#she also has inklings as to who his father really is after he reveals he's a bastard and remembers cailan's insistence on having him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mc-critical · 3 years ago

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So I was rewatching some of MYK Season 2 and it had me thinking..do you notice the insane amount of parallels and overall similarities in character arcs between MYK’s Beyazied (Gulbahar’s son) and MY’s Mustafa (Mahi’s son?). Both had a sense of undying loyalty and love/respect to the respective sultans of their time while also meeting their demise at the sultan’s hands, both maintaining positive relationships with their half-siblings despite opposition from their enviornments, both being the only children of mothers who weren’t favorites but were extremely politically ambitious and skilled. Both being princes popular with the janissaries of their time and were seen as a looming threat towards the sultan’s power. I even feel like like Beyazied and Mustafa were similar in their disposition and sense of justice and morality. Tell me am I wrong here because I really can’t unsee it they feel so similar to me😭

Yes, MCK Bayezid and MC Mustafa share the same character archetype (hence why they have the parallels you mentioned), but that's the only thing they're similar in for me. The archetype is only a baseline for both of their characters - their development goes in a very different direction.

The thing that sets them apart the most from the start, is that Mustafa's strenghts and flaws are shaped more by sheer personality, while Bayezid is a character shaped more by curcumstance. That leaves room for more development for Bayezid where he eventually changes his stance on people around him, while despite of every hint of change, intrigue or word of advice, Mustafa's principles and beliefs stay the same.

Both Mustafa and Bayezid have a missing part of their lives that shapes their flaws, but that part is different in both of them. No matter how much support Bayezid seemingly had, he always missed his mother and wanted to see her face he's long forgotten, he wanted to see her all the more with each and every letter of hers. And once that chance presents itself, thanks to Murat, no less (good job, lad, good job, indeed....), he would surely want to see his back from exile mother in a good light, despite of all the wrongs she has done. That's why Gülbahar was Bayezid's blind spot. His love and respect for his mother goes beyond comforting her, defending her, hiding her mistakes and saving her from death, something that Mustafa would be also likely to do - with each event passing, Bayezid also begins to listen to her more and more, becomes convinced of her words that he's born in a middle of a war and sets himself even further against Murat and Kösem. Mustafa, on the other hand, has always been next to Mahidevran in every step of the way, with everyone around him avoiding their separation at all costs, hence he can be much more independent of her perspective. She can only go so far with opposing Mustafa's decisions, he always ends up choosing to do what he sees as right and just, even when his beliefs are challanged. He doesn't let his beliefs to be challanged by anyone. He doesn't want to let his beliefs to be challanged by anyone. He loves his mother deeply and he's also developed a need to protect her at all costs, but that need is based on his awareness of all she has experienced and to prevent her to suffer or worry ever again, not out of missing her whole self, which makes it a need outside of Mustafa's own predicament and decisions.

Mustafa wanting to keep his principles firm originates from his wish to prove himself to his father. Süleiman is Mustafa's blind spot. We see how much he wants to be next to him and have his attention even when he was little and since Mustafa was given a sense of purpose ever since then, too (while Bayezid has been living a life where he didn't yet see the dangers of the world in their fullest extent before Murat's complete downfall and before Gülbahar; he even mentioned to her that he didn't want the throne, even though he was constantly suspected of betraying Murat.), sure he would want to prove himself worthy and follow what SS (and Ibro and Mahi to an extent, too, but especially SS) has taught him when it came to ruling. (like when he chose justice instead of SS's order in E92, which, even though he disobeyed, wouldn't be right or just, since that person was slandered. Musti revealed that he acted like what SS has told him in the past, it being justice is most important.) Even when his father acted against him, Mustafa trusted him blindly, refusing to believe that a father could ever kill his son, even in close probability, no matter what everyone else around him said. (he wrote the letter when Cihangir told him of SS's words in E123, but Musti went to SS anyway, his trust being much stronger than his biggest inkling of suspicion.) He loved him too much, even when he slowly came to realize the growing wedge between them, never succumbing to the temptation to directly rebel against him. (except the kaftan situation, where his trust was directly put into question by a supposed action of his and even then Musti went to merely confront him and die as a warrior if it lead up to this, not kill him, and the trust became stronger than ever afterwards.) Bayezid, on the other hand, always sensed the danger Murat posed in some way, and he realized that no matter how much he proved his loyalty at first and refused drastic action at first, he would always keep suspecting him. Bayezid was allowed to see Murat in his biggest cruelty, at one point, Bayezid didn't see him as fit to rule anymore and was more than ready to dethrone him after an act too cruel by him in Bayezid's eyes. Even when he respected Murat, Bayezid didn't seem to want to prove his worth as much to him or to have gained his principles and beliefs by him and the bond between them wasn't as close, not for Bayezid. The cruelty of the world and Murat's own cruelty grew more and more, hence Bayezid became more open to criticize them and more ruthless, as a result of this. He strived to evade his wrath more than anything. And at one time, there was no turning back now between Murat and Bayezid, which also played a part in his execution.

The way Mustafa views Hürrem and the way Bayezid views Kösem are both very different, too. While I don't feel Mustafa completely hated Hürrem, per say and even in S04, he was rather done with her bullcrap than anything else, he had some resentment for her. He was aware that she played a part in Mahidevran's suffering and sensed that Hürrem giving birth hurts his mother. Still, he knew where the line was: he respected her position as a Sultana and the mother of his brothers, didn't blame her instinctively, didn't fault Cihangir for choosing his own mother in the kaftan sutuation and was willing to listen even in the peak of his resentment. (in E121, where he didn't believe that she wasn't behind the trap.) Bayezid had a more familial bond with Kösem, since she was like a mother to him when his real mother was missing. I feel he appreciated all the care she took for him and even loved her until a point. But once he turned against her, the mutual respect between them was gone completely, with him eventually discarding all she did for him and Kösem disowning him. His resentment for Kösem slowly grew through Gülbahar: the seeds were planted with the letters she was sending to him, which made Bayezid feel he didn't belong, opening a hole in his heart, and then Bayezid being open to listen to Gülbahar more and more with her setting him against both Murat and Kösem. Bayezid tied Kösem to Murat, while in truth, she acted outside of him. Bayezid eventually became convinced that Kösem was a danger. But while circumstances also helped, him standing "on the other side of the war" was bound to break them apart. Bayezid and Kösem already had different goals. The more he sided with Gülbahar's view, the more that cemented their rift. He fully stood against her once she confronted him about him hiding Gülbahar, that made him give up on her to the point he agreed to have her killed in the Eski Saray, since then it would be easier to take down Murat. Despite of Mahidevran's view and experiences, Mustafa's resentment of Hürrem grew because of her own actions: all her attempts to kill him are what made him embittered towards her to the point of him declaring that he won't have mercy on her and Rüstem. He views her actions separately from those of Süleiman- he's aware that she's trying to eliminate him with all her might and that she could maybe involve Süleiman in that, too, but still strives to see a bigger picture. All that is why his actions against her are more defensive than they're offensive and only go so far as to show her her place in some way, not to directly try to kill her, since he regards the feelings of his siblings, too. He sees her and Rüstem as a tandem in S04, but even then he would do actions more against Rüstem than against Hürrem.

I would say that Mustafa has a better relationship with his brothers than Bayezid. He truly loves them a lot and always considers what they have to say, no matter what, but his brothers themselves, even Selim, loved him, too, and never got in conflict with him, expect for the aftermath of him saving Selim from the janissaries, some side scenes with Mehmet when they made amends almost immediately or that one case where they both were little. And he indeed never stops caring about them. I wouldn't say the same for Bayezid, however. While he did share the same affection Mustafa had for his brothers at first, Kasim always had a strained relationship with him and it kept getting more and more strained by each day (even Ibrahim resented him at one point, too). And yes, truly, Bayezid did try to reach out for him many times, Kasim seeing Bayezid and Gülbahar's secret firsthand and the whole Kalika situation sealed things between them to the point of no return. He set himself against Kasim completely, turning out that Gülbahar succeeded to drive the wedge between them. (of course, Mahidevran also had this similar intent, but what I found interesting with her is that, E55 aside, she mostly tried to make Mustafa look at them merely as rivals and in E69 she did tell him that his love for them made her proud regardless; I'm preparing a whole post about comparing Gülbahar and Mahidevran I hope I'll finish some day ahahah) By deciding to take what's rightfully his, Bayezid disregarded his brothers, too. (I understand why he did, but still.) His perspective on them changed just like everything else.

I agree that both Mustafa and Bayezid have a sense of justice, but while Mustafa's justice is based more on morals, principles, nobility, familial bonds and "doing the right thing" in general, Bayezid's justice becomes more "warped". Bayezid sees many injustices done to him or his mother and no matter how much he held back from acting the way his supporters wanted him to, he comes to respond to the injustice with injustice, as well. Or worse yet, he already views the injustice as justice. He perceives leaving his previous, "purer" principles behind as what is right and since he's in a war, he's already ready to do "whatever it takes" to ascend the throne. It's like he restrained himself for too long while reality around him ensued. Mustafa was always aware of this reality, even if deep down inside, even when he was trying to deny it when it came to SS, yet he chose not to leave "his own self" behind. Despite of all the intrigues against him, he responded to the injustice with justice. He held onto this until the end. He held onto this in spite of every opposition or injustice. And yes, both of these approaches were to Mustafa and Bayezid's detriments, respectively, in their distinct circumstances.

Sure, both of Mustafa and Bayezid did "the right thing" prior to their executions (going to SS - choosing not to go to the persian şah as a way out). It was expected for Mustafa, due to his established character and flaws, but for Bayezid it has become the exception - I saw him as more irritated that Gülbahar and Sinan worked behind his back when he told them not to a while ago, but maybe when he didn't succeed to do what he attempted to get on the throne, he decided that he'd rather die, but not run. And his mother's safety was still his first priority, even in death. Even then he didn't exactly realize his mistake, rather that he would be executed for it, since he still acted high and mighty in front of Kösem. Mustafa wasn't really aware of why SS called him in the first place, he wasn't aware of the intrigue with the letter, he didn't know what went wrong, hence he didn't have a true reason to doubt all that, despite of the words of everyone else, so of course he approached the situation like he typically would. It was only Cihangir's words to him where the doubt appeared and he still didn't back down on his decision. Bayezid took a more immediate decision based on curcumstance (with one scene with him ruminating in his chambers), while Mustafa took the decision he usually would. They were both executed by their fathers, but due to different reasons and even before the executions and with their once same foundation as characters, both of them acted differently here.

Though no matter how different they turn out to be in hindsight for me, I still consider MCK Bayezid as a response to MC Mustafa anyway - what MC Mustafa would've been if he let curcumstance influence him and decided to act against his father. (I also did mention in your previous ask about Mustafa that the fandom does tend to view him as MCK Bayezid's exact copy sometimes, but that isn't quite true.) When the crippling realization that your parent could disregard you comes through and you decide not to stand by that and let your survival instinct kick in, after all. Anyhow, I find both of them very interesting to compare and contrast and I love both of their characters, so thanks for giving me the chance to delve into this topic at last. ^^

#magnificent century #muhteşem yüzyıl #muhtesem yuzyil #magnificent century: kösem #magnificent century kösem #magnificent century kosem #sehzade mustafa #sehzade bayezid #ask #stuffandthangs

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carnelianns · 5 years ago

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(Ikesen and Ikevamp) Sorry if this has been asked before. But how about an MC who went back to her own time only to find out she was pregnant. How would the boys reaxt if she comes back somehow a few years later but with a young child she says is theirs.

im sorry for keeping u waiting this long anon huhu,, i only did the vamps but, if my askbox allows, i’ll come back to do the sen boys too ! i didn’t have a specific gender for their children so jus imagine the lil rascal any way u want

Napoleon Bonaparte

When you come back through that door with a fascinated child holding your hand, it’s him you meet first again, and the tears are already glossing his eyes over before you can say anything.

He literally has no words when you smile gently, saying it’s his. Napoleon swallows the bump in his throat before making his way to the both of you, holding the two of you in his arms for only god knows how long.

“I.. can’t wait to live my life with you both, nununche,” he mumbles into your hair, ears slightly tinged, only causing you to laugh at his adorable antics.

As a father, he isn’t very strict, and he isn’t all that good in child-rearing, either. But he tries — you have to keep reminding yourself of this when you catch them in a compromising position, usually when you see your child holding a foil with a goofy smile.

“Nunuche.. I can explain,” Napoleon says calmly when you first find the two of them — well, three; it seems Jean was in on this little practice, though he quickly bolted when he saw you — parading around the training room with the foils.

“Mamma, papa said he was the King! He teached me how to be King!” Your child exclaims, flailing the weapon around excitedly as your gaze only darkens.

“Well, you see, I meant emperor, but—” his words die down when he sees your unimpressed face practically dripping with the murderous intent he’s so used to fighting against on the battle field

Slowly kneeling down to meet your child’s eyes, you see him whispering something incoherent before the little one nods seriously, slowly putting down the foil.

Then, as if counting down ‘3, 2, 1′, Napoleon immediately hoists your child up in his arms, running out of the room as both his laughter and your child’s squeals echo throughout the halls.

“Napoleone di Buonaparte, get your ass back here right now!” You scream, running after them.

“3, 2, 1 — Vive L’Empereur!” The two of them scream back, before bursting into laughter. They’re always in sync. It’s exasperating.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

“That child is.. mine?” He asks, slightly jaw-slacked, pointing at the child that undeniably looks like him, if the identical beauty mark or violet eyes are anything to go by.

“Do you.. not want—”

“I never said that,” he instantly cuts you off, going over to kneel at the confused child. With a slight smile, in an attempt to hold his tears back, he manages, “So.. how was spending time with that clumsy mother of yours?”

Mozart doesn’t really know how to spend time with his child, though he’s clearly not opposed to carrying the little rascal around on his shoulders, or dragging the child clinging onto his leg around when stubbornness bites.

You often don’t know what he’s thinking whenever he spends time with your child, or the whole situation, but rest assured, he wouldn’t change it for the world, despite how he may look.

A clear example of this is when you once walked into the piano room only to see your little darling on top of the grand white piano itself, snoozing on top of a small comforter whilst your lover plays the soft tunes you’ve grown to love.

Shock holds you captive as you stare at the lovely sight, before finally trailing off, “Mozart..”

Without so much as glancing at you, he replies, voice hushed in a soft tone you don’t hear so often. The blissful smile on his face speaks thousands of words.

“I thought you were the only one foolish enough to let your guard down in front of me… It seems I was wrong.”

Leonardo da Vinci

He had an inkling the moment he saw the child sporting caramel eyes so similar to his own, tawny gaze regarding the large mansion with wonder.

And when you did reveal that the child is actually his, he only pulled you close to his chest, hoisting the little one up with his other arm.

“Papa has a lot of time to make up to you, doesn’t he?”

Leonardo is good with children, if it isn’t obvious. Not in your conventional dad way wherein he brings the child to school — in fact, he probably fell asleep in the hallway just when the two were about to leave — but he's awfully good at keeping his child entertained.

Running around the mansions, creating new inventions, learning a new language — sometimes, you have to remind yourself that this child’s father is literally Leonardo da Vinci.

A position you often see them in, however, is snoozing on the floor, probably near the library, your child a small ball curled into Leonardo’s arms and head in the crook of his neck.

“Again? Really?” You can only huff, though that doesn’t stop the small smile from spreading on your face as you brush the locks of hair out of your lover’s face.

“Cara mia,” he rasps out, cracking a bleary eye open and gripping your wrist softly. Then, he smiles, all sorts of soft and lovely and.. unguarded.

“You two.. are the best things that have happened to me.”

Arthur Conan Doyle

Arthur tries swallowing back the lump in his throat when he sees you standing in front of that damned door, though to no avail as a tear slips.

He starts full-on crying when you say that you’re back for good and that the child is his, and he’ll have to be comforted by yours and your child’s tiny arms before he even plans to stop.

“Ah, crying like that on our first meeting… Don’t you think your fath — I’m a bit embarrassing?” He asks, sniffling as he musters a smile.

Your child giggles, blue eyes crinkling. “No! Mommy told me a whooooole lot about you, daddy!”

He has to stop himself from sobbing again.

Arthur wastes no time in making up for what he’s missed, and every single day is one you’d find the two of them either in town or messing about at home.

If not, then they’re probably just chilling in the comforts of his room, doing god knows what. The day you peek in to see what exactly they were up to was a blessed day.

Maneuvering yourself in a way that lets you see through the tiny crack of the open door, your jaw drops at the adorable sight of your child in a tiny deerstalker and trench coat far too big for his form, Arthur nodding with a serious look on his face.

“So, Watson, do you think crepes make mummy happier?” Your child asks, holding his magnifying glass up — one you’re sure is from Leonardo — like a mic in front of Arthur’s face.

He strokes his chin for a moment, before answering, “Seeing her reaction when we gave her the ones we bought yesterday, I deduce they do, Sherlock.”

“Good dedoo – deduck – deduction, Watson! I thought so too.”

Your heart literally melts. The two are far too cute for you, you having to calm yourself before walking in with the widest smile on your face. Dorks.

Vincent van Gogh

When you meet those familiar, cerulean eyes from your place in front of the door, they’re already glossy in seconds, a flurry of emotions clear on Vincent’s face, though his smile says it all.

“Is it too much to say I’ve been waiting for you this whole time?”

Vincent would be practically wallowing in regret that he wasn’t able to be a part of his child’s life for the first few years, leading him to do any and everything that will cause his child to smile. In simpler terms, he’s basically wrapped around the little one’s finger.

He’s so adorable and happy that he’s blessed with your lovely child, and there’s an immediate smile on his face when he so much as thinks about the little blondie.

He literally makes the other residents question whether or not they want a child too.

Their bonding time is painting and, more often than not, it ends up with all three of you cramped in the shower, scrubbing furiously at the sticky paint on their skin.

“I’m sorry for having you do this all the time,” Vincent’s soft voice only makes you sigh in relaxation as he massages your shoulders from behind you, causing your fingers to halt in their journey of rubbing some blue paint off your child.

“It’ll take more than that if you wanna make it up to me,” you hum, leaning back into his chest and looking up into his bright eyes.

Your lips were just about to meet, when —

“Mam, I’m not clean yet!”

You groan, Vincent only laughing as you meet the crossed arms of your child pouting child.

“Don’t give your mammie too much of a hard time, okay?” He never forgets to take care of you above all, of course.

Theodorus van Gogh

When he first sees you after years with a child, his child, grasping your hand, Theo has to literally disappear to cool his head off because he’s angry.

Not at you, no, never, but at himself. That he wasn’t there for his child, for you, and god, even if he were, would he have been a good father?

“Hon — Schatje,” he starts, running his fingers through his already messy hair and staring at you with eyes that practically bleed insecurity, his voice breaking. “How am I supposed to take care of a child when I couldn’t even take care of you?”

After many reassuring words and gentle touches, Theo’s finally okay, holding up and scrutinising your child much like how he does a painting. He’s, well, awkward.

Theo is surprisingly very gentle with your child because he honestly doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.

He’s also very grounded and doesn’t fall for cute little tricks that much either, so out of the residents, he’d be one of the better fathers.

“Nee.” “Papje, pleaaase?” “No. Non. Nee.”

Your lover’s fixed refusal causes you to peek your head into a lovely picture. Theo was holding a chocolate bar high above his head, steely gaze fixed on your young child with his puppy dog eyes in full view.

“Je mama said no chocolate, right?” Your heart warms when you realise he remembered your scoldings, though you can’t help but to feel bad for your whining baby.

“Theo,” you say, both their heads turning towards you. “How about you give the little baby some chocolate and we all enjoy some pancakes, yeah?”

The way both their eyes shine almost identically is adorable.

Dazai Osamu

When you showed up again with the child in hand, one he knows is his, his first thought, first wish, is that for that tiny thing to not be his. Because no one knows how harsh this world is more than the man who wished to end it all, so much more than once.

But Dazai makes up his mind when he sees you and your — his child staring up at him with those eyes that look so much like your own. He makes up his mind, despite his own continuous suffering, that he’ll never let this child go through what he had to.

“Was I staring too much?” He smiles, slightly sad and, well, empty. “I suppose it’s because the little one looks far too much like you.” Bright. Too bright for me.

As a father, he’s surprisingly really good with children? He quite enjoys seeing your child smile more than anything, and one way he knows how to do so is by perching the little one on his shoulders, running around the mansion as his hands intertwine with small, tiny fingers.

You don’t know whether to yell at him and his close-eyed grin, or simply laugh at the resonating giggles of your child. Probably both as you chase the two down the halls.

Dazai often zones out whenever he’s playing with your child, a look you can only describe as pure bliss on those handsome features of his. As you stare up at him, confusion clear on your features, you ask, “Hey, Dazai, why do you.. Zone out so much? Whenever you’re with, you know,” you motion to the snoozing one in between the both of you.

“Why do I zone out, you ask?” He gives you a smile, a real one this time, and gently pokes at the little ones cheeks. “I think.. I’ve found a wonderful reason to live, is all.”

Isaac Newton

“That’s… mine??” “That?” “... It?” “It?” “The.. child?”

Isaac is very flustered, for lack of better terms. He can barely manage the children he and Napoleon go see intermittently, but his own child? Lord, help him.

He gets awfully flushed whenever he’s carrying his child around the mansion because even then, he isn’t spared by Arthur and Dazai’s teasing remarks — in fact, it only seems to have gotten worse.

Isaac is surprisingly good at getting your rascal child to sleep with his bedtime stories, which are usually all his unsaid rambles.

