#i am not what the scholars would call... smart. and have never been able to predict anything accurately so uh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

husbandohunter · 4 years ago

Note

Dottore with short drabble “You only ever brought me pain and I’m sick of it.”

Something angsty pls? Thank you!

Tainted Glass [Dottore x Reader/Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: Can you escape the prison you made?

(A twisted Cinderella story. The girl was covered in cinders because she was fatally addicted to drowning in flames.)

Warnings: angst, emotional abuse, violence, death

(A/n): To be honest anon, I didn’t know what the word ‘drabble’ means until I googled it. I uh...hope you don’t mind the length :>

-----------------------

You fell back against the cold hard floor with your arms bent and head turned sideways. The stinging pain spreads across your cheek. It burns. But your mind was still trying to register what had just came into fruition.

Why?

The thought was so foreign somehow as if you could hardly believe he was doing this. But then the scene plays in your head again. You froze, your gaze enlarged and clueless while staring at the pale ground as it slowly begins to darken in the seeping movement of his menacing, haunting shadow.

"Insolent woman, you wretch!" He spat in a disgusted tone, "How dare you speak to me in such demanding manner? Have I already told you, only talk when you have something important to say?"

You didn't respond, rather you merely let the strands fall in front of your vision as you gingerly pressed your hand against the place where he hit you.

I…don't quite understand…

Dottore glowers down at your hunched form. He was never a man known for the virtue of patience. This man, the one who calls him your husband, you learned a long time ago to not meet his eyes as they would signal a hint of dominance amidst his authority, especially during moments like these. You came to feel his eyes instead, they were usually intense and full of wrath, sometimes crazed and curious while looking at his finest creations. He always loved experimenting in his labratory. After all, it was the only thing that could truly make the madman smile.

What is it that I'm missing? Where did I go wrong?

And you would do anything to obtain at least a fraction of the love he had left in his heart.

He marches onward with heavy footsteps, paying no mind to your well-being, "Tch get out of my sight. I don't have the time to entertain with anymore these theatrics."

At the sound of him leaving you darted your attention towards him, "Wait, come back. Come back, " you plea softly, "Hector…" But he ignores your call. The back of your fiance disappears behind the door and slams it with a resounding thud. He was gone. You couldn't save him.

"No," As a result, you burried your face into your palms and cried.

“I'm sorry.”

…

What is love?

Being raised in one of the most prestigious bloodlines of Fontaine, a life filled with riches since your parents were well known scholars throughout Teyvat, they provided you and your family with everything you needed. From exquisite dishes to priceless jewelry, yet even among those riches you never did find an answer to your question. They were tangibles and short-lasting, eventually leaving you with nothing until the glass of your heart was filled empty. They seemed to have cared more about their fortune along with the brightest child of their family line, your brother, a male heir, someone who fulfilled their expectations where you couldn't do so. And because he was able to give them what they wanted, he was loved.

I see, love is conditional.

Realizing that you possessed no talent to achieve what your brother had accomplished, you came to accept that you were undeserving of their love. Love was for the smart. Love was for the gifted. Love was for everything you are not. There was no place for your kind and thus you locked yourself up in your bedroom chambers along with your fragile heart where no one would try to find you, picking up the books upon the shelves and getting lost in their fantasies.

They told you many beautiful things about the world and many reasons why it was so tragic. Because they weren't real. The story begins with a princess who was a kind-hearted soul, deprived from the care of her evil stepmother and dreams of marrying a prince from a land far far away. They often end on a happily ever after with the princes finding her one true love. You've never seen anything like it. Where two people, despite the struggles they went through, loved each other unconditionally.

Unconditional love only exists in dreams.

Or so you thought to believe.

One day a man marched right at the doorsteps of your mansion. He was a student coming all the way from Sumeru Academia and had high hopes of building a business partnership with your father. The man was declined of course, you watched from the garden bushes as he was sent off back into his carriage. He stops abruptly and turns his head ajar to catch your figure, his inquisitive eyes were both striking and sharp. Like thorns of a rose that was ready to prick anyone who dares to come close. Even so, they made a very lasting impression.

Red eyes.

It was the first time that someone had looked your way.

Couple of months later, the government had arranged a grand ball where all nobles would gather and commit to building their social circle. Useless events. There was no reason for you to engage. While your parents were occupied with the latest gossips and your brother surrounded by fathers who were eager to marry their daughters to him, you snuck outside to the balcony and hid away from the crowd. Quiet at last. And as things should be. The moon was your only friend because she was just like you; half empty. Maybe that was why you still had a glimmer of hope for the other half to be filled.

Part white, you inquired, pristine and untainted. From far away it looked similar to snow.

"My, how pleasantly surprising."

While the other part was stained with black cinders.

You glanced over your shoulder to see a man leaning against the pillar. His mint coloured bangs were slicked back in a trendy fashion, complimenting the white suit he adorned himself with. The golden chains hanging around his ebony boots dangled and clanged with each step he took forward until the light finally reveals his face.

"You seem familiar," you say while squinting your eyes, "Are you the person my father rejected back in February?"

He quirks one brow and you were afraid if you had offended him. But before you could utter an apology, the man splits his lips into a toothy grin and bursts out into a maniac-like laughter. He was completely insane, you thought to yourself. Though he paid no mind to your discomfort and continued to dwell in his amusement, "Hahaha straightforward, I like it! So what if I am? Is it a requirement to be a noble for me to simply have a chat?"

"And if I may ask why?"

"Hmmm, why?" The man reaches for the balcony and presses his back there. He threw his head backward before drilling his ruby gaze into yours, "I too am not fond of annoying crowds. Those snobbish fools thinking they're above everyone else just because they have a couple of mora when that is all they are worth. It's almost too hilarious for my own good."

You could tell there was disdain in his tone. Mainly towards your father who were one of the many unkind nobles of Fontaine and was only liked because of his success. Gripping your hands upon the stone railings, you looked down at the distant trees below while the wind rustled them apart, "I can't deny that," you say dissapointedly, "It's common for nobles not to associate with lower classes as it could potentially ruin their image. Though I may not have been there but I'm sure you had much to offer in terms of your brilliance, erm, Mister…?"

"Hector," Hector placed a palm on his chest with a polite bow following suit, "Hector Dufour-Lapointé. It is a pleasure to make you an acquaintance Lady (Y/n)."

"You know my name?"

"How could I not?" Hector smirks lazily as he danced around you, "I saw you before hiding behind the rose bushes back in your estate. Quite curious why you didn't attempt to say hello."

He even remembers that too. You fiddled with the fabric of your dress, "My apologies. I'm not use to socializing so much."

“Is that so? I think you're not giving yourself enough credit," he complimented while shrugging, "This is much more entertaining than hanging in that insufferably crowded room, it was an unexpected occurence to meet you here of all places. However, I must say time can fly if I'm able to enjoy myself."

You shifted away from his stare, "You flatter me. We've only been talking for a few minutes."

"I have yet to realize it then" Hector's cheerfulness remains at stance despite your gloomy response. He leans forward like a curious child and tosses you a question, "Then allow me to ask, what brings you out here Lady (Y/n)? I don't see any reason when your family are such highly respected people of Fontaine."

"I'm not like them!" You retort instantly, causing the man to glance at you with skepticism, "I mean, I have nothing to do with them and they have nothing to do with me. That's just how it is. They already have Clement after all…"

Why am I telling him this?

"Ah your brother I assume. Yes so I've heard much about his genius mind. There were a few instances where he and I collaborated at Sumeru Academia," Hector speaks as if regarding to his unpleasant memories, "Although he never said anything about having a sister."

"We're not that close. And I'm not very fond of him," you confessed bluntly.

"Neither am I," Hector agreed with a scowl, "He claims his position using the knowledge derived from history books but never tries to think beyond the norm. That ignorant mindset of his will surely be his downfall one day."

"Ignorance can lead to anyone's downfall. If they turn a blind eye to the truth, so much can be taken from them," you paused shortly from rambling too much, "That's what I read in books at least."

"As expected of your lineage," he sighs whimsically, "Such avid readers."

"Well my family prefers documents and research. I've gone through them too but I will always love reading fiction."

"Ha! Seems you really are trying to be different from the rest of your family."

Seconds turn to minutes and minutes to hours, you had already forgotten about the cold breeze despite your dress being less than ideal for the outdoors. The man, although he can be a little to blathering at times, was more than what seemed to be on the surface. At first you thought of him as someone here to take advantage of your relations to your father but he seemed so sincere when listening to your stories, so eager while expressing his thoughts and even made you laugh a couple of times. You didn't realize that the clock had already struck twelve as the guests were preparing to leave but you just weren't ready to do the same.

"Until next time (Y/n)," he takes your fingers and pressed a kiss on top of them, though you were more struck by how he addressed you without honorifics, "I look forward to speaking with you again."

A warm smile graces your lips as you cursty, "Likewise Hector. Thank you for listening to me. I know I must have taken a long time."

Hector sneered but you already learned that it was simply his way of expressing amusement, "Hardly. I was thoroughly entertained."

When your parents found out about your meeting with him, they made it clear that you would never see him again. Hector Dufour-Lapointé is what he calls himself but the real name behind this man was Hector Valliere who came from a village hidden in the west of Fontaine. Rumours said that he was chased out of his hometown by an angry mob, claiming him to be a madman conducting unethical experiments on humans. Shortly after his arrival in Sumeru, he abandoned his past identity and replaced it with a new one in order to enter the academy under legal supervision. Associating with a man of a suspicious reputation would only cause harm to your family's name. Though you could barely care much about their reputation. There was nothing for you to benefit from it.

Few weeks have passed and you evetually gave up on the thought of hearing from Hector. They were only fleeting moments, nothing more. Your routine would stay the same as you kept on plucking more books off the shelves, killing whatever time you had. However the activities you used to enjoy somehow lost it's flair and there would be a slight pain in your chest whenever you turn to a page with the princess as she is surrounded by her friends. What exactly changed? Your family still treated you the same. Did you suddenly grow bored from doing the same thing everyday? Why is it that you feel much more lonelier despite being alone for so long? It was hard to tell in a singular perspective. If only there was someone here to give you some insights on things you couldn't see…

A silver bird lands by your front window and you nearly fell out of your chair as it flapped their wings violently. A machine?! They dropped what seems to be an envelope within the thick bushes before taking off and buzzing into the evening sky. You switched off the lock and lifted the glass within a single movement, snatching the piece of paper so that the wind wouldn't blow it away. Hastily you opened it. Both curious and cautious of why would anyone send you mail in such a discreet approach.

Chère Mademoiselle (Y/n),

I can only imagine the shock of your expression once reading this letter. I'm only writing to you since I assume that your father had already told you those nasty rumours about my past. No matter. I trust that you have a good head on your shoulders to not prejudge people using such miniscule details. I wish to speak with you again. Unless you have other plans staying in that stuffy room of yours, meet me behind the clock tower at 11:00 p.m. Don't be late.

Bien à vous,

"It really is him!" The happiness spreads all across your features as you clutched the letter to your chest. For some reason, your heart wouldn't stop racing. It was a simple yet thoughful action on his part but despite how short his greeting was, every word held the weight of a thousand sparks, "I…I can't stop smiling."

And without hesitation, you prepared to leave. No one noticed your absence.

-------

It was only halfway where you realized that Hector didn't give many details redgarding why he planned this sudden event. You caught sight of him standing under the roofs with his hands hidden behind his back. He had on his signature lopsided grin, brows uneven as he glanced at you casually.

"How very punctual, were you so eager that you couldn't wait?" He teases.

"I was surprised when your bird knocked upon my window," you inform, "Is it something urgent?"

"Not at all. I merely wanted to catch up with old times," Hector tilts forward to emphasize his suggestion, "Care to indulge me for a bit?"

You crossed your arms, "Then what is it that you're hiding behind your back?"

"Hmm?" He hums, "You mean this?"

"Ah!"

Roses. A bouquet of bright red flowers were presented to you, nicely wrapped in fabric. In the language of Fontaine, recieving them could mean multiple of things and you couldn't help but feel hesitant despite his thoughtful gesture, "Why are you giving me this?"

"Is it so wrong for me to be a gentleman? I thought it would be best to prepare you a gift after you put all that effort to come out in such a late hour," Hector mused to himself, "Especially when you had to make sure no prying eyes would catch us."

You let out a small laugh before accepting the bouquet, "I wouldn't go as far to say that."

"Oh?" Although it was hard to see, Hector managed to catch a glimpse of your flushed cheeks hidden behind the flowers. A darken smirk climbs onto his face at the inviting thought of what it could mean, "Tell me more."

The whole night you both spent walking around the empty plaza with only the stars as your guide. They paved a silver path reflected in the horizon above, free flowing like one of the many watercolour paintings hung in your chambers, uncertain where they may lead but you followed them regardless. If it weren't for Hector's inivtation you might have never known about the parts of your city due to the restricted lifestyle you lived. He listened to every one of them. The stories you had to tell when there was no one for you to talk to and the complaints about your brother whenever he wanted to snitch on your actions just to get the praise out of your father. You expressed your frustrations when speaking about your incompetences, joy after reading a good fairytale book written by your favourite author, there was so much to say that you were worried if Hector soon grew tired from them.

"Go on. I'm listening."

And your heart flutters again. Suddenly everything felt so light with each step you took, it was as if you walked across the stars in the sky rather than the heavy pavement of the ground you called your home. But even if happiness was a bliss, it tormented you. Because companionship made you realize how poor your were all along. That you had everything yet you had nothing, slowly withering away like the roses you held in your hand. Convinced that your existence was worth nothing more than nothing itself. Doomed to be dismissed and forgotten. Rotting away...Hector stays by your side as you cried softly into the night.

From a distance the bell rings and echoes just like the time before during Fontaine's grand ball. Hector shows you a secret route so that no one could find you.

"Will you write to me again?"

The request was so innocent, purely from genuine intentions and devoided of anything he had in mind. Hector would always laugh in these situations when things have gone unexpectedly yet pleasingly his way but held back knowing that it would be foolish to waste such a priceless opportunity. And so he gave you his smile, one full of secrets where you had mistakened it as a promise, "Of course my dear."

Every night you could no longer fall asleep since he had occupied your thoughts completely. Sometimes you'd dream of him and their tales would unfold similarly to the ones you have read. It gone to the point where the maids would have to wake you up during late afternoons due to the dramatic change in your sleep schedule. Though, you didn't care what they did to you. As long as no one found out about your secret rendezvous.

You never thought that there'd be a day where you would voluntarily give up reading your beloved fairytales. They were now replaced by a stash of his letters that have been accumulated over the past few months. You read them each day, pacing back and forth within the walls of your room, whispering his sentences as if he were the one saying them to you. He made you feel special. You were addicted to this feeling. Eventually you managed to memorize his words by heart.

The pages of your diary were filled with notes. Like your very own fairytale carved into reality. From the rose petal, now dried, to the hairpin he snatched from a distracted merchant and a single strand of his hair you found within your cloak after a warm embrace, all of these items, a remnant of the man you loved were taped up in these pages. Sometimes you could even feel his prescence because it was all you needed. It didn't matter if Clement threw insults about how worthless your existence was, your parents could lock you in this prison if they wanted to but they shall never take away Hector from you. Never. You swear it. He was your whole world and the prince who saved you from a life made of aching emptiness. You would do anything to keep him by your side. Anything to gain his affection.

Anything.

"I had a feeling that you were the culprit dear sister."

Your arms stutters as they clutched tightly on the scrolls you took off from the shelves. The light crept into the room like arms reaching out to clutch around your ankles, warning you for trespassing. You turned around dreadfully to see Clement pressing his shoulder against the doorframe with his arms folded and a wicked expression aimed at your pitiful state.

"Why…Why are you still awake?" You say in disbelief, "I thought everyone was asleep."

"Please. Not only are you shameless but hypocritical as well. You truly are a dissapointment to our family."

"Wait," taking a step forward, you stopped him before he makes his exit, "I'll put them back. Just don't tell father about this."

But like your parents, your brother was unkind. Clement doubles over and hugs his torso, cackling through his teeth, "Is that how it is?" He swipes his arm up and you see a parchment paper held between his fingers.

"No!"

"Ma chérie (Y/n). I must say all this tenacious effort of sneaking in my letters to your window is becoming more and more tiresome. But of course, you are an exception. I want the scrolls you've mentioned the other day at my lair tomorrow evening. Make sure no one discovers this. I'm counting on you. Cordialement! Hector."

"No…" you whispered, feeling the weight of the world fall upon your shoulders as it shattered apart. Hector. If possible, you hoped that the pieces could just crush you right then and there. Your knees felt weak and a fright takes over but despite your turmoil, Clement didn't show a shred of sympathy.

"So this is why you've been acting odd lately. Pathetic," he flaps the paper tauntingly in his grasp, "I can't decide if I should be impressed or baffled by your actions. A secret romance with a criminal and the bloodline of Fontaine's most respected government associates? Even though you've hit rock bottom, you still decided to dig deeper."

"Clement you don't understand!" Stumbling upon your footsteps, you desperately tried to convey your predicament even if it meant feeding his ego, "Hector is not the man you think. He was shunned by the people of his hometown, treating him as if he were nothing. They…They ignored him! All this time he needed someone to recognize his brilliance, someone to understand." Shakily, you brought your tensed arms to your chest and screamed a silent whisper, "Someone to listen but no one did. He must have felt so alone…"

Clement flinches when you suddenly clutched onto his biceps. When he looked into your eyes, a shiver ran down his spine.

"Hector is counting on me. I'm the only one who can save him. No one else. He needs me Clement, he needs me!"

"Tch."

An ear-splitting scream of his hand against your face echoes across the room. It knocked you out of your stance and you bumped into the table, grunting while the scrolls to tumbled to the floor.

"Crazy woman, I'm embarassed to be related to you!"

While you were still trying to regain your balance, your brother had already ran off. It wouldn't be long before he alerted your parents, the clock ticking away like sand until the final hour leaves you with nothing but an empty glass.

"No," despair swallows the strength away from your legs and you crawled towards where he used to stand, "Don't take him away from me…I need him…"

I can't live without him.

Tears begin to form by the corners of your eyes as you clenched your teeth. This was no time to cry. Balling your fists, you sprinted out of the room, pushing whatever stood in your way as if you were running for your life.

And if you considered everything else, it wasn't that far from the truth.

-------

"Hector! Hector are you there?" After arriving upon his house, you began knocking on his door aggressively. The lock clicks and you were greeted by an evidently annoyed man gnawing his teeth together.

"Tsk. There better be a good reason-"

"They're coming for us! We have to go. Now. Before it's too late. My father is probably already waking and making arrangements for you to-"

"Enough, I can't even catch what you're saying," He pinches the bridge of his nose while you were still stuck in a frenzy state. He takes a step back and opens the door wider, gesturing for you to come inside, "Get in already. I have a feeling that this will be a long night."

Hector observes intently at the words you tell him.

Not out of concern but akin to the way he watches the insects react when he exposes them to a different environment.

He was a scientist after all. A madman in which you deliberately fell in love with, so much to the point that he was able to feel pity for once. How you trusted him wholeheartedly with all of your vulnerabilities, emotions and secrets like handing him your parts just so he could put you back together again. Tinkering was always one of his favourite hobbies and he couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride at the thought of you being completely wrapped around his finger.

Perhaps that was the reason why he loved you. Because he didn't love you. He loved you in parts.

"It was only a matter of time," Hector sighs. He sneaks his grasp into yours, knowing how much it affects you and puts on an invisible mask of deciet, "I already knew this day would happen long before anyone could have predicted it."

"You did?" With worried eyes you gazed at him, "What shall we do then?"

Knowing he hit the target, his lips begin to curl up towards his ears, showing his sharp white teeth that shone against the dim-litted room. Hector asks, "Do you love me?"

A silly question. You didn't hesitate to answer, "Of course I do. I've said it many times."

"Prove it to me," Forcing his forehead against yours, Hector commands in a dangerously low tone, "Kill your brother and only then you can truly be mine."

Your brain sutters, trying to absorb what he had just said. Kill? As in to take a life? It sounded wrong. But...was it wrong if the life belonged to someone who ruined yours?

Dumbfoundedly, you glanced into the bloody orbs of your lover, his black pupils thinning into knives while burning in the hellfire of his true colours. Hector runs a hand from the scalp of your hair, down to your cheek before gingerly sliding his fingers at your jawline. He pulled you close and whispered into your ear.

"Are you scared?"

Ah, this wasn't about your feelings. This was about him and your future and there could be no future you without him by your side.

You let your eyelids drop and leaned into his touch, "I could never be scared of you Hector. Whether it is within my power or not, I will make sure no one gets in our way. I swear it."

"Good," he continues to have you feed on his affection, "I knew I could count on you."

-----------

The news of your brother's death filled every headline Fontain had to offer. He was driven off a cliff while making a trip towards Sumeru. No one survived. The remains were so crushed to the point that authorities had trouble identifying their bodies. The only explanation they could come up with by observing the leftover tracks was that the horse must have gone out of control and ended up dragging the carriage along with it.

Ha. Serves him right.

Food poisoning. The vial Hector made was very effective. You made sure to bury it away from your mansion.

With no other choice, you became your family's next heir. Hector notifies you that he would be away for several months to solidify a unique connection with a man hailing from Snezhnaya. You didn't think he would arrive at your doorsteps with so much authority. Fatui soldiers followed from behind as the staff paved a way for them to enter. Your father was clearly displeased by his outrageous approach but he knew he was in no place to deny.

"Upon the agreement between Fontaine and Snezhnaya, Lady (Y/n) will become Harbinger Il Dottore's wife," the Duke announces, "This news will be publicly announced at the end of October."

Dottore? Is that what he calls himself?

As if claiming his victory, Dottore shoots your father a devilish smile. You could feel the dining table shake when he kept pressing his fist against the smooth surface, begrudingly congratulating you both for the new engagement. Your mother bursted into tears.

Was it worth it?

You watched both of your parents mourn silently in their own manner. Perfectly knowing that you were the main cause. But you weren't able to feel any sadness because in the end, you now had everything you've ever wanted.

The inheritance.

Their attention.

But most of all, him.

And when you were convinced that this was your happily ever after, that fairytales were not just beautiful lies for the sake of comfort, you didn't realize you were already living a life made of beautiful lies conjured by your own mind for the sake of your own comfort.

"You're nothing without me."

Dried and calloused hands squeezed around your throat as you flailed your legs against the soft fabric of the carpet floor. He encases you in a straddling position, enjoying the sight of your tortured and clenched face. Hector…no, Dottore hated it when you disobeyed him. He despised it when his creations don't work the way he wanted them to and he had no use for things that are broken.

"G-hka--k..-"

"How many times do I have to remind you to not use my birthname. Do those ears of you even function properly? Or must I fix them myself?"

You gasped for air when he relaxed his grip. Vision a blur, you coughed a few times before he pulls your arm so that you lay flushed against his chest.

"Don't forget who saved you dear (Y/n). Because of me you were able to escape that miserable life you've despised for years. I expect the utmost gratitude on your part at all times, it is only fair that I punish you for not meeting my requirements, don't you agree?" Dottore lifts his hand up to pinch your cheeks, pulling your head to stare at your eyes, "After all, there is no one else in this world who can put up with you…but me."

His words were poison in which you drank like a woman starved. It made you feel numb to the pain the more you drowned in their alluring scent, the taste was sweet, a remedy for the bitterness of reality where the man of your dreams was nothing but a cruel monster. You came to believe that the reason why he treated you so harshly was because he was scared of losing you. You were caught in the trap of what seemed to be love and devotion when truly, you were just a toy to be used at a means end. He breaks you and he puts you back together, over and over again, filling in between the cracks formed in your glass heart with the phrases you loved to hear. Just like how he filled the other holes of your life where no one else did. You called it kindness. He saw it as entertainment.

Most people pay attention to the flower's beauty but they never acknowledge the thorns hidden beneath it's blossom. That is why they bleed. They get hurt. Though, you didn't mind shedding blood if it was for his sake.

Because you would do anything for him.

You would do anything to bring back the memories of Hector Dufour-Lapointé and save him from the Harbinger that ruined his life. Your life. It wasn't his fault. You knew you could change him to what he was before because you were in love with him, that he might still in there. Somewhere.

Right?

…

Please come back.

Time continues to flow like the tears of your dying heart despite yearning for it to turn at the past. Dottore already left the room a long time ago but you didn't. Raising your head away from your hands, you peered at the door in front of you, begging desperately through a chanting record of despondence.

Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back.

Images, they slipped through your fingers, slowly becoming more distant until your mind began to see them as illusions. Dreams. Things that were not real. Telling you that your life was a lie.

"Come back to me…Hector."

Because the man you loved was withering in your memories and you couldn't do anything to save him.

A dry croak robbed you of your breath as you turned to look in the mirror.

Worthless. You were always worthless, it was what your parents told you since birth. It was what you became when he wasn't at your side because without him, your existence was worthless. You lied for him, you stole for him you, took a life for him. You destroyed yourself for him to point that it was hard to believe you were even looking at yourself.

Worthless. It's who I am.

And despite it all, you couldn't obtain his love.

(Crack).

Worthless things don’t deserved to be loved.

(Crack. Crack).

But what if it’s because I’m worthless, that he won’t love me back?

(Crack).

Your eyes jolted open, causing you to gasp sharply. When the sweet lies dispersed in your head and cleansed you of deceit, everything started to make sene. You came to realize why your wish was impossible all along.

Dottore...no, Hector, the reason wasn't because he didn't return your feelings. Neither was it due to the fact that he hurt you through his actions. Nor when he made you cry or scream for help before feeding you with more lies, thinking he would never hurt you again. It was none of those things.

It was because the man you loved this whole time was someone who could love no one but himself.

"Ha...haha," sucking in your breath, a sinister laugh escapes your mouth, "Hahahahahahaha.....!"

Everything was worthless.

You grabbed a nearby hairbrush and threw it at the mirror, watching yourself shatter into a million pieces.

There was only one thing left to do.

------

"Ugh, where is it?!"

It was late into the night where every staff had gone to sleep. The Harbinger fumbles with his keys while standing at the door of his basement as he was too busy proceeding with his research rather than considering the thought of rest. Usually he acted upon them on his own will, performing various experiments for enjoyment. However, ever since the Snezhnayan court had requested him to look into the ancient arts of alchemy, Dottore was forced to carry it out before the deadline approached. Otherwise his position as Harbinger would be revoked.

"What a bunch of self-centered blockheads. Can't they understand that it take quality time to get quality results?"

Most of his important documents were stored on the otherside. Half of it came from his father-in-law's library. He had you to thank for that.

"Ah finally," he mutters, though still dissatisfied, "I should have a word with my butler for misplacing them."

Dottore shoves the key into the lock but instead of twisting the knob he noticed something strange. It was old and had yet to be fixed but somehow he didn't have any trouble adjusting his wrist. Then he saw there were a set of freshly made fingerprints upon the smooth metallic surface. However, the only person awake at this time would be him-

An intruder!

Dottore drops everything to the ground and yanks the door open. He skittered down the stone stairs while cursing under his breath. Using the delusion gifted by the Tsaritsa, the Harbinger activated his lazer-like pillars as he took advantage of their glow to light up the unlit room.

"What in the abyss...?!"

Except it wasn't dark.

"All of these scrolls, I recognize them," without sparing a single glance, you spoke nostalgically towards the bookshelves, "It brings me so much memories..."

Dottore clenches his teeth together as his eyes shone an angry red, you were holding a torch dangerously close to his hard-earned collection, "What do you think you're doing?!" He fumed, "Put that out, AT ONCE! Don't make me repeat myself!

"They're precious to you aren't they?" You finally shifted to face him, "More than me."

"What has gotten into you?" He was about to hurl at you until he saw your torch lowering, causing him to retreat. You were strangely noncholant and he couldn't help the feeling of disturbance. Accepting that he didn't have the upperhand, Dottore decided to use a different approach, "(Y/n)."

The sound of your name falls from his lips. You faltered.

"I'm sorry for what I have done. I know I was dishonourable to you, as your husband and lover, and that you didn't deserve to see me so aggressive. You have every right to express your anger, my dear. I was in the wrong."

It was only a mask. You knew it well. But seeing him with softened eyes and a tone so comforting, made you desperately wanting to run into his arms so he could wipe away your sorrows just like once upon a time. To live happily ever after.

Hector.

Dottore runs his fingers through his hairstrands in frustration and sighs, "However the Tsarista needed me to do something very important and I can't seem to fulfill her request no matter how hard I try. It angers me. If I don't finish this, there would be no place for us to stay."

"Hector..." you sniffled quietly. He looks so much like him right now.

"Can't you see I'm doing this for you?" He consoles, yet his weapons still remain, "I only intended to make you happy and there's nothing I won't do to achieve that. How about I show-"

"Enough."

