth.

Minho waited for you to leave before glaring at the man. “I heard that.” He sneered.

“Good.”

There was a silence for a while as Minho sighed, remembering what he’d promised himself yesterday. He set his phone down. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Juyeon raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“I don’t know, everything. I’m trying to make myself a better person...and I wanna acknowledge that I’ve hurt people.”

“That’s...nice of you. Why, though?”

“Well...” he trailed off, groaning as he gripped his thigh tighter. “I just want to...I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Yeah well, I just want to tell you something. Apologies are nice and all, but Y/n’s mine now, okay? You living here again is fine, but...I didn’t spend all this time pining after her to lose her to an asshole like you. So don’t even try taking her from me.” He snapped.

Minho scoffed, laughing. “What makes you think I would want to do that?”

“Chan told me you’re in love with her.”

Fuck.

“He did? Huh. Well it’s a lie. I don’t have feelings for her, she’s just my best friend and roommate.”

“Okay. If you say so. I saw the way you ran after her that night, though. I mean, if you didn’t care, or had zero feelings, you wouldn’t have done that.”

“Are you dumb? Of course I....care about her. You can’t be best friends with someone for sixteen years and not care about them.”

“Yeah okay, whatever.”

He groaned. “Look, Juyeon, I don’t want to have any tension between us. For real, I’m not trying to steal your girl.” God, that hurt to say. “Look, if you’re going to be my best friend’s boyfriend, we should get along. I assume you’re going to come over a lot, so...we need to be civil to each other, okay? For her.”

He nodded. “Yeah, sure. For her.” He said, just as you finished getting ready, returning to the living room.

Juyeon’s frown quickly melted into a smile as he turned from Minho to you, standing up and holding his hand out. You took his hand, glancing at Minho’s neutral expression.

“Hey, if you wanted to walk with us, we don’t mind...”

He rolled his eyes. “Nah, it’s okay. You go ahead. My classes don’t start until later, anyway.”

“Okay.” You gave him a smile which he reciprocated, waving to him as you left.

Minho sighed, smile dropping instantly as the door closed, getting up to go to his room. God, he missed it. He pulled off his shirt, hating the way your scent was still clinging to it. Collapsing onto his bed, he clutched at the bed sheets tightly, trying to control and retain all the burning anger and dejection he was feeling. His heart had been twisting when he’d seen Juyeon hold your hand...and you laughing as he kissed your cheek.

It had barely been a day, and the green-eyed monster inside him was already on a rampage, making him breathe shakily as he tried to banish the thoughts.

He didn’t know if he could do this for much longer.

***

Minho was envious and possessive. He couldn’t deny that he had those traits in abundance.

He’d been possessive ever since the two of you were young. Seeing you talk and get friendly with people who weren’t him always made him queasy...sometimes, he’d even go to the extent of purposely sabotaging your other friendships. He stopped doing that when middle school started, but try as hard as he could, he never did get rid of that feeling of ardent jealousy.

He was afraid that one day, you would finally realize that he wasn’t good enough for you. For anyone. His father constantly reminded him of that fact, after all.

He really didn’t want you to leave him.

When he first met you, he was entranced with your wide, innocent eyes and the way you looked so happy and pure. Despite being so young, Minho didn’t have an ounce of innocence left in him. He’d been forced to grow up all too fast...

Minho saw in you the kind of person he wanted himself to be. He liked coming over to your house, too. Your family was always so sweet and accommodating...the complete opposite of his. The more time he spent with you, the less he dwelled on his own fucked up life.

He liked all the sleepovers, especially. He would sleep at the foot of your bed in a sleeping bag, the two of you still talking late into the night. The first time he’d stayed the night at your house, he’d fallen asleep quickly for the first time in his life. Your soft snoring had calmed him, a welcome change from the sounds of glass breaking, the angry shouts that he’d gotten used to back home.

Sometimes, you’d dangle your arm off the side of the bed and he’d hold it, the feeling of your warm hand in his making him even calmer.

Your bedroom was where you hung out until middle school started. After that, the two of you found another place to call your own, a place that was special to the two of you.

You were the one who’d discovered it, one day before school as you waited for Minho to come pick you up from your house, so the two of you could walk together to school. He’d been taking slightly longer than usual this time, so you decided to take a walk to the lake near your house. There had been a few water poppies you’d spotted last time you were there, and you wanted to pick some.

You squinted at the grass near the lake, frowning as you couldn’t find any that weren’t smushed- a dog must have trampled all over them. You walked along the length of the lake, trying to find ones that were intact, when you noticed the big willow tree that was right across the bend.

You were surprised, because you hadn’t seen such a big tree before- but then neither had you walked this far.

When you walked back, Minho had a worried expression on your face as he saw you.

“There you are! Oh god, i was going to call your mom-”

“Come on, I wanna show you something!” You grabbed his hand, not caring that you were late as you tugged him along, taking you to the grassy area, and pointing at the big tree.

“Wow, it’s so beautiful...”

“It really is, isn’t it?”

Since then, you met there every day after school, under the shade of the tree. It became your little haven, a place where you told each other secrets, and laughed at things your fellow students would do.

One day though, as you laid your head on Minho’s thigh, your hands occupied with making a daisy chain, he sighed, voice shaky as he spoke.

“Sometimes, I feel like I’m going to end up like my father.”

You looked up at that, frowning at him.

“You won’t. You’re a good person, Minho.”

“I don’t know. It’s in my genes after all, isn’t it?”

“People aren’t always exactly like their parents. Don’t put yourself down. You, Lee Minho, are amazeballs.”

He giggled, pinching your nose and cringing at the 13 year old lingo.

“Amazeballs?”

You laughed. “Shut up. You know what I mean. Kind, cool, strong, funny...”

His gaze softened as he looked down at you. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” You sat up, facing him and taking his hand in yours. “I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through. I won’t pretend to understand. From what you’ve told me though, I know you’re nothing like him. You’ve always been there for me, Minho, always been someone I can lean on.”

He sighed, nodding. “Yeah. But that’s only because you’re my best friend. I’m not this nice to others. You know that.”

“Not everyone can be nice all the time, you know? That sounds tiring. And to be honest, not every one deserves people being nice to them.”

“That’s true...how do you do this? Manage to cheer me up, always? You’re so...perfect.”

“Me? Perfect? Shut up. You know I’m far from it, Minho.”

“To me, you are.”

You stuck your tongue out at the cheesy comment, erupting into a fit of giggles as Minho pulled you close, his hands tickling your sides.

He finally stopped after multiple protests from you, smiling down at your breathless form.

You hummed. “I know you can’t really call the place you live home...so can we be each other’s home?”

His smile grew wider.

“Yes, we can.”

You made him feel special, worthwhile. You saw the good in him that he couldn’t see, no matter how hard he tried.

A while after he graduated from high school though, he came home one day to an empty house. A few minutes later, he received a call from the hospital that his mother had been admitted under critical care and that his father was being detained by the police.

He realized you were wrong. He definitely wasn’t any of those fucking things you said he was. He wasn’t there for his mother when she needed him. He’d let that monster act according to his wishes.

He slowly decided to stop caring. His college life would be different from the one he’d led so far. After all, what was the point in trying? People don’t change. Being vulnerable never ended up getting you anywhere, and his own home life was evidence enough. You wouldn’t have wanted him to give up, but he always knew he’d let you down sooner or later.

***

When Minho woke up, he noticed it was already dark. It was about 6:00. He’d missed his classes, but he didn’t really care.

He sighed and slipped off the bed, rubbing his eyes as he pushed open his door.

