#remember who the real enemy is.... capitalism

[auncyen]

I think I saw once that Vaugarde used to be a monarchy and I absolutely cannot remember if it has Actual Canon but at this point I think it's pretty much full headcanon for me that

it used to be a monarchy

the Island used to have a mutually beneficial relationship with Vaugarde that was. pretty literally. using wishes as part of the trade. how they got Favor Trees etc but also BIG things like carefully crafted wishes for protection or good farming seasons and such. some little traditions spread beyond Vaugarde just as a spread of knowledge. but the primary beneficiary of wish trade was Vaugarde, which in turn protected the Island (and again the Island would have been crafting the Wishes so a lot of the Big Ones were probably benefiting the island as well/already meant for the Island but extended to Vaugarde as well)

the Island was not closed off from the world, but it was already remote just by location and yes, a little secretive. It was common knowledge that the Vaugardian monarchy were trade partners with the Island, but also just pinning down the material goods being traded, it seemed a bit lopsided in the Island's favor. There was acknowledgment of "knowledge" being exchanged both ways and yes, the Vaugardian layperson could probably find some examples, but the wish trading was not exactly being disclosed as 'yeah, this is the big thing the Islanders give'. Despite this, 'wizards' start coming up as a fictional concept based on Islanders visiting the capital--they dress strangely, appear rarely but are treated as important when they do, sometimes it seems their words portend miraculous events...

the monarchy eventually falls out of favor with Vaugarde as a whole. The Island withdraws support from the monarchy as the wish requests turn cruel and vindictive. A petty enough monarch might have made an attempt at retaliation, but they're facing enough pressure at home without opening another front--especially to an enemy who has a real chance of deciding you should be demolished and having their higher power agree.

as the monarchy fails, knowledge about the Wish trade starts to leak out, either from found documents or people trying to save their standing by bartering with knowledge.

this starts years of tension between the Island, Vaugarde, and maybe even countries beyond Vaugarde as details both get out and don't, rumors form about what was the Island's work and wasn't, etc., the Island being seen more and more as a mysterious threat until eventually...

Island crafts a spell to be forgotten so its people can live in safe obscurity. Unfortunately not everyone was on the island at the time. This may have been made as a rushed decision in reaction to a nearby country's threat, or it may have been long planned in complete secrecy even to the main population with the cold calculation that some would have to be sacrificed for the Island's safety.

Somewhere along the way the 'rebel movement' that helped overthrow the monarchy changed so much it becomes the present day Defenders. (The name may even be the same! How the group operates, definitely not.)

[ninelivesastrology]

I know we're in a recession because everyone wants to be an astrologer and nobody wants to pay astrologers as I've come to hear and last time I checked on the "intuitive reader" girlies, they're just parroting the same bullshit from two years ago and copying each other, it's vicious out here

[snowpawshaw]

So a long time ago, on Quora, someone asked: Why do some people have a problem with Black Entertainment television (BET) but not with Country Music television (CMT) or ESPN? Aren't they all just networks aimed at specific interest groups?

Unfortunately, when I gave my answer, I was completely ignored.... not a single upvote or comment. I can't say I'm surprised, it was an attempt to give a well thought out and nuanced explanation of cultural appropriation by corporations... But anyways, I really felt like I should explain. I can't remember where I was mentally that got me to seek out this question, but I remember feeling like I really should explain, so I did. I'm really proud of the answer I gave, and this being Tumblr, I'm hoping people will read it and tell me what they think. So here it is:

Being largely white, people who are represented by CMT have largely been able to tell their stories themselves since the dawn of our country. Black showrunners and filmmakers have not had that privelege for the longest time, not until about the 90s. The 70s and 80s do not count, what little was made by black creators was rewritten by and for a white audience.

Good Times, for example, was created by a black man that was fired and then his creation eroded by white writers who kept boiling those complex and honest characters written as actual people into a series of gross and stereotypical tropes.

People hate BET for playing even more into that exact thing: Obliterating the black voice of black art by turning black characters into more stacks of stereotypes that have been used to flatten underrepresented people for generations, a flattening down of hundreds of years of black experience and humanity and activism by corporatizing all of it. When black human beings were finally able to write their own stuff, it was assimilated into the American hodgepodge of easily digested commercial garbage that says absolutely nothing but “The system is good, buy some stuff, here's a funny catchphrase”.

Even religious things on BET turn Christianity into a Brand™ for Christmas movies. You see nothing about black jewish people because they're not common enough. You see nothing about muslim human beings because it doesn't feed into the narrative that muslim people are scary and want to hurt people.

And as far as the politics that the black community formed to fight for their own rights? They're not even mentioned, because it wouldn't serve the system that wants people to just work and buy and serve it in turn. If anything, it would cause people to ask some real questions. That's why they only talk about MLK, who was disposed of as soon as he was about to really rock the boat, and why they pretend that Rosa Parks was a lone wolf instead of one activist in a collective of people who pushed for change.

I would not be surprised if there are people who are country who feel that way about their way of life being corporatized by CMT. Nothing about the great artists of the past unless it's dressed up in five layers of gloss to sell grills and Home Depot products. The difference is, non-POC largely tend not to question it because their lives have been The Brand for far longer, so their voices are drowned out by people who are resigned to it. And they're doing the exact same thing to the LGBT+ community, which is why we try to keep corporations out of our pride parades.

As for NASCAR, nobody respects them, not even whitest guy in the world Jeff Dunham.

[zerogouki00]

This is the legacy of abuse right here. Folks have been abused by capitalism for so damn long that it becomes impossible to imagine that any rich person might ever do anything actually good.

But remember: millionaires are not billionaires. While someone with say $20 million is certainly, hugely wealthy, and holds a very real, sizeable privilege that they should definitely recognise and use altruistically (by supporting the lower paid workers in the strike, for example), they are not in charge of the system that abuses us. They don't own massive corporations or media conglomerates. They don't influence government policy or hoard the world's resources like f***ing dragons on a treasure pile. They aren't the real enemy.

The billionaires are.

[monetizeme]

the popular instinct to laugh at, mock, dismiss, &/or assume the worst about people you don't know or immediately agree with in political exchanges on social media is indicative of the medium's incompatibility with actual democracy

[tinstol]

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

Rat Bastard - Part 4

Pairing: You x Kyungsoo

Rating: M (Mature)

Word Count: 9000

Warnings: There were too many beds, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Cahoots envy, UST

PSA: this couple is called the Rat Couple and their individual names will be Rat Princess and RatSoo (or Rat Basard when we are mad at him)

Tag: @ilovemyapopbaby

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

You were playing a game. It involved lots of fast moving and tricky words that this small group of people shouted out with cheers or groans depending on how good or bad they felt the words had been. You didn’t really get it. The explanations at the beginning went too quickly and you might have nodded off during the vital parts.

Obviously you were losing this game. It was a drinking game but you had nothing invested as your drinks no longer contained any alcohol. You had almost no other reason to keep playing except for boredom which, you were surprised to learn about yourself, was a pretty good motivator.

You’d been given a virgin drink to sip on by a thoroughly-scholded, Javier. He could hardly meet your eyes after being accused by his coworkers of ��nearly killing the only girl we have.’ The marker board had come out again. There was now a ‘wall of shame’ section and Javier’s name was written in angry looking capitalized red letters.

‘A category five!’

‘I just didn’t expect an adult to have such a low alcohol tolerance.’

‘How could you tell her where the patio door was?’

‘Why were the drinks so strong?’

‘You told me to get her drunk!’

‘Just last week some guy died from falling off a stool. People have died from much less.’

‘The wall of babies conceived during the Serenity Sands Resort Singles Retreat is something to be proud of. Adding a death toll to the wall is not.’

‘Cat-Te-Go-Ry Five!’

‘We add to the population, we do not subtract.’

‘To be fair, it’s as if she has almost no sense of survival.’

Your mumbled and slurred declarations of how completely fine you were had gone unheard.

You’d long been eliminated from this game by the time your mind began to sharpen to what was actually happening. It was after Kyungsoo won a prize. You hadn’t even realized there were prizes, but the whole group of people were gathered around a table with various odds and ends, one of which was up for grabs each time a game was won. Because the seven of you were trapped here in this bunker for a week with minimal possessions, a few items had been brought over from the hotel, things that normally would not be so valuable but given the current state of things, these items suddenly had a whole new appeal.

There were a few emergency ponchos for the rain, pairs of waterproof rain boots to keep muddy flood water from seeping inside of your shoes, bug spray, lip balm, ear plugs, wet wipes, a big bag of marshmallows and lots of other snacks, a powerful flashlight and separately, a big pack of batteries for the flashlight or whatever other item needed them. The winner would need to either win both or be in cahoots with the person who won the other. Your eyes zeroed in on the high thread-count luxury blanket with real down feathers and beside it, a cheaper and lighter blanket with such a low thread count the package didn’t even advertise it. You remembered that your beds back there were made up with the bare minimum, just a fitted sheet, a sad pillow and a bed sheet that was so thin it would have been transparent if that room had any windows other than the tiny ones in the bathrooms.

Your now sharper mind began to really understand the stakes. This wasn’t only a drinking game. You’d be stuck here for a week. The small radio that Kyungsoo just won put a blinding smile on his face and you looked around the room at the stacks of items the other people had won. Sara won a neck pillow and an eye mask for sleeping. Mr. Chen, ever the diplomat, won a pack of bar soaps that he promptly ripped open and passed one around to everyone, leaving one sad little bar down at your feet with a pitiful smile. Roxy had won a jumbo pack of ramen and a camping stove and Jun had won butane fuel for the stove. It seems some cahoots were already in the works. The pair didn't even bother to separate their stacks of prizes.

Then and there you made a promise to pay attention to the rules of the next game and you actually felt a wave of relief pass through you when you realized that the next game wasn’t one that required much difficult thinking but only required you to be quick with your hands. Or more specifically the tiny stretchy sticky hand that you’d been given. Everyone got one and the smallest white button that had fallen off of Javier’s sleeve was placed on the surface, in the middle of the big table.

The object of the game was simple. First one to grab the button wins. There were a few practice throws allowed before the battle began and the table erupted in quiet chaos and giggles as everyone quickly realized that these things had very little control or aim to them. You simply threw it vaguely in the direction of the button as fast as you could and if you got lucky you might grab something other than some other player’s sticky hand.

The practice round was declared finished. Not a single hand grabbed the button on the table and clear reminders of the rules were announced before a countdown was called out and it was time.

You needed to win something. Once the go was given, you and everyone else was frantic with it. Slapping sounds echoed all around the room and there was screaming and yelping as hands came close to the button. You were moving so quickly you hadn’t realized you’d bumped up elbows with the person beside you and in the excitement you’d reached a hand out to hold him back. Kyungsoo was creeping into your space. The only thing you could do was fight him off with your free hand. You reached for his forearm and pulled him back, trying to get his tossing hand back enough so you could break through. The sound of everyone’s laughter was like a drug. The mood of the game was so fun and exciting you hadn’t even noticed that it was the sounds of Kyungsoo’s giggles that paired so well with your own. That it was a sound you’d never before heard in your life, the mixture of both of your laughter with his laughter and the two voice tones blended so beautifully together you had to force your eyes to look away from the giggling profile of his face so you could focus on the game.

Through the struggle and the giggles when you pulled your sticky hand back quickly you shot it forward again and to your absolute shock your hand landed square on top of the button in the center of the table and quickly whipped it backward, trapping it right in front of you on the table. You reached down with a shout and gripped that button and you stood up in happiness as the entire rest of the table groaned at the loss.

