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meowcats734 · 1 year ago

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[Soulmage] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.

I knew the Grandmaster was hiding something when he ordered his second coffin of the month. I could understand why he'd ordered from Jiaola—if there was any carpenter in the Silent Peaks that you wanted working for you, it was one who'd built his own home from scratch—but the order itself was inexplicable. That, combined with the Grandmaster's tendency to inadvertently drop ancient secrets like so much candy, led me to believe that the Grandmaster wasn't what he appeared to be.

And if he was concerned enough about who he really was to go to such great lengths to hide it, that meant it was a secret worth leverage.

A core part of me hated using a hidden part of a person's identity against them—but desperate times called for desperate measures. I had a goal to achieve and misdeeds to atone for, and I needed a favor or three in order to get it done.

So finding out what the Grandmaster was hiding—and hinting that I just might let it slip—seemed like the best place to start.

I didn't know the Grandmaster's name—nobody did—but he liked going by a pretentious stack of titles. Grandmaster Water Magic Lord Sage Unmatched Crusader Knight, if I remembered correctly. I just abbreviated it to GWMLSUCK, and later, just SUCK. He was a wizened old man, with a cloak of leather that looked old enough to have been made last century, but the SUCK had a surprisingly youthful smoothness to his skin, an uncannily fluid spring to his step. The sun had long since set, but the pale orbs of witchlight on the streets still provided ample illumination as the SUCK made his way to Jiaola's house.

I cast a shrinking spell on myself—nowadays, I had ample fuel for the one spell I knew—and sprinted up behind him as he knocked on Jiaola's door. Jiaola's sun-tanned, wrinkled face broke out into a wide grin as he welcomed the SUCK in.

"How's my oldest customer doing?" Jiaola asked. "You haven't aged a day since we've last met!"

"Yes, yes, well... you have," the SUCK muttered, a slight hint of unease in his expression. "Do you have the resting place I ordered?"

"Of course! Hand-carved and enchanted with the finest quality spells, just how you like it." Just how... he likes it? How many times had the SUCK ordered new coffins? Was he burying people in secret? "Come in, come in."

In my shrunken state, neither Jiaola nor the SUCK noticed me sneak into the carpenter's house. I felt a pang of guilt as I snuck in—Jiaola and I were on friendly terms, even after that whole business with the demon invasion, and it rankled me to be sneaking around his home like this.

But I'd hurt people worse before. At least this time, it was for a good cause.

Jiaola walked downstairs, and I swore under my breath. He was headed for the safe room—a solid wooden box enchanted with, among other things, passive magic dampers. If I spent too long in there without a protection amulet I didn't have, the shrinking spell keeping me hidden would break, and I'd be exposed for nothing.

Thankfully, the last time I'd been inside the safe room, a haughty, arrogant witch had pointed out how to disable it, and Jiaola hadn't updated the safe room since then. Whispering an apology to Jiaola, I snuck in on the SUCK's heels and crawled up the wall, snapping three nodes of memorabilia. The oddly calming, draining sensation on my soul abruptly ended, and I maintained my secrecy as I watched Jiaola show the SUCK to a coffin.

Reverently, the SUCK ran one hand over the smooth bloodwood coffin, inlaid with dragonscale and puffwool. "It's beautiful," the SUCK whispered. "She'll love it."

Jiaola laughed, a craftsman's pride gleaming in his eyes. "I may be getting old, but these hands still remember what it's like to shape wood."

The SUCK paused, lost in reverie for a long moment, then said, "I could fix that, you know."

"Hm?" Jiaola asked.

"Mortality." The SUCK took a step back from the coffin, turning to Jiaola. He took Jiaola's weathered, calloused hand, studying it. "These hands have seen a lifetime of craft. It will be a shame when you perish, and your soul is scattered into thoughtspace."

Another one of those bizarre secrets the SUCK seemed to leave behind him wherever he went. He was the only person I knew who would casually mention what happened after death—and that was exactly why I needed him. I focused on the conversation as Jiaola took his hand—politely but firmly—out of the SUCK's grip. "What do you mean by that?" Jiaola politely asked.

"I could make you immortal," the SUCK said. "I could make you one of us."

And the leathery cloak on the SUCK's back unfolded into bat's wings, and the vampire held out a hand to the old carpenter.

I guess my nickname for him was more accurate than I thought.

Jiaola gave the vampire a long, considering look.

Then he smiled and said, "No thanks."

The vampire blinked. "I—excuse me?"

"I said, no thanks." Jiaola patted the coffin lid. "I was born in the Redlands. Death is a part of who I am. I've made my peace with it. I'll die as nothing more than human, just like the rest of us."

The vampire spluttered. "I—but—you—"

"I make good coffins," he said, "and I know what it's like to have to hide who you are. My husband and I had to deal with that for our entire lives. So don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

The vampire closed his eyes.

Then he folded up his wings, and he was once more nothing but a man wearing an oddly-shaped leather coat.

"Very well." He laughed. "I... to my surprise, I'm... not even angry. Simply... sad. I will miss you."

Jiaola gave the vampire a kind smile. "Don't you worry about me. I've still got some life left in me."

The vampire smiled, and despite the chill of the room, it somehow felt warm.

Then he tilted the coffin onto a wheeled dolly and began taking it out of the house.

I wished I could have left it at that. I really did.

But I had a question to ask. And now, I had the leverage to have it answered.

I scribbled a note on the floor and left it in a corner of Jiaola's room. If my gamble didn't pay off, I'd at least have a sliver of insurance.

As the vampire left the room and began walking down the street, I shadowed him until he passed through a quiet, empty street.

Then I broke the shrinking spell, expanding to my full size with a whoosh of displaced air. That nagging little whisper in my ear told me I was a horrible person for using his secrets against him like this, but it had to be done. The vampire spun around, startled, something... fluid... glistening at his fingertips.

"What are you—"

"I know what you are," I interrupted. "I know that you know things. And I've left notes in case I go missing, so killing or kidnapping me won't help you."

The vampire snarled, the fluid at his claws lengthening. "Then what do you want with me, mortal?"

"Answer me one question, and I will keep your secret forever."

"Then ask, insolent journeyman."

I took a deep breath, then said, "I know you know where souls go when they die. My question is: how can you bring one back?"

A.N.

Soulmage is a serial written in response to writing prompts. Stick around for more episodes, or join my Discord to chat about it!

First

Table of Contents

#writing #writing prompt #writers on tumblr #writblr #serial fiction #fiction #series #web serial #oc #soulmage

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lasenbyphoenix · 1 year ago

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10 Characters I Fell In Love With in 2023

I liked doing this retrospective so I'm bringing it back. I feel like I didn't watch many shows in 2023 but of the shows I did watch there were SO MANY good characters that making this list proved to be difficult to narrow down.

1. Tang Lian, The Blood of Youth.

The Blood of Youth gave us a main trio of an exiled prince, a chaotic monk and a himbo firestarter, but it was Tang Lian the ace shixiong who was the first in the series to make me go oooh he's mine. Was it the purple clothes? The grey streaks in his hair? The romantic awkwardness? The hyper competence with small deadly weaponry? The crisis over following orders vs following his heart? All of the above probably. And I'm very glad the creators of the bonus episode decided to agree with me that HE IS NOT ALLOWED TO DIE otherwise I would have been throwing hands.

2. Sikong Changfeng, The Blood of Youth.

While the main trio are very fun to follow along with, they are also very young and at my age now I find myself gravitating towards appreciating some of the older generation just as much. Sikong Changfeng is one such character, and chosen because he's someone I think I'd like spending time with. He's a practical man among outlandish people, a doting father, and the fact that he'll throw a tantrum in public when one of his fellow city lord's decides to slice their training tower into pieces is a refreshing change from the great and aloof martial experts of his generation. And just look at that cloak!

3. Di Feisheng, Mysterious Lotus Casebook.

I came to MLC for Cheng Yi, and watched with amusement as other tumblr users fell head over heels for the moody antagonist until I got halfway through the show and had to mentally apologise to everyone because y'all had the right idea, omg how do I explain how Di Feisheng endears himself right into your heart and stays there? He's very show-no-weakness especially for someone who gets constantly nerfed - and boy do I like watching a strong man being whumped - he has the aesthetic of a total Boss and a sword named Sword.

He's unapologetic about his ambitions to be The Best Ever, which comes across as a bit shallow until you learn that his entire goal to be strongest ever is to be able to overcome the mind control bug forced onto him by the slave driver who raised/trained/tortured him as a kid and kick the guys ass. Which is the best and most heart breaking reason for a character to do anything and if that doesnt make you love him then the cuteness of the A'Fei amnesia arc certainly will.

4. He Xiaohui, Mysterious Lotus Casebook.

Again the older generation appealing to me, Fang Duobing's mother is absolutely a character you want on your side in a crazy place like this show. Taking in her sister's son as her own, she doesn't hide what she thinks of the jianghu when Fang Doubing runs away from court life, but also happily creates an accupressure torture machine when he needs a prisoner interrogatated. A little haunting can't scare her off from a bargain for her new dayspa empire, and she's barely rattled after being kidnapped. She's just so fun.

5. Yang Wuxie, Heroes.

Clever, loyal and funny are 3 easy ways to win me over. But they also went ahead and wrote a man who said "you're my only friend" and proved it with his every action -

- The way he pauses at the door to plaster a smile on his face before entering the room when Su Mengzhen is sick,

- "can you take the archers on that side?" "Yes, but I'll die."

- clinging to SMZ's robe and weeping that he can't find him

- being trusted with the final blow, and crying all the while....

I really don't have the words. End me now.😭😩

6. Di Feijing, Heroes.

Again the loyalty of the subordinate is what moves me in this show and I chose Di Feijing for this list because I didn't expect to be moved by him. At first everyone in Six Half Hall seems to be there for their own greed, which is good for them but can be a very flat motivation to watch. It's after the death of Lei Sun that his story unveils itself and his protection of Lei Chun comes to the foreground and you learn that he's a moral person stuck in the middle of corruption and obligation.

I kinda feel like he got shafted by being ordered to stay out of things, because I reckon if given the chance he could have actually sorted a bunch of shit out?? I liked the handful of interactions between Di Feijing and Wang Xiaoshi and wish there could have been more.

7. Lee Rang, Tale of the Nine Tailed & Tale of the Nine Tailed 1938.

Protagonist's little brother with severe abandonment issues and a grudge to match, deadly but secretly a softie? Sign me up. The spurned sibling is by far the most relatable and likeable of the antagonists in season 1, and you get the joy of seeing him turn from the dark side due to the Power of Family, but still cuss and sulk the whole time. They created such a fun sibling dynamic that they had to go back in time for season 2 so that we could have a whole nother season with the two of them bickering and fighting for each other. Also, the looks he had going in season 2 were stellar.

8. Li Wu, Pledge of Allegiance.

I'm predisposed to liking Zhang Yunlong, and Li Wu was both very fun and very angsty to watch as he lied his way into and out of all sorts of trouble.

As Li Wu would tell you, he's just a theif! Selfish, no moral compass to see here..(Rescues kid from being arrested, finds kid a job)(shares his money with his friends in the alley)(helps them flee when he thinks they're in danger because of him)(keeps the knife as a reminder of the death he feels responsible for)(helps the son of the man he killed when he finds him again)(how many times does he save Lu Zheng from himself and all the people gunning for him??)(unravels political conspiracies)(and so much more). Just a theif! Sure thing Jan.

9 & 10. Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, The X Files.

Having only started watching The X Files for the first time in 2023 (and only as a filler show when I was too tired for subtitles,) I now find myself in season 7 of the show, entirely because of these two leads. What can I say about Mulder's non-threatening, hyperfixating, dorky ass and Scully's brainiac does-everything-he-does-only-backwards-and-in-high-heels competency that hasn't already been said? They're just *chefs kiss*

If anyone else wants to do a similar review I'd love to be tagged and see your 2023 blorbos!

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joy-starry-arts · 1 year ago

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..Can we talk BnHA x Power Rangers?

Here me out! So, I was reading a fic (to procrastinate on my own) and they had Present Mic call Izuku the Green Power Ranger. And yeah, I get it. He’s green. It’s not the only time I saw it. I think i saw it back in 2020 too. I really dove into fics again in that year. So, I’m used to the whole “green lookalike” thing

BUT

It triggered something in me. Because one, it’s getting lazy atp. You can only call the same person a broccoli so many times. Two, Izuku would NOT be a Green Power Ranger- or Super Sentai cuz.. Japan. Anyways, once again, I get the joke. Broccoli, Green Bean, etc etc. 𝑰 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒕. Izuku “Deku” Midoriya is literally green incarnate. Doesn’t mean I like it. And it definitely doesn’t mean he’d be a Green Ranger tho.

let me explain. Every color in power rangers is a reflection of the person. Aka the colors are based on the person’s personality. To dive in deeper;

Red Rangers/Sentai are often shown as the most highly-dedicated, and the bravest character among of all. They’re like an icon for high-spirited character, strength, and passionate. They are the most powerful in terms of raw strength and are often known for their physical prowess, incredible fighting ability and adventurous spirit. And always there to back up their friends. They are a strong leader and warrior with a heart of gold.

Blue Rangers/Sentai are the Second-in-command. They’re often loyal, intelligent, focused, and diligent. Quoting a site: “described as meticulous person who can deliver his idea through some experiments.” They aren’t as strong as their Red counter parts but are still an important member of the team. Like others, they work together with their fellow teammates to defend their city against any and all threats that arise

Yellow Rangers/Sentai are often shown as cheerful and warm. They are the youngest member of the team and the most sensitive, usually being able to detect changes in moods among his/her peers. (Also I don’t think I’ve ever seen a show without a Yellow Ranger.. Kinda cool)

Pink Rangers/Sentai are… women.. Go feminism!

Black Rangers/Sentai are often in charge of keeping the power coins safe, or rallying the team together when things get rough. They are mysterious, cool, confident, dare to be different, and masculine.

White/Silver Rangers/Sentai are described as complementary Ranger to make the formation stronger. They are heroic and loyal, but also has a dark side that comes out in times of stress.

Green Rangers/Sentai are often shown as the comic relief, stubborn ones, or decent ones. But they also usually represent nature, growth, hope, youth, health, and envy.. apparently. If they aren’t shown as the comic relief, they’re known as the ‘Wild Card’

With all of that in mind, Green Ranger doesn’t really fit Izuku. At least, in my opinion he doesn’t. If I had to choose which Ranger fit him, I would have to say the Red or Blue Ranger. And yes… that’s probably the Main Character Syndrome talking.

But you read those descriptions and tell me that doesn’t almost fully describe Izuku. Meanwhile the only thing the Green Ranger fits him with is growth. Because going from a nobody to.. whatever he’s doing now is impressive.. and scary lowkey 😄

That’s all I gotta say. Thanks for coming to my rant.

[Stage Whisper] I didn’t even watch Power Rangers like that. I only watched Mystic Force cuz the Pink Ranger was cool. I don’t even remember if that show had a green Ranger- Royal Sentai doesn’t…. I need to finish that. I’m only on episode 16.

#random #rant post #bnha #power rangers #izuku midoriya #green ranger #i need help i think #did I take this too seriously?#Or not seriously enough..?#Yeah #i need help #and sleep #i’m sorry #i need to sleep

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squidproquoclarice · 4 years ago

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What do you think of the missions for Beau and Penelope?

So if I remember right, this was an optional mission strand, and much like Rains Fall and Calderon’s later, something that initially could come across as just another Stranger for Arthur to help actually becomes very vulnerably illustrative of his inner self. (Even if he isn’t making verbal confessions of things in this one like those other two.) The Penelope and Beau missions emotionally revolve around Arthur’s own confused, blighted romance with Mary Linton. Forbidden “Romeo and Juliet” romance? Check. Opposite sides of some kind of social fence? Check. Overbearing, controlling, and disapproving families? Check. Longing to escape but fear of doing so? Check. The vibes and driving factors are so similar it’s pretty obvious that R* intended to evoke that aspect of Arthur’s life with these missions. The fact he has no other in-game romance, and even his closest friendships don’t have this same vibe, makes it an even easier correlation to pick up on. We already know by the first mission point in Chapter 3 that Arthur had a youthful romance that didn’t work out, that he and Mary still feel some pull even fifteenish years later, that it’s still acutely painful for him, and that his “not measuring up” and family disapproval played a big part in it. Then we get Beau and Penelope for a while, and then in Chapter 4, we get more of Arthur and Mary and find out more context there. And Mary asks him to run away with her. He’s tempted, but he declines. Because there are people who still need him. He can’t just leave. Then in Chapter 6 we get the end of Beau and Penelope’s story. They run away together to Boston, presumably to their happily-ever-after, and Arthur helps make it happen. And I feel like as he watches them leave, he’s hoping that their love survives and they have a better ending than him and Mary. Because he knows, even before that letter arrives, that they have no future. Even without the TB, I think he’d know it by now. He knows they could never run away together and have it work out, though you can’t just stop feelings on a dime so it still breaks his heart when she writes him to finally say that they can’t do this anymore, that it’s bad for both of them (and she’s right, and you can tell it’s breaking her heart to write that letter). Beau and Penelope do have a few things that are different from Arthur and Mary that mean they have a happy ending. For one, they very clearly admire each other. They praise each other as people openly to Arthur, and in ways that seem to prove true when we actually meet the other person. That’s very much opposed to Mary and Arthur’s bickering and uncertainty and resentment of “You’re a snob who condescends to me”/”You just seem to revel in doing the wrong thing”. Because admiration and even being in love isn’t enough. You have to like and respect someone, to truly know them rather than a perfect image you’ve made of them, and trust them. And both sides have to do so. There has to be equality. There can’t be one person who practically worships the other and one who sort of looks down on the other, or both people feeling an attraction but disliking each other as people so that there’s that conflict between that idealized romantic fantasy and the reality. And Arthur has a problem there, because we see with multiple people that he’s prone to idealize and put some people on a pedestal and think he’s not good enough for them, or else having to step up and be the reliable "big brother”/leader/mentor half of the equation. It’s very, very notable that he doesn’t readily relate to people as equals. It’s typically either a matter of how he needs to step up to protect and guide them, or else how he’s hopelessly too much beneath the image he has of them. That’s part of why I really love R*’s writing on his friendship with Sadie, because that equality of seeing each other as flawed but fundamentally good is there, so he can have the humor and vulnerability and trust that he can’t with Mary and others, and he can accept Sadie’s praise of him as a good person like he can’t from others because he knows she truly knows him. It’s a pretty glaring contrast in personality fit and that ability to be seen and be vulnerable that he’s laughing and joking with Sadie within thirty seconds of leaving camp as opposed to Mary criticizing with his dry sense of humor, or else being either super-serious-in-charge or put-you-in-your-place-snarky as he is with other people in the gang. And it really makes you wish that he had that partnership and comfortable ease with more people, because he needs it. It feels like he’s pretty much there with Javier pre-Guarma, which probably feeds into his Chapter 6 conflict with Javier. Seeing someone he trusted that much wandering into Micah’s group has to hurt, and ergo the kind of angry, lousy comment about how they should have left Javier on Guarma. He expected better from Javier, because if he’s seeing the truth about Dutch now, why doesn’t the equally loyal (but probably a little bit of “a better man than me” sentiment there) Javier? He doesn’t see that his few solid allies at the time have much easier choices than Javier: John sees Dutch having left him to hang among other things and very reasonably doesn’t trust him, and Sadie and Charles both have a much easier decision because as relative newbies to the gang and being there out of pragmatic “I don’t have anywhere else to go so this will do for now” rather than being fanatically loyal to Dutch, they can walk away. And Charles actually does that, quite rightly, by peacing out before the end to go with the Wapiti and be with a community we see he truly loves and belongs to, and bidding farewell to a whole bunch of bullshit that frankly isn’t his to handle. Even if the Epilogue tries to walk that self-assertion back pretty hard, unfortunately. The other big difference is that Beau and Penelope have absolutely nobody in their horrible families they care about anymore. Thus they can easily leave them behind to run away together. Mary may suggest running away on impulse, but we know she’s fiercely protective of her little brother Jamie. From their very disparate ages (late teens/early twenties and early thirties), it’s quite likely that Mary was both sister and mother to him. I doubt she could easily leave him to the bullying of their father, and especially after knowing how naive and vulnerable he is after the Chelonians. Arthur, of course, has many people he loves and desperately wants to protect and get to safety. Even by that point in Chapter 4, he may be seeing Dutch more clearly and starting to put a little distance there, but he can’t abandon the rest of his family. They may talk about running away together briefly, but like much of their relationship, it’s a romantic fantasy that can’t stand up to the reality of each other and their lives, and they both know it. And so Beau and Penelope also serve to show us, and Arthur, that it’s not a forbidden romance that’s the issue with him and Mary. Those can work out, because this one does. He can’t use the excuse that it’s them against the world any longer, try to apply Dutch’s, “It’s not my fault, it’s society” logic. Which means he has to take a good look at himself and that relationship and admit that it can’t work because of who they are as people, and because of the people that they love and still need to protect. At the end of the day, there’s just not enough there that’s true reality rather than delirious fantasy for them to possibly sacrifice almost everything to be together. They couldn’t do it when they were kids, and they can’t do it now. And that’s not wrong of either of them.