You were sitting on the sofa, humming as you mindlessly strummed your guitar like you usually did, whenever you were nervous or sad.

He came forward, sitting on the couch with some distance between you. You looked up as you saw him, giving him a small smile. “I thought you still weren’t back.”

“I slept all day...missed my classes.”

You nodded, turning back to your guitar.

“Where is he?”

“Juyeon? He left a while ago. He had plans.”

“Ah.”

There was more silence as Minho thought of what to say next, leaning back and watching you as you slowly started playing a small tune that sounded familiar, but one which he couldn’t quite place. Your humming slowly turned into singing, softly pronouncing each word.

Minho felt his heart pounding as he closed his eyes like he always did when you sang, preferring to focus on your voice without any distractions. As the song came to a close, he realized he head tears pricking his eyes. The lyrics hit too close to home.

He opened his eyes, staring at you. “Did...did you write that song?” He asked slowly.

“No...I really like it, though...”

“Yeah, m-me too.” He gulped.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Every part of him was screaming, telling him to man up and confess already. You’d confirmed that you didn’t reciprocate his feelings, but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. If he didn’t say anything, he would burst.

“Y/n, I...”

You looked up at him. “Hm?”

“I...”

It was so hard. Why was it so hard to just spit out those words? He felt so frustrated with himself.

He shifted closer to you. Maybe if he couldn’t say it...he could show it instead.

Your eyes widened as he came closer, his eyes wet as he gently touched your cheek, leaning in further.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Shh...”

His lips brushed against yours. You felt sparks shooting through you despite the minimal touch, warning signals going off in your brain.

You pushed him away before he could deepen the kiss any further, feeling so utterly heartbroken that you could barely breathe.

“Stop- just s-stop.” You cried, rubbing at your eyes and standing up, glaring down at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

He frowned, confused. “I...I was just trying to-”

“Shut up. I’m so sick of you. Why are you doing this to me? Why do you keep trying to kiss me, why do you look at me like....like that sometimes? I don’t understand how you feel about me, I don’t know if you even think before doing shit like this-”

“Y/n, it’s not-”

“No. Please. Stop talking. Stop the excuses. Do you care about me? What do you feel? Cause I don’t understand.” You scoffed shakily, running a hand through your hair and staring at the ceiling.

“We had sex. Was there really nothing behind it? Was I just another girl for your fucking bed? Or do you...do you feel anything for me?”

You swallowed, looking at his dumbstruck face and panting.

He stayed silent, his face passive as he took in your words.

You raised an eyebrow. “Answer me...please, Minho. I’m...I’m begging you.”

He swallowed, his hands folded in his lap.

Come on Minho. This is your chance.

“Well?”

I’m in love with you.

I think I always have been.

Please don’t leave me.

He stayed silent.

You scoffed. “That’s what I thought.”

Glaring at him, you left for your room and slammed the door behind you.

***

You lay in your bed, fingers playing with your hair-tie as you lost yourself in your thoughts. God, love was a shitty feeling. All the movies and books described it as something beautiful, tender and soft.

In reality, love was painful. It felt like needles were poking your heart every time you saw his face, remembering all the happy memories you’d made with him. Memories that were now tainted.

You picked up your phone as it rang, sighing as you realized who it was.

“Hi.”

“Hello, baby! I’m so sorry I couldn’t call earlier. I have a night shift so I’ll be late, but I hope today I can finally stay over?”

“Um, yeah, sure.”

“Yay! We can have our own little sleepover.”

You laughed softly, rubbing the remaining tears away and sitting up a little. “Okay. I’m looking forward to it!”

“Hehe, see you later, sweetheart.”

You sighed and let the phone fall from your hands as you slipped further down the bed, smushing your face in the pillow and trying to get a moment’s peace. You got rid of all the thoughts in your head, choosing to replace them with emptiness for a while.

***

A few hours later you were woken up with a gentle shove. You opened your eyes sleepily, turning around and smiling.

“Ah. You’re here.”

“Uh huh. You okay?” Juyeon frowned, taking note of the dried tear stains on your face. You nodded, blinking as you sat up. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” He held up his laptop, smiling widely and getting into the bed next to you.

“I’ve downloaded a bunch of movies for us to watch together.”

“Ah.” You mumbled, smiling slowly and yawning. “That’s nice.”

He sighed, seeing your expression and putting the laptop aside. “You seem sleepy. I’m fine with cuddling. Scoot~”

He moved you to the side a little bit and pulled you against him, stroking your hair and smiling.

You felt a feeling of profound guilt, his face so innocent and caring that the disdain you felt for yourself grew. Why were you so caught up on the emotionally tone-deaf asshole in the other room when you had someone right here who actually cared about you?

Because you and Minho have been through so much together. You were there for each other when no one else was. No matter how hard you try, you would never get over him, would never get rid of the fact that all the two of you really knew was each other.

Juyeon watched as your expression darkened, his fingers pausing, drifting down from your hair and cupping your cheek, just like Minho had done a few hours ago.

He leaned in, his lips slightly open.

No. You couldn’t do it. This was wrong.

You stopped him, your hand over his mouth as you closed your eyes, not wanting to see his hurt expression.

“I’m...s-sorry.” You whispered, sniffing.

“I can’t string you along like this anymore. I’ve never really been a good person...and I’m still not. But I can’t do this to you. Can’t stay with you when I know I can’t return the love you give me. I don’t deserve it.”

“Open your eyes, Y/n.”

You slowly peeled them open, breath hitching as you looked at him.

“I knew.” He pulled away, sighing and sitting up on the bed. “I know you don’t like me. I know you only got together with me to prove something. I guess I fooled myself into thinking one day you might actually fall for me, if I could prove to you what a nice boyfriend I could be...” He glanced at your distressed expression.

“Look, it’s okay. Don’t put yourself down like that. I just...I wanna know why.”

“Well,-”

“Is it because you love him?”

Your eyes widened as you sat up, facing him. “Um, who-”

He shook his head, chuckling. “I should have seen it coming. You know who I’m talking about. Now, tell me. It’s the least you can do.”

You gulped, nodding after a moment’s thought.

“Hmm. Knew it.” He stood up, grabbing his laptop and glancing back at you.

“I’ll leave, then. I don’t mind staying friends, though.”

“Yeah, I don’t, either.”

He smiled, walking out of your room and to the front door. He passed Minho sprawled out on the couch, glassy stare directed at the Tv that was playing a random infomercial on repeat.

“Hey, bro?”

Minho ignored him.

Juyeon let out a wry laugh. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Minho sighed, tearing his eyes away from the screen. “What do you want?” He snapped.

“Nothing, I just wanted to say you’re an idiot.”

“Ah well, I kinda knew that.”

“No, seriously. You don’t know how lucky you are.”

Minho frowned up at him. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head, making his way to the front door, turning around as he opened it.

“I’m just saying...seize the opportunity when you have it. You never know when you might lose it.”

“What the fuck are you going on about, dude?”

Juyeon rolled his eyes, flipping him off before leaving.

Minho watched him go, frowning as he glanced at your still shut door. Why’d he leave as soon as he came in?

He wondered if he should check on you. It was probably a bad idea, considering the way you’d blown up at him earlier...

He stood up, going to your door and raising his hand to knock, hesitating. He could hear soft sniffling sounds coming from inside that made his heart break. But seeing him might just hurt you even more...

He sighed, dropping his hand. At the end of the day, he was just a coward.

He went to his room, sitting down at the table and grabbing a piece of paper. If it was so hard to say those words, maybe he could just write them?