You’d done it. You’ve finally won something. You were jumping up and down with excitement and you couldn't help the drift of your eyes over to the man who sat beside you with a pretty smile still on his face. He lifted a hand and ran it through his hair, letting the straight black strands fall back into place slowly and his dark eyes watched you for a few moments with that breathtaking smile taking just a bit of your oxygen and making it stutter inside of your lungs. You’d been denying it to yourself, refusing to admit even inside of your head just how beautiful he was, but again and again you would lose that battle. It had been getting worse lately, the longer stretches of time you got to actually look at him and the longer stretches of time when you actually held his brown eyes with your own.

Someone steered you to the big table of prizes and handed you an enormous multipack of batteries. Batteries that would power any one of these hand held devices such as the flashlight and even that small radio that Kyungsoo had stashed underneath his chair.

The weight of this prize brought a change inside of you. You had won the power, quite literally. Everyone who won an electronic device needed you. You had what might be considered currency.

“Roxy, I’ll give you the batteries for your portable fan for one pack of ramen,” you said as you sat down and her eyes widened and she nodded her head, ripping open the multipack of noodles and tossing them over to you in exchange for two small batteries. You had so many of them and curious eyes were now offering small trades.

Once the trading had started you noticed others making small deals as well. Kyungsoo gave Roxy a can of spam for some ramen and you looked at the several cans he had left and then down at his powerless portable radio but you lost the nerve to say anything to him when he looked at you. You just looked away and avoided his eyes until the next game started. The sticky hands game was quick and popular, more prizes were handed out, and you all played it again and again until all the sticking power wore off and nobody was able to grab ahold of anything anymore.

If you were meant to be avoiding this man those plans went out the window with the announcement of the next game. This one would be played in pairs and your eyes touched upon every single person in this room except for the man sitting beside you begging to God they hadn’t already settled on their person. Of course they were all taken, the dirty rats.

“Okay so you, and Kyungsoo,” Mr. Chen clapped his hands, “excellent, that works out perfectly.”

You’d cooperated with him already. You’d both worked quite closely and very well together in the kitchen when he was cooking blindfolded, but that was before the blowup outside. Before you hurt his feelings for real this time, he called you an asshole, and you drunkenly tried to blame your cruel, hateful words on the actions of the other people in this room when you got caught by him. Even as upset as he had obviously been, he still swooped in and caught you before you could fall off the patio and hurt yourself. But he’d not said a single word to you since, and even only looked at you when absolutely necessary.

This game was more physical. There was a big bowl of flour and two spoons and the task was to hold the spoon with your mouth and use it to scoop flour. You were then to transfer the flower scoop to your partner’s spoon and they took it to another bowl which sat on a scale. The fastest team to transfer 40 grams of flour won. The prize was the pair of blankets and while you weren’t about to share your new high thread count luxury blanket with this man, you could be convinced to give him the cheap one.

“There’s a catch,” Mr. Chen explained and you groaned in annoyance as you took the spoon back out of your mouth to listen to the added condition of the game that was being explained. “You must both stand within the same square on the tile during the flour transfer. Touching each other is allowed.”

You both looked down at the floor, realizing that these floor tiles were tiny. Maybe your feet and his feet would fit if you stood exactly on one side of the tile but it would have to be very close. In fact, everything about your bodies would need to be close for this.

Sara had her hand raised and Mr. Chen quickly added that pregnant persons with big bellies could use up two tiles. Everyone else was limited to one.

When the game began, Kyungsoo was standing closest to the flour supply so you simply stood at the halfway point, placing your feet carefully within your tile. From the looks of his shoes, it was likely he could manage to fit one foot between your two, and the other on the other side while remaining within the perimeter lines. He was coming with his spoon suspended in his mouth and a mountain of flour filling the spoon. He was coming with a big white spot of flour on his chin and several white spots down his cheek and what was probably hidden all over his white shirt and when he reached you, you felt him place his first foot in between yours and carefully place the other within the tile. With his feet in place the warmth of his body quickly followed and you felt the length of him pressing up against your body from thigh to chest. Oh god.

Your eyes were wide open and he looked into them with a quiet urgency in the small grunt he gave you. His head tiled the smallest amount, not enough to spill his flour but enough to tell you that your spoon was not at the right angle to receive and that you should tilt your head.

You could feel your heart beating inside of your ears with him standing so very close to you and you had to remind yourself that this was only for the game. This was only to win the prizes, your blankets. You would sleep warm and comfortable tonight if you won those blankets.

A commotion beside you called your attention briefly and you began to turn your head. Someone had coughed a faceful of flour on their partner and someone was coughing and laughing noisily.

Kyungsoo’s hand reached up and you felt the warmth of his palm land over your cheek, pulling your face to look at him again. He’d lifted his other hand just high enough to wrap around the small of your back and you felt the gentle pull there as he pulled you in closer to where he stood inside this tile. He was just refocusing you. He was only directing your face so you could tilt your head into him to gather all of the flour he brought to you and you held your breath as his head tilted further and the white flour fell into your own spoon.

He let you go and he stepped back, inhaled a deep breath as he moved, his eyes widened with a nod of his head and you quickly turned around to take the spoon to the scale. You had more than 10 grams already. You only had to do this three more times to win. You glanced around at the other teams, one who was still transferring, and the other who had gone back to square one covered in white flour all over their faces and hair.

Your waist and your face felt all dumb and tingly, your skin was acting unreasonable to be so undeservedly affected by his touch. He wasn’t even touching you because he wanted to. This was for the game. It has just been so very long since a handsome man actually put his hands on you.

When you returned to your tile, Kyungsoo was already coming with another spoonful. He was less careful with his touch this time and you felt the strong warmth of his hand that he placed on your waist the second he reached the tile and situated his feet. Your hands lifted to lightly touch the side of his waist to keep your balance and this time as he was turning his head to dump the flour, half of the flour seemed packed on his spoon, refusing to budge. You had to touch him more, you lifted your hand and guided his face more. You could see the moment the powder dislodged and plopped neatly inside of your spoon and you were glad you were holding your breath because you nearly laughed in excitement to see it fall. You were rushing to the scale, careful to not jostle your precious cargo any more than necessary.

This had been a bigger spoonful. Your totals were 25 grams already, much more than any of the other teams.

You gave him an encouraging nod of your head and he had a smile in his eyes that sent him rushing back to the bowl before you could even make it back to the tile he was waiting with both of his arms outstretched for you, hands falling easily into place now, faces tilted in a position with him that to anyone who might be viewing this from the back may seem romantic. It was definitely close enough to kiss his pretty lips if not for these blasted spoons.

You had your flour scoop secured and his eyes widened marginally when you lifted a hand to lightly brush stray the white powder off his cheek before you turned to deposit your spoon.

You were almost there. The sense of urgency moved your body and you rushed back to where he stood waiting for you with his spoon positively loaded up with flour.

You collided with him with more force than you had before, your desire to win clouding your judgment and with the impact you felt more of his firm body pressed against you. You felt more of the hardness of his thighs that flexed when you placed your own over him, straddling his legs so you both would fit perfectly in this tiny space. When his hand pulled you harder into him he used his entire hand and forearm and you were reminded of the position he caught you in out there in the rain when the thumping of your heartbeats seemed to scream even louder than the torrential rain hitting the roof of the patio; when the heat you felt between his legs pressed into you sent an overwhelming wave of warmth and attraction radiating through your belly and brought along a damp flush to your skin.

You didn’t have time for all of this. He was tilting his head into you and his hand was on your face, cradling your cheek, your jaw, your ear, slipping down the smoothness of your neck and his eyes were closing as he lightly exhaled through his nose. The flour moved. You caught the bit of some of it falling off the spoon and you felt the tickle as some of it fell over your bare chest.

Impossibly and as if he had been possessed, you felt the smallest brushes of his soft, warm fingertips along the skin below your collarbone, brushing away the little mess he had made of you there.

When his eyes pulled up you were staring into his face and you didn’t have time to decipher any of this because you needed to be moving. You hoped it would be enough. You spun carefully on your heels and you could feel the shadow of him following your journey as you made it to the scale and poured the contents of your spoon.

“43 grams!” Mr Chen shouted and you heard groans of disappointment from the other two teams, you heard the metal clanging as discarded spoons fell to the floor or landed and echoed on a table and your body felt as if it might be on fire from just how much Kyungsoo had been touching you during the game. Every single cell that his skin had touched felt electrified and when you spun to look into his face you caught the most beautiful smile of genuine happiness there.

It pulled the smile of celebration from your own chest and you laughed and leaned into him, lightly bumping your shoulders against his bicep, not quite trusting yourself to openly celebrate so freely with this man.

You felt it then, the smallest reach of his arm that he lifted and wrapped lightly around your waist, you felt the small pull of him there as he did it and you gasped in surprise to feel the brush of his fingers that landed over your hair. He was grinning and brushing flour out of your hair. He was happy and he was so beautiful and you smiled back at him, tapping away some of the flour that had fallen from his chest and when his eyes reached into yours you caught the shift as the smile slowly flattened out and he cleared his throat, pulling his eyes quickly away from your face and pulling both of his hands back to himself.

If you hadn’t been holding them together your hands might have been trembling.

It was time to claim your prizes so you steadied your expression as quickly as you could, making excuses about how sometimes the nature of celebrating wins involved tiny touches and achingly deep eye blinks with each other and trying to ignore the longing you felt to feel the temperature of his skin pressed up against yours like that again. This was getting out of hand.

You both looked down at the two blankets, one of them clearly more superior than the other and Roxy suggested you both have a competition to see who got the good one.

Someone said arm wrestling, someone else suggested a straight up fight for it and Kyungsoo snorted with laughter and reached out to grab ahold of your wrist, wrapping his fingers easily around it he lifted your arm and shook it wildly.

“I could snap her in two,” he said and you pulled your wrist back from him forcefully, not quite having the strength to fully break free from him until you felt his grip relax and he just let you go. You knew he was right but that didn’t stop the wave of undeserved confidence that surged through you; foolishly believing deep down inside that if you fought dirty enough you could probably take him in a fight. You’d go for the weak points first, obviously the crotch shot, then the eye balls, and you’d end with a throat punch that would send him to the hospital. You’d completed two self defense courses in your life and you knew if you hit him right now, when he wasn’t expecting it, you could win. As long as you didn’t give him any advanced notice of what you were up to.

You’d always had trouble with intrusive thoughts. You reached for him quickly from behind and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, reaching your hands around for his neck and he gave the smallest grunt of genuine surprise to find you so suddenly and aggressively climbing on his back like a flying squirrel might stupidly try to attack a gorilla. His grunt of surprise changed into a small grunt of effort and you felt a sudden but definite shift inside of his back muscles.

You should have known better than to attack from behind. Not someone with such a strong back as he had. You felt his arm muscles contract and he reached his hands around to grab you, you felt him bend at the waist and you felt him spin right inside of your arms. He had the upper hand in less than a second and you could yourself fully encased and trapped well inside of his arms as he casually lifted you right off of your feet and plopped you back down, lifting you up easily just to show you that he could. He took two quick steps with you trapped completely inside of his arms and you moved like a puppet. His hands had reached down, squeezing you tighter when you struggled against him and he grabbed ahold of both of your hands, keeping you from being able to tickle him or pinch any of his skin, as you had instantly tried to do. You were completely trapped.

“See,” he whispered into your ear, the heat of his chest laid against your back and you fell back into that same familiar feeling of being pressed up against his body, “you can’t beat me, Princess.” His voice skipped over your neck traveling slowly up your earlobe until his words sunk down deep within your ear.

