#Letter to River Campaign | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mr-cha-n · 10 months ago

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The Pen Pal Project

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x reader

Genres: Fluff, fluff, and more fluff

Warnings: Profanities, sappiness, cheating (third party), a tinsy hint of angst

Word Count: 10.2k

Summary: Over a decade of handwritten letters later, you can happily say that the Pen Pal Project was your greatest success.

Reaching up into the top shelf of the wardrobe, toppling onto your tiptoes in order to do so, your fingertips brush against a satin, bowed box. Pulling the box down to your chest, you perch at the edge of your large, periwinkle-sheeted bed, gingerly untangling the pretty blue ribbon and lifting the lid off of the top. Leafing your fingers through the stacks of paper inside, you feel a wave of nostalgia enrapturing your body. Your head rolls back, eyes falling shut as your mind is overtaken by memory.

"Honey, the guests will be here soon!" Your husband yells out from down the stairs.

"I'll just be a few minutes! Can you take the cake out, my love?" You call back, praying you have the time to reminisce before everyone arrives.

You gently pull out the first letter from the top of the stack.

April 5th 2007

Dear pen pal,

I am writing to you because my class has signed up for the Pen Pal Project this year. Because I don't know who you are or anything about you, I am going to answer some of the questions my teacher has given us, and hopefully you can answer them too in your reply!

1. What is your name?

My mom said that I shouldn't give out any personal information, so I can't actually answer this question. My friends all call me Dusty, so you can call me that too.

2. What hobbies do you enjoy?

I am really into skating, starcraft, hockey and rocks. Yesterday, me and my friends went out to the outskirts of the city to see if we could climb the big oak trees, and I found a piece of dolomite next to the river! I really want to find a meteorite but they're very rare so I think it'll take a lot of searching. I also play in my school's field hockey team - my mom wants me to stop playing because last week I cracked one of my teeth, but I think she's going to come around when she sees our tournament next weekend.

3. What do you want to do when you grow up?

My dad is a teacher and my mom is a nurse, so my parents want me to go to university and become a doctor or a professor, but I'd quite like to be an astronaut or Indiana Jones, whichever pays better.

4. What's one thing you want to know about your pen pal?

I want to know everything about you (more than one, sorry)! What's your school like? What year were you born in (mine is 1995)? What do you do for fun? Do you like dogs? Do you have a phone?

I'm not sure if I'll get a response to this letter, but if you do want to, I hope we can keep in touch for a long time :)

Yours truly,

Dusty

May 21st 2007

Dear Dusty,

I'm really glad I got your letter. Some of my friends got letters that didn't even have a return address, but thankfully I get to write back to you and answer some of your questions. I was also born in 1995 so we are same-age friends. I'm finding this year in school a bit harder because of all the tests we are doing, but we just started doing football again in Physical Education so it's not too bad. Sports are my biggest hobby - I do football and basketball and I want to start wrestling this year. I mostly like to go and play with my friends at the park. I'm on some of the school teams, but my friends tell me I'm too competitive to play professionally.

I also really like gaming and reading. I finished the Protoss campaign over the winter break, but I've had to stop now that school has started again. My friends are all really excited about the announcement of Starcraft II, are you too? Will you keep going with the original or switch to the new one?

When I grow up, I either want to do sports or I'll study to work a good job in business or finance. Being an astronaut would be so cool! You'd definitely be able to find a meteorite then.

About your other questions, I don't have a phone yet but I do love dogs. When I'm older I want at least one dog, if not more. Do you have any pets?

I hope that we can keep writing to each other too - it's fun to have a secret friend.

From,

Cherry

January 4th 2011

Dear Cherry,

Sorry it's been a while - I've been really busy over the winter break, but I just had my tonsils removed so I have a bit of free time in recovery to write this letter. Before you ask, no - I didn't wake up during the surgery which I was a bit disappointed about, but I did manage to swallow enough blood to make me throw up after waking up so that was kinda crazy.

I can't believe that your friend did that! One time my friend Jiwoo got suspended for unscrewing all of the lightbulbs in the science classrooms, but that was because of a dare, not her own free will! I've never been suspended before, but I came close for tardiness last year. Have you ever been suspended?

I also appreciated your inquiry into the Heiran - Hyunki situation. I can't believe I forgot to update you in my last letter, and you'll be glad to receive it! Unbelievably, they got back together. I know it's what we feared would happen, but apparently Heiran has made some of her own mistakes in the relationship, so she's willing to overlook the whole thing. Absolutely crazy - I think that she's just scared to break up with him, which I suppose is a fair concern - just not for a 16-year-old. The whole situation really made me think about the purpose of relationships and love. All of my friends keep rushing into relationships this year, and I feel like I'm being left behind. I just don't care as much as they do, but they act like I'm some alien creature for not wanting to make out with someone in the school locker rooms. Perhaps this isn't something you can relate to, but it would be nice to know if you think I'm justified in my opinion or if there really is something wrong with me.

The thought of starting school again after the break is actually making me want to run away to the mountains. My sister is leaving for university and I don't want to go to school without her. Of course, I can't tell her that, but it's going to be really lonely walking in on my own. Plus, my parents' attention is firmly on me now, so I can't mess up in exams this year. The amount of pressure is going to make my head explode. How are you feeling about the year? I guess because you have the football season to look forward to your mind is probably focused on that?

I'm thinking about rejoining hockey this year. Even though it was too much last year, I did really miss it and I think I can better manage my time now that I don't have to be in the choir anymore. I think my mom might have a fit when I tell her, but the way you talked about sports really made me miss playing. Plus, apparently, I need an outlet for all these teenage hormonal emotions seeing as I'm not getting it on in the McDonald's parking lot.

Anyways, I need to get going now so I have time to blend some fruit up before lunchtime.

Yours truly,

Dusty

A chuckle leaves your lips as you read back over your letter. You'd been so worried about who was dating who and, more importantly, who you weren't dating. You were always so grateful for someone to discuss your fears with - your friends at the time certainly didn't understand. You'd had your first kiss a few weeks after you'd sent the letter. A party at a friend of a friend's house had devolved into typical teenage party games and you'd been pressured into kissing a boy whose name you couldn't remember. In fairness, you remembered that he was cute - curly dark hair and sharp cheekbones - but you'd made a joke about not being able to engage in tonsil tennis and he hadn't laughed so you'd known he wasn't the one.

June 27th 2011

Dear Dusty,

I finally asked out Myunghee and she said yes -

Nuh uh, skip that one.

October 23rd 2013

Dear Dusty,

All the kids in the year have planned a big Halloween party to celebrate our last your of high school. It's pretty exciting - apparently, they've bought some major decorations and they're going to set out the host's house to have scary surprises in all the rooms. I wouldn't be surprised if someone dresses up and decides to chase drunk kids around all night. It's a bittersweet feeling - our last Halloween party, but perhaps our best? Do you have any plans for Halloween and the holidays? I'm thinking of doing a Superman costume, but I'm wondering if that's a bit too obvious?

I put off writing about it first because I didn't want to open the letter with bad news, but I wanted to let you know that me and Myunghee broke up. Even though it's pretty sad, I've known it was coming for a while. If you remember my last letter, I told you about the fight that we had about next year, and I think that was really the beginning of the end. I was hoping that we could make it work a bit longer, but she said that we'd just be dragging out the inevitable and I guess she's right. I think I'm still a bit annoyed about the rollercoaster of the last month seeing if she's known the whole time that we should break up but I'll get over it. It's mostly just weird not having her around all the time. Everywhere feels a lot emptier now. I'm glad I can write to you about this - it's a bit awkward talking about it with my friends because they are also friends with her, but I can actually be honest with you.

Anyway, I hope you are doing a bit better than me. Your date sounded pretty cool - I've always wanted to go on an ice-skating date but I'd be a bit scared of falling over and making a fool of myself so I admire your confidence. If you are still seeing him, I hope he's treating you well. Chocolates and flowers at least once a month - and you can tell him I said so if he asks. If you're not seeing him, I (pre-emptively) can't believe he did that to you! What a jerk...

Are you watching the AFC Champions League final? A few friends and I are going to go down to the bar to watch it together and pray for a good result - either way, it should be fun. I suppose your dad will have it on in the house, but I'll be shocked if you tell me you're going to watch it with him after last time. Best to avoid the flying wrath of a TV remote. There's something about dads and sports, isn't there? I wonder if I'll be like that when I'm an adult. I hope not, but I already get too into it so maybe it's inevitable.

Yours,

Cherry

That date had been a good one as far as you remember, but the memory has become blurry after all the times your husband has taken you ice-skating since. You'd dated that guy for a few more weeks after this, but he made a weird comment to one of his friends when he didn't think you could hear it so you knew he wasn't the one.

Finishing high school and moving on to university had been a formative time for you. You gained a sense of identity that you'd lost as a teenager, and reconnected with your younger self. A smile crinkles your lips as you think about that time. The stupid escapades of adults let loose on their own for the first time, the lifelong friends you'd made, and the wealth of knowledge you'd gained about yourself and about the world. Your husband never attended university so he never experienced any of that, but you suppose he did have his own life-changing revelations during this time.

February 8th 2015

Dear Cherry,

I'm in crisis and I need your advice! I haven't spoken to anyone else about this yet, but I have a feeling building in me that needs to be released and you always give me the best advice. I'm thinking about dropping out of my program.

I know this sounds super rash and stupid, but I really hate it. I find it so dull and confusing, and everyone else is much better at it than I am. And, if I'm really being honest, I only chose medicine because my mother wanted me to. I would feel so stupid revealing that to anyone else, but I think you already knew that was the case. I'm struggling to keep going with it without the passion that other students seem to have, and when I hear about my friends' courses they sound so much more interesting.

If I actually go through with it, this may be the last letter I write to you. But, given that I survived my mother's wrath, a life studying literature or archaeology sounds so much more fulfilling to my brain even if not my pockets. What do you think about all of this? Is it worth following a passion that may lead to nothing or sticking it out with a stable, reliable path to future success without enjoyment?

As you know, I make very impulsive decisions, so I need your help in deciding whether or not this would be one of those.

Yours truly,

Dusty

P.S. I got asked to the dance by this really attractive guy who works at the coffee shop on campus so not everything is going wrong.

P.S.S. I found a rock which I thought was a meteorite but it was actually a magnetite - better luck next time!

You'd dropped out of your medicine major the moment you'd received the reply. Of course, your pen pal was a lot more supportive of your decision than your parents were but they got over it in time. Your fate had been decided the moment you'd stepped out of your first archaeology class - heart beaming and mind brimming with all of your plans for the future. Despite your parents' apprehensions, it had been the right decision. It didn't take long for your burning enthusiasm and insatiable appetite for learning to be picked up by your professors, and by your second year in the major you'd been invited on an exclusive trip one of your professors was going on with a handful of other students.

It was around this time that you'd started wondering more about your pen pal. The flutters of your heart each time the small envelope appeared in your dorm pigeonhole had been drowned out by the rush of university life. Reflecting back, your obliviousness to your own emotions makes you shake your head in disbelief. But then, you'd met Daejung. He'd taken you out dancing, brought you flowers and laughed at your jokes, and you began to wonder if he was the one.

May 16th 2017

Dear Dusty,

Officially, you may know me better than anyone else. I know I already sent you a letter this month that you probably haven't even received, but I realised that it is the tenth anniversary since I received your first letter. Not to be soppy, but it truly means the world to me that we've been able to keep up this correspondence this whole time.

