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oddinary4bts · 1 year

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Love is a Laserquest | choi san

☆summary: years after your break-up, Choi San comes to you for help. In an attempt to save his life, you escape to your uncle's cabin in the woods far from civilization. Will nostalgia and longing make you fall again, or is Choi San just spinning more lies to you?

☆pairing: gangster!Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: gangster au, exes au, angst, smut, a smidge of the one bed trope

☆warnings: guns/gun violence (mentioned), knifes/stabbing (mentioned), a bounty over San's head, death of a minor character (named Jungkook my bad), blood, injuries, stitches, probably some wrong medical terminology bc optometrists don't stitch up people lmao, a panic attack, cursing, pet names, explicit content: oral sex (female receiving) -> face riding, let me know if I forgot any!

☆word count: 16.5k

☆a/n: Here's my submission for Outlaw: The Project hosted by @ssaboala. It is coincidentally my first time posting about another group than bts, so I hope this won't disappoint! I really enjoyed writing it (even though it's really sad oop). Also my first time making a moodboard so hopefully it works haha

☆a/n pt2: thank you to @moonleeai for being my ever-so faithful beta reader, love you lots <3

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And do you still think love is a Laserquest? Or do you take it all more seriously? I’ve tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I’ve had But you’re always busy being make-believe

Love is a Laserquest – Arctic Monkeys

☆☆☆☆☆

The diner is silent, unoccupied. It always is on late weekday evenings, when most patrons have gone to bed, the city falling under a carpet of hushed silence only night can bring forth. It makes the diner feel like it’s straight out of a 70s movie, and it makes for the perfect study sessions too.

Night isn’t always soundless in your part of town. Hence why you’ve been trying to escape, pursuing an education that has been leaving you penniless, but with a bright future ahead. If you make it out of med school at a certain point, that is.

Tonight, you fear the peace that night usually entails has been ruined for you – there were gunshots earlier, close enough for you to see the police cars racing past as the law officers made it to probably yet another gang fight.

There’s been a gang war on your side of town. The diner has always been safe, a refuge for both sides of the war, where they aren’t allowed to fight. To carry in weapons and hatred. No, the moment they cross the threshold of the diner, the gangsters become one family, sharing struggles that only poverty can cause.

You wipe a table clean before walking back towards the counter. Your open laptop waits for you, and you quickly read the study guide you’ve made for yourself, the cardiovascular system and its pathologies forming a maze in your mind that you’ve yet to decode. Luckily enough, you still have a week before the bloc ends and you have to take the exam.

Plenty of time to cram everything about the heart in your thick little skull, you’d say.

Your lips move in time with what you’re reading, attention solely focused on the bright screen when a thump is heard right outside the door. It startles you, and you turn around to see the empty street out of the glass door.

It takes you about ten seconds to notice the dark form sitting on the ground. They’re leaning against the door, head lolling to the side. You assume it must be someone that’s ended unhoused, something that happens far too often where you live.

You’ve always been kind. When you were younger, you were told your kindness would be your demise. Yet you’ve never been able to be anything but kind, even though sometimes it might put you at risk. So you can’t resist but walk to the front door, trying to push it open.

It’s useless – the weight of the person is keeping it tightly shut, though they do straighten a little, as if coming to their senses. They turn, and the moment their profile comes into view you’re brought back eight years in the past. To a time when the world was still a beautiful place, void of violence and cruelty. To a smile so sweet it made flowers blossom on your heart, and to eyes so sharp you knew they had read your soul.

Choi San is sitting outside the door, and the caked blood on his cheek tells you enough – he’s injured. He pushes away from the door before slowly getting up. He clutches his side as he does it, yet when he turns back towards you and faces your horrified eyes, he still offers you a smirk.

You push the door open, thinking about the years between then and now. You had dated him for a few months that had felt like forever, until you had realized in what kind of business he was getting involved with. You had tried to convince him to flee before it was too late, and he kept promising that he would.

Only he never did, hiding lies with beautiful words that made your teenage self swoon, until your parents had realized and forced you to break up. It had been a nasty break-up, filled with hatred and words you didn’t mean yet had needed to say for him to leave.

You remember breaking his heart like it was yesterday.

“Choi San,” you greet him, and when he lets go of his side, you notice blood on his hand.

Something runs cold inside of you, even though he still sports a smirk on his lips.

He says your name, bowing his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Months, in fact. Because he does come to the diner sometimes. He usually ignores you, and so do you, so it feels strange to have him speak to you. To hear his voice as his words are addressed to you.

“What…” you trail off, glancing down at the ripped fabric of his black tank top.

He’s got a mean cut on his ribs, and it’s only then that you truly realize that he’s badly injured. Because there’s more – one of his biceps has been sliced open too, though blood is barely oozing out of it in small rivulets. The blood on his cheek is from where you assume he’s been punched with rings, and there’s already an underlying bruise under his eye.

“Got beaten up,” he states the obvious, and you immediately open the door wider to let him in.

He limps in, heading towards the nearest booth, where he plops down and lets out a pained grunt. You make sure no one is outside before shutting the door and locking it, flipping the hanging sign on it so it says closed in case a patron decides to show up.

You take a few steps towards San, hands shaking slightly at your side. Because that’s a grown man, bleeding out on the leather seat of the booth, and his eyes are shut though he looks in pain. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You haven’t yet started your residency, haven’t really gone from theory to practice… Yet you’re studying to be a doctor, are you not?

“Why are you here?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says, wincing as one of his eyes opens. He tilts his head to look towards you. “Word around the block says…” he pauses, takes a deep breath before continuing, “that you’re studying to be a doctor”.

So you are right. He’s here because he needs your help, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.

“Why…” You look for words, and it takes you a moment to realize that it doesn’t matter.

For all the history between you and him, Choi San doesn’t deserve to bleed out to death on a cheap leather seat in a forgotten diner on the dangerous side of town.

He has the decency to chuckle at the start of your question, which only makes him wince in pain once again.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and it’s a little stupid because clearly, he’s in no state to move.

He doesn’t question it, and you run to the kitchen to thoroughly wash your hands and grab the first aid kit. At night, no cooks stay around, and you usually only reheat food if needed, which doesn’t really happen. You haven’t had any client coming in at night in weeks… until San, that is. So no one is there to see what is going on, which you reckon is a relief. Because you have no idea what’s going on.

You return to the booth where San is waiting, patiently. He’s clearly wiped his hand on his face because there’s fresh blood on his forehead, and you almost balk at the sight of it.

“What have you done?” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

It seems he’s still in sync with you because he still hears. “Got involved with the wrong crowd.”

You put the first aid kit down on the table, ignoring his eyes when they flutter open, and he rests his gaze on you.

“I don’t know if I can help you,” you say as you unzip the kit and throw it open. You spare his side a quick glance. “This looks like you’re going to need stitches.”

He makes an effort of looking down at himself, though it mostly fails as he doesn’t raise his head from the seat. “Right.”

You grab everything you think you might need – alcohol swabs to clean his skin, fresh linen to bandage his side and arm, and stuff for his cheek too. He carefully observes you, with that piercing gaze of his that used to make you go crazy inside when you were young and impressionable.

You vaguely motion at him, and he cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask. “I can’t reach you if you’re lying back like this.”

His pink tongue darts to wet his lips, and he nods curtly. “Let me…” he trails off, resting a bloody hand on the table while he grabs at the back of the booth to push himself up. It has new blood appearing on his side, and you quickly move towards him, putting some linen against it.

As if it’s going to do anything. He clearly needs stitches, and you’ve got nothing with you to stitch him up.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly as he’s finally sitting. You just keep the linen on his side, eyes a little wide.

Your gazes connect inevitably, and time slows. You think about how he used to smile, how his eyes used to hold a softness you haven’t had the chance to see again since he’s walked out of your life.

Or rather, since you kicked him out of your life.

“I don’t think I can help,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker to your lips.

“I can’t go to the hospital,” he admits, shame turning his features into a mask of regret. “They… If they find me, I’m dead.”

Dread fills every ounce of your being. “San, what have you been doing?”

He looks away from your insistent gaze, scoffing slightly. “You don’t want to know.”

He isn’t wrong; you genuinely don’t want to know. Because he means nothing good, even with all the memories you share with him.

“Is it going to put me in danger?” you ask, as he still obstinately avoids your gaze.

He seems to freeze in front of you, as if you’ve pressed pause to your favourite show. To avoid the awkwardness, you busy yourself with grabbing one of his hands so he can hold the linen in place before you start washing the cut on his arm. It’s not deep, but you’re pretty sure it’ll still leave a mean scar, especially considering he can’t go to the hospital.

The thought has a drop of cold sweat roll along your spine. People want him dead. People want Choi San, the man you know as a young, scared teenager just trying to find a way to make his life better, dead. You remember the innocence in his smile – has he smiled at all in the years apart?

“I should go,” he says flatly. He moves to stand, but you hold him down, two hands firmly placed on his shoulders. It makes him wince, and you quickly release your grip.

“Don’t,” you tell him. “Let me at least patch you up.”

His eyes shut again as his head hangs low. “I am so sorry.”

You don’t even know who he is apologizing to, or why he is. All you know is that it causes your heart to clench in your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When you were younger, you believed San was your star-crossed lover. You believed your high school sweethearts romance would grow until you’d be old and grey and at the end of a very long road. You had dreamed of a future with him, the way only teenagers can dream – with no sense of reality. Because your reality had never been to end up by his side.

His choices had been proof enough of it.

You still remember the day you first kissed. Under an August meteor shower, with just the night sky as your witness. It had been hesitant, slow and soft, just like everything with San. And you had believed the lie, trusted it with every beat of your little heart, until your parents had found out the truth about him.

Until they had broken your heart, even before you had broken his.

If the stars had known then, what was going to happen to you and Choi San, would they still have shone through the night?

He lets out a pained sound as you gently dab at the cut on his bicep. You clean the skin around the wound in and of itself, and he watches you carefully, piercing gaze not missing how your face clouds with memories.

“How have you been doing?” he asks so softly you think his words are a gentle summer breeze on your features.

You can almost still smell the summer night air of that field where you had stargazed, where you’d always meet so long ago.

“I’ve been okay,” you answer, truthfully. Because even though you haven’t seen him, you have lived your life apart from him. Have evolved without him by your side. “Better than you, visibly.”

He didn’t expect the joke. It makes him snort, and then a soft smile grows on his lips, softening the edges of his hard features. “You haven’t changed.”

You have, and yet you haven’t. Like him, you think there’s a part of you that is still sixteen, and will forever be. A part of you that remained stuck in the moment when you watched him walk away in the rain, as if even the sky had to cry for his broken heart.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” you murmur, nostalgia a melancholic song in your words.

He chooses to remain silent, because the proof of how much he’s changed is sitting right in front of you, wounded and bleeding and hurt. The hurt is behind his eyes, in the shadows of the past that have also been obscuring your vision.

“Yeah,” he lets out, barely audible.

And then silence reigns between you, because as much as you once loved him, eight years have made you strangers. You don’t know anything about his life except the dirty, obvious darkness that surrounds him, and he doesn’t know anything except that you are studying to be a doctor…

Which leads you to wonder how does he know in the first place?

You ask him, as you’re wrapping the linen around his bicep to make a makeshift bandage. You’re proud of the result, though your fingers can’t resist but linger on the taut skin over his muscle, surprised at how soft it still is.

“I’ve heard you mention it,” he admits, as you take a step away to look at the material on the table, as if it’ll suddenly make stitches appear for you to put them in his skin. “One of the times I was here.”

“You never said hi,” you reproach him, unable to hide the ghost of a bite in your tone.

“Neither did you,” he points out, and he isn’t wrong.

All you can do is purse your lips as you finally decide to clean his skin. But for that, you have to rid him of his tank top, to make sure there’s no fabric in the wound. You look at him, cheeks somehow burning even though all you’re doing is taking care of a patient.

Though he’s not a patient, and you’re not in a hospital. You’re just a server at a dusty, old diner and he’s just your teenage lover, wounded by his dangerous actions.

“Should I grab scissors to remove your shirt?” you ask, though you’re speaking to yourself more than to him.

He still finds it in him to tease. “You want me out of my shirt?” he enquires, smirk gracing his lips again. “Say no more.”

He tries moving, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” you warn. “You’ll make it bleed more.”

He purses his lips, because nodding. “Right.” He glances at the first aid kit, before his eyes trail to your face again. “You got scissors in that?”

There are. You grab them, before turning towards him. It feels strange: you’ve never undressed him before. You had always wanted to wait, back then, before you slept together. You believed you were too young, and San had always respected it.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you tell him as you take a step closer to him.

He slightly leans back, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you plan to do with those that might hurt?”

You roll your eyes, playfully, before taking the two other steps leading to right in front of his legs. You notice that they are slightly parted, allowing you to come closer, and you take a steadying breath before reaching between you, pulling at the fabric of his tank top.

“Stay still and you shouldn’t get hurt,” you whisper, ignoring the heaviness of his piercing gaze on you.

It burns right through you, and you have to tame the beats of your heart at the feeling of the warm skin of his shoulder against the back of your fingers as you bring your other hand forward, until you’ve started cutting his shirt.

It’s stuck to his side where blood has dried, and he winces but remains still and silent as you keep going, pulling on it a little harder to be able to cut. The moment stretches into infinity, because you can’t help but take your time. It reminds you of how you’d used to run your fingers on his back, under his shirt, when you napped in the field in the summertime. In an idyllic world where gangs and violence and war were mere inventions of the media, and not a reality that surrounded you.

You’d loved the field. The wildflowers, the open air, the way it was just you and him and a few lazy bumblebees as clouds lazily crossed the sky above. You were so young then, so innocent. Hands unstained from blood, from his blood.

Because as you cut, the hand touching his shirt stains with blood. You pale at the sight of it, but you keep going, pushing through until you’re done, gently pulling the fabric from his body until he’s sitting there, shirtless, with a long wound on his ribs.

You can’t help but notice his toned chest and the defined abs on his stomach. Though blood mars his skin, turning it into a piece of violence, Choi San is still beautiful. Beautiful in a dark, dangerous way that has you glance outside, making sure no one is looking.

But the streets are empty, void of life at this time of the night. At least, they mostly always are.

“You will need stitches,” you state again as if you both don’t know already.

“I can’t…”

An idea forms in your brain. It’s a stupid idea, and you don’t even know why it crosses your mind.

Your uncle has a hunting cabin far in the woods. He’s a nurse himself, and he’s always kept everything over there in case someone got injured and he had to stitch them up. You haven’t gone in forever, but you still remember the tall trees, the deep forest scent that reminds you of autumn and leaves and grey days spent reading by the fireplace.

You never went hunting, but you did accompany your father when he went, needing an escape from the city once in a while. An escape from a life that was slowly becoming too real.

Your uncle is currently halfway across the country, so you know you’d be alone at the cabin. You glance at your laptop over your shoulder – you have three days off in front of you before your next class on Monday. Indeed, the Friday class is pre-recorded and to watch online in your free time, and you figure you can always watch it some other time.

So you turn towards Choi San, almost surprised that he’s real and he’s still sitting in front of you, honey skin cut open on his ribs.

“I might know a place where you can go,” you admit, with a small voice, surprising both you and him. Because you doubt he expects you to want to help, after tonight.

“What?” he asks.

“My uncle’s cabin,” you remind him, because you’ve told him about it all those years ago. “He should have all that I need to stitch you up.”

San looks down at himself. “You’ve just cut my shirt open.”

It sounds a little dumbfounded, and you can’t help the nervous laugh that falls from your mouth. Because even though it doesn’t look too deep, the wound still is terrifying in and of itself.

“I’ll bandage it,” you whisper. “Before we go.”

He seems like he ponders for a time. You watch the debate across his features, his eyes falling to a spot on your chin. He looks sad, troubled and defeated. “I can’t… I can’t do this to you.”

You ignore his words, carefully washing his side. You avoid the cut and try to be as gentle as you can, but his muscles still flex as he clenches his fists from the pain.

He’s strong. That much hasn’t changed. Because he doesn’t make any sound as you finish washing him and then patch him up with those same careful hands. And when you move to his face, cleaning the blood, his eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly.

He looks so much like he looked then that your heart aches, and you find yourself blinking away tears for this man who’s had it so rough he believed joining a gang would save him.

“I should have come to you before,” he murmurs. “You’re much gentler than Hongjoong.”

You don’t know the guy he mentioned, and you don’t feel like asking. Don’t feel like acknowledging his words, so you just finish with his cheek before stepping away from the peaceful aura that was treacherously pulling you in.

Like all those years ago, you reckon.

“Let me make a call,” you say, turning away from him as you move to the counter. You feel the weight of his eyes between your shoulder blades as you get your phone from next to your laptop. You call your boss, and as someone that’s never called in sick before, you feel anxiety flush through you.

Because you’re not sick. And how could you tell him that you need to take care of your ex-boyfriend of eight years ago?

Seokhyun picks up on the first ring, voice groggy with sleep when he mutters, “Hello?”

“Boss,” you greet him. You scrape your throat and spare a look towards San who’s watching you curiously. “An emergency came up, and I have to leave the diner.” You swallow the lump in your throat that’s formed from lying, and then you add, “There haven’t been any customers all night, so I was wondering… would you be comfortable with me closing for the rest of the night?”

Your boss says your name, a little reproachfully. But then he sighs, because he knows just as well as you what a good employee you’ve always been. “Are you going to be able to come in tomorrow night?” he asks.

You pull at dry skin on your bottom lip, assessing San’s state. You could always come back to the city for work…

“You know what, I know you’ve got that big exam coming up,” your boss says, sighing into the phone. “Why don’t you take the next week off so you can take care of your emergency and focus on your studies?”

If Seokhyun wasn’t a fifty-three year old married and father of three children man, you think you’d ask him to marry you right now.

“That would be really helpful,” you tell him, gratitude dripping from your voice. “Are you sure that won’t be a problem for the diner?”

“The diner won’t lose profit if it closes for three nights in the week,” he points out. “I’ll see if I can get you replaced for the evening shift on Sunday.”

You thank him again as he grumbles that it’s nothing. He wishes you good luck, and when the line goes silent, you finally meet San’s gaze again.

“All sorted out,” you tell him, offering him a nod. “Let me just close the diner, and then we can go.”

He nods, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He observes you as you do so, quickly closing the diner like you’ve done about a hundred times before, though this time you’re far more excited to go. You grab a plastic bag to put away the bloody swabs, and though he groans in pain, San gets up to help you clean the blood that stained the cheap leather of the booth.

Soon enough, you’re ready to go, and you walk outside with the plastic bag in one hand and your backpack on your shoulders as San chuckles, looking down at himself.

“Do you have a shirt for me?” he asks as he follows you out.

You lock the door behind you before glancing at him. He’s quite the sight, naked from the waist up and bandaged like he is, and you can’t help the small chuckle you let out as you glance towards your car, that’s luckily parked right in front.

Though it’s a deadbeat car, you trust it enough to know it’ll make the trip to your uncle’s cabin, even in the middle of the night.

“My ex left some sweaters on the back seat,” you admit as you unlock your car doors and open the trunk to put your backpack and the plastic bag in there. There’s no chance in hell you’ll leave a plastic bag full of bloody swabs near your work.

You see San nod from the periphery of your vision, and then he’s opening the door to the backseat. “Your ex, huh?” he mutters as he grabs a sweater you used to love wearing and that you haven’t convinced yourself to give back to Hyunmin.

He carefully puts it on, and you’re pretty sure just the motion is going to make blood seep through the bandage. Somehow, you don’t care that it might stain Hyunmin’s sweater.

Hyunmin was a cheater, and even though you never really loved him, it took you months before you found the strength to break up with him. Needless to say, he doesn’t deserve his clothes back.

“Yeah,” you flatly say as you move towards the driver’s seat. You sit, and San follows you, naturally, as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.

As you turn the keys in the engine, San asks, “Have you dated a lot?”

You bristle at the question, shooting him an embarrassed look. “Have you?”

“No,” he replies, features fully serious.

You purse your lips, focusing on the road as you start driving. You need to put gas in the car if you want to get to your uncle’s cabin, so you make your way towards the closest one. It takes you a moment before you register how San has stiffened next to you.

“Can we…” he trails off, and he sinks in the seat, trying to hide. “I can’t be seen here.”

You immediately press on the accelerator, and your car speeds down the street as you pass in front of the gas station. You glance at San only when you’re stopped at a red light. He’s pulled the hood of the sweater over his features, and he’s doing his best to hide.

“Where can we stop?” you ask.

“Next town over,” he answers. “I just can’t be seen in Bangtan territory.”

Right. You have no knowledge of how the gangs have divided your city, but you’re not surprised Bangtan has this part of town. It’s the industrial area, and you assume there’s a lot of money to be made around here.

“Sounds good,” you gently say, and then you’re driving again, the light turning green, allowing you to speed away into the night.

You drive silently all the way to the next town, watching your city disappear to be replaced by trees until buildings reappear. San is looking outside the window, and you can’t help but wonder how he’s been doing, truly. How he managed to get injured like he is right now, and mostly, if his dreams of running away still occupy his thoughts.

He had begged you, the evening you had broken up with him. Told you he’d make enough money to be able to move with you across the country and build yourself a nice little life over there. You had wanted to believe him for so long, until your parents had opened your eyes on just how he was trying to make money.

“Do you need anything?” you ask as you finally reach the gas station, pulling into the driveway. You park next to a pump, turning to face him only to find him already watching you.

“I don’t have money to pay for food,” he admits. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I lost my wallet in the… altercation.”

You gently put a hand on his forearm. “Hey, my treat. We have to eat.”

He inhales deeply, letting out the breath slowly, before he nods. “Alright. I owe you.”

You reckon he’ll owe you for a lot more than just food at a gas station, but you choose not to say it. Not when you feel like someone’s watching over your shoulder, watching you drive away in the night with the person they are looking for.

You know it’s paranoia. No one followed you out of the city and into this town. It just feels too strange to have him here, with you. In your car, on the way to your uncle’s cabin, as if eight years have gone out the window. As if you can still be young and innocent.

It’s stupid, because you can’t. Time has changed him; time has changed you. And in just a few years you’ll be a doctor, and you’ll finally get out of this hellhole of a city, of its dangerous streets.

Of its equally dangerous man, that you know could probably pull you back in with one of his many well-crafted lies, one of the dreams he weaved expertly, whispering it into your ear.

You take a deep breath before getting out of the car. You go into the station, grab snacks for the next few days and then head to the counter. The guy behind nods as you approach, and you pay for the food and for gas before wishing him a good night and returning outside. San is still squatting in the car, clearly trying to hide, and you put the food on the backseat before putting gas in.

You watch his profile as you put gas in the car. Back when you were dating, his features weren’t as sharp, as glass-cutting as they now are. He used to sport a rounder face, but today you wonder if you’d get a papercut on his jaw. You wouldn’t even be surprised.

When you’re done with gas, you sit back next to him, and you quickly bring the engine back to life before pulling out in the street. As soon as you exit the city, darkness falls on the two of you, tall trees standing on the two sides of the road again. San doesn’t speak much, and it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s dozing off next to you.

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, suddenly worried that he might have lost too much blood. Which, you reckon, you should have thought about earlier.

He sighs, glancing towards you. “Just tired.”

“Don’t…” you trail off. “Don’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles. “You’re afraid I’m going to die on you?”

“Choi San,” you warn. “Don’t you dare say stuff like that.”

He smiles, but you reckon he’s a little pale. Or at least you think he is, in the silver light of the moon up above. “I think I’m fine. Just…” He offers you a weak smile, though you’ve returned your attention on the winding road. “Just exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Worry clutches your heart, and you nibble at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “What’s been going on?”

He slightly shrugs. “I can’t tell you. I don’t want to put you in danger…”

“Am I not already in danger by just helping you?”

The silence is telling enough. And it remains for a while until San finally speaks.

“I was in a gunfight a week ago. Accidentally shot the youngest member of the other gang. He didn’t make it, and the gang has put a bounty on my head. Ateez took my gun and told me to run; I laughed in their face and said I wasn’t a coward. Then I got attacked by two guys with knives earlier, and I made it to the diner because I had nowhere else to go.”

Now the silence is deafening, heavy, and you think you’ve altogether stopped breathing. You’re struck with an image of San in the summer sun, smiling wide as he put a flower behind your ear, claiming you were the most beautiful girl he had ever met. The contrast with who he is now – a product of night, shrouded in darkness with no hint of that smile on his lips – is stark. And you wonder when’s the last time he has seen the sun, when’s the last time his life wasn’t violence like this.

When you say nothing, he scoffs, resting his head against the window as if it’d allow him to escape. Because clearly he wants to escape – he’s just told you that he’s killed someone after all.

And you don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to react to someone confessing murder. All you can do is stare at the street ahead, hoping you won’t end up in a gunfight with San. Because where would that lead you, other than in the dramatics of death?

You don’t speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t think he sleeps either, and dawn is clinging to the far horizon when you get to your uncle’s cabin, in a secluded forest that seems straight out of a fairytale. Instead of bringing you awe like it usually does, the sight of it makes you think of all the murder mysteries you had been obsessed with when you were younger, before you realized how horrible the real world truly is.

Neither of you move, as you turn off the engine of the car, and you fall into even more of a tensed silence, though this time you can hear the chirping of the early birds. It’s peaceful, so peaceful you can barely even grasp how tangible the presence of San is next to you. The presence of his actions too, looming between the two of you like a sword of Damocles.

You move first. Putting a hand on the knob, hoping to escape the heaviness into the dawn. San speaks before you can though, and your heart stops in your chest.

“I never meant for him to get hurt,” he murmurs, and you think he’s speaking to himself more than to you. “Everything went too fast, my gun was in my hand and I just… in situations like these, you don’t have time to think.” He leans his head against the headrest, eyes closing. “All I can picture since it’s happened is him falling and blood. Like a fucking blossoming rose, all around him.” He rests his closed fist on his forehead, rubbing it hard. “I haven’t been able to sleep; I’ve been sick every time I’ve tried to eat…”

“San,” you interrupt as you break and break for him. Because this is the San you know. This is the young boy that just wanted to escape and live in a better world. You can almost taste his remorse, taste his regret and shame. It’s poisonous, treacherous, a slippery slope that can’t lead anywhere good. “Let’s get you in. I want to get that cut on your ribs checked.”

He falls silent, and for a moment you feel guilty. Because what if he had more to say? You don’t even think you would have been able to listen. You need the escape, and you know he’ll permit it. Because the man next to you is a broken man, a fracture of what he could have been.