You turned your head toward his voice and you felt the softness of his cheek press against your own and as he spoke you could smell the strong smell of alcohol on his breath. You might have been the more sober of the two right now. You were also the most desperate. You wanted that blanket badly. You moved into the head turn and you let your lips land against his skin, just high enough on his cheek to find his ear with your message to him.

“I’ll give you batteries for your radio,” you whispered against his skin, using the same low tone and sultry whisper he had used on you seconds earlier and you allowed your lips to pop the smallest bit, letting the softness of your lips play every so lightly with the softness of his earlobe. “Please let me win,” you whispered into his skin. The effect moved through him like a wave. It rippled through the muscles that held you tightly within his arms. You felt the nearly silent groan that originated somewhere deep inside of his chest that echoed throughout your back and with the groan you felt him cave in.

“Come on, that’s not a fair fight,” someone shouted from the back of the group, “he’s a man, and she’s a woman, how is that fair?”

But you could feel it, he had been ready to give in. He was relaxing his grip and you leaned against his back, pushing lightly against him as if you were really fighting this strong man off of you for show. As if you even wanted to get the heavy weight of his entire body off of you.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” someone else shouted, “ play for the blanket.”

He had let you go. You’d taken a step away from him and you turned back around to look into his face. His breathing seemed just a little bit hard for such a tiny struggle with you and you noticed his cheeks were quite pink as he looked into your eyes. You saw the smallest movement there. He blinked his eyes once as he lifted his chin the smallest degree. It felt like a gesture of agreement and you caught another motion as he lifted his hand and made a discrete fist with it, lifting his chin once more with a nod.

He accepted your terms and he was going to play rock.

The others were already shouting the commands to begin the rock, paper, scissors round and you had to quickly play your hand. You shot out a flat hand for paper and it landed squarely over his closed fist as he played the rock that he had promised you he would play.

“She’s the winner!” Javier shouted and you smiled wide and genuine — your evening was finally beginning to look up a little bit. You jumped up and down in happiness and you rushed to the table to grab your blanket and curiously you could still feel his brown eyes watching as you did it. There was an odd expression on his face for someone who had lost the round. His eyes followed you around the room as you’d celebrated your little win and you could have sworn you could see the smallest smile on his lips when he went to the table to retrieve his loser’s blanket. You couldn’t quite understand why he would have looked pleased by this. You won and he lost.

Oh right, his batteries. He must have been happy about getting batteries and a blanket out of this deal. If you were a blanket-less pauper, you might have also been happy to receive such a low quality crappy blanket.

You couldn't quite remember the last time you felt so happy to win something so dumb. You just knew this would solve all of your nighttime problems. You skipped up to him holding your prize and you quickly stuffed it under your seat next to the other goodies you’d either won or traded to obtain, feeling pretty damn good about how the rest of the week might go. If you had to, you’d just spend the whole week in bed under this blanket and catch up on all of the missed sleep you’d ever missed in your life.

When you stood up, Kyungsoo was standing right behind you with his hand outstretched toward you in a surprisingly congenial gesture of a handshake for a job well done. ‘Good job,’ his posture said, with a pleased smile on his smooth face. You reached your hand forward fully ready to make this change in your relationship with the man. Like a pair of coworkers who got along sometimes. Not friendly by any means but still able to get the job done if they were being paid to. You’d accept his congratulations. He was right, you had done a really good job of winning this and he should be thankful to you for how well you could walk with a spoonful of flour and dump it into a bowl without spilling a speck. If only that was a skill you could market. Your balance and coordination should be studied.

The second the skin of your palm touched his and you gripped your fingers around his hand to shake it, he pulled his hand back abruptly and came back hard with a swift smack of his hand against yours. Was this some sort of trendy side-five, not a high-five or a low-five, but a side-five?

“No, idiot. Batteries.” He said gruffly after swatting away your hand shake. He wasn’t here to make peace at all. He was here to claim what was his. His face didn’t look as grumpy as he usually did, but he seemed to be back to calling you names.

“I’ll give them to you in the room.” You said under your breath, a little bit of your earlier joy from having won something so precious deflated by the return of his crappy behavior.

He leaned his head closer to where you stood, “don't want the others to know that you’re a cheater?”

“I didn't cheat. I just made a deal. Something I wanted for something you wanted,” you said with a flippant dismissal and all it got from him was a doubtful scoff.

“Always playing a game, huh,” he remarked under his breath and it pulled your focus back on him for a few moments. There was something under the surface with his words. Something darker than the golden aura of winning.

Your memory flashed to the blurry drunk view you had of him and the actual hurt you saw in his eyes. The hurt you had trouble really understanding because it felt so unwarranted. There had never been any pretense to the way you felt about each other. You hated him and he hated you and people who hate each other don’t get to look that hurt when someone says something hateful, it’s a given. He said awful things to you all the time although now that you really got to thinking you were having a hard time finding an example of something truly mean he said to you. Something that wasn’t just a reaction to something you did first. Try as you might, you couldn’t bring up anything concrete. The nature of your very specific problem you had with him, that he had so callously rejected you back then kept you on edge around him so much that nearly every interaction you had with him had you on the attack. You always came out swinging first and asked questions later.

“Hey, Kyungsoo — I really, really didn’t mean all that stuff I told Sara about you —” this was difficult to get out but you really hated sitting on an unspoken apology when you had done something wrong.

If Kyungsoo’s unwavering focus was what you wanted — if his deep dark brown eyes looking into your face with every bit of his attention focused up close on every single centimeter of you from your eyes down to your lips, then you certainly had gotten what you wanted. His eyelids pulled wider when he realized what you were saying. His lips parted and his tongue darted out to moisten his bottom lip.

You inhaled to continue, “I was … drunk, yeah, but I still don’t — I didn’t —,” you couldn’t get any more details out, not with as closely as he was looking at you.

“I-It wasn't for you to hear, it was for her. I’m sorry if that was super mean of me.”

“It was,” he agreed, “mean,” he added for clarity and he inhaled to speak again, lifting his chest and shoulders with the breath and lifting his hand to run over the length of his face. You could feel the agitation in every motion of his body. The drink he still held in his hand rattled with the movement.

He half spun with it and came back, his voice teetering along the edges of anger, “it wasn’t for me to hear? That’s it? I was supposed to hear you saying all of that shit? Is that your apology attempt?”

“No, that’s not — that’s not what I mean,” he had to be the most difficult person to make your point with.

“Then what do you mean?” His lips closed as he pulled his bottom lip inside his closed mouth, his eyebrows lifting in question, “hmmm?” he prodded again. You figured you had about five seconds before another argument and another fight erupted and this time you didn’t even have a high balcony to hurl yourself off of.

“I know we don’t get along, but I don’t even really hate you. Not really. I mean, we got off to the worst start ever, not that there ever was anything to start, that’s not what I mean,” you sighed in frustration — this was so difficult to explain.

“I don’t hate you. I don’t think it’s the absolute worst thing in the world to be here with you. Actually working together on these games today, it seems like maybe we work together well, at least.”

Some of the wildness you’d seen in his eyes a few seconds ago had left with your rapid explanation. He still watched your face with rapt attention and the burdensome feeling under the scrutiny of his eyes had your face blushing and your voice cracking a little bit. You felt silly for having such a strong reaction to something as simple as a conversation with the goal of clearing the air.

You chuckled lightly to yourself, both with how silly you felt being this nervous and with the very beginnings of the thought that crept through your mind.

“This is only the first day,” you laughed lightly to yourself. Kyungsoo did not laugh or even smile. His lips were pulled into a flat line and he didn’t respond right away with any indication of what he was thinking.

“Maybe,” you closed your eyes and inhaled a breath, “maybe we could just be … f-friends?” You could feel the shape of your mouth pull into a grimace when you said it. The upward inflection put the ball squarely in his court to decide what he thought about your call for a truce and maybe even some of those cahoots you’d been dreaming about.

Kyungsoo didn’t respond right away. His eyes watched your face very closely and you caught the hard clench of his jaw and the half lidded blink as his eyes closed down. He inhaled the smallest breath and just under that tiny breath and using only the air and almost no volume of his voice you could barely make out a response from him

“‘Friends’” he whispered and you thought you might have heard a follow up response “friends is the last thing I want to be with you.”

He said it so quietly you doubted you’d even heard it the second the next inhale sounded out from his lungs. He cleared his throat at a normal volume and opened his eyes, that same pretty pinkness coloring his cheeks as he inhaled again, deeper and more committed this time and on the exhale he spoke. The words were slightly tinged with the alcohol on his tongue.

“Friends,” he said with more commitment, “umm, maybe… let’s just hold off on that for now.” His eyes formed a squint that matched the grimace you’d had on your face earlier and with his soft but decidedly sharp denial you felt the heat slip up your neck and touch along both of your cheeks. “It's just — the things you do and say always feel like a trick and I’m getting a little burned out tonight.”

His rejection of you time and time again burned against your skin but you needed him to expand on the first thing, that whispered, just under his tongue response that set off weird bubbles inside of your stomach with the strangeness of the sound of those exact words.

You had to speak. “What did you say the first time?”

He shook his head slowly back and forth as a response.

“‘Friends is the last thing I want to be with you’ — does that mean you really do hate me?”

His lips were closed and his head was pulled back. The pretty hair layed flat atop of his head after the distraction of his hand running through it had taken your attention from his dark eyes for a split second.

“I think I’m the drunk one now,” he said as a final response to your questions and you could feel the door slam shut. He downed the last of his drink and headed away from you toward Javier at the bar who was already ready with another one.

You watched him walk away from you and he didn’t turn back around.

You felt almost ready to give up. Ready to crawl into your bed, under your new blanket and block out the rest of the world for a solid week. You’d just avoid him entirely to save yourself any more humiliation. Not only did he not want to go on that date with you, but this handsome, charming, funny, and talented man didn’t even want to be friends with you. Even that was unbearable to him. How awful of a person were you?

You reached down beneath your seat and gathered your things, catching Sara’s worried eyes as you made your way toward the door to this kitchen that led back to that dark and scary hallway that would take you to your bed.

“We're calling it a night — already?” Mr. Chen’s voice broke through the laughter and giggles from the others who were still hallway through their drinks and clearly not ready to call it a night. You were fresh out of any more ability to be social and happy when you had been so obviously put in your place again and again.

“She’s feeling a little done so we are taking her things to her room — might settle in already,” Sara spoke up for you and soon was by your side linking her arm with yours as she helped you with the door, “don’t stay up too late, we might have a long stormy night ahead of us!” She called behind her toward the group in a cheerful voice. You heard an agreeing sound from Mr. Chen as he declared the same sentiment to the rest of the group.

Apparently the eye of the storm was supposed to come ashore within the next few hours and nobody knew how much sleep was possible with such a scary and loud event happening outside. Once through the doorway a click sounded out and your pathway was illuminated by a tiny flashlight she had in her hand. You knew for a fact that she hadn’t won that in the games and she gave you a knowing smile and a wink.

“Shhh, I got you one too. Nobody would dare search a pregnant woman,” she giggled and her brightness paired with the little metal cylinder she slipped into the palm of your hand brought your rotten mood up just a tiny bit.

You’d both made it all the way down the long hallway to the door of the bunks and you were thankful for the bathroom light Kyungsoo had left on before he left this room because it was empty, deserted, and quite spooky even with the lighting, you couldn’t imagine what it would be like at night when the lights were turned out. You looked all the way down to the end of this enormous room where his bed waited for him and you wondered just how many spiders stood between you and him in this big room.