As far as I'm aware, we won the Pen Pal Project. No one else I know stayed in touch with their childhood pen pal for nearly as long as we have, and I think that we deserve some kind of reward for it.

But, beyond any records we must have broken, I'm most grateful for the friendship we have developed. In any other circumstances, I would have said that it was impossible for people who have never met to be each other's closest confidants, but I can confidently say that there is nothing I wouldn't tell you. If it turns out you've been some 60-year-old man this whole time, consider me logged off from this life.

My wish is that we can keep doing this for as long as we are able to hold pens in our hands, and even then I'd consider getting a scribe to write the letters for me.

As a gift, I feel that it's about time that I tell you my name - my real name. If you (and your mom) still don't feel comfortable sharing yours then Dusty is still perfectly fine for me, but the fundamental disconnect between telling a person your deepest secrets and not telling them your name has gotten too overwhelming for me, so it's time to rectify that.

Yours,

Seungcheol

P.S. If you still want to call me Cherry that's also a-okay!

The first time Seungcheol revealed his name to you, you remember you'd dropped the letter in shock. As if knowing his name changed things, as if he didn't live a completely separate life from you already. It wasn't like knowing who he was would change anything about your life - you had no connection to him other than your letters - but the intimacy of his name had you staggering a few steps backwards, eye bulging from your head at the fallen letter. It seems rather overdramatic now, but in hindsight it always does.

This letter had been a bit of a turning point in your relationship, beyond the end of the nicknames you'd used for ten years. You'd always felt close enough to Seungcheol to pour your heart out to him in writing, but the closeness you felt was compounded in this letter. You wipe a few rogue tears from your eyes as you read back over it, moved by the raw declarations Seungcheol had been brave enough to express. If you really think about it, this letter was the first time you'd truly tried to picture what your pen pal looked like. Up until this point, you'd been enflamed by his words and unloaded all of your deepest thoughts to him in return, but this was the first time that you'd realised that your pen pal was a real man your age that you were already deeply connected to. The thought had been scandalous in your mind, and the shame that overwhelmed you when you'd met up with Daejung later that day made it hard to look him in the eye. Fantasising about a man you had never seen before had felt as bad as cheating, and the various forms of him that had appeared in your dreams for the rest of the week only compounded your guilt.

August 4th 2018

Dear Seungcheol,

Happy 24th Birthday! It's actually shocking to me to think that we're this old already, but I think mid-20s is a label that suits you well these days. Jokes aside, I hope you have a really lovely day doing whatever it is you have planned. I'll assume you're off bungee jumping with Jeonghan or on an all-inclusive golfing retreat until you tell me otherwise. In all cases, I hope that you are surrounded by friends and family to remind you how special you are.

Also, congratulations on your new job! I can't believe you didn't tell me that you were interviewing for it, but I suppose you didn't want to jinx anything by putting it into writing. I always thought that coaching would suit you - you could scare me into coming to practice any day! You should be really proud of yourself; I know that I am.

You'll never guess who got in contact with me this week! All out of nowhere, I got a message from Heiran of all people inviting me to her and Hyunki's wedding! I guess I was really wrong about that one... For their sake, I hope that their relationship is a bit better than it was in school. I was very surprised to be invited seeing as we haven't spoken in years, but I suppose it'll be nice to see everyone from school again. Perhaps I should tell Daejung that he can't come and you can be my plus one instead - I think you know the couple better than he does!

Another one of my friends just gave birth to a baby boy. All of this marrying and birth-giving is really screwing with my head. As far as I was aware, that's a thing that proper adults do and we're nowhere close to that yet. Even if I know that 24 is a very common age to be doing that stuff, it's still more than my brain can process. Once again, I am left behind as everyone else moves on to the next stage of life. I'm grateful, at least, that Daejung is pretty relaxed about all of that stuff. Hoping we can have a few more years before we start thinking about any of it - I still have so much travelling to do, things to see, and meals to eat before I flush all of my money down the toilet.

Jiwoo got really excited this week because she thought she saw Lee Byunghun walking past her work, so that made me feel a bit better about my life priorities.

Yours truly,

(Y/n)

P.S. I'm spending extra money to make sure this gets to you on time, so if it doesn't you cannot blame me.

P.P.S. My new address is - XXX

That year you and Daejung had finally moved in together. The apartment was small and in a less-than-nice area, but you'd been ecstatic at the chance to live with the man you loved. It had been a rough year before that - Daejung had missed out on a job offer for his dream role and you weren't able to go abroad on an excavation because he didn't want you to leave for months just as you were moving in together - but you'd seen the new apartment as symbolic of the new beginning you two would get together.

You'd also thought a lot about meeting up with Seungcheol that year. Looking back, it was crazy that you never did. Both of you expressed a will to do so, but something had always prevented you from actually doing it. You were completing your postgraduate degree part-time and working a service job that was supporting both you and Daejung at the start of the year, moving in together in the middle of the year, and Seungcheol had gotten busy with his new job in the latter half of the year. Even though you had never met up before, that you weren't able to that year was the first time it felt like a loss.

December 12th 2019

Dear (Y/n),

I've been thinking about you a lot recently. Writing to you has been the highlight of my month for a while now, and I'm so proud of you for everything you've achieved. It's amazing that you're already being asked to go on your first excursion as a proper expert, and I hope that Daejung comes around to the idea of you being away for so long. I'm sure that I'll miss your letters so I can imagine he's feeling much worse about it - but that shouldn't stop you from going. You might find an ancient vase and accidently release a curse upon the world, or discover a new dinosaur! Even if you go and are just digging up dirt with no results, I'll still be impressed.

One of the kids I mentor asked me if I knew what Starcraft was yesterday, and at that moment I really felt my age. I think it's led to some level of introspection I usually avoid, but one thing that has become clear to me is that I'm very grateful for this friendship. I hope that one day soon you can perhaps travel to Daegu and visit, or I can come see you in Seoul. Or perhaps it will take away the great fun of having a pen pal if we meet - you may be expecting someone completely opposite from me and seeing me may ruin the magic?

But the main reason I've been thinking about you is because I finally finished Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982. You were very correct in your recommendation - I can't believe it took me so long to read it! Summary of thoughts: I'm raging and also apologising to my mother and grandmother every time I see them. You have to send me another recommendation now that I'm finished - maybe some sort of mystery or thriller if you know any?

Yours,

Seungcheol

P.S. I suppose I should send you a whip and brown fedora and then you can officially say you're Indiana Jones.

January 7th 2021

Dear Seungcheol,

I'm glad you had fun on your trip! The picture you sent of the mountains was absolutely gorgeous and was a hilarious reminder that I have no idea what you look like. I keep saying I want to go to Japan but can hardly find the time, but after seeing the picture I really must go now.

I have some big news.

Daejung proposed and we're getting married!!

I know it's a bit out of the blue - I was surprised too. He's been putting off any mention of marriage for the last few months so I assumed he just wasn't interested but I guess that was all a cover to stop me from suspecting the proposal. It happened a few days after I got back from Vienna. It was really sweet - he threw this big party with all of our close friends and family to celebrate the end of my project and proposed at the end of the night. I was pretty shocked which I suppose was the point, but I'm really just excited that we're taking that step together.

My main purpose for writing is that I wanted to invite you to the wedding. It's a big step, but it wouldn't feel right to get married without one of my oldest friends there. If you decide you don't want to and you want to keep our friendship strictly on paper then I'd totally understand. But if you do want to come, we'd love to have you with us. I'll cover any travel and hotel fees if it means I can have you here.

Your continued support via letter means the world to me.

Yours truly,

(Y/n)

The wedding. Oh, the wedding.

A few nights before your wedding Daejung had come to the hotel you'd been staying in that week to finalise all of the preparations and observe some old-fashioned pre-wedding rituals your mother insisted on as if you and Daejung hadn't lived together for years before that. He'd given you a marriage gift a bit early because you were supposed to go straight to your honeymoon in Japan on the day of the wedding. Your heart fluttered in excitement as you opened the box, electrified at the surprise of what your future-husband could have gotten you to symbolise your union together. The reality had been, you could now admit, disappointing. The necklace had been pretty, and certainly not cheap. A silver heart set with a gleaming diamond to match the ring that Daejung had picked out for you. You'd smiled, thanking him for the gift and tried to ignore the discontent brewing in your own heart.

The first time you saw Seungcheol was at your wedding reception. Because of his job and the distance, he hadn't been able to make your morning ceremony, but the fact that he even chose to come all that way meant a lot to you.

"Who's the hunk with the green scarf?" One of your bridesmaids, Jiwoo had asked, pointing out a man standing alone by one of the drinks tables.

For a moment you didn't want to believe that it was him, but who else would be at your wedding that you didn't recognise? Tall and broad with fluffy hair and a handsome-beyond-belief face, Seungcheol had been a picture to witness. All dressed up in a suit, you thought he looked rather like a super spy or a CEO from one of those corny romance books. In any case, you were shocked to your core that that was the man you'd spilt your darkest secrets to for over a decade now.

"Oh, I think that might be Seungcheol," You breathed, voice wavering with uncertainty even though you were now certain it was him.

"Seungcheol - hmm, why does that name sound so familiar?" Your other bridesmaid, Mirae, pondered, her brow crinkled as she tried to identify the name in her memory.

"Oh my god, you invited your pen pal to your wedding?!" Jiwoo exclaimed, spinning on her heel to give you an incredulous look.

"Of course I did, I've known him for almost as long as I've known you!" You stuttered, your head still trying to play catch-up after the dizzying appearance of said topic of conversation.

"Why didn't you tell me that your pen pal was so hot?" Mirae scoffed, mock fanning her face in a way that made you feel shamefully irritated.

"Surprisingly, he didn't mention it in his letters." You responded, offering her a deadpan look and an eyebrow raise. She shrugged, but you'd known that wouldn't be the end of that conversation.

About 15 minutes later, you'd finally managed to make your way over to Seungcheol's perch. It was hard to decipher if your delay was because of all of the people trying to talk to you at the same time (perks of it being your wedding) or because of the unexplained fear and anxiety that was bubbling inside you at the prospect of finally meeting him face-to-face. As you finally made eye-contact, and he'd flashed his teeth at you in an infectious grin, you'd felt all of that melt away from you.

"Hi," You greeted, not able to wipe your own smile from your face.

"Hi," He responded, a peace settling between the two of you. "You look really beautiful."

Your face was all ablush and you felt a sense of dread at what would happen if you started like this. Starting down at your dress, you were unable to look back up at him.

"Thank you, I had it specially made," You smiled, your eyes gleaming as he chuckled at your joke. "I really appreciate you coming all this way, it means so much to me that you're here. Please let me know if there's anything you need - have you eaten yet? I can get you some-"

"It's okay, I'm feeling great." His hand reached out to still your own, which you hadn't realised was nervously picking at at skin around your nails.

"I can't believe that this is how we're first meeting," You breathed, a sense of shyness overwhelming you at the feeling of his skin against yours.

"If you ask me, we've definitely met before. Just not physically." His words had your head spinning so much that you were struggling to remember that you were both at your wedding.

"Poetic," You agreed, trying to present at least outwardly calmer than you felt inside.

"Oh! Before I forget, I got you this." Seungcheol extended a hand out with a small, wrapped box in his palm. "It wasn't on the registry, and really it's only for you so I thought I should give it to you personally instead of putting it on the gifts table."