You step out of the car, blinking away tears – from the anxiety, from the exhaustion, and perhaps even from the pain you feel for him. He follows you, wincing as he swings his legs out of the car. He stumbles a little as he stands, but soon enough, he grows steady on his feet, and his attention moves to you. You climb the stairs of the cabin, lifting the rug to find the small trap that leads to the spare key. The padlock is rusted, but it stands strong as you put in the code, and a click is heard when you pull on it.

A few seconds later, you’ve unlocked the front door, pushing it open to reveal the cabin as you remember it. Not a single item is out of place, though dust covers everything, a clear indication that no one has been here in years. You let San in, before going back to the car to get the food you bought, bringing it in and putting it in the fridge. Three full gas canisters hide under the counter, and you sigh in relief – you’ll be able to get the generator on for some electricity.

You motion to the kitchen table. “Have a seat,” you tell San, who somehow looks like a lost puppy. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He nods, remaining silent, eyes downcast. You only move when he’s seated, heading to the bathroom area of the cabin, where you startle a spider that almost makes you scream out loud. You keep it in, heart beating out of your chest as you get the kit before moving back into the main area.

San is leaning against the chair, eyes closed. He senses you approaching, and one of his eyes cracks open to watch you carefully, a little like he did earlier, at the diner. It looks so similar to how he used to look at you, when you joined him at the field, that you stop in your tracks, heart squeezing once again.

You don’t like the way Choi San is making you feel, that’s for sure.

“Take off the sweater,” you tell him, putting the kit down on the table. You put some clean linen next to it, to put what you need over it, before washing your hands with the disinfectant you find in the kit. You put latex gloves on after, and then you fish wire and a surgical needle from the first aid kit that you carefully put down on the linen once you’ve torn the packages open.

As you were doing all of that, San took off the shirt, struggling a little as it meant he had to lift his right arm, which pulled at the skin of his ribs, where the cut clearly has started bleeding again. Though, if you’re honest to yourself, you’re pretty sure he’s been bleeding this whole time, even though it probably was just some fine rivulets.

Indeed, the cut isn’t all that deep, you remind yourself. Mostly because you don’t want to even think about the consequences of the blood loss. As long as he stays awake, you figure he’s fine – he would have lost consciousness a while ago if he was losing a lot of blood.

You remove the bandage you had carefully put in place earlier, wincing at the sight of the blood that’s seeped through it. San keeps his eyes close, lets you clean his skin again in peace, and you feel sick to your stomach as you realize you don’t have any anesthetics for the pain that stitching him up will cause. Indeed, the pocket in which your uncle usually leaves the lidocaine is empty, and you remember that he’s had to use it for your dad when he accidentally cut himself with a machete last summer.

“Huh,” you let out. You chuckle nervously. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

His eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.”

You worry at your bottom lip, holding his gaze as you gauge if he’s serious. When his gaze doesn’t falter, you offer him a curt nod, before getting the wire and needle ready under his watchful eyes.

You hand him some linen. “To bite on,” you explain as he just cocks an eyebrow quizzically. That makes his gaze widen a little as if he’s just now realizing how serious you were about it hurting, but he takes it nonetheless.

You think about the theory of how to stitch someone up. It was in your previous block – you watched hours of videos of it in an attempt to desensitize yourself to it. You don’t think it compares to the real thing, but at least you’re somehow confident of what you’re doing when you start.

San startles, groaning in pain, and you offer him a glare. “Don’t move, or it’ll be worse.”

A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, but he still nods. Even as you keep on stitching him, he remains as still as he physically can, though you don’t think he even notices how he’s trembling. Or maybe that’s you – you don’t even know.

Somehow, you make it through the whole thing. You think San might have passed out at some point, but he’s wide awake when you finish the knot to keep the stitches in place, looking up to meet his face.

He’s panting and tears of pain wet his waterline. He blinks them away as he takes the linen out of his mouth, dropping it on the table.

“Fuck,” he curses.

“Let me…” you trail off, mind set on getting something to at least help him cool off, because he’s clearly been heating up.

You grab a washcloth and a small bucket, and head outside to walk down to the lake. You fill the bucket halfway, and take a few seconds to observe the calm surrounding you, hoping that it can ease the nerves rolling inside your heart like dark clouds do on the horizon whenever a storm is coming. You feel it in your bones – you have a murderer in your uncle’s cabin.

You have to keep that in mind. To not let Choi San in like you did when you were a young impressionable teenager.

You sigh, closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh morning air. The sun is peaking over the horizon now, and you bask in its hesitant rays for all of twenty seconds before you convince yourself to go back in. You’ve got a patient to take care of, after all.

San hasn’t moved an inch while you were outside. The only indication that he hasn’t died on you is the groan he lets out as you put the wet washcloth on his forehead. You tap his cheek gently, as if to say, ‘suck it up, I’m just trying to take care of you’.

Which is exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?

You watch him carefully for a few seconds before tapping his shoulder this time around.

“There’s a bed,” you remind him. “You’d be better passing out in a bed.”

He groans again, cracking an eye open. “I’ve just been repeatedly poked with a needle,” he drawls. “Give me a second.”

It makes you laugh. Because of the nerves, maybe. You’re not quite sure. All you know is that you’re laughing, and San opens his second eye to look at you as if you’re crazy. And you laugh for longer than you should – you’re exhausted after all, especially considering you haven’t slept since yesterday morning. So far, adrenaline has been keeping you going, but you can tell you’re about to crash.

“Sorry,” you apologize once you calm down. “This has just been…”

“A lot,” San finishes for you. “I know.”

You nod once before glancing at the doorway to the bedroom. It has no door, as your uncle and your dad usually come here alone and they don’t mind sharing a bed. It makes you realize that you’ll have to share it with San, which you reckon you should have thought about before. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll share a bed with him, especially after he’s told you why he’s being hunted.

There’s always the option of going into town later today so you can get a sleeping bag and floor mat to sleep on. But you’re far too tired right now to even consider driving, so you motion to the bed once again.

“Stick to your side; I’ll stick to mine.”

He smirks though he’s extremely pale. A lot paler than he was before, and you swallow a sudden lump in your throat. Because what if he dies? What are you supposed to do with him if he dies?

“You’ll have to help me to get to the bed ‘cause I don’t think I can move,” he says once his smirk dies. He curses under his breath. “I’m so pathetic.”

You put your hand on his shoulder again, reassuringly, eyes holding his. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re hurt. Everyone is pathetic when they’re hurt.”

He gulps before nodding once. It takes everything in you not to offer him more comfort because you feel like the slope would tilt forwards far too much if you did. Instead, you help him to get up, wincing as he puts most of his weight on you, clutching his side with one hand. You’re infinitely aware of how his skin is sticky with sweat, but you ignore it as you slowly walk to the bedroom.

You can only hope the stitches will hold because you don’t think he’d be able to withstand another round of them.

You finally reach the bedroom and help San sit on the side of the bed. He sighs, eyes shut tightly, and he doesn’t move for a time. When he does, it’s to stiffly lie down on his side.

“You might want to sleep on your back,” you inform him. “I don’t want you rolling around and messing up the stitches.”

He glares at you, though he looks like he’s already half out of it. You hold his gaze until he gives in, turning on his back with a deep sigh. You arrange pillows around him to make sure he’s not moving, and by the time you’re done, his breathing has already evened out.

For a moment, you just watch him sleep. You see him in the field where young love blossomed like a trillion wildflowers. You can almost breathe his pollen again, can almost feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips.

But he’s not what he used to be. Back then, you felt like you had discovered something new. Love, infatuation, affection, and desire, all in the form of the man sleeping next to you. You’d used to kiss, dance and sing to a song only your souls knew, and now you don’t think you recognize him anymore.

As much as he is him, he’s also but just the ghost of what he was. He’s trouble, danger in the shape of innocence, and you recall his words from earlier. You recall the despair, the regret and sorrow that haunted him after he told you. You can’t let him get to your head.

You reckon sleep might help. Though you’re afraid he’s going to waste away in his sleep, so you set up an alarm every hour, before climbing on the other side of the bed. You don’t pull on the covers, mostly because the cabin is warm, and you can imagine it’s just going to get hotter as the sun goes up and the summer heat slowly sizzles into the countryside.

It’s a good thing you put an alarm on. Because when it rings an hour later, you don’t even remember falling asleep. You’re pretty sure the second your head touched the mattress, you were out to the land of dreams. You groan, mostly because you’ve got a slight headache, but you power through it to make sure San is still breathing.

When you see his chest moving up and down steadily, you let yourself fall back asleep.

This goes on for the whole morning, and you only force yourself to stay up when your phone shows that it’s passed noon. As you had suspected earlier, the cabin has gotten extremely warm, so you force yourself out of bed to open all the windows, and then you use the washcloth from earlier to gently wash San’s face of the sweat.

He doesn’t even flinch in his sleep, but he’s still breathing and for now, that’s all that matters.

You head back to the main room, grabbing a pack of chips from where you had left the food earlier, and then you move outside to sit by the lake. Mostly because you need to put distance between you and San, but also just because the childhood memories of this place have you in their hold, and they’ve decided to make you miss the times when you’d swim around with your cousins before both of them had moved out of town.

One day, it’s going to be you too. You already know where you’d go – on the other side of the country, as far away from here as possible. You just want to forget all about the place you grew up in, and you know that, in a few years, you will have forgotten.

Though you’re pretty sure a certain piercing gaze will haunt you forever, especially after the events of today.

When another hour passes, you head back inside, putting the empty bag of chips in the trash before you check up on San. He’s still asleep, but this time he doesn’t look as pale as he did earlier. You assume it’s going to take him a while before he wakes, so you head to the nearest town to grab more food. Mostly to busy yourself, but also just because you know San will need a place to hide for a lot longer than just the weekend. Might as well make sure you have enough for him to survive a couple of days. In town, you also stop to eat at a small café on a small terrasse in the shade of a few trees, and then you grab the food you think you might need at the grocery store.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when you get back, realizing that you forgot to buy a floor mat. As you spy San, who hasn’t moved an inch since he’s fallen asleep, you figure that sleeping next to him tonight should be fine.

As long as his presence in your vicinity doesn’t drag you down memory lane again.

You bought some meat in town, so you head to the little shack outside where the generator is hiding. There’s a gas canister right next to it – also full – and you busy yourself for the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get it started. When it finally rumbles to life, you head back inside to put the meat in the fridge, which has finally come to life.

When you hear a groan, you quickly jog to San’s side, fully expecting to find him awake. Surprisingly, he’s still asleep, and you stay next to him for a full minute, thinking he might groan again, though he remains entirely silent.

If it wasn’t for his chest moving up and down steadily, you’d believe him to be dead. But now that a few hours have passed, you’re pretty positive he’ll make it, though he’s probably going to sleep through the day and possibly through the next one too.

Which leaves you in the most peaceful atmosphere you’ve been in for a while, with the opportunity to study as you listen to the rush of wind in the leaves of the tall trees surrounding the cabin. You sit outside, this time near the fireplace, and you study until your stomach grumbles, indicating that it is time for you to cook.

You cook the meat you’ve bought on the grill outside, feeling thankful that your dad once showed you how to use it. You go back in to grab a bottle of water before you eat, and you’re bent in the fridge when you hear San moan again, and this time it sounds like he’s saying something.

You gently close the fridge, making your way to the bedroom. San hasn’t moved, but his features are creased in a frown, and sweat is rolling down his temples. You wet the washcloth, gently wipe his face, and you’re about to leave when he moans again.

It takes you far too long to realize he’s apologizing. What for, you can’t really tell. Though you remember his troubled eyes this morning, you remember his story, and your heart breaks in your chest.

He’s haunted. You think the ghost of the dead guy will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. And suddenly you’re struck thinking maybe, maybe if you hadn’t broken his heart all those years ago, you could have saved him from the gang.

Maybe you could have opened his eyes.

You still remember the break-up like it was yesterday. You remember the rain, him leaving without once looking back, but mostly you remember the words you had uttered. Ghosts of their own, that feel more real now that he’s come back into your life.

*****

“You’re going to get hurt!” you yelled. “You’ll get hurt, San. What are you thinking?”

He scoffed, shaking his head, and little droplets of water shot all around him. “I’ll be careful. We need the money if we ever want to make it out of this shit town.”

You blinked away tears, folding your arms on your chest as you tried to keep your heart from breaking. Though you reckoned it had broken when your parents had told you what they knew about San. When your father had mentioned Ateez, and you’d truly realized what it meant that he was part of a gang. San, your sweet, soft, and bubbly San, in a gang that had murdered someone just a few weeks ago.

“But that’s not a way to make money!” you screamed, hoping he’d understand. Hoping he’d hear the truth in your words, hoping he’d change his mind before it was too late. “Why don’t you get a part-time job, like me? Then we can go to college and get jobs in a nice city on the other side of the country!”

“It won’t work,” he drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want to be out soon, not in a few years. I barely even have a roof over my head, Y/n…”

“Come live with me,” you choked out around the lump in your throat.

You both knew fully well that your parents would never let him come near you again.

“I can’t.”

You cried, hiding your face in your hands. You cried thinking of the field where you usually met, thinking about its beauty now fading into ugliness. You thought about the wildflowers, withered and dead as autumn had come. You thought about how you were convinced you knew what love was.

“What’s the point?” you asked then. “What’s the point of putting your life in danger? Life isn’t some sort of a game, Choi San. Worse, what if you have to hurt someone? Do you think you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”

He clenched his jaw, hard. “Do me a favour and stop asking questions.”

You closed your eyes, feeling sick to your stomach. Because it couldn’t be. Not San. Not your smiley San, who’d always weave dandelions crowns with you, as you’d pretend you were a queen and a king of that field you had found. An empty field, an abandoned farmland that was just yours and his to explore. That had been home to your first kiss, and all of those that had followed.

Now you wondered why he had always wanted to meet there in the first place. Was he trying to hide?

"If you love me, you’ll get out while you still can,” you said as your tears suddenly ended.

There was a weird sense of clarity in you, suddenly. You remembered the day you had fallen in love, the moment you had first kissed. You remembered the stars in the sky above, the meteors falling for the two of you. You remembered the music on the radio you had brought. Some Arctic Monkeys song about heartbreak, about moving on and failing to do so. As a joke, when it had ended, you had asked San, “Do you think love is a laserquest?”

His answer had been cryptic, mysterious, things that had made you believe he was the one. “Maybe. Maybe it is, and I’ve shot you in the back while you weren’t looking. Maybe I’m that annoying player that won’t leave you alone.”

“I’ll never find you annoying,” you had replied.

But today, watching the rain rolling down his face like tears, you realized that maybe, maybe you should have seen the warning behind his words. Because this betrayal, it came like he had shot you in the back – you didn’t think you’d be able to recover from it.

The past dwindled away as San spoke again, reminding you of the question you had just asked him. “It’s not a question of love, Y/n. I do love you. But it’s a question of survival.”

You laughed, coldly, and then you said, “You know what? You’re full of shit.”

“Alright then. Do me a favour and tell me to go away.”

“Go away.”

A long silence had lingered between you, voided of that summer warmth that had you falling in love. Like a piece was missing from the contract of you loving him, and him loving you. And you realized, maybe you had never really loved each other anyway.

He nodded once when you didn’t say anything else, before turning away. And you watched him walk away. You watched him thinking he was going to turn around and tell you this was just some twisted joke, the prank of the century. Only, he never turned around, and he disappeared behind the bend in the road, never to be seen again, cracking your heart open and splitting it in half.

*****

The sun sets, like an ending to a dream. You’ve always liked the end – you think if you could choose, you’d want to witness the end of the world. The nostalgia, the beauty of endings… it’s something you understand now that you didn’t understand when you were younger. Because you and San ending, it had led to you focusing on high school. It had allowed you to get in the good college in town, with a scholarship that covered most of your expenses before you made it to med school.

There’s beauty in knowing losing San has allowed you to live out your dreams.

There’s less beauty in knowing that San has been sleeping for almost thirty-four hours now. Last time you checked, he was still breathing, but you’re starting to be afraid that he just won’t wake up. It’s irrational, you know – after the blood loss it makes sense that he’d sleep for a long time.

But it leaves you with far too much time on your hands to think and revisit the past. You’ve been doing it all day – thinking about the fight with your parents that had led to your break-up with San, thinking about that damn rainy evening he had walked away without once looking back. Thinking of the field, of sunshine and star falls and the sweetness of a first kiss. Thinking that, then, you thought you knew what it was like to be in love.

You haven’t dated anyone serious since San. Hyunmin was a distraction for a while, but you never were into it. Not like you were into San. There’s a guy in your class though, that you’ve been chatting with for a couple of weeks. He’s sweet, innocent, and the perspective of a future seems less scary with him around. He’s mentioned he wants to move across the country once too, and since then you’ve started talking more, the similarity of your wishes drawing you closer.

All day today you’ve been feeling like you’re slowly drifting away though. Slowly getting entrapped in a web you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.

You decide to swim, seeking the fresh clarity only cold water can bring to you. You don’t have a swimsuit with you, but since San is half-dead in bed you figure it doesn’t matter. So you strip naked, feet making squelching sounds in the mud by the lake side as you step in the water.

The sharp cold has you holding your breath, but you don’t slow down. You’ve never slowed down in life – when you make a decision, you bring it to completion. And you’ve decided to swim, so swim you will.

The warm summer evening breeze catches in your hair as you take another step forward, the water now lapping at your thighs. You dread the moment it’ll hit your core, knowing that that’s the worst part, but you breathe in deeply, moving forward. Because there’s no moving backwards now.

When the water hits, your eyes flutter shut, and you hold in the wince that threatens to escape the mask of calm your features hold. Soon enough, you get deep enough to swim, and the movements bring welcomed warmth to your limbs as you flop on your back, tits out of the water.

Your uncle’s cabin is the only cabin in a fifteen miles radius. You know you won’t be interrupted, and so you let the water cool you down. Calm you down, hold you in its fresh embrace. It undoes knots in your back that have formed from worrying about San, but also from worrying about college.

From worrying that you will never be enough. You think it’s a normal anxiety to have, something most people must feel as they go through the trials of college, not knowing what to expect on the other side. A nice career, perhaps, though the perspective of failure is there too, looming over the horizon.

You sigh, and your eyes flutter open as your legs move mindlessly under you, making sure to keep you afloat. You look up at the azury ceiling over your head, so far away as it slowly turns gold. Out of touch, out of grasp. You watch the fluffy white clouds that are lazily crossing the sky, turning fiery in the sunset, as if they have all the time in the universe. And you wish you were them, up above. With nothing to worry about.

Without a Choi San on the brink of death lying about twenty meters away from you. You sigh, and you turn in the water, with the purpose of swimming again. Though your gaze catches movement by the cabin, and your head snaps towards it to see none other than the supposedly Choi San, standing on the deck with a hand clutching his side.

You shriek, looking down at yourself. Most of you is hidden, but you don’t know how long he’s been there. Don’t know if he’s seen you naked as you looked up at the sky.

He doesn’t move, only watches you where you’re swimming.

“Can you please look away?” you say from the water, and he has the nerves to lean against the railing, eyes still boring into where you’re swimming. You think his gaze might be so hot the water will boil, and it startles you into action.

You start walking out of the water, pointing towards the door. “You shouldn’t be up, Choi San.”

“I feel fine,” he says as you take another step forward, and the water barely hides your tits anymore.

That makes him turn around, as he offers you a little bit of privacy. You’re quick to get out of the water and wrap yourself in the towel you brought outside, and then you collect your clothes to head back to the cabin. San dutifully keeps his gaze away until you’re climbing the three steps leading to the deck, and it’s then that his eyes trail to you again.

“Thank you for the water,” he says, offering you a tentative smile.

You left water by his bedside earlier today hoping it will coax him to wake up. You’re strangely surprised that it worked.

“You should go sit inside,” you scold him, only half-heartedly. Because seeing him up and about reassures you, somehow.

He cocks an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The weather is beautiful, I’d rather sit outside.”

You roll your eyes, but you do let him walk down the stairs to sit by the fireplace while you go inside to take a quick shower and get dressed. You decide to make some food for him, though you know he shouldn’t eat too much right now, after not having eaten for a while. He has to start slowly, and you don’t even know if he’s hungry anyway.

You settle for preparing a cup of chicken noodle soup for him, so at least it isn’t too heavy on his stomach. You bring it to him outside, as he’s just calmly observing the lake.

“Thank you,” he says, voice small as he grabs the cup and the spoon.

You sit next to him, trying not to watch him eat too much. His hair is sticking to his forehead in some places, and you have the distinct thought that he’ll probably need to shower. At least there’s plenty of rain water in the bucket for the water pump.

“What have you been doing while I was out?” he asks.

You spare him a quick glance before losing your gaze in the rocks of the fireplace. “I’ve studied. Checked up on you. Not much honestly.”

He chuckles. “I’d argue that caring for someone is a lot.”

You glance at him, cheeks burning at the sight of his teasing smile. “Not really.”

He chuckles again, but doesn’t say anything more before eating another spoonful of soup. He’s almost done with the cup when he actually does speak, asking, “How long was I out?”

“A day and a half,” you answer. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t slept longer.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “I’m made of tough stuff.”

You snicker, but you don’t say anything, just focusing on where you’re kicking at the dirt. When he’s done with the cup, he puts it down on the ground next to him, before sitting back in the chair. He stretches out his legs in front of him, sighing deeply.

“I still feel out of it,” he admits, and you meet his gaze.

“You can sleep more,” you tell him. “I’d just like to check on the…”

You don’t even have to finish your sentence. He immediately turns so his side is to you, and you have to admit you’ve done a perfectly good job with the stitches.

“So?” he asks.

“All good.” You pat his shoulder. “You can sit comfortably again.”

He’s smiling when he does so, and his gaze wanders to the lake once again. “I’m sorry I…” he trails off, and he chuckles softly. “I’m sorry I interrupted your little swim earlier.”

You have the decency to flush furiously red, and you shrug your shoulders. “No worries, I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon.”

You fall in a comfortable silence, surprisingly so. Rare stars dot the darkening sky up above, and all that can be heard for a moment is the flap of a bird’s wing as it moves from branches to branches in the trees by the water. The breeze picks up as you watch the little bird, and the leaves dance, loudly so. You’d think it’d be deafening in the silence between you and him, but it’s strangely reassuring.

As if, after all, you found your way back to the field. Only this time it’s completely different, as if decades have passed between you. At least, that’s how it feels like.

You notice San has dozed off in the chair next to you when you were about to speak to him again. To ask him how he’s truly been, in the years between then and now. Hoping to avoid mentioning what led to him coming to you, yesterday, a whole eternity ago.

You watch him, heart aching in your chest. Aching to reach out and brush his hair away from his forehead, aching to heal the cut on his cheek with a gentle swipe of your fingers. If only medicine was so simple…

It seems the peace of the early evening wasn’t going to stay around, because you notice dark clouds rolling in the distance, streaks of lightning cutting through them. Slowly inching closer, menacingly so, and you gently wake San up with your hand on his wrist.

He startles awake, hand shooting to his waist, finding nothing there. It startles you, and you both stare at each other for a moment until you realize what he was looking for.

His gun.

“San…” you let out and he runs his hand through his hair, eyes falling shut as he breathes in and out raggedly.

“Sorry.”

“San, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, refuses to let you see the vulnerability you glimpsed behind his piercing gaze. Refuses to acknowledge that he’s terrified, deadly so.

“Let’s go in,” you tell him, softly. Because you’re afraid you’ll spook him, when he’s clearly been living in fear long enough. “There’s a storm coming.”

He nods, carefully getting up without sparing you a glance. He heads inside, hand clutching his side again, while you pick up the chicken noodle soup cup before following him.

You’ve refilled the generator before swimming, so you know it’s been charging the batteries for a while now. You don’t fear ending up in the dark with San, and there’s also always the option of using the lamps and candles your uncle always leave here in case of an emergency.

The storm doesn’t roll in until a little later. You’ve forced San to put a shirt on – mostly so your eyes would stop betraying you, dropping to his toned body whenever he talked to you. You’re currently sitting on the couch, and as the rain starts, hammering against the window behind you, you pull your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms comfortably around them.

“How hard do the storms hit here?” he asks, eyes trailed to the world outside.

You follow his gaze, right as wind picks up to make the water hit the window even harder, creating a cacophony that forces you to speak louder for him to hear. “Pretty hard.”

He nods, and he glances once at you. “Fun.”

You smile, because you’ve always liked storms. Have always found them electrifying, energizing.

“Do you remember when we used to go to the field when it rained?” San asks, taking you by surprise.

Making your heart clench so hard in your chest you have to take a wobbly breath in. If he notices he doesn’t say.

“We were always in that field,” you remind him. “No matter the weather.”

It’s his turn to smile fondly. “It got so pretty with all the wildflowers. But you were afraid of the bees.”

“Bees are scary!” You laugh, and he echoes it with a soft chuckle. “You’re the one that almost pissed yourself when we saw the rat.”

That makes him laugh, and he winces in pain clutching his side. “Gosh, is it supposed to keep on hurting like this?”

It douses your enthusiasm and your smile falls. “Well, it was a solid cut.”

His eyes get lost in the void as he takes on a wistful expression. “I’m surprised I didn’t die.”

You gulp, watching his profile carefully. “It wasn’t deep enough for that…” you trail off, even though you spent most of yesterday and today being convinced he’d die. “At least they didn’t… stab you.”

“They would have if… Wooyoung didn’t shoot.”

You remain silent, not knowing what to reply to that. San interprets that as discomfort, and he quickly adds, “He didn’t shoot them. Just… in the air. It attracted the police.”

You remember the cars zooming past the diner a lifetime ago, and you nod your head. “I heard.”

He seems surprised, and his gaze finally finds yours again. “You did?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, a little awkwardly. “I hear a lot of shootings, in the diner.”

His eyes widen, mouth falling open cutely. “You do?”

You don’t know what he expected. The diner is right between Ateez and Bangtan territory, and as much as it is a safe space, it is also near enough to dangerous grounds, and you’ve heard plenty of shooting in your time working there.

“Always,” you admit. “It can get scary sometimes… but you also get used to it.”

He looks sad. Infinitely so, like a lost puppy. That’s when the first thunder hits, so sharp and sudden you startle. Not quite as much as San, who ducks, wincing in pain as he clutches his side.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, in time with another thunderclap, though this time it’s more of a rumble.