Dottore froze upon your sudden command. He didn't sense a hint of subjugation and it seemed that you had perfect control of your emotions. How very inquisitive. Did you grow immune to the style of his voice? In such a short period of time? The facade he had on was now replaced with a growling animal-like expression. You looked at him dissapointedly. His Harbinger self returned. Hector was no more.

"Ha, you're the same as always. Even before the time you became a Harbinger. The same man that I fell in love with but it is me who will never be the same again," For a moment you averted your gaze as if trying hard to swallow your own words, "Remember when we first met at the balcony? That I told you my favourite books to read are fiction? I knew they weren't real but deep down, I wanted to believe in them anyways. And you know what? They did come true, to some degree..."

As the memories come flashing back, he defenselessly watches your expression contort from sadness to a calm contemplation and finally, enraged disgust, "But you only ever brought me pain and I'm sick of it!"

Swaying the torch to the side, Dottore flinches forward but he didn't dare to come close when your current state was unpredictable to him, "I JUST WANTED YOU TO LOVE ME," you wail, I just wanted to be loved, bringing a clawed hand against your forehead and trembling upon contact, "It's all that I ask for..."

Dottore narrowed his brows. Perhaps he may have gotten too far.

"But I know it's impossible. The world is a cruel place and there's no point in trying anymore. That is why I'm going to set us free."

"...What do you mean?"

You shut your eyes closed and tossed the flaming torch to the ground. A horrified expression takes over his features. It didn't take long for the fire to begin spreading amongst the room.

"NO!" Dottore yelled powerfully, he frantically darts his gaze at all directions as they continued to flicker and blend into his precious documents. You stood still and watched him grab the ones that were intact, savouring the most he could but they slip out of his arms every time he moved. Dottore glances behind him to see a rising cage of hellfire. Then he turns to you.

" 'Til death do us part!" you laughed maniacally.

The madman looked back with angry dismay, "You're out of your mind!"

Abandoning whatever he held in his hand, Dottore spins around towards the staircase. He covers his face with his sleeve and did whatever he could to prevent the fire from touching him. However, he accidentally stumbled on his footsteps and something fell off the heights, knocking him in the face. He grunts painfully.

"That will leave a scar," you smile while he clutches at his injury, "I can break you too.”

Just like how you broke me.

Knowing that you've managed to leave a mark of your existence on him in someway, you peacefully watched your lover wobble between the hell you created. But the hell you knew was not made of scorching heat and thundering flames. Hell was empty. Hell was a void. This feeling was far too gentle to be considered hell. If he can't return your love, then at least let these caging arms bask you in the warmth you’ve always desired.

Lifting your head, you looked towards the ceiling and closed your eyes.

Ah, this cannot be death.

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griffintail · 3 years ago

Text

Blow Us All Away

Pairings: Parental! Wilbur x F! Reader

Warnings: Blood Mention, Duel, Death

A/N: This is literally all over the SMP timeline the basic thing is Revivebur or Ghostbur didn't happen and L'Manberg is still a standing country. This is an idea I randomly had for my Lost Ones character Little Star and decided to just write it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meet the latest graduate of King's College

I prob'ly shouldn't brag, but, dag, I amaze and astonish

The scholars say I got the same virtuosity and brains as my pops

The gents say my brain's not where the resemblance stops

I'm only nineteen but my mind is older

Gotta be my own person, like my father, but bolder

I shoulder his legacy with pride, I used to hear him say

That someday I would blow us all away!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/N) was always proud to consider herself Wilbur’s daughter. She had his fire and brains. He taught her his talents of music and she was able to learn with ease. She’d walk around with pride with her L’Manberg uniform, wearing and bearing her titles with pride.

The daughter of the nation’s president and a soon-to-be cabinet member. Her father was confident she could do just about anything and would most certainly succeed him with ease once she got older.

Today though, she was a lady on a mission. She had her uniform on as always but she had her hands behind her back, a serious look plastered onto her face. Ahead on her walk down the prime path, she spotted Niki and Eret talking.

“Ladies, I'm lookin for a Ms. Wastaken. Made a speech last week, our peace talk speaker. She disparaged my father's legacy in front of a crowd. I can't have that; I'm making my father proud.” (Y/N) stopped in front of the pair explain herself.

“I saw her just up Broadway a couple of blocks, she was goin' to see a play,” Eret told the girl.

“Well, I'll go visit her box.” (Y/N) tipped her hat before going to the stage in the SMP land.

As (Y/N) got to the stage, there was currently being a play put on people she didn’t know but that didn’t matter to her right now. She was a lady on a mission. In the high seats sat the daughter of Dream and that was her goal.

“Terror!” (Y/N) came forward in front of her seat.

“Shh!” Terror didn’t even look at her.

“Terror!”

“Shh, I'm tryin' to watch the show!”

“Ya shoulda watched your mouth before you talked about my father though!”(Y/N) protested as the other finally looked at her.

Around them, the crowd had become less interested in the play as they watched the far more interesting events in front of them.

“I didn't say anything that wasn't true. Your father's a coward, and so, it seems, are you.”

(Y/N) gave a short laugh as she watched her. “It's like that?”

“Yeah, I don't fool around, I'm not your little school girl friends.”

“Well, see you on the dueling ground! That is unless you wanna step outside and go now!”(Y/N) challenged with spread arms.

“I know where to find you, piss off, I'm watchin' this show now.” Terror once more didn’t look at the other woman on the ground.

(Y/N) clenched her jaw but stormed off. She’d show her! She’d win that duel and Terror would…

She stopped near Tubbo’s old house realizing what she had just done. That’s one thing Wilbur had never taught her; she didn’t know how to fight. They were a peaceful nation that didn’t need to fight. They used their words and she just signed herself up to use weapons.

“Fuck.” She muttered as she looked around.

She tended to overstep herself when it came to standing for her father, but this time she’d stepped too far. She didn’t know what to do, she needed help. There was no way she’d let Wilbur know what she did, but she knew one person that would keep a secret and she took off. Stopping outside the odd building, she knocked on the door and after a few moments, the fox hybrid opened the door, tail flicking seeing his sister.

“(Y/N), hey. What’s up?” Fundy asked, moving to let her.

“Fundy, I challenged Terror to a duel.” She admitted immediately as she walked in.

“You what?!” His fur puffed up as he closed his door hurriedly. “Why would you do that?!”

“It just slipped! She talked shit about dad Fundy! Fundy, if you had only heard the shit, she said about him; I doubt you would have let it slide and I was not about to!” She threw her hands up as she paced.

“Slow down.” Fundy tried to calm her as he took her shoulders.

“I came to ask you for advice, this is my very first duel. They don't exactly cover this subject in L’Manberg.” She sighed.

“Did your friends attempt to negotiate a peace?”

“She refused to apologize, we had to let the peace talks cease.”

“Where is this happening?”

“Across the river, in Las Nevadas.”

“Everything is legal in Las Nevadas.” They both nodded.

“Alright, so this is what you're gonna do. Stand there like proud until Terror is in front of you. When the time comes, fire your weapon in the air. This will put an end to the whole affair.”

“But what if she decides to shoot? Then I'm a goner.”

“No, she'll follow suit if she's truly a woman of honor. To take someone's life, that is something you can't shake (Y/N), our father can't take another heartbreak.” He muttered, looking away for a moment, as he thought of everything that happened recently.

Their father was certainly having a hard time with all of it and they both knew it but (Y/N) didn’t just want to stand there. That felt like proving Terror right.

“Fundy!” She protested.

“Promise me.” He looked back at her as he thought about the war. “You don't want this young woman's blood on your conscience.”

She hesitated before sighing as she nodded. “Okay, I promise.”

“Come back home when you're done.” Fundy patted her shoulder before going to his weapons chest and pulling out his old bow and handed it to her. “Take my bow, be smart, make me proud, sis.”

(Y/N) took the bow, staring at it before nodding. Putting it on her back, she took a deep breath before leaving Fundy’s home and went towards Las Nevadas.

“My name is (Y/N). I am a musician. And I'm a little nervous, but I can't show it. I'm sorry, I'm a Soot with pride. You talk about my father; I cannot let it slide.” She sang to herself the familiar beat she knew.

Before she knew it, she was in Las Nevadas and Terror was standing there with a few souls that had seen from the play to watch how this act ended and a few faces she recognized that must have heard about the duel about to occur. She just hoped her father hadn’t heard how she wasn’t using her words.

“Terror, how was the rest of your show?” (Y/N) asked as she came forward.

“I'd rather skip the pleasantries, let's go.” Terror told her, moving her mask from the side of her face to the front. “Grab your bow.”

(Y/N) nodded as she took off the bow. “Confer with your men. The duel will commence after we count to ten.”

(Y/N) went to her position as everyone started to shift with excitement and nervousness. A few citizens from Las Nevadas had become curious and came to see.

“Look 'em in the eye, aim no higher.” (Y/N) muttered to herself as she gripped onto the bow. “Summon all the courage you require. Then slowly and clearly aim your bow towards the sky.”

The counting started and they began to take their paces.

One, two, three.

(Y/N) pulled the string back and aimed it up.

Four, five, six.

Before most of the crowd could react, Terror turned on her heel with her bowstring pulled back.

Seven.

And the bowstring was released and (Y/N) let out a cry as she fell to the ground. Blood was already starting to quickly pour as Terror scoffed.

“And now that’s done.” Terror said, walking away as a few people went to help the other.

Everything was blurry for (Y/N). Everything seemed so fast but so slow. She didn’t know what was happening, she didn’t know where she was. All she could feel was pain and dizziness consuming her. She didn’t even hear as there was a call on the walkie about what happened as Foolish carried her to a cleaner location to hopefully heal her.

Fundy’s blood went cold when he heard the call on the radio and bolted for Las Nevadas. He demanded to know where his little sister was and once he found out where she was, he booked it for there too.

~~~~~~~~

Stay Alive

~~~~~~~~

Fundy made it to Foolish had brought her and was ready to barge his way through every room to find her when Foolish stepped out.

“Where's my sister?” Fundy demanded.

“Fundy, come in, I brought her in a half an hour ago. She lost a lot of blood on the way over.” Foolish explained to him.

“Is she alive?” Fundy felt the tears in his eyes.

“Yes, but you have to understand. The arrow entered just above her hip and lodged in her right arm.”

“Can I see her please?”

“I'm doing everything I can but the wound was already infected when she arrived.” Foolish told him as he hesitantly led him to where (Y/N) was.

“(Y/N)!” Fundy rushed to her side, gently putting a hand on her forehead as Foolish let them be.

The pain had started to numb and (Y/N) could vaguely see her brother as she was able to hear him clearly.

“Fundy. I did exactly as you said, Fundy. I held my head up high.”

“I know, I know, shh.”

“High—” (Y/N) tried to continue but stumbled over her words.

“I know, I know, shh. I know you did everything just right.” Fundy assured her as tears spilled from his eyes.

“Even before we got to ten.” She needed to explain what happened, she needed him to know even as he gently shushed her. “I was aiming for the sky. I was aiming for the sky.”

“I know, I know, shh. I know, save your strength and stay alive.” Fundy pleaded with her as his ears went flat and his tail wrapped around his leg.

That’s when Fundy heard furious and upset shouting. Fundy squeezed his eyes shut as he knew one of those voices by heart and sure enough, not a moment later Wilbur came bursting through the door.

Wilbur’s heart had dropped the moment he heard about (Y/N) being injured. His little star…He didn’t know what happened, but he sprinted as fast as he could towards the country of Las Nevadas, demanding answers. His little girl had been in a duel…

The other side had been cheap and shot her before they even got to ten. And his daughter, his little star, his (Y/N), had aimed her bow towards the sky. When she made it out of this, he’d let her know how proud he was of her.

Yet, now he stood in the doorway, seeing his daughter barely together, a small bit of blood still collecting around her…

“No!” Wilbur shouted as he rushed over, Fundy moving back to let their father be by her side.

“Dad,” Fundy muttered.

“Is she breathing? Is she going to survive this?” Wilbur looked towards Foolish, who stood quietly at the door, before Wilbur looked at Fundy. “Who did this, Fundy, did you know?”

“Dad.”Wilbur looked at his daughter and took her hand carefully and put his forehead on hers as he teared up. “I'm so sorry for forgetting what you taught me.”

“My daughter.”Wilbur choked up as he squeezed her hand, Fundy putting a hand over his mouth behind them.

“We played guitar.”

“I taught you guitar.”

“You would put your hands on mine.”

“You changed the melody every time.” Wilbur laughed quietly at the memory as tears were pouring down his cheeks.

“I would always change the line.” (Y/N) muttered as her grip started to weaken.

“Shh, I know, I know.” Wilbur shushed her gently as his grip only went tighter.

“I would always change the line.”

“I know, I know.” He had to keep her awake and talking if she stopped…! “Un-deux-trois-quatre-cinq-six-sept-huit-neuf.”

“Un-deux-trois-quatre-cinq-six-sept-huit-neuf.” (Y/N) repeated quietly.

“Good. Un-deux-trois-quatre-cinq-six-sept-huit-neuf.”

“Un-deux-trois…” She repeated partially with him before her eyes began to droop then closed.

“Sept-huit-neuf. Sept-huit—” Wilbur pleaded before he let out a sob as she didn’t respond.

Fundy sobbed as well as she was gone…

#wilbur soot x reader #mcyt reader insert #mcyt oneshots #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt x reader #dreamsmp x reader

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bbangsoonie · 4 years ago

Text

good for nothing

member: juyeon genre: angst (royal au) word count: 4,635 synopsis: despite being the first born and the kingdom’s princess, you lived your whole life in the shadow of the crown prince born to a concubine. in your plot for revenge, a fool in love comes along your path. warning(s): violence

kingdom masterlist

Princess Y/n. You were the first born of the king and queen, educated beyond societal standards for girls, and incredibly beautiful. Yet, you were disregarded and looked down on since the moment you were born. Your brother, who was born to a concubine, was the crown prince and received much greater respect. The reason? You were a girl. A good-for-nothing girl as your father called you on multiple occasions.

The king was ashamed to have his first born be a daughter. He also felt threatened by your rejection of the status quo. Because of this, he grabbed every opportunity to make you submit to him.

You were exceptionally smart but no one cared to notice. Your desire to learn was ignored and you were forced to embroider butterfly patterns instead. At a young age, you realized your place. You knew your designated fate was to be a political pawn meant to be married off at a beautiful age. To protect the royal family that never considered you as one of their own, you were to marry a complete stranger one day.

However, just because you realized your place didn’t mean you accepted it. You defied the rules at every chance you saw. You remained a headache for the king, but a small enough headache to avoid his wrath.

Unbeknownst to him, you were well versed with the dirty politics of the country. Ever since you were a little girl, you would eavesdrop into the ministers’ conversations and manipulate the eunuchs to take a peak at written grievances sent to the king. You knew about the starving peasants he ignored and the bribes he received. As you grew older, you became hungry for power. When it became apparent that the king was blocking any hope for you, you were determined to take as many people down with you. You refused to suffer alone.

The king always berated you for being greedy. Greedy for education. Greedy for acknowledgement. Greedy for a life that was more than just being a good wife. He reminded you again and again that you would never have a voice in official affairs.

Every time you left his chamber after another lecture, you made sure to humiliate the embarrassment the kingdom called the crown prince. You would outshine him one way or another. Whether it be pointing out his grammar mistakes in front of the scholars or exposing his secret palace escapes to the queen, you would dampen his mood for the day. It was the only thing that gave you a speck of joy.

There was also only one thing that gave you something to look forward to. For years, you had been conspiring against the royal family. You despised the royal family and its classist, sexist, and pretentious values. You planned on getting rid of it once and for all. The kingdom deserved a leader that would rule benevolently. Slowly but surely, you gained the loyalty of several ministers. Soon enough, you would be able to execute the meticulous coup d'état.

But until then, you had to continue to be nothing but the king’s puppet. Which included meeting your fiancé. You were introduced a week ago and wedding preparations were already in full swing.

The man you would be forced to wed, Lee Juyeon, was the first son of the Chief State Councillor. You didn’t like him the moment you saw him. He was a pretty face that grew up with his father’s full love and support. He was both elegant and masculine; he was the definition of perfect and you hated it. A person had to have flaws to be likeable.

For some crazy reason you couldn’t wrap your mind around, Juyeon was infatuated with you. He visited the palace every day just to have you decline his request for a meeting. He was persistent.

Unfortunately for you, he was also crafty. He figured out that announcing his arrival to the king was an effective way to see your face. The king was delighted to see the Chief State Councillor’s son head over heels for his daughter and thus, to your annoyance, daily meetings were arranged for you two.

“Tell me, Lord Lee, what about me is worthy of your obsession?” you asked.

You were sitting at one of the gardens within the palace walls. He had insisted on the location because of its romantic beauty.

“Then tell me, Your Highness, what about me is not to your liking?” he grinned.

“Do you wish to hear the answer of the princess or the answer of Y/n?” you raised a brow, making him laugh.

“You amuse me, Princess Y/n,” he turned his head to look at the pond.

You sighed, wondering how long you had until you could return to your residence. The man next to you was oblivious to your feelings as he rambled on about the dates he wanted to take you on. He caught your attention when he mentioned sneaking you out of the palace for half a day.

“You would really risk taking me outside of the palace?” you perked up.

He was excited to see you finally engaged in the conversation and nodded profusely. He promised to set up an elaborate plan for a smooth date. Grudgingly, you accepted his offer. Your wish to see the village overwhelmed your wish to avoid your soon-to-be consort.

The next day, a court lady secretly found you to notify you of his plans. To evade the eyes of palace maids, you were to escape through a path not commonly used. She helped you scale the wall and you froze when you saw Juyeon on the other side. You sat on top of the wall and he extended his hand for support. With a tight smile, you held his hand and jumped down.

He pulled the veil over your face to keep your identity hidden, blushing when his hand slightly brushed your cheek. He hopped onto the horse and gestured for you to do the same. Hesitantly, you held his hand again to climb on.

Using the excuse of maintaining balance, he urged you to hold on tightly. You weren’t left with an option when he sped up, prompting you to instinctively hug his waist. You didn’t have to see his face to know that he was smiling like a fool.

At last, you finally arrived at the village. Fascinated at the change in environment, you looked like a child surrounded by toys. Chuckling, Juyeon admired the view in front of him. In his eyes, you were prettier than any flower and sweeter than any candy. Feeling his gaze on you, you cleared your throat and began walking.

There was so much to look at. He caught you staring at the rows of yeot and purchased the confectionery without you asking. You immediately popped one into your mouth and he laughed when your cheeks expanded to resemble a squirrel.

“Are you teasing me?” you frowned.

“No, I am appreciating your adorable and lovely appearance,” he answered as he handed you the bag holding the rest of the yeot. His words didn’t fluster you. You simply rolled your eyes and resumed walking.

His long legs were quick to catch up with you. Enjoying your presence, he watched as you fawned over little trinkets. It was a new side of you that he had never seen.

Stopping at an accessory shop, you scanned the norigaes displayed on the table. One of them caught your eye and you held it up for a closer look. It was a beautiful pale pink color that perfectly matched your current hanbok.

“It seems a norigae is better at capturing your heart than I am,” Juyeon pouted.

“Perhaps it is prettier than you,” you shrugged.

“Is this an implication that I am pretty? To a certain extent?” he beamed.

“How do my words become that?” you exclaimed.

With another laugh, he took the accessory from your grasp and went to pay for it. You blinked at the sudden sight of his back, noticing for the first time how broad his shoulders were. When he came back to your side, he held the norigae in front of you but pulled it back when you reached out for it. He pointed at the bag of yeot and opened his mouth. Baffled, you turned around to walk away.

He caught your wrist and spun you back around. He bent down and your face stopped an inch away from his. His usual shy self was gone and he had a confident smirk on his lips.

“Does your heart not sway even at a close distance like this?” he asked. This time, he caught you off guard. When you finally came back to your senses, you hurriedly shoved a piece of yeot into his mouth and stormed off.

“Y/n, you make me laugh too hard and too much!” you heard his voice call out, making you blush crimson with embarrassment.

With your upcoming wedding looming over your head, it became increasingly difficult to communicate with the ministers. There were too many eyes to be wary of. Juyeon, of course, was one of them.

As you spent more time with him, you realized how sentimental he was. He brought you small, meaningful gifts and loved to tell you about the meanings behind each flower.

“Did you know that the plum blossom is one of the indications of spring's arrival?” he asked one day. “They can bloom as early as late March.”

“I think it is quite obvious that it is spring,” you commented, pointing at the variety of flowers surrounding you.

“My personal favorite flower is the rose of sharon,” he continued. “It is nicknamed the “immortal flower” and means “eternal blossom that never fades” because of its resilience. It regrows despite harsh conditions and even after it is damaged. Amazing, isn’t it?”

You hummed, looking for the flower he was talking about.

“I used to hope that our kingdom would take after the flower. We have survived through many tragedies and I hope that we will survive through anything else that tries to beat us down,” his words pricked you for some reason. Would your rebellion be seen as a tragedy or as a heroic deed?

“Now, I like to think that our love will be like the rose of sharon. My love for you will never fade and I will continue to pine after you despite your harsh words. Even if you hurt me, my feelings will transcend time,” he smiled. “The flower does not bloom until July. My wish is to go see them with you. Would you bless me with your presence when the time comes?”

You observed his lovestruck expression and couldn’t bring yourself to say no. Again, you were at a loss trying to understand why he was so besotted with you. His childlike innocence was almost pure to a fault in a place like the palace.

“I shall consider it if you teach me how to swing a sword,” you proposed.

He couldn’t hide both his shock and happiness. He was confused as to why you wanted to ever hold a weapon but glad that you were slowly opening up to him. Without a second thought, he agreed to your proposition.

Juyeon was full of bliss at the thought of spending more time with you. Teaching you swordsmanship would allow him to be intimate with you and he was thrilled. At your first secret lesson, his heart raced at your proximity as he guided your hands on how to properly wield the blade.

A week passed by and you quickly improved each day. Eventually, you became skilled enough to land a fake jab. Seeing your proud smile, he grinned as well.

“I guess I should be on edge now. If I annoy my princess one too many times, my life will literally be at your hands,” he joked.

“Do you regret training me?” you smirked.

“Ah, was this all a part of your plan?” he pretended to gasp. “Either to kill me off or to threaten me to obedience?”

Not finding his joke funny, you blankly stared at him. Noticing the sudden chill in the atmosphere, he awkwardly laughed.

“Do not worry, Your Highness. I will always do as you say. You do not need a sword to make me behave.” he smiled.

You hated to admit it but he had grown on you. His constant attempts to tear down your wall had finally made a crack. You had to stop before he became your weakness.

For the first time in a while, you were summoned to the king’s chamber. Expecting another reprimand, you dreaded the walk there. To your surprise, however, you were greeted with a smile he hadn’t given you in years. It kind of freaked you out.

“You called for me, Your Majesty?” you bowed.

“I hear you have been getting along wonderfully with the Chief State Councillor’s son. Finally, you are fulfilling your duty as this kingdom’s princess,” he commended.

What a back-handed compliment. You wanted to roll your eyes at his passive aggressiveness. Holding back your urges, you politely smiled instead.

“I just wanted to let you know that I will be in a hurry to complete your wedding. I need the Chief State Councillor’s support to find a suitable wife for the crown prince,” he announced.

“Is my marriage merely a way for the crown prince to find a wife with a powerful family?” you shot back.

Your question turned the mood scarily sour. You felt his anger rise as he chastised you for your impudence and disrespect.

“The crown prince is the future leader of our kingdom. He is more than deserving of the immense care, thought, and effort that goes into picking his consort. His consort will be this kingdom’s queen and will be the one to bear the next king. You are nothing but a useless girl who will belong to a different family.”

“I am still a member of the royal family, am I not?”

“You are just a good-for-nothing girl that will leave this palace soon,” he spat. “Now leave. You are dismissed.”

On your way out, you ran into the crown prince who looked at you in a way you found to be offensive. You paused your steps and turned around.

“I wish you fertility, Crown Prince. After all, the kingdom relies on your performance to produce an heir to the throne,” you said, lacing your words with venom. “I would imagine you would hate having to adopt a nephew.”

You could tell you had gotten under his skin yet again and left satisfied. You loathed and condemned your family with a burning passion. You couldn’t wait for the day it would all come to a bitter end.

While you were brooding, you didn’t notice Juyeon sneaking up on you. When you finally saw him, you nearly jumped. Your hand reached out to cover your heart, trying to calm it down. Sheepishly, he apologized for startling you.

Trying to keep you from walking away from him, he held onto the hem of your sleeve. Your heart softened at the gentle manner he treated you with. Ignoring your instincts, you let him cling onto you. Instead of making you turn around to face him, he walked in front of you.

“Will you accompany me to the garden today as well?” he asked earnestly.

Knowing that the court ladies were watching, you reluctantly accepted his invitation once again. This time, he surprised you with a bag filled with yeot. He looked so proud of himself for remembering your love for the sweet treat that it made you laugh. As a reward, he grabbed a piece for himself. Unaware of the smudge it left on the corner of his lips, he was conscious of your gaze and tried to look attractive.

“Worry not, Your Highness. You will get to look at this face every day and every night once we marry,” he assured.

Despite his wise exterior, he had a goofy side to him. He was pure and innocent—everything you weren’t. You could see why the king favored him so much.

“I do not understand why you are so eager to become my consort,” you suddenly blurted. “You know that it is just a flashy title that does not award you with much privileges. It is an empty position; you cannot hold office without a special order from the king. Do you simply see yourself as a stepping stone for your father to bring honor to your family?”

“Is my love for you an acceptable response?” he asked after some thought.

“Is it truly worth your dangerous status as the princess’s husband and king’s son-in-law? The royal family has many enemies,” you warned.

“I will be the one to protect you from such enemies,” he declared.

Was he naive or has his affection for you blinded him?

“Princess Y/n,” he said solemnly as he held your hand. “I promise to love and protect you for as long as my heart beats. No, even after it ceases to beat, I will still yearn for you. I will not demand or expect you to do the same. Even if your feelings for me are not as strong as my feelings for you, I will not blame you. But will you please give me the chance to try to win you over?”

His confession triggered an alarm in your head. He was never supposed to fall for you this hard and you were never supposed to allow him to. He had no idea how cunning and conniving you really were. Only the people in the palace knew how cold-hearted you could be. You had to be in order to survive.

You refused to give him a reply and pulled your hand away. His face fell but he forced himself to smile again. In an attempt to break the tension, he made a random comment on the weather.

After you two parted, you decided to speed things up to initiate the revolt. Once you joined hands in marriage, Juyeon would inevitably end up a target as well. If you wanted to spare him, you needed to overthrow the corrupted royal family before he became a part of it.

It was officially the day before the insurrection. To be honest, you weren’t really nervous. This was what you had been anticipating your entire life.

Yet why did you have a moment of weakness when you saw Juyeon that afternoon? He approached you with that boyish smile that did wonders to your normally rational mind. Feeling what you believed was pity, you wanted to leave him with a pleasant memory.

So you ended up convincing him to sneak you out of the palace again. This time, you were a lot more enthusiastic. You wanted to try all the pastries and insisted that he taste them too.

“You seemed to have a lot on your mind these days,” he carefully pointed out. “Has the problem that has been bothering you been resolved now?”

“It will soon,” you eluded.

You stared at the man in front of you, observing his features. He was, without a doubt, good looking. You could see why all the court ladies, palace maids, and girls of the village were so smitten with him. But you still didn’t get why he chose you to fawn over. Maybe it was because of the lack of affection you grew up with but something about having someone care for you was unsettling.

You had suitors court you before but none of them were as devoted as Juyeon. He always came off as genuine. Perhaps his sincerity was what made you lower your guard.

“I promise to lavish you with such outings if that is what makes you happy,” he proclaimed, almost making you laugh.

“Why do you make so many vows?” you inquired.

“I am a man who keeps his word and you are the only one I give it to,” he grinned. You wondered how happy he had to be to smile so often. You rarely had reasons to be smiling.

He glanced down at the table and examined the rows of binyeos. Holding one up, he held the hair pin against your hair.

“May I gift you this binyeo?” he asked.

You pursed your lips, feeling just a tad bit of guilt. You were used to being showered with extravagance but with Juyeon, it was different. There was an emotional value attached to each present.

“Only if you promise me one other thing,” you negotiated.

“Of course. I will do anything you ask of me,” he responded.

“Promise me that you will not visit the palace tomorrow,” you said sternly. He looked at you with curiosity.

“Tomorrow is… a day of mourning for me. I do not wish to see you until the day after,” you lied.

“This is the first time you have expressed your desire to see me,” he lit up at your last sentence. “I will prepare a magnificent date for when I see you over-morrow.”

You almost felt sorry for his naiveté. And you almost—just almost—felt sorry for deceiving him.

The fateful day arrived at last. You stood, taking one last glimpse at your reflection. Subconsciously, your hand reached out to touch the binyeo in your hair.

The roars of the royal guards and the clanks of combat rumbled throughout the palace. With a determined look, you left your chamber. The sword in your clenched fist dragged across the ground as you made your way to the throne hall.