“What happened? Did you two argue again?” She pleaded with her kind eyes, you could see the sincerity in her face and you sighed deeply as you unwrapped the new blanket and spread it out over the top of your bed. Something about your mood made this pretty, comfy thing feel just a little bit less than before.

“Yeah. No. Not really. I don’t know. I apologized to him for what I said. He neither accepted or denied it. I asked if he wanted to at least be friends and he doesn’t. So—” you lifted your eyebrows with a hopeless shrug.

“It’s the first day.” She said with a softening of her voice. She didn’t offer any promises or give you any more false hopes. All she had was a flimsy fact that you knew as well.

“I think I’ll shower before he gets here,” you grabbed your clothes and bath towels, also grabbing your swimsuit just in case the man happened to walk into that bathroom as you were sudsing your hair in the open layout wall of showers with no doors layout of this bunker style bathroom.

Sara said her good nights and you quietly changed into the solid black bikini you’d been toning your body and dieting for months to look amazing in and when you caught the reflection of yourself after rinsing the shampoo of your hair in the industrial mirror that was half rusted and cloudy with how old it was, you were thankful that at least you could still pull off a look this sexy even if your ego was thoroughly shattered by him.

That you could still look and feel pretty even after being rejected over and over again by the only man you’d ever agreed to be set up on a blind date with; the only man you’d ever been interested in enough to even consider deleting your dating profiles for and the man who you’d drive a solid hour facing the setting sun to reach the east side location of the swankiest restaurant in town to meet him that evening even if it meant braving rush hour traffic on the hectic and terrifying freeway to get there.

These showers worked on some sort of a timer. You pressed the button for a good amount of water pressure and flow and after several minutes the water would wind down, asking for another press of the button if you wanted more. You’d finished cleaning and rinsing and you were toweling off your legs after wringing all of the wet out of your hair. The water was still running noisily but had been winding down when you took your first steps out of the showering area and made your way toward the concrete tiled bench built into the wall where you’d left your folded clothes and the sound of the winding down trickle of the shower was replaced with a different and unexpected sound. It was the sound of a gasp, the quick intake of air made through the open mouth of an adult human being, a man. A man you knew.

The sound startled you enough to spin around and the towel you had over your head and nowhere near covering your bikini clad body slipped out of your surprised fingers and pooled down at your feet.

Burning into your skin was the deep brown of his eyes and he stood at the open space just at the foot of where his bed ended and the bathroom began with a true deer caught in the headlights look on his face.

He must have been pretty drunk. His eyes sank slowly down from your face, slipping lower and his mouth hung open, that same look of genuine surprise still spelled out all over his face.

“S-Shit, I’m,” he inhaled through his open mouth, using every last morsel of willpower left inside of him to pull his eyes up from where they’d been lazily lingering around your hips and with the single word he had left to squeak out you got the smallest, “sorry.”

You bent down to pick up the towel and spun around turning your back on the man. You weren’t in the mood to open up another hateful conversation with him right now. All you wanted was to have the strength to ignore that look you’d seen in his eyes just now so you could slip past him and go hide under your covers.

It was uncomfortable to put dry clothes over your wet bathing suit but the alternative was to strip down naked with him standing right there so you could dress yourself properly.

You felt too flustered and too much in a hurry for that and Kyungsoo was still very much frozen in place in the doorway. Drunk and slow. An immovable object.

You slipped on the silky nightshirt over the bathing suit. It would dry eventually. This nightshirt curved the shape of you and hung down to the middle of your thighs, it didn’t come with shorts and you didn’t usually mind. You hadn’t packed your bags with the idea that you’d be haunted by this bastard all night long and you might be better off sleeping in grubby sweat pants and an old t-shirt.

You needed to leave the bathroom. You’d made the requisite numbers of steps to reach the doorway and in any other situation with a normal, not inebriated, drunk or not, non-friend that he proudly proclaimed himself to be, the expectation was that he would bow his head, stop looking at you like he’d just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar and move out of the damn way.

When you reached him in this doorway; he did not move and his eyes remained fixed on you. Something must be wrong with him. The look in those eyes felt different from any looks he had shot you before and something warm and achingly slow tickled a path down the length of your spine starting somewhere in between your shoulder blades and landing softly and deeply, well inside of your belly.

Kyungsoo was not moving out of the your way, you had to touch his arm lightly to push against the warm weight of him and when you did it, his hand moved, his soft rounded fingertips reached forward and you felt the smallest brush of them over the back of your hand, you felt the smallest touch from his reaching fingers that sent the biggest jolt of electricity through your startled brain because this was not allowed. It was not expected and it was not something he would ever be caught dead doing to you.

Why? Why would he touch you here and like that when he in all other places was filled with so much disdain for you. The shockingly noisy thumping inside of your chest echoed inside the hollow of you and you felt the stickiness of the gravity that must have been holding him here in this place. That gravity grabbed ahold of your feet so tightly and the stubborn things refused to move. You could see your destination but his fingers were touching the back of your hand and there was a burning just below your eyelids pulling your lids open, demanding that you open your eyes and look into his face.

He was watching you with the slowest blinks of his eyes and his lips were parted as he breathed through his mouth. His breathing felt so light and careful you wondered if he could manage to get any oxygen from it at all the moment you were caught inside of his eyes you felt like a prisoner here.

That warmth that has spread over your spine flooded and surged inside of you, finding a home between your legs and you felt not only trapped but now helplessly compelled.

You were leaning. The breath from his lips smelled like liquor. You were leaning and the brush from his fingertips moved as he touched lightly at first over your waist and then his hot palm was resting just over your hip and he took the smallest step into you, taking what was left of your air from you when the heat from his body cascaded into your much colder skin. The silk nightshirt did nothing to insulate his temperature and you could not escape this. The moment he lifted his hand and laid a palm just over your jaw you felt too lost to keep your eyes open.

The millimeters of space that separated the two of you evaporated when the warmth of his soft mouth touched your lips and when he pulled your bottom lip into the space of his open mouth and sucked, his hands clenched hard into the flesh of your hip, slipping around to dig roughly over your ass, his hand slipped around behind your neck and his mouth devoured and demanded from you as that unimaginable heat you felt between his legs pressed into you, begging you to have mercy on him; have mercy on yourself; put both of you out of your miseries.

Your skin felt aflame. You couldn’t remember another time in your life when you’d felt so desperate and completely consumed by another person in such a short amount of time.

You wanted him. You’d give anything to have him and yet the small gasps for air from his lungs in between the kisses had the tiniest grunts of complaints under their tones.

Tiny curses came from deep within his chest. Your mind reeled and sharpened to the sounds he made and that same desperation reminded you of the very last thing he’d said to you. That he wanted nothing to do with you. That he didn’t even see the possibility of being friends with you. That you would always only be an enemy to him. Untrustworthy and unlovable. You felt it then, it broke through the rough nibbles of his teeth against the soft skin of your neck and you gasped in a breath to ask him a question — your conscience could not let you stand for this without asking.

“Kyungsoo, I thought — that you didn’t want this — what — what are we doing?”

You were an idiot. It felt like it had to be asked and yet your body clung tightly to him despite it all — just because of the possibility that he didn’t mean any of this, that it was just the alcohol driving this desperation, that this was the kind of mistake that would destroy the both of you in the morning — you simply could not let this happen if any of those were a possibility.

“Kyungsoo, is this — a mistake?”

Your questions pulled his face up and the darkness had built inside his eyes to such an extent that it took him several seconds of looking into your face for you to see the shift of understanding to break through. With the understanding came the painful and horrible when he pulled his hand up to cover over his parted mouth and mumbled the quickest “I’m sorry,” before he covered up any other terrible words he might have been about to say to you.

You felt his retreat with the temperature drop.

It had been what you feared. It was only the alcohol taking ahold of his body and making it betray his heart. For inside of his heart, there would never be a place for you. The crushing feeling you felt inside of your stomach pulled your shoulders down and you were sure the look on your face would be close to tears but he wasn’t looking at you anymore.

He had separated his body from you and your wounded feelings flared up hot, desperate for something to ease some of the pain. You found none.

Kyungsoo was shaking his head back and forth and another soft apology landed with a dull thud against your hollow chest. The echo sounded like the beat of a funeral drum.

“I — I’m going to bed,” you whispered with what last bits of your voice you could find to work and paused briefly to ask something else just for the sake of your own wounded ego, “Does this make us even?” His eyes pulled up from his dazed focus down on the floor and he looked into your face when you asked the question.

“And I know it didn’t mean anything, Kyungsoo. I knew it was just the alcohol. I was just drunk then and you were just drunk now.” You pushed the corners of your mouth up as hard as you could stand and they may have even moved up a tiny bit.

You hoped to God he was too drunk to have noticed the wetness that settled heavy inside of your eyes and you were suddenly and eternally thankful that your bed was as physically far away from his bed as possible.

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

Pygmalion

[Prologue]

Summary: young woman meets Perturabo and becomes a sculptor in the Iron Blood.

Perturabo/Galatea (OC)

Warnings: no for this part

Word count: 2902

Author's note: The story is alternative version of The desire to possess.

In the prologue we get to know Galatea more. In the following parts there will be more interactions with Perturabo. His POVs will be there as well. With each part the story will get darker and more warnings will appear.

Song: Rammstein - Seemann

Blessed Terra, the birthplace of all humanity and the abode of the Emperor himself. To be born here is a real luck and a gift of fate. To be part of the great Imperium and a resident of the capital. Galatea did not know if the inhabitants of other planets really thought so, but one had to give credit to the iterators. Their skills even made her believe in such truth.

But she was born on the lower levels of the hive and saw the other side of the coin. Dirt and soot, unbearable heat from which weakened serfs died. Galatea herself was born into a family of workers and fully felt the ugliness of such a life. Her parents died too early and she was raised by her grandparents, barely working in a factory. Although her home was closer to the middle levels and therefore she was not born with complications like other children on the lower levels.

Well, after her life changed for the better, there was no need to worry about this. As a child, the girl was often afraid to go to bed, thinking that she would wake up in her tiny, rusty house again. And every time she got up in the morning, she thanked fate for her luck. Even if the Imperial Truths denied such a concept, the little girl then could not come up with another explanation for her new situation.

Galatea had not yet managed to become a full-fledged worker at the factory (although she also made her contribution) due to her age and therefore often spent time outside. She collected stones and built “barricades from the enemies of humanity” and “beautiful palaces”. But most of all, she loved to carve these images in her head on stone. At first, she did not do it very well, but over time, her persistence bore fruit.

Soon she could carve entire pictures on stone. She was especially good at portraits. She even gave them to her grandparents, causing tears of joy and delight on their faces. At least that's what she thought then. But in reality, her dear grandfather and grandmother were saddened that Tea would never be able to reveal her talent because of her origin.

At least, that was the case until one of the best sculptors of Terra, Solomon Vlahos, came to their home. The man was walking around the area in search of inspiration (not for the sake of orphans and the disadvantaged, alas) since the upper levels of Terra had already ceased to bring pleasure. The whims of the rich, as Grandpa used to say. And having learned about Tea's talent, he immediately came to their home to see the child prodigy with his own eyes.

He was impressed. So much so that he offered the grandparents to take the girl to his school for sculptors. Vlahos was even ready to adopt her so that they would not be afraid for the life of their child. Tea remembered that she cried for a long time that day, but her grandma assured her that it would be better for her. They are giving her to the sculptor because they love her.