You watch his chest as he breathes in and out quickly. “Just… fuck.”

Now, concern grows in you, and you gently put a hand on his shoulder. “San…”

He meets your gaze, and there’s so much white in his it makes you think of a terrified prey. And then it clicks: he thought it was a gunshot.

“Hey,” you quickly say, moving closer to him. You’re on the side of the stitches, so you still keep a safe distance between the two of you, but you grab his hand nonetheless. “You’re okay.”

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say.

“I promise, no one’s going to find you here.”

He remains silent this time around, eyes still boring into yours. You take that as a cue to continue, because you don’t want him to panic. You want his thoughts here, with you, and not miles away in a city he should have escaped from years ago. You wish he had, knowing the atrocities that he would have avoided.

Would he have escaped with you, had you stayed just a little longer?

“I killed someone,” he says, and you balk at the silver lining his gaze. “I fucking killed him.”

You don’t know how to help. All you can think to do is cup his cheek, right as he starts breathing even faster. “Breathe with me, San.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes fall to your mouth. You make a good show of inhaling slowly, before exhaling even slower. It takes him a moment but he eventually follows your lead.

It breaks when there’s another sharp thunderclap, and he flinches, eyes shutting instinctively.

“Hey hey hey,” you say again, even more gentle, softer than before. You move even closer, and when a tear slips out of his closed eyes, you pull him into a hug, careful not to brush his side.

His head falls on your shoulder, and one of his arms wrap around your waist. A thunderclap later, he starts sobbing, fist balling the fabric of your shirt in his tight hold, and you let him do it. You let him hold onto you, hoping it’ll keep him here with you. Hoping it’ll keep him afloat during the storm that’s raging both outside and in his mind.

“It’s going to be okay,” you breathe, and you feel like you’re lying to him.

Because how can he ever be safe from the ghosts inside of his skull? The ghosts wandering the halls of him, tainting his soul with their presence?

“He’s never going to smile again,” San chokes out. “Everyone loved him. Even in Ateez… Jungkook was the best of us. The only one who had a shot at getting out of it.”

You don’t know how good he could have been, if he was a member of Bangtan. In your mind, you’d always seen Bangtan as the bad guys, mostly because they weren’t with San. Even when you had been struggling to evade that life, you’d still rooted for him.

It’s strange how you just realize that now, as you’re holding him while he breaks.

“You didn’t mean to kill him,” you remind San, still speaking with the calmest voice you can muster up. “You didn’t want to, San. You’re not a murderer.”

“I’m still a killer,” he says. He sounds angry, and you reckon he might be angry at himself. Might be consumed with his actions, dragged to hell before his time as his mind gets stuck replaying the events.

“Maybe,” you answer. “But,” you quickly add when he stiffens in your arms. “But you can spend the rest of your life making up for it. Repenting.”

He doesn’t respond right away, as he breaks some more, sobs rocking through him. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when you were younger and in love. It makes your gaze wet, yet you hold on strong for him. You keep your head held high, and you allow him to break in the safe haven that your arms represent.

Because to him, you’ve never been tainted. You’ve always been the ideal he was trying to pursue, albeit the wrong way.

“I don’t know how to repent,” he admits when he calms down. He turns his head, and his nose brushes along the skin of your neck, slightly tickling you. You ignore the feeling, especially as he adds, “Ateez… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

You run a hand on his back, soothingly. “It isn’t.”

Because there was you, too. There was the summer field and the twinkling stars and Artic Monkeys on the radio. There was the two of you, petal-soft kisses exchanged in the dead of night and in the brightness of day. There were rainy days, and then there was rain. There was him walking away, and you hate yourself then.

You wish you had stopped him that day, had kept him from going on to become what he’s become now. A person he clearly hates, someone that has a bounty on his head. Someone that doesn’t even believe they’re allowed redemption and you reckon you don’t even know if he is.

You only know that seeing him break is bending your will, the way the wind outside is bending the trees. All you can hope is that, like the tall trees, you won’t break.

*****

The storm calmed down sometime around midnight. San ended up falling asleep on the couch, as you’d reassuringly ran your hand through his hair, trying to keep him with you. Though you think he’s been slipping through your fingers, into his demons.

You’ll find a way to bring him back. You have to. Turns out it comes faster than you think, as the electricity runs out and you busy yourself with lighting some candles throughout the main room. When you’re done, you put a blanket over him, and you almost let out a startled scream as his eyes shot open.

“Hello,” you say, resting a hand on your heart to tame the wild beats.

You’re about to move away, but he grabs your hand, forcing you to sit next to him. You don’t really resist, though you think you probably should. You’re weak – weaker still when he murmurs your name.

“San,” you whisper in return, and you’re aware your voice carries too much longing. Longing for a past when life’s atrocities hadn’t changed either of you yet.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and a tear rolls on his cheek.

You dry it, fingers lingering there. “It’s okay.”

“Angel…”

The nickname brings you back to laser quests and favours and warmth creeping up your stomach for the first time in your life.

“I’m no angel,” you breathe.

“You saved me.”

You hold his gaze. There’s something hiding behind his pupils. The need, to forget. You don’t think you have the ability to run his mind through amnesia, but still you brush his cheek again.

“You deserved saving.”

His eyes glaze once more, though this time no tears fall. “It’s hard to believe it.”

“Do you still believe love is a laser quest?” you ask him, out of the blue.

As if you’re a line straight of that Arctic Monkeys song you listened to the first time you kissed.

“Maybe,” he says, a parallel to that first time you had asked the question. “Maybe it is.”

You can’t resist. You lean down, and you press the gentlest kiss on his lips. His are dry, but the way he sighs with you against him is soft, for your heart and for your mind, and you kiss him again. He lets you lead, follows the dance of your lips, lets you run your hand through his sweaty hair.

Even if you shouldn’t. Even if you know everything you’re doing right now is a mistake, you still find yourself deepening the kiss, opening your lips to slip your tongue out, teasing his mouth. One of his hands finds your thigh, and he squeezes ever so slightly as his tongue finds yours, and you let out a breathy sound.

When you pull away, eyes fluttering open, you find San’s gaze. You think about the boy he was then, the girl you were then. You think about who you were, together. And when he says, “Please make me forget”, you lean again, capturing his mouth in a languid kiss.

For a reason unknown, the summer sky and falling stars pale in comparison to this kiss. Maybe because it holds longing, nostalgia. Hope that life would have turned out differently. For a moment, you picture what it would have been like, without Ateez. With you and him in the field, in your family house, in a car driving by the beach, windows down as the sun sets and you sing along to the radio, wind blowing in your hair.

You see a whole life there, with you and him marrying in the field, under the sun that had been the host of your first love. You imagine growing up by his side, attending college with him in the big city. You imagine how he would have become the owner of his own construction company, like his dad before him. You picture kids laughing, running around the house he would have built for you. You see Christmas light, late nights antics by the firelight.

You see it all, and you know you’ll never have any of it. But if you can have tonight, then you’ll grab it before it slips through your fingers. Before he walks away in the rain again, only to be a memory you cherish in the deepest corners of your heart.

“How?” you ask him when you pull away.

Mostly, you’re asking how to make him forget. But you’re also asking how it is that the feelings are still there, even stronger now, as if they’ve grown up with you, yet haven’t changed like you have. Like they are a constant of an ever-changing universe.

“Kiss me again,” he asks, begs, and you give in. You kiss him wildly, always making sure not to touch his side and the stitches.

You know sex would be a stupid idea, especially with the fresh stitches. But also because he’s barely had time to recover. But he doesn’t really give you a choice, pulling you on top of him until you’re straddling him.

You sit back on him for a second, eyes trailing to the spot where you know the stitches are. “This isn’t a good idea,” you whisper through the ragged breaths caused by the ministrations of his mouth on yours and of yours on his.

“I’m fine,” he says, and you know you shouldn’t believe him. But when he pulls you down again, large hand holding the nape of your neck firmly so you don’t escape, you want to believe him.

Want to believe the beauty of his lies, like you had when you were younger.

From where you’re perched, you can feel the start of his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly in the kiss, rolling your hips. His mouth falls open, and you capture his tongue, sucking on it once before you pull away, leaving hot kisses on his jaw.

“Sit on my face,” he says, and he sounds out of his mind. Crazed, a little like you too feel at the moment.

“What?”

“Can’t get hurt if you sit on my face, angel,” he explains, and then hisses when you suck a hickey on his neck.

You let him pull your shirt off, unclasping your bra yourself as you sit back on his lap. He cups your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his thumbs and indexes. You moan again, grinding your hips into his, and he hisses once more.

“You want to taste me?” you ask, head throwing back as he pinches your nipples hard.

“I’d fuck you, but you’re the doctor. Can’t risk fucking up my stitches, huh?” he replies, voice low and husky.

Your core heats up, pussy clenching around nothing. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, though you spy desperation beneath it. Like he thinks he doesn’t have forever, when it comes to you.

He’s right. Because tomorrow, you’ll have to go back into town, into the hellscape you call home. What will be left of the two of you then?

So when he tugs at your pants, you give in and get up, taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You step out of them, blood heating up by the way he’s looking at you through half-lidded eyes, gaze burning on you.

You have half a thought that you could probably ride him instead of his face, but when you see his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, making them glisten in the candlelight, you need to know what it’ll feel like against you.

So you straddle his face as he guides you down, large hands pushing on your thighs until your pussy is a hairsbreadth away from his lips. He blows on it, and your eyes shut with sensitivity. You clutch the cushion of the couch, hoping it’ll help steady you, but the moment his tongue flicks at your clit, you realize nothing will be able to steady you. Yet you still hold onto it, especially as he dives his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juice. He moans in contentment, before moving to your clit again. And his tongue is wicked down there, like it knows exactly what you like.

You grab a handful of his hair, grinding into his face. You’re pretty sure he’s chuckling down there, and then he unleashes himself. Sucking hard, alternating circling motions to teasing you with his teeth. You’d expect the latter to hurt, but the way he does it just makes you see stars, and your pussy clenches around nothing again.

San is deadly good with his mouth. Both with crafting lies and pulling moans out of you, and your thighs tighten against his face as he sucks particularly hard, before dipping his tongue inside of you. His nose brushes your clit, and then he forces you to properly sit on him.

The way his tongue moves inside of you, lapping up your juices while opening you up, has you on the brink of an orgasm in no time. Especially as he makes you grind again, holding you tight into place. When one of his hands moves from around your thigh to reach your clit, you cry out, head throwing back.

He’s quick to rub at your sensitive clit, and you grab one of your breasts, massaging it mindlessly before you pinch your nipple, hard, right in time with a skilled swipe of his tongue. Your orgasm meets you there, shaking through you as it explodes in a blinding flash of light. You moan, loudly, something that resembles his name, and he keeps you going, guides you through your high until you cringe with oversensitivity.

Only then does he let you climb off from his face. You stand on wobbly legs, before deciding to sit next to him, and you catch sight of the smirk on his lips. It makes you blush, right as you realize what you’ve just done.

When you realize what kind of sinful activity he’s dragged you in, this time around.

“Gosh,” is all you manage to say.

He chuckles, clearly proud with himself. “That felt good?”

You worry at your bottom lip, eyes going down to the tent in his pants. You want to pleasure him too, to take him in your mouth and make him feel good, but he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Don’t.”

You still and you meet his gaze with slightly-widened eyes. “Why not?”

His features turn somber, haunted, and the heat of the moment passes so quickly you think it might have been a figment of your imagination.

Were you really riding his face just a moment ago?

“Please just lay next to me,” he says, barely even a whisper.

You don’t know a lot of men that would choose cuddling over getting a blowjob, but if that is what he wants, then you’ll give it to him. You lay next to him, glad that the injured side is closer to the couch. That way, you can cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder while he wraps an arm around you.

“Angel,” he murmurs after a time. “You’re a fucking angel. I think you’re my salvation.”

You highly doubt you hold this kind of power, but you don’t want to tell him. Have never been good at weaving beautiful lies for him to believe.

“We should stay here,” he continues. “Forever.”

And you wish you could. Wish reality didn’t exist, didn’t call for you to go back to your regular life like you’ve never been here with him. But you know tomorrow exists, and you’ll have to leave.

“We should have stayed in the field,” you choose to answer. “Under the shooting stars.”

“I wished for a lifetime with you, then,” he admits. “I wished I’d never have to let you go.”

You’d wished for a similar thing, but life is far too cruel to allow a world of first loves.

“Why did you…” you trail off. The question has haunted your sleepless nights for a long time after the break-up. Even years later, you’d still think about it sometimes, wondering if nostalgia would choke you up. “Why did you decide to join the gang?”

He tenses next to you. But you start tracing a mindless circle on his chest, through the shirt, and it distracts him enough for him to reply. “I thought I didn’t have a choice.”

“Did you?”

His voice holds the weight of the world when he says, “I did. And I made the wrong one.”

You want to cry, but you’re older now. You’re not the teenager who thought she was going to die from losing him anymore. You know what living without Choi San is like, and as much as it hurts, you know that it’s doable.

“You made the one you believed was right,” you say carefully. “But I do wish you had made a different one.”

He holds you a little tighter, as if that will make it so tomorrow never comes. “Me too.”

There’s an eternity of flickering candlelight on the ceiling, of the circles you trace on his chest and of your breathings forming a melody. Outside, the wind has died down, and the world is silent except from an occasional cricket braving the world after the storm.

“Where will you go, once you graduate?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

Because he knows. It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed.

“As far away from here as I can.”

“I hope you find peace, wherever you go,” he whispers. “I hope you forget all about how we grew up in a hellhole.”

Do you feel bad for saying it? Maybe. But you can’t help saying it anyway. “I will, San.”

And like that rainy day years ago, you think you can see him walk away.

*****

Seven years later

The winter sun is strangely bright, up above. You’d think it will warm you up, but the cold is relentless, violent, and it sneaks into your coat as you walk out of the hospital. You’ve just finished a thirty-hour shift, and you can’t wait to be home.

To take a shower and forget that you’ve lost a patient today.

But you’ve saved another. A young man, with a stab wound in his ribs that should have killed him. But you saved him, stabilized his condition to the point you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Which is the only reason why you’re allowing yourself to leave now.

You’re never able to leave until you know your patients are okay. It’s been that way since your first patient, in a cabin in the woods you’ve done your best to forget.

You’d let San stay, after that weekend. He had given you the number of one of his friends, so you could get some clothes for him, and you’d gone back the next weekend. Bringing him the clothes, making love to him under the moonlight as if that would change the ending.

The following week, you had gone back to find the cabin empty. He’d left a note behind.

I hope I can find you again, wherever you go.

You kept the note. It’s in your bedside table, back at home, in the nice apartment you’ve been able to rent for yourself with all the money you’ve been making now. Enough to pay back student loans from med school, enough to reassure you that never again will you struggle.

You’ve never seen San again after. He hasn’t found you, and you haven’t searched for him. Have only looked up his name a couple of times, in the months following his disappearing, scared you’d find out that he was found dead in a ditch. But his name never came up, and you wondered if he had managed to escape, if he had managed to find a place where Bangtan couldn’t reach him.

You found peace, on your side of the country. Life is kinder here, though it still holds the same atrocities. You wonder if it’s the novelty of the city, or maybe if you’ve just grown old enough to be able to withstand the bad that the world throws your way. It’s hard to tell – you haven’t kept contact with anyone from back home, except Jae-on.

Jae-on, who’s moved with you when you’ve decided to come here, like he said he would. Jae-on, who asked you to marry him in late October, and you said yes. The ring sits heavy on your finger, and you mindlessly play with it.

In another world, you would already be married to Choi San. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of that world – a piercing gaze in the morning, a smile and a kiss to your temple. Talks about angels, children screaming in happiness. In another world, you’d be pregnant again, waiting patiently to add another piece of you and him to this world.

It’s fun to think about, sometimes, but you’ve been good at forgetting. Like you told him you would – most times, you’ve forgotten all about Choi San.

But today, you had a patient that reminded you of him. So you allow yourself to feel, you allow yourself to think about that note tucked in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, hidden under the thick socks you never use.

You allow yourself to think about the cabin in the woods, about the field where you would have gotten married had you been in that picturesque world you like to imagine. You think about laser quests and first kiss and rainy days and meteors. You think about summer, about wildflowers and him.

You’re so lost in thought you miss your stop home, and you begrudgingly get out at the next one. You’re tired, and your hands are shaking as you pull your phone out of your tote bag, wanting to text Jae-on that you’re going to be home late because you missed your stop. You walk to the other side of the tracks, sighing when you see a five-minutes wait for the next subway.

At least the sun is high in the sky, even though it is dreadfully cold. You shiver, putting your phone back in your tote bag so you can hide your hands in your sleeves again, hoping it’ll preserve them from the cold.

In your exhaustion, you forgot your gloves back at the hospital, you realize. It’s strange that you only realize now, and you reckon you really need to sleep, because your brain isn’t even working right anymore.

You sigh, glancing at the display showing the time. Still four minutes to wait. You think at this rhythm you might freeze in your spot before the next subway comes. You try to hide your face in the lapel of your coat, but a movement on the other platform attracts your gaze.

A man is helping an older woman climb down the stairs. She’s speaking loudly, which might be what attracted your gaze in the first place. You follow them as they walk down the stairs, and then when the man turns towards you, you meet his piercing gaze.

He smiles, and you realize that maybe, all those years ago, he was not spinning lies to you after all.

☆☆☆☆☆

Gosh yeahhh rereading it had me ralize that it is a lot sadder than I remembered it to be. At least we got an open ending ... :') What did we think? Should I write about other groups more often? Let me know what you think! All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 1 month

Text

"In these circumstances, the commercial economy of the fur trade soon yielded to industrial economies focused on mining, forestry, and fishing. The first industrial mining (for coal) began on Vancouver Island in the early 1850s, the first sizeable industrial sawmill opened a few years later, and fish canning began on the Fraser River in 1870. From these beginnings, industrial economies reached into the interstices of British Columbia, establishing work camps close to the resource, and processing centers (canneries, sawmills, concentrating mills) at points of intersection of external and local transportation systems. As the years went by, these transportation systems expanded, bringing ever more land (resources) within reach of industrial capital. Each of these developments was a local instance of David Harvey's general point that the pace of time-space compressions after 1850 accelerated capital's "massive, long-term investment in the conquest of space" (Harvey 1989, 264) and its commodifications of nature. The very soil, Marx said in another context, was becoming "part and parcel of capital" (1967, pt. 8, ch. 27).

As Marx and, subsequently, others have noted, the spatial energy of capitalism works to deterritorialize people (that is, to detach them from prior bonds between people and place) and to reterritorialize them in relation to the requirements of capital (that is, to land conceived as resources and freed from the constraints of custom and to labor detached from land). For Marx the

wholesale expropriation of the agricultural population from the soil... created for the town industries the necessary supply of a 'free' and outlawed proletariat (1967, pt. 8, ch. 27).

For Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari (1977) - drawing on insights from psychoanalysis - capitalism may be thought of as a desiring machine, as a sort of territorial writing machine that functions to inscribe "the flows of desire upon the surface or body of the earth" (Thomas 1994, 171-72). In Henri Lefebvre's terms, it produces space in the image of its own relations of production (1991; Smith 1990, 90). For David Harvey it entails the "restless formation and reformation of geographical landscapes," and postpones the effects of its inherent contradictions by the conquest of space-capitalism's "spatial fix" (1982, ch. 13; 1985, 150, 156). In detail, positions differ; in general, it can hardly be doubted that in British Columbia industrial capitalism introduced new relationships between people and with land and that at the interface of the native and the nonnative, these relationships created total misunderstandings and powerful new axes of power that quickly detached native people from former lands. When a Tlingit chief was asked by a reserve commissioner about the work he did, he replied

I don't know how to work at anything. My father, grandfather, and uncle just taught me how to live, and I have always done what they told me-we learned this from our fathers and grandfathers and our uncles how to do the things among ourselves and we teach our children in the same way.

Two different worlds were facing each other, and one of them was fashioning very deliberate plans for the reallocation of land and the reordering of social relations. In 1875 the premier of British Columbia argued that the way to civilize native people was to bring them into the industrial workplace, there to learn the habits of thrift, time discipline, and materialism. Schools were secondary. The workplace was held to be the crucible of cultural change and, as such, the locus of what the premier depicted as a politics of altruism intended to bring native people up to the point where they could enter society as full, participating citizens. To draw them into the workplace, they had to be separated from land. Hence, in the premier's scheme of things, the small reserve, a space that could not yield a livelihood and would eject native labor toward the industrial workplace and, hence, toward civilization. Marx would have had no illusions about what was going on: native lives, he would have said, were being detached from their own means of production (from the land and the use value of their own labor on it) and were being transformed into free (unencumbered) wage laborers dependent on the social relations of capital. The social means of production and of subsistence were being converted into capital. Capital was benefiting doubly, acquiring access to land freed by small reserves and to cheap labor detached from land.

The reorientation of land and labor away from older customary uses had happened many times before, not only in earlier settler societies, but also in the British Isles and, somewhat later, in continental Europe. There, the centuries-long struggles over enclosure had been waged between many ordinary folk who sought to protect customary use rights to land and landlords who wanted to replace custom with private property rights and market economies. In the western highlands, tenants without formal contracts (the great majority) could be evicted "at will." Their former lands came to be managed by a few sheep farmers; their intricate local land uses were replaced by sheep pasture (Hunter 1976; Hornsby 1992, ch. 2). In Windsor Forest, a practical vernacular economy that had used the forest in innumerable local ways was slowly eaten away as the law increasingly favored notions of absolute property ownership, backed them up with hangings, and left less and less space for what E.P. Thompson calls "the messy complexities of coincident use-right" (1975, 241). Such developments were approximately reproduced in British Columbia, as a regime of exclusive property rights overrode a fisher-hunter-gatherer version of, in historian Jeanette Neeson's phrase, an "economy of multiple occupations" (1984, 138; Huitema, Osborne, and Ripmeester 2002). Even the rhetoric of dispossession - about lazy, filthy, improvident people who did not know how to use land properly - often sounded remarkably similar in locations thousands of miles apart (Pratt 1992, ch. 7). There was this difference: The argument against custom, multiple occupations, and the constraints of life worlds on the rights of property and the free play of the market became, in British Columbia, not an argument between different economies and classes (as it had been in Britain) but the more polarized, and characteristically racialized juxtaposition of civilization and savagery...

Moreover, in British Columbia, capital was far more attracted to the opportunities of native land than to the surplus value of native labor. In the early years, when labor was scarce, it sought native workers, but in the longer run, with its labor needs supplied otherwise (by Chinese workers contracted through labor brokers, by itinerant white loggers or miners), it was far more interested in unfettered access to resources. A bonanza of new resources awaited capital, and if native people who had always lived amid these resources could not be shipped away, they could be-indeed, had to be-detached from them. Their labor was useful for a time, but land in the form of fish, forests, and minerals was the prize, one not to be cluttered with native-use rights. From the perspective of capital, therefore, native people had to be dispossessed of their land. Otherwise, nature could hardly be developed. An industrial primary resource economy could hardly function.

In settler colonies, as Marx knew, the availability of agricultural land could turn wage laborers back into independent producers who worked for themselves instead of for capital (they vanished, Marx said, "from the labor market, but not into the workhouse") (1967, pt. 8, ch. 33). As such, they were unavailable to capital, and resisted its incursions, the source, Marx thought, of the prosperity and vitality of colonial societies. In British Columbia, where agricultural land was severely limited, many settlers were closely implicated with capital, although the objectives of the two were different and frequently antagonistic. Without the ready alternative of pioneer farming, many of them were wage laborers dependent on employment in the industrial labor market, yet often contending with capital in bitter strikes. Some of them sought to become capitalists. In M. A. Grainger's Woodsmen of the West, a short, vivid novel set in early modern British Columbia, the central character, Carter, wrestles with this opportunity. Carter had grown up on a rock farm in Nova Scotia, worked at various jobs across the continent, and fetched up in British Columbia at a time when, for a nominal fee, the government leased standing timber to small operators. He acquired a lease in a remote fjord and there, with a few men under towering glaciers at the edge of the world economy, attacked the forest. His chances were slight, but the land was his opportunity, his labor his means, and he threw himself at the forest with the intensity of Captain Ahab in pursuit of the white whale. There were many Carters.

But other immigrants did become something like Marx's independent producers. They had found a little land on the basis of which they hoped to get by, avoid the work relations of industrial capitalism, and leave their progeny more than they had known themselves. Their stories are poignant. A Czech peasant family, forced from home for want of land, finding its way to one of the coaltowns of southeastern British Columbia, and then, having accumulated a little cash from mining, homesteading in the province's arid interior. The homestead would consume a family's work while yielding a living of sorts from intermittent sales from a dry wheat farm and a large measure of domestic self-sufficiency-a farm just sustaining a family, providing a toe-hold in a new society, and a site of adaptation to it. Or, a young woman from a brick, working-class street in Derby, England, coming to British Columbia during the depression years before World War I, finding work up the coast in a railway hotel in Prince Rupert, quitting with five dollars to her name after a manager's amorous advances, traveling east as far as five dollars would take her on the second train out of Prince Rupert, working in a small frontier hotel, and eventually marrying a French Canadian farmer. There, in a northern British Columbian valley, in a context unlike any she could have imagined as a girl, she would raise a family and become a stalwart of a diverse local society in which no one was particularly well off. Such stories are at the heart of settler colonialism (Harris 1997, ch. 8).

The lives reflected in these stories, like the productions of capital, were sustained by land. Older regimes of custom had been broken, in most cases by enclosures or other displacements in the homeland several generations before emigration. Many settlers became property owners, holders of land in fee simple, beneficiaries of a landed opportunity that, previously, had been unobtainable. But use values had not given way entirely to exchange values, nor was labor entirely detached from land. Indeed, for all the work associated with it, the pioneer farm offered a temporary haven from capital. The family would be relatively autonomous (it would exploit itself). There would be no outside boss. Cultural assumptions about land as a source of security and family-centered independence; assumptions rooted in centuries of lives lived elsewhere seemed to have found a place of fulfillment. Often this was an illusion - the valleys of British Columbia are strewn with failed pioneer farms - but even illusions drew immigrants and occupied them with the land.

In short, and in a great variety of ways, British Columbia offered modest opportunities to ordinary people of limited means, opportunities that depended, directly or indirectly, on access to land. The wage laborer in the resource camp, as much as the pioneer farmer, depended on such access, as, indirectly, did the shopkeeper who relied on their custom.