When you finally busted through the door, the king sat as if he had been waiting for you.

“I should have known that this was your doing,” he scowled. “Was your luxurious life as a princess not enough for you? Could you not fight the temptation of avarice?”

“Nothing about my life was ever comfortable,” you corrected. “I always had to play along to match your mood in order to avoid being married off to an old man just out of your spite. You tried to drill your toxic mentality in me because my individuality terrified you. You made it a point to constantly tear me down. So I made it a point to see your demise.”

“You have always been this sly ever since you were a little girl. I knew I would regret your birth the moment I saw your eyes. And I was right. You are nothing but a vile bitch.”

“For the longest time, I thought I was deserving of your hatred. But I came to the realization that you simply belittled me just for being a girl. Do not forget, Your Majesty, that the womb inside me is the same as the one that bore you the crown prince.”

Mockingly, you approached the throne. It was incredible how that one seat gave its owner immense power.

“Speaking of which, why is it that only men carry on the family name?” you questioned. “Do you not realize that women are the ones who carry on the precious bloodline you always speak of? It is the body of women that conceive and grow another human inside them. It is the body of women that suffer through labor to deliver you children and nurture them to good health. The only thing you do is spread your seeds like a fruit. And then blame women for your own infertility.”

“All throughout history, it has been men who carried on the royal bloodline. What makes you think that you are worthy of special treatment?”

“Bloodline, bloodline, bloodline,” you rolled your eyes in irritation. “Do not fool yourself. It is not blood you care about but name. Men may carry on the nameline but we are the ones who give you the royal blood pumping in your veins.”

You sloppily lifted the sword to the king’s neck, smirking.

“I knew you would be the one to bring my downfall,” he glared.

“Well, how does it feel to have all your fears come true, my king?” you taunted. “You were always afraid that I would either surpass you or ruin you. Now, I will be the one to end this damned bloodline. This good-for-nothing girl will take back the royal blood that was given to you by a woman.”

With that, you slashed his neck. Blood splattered across the wall and on your face. You grimaced, wiping away the warm liquid. You were surprisingly calm in front of such a gruesome sight. That was, until Juyeon came bursting through the door.

After he had parted from you the day before, he could not get you out of his mind. Something about your eyes had been melancholic. Your words sounded like a foreshadow and it left him feeling disturbed. So he broke his promise and went to the palace to see you again. He was alarmed to see the chaos ensuing and immediately searched for you. However, he never expected the situation he stumbled into.

“P-Princess Y/n,” he stuttered, making you aim the weapon at yourself. You never intended or wanted him to witness this.

“Do not come any closer,” you warned.

“Your Highness, please. Put the sword down,” he begged.

“I cannot,” you gulped. “This is how it must end.”

“We-we can run away. Together. We can leave everything behind and I will keep you safe,” he said as he tried his best to stay calm.

You wanted to both laugh and cry. Your life was a suicidal mission. You knew from the beginning that you would not be able to survive. If you failed, you would be executed for treason. If you succeeded, you would be executed to officially end the royal bloodline.

You had to admit, you slightly wavered at one point. Juyeon’s promise to make you happy was enticing. To someone who never strayed close to emotions before, he was like a miracle. He made you feel all sorts of things that you were glad to have experienced.

“I apologize, Lord Lee,” you sadly smiled before you stabbed the blade into your stomach.

“No!” he screamed as he ran to your side.

You slowly fell to the ground with Juyeon’s arms wrapped around your body. His hands shook above the wound as he cried, knowing that he couldn’t take it out without ensuring your death. He never thought that what he taught you would be used against yourself. If he had known that this was what you planned on using your skills for, he never would have taken your offer.

“I am afraid I will not be able to go see the rose of sharons with you,” you said as a tear escaped your eyes.

Your vision began to cloud and you felt the life in you leave with every breath you took. You didn’t even realize that your hand was gripping his clothes, crinkling it. Another tear rolled down your cheek as your head fell back, your neck unable to support it any longer.

He desperately clung onto you, holding your head in his bloodied hands.

“I will bring the flowers to you,” he affirmed.

“Another promise,” you chuckled.

“This one I will be sure to keep,” he stated as his own tears fell to your face.

Next to the weapon embedded in you was the norigae he bought you the first time you escaped the palace together. He looked up to see that you were wearing the binyeo he bought you as well. He sobbed, holding onto you tighter.

“I hope to be reborn as a rose of sharon. That way, I can come see you every spring,” you whispered before you closed your eyes for the last time.

tag list: @dearseungie @cuppasunu @reverienostalgia @elcie-chxn @parfaitz @lovelyutas @mochinyu @leejaeyeons

#deobiwritersnet #the boyz #tbz #juyeon #the boyz angst #tbz angst #juyeon angst #the boyz fics #tbz fics #juyeon fics #the boyz imagines #tbz imagines #juyeon imagines #the boyz scenarios #tbz scenarios #juyeon scenarios #lee juyeon #the boyz juyeon #tbz juyeon

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bazzybelle · 3 years ago

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Magical Equality Within The World of Mages

I’ve been thinking a lot since I finished reading Any Way The Wind Blows, and there are SO many things that I still need to process. I took my time with reading it, I’ve listened to the audiobook and I plan on re-reading it several times, once I move into my new house and have THAT stress done and over with. I cannot wait to re-read it on my back porch with some iced tea and a notebook to annotate and comment on pretty much everything that gave me feelings.

But for now, there is one massive issue that I want to address, and it plays into the plot for all three books.

Warning for those who have not read Any Way The Wind Blows, this post contains spoilers, so proceed with caution. I am tagging this appropriately, but adding an extra warning just in case.

Huge thanks to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for reading this over and making sure I didn't sound like a rambling mess.

The World of Mages is an incredibly toxic place! This is especially true for anyone who isn’t a magical powerhouse, or stupid rich.

I’m going to not focus on the obvious socio-economic bullshit, because I’m not familiar enough with the British class system to properly comment on it. But if anyone wants to add onto this with a whole meta like that, please do so!

Instead, I’m going to focus on magic use and how detrimental it can be to grow up in this world if you aren’t one of the few who are blessed with the RIGHT kind of magic (I say right kind of magic for a reason, and I’m going to come back to that). I want to focus my attention on three characters (two of whom were drawn into Smith-Richard’s fake promises, and one who was just fed up with it all): Martin Bunce, Daphne Grimm, and Agatha Wellbelove.

1) Martin Bunce: We first hear about Martin Bunce in Carry On. He’s Penny’s dad, a renowned scholar and is leading a team researching the effects of the Insidious Humdrum. He’s a highly respected individual, in his own right. Penny adores him, she only speaks his praises, and I get the feeling she gets along better with Martin, then she does with Mitali. When Penny needs help with Shep’s curse, she trusts her dad to help her after her mother flat out refuses.

While Martin is respected in the community, he isn’t a magical powerhouse. In fact, he isn’t very powerful at all. Baz makes a cheeky little comment about how he must have come from mundanity with a name like “Bunce”, and he doesn’t teach any magical classes at Watford, he focuses mainly on Linguistics.

Professor Bunce is one of the people taken in by Smith-Richard’s message, and I’m kind of glad he is. It shows that Smith-Richard’s message can reach anyone, even someone as scholarly and learned as Martin. Martin Bunce is intelligent, loving, devoted, and the apple of his family’s eye. But, when push comes to shove, all that does not matter because in the end, he isn’t as magically powerful as his wife and kids. How many times has Martin been compared to his wife? How many times has he been compared to his kids? What was it like going to Watford and having to hear about how you barely scraped by in the magical classes? His whole family is obsessed with magic, his daughter's best friend is the Most Powerful Mage. Martin is constantly surrounded by people making comments about power and magic and being strong enough as a magician.

That stuff stays with you... So when you see someone performing magic that can pull you to your full potential, of COURSE you grab onto it and hope that it’s a real thing.

Something interesting to note here; Towards the end of AWTWB, Martin casts a drinking spell, and Baz makes a comment about anyone who could cast that spell in quick succession doesn’t need a power-up. Now, was Martin truly not powerful, or did he just not have the right type of magic? Could he have been a better magician if he was able to find the right situations where his magic responded better? If he was allowed to learn in a way where his magic could have reached its full potential, without the use of a horrible curse?

I have a teaching background, and I’ve worked with a lot of kids in Inclusive Education. I’ve had to differentiate practically all of my lesson plans so that all the kids in my classroom would understand the lesson and be able to reach the goals outlined for them. Admittedly, it’s been a while since I’ve taught, but I look at stuff like this in the World of Mages and my teaching ear perks up.

2) Agatha Wellbelove: Another person who comes to mind, especially with not having the right kind of magic is Agatha Wellbelove. Agatha does not see herself as a very strong magician. She tells Simon that magic for her is like holding a muscle. Pair that up with a mother who is OBSESSED with magic and power and who’s got the most power, and which magical matches will bring about powerful children, and you get someone who becomes resentful of the whole effing thing! I’m not even going to touch the whole “dating the Chosen One” thing because that’s a whole other can of worms.

When we first meet Agatha, she’s already fed up with magic, and wants nothing to do with it, and I can’t say I blame her. She spends all of Wayward Son running away from magic, and meandering through life, being still so unsure of herself and of her place in the world. She calls herself a poor excuse for a magician, yet she manages to save both herself and Penny from the NowNext by summoning fire! That’s a huge flipping deal! Not everyone can do that, yet Agatha is able to summon the power inside herself to do so! Imagine the wonderful magic she could have done if she was taught in a way that spoke to her.

In AWTWB, she is the ONLY person who is able to get through to the Goats. Her magic seems to be connected to nature (if I had to guess). The Dryad, all the way back in Carry On, tells Simon that she and the others find Agatha “peaceful”. That’s her magic. Agatha was able to come full circle by finding peace with the magic she has. She was able to find a place for it. What’s sad is that she felt the need to run away and not want to have it in her life anymore. Her magic is beautiful, yet not enough.

3) Daphne Grimm: So, this is the character that stood out to me the most. Daphne is the reason I even wanted to write this commentary. Those of you who know me, know that I adore this character. Partly because, I’m obsessed with the idea that Baz has people looking out for him and who care about him.

Anyway, Ms. Daphne Grimm is the apple of my eye essentially. I love her, I adore her, and she is treated SO UNFAIRLY by the World of Mages.

What do we know about Daphne? She is Baz’s stepmum, and has four kids with Malcolm. From the first book, there are snarky little comments about Daphne’s lack or power and magic. Baz himself makes a shitty comment about how Daphne’s “blood is as thin as gruel”, even though Daphne goes out of her way to make sure he’s got food sent to his room. She’s extra careful in making sure Baz feels safe in his own home. She suggests to Malcolm that Baz should see a therapist for everything he’s been through, making her the ONLY parent who not only acknowledges her child’s trauma, but tries to do something about it!

She is a GOOD mom!

Ok, we know that Baz wears a ton of masks of indifference in Carry On, and he softens up tremendously in Wayward Son, calling her lovely while teaching him to drive a car.

We learn a lot about Daphne in Any Way The Wind Blows. Namely that Fiona has some pretty nasty opinions about her. (That comment about her kids not being legitimate, and that she’s as “thick headed as she is thin blooded”. Now, imagine you’re Daphne, and the widower of the Great Natasha Pitch asks to marry you. That’s already some MASSIVE shoes to fill. You accept, and you do the best you can, taking care of his son and being a positive presence in his life, meanwhile going to all these posh functions where EVERYONE talks about power and magic. Then to have the sister of your husband’s first wife make snarky comments about your level of power and magic.

That stuff sticks with you.

Daphne doesn’t want her kids going to Watford, the ONLY magical school in the UK (as far as we know). She wants her children to succeed and be known for everything they are capable of doing, instead of being ridiculed for all the ways they’ll come up short. According to Baz, the only reason Daphne graduated from Watford was because she was smart enough to pass every exam (yet, Fiona still makes snarky comments about her intelligence).

Daphne is well aware of how painful it can be to live in the World of Mages and not be a powerhouse magician. Like Martin, she takes matters into her own hands and seeks out a way to make herself more powerful.

It is heartbreaking to look at these three amazing, beloved characters, and think about the suffering they have had to endure by their peers. Both Daphne and Martin get frustrated when those around them question their choice to follow Smith-Richards, stating “you don’t know what it’s like”. Luckily for Daphne, Baz makes an effort to actually understand her, and doesn’t judge her. Even when Fiona mocks her, Baz defends his stepmum. When Daphne berates herself and compares herself to Natasha, Baz reflects on how Natasha would have killed him (something Daphne would NEVER do to any of her children).

We know that Watford did not allow magical creatures, or differently-abled magicians (I use this term for a reason) to study there until the Mage came around and allowed everyone into Watford. This was a great thing, because now, every magical child was given the opportunity to learn how to speak with magic.

However, it should not have stopped there. I spoke earlier on differentiation and on finding the right place for everyone’s magic. What if magicians like Martin, and Daphne, and Agatha are all powerful in their own right, and they just haven’t found their place where their magic fits? Instead of finding the right way to teach these magicians, they are left to struggle and ultimately resent their magic and the magic of the world around them.

Do I hear a social commentary on the state of standardized education? I can’t really comment on the British Educational System, nor the American one, as I am Canadian. What I can say, from my own experience in Canadian classrooms, is that for all the talk we do on making education inclusive, there is still a big push from higher ups for high grades and standardized testing. If any of my followers are British or American and care to share your two cents, feel free to do so. Let’s keep the conversation going!

I think this post might have gotten away from me. I think my point was to act as a defense for people like Daphne and Martin who found themselves fished into a scam all for the promise of feeling like they are enough in their world. I also wanted to defend people like Agatha, who did all she could to run away from all of it, only to find the place where she (and her magic) belonged.

I remember having this discussion on Discord, and one of the points that came up was that maybe The Greatest Threat to the World of Mages was this deeply ingrained prejudice over magicians with different sorts of magic. Magicians who need that extra bit of help to find their way.

We’ve seen in this series how these prejudices can threaten to split the World of Mages apart, and it looks like magicians like Penny, Baz, and Agatha are learning from these mistakes. Only time (and us fanfiction writers) will tell how they end up shaping their world for the future generations.

#any way the wind blows spoilers #awtwb spoilers #meta #is it though?#I mean I GUESS #the simon snow trilogy #the simon snow series #magical equality #the world of mages #this is really just a defense for Daphne

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maxwell-grant · 3 years ago

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May I please ask what your preferred dynamic between Holmes & Lupin would be? (From what I can tell, the term 'frenemies' might have been invented for these two - if any two characters in fiction WOULD spend all their time trying to one-up each other it's these two, if only their diverse other commitments, challenges & interests left them the free time to do so: I'm also morally certain a sadly-hypothetical Holmes/Lupin team is one of the few things that could bring down Fantomas for Good).

I think "frenemies" is what ultimately works best for these two specifically, because there's a certain untouchability to icons as big as these two that limits the potential stories you can tell with them (although yes, definitely on board with the two having what it takes to bring down Fantomas, although probably not as cleanly and easily as they might expect).

The original Leblanc stories involving this premise are very much centered around one-upmanship, even embracing a theme of national rivalry of England vs France. They acknowledge Holmes's talents but without the awe, with a somewhat aged Holmes with mundane imperfections easily exploited by the daring young thief, someone deserving of his legend but who doesn't quite live up to it. Obviously Lupin's gotta have the upperhand, not just because it's his author writing it, but because the whole point of Lupin's creation was to be the new hotness, the counterpart to both the stuffy old Great Detectives as well as the aristocratic master burglars, and really, what kind of rising superstar would he be if he couldn't put one over the other guy? If he's gonna live up to his claim of being the greatest criminal ever, he's gotta be able to humble the greatest detective at least a little.

The treatment of Watson (Wilson) is tasteless and it's frankly a bit saddening to see that even back then writers were still shitting on Watson far too much, but on the whole I think Leblanc was a lot fairer to Holmes than he could have been (certainly other writers from this time period who added Holmes to their stories were not as fair), he makes it very clear Holmes is not just another Ganimard out of his depth and is very much as close to an equal Lupin's ever had. I think the description used to cap off their final meeting is very much on point:

"You see, monsieur, whatever we may do, we will never be on the same side. You are on one side of the fence; I am on the other. We can exchange greetings, shake hands, converse a moment, but the fence is always there.

You will remain Herlock Sholmes, detective, and I, Arsène Lupin, gentleman-burglar. And Herlock Sholmes will ever obey, more or less spontaneously, with more or less propriety, his instinct as a detective, which is to pursue the burglar and run him down, if possible.

And Arsène Lupin, in obedience to his burglarious instinct, will always be occupied in avoiding the reach of the detective, and making sport of the detective, if he can do it. And, this time, he can do it" - Arsene Lupin vs Herlock Sholmes

The consistent outcome is that Holmes "wins" the material battle while Lupin gets away with the spiritual or karmic victory. The first story, Holmes has Lupin figured out from a glance, robbing him of his greatest asset, and Lupin even tells Holmes under a guise that he has no greater admirer than himself. Holmes choses not to arrest Lupin, and instead solves the mystery as quickly as Lupin would. But he is also, well, inferior. His "commonplace appearence" dissappoints the guests and detectives at the crime scene, he doesn't resemble their expectations, he is gruff, ungracious, arrogant and all-business, an Englishman all the way, and Lupin one-ups him by returning to him his stolen watch, and Holmes is not a good sport about it.

The whole "Herlock Sholmes" name change, although it was out of legal obligation, almost reads like a cheeky courtesy of Leblanc, like he's giving Holmes enough of a courtesy in sparing him the embarassment of being the loser. And the following adventures stay consistent: Sholmes is smart, as smart as Lupin, and he's a gentleman. But he isn't as smart as he thinks he is, and he isn't as much of a gentleman as Lupin. He resorts to unsporting tactics like intimidating Lupin's lover and involving the police in their conflict, and in the end, he's solved the crime, but "sown the seeds of discord" in a family Lupin was protecting, becoming the villain for a change, a role reversion Lupin openly laughs at. Holmes wins the "loot", he wins the material battle, but Lupin has the last laugh, and despite being a self-proclaimed villain, Lupin gets the moral victory.

It's a quite unflattering view of Holmes and one perhaps not suited for a crossover outside of the specific context of Holmes being the old and stuffy intruder in an Arsene Lupin story. Then again, every great hero needs a lesson in humility every now and then.

There's a particularly interesting variant of this dynamic to be found within China's own takes on Sherlock Holmes and Arsene Lupin.

Sherlock Holmes was quite the breakout hit for Chinese audiences at the time of his release, revered as an alternative to Judge Bao and the court-case novels. It's estimated that from 1903 to 1909, detective fiction constituted over almost 50% percent of all Western translated fiction, and with Holmes followed others like Nick Carter and Charlie Chan, and then Arsene Lupin, and soon their own local versions. The most famous and popular of which was Huo Sang, created by Cheng Xiaoqing, who was one of the main translators for Conan Doyle's stories. Cheng Xiaoqing even wrote his own take on Sherlock Holmes vs Arsene Lupin called "The Diamond Necklace", intending on correcting Leblanc's take, although interestingly, he unintentionally recreates the exact outcome by giving Holmes an unsporting attitude, where he "wins" only because Lupin lets him, and Lupin gets away again with the moral high ground. He would fare off much better in correcting Holmes with his own character, Huo Sang.

Huo Sang has a lot of similarities to Holmes, even with his own Watson counterpart, but was also designed to represent a few more traditional Chinese values. He is a science teacher with no addictions who belittles the wealthy class and fights for the poor, and he is praised for humility, one story even making a point to criticize Holmes for arrogance. He is a very Westernized character, with suits and guns and cigarettes galore, but the books were very dictatic and the author marketed them as "disguised textbooks for science", playing up on a newfound social reverence to scientific methods and self-improvement and national rejuvenation.

The stories deal heavily with corruption of the police force and institutions. In the earlier stories he outright calls police detectives useless rice buckets only good for solving petty thefts and preying on those that can't defend themselves, and while they become less sinister in later stories, Huo Sang's relation with law enforcement is much more frayed than Holmes's own. He uses dirty police tactics of his own and sometimes takes the law into his own hands, thinking the law cannot possibly achieve justice on it's own. His biggest loyalty is to his country and he values his reputation above all else. He values justice more than the law, like Holmes. But like Holmes, he still prefers to work inside the law and within Chinese traditions.

"Bao Lang, you scholar, you're too idealistic. Don't you realize how weak the law is in modern society? Privilege and power, favors and money - the law has all these deadly enemies

"We investigate half to slake our thirst for knowledge, half out of duty to serve and uphold justice. In the realm of justice, we are never constrained by the wooden and unfeeling law. For in this society, which is gradually tending to surrender its core to material things, the spirit of the rule of law cannot be put into general practice, and the weak and ordinary people are aggrieved, more often than not unable to enjoy the protection of the law.

Lu Ping, as you'd expect from a counterpart to Lupin, was much different. In fact, right in his very first story, he was already pitted against Huo Sang and outsmarting him, in a story called "Wooden Puppet Play". The character is inspired by an already existing tradition within Chinese literature of the "chivalrous thief", shapeshifting masters of deception and martial arts, and considered admirable and benevolent opposite to the corrupt government officials they outwit.

His stories are more whimsical, energized, more varied, less dedicated to strict science. He whistles while committing crimes, is identifiable by a red tie and wooden puppets he uses to signal his goons on what outfit he's gonna be wearing, and even cracks asides to the reader. In many aspects Lu Ping is influenced by hard-boiled Western detective stories, and naturally, he has a much more contemptious view of the law than Huo Sang

Well then, was he willing, in his capacity as thief, to represent the sanctity of the law and catch the murderer? Yes, he would be quite happy to round up that murderer. But he wasn't at all willing to boost the reputation of the law. He'd always felt that the law was only something like an amulet that certain smart guys had fabricated to get them out of embarassing situations.

Such an amulet migh be good for scaring away idiots, but it oculdn't threaten the violent, crafty and arrogant evil ones. Not only could it not scare them away, a lot of them hid right behind it to work their evil tricks!

Conflicts between these two are not just rooted in one-upsmanship or the patriotic conflict between the two, but instead in two differing approaches to justice, their influence on fellow Chinese writers to step outside tradition, and the respective ways they address issues in society. Additionally, it's not just a conflict between Great Detective vs Gentleman Villain, but the Holmesian Detective and the Hardboiled Detective. And, naturally, when the two met, a pattern reocurred again.

Writing a Lu Ping tale in his usual manner, Sun Liaohong deprives the detective of the advantage he typically enjoys at the hand of Cheng Xiaoqing or any other follower of Conan Doyle - narration by the detective's coadjutor.

It is Huo Sang who slinks around like a thief, alarming hotel service personnel. He becomes rattled, and even so is vain and arrogant. He is a bit too positivist about searching for clues, and he spends a remarkable amount of time just relaxing and waiting for something to happen.

The figure of "wooden puppets" turns wicked when the author uses the term to refer to Huo Sang, Bao Lang, and the police. Satirizing the genre as a play in which the author woodenly manipulates his character. But Lu Ping as puppet is a genius, moving from one identity to another, whereas Huo Sang is a dumbbell - wooden indeed, bourgeois, ridiculed.

A gentleman's agreement occurs only at the end. Huo Sang has the formal victory. He frees Lu Ping in order to get the paining, but the exhibition is held a day late and it now bears Lu Ping's seal.

In wartime, peace talks, diplomacy and gentlemen's agreements are just smoke screens, the stuff of puppetry. Both Huo Sang and Lu Ping surround themselves with lies to reach their final accomodation. Perhaps they are both puppets - Chinese Justice, the Fiction: Law and Literature in Modern China, by Jeffrey C. Kinkley

Both characters were canned in 1949 when the CCP banned detective fiction, and it was replaced with anti-spy literature about how the party police would expose counterrevolutionary conspiracies. They never got to have a rematch, and to my understanding there were a couple of films made afterwards about them, Huo Sang had a very recent one in 2019, but never another meeting.

I guess the takeaway here time and time again is that, credit to Holmes and all, but:

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #sherlock holmes #herlock sholmes #arthur conan doyle #arsene lupin #maurice leblanc #lupinchads can't stop winning

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givemeweasley · 4 years ago

Text

First Things First pt. 1

Fred Weasley x Reader

Word count: 8k

Warnings: Fluff, hella slow burn (there is no romance in this first part, the next part will definitely have it though)

A/N: This is the second fic I have! I’m super excited for you to read! I’m also taking requests! Also I haven’t seen the movies so everything in this series is completely based off the books. I did a lot of research for this to make sure it was as perfect as possible so give it a like and let me know what you think :)

First Things First pt. 2, First Things First pt. 3

-----

You remembered the first day you met him.

It was unnaturally cold outside. The English air was chill and unforgiving, something you weren’t used to. Your parents had moved you halfway across the world because they believed Ilvermorny was no longer the best wizarding education. Your grandmother went to Hogwarts and was one of the best witches in your family. She expressed the most excitement at the complete upheaval of your life to a new country, new school, and hopefully new friends. She raved and raved about how Ravenclaw was the best house. The best scholars and most successful wizards and witches stemmed from her house. Repeatedly, she told you how proud she would be if you were a Ravenclaw too. I’m a Wampus, is what you wanted to say but held your tongue. You knew your family loved you. However, it was a little much sometimes.

As you boarded the Hogwarts Express, your parents and grandmother's ecstatic faces at the prospect of your success at Hogwarts made you nauseous. You waved back at their frantic hands before finding a deserted train car and sitting next to the window. It was only a minute before the train pulled away and a field, more vibrant than it ought to be in the English cold, came into view. Your eyes flickered across the scenery as tears built up in your eyes and bitterness built up in your heart. You had devoted four years, four damn years, to Ilvermorny. You had a life there. Friends there. A home there. Of course your friends promised to write, but you didn’t know how an owl would make it across the ocean.

“Oh sorry! I didn’t realize this compartment was-” You had been so caught up in your thoughts you hadn’t heard the door open. Quickly wiping your tears, you turned to face the intruder. Or intruders.

Standing before you were three boys. A pair of identical twins with red hair so stark you were surprised it wasn’t fire and a smiling boy with dark skin and even darker eyes. The redhead in the front tilted his head as he studied your appearance. You groaned internally knowing your eyes must’ve been red from crying. Great first impression. But he just smiled and stuck his hand out.

“Fred Weasley and this is my brother George. That back there,” nodding his head at the boy behind them, “is Lee Jordan our best friend. Mind if we join you?”

You bit your lip, their British accents were so...so... British. It caught you off guard despite being in England.

You then realized he was still waiting for an answer, hand extended. He started to lower his hand and grimace. Immediately, your hand shot forward grabbing his.

“I don’t mind at all.” You shook his hand firmly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

All the boys stood there frozen for a moment looking at you with wide eyes. You slowly pulled your hand back as silence reigned in the compartment. Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you opened your mouth to speak. But Lee Jordan laughed before shoving his way past the twins and plopping in the seat right across from you.

“A bloody American!!” He choked out past his laughs. You barely noticed Fred and George sit themselves down in the compartment, one next to you and the other beside Lee. “I’ve got so many questions!” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

You let out a nervous laugh as you leaned back slightly. “Um…”

“How about we start with her name first, you git.” You turned, seeing the twin beside you shaking his head at his friend.

“My name’s Y/N Y/L/N.” You responded still looking at the twin beside you who had finally met your eyes.

After that bit of information, Lee didn’t hesitate. “So what year are you?”

“Fifth.”

“Why are you here?”

“My parents wanted me to come to Hogwarts-”

“Is there a wizarding school in America?”

“Yeah it’s called Ilvermorny-”

“Are there houses?”

“There’s Wampus, Pukwudgie, Thunderbird, and Horned Serpent-”

“You have a Slytherin too?”

“What’s Slytherin-”

At that it was like a bomb exploded in the compartment. Lee, Fred, and George all took turns explaining to you the ‘disgusting, evil ways of the Slytherins.’ A direct quote from Lee. In detail they proceeded to explain how Hogwarts worked, the houses (the best being Gryffindor), Peeves, Filch, Severus Snape, etc. By the time the train began to slow down as it reached Hogwarts, you felt like you’d been there for years.

As the train finally pulled to a stop you opened your mouth. “So what if I’m sorted into Slytherin?” You asked the boys.

All of them looked at you with gaping mouths, not really knowing what to say. But the twin to your right, spoke first.

“You won’t be.” He stood up, pulling your suitcase from the shelf above you handing it into your arms.

“How do you know?” You countered as he handed you another suitcase.

He narrowed his eyes at you, tilting his head back and forth and rubbing his chin dramatically before smiling broadly and winking. “I just do.”

He finally pulled down the last thing up on the shelf, being a brown leather ball tied with white string. He furrowed his brows at it and turned to presumably ask you what it was. You snatched it out of his hands and tucked it under your arm.

“It’s a football.”

He opened his mouth to ask, but you had already squeezed past him and the other twin who was gaping at the ball too. You followed the hoard of students towards the door and outside.

