#and brought in some of that countrys traditional food and dressed in their clothes?? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cloudy-leonhart · 4 years ago

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AOT Characters with a filipino S/O!

[Author Note: I just made this out of impulse lol, I’ll make a part two with the AOT veterans- if it’s requested then I’ll make a part three with the Marley Warriors- feedback is also appreciated on all my posts :))]

[Summary: It’s just headcanons, AOT with a filipino S/O lol, that’s it. that’s the post.]

Recommended song: Sa Susunod Na Lang - Skusta Clee ft. Yuri.

Gender Neutral Reader.

Theme: Fluff, Modern AU.

TW: Swearing.

Characters: Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Marco, Connie, Sasha.

Eren Jaeger

He probably fucks up his greetings with your parents, surprisingly your dad loves him, both of them talk about basketball and boxing, whenever Many does a fight, you and him come over so Eren could watch with you dad.

This man gets bodied by your dad ALL THE TIME during basketball, it’s valid because your dad used to be a basketball player.

He eats with his hands, yes he also got that from your dad. Your mom always comes up to you, while Eren and your dad talk, she’s happy that you found someone, and that Eren reminds her a lot of your dad.

Mans swallows rice like it was no one’s business, he eats that shit with barbecue and vinegar.

You can’t tell me he gets drunk with your dad and his friends?? They watch boxing matches and eat peanut while drinking beer.

For some reason he acts like he lives there?? Like the whole community knows about him, the kids like playing with him, the guys like doing karaoke and drinking beer with them, and the titas and lolas love talking about your relationship with him and how they would totally marry a guy like that if they ever met someone like that when they were younger.

His favourite thing about the culture? Probably how open the people were, they were very generous and kind.

Armin Arlert

When you first told him, he was kind of like, “okay??” but he also took time out of his day to research your culture, he’s the type to catch you in a sad mood where you really miss your country, and take time out of his day to try his best to make food from your culture.

He’s mastered to cook Tofu Sisig and Halo-Halo. You always ask him to make it for you whenever you’re sad.

He could never understand how your family’s able to sit in your traditional clothing, he tries his hardest not to scratch, he literally looks at you with a look begging for help because he was itchy but he didn’t want to take it off.

You had to explain that he doesn’t always have to participate in your culture, because respecting your culture was enough for you. Mans cried because he thought he was horrible for not wearing the Barong for the whole ceremony.

He does loves trying filipino recipes, he loves seeing you cook adobo or tapsilog in the morning, it just fills the house with an amazing aroma.

he knows how to say ‘i love you’ in Tagalog and he has fully replaced ‘I love you’ with ‘Mahal Kita.’

Favourite thing about the culture? The language, he just loves learning new words everyday, his favourite saying so far is, “Huwag kang mag-alala. Akong bahala.” (Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.)

Mikasa Ackerman

Poor baby was confused, she caught you talking on the phone in another language and she just stared concerningly at you, forgetting about whatever she’s doing.

She was also afraid to try your food?? Until you shove a ube-filled riceball (in filipino, Buchi) in her mouth, she ends up making it her comfort food, she asks you to make Buchi with her, she likes to eat the left over filling.

she actually wants to keep trying some of your culture’s food, her favourites so far is definitely Taho and Kaldereta, and of course Buchi.

She can’t say much in tagalog but she does know traditions, she did the binasuan dance with you once, amazingly she kept all cups in balance for her first time.

She knows how bless and actually calls people tita and tito, or ate and kuya. She was kind of, ahem, convinced, to call your parents nanay and tatay.

Your parents always complain about how you haven’t married Mikasa yet, Mikasa was confused about why she could hear them talking about her, but you reassured her that it was only just your parents egging you to marry Mikasa. In which she blushed in return.

Mikasa also learns recipes from Armin, those two cook for ther S/O’s so much that even their S/O feel like their not filipino enough, they got to try things even they didn’t know filipino culture had.

Jean Kirstein

SUPRISINGLY, he knows what blessing is, went as far as saying “Mano po.” whenever he did.

your dad hates him for some reason lmfao like your dad’s always staring at him with a weird expression.

He’s scared of your dad, no cap. first time you guys went on a date and didn’t have a house together, he almost shit himself talking to your dad.

You tried to teach him to do the tinikling dance and he almost broke his leg.

You and your parents conversed by yelling at each other, like Sasha, he too thought that you were arguing with them and he tapped you on the shoulder like, “Should I leave?-” You were confused as he was, you had to explain that yelling was a way filipinos communicated.

He was concerned when you would hit him while laughing, you also had to explain that was also something most filipino’s communicated.

He tried picking the language up but he just butchers the pronunciation.

Favourite thing about your culture is the places, if he could he probably would’ve bought a private island.

Does this man know how to cook filipino food?? Yessir!! He’s absolute god at cooking, imagine when he finds out we have a whole CHEESE ice cream-

Mans was confused confused, why..would you like cheese ice cream?? surprisingly he likes the ice cream, it’s sweet and salty??

Connie Springer

THIS MAN- he thought filipino was a sexuality?? when you told him, he’s like “so, what gender do you prefer then?”

HE WAS DUMBFOUNDED WHEN HE FOUND OUT WHAT FILIPINO MEANT-

I just know he shared filipino swears with Sasha, he actually grew accustomed to them, once in a while you’ll hear, ‘PUTANGINA’ throughout the house, because he stubbed his toe.

ugh he rocked the barong too, AND HE ROCKED HIS TINIKLING DANCE.

your titas seemed to love him?? Every time you talk to them, they ask if he’s doing okay.

He actually is a simp for filipinos, he was awestruck with how much beautiful women and men there were in the Philippines.

you cannot tell me this man doesn’t watch Manny Paqcuiao’s boxing fights.

In general he tries his best to respect your culture and not disrespect them, but he cannot bless for the life of him.

favourite thing about your culture is the adobo, he says its “bussin’”.

He drinks with your titos and your dad. No way he doesn’t, he also plays basketball with them.

traumatized somehow by the naked children running down the street sometimes- Filipino streets man, a little too comfortable-

He was shocked to find out that some people showered outside?? Like comfortably?

Man covers his whole face bc he feels like a perv.

Marco Bodt

Absolute researcher in your culture, like Armin, he actually makes sure he’s not disrespecting it or anything.

HE DOES THE BLESS GESTURE, but he whispers in your ear about how he accidentally blessed one of your titas too hard

his favourite filipino dish is Buko Pandan, he literally couldn’t help but get seconds when your grandma offered him a cup.

tbh he rocked his barong, he looked so good, like GAH DAYUM.

he picked up some words since he really loved being around your family, you were lively and your family was so open to accepting him.

you and him danced in a barong and baro’t saya for your wedding reception.

genuinely, he was in fearful awe when you caught a rat your parents have been complaining about in their house, remind you rats in the Philippines are as big as kittens

He also calls you Mahal, it’s kinda cringey but you thought it was cute.

Favourite part of your culture, the clothing, he’s always asking to go to parties just so he can wear the barong.

he’s also deathly afraid of the bodies of water the Philippines has, he doesn’t know if murky water scares him more than clear water in the islands.

Mans tried his best to corporate your culture into your guys’ wedding, until your Tito Philip brought a WHOLE ASS LIVE CHICKEN as a wedding gift?!

he was kinda sad y’all didn’t keep the chicken.

Sasha Braus

Sasha honestly didn’t know that your were filipino until you spoke your language with a family member, you guys were yelling at each other and Sasha thought y’all were fighting-

she wants to learn the language BUT ONLY THE SWEARS, connie and her both.

she loves when you speak to her in your langauge, she loves guessing what you’re telling her. SHE ALSO LOVES WHEN UR PARENTS TRY TO SPEAK TO HER AND THEIR ACCENTS COME OUT.

you guys actually went to the Philippines for your guys’ honeymoon. did she almost spend all your money? yes, did you let her? duh.

Her most favourite thing about your culture is definitely the food, and beautiful people like you.

Genuinely rocks the Baro’t Saya, her short hair goes well with the dress, her colour was a dullish-pastel pink, she had a matching fan with it too!

She wore it for your birthday, almost ruined it by almost spilling fruit salad on it.

THIS WOMAN- SHE WAS LITERALLY CRYING TEARS OF JOY WHEN SOMEONE BROUGHT OUT THE LECHON (a whole roasted pig).

Yes, she almost ate half of it, she would’ve probably finished it if it weren’t for her eating everything else, a human compost bin, you got leftovers? She’ll eat em.

She loved going to Jollibee with you, you and her have dates where you literally eat almost everything off the menu.

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xwing-baby · 4 years ago

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Impulse: Part 2 (Javier Peña x Reader)

Summary: Top of your class, the DEA have sent you to Colombia to be the poster child for their new ‘placement program’. You’re thrown in at the deep end into the drug war. With Agent Pena as your mentor, what could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: ANGST!!! Explicit drug and alcohol abuse from the beginning, depressive thinking/intrusive thoughts, swearing, major character death, blood, smoking, gun violence, show level violence

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: The response to the first part of this has been fucking insane! I was not expecting you guys to like it so much, so thanks a lot! Like I said before THIS IS THE END OF THE STORY BUT NOT THE END OF THE SERIES.

Part 1

Sleep never found you. You drank the bottle of wine Connie gave you without a glass, letting the alcohol wash away your anxieties as you stared out the window to the city surrounding you. You had dreamed of coming here since the idea was first put forward to you. You had the chance to capture Escobar! Ideas of chasing him through the city being the one to catch him, finally stop the war and be a hero had flooded your imagination. You knew that was never going to happen now, not only because the true scale of the horror here was much larger than just one man, but because you were going home.

It was the only logical solution. The only one that didn’t result in your death, at least. If you stayed it was almost certain to be a death sentence, by your hand or at the hand of someone else. If you stayed you would die. If you went home, maybe someone could help. As much as it pained you, it was the only plan that made sense.

Still a little drunk, you called the ambassador’s office leaving a message on the answerphone for the secretary to find when she got into work. There was no going back now.

You showered, changed your clothes from the day before into new clean ones. You spent a little extra time on your hair, singing along to the radio while you attempted to fix the birds nest on top of your head. You looked tired, not just your skin- it was like your soul had been tainted now. You forced a smile, practising in the mirror. You were not convincing even yourself; your eyes were red and sunken from lack of sleep; your nose was red from the constant scratching and your eyes had no light. You looked as rough as you felt, cravings were starting again you felt like your whole body was on fire, itching from the inside out. As the effects of alcohol wore off, the need for a replacement was heightened.

Still wanting to avoid Javier, you knocked on Steve’s apartment and he took you to work. When you arrived, Javier was already at his desk. As if nothing was wrong, he slipped a packet of cigarettes over to you as had become your tradition. You never brought cigarettes here, it just became a habit that the two of you shared. You took one, lit it with your Zippo and took your first nicotine hit of the morning. Javi claimed he let you share because he was trying to cut down, you doubted that. It was a peace offering today.

From then on you could almost forget anything had happened the day before. The three of you got on with your usual day's tasks. A cigarette never left your lips all morning. It wasn’t what you wanted but the nicotine was doing well at curbing your cravings. Javier and Steve were in and out all morning while you did the paperwork that they didn’t have time for. The mundanity of it was exactly what you had needed.

Lost in concentration as you struggled to read Carrillo’s terrible handwriting for his part of your case report, you didn’t hear the phone ring. Being closest, Steve answered the call, said something you didn’t hear and held the handset out in your direction. You looked up. You never got calls.

“It’s for you,” Steve passed the phone to you, a suspicious look on his face.

You took it and placed the receiver between your head and shoulder while you looked for a paper you’d been looking for. You nearly dropped it when the receptionist on the other side told you she had got you a meeting in the hour. You hadn’t expected it so soon! You hadn’t practised what to say! You thanked her and hung up, quickly standing up to collect your things.

“Hey, hold up Rookie where are you going?” Steve called after you. Javier looked up from his work, equally as confused.

“Out,” you called back, already through the doors. You didn’t see the look of concern the two men shared when you left the room.

It felt strange driving somewhere on your own. You always had Javier, Steve, or Connie. You could count the number of times on one hand that you’d driven yourself somewhere. But you needed to do this alone. You needed to prove to yourself that you could do one thing right completely alone.

You were scared, terrified of what was going to happen. Your palms were so sweaty you could hardly grip the wheel. Each intersection you were tempted to turn around and go back, pretend nothing had happened. The idea of giving in one last time filled your mind, you became so distracted you didn’t notice the traffic in front of you and nearly rear-ended a taxi in front of you. The annoyed driver flipped you off out the window. The near miss brought you back to reality, you took a deep breath and shook your head of all the thoughts. You could survive without it.

On the walk through the embassy, you passed the place Javi had pushed you against the wall, where you’d flipped out. A black scuff mark was the only evidence anything had happened, but your memory supplied you with the rest of the details. Hot guilt spread over the back of your neck and you sped up, averting your eyes when you passed the bathroom a little further on. You had let this go too far, but you were fixing it. You were going to be better.

The assistant outside the door beamed at you, offering small talk while you waited for the ambassador to finish his meeting. She mostly asked after Javier. After a few minutes, the ambassador emerged, two well-dressed men walked out with him, and he smiled warmly.

“Y/N, nice to see you again so soon,” You took a deep breath and quickly wiped your sweaty palms on your pants, “Come on in,” He showed you inside and offered you a seat on the couch to the side of the room. You sat down, gladly accepting the drink his assistant offered. The ambassador dismissed her and sat down opposite you, sipping his glass of whiskey. “What can I do for you?”

---

You stepped out of the room and felt lighter and heavier simultaneously. You confessed, told him everything from the beginning when you first met Maria to yesterday’s events. You’d confessed, you were on your way to help but that had come at a cost. You were leaving on Monday; your position was in question and the ambassador had been far from sympathetic. You managed to hold it together inside but as soon as the golden sun hit your face you broke down into tears.

He had been kind in not arresting you, but his words were far from it. Called you a failure, weak, pathetic. A disappointment to the agency and the country. The disgusted look on his face was one you wouldn’t forget, seemingly imprinted on the back of your eyelids flashing with every blink you took. Your nose itched as if automatically knowing what you would do to soothe your pain, body craving the solution to its problem, but you ignored it.

Instead, you got back in the truck and drove. Music cranked way up so you couldn’t hear yourself think, driving until you felt better. You didn’t need the drug; you were stronger than that! You thought you were until you came to Maria’s house. Like a homing pigeon, you had subconsciously driven down her street, despite it being in nearly the opposite direction to your destination. You slowed down and sat outside the building just watching it. Tempting yourself when you know you shouldn’t. You knew she was home; you knew she would have some for a party or just for her personal use! She could help you. She was a great friend. She wasn’t going to judge you.

Before you knew it, you turned the car off and had a hand on the door handle. Your hands were trembling as your body was fighting against itself. You knew how easy it could be, how good it would feel to get just a little taste. Maria would probably have good food too, maybe you could go inside to have lunch. You hadn’t eaten since dawn and your stomach growled. If she happened to have coke it wouldn’t be your fault, you would be being a good guest!

You were about to give in when you spotted Javi’s yellow sunglasses reflecting on the dash and his words from the day before rang in your head. You’re better than this. Your hand let go of the door and you sighed heavily. Even in your head, the asshole was right. If you gave in now, what was the point of everything you had just done in the embassy? If you gave in now you were exactly what the ambassador thought you were; weak and pathetic. If you left now, you were still you. The real you. The one who had fought tooth and nail to get down here. The one who helped people, who saved people. You had proved yourself against people’s preconceptions every day here, you couldn’t give up now. You took your hands back to the wheel, turned the ignition and drove away, tears rolling down your cheeks.

The office was empty when you returned to the compound. Confused for a moment, you looked for a note that was usually left if the boys were called away quickly. There was nothing. You sat down at your desk and wondered. Steve’s jacket was still on the back of his chair, Javier’s tie discarded haphazardly on his desk. They couldn’t have gone far. Then you remembered. You had a strategy meeting with Carrillo which according to the clock on the wall started thirty minutes ago. You cursed aloud and ran to Carrillo’s office.

“Rookie, nice of you to join us,” Carrillo said sarcastically as you slipped through the door into the room.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” You said, taking a seat on a desk across from the men.

“Maybe Peña should make a note of it for your report card,” Carrillo added with a smirk, you frowned.