#arthur morgan #mary linton #penelope braithwaite #beau grey #sadie adler #javier escuella #charles smith #rdr2 #thank you for coming to my red talk #Anonymous

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

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The Handmaiden🌹1

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Princess Madeline has left her homeland to marry a king. On her journey, she has brought her most trusted handmaiden. Little do either of them know how perilous their new home will be.

Note: Alright, here’s another medieval AU ft. King Steve. His darkness will build as we go and we’re gonna ride those vibes, thots. I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Madeline was the fairest woman you’d ever seen. Her strawberry blonde waves flowed like water down her back and shoulders. Her jaw was etched by the gods themselves and her lips were soft to the eye and as you guessed, the touch. Her eyes were like gems and her figure was graceful and lithe. Her voice was a melody and her laugh like the pluck of a string.

How could she not be perfect? Porcelain and precious. She was a princess. The eldest of Eddor.

It would be unnatural not to envy her. Not to compare your ordinary features with her extraordinary ones. Not to measure your circumstance against hers. You had grown up in her shadow. Once a playmate, now a maid. You served as her closest companion and attendant. A mere servant, you were but another accessory among many.

Your jealousy was not spiteful. Many a peasant lived a life worse than yours. You did not complain or want. It was the order of things. The world as it was.

She was serene, often intimidatingly calm. That day, you could see the nervous tension in her cheek. Not many others would notice but you did. You didn’t blame her. She was to meet her betrothed at last. A man more than ten years here elder; of the few men grander than her in prestige; a widower and king.

You stood just a few steps away, hands folded and head slightly bowed in deference. If she needed you, she would call to you. You were glad for the camouflage of your low standing. Among the foreign court, on such a significant day, you were nothing; just another witness.

Your journey was long. A month at sea, a fortnight in a draughty northern castle, a week upon the road, and finally you were in the capital; Halder’s Arch. A night spent awaiting the first meeting and a further hour for the king’s appearance. The other servants were growing restless; Madeline’s ladies, too.

It would be a sad and heartless act to send a princess out upon her own. Sybil and Lucille were the only noblewoman to accompany Madeline. They were to remain at the foreign court and seek their own suitors. Her guards, her priest, and her physician were also among the party as well. Her retinue was finely outfitted.

Finally, the doors shifted and the armoured guards hit their staffs on the stone to announce the arrival. As the hall opened up, you held your breath as Madeline did the same. She raised her chin slightly and rose with the rest to receive her betrothed. A line of lords preceded their king, hidden by the group of men.

The Princess of Eddor was announced first. Her crest bearer spoke loudly for all the people to hear. Then it was the king’s turn. Steven, first of his name, son of Stewart, ruler of Anglhem and its territories. The lords broke and formed two rows as they stood at attention.

King Steven strode between them, as proud and stoic as the princess he would wed. You kept your chin down but watched him below your lashes. His dark blonde hair was thick above a trimmed beard. He wore a simple golden crown without stones, his jacket a turquoise brocade slashes with citrine. A chain of golden links hung from his shoulders with a single sapphire upon it.

It was simple but bespoke a man of intent; of standing. His simplicity said it all. You suspected he dressed for the occasion; a very deliberate impression for his future wife. The capital, the castle, the lords, did not suggest a ruler without extravagance.

The king stopped before Madeline and bowed to her; she curtsied to him in kind. He seemed pleased as he took her hand and kissed it. His eyes flicked all over as he considered his new wife; his second. The first had come to a tragic end during a summer plague not two years past.

“Princess,” He greeted. “It is a privilege and a pleasure to meet you at last. The painter did you an injustice for no canvas could capture such beauty.”

“And you, my king,” She said evenly. “I did hear of a handsome and noble king but the accounts do leave much untold.”

You were always rather amused by such empty courtesies. These words were rehearsed and recited without thought. It was what was expected. A princess could not come off as appalled by her suitor, even if she were, and a king could not be disappointed in a princess, even for a crooked nose or blotchy complexion. It was all an act. You did not envy the fallacy of status.

Your eyes wandered as the royals went about their performance. The audience was rapt and marvelled at the perfect pair; a stately king and a beautiful princess. You bit down to keep from grinning wryly. Your amusement was stifled completely as your eyes were caught by a pair most unexpected.

As Steven was offered a chair to sit with his queen, his gaze strayed from her. You withheld your surprise and assured yourself he was merely distracted by the portrait behind you or perhaps a nick in the stone. It couldn’t be you. Servants were like windows; transparent.

His brow twitched and he looked back to the princess. Her ladies were dazzled by the king’s stature, the lords were pleased by the princess’ grace. All seemed to be in a trance; all but those who held their attention.

Madeline held her veneer only because the cracks could not be noticed by strangers. Steven’s matched hers though you saw no flaw. You only saw a man sure of himself because he knew what to say. To him, it was a ritual, each step another closer to the end.

You straightened at the subtle signal from the princess. She wanted wine. You went to her and took the ewer from the table beside her. You filled the king’s goblet first and presented it to him with a bow. He took it and you repeated the steps for the princess. She thanked you and you didn’t miss the king’s eye. He was watching you. Why?

You resumed your vigil along the wall with the other servants. Your gown differed from no other. The blue-grey wool was plain enough that it could’ve been another stone in the wall. Your cap hid your hair and no ornament sparkled at throat or wrist. You lowered your head as the king turned his goblet in his hand and gazed over at the princess.

You wanted to laugh at yourself. It was preposterous. He hadn’t looked at you for any reason but what you offered; a cup of wine. How could one ignore a figure right before them? You did long for it to be over for the sake of your weary mind. Your travel had left you endlessly exhausted. It was clearly affecting your judgement.

Yet, you peeked up again and the king squinted over at you. You blinked as he grinned and leaned back. He drank from his goblet and returned his gaze to Madeline. She presented him the letter sealed with her father’s crest. He accepted it and she seemed not to notice his wandering eyes.

Maybe because they did not wander. Maybe because he had been thinking and they averted to follow his thoughts. Or he was listening and did consider her words as he considered the room.

You twined your hands together behind your back. You were trained, you were patient, you were attentive. You could bear yet another royal meeting. You could cling to your duty and see it through. You only had to resist the nagging fatigue that caused your mind to drift.

You needed to focus as the princess’ goblet was empty.

🌹

The wedding was already well-prepared. Both parties had settled their arrangements long before that fateful meeting. Steven and his advisers had the date, the feast, the ceremony, all plotted carefully for the next week. Madeline had her gown in her trunk and her virtue intact. Or so it was written in their betrothal.

The princess seemed pleased with her husband. That night she watched herself in the mirror as you brushed out her hair. She touched her long neck and her fingers trailed down to her collarbone. She let out a wearisome sigh.

“Do you think he was taken by me?” She asked. ��He was cordial but a marriage cannot survive on cordial.”

“I’ve never known a man who wasn’t taken by you, your highness,” You dragged the bristles through her lush strands. “A king could not hope for a better princess.”

“Oh, so they say,” She preened. “I am told he sent his painter to at least a dozen courts to paint their princesses. Then he was presented with their likeness and he chose me himself.”

“And you were deemed the worthiest to share his crown then,” You said. “I see not how he could be disappointed.”

“And I cannot say I am,” She smiled and batted her lashes. “He is very handsome. I feared when they said he was older than me.”

“He doesn’t appear to suffer from it,” You assured her. “His step is as sure as any youth.”

She was silent as you finished brushing out her hair and you parted it. You began to braid her long tresses before she found her voice again. When she was thoughtful, she was often plotting.

“And the wedding night?” She ventured quietly. “Do you think he will be pleased with me then?”

“I… am certain he should be,” You said stiffly. “I see not how any man cannot be pleased with his wife in such a way.”

She giggled and played with the buttons of her sleeping gown. She eyed you and looked away guiltily. You tilted your head at her and tied up the end of her braid.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Oh, you know,” She stood and turned to you. “I was always told servants were more experienced in those matters, but you are always so modest.”

“As I have served you loyally, when should I have had time to take experience in such matters?”

She laughed and pulled a stray thread from your cap.

“Much too loyal,” She chided. “Let us retire for the night. This kingdom is still strange to me and I do wish to know it better before I am bound to it entirely.”

🌹

Madeline was not to see her betrothed again until the wedding day. Their separation was tradition and ensured the legitimacy of the marriage. Thus, the princess could only emerge from her chambers when she was assured the king was engaged and the corridors were clear.

On the first day after their introduction, she took to the gardens, dewy with the early spring dampness. The second she explored the wing within which her rooms were. On the third, she was warned to stay in as the king was to attend to the wedding’s final arrangements. She was irritated by her exile but not unhappy. It would end soon enough and this would be her castle to reign as she wished.

As you had since you were children, you slept beside her and woke before her. You touched her shoulder and advised her to wake but she stirred only a little. You dressed and left the lanterns unlit as the sun streamed in through the windows. You hid your hair beneath your cap and allowed yourself a moment of vanity as you adjusted your skirts in the mirror.

The best way to rouse the princess was food. You closed the heavy door behind you and greeted the guards who stood in the corridor. Lawrence and Hal were selected by Madeline’s own father and had served her since she was a girl. You knew them well and they were little disturbed by the mousy maid upon her duties.

You carefully counted the corners as you still found the castle unfamiliar and confounding. The day before, you’d become so lost, you had to ask another servant how to find your way back. You loathed a repeat but it was likely as you already felt entirely displaced.

You came upon the lower floors where the kitchens resided. You were confident that your destination was close but found yourself in a hall you’d never been before. A round door was open to the cool morning air and voices mingled with the scent of horses. You cursed under your breath and looked back over your shoulder. You must’ve turned the wrong way at the stairs.

You were kept from righting your course as the voices grew louder and a shadow appeared in the doorway. A lord, vaguely familiar from among those who had accompanied the king, strolled through as he laughed over his shoulder. You skirted against the wall and bowed your head in deference.

You peaked up through your lashes as he was followed by another. You recognised King Steven as he yawned behind his hand.

“You disturbed me so early for--” He complained but paused as his eyes fell upon you. “...nothing.” He finished slowly as he nodded at you.

He carried on as he caught stride with his companion who reprimanded him for his grumbles. They were bawdy and the king took no offence to the remonstrance. You kept your head down until you heard them turn the corner. You wondered little at the reason for the king’s visit to the stables; you only wanted to retreat before the stench lurked in any further.

#Steve Rogers #king!steve #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #medieval au #au #fic #series #dark!fic #dark fic #the handmaiden #mcu #marvel #captain america

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the-girl-in-the-box · 4 years ago

Text

Not Today XIX

A/N: Well, I believe we have reached the climax of this story! Literally *so much* is going to happen in this chapter, and I am calling this my two hour midseason finale. Don't worry- I'm not going on any hiatus! This chapter is just twice as long as most chapters XD It's going to be really intense, *hopefully* really epic, and really emotional I should expect. This is also the last chapter before canon starts to change dramatically, aside from the addition of Aethelind, of course. So, I leave you with that information, and without further ado, present the climax of Not Today. Skål!

Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

Blood rushed through Aethelind's ears as she heard the screaming and clashing of swords outside. For a while, she had debated fighting with Ivar's army, but if she were to be killed... That would mean the loss of England's princess, when the only royalty they had now were Alfred and Elsewith. But Ivar was out there, and Freydis was in here, and if anything went wrong either of them- or, God forbid, both of them- could be gone in an instant.

How could she stand by and allow that to happen? Even without any sort of confirmation it would happen, the thought of it alone scared her out of her mind. There was no doubt in her that Freydis was the closest friend she'd ever had, with Ivar right beside her. Losing them was something that suddenly felt like a very real possibility, and it terrified her. Picturing their cold, lifeless bodies on the ground, blood seeping out from some wound, was just enough to make the decision for her.

Aethelind ran to her chambers and threw open the trunk she'd brought to Kattegat, searching through it for the sword she had brought with her. When she found it, she tossed the sheath aside and onto the bed. She wasn't going to be needing it on the battlefield after all, was she?

Preparations had been begun as soon as Ivar had ordered it, after she'd given him the letter which detailed his brother's attack on Kattegat. Or, at least, when it was coming. Being a friend to Björn had given her this benefit- he wanted to warn her when the attack would come, having not pictured, in any version of these events, that she would have become so close to Ivar, and ended up essentially on his side of the war he intended to start.

When Aethelind ran into the battlefield, her heart was pounding. This, she realized, was exactly what Hvitserk had been training her for for so long. This was what Björn had known she might face, as had all those Vikings who had trained her, when they wouldn't give her very many breaks during the fight. There was chaos in Kattegat, arrows flying and sticking in shields- something she very suddenly realized she didn't have.

It wasn't difficult to find one, though, and she managed to pull a red shield with a black sun on it- Ivar's symbol- from a bloodied corpse. She couldn't even tell who it might have been. But, they wouldn't need a shield now, and she did, so she took it, and lifted it above her head just in time to catch an arrow. Looking at the arrow with wide eyes, she focused again on the battle ahead.

People had been coming over the gates, while she could see something was trying to break through them. There was smoke coming from somewhere up ahead, and someone must have been burning, because the smell in the streets was horrific. No, that was the scent of multiple people burning alive.

Her eyes caught sight of Ivar, standing up on the gates and giving orders to his warriors- even if she couldn't hear every order he gave. That was the first place she began to fight toward, and she managed to reach him quickly enough. After all, though there were many fighters in Kattegat, most of them were on Ivar's side, waiting on Björn's forces to break through the gates. This made it easy enough to reach Ivar, and he looked stunned when he saw her, standing there with a shield and sword. The Princess was gone, and before him stood a Shieldmaiden, one loyal to him, he now knew for certain. After all, why would she have told him of Björn's arrival, and then fought against Björn's army, if she meant to betray him?

"What are you doing out here?" he ended up demanding of her. Perhaps she was every bit a Shieldmaiden, but he wasn't about to risk her life. Not if this battle could be won without doing so.

"I'm joining the battle, isn't it obvious?" she questioned, looking at him incredulously. "What does it look like to you?"

"Like you are mad!" he answered. "You cannot die out here, I won't allow it. You must be somewhere safe."

"And risk something happening I could have stopped?" she demanded, and let out a little laugh. "I don't think so! Ivar, what do you need me to do? I want to help." He blinked a few times as he watched her, and then finally, nodded a little. The gates caved.

Suddenly, there was a much greater threat to each person in that town, and both Ivar and Aethelind knew that. Their attention had been pulled momentarily to the gates, and then they looked back at each other, Ivar's orders for her decided.

"Get to Freydis," he commanded, and she gave a curt nod.

"No harm will come to her," Aethelind told him. "I swear it."

With that, the battle back to the Great Hall began, and she counted herself lucky that she was mostly able to keep the offending soldiers off of her, make them someone else's problem, as opposed to being forced to kill. But many of Ivar's warriors were beginning to form a shield wall, pressing Björn's army into a place they couldn't escape from. Vaguely, she wondered if Björn was among them, but she didn't have time to linger on that. She had to find the Queen.

The sound of the iron gate Ivar had commissioned being dropped reached her ears, and it became obvious what Ivar's plan was. The few stragglers didn't bother fighting her as they began to panic, looking for a way out, and she found she didn't quite have the heart to stop them- even if Ivar would have.

Instead, she kicked the door of the Great Hall in, and called out, "Freydis?! Freydis, where are you?!"

The Queen emerged with a frightened look on her face, and Aethelind rushed to her. "I looked for you and you were gone," she said shakily, her hands immediately going to the Princess's arms. "I was afraid they had taken you. Where did you go?"

"I went to see what I could do to help," she said. "Ivar sent me back here, to protect you. His brother's forces are inside the city, we need to get you to safety."

Freydis nodded a little, but shrieked and pulled away, causing Aethelind to whip around and see what had frightened her so badly.

There stood a man much larger than either woman, and he brought an axe down immediately against Aethelind. She threw the shield up to try and stop him, but it hacked through the shield and splintered it in half. Aethelind used this to her advantage, taking the sharp edge of the shield and stabbing at him with it while he lifted his axe again. It found its place in his neck, and blood sprayed her face. The man gurgled, and collapsed at her feet, but the sound of Freydis screaming, and the sickening sound of a knife piercing skin in the same place, multiple times over, kept her from feeling too horrified for the time being.

The man who had been attacking Freydis dropped to the ground, clinging to her skirts for a few moments, and Aethelind watched as Freydis began kicking him, screaming for him to let her go. Eventually, he did, as the last bit of life in his body left him, and the two women looked each other in the eyes.

"Come here," Aethelind said, and walked toward Freydis, opening her arms so that the young Queen could walk into them. She did exactly this, and Aethelind held her tightly as she cried. Her own heart was pounding, her eyes wide as she realized what had just happened, what had almost happened. That man had nearly killed Freydis, and the thought made Aethelind hold her just a little tighter. "You're safe now," she whispered. "You aren't going to die here. Not so long as I can help it."