Galatea never saw them again after that day. The only thing she was able to take with her was an old gray rag. Specially twisted into a rope so that it resembled a person. For the girl, it was a knight, but when Solomon saw the toy, he called it an Iron Warrior. Although the Space Marines were an important part of the Imperium, but being a lower class, Tea knew little about the legions.

But with her new “father”, she not only entered the school of sculptors (named after Vlachos, who would doubt it), but was also able to learn to read. And even gain access to his limitless library. A luxury unheard of for many terranians! And Tea took full advantage of it, absorbing knowledge like a sponge (and this is not to mention the fairy tales that she read at the speed of light).

And of course, thanks to this, she was able to learn about the Legions, the main armies of the Imperium of Man, led by the finest warriors. The Primarchs, the sons of the Emperor himself, whom in ancient times people would call demigods. Tea loved to read about the Space Marines.

But most of all, she loved the Iron Warriors. True heroes who did not wear beautiful and sublime armor like the Emperor's Children or the Blood Angels. They did not just participate in battles. They participated in real sieges, waged grueling wars and were famous for their impeccable fortitude.

Tea could not understand why everyone preferred other Marines. The Imperial Fists were also on her list of favorite Legions for their fortress-building. But there was something about the Iron Warriors that caught the girl's eye. Perhaps it was their grey-yellow armour, reminiscent of a house or her first old rag doll that had fallen apart over the years (she had missed it for a long time).

But be that as it may, Galatea dreamed of one day exalting this Legion as it deserved. And showing the entire Imperium that they were heroes and worthy of recognition like other Space Marines. Even if they were previously called “Corpse Grinders” (the Imperium harshly punished anyone who mentioned the forgotten nickname), Tea understood that war was cruel. And the fact that everyone so conveniently ignored the terrible military actions of other Legions was unfair.

Yes, she dreamed about it a lot. But with each passing year, despite her growing skill, she also understood that not everything should come true. Perhaps Galatea Vlachos would become one of the best sculptors, of which there are as many on Terra and in the entire Imperium as dirt. Perhaps she would be able to create her own school someday. To visit her native land (her grandparents had already died of old age). But to go on a Crusade on the Iron Blood? Absurd.

Then why was she here?

Why was she in the halls of the Golden Palace of Terra? Why was she alone in a corridor with Perturabo himself? He paid no attention to her, looking at the gilded statues. And yet they were so close.

How did this happen?

***

“Rejoice, my dear students! Soon you will ascend to heights that most cannot even dream of!” - Solomon Vlahos, always calm and reasonable, excitedly rushed around the office like a wild animal while all the students looked at him in surprise.

“What happened, master?” - one of the young men casually asked a tormenting question. The son of wealthy aristocrats who decided to become a sculptor. He was a good student and received the appropriate education. Tea had to work hard to make up for her past.

“Something great has happened, my boy! My friend Peter Egon Momus, you all know him as the greatest architect of Terra, has not only secured me an invitation to the Emperor’s palace…”

Everyone sighed in surprise and almost awe. As talented as Master Solomon was, he was only one of many sculptors. Only a few could get into the Emperor’s palace and Vlahos, like many artists, aspired to this. Especially at the expense of others.

“And you, my dears, will not only be able to visit the palace with me, but also to show off your craftsmanship in all its glory. Your sculptures, your creations, will not only be displayed in the palace of our beloved ruler. The primarchs themselves will see them!”

***

Galatea had been toiling over her miniatures all week. Huge statues and busts were alien to her. A life of poverty had left too much of an imprint. It was much better to use a small amount of material, but wisely. The teacher was proud of her after all. How could it be otherwise, because she was the best at it.

So she dedicated one miniature to an ancient legend of Old Earth, several to the warships of the Primarchs. And Olympia. Tea was delighted with the picts of the magnificent planet annexed to the Imperium. It was on it that Perturabo grew up. Green hills, rivers and mountains, a world clean of polluted atmosphere. As the people of Old Earth would say, it was nothing short of paradise. Surely the Primarch adored his home world.

And Galatea wanted to capture this elegant and in some ways simple architecture. Beautiful landscapes and hardworking people with a herd of animals. Perhaps she sat over this miniature the longest. And it was worth it, seeing the tears of pride in the teacher.

Of course, no one except the teacher was allowed to meet the Primarchs. And yet the fact that they were allowed to visit the Imperial Palace was already intoxicating. Moreover, they were even allowed to wander through some of the corridors! The Emperor is gracious and generous, Tea never thought she would see such beauty.

Gilded walls and magnificent statues gathered from all corners of the Imperium. Frescoes depicting scenes from the legends of old Earth. Stained glass windows in every color of the rainbow. Images of the Crusade and the Emperor himself were everywhere. One corridor among many was a work of art in itself.

But all of this paled in comparison to those who lived here. All of this paled in comparison to HIM.

Galatea had seen picts and portraits of the Primarchs, and yet to see him with her own eyes was a different experience. The girl felt her heart flutter and her breath catch at the sight of the tall man dressed in Imperial military attire. His majestic appearance evoked only one association that the fanatics of the Imperial Truth would brand as foolishness. A demigod.

Perturabo.

How lucky she was! How unspeakably lucky to see the Primarch, whom she had admired since childhood, in person. Apparently the master had already shown the Emperor's sons their works and now Perturabo had decided to return to his business. But what luck it was to meet him in such a huge and intricate Palace.

Images from her childhood, when she played with her rag dolls, immediately appeared before her eyes. Oh, in Galatea's games, the Primarch was her savior. From the poor on Terra, from the rich students of the Master, who mocked her. From failures and bad thoughts, imaginary monsters. He built great impregnable fortresses in which he protected her from villains like a princess from fairy tales. Perturabo was always her hero.

The weakest of spirits could lose consciousness or even die of a heart attack just by looking at the Primarch. Galatea considered herself weak, but apparently she underestimated her spirit strength. As well as the power of her dreams, realizing that she was heading towards a man who was completely oblivious to the mortal girl.

“L-Lord P-Perturabo,” the girl greeted the man, but as soon as he turned his attention to her, she immediately stared at his chest. “I-I am Galatea Vlahos. My master brought m-my works to the palace. And the sculptures of other students.”

“Ah, yes. I never liked Solomon’s style. Too much gilding where it shouldn’t. It’s like he threw up on them.” The man spoke the words slowly, lowering his voice to a low octave. As if the girl who had approached him caused him nothing but contempt.

The girl pursed her lips, not knowing what to say to such a remark. In truth, she partly agreed with the primarch. The master sometimes overdid it with the gilding, leaving other parts of the sculpture untouched. And yet he had talent and experience that Tea respected. That Perturabo could criticize a sculptor so openly was disconcerting.

What if he had criticized her miniatures too?

No, she couldn't bear the thought of that. All her dreams were being destroyed in an instant. If... if this was fate, Tea had to accept it. She would never reach the level of a primarch. She would cherish this meeting for the rest of her life. And yet, she would rather die here in shame than remain silent for the rest of her life. She had to try. At least to say everything that was in her heart.

“L-Lord Perturabo… I have read every book written about you. The worlds you conquered, the worlds you brought into the Imperium. The tactics you used in sieges were admirable. And the fortresses and outposts you built were crafted with perfect precision to torment the enemy and protect the innocent. The Siege of Incaladion, Bernean and Morningstar Campaign…”

Galatea felt herself choking on the words, but she could not stop talking. She wanted so much for the Primarch to understand how much he meant to her. How he and the Iron Warriors on the edge of the galaxy had inspired faith and hope in the heart of a little girl from the lower levels of Terra.

“How beautiful and yet functional all the buildings you built. And I have always admired the way the Iron Warriors rose to any challenge. Please, allow me to board the Iron Blood. I will not interfere. I understand that this is a warship. I-I have money for maintenance. I just want to capture your exploits. So that the entire Imperium knows about the greatness of the Fourth Legion.”

Finally, having spoken enough, the girl took a deep breath, trying to stop trembling. She could not even imagine that she would be able to not only meet Perturabo, but also tell him everything she thought. It happened. But the consequences were much more terrible and unpredictable.

The man was silent. During the entire time Galatea spoke, he did not say a word. Tension was in the air. The girl thought that by giving in to her feelings, she insulted the primarch. It seemed that she had made the biggest mistake in her life.

“Yes” - the man's sharp voice broke the silence. - “You will serve my Legion. Pack your things. Tomorrow my servants will come for you. We are leaving Terra this week by order of the Emperor.”

Unable to believe what she heard, the girl looked up at the primarch. Even without his armor, Perturabo smelled of iron and gunpowder. He was the very embodiment of war and creation. But most of all, in the image of the man, his blue eyes caught the girl's attention. Galatea had never seen such cold eyes.

"Thank you." - she whispered quietly, hoping not to destroy the beautiful dream with her voice.

The man only chuckled and hurriedly left the hall, clenching his fists. Galatea should have been worried about such a reaction. Suddenly, she insulted the primarch or distracted him from important thoughts. But the happiness of the long-awaited meeting inspired her and she hurried to Master Solomon in the hope of sharing the latest news with him. He was just nearby, looking at one of the ancient paintings.

"Master, I have wonderful news for you." - the girl smiled broadly, wringing her fingers in impatience.

"Wait, wait, my dear. Now you will tell me everything, but do you not want to know how the Primarchs assessed my students?” - waiting for her nod, the man continued. - “They all appreciated your desire to comprehend art and talent for sculpture. Lord Fulgrim even declared that Octavian has a brilliant future.”

“And… what about me?” - Galatea licked her lips nervously. Surely Lord Perturabo appreciated her work to decide to take her into his service. Wonder what he said about the Olympic landscape.

“Oh, my dear Galatea, one of the Emperor’s sons will surely offer you work.” - seeing her enthusiastic smile, Solomon continued. - “Rogal Dorn highly praised your miniatures. He especially liked the way you depicted the Phalanx. Very accurately, as he told me. I almost thought about asking him to take you on his ship to capture his exploits. But I did not dare ask for such a thing. Although he was very impressed with your talent.”

For a moment, the girl felt as if the floor had been pulled out from under her feet.

“This is an honor for me.” - she really meant it. And yet, the recent event did not allow her to fully enjoy someone else's praise. - “And what about Lord Perturabo? Did he say anything? Especially about Olympia?”

“Oh, my dear, I know you always admired him.” - her foster father murmured sympathetically. - “The truth is, my dear, he liked almost no one. He criticized everyone. When it came to your turn, he did not say a word. And perhaps it was my imagination, but with each word Dorn said, he grew darker.”

“But he took me to the Iron Blood.” - the girl muttered in a trembling voice. - “I will become part of his Legion.”

“Really? Well, that means he did like it. Never mind, my dear, the Primarchs have so much to do. Surely he was thinking about a new campaign, and we distracted him from important matters. The main thing is that you have become a sculptor of the Iron Legion. You are going on a Crusade! Isn't this what you dreamed of?"

Yes. This is exactly it.

It was 999.M30. A new millennium was about to begin. It was a great era. When humanity made new discoveries and the Imperium expanded. To be born and to live in this time was the greatest blessing.

[yiiran]

Alright, I'm using proper capitalization and grammar for this one, that's how you know I'm serious.

I know I don't post much on here but anyone who has ever talked to me anywhere knows that I am a SUCKER for AUs of media that doesn't have any real danger.

Like, spies AU? Superhero AU? Dystopian world AU? Fantasy AU? Etc. etc.? Count me in.

But in the context of AUs for Haikyuu, like, literally ANY AU where there is danger, I am utterly obssessed with protective Kagehina.