"That's really generous of you, you didn't have to." You offered him a shy smile, taking the gift from him. The neatly wrapped box had been laced shut with a pretty blue ribbon, and you remember the thumping of your heart in your chest as you undid it. A small gasp involuntarily left your mouth, your hand moving to cover it in shock.

"Important backstory - I found it a few years after you told me you were looking for it. I wanted to just send it to you then, but I thought that I should keep it for when we met. I never thought that it would take so long to do so, but I hung on to it just in case."

A small chunk of dark meteorite sat in the box in your hand. Looking up and down between Seungcheol and the rock, you felt your eyes well up with tears that you had to force back down to not ruin your wedding makeup.

"Oh wow," Your voice cracked, "Seungcheol, this is seriously so sweet. I'm shocked that you kept this for me."

You felt unable to tell him all of your emotions, hoping that the gratitude in your eyes was enough to express them all to him. The sweet, adoring expression on his face told you that he understood without you needing to say any more.

That, unfortunately, had been the highlight of your wedding.

Not an hour later, it had all gone to shit, starting with a well-intentioned comment from your best friend.

"The wedding is so gorgeous (Y/n), I'll have to take notes for my own." Jiwoo gushed, pointing at all the flowers that had now been revealed as people moved into the outside area of the venue.

"I know, Daejung did a really good job picking out this place."

"I'm so happy for you two, especially after the whole Vienna situation."

A bolt of alarm rang through your bones as you a struck still by the comment. You didn't miss the panicked look Mirae sent Jiwoo, who looked equally as confused as you felt.

"What-" You tried to compose yourself amongst the rushes of fear that were threatening to render you completely useful. "What do you mean the Vienna situation?"

Jiwoo was now floundering, looking between you and Mirae with a gaping mouth.

"I just meant - I mean, nevermind - I thought... I thought you knew?" The last whispered part had your heart sinking to the bottom of your chest. Mirae was refusing to meet your gaze, and that was telling you all you needed to know.

"Did something happen when I was away?" You demanded, your voice slick with emotion.

"(Y/n)..." Mirae started, but the withering look you gave her immediately stopped her placating.

Four words later and your entire life had exploded. He cheated on you. Whilst you were away, no less. And then, as if it would magically make everything better, proposed instead of telling you.

The look on your then-husband's face when you stormed up to him demanding to know the truth was enough to convince you of the reality of your friend's words. You could now admit, amidst all of the hurt, anger and disgust you felt towards Daejung at that moment, your overriding emotion was utter panic at the thought of having to tell all of your guests that the wedding was to be stopped and annulled. A trivial emotion amongst the personal grief you were experiencing, but undoubtedly the cause of your greatest distress at the moment.

You didn't see Seungcheol as or after it all happened. Any pretence of calm instantly slipped the moment you began speaking to your family and friends - a speech which ended with you in floods of tears being escorted away from the hosts of shocked guests. It was only hours later that you realised that you hadn't said goodbye and, worse, that you'd invited him all of this way just to witness the shitshow that was your failed marriage. Too ashamed to burden him further, you chose not to write to him for months afterwards He gave you space too, and you weren't sure if you felt grateful for it or utterly alarmed that he may just never want to speak to you again.

May 6th 2021

Dear Seungcheol,

I'm deeply sorry for my complete silence, although I suppose I do not need to explain to you the reason for it. My hand has been itching to pick up my pen and write to you every month that goes by, but only now have I overcome my own shame and disgrace to do so. First of all, I have to sincerely apologise for making you waste your time coming to such an awful event. I can only hope that you managed to get a slice of cake before it all fell apart so that I could at least offer you the condolence of a delicious snack. I also must apologise for completely abandoning you during your trip to the city. I was really looking forward to showing you my favourite spots, and I let my own misery get in the way of being a good host.

I hope you are well. As I haven't heard from you in a little while, I don't know what's going on with you so I have little to comment on. But, at the very least, I wish for your good health and general happiness. If you are worried about me, you don't need to be. I have taken the last few months to put my life back together, and I feel like I'm making better progress these days - hence the letter writing. I'm thinking of getting a dog for companionship since I have vehemently sworn off men for the foreseeable future.

I also wanted you to know that I treasure your gift. As it turns out, meeting you and getting a meteorite was the best part of that night, if you'll believe it. I have it kept in a special box on my desk just to make sure that it's safe and that I'll never lose it. I wish I could have given you something in return. If we end up meeting again I'll have to start planning now to make sure my gift is just as good as yours was. Speaking of, you are welcome to come and stay with me any time you want, and we can rain-check that city tour. Alternatively, if you want to ignore this letter and never speak to me again, I'd also understand.

Yours truly,

(Y/n)

May 19th 2021

Dear (Y/n),

I'm so glad to have heard from you, and that you are doing okay. As much as I appreciate all of your apologies, none of them are necessary. If anything, I feel that I should be apologising to you for leaving you in the dark for just as long as you left me - you had a much better excuse too. Although I didn't want to overwhelm you with letters after such awful news, I realise now that leaving it so long was not the right course of action.

I think getting a dog is a fantastic idea. Company is something you'll never lack with a dog around, and I can agree that dogs are much better companions than men.

As for me, I am doing well too. It's mostly just been a cycle of work and sleep, so I haven't got much to report, but I'm hoping for a more eventful summer. Visiting the city would be a wonderful way to achieve this, so perhaps closer to the time I'll write again to arrange coming to stay with you. I would love to see you again soon. My only other news that I know you'd be interested in is that Jeonghan has seemingly met someone. He's keeping all of the details close to the chest, so I'll have to update you in the next letter when I know more, but it's an exciting revelation. He seems very happy, which is all I can hope for.

When I told you that I wouldn't stop writing to you until I could no longer hold a pen in my hand, I meant it. I hope that you will never again think that I wouldn't want to speak to you -it's the highlight of my day.

Yours,

Seungcheol

P.S. I'm sure you don't want to talk about the wedding, but just so you know - he was a fucking fool to let you go.

You remember the relief you'd felt at getting that letter. The uncertainty of whether or not Seungcheol still wanted to talk to you was enough to keep you on edge for the entire 13 days that it took for you to get his response. But, as always, your friend was reliably there for you.

The time you'd taken over those last new months, and the few months afterwards had been tumultuous, but cleansing. In your post-marriage clarity, you'd realised all of the opportunities you'd missed because of Daejung. Deciding that you wouldn't let him take anything else from you, you'd arranged to go on a long excursion you'd waved off for wedding planning when you'd first heard about it. Learning about the project from one of your old professors who'd transferred to Cairo University, you were offered a position on the ongoing expedition in Saqqara. Although Egyptology was not your speciality, your master's dissertation on the mummified scarab beetles found at Saqqara in 2018 and your tutor's reference got you onto a low-level position on the expedition.

Six months in Egypt had been exactly what you needed to move on from Daejung. At that time, your relationship with your closest friends was also on the rocks, and it was really only Seungcheol and your family that you missed during your time abroad.

December 23rd 2021

Dear Seungcheol,

I've finally got some time off over the holiday break, and I'm ready to give you the download of everything that's happening here in Saqqara! But, first, I'm going to have to beg you for the details of your double date with Jeonghan and Jooyeon. How was it!? Was Jooyeon's friend nice? Were there sparks? How many times did Jeonghan bring up embarrassing stories about you as a kid?

I hope it went well - you deserve all of the happiness in the world.

Now, onto the important stuff!

I'm not sure if you saw on the news, but we've made some pretty huge finds since I got here, Obviously, I can't give myself all the credit, but just being part of the team that made it happen is pretty incredible. We've found multiple tombs of dignitaries from the reign of Ramses II. I'm doing a bit of research on one of the tombs, belonging to a military leader called Hor Mohib, but I have to keep taking breaks every 20 minutes to pinch my arm and remind myself that this is reality.

My Arabic has gotten significantly better now - I was rather rusty when I first got here. I'm able to have reasonably complex conversations with the Egyptian members of the team and the locals helping out, and it's pretty cool for my nerd brain to be surrounded by a group of people equally as excited to be digging up ornamental graves as I am.

I'm really glad I came. It's hard to admit, even to you, but my life really fell apart after the wedding. Honestly, I didn't even know if I wanted to keep working in archaeology or if I wanted to jet off to Iceland and buy a farm. And the worst bit is that it's been so lonely since. Losing Daejung was one thing, but I haven't spoken to Jiwoo or Mirae since. I can't bear to look at them knowing that they hid that secret from me for so long. Maybe one day I'll be able to forgive them, but it certainly won't be now. Your letters have been my only sanctuary of human connection in these past few months, and that's something I'll have to add to my list of neverending gratitude I hold for you.

I realize now that I haven’t been very good at expressing how much your friendship means to me, how it's been my lifeline in this mess. Your letters are the only constant, the only thing that feels like home even when I am surrounded by ancient wonders and new colleagues.

And so, I have a confession. I want to see you again. I want to tell you all of this in person. I can't say what will come of it, but I know that after all of these years, after all the letters and confessions and secrets shared, we owe it to ourselves to meet in a way that isn't rushed or overshadowed by anything else.

Maybe we could meet halfway between Seoul and Daegu, or I could take the train down to visit you? I need to see you again, not as a guest at my ruined wedding, but as Seungcheol, the one person who’s known me at my best and worst, and still chooses to write back.

Let me know what you think.

Yours truly,

(Y/n)

P.S. I've included a small rock I found on the dig - nothing special but it reminded me of our old conversations. I hope it makes you smile.

P.P.S. Please don't feel pressured to say yes, but know that I would really like to see you again.

You can't quite recall what possessed you to write such a bold letter. Perhaps it had been the desert sun, the thrill of discovering something new in something old at Saqqara, or simply your immense loneliness.

Days had turned into weeks as you anxiously waited for a response, checking your makeshift mailbox daily. Then one morning, there it was—a simple white envelope with Seungcheol’s familiar sloping handwriting.

January 17th 2022

My Dear (Y/n),

I've thought about meeting you countless times since our first encounter. After reading your words, I realise that I've been waiting for this just as much as you have. How's this - I'll take the first train up to Seoul when you're back and we can spend the day together. No distractions, no interruptions - just you and me, finally getting to know each other beyond the pages of our letters.

I'm looking forward to me, more than I can express. Until I see you again, take care, and know that I'm counting down the days.

All yours,

Seungcheol

P.S. the best bit about the date was spending time with Jeonghan. No more needs to be said.

You stare down at the letter, your heart pacing as fast as it had the first time you'd received it. Beautiful words from a beautiful man with a beautiful soul.

You'd gotten back to Seoul by the end of March 2022, and, as promised, Seungcheol came to visit you that first weekend in April. When he'd stepped off the train in the bustling station at the heart of the city, you were there to greet him. You'd spotted him standing there, taller even than you'd remembered, with that same easy smile that had always leapt off of the page.

The world around you had seemed to blur as you walked toward each other, nerves fluttering in your stomach but quickly dissolving as he pulled you into a gentle, lingering hug. The connection between you, once confined to words on paper, felt more real than ever.

You spent the day wandering through the city, visiting old bookstores, sipping coffee in quiet cafes, and talking as if no time had passed since that fateful wedding reception. Every shared laugh, every story swapped, deepened the bond you'd forged in ink.