“I said I’m sorry,” You grumbled, not in the mood for his bitching. You had just had one of the hardest conversations of your life, you didn’t need Carrillo making your mood any worse. You crossed your arms and sulked in the corner. Carrillo always had a way of making your mood sour instantly, you detested him.

Luckily, he gave up quickly and returned to his previous speech. You were barely listening, constantly catching yourself drifting off in thought, until you heard your name.

“Peña and L/n are on stakeout tonight,” Carrillo said. The mention of your name with Peña’s made you snap back to reality quickly.

“Can’t Steve do it?” You asked, interrupting him. The idea of spending any time with Javi felt like a nightmare. You could barely even look at him out of shame and embarrassment let alone spend ten hours with him in a car.

“You’re late and now you want to start questioning my authority?” Carrillo bit back.

“I’m not questioning your authority, sir,” You snarled, “I am saying I- actually no I don’t need to explain myself to any of you. I refuse,”

“Do as you’re fucking told, Rookie,” Javier finally snapped. He had been silent throughout, letting Steve and Carrillo discuss the plan while he smouldered in his seat, watching you instead. You had that faraway look you had in your eye yesterday, red eyes and constantly fiddling with your sleeves, he assumed the worst. He was sick of it.

His sudden outburst made everyone in the room stop. You were shocked, he’d never used that tone on you before. Everyone looked at him, then to you. Your eyes were big and glassy full of tears, mouth dropped a little, staring wildly at Javier. After a moment, you swallowed down whatever back talk had been sat on your tongue and settled down again, looking away from the man and down to the files on the table.

As soon as the meeting was finished you walked out as fast as possible. You were trembling with a mixture of anger and shame; you couldn’t work out if you were going to cry or scream. Both would work. You wanted to hide away and hope that Javier would just leave for the stakeout without you.

“Are you going to explain to me what the hell is going on with you and Javi?” Steve asked from behind you, jogging to catch up with you as you marched down the hallway. You sighed in annoyance, you just wanted to be alone.

“Nothing’s going on,” You grumbled.

“So that in there was nothing?” He pressed. You shrugged and shook your head. Steve scoffed, “You leave all afternoon on your own, you won’t tell anyone where you are going. You come back late, and then try to get out of a shift? Fucks wrong with you?”

“Fuck off, Steve it’s none of your business,” You muttered, sitting down at your desk doing your best to ignore him and start some paperwork. You didn’t look at what you were doing, more just using it to cue him to leave. He didn’t take it.

“You’re part of my team, it is my business,”

“It’s nothing to do with you. It's between me and Peña and it’s none of his business either!” You snapped. You dropped the pile of paper in your hand making it thud and you looked over at him with a hard glare, “Both of you need to back off. I’m not a kid, I can deal wit\`h it by myself. I don’t ask you about the arguments you’ve been having with Connie, do I?” Steve scoffed and shook in disbelief. It was a low blow, but you were angry and hurt. He didn’t deserve it, but you just needed him to leave, “Leave me alone. I’ve got shit to do,”

Steve left in a huff. He brushed past Peña, giving his partner the same glare he’d given you, as he stormed out the office. Javier took one look at you sitting at the desk, and walked the other way, he didn’t want to talk to you either.

Alone in the office, you worked almost to spite the two older agents. You could still be productive despite the incessant devil on your shoulder telling you about the as yet unweighted bags in the evidence locker. You could go get some and you'd be much happier, and nobody would know at all. You ignored it, gritting your teeth, and forcing yourself to focus. You couldn’t steal from the evidence! The words on the page didn’t even look real anymore, your brain so overwhelmed you could hardly make sense of the parts in English let alone Spanish.

Memories of better times crept into your mind, remembering the last time you were here so late. You, Javi, and Steve were the last ones in the building still pacing through the coded list of names you had found through your CI. You were all delirious and someone found a radio at some point, you managed to catch a station playing some American pop music. Prince and Bon Jovi, even some Abba. You danced around the room singing and laughing, dragging an initially reluctant Steve with you. Javier sat and watched, laughing at the two of you making fools of yourself. You were happy then, confident and content.

The warmth of the memory was cut by the ice of the room surrounding you now. There was no laughter, no joy. The two people who meant the most to you hated you now. Where you once felt bravely on the edge of greatness here, you now barely gripped the ledge before you fell to despair. You felt your grip slipping every day that passed.

You sighed, rubbed your hands over your face shaking off the memories and returning to your work. You wondered about food but decided against it, here you were safe from yourself. You couldn’t do anything here without somebody catching you. As well as you hidden your habit you knew you couldn’t try it here, that would be truly insane. You had promised yourself you would stop so you sat and worked alone until Javier reappeared and called you to heel.

No words were spoken on the way out of the compound. You knew the plan already and neither you nor Javier felt like small talk. Javi drove and parked outside a row of houses near the top of Medellin. It was quiet, there was a good view out over the city with all the lights trickling down the hillside to the city centre. You focused on that, turning away from Javier in your seat, to focus on the view.

You dragged your jacket tighter around your chest as the winter air crept into the car. You should have gone home to get a better coat. As mild as it was in the day, up in the hills at night the air was sharp and bit through the thin leather material easily.

The silence in the car was awkward. You could tell Javier wanted to say something, it sat on the tip of his tongue as he flicked from looking at the target and you. Usually, you filled these long tedious times with quiet chatter about something or other that you had read or heard around the office, often teasing Javier over the latest secretary he’d bagged. He often complained about it, protesting that he would rather sit in silence than hear you babbling on, but now there was nothing he would like more.

He wanted to know what was going on in your head. Seeing you so reckless and out of control had scared him. It was his fault he’d not stopped you sooner, not done his job as your mentor properly. He’d only proved himself right by letting you fall like this, that he was never fit for the role in the first place. He had proof of his failings now shivering silently in the seat next to him. Out of everything that he had done, you were his worst failure yet.

Memories of the first stakeout you had been on with Javier came to mind, you remembered how surprisingly fun it was. It was the first time you got to know the man, about a month into your time in Colombia you were still a little awkward around him. Still trying to work out what kind of mentor he was, you had never spent more than half an hour alone with him before. But somehow, you talked all night, got takeout and the time seemed to fly by. Nothing exciting happened but from that moment you two became a lot more comfortable with each other and trust began to form.

You missed being able to have fun with him. You were going to miss Javier, despite the ups and downs of your relationship you admired him and held him with the utmost regard. He was an asshole at times, you butted heads a lot, but he never did anything rash and always had your best interest at heart. You were going to miss him a lot. You wanted to tell him about your decision, but you thought he wouldn’t care, not now. It would be easier for both of you if he never knew.

You looked back at the glowing clock on the dash, barely an hour had passed. It was going to be a long night.

“Where did you go earlier?” Javier finally broke the silence. He wasn’t angry, merely asking. You frowned.

“Why do you care?” You grumbled.

“Answer the question,” He sighed, exasperated by your attitude.

“If you must know, I went to the ambassador’s office,” You said, Javi frowned, it was not the answer he was expecting, “What? Did you think I was going to get high or something?” Javi shrugged. You scoffed. “I do listen to you, you know that?”

“Hard to believe sometimes,” Javi jabbed back. You didn’t have a particularly good track record of doing what you were told, but things always worked out in the end. That was half the reason Javi had left you so long in this mess. He trusted you could get yourself out like always. You scoffed, crossed your arms, and turned away again. The truck fell silent again, Javi took another drag of his cigarette and sighed before speaking again, “What did you talk to the ambassador about?”

You realised he was going to drag it out of you whether you wanted to tell him or not. He couldn’t tell if you were lying, he wanted to believe you- that you had made the right choice by yourself, but he needed to hear it from your mouth. He wanted proof that he hadn’t entirely fucked you up. You took a deep breath before you spoke, facing forward looking out the window so you couldn’t see his reaction.

“I asked to be transferred back to the States, I can’t be here anymore,” Javier looked over at you, his face was almost entirely unreadable. A cigarette smouldered between his fingers, unmoving while he listened to you, “I told him everything, I’m being transferred out on Monday. If I don’t get dropped from the DEA entirely, it’ll be a fucking miracle,” You took a deep breath as tears pricked your eyes, “I let you down. I let you and Steve down, and I am completely in over my head now. I can’t in good conscience stay when I am putting you two in more danger and doing harm to myself. Ever since I got here you have been nothing but helpful. You��re a great mentor and a great friend and-,” You choked on a sob, tears streamed down your face as you confessed to him, “You were right, I wasn’t ready for this, I am fucked,”

“Shit,” Javi cursed under his breath.

“That’s all you're going to say?” You laughed humourlessly. You wiped your eyes and nose with the cuffs of your jacket. That was not the reaction you were expecting from him, “You can tell me you told me so, go ahead I know you want to,”

“We’ve got movement,” He said gesturing to the car that had just pulled up in front of the property you had been watching. Three men got out of the car and walked into the house. Your heart leapt at the thought of this finally being Escobar, that you had caught him when he was least expecting it. There had been rumours he was using this house for a little while, that's what you and Javier were there to investigate.

“Shit,” You echoed Javier’s previous statement, “What do we do?”

“We stay here and watch,” Javier replied sensibly. You knew that was what you should do but the emotion of the day was catching up to you. This could be your last chance and you were going to take it.

“No way, that could be him!” You exclaimed, “I’m not just going to sit here and watch while fucking Escobar passes a hundred feet in front of us!” You sat up in your seat, bent over to tie your shoes ready to go.

“Y/n, no. We don’t know it’s him,” Javier tried to reason but your hand was already on the door, gun ready in the other. You’d made up your mind, too full of frustration and emotion to stop for a minute to think.

“Javi come on! I know you’re sick of this bullshit too! If I’m leaving Monday, I don’t want this to be wasted. Call Carrillo, get some backup, we’ll go now,”

“I said no,” He protested.

“Fine I’ll go by myself, you stay in the truck and keep deniability,” You opened the door and slipped out into the cold Medellin air before Javi could answer. You pulled the gun from your back, loaded it, and crept to the house not once looking back at Javier in the car.

You ran across the road and slipped through the alleyway which separated the house from the rest of the row. Around the back of the building, pressed up the wall, you peered through a window. A small crack in the curtains didn’t let you see much but you could hear at least two voices. You took a deep breath to calm yourself, held your gun tight and moved again, walking along the wall to the first door you could find. It was open.

You crept inside, keeping as quiet as possible. It was dark inside the small porch; you couldn’t see your footing. Your foot met with a glass bottle kicking it across the floor till it clattered against the wall. You winced and stood still, listening out for any sign the occupants had heard you. Sound from a TV still played, you were in the clear for now. You pushed on through the house, carefully pushing open another door which opened into a kitchen.

The warm light hurt your eyes a little, you squinted to adjust. The kitchen was well used, a pile of pans sat dirty in the sink and a pot of half-eaten food sat on the stove. You stopped to think for a second what your plan was. Until that moment you had been so caught up in the fact Escobar could be here, you’d run in without a plan. You were starting to think that wasn’t the best idea. You considered turning back, waiting outside for Javi to join.

You looked up from your spot to see a man had entered the room. Tall, dark curly hair, you instantly recognised him. Diego, Maria’s boyfriend. Your stomach dropped; this was the worst possible thing to happen. He recognised you too, his dropped jaw quickly turned into a smirk as he pulled out his gun and pointed it at you.

“Isabella?” He asked using the name he knew you by. Isabella Rodriguez, you had used the name for months to get into Maria’s group and get intel. “I knew there was something off about you!” He smirked.

“Lower your weapon, now!” You ordered. Your heart hammered in your chest, feeling the absence of a tact vest now. You were completely vulnerable, stood up against Diego’s gun in nothing but a leather jacket. He didn’t move an inch, so you pressed again. “Put it down and I don’t put a bullet in your skull,” You growled, becoming impatient. You were completely stuck; you had no plan at all other than to stall until Javi arrived.

Suddenly a cold press of metal stamped against your back. Your breath hitched at the contact, but you remained as calm, keeping your focus on Diego. Before you could even register it, your legs were swiped out from under you. You fell forward with a thud, your gun sliding across the tile away from you.

You fell hard, hitting your nose on the ground instantly cracking it. It throbbed and blood poured out. You pressed up but were pulled back onto your knees by the hair by the unknown man behind you. You groaned and spat out the blood that had trickled into your mouth. That was when another familiar face appeared in the doorway. The man who haunted your dreams, who’d driven you to this mess in the first place, Pablo Escobar.

He was older than the photo that donned your office wall, fatter, and more tired looking; but his image had been drilled into your brain so much it was unmistakably him. It was almost underwhelming to finally meet him; he was far too human. Far too real. There had been an air of omnipotence that had built up whilst you chased him, always just out of reach. He always knew the next move; he planned every move. But now to be here in front of you, in flesh and blood, you realised he was just that. Flesh and blood.

He sighed when he bent over to pick up your discarded gun. He inspected it in his hand, grimaced then flicked the safety off and pointed it at you. Your heart rattled so fast it made your chest ache. Bottom lip trembling, eyes filling with tears, your eyes locked with his. This was most undoubtedly the end.

The cold metal of the gun’s barrel pressed against your forehead and you screwed your eyes shut, praying for Javi and Carrillo to come through the door and save you. You wished you could apologise for being so brash, and forever causing such a mess. You slowly opened your eyes again to meet with your reaper, tears rolled down your cheeks. His cold dead eyes saw into your very soul. You didn’t need to say anything, he could read your mind.

“You know how we deal with rats, right?”

Javier had called for back up, Carrillo and his a team of men came quickly with Steve in tow. Javier hadn’t explained much of the situation, there wasn’t much too explain yet but Steve was furious.

“Why the fuck didn’t you go with her?” Steve burst from the truck before it stopped moving, barrelling towards Javi.

“She ran off! I had to call you,” Javi exclaimed, backing up away from his partner.

“That’s a fucking first,” He snarled.

The men were saved an argument as the sound of a gunshot disturbed the air, reminding them of the task at hand. The black car parked in front of the house screeched as it sped away, out of the city. The men shot at it but missed. That wasn’t their priority. Headed by Javier, the men ran on into the house through the open front door. They had to find you.

“You go upstairs, I’ll take down,” Javi barked at his partner, who obediently followed the order.

It was clear from the contents of the house, whoever had been here hadn’t been here long. There was barely enough furniture to make it comfortable, what personal items had been left were few and far between. The entire place stank of urine and burnt food. Javi moved through the property quickly, clearing every small room he went.

“Y/n!” Steve called as he searched upstairs. There was nothing upstairs except for a couple of stained mattresses, a disgusting bathroom, and a discarded razor. There was barely a sign that people had been living there let alone any sign of you. Dread was starting to creep up in his stomach as he walked back down the stairs. He hadn’t heard anything from Javier to announce you’d been found. Maybe you were taken in the car they’d failed to stop.

Steve found his partner standing in the kitchen at the back of the house. Javier stood still, his back turned to the entrance. He didn’t move a muscle when Steve entered the room.

“Javi?” Steve prompted when he didn’t move. He came closer and saw what was holding his attention.

You.

Slumped on the floor, knees trapped under your chest, blood poured out of an open wound in your head. Blood covered the tile floor, spilling down channels in the grout. Steve couldn’t look, nearly vomiting as if his body was rejecting the horror that overtook him at the sight. He quickly dragged Javier by the arm, to turn away. Javier lashed out, shoving him off. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, lit up in the dim light of the house. Steve had never seen him cry before.

“Fuck!” He yelled, throwing himself at the dirty couch in front of him. It didn’t move. Unsatisfied, Javi stormed out, shoving past Carrillo and his men who had returned from their search, to get some air. Steve let them through, pointing over at your body.

Grief had settled over him quickly, guilt came second, making Steve’s whole world fuzzy. He was stuck between joining Javi in running for the hills and not wanting to leave your side. He watched on patiently as your body was laid out. One of Carrillo’s men took photos of the scene, Steve almost laughed at the sight. This wasn’t something he was going to need physical reminders of, it would be etched on his memory forever.

Eventually, an ambulance was called, and your body was taken away. Steve followed you out, getting one final look before the doors were closed. People trickled away, Carrillo clapping him on the back in some attempt at comfort, and soon Steve climbed back into his truck completely alone again. Javi’s truck was gone. No doubt burying himself in some poor girl somewhere to burn the anger out.