BUT, but, I swear everyone overlooks protective Shoyo SPECIFICALLY every time, just because he's like, the smaller one. But like GUYS, we have to remember that Shoyo has been Tobio's number one defender since like, day zero. Even when they were acting like enemies with each other, Shoyo has never let a single comment slide.

Like, say what you want to say, in any AU, Shoyo would actually kill for that boy if it came down to it. This is a PSA. Put some respect on protective Shoyo's name.

[cripple-punk-dad]

i hope you don’t mind this but like i’m 14 (not white, trans, gay, that stuff) and seeing a lot of people talk about how a lot of countries are going far right & extremism is coming back in full swing & no rainbow capitalism, etc is kind of scary. how do i like. not be so scared all the time? i just thought you’d know but if this is a weird ask i totally get it

It is scary. It's downright terrifying, looking out into the world and seeing the pattern of hatred, bigotry, and violence that is feels like its only growing more prevalent. Sometimes it feels like I'm on an island in a huge ocean of people who just want me to die, or change who I am, or both.

Not only that, but being 14 is fucking terrifying. You're not an adult yet, so you can't enact 'real change', you can't even drive (in the U.S) so your transportation is limited. You can't (legally) even get a job or anything. The world has done pretty much everything it can to keep you feeling scared. That's really hard to deal with!

This is usually where I'd say something dramatic, like "don't let them get away with that." But that's easier said than done. And that doesn't really answer your question, either. So instead I'll say this: It's hard to be scared when you 1) know your enemy, and 2) have other things to focus on. I don't mean that you should go debate every conservative you see, or even interact with them. But taking the time to understand the ideologies of fascism, alt-right conservatism, TERFS, white supremacists, etc. not only helps you to see how wrong they are, but also how they always fail and will continue to fail. This is also a good time to research and reinforce your own ideologies and beliefs. No one is immune to propaganda, but it's a lot easier to recognize it if you know what you're looking for.

But don't let that consume you. Remember, these people want you to be scared and isolated. If you spend all your time obsessing over everything wrong with the world (which is very easy with social media and the internet) then the people who want you gone will only grow stronger. So it really is a good idea to fight against that by building up a community of friends, and by building yourself up too. What I mean is this: Go outside, look at the ground, find a weird bug you don't know anything about. Read the obituaries in a newspaper. Go dumpster diving. Learn about something that interests you. Write a letter to somebody and never send it (or do). Pick up a weird hobby. You can just start gluing shit together, no one is gonna stop you, there are a lot less rules than you think.

But above all, remember that while history is full of empires collapsing, and wars, and horrors beyond imagination. The fall of Rome didn't happen overnight, it happened over centuries. But even in the midst of all that, people still made art, and had families, and not only survived, but lived fulfilling lives. I promise that you can and will be able to do that too. The sun will continue to shine, the grass will continue to grow, and the Earth will keep on spinning.

[reformedowo]

Vote Like Lives Depend on It.

The Republican party wants you dead. Trump is calling people who don't openly support him "the enemy within." He has called immigrants "vermin" who are "poisoning the blood of our country." This is straight out of the Nazi playbook and is one of the key steps in enabling a genocide in the eye of the public: dehumanization.

I know this is an intense introduction, and I apologize, but those who forget history are doomed to repeat it, so just take a moment to remember before we look to the present, if you'll indulge me.

Thank you.

Starting on just page 5 of Project 2025, the whopping 900+ page guide about how to dismantle the American democracy and install Donald Trump as the authoritarian emperor with no guardrails, lies the first topic so innocuously titled "PROMISE #1: RESTORE THE FAMILY AS THE CENTERPIECE OF AMERICAN LIFE AND PROTECT OUR CHILDREN", and is all about and explicitly mentions the banning of pornography while continuing on to include "woke," queer, and transgender ideologies within that definition, stating those "who purvey it should be classed as registered sex offenders." Page 5, as in you literally just opened this thing, skimmed through the table of contents, and it's already calling for the direct and express prohibition and marginalization of the entire LGBTQ+ community, to be placed alongside real criminals while further muddying the waters for justice to be served against actual abusers. Now if you will, jump 549 pages forward. To the death penalty. Yes, the death penalty, where it states under new Republican rule the government should enforce capital punishment against sex offenders. Now, maybe your brain has melted after reading or being passively exposed to 554 pages of intensely racist, dangerous, hateful Fascist rhetoric thus far, but I think the book practically opened with something about that quite intently. Do not be mistaken: this is not a coincidence. This is not poor wording. This is a direct threat, and as it says in the title, it is a promise. The first, #1, most important promise, apparently. I truly insist that you look at it with your own eyes to believe it, if you're willing to be exposed to the political equivalent of toxic waste.

Trans or queer folk, of any kind, as well any vague notion of "immigrants" in particular are a few of the main talking points of the Republican party and their ads this election season for a reason: Fascism needs an enemy, preferably a minority for its followers to target and be whipped into a frenzy over to keep their following alive. If you'll note, this follows the same logic Trump used when making a call to Senate Republicans, while out of office, to kill the bipartisan border bill, a bill that would have solved an issue Trump was planning on running on, while simultaneously expanding access to legal immigration to begin with. That logic being: you can't sell a solution if there's no problem. Now maybe to you this isn't your cup of tea regardless, legislation and whatnot. But that's not what's important to them, what is important is that they want problems. Any non-white, non-straight, non-Christian, non-Trump loving, non-cis-man is always going to be up next on the chopping block to feed the machine of hate. They want you, or your family, or your friends, or your neighbors to be that problem. Where do you draw the line? However, zooming back out for a moment, this is just skipping 5 pages in, plus some forward for full context, and we've seen only one of the many insane, Fascist concepts concealed within the pages of Project 2025, and it's already a beyond thinly veiled call for genocide. Though Trump denies his connection to the project, the document was penned by over 140 people who have previously worked for him, several members confirmed to be returning, has a running mate who penned a foreword to an architect's book, not to mention he already implemented many of the concepts in his first term. With a second Trump term he will make the rest of this doctrine a reality, with the help of the Supreme Court he installed, without any proper government authorization mind you, the same court who stripped women across the country of their rights to life saving medical treatment, and under that reality you or somebody you know can and will be made their next problem.

Now, sidestepping to an extremely important note, there are horrible things happening in Gaza right now as you read this, and I implore you to please send any donations you can afford to the countless families afflicted, and feel free to go and express your right to protest from now until the Palestinian people are free of Israeli occupation. The right to protest and your right to speak against the government is one of the truly undeniable great things about living here, whether you realize it or not. Donald Trump and Project 2025 want to take away those rights. His illegal use of the National Guard against peaceful Black Lives Matter protesters, American people exercising these very rights, during his previous presidency speaks volumes to this regard, amongst others such as his blatant hatred toward non-white Americans having said rights. Now with that I say this: please do not think, even for a second, that Donald Trump is the solution to the conflict in Gaza. This is a man who has openly admitted, himself, to having met Netanyahu multiple times in violation of the Logan Act to kill the Biden administration's ceasefire agreements, the same man who when asked if he was "on board" with the way Israel was “taking the fight to Gaza” responded: “You’ve got to finish the problem." Do not award Trump the presidency for making Palestinians suffer, do not act like willingly sitting this one out in protest gives you the moral high ground, because in actuality it makes you complicit. Netanyahu is counting on disinformation and the suffering of the Palestinian people to convince you to not vote for the people doing everything in their power to end his invasion, and if Trump loses, he has no ground left to stand on. However, if Trump wins, he will allow Netanyahu to continue his genocide and you could very well have no voice left to speak up for the Palestinian people.

Do not think that it is a choice between anyone other than Kamala Harris or Donald Trump. The broken and antiquated electoral college established ensures a two party system, whether we like it or not, and we don't since despite losing the popular vote in 2016 we were still subjected to the first unfortunate Trump term, it is the system. And while that may dissuade or discourage you from voting, even a whisper is better than sitting in silence when it's time to let yourself be heard. Hell, if it makes you feel any better on the matter, vice-president candidate Tim Walz is on the record wanting to abolish the electoral college for any future elections, which would not take place under Project 2025. And while Harris may not be your personal perfect dream candidate, we've worked with and fought through worse than imperfect for over 200 years, and she's miles better than a number of the people we've had in charge then, and an unimaginable degree better and more qualified than a second Trump term. Her website has a list of policies and she has appeared on many news networks talking about her vision for the country, if you're at all inclined or inspired to look, please do, and compared to what Project 2025 has in store for both the American people as well as its disturbing foreign policies, it's a breath of fresh air.

Do not let democracy backslide, do not let years of blood, sweat, and tears be in vain because you took that democracy for granted. It's much easier to make progress one step at a time than trying to course correct in free fall. This is the Republican party's last chance to steal everything from you and the American people, and they've been giving it their all because they know that the mask is off and there's no going back for them. You can no longer say "both sides are the same" to convince yourself it's okay that you're not voting. From the world's richest man openly giving millions of dollars away to bribe voters after announcing his support for Trump to stay out of prison, to complex voting disenfranchising schemes on both the state and federal level, to rampant disinformation being blown out of control by the unregulated use of AI by foreign nations with only yours and others worst interests at heart, even if Harris wins the electoral vote they will do whatever it takes steal the election any other way they can. But if you or anyone you know is not willing to take the first, easiest, most crucial step in fighting to preserve and grow your rights, and the rights of others, can you trust they'll be willing to fight for those rights when things get ugly, when it's time to fight? And if Donald Trump is elected to the White House, it's only a matter of time before things get ugly, and we'll have to fight like Hell.

And to all those who are still not convinced, my last and final plea is simply this: Only one of these people will win. Clench your fist, grit your teeth, hold your breath if you need to, but please vote for Kamala Harris. If not for her, if not for yourself, for everybody else whose lives depend on it. Don't be on the side of history that kills us.

Vote like lives depend on it, because they do. Thank you.

[adrian-sheppy]

can you talk about aroace freemercy :D?

Freemercy being aroace is an important part of the character if you want to view him as a real guy and not an ingame avatar and want to keep his odd moral compass intact. It is intertwined with his personality and worldview. ESSAY INBOUND.

Freemercy is detached from the world. There is good or there is bad. There are people to save and there are enemies. Nuance and shades of gray are often lost on him. Can the concept of a savior love? Can a self-made lethal weapon be held without cutting the skin? Can a man so focused on saving what's good and exterminating what's not stop to smell the roses? Does he actually care about anyone, or is this simply an obligation to him? What drives him, drives his morals? He is not really a healer. His hands that have tended wounds could have also been the cause of the wounds. He will shoot someone or break a bone if it meant physically stopping them if it would keep them alive. Freemercy is a bundle of strange impulses and uncomfortable truths masquerading as an average man. After all, he laughs, jokes, can hold a conversation, has a calm, put together demeanor... but don't be fooled.

His rules and some thoughts behind them

1. Save as many of his own as possible (us versus them mentality. what qualifies as his own? Scientists? Civillians? or... non-Enemies?)