June 14th 2022

Seungcheol,

It feels like only yesterday that we were wandering through Seoul together, but at the same time, it feels like a lifetime ago. I keep finding myself replaying that day in my mind - how easy it was to talk to you in person, as if we'd done it a hundred times before. It's strange, isn't it? How someone can feel so familiar, even when they're a whole new experience at the same time.

I've been thinking about our conversation in the bookstore. You said something about how some stories are better left unfinished, that sometimes the best part of a tale is imagining what could be. I can't stop thinking about that - about how some stories do need an ending, and how others are meant to keep going, even if we don’t know where they’ll lead.

There's something I've been meaning to tell you, but I haven't found the right words yet. I guess I'm still figuring it out myself. It's just that being around you feels different to how I expected. There's a comfort, yes, but also something more, something I can't quite define. It's like we're on the edge of something new, and it's exciting and a little terrifying at the same time. I'm not sure if you feel it too, but I hope you do.

Anyway, I don't want to get too ahead of myself as usual. I'm just really glad we've reconnected, and that we've managed to keep in touch after all these years.

It means more to me than I can say. Let’s make sure our next meeting isn’t too far off—I’m already looking forward to it.

Until then, take care of yourself, and don’t work too hard. I’ll be watching the clock until I see you again.

Yours,

(Y/n)

That day in April 2022 hadn't been the last time you saw Seungcheol. You'd made that mistake once in the past, and neither of you was willing to do so again. He continued to come to Seoul to see you, and you travelled down to Daegu to meet him and his friends. Your letters ceased for a while over this time due to the frequency you were seeing each other, but for the first time that didn't bother you.

You remember, with teary eyes, the day that you finally confessed your feelings.

It was 25th September 2022, after a whole summer spent together, and the air was tinged with the first hint of autumn's chill. THe leaves were just beginning to turn, painting the streets in warm hues of amber and crimson as you walked side by side in a quiet part in Seoul. The easy laughter and conversation that had marked your friendship over the years felt heavier that day, as it something unspoken was lingering in the crisp air between you.

You had spent countless days together that summer - visiting museums, trying new restaurants, even embarking on a spontaneous week trip to the coast. Each moment with Seunngchaeol had felt like a dream, a slow realisation that your heart was no longer just content with friendship. But with that realization came a fear you hadn't expected. What if this was enough for him? What if risking everything by confessing how you truly felt would unravel the beautiful bond you had spent so many years cultivating?

That evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the park, you found yourselves sitting on a bench overlooking a small pond. The water was still, reflecting the fiery colours of the sky, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. Seungcheol had been quieter than usual that day, his expression pensive as if he, too, was wrestling with unspoken thoughts.

You felt your heart pound in your chest, each beat louder than the last as you tried to summon the courage to speak. The words were caught in your throat, but the fear of losing him if you didn’t say them was stronger. Finally, unable to hold it in any longer, you turned to him, your voice trembling as you broke the silence.

"Seungcheol," you began, your hands nervously fidgeting in your lap. He turned to look at you, his eyes soft and attentive, encouraging you to continue. "There’s something I need to tell you… something I’ve been feeling for a while now."

His gaze didn’t waver, but you noticed the slight hitch in his breath, the way his fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the bench. The world seemed to shrink to just the two of you, everything else fading away as you gathered your thoughts.

"I—" You paused, trying to find the right words, but there were none that seemed adequate to express the depth of your feelings. "I think I’ve fallen in love with you."

The admission hung in the air between you, a fragile confession that you could no longer take back. For a moment, time seemed to stop, the world holding its breath as you waited for his response. You searched his face for any sign of what he might be thinking, every second feeling like an eternity.

Then, without a word, Seungcheol reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that had escaped down your cheek. There was a tenderness in his touch, a warmth that radiated through you, calming your racing heart.

"I’ve been waiting to hear those words," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Because I’ve been feeling the same way for a long time too."

His words washed over you, a wave of relief and joy so overwhelming that you felt your breath hitch. You had been so afraid, so uncertain, and now, with his quiet confession, all those fears melted away. He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull back if you needed to, but you didn’t. You closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a gentle, tender kiss that felt like a promise—one of many yet to come.

Hearing the doorbell ring down below you, and the sound of your husband's voice calling out to say he'll get it, you rush forward to reach your favourite letter - just one more before you return to reality.

November 3rd 2023

My dearest (Y/n),

I'm so glad you're having such a good time in Rome - I'm rather jealous of all of your sightseeing and pasta-eating. Kkuma and I are holding the fort down at home, although I had to be scolded yesterday for breaking the toaster when I tried to make Kkuma some breakfast. I sent some more suncream over in the mail because I know you've already run out and forgotten to get some more - I'm not sure if this letter will reach you first, but if it does look out for the parcel.

Now, I'll admit, the main purpose of my letter is something a little different than simply catching up, as much as I love those letters too. I thought about doing this once you returned home, but you've already had one man declare his everlasting intentions to you after you returned from an excursion, so I thought it better to avoid rehashing those memories (we'll do this again when you're home, but I thought it might be fun to do it this way).

If you have the suncream box already, then you may have a sneaking suspicion of what I'm about to say.

I've loved you for as long as I've known you. As a twelve-year-old kid, I didn't know that was what it was, but the level of obsession I had with writing to you and receiving your replies was beyond any normal friendship. You were always so fascinatingly cool, out of reach, and genuinely yourself. Being in love with your pen pal isn't always an easy thing - the cold sweats I would wake up to after dreaming about meeting for the first time, the constant updates about a life that I wasn't a part of, the announcement of your engagement to another person. I tried to pretend it wasn't real for a long time, see other people, because of how silly I felt about being in love with someone I'd never met.

And then I saw you standing there, in that beautiful white gown with your hair up and that gorgeous smile on your face. Did you know that my hands were sweating when I gave you that gift? I don't think I've ever told you that before. I became certain then that I was completely screwed. Entirely head over heels.

I'll never be happy that that marriage didn't work out for you - all I've ever wanted is your happiness, be that with me or someone else. But I won't lie and say that nothing has made me happier than the consequences of it.

This past year has been the happiest time I've ever known. Every moment with you is filled with such joy, and every moment without I'm left with a record of memories to remind me of the time we've had together. When I look at you, I don't just see my past, but also my future. I see a lifetime of shared experiences, of laughter, or quiet moments that mean more than words ever could. I see us growing old together, supporting each other, and playing trash hockey on the wooden floor of our kitchen.

You are my best friend, my partner, the love of my life. And I want to spent every day making sure you know just how much you mean to me.

So, that being said, will you (Y/n) (Y/l/n), do me the honour of marrying me?

All yours,

Seungcheol

P.S. Please don't feel pressured to say yes, but know that I would really like it if you did.

You fiddle with the precious ring on your left hand, your fingers lingering over the smooth chunk of dark stone in the centre.

A gentle brush of a hand on your shoulders brings you back to the real world, tears now flaking on your cheeks as you sniffle at the words on the page.

"Are you okay, darling?" Seungcheol asks gently.

"Yes, sorry, I know the guests are here now - I just wanted to look at these," You reply, holding up the letters for your husband to see.

You watch his expression soften, a suggestion of moisture in the corner of his eyes as he looks over the written words.

Swooping down, he places a long, loving kiss on your forehead, letting your bodies rest together in harmony for a moment.

"I can't believe they still make me cry," You huff, letting out a soft laugh. "And I don't even think I can brush it off as hormones."

"Seeing that just looking at them has me tearing up, I don't think I can either." Seungcheol smiles, stroking the back of your hair affectionately.

"They're probably getting antsy downstairs, right?" You say, beginning to pile the letters back up into the box.

Standing up, you lean forward to press all of your passion and adoration onto your husband's lips. You can feel his intensity matching yours, his hands finding the side of your hips to keep you stable.

"They can wait," Seungcheol replies, his forehead leaning softly against your own. "They're not the ones who are pregnant after all."

You laugh, a sound filled with both joy and contentment, feeling the warmth of his love surrounding you. "I suppose you're right," you say, a smile spreading across your face. You take one last glance at the box of letters, a testament to the incredible journey you've both shared—one that began with innocent childhood exchanges and blossomed into a love story more profound than you could have ever imagined.

Hand in hand, you and Seungcheol make your way downstairs to greet your guests, the letters safely tucked away in their satin box. As you step into the room, you know that no matter what the future holds, you'll always have those words, those memories, and most importantly, each other.

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whencyclopedia · 10 days ago

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Battle of New Orleans: The American Agincourt

The Battle of New Orleans (8 January 1815) was the final major battle of the War of 1812, in which a ragtag American army under Major General Andrew Jackson (1767-1845) beat back a superior British force under Major General Sir Edward Pakenham (1778-1815). The battle was incredibly lopsided – the Americans suffered 71 casualties while the British suffered over 2,000 – and was fought after the peace had been signed. But despite its needlessness, the battle gave the fledgling United States a new self-confidence in its sovereignty and set its victor, Jackson, on the path to the presidency.

Pakenham & the British Invasion

The events that would lead to the bloodshed at New Orleans were set into motion three months before when, on a cool October evening, Sir Edward Pakenham received a letter from Lord Bathurst, Secretary of State for War and the Colonies. It informed him that the Prince Regent had been "pleased to confer upon you the Command of all the Troops operating with His Majesty's Fleets upon the Coasts of the United States" and directed him to conduct operations against New Orleans, a city strategically situated at the mouth of the Mississippi River (quoted in Napoleon Series). Bathurst hoped that by striking this vulnerable underbelly, the British could draw American attention away from Canada, where most of the fighting had been taking place; if the British could then push into the lands of the Louisiana Purchase to use as a bargaining chip for peace negotiations, all the better. Indeed, American and British diplomats were currently negotiating peace at Ghent in the United Netherlands (modern Belgium). However, Bathurst told Pakenham to disregard any rumors of peace he may hear and proceed with the campaign no matter what.

A dutiful and ambitious man, Pakenham threw himself into preparations for the campaign. Since the age of 16, when his family had bought him a lieutenant's commission in the British Army, Pakenham had known nothing but a soldier's life. He had most recently fought against the armies of Napoleonic France in the Peninsular War (1808-1814), serving under the command of his famous brother-in-law, Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington (1769-1852). Pakenham had distinguished himself at the Battle of Salamanca (22 July 1812), where he led his 3rd Division in a bayonet charge that drove the French soldiers back in a state of 'irremediable confusion'. For such actions, he had been knighted and promoted to the rank of major general. Having spent years fighting Napoleon's veteran soldiers, Pakenham felt he had no reason to worry about the backcountry militias of Louisiana and Tennessee. In November, Pakenham set out from London to join his army, which was already en route to New Orleans – having assembled in Jamaica, the British troops had boarded 50 Royal Navy ships under Admiral Sir Alexander Cochrane and sailed into the Gulf of Mexico, anchoring just east of Lake Borgne, Louisiana, on 14 December 1814.