“And did daddy get that bruise on his forehead because he slipped while chasing Uncle Dazai and Uncle Arthur?”

Your child nods, bright eyes sparkling and toothy grin showing. “Daddy also said, ‘Get back here, you devilish imbeciles!’”

Your accusatory gaze turns towards Isaac, who averts his eyes, holding an ice pack to his bruising forehead.

“I-In my defense, they were—”

“One more time, Isaac, and I’m changing this baby’s legal godfathers to the two imbeciles you love so much.”

Gaping, his eyes widen to the size of saucers, “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

He is now a grumbling mess when the two are around his child, but the lack of chasing them around with a stick in hand can be counted as an upgrade.

Jean d’Arc

When you walk through that door once more, nervously telling your lover that this child is his, you’re afraid of his reaction — after all, Jean is, despite his vampiric aging, barely an adult himself.

His jaw drops and he can’t stop staring at you nor the child with his inky locks, and you have to help him sit and calm down.

“Papa?” Your child asks, staring up at the still slightly panicked Jean as you hold your breath.

He stares for a moment, mouth wide, before finally, finally smiling, albeit a little awkward and rough around the edges. “Yes, little one?”

He’s extremely unaccustomed to this whole parent thing and can barely do anything without asking you first, so he feels bad quite often for having to lean on you so much.

Although he barely knows how to handle a sobbing child, nor can he entertain the child very well, you find that the both of them are quite content in each other’s presence as is.

Jean, well, looks ethereal as the sun shines through the windows in his room, a gentle smile gracing his face as he stares at his sleeping child.

He utters your name, causing you to look up, only to find him tracing circles around your child’s soft skin.

“Is this.. how it’s like to be happy?”

William Shakespeare

When Shakespeare wakes up to the news that you are, in fact, back at the mansion with a little surprise, he’s already there in no time.

He didn’t expect the little surprise to be a little child that’s practically an identical copy of him. But he’s always been more of a shoot first, ask questions later type of guy, so he immediately whisks you off to his manor, much to the exasperation of the residents who were surprisingly enjoying their time with the little Shakespeare lookalike.

Except he doesn’t really need to ask questions, because he’s already figured everything out through your soft, slightly nervous gaze, and your lovely little mannerisms.

“Alas, it seems the Heavens were kind enough to grant my wish,” he says as he stares at your child, only smiling to meet your confused gaze. “For I only wished you weren’t too lonely without my presence.”

William is always with his child, whatever the circumstances. Though he quite enjoys showing off his child, he’s also keen on spending his every waking second with the little tyke because he knows how it feels like to grow up lonely, and he wouldn't bestow that upon his own little one.

“Darling, it appears I has’t gotten myself into a slight predicament.”

If you could, you would have snapped a picture of your smiling lover practically itching to get up, yet unable to do so due to the sleeping child in his lap.

“And how did you get yourself into this predicament, my love?” You tease, your own smile on your face. He has a habit of reading his writings aloud, and it seems the little one fell asleep to William’s gentle voice.

“My works seem to be but a mere bedtime story to this little one,” he motions to the child, his smile softening. “I wonder why it does not dishearten me.”

Comte de Saint-Germain

“I was hoping you’d be back, ma chérie.” His perfunctory smile betrays the inner flurry of emotions inside him as he glances towards the child. “With a lovely little thing in hand.”

“Your lovely little thing,” you say gently, and the surprise outlining his normally composed face is something you’d forever save in your mind.

Comte is wrapped around the little one’s finger, his rotten spoiling being the effect of not being in your child’s life for a good while, and, of course, his indispensable regret for having you come back to him.

Many times have you asked Sebastian the whereabouts of your lover and your child, only for him to give you the look, responding that they were out yet again, and are probably not coming back without a few shopping bags in hand.

Then, to finally put a stop to it all, you decided to conduct a harmless experiment.

Placing a few coins on one side of his desk, a toy in the middle, and a beloved fruit on the side. After explaining to him that it’s to see what your child’s fate would be — picking between fortune, fun, and, well, snacks, you think — he simply leans back, interest shining in those eyes of his.

Unsurprisingly for you, your child pushes all these away in a second, opting to hug the wide-eyed man on the soft armchair behind the desk.

“And what.. does this mean, ma chérie?” He asks, honest-to-god confused as his hands slowly wrap around your child’s form.

You smile softly, “Isn’t it obvious, silly? The little rascal loves you more than anything.”

His eyes are suspiciously glossy before he laughs it off, preparing for yet another shopping spree — you regret everything.

Sebastian

He only gives you a knowing smile when you pass through the door with a young child gripping your hand.

“So.. this is the little one, is it?” He asks, tone soft as he walks towards you, wrapping a sturdy arm around your waist and meeting eyes with his child. “I’m a strict father, mind you.”

“Sebastian!” “I was joking. Slightly.”

Despite being a father, Sebastian is as strict and precise as ever around the mansion, rarely having to leave either his work or his family unattended due to his impeccable time management skills.

And if he struggles with both, well, he just has to merge them into one task, doesn’t he? Many are the times wherein the residents catch Sebastian working, his little runt on his tail or on his hip.

“They’re at it again, you know,” Mozart says in passing, only causing you to groan.

“Sebastian! How many times have I told you not in the kitchen?” You exclaim, walking into the kitchen to find your lover and your child tackling yet another chore together.

It seemed to be baking this time, if the flour on both of their faces says anything.

“Mama!” Your child exclaims with powdered hands as Sebastian says blankly, “We’re doing chores.”

You merely roll your eyes, sighing as you walk out the room. Your apology comes later when a sloppy cupcake makes its way into your view.

Your eyes move up to your proud looking child, hair obviously patted down in an attempt to look presentable while your lover sports a tiny grin on his own face.

“We made this for you, mom! Papa said he wanted to make you reaaaally happy.”

Sebastian’s head instantly snaps down, eyes narrowing, “Hey.”

You can only laugh at your two babies, taking a bite of the surprisingly good and sweeter than an average cupcake.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #napoleon bonaparte #wolfgang amadeus mozart #mozart #leonardo da vinci #arthur conan doyle #vincent van gogh #theodorus van gogh #theo #dazai osamu #isaac newton #jean d'arc #william shakespeare #shakespeare #comte de saint germain #comte #sebastian #headcanons

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deafchild2000 · 4 years ago

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H2O Season 3: Saving Zane's Character

Alright: They did Zane wrong in S3.

Ok, Zane wasn't an angel. He pulled a lot of crappy stuff back in S1 with rightful payback. But, if Rikki's love did anything for him, it was that he became less of a shitty person. In fact, after Lewis, he became a reliable boyfriend to Rikki and a good Secret Keeper to the girls.

So why did the writers make him a jackass in the last season? Easy: To welcome Will Benjamin, his so-called "perfect replacement" who can ride a motorbike, be sweet and romantic, keep up with the girls when they swim, and have a better relationship with Rikki from the start! (NOTE THE SARCASM)

I could go on a rant about this, but I won't. So I'll just start with this bullet-point headcanon, based on the LAST 2 SEASONS, for how Zane's character should have developed:

First to point out: Zane is not a complete Good Guy. But he's not a Bad Guy either. He's a Bad Boy with (potential) Heart of Gold that should've been explored.

First off, I feel many people forget his dad, Harrison Bennet (⬇️) is fully aware of the Secret.

Harrison isn't stupid and knows the girls are still mermaids. Though he has a better relationship with Zane, he's still an ambitious man. So when he and his son return and the boy gets back with a young Rikki Chadwick (who he initially disapproved of), he knows there's more to the story.

So he sits and waits, bidding his time to have some connection with her when the opportunity arises when Zane comes to him about the JuiceNet Café closing. He wouldn't have cared if Zane hadn't mention Rikki saying she wanted to run the cafe. So Harrison decides that the best way to get connected to the mermaid would be by influencing a financial tie, so he buys the café and has Zane and Rikki run it.

Zane isn't stupid. He knows his dad and that, while he did in fact plan on talking him into buying the cafe, he didn't budge until Rikki's name was mentioned. And considering how his Old Man wasn't sworn to secrecy, Zane decided he'd keep on eye on him.

For the most part, Zane feels a bit like he was just overly paranoid and his dad really just wants to let them run the cafe. Money is coming in, people are always gathering, he has loyal employees and Rikki is doing just beautifully as his co-owner. He can't help but admire what new ideas she's always coming up with.

One night, Zane overhears his dad talking about Rikki. He hoped it was just subtle mentioning, but then he revealed he wanted to capitalize on Mako and the moon pool. (To be fair, his dad was a natural businessman, so if he had any inkling on what the moon pool did, he could use this!) Realizing the cafe was a front to bind Rikki to his father and his plans, he formulated a plan. One he might not get Rikki back if it all went down perfectly. But first, he needed to go back. He needed to be "Zane Before Rikki".

It hurt Zane to realize just how easy it was to revert to his old ways. On one hand, he now knows that if he had to do it for Rikki, he would. But he also knows that Rikki is preoccupied with the moon pool and why it's acting the way it was. The first step was to get Rikki away from the cafe. This pained him considering it was her name on the signs and advertisements, even more to purposely mismanage the money but one way his father could bind her to him, and by extension the girls, were to use the cafe against her. So he made a scam using the dirt bike race and he knew Nate would love to help cause a little chaos, and knew Rikki would find out. However, he hated that Will knew how to ride, but it worked....until he nearly suffered a head injury. So, it didn't work, but he got a almost got a kiss from Rikki!

But then, he starts to notice something. Or rather two somethings. The Benjamin Siblings, Will and Sophie Benjamin to be exact. He's not completely stupid. Sophie is a hard worker, but he knows she has a thing for him. And Will?...Something about the guy rubs him the wrong way. Especially with the girls involved. Mainly Rikki. To be fair, he understands the whole Water Tentacle thing and understands what the risk is if the guy kept exploring Mako Island. But then, both started crossing boundaries! To start, even though he wasn't close to her, the fact the guy forced Bella to reveal herself to him was a red flag! And that was saying something considering he was working with Denman when he found out the Secret. Then, there's Sophie, who's making it clear she likes him and wants everything that he's given to Rikki. Zane already knew the consequences of outsiders looking into the group, he recalls most of the Charlotte Incident clearly!

And Zane knows that for the last part of his plan, he needs to use Sophie.

While the girls were dealing with Mako, Zane was dealing with his father. He's been asking about her a lot lately and criticizing his business skills (not knowing his son was sabotaging the place on purpose). But as he was busy keeping an eye on him, he wasn't there to save Rikki when she was kidnapped! He hated that! And he also hated how the girls rescuing her also required Will's help, essentially forcing themselves to reveal their secret too! On Rikki's birthday, no less!

In hindsight, with Ash and Lewis gone, having another guy to watch the girls was some comfort. But that didn't mean he didn't see it! Blonde, blue eyes, chiseled chest, a better diver, and greater connection to the ocean, plus his biking skills...Will Benjamin was practically his nemesis the universe made to take Rikki away from him. He had more and better qualities to him and if he was a better guy, he would have told Rikki this, but the further away from him and distracted she was, the better. But this was causing fights between her and him, fights he knew was coming when he pretended to be an asshole who couldn't understand her obsession with the moon pool (or better yet, her obsession with being a mermaid).

And this is where Sophie kissing him as Will Dive Tournament did the final job. To be honest, it wasn't planned, and he hated hurting Rikki. But when he found out that his father was planning on having someone explore the island to find the pool again, he knew he needed to focus his energy on severing the last tie between him and Rikki: Zane himself. And it worked: Rikki wanted nothing to do with him or the cafe.

And his father was FURIOUS! "How could he let her go?!" he had said. But Zane wasn't going to tell him it was to protect her from Harrison Bennett.

There were cons with his plan: One of them being Sophie trying to make the restaurant her own. It was exhausting putting up with her, especially with Rikki still coming to the cave, and Harrison making "surprise" visits, hoping to catch the fiery mermaid that was once his. Not to mention, he and Cleo shared a connection with a geologist name Ryan Tate, who was searching the island and accidentally found the moon pool. So when Zane found Sophie with Rikki's crystal necklace, he had to be a dick! Between Sophie and his father, who had sprung another surprise visit that day and nearly saw the jewel, he knew how much deep water he was in.

So, he gave the money to Ryan to mine the moon pool. Harrison was heavily hinting to backing Ryan first, but surprisingly, Sophie intercepted him and brought him to Zane. If the pool was broken, no more could his father find a way to make a profit through mermaid transformations. Zane was also aware this is where he should confess everything to Rikki and save their fragile relationship. But he never deserved her and she could do better. She'd be mad at what he'd done, whether he told her or not, but he was doing this for her. And he'll apologize when it was all over.

A lot of changes when you realize you were nearly utterly annihilated by a comet planning to hit Earth, especially when you were standing on the target. The target: Mako Island. Another thing that carried through was the destruction of the moon pool, which Sophie and Ryan nearly stole from until Will gave his sister an ultimatum: Riches or him. Zane was surprised when she chose him. And then that spectacular light show happened and Zane found himself wondering if maybe he should have been more in-the-know about what was really happening to the moon pool.

Rikki's was rented out for the graduation party and Lewis returned. And maybe he should be relieved that Will finally kept his eyes on Bella and not Rikki. But no one can tame Rikki Chadwick. And he still can't go and tell her that everything he did, he did for her. From sabotaging Rikki's, cheating, to playing a part in the moon pool's inactivation. He knows even if justified, he's lost her. But it's okay. As long as she's free, he's happy. And that's enough.

#h2o just add water #h2o mermaid #zane bennett #rikki chadwick #cleo sertori #emma gilbert #bella hartley #character development #Mako mermaids #ways Zane could have grown since season 2

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fuchsiagrasshopper · 4 years ago

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Contending the Flame XII

Author’s note: I’m back after this chapter kicking my butt, I must have rewritten it three times until I was satisfied because it introduces many characters from the show and I wanted to get them just right. Not sure I’m happy with the result still, but yep, here it is. Enjoy lovelies!

Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word count: 5347

Warnings: The usual

King Harald's hall smelled like a fishmonger's home, and it was as inviting as a slave trader's ship. Sitting down to a meal with the man, Ivar tried to contain his displeasure at being there. It had been on Hvitserk's face since their ships had treaded through the carcasses of dead whales in the bay. Both the brothers managed to set aside their poor manners when they came face-to-face with Finehair, but it lingered in the backs of their minds, just like the bad smell.

Ivar was able to ignore the pleasantries and idle chatter that Harald was currently speaking. He was much more preoccupied with the dark-haired Queen on the throne adjacent to the King. Astrid, Lagertha's shieldmaiden and bed warmer, was sipping from her horn of mead while giving Harald loving looks. They were practiced and disingenuous, but they did not explain how she came to be here. Clearly not of her free will, but Harald was too besotted to notice her veiled contempt.

To Ivar's left sat Freydis, introduced as his personal thrall. He had gauged for any sort of inkling of familiarity to pass between her and Harald, but alas he only seemed to have eyes for his new Queen. Freydis was too cunning to give away anything on her part, and that left Ivar wondering if she was as great a deceiver as Loki, or that she hadn't been sent by Finehair to begin with.

That put his mind back on Lagertha and Kattegat. She must have been the one to send in a spy. She only cared for Bjorn, and she wanted all of the other sons of Ragnar to perish just like their mother. That was how he saw it anyhow, but he knew his brothers would disagree. They weren't as quick to take up arms against Ragnar's first wife as he was, and that made him feel bitterly alone.

Freydis continued to shower him with compliments and attention, and he lent into the treatment. He needed to keep her close until it was discovered who she was working with, but he was also missing you. She was a strange substitute for your place, holding none of the similarities that had endeared you to him. He was still frustrated by you revealing your name to Heahmund as well, and perhaps this was his way of acting out against you. It was a petty move considering you weren't even there to witness this ongoing dance with Freydis.

"If you were to help me conquer Kattegat," Harald said, catching Ivar's attention. "Would one of you want to be King?"

Hvitserk sent Ivar a look as if to say 'It's a trap'. Harald was looking for humble allies who wouldn't challenge his bid to be King of all Norway. He must not have understood the sons of Ragnar, or he was coming from a place that underestimated them.

"It is our home," Ivar replied vaguely.

"Of course, I understand your attachment. Your father was King before, and then your Queen mother. I respect your family, but Kattegat is also too important a location for trade. I would need it to fuel my war and feed my army. Whoever rules Kattegat must accept that his lead is to benefit me, a mutual working relationship."

"I'm sure that could be arranged," said Hvitserk.

Ivar nodded. "We would be accommodating to your plight."

"And what of Lagertha there now? Perhaps she could make me a better offer?"

If Harald had any sense, he would have noticed his Queen's false looks of adoration had ceased at the mention of Kattegat's current ruler. Ivar gave a smirk that was meant for Astrid.

"If she had anything to offer, she would have already done so," He said, reaching for more mead. "Our army has the numbers. Lagertha will die. She is a usurper and coward."

Astrid had to hide her foul look when Harald took her hand in his, but even through her blank stare could Ivar feel her loathing. Harald continued to stroke her fingers as he spoke. "And how will she die? I do not doubt your heart or courage Ivar, but Lagertha is a shieldmaiden worthy of Valhalla. You cannot achieve a victory hand-to-hand."

Freydis grabbed his hand beneath the table, and he wanted to smack it away. The frustration he felt at himself for not being able to challenge his mother's killer in single combat would always be his greatest failure. He could outwit the legendary shieldmaiden, but at the time of her death, he feared he would not be satisfied.

"I have my own way of getting to Lagertha, but first we need your answer. Will you fight alongside the sons of Ragnar?"

"I count only two of you," Astrid piped up. "Are the sons of Ragnar not of one mind? Where are Bjorn and Ubbe?"

Harald planted an obnoxious kiss on Astrid's mouth before she could turn. "My beautiful wife raises a good question. Where are your brothers?"

"Bjorn is our half-brother," Hvitserk said with a shrug, "And his intentions will always align with his mother."

"And Ubbe is a traitor. He sailed with a handful of our warriors to Kattegat," Ivar said, glad for the lie. His mind slipped to you for a moment, but he shook it away. He had refused to bring you here in person, but even in thought, it was dangerous. You were a distraction that could cause him to make a mistake or have poor judgement, through no fault of your own.

"Then I'm certain Lagertha will be anticipating our assault," Harald said with a frown.

"But she won't have an idea as to when. She knows we will bring the fight to her, but we have the advantage of time," Ivar pointed out, and he could feel Hvitserk's questioning look.

Harald let out a laugh. "You remind me of why I fought alongside your father. I cannot refuse the offer to join with the sons of Ragnar and their army now. Let us share a horn and thank the Gods we have this opportunity to become Kings."

The men each took a drink from Harald's own horn, and Ivar could feel Astrid's eyes following it as it was passed around the table. She was more cunning than he would have ever accredited her to be, which made her a threat to their plans moving forward.

"Tonight you shall sleep in my hall, and tomorrow we can discuss plans for our army."

'Our army'. He certainly wasted no time in claiming their men for his own. Ivar smiled through his irritation. Harald was watching for his reaction. He wasn't so distracted by his new Queen to have lost all sense when it came to a possible enemy.

"We'll take you up on that offer," Hvitserk piped up after the stretch of silence had grown uncomfortable.

"I will have my thralls prepare a room."

Ivar turned to Freydis. "You will assist them."

"Of course, Ivar." She stroked her hand lovingly down his arm.

The sensation shot a shiver down his spine, a reaction he couldn't help. He hated to think he was as weak-willed as his brothers when it came to blonde thralls, but his wavering resolve was laughing at him.

The table began to disband with Harald dragging the unfortunate Astrid back to his room. Ivar and Hvitserk returned outside and began to walk through the streets of Vestfold to return to their men. Hvitserk's mind was buzzing, and Ivar knew his brother had a word or two he wanted to get in.

"We can't go to war against Kattegat with Harald," He started at the moment they were alone. "We'd be betraying our own people, and Ubbe is there with our warriors."

"I know that."

Hvitserk didn't like how short of an answer he gave. "And (Y/N)'s there too. Have you forgotten that?"

"Of course I haven't," Ivar barked back. "But Lagertha is still my enemy, even if you've forgotten that. I can't allow her to live."

"She's my enemy too, brother. I know you loved mother, more than I did. But you also have to know she loved you more than any of us. If you say she didn't then you're either not as smart as I thought, or you're in denial."

Ivar knew it to be true. He knew it all too well when growing up. Ubbe and Hvitserk were closer in age and always together, leaving him alone. All he had to do was let out one small cry and mother would forget about Sigurd, the brother he should have been close to. It was something he exploited at the expense of the relationships with all of his brothers. He had a lot to make up for.

"If we can find a way to unseat Lagertha from the throne, then there would be no cause to go to war."

Hvitserk halted in his tracks as they made it to the docks. The boards were stained red and slick with the blood and oil from whales. Many of Harald's fishermen couldn't be bothered to spare the sons a second glance. They were preoccupied with loading their ships, huffing and puffing through the stink in the air that was not so foul out in the open.

"Please tell me you have a plan to do that," Hvitserk said in a hushed voice that was almost lost to the wind.

Ivar smirked back. "I didn't bring the Bishop along just to annoy you. We just have to get him to Kattegat to kill Lagertha before our army can arrive."

"You're willing to place all our hopes on that Christian?"

"He would do it for his freedom. What's one more dead heathen to him other than another purified soul gone from this earth?" Ivar said confidently. "Yes, brother, I am as certain he will do this as I am that Lagertha is the one to have sent Freydis to me."

