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apocalypticavolition · 2 months

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Let's (re)Read The Dragon Reborn! Chapter 28: A Way Out

You should know the drill. Spoilers spoilers spoilers.

This chapter has the dice icon because we're focusing on Mat again.

He got up for a shirt, then stubbornly sat down again. They could at least have knocked. In any case, it was good to see their faces. At first, it was.

I know the gals have had a LOT going on and very little free time, but it is disappointing that they only thing of coming in to check on him when they need him.

The smiles flickered and vanished. He noticed their hands and wondered why they all looked as if they had been washing dishes. The Daughter-Heir of Andor surely never washed a dish, and he had as hard a time imagining Nynaeve at it, even knowing she had done her own back in Emond’s Field.

At least Mat's internal image of them is as inaccurate as theirs is of him. Of course, if he knew they were being punished, he'd probably try to cause some sort of stink about it.

“Mat, just because we want to ask you a favor does not mean we don’t care how you feel. We do care, and you know that, unless you’re being even more wool-headed than usual. Are you well? You look remarkably well compared to how I last saw you. It really does look more like a month than two days.”

This is remarkably diplomatic for Nynaeve. I guess it's because she's a bit in nurse mode with Mat having so recently been sick.

He pushed the thought right out of his head. “That does not sound too very hard, but it’s a long trip. What do I get out of it?” From the look on her face, he did not think that dimple had failed her very often.

It almost worked on Mat! I bet that if Elayne had come alone, after Nynaeve and Egwene visited just for visiting's sake, that she probably could have gotten him willing to help her just fine - though his current imprisonment would still mean he'd have to say no. On the other hand, maybe it's the fact that he literally can't do what she wants without help that lets him get out of things and it wouldn't matter how she approached him.

“I thought it worth a try. It always works on the Guards, in Caemlyn. You said if I smiled—” She cut off short, very obviously not looking at him.

I don't think Egwene's wrong to think Mat's a fool for pretty girls exactly, but I do think she's misidentifying the how of swaying him.

“I will dance with both of you, Egwene, but I won’t run errands.” For an instant he thought she was going to stick out her tongue at him.

The boys really do bring out Egwene's immature side. I'm as surprised as he is that she didn't.

You are even ruder than I remembered, Matrim Cauthon. With you sick so long—and Egwene, and Elayne, and I taking care of you like a babe in swaddling—I had almost forgotten. Even so, I would think you’d have a little gratitude in you.

There's the Nynaeve we know and love and fear.

“It is not that I don’t want to. I cannot! The Amyrlin’s made it so I can’t get off the bloo—the island. Change that, and I will carry your letter in my teeth, Elayne.”

Mat really doesn't like admitting when he's at a disadvantage, which is why he needed Nynaeve to go full Wisdom mode and Elayne playing pretty cop to finally break, even though it would have spared everyone a lot of fuss if he'd just told them outright why in the first place. This is why everyone is always so frustrated with him.

“Well. Anyway, I think they want to keep me here because of that dagger. I mean, until they figure out exactly how it did what it did. You know how Aes Sedai are.”

Mat immediately regrets saying this, but considering that Egwene and Elayne have been through the arches I think that they do know very well how Aes Sedai are and just don't want to say as much because they're Accepted. Also, keeping Mat to keep an eye on him because of his connection to an evil artifact actually is a compelling reason so in addition to blatantly ignoring the Horn all three know about Mat's also suggesting he has poor judgment by thinking that the Aes Sedai are unreasonable to keep him a couple of days.

Without thinking, he picked up an apple core and bit off the end. One chew, and he hastily spit the mouthful of bitter seeds back onto the plate.

Oh look, it's the absolute core of Mat's decision making abilities and the end result.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a little coin to go with this, would you? Some silver? A gold mark or two? I have almost enough for my passage, but I hear things are growing expensive downriver.”

Note that this request of Mat's is exactly the kind of thing that sounds outrageous (especially because the gals don't realize things are getting in a bad way to the south) and greedy but is actually pretty practical. He's only asking for a small sum to hopefully cover costs, not asking for a fortune as a reward in addition to the letter he's getting and the freedom it provides.

“I’ll take it to her. I said I would, didn’t I? You would think I didn’t keep my promises.” The looks he got from Nynaeve and Egwene reminded him of a few he had not kept.

Mat actually does get a lot better about his promises going forward.

Talk of Emond’s Field made him homesick, and it seemed to make Nynaeve and Egwene sad, as if they were speaking of something they would never see again.

Inadvertent but appropriate foreshadowing for Egwene's fate.

“A big favor. I know you’re all going to be Aes Sedai”—he stumbled a little on that—“and you will be a queen one day, Elayne, but if you ever need help, if there is ever anything I can do, I will come. You can count on it. Did I say something funny?”

Experience literally just taught them that getting you to do anything requires pulling teeth and significant incentives, Mat.

“Journey well and safely, Mat,” Egwene said. “And remember, if a woman does need a hero, she needs him today, not tomorrow.”

And sure enough, they're going to need him before the book is out.

“You’ll never catch me,” he laughed, and meant it for both of them. “You’ll never catch Mat Cauthon.”

He's not wrong that neither Siuan nor Lanfear will catch him. He's got other women to worry about there.

#let's read #wheel of time #wot #robert jordan #wheel of time spoilers #wot spoilers #mat cauthon #nynaeve al'meara #egwene al'vere #elayne trakand

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angelicyoongie · 2 years

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INSERT THE FUCKING SPIDER-MAN POINTING AT SPIDER-MAN MEME BUT WITH 7 IM LOSING MY MIND 😭

also i had a good giggle at the thought of jimin sitting with his dick in a moulding kit for like an hour all proud with his arms crossed going "yeah she's gonna fucking love this 😏" like a clown. also had a good giggle at the entrance sequence and namjoon especially lol

everything is moving so fast i cant wait for the rest of the series its so good man 😩 every update is like pure ket and im just a silly little unsuspecting horse in a field eating grass

also i wonder if the fact that they all independently developed the idea to send her colourful letters (and not one overlap too 🤨) and gifts and such has a reason behind it. maybe mc was like a murderer in a past life or something cuz that all seems so statistically negligible that its like fate is punishing mc real bad by strategically whispering evilness into her soulmate's ears

also those fucking idiots my god like rule one of stalking and like crime doing is to not leave connections to you 😭 like wdym you used your buddy's flower shop to terrorise someone good god man get a grip

also wondering why jimin lied and how he knew mc wasnt going to speak up about it 🤔

also the scariest this chapter was definitely tae and hobi. tae for being angry and "frosty" over mc not appreciating his 'romance' and hobi for actually drugging the poor girl and just overally creepiness. the others were also scary but at least they were a little more approachable or contained

nooo help that's probably exactly what he did 💀 thank you so much!! 💖 your imagery is so funny djsk, i love it lmao 😌

that's a very interesting theory! it does seem like something is punishing her, doesn't it? babygirl has the worst luck ever 😔 we'll learn more about the letters and the how/why in the next chapter!

listen, they're stalkers, but they never claimed to be good at it 😭 as for jimin, just think of the three Gs; gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss. y/n sort of had the right impression that jimin didn't want to seem incompetent in front of jungkook, but he also just enjoys being a little shit for no reason at all, lol.

yup, hoseok and taehyung sure popped off on the creepiness radar in this chapter 😬

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rebrandedbard · 3 years

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could I get 49 for the prompts pleaseeee? (:

*weeping* Em, I love you, defending my honour, giving me a way out. You’ve spared me my dignity.

49. “Well this is awkward ...”

WC: 2106

Tidings and Tarradiddles

Jaskier returns to Posada and his path crosses with Geralt’s once more after the unfortunate affair on The Mountain™

How was it? Truly, how was it that of all places on the great, wide Continent, Geralt should come to take a contract in Posada, at the farthest of reaches, after months and months of separation, on the one day Jaskier should be in town? And how was it that he’d come the only hour Jaskier had lingered for a drink? It was too great a coincidence, and Jaskier would not give Destiny the credit. She’d not earned the right to claim it. Jaskier scorned her and had stripped her of the right to interfere in any of his further adventures. After all, Geralt had blamed him for her follies—follies which, by rights, Geralt had brought upon himself in the first place.

Even so, he could feel Destiny’s audaciously long and twitchy nose poking about his business the moment Geralt walked through the tavern door. Jaskier huddled in his corner, hoping the shadows were darker than they had been the day he’d found Geralt hunched beneath them. He ought to have known better than to come in the first place. There had been a whole flock of magpies in the middle of the bridge leading into town—a tiding of magpies. Detestable harbinger of tidings, foul and fair. They’d startled at the sight of him and alighted once more on the tavern roof. But he’d ignored their superstitious warning.

Of course the shadows were of no use to him. The moment Geralt stepped inside, Jaskier saw him twitch, cocking an ear his direction. Probably heard the familiar grinding of his teeth: an annoying habit he so often complained of. Jaskier curled up against the wall, trying to make himself smaller to blend in with his surroundings.

For once, it was not so difficult. He’d grown out his hair, had even maintained a healthy bit of scruff on his face in keeping with the stylings of his fellow tavern-goers. He was tired and worn, but above all, he was plain. He no longer wore bright colors, standing out like a beacon in the dark of night. He wore his linen dyed a plain, sensible, muted green. The jerkin on his back was brown and of a practical fit. Altogether, it did not so much scream of sensibility as it mumbled. If he kept his head low enough, he might pass as just another local come in for a pint.

But he was not just another local.

Geralt stopped before his table, standing at Jaskier’s elbow. The click of metal upon the table made Jaskier look up from his drink. It was a coin, spinning round and round. It wobbled and fell on its face, the etching of a worn coat of arms before him.

“Will … will you sing for us, bard?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier stared at the coin. His ears began to fill with cotton, a faint ringing in them. A flash of hot blood coursed through him and he ground his teeth to a halt. He knew this was Geralt’s way of easing into things, working towards something, whether or not an apology was waiting at the end. He knew this was Geralt offering him an out. It was distant. Impersonal. But even in the depths of his rage, Geralt had called him by name. To call him bard and toss a coin to him like some stranger now … it flamed something red and barbaric to life under his skin. He was so deafened by the blood in his ears, he did not hear the approach of the figure standing at Geralt’s side.

“Well, this is awkward,” Jaskier sneered. He picked up the coin, twiddling it between his fingers. Putting up an impassive mask, he juggled the coin over his knuckles in his best impressive manner, as if it were nothing but a worthless toy. “You see,” he said, “I’m not a bard.”

Geralt was quiet a moment. Jaskier could feel his eyes roaming over him. It raised his hackles to know what Geralt must see: the dark circles under his eyes, the lines of age now more pronounced with exhaustion, crow’s feet so defined they might as well have been dug by the claws of vultures. And then, Geralt must have taken notice at last. Gone were the bold silhouettes and blinding colors, gone were the perfumes and oils—but there was one thing more important than all the rest that was missing.

“Your lute,” Geralt said.

There it was. “Gave it up this very afternoon,” Jaskier replied. He slapped the coin down on the table and leaned back, snatching up his half-empty mug. “I travelled a long way to return it home; Filavandrel has it now.”

He took a drink, still avoiding eyes contact. He continued, mumbling over the rim of his mug. “Had a visit. They’re doing better than they were when last we met. I helped them dig rocks from their crop fields for an hour or two. Figured as long as I was shovelling things, I might as well master the art. Use it productively.”

He was being petty. He knew he was, but by the gods, he’d earned it.

When at last he looked up, he did so because he saw a hint of blue beside the table. The potmaid had been wearing a blue dress, and he thought he now saw his escape. He slid his mug to the edge of the table and lifted his head to ask for it to be taken away when he saw a familiar pair of green eyes looking back at him.

“Cirilla?” he asked, surprised. He blinked at the princess, who looked down at the table as his eyes fell upon her. He remembered her as someone taller, regal head held high, smiling, her hair half up in decorative braids and twists. This was not a princess before him, but a girl: her hood casting shadows upon her hollow face. It seemed wrong. She had always been a girl, but a girl with a name. This creature before him stood as a reflection of himself, a thing wishing to hide away, nothing more than a shell.

She glanced up at him, then down once more. Slowly she raised her hand to the table and placed it over the coin. She pushed it towards him with a quiet slide, then dropped her hand once more. “He said you sing wonderful,” she muttered, as if she had not heard him singing in Cintra’s court nearly every midsummer since birth.

Jaskier’s voice stuck in his throat. The memory of a song sat heavy on his tongue. “I … I don’t sing anymore,” he grit out. He turned to look away again, staring at the crack between his bench and the wall. “Can’t sing without music anyway. Might as well be poetry.”

Having no music left him exposed. There was nothing to lift him up, nor anything to hide behind. He could sing among the crowd and raise his voice to join a drinking song, but there was something vulnerable about singing alone. Who sang among bar patrons without some barrier? Even the drunks had their drink to shield them.

He saw Geralt shift out of the corner of his eye. Something new slid across the table, stopping just short of his hand. He looked and saw one of his old notebooks.

“You write good poetry,” Geralt said.

Jaskier scoffed and picked up the notebook. “If there were anything in this worth keeping, I would have remembered to bring it with me when I went down the mountain.” He flipped through the pages, then let the notebook flop back on the table. “You obviously have poor taste,” he huffed.

Without warning, Geralt picked up the notebook and thwacked him on top of his head with the cover.

“Gah! Hey!” Jaskier shouted. He stood up and snatched the book back, smacking Geralt’s arm with it. “What in fuck’s name did you do that for, you brute!”

But he’d looked at Geralt, forgetting to snub him if only a moment. And Geralt plucked the book from his hand with an upward quirk of the lips. “It’s worth keeping,” he said. He handed the book to Ciri, who clutched it tight to her chest in agreement, but still, she looked at Geralt with a stern expression.

“That wasn’t what you were supposed to say,” she scolded.

Geralt’s eyes rolled back and he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Not to me.”

Geralt opened his eyes. He looked at Jaskier, opening his mouth to speak once more. But the look on Jaskier’s face stopped him. Instead, he turned to the door, stalking quickly across the room, words aborted on his tongue.

Jaskier gaped.

“Geralt!” Ciri called. “Where are you going?”

“Just wait here.”

“Geralt!”

“Dinner. I’ll be back in the hour.”

Ciri threw up her hands and dropped onto the opposite bench. She slammed Jaskier’s notebook down on the table and crossed her arms over it. She groaned in frustration, then turned her head to look out at the tavern floor.

“Have you had dinner yet?” she grumbled.

Jaskier looked between her and the door, feeling quite at a loss. “No,” he replied.

“Then you can eat Geralt’s share.” She rummaged in her cloak and pushed a little drawstring bag into his hands. “Here, he left me his purse.”

“And left you from the look of things. Shall I charge him for babysitting?”

“Do. And order another drink.”

Jaskier snorted. “Trying to get me to stay?” He wasn’t so irresponsible as to leave a child alone, even with the threat of Geralt’s return. He didn’t need to be persuaded.

“No. Punishing him for running out; you get his drink into the bargain. Think of it as sending him to bed without supper.”

“I’ll drink to that. It’s the least of the punishments I could inflict.”

They both chuckled mildly at that. A bit of the dense atmosphere lifted and they shared a look. Jaskier cleared his throat and waved for the potmaid. He ordered fare for the two of them, a mug of ale for himself, and a cup of small beer for Ciri. Once they’d both had a bite, they began talking. They traded stories: how Ciri came to Geralt’s care, and what Jaskier had been doing since the separation. Though the conversation was tense, it felt … good … to have a bit of company. He’d been worried since word of the fall of Cintra had reached him. At least Destiny had brought Ciri to Geralt safely. He hoped Destiny would be kind to her where it had failed him.

Jaskier startled when Geralt returned. He’d crept up so silently. Jaskier had been listening to Ciri describe her most recent success in outdoor cooking and hadn’t noticed the movement beside him. Geralt set the lute on the table in front of Jaskier’s empty plate with a sudden thunk, not a word of explanation. He stood there silently, holding the lute upright by its neck.

No one spoke.

Jaskier simply stared at it, felt Geralt stare at him. But this time, he refused to look up. Slowly, Geralt lay the lute down on the table, then slipped away. A minute passed, everything still and quiet. Then, Jaskier peeked out of the corner of his eye and saw Geralt nudge Ciri, nodding his head toward the door.

Ciri looked at Jaskier, her brow anxious and furrowed. She clutched her cup, nearly finished, her plate barren. He could see her mind at work, trying to find an excuse to stay. But she set her cup down obediently. As she turned to stand, she left the notebook behind. Eyes downcast, she slumped to her feet. Geralt held out his hand for her, no longer looking at Jaskier. The moment Geralt’s back was turned, Jaskier felt a cold panic run through him.

“Wait!” he said, fumbling to his feet.

Geralt froze, turning his head back slightly to listen.

But for what? Jaskier reached out, hesitating. He picked up his lute, finding the coin beneath it. The noise made Geralt turn back and Jaskier met his eye. He’d never seen Geralt look so blank, completely unreadable.

Jaskier slung the strap of the lute over his head. He pushed the coin deliberately into his pocket and braced his hands on the strings. When he looked at Geralt again, there was the barest crack in his armour, and hope shined dimly through. Jaskier smiled. It was a timid thing, but he still remembered how it was done.

“You asked for a song,” he said.

Send me a drabble prompt!