He wrote a small paragraph, before shaking his head and crumpling it up into a ball, throwing it on the floor. About half an hour passed by, and he’d made no progress except for increasing the pile of paper balls on the floor.

He threw his head back, groaning. How do people even do this...

You’ve never had problems like this before. Why are you being such a pussy now, when it really matters?

He chuckled, rubbing his forehead and sneering at the voice in his head.

It isn’t that easy. What if I lose her when I do confess? What if she freaks out, pushes me away completely? I can’t afford to lose her.

Well, if you continue being an asshole like this, you truly will lose her.

He made a sound of frustration, slapping his head as he got out of his chair, thinking about what Juyeon had told him.

Did it mean what he think he did?

He didn’t want to get his hopes up. He paced the room, running his hands through his hair and trying to figure out what to do.

If he confessed to you now, it would definitely fall flat. He needed to do something that made it clear that he meant what he said. That he wasn’t joking around, that he was serious. He’d never been so serious in his life, in fact.

There was a possibility he would lose you after this...and the existence of it frightened him. But if being away from him was best for you...he’d gladly stay away.

He opened the door to his room, making sure your door was still closed before dialling Chan for help to set his plan up, leaving the apartment.

#minho #lee know #minho angst #lee know angst #skz angst #stray kids angst #minho smut #lee know smut #minho fluff #lee know fluff #skz smut #skz fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #kpop angst #kpop smut #kpop fluff

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sunrisehoneybee · 3 years ago

Text

Response to Anon

To the rando anon who felt I was moralizing the term ‘fat’ because of some unidentified comment I left on some unidentified post some unidentified period of time ago. Like ....seriously, I haven’t posted a comment in ...how long? I’m barely on this account anymore. Whatever I said may have been misunderstood or taken out of context. It might have been said in a moment of frustration. It might have been said in a moment of ignorance. People do grow and change. I am no different.

Regardless, I have no idea what you’re referring to. I’ve made LOTS of comments in the past around fat, body positivity and fatphobia.

But since you want my views on the concept of fat and body positivity - Here you go.

I have fat. I have muscle. I have blood and various tissue and organs. No one says “Oh wow. You’re muscle.” How weird does that even sound? But people will say “Oh wow. You’re fat.” And you can preach body positivity all the time, but they are not being positive. It’s not even a neutral statement. They aren’t saying it in the same vein as “Oh wow, you have green eyes.” “Oh wow, you’re blonde.” At all. They are saying it to be insulting. To judge. They are saying it to hurt and dehumanize. Based on a singular physical trait. That has ZERO bearing on my morality. Of whether I’m a good person. A good employee. A good mother.

My body composition has no moral bearing on who I am as a person. I am not here for anyone’s aesthetic. I’m not a fucking punchline.

Do -I- think having fat is a moral issue? No. Do I think people who have what someone may deem as ‘too much’ fat are judged on a moral level? Yes. It IS treated as a moral issue. I AM judged on a moral level because I have fat. I am deemed lazy (If you’d only eat less and work out more you wouldn’t be fat). I am deemed ugly and unattractive (You’d be pretty if you lost some weight). I am dehumanized (Being moo’d at as I walk down the street).

Don’t get me started on what society does to children regarding body image. My daughter is in therapy because of it. Not only does society as a whole put this pressure on being thin (NOT HEALTHY, OK? BUT THIN), but the medical community is rampant with fat bias. Which can arguably dangerous when conditions are not explored, not examined, tests are not run because their doctor feels they should lose weight and that will fix everything. But medical bias against fat people is an entirely different post.

What do I want? I want people to be happy in whatever shape they’re in. I want them to love who they are. Period. I want them to celebrate their bodies. It’s the only one they have. If they want to change their weight. Great! I will cheer them on. But I want them to be happy in their current shape, whatever it is, along the way. If they don’t want to change their weight and are happy with who they are. Great! I will cheer them on too.

And before someone hops up here and says, “But I’m just worried about their heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeealth.”

Don’t. No you’re not. You can be healthy at all manner of weights. BMI is a bullshit standard that has no scientific basis. And the bottom line is my health is none of your business. Are you a doctor? Are you MY doctor? No? Then stop talking. I know what my shape is. I know what my health is. I don’t need your input. It’s rude and infantalizing to assume otherwise.

But to address the random anon - If YOU, random anon, want to proclaim yourself as ‘fat’. GREAT! Seriously. Good for you.

I want the term ‘fat’ to carry the same weight as someone’s eye color. I would love for it to be simply a characteristic, not a moral implication and not an insult.

TRIGGER WARNING below cut - mention of rape and violence against fat people, specifically women.

I want for podcast hosts to not be able to say things like “There is nothing more worthless than the bottom half of a fat woman” and go on to graphically describe cutting them in half and raping them before they died, then throwing them away like garbage because they are worth NOTHING.

I want that level of hate to not exist. To not have a place. For people to not tell me to get over it, it’s just a joke. Can you imagine the outrage there would be for ANY other physical characteristic to be used in a ‘joke’ like this?

/end trigger warning

But I will die on the hill for YOU to use that term in a positive way to describe you. I’m not ‘anti-fat’. I’m anti-weaponizing the term fat to hurt people. I am anti-using the term fat to ascribe moral value to a person. However, I don’t have to use the term ‘fat’ to describe myself if I don’t want to. Just like you’re allowed to use the term ‘fat’ to describe yourself if you want to. That’s the way it works.

For me, I will probably always struggle with using the term ‘fat’ in a positive way to describe ME. It has been used to hurt me ....for as long as I can remember, even when I was what anyone would deem a ‘healthy’ weight. I grew up with a parent with an eating disorder. I struggle with disordered eating myself. It is VERY complex issue for me. It’s ok for me to still triggered by the term. It’s ok for me to take ALL the time i need to work through and process the damage done TO ME by the use of that term. If in whatever moment, I felt the use of the term ‘overweight’ was easier for me, maybe give me the benefit of the doubt that I was doing the best I could, with the tools I had available in the moment I was in at the time. Ok?

My views on terms like ‘fat’, ‘overweight’, ‘obese’ are not something that you can possibly extrapolate from a single comment on a single post in a moment in time. It’s goes even deeper than what I’ve touched on here, with more complexity and facets than I can cover in what is already a ridiculously long post.

For me it is a very personal journey and a work in progress. Being ‘progressive’ and having ‘body positivity’ isn’t just using the term ‘fat’ to describe yourself. It doesn’t make you more woke. It does go deeper than that. It’s also not something that I’m open to debating, especially with some random anon person.

Hopefully this has cleared up any questions you have about my views on being “anti-fat” and my views on body positivity.

TL:DR - if I use the word overweight, and that doesn’t apply to you, you don’t have to use it. You don’t have to even see it. Just block me.

#fat #body positivity #fatphobia #anon

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anntoldst0ries · 4 years ago

Text

Christmas (Baby please come home) - part II

Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Vicky Valentine)

Word Count: 6k+

Rating: R

Summary: Ethan & Vicky’s first Christmas together… will everything go as planned?

Category: Mini series, completed. Part I can be found here.

Warnings: A tiny bit of explicit language, mild sexual content. Other than this - I declare fluff, fluff and nothing but the fluff! :D

Author’s note: Part II is here and it’s long - sorry not sorry :D I put a lot of effort into this story and I hope you’re gonna like it :) I’d like to thank A. from the bottom of my heart, not only has she proofread it and corrected my mistakes, but also gave me the most amazing feedback. Jenner’s response is also hers, but she thoughtfully let me use it :) This is for you my dear <3

Written for CFWC Winter season, using prompt 10.