Hvitserk was about to comment but was interrupted by an approaching presence that commanded the attention of the crowd. The previously busy workers stopped to part for her, but she was not flattered by the gesture. She marched with purpose, straight towards them, and Ivar gave a half bow in mocking as she arrived.

"Your majesty," He teased. "Not come to plead for mercy on Lagertha's behalf I hope. I have none."

Astrid's look was as dark as her hair, but she set aside her grievances to settle whatever she had come for. "No, Ivar. I have come in the hopes to make a deal with you."

"Really," He said, airing out his skepticism. "What do you want?"

She stepped closer, almost in a threatening display that had Hvitserk reaching for his knife. His concern wasn't unwarranted, as she was a shieldmaiden to Lagertha. Astrid eased her intensity while placing her hands up to signify no harm. "I want you to smuggle me back to Kattegat."

Both Ivar and Hvitserk shared a laugh, but she did not falter. She must be more miserable with Harald than Ivar had gleaned, but that wasn't his concern. "Why would we do that? There's great risk involved for us. Harald is obviously quite taken with you, and we'd be making an enemy of him because you have reservations about sharing his bed."

"I have information for you, regarding that woman by your side, the thrall."

Ivar's back straightened and he looked to Hvitserk with curiosity. This was the answer they had been searching for. "What do you know of Freydis?"

Astrid smirked. "She's a spy, but I'm sure you've already gathered that. I won't say anything more out here. Harald still doesn't trust me enough to not have me followed, and I won't give up what I know without a guarantee that you'll give me what I want."

"When then?" Hvitserk asked and he sounded as impatient as Ivar felt.

"Tonight, after Harald passes out from too much meat and drink. Make sure that thrall of yours is kept occupied as well. I shouldn't have to tell you not to trust a spy, but you're men, and I've seen the way you look at her," Astrid remarked while giving Ivar a pointed look. "Don't let me down sons of Ragnar. Your father lost many things towards his end, but never his integrity. I suspect the gods instilled the same in you."

Astrid departed and a group of guards followed after at a distance. It appeared she was correct about her limited freedom, and after saying much, Ivar wondered what else she was right about. She had given them much to think on at any rate, and he tried not to feel slighted at the comment about his apparent weakness for Freydis' beauty.

"Can we trust her?" Hvitserk asked at his side. They both took a seat on the ledge of the longship that had carried them in earlier that same day.

"She's desperate to return to Lagertha, and she knew Freydis was a spy without us feeding her that information. We'll have to hear her out first, but I suspect she's being honest about this."

"But not about her intentions once she's back in Kattegat," said Hvitserk. "Harald is being played by us and his Queen. Guess he isn't about to be King of all Norway any time soon."

"Thank the gods for that. I want to be in faraway lands when that happens," Ivar said with a smirk as his brother broke into a laugh.

"Then I'm coming with you. You'd be lost without me."

"I would," Ivar admitted, and it had a sobering effect on Hvitserk, who grew quiet beside him.

Truly, he didn't know where his fate would take him, but he knew it would be better if his brother was at his side. And you as well. Ivar closed his eyes and recalled your face, your laugh, and your kiss. You would be a free woman by now, and he hoped you wouldn't be too cross with him about that little stunt next time you met. He wanted to see you this very moment, but the distance made that impossible. For now, he would have to rely on his memories and hope that Niorun would bless him with dreams of you.

ooOOoo

You were alone again. This was nothing new since arriving in Kattegat. You wish you could say you knew more about the city, but all you had seen was the four walls of Audhild's cabin. She had left to take another trip into the market, and you had come close to begging her to take you with her. It seemed she and Ubbe were of the same mindset when it came to keeping you out of trouble, and you had no doubt it was Ivar's doing. Even an ocean away he was still in charge of your life and it was as endearing as it was infuriating.

The first thing Audhild had done for you was provide you with new clothes. The loose-fitted secondhand frocks no longer befitted your station as a free woman. You were given wool leggings and tunics, along with a belt that cinched around your waist. Ladies didn't wear trousers back in England, and it was taking getting used to. You often found yourself tugging and adjusting at the fabric, all while Audhild would shoot you queer looks.

As thanks for her setting you up with new garments, you would cook the meals for you both. It was a favor to both of you really, because, after the first night of eating her dry bread and burnt fish, you didn't think your stomach could handle the pain. You had even managed to learn how to properly butcher a rabbit, something you had never eaten back home.

Ubbe would pop around from time to time to see you, as well as keeping you both informed about the ongoing situation with Lagertha. For now the ruling Queen was content to let Ubbe stay among the people, though according to him she never passed up a chance to bring up questions about Ivar. That let him know her guard was still up, and she did not yet trust the elder son of Ragnar.

While you were glad for the updates, you couldn't shake the wavering disappointment about your newfound freedom. All of your knowledge about the people of Kattegat came from the words of Ubbe or your host, and you hadn't even met Ubbe's wife yet. So far being a free woman didn't feel any different than enslavement, and the growing loneliness was what pressed you to venture out on your own from the cabin.

You waited enough time to be sure Audhild hadn't turned back on her way into town before throwing on a pair of fur-lined boots and overcoat. You had no plan on where you were going, only that you wanted to see something of this new land that wasn't the inside of Audhild's cabin. England was all flat plains and rolling green hills, but Norway was jagged mountains and dark forests with cold rushing rivers. It had never crossed your mind that you would be interested in seeing new lands, probably because as a nun your only travels would have been to other cities and villages across England tending to the sick and spreading the word of God.

You headed out with Ivar's knife tucked into your belt and began to take the path eastward. You knew west would take you the way towards Kattegat, that was where Audhild had gone. As tempted as you were to see the market, you knew it could land you into trouble to meet more of the Northmen while alone for the first time. Your only mission today was to better acquaint yourself with the land.

The breeze felt wonderful on your face, and you had forgotten the taste of breathing fresh air. It was earthy and damp here, not like the iron and smoke of York. The bit of frost that was on the ground crunched beneath your boots. Winter came earlier this far north. You could see it in the grey of the sky that spelled snow. You hoped Ivar and Hvitserk would return before the waters froze over and that they would be bringing peace with them. Absurd! Letting out a breathy laugh, you remembered fondly that Ivar wasn't a peaceful being.

You missed him. At night after Audhild was snoring across the cabin, you would lie awake and stare at the ceiling, thinking of him. You didn’t understand what it meant, but your heart raced and your body grew restless at the mere thought of him. There was so much more that needed to be shared, and you were trying to compile everything in your mind so you would be ready for his return. You wouldn't call it love, not yet, but you knew you held affection for him and that put you at odds with your vows and God. In the eyes of the church, you were still a nun, though you hadn't thought of yourself as such for a while now. You still loved God, but you no longer wanted to be his bride.

"Oh!" You gasped in surprise when you realized you were somewhere new.

Your trekking had broken you out from the forest and out to a bank of the river. You could constantly hear it flowing back from the cabin, and you were excited about finding it. The water was crystal blue, and the surface current was slow and free over the rocks. A small house with a thatched roof sat by the shore, and there was a fire burning low in a pit outside. Someone was still nearby.

You started down the path towards the house while pondering who could want to live this far out from the town. You had thought Audhild was the furthest away. Hermits were common among the Saxons, so it wasn't unreasonable to assume the Northmen had their fair share. Not that you were judging them, in fact, it was for that reason that gave you the confidence to approach.

"Hello?' You called out as you rounded the fire. It was still warm, and you did the stranger a kindness by throwing a nearby log onto the pit. The flames immediately fed on the new fuel, spreading high into the air and sending a warmth through you that was welcome after your walk. You took another look around before kneeling down in the gravel to huddle closer to the fire. It seemed that no one was around for the moment, and that granted you the luxury of peace. Everything was so unfamiliar, every branch and rock different than what you had seen in England. You thought you would have missed home, or at least held a longing for it, but no. You couldn’t even summon a fondness for it now. What you missed wasn’t a place, but a person.

You became lost in the beauty of your surroundings that you didn't notice the stranger appearing from behind the home. He moved with impossibly quiet steps, and you weren't alerted to his presence until he was looming over you, blocking the light of the fire. You let out a yelp as you fell onto your backside in the gravel. The large man narrowed his eyes at you as you scrambled to your feet. If Ivar could see you now. He would be furious you had let your guard down enough to be snuck upon. Stay alive he'd said.

"Who are you?" The man asked, and his voice was softer than you expected.

"I'm Ólaug," You said, fighting the tremble in your voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were here."

His head tilted to the side, watching you with a keen stare that you had only felt from Ivar. "What do you want? Did Lagertha send you?"

"No, I don't know Lagertha."

"You don't know the Queen of Kattegat, shieldmaiden and first wife of Ragnar Lothbrok." You didn't answer and he let out an insouciant giggle. "You're a Christian."

The way he said it made it sound awful, and you hated the way it made you feel. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yes. It's your hair and the way you speak." The stranger started to sit down by the fire, a string of fish hanging over his shoulder. He dropped his catch at his side and pulled a knife from his belt, getting to work on cutting filets. "Sit down, betrothed woman," He pressed while pointing with his blade to the spot across from him.

"Excuse me?"

"What, are you deaf?"

You took a seat once more, but not because he had asked it of you. “Why did you call me that just now? Betrothed woman…”

“Your name, that’s what it means.” He continued to fling fish heads and bones into a pile, never giving you the courtesy of his attention.

Ivar had given you the name, and it suddenly clued in that it was made in jest. Bride of Christ was what he had first called you, and now 'betrothed woman'. You smiled to yourself, not entirely at odds with the moniker.

“How did you come here, Christian? You don’t look like a thrall.”

“I’m not,” You replied quickly, and you found that he had stopped his task of cleaning his fish to observe you. You did the same in return. He was older and battle-worn judging by his stiff movements when he had sat down. His light hair was wispy and tied back in one long braid, and his rangy frame was draped in a brown fur pelt. You thought his eyes were sad. “What’s your name?”

“Floki.”

You were sure Ivar had mentioned him in passing, but you couldn’t recall when. “Alright, Floki. I was a thrall, but I was freed recently. I came from York with Ubbe Ragnarsson.”

"Ubbe has returned? Then he has abandoned Ivar."

You didn't know what Floki's connection was to Lagertha, so you didn't correct him on his assumption about the brothers being apart. "You are close with the sons of Ragnar?"

"Of course. They are the offspring of the greatest man I've ever known and my brother. They are kin," He said and his face was alive with passion. "And you must be connected to them. Was it Ivar who also freed you after giving you that knife?"

You looked down at the weapon on your belt, feeling flustered. "How do you know about the knife?"

"I taught that crippled brat everything he knows. I recognize his skill and craft in that blade," said Floki shaking his head. "That boy, so much like his father."

"Don't call him a cripple."

Floki's eyes shot to you and there was that giggle again. "Oh, and you're defensive of him as well. Are you his betrothed woman?"

The fire you sat beside could never warm you as much of those words just then. You knew you were red up to your ears, but you tried to deny whatever he was implying regardless "I'm not his anything."

"Then why did he set you free?"

You hadn't even admitted to him that Ivar had done so, but he had already decided that was the truth. He was still as a tree, the fish forgotten in the long line of your conversation. You felt unnerved by him as if everything about you was exposed to him like a gaping wound, and you had never been so relieved to be interrupted when a voice called out from above the path.

"Floki!"

It was Ubbe, looking out of breath and panic-stricken as he dashed down towards you. A blonde woman was trailing behind him, appearing displeased to be dragged this far out into the bush. She must be the wife.

You and Floki both stood as Ubbe came to the fire. He turned to you first, and you anticipated a lecture. "Why did you leave Audhild's cabin? I'm supposed to keep you safe. You can't wander off when you don't know the land or its people well enough."

"I would if you let me," You retorted while feeling humiliation for being scolded in front of Floki.

"Don't fret Ólaug," Floki interjected while planting a firm hand on Ubbe's shoulder. "He's only concerned to find you here because he thinks I'll kill you like I did Athelstan."

Ragnar's monk. Your eyes widened with surprise and fear, all while the two men shared a grin and embraced.

"Thought you'd gone on to lands unknown," Ubbe said to Floki as they parted.

"The Gods brought me home. They have something for me to do here yet," He said while looking back at you. "She is Ivar's woman?"

Ubbe turned to you with a grin and you looked down, not liking the attention. "You'll have to ask him. He's in Vestfold with Harald."

"Planning on Lagertha's demise then."

"Is that a problem for you?" Ubbe asked, becoming serious.

"Lagertha has been my friend for a long time, but your mother was also. She had such a connection to the gods." Floki's head pulled up to the sky as if a string was attached tugging forth to some greater presence. "Neither of them should have ever suffered over Ragnar. A great King and a true Viking, but a poor husband. Something I hear Bjorn has inherited."

You noticed Ubbe's face flush, and he brushed his hand down his neck. "Well, I know Ivar is set on revenge, and I don't know if there's anything that can change his mind."

By then Ubbe's wife had caught up to their circle, and you got the impression she wasn't pleased to be left behind. She was dressed in a thick red robe with fur trim, and her long hair was twisted onto her head like a crown. You wondered if all the women of Kattegat were blonde and beautiful, and you ran your fingers through your short hair. Ivar had said it was ugly when you first met. Vanity had suddenly become a trouble for you and you didn't like it.

Ubbe must have noticed you staring at his woman, and he quickly brought an arm around her to introduce her into the group. "Ólaug, this is my wife, Margrethe."

"Hello," You greeted, and as you waited for her reply, she took one long surveying look at you that ended with her nose wrinkled and her mouth puckered.

"Hello," She said shortly.

You wouldn't be making a friend out of her anytime soon, and you weren't bothered by that. She was as unpleasant as she was gorgeous, and Ubbe sent you an apologetic shrug for her frosty demeanor.

"I need to get you back to Audhild's before she wonders where you are," Ubbe explained and you nodded.

You were ready to conclude your first adventure, but you decided that you would want to speak to Floki again. He seemed to know a great deal about the sons of Ragnar and everything else that went on in Kattegat, and you wanted to poke his brain for more information that could help you grow as a free woman. You turned to the older Viking and squared your shoulders.

"Can I come back to see you?"

Floki laughed at a dazed Ubbe. "See, she's curious. I expected that from any woman of Ivar's."

At the mention of him, Margrethe recoiled further into Ubbe's side and sent you a scathing glare. You stared back at her with vacant eyes until she became uncomfortable and craned her neck towards the woods. Her escape.

"Betrothed woman," Floki interrupted, taking your hands in his massive ones. "You are a Christian, and I hold no love for your God or people. I've killed hundreds of your kind, and one who held the love of my King. But you have sailed on our ships and left your lands, and came out free on the other side. Our gods favor you as much as my dear Ivar, and I will speak to you again."

"Thank you," You whispered.

He smiled back for a moment, and you thought the perpetual melancholy that surrounded him had lifted in a brief respite. It returned as he dropped your hands, and he started to flick his wrist back and forth in a waving motion. "Now leave me alone. All of you."

Ubbe tugged on your coat sleeve to get you moving, and when you turned to join him, you spotted Margrethe up ahead.

"Sorry, she's not always like that," He insisted as he noticed your look.

No Ubbe, you thought, she most certainly was always that way, but he was too besotted with her looks to realize. Whatever was going on in his marriage wasn't your business, and you kept quiet by his side as he led you back to Audhild's cabin. You were impressed that you could have remembered the way if Ubbe hadn't been at your side. Something about the nonlinear path had felt familiar, and you were already looking forward to walking it again.

Your last thoughts before you slept were of Ivar, an ocean between you and with so much more to say. You wanted to tell him about Floki and talk with him about his mother. You wanted to be back at his side. He was such a large part of where your life had turned, and now that he had left you alone in this strange place you felt brittle and forgotten.

You refused to be overlooked as another Christian brought into their midst or condemned for being Ivar's woman when you weren't even sure if that was your place. Whatever your feelings for him were, they meant nothing if you couldn't secure your own station among the Northmen. That night you vowed to God, their gods, and yourself that you would become strong of heart and embrace your new life alongside the heathens. All life came with sacrifice and war, and whatever nightmares you would be forced to face, you would conquer them.

Taglist

@pomegranates-and-blood @siren-queen03 @peachyboneless @didiintheblog @soleil-dor @zuxiezendler @pieces-by-me @xbellaxcarolinax @heavenly1927 @everyartistwas-firstanamateur @youbloodymadgenius @xceafh @strangunddurm @shannygoatgruff @1950schick @tgrrose @castielsangelsx @rose1729 @ladynightshade30 @mlchael-guerin @dangerouspsychicgardenflower @ritual-unions-gotme @readsalot73 @lonewolf471 @poisonous00 @alytavzla @snatcherheart

#ivar x reader #ivar x you #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings #history vikings #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #vikings ivar #ivar x y/n #ivar lothbrok

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fullmetalscullyy · 4 years ago

Text

hold my girl

summary: the prompt used is “shh, it’s okay. it was just a dream” and it comes from this prompt list (feel free to send me more if you’d like!)

an: i've not written young royai in so long and the mood struck me this afternoon so decided to roll w it and see where it took me! a wee bit of hurt/comfort was nice too. bby riza deserves all the hugs. listening to hold my girl by george ezra didn't influence this at all. nope.

rated: t | words: 2835 | tags: hurt/comfort, young royai, nightmares, pre-canon, angst with a happy ending

read on ao3

There are two people calling out to Riza in her dream, but she finds their cries are overwhelming and loud. It feels like an assault from multiple fronts. She doesn’t know where to look, who to answer, and feels like she is being pulled in so many different directions by each of them as they fight for her attention. The worst part is they become angry or offended when Riza doesn’t give her full, undivided attention to them. But it’s impossible to please them both.

Her mother’s face flashes before her eyes. She’s pleading with young Riza, begging her to save her from the illness that’s ravishing her body so unfairly. But she’s quickly removed from Riza’s sight. Her father muscles his way into view, expression irate that she isn’t good enough to get a grasp of alchemy. He raves about how useless she is because she cannot transmute anything. She’s of no importance to him if she cannot perform such a simple task.

Both parents are fighting to be heard over each other, both deafening and commandeering.

Suddenly, they’re gone. Riza is left reeling and gasping for breath in the sudden silence. The ringing in her ears from the raucous noise prior is piercing and painful, making her flinch.

She does not get to rest in her dream though, which has turned into a nightmare.

There’s a faceless stranger looming over her. They cast a long, dark shadow as light illuminates them from behind in the empty, white room, devoid of any defining characteristics. She hears her name being called, but it is muffled and distorted. She doesn’t recognise the timbre, cannot assign it to anyone she is acquainted with. Riza shields her eyes as she turns her head upwards, to try and face them, but the light in the room is so impossibly bright, she cannot manage it. She catches glimpse of a moustache and glasses before it becomes too much to bear. The light sears her eyes, leaving her in pain. Eyes are squeezed tightly closed to try and give some kind of reprieve. It helps a little, but not by much.

After she recovers, the person shakes their head in disappointment. They turn their back on her and walk away, leaving her alone.

Her parent’s cries for attention are gone. Their faces are nowhere to be seen, leaving only the echoing footsteps of the mystery person’s retreating form. The two features she’d managed to pick out sparked an inkling of recognition within Riza, but it was not enough to grasp on to and make a connection. She cannot place them anywhere. Still, their departure feels just as crushing as her parent’s, and Riza doesn’t know why.

She’s left alone while the light from above starts to blind her. Even behind closed lids, it fights its way through. It heats her skin slowly, leaving her sweating and uncomfortable. When it becomes too much to bear, she starts to cry. There’s something gripping onto her chest tightly, squeezing at her heart relentlessly.

Loneliness.

Someone else is calling to her, but it’s too much to bear to try and figure out who. The pain is too much, blazing across her skin. The light is quickly fading while Riza is left on the cold ground, alone and afraid.

“Riza!”

Something jerks her upright. There’s a heavy pressure on her shoulders and in her disorientated and agitated state in the darkness, she fights against it. The pressure doesn’t move though, and another sensation joins it. There’s something – no, multiple things – digging into her skin, but it is not sharp or intended to harm, just hold on and not let her escape as she struggles. It doesn’t help Riza though. She continues to fight the darkness invading her.

“Let go,” she gasps.

“Riza, it’s okay!”

She recognises the voice. It was the same voice that had been calling to her as her world started to darken, after the shadow figure had left her. The recognition causes her to pause and slows Riza’s movements for a second, and that was the opportunity this new person needed.

“It’s me,” they reveal, but Riza still doesn’t know who it is –

“Riza, it’s Roy. Stop fighting, you’re safe. You were dreaming,” he adds. “I’ve got you. You’re all right.”

The fight is starting to leave her. It’s Roy? It’s Roy. It’s okay, it’s him. It’s her father’s apprentice. It’s someone familiar, and someone who isn’t yelling at her.

Her shoulders sag with instant relief.

She likes him. He hasn’t said a bad word to her face yet, but she cannot trust him so easily. Not going by what everyone else around her whispers behind her back. Still, he always shoots her a smile and takes the time to say hello and tries to strike up a conversation with her. He’s friendly, but still. Riza is wary.

As reality returns to her slowly, Riza realises she’s in her bedroom. She’s out of that bare, white room with the impossibly bright light where her parents were shouting at her so loudly. Her skin tingles but there’s no heat or pain like there had been in her nightmare. Taking stock, she realises her body is covered in a cold sweat. Her hands are clammy as they grip onto Roy’s upper arms tightly.