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #ask game #tidings and tarradiddles fic #the whole situation LEADING to the WRITING of this fic is awkward asdfghjkl #than you em #bless you #pancakes' tag

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unlocktxt · 3 years

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in the darkness of tomorrow | c.yj

choi yeonjun x female reader

series masterlist :

prologue | part one | part two

genre: royal au, fluff, angst

description: the selection is happening once more to find a wife for prince yeonjun. y/n swears to hate the royal family, but when it’s time for the prince to choose a wife, she gets tied up in the mess.

note: this is inspired from the book the selection by kiera cass, however even though i use some of the ideas there are major differences.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: mentions being whipped and starved

tag list: @binniebutter @nshitae

this was the first time you had ever felt heartbreak. your heart has been a constant reminder that daniel ended things days ago. it haunted you, even as you passed by all of the bright faces in the city.

it seemed like heartbreak wasn’t enough for you. the world had to punish you some more by the announcement made yesterday. the news spread fast around town that day, “the selection application was required for all women of a given age.” you happened to be a part of that age group.

you doubted that the prince would choose you to even be considered as one of the options, but what if’s filled your mind. you still weren’t ready to let go of daniel. right now you wished you would’ve stayed to hear what he wanted to say, but now it was impossible.

you did anything to get your mind off of his frozen blue eyes, including thinking of the prince. unlike everyone else, you thought that prince yeonjun felt a little too entitled. single, willing women weren’t enough for him so he had to make those whose hearts belonged to someone else apply. unlike all the bright faces hoping to be picked, you didn’t want to be one of his little playthings.

they say that the selection was unbiased, but most people knew that wasn’t true. many girls who were unfortunate enough to be in castes five and lower, where they could hardly or not even make ends meet, rarely ever got picked and they were the ones who needed it most. you could stay a four and bake pastries all your life if it meant the people in castes lower than you could afford food.

besides, you had seen first hand what this kingdom has done and you didn’t agree. you would be caught dead before you ever bowed to their spoiled and corrupt system.

“hey mom!” you put on a small smile to please her worried eyes when you walked into the bakery. her small streaks of grey hair added to her beauty.

“i’m so sorry sweetie. i know how much you didn’t want to apply.” her shoulders relaxed, but she continued to place out new baked goods.

you let out a sigh, “yeah well... it doesn’t matter. it’s not like i’ll get picked.” you smiled at the thought. it was all just a waste of time.

your mom stopped, placing the basket of bread on the counter. “it’s supposed to be random... we never know.”

you furrowed your brows and laughed a bit, while giving your mom a look that said “really?” she smiled, shaking her head to acknowledge that you were probably right.

“anyways... where’s dad and taehyun?” you didn’t see or hear them in the bakery.

your mom looked up at you and for a moment she looked distant before returning to her warm demeanor. you caught the change but decided not to bring it up.

“going on an errand,” she responded simply before filling the basket of bread with a few cakes.

she wasn’t going to give you the chance to ask, but you didn’t mind. you knew she’d tell you later.

“so... this arranged engagement with taehyun.” you looked to the side while preparing your face for a whistle.

“you know he’s a great boy and he’s a doctor... a three. he also helps to manage the orphanage with the eights. he’s a great boy y/n.” your mom looked disappointed when you looked back at her.

“it’s just... when does a four ever get put in an arranged marriage. plus...” you looked down at your hands where your fingers were playing with each other, “what if... i could love someone else.” your eyes glistened at the thought of daniel always waiting for you on that tree branch. you didn’t know what caste he was in... even if he was an eight you’d be willing to be homeless with him... although now he’d be a two... all because of the draft.

your mom sighed as your little sister, seoyeon walked in. “that’s enough for now y/n. take this basket to the orphanage.”

seoyeon was all muddy, indicating how she came inside after playing around in the dirt. you grabbed the basket harshly, trying to show your mom that this was not over.

“can i go with?” seoyeon asked, looking at mom. your mom slightly nodded, so you took seoyeon’s hand in yours. you resisted the urge to glare at your mom before smiling at seoyeon.

“okay... we have to get to the orphanage... what’s the best route?” you asked your sister who wore a sly grin before pulling you out of the door.

seoyeon rushed towards the river as she pulled you along. it was your little secret space that no one visited. the two of you had been running for quite a while, slowly passing by fewer and fewer people.

once the two of you made it to the river, seoyeon balanced on the thin makeshift bridge with her arms sticking out. she wobbled here and there but made it over. you followed soon after, carrying the basket in your hand and making sure to avoid any wet slippery spots on the bridge. seoyeon laughed as you made your way over to her.

“hurry slowpoke!” she called before running off into the field.

you shook your head before fastening your pace. once you got off the bridge you took off into a sprint. by the time you caught up to her she was already at the orphanage and you were panting. that was one thing about seoyeon, for small legs she could sure as hell run.

“it’s about time.” she giggled as she took in your bent-over body. “i was starting to think i should’ve carried the basket.”

you rolled your eyes, waving her off before you straightened up. seoyeon had already run off to play with the kids her age. when you walked in there were a few kids and teenagers around your age sitting towards the entrance.

“are taehyun and jihyun around?” you asked, looking around to see if you had missed them in the small orphanage. all you could see at the moment was how it needed to be remodeled, like many things in this area.

“taehyun left a long while ago, but you could probably find jihyun upstairs if you like.” one of the teenage girls, who you knew to be yui, spoke. you nodded before moving towards the kitchen area to place to basket down, with a little note not to eat more than one.

you knew how hard it was for taehyun and jihyun to keep this orphanage up and running. it was hard to get everyone here a proper meal. taehyun nearly passed out from exhaustion when he came to visit your family. he had given up plenty of food just so those who were sick could eat enough.

you made sure to get the plates and napkins out to remind them not to leave the bread lying in unsanitary areas. once you felt your job had been done, you went upstairs to their office. unlike most days the door was closed. you knew something was wrong and the sniffling coming from the room only confirmed your suspicions.

you hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door and letting yourself in. jihyun’s sorrowful eyes burned through yours, making your heart drop.

“y/n thank god you’re here.” she cried before attacking you in a hug. you rubbed circles on her back to try and get her to calm down.

“what happened?” you asked softly, scared this question might break her.

she sniffled, “o-one of the boys-” she let out a sob and you continued to try and soothe her.

“it’s okay you don’t have to say anything.” at this point you moved one of your hands to her head and rested it there.

“n-no he... he stole some meat and they’re going to whip him y/n. they’re going to whip him. he’s only seven!” she cried looking at you in your eyes. she was pleading, pleading for you to do anything. you weren’t sure you could.

“where’s taehyun?” you asked looking around, maybe he went to help. maybe that’s what he and your dad were doing.

“i don’t know.” she finally calmed a bit, hiccuping here and there. “he left before we received the news.”

you were left to wonder what the two were doing, but you didn’t have time for that.

“i promise i’ll go help the boy.” you gave jihyun a determined look. “what’s his name?” you asked halfway out the door.

“hak hyunwoo.” she barely whispered it, probably ashamed. you gave her a reassuring smile before leaving and finding seoyeon.

by the time you had arrived back home they already were gathering people around the city to witness the poor boys' punishment.

“what is your name boy?” the masked man shouted more to the crowd than to the boy. you had been struggling to get closer to the wooden post.

“hak hyunwoo.” he was crying, his tears wouldn’t stop flooding. he had nobody to watch out for him.

“and what is your crime?” the masked man yelled out once more.

hyunwoo was silent before speaking. “theft.” it was quiet.

“your punishment will be...” he waited to see if the crowd of people would react. only a few weren’t excited, it was disgusting how many people were cheering. everyone was just sitting back... watching.

“thirty strikes to the back!” there was a roar in the crowd, but the noise died out in your mind. that was way too much...

you pushed even harder, “stop!” you screamed, but no one could hear you over the crowd. you saw them grabbing the whip, only making you lunge forward, forgetting about hurting the people in the crowd. you stumbled forward after reaching the front. it didn’t matter if he was an eight, you had to help him.

“wait!” you screamed, now where the two in charge of this could hear. the guards were watching you with cautious eyes.

“miss you can’t intervene.” one man standing to the side had said.

you took a deep breath. “this boy did nothing wrong. can’t you see he’s malnourished? the kingdom failed this poor boy... they’re the ones at fault.” you had to try anything. everyone gasped as you accused the royal family of this boy's actions.

“if you must punish someone. punish me, but theft does not deserve thirty strikes to the back.” everyone's eyes were on you, making you nervous. you never really asked for attention, but here you were gaining it.

the masked man was staring at you, no doubt glaring. “fine. get up here.” he nearly threw kyunwoo off of the tiny stage.

you were surprised that worked, you were just desperate, but now you would have to face the consequences. as you walked past the little boy you told him to run home, which he did. that gave you a little comfort.

“what is your name?” the masked man was seething.

“kim y/n.” you tried to sound brave and strong, but you couldn’t help the waver in your voice.

before he could do anything else, more soldiers rushed toward the tiny wooden stage.

“you mustn’t hurt this young lady. she’s been selected and the prince would like to see her now.”

you weren’t sure which guard had said it. you were stricken with shock. tears threatened to fall and you didn’t know whether it was from the relief of not getting whipped or because you’d have to leave everyone to be a plaything for prince yeonjun.

guards had escorted you back home. you were still in a daze from the information, even as your little sister cheered for you. your mom was the only one to snap you out of the trance.

“i’m sorry sweetie... just know that we will all be waiting and ready for anything that happens. we will support you no matter what.” she rubbed your shoulder as you stared at all of the paperwork in front of you.

there had been a palace worker standing beside you stating the rules and how the caste systems worked as if you didn’t know.

ones were royalty and family of royals. twos were celebrities, soldiers, and politicians. threes were people who worked pretty stable jobs like teaching and nursing. fours were business owners. fives were musicians and entertainers. sixes were those who helped others with jobs. sevens were mainly outdoor workers. then there were eights... these people were mainly cast out of society.

staring at the paper only made you even more frustrated. you were practically signing your life away for the possibility of being a three or one if you’re “lucky.”

everyone had to be virgins, single, and if caught in a relationship could be met with death. you rolled your eyes once more thinking about how it wasn’t optional this year. you guess it was a good thing daniel never asked you out and ended things.

then the man said that it’d be ill-advised to refuse anything the prince asked. that confirmed your suspicions, you were practically being sold off to a spoiled brat. the only one who could send you home was the prince himself and no one got a say in what the prince did.

of course, everyone had to be civil and not fight, but you had to wear what the palace gave you, nothing else. one of the worst things was that you couldn’t leave the palace on your own accord. you’d be trapped and watched for the entertainment of the show.

there was one last thing about being one of the last 10. it meant you were the elite, but you doubted that would ever be you. with that... you signed your love away.

your mom was the one to give the signed paper to the man at the front door who had been waiting to take your paper to the palace. she was going to see you off because your dad still wasn’t back yet.

“wait y/n!” seoyeon ran towards you, hugging your legs tightly. “are you going to be a princess?” her eyes lit up when she asked. you couldn’t crush her.

“maybe... that’s up to the prince.” and that was the truth. you didn’t have a choice, but you’d do everything in your power to leave.

it seemed every choice was being made for you as you followed the palace worker, the guards following behind.

the ride to the palace was slow and lonely. you were forced to look longingly at the forest, regretting not saying goodbye to daniel. you thought of all the things you wanted to say to him.

i’ll wait for you because i love you.

we can get through this.

please don’t leave me.

i can’t live without you.

be safe.

at that moment all you knew was that you had to find him somehow and he’d be in the palace. maybe staying for just a little bit wouldn’t be that bad if you could find him.

when you saw the large palace nausea rested in your throat and stomach. you don’t know why he called you here this early, but it couldn’t be good. all the other girls would be arriving tomorrow morning as they had announced.

it was weird being escorted in, but your nerves were exploding within you. you weren’t ready to see royalty. you vowed to die before you bowed before them, but here you were walking straight in and scanning the area. all you managed to see were maids and soldiers around, giving you another few moments of the pride you were willing to die for.

you were passed off to three maids who had been waiting for you.

“it’s amazing to meet you lady y/n.” the title made your face crunch with distaste.

“please... just call me y/n.” your voice was quiet, not allowing yourself to be comfortable in an unknown area.

“we can’t do that miss.” the shortest of the three informed, making you close your eyes and pray to the heavens that you would be able to survive this.

“okay then... may i know your names?” the three of them looked at each other before the one who led the path spoke up.

“i’m aeri, she's isuel, and that’s minsuh” aeri pointed at each of them. you noted that the shortest one, issue, was probably the youngest. you only nodded in response as they led you further into the palace, upstairs, and down long hallways.

“this will be your room,” aeri announced, opening the door to reveal a large room with many small details on the furniture. it was a bit much, but you didn’t expect anything less from people at the top of the caste system.

“we have to get you dressed because the prince will be seeing you soon.” minsuh rushed over towards the large wardrobe, that when opened revealed many different dresses. all of them... dresses.

“i say we should put you in the pink one!” iseul shouted, excited. the other two nodded enthusiastically, but you were too defeated to protest.

it was almost as if prince yeonjun had been waiting the whole time because as soon as they zipped you up, a knock came from the door. all of the maids ran to the door, leaving your pleading eyes behind.

“your majesty.” was all you heard before a few mumbling and giggling. they rushed out immediately and prince yeonjun replaced them. his hair was dyed pink now, making you wish you protested the dress’s color. your maids were sly.

your heart was pacing, scared from the uncertainty.

“it’s a pleasure to meet you lady y/n.” there it was again. the title you wanted to get away from.

“the pleasure is all mine.” you tried to hide the sarcasm in your voice as you stood strong in front of him. don’t you dare waver.

“i heard you got into some trouble today... i’d like to discuss that.” he was calm, every word held a hidden strength behind it. this was why he called you here early.

“i’d hardly call it trouble.” you stopped to watch him step closer to you. you wanted to tell him to stay away, not get close to touching you, but you kept quiet.

“oh really? you don’t call asking to be punished for someone else’s crimes trouble?” he was standing right in front of you now, but he was relaxed and wore a soft smile. he found this humoring. it was anything but.

“i call that two innocent people paying for a kingdoms failure.” the words slipped out before you could hold them back, but you didn’t regret them. not when you saw how prince yeonjun backed away, looking to the side.

“innocent? he was a thief.” yeonjun looked back at you, determined and unwavering. two could play at that game.

you walked towards him this time. a power move. “the world is not all black and white. he was a young boy, an orphan that was placed as an eight. your rules are the reason he was starving, leaving no option but stealing.” you were glaring now, trying to ignore the fact you had to look up at him.

he didn’t seem to want to back down either. “yet if we let one person steal something what’s stopping others?” he leaned his face closer to yours, noses only inches apart.

don’t you dare give in.

“if higher castes can pay their way out of punishment, why don’t the lower castes get a chance?” at this point, you couldn’t move any closer, but you could spit on him. that was only a passing thought to entertain you.

prince yeonjun was quiet after that, staring into your eyes as if he was trying to search through every part of your life. it felt interrogating. he hadn’t responded, so you took that as his loss and back away.

“is that all you wanted to discuss?” your voice was quieter now, not accusatory.

“for now... but you might want to learn some respect.” and then he left you to be swallowed in your anger.

part 2 sneak peak:

the castle had been dark for a while. all day today you were looking around for a familiar face, one that didn’t seem to show.

the creaking of your door alerting you of a new presence. you swore you told everyone you’d like to sleep peacefully tonight, but here they were interrupting you.

“princ-”

“i heard you’ve been looking for me.” you could recognize that voice anywhere. the playfulness in his tone lit your heart on fire.

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shima-draws · 4 years

Photo

Hiro is here!! We've all been waiting for him!!

You know the drill by now, all the yummy details about his background are under the cut ;) Also be warned it is VERY long I went a little feral writing his backstory lmao

Hiro

Age: 17

Hair color: Orange

Eye color: Pink

Element: Psychic & Forest

Okay so a lot of this is gonna be stuff I'm pulling from posts I've already written to make it easier on myself and so I don't have to repeat anything.

Before he was born, the Novune Forces approached Hiro's parents because they knew that he would be born as a dual elemental. Part of their goal was to raise several dual type children to become human weapons--they targeted dual type babies specifically because they're said to be more powerful since they can use more than one elemental type.

It was the perfect opportunity for Hiro's parents because at the time they were not ready for a child despite agreeing that they were going to have it. Ofc the Forces did not reveal their plans so to them it turned into a nice surrogate parent situation where Hiro's mother would give birth to him and he'd immediately be given up for adoption afterwards. It was definitely hard for them to part with him but they trusted he'd be in good care. Well. That turned out great, as you can probably tell :')

Hiro, along with Kaz and Mallary, became the Forces' iconic trio, with Hiro considered to be the golden child and the most dangerous between the three of them because of his high intellect and skill in combat. He grew up under a very strict regimen and would spend hours each day dedicated to training both his mind and his elemental powers. He's an extremely gifted psychic elemental and took to his abilities almost immediately--he’s able to read his opponents movements and set up traps before they can even get to him. He’s usually airborne for most battles he’s in; he finds it easier to strategize from a higher vantage point, and he also just likes to float around and dodge enemy attacks and act like an ass lmao. He’s a pro at immobilizing his enemies so they can no longer move, ending his battles swiftly and cleanly. Physically he’s not very powerful so he uses a magic staff to fight. His intelligence more than makes up for his lack of super strength!

He has a special power like Kaz’s extra dragon typing (and, like Kaz, he has a streak in his hair from the experimentation)—Hiro gets visions of death, basically predictions of the future, and his visions are never wrong. He’s able to see who dies in battle and the Forces use this to their advantage so that they can prepare around any casualties. Hiro hates getting these visions because he doesn’t like seeing people die, he witnesses their last moments and it’s certainly traumatizing for him;; and like Kaz, this power was something he only unlocked through lots of experimentation on him, so he usually passes out for hours after getting a vision since it’s not a “natural” ability he was born with.

As for his second typing, it was something he never really clicked with. Forest elementals have to be very attuned to nature and are generally more kindhearted and gentle people, but since Hiro grew up in a base with only limited access to the outside (and because he’s forced into acting as an antagonist), his forest elemental powers were repressed over the years. He’s already powerful enough as a psychic elemental so he doesn’t feel the need to resort to a second power, especially since his superiors viewed his second typing as useless and he never received proper training on how to use it. He's already a huge threat as he is so they said good enough. The Forces believe that if something is useless, throw it away, so they eventually abandoned any hope of him succeeding in bettering his forest powers, and focused solely on enhancing his psychic abilities and making his death visions clearer.