Steve was angry. Angry at Javi for letting you go alone, angry at himself for not switching with you when you protested. He lashed out, slamming his hands onto the wheel, and letting out a cry of frustration. He wondered if you knew this would happen. There were so many things he didn’t understand about what had happened, and it seemed he was never going to find out now. It was all over.

He drove back to his apartment in complete silence. His anger had cooled, red hot now cold settled in his chest as cold blind rage. Rage at your actions, at Javi’’s, at Escobar and this fucking country. Everything about this place was hell, what had he done to deserve to see someone so young, so promising, die like that. It was not fair.

Steve stumbled into his apartment and was met by Connie making dinner in the kitchen.

“Hey! Everything okay?” She asked innocently. From the kitchen, she couldn’t see her husband collapse on the couch or his slumped over form and how he scraped his hand over his face as if to pull the guilt out of his skin. “Hey next time you see Y/n, could you give her this?” Connie started talking, walking into the room with a sweater in her hand. The mention of your name made Steve’s heart break a little more and tears spilled from his eyes, “She left it here after dinner last week, I keep forgetting-“ Connie entered the room and instantly saw Steve’s anguish. “Baby? What happened?”

“She’s gone,” He croaked out. He didn’t need to stay anymore. He couldn’t. Connie dropped the sweater in shock and stumbled to Steve who instantly wrapped himself around her.

---

Javier, in typical fashion, rang his usual girl and fucked his frustration out. Unusually rough and uncaring, he hoped the excursion would force the overwhelming remorse out. Even when he finished and the girl hobbled out the apartment, clutching his money, the guilt didn’t leave. It only got worse.

He couldn’t remember how long he had stood looking at your body on that floor. The shock was so overwhelming he had just locked onto you as if waiting for you to jump up and say it was a prank. He took a long drag of his cigarette, holding it until it nearly made him choke to enjoy the heady sensation of it. He hadn’t moved from where the girl left him. A bottle of whiskey was within reach and another pack of cigarettes, he could stay there sinking into the couch until it all made sense.

He assumed you had given up. The hope he held at the beginning of the day, seeing you walking into the office smiling and happy had been shattered by the time you returned from your secret visit to the embassy. Of course at the time he was ignorant and had thought the worst of you. Then in the truck you had told the truth. You were trying to fix it the best you could and he never had a chance to say how proud he was of you. It had all been snatched away.

Javi couldn’t get his head around it. Death wasn’t new to him, he’d seen it countless times before, he had seen worse things working with Carrillo, but tonight threw him into a spiral. You had so much promise, so much more to give. It wasn’t fair. He should have intervened sooner, should have taken the time to talk to you the first time you showed up high at his door. Maybe this would never have happened if he had done his job properly. He may as well have shot you himself.

You said you had failed him, but he had failed you in the end. He should never have let you go alone even for a minute. He didn’t even stay to help move your body, he abandoned you for his own comfort. Guilt pressed down on him hard at that fact. He was selfish. He claimed to care about you but had left you dead on a dirty stone floor for someone else to pick up. You didn’t deserve that. He wanted to apologise to you, but that was never going to happen now.

Possibly the worst part was that he knew he had to write up the events that lead to your death. He would have to repeatedly explain it to the DEA, to the ambassador, to anyone that fucking asked him why the hell he let you go in there alone.

He drank more until the glass wasn’t fast enough. He drank straight from the bottle letting it burn his throat. He drank like the answer to the questions surrounding him was stuck to the bottom of the bottle. He wondered if you knew this would happen. Who had shot you? Why? At what point had this become inevitable? Did you know just how much you meant to him?

Eventually, the whiskey swept him up and let him sleep. He would have to wake up for the nightmare to start.

NEXT PART

---

*insert evil laugh* wanna get tagged in the next part? Let me know!!

tag list: @beskar-tano @beskarbabs @buckysbeloved @all-hallows-evie @harrys-stan @this-cat-is-dea @themidnightsun-12 @wille-zarr @danniburgh @itsaisopodkillmepls @urbankaite2 @whataloadofmalarkey @ahsofka @yeetus-my-feetus @sara-alonso @lesbianlena

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stingslikeabee · 3 years ago

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headcanon: lore referring to Bhujerba for the FFXII verse

I have been writing quite frequently in my FFXII verse, where Melissa is Bhujerban and someone who embodies a lot of the local traditions and customs in how she interacts with other characters (particularly in the main arc of her verse, where she is an undercover agent of the Resistance sent to the Archadian Empire and posing as a dancer/performer). I have always been fascinated by FFXII and for the purposes of my interactions, I have expanded a bit on Bhujerba below.

Bhujerba is heavily inspired by medieval India given the accent used in the English dub and the apparent Sanskrit used (as well as some architecture choices for the city); I have ran with this and established further associations: Melissa’s dance/performance is very inspired by current-day Bollywood dance sequences; the climate is warmer/more humid than the one in Archades, for instance; food is very savory and spices are used frequently; clothing is colorful and vibrant and jewelry are used by both men and women alike in different fashion (the way people dress in Bhujerba is distinctive and usually able to set them apart from other countries).

Bhujerbans do have their own native tongue and speak in Bhujerban with each other - however, given the role of the city as a docking port and the importance of the country in terms of magicite export, most of the locals (if not all) speak the common tongue of Ivalice with their characteristic accent (i.e. see Ondore and other locals speaking English with an Indian accent).

People born in Bhujerba tend to have better physical balance than regular people from Ivalice, and little to no motion sickness in relation to air travel. This makes them very good candidates for airline pilots/stewards, sky pirates, military personnel in charge of airships etc. They are also more used to rarefied air and altitude - in fact, Bhujerbans have adapted to the heights and they feel at home among the skies or very high places; they will seek these spots when in Ivalice, on the ground.

On the other hand - they are more subject to claustrophobia and hesitant to go below the surface of Ivalice proper (exploring caverns, diving into the ocean etc). For someone born and raised in the Sky City, not seeing the skies and the sun/moon is typically anxiety-inducing and they must either be slowly exposed to the idea or this could trigger a panic state.

The madhu (the alcoholic drink made famous all over Ivalice) has strong sense-altering properties, and it’s rumored to unlock hidden personality traits or to have people act in the opposite way they do when sober. It does not seem to suggest a lot needs to be ingested to achieve such effects - however, a resistance can be built with exposure and time. Bhujerbans are typically able to withstand the effects better because it’s a cultural thing to drink and indulge in madhu - therefore, they will usually bear witness to interesting behavior of other people from Ivalice.

In line with the above - there is actually an old law, from the time of Ondore I, restricting madhu ingestion to indoors - it famously brought inebriated people too close to the city’s edge and some falls happened, prompting an attempt at regulating the activities in a safer manner.

On the topic of falling from Bhujerba - legend says that it’s never fatal and the few examples to date prove this, however it is unclear if only Bhujerbans can survive a fall or if anyone who happens to have moved/is visiting the Sky City is awarded the same fortune. As a consequence, non-natives are extremely cautious of the city limits and will often refuse to test this theory.

The item above is precisely why mining magicite from the Lhusu Mines is, interestingly enough, very skilled labor. A wrong move could open a hole directly to the continent below and people could fall - not to mention that the work itself is conducted at the impressive altitude that Bhujerba customarily boasts. As a result, it is very uncommon for non-Bhujerbans to be brave enough to become miners in the sky city with the added risks that the job brings to them. This is also one of the reasons I headcanon Archadia never fully seizes control of the mines: they lack the experience to replace the workers with their own personnel and they do not have the expertise of the Ondore family in terms of closing/opening mines to allow magicite to recover, which could endanger the supply to all of Ivalice.

Bhujerba is also traditionally neutral in terms of any conflict (think modern day Switzerland). It’s a country that has blessed Ivalice with some formidable diplomats and mediators - mostly because Bhujerba is often not involved in territory disputes given the fact it is in the sky, however it is a country that becomes extremely vulnerable in the recent age of heavily armored and impressive airborne armadas. In this sense, Bhujerba (led by House Ondore since the Galtean Alliance) works hard to collaborate and help prevent wars to the extent possible.

Finally - in terms of people relationships, Bhujerbans are closer/less informal with each other and there is a great sense of community that is not frequently found in other countries. Despite the presence of nobility in Bhujerba, there is not a huge difference between high-born and common folk - struggles are frequently shared, and families are traditionally numerous. House Ondore is well-liked by most of the population and given the reduced territory of Bhujerba, the needs and desires of the majority are acknowledged and typically provided for under the Ondore administration.

#headcanon #v: FFXII #gosh I love Ivalice so much #this is mostly Bhujerba #but I have THOUGHTS about so many other places

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julyarchives · 3 years ago

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Fireworks in My Heart

→ Pairing: Yuto x Reader

→ Genre: Fluff;

→ Words: 1.5K

→ A/n: Finally we were able to catch a break in between our irl stuff and finish this amazing story, and we are so excited to update the blog with our content again! Special thank you to the anon who requested this, we hope you like it!

You felt nervous. Having recently moved to a different country, things were hard on you and it took way more time to get used to every change. It was only better when you were in the company of your one and only Yuto. He too recently moved back to the country after spending a few years away living abroad, so he knew exactly what you were going through. You two met randomly at a music shop, looking for the same album. Kind of struggling with the language and the manners, you kept on watching Yuto move around with the cd you wanted without making a move to ask where he got it since you weren't finding it.

It was Yuto who approached you and asked if you were ok, quickly understanding your babbling about being new and wanting the cd. His shy chuckle and soft "lemme help you", melted your heart. You never believed in love at first sight, but if you did, Yuto would be it. It was also him who invited you for coffee after you paid for the cd and it was also him who kept on helping you with everything. After the coffee you were already exchanging numbers and stories, laughing at his tales of struggles with a different language. He ultimately understood your situation but you found out that he was as sweet as he was a tease, poking friendly fun at your confusion with words, making you feel light and at peace with your small mistakes.

The sort of friendship went on for a few months before you saw the flyers about the summer festival. You always saw it in movies and cartoons so you got excited with the possibility of actually going to one. But going alone wouldn’t be so much fun, so you invited Yuto to tag along, and he was more than happy to keep you company. To say you were anxious was an understatement, but thankfully a good kind of anxious, since it was your first traditional festival in the country. You went all the way and bought yourself the prettiest Yukata you could find, with cherry blossoms painted all over the silky fabric.

The main setting of the festival was around the city’s riverbank, and he said he would meet you there. As soon as you were properly dressed you rushed to get save a good spot to release your lantern, your wish safely tucked in it. You felt a little shy seeing that there weren’t many people dressed in Yukatas, but no one seemed to stare at you for it, so you called it a win.

You quietly watched the place beautifully decorated with paper lanterns and families reunited to participate in the event and the rush of happiness that you felt made you think that being in a different country wouldn’t be so bad after all. Your thoughts were interrupted by Yuto’s deep voice calling your name.

Yuto looked for you since the moment he arrived, eager to spend every second he could time with you. The truth was, since the moment he first saw you he knew that you had just that special something that made him want to know everything he could about you, and the fact that you were so welcoming to him was a big relief because he was simply fascinated with you. When he spotted you at the festival, it took a couple of extra seconds to recognize you, because the last thing he was expecting was to see you in traditional clothes.

When he called you uncertain, and you turned around with the prettiest smile he’s ever seen, it felt like time stopped for him. It was almost like he could actually feel his heart skipping a beat, and for a second he forgot how to properly function.

“Hey, you made it!” you said more cheerfully than usual, but everything about that night was making you feel giddy.

“Hello” Yuto murmured, clearing his throat, and you didn’t miss the way he eyed you up and down.

“I’m making a fool of myself with these clothes, aren’t I?” you laughed half-heartedly, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“No! not at all!” he waved his hands around desperately, terribly afraid that he had made you uncomfortable “You..”

He trailed off, his cheeks glowing with an almost unnoticeable blush.

“I what?” you asked softly.

“You look really pretty, that’s all” he smiled shyly.

“Oh” you felt your blood rising to your face “Thank you”

You stared at each other quietly, both of you trying to find anything to say.

“sparklers sticks.” Yuto suddenly blurted

“what?” you laughed confusedly

“I brought sparklers sticks for you!” He hurriedly fished his jacket’s pocket.

“Really?!” you jumped in place out of excitement when he handed you the pack.

Yuto thought the sparkles would be nothing compared to the way your eyes shone when you lit one up and waved around giggling. All he could do was sit back and watch you have fun, and, honestly, he could do that all night long. In the end, that's what he did. You two walked around together, and every interjection of wonderment that left your lips when you saw something you liked was like music to his ears.

You were glowing with happiness, and everything was feeling like a movie to you. The place was beautiful, the food was delicious and Yuto’s company was the cherry on top. You didn't know if what you felt was real or if it was just the festival spirit, but something in Yuto was glowing and you felt drawn to him. But the fireworks will go off soon and you wanted to find a good spot for you two to watch.

"Come on, we don't want to miss it" You rushed him, mindlessly grabbing his hand to not lose him in the crowd

You only noticed your action when you stopped and looked back at him, then noticed the subtle blush in his cheeks. You immediately let go of him, but he silently held you back, not wanting you to release his hand yet.

You smiled shyly and squeezed his hand, silently telling him that you enjoyed his touch, and there were no words between the two of you for a couple of minutes.

"Thank you for coming with me." You broke the silence.

"Thank you for inviting me" he opened a smile for you "I really like spending time with you."

"Me too" you confessed, clinging to his arm "it was better because you were here with me"

"I was thinking." He circled around his words "maybe if you're free, would you like to go on a date with me? It's just that I really appreciate your friendship but something tonight made me want to know you better than a friend."

You blinked, surprised at the sudden confession.

"The reality is," he continued, looking deep into your eyes "ever since the day I met you, even though you looked like the cutest lost puppy, I knew you were someone special. If you'd give me the chance, I know I could make you smile every day. Because seeing you smile is my new favorite thing in the world.

As you looked at him while he sincerely put out his heart for you, you thought that everything clicked together and all that he described was mirrored inside you, and that's why your heart beats faster when you are next to him. You didn't know how to react or what to say, all the words in your brain scrambled together.

As you opened your mouth to speak, the fireworks interrupted the words that you hadn't even started to enunciate, stealing Yuto's attention for a second. It gave you one more chance to admire his beauty against the multi-colored fireworks' lights, and the wind blowing in his hair, which was slightly longer than when you first met, and he looked like something out of a painting that belonged in a museum.

It was mere seconds later when he looked back at you, but it was useless to try to say anything, he wouldn't hear you over the loud explosions, so you gathered some extra courage and did the only thing you thought you could do. And the one you wanted to do the most.

You gently put your hands on his cheeks, and just as softly pull him closer.

His eyes widened when your lips touched, but just for a brief second before engulfing you in his hold and sighing into the kiss. His touch on you was tender and careful like he wanted to enjoy every little piece of you but also didn’t want to push past any limit. You tiptoed, pressing further onto him, and he held your waist to help you balance, deepening the kiss and savoring his taste,

You pecked his lips a couple more times before looking at him, both of you bursting into giggles. Your arms circled around his waist and you laid your head on his chest, peacefully watching the fireworks painting the skies and getting inebriated with the fresh smell of his perfume. He immediately rested his hands on your back, hugging you closer to him.

“A date sounds lovely” you mumbled, the smile on your lips impossible to be held back.

Taglist - @bunnybunnywoo DM or send us an ask if you want to be part of out tag list ^_^

#Yuto #fluff #yuto fluff #yuto x reader #pentagon #pentagon yuto #pentagon fluff #pentagon imagine #pentagon story #kpop pentagon #kpop writing #kpop story #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #adachi yuto #adachi yuto fluff

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rapeculturerealities · 4 years ago

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Ma Kyal Sin loved taekwondo, spicy food and a good red lipstick. She adopted the English name Angel, and her father hugged her goodbye when she went out on the streets of Mandalay, in central Myanmar, to join the crowds peacefully protesting the recent seizure of power by the military.

The black T-shirt that Ms. Kyal Sin wore to the protest on Wednesday carried a simple message: “Everything will be OK.”

In the afternoon, Ms. Kyal Sin, 18, was shot in the head by the security forces, who killed at least 30 people nationwide in the single bloodiest day since the Feb. 1 coup, according to the United Nations.