Christmas Eve

And then it was just them.

In the car.

Alone.

“For someone who has just said more words in 5 minutes than he does for a whole week, you’re surprisingly quiet, Dr Ramsey.’’

“Excellent observation, Dr Valentine. This is exactly the type of insight that earned you a spot on the Diagnostics Team.” Ethan threw her a tiny smile. “But it’s not surprising. It’s called getting things back on an even keel.”

She didn’t say anything, just gently moved her gaze outside the window, where the wintery Boston landscape unfolded right in front of them. In the background, Frank Sinatra’s velvety voice tucked her like a blanket and she couldn’t help but think he’d love White Christmas in the state of Massachusetts.

It wasn’t until then that she actually realised the Christmas song was playing in Ethan's car and not from the radio. This healthy compromise (Sinatra for him, Christmas song for her) made her smile, as she knew how much of an effort listening to Christmas tunes was for the man sitting on her left. His ears must have been bleeding heavily. She made sure of it, playing the jingles at full blast every evening, scarring him for life.

“Did you call your family to let them know you’re not coming?” Ethan’s deep baritone roused Vicky from the sea of thoughts she was immersed in.

“Nope, for two reasons: a - they didn’t know I was coming in the first place and b - I am still undecided.”

Vicky noticed the muscles on his face twitch in an instant.

“What can I do to help you make your mind up?” Ethan gently took her tiny hand in his and caressed the inside with his thumb. Then, he took it to his mouth and placed a kiss with great reverence, as if he was a religious fanatic and she was an object of religious cult.

This took her by surprise. She was expecting a snotty remark, a raise of an eyebrow or dead silence. Instead, the question hit her with a load of affection so genuine that warmth instantly spread in her chest.

She knew exactly what it was that she needed.

He knew exactly what she was going to ask for.

“Ethan, I… listen, you and I both know there is something more to your reaction. What I said in your office, it was just a trigger. I don’t know what it is and frankly I thought about never mentioning it again. But we both know that the next time this happens, you will cut me off again. I am not going to force you to do something you don’t want to. I just can’t keep going through the same cycles and… and—“

He put his palm on hers and took a deep breath.

“Are you hungry? Tired?” The older doctor asked with concern.

What the hell? Oh, I see what you’re doing Ramsey. Change of subject. Fine. I said what I wanted to say. The ball’s in your court now, doc.

“No to both.” She said as neutrally as possible, trying her best not to show him that the sudden change of subject upset her.

“Good. Before we go home, there is a place I need to stop by, is that ok?” The question sounded shyly, it wasn’t a tone she’d ever associate with him.

“I’ve never heard of a murderer who asked his victim if it’s ok to stop by the crime scene.”

“Trust me, if I were to murder you, you wouldn’t know.”

“Hmm, I’d like to think I know you well enough I would at least suspect.”

“I’d like to think you know me well enough to also know that I’d rather give you one of Dr Ramsey’s signature tirades. They are worse than murder.”

“No arguments here. So, will you tell me where we are going?”

“You’ll see.”

Soon, Ethan parked the car. He unbuckled the seat belt, opened the door and rushed to the other side, to open hers. He reached out for her hand with a faint smile and she blushed at the gentlemanly gesture.

Having intertwined their fingers, Ethan led her along a high brick wall until a gate materialised in front of them. He gently pushed the gate and let her through. Only then did she realise where they actually were.

“Commonwealth Avenue Mall? What are we doing here?”

“If you ask me, it’s one of the most picturesque pathways I’ve ever seen and not only during winter. I like to come here for my runs and to… contemplate. Walk with me?” He asked, but it wasn’t really a question. Hand in hand, they walked down the alley. Fresh snow scrunched underfoot and the strings of lights danced to the melody of delicate wind. If this wasn’t a fairytale setting, she didn’t know what could be.

Vicky studied Ethan’s features carefully. Although he was still a closed book sometimes, she’s gotten quite good at reading him over the months. After Edenbrook, Ethan Ramsey was the second biggest field where her sharp diagnostic skills were heavily utilised. Maybe that’s what she should focus on once she starts her PhD? “The curious case of Ethan Jonah Ramsey.”

That’s how she noticed that something was clearly eating Ethan from the inside. If her calculations were correct, there was approximately 1/1000 chance of him making a decision to speak, so she decided to throw him a lifebelt.

“Ethan, I can see that you want to say something, but it feels like you’re hesitating. Please don’t feel obliged to talk, I want you to do it on your own terms. As long as I know you want to talk to me eventually, I’m fine.”

“If I don’t speak now, I’m afraid I might never summon the courage.” Ethan tried to make it sound like a joke, but she knew how serious he was right now. She knew how much it had to cost him. Suddenly, she stopped and put her hands around his neck, then pressed her forehead to his.

“Don’t do this because of me.”

“Because of you? I’m not doing this because of you. I’m doing it for you. For us. What I’m about to say is painful, Vicky, but it’s nowhere near as painful as the thought of losing you. I’ve already told you how much time we lost because of my stubbornness. When… when you and Raf were locked in the hospital room…when I thought you were slipping from my grasp…” He had to stop to clear his throat and take a deep breath, clearly struggling to talk. “I promised myself that if life gives me a second chance, I will not waste it. I will work on this, on us, harder than I’ve worked during my 10 years at Edenbrook combined. I’d climb every damn mountain and swim every ocean if that’s what it takes to have you in my life.”

She wanted to cry. It took every ounce of her strength not to. Ethan wasn’t a blabbermouth, but when he spoke - man, he knew how to choose his words wisely.

“Ethan, whatever it is… we will get through it. Together. You are not alone, darling.”

Ethan felt tears prickling from underneath his closed lids. Not only because of what she said, but also because of what she didn’t say. He saw the impact of his words in her eyes, yet she didn’t want to make this about her, but him. Her selflessness was one of the things he loved and admired most about her. The older doctor never let himself be so vulnerable with any other person and as hard as it was for him, it also felt strangely right. As if all the pieces of this crazy puzzle called life finally came together.

Feeling as ready as he’d ever be, he took a deep breath and said: “Let me take you on a trip down memory lane…”

25 years earlier

Ethan is 11 and he’s sitting alone in his room. The window in the 4 walls of his world overlooks the street and it's his only connection to the outside world. The window sill underneath is wide enough to sit on it, but not very comfortable for a long time.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there, unmoving. It may have been hours, it may have been days. Time lost its sense.

He’s already past the point of pain caused by the unnatural position, his body has entered the numb phase, and he doesn’t feel anything anymore. He wishes his mind could join his body in the bliss of being rid of feelings.

It is only thanks to the carollers wandering on the streets that he’s convinced it must be Christmas Eve. And how he also knows it’s been 27 days since his mother walked out on him. Anger mixes with despair, yet he’s unable to stop waiting for her, stop jumping involuntarily at any movement in close proximity of his home. There is still hope.

Unbeknownst to him, Alan stands on the other side of the door trying to make the hardest decision today: to save his son or to be there for his son. Alan is a painful reminder of the life they once had, a bridge to the reality that tumbled down. He slowly retreats from the door, unsure if he’s doing the right or the bad thing. How are you supposed to know? Life does not exactly prepare you for moments like this.

Everyone asks him how Ethan is. No wonder, he is just a child whose mother disappeared into thin air. But do they not realise he suffers too? He loved, loves this woman more than life itself.