Before Hiro became the cold-hearted and snarky colonel that the Forces know him as, he was actually a very kind child with an aversion to violence, and cried often. That got forced out of him pretty quickly though--he learned right away that disobedience means punishment and the only way to pay for his mistakes is by verbal and physical abuse. Poor baby :'( He and Kaz and Mallary go through a LOT of unfair shit as kids. The event that really drove home his intense determination and flawless record was the first mission he was ever sent out on.

This happened when he was around 13. Usually members of the Forces don't get to go out on solo missions unless they have a high position or are old enough to, but he was the exception because of his talent and because it was an experiment to see if he could handle it. His mission was to infiltrate a small, family run guild and basically gather intel and find out what their agenda was, as there were rumors they knew of some of the Forces’ plans. Upon Hiro’s arrival to the town where the guild was situated, he ends up rescuing the Guildmaster’s daughter, Lorelai, who is around his age. Unknowingly, he triggered his forest elemental powers, which caused them to land in a field of flowers he’d bloomed. Because of this, Lorelai starts to call him Flower, since he couldn’t come up with a codename in time and he doesn’t have a real name anyway lol

A couple weeks pass and Hiro spends more and more time with the guild, growing closer to Lorelai and being lulled into a false sense of security. He becomes extremely jealous of how the guild lives, and is very emotional at how much of a family they are, and how sweetly they treat him. Hiro starts to ponder over whether or not he should be sneaking around behind their back, when one day the guild is attacked while he’s out. When he returns, the village is set ablaze, and when Hiro demands what’s going on, his superior informs him that he was merely a decoy to get their defenses down, since apparently the Forces had definitive proof that they knew of their plans. His superior orders Hiro to search the village and kill anybody who was left.

Hiro, panicked, searches for Lorelai, and finds her hiding in the forest nearby. He apologizes to her and has a mental breakdown, blaming himself for all of her misfortune. Lorelai realizes that he’s being kept in the Forces against his will and begs him to run away with her. Hiro knows that he’ll be hunted down if he does, and Lorelai could get hurt, so he tells her he has to stay with them. In the midst of this, they are confronted with the current colonel of the Forces, who encourages Hiro to kill Lorelai. Hiro refuses, and the colonel calls him out for insubordination. The colonel then decides to kill both of them in order to get a promotion. Hiro leaps to defend both Lorelai and himself, and in the scuffle, receives the scar on his head, and accidentally kills the colonel. Traumatized, bloodied, and terrified, Lorelai is the one to apologize to him as he cries his eyes out. Hiro numbly reassures her and tells her to run while she can. Lorelai admits that she loves him and bids him farewell, hoping that they can meet again, and that she’s sorry she can’t do more for him.

This is when Hiro decides to become the perfect agent—dangerous, cruel, and flawless, so that something like this never happens again, and so that he can have enough power to make the decisions rather than just following orders to mindlessly kill people. From then on out he does what he’s told without any complaints and has a record for never failing a single mission the Forces have given to him. Any enemy considers him to be absolutely ruthless because he does not hesitate in battles and will neutralize with no questions asked. He’s a cocky little bastard around enemies lmao he loves to snark them and tease them. He’s strictly against killing after what happened to the colonel, so instead, if it’s a high risk operation, he erases the memories of his targets to reduce the threat. Because he’s so uncomfortable with the thought of death in general he reasons that losing your memories is better than dying, and that makes it easier on the Forces as well since they’ll leave less of a trail rather than just killing people left and right.

Growing up, Hiro didn’t interact with Kaz very much, and they usually just saw each other in passing. However they both respect each other a great amount, and they sympathize with each other, being in the same sort of situation. Both the Hiro and Kaz hate their upbringing and hold a grudge against their superiors for their treatment and experimentation on them;; As for Mallary, Hiro became enamored with her because she reminds him a lot of Lorelai (who he later admits to being his first love). He finds her strength captivating and the way she doesn’t give a shit about other people’s opinions admirable. Hiro eventually falls prey to her manipulation and falls over himself to please her, which bothers Kaz because he knows Mallary’s just toying with him.

After the Forces’ plan to kidnap Ginni and use her as a hostage blows up in their face, Hiro finds out that Kaz had escaped with her, and commends him on the extremely smart decision to do so lol. He wonders if he should start considering leaving the Forces as well, seeing as he’s mature and responsible (and smart) enough to make it on his own. He’s ordered to retrieve Kaz which was a HUGE mistake on the Forces’ part because they didn’t realize Hiro’s loyalties lied more with people on the outside. Hiro meets up with Kaz and Kaz eventually convinces him to desert the Forces and work with him to stop their plans. Hiro agrees to work as a double agent for a while, leaking all of the Forces’ information to Kaz, Ginni, and the guild. In the midst of all this, Hiro meets Olivia, who pretty much calls dibs on him and she’s like “Listen Ginni got to give Kaz his name so can I give the colonel a name?? Please???” So she starts calling him Hiro! And finally baby boy smarts up and starts crushing on a girl that actually gives a damn about him and god dammit it’s the cutest fucking case of puppy love since Dusk/Nozomi. Hiro absolutely adores her, but he’s too nervous to actually do anything about it because he’s got huge abandonment issues (thanks again bad parenting! And Mallary!) and doesn’t want to ruin one of the only genuine friendships he’s ever had. But he is head over HEELS for Olivia and it’s so……softe.

Mallary finds out that Hiro’s acting as a spy, and retaliates. Hiro realizes just how awfully she’s treated him and defeats her, allowing him to escape and officially join up with the guild.

After that it’s a whole bunch of crazy action stuff as plans come together and they get to take down the Forces. Hiro falls harder and deeper for Olivia while she remains oblivious (at least, for a little while, until she finally starts noticing). He grows closer to Kaz and Ginni as well, and begins connecting with Kaz on a deep level because of their shared history. (They’re kind of like brothers, and Hiro considers him to be his best friend :’) )

Once the Forces are defeated, Hiro and Kaz both decide to go on a journey of self discovery in order to better themselves and learn more about the world they haven’t seen due to being locked up for so many years. Kaz and Ginni are already on the verge of forming a relationship, but with Olivia and Hiro it’s still tentative since she’s unsure and he still feels inadequate as a romantic partner. Olivia admits that she likes him and Hiro is so happy he’s ready to burst, but then he realizes it’s not the right time for them to be together so he gently rejects her. (Olivia takes this as an actual rejection tho not a “I’m not ready to be in a relationship with you yet tho I WANT to” and Ginni’s like YA’LL ARE SO DUMB I S2G).

Hiro and Kaz go their separate ways, and Hiro travels around for a while! He eventually settles in a lovely little village where he learns about his forest elemental powers and how to use them better. He’s finally able to connect with other people and essentially becomes way softer around the edges, revealing the true personality he had when he was a kid. A year or so passes and suddenly Kaz, Ginni and Olivia show up to reunite with him, and not long after that Hiro and Olivia FINALLY get together and start dating 😔👌 (Ginni: TOOK you look enough, god)

At some point the four of them go on a journey together and Hiro runs into his biological parents again…!! And he finds out he has a younger sister and they all reconnect and it’s SO EMOTIONAL

Other than that I think that’s all I have 🤔 Thanks for reading though this epic rollercoaster ride of a story plot lol!

Extra personality traits

-Hiro’s sarcasm and snarkiness is a defense mechanism to prevent anybody from seeing his vulnerable side, and also a way to trick the fear inside of him. Kaz is the one to point this out actually lol

-Despite that he does enjoy teasing people lightheartedly and being sassy, once he gets comfortable enough with them! There is a difference between his snarkiness towards enemies compared to that towards friends

-Is EXTREMELY loyal to the people he cares about. At first he tends to act prickly and kind of standoffish towards people he doesn’t know well. Over time he becomes more open to trusting others. Once you earn his trust and he deems you worthy of his friendship he instantly becomes softer and kinder haha, it’s like a switch

-Often dismisses people that he thinks aren’t worth his time or aren’t smart enough to hold an intelligent conversation with him

-Spends a lot of time reading and gathering knowledge. He is very book smart—but not very people smart :’D He and Kaz will spend hours in the guild’s library, since they’re both very thirsty for information outside of what they studied during their time in the Forces

-Touch starved as FUCK. He flips his shit every time somebody touches him in a friendly way, and will melt into a puddle if he gets hugged

-He can be very nosy and insensitive sometimes, prying into other people’s personal affairs if he thinks he can solve the issue

-Absolutely a tactics expert. He calculates all of his moves very carefully, and uses prediction tactics to leave no room for error. He enjoys coming up with mock battle situations to challenge himself.

-Very self-sacrificial;; he views the lives of those he cares about to be far more important than his own. He’ll lay his life on the line for his friends in an instant

-Is the person in the group who is the least fond of violence. If he can find a way around injuring someone, he’ll do it. He prefers to restrict his enemy’s movements or slow them down so they can’t fight back. He is VERY good at neutralizing opponents before they can even register it

-SUPER speedy. Due to his small size he’s very quick, most people don’t see him coming

-He’s really sensitive about his height fjmaksldmas he snaps at people who make fun of him for it

-Tends to levitate when he’s in deep thought. Olivia finds this very cute

-Blooms flowers when he’s happy/embarrassed

-He’s actually. A very talented dancer :0 During his year away from the guild he learned a lot of folk dances at the village he was living in, and when the others witness it they get really starstruck because it’s super mesmerizing!! He blooms flowers as he dances

-At his core he’s a very compassionate character!!

-After escaping from the Forces, he’s able to express his emotions more openly, and goes back to the way he was as a child. He’s a crybaby :’) He cries whenever someone he cares about gets hurt

-The only person in the group with the fucking brain cell, and the most rational one. Unless Olivia gets involved, then he gets stupid and flustered lmao

#This got SO long oh my god. I am so sorry. Except I'm not #My character bios keep getting longer and longer!! WHICH IS GOOD BC THEY ALL NEED GOOD DEVELOPMENT #OC #Original character #Character art #Character design #Character sheet #Character ref #Character reference #Art #Digital art #Long post #Shima arts #Shima's OCs #Among the Stars #ATS #Hiro #shima-draws

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selfwriting-sugarquills · 4 years

Text

Bruises.

request: “hi there lovely! I've just came across your blog and would love to give you a request!! maybe something along the lines of the reader being a family friend if the weasleys for years and they've taken her under their wing at school and she gets into a physical fight with some other person that was making fun of the w.fam for their money situation and she gets detention with umbridge. when she comes out thought george kisses her and thanks for? ty lovie?!!”

word count: 2.278

warnings: mild violence, not really proofread

A/N: listen, I just want to say that obviously not all Slytherins are mean bullies, we all know that by now, right? for the sake of the plot these particular ones are bad xxx

Sound was erupting from everywhere around you as Gryffindor won against Slytherin. Mostly you could hear the yells of dismay and catcalls from Slytherin mixing with the roar from the Gryffindor stand. down on the pitch you saw the teams land on the ground, the Gryffindor team looking only somewhat happy amidst the chaos, all of them landing around Harry to check on him after being hit by a bludger in the last second of the game, though their concern quickly turned into annoyance as Malfoy swooped down in front of the group, saying something to them, though the crowd and the distance made it impossible for you to make out what that something was. Instinctively you found the two redheaded twins you called your best friends and going on the stiff looks on their faces, whatever Malfoy was saying wasn’t very sportsmanlike.

“This isn’t going to be pretty,” You say to yourself as you hurry down to the pitch, quickly dodging between disappointed Gryffindors and breaking into a sprint when you reach the grass of the playing field.

You’re too slow though, in the seconds it takes you to reach the team, Harry lets go of George and the two take on Malfoy, both of them quickly overpowering him until he’s lying on the ground, you can’t do anything other than help Angelina, Katie and Alicia hold Fred, who’s still struggling to break free and get to Malfoy, and yell out for George and Harry to stop, not because you have much pity for Malfoy, knowing he probably deserved every hit that he got judging by the boy’s harsh reaction, but rather because you fear Umbridge’s tyranny, and the punishment she’ll give Harry and George. If speaking out of turn got you the blood quill, as it had been named by your fellow students, then you didn’t want to imagine what outright violence got you, let alone two against one. You held onto Fred for what felt like an eternity before a blast from Madam Hooch’s wand knocked down George and Harry who both landed with heavy ‘thump’s on the grass.

“I’ve never seen such behavior before! Up to the castle, straight to your heads of house’s office, both of you immediately! Go on!” Madam Hooch screamed at the two boys, who picked themselves up and took off, in the meantime, Fred seemed to calm down, all you still holding onto his clothes for good measure while you headed towards the changing rooms,

“I-I’d better go back up to the castle,” you say, “I’ll see you all in the common room, alright?”

The group bids you goodbye and you turn to join the stream of students walking up towards the castle.

As you walk, the whole episode plays over and over again in your head. You’d never seen the twins so angry before, let alone had you never seen them being physically violent in that way. You’d known them since you were about eight, your parents were good friends of the Weasley’s and one summer, whilst your own house was having some construction done, the Weasley’s had offered to let your family stay with them. You’d been shy and had mostly kept to yourself until the twins beckoned you into their room to see their newest fireworks they’d gotten from Romania as a gift from Charlie. It had been incredibly easy to befriend the twins and years later you’d still consider them your best friends and you knew them to be some of the most easy going and happy people at Hogwarts so seeing George beat up Malfoy was new. You felt a pang of worry at the thought of George and the twisted devices Umbridge had surely set up to use on him as punishment, Malfoy was a favorite of hers after all, surely she wouldn’t treat this like any of the twin’s other antics. You’d developed a crush on George over the past year or so and just like befriending him, you’d found that falling in love with him had been more than easy, it was hard not to, really. You’d first realised you’d loved him when you’d had a really terrible couple of days, your essays had come back with bad marks despite you really having tried to understand the subject, hoping to get use the n.e.w.t to get your dream job, though at that moment it had seemed impossible with the ‘Poor’ marked on the parchment, then you’d received some harsh criticism from Snape, not that you’d normally care but in midst of your crisis with your essays, you’d let it get to you, and George had noticed, of course he had, he had a knack of reading you better than Fred - or anyone else - could. He’d sneaked you out after the sun had gone down, and together you went to Hogsmeade, walking the wet cobblestones together for what seemed like ages. He bought you sweets and sat with you in the three broomsticks until well after midnight, just talking and watching the various customers come and go.

“Why’d you take me here? I mean, not that I don’t appreciate it, I just-” you halted, your breathing never worked quite right when he looked you in the eye, “-why are you doing all this for me?” you ask, swallowing hard when his lips form a smile that honestly makes your heart stop. He thinks for a minute, allowing you to breathe again when his eyes move away to glance out over the three broomstick’s interior, the hag half asleep over her fifth scotch, the shifty cardplayers in the very back, sluggishly teasing each other earning them a warning from madam Rosmerta when their ale spills over, then back to you with your red nose and cheeks from the cold, your hair slightly frizzy from the wind,

“to get away from everything, I think,” He says, “sometimes it’s nice to just leave everything you know behind for a bit, you know?” He looks at you and when you don’t answer he continues,

“Sometimes, when I’m back home, it can get a bit too much, with my family and everything. Especially if you’re upset, it’s tough when you don’t even have a room you can shut yourself up in, except for maybe the bathroom,” he lets out a stout chuckle, then his expression softens again, “so, sometimes when I’m upset, I sneak out, and just walk through the fields until I can see the city in the distance, and I just sit, like we are, and it helps to be away, just for a little bit, and then when I feel better, I go back home and the strange thing is, that when I come back, Fred is always up and waiting for me, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so thankful to have a twin…” He falters, and realises he’s rambling, “I don’t know, I just thought you’d like to get some fresh air,” he adds, his ears turning red but you don’t say anything. You just stare at him whilst your heart hammers away at your ribs because for the first time you’ve realised how much he means to you.

You’d never told him any of that, though. That night you’d walked back to the castle together as if everything was the same, though you could never focus again whenever he’d put his arm around you and your heart still stopped in its tracks when his eyes met yours.

“If you ask me, then this just proves Malfoy’s point,” a voice says behind you, you turn and look and see a group of Slytherin girls walking together, “I mean attacking him like that just because he’d been giving them some slander, if that doesn’t scream “I was raised in a pigsty” then I don’t know what does,” the girl says, her friends letting out barks of laughter, “honestly what did Draco expect, haven’t you seen their pranks? they’re practically barbaric. Probably fight over scraps of food the poor things,”

“Shut up!” You spun around to face the three girls, neither of whom looked threatened by your outburst,

“What gives you the right to speak about them like that? As far as I’m aware none of you even know them,” you sneer, earning belittling giggles from the three of them,

“I think we’ve seen enough to know what type of people they are, after all they hang out with little Potty and that Granger girl, it figures,”

“what figures,”

“That they clearly struggle to comprehend what wizards are worth spending time with, though who can blame them? with those parents I’m surprised they even know their ABC’s- OOF!”

You hadn’t realised your hand was flying upwards until it hit the girl’s face knocking her backwards a few steps while she cupped her nose, blood beginning to trickle out between her fingers, staring at you with a shocked expression for a few seconds before her friend shoved you, yelling something you couldn’t hear over the pulse banging on your eardrums, in your rage you didn’t hesitate to lash out after her friend who swiped quickly at you and hit you square on the cheekbone, though you managed to land a punch in her eye before you, too, were knocked backwards by a spell.

“MISS L/N!” Snape’s voice echoed across the grounds, Sprout and Flitwick at his heels, “what on earth do you think you’re doing?!” his voice boomed, making you wince as the pain from your cheekbone begins to register, “Your housemates displaying the worst of your houses wasn’t enough for us, was it? Thought we’d join in on the fun? Fifty points from Gryffindor and 20 from Slytherin for good measure! L/n you’re heading straight to professor McGonagall’s office! and you three go to the hospital wing at once!” Snape scolds as you pull yourself to your feet and begin walking towards McGonagall's office, dreading having to look your head of house in the eye. You’d felt sick with guilt when you’d had to explain being late to one of her lessons, the thought of having to explain why you were turning up with a bruised face after she’d already had to berate George and Harry made you want to hurl.