“She is a hero for our country,” said Ma Cho Nwe Oo, one of Ms. Kyal Sin’s close friends, who has also taken part in the daily rallies that have electrified hundreds of cities across Myanmar. “By participating in the revolution, our generation of young women shows that we are no less brave than men.”

Despite the risks, women have stood at the forefront of Myanmar’s protest movement, sending a powerful rebuke to the generals who ousted a female civilian leader and reimposed a patriarchal order that has suppressed women for half a century.

By the hundreds of thousands, the women have gathered for daily marches, representing striking unions of teachers, garment workers and medical workers — all sectors dominated by women. The youngest are often on the front lines, where the security forces appear to have singled them out. Two young women were shot in the head on Wednesday and another near the heart, three bullets ending their lives.

Earlier this week, military television networks announced that the security forces were instructed not to use live ammunition, and that in self-defense they would only shoot at the lower body.

“We might lose some heroes in this revolution,” said Ma Sandar, an assistant general secretary of the Confederation of Trade Unions Myanmar, who has been taking part in the protests. “Our women’s blood is red.”

The violence on Wednesday, which brought the death toll since the coup to at least 54, reflected the brutality of a military accustomed to killing its most innocent people. At least three children have been gunned down over the past month, and the first death of the military’s post-coup crackdown was a 20-year-old woman shot in the head on Feb. 9.

The killings have appalled and outraged rights advocates around the world.

“Myanmar’s military must stop murdering and jailing protesters,” Michelle Bachelet, the top human rights official at the United Nations, said Thursday. “It is utterly abhorrent that security forces are firing live ammunition against peaceful protesters across the country.”

In the weeks since the protests began, groups of female medical volunteers have patrolled the streets, tending to the wounded and dying. Women have added spine to a civil disobedience movement that is crippling the functioning of the state. And they have flouted gender stereotypes in a country where tradition holds that garments covering the lower half of the bodies of the two sexes should not be washed together, lest the female spirit act as a contaminant.

With defiant creativity, people have strung up clotheslines of women’s sarongs, called htamein, to protect protest zones, knowing that some men are loath to walk under them. Others have affixed images of Senior Gen. Min Aung Hlaing, the army chief who orchestrated the coup, to the hanging htamein, an affront to his virility.

“Young women are now leading the protests because we have a maternal nature and we can’t let the next generation be destroyed,” said Dr. Yin Yin Hnoung, a 28-year-old medical doctor who has dodged bullets in Mandalay. “We don’t care about our lives. We care about our future generations.”

While the military’s inhumanity extends to many of the country’s roughly 55 million people, women have the most to lose from the generals’ resumption of full authority, after five years of sharing power with a civilian government led by Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. The Tatmadaw, as the military is known, is deeply conservative, opining in official communications about the importance of modest dress for proper ladies.

There are no women in the Tatmadaw’s senior ranks, and its soldiers have systematically committed gang rape against women from ethnic minorities, according to investigations by the United Nations. In the generals’ worldview, women are often considered weak and impure. Traditional religious hierarchies in this predominantly Buddhist nation also place women at the feet of men.

The prejudices of the military and the monastery are not necessarily shared by Myanmar’s broader society. Women are educated and integral to the economy, particularly in business, manufacturing and the civil service. Increasingly, women have found their political voice. In elections last November, about 20 percent of candidates for the National League for Democracy, Ms. Aung San Suu Kyi’s party, were women.

The party won in a landslide, trouncing the military-linked and far more male-dominated Union Solidarity and Development Party. The Tatmadaw has dismissed the results as fraudulent.

As the military began devolving some power over the past decade, Myanmar experienced one of the most profound and rapid societal changes in the world. A country that had been cut off from the world by the generals, who first seized power in a 1962 coup, went on Facebook and discovered memes, emojis and global conversations about gender politics.

“Even though these are dark days and my heart breaks with all these images of bloodshed, I’m more optimistic because I see women on the street,” said Dr. Miemie Winn Byrd, a Burmese-American who served as a lieutenant colonel in the United States Army and is now a professor at the Daniel K. Inouye Asia-Pacific Center for Security Studies in Honolulu. “In this contest, I will put money on the women. They are unarmed, but they are the true warriors.”

That passion has ignited across the country, despite Tatmadaw crackdowns in past decades that have killed hundreds of people.

“Women took the frontier position in the fight against dictatorship because we believe it is our cause,” said Ma Ei Thinzar Maung, a 27-year-old politician and former political prisoner who, along with another woman the same age, led the first anti-coup demonstration in Yangon five days after the putsch.

That passion has ignited across the country, despite Tatmadaw crackdowns in past decades that have killed hundreds of people.

“That was the time I committed myself to working toward abolishing the military junta,” she said. “Minorities know what it feels like, where discrimination leads. And as a woman, we are still considered as a second sex.”

“That must be one of the reasons why women activists seem more committed to rights issues,” she added.

While the National League for Democracy is led by Ms. Aung San Suu Kyi, its top ranks are dominated by men. And like the Tatmadaw, the party’s highest echelons have tended to be reserved for members of the country’s ethnic Bamar majority.

On the streets of Myanmar, even as the security forces continue to fire at unarmed protesters, the makeup of the movement has been far more diverse. There are Muslim students, Catholic nuns, Buddhist monks, drag queens and a legion of young women.

“Gen Z are a fearless generation,” said Honey Aung, whose younger sister, Kyawt Nandar Aung, was killed by a bullet to the head on Wednesday in the city of Monywa. “My sister joined the protests every day. She hated dictatorship.”

In a speech that ran in a state propaganda publication earlier this week, General Min Aung Hlaing, the army chief, sniffed at the impropriety of the protesters, with their “indecent clothes contrary to Myanmar culture.” His definition is commonly considered to include women wearing trousers.

Moments before she was shot dead, Ms. Kyal Sin, dressed in sneakers and torn jeans, rallied her fellow peaceful protesters.

As they staggered from the tear gas fired by security forces on Wednesday, Ms. Kyal Sin dispensed water to cleanse their eyes. “We are not going to run,” she yelled, in a video recorded by another protester. “Our people’s blood should not reach the ground.”

“She is the bravest girl I have ever seen in my life,” said Ko Lu Maw, who photographed some of the final images of Ms. Kyal Sin, in an alert, proud pose amid a crowd of prostrate protesters.

Under her T-shirt, Ms. Kyal Sin wore a star-shaped pendant because her name means “pure star” in Burmese.

“She would say, ‘if you see a star, remember, that’s me,’” said Ms. Cho Nwe Oo, her friend. “I will always remember her proudly.”

#tw murder #state sponsored violence #Myanmar #activism

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ggukkiedae · 4 years ago

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❝𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤❞

𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜:

⇢ jeno explores the streets of la with hannah

⇢ set in january 2018

𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜:

⇢ conversations written in italics are spoken in english. requests and feedback are highly appreciated!

“This isn’t a good idea, Hannah.”

“Jeno, it’s only eight. Relax.”

Jeno looked around anxiously. He didn’t think that he’d be spending his last night in LA walking around some unknown streets with one of his best friends. Not that he didn’t like being with Hannah. On the contrary, he loved being with her. It’s just the concept of roaming around an unknown city at night that freaked him out.

“Hey, you cute little thing!”

A man whistled in Hannah’s direction. She just rolled her eyes at him. Jeno, on the other hand, turned towards the man and narrowed his eyes. He knew that people in America did things like this, but he didn’t think he’d have to watch someone do it to Hannah. He glared and draped an arm around Hannah, pulling her closer to him. Maybe he should have insisted on her wearing jeans instead of shorts. Well, he wouldn’t be able to stop her anyway.

“It isn’t safe for you,” he pulled her along faster.

“Okay, big boy, first of all,” she laughed and wrapped an arm around his waist, “I’m not alone. You’re here with me. Second, I’m from California. I know my stuff.”

“Yeah,” he gave her a pointed look, “San Francisco, not LA. And how long do you think it is till someone notices that I’m not some grown man and that I’m only seventeen in this country?”

She scoffed, “Seventeen-year-olds in this country have gone to prison.”

“Not helping!”

Jeno could only hang his head in exasperation as Hannah laughed at him. Here he was worrying about her safety (and his own!), and she was just laughing in his face. He halted and let go of her, taking a step back and watched her throw her head back in amusement. She seemed to act way more carefree now that they were in America.

He was surprised when she took his hand and pulled him forward.

“Stop staring, Jen, and hurry up! I found this really good street with tons of food carts online.”

Jeno did not know what was happening.

Well, he had a good comprehension of English because of being with Hannah and Mark most of the time, but everything around him was zipping past his ears. All he could focus on was how Hannah was rushing around the streets more excited than she had been in a few years. For the first time in a while, she was genuinely glowing with youth.

For some reason, it made his heart speed up.

And he was distracted enough to accidentally run into a small group of people. He jolted back to reality and muttered a quick sorry and stepped to the side. The group of girls giggled and moved to the side, whispering things to each other and looking at Jeno in a way that made him uncomfortable.

“Hannah?” He looked around for her, wondering where she went.

“Yes?”

“Yah!” Jeno jumped as she appeared right in front of him. “Don’t scare me like that. Those girls over there are scary enough.”

Her scan of him made him feel queasy. It was almost as if she could see right through him. For some reason, it made him a little nervous. Anyway, he watched the way her eyes trailed him from head to toe, then he followed as they glanced over to the group of girls he pointed to earlier. They were now grimacing as they looked at Hannah, but the smiles appeared on their faces once they caught him looking once again. That was weird.

“They like you,” she smirked.

Jeno’s jaw dropped. “What? No, they don’t.”

“Trust me, Jen, they do,” she crossed her arms, but not before she tugged a little bit at his jacket. “I dressed you well, and you’re not so bad on the eyes for a nineteen-year-old.”

“Seventeen in this country, and you just used the clothes from our filming,” he rolled his eyes before leaning down to align his face with hers and raising his eyebrows. “Are you calling me handsome?”

“Please,” she scoffed at him, “I’m speaking objectively. And you know you look good. Those girls staring at you? It’s on you, my friend.”

Jeno looked back at the group of girls in a mix of discomfort and disgust. He wanted them off his back as soon as possible. He looked back at Hannah with a silent plea for help. She just chuckled and pressed a kiss to Jeno’s cheek and, for the second time that night, took his hand.

“Now they think you’re off-limits,” she grinned. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks.” They walked off towards a less crowded street that seemed to have a few more high-end shops compared to the food carts they had been going through. That’s when he realized. “Hey, what about you? Why aren’t guys staring at you?”

“Calling me pretty, now?” she asked him, making him shrug, face lightly heating up. “Well, I’m here with you, and all those guys who I saw notice me saw you.”

He smirked at her. “They think I’m your boyfriend, huh?”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” The way she looked at him, the playful glint in her eye made his breath hitch in his throat and heart skip a beat. She laughed. “Trying to be as flirty as Nana, Jeno? Yeah, nice try.”

He watched as she walked down the street, pulling him along with her. Why did he get flustered? Why did the thought of people thinking he was her boyfriend satisfy him? Why did seeing their clasped hands make his insides melt? And why did seeing the way she laughed while showing him the streets of LA make his heart race?

Oh no.

He knew where this was going, and he didn’t think he liked it.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked him, eyebrows knitting together in slight worry. “Why are you being so quiet?”

It took one look at her worried face that made all these thoughts flow into him at once. She made him feel comfortable. She didn’t make things easy, and she knew him. She knew when he was ecstatic, she knew when he was upset, and he could easily talk to her about everything.

He liked her.

“Jen?”

Oh god, he liked her.

“Jeno?”

He liked his best friend and groupmate. He liked the girl standing in front of him. He liked Lee Hannah.

“Lee Jeno!”

“Let’s get rings!”

He nearly regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He watched as the worry disappeared from her face, replaced by a chuckle.

“Okay,” she shook her head in amusement, “a little fast there. You’ve gotta at least take me out to dinner before asking me to marry you.”

“No!” The sudden raise in his voice called a few bystanders’ attention. Jeno facepalmed. “I mean, not like that, Hannah. It’s just that you’re gonna be with 127 and with U now, and I don’t think I’ll be there for all your stages…”

That was a good save, he thought to himself.

“So to keep up our tradition?” she smiled. “Sounds like a good idea.”

He was grateful that that seemed to distract her from how weird he was acting. He looped her arm through his and pulled her over to one of the jewelry stores he could see on the street. “Come on, I’ll pay.”

“Are you sure? Because I can do half.”

“No,” he shushed her, “consider this my Christmas present. I told you I’d get you one in LA. You just need to do the talking.”

The huge smile on her face was worth it.

That’s how he found himself watching while Hannah looked around the cases in the jewelry shop, constantly asking Jeno for his opinion on which rings would look best on them without hindering their stage outfits. Well, not like Hannah would care. Knowing her, she’d wear it without hesitation whether or not the stylists let her. And if she would do that, then so would he.

“Oh, how about this?” she pointed to two simple silver bands. “It says here that we can engrave stuff on the inside. How about crowns?”

“Crowns?” He was amused by her excitement over everything.

“Yeah,” she grinned. “Jaehyun oppa calls me princess, and it caught on with the other oppas. And the fans call you a prince. It seems fitting.”

“It seems so,” he nodded. “Don’t they look a little small, though?”

“True,” she pondered before calling over an employee. “Excuse me? Do these rings come in bigger sizes?”

“Choosing a promise ring for you and your boyfriend?” The clerk gave them a knowing look.

Well, Jeno knew what that meant. He shook his hands and laughed.

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” Hannah clarified, “he’s my best friend. We kind of just want matching rings for this tradition that we have before we go on stage.”

“Sorry,” the clerk apologized, “I just assumed. Dancers, huh?”

“You can say that.”

“Well, this is a good choice,” the clerk took the rings out of the case and showed it to them. “This is stainless steel, and it doesn’t corrode or get scratches easily. Also, it’s meant for your pinkies, so it’s naturally small.”

Hannah quickly translated it for Jeno, and he picked one of the rings up to have a closer look. It was simple and understated, and they could easily add it to stage or photoshoot outfits without being scolded.

“I like it.”

“Me, too. Can we possibly get a crown engraved on the inside of each of them?”

“You’d have to come back here in thirty minutes,” the clerk pondered, “and the store usually closes at that time, but I guess you can come back at 11:30, and I’ll have these ready for you. There’s a cafe down the street that’s open till three in the morning. You can wait there. How will you pay?”

“Thank you,” Hannah smiled, “by card, please. Yah, Jeno, it’s already eleven?”

“Huh?” Jeno checked his phone, and his eyes widened as he saw both the time and the amount of missed calls from Jaemin and Mark. He shook his head and pulled out his wallet while the clerk brought them over to the counter. “Hannah, check your phone.”

“Oh shit,” she mumbled once she saw her screen. “Mark is so gonna kill me. I told him we’d be back by nine.”

The two exchanged a look. The clerk handed Jeno his card and a claim stub back. He accepted it and turned back to Hannah.

“Should we buy them food to make up for it?”

“Probably.”

Thirty-five minutes later, Jeno and Hannah find themselves walking back to their hotel, new rings on their fingers. Jeno couldn’t help smiling when he saw the light reflect off of the band on Hannah’s pinkie while she talked to Mark. It was an English conversation, and he didn’t really try comprehending it.

He watched the way her eyes lit up as she looked at their surroundings, a stark difference from Korea and Ukraine, which she had just visited. She was radiating excitement despite probably being scolded by Mark over the phone. She glowed differently under the lights of LA’s nightlife, and it was something he was glad he could witness.

The glimmer of her new ring once again caught his attention. He lifted his own pinkie which held his ring and poked hers without a thought, making her glance at him in the middle of her explaining something to Mark. She laughed and hung up on the elder and looked at Jeno.

“We’re in trouble with Mark,” she began, “but the managers know nothing.”

“Good,” he draped an arm around her. “We’re in the clear, then.”

“We’ll see,” she snorted. “When Mark gets mad, he gets mad. But, hey. We’re in this together.”

Jeno raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re his roommate.”

“And you’re my best friend,” she laughed while holding up her pinkie to show her ring.

“Right. Best friend.”