Her grip is so tight. She must be hurting him.

She flinches back, but Roy doesn’t let her go. In the dim light of her room she can see him scrutinising her face closely. He is concerned for her. He looks worried.

Looking down at her hands, she loosens her grip. She wants to run away from him, to hide. She feels completely exposed, ashamed after her show of weakness, and wants to burrow underneath her bedcovers and never show her face to Roy again.

He shouldn’t have witnessed her nightmare, and Riza scolds herself for probably being so loud that she woke him up. He needs his rest to practice and study with father. He doesn’t need Riza interrupting that or diverting his attention elsewhere, like father warned her not to do.

Besides, this was not her first nightmare, and Riza doesn’t think for a second it will be the last. She is used to them, but has to admit, they are starting to wear on her. She doesn’t know what to do, though. She doesn’t know how to make them stop. Exhausting herself with chores throughout the day so she falls into such a deep sleep works sometimes, but not every time. And that leaves her even more fatigued the day after. It is turning into a vicious cycle that will only end badly for her.

She feels lost and alone, struggling to keep a lid on it all.

“Are you okay?”

No, she’s not. She wants him to leave, to let her deal with this on her own and in private –

Her face screws up involuntarily at her silent admission to herself, that she is not okay, and hasn’t been for a while. Suddenly overwhelmed, the familiar feeling of loneliness creeps up on her, unbidden. Its cold fingers wrap around her heart and squeeze, making her gasp.

“Hey,” he calls to her gently in sympathy. His voice is calming, reassuring, and welcoming. A stark contrast to the tone used by those in her dream.

Roy shifts on her bed and makes himself comfortable. As soon as he starts to move, Riza immediately fears he has somehow heard her thoughts, or she accidentally voiced them aloud, and he really will leave her alone.

Suddenly, she’s pulled tight against his side.

She’s frozen as Roy gently lays her head on his shoulder and wraps an arm around her back. His free hand rises and comes to rest against the side of her head. He cradles it and holds her in place against him, quietly reassuring her that she’s all right.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothes her, “it was just a dream.”

In a move that Riza never would have expected, Roy runs a hand through her short hair in an attempt to calm her. His hand starts its journey by almost cupping her face. His palm is warm as it partly covers her cheek and temple. Then, his fingers travel up and back, burying themselves in her sweat soaked tresses, unafraid and undeterred. As soon as he runs out of hair, he repeats the motion.

Riza is frozen on the spot, surprised at the sudden show of… affection, she realises, and comfort. They were not things she was used to. It has been a long time since someone was so kind to her… Riza squeezes her eyes closed tightly in an effort to not let her tears fall down her flushed cheeks. It is not entirely in vain, but a few do escape.

“It was just a bad dream,” Roy murmurs softly into her hair. She feels the vibrations on her scalp, and it tickles her. Now, her hair feels like it’s standing completely on end.

His movements are calming her more than she’d ever like to admit to anyone. Her heart rate is slowing, and her breathing is becoming easier with each passing stroke of her hair. A few more tears escape but neither mention it. She thinks Roy expects it. He pauses when he feels one hit the back of his hand. Riza’s eyes still remain closed, unable to face him just yet, but pop open as soon as his thumb swipes across her cheek, removing the wetness. She glances up at him in surprise, but also almost fearfully. She doesn’t want to see any disgust in his eyes at her show of emotion and weakness. But there’s nothing of the sort in his dark eyes. Only sympathy, understanding, but also wild concern.

“Are you okay?” His voice trembles slightly with worry.

The temptation to nod her head and lie is right there, but Riza stops herself.

She shakes her head. She cannot speak just yet, afraid that her voice would fail her.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” He is earnest, and while she appreciates his offer, she could never ask him to do that for her.

“No,” she croaks, her fear of a failing voice temporarily leaving her, “it’s okay. You don’t have to stay.”

“What if I want to,” he ventures slowly and carefully. He doesn’t quite meet her eyes, but after voicing his question, he turns to look back at her with confidence and surety. He is deadly serious.

Riza blinks at him, not quite understanding. “You… want to stay?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

Roy nods eagerly. “Of course. Nightmares are not good,” he adds grimly. “I don’t want you to be alone if you’re not ready to be.”

“Why?” She can’t help herself from asking. It shocks her that he would even offer such a thing.

“Because…” He doesn’t have an answer for her. He looks stumped, but a frown draws his eyebrows together. “No one should have to go through a nightmare like that alone. It looked bad,” he comments.

Riza almost shrivels in on herself. “It was,” she whispers, her voice becoming impossibly quiet.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

It would be nice to do so… It would be a welcome change, and liberating, almost, to share her worries and fears with someone. To take some of that weight off her shoulders. It’s something Riza has dreamed about a few times. And Roy offers the opportunity to her so openly and without reservation. He’s ready to listen to her, actually listen to her, and offer support.

His face is expectant when she looks up at him. There’s no disgust or disappointment. He wants to listen, just like he said. He doesn’t seem to be lying.

But of course, she feels like she would be burdening him. Riza couldn’t do that.

Riza shakes her head.

“Okay.” Again, he’s not disappointed. He’s respecting her decision.

Roy scoots forward and quietly stands up from her bed. He walks over to the chair that resides across the room by her vanity and lifts a spare blanket from it.

“What are you doing?”

“I… I want to stay with you.” His cheeks turn pink in the twilight filtering into the room from outside her threadbare curtains, but Riza doesn’t know why. “I mean, I don’t want to leave you alone. I can stay with you while you sleep if you’d like, and keep you company?”

Now, Riza’s cheeks turn crimson. He can’t stay in her bedroom with her overnight!

“I’ll just be here,” he gestures to the end of the bed, “and if you ever want to talk about your nightmare, please let me know.”

“You can’t –” The words catch in her throat. “You can’t stay in here overnight.” Riza is mortified. “Please, it’s okay. Go back to your bed, I’ll be fine –”

“You want me to go?”

No, she doesn’t. Her mouth opens to lie and reply with the affirmative, but she pauses. Her eyes widen with fear of being left alone by someone else after her dream, and the hesitation costs her. Roy sees it, as clear as day, even in the dim light.

Slowly, he settles on the end of her bed. The blanket is wrapped around his shoulders as Riza watches him, still unsure. Once comfortable, he leans his head back against the wall and turns to look at her. His smile is kind and gentle as she watches understanding blossom over his features.

“I’ll be right here, Riza, okay? If you want me to go, just let me know.”

“I…” She doesn’t want to be an imposition or a burden… But –

“What do you want, Riza? Do you want to be left alone?”

When it’s worded like that, the answer comes easy to her.

“No,” she breathes. It’s impossibly quiet, but it’s finally out there in the world. She has expressed herself openly to someone else. Someone she doesn’t fully trust, but in a way, after the comfort and kindness he has shown her so easily and readily in a time of upset, Riza finds herself being a bit more open to the possibility of it.

“All right then,” Roy nods. “I’ll be right here.”

Again, he grins at her. It’s bright, like the light from her nightmare, but it has a soft and warm glow. It is not overbearing and blinding. It’s like sitting by a warm fire on a cold winter’s day. It’s cosy and kind. It’s welcome.

Awkwardly, she lies down in her bed. She tucks the sheet right underneath her chin and curls into a tight ball. It will be weird having him in the room with her as she tries to sleep, but Riza can already feel her eyelids drooping. The fatigue from her numerous nights of interrupted sleep and the exhaustion that comes after waking from a nightmare doesn’t give her much choice but to give into it.

Without realising it, she slips away into sleep once more.

When Riza wakes a few hours later, she remembers the night she had and feels embarrassed. She’d gotten so worked up and had woken up Roy –

Her head jerks up, also remembering his promise to remain by her side through the night. She expects him to be gone but is proved wrong. Instead of what she had secretly feared, she finds him still at the bottom of her bed. His head has lolled to the side and it looks uncomfortable, but he’s sound asleep.

In the night, her body had relaxed from its tightly wound ball and stretched out. Looking down the bed with a frown, Riza discovers the reason for the strange sensation near her ankle. One of Roy’s hands was laying atop the sheet, covering her leg. She can feel the warmth and comfort of his touch through the bedsheet.

Her leg twitches and she’s at a loss of what to do. Something is telling her to move her leg immediately, to jerk it away to rid herself of the feeling, but it’s also… pleasant. The weight is calming and a reassurance that he really is still here for her.

After a few more moments of deliberation, Riza relaxes. She doesn’t fight it. She smiles at the gesture and the knowledge that he’d kept his promise. He really was there for her last night. The pleasant feeling creates a warmth inside her chest, and it spreads from her heart up to the crown of her head and makes her scalp tingle.

He’d been so good to her through the night. He hadn’t left her alone after she’d asked him not to.

Her lips tugged upwards again, happily.

She appreciated that more than he would ever know.

Perhaps her father’s apprentice could be someone she could learn to count on and trust.

The sleepy, but bright and pleased smile that Roy greeted her with when he finally woke up started to slowly solidify that thought inside her mind.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai oneshot #young royai #emma writes #keeping it basic (bitch)#i've missed writing 🥺#oneshots are always so fun to dabble w so hopefully i can work on some more soon!!#emma talks

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pleom · 5 years ago

Text

swimmer!bang chan [M]

Warnings: heavy angst, mentions and descriptions of depression, emotional abuse, family issues, graphic descriptions of sexual content (cunnilingus, unprotected sex, handjobs, loss of virginity)

Word Count: 8.7k

Something inside you burns. It throbs and pummels against you from the inside-out, wholly unwelcoming, though you wouldn’t say you suffer. You wouldn’t say it’s painful, either. This feeling engulfs you, blending with your senses and the way they interact with each other. Physically, you’d say it’s another part of the experience. Coupled with the vibrations (dull and wide-spaced,) the muffled sounds, the incessant screeching and tapping and cramping and pulling and—

You gasp for breath—a whistle blows—and you can’t swim.

“Y/N, out,” your coach motions for you.

The students around you move hesitantly, but ultimately part for you to exit. Your vision is still blurry, but you manage to pull yourself up the ladder without slipping. You slip on the way to the locker room though, and embarrassedly throw yourself behind the door and onto a bench without abandon.

Your eyes sting, and are probably more red than they usually are after practice. Your skin grays and itches as it slowly dries, so you take a towel to assist both matters. When the only thing keeping your body from fully shrugging off the remaining water is what slides off the tips of your hair, you fling the cloth over your head and sit there, slouched and effectively closing out the rest of the world.

The moments of before are already starting to feel fake—a blur of imagined happenings. The only thing you can clearly recall is your errors, constant and public for all to see (and they did, they most definitely did.) Your lungs cry with the remnants of salt and bleach, and your chest burns with discontent. Discontent that you almost drowned; discontent that your coach didn’t let you drown. (You’ll also be hearing that from your sister later on, when you’ll come home probably coughing and aching, and you can see it already: her prideful and mocking gestures, her feigning concern and doubting your abilities. You sit here, chest gaping, and you know you’ll have no argument against her. She was born with knowledge you had yet to achieve.)

A voice makes you jump. “Are you okay?”

You hope with every fiber of your being you aren’t the person who the question is being directed to. You let it fly over your head, and rub the fabric over your hair to look inconspicuous. Wet footsteps seem to bound straight for you, and in what feels like a second, a shadow peeks from underneath your towel. There’s no use acting like you’re no one, because someone’s standing right before you and seems dead-set on getting you to interact with them.

“Hey.”

Lifting your head, you take in the sight of Chan, all broad-shouldered and pale-skinned to the point you might blame the chemicals in the pool for it. He stands shirtless, though as dry as your throat feels. His class must be after yours.

He doesn’t know you (though you know of him) and it’s clear on his face. Why he bothers to question you, you don’t know. You shouldn’t look that out of place, since a few students like to hide and hang out in the locker rooms alone sometimes. Guess you couldn’t pass off as one of them.

“You don’t look so good,” he says, “Was Coach hard on you? I always tell Dad to go easy on the new swimmers but he never does…”

He sheepishly wrings his towel over his shoulder. It takes you a moment to absorb his words, but when you do, you’re quick to react.

“No, no he doesn’t,” you hesitate, “How did you know I was new here?”

“I come here almost every day to help my dad mentor the students. ‘Think I’d recognize a face like yours.” he takes a step back and seems to take in the look of you. You know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but you shuffle in your seat nonetheless. “Did you just transfer?”

You wince at the question and shake your head. You’re too embarrassed to reveal that you have been enrolled since the start, which for sure would make the air between you even more awkward. You quickly flip the conversation to be less you-focused. “So, you help your dad train the students? You must be under a lot of pressure.”

The coach is pretty ruthless. Every interaction with him leaves your skin feeling prickly; every command and scold, his directions, and even his praises—superficial amidst a deeper frustration. You can imagine an inkling of what he must be around his own son, if he’s anything like your own parents.

Chan tilts his head as if in deep consideration, but ultimately shrugs. He takes you by surprise when he breaks into a slight smile. “No, not really. I’m just here to help, as long as someone succeeds at something new, we mark that as a win in our books. Pressuring anyone helps no one.”

You eye the entrance to the pool. His words don’t really match up to your experiences, and you feel a slight jealousy for those who wound up so lucky. Maybe it’s because you’re a late bloomer, if you can even call it that. His father must’ve been shocked at seeing a girl your age floundering at what most have already nailed down.

“It must be nice having a professional help lead you down their path, the only reason why I took this class is so I could finally have a useful skill under my belt,” you can’t help yourself from rambling, so you shut your lips tight once you realize you’ve nearly thrown a pity party for yourself. Cautiously, you glance at Chan and hope he’s been distracted by one thing or another, or grew bored of you once you opened your mouth. Neither seem to be the case, though he looks at you with mild astonishment.

He motions for you to give him your name, and you do, reluctantly, cautiously, as though you’re making a deal that you can’t take back. When you do, he grins with a face of understanding and gives you his hand to shake. This all feels entirely foreign, disconcerting, and you can’t tell if the wetness between your fingers is nervous sweat or remnants of the pool. You have no time to think about it, because you separate when another whistle blows and students begin to file into the locker room.

Chan’s already left with a grin and a wave, and you’re left tugging on your school clothes with your heart beating waves of fire.

Chan has been on your mind ever since, though that is not exactly a feat. You tend to overthink and hyperfocus on the inane—it’s a fault your family has never let you forget. It’s what brings you to the situation at hand right now.

You come home late, after spending your time at the nearby café to sort out your school work. What you forgot to do was sort out your emotions (crucial mistake) and immediately your mother is hounding your every move. You make a snide comment, under your breath, about the state of the house: it feeds you more despair than actual food.

It ends there.

A snap here, a threat there, and you wish you had left as soon as you came. Your house’s front door slams shut behind you and you swallow that hard lump in your throat the best you can. Here, you’re so focused on that insignificant little action, one of pain and only pride, that you miss the tears and the ringing in your ears and it’s all useless. You’re useless.

The sleeves on your shirt have grown damp from all the wiping, and a thought comes: why not get it all wet? You’re already a hose of emotions, and your mother will yell at your weaknesses; the uncontrollable. Giving her a proper reason to scream seems sensible. Maybe you should empower yourself before she can impose her power on you.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you stride towards the school and mentally rummage through different ways of justifying your actions. Who cares if they don’t make sense?

You don’t.

The school pool’s entrance is surprisingly easy to get through. The inside feels especially hollow without the fuss of your classmates and coach. Every step carries its own reverb, and you momentarily hold your breath in case it does, too. But even so, the emptiness of the pool has a strange serenity to it. You bathe in it wholly.

You can’t bathe for too long, so you kick off your shoes and get right to it. You toe the edge of the pool and examine its reflections. You keep your eyes off yourself, only tracing along the ceiling lights and the stars spotted from the window. When the moon starts slowly inching into the view, you plunge.

The water whirls around you in both a menacing and tantalizing way. It plugs all of your senses and you let it. It soothes; it stings. And when you start feeling lightheaded, you resurface.

It takes a while for the blur to leave your eyes and the pounding to leave your ears. However, even with all this sensory overload, you feel blithe, and a full-belly laugh escapes you before you can stop it. You don’t want it to. This is the happiest you’ve felt in months.

Just as quickly, it ends. Abruptly, because someone has made themselves known with a loud clang. It rings from the locker room, and before you can pull yourself out of the water and hide, the door swings open and reveals—

Chan.

He’s already down to his swimwear, and looks unsurprised by your presence here. In fact, he looks somewhat pleased. “You’ve started without me.”

You’re a bit too stunned to respond, and the position of you both suddenly starts weighing on you. You’re on school grounds, way past its lockdown. The dip in the pool has definitely cleared your mind some, and you know now that what you are doing is trespassing. Maybe alone, you could’ve learned to reprimand yourself for doing so, swear to never do it again. But here you are, and there’s a witness.

Chan chuckles, clearly not running through the same thoughts in his own head. Instead, he walks over to your side and kneels, extending his hand. “Need some help?”

You can’t bring it in yourself to argue, so you take his hand and let him pull you out. You collapse very sloppily onto the tiles, the weight of your soaked clothes dragging you down. There’s silence. Your heartbeat slows once you realize Chan’s not intending on pulling any tricks. (At least you hope.)

“I won’t tell,” Chan eases your thoughts, “as long as you tell me the reason why you’re here.”

Despite saying this, there’s no urgency or force behind his words. You don’t feel pressured to answer, so you pay no mind when you do. “Wanted some time alone for myself and this was the closest thing in mind.”

“Did you know the door to the pool would be open?”

“No, not at all.”

Chan hums. He doesn’t seem suspicious of you. He doesn’t question you after that. Instead, he takes a couple steps back, “Well… if that’s all…”

He races forward and dives into the water, splashing your legs in the process. He disappears for a moment, then breaks the surface into a breastroke. He moves languidly, though sharp enough to slice straight through the liquid.

It’s a harsh contrast to you. You start to feel uncomfortable and misplaced now that the son of your coach displays his skill. Imagining yourself in his spot feels daunting, and you have to fight your instincts to just grab your shoes and run.

Back home.

The thought makes you shiver.

“Hey,” Chan floats up to you on his back. “You wanted swimming lessons, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” You’re nervous to see where this is going.

He smiles. “So hop in.”

Your parents didn’t question why you came home late that night. Nor why your clothes were mildly wet. Your sister gave her routine insult–slash–brag and was on her way. You certainly didn’t complain, now that you were left to your own devices, and on it the screen pings with a new message, one from Chan, whose contact you have yet to save.

You stay up all night responding to his texts.

When the next day comes, your loneliness hits harder than usual. You had forgotten what it was like interacting with people for a period of time longer than the length of class. You find yourself looking over your shoulder more often for a glimpse of Chan, even while swimming. And surprisingly, you don’t get yelled at by the coach for being so sidetracked. You’ve accumulated more praises, though you still sense it’s from a place of pitiful obligation.

You come home earlier than usual.

“So you’ve just given up on your education now, huh?”

“What?”

Your head snaps up at your mother’s voice. She stands as volatile as ever, hands splayed over her hips. The house smells flowery; she’s making her special rose petal flan—something she only does as a treat for herself, when things for her are going exceptionally well. These days come rare but welcomed, because usually then she’s as sensitive and motherly as one can be.

Yet today is the total opposite. And you get an inkling as to why: your English test sheet, laid on the kitchen counter.

You wince. Of course she had snooped through your room and saw your failure peeking through your garbage bin.

“I gave you so many chances, so many chances, let you drop out of math for God’s sake! And this is how you repay me? Failing your tests and coming home early? Did you even go to the library today? Have you ever studied in your entire life?!”

Your mom shows no sign of ever stopping her tirade. Her neck seems to have grown redder by the second. Your sister arrives just in time to catch the next part, no doubt excited to have her ego fed as per usual.

“We’ve moved cities, exchanged schools, and transferred jobs, just so you could have the opportunity your sister had. Do you think life was easy for her when we all lived in that garbage bin we called an apartment? Do you think she let that dissuade her from acing her studies and receiving that scholarship?” Your mother points at your sister then, and the looks on both of their faces hit you with two different senses of shame, both equally strong. “Are you honestly willing to undo all of your sister’s hard work? This is how you want to end your senior year? This is how you planned to enter adulthood?”

And with that she takes your paper and shreds it. She leaves you for the living room, sparing not one glance at the way your lips tremble and eyes glisten. It hurts, but in a way, you’re glad she doesn’t notice. It’d only stack another disappointment onto that pile she holds. Your sister’s grown bored of looking at you too, and trots off behind your mother.

Despite your blues, the sun is still up. So you exit the front door and sit on the steps. You wish you had it in you to fight back, no matter how disastrous that might end out to be. Because what your mother doesn’t realize is that it all piles up. You never asked to move to a new city, this late into high school. Everyone’s already bound and wound tight around each others’ fingers—friends, best friends, lovers, all things you’ve rarely experienced due to your momentary presence. You have your acquaintances, those who you would probably refer to as ‘friends,’ but they’re surface-level at best, not people you could ever rely on.

But that’s all she thinks you’re good for: never achieving, or attaining, or accomplishing, only to ever rely on others.

Impulsively, you pull out your cell phone and reach out to the only person nearby that you can.

TO: BANG CHAN

Just had an argument with my mom :(

Not feeling good…

FROM: BANG CHAN

Oh, no :(( are you okay?

Wanna come over and swim? Help clear your head?

The pool doors are open

Legally, this time :p

The slightest grin stretches over your face.