In this respect, the interests of capital and settlers converged. For both, land was the opportunity at hand, an opportunity that gave settler colonialism its energy. Measured in relation to this opportunity, native people were superfluous. Worse, they were in the way, and, by one means or another, had to be removed. Patrick Wolfe is entirely correct in saying that "settler societies were (are) premised on the elimination of native societies," which, by occupying land of their ancestors, had got in the way (1999, 2). If, here and there, their labor was useful for a time, capital and settlers usually acquired labor by other means, and in so doing, facilitated the uninhibited construction of native people as redundant and expendable. In 1840 in Oxford, Herman Merivale, then a professor of political economy and later a permanent undersecretary at the Colonial Office, had concluded as much. He thought that the interests of settlers and native people were fundamentally opposed, and that if left to their own devices, settlers would launch wars of extermination. He knew what had been going on in some colonies - "wretched details of ferocity and treachery" - and considered that what he called the amalgamation (essentially, assimilation through acculturation and miscegenation) of native people into settler society to be the only possible solution (1928, lecture xviii). Merivale's motives were partly altruistic, yet assimilation as colonial practice was another means of eliminating "native" as a social category, as well as any land rights attached to it as, everywhere, settler colonialism would tend to do.

These different elements of what might be termed the foundational complex of settler colonial power were mutually reinforcing. When, in 1859, a first large sawmill was contemplated on the west coast of Vancouver Island, its manager purchased the land from the Crown and then, arriving at the intended mill site, dispersed its native inhabitants at the point of a cannon (Sproat 1868). He then worried somewhat about the proprieties of his actions, and talked with the chief, trying to convince him that, through contact with whites, his people would be civilized and improved. The chief would have none of it, but could stop neither the loggers nor the mill. The manager and his men had debated the issue of rights, concluding (in an approximation of Locke) that the chief and his people did not occupy the land in any civilized sense, that it lay in waste for want of labor, and that if labor were not brought to such land, then the worldwide progress of colonialism, which was "changing the whole surface of the earth," would come to a halt. Moreover, and whatever the rights or wrongs, they assumed, with unabashed self-interest, that colonists would keep what they had got: "this, without discussion, we on the west coast of Vancouver Island were all prepared to do." Capital was establishing itself at the edge of a forest within reach of the world economy, and, in so doing, was employing state sanctioned property rights, physical power, and cultural discourse in the service of interest."

- Cole Harris, “How Did Colonialism Dispossess? Comments from an Edge of Empire,” Annals of the Association of American Geographers, Vol. 94, No. 1 (Mar., 2004), p. 172-174.

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psychotakublabs · 3 years

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“Two Witches Torn Apart Now Alone Two Hearts Of Stone A Curse Of Feathers And Mud A Betrayal Of Blood”

This was the secret message in Season 1 and at first you would think it related to Eda and Lilith throughout the season 1. However, Belos’s outburst in “Hunting Palisman” may have proven a different meaning in the message. It may actually refer to Belos and Eda throughout the series.

“Two Witches Torn Apart Alone Two Hearts of Stone”

This does refer to Eda and Lilith being close as children but grew apart when they got alone. The reasons were because Eda is a wild witch outlaw and Lilith was the leader of the Emperor’s Coven. Because of circumstances and ideals, both witches were alone and their emotions were either hidden or cold. However, this could relate to Belos as well. In “Hunting Palisman”, Belos revealed his family was destroyed because of wild magic. But you have to wonder how as magic either has to be casted by another witch or objects (potions, books, plants, Glyphs etc). Meaning someone, either in Belos' family or another witch close to Belos, used wild magic on Belos that put his lineage in ruins. Which could mean Belos and another witch were torn apart because of wild magic and Belos is now alone. The “Two Hearts of Stone” could be related to the stone heart in his throne room but there is only one. It could refer to his own heart connected to the stone heart. There is also the possibility it could relate to Hunter and Belos’s relationship. Both do share a familial bond, but their goals tend to clash as Hunter wants to cure his uncle by studying wild magic while Belos wants to unite the realms to possibly get rid of his curse as well as rid wild magic. Both seem to clash when this conversation comes up, especially in the beginning and end of “Hunting Palisman”. Although they are family, both are alone and have closed off their emotions to reach their end goal.

“A Curse of Feather and Mud”

The curse of feathers is Eda’s curse because she turns into an owl beast when using her magic. After Lilith shared the curse, it seems to activate when Eda and Lilith are under stress. In “Hunting Palisman” we see Belos in agony when his curse suddenly flares up and it seems to be random. He turns into a horrifying monster but then he starts slamming his morphed arm into the wall as it looks like he is trying to control or suppress the curse. It looks to be a green/brown goop of some sort. This leads me to believe it’s actually mud. Especially when the substance starts leaking from his cracked mask and hand. Hence the curse of mud must be Belos’s curse. Both curses are similar to each other such as morphing into monstrous creatures, affecting their magic and body, needing certain substances to keep it at bay, and outbursts/flare ups that are uncontrollable and take over. However, Eda’s curse is starting to be manageable and may even have ways of controlling it. Belos’s curse seems to have affected his body to the point he can utilize it’s morphing capabilities but his outbursts are sporadic and dangerous which is why he is trying to get rid of it. Both deal with their curses differently but from the message and recent episode, we can conclude Eda is the curse of feathers and Belos is the curse of mud.

“A Betrayal of Blood”

When we learned Lilith was the one who cursed Eda, it makes sense “a betrayal of blood” was related to that revelation. It still is. However, that may not be the only betrayal. Belos stated in “Hunting Palisman” that wild magic destroyed his family. But it isn’t clear how it destroyed his family. Magic must be casted from the user for it to take effect. Magic is everywhere, but specific purposes must be casted (magic as electricity, spells as appliances). This makes one wonder how Belos was cursed with wild magic? From “a betrayal of blood” it could be interpreted into many things with Belos’s curse. 1) Like Lilith and Eda, Belos was cursed by someone in his family. One of his family members may have used wild magic on Belos to curse him. It could also be the reason his family was destroyed because of that relative’s betrayal. 2) The curse could be hereditary. The betrayal of blood could be his family were all affected by the curse through bloodline. The curse could be getting worse through each generation and Belos is the sole survivor of his lineage. 3) Hunter could betray Belos in the future. We can see Hunter is starting to question his loyalty with Belos and his perspective on wild magic is changing. The more he interacts with Luz, the more he will start to doubt and could possibly betray Belos. Although they are not related by blood, they do share a history of cursed bloodlines making them family. “A betrayal of blood” has multiple interpretations, but both relate to Eda and Belos.

What Does This Mean?

From what we know so far, there are two reasons as to what Season 1 secret message could entail of Eda and Belos.

1) Clawthorne and Belos Relation

This could either be by blood or close family ties. The Clawthorne family has been around for a while from Gwendolyn saying her great-grandmother knew of Philip, so it’s very likely they knew each other. It is not sure how long the Savage Ages have lasted but Belos should be around 70 so probably around the same time as Gwendolyn. Both could have been children while their families were connected from Gwendolyn and Belos parents or further back. There could be some blood relation as Eda, Lilith, Gwendolyn, Belos, and Hunter have bird motifs/items. If they aren’t related by blood, they could have been close friends. Someone in either the Clawthorne family or Belos’s family could have cursed their entire family. Much like Lilith cursing Eda from a scroll, someone could have used wild magic either casting to curse Belos’s entire family. Whether it be intentional or accident, this could have caused a rift in the Clawthorne and Belos family ties. However, there are holes in this theory. It doesn’t seem either one remembers or even seems to have relations with each other. Belos could have blamed someone but it seems he may not have known who cursed him or he could be blaming wild magic for the curse instead of the one who cursed him. The bird motifs on both sides could just be a coincidence. Still it is worth mentioning now that the Season 1 secret message is not just about Eda.

2) Eda and Belos Share Similar Stories

Since the Season 1 secret message is not only about Eda, there are similarities with Belos and Eda. Both have been cursed by family (undetermined by Belos' side but it’s highly likely it’s someone in the family), closed off from others, and know about the Human Realm. However, both are parallel to each other. Eda was cursed and ostracized by society because of it. She became a criminal because she would not join a Coven because they strip witches of most of their magic. She embraces wild magic and believes in individual freedom. Even knowing Lilith cursed her, she doesn’t hold a grudge or hatred to her sister (sometimes reminds her of the betrayal but not in a hateful manner) and helps Lilith with her curse. After Luz enters her life, Eda starts to trust others again and even becomes a mother figure to Luz. Instead of blaming others or magic for her curse, Eda tries to manage it instead and live her life even with the curse. Belos lost his entire family to the curse and blames wild magic for it. Since that incident, he has restructured the Boiling Isles society to follow his Coven system and admonish wild magic. He believes everyone has to conform to his rules and wants to rid the Demon Realm of wild magic. Belos rejects help from others and must think the “Day of Unity” is the only way to cure his curse as well as to make sure no one else suffers from wild magic. Belos has found a way to manage the curse, but it’s getting harder to control and his outbursts are becoming frequent. He does take in Hunter because both have shared similar experiences with wild magic cursing their families like Eda and Luz with being outcasts in their homes. However, Belos is very harsh on Hunter, even so far to harm him for mentioning wild magic or failing his mission. Belos’s true intentions may even be hidden from Hunter and everyone else. Eda and Belos share similar fates but different experiences, however it means Season 1 secret message tells the same message of two different people.

Whichever reason it may be, Season 1 secret message is related to Eda and Belos. Now if that is the case, there are some questions left unanswered. Who cursed Belos’s entire family and Belos himself and how close were they? The first sentence is about two witches being torn apart so it either means someone Belos trusted betrayed him or a witch in the past betrayed a family member that cursed his lineage. Then we have Eda’s curse. Eda’s curse was casted from a scroll which is similar to Luz’s Glyph magic. Lilith also got the scroll from the night market which deals with shady dealings. Could Eda’s curse originate from wild magic? If so it could explain how Belos was cursed or at least why his hatred from wild magic could be justified (doesn’t mean his actions on the Boiling Isles is justified, just his hatred towards wild magic). There is also the question of how combining both realms could purify magic but that will be in another theory. That secret message is the key to unlocking Belos’s past and the incomplete Season 2 secret message is going to tell us more about Belos’s plan and what is to unfold in the story. Now that we have seen Belos’s curse, the secret message in Season 1 is the story of Eda in season 1 and the story of Belos we have yet to uncover.

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zaharadessert · 3 years

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Okay but I really want to know what fics are hiding behind these titles (really all of them but I guess I have to pick): I Did Right, OH, and SK.

Hey! So... I did right is still in my WIPs folder because I have a couple of one shots I want to write to round out the bunnies in that universe. I haven't relegated it to backburners yet because I am determined to get them done already!

One will focus on Emma and Killian and how things develop post marriage. The second will focus a little more on some Captain Cobra, with a little bit of Outlaw Cobra for good measure! I'm going to admit that I haven't written a word of either of them and for that I am very sorry... but... hopefully talking about them will get me some muse on them and I can get them up before the end of the year...

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OH... Occupational Hazards... This is my second cake fic with @motherkatereloyshipper based on the 'I'm not a tripper I was selling the last snow shovel' picture, and it's... gotten a lot more complicated than originally intended and the plot needs untangling before I can go any further. Buuuuut... have a snippet...

Killian was frowning hard as he looked down at the open exercise book in front of him containing the almost complete drawing and accompanying incomplete paragraph Henry Swan had produced yesterday. It hadn’t been until he was marking the children’s work at lunch time that he’d noticed it. He was wondering if he was doing the right thing by talking to Miss Swan about his concerns. He’d gone to see Ms Mills, who was the safeguarding lead for the school as soon as he’d managed to pick his jaw up off the floor. She’d wanted to call Child Protective Services the moment she’d seen it, but there was something about the gleam in her eyes as she suggested it that made him pause.

Then he’d considered what he knew.

He’d known Henry for a couple of months now, and nothing the lad had said or done had raised any red flags. He knew that hesitating for even an afternoon could be detrimental, but Henry was happy. He spoke highly of his mom and his aunt and uncle who had apparently helped out a lot when it came to raising their nephew. He’d met Henry’s uncle when the man had brought him in on the first day of the semester, as Miss Swan was at work. He’d seemed like a level-headed, forthright gentleman whom Killian could not imagine being happy about his sister’s, or was it sister-in-law’s, situation.

If he even knew about it.

He couldn’t remember the man’s surname, but it wasn’t Swan.

But the work in front of him could not be ignored, not if he was going to continue his career with a clear conscience and continue to uphold the morals he was keen to impart to his students. So, it was all of this that made him want to give her the chance to explain, to ask for help before they took anything further.

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I've been talking about SK for a while, and a lot of people have forgotten what it stands for, which is amusing. However, I am here to officially announce that this is my Serial Killer fic. It's inspired by a line of a tv show I overheard my Dad watching which went something alone the lines of...

You used me as bait for a serial killer without telling me?

And hence, the serial killer fic was born... This is also the fic that @jrob64 picked for me to bump up my list when she won my 1k kudos/100k words giveaway. Which is why it's moved out of the bunny folder. So, here is your snippet...

It was fairly warm considering it was evening, Emma was glad that she’d ignored the instinct to grab her red leather jacket before walking out there door. Aside from the fact that it would have been leather on leather, she wasn’t sure why, tonight of all nights she’d gone without it, but she had. She was humming to herself over the sound of the traffic at the end of the side street she was waiting on. A tune she’d heard while sitting in a coffee shop staking out a bodega that afternoon. A mere fragment of it really, repeating over and over again in her head.

She sighed and flicked open her clutch to check her phone. One thing leaving her jacket behind meant was a distinct lack of pockets.

The last message she’d had from Walsh had been hours ago, confirming the time but changing the location of their date. She was so confused by it that she almost called him, but there must have been a reason for his confirmation by text.

He was chasing down a serial killer after all, where she had the advantage in bail bonds that time didn’t generally cost lives, Walsh did not. Things were often a little more time sensitive when you were a homicide detective for the NYPD. So Emma had accepted more than a couple of cancelled dates, had fallen asleep alone more times than she would have liked, had reheated his dinner while he dragged himself, exhausted, into the shower, all more often than his boss should have allowed in the few months since she’d moved in with him.

Emma had assumed that moving in with Walsh would mean more of the small moments she’d come to enjoy when one of them had stayed with the other for the night. It seemed a given as they were no longer spending their time in separate apartments, they would have more time together but that wasn’t what was happening. Or at least, Emma didn’t think it was happening as often as it should.

Had Walsh become bored with the status quo? Or now she’d moved in had he lost the thrill of the chase? Was she not as exciting as his job? Not interesting enough to entice him home of an evening? Either way, the situation warranted a conversation later. Maybe tomorrow, she didn’t want to spoil their date.

If Walsh, who was now half an hour late, ever turned up for it.

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and there you go @sotangledupinit those are the answers to your deepest darkest desires of knowledge for my WIPs... I hope you enjoyed the answers, even if the first one was a little cryptic, and links to my other responses so far are below...

Reblogged answer about Dark Hook Husband...

#cs ff #captain swan #zaharadessert writes #ouat #wip game

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scotianostra · 3 years

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Scottish National Portrait Gallery Statues.

Continuing on with my pics from last week.

King Robert I. Known as Robert the Bruce, this is arguably our best known monarch, certainly amongst Scots. Long before Mel Gibson rode into town and used the term Braveheart, King Robert was known by this nickname.

Robert the Bruce was defeated in his first two battles against the English, and became a fugitive, hunted by both Comyn’s friends and the English, hence the title of the film, Outlaw King.

Legend has it whilst hiding, despondent, in a room or a cave he is said to have watched a spider swing from one rafter to another, time after time, in an attempt to anchor it’s web. It failed six times, but at the seventh attempt, succeeded. Bruce took this to be an omen and resolved to struggle on. Differing versions of the spider story exist, but the saying “If at first you don’t succeed” is said to have sprung from the medieval tale.

The Bruce sent the English homewards to think again in the year 1314 at Bannockburn, six years later he was instrumental in the drawing up of The Declaration of Arbroath but it wasn’t until 1328 that a formal peace treaty was drawn up between the Auld Enemy and Scotland. Robert the Bruce died just over a year later in June 1329 his place in our proud history firmly in place.

King James I. James was sent to France by his father for his own safety after his uncle The Duke of Albany was complicit in the death of his brother, the heir to the throne, David, Duke of Rothesay. On his way to France his ship was seized by pirates who “sold” him to the English.

James was held as a prisoner in England for 18 years, although he was afforded the education and trappings of his position. The English King Henry V took James to France during the Hundred Years' War where he asked Scots defending the French town of Melun during a siege to lay down their arms, which they dismissed out of hand. When the town fell the French prisoners were in the main spared as Prisoners of war, the contingent of Scots were hanged for treason against their king.

James, on his release purged the Scots court of many of the Nobility he took a dislike to and was eventually assassinated on 21st February 1437 at The Blackfriars Monastery which once stood in Perth.

Sir James Dalrymple 1st Viscount Stair. Born into a family descended from several generations of landed gentry who were involved in the Reformation, James fought during the War of the Covenant against the Stewart Kings Charles I and II who were interfering in their church affairs, it was all to do with the divine rights of Kings that the Stewarts believed so dearly in. He was educated mainly at The University of Glasgow and became one of our leading legal minds of the era. He wrote “The Institutions of the Law of Scotland” which provided the foundation for Scots law.

Dalrymple became Lord President of the Session in 1671 but resigned in 1681, the year in which the Institutions was published.

Stair's resignation was due to his reluctance to take the Test, an oath that asserted the supremacy of the King over the Church. He went into exile in the Netherlands until 1688, when he returned in the entourage of William of Orange after the Glorious Revolution and all his former positions were restored.

Walter Scott must have been a fan of the family writing that his descendants. "The family of Dalrymple produced within two centuries as many men of talent, civil and military, of literary, political and professional eminence, as any house in Scotland."

John Napier. Finally in this post, Napier was a Scottish scholar who is best known for his invention of logarithms, the bane of my life at High School, I detest logarithms, algebra and all that goes with it. That’s not arithmetic by the way, I can do mental arithmetic.

Anyway the Napier's were an important family in 16th Century Scotland, they hailed from Merchiston Castle, the castle dates from the mid 15th century and remarkably survives to this day surrounded by Edinburgh Napier University.

John Napier dabbled in alchemy, the occult and witchcraft, bear in mind this was in the days when you just needed to fall out with someone to be burnt as a witch! Well unless you had a title and money!

#Scotland #Scottish National Portrait Gallery.#Edinburgh #Queen Street #history #Statues

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missinghan · 4 years

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「 what am I // stray kids 」

❖ genre : sci-fi; superpower au; platonic relationship au

❖ word count : 3,9k (bullet points only)

❖ warning : explicit language, most likely ain’t scientifically true at all

❖ summary : superpowers manifest in certain individuals once they hit puberty and naturally, those odd abilities will vanish as soon as adulthood occurs; but how will those teenagers protect themselves from the curiosity of science?

❖ a/n : this isn’t a proper fic since I don’t think I’ll actually write smth decent out of this but I don’t want the idea to rot inside my dungeon either- so yea, bear with me through this character intro post(?)

— bang chan ↠ locating ability-wielders & teleportation

· sometimes when he’s running errands for his parents, chan can feel a distinct ‘zing’ ins his bones if someone else with unusual abilities is nearby and can describe their power perfectly to the t; he ignores it at first but learns to make do with it eventually; can teleport another person with him and also needs to calculate carefully before teleporting because he once ends up in the middle of a freeway instead of school resulting from lack of sleep.

· looks intimidating but is the first to talk to a new kid in class and show them around as he’s president of the school’s student council; smiles and laughs a lot once you get to know him, and is also very caring, reliable.

· he wishes to apply for a music production company after his college graduation but his family turned the idea down almost immediately and sent him to a boarding school in Europe.

· chan starts taking notice in strange things at his new school after the first few weeks; for example: how they unreasonably force students to have a daily health checkup, how their food taste like medicine most of the times, teachers don’t really seem to care about what they’re teaching and some of his classmates mysteriously ‘move away’ whenever security shows up at their dorm in the middle of the night.

· after finding out where they actually are via photos of students being locked up inside cells, arms and legs chained up like domestic animals, injected with odd substances on a daily basis which were taken by an anonymous individual, chan secretly packs his stuff and decides to ditch this so-called boarding school for good.

· he works hard to hide his identity ensuing flying back to his hometown for a solid three weeks and the fact that there are more people cursed with supernatural abilities begins dawning onto him; cutting off contact with his family completely, moving from one crusty apartment to another every month, chan tackles this crazy idea of assembling a group consisted of extraordinary people to give him a hand with creating a safe environment for the ‘gifted’ youths.

— lee minho ↠ collapse

· law major, quite the loner, raised by a single mother; didn’t have much since little but his mother’s love and affection make up for everything.

· looks intimidating, is actually intimidating; the only person he talks to in college is his dance coach, doesn’t like school nor has many friends; his slightest glare is as cold as a wife trying to win custody of her children in court.

· minho can make his surroundings crumble and fall apart with his mind, which shouldn’t be confused with telekinesis since he can’t physically move objects to his will; this deadly power is triggered whenever he’s experiencing extremely negative emotions like fear or anguish and he’s not (still isn’t) very good at getting a hold of it.

· a group of suspicious men shows up at his house one day as he returns home from dance practice; they claim to be an agency looking for up and coming talents but by the way that his mother is staring at the ground nervously with her legs trembling, his institution tells him that something’s off.

· he firmly declines their offer with a stiff “I’m uncertain that I’m the talent you gentlemen are looking for, but you should know that when the cops are here to fill out their reports, I’m gonna be very helpful, as helpful as possible.”

· “what other random merry of fucking misdemeanors are going to pop up once they go through your records? domestic violence? illegal substances and weapons possession? human trafficking?”

· with a gun to her head, his mom scrambles to her knees and begs him to go with them, admitting that she’s already signed the contract; if he follows their orders and agrees to become an experimental subject, she won’t have to worry about any financial problems for the rest of her life.

· in the heat of the moment, they ultimately force him to activate his power for the very first time; as a result, his house collapses, the death of his only family and the group of men following suit.

· “I’m too late.”

· chan manages to find minho under the aftermath, severely injured and is hanging by a string of life so fragile that can only be saved after undergoing a twelve-hour operation at the hospital.

— seo changbin ↠ sound waves manipulation

· a good student, reputable within his social sphere at school, and comes from a pretty well-off family.

· changbin is able to bend and control sound waves to his advantage; whether it’s simply for his musical instruments or moving objects around, he can also use something as minor as his own heartbeat when he’s emotionally unstable; using the ability continuously for too long can give him severe migraines and potentially damage his brain to a degree if he’s not mindful of it.

· he stays up late at night to write and produce his own songs, keeping it a secret from his parents; posts his own songs on a SoundCloud account, or performs even live at a random underground club under the alias SpearB if he has the chance to.

· an organization full of outlaw scientists comes across a video of his performance on the web, analyzing how he can enhance the beat, his vocal cords without the help of any form of technology, and just like that, he easily tops the list of their targets.

· having no choice but to do what they want when those men hold his parents hostage inside his family’s mansion, changbin gets sent to the same boarding school as chan but they’re being observed in different buildings for his power is on the more useful and dangerous side; hence, his classes consist of a smaller amount of students and they are put through checkups more constantly.

· he doesn’t really pay attention to the skepticisms that reek off all over the place as he’s too busy being homesick and studying because he fully believes that the harder he works, the more obediently he acts, the sooner they’ll let him go; all hell breaks loose when those photos are scattered everywhere, from the hallways to the bathrooms; changbin takes advantage in the riot to get himself out of there as quickly as he can possibly run to the airport.

· changbin swears to never trust anyone again until chan and minho find him sleeping inside an abandoned grocery store with a pistol inside his sleeping bag, two daggers concealed in his sleeves at all times.

· “are we seriously going to contain some headass who was this close to blowing my brain out of my head?”

· “huh, funny, last time I checked, you almost smothered me to death under a gigantic block of cement when I was trying to save your life.”

· “who are you guys and how the hell did you get in here? I don’t recall not locking the door.”

— hwang hyunjin ↠ permeation & memory manipulation

· a true theater kid, meaning he knows almost everyone but every single student at school knows him; naturally, becomes the Prince after playing one too many male lead roles because of his godly features; rather well-mannered and diligent though he doesn’t look like it.

· mistaken to be a player by every new batch of freshmen that only ever gets to watch him practicing his lines from afar, swooning tremendously whenever he ties up his hair; always carries a camera around, doesn’t like to have too many friends but if you get close enough, he’s probably the most fun to be around, won’t ever judge your questionable life choices.

· hyunjin’s ability allows him to walk right through walls as well as any other solid matters but it will drain his stamina painstakingly, causing him to run short on breaths after using his power to change his costumes faster between scenes; the thicker the wall is, the more strength it takes for him to pass through completely.

· he can also erase a certain chunk of memory from someone’s mind but he needs to physically touch them; has only used this ability one time to wipe his existence out of a childhood best friend’s mind before moving away from his hometown.

· his interest in photography sparks the moment his uncle comes back from a business trip and gives him a toy camera, it’s nowhere near the real ones but the ten-year-old hwang hyunjin sure takes it very, very seriously; after a decade or so, he has replaced it with cameras that actually work and developed quite the talent for taking photos of sceneries and people (jisung is his number one victim but he can’t care less as long as he looks decent and that hyunjin won’t save any crack ones to blackmail him).

· suddenly gets a sketchy summer scholarship to a boarding school in London (the same so-called school that Chan and Changbin went to), his mom encourages him to go after looking it up on the internet without knowing the chances of her own son being exploited for twisted science is shockingly high.

· and the culprit who takes those photos during a wandering around school after curfew is none other than hyunjin himself; he knows damn well posting those photos means getting himself into trouble but heck, his conscience forbids him to leave this hell-on-earth place without alerting these innocent people.

· so the night before those photos are spread everywhere, in every corner, every edge of the building, hyunjin smashes his camera completely with a baseball bat and burns the broken bits in the school backyard; he tries getting through those sleep-deprived men in their fifties who aren’t likely paid enough with his ability and flees.

· surprisingly, he comes rushing into his best friend’s house right after his horrendous flights only to find him being surrounded by three mysterious men.