#hannah.nct2018 #nct 24th member #nct dream 8th member #nct female member #nct female addition #hannah #lee hannah

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expensiveglasses · 4 years ago

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Charming chapter 6

Summary: Prince Jungkook was as infuriating as he was beautiful. In line to one day be king, he requested your guidance in the ways of his people. In turn he will make you laugh, give your family fine gifts, and become an invaluable friend. Unfortunately, he will also make you fall in love with him. But the most unfortunate thing of all was his betrothal…to Snow White

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, Angst, Snow white/au

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 4590

Warnings: This is the chapter the warnings have been about. It’s a heavier chapter in the second half dealing with “death” and attempted suicide. Nothing is graphically described, but if you are sensitive to that subject matter, you may want to avoid the last few paragraphs.

Trigger warnings are TW: Major character “death” TW: Thoughts of suicide TW: Attempted suicide.

. .

A month had passed since Else’s wedding and the summer was slowly coming to an end. It made it easier to do chores when the air was cooler; more pleasant to sit outside and do the washing. Though you’d mostly neglected that for the last few weeks.

You hadn’t seen your friend as much since her marriage and so you’d spent even more time with the dwarfs and Snow in their cottage. The prince joined most nights, bringing food and humor with him. You’d quickly learned he was a master of terrible jokes and couldn’t help but like him all the more for it.

This morning your mother had sent you in search of berries. She claimed to want to make preserves, but you were wise enough to know she just wanted to go see a friend and gossip. You didn’t mind so much as you chose to dawdle around the edge of the forest, plucking blueberries from bushes and placing them in your basket.

You saw the prince making his way towards you long before he reached you. The sight of him made your insides feel funny, like little wings sweeping delicately against your ribcage and you bent down to survey a raspberry bush, plucking eagerly at the juicy red fruit.

“Good morning.” The prince greeted as he reached your side and you stood straight to gaze up at him.

“Good morning, Jungkook. You’re out very early today; normally I don’t see you until evening.”

“I finished my lessons early today.” He grinned, something mischievous in his twinkling eyes, and you felt that perhaps he’d snuck out before actually finishing his training.

“I hope you won’t get a tongue lashing for this.” You teased, moving further up the path towards a strawberry bush and plucking one to try. “Mmm, they’re amazing right now. Would you like to try one?”

You moved to take another bite of yours, but the prince was faster, grabbing your wrist and pulling the berry towards his mouth, allowing plump lips to encircle the rest of the berry and separate it from its calyx.

For a moment, everything stilled, your heart thumping wildly in your chest as his fingers remained delicately around your wrist. His gaze was wild; heated on yours as he stepped towards you. Heart racing, you let the end of the strawberry fall from your finger tips and onto the ground.

“Sweet.” He murmured, licking the juice from the corner of his mouth and your vision was pulled toward the sight before you quickly looked away.

The prince paused before stepping back, staring down at the strawberry bush and into your own basket. “You’re picking berries this morning? May I help?”

“Yes, of course.” You nodded, turning back to the strawberry bush and plucking fresh fruit to drop into your basket. “There’s more in the forest.” You signaled, beginning to walk and he followed after you.

“What were you studying today?” You asked as you began to pick from new bushes. Jungkook stood nearby, loading his hand with blueberries.

“Foreign politics and language specifically. These are topics that I studied in school as well, but my father wants me polished in the policies of our own kingdom, of course.”

“Are foreign policies of other lands so different from our own?” You asked, walking closer to him so he could drop the berries in his hands into your basket.

“It depends on the country.” He mused, crouching low to pick from more difficult spots. “The ones nearby are very similar, but across waters it begins to diversify greatly. Of course, all people are human at their core, intrinsically the same if we’re all torn down to the beginnings, but traditions and belief systems vary. It’s good to have a working knowledge of any land we may come to have dealings with.”

“Ah, the duties of a king.” You smiled softly as he stood to his full height beside you. The prince drifted closer to you as you weaved your way deeper into the forest. Close enough that you could feel the graze of his sleeve against yours, smell the fresh saffron against his tunic.

“Duty, I find, is a very inconvenient thing.” He looked at you and you pondered his words curiously.

“What do you mean?” You inquired gently, slowing your pace to match his.

“Always to be bound to one’s duty, never to allow the heart to decide.”

You paused a moment. “And what does the heart wish for?” You whispered, looking up at him. He’d come to a stop and you stilled as well, turning to face him.

“I think you know.” He returned just as softly. The weight of his words was heavy to bear; it brought with it a joy you’d felt was impossible. You had hoped he would say something like that; that he’d been feeling what you were feeling. You were flush with warmth at the admission.

“But your heart cannot have its desires?”

He smiled sadly, eyes softening as he looked at you. “Duty, you see. It seems it bends for no one.”

“I wish it would.” You admit timidly and he sighed, taking your hand carefully in his own.

“As do I.”

“Snow says we mustn’t worry now, after all, the future continues and we do not know what it holds.” You smiled, feigning an optimism you didn’t really feel. If even a prince could not choose for himself, why should you feel things could be any different for you?

At least you knew you weren’t the only one wishing.

“Should we go see her?” Jungkook smiled and you nodded. He released your hand and you strode ahead of him, leading him further into the forest and eventually into the clearing that held the dwarf’s cottage.

Snow was not alone when you arrived; however, and the two of you stood startled in the doorway as you took notice of her with a young man by the hearth of the fire. They looked up at the two of you as the door swung open and Snow smiled, coming to pull you into a hug.

“You’ve come!” She cried happily. “I was so hoping you would. I wanted to introduce you both to my friend, Diterich. He’s the one I told you of, who saved me.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your majesty.” Diterich said, bowing low. “Ma’am.” He said, inclining his head towards you and you smiled in return.

He was a handsome young man, dark, shaggy blonde hair and bright green eyes. He was well built and had a bow strapped to his back; you wondered if that was his profession. He was certainly not close to Snow in rank, but he held himself as though he were made for something more than his station in life and you liked that quiet confidence. You supposed Snow did too, based on the way she looked at him.

Love sick. It made your heart ache for her and you looked carefully over at Jungkook. Destiny had not been kind to any of you.

“I’ve heard of your kindness to my friend.” Jungkook said, “When everything is well again, you should be rewarded.”

Diterich shook his head, staring down at Snow, the same look of love she’d bestowed on him, and smiled. “With all due respect, your majesty, I didn’t do it for reward.”

“I like you all the better for it.” Jungkook smiled. “How did you come to find her, though?”

“Snow sent me a communication through letter. One of the dwarfs found me in Snow’s kingdom, at her direction, and delivered it personally. I am indebted to him. It has given me much comfort to see her safe and well. I am only sorry I could not bring her some of her clothes.”

Snow waved his comment away. “It is a small inconvenience. Besides, I am far happier to have your company than to have all my dresses back. All three of you. Will you be staying for supper?”

She looked to both Jungkook and yourself and you smiled with a shrug. “It’s still so early in the day so it’s hard to say, but I imagine I’ll be able to spare some time this evening.”

“I should hope so! By the way, did you happen to notice if there are any gooseberry bushes nearby? I want to make a pie tomorrow.”

You nodded, pointing out the window. “Yes, in fact, there are some just before the tree line. Over there.”

“Wonderful!” Snow cried, clapping her hands together. “Then tomorrow you can expect some pie.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” You said.

“Snow has said you’ve been friends since childhood.” Jungkook said suddenly, “but I never did ask how the two of you had met.”

He inspected them with the same interest you had and you wondered if he could see what you could. The prince was intelligent, so you imagined the shared looks of longing had not been missed. Diterich looked to Snow before answering.

“We met as children. My father was a huntsman in their court and I was raised to take his place. As children, we would play in the castle together. We got into trouble a lot,” he grinned, “a princess wasn’t meant to be wrestling with a common boy. Kindred spirits, my mother would say. When my father passed, I took his place as a huntsman in the royal court. Youngest in Vildüngan history.”

His chest puffed as he said it and you smiled. “Your family must be very proud.”

He nodded, expression dropping suddenly. “My mother and sister are all I have left. They’re in hiding, though. As am I. The queen found out about the pig’s heart and ordered my head. It’s why I came here; to warn Snow.”

You looked to the princess in alarm, but she smiled at you with all the serenity of one whose life isn’t in perpetual danger. “She doesn’t know I’m here.” Snow assured, squeezing your arm. “All is well.”

“We need to start thinking of ways to get you back to your kingdom. You’re its rightful heir!” Jungkook insisted and she tutted, moving away from the hearth of the fire and towards the kitchen to keep her hands busy.

“It will all work out somehow, I have faith.” She replied flippantly and Jungkook looked angry.

“Why won’t you take this seriously?” He chastised. “She wants you dead and is actively seeking your heart. Let my father help, we can do something; go against her.”

“No.” She insisted, turning sharply to look at him. “I don’t want anyone else to be pulled into this. No one need inconvenience or injure themselves on my behalf. I’m already uneasy with how many people are involved; how many lives are directly affected because of this…I won’t have anymore.”

“But,” Jungkook began once more but was silenced as she frowned at him.

“I said no, Jungkook.”

The prince sighed, rubbing at his forehead in frustration. “Fine, I can’t make you take your safety more seriously. I must return home.” He bowed before turning towards the door and you looked from Snow back to Jungkook before following him out into the clearing, basket full of berries swinging from your arm.

“Jungkook!” You called, rushing to his side. He didn’t slow so you walked with him through the forest in silence. Just as the trees were thinning, Jungkook slowed his pace, sighing loudly.

“I’m afraid I won’t be seeing you again until the day after next.” At your questioning look, he proceeded. “My father and I are expecting foreign dignitaries this evening and we will play host until tomorrow evening as well. I won’t have time to spare while they’re here.”

“Duty, as you say.” You smiled. He returned your soft smile, nodding and reaching for your hand.

“I will be seeing you.” He said, leaving a soft kiss on the back of your hand before making his way back up to the castle. . .

Your mother was in the garden when you returned, cutting cucumbers from their stalks. She looked up as you came through the gate, waving you over.

“Why did it take so long to pick berries?” Your mother asked with a frown, taking the basket from your arms.

“I went to say hello to the dwarfs while I was in the area.” You said, bending down beside her and helping to dig up carrots at her direction.

“You’re there too often these days; what business does a young woman have visiting 7 old men so often? Aren’t they in the mines at this time of day anyway?”

You sighed, brushing hair from your face as you dropped a couple carrots into the basket beside your mother. “Well, now that Else is married I don’t always have anyone to visit.”

Your mother frowned. “Perhaps you should think of getting married soon.” She said and you looked up at her startled.

“Get married? It’s not that easy, mother. I’m not even being courted.”

She gave you a look, eyes shifting over to the house. “If you gave a little more effort where prudent, perhaps that wouldn’t be a problem.”

You sighed, shaking your head and pulling another carrot from the dirt. “I’m not in love with Peter.” You whispered.

Your mother laughed, wiping her hands on her skirt. “Love? We don’t have that luxury, my dear. You know that.” She stood, hands extended for the basket full of vegetables and you handed it up to her before standing and grabbing your own basket with berries. “I expect you here all day tomorrow. You’ve been neglecting your duties and it’s time you start preparing to run a house of your own. Time waits for no one, you know.”

She walked into the house and you watched after her, chewing on your bottom lip as you willed the tears of frustration back. You wiped your hands on the apron over your dress before walking into the house and out of the sun.

Peter and your father were in the corner, both working with new fabrics. Peter looked up at you, offering you a small smile before returning to his work and you sighed softly to yourself. Why couldn’t you just love him? . .

Your hands were sore. You’d been at the river all morning with your mother washing linen. It had been your job to beat the linen with a poss-stick as your mother insisted that’s what youth was for. You wondered if you’d ever be able to move again. What good was youth if it was wasted away on chores?

Hands feeling like they might just fall off, you wrung out the last of the fabrics before dropping it in your basket and heaving this onto your hip. Your mother chatted aimlessly as you walked from the riverside and around the edge of the forest towards your home.

You cast your eyes up towards the castle as it came into view around the bend of the trees and wondered idly what Jungkook was doing today. You knew he was entertaining foreign dignitaries, of course, but you couldn’t even imagine what that entailed. Perhaps they were holed up in some room discussing trade.

“Can you imagine living there?” Your mother asked, taking note of your gaze. You sighed, looking from her and back to the castle.

“Only in our dreams, mother.”

She hummed, shifting her own laundry basket in her arms. “If we lived in a place like that, I imagine we could have someone else tend to our washing. Our cooking, too. What must their food be like, hmm?”

You chuckled, kicking a pebble across the dirt path. “I suppose we’ll never know. Grand, I imagine, though. Warm potatoes and bread, sweet dessert’s whenever we ask for them. I would eat everything and die happy if I were them.”

“Thanks to the prince, we can have some share in their prosperity.” Your mother commented and you could see her looking at you from the corner of her eye. “He’s been very generous, as of late.”

You nodded; eyes trained on the dirt path beneath your feet. “Yes, he has been very kind.”

“He was never so kind when he was a boy. I wonder at the change.” She remarked and you wondered if she suspected more than she let on. She’d never seen the two of you together; aside from when he and his father had visited your home a few months ago.

“Perhaps he had a very good education.” You said as the roof of your home came into view. “Rumor has it he went to a school for training.”

“Rumor, you say?” She asked and you nodded, pushing through the gate in front of your house.

Conversation stopped then as the two of you went about hanging the laundry from the lines and working in the garden. Peter and your father were working on mending clothing in the home, so you didn’t feel like discussing the king and his son in their presence. It seemed your mother was also of the same mind set.

As the sun waned and the evening became cooler, Peter left your home with goodbyes and well wishes. You were only just finishing supper when the wind outside began to howl. Your father peaked his head outside the door and you watched as you ladled stew into bowls.

“A storm is approaching.” He commented softly. “I must make sure the animals are secured.” He left the home to the small stable behind your house and you listened as the wind whistled loudly from outside the walls.

“We’ve not had rain in a while.” Your mother said, helping you to bring the food to the small table. “It will be good for the crops.”

The storm raged loudly through the night, rain pounding against the timber frame of your home. It was difficult to sleep with all the noise; thunder and lightning bursting loudly across the sky. You could hear your father snoring from the small room next to yours and it soon lulled you into a fitful sleep. . .

Mornings after a storm were your favorite. The calm as opposition to the fierce raging of wind the night before a reminder that brighter days always followed the rain. You’d managed to convince your mother to allow you to check on the dwarfs this morning. You imagined they were mostly protected from the elements in their place among the trees. Even so.

After a quick breakfast of pottage, you dressed and made your way towards the forest. The sun was already sitting comfortably in the sky, illuminating the crystal blue sky and you listened happily to the sounds of birds singing as you walked through the fields.

You found, to your surprise, the prince already waiting by the forests edge. He sat upon a boulder; legs draped out in front of him as he pulled blades of grass apart as distraction. He looked up as your footsteps roused his attention, smile spreading across his lips.

“Y/N.” He beamed, standing and coming to meet you.

“I’m surprised to see you so early!” You exclaimed. “Won’t your father be missing you?”

“Actually, he and our guests drank well into the evening. They will be spending the next few hours recovering in bed.” He said with a roguish grin and you chuckled, making your way into the forest.

The prince followed quickly. “Did you not drink yourself, your majesty?” You teased and he smiled at you.

“I did, but only a little. I knew I wanted to use the opportunity to see you.”

You looked away with a small chuckle, smoothing hair away from your face.

“Well, here I am.” You smiled. Before you could continue, there was a heavy rustling in the trees and both you and Jungkook stopped, watching with unease as something came crashing through the branches.

To your surprise; it was the dwarfs who came rushing into sight and they stopped suddenly, panting before you.

“Y/N, your majesty!” Doc gasped, clutching at his rounded belly as he took deep steadying breaths. The panic in his tone was palpable and your back straightened in alarm.

“What’s wrong?” You asked. Jungkook seemed just as tense from their unusual greeting and you waited with baited breath for your friends to continue.

“It’s Snow.” Doc finally said and your alarm rose.

“What of her?” The prince asked sharply and all eyes turned to him. The dwarfs were still breathing heavily from their run; disrupting the usual quiet of the forest.

“Your majesty!” Sleepy blubbered, hardly able to contain himself. “Snow has died.”

“What?!” You gasped, eyes swiveling desperately to each face, each as stricken as the next.

“How?!” The prince demanded and Doc was quick to try and calm the atmosphere.