Alan was furious at Louise. But was he surprised? Not entirely. Deep down, he always knew that she was a restless soul. She always gave him hints - a subtle comment here and there, some words said during one of their fights. But he was blindly in love, so whenever she gave him reasons to think they shouldn’t be together, he ignored it. And when she did something that surprised him, she won him over and he lost the argument with himself.

What worried Alan was that Ethan started showing Louise’s personality traits. And as much as she fooled him, he didn’t want his only child to end up broken and hurt. If he could, he’d do anything to protect him. But even as a father he was unable to shield his child from the damage of being abandoned by his mother, the only person that should forever shower him with unconditional love. How does one ever recover from such trauma?

Ethan knew. Although his dad tiptoed around him, he felt it. He knew exactly that he was fighting internal battles. He knew that his father suffered.

There wasn’t anything that he wanted more than for his dad to come and hug him and tell him everything’s gonna be alright.

Or for his mum to come back home and explain the unexplainable.

But somehow he knew this wasn’t going to happen and he was tired of waiting for a miracle.

And on this Christmas Eve he made a decision: he will never let anyone fool him with a promise of unconditional love ever again.

He will separate himself from the rest of the world, build a wall so high no one will ever be able to jump over it.

No one will hurt him again, because you can’t hurt the rational mind, you can only hurt an emotional heart.

Today

“I haven’t cried since.” Ethan was now full on sobbing. “Until I met you, that is.”

She pulled him as close as humanly possible and enveloped him in a tight hug, with his head resting upon the crook of her neck. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks abundantly.

The older doctor was afraid that once he’d start, he’d never stop crying. All his shattered dreams, his sleepless nights, silent prayers, fake smiles, they all joined forces and attacked him with all their might. Had it not been for her hard grip, he might’ve fallen on his knees. How this petite girl found so much strength was a mystery to him, but he’d never been more grateful.

She kept rubbing soothing circles on his back and neck. It made her feel so unspeakably sad that the man she loved had to carry this unimaginable burden throughout his whole life. And as much as it sucked, she was happy that from now on, they could carry this burden together. Although he didn’t say anything, Ethan must have agreed, as she felt the tension slowly leaving his shoulders. They stood there in the freezing cold for what felt like forever. But neither of them seemed to mind, because they were in their tiny little bubble, impenetrable, where no one could hurt them.

Finally, the older doctor broke the silence.

“Let’s go. You must be freezing.”

“I’m about 5 minutes from hypothermia but I should be fine. I know a great doctor.”

“Well, one of the most important principles of modern medicine is ‘prevent, not cure.’ Plus, I think someone has really missed you.”

———

“OMG Jenner st—“

Before she was ready to finish the sentence, she was already on the floor, laughing like a maniac.

“You will be the death of me, Jenner.”

I’ll treat that as a compliment, Vic. But Christmas treats first, chatting later, lady!

That’s how she thought the conversation went in the dog's head. Ethan helped her get up and took her coat.

“I hope you are still not sleepy.”

“Not really, why?”

“Because I need a companion.”

“Always & with pleasure, but I assume you mean something else right now?”

“You minx. I want you to sit down comfortably, I’ll pour you a glass of wine. You can watch one of your favourite Christmas movies or play Christmas songs - whatever your heart desires.”

“Who are you and have you eaten my own Mr Grinch, Christmas-friendly creature?”

“I just need you to sit here whilst I’ll be working. Now go and get changed.”

She obeyed quickly, which she always did when he used his commanding doctor voice on her. Whilst changing into leggings and a hoodie, some weird noises reached her ears, clearly coming from the living room. When Vicky came back, a glass of white wine sat on the coffee table. But that’s not what surprised her.

The 37-year old diagnostician was tangled in Christmas lights and so was Jenner, who thought his master was playing some sort of game with him and kept jumping around Ethan.

“What are you doing?”

“Well…since, because of me, you had to call off Christmas, I’m reinstating it. I will take all the decorations out while you’ll be sitting here doing nothing, maybe apart from instructing me on how to do it right. Does this sound like a fair punishment?”

“Only if you let me record this and post it on Pictagram.”

“Don’t cross the line, Valentine.”

“Ethan Ramsey, king of rhymes! Fine, I suppose I can still die happy knowing I’ve instilled the Christmas spirit into you.”

“Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to actually dump you in the forest…”

“Talk to the hand, Gramps!”

---------

Christmas Day

Christmas mornings were always rushed and crazy at the Valentine household. Although Vicky loved Christmas in her family home, she didn’t know how much she actually enjoyed the lazy, easy Christmas mornings until she was able to experience it. And she couldn’t be more content that it was with Ethan.

Mercifully, he let her sleep until 9am (obviously, he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t mumble something about her sleeping too long and how she was able to function like this, but she completely ignored the remarks) and then brought her breakfast to bed, which she consumed in its entirety, with a little help from Jenner. The most important meal of the day had been delivered with a complimentary kiss, which was her favourite part.

“Ethan!” She shouted from the bedroom, not quite ready to leave the comfort of his bed. The older doctor left her with the food and went to prepare them both a cup of coffee.

“Jesus Christ woman, you’re so loud I’m starting to consider getting rid of my stereo.”

“Oh, it didn’t seem to bother you last night.” She winked at him and he grinned involuntarily. How was it possible that she was in possession of his facial expressions too?

“Anyway, can you please remind me what time we have to be there tonight?”

“Be where tonight?”

“Naveen’s Christmas Party.”

“We’re not going.”

“Yes, we are.”

“No, we are not.”

“Ok, let me rephrase this: me and my unearthly seductive dress are definitely in attendance. If you and Your Royal Grumpiness wish to stay home, be my guests.”

“You don’t play fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

“You know how much I hate rubbing shoulders with idiots in bowties.”

“I do, but let me offer some consolation. This time, you don’t have to do this, because we are not raising any donations. Also, we can laugh at those idiots together and if either of us is stuck in a pointless conversation, the other can always rescue them.”

He couldn’t argue with her logic, instead pulling her close against his chest and kissing the top of her head.

Later this evening

“V, how much longer until you are ready?” Ethan was growing impatient. He hated waiting and just couldn’t understand what took her so long. He was convinced that even wearing a garbage bag, she’d be the most stunning woman in the room.

“Ethan, nothing has changed since you’ve asked me 5 minutes ago.”

“Fine, but don’t be surprised if I leave without you.”

“No you won’t. But for someone who didn’t want to go at all not longer than 8 hours ago you are quite eager now. Call me an influencer.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want if this means we can leave soon. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can come back.”

“Whatever I want? Bad move Ramsey, bad move.”

“I’ll sho—“

He turned around and the words got stuck in his throat at the sight unveiling in front of him. She looked like a freaking goddess, who decided to descend from Mount Olympus and grace the mortals with her presence.

“You were saying?”

“I..I… you..well..” For a man so educated he now sounded less articulate than a toddler. To make things worse, a certain body part painfully reminded him that behind the facade of accomplishments, he was still a primate.

“Ethan, could you stop talking so much? I can’t hear my own thoughts.” She laughed and it was so infectious that he couldn’t help but smile.

She decided to wear a long, black gown, with a thigh high split showing her slim, tanned legs that he was a total sucker for. The ensemble was complimented by crystal embellished sandals and glamorous drop earrings.

“I’ve never seen anyone whose insides matched their outsides so accurately. To me, you are perfect.”

Her heart stopped and she felt butterflies waltzing through her stomach. No matter how many times Ethan complimented her, she always felt like Cupid punched her right in the face. And she hoped the feeling would never fade or disappear.

“So you watched Love Actually with me yesterday.”