“First years this way!!” A deep voice called one side of the platform while another voice directed students into carriages. This presented your dilemma. You weren’t technically a first year but it was your first year at Hogwarts. Would that mean they wanted you with the first years or were you supposed to ride the carriages with the other older students.

Fear started to creep up your spine as you internally panicked and everyone raced around you carrying their luggage, confidently making their way to where they belonged.

But you belonged in America. Thousands of miles away.

“Ms. Y/L/N!!” A shrill voice called. You lifted your head from where you had been zoning out. A small womanly hand waved over the heads of the students. She had a tall witch's hat on and a wrinkled face with deep eyes. You shifted your suitcases in your hands before making your way over to her. The area was near empty as most students had already gotten on a carriage or a boat. “Ms. Y/L/N, my name is Professor McGonagall. I will be escorting you tonight to the Great Hall and answering any questions you might have before you get sorted.” She shook your hand before waving you into a carriage beside her. It was at the front of the line of carriages. You stepped inside with your suitcases and football still clutched under your arm. Professor Mcgonagall stepped in behind you, shutting the door.

The carriage took off, rumbling down the path despite nothing driving it.

“Excuse me, professor.” She looked up smiling. “What’s driving these carriages?”

“Ah, well they’re being driven by Thestrals. Magical creatures that you can only see when you witness death.”

Your eyes widened as you nodded.

“Are there any questions you have about Hogwarts or any worries you’re harboring?” She folded her hands neatly over her robes, kindly smiling at you. It eased the worry in your heart a fraction.

“Actually, not really. Fred, George, and Lee-”

“Oh my! My dear, whatever they have told you is likely to be exaggerated due to their more… exuberant nature. Those boys, while good smart boys, can be quite the troublemakers.” Professor McGonagall smiled fondly while shaking her head. It reminded you of a tired mother.

“Well, I was wondering…” Your eyes looked directly up into the professors, “how do you tell the twins apart?”

A hearty laugh left her lips as she clutched her chest. “My dear, I’m afraid that is the one question I am unable to answer.”

You smiled, looking out of the window of the carriage. The rest of the ride passed quietly until the carriage pulled up to Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall instructed you to leave your things where they were before directing you through the doors of Hogwarts. She pulled you into the Great Hall, but instead of letting you sit she pulled you off to the side.

“We have to wait for the first years so everyone can get sorted at the same time.”

You nodded thinking back to your sorting in Ilvermorny. The way the Wampus roared and the Pukwudgie raised its arrow. You chose Wampus for a simple reason, it was your favorite animal. Based on the friends you made, you had never had a reason to regret your decision. But those friends were now thousands of miles away.

You’d been so wrapped up in your thoughts you missed Professor McGonagall lightly pushing you behind a small first year.

“Just follow him, dear” She nodded before turning and making her way up the hall. You did what she asked, feeling the embarrassment of being a fifteen year old following an eleven year old. Eventually you ended up in front of the entire hall. Your eyes were finally able to scan the entirety of the school. You studied the Slytherins in green, the Gryffindors in red, the Hufflepluffs in yellow, and finally the Ravenclaws in blue. Your future house. There seemed to be friendly faces throughout the entire table.

“Y/N Y/L/N!” Shit. You had missed the entirety of what had been said. You had no idea what you were supposed to do. You stumbled over to where Professor McGonagall pointed to a hat sitting on a stool. As you made your way to the stool, she turned to the crowd. “Students this is Y/N, she is a former Ilvermorny student which for those of you who don’t know, is located in America.” You heard several gasps throughout the crowd and barely resisted the temptation to roll your eyes. Oh look! A foreigner! “I expect you to treat her with the utmost kindness as she is not only new to this school, but new to England.” The murmurs in the hall had gained volume as people whispered about the American girl.

You grabbed the hat from the stool before sitting down and looking at the hat. It winked at you. You almost dropped it right then, before realizing the entire school was watching your every move.

You placed the hat on your head, nervously glancing up at Professor McGonagall before the hat sank over your eyes.

“Ah, well this is new!” The hat spoke. The hat spoke. “Well, yes I can speak. I can also sing. But alas my job is to decide what house you belong to, American girl. Hm. It appears you were chosen by both Wampus the warrior and Pukwudgie the healer when at Ilvermorny. However, your grandmother was a Ravenclaw when at Hogwarts… but what do you want, Y/N?”

The hat asked you a question.

“Yes, the hat asked you a question!”

“Um, I suppose…” It was a no to Slytherin, the boys had made that much clear. Oddly enough, you didn’t know if you wanted to be a Ravenclaw either. If you were going to be hauled across the world to go to a school you didn’t want to go to, you were going to make your own path.

“I knew it.” The hat laughed joyfully before shouting. “GRYFFINDOR!”

You assumed that was your cue as you pulled the hat off. Cheers were ringing through the hall as groans left the lips of a few others. You stood placing the hat back on the stool, looking to Professor McGonagall for further instructions.

“Well, go join your new house!” She smiled happily before waving you over to the table. You nodded, walking down a few stairs before making your way over to the long table.

“Hey! ‘Merica! Down here!” A familiar voice shouted. You looked over seeing one of the twins waving. Feeling a sense of relief you hurriedly made your way over to him.

He slid over making space for you between himself and his twin.

“Welcome to the best house, ‘Merica!” He laughed slinging an arm over your shoulder.

You couldn’t help the smile that formed. “That’s not my name.”

“It is now.” Lee winked from across the table.

You turned to the twin with his arm over your shoulder narrowing your eyes. “So are you Fred or George?” His other hand not slung around your shoulders slapped against his chest dramatically.

“I’m offended, woman! You should know that I am the great Fred and he” Fred said pointing behind you, “is the great George.”

“You’ll figure it out eventually.” A girl responded from next to Lee. “I’m Angelina, by the way. And I, unlike these gits, will call you by your name.”

“Thank you.”

As food finally appeared on the golden plates before you and everyone dug in, you felt...good. Safe. Normal. Like perhaps Hogwarts wasn’t going to be hell on Earth. Maybe you could actually enjoy going here. You couldn’t change the fact that you were here, but, maybe, you could enjoy it a little.

-----

You remembered the first time you both had class together.

“What do you have today?” Fred or George (you still couldn’t tell) mumbled with a mouth full of food. It was the first day of classes. You pulled out your schedule that had been handed to you earlier that morning.

The other twin snatched it out of your hands. “Arithmancy, Runes, and- George!” The twin, now identified as Fred, elbowed his brother. “She’s got Double Potions with us!”

“Looks like you're stuck with us everyday for the semester, love.” George said pointing to a few classes you shared with them the following days.

“Can’t wait.” You hid your smile behind the piece of toast you shoved in your mouth.

“You know, you never did explain to me what that- that ball was.” Fred said leaning forward with an apple in his hand.

Lee leaned in from beside you, interested. “Yeah, we were all talking about what it could be last night.”

“It’s just a ball. It’s used for a popular Muggle sport in America. My moms a muggle and she taught me how to play.” You nervously tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “It’s the same ball she taught me with.”

“A Muggle sport?” Fred leaned back, seemingly unsatisfied. He glanced at George, then at Lee. “Wanna teach us?”

You laughed. “Maybe. I’ll have to see how well you play Quadpot first before I trust you with my football.”

The boys all looked at each other with confused looks on their faces. But, of course, it was Lee who spoke up first.

“Bloody hell is Quadpot?”

For a moment, you wondered if this was going to a common occurrence. You saying something about American wizardry, everyone looking at you weird and then subsequently asking questions. Probably.

“It’s a game with a qu-”

“A quaffle? Yeah that’s Quidditch!” Fred shouted.

“What I was going to say, was it’s a quod.”

“Bloody hell is a-”

“I would answer your questions if you would stop interrupting me for Pete’s sake!”

Silence reigned over the table.

George raised a hand.

“Yes, George?” You sighed.

“Who’s Pete?”

You blinked. Then blinked again. Took a deep breath in. Then breathed out.

“It’s just a saying. Now can I explain Quadpot or not?”

The boys solemnly nodded. Fred even went as far to zip his lips and throw away the key.

“I’ll do my best to summarize. Two teams of eleven, one quod. A quod is basically an exploding quaffle from the little I know about Quidditch. The goal is for your team to get the quod in the cauldron in the center of the field. If you have the quod when it explodes you’re out. Whenever a team runs out of players the game ends. Most points win. Make sense?”

All three of them sat in silence with their jaws wide open. “That’s brilliant!” Fred and George shouted simultaneously.

“Still not better than Quidditch.” Lee shrugged, shoving some oatmeal in his mouth.

“I mean I suppose. Do you guys play?” You asked.

Lee suddenly slapped his hands on the table. “I can’t believe we didn’t tell her!” Staring straight at Fred and George.

“We’re pretty damn good at Quidditch.” Fred smirked.

“We’ll see.” You winked, grabbing another piece of toast from the center of the table, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You shoved the toast in your mouth before standing and waving to the boys over your shoulder as you strolled out of the Great Hall. “See you boys in Double Potions!”

Luckily, Arithmancy and Runes went smoothly. Angelina was in both classes with you which made everything a little more comforting. Especially, when the professors went over the importance of OWLs at the end of the year. Angelina also introduced you to a few other Gryffindors in your year before classes started.

Finally, you were making your way to Potions in the Dungeons.

“Hey, look it’s the American. I heard she’s a halfblood.” You heard a sneer from behind you. You turned to see what appeared to be a second year Slytherin laughing and pointing at you. He flinched a fraction when he noticed your steely gaze on him. He had blonde hair and a mousy looking face that reminded you of the rats in Boston.

You broke out into laughter before strolling over to him.

“What are you laughing at?” He spat.

You gave him a once over. “A child who thinks he’s cool and witty by throwing some half assed attempt at an insult. If you’re gonna insult someone, maybe say something that’s actually, I don’t know, insulting?” You patted his cheek before turning on your heel and strolling into the Potions classroom, not realizing half the hall was staring at you while the blonde child fumed.

You dropped your bag on the desk closest to the back, knowing this class was with the feared Severus Snape. Suddenly two bags dropped on your left side. You looked up and knew you would see the smiling faces of Fred and George. You were still none the wiser of who was who though.

“I think I’m in love with you.” One of them said. Your eyes widened.

“Oh bugger off, I called dibs.” The other one hit the others shoulder.

You opened your mouth to respond.

“While you boys may think it is attractive for a girl to humiliate a boy younger than her, I cannot share those same sentiments and therefore,” A man pale as a sheet with greasy black hair and a hooked nose appeared over the shoulder of the twins while glaring straight at you, “five points from Gryffindor.” He made his way until he was in front of you. “I’m not surprised the American has decided to align herself with the riff raff. I can’t say I expected more from Americans. Wild eccentrics, the lot of them.” He looked down at you from over his long unseemly nose. It took you a moment for your brain to catch up with all he said. He turned to return to the front of the class.

“Hold on a sec.” You held your hand up. Snape whipped around with fire in his eyes.

“You dare ask me to-”

“You took five points from me because I had the gall to stand up for myself against someone younger than me instead of taking points from the child that you obviously heard insult me first?”

Snape opened his mouth but you decided you weren’t done.

“Also, it’s only humiliation if he’s embarrassed by his actions after I’ve called him out rightfully so. And as far as I’m concerned he should be-”

Snape had rounded back to standing in front of your table. “It is not up to you to question my judgement-”

“Your biased judgement-”

“Ten points from Gryffindor!” He shouted.

Your jaw dropped while your anger seized you. “You can’t do that!”

Snape smirked then. “Actually, Y/L/N, I can do that. I can also give you detention, which you will be serving tonight.”

“Bloody arse.” One of the twins muttered.

“Ten more points and detention for you, whichever Weasley spawn you are!” Snape snarled before whisking away to the front of the classroom. “And if anyone else has a problem with the way I handle my classroom, now is the time to speak up.” His beady eyed gaze met every eye in the class before turning to the board.

“Told you he was a git.” The twin next to you whispered.

You slumped in your seat as a small smile made its way onto your face. “Yeah. You did.”

-----

You remembered your first detention together.

“If I come back and a single speck is out of place, it will be your heads.” Snape growled.

“So we shouldn’t clean, then?” One of the twins tried his hardest not to smile.

Snape narrowed his eyes, your wands clenched tightly in his grasp. Before sweeping out of the classroom, his robes billowing behind him as the door slammed and locked.

“He’s one for dramatics.” You muttered.

The twin chuckled before nodding. “That he is.”

You turned to him. “I’m sorry you’re here. It’s my fault. I should’ve-”

“You were bloody brilliant, ‘Merica!” The twin laughed. “I’ll be dreaming about Snape and Malfoys faces for weeks!”

Heat rose to your cheeks as a smile tugged at your lips. “Thanks, I guess?” You grabbed the rag and spray left on Snape’s desk as you set out to clean the desks.

“Oh, you can put that stuff up.”

You turned, furrowing your brow.

He pulled out a wand from his pant pocket. He waved it triumphantly. “It’s Georges. He let me borrow it so we wouldn’t have to clean. Genius, he is.” He turned pointing the wand at the classroom. “Scourgify!”

Smart.

However, you still sprayed the rag before lifting your shoe and wiping the bottom of it doing the same with the other rag. You then poured out half of the bottle of spray down the drain in the middle of the classroom.

The twin furrowed his eyebrows. “What are you doing? I just said-”

“And Snape’s going to be awfully suspicious if the classroom is clean and none of the cleaning supplies are dirty or look used.”

He looked mildly impressed.

“Also, can you please tell me which one you are…”

He started to look offended but then smiled. “Fred.” He said sliding onto one of the desks.

You smacked your forehead before hopping on the desk opposite of the one he was sitting on. “You just said that was George's wand! I should’ve known. I’ll get it eventually, I promise.”

The rest of the night was spent learning things about each other. Talking about everything and nothing. You learned he was a beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team with George being the other beater. That he had three older brothers and two younger brothers and one younger sister. His dad worked for the Ministry, which he explained was the British equivalent of MACUSA. He was obsessed with muggles and would probably love nothing more than to hear all about your football.

You told him about how you were an only child, how your grandmother went to Hogwarts and was a Ravenclaw. How you grew up in Texas before moving to Massachusetts when you were eleven. That your parents wanted to be close to you despite only seeing you on breaks. He had a lot of questions about Ilvermorny and America which you described in the best detail you could. He was especially fascinated by the size of Ilvermorny compared to Hogwarts. Which made Hogwarts seem bitesize, considering Ilvermorny was the biggest wizarding school in North America (and North America was huge).

You talked for hours until finally, you heard the quick sharp footsteps of Snape quickly approaching the door. Quickly you both jumped off the desks and grabbed rags before dropping to the floor and cleaning non existent spots right as Snape burst through the doors.

His eyes narrowed, searching the room for what you assumed was the slightest speck. Slowly, he strolled through the room wiping his fingers on random surfaces scrutinizing every inch of the classroom. He finally walked past where Fred and you were still kneeling on the ground into the store room. You frantically looked over at Fred.

“We forgot to scourgify the store room!” You whisper-shouted.

Fred smiled widely before winking and grabbing your forearm. Before you could blink, you were being hauled across the classroom. “Accio Wands!” Fred shouted as you made it to the door of the Potions classroom. The wands came flying at you from Snape's pocket as he turned, his eyes livid.

“Goodnight, Snape!” Fred called as he shut the door behind you and tugged you quickly up the nearest staircase. Your laughs following you both all the way to the Fat Lady. “Fortuna Major.” Fred whispered.

The Fat Lady smiled knowingly. “Little late to be out on a date, is it?”

Before you could respond, Fred had beat you to the punch as the picture frame swung open. “You know I would never cheat on you, my love.”

Both of you climbed inside seeing the common room was dead empty.

“Well that was…” You started.

“Fun? Thrilling?” Fred spread his arms almost as wide as his smile.

You crossed yours, tilting your head as you smiled at him. For a moment, neither of you said anything. Finally, you turned towards the girls dorm staircase stopping at the base. Fred was still standing in the same place, his arms by his side, when you glanced back.

“Something like that.” You finally responded.

“G’night, ‘Merica.” Fred called as you ascended the stairs.

Your smile followed you all the way to your bed.

-----

You remembered your first trip to Hogsmeade together.

That morning you were having a specifically hard time. Which was odd considering you’d been in Hogwarts for over a month now. Sitting in the Great Hall half a dozen owls had brought you a few letters and packages. You opened the one from your parents first.

Dear Y/N,

Hope you’re doing well! Dad got a promotion at his Ministry job (which is great news!). The International Magical Cooperation Department has really taken a liking to him! Anyway, I think I’ve finally gotten everything unpacked here and I can’t wait until Christmas for you to see your room! Grandma did tell me she was sorry you weren’t in Ravenclaw, but was glad you at least weren’t a “ooey gooey Hufflepuff.” Or something like that. I’m rambling now, but please tell me how classes have been and your friends are!

Speaking of friends, consider this an early early Christmas present. Some of your friends from Ilvermorny managed to send a few letters and packages using the mailing system (I had to explain it to your father). Anyway! Enjoy them!

Love you bunches! XOXO

Mom

A smile broke out on your face as you grabbed a random letter and ripped it open.

Hey kid,

I’m not sure how reliable this No-Maj mail thing is but here goes. Everyone misses you here. Wampus isn’t the same without our resident defender. Iris really misses you but won’t say it. She’s determined you’ll be back before the year ends. Honestly, I think we’re all hoping that. It seriously bites that you’re stuck in England with all those snob-nosed Brits. Plus, who the hell calls em Muggles? Fucking Brits…

Anyway, we won this year's first Quadpot game against the Thunderbird. It may have been the quickest game I’ve ever witnessed. Mary and Louisa were on their game, making perfect tosses to get it into the cauldron. They got new brooms this year too which were really helpful. I wish you could’ve seen it! Although, the funniest part was when Olivia caught the quod (we broke up by the way, but that’s another letter for another time) and she froze! It was hilarious. She was the last one out on the Thunderbird team. It exploded about five seconds after she caught it. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. We still had six players on our team and we were up by 28. There was no way Olivia was going to make those points back. We definitely felt your absence at the party afterwards though. We had a moment of silence for our best Quadpot player before we partied hard like we knew you would’ve wanted us too.

Well, I’m sure you have plenty of English tea to drink and boys to snog just don’t forget about lil ole Danny back here in the states. I think Iris is writing you a letter. She’s writing in her book and practically hisses at anyone who tries to see what it is. Anyway we miss you and can’t wait till you come back to America.

Best,

Danny

There were tears in your eyes by the time you finished reading the letter. You had forgotten how much you missed Quadpot. How much you missed the Wampus dorms. Gossiping with Louisa, pranking first years with Danny, practicing spells with Iris, talking about No-Maj things with Thomas. Everything you’d gotten used to for four years. You put down Danny’s letter and reached for the next one.

You looked up as Fred slid in front of you.

Fred. Oh my god. I know it’s Fred.

“Fred?” You cautiously asked. Secretly hoping you were right.

He winked. “I knew you’d get it eventually.” He nodded at the letters and packages scattered across the table. “Who did all these come from?” He picked up one of the packages. “Iris Capace.” He raised a brow looking at you.

“Friends from Ilvermorny.” You bit your lip scanning the letters in front of you, trying not to cry.

You heard Fred set the package down.

“I bet you miss ‘em.” The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. He was usually joking, sarcastic, and goofy. But rarely gentle.

You nodded, clearing your throat. “I do.”

Fred didn’t respond for a moment. You looked up to see him glancing around the table at the numerous letters and packages. He seemed to feel your gaze on him because he looked up to meet your eyes. His smile seemed much brighter and warmer than it had ever before. It made your heart stutter.

“Well then, it’s a good thing we’re going to Hogsmeade today so we can buy them a couple of souvenirs to send back.” He stood holding his hand out after grabbing a few of the heavier looking packages. “Come on. Let’s go drop these off at the dorm so we can make it in time to Hogsmeade.”

You gathered the left over letters and packages under your arm before grabbing his hand. You realized how impractical it was to hold his hand as you walked down the table, your hands clasped together over the table. He refused to let go, though, even as you passed a few Gryffindors. They just had to duck under your outstretched hands.

After depositing your letters and packages in your room and grabbing your money, Fred walked with you to the carriages.

George, Lee, and Angelina were all waiting by one of the carriages.

“It’s about time!” Angelina shook her head despite the smile on her lips. “Thought you two got lost.”

“I bet they did.” Lee whispered under his breath as you stepped in the carriage, Fred getting in behind you.

“In eachothers eyes.” You heard George whisper back laughing quietly as he climbed in.

You ended up sitting next to Angelina. She wanted to ask you all about Adrian Pucey who had cornered you after Potions the other day to flirt with you. That conversation topic lasted you all the way into Hogsmeade, while you occasionally heard bits and pieces of the boys talking about the next Quidditch match.

When the carriages pulled up to Hogsmeade at last, Angelina grabbed your arm excitedly.

“I forgot this is your first time here!” She dragged you out of the carriage immediately pulling you towards a pub called The Three Broomsticks. “First things first, you have to try butterbeer!!”

You refrained from telling her you were from America and not another planet and you had had butterbeer before. But her excitement rubbed off and you couldn’t break her heart. So you kept that fact to yourself.

The inside of The Three Broomsticks was rustic and charming. It was warm and felt incredible coming in from the brisk cold that always seemed to linger no matter where you went. Angelina ordered two butterbeers and found a spot for you both off to the side. The table was small but perfect to fit the two of you.

“So how’s Quidditch going? I vaguely heard the boys talking about it on the way here.” You asked, taking a sip of the butterbeer. You almost forgot it was supposed to be your first time tasting it, so you made a shocked face. “This is really good!!”

Angelina narrowed her eyes at you before taking a sip of her own butterbeer. “You can lay off it now. I should’ve figured you’d had it before. My fault.” She was still smiling though, which was a good sign. “But, Quidditch has been...good. Practice is hell though. Don’t get me wrong I love being up on my broom, but Wood can talk for hours. Which means I’m exhausted by the time we end up getting up in the air.”

“That bad?” You grimaced taking another long sip.

“Especially when we have Slytherin games upcoming. I think he forgets sometimes that we want to win as much as he does. He just really wants the Quidditch cup this year.” Angelina glanced around before lowering her voice. “After losing to Hufflepuff due to the Dementor, he’s just really on edge. None of us blame Harry, of course, but it’s Woods last year and we would need to beat both Slytherin and Ravenclaw to have a shot. Not only that, but we’d have to beat them by a decent amount…” She rubbed her forehead before downing more butterbeer.

You laid your hand on the table close to her. “Angelina, you guys played really well from what I saw. You’ve got it in the bag. But there’s no sense in stressing about it now when you can’t do anything about it.”

“She’s right, you know?” You glanced up to see George pulling up a chair next to you.

“We did play well.” Fred slid another chair on Angelina’s side. It took you only a moment to spot Lee leaning against the wall nodding his head.

“But what do you say we finish our drinks and go get some of those souvenirs.” Fred nodded at you.

“Souvenirs?” Angelina asked looking at you. “For who?”

“Friends back in America. Or The States as you Brits call it.” That surprisingly caused a peal of laughter to ring from everyone.

“I reckon she’s learning!” George laughed, elbowing your side.

“We’ll make a proper Brit of you yet!” Lee chimed in.

You raised your Butterbeer. “Not a chance,” and tossed back what was left in your glass.

The rest of the day was spent (literally) on buying weird must-haves from Zonko’s and candy from Honeydukes. You were mainly excited about getting new cards from all the chocolate frogs you bought. America’s cards had famous American wizards, so being able to get dozens of new ones was exciting.

Before you knew it, you were back on the carriage to Hogwarts. Back in the Gryffindor common room examining a few of the presents you had gotten for your friends.

“I promise they work. The dungbombs are personally my favorite and if your friend Danny is half the man you say he is, he’ll love them.” Fred said as he plopped into the chair next to you in the back of the common room.

You looked up. “Danny with the three of you guys would honestly be a dangerous combination.” You held the dungbomb up in front of your face. “I know he’s gonna love these.” You peeked over the top of it. “Thanks.”

Fred smiled another one of his award winning smiles. The one that made all the girls' knees weak. “Anything for you, ‘Merica.” Then he frowned suddenly before digging in his pocket. When he lifted out a small bag, he laughed softly. “Almost forgot.” He tossed the bag at you.

You caught it midair and raised a brow.

“Saw it and thought of you.” He shrugged. With that he stood and bowed dramatically. “Well I must be off to bed, my lady. It was an honor to assist you today, I am your humble servant.” He grabbed your hand and planted a kiss on it before winking and whisking himself away up the stairs of the boys dorm. Your hand was still stuck in midair slightly tingling.

You glanced down at the bag before pulling the strings that held it closed. You turned it over and watched as a silver necklace tumbled out. The chain was thin and long, but it was the pendant that your eyes were focused on.

It was a tiny glass ball, within it was exploding fireworks.

Fred Weasley. Your heart skipped a beat as the red firework held his name before dissolving in the glass as another firework shot off.

It was stunning. You pulled the chain over your head and tucked it underneath your shirt. The pendant fell in the center of your chest. It felt warm against your heart. You pressed it closer.

At that, it was time for bed.

But you couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

-----

You remembered your first goodbye.

The Great Feast had been spectacular. Also a god send considering how insane the year had been. You were honestly tired and ready to see your parents. Yet, you also were sad to leave the friends you had made. The deep friendships you had made. Something about the fear of dying has an odd way of making anyone feel closer.

You were sitting between Fred and Alicia Spinnet. Listening as Dumbledore finished awarding Gryffindor the House Cup and Quidditch Cup. Everyone around you, including yourself, exploded in cheers. Jumping from their seats, hugging each other, shouting about how Gryffindor was the best house.

Eventually you all sat down and began eating after Dumbledore sat down. The energy at your table was incomparable. You scanned your eyes over all the friends you had made. Angelina laughing from across you at some dumb joke George said from beside her. Lee on her other side flirting with Katie and Alicia. Wood on the other side of Fred raving about how excited he was about the Quidditch cup win. Harry, Ron and Hermione further down laughing like they deserved. Fred beside you, looking right at you.

“You’re not eating.” He nodded at your plate.

You shrugged. “I was just observing everyone. I’m gonna miss it, I guess.”

Fred’s eyes widened.

“You’re not coming back next semester?” He shouted. It attracted the attention of everyone around you whose smiles suddenly dropped as they stared at you.

You raised your hands. “Hold on! I never said that!”

“So...are you coming back?” Lee pointed his fork at you. “Cause if you’re not, we’ll just outright kidnap you.”

“Guys. I’m coming back! Don’t worry. Everyone can proceed to their regularly scheduled programming.”

“Regularly scheduled-” Angelina began to ask.

“Don’t ask.” You held up your hand before turning back to Fred. It seemed that after that, everyone slowly went back to their own conversations. “But what I was saying is that it’s weird living with you guys for so long and then just...not.” You shrugged now not wanting to meet his eyes. Nervous that he would think you were too clingy or weird for saying that.

But instead he nudged your shoulder with his own. “I get it. But I’m sure you’re more than welcome to visit the Burrow.”

Your face fell. He was offering you to visit his home? During the summer. It sent a warm feeling through your whole body. It was only then that you realized you hadn’t responded and Fred had misinterpreted that silence.

His hand lifted to rub his neck. “Or not. It’s not really a big deal, it’s small anyway…” He trailed off.

Your face broke out into a big grin before you laid your hand on his arm that was still wrapped behind his neck. “I’d love to.” His nervous frown widened into that familiar smile you loved so much. “My family’s going to visit America for the two months of summer but if the offer still stands when I come back, I’d love to.”

Fred slung his arm over your shoulder, pulling you into his side. “Trust me, that offer isn’t going anywhere.”

The rest of the meal passed in just as much joy and happiness as you could have hoped. Not a single Gryffindor had a frown or left the table hungry.

What seemed like the blink of an eye, the lot of you were crammed into one train car on the way back home. You had the window seat again with Angelina beside you. She insisted on sitting next to you on the way back.

Despite Angelina's addition, it reminded you of the first train ride to Hogwarts. The fear you felt, the longing you had for Ilvermorny, for America. Your nerves at knowing next to nothing about the people here or how the school differed from the one you were used to. But it was the knowledge of how much you had grown and the friends that had been a part of that that made you smile.

The people in the train car were your new home. Your new school mates as they drilled into your head.

“Thinking hard over there, ‘Merica? Schools over now, you don’t have to do that.” Lee said tossing the football your way.

You caught it without thinking and tossed it to George. “Some of us like to use our brains year round, Jordan.”

Angelina snickered as she caught the ball from George and tossed it back to Lee.

“Hey! Am I chopped liver?” Fred shouted, raising his hands.

“Sorry Fred!” Angelina winced, although you saw the hint of a smile lingering on her lips.

Your friends were batshit. But you loved them.