Access to Lake Borgne was blocked by five American gunboats under Lt. Thomas ap Catesby Jones. In the evening, 980 British sailors and Royal Marines got into 42 rowboats and silently rowed out to dislodge Jones' small force. After a brief engagement, the British succeeded in capturing the gunboats at the cost of 17 dead and 77 wounded (the Americans lost 6 dead and 35 wounded). The British then began to disembark; over the next six days, 1,600 soldiers under Maj. Gen. John Keane rowed out to Pea Island, about 30 miles (48 km) east of the city. They advanced overland until, on the morning of 23 December, they reached the east bank of the Mississippi River, 9 miles (14 km) south of New Orleans. Keane stopped there to await reinforcements. As his soldiers set up camp, some of them broke into the home of Major Gabriel Villeré, who leapt out a window and ran all the way to the American lines outside New Orleans. The soldiers he found there were a ragged hodgepodge of 4,000 men: French-speaking Louisiana militia and crude-talking Tennessee frontiersmen, mounted Mississippi dragoons, and undersupplied Irish immigrants, two battalions of Black men, some enslaved and some free, as well as Choctaw Indians, pirates, and privateers. But perhaps the most striking figure of them all was their commander, a tall, thin frontiersman with piercing blue eyes and a fiery temper named Andrew Jackson.

⇒ Battle of New Orleans: The American Agincourt

#History #WarOf1812 #AndrewJackson #USHistory #WHE

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luunaz · 2 months ago

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Poisoned feelings [Caleb] fantasy!au | part 1

pairing: Caleb x reader

type: fluff, but maybe angst🌸🍂

summary: Dark spirits have always been a common occurrence for elves and humans. They hid in forests and caves and attacked lost travelers at night. They have never been a threat to the kingdoms. Until a letter came from one of the elven villages asking for help. The villagers suddenly began to die from an unknown disease, but after death they were reborn into monsters and attacked everyone who got in their way. Gradually, the disease spread throughout the Western Lands of the kingdom. The elf King Jormir decided to form an alliance with King William of Firnhold and request military support. King William sends young Captain Caleb and his squad to Lunariel to help contain the monsters. He will have to figure out what is the source of the disease and whether it is possible to stop the epidemic. And will he be able to cope with the conflicting feelings for the woman-elf he must protect?

an: I decided to write a little fantasy fanfiction. I created my own world, where I placed the MC and Caleb. This is the first time I've written such a text in English, so if you notice any mistakes, write to me and I'll fix them. I do not know if you will like something like this, but I would appreciate your feedback. If there is at least one like on this post, I will continue to write :D

I'm still thinking about the plot itself, but for now I'm planning about 8 parts. I haven't decided exactly about the ending yet either. I wrote a hot scene at the end, but who knows how I'll decide to end the story, haha

Masterlist

Caleb stood in a huge hall with a glass ceiling through which starlight and moonlight penetrated. Silver rays reflected off the glossy snow-white marble floor and filled the space with a soft glow. In the middle of the hall stood the throne of King Lunariel, on which lay red velvet cushions. At the top of the throne, a jewel sparkled brightly, reflecting the majesty of the king. The young captain looked at the elegant hall with disgust. Each bas-relief, the expensive vases with the rarest flowers in them, and the masterfully carved sculptures reflected the elves' desire to rise above humans. And Caleb hated it. He believed that no elf would ever appreciate human life as his own. Even now, instead of showing up on time, King Jormir kept waiting for someone he had called for help.

Lunariel is an elven kingdom that stretches from the Moon River to the Western Lands, where the Great Forest is located. Once upon a time, this country was a center of trade, a place that was famous for the best medicine and many technical discoveries. The elves were the best at everything related to science and art creation. But now the kingdom is going through hard times.

An unknown disease has spread to villages located near Great forest. Elves affected by the disease died, and then turned into monsters hungry for blood. Rumors of this disease spread all the way to the kingdom of Firnhold's people. The human race was the best when it came to military science. They fearlessly rushed straight into the open jaws of death, as if they were as immortal as the elves. Cooperating with the elves has always been beneficial. They paid handsomely for any military campaign or escort. That's why Caleb was here. He and a squad of the best warriors were sent to the elf king for help. But it didn't seem like he really needed it.

After waiting for a long time, slow footsteps were heard. The massive wooden door behind the throne opened. The king came into the hall. Tall, handsome, but arrogant. His gray eyes ran appreciatively over Caleb's figure. He was followed by two guards in dark armor and silver cloaks with a silver lion embroidered on them.

— So you're Captain Caleb? — without waiting for an answer, the king continued, — I have ordered your soldiers to be stationed in the barracks for the time being. Jormir slowly walked over to the throne and sat down on it. Caleb bowed to the king, trying to hide his annoyance.

— Before you go to the Western Lands, I would like to explain the whole situation to you, — the king turned back and signaled to one of the guards. The latter bowed, approached Caleb and handed him a scroll. The man opened it and saw a drawing of a human-like figure. The creature's face and body were disfigured, as if they had almost rotted away and only bones remained.

— Is this what the inhabitants of your villages have become? — Caleb asked.

— You're smarter than some of your kind. Maybe I invited you here for a reason after all, — Jormir said with a grin. — I was informed that not all the villagers turned into these monsters. Recently, there has been a rumor throughout the kingdom about a mysterious wellspring that grants wisdom and strength to everyone who tries it. Some residents tried to find him, went to Great forest, but returned sick, and after a while turned into monsters.

— Could it be because of the wellspring? — Caleb asked.

— None of those who returned said that they had found the wellspring. We assume that they may have been cursed by dark spirits. But we've never encountered spells of this kind.

— We are ready to offer you protection, but we will not be able to help you deal with this spell.

— I know. I'll send our best healer with you. She will try to deal with this disease. Your task is to protect her. Even at the cost of your own life, Captain. I have all. You can be free, — the king casually waved his hand, as if he was brushing away an annoying fly. Caleb bowed and left the room.

Caleb hoped he wouldn't have to deal with the elves, but he also knew he couldn't avoid it. The only thing he wanted right now was for this woman-elf to not be as annoyingly arrogant as the king. Only then could he say that his mission would be completed successfully.

The man approached the barracks, which were allocated for his soldiers. Grinning, Caleb cursed. Compared to the place where the elven warriors were housed, this "barracks" was more like a barn. It was a fairly large wooden building with two floors and a thin roof. The light was on inside. Caleb entered the room and saw the soldiers sitting at a long table with large plates of vegetables, fruits and meat. The men were talking loudly and laughing, but when they saw the captain, they immediately fell silent. «At least they don't feed like cattle» — Caleb thought. He greeted his warriors and sat down at the head of the table. Only after Caleb gave the signal did the warriors begin to eat.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fluff #lads caleb #caleb x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #caleb x you #caleb fluff #love and deepspace x reader fluff #lads x you

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duxbelisarius · 10 months ago

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The Velaryon Blockade or, How Not to Fight a War at Sea

Greetings and Salutations! After many months since completing the Military Analysis series, and having watched Season 2 of House of the Dragon (surely one of the shows of all time), I've returned to do some further analysis of the war of the Dance. I may end up including this entry in a subsequent re-write of the original analysis series, but I'm currently in the middle of working on a Daeron fanfic and wanted to write this to get my juices flowing. Without further ado, onto the main event: The Blockade of the Gullet (WARNING: Spoilers for HOTD and F&B; this is gonna be a long one!)

Analyzing the blockade of the Gullet or the Velaryon Blockade, as portrayed in Fire and Blood and House of the Dragon, requires tackling the subjects of how King's Landing is fed and whether such a blockade is feasible given the technology available to the setting. I'll start with the provisioning of King's Landing since the show made a big deal out of it, and it has implications for Fire and Blood's portrayal of the Dance.

The idea of a blockade of the Gullet leading to food shortages and near-starvation in King's Landing is a non-starter, since it is supported neither by the ASOIAF books or the show Game of Thrones. In the former case, we know that House Tyrells support for Renly leads to the Roseroad being closed and near famine conditions in KL, as noted by Tyrion in A Storm of Swords:

The mob loved Margaery so much they were even willing to love Joffrey again. She had belonged to Renly, the handsome young prince who had loved them so well he had come back from beyond the grave to save them. And the bounty of Highgarden had come with her, flowing up the roseroad from the south. The fools didn't seem to remember that it had been Mace Tyrell who closed the roseroad to begin with, and made the bloody famine. (ASOS, Tyrion VIII)

GoT retained this thread in Season 2 and returned to the subject of the Reach supplying KL with the 'Loot Train Battle' in Season 7.

Looked at more broadly, there are three sources of food that KL can access which render the Gullet completely redundant: Firstly, there is the Crownlands themselves, which should be accessible to KL by road or by boat via Blackwater Bay; there's the Reach, which is the most agriculturally abundant of all the Seven Kingdoms, although the main artery of this supply really should be the Mander river and not the Roseroad; and finally we have the Riverlands, which ought to be more important of a source for food since goods could reach KL from there entirely by boat or barge thanks to the Blackwater Rush and the God's Eye lake. Regardless, access to these areas means that little if any food provisions should be required to pass through the Gullet to support the capital, and this creates problems for the show and the books.

Leaving aside how the Blockade in the show is rendered useless, there is a massive plot hole for the Dance created by acknowledging this information. Prior to Criston Cole's Crownlands Campaign, most of that region, most of the Reach and all of the Riverlands have sworn fealty to Rhaenyra. Even if rationing was introduced and every source of food in the city were exploited, KL is still cut off from it's main food providers and this fact should have been addressed by the councils of either faction. Rhaenyra's allies were capable of cutting off the city's food supply and their armies could have come together to lay siege to the city. The only real obstacles they would face are Vhagar and Sunfyre, since Borros Baratheon and the Stormlands vanish from the narrative following Luke's death.

On the other hand, Aegon should have seized upon this threat to push for immediate action given his impatience with Otto's letter writing, the only payoff for which is the Triarchy's attack on the Gullet at the start of the next year. Aemond already secured the Baratheons, Tyland guarantees the Westerlands' support, and Ormund is effectively alone in supporting Aegon's cause in the Reach. As it turns out, neither faction is cognizant of this specific vulnerability of the capital at this time or later on in the Dance. When living conditions deteriorate under Rhaenyra, her tax policy is blamed rather than the fact that Cole's campaign should have negatively affected Crownlands agriculture; the Reach is rapidly switching sides thanks to Daeron; Daemon left the Riverlands in the hands of his army and those of the Lannisters, Aemond and Cole, with devastating consequences for the land and people; and finally, that the onset of winter should be having a negative effect on the food supply of the the Kingdoms.

It also needs to be stressed that for KL to rely on overseas shipments for the majority if not entirety of it's food supply, it would require the Targaryen monarchy to possess far greater governmental and military resources than they are given by George. Looking at Rome from the Middle Republic onwards and the Eastern Roman Empire prior to the Arab invasions, we can see that grain shipments helped to sustain far greater cities than King's Landing in Rome and Constantinople. In both cases though, they could rely on a hinterland for local food markets (Italy for Rome, Thrace/modern day Bulgaria for Constantinople) and possessed almost overwhelming naval supremacy which ensured the security of the seas. Rome could reliably access Sicily, North Africa, and Egypt for its grain needs, and Constantinople could do likewise with Anatolia, Egypt, the Black Sea basin and later Sicily and North Africa as well.

Ships bound for KL from the Reach would have to sail the treacherous waters and barren coast of southern Dorne, brave storms and pirates in the Stepstones, and risk further storms off the coast of the Stormlands, and this is without considering how dangerous the transit would be during years long autumns and winters. Essosi shipments have the same problem but with the added wrinkle that the crown would have to pay for them, whereas Roman grain shipments were often provided by collecting taxes in kind rather than cash from farmers in Egypt and North Africa. This alone would automatically elevate House Lannister above the Targaryens as the foremost house in the Seven Kingdoms, given their access to nigh-infinite gold deposits. This is all to say that the premise of the Gullet Blockade starving out KL is utterly preposterous, which makes it completely unsurprising that Ryan Condal and Sara Hess chose to run with it!