You were surprised to see that her office was empty except for professor Umbridge when McGonagall opened the door with a slightly surprised expression.

“Miss L/n, what on earth are you doing here?” she asked,

“Erh, professor Snape sent me,” you said sheepishly, her eyes landed on your cheekbone and her expression stiffened,

“Come in.” Umbridge's saccharine voice says behind her, “Mr Weasley and Mr Potter have just left, but I’m sure that we can fit in another detention, if you’ll leave us professor McGonagall, I’ll take it from here.”

***

“-So I’ll see you next Monday for your next of many detentions, miss L/n, other than that you’re free to go back to your common room now.” Umbridge says finally, taking the blood quill from you with the same revolting smile she always wears. You don’t know what to say so you resort to nodding and leaving without a word, carefully closing the door behind you and turning to go. You start when you’re met with the face of George, who’s sitting on the windowsill across the hallway, his lip swollen and bruised.

“George!” you say, holding a hand to your chest, “you scared the living hell out of me!” you exclaim as he stands up and crosses the hallway,

“Sorry, Y/n,” he says with a grin before his eyes travel to your cheek and soon after you feel his cold fingers touching your bruise gingerly while he eyes you with furrowed brows,

“You’re hurt,” he says in hushed tone so unlike his usual self that it makes your stomach churn, hating to see him this worried,

“you should see the other girls,” you attempt to joke earning a chuckle from George, “besides I can hardly feel it with my hand,” you lift up your hand, showing off the bright red letters etched into it,

I will not resort to violence.

“so it’s true then,” he says, his hand still on your cheek, his thumb gently brushing over the bruise, his eyes staring into your own, “that you beat up those Slytherins?” Now it’s you who’s chuckling, “You could say that, yeah,” you answer, “they deserved it though, they were talking about you, your family” suddenly, you find it hard to look George in the eye, you stare at your feet, the edges of your vision blurring with tears, you feel his hand tilt your head up by your chin,

“I- I don’t know what happened, George, I just heard them say those awful things about you and I just couldn’t take it, I just-”

His lips cut you off from your ramblings, his hands finding their way down to your waist, holding you gently as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss just a little, stepping closer to you, your own hands travel up to his neck, his hair, your fingers get lost in tufts of ginger hair. You can feel the bruise on his lip, and it implores you to kiss him as softly as possible, though you want nothing more than to continue deepening it, to make it last longer. He breaks away, resting his forehead on yours,

“Thank you, Y/n,” he breathes with a smile, “for standing up for me.” he leans in and pecks you on the lips,

“though, in fairness, I’d prefer if you refrain from violence from now on, I’d hate to see you get hurt.” he says, taking you by the hand and beginning to walk, you gently nudge him,

“And that’s coming from you,” you smirk,

“touché.”

#george weasley x reader #george weasley #Fred and George Weasley #harry potter #hp #the weasley twins #fred weasley

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cruelfeline · 4 years

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Anyone who hangs about Twitter potentially saw an unfortunate Hordak take cross their timelines today.

As is custom on this blog, I’ll be taking it apart for my own personal amusement (and for the amusement of any of y’all who like to watch me do so). I doubt the poster will see this, as they’re on Twitter and not apparently on here, but in case they do: this is for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of followers; it absolutely does not need to be responded to if that’s not your cup of tea.

So, that little disclaimer in place, let’s see what we can make of this! Because this is on Medium, I’ll be using screenshots as quotes; just a heads-up.

So... this first bit isn’t really anything Hordak-related. It’s more... fandom drama, I suppose? Not really something I can pick apart. I can, however, give my own personal opinion on this sort of thing, for what it’s worth.

It’s true that people can and should be able to feel whichever way they wish about a character. And to talk about that character.

However: it is also true that people who dislike Hordak can be very unpleasant in making that known to those of us who enjoy him. Including descending into personal insults for no discernible reason. Add to that the fact that his character means a great deal to some fans for intensely personal reasons, and it is not difficult to see why some fans aren’t keen to see anti-Hordak content on their timelines, in their mentions, etc.

Censoring character hate isn’t a requirement, but in some circumstances, it can simply be a polite thing to do. It doesn’t take great effort, and it prevents people from experiencing just another bit of unpleasantness on their social media. And if you don’t want to do it? Well, that’s your right; but don’t be shocked when people voice their displeasure by replying to your words. Because that is their right.

And that’s all I really have to say about that.

Odd way to phrase things, really. These aren’t “reasons to forgive.” The first two scenes involve Catra’s asphyxiations and are things that would need to be forgiven, not things to forgive.

Though, y’know, I really only apply that to the first scene, where he assaults her without her necessarily doing anything wrong. Mind you, I believe he does it out of a combination of needing to maintain a hierarchy for safety purposes (this is a man who needs people to be afraid of him to maintain his own safety) and poor leadership skills mimicked from a narcissist, but it’s still a terrible thing.

However! The second time? After he asks her about Shadow Weaver? This isn’t torture-fun-times. This is Hordak neutralizing a threat to the entire Horde. Because that is what Catra is in this moment: a threat to the security and wellbeing of him and the entirety of the Fright Zone. She lies about a critical mistake. She proves herself to not only have poor judgment in serious matters, but to be very willing to lie about it in order to guard her own selfish motives. While I can’t condone the method Hordak uses, I do wish people would stop using this second instance of punishment as some sort of proof-of-torture. He does not do this for no reason. He does it because Catra released a dangerous prisoner into the wild and lied about it. And his concerns over it ultimately prove correct.

This entire qualification doesn’t have much to do with whether he deserves forgiveness or not, but it’s a point I want to make because it combats this idea that Hordak did this to an innocent girl “for no reason” or “just to be cruel.” That’s simply not the case; no matter how unpleasant the method, Hordak is a military leader punishing a subordinate for seriously endangering him and everyone else in the organization. Badly. I don’t know what the equivalent would be in modern military, but Catra’s error is massive. It doesn’t make what Hordak does right, but it does give a reason other than a simple “he’s a bad, bad man.” So.

Adding this scene is... actually kind of odd because he doesn’t really do anything to Adora here. And also: this scene is... what’s the word... meaningful-in-hindsight, so to speak. Essentially: in this scene, Adora is claiming that Hordak is responsible for stealing her, for robbing her of a peaceful life with her family. And Hordak is claiming that he neither knows nor cares who she is, and that she does not matter to him.

The interesting aspect of this scene, and something that OP fails to acknowledge at all, is that both Adora and Hordak are wrong.

let’s see if I can talk about this without crying... nope, already starting to tear up

Hordak never stole Adora; Light Hope did. Hordak did not orchestrate this unfortunate life for her. Rather, Hordak, a lost clone dealing with his own insecurities and fears and problems, found an equally lost infant in a field and gave her the only home he really knew how to create (and one that, for its flaws, was still better than the absolute nightmare he was “raised” in). In all likelihood, given Light Hope’s lack of understanding of infants, he probably saved Adora’s life by doing this: without him, she may well have perished alone in that field.

Hordak likewise does remember her, eventually. And she is not inconsequential to him: by saving her, he ends up saving himself, and all of his brothers. By forging this near-unknown bond with her all those years ago, by choosing to take in an infant rather than letting her die, he plays a key role in deciding the fate of the universe.

This scene that OP sarcastically claims is a reason Hordak shouldn’t be forgiven has a sibling:

The fact that OP apparently fails to recognize this and realize that these are the only two moments in the series during which Adora and Hordak directly interact, that they’re a pair, means that OP misses the connection between the two and the significance of how they misjudge one another initially. It indicates a lack of understanding of the themes of the show: themes centered around connections with other people, love, and forgiveness. Which, given the contents of this essay, is unsurprising.

Moving on!

Y’know, whether or not one believes, in terms of definition, that Hordak is a colonizer (I personally don’t for pedantic and clone-cult reasons, but that’s not really relevant to this post), it’s interesting that OP notes how Stevenson confirms that he is... but conveniently leaves out the part where she confirms that he did it because he was brainwashed.

That’s... an important piece of information to leave out when discussing whether Hordak should be forgiven or not. A very important piece.

And it doesn’t really matter whether he’s a colonizer or a conqueror; the reason it comes up is because people seem very stuck in the mindset of “if it’s a colonizer, it must die” without acknowledging any sort of nuance. There’s also the question of whether what Hordak did actually caused the same sort of upheaval and lasting damage we see resulting from legitimate colonization, and all of the implications of that, but this isn’t really the place to go into that. Honestly, I don’t really think SPoP as a whole is the place to go into that.

No. Hordak is not the person who taught her all of these things.

Shadow Weaver is.

Hordak did not personally teach her that Princesses are evil. He did not teach her that wanton cruelty is fine in getting one’s own way. He did not feed her propaganda.

Actually, as an aside: can we even confirm that Catra ever thought that Princesses where evil? I mean... she works with Scorpia, and she has no apparent morals to speak of. She does as she wishes for her own personal gain, not because she displays any sense of “fighting the evil Princesses.” And in terms of disposing of Entrapta because she was “manipulated” into viewing Princesses as evil: Catra disposes of everyone. She manipulates and uses everyone. That is one of the key aspects of her arc: she uses and abuses people for personal gain. She does this whether they are Princesses or not: just see Lonnie, Rogelio, and Kyle. Add to this the fact that Catra, from the first season, knows that she and Adora have been lied to, manipulated, and that the Horde is in fact evil, and... this entire line of reasoning falls apart.

None of this is an attempt to “absolve Hordak of blame.” Hordak just... legitimately had no hand in raising any of the children. That was not his role (and while I know that this was confirmed by Stevenson at some point, I don’t have memory of where; potentially the last podcast?). And Catra did not operate on any sort of propaganda that she actually believed in: she simply used and disposed of people as she saw fit because she cared more about her own rise to power than she did about those around her. This was one of her major character flaws, and really? Trying to pin this on Hordak, or even fully pin it on Shadow Weaver? It absolves Catra of the blame, of the intentional bad choices she made (as emphasized by Adora) and thus weakens her entire arc.

All in all: Hordak may have created a poor environment for the raising of children, but of note is the fact that only Catra turns out this way. The other kids, whatever their problems, are not in the habit of manipulating friends, lying to them, using them, and then tossing them aside. That is a Catra Problem. Part of this can be attributed to Shadow Weaver (who only treated Catra in the poorest way), and part of it is just... Catra being not-the-best.

All right. Now we get to the really disingenuous portion of the essay.

First, as just stated: Hordak is not Catra’s abuser. Shadow Weaver is. Hordak had no hand in raising her. Hordak did not direct Shadow Weaver to abuse her. Hordak did not personally feed Catra anti-Princess propaganda, and even if he had, we know by the first season that Catra sees through whatever propaganda she was exposed to and has no actual moral objections to Princesses. But that’s not the main aspect of this portion that irks me.

The main aspect that irks me is that this is not the scene Hordak stans mark as abusive. And I cannot imagine that OP does not know this.

But let’s talk about this scene, for a moment, before getting to the actual, legitimate abuse.

OP talks about his scene almost flippantly: “Hordak finds out Catra lied about Entrapta, he becomes angry and attacks her with a clear plan to kill her.”

Yes. Yes, he "becomes angry.” He becomes angry and attacks because as far as he knows, Catra killed Entrapta. This isn’t some annoyed “you lied to me!” moment. He legitimately thinks Entrapta is dead because Catra sent her to Beast Island. OP just blissfully glosses over the fact that Hordak is attacking Catra in rage and grief because Catra, as far as either of them know, killed his only friend and then lied about it for approximately a year. Like... how do you gloss over that in discussing this scene? How do you gloss over the enormity of what Catra did, and the unimaginable pain Hordak experiences when finding out?

So. The writeup of this scene is poor. It misses all of the emotion, all of the reality of what Catra did and what Hordak felt. But! That’s not even the unfortunate part of this portion. Let’s get to the real disingenuity.

This is the abusive scene. This is that stomach-turning moment when Catra removes a disabled man’s ability to move with dignity and without pain solely to force him to escalate a war for her own personal benefit.

Hordak is not a danger to her here. Hordak has not been a danger to her for a while because he has been holed up in his private quarters, trying to deal with the emotional fallout of Entrapta supposedly betraying him. He wants nothing to do with Catra. He wants to lick his wounds and gather himself and somehow heal from this deep personal pain that’s been inflicted upon him.

And that’s a problem for Catra because it stands in the way of her using the war as a way to best Adora.

So Catra identifies Hordak’s physical weakness and exploits it for the purpose of spiting her ex.

The fact that OP completely fails to acknowledge any of this is... well. Disingenuous. Absolutely so.

The next portion of the essay talks about people feeling that Catra was too easily forgiven and isn’t really Hordak-centric; I won’t really go into it here. Moving forward:

Ah, one of the most annoying questions I see asked. Let’s, again, acknowledge and move past the fact that Hordak was not actually Catra’s abuser...

When, pray tell, was Hordak supposed to show this remorse? When? While he was serving on Prime’s ship, trying to forget the pain of losing Entrapta, of failing to prove himself, of losing everything? Should he have done it while screaming in agony in the purification pool? Should he have done so while alone on Prime’s ship, trying to serve quietly while piecing together his memories?

Not only was Hordak simply not in a position, narratively, to go into a whole remorse bit, but he had other problems. Like, life-endangering problems.

The appropriate time to go into his feelings on Etheria and the Princesses and All of That would have been after Prime’s defeat, upon Hordak’s re-introduction to Etheria... but then the show ended. So.

Agh, vulgar. Taking a brainwashed, conditioned slave and bastardizing his triumph at finally seeing himself as a real person, instead claiming that his intent was to glorify his own misdeeds. No. Just... no.

Again: this is not the time for guilt. And it is a demonstration of why guilt and remorse were not front-and-center in Hordak’s arc during season five: his arc was about finally realizing that he was his own person, a person worthy of identity and love and care and freedom. And this arc culminated in him separating himself from his abuser and declaring his personhood.

That is what this scene is: not Hordak reveling in his makeshift empire, or in the terrible deeds he’d committed, but in declaring himself his own person.

I should hope that he is proud of doing that. I’m proud of him for doing that daunting feat, of defeating his abuser and defying his god and recognizing that he is worthy of more than what Prime thought of him. And I recognize Entrapta’s role in it: not as the sole inspiration for his change, but as someone who showed him a foundation of love and acceptance, someone who introduced him to the idea that he was worthy of care and happiness and affection simply because he was a living being, no strings attached.

Trying to shoehorn in some sort of claim that this is about pride in his misdeeds, rather than joy at finally accepting his own sense of self is a massive misinterpretation of this scene, a misunderstanding of Entrapta’s role in Hordak’s arc, and... can I say it’s disingenuous again? Because I’m going to: it’s disingenuous.

All right; we’re at the end. And while the first sentence here is something I absolutely agree with - the decision to forgive Hordak is personal and subjective both for viewers and for in-show characters - the whole conclusion falls apart from there.

It highlights another glaring omission from OP’s arguments: the fact that Hordak is a brainwashed clone slave.

Hordak did not choose to “spend his life trying to prove his worth to Horde Prime.” He did not choose the method of said proving: that Prime would look kindly upon conquering rather than some other task. And he did not choose to have certain concepts and ideas (all beings must suffer to become pure; all creatures, no matter how small, have a place in service of Horde Prime; failure is when something ceases to serve a purpose) conditioned into him.

Hordak was manufactured as a cultist slave. He was “born” with hardware implanted into his body against his will to better control him. He was indoctrinated and brainwashed to the point that he believed that Horde Prime was his literal god - and in a way, Prime was, because he could mentally invade and possess and physically control the clones whenever he wished.

Hordak was not allowed to have a sense of self. He was not allowed to have a name. He was not allowed to express emotions. He was not allowed to live without that life serving to glorify Horde Prime. Hordak was so absolutely sick with this mentality that he saw himself as a failure due to physical disability and assumed it was his responsibility to fix that.

The idea that Hordak simply chose to do what he did, that he had the same foundational morality and mindset as any “normal” person might, shows a glaring lack of understanding even the basics of his narrative.

Yes: Hordak did bad things. But he did them for legitimately tragic, nigh-horrifying reasons that this essay just ignores for the sake of... I don’t know? Trying to justify OP’s distaste for the character? I am uncertain. But it’s a mark of a poor essay, of a poor understanding of the character, and is honestly just disappointing to read when the show itself tries so hard to drive home its wonderful, hopeful themes through Hordak’s story.

Whether one forgives Hordak or not is one’s personal choice, but I certainly hope one makes said choice with better insight into his character than this essay provides.

#discourse #hordak #I wonder if I come off as too sassy in this but honestly this essay was a chore to read #so much was just ignored or misinterpreted #it was like a willful misrepresention of Hordak's character and I did not like it

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problematicfavesareproblematic · 4 years

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Band of Brothers-

Cute/charming things they say when they walk into a room and see you/you walk into a room and they see you:

Babe:

“oh SHIIIIIT! There’s my BABY! Do you see her, fellas? GodDAMN, I’m a lucky sonofabitch!”

(you blush so hard and are just like Babe, we’re at work stahp it but he dgaf).

It’s embarrassing and always makes Martin glare so imploringly at you that you’ll go over to Babe just to make him be quiet. Because, you know, YOU’RE AT WORK.

This bitch is shameless when it comes to loving on you, having once come to stand next to you when Sink was giving an important announcement and straight-up PINCHED. YOUR. ASS.

how you didn’t yelp is a miracle, and how no one else seemed to notice was equally astounding

(oh, the boys noticed. They kinda shipped it tho, so it was more a matter of hiding their joy).

Needless to say, it only happened the once, something you made Babe swear after you pulled him aside and punched him in the arm.