— han jisung ↠ plunder

· the jokester of the class, takes great joy in stressing the living daylights out of his professors with irrational questions that aren’t necessarily relevant to the lesson, procrastinates, and sleeps through lessons like there’s no tomorrow but still keeps that shiny ‘A’ on his report card nonetheless.

· being friends with hyunjin results in occasional admirers here and there for him but he does kinda have his own fandom base after being pulled upstage out of the blue in the middle of last year’s spring music festival, musing him an opportunity to show off his rapping skills; because of that event, he takes writing music more seriously with the stage name J.One.

· if jisung is being honest, he hardly uses his power since it’s basically taking over anyone’s body and mind for a maximum of five seconds meanwhile his own body is immobile; and if any physical effects occur (for example, a basketball hits him on the head spontaneously), he’s obligated to endure that pain for that person until they become conscious of their own body again.

· he’s not a creep, he swears.

· and who knows? what if his body gets kidnapped within those five seconds?

· hyunjin and jisung know about each other’s ability but don’t really discuss nor talk about them because they don’t find walking through walls or temporarily possessing someone’s body cool.

· well, that’s that until chan, minho and changbin show up at his house the same day when hyunjin returns from his summer exchange program with a cut lip and bruised knuckles.

· “han jisung, you’re going to have to come with us unless you want to live inside a cage for the rest of your life.”

· “I’m sorry, are you threatening me?”

· “we’re trying to protect you, smartass, you’re far too dangerous to be roaming the streets so freely.”

· “....me? I’m dangerous?”

· jisung not knowing the slightest bit about his own ability downright baffles chan—he’s only scratched the surface of it at this point; his true potential is if he’s taking over another ability-wielder’s body, he will then take their power for himself; and jisung can’t remember the last time he properly uses it either.

— lee felix ↠ imperfect invisibility

· initially lives in Australia but after finding out about his ability, he moves to Seoul with his parents to live a quieter, more covered-up life without being surrounded by too many relatives.

· an absolute sweetheart, smart, kind, honest, a little slow to read in between the lines at times; can concentrate relatively well on an empty stomach, but gets drowsy quickly after eating, especially big meals.

· lix is also homeschooled up until high school in order to avoid any unwanted situation; later on, applies for a course that can be taken online for the most parts at an average-ish university to not draw so much attention.

· since he stays at home most of the time, he spends lots of time playing different video games, experiences random cooking recipes without burning the house down, and teaches himself how to dance through online tutorials, getting awfully good at it fast partially thanks to his natural flexibility.

· he can disappear from a single person’s field of vision for as long as he wants to but it’s still limited and considered flawed since felix can only disappear from the sight one person of his choice at a time; although it can come in quite handy whenever he gets shoved into a dark alleyway by random people varying from cheap pickpockets with a box-cutting knife to muscular men dressed in black.

· learns boxing during middle school so he can still kick asses to preserve his own life.

· felix once punches jisung in the gut and slaps hyunjin in the face with a cabbage after seeing them follow each and every one of his movements the moment he steps out of the supermarket—he’s got used to listening to people’s footsteps over time.

· “okay, first of all, ow, and second of all, why did I get the punch and he got the cabbage?!”

· “oh, don’t be such a baby.”

· “you two don’t look like those balding dudes in money-dripping black suits...what are you on? crack? what do you want from me? money? food?”

· “of course we’re not balding men in their forties! I take personal offense to that! and please, who do you take me as? a total creep who only ever knows how to follow people with his stupid sidekick tagging along for background noises?”

· “HEY! I NEVER AGREED TO BE YOUR SIDEKICK!”

· “well, it’s time you fucking did then, han.”

· “you know, I suppose this is the part where you two put me to sleep with some kind of drug and bring me back to your excuse of a headquarter.”

· “oh, did you bring the anesthetic pills?”

· “I thought Changbin gave it to you, no?”

— kim seungmin ↠ time-leap

· born in a middle-class family, very studious but also enjoys playing baseball during retreats, takes time to open up to people so he has more acquaintances than close friends but he doesn’t mind, that way he has more time for himself.

· definitely and never will be the kid who lets his classmates take advantage of his wit, he does do a good chunk of every group project but makes sure everyone has at least one decent thing to do (low-key loves bossing people around); can be pretty distant at first, but he just weirds people out after getting closer and doesn’t hold grudges.

· seungmin is capable of bringing himself back to a specific past event to alter the future outcome though it won’t work most of the time unless he really, really has to for safety purposes or the situation gets out of hands; time-leaping won’t activate if he wants to retake a test but works like a charm when he tries to save a kid on the street from a car accident.

· actually does deep, proper research into other ability-wielders and often stays in school during nighttime to read the news, articles or anything that he can find on the web to learn about how that one cryptic boarding school in Europe that’s accused of abusing their students got shut down all of a sudden, the students never return and family members never bother to look for them.

· hence, he adapts to hiding his ability and himself fairly well—never takes the late-night buses, doesn’t try to become close and bond with other people, asks his parents to change the door lock every month, burns bills each time he purchases something but he tries not to go out as much as possible.

· seungmin has seen hyunjin use his power once by accident but decided to say nothing about it; eventually finds chan’s headquarter (which is just his crusty apartment) by following jisung and hyunjin after their practice hour, baffles them all a little but joins in no time.

· after asking hyunjin to erase his parents’ memory about himself, seungmin gives everyone a hand for their plan of building a school and campus, completely safe and under the radar for other ability welders until their adolescence is over; he time-leaps back to back in order to collect as much information about lottery tickets as he can.

· another flaw occurs when he travels to the past for the third time: his eyesight gets weaker and weaker every time he time-leaps so he starts wearing glasses as a temporary resolution but chan stops him when he tries to do it for the fifth time, saying that they would rather work hard for a little longer than have seungmin lose his vision forever.

· after over a year or so, they successfully repurchase an education organization and officially establish an exclusive academy for ability-wielders, reaching out to those individuals before scientists can get a hold of them.

— yang jeongin ↠ superhuman speed

· the quiet kid who most likely won’t talk unless the teacher asks him to answer a question or someone tells him to let them copy his homework; has his earbuds in most of the time to pretend he can’t hear what people are saying so he won’t have to interact with them.

· joins after you when chan finds him hitting a wall head-on at an abnormal speed while trying to save a kitten in the middle of the streets.

· jeongin has extremely enhanced agility and reflexes but he still lacks accuracy for he is naturally a clumsy person; therefore, changbin tells him to wear a protective layer under his uniform so even in the worst-case scenario, he can jump off a building and make it out with minor scratches.

· reluctantly buys lunch for every member of the student council (aka 00 liners + you) on a daily basis although he can’t really see which kind of sandwiches he’s grabbing at and they end up being mushy most of the time.

· and for those people who say his resting face is scary, he’s mainly just frustrated because of his friends.

· also usually is the one who returns with the most injuries because of his own ability—he always flees like his life depends on it to save jisung’s ass from being hit by a truck and hyunjin’s camera from being crushed (the sole purpose of the student council will be explained more thoroughly later).

· has single-handedly saved everyone inside a bookstore when a sudden fire breaks out.

· minho scolds him and felix a lot for spending too much time at the arcade after school instead of doing their required tasks.

· acts all tough and mature since he’s the youngest of the squad, loves to make fun of jisung for his height but still is and probably will always be a complete child who hates eating vegetables with a passion; gets yelled at a lot whenever there’s a BBQ party since he only ever eats meat.

· “corn? why are we raiding the Asian market for corn at one AM?”

· “an outdoor, wholesome BBQ isn’t complete without corn, duh.”

· “do you want to get us caught?!”

· “oh please, they’re going to show up either way.”

· “YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE!”

— y/n (reader) ↠ telepathic manipulation

· president of the student council, stubborn, slightly less bossy than seungmin, appears to be apathetic and cranky mainly because you can’t sleep that well; with that being said, you don’t feel too tired during ungodly hours when people are tossing around in the comfort of their bed but snap at irritating people a lot in the morning if they’re making too much noise.

· your ability allows you to control people to your will, from something as meaningless as slamming their head through a wall to life-threatening actions like forcing them to point a knife at their own throat; it’s somewhat similar to jisung’s power though you don’t have to physically feel what your target is going through and you don’t need to worry about taking over their body.

· the only downside to it is that you easily fall asleep the moment you set your target free.

· minho is the one who gets you out of the laboratory where your parents were working on a huge, secret project about individuals with supernatural abilities for an unknown organization; you’re unfortunate enough to become their first-ever experimental subject which only nourishes resentment slowly, gnawing at your sanity while you’re dreading each day behind those cold metal bars.

· perhaps joining the student council is what makes your life less depressing, perhaps; you’re far too busy facepalming at the beautiful monstrosity of their friendship and feeding them ensuing returning to the dorm after school since those boys only know how to eat, cooking is too much for them to comprehend (albeit felix).

· when your family was still… normal, your parents sent you to martial art classes every weekend so like felix, you don’t actually need your power to save yourself from some random mobsters on the streets.

· you’re also the only person who eats vegetables properly and even tries to incorporate more fiber into their diets but as always, they never listen, especially hyunjin when it comes to green onions.

· don’t have the best reputation in the academy because the idea of letting the new girl with a seemingly useless ability become president of the student council isn’t very appealing to many people, and it doesn’t help when every member of the council is exclusively allowed to drop out in the middle of a class to ‘collect’ any ability-wielders that chan manages to locate that day since he’s always worn out with changbin and minho from boring paperwork as well as other businessy stuff.

· even when your ability is considered almost perfect, you’ve only used it once when you thought minho was going to sell you off to another place and almost made him put a bullet through his own brain; you’ve refrained yourself from using it since that day.

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the-busy-ghost · 4 years

Text

Forensic Incoherence - TSP Edition

Ok I snapped and thought I’d get it out of my system. Also because I’m petty and I let things annoy me more than they should. I’d like to say first and foremost that people can and should still enjoy ‘The Spanish Princess’ as a fun tv show if they like, I’m simply pointing out that when it comes to Scotland, it bears even less resemblance to actual history than usual.

Also it is by no means the worst representation of Scotland! Which is saying something because it is NOT good. It’s about par for the course I’d say, with regards to the way mediaeval and early modern Scotland are portrayed in the media. Outlaw King and Outlander rise slightly above the mark but only just- i.e. they’re somewhat good pieces of historical media that are still inaccurate but are recognisably Scotland (and have some nice panning shots and good soundtracks). The middle point is probably inaccurate MQOS movies because they’re the least painful kind of inaccuracy that’s still kind of bad (but even their soundtracks don’t save them- I’m sorry John Barry). I will not say what the absolute worst piece of media is, I believe I have yet to encounter it and for that I am grateful. TSP is somewhere between the worst and the middle. The point is, most historical media about sixteenth century Scotland generally sucks, and this tv series is about the usual kind of bad. So I wouldn’t be so irritated with the people who made it if it weren’t for one or two individuals’ saying things about how ‘it really happened’.

With that in mind this is a good teachable moment. Usually there’s little point to a detailed analysis of where inaccuracy occurs in a tv show or movie- let’s face it, if they weren’t all a bit inaccurate they probably wouldn’t work too well on screen. However in this case it is such a classic example of the usual, standard depiction of Scottish history that it provides a great resource for showing where these things go wrong (which is everywhere).

So I thought I’d strip back a reasonably mediocre, not too terrible, not overly interesting piece and ask what we have left of sixteenth century Scotland after we’re finished.

I should point out I did not watch the first series of this show, and am basing this solely on the representation of the actual country in the first episode of season 2.

(Hours of James IV, source- wikimedia commons)

Now I’ve talked about James IV’s children in the first of the three scenes involving Scotland already. The last scene doesn’t have much meat in it except that I can confirm Margaret Tudor did lose multiple children and it WAS sad. So that leaves us with the second scene- the so-called ‘council’.

We open on your Usual Nonsense. Lots of men, many wearing tartan, with two famous surnames thrown in there for fun, arguing because The Clans Are Fighting Again.

I don’t have room to go into a whole analysis of the clan system and why our 21st century concept of ‘Highland clanship’ is not really applicable to many of the families at the centre of sixteenth century politics. Safe to say it is especially not applicable to the Red or Angus line of the Douglases (because yeah there were multiple different branches of that famous family), and only applicable to some of the branches of the Stewart family (and there were dozens of them, spread all over the country and operating in very different cultural worlds).

If Scottish politics worked the way that these writers seem to think it does- i.e. you support everyone who shares your family name against all others- then one wonders why James IV hasn’t taken the side of the Stewarts, seeing as that was his surname. Surnames and blood feud were very important in Scotland, both to traditional “clans” and to other families to don’t fit that bill, but they’re not everything. T.C. Smout famously said that “Highland society was based on kinship modified by feudalism, Lowland society on feudalism tempered by kinship.” Not everyone would agree wholly with that statement, but it’s a good starting point for beginners. Nonetheless, at no point should that confirm anyone’s belief that Scottish politics consisted basically of a bunch of clans with their own unique tartans and modern kilts running around the hills killing each other.

It’s also quite funny since James IV’s reign was one of the most (comparatively) peaceful in Scottish history between the Wars of Independence and the Union of the Crowns. He also had very little trouble controlling most of his subjects when it really mattered.

But I digress. We have Clans TM. They are Arguing. There are Douglases. There are Stewarts. It’s about as complicated as an Old Firm game, but less intellectual. This is supposed to be a serious political council.

(read more below)

Firstly, I can’t seem to find a good concise source, but based on a brief flip through the various charters, council decisions, accounts, and secondary sources on James IV’s reign I don’t think there were even any Douglases on the privy council in early 1511. Not that it’s a huge issue in itself- I don’t think that period dramas really put that much thought into representing the bewildering government reshuffles and that’s not really their main purpose anyway.

But what it leaves is this motley collection of characters, some of whom have historical figures’ names, and others who have vaguely plausible names that can’t be assigned to a specific person, and others who are unnamed set dressing but I get the feeling have probably been discreetly named something like Big Chief Hamish McTavish.

So among the few named characters you have George, Gavin, and “Angus” Douglas. These three are all presumably based on historical figures and it’s not too difficult to identify them, even if (like James IV’s children in another scene) they probably shouldn’t have been in the room.

“Angus” is presumably supposed to be Archibald Douglas, Margaret Tudor’s second husband, who became 6th Earl of Angus in 1513 (so two and a half years after this scene is set). “Angus Douglas” is not his name, in any way. It would be like me referring to Henry VIII as King England Tudor. Bit of a ridiculous mistake to make, if IMDB is not lying to me, since it implies that not only did the scriptwriters not even bother to use google, they didn’t even read the (somewhat inaccurate) novel that they based their show off.

Angus is not a common first name in the Douglas family during this period. In fact I don’t think I have ever heard of anyone called Angus Douglas from the sixteenth century or earlier. It was popular in some families from the west and the far north- mostly Gaelic-speaking families like the MacDonalds and the Mackays- but not really among the inhabitants of the Borders and Lowland east coast, which is where the Red Douglases held *most* (though not all) of their power. The earls of Angus took their title from a region in the east/north-east of the country, but they had a large power-base in the Borders and East Lothian too (not least the hulking red sandstone castle of Tantallon on the Berwickshire cliffs).

(The highlighted region is the modern version of Angus, between Dundee and Aberdeenshire. Nowadays, it has red-brown soil, old Pictish monuments, it grows wonderful raspberries and strawberries, and its main towns include Montrose, Arbroath (with its red sandstone abbey), Brechin, and Forfar. The urban and agricultural make-up would have been different in the sixteenth century though. The Borders meanwhile are pretty self-explanatory).

In 1511, Archibald’s grandfather, also Archibald, was still alive and held the title Earl of Angus. His eldest son George, Master of Angus (the younger Archibald’s father) was his heir apparent in 1511. Now the elderly 5th earl was still a wily character but he was old, and had also been held in custody on royal orders on the Isle of Bute until as recently as 1509, because the 5th earl and James IV had... well it was a complex relationship. We could perhaps assume that he was not able to travel easily- hence why his eldest son George, Master of Angus, seems to be the ‘George’ who is represented in that council scene. Somehow, I don’t see Archibald Junior being called his own grandfather’s title rather than his name when his father was in the room. George, Master of Angus, died at Flodden, which is why he did not succeed to his father’s earldom and the claim passed to his eldest son Archibald.

(There was another George Douglas worth mentioning, though he wouldn’t be in this scene- George Douglas of Pittendreich, Archibald’s younger- and, let’s be honest, smarter- brother. He was father to the Regent Morton).

The last is Gavin Douglas- probably the most interesting of the three to any literary scholars. He was the younger brother of the Master of Angus, and thus uncle to Archibald. He is one of the most important Scots poets- or makars- of James IV’s reign, and personally I would only place him beneath the great William Dunbar (the other big contenders, Henryson and Lindsay, respectively wrote most of their works before and after the adult reign of James IV). His works include the “Palice of Honour,” “King Hart”, and his greatest achievement the “Eneados”, completed c. 1513, which was the first full vernacular translation of the Roman poet Virgil’s Aeneid in either English or Scots. After Flodden, he became Bishop of Dunkeld, partly through Margaret Tudor’s influence, and didn’t find much time for writing any more poetry in the reign of James V, being consumed by political struggle. He died in exile in England in 1522.

Sixteenth century Scots had many complex and conflicting emotions and opinions, and one could severely hate and distrust England while remaining friends with certain Englishmen or respecting certain English customs. Nonetheless I find it a bit funny that Gavin Douglas is the one who is given the line ‘the English are the root of all our troubles’ since there was one thing that the English gave the world that no early sixteenth century Scots makar worth his salt could ever forget- and that was Geoffrey Chaucer (as well as his compatriots Lydgate and Gower). In his ‘Eneados’, Gavin Douglas himself described the great poet as “venerable Chaucer, principall poet but peir”. Which is not to say that such a character could not also have raged against the English on more than one occasion, this is merely to demonstrate that these three named men were rather more complex than the simplistic kilt-wearing, knife-wielding, drunk, Anglophobic, entirely uncultured stereotype we have on screen.

(And while I’m on the kilt and tartan thing- I literally JUST said that the Red Douglases were mostly centred on the Lowlands, and in particular the Borders. While it’s not impossible that they could have occasionally worn tartan, it’s not exactly everyday dress for them- unless you think it was also day dress for people in Carlisle as well. I notice Archibald Douglas himself isn’t really wearing any- perhaps this is to make him look more palatable. And don’t even get me started on the whole “the clans are fighting” thing).

(Look here’s a nice picture of Archibald Douglas, 6th Earl of Angus- admittedly when he was a bit older and had been in exile in England, but look! He’s dressed like other people in sixteenth century Europe! Nothing wrong with tartan but not your usual sixteenth century Borders earl gear.)

Funny thing is though, while the earls of Angus were undoubtedly important (and Gavin Douglas, being a university man, could act as an official), they’d lost their influence a bit by the end of the reign (again, the 5th Earl and James IV had a very layered relationship). Now, while lists of witnesses to charters do not necessarily reveal everything, if you were looking for powerful men who are likely to have been at the centre of government and on the king’s council in 1511 (and not just noblemen who were friends with the king but didn’t have government posts) I would look for some of the below first:

- Alexander Stewart, Archbishop of St Andrews and Chancellor of Scotland in 1511. He appears at the head of the witness list in almost every charter in the first half of 1511, and also signed off on the royal accounts. A young man, only about eighteen in 1511, who had studied under Patrick Paniter (see below), and then later had travelled on the continent and studies under humanists like Raphael Regius and Desiderius Erasmus. He was also James IV’s eldest son, though illegitimate- however although his promotion was undoubtedly nepotistic, there are signs that he would have made a pretty competent archbishop and he certainly actually did his job as chancellor. Although an archbishop (but never old enough to be fully consecrated or receive the revenues of his see), he followed his father to Flodden and died in battle. Erasmus famously eulogized him in his ‘Adages’, saying that:

“when a youth scarcely more than eighteen years old, his achievements in every department of learning were such as you would rightly admire in a grown man. Nor was it the case with him, as it is with so many others, that he had a natural gift for learning but was less disposed to good behaviour. He was shy by nature, but it was a shyness in which you could detect remarkable good sense.”

(A sketch from the Recueil d’Arras which is allegedly a copy of a painting of Alexander Stewart)

- William Elphinstone, Bishop of Aberdeen and Keeper of the Privy Seal in 1511. A man with many years of experience at the centre of government. After studying at Glasgow, Paris, and Orleans, he was made bishop of Ross and travelled to abroad on diplomatic missions. He had previously been High Chancellor of Scotland under James III, and even though he spent a small part of James IV’s early reign out in the cold he was soon brought back into the fold and played a leading role in government. Even though he was never chancellor again, he held the privy seal until the end of his career and often acted as de facto chancellor during the tenure of James IV’s younger brother the Duke of Ross (also an earlier Archbishop of St Andrews). William Elphinstone is also remembered for being a very active bishop in his diocese- he built a bridge over the River Dee, rebuilt part of the cathedral, and founded the University of Aberdeen, which received its papal bull in 1495. He organised the construction of King’s College, and the chapel built on his orders is still at the centre of the university’s campus today. He also sponsored the publication of the Aberdeen Breviary, on Scotland’s first printing press. He is supposed to have been against the invasion of England in 1513, but after the king’s death, Elphinstone was seen as the natural choice to succeed Alexander Stewart in the archdiocese of St Andrews, despite his age. He died in late 1514.

Andrew Stewart, Bishop of Caithness, Treasurer in 1511 takes third place on a lot of charters. Less can be said about him than the first two, though his rise at the centre of government really took off around 1509. He was Treasurer in 1511. It is not clear which branch of the Stewarts he hailed from, but it may have been the Stewarts of Lorne, which would have made him a distant cousin of the king and a slightly closer cousin of the king’s last known mistress, Agnes Stewart. Things are not made any simpler by the fact that, after his death, the next bishop of Caithness was ALSO called Andrew Stewart, and this one was an older half-brother of the Duke of Albany and a son of James IV’s uncle. The main takeaway- there are lots of Stewarts in Scotland, including the Royal Stewarts, and too many branches of the family for any simplistic tale of “clan” rivalry with the Red Douglases to be at all compelling or make sense. It is also worth noting that until 1469, Caithness would have been the most northerly diocese in the kingdom- whether Andrew spent more time there or at the centre of government is unclear.

(A rare contemporary painting of William Elphinstone, bishop of Aberdeen and Keeper of the Privy Seal)

Archibald Campbell, 2nd Earl of Argyll and Master of the Household in 1511- This post was less explicitly a ‘government’ post but the royal household still had an important political role. Even without this government post, though, the earl of Argyll was an important man. One of the two ‘new’ earldoms created in the reign of James II, the earls of Argyll were sometimes seen as royal ‘policemen’ in the West Highlands and islands. Their earldom was named after the large region on the west coast of the same name, cut up by sea-lochs and mountains. However they often had their own agenda and could exercise some independent policies in the Isles and northern Ireland. The earls of Argyll were usually the chiefs of Clan Campbell (look! An actual Highland clan for once!), including its many cadet branches. Clan Campbell has a very black reputation now (with some justification), though it is worth mentioning that in the sixteenth century they were also patrons of Gaelic culture and poetry, and frequently intermarried with the families they were meant to be ‘policing’. Notably, Archibald’s sister had been married to Angus Og (MacDonald), son (and supplanter) of the last “official” Lord of the Isles, but after Angus Og’s murder in the 1490s, the then earl of Argyll kept Angus’ son (his own grandson) Domnall in custody on behalf of the Crown- at least until he escaped and started causing all kinds of trouble in the early 1500s. Archibald Campbell, also called Gillespie, was the second earl of Argyll and rather less influential than his father had been, but he was still one of the most important laymen involved in government in the latter part of James IV’s reign. He died at Flodden in 1513.

Matthew Stewart, 2nd Earl of Lennox and Lord Darnley- Appears as a witness in many charters and is mentioned at council meetings on occasion. Yet another branch of the Stewart family- I must reiterate, a shared surname, though important, did not necessarily mean that everyone shared the same rivalries or stuck together through thick and thin. The Lennox is a region at the south-western edge of the Highlands, and north of the River Clyde- it is mostly centred around Loch Lomond. The Stewarts of Darnley had also had close links with France and in particular the Garde Écossaise for over a century. This earl of Lennox’s father led a short rebellion during the early years of James IV’s reign, but most of that was smoothed over in the end. In all honesty I don’t know that much about Matthew personally, except that he pops up a lot in government and court records (and there was also a very delicate case that came before the council in 1508 involving his daughter). I will need to look into him further. He died at Flodden- his son was the earl of Lennox who then died at Linlithgow Bridge in 1526, and his grandson married Margaret Douglas, daughter of the earl of Angus, and was the father of the infamous Lord Darnley who married Mary I.

Alexander Hume, 3rd Lord Hume and Great Chamberlain of Scotland in 1511. In the early sixteenth century, the Humes were borderers par excellence. Lord Hume was Warden of the East and Middle Marches, and had a great many kinsmen and friends (and a fair few enemies) throughout the borders counties. His great -grandfather and, especially, his father had also carved out a role for themselves at the centre of government. In the first couple of years of James IV’s reign, the Humes and even more so their neighbours the Hepburns (family of the earls of Bothwell) were practically running the show- this may have been one of the main causes of the earl of Lennox’s rebellion. In 1506 Alexander succeeded his father as 3rd Lord Hume and Great Chamberlain (less of an active administrative role by this point, but it still entitled the holder to access the centre of government and the royal household). He fought at Flodden but escaped- unfortunately for the Humes, rumours later circulated that they were partly responsible for the king’s death in the battle, and indeed James IV’s son the earl of Moray is supposed to have accused Hume of this in later years. Hume was one of the men who supported the appointment of the Duke of Albany as governor in 1515, after Margaret Tudor’s marriage to the Earl of Angus, but he very quickly grew dissatisfied with the duke, and by Christmas of the same year he had crossed the Border to join Margaret in Morpeth. After another few months of shenanigans in the Borders, Hume and his brother were captured by the Duke of Albany and executed in 1516- their heads were displayed above the Tolbooth in Edinburgh. This resulted in even more drama but I’m getting off topic and I think enough has been said on Lord Hume to give you an idea of his, um, colourful character. He is *supposed* to have had an affair with the second wife of the 5th Earl of Angus, Katherine Stirling, and was later the second husband of James IV’s last mistress Agnes Stewart, Countess of Bothwell.