“And that’s how you do a butterfly stroke,”

The other kids of this program have begun to slowly disperse. They’re all younger—freshmen, probably—that make you want to douse your head in shame. The worst part of it all is that Chan isn’t even teaching them, they’ve all learned how to do the basic swimming strokes, and it makes it all the more obvious how lacking you are.

Chan had tried to placate you and tell you that most students aren’t paying attention to your mistakes, but you’re pretty sure that you saw one kid giggle when you came up for air.

As afternoon blends into evening, the lights indoors begin to feel more artificial. Chan pulls you over to a bench once most of the kids have gone home. This is when the awkwardness starts settling in.

“You should come here more often if you’re so worried about your skills, which, by the way, aren’t as bad as you think they are. No one is looking at you funny because of it.”

He pats you amiably on the shoulder. You shrug.

“I’ve already got too much on my plate. I usually go straight to the library to start on my homework. By the time I finish, it’s dinner time and I’ve got to make the switch over to the cafe to finish up my studies. An after-school swimming program can remain an afterthought, sorry,”

“Geez, no wonder I’ve never seen you walking around during class,” he gasps, “you’re up to your neck in work!”

“Yep,” you sigh. “Doesn’t even seem like it’s paying off.”

“How so?”

“My IQ is in the negatives,”

Chan jolts up as though he’s been caught asking an insensitive question, but just as quickly melts into himself. He gently slaps a hand on your arm, giggling. “No, it’s not! But for real, though…”

“I wasn’t lying,” you say, “Hours in the library, and yet I still fail.”

“It happens to the best of us, sometimes,”

“Sometimes being the key word,” you insist. “This isn’t sometimes.”

Chan is silent for a moment. “Be easy on yourself, it’s senior year, you’re allowed to make mistakes.”

You’re tempted to say ‘No, I’m not allowed. I have never been allowed. I’ve been perpetually skidding along thin ice,’ but you swallow it.

“Ok but,” you start, slowly and cheekily. “I’ve yet to see you make a single mistake in the pool. What is it going to take to make the Great Bang Chan, son of an actual professional athlete, screw up?”

“If my friends got here,” he says with a smile. “They’ve always got tricks up their sleeves. Some that they can probably teach you.”

“They swim as well?”

“Yep, but definitely not as good as me as you might’ve guessed,” he jokingly flexes, laughing. Then he sobers. “They’re coming later, if that’s okay with you.”

“Why wouldn’t it be okay with me?” You ask, but you’re already getting up to make yourself more presentable for their arrival. “That means more tutors for me.” And more judges.

There’s a moment of pleasant solitude between you and Chan before his friends trickle in. They enter in small enough numbers that it gives you time to familiarize yourself with them.

Seungmin came the earliest, the most diligent of the crew. He spoke gently and swam even softer. Felix and Jeongin toed after him, and flung water with utmost chaos. Others came and you observed, much too shy to delve into the same antics they toyed in. At times, Chan would climb out and chill with you, prompting the others to take a break and chat alongside. It all mended into a blur as the sky grew purple.

Over the days, you find the presence of Chan’s friends comforting. They’re friendly—obviously—with lighthearted races and pool tricks. They give you an experience you’ve been deprived of since you moved. They’ve taught you well, surprisingly. And it must have also come as a shock to your coach.

He approaches you one afternoon after class ends.

“Y/N, you were amazing out there,” he says. “Haven’t seen an improvement that big in a long while.”

Something about his statement rubs wrong on you. You take a step back, guarded.

“Thank you,” you say, making sure to send a polite smile his way. “Swimming has started to become more fun as the days go by. Really grateful to have made the exchange over here.”

“I’m glad as well. Honestly, I was a bit worried when you enrolled a bit late into this class. Have to keep the students all on the same page, and it’s hard to split the attention,” he sets a hand over your shoulder. “But it seems like you’ll be on the same level as the others in no time! Keep up the good work!”

And like that, your suspicions have been confirmed. Your stomach drops when he leaves, and you mentally beat yourself up for thinking you were in any way competent. A pity-compliment, that’s all that was. That’s all it ever is.

Chan rushes into the locker room and quickly changes into his swimwear. When he sees you, he smiles, pauses to wrap you up into a hug, and is out in the pool in no time. His father watches him from the sidelines fondly, with an expression that clearly holds pride and amazement.

You wonder if you will ever get that kind of look from your parents. Or anyone, for that matter.

That question is still up in the air, weeks later, when your sister intrudes on your swimming class one morning. She doesn’t interrupt or anything. She just quietly stands by the pool’s entrance and watches. You see her eyes trail over the other students and slowly back to you, making silent observations, none of them kind.

When you climb out and class is over, she pulls you to the side. She takes a moment to look you over. “So this is what you’ve picked up since you came here. Impressive.”

“Well, yeah,” you say, and try to move hurriedly to the locker room to escape her. She takes you by the arm, demanding. You struggle shoving her off. “I also need to pick up my books for next class, if you’ll excu—”

“Oh, you don’t have any class to go to right now,” she snaps. “I’ve called. You’re coming home with me for now.”

You freeze, and with satisfaction, your sister drops your arm. “Why?”

“It’s an emergency, one I thought you should know,” a small smile spreads across her lips, and your heart sinks. It can’t be a family emergency, right? Or else she’d be more panicked, right? But if it’s not, what can be so urgent that your sister would have to pick you up from school so early? “Just grab what you need for now so we can go.”

Hesitantly, you nod your head and follow her orders. When you are sat inside her car, you wait for her to disclose any information related to your early departure. She doesn’t feed your curiosity then, only drives slowly and silently down the road to your house. She makes a detour, picks a route that’s longer than your usual, and finally breaks the silence.

“You know how my scholarship gave our Mom a better opportunity at finding a job, right?” It’s a simple question, but set up dangerously and your sweat kicks in as you nod. “And since Dad isn’t the only one working anymore, we’ve got more money to spend, right?”

Right. This is a big jump from the past, when your father only made enough to cover the expenses of the bills and a few groceries. Your mother was met with job rejections left and right, and neither you nor your sister had the time or management to juggle grades as well as employment. At that time, your mother insisted that you focus more on school. She made promises that if one of you hit big, that would be enough of a reward for her. That all her stress and burdens would be paid off. You suppose it half came true. Financially, you were all rewarded.

But rather, all her stress and burdens were pushed in a different direction. You wonder what it’s like to be on the opposite side. You eye your sister, and nod your head to continue.

“So, initially, her plan was to save up to help you out once you graduated. Of course, she knew this was necessary, since there’s no way in hell you’d strike a full scholarship with, you know,” she throws you a sidelong glance, batting her eyelashes. Your hand tightens around your seatbelt. “But she realized, even with a new and improved environment, that your current habits probably wouldn’t strike you one at all. She was forgiving at first. Thought about paying half your tuition and taking a loan for the other. Welp. Then you dropped pre-calculus for swimming and made her rethink her life choices all over again. Good job!”

“Sis,” you hiss, “what does that mean?”

You can’t handle her bullshitting right now. Though you know she has all the time in the world for it. Your surroundings have begun to look unfamiliar, and the anxiety inside you strikes. That’s probably the effect she was going for.

“It means you’re fucked,” she lets out a loud laugh, “you’re not getting any help from her. Or Dad for that matter. Better start counting your pennies, sis!”

And just like that, the tightening in your chest explodes. You feel as though you’re suffocating, each intake of breath amounting to none. Your body grows hotter and you’re wracked with shivers, and stuck inside the cramped space of your sister’s car leaves you no space to handle your panic attack.

You’re overwhelmed by the thoughts of what’s to come. Getting into college—now a complete uncertainty—just to be lost in debt, and there’s nothing to do about it. You lack life experience. You’ve been holed up and relying on the bare minimum to get you by. The only moment you have been able to hold your head above the water, and your own family has dunked you back underneath. You’re struggling to win a sabotaged race.

“By the way, don’t tell Mom I told you,” your sister says, now pulling into your driveway. She chatters in a low voice, as if she doesn’t want the world to listen in on your conversation. “It’s our little secret. Just like how it was mine and hers.”

You find yourself not coming home at night. Where you stay is just about as much of a mystery to them as it is to you. You’ve huddled yourself in the locker rooms some nights, using sheets and water bottles as cushions. You’ve cornered yourself in classrooms. Hell, you’ve even holed yourself up in your family’s car, in the backseat, on the floor so that onlookers can’t peep and tattle your nightly whereabouts to your family (What a disgrace that would’ve been). But you’ve always made sure to come back home at the lick of dawn, just before the rest of them would get up and bang down your door looking for answers to ‘where’ve you been last night?’ and ‘what time did you get home?’ and you’d answer ‘the park’ or ‘friend’s’ or ‘convenience store,’ and ‘at midnight.’ Just late enough for it to be believable. No one’s ever up that late, and if one were, they’d probably be tired or drunk off their ass to notice your absence. No one’s ever called your bluff, a heartbreaking realization that you’ve come to appreciate.

Chan, though, walks into the pool at just the wrong time. You’ve just gotten used to the stench of bleach and chlorine when he nudges you awake on your makeshift bed of thin sheets and soaked homework paper. You dash up, searching and grabbing for your phone to check your alarms (How did you miss it? Was it on silent? A dead battery?). Chan chuckles as if your panic is the funniest thing he has ever seen.

“You’re fine, school’s not open till another hour and a half,” he picks up on your confusion. It seems to settle into his own features. He’s got swim trunks on, and a towel slung over his shoulder. From the corner of your eye, you note the darkness of a not-yet-risen sun. “I just decided to come in early for quick practice.”

An awkward pause and an understanding nod to himself later, he kneels. “Hey. What are you doing on the floor here?”

His eyebrows knit and his worry looks even more pronounced in this dark blue reflection of… life. How pitiful you must look. He’s probably wondering if you’re that dirt-poor, that sleeping on tile might be considered a luxury to you. But even so, you can’t bother to be embarrassed by yourself at the moment. He’s pulled you out of the comfort of unconsciousness, so now you’re fighting your natural reactions to the biting cold and solid ground.

It hurts. You’re sore and your face is blue and all you can think about is crying. It hurts that your options are either this or your home, and the fact that you chose this.

“I’m fine,” you nod meekly, “Just…napping,”

Too overwhelmed to map out a convincing lie, you prepare yourself for the defenses. This is going to sting Chan and you are sure going to regret it later, but fuck it. You’ll deal with the consequences once you’ve showered under hot water and mulled it over at breakfast.

Chan reaches for your shoulder, palm warm, and helps you sit up. “Why are you napping on the floor?”

“Because if I nap in the pool, I’ll drown.”

Chan almost cracks, and you consider that a victory. But he just as quickly wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest, one hand laying over your own. “Don’t joke about stuff like that. I’m serious. Are you okay? Did…something happen at home, again?”

Something’s always happening at home, and that’s the part that drives you nuts. Your old friends can handle you complaining about spontaneous spats with your sister every once in a while, but would go madder than you if they heard every single crisis that went down behind your walls. You have to bite and swallow every time.

You shake your head. “I tried swimming last night. It went about how’d you expect, and I knocked out on the floor immediately after. Not sure how you can do it, Chan. Honestly, everyday I respect you a little more.”

He chuckles, arm tightening around you for a pulse. “No one’s born a pro. And I promise you, you’re on your way to becoming one.”

You feel as though you’re on your way to becoming no one. You try to voice this as inconspicuous as possible.

“What if you disappoint someone because you’re not there yet?” you ask, “What if they wanted you to be a pro since the very beginning, and because you’re nowhere close, they end up mad?”

“Who’s mad? If it’s about my dad, I promise you he’s not—”

“No, it’s not him.Forget it.”

“Is it—” he inhales, “Is—Is your family upset? Is that why you’re here?”

You don’t respond. It’s enough of an answer.

“I’m not sure what they said to you, but just know they’re wrong. We all improve at our own pace, and we’re not better or worse for it. You need to give yourself patience, ignore them, just—”

“Chan, I can’t ignore them,” you snap. You pull yourself from Chan’s embrace and bury your face into your knees. Your eyes burn as the emotions take over you. It doesn’t hurt less as time goes on. “They make my life a living hell and there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t know how to do anything. I’m the very definition of useless, and the worst part is that they all know, but no one helps. I can’t leave them or else I’ll just end up… here.”

Sobs start to wrack through you, and you can’t do anything to stop it. You’re tired of wallowing in self-pity, in others’ pity, but you’re at a loss for what to do. You wish you weren’t an adult with the tendencies of a child, only there for others to look after. No one’s taught you what it takes for that transition to happen, to grow independant, to discover skills and utilize them. They’ve just thrown you in the deep end and disregarded you when you drowned. You wish you weren’t so helpless. You wish you had some help.

“I wish I knew what to say,” Chan murmurs. He’s wrapped his arms around his knees and seems to gaze into the pool. Every once in a while, he passes you a glance, but ultimately, he leaves you to yourself.

The sun has slowly started to rise, and the birds have begun to chirp. That’s your cue to get out of here, though even now you’re running behind schedule. Your eyes sting and you hope your walk back home is enough to soothe them back to normal.

Chan stands up when you do, and quickly interrupts you by the doorway. His face is sullen, concave, and heavy as though he bears the same amount of burdens that you do. Who’s to say he doesn’t?

“Just… We’ll figure this out, okay? Together.” He meets your eyes. “I’ll wait at the pool for you. As soon as they start acting up, come here immediately. Don’t let their words intimidate you.”

“Okay,” just when you think this conversation’s done, he pauses you again. A beat passes. Several. And then he leans in—

His lips press against yours, soft and warm, and are off in an instant. You don’t have enough time to savor the feeling.

He smiles and says, “I don’t want you to be in any danger, whether that be at home or otherwise, okay?”

You smile. An unnamed pressure lifts from your shoulders. “Okay.”

You feel a bit guilty, keeping Chan out of his own home during the nights and mornings. You have to fight to reassure yourself that this is out of his own volition. He certainly doesn’t seem bothered when he spots you on your way to the pool’s entrance. And he’s found ways to help the time pass faster. Be it games, studying, or making out.

Yep, he’s introduced a new activity to you, though you can’t really complain. But it doesn’t change the fact that the pool’s tile and linoleum, all cold and hard, is not meant for a person to sleep on. You’ve started checking the other for bruises and marks that could be left behind in your wakes, literally.

Over time, it’s become a routine. A sad one; one that shouldn’t be necessary, but you force yourself to think of it in a positive light. That’s also something he’s been teaching you while you stay: how to manage your inner thoughts, how to turn those demons into angels, even when the devil is really, really trying you. It’s helped ease your wounds, and you avoid your family enough for them to not reopen them.

Finally, that’s his last lesson. Family is both permanent and temporary, and you’d be glad to know that the permanent ones are those you keep, and hold tight, and never ought to lose. While temporary family could always be cut off, and should be, because what’s the point of family if they won’t be there for you all the time? He’s made sure to look you deep in your eyes when he said this, voice clear and low, and just a bit unsteady. You take your time digesting that one.

You’ve got trouble with your family, and one night, after more than a week’s passed, you get into trouble with someone else’s.

You had arrived at the pool a tad bit early, you supposed, and had already laid out all your blankets and card games when the entrance clanged open. You were about to reveal a new game you’d discover online to Chan, only to be met with a voice much deeper than his.

“Y/N.”

Your head snaps up and immediately blood rushes to your ears. Coach dangles a set of keys in his hand, and seems–rightly–surprised at your appearance. But you can see the moment he understood what he saw. A person’s pity can only extend so much, and you know exactly where yours lies.

You don’t even have to wince.

School break has just started, and of course you’re grounded.

On one hand, you’re happy you don’t have to face your coach after being caught trespassing. His face held a look of rage and disappointment, and you don’t want to witness that any more than you have to. The resemblance between him and Chan are uncanny.

But you’re home. That doesn’t spell out comfort for you at all.

You and Chan send messages back and forth to each other consisting of “i miss you”s and “sorry that happened”s. You rant to him about how fed up you’ve been, and you feel relieved for the first time in a long while, because finally, someone is there to listen, judgement-free. Chan suggests sneaking into your house for the night a couple of times to see each other, but you reject, saying that your mother’s too eagle-eyed for that to happen.

Once break is over and school is back open, your family keeps their eyes locked on you like a hawk. You no longer can stop by the library for homework or studying, instead they demand you return back home immediately once school’s over. Your father insists on helping you study instead, and although you know it’s not out of the pure kindness of his heart, you accept it for the time being.

Swim class is awkward, now that both you and Coach Bang have to pretend to not have gone through that whole ordeal. But you can feel his gaze linger on you when you plunge underwater. You have no idea what he thinks of you now, after all this, and you’re too embarrassed to ask Chan.

One day, Chan approaches you before swim class begins.

“Mind if I take you out for a bit?” He asks. You slyly look at the clock ticking away by the door to the pool. You have just about a minute. Only a minute to get ready. “It’ll only be for a quick moment. You’ll be back in no time and if you don’t, I’ll cover for you.”

You squint suspiciously at Chan. “What’s this about?”

“A surprise. One my father will absolutely understand.”

When it puts it like that…

It’s a quick ride to where Chan ends up taking you: a bizarre little creek tucked behind several neighborhood houses. Its water runs fresh, uncontaminated by human interaction, feeding into the thick brushes of land and trees. It’s a beautiful sight indeed, but wholly inconsequential. You look to Chan for a clue as to why he brought you here.

He seems lost in himself and nature. Slowly, he jumps over to the rocks and gazes into the creek’s depth. For a moment, you think he’s just brought you to admire the scenery, so you’re shocked out of your own stupor when he speaks. “My father used to bring me here when I was a child. He used to bring the whole family out for a swim.”

You hum and silently make your way closer to him. He still dashes from one stone to another, calm and in thought. “My earliest memories of training began here. It was the best, surrounded by natural sounds and protected by the rocks. It isn’t too deep, just about perfect for my height and age. Eventually we started coming here less and less as my Dad took up calls and schedules. We all grew older and busier, till we just abandoned it. But sometimes I come here when I need to give myself a break and really think.”

You’re brushed shoulder-to-shoulder together now. Your balance isn’t as good as Chan’s, and you end up slipping and stepping into the creek every other second. He happily keeps a hand near your waist and hoists you back up whenever needed.

“Do your neighbors ever come here?”

“They’ve got their own gardens to tend to,” he nods towards the houses. “No one other than me has come here in at least a decade.”

He eyes you as he says this. It’s his own little safe haven. And if he’s so sure that no one has snuck in yet, that means you’re the first to enter it.

The realization makes you bow your head, flustered. Chan hums satisfactory by your side. You both listen to the birds coo and the bugs chitter, soaking in nature’s creations. When Chan notices you finally getting a bit restless, he takes your hand and leads you to the rocks. Your legs slightly dip inside the creek, its water soaking through your clothes, but you don’t mind. It’s coldness is welcomed as the sun soars higher into the sky.

“Here’s not like the pool,” Chan says, fingers toying with the ends of your hair. “There’s no chance anyone will catch us here.”

The implication is not lost on you, especially with the way he looks into your eyes as he speaks. Incidents of the past come to mind, but they’re quickly replaced by thoughts of the future, such as: his lips on yours, your hands in his, and most importantly—

“I know,” you hastily respond, “I know.”

And the moment is clear. His lips are definitely on yours, and your hands are in his, but also on his; and over his arms; and grasping his shoulders. And most importantly, his body surrounds you and he’s hugging you to his chest. Your breath runs low, and you can’t tell if it’s because of his arms or his lips.

Either way, you embrace it all.

He leans you on the rocks. He’s grinding and you feel something…hard, brush against you. It fills you with heat, both subtle and scorching and when he presses that against you again, his hand slowly travelling down your body, you stiffen and pull back.

“Chan, I—” You gasp, “I’ve never done this before…ever… and—”

“Hey,” He says, “It’s fine. We can stop if you want to.”

And he pauses, slightly moving backwards to give you some air to breathe in. You listen to your heart beat in your chest, use that rhythm to help calm you down. Once it slows, you’re still hot as before, though it spreads from somewhere deep in you.

“It’s—,” you stutter, “I want to do this. Now.”

A knowing grin spreads across Chan’s face, and he gently lowers himself over you, settles a kiss, quick and harmless, on your lips, then pushes onward.

It’s rough and gentle all at the same time. Both overwheling and manageable. You’re up to your hips in water, having slid down the rocks, but you can feel that you’re wet for other reasons.

Chan pulls backs and mouths at your neck, fingers unfastening the buttons of your clothing and tossing them haphazardly. You’re pretty sure you hear a couple splashes as he does so. He kisses down your chest, your tummy, and then hooks his arms around your bottom and lifts you. He helps you back on the rocks and holds you in place as he focuses on you.

“Turn over,” he commands. He’s still standing within the creek itself, chest level with your waist. The request takes its time to settle in your mind. When it does, your face starts to burn, but you follow his order nonetheless.

Like this, you lay flat on your stomach on the grass and your legs swing over the rocks and into the creek. Chan softly tugs your pants down, just far enough to expose you. He delicately places his hands on your cheeks and spreads them. And—

Oh.

That’s his tongue. And he’s dragging it over you in a way that makes your toes curl. You tighten around nothing, not until he does you the favor of adding his fingers to the mix. He slides them into you easily, pumping them while his tongue does its work on your clit.

And now you’re clawing at the grass and dirt and rocks. You can feel yourself lightly kicking Chan in the chest and shoulders, but he only squeezes your hips back, invitingly.