Don’t worry, you kissed it better.

Roe:

bb boy doesn’t say anything at first,

the smile he saves just for you is playing at his lips as you walk up to meet him, tho.

The moment you’re close enough that he can smell the sweet mint of your gum, he’ll whisper something sweet like “hey you” or “mon amor”, or maybe just your name

(bc let’s be honest, his accent is 10 out of 10 and he could read me the dictionary and I’d still rock an ugly giggle/snort combo).

If it’s a more serious situation, like if you’re hurt oh lordy

he will literally shout your name until either you shout back or someone tells him where you are.

I could see him being a face holder, in the sense that he does it to reassure himself that you’re okay and make sure he has your undivided attention.

Since getting injured in Carentan, you hadn’t been as close to the frontlines as you had been, so when you were needed you are REALLY NEEDED,

and even if he didn’t like it Gene knew you were the best at what you did.

Gene also feels better if he knows where you are.

Even when you eventually return to Easy, he will feel better knowing which Foxhole you’re in, and knowing he’s seen to it your first aid kit was fully stocked.

Liebgott:

THAT FUCKER’S SMIRKING AT YOU SO OPENLY that whoever he had been talking to instantly goes

*sigh* y/n’s just came in, didn’t she?

And he won’t even ANSWER because he’s already shoving past them to walk up and eye you with obvious satisfaction.

“Bout time you showed up,” he’d say casually, hands finding your hips giving them a quick squeeze.

“Sooner we get briefed, sooner we can get outta here.”

(You’re not fully sure what ‘getting outta here’ entails, but if the way he looked at you was any indication, you had a feeling it didn’t involve anything less than PG-13 sexy times.)

Bull:

“Hey, little lady.”

He’ll say it no matter how tall or short you are, how wide or how narrow.

He will always say it to you that when you first see each other in the morning

(sometimes, you wake up to Hey, little lady being kissed into the soft skin behind your ear.)

(Once while on a 48 hour pass, he’d woken you up that way in a REAL bed and the two of you had nearly gotten him sent up Curahee for being late coming back because you’d ended up spending more time in that bed than either of you anticipated Whoops)

(Even if he had been late, he definitely wouldnt have minded, tbh. He fully considered going AWOL if it mean neither of you had to leave the bed)

but throughout the day he’s more concerned about getting his hands on some part of you whenever the two of you had been apart-

even if it was for like five minutes.

Nothing over the top- holding his arm up and out so you can step into his side, a press of his lips to your temple.

Idk guys i just feel like he’d just love you so much that everyone would be able to see, which they do and they all think it’s fucking cute

Buck:

He doesn’t always call out when he sees you, mostly because your eyes always seem to find his.

The two of you could be across a field from one another with a thousand angry Germans between you, guns blazing, and the two of you would always spot each other like two honing beacons.

If its downtime and you guys don’t have to be on your guard he’ll ABSOLUTELY wolf whistle in at you,

You’ll see a stupid grin lighting up his face as he nods in your direction.

“Take a look, boys. I think we’ve got ourselves a…”

and he always waits until you’re close enough that he can wrap a quick arm around your waist and pat your hip.

“Certified babe-asaurus!”

(in a foxhole somewhere, a wild Babe’s head pokes up in confusion).

You groan and boo him, and whoever he was with inevitably ends up booing him too.

But he doesn’t care because seeing you smile makes him so happy you guys.

Lipton:

If you’re in public, he will quietly step up beside you and place his hand gently between your shoulder blades.

He’s not super into PDA, which you didn’t mind because what he didn’t show in physical touch he more than made up for in open admiration.

He is in awe of you

sometimes he worries you forget how highly he thinks of you, how highly everybody thinks of you

(you don’t forget, but he’s just one of those people who will get intrusive thoughts like that and sometimes has a hard time shaking them so plz just let him say it ok?)

so he always whispers some praise with his greeting

(Hey, beautiful...Doin’ okay, love?...What’re you thinking, brilliant girl?).

It’d probably seem like overkill if anyone else did it but Carwood is just so goddamn sincere that you can’t help but duck a quick kiss to his shoulder.

HOWEVER!

If you two kids are alone….

OH BOI.

He is handsy, coming up and caging you with his arms,

probably pulling you close quickly so you lose your balance and he can hold you a lil bit.

(He likes to sweep you off your feet im so sorry)

That’s when his praises are hushed and sighed between long slow kisses.

Nixon:

Like Liebgott, he’s a snarky motherfucker who will get the most self-satisfied grin on his face the moment he sees you, instantly turning on the famous Lewis Nixon charm ( something he’d long since decided belonged to you and you alone.)

“Uh oh,” he’d say, looking you up and down before raising an eyebrow.

(bc your hot but also he doesn’t want to get all flirty if you’re hurt or sick or something’s up bc ur not just something to flirt with- YOU ARE A BADASS WITH BADASS RESPONSIBILITIES AND THAT WAS SOMETHING HE very often and sometimes FOUND SO HOT THAT IT MADE HIM THINK HE MAY HAVE AN AUTHORITY FETISH this has been a PSA)

“Here comes trouble.”

you roll your eyes, the behavior you once found cocky and arrogant having becoming endearing somewhere between Toccoa and England.

He has absolutely no qualms about PDA (verbal or physical), so it’s up to you to reign him in

(especially if he’s a lil tipsy, poor Luz didn’t need to hear Lewis’s sloppy and shameless plea for you to let him eat you out on top of piano he’d found in the attic of the billet he’d been assigned. You weren’t able to look at George for a week without wanting to die of embarrassment and Lewis Nixon didn’t get any for two weeks. He was sure to never make such a mistake ever again)

And Dick had probably grown blind to how Lewis liked to pull you his lap and run his hands up and down your thighs while you played with his hair.

Also, like Lipton, he probably saves the more explicit acts of PDA for when the company has scheduled downtime

(but only bc you told him he needed to keep it in his pants any other time he tried to get cute with you)

but you can bet your ass his hand will always try to tap it (your ass, that is.)at least once

a day when he isn’t supposed to.

That’s when you get to punish him whoopsies

Dick:

since the day you were introduced to Dick in Georgia, the boy always made sure to stand when you entered a room and will call you “ma’am”,

(you know, LIKE HE DOES ONLY BECAUSE HE HAS TO FOR SOBEL BC RANKS. I feel like he has a “we salute the woman, not the rank” speech queued up for anyone who tried to give him shit for it BUT THAT’s JUST ME)

but he has a knowing look in his eye that makes the term ‘ma’am’ feel anything but impersonal.

It confused the shit out of replacements, who would automatically stand because their superior officer (that would be Big Dick Winters) did- only to see you standing there in your fatigues with a coffee in each hand with a look of mutual confusion on your face.

(bc while they like you, but they’re confused still bc while you’re a boss ass bitch, you didn’t outrank him...or at least they theink you dont?)

Babe had been the one to ask you about the longing looks and lingering glances, and when you didn’t know how to answer him you’d gone to Nixon,

He’d burst into tearful laughter and was unable to get it together enough to explain anything.

Dick had been the one to bring it up the next time they were alone, weirdly enough, as she proofread his report for errors that didn’t exist.

Because you warrant it, he’d said when pressed for a reason why he greeted her like a ranking officer, looking down at his boots as they both blushed like teenagers at a school dance.

After that, he still stood wherever you walked in

but now he made a point to brush his fingers against yours at some point during the time you were together.

He’s the definition of a slow burn friends-to-lovers story, and boi can get spicy LEMME TELL YOU.

(this is my first writing thing ever plz let a sister know if there are any glaring typos. Also i’m roughly 97 years late to fandom but I brought y’all some starbucks so plz let me in thank you)

#band of brothers imagine #band of brothers x reader #babe heffron x reader #eugene roe x reader #joe liebgott x reader #bull randleman x reader #carwood lipton x reader #lewis nixon x reader #dick winters x reader #hbo war x reader #it's vv bad but I'll just add it to the pile of already burning garbage pile that is my bibliography #buck compton x reader

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dwellordream · 3 years

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“The gender segregation of nineteenth-century society reached deep into coeducational high schools. Students may have shared classes and competed for awards, but they were slow to lose their consciousness (if they ever did) that they belonged to two opposing corporate bodies, distinguished by culture and loyalty: the boys and the girls. Such distinctions were often made by teachers and administrators even in grammar schools.

One female letter writer to St. Nicholas noted a divided playground. (‘‘The cherry-trees are on our side, and I like it the best.’’) At Alice Blackwell’s neighborhood grammar school, girls and boys used different staircases (with demerits administered to violators). Jessie Wendover’s grammar school teacher ‘‘sent the girls down in the court to eat their dinner and gave the boys permission to talk and eat for twenty minutes.’’ The same kinds of arrangements in secondary schools allowed for separate girls’ and boys’ floors.

In the early days of Bridgton Academy in North Bridgton, Maine—and surely in many other schools as well—boys and girls sat on opposite sides of the room. Even where girls and boys intermingled freely in the classroom, though, they tended to be segregated in the free parts of the school day. The British observer Sara Burstall, who came to the United States in the 1890s to investigate the American education of girls, observed ‘‘no difference’’ between boys’ and girls’ conduct and freedom in the classroom.

But she noted, ‘‘out of class there seemed to be very little general intercourse—girls speaking to girls, and boys to boys. At recess the sexes are generally separated, the boys occupying the basement, and the girls the upper part of the buildings.’’ The Somerville, Massachusetts, student newspaper, observed, probably caustically, ‘‘We think that rail between the boys’ and girls’ side of the lunch room is quite an institution.’’

Where there were no such administrative separations, girls and boys often segregated themselves and participated in separate activities. Ellen Emerson loved the extraordinary Sanborn School, which she attended following Agassiz School in the late 1850s, in part because ‘‘boys and girls go together which I think is essential to a good school.’’ However, she went on, ‘‘They do not play together. I don’t think that could be done in this generation, but it will in the next, but the girls have at least the recreation of seeing the boys play, and it is a great one.’’

This wistful vision of girls watching boys play, sometimes football, sometimes leapfrog, suggests the distances which separated boys and girls even in this progressive midcentury private school run by the radical abolitionist Franklin Sanborn. And as Burstall reported, such separation did not end in the next generation. When a male classmate died in Jessie Wendover’s school in 1885, girls and boys separately sent flowers, the girls ‘‘in the form of a pillow,’’ the boys, ‘‘a broken pillar of flowers.’’

The same sense of distance between girls and boys was evident in Margaret Tileston’s discussion of interactions between the girls and boys in Salem High School, which still maintained separate classes for boys and girls. Tileston had several brothers, but within the context of her school experience, boys existed in Margaret Tileston’s diary (and in her view of the universe) as alien creatures. She noted a rare encounter that spring: ‘‘A boy sat in the room finishing his examination while we had our French. The girls stared at him as he came in as if he had been some strange animal.’’ Initially, even in coeducational schools, much divided girls and boys, who approached each other warily. In completely coeducational schools, the tone changed, though some divisions between the boys and girls seemed to hold up.

A boy’s description of corridor life in the Brookline, Massachusetts, Sagamore in 1896 noted an innovation in their new school building: ‘‘a roomy, pleasant, well-lighted gathering-place, where the whole school may meet on equal terms at recess.’’ The scene was raucous. The writer turned ‘‘his head just in time to escape a flying waste-basket, used as a foot-ball by some would-be members of next year’s team.’’ Boys with buns in their mouths and cups of chocolate in their hands from the lunch counter were playing leap-frog.

A curtain was lifted at the end of the hall, and a girls’ calisthenics class in ‘‘dainty slippered feet and bloomers’’ ran ‘‘the gauntlet, one after another, not altogether unwillingly,’’ the author concluded, encouraged by boys’ cheers. There was clearly a ‘‘boys’ side’’ and a ‘‘girls’ side.’’ ‘‘Teachers and girls, all eating their lunch and all talking at once, occupy the settees along the wall.’’ There was some fraternizing. ‘‘Several gallant fellows were entertaining groups of girls,’’ the author noted. But it took ‘‘gallantry’’ for boys to cross the line to the girls’ side, so clear, still, was the gender divide.

In fact, gender relations in the Victorian high school often crossed a highly charged field separating two opposing camps. Although a Victorian chivalry might govern official relations between ‘‘the young ladies’’ and other scholars, the open columns of school newspapers, bearing such titles as ‘‘Shavings’’ and ‘‘Scintillations,’’ allowed for ample sparring in an ongoing battle of the sexes. The intensity of that sparring suggests the extent to which coeducational high schools by their nature ended by challenging orthodoxies. Insults appeared in the earliest journals. The handwritten Winchester, Massachusetts, High School Offering of 1861, issued by two female editors, asked, ‘‘Why are the young gentlemen of this school like vessels plying between Boston and New York?’’ The answer: ‘‘Because they are coasters.’’

In 1879 the High School News of Great Falls, New Hampshire, published in two sections, with a ‘‘Supplement’’ from ‘‘The Young Ladies’ Department.’’ As befit their divided school and polarized presentation, the two sides found their best copy in each other. In their fifth issue in May 1879, ‘‘Vox Puellarum’’ (the voice of the girls) rallied her readers: ‘‘Girls, here it is again, a fling at us! can’t we retaliate? I propose ‘diamond cut diamond’ with such editors as ours!’’

Previously, she implied, the boys had made some cracks about the weaknesses of young ladies’ ‘‘anatomical construction.’’ ‘‘The following month . . . we present to them a Hero; again they retort with ‘Our Model Girl’ as if we (the H.S. girls) thought of nothing but promenades and spring styles.’’ Although the boys signed their pieces, such daring talk from young ladies required a pseudonym, and was signed with one. It was not until the 1890s that girls’ full and correct names accompanied their pieces.

Behind the reciprocal digs were some truths. Discipline fell most strenuously on male heads. (‘‘Poor young ladies! Too insignificant to be noticed!’’ commented one columnist on the apparent immunity of girls from punishment.) And boys often had to answer for girls’ relative accomplishments. An 1883 letter from a ‘‘former classmate’’ to the male editor of the Concord, New Hampshire, Comet observed, ‘‘Your success seems to be due in a great part to the literary ability of the fairer sex.’’ The letter writer went on: ‘‘It seems to be a peculiar fact . . . that women are born to rule, and, as in this case, to be among the first to start a paper which is open to the general criticism of the people.’’ The result was that some parries had undeniably violent subtexts.

In 1884, the year after the Comet editor heard of the accomplishments of ‘‘the fairer sex,’’ his successor ran an exchange item. Untitled, it was a first-person poem about the modern schoolgirl. The Comet ran it on the back page as filler. It bragged about schoolgirls’ appearance as ‘‘the handsomest girls of our race/ Superb in form and of exquisite face,’’ who ‘‘dress with perfect, consummate grace.’’ It then referred to their accomplishments, suggesting a critical lack: We know many tongues of living and dead,/In science and fiction we’re very well read:/But we cannot cook meat and cannot make bread,/And we’ve wished many times that we were all dead.

This verse took the common form of the assault on the New Woman, an attack on her lack of domestic accomplishments, managing to avoid fictive murder only by putting the action in the first person and arranging instead for a suicide wish. The compliment was returned in a poem published by the Comet’s successor, the Volunteer, in 1887. Under the title ‘‘Boys! Don’t Read This!’’ came an attack on the cigarette-smoking dandy.

Appealing to the nonreading boy with its sensational title, the poet asked To you who smoke the cigarette (I wonder if you’ve thought it)/Who made this little cigarette?/You only know you bought it./Perhaps some dark Italian,/Or Jew from foreign land,/Rolled up that little cigarette/With greasy, dirty hand. This nativist jab from the hinterlands on the new immigrant workforce was not the point of the poem, however, but only the vehicle to its ultimate pronouncement. But if boys will smoke cigarettes/Although the smoke may choke them,/One consolation still remains—/They kill the boys that smoke them.

Seeping through Victorian niceties, these death wishes illuminate only the obvious: that the gender challenges occurring in the nineteenth-century high school did not come without unleashing considerable unease as well as possibility. To understand the dynamics of this change, it makes sense to trace the action in a number of arenas. As we have seen, girls dominated the academic rankings in most high schools.

They made slower inroads in extracurricular activities, especially in the important male-gendered activities, debate, athletics, and military drill. The awarding of direct political power, in the election of class officers, remained surprisingly uncontested, with boys seemingly the only possibility for class president. The more substantial role of girls in student newspapers, however, was particularly important by virtue of the power this bestowed to influence school opinion.”

- Jane H. Hunter, “High School Culture: Gender and Generation.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood

#victorian #american #gender #history #education #jane h. hunter #how young ladies became girls

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rainy-day-gracie · 4 years

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Old Friends 1

spencer reid x reader

Chapter 2 has been posted!!

Chapter 1:

Walking into the BAU on my first day felt like walking into kindergarten on the first day of school. Butterflies filled my stomach, and the elevator felt too small.

Walking through the glass doors of the BAU, my first impression was calm. No one seemed to notice my existence, and the large box full of my stuff in my hands.

I made a beeline for Agent Hotchner’s office and quickly knocked on the door. “Come in.”

“Um, hello, Agent Hotchner-“

He looked up at me from his desk, suddenly realizing who I was. “Ah, yes, Agent YLN. I’ll show you to your desk right away.” He put a reassuring pat on my shoulder before guiding me back down the stairs into the bullpen.

“Attention everyone, this is SSA Dr. YFN YLN. She will be joining the team today, and will be with us on future cases.”

A friendly blonde woman stepped forward and kindly shook my hand after I placed the large box on the empty desk. “I’m SSA Jennifer Jareau, but everyone here just calls me JJ.”

I smiled nervously. “Very nice to meet you, JJ.”

I scanned the group of people beginning to get up from their desks. A muscled, dark skinned man. A woman with dark black hair. An older man I recognized as David Rossi. And the person I knew all too well.