Freydis nodded a little, and the two stood there like that until the sounds of battle died out, until she could only stand and shake, the tears having passed, and Aethelind couldn't bring herself to move. She was like a statue, eyes staring off at some invisible point on the ground. They had both survived, both taken a life to do so, but that was the nature of war.

Ivar was the one who eventually found them like this, some ash covering him, but no blood, which he was grateful for. He was not, however, grateful to find the two women he cared so deeply for covered in blood. When he saw the two bodies there, he knew exactly what must have happened, and he wordlessly approached, wrapped his arms around them. Letting his crutch fall to the ground wasn't exactly the safest call, but the battle against Björn Ironside had been won. He noticed that Freydis didn't pull away from him now, and he was grateful. He feared, sometimes, that their fighting would pull them apart to an unrepairable place. She seemed colder now, had even seemed colder than he was used to when he had asked her if she forgave him before this battle. Though she'd said yes, a part of him had to wonder if she was being entirely honest about that. He wouldn't have been so surprised if she weren't.

There was quiet, and peace, for the next few days, but Aethelind had changed. She didn't feel like the same woman who had left Wessex, and she doubted if she ever would be that woman again. Princesses in England didn't kill people, they didn't defend Viking Queens in distant lands, fight at the command of the most feared man in the world she knew. Maybe she wasn't so much of a Princess, anymore.

It almost felt, truthfully, like there was a darkness in her now that hadn't been there before. Ivar and Freydis had both noticed it, and while things hadn't gotten all that much better between them, there were shared glances between the two whenever they noticed her behaving in a way that didn't fit the Princess who had first arrived in Kattegat.

She drank more readily at the feast that had been held for their victory, as a start. That had never happened before. Perhaps she'd gotten a little tipsy the first night in Kattegat, but this was something else. It became glaringly obvious when she went to bed that night nowhere near sober.

Some days, she seemed to be in a daze. She'd avoid much interaction with people, hiding out as if she could avoid what had happened. Ivar still had her fitted with a new set of armor, made at full haste in case of another attack, and because he truly wanted her to be a Shieldmaiden, assuming she recovered mentally from this battle, and could handle it. They wouldn't see her recovered until something broke her out of the haze she seemed to be in. And that wouldn't happen, until she woke in the morning to the sound of her door being thrown open.

Aethelind shot up in her bed and pulled the blankets and quilts tighter to herself, looking at Ivar with wide eyes. He was dressed in his full armor, hair hastily braided out of his face, ready for battle. "What's happening?" she asked, anxiety clear in her voice.

"My brothers are in Kattegat," he said. "Someone let them in during the night." The sounds of battle registered in her ears, and she looked out the window. "If you are able, we need every sword we can get. It is chaos out there."

She nodded, and he couldn't decide if this was a surprise to him, or not so much. But, he also nodded, and left her, closing the door behind himself to give her time and privacy to prepare. He'd told Freydis to hide in their chambers, and she had done so. The lack of fear in her eyes had soothed him slightly, and if Aethelind joined him on the battlefield, then he believed they would have an excellent chance at victory.

Soon enough, his hopes came to pass. He was witness to the way the doors to the Great Hall opened, and the Shieldmaiden emerged, a sword fixed to her hip, armor covering her body in a way it hadn't before, her hair braided back away from her face. For just a moment, he could honestly believe she was not an English Princess at all, but a Viking Shieldmaiden, born and raised there in Kattegat. He wondered briefly if she might have had some Viking blood, somewhere in her history.

When she began to fight, he felt as though he saw it confirmed. The woman fought with a new ferocity that hadn't been there in the previous battle. Now, she fought with a strength and power behind every motion that stunned him. She slung her sword about, having unsheathed it a few moments before, and used her shield just as effectively as a weapon as it was an object for defense. The sight took him aback.

The battle raged on for hours, long enough that Freydis had managed to get herself dressed, had even done her hair, as if she were only preparing for her day. She was safe enough, she figured. Ivar's army wouldn't hurt her, and after what she had done for Björn's, she knew they wouldn't either. So, she was free to go about her business, so long as she didn't leave the longhouse.

Part of Aethelind wanted to go and look for her, be sure she was safe, as she noticed that Björn's army was gaining more and more ground, getting closer to the longhouse, and then she was doing all she could to defend it. Ivar was nearby, and he noticed the anxiety written in her eyes as she fought in the shield wall.

They didn’t speak, but an understanding was reached between them. Ivar went immediately into the longhouse to find Freydis.

What Aethelind didn’t realize, was Ivar’s anxiety was coming from a very different source than hers. Whereas she feared for Freydis’s safety, Ivar had been thinking. From what he could tell, Björn had led his army in through the secret escape, that he’d had built for his family in case of an emergency. The thing was, only his family knew of it. And Freydis…

She had gone somewhere that morning. She claimed it had been to relieve herself, but the timing now had Ivar unsure. He wanted it confirmed.

Aethelind wasn’t aware of what happened inside that longhouse, not as she fought with the other warriors and shieldmaidens to defend the King and Queen inside. But eventually, she saw they would be lost. This battle was essentially over, and Björn would win. Ivar and Freydis needed to leave Kattegat, and she would go with them to defend them. It was the only way.

She abandoned the shield wall and ran into the Great Hall, grabbing chairs and shoving them against the door to hold it. “Ivar, Freydis!” she called, not yet really looking into the room. “We need to go, they’re going to take Kattegat.”

The Shieldmaiden turned, and stopped in her tracks.

There, in the center of the hall, sat Ivar, holding Freydis in his arms, cradling her against his body with his crutch abandoned to the side. Aethelind blinked a few times, her heart pounding as she stepped forward. “Ivar…” she breathed, and he looked up at her, a hopelessness in his eyes she hadn’t ever seen. “What happened?”

He looked back at Freydis, and his voice cracked as he explained, “She let them in.”

This made Aethelind freeze again, blink a few times, before finally coming to kneel across from Ivar on Freydis’s other side. Her eyes were barely open, almost as if looking tiredly over Ivar’s shoulder, but the marks around her neck left no room to question what had happened. Aethelind brought up a hand and brushed the back of it over Freydis’s cheek. She hadn’t gone cold just yet, though she was cooling.

Freydis’s belt had clearly been dropped, was now sort of caught between Ivar’s hands on her chest. Ivar hadn’t found her this way, Aethelind realized. He had done this.

“What did you do?” she whispered, shaking her head slowly.

“I had no choice,” he said, his voice cracking once again. “She betrayed us, Aethelind. What was I supposed to do? Huh? I could not… I did not know-”

“You thought we still had a chance,” she finished for him. “And it would be better for everyone to believe she was killed in battle, as opposed to being charged with treason and executed for it.”

He nodded, and she swallowed hard, tears coming to her eyes. “I could not humiliate her that way,” he said.

It was a very Ivar way of trying to give mercy, she knew. This was the same sort of strange mercy he had tried to give to Baldur, in leaving him to die. And Aethelind knew, looking back over everything Freydis had said after her son’s death, why she’d done what she did. She knew the truth about Baldur, knew how horrible the fighting had become between her and Ivar- though the full extent of that, the fact Ivar had hit her, and choked her once, had not been made known to her- and she knew Freydis had begun to question if Ivar was fit to be King. Looking back, this made sense.

The fighting was growing quieter, aside from the cries of death. It would be done soon, and their warriors would not be the ones still standing. Time was running out. Aethelind looked up at the door as she realized this, and then turned to Ivar.

“You have to go,” she said sharply. “We aren’t going to win this. If you want to live, you need to leave Kattegat, now.”

"I cannot leave-" Ivar tried to protest, but Aethelind looked in his eyes, her own eyes almost begging him with a sort of soft desperation, and his words died on his lips.

"I cannot lose you," she whispered. "I won't. So go, before your brothers come, and they find you here. Please. Don't make me lose you, too."

He swallowed hard, and she could see the determination come over him. His mind was made up to escape, and so she nodded. Aethelind reached down and lifted Freydis into her arms, standing and carrying her back toward the chambers she'd shared with Ivar. The Shieldmaiden laid the Queen out on the bed, and Ivar went to find something, a small box, which he laid beside the bed. Neither of them needed to speak to know what was held within it.

"We'll go through the same way my brothers came in," Ivar said. "There is a secret exit. If we go now, we can be gone before Björn and Hvitserk find us."

Aethelind shook her head, and replied, "I'll meet you. If we go together, they'll follow us. But I can buy us some time if I intercept them here." He tried to protest, but she shook her head. "There’s no time to argue this, Ivar. Just go, I will follow. You have my word."

Ivar nodded when she promised him this. Her word had always been good before, and he knew it would be now. Especially knowing Björn and Hvitserk wouldn't kill her, not so long as either of them still cared for her as he knew- from the letter and from having observed her with Hvitserk- they both had at some time.

So, he slipped out the back, and Aethelind watched him go. The longhouse felt deadly silent once he was gone, and her eyes turned back to the body of Freydis, laid out on the bed. She moved to fix her belt around her hips once more, before sitting beside her, and taking one of her hands into her own.

"Oh, my love..." she began softly. "Dearest Freydis. My heart aches from your loss. I have loved you overwhelmingly, in some way I am sure I have never loved another. You were the closest friend I have ever known, a woman I'd have been happy and proud to have had in my life until the end of it. But now, I will mourn you until my final breath leaves my lungs, and I will love you twice as long. I pray you will be happy in your Valhalla, sweet Freydis." She reached up and cupped her cheek, tears leaking from her eyes. "You are gone from this world too soon, and this world will never know another like you. I love you deeply, and though I will never see you again, I will hold your memory as a light in my heart, and I pray you are happy in Valhalla, for I know that must be where you've gone. I hear your people go there when they have died fighting, but I believe your sacrifice, for what you believed was the best future of Kattegat, will have earned you a place in Odin's halls. So go with haste, my love, and know there will never be a day I don't miss your presence in my life."

Her voice cracked, and she leaned up to kiss Freydis's forehead softly, before pressing her own forehead to hers, and bringing her hand to her lips. "I failed to protect you as I said I would, and I doubt if I will ever forgive myself for this. But I doubt you have ever truly hated Ivar, and so I want you to know, I will save him. Even if I could not save you, I will save him. I swear it to you, Freydis, on your gods, and on mine. I will not let him die, whatever the cost."

The doors were kicked in at the front, and Aethelind looked back, hearing calls for Ivar. The voices were those of Björn and Hvitserk, voices she would have recognized anywhere. It was time to go, and time to ensure Ivar had time to escape.

She arranged Freydis's hands so they were folded on her stomach, and kissed her cheek one last time. "Goodbye, my beloved Freydis," she whispered again, and then she stood, to go out into the Great Hall to do what needed to be done. “Goodbye.”

Björn and Hvitserk were stunned by the sight of Aethelind as bloodied as she was, with tear tracks running down her face. The woman had a look of devastation about her, but with a sword at her side, covered in armor, they realized what she had been through that day. She had fought, and she had lost someone.

Hvitserk was the first to try and speak to her, even if her eyes hardened the moment he did. "Princess," he said, and she threw up a hand to stop him.

"Don't," she hissed out. "Too much has happened here, I don't want to hear my old titles. Not now, until I know what to think of myself."

Björn blinked slowly as he watched her. Somehow, even if he'd seen her fight in Wessex as she was training, he had a hard time recognizing this as her. Perhaps it was the fact she had still always returned to the polite princess, whereas Hvitserk saw her at feasts, eating and drinking (though, the latter in moderation) with the other Vikings.

"What has happened to you?" Björn asked, taking a step toward her. She took a step back.

"I have lost the woman I loved most in this world," she said. "Most of my family are dead, save for Alfred. And now, I have to leave Kattegat and disappear."

"Why are you leaving Kattegat?" Hvitserk questioned, confused. "Björn said-"

"Björn has not been here," Aethelind interrupted. "I told you, too much has happened here. Things have changed, now." She took a deep breath. "I have to go with Ivar."

Both brothers froze in their place, and looked at her with shock on their faces. Hvitserk didn’t move as he processed everything, though Björn did, stepping back and chuckling bitterly. He shook his head and put his hands on his hips.

“You are going with Ivar?” he questioned. “We sent you here to change his mind, to get him to step down, not to join his side! What are you doing, Princess?”

Her eyes hardened a little more. “I told you I don’t want that title,” she reminded him. “Not now, at least.”

“And why not? Has he changed you so much? Is that it?”

Aethelind huffed. “I find myself in the same place as my father, if you must know,” she confessed. “I am trapped between the English and the Norse, and I can’t choose one right now. I have come to love this place, but… I’m not sure I can just abandon Wessex. I am their Princess, but I also feel I am a Shieldmaiden. My people would never accept this, so I have to choose which I’m going to be. I’ve been the Princess my entire life, and I have to try this, now. It’s the only way to know where I belong.”

“Then stay with us in Kattegat,” Björn begged. “There is no need to run off with my brother!”

She laughed at that, and shook her head. “There is every need!” she countered. “He has lost everything. His son died, as has his wife, and you unseat him from the throne he won in battle. He has no family and no home, because I can see you’ve deserted him as well. Both of you.” Her eyes turned to Hvitserk, and he could see the pain in them. In going to Björn, he had effectively left her, as well. She felt betrayed. The thought of betraying her caused her pain to be reflected in his own eyes now. “I can’t let him be alone,” she continued. “If no one is left to care for him, I will. I promised Freydis I would protect him, and I told him I would not lose him. He will not lose me, either. I couldn’t save her, but I will save him if it is within my power. And if it is not, I will do all I can to try and make it so.”

Björn was clearly becoming frustrated with this. “Princess, step aside,” he said, and started to walk toward the back of the longhouse. Aethelind got in his way and drew her sword.

“I am not Princess Aethelind any longer,” she said sharply. “I am a Shieldmaiden, daughter of Athelstan, who was dear to your father, and just as he followed your father, I will follow Ivar. Perhaps one day I will have a child, and they will follow one of yours, and that is the fate of our lineages, but we will not know until then. So for now, Björn Ironside, I advise you stand down. Ivar will have already gone, and I need to catch up to him.”

“Where will you go?” Hvitserk asked her, taking a non-threatening step toward her. She gave him a sad smile.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I go with him.”

Björn huffed. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “Step aside, or I will have to move you to get to Ivar.”

“You’ll have to fight me,” she said decisively. “You won’t get to him except through me.”

Hvitserk was growing more and more uneasy, seeing his brother’s temper grow, especially when he knew Aethelind had become a well-trained swordswoman. He couldn’t guess how much she had grown since he left, but if she’d continued to practice… Fighting her may not be the wisest thing.

But, when had Björn ever been the wisest?

He finally growled and unsheathed his own sword, bringing it down hard against her. She threw her sword up and caught his with it, holding it away from her face. “So, your hatred for your brother outweighs any care you have ever had for me?” she asked, and Björn could see the hurt in her eyes. “I would have given you Kattegat. All I would have asked is that you let us go free.”

“It was never yours, nor Ivar’s, to give,” he answered her, and she pushed back against him, bringing her sword back around toward his side. Hvitserk could only stand aside as he watched the two fight, and he could see she had changed.

The amount of blood on her face suggested she’d killed that day, and the fire in her eyes suggested she would again, if she must. Taking a life was something that could change a person, and he knew he could see that change in her. The way he spoke, he could tell she was, at her core, still Aethelind, still the kind woman with a depth in her he hadn’t expected from a Saxon Princess. But it was like she said, she was caught between the English and Norse sides of herself. Now, she was indulging the side of herself that did not shirk at the sight of blood, didn’t recoil when it splashed over her face. In any other circumstance, he might have been proud.

Watching her and Björn standing off again, however, was not that circumstance. She’d flipped her sword around to her other hand at one point to block one of his attacks, and then he had gone over her head again. She’d still managed to catch his sword as she had at the beginning of their fight, but her grip was weaker now, her sword being braced by her non-dominant hand. Hvitserk remembered a trick she’d pulled on him once, and he could see the calculating happening in her eyes. For a split second, she could picture Björn hitting the ground, pulled by some unseen force, and she made her move.

Her leg wrapped around the back of his, and she yanked it out from under him, throwing off his balance and pulling him to the ground. As soon as he was down she stepped on his wrist, making his hand open reflexively so she could use her sword to sling his away. Pointing the tip of her sword at him, she began to back up.

“I’m leaving,” she said sharply. “With Ivar, and you will not follow us. You have Kattegat, that is all you need. You don’t need to kill your brother. After all, I was under the impression you had that grievance with him. Surely, you don’t want to follow in his footsteps.”

Björn blinked up at her in shock, and Hvitserk stood back, watching her. “Go then,” Björn said. “You fought for his life, and you won. But I won’t back down again.”

Aethelind nodded sharply. “Noted,” she said, her voice tense. With a deep breath, then exhaled, she finished, “Goodbye, Björn.” She nodded once more at Hvitserk, before turning and rushing from the room.

She paused and looked at Freydis briefly as she hit the threshold, and swallowed. She couldn’t stop and spend a final moment with her. Aethelind began to move again. However, the sound of someone running after her in the hall stopped her, and she turned back. It was Hvitserk, and instead of attacking her when he reached her, he wrapped his arms tightly around her and held her.

“I thought we would have a happy reunion,” he said quietly. “It appears the gods had other plans.”

When Aethelind realized this would not be anything hostile, she smiled sadly and returned his embrace. “For the time being, at least,” she agreed. “You and I both know I have to go with Ivar, but though I leave with him, you need to know my prayers stay with you.” She chuckled a little. “And with Björn. We have fought today, but I cannot find it in myself to harbor ill will toward him.”

Hvitserk allowed himself a small smile as he pulled back, looking down at her with his hands on her arms. “I knew you had not changed so much,” he said. “But I see you are a Shieldmaiden, now. If it makes you happy, then I want you happy. I just want to be sure you are careful.”

Aethelind nodded, her eyes falling to the ground for a moment. “You warned me once to be careful of Ivar, before you left,” she said quietly. “I still am. But I have come to know him too deeply to let him go alone with good conscience. You have Björn, and I hope with Kattegat reclaimed, you will soon have Lagertha, and Ubbe, and Torvi as well. They will love you here, while my love will still be with you, just… from wherever Ivar and I go.” Her eyes had lifted back up to his at the end, and she found him smiling sadly.

“I trust you,” he said. “I do not trust Ivar, I still think he is crazy, but I trust you.” She gave him a small nod, smiling bittersweetly, and he leaned down to kiss her forehead, before pressing his to hers. “Goodbye, Princess, Shieldmaiden… whoever you decide to be.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head and stepping away now. “I won’t say goodbye anymore. Everyone I have said goodbye to has died before I see them again, save for my brother. I won't risk that with you, Hvitserk."

“You don’t believe you will see Björn again?” he questioned, realizing she had said goodbye to him.

“If God wills it, I will,” she said. “But I doubt it. You, I will hold out hope for.”