You tossed the football back and forth, while talking about your summer plans until the train pulled in the station. Everyone stood up and began grabbing their suitcases (or trunks as they insisted calling them) from the shelves above.

You tucked the football under your arm as you followed Angelina out with your suitcases in hand. You could hear Fred and George laughing about something from behind you. Finally you made it on the platform and spotted your parents' kind faces. You raced towards them and dropped your suitcases at their feet along with the ball as you threw your arms around their necks.

“I missed you guys!” You smiled as you pulled back to see their smiling faces.

“We missed you too, sweetheart.” Your mother cupped your cheek with her hand. She glanced behind you. “And who are these lovely people?”

You turned seeing Fred, George, Angelina, and Lee all standing there smiling at you. Your heart melted a little.

“Mom, Dad, these are the people I’ve been telling you about.”

“Oh, so you’ve been writing about me to your parents, have you?” Fred winked. A blush rose to your cheeks before you could stop it.

Your mom laughed before outstretching her hand. “Well, it’s nice to officially meet you bunch. I’m Mrs.Y/L/N and this is Mr. Y/L/N.” They each took turns shaking her hand before she spoke up again. “I do believe you’re Angelina, you must be Lee, and I would have to be stupid not to think you were the identical twins George and Fred?”

At that everyone's eyes widened, including yours. George and Fred? That sounded so… so… wrong.

Fred said, “It’s Fred and George,” the same time George said, “Right you are!”

You shook your head before stepping away from your parents to give each of your friends a hug and saying goodbye.

Angelina promised she’d write before she slipped away to leave with her parents. Lee made eyes at the football as he hugged you, and it took a promise that you would buy him one in America that finally satisfied him before he left as well. Fred and George were a little different. George hugged you tightly and messed your hair up a bit.

“We’ll see you at the Burrow later this summer I hear?”

“That’s the plan.” You glanced over at Fred. You felt George’s eyes follow your own before he laughed quietly.

“I get it. I know who your favorite Weasley is.” He winked before letting you go.

You grabbed his arm. “It’s you. Don’t tell Fred.” You winked back as he laughed all the way back to his family.

Finally, Fred pulled you into a tight hug. Your best friend.

“I’ll miss you.” You mumbled into his chest.

“Oh and here I was thinking George was your favorite Weasley.” He pulled back enough to look at you. You bit your lip to withhold the smile creeping in.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His eyes narrowed. “Mhm. Sure you don’t.” Fred shook his head before pressing a kiss into your hair. “I’ll miss you too, ‘Merica. But I’ll see you at the Burrow later this summer. Might even have a surprise for you.” Just like his brother, he sent you a wink, and turned to return to his family.

You stood staring after him for a minute before you realized your parents were a couple yards behind you. You turned, the blush still hot on your cheeks.

Your dad had your luggage in his hands with a smirk on his face, one of his brows raised. You reached down grabbing your football before following your family to the brick wall.

“So I’m assuming that one was Fred?” Your dad chuckled. If your blush could get deeper it would’ve.

“Oh hush! She’s embarrassed already at her parents seeing her crush!” Your mom slapped your dad's arm. Your parents started bickering then like young lovers. You tuned it out the closer you got to the wall. Your dad was the first to walk through, followed by your mom.

A slight tug pulled in your gut before you stepped in the brick wall. You glanced back looking for those familiar brown eyes. It took you only a moment before you found them. Already looking at you. His lips tugged up into a smile as he lifted his hand.

If there was a fraction of anxiety going into the summer, it was gone then. That safe comforting smile of Fred Weasley always did you in. You lifted your hand and smiled back before confidently turning and walking through the wall.

As excited as you were to see your friends in America again, you secretly knew your heart would be thousands of miles across the sea in a small house in the country.

#fred weasley x reader #Fred Weasley fic #Fred Weasley #George weasley #Angelina Johnson #harry potter #Hogwarts #Harry Potter fic #imagine #Fred Weasley imagine #fw #x reader #First Things First

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inkweaver22-blr · 3 years ago

Text

Here’s another filler chapter! I like how it turned out so I hope ya’ll do too! Enjoy.

AO3 Link

Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Twelve: Memory Proof

Tang learns a bit about the twins. Being in the same body as them might have something to do with that.

----------

Tang hid behind some debris in the ruined theater as he watched Macaque approach the shattered Shadow Lantern. He had been hoping to collect the pieces for himself to try and study the artifact’s ability to trap souls. The data he could potentially obtain from it would be priceless in trying to come up with a counter to his curse once he found it’s cause.

But just because they were intelligent, didn’t mean they had common sense. The amount of harebrained plots and ideas they had that blew up in their faces due to not thinking everything through was almost comical.

Abandoning his plan for now, Tang waited patiently for Macaque to leave so he could make his exit as well.

Suddenly the Mayor was there.

Tang tensed in his hiding spot as he watched the man taunt Macaque before surprising the monkey and grabbing him by the throat.

Tang’s pulse raced as he watched Macaque get captured with little effort.

Was this why they never saw Macaque again after these events? Did this happen in every cycle? Just how strong was the Mayor to be able to subdue the shadow demon so quickly?

He needed to get out of here.

Tang froze when he realized the Mayor had vanished without him noticing.

“Now what do we have here?”

Blinding white and blue pain flashed behind Tang’s eyes as he stumbled back. Gasping in panic he looked up to find the Mayor right in front of him, giving the scholar his trademark nonchalant smile.

“Can’t have you running off to spoil the end of the show for the others, now can we” the Mayor said as he held up the Shadow Lantern. “I do love a captive audience!”

Before Tang could react, the lantern was activated, and he knew no more.

----------

He was in the cave, thankfully. The voices called out in concern. The golden-yellow light wrapped around him.

----------

Tang awoke with a start, gasping in panic.

Damn that man!

He hadn’t been killed this time, but being a puppet for the Mayor until the cycle ended was just as unpleasant.

The more he learned about him, the more terrifying to Tang he became.

He would have to do his best to avoid him as much as possible from now on.

Once he got his breathing under control, Tang made his preparations for the day and began his remembering ritual.

It seemed this cycle was one where there were only a few changes. Everything seemed mostly the same except for two details.

The first was that Jin and Yin had been good friends with Mei for years, acting almost like older brothers for her.

The second was that this cycle had Fusion.

Tang groaned at this revelation.

There were many strange and weird magics and powers he had come across in the timelines, but Fusion was the most conflicting for Tang.

Fusion was a special ability where two or more beings would physically combine together into a new, more powerful being. The result was usually a much larger combination of the participants that mixed together their physical characteristics and often sported extra limbs and eyes. Whether the minds of the original beings remained separate or fused into a new personality as well as the permanence of the Fusion tended to be randomly determined like most things in these cycles.

The only constant was the need for absolute trust between all parties that fuse.

Fusion was an intimate process as you shared not just a body with someone else, but your mind as well. Thoughts and memories could not be hidden from a Fusion partner. It was an implicit sign of trust, and oftentimes love, to want to fuse with someone.

Forcing two unwilling beings to fuse was possible, but never went over well in Tang’s experience.

Tang didn’t dislike Fusion. It was an incredible experience the few times he had done so with either Pigsy or Wukong. He had never felt so close with anyone as he did when fused with them.

The problem was the curse.

Fusion required trust and the participants working in synchrony to function. His curse made it impossible for anyone except himself to know about it. When fused, his partners would become confused at the strange gaps in Tang’s mind they couldn’t perceive. The disorientation would destabilize the trust between them, causing them to fall out of sync, and result in the Fusion ending prematurely.

The questions he would receive were ones Tang couldn’t answer, and he was usually treated with suspicion and distrust for the remainder of those cycles. The same problem would occur if he refused to fuse at all, as that implied he didn’t trust anyone.

Luckily for Tang, he wasn’t in a romantic relationship with anyone this cycle and hadn’t fused with anyone yet. There was also a precedent this time for some people finding Fusion nauseating, so he could always fall back on that if pushed.

Hoping it wouldn’t even come to that, Tang left his apartment and made his way to work. He began to think of the second change as he walked.

Jin and Yin. The Gold and Silver Demon Brothers.

The two trouble makers loved to spread chaos wherever they went. Even during the rare occasions like now where they were allies. Schemes, pranks, and hijinks were to be expected whenever they were around.

The twins were smart. That was pretty much a given being the former lab assistants of Lao Tzu. Their talent in crafting magical items was impressive by mortal standards.

Tang had to admire their tenacity though. Their determination never faltered no matter how many failures they had. This was particularly handy when they were allies.

The twins’ self destructive tendencies usually got smoothed out whenever they befriended the group as well. Tang was genuinely surprised a few times by what they had managed to come up with when given a proper sounding board to help point out problems.

He may not consider Jin and Yin to be a part of his extended family, but Tang couldn’t help but have a soft spot for them. Perhaps, in time, he could include them. Maybe when their redemption became more common in the cycles.

But for now he was perfectly fine with just being their friend.

----------

The attack came without warning.

They had all been hanging out at Pigsy’s Noodles when multiple explosions went off across the city. Tang wasn’t sure what happened in all the confusion, but he was currently with Jin and Yin, the three of them separated from the others.

They had been trying to find everyone when the twins had suddenly pushed Tang away from them. There was a loud crashing sound and the air was filled with dust.

Coughing and waving away the dust, Tang stood and looked around. As the smoke began to clear, his heart dropped at what he saw.

“Jin! Yin!”

The twins were trapped under the rubble of a partially collapsed building. Jin’s entire left side was stuck under the debris while Yin was pinned from the waist down.

Neither demon had super strength and were completely helpless. They couldn’t even fuse to escape as they were just out of reach of each other and Fusion required contact.

Tang scrambled over the torn apart street and knelt next to the groaning brothers.

“G-go get help Tang,” Jin said, teeth clenched in pain. “We’ll be fine for now.”

“I am not leaving you two here,” Tang said, looking around for anyone to help, but the street was deserted.

“Come on, we’ll be right here when you come back,” Yin said with a strained smile. “I promise we won’t get up and leave.”

Before Tang could scold him for joking, there was another distant explosion followed by a rumbling sound. The three looked up in horror as the remainder of the building began to sway.

“Shit! Tang you need to leave now!” Jin pushed against the concrete trapping him, but made no progress.

Tang’s mind raced.

None of them were strong enough to push the rubble away. He had no time to go get help before the rest of the building fell. Jin and Yin couldn’t grab each other to fuse.

But he could.

Tang reached out and snatched up the hand of each twin.

“Fuse with me!”

“What?!”

“There’s no time! Fuse with me!”

Spurred on by the urgency of his voice, the twins closed their eyes and focused. Tang did the same and the world melted into gold, silver, and yellow light.

Fusing was always an indescribable experience. Tang felt warm as he felt his body stretch out and merge seamlessly with the twins’. He had no idea which physical traits would be picked from each of them, but their appearance was the least of his worries.

When they opened their eyes, they were standing several feet away from the pile of debris, just as the building began to topple.

“Shit! Go go go,” Jin said from their shared mouth.

They quickly dashed away from the area, their much taller stature allowing them to easily outpace the collapsing structure. Their new body didn’t feel strange in any way, and their combined movements came naturally.

‘Damn, I think my legs are broken,’ Yin said in their shared mind once they paused to take a breath. ‘We’ll have to keep this up until we get to a hospital and unfuse inside.’

‘Pretty sure some rebar had stabbed into my side so ditto on that,’ Jin added.

‘That might be a problem...’ Tang’s nervousness caused their stomach to twist.

‘What does that- Oh. Huh. That’s interesting.’ Jin explored the gaps he found in Tang’ mind with curiosity. ‘Hey Yin, take a look at this.’

‘Whoa. Trippy. Haven’t seen a memory-proof seal like this in a while.’ Yin poked at the spaces gingerly, not wishing to be caught completely in its effects.

‘Look at how big it is though,’ Jin said. ‘You are much older than I thought you were Tang.’

‘No, no, no. His body is definitely only 41 years old. So that means his mind is much older.’

‘Time travel?’

‘That usually has the person physically moving through time, so I doubt it.’

‘How are you two not disoriented by this,’ Tang said as they began to move towards the sounds of the explosions.

‘Should we be?’

‘Oh, yeah, I see what you mean,’ Jin said as he found the context for Tang’s confusion.

The demon didn’t vocalize it, but he projected how he found it interesting that he could get the knowledge on Tang’s past experiences with fusions without the full picture.

‘Oof. Forcefully unfusing and being treated as untrustworthy must suck,’ Yin said.

Tang was about to ask how they were being so unconcerned about this when the context came unbidden from their minds.

Lao Tzu had placed his own memory-proof seals on the twins to prevent them from revealing his secrets. They had to deal with it every time they fused.

Along with that knowledge came the feelings of the desperate need for approval and attention from their master, but never receiving it.

Always having their ideas dismissed. Being told their work was never good enough. Belittling their reliance on one another. Outright destroying their inventions at one point.

‘What an ass,’ Tang said vehemently.

He had worked too hard across the cycles to keep MK from drowning in his insecurities. It was insulting to him that someone he had once respected for their vast knowledge would ever treat anyone like that to make them feel this way.

‘I know, right?’

‘Why do you think we left,’ Jin said.

Tang sent over the context that, while he couldn’t tell them how, he had become an accomplished magician and artificer in his own right.

‘We’re going to make him regret ever dismissing you two,’ Tang vowed.

‘You… You want to take us on as students?’

Tang’s righteous protectiveness over how small Yin had sounded shocked the twins as they felt his warmth of comfort envelope them.

‘I would be honored to have you two as students. There is no way I’d ever let my family feel like they are unwanted.’

‘Family?’

Tang let the context for that free as well as the love he felt for his family, which now included his two new students.

They had to stop walking for a moment as Jin’s and Yin’s emotions caused them to start crying. Tang made sure to keep watch from his set of eyes while they were indisposed.

The joy and appreciation they sent his way in silent thanks was returned with his own.

‘Let’s get you two to a hospital.’ They continued to move once they had composed themselves. ‘I would never forgive myself if I let my favorite students perish from a simple collapsing building.’

‘Aren’t we your only students?’

‘Oi! And what do you mean by a “simple collapsing building''? Are you saying there are other ways you’d let us perish?!’

The master and his students bickered playfully back and forth as they looked around for a hospital that had been undamaged in the attack.

Tang may not have been expecting to add the twins to his family this soon, but he knew he wouldn’t regret it. How he felt for them would live on even past the memory erasing effects of the curse.

Jin and Yin returned the sentiment a hundredfold.

----------

And thus Tang’s family grows in numbers once more! He’s almost completed the whole set by now.

Fusions are an interesting concept and there are plenty of great designs for different combinations out there. While none of them show up in this chapter, I’d like to give a shout out to @winterpower98, @smallpwbbles, @sketchquill, and @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off for their amazing fusion designs! Go check them out!

Don't worry about that bit with the mayor. It's fine.

Next chapter will be another filler! Until then!

#Ink Writes #Monkie Kid #Scattered Cicadas #Tang #Jin #Yin #Lao Tzu #Fusions #Fusion #winterpower98 #smallpwebbles #sketchquill #ninja knox ur sox off #Tang Monkie Kid #LEGO Monkie Kid

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youarejesting · 4 years ago

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Kisaeng (BTS)

[Masterlist]

Beta: @bluewhale52, @janetfraiserdeservedbetter Genre: historical, drama, adventure, comedy, feel good, slice of life (if you lived in the 1654), spy’s (espionage). Rating: Teen and up Summary: Mulan disguised as a soldier, went to war to spare her father and save china. The bangtan boys disguised as concubines, went to an all womens home and saved a small village. Words: 12154 Announcement: This is part of a reverse trope project with castle bangtan. I am happy to have made this and for everyone who helped support along the way.

Winters End 1654 Hanseong,

Today my mentor Bang Si-Hyuk taught me the history of the Qing invasion and the passing over of the Ming to Qing era. We discussed the Qing Calendar and the offerings of princesses made to King Dorgon. Bang-seodang (teacher) told me I was a child for not understanding that there was a place for everyone. Men would fight in the wars and women would stay home and bear children. He is telling me this as news has spread that we are going to war and it is only a matter of time before they call for us. But when I think of my family and my sister, I want to protect them. I don’t want to fight in the war even if it is for my country. Leaving will only put my family at risk.

Kim Namjoon.

Namjoon placed down his brush and wiped his palm of ink that sometimes smudged. With a deep sigh, Namjoon got ready collecting his satchel, and headed to the town. Namjoon arrived at the small well-frequented building. The building held all the information of the residents in town and was also a place for people to send letters. That’s where he spent most of his days reading and writing correspondence for the villagers.

He had received the earliest message about the impending war. There was only so much he could do to protect his family and he feared the coming announcement of deployment. Every available man was to go, leaving the women and children to fend for themselves. The women would have to tend the farm and care for the younglings which would only work if they stuck together.

The problem lay with the men who would be allowed to stay behind due to business, like the butchers and the barmen and anyone who would swindle or pay their way out of deployment. These men were shady and wouldn’t hesitate to exploit and hurt the women left behind unprotected.

Namjoon was in the middle of writing another love letter for one of the many present flower boys (beautiful men) within the town. Today’s letter was to someone Namjoon had written to on many occasions and yet never had the pleasure of meeting in person.

My dearest Kim Seokjin,

There is no one who can compare to your beauty. A man such as yourself would be ever so popular and have gardens of beautiful flowers for you to pick. But there is a part of me who wishes that I may be the sweet flower that you might choose. That I could be the one to make you smile. The one who can make a long day feel like it was nothing when you come home.

“How does that sound, Miss Ahn?” Namjoon looked up, his expression deadpanned. He never expected his tutor to teach him the importance of reading, writing, history, poetry and Confucius’ philosophy, only to waste it on love letters from pining women addressed to the same two young men every week.

Part of him felt sorry for the two men, but another part of him felt jealous that these two men had the entire pick of women from the town, and he was stuck with his lessons. The constant “Scholars life is one without women” Bang-seodang (teacher) preached whenever he noticed Namjoon’s eyes wander from his books out the window at the young ladies giggling.

Namjoon finished with the letters and handed them over to Hoseok, the delivery man whom he only ever saw in passing; the man was so energetic and gangly. He had an odd tone of voice but it always sounded chipper.

Namjoon had only the briefest of moments with the young man. “Here for the mail,” Hoseok called, and the letters were placed on the counter along with two coins for his hard work and he took the money and letters and headed on his way.

Hoseok took a stack of perfume scented letters from his bag and rolled his eyes. Seokjin was a popular young man, only to be outdone in recent years by Taehyung.

The things Hoseok had to go through to deliver the mail was honestly scary in itself. He found it best never to stand around too long; best to simply hand over the mail and leave.

He had a few regular customers he enjoyed spending a short time conversing with. Today he was delivering mail to the Noble Kim household. He walked in, nodding to the servants, and promptly followed the steward.

“It seems the young master has mail once more,” The steward called and Hoseok was beckoned inside. He bowed low and shuffled quickly and quietly across the room where the Kim family were having breakfast.

Hoseok knelt down and began taking out multiple letters addressed to the second son. “Father I don’t want to go to war,” Seokjin protested adamantly, slamming his rice bowl down onto the table.

“It is the way things are, how they’ve always been.”

“Why don’t they send a few girls, why do they get to sit around at home? It isn’t fair”

Hoseok had heard about the possibility of war from the postal office. Any messages to and from the city passed through himself which left him privy to important and secret information. He did feel a tad nervous for his sister and mother. He wanted to stay home to protect them, but only a few men with jobs important to the community got to stay behind, men who provided essential services like the postman. The problem was that only one could stay behind and unfortunately, it would not be Hoseok to represent the post but the old man who ran the office.

Hoseok wished he could just dress as a woman and stay behind but that was a crazy idea; men who did that were either shunned as cowards or killed. He handed over the stack of letters and moved on his way, bowing again before backing out of the room, leaving Seokjin with his hands full of letters of adoration and sickly sweet perfume.

Letters again; they each began talking about the war wishing he came back safe as if he had already left and had resigned to his fate. Those words dwelled in Seokjin’s head more and more and made him feel ill and bitter. He tried not to crease his forehead. He didn't look good when he was angry.

If only he could be a girl and laze around without a care. He would play and frolic in the gardens and he would have an easy life.

Seokjin read each letter slowly and sighed. Of course, he was handsome, and these women had their way with words. Every day, the letters became more profound and he could feel his ego rising.

Seokjin sighed once more, a growing habit for the day as he got dressed. He looked fit for a Nobleman, his hair tied in a top knot manggeon (mesh headband that stops baby hairs sticking out) preventing any hair from falling in his face. He then wore his gat (hat) with fine jade bead gatkeun (beads that hang from their hat).

He thought he looked quite smart and with his small pouch of coins around his neck, wandered from the estate. His father had ordered swords, readying for the war to come and had sent Seokjin to pick them up from the blacksmith.

Seokjin held his hands together behind his back and casually strolled through the streets, trying to keep his composure. He nodded at a group of giggling girls but his smile fell soon after he passed them. They were so lucky, they weren’t taking up arms to fight for their families. No, the women had it easy.

Amidst his fuming, he accidentally made eye contact with an old drunk man who looked him up and down and smiled crassly. Seokjin shivered in disgust. Part of him wondered if he could pass as a woman; he had a pretty enough face and perfectly plump lips.

He didn’t have much time to think as he arrived at the blacksmiths. He walked into the room and saw a shirtless young man, smithing. Beside him, an older man, presumably the man’s father, was shoveling coal into the fire.

“Jungkook, we have a customer,” the older of the two smiled at Seokjin before resuming his work.

Jungkook dropped his things and grabbed a towel, drying his chest of sweat. He headed to the wooden table by the entrance, draping his Hanbok over his chest and thin waist to appear more decent in front of the handsome nobleman.

“Good morning, Sir, what can I do for you today?” He smiled a particularly wholesome little smile, teeth a little big but endearing.

“I am here to pick up the order of swords my father ordered?” The nobleman smiled.

“Your name sir?” Jungkook sat at the desk and opened the ledger. Though Jungkook wasn’t a nobleman with extensive education, he still knew how to read and write basic words associated with smithing.

“Kim.”

“Kim, Kim, Kim...gardening tools.... no, aha the swords! Yes, sir, that will be 100 mun a piece sir.”

“I should have enough here,” he smiled, placing down a pouch that made a heavy ‘clink’ sound as it hit the wood.

Jungkook emptied the pouch and counted the coins with expertise, then handed back the change and the silk floral pouch it came in. He fetched the swords and carried them over; they were expertly made by him and his father.

“Thank you,” Jungkook smiled and began explaining in detail the care and features they added to the handcrafted metal weapon. “Three foot long single-edged, weighted and balanced”

Guiding the customer out, Jungkook handed over the two swords and held the door open for the handsome young man to crab walk from the smith’s shop. He looked completely out of place holding such dangerous weapons, and he pitied the young man. He was the son of a nobleman and would definitely be expected to set an example.

Jungkook had on many occasions sparred with his father and was able to hold his own in a sword or unarmed fight. He wondered if his father would be okay alone. He would be exempted due to his job and physical condition, but he was getting older, would he be able to work on his own without getting hurt or sick?

Scooping up the bag of tools, Jungkook told his father to take a break and that he would deliver the tools and bring back some fresh fruit from the Kim farm. He poured his father a glass of tea then left.

As Jungkook traveled through the crowd to reach the fields across town, he passed the small bar. Inside, he could hear the raucous of unsavory street merchants discussing how they were going to bribe their way out of deployment. They had plans to pay the royal officials and take over the town when all the men had left. It seemed that all they wanted to do was cause havoc to all the families and businesses, and blackmail them into paying a safety fee.

He pressed on, trying not to think about his father being exploited or worse, given his current state. While musing, he arrived at the small farmhouse on the edge of town and was greeted by a handsome young man.

“Hello, Can you hold this?” The young man smiled, handing over a large rope. Placing down the bag of tools, Jungkook gladly held the rope tightly in his palms.

Taehyung raced to the other end of the rope and secured it in both hands, he looked up with a grin before shouting, “Okay pull!”

The young man who had arrived at the farm was confused but he pulled the rope nonetheless. Taehyung pulled back and the two were suddenly in a heated tug of war.

Taehyung giggled and the young man seemed to give it his all. It was a battle of strength and the farmer’s son wasn’t particularly muscular as he very much neglected most of his farming duties for foolish games so it was only fair that the young delivery man bested him.

“Good game, you are pretty strong for someone so young,” Taehyung patted the Younger man's head before scooping up the rope.

“Isn’t this a child’s game?” Jungkook eyed the rope draped over the older man’s shoulders.

“Sometimes it helps pass the time to act a little childish, and it made you smile so you thought it was fun too right?”

“I enjoyed it, thank you for the game, I am here to deliver tools for your family.” He said now looking more serious.

“Ah yes you must be the blacksmith, you look like a blacksmith. All work, no fun.” Taehyung tapped the younger man’s nose before turning with a flourish, humming as he went, beckoning the smith to follow.

“I have to work to take care of my father,” He pouted, Taehyung enjoyed the boy's childish nature, the two could definitely get up to some mischief.

“My name is Taehyung,” He smiled, gesturing to the large box in the shed and removing a small pouch of coins from his satchel.

“Jungkook,” He sighed, placing the tools down and gratefully accepting the money.

“What are you going to spend it on, sweets?”

“Uh, it's for my father's medicine,” Jungkook laughed, making Taehyung feel a little sorry for the kid, he was so young and yet working so hard already.

Taehyung with his unwavering curiosity decided to tail the boy once they parted, not trying to be discreet, just walking a few paces behind and whenever the boy turned, Taehyung gave him a smile and wave. Lost in thought for a moment, Taehyung didn’t take notice of the boy in front of him until they were colliding, fumbling with the empty porcelain soju bottles.

As Jimin fell, he pulled each bottle to his chest and held them; though the impact was quite jarring, the bottles were safe. Jimin lived with his grandparents and they ran a business selling rice wine which was popular but didn’t make them a lot of money. They couldn’t afford to replace any new bottles.

It was his job to deliver the full bottles to the bar and bring back the empty ones. If any bottles were broken, the bar would pay for replacements. That was the rule, but if they were broken during delivery, the money came out of his family’s pocket.

“I am sorry,” the man who had run into him was polite and gentle, helping Jimin to his feet and dusting him off, “Let me help you carry some of those, I promise I will look where I am going.”

“Thank you for the offer, you can carry this half” He offloaded a few from his arms.

“I am Taehyung by the way, who are you?”

“Oh, I am Jimin,” he smiled, thankful for the help. The two journeyed through the vendors until they arrived at Jimin’s family business, “Gran, I have a friend who helped me,” Jimin called.

“Oh let me see him! Oh he is quite the looker, Jimin, if only you were a girl, what is the use of you being so pretty if you can’t lure in handsome young men,” she joked playfully, this was their running joke that Jimin was so pretty.

“I can lure in handsome men just fine, see if I was a girl I would have too many suitors. I wouldn’t be able to pick,” Jimin laughed.

“If you were a girl then you wouldn’t have to go to war.” Jimin’s heart sank knowing his grandmother really didn’t want to see him leave.

“That would be one way to get out of the army,” Taehyung laughed and Jimin’s grandmother handed him a plate of rice cakes. The two boys wolfed them down happily, bonding over their love of sweets and games.

Taehyung left and Jimin was getting ready to close up shop; he lifted a large porcelain vase of Soju and carried it over to the butchers. The butchers were not the nicest of people; they were affiliated with the outlaws, the ones Jimin heard talking about taking over the city when the men left for war.

“Yah!” Yoongi called, seeing the graceful form of Jimin from the top floor of the liquor store. “Jiminie.”

“Hey Yoongi, I am here to trade.” Jimin smiled up at him and he nodded, coming down.

“Alright, dad’s got your meat pack ready, it's all freshly cut.” Yoongi handed over the basket.

“Have you been preparing for deployment?” Jimin asked him, it seemed the secret war was not so secret as it was all everyone was talking about. The boy always meant well, this innocent question asked by anyone else would not have ended so well.

“I am not going, Jimin, my dad has bribed the officials trying to get as many men as possible to stay behind so that they can take over the town. there isn’t much resistance when the only people left are the elderly, the women, and the children.”

“You should think about staying too, maybe I can convince my father not to threaten your family and their shop.”

“I can’t; it’s punishable by death if you try to avoid your duty.” Jimin sighed, “Gran thinks I should just dress up as a lady and stay behind and protect my family.”

“You could definitely get by as a lady, you would just have to work on a few things,” Yoongi hummed looking him up and down. He eyed Jimin up and down wondering if Jimin could really do it, lie to the officials, and say he was a girl.

He would have to stay in the Kisaeng house; he couldn’t stay with his grandparents, because if he was found out they would all be killed. Perhaps Yoongi was thinking too far into this, but he really did like Jimin. He was the only person who knew who he was and yet still wanted to be his friend.

“Maybe that might be an option, I don’t know how my grandparents will do on their own being so old; the shop barely makes enough money for food as it is.”