“Oh, hello, new person!” A voice called from up the stairs. A blonde woman wearing a bright pink dress stood there holding a stack of files. “Hate to interrupt introductions, but we have a case.”

The team started filing up the stairs, and a warm hand pulled me aside.

“Hey,” Spencer said quietly, as if in a trance.

“Hey, Spencer,” I replied. “I would love to catch up later, but we have to get upstairs. Is that cool?”

He snapped out of the daze he seemed to be in. “Oh, oh, yeah totally fine.”

I laughed quietly as we hurried slightly up the stairs. Same old Spencer.

“Four women in Birmingham, Alabama, electrocuted on chain link fences. All married with children, and all of them have lived in Birmingham their whole lives.” The woman in the pink dress I now know as Penelope explained as the images popped up on the screen.

“Odd method of death, but very effective. After a certain amount of time of being electrocuted, the heart and body just can’t take the shock anymore and shut down.” Spencer added, talking quickly.

“The restraints and clean method of killing suggest an organized killer. Any sign of sexual assault?” I asked Penelope.

“None.”

“A note was left in the last victim’s mouth, however,” Hotchner added. “The note had read, ‘Quite a shock it must be to find out the Earth Mother isn’t so noble’. This taunt leads us to believe the killer isn’t going to stop until we catch him. Wheels up in 20.”

The jet was even nicer than I expected. And so were the people on the jet.

“So, we do we make of the message that was left? Is it truly simply a taunt, or does it mean something more?” Morgan asked.

“Well, the use of the phrase ‘Earth Mother’ suggests that the killer doesn’t believe the victims are as innocent as everyone claims that they are. The use of the word ‘shock’ means that the killer is most likely deriving pleasure and satisfaction from the electrocution.” Spencer explained, moving his hands animatedly. Same ramblings since college.

“Okay, so I know I’m knew here,” I started out. “But could this killer be a woman? The clean murders and organized targets suggest a more feminine killer. The note talking about the Earth Mother could be a jealous way of punishing these mothers for their supposed crimes. Also, there wasn’t any sexual assault.”

The team thought for a second. “That fits with the nature of the crimes. I agree with YLN,” Hotchner agreed.

“Not bad, newbie,” Morgan chuckled. “What are some other things about you?”

Oh boy. I had to be careful about this question. Spencer looked down at his case file next to me, trying not to laugh.

“Well, I have three PhDs in psychology, sociology, and mathematics, and two BAs in philosophy and linguistics.” Just by looking at the faces of the people around you, they were beyond impressed. “I can speak Latin, French, Spanish, Russian, and obviously English. And I am very grateful to have gotten a job with the BAU.”

Everyone was speechless until Rossi piped, “Damn, kid. She could give you a run for your money.”

Spencer smiled. “Oh, trust me, I know.” Oh god.

“What?” JJ questioned. “Do you guys know each other?”

Both Spencer and I turned red. “Um, well, we went to college together for a while. Just old friends.” And maybe a little bit more. Just a little bit.

“Landing in 10 minutes. And we are very grateful to have you here, Agent YLN,” Hotchner said.

“Thank you, Agent Hotchner.”

“Please, call me Hotch.”

Since I was new to the team and “old friends” with Spencer, we wound up at the Birmingham police station together as a first assignment.

While working on the geographic profile and victimology, Spencer spoke up. “So, uh, it’s been a while.”

I smiled shyly. “Yes it has. You are definitely different than I remember you being in college.” In college he was this scrawny, brainy, awkward sixteen year old, too afraid of girls to talk to the only other person his age on the MIT campus. Until I eventually made him talk because we were both lonely out of our minds. “But I still feel like I know you better than anyone.”

He sat casually on the large table we were working at. “That’s probably true, I haven’t really had any relationships since... you.”

“Same here, my friend.”

Spencer nervously cleared his throat. “I know I haven’t seen you in almost ten years, and I don’t even know how long this case is going to take, but when we get back... do you wanna go out to dinner with me? You know... to catch up?”

He may be different but he still has the same awkward charm as in college. I chuckled. “I would love that.”

We both smile. “Great... well, it’s a date.”

Our unsub turns out to be Michelle Collins, a 39 year old woman who had her baby taken away after being declared an unfit mother.

“Great, we know who, but we don’t know the where.” Morgan groaned. “Garcia, what’s her work and home addresses?”

“Both of which sent to your phones, my loves!” Penelope called over speakerphone. “Be safe!”

She wasn’t at either address.

“If she’s not at either address, then she’s probably with her next victim,” Hotch pointed. “Call Garcia, see if she can find anything.”

“Hello, new and the beautiful! What can I do for you?” She called over speakerphone.

“Garcia, have there been any reports of a mother being abducted? Most likely in the last hour or so?”

I heard her typing frantically over the phone. “Yes, Fiona Hillman was abducted twenty minutes ago from a supermarket two blocks from Michelle’s work.”

Hotch looked at you, Spencer and Prentiss. “We’re closer to where Fiona was abducted. Search the surrounding area until we find Michelle’s car and go on foot from there.”

It took all of ten minutes to find her car. Fiona was already tied to the metal fence outside a warehouse, Michelle holding a small revolver to her head.

“Michelle Collins! FBI!” Spencer yelled across the field to the ware house.

“Drop the gun and put your hands on your head!” I called out, making sure to aim my gun as close to her chest as I could get.

“Profile says that we can’t talk her down,” Spencer mumbled to me.

“No, no, no! You don’t understand! She doesn’t deserve to be a mother!” Michelle screamed frantically, pressing the gun further into Fiona’s temple. “I saw her abuse her poor child! She needs to die!”

“Michelle, I know that they took your baby away, and I know that you desperately wanted to be the perfect mother, but this is not the way to do it!” I yelled back.

“What do you know?” She stepped back from Fiona, switching the aim of her gun to me. “You’re just a-“

BANG!

Shot went right into her shoulder. Spencer fired before I got the chance, both of us running to the two women. Michelle was on the ground, crying hysterically. Fiona was quickly untied from the fence, almost collapsing into my arms while Spencer put pressure on Michelle’s wound.

He looked back at me as the medics started flooding the scene. “We make a pretty good team, YFN. I’m really glad you’re here.”

I smiled, and Hotch walked up with a pleased expression. “Exceptional work, Agents. Head back to the station and we can head back to DC in a few hours.”

On the ride back to the station, we were both quiet. “Cases don’t always turn out so good.” Spencer finally said.

“Does it ever feel as if you’re stuck?” I asked quietly. “Constantly in this cycle of catching monsters.”

Spencer was quiet for a long time before he answered. “It feels like that all the time. But the lives we save makes everything worth it.”

I sat on the right side of the jet, listening to classical music and staring out the window. I almost didn’t notice Prentiss and JJ sit next to and across from me.

“Hey guys, what’s up?”

JJ gave me a smile. “What’s up is that Spencer has never been this happy on a case before.”

“Is there something you wanna tell us about your “old friend” from college?” Prentiss looked at me expectantly.

I chuckled into the book I was reading. “Well- um, I was Spencer’s first real girlfriend. We dated for almost two years when we were at MIT together.”

“Oh my god, I knew it!” JJ laughed into her hand. “Wait until we tell Garcia. She’s going to lose it.”

“Does anyone know?” Prentiss whispered, glancing over the plane. Hotch was the only one up, immersed in paperwork. I shook my head, my face bright red.

JJ turned to me. “He’s never been this happy on a case before, so whatever effect you have in him is welcome. We’re glad you’re here, YFN.”

I smiled brightly. “It’s good to be here.”

Back at Quantico, Spencer ran up to me as I was walking into the elevator. “Hey, um, I know it’s a little late but... are we still on for dinner?”

This day just keeps getting better and better. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The night ended with Spencer’s face covered in ice cream and a peck on his cheek.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #dr spencer reid

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everlastingdreams · 4 years

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Weeping Monk X Reader : The City Of Fey CHAPTER 2

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Notes: ^ my gif. I hope you’ll like this one.

Summary: As a fey queen you are by now used to it that fey come into your woods seeking refugee or a place to hide. Things get complicated however when your knights have not just brought a fey boy but also the red paladins’ fiercest warrior into your city.

Chapters: 2/ ?

Word count: 3441 (in this chapter)

Warnings: None yet it think. But there will be in other chapters.

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When he stepped through the door his eyes went wide, there were people everywhere. Not just fey but humans as well. All going about their day, tending to flowers, chatting.. Children ran through the streets playing all sorts of games. He saw how Percival looked at it with longing, most likely wishing to join them. The people noticed him as well, whispers reaching his ear as he walked past them. He doubted that they had anything good to say about him and he didn't blame them for it. They stopped for a moment and he saw that the open field a bit below them was being used to train the children. The knight who had almost killed him was teaching the young ones how to defend themselves. All of them using wooden swords. When he was trained as a child he had to use steel, if he failed to dodge or block a strike then the scar he recieved was his punishment for failing.

A young girl runs up to you, almost bumping into you while doing so. “Look, y/n ! I got a new sword !” the girl beemed with pride as she held out her small wooden sword. You smiled down at the girl “I can see. Please, try not to break this one so quickly, Ayla.” “But Crillan said I should hit him harder and I did !” she shot back while demonstrating how she had used it to hit Crillan in the leg last time. The Weeping Monk looked at her display and observed that she was holding the sword in a way that could easily hurt her hands. Would he overstep a limit if he helped the girl ? It was hard for him to watch and the urge to warn the girl was strong. “You'll hurt your hand if you hold it like that.” he remarked and looked for your reaction. You didn't stop him and he took it as a sign to approach the girl. He knelt down in front of her and showed her how to place her hands in a safer way. Moving her hand with the sword so she would understand how his method worked better before standing up again. She moved her hand a couple of times in the way he had shown her before she smiled widely at him. You didn't interfere and just watched as he taught the girl how to hold the sword. And secretly you hated to admit that you didn't know about the better way to hold a sword either. “Thank you, sir !” she smiled brightly at the Weeping Monk and he didn't know how to react. He was not used to being shown gratitude, especially not from children. You noticed his struggle and suggested “Ayla, why don't you go on ahead and teach the others what he has taught you ?” She proudly nodded her head, her eyes falling on Percival now “Do you want to come ?” Percival looked up at the Weeping Monk with pleading eyes. “Go on. I'll come find you later.” he gives in. It was all Percival needed to hear before they ran off together. The whole display warmed your heart “Not everyone here knows who you are. Here your actions will speak louder then your past.” He truly doubted it and the doubt grew bigger as he saw a small crowd staring at him “I'm certain word is already spreading about my past in your city, your highness.” You followed his eyes and noticed the small gathering, you had expected that he would not recieve a warm welcome considering his reputation. “I'm aware.” you sighed. “I doubt there is much I can do to make them feel more at ease with me residing here for a while.” he expressed his concern. You started walking again towards the infirmary and he followed in your footsteps “You seem like a man who likes to defy the odds.” He was looking at Percival dodging the little girl swinging her sword at him. At least he can avoid the sword well he thought.

He followed you to what seemed to be a worn down small castle. It had seen battle once, that was clear.

Raphael came through the large door to meet you “I took the liberty to inform Dahlia of the situation. She's expecting him.”

You gave him a grateful nod, poor Dahlia would have catched quite a fright if Raphael hadn't told her who was coming. She had seen many things in her long life, but the Weeping Monk was something neither of you were expecting today. You walked past some of the bedrooms before reaching your destination. You stopped suddenly in front of a door and opened it a little “The room next to this one is for the boy. This one's yours for the duration of your stay. It's not much but-” “It's more then enough for me.” he was suprised he would even get his own room. It wouldn't have bothered him if you would have let him sleep in the stables or the pig's pen. He couldn't recall the last time he had slept in an actual bed considering he was always on the road or staying at a camp. This was more then enough, too much even. You closed the door again “Alright.. should you need anything, please ask my soldiers for help. There is always some around. And I suppose it would be better then having to ask the civilians.” He knew it was a nicer way of saying 'so you don't have to scare the people'. He nodded gratefully and you tilted your head towards the end of the hall “Come, Dahlia is waiting. She will treat your wounds.” A smaller door opened and the first thing he noticed was shelves full of flasks and bowls filled with dried herbs. The room was compact, there were just a few cots but none were occupied. Either this city had no sick people or it had been cleared out for his arrival. Probably the latter. A small woman approached, her short black hair showing signs of grey ones neatly tied into a bun. Even though she was informed of his arrival, the look of fear in her eyes didn't pass him by. The woman's eyes darted between him and you nervously “Your highness.” she greeted you. “Dahlia, I've told you a thousand times to please just call me y/n.” you shook your head but gave her a warm smile. She shook her head stubbornly “Ask me a thousand times more and I will still refuse to. It is a title you have earned.” He watched amused as you let out a groan at the woman's stubborn attitude. “Dahlia, I heard Raphael has informed you about our guest ?” your eyes shot between him and her quickly. She swallowed and nodded “Yes, your highness. I will help him just as I would help any other.” You smile at her approvingly, she truly was a gem that woman. “Thank you. I know this is a strange situation we find ourselves in. But I assure you that he will not harm you.” You looked at him and send him a look before nodding discreetly in her direction. He gave a short nod to the woman, a sign that what you had said was true. Dahlia straightened her back before looking at him a bit more confident now “Please take a seat on one of the cots. We'll start with that gash on your head.” The tension in the room seemed to be a lot less now, and the Weeping Monk did as Dahlia ordered. “Feel free to explore the city when you're done here. I'll be at the field you saw the children train at, keeping an eye on the boy.” you turned to walk away but were stopped by Dahlia. “What about your wounds ?” she stopped you from walking out. “Don't worry about me, Dahlia. You know I heal fast, I just need to rest that's all.” you reasurred her. “But-” she went to protest. “He needs you more then I do.” your voice left no room for protest anymore. “As you wish.” She wasn't pleased but she had known you for years now and she knew you could be just as stubborn as her. She turned to her shelves, taking the things she would need to patch him back up. He looked at you one last time before you left him in the room, you looked so calm. He was a stranger to you but for some reason it was as if you trusted him already. When he left the Red Paladins behind he had not expected to find someone, other then the boy, who would ever trust him again. And certainly not a fey. “Thank you.” he exclaimed just as you turned around to leave. You pauzed and shared a look of understanding before you left the infirmary.

You made your way back to the training area, Crillan stood aside as he kept a watchful eye on the children. Some of the parents had joined in to help their children, and some children were teaching their parents what they had learned. Crillan looked at you from the corner of his eyes, never really taking his attention away from the children. "So he's staying, huh ?" "For now. Until he's healed." You knew he hated it. "Did you sense something then ? About him ? I don't know why else you would let that bastard stay here." He expressed his disdain. You sighed, frustrated but understanding "I did." You grabbed his arm to pull his attention to you "Crillan, I know you are worried. All I ask is that you trust me. Would I ever put any of you in danger ?" Crillan answered without hesitation "No, you wouldn't." His attention was pulled back to the field when Ayla was swinging her sword at the boy the way the Weeping Monk had shown her. The boy dodged every attack but Crillan still called out to her and told her to be more careful. "What exactly did you sense about him ?" He asks quietly so no one else would hear. You remained silent as you tried to find a way to describe what you had sensed. Why you had faith that the Weeping Monk would not cause harm. "Remorse." you finally answered and he looks at you, almost shocked to hear it "He feels so much guilt.. it's tearing him apart inside." Crillan blinked a few times, he was still looking at the field but his attention was faltering "The Weeping Monk feels guilty ?" "Terribly so." You nodded. "And because of that you believe you can trust him ?" He was still skeptical. "Trust is a strong word. But I believe there is hope for him still." Your eyes followed the boy on the field. "I guess I could try to be civil towards him." The reluctance in his voice made a smile tug at your lips. "I would appreciate it." "Be carefull, y/n." He warns. "I will.”

After about an hour or two, you left the field for a few minutes to finally clean the blood off of your face and out of your hair. The wound was starting to heal now, it was easier to use your magic to heal others than yourself. There were limits however, and it was often better to just let the wounds heal than to exhaust yourself with your magic. Healing the boy's face was enough to make your own nose bleed. This kind of magic came at a cost and if you weren't careful, healing someone while you were weak yourself could kill you.

To the Weeping Monk's suprise, Dahlia treated him just like any other patient. She had said she would, but he hadn't counted on it actually happening. She had removed the blood and cleaned the wounds, before applying a salve that soothed the burning almost instantly. The fey's healing methods worked wonders. He had thanked her for her help, and she told him to return in time so she could apply fresh bandages. Well.. more like commanded him. She took her work serious, there was no doubt about it. He was given a small flask to take with him, something to drink in case the pain he still felt became worse. He left the room grateful for it all, and as you had told him earlier, there were indeed soldiers walking down the hallway almost constantly. Civilians as well but most of them took another route when they noticed him. He remembered the path to the training area and that was the first thing he did, to check up on the boy. The Weeping Monk approached the field, but slowed his pace when he didn't see you anywhere, only the knight who had been eager to kill him earlier. He kept a rather large space between him. The knight didn't even turn around but he figured out he was there anyway. "Fear not. The queen has reminded me that you are a guest here." There was no hint of anger in the knight's voice, only a pinch of disdain. His stepped closer but left enough space between him and the knight, his eyes scanning the field for the boy. He spotted him training with someone only a little older. Crillan looked at the Weeping Monk and followed his eyes “I paired him up with him. That little girl, Ayla, over there has a nasty swing for one so small. Your boy is lucky he is faster then her.” He picked up on how the knight refered to the boy as if he was his own kin. He looked at the knight for a second before paying attention to how the boy was using the sword. “He's a brave one.” he stated to the knight. The knight nodded “That he is. Last time Ayla hit me in the leg, put me in the infirmary for the rest of the day.” The knight raises the wooden sword he was holding to show the Weeping Monk “They're not steel, but anything is a weapon in the wrong hands.” The Weeping Monk noticed the ambiguity in his wording and now he looked him in the eye. It was definitely said on purpose, but the knight did not say it with malicious intent, that he could tell. What the knight asked next confirmed it. “What will you do now that you're a traitor to the Red Paladins ?” he watched him with interest. The Weeping Monk hadn't planned ahead and that's exactly what he told the knight “I didn't plan that far ahead. It all happened very quick.” He thought back to the night he had freed the boy from the tent, it had all happened so fast. The knight nodded “Do you regret it ?” He watched as the boy managed to strike the shoulder of the other and how a smile appeared on the boy's face. “No.”