Hvitserk gave a small chuckle, and nodded. “Then I hope to see you again,” he said, and her smile grew.

“That is much better,” she said agreeably. “Until then, my Prince.” She bowed to him, formally recognizing his new position in Kattegat, now that Björn would be King. “I have to go to my…” She paused, not quite sure what exactly to call the man who she knew was getting farther away, and who she really needed to get to. “To Ivar,” she settled on.

“To your friend?” Hvitserk offered.

“He’s more than that,” she confessed.

“Brother?”

Her face scrunched up in a very disturbed way. “Definitely not.”

There was silence for a moment, before Hvitserk suggested, “…Lover?”

She seemed to consider that for a moment longer than the others, before coming dissatisfied with it as well. “Not quite.”

His face revealed a little shock, but not too much. Not so much that he wasn’t still a little amused by her admission. “Your Ivar, then,” he allowed, and she chuckled.

“My Ivar,” she agreed.

And, with that, Aethelind turned and left. When the door swung open, he saw Ivar standing there, and realized he hadn’t gone just yet. If he called for Björn, they could catch him. Instead, the two brothers locked eyes, and Hvitserk nodded once. Ivar mirrored him, and Aethelind took his free hand in her own. The messages passed between the two were clear:

Take care of her.

I will.

Hvitserk returned to the Great Hall to find Björn, and Ivar and Aethelind, hand in hand, left Kattegat to go wherever they must.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @wilhelmyna, @katfett, @fangirl-nonsense, @zuzus-sun, @heavenly1927, @pomegranates-and-blood

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you!

#ivar the boneless #ivar x oc #vikings #vikings history #history channel vikings #not today #chapter nineteen #ivar's heathen army #ivar ragnarsson #alex hogh andersen #ivar x ofc #ivar x original female character #ivar x christian!oc

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rein-ette · 4 years ago

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Hi!

I was inspired by your asks, so I wanted to hear from you! What do you think of Canada as a country? I had a bit of a Canadian phase long ago and I tried to consume as much literature and history as I could, but reading about a place and living in it are very different experiences, so is there anything you'd like to share about Canada, about the culture or the people? Do you like living there? What are some of your favorites things? How do you survive the winters?

And also, as a character, what do you think of Matt?

(´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

Aaaaaaaaah okay okay *ahem*

If you’re not here for a Ted talk the exit is to your left, have a great day!

I do love Canada very much! I was born and pretty much grew up here, and as I’ve grown older I’ve become more and more grateful for everything that my country has provided for me! I remember my history teacher in high school said once that by being born into the middle class and as a Canadian, you’ve already won the lottery of life. That was not to disparage other countries, but to remind us of how remarkably privileged we are and how much we take for granted.

One of the first things you hear when you ask people what does it mean to Canadian is the word “multicultural.” I find this word realllyyyyyy cringeyyyy and not really reflective of reality, but I suppose it’s a good starting point for more in depth discussion. People often say Canada is a “cultural melting pot”, but the indigenous poet Marilyn Dumont pointed out in her poems that in some ways it’s more of a mosaic — there are many cultures, but they don’t always meld together. To say it’s a melting pot is ignoring the fact that racism and discrimination certainly have and do still exist here.

But I would argue that in some areas it is a “melting pot”, even if I kinda hate that word. I prefer to think of where I live as cultural delta — a place where many mighty tributaries meet as they thunder into the sea. (It is also literally a delta, funnily enough) Here, I grew up absorbing Canadian ideas, studying British history, reading American literature, learning French — but I also grew up listening to Kpop, watching Ghibli, eating rice. When I meet up with friends, we don’t grab a coffee, we grab milk tea. If you ask people here where they would like to visit or live, they will most likely say New York, London, Hong Kong, or Seoul — which tells you a bit about both how powerful and diverse the cultural influences here are.

Perhaps the thing most indicative of Canada’s “multiculturalism” and what I am most grateful for, however, is that I grew up here without fear. I didn’t even know the words “chink” or other words existed until I could access the internet. Recently, the beatings of Asian immigrants in the UK and US brought this home for me — how lucky I am to have such a privileged childhood. And I know this kind of privilege is hard won; in my research of WW2 I found that one of the amusement parks that I used to frequent as a child was built on land that once housed a Japanese internment camp. How fragile our lives are!

But enough about the serious stuff. I can’t really answer your question about how to survive winters in Canada lol, except to say that where I am in Canada it is absolutely necessary everyone own at least 3-4 umbrellas. That’s because this side of the Rockies in BC, the temperatures are pretty mild year round — the coldest it gets is usually 0, and the hottest around 25. But, by god, it rains. I did go to Ottawa in the winter though, where it was -13 one day, but honestly? Everything below 0 feels pretty much the same. Once it gets that cold, you can’t even tell anymore. I wore a skirt and tights that day, with a good, thick winter coat. And I survived :D

Besides not being heckled on the street for being Asian, my favourite things about Canada are probably the amazing diversity of good food and how tremendously beautiful the wilderness here is. And I say this as someone who loses her mind when a mosquito flies past (ie. I am not a nature person). You can kinda tell from these photos here, but the trees and water and whatnot here, are like, real. Maybe I just find that amazing because I lived in Tianjin, but it just feels like this is a city built among the trees and the sky and water that was always here, and not a city where humans have brought in nature for our amusement.

Okay, gotta move on to your other questions or I’ll go on forever. As a state I think Canada does a fairly good job of providing for its own people, but I wish we had a greater global influence. A lot of youth especially express the view that Canada is kinda...boring if your career doesn’t have to do with, like, sports, nature, or medicine, and I would tend to agree. We have great universities, but as someone who studies international relations I often wish Canada would like? Do more? On the global scale. The only thing we really have under our name is the UN peacekeeping, which PM Pearson started after the Suez Canal Crisis. I mean, I’ve heard that many people abroad identify Canada with peace and like ofc I’m not complaining about that, but I just wish our history was a little spicier, ya know? We did kick Americas ass that one time in 1812 and that was amazing. No regrets.

So that brings me to Matt. A lot of Canada’s existence has just been dominated by trying to carve a way between the US and the British while not being swallowed by either. Britain gave us the protection and strength and diversification of identity to not be annexed by the US, but at the same time it hobbled Canada’s relation with our only neighbour. One of the very first treaties Canada negotiated alone, if I’m recalling correctly, was a trade contract with the US over fishing (?) in BC and Alaska, where London was like no you can’t and Canada was like uh we gotta make money too, bro. So yes, while I do believe Mattie is just a very loyal person in general, he was also loyal to the empire because he needed to survive. A lot of Canadian identity was solidified around our prompt assistance of England and the sacrifices made in the two world wars, especially the campaigns in the Low Countries and Italy. Essentially, Canada has historically differentiated itself from the US through its loyalty.

Uuuuh just realized that has nothing to do with my opinion of Matt. Um. I like him? He’s real best friend/big brother material, and I do hc him as far more cunning and capable than canon portrays him to be. However, sometimes he’s just...too nice. He doesn’t have that edge that England has that makes me wanna slap him tf up and sob and call him my baby at the same time. Also, as oumaheroes mentioned here, that kind of selflessness can get pretty toxic. After all, by consistently not voicing or examining your own needs, you make it incredibly and unnecessarily frustrating for the people who care about you to help you, and that creates a relationship just as one sided as one where the person is extremely selfish. Actually, now that I think about it, my biggest gripe with Mattie as a character and Canada as a country is in that word: selfless. Without self. Perhaps because Canada is still so young, but it feels a little lost, a little like it doesn’t know quite know yet why it exists.

TLDR: If you’re under 18 or over 60, Canada is the place to be. If, however, you’re like me and wish you could touch a building that’s over 150 years old and maybe visit a square somebody’s been guillotined in, perhaps try someplace else. Personally Portugal’s golden visa is lookin especially tempting lately

#I’m not on my laptop and I don’t know how to add a cut on my phone #so I’m really sorry if this takes up ur dash #I will fix this as soon as I get home #it’s reining again #thanks for indulging me needcake #ask #also rip i was gonna give book recommendations but tbh does Canada even have literature #I mean we do we DO but #uh have you tried Margaret Atwood? lmfao #i mostly read American and European lit and I feel kinda bad about that #Canadian history is...kinda dry tho idk #maybe it’s cuz I learned it in school

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voyagis-infinitum · 4 years ago

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Person I fallow is posting Treasure Planet OCs. so... Here we go.

My Treasure Planet OC 'Lucky' John Flint Captain 'Lucky' John Flint "The Man Who Dances with Death" Species: Falmahaution Age: 265 years old (about 26 in human years) Family: dozens of nieces, nephiews, cousins, aunts and uncles making up Flint Pirate Clan Immediate Family: Rudolf 'The Red' Flint (brother) Isabell 'La Syrena' Flint (Sister) 'Wild Sarah' Flint (Sister, Deceased) Nathanial Flint (Father, deceased) Elizabeth Iron Flint (mother, deceased) Cassandra 'The Gypsy' (wife) William Flint (eldest son) Nathanial Flint II (youngest son) Jamaica Flint (Daughter) Ships Crewed: Fancy under Avery (As master at Arms) Wild Rover (As Captain) Weapons used: cutlass, Laser flintlock, laser blunderbuss, various cyborg appendages Strengths: intelegence, unique anotomy which results in Very capable fighter (Falmahautions have three lungs and two hearts among other things) strong cyborg limbs made out of specially forged steel, resourcefulness, expert marksman, master engineer (builds and races his own solar surfer) Knowlege of ancient technology (from studying Forefathers and Treasure Planet) Friends in high places, knowelege of how to extract and manipulate pure darkmatter, cunning Weaknesses: 1/3 of his lungs is collapsed, 1/2 of another is damaged, 1 heart poisoned in duel, overconfident, relies too much on luck and is therefore reckless, superstitious, damaged body which would be superior to most species, is now only just on par with humans, heavy drinker, conscious weighs heavily on him Captain Lucky John is the son of the notorious Nathanial Flint, and the rightful heir to Treasure Planet, in his youth, he sailed with his father while he collected the famed 'Loot of a Thousand Worlds'. Due to Nathanial Flint keep Treasure Planet's power for himself, rather than share with his beurocratic Pirate Family out of spite, Nathanial Flint was disowned by his father, and took Lucky John, his siblings and his wife plundering his own using Treasure Planet. Later, after his father was wounded in a mutiny, and he and Billy Bones fled the planet Lucky John sailed with several pirates and smugglers. The most notable of which was Captain Avery on the Fancy as Master at Arms and Marksman. Avery was, at the time, the Pirate Lord of Madagascar in the Brethren Court. Fallowing the Gunsway Heist Avery retired and ruled his Pirate Colony on Madagascar. Trouble was brewing with the Powerful Flint Pirate Clan, and the Teague Pirate Clan however. The Teagues and the Brethren Court argued that the Flints should abide by the Pirate Code though this was just the latest in a long list of grievances in their rivalry. The Flints responded that their Clan predated the Code, and had their species' longevity to prove it. Eventually, after the Flint and Teague clans erupted into open warfare with each other, and threatened to destroy the Brethren Court, and Greater Piracy as a whole, an agreement was reached. A Member of the Flint Clan would sit on the Brethren Court and call themselves one of the 9 Pirate Lords. The Flints, would, in return, agree to adhere to the Pirates Code. Avery, remembering Lucky John fondly, passed his Piece of Eight and seat to his old ship's officer. decades later, Lucky John would be injured in a duel, and fearing Death, pass his piece of eight, and seat on the Brethren Court to the only person he trusted at the time, One of his own Fleet's officers. None other than a young Edward Teague, later Keeper of the Pirate Code. Fallowing his recovery, The Flint Patriarch, Big Ben was livid, and disowned Nathanial Flint's Bloodline for a second time. Eventually, Lucky John took aboard his ship a young John Silver, who he nicknamed 'Long John Silver' for his tall tales of adventure. He was like a son to him. At the time, Billy Bones was also the ship's Helmsman, as he had been for years. Over time, John Silver became Quartermaster on the Wild Rover. After years of Comradery however, Silver began pressuring the Captain to go after Treasure Planet again, knowing Lucky John Still had the map. This eventually led to a mutiny. Silver's ruthlessness and betrayal even though he trusted him so much, as well as his two faced lies, led Lucky John to fear Silver. Flint was marooned with his loyalists on a small island, while Billy Bones Fled the ship, entrusted with the map by Lucky John. Silver hoped a few weeks on the island would convince Lucky John to change his mind. True to his luck however, a Ship loyal to Lucky John's pirate clan, a barque happened across the island. It was fleeing a Navy patrol. Flint returned to his stronghold to find Silver lamenting his actions, he had told the rest of Flint's crew and captains that he was dead. Lucky John subsequently took Silver to Protious I to the infamous Dead Man's Chest, a barren and notoriously tall platue which was a popular spot for pirates to maroon people and leave them to die atop of. The same planet, was, incidentally where Silver had rescued Morph from some years before. Lucky John's last action upon seeing Silver, was to take Silver's hand as revenge. Silver, and a handful of others, including Turnbuckle, Hands, Onus, Birdbrain Mary, Scroop and Meltdown were those who would survive the ordeal and become part of Silver's Crew later on Occasionally he sailed with Terran Letters of Marque during wars with the Procyons. He even fought along side Captain Amelia and became friends with her and had a brief thing with her. After the wars, however, Lucky John returned to pyracy, and for that, Amelia never forgave him, and they often exchanged broadsides when the notorious space pirate and the navy captain sighted each other's ships. During the Voyage to Treasure Planet, Silver used his galleon Argentum to try and intercept Billy Bones cutter as it left Spaceport Crescentia to rendezvous with Lucky John. Billy Bones had been in hiding for years, and was unable to contact his captain. While the Argentum and the Wilde Rover conducted a ferocious space battle, Silver Fled in a small gunboat with several members of his crew to try and fallow Billy Bones down to Montressor. The Argentum was heavily damaged and burning when Flint left her, and Silver beached her to return to later, as he infiltrated the RLS Legacy's crew. Flint subsequently would later give chase to the RLS Legacy but would arrive too late to take the treasure and watched from orbit as Treasure Planet Exploded. During the Ironclad conflict, Lucky John acted as one of the main Smuggler Lords who helped the Procyons build their ironclads, fallowing the end of the conflict, and Jim Hawkins promotion, Lucky John would develop a fierce rivalry with Commodore Hawkins of the Terran Royal Navy. they would fight many times and the pirate would come to remark that "Young Master Hawkins is the most worthy Challenge I have had in a long time." The rest of his life and events can be read in my, (abandoned sorry,) Fanfic www.deviantart.com/edward-smee… Eventually, Lucky John became the Falmahaution Abbassador To the Terran Empire and retired to Spaceport Cresentia. He and his crew are frequent patrons of the rebuilt Benbow Inn on Montresser. Lucky John eventually got over the loss of Treasurte Planet and came to be good friends with the Hawkins, the Dopplers and John Silver, who was an old shipmate of Lucky John's.

Lucky John and ‘Ginnie’ Flint, the OC of a friend from old rps. They are half siblings. among other aspects of my world building lore, the species of Flint, which i dubbed ‘Faulmahaltions’ is a hybridized crocodile and scorpian species, and as such further interspecies breeding is made difficult, ironically, Ginnie’s creator maintains that Ginnie had a birth defect and so was put into Stasis by Nathanial Flint, and emerged centuries later, on Lucky John’s shoulder is his pet Candarian Zapwing, Skullduggery

Lucky John was bornb beneath three lucky stars which, on his homeworld denote great fortune, and luck. Lucky John, as a result is blessed with inane and almost unbeleivable luck, and has been banished from almost all gambling establishments in the Etherium. He just is that lucky. These three fate gauging die, are a method of fortune telling used by his people, and incidentally depict the three stars Lucky John was born under.

Lucky John’s Jolly Roger is actually much more lighthearted than the pirate himself, and depicts himself dancing with Death. this is, due to the high number of times that Lucky John narrowly escaped Death due to his luck. Here he is pictured at the transom of his ship, Jolly Roger flying while weilding his cutlass, and blunderbuss, while his ship’s Long Tom sits on postion on the transom. Skullduggery perches on her master’s shoulder

Lucky John owns a number of ornate weapons he uses when pirating. A blunderbuss with a rotating series of energy cells to maximize the number of rounds without reloading, a curved dagger, and curved cutlass. After his Father’s Demise, Lucky John became a member of the crew of the famed Pirate Henry Avery, and was the ship’s Master At Arms. Avery subsequently gifted Lucky John the finest pistol aboard the Gunsway after the infamous raid. Lucky John’s musket was perhaps the most common of his weapons in the days before his own captaincy, and his ability as a sharpshooter with his cybernetic eye was made infamous. Lucky John was also infamous for once saying “If ye have one shot, and yer pinned down, shoot somewhere random, and pray for the best.” before a brick wall collapsed on Royal Marines and enabled the pirates an escape.

Lucky John is also not just a famed pirate, but also a loving and caring father. He has three children with a gypsy wife. Their hybridization was easier due to Lucky John’s knowlege of the medical technology of Treasure Planet, His daughter is named ‘Jamaica’ after his favorite pirate island, and his sons are Nathanial and Billy, after his father, and best freind. Here, Lucky John sits in the cabin of his ship, showing his children a bedtime story about his Father and the legend of Treasure Planet, while his beloved wife scoops ice cream for her children. Out the stern ligh windows are a planet and spaceport, and a pirate Barque and fast attack who serve Lucky John’s pirate clan

Lucky John’s ship the Wild Rover, named for the favorite song of Lucky John is a 30 gun pirate galleon.

Class: Galleon Designer: Lucky John Affiliation: Pirate/ Flint Pyrate clan Captain: Lucky John\ Crew: 150 space pirates of various species, and robot manufacturers. Armentment: 30 heavy laser cannons, 1 heavy long Tom projectile Cannon, 3 arm mounted grappling claws, 1 arm mounted drill, 2 arm mounted circuler saw blades Special shipboard systems: Pure Darkmatter crystal power core, cloaking device, smuggling compartments The 'Wild Rover' was built by A Falmahaultion Shipyard on Lucky John's Homeworld. He made several modifications to her systems based on things he learned studying the systems of Treasure Planet in his youth. Others, including her extremly effeciant power and engine systems, he learned from solarsurfing. Lucky John Has used the Wild Rover for 83 years, ever since he took command at the young age of 182. She has sailed under many flags since her Launch. Including the Emblem of the Falmalhaltion Empire, The Skull and Orbits, and both Terran, and Procyon Privateer Flags. Not to Mention False colors and Smugglers flags. Lucky John had used her to battle rival Pirates, His own family, Royal Light Ships, Procyon Star Runners, and Arcturian Armada Galleons, not to mention countless numbers of Richly laden merchant ships, and Rich Spaceports. Lucky John Commanded her during The Pirate Civil Wars between the Teague Clan and the Flints, which threatened to destroy the Brethren Court. He also fought several battles between Admiral Amelia, Commodore Hawkins, other Prominent Terran naval Officers, and John Silver.