By contrast, the blockade attempted in F&B was meant to put pressure on the Greens by cutting off all trade to the capital, preventing merchants from reaching the city or leaving it. The foreign and domestic merchants trapped in Blackwater Bay are among the loudest voices criticizing Aegon and his leadership, which was seemingly the aim of Corlys Velaryon. Unfortunately for George's plot, close examination of the development of naval warfare in the Medieval and Early Modern Periods (c.500-1500 and c.1500-1800 respectively), the very periods George has derived his naval technology and ship designs from, indicate that the blockade of the Gullet makes no sense militarily. I arrived at my conclusion about the Blockade after consulting John H. Pryor and Elizabeth M. Jeffries excellent book The Age of the Dromon: The Byzantine Navy c.500-1204, with further insight provided by X users SzablaObr2023 and the "Orc Logistics Guy" himself, Professor Bret Devereaux.

The most fundamental problem with the Gullet Blockade is that it's the wrong kind of blockade to attempt within the setting; historically, there have been two types of blockade attempted in war: Close and Distant. Close blockades were the most common in pre-modern times, and involved cutting off naval traffic from a region or area (typically a port) with ships posted within sight of the coastline. Distant blockades aim to cut off traffic to a much larger area by posting ships at sea far from the coastline of the intended target. The Velaryons are attempting the latter kind by controlling the waters between Dragonstone and Massey's Hook, to prevent any ships from entering or leaving Blackwater Bay and thereby isolating King's Landing.

The forces available to Corlys Velaryon are not insignificant: we know that Alyn Velaryon sailed against the Stepstones in 133 AC with 60 war galleys, 30 longships, and over 100 cogs and great cogs, to which we can add the 7 warships that escorted the Gay Abandon in 129-130 AC. Increasing this fleet by a third and rounding up to account for the losses suffered in the Battle of the Gullet gives the Velaryon Fleet at least 270 ships at the outset of the Dance, potentially as high as 300. By comparison, the Redwyne Fleet in 300 AC possesses 200 warships, about equal to the Carthaginian fleet at the outset of the First Punic War and larger than any fleet used by Athens against Sparta during the Peloponnesian War (see this video from 15:27 onward).

Based on Alyn's order of battle, it appears that the Velaryon Fleet was evenly split between oared warships and pure sailing vessels, which presents a problem for the Gullet Blockade. While oared and sailing vessels could maintain a close blockade, the former are completely unsuited for a distant blockade due to their logistical requirements and seaworthiness. Close blockades were often used to cut off a port or narrow stretch of water in support of a siege by land forces; an excellent historical example is the Battle of Actium in 31 BC, when the army and fleet of Gaius Octavian trapped Mark Antony's forces in the Ambracian Gulf. Closeness to the coast and the friendly armies stationed there ensured that oared ships had access to food supplies and more importantly, fresh water. Pryor and Jeffries estimate that each member of a Byzantine rowing crew required a minimum of 8 liters of fresh water per day; a Dromon with 108 rowers would thus need 864 liters per day and 1000 liters or one tonne if the marines and officers are included (adding a second crew of rowers would almost double that amount). Mediterranean war galleys of the Medieval and Early Modern Periods had storage for only 4-8 tonnes of fresh water on board, making accessible fresh water sources a sine qua non for operations of any length.

The other factor rendering oared warships unsuitable for distant blockade duties is their seaworthiness, which Pryor and Jeffries discuss at length:

if the wind rose to Beaufort Scale Four-Five (16-17 knots) ... That would raise waves of around 4.75 feet, 1.45 metres. All galleys at all times were designed to cut through the water rather than to ride the waves and such a wind, which is just a “moderate” to “fresh” breeze on the Beaufort Scale, nothing out of the ordinary, would send waves washing over the deck of any dromon. Even if the wind were astern, she would still be forced to run for the coast. If the wind were ahead, it would be worse because that would mean that the ship was attempting to beat to windward and therefore would be heeling over with one gunwale continuously under water." ... Scale Seven winds would raise seas up to 13.5 feet (4.115 metres) and no dromon would stand a chance of continuing its voyage in such conditions. The authors of the Olympias project have concluded that a trieres [Trireme] would be swamped in waves above 0.85 metres, and we believe that in all probability a dromon would have been also. ... However, galleys were simply not designed to be sailed and throughout history they were always notoriously poor sailers. Because their lack of deep keels meant that they made excessive leeway when beating into the wind, because their shallow draft and low freeboard meant that they could not heel under sail very much, because their narrow beam and low depth in hold meant that their hulls did not have the structural strength to carry a large press of sail, and because their extreme length:beam ratio and lateen sails meant that they carried pronounced weather helm, constantly griping, the bows coming up into the wind, galleys were always notorious for poor upwind performance under sail. That is nothing to be wondered at for they were not designed to do that ... Moreover, a heel under sail of a mere ten degrees or so would put the lower rims of the lower oar ports at the flat water line and at that point it is highly questionable whether the oar sleeves would have prevented water from entering the hull, even if they were tied off. (Age of the Dromon, pg. 336-338)

Velaryon war galleys and longships would need to stay close to Cracklaw Point, Massey's Hook, Driftmark and Dragonstone to be of any assistance to the Blockade, although with the rough seas and weather of autumn and winter even this would be a doubtful prospect. Corlys would have to rely upon the cogs and great cogs of the Velaryon Fleet to conduct the blockade; Devereaux and Szabla noted that sailing vessels are capable of conducting distant blockades, as demonstrated by Britain's Royal Navy during the Napoleonic Wars. They also note that conducting such a blockade entailed problems all its own:

A distant blockade with sailing vessels still required significant logistical support, a well developed naval command structure and bureaucracy, and only began to be attempted centuries after the High and Late Middle Ages when the Cog was widely used.

Even if we leave these issues aside, the Gullet Blockade still has another serious problem: Communications. Based on a distance map of Westeros, the distance between Crackclaw Point and Sharp Point appears to be c.125 miles while the length of the Gullet proper from Dragonstone to Sharp Point may be 100 miles or less. Meleys is the only dragon known to have supported the Blockade and seems not to have been replaced after her death at Rook's Rest. Over 100 cogs and 1 dragon at best would be the only forces capable of patrolling the Gullet to any effect, while the need for ships to resupply the blockade and to act as reserves to relieve ships from the Blockade line drastically reduces the amount of ships that could patrol the Gullet. Pryor and Jeffries' assessment of Byzantine visual signaling suggests that communications within the Blockade would be almost impossible:

The masthead height of the foremast of a standard dromon as we have reconstructed it was only around 10.65 metres above sea level. There were, admittedly, larger dromons; however, for what follows a couple of metres more of masthead height would make no difference to the conclusions reached. With a foremast height of 10.65 metres above sea level, the theoretical horizon of a lookout at the masthead would have been only around 11.8 kilometres. Theoretically, the peak of a lateen sail 21 metres above sea level could be seen a further 51.7 kilometres away but, of course, no man could see 63.5 kilometres with unaided sight. In all probability, around 15-20 kilometres would have been the limit of visibility from the masthead of a dromon. Scout ships could not, therefore, patrol a space more than 30-40 kilometres in advance of a fleet and probably no more than 30, since they were always said to have been smaller than standard dromons and would have had lower mastheads. In fact, in order to be able to actually read signals with unaided eyesight and communicate them back to the fleet, distances must have been even less than this. Syrianos Magistros advised that a fleet should always proceed with scout ships out ahead, up to six milia or so. Two scout ships should be 6 milia ahead and another two should be between them and the fleet to relay any messages. Six milia was only around 8 kilometres. If the forward scout ships then had a range of visibility of another 8-16 kilometres, then the real maritime space that could be observed was only around 25 kilometres at best. (Age of the Dromon, pg. 388-389).

Compared to the Gullet, the Strait of Otranto is 100 km wide (c.69 miles) while the distance between Crete and Rhodes is 180 km (c.112 miles) with the island of Karpathos in the middle; neither the Byzantines nor contemporary Mediterranean powers could control entry and exit through such space.

It might be argued that spyglasses, known in ASOIAF as Myrish Lenses or a Myrish Eye, could offer a solution to such long distances; unfortunately these devices are only produced in Myr, and of the three mentioned in the main books only one is used onboard a ship. The lenses used by Maesters Luwin and Aemon are large enough to require a tripod; the only one mentioned aboard a ship is a collapsible Eye carried by a Myrish captain whose ship is taken by Victarion en route to Slavers Bay. Even if Myrish lenses were available to some degree, it's unlikely they could overcome the problems of distance and the conditions at sea.

Writing about the War of 1812, Frederick Leiner states that a lookout "perched on the masthead, 80 or 100 feet above the main deck, and equipped with a spyglass, with the horizon perhaps 20 miles off ... might be able to discern a larger warship-like frigate perhaps as far as 15 miles distant, if the weather were clear and sea conditions allowed." 15 miles or 24 km is impressive compared to the 8-16 km of the Byzantine scout ships mentioned by Pryor and Jeffries, but the heights of Leiner's masts are more than double that of a Dromon and taller still than a cogs. Even a spyglass from two centuries after they were first introduced would not greatly enhance the vision of a Velaryon lookout, and the notoriously poor weather and seas of the Westerosi autumn and winter would certainly counteract it. With ships being kept off station to ferry supplies and act as reserves, the area needing to be patrolled would make visual signaling highly impractical.

To quote Pryor and Jeffries once more, "Expeditionary objectives could frequently be achieved best by preserving one’s forces intact and actually avoiding battle since naval warfare was essentially amphibious warfare whose purpose was to secure control of terrestrial objectives rather than to attempt to control maritime space (Age of the Dromon, 388)." Using the Velaryon Fleet to support the Black armies rather than attempting an exercise in futility by blockading the Gullet, would have applied pressure to Aegon and the Greens more effectively while being consistent with the setting that George created and its inspirations.

The most obvious way for the Velaryon Fleet to support the Blacks would be through transporting Northern and Vale troops south of the Neck and the Mountains of the Moon, to take the fight to Aegon rather than sitting back passively once Daemon rallied the Riverlords and the Blacks in the Reach marched on Oldtown. Considering how swiftly both of those armies were raised, it makes no sense why the Vale could not at least send troops to assist Rhaenyra in the Crownlands. Another option and one which I proposed in part 12 and the conclusion of my military analysis series, would be to send the Velaryon Fleet south against the Stormlords.

Otto Hightower believed that Tarth would support Rhaenyra's cause, and Lord Buckler and Lady Fel were both executed by Aegon for refusing to swear fealty to him instead of Rhaenyra. The bulk of the Crownlands supports Rhaenyra prior to Criston Cole's campaign, and Felwood and Bronzegate are located south of the Crownlands astride the Kingsroad to Storm's End. The Wendwater flows through the Stormlands and Crownlands before emptying into Blackwater Bay; assuming the river is even partially navigable, this could allow shallow drafted boats to move troops and supplies into the lower Kingswood and prevent Aegon and Borros from aiding one another. Naval operations along the coast would be risky given the arrival of autumn, but the weather rarely affects the plot of the Dance if the author doesn't want it to. Tarth would serve as a base for the Velaryon ships to resupply and further raid the coast or land troops and the Blacks in the Reach could threaten the border, with the Cockleswhent and Blueburn rivers potentially serving as supply arteries for an invasion from the west.