“Watched is an overstatement. I might have peeked a few times.” Ethan cleared his throat. “Can we go now?”

“Absolutely not. Did the Edenbrook gala not teach you that if you need to attend an event you are not particularly excited about, you shouldn’t go sober?”

“I suppose you have a point here. One drink.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“Deal! Pleasure doing business with you, Dr Ramsey.”

Ethan poured them both a glass of his best scotch. Before she was able to take a sip, he stopped her with his hand. “I’d like to propose a toast.”

“Fire away.”

“To curing the incurable. In medicine and in life.” He sent her a sweet, genuine smile that made her heart beat ten times faster.

Then, they made some bets about what’s going to happen during this year’s party, who’s going to get so wasted that they will be forced to perform a walk of shame for months to come. For the whole time, the younger doctor couldn’t shake the feeling that he is studying her.

“What is it? And don’t tell me it’s nothing, I’ve spent too much time with you for my observation skills not to improve insanely. Like it or not, you created a monster.”

“I like to think of it as making the world a better place… nevertheless, I’m impressed, Dr Valentine. For a 3rd year resident your skills are exquisite.”

She put her hand on her heart and smiled. All the compliments she’s ever received in her life faded in comparison to one from Ethan Ramsey. Her high school hero, her inspiration and she still couldn’t quite believe it, the man she was now sharing her life with.

“Now, if you’ll allow me, I must order a cab now, otherwise I may lose a battle soon.”

“What battle?”

Ethan looked at her, lust flooding from his eyes. He quickly stepped behind her and gripped her waist, then leaned into her ear, catching it ever so gently with his lips. This alone was enough for her knees to give out and she was never more grateful for the kitchen island and the fact she was holding onto it for dear life. But he didn’t stop there. He whispered into her ear and no other sounds in the world could compare to the symphony of his voice, dripping with desire.

“The one in my mind, between my rational mind and my primal desire, urging me to rip off this dress and devour you right now.”

Goosebumps spread across her body, a painful reminder of the fact that maybe her mind and mouth could lie to Ethan, but her body couldn’t. Damn it.

She knew it was a matter of milliseconds before she’d be unable to make a rational decision, so she quickly slipped from Ethan’s grip and whispered: “You should order it now then.” Then, she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Oh, you’re gonna make me work for it, aren’t you?”

“Well, that’s only part of the reason. The other, bigger part is that I just really, really want to show up at this party with my insanely hot boyfriend by my side, without finally having to hide and pretend. Unless…he’s ashamed of me.”

“Vic, there are a lot of things in my life that have ‘shame’ and ‘you’ in one sentence. I’m ashamed of running away from you to Amazon. I’m ashamed of denying my feelings for so long. I’m ashamed of hurting you, more than once. But to have you by my side, to finally call you mine? That’s my greatest pride. Now, shall we?” He offered her a wide smile and his arm.

“You asshole. First, you try to seduce me and then you make me cry. Let’s go then, Naveen is going to kill us. I promised we’re only gonna be fashionably late.”

———————

The party was already bustling when they arrived, the room filled with chatter of many guests in attendance. The event was Naveen’s pride and a tribute to his many years as one of the most important figures in today’s medicine. It was almost like Elton John’s Oscars after party - everyone wanted to be there. Being there made Vicky feel special, but more than that, uneasy - she was still just a resident and somehow felt like she didn’t belong there. At least, not yet.

In the background, the string quartet played classical versions of popular songs and carols. The venue was impressive, located within one of Boston’s most prestigious hotels, whose owner was Naveen’s - obviously - long time friend.

The second Dr Banerji spotted them, he practically ran in their direction, almost bumping into one of the guests.

“Well well, if this isn’t my favourite pair of doctors. Dr Valentine, you look like you walked out of one of Botticelli’s paintings.”

“Enough with the formalities. I’m so happy to see you, Naveen! Merry Christmas.” She hugged the old doctor tightly and although initially surprised by this display of affection, he instantly relaxed and returned the hug.

“Merry Christmas, my dear.”

“It’s quite something, this party of yours Naveen. You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Why, thank you. You know what my favourite part is?” He locked arms with the younger doctor and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “This party satiates my hunger for gossip for months to come. And I’m pretty sure this evening will be, for many reasons, unforgettable. Enjoy your evening, my friends, I shall see you around.”

Naveen winked at Vicky and Ethan felt like there was some sort of unspoken agreement between them, one that he wasn’t a part of.

“What was that about?”

“What was what about?”

“I know you and I know Naveen. Something is off here.”

“Ethan Ramsey, are you jealous? FYI, I don’t fancy older men. Oh no, wait. I totally do.” She was trying really hard to stay serious, but failed miserably.

“Very funny, Valentine.”

“Sorry Gramps. This one you were totally asking for.”

“I’m gonna go get us some real drinks, I need to hydrate myself heavily if I’m to survive the evening.”

“Don’t cloud your judgement too much, Ethan. You may need it.”

Maybe he was imagining the whole exchanging looks thing between Vicky and Naveen. But now he was certain she’s hiding something. And he intended to find out what it is or he was not Dr Ethan Ramsey.

After he fetched them the drinks, they found their seats and soon Naveen made his annual speech, summarising the whole year and thanking tons of people. Vicky loved experiencing Naveen as a speaker, he didn’t have Ethan’s commanding presence, but his years of experience and sincerity in his voice made everyone listen with absolute silence.

He then joined them at the table. Of course he sat us with him, Ethan thought.

“Naveen, if you think I’m going to be your source of hospital gossip, think again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We don’t spend as much time in the hospital together and I miss my dear friends.”

Before he was able to respond, Vicky pinched his thigh under the table and sent him a murderous look.

“We miss you too, Naveen. Now, why don’t you two catch up properly, whilst I’m gonna go and do my round of talks, there are a couple of people I wanted to chat with.”

“Sure, feed me to the lions, Vic.”

“When have you become such a drama queen, Ethan? If I wanted to feed you to the lions, you’d be standing over there.” She pointed her finger to the corner of the room, where some big pharma executives were enjoying themselves. She waved friendly in their direction, and they responded in kind.

“Alright gentlemen, I need to run before they catch me.”

Before she turned around, her and Naveen shared meaningful looks, but before Ethan had a chance to ask, she was already gone. Plus, Naveen changed the subject and the two immersed themselves in a very interesting conversation, which reminded Ethan how much he liked his mentor, not as a doctor, but genuinely as a human being. This made him one of a few people Ethan truly liked.

Dr Ramsey was one of those people who, when they were focused - whether on the case, on the conversation or on watching an opera - dedicated their attention entirely to said activity. Which was probably the reason why the sounds coming from the stage took him by surprise. He didn’t realise that the string quartet had been replaced by a group of young people, who started playing more lively.

No longer than 30 seconds later, someone started singing, but the voice was not coming from the stage. It was coming from behind. Suddenly, all the guests turned their heads around as one.

The snow's coming down

I'm watching it fall

Lots of people around

Baby please come home

The angelic voice belonged to a beautiful girl in a black gown. She sat on a bar stool, side-facing everyone. Suddenly, she jumped from the seat and started walking towards the stage, each step sensual.

The church bells in town

All ringing in song

Full of happy sounds

Baby please come home

Ethan must have looked like an absolute idiot, because he sat there gaping like a fish.

They're singing "Deck The Halls"

But it's not like Christmas at all

'Cause I remember when you were here

And all the fun we had last year

Once on the stage, she owned both the stage and the crowd. Some people started dancing, others clapped to the rhythm and sang with her. When she finished and took a bow, the audience applauded her generously.