“She has not died.” He pacified. Your chest was so tight you thought it might burst. How could someone possibly die and not die all at the same time? “She’s been put under a spell; a sleeping spell.”

“I don’t understand.” Jungkook said tersely. You’d never seen him look so distraught.

“Allow me to explain.” Doc continued, “An old hag came to the cottage when we were away. She had a basket of apples. I’m unsure how, but Snow came to acquire one.”

“It was poisoned and that foolish girl took a bite.” Grumpy cried furiously.

Doc tried once more to continue, but Happy spoke first. “We chased the hag, but it was difficult in the storm. Chased her up the mountain but she slipped and fell off. It was the queen, your majesty. It was her stepmother.”

“Did you capture her?” Jungkook asked angrily, back ramrod straight as he paced back and forth. “Did you tie her up to be tried for her crimes?”

“No need,” Bashful said, shaking his head. “The queen is dead. She died from the fall.”

“What of Snow?” You rasped, “where is she?”

“That’s why we were coming for you, your majesty.” Doc said once again. “It was old magic the queen used; ancient. Unless she can find true loves kiss, she’ll remain asleep forever. We can take you to her.”

“True loves kiss?” Jungkook asked, voice cracking in his grief.

The dwarfs nodded. “It’s the only cure.” Sneezy bemoaned. “That’s why we came to find you, your majesty.”

“Me?” Jungkook asked, looking to you and back to the dwarfs.

They looked to you; gazes filled with pity before Doc spoke once more. “You are her betrothed, your majesty. If not you, then who?”

The pain in your chest was severe. Fracturing from the loss of a friend; ripping apart as the prospect of losing the one man you truly loved loomed like a shadow over you.

“What do I have to do?” He whispered and you looked up at him.

“True loves kiss.” Dopey murmured, eyes shifting over to you sadly and then back to the prince.

It was silent for what felt like eternity, the gravity of the situation sinking in and you felt buried under the weight of it; the forest floor waiting to accept you. The prince looked to you, tears already in his eyes, but your own vision of him quickly blurred.

“I have to try.” Jungkook choked and you could feel your heart break a little more, “she’s one of my closest friends. I can’t sit back and do nothing; I couldn’t live with myself. I have to try.”

“I understand.” You murmured. “What if you’re able to wake her?”

Jungkook paused, his eyelashes fluttering closed, a line drawing between his eyes. “Let’s not think about it right now. I have to go.” He gave you one last glance before darting further into the forest with the dwarfs and out of sight. Was it possible to die from a broken heart? You were sure the question had been asked before…you were also sure the answer was yes. Your heart ached in a way you’d never imagined it could.

The love of your life was running to the side of another woman, and though you knew his reasoning was righteous and sound, you ached for the inevitable outcome. A prince was meant to be with a princess. This was no fairy tale, not for you, at least. You can’t always have what you want.

But as you stood there in the grass, surrounded by your broken dreams, you mourned what you could never have had. Even if Snow had not eaten the apple, even had she not been born at all, you would never have been given your heart’s desire; your class was decided before you were born and you would do well to remember it.

When Snow awoke, as she inevitably would, you would be left to watch them marry. Worse still, your father would likely be commissioned to make Jungkook’s wedding clothes and you would be expected to help. That was a bitter truth you could not swallow. To carry the wedding clothing of the man you were desperately in love with…only for him to wear them with someone else.

You could not do it.

Your feet began to take you before your mind could catch up. The dwarves’ home, tucked delicately between the trees and the stream. The lighting surrounding the cottage was dim despite the morning hour, the house dark in the absence of the once warm lighting; filled with the dwarfs and Snow’s laughter and song.

Now it felt as empty as your heart. The evening turned chilly, the storm from yesterday taking with it the sun from the late summer and you shivered at the thresh hold, lifting your hand carefully to push against the door.

With a soft creak, the door swung open and you glanced inside. In their haste, everything had been left exactly as it was. An uncooked gooseberry pie sat on the counter top, flour strewn across. The fire in the fire place had long gone out. And there, by the table, an apple with one bite.

You stood in the door way a moment, staring down at the beautiful red skin of the nearly pristine apple. Contemplating. You could not bear to face a future without him in it.

With three quick strides, you picked up the apple and ran from the house, seeking out the privacy the trees afforded you. Not far from the home, in a particularly dense part of the forest, you stood staring down at the beautiful, red fruit.

A choice, so simple yet so difficult. One bite; you knew that’s all it would take…but was it really worth it? The light was fading fast this deep in the forest and you shivered, looking around in the darkness.

You thought of Jungkook again, of his handsome, smiling face. His kind and gentle heart, his loyalty and good nature. Was he with Snow White now? Had she already woken up? He was no longer your Jungkook; forever the kingdoms Jungkook and your heart wept.

You wouldn’t even be missed.

Staring down at the apple you closed your eyes, breathing slowly out of your nose before bringing it to your lips and taking a bite. It was bitter, acidic, and it burned. You coughed, dropping the apple to the ground and fell to your knees, spluttering, eyes watering as your tongue swelled and you felt your blood turn to ice in your veins.

Everything hurt, your limbs felt like they were made of fire, burning, burning, burning and then black.

Here’s the second to last chapter! The 7th is already finished and in editing. I hope you loved this chapter as much as I loved writing it and I can’t wait to hear from you! <3

#jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts jungguk #bts jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook

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blackswaneuroparedux · 5 years ago

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The Bunad: roots of a nationalist symbol

The bunad is a Norwegian folk costume which exists in many regional varieties. A symbol of rootedness and belonging both local and national, the bunad is ubiquituous on Constitution Day, 17 May, but it is also used at other festive occasions. Although it is far more widespread among women than men, male bunads have become common in some social circles.

Can anyone wear a bunad? Is it a real bunad if it is made in China? Is it a symbol of origin and roots or a nationalistic symbol?

It is estimated that Norwegians own altogether 2.5 million bunads, worth more than 40 billion kroner (€500 million). In other words, one in two citizens owns a bunad, and they are expensive garments with embroideries and filigree silver ornaments, consisting of several components often including aprons, headdresses, scarves or shawls. You could easily buy a few prestigious and beautiful dresses from famous designers for the cost of a single bunad. Moreover, bunad ownership and use has grown fast in the last few decades.

The increased popularity of bunads could be put down to the growing prosperity of the population of oil-rich Norway in general. But this is hardly the whole story. A symbol of Norwegianness, rootedness and regional origins, wearing a bunad is a statement about identity. Non-Norwegians are often puzzled by its widespread use, since folk dresses are associated with minorities in other parts of Europe. Perhaps the Norwegian identity is essentially a minority identity, even though independence was achieved through a bloodless secession from the Swedish–Norwegian union in 1905.

The ongoing story of the bunad is complex and involves claims and counter-claims about authenticity, the feared and respected ‘bunad police’ and a vivid popular discourse about who has the moral right to wear which bunad. The right not to wear a bunad is generally tolerated, but there is no strong and visible cosmopolitan discourse dismissing the widespread love of folk costumes as antediluvian, reactionary, nationalist and possibly racist. Yet there is no consensus concerning which dresses should be classified as sufficiently authentic and what the criteria are and it has led to controversies.

The bunad is a particular kind of festive dress. The term is a neologism based on an archaic dialect word, introduced in urban circles by the author and nationalist activist Hulda Garborg in her pamphlet Norsk klædebunad in 1903. Writing during a feverish phase of Norwegian nationalism just ahead of independence, Garborg argued the need for a truly Norwegian and regional form of formal dress. She collected and systematised what she saw as intact and useful regional bunad traditions, and even designed some bunads herself. Interestingly, Garborg never denied the syncretic and partly invented character of the new, traditionalist folk costume. She nevertheless emphasised its role as a marker of rural, Norwegian identity.

A relevant distinction can be drawn between a bunad and a folk costume. Folk costumes are everyday and festive clothes which were traditionally worn by peasants in southern Norway, and – like certain kinds of peasant food – have been recontextualised and upgraded more recently as formal dress. Bunads, on the contrary, are reconstructed and re-designed – sometimes very nearly purely invented – costumes designed from the early 20th century onwards, and are used at occasions such as Christmas Eve, Constitution Day, weddings and other major social events, although not at funerals: bunads are bright and joyful garments. Some bunads represent minor adjustments (‘upgradings’ and modernisations) of the original folk costume, while the link is less obvious or absent in other cases.

The bunad is an important traditionalist symbol of modern Norwegianness. Most of these costumes are related to regional and minority folk costumes from Central and Eastern Europe, and the German influence has often been commented upon. More importantly, the bunad confirms Norwegian identity as an essentially rural one, where personal integrity is linked to roots and regional origins. However, 18th and 19th century peasants would often wear European-style dress at formal occasions such as weddings, or they might wear a folk costume, which gradually went out of use. In other words, there is a clear element of modern invention, which nobody denies, not only in the currently widespread use of bunads, but also in their design.

What exactly, then, is a bunad? One possible answer widely accepted is: a festive dress associated with a regional Norwegian tradition, accepted by the Bunad and Folk Costume Council as such, and widely recognised as a bunad by the public. Its popularity as a symbol of tradition has increased proportionally with the modernisation and urbanisation of Norway in the last hundred years, thereby saying something essential about the politics and poetics of identity in modern societies, where the quest for rootedness in the past increases with de facto uprootedness.

In contemporary society, many if not most individuals have two, three or four options: they can legitimately wear a bunad designed in the place where they live, in the place where they grew up, or in one of their parents’ places of origin. They cannot, however, legitimately wear a bunad from wherever they fancy. Of course, they could buy it, but their friends and relatives might frown.

Norwegians who live in the heart of urban cities and have no real rural roots are sometimes unaware of people in the heart of Bunad Norway who are deeply offended. These rural Norwegians as they see it have no time for West End ladies who claim Telemark ancestry when they buy the perhaps greatest status symbol of all bunads, namely the expensive and exclusive East Telemark bunad. They also disapprove of people wearing gold chains and earrings with their bunads.

There are frequent conflicts over authenticity framed within the bunad discourse itself. In the valley of Numedal, competition between two alternative bunads actually led to the creation of two distinct factions in the 17 May parade of 2002. Family members fell out with each other; local politicians groped for compromises. One of the alternatives, a simple folk costume, is woven in dark fabrics; the complex, reconstructed bunad sanctioned by the Bunad and Folk Costume Council is much more elaborate and colourful. The defenders of the simple costume argue that the new one, ‘overloaded with silver and embroideries’, is inappropriate and clearly inauthentic for a traditionally poor mountain valley; while the other faction see the simple bunad as sordid and joyless. Both factions claimed that their bunad was the most ancient one. The colourful and expensive alternative won in the end.

The bunad stirs up strong emotions. After the 17 May celebrations in 2001, Queen Sonja was criticised in public for wearing sunglasses with her bunad; in the same year, Crown Princess Mette-Marit was severely reprimanded in the press for wearing a purely invented ‘fantasy costume’ rather than an authentic bunad from her home region. She has since made amends, and now has several bunads to choose between (legitimate in her case, being princess of the whole realm), including an elaborate bunad from her home county of Vest-Agder in the far south of the country. Women are generally advised by the Bunad and Folk Costume Council not to wear makeup and earrings with their bunad.

Because of the wealth of detail, a proper bunad cannot be made industrially in its entirety. This partly accounts for its high market price. Moreover, the knowledge and skill required to make a bunad is considered a cultural, local form of knowledge – a kind of inalienable possession. In the spring of 2002, a conflict erupted between the traditionalists and a young entrepreneur who wanted a slice of the market. This conflict inadvertently brought the implicit ideology underlying the bunad to the public eye. The controversy is still alive today, with cultural arguments overlapping with the economic ones.

What happened was this. A young Norwegian of Chinese origin, who originally worked as a cook, began to take an interest in bunads. He took a bunad course, learning the basics of the craft. Before going into business, he changed his name from Aching to John Helge Dahl, realising that he would have little credibility as a bunad salesman with a Chinese name. (The current owner of the company founded by Dahl is nevertheless called You Hong Bei.)

Dahl founded a company called ‘Norske Bunader’ (Norwegian bunads), and then he did the outrageous thing, namely to contract dozens of Chinese seamstresses in Shanghai to do the stitching and embroidery. The fabrics were sent from Norway, and the completed garments were returned – at a much lower price than that of the Norwegian competition. He built the bunads himself. ‘To most people, it is the quality that counts,’ he says, ‘not who has done the embroidery’. Of course, he can offer bunads at a competitive price.

The Bunad and Folk Costume Council reacted strongly against Mr. Dahl, as did Husfliden. At one point the latter threatened to sue him for plagiarism, but since bunad designs are not copyrighted, they were likely to lose a court case. Their argument was that the craft amounted to a locally embedded kind of knowledge which did not travel well, comparing it to dialects. Talking about mass production and industrialisation of bunad production, they argued that the use of foreign labour leads to cultural flattening. The resulting products were said to have no hau, to use the anthropologist Marcel Mauss’s term for the ‘soul’ of an object.

Opinions bitterly divided people. Many who defended the traditionalists said that this concerns ‘personal knowledge’. Bunad embroidery was a kind of handwriting. They argued that when anyone can take a pattern, send it abroad, and make a good profit from the product, people will ask: ‘What is it that I am spending one or two months’ salary on?’ Many argued that this kind of garment would feel alienating, and that it would not satisfy people’s emotional need to build their own history into the garment.

Another argument concerns the low salaries in China, claiming that it was immoral to hire ‘underpaid women’ to do this kind of work. Dahl’s Shanghai seamstresses were paid what he described as a good salary in China, but which is a fraction of a comparable Norwegian salary. Yet others have said that it may be acceptable to employ immigrant women living in Norway, who may have assimilated some local skills, but not to employ foreign women living abroad.

Although the Dahl case was spectacular in that it simultaneously brought out both accusations of racism and controversy concerning criteria for authenticity, his business innovation was less original than it might seem. Several producers admit that they outsource parts of their production to the Baltic countries and elsewhere where wages are low, and even Husfliden has admitted that parts of their bunads are made industrially because of the high cost of labour in Norway.

The anxieties voiced by the critics of the outsourcing of bunad production are threefold: In a thoroughly neo-liberal society (anyone can wear what she wants; anyone can design and make bunads anywhere in the world), national identity suffers because regional roots are severed; economic interests suffer because prices go down; and the personal or emotional pole of the user suffers since the garments lose their special quality.

In what exactly does this ‘special quality’ consist? What is the nature of the considerable personal capital invested into clothes?

What is reaped from this investment is a handsome profit, an enhanced sense of community and visible boundaries to the outside world. Cultural property of this kind is intangible, it is legally oblique, and it is poised to lose against both the brisk efficiency of contemporary capitalism and against the individualism of free choice.

So the main question as I see it: is what price your heritage?

Put your secret/sacred knowledge online, and the spell is immediately broken.

This kind of knowledge has to be scarce, localised and difficult to obtain, or it loses its magic qualities. Beyond pricing policies and profits, this is what stirs the souls of the people who care about the national and regional provenance of their bunad. Had they chosen a Dior dress instead, or a pair of blue jeans and a nice T-shirt, the problem would not have arisen.

Still critics argue why all the fuss? The Bunad is no different from what a kilt is to a Scotsman or a lederhosen is to the Bavarian or a sari is to an Indian. Yes and no. Each of these have differing degrees of exclusivity and symbology.

The kilt arguably was an English invention to control the Highland clans. But it became something else - a national symbol of being loyal to clan, crown and country. It used to be people only wore kilts if they had a hereditary claim to that tartan but nowadays no one really cares what tartan you wear (much to the chagrin of older generations). The lederhosen has always been a regional symbol not a national one but has been ‘McDonalised’ to an Oktoberfest fancy dress costume party. The sari is an interesting example that remains a distinctly Indian national symbol but can also now be readily worn by anyone around the world - just as well as I love wearing saris at Indian weddings and when I lived in India. But the Bunad is different because of its own distinct roots that has never left its national borders. The Bunad is a living tapestry and its threads can’t be simply out sourced to other countries.

One’s heritage should never be outsourced. To the anti-traditionalist naysayers I would say that the bunad is a special kind of garment saturated with symbolism and existential significance; it is from somewhere, not from anywhere. It’s Norwegian, born and bred.