(Restored windows in Stirling Castle Great Hall, the 20th century glass bearing the coats of arms of earls from the reign of James IV. The hall dates from around 1503 and was restored in the 1960s to look like it may have done in James IV’s time. It’s bright yellow and gorgeous and I’m furious it’s never used in anything).

Andrew Gray, Lord Gray and Justiciar in 1511- A lord of parliament like Hume, but with a less committed following, whose main interests lay in Angus (the region). Andrew Gray was one of the men who backed James IV in his rebellion against his father in 1488. Indeed, late sixteenth century legend has it that he was the one responsible for James III’s death- either arranging his murder in the mill at Bannockburn or carrying it out himself. However he acted as a loyal servant of the Crown until the end of his life, and as the justiciar he would have accompanied the king and other important nobles on justice ayres across the kingdom (and held some of his own). Traditionally, there had been two justiciars in Scotland- one for Scotia, north of the Forth, and one for south of the Forth (usually identified with Lothian- there was a third sometimes for Galloway as well). In the 1490s, Lord Drummond and the Earl of Huntly had also acted as justiciars at various points, but from around 1501 Lord Gray appears to have been the only justiciar. He died in early 1513.

Master Gavin Dunbar, Archdeacon of St Andrews and Clerk Register in 1511. Not to be confused with either of the poets Gavin Douglas or William Dunbar, nor with his nephew, Gavin Dunbar, Archbishop of Glasgow. This Gavin Dunbar was a graduate of the University of St Andrews and had travelled to France in at least one embassy in 1507. Technically, in 1511, Dunbar was clerk of the rolls, clerk register, and clerk of council- which is a lot of writing (if we assume he did it all himself, which I doubt). In 1518, Dunbar succeeded to William Elphinstone’s old diocese of Aberdeen and showed a decent amount of interest in the diocese. He undertook an extensive rebuilding programme at St Machar’s Cathedral and provided the nave with the wonderful heraldic ceiling that can still be seen today.

Master Patrick Paniter, Secretary to the King (among other things) in 1511. A very interesting individual. Paniter’s family were from the area around Montrose, in Angus, and he attended university at the College of Montaigu in Paris (as did many of his compatriots, including the contemporary theologian John Mair). He was clearly a bright spark since upon his return to Scotland he seems to have been appointed tutor to James IV’s young son Alexander and the two had a good relationship, with Paniter writing to the young archbishop as ‘half his soul’ and Alexander in turn keeping in touch with his ‘dear teacher’ while on the continent. By that time though, Patrick had moved onto bigger things, since the king appointed him royal secretary some time around 1505. Eventually Paniter became one of James IV’s most influential servants- in 1513, the English Ambassador Dr Nicholas West described the secretary as the man “which doothe all with his maister”. Of course Paniter enriched himself quite a bit too, becoming, among other things, archdeacon and chancellor of Dunkeld, deacon of Moray, rector of Tannadice, and Abbot of Cambuskenneth and, controversially, James IV also attempted to appoint him as preceptor of Torphicen. Paniter helped to direct the artillery at Flodden but unlike both his patron and former pupil, he survived the battle. He is also *reputed* to have been the father of David Paniter, bishop of Ross, by King James IV’s cousin Margaret Crichton.

The men whose careers I’ve outlined above all witnessed the majority of royal charters issued under the great seal in the first half of 1511 (by modern dating). A few others also appeared frequently- for example, Robert Colville of Ochiltree, John Hepburn the Prior of St Andrews, and George Crichton, Abbot of Holyrood. Obviously the make-up of the council changed frequently too. Equally though charters are not necessarily the only or best indication of who would have been part of the king’s ‘council’ and there are other officials and nobles whom we know were close to the king but rarely appear on these, either due to the date range or just their own status- Andrew Forman, bishop of Moray; the 1st earl of Bothwell (before his death); the 5th earl of Angus (in the 1490s anyway- I told you it was a complex relationship); John, Lord Drummond (especially in the 1490s), and others.

But why did I bother giving those long biographies? Well partly to demonstrate the complexity of individual stories in sixteenth century Scottish politics and that they did do important and interesting things. Also since several of these men held opposing political views and family interests, but were usually expected to cooperate at the centre of government, it underlines the point that sixteenth century Scottish politics was a bit more complex than ‘The Clans Are Fighting’. And also this is partly to show that we DO actually have this info at our disposal. Most tv shows and films just choose not to use it.

But the real reason for this long rant was mostly so I could ask, given the info I’ve provided above, WHO THE HELL IS THIS SUPPOSED TO BE:

It’s a bad picture, I know and again, nothing against the actor who seems to be having a lot of fun with the role. But other than James IV, Margaret, and the three Douglases (one of whom has the wrong name and they all have the wrong clothes and also none of them should have been there), this is the only named character in that scene. And I cannot for the life of me work out who he is supposed to be.

He’s given the name Alexander Stewart. As we have seen, there was certainly an Alexander Stewart on the king’s council in 1511- the king’s son who was born c. 1493 and was also Archbishop of St Andrews. Now this this man very much NOT younger than Margaret Tudor, and very unlike the boy Erasmus described, and even though that Alexander died fighting in battle I’m not sure he would have spent most of his days brandishing daggers and yelling abuse at the Douglases in council meetings. He is also probably not our man because as I discussed here, I think the archbishop’s supposed to be counted among James IV’s children in that other scene where this tv series wrongly implies that Margaret Tudor played nursemaid to all of James’ children (again, not one of those kids should have been in the room and it’s really weird that none of them seem to have aged even though two of them were probably older than Mary Tudor).

So who is he? There were definitely other Alexander Stewarts who were both associated with the royal household and who were kicking about sixteenth century Scotland more generally. One was in fact the half-brother of the Duke of Albany- but he really doesn’t seem to have played any role in government, and mostly he appears when his expenses were met by his cousin the king, presumably out of familial responsibility (see also the king’s other probable cousins Christopher, the Danish page, and Margaret Crichton). Another one was Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, a more distant cousin of the king (he was the grandson of Joan Beaufort), but he was dead by 1511 and his son was called John- meanwhile his half-sister Agnes, the king’s mistress, was enjoying the profits of the earldom. In character he seems to come across more like an earlier earl of Buchan, that infamous Alexander Stewart who got the nickname ‘The Wolf of Badenoch’- but he died over a century before 1511. There are probably a couple of other Alexander Stewarts I’ve missed out- it’s a popular name- but none I can think of who would have had any sort of reason to be on the king’s council.

Also worth mentioning I’m not sure what he means when he accuses the Douglases of ransacking his family’s ‘Lowland lands’. That’s just so confusing I won’t even get into it.

ANYWAY there was a point to all this ranting. As I said above, people should absolutely enjoy this show if they want to. However, two things may be said- firstly that if a show is already fairly inaccurate about English history, I am always willing to bet that they have been 200% more inaccurate about Scotland- to the extent that it’s not even inaccuracy any more, it’s just a completely different world and story.

Secondly, when the producers or whoever (and no disrespect to them necessarily except when they say this) claim that they did their research and say stuff like "we are totally with her story, we're up in Scotland, we're sort of Spanish Princess meets Outlander" I would like to remind everyone that not only is this waaaay less accurate than even Outlander could manage:

- Probably none of the kids in the first scene should have been there

- Probably none of the men in the council scene should have been there (except James, obviously)

- The costumes are the same nonsense as usual.

- There were only five named historical figures and somehow they still managed to balls up one of the names (again, Angus Douglas??? How did they even manage to mess that one up??)

- The sixth named figure is a completely made up individual with a vaguely plausible name who appears to serve no other purpose than to get stabby and foul-mouthed and show that The Clans(TM), as they put it, Are Fighting Again.

- It’s heavily implied that absolutely nobody involved in the production has ever looked at a map of Scotland properly, or tried to work out where any of these guys come from. Which is amazing given it’s literally attached to the map of England. Essentially, the land and regions matter in Scottish history and it’s one of the biggest things that period dramas misunderstand or simplify.

- As usual the architecture is slightly off, though it could be worse. Despite the claim that ‘we’re up in Scotland’, suffers from the usual feeling that actually no camera crew made it any further north than Alnwick (though the CGI Warwick-Edinburgh thing kind of worked.).

- Everyone is a classic stereotype of the Barbarian Uncultured Scot and the only sop thrown is the bit with James and the teeth.

- The above thus implies that the creators have not considered that Scotland could ever have anything of any cultural value, such as a talented poet they are literally showing on screen or a bunch of bishops and other churchmen they aren’t. Which is just European Renaissance stuff, and not even getting into the highly impressive cultural world of Gaelic Scotland and Ireland.

- Everyone Is Sexist Except the English (for god’s sake, it’s the 16th century)

- Person wanders around yelling that they are the king/queen and expects this to work. No.

- Bruce and Wallace are (accurately) mentioned a lot but it’s probably more because that’s the only people the writers have heard of, rather than any nod to 16th century literary and historical tradition. No James Douglas or Thomas the Rhymer or St Margaret is expected to make an appearance.

- Incredibly evident that nobody has opened a book on the reign of James IV or even one of those dodgy biographies of Margaret Tudor. I’m not even entirely convinced that they read Gregory’s novel, which is supposed to be their source material.

So what do we actually have?

- James IV’s interest in medicine and alchemy and other proto-sciences is given a nod with the teeth thing

- We know there were black musicians at James IV’s court and that was shown.

- It is implied Margaret Tudor has lost babies. This is true. However there are still allegedly two alive so the maths doesn’t add up.

- Some modern Scottish accents, one done by a Northern Irishman.

- A handful of historical figures’ names scattered around willy-nilly (one of them incorrect).

The overall point is, once again, if you thought the inaccuracy about English history was bad, there isn’t even any inaccuracy in the Scottish stuff, because it’s not even sixteenth century Scotland any more. And that wouldn’t be an issue if the creators didn’t keep going on about how this is what really happened.

(King’s College, University of Aberdeen, with Bishop Elphinstone’s chapel to the right. On other sides of the chapel, the coats of arms displayed include those of James IV, Margaret Tudor, and Alexander Stewart, Archbishop of St Andrews- I think the Duke of Ross might be there too, can’t remember)

- Most of my sources for this included Norman McDougall’s biography of James IV, Macfarlane’s biography of Elphinstone, good general overviews, and a lot of primary sources- especially the register of the Great Seal. Also general knowledge about Scotland because, you know, I’m from there. HOWEVER if anyone wants a source for a specific detail I should be able to find that reasonably easily. Just let me know.

#Scotland #Scottish history #British history #Margaret Tudor #period drama #didn't know what to tag as sorry

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rachelbethhines · 4 years

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Underrated Disney Live Action Movies

The Great Locomotive Chase ( 1956)

A Civil War movie about a group of undercover Union soldiers who hijack a Confederate train in order to sabotage the railroad. It’s based off true events and as someone who grew up in the area where those events happened, it’s a neat film to watch. They would show it my history of GA class and it's far better than Gone with the Wind (ugh!)

Swiss Family Robinson (1960)

Why don’t more people talk about this movie? It’s awesome and far better than the book it’s based off of. You know the story, family gets stranded on a desert isle and is forced to survive. But this version has pirates!

Son of Flubber (1962)

I actually like this movie better than the original Absent Minded Professor. Yes it’s technically a repeat of the first film, but it does a better job of setting up the conflicts between the characters and showcasing the main character as the flawed person that he is.

The Misadventures of Merlin Jones (1964) & The Monkey's Uncle (1965)

These two movies together read like a tv show and should probably be watched as such. Basically each film showcases two misadventures (four in total) of the resident disaster mad-scientist, Merlin Jones. Who’s the founding archetype of many a Disney egghead.

The Gnome-Mobile (1957)

I had the song from this movie stuck in my head for ages. It’s a run of the mill slapstick comedy with a fantasy element. A Grandfather and his two grandkids find two gnomes while on vacation. They believe themselves to be the last of their kind, but the trio of humans vows to help them find more.

The Boatniks (1970)

This is one of the funniest fucking films I have ever seen in my life. Like the shear chaos this movie rains upon you is a treasure. Three jewel thieves try to escape to Mexico on a sailboat but keep being accidentally thwarted by the newbie Coast Guard captain. What makes this movie shine though is that it highlights one simple universal truth. People are idiots.

Herbie Rides Again (1974)

This is another squeal that I prefer over the original. It’s an over the top absurdist comedy which is what you need in a movie about a car come to life.

The Apple Dumpling Gang (1975)

This is one of my dad’s favorite movies, hence why I have a soft spot for it. Two inept robbers help a trio of orphans to steal their own treasure so they the won’t be separated from their foster father. Knotts and Conway make this film but the plot with the orphans finding family once more gives this movie a heart that other Conway/Knotts outings just don’t have.

The Cat from Outer Space (1978)

Find the unedited version if you can, but it’s about a talking cat from outer space. What more could you want in a movie?

Hot Lead and Cold Feet (1978)

Another hilarious slapstick comedy that doesn’t get enough love. Estranged twin brothers are forced to compete for their inheritance and the ownership of a whole town in a race. One is a rough and tumble outlaw, the other a very out of place preacher. But most hilarious of all, the father’s not even dead. He’s just doing this all for his amusement while remaining in hiding.

Man of the House (1995)

Does anyone else remember this movie or is it just me? Anyways father and step son bonding movie but with added assassins.

Escape to Witch Mountain (1995) & That Darn Cat (1997)

Yes, I like these two remakes better than the originals, so sue me.

#disney

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ghostly-shenanigans-in-progress · 5 years

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Some more Walker family hcs bc I’m bored, also Rosalie Hauserman, Walker’s wife, is @amityparkhalfa’s oc

Walker was one of three siblings. He had a twin sister named Julie, and a younger brother named Jesse. Julie is a CEO of a clothing company, while Jesse is an investigative reporter/former war correspondent. (Walker’s father loved cowboys and other outlaw stories hence the name reference).

Walker had a great relationship with his family except his father. Being more of a hot-head as a young adult and having different points of view on the world lead to some nasty arguments between him and his old man. Their relationship got gradually better as Walker got to his 30s but it was cut short when his father died early from lung cancer.

They all were born and raised in Pharr, Texas around the 1930s-40s era. Walker and Rosalie had kids around the 1960s-70s. So, their kids JJ and Lily are in their mid 30s to early 40s.

Walker actually loves gardening and botany. So much, he even minored in the study in college along with his major in criminal justice. It’s not something ghosts would expect to be his favorite hobby, or the fact his favorite flower is blood blossoms. They just remind him of his mama since it was the first thing they planted together as a kid. “Supposedly, they bring good luck and ward evil spirits away wherever you plant them.” Is what he would recall her saying, but he would later find out which fact was truer than the other upon becoming a ghost. (Hint: it’s the latter)

Also Walker’s son’s interest with the GIW didn’t happen bc of his death but more so with his uncle’s death. His uncle Jesse was responsible for exposing the Guys in White to the public eye along with the underhanded stuff they did while under government secrecy throughout the years. Jesse kept two copies of that report, one that his co-worker published in the papers and the other he saved in his personal files which JJ would later find.

#danny phantom #shrugs #my hcs #my posts #dp walker #walker’s family au #dp giw #guys in white #jesse is a ghost but thats a story for another time

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molly2140 · 4 years

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I feel like showing off my vinyl collection, feel free to show me yours!

I'm an avid 70s/80s/90s collector, and deeply wish I could've been alive for all of that, most of my vinyls are 70s/80s, some older, some newer. Some are 100% vintage, others are newly made/released. My dad (who brought me up on literally everything 70s and 80s) got me a record player for Christmas and helped me start my collection, since then it's grown rapidly.

First I must show off my RDR2 vinyls, with Marty Robbins' "Gunfighter Ballads", his songs are perfect to listen to while playing RDR2, "Big Iron" being one of my favorites.

Dad got me all 3 of my Queen albums for Christmas, as he knows that Queen is perhaps my favorite band of all time, I've been trying to find vintage vinyls of their albums rather than the newly remade ones, haven't had much luck yet but we will get there. :)

Did I mention that my dad and I are diehard Gordon Lightfoot fans? "Summertime Dream" and "Sundown" are perhaps my favorite albums. Lightfoot's song "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" holds a special place in my heart. While the song is based off of a true story, about the tragic sinking of the SS Edmund Fitzgerald on Lake Superior, this song has a deeper connection with me. My dad, my Uncle Rob, and my Uncle Rodney, they loved this song so much, they would sit and listen to it on repeat for hours and hours mesmerized by the story that it told, along with Lightfoot's iconic voice, and the instruments itself. This was their group song essentially. Unfortunately, on July 25, 2019 (a year ago this coming Saturday), my Uncle Rodney lost his battle with ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease), he was only 49 years old, a year younger than my dad. It was something we would never expect happen to any of us, let alone him. Uncle Rodney went out of his way for everyone, he'd help everyone whenever he could and would never ask for or expect anything in return. He put his family first, he loved and cared for his kids the best he could, he worked his ass off hand crafting furniture out of cedar wood, and adding onto his home and designing it just the way a true country boy could ever want it, he was dedicated to his job, his family, and his friends. Hard to believe it will be a whole year this weekend, not a day goes by where I don't think about him, he was like a second dad to me, and I greatly wished that I'd had more time with him, especially hugs, he gave the best hugs.

However he'd want me to carry on and continue to be happy, and it was hard the first few months after he passed, I went into a depression spell, and starting coming out of it in February, and then I met the man who is now my boyfriend. I don't know if it was just coincidence, or if Uncle Rodney had a hand in all of it, but I shit you not, my boyfriend reminds me so much of him, including my dad. My family absolutely loves him and has taken him in already, and I've never been this happy. But alas, this isn't supposed to be my life's story, but some of these records mean so much to me, and Lightfoot's records will forever hold a special place in my heart, for the very sole reason you just read about.

Moving on! These are some great records I found on a clearance rack at a record store, all under $5 a piece! My grandpa is a huge John Denver fan, so he very much appreciates it when he stops by our house and hears me blasting that album from my room haha. My boyfriend loves The Oak Ridge Boys, and let me tell you, he can sing the oom poppa mow mows in the song "Elvira" perfectly, and I melt everytime haha. Rosanne Cash, her music gets played constantly whenever we are having a party at my Uncle Rob's house, so when I hear her voice, it makes me want to go down there and have a great time. The Outlaws, I only recently discovered them but I really enjoy this album in particular, "You Are the Show" is perhaps my favorite song on the album, I sing this one a lot no matter how terrible I may be at it, I can't help it lol.

Ah yes, more classics. My dad really enjoys when I decide to blast my CCR album (a birthday present from my boyfriend). "Fortunate Son" is probably my dad's favorite CCR song, and it is definitely his theme song. Boston and Molly Hatchet are two of my other favorites for sure, including Chicago, it has been awhile since I listened to them, but they sure are fun.

Oh these three here I love talking about. I mean, who doesn't love Footloose and Dirty Dancing? The Footloose record is vintage, the Dirty Dancing one is a newly released version, but I ended up buying it anyways as the record itself is that purple color of awesomeness. The Quiet Riot one I found at an antique store, my favorite album of theirs, and because it's a picture vinyl, I had to have it. It looks kickass watching it on the record player.

Any Fleetwood Mac fans? My witchy sisters, this is our music. I can actually sing Stevie Nicks pretty decently, my boyfriend absolutely loves it when I do. "Tango in the Night" is my favorite Fleetwood Mac album, I listen to this record religiously. Once I listened to it on repeat for about 3 days straight, and my dad eventually had to tell me to switch to a different record because he was ready to hear some other great music 😂 The song "Twisted" which Stevie sang with Lindsey Buckingham, was part of the 1996 movie "Twister" with Bill Paxton and Helen Hunt. My favorite movie, and my favorite Stevie Nicks song, might I also mention that I'm a weather nut and also studying for a degree in meteorology? Yeah, I also chase tornadoes, hence why "Twister" is my favorite movie.

And last but not least, these two little guys. Tiësto is perhaps my favorite DJ of all time, his classic hits and even the new ones, always give me such a vibe that is so enjoyable. My favorite mix of his? "Silence" by Delerium with Sarah Maclachlan, this was one of Tiësto's "In Search of Sunrise" mixes, and I still get absolute chills hearing it.

Oh yes, I forgot to add, a bunch of the vintage vinyls I bought, I got at Guestroom Records in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma while I was there back in May. They have a giant clearance section with records under $5, and of course they have all the newly released music, and even full collection sets. My favorite part? They also have a beautiful kitty cat that lives at the store and he/she is such a lovely kitty. So if you're in OKC and wanna buy some vinyls? This is your place.

So that's all of my vinyls I have so far! I hope you enjoyed seeing my collection, and reading about why they mean so much to me, I hope I didn't bore you too much with them haha. Again, feel free to show me some of yours! Tell me why they mean so much to you! :)

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frauzet · 5 years

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Amici Mortis—Notes From the Afterlife

#1 Traveling Companions

Warning: Contains spoilers for Anthem's introduction.

I died more times than I remember. I killed more people than anyone should be able to justify. Since history is told by the survivors, people around here still call me a hero. Among the various names they dubbed me, Ice Titansbane remained my personal favorite. The bards up North will sing you a different story, though, one where I play the part of the monster. Cor Petra—heart of stone—they named me, a name as well earned as all the others. My companions called me Ice before I even encountered my first Titan much less bagged one, long before I became a Friend of Death.

Death and I have not always been on speaking terms. Early in life, I started making less sophisticated decisions, though, that lead to us becoming acquainted. I must have been about eight or nine when I jumped from my room’s balcony on the second floor to test my self-made javelin. It worked for a second or two. Death told me I could do better. I woke up a few days later. I never gave up on my dream of flying. However, healing my body took too long for me to be still young enough to start training with Heliost’s Sentinels. Swearing became my favorite pastime besides working on a plan B. My father taught me you have to work hard to achieve your goals. He wouldn’t appreciate the thought this led to me running away at the age of sixteen. With more luck than brains, I managed to reach Antium, survived being robbed without losing anything more valuable than my pride, and ended up as a trainee with Haluk’s band of Freelancers.

Dead wildlife, Scar, and outlaws became the order of the day for the next four years of my life. They didn’t prepare me for the loss of my squad-mates at the Heart of Rage. Worst of all, I survived. Death had rejected me once again and I had problems dealing with it. So did Haluk. Harsh words fell. The inevitable split-up with the few pathetic remains of the band wasn’t long in coming. We all agreed they were better off without me. I drifted for several days before I realized I had been heading back toward Heliost. I had lost my friends, I had lost myself, maybe I could find the family I had left behind. Had I visited Heliost first instead of heading to the village my family lived in I might have been prepared for what awaited me. The Freelancers at the Enclave there would have had answers to the questions I didn’t even know to ask yet.

The graveyard lies in front of the village. My family’s burial wall stands out due to its size. Wreaths of fresh flowers adorned the base proclaiming a recent bereavement. I had exchanged a handful of letters with my brother, so I knew Uncle Petrek had contracted some fatal disease or other. Hence I saw no reason to worry. After all, I had never liked Uncle Petrek. Freelancers don’t care much for social conventions, but we honor our fallen. So I deemed it appropriate to pay Uncle Petrek my last respect before heading over to our house. To avoid squeezing through the gate in my javelin, I took a big step over the fence. This seemed more prudent than risking to crack the tiles through the impact of landing my jav or igniting some dried flowers with its thrusters. Leaving my suit hadn’t even occurred to me. A handful of determined yet careful strides took me to the burial site and to one of the most important moments in my life.

The new cinerary urn glinted in the sunlight. The shadows played tricks on the freshly engraved letters, making them appear in relief. After reading the inscription I blinked and read it again. I opened the helmet and traced the grooves with my fingertips, my javelin translating the sensory information of the material down to its smallest grains. More details than a touch with bare hands could ever provide and still, I had problems to grasp the meaning of the words I read.

Ismara Doran Beloved Daughter and Sister 446 - 466

The sound I made ranged somewhere between coughing and laughing. Freelancer handbook, chapter one: A Freelancer was at the right place at the right time, punctuality was for Sentinels! I wondered how many Freelancers had managed to be late to their own funeral. Was this real? Was I real? The thought to open the urn and see what was inside crossed my mind leaving behind a blank space. The thought returned. This was a game. If I opened the urn and it was empty I was still alive. If it wasn’t then what? Did I even want to be alive? Each of my steps since the Heart of Rage had been weighed down by guilt. I had dragged Haluk from the Heart of Rage without finishing the job, without even trying to avenge my fallen comrades. They had died for nothing. I had abandoned our cause. I had abandoned all of Northern Bastion. Maybe Haluk was right calling me a coward. Maybe I, too, should have died. Maybe I did.

Maybe I did! Ismara Doran died but she did so already four years ago. The beloved daughter and sister did not survive my trip to Antium. Isma reached Antium. The first time I killed a human Isma died together with a piece of my soul. But Ice had already been there to replace her. There was no need to change my name to know the Ice who went into the Heart of Rage had not returned. I realized Death wasn’t a stranger lurking at the end of my path. No, Death walked in the shadow of her sisters Time and Change and I died a little with each of her steps. The choice to continue mourning or to move on was mine. Ice could be whomever I wanted her to be.

I wiped away the last of my tears as I heard someone approach.

“Did you know my sister?” he asked.

Smiling I turned to face him. “Better than most!”

#sfwc #prompt: life and death #frauzet tries to write #amici mortis #anthem #anthemgame #oc:ice

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wendella · 6 years

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OUTLANDER Outlander Season Finale: Who Are the “Men of Worth” in Season 4? by Natalie Zutter www.tor.com

After last year’s Outlander finale, which literally shipwrecked Claire and Jamie onto the shores of America, I was expecting a bigger cliffhanger ending to this season—that the letter the redcoats delivered to Jamie at River Run would be conscripting the poor Scot to fight on their side in the American Revolution. Then I remembered that it was only 1770, and that the next big war was a few years (or, I’m going to assume, one season) away. Instead, the season 4 finale, filled with resolutions both neat and messy, ends on Jamie getting a much more pressing, one-on-one assignment that reemphasizes this season’s enduring question: Can a good man do a bad thing and remain a “Man of Worth”?

Spoilers for Outlander season 4.

The thing is, it’s difficult to care too much about Jamie being ordered to hunt down Murtagh on behalf of Governor Tryon, because it seems too obvious that, between the two of them, they’ll be able to come up with a solution. That could mean faking Murtagh’s death or smuggling him back to Scotland, and thus away from Fraser’s Ridge, which would carry its own bittersweet heartache, but it’s not as if there’s an ideological chasm between them—hence the low stakes. It also seems a far-off problem when this season was more than a little uneven, and I’m still working through my frustrations with how the Brianna and Roger plots shaped the latter half of the season.