2. Remove as many Enemies as possible (Enemies, capitalized. He has enemies. People and things who are dangerous, or even have the potential to be dangerous. He goes as far as to kill leaches in the water. Where is the line? Remember: he is not merciful)

3. Remove Hazards if Possible (nothing to really overanalyze with this one, hazards was defined as things that could kill people)

So, when you take him out of his element, out of danger, his mind will concoct it. He's not exactly a man with many hobbies. He's selfless --- too selfless. Selfless to the point it wraps back around into selfharm (see: grenade jumping). He fills the Freemercy shaped hole in his life by doing good, by being kind, by being attentive. And he does it by saving lives, too. Present him with the trolly problem and if he is certain he cannot stop the trolley, he will flip the lever (even if he knew the person tied to the track), and the only thing he'd care about is he failed to save everyone, not that he knew the person on the track. (And then even then, he can't linger for too long. He has people to save)

People are goals to him. Keep them safe; and when that can't be done, keep them alive. And threats are to be sought out and eliminated. He is too busy saving and obsessing. No one person is more important to him than another. They are people, and they are either good or bad. Freemercy will hurt himself or others for the greater good, and that includes anyone "close" to him. And... he's aroace (and you could even say aplatonic if you want too aswell)! It fits him well. He reminds me of when Data fron star trek next generation tries to be in a relationship: Freemercy isn't mean and he might try, but the concept of intimacy is alien to him, and he doesn't "feel" the right things to be able to engage with it. He cannot prioritize a life, especially one that's not in danger. It's hard enough to keep friends. The only reason he has any is because the other Freemen HAVE to associate with him. He's deeply misguided and sacrificial to a fault, and that can be uncomfortable to be around.

But it's important to note he doesn't see the need to try and change how he operates. He doesn't feel it his burden to save others, it's more like his duty. It's a job he does and does well. And it works! And as long as he's saving people (his self worth is determined on how many people he saves), then he's doing well! He's in his element as the savior of humanity, and being a savior doesn't mean you need to have the ability to love. And... he doesn't.

little bonus:

I like drawing Freemercy with snakes. I've usually only done one, but he has two! A black snake and a white snake. These have multiple meanings and were given to him for symbolic reasons, and one of those reasons is aroace! The black snake is the Asexual ring and the white snake is the Aromantic ring. Just a little fun . smiles.

[dangermousie]

It's only ep 2, but this is the whole thesis of the drama, isn't? That Fan Xian indeed sees those the rest of the world considers extras/collateral damage/unimportant and sees fellow human beings.

He is like this at the very end of the season too but it's consistent - I remember him saying he won't ally with the second prince because he made all the street merchants leave for his convenience, costing them a day's income and TZJ himself becomes yet another huge example of this - to everyone else in the world he's a guard whose job it is to die for the master so ehhhh whatever, but to Fan Xian he is always a person and someone who he always refers to by name.

PS It's actually interesting that the whole narrative starts with the fake assassination - Chen Ping Ping and the Emperor set it up so as to have a reason to punish TZJ's boss for a supposedly rogue assassin and send him to the enemy country so his bio dad would reveal blah blah blah none of it was a real assassination attempt or had anything to do with Fan Xian at all. But Fan Xian goes to the capital because at this point he believes it's real and wants to find out what's going on/prevent further attempts and the whole narrative planned by the Emperor and Chen Ping Ping goes off-track from their expectations. It would have been a vvvv different world if he quietly stayed in Danzhou.

[oddishfeeling]

if ur feeling guilty about being alive and complaining about your job or being unhappy in general, just remember that this type of misery is indicative of the same problems effecting the issues we know are objectively worse. the problems are not separate or unique. they are both due to racism, capitalism and white christian patriarchal oppression. this isn’t just to assuage “first world guilt” but it’s worth remembering that we are all being impacted by our govt sanctioning the genocide of Palestinians. it isn’t isolated. it isn’t separate. instead of feeling bad about it, we could do something. probably something small. as much as i hate trump supporters, they aren’t even the real enemy either. we know who the real enemies are

[glorianamultistan]

The General and The Prince

Park Chanyeol x Male Reader

Contains:- mentions of wars, blood, and kidnapping.

<Part 1> <Next>

A little over a week ago, y/n's life was all over the place, and it still is; the difference is that now he is married to the vilest person he could have probably thought of while imagining a married life.

But life changes happen often so abruptly that one is found sitting in an emptied ballroom, with a burnt-up piece of dress shriveled up in hands clutching it tightly while the castle palace all around collapses.

Y/n was well aware of the fierceness of the General who was the primal cause of every defeat his kingdom had suffered; the end result of the war was pre-destined the day enemy troops crossed the inner walls of their most secured military base, but for it to come to this was never imagined.

A surrender was in process to safeguard the capital; y/n's father was hellbent on not letting the enemies cross the gates of the capital and destroy it like they have left ashes and misery in the path they have followed.

Yet General Chanyeol was not satisfied with it; he had to take the main palace down, and that was his aim, swearing which left his country.

Y/n sat there, ashen and mute, staring at the embers still there all around him; his clothes were still intact, he had a few cuts and burns throughout his hands and that was it; he sat as if in a trance, without any emotion on his face, so still that to an observer it would be a photograph symbolising doom.

Chanyeol saw y/n sitting there, he knew who it was and he knew why it was important to not touch him still; something in him was calling out, a melody, rising, rippling like an unknown sea coming up from the depth of the earth; it was the very last step which brought him so close to y/n that he was able to clearly see the tear stains on his cheeks that made enough metallic noise to break the young prince's trance and look up; there it was, the face that he denied to dance with at the last winter ball, still looking unfazed, 'let's get out of here your royal highness' said Chanyeol, with a proud grin, that is all he remembers before blacking out.

'Is this really the only thing you are going to ask for, General?' The King was shocked, and the Queen and the princesses too; everyone was ready for General Park to ask for rank promotion; the King even decreed a Dukedom, only for winning over the major ports and cities of the enemies, but to ask to marry the prince of the enemy was unprecedented.

'Yes your majesty, this is all. Now, if you may permit, I will take my leave.' Chanyeol left the murmuring throneroom and made his way to the room housing y/n, it was the fourth day since he arrived with the prince there, and he was informed that the younger regained consciousness last night.

'Leave.' As soon as he entered the room, he ordered all the attendees. He went forward and sat on the chair next to the bed facing the wall opposite to it. The prince was leaning on the headboard with his head down.

'So, your royal highness, how do you like our facilities here?' Chanyeol cocked while turning to look at y/n. No response. After a few minutes, the older continued, 'We will give the inner territories conquered by us back, and you will be marrying me for that to happen.' Y/n knew this was coming; all the threats the General made for years to make him dance with him whether he likes it or not, to marry him and only him, they were all real which y/n took in jest as he was too proud to accept such an invitation.

'You know, keeping quiet will not lead you anywhere, so say what you have to now, I am here to listen, I grant you a wish too, as is the ritual here, ask for anything but return.' Chanyeol was suddenly all perched up, looking at y/n. 'Respect' y/n whispered; his throat was still hurting due to all the smoke he inhaled.

'What?' 'I ask for respect; if you can grant that, I will say yes to the marriage.' There was a stretched silence, the fountain of the connected gardens was all one could hear, then a deep inhale, 'Okay, if that is the only request you have, you will have titles here too, I have been granted a Dukedom and you will be living comfortably, nobody will disrespect you, even at the court. I will assure you that.' 'I want respect from you too; you have taken, vehemently snatched everything, still you are returning the territories, so I will say yes, but I want respect from you too.' 'Will I get the respect back my prince?' Chanyeol smirked; he knew how irritatingly ambitious he was, 'Yes.'

The only win here seemed to be that of Chanyeol; it was the completion of his grand plan, the final nail in the coffin; this is what he has been dreaming about since he set his eyes on y/n a few years ago during a festival, he was just a mere soldier back then, he bloodied his hands to get to the level of a reputed General to be asked in a ballroom full of aristocrats, then too he was denied the chance to be with y/n as the prince knew how ruthless the General was and y/n hated wars and murders.

After a few days of convalescence, all of which were accompanied by Chanyeol, who updated him about the upcoming marriage and all the preparations, y/n was free to meet his family.

A troop was sent with him to the castle on the farthest side of his kingdom where his family was currently staying after the attack on the capital. His father was annoyed and his older brother was not helping with the mood too; they were all dejected that it had to come to this but none of his relatives even suggested going against the marriage.

'We will gain back our territories; think about your brother's future as a limited king; you need to persuade your fiance to let go of all the territories and not just the inner ones.' 'I am doing no such negotiations, I am already becoming the reason for you to get back what you lost shamefully, do not try to depend on any of my upcoming relations, have some self-respect father.'

'Self-respect!?' Y/n brother screamed making him bounce in shock a little, 'It was your deranged idea of self-respect that caused this war; if only you could have given him a chance he would have never attacked us like this. And look where you stand; you are forced to do what you never really wanted and did whatever you could to stop it.'

'Well, brother, you do remember who it was who first denied me to dance with him, don't you? 'A self-obsessed lowly General' is what you said when he asked you for a dance with me the very first time we went there for the Royal Ball.'

'But later he became a threat so I urged you to give him a chance too, then you were the one who was hell-bent on denying him!'

'Enough! Stop arguing about what has already transpired and think about the future. Y/n, son, you must not waver and make demands; you are a prince, he is a General, and the rank difference must come into play.'

'Update your information father, because you seem to be having none; he is a Duke now, and even if I am a prince, of a mostly fallen kingdom I must remind you, I have no intentions of making any more deals for and on behalf of this marriage. I will leave now, I am not waiting for dawn to have another fruitless discussion, farewell your majesty, brother.'

With a solemn bow, y/n left as he came, with the metallic clinks and rustles of the troop.

Reaching the other kingdom he was informed that rather than going to the palace, he would be going to the new manor of Chanyeol, which was now decked and ready for his arrival. He was greeted by the whole household and finally met his mother-in-law, who opposite to what he had expected, was too sorrowful to handle without any prior preparation.

'I am ashamed to be hosting you like this, your royal highness; please find a way to ignore all the mess; the house is still not up to date with all that is necessary to be having you here.' The lady wouldn't even raise her head, 'Please sit now Lady Park, I have no reservations as such regarding the place, I am pleased that I am not in a prison after a war, and please do not make a fuss about the titles, you are going to be my mother-in-law so we can work things out.' 'Oh no sir, I do not accept any of this, I am more of an apologist for my son's actions right now in front of you; he paid no heed to my requests and did what all his swelled-up ego allowed him to do. I don't know how will I ever get over the fact that my son forced you into such a situation.'

'Lady Park, I just had this conversation with my father and brother too; let us please move on from what has happened and try to resolve the situation peacefully and think about how the path ahead can be one that is less painful to go by.' 'You are as kind as the rumours suggested sir; please let me know about any trouble you have here, and I will look into it right away; let me take you to your room for now; you must rest before tomorrow's ceremony.' 'I am not a guest here Lady Park, I am supposed to live here, so please do not be at your tip-toes around my comfort; let us go; it is quite late now.'

Y/n's room was, for now, pretty well arranged; he could run away pretty easily from here, the manor was secured but if he asked Lady Park to help him, he was sure that she would do all in her power to let him go without a scratch; but it was useless to do so, he had nowhere to run and if somehow he managed to cross over to the other kingdoms there was no guarantee of his survival, he had no money of his own or any possession, so he sits down on the bed and flops, to stare at the roof and think, think about tomorrow when at a private ceremony he will accept now Duke of Sandria Park Chanyeol, then he will be living with that man under this roof, as his husband, for the rest of his life, was respect the right choice?

The rituals were over; they were married, no gala, no ball, a peaceful summation of more than five months of unrivaled violence. Y/n was sitting in his room, with a book open as a distraction while looking out of the giant window; the land surrounding the manor was beautiful, and the hills were lush green and mild dew which the mist caused made it all look fantastical.

'Come in.' Y/n answered the knocks and did not look back at the door, thinking it was some maid or servant who came to take his belongings, or gifts as they were, away, 'You looked beautiful today, Mr Park.'