“Look, if you can’t stay, I could try my best but it’s alcohol, and you know these men love to drink,” Yoongi said honestly, “they will probably go through all the supplies in a week and everyone else will struggle.”

Yoongi sighed, watching the boy leave looking rather forlorn; perhaps he shouldn’t have told him.

Spring 1654 Hanseong,

Today, I, Kim Namjoon, have done something stupid. I dressed as a girl but it seems like I wasn’t the only one. Five other idiotic bamboo shoots have no clue what they are doing. Stepping foot into the kisaeng house was taboo, only women and eunuchs were allowed entrance. But the officials have been bought out by the corrupt street merchants, the kind who plan to take whatever women and land they see fit. We are all honestly praying for a miracle, that no one will find out we are men, some are better at hiding it than others. We will see.

Kim Namjoon

Namjoon was rudely awoken by the call of war. He guessed today was the day. He dressed slowly, in no hurry to give his life away. Departing his room with little thoughts of breakfast, Namjoon heard the soft sniffles from his sister who was mournfully packing. There was not enough room for all the beautiful dresses so she had left many behind.

He wanted nothing more than to stay, if only to protect his sister in their own home and let her keep her luxuries of dresses and books.

Namjoon knew women were not allowed to read or write but he made time every day teaching his younger sister or letting her sit in on lessons when father was away working in the palace.

Namjoon hugged his sister, trying to comfort her as well as to calm his nerves. “Do you need me to walk you home, I can carry your bag?” He said trying so hard to prolong the moment.

“No brother it is okay,” she paused. “You are going to come back, you're smarter than any of the men out there. You’ll return, I know it.”

She scooped up her bag and left the house, waving from the front gate. Namjoon was sure he wouldn’t get away with his plan. But he packed a few of his sister’s bigger dresses, hoping they would cover him entirely. He grabbed a subtle pink chima (skirt) and sky blue jeogori (jacket), looking at the two items, they honestly looked complicated but he knew logically which items went where.

Namjoon did his best stripping from his masculine clothes and getting to work. He wrapped his chest and followed the order he believed for the under skirts and silks. Once fitted, he was exhausted; wrestling fabric wasn’t easy. He didn’t want to be late or leave room for doubt, so he settled for a simple braid.

He followed behind his younger sister, by a few yards, trying to mimic her walk and mannerisms, hoping that he could pass as a girl. He ducked past some officials keeping his head low until he saw the beautiful residence. A collection of young girls were already lining up with their belongings.

As fathers and brothers were going to war, some children were left without parents. This meant the children were rehomed into other families. The young women old enough were left in the kisaeng house (home for courtesan), where girls were taught how to be wives before they were sent to the matchmakers.

Hoseok had secretly been stealing his sister's clothes, trying to perfect her style of makeup. The two had such similar feminine features, the only difference was Hoseok’s athletic body. It wasn’t hard for him to slowly get the hang of her makeup and hair routines. Honestly, Hoseok thought he had a real knack for braiding hair.

He tried to round out his lean build with some makeshift breasts, but he couldn’t get them the same size; that and they had a tendency to slip. He had his chest wrap on but it was too loose around his chest and the fact he didn’t have boobs made the whole thing shift and the rice pouches he had slipped right out.

He deemed himself ready, heading out towards the kisaeng house with his coin purse on his hip. Lining up, he couldn’t help but blanch at the poor excuse of a woman standing in front of him.

Her hair was not at all perfect like his, but he seemed similarly dressed. Hoseok looked down at his own green jeogori and red chima, for a brief moment he wondered what the young girl was going through. Her family must be torn apart by the war; without a second thought, he tapped the tall woman on the shoulder, only to be greeted by Namjoon, who he recognized from their brief encounters at the postal office.

Almost revealing their identity, Hoseok covered his mouth. As the officials passed by, the two disguised men bowed politely behind their fans. The stuffing in Hoseok’s chest wrap slipped to his waist making his chest obviously lopsided. Namjoon’s face contorted in an attempt to keep his composure.

Hoseok’s laugh came out uncharacteristically deep but he remembered why he was laughing, he was trying to appear feminine. Turning his body away, he faced Namjoon, “Let me fix your hair, sweetie, you must have been upset having to see your brother leave.”

“Ah thank you,” Namjoon said with a sweet soft voice. The two turned away from the officials so that Hoseok could fix his breast dilemma and also tame Namjoon’s hair before the two of them were found out as fakes. After doing a beautiful updo where Hoseok added one of his spare combs for decoration, he turned Namjoon to face him in order to add a little makeup from his floral coin purse.

Seokjin felt betrayed by his family; his father lied about the three of them going to war. It seemed as a Nobleman he was exempt, and as his older brother was the firstborn he was also exempt in order to carry on the family name.

Seokjin however was the spare son. This meant he was expendable. He was begrudgingly on his way to the front gate of town ready to hand over his ID and his life to some stupid war when he heard the uncharacteristic masculine giggles from the line of young women waiting to spend their days pouring tea and strolling through town while he trekked the countryside and fought for his life and theirs.

He followed the sound, eyes catching on two rather tall figures, and it didn’t take long to recognize Hoseok’s face. He couldn’t forget the face of his mailman and he had to admit it was a bit of a feat that he and the rather tall looking young man were both trying to pass as young women. Seokjin looked down at the sword on his waist and contemplated seriously about joining the two.

He caught sight of a beautiful silk chima in a brilliant dusty rose color, he leaned over the counter, “Excuse me, ma’am, I would like to buy this beautiful set for my sister before I leave.” He exchanged some of his coins making sure he had enough for what he had planned. He threw in a veil as well, not to cover his beautiful face but to offer to the taller man he saw with Hoseok, whose jawline was just a little too masculine.

Seokjin got dressed behind the postal office; he stepped out once more making sure to cut in line in front of Hoseok. Seokjin offered the tall man ahead of him the pretty lace veil which matched his outfit. “For your jawline, it is too prominent you must appear more dainty,” Seokjin muttered with a swish of his skirt. He was thankful he hadn’t fallen on his face with how much fabric encircled him.

The tall man took the offered fabric wrapping it around his face only to have Seokjin swat his hands away, “You are hopeless.”

“Ah Namjoon, this is Seokjin,” Hoseok gestured between the two.

The boys spent a few moments brainstorming new names and identities, in order to really get into character.

It didn’t take long for the three to reach the front of the line; they had taken to preening each other, trying to help one another appear more feminine. Seokjin almost anticipated Namsoon’s refusal but when he wasn’t pushed out, it was Seokjin’s turn. Stepping inside, he was met by a woman dressed in a brilliant dark grey chima and orange Jeogori. Her eyes had a sharp glint. The smirk on her face was prominent as she brushed her small fingers across her chin. “What brings you to my home, young lady?”

Jungkook was camping a few paces into the tree line behind the blacksmiths. He hoped he could look after his father and not get caught for staying home. He saw the officials handing out exemption passes and he knew he couldn’t leave. Not when the enemy had such large numbers behind them.

Jungkook went hunting, he didn’t want to bother his father by being an extra burden on their small supply of food. Catching something significant for dinner, Jungkook did his best to prepare the meat and then cooked it over a small fire.

The shadows crawled across the ground as the sun bowed behind the hills. Jungkook wondered if life could be this easy without wars and evil, if there could be harmony and peace one day.

Jungkook heard a commotion in town and frowned, going to the edge of the forest to listen. “The King has heard people have paid their way out of deployment, anyone caught will be sentenced to death. Come forward now and you will be spared and sent off with your fellow men.” The man read from the scroll, looking about the village. “We will now commence inspecting every household”

A few men stepped forward, walking to the front gate and signing their deployment. A few retreated and were cut down by the bite of the swords from the royal guards. There was running coming from his left and a small figure spoke quickly; “Run, the guards are coming”

Jungkook followed after the thin figure and the two stopped at the nearest window and climbed in. They were caught by a young woman dressed regally in orange, grey, and gold, “Good evening, can I help you?”

“Uh… we um?” Jungkook was embarrassed.

“I will happily help two young ladies such as yourself, but, you will have to dress quickly if you wish to make dinner”

Ladies? Dress for dinner? Jungkook was confused, the sound of the royal guard growing louder as they searched for any men hiding from their duties. He looked up at the woman catching her eye, she smirked knowingly.

“You wouldn’t want the guards catching you underdressed now would you?” He realized then that she was offering them refuge.

The two nodded, taking the clothes thrown in their direction, rushing to dress. The woman helped tie their jeogori before leading them out to the Sigdang (dining hall). She led them to a table filled with some other strange looking ladies, some of which Jungkook could have sworn were in disguise as well. Was that Taehyung?

Taehyung smiled seeing the two new additions to their group. He recognized the blacksmith anywhere and smiled trying to get the young man’s attention. Giggling when he did just that, Taehyung hadn’t spoken with Jungkook for long the day they met but he knew those wide curious eyes. They looked just as confused when Taehyung handed him a rope that afternoon by his family's farmhouse.

The woman was in on it, when Jimin and Taehyung came up with the idea, they didn’t expect Jimin’s Gran to not only hear their plan but also support it. She went out of her way to speak with the woman known as Hojang (head of house).

The bargain was to take in the two gentlemen who would protect the women and to provide free wine for the building next door. Kisaeng was a place where women could stay and learn all the things a woman should know before marriage.

Next door, however, was the tea house, at least during the day. At night it was filled with men, mostly guards and officials who would drink and dabble with opioids in the company of fine young women.

These women were not forced to be there, but those who chose to be would leave with their coin purses filled. Some of the money was used to fund the house, and the rest was pocket money they could spend on new silks and anything else they desired.

Taehyung learned quite a lot about this during the days leading up to the deployment. The Hojang held such a big presence; she moved with grace and did business with the best.

Jimin’s Gran had painstakingly obtained the silk and hand made clothes tailored to her grandson’s and Taehyung’s bodies. She also taught them how to sit, stand, walk and dress like a lady. The two were doing rather well but the hojang scrutinized every little detail that they should work on in her home.

Taehyung could see she expected nothing less than perfection from her girls and she wouldn’t make an exception for them. She would make proper ladies out of them if it took everything she had, and perhaps a little more.

Gran had always taught Jimin things that she loved herself. Jimin remembered dancing with his gran every afternoon, when he was young, the two would hold beautiful fans and perform. Jimin would do anything to make his gran happy.

The Hojang picked up on this early, pleased with his form but it didn’t last long when he opened his mouth. Though his voice was sweet, the words and drawl were masculine and crass.

Jimin was surprised when Taehyung and himself were joined by more young men in dresses. He didn’t think anyone else would have the guts or the stupidity to join the house. He tried to fight the smirk that stretched across his face when he saw the three young men sitting across the table.

The Hojang had laid out the rules that they had to obey while living in her house: they were not to touch any of the women, they were to share a room by themselves, they were to only refer to themselves as their female alter egos, and they were to act like graceful ladies at all times.

Jimin greeted the newcomers. “My name is Park Jimin” He smiled sweetly. He was glad his name was widely used by both girls and boys or he would have to remember something else.

“Namsoon,” the tallest smiled, holding out a large hand to shake but immediately retracted it with a small shy smile. ‘Definitely a boy.’ Jimin thought.

“Seojin,” the broad shoulders were giving Jimin mixed thoughts. However, no matter if they were a female or male, Jimin knew this person was beautiful.

“Hye-Seong,” a cute voice said, surprising Jimin. The voice was a little nasally but it belonged to a man none-the-less. The group turned to the two newcomers dressed in beautiful silks and ribbons, their hair braided down their backs.

“Yoonji” A familiar deep drawl spoke, making Jimin drop his chopsticks looking over at him shocked. Jimin looked Yoongi over, seeing that the young man actually made a rather beautiful woman, he almost felt himself blush.

“My name is uh… Jeong-suk” Jimin found it almost laughable.‘Jeongsuk’s build was almost unbearably muscular in the outfit, it wasn’t fitted to him at all. He looked like he was an overloaded dumpling the way the fabric worked over-time to conceal him.

“Hi, My name is Taeyeon, it is nice to meet everyone” Jimin laughed at how deep Taehyung’s voice sounded before he lifted the pitch.

Yoongi couldn’t believe his father talked him into staying only to have it backfire. Yoongi thought finally he would be able to get away from his father and the immoral activities he orchestrated.

Now he was pretending to be a woman, this was probably the biggest disrespect he could have ever felt. He almost wanted to walk out onto the streets and hand himself in. He would take death over the humiliation.

“Alright ladies everyone at your table will be sleeping in your quarters, the token on your table is the room color you will be staying in,” Hojang clapped her hands. Yoongi looked at the token on the table and Jimin lifted it for all the occupants to see the Yellow wooden piece “I would like you all to bathe and get to bed as quickly as you can, as we have lessons tomorrow. And I will not have any giggling or you will be eating bean soup for the whole week.”

The girls obeyed the Hojang’s instruction and started filling out. Yoongi watched in amusement at the kid he had met in the forest leaning away practically in fear of the women passing by.

“I would like the yellow table to please stay behind.” The Hojang announced.

Yoongi sighed, wondering what this woman had to say to him and his new friends. Once the room was empty, the Hojang addressed them.

“I am happy to house you all, but you will follow my rules and I will teach you what you need to know. I will have you getting men to empty their pockets and you won’t have to do anything more than throwing them a coy smile.” Humming, the Hojang looked at them all over, eyes settling on Yoongi’s making him feel vulnerable.

“I can see who has good intentions, and I can see who thinks that women have it easy. I will show you what it means to be a woman, the struggles you will face.” She gestured the group to stand. Yoongi struggled, trying to get up as he was stepping on his skirt. He really tried to correct himself, but it was too late the fabric under his foot tore. The Hojang sent a disappointed and disapproving glare.

“Miss Namsoon, your sister is here, I have warned her to not refer to you as her brother nor Namjoon. I have told her if anyone finds out you are men, you will be killed. Your room is secluded across the courtyard and has its own private hot spring. So please bathe there and nowhere else. If I find out you are perving on my girls, I will turn you into eunuchs.”

Yoongi swallowed audibly. He felt respect for this woman. But he was also scared of her.

Summer 1654 Hanseong,

The past three moon cycles have been particularly painful. I have seen so much and started to really appreciate what women have to go through, if only from the first lesson that left us all so exhausted. The list of expectations of a woman before she could even be considered for marriage is frightful. The Hojang confiscated my books and ceased my ability to speak freely. My mentor explained Confucius’ teachings on how important it is to speak your mind and be true to yourself. But the first lesson from Hojang was not the same. I am proud to say I have grown, I now truly see how important words are.

Kim Namjoon

The day began with cleaning their sleeping quarters and heading to the sigdang, where they were to cook their own meals as was expected of wives (unless of course, they were wives of noblemen who had servants). Namjoon looked at the ingredients rather unsurely, he had no idea what one was supposed to do with them.

He was a smart guy, he knew what everything was and how it ended up together, but the process in between wasn’t something he was familiar with. He saw Jimin take the rice and begin washing it without instruction. Jimin explained his family worked with rice for their business, making rice wine and that his gran was particularly fond of rice cakes.

“Why do you wash the rice?” Seo-jin curiously asked, Namjoon turned and watched the younger man work confidently with the ingredients.

“To make it fluffy,” he smiled, “you have to wash the rice to get the frothy stuff off the top of the water.”

The Hojang had invited a wholesome old woman for the cooking class; her small plump figure held such a firecracker personality. She spoke so lively and made the whole lesson amusing.

“Now chop them into half-moons,” the woman smiled. “Be careful of your fingers, curl your hand into almost a fist and hold the knife against the back of your knuckles to prevent slipping and losing a finger.” Namjoon was trying to follow the instruction, but he heard an exasperated sigh from Yoonji.

“Stop, let me.” It was impressive how Yoonji’s hands moved so quickly and precisely while cutting the vegetables.

Namjoon knew at this moment cooking wasn’t for him but judging by the wonder in Seojin’s eyes, it resonated more with him. Taking his notebook out, Namjoon thought it best to write down the instructions the woman was giving on cooking so that he might be able to learn and practice.

The Hojang had other plans, taking the book from his hands and leaning down. “Ladies shouldn’t burden themselves with reading and writing,” her words were bitter through the clenched teeth of a forced smile. She clearly didn’t believe what she was saying as she herself could read and write.

Namjoon realized that this was a privilege only for the king, the nobleman, the officials, and scholars. Namjoon realized that he had yet to meet a female scholar.

The house had been given some free time from the grueling lessons. Honestly, if Hoseok had to pour tea again and have the Hojang smack his elbows with the thin bamboo stick whenever they stuck out too far, he would rip his hair out. On top of that, it was frustrating not to be able to speak out and stand up for himself without getting another sharp tap across his hand.

The boys had all sat in the room that night discussing how the Hojang was abusing them for her own pleasure. “It has to be to get back at us for being male and suppressing her.”

The chance to be free was something important to Hoseok. He was a mailman for a reason, and that reason was to move when and where he wanted to, never be tied down and confined to one place.

Being held up in the kisaeng house was making Hoseok restless, so during this free time, there was nothing that could stop him from racing out from the cage he was supposed to call home. Taking to the streets, it was market day and vendors and merchants were in the town square selling anything and everything he could think of and more. With his coin purse on his hip, he began walking with a practiced giggle.

He almost resented the persona he was to live with, enforced by the hojang. Perhaps it was just because he was thinking of the woman, but Hoseok could swear he felt her gaze. Looking over his shoulder there she was standing on the front porch, parasol in hand, staring directly at him, as if to mentally remind him of the damned curfew.

Could that woman relax at all? Could she just learn to chill and have some fun for once? Hoseok huffed; some fun would probably make her less cranky, but he couldn’t see her acting nicer, that in itself was a scary thought.

Hoseok went past his home and saw both his sister and mother outside playing with the children they took in after he had left. He smiled; they looked happy and healthy and that was reassuring. ‘Perhaps I was worried for nothing.’

As he was heading back, he started wondering if he should have gone to war and defended his country. He shook his head; it was too late now, he had to accept his fate no matter how grueling it got.

Scuffing his feet on the way back to the town square, a sly smile creeping across his face at the thought of the scolding he would receive for doing something unladylike, like walking ungracefully.

“I have to get back, the Hojang will be expecting me.” A small feminine voice spoke, so timid and laced with fear. Hoseok looked down the small lane to see some of the young ladies from the kisaeng house cornered by a much larger group of royal guards.

Hoseok paused, looking on wondering if they were trying what he thought they would do. He didn’t have to wait long to confirm that yes, in fact, they were. He stepped closer. “Ladies, we all have to head home now. We can’t keep the Hojang waiting,” Hoseok said a little cutely.

“We are just talking, come join us,” one of the guards said. “The more the merrier.”

Hoseok was guided over, he would have smacked away the guard’s hand on his lower back but it would reveal his identity.

He tried to squirm from the older man’s grasp. He smelt like alcohol. Amongst the women was Seojin, standing there looking concerned as he was eyed by the plethora of strong men.

Seokjin looked at Hye-Seong, he didn’t know why but he was tense. On a regular day, he was always unbothered, he was taught that as a nobleman there should be nothing he feared, not even death.

Why did he feel so vulnerable? This was so unlike him. It was like he couldn’t say or do anything as one of the men pointed out how ‘cute’ he was while sliding his hand down Seokjin’s back.

He felt a sense of dread, he honestly had never felt so scared in his life. Scared of what these men might do to him, what they might do when they found out. He was spared from any horrors he could think of when he heard a familiar voice, one that he usually cowered under.

There she was, the hojang. She slowly closed her parasol and fastened it shut with a ribbon, before looking at the girls. “Head back home and you can start the dinner preparations early,” she smiled reassuringly.

Hye-Seong gestured for the girls to go and Seokjin took a moment trying to muster the courage to leave. “Seojin, head back.” A soft hand landed on his broad shoulder, the Hojang was smaller than him and Seokjin had no idea how strong she was but she looked at him and he knew nothing could hurt him.

Walking away he looked back and felt a swell of admiration for the woman who didn’t bow in front of the palace officials. They stepped forward and he felt scared once more, she did in fact look smaller in front of them despite never faltering.

Seokjin and Hoseok waited behind the Hojang, the two floundering on whether to go for help or to stand in her place. Suddenly, three figures barged past Seokjin with determination. Jimin, Yoonji, and Jeong-suk were all shoulders and fists stepping in front of the Hojang.

“Ya, you have a problem?” Jimin’s voice was sweet and yet laced heavy with warning. It took the men by surprise as Jimin moved like he was dancing but ended up driving one of the men’s faces into the ground. Still, with his sweet expression, he said with a sense of finality, “We will be going home now.”

It took a long time for Jungkook to get used to having people around his age constantly in his presence. He never had any big brother figures, it was just him and his father and they mostly worked in the shop. Of course, Jungkook’s father taught him many important life lessons, and he was thankful for them.

There was just something that grew in Jungkook like he had been locked up in his mind when he was working in the blacksmiths. It took a long time but eventually, Jungkook felt his shell break, and all his thoughts and feelings could be let out and expressed.

Nurtured by the open and honest environment in the kisaeng, he found himself no longer hiding away from the women, but instead connecting with them. Jungkook always took laundry duty for his sleeping quarter; he loved the smell of the clean fabrics and he also enjoyed the time with the women by the stream.

One would start singing to pass the time and the others would join in, they each made songs and they would sing it a few times until it felt right. Of course, Jungkook had his favorites and he would sing them as he strolled around the enclosed gardens.

Just one day, if I can be with you, Just one day, if I can hold your hands, Just one day, if I can be with you Just one day, just one day If only we can be together

For some, it was easy to adjust to the new way of life, for Taehyung it was not, with an abundance of energy he tried his best to expel it all. At first, he found a ball, and he and Jimin went outside to kick it around but were scolded by the Hojang who said “Women shouldn’t be seen doing anything masculine,” and apparently that included running around, playing sports, or just anything Taehyung deemed fun.

It wasn’t for lack of trying; Taehyung would find a new activity and a new area in the house or in the inner courtyard. He would barely set up or have a few moments of fun before he heard the voice that haunted him even in his dreams.

“Taeyeon, follow me,” Taehyung sighed, dropping the small ball he had been kicking between him and some of the young girls, perhaps he was a bit of a bad influence. He walked slowly after the Hojang. Mentally cursing her and stepping quickly in an effort to step on the back of her skirt so she would trip but she was too quick.

She led him into a small room he hadn’t seen before and he got nervous; was he being punished for disobeying the rules? He eyed the bamboo cane in her hand while she moved about the room and made up two desks. She placed a sweet flower arrangement on one and a stiff parchment pinned to a board on the other.

“Sit and watch, and then I will let you have a go. I promise you will have fun.” She explained how to grind the dyes and how to mix them perfectly before she began painting the flowers within the vase.

Taehyung was fascinated by the way the picture came to life, although there was a moment of confusion and doubt before it all came together. She spoke slowly, describing her technique. “You will develop your own technique that will feel right to you. Feel free to come here often and practice, let out your energy.”

“I can?” He seemed excited.

“A lady can do dainty activities, ones that are seen as beautiful and feminine.” She said softly.

“Why do you have so many rules?” He blurted out and winced, ready for a scolding but only felt a soft pat on his head.

“They aren’t my rules, no man will marry these ladies if they don’t meet these basic standards. Ask any man who they want to marry; they want someone who cooks and cleans, who doesn’t speak too much and is beautiful and feminine.” She sighed, “I would teach them how to read and write, but they are not expected to. I would teach them to fight and protect themselves but then they will not be seen as desirable young flowers, they would have too many thorns.”

Taehyung nodded slowly, and following the Hojang’s directions, began setting up his paints and parchment. He was allowed to paint whatever he wished. When he was done he frowned. “It doesn’t look nice.”

“What do you mean? Look at the depth you created here, you have such a good style, Taeyeon. Keep drawing until you grow comfortable and like what you have painted, but I will keep this one. Your first painting is precious.” She began to leave, “Don’t stay up too long, you have more lessons tomorrow.”

“Miss Hojang, I have a question?” Taehyung's voice was soft and curious as he turned away from the canvas. “If you could do anything that you ever wanted, what would it be?”

“Goodnight Taehyung,” she gave a small chuckle, smiling for the first time since Taehyung met her, and his opinion changed at that moment. She wasn’t as evil as he first thought.

It wasn’t long until Taehyung had told the whole group about the hojang; how she was actually a really considerate woman, who had nothing but good intentions for the girls she was protecting.

The boys talked about how the expectations were so unfair, that the girls should learn how to protect themselves and they should be educated. “I wish I could just teach them how to defend themselves,” Jimin hummed. “I learned from a young age how to fight, I could definitely show them some things.”

“I could teach them how to read and write, you could teach them how to fight,” The idea sparked inside Namsoon, they headed off to the hojang to present the idea, who agreed to their proposal.

Jimin led the class through the stretches thanking the girls for their cooperation, he had been teaching for two months and the girls were getting rather good. They really loved these new classes, they were so unlike what they were used to. It was hard for Jimin to teach his class in a dress but he made it work. Jimin had never felt prouder when he heard of stories of the ladies in the tea house defending themselves and others against rowdy patrons.

He also helped Hye-Seong with his dance practice, it seemed he really liked the class. Hyeseong mentioned to Jimin after their first dance class how he had never felt freer in his life, and after a few more, Hyeseong was moving his body freely to the music.

Jimin loved the idea that his friends enjoyed things that could be considered feminine, just like the things he liked. Maybe he wasn’t odd for liking dancing if his friends enjoyed art and simple house chores and cooking.

Yoongi had snuck out to speak with his father not because he particularly cared for the man, but he just knew his father would be angry if he didn’t report to him. He was climbing over the fence when he heard a cough behind him. “Yoonji where are you going?” Jeongsuk asked in a tiny voice.

“I have to see my father,” he spoke softly, trying not to wake anyone else up, “You should go back to bed.”

“I will come with you,” Jeongsuk smiled, climbing over the fence with Yoongi who sighed. The two walked along the dirt road until they arrived at the butchers.

“Wait here, Jeongsuk,” Yoongi spoke seriously, and quietly gestured to the spot just outside the lights of the street lamps. “I will be back.”

“My name is Jungkook,” He grabbed the sleeve of Yoongi’s jeogori before he pulled it off and helped him change into his masculine clothes and tied his hair up. “I know we aren’t supposed to tell each other our names but I need to say it, I need to feel like me for a little bit.”

“Yoongi,” he patted the younger boy's head, “Stay here Jungkook.”

He walked inside, nervous to see his father, and to hear what he would say. Meeting his father’s gaze across the room of laughing drunk men, his father stood up looking as harsh as always. “Where did you run off to?”

“The officials came, they were killing everyone, I just went off for a bit until they lost me.”

“Where have you been, you look awfully clean.” A slur drew Yoongi’s eyes from his father. Yoongi knew he would have to answer truthfully or he would be found out and beaten.

“I was hiding at the Kisaeng house,” he sighed.

“At the kisaeng house?” his father said. “What, are you pretending to be a girl?”

“Yes, I am,” he said, ears a little pink, and perhaps he should have just taken the beating.

“No son of mine is dressing as a woman!” His father shooed Yoongi, his hand pointing to the door. “Get out, I didn’t raise you to become a whore.”

“I only used it as a place to hide, I am back now.” Yoongi sighed nonchalantly, trying to get his father to calm down.

“If you don’t get out, I will kick your ass,” his father said, taking long strides until he was towering over his son. “I didn’t raise you for twenty-six years only to have you acting like some delicate flower. You always looked too much like your mother.” He raised his hand to hit Yoongi. Without flinching or shying away Yoongi waited for impact but it never came. A hand had clasped around his father's wrist.

“Hey, let’s just go back,” Jungkook said, letting go of the butcher’s hand then towing a struggling Yoongi behind him.

“Let me go,” Yoongi hissed as they were walking back to the house. “He was right, I am a disgrace, why am I prancing around in dresses when I am a man?”

“NO!” Jungkook grabbed the older man, thankful that he was stronger. “If there is one thing I have learned about my stay here, it is that women aren’t weak, they aren’t to be looked down on.”

“Good for you, I don’t need this disrespect.”

“Why do you care so much about what your father and those bad men think, you know they are scum. You aren’t, Yoongi. You left and you are a good person,” Jungkook protested.

“Did you not see what was on the tables?” Jungkook said. “Land deeds, they are strong-arming women and children from their homes, taking ownership of land that isn’t theirs. We must use what we have to our advantage.”

“What do we have, dancing and the ability to pour drinks for men.”

“I don’t know but if we don’t do something, your father and those men will only make things worse, you have nowhere else to go.”

How Jungkook got Yoongi to come back with him he would never know but he was thankful he did. As the two climbed over the wall to the kisaeng house, they were unaware of a pair of eyes watching them.

Summers End 1654 Hanseong,

Things have gotten worse. The officials have suspected someone in the kisaeng house is a man, it won’t be long before they send someone to investigate. We are trying to figure out how we can hide them and their extra appendages, but the situation doesn’t seem very hopeful. If things keep going the way they are, the town will become slaves to the merchants and no woman or child will be safe from their wrath.