So, what feels like the most appropriate way to send off Outlander season 4 is to return to the theme linking the past thirteen episodes—good men doing bad things, bad men doing things that might have positive ramifications despite their intent—and reexamine the worthiness of Outlander’s men.

Jamie: If I were Jamie, I would be feeling like a right arse by the end of this season. First he helps outlaw Stephen Bonnet escape, out of a misguided sense of goodwill toward a fellow immigrant in this new country, only for that to blow up spectacularly in his face. Of course, he has no way of knowing how the consequences of his act of charity will lead to his daughter getting raped by Bonnet, but it’s a sobering lesson in the dangers of believing the best of your fellow man. Then Jamie swings to the opposite end of the spectrum by assuming that Roger is the one who violated Brianna, beating him senseless without taking a breath to consider, to question the circumstances, propelled by pure rage. Brianna is rightfully furious at him—and they have one of the best moments of the season, when Jamie screams and kicks a chair in frustration and Brianna snaps, “No! You are not allowed to be angrier about this than I am.” He’s clearly wrestling with so much self-loathing that, after twenty years of maturing and growing beyond the hot-headed lad he was when he met Claire, he has regressed back into an impulsive thug.

But Jamie has also learned self-awareness in the intervening decades, as he demonstrates in his incredible scene of vulnerability, asking Claire if she and Bree think that Frank was the better man. He got the girl—she went back in time for him—and he still doubts that he’s good enough. Sam Heughan has brought so much depth and nuance to a character who could have stayed a one-dimensional fantasy; watching James Fraser grow up has been one of the series’ greatest delights.

Roger: On the one hand, Roger endures indescribable pain and suffering as a slave of the Mohawk—the worst possible time travel experience, all because of a misunderstanding he was only partly to blame for. On the other hand, every time he’s offered the chance to be the good guy, he finds a way to be unlikable. Slut-shaming Brianna for being unsure about marrying him as a virgin was difficult to watch, especially considering that the next time they see each other, she was the one to compromise her comfort and pledge her life to him because of his unwillingness to budge. He reiterates multiple times that he had the chance to leave and kept coming back for her, but we only hear that through his telling, which casts him as some romantic hero. At the last minute of the episode he comes riding in on a horse, for crissakes, but that’s more than a day after Jamie and Claire return to River Run, believing that Roger was unwilling to join them.

Again, these are the kinds of choices one would not wish on anyone—such as being told that there is a good chance that Brianna’s baby is not his, and that to honor the terms of their handfast would mean committing to raising that child and spending the rest of his life in the past. If anything, as much as their plotline aggravated me, at least it forced constraints on Roger’s decision, instead of him getting to set the stakes. Roger is not a bad man, but he has demanded a lot of Brianna; I’m curious to see them build a more equal partnership going forward.

Stephen Bonnet: I’m still so impressed with how Bonnet went from charismatic stranger to fatal threat in the space of one episode, and how just a few acts of specific cruelty did so much to change the course of the Fraser family’s lives. Considering how we witnessed his turn in the premiere, it was difficult to muster up any real sympathy for him when Brianna confronted him with her emotional speech about how her child would be nothing like him. Offering up the ruby seemed like a rare moment of vulnerability for the criminal, but I suspect that was more of a formal obligation to contribute one positive thing to this bairn’s life than any regret for raping Brianna in the first place. Also, I’m not convinced that he perished in that prison, and am half-expecting that he will reappear, cockroach-like, next season to kidnap the baby that might be his.

Brianna’s son: Just born, and as far as I remember they did not mention his name. So, for fear of revealing the few book spoilers I stumbled upon in my research (ironic, I know), I’ll just reiterate that he’s a wee fighter and not tack on “like his da” since we are just ignoring his paternity. It was clear, though, that Bree was anxious to meet the little guy, in case she somehow saw Bonnet reflected in his face, but that upon taking him in her arms she was relieved to feel nothing but overwhelming love.

That said, from the moment that Brianna decided to keep the baby, there was no saving her plotline for me. But that’s a discussion for another piece.

Young Ian: I can’t feel anything but oddly maternal pride upon witnessing Ian’s character growth, particularly in this season but even stretching back to when he dragged his poor uncle and aunt across an ocean to save his overeager ass. The season premiere saw him grappling with the trauma of being raped by Geillis, of shaping his identity around what happened to him while not letting it define him; concurrently, he’s learned how to make himself a useful member of Fraser’s Ridge. Sure, offering to marry Brianna was classic dumb Young Ian; selling Roger to the Mohawk was nigh unforgivable. But he more than made up for it by offering up himself in Roger’s place, to live among the Mohawk and replace their dead member. Honestly, it was about time that Ian learned who he was without his blood relations there to protect him. And look how he made it through the gauntlet! That’s our boy.

Murtagh: It’s fascinating to see how the writers fit Murtagh into the narrative, considering that the character is kinda living on borrowed time—that is, he’s long-dead in the books, but they spared him in the adaptation. His and Jamie’s reunion in Wilmington scratched one of my narrative itches—that prolonged moment in which two souls, separated by time and distance, slowly recognize one another while the viewer is screaming omg, hug already!! But now not only are they caught up on the last decade-plus of each other’s lives, but they also recognize that they have landed on different sides of a growing conflict, due to their respective definitions of self-preservation. I’d like to see the series delve more into this next season, to really make it an impossible choice for Jamie.

Side note: Murtagh and Jocasta’s argument-turned-hookup, complete with her throwing whiskey in his face, was amazing.

Fergus: Under-utilized this season, stuck in Wilmington and mostly just reacting to the plot action when it comes to him. What would make Jamie’s dilemma more affecting would be if Fergus (who, it’s been established, can’t find work anywhere else) joins the regulators in earnest—making it twoloved ones that Jamie is contractually bound to hunt down.

Otter Tooth: The initial discovery of Otter Tooth’s skull made it seem as if he and his silver fillings would play a larger role in the season. While at first it was a surprise that it took only half of an episode to lay out his story, it also speaks to the utter tragedy of the failed time traveler. Unlike Claire, who finds a willing believer in Jamie when it comes to Culloden and other predictions of the future, poor Otter Tooth could not convince enough of the Mohawk to heed his warnings about the Iroquois being forgotten. Instead, he was branded a madman, hunted down, and forced to haunt this time and place, unable to bring about the change he so desperately wanted. Moreso than almost any other plot this season, it’s a thought-provoking story that Diana Gabaldon included, and the writers adapted. Plus, the post-credits visual of him in his present watching the two white boys play Cowboys and Indians was wrenching, and one of the series’ best of these little moments.

Lord John Grey: Poor Lord John puts up with a lot this season, mostly in the form of the daughter of the man he loves blackmailing him into marrying her, lest she out him to everyone. But this is the man who maintained affection for Jamie even after being friendzoned, who has proven over and over that he will put his own desires behind those of a child in need of a father, or a pregnant woman who will be dishonored without a husband. LJG is good people.

William: What a fierce, pouty li’l jerk. It’s too bad that we weren’t treated to the narrative weirdness of William’s half-sister Brianna becoming his stepmother, but perhaps he’ll reappear in future seasons.

Lesley: To be honest, I had barely registered him before he got his throat slit by Bonnet, but nobody deserves a death like that. RIP.

Frank: FRANK. His one cameo this season, in a number of revelatory and gutting flashbacks, was the perfect way to bring him back—especially since we see him through Brianna’s eyes, after years of him refracted through Claire’s perspective. But even Brianna doesn’t realize how many complicated feelings it layers on top of Frank’s motivations to know that he had the obituary the whole time and never let on to Claire that he knew about her supposed death. Not that I blame him, considering how she treated returning to their marriage as a consolation prize, but still.

George Washington: Presumably, but we only got a few scenes with him. I’m looking forward to (hopefully) more of the would-be President next season.

Rollo: Very Good Boy. Very glad he made it through the season and will accompany Young Ian on this new adventure.

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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Vikings Season 6 Part One Recap: Making Kings, a Kattegat Killing, and the Rus Threat

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This article contains spoilers for Vikings season 6 part one.

Season five of Vikings saw Ivar’s dreams of rule, romance, and Godhood collapse around him like a volcano on Floki’s head. Defeated by his band of brothers, betrayed by his wife, Freydis, the tyrant was forced to disguise himself as a peasant and smuggle himself out of Kattegat in the back of a merchant’s cart.

We left our heroes (a relative term in the topsy-turvy, strifey-knifey world of Vikings, admittedly) ready to begin the task of rebuilding their lives and their stronghold of Kattegat, all the while standing in the rising dawn of a new era of exploration, and contemplating, for the first time in a long time, the promise of peace. It was too good to be true, wasn’t it? Vikings season 6 part 1 wasted little time in raising the stakes and turning up the heat. In anticipation of the final batch of episodes, scheduled to drop on Amazon Prime on Dec. 30, let’s remind ourselves of the events leading up to one of the most gut-wrenching mid-season finales the show has ever produced.

Ivar’s Far, Far Away

A dejected Ivar makes his way along the Silk Road. He and his bodyguard Vigrid are captured by the Kievan Rus and taken before Prince Oleg the Prophet. Vigrid is tortured and killed, but Ivar is spared when Oleg learns of his past status as King and ‘God’. While they are kindred spirits in many ways – both have a pathological thirst for power, both were betrayed by women and responded with murder – Oleg relishes Ivar most of all because he realizes he might be useful when the time comes to retake the Rus’s ancestral lands in Scandinavia. Ivar, in turn, wonders how the mad Prince might prove useful to his festering ambitions.

Ivar and Oleg take their knife-edge bromance on the road, travelling to Novogrod to meet with Oleg’s brother, Askold. Oleg wants to retrieve his nephew Igor, who is heir to the throne and therefore the nexus of power in the region. In a characteristically awful yet expedient move, Oleg poisons Askold and takes off with Igor. Dir, Oleg’s other brother, tracks Oleg down attempts to arrest him for murder and kidnap. Oleg escapes his fate by giving a demonstration of his prophetic powers. He not only reveals to all assembled that Dir has a secret wife, but produces her, like a rabbit out of a hat. Dir, wary and superstitious, lets Oleg go free. Never one to let bygones be bygones, Oleg swiftly orders that his brother be attacked, imprisoned, mutilated and bound up like a junkyard dog.

Meanwhile, a warm bond – part-fraternal, part-paternal – is developing between Ivar and Igor. Ivar feels sorry for the captured heir and wants to help him. The duo release Dir, and Ivar promises to help liberate Igor and depose Oleg when the time is right.

Tensions build between Ivar and Oleg. When Ivar discovers Oleg is raising an army to sack and conquer Scandinavia, Ivar accuses him of using him as a puppet, a vassal. Oleg later introduces Ivar to his new beau, Princess Katia, who is a doppelganger of Ivar’s dead wife, Freydis. The resemblance is so striking that Ivar suspects both that she might be the real thing, and that Oleg is up to something. Oleg and Katia force Ivar to watch them making love on their wedding night.

Kattegat After Ivar

Bjorn decides against executing Ivar’s followers and their leader, White Hair, and banishes them instead, leaving their ambitions to ‘Make Kattegat Great Again’ thwarted.

Bjorn asks Ubbe, Lagertha, Torvi and Gunnhild to act as his counsel, a little sliver of proto-democracy in these feudal, quasi-monarchistic times. Only Gunnhild agrees to serve. The rest have bigger, or at least other, fish to fry. Torvi and Ubbe wish to sail to Iceland. The recently returned Kjetill tells them that Othere – the fabled explorer and discoverer of lush and verdant lands to the west of Iceland – awaits them there. Lagertha wants to return to her old homestead and live out the rest of her life as a humble farmer.

Word reaches Bjorn that King Harald needs his help. Olaf has invaded Harald’s kingdom of Vestfold and taken him prisoner. Bjorn agrees to help, leaving Ubbe in charge, and sending his children Hali and Asa to stay with Lagertha. Before he leaves he has a bout of passion with Ingrid, his wife Gunnhild’s servant. Bjorn convinces Kjetill to join him on his rescue mission, and while in each other’s company Bjorn learns of Kjetill’s Icelandic blood-lust, which makes him deeply suspicious of the burly emigre’s connection to Floki’s disappearance.

Olaf Won’t Let Him go, Let Him Go…

Once in Vestfold, Bjorn hatches a plan to swim into the harbor and surprise Olaf and his troops. Unfortunately, King Olaf has anticipated this move, and has already taken the liberty of adding oil to the water, which he proceeds to ignite, causing mass casualties, and Bjorn’s retreat.

Olaf and Bjorn eventually meet to discuss their stalemate, whereupon Olaf reveals his grand plan. He wants all of the region’s earls and Kings to elect a King of all Norway, and he wants it to be Bjorn. There’s some constitutional wrangling, before the election proceeds. Harald is the surprise victor. It’s not a surprise to the audience, who have just watched Harald spend his short election campaign selling patently false, irreconcilable promises of land and riches to the other voters and candidates should they make him King. Kjetill helps to spread the word (and the lies), as he’s been promised King of Iceland.

Bjorn flees Vestfold on a tip-off from a suddenly conscience-struck Kjetill, who has discovered that Harald wants Bjorn dead on the (probably entirely correct) grounds that Bjorn would never bend the knee for him long-term. Kjetill and Bjorn are rescued from certain death by the outlaw Erik, who speeds them to safety on his boat. King Olaf is imprisoned when refuses to acknowledge Harald’s title.

Hvitserk and Lagertha – A Tragedy on Two Fronts

Hvitserk is hitting hallucinogens and intoxicants pretty hard, which precipitates a torrent of haunting images. He sees the seer, his hated brother Ivar, and experiences painful and terrifying visions of the murder of his girlfriend, Thora (burned alive on Ivar’s orders last season) and the slaying of his mother, Aslaug (dispatched by Lagertha in season four). Ubbe, temporarily in charge, nominates Hvitserk to head a trading expedition along the Silk Road, but when Hvitserk misses the boat, thanks to his re-discovered fondness for drink and drugs, Ubbe can barely contain his disgust. News comes back from the Silk Road that Ivar is in Kiev. Hvitserk doesn’t react well. He has vowed to kill Ivar. The thought consumes him, and twists his perception of reality.

Away from the city, Lagertha’s cosy retirement isn’t going according to plan. She’s forced to train nearby villagers in the art of war to repel incursions from White Hair and his followers. White Hair attacks again, and many villagers perish, including Bjorn’s son, Hali. Gunnhild has a vision of the tragedy, and immediately sets off to Lagertha with some shield maidens. Gunnhild lends her weight to repelling the attacks. During the next assault, White Hair and Lagertha face each other, one-on-one. After a gruelling battle, Lagertha kills White Hair, but is herself gravely wounded. She decides to return to Kattegat, setting off on her own by boat.

It’s raining when she arrives, and most of the town is attending a feast. The only person she encounters on the deserted streets is Hvitserk, which is unfortunate for them both. Hvitserk is out of his mind on hallucinogens and thinks Lagertha is a serpent incarnation of Ivar. He duly stabs her to death, thereby fulfilling the long-ago prophecy of the seer that Lagertha would be killed by a son of Ragnar.

When Hvitserk’s rather obvious part in Lagertha’s death is uncovered, Bjorn puts him on trial. He’s initially sentenced to death, but Ubbe intercedes on his behalf, and he’s banished instead. The exiled Hvitserk finds himself on the Silk Road after all and, inevitably, back with Ivar, where he’s welcomed by Oleg for his assassination of the great shield maiden Lagertha.

Ubbe and Torvi set sail for Iceland. There Ubbe meets the renowned Othere, the man who claims to have discovered a new world to the west. Ubbe learns that Othere is really a Christian called Athelstan, who came upon the dying Othere and assumed his identity. Ubbe wants Othere sacrificed to the Gods, but Torvi points out that this would be a rather hypocritical move given his own history of baptism. Torvi gives birth to a baby boy, whom the couple name Ragnar. Lagertha may be dead, but Ragnar lives on.

Tsar Wars: The Exile Strikes Back

Oleg’s incursions into Viking land are troubling enough to usher in a truce between Harald and Bjorn, who realize they must come together to face a threat that is bigger than their personal and ideological differences. Unfortunately, when they call for other earls and kings to stand with them in battle, only Thorkin agrees to join them.

Friction abounds in Oleg’s camp. Igor openly defies his uncle, prompting Oleg to threaten his life. Katia tries to seduce Ivar. Though he refuses, he learns that Katia is deeply unhappy with Oleg, and hence a potential ally in the interfamilial treachery to come.

Ivar serves as strategist to Oleg. They head for battle and through a blend of cunning and superior numbers manage to breach Bjorn’s fortifications. A vicious battle ensues. Harald and Gunnhild appear to fall in battle. Bjorn, distracted on the battlefield, receives a seemingly fatal blow. It comes from Ivar. Bjorn’s forces are defeated, and Bjorn himself is slain.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Now all that remains is to wait and see what fate has in store for the sons of Ragnar, and Viking civilization itself, in the final ten episodes.

The post Vikings Season 6 Part One Recap: Making Kings, a Kattegat Killing, and the Rus Threat appeared first on Den of Geek.

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cute-little-oppas · 7 years

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The Prince’s Mage (1/2)

Titled: The Prince's Mage Genre: Fantasy Pairings: jongyu + bits of 2min Length: 35 pages//~12.5k words...hence broken into two parts ^^'

Read on asianfanfics // part (2/2)

Part (1/2)

The Kingdom of Abyad woke up to the most mournful Herald; The King and The Queen were killed on their way back to their kingdom. Killed by a group of bandits. Killed, in cold blood, but not with the help of a cold knife or a cold blade but with a cold spell. Magic.

People poured in and out of the Palace, paying their last respects. Once they walked in, all eyes landed on the young prince who sat in the lap of his elder cousin as he sobbed and sobbed.

Night befell and the doors to the palace were closed shut. Shutting it away from the cold winter night as the palace mourned in dark and silence.

It was this fateful day that decided the passing of the decree that stated that all sorts of magic were banished from the Kingdom of Abyad. The mages and other beings who possessed magic or were created by magic were to leave before dawn arises or they were to be locked up or killed if they resisted. All relics and artifacts related to magic were to be handed over and burned. Anyone harboring the outlaw would meet the same fate.

Months after the purge everything began quietening and falling back in the routine. Many fled and many were killed, but none were locked up. They weren’t going to give in to the unjust decree passed because of the fault of one.

“Sire, your presence has been asked for in the throne room.” The guard informed Kibum. Kibum was the prince’s cousin, his mother was the sister of the King.

Kibum rolled up the list of artifacts that he was going through and soon followed the guard down. As the prince was too young, a six-year-old child, Kibum was declared the guardian of the throne and the kingdom till the prince was of age. Though he himself was quite young, a brisk sixteen-year-old boy, he accepted the responsibility that fell on his shoulders. He would do anything to protect his small brother.

“There are questions and rumors all over the Kingdom Sire.”

“And what kind of questions and rumors are these?” Kibum asked after he was promptly seated.

“The healers, Sire, the healers living in the palace, the only ones still left in the Kingdom.” The minister informed.

“There are no healers in this palace,” Kibum said, making his voice as stern as he could. “You saw the man leave that night, saw him leave everything behind, even his sons.”

“It is those boys that I speak of. Their father was a powerful mage, it is undoubtful that his children-”

“We’ve gone over this before and you have seen it for yourself too. Those boys don’t possess any magic, but in fact, have a good knowledge and understanding about medicine. And that is why they are going to live here, learn and become the court physicians.”

“Sire-”

“That’s all,” Kibum said as he got up from his chair ending all discussions.

He strolled the gardens after, his mind occupied with the events of the night they had to ask Lee Daehan, the court physician and a mage to leave the Kingdom. Kibum was fond of that man; when he was hit with the endemic that he had lost his parents to, Daehan was the one who saved him. He owed that man his life. As Daehan bowed down in a final goodbye, Kibum secretly requested him that he leave his sons behind, they were too young to go through such hardship. He promised he would protect his boys, and he would not compromise that vow by shunning away those boys at any cost or by letting any harm come to them. Therefore, those boys still resided in their father’s quarters, a servant or two visiting them every day to look after them.

He smiled when he saw Jonghyun, the prince, sneaking away from his afternoon classes, hiding behind the bare trees as he tried to escape from the Governess, Aarae. He followed Jonghyun quickly when he saw him run off to the back of the palace. He knew where Jonghyun was headed to.

“Jonghyun!” Kibum caught Jonghyun and picked him up. “What did I tell you about coming here?”

“But I wanna play with them,” Jonghyun whined as he tried to escape Kibum’s embrace.

“I told you cannot.” Kibum walked away quickly from the quarters of the physician before anyone saw, he didn’t want Jonghyun to get involved with those boys, the boys, people suspected had magic in them.

“Why?” Jonghyun sniffled, “They are my friends, I played with them before.”

“Things are different now little one, you’ll understand when you grow up.” Kibum kissed his cheek, a sad smile on his face as he carried Jonghyun back inside the palace.

It was a perfect day. The snow had completely melted and the air was no longer chilly. Indeed it was a perfect day to play outside, but here was Jonghyun stuck in his chamber looking at the gardens from his balcony. He got up from where he sat, he decided he would irritate Kibum until he gave into playing with him.

“He is not here, My Prince. Left an hour ago to settle some dispute between the Lords.” The guard at Kibum’s door informed Jonghyun.

Jonghyun puffed his cheeks up as he walked down to the gardens. Who was he to play with now? His eyes lit up. Kibum wasn’t here right now, that meant he could play with them.

He carefully made his way across the gardens to the back of the palace. Jonghyun was angry with Kibum, he had always played with Jinni and Taem whenever they came along with their father to the palace. He didn’t understand why he was suddenly not allowed to play with them.

Jonghyun spotted Taem in the small garden in front of their quarters, his hands covered in mud. “Taem?” he ran excited, it had been awhile since he had even seen him. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Hyunee!” Taem exclaimed. “Come play with me!”

Jonghyun grinned as he sat down beside Taemin, as long as Kibum didn’t find out, he would definitely try to sneak away like this to play.

“Jonghyun are you ready?” Kibum called out as he walked into Jonghyun’s chambers.

“I’ll need a minute, I need to tie up these goddamn boots.” Jonghyun huffed.

Kibum sighed. “22-year-old grown up man and still can’t tie your boots.” He shook his head. “Boy!” he called out to Jonghyun’s squire. “Help him tie up those boots. Quickly!”

“Why do we need to do this?” Jonghyun whined once his squire left to tend to his horse. “You know how much I hate hunting, and especially with those pompous asses-”

Kibum glared. “Language.” he scolded. “Such hunting parties are a necessity to keep up faces and show those pompous Lords that the Prince is alive and fit to ascend the throne soon.”

“Whatever,” Jonghyun grunted as he tied his sword to his waist and followed Kibum outside.

“So has the Prince given any thought to the betrothal I had proposed?” One of the Lords as well as his uncle, In Jung, asked as he brought his horse closer to Jonghyun’s.

“Your daughter is pretty, but I would have to refuse your proposal.” Jonghyun gave him a short smile, he turned towards the approaching guard. “Found anything?” he asked.

“There are tracks of a buck, Your Highness.” The guard informed, “The tracks are headed in the direction of the river.”

“Okay,” Jonghyun said as he pulled on the reins.

“Are you sure you saw the correct tracks?” Kibum complained. “I don’t see a thing, not even a snake.”

“Shh Kibum, wait a minute.” Jonghyun shushed him. “Did you hear that?” he asked. “That does not sound like a buck,” he said turning towards the guard.

“Well, they have been rumors of bears roaming these forests, Your Highness. But we never found any proof.”

“Well let’s go and check it out.” Jonghyun grinned when he saw the look of fear on Kibum’s face.

Jonghyun led them in the direction of the voice, his heart pounding, he didn’t know the tactic to approach a bear, let alone he hadn’t even seen a bear before. His horse whined all of sudden, disrupting the balance, Jonghyun felt the saddle move against the horse’s vigorous restraint, the saddle wasn't tied properly.

“Watch out!” Kibum exclaimed speeding up his horse.

“It’s a boar, not a bear!” Jonghyun called out, trying to calm his horse.

The boar grunted and ran forward in Jonghyun’s direction. Fear blinded the horse, and Jonghyun lost complete control over it, he held on tightly, trying to keep the saddle in place as the horse ran away. He heard distant voices of the other guards and their horses behind him and hoped they came soon.

The horse leaped, and Jonghyun fell off the horse, his boot caught in the stirrup and was dragged along. A few attempts later he freed himself from the saddle, he lay there for a few minutes, trying to even out his breath. His head hurt, he could feel the wetness on his back and his leg was sprained, but he got up, the sky was darkening and he needed to get out of the forest soon.

He stopped when he heard the gushing of water. The lake was close. He could feel the fatigue clawing it’s way up his mind. He took in a deep breath and dragged himself towards the lake. He lost his balance on the pebbles littered around the lake, the last he saw was a silhouette across from him before everything turned black.

Kibum paced back and forth in his study. It had been hours, and they still hadn’t found Jonghyun. All the search parties came back with the same report; no sign of the Prince anywhere, it was like he had just vanished.

He called the guards standing at the door, “Ask Minho to assemble a search party again, and tell him he has to find the Prince at any cost.”

It was completely dark when Jonghyun's eye's opened. He realized he was sleeping on something soft, a bed, a bed with a familiar smell. He blinked till his eyes adjusted to the faint moonlight glimpsing in through the windows.

He smiled, stretching his limbs trying to ease away the heaviness that had settled into them, oh he so knew where he was. “Hey,” he said softly, stirring up the lone figure sleeping in the chair beside the bed.

“You’re awake? Do you want anything? Does it hurt?”

“Just come here already, Jinki.” Jonghyun scooted back slowly, making space for Jinki to join him.

“Everything is okay right?” Jinki asked again as he settled in beside Jonghyun.

“Obviously,” Jonghyun smiled, “I’m in good hands.”

“Very good hands I should say,” Jinki said softly as he leaned in closer, “I made sure that no scars remain.” he gave a small kiss to Jonghyun’s nose.

“I’ve missed you,” Jonghyun mumbled lethargically against Jinki’s neck as slumber slowly pulled him away.

“Sleep my Prince, you need all the rest you can get.”

In the morning Jonghyun woke up at the sound of the mortar and pestle, he groaned, getting up from the bed, why were they being so noisy?