Y/n stilled for a moment, then closed the book and turned back. 'Why did you knock at my door? This is your house.' 'I believe privacy should be respected too; you have all the right to say no.' 'I believe I lost all the rights to deny anything the moment I said yes to you today.' 'Don't make it more miserable than it already is dear, I have no intentions of hurting you, I just want to talk to you before going to my room.'

'Oh? I will get a room of my own?' 'Until you are ready to share a bed with me, yes, you will have a room to yourself.' 'Then I guess there will be no more direct descents for the Dukedom.' 'Time will tell. Well, if you have any requirements tell to my mother who is pretty much willing to serve you food if you want, (he sits on the bed) I will be going on a tour soon so we have a week to spend together and unfortunately my sister will be coming to meet you too.'

'You know, I feel like this is all a dream; as absurd as it may sound, it has yet to settle down on me, because I never thought I would be taken away from one prison to another like this. I knew my father wanted to marry me off as a peace offering to any kingdom willing, but it happened so that I was actually picked up, like a garbage bag.'

'Don't demean yourself; you are the crown jewel I snatched, and this is not a prison; you can go anywhere you want, do anything you want; you do not need my permission for anything, just remember to come back otherwise there will be useless wars again.' 'Don't worry, I will not run away, I will stay, and live, but do not expect me to reciprocate your feelings, whatever they may be, and we will be fine; a lot depends on this marriage, I do not want my people back home to suffer because of my foolishness.' 'Ah well, I will go now; also, try to accept people here too; they see you as a prince and no less; good night.'

The next few days were calm, weirdly bland, and nothing happened, which made y/n realise how calm life can actually be; back at home before the war all he did was read and attend events or be locked in the palace; there was nothing to do, he was not allowed to go anywhere too since the threat of people kidnapping him was always looming, which he never understood why, kidnap the crown prince why the other one.

On the third day Lady Kim, Chanyeol's sister, arrived, and she was like her mother in a grave mood, fidgeting while meeting y/n; he did not understand yet again, why such courtesies for a snatched prince, 'Your royal highness, I am sorry I was not able to attend the wedding, I live quite far away from Sandrian region and it was such a shocking and sudden news.' 'It is alright Lady Kim, please do sit down, you too Lady Park, I have said it to you multiple times don't wait for me to sit, just sit; let us cut back on some formalities insides these walls at least, we are a family now, forced indeed, but I have not a drop of vengeance in me, if you ask me honestly, I used to live like this back at home too, so, let us just be comfortable.'

'How are you adapting to the changes, sir? It gets colder than your kingdom here, I hope my brother has made arrangements for you to be at ease.' 'I am doing well, I have always adored winters more than the humid summers we had, so I can say I am better off here in some sense.' 'Oh it is good to know; we can all go and skate over the lake once it freezes and you can attend the winter festivals; we have a lot of them throughout the empire, I am sure the public is eager to meet you too.'

Lady Park put down her cup and said 'They are eager indeed, I have more than a dozen invitations for the balls and dinners already, and all asking specifically for his roya... I mean, y/n to join them.' It was as hard as biting a bullet for her to let go of the formalities in which she had soaked herself into the bones.

So it went on, and a week went by, full of still awkward lunches and dinners and a few guests to be entertained; throughout the week he did not see the head of the house anywhere, technically he was the head too but he liked Lady Park being in command more as he was not used to being the one in authority of a household.

One Saturday, after almost two weeks of disappearance, Chanyeol knocked on y/n's room around the ungodly hour of 1 AM. Y/n was a bit scared by the knock; he was writing a letter of reply to the crown princess as she had invited him to the palace for a private visit and did not expect anyone to be up this late. 'Can I come in?' The rasp was the giveaway, 'Please wait a minute, I am not presentable.' Y/n was not; he was in his robes; he quickly put on a loose shirt and trousers the said 'You can come in now.'

'Why are you up so late your royal highness.' The courtesy was more sarcastic than respectful, 'I have not been able to sleep, I have weirdly a lot of correspondents to reply to so I thought why not do that.' As he finished speaking and arranging paper on his desk facing the grand windows, he turned to look at Chanyeol and was shocked to see blood all over his clothes; for a moment he was stunned; y/n was not a fighter; he hated the very sight of blood when his brother would come from his military tours and right now, in front of him was a man almost soaked in blood, in his room talking to him, and he felt scared for the man, so much so that without thinking about who he is talking to, he had to verbalise it.

'What the hell happened to you!? So much blood!? Why are you here!? Go to a damn hospital for god's sake!' He almost screamed the last part, and was shaking so much that Chanyeol had to walk from the door side to hold him. 'Calm down, it is not mine.' 'DO NOT TOUCH ME LIKE THIS! I HATE BLOOD!' Y/n screamed in whispers while shutting his eyes. 'Okay! Okay. Will you try to calm down please, wait just turn around.'

Chanyeol took off his pads and shirt and gloves and threw them out of the room, then shut the door to come back in and saw y/n standing still, 'you can turn around now.' The glory of the human body was never so well available for y/n to look at like this; his brother was muscular and well built but nothing he can imagine, even the Commander in chief of his kingdom's army was not comparable to Chanyeol, yet he had to control himself once again. 'What happened? You are still wounded you know, I see the cuts on your arm, not that they should do anything to such a great General, but get treated I guess.' Y/N had already turned around again flustered.

'Nice to know you care, and sorry for coming in like this. I had no idea you would have such a reaction upon seeing blood. I will keep that in mind. I came to check up on you as I was attacked on my way here by some people who were allegedly from your father's kingdom, so I thought why not check up if you are safe or not.'

'Oh. Don't worry, my father does not want me back; they would never come for me; rather, they might kill me as it was pretty clear that I caused the war that destroyed them.' 'Something's wrong with your family, I have never seen anyone react like this to all the events that have happened.' 'Well, why dwell on it. I am here; you survived another attack, and all is fine.' 'Nice to know my survival is fine for you.' 'Don't get ahead of yourself; my survival depends on your survival, do not forget that you brought a prince from your enemy kingdom after a war. You must survive, I plan on living a long life.' Y/n turned and looked straight into Chanyeol's eyes.

There was an understanding between them that some lines are put up and they shall not be crossed, and respect was mutual. 'I will be staying for some time; we have to go to the palace soon, a private invitation. I hope it won't be a problem for you to attend, I have yet to accept it.' 'I was writing to the crown princess; we can go, I have no problem, just keep your mother here; she will probably fall sick due to all the stress she will take about a royal visit.' 'You like her?' 'I never had a mother; she is a good company, but frail for her age; you never thought about her while fighting wars?' Now y/n was sitting on his bed, and Chanyeol was in front of him on the chair where a y/n sat writing letters.

'I thought of her; that is why I never told her any trouble or wound or failure I ever had, and I had a retinue of servants to look after her.' They were again staring at each other; where will all of this arrangement lead them? Nobody had any idea; it was a day-to-day event still.

'Well, I will take my leave; you should sleep, I will ask them to serve the breakfast an hour later than usual.' 'Don't do that; your sister and mother should eat on time, I will just get up early.' Chanyeol was surprised at how well y/n was settling in; it was as if for the first time he had somewhere to hold on to. 'Okay then, good night my prince.' Chanyeol smirked closing the door, and left y/n flustered again.

P.S.:- If you liked it, you can support me by buying me a coffee; link's on my page.

[writingintheshadowsforever]

Namor Imagine Series Part 4

Your first day in Talokan could've went better. Namor revealed that you would be staying in the underwater cave. Where he initially kept Shuri and Riri prisoner, but the cave had been changed around to make it more homey. He wanted to ease into this new lifestyle and knew asking you to be in the underwater city capital would be too much. So for now you would call the cave system home which wasn't too bad.

It was when he was giving you a tour of the cave system showing you. Where his main space was located things took a turn for the worst. One of the generals walked into the room with a spear in hand. It was the woman you recognized as Namora. She took one look at you and spoke in their mother tongue to Namor.

He gestured for you to wait by the wall with the painting of his history on it. While he went off to the side to talk to his general. Without access to your kimoyo beads or Groi. There was no way for you to understand what their were saying. But the tones of their voices gave the topic of the conservation away. Namora sounded frustrated and would shoot you a menacing look every now and then. Namor sounded like he was doing his best to keep his cool, but you could see the muscles in his back tensing up. He was starting to lose his patience with her. The intense discussion went on for about five minutes before Namor finally snapped.

"She is your queen now you will give her the same respect. You give me" he roared angrily.

You flinched at the not only the volume of his voice, but the emotional intensity of his words as well. The only time you ever heard him sound so angry was when he invaded Wakanda, and while Namora was able to keep a straight face. You could see the hurt in her eyes. She felt betrayed.

Her beloved king who she has served for God knows how long just brought an outsider into her home. A man she trusted with her life just choose you. A woman of another nation that was just their enemy a few days ago over her. You made your way over to them placing a hand on Namor's shoulder.

"Namor can we talk for a quick second?" You asked him.

Namor didn't even bother to acknowledge you his eyes boring into his general's. As he waited for her to look away and back down. You could see Namora know had balled her hands into fists, and was doing her best not to tremble. This wasn't going to end well.

So you tried another tactic hoping it would work. You moved your body between them, and took his face in your hands with a firm grip. "My love I need to speak to you alone." It wasn't a request this time. Maybe it was the fact you used the same name of endearment that he used for you, or maybe it was the sharpness of your voice. Either way this time you got his attention as his eyes glanced down to meet yours. "Send her away please."

Namor gave her a quick command without hesitation. Namora turned and stalked out of the cave. The second she was gone you pulled away from him. "What was that?"

"I will not allow her or anyone else to disrespect you" Namor said. In his eyes did nothing wrong, but in yours he had done everything wrong.

"Namor you might be able to prance around Talokan with me on your hip, and declare that I'm the queen of your people. Without the civilians or the children putting up a fight or questioning things. But your army is a whole other story. There very job is to cautious of outsiders like me especially considering. They helped you lead an attack on my people just a few days ago. It's going to take time for me to win them over." You explained to him.

Namor took in every single one of your words, and gave you a nod. "Then what shall I do?

"Just let it happen naturally like this marriage remember. How you said we can learn to love each other."

"Yes."

"Well Namora and the others will learn to trust me you just have to give it time. I want this to work Namor and be as real as possible."

"I want the same thing" He said.

"Good so you're okay with holding off on the actual marriage part for now?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

Namor frowned as the gears in his head started turning. "Are you trying to back out?" His voice got dangerously low.

You held eye contact with him not missing a beat when you answered. "No I wouldn't be here if I was going to do that. I will stay here and get to know you, your people, your way of life, and one day I will love Talokan as much as I love Wakanda. One day I will be willing to lay down my life for this place, and that will be the day we marry. I know you just wanted an alliance between our two nations, but you said it could be more. I want that Namor don't you."

Namor regarded you for a few seconds not giving away anything, and honestly he had you worried for a second. That he was going to laugh in your face and set the date of marriage for tomorrow. But then he let out a soft sigh. "It might take power to earn a throne, but the trust of your people is required to rule a nation."

"Is that your way of saying yes" You replied.

"Yes my queen I will give this time" He confirmed.

"Good thing I'm going to need you to do something for me then. While I'm down here earning the trust and love of your people."

His eyebrows furrowed in question as to what else you could want, but nevertheless Namor gestured for you to continue.

You knew he wasn't going to like what you were about to say, but you had to try at least. Your peace of mind depended on it.

"I need you to make peace with my mother."