Falmahaultions are native to the Planet Candaria. Their name is actually in reference to two ancestral species. a crocodilian and scorpian species who interbred, Fal’ Mah-Hault is actually a translation meaning ‘Children of Mah and Hault’ the first two who interbred. due to this hybridization it made their species difficult to hybridize further, resulting in birth defects. unique anatomical features include:

Three lungs. one large interlocking respiratory system

Two hearts, completely separate circulatory systems, one is cold blooded, the other is warm blooded, they even each other out, and regulate the body.

an external ‘exoskeletal brace’ prominant on the hands and faces, the ‘brace’ is what remains of the scorpian ancestors exoskeleton, and serves to protect joints, as in the knuckles, and bones, as well as protect sensitive nerve endings. in both the hands, and the face around the eyes, these nerve endings sense chemicals in their air, like a snake’s tongue.

three pairs of eyes. each vertical pair sees color in different wavelengths, and gives a great field of vision as well. ultra violet normal light etc.

Increased tolerance to poison etc. Falmahaultions also retain their scorpian poison glands, though they migrated to their talons, and fangs, and are, in most cases underdeveloped, and have to be stimulated with certain herbs to reach full maturity, and toxicity.

another interesting feature, is the split nails of the Falmahaultions. This is a cosmetic choice, rather than a genetic trait. it is one talon per finger, which certain warrior classes, or others of particular wealth and stature began splitting with knives and permitting to grew in a bifurcated look. The practice was widely adopted by both males and females, but began with the female warrior caste. despite the wholly cosmetic nature of the procedure, Falmahaultion doctors have noted that the remnant poison glands flow easier under such circumstances.

Sensative smell- large noses and nostrils permit Falmahaultions excellent smell

Dense muscles, their species hails from a jungle world, with aztec like architecture and as a result, are known for their great physical strength, and survival abilities, which is only aided by additional respiratory and circulatory systems.

LUCKY JOHN’S TRAITS IN REGARD TO THE ABOVE WORLDBUILDING

Lucky John has lost one heart and one and half of another lung to a duel with a poisoned blade. His body was unable to process the poison due to its extreme potency, and destroyed one of his hearts, one of his lungs, and caused a lung collapse in his middle lung. This incident lowered his all around ability for athleticism and strength and as a result put him on par with most humans, and humanoid species. His luck enabled him to survive.

Lucky John lost his lower right eye in another incident and had damage caused to his nerve endings. He was forced to replace it with a cybernetic eye having all the standard features, and replace one of the nerve endings as well. eventually, he had a special protective placed secured over the central ridge of nerves that journeyed up his face in between his eyes. he forged both from gold.

Lucky John Split his fingernails. Both in homage to warrior caste traditions, and out of a cosmetic choice. sometimes he paints them, or lets his wife paint them. Though traditional nail paint is made from a mix of pigments and the individuals own venom. In the case of his lost arm, his has curved knife blades with no splits in them.

A heraldic Candarian Zapwing and the Flag of the Flint Pirate Clan. The Central Clan has hundreds of Flints, aunts, neices nephews, uncles, brothers, sisters, all under the leadership of Lucky John’s Grandfather, and Nathanial Flint’s Father, Big Ben Flint. Who has disowned Nathanial Flint’s Bloodline multiple occasions. Each subsequent member of the clan however, has their own flagship, command fleet, and Pirate Clan under their leadership with many fleets and hideouts, giving way to a powerful pirate dynasty, and empire. a dynsasty and Empire which Nathanial Flint outshone when he took Treasure Planet for himself to spite his greedy and powerhungry father Big Ben, thus earning his ire.

The Pride of Candaria, a stolen royal Flagship bearing Candarian symbols on her sails. the Flagship of the Flint Pirate Clan, and the ship of Big Ben himself. The whole stern is the site of not just cabins but pirate administrative offices from which the massive pirate clan can run their empire.

For your consideration @lootofathousandsworld I haven’t touched these guys in so long. I miss them.

#flint #captain flint #treasure planet #OC #original character #space pirates #alien pirate #space galleon #solar galleon #original art.

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westerhos · 4 years ago

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Our Story: Chapter 5

Here marks the middle of our tale, that vast, perilous land between the beginning and the end. The going is treacherous in these parts—the wayward couple must heal on their own, tread the sea of two decades with arms and souls akimbo—but still, it is not unnecessary. The middle is never aimless. Always, always, it has one goal: the ending.

When the lights go up and the curtains close, you clap—perhaps, should the couple reunite (which, of course, they will), you shout “Encore, encore!” But then, at last, you return to your car. You catch the train, or you grab a taxi. At last, having started at the beginning and waded through the middle, you reach the final destination. The night is over; you go home.

Home. Whether a place, a person, a feeling, or a thing—it does not matter. Home is always the goal and the ending, the northernmost star we pray to and walk towards.

[December 24th, 1996]

Two weeks’ vacation in a cabin, tucked deep inside a fold of mountains. Here, amongst the stretches of living nothingness, even the silence has a voice. Owls hoot in the night. The pines’ chatter, their needle-whispers pierced by caws and shifted air—a hawk swooping to ensnare her prey. And if one listens closely enough, one can hear the hunter's a shaky, traitorous breath, which launches the doe across the snow—the echo of his heartsong, the drum to which the doe’s hooves beat. Come back, come back, come back.

This is why Jamie has come here: for the endless conversation between man and mountain, more steadfast than the chill in his heart. In the past four years, Jamie has sold the twin cot (it lies in a salvage yard somewhere, all broken springs and dreams). A different couple has moved into the studio, and when they had spoken of paint jobs—“Perhaps mint green, what d’ye say, hon?”— Jamie had thought, Thank God. He’d happily offered them the keys when they turned to him, pupils dilated with youthful optimism. By that point, there was no space for Jamie and Claire inside that Edinburgh Eden, and so he’d chimed in, “Aye, a bonny color.” (Indeed, the walls are mint now, though a forgotten strip of marigold shines in the northern corner.)

For two years, Jamie has lived with Murtagh in Glasgow, having shed not just his home but his editorial career in publishing. He has grown tired of fixing other’s mistakes—too many of his own in need of correction—and so here he sits on this Christmas Eve, writing towards redemption.

The Grampians are a peaceful place, big hulks of rock scattered with trees—bouquets of fir, oak, and pine cradling other cabins. At dark, their windows flicker, candlelit with the dreams of the aspiring novelists, essayists, playwrights therein. Men and women, all bowed before the cleansing hum of nature’s speech. Like Jamie, they had seen the fliers: WRITER’S RETREAT, TWO WEEKS IN THE MOUNTAINS—and so it was. They were small colony taking its temporary leave, hoping to reconstruct the world according to their own, more favorable terms.

Over supper, the group gathers and shares their ideas: outlines, pieces of dialogue, an inspiring poem they’ve loved since childhood. And while Jamie is generous with his advice, he holds his notebooks against his chest. Enraptured by this warm aloofness (for is it not the way of all great wordsmiths?), the others whisper behind their palms, “Have you read Fraser’s story?” Into napkins, “No, have you?”

But among the fifteen guests, only one has read Jamie’s story—and tonight, Jamie waits for her inside his cabin. His latest draft is fanned around him, some sections highlighted and others slashed. They are not unlike Claire’s old strike-throughs, which had snipped the would-be Dalhousie and eventually, Jamie’s own name, from her life (a reclamation of Beauchamp, a transformation to Randall). Among Jamie’s scribbles are his friend’s edits, which are much more forgiving, much less forceful than the lines of his own red pen. Each comment reads like a bashful request: “More clarity?”, “Switch the verb here?”, “Too many adjectives?” as if she needs permission to occupy the margins. Should I really be reading this?, she seems to say, the bare-backed rawness making her squirm.

But she is helping him, his friend. And so she sees Jamie’s drafts before John, his agent, and before Fergus, his assistant and most loyal advocate. With each comment, she brings him closer to understanding, to the better beginning, middle and end. Note by note, to the way his story (their story, for it can never be Jamie’s alone) should be. All rhymes and logic, had it not veered off-course.

Is Alexander too cold here? Shouldn’t he say something? (He should have.)

It seems out of character for Alexander to never visit his daughter’s grave? (Grief carves cowards out of heroes.)

Shouldn’t he try to win Elizabeth back? (God, yes. He should have tried harder.)

The knock comes three minutes later, as expected.

“Hello?”

“Door’s unlocked.”

“Oh!” A muffled apology, embarrassment for the delay. “Sorry,” the visitor says. “It’s late. Didna ken if ye still wanted to talk or not. I brought—well, I finished reading your last chapter.”

And now another player enters this fifth act, tip-toes quietly onto the stage. Only a slip of a thing in the cabin’s doorway, cheeks pinked by the storm’s sharp nip. She is Jamie’s friend-slash-critique partner, and even her entrance is punctuated by a question mark. The score of owl, pine, hawk and hunter swells, buffeted now by new notes: the crack of chapped lips smiling, the anxious shuffle of papers, and—

“Dinna fash, I couldna sleep anyways,” Jamie assures her. “Did ye like it, though? The new ending?”

His friend inhales sharply, stealing as much oxygen as the room will allow. Everything—the threadbare futon, the TV’s antennae, the welcome mat and Jamie’s body—bends towards some invisible presence. A ghost between between all.

“It was…a bit different from the last one.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘Nay, I didna like it.’”

She looks shyly at the ground, one foot treading nervous circles into the planks.

“It was a bit too sentimental is all. After everything. All that time and silence…D’ye really think Alex and Lizzie could make it?”

Her words are a blow to Jamie’s stomach, and the pages are fire in his hands. He puts them down, wants to thrust himself under a blanket of snow to freeze the flames.

“In a fairy tale, maybe, but life isna a fairy tale. And d’ye no want to write truths?” She looks up, and her eyes gore him. “This story isna a fairy tale either, Jamie. Yours never are.”

“Aye…aye, I s’pose they’re not,” he replies, thinking of his other novels and short stories, essays and poems. Each accepted by John’s gimlet eye, only to meet their end in a publisher’s slush pile. (“Too dark, too wallowing,” an editor once wrote.)

“Give it another go. I’ll help ye tomorrow, if ye’d like,” his friend offers. “Three days left. I reckon we’ve time to sort the kinks, right the wrongs.” (Three days will never be enough for Jamie’s wrongs.)

“I’d appreciate that, lass. Verra much.”

His friend looks behind her and at the moon, a shy sickle in the sky. It draws her toward the door and the snow-covered mountainside.

“Weel, it’s a long walk back,” she says. “Wanted to give ye that before the morning, so I guess I’ll just…”

“Will ye stay with me tonight?” Jamie blurts. And he hates himself for saying this, the way it sounds outside his mouth and inside his cabin, landing on the unmade bed. Its despair makes it ugly. But.

But if his friend stays, Jamie thinks, perhaps the emptiness will leave. If his friend stays, perhaps his story will correct itself, falling into its natural rhythm, by the force of whatever solace she can give him.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” he continues, “and I…I dinna want to be alone.”

She pauses, thinks it over before saying, “Okay. Just for a bit?” (Just for a bit? Another loaded question, and one he doesn’t want to answer.)

“Thank you,” Jamie whispers, and Mary McNab removes her coat.

____

Long before daybreak, Jamie wakes. He gathers his draft, made complete by that final failing chapter, into a single stack. He retrieves a box from his suitcase, which is swathed in his old holiday sweater, and it speaks to him. A quiet loudness, like the murmur of the Grampians. You mean your lager-stained pullover? With the Santa looks that looks like he’s got vomit in his beard?

Inside the box is a gift—a vase, azure porcelain—though Jamie has no plans to send it across the Atlantic, to the Boston apartment where his ex-wife kisses another man. No. This vase will stay with Jamie, forever hidden on the high shelf of a closet, or exiled to the back corner of a desk drawer. Like his grief, it is something that he owns—this small cut from a cloth of unraveled dreams—to be kept and locked safely away. There, there, always there. All fancy people have vases.

Jamie wraps the box with his manuscript. One by one, he folds the pages over and under, seals the edges with tape to form an inch-thick layer. So much history around this small, delicate thing—their story, with the ending Jamie cannot use and which cannot be the truth. At last, he cuts the string of wool, which still drips from his sweater after all these years, and it rasps, Do we have time? Of course we do.

Finally, Jamie weeps—a mournful sound that joins the chorus of this great, big mountain—and ties a frayed, red bow.

____

(Jamie does not realize that Mary watches him from the bed. “Tell me about her,” she wants to say—for once a statement and not a question—but she does not. Instead, she calls to Jamie, presses her goosefleshed nakedness to his. And as they move together, slow but unfeeling, she pretends she is a vessel. Closes her eyes. Makes room for the ghost. I’m Claire Beauchamp. Just plain Claire Beauchamp.)

____

Here, the idea of a writer’s retreat, the introduction, and the parentheticals (although those are also inspired by one of my favorite authors Kate Atkinson) are my lame attempts at trying to be Lauren Groff. Actually, the next handful of chapters are the result of my obsession with her novel Fates and Furies—which you should absolutely go read, right now.

One of my favorite parts about writing a modern AU is finding ways to fit in canon characters or references. I started this chapter having no idea who Jamie’s critique partner was, but it very quickly came together once there was a remote cabin, Jamie inside it, and a woman coming to visit him. I hope the reveal is at least somewhat...fun? The vase is also obviously a nod to Outlander, and, well, I’m assuming y’all caught on to Jamie’s character names (a bit on the nose, lmao).

I’m not crazy about this introduction (it’s...a bit much...but it’s meant to tie into the introduction of Chapter 1), but the final paragraph from Mary’s POV is actually one of my favorite paragraphs in the whole fic.

I also think I wrote this during a snowstorm, wheeeee!

#myfic #outlander #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser

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hitbythunder · 4 years ago

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Chandrilan Moons -3

A Kylo Ren x Reader story with much angst, possessiveness and dark themes (warnings will be updated as the story progresses) –> Read also on AO3

Summary: Growing up under the loving care of your foster-mother, Leia Organa, there had been nothing for you and Rey to want for. Though not of kin, you loved Rey as your sister and spent a happy childhood with her on Chandrila. But when the boiling galactic politics demanded for Leia to take action, for the Resistance to rise and fight, the girls could no longer evade the cruelty of the world. Kylo Ren sought a map as a key to revenge, to freedom, and had no use for a force-unsensitive young girl like you. You were simply a means to an end. Until his darkness latched onto you, drawn in by your light as you were by the demon that is Kylo Ren - inevitably gravitating towards each other, bound to be one. Like the Chandrilan moons.

**** WARNING: description of violence, mentions of rape

____________________________xXx____________________________

3- A disturbance in the Force

+Takodana - neutral territory+

Flying through space was amazing and although two experienced and trusted Resistance pilots had accompanied us girls on our mission, the glistening stars as far as one could see was worth it all. While Rey remained slightly pouting for most of the flight, I was glued to one of the side-windows of the ship. It was a small but bulky transport ship, for a star-fighter couldn't hold that many people and would have attracted too much attention once we landed on Takodana. Albeit its neutrality in the war, one should never act foolishly, especially since neutrality itself depended heavily on the benefits of a foregone alliance. But with Maz Kanata, the owner of the famous castle that granted sanctuary to everyone for one night, and proved friend of the Resistance, nothing could go wrong today and the whole mission seemed as good as done.

Leia had sent us there to retrieve the Jedi texts Maz had bought from a smuggler who had passed through weeks ago, hoping that they might help Rey's training in the Force. Or so I assumed as I curiously scanned the texts before Rey put the few scrolls and loose pages in a safety-box inside her back-pack.

"There's one more thing." Maz rummaged in a small chest among the sheer endless heaps of stuff in the castle's vault, leaving me to wonder how she could possibly remain an overview of what was down here. But perhaps that was why it was such a good hiding-place for forbidden artifacts such as Jedi-texts - as well as the light-sabre Maz now held solemnly in her wrinkled hands.

"Oh my stars, Luke Skywalker's light-sabre!" Rey was beyond herself with joy, her hands trembling slightly as she took the legendary weapon and gingerly inspected it from all sides. Ever the technician, Rey simply had to understand how that thing worked exactly and probably would disassemble the sabre if it hadn't been Luke's.

While I shared my sister's excitement, I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as I watched Rey posing with the sabre. As so often, I found myself lacking as compared to my sister and Maz's talk about destiny and great deeds to be done with that sabre didn't make it any better. So I zoned out, sulking quietly in the background, until the three of us left the stuffy vault via seemingly endless stairs. We reemerged back into the dining hall of the castle's ground-floor where the canteen was, without drawing attention of the guests there. In one corner of the hall, a band played jolly tunes, which echoed off the thick castle walls and arched ceiling in a cacophony with the chatter of people. Because of many nooks and columns, the canteen could house many guests without seeming stuffed and a social-introvert like me could feel quite overwhelmed by all the noises, smells and visuals. I had never seen such variety of alien races, humans and droids gathered peacefully in one place.

With our mission virtually accomplished, the Jedi texts secured, it was time for us to return to the base and thus I scanned the canteen for our two escorts. But fate had other plans, for suddenly three very familiar faces appeared at the entrance of the dingy dining hall.

"Han Solo!" Maz cried out, shifting everyone's attention to the smuggler and his companions Chewie, a startled guy in Poe's jacket and Poe himself, his loyal droid BB-8 at his heels.

What in the galaxy are they doing here? I wondered while they approached us, an uneasy tingling overcoming my nerves. In hindsight, to give in and investigate this strange feeling more closely would have spared me so much trouble. But instead I pushed it down and greeted the guys as friendly as ever and soon later we found ourselves seated at the last available table. After getting us some food and beverages, Maz joined us at the round table, listening intently to the quiet conversation. We informed Han about our mission before he could get any wrong ideas (e.g. that we stole a ship and went against Leia's orders) and it felt nice that he cared about our well-being.

"Kriff, that is amazing!" Rey nearly burst with excitement as Poe, with interruptions of Han and Fin (the new guy), told us about what had happened on his mission. To sum it up, Poe had been on Jakku to get a map leading to Luke Skywalker but had been caught by the First Order and tortured by Kylo Ren himself. I shuddered at that part, because everybody knew not to cross paths with this merciless demon. Ren's cruelty and thirst for blood-shed seemed endless, his hatred for the Resistance only fueling his powers, and I could not fathom to imagine what Ren had done to squeeze every ounce of information out of Poe.

Luckily, Poe had entrusted the map to BB-8, who had remained hidden on Jakku the whole time, until Poe had managed to escape by the help of Fin, a renegade stormtrooper. Well, and as if fate had decided to stir things up even more, they had bumped into Han and Chewie on the way - something concerning smugglers and gross aliens, I didn't listen too carefully then - and due to low fuel and necessary repairs they had to make a stop here on Takodana.

"Wow, what a ride..." I said with awe and respect for their courage and luck, which had at least Fin and Poe smile proudly.

"Yeah, didn't exactly go to plan-" Poe replied between sips of his beer, Han scoffing beside him and mumbling something to Chewie about the recklessness of youth. "-but here we are, map in hand."