There are also compelling political reasons for the Blacks and particularly the Velaryons to attack the Stormlands: It would punish Borros Baratheon for breaking his father's oath to Rhaenyra, esp. since his father supported Rhaenys and Laenor in 101 and Rhaenys is currently part of the Black council; it could be portrayed as vengeance for the death of Lucerys Velaryon over Shipbreaker Bay; and it could potentially force the Greens out of King's Landing. Aemond's betrothal to Floris Baratheon would give him some obligation to support his ally and future good-father against their common foe, and failure to give aid would endanger the Baratheon alliance. Aegon's only other allies are in the Westerlands and the Honeywine valley of the southern Reach, and without the Baratheons he is completely surrounded by his enemies. Whether Aegon, Aemond or both set out with an army to aid Borros, King's Landing's garrison and perhaps one dragonrider are all that would be left to defend against an attack by Daemon and the Riverlords and/or the Black houses of the Reach.

These scenarios offer a more effective employment for the Velaryon Fleet, but there is a way to retain the blockade while ensuring that the ending of the Dance remains relatively the same (Rhaenyra and Aegon are dead, Aegon III and Jaehaera marry, most of the dragons are dead, etc.) by acknowledging that the blockade is a poor strategy. It could start by allowing Mysaria's spies to discover the fate of the Royal Treasury, with ships carrying 75% of the treasury out of Blackwater Bay without the awareness of the Velaryon Fleet. It can even be implied that Larys Strong leaked this information to play both sides and drive a wedge between Rhaenyra and her Hand; this pays off as Rhaenyra blames Corlys and the Velaryons for this embarassment and imposes the Blockade against Corlys' judgement. The blockade serves as a way for her to get back at Aegon while asserting her royal authority after her claim was usurped.

The Velaryon Fleet is thus forced to commit the entirety of its forces to a task that Corlys, his vassals, and his captains and crews know is beyond their means to carry out successfully. Many galleys could be lost to the stormy seas and their crews drowned, while the cogs must endure the same weather and miserable conditions in pursuit of a pointless task. Morale declines steadily as many ships desert completely, turning to piracy or becoming merchantmen and sellsails in Essos, which further undermines the blockade. Tensions between Rhaenyra and Corlys would already be high before Rhaenys' death and could reach a crisis point after the Battle of the Gullet. The way the battle plays out in F&B could likewise be retained if the mistakes made by the Blacks are acknowledged, being the failure of naval or dragon patrols to detect the approach of the Triarchy Fleet. Gyldan could point out that both Prince Jacaerys and Lord Corlys are at fault for the disaster, but that Rhaenyra solely blames the Velaryons. I would even go a step further: Medieval and Early Modern naval combat relied heavily on boarding actions, excluding cannons since they're not present in George's setting. With many galleys and ships being entangled in these close-quarters bouts, it would not be surprising if the dragonriders set fire to Velaryon ships by mistake and further contributed to the deterioration of Velaryon support.

With many officers and crews having lost their families and homes in the Triarchy attack, this would present a perfect opportunity for Vaemond Velaryon's sons, Daeron and Daemion, and his nephews the 'Silent Five' to take action if they were not already involved in the events of the Dance. With Larys possibly assisting them, they could begin organizing a fleet-wide mutiny against Rhaenyra and the Black Council, which would take place after Corlys is arrested. Addam and Alyn would flee to Dragonstone and Driftmark, the former to seek Baela and Moondancer's help and the latter to rally ships and crews to help his father. The mutineers capture Alyn while Addam finds Moondancer dead, Baela imprisoned, and Dragonstone in the hands of Aegon II, with a battle ensuing between Sunfyre and Seasmoke which leads to Aegon's injuries and Addam fleeing the bay worse for wear. Heading to Maidenpool and finding that Nettles has fled and Daemon and Aemond are fallen in battle, Addam could then rally what forces he can for a suicide mission against Tumbleton with the aim of killing Daeron and the Betrayers and mauling their army before it can join Aegon at King's Landing.

This sets up how I would fix Second Tumbleton, by Addam showing up to find Daeron already battling with the Betrayers and the army divided. Knowing that neither Aegon and Alicent nor Alyn, Baela and Corlys will survive if the Betrayers take the capital, Addam and Daeron join forces and rout the Betrayers army, with all four dragonriders being killed in the battle. This change is important if Jaehaera's death is retained, since there needs to be strong foundations for reconciling the Greens and Blacks. Addam and Daeron the Daring's sacrifice gives both factions heroes that they can memorialize and honour together; Daenaera's marriage to Aegon III is also helped by her father and uncle having been actively involved in Rhaenyra's downfall in support of Aegon II. A final touch I would add would be for Alyn to lead a counter-mutiny following Aegon II's death which leads to deaths of Daeron Velaryon and three of the 'Silent Five'; Alyn could swear an oath to the dying Daeron to look after his daughter Daenaera now that both her parents will be dead. This magnanimous act by Alyn and the respect the Velaryon Fleet has for him could inform Daemion's decision to break with the remaining 'Silent Five' and support Alyn's claim as Corlys' heir.

If you've made it to the end of this wall of text, I commend you! For those that want a TL;DR: The Show's blockade is nonsense; the Book blockade is unworkable as a strategy; nonetheless, the blockade and the Velaryon Fleet can still play an important role in the story if the aforementioned flaws are acknowledged. Thanks for reading, and I'll catch you on the flip side!

#asoiaf #house of the dragon #hotd #fire and blood #asoiaf critical #hotd critical #grrm critical #house velaryon #team green #team black #corlys velaryon #alyn velaryon #addam velaryon #military history

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scotianostra · 1 year ago

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On February 24th 1303 the Scots, under Simon Fraser and John Comyn beat an English force at The Battle of Roslin.

Now most of my history is self taught that I have picked up over the years, I was brought up near Roslin and my mum did take us there as bairns and told us all about the Chapel, the Apprentice Pillar and The Holy Grail, this was 30 years before Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code novel, so with all that you would think that I will have been told all about The Battle of Roslin?

Nope not a thing, I knew about Stirling Bridge, Bannockburn and Culloden, as well as other battles but I can't recall my mum ever telling me about Roslin, so what I know is all learned over the past 20 years or so.

Fought between the Scots and English during the Wars of Scottish Independence and was a Scottish victory, but it does not figure in many history books and few people up until lately have even heard of it, yet the figures involved, especially on the English side, make it one of the biggest battles ever on Scots soil.

This was during the Wars of Scottish Independence, according to the stories I have read it was more of a fight over the love of a woman rather than a pure Scotland v England "match".

Lady Margaret Ramsay of Dalhousie, who had become betrothed to the handsome Sir Henry St Clair, they of the Knights Templar folk. Enter your typical English arrogant guy in Sir John de Segrave, a seasoned campaigner in many a Scottish battle. Sir John is said to have fallen in love with oor Lady Margaret on may visits to Dalhousie Castle, on hearing of the impending marriage in a fit of jealousy decided he wanted the Lady for himself so sought out to sweep her off her feet and defeat the Scottish army all in one fell swoop.

It's a great tale and sounds like a Hollywood film, but there never was any Lady Margaret Ramsay and we know that Sinclair married one Alicia de Fenton. So that's the romance bit debunked.

What I have also read out about the battle is that Segrove split his army, of 30,000 troops, into three groups, to me this is more believable, well splitting the army, the numbers in my mind will have been a lot less. Anyone who knows the landscape of Roslin Glen will know that it lends itself to the theory that in battle on big force would find it difficult to gather there. The English army in three divisions was also common in armies at the time. The terrain in Roslin in the middle of winter would have made it very difficult for a large army to manouevre, so with that I am pretty sure the numbers have been exaggerated, put it this way, if 30,000 English were defeated at Roslin it would be bigger than Bannockburn.

This brings me to my third point about the battle, why are no accounts of it from people present at it? Well that is easily explained in the fact that one of the commanders of the Scots was John "The Red" Comyn. It's a well know fact that history favours the winners, and we all know that The Bruce and Comyn were bitter rivals so it would be natural for any records of the battle to have been erased by Bruce. Well that's my take on it.

A couple of other details often written about the battle is that William Wallace was present, Wallace by this time had given up the Guardianship and at some point was said to have been in France, when captured he was in possession of a "safe passage" letter from The King of France, so was he there? Again I refer to my local knowledge in that along the River Esk that runs through Roslin Glen, towards Hawthornden Castle is a cave we know as Wallace's Cave, so there is a connection somewhere down the ages with our favourite Scottish patriot.

One as wee story regarding The Battle of Roslin is about the Cistercian Prior Abernethy of Mount Lothian to the west of Balantradoch, the Templar headquarters in Scotland, it was about 5 miles from Roslin, Abernethy, the monk, had been a Templar, a warrior, who had off his armour and lay down his sword to spend the remainder of his life praising God. Now the warrior priest's blood rose again. The life of prayer, compilation of Gregorian chants was abandoned. God had called the Prior to the defence of Scotland. As men prepare for battle each pray to whatever God he knows "let us be victorious."

Monks on horseback were sent to raise the alarm and warn the Scots of the danger facing them, they would have said a prayer for the Scots troops before the battle, as was normal, but another legend is that as the Scottish Army grew tired during the third stage of the battle. Abernethy is said to have been crucial with his local knowledge of the Glen, he also directed the Monks to erect a huge St Andrews Cross on the Pentland Hills, as the Scots tired the Cross was set alight and the Abernethy pointed towards it, saying it was a sign from God, it rallied the troops and the Battle was won.

You will have maybe heard other versions of The Battle of Roslin, a lot of this is my own take and by no means historical.

#scotland #scottish #history #Midlothian Roslin #Battle #First war of Scottish Independence

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fleckcmscott · 1 month ago

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Young Hearts

Summary: An everyday gig leads Arthur to the extraordinary.

Words: 3,445

Warnings: None

A/N: This story was inspired by a request by @fleckficgirl. Her prompt sent this piece in an unexpected direction, which is always interesting and fun! 😃 Many thanks and much affection to @sweet-nothings04 for beta-reading. Please enjoy! 😊

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

A creeping tendril of uselessness wound its way through Arthur's guts.

The months after October had been slow, the new year slower still. A gig a week if he was lucky. Flurries and sleet coming down like sheets were too unfriendly for street performances, and even when he did feel like tolerating the cold, people hurried home before their lips turned grey.

Though he had more free time to work on his standup, he felt sluggish. He liked steady work, not busy work. There were only so many hours homemaking, sitcom and movie watching, and therapy could fill - the last a trim fifty minutes.

That's why he decided to take fate into his own hands, why placing an advert seemed the brightest idea this side of the Sprang River.

Coffee Clatch was a free weekly found at laundromats and motels, takeout joints and discount diners. The classifieds were industry exclusive, meaning one for each type of business, and the Clown for Hire slot had been free since the Gotham Blades had won the Stanley Cup in 1964. Marge in the ad division had a blue rinse and a Virginia Slim perpetually between her fingers. Her good suggestions convinced him to sign on the dotted line.

"Can you look at this?" Arthur asked Y/N, standing over her while she dusted the TV stand. He held out a legal pad, on which he'd sketched a rectangle the size of a business card. "Carnival the Clown," he'd printed in block letters. "Avaleable for parties and events. Mention this ad for a 25% discount." (The discount had been Marge's idea, a way to keep track of the campaign's success.)