#bunad #norway #custom #heritage #tradition #dress #folk #norge #norsk #culture #society #history

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theodora3022 · 4 years ago

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The Outlaw Prince Part.1 (Fanasty AU Shigaraki Tomura x F!reader)

Summary: As the sovereign Queen, you must sign every execution order before the punishment is performed. This give the criminal a final chance to plead for their case. You would summon them into the castle, treat them like guests, and hear their final words. Your grandfather was the one that made this tradition, to show how he is a merciful ruler (he is not, he is only doing this to save his reputation of a being tyrant). If they have some small final wishes, like what kind of coffin they like or some money for their family, you will fulfill that. Always have mercy on the dying, even they are murderers or human traffickers. That is what Grandpapa told you. You seen your father did this many times, but this is the first time you host such an event. Unfortunately, this criminal seems to have peaked your interests.

Notes: You all seem to love Shigaraki, so here I am. Maybe yandere in second part? This has been stewing in my mind ever since I thought about that fantasy AU. The reader is still the new Sovereign Queen, this happens before she takes suitors. Of course I am not going to make Tomura a conventional Prince! I may or may not write a bit nsfw in the later chapters, but don’t get your hopes up lol. I planned three parts, but it could get out of hand and become a multi-chapter project...

The other fics can be found on my master list.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Warnings: Swearing

This is the moment you dreaded ever since you put that ruby ring on. Signing death sentence warrants. You know it is going to come sooner or later, since you watched your father perform these duties, even accompanied him on several trials. It should not frighten you.

So why does this sense of unease have been plaguing you as of late?

Now you are sitting at your desk, studying the file of this unfortunate soul.

“Tomura Shigaraki, Crimes: attempt murder of one of the most renowned mercenaries, All might.” The stunt failed, and this man received the death sentence for it.

You had met All Might back when you were a princess and think of him as that caring uncle everyone wants. He once praised your sword techniques, leaving you flustered. Who would want such a wonderful man dead? Sociopaths, probably. That is what most criminals are, after all.

“Age:21”

He is about your age, although you cannot even begin to imagine what happened. What made a young man commit such immoral acts? There is more to this file, but you want to hear him firsthand without any prejudice. Shutting the folder, you massaged your temples and mentally prepared yourself for the trials. You received a messenger yesterday from the State Prison that they are transferring him here today. You are supposed to greet him in a few hours.

Grandpapa surely knows what he is getting his descendants into. Meeting criminals? Did he have too much time in his schedule? I know most of these people deserves death, but why do I have to be the final judge?

Cursing your grandfather under your breath, you decide to take a little nap before. Such an exhausting activity surely calls for a little rest prior, right?

As the third bell of the afternoon rang, you got up to stretch and yawn, then takes your time to the special dungeon. You had always disliked attendants trailing behind you, therefore you always traveled in the castle alone. Even if something were to happen, the sword in your skirt pocket can be put to use (That is one advantage of such elaborate crinolines). You are your most dependable protector, or so your grandfather said. So far the castle has been peaceful, thanks to the capable guards.

Even though you were supposed to treat them like guests, you cannot just let them occupy the regular guest rooms. Your grandpapa had built a special building in the northeast corner of the castle gardens, especially for this matter.

The door guards bowed to you as you stood in font of the metal gate, contemplating your mindset. Your father usually treated them like official business partners, cold and distant. That approach is prudent, but you want to do something different. You want them to open up to you, get to know them before you send them to their dooms. Maybe you can even get some wronged ones spared!

“This is the room, your majesty. Should I accompany you?” The steward of this building asks you nervously. Ah, your mind had wondered too far. You did not notice how you had followed him to the location.

“Thank you, but I’ll manage. You can sit on the other side of the glass and aid me if necessary.” You smile, though your tone is firm. This is a good chance to prove you are a competent monarch, interrogate a criminal alone.

The room was decently furnished, without a single unnecessary decoration. Except that big mirror that almost covers the entire wall, a mirror made with two-way glass, see through from the other side. Two armchairs, a little tea table in between and a couch.

There he is; the criminal you’re going to interrogate for the next month. He is sitting on the couch, with shackles on his wrists and ankles. His back is facing you, so you cannot see his appearance beside that messy blue hair.

“Finally here? Your Majesty? You certainly took your sweet time.” He did not come kiss your hand, as expected. Gods, how long has it been since he had a proper drink? Those chapped lips did not form within a day. Even with those scars, his crimson eyes still stood out as beautiful. Ignoring his mocking tone, you told the servants to bring tea and refreshments.

“Mr. Shigaraki. I am sure you know who I am, so I will skip the pleasantries. So, tell me about yourself.” Settling on one of the sofas, you start to caress the wooden handle of your sword. Even though this man is in tied in chains only long enough to just move around this room, the best thing to do it stay on your guard.

He laughs, almost sent a chill down your spine, but decides to take a set on the opposite sofa regardless. “Your country is an odd one.” Shigaraki studies you with that unsettling red gaze, with a grin on his lips. “The Queen has to have tea parties with criminals. Do you have nothing better to do?” That is when the maids brought the tea trays. She offers to come in to act as a chaperone, but you took the tea tray and assure her you are doing just fine.

“This is part of my duties. Sugar cube? Honey? Whichever you prefer.” Pouring yourself a cup of your favorite blend, you offer him some as well. Your mouth already started to water at the chocolate cake on the set.

Tomura is stunned, to say the least. He did not expect you to be so...friendly with a lowly criminal like him. He thought this is just another interrogation session, despite the guard had him bathed and dressed him in nice clothes. Sure, he knows this process, but he thought it was just a gesture of the ruling class to appear merciful.

Still, it would be rude to turn the invite from a beautiful lady like you.

He had heard about you before. A spoiled little girl who took the crown due to family tragedies. So why not indulge in some lighthearted conversations before meeting his end?

“...One teaspoon of honey.” Tomura wanted to add please at the end, then remembered the current situation. This tea sure smells good. When was the last time he drank such sophisticated beverage? He honestly cannot recall; it was such a long time ago...

The clear sound of fine porcelain landing in front of him woke Shigaraki from nostalgia. “So, mind introducing yourself, Sir?”

“You already read files about me.” “Maybe, but I want to hear your story from your lips.” You wonder whether it would be possible to let one of the guards apply lip balm on him, by force or otherwise. Taking a sip from the cup, Shigaraki begun to tell you about his hidden past.

“Despite my current situation, I was born to a high station. Although I am also the one who thrown all of it away. I abandoned my old name and took the current one. I have no family left, nothing to hold me back from my goals.” The tea is sweet, almost too sweet for his liking.

A noble fell from grace, then. You seen those kinds before, usually quite well-mannered, but bitter about how fate had treated them. At least you do not have to bear with profanities. You nod to signal him you are listening, stirring to dissolve the sugar cube. “So why would you kill Mr. Yagi? I personally would never do that, for example.”

Of course you would not. You are too good to even think about killing a hero like All Might. Girls born with golden spoons like you would never understand what peasants had to go through just for a mouthful of food.

“The current social order is crooked. Someone must fix it, by whatever means possible. Even if you were to kill me now, there’ still countless others like me. Have fun with them.” Putting down the cup, Tomura turns towards the small window on his right.

“Interesting. What is wrong with the current society?” Taking out a notebook, you begin to scribble with your pencil. “Do you think this continent should have anarchy?”

“Do you wish to give up your crown this badly? I thought you know better, little Queen. I guess I could tell you, you’re curious one.” Most people would spit on him as if Shigaraki is a rat from the sewers, forgotten who he was before descends to villainy. You are one of the few who shows compassion to him, fake or not. He wonders if this is your usual business attitude. Something in your knowledge hunger attitude, your glistening eyes makes him want to open up to you.

Kindness do come from least expected places.

“Those mercenaries, self-proclaimed heroes, disgusts me. They did the same thing as outlaws, taking lives. But they earn all those praises and adoration? Because of what? The f**king greater good.” Scratch the polite part, Shigaraki is clearly not above using swear words.

“Could you refrain from using vulgar language? You said you are of noble birth; you should know the proper protocol for talking to a monarch. Also, what is your place of birth? Which kingdom are you from?”

“I forsaken my status long ago, right now I’m nothing more then a lowlife. It is only fitting that I act like one. How about you tell me a bit about yourself, little Queen? It’s only fair, and I don’t have anyone to tell.” Cracking a wide smile, Shigaraki took amusement of how you shiver a little. Not so fearless after all, unlike the urban legends.

You do not see any harm in sharing whimsical details about yourself. Just treat him like those irritating distant cousins, you told yourself.

You start by how your grandpapa is a cruel tyrant, but you still love him dearly. How he taught you swordsmanship, riding, cooking simple meals, bandage minor wounds and make a fire in the wild. In between you offered Shigaraki some sweets on the tray, frowned when he only took a pretzel, the least sweet one.

That does not sound like a spoiled upbringing at all. That sounds like how an assassin or soldier was raised. One of his formal guards used to said how hard it was.

“Mr. Shigaraki? Are you feeling alright? Do I need to send for a physician?”

“You’re a funny girl. I think I will give you one clue of my past if you are so eager to learn. Others used to refer me as Tenko.” Shigaraki threw out the bait already, now it is time to wait and see if he can catch the big one. Even if he loses this gamble, this should provide him some entertainment in his final days. A fruitful endeavor either way. You wrote that name down, ready to do research on it.

The gentle knocks on the door reminds you it is time to wrap up this little chat. This is...a lot better than you expected. You cannot help but feel he is charming, in his own twisted, wicked way.

“Is there anything that can improve your stay? A change in meals, perhaps?” Putting the notebook back into your skirt pocket, you fetch up the tea tray and ask.

Look at you, being the good hostess, really care for Shigaraki like a guest. So nice and naïve, it would be a shame if some villain like him to take advantage of that.

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#bnha fantasy au #yandere bnha #bnha shigaraki #bnha shigaraki tomura #yandere shigaraki #yandere tomura #bnha imagines #bnha self insert #bnha reader insert

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farooqposts · 4 years ago

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Culture of Punjab Pakistan

Punjabi Culture is one of the most established in world history, dating from old artifact to the cutting edge time. The degree, history, intricacy and thickness of the way of life are huge. A portion of the principle regions of the Punjabi culture include: Punjabi cooking, theory, verse, imaginativeness, music, design, customs and qualities and history. A few urban areas of Punjab have more significance for Sikh people group from India. The author of Sikh religion was brought into the world in Nankana Sahib, an area of Punjab so Sikh from various pieces of world come and visits Punjab. Jahngir burial chamber and Badshahi Masjid in Lahore are the significant spots of Pakistan. Information Sahib is extremely frightened spot in Punjab and the greater part of individuals come and visit Data sahib consistently.

Individuals

Punjabi individuals are kind and carefree. Punjabis are heterogeneous gathering involving various clans, factions, networks and are known to commend every single convention of their way of life. Individuals of Punjab have solid convictions on pir-faqeers, jogi, taweez, manat-ka-dhaga, holy person of notoriety, dark wizardry, and different notions, anyway as of late because of increment of proficiency, individuals have gotten to some degree judicious . Punjabis likewise trust in cast framework yet as now individuals are getting instructed, the distinctions are getting obscured. Some well known projects of Punjabi's are; Jats, Maliks, Mughals, Arains, Gujjars, Awans, Rajputs, Gakhars, Khokhars, Sheikhs, Aheers, Kambohs, Niazis, Legharis, Khosas, Dogars, Thaheem, Mirani, Qureshis, and Syeds.

In towns' kin generally live in little networks (biradaris), anyway they live in harmony and congruity with one another. They take dynamic part in the bliss/lament of one another and give a lot of regard to their way of life, standards and run their lives as per their set customs. Punjabi individuals are acclaimed for their cordial and cherishing nature.

Dialects

Punjabi is the common language of Punjab. It is communicated in as the principal language by larger part individuals in Punjab, even spoken and comprehended in regions past the limits of Punjab. Statistical data points show that Punjabi language is communicated in as first language by 44% of Pakistanis. Urdu language is likewise regularly spoken in this district. Key Punjabi dialects/tongues are:

Pothowari

Hindko

Jhangvi

Shahpuri

Pahari

Majhi

Saraiki

Dresses

Outfits of Punjab are a sign of the brilliant and dynamic culture and way of life of individuals.

The ensembles are a blend of tones, solace and excellence and Punjab is notable for the utilization of phulkari(embroidery) in its outfits. In the greater part of the towns of Punjab men wear Pagri(turban), dhoti/lacha, kurta, khusa. Ladies wear gharara, or choridar pajama or beautiful shalwar kameez, paranda, choli/duppata, khusa, kola puri chappal or tillay wali jutti. While in metropolitan zones of Punjab people follow most recent patterns and design, by and large they wear various styles of shalwar kameez.

Food

The broad food of Punjab can be vegan and non-veggie lover. One shared characteristic between all Punjabi dishes is the liberal use of ghee or explained margarine flavors and Punjabis are enamored with sweet-meats too. Most Punjabi food is eaten with one or the other rice or roti. There are a few dishes that are select to Punjab, for example, Mah Di Dal, Paratha, Makai ki rotti, Saron Da Saag, and in urban areas Choley, Haleem, Baryani and other fiery dishes are mainstream. In refreshments, tea is burned-through altogether seasons and as a custom the greater part of Punjabis serve tea to their visitors. Punjabis are additionally partial to Zarda, Gulab-Jamuns, Kheer, Jalaibi,Samosy, Pakorey and so forth During summers individuals drink lassi, doodh-pop, aloo bokharey ka sharbat, lemonade and so forth These cooking styles have become overall luxuries with enormous scope portrayal.

Sports

Punjabi individuals have over the top interest in games. Punjabi's are attached to kabaddi, and wrestling, which is likewise well known in different pieces of Pakistan and it's additionally played on public level. Different games being played in Punjab area incorporate Gilli-Danda, Khoo-Khoo, Yassu-Panju, Pitho-Garam, Ludo, Chuppan-Chupai, Baraf-Panni, Kanchy and some significant games incorporate cricket, boxing, horse-dashing, hockey and football. Public Horse and Cattle Show at Lahore is the greatest celebration where sports, presentations, and domesticated animals rivalries are held.

Social Festivals

There are various celebrations which are praised by Punjabi individuals including some strict celebrations, for example, Eid-Milad-Un-Nabi, Jumu'ah, Laylat-ul-Qadr and so on Urcs (reverential fairs),which are held at the shirnes of sufi holy people, Melas and Nomaish (exhibitions).The Provincial capital Lahore is broadly well known for its engaging occasions and exercises. Lahori's are popular everywhere on the country for their festivals especially for Basant celebration (kite flying) in the spring season. Different celebrations celebrated in Punjab district incorporate Baisakhi, Teej, Kanak Katai and so on

Dance and Music

Bhangra is most regularly known Punjabi music kind and dance style. Punjabis enthusiastically love society melodies/music, Qawali and Punjabi music is perceived all through the world. The Tabla, Dhol, Dholki, Chimta, Flute and Sitar are on the whole basic instruments of this great culture. Punjabi dance is based around joy, energy and enthusiasm.Different types of dance in Punjab are: Loddi, Dhamal, Sammi, Kikli, Gatka, Bhangra, Giddha and Dandiya. Punjabi moves have been embraced by the American culture and others the same and now they are perhaps the most appreciated artistic expressions.

Custums and Rituals

A portion of the traditions continued in Punjab have no establishment in Islam. Nonetheless, the Punjabi culture has embraced those functions and conventions from Hindu culture.

Birth Rituals

Punjabis praise birth of their kid with extraordinary eagerness. Granddad or grandma or some regarded senior part from the family puts nectar with their pointer in youngster's mouth called Ghutii. Desserts are conveyed among companions and family members and individuals bring presents for the kid and mother. For the most part on 7thday youngster's head is shaven and Aqiqa service is held, additionally sheep/goat is butchered.

Punjabi Weddings

Punjabi weddings depend on conventions and are directed with solid impression of the Punjabi culture followed by a few pre-wedding customs and ceremonies (dholki,mayun,ubtan etc.)Punjabi weddings are exceptionally boisterous, vigorous, brimming with music,colors, extravagant dresses, food and moving. Punjabi weddings have numerous traditions and functions that have advanced since conventional occasions. In urban communities the wedding are praised following a mix of current and customary traditions and the function for the most part goes on for 3days, Mehndi, Barat (Nikkah+Ruksati) and Walima, trailed by Chauti (taking the lady of the hour back to her folks' home the following day).