"And as soon as the Falcon's refueled we're leavin'!" Han declared as soon as Poe finished, his tone harsh but one could tell he only meant well for all of us. "Gonna make sure y'all get back in one piece." Obviously, Leia would have Han's head should anything happen to her girls, her best pilot and the map under his watch. And although I sensed his reluctance to face Leia, I was looking forward to the resemblance of a family. Hopefully they wouldn't quarrel from the start on.

Somewhat lost in my fantasies of a happy family life, I hadn't registered the growing debate between Finn, Rey and Poe.

"... you don't know them as I do! There's no fighting the First Order because they'll slaughter us for even trying. I've seen enough of their horrors and I want nothing to do with them!" Finn declared heatedly and barely kept his voice low as Poe repeatedly urged him to, also keeping the renegade in his chair.

"But that's the point! You have so much detailed insider-information which we could use to fight them! Why would you waste that and cling to the illusion of outrunning them?" Rey retorted with unabashedly directness and not less heatedly, the spirit of the Resistance burning fiercely in her hazel eyes. "Fleeing like a coward."

Finn rose then, anger and shame written across his face, though he didn't come up with a response and after a few seconds gave in to Poe tucking at his sleeve, sat back down and glared into his cup. A tensed silence hung over the table, until Maz subtly changed the subject by engaging Han in a conversation about a mutual smuggler-friend of theirs. With a fuming Rey beside me, I shot Poe a questioning glance, but he looked as helpless beside Finn as I felt and began to talk some sense into Finn in a calm manner. That he should come with us to the base, at least for a little while.

Next to Han, Chewie was eager to get out of here, groaning impatiently beside his friend and rubbing his bandaged arm.

"All right, Chewie, go on and check on our baby." Han said between Maz's babbling and quickly grabbed his beer before Chewie would knock it over as the giant jumped to his feet.

"I'm coming with you." on impulse I rose too, dismissing everyone's questioning looks as I added: "I need some air anyways."

Let them cool their heads while I'm gone, I thought and jogged after Chewie.

Since Maz's castle was built on a cliff surrounded by the ocean on one side and dense forest on the other, the landing-places were spread to a few clearings nearby. So we had to walk a little and although Chewie wasn't particularly chatty, I didn't mind either and enjoyed the beautiful landscape. At the bottom of the weathered castle's stairs, we turned right and followed a lovely path between lush grassy hills at the border of the forest, the rush of the nearby sea accompanying our steps. Suddenly Chewie halted, his hairy arm on my shoulder stopping me too, and pointed towards the thicket. There, half-hidden by the greenery, two humans were carrying a seemingly shut-down BB-8 further away from the castle.

Hasn't BB-8 been with Poe and us the whole time? I wondered briefly. But then, BB-8 was a small droid and many people had squeezed themselves past our table in the brimming canteen. Perhaps we had all been too distracted by the heated conversation between Rey and Finn to notice BB-8's absence.

"I'll follow them and stop them from leaving. You go use that long legs of yours and get the others, Chewie! Rey'll find me through the Force!" I declared in a split-second-decision, already dashing away into the dense forest and leaving a groaning wookiee behind.

Deeper and deeper I ventured in my pursuit, steadily closing the distance between myself and the thieves without alerting them of my presence. As children, Rey and I had often played hide and seek in the forests of Chandrila and I had to develop some pretty decent sneaking-skills to diminish her advantage with the Force. Rey had only once admitted that she wouldn't have won all those times if she hadn't used the Force to sense my approach. Thus, even if my sneaking skills should fail me I trusted that Rey would be able to find me. I just had to stall some time, delay those thugs from leaving, until Rey and the others would arrive. At one point, the two thieves halted to catch their breaths and looked around. I quickly ducked behind a tree, easing my nerves. Suddenly I noticed a bright red stroke on the otherwise blue sky above, far away yet ominous to watch. Though I had no clue what it was, I instantly had a bad feeling about it. But more pressing matters were at hand, and after another deep breath I dared to peek around the trunk. There was only one thief beside BB-8 then.

Kriff, where did the other go?!

Maybe Chewie should have chased them, not me, I admitted to myself as I was hauled by a pair of large hands and thrown very harshly on the forest floor next to the motionless droid.

"Look what followed us, mate!" said the gruff guy to his companion, who looked terribly scrawny in comparison. Both reeked of ale and whatnot, their ugly visages distorted by sinister smiles.

"A pretty thing like that will make a good price, I wager. Not as high as for the droid though." the scrawny one snickered as he mustered me, while the bear-like guy's eyes roamed over my body with a different kind of greed.

"How 'bout a taste..."

"No!" I screamed as he grabbed me, trashing against his hold, and somehow I managed to draw my small combat-knife from its holster at my hips. I thrust without much consideration, nor proper aim, stabbing bear-guy right above the knee. The blade sunk hilt-deep into his thigh-muscle. He howled in pain and repaid me with a hearty slap across my face, sending me flying back against BB-8 and onto the mossy ground. The impact caused the droid to reawaken and a small safety compartment at its front jumped open, the object within landing a few feet ahead of me.

The map! my dizzy mind concluded with horror.

Ignoring the rising pain in my body, I crept on all fours and frantically scanned the forest floor with my hands in a panicked search for the map. Scrawny guy was still laughing at his companion. Knowing that the guys and Poe in particular, had risked their lives for this map and that finding Luke was vital for the future of the Resistance, I simply couldn't loose it nor let it be taken by those thugs. It was my chance to prove my value as part of the Resistance and failing wasn't an option.

What would Leia think if I screw this up? Or Poe?

Then, finally, my right palm touched a metallic longish object and instantly I closed my fingers tightly around it. The very moment I did so, a flash of energy shot through me, momentarily blinding all my senses in its immense light and suddenly the outline of a star-constellation appeared before my inner eye. Planets and stars twinkled in a blueish hue, in between a red dotted line that led to a particular oceanic planet. Though somehow familiar, I could not place this constellation and this strange vision lasted only a few seconds, before a sudden sharp pain in my hand brought me back to my present predicament.

+++

In front of Takodana castle, the fight between stormtroopers and Resistance had just begun by the time Kylo arrived there. His ship landed like a looming black bird among the First Order transports and agitation spread in his muscles upon the pending blood-shed, especially since he had sensed another force-user inside the castle. By far not as strong as him, but hopefully they would do for some entertainment compared to the other scum-bags that died like flies at his hand. Kylo was marching determinedly towards the building, when he felt it.

A disturbance in the Force within the forest to his right, faintly but clear as a lightning-bolt at distance and vanished just as quickly. Kylo paused, scanned the area with his powers and concluded that the other Force-user was up ahead at the bottom of the castle - not in the direction of the disturbance. Weighing his options, Kylo dismissed the distraction for being just that and walked on to find his opponent. The Force, however, tickled his senses again, rippling with distinct restlessly as if to tempt him and now it seemed foolish not to inquire further.

"Find that droid at all costs! And take no prisoners!" Kylo barked towards a nearby officer, before he stormed off into the forest.

The lightning-bolt had pinned down the exact location and the closer he got, the stronger the Force seemed to pull him there, becoming more insistent with each step. Faster, it seemed to whisper and spurned his steps beyond the capacity of men, neither rocks nor tree-stumps posing a real obstacle in his path. Kylo felt some human presence long before they came into view, two men beating and kicking a woman cowering at their feet. Judging by their appearance, they were either smugglers or Resistance-fighters and either was good enough reason to kill them.

Silent in his approach, Kylo descended upon them like a dark shadow from behind, the hiss of igniting his light-sabre the only foretelling sound of their demise. Effortlessly, the red crackling blade cut through cloth, flesh and bone, drenching the nearby greenery and earth with blood.

#kylo ren x reader #possessive!Kylo #star wars sequel fic #drama and angst #fanfic #kylo ren

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lucysnowe · 4 years ago

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Happy Holidays!

This is my @toa-secret-santa gift for @actuallyadroid! Since you asked for “Usurna being regal,” I wrote her a bit of an origin story. Read it below or an ao3 here. I hope you enjoy it!

“Rise, Usurna, Queen of the Krubera.”

Her mother had never had much patience for whelps. Usurna remembered a legion of tutors in diplomacy, languages, the arts of geology, and even some dabbling in Troll magic, but perhaps the clearest moments were when her mother summoned Usurna to her private caves.

Even centuries later, Usurna would always remember how her mother exuded regality. It was something she constantly tried to emulate. The long robes of Ancient Troll society had long gone out of favor among most tribes, most Trolls preferring the simpler garb of short kilts or tunics made of crude leather. She couldn’t imagine why. She thought she cut a dashing figure in her flowing robes, made of a soft material, what humans called silk, pilfered from the human’s own stock (Usurna believed—no, knew, that humans were inferior in every way. But she could admit their soft fabrics had their own beauty). After all, she’d learned from the best how a Queen dresses herself.

She rarely saw her mother in her childhood, so the times she was allowed to even be in the Troll Queen’s presence were special occasions. Tense, but special. Her mother’s presence tended to leave her mesmerized, to the point she was too absorbed in admiring her mother to hear her lessons.

“Usurna, are you listening to me?” Her mother asked, her accent a crisp reflection of High Trollish, the language preferred by all royals.

“Yes, Mother.”

“I bear a great burden, my daughter. One day, that burden will fall to you. We are the Krubera. We act on their behalf; we represent them in Troll society, to those outsiders that do not have the strength to travel to our deepest caves. The Krubera are only as strong as its rulers are.”

“Vangaar says that strength is tempered by humility.” She said, recalling the words of one of her tutors.

“Remind me to dismiss Vangaar, because if he says that, then he is a fool. Strength, Usurna, is the absence of weakness. All vulnerabilities must be hidden, so that no one, be they enemy or ally, can ever take advantage of you.”

Her mother’s words echoed in Usurna’s mind as she heard the clapping of hundreds of Krubera around her. Barely 400, and here she was, at her own coronation. All the wisdom her mother possessed, gone. Killed defending her Tribe from Gumm-Gumm raiders. Rumor spread that Lord Gunmar himself was the one who delivered the killing blow. A rumor Usurna started herself. Frankly, she had no idea who’d slain her mother, but she couldn’t have her mother’s reputation sullied because she’d gotten herself offed by some random foot soldier.

Coronations were a rare enough occasion that the festivities were meant to last at least a week. Usurna tired of them after about an hour. She’d never been much for large crowds, and it wasn’t as though she was doing much celebrating herself. She’d mostly sat to the sides as emissaries from various Troll tribes brought her gifts. Most Trolls couldn’t go to the depths of the Krubera caverns, so they’d held the festival in one of their highest caverns. Still, she could see the caves taking their toll on some of the Trolls; a Conundrum diplomat near her looked nauseated. Good. Let them see they could never hope to infiltrate her home.

She was shaken from her thoughts by the appearance of her guards. “My lady, Gumm-Gumms! A whole squadron approach!”

How dare he? First he kills her mother, and now Gunmar has the audacity to invade her home at her coronation. How could she recover from these twin blows to her dignity as a sovereign?

Already she could see civilian Trolls fleeing. “Fear not. We will show them the might of the Krubera. Guards! Ready yourselves!”

She silently reviewed her combat training to herself. She didn’t care much for fighting, but she’d enjoying sitting in on her mother’s generals’ strategy meetings. This dress wouldn’t do for a battle, unfortunately. She hoped she didn’t ruin it.

From the reaction of her guards and the other Trolls, she’d expected the caves to be flooded with Gumm-Gumms, so she was shocked to see that it was in truth only a group of five. She couldn’t be sure that more didn’t lurk elsewhere, but still—her guards had clearly overreacted.

“We bring a gift. From the Underlord.” The faceless Gumm-Gumm soldier that led the group spoke directly to her. She could make out no distinguishing characteristic beneath their armor. It was unnerving to see these enemies so close, but she clasped her hands to stop them from shaking.

What she hadn’t noticed before was that the Gumm-Gumm actually held a bundle in their arms, something wrapped in a cheap fabric. The soldier made a big show of tossing it to the ground, the fabric flouncing as though it was the silk she wore. What was in the bundle clattered as though it was made of metal—

There, on the ground, sat her mother’s armor.

With no delay, her guards rounded up the Gumm-Gumms and had them summarily executed. Knowing what she did about the Underlord, the lives of a few of his soldiers meant very little to him. Perhaps he’d even intended for them to die in her caves. Still, it felt good to watch them die.

***

The soldiers in front of her were battered and dirty. Usurna had a feeling she knew what news they brought.

“There were more Gumm-Gumms than we anticipated, your Highness. We were able to fight them off—but barely. Most of my soldiers lie dead in the caverns.”

This new defeat left her fuming. Had she been able to speak her mind, she would have called him what he was: a pathetic coward. But she didn’t dare show how frustrated she was. How scared.

“Go back to your soldiers, General. Get as many healers as you can find and scour the battlecaves for any soldiers still living. We’ll discuss further strategy at the council meeting this evening.”

He nodded and turned to go. His mate waited for him, the couple’s whelp in her arms. Usurna forgot the child’s name, despite officiating its Naming Ceremony. She did so for the children of most high-ranking Krubera, but since new whelps were born so infrequently she rarely had cause to. Urgamont, maybe? Her General lifted the whelp gently, touched its forehead to his. Usurna frowned. Ever since his whelp’s birth, her General had been distracted. She thought back to her mother, who’d never allowed any affection for her daughter to cloud her judgment or interfere with her role as Queen. This General had been an appointment from her mother’s era—for the first time, she questioned her mother’s choices. Perhaps he’d been loyal as a young, childless Troll, but now she wondered: just where did his loyalties lie?

With a huff, Usurna walked (“Never run, Usurna, a Queen never lets others think you’re in a hurry) back to her private chambers. She let out a shaky breath. Something else breathed behind her. She turned, face-to-face with the Underlord himself.

“Your warriors suffered greatly today, your Highness.”

Decades of fighting against him, but Usurna had never been so close to Gunmar in her life. He towered over her, his long horns threatening to brush against the top of the caves. How had he gotten in here?

“To what do I owe the pleasure, my Lord? How rare it is for guests to come unannounced to my rooms.”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries. I despise them.” He breathed in her face, hot and rancid. “Your army is dwindling. My Gumm-Gumm soldiers will obliterate them soon enough. You and your Tribe will fall by my sword. I offer an alternative scenario.”

“How generous of you.”

“Pledge your loyalty to me and all the Krubera with the Gumm-Gumms. The Krubera are mighty, but on their own are no match for my soldiers. But together, we could be invincible. I will even allow you to keep your sovereignty, as you rule beneath me.”

She would be lying if she said she’d never considered surrendering to Gunmar. What he said was true—the Krubera’s defeat was imminent, and if the Krubera, with their extraordinary physical prowess and strategically significant isolation, couldn’t protect themselves from Gunmar, what Troll tribes could? This was a losing battle, and perhaps it would be for the best if the Krubera joined the winning side. Especially with such a tempting offer, one that happened to keep her in (relative) power. But—

“But the Krubera would never surrender to you, my Lord. We are a willful group, you see, and if I allied with you after your armies have wrecked such devastation, it would only breed unrest and division. But—

She thought once again of her General, his whelp in his arms. Where did her Tribe’s loyalties lie, if she was so sure they would rebel against her decisions as Queen? How would she look, still so new to her role as Queen, what would her legacy be, if she surrendered to the enemy mere decades into her reign? The memory of her mother still lingered in most Krubera’s minds, as it did hers. She must remember her mother’s strength, embody her mother’s strength, to gain the respect of her Tribe. She needed a plan. There must be a way to motivate her Tribe, keep them under her sway, while still garnering the favor (and protection) of the Underlord.

“You want Krubera soldiers? Fine. You want my loyalty? Fine. But I will not reveal my allegiances to my Tribe until the time is right. Until they believe it is a lost cause, that you are truly the future and hope of all Trolls. Until they trust me unconditionally. It may be a while, but we have nothing but time. In the meantime, you will stage a raid on the Krubera. We will bravely but narrowly fight you off. But not before you’ve kidnapped our whelps and most impressionable youths. Train them, put them at the end of that blasted Decimaar blade I’ve heard so much about, do whatever you will, and they will obey you. I will use my Troll’s anger and desperation against them, to sway them to your side, until the time comes they will all join you willingly on the battlefield.”

***

“My citizens,” she began, surrounded by hundreds of concerned faces, “we have suffered terrible losses today. But we have not been defeated. The battle is not lost. We still have our strength. That strength can never be taken away, by Gunmar or any other Troll in the Earth. If we double down on our efforts, fight back harder and stronger than we ever have, we will defeat our enemies—conquer them and demonstrate that we are the superior Tribe.”

“But to win, we must make sacrifices. We must put aside our own desires and allegiances for the greater good. It is only when we are united under a common goal—under one leader— that we will have any chance of defeating the evil at our threshold. I hope that I have acted as a Queen must: to serve and direct the good of the Krubera. As my mother did before me. And I will continue to serve you until the evil is vanquished!”

A few trolls cheered, until her General stepped up. “Your words are wise, my Queen. We will fight with strength and courage. For the Krubera! For Aarghaumont! For Usurna, Queen of the Krubera!”

#toasecretsanta #toasecretsanta2020 #tales of arcadia #trollhunters #usurna

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lovesnightwriter · 4 years ago

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Monica and Darren - Epilogue

Epilogue

Monica closed the last box of dishes that lay open on the kitchen floor. The sun shined brightly across her slim brown face as she looked up from sliding the final strip of packing tape across the box marked “kitchen”. She could feel the beads of sweat forming on her hairline as she finished her work and silently cursed herself for not remembering to tie her hair down before she started packing. As she moved about the small kitchen floor she couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment from the scattered mini mountains of small boxes. All of these boxes meant a move was finally coming.

She got a job offer four weeks after finishing grad school and was leaving Columbus for the Chocolate City and all of the adventures it would bring. Not only was she starting her dream job but her finance, Darren, agreed to make the move with her. The timing couldn’t be better since he just finished law school and they were waiting on bar exam results to be released any day now. The paces of moving was a welcome distraction for both of them. Monica smiled with pride thinking about how Darren managed long nights in the library studying for the bar exam, working a part time job as a youth football couch and helping her maintain a sense of sanity through grad school.

“It’s all coming together,” Monica beamed and said to no one in particular.

For years she dreamed of having a career as a high powered lobbyist, a fine husband and beautiful babies. All of the boxes were getting checked and while things weren’t always fireworks with Darren she knew he was a solid guy. He was hardworking and committed. Dutiful and loyal to his family, friends and teammates. His loyalty was chief among the traits Monica loved about him.