“Good evening everyone. I’m Vicky and I’m a doctor at Edenbrook Hospital. Thank you for organising this amazing event, Naveen, and thanks for having me. And now, please meet these amazing musicians, whom I have the honour of calling my friends. Back in high school we formed a band, which we called Valentine’s Day… that was a very accurate name on many levels.” She chuckled and the crowd followed.

“You are looking at people who never gave up on their dreams and now play in some amazing venues. I couldn’t be more proud of them. It would have been the same for me, most likely, if it wasn’t for a book, which I’m sure a lot of you ladies and gentlemen are familiar with. It’s called Diagnostics Principles. After I read it, nothing was the same. And here I am, all these years later, getting covered in blood and sweat almost every day. But today, I can at least bask in the glory of the amazing people standing here with me.”

“I’d like to dedicate this next song to the author of the above mentioned book. He changed my life in more ways than he can realise. And although I promised him we will not exchange any Christmas presents, I haven’t spent any money on this one, so technically it doesn’t count, right?” She earned another amused reaction from the crowd.

“It’s my favourite Christmas song and I’m so honoured to be able to sing it for you.”

The subtle sounds of a piano reverberated in the room and she started singing, her voice pure and powerful.

O Holy night

The stars are brightly shining

It is the night of our dear Savior's birth

Ethan couldn’t move or breathe. He just stared, completely transfixed.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining

'Til He appears and the soul felt its worth

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn

To hear her singing was one thing. To feel all the things the act was doing to him, was completely different. With every sound produced by her vocal cords, a new, overwhelming sensation was born inside of him.

Fall on your knees

O hear the Angel voices

O night divine

O night when Christ was born

O night divine

O night

Oh night divine

Their eyes locked and she sent him a look so full of affection that he felt a warm tear flowing down his cheek.

For him, it was anything but watching a performance. It was a spiritual experience. Towards the end of the song, she hit the notes so high, that he couldn’t help but look around the room. Everyone was in awe of her. And he was never prouder to call her “his”.

After the last bits of instruments resonated, the guests gave her a standing ovation. Ethan clapped his hands so hard that they hurt. He even whistled on his fingers which he hasn’t done since high school. To hell with it, he thought.

And then he ran, knowing that in a second he will not be able to squeeze through the crowd of admirers. He scooped her in his arms and kissed her with so much passion that she felt dizzy.

“Wow, that was different.”

“What do you mean?”

“The kiss, it felt different.”

“There are so many things I want to say right now, but I can’t do it here. How much longer do we have to stay?”

“I promised the guys I will sing a couple more songs with them and then I wanted to introduce you and have a drink together. After that, we’re free to go.”

“Deal.”

——

“My feet are killing me. I don’t know how I survived in those heels, but I’m walking barefoot for the next 2 days.”

“How fitting since I’m not going to let you out of this apartment until we have to go back to work.”

“I’m gonna go get changed in my PJ’s”

“Ah, not that soon.” Ethan said with a devilish smile and then approached her, reaching for her hand. “May I have this dance?”

“Although I’m tempted to say no to Dr Ramsey just to prove a point, I could never say no to Ethan.” She took a bow and gave him her hand.

“Lucky me. I just wanted to dance with you away from the prying eyes. For the whole evening everyone stared at you. I’m a selfish man and I was counting the minutes until I have the view all to myself.”

The sounds of Something by The Beatles started seeping from a glamorous gramophone.

“The Beatles? I didn’t take you for the type who’d listen to them.”

“Frank Sinatra christened this song the ‘greatest love song ever written.’ And who am I to argue with him?”

For a moment they swayed in silence, cheek to cheek. Then, the older doctor leaned back and looked her straight in the eye.

“So, you are not great at keeping promises, are you?” He mumbled playfully.

“You mean the “let’s not exchange gifts” thing? I stand by what I said earlier, I haven’t spent a dime on it, so it doesn’t count.”

“It’s funny that you don’t even begin to realise how wrong you are.” He was very serious but there was a rare gentleness in his voice. “First of all, you mentioned you had a band in high school and that you sang but you never told me that you practically traded being a music star for being a doctor.” She blushed shyly at the compliment.

“Secondly, when you sang, I just couldn’t take my eyes off of you. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard and I consider myself an audiophile.”

“Coming from you, this is officially the biggest praise ever. I will have this printed and framed. You may even get an autograph if you play your cards right.”

“Shut up, I haven’t finished. You can ruin the moment later.” Ethan playfully swatted her arm.

“With you, I am discovering parts of myself I never knew existed. And I’m strangely content with this. So, to sum up, all of the above makes me feel very guilty that I didn’t get you anything.”

“Ethan, you don’t have to give me anything. But it’s funny you said that, because you don’t even begin to realise how wrong you are.” She was proud of herself for being able to use his own words as a counterargument.

“Actually, you gave me the biggest gift yesterday: a real part of you. I’m guessing, actually it’s more than a guess, that this is not something you shared with many people.”

“I haven’t shared this with anyone.”

“And that’s the biggest gift I could ever ask for. I want to be the person who helps you carry the cross, no matter how heavy it is.”

He pressed her even tighter against his chest and rested his chin on her head. But he felt the need to express all the other things his words couldn’t, so he gently lifted her chin and pressed his lips to hers. She tasted and smelled divine. On a very basic level, she smelled like coconut and mango.

To him, she smelled like spring, summer, autumn and winter. Like a promise of sun after the storm. Like home. Ethan finally found his home, his safe haven.

The kiss made her feel dizzy again and then she remembered.

“So, the kiss. It feels different. Why?” She looked at him so innocently it almost made him sweat. Ethan cupped her cheek as if he was holding the most precious thing in his palm… and for him, he was.

“When you were singing for me, I made a promise. From now on, whenever I kiss you, I want to make it feel like it’s the last time, but also a promise of the million more kisses we will share. Merry Christmas, Vicky.”

“Merry Christmas, Ethan.”

***************************

If you made it this far, from the bottom of my heart - thank you & you are awesome! I wish you all the best in 2021, let’s hope it’s a better year for us all :)

#open heart #ethan ramsey x mc #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week #cfwc winter season

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boundlesshart · 3 years ago

Text

foundations

takes place between the wyvern moon and the ethereal moon

Judith warned him all those moons ago. “Your grandfather still thinks that you’re liable to get yourself killed at the Officers Academy. Don’t try proving him right, otherwise I’ll have to come down and set you straight myself.”

It had been the night before the Knights of Seiros were due to arrive, to escort the heir of the Leicester Alliance to the Officers Academy alongside the prince and princess. Dimitri and Edelgard. Claude only knows their names, but already he thinks of them as friends. The old man hemmed and hawed for a year over if Claude would see this "Officers Academy" for himself, but the announcement of their attendance forced his hand. He didn't look happy. My joy is his pain, Claude had thought bitterly.

His own announcement had been quiet and subdued, per Oswald's insistence. Claude wanted celebrations. A feast, a party, a smile on his grandfather's face, not the mournful look of a man about to send his son to his death. And especially not some old woman breathing down his neck. "Uh-huh. And how would you find out?"

“Oh I’ll find out. I have eyes everywhere, boy. Don’t forget that.” Judith's words went in one ear and out the other, and Claude forgot them as soon as he waved her off. And so the conversation ended.

For all of Oswald's fretting, hardly anything terrible happened this year. Well, sure, there was the incident in the Sealed Forest, an incident that Claude had been very careful to avoid referencing in his letters back. Oswald write fairly frequently–once a moon, 'are you eating well, sleeping well, are you making friends?'. Judith writes, but less frequently. Only to chew him out for slacking in class, and those letters were always too timely.