Soon, you’re cumming around his fingers and can’t help yourself from slowly sliding down the rocks and into the creek. Chan does his best to soften your descent, then turns you around to face him. His face is glimmering with both your and the creek’s wetness, hair laid down by sweat, lips plump from how much they’ve been pressed against you, God he just looks so erotic and amazing like this that you tug him in for a kiss. You taste yourself (at least you think that’s you) and it’s not the most pleasant, but you don’t mind because he doesn’t mind.

“Do you…?” You breathlessly motion for his member. He grins and looks down at you as if you’ve just asked him a silly question. And similarly, he plants a light kiss on your nose before diving for your lips again.

“Next time, baby,” he says, “Right now I just wanna feel you.:”

So he pulls you flush against him, arms roaming around your body. When you’re both red-faced from kissing the lights off each other, he helps you climb out of the creek.

Neither of you are really thinking when you hit the ground, him on top of you and his length sliding over your folds. He’s teasing, but you’re too excited to hold off for any longer, so you wrap your arms around him and pull him chest-to-chest, crying with your impatience.

With a chuckle, he gives in, sinking into you. You’re surprised at how well you take it. He fills you up so nicely, so intensely. Each thrust sends you into another fit of heat, your core burning and tightening around him. Chan nuzzles his face in your shoulder, and with every pump of his hips, he teethes at the skin of your neck.

Every feeling is amplified when he’s folded around you like this, and as time runs out, another orgasm makes its way through your body. Chan groans appreciatively and leans on his arms to plant kisses all over your lips, face, and neck.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “Let it all out. Let me feel you.”

You cry out when he abruptly pulls out. He kneels beside you and wraps a hand around his length, hastily jerking himself to completion.

You watch in entrancement, the way his face scrunches up, and the way his whole member and fist shines and you’ve suddenly got a craving to put your lips on his dick.

You hesitantly bring a hand over to it first, to test the waters. His movement stutters, then slows down once he realizes what you’re trying to do. You sit up and bring your other hand to his cock. Cautiously, you start to pump them.

“Don’t be scared,” Chan chuckles, “You can squeeze harder.”

Your grip tighten, but not too much, and you try again. Small, airy grunts fall from his lips. His hips start thrusting with your hands. You watch as the head of his cock disappears and reappears into his foreskin, shimmering with the mix of you and his pre-cum. It’s strangely appetizing.

You lean down to put you mouth on Chan’s dick without much thought. His hardness is cushioned by your lips, and his skin is silkier than you initially imagined. But it’s at this moment you realize you have no idea what to do.

You look up at Chan, and he groans at the sight of you at this angle. But then, a fond smile makes its way on his face and he lifts a hand to gingerly comb through your hair.

“It’s okay,” he laughs affectionately, “I’ll teach you another time. For now…”

He brings his hand back to his cock and finishes himself off. You deflate a bit, disappointed you weren’t able to give him his orgasms that he so desperately deserves, especially after getting you there twice. But he’s already on the ground alongside you, holding your face in the palm of his hands and pulling you into a loving smooch.

“That was amazing,” he moans, drawing out the loudest kiss sound from both of your lips. You both giggle in response. “I couldn’t be more happy you decided to give yourself to me.”

“Wasn’t planning on giving myself to anyone other,” you say. You climb on top of Chan, squealing as you try to indulge in the high-famed post-sex cuddles you’ve heard so much about. Chan squeezes you back with the brightest and most-dimpled grin you’ve ever seen.

Eventually, the mirth wears off, as the wind picks up and you’re immediately reminded that you’re both outdoors, off-campus one might say, but most definitely not on school grounds, when you absolutely should be.

You lay back, groaning when you check the time. Late. “My mom is going to kill me.”

It seems as though you can’t stop making mistakes and screwing your chances. The school year is almost ending and you feel like your life might end with it. You try to think more positively, but as the seconds tick by with neither of you racing back towards the school, the worse you feel.

Chan shuffles about. “Your mother isn’t going to kill you.”

“How would you know?”

He pauses; takes a moment to inhale.

“I told my dad about what’s going on at home, hope that wasn’t intrusive,” he says, and your heart stops. “He understands what you’re going through and regrets acting that way. He’s willing to take it all back. In fact, he says you’ve gotten so good at swimming lately, that he wants you to help mentor the kids. It’s a paid opportunity.”

His hand falls over yours. “I’m also seeking ways to get you away from there. My home’s got a guest bedroom, and I’ve been convincing my mom to clear it out.”

“You mean…”

“I do,” he says, “Some of us are not blessed with the most supporting families, and that’s okay. Because you have people that care for you, we care for you, I care for you, even if your family…cares for you a bit less.”

It hurts to hear him say it. Hurts even deeper to know it’s true. But the warmth in his gaze soothes you even just a little bit.

The dangers of going home is always a threat that hangs over your head, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned since meeting Chan, it’s that you don’t always have to go alone.

When the time is clear, when you’ve found support and built up confidence, you confront your family.

You tell them that you’ve had it. You no longer keep your whereabouts a secret, you no longer let them intrude on you anymore. You tell them that you’ve found a job, that you’re now able to support yourself from here-on-out. You are no longer financially, emotionally, or physically bound to them whether they like it or not. When you’re done, you don’t even stay to observe their reactions, though you can hear your sister snickering over your shoulder.

Chan’s there to give you a ride to his house, once you’ve packed up enough for a week. He says he’ll accompany again next time. Or maybe there won’t be a next time.

You are rewarded for what you have achieved, rather than what you can, and you can leave the past remnants behind and rediscover yourself in a new way, confidently.

I must salute smut writers, because every single time i’ve attempted to write smut I’ve struggled, ugh… but anyways………….

hope you guys liked this! if you made it this far, that is. ^^ this was edited by @jaeminlore who was really kind enough to do so!

#bang chan #stray kids #bang chan scenarios #bang chan smut #skz smut #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #bang chan angst #stray kids angst #skz angst #bang chan fluff #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #bang chan fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #.mine

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you-cant-spell-subtext-without · 4 years ago

Text

hello hello hello! and welcome to Season 12 of Supernatural.

I admit that initially I STRUGGLED WITH SEASON 12. I LOATHED the British Men of Letters (other than Lady Antonia Bevell; her hot working mom energy can get it); I have...mixed feelings about Mary; overall it was not a stellar season for me the first go-round. HOWEVER I shall now give it a second chance, and look for the subtext within the bad (and if my theory tracks, there will be much subtext as...there is much bad). Maybe I’ll even develop Ketch appreciation. **ONWARDS ONCE MORE INTO THE BREACH, MY FRIENDS:

When we last left Dean, I neglected to mention that Amara brought his mom back (this is how much I repressed Mary Winchester I guess?) We cut to Mary, confused, in a nightgown (I get this is part of the character and that’s why she is wearing it sO wE kNOw iTS rEAlLy MaRY WinCHEstEr because of her nightgown and not Sam Smith’s exquisite face, but honestly WHY - LIKE DID SHE WEAR THE DAMN THING IN HEAVEN THE ENTIRE TIME TOO?).

DEAN [breathing heavily]

Mom. Listen to me. Your name – your name is Mary Sandra Campbell, okay? You were born December 5, 1954, to Samuel and Deanna Campbell. Your father, he bounced around a lot for, uh, work, and you bounced right along with him, and you ended up in Lawrence, Kansas.

MARY

How do you know all that?

DEAN

Dad told me. March 23, 1972, you walked out of a movie theater – Slaughterhouse-Five. You loved it, and you bumped into a big Marine and you knocked him flat on his ass. You were embarrassed, and he laughed it off, said you could make it up to him with a cup of coffee. So, you went to, uh, Mulroney's and you talked and he was cute and he knew the words to every Zeppelin song, so when he asked you for your number, you gave it to him, even though you knew your dad would be pissed. That was the night that – that you met –

MARY

John Winchester.

DEAN

August 19, 1975, you were married... in Reno. Your idea. A few years later, I came along, then Sammy.

***DEAN DESCRIBING EVERY DAMN DETAIL OF THIS HAS MURDERED ME. Also, I know John Winchester “told him the story,” but something about this retelling - these are NOT John Winchester’s words (other than maybe “big Marine”). The emotions, the feelings, the “you talked and he was cute” Dean is describing is Dean’s retelling, the version he created in his mind of this damn meet-cute, this little love story he played over and over in his head, and that makes me feel warm and tingly and also want to ingest sharp knives.

***Everyone already knows about the damn Zeppelin reference but just in case you wanted to be tortured, please recall that later on we will get

THIS FUCKING SHIT

Nothing to see here other than Dean using a reference from this LOVE STORY on Cas. I HATE it here in super hell. Next rounds on you, Sam.

Anyway, Mary has caught on:

I paused here just now because I had a tHoUGHt. This season is all about exploring Dean and Sam in their role as sons (this is discussed at the SDCC panel prior to the season; btw they are all free on Prime and I recommend watching before you start each new season for little “reveals” behind some of the plot lines). We know Sam has no relationship to Mary really, he was a baby when she died, but Dean was a little boy - with a personality, character traits, identifying characteristics that his mother probably knew like the back of her hand. That’s why my first run-in with Mary left a bad taste in mouth during this season - LIKE THIS IS YOUR KID, and there is NO inkling or recognition until THIS moment? In a show that just spent an entire season exploring the “unexplained connection” between Dean and GODS SISTER, there no immediate “OH” from his own mother?!

But then I realized why she only connected at this very moment. This particular moment - and not the moment where he lists the factual details about her before the story of the night she met John. That little story with all those cute details - that’s the part of Dean that Mary knew before she died - when that part was ALL of Dean. Before hunting, before John’s quest for revenge turned him into the person he is today, before he saw himself as a blunt little instrument. That’s why initially Mary has no recognition that this is her son - because the Dean she knew was sensitive, and kind, and OPEN, and liked love stories, and laughing, and warm hugs and maybe flowers. Because if you think about it WE DONT KNOW THAT DEAN. We only know Dean AMD. (After Mary’s Death).

*****************************************************************************************************

So maybe Mary represents Dean Before Mary’s Death, and whatever part of that Dean remains, no matter how deep he has been buried. The part that connects with people; the part that doesn’t want to be alone. The part that helped Amara. The part that loves Cas. And that’s why Amara brought her back.

*****************************************************************************************************

Ok, if I think of it this way, I may like Mary a little better now.

BUT ALSO MY BABY:

Cut to Cas.

[THE MAN WALKS OVER TO THE EDGE OF THE CRATER MADE BY THE LANDING AND SEES CASTIEL PULLING HIMSELF OUT.]

MAN

Holy mother.

[CASTIEL STANDS UP AND LOOKS AROUND]

CASTIEL

Where am I?

MAN

Uh...Earth?

CASTIEL

No. How far am I from Lebanon, Kansas?

MAN

Uh... Th-three hours, maybe. Wait, wait, wait, wait. Who – What are you, man?

[CASTIEL WALKS TOWARDS THE MAN AND TOUCHES HIM ON THE FOREHEAD. THE MAN DROPS TO THE GROUND. CASTIEL LEAVES HIM THERE AS HE DRIVES OFF IN THE TRUCK]

***I spy a Season 11 random parallel

And Cas says, “Earth -

***Also, I often wonder if in his mind’s inner GPS, Cas bases distances on how far he is from Dean.

In the meantime, Bad Things Are Happening to Sam.

***Toni Bevell, don’t join the British Men of Letters you’re so sexy hahah

Other than noting that this is yet another too oft- repeated Sam, the Victim, Always Gets Tortured scenario, I see no point in recapping these parts.

I will just continue to post Toni Bevell hotness for these portions of the episode. Ok? Ok. You’re welcome.

BACK TO THE BUNKER:

I already posted this sweet baby reunion in my final Season 11 analysis/recap, but lets see it again at another angle and from Mary’s perspective CAUSE CLEARLY she has...*thoughts*

Poor Cas had no idea he was about to MEET THE PARENT

It melts my little heart that Dean uses Cas’s full name to introduce him to people. Especially members of his family who are trying to kill him.

Anyway, then we get a much longed for gem of typical Cas deadpan:

(*I still miss Casifer a little bit though*)

And then we have

A MOMENT OF CONNECTION!

At the SDCC panel, Misha specifically noted that both Mary and Cas are outsiders, so this tracks.

They head to the garage:

[Exhaling sharply, Mary walks towards Baby. She runs her hand lightly over the car.]

MARY This was John's car. Oh, she's still beautiful.

DEAN Hell, yeah, she is.

MARY Hi, sweetheart. Remember me?

[MARY LEANS DOWN AND LOOKS INTO THE CAR SMILING. SHE STARTS LOOKING AT THE FRONT SEAT BUT HER EYES AND HER THOUGHTS LINGER ON THE BACK SEAT. DEAN LEANS DOWN LOOKING AT THE INTERIOR OF THE CAR WITH PRIDE. DEAN LOOKS AT HIS MOM AND REALIZES SHE’S HAVING VERY SPECIFIC MEMORIES OF TIME IN THE BACK SEAT. DEAN LOOKS AROUND THE CAR, AND LOOKS AT HIS MOM.]

***this is where you truly see that Sam Smith is a genius because she took those directions and put them all into THIS:

And then THIS:

DEAN

Oh…

[MARY LOOKS UP AT DEAN. DEAN REALIZES HE MIGHT HAVE BEEN CONCEIVED IN THAT CAR, STANDS UP QUICKLY AND LOOKS OVER THE CAR. DEAN SWALLOWS HARD, AND GLANCES AT CASTIEL WHO GIVES HIM A QUIZZICAL LOOK.]

DEAN

We should go.

***At this time I would like to remind everyone that Cas is also generally in the back seat of this car.

MOVING ON

Meanwhile-

Back at the bunker, Cas is Continuing to Connect with his boyfriend’s mother:

[EXTERIOR DAY; INDISTINCT CONVERSATIONS AND THE NOISE OF VIDEO GAMES ARE HEARD. THE CAMERA PANS TO MARY WHO’S WATCHING THE SCENE. CASTIEL IS PICKING UP COFFEE.]

CASTIEL

Thank you.

[CASTIEL TAKES THE COFFEE TO MARY AND SITS DOWN.]

CASTIEL

This must be difficult for you. I remember my first moments on Earth. It was jarring.

MARY

One word for it. I grew up with Hunters. I've heard of people coming back from the dead before. But to actually do it... after 30 years. A lot's changed.

[MARY LOOKS AROUND.]

MARY A lot.

Cas:

This is usually a look Reserved For Dean, so its interesting Cas is looking at Mary here [they also weirdly joked about Cas hitting on Mary at the SDCC panel and now I'm giggling because if Mary represents the soft part of Dean this all makes PERFECT SENSE).

BONUS

Actual footage of Sam in super hell

The Cas/Mary bonding worked BTW:

[INTERIOR: GREGORY IS SITTING IN FRONT OF HIS DESK WITH CASTIEL, DEAN, AND MARY STANDING BEFORE HIM.]

DEAN

So, you dug the bullet out of his leg, no questions asked?

GREGORY

She offered me 100 grand.

MARY

And you took it?

GREGORY

Student loans were a bitch, okay?

[ANGRILY CASTIEL STARTS TOWARDS GREGORY.]

DEAN

Cas! Cas! Cas! Don't hurt him. Not yet.

**Disclosure: I do not accept the “Cass” spelling and take creative license to change it in the script whenever it appears**

GREGORY

All right, look, she didn't give me her name. When we were done, the driver bailed, I got paid, and then some other chick shows up, and they all drive away.

MARY

And that's everything you know?

GREGORY

(insincerely) Yeah. Totally.

****Um, Mom that’s my boyfriend you don’t order him around like tha-

Oh, well, ok then.

***This is important, because Cas doesn’t obey anyone (other than Dean) blindly ever since he invented free will and all that. Hence Dean’s surprised/impressed look to Mary above.

Meanwhile:

I recall that I spent most of my first watch of Season 12 gushing over Toni Bevell, so I’m glad to know this won’t be changing. You’ve been warned.

Next up, Sam is again sex tortured, Cas is a Helpful Boyfriend, and for some reason, Rick Springfield.

#spn #spn meta #spn analysis #spn recaps #season 12x01 #season 12 #supernatural #destiel #dean cas #spn fandom #toni bevell #sorry this is long af #but not really sorry bc its mainly due to the additional pics of Toni bevell #and you need her in your life #myspnmeta

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years ago

Note

Sansa is my favorite character. Hands down, she is one of the most the most interesting POV's for me. Her lapses in memory are particularly interesting & how GRRM says it's setting up for a bigger lapse. I have a creeping inkling lately after reading her chapters. Sansa doesn't seem to think back with guilt on telling Cersei Ned's plans. WE know it didn't change Cersei's plans but I think Sansa buries it. Do you think this may come up & be her "lapse" in memory? I worry about her... Am I nuts?

Hi anon!

I don’t know. Her telling Cersei about Ned’s plans is likely to play into the conflict between her and Arya when they reunite but she does acknowledge that she was being willful and she does acknowledge being deceived in her trust in Cersei.

Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head. Sansa would never make that mistake again.

(ACOK, Sansa I)

It is not Sansa’s fault that the adults around her were playing a game of lethal politics and Ned never warned her, and I’m pretty sure that Sansa not dwelling on it is actually a simple case of not taking the blame for something that wasn’t her fault.

I’m not sure why this would be subject to a massive memory lapse. What would it accomplish, story-wise, for her to have forgotten this and then remember it? This un-information doesnt’t carry much narrative weight.

I actually doubt the popular fanon that the emphasis on unreliable narrators is meant to “set up” a big future memory lapse for Sansa in particular.

It’s hard to find quotes on this, but these seem prominent:

Here’s a really particular question (which I realize means it probably won’t get asked in a general interview): In A Storm of Swords, there is a chapter early on where Sansa is thinking back to the scene at the end of A Clash of Kings when The Hound came into her room during the battle. She thinks in the chapter about how he kissed her, but in the scene in A Clash of Kings, this actually didn’t happen. Was that a typo or something? —Valdora

It’s not a typo. It is something! [Laughs] ”Unreliable narrator” is the key phrase there. The second scene is from Sansa’s thoughts. And what does that reveal about her psychologically? I try to be subtle about these things. (Entertainment Weekly November 27, 2007)

Or here:

[GRRM is asked about Sansa misremembering the name of Joffrey's sword.]

The Lion's Paw / Lion's Tooth business, on the other hand, is intentional. A small touch of the unreliable narrator. I was trying to establish that the memories of my viewpoint characters are not infallible. Sansa is simply remembering it wrong. A very minor thing (you are the only one to catch it to date), but it was meant to set the stage for a much more important lapse in memory. You will see, in A STORM OF SWORDS and later volumes, that Sansa remembers the Hound kissing her the night he came to her bedroom... but if you look at the scene, he never does. That will eventually mean something, but just now it's a subtle touch, something most of the readers may not even pick up on. (Taken from here, June 26, 2001)

The main take-away here is that GRRM wants us to know ALL the POVs are unreliable narrators.

The other thing is that he talks about Sansa’s psychological approach to trauma: rewrite, re-interpret, romanticise. Which is really something that points at the situation she rewrites being traumatic (as opposed to romantic), not Sansa’s supposed psychological instability, as some people like to surmise.

She is not alone in this. It is how Westeros employs metaphor. A “kiss” becomes a metaphor for a knife at your throat, which is an image that comes up in the novels again and again and again. A war of succession becomes a “Dance of Dragons”, a swordfight is compared to sexual intercourse. This play of images is as important as the mismemory.

It’s also important to note that it is NOT Sansa who misremembers the name of the sword (it is Arya who recalls it as Lion’s Paw instead of Lion’s Tooth in ASOS, Arya VI), nor is that the only example of edited memories. Jon does it with Ygritte’s “maidenhood”, Arya misremembers her age when she first killed (eight v. nine or ten), Cersei misremembers how much Sansa revealed to her in the first place. Surely there are plenty other examples.

So actually, the memory lapse he claims to be setting up may not even be about Sansa specifically. It may involve her, but it may also be as distant as, say, historical memory involving the Long Night, or another character, or a memory involving the past that has already been brought up, etc.

I’m not saying it cannot be about Sansa or a future memory loss, but I think we can easily broaden our horizon on this.

What I am certain about is that Sansa’s “Horrible Act of Betrayal(tm)” is nowhere near big enough to warrant the “much more important lapse in memory” treatment GRRM is teasing.