Yeong-hui (Hojang of the Kisaeng house)

There was an abrupt knock at the door, startling the Hojang. She sat up and began dressing, as a woman should never be seen underdressed, then she opened the door. The steward bowed low before relaying a message. “There are officials at the front gate, asking to enter the premise.”

Yeong-hui didn’t waste any time. Tying her hair as she walked, looking regal as always, she stopped at the front gate and signaled for the doors to be opened.

“Miss Yeong-hui, we have heard multiple rumors that the Kisaeng house is harboring a fugitive from war—” one of the officials started.

“I will stop you right there,” Yeong-hui interrupted. “You have the right to search the property only when my girls have woken and dressed appropriately. It is perverse for you to even insinuate that I would allow you to enter while they are sleeping. You shall be allowed entry in when the sunlight reaches the Jing (gong) in the town center.”

Yeong-hui gestured behind them to the Jing and the man went to argue.

“No exceptions. Cooperate, or when you find there is no fugitive within these walls that you have barged into for nothing more than a story,” she eyed their Baji (lower part of a man’s hanbok), “well then I guess I could use a few more eunuch’s to help with chores now, don’t I?”

The men squirmed and the man leading the search party faltered.

“I would also like to see the confirmation letter from the king as I want proof you are allowed to step foot into my home,” Yeong-Hui added.

“Fine, we will get permission from the King. We will return at the specified time and nothing will stop us searching the premise and the ‘girls’ within the walls,” the leader of the search squad huffed before steering his men away from the front gate.

Yeong-hui headed inside, waking the young women early. She raced to the secluded sleeping quarters where the boys were staying. She saw them all sleeping haphazardly and smiled fondly.

She saw Taehyung wrapped around Namjoon, he was upside down on the older boy's futon hugging his calves, his face pressed between the scholar's ankles. Jungkook had his torso draped over Hoseok’s legs and his foot dangerously close to Seokjin’s face. Jimin’s head was on the eldest’s wide shoulders and even though Yoongi was the first away his pale thin arm stretched across the futon and was sweetly held in Jimin’s grasp.

They had all grown so much and had learned important life lessons that she was happy to be a part of their growth.

Without a moment longer, she woke the boys with a clap and a call. “Ladies, it is time to get up, the officials are sending a search party to find any man hidden within the kisaeng house.” She said, and what happened next was like a flash of lightning before the deep rumble of thunder. The boys jolted out of their beds, then a barrage of young girls burst through the doors, clutching bags of makeup, hair accessories, and armsful of fabric.

“You have to get up and get ready, the officials are coming!” Some of the ladies shouted, helping the men get dressed without batting an eyelash, ignoring the fact that they were all practically shirtless. Yeong-hui smiled softly, it seemed she had underestimated the ladies, how they had found out about the boys, and even took care of them.

It was pleasant to see them all coming together. If only they could change the way men and women interacted, if only they could show women were more intelligent and stronger than they were perceived to be.

The Kisaeng house started breakfast early. Yeong-hui explained that she would have the girls present themselves to the officials one by one and each of the boys would be placed randomly in between the girls. It would draw too much attention if the odd-looking ladies were to meet the officials one after another.

The officials came and started their interrogation. After the first group of girls was individually interviewed and scrutinized, Seokjin headed inside. If anyone could pass, it would be him. The Hojang smiled, sitting on a magnificent seat at the head of the table while the officials were off to the side, on less elaborate cushions.

“This is the beautiful Seojin, she has become the best cook in the house,” Yeong-hui smiled, and the officials blushed when Seojin blew them a kiss after taking a seat gracefully.

“Alright, next” the official stuttered after receiving a wink. Seokjin had passed.

After the next group of girls, Jimin walked into the room. As his long elegant legs strode in, there was a presence around him that made all the officials tense. He moved with allure and as he sat in perfect posture, the sleeve of his Jeogori slipped revealing a dainty shoulder and sensual clavicle.

The officials were sweating profusely, shifting in their seats. “This is Jimin, she is a dancer would you like to see?” The Hojang gestured for Jimin to begin, and Jimin started moving slowly with a delicate wave of the fan.

The officials were quick to decide and Jimin raced off smiling coyly. Another group passed and this time Hoseok came in, acting cute and charming the men. Yoongi’s turn then came, and his small frame and soft features helped him pass. When it came to Taehyung, he gave the officials his powerful gaze and devilishly said, “I can show you that I am a woman, if you want,” while playing with the hem of his skirt.

Yeong-hui was almost in stitches; something about the way these boys shamelessly flirted for their freedom had her choking back her laughter. Namjoon stepped in wearing a soft veil. “Miss Namsoon is quite a shy girl but she loves when some of the visitors to the tea house read to her.”

“Men such as yourselves would be ever so popular and have gardens of beautiful flowers for you to pick. But there is a part of me who wishes that I may be the sweet flower that you might choose.” Namjoon giggled slightly making the men nervous with such forward words “That I could be the one to make you smile. The one who can make a long day feel like it was nothing when you come home.”

Last was Jungkook who sang a song he had made to the group of men and talked about making friends whilst doing the laundry. Jungkook was allowed to leave and the men finished their search of the property before leaving, albeit a little flustered and a little sheepish for their antics earlier that morning.

The house was lively for the young women who had sensed the weight of the interviews and therefore felt the celebratory relief. Yeong-hui allowed the boys to run around and play freely; they and a few young women began kicking a ball around the inner courtyard.

As the group dwindled, Yoongi was left sitting on the porch, his head tilted back, eyes shut enjoying the breeze. Yeong-hui grabbed a bottle of the Park family's best soju and two ceramic glasses, then moved across the hand-polished wooden floor before sitting down, legs dangling over the edge beside Yoongi.

“You care for a drink?” Yeong-hui smiled softly waving the bottle in her hand. Yoongi nodded, moving to take the bottle as he was younger, but she began pouring for him. She poured elegantly and effortlessly, making no mistake as if she was demonstrating in front of the class.

Yoongi thanked her politely and the two began drinking in silence. It didn’t take long for Yoongi to spill all his troubles, expressing his struggles from the beginning.

“I can’t touch him, I will have to leave the town, my father won’t allow me to stay. He has a pile of land deeds so even if I found a place somewhere, he likely owns it.” Yoongi downed the next glass. “I could show him how good women are, that they aren’t delicate flowers, that they can plot and scheme and m I could probably steal the land deeds right from under his nose.”

“Well, why don’t we do just that?” Yeong-hui smiled, and the two began plotting an elaborate coup to retrieve the land deeds. Yeong-hui walked slowly, leading Yoongi back to his quarters but when they got close, they could hear Seokjin’s voice shouting.

“I knew it! I knew those words sounded familiar! You have been reading my letters?” Seokjin said “...have gardens of beautiful flowers for you to pick. But there is a part of me who wishes that I may be the sweet flower that you might choose.”

Hoseok was cackling and pointed out, “he didn’t read them, he is the one who wrote them!”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asked, his voice almost dying down.

“The women in town would pay me to write love letters addressed to you,” Namjoon said cautiously, and the group laughed.

Autumn Chuseok (Harvest festival) 1654 Hanseong,

It took a lot of planning and preparation but everyone was willing and ready to do their job. Tonight was the Chuseok festival; the tea house was open and the ladies of the kisaeng walked the streets dressed elaborately, inviting men inside to drink at a fee.

Usually, each young woman would bring in men who looked like they were of noble status. They were advised to stay clear of any man wearing the bandit emblem. Tonight, however, it was encouraged. The unsavory men were led inside and shown all the respects of a nobleman if not more. The women were working undercover and they weren’t going to let the operation down.

Within the tea house were Seokjin, Yoongi, and Jungkook. While working, Yoongi was explaining who was who, and soon they had their targets. The boys split up, getting to work trying to impress the merchants, and having them each pay more and more money for some alcohol.

Yoongi as Yoonji was making quick work of his targets, whispering filthy things in their ears and having them drink until they were inebriated. Then he took their coin pouches and moved on to the next unsuspecting victim, who was also a member of his father’s gang.

Across town, Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok, accompanied by a handful of the kisaeng, headed to Yoongi’s father's home. Jimin was quick to move up the side of the building, slipping upstairs while the men were drinking boisterously downstairs. Jimin was light-footed and found the small box hidden just as Yoongi had described.

He took the box, it was heavy with deeds, gold, and more, and as he moved to escape, he bumped his foot on the side of the table.

“Did you hear that?”

Jimin froze.

“Good evening would you men be interested in going to the kisaeng tea house? We have many delicious festival snacks for you to try?” Taehyung said playfully and the men blushed to see a group of women poking their heads into the butcher’s home.

The men looked flustered and eventually refused to say they had to stay and take care of the place. Jimin was able to escape and the group graciously began heading back to the kisaeng house.

They were almost back safe within the kisaeng walls when they heard a shout.

“Hey!” The group froze, Jimin hiding with the box in the middle of the group. “You dropped this” The man smiled, blushing profusely having to talk to a stunning Taehyung.

Taehyung took his handkerchief and smiled, “thank you.” The group continued on their way, hurrying inside the house where they met Namjoon, working hard over a desk.

In the days leading to the coup, Namjoon and Yeong-hui had taken a census of families within the village. They found that the gang had been procuring land for many years before the war.

Namjoon, with the newly acquired land deeds from Yoongi’s father’s house, was now dividing land and profits, ensuring each family would have a home and land to live on.

The next morning, the members of the gang were regretful of their night and were in foul moods. Yoongi’s father marched to the kisaeng house and began pounding his fists on the doors, demanding to enter the premises.

Yeong-hui signaled the doors to be opened, and the man entered, alone. He stepped forward, looking at the group of women dressed in baji and holding weapons. The man spotted Yoongi standing on the far end of the inner courtyard.

Yeong-hui walked through the group of women until she stood in front of Yoongi who was dressed as a woman and was not at all ashamed. “You stole from me, you little rat?” Yoongi nodded. His father’s face was bright red, “I will kill you!”

The women moved with a loud cry and the man faltered, releasing a mocking laugh. “You think you can hurt me?”

“Yes, I believe we can,” Jimin smiled, standing in front of the women, just in case the man was an unexpected fighter. He was a street merchant after all and they weren’t known for fighting fair. However, it seemed the women were holding their own, as they started knocking the man to the ground.

Spring 1655 Hanseong,

With the power restored, the people are thriving, the women are stronger than ever. The land is now divided, ensuring there are better harvests and more trade among the vendors. I have been working to teach the girls in the kisaeng how to read and write, training them to be scholars. Seokjin and I are planning to present the young women in front of the king, as well-educated scholars.

Seokjin has been around a lot. Having perfected his cooking skills, he happily teaches the women his favorite dishes. Something about being free and independent and able to make his food makes the man happy. He likes how free he feels, admitting he originally thought it was the women who were free to do whatever they wanted but he was wrong.

Yoongi has found he has a real talent for playing some of the instruments, and he and Jungkook spend their days making songs. Hoseok and Jimin enjoy dancing and are some of the best dancers, and Jimin also spends his time teaching the young ladies how to defend themselves. Jungkook has made light-weight weapons for the women who find themselves in the ways of fighting.

Taehyung teaches Art and keeps things in the kisaeng house light with sports and games. It wasn’t long before a new age began, the age of female growth.

Let’s just say when the fathers, brothers, and husbands return home from war they will be in for quite a shock, as every family now owns the land and the land deeds are under the women’s names. The women are all stronger, smarter, and happier.

Every day the Hojang fights to liberate her girls more and more, we help however we can even if we have to dress up as women to do it. As for the Hojang, Miss Yeong-hui, whose name means eternal play, she has changed her name to Jester. She is now working on a project to use some of the young women trained to fight for future espionage.

Kim Namjoon

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oneweekoneband · 4 years ago

Text

her Nebraska (1982)

In July I flew to Massachusetts with a plague on, and I felt that it was wrong, but my mother had begged and I’d been out of work for months. Mornings there I ran in long, uneven ovals on the same roads I’d memorized in high school. There’s no sidewalks, but the few feet of dirt between the craggy pavement and the open mouths of the fields serve all right for a single body in motion. When a truck comes up close from behind, the ground shakes, and I step away bouncingly from the street toward thigh-high yellow weeds and grass, and keep going. I was slowly picking my way back in that dirt, sweat-slick from only a plodding couple of miles in peak summer heat, and sucking the wet cotton of my mask in between my teeth on every inhale, when Taylor Swift announced she was releasing a surprise album produced by the guy from The National. Not the guy from The National, like, the voice, but the guy from The National whose photo was circulated on Twitter earlier this year as some kind of antifa super soldier, which isn’t the case, but would’ve been rad. First, I stopped dead to send some outraged, misspelled text messages, and then I ran home faster than I’d moved in years.

Tall, blonde, patrician pop star Taylor Swift is to me something like a cross-between a wife and a boogeyman. Bound we’ve been since we were really children. Time and its changes haven’t rid me of her, and what’s worse is I have never quite been able to wish they would, though I claim as much all the time. Countless hours of my one wild and precious life have been spent on endlessly analyzing the minutiae of Taylor Swift’s music, the mind that made it, the real world events which influenced it. And though all the while I have known she is only a person, and that people, while each strange and lovely in their own ways, are, in the end, mostly dull, needful in just the regular manner, the fantasy is better, the sick dream of a megalomaniac songstress, curious, thrilling, probably evil, and I choose that. I don’t know Taylor Alison Swift, born to this world in, I presume, the usual way. But my Taylor Swift? I’m a renowned expert. I’ve always eaten up stories—movies, music, celebrity news, the one my grandfather tells about falling off his bike once in Ireland as a boy and his face “cracking open like an egg”—like a starved dog. I’m obsessive about my interests, but not inclined to intense fandom, and certainly not fandom in the mode of the stan. For one, I’m too self-absorbed. But caring intensely for a famous person is falling in love with a ghost, and that’s all right—I mean, what the hell? We’re here together just dying... Let’s enjoy—but is an affair best undertaken with the knowledge that everyone alive has their own complex interiority, as unruly as your own, and that you, a stranger, are not in any real way connected to the lawless, blurry middle of that celebrity, and will never be. It’s freeing and fun to know this. I mean, these people are basically in your employ. Glamorous dollhouse dwellers. Acknowledging that uncrossable distance allows for a different, healthier closeness of pure imagination. My feelings, then, can comfortably be at once both fiercely intense and entirely silly. I am a foremost scholar in the art of the Taylor Swift who exists in my head. The real person raised in Pennsylvania I don’t know at all. I have some conjectures on the matter, and, as with all my conjectures, every hackneyed theory, each picky little opinion, I’m sure they’re perfect, brilliant, just absolutely right, but that’s still all they are. Taylor Swift, figure of the cultural imagination, is the Jodie Comer to my Sandra Oh in Killing Eve, annoying and pretty in frills, taunting me endlessly and holding us trapped together in a dance of most enchanting death. But the real Taylor Swift has favorite bed sheets and a social security number and a British boyfriend, none of which I have any desire to know about, and if I saw her at a restaurant I’d politely avert my eyes before, yes, dive-bombing the group text. There’s nobody on Earth I’d stand in line to speak to, but then I’ve been speaking to a certain figment of Taylor Swift for nearly half my life.

I went to a Taylor Swift concert the night before I moved into college in 2009. My father’s work friend, firefighter by day, near professional gambler by night, got comped tickets to the Fearless Tour stop taking place at the nearby casino, and he let me have them as a reward, mainly, for happening to be seventeen. Live in-person and performed acoustically, “Fifteen” made me cry. A few years after that, in the thick, sticky part of my first post-college summer, I wrote approximately twenty-three million words about her in these very pages. (”Pages”) At that point, Taylor’s most recent release was 2012’s Red, and the work I produced that long ago July about Taylor and her career, writing I was fairly pleased with at the time, feels now, besides just being extremely clearly written by a twenty-one year old, strange to me for the way it favors the sweet over the sour almost uniformly. There is a wholesome kind of ardor in that writing which maybe I’ve outgrown the ability to hold. Or maybe Taylor just proceeded to spend the next half a decade plus releasing one bad single after another, and it was taste—and trespasses against taste—and not some shift in my nature which altered the tenor of our bond. I have real love for my particular image, gleaned from public statements and published art, of smart, bizarre famous woman Taylor Swift, and I admire the bulk of her output very much. I’m just no longer so inclined to fawn. This is not to say I am here to offer a Taylor Swift hate screed. I couldn’t swing it, and, anyway, I’m not a pop feminist-for-hire circa 2010. But we’re older now. Things are different. At twenty-eight, twenty-nine this month—Taylor will, also this December, turn thirty-one—I regard Taylor Swift warily, like an ex with whom you have a tentative friendship, perpetually on the brink of falling one way or the other into hatred or delight, only to wobble back the opposite direction again at the slightest provocation, but still, despite best efforts, even, I regard her all the time.

folklore was released at midnight on July 24th 2020, but I was at a cabin in rural Vermont without Internet or cell service. I drank Bud Light seltzers with my mother while watching the eerie pandemic return of Major League Baseball, and when I got into a strange bed there I stewed, knowing there were people out in the world all over who were hearing Taylor Swift songs I never had, and that this was a fundamental wrong, a disruption in the balance of the universe. I listened to it the next morning in a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot.

And folklore is great. That’s the terrible thing. Slightly less great, maybe, than some people have insisted, tricked, I think, by just the pronounced shift in sound. But it’s great. A little gift I asked for a thousand times and was still surprised to get, like a wife who didn’t expect her henpecked husband to ever follow through and buy the paraffin wax hand bath as-see-on-TV. For years, I’ve been halfheartedly insisting that Taylor had a great album in her. I’d say it even, perhaps especially, while she stubbornly fed me gruel. Or worse, gruel with the occasional whiff of something better. With a ripe, little raspberry dropped into the slop. The bright, villainous thrill of “Getaway Car” made me believe Taylor, my Taylor, was in there somewhere under the lacquer of sequins and synth, which, while not objectionable by default, seemed a costume, and an ill-fitting one. The lived-in world of “Cornelia Street” made those old scars sting. That gay “Delicate” video. When she did “Call It What You Want” on SNL and played guitar while wearing an ugly sweater. If the abominable “ME!”, lead single off Lover, was the stick, 1989’s “Clean” was the carrot. I was Charlie Brown, and Taylor my Lucy, yanking the football back again and again. Over drinks I still yelled that Taylor Swift’s next album would be, “her Nebraska”, referring to my favorite Bruce Springsteen record, and learned to live with that egg on my face for good. I suppose I even came to like it. There was something inherently funny in taking up, like, “blind faith in the as of yet untapped greater artistic potential of massively wealthy and popular singer Taylor Swift” as my totally inane personal cause du jour, and eventually it was a bit, a gag I performed to be obstinate and didactic, but way down somewhere awful near my kidneys I meant it the whole while. And then she did it. A pandemic befell the world and amid a sea of human suffering Taylor Swift remembered she can write. She wrote, and with a massive, crucial assist from Aaron Dessner, whose music on this record is sometimes so beautiful it actually angers me, as the last thing I needed in already perilous times was to be made to try and marry my uniquely perverse emotional responses to beloved divorced dad band The National and fucking Taylor Swift, she made an album which, if not her Nebraska, per se (I’ve come to realize that a major part of believing Taylor Swift will one day make an album I find as quietly devastating and gorgeous as Nebraska is knowing that no album will ever actually be Her Nebraska... That each will, rather, to me, be more and more evidence that it’s coming still, more proof that the limit is untouched, on and on ad infinitum, or at least until the seas take us into a place of salty peace.) is a shocking credit to all my hard-fought and deluded confidence. folklore is great. This fact has made me feel almost equally as disoriented from my understanding of the world as the time-melting COVID-19 lockdowns have, and it turned my Spotify year in review annual collective AI humiliation kink thing into a glaring indictment of my mental state, but still, I mean... It’s great.

In talking about folklore a bit this week, there are a number of specific topics I intend to cover—what a thrill it is to hear Taylor say “fuck”; Taylor’s terrifying birth chart; the astoundingly perfect bridge of “the last great american dynasty”; “because my ass is located at the back of my body”; the bit in last year’s “Lover” where deranged WASP Taylor Swift implies that to “leave the Christmas lights up til January” is some signifier of being a love-struck bohemian, when actually everyone who doesn’t employ domestic staff to take their lights down does this; how reputation is the best of the Taylor Swift records released in the latter half of the 2010s, actually, and the people who can’t see that are cowards—but intend mostly to let the muse move me where she will. Against the advice of my better angels, she—that tie-in marketing eldritch terror—always does.

#taylor swift #folklore

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thelittlepalmtree · 4 years ago

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empowerment doesn’t mean “something that feels good.” There’s nothing empowering about sex work, just like conforming to femininity isn’t empowering. real empowerment is things like women gaining the right to vote, or women’s bathrooms being built (when there was none. this is called the urinary leash). empowerment is women being able to make our own money, not rely on men.. we don’t gain power by stripping and other forms of the sex industry. you might feel good or sexy, or whatever, but that isn’t the same as real empowerment. it’s not simply a feeling, it’s a real thing. :/

What’s empowering is the right to have a choice. I actually do find embracing femininity empowering not only because womenswear is more comfortable to me (leggings are the single most comfortable type of clothing on earth) but also because as a kid any sign of femininity was considered uncool and “basic” and embracing femininity was an act of rebellion for me. Similarly sex workers have a good reason for why sex work makes them feel empowered.

By your own definition of sex work which seems to be, something that provides material gain, Sex work is empowering. For many women sex work means leaving an abusive relationships, feeding their kids, getting a degree, getting out of debt, paying rent.

If your issue is that sex work involves men…um…welcome to life. If you want to “make money without men” you must be against any kind of job at all. Also sex work is not wholly controlled by men. There are forms of sex work where no men are involved (and forms where no women are involved). You could be a female sex therapist who works with lesbian couples exclusively. You could be a lesbian who produces lesbian porn for lesbian. You could be a female dominatrix who works only with women.

Once again the thing all of you can’t comprehend is that every woman should have a CHOICE to do what she wants. Feminism is about CHOICE. It’s about breaking gendered oppression so that women can CHOOSE what they want. No legitimate feminist scholar will say that a woman who wants to be a housewife shouldn’t be allowed to be a housewife. They might say that housewives shouldn’t force their lifestyle on others, they might point out the privilege that some housewives have, but they would never say that choosing what you want for yourself is not empowering.

Telling people what to do is an oppressor mindset. Like jesus christ “I’m going to drop random terms because I’m just soooooo smart. it not like that’s literal proof of a shit argumen.“ I bet you thought you were real smart there, didn’t you. I’m sure you think you should have a gender studies degree because you’ve been on tumblr since 2015 but honestly you’re just another person making me lose faith in humanity. I know exactly what kind of a person you are. You don’t have any real friends, just people playcating you. You’re that person who thinks you’re dropping some brilliant knowledge but you can’t tell that everyone stopped listening. You think you’re special and genius but you’re a dime a dozen idiot, you’re who everyone is talking about when they say dumb people always think they’re smart. And let’s be honest you probably jerk off to a sex worker’s videos alone in the dark because no sane person really wants to fuck stupid. No one takes you seriously and in a desperate plea for attention you say whatever dumb shit comes to mind so that you can revel in the response. Every time you use the english language the world becomes a worse place to live in. So please for the love of all that is good, shut the fuck up.

Also I am not a sex worker. I’m just not an asshole.

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austennerdita2533 · 3 years ago

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Hi to my friend and favorite Austen scholar :) I was wondering if you consider Darcy and Elizabeth an example of the opposites attract trope? I get that they APPEAR very different, with Lizzie exuberant and prone to laughing and teasing while Darcy is a fundamentally serious, reserved introvert. But as I reread and rewatch, I'm struck by how alike I think they actually are. They're both very critical, discerning and quick to judge, they're both extremely clever and intelligent, they're both very insightful (though, like all of us, only when it comes to people other than themselves and those they're closest to!), they're both close to very few but fiercely loyal and loving towards those they do let in, they're both very analytical and contemplative, they're both too stubborn and prideful and reluctant to change their ways until they both learn that's more a sign of strength than weakness. I could bore you by rambling further, but hopefully you get the point! I'm curious whether you agree that they're actually more fundamentally similar than different...? Or am I just as off base as usual?!

Hello lovely, and what a good question!

You know, I've always considered Darcy and Elizabeth to be opposites on the surface but then quite similar beneath it. (That probably reads like a bit of a cop out on my part, but I think it makes sense if you slice it apart.) I'd argue that combination is largely what makes them such a captivating pairing overall.

The so-called "opposite" attributes Darcy and Elizabeth possess work in a two-fold fashion. On the one hand, it explains why they butt heads in the beginning because, in personality, not to mention in the manner in which they're both able to interact with people - acquaintances and/or strangers, especially - they are diametrically opposed. She's extroverted, lively, good humored, and easy to engage in conversation. He's severe, socially inept, broody, and reserved to the point of being almost monosyllabic at the best of times. That difference fosters a lot of tension between them initially. They don't know what to make of each other. How to interact. It also helps to create, elongate, and preserve the canyon of misunderstanding that makes up their dynamic for the first half of the book.

On the other hand, the differences in their dispositions are also where hardcore attraction comes into play. They both gravitate toward, seek to investigate, rather, the qualities the other person has that they do not. It's like catnip. Draws them in like magnets. They're both similarly afflicted in that regard, I'd say.

Darcy is bewitched by Elizabeth's vivacity and openness, by her ability to laugh at the absurdity that is present throughout society. She's easy among new company where he is stilted, uncomfortable, and he LIKES being around her because of that. It draws him out of his shell. Forces him to be more present and attentive, even if "more present" manifests only in the heady looks he shoots at her from across the ballroom. He's stimulated by her wit, by her teasing. She astonishes him (in a good way), keeps him on his toes, and that's exciting...erotic.

Elizabeth, too, even in her most fastidious "I have never sought your good opinion" moments can't help but be caught up in the enigma that is Darcy. Arrogant and taciturn though he seems, his aloofness, as well as the natural reserve which surrounds him, makes him equal parts interesting and grating to her because she's unable to fully figure him out. She tries to glean what she can about him from observation, from limited time spent in his company, but he's essentially a lockbox (rude!), so instead she has to rely on the gossip that other people (Wickham) have related, and even then she's not satisfied. She still wants to know more. Needs to know more about who he is. She says herself that the different accounts she's heard of him "puzzle her exceedingly." The point here being that she can't stop trying to puzzle out the man from the second they meet no matter how hard she tries. She's caught up without realizing just how caught up she is. I mean, even when she's declaring she hates him I'd argue there's still a part of her that's more enthralled with him than anything. He remains an unsolved mystery, which is maddening as well as a little dazzling; so conscious or not, she feels a pull toward him. It cannot be helped. She's in over her head. I believe she's desperate to know if there's more to him than meets the eye (though she'd rather die than admit such a thing.) So really, his introversion has its own attractions for her as well--it keeps her probing, orbiting.

Like you mentioned, too, Darcy and Elizabeth have a lot of traits in common. They're clever, contemplative, critical, astute, and stubborn, to name a few. However, where the juxtaposition comes into the mix is how these things are expressed in their individual personalities. Because, in that regard, they do express or convey these traits differently. I think that's where the "opposites attract" trope could apply.

That said, Darcy and Elizabeth do both face similar conflicts throughout the novel. They're each prideful in their own way and must learn how to overcome their own snobbery, their own criticisms of people. I think we tend to overlook that as something they share because of how it manifests, again, with respect to their individual personalities and social classes. But without that tenet of similarity tying them together there'd be no romantic tension in the novel. That's the whole point of conflict upon which the whole plot turns - their respective (and mutual!) pride and prejudice. Also, if they both weren't loyal and protective of those they loved most in the world, and if they hadn't had a mutual evolution where they'd learned not to be so quick to judge others and forgive past grievances, then the romantic resolution between them would have fallen flat. As readers, we wouldn't have been rooting so hard for them to be together if they hadn't had those things in common. Right?

Part of the reason we consider Darcy and Elizabeth to be well-matched match by the end of the story is because they're opposites on the surface who are bound by the same moral fiber - character - underneath. They're good people who have made and learned from their own mistakes. That growth is what matters. It's because of their mutual self-reflection and self-improvement that they're able to come together to form a healthy union.

In my estimation Darcy and Elizabeth are similar in all the big ways that matter - smart, devoted, forgiving, dependable, loving, etc. - and different in ways - cheerful, stoic, witty, quiet, rich, bougie etc. - that allows their dynamic to feel fresh and surprising...not to mention swoon worthy as hell!

#the-stars-hollow-stan #replies #the loveliest of lovely people #ashlee bree's austen hour #pride and prejudice talk #sorry it took me so long to get to this!

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chaos-societies · 4 years ago

Text

Episode 7, The Spokes That Keep Turning

[x]

There was little light in the small entrance to a cave hundreds of miles from South Island. Chuck was crawling through the small passageway and already had stains of mud and dirt on both his clothes and his fur. He held upright a torch which limited his progress as he made his way deeper.