You walked towards the field again and were flabbergasted to see Crillan having a seemingly normal conversation with the Weeping Monk. “Glad to see that I can trust you when I'm absent.” you say as you approach them. They both looked behind themselves when they heard your voice. That's when you realised you could have said it to both of them. You gestured to Crillan to clear the confussion up. The corner of the Weeping Monk's mouth turned up ever so slightly in amusement “It helps that he's holding a wooden sword.” “And that he is unarmed.” Crillan countered. The weeping monk looked at him, knowing damn well that he could probably best him in a fight even if he was unarmed. You pinched the bridge of your nose noticing the competitive atmosphere it was creating. A yelp coming from the field broke the tension and Crillan walked on the field to tend to a boy that had fallen to the ground. You observed how even the Weeping Monk looked concerned in the direction of the child. Crillan picked the boy up, and told the others to rest for a while as he carried the boy to the infirmary. “Crillan ?” you called out to him worried. “It's a cut !” he answered your unspoken question. Letting out a breath of relief, you turned to the Weeping Monk “That reminds me, how are your wounds ? I can see no blood on you anymore so I hope Dahlia has treated you well ?” “They no longer burn. Her skill in healing is impressive, she has given me something in case the pain returns.” his hand absentmindedly brushing over the now healing wound on his chest. He watched as the little girl, Ayla, went to talk to Percival on the field. He turns to you now, it was hard for him to express the sincere gratitude he felt “You have been very gracious towards me, your highness. There must be something I can do to repay you ?” The inquiry came unexpected to you, you brushed it off, shaking your head “You do not owe me anything. You are my guest here.” He knew you meant it but it didn't sit right with him, it was too much. He wasn't used to kindness like this. He would have accepted it if you had only taken the boy in, if you had decided to kill him. He felt like he was in your debt even if you assured him he was not.

“Your highness !” you turned to see Raphael approach. You walked up to meet him halfway “Raphael, is there news ?” The Weeping Monk kept his distance and did not approach but he was close enough to still hear the conversation. “Our scouts have found recent tracks in the forest.” he informed you. It was his way of saying there were refugees in the forest again. “I'll go find them.” you smiled “Take care of my city while i'm gone.” “Try not to return bloodied this time, y/n. Perhaps you should take some soldiers along.” Raphael suggested. You quickly shook your head “Better not, more people means more tracks. It shouldn't take me long to find them." Just when you had uttered the words, rain started to fall. You bit your tongue to prevent yourself from cursing. This would make it harder, the tracks would be washed away by the rain soon. The Weeping Monk had overheard the conversation and he spoke up "Let me join you, your highness. If there are fey in the woods, I will find them." This earned him a suspicious look from Raphael. In retrospect, perhaps he could have used a better choice of words. You were actually considering to take him up on his offer. He was known to be good at tracking down fey. "Y/n. I don't think this is wise." Raphael turned to you and tried to keep his voice low so the Weeping Monk wouldn't hear. Part of you knew Raphael was right, you knew the Weeping Monk felt guilt. But would it be enough to prevent him from going back to his old ways ? Would it be safe, as a fey, to be alone in the woods with him ? The fact that you were a fey queen, with healing magic, also meant that you could easily be traded to the trinity guards or even Uther in exchance for his life. Uther himself would love to get his hands on someone like you. He noticed your hesitation and gave a suggestion "Bind my hands if it puts your mind at ease." A look was shared between you and Raphael. You gave a confirmative nod and looked at Raphael, tilting your head in the Weeping Monk's direction. Raphael didn't like the idea but did as you asked. He tied the Weeping Monk's hands together in front of him. Checking the ropes before stepping back but not before looking him dead in the eyes and leaving him with a warning. “Hurt her and there won't be a place in this world where I won't find you.” Raphael said it so quietly you didn't even hear it. But the message was recieved loud and clear by the Weeping Monk, the knight always kept a calm demeanor but there was a reason he was ranked higher then Crillan. And he had no intention to find out what that reason was. He dipped his head discreetly at the knight. “Let's get going.” you tell the Weeping Monk as you eyed Raphael suspiciously.

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joontier · 4 years

Text

The King’s Guard | Chapter 6

pairings: kim seokjin x reader ; jeon jungkook x reader ; min yoongi x reader

series rating: R(18+) | genre: angst, forbidden love

warnings: none to note really

word count: 4.8k

g/n: I MADE A NEW BANNER slkdfslfs; also here’s some tiny history to Yeongkwan and Misun and if you get how they’re all connected.... MUAHAHAHAHAHA *continues laughing evilly in the corner as I rub my hands together* HEH yalls better get ur close reading glasses on skfksldfl

The King’s Guard - Masterlist || navi.

The King’s Guard | Chapter 6

Once, there was a timid, young boy who was often misunderstood as misanthropic because of his reserved character. He preferred playing on his own than with the other children, he found amusement in what children of his age would usually find mundane. It wasn’t the other children’s fault either that their company wasn’t enjoyable for him.

Even at a young age, the little boy seemed to find happiness in the little things. He often spent his time alone in deep thought, wondering how things came to be as they currently were. The small boy was curious about the things that didn’t even seem to matter due to the laws of naturality.

He loved looking up in the sky, even if it hurt his eyes; he liked the breeze, the way the dawn’s crisp air hits his face; he enjoyed hiding between tall stalks of corn and rice, watching little bugs move up and down the stems. He was entertained with the way the flowers bloomed, and took pleasure in watching the fish in the rivers swim away when he dipped a finger in.

He was simply observant. Different, as it may have seemed to others, but he would not have it any other way.

On a particularly windy day, he decided that it was the best time to bring out the kite he had long wished for. His father had made it specially just for his birthday, and the little boy was beyond elated to have received such a gift. He always took it with him when they went to the farm where his parents worked and among the lush, green grass, he would spend most of his day playing and watching and observing.

The young boy, having held a kite for the first time in his life, fumbled with the diamond-shaped paper toy, unraveling the thread that had been haphazardly spun around the kite in his haste that morning. As he feels the soft breeze slowly fading, he hurries with his toy, successfully getting the kite to fly higher than he had usually seen with the other kids.

A particularly strong gust of wind caught him off guard, and the poor boy struggled to follow the direction of the wind as he kept an eye of the thread. Preoccupied with figuring out how to save his kite, he failed to take notice of a small mound of soil by his feet. The little boy eventually tripped and fell backward, knocking down someone else with him as he fell.

The boy’s eyes widened in panic. Abruptly, he got on his knees, head bowed down as he apologized profusely. He instantly hears the stern reminders of his parents in his head, telling him to always take precaution wherever he went for the land he was playing on was not their own, and they were mere farmers stepping on the grounds of their generous master.

Eyes closed in anticipation of an imminent punishment, the boy slightly trembled in his knelt position, fists balled to anticipate the pain that was to come. Nothing happened though, save the sound of the dewy grass getting squished under the weight of something.

The young boy pried one eye open, surprised to see a girl’s shoes peeking from a mud-spoilt silk dress in front of him. All the more anxious after realizing that he had accidentally toppled a girl over, the boy bows further to the ground, face only mere inches away from the soil.

He felt the girl step closer as she dusted off her clothes. The stranger asked if he was okay. Unable to hold his reaction in, the boy looked up at her, brows furrowed in confusion. He was the one who had knocked her over, and yet she was the one asking if he was okay. Who was she? Why was she concerned with his well-being? Wary, the boy remained silent, staring at the girl. She held a hand out to help him get up, but as the boy figured his palms were probably covered in dirt, he ignored the girl’s extended arm and got up on his own.

Shrugging, she retracted her hand back to her side. As they finally got to eye level, the pair stared at each other as they studied each other’s features. The girl tilted her head to the right in curiosity with the boy following the same action. Amused, the continues moving after that watching as the stranger in front of her mirrored her actions. “What’s your name?” the girl asked, subconsciously tipping her head to the side. The boy purses his lips in thought first, then answers her question, “My name is Jeon Yeongkwan. And yours?”

The girl’s face lights up and Yeongkwan finds himself reciprocating the warm action. “Hello Jeon Yeongkwan. I’m Min Misun. It’s nice to meet you.”

The sudden giggle that escapes his wife’s lips pulls him out of his treacherous reverie. Sighing quietly, he watches his wife listen intently to the king animatedly telling the story of his life. If he just wasn’t so preoccupied with trying to drown out the thoughts that have ultimately betrayed him, he would have listened as well, as this was the first time he had seen the king talk with this much enthusiasm.

The children, even at their very young ages, had practically inhaled all their food, taking more than enough servings from the generous amount of food which had been prepared just for the five of them. Yeongkwan, on the contrary, had completely lost interest in the food, picking at the small cube of beef on his bowl. With nothing else left to distract him as the king had brought toys for the kids to play with at the other side of the room, the poor husband was forced to listen to the conversation on the table – almost feeling as if it was he who was disturbing the two.

As he watches the king’s eyes twinkle with delight as he talks to Misun, Yeongkwan’s own lower with sadness. The fine china in front of him suddenly piques his interest and as he studies the intricate patterns inside the ceramic bowl, he is once again reminded of the kind of life Misun was born into – the life she deserved.

Min Misun was a woman born into nobility, and Yeongkwan had gone through a lot of beating because of their relationship. Of course, a son of a mere farmer and the daughter of a man who owned lands in several cities? Nobody would have even dared imagined.

Yeongkwan’s family had served the Mins for as long as he could remember, but he could vividly recall the day he had met her just like it was yesterday. Yeongkwan couldn’t stop looking at them – how perfect they look together: the spitting image of a royal couple. He tries hard to not let the bitterness swallow him whole, but he has experienced this his whole life, and a man could only take one so many punches.

He imagines how difficult it must have been for his wife to leave her precious life like that, when comfort was not a luxury but something already ingrained in their lives. He imagines what life would have been if he hadn’t met Misun at all, if she had only chosen the man she was truly betrothed to. As for Yeongkwan, well, life for him would have been the same all along – working in the fields from dusk to dawn.

But Misun, his lovely Misun… she wouldn’t even have to cook, hadn’t she had been so stubborn. Even his own parents had not favored his friendship with the landowner’s daughter, saying it was too much of a risk for the whole family. But alas, the matters of the heart are exclusively a person’s own, and despite being burdened by the consequences of his or her actions while doing so, nothing ever matters as long as the heart’s desires are fulfilled.

Throughout the years, the unusual friendship of the two had eventually blossomed into a romantic relationship. It was Yeongkwan who had fallen first - he figured that out when seeing Misun was the only thing he looked forward to for the day. In fact, she was the first thing on his mind when he woke, and was his last thought before he went to sleep.

Daily, they would meet in a more secluded area of the plantation, where they would talk for hours. On some days, Misun would offer a hand in farming. Yeongkwan declined at first, knowing a plantation was not the place she ought to spend her days in. But Yeongkwan, powerless to stop the person he loved from doing something she wanted to do, indulged her so.

They’d spend their days like that, talking to each other while Misun occasionally helped with the farming. One day, she came to their rendezvous a little later than expected and when Yeongkwan showed her a small plot where she could plant her own rice but she instantly shook her head no, narrating how she was scolded for coming home with dirt on her hands and on her clothes. But a few scolding wasn't enough to hinder two people enjoying each other’s company.

The two got closer and they would meet even on the days when Yeongkwan’s family wasn't at their plantation to work. Years passed by and as the two grew into maturity, so did their feelings. Their unlikely friendship had inevitably blossomed into something deeper, more intimate.

Their attraction to each other was as clear as day, but the future of their relationship was as vague as the night sky filled with clouds. Of course, a daughter of a rich man and a farmer’s son? Such could never be. Yeongkwan and Misun knew that from the very start, deep within the recesses of their heart, but both had already fallen in too deep, and there was nowhere else to go but forward.

There came a time when Yeongkwan thought their unofficial relationship was on the brink of failing. It was when Misun was about to celebrate her coming of age, and with that came the obligation to select a suitor of her parents’ choosing, one she would inevitably be married off to. Misun thought it was about time they addressed the burden that will soon be in her hands.

Clearly, there was only one man she thought was suited for her, and it was Yeongkwan. He was gentle, caring, loving, and understanding. He was the man she always wanted but could never have - only because he was lacking, financially, in her parents’ eyes. Destiny had its wretched ways of wrecking the poor souls of people who just want to love and be loved.

Misun picked a sunny day to express her perturbation, in the hopes that it might help ease the storm that was brewing in her heart, in case Yeongkwan might give up on her just as he had feared. The young man had met her at the usual rendezvous, and walked together in silence and trepidation towards their favorite spot: under the shade of an oak tree, of their oak tree.

As Yeongkwan rests his back against the trunk, Misun shyly leans towards him, resting her head on his shoulder. The man’s heart thumps wildly against his chest, trying to control his emotions over the simple action. Misun is likewise not doing any better, overcoming her shyness to initiate a small display of affection, unsure if this might be the last they might see each other.

The couple sit there for a while, just enjoying the cool breeze of autumn. When she deems it the right time to say it, she looks up at Yeongkwan, placing a hand over his. “My love, as you know, I am coming of age in a few days’ time, and I will have no choice but to select a suitor of my parents’ choosing, but I want you to know that you are the only one for me.”

Yeongkwan places a hand atop hers and Misun feels the slightest ounce of security seep into her. “I desire no one else but you, Yeongkwan,” Misun repeats her sentiments.

“So do I, my love. I wish you not to worry because I have saved enough to pay for your dowry. We shall be together soon, Misun. I...I love you and my world is not complete if you’re not in it.”

Misun sits up straighter, looking at the man of her dreams with nothing else but fondness in her eyes. “I love you too, Yeongkwan. So much more than you will ever know.”

The young man fishes for something in the small pouch tied to his pants and brings out a ring. Misun looks at him expectantly, pursing her lips in anticipation. “Misun, my love, if you will allow me to do so, please accept this ring, one that I have crafted with my own hands, as a symbol of my unending love.”

Ever so gently, Misun slips her hand onto Yeongkwan’s open palm, and as the latter inserts the ring, Misun suddenly stops him. “My dearest, it had just come to me...should mother see this on my fingers, she will have this discarded at once without question and I do not wish to lose something of such a sentimental value.”

Yeongkwan nods, understanding her predicament, but the young man was always ready, always thinking thoroughly ahead before doing something. So with a smile, he pulls forth a string from the same pouch he’d taken the same ring from and shoots it through the ring. Warmth blossoms in Misun’s chest, tilting her head a little so her lover can tie the string around her neck.

“I think I prefer the necklace better… after all, it’s the one closer to my heart.” Yeongkwan, in a sudden burst of emotion, takes his lover’s face in his palms and presses his lips to hers. He feels Misun freeze in her spot, and Yeongkwan quickly pulls away, profusely apologizing for his brazen behavior.

All of a sudden, beside him, he hears the most delightful sound in the world: Misun’s laughter. She continues laughing even with Yeongkwan staring at her, hand on his forearm for support. “Oh, goodness. I am so sorry, Yeongkwan,” Misun says, wiping away the tears that welled in the corner of her eyes.

“I just...it was...that was my first kiss.”

Yeongkwan’s mouth falls open in shock, and shame. “That was you first kiss?! I mean, that was mine too...but your first kiss should have been more romantic unlike here, where...we’re just under the shade…” Yeongkwan stammers out a confession, only causing Misun to laugh harder.

As the young man turns beet red at the sudden realization of his words, Misun coos at him, giving him a gentle pat on his shoulder. Shyly, she speaks up, “If you want...we could try again?” Yeongkwan doesn’t think twice about the offer, once more connecting their lips together.

That same day, the couple had gone back to Misun’s house with Yeongkwan’s determination to present himself as a suitor and win over her parent’s hearts next. They pass through the plantation with a spring in their steps while the other servants who recognize Yeongkwan stare at the two whose obvious love for each other surpasses their judgmental looks.

Misun’s family was enjoying lunch by the time they arrived at their destination, and at the sight of the pair with hands intertwined, the light mood inside the Min household quickly dissolves into thin air. Her father’s face falls when realization dawn on him, while her mother refuses to meet her own daughter’s eyes, disappointment hanging in her features.

The Min patriarch exhales as he puts his silver chopsticks down and looks at the boy. “Yeongkwan, is it?” Min Mansoo asks, wiping the corners of his mouth with a cloth. “Yes, Master Min.”

“Why don’t you sit and eat with us?” Mansoo offers, and Misun’s grip on Yeongkwan tightens. The sensation makes Yeongkwan hesitate, but he doesnt want to disappoint his future father-in-law by not following his orders.

With one last reassuring look at Misun, he lets go of her hand and sits himself to a corner where Mansoo had pointed at. As soon as Yeongkwan settles down, Mansoo tells him to join their lunch, gesturing to the food. “How is your family Yeongkwan?”

“I am thankful to our ancestors for keeping them well, Master Min.” Mansoo nods, never keeping his eyes off the young man as he places a spoonful of rice in his mouth.

“Yeongkwan, son, if you dont mind…” Mansoo starts, staring at the young man, “...there are some things we would like to discuss as a family first....in private.” Yeongkwan quickly catches on, gently squeezing Misun’s hand in his before thanking the Min patriarch for letting him partake in their lunch and leaving afterwards.

“Father,” Misun begins, but her father cuts her off quickly. “Don’t...just...I dont want to hear it Misun,” Mansoo replies, calming himself down. “How could you do this to your own family?”

“Father,” the plantation heiress tries to call her father’s attention one more time, but it’s her mother who stops her from doing so this time, hand shooting over to grab her wrist as a warning signal.