Burial service Rituals

At burial services after namaz-e-janaza it is standard to offer lunch to individuals who came for sympathy. On 3rdday of the memorial service, Qul is held and each after thursday the Quran is discussed (jumah-e-raat) trailed by petitions for perished and after 40days the chaliswaan is held. After which the memorial service is finished. A few families notice commemorations yearly (barsi).There is no proper clothing regulation for Punjabi memorial services anyway individuals generally wear shalwar kameez and easygoing attire is noticed. Memorial services of Shia families are more exceptional. The two people wear dark shalwar-kameez and thorough crying and shouting is a typical event at such memorial services.

Writing

Punjab is exceptionally rich with writing and Sufis adds more in its writing. Punjabi verse is famous for its amazingly profound importance, excellent and cheerful utilization of words. The enormous number of Punjabi verse is being made an interpretation of all through the world into numerous dialects. Some acclaimed writers of Punjabi are Sultan Bahu, Mia Mohammad Baksh, Baba Farid, Shah Hussain, Anwar Masood and so forth Waris Shah, whose commitment to Punjabi writing is most popular for his fundamental work in Heer Ranjha, known as Shakespeare of Punjabi language. Bulleh Shah was a Punjabi Sufi artist, a humanist and a logician. The stanza from Bulleh Shah basically utilized is known as the Kafi, a style of Punjabi. Some other well known classic stories of Punjab incorporate Sassi-Punnu, Sohni Mahiwal and so forth that are going through ages.

Expressions and Crafts

Punjab is the significant assembling industry in Pakistan's economy and here every workmanship appreciates a position. The fundamental specialties made in the high countries and other rustic territories of Punjab are basketry, earthenware, which are well known for their cutting edge and customary plans everywhere on the world and are remembered for the best developments of Punjabis. bone work, material, fabric woven on handlooms with staggering prints is weaved in the provincial territories and the weavers produce beautiful fabrics like cotton,silk and so forth weaving, weaving, rugs, stone art, adornments, metal work alongside truck workmanship and other wood works. The specialty of Punjab is its basic soul and its art make its substance.

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minvaleria93 · 4 years ago

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DAECHWITA • chapter 1

Summery: The king leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched the scene before him with a small smile dancing in the corner of his mouth.

"Know your place, girl" the royal advisor gritted his teeth. "You are standing before your kin-"

She spat in his eyes.

The royal advisor's jaw hung open and his eyes squinted shut. He whipped his eyes. "Why you -"

"Release her." The command was cool and strong like steel, dangerously calm, effortlessly powerful and everyone turned their heads, but Isabel who locked her eyes on the royal advisor.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: romance

Words counted: 3224

The village had a smell. It first smacked you in the face when walking through the entrance of the first market. That old familiar scent which was a mix of a shirt from a vintage clothing store and spices.

Further into the village, people were everywhere, and walking in opposite directions, some had items wrapped in fabric on their backs and others had animals on leashes that were pulling carts behind them. A wide variety of stalls lined the nearby streets: tables with food, antiques, clothes and art, jewelry and accessories. The people flocked to them like fireflies to a lamp, enthusiasm accentuating their features.

The village was visually stunning, defined by the people, culture and buildings. The people were energy, feeling, and movement that create emotion, splashed against the canvas of the architecture. The buildings provide a stark, static contrast and permanence to a town that was stuck in time.

A young man, walked in the mist of the village. He wore the traditional garments of the village, and a sedge hat which covered his face just enough from revealing his handsome features and scar. His name was Min Suga Agust.

The rumours circling Suga had everyone look at him with a curious frown. Some said he was a troublemaker who started a riots in the market place. Some people called him a gang leader, waiting to be brought to justice. Some even whispered that he was the twin brother of the young king.

Suga kept his head down as he strolled though the village, but watched the people from the corner of his eye as he passed them. The sound of children running around and laughing filled the air, and the faint sound of a tune playing somewhere in the distance. He could hear the salespeople shouting different prices, he hear the chopping of meat and the sharp knives hitting the chopping boards.

With every step he took he was getting closer and closer to his target, but just as he was about a few paces away, fishermen men walked opposite him. One was slightly taller than the other. One had dark hair and a beard, and the other had a lighter shade of hair. Just as they walked past each other, Suga's shoulder collided with the young man with the beard, making the young man swing his fishing rod on the other ones head.

Suga didn't stop to apologise or see if they were alright. He kept his head down and continued on walking.

"Ey!" The light headed one looked at his friend. "What is your problem?" He reached his fist out to his friend's face, but he dogged and attempted to kick him which didn't work.

The butcher just finished washing his knives and cleared his station, when he spotted Suga approaching him. "Ah, troublemaker," he chimes, as he placed his washed knife down. He reached his hand clean hand out towards the young man and he took it without hesitation. "Back in town, I see" he stated, and Suga smiled at the man.

••••

It was sunset. The yellow ball of fire changed to hues of orange, and then almost tangerine. It merged with the sky, like juice-mix dissolving in a glass of water. The clouds were cotton-candy, as though they blushed at the warm touch of the sun. Silhouettes of birds flew home across the sky.

There were now a few lights and candles lighting up the village. Not many people were out shopping during this time of the day. Some had long gone home, and others were heading home. Most of the stalls were closed and cleared, while some were still selling off their last items.

He stood in the shadows of the alleyways, watching a young girl with long, dark, brown hair that was pulled back into a loose ponytail. She had a porcelain-like face and hazel eyes. This was Isabel.

Suga attempted to approach her, but stopped as he saw another girl no older than sixteen grabbing a brown scarf with gold and wrapping it around her shoulders and laugh. This was Rose, Isabel's little sister.

The two girls were part Korean, from their father's side and part British from their mother's side. They grew up in a loving and caring family, but after moving to Korea and their father passing at war and their mother abandoned them while their father was away, they were left with each other. So, Isabel took on the role of not just being the older sister, but also the mother and father. She wanted her sister to have everything and anything, she didn't want her sister to look at something and not tell her that she didn't want that dress, or scarf, or shoes, or food.

Isabel turned to the salesman and just as she opened her mouth ready to ask how much the scarf was, someone wrapped an arm around Rose's shoulder and spoke before she could.

"Agust D!" Rose chimed as she hugged Suga.

"You're seem to have grown a few inches," Suga hugged the her back, before they broke apart and his eyes moved to Rose's sister who looked like she had seen a ghost.

••• Flashback Three Year Ago •••

The night sky was a marvel. The pitch black background looked like it was a tablecloth with sugar scattered everywhere. Isabel has just finished her shift at of the restaurants since it was her turn to lock up everything. She had to make sure every tables looked like a mirror, that the windows add doors were locked and that the kitchen was spotless.

The low breeze kissed her skin like a soft whisper, and her body felt cold one moment and next she was hot again. As she continued her way down the deserted village, the sound of chatter reached her ears. She looked up and saw a three men staring by the the alleyway that she had to walk through to her to her house. Her heart raced with each step she took. Men, especially during this time of night were like hungry animals just waiting for their next meal to come their way.

It's been three years since the young king succeeded the throne after his father fled the war. During the first year of his reign the young king cared about his people. He would help those who asked, made sure that his people were taken cared off and made promises of changes. But the last two years he showed his true colours. The young king has done nothing but made things hell for the people. If anything, he was far worse than those before him. He didn't care about the people, or that there were beggars and homeless people on the streets. Orphans left to fight for survival with no shelter over their heads. If people came to home with problems he would reward them with a punishment instead of help. The only thing he did care about were the people terrorising others in his name. That fed him.

He was a ruthless king. He killed with no mercy and wanted the whole country as his own. And if anyone came for his throne, disrespected his name, or even showed the slightest sigh of power he beheaded them and hung their heads like lanterns around the prison in his palace for his prisoners to see what awaited them.

Isabel wanted to turn back and look for another way home, but there were two problems; that was her only way home and also, she was spotted. She bit her tongue and kept her head down and continued walking.

"What a sight," one of the men said as he motioned his friends to the girl heading their way.

Isabel didn't as so much peak to look up or where she was going, and that's when her path was blocked. "Such a pretty girl," said the man standing before her, his voice was deep and manly.

The third men stood a few steps behind her, eager to get his large hands on her body. "Could you please move—" her voice came out small and soft like a whisper.

The men laughed in her face.

"What's the rush?" She heard the one behind her ask. She could feel something inside telling her that she needed to get away from this men as soon and quickly as possible. But before she could come up with a plan, or even move her legs she felt the rough fingertips of the man behind going up her arm and then as he wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and held her in place for his friends.

The fear she felt in moment sat on her like a pillow that covered her mouth and nose. She tugged and fought back to break free, but the man holding her was too strong.

Her heart all but gave out when she was dragged behind a building and held against the wall by now two men. She then felt the hand of the man in front of her between her legs. "HELP!!!!" She screamed so loudly that she thought her lungs would burst. She was surprised that no neighbours arrived to the scene.

"Stop shouting," they whispered in her ear. "We're going to have some fun."

And just then, a gush of cold wind washed over Isabel's body when the man who stood in front of her and the two men who held her to the wall were pulled away from her. Isabel leaned against the wall, her chest heaving and her heart drumming. Fear spoke to her in its cackling voice. It told her legs to go weak, her stomach to lurch and her heart to ache.

"Get lost," the men blew off. "Or you and your friends will be sorry."

Suga rubbed his chin with one hand and had the other tucked in the pocket of his jeans, as he approached the man in the middle. The moonlight breaking from the the corner shone on the side of his face and his scar was exposed. And the man knew exactly who was staring him in the face.

"You're that rebel," he pointed at Suga. "The boss everyone has been talking about."

"Oh, the king will be pleased to know that we caught you."

"We will be rewarded handsomely."

As the man reached his hand out towards the young man, he grabbed the mans arm, bending it in the process before he threw him onto the man beside him.

There was a very pregnant pause that lingered in the air. Isabel looked at the people standing in front of her with a shocked expression on her face. A fight had broken out.

One of Suga's men, who was tall and wore a headpiece dislocated one of her attacks arm from his socket. She watched a the man broke down and wailed in pain.

Another on of Suga's men, who wasn't as tall dodged a few swings. He moved his shoulders in a swaying motion before he caught his opponent wrist, pulled him forward to only have his face met with a rock-like fist. The man's head flew back backwards with one hand covering his nose. But his pain was nothing compared to what his way next. The young man twisted his arm over his shoulder and cracked it like wood. "AAAHHH!!!!"

A sharp and shiny blade caught Isabel's eye in the moonlight and her heart dropped to her stomach as she watched the man that tried to force himself on charge at Suga. But to her surprise, Suga was too fast to react. He grabbed the mans wrist in an iron grip, and he watched as his face became red not just from the pressure but also from tying to break free. Suga looked the in the eyes with a plain expression through his curtains. With one nudge the blade fell from his hand and Suga tugged him forward before his elbow met with the man's chest and released him.

Isabel stood still, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open. She was stunned, as she watched the three men limping away quickly and disappear around the corner.

"Are you alright?" Suga's voice caught her attention.

••• End of Flashback •••

The sky was black tranquility married to a poetry of stars. It was the softness that called body and brain to rest and let the heart go to its steady rhythm. Night came as a reward of sorts, a restfulness above to calm the soul. The doors to the pub were open, chairs and tables were outside the building with candles lit on each one. And inside the pub we're more tables, the black iron chandelier hung down from the wooden ceiling, illuminating the pub in a warm yellowish tone and to the right there was a bar table with a bartender.

The sound of laugher and chatter filled the air as they sat outside the pub. It was late and they were already close to finishing their first bottle of Soju. The low breeze felt cool on her arms and made a shiver run down her spine. There was no one inside the pub, except for the owner, his wife and young son cleaning up.

Isabel sat next to Suga at the end of the rectangle table, their fingers intertwined as they watched their friends enjoying themselves. Next to Isabel's right sat Namjoon, and next to him sat J-Hope. And on Suga's left sat Rose and Hana. The laugher continued, but there weren't that many people out at this time. There was a couple sitting in the far back with nothing but a lit candle on the table. They seemed to be exchanging words of love that must have sound like poetry, there were three elderly men sitting next to where Isabel and the others sat. One of them had a guitar and the other two sang old songs.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?"J-Hope asked Rose, who looked at him with an arched brow.

Namjoon chuckled and shook his head. "She's been with us this whole time."

"I know," J-Hope said. "But it's late— it's past her bedtime—"

Rose's laugh cut him off. "Are you talking about yourself, J-Hope?"

'Oohs' left everyone's lips at the table. Namjoon placed a hand on his friend's back while laughing. J-Hope scoffed at Rose. The two never got along and watching them disagree on the smallest of things was the most amusing thing anyone had the opportunity of witnessing.

It was around eleven when everyone broke off to go home. Hana, Namjoon and J-Hope disappeared around the corner, their chatter echoed the empty street and then faded completely.

Ever since Suga took matters into his own hands things became somewhat better. The streets weren't as dangerous as they used to be, there weren't orphans out on the side fighting to survive. He was the boss.

Rose reached inside her pocket for the key and unlocked the door before entering. Isabel stopped in the doorway and turned to look at Suga. They didn't exactly have time to themselves since he showed up at the market and she wanted to spend at least a few minutes with him alone. She wanted to hear him breath, to feel his chest rise up and down as she leaned against him, she wanted to feel his arms around her and just be with him in the moment.

"Do you want to come in?" She asked him, and he responded with a small smile.

The entrance of the house had a small hallway that led to the main living room. The wooden floor was covered in blood red carpets here and there, there was a sofa with two armchairs and a coffee table sitting in the middle, and opposite all that was a fireplace that had two windows overlooking a beautiful view.

"You have school tomorrow," Isabel said as she stood at the bottom of the staircase that led to the upstairs bedrooms. "Your uni—"

"I know," Rose called from her room. Isabel smiled and bided her sister goodnight before she went to the living room to find Suga sitting on the sofa flicking through the book that was on the coffee table.

She leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest and a smile on her face. She continued to watch him in silence, taking in the sight in front of her. He had been gone for a few months without exactly telling her what it was that he was doing. He said it was best if she knew less because what he was planning was dangerous.

"You know, it's not polite to stare," his voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She shook her head and blinked a few times which made a chuckle escape Suga's lips as he placed the book down. "Come here," he said, gesturing with his arm for her to sit next to him. Isabel smiled and sat down with her back against Suga's chest as he wrapped one arm around her waist and the other played with her long locks.

The warmth of his chest on his back made her heart skip a beat and her stomach feel like it was doing backflips. They sat like that for a while just talking about what each of them were up to while they were always from each other, and then Isabel sighed and snuggled in Suga's chest. He looked down at her and smiled. "What's with the sigh?"

Isabel turned around and laid on his chest as she looked up at him. "I just missed you so much," she replied. "It feels surreal that you're here."

Suga moved his hand from Isabel's locks and had both his arms wrapped around her. "That's impossible," he said, sarcastically. "You couldn't have missed me as much as I have missed you."

Isabel rested her head on his chest and laughed. The sound of her laughter sounded like music to his ears. He reached his hand down towards Isabel's face and cupped her warm, rosey cheek before he placed a soft kiss on her lips. He kissed her like the world was rolling right off a cliff like he was trying to hang on and he had decided to hold on to her like he was starving for life and love and he never knew it could ever feel this good to be close to someone.

Yeoboseyo!!!!!!

Well, this is it!

THE FIRST CHAPTER OF DAECHWITA!!!!!

How do you like, ey?

I really do hope you enjoyed this first chapter of this book, and I can't wait for you guys to read the chapters I have in mind for you guys.

I will be following the plot of the MV, but I'll be adding a slight twist so my storyline also matches with the MV.

I will try my best to make this book as original, dramatic and actionable as possible. I want you guys to be on the edges of your seats when reading, or to stay up at night just to finish a chapter, or reading in secret while I'm class.

The first chapter may seem a little off, but hey! That's just the first chapter and chapter two will have you biting your nails and hyped.

Valeria 💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤

#yoongi x reader #king yoongi #min yoongi #daechwita #bts yoongi #suga #agust d x reader #agust d #historical #Wattpad #yoongi imagine #suga imagine

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