“You sure you didn’t want me to go first? I am a bit smaller.” A slightly high pitch voice came from behind him.

A smile arose on Chuck’s face. “Wasn’t it you who said whoever gets here first gets to go in first?”

“WaSn’T iT yOu WhO sAiD…shut up.” The girl answered back snarkily. Chuck just smiled.

He came across a small wall of rocks that seemed lose enough to dislodge. He reached his free arm as to his waist and pulled out a small hammer. He got as much leverage as he could in the tight space and began swinging at the wall. After a few hits the rocks seemed to loosen up and he kept swinging. Lo and behold, the small wall collapsed and he squeezed his way through.

He found himself in a massive cathedral. The sound of running water and the occasional drips of stalactites, giving portions of themselves to the pillars below in hopes that they would eventually meet to join the hanging columns, echoed through the chamber. He stood on a ledge and found he didn’t seem to need his torch as much as he thought as beauteous glowing crystals, larger than the tallest buildings in any village or city he had been to, were scattered all around. He didn’t dare extinguish the torch though as they had only succeeded in finding what the party of two were hoping to find. Only now would the exploring begin.

“By the lords…” He said as he gazed upon the sight.

His follower soon emerged from the tiny entrance and stood up to gaze upon the sight as well. “Whoa. It’s beautiful.” She said. The bluish tint of the natural light of the cave, coming from seemingly unnatural sources, washed away the green color of her fur. “So. I guess we found it.” Her awe was paused as she curled a smile and gave Chuck an elbow to the side. “Guess now that we found this place that means we’re forever cursed like the locals said.”

Chuck gave an ‘oof’ with the hit but had grinned at the joke anyway. “Come on, we only just found the cave. Now we got to find that crown. There may still be many curses that we have to look out for.” His partner rolled her eyes.

The two started making their way down to a ledge where there seemed to be enough footholds to climb down with relative ease. Working their way down, they appeared to be mere ants on a wall compared to the size of the vast open room.

…

[x]

“The cave was far to the northwest of the continent. It was bigger than anything I had seen or explored. I couldn’t imagine making a map of the place. I just made a crude trail on some parchment I had to make sure I got back out.” Chuck spoke to the gang as he dipped a biscuit in some black tea and took a bite. He continued. “There must have been miles of passageways, dozens of rooms and chambers that I was not able to investigate or explore. I ended up finding the crown in a crypt, deep in the cavern. I almost didn’t make it out; it was a very dangerous excursion.” His audience of the usual bunch listened intently. “Not being a greedy man, I had no means to keep the thing.” He let out a sigh and a small smile formed on his face. “Ah, I used to be quite the adventurer back in the day. I gave the crown to the archives in Westport. They have many safeguarded secrets in those archives and I still am confident in its safekeeping there.”

“Wow. Sir Charles, I didn’t know you were a treasure hunter.” Amy stated.

“I wouldn’t call myself a treasure hunter. More of a scholar. There just happens to be many scholarly relics of times of old that may be hidden about.”

“Did you go back into the cave to find anything else?” Sonic asked.

“I would have. Oh the wonders that must have been down there! When I went back, I found that a rockslide must have happened and the entrance, so small and hidden, taking me many hours of research and weeks to find, was covered up. It would take a massive crew to undergo the efforts to clear the rubble. No one other than those at the archives, and now you lot, know of what I found there and I find it best for that information to fade away.” He finished explaining.

“Do you think the other crowns were down there?” Tails asked.

“I don’t know. Possibly. But such things of great historical importance such as that are rarely in the same place. Would have made things much easier back then wouldn’t you say.” He answered with a chuckle to finish.

“So you want us to travel all the way across the continent?” Rouge asked a little unsure about the task if that be the case.

“Heavens no. At least…not quite yet. I hope things won’t come to that. But much of my research to find the crown was done in the library at Smithwick, beyond the Greater Area in the Green Hills. But that journey wouldn’t even make sense for you to go looking in old dusty books and then come back after not even knowing what to look for.” Chuck took off his glasses and looked away knowing what had to be done. “No…this next journey I may ask of you won’t be a simple errand. What I am hesitant to ask of you all, if you shall accept the task, I’m afraid may take you away from South Island for a while.”

“How long is a while?” Rouge asked.

“That depends. Weeks for sure. Maybe months.”

“How would we go about doing that?” Tails began to wonder.

“It won’t be easy. You’d have to do certain jobs here and there for tokens. Beyond Cap, I can’t guarantee a place to stay. And there will surely be many nights where you would have to set up a camp between cities in your travel.”

“You think we could take the Syphon to make things easier Tails?” Sonic turned to him to ask.

“I thought of that but it will surely need a good amount of maintenance on the way which I won’t have a means to do unless I am here usually. It can only do so much, I’d hate for us to come to an impasse and have to leave it somewhere, lose it, or it even break down where we can’t get it back up.” He explained.

“Why do we have to go out and do anything?” Rouge spoke up. “The way I see it, we had some kooks play a grotesque prank at Stark Ruins and now we’re chasing ghost stories. Do we really have to do anything?”

The room was a bit silent as Rouge had brought up a good point. There was no indication of apocalypse, there was no threat that they could tell, and other than some loose connections between pieces of mythology they had no reason to make any further action. But Chuck was smart and he wouldn’t be laying out the framework of such undertaking unless he deemed it necessary, and he definitely wouldn’t be asking them to put themselves in danger and leave South Island out of mere curiosity, despite it being embedded in the Cyan way of thinking. But there was another piece of evidence.

Chuck looked around at the lot and saw Amy shyly staring at the ground. “Amy.” He said warmly. “Do you wish to say something?”

She looked up at Chuck and knew he meant well. She could say no and that would be the end of it. But she felt something was awry. She knew answers needed to be found or else something horrible may come to pass. “I do.” She stood up to speak

“Amy?” Sonic said mostly as a reaction.

“I’ve…been having dreams lately. I know what it sounds like but. They have been…different. They aren’t some surreal haze that you forget about shortly after you wake up or even some fictional scenario or collection of events and memories. They have been clear and almost like a message. All of them foreboding.” She was timid at first but then her confidence overcame her. “They’ve been about the recent events, but because of recent events. In fact lately, they have been about recent events before they’ve transpired. Before we set off for Cap the second time, I dreamt of fire and flood devastating the land. Then we came across those runes about god and giants of fire and water in conflict. The gypsy in the street told me we were special. She knew I was having dreams and I hadn’t said a word to her at that time. I’m think something is about to happen and I think we need to act.”

The room was silent again. Finally Chuck spoke up. “Rouge, you have every right to be skeptical about this. I’m glad you are in fact. So many things can occupy your mind and if you don’t scrutinize them to really determine what they are for, you may succumb to falsehoods. Not at all am I ordering you to undertake this task, by any means. This is your choice.”

“When would you want us to leave?” Sonic asked.

“Not for a while. Before I send you off, I need to do much research and further study the Stair na Seacht to give you all the proper amount of information for your investigations and findings. That will give you time to prepare as well. Overall, so that you are not blind to my goals, I think we need to find the other crowns.”

“Do you expect me to join in on any of this?” Knuckles spoke up for the first time in this meeting.

“I’m afraid this concerns you, as well as anyone. But again, that choice is yours to make. You have your chapter of the Red Society on Angel Island to manage. I would never ask anyone to stray from their duties to their Society.” Chuck answered.

There were many wandering thoughts throughout the room. Yet none of them were spoken. “Can we have some time? Some time to think about it?” Tails asked coyly.

“Of course.” Chuck gave him a warming smile. “I am sorry to have burdened you with this request so suddenly. Go enjoy yourselves. Talk amongst yourself if you so please but rest your thoughts for now.” Slowly, they each got up and made their way out of Chuck’s hut. Once they were all gone, Chuck rubbed his eyes and placed his glasses back on his face. “Chaos have mercy.” He muttered.

…

“Up to the Green Hills. Oh I bet that’d be an awesome sight! Not to mention some great solid ground to stretch my legs. I don’t know about you all but I think I’m decided.” Sonic said enthusiastically as the group walked from Chuck’s hut.

“You won’t even need to do any convincing to give Sonic a chance for adventure.” Amy said almost in a derogatory manner if it wasn’t for the light admiration in her voice.

“Oh you know it!” Sonic responded as he pulled Amy close and gave her a kiss on the top of her head.

“I still don’t know about travelling hundreds of miles away on foot chasing fairy tales.” Rouge spoke up.

“Come on Rouge! Even if it’s for nothing, can you imagine the places and sights we’ll see? Something other than desert and this dusty old town? Don’t get me wrong, I love it here at South Island. But the world is much bigger than this corner of The Greater Area.” Sonic rebuked.

“Would you be joining us Knux if we decide to go?” Tails asked their pseudo-foreign friend.

He gave a huff and crossed his arms. “Why?”

“Why not!” Sonic answered back continuing his enthusiasm.

The echidna let out a sigh. “I have other things to worry about.”

“Oh? Like what.”

“Like my own island. Besides, you all have to learn to take care of yourselves. Can’t rely on me all the time to save your skins.”

“Oh har har har. You say that but we all know you enjoy our little scuffles, let alone our company.”

“Your company? Pfff, I need a break from your company on the regular!” He shouted back annoyed. “And IF I were to come along on your strange trek for some dead guys’ busted up crowns, I’d have to make it back to Angel Island regularly. Its trajectory goes along your path up north, depending on the time of year, and touches the Green Hills. I’d be coming and going often.”

“Sounds like you already thought it through.” Sonic said with a devilish grin. Knuckles looked over at him as Sonic gave a few raises of his eye brows which earned him a heavy shove from the Red.

The group came up to the tavern as Knuckles began to veer toward the road to the main bridge. “Well like Sir Charles said, we have some time to mull it over.” Amy stated. “Oh, are you heading out Knuckles?”

“I am. Someone’s got to make sure my goons up on Angel Island haven’t killed each other.”

“I’m sure Mighty does at good job keeping them in check.” Sonic added.

“Regardless, I’m looking forward to my own home again. I’ll see you in a few passings. Angel Island should be getting close.”

“See you around handsome.” Rouge called out to him. Knuckles threw his hand in the air in somewhat of a wave as he walked on. “I think he has the right idea though. I need my own place for a bit. I’ll see you all tomorrow.” And with that Rouge also departed the group.

…

“What do you mean, your turn? It’s MY hammock! If my ass is planted in it, it’s not leaving until I decide for it to.” Nack the weasel blurted out as he swung lazily in the breeze on a crudely made rope hammock. He flicked his wrist to ‘shoo’ off Bean, closed his eyes and went back to lounging.

“Kinda rude to make the decisions for your ass,” Bean began crawling on his hands and knees around the hammock. “I’m sure if you let it decide,” by now he was underneath Nack, “it’d want to go UP!” At that moment, Bean sprung up and sent Nack flying out of the hammock.

“Bean! I’m gonna kill you!”

Bark was sitting next to one of the trees used by the hammock, relaxing as well. Nack happen to land close to him so Bark quickly grabbed a hold of Nack’s handkerchief to hold him back from charging at Bean.

“Bark resting on bark, holding Nack back from attack!” Bean cheerfully called out as he swung his feet back and forth while sitting upright in the hammock.

Nack, now defeated as he surely wasn’t going to break free from Bark’s grip, crossed his arms to pout. “Bean, at least could you shut that beak of yours?”

“howms mhis?” He answered with a poor attempt at ventriloquism. Nack just sighed.

“Kn-Knuckles is b-b-back!” Ray came into the scene from above as he glided down to the group.

“Geez, it’s about time. The guy should just hand off the island to us with how little he seems to be up here now.” Nack commented.

Mighty strolled up. “Give him a break. He’s been alone up here for over half his life, if the guy wants to see the world and venture out a bit, he is more than deserving to do so.”

“But why the desert though? He always goes down there instead of anywhere else on the globe. He just wants to hang out in the dirt meanwhile it’s paradise up here! And let alone the treasure that’s supposedly up here.”

“Treasure you still haven’t found but are so sure is here?” Mighty taunted.

“Oh there’s treasure here. Heard it many times from people who see this hunk of land floating overhead.”

“And yet none of them have been up here?”

“Irrelevant. Every treasure hunter knows where there’s ruins there’s treasure.” Nack walked over to Bean as he was lying back in the hammock, whistling an odd tune. He flipped Bean out of the rope bed then quickly hopped back into it. “But nothing wrong with living the good life up here in the meantime.”

“Is he still talking about gold and riches?” Knuckles finally made his way up to the group. Bark just silently nodded his head. “I’ve told you, I’ve seen every inch of this island. The only treasure here is solitude and delicious fruit.”

“Maybe that’s the only treasure you care about.” Nack added.

“E-enough for me!” Ray said as he came down from a tree with a pear in his hands, taking a good sized bite from it.

“Ray, sounds like your speech is improving.” Knuckles said warmly as me moved over to another tree and gave it a hard smack with his fists earning a few fruit to fall from the tree. He tossed one to Bark, another to Mighty then took a bite of one for himself.

“I’ve b-b-been p-practicing!” The flying squirrel said excitedly.

Knuckles leaned over to Mighty and whispered. “Still no luck on jogging his memory about your village?”

“No. And at this point I’m starting to think it’s best if he doesn’t remember. He still is the same cheery optimistic guy but that event definitely traumatized him if it’s entirely blocked out from memory. It did something to him, other than give him that stutter that is. I feel for him.”

“Yeah. You’re a good guardian for him you know?”

“He’s like a little brother.” Mighty said with an endearing smile as he watched Ray devour the pear he came across.

“Heh, you two are like some others we know.”

“Sonic and Tails?”

“Yup. Speaking of them, some things went down not too long ago. They’re going to be venturing out up north at least to the Green Hills. I’ll probably be dropping down to join them quite frequently.” Knuckles explained.

“Nack has been getting a little irritant about your absence you know. It might be good to stay for a bit. The gang down there are tough cookies, I’m sure they can handle a lot of the journey themselves you know.” Mighty spoke his two cents.

“I know. But I’m thinking the crazy events that have surrounded their recent ventures are somehow connected to this place too. While I was down there, there were a lot of strange markings in some cavern north of Cap that matched some here in the ruins. Chuck called them runes and some other ancient markings that I have never seen up here before. Can’t remember the name. O-something he called them. I just…really want to know why I was alone up here and what happened to the others of my kind that used to live here.”

Mighty looked at Knuckles for a good bit and saw how him and Ray weren’t the only ones with some deep seeded issues about their past. Though his past was not a particularly great one, he at least knew his past. He decided to verbalize this to him. “I’ll support you buddy. Ray might not remember our village being ransacked, his parents being killed. But I do. It’s not comforting reflecting on it – that village took me in after I escaped that mad man’s experimentation – but I know where I came from and how I got here. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to not even know that.”

“Thanks.” Knuckles rested a hand on Mighty’s should briefly. “Oh, that reminds me. Amy was talking about some dreams she was having again. One of them mentioned a man with a manic laugh. Not going to lie, you don’t hear much about humans anymore. Not much left. But your captivity with that demented fool came to mind.” Knuckles explained.

“It would be horrifying if she’s having premonitions about the same guy. I will say…he did have a strange laugh that would haunt me for the rest of my life…”

#chaos societies #sonic au #episode 7 #the spokes that keep turning #I refuse to let this story die with all I have thought out and planned for #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #rouge the bat #amy the hedgehog #knuckles the echidna #uncle chuck #mighty the armadillo #ray the flying squirrel

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scarpool-gmk · 4 years ago

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Title: Godly Marine: Killed Author: Scarpool Fandom(s): NCIS, Percy Jackson & the Olympians Pairing(s): Gen Rating: PG/K+ Summary: Chapter 10 (12/13) — Staff Sergeant Michael Kahale, Marine Corps Mechanic and Son of Athena, was murdered. Annabeth Chase is determined to find out who did it and why. She, along with Percy Jackson, Grover Underwood, and Clarisse La Rue, infiltrate NCIS where they team up with NCIS Agents Leroy Gibbs, Anthony DiNozzo, Timothy McGee, and Ziva David. Complete Genre: Fanfiction, Mystery, Drama, Humour, General, Action Warnings: N/A

Annabeth sighed. "It was Michael's father, wasn't it?"

Gibbs's masseter muscles flexed. "Impersonating a federal agent is a criminal offense."

Well, she already knew the answer to her question anyway. "I know that."

"Is that all you've got to say, Chase?"

"I won't apologize if that's what you're searching for."

Gibbs jabbed a finger at her. "You lied to me! In my house!"

"Did you expect me not to? What did you want from me?"

"The truth. Honesty. Trust."

"I couldn't take that risk."

"You took that risk the moment you came into my investigation, meddling with my team."

Was this guy for real? "I had more than myself to worry about, Agent Gibbs. I had my mission, my friends, and Michael."

"Your mission? Something other than Kahale?"

"He called me because something was wrong. 'Help them,' he told me. That was my mission. Find out who needed protection and from what."

"His family," Gibbs concluded, "And you entrusted me with them, what he told you to protect."

"Justice still needs to be carried out, and by leaving it to you, I know it will be dealt with professionally and impersonally."

Gibbs took a second. "You trust me in that."

Annabeth nodded. "Yes."

Gibbs peered at her. "How'd you know?"

"About Mr. Kahale? He would have told me the truth."

"That simple, huh?"

"He knew who we were, there was little excuse. And when I figured out his family was what Michael was talking about, I knew they had to be involved."

"He's family."

Annabeth looked up in surprise.

"Greek gods have a pretty messy family tree," Gibbs said. "You were his family. The one on his god side."

Annabeth breathed out an airy laugh. He was a smart one. "He was my brother. We shared the same mother."

"Athena."

Annabeth considered him. It wasn't a question. He knew. Gibbs was definitely not to be underestimated.

"Did some research on the myths. It's part of the job when a case revolves around it, especially when they turn out to be real."

Well, that wasn't vague at all.

He was probably making assumptions again. Annabeth narrowed her eyes. Or was there something more?

"I couldn't turn my back on him. I know you understand that."

"You don't know anything about me!"

"We both know that's not true." Annabeth pointed to herself. "Child of Athena, remember. If there's one thing we're good at, it's analysis. This is your team, but it's also your family. I've been to your house- your living space says a lot- and I did my own research, Gibbs. On you. Family isn't just important to you; everything you do has your family at its core. Your rules probably don't have anything on family. Family is why you do what you do, so there's no need for rules about them. It's your drive. Your center."

Gibbs said nothing. Annabeth huffed. 'That's right. If you get to use your vague assumptions, I can one-up with deduction.'

"You do what you have to for family," Gibbs said. "You and Michael were close?"

Annabeth noted the softness that permeated his voice. "Not in particular."

"He held your contact close to him. He told you that he was heading to Peru."

"You're assuming that-"

"It's part of the fake name you created. Hell yeah, I can assume! No such thing as coincidence. You knew the ship's next dock. He must have told you; he trusted you. Out of everyone, he chose you to help. There is obviously some sort of network for you. The evidence has been working with me for two days. Maybe that's how you met, maybe not, but he has to have more connections. He decided to bring you into this, not someone older."

"I am older!"

Gibbs's eyes flashed, questioning.

"The world isn't the safest. Demigods attract monsters. They sense us. They come to challenge us. There is a safe haven, and we either make our way there or get killed off."

She turned to look at the rest of the two teams staring wide-eyed at them. She met Percy's green eyes and held it for a moment, before turning back to Gibbs.

"Look. I had a job to do, a mission to finish, and family to take care of."

"That you did."

"We understand each other, then?"

"Yeah, guess we're good." Gibbs smirked. "Agent."

Annabeth almost sighed with relief.

"And if anything happens." Annabeth straightened. This was Gibbs. Of course, he wasn't done. "If you hear anything…"

"We'll handle it. But," Annabeth added as Gibbs's entire body stiffened, "I'll keep in touch."

She saw a vein on his temple twitch in annoyance, but he stayed silent— stubborn Navy cop.

"So," Grover fidgeted under everyone's stare. "What now?"

"It's time for you to go home," Gibbs said firmly.

Annabeth saw Ziva playing around with one of her other celestial bronze knives. Ziva tried grabbing the blade, but it continued to faze through her. She shook her head and extended it to Percy. "Thank you for lending us these."

Percy looked at them. "Keep them. You never know when you might need them again."

Annabeth smiled at him. "Even though those aren't for his to give, Seaweed Brain is right. You should have them. You were able to see through the mist and should have something that actually works against monsters."

Gibbs tilted his head in acknowledgement.

"I guess this is where we part ways," Annabeth said, feeling exhausted all of a sudden, the adrenaline's and ambrosia's effects wearing off.

"Hey," Gibbs said. "This will be the last time I catch you impersonating federal officers." Annabeth smirked. Old people are so demanding. "And try not to land in any more newspapers, especially you, Jackson."

This time, Annabeth let out a laugh.

Percy squawked. "What! Just because- those times- it wasn't my fault!"

Annabeth suddenly remembered something.

"Gibbs! One more thing. Michael's body…"

Gibbs nodded in understanding. "That strawberry farm any valid?"

"You won't be able to enter." Although, Annabeth was sure he probably assumed that anyway. Probably thought he wouldn't be able to find it, either.

Gibbs grinned.

"I'll call you."

-Κλαρίς-

Clarisse watched the greyed Jarhead, and his three teammates walk away. Faithful. Loyal. Proud. That man had her respect from the beginning. He was a man trained for more than combat. It took courage to break the rules, independence to do so with solid reasoning, and leadership to have his teammates follow not because of fear but because of trust. Leroy Jethro Gibbs is a great Agent, a great Marine, a great man.

Clarisse was proud to know and say she had worked and fought alongside Agent Gibbs. Although she had to be purely honest.

"I will never step foot in an office again!"

-Αντώνης-

"Are you really going to keep this quiet, Boss?" Tony clicked his seat belt in. "I mean, this is pretty big."

Gibbs shrugged. That was a yes, then.

"I don't want any of you to lie for me," Gibbs told them. "Your reports are your own. It's your own decision."

"Well, I don't think putting down that I fought against snake ladies and such will go down very good with Vance. Not to mention how a supposed NCIS Agent is part donkey."

"Goat."

Tony snapped his head to McGee. "What?"

"He's a satyr," McGee said. "He's part goat, not donkey."

Tony was prepared to make a snide remark but held back when he took a proper look at his younger partner.

"You look a bit pale there, Tim. You alright?"

Tony's concern grew when McGee looked at him with a terrifyingly vacant expression. "He was part goat, Tony." He waved his hand in front of his chest. "Half human. Half goat."

Oh, boy. "Yeah, I get that. You should drink some water. Lie down."

Ziva gave him a threatening look. "Not on me. It is hot, and we are covered in dirt. Wait till we get back, McGee."

"He might not make it," Tony warned.

"He is perfectly capable of-"

"Do you think there are elves?"

Ziva spluttered to a stop, looking incredulous in McGee's direction.

"You know. Like, do they have other magical weapons? Gems and potions and..."

Ziva felt his face. "Oh, McGee, you are burning up. No! Don't fall asleep! McGee!"

"We gotta get back to base, Boss."

Gibbs nodded, and Tony groaned at his words.

"Back to work."

-Γκρόβερ-

Grover frowned. "Is telling him our address a good idea?"

"He already had it," Percy pointed out. It was a good point, too. It was already in their system.

"Can't we use the mist and the laptop to make them forget about us? Chiron is not going to like-"

"It will be fine, Grover," Annabeth said, halfway leaning on Percy. "I trust Gibbs."

Gibbs… That man was something else.

Grover had felt so anxious! He didn't think he could have been in Annabeth's position. Gibbs had such control over his stare. Even though he wasn't the one under it, Grover had felt the cold steel gaze he pinned Annabeth with.

All that disappeared when he felt a weight across his shoulders. Percy had wrapped his arms around Grover and Annabeth. Squishing them together. Clarisse grumbled as Annabeth held an arm out to her, but let herself be pulled in any way.

And it felt right. The four of them waddling awkwardly away. Grover felt Percy's happiness practically envelope their link.

"I'm totally gone," Annabeth said with a laugh. "I hope whoever's in the backseat doesn't mind me laying on them."

They almost fell as Percy jostled in the middle. "I don't mind!"

Grover laughed. Being with friends always felt right.

"Let's go home."

-Λεον-

The door swished open. "You called, Leon?"

Leon looked up from. 'Leon.' The Long Island team was really gone, then.

"Some disgruntled scholars are calling us cheats, Gibbs. Accusing NCIS of hiding intricate historical artifacts vital to their field."

"'Vital,'" Gibbs chuckled. "I didn't realize dealing with annoyed university professors was in the Director's job description."

"It's not. I was just made aware of the situation and went to ask Ms. Scuito about it. Now, accuse me of being curious if the knife they were all after was gone. Part of another investigation. One that I am unaware of. I go visit the good doctor downstairs, and Kahale's body has already left the building."

"Things move fast around here, Leon."

Leon felt his teeth grind together. "The chair is big, not slow."

"We solved the case, Leon."

"You did, collaborating with Long Island. Speaking of which, where are they?"

Gibbs handed him the case file. "Kahale had a run-in with the Reynosa Cartel. They went back up to follow leads on their end."

Huh, so the Reynosa Cartel is involved.

"What about on our end?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Their case. It's all in the report."

Gibbs gave another team his evidence? His body? His case?

Leon felt a bit bad for those academics. They would never see the knife nor Scuito's findings.

"So, they're fighting Reynosa alone? I don't remember giving that directive. Seems inefficient."

Gibbs raised his brow. "You are Director, Leon. You can assign tasks as you like."

Leon made a face. "Not that team. Can you believe I didn't even know there was a small NCIS department in Long Island? Apparently, something in the works by SECNAV. He's all secretive about it."

Gibbs shrugged. "It's the top dogs, Leon. They're always secretive."

Leon glared at him. Something about the way Gibbs spoke made a small part of Leon nag at him, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"We should start digging into the Reynosas. It's bad enough that they've infested our neighbor's lawn. We don't want the same in our own backyard. I want this wrapped up, Gibbs, and I expect you to lead me through every step."

"Of course."

The nag got stronger.

"I trust you put as much detail in the report about what happened."

"Of course."

Leon's grip on the file tightened. He felt like he was being played, which means he probably was. He had read enough of Gibbs's and his team's reports to recognize garbage. He was sure that's what he would find. He hadn't even opened the thing, but he could already smell the stench. Leon should take Gibbs's badge, break up his team, file a report. Do all the things he swore he would do when he took the chair. But he couldn't. Not yet. With SECNAV also waving his secrets around, Leon had to be patient about this. Had to be smart.

"And you found out about all the Greek stuff?"

"It was a part of his life. He and his family lived like these stories existed. Had to fight them to survive." He carried a bit of a faraway look on his face. "We finished it for him."

Gibbs missed the skeptical look Leon threw his way "What were you fighting?"

Gibbs snapped back to reality. Replacing the lost-in-thoughts look with a mischievous one. "Hellhounds, harpies, a hydra." Gibbs grinned. "I took out a Cyclops!"

Leon ground his molars, wanting to punch that smug look off his face. Trying to be Mr. Funny, huh? 'It doesn't suit you, Gibbs.'

"Really?" Leon said. "And what happened to all of them?"

Gibbs mimed an explosion with his hands.

"Poof!"

-Περσεύς-

Michael's shroud was a silken sheet designed as the flag of the United States of America. The cords tying the body were embroidered with grey owl tassels. It was beautiful and patriotic, but it had turned to ash long ago. The fire burned low, surviving on the remaining cinders. Most of the campers had left. Only a few stragglers remained.

Clarisse stood by the forest, staring moodily at the smoke rising into the clouds.

Grover sat far from the fire, whispering with Juniper.

Annabeth sat nearest. Percy couldn't figure out the face she was wearing. Troubled, perhaps? The bonfire was a neutral grey. Lost in thought then.

He sidled up next to her. "It's over. Mission complete."

"I know. It's just…"

He gave her a smile, hoping it wasn't as awkward as it felt. "You are overthinking about what's going to happen next. I know you. You're going through every detail of what happened."

"It's just- It's so odd to see a network between mortals and monsters. I can't shake the feeling like I'm missing something."

He nudged her side. "You're overthinking it."

Annabeth rolled her eyes at him and leaned over. "I'm compensating for your lack of thinking."

"Hey!" Percy pushed her but put no force behind it. He was glad she wasn't frowning anymore. "Seriously, though, I'm sure you've thought about it enough. If anything does happen, it's nothing we can't deal with, and we'll get through it together. I promise, Wise Girl."

Her eyes sparkled from the fire's light. "Thanks, Seaweed Brain."

Like magic, the fire burned brighter, turning a colourful shade of pink.

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#scarpool #fanfic #fanfiction #Godly Marine: Killed #NCIS #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #PJO #Crossover #gen fic #PG/K+#Writing #Complete

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