Darren being a football phenom in the midwest regularly had ESPN pundits discussing his performance on the field. It helped that he was likeable with a magnetic personality and didn’t indulge in off-the-field antics like other high profile players in the Big 10 division. While he excelled on the field and earned notoriety for his powerful arm, off the field he laid low. He attended the occasional campus party and participated in program sponsored events, but other than that he was unusually focused on being a student athlete with hopes of playing in the NFL. That was the dream and the ultimate goal. And nothing came between him and the dream. Many of the other players, accustomed to the attention and privileges that being a star football player offered would secretly tease Darren about his straight and narrow ways when he wasn’t around. Nobody teased him or dared to bully him to his face because as a leader on the squad and one of the few students held in high regard with the coaching staff, being on his good side meant more playing time. He attended classes, never asked for any extraperks with professors and stayed away from the temptations that plagued other athletes. For years he planned on his ticket out of Ohio getting punched on draft day and he navigated the collegiate landmines with precision to ensure that it happened.

Tall and handsome Darren was the star quarterback at Ohio State but a career ending knee injury against Penn State ended his football dreams his junior year weeks before he was to declare for the NFL. Monica was in the stands for the powerful blindside that ended his football career and wanted to run to the field when she saw him laid out on the turf surrounded by coaches and team doctors. He had to be taken off the field in the medical cart since he was unable to walk. With a towel draped over his face to hide his tears of pain and knowledge of what had just happened, he didn’t need x-rays or doctors to tell him he was done playing football. The silence of the stadium was unlike anything either of them had ever experienced. Thousands of fans watching their star player’s career ending and all Darren had to hide his fear and tears was a small white towel.

Monica was there to help him figure out what life after the game looked like. After several late nights spent crying from shame and depression to Monica, he bought into her dream of them being a high-powered couple moving and making deals. Him as a lawyer and her as a savvy lobbyist. Thankfully his diligence in his course work would allow him to easily get into the University’s law school. With Monica’s masterminding, he released a statement officially retiring from football but remaining an active member on campus with hopes of graduation from the prestigious law school once he finished undergrad. He said he hoped to bring pride to the school in a different way and that he would need the support of the entire campus to help him get through these next few years as he transitioned from player to fan. University administrators ate it up and all but ensured his entrance into the law program.

That wasn’t so long ago, but seemed like a lifetime. Classes, hustling to keep money in their pockets, landing internships and graduating from their respective programs kept them busy. Over the years they’d had their fair share of disagreements when times were tense, but always came back together, literally and figuratively.

Speaking of coming back together, Monica could see his muscular frame just on the other side of their one bedroom apartment. He looked like a giant in the small one bedroom apartment and was making quick work of moving all of their boxes from inside to the moving truck two floors below. She wanted to go to him and make-up after this morning's dust up over misplaced toiletries but figured it best to wait until all of the packing was done.

While he wouldn’t say it, Monica knew he was excited about this move also. The days leading up to today had been strained, but Monica remained laser focused, avoiding potential arguments like active landmines and ensuring she kept Darren in a good mood or else they would start one of the countless “discussions” on why he should stay in Columbus for a little while longer until he was able to save money and “figure things out”. Any discussion with Darren, was the equivalent of arguing a case to Monica. He was always ready with a rebuttal and while his LSAT days were long behind him, Monica felt like she was the one having the logic games played on her whenever they had a difference of opinion. In retrospect, his constant need to defend his logic made her laugh often because he initially questioned a career in law. Monica always saw the qualities of a great lawyer in him, even if he couldn’t. To her, there wasn’t much to figure out. The odds of finding a law position were much higher in D.C. than Ohio, plus the experience would be invaluable to the trajectory of his career. He could always come back to Ohio after he stacked his resume with high profile D.C. positions. She had enough money from her bar waitressing gig to get them through the month it would take for her first payroll check to come through from her new job. The plan was already in motion and like a true mastermind Monica just needed Darren to move as she instructed.

Once the kitchen was packed, Monica walked out through the french doors and across the living room. All that remained was a small brown loveseat that was being left for her little sister, and two duffle bags of clothes with odds and ends to get them through the five hour drive comfortably.

“We had some good times in this place”, said Monica looking around the 800 square foot space.

“Oh, now you want to get all nostalgic on me,” Darren said back to Monica rolling his eyes.

“When we first moved in here you hated this place. You used to put toilet paper down to pee in your own apartment, no matter how many times I cleaned it” Darren stated not wanting to participate in her stroll down memory lane.

Monica chuckled, “Wow I forgot all about that, I just had to get comfortable in the space. You know how picky I can be about my space.”

Darren’s response was a simple passing glance and “hmph” as he lifted two boxes from the kitchen and made a beeline for the front door.

He was right. Monica hated the apartment when he first showed it to her online and even more when they looked at it in person. It was small and had very little natural light. The building smelled old and the place was a magnet for dust since there was no forced air ventilation system. But it was close to school and within their modest budget.

“Is this the last of it?,” Darren asked, doing a sweeping glance of the empty space of what used to be their home.

“Yep, that’s it” Monica replied with an eager smile.

The place felt barren, and while it was small Monica had worked hard to make it feel more grander than the humble bare bones apartment that it was when they moved in. All of the framed posters featuring replicas of fine art by Bernie Casey and Lois Mailou Jones had been taken down and gently wrapped for the journey to D.C.

To Monica the place didn’t even smell the same. The candles she left on warmers in various areas of the apartment were also packed, taking with them the familiar scents of warm spicy clove and mandarin orange. Darren used to complain about all of the different smells but eventually he let it go. He never said much about the effort Monica put in to decorate or make the space feel cozy. Monica often walked into their bedroom in the mornings to find the throw pillows on the floor or the duvet scrunched up at the foot of the bed with him long gone in the shower or getting ready for the day with little thought to put things back in order. The thought made Monica roll her eyes as she took stock of what little was left to pack. They were leaving this place as they found it. It was time for someone else to put their mark on the space. Monica felt hunger pain and snapped out of her thoughts of leaving the space.

“I was gonna go to Fernando’s to grab a pizza for dinner, figured we would end this how we started. A nice romantic dinner of pizza on the floor”, Monica said with a chuckle as she grabbed her keys and gave Darren a quick peck and walked out their apartment door.

As she walked out of the two-story building she realized she would miss this place. It was nothing fancy, and needed a lot of love but it was the start of she and Darren’s adult relationship. A place and space all their own.

*****

When Monica returned she smelled Darron’s body wash in the air and heard the stream of the shower. She set the pizza down in the kitchen and quietly walked to the bathroom where she found a naked Darron covered in soapy suds.

Thankful for her stop at the local beauty store to get a new bonnet and scarf on her way back from grabbing dinner she would need them sooner than she thought. Quietly she undressed, wrapped up her hair and covered it with the bonnet. It wasn’t the sexiest look but Darren grew accustomed to the site years ago and dared not ask her to remove it and potentially mess up her silk pressed tresses.

Monica slowly entered the shower behind Darron and caressed his back, making a mmmmm sound as she worked her hands over his broad shoulders.

He jumped briefly then realized it was Monica, “you can’t be walking up on people like that,” Darron said, only half joking.

“Well, I wanted to wash your back. May I?” Monica extended her hand for his soapy rag.

Monica scrubbed in an exaggerated fashion at first, earning her a low laugh and “alright now” from Darren. Then she turned him around so their bodies were front to front. She saw Darron’s gaze fall to her 34C breast and knew he wanted to touch them.

Darron was a body man. Most men had a preference between breast or butt on a woman. He liked to say he preferred ample amounts of TNA, tits and ass. Thankfully Monica’s 5’6 , 140 build gave him just enough of both to be satisfied.

Before Darron could reach out and begin fondling her, Monica dropped into a squat balancing on her toes, careful to keep Darron’s body in front of the hot stream of the shower head and to avoid getting her hair wet. She took Darren’s semi erect penis in her mouth and groaned in pleasure. Within seconds Darren was fully erect and Monica could taste a small trickle of pre-cum in the back of her throat.

Monica loved how Darren tasted, loved how the head of his dick would fill the back of her throat as she sucked him off. Slowly, Monica started to take Darren further into her mouth, while she sucked she made sure to use one hand to massage his sack and the other to stroke his dick as she sucked. Monica could feel Darren’s body relax. That was the goal, she knew he was stressed about the move and wanted to take his mind off of things. All of the “what if’s” and questions about how it would all come together. Once Darren was nice and hard Monica looked up and asked Darren, “What do you want to do?”

“How would you like to cum.”

The words dripped off of Monica’s lips like thick syrup. Eyes locked in on Darren she smacked his dick on her outstretched tongue and let a pool of saliva sit on her tongue creating the perfect “splash” so spittl would land around her mouth as she softly bobbed him up and down on her tongue.

Hearing no request she decided for him, pearl necklace it is.

Monica went from a squatting position to a full two-point kneeling position. It was tricky in the tight shower but she made it work.

She started to suck harder, using both hands to massage Darren as she sucked, being mindful to put on a show as her head bobbed up and down his hard shaft. Monica gagged and her eyeliner began to run as she massaged and sucked. Monica secretly relished being on her knees, or back or any other position that allowed her to have his hard dick in her face. Several times she wondered if she was obsessed with him but chalked it up to him being the person she’d ever been with. She didn’t know anyone or anything else.

As the saliva gathered in the corners of her mouth, Monica continued to suck until she could feel Darren’s body tense.

“Ugh, I’m not done yet”, Monica thought to herself.

Down on the floor of the shower she was an ameature pornstar, staring in her own dirty flick. She wasn’t a polished and buttoned up co-Ed. No, in these moments she wanted to be his fantasy. She wanted to go further, get nastier. In her mind, Darren would grab her face and fuck her mouth making her gag and hold the shower wall to keep from falling as he rammed himself into her hungry mouth. Or maybe rub his hard dick all over her face asking her if she deserved a taste—make a mess of her minimal makeup while cum and gag tears ran down her chin from the act. Any form of him taking control of her, showing her how he wanted to meet his release. But none of that happened.

Monica massaged and sucked until she felt the hot stream of cum in the back of her throat. Darren quickly pulled himself from the warmth of Monica mouth and emptied himself into the stream of water at the bottom of the tub.

“What a waste,” said Monica. “ I was hoping for a new pearl necklace.” She quipped with a naughty smile.

After Monica stood she washed herself, dressed in a nightgown from one of the two duffle bags and made a picnic style set-up while Darren blew up the air mattress they would sleep on in their last night in Ohio. While Darron wasn’t looking ,Monica pulled out a bottle of Darren’s favorite wine from her duffle bag, and two paper cups. While she wasn’t particularly fond of the bold red wine, it was his favorite. His taste in fine wine was compliments of many of the University Boosters. It seemed a crime they were drinking such a fine blend out of paper cups but this was a moment to celebrate.

“To us!” Monica proclaimed as she thrust a cup into Darren’s direction just as he finished working with the mattress.

“What’s this?” , Darren asked with a curious look.

Monica showed Darren the bottle of Catena Zapata Nicasia Malbec. The look she received took some of the wind out of her celebration.

“Monica, I really hope that fell off the back of a truck and you didn’t spend unnecessary money on this wine.”

Monica didn’t let the question bother her, she told a little white lie to avoid it. “Well I purchased it when you first passed the bar and forgot I hid it. I found it when we were packing and thought it was a great time to open it.”

“So what do you say? Cheers to new beginnings.”

#romance #interacial #lovestory #romancenovel

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walkingshcdow-a · 4 years ago

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All I Want For Christmas (Is You) : Drabble

Summary: Finnegan spends Christmas with his aunt and without Victor. Ships: Finnegan/Victor Trevor @tinfoiltemplar

Snow glistened on the branches of the trees stretching across Edie’s property. Finnegan, tucked neatly into himself, alone in one of the castle’s libraries, glanced out at the silent, Scottish countryside. He hadn’t wanted to come home for the holidays. This year, like most years, he’d intended to stay in London for the holiday season. It was Charity Gala Season, Christmas party season… Usually, Finnegan glittered among London’s elite. FinneCorp’s Christmas party was tonight. Finnegan hadn’t missed a single one since he was eighteen. He couldn’t bear to go this time, though. He’d be alone - he was often alone - and Victor Trevor would be with Shanon. The holidays were a time for family, after all. Finnegan usually enjoyed trying to show up or show off his lover at galas. He enjoyed completing his outfit with a date who was accomplished or gorgeous or both and watching Victor watch him with someone else. It wasn’t so tempting when the tables were turned. And, of course the Trevors were invited to the FinneCorp gala. It would have looked strange not to invite them after a year’s worth of cat-and-mouse games in ballrooms and board rooms, tennis courts and country clubs. Maybe Finnegan was a coward for not wanting to be reminded that his favorite plaything was a married man, with obligations more important than Finnegan could ever be. Maybe he was a coward for only getting as far as Scotland when he tried to run away. He could have set out across the world with a dozen lingerie models and sent Victor the pictures. Instead, he was here. He was home. The closest thing to a “home” he thought of when everyone else in the world was talking about “going home for the holidays”. Edie received him well enough when he called two weeks ago to invite himself.

“I’m not dying yet, you know,” she said coyly.

“You’d better not be,” Finnegan said back, tone just as teasing. “I don’t have time to take your seat in Parliament. Big things are happening at FinneCorp just now. I’d hate to give it up.”

“But you won’t go to your own company’s Christmas party?”

“I’m reevaluating my priorities, Edith.”

“Michael Finnegan, if you tell me you’re dying, I’m driving to London to kill you myself.”

“I’ll be there on the twenty-second,” Finnegan said. “I won’t inconvenience you for more than a few days.”

“Stay through New Year’s,” Edie said. “Or is it only your own Christmas party you’re avoiding?”

Finnegan had forgotten what it was like to be seen by someone who didn’t keep you a dirty secret. He’d forgotten what it felt like to feel good in another person’s company without realizing that the feeling wouldn’t last past morning. He’d forgotten how good it felt to be able to take someone’s love for granted.

He stared at his phone. Right now, Victor was probably getting ready for a gala - his? - while that wife of his shrilled at him about not embarrassing her. Would Victor look for him at the gala? Worry and wonder when Finnegan wasn’t there? He hoped so. He hoped Victor scanned the room and could only find the vacant places Finnegan ought to be. He hadn’t outright told Victor he wouldn’t be in attendance. A week ago, wrapped around Victor in his bed that was now too large for Finnegan alone, he pressed his lips to the nape of Victor’s neck.

“I’ll miss this,” he said quietly. “During the holidays.”

Victor had rolled over in his sleep and snuggled small against Finnegan’s chest, mumbling something of his own - a question, maybe. If he wasn’t so canny, Finnegan would have asked Victor to run away with him. Instead, he carded his fingers through Victor’s wild curls and smiled grimly.

“Oh, our social schedules this year,” Finnegan said vaguely, thinking he answered the question. “We’ll have some catching up to do come January.”

January couldn’t come soon enough.

After all, what was he meant to do? Bring his lover home to his aunt and the ancestral walls that had silently judged Finnegan with the same stoniness as most of the figures he remembered from his youth? How would he explain to Edie that he was willing to waste his time as Victor’s shame when he would have been anyone else’s pride? How would he say why he hadn’t yet devoured Victor whole and spat back his bones? His teens and twenties were a graveyard of lovers who took second place to FinneCorp or his ego or a thousand other things. Edie had watched him then with exasperation and a little something like guilt. It wasn’t her fault Finnegan didn’t know what love was supposed to look like. Had his mother and father ever missed each other this miserably? Of course not. God, of course not - unfeeling creatures. They’d never watched sunrise crawl up a sleeping lover’s back; never subtly touched a lover’s wrist at a dinner party to say ‘I’m still here; I’m glad you’re here, too”. They’d never admired the grace and power of a lover whose backhand could send the tennis ball distressingly far or whispered secret commands into a cell phone the night before reuniting with your lover, things only the two of you would know. They’d never exchanged glances, redesigned their schedules, risked their reputation. Passionless.

He envied them. They hadn’t even been able to get a passionless marriage right - both long dead before Finnegan’s thirtieth birthday, no golden anniversary. The dry pages of their love story provided kindling for their quick, burning funeral pyre, which lit the way for their only child to map the world. Finnegan knew his world well. He knew his place in it. He knew that his place was not to be cheaply tossed aside by the likes of Victor Trevor, not to be exposed for indiscretions that lesser men would have, not to die in disgrace. That was the ruinous road he trod now, so sure that even if the map spelled disaster that one thing was clear: Victor would not cast him aside. Finnegan could come and go as he pleased, as he did now, and Victor would remain stubbornly loyal, maybe more afraid of being alone than he was in love with Finnegan. After all, as Finnegan well knew: those who loved him were a rare and dying breed. Edith crossed his mind again. She would pity him because she loved him and she’d tell him to wash his hands of the whole thing because she loved him. He envied her. How much simpler it was to wash your hands of love than to be covered in it. Finnegan wanted to scrub and scrub the feeling away so he could forget, at least until after New Year’s that he was in love. Instead, he felt Victor’s fingerprints smudging him still, a week after they last touched. It didn’t feel dirty. It felt like someone re-molding him, fashioning him into something new. For so many years he’d been sharp, a weapon. What would it be like if he let Victor make him into art?

Good God, he wasn’t even drunk. He was simply sitting in the upstairs library, smiling at his phone as he silently begged it to buzz. Not work. No, his work phone was plugged in by the bed, charging. This phone, his personal phone, rarely saw the light of day. Since he’d arrived, however, he’d waited and waited for it to show a sign of life. He tried to be discreet, pretend that he was answering emails, but the crestfallen disappointment that sank his whole bulk into the corner of the couch ricocheted off of him, drawing the eye with a flash of light and then its sudden absence. Why wasn’t Victor texting him? Finnegan sighed and cast his eyes out the window once more.

“Don’t tell me you’re already regretting staying home from the party,” Edie said from the doorway.

Finnegan didn’t jump, but he certainly hadn’t noticed his aunt enter. Her sharp, pale features complemented her dry wit, much the way a fluted glass complemented white wine. Putting the phone on his lap, he looked at her, composing his own features into a Sauvignon Blanc.

“I’m sure the party is suffering far more in my absence than I am,” he said. “What’s in those mugs?”

“Mulled cider,” she said, crossing the room. “Not as romantic as a champagne toast, but…”

“I’m not married to my job,” Finnegan said, pointedly avoiding the point. “I can’t imagine what would be romantic about any champagne toast I might give FinneCorp this year.”

Edie arched an eyebrow and joined him on the couch carefully, handing him one of the mugs. Finnegan wrapped his hands around it for warmth. Even though a fire blazed in the fireplace, the castle was old and drafty. No dignified amount of jumpers ever seemed to make this part of the castle warm enough.

“What’s really wrong, Finn?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Usually at this point in the evening, you’re texting me for second opinions on identical bowties,” she said. “Tonight, you’re sulking in the coldest part of the house.”

“It isn’t the coldest part,” Finnegan said. “I’m sure if I want to freeze to death, I could spend the night in the stables.”

“How dare you,” said Edie. She took great pride in her racing horses and the quality of care they received, but Finnegan didn’t expect her to sound so insulted. She glowered at him over the top of her mug. “I know you better than just about anyone. This is sulking.”

“I’m just enjoying the quiet,” Finnegan lied. “It’s nice to put my work phone on silent.”

“So who are you waiting to call you?”

He narrowed his eyes.

“No one.”