“Look who woke up!! Hyunnie!!”

Jonghyun let Taemin hug him. “I am going to be your King, show me some respect,” he muttered.

“Oh shut up.” Taemin pushed him away. “You scared us, covered in blood and bruises, fallen on the other side of the lake. What happened?”

Jonghyun sat down on the stool, taking a sip of the soup Jinki placed in front of him. “A wild boar scared that horse of mine, and I fell off his back.”

“A wild boar? Really? Jinki let's go out on a hunt!” Taemin exclaimed.

Jonghyun rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. “How long have I been out?” he asked instead.

“Almost a day,” Jinki said as he helped Taemin pour the elixirs in the vials.

“Old man Kibum has gone mad searching frantically for you. He sent in 20 search parties to look for you in the night and now the whole kingdom is searching for you.” Taemin grinned.

“That man,” Jonghyun sighed. “I will leave when night falls.” he shrugged, directing his attention towards Jinki. “When did you come back?” he narrowed his eyes, “You didn’t even inform me that you were here! And what were you doing in the forest?”

“I came back a few days ago, sorry.” Jinki smiled sheepishly, “I was going to surprise you, but instead, you ended up surprising me,” he added solemnly.

“We were collecting Night Blooms for the salve and most of it has already been used up,” Taemin sighed as he packed his bag. “Minho’s so angry, many of the soldiers are hurt and injured because of the search going on in the night,” he mumbled. “I’m leaving, just don’t make a mess and keep quiet,” he said with a stern voice as he shouldered his bag.

“How was the trip?” Jonghyun asked Jinki as he watched him prepare some more herbs for the elixirs.

“Tiring, to be honest, but it was good. I don’t think the plague will spread now.” he gave a sincere smile.

“Good.” Jonghyun found himself smiling as he got up and headed towards Jinki. “Let me look at you,” and he pulled Jinki in his direction. “Ahh I missed your face so much,” he said as he caressed Jinki’s cheeks.

“Only my face?” Jinki teased, making Jonghyun blush. He further decreased the distance between them as he softly kissed Jonghyun. “I missed you too, my Prince,” he said softly.

Unbeknownst to Kibum, Jonghyun had been meeting with the Lee’s. He would sneak out whenever Kibum left the palace and came back under the cover of the night. When he was questioned about his absence, he would simply lie with a smile and escape.

After he was nearly caught by a soldier, they decided to meet in the forest to play. He would help Jinki and Taemin collect the flowers they saw in their father’s books, or they would chase around the hares or would simply just lie down looking at the clouds.

Over the years the friendship between Jonghyun and the Lees grew and became stronger. Once Taemin immersed himself in his studies and refused to come out, the friendship between Jinki and Jonghyun grew even more.

The soft pink hue of friendship darkened over the countless sunsets they watched together, the starry nights the spent talking, those rainy days they could never forget. And the hue only darkened with each moment they spent together.

“Where were you?” Kibum exclaimed as soon as the doors to Jonghyun’s room opened. “Nothing grave?” he asked Taemin who was currently tying up a bandage on Jonghyun’s arm.

“Nothing to worry about. Just a few scratches, that’s all.” He gave a reassuring smile to Kibum. “I’ll come by in the morning to change the bandages.” he collected all his vials and bottles.

Once Taemin was gone, Kibum approached Jonghyun. He held Jonghyun at an arm’s length and examined him head to toe. “I was so scared.” Kibum whispered, “Where were you?” he asked again.

“I was in the forest,” Jonghyun said as he escaped Kibum’s scrutiny. “Rested in a cave at night and moved around the whole day.” he sat down on his bed. “I am here now, so stop worrying, old man.” he teased.

Kibum grumbled, “Don’t call me that.” He narrowed his eyes threateningly, “For now you are safe, and I am going to accept that lame excuse of yours, but the next time if anything like this happens again- you’ve been warned.”

“Whatever,” Jonghyun rolled his eyes as he lay down in bed.

“Why isn’t the balcony door closed?” Kibum asked as he approached the glass paned doors at the side of the bed.

“Let them be,” Jonghyun said as he turned towards Kibum. “I’ll close them before I sleep. Let me enjoy the cool night breeze.” he let out a long sigh.

“Okay fine, do whatever you want. Just don’t come back to haunt me if you get assassinated in the middle of the night.”

“Trust me, I definitely will come back for you,” Jonghyun called out as Kibum left his room.

Jonghyun woke up at a faint thud. “What took you so long?” he asked quietly as he sat up on the bed.

“The number of guards below your balcony has doubled,” Jinki informed as he got rid of his cloak. “Have you been hurt again?” He rushed to Jonghyun when he saw the bandages beneath his sleeping robe.

“Oh, this?” Jonghyun gestured towards the bindings across his chest and shoulders, “It is all thanks to you and your need to overdo things.” Jonghyun fussed. “They found my horse without a saddle and covered in scratches, but here I am without even a single scar. I asked Taemin to tie these for me to avoid any suspicion.”

Jinki hummed as he sat down in front of Jonghyun. “So do they suspect anything?” he asked.

“Kibum knows that I lie, that I’ve been lying since I was a kid, but he never questions them.” Jonghyun shrugged.

“I see.” Jinki sighed. He lay down on Jonghyun’s bed as he took a big sniff. “Oh, how I have missed your bed.” he let out a content sigh. He saw Jonghyun fidget with the bindings across his chest. “Do you need help changing those Jonghyunnie?” he teased as he pulled Jonghyun towards him.

“No, thank you,” Jonghyun grumbled as he turned around in Jinki’s embrace, his back to Jinki’s chest now.

“You’re angry with me,” Jinki whispered against Jonghyun’s neck as he slowly undid the bandages. “Let me make it up to you. You know? Give you a few scratches or something?” he kissed behind Jonghyun’s ears.

“Idiot.” Jonghyun turned around, helping Jinki get rid of the bandages.

“Wake up sleepyhead.”

“What d’ya want Taem?” Jonghyun mumbled as he turned.

“Kibum sent me to ‘change your bandages’, Your Highness. He said he’ll come by soon to check up on you.” Taemin said as he dropped his bag on the bed.

Jonghyun groaned as he got up, he looked around the room; no sign of Jinki, the balcony was closed too, the curtains were drawn, like every time. “Okay fine.” he yawned. “Just don’t tie them too tightly.”

“So this is where he was yesterday,” Taemin said under his breath as he rolled the binding across Jonghyun’s chest.

Jonghyun felt heat color his cheeks and ears, he looked away, just hoping Taemin would be done soon.

Kibum walked in as Taemin was finishing up. He excused himself once he was done, giving Jonghyun a small wink secretly before he left.

“How are you feeling?” Kibum asked as he helped Jonghyun get dressed.

“Much better,” Jonghyun said as he sat down on the bed to put on his boots. “Boy! Yunhwa!” he called out for his squire.

“He no longer serves you,” Kibum informed as he helped Jonghyun.

“Why?” Jonghyun asked, though Yunhwa was a bit slow, he was a good squire.

“This happened to you because of him. He was the one who tended to your horse and tied the saddle improperly because someone told him to. I can’t have such dire incidents happening again. But don’t you worry,” Kibum stood up straight, “We are currently looking into it, and I’ll find a new squire for you, till then I will help you out.” He gave Jonghyun a stern smile.

“Well, someone’s been pretty concerned about you lately,” Taemin said as he got rid of the bandages off Jonghyun. They had kept up the facade of Jonghyun being hurt for about a week, a week which seemed to only drag.

“Well I don’t have a squire, and Kibum’s around more often than before, it’s like he’s stuck to me like a bur caught onto the fur of a dog.” Jonghyun sighed. “Henceforth, I have not been able to meet Jinki, or even send him a message.”

Taemin hummed as he rolled up the bindings, “I’ve asked him many times to come visit you in my stead, but he refuses, says doesn’t want to attract attention or instigate suspicion with sudden visits to you.”

“I know Kibum has an inkling of a speculation that something is aberrant about me and Jinki, but he never spoke it out loud, and I never felt the need to explain it to him, because I know he would not applaud it even if he understood my feelings.”

“Then I pray, Kibum finds a new squire soon,” Taemin said with a small smile as he packed his belongings. “What is it?” he asked when he saw Jonghyun’s eyes light up, his lips shaped into a perfect smile.

“Stay, don’t leave yet.” he instructed to Taemin and he called the guard at the door to summon Kibum at once.

“What is it, Your Highness?” Kibum asked as he entered Jonghyun’s chambers. “Do you need help dressing down?” he asked.

“Yes.” Jonghyun smiled as he stood up. “Kibum, have you found a new squire?” Jonghyun enquired.

“Not yet,” Kibum muttered as he folded the royal cloak. “I am still looking out for one.”

“Good,” Jonghyun said as he buttoned up his shirt. “I’ve found one.” he grinned as he gestured to Taemin. “Tell him he’s to start serving from morn’.”

Taemin smiled as he curtsied.

Kibum paced his chambers, his thoughts a mess. He knew who Jonghyun was going to appoint as his squire. He had tried all he could to halt the friendship between Jonghyun and the brothers, but it only backfired; their friendship grew into a stronger bond, merging the lines between friends and family.

He also knew that the bond shared between Jonghyun and Jinki had matured into something more, something special. He earnestly had tried all he could, but Jonghyun always found a way around it, nullifying all his efforts. And, alas, he gave up, if he could not stop him, at the least, he could protect it, try to keep their feelings as shrouded as possible from everyone, try to cover up all that he could. But now, Jonghyun had taken a prominent step that would definitely not go unseen.

He didn’t mind the relation between Jonghyun and Jinki, in fact, he was happy that Jonghyun was able to find such unwavering friends and feelings. It was the Lords that he feared of. There were rumors, rumors since the day Kibum had refused to let go of those two young boys. Rumors that said the Prince was hiding mages, mages he would definitely use to wound his subjects if the odds turned against him.

He had tried to abolish such rumors. Had the boys be subjected to humiliating scrutiny, to prove they were no mages, but just some orderly, regular kids. But nevertheless, those rumors still prevailed.

The people of the town didn’t take favorably to the brothers, especially to the older brother, Jinki. Taemin provided his services as a court physician as well helping the townspeople. Jinki usually avoided such contact. He would only help out whenever Taemin was busy or away on a journey with the Prince and his Knights, or he usually preferred helping out people from the other towns in the Kingdom, whenever an endemic or epidemic rose. This aloofness of his added more substance to the rumors. The Prince’s secret mage who was only seen when situations went out of hand. The Prince’s personal mage who was sent to make things fall back in line. The Prince’s mage.

If Jonghyun was seen with Jinki, it would definitely solidify the claims of those rumors. Make it more convenient for the Nobles to prove that crowning Jonghyun the King would be an erroneous decision. Who knows, maybe the assassination attempts would increase in frequency too?

He had to do something before everything fell apart.

“Wake up, Your Highness!” Jinki exclaimed as he extended his arm towards the curtains, moving them apart to let the morning light in.

Jonghyun groaned as he flipped away from the brightness.

“Come on Jonghyun, get up. Do you want me to get fired on the first day of work?” Jinki asked as he pulled the blanket off him.

“Just a few more minutes and I’ll be up,” Jonghyun mumbled against the pillow.

“If you do not wake up by the time I have finished counting to 5, be warned, I will definitely make it rain in here,” he said softly as he pulled up the hood of his cloak. “One...Two...Three..”

“Okay fine! I’m up.” Jonghyun said as he sat in bed, rubbing his eyes. “Don’t use your tricks here.” he said stifling a yawn, “You’ll definitely get fired for that.”

“Executed, more like,” Jinki muttered as he pulled open Jonghyun’s cupboard. “Are you really sure you want me as your squire?” Jinki asked as he searched through Jonghyun's closet. “You know what everyone says about me, says about you too. Think it over again.” Jinki dumped Jonghyun's change of clothes on the bed. “It will only cause trouble.”

“I don't care what anyone thinks. I've had enough of hiding.” he got up from the bed. “I...I just...I don't mind all the fingers that are going to be pointed at me, by God I don't care even if they see me unfit to rule, at least I'll live freely then, live with you,” he added softly.

“Hey,” Jinki whispered as he hugged Jonghyun. “I'll always be with you, stand beside you come what may.” He pulled back, his face lighting up with a smile. “Your squire is at your service, Sire.” he curtsied.”

“Help me get ready for the court.” Jonghyun chuckled.

“Then let’s get ready my Prince.” Jinki grinned as he gestured his fingers, a faint whisper of a spell on his tongue.

Jonghyun let Jinki’s magic work on him. Untying his sleeping robe, buttoning up his dress shirt, lacing up his boots. He grinned when he was ready in a matter of seconds. “I should’ve made you my squire a long time ago.” he gave a small kiss to Jinki’s cheek.

“Oh my Prince, please do keep your desires in check,” Jinki smirked before he opened the chamber doors.

“What is that?” a 15-year-old Jonghyun called as he ran inside to Jinki’s room.

“It was nothing. You didn’t see anything.” Jinki muttered as he backed away.

“No,” Jonghyun jumped onto Jinki’s bed. “You made it snow,” Jonghyun exclaimed.

“Jonghyun,” Jinki sighed. “Can you keep this a secret, please?” Jinki pleaded.

“You have magic, don’t you?” Jonghyun’s eyes lit up. “Even Taemin has. I should’ve guessed.”

“I am sorry for not telling you about this before, but you know the law, if we were caught they would’ve surely executed us.”

“You can always trust me, Jinki.” Jonghyun smiled as he took Jinki’s hand in his. “Show me what else you can do!” Jonghyun couldn’t contain his excitement.

“Not much actually, I know a few small spells for healing small wounds and can make it snow. That was all that I could find from the few books we had salvaged from the purge.” Jinki said solemnly.

“You trust me, don’t you Jinki?” Jonghyun asked as he hugged Jinki. “Give me a few days, and I will get your father’s books from the dungeons.”

“No don’t do anything dangerous or suspicious,” Jinki said as he pulled away from Jonghyun.

Jonghyun huffed, his mind already making up plans. Kibum had been picking his brains constantly since a few days about learning the artifacts stored in the dungeons, he was reluctant at first; he didn’t want to look at remnants of the purge that brought about great misery but now he had a very compelling reason to go down and to sort of maybe, make things right, not for everyone, but it was still a beginning.

“From where did you get these?” Taemin exclaimed as he gathered the books Jonghyun had dumped on the table.

“You stole them, didn't you?” Jinki started. “I told-”

“I didn't steal,” Jonghyun argued before Jinki could start chiding him. “I mean taking something from my dungeon in my palace is not stealing,” Jonghyun said proudly.

“You'll get us all in trouble,” Jinki muttered as he sat down beside Taemin, pulling a few books towards himself.

“Oh trust me Jinki, you never will.” Jonghyun grinned.

When Jonghyun walked into court with Jinki behind him it enticed a rich murmur in the assembled nobility.

“Stay outside,” Kibum told Jinki.

Jinki glanced at Jonghyun and when he got a small nod from him he curtsied and left.

“What is he doing here?” Jonghyun was asked as he sat down.

“He serves as my squire,” Jonghyun replied shortly, motioning with his hand for the commencement of the conclave.

“Your majesty, you surely do know the rumors surrounding that boy, he's no good.” Seo Guk, one of the nobles said.

“We should have sent them along with their father, should have never provided any sanctuary to them. And now look at them, walking in and out of the palace so freely, no restraint of any sorts on them.” In Jung seethed.

Jonghyun rolled up the parchment he was given. “Who I appoint as my squire is my affair,” Jonghyun said with a stern lilt to his voice. He turned to Kibum, “Correct me if I am wrong Kibum, the previous squire was sent by him, wasn't he? The squire that tried to get me killed?” Jonghyun gestured towards In Jung.

A silence befell the court at Jonghyun's words. Kibum cleared his throat. “Let's begin,” he said.

As soon Jinki walked into the room he knew something was off. The magnificent pout on Jonghyun's lips spoke volumes.

“What has gotten you so upset?” Jinki asked as he set down the tray in front of Jonghyun.

Jonghyun sighed. “Kibum isn't happy with my decision of choosing you as my squire, and after what happened in court today, he went on and on and on about how this decision has distressed my claim for the throne.”

Jinki gave him a small smile, words of comfort deserting him.

“Don't worry.” Jonghyun shrugged off his cloak. “He'll see through it, he'll come around like he always does.”

Jinki sat down on the other chair, picking up the parchment Jonghyun had got. “A ball?” he asked, a sly smile on his face.

Jonghyun rolled his eyes. “They want me to select a bride, the next queen. Honestly, they are just wasting the treasury. We could use these resources to strengthen the border security. But no they want a lavish ball. To celebrate the complete healing of the prince. To celebrate the Prince’s first love when he sees one of the fair maidens.”

Jinki chuckled. “How very interesting,” he said as he rolled up the parchment. “Do you have anyone in mind, your majesty?” Jinki smirked.

Jonghyun narrowed his eyes, “Now that you ask, I do have someone in mind.”

“Who is this someone you speak of My prince?” Jinki challenged.

“Minho, one of the knights. A handsome face, brave and kind man. He would be perfect for me, wouldn't he Jinki?”

Jinki grinned. “Risk facing Taemin’s wrath?”

“Oh well, I'll always have you to protect me.” Jonghyun leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips.

“That you will. “

“Here you go,” Jinki sighed as he put down the clothes Kibum had picked out for Jonghyun to wear for the ball.

“Oh God,” Jonghyun whined as he approached his bed. “Do I have to try out all of them?” he mumbled as he sorted through them.

“If you ask me,” Jinki said as he reached for a shirt from the pile. “This will be perfect for you.” He picked up the light teal color shirt, “It brings out the blue in your eyes.” he added softly.

“That one it is.” Jonghyun slumped down on his bed, his face pressed against his pillow. “I am so tired,” he grumbled as he turned around.

Jinki rolled his eyes as he cast a spell to let the clothes stack themselves in a proper pile. “You've been sitting behind the desk the whole day. And there's me, who has been running around the whole day preparing for this godforsaken ball. Do you even know where Kibum sent me to get these shirts?” Jinki grumbled as he lay down on Jonghyun, his head resting against Jonghyun's thigh.

Jonghyun sat up, a sly smile on his face. “He sent you to the port, didn't he? To the merchant who lives by the sea?”

“Yes,” Jinki exclaimed. “My arse hurts.”

Jonghyun chuckled. “Good for you,” he said. “And anyways you needed some air and some movement in that body of yours. I've noticed you've grown.” he teased as he poked Jinki’s side.

“Did you just call me fat?”

“No, I didn't.”

“Yes, you did.” Jinki placed his hand at the back of Jonghyun's neck, slowly pulling him down.

“Well, I didn't use those exact words.” His grin was interrupted by the kiss Jinki pulled him into.

They separated hastily when they heard Kibum clear his throat. “Taemin is searching for you,” he told Jinki, excusing him from Jonghyun's chambers.

Once Jinki was gone he chided Jonghyun, “What if it was someone else who had walked in on you both? Do you know what crazy mess it would've led to?”

“All because he is a man and a squire?” Jonghyun asked as he got up from where he sat.

“You know that's not the predicament,” Kibum said softly.

Jonghyun heaved a big sigh, as he sat down in his chair, his shoulders slouched, “Yes I know Kibum. What do you expect me to do? No, I am not going to give up on him.” he said firmly. “I am ready to fight anyone or anything to protect him, to protect us.”

Kibum caressed Jonghyun's shoulder, “I know that.” he said. “I am happy for you,” he added softly, a small smile on his lips. “Just be careful. You know they all are out to get you, a single slip, a single mistake and you will lose everything.”

Jonghyun took Kibum's hand in his. “Thank you.”

Jinki's mind was a mess as he walked through the castle to his quarters. This was the first time he and Jonghyun were spending so much time together, the first they could stay together longer than a day or a night and he found himself getting carried away at that. He had let his guard down for that moment, to only have it get interrupted.

Maybe he could try casting a spell around Jonghyun's chambers that would signify anyone's presence?

He stopped suddenly, his mind going blank. He could feel it. It was faint, distant, but it was unfamiliar. Someone was using magic and it was not Taemin.

The faint trail of magic led him to the previous King’s chambers, the chambers that had been sealed and were to be only opened once Jonghyun becomes the King.

He could hear whispering behind the door, intriguing him. As he was about to push the doors, they opened from the inside.

“What are you doing here?” In Jung asked.

Jinki saw him quickly hide away something within the folds of his clothes.

“What are you doing here?” Jinki asked slowly. He could feel something was off.

“What is it to you? Has the Prince sent his dog to keep an eye on me?” In Jung took a step closer to Jinki, trying to intimidate him.

Jinki could see all through that. He could feel In Jung was scared, nervous. He saw the shifty demeanor in him. He was up to something, but Jinki couldn't point it out. “You are not allowed near these chambers.” Jinki informed him calmly.

In Jung scoffed. “And who are you to tell me that?” he caught hold of Jinki's cloak at the neck, “If I ever see you near me again, that's the last moment you'll be alive.” he pulled away quickly and was out of Jinki's sight in a few moments.

He was definitely up to something.

Jonghyun chuckled when Jinki expressed his concern over In Jung and his possible intentions the next day.

“He's always been like that, finding one way or the other to find something wrong with me or Kibum.”

“But I heard him talking to someone inside,” Jinki stressed.

“Might have been cursing my father’s portrait that's inside.” Jonghyun shrugged. “They never got along even when they were children, and uncle’s chagrin only increased when my father was selected, King.”

When Jinki didn't speak up, Jonghyun approached him, “I’ll increase the number of guards appointed in the castle if that appeases you.”

Jinki gave him a quiet nod, his mind still trying to comprehend what happened yesterday.

Jonghyun clapped his hands, distracting Jinki’s attention to himself. “Okay, enough of brooding, we have a ball to prepare for.”

“How do I look?” Jonghyun asked as he stepped out from behind the screens.

“Yes?” he asked again when he got no reply.

“Very handsome,” Jinki said finally, his being still mesmerized by Jonghyun. Like he had thought the light teal color shirt complimented him really well. His blonde hair was brushed back, accentuating his features.

He picked up the royal cloak and helped fasten it behind Jonghyun.

Jonghyun chuckled when his eyes met Jinki’s through the mirror. “Enough with the staring,” he said. He turned around, “Aren't you going to get ready?”

“I don't feel like dressing up,” Jinki said as he placed a small kiss on Jonghyun's nose. “And I have a lot of work to do. I should have never agreed to be your squire.” he groaned.

“Liar. You are loving every moment of it.” Jonghyun kissed Jinki on his lips. “Help me tie up my boots,” he said.

“Not going to use magic?” he asked when he saw Jinki bend down to tie his bootlace.

“Don't feel like,” Jinki said as he tied Jonghyun's boots.

“Come, let me escort you to your ball, my Prince.” Jinki held out his hand for Jonghyun.

At the ball, Jonghyun couldn't keep his attention on the maidens and the princesses he was being introduced to. He would somehow end up searching for Jinki amidst the staff that served them. At times he would catch Jinki gazing at the dances going on, and on some occasions, he would catch Jinki staring at him, they would hold contact until the other would shy away or get interrupted.

A few hours later he saw Jinki leave the ball, talking to Taemin briefly before he left.

“Are you tired?” Kibum asked Jonghyun as he stood beside him on the balcony.

“Not really,” he said as he took a sip of the wine he held.

“Ahh, you are not interested then,” Kibum said as he scanned the ballroom for Jinki. “Just go to him,” he said.

Jonghyun choked a bit on the sip he had taken, “What?” he asked, bewildered.

“Go.” Kibum waved his hand nonchalantly. “I know you are missing his companionship. Go now.”

“What about the ball?” Jonghyun gestured in front of them.

“I’ll take care of them like I always do.” Kibum shrugged. “Now go before someone offers you another dance.”

Jonghyun couldn't help the grin that broke out on his face, he hugged Kibum and handed over his glass before he left.

“Have you tried searching for him?” Jonghyun asked. He had looked all over for Jinki, had even searched Jinki's quarter's stealthily, but here was Jinki sitting in his balcony, his father's locket in hand.

“I did.” Jinki complied as he pocketed the chain.

“And?” Jonghyun asked as he approached him.

“I found his grave,” Jinki informed.

“I am so sorry.” Jonghyun took Jinki’s hand in his, caressing his knuckles with his thumb.

“Don't be,” Jinki said lightly. “He died a happy man.” he gave a small smile.

“I really am,” Jonghyun said, biting his lips in worry.

Jinki rolled his eyes slightly, no matter how many times he talked Jonghyun out of it but Jonghyun would still blame himself for the departure of Jinki's father.

Jinki entwined his fingers with Jonghyun. “Dance with me,” he said as he took Jonghyun's other hand in his.

Jonghyun smiled as he let Jinki lead the dance, his hands settled around Jinki's waist.

“Why did you stop?” he asked when Jinki abruptly stopped mid-step.

“Someone's coming,” Jinki informed, his hold tightening around Jonghyun's waist.

“How-”

“I cast a spell on your chambers to make it known to me whenever someone approaches it.”

“So?” Jonghyun asked puzzled.

“So, there's a ball going on downstairs, and what affair does anyone have to come searching for the Prince till his chambers.”

There was a loud bang on the door, somebody was trying to open the door forcefully. Jinki cast a small spell, firming up the doors foundation so that it wouldn't budge.

“Behind us,” Jonghyun informed as he unsheathed his sword.

People in armor and masks were climbing down into Jonghyun's balcony from above, from the King’s chambers.

“That bastard.” Jinki cursed under his breath as he pushed Jonghyun behind him.

“What are you doing?” Jonghyun whispered. “Nobody can find out you are a mage.”

“I know,” Jinki muttered. He whispered a small message into the waves of the air and directed it with his magic to Taemin.

“Trust me.” he told Jonghyun as he took Jonghyun's sword in hand.

There were too many of them, and he knew he couldn't hold on any longer. He noticed a gleam of silver in the back. Archers.

“Trust me,” he said again as he embraced Jonghyun, putting himself between the men and Jonghyun as his shield. When he felt Taemin’s presence getting closer and closer on the other side of the door, he let go of the spell he had placed on the door. The door burst open, revealing more assassins.

“Jinki!” he heard Jonghyun scream and felt a sharp pain in his back. He closed his eyes when he saw Minho and the other Knights infiltrate the room.

part (2/2)

#jongyu #onjong #onhyun #2min #shinee #key #jonghyun #onew #jinki #fanfiction

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