Claude had a hunch. He always did–his upbringing fostered a habit of observing others and collecting hunches. The question was never if there were Daphnel spies watching his movements, but where they were. How far does this go? Who is spying for Judith von Daphnel, and how far does her reach go?

Then he gets punched in the face. And as it turns out, that reach is pretty damn far.

—————

"Stop your gawking, boy. It's unbecoming of Oswald's heir."

Claude forces his eyes away from Judith's face, but that only adds to the pot of roiling emotions inside of him. Confusion at seeing Judith so far from Daphnel territory. Embarrassment at being caught in a moment of weakness. Shock that she had come because she already knew what had happened to him, and the anger that ensued that yes, all this time, there had been eyes on him, watching. The privacy he thought he had, being away from Derdriu, had been a mirage all this time.

Upset isn't the word he's looking for to describe how he's feeling, but it's getting there.

He hasn't said a word to her since they were seated in the common room. That's not like Claude, but in privacy, with just him and his aunt, all of his carefully built rules and strategies fly out the window. Judith von Daphnel may not know all his tricks, but she knows them well enough to trap him if she feels the need to.

So when Claude finally speaks, it's honest, and carefully neutral. "What are you doing here?"

"Confirming a rumor," Judith answers simply, punctuated with a sip of her whiskey. "We got word back in Derdriu that you were coming back with a terrible injury on your face. And I'm sure you can imagine how Oswald reacted to that. But enough of that for now. First, let me get a closer look." Leaning over the table, Judith takes Claude's chin in her hand. Her touch is gentle but firm, as she carefully turns his head. A sympathetic tut. "Hmm. Not as bad as the report made it out to be. But it's hardly pretty. What did the healer say?"

"...That it'll heal." When Judith releases him, Claude resists the urge to rub over where her hand was. "Told me to avoid getting punched and visit the infirmary twice a week for checkups. In two moons' time, I'll only have a scar to remember it by."

"A scar?" Judith's raises her eyebrows, but only for a moment before she nods to herself. "Right, right, the gauntlet." Claude's eye twitches, but he lets her continue, "Well, the bright side is the report exaggerated things a bit. This is about what I expected for what happened. But seeing this for myself... well, I'm just glad you're holding up."

Holding up? That's a new one. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Delicate area and all. A black eye is one thing–we've all gotten one some way or another. Being the troublemaker you are, I'm sure you're familiar with those. Am I right?" Claude can't help but huff in laughter, and Judith smiles in return, "There you go, loosen up a bit. Broken bones near your eye, from that prince who can't get his Crest under control, it's a serious matter. When we heard... well, words can't explain it. The old man was beside himself. Ready to write a letter to Rufus about the incident. I was barely able to convince him otherwise."

"It wasn't that bad," Claude tries.

"I said it wasn't as bad as I thought, but you can hardly wave it away and call it nothing." More whiskey pours into her cup, and more water in his. "In any case, Oswald is right to have his concerns about his grandson. The most you can do right now is put up with it."

Claude frowns, though it pulls at his bruise. Of course. His dreams of leading Leicester and implementing his goals as its sovereign duke have keeps his mind focused on what matters. But even they can't erase what feels like ever-increasing restrictions on what he can or cannot do. The last thing Claude needs is more hurdles in a country that prides itself on erecting them.

Judith breaks the silence between them with a sharp thump, her glass hitting the wooden endtable. "Right! To business, then. Oswald sent with me clerics that will help with the healing process. Some of his own personal healers, so they're familiar with you as you should be of them. I'm certain the nurses here at the Officers Academy are quite skilled at what they do, but you know how he is.

"Yeah." Claude takes a sip of water to hide his sudden grimace. That's going to be conspicuous.

"The Ethereal Ball is in two moons," Judith adds. "It'll be tight, but I'm certain it will heal in time. Oswald also wrote letters for all your professors to excuse you from your exercise drills while you recover. I'll give them to you before I leave, so make sure you get it to them before classes resume."

"Mmm." More meddling. More silence.

"Did it hurt?"

Claude looks up at Judith, to the concerned look in her eyes. He ought to have an answer–he does, doesn't he?–but nothing comes out.

"I know you like to forge on ahead on your own," she continues carefully, "and that you have the confidence to believe in yourself even when we push against you. But you know that you're not alone in this, right?"

"...I know that."

"You have family to rely on when things go wrong. ...You also have people that are relying on you. People to consider, and who shouldn't be left behind or ignored." There it is, the way Judith's voice hardens when she's trying to make a point. "Independence is an admirable trait to have, but there are times when you take it too far."

"...It's only that–I know my limits, and that I haven't hit them yet. Oswald, grandfather... he's so overbearing. And I know, I know, Godfrey!" Claude snaps when Judith opens her mouth. Of course, he regrets it soon after when her face falls, and her expression hardens as her voice had. But still he goes on, "I'm not him. Things won't end like it did with him. I don't need protection."

A pregnant pause. Judith making him wait, no doubt, and Claude steadily returns her gaze. He misstepped earlier, and no doubt he's paying for it now. It's fair of her, more than fair. Claude should know better than to throw the name of her dead husband back at her like some kind of curse.

She lets out a deep sigh. A tired sigh. "Alright. You've made your point. But some food for thought..." Judith takes another sip of her whiskey, swirling it in its cup. "There's a lot riding on you. There was a lot riding on Godfrey, too, and he broke under the pressure of it all." Another pause. "In some ways you have less support than he did, but you still have support. The Alliance is a country where no man can be allowed to forge ahead on his own. He is one of a group that works together for the betterment of all. That's the ideal, anyways... The sooner you learn that, the easier your time here will be. Just give it some thought, will you?"

—————

Judith's parting gift included Oswald's letters, but also a small pot of a brown, perfumed substance. "It's makeup. Don't give me that face," she scolds him, scowling. "When I was a girl attending the Officers Academy, the marketplace rarely had anything that could cover my blemishes without making me look like I came back from the dead." Then the pot is forced into his hands. "It'll be useful for you, better than an eyepatch in any case. The men of Derdriu cover their blemishes with this too, if it makes you feel any better."

It didn't, really. Not at the time. But Judith's gift was intended to be a tool, and so Claude tried to think of it as such. At least the scent of rosewater was a familiar one. A comforting one. It reminded him of his mother, and of Aunt Judith as well.

—————

Two weeks before the ball, the Riegan clerics returned to Derdriu. And in the early morning before it, Claude inspects himself in the mirror.

The bruising is long gone. His fingers scrape at the last bit of rose-scented paste clinging to the pot to cover the dark scar on his cheek. The skin already healed there, the clerics had explained to him. There is no way to undo its work. When Claude dabs makeup over it, though, the scar all but disappears. He tilts his head, smiles at himself in the mirror. Perfect.

Claude had his misgiving about this at first. But to be able to conceal his bruising and live his life normally, just as himself... when he writes to Judith for another pot, he'll have to let her know how invaluable that was to him.

He leaves his room shortly after, brushing past the stacks of papers on his desk. Underneath half-written essays and class notes are a set of unopened letters from Duke Riegan himself from two moons ago, buried and forgotten. No one that knew Claude von Riegan would think he'd actually hand those into his professors, Judith least of all.

#unbeta'd. unproofread. unedited. organic doc-to-post with no organization in between #i wanted this wrapped up and done before the ball but Alas. BUT NOW i can ball without this on the back of my mind

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