#asoiaf #sansa stark #mismemory #unkiss #betrayal #asoiaf speculation #unreliable narrator #grrm interview #asks

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softly-savage-mint-yoongi · 5 years ago

Photo

Saccharine

from An Adventurer’s Guide to Romance

Part 3 of the series collaboration between myself & @guardians-of-exo! Please go check out her blog! Her moodboards are *chef’s kiss* magnificent and this go around she has listened to all of my ramblings about Won Deuk Kyungsoo in 100 Days My Prince, which I binge watched in a week just to help me write this. If you haven’t seen it yet- go watch it. <3 Pairing: Kyungsoo x reader Rating: Fluff. Nothing too smutty or excessively graphic in this one, lads. Words: 7.2k

“Chanyeol, no,” you immediately protest, frowning at him from across the sparring field. He ducks your jab with the training sword, spinning behind you and using his momentum to make a swing for your exposed back. You bend your torso down and to the left, gracefully avoiding his hit. “Chanyeol, yes,”, he replies with a laugh. The mirth in his voice suits him. Here, in one of his favorite places. Sparring with you, his second-in-command and sisterly figure. Rolling your eyes at him, you continue your dance, “She’s a distraction.” You shake the sweat from your fingers, gripping the smoothed wood of your swords and settling into a defensive stance with both. He comes at you with a grin, smacking his wooden great sword down against your crossed ones over your head. He stares you down, “She’s exactly the focus I need, actually.” The Knight Captain believes he’ll overpower you like this, with his height and weight and giant sword bearing down against you. The expression he mocks you with is wiped off his face when you tilt just enough to the right to slide out from beneath his weight. He used too much trying to force you down; now losing his balance and catching the edge of your swords with the flat side of his just in time to avoid a strike. ______________________________________________________ The following morning after roll call you cannot find your commander anywhere in the barracks or the training yard. You were sure he was with the Prince and even walked up all of those stairs to his majesty’s tower. The guards let you pass easily, because, well, you well outrank any of them except for Chanyeol. You’re disappointed when a knock on the door reveals a sleepy Prince Baekhyun, rubbing the remnants of it from his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry your majesty,” you say formally, bowing before him. He smiles through his haze at you, knowing behind closed doors those stiff formalities drop altogether. “I thought Knight Captain Chanyeol was with you.” He shakes his head and covers his mouth to yawn, “No, I haven’t seen him since late last night when I got in fr-“ he freezes, realizing where he is and who can hear him. Your eyes widen at him and your frame sags with relief just a little bit when he realizes the nonsense he’s speaking. “Sorry to disturb you, then. I’ll be off,” you bow once more, turning to hunt elsewhere for your leader. When you enter the Medical wards, the Head Physician tells you she hasn’t seen him, either. An hour later, he is found at last. In the kitchens, bothering the Head Chef and flirting with his new assistant while she tries to work. Work, like Chanyeol should be. “Knight Captain Chanyeol,” you say loudly, giving him a stern glare. “I have been looking all over this palace for you!” The Cook’s assistant, a pretty thing, looks between the both of you with wild eyes and a blush staining her cheeks, her fingers wrapped tightly around a whisk of cream in a bowl. The Head Cook himself is watching you silently from the spits, basting a row of pheasants over the fire. There’s just a hint of a smile at the corner of his plush mouth. Chanyeol looks at you with a frown, “I was with Baekhyun!” You sneer at him, pointing a finger at his chest in triumph, “Oh you big fat liar! I just walked all the way up there and heard from him myself that he hasn’t seen you! He was still asleep.” Chanyeol whines lowly, raising to fist the side of his own head, “Ah, shit.” “Come on,” you urge. “I apologize he keeps bothering you, Master Cook,” you comment, bowing slightly before you grab the tall man by the black fabric against his back and drag him from the room. ___________________________________________ That evening, in the comfort of your best friend’s room, you’re sipping wine and slowly picking apart a wheel of cheese between you. “He keeps going to the kitchens and flirting with the new assistant. I don’t think that’s all, either.” The Lady of the Palace smiles at you, “Oh come on now, let him have his fun.” You give her an incredulous stare, “Absolutely not. We have a code of conduct to uphold and a war to fight and he’s going to get into trouble.” “It’s not a war, don’t be so dramatic. Relax a little, I know you’re worried about him but he’s also working really hard. We all are,” she says calmly. Bringing her own cup to her lips briefly, she drinks before continuing, “I’ve seen him in the training yard in the middle of the night several nights in a row.” “Yeah,” you agree. “Because he’s waiting for our troublesome Prince to come clambering back over the walls.” She nods in understanding. There are a select few of you in the palace who know about Prince Baekhyun and his personal mission to save his own people from poverty and famine brought by the Draugers. As they slowly began to run people out of their homes in the lower parts of the kingdom and farms were beginning to be overrun with the undead at night, he took it personally and his father, the King, has his hands tied in the dilemma. The power-hungry Lords in the upper parts of the city, and even some of the working-class citizens, are taking unfair advantage of the homeless farmers and their families moving into the safety of the inner city’s walls. Baekhyun- watchful, observant and daring Baekhyun, who is fair and just and will someday make a great King, takes it upon himself to save them. He watches, or has ears and eyes in the city to watch and listen for him. He knows who is in need and who is not. Having grown up a skilled fighter and a professional at sneaking in and out of the palace since he could walk, he’s been using his skills to make right ever since. His mysterious heroism just started a few weeks ago. It’s a secret you will all take to your graves unless he tells you otherwise. “Anyway,” she says. “I don’t think you should be too hard on him as long as he is doing his job.” You sigh, considering her opinion, “I suppose. But I don’t like that he’s distracting someone else from their work.” She shrugs, “Does Kyungsoo seem bothered by it?” You chew your lip, “I don’t think so. But you know Kyungsoo. He doesn’t get bothered by much, or at least doesn’t speak up about it.” Smiling, you remember his reaction earlier this morning. “He looked to think it was funny that I scolded Chanyeol this morning.” The Lady of the Palace leans forward in her chair, “Oh? How so?” “He smiled at me,” you answer. She sets her goblet on the table between you, “He smiled at you?” “Yes?” you say, tone uncertain now that she’s questioning it. “I’ve never seen him smile at anyone other than Chanyeol,” she surmises, her delicate brows knitting together. She stares blankly at the cheese while she tries to remember a time she may have seen him with that expression. ___________________________________________________ Today, as is becoming a regular annoyance, Chanyeol disappears after roll call in the barracks, leaving you to separate a pair of green soldiers fighting over the last link of sausage at the table. It's still early for the rest of the palace, but you have an inkling he’s in the kitchens again. When you enter with lungs full of hot air to unleash upon him, the monstrous Knight Captain is nowhere to be found. Instead, you’re greeted by the Head Cook himself stirring a pot. The scent of its contents hit your nose and you smile in greeting, “That smells delicious.” Kyungsoo lifts his head at the sound of your voice as if he were expecting someone else. “Would you like to try some? It’s a new recipe and I’m not sure about it,” he says after hesitating for a moment, with eyes flitting across the room until they settle upon your face. Immediately his voice strikes you in an odd way. Its deep and soft tenor equally compare to the scent coming from the pot. You think both are quite lovely. It’s not that you’ve never heard him speak, but you’ve not heard much from his voice other than simple pleasantries or reprimanding words for Chanyeol. You’re shocked and admittedly a little flustered that he so casually offered his spoon to you. His eyes are sincere as he watches you. The spoon is frozen midair- lifted with a bite crested in the shallow pit and waiting. Some of it drips back into the batch below, and you cough. “Ah, no thank you. I’ve already eaten and don’t want to spoil my stomach,” you explain shyly. His eyes fall back to his task immediately. His thick brows furrow as he concentrates on stirring. “Is there something I can help you with then, Lieutenant?” he asks without looking up. Realizing you’d been standing there watching him, you smooth your palms down the front of your tasset, “Oh, right. I was hoping to find the Knight Captain here. Not that I was hoping he was bothering you but I thought maybe this would be a good place to start looking since he disappeared after roll call.” Kyungsoo turns to you and lets his eyes flick to your face again briefly. The faintest smirk is tucked into the corner of his plush lips, “He was here, but he left to help Kennel Master Sehun carry two sacks of bones down to the dogs.” “Good,” you state. When Kyungsoo doesn’t say anything further you feel embarrassed all over again, “Not good that he was here bothering you but good that he’s not being a pest, I mean.” The Head Cook laughs. He smiles fully, making a whispered sound of joy at your awkward floundering, “It’s okay, you don’t have to keep explaining.” You barely understand what he says to you. You’re much too caught up in how nice his full smile is. The way his cheeks rise to make his eyes crinkle and his lips split into a heart shape that shows his teeth. “Right then,” you gasp, blinking twice. On the walk down to the kennels, your brain wonders about Kyungsoo and how unlike him it is to talk or smile. You wonder if perhaps he has always been that way but you never had the chance to see it. Now that you recall, there was always someone else holding everyone’s attention with a story or a joke. Perhaps this color on him looks so nice that you want to explore it. Now that your commander has reason to go to the kitchens constantly, it mean that you also now have a reason to frequent them in chase of him. To yourself, you admit that maybe it isn’t such a bad thing if it means you get to see Kyungsoo smile more. __________________________________________________ Two days later you’re awoken by a loud clanging from outside your chamber in the middle of the night. You jolt upright, immediately swinging open your door to investigate, but there isn’t a soul in the corridor or outside when you peek into the training yard. Quietly, you open doors to look into the two rooms immediately beside yours, but there is nobody other than heavily sleeping soldiers in bunks. The moment your fingertips brush the iron ring of your own door handle, the faint sound of feet hitting the stone makes your head turn sharply to squint into the darkness. The footfalls are heavy and flat, easily distinguished to know the person is barefoot. The figure passes by one of the windows looking into the training yard, and the blue moonlight gives you a flash of shaggy silver hair and a sharp jaw. A preview of the naked, broad shoulders that come to stop in front of you. “Why are you standing out here?” Chanyeol asks. His voice is not yet roughened from sleep, and even the moon does him no favors to hide the circles beneath his eyes tonight. You look behind you once. “A loud noise woke me up,” you explain. He nods, turning his lips into a deep line that puts dimples in his cheeks. “Sorry about that. I stepped into a bucket,” he sighs. Then adds, “I’m glad you’re awake though. I’ve got orders for you.” _________________________________________________ While you didn’t sleep well, you manage to make it through roll call without taking anyone’s metaphorical heads, and your brotherly Knight Captain was surprisingly present. In six days you’re leaving for a mission, orders directly from the King himself. According to what your commander told you, there’s an Apothecary coming to town to assist in healing those in need from the Draugers. With something as valuable as medical supplies and another set of healing hands, there’s worry it could be dangerous, so he wants the Apothecary well-guarded. During lunch, you catch the scent of something familiar. At the sight of the soup in your bowl, you realize it’s the new recipe Kyungsoo had asked you if you’d like to try earlier in the week. Smiling, you lift the first bite to your lips. From the taste and texture, you consider the broth has a heavier flavor. Something smoked and savory, soaking well into the chunks of potato throughout. There is just a little too much black pepper for your preference, but it does not take away from the dish overall. Still curious at the meals end, you find yourself walking into the kitchens. The Head Cook is balancing a ladle on the edge of a table when you enter. He looks up and gives you a small smile. “Did you eat well?” he asks calmly. You grin at him in return, “Are you awaiting my review of your not-so-sure soup?” You both laugh at the name you’ve given it, but Kyungsoo says nothing else. “It was very good. A little too much pepper for me personally, but that doesn’t really make or break it. What did you put in it to make that deep flavor though? Surely there were no heavy meats in my bowl,” you wonder aloud, leaning to rest your bum against the side of the large stone fireplace. Kyungsoo smirks, crossing in front of you to collect a jar from the shelf hanging above the largest work table in the center of the room. He unties the lid and comes back to you, stepping close to hold the jar beneath your nose. His wide eyes don’t miss anything as they watch you inhale the scent with closed eyes. “Yes, that’s it,” you clarify, eyes popping open brightly. The Head Cook smiles, “It’s a secret.” Your mouth drops into a pouted frown, “Oh.” His lips split into that full smile again, and it makes your breath catch. “I’ll tell you on one condition,” he whispers. You perk up again, looking around the wide expanse of the empty room. “I need an honest opinion of new recipes,” he says quietly. Those big brown eyes of his are still staring into you innocently, and it is a gaze you feel comfort in. Confused, you ask, “Why not Chanyeol?” to which Kyungsoo scoffs. “There are a multitude of reasons why,” he quips, and you can’t help but agree and laugh when you think about it. “Deal,” you comply happily, taking his hand in yours and forcing him to shake. “Beef drippings,” Kyungsoo divulges immediately. It takes you a moment to realize what he’s talking about. “Oh. I wouldn’t have thought of that,” you answer, knitting your brows and considering the taste. After a moment of silence, Kyungsoo clears his throat, “That tickles. May I have my hand back, please?” Shocked, you realize you’d never let go of his hand, idling running your fingers around the callouses on his palm while you thought about the not-so-sure soup. You drop it as if it had burned you, rising to your feet in embarrassment and excusing yourself too quickly from the room. ______________________________________________ The following day you eat with the rest of your squad in the mess hall. Your plate differs from the rest of the soldiers dining. One of them leans over when you sit, his chin flicking toward your plate of greens, fruits and nuts. He asks, “You on a diet or something, Lieutenant?” You laugh loudly at his remark, waving a hand in front of your face, “Yes! Yes, I am. That’s why it’s different!”

He grunts, leaning back to his own plate of light meats and sops. The colorful assortment of food on your plate doesn’t gain any further attention as you pour the wine-colored vinaigrette over the greens and assess the flavors as you chew the first bite. You feel a sense of push and pull between wanting to eat quickly so you can meet with Kyungsoo about this food and watch him light up with your praise, and wanting to savor every bite slowly to truly examine the taste. __________________________________________ Two days later you enter the kitchens with a brief knock. The aroma of honeyed glaze fills your lungs, exhaling with a delighted sigh. There’s an excitement in your step as your eyes look for Kyungsoo, stopping short when they land on his assistant standing in front of you. She looks bewildered by your presence and a little confused, turning to the Head Cook. “Ah, I’m sorry,” you begin. “I was looking for Knight Captain Chanyeol. I thought he might be here begging for food-“ you explain too quickly. Kyungsoo moves away from the hot kettles, wiping his brow as he grins at you, knowing very well that you know precisely where he is, and that couldn’t possibly be the reason you’re here. He pats his assistant on the shoulder warmly. “Good day, Lieutenant. Thankfully, he hasn’t,” he says calmly, pausing to add. “But I’m sure he’ll show up later.” The question lacing his statement is one that cracks a smile on your own face, earning him the dusty rose that rises to your cheeks. Suddenly, the assistant murmurs a curse and rushes to a kettle as its contents try to boil over the sides. Her action breaks the bit of unspoken words between you and the handsome Head Cook quickly. You pat your tasset down against your thighs with a smile, “Right. I’ll take my leave then. I’m sorry I disturbed your work, Master Cook.” You’re sure to smile warmly at his assistant as well before you turn to leave the room completely. An hour later you return to the kitchens as nonchalantly as possible, first peeking through the crack in the door to make sure Kyungsoo is alone. There’s a voice singing softly coming from the room, and you stop to listen when you realize it’s the Cook himself. You watch the hard plane of his back as he works, bent over the pork he was roasting in honeyed glaze earlier, singing the ballads of Red Run Keep and the Age of Oppression. His voice is soothing to your ears, more pleasant than the scent of the honey glazed meat he slices evenly and plates for Supper tonight. You enter the room as quietly as possible, sneaking in to lean back against the edge of a table along the wall while you listen. He turns around not long after you’ve settled, remaining calm rather than jumping like you would expect. His eyes lift from his work to your frame. “Is there something you needed, Lieutenant?” he asks. You laugh, “Yes, actually.” “Good. I hope you’re not trying to be a distraction just like your commander,” he jests, but it makes you freeze, feeling like you’ve been struck, and a little self-conscious regardless of the joke. Your smile falls from your lips a fraction, and Kyungsoo’s eyes don’t miss the way you wilt. “I was joking. I enjoy your company, no matter the reason,” he states clearly while he busies himself washing and drying his hands. “I have a mission,” you get to the point. He slows his movements, thick brows knitting together as he dries the last of the water from his hands with the rag tied to his smock. “I leave in two days.” “Can I ask what for?” he inquires, coming to stand beside you, leaning against the same table. You nod, “The King has hired a new Apothecary to help with the wounded. I’m leading a squad to fetch him and bring him here safely.” Kyungsoo nods, “He doesn’t want Chanyeol to go?” With a sigh, you confirm, “We all know Chanyeol’s main focus in the Prince. He can’t go and leave Baekhyun unguarded. Do you doubt my abilities, Master Cook?” His innocent gaze whips to your face immediately, full of surprise. Your eyes pierce through his gaze as if they were your swords themselves. “No, not at all. I’ve heard the stories. I know you’re more than capable,” he assures you. You squint at him, discerning the color of blush tinting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Good,” you surmise with an air of absolute finality. Kyungsoo seems to notice the tension in your posture and the way your attitude shifts to one of authority. “What do you need from me?” he asks politely, standing to his full height again. You bring a finger to tap against your lips twice, “I wanted to let you know. I hope you can wait a few days to make any new recipes.” You feel a little sullen, still self-conscious about whether or not the handsome man was really telling a joke. Kyungsoo folds his arms across his chest, bringing one hand to wipe at his chin thoughtfully, “I suppose I can wait. I appreciate you letting me know.” ________________________________________________ “I can’t believe he said such a thing,” says the Lady of the Palace. She twirls a goblet of wine between her fingers, gently swirling its contents with her wrist. You tear off a bite of crusted bread with your teeth from the piece in your hand, “It is what it is.” She sets her cup down, clapping her hands excitedly as she sits up straight and fixes you with a devilish smirk, “I know! You should go on a date with Sehun!” You choke on the dry crumbs of bread in your mouth, gasping briefly in shock. “What are you on about? Why would I do that?” you sputter, taking a full swallow of wine from your cup. You wince from the sour bitterness as it slides down your throat. The Lady of the Palace laughs cheerfully, “Oh, come on, Y/N! He thinks you’re amazing. Especially how well you handle a sword! If Kyungsoo likes you the same way you like him, it should make him jealous.” She wiggles her perfectly manicured brows at you. Sinking further in the velvet chair, you shake your head with a scowl, “No. It’s a waste of time. I’m not interested in the Kennel Master like that.” “But Sehun-“ she tries, pouting at you from under her lashes as she sips at the wine in her glass. “I said no. Chanyeol is bad enough with his lovestruck puppy eyes. I don’t want to be compared to that any more than I already have been,” you warn. She clicks her tongue at you, “You’re right, okay? I get it. But it’s, ah… how to put this?” She considers, breaking a chunk of bread from the loaf between you. “Those feelings won’t go away so easily. It’s better not to resist them.” You deadpan, staring at her like there’s an extra head sprouting from her shoulders. She smiles at the bread, toying with it in her hand softly before she pops it into her mouth. When she swallows, she looks at you again, “That’s why you should go out with Sehun.” You groan aloud, “You’re insatiable.” “No, I just think it would be fun to double date with Junmyeon and I,” she clarifies with her strong air of dignity. “Fun isn’t something you normally have time for,” you comment with as much snark as you can muster. She smiles, tilting her head to one side briefly, “Correction- fun isn’t something I thought I had time for. Now that I’m having it, I can definitely see how much I actually needed it, and I for one am quite confident I can manage my duties and my romance, thank you.” She clears her throat, sitting up a little straighter. You roll your eyes dramatically at her, “I’ll admit he’s handsome, is that what you wanted?” Her lips stretch into a menacing smile, and it scares you a little how unlike her it looks across her face. “It’s a start. Now I only must get you to agree to a date with him,” she tells you honestly. You laugh at her boldness. She’s always been a terrifyingly smart tactician. She must be, to be the Lady of the Palace, and she runs the place with a kind but firm fist. You smile fondly at her because she’s your friend and you enjoy the relationship you two have as the most influential women in the palace. With her mind and knowledge of how to run a kingdom and your and power and leadership in war, you make a powerful combination. _________________________________________________ Uncertain whether it was the wine or your scuffed pride you ultimately, reluctantly, agreed to go on one outing- not a date- with the Kennel Master of the palace, along with your friend and her lover. In this moment, two evenings later, you feel strange as you walk back to the palace in silence. Two pairs of boots in unmatched pace walking along the wet road beneath the lamplight. It is hot and muggy and the dress you’re wearing is irritatingly itchy. Of course your dear, lovely, well-mannered and closest friend decided to go back to the Bakery with Junmyeon when you mentioned the hour and that you were leaving for a mission in the morning. Kindly, Sehun had agreed to walk you back. It is with a sigh of relief that the palace walls come into view. You cross under the iron gate in silence, turning to acknowledge the man giving you six feet of space. “Look, Sehun,” you begin with your best smile. He removes one of his hands from the pockets of his trousers, holding the palm flat up and smiling so hard that his eyes crinkle into half-moons and his cheeks dimple, “It’s okay, Y/N.” He laughs after, rubbing the same hand against the back of his neck and looking toward the ground. His hair is slicked back from his forehead, a style that compliments his features. “You’re very handsome, but I’m sorry, I don’t think I feel that way about you,” you apologize, feeling awkward. He laughs again, and the sound of it makes you feel a little better, “Yeah, I mean, I think you’re really amazing, but I agree. I think we’d be better as friends.” The weight and sticky feeling of the tension dissipates immediately after he says it. “I am happy with friends,” you say. “Half of this is Junmyeon’s fault anyway,” he laughs some more. “Always fussing at me about wanting grandchildren soon.” You laugh with him, aghast at his best friend’s antics. “The Lady pushed me into it, too,” you nod with a smile. “I’m glad we can agree they’re both terrible friends to have.” He looks at your face genuinely, “Guess we’re just going to have to be better friends to each other than they are to us, then, hm?” He steps closer to you to whisper the words, sticking out his pinky to link with yours. Craning your neck up to his face and then back down to his hand, you twist your own small digit around his, shaking them firmly with a small giggle. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he quietly comments, stepping back. You move toward the steps of the palace, sending him the same well wishes for a good night with a wave. He gives you a friendly one in return as he turns and enters the Kennel House. ________________________________________________ Yawning, you reach for your canteen, frowning while you drink sparingly from the bladder of it. You’ve ridden North for nearly twelve hours. Your thighs remind you achingly that the short break you took half way through was not nearly long enough. The map you checked twenty minutes ago told you another two kilometers would put you where you need to be, in a tiny settlement in the Sweetwoods. Although you’ve never seen it with your own eyes, you’ve been told such a name fits the landscape, in a forest surrounded by good soil full of sweet smelling wildflowers. As long as you reach it and make camp before nightfall you won’t be as worried. Nothing a full stomach and a few slim hours of sleep can’t fix for you. You’ve certainly fought and survived on worse. Lost in your thoughts, you don’t realize as the sun begins to glow deeper shades of ruby and kiss the horizon. When you notice, it’s because a heavy log gate comes into view, crested between two greater beams that end and begin the sentry walls surrounding the Sweetwoods settlement. Smiling up at the men along the ramparts, you pass through the gates, leading your troop into the small town. There aren’t many buildings or people around, but the working-class people give you odd looks as you go. Sometimes you wonder if it’s because of the troop at large, or if it’s just you in particular. Being a woman in a militant leadership role is not common practice in many places. Raising a hand, you slow everyone to a halt in front of a two story building with a golden ram’s head sign hanging from the banister of the second level. Dismounting your horse, you know this is the right place. The creaking of the door hinges is almost hidden by the sound of the bell chiming upon your entrance. “I’ll be right out!” calls a voice. You note the crates and barrels and packages wrapped in fabrics and chord in the center of the room. The barren shelves and cabinets confirm this is the right place. “Ah,” the voice projects, pulling your gaze to the left. “You must be here to fetch me.” A young man stands in the doorway to a small room off the side of the main space, one arm lifting the curtain draped across the threshold as he enters. He pushes his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose and stops in front of you with an outstretched hand. Shaking it, you smile a tad brighter, “Yes, sir. My name is Lieutenant Y/N. I’m here to ensure you and your things make the journey safely.” He nods in understanding, “Wonderful. What is the plan, Lieutenant?” Getting straight to business, you brief him kindly, “Rest tonight. We’ve ridden a whole day’s ride. The soldiers and horses are tired and hungry. We’ll load up your supplies tonight after supper, and head out at dawn.” Smiling, he gestures to the back wall, “There’s space to make camp just around back in the yard. It’s a little small, I hope you won’t mind.” Shaking your head, you agree to his offer, “I’m sure it will do just fine, thank you.” Ten minutes later, you’re hissing as your thighs protest to your position when you finally settle on the ground behind the shop. You ensured the horses were turned out in the grass and your soldiers were settling in for a well-earned supper before you sat down. Someone has started a new fire with the half-burned logs in the pit. Opening your pack, you notice a small bag that hadn’t been there when you’d packed it before passing it off to the stable keep to put on your horse, Fox. With furrowed brows, you inspect it’s contents. There’s a small bit of folded parchment and two delicious looking apples inside the small canvas pouch. There are words scribbled neatly on the parchment. ‘These are Spring Dragon apples. Rare, beautiful and delicious… Please eat well and come back safely. -K.’ Blushing, you shove the note back into your pack and whip your head up wildly out of embarrassment. Someone could have seen! Not only that, but your rising feelings for the sender of this gift pull at your heartstrings. The blow your pride had taken from him forgotten in the wake of his gesture. You remove one from the sack, cradling it in your palm as you watch the fire’s glow glint off the shining skin. Smiling, the first bite is taken gently, with your breath held in your lungs. There’s a refreshing flow of juice into your mouth and the satisfying crack of fruit as it breaks off from the body of the apple. Kyungsoo is right, it is the best apple you’ve ever tasted. The texture, flavor, consistency, all perfect scores as it melts in your mouth with a happy hum. The treat disappears from your fingers all too quickly, leaving you to swipe your tongue across your lips repeatedly to taste the addicting sweetness. ____________________________________________ “If I’m not allowed to leave the bed who is supposed to make sure this buffoon stays out of trouble?” you complain loudly. “Hey!” comes Chanyeol offended cry. Even though he wants to, you know he won’t drop you in retaliation of your comment, clutching you to his side as he helps you walk to a bed in the Medical Ward of the palace. The Head Physician pats the linens of the bed she wants you to sit on, “Relax, it’s just for a few days until the bones begin to set. Better than being gone forever, right?” She smiles softly at you, taking an arm to help the Knight Captain lower you comfortably onto the bed. Scowling, you let her get to work wrapping the bruised and painful flesh as gently as she can. Chanyeol stands back, watching her work with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “I’ll get your stirrups adjusted while you’re in here,” Chanyeol mutters without looking at you. His eyes remain unblinking at your leg- a look you know means he’s very much in his thoughts. “Chanyeol it’s fine, don’t worry about-“ you protest quietly. “Absolutely not,” he commands. “I’m not going to risk your leg getting caught again. This could have been so much worse. What if Fox didn’t just spook, hm? What if he threw you off and then dragged you for who knows how long?” “War horses are trained not to do that. I’d have been fi-“ you wave at him nonchalantly, but the flare of his anger makes you flinch. There’s a reason he’s compared to both fire and a monster. “That horse is lucky,” he growls. Frowning, you reach for him and squeeze his forearm when the pain gets a little too intense, wincing. “Please leave Fox alone. It’s not his fault,” you groan. Your commander makes a disapproving clicking sound with his teeth, scoffing at you, “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that, woman?” At least his eyes finally find yours. “Don’t you take that tone with me,” you snap back at him playfully. Just like that you start bickering with him, forgetting about the pain in your leg until the Head Physician stands and sighs, brushing her hands off on her apron. “That’ll do you well for now. Please, Y/N, stay put, yeah?” she asks with a small smile. “I’ll make sure someone brings her something to eat,” Chanyeol comments, turning to leave the room with a nod. His disappears beyond the white curtain draped between your bed and the next. “Just for three days, until the bones start setting. Then we’ll change it and get you set up for light duty only,” she warns you, holding up her index finger between you. Waving dismissively, you shimmy yourself further up the bed and twist, smacking the flat pillow loudly with a sigh, “Fine, yes, yes.” She pauses, narrowing her eyes at you as she considers if you will behave. After a breath, she leaves. Minutes pass in the quiet warmth of the Ward, listening to the quiet groans of other sick and wounded people lying behind curtains in the wide room. Eventually, the door opens and footsteps are heard evenly across the floorboards. Waiting patiently, you’re surprised to see the separation reveal Kyungsoo. He has a plate held between his hands, smiling at you. He shakes his head gently and clicks his tongue at you, “I thought I asked you to come back safely. What part of that meant you should get thrown from your horse?” You grin, raising a hand and wanting to smack him. You don’t, lest he spill all of the food you assume he brought for you. He grins back at you, pulling a stool close to the side of the bed. “Are you hungry?” he asks quietly, balancing the plate on the edge. You try your best to scoot closer to the far side, giving him space to rest the plate beside you. “I am, thank you,” you confirm. He tries not to watch you eat, silently waiting for you to finish the meal. “It’s nothing new this time, sorry,” he apologizes quietly. His hands fidget in his lap as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. “No, this is great,” you assure, raising the last forkful to your lips. Kyungsoo clears his throat, “Can I ask you something?” Blinking at him, you’re a little confused, acquiescing, “What is it?” He turns to face you fully with a hard and thoughtful expression on his face, “Are you and the Kennel Master… seeing each other?” You don’t mean to laugh, but the unexpected question doesn’t give you time to think about your answer as you burst forth in laughter. Kyungsoo only looks at you with wide, confused eyes. “Heavens, no!” you shake your head. “I mean our friends tried to make us date but we’re just friends,” you clarify.