“I trusted you, Misun! I knew it in me that you would have good judgment, but you broke that promise just like that! All those years, all this time - you had been talking to that man?”

“Yeongkwan is a good man, unlike the others who wish to court me,” Misun mumbles, not meeting her father’s eyes. Mansoo pounds his fist against the table, startling everyone present.

“I don’t care if you think he is a good man or not, Misun! How can you assure yourself that it’s you he wishes to marry and not your wealth?” Misun’s lips start trembling, frightened at her father’s sudden outburst. “Do you not get the point here?! He is...he’s but a mere servant, Misun! Even if he had good intentions, life is difficult to come by! Will you have enough food to place on your table for each day? Will your children live comfortably just as you have? You cannot be with such a man! I forbid you to ever meet him again. In fact, I am forbidding you from even leaving the house without your mother. And that is final, Misun. Lunch is over. Nobody better bother me in my office.”

Misun’s knuckles turn white with the grip she has on her skirt, fighting the tears that threaten to fall as she storms off to her own room.

Just as Mansoo had ordered, Misun hadn’t stepped outside their house in a week. The girl had no intention to leave either, if she was to be accompanied by her mother at all times like a little child. The poor young lady cried day and night, restless and anxious about what the near future might hold, especially if the only man she’s ever loved might not be in it.

Yeongkwan, likewise, was not doing any better, tense for hours on end. He had visited Misun for the entire week after meeting her family, yet he was only greeted by closed windows and the cold evening air. Tomorrow was the day he had been dreading ever since he’d fallen for Misun, and fears, maybe, just maybe, some things aren't just meant to be.

It was finally the day of Misun’s choosing, and a feast had been prepared to celebrate such a ceremonious occasion. A glum Misun was assisted by two other servants during dawn in preparation for the days’ activities. The mood was heavy even for the other servants, as their usually bubbly Misun had lost her light and her beautiful smile. For the entire morning, Misun had greeted the guests with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

She was also afforded time to spend with each of her suitors - time she spent imagining Yeongkwan by her side and not these strangers. A voice beside her startles her from her preoccupied thoughts, “You should pick him,” the man supposedly her suitor speaks, leaning backwards as he leans his weight onto his arms.

“Excuse me?” Misun asks, looking up from where she had been playing with the grass. “I think you should go for the man you truly love,” he says, gesturing to Yeongkwan staring at Misun from a distance. The oblivious Misun turns to look at who her suitor was pertaining to, yet finds no one. The stranger exhales, enjoying the breeze, “Marrying to maintain your status had always been pointless. Unless you really have no regard for your own emotions, then marriage is but a contract, and not a lifelong bond and commitment to another person.”

“You think so too?”

“I know so too,” the man winks at her, causing her to giggle - the closest she had been to being genuinely happy for the entire week. The kind stranger gives her a small, reassuring smile. “Go, I’ll cover for you.”

Yeongkwan’s heart clenches when he sees Misun hug another man, defeatedly looking away. He mounts his horse, taking one last look at Misun’s house and wishing the love of his life a happy relationship with her betrothed. As Yeongkwan pulls on the reins, he hears hurried steps approaching him and a familiar voice calling his name.

He looks back to see Misun running towards him, waving her arms to catch his attention. Quickly, he gets down from his horse and patiently waits for Misun to arrive. The wide grin on Misun’s face is unmissable, and Yeongkwan wonders if she truly had feelings for him in the first place, being able to smile like this even if this was possibly the last time he will see her. “I see you have already chosen a man to be your husband,” Yeongkwan states, keeping his voice as stable as he could.

“I did,” Misun replies, eyes twinkling.

“I guess this is goodbye then?”

A fond smile graces Misun’s lips. “What kind of nonsense are you talking about?” Confusion takes over Yeongkwan's features, “Wasn’t the man you were with earlier the one you chose to be with for the rest of your life?”

“You might have missed something there. I think you mean, ‘it’s the man I am with now that I have chosen to be with for the rest of my life’.” Yeongkwan’s eyes widen when he processes Misun’s words. “What are you talking about?”

“I choose you, Jeon Yeongkwan. I will always choose you.” The girl stands on her tiptoes and places a chaste kiss on his Yeongkwan’s lips, still slightly parted in shock. “Now, take me away, Yeongkwan, you have me.” The man wastes no time, getting back up on his horse first before helping Misun up the steed.

It’s been a whole moon since the Jeon family had been first invited for dinner over at the royal palace and tonight, the king had sent another invite to have lunch with him tomorrow. At first, he had found the king’s favor towards his family a blessing, but now, everytime he sees the way the king looks at his family, it seems as if it was just an awful nightmare just waiting to come true.

Misun notices the steely look on her husband’s face and rests her head against his shoulder. “Are you alright, my love?” Yeongkwan forces a smile onto his face, but Misun sees right through it. “Do you not wish to have lunch with the King tomorrow? Your decision is likewise mine.”

Yeongkwan quickly shakes his head no, not wanting to overthink the whole thing. As soon he places a kiss on his wife’s forehead, Misun decides to drop the subject, but still worries for her husband.

Just as Yeongkwan had expected, their visit wasn’t any better than the last. The bitterness was slowly seeping into him, so much that he’s greatly tempted to make an excuse to get back home at once. As he takes a sip from the samgyetang the palace cooks had prepared for them, he thinks about the king’s attempts to impress his family.

Today, King Daesin had gone so far as to let the children play among the palace gardens and had granted his entire family access to wherever they may wish to roam around. The boys, beaming at the idea, finish their food heartily and as quickly as they could, before promptly asking the king if they could go ahead and play outside. Daesin, taking joy in their mutual enthusiasm, gets up and ushers the children and Misun outside. As if he’d almost forgotten Yeongkwan was also present, Daesin had also told him to come join his family. As if he needed any inviting.

Yeongkwan trails behind the four of them quietly. As the King carries his two sons in both arms, they giggle excitedly, happily bouncing in King Daesin’s hold. Just as he exits the king’s private hanok, he comes face to face with the chief advisor, Park Joomin.

“Ah, General Jeon!” the older man greets, bowing curtly. “Chief Advisor Park! You do know there is no need to address me by my previous title. It’s such a pleasure to see you again after so long. You seem well.”

“I am,” Joomin nods, “I am grateful to our ancestors for guiding us throughout the war and giving us another life to live.”

Yeongkwan averts his gaze from the chief advisor for a moment to watch his wife run along with their kids in tow, and the king running after them. The chief advisor follows his line of sight and confirms his suspicions. Joomin thought it wasn’t something one should spend time thinking about at first, but now as he sees the king almost transform into a completely different person.

His informant told him of the Jeon family’s visits getting more frequent, so Joomin decided to stay close and watch their interactions from afar. Today though, his intuitions are leaning towards the affirmative and decides to confront the former general about it, in the hopes that his offer might just save the future of the southern city.

Park Joomin leans closer and places a hand on Yeongkwan’s shoulder. “I hope you don't mind me being honest with you, Yeongkwan, because there is something I wish to address to you - from one friend to another.”

Yeongkwan’s brows furrow slightly in suspicion. Sure, they’ve fought side by side during the war, but they never really had any interaction besides fighting their common enemies together.

“I am all ears, advisor.” Park Joomin nods briefly, before signalling one of his men to leave the two alone. ‘Interesting,’ Yeongkwan thinks, staring out into the lush forest from a distance.

“Yeongkwan, I know you’re a smart and noble man. Compassionate as well…” the chief advisor starts, placing a firm hand on the younger one’s shoulder. “...and I do not want to tarnish our friendship by saying this but I am unsure whether you are turning a blind eye to the truth or you are simply unaware of it.” Joomin leads them both to an elevated gazebo - one overlooking the palace garden where Yeongkwan’s sons are playing.

The advisor allows Yeongkwan to settle on a seat before continuing, “Your wife is a lovely woman, she really is. But I fear, it is not only her husband who is wooed by her charms.”

Yeongkwan gulps. There it is, the truth that Yeongkwan still refuses to believe yet will inevitably have to cope with sooner or later. Today was the day the reality of it all had hit him the hardest. Park Joomin takes Yeongkwan’s silence as his cognizance on the matter.

“I could not possibly fathom what you must be going through right now.” Joomin throws him an apologetic look.

‘Of course you don’t,’ the Jeon patriarch answers in his head, ‘Not everyone has their wives catching the king’s attention and their own sons getting closer to the monarch, who was still practically a stranger.’

“I am sorry if this conversation makes your heart ache, but besides being your friend, I also have a duty to our King, and to our nation. Thus, I will no longer have to mollify my words. Our city needs an heir to strengthen the throne. We might have won the war against the colonizers, yet this had only fueled traitors who wish to turn against their own cities. The Great Colonization had only made us realize how weak the bond is between the government and our citizens - how easy it would be to penetrate our land from the inside, just like that.”

“We need to strengthen our city’s foundation, Yeongkwan. And...and I think your wife just might be the solution.” Yeongkwan averts his gaze from the chief advisor when he sees the latter glance at him. Joomin finds having to explain the further details of the resolution unnecessary, deeming Yeongkwan already knowing of what dilemma he is to face.

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intimidatingpuffinstudios · 4 years

Text

I’m releasing an old Patreon story publicly!

This here, folks, is a fic about Morkai and Straasa shenanigans from when they were teenagers!

Straasa even references this incident in-game if you pick that drawing is your hobby!

Hope you like it! Enjoy!

~*~

The paints are arranged beautifully in front of him, waiting to be combined in a pandemonium of colors and vibrancy. New worlds are waiting to be birthed on his command, starry skies and green fields waiting to be unleashed.

Straasa stares at the blank canvas, and the vast emptiness stares back. Not even a single line of color mars its snowy surface, and while he could probably spin some wild tale about life and its meaninglessness being depicted on this very piece of paper, he doubts his father would appreciate the philosophical musings.

Or even if he did, then Miriel certainly wouldn’t. She spent a fortune to get all these wildly expensive paints for him. He had mentioned once that he would like to try it out, and now he was suddenly expected to create a masterpiece breath-taking enough to compete with the masters.

And that masterpiece will, of course, be an utterly life-like portrait of Miriel’s likeness, every single nuance captured to depict her profound and inimitable beauty. He’d be lucky if he could paint a realistic stick figure at this point.

He slowly puts down the palette, all 16 of the years of his life weighing down on him. She’s going to be so disappointed. He hates it when she looks at him with that look—the look that says that he didn’t try enough, didn’t love her enough, wasn’t good enough. In anything at all.

“I have to say, what you’ve created portrays Miriel’s vapidness quite well, I’m proud of you, man.”

Straasa springs up from his stool as swiftly as a snake springs from the sand, his heart beating like mad in his chest. His stares at Morkai with eyes wide open, a hand clutched over his chest. What is he doing here? He wasn’t supposed to come in today! Miriel would have a fit!

“Morkai,” he hisses, trying to keep his voice down in case someone is passing by outside his room.

“What are you doing here? Miriel said that you can’t come by until I’m done with her portrait! She’ll skin us both if she finds you here! And how did you get in without me hearing you?!” the blue-eyed teen whispers furiously, grabbing his friend’s arm and trying to lead him out.

Morkai, of course, doesn’t budge, looking at the blank canvas with an air of snobbish evaluation. He nods his head sagely, pointing to an indeterminate point.

“This part particularly, where her heart should be, I think you’ve captured that part to perfection. Yes, I’m quite pleased. I will hang this above your bedroom door,” the redhead keeps on going, acting for all intents and purposes like this is a fabulous piece of art that he is critiquing with his sharp eye.

Straasa exhales loudly in frustration and stops trying to move his stubborn friend. No one can make Morkai budge if he doesn’t want to be moved. He is already almost as tall as his father and Rhaygan is nothing to scoff at, towering over everyone at 6’2”.

But then Straasa notices a sweet smell coming off of Morkai, something that reminds him suspiciously of… His eyes zoom in on the satchel hanging from his friend’s waist, and his hands swoop in to open it greedily.

The redhead grins at him roguishly as Straasa finds what he was looking for— a small, cloth-wrapped bundle containing nothing but… lemon cakes! His favorite! He didn’t think the kitchens would make that today!

“How did you get these?!” he exclaims in glee, immediately snatching one of the pastries up and bringing it to his mouth. Morkai’s grin gets even wider, like a cat that has just gotten the cream.

“You know Ilya likes me. I promised her a moonlit walk in the gardens tomorrow night if she would make these for me,” Morkai informs him smugly. Ilya, the cook in training in their mansion. She thinks Morkai has hung the sun and stars, the poor girl.

“You’ll keep your word to her, right?” the blue-eyed teen asks a bit uneasily. He knows that Morkai doesn’t particularly care for the girl. His friend has at least the grace to look completely affronted.

“Of course I will! Who do you take me for, man?! That’s insulting! I’m a man of my word! Trust me, I’ll give her a night she’ll never forget,” the redhead reassures him, his smirk turning lecherous, and Straasa rolls his eyes in response.

He instead turns his attention to the delicious cakes, leaving Morkai to his thorough examination of the snow-white canvas. The red-haired boy makes a small “Ah,” sound like he has just figured something out, but Straasa doesn’t turn to look at what his friend is doing.

A mistake in hindsight. A huge one at that, too. Once he’s done demolishing the sugary treats, Straasa finally raises his eyes and immediately freezes, his mind refusing to take in the devastation right in front of him.

He can feel the cakes coming up as he stares horrified at the huge boobs Morkai has drawn on the canvas, complete with a donkey’s head attached to them. Because it’s certainly the breasts that take the place of honor in this ‘painting,’ they’re twice the size of the equine head.

“Shit, no!” Straasa shrieks in desperation, covering his eyes with sticky fingers. He lifts his hand after a moment as if time might have erased the abomination from existence, but no, it’s still there, still glaring at him accusingly.

Morkai, for his part, looks exceedingly satisfied with himself, not realizing that Straasa was given no spare canvases in case he messed up. He was supposed to get it at first try. There is no way to hide this from his step-mother.

He is doomed. Absolutely freaking doomed. Morkai seems to register that his friend has gone pale as a sheet, almost shaking in front of him. He quickly sets the palette down and grabs Straasa by the shoulders, making him look at him.

“Hey, man, it was just a joke. We’ll tell her I did it, since it’s the truth and also because she can do absolutely nothing to me,” the green-eyed teen tries to comfort his distraught friend, having no idea what exactly Miriel could do to punish them both.

She could deny Morkai visits and the other way around. She could keep them apart and had already threatened to do so many times. This would surely be the last straw, causing the threat to become a reality.

“And if she tries to separate us, I have Ilya to sneak me in whenever I want.”

Straasa’s eyes snap to Morkai’s, surprised, hopeful. How had Morkai figured this out? Straasa had never told him of Miriel’s threats. And was this the reason his friend kept on indulging Ilya when he wasn’t all that interested in her?

The redhead was a lot more devious than Straasa originally thought. Also, kind of ruthless, using people to get what he wants. But Straasa can’t help but feel grateful to him. For making the situation at least sort of bearable. Even if it was him that created the problem in the first place.

The hands on his shoulders suddenly grip him tightly, and Morkai’s gaze turns far-away and distant, then an unholy light enters his eyes. It’s like a candle has been lit behind them, and Straasa knows that he is in serious trouble. When the redhead gets this excited, it means disaster is at hand.

“Morkai, no! Whatever you’re thinking…!” Straasa tries to caution, but his warning is cut short by a colorful missile hitting him straight on the mouth. Paint. It’s a glob of red, incredibly expensive paint that Morkai has scooped up from the palette and launched right at his face.

It dribbles down the blue-eyed teen's chin, and Straasa can taste it in his mouth. He wonders in a panicky sort of way if he can get poisoned from this. Morkai, having efficiently shut his friend up, turns his attention to his short-lived masterpiece.

His large hand scoops up more of the paint, and he slathers it over the breasted donkey in wide strokes, erasing all evidence of Miriel’s supposed likeness under a mountain of mismatched colors.

Once he’s done, he looks at the canvas with a forlorn look, like he regrets erasing the monstrosity from existence.

“It’s a pity, really. I believe I captured her essence perfectly,” he mourns, the palette still held in his hand. Straasa wipes his mouth and takes the weapon of destruction away from his friend.

“She doesn’t look like a donkey, Morkai, she’s beautiful,” he chastises the redhead, taking one of the brushes in his hand and swirling it through the remaining paint. Morkai shrugs his shoulders in response, not interested in debating Miriel’s beauty.

“Who cares? She behaves like an arse, that’s all that matters. An arse with boobs,” he snickers gleefully, and Straasa seizes the perfect chance as Morkai’s eyes briefly close.

He lunges forward, the brush held like a sword heading straight at his impossible friend’s face. His aim proves true, getting his friend’s nose and part of his cheek. Morkai squawks in outrage and ducks, trying to get the palette away from Straasa. The two grapple for a few minutes, loud laughter and curses echoing in the air around them.

By the time an infuriated “Boys!” slices through the moment, the teens have managed to get their clothes and faces, even their hair covered in remnants of paint. Straasa is laying down on the ground, wheezing, and Morkai is sitting down next to him, still chortling, his leg over Straasa’s calf.

Furious footsteps head straight for them, and Straasa doesn’t sit up to look who it is. He’d recognize Miriel’s gait anywhere. He instead turns his gaze to look at his friend instead.

Morkai’s eyes are glimmering as he flicks his attention at his friend, shooting him a mischievous grin before he gets up, holding his hands out in surrender in front of him, trying to calm down Miriel’s explosive fury.

Straasa takes a deep breath and gets up to join him. Yet as he looks at his clothes, at Morkai’s, at the mess their grappling has made, at the ruined canvas that held his step-mother’s likeness done Morkai-style…

He chuckles despite knowing it will piss off Miriel even more. He regrets nothing.

~*~

#the soul stone war #tssw #snippet #background story #Morkai #Straasa #Patreon

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