“Then why have you been gazing wistfully at your phone since you got here?”

“I’m not gazing wistfully at my phone-”

“Michael Finnegan, I know I raised a better liar than that,” Edith said. She lowered her mug. “Try that again: who are you waiting to hear from?”

Finnegan paused.

“A business partner,” he said hollowly, “who I’m planning a new venture with.”

“Mhmm.”

“It felt disloyal to discuss it at the FinneCorp gala,” he continued. “And I hoped he was as enthusiastic about the prospect of going into business together as I am - was. I know I’m probably dodging a bullet, of course.”

“Of course.”

“He’d be a fool to let such a golden opportunity walk out his door. I don’t consider side ventures with just anyone. I won’t make that mistake again any time soon.”

“Of course not, darling,” said Edith. “How long have you been sleeping with him?”

Finnegan scowled and looked at his phone again.

“I don’t know why you’re keeping it a secret,” said Edith. She shrugged and took a sip of her cider. “You could have brought him with you.”

“Things aren’t that serious,” said Finnegan. “Are they ever?”

“Darling, you referred to yourself as a business venture,” she said primly, in that pointed way she had long ago taught him meant that what you didn’t say was everything: I know how you feel about business ventures. “It’s a big enough castle, don’t you think?”

“He has other plans,” Finnegan said.

Finnegan and Edith exchanged looks.

“Does he know you wanted to see him?”

“If he knew that, then he’d have the upper hand,” said Finnegan. “He knows that I’ll be glad to see him in January.”

“That’s a long time,” said Edith. “I won’t judge you if you invite him here for New Year’s. It might be nice to see you smile instead of gazing longingly out windows.”

“He won’t,” Finnegan said.

“You’ve finally found someone who can tell you ‘no’ and now you’re refusing to let me meet them?” Edith asked. “I’m hurt.”

“He can’t tell me ‘no’,” Finnegan said. “That’s the problem, which is precisely why I didn’t invite him.”

“You aren’t giving your HR department headaches because of a scientist or a secretary, are you?”

“No. I’m not twenty-five anymore.”

I’ve moved on to bigger and better scandals, he thought miserably, taking a swig of his cider. It warmed him inside-out and he realized that he would be very sad and cold when he drank it all.

“No, you aren’t,” Edith said. “Which is why it baffles me that you’d be willing to waste time the way you are now. If I was your age and I had a handsome young man in London-”

“I never said he was handsome.”

“Finnegan.”

Finnegan nestled back into the couch. He checked his phone once more before staring into the fire. The flames twisted and danced with much more merriment than he could muster.

“Are you two fighting?” Edith asked, voice softer, less poised to make fun of him or roast him. Finnegan lifted his gaze to his aunt and shrugged. “Call him.”

“It’s not that simple,” said Finnegan. “We aren’t fighting.”

“Then why haven’t you called him?” Edie asked. “I bet he’s doing the same thing with his phone, hoping to hear from you first.”

Finnegan could imagine it. Victor, drinking and staring at the phone deep into the night. Victor, sitting for family Christmas photos and checking his cell phone. Victor, tonight, at the gala, hoping to at least see him and getting drunk when he realized Finnegan wasn’t coming. Finnegan took a sip of his cider. Then another.

“I hope he has a miserable Christmas.”

“Michael!”

Nominally, they were Church of England; neither side of Finnegan’s family had ever been religious. You still would have thought he’d told his aunt that he wanted to punch the pope square in the jaw a few times.

“I do,” Finnegan said. “It’s what he deserves.”

“Because he had plans with his own family for the holidays?”

“Precisely.” Finnegan said. “He had plans with his own family for the holidays.”

“Finn...”

As the pieces came together for Edith, Finnegan feared the worst. He feared her pity, her horror. He feared she would think he was still a child and that he didn’t understand the enormity of the situation, how colossally he’d ruined his own life, their legacy, everything. Instead of tucking into the couch tighter, though, Finnegan maintained his aunt’s gaze levelly. He refused to be ashamed. Refused. He already lived like a fugitive in the city he owned because of the affair. He refused to be shamed here. This was to be his castle someday. Surely his ancestors had worse secrets buried on these grounds. Surely Edie had heard worse - from his own mother, perhaps…

“Goddamn it, Michael.” she said, leaning back. “Tell me this is one of your boyfriends from Eton… someone you knew before…”

“No.”

“So he was married when you met?” Edie asked. Finnegan said nothing. “Does he have children?”

“Not yet, thank god. I’m sure his family will apply pressure soon enough.”

“Do we know his family?” Edith asked.

Finnegan shrugged. The Trevors were of middling importance. Millionaires, not billionaires. Nouveau-riche, relatively speaking. He set his mug down and searched his pockets for a cigarette and lighter.

Edie’s brow creased.

“Is he someone important?” she asked.

“That depends on your definition of ‘important’.”

“So he is.”

“He’s not that important,” Finnegan said. “Not to me, not really. I could discard him if it suited me.”

“It doesn’t suit you to discard a married man?” The ridges scripting themselves into Edies’ forehead deepened. “But he’s not important?”

“I’m still enjoying him,” Finnegan said. “When I tire of him, that’ll be the end of it.”

“Oh, Finnegan.” She sighed his name so pityingly that Finnegan choked on a lungful of smoke. Coughing, he looked at his aunt through the bluish haze. Her hand, adorned with jewels Victor’s family might have mined and sold, rested on Finnegan’s knee. He studied the sharp cut of the diamonds as they glittered in the firelight. It was easier to focus on the small details of ancient family jewels than the diamond-sharp pain in his chest. He tried to breathe it out. His eyes stung. “If he was just a plaything, you would be at that party tonight. It isn’t charming for you to delude yourself - you’re the only one here you’re fooling.”

“Yes, well, so long as I delude social London, too, I’m the only one who can get hurt by it,” Finnegan snapped. He pried his aunt’s hand from his knee. “I don’t need you feeling sorry for me.”

“I don’t know if I feel sorrier for you or for him. You aren't the only one who could get hurt, Finn. He’ll look for you at Christmas galas all throughout the holiday season. God only knows why, if you’re as warm towards your lovers as you are towards your family.”

Finnegan glowered.

“I’ll see him in January,” he said. “He’ll wait for me.”

Edie said nothing, strategically retreating into her mug of cider. Wielded by her, silence was a weapon. Finnegan could feel the crushing hit of her judgement without words to soften the blow.

“He will,” Finnegan insisted. “I’m worth waiting for.”

“You’re worth so much more than that,” Edie said softly. In her hands, softness, too, was a weapon. Finnegan grimaced into another drag from his cigarette. “You deserve a lover who can give you their all, no hesitation.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Clearly,” said Edie. “If you knew it, you wouldn’t waste a minute more on the heartbreak of a married lover.”

“I’m not heartbroken,” Finnegan said. “And it isn’t a waste. It… builds character.”

Edie laughed sadly, so sadly Finnegan drew tighter into himself for warmth.

“Oh, Finn,” she murmured. “No one who knows you would ever think you were devoid of character.”

She rose from the couch and drained the rest of her cider.

“I’m going downstairs,” she said. “I kicked the chef out for the night and I’m going to bake Christmas cookies. I’d like my sous chef at my side, like when you were little.”

Finnegan groaned. Neither he nor Edie were talented bakers. He was very good at fetching ingredients from the pantry and little else. He mostly perched atop the counter and watched as Edie overmixed the dough. Their cookies were always a little tough. Every now and then, one had a gooey center, but many more had burnt edges. The frosting was always too thick or too thin and Finnegan usually lacked the patience to frost cookies when they’d sufficiently cooled. As a child, he’d watched frosting melt and run down the sides of his cookies and wondered why his cookies looked nothing like the ones Edie’s personal chef made for them.

“I’m in no mood for disappointing family traditions,” he said. He took another drag from the cigarette and smoke billowed from his nose.

“I’m afraid that’s what you signed up for when you chose to come home for the holidays.”

Finnegan heaved himself to his feet and tossed his cigarette into the fireplace.

“Do I have to leave my phone upstairs?”

“You can bring it on one condition,” said Edie. “Either you text him a ‘merry Christmas’ or you delete his number from your phone. Come downstairs once you’ve done one or the other.”

She walked from the library to the hall and Finnegan listened to her descend the stairs. Then, picking up his phone, he typed two words to Victor Trevor.

Merry Christmas, he typed.

Maybe I won’t give you up for my New Year’s resolution after all, he wanted to say.

I miss you, he thought. It aches.

And then, silently, he slipped his phone into his pocket and followed Edie’s path downstairs.

#;;from the third richest family in england | {finnegan}#.002 | modern #x. drabble #tinfoiltemplar #((this took long enough lolololol))

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mystarmyangel · 5 years ago

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[FULL TRANS] YoonA – The Big Issue Korea Issue #227 Interview

SNSD is a representative girl group that rewrote Korea’s music industry structure. As the center of the group that stood at the top for more than 10 years, it is not an easy thing to bear the burden of a celebrity. Carrying the weight of the name ‘SNSD YoonA’, YoonA is also consistently working hard be it acting, hosting or variety shows, even receiving positive comments like ‘I am watching because of trustable YoonA’. When you search YoonA, you will realize there are related terms such as ‘SNSD center’, ‘flower deer’, ‘smile’, lately there is also other related terms popping out such as ‘All-round worker of Hyori’s Homestay 2’, ‘Huge success of movie EXIT’ etc. Even though she looks like she can do anything, and everything looks easy for her, but in actual fact, YoonA will always train herself each time she tried new things so as to be able to do her very best. Looking back, what YoonA’s position is, is already meaningless as YoonA, is just the YoonA that we love.

Q: How do you spend your time after shooting for ‘EXIT’ ended? I took a really good rest. I tried things that I couldn’t try in the past due to work. Recently I have been making bread at home. Isn’t Dalgona Coffee very popular lately, but I did not feel like trying it because it seem like everyone are doing it, so I was thinking if there are anything else I can do, and I went to browse on YouTube and began to make bread. Actually, when I was in junior high, I took up 2 years of biscuit and bread making class for my special module. (Laughs) Because I made bread for 10 to 20 times every year, so the result turns out good just by following the recipe. The food that I made most are cookies, pizza bread, pecan pie and chiffon cakes etc., and I will share them with people around me. Ah, also I recently took a Chinese exam called HSKK and has passed the intermediate level, it is an exam that tests on the speaking ability. Initially I only want to know where my standard is, but fortunately I passed.

Q: You received awards at The Blue Dragon Film Awards, Buil Film Awards, Women in Film Korea Festival etc. with the movie ‘EXIT’ which attracts more than 9.4m moviegoers. Your first leading movie receives huge success. Looking back after a year has passed, what kind of meaning does ‘EXIT’ has for YoonA? Realistically looking, it is indeed a huge success for my first leading movie. I feel really blissful and thankful to receive so much love. It is definitely a project that I will never forget because of how much love I receive right from the start.

Q: Do you still keep in contact with the staffs after ‘EXIT’ ended? Yes, I did. We had a gathering during the end of last year, this year we intended to gather again but because of COVID-19, we have to maintain social distancing, so this gathering has yet to be able to fulfil. Also, everyone are busy with their individual filming so picking a time is not easy. Jo Jung Suk oppa recently also just wrapped up a drama filming, so when the time comes that the COVID-19 situation has become a lot better, we will be able to gather.

Q: In the movie, there are a lot of action scenes that requires body strength, but you did really well. YoonA is well known in SNSD to have excellent dancing skills, but do you workout or do body training often? I wanted to do it more often but has not been able to do. I really hope that I can consistently persist on working out. Currently I am doing Pilates, and also because I have been dancing regularly in the past, so they have become useful when it comes to using my body (for action scenes in the movie)

Q: It seem that occasionally you will do dance covers too right? Every year when I hold birthday party with fans, I will do dance covers as surprise stages for them.

Q: 30 May is coming soon; do you have any plans on how to spend your birthday? I have many work schedules. (Laughs) There is a schedule that I specially add for birthday. May suddenly got busier as my schedules started increasing with the thought of hoping that my fans would like it. (Laughs) Although I couldn’t hold a birthday party this year due to various circumstances, but I think there will be other ways for me and my fans to communicate. As it is the one day in a year that I can officially communicate my fans, I am really looking forward to it. Just like being the cover girl of ‘Big Issue’ is also a way of communicating with fans, so when I thought of what meaningful thing I can do, I came up with this suggestion to you all. It is gift for my fans.

Q: You have spent your 10s and 20s doing all sort of performances and participating in variety shows etc. as a member of SNSD. How do you picture your 13 years as a celebrity? I was really busy. It feels like time passed by really quickly. But when I looked back now, I will realistically realize that I have really received a lot of love. I have also notice that my mentality and values have also changed when I reached 30 years old. This is probably the process of becoming an adult. I began feeling light-hearted too. Recently my friends have been calling me ‘Benjamin’ just like the lead in the movie ‘The Curious Case of Benjamin Button’. My time and that of my friends are completely opposite. (Laughs) My friends are currently all working, and busy living as the new students of the working society. On the contrary, I am busy when I was young, and right now I am beginning to have more free time. The feelings I felt in my youth, my friends are only feeling that now, and all the feelings I have in my daily life now are all a past experience for my friends.

Q: Are you satisfied with your life right now? Although my life right now is really good already, but I feel that my life next year will be even better. I am like this, always thinking that this year is better than last year, so compared to this year, the next year will be even better.

Q: For the edition of Big Issue that you will be gracing the cover, coincidentally there will be a birthday support by your fans that will be published in the same edition. Do you know this beforehand? Really? I didn’t know of it. There are a lot of people around me who knows ‘Big Issue’ so I thought it will be great to be on the cover, this is really great.

Q: Every year, your fans hold a lot of activities to celebrate your birthday, there are events like photo exhibition to feature YoonA over all this time and then donating the proceeds to charities, Chinese fans also built a school under YoonA’s name. I am really grateful to my fans, and I think doing all these are great. Even though I think it will be great too if I personally do it myself but seeing my fans who support me coming together to do good deeds under the ‘name of my fans’ and at the same time I can feel their love for me, I am really thankful. My fans have really beautiful hearts and they are really kind. They are sending out positive energy among them to live with a pretty heart.

Q: You are selected as a celebrity who does a lot of good deeds and who speaks well. Donating, supporting and volunteer works… recently you also donated to the fight against COVID-19. Is there any turning moment that results in your consistency in participating in social contribution works?Once you start doing good deeds, you will realize that many other things will come to your sight. Whenever concerning matters happen, I wanted to express my heart for all the things. As time passes, I will realize activities like this become a lot. I think that it is a little hard to continue in the beginning, but once you start, you will be able to look at things from multiple perspectives, so the next step will not be difficult. I often ponder on what I can do, ways that I can express my heart. Just like what everyone have been saying, one should give as much as what you receive, it is a good thing, giving is more blissful than receiving. (Laughs)

Q: What new things are you trying these days? These days, the time I spent at home become a lot more, so I will often change the decorations in my house. Recently I am into DIY interior renovation, so I personally painted a side of wall in my house. It is really fun. I also change the layout of my furniture. Because I tried painting one side of the wall, I feel that it is not impossible to paint all of them, but on the other hand I feel that this is enough. I have successfully changed my mood.

Q: Everyone know that your next project is a JTBC drama called ‘Hush’ that is estimated to air in the latter half of the year. Can you tell us something about the role Jisoo that you will be playing in the drama? Jisoo will appear as a reporter in the drama, she has a righteous personality. In this aspect, she has something in common with Eui Joo in ‘EXIT’.

Q: Is YoonA also the righteous type? Well, rather than saying I am the righteous type, I think I am more of the loyal type. When SNSD members have individual activities, I will go down personally to cheer for them during the broadcast of music shows, and I also like to take care of the people around me. Although I did these things because I wanted to, but I often been called loyal because of these things.

Q: Because of ‘Hyori’s Homestay 2’, YoonA as an ordinary person has become well known for her carefree charms. Taking the initiative to get close to the guests, and how you treated people kindly have left a deep impression. I am originally shy by nature, but I changed a lot due to work. When I was young, I disliked it even when someone touched me after telling me ‘I will help to do your hair’, I am quiet and don’t really talk much, although I do get along very well with people I am already close with. So, I often hear things like I am hard to get close to or I look cold. But as I get to meet more people for the first time, and then getting along together, my personality changed a lot too. Although I am able to relax and chat with the guests on ‘Hyori’s Homestay 2’, but after watching the show, I did notice there are still some sense of awkwardness that happen because of moments where I was too shy and did not know what to do, but the others told me that they can’t tell, I feel amazed too.

Q: Your activities lately all receive positive comments. It seem like you are really an all-round celebrity that can do everything well. Even though it’s embarrassing to say it like this, but it really does seem like I have been doing all fields of work from the past to now. Hosting, singing, acting, variety shows I did all of them. I am not the type to always fix a goal and then make my moves, rather, I am the kind that will do my best in things that I can be satisfied with at any moment. I do not want to have regrets thinking that I should do better then when I look back in the future, so I will always want to do my very best. So, it seem like all these gradually come together to come out with many fruitful results. When I was young, I often have regrets towards many matters, and then I came to realize that it is impractical to feel regretful over things that I cannot change, so I will try my best now and my sense of satisfaction also increase.

Q: SNSD is a name that is still very influential. The other members are also active in different fields, what kind of meaning do the members have for you? They are people that I am always comfortable with no matter when. We met when we are in our 10s, we spent our 20s to 30s together, we walked together for the first half of our life. That are things that words can’t describe. There are people around us that are envious just by looking at us.

Q: There are many hoobaes or fans that like you and pick you as their role model. Can you give some advice and encouragement to the females in their 10s and 20s? First of all, I am really thankful that people think of me like this. Whenever I heard people picking me as their role model, I want to meet him/her. It feels amazing to be thought of as a role model. Because I also had someone as my role model before, so I can understand how it feels. There are many things I wanted to say… because I am a celebrity you might feel that I am someone who is distant and probably think that I am living another kind of life, but I want to say is, actually I am very ordinary, I am also a normal person. I also wish that you guys will not think too deep and too much in all the matters, as you live, everyone will definitely have their own kind of problems, the worst scenario that you had in mind will not happen. But once you keep thinking, you will continue digging and getting stuck in it, so I hope that you all will reduce worrying thoughts like this.

Q: This is a really great advice. Please tell us your thoughts of working with Big Issue today, and on Big Issue’s upcoming 10th anniversary in July. Congratulations on the 10th year anniversary. I feel that to be able to persist on one thing for 10 years is a great feat. This is also what SNSD heard when we celebrate our 10th year. I think that it is really very cool for one to maintain in one position for 10 years. I felt really happy to be able work together on the same year as Big Issue’s 10th anniversary, I hope that me gracing this edition’s cover can become the most unforgettable edition. (Laughs) I will continue supporting this magazine.

Cr: Chinese Trans by 黄黄 & 初夏 (Limyoonabar) Eng Trans: mystarmyangel

#YoonA #Interview #The Big Issue #Magazine #Trans

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