“But he thinks you’re amazing and I thought I saw you with him and-“ the man in front of you questions, clearly befuddled.

You wave your hands in front of you, “Yeah but we both agreed we’re just better as friends. I don’t feel that way about him.”

Kyungsoo’s brows furrow deeper, and his eyes focus on the linens of your bed momentarily before he asks instead, “Is there someone you

feel that way about?”

His bold curiosity heats your cheeks and you find yourself unable to speak. Rather, you nod lowly and stare at the last item of food on the plate, an apple. With shining skin, all of the shades between red and gold seemingly painted on with a brush, it is unmistakably the same as the ones he gave you for the mission you just came from.

“Spring Dragon…” you whisper between you, taking the fruit between your fingers and twirling it around to admire how pretty it looks.

Kyungsoo smiles at you, “Did you like them?”

Your eyes light up at his question. “Yes, they’re perfect! Thank you so much for sending them with me. It was a nice surprise,” you praise, pressing your lips to the skin just before you take the first bite.

You practically moan at the taste, choosing to sigh wistfully at the pleasure it brings.

The man beside you chuckles, “Is it really that good?”

Fixing him a stare with one brow turned up, you confirm, “Of course!” adding sarcastically, “Have you never eaten one of these?”

To your shock, he shakes his head, “No, actually I haven’t.”

Gaping at him, you flounder for words, feeling embarrassed and shameful that you’re enjoying his gift like this, “Why not?!” You place the apple back on the plate.

“They’re rare. I don’t have any more,” he comments matter-of-factly.

Curiously, you need to know, “You gave them all to me?”

He nods with a small smile tucked into the corner of his plush lips.

“Please have a taste,” you tell him, looking back down to the apple resting between you. You reach for it, intent on giving it to him, but his fingers circle your wrist to stop you.

When you raise your head to look at him, you’re met with a kiss. One that is unexpected but pleasant and sweet. Kyungsoo moves his lips against yours slowly, truly sampling the flavor of them before pulling away.

You do nothing more than stare at him in shock as he settles back on the stool. There’s a self-satisfied smile gracing those lips that were just pressed deliciously against yours.

“Very sweet,” he surmises gently.

Your fidget with your fingers in your lap, “Why?”

He laughs quietly at your expression and your heart thunders in your ears at how wonderful this image of him makes you feel. “You asked me to have a taste,” he says simply.

Suddenly your heart feels so light it makes it hard to breathe. You need to feel it wildly beating against your sternum, so you do the one thing you know will make it do what you need.

Reaching out, you pull Kyungsoo by the front of his tunic back to you. You plant your lips directly on his, feeling him smile against your mouth as his hand finds your neck.

____________________________________________

It isn’t until two weeks later that Chanyeol finally mentions anything about you and the Head Cook, Kyungsoo. He’s seen you two or three times in the kitchens when he’s come to beg for snacks or see if his own lover is present, but you’ve always been a respectable distance away from Kyungsoo’s grasp.

You suppose it’s easy to break apart from the nectar of his lips when you hear those heavy footfalls and clinking armor growing closer, but that’s not something you’re going to point out to your Knight Captain, either.

“That looks delicious… why did you get something different?” he groans beside you, frowning at his own plate of equally delicious food. It just looks different.

You laugh at him, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Feigning ignorance, you take a mouthful with closed eyes and a quiet hum of happiness, half way finished already.

When you open them again, Chanyeol is still staring at you, but his fork stabs around the contents on his plate, “No fair… Kyungsoo is playing favorites.”

Although you still have to look up to see his face, you do your best to stick your nose up at him. “Perhaps it is merely thanks for not coming and distracting his assistant every waking hour of the day,” you comment smugly.

He gapes, resting a heavy elbow on the table and motioning towards the kitchens with his now empty fork and a cheek stuffed with food, “You’re worse! You go and distract the Master himself!”

Swallowing your last bite, you lean in close to whisper, “Oh I do a lot more than distract him, Knight Captain.”

You don’t turn around to see the shocked expression on his face when you excuse yourself from the table immediately after, wearing a saccharine smile. All you can tell is that he doesn’t move for a very long time.

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escapereality2002 · 4 years ago

Text

Straighten Things Out...with A Twist (SakyoIzu One-shot)

Marry me

He knew it was a prank, one that he once saw from the smartphone of a younger MANKAI member. He also said that he didn’t understand why one would prank people with questions like that, on a chatroom for that matter. But he never thought that he would be on the receiving end of this prank.

Especially when Tachibana Izumi was on the giving end of it.

He knew it was a prank, but...but he couldn’t help to indulge himself with what ifs.

What if Izumi has a hidden intention behind this?

What if it’s actually real, under the layer of childish prank?

Ever since he finally joined MANKAI Company, just as his younger self desired, he began his path to grow and bloom on stage. Yet, it seemed that another thing began to grow as well. A feeling, once so innocent but complicated as it grew. Like a seed buried deep, settling its roots, and then began to sprout. It grew with each chat, discussion, and argument. Actions in an attempt to show their care for each other are like sun rays and fertilizers. Smiles, frowns, and accidental touches were like a drizzle, refreshing every time he noticed it.

So when she sent him this chat he…

He couldn’t help but hope, though a realistic thought shadowed that hope just a second later.

“I’m overthinking this…” Sakyo sighed, thumbs still hovering the digital keyboard of his smartphone. “What answer should I…”

Well.

Two could play this game.

He typed his answer in no time, since the answer IS short anyway.

Sure.

His heart leapt when he saw a grey chat bubble with three dots popped up just seconds after he sent his answer.

Didn’t that count as proof that she waited for his answer by staying online?

Wait, really?!

He held a snort, fingers typing another answer. Her reaction triggered a cheeky thought for his answer.

Bet you weren’t expecting that.

~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~

“Oooh, why am I doing this in the first place?!”

On the other side of that chatroom...was a flustered director at large. She was in her room, on the second floor and away from room 106 where he resides.

The finance manager and unofficial father figure in MANKAI, who is also the recipient of her prank.

Sakyo Furuichi.

The very man who made her feel different yet...pleasant.

Her feelings toward the man changed over the course of time. At first, she won’t deny that she was scared of him. Sharp eyes, taller stature, his occupation as a member of yakuza, and the amount of money that the company owed him had deter her at first. Such an impression that if Izumi didn’t notice his small gesture (like a 10 pages review, checking on why the theater lights are still on, or watching Spring and Summer debut shows), she would always see him as a man whom the company had debt for.

Those gestures actually showed how he’s passionate about acting and deeply cared for this specific theater company. It’s like it was Sakyo who is indebted to Mankai Company instead of the other way around. Though, Izumi didn’t want his passion to remain dormant, remain on the sidelines rather on the stage where he could bloom to his fullest potential.

That was what she did. Like a gardener, she took the chrysanthemum from a pot and planted it in a garden. Just where it belongs, where it blooms beautifully along with other flowers in a garden.

Little did she know that something else was blooming in her heart too.

‘Would you laugh if I told you that pipsqueak was my first love?’

‘You’re something else to me.’

Now, the next question would be: Is it still there? Or is it nothing but a memory?

By doing that prank, she knew that she hoped that it’s not the former. Now that she felt that different yet pleasant feeling...she began to notice that some things that he did could pass on as his care for MANKAI Company. But some others, more specific and subtle gestures, may not be a part of his caring to the theater company.

It may be a part of his personal, more intimate feeling. May, being the emphasised word.

At least, she hoped so.

“Sigh…”

She shared these woes with her small circle of friends from university and after whole gush and teasing, they encouraged Izumi to straighten things out. The truth will set you free, as one song recites.

After a few minutes leaving him hanging with that cheeky answer of his, Izumi patted her cheeks. “Right...no backing out now, Izumi! You DID want to use this opportunity to set it straight! ...unfortunately.”

She took her smartphone and marched out of her room to reach that one place where she knew he’s present.

~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~

After sending his reply, Sakyo managed to refocus on the novel he was reading. He immersed himself in the ocean of words, yet some knocks pull him back to the surface.

Irritated, he’s about to make a snarky remark but Izumi’s voice halts it.

“Sakyo, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Fresh memory of their earlier chat rushing down like waves. He took a deep breath to control the bubbling warm emotion inside him and exhaled, “Yes, what is it?”

The door slowly opened and Izumi stepped in. Her eyes were glued to the ground even after she closed the door.

“What is it, Director?” To say Sakyo didn’t have an inkling about what she wanted to talk about would be a lie, but he wanted to prolong this for a while.

‘She DID start it...might as well make the most of it.’, he thought.

“Uh...um,” She gulped, “what, what do you mean by that reply, Sakyo-san?”

He reviewed his options for reply. He could prolong it by asking her to point out the specific topic she wanted to discuss and maybe see her squirm and blush. Or he could answer it. That option bears another set of options too. He could answer it nonchalantly, saying that he played along her prank. That could result in breaking the tension over this silly chat and chuckle will be exchanged.

Or her eyes could glaze and downcast, even when her lips curved upwards.

‘If she believes it’s a prank then she won’t be here to get confirmation now, isn’t she?’

He sighed.

‘No more hiding, so it seems.’

“It may start off as a prank...but I mean exactly what I said.”

Now that he doesn’t need her to read between the lines, he has to do his part to diminish those lines and reveal the true meaning. With resolve, he stared at Izumi and...

“I love you, Izumi.”

Once the words were said, the rest were breathed out. Sakyo tried to keep his emotion in check but it seeped through every word he said, along with rushing blood on his cheeks. Sakyo dropped his gaze to his lap, knowing that Izumi still fixed her eyes on him.

“And if you’d allow me, I’d marry you. Not now, of course. I still have those years I’ve lost to catch on and I know you’re still focused on the theater. There’s also…”

Izumi stayed still as each word flew softly out of his mouth and hung in the air. She marveled at how easy he looked when he poured all his feelings in words.

‘It’s like he already had it recited every day...maybe even every night.’, she thought, face getting warmer and warmer with every word.

Sakyo closed his eyes and gulped a few deep breaths to ease his rapidly beating heart. He’s still unable to meet Izumi’s gaze and opt to bore his gaze on the floor near her feet.

‘Feels like I’m doing some kind of portrait...with a romantic theme.’ He thought, fingers drumming on his lap. He won’t deny that there's relief after pouring his feelings out, but of course her possible reaction looms hauntingly even more.

If only he was brave enough to look at her when he said all those words, he would have the front row seat of her reddening face and glossy eyes. It touched her, really, on how much he cares about his family, acting, this company, and...her.

Hearing no response from her, Sakyo sighed in resignation, “You don’t...you don’t have to answer it now. I just...your prank and you asking for confirmation have nudged me to say all of that. I’m comfortable on where we are so-”

Izumi cut him off after finding her courage to answer, “No I...I am honored that y-you think a lot of this matter, Sakyo-san. Frankly speaking, it made my own explanation pales in comparison…”

“Heh, I don’t really expect you to weave words like I did anyway...” Sakyo chuckled.

“Hey!” Izumi puffed out her cheeks before letting out a chuckle too.

Her positive response melted a bit of tension around them, enough for Sakyo to raise his head and looked her in the eye. Redness may not dissipate from his cheeks, but seeing hers were in similar condition was reassuring for him, even just a bit.

“So then, let’s hear what you have to say.”

She joined her hands and dropped her gaze, “To be honest, I...did use this prank to somehow test the waters. Now that I thought of it, it was pretty stupid thing to do. Of course, it was intended for laughs but um...in our case…”

“...it was used with a hint of seriousness?” He picked up where she trailed off.

She gulped a breath, “...yeah. Heh, childish isn’t it?”

‘Yeah, and adorable too.’ He disliked it when his mind automatically supplied him with that response.

“That’s why I’m here. I want to straighten things out about this. Now that you already said your part, I’ll say mine.”

‘Here it comes.’

‘Brace yourself.’

“At first, you’re an important person for MANKAI Company even when I was scared of you. No, you always have an important role to make this theater what they are now. I am very grateful for what you have done to this theater...”

She took another gulp of breath, “I cherished you as a companion at work and as a friend, Sakyo-san. But somewhere along the way I...realize that I wished for more.”

Giddiness bubbled inside her as hope bloomed inside him.

“I love you too, Sakyo-san. And it made me the happiest when you said that you love me.”

If this is Muku’s shoujo manga, then this scene would have flower petals and sparkles flying around them. Maybe they would run into each other’s embraces, smiling and laughing and then they’d-

But this is not a shoujo manga now, isn’t it?

Though, they did smile in relief with blush on their cheeks.

‘Ah, your smile is so cute...you should do it more often, Sakyo-san.’

‘That smile, that damn smile. I can’t believe I’m the one who made her smile like that.’

After that, shyness slipped back to her and she lowered her gaze, “So uh...I know marriage is not going to be soon but…do you want to try?”

“Dating, you mean?” Sakyo replied, pushing the glasses perched on his nose. “Well...if you want it too.”

“I won’t suggest it if I don’t want to, you know.” she retorted, “Then, please take care of me.”

“Likewise, please take care of me.”

“Now that all is said and done, can I come in?”

They jumped at a new, monotone voice they didn’t expect rang from outside the door. Had they’re too focused on straightening things out that they didn’t realize that somebody is outside?

Just beyond the slightly ajar door?

“Aw, Azamin! They’re about to do something more! Maybe they’d do something that Mukkun would swoon at!”

“Sakyo-nii, you’re so cool! I want to be like that too!”

“Shithead Sakyo, you better not doing something indecent when I- ”

Ready to prove Azami wrong, he took three long strides and yanked the door to reveal the three eavesdroppers.

“You three! Don't you know ANYTHING about privacy?!”

“Waaaaah! Let’s skedaddle, Taicchan!” ~FIN~ A/N: Aaaaah, what a nice feeling to finally finished a fic, even if it’s a one-shot. The idea pops up when I saw this text react and I just have to write it down hahaha. I struggled quite a bit for the confession scene, since I only got confessed once lol so I learn a thing or two from this sweet SakyoIzu fic. Go check em out! I LOVE AZAMI AND KAZUNARI TOO, MY BOYS MUAH MUAH

#a3! act! addict! actors!#a3! game #a3!#a3! izumi #a3! sakyo #a3! one shot #a3! tachibana izumi #Sakyo Furuichi #furuichi sakyo #izumi tachibana #tachibana izumi #stan sakyoizu guys they're just adorbs

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