Y/N stood and put the lemon scented Stretch 'n' Dust cloth on top of the TV, traced the bundle of three balloons he'd scribbled in the center of the copy. "That should be a-v-a-i-l, no e after the l. Other than that, it looks good."

"You're sure you don't mind printing our phone number?"

"That's the only way for a client to get a hold of you," she said, returning the pad to him. "Our number's in the phonebook, anyway. How long is it set to run?"

"Until the last week of May."

"The deli by my office carries that paper. I'll get a copy once it's out." She wrapped an arm about his waist, leaned into him with her hip. "I hope everyone sees it."

~~~~~

Alas, none of March's calls mentioned it, and April flew by without an uptick. When it was merely drizzling, Arthur trudged to the usual pitches. When the clouds parted, he stood across from Amusement Miles' closed for the season gates. He had his monthly shows at the children's clinic, got a store opening here, a closing there. But no new regular, nothing he could count on to get him through the lull.

He scowled at the copy of the ad Y/N had given him, beaming with pride when he'd put it in his journal. In his malaise, the memory of her smile turned mocking. He crumpled his face and crumpled the classified. He was beginning to think the seven bucks he'd spent would've been just as effective if he'd thrown them out the window.

But a mid-May call convinced him to renew for ten.

"Yeah, that's me. Well, Arthur, my name's Arthur Fleck." He cradled the receiver between chin and shoulder to grab a pen. "Let me check. June fourteenth? At one? Yeah, that sounds great. Can I have your name and address?"

Summer Sullivan was a fancy moniker, a name out of one of those Harlequin novels his mother had read when she could still read. The address was uptown, above his old stomping ground, on the bad side of a bad neighborhood near Rogers. He hadn't been in that neck of the concrete woods since moving in with Y/N. But every kid deserved some joy and laughter, so he'd gladly go.

After hanging up, he jotted the date and time on the kitchen calendar and the legal pad where he kept appointments. Then he opened his journal to the page with the crumpled ad. Y/N's smile replayed behind his eyes, once again sweet and sincere. Thin lips quirked a half-grin. He tried to smooth out the wrinkles and taped the edges.

~~~~~

Though there were no stairs to climb, the feel of the place was an echo of what Arthur used to know.

Four interconnected buildings made up the public housing campus. A scattering of children played tag while two older women chatted and kept watch. Browning shrubs dotted the courtyard, a sunbathed playground sat in the center. Fresh red and blue paint covered the dome jungle gym, but the maypole was worthy of a tetanus shot.

Searching for Miss Sullivan's, he wandered the curved paths for a good five minutes. Directly across from a graffiti emblazoned slide stood a brick superblock stretching from Adams Avenue to FDR Drive. That must be the place.

The lobby was a testament to the tenants' diligence, clean with a matte finish instead of sparkle. Eggshell orange meant to be peach covered horsehair plaster walls, and the basket weave patterned linoleum floors were humped and faded. Arthur took a seat on a wooden school chair by the cluster mailboxes to change into his red and blue clown shoes.

The 3 in the 3G dangled upside down on the steel apartment door. He adjusted his bald green wig, tapped his tiny bowler hat, tucked away stray brown curls at the nape of his neck. Foam red nose in place, a smile on his face, he squeezed the handle of his prop bag and knocked.

The door cracked an inch. The chain lock clinked. One emerald eye peered out. "Yes?"

"Um, Miss Sullivan?" Maybe he'd misheard. Maybe the apartment was C instead of G. "I'm Arthur. We talked on the phone?"

"Yeah." A blink before she drew back her head. "Yeah, come on in." She pushed the door to slide back and unhook the chain.

The entrance opened directly into the living room, with kitchenette, telephone, and dinette table to the left. On the right, a short hallway led to two bedrooms. Two children sat on the loveseat facing the opposite wall. The younger boy bounced up and down the cushions. "Let me have a turn," he cried. "Let me have a turn!"

Tinny pew pews! from the Zenith television. "Later," gruffed his brother, at least ten years older.

Waving at Arthur to follow, Miss Sullivan went to the arm of the couch. "Guys, look who's here!"

Eyes shining with wonder, the younger boy sprung up and spoke through missing front teeth. "Are you here for my birfday?"

"Oh, man." Older brother sighed. "Clowns are for babies."

Birfday Boy rounded on him. "I'm not a baby!"

"Luis," Miss Sullivan said, taking one step forward. "Go to your room."

"But I'm almost through the last world!"

"Now."

Dropping the controller to the carpet, Luis shoved himself to his feet and disappeared into the hallway, footsteps thundering across the apartment. The bedroom door slammed shut with a dull thud. Miss Sullivan muttered an apology, fore and middle fingers rubbing the bridge of her nose. Birfday Boy stared up at him, brimming with expectation that bordered on awe. Pew pews! dissolved into an 8-bit Game Over explosion.

This was not the party Arthur had expected. He'd planned to take a few exaggerated steps and put on a record. Shimmy and spin and stomp his way through "I Know an Old Lady" and "If You're Happy and You Know it." Perform beginners magic tricks and make balloon animals. This was two kids, one of whom disliked him already. He'd have to improvise to extend this one-on-one to a full thirty minutes.

He bent at the knees to match the child's height, widened his painted smile in an attempt to push through his own jitters. "I'm Carnival. What's your name?"

Roger was the answer, a proud six years old today. And he spoke like a waterfall. He'd gotten a firetruck that transformed into a fearsome robot and a Red Fox RC car, the one that could do wheelies without flipping over, and he sure was excited to be able to show his dad this weekend, though what he'd really wanted was a Teddy Ruxpin, but mommy had told him it was too much money, so he'd write a letter to Santa at Christmas and try to be a saint the rest of the year. Say, did Carnival want to see his brother's Nintendo? Grammy bought it.

The blue triangles on Arthur's forehead rose higher and higher with each breathless sentence. Did Roger understand he was here to entertain him - not the other way around? Yet, being a clown meant tweaking his act to pry a grin from a sullen face. What Roger wanted was to be able to call Carnival his friend. Following his lead, Arthur tested out the Red Fox but declined Duck Hunt.

Once the batteries in the toy car ran out, Roger went to a leaning tower of boardgames in the corner and pulled out Chutes and Ladders. Arthur cheated to lose, slyly slowing the spinner's dial with the tip of his thumb. Whenever his player piece slid down a chute, he whistled along with the descent. Whenever Roger's piece climbed a ladder, Arthur offered a thumbs up.

Roger landed in the winning square, and Arthur saw Summer in the corner of his eye. She lingered by the kitchen counter, a mug in her hand. As they packed the game back in its box, he realized her eyes were on him. A glance her way and her friendly, closed mouth smiled confirmed it.

Ready to perform for two, he rose from the sofa and pulled a modeling balloon from his prop bag. Cheeks puffing in and out, he inflated it with great, goofy breaths. Each twist and fold made the yellow latex squeak, squeak, squeak. He'd intended to make a dog, but the elongated neck turned it into a giraffe.

Just as he tied off the tail, the telephone rang.

"But I asked for today off a month ago," Miss Sullivan said, across the room. "It's my son's birthday. It's not on me that Chelsea called out again - that's the third time this week." Her voice crumbled, the fragile tone shared by all stuck between a hammer and an anvil. "Charlie, please. I need this job." She sucked in a breath. "Okay, I'll- I'll see if my mom can come over. I'll try to be there by six."

Arthur's heartbeat slowed. The impossibility of saying no was a circumstance he knew all too well, one he'd been lucky to escape.

Arms wrapped around herself in a tight hug, Miss Sullivan neared the loveseat. "Say thank you to Carnival," she said to Roger, "then go get washed up and changed for Chow Fun's."

"But he's not done yet!"

"I know, but mommy was called into work tonight. I'm sorry."

Right as the boy's lips twisted into a frown, Arthur knelt before him. "One more thing." He reached into his suit coat's inner left pocket and gingerly pulled at a plastic bulb filled with water. Unpinned the red daisy from his lapel and worked its plastic tubing through the buttonhole. "Here," he said, offering the prop. Arthur gave the bulb a slight squeeze, enough to dribble but not to spray.

Mischief brightened Roger's face. He grabbed the flower and lunged at Arthur, tiny arms flinging around his neck. A prickle started in Arthur's nose. He patted the boy's back. "Happy birthday. Now go get ready." The boy disappeared into the side hallway on fleet feet.

Leaning forward onto the back of the loveseat, Miss Sullivan asked, "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"You're busy," Arthur said, and gestured towards the phone.

"It's already made."

Well, he didn't want to be rude, and one cup wouldn't hurt. He followed her to the kitchenette. The summer heat doing him no favors, his scalp was damp beneath his wig. He doublechecked the hall before tucking his wig and clown nose into his prop bag. "Three sugars, please." He took the mug with a small thanks.

She stood about five feet from him, by the stove. He raised his gaze to find her watching him - again - with curious intent. She asked, "Did you go to Gotham elementary?"

He turned the mug to sip from the side of the rim that wasn't chipped. "Um, yeah?"

"I thought I recognized your name. I wasn't sure until I saw you. We were in fifth grade together."

His recollections of school were far and few between, a handful of good, an armful of bad. "Summer...?"

"Mader back then. Maybe again depending on how my divorce goes." She gave an embarrassed huff of a laugh and grimaced.

Arthur shrugged one shoulder. "It's okay. My wife's divorced."

A grin found its way through her mask of uncertainty. "I tried to walk home with you a couple times, but you always slipped away before I could get my coat on."

Vague blurs lingered at the edges of his mind. A quiet girl in a torn blue parka, a small voice entreating, "Arthur, wait." But every day at school had been an exercise in humiliation, and he'd assumed she'd add to them, when all he'd wanted was to stomp in puddles all the way home.

He studied her now, and the blurs came into sharp focus. Flecked with lint and detritus, her hair had been woven with grease, the back as matted as an unshorn sheep. She'd smelled, strong enough for his secondhand smoke scarred nostrils to notice, like raw onions and cheap salami and wet. She'd picked at her face, raised welts the size of pencil erasers that she'd picked all the more. Classfoes had repeated a rhyme at every recess: Smelly Summer, Always Tell Her. As effective in its cruelty as it was unimaginative.

The slip of a girl he remembered was barely a shade of the woman standing before him. Stonewashed jeans paired nicely with her glitter sweater of black and purples stripes. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, fly away gold strands curlicues at her forehead. Bronze blush went from her cheekbones to her temples, a light coating of copper eyeshadow shimmered. Her lip gloss was a honeyed brown.

"Oh, yeah. Summer." His thumb fumbled with the mug's handle. "You- You're so different."

Her stare fixed somewhere over his right shoulder. "I was going through a lot back then." A gulp rippled her neck. She smiled, soft and shy, strained at the corners. "You know, I had such a crush on you."

"Me?" He scoffed, his greasepaint a layer of hot top. "Why?"

"You never made fun of me or made me feel left out. Remember when Mrs. Shanker had the class make hearts for the Valentine's party? Hers and yours were the only ones in my tissue box." A giggled adorned her lips, pink shining through bronzed cheeks. "You were pretty cute, too."

He held his coffee but no longer drank it. Saucers of sweat formed under his arms. His placid, lax expression belied the tornado rising in his breast, at the crush and the reasons. Thirty years ago, someone had cared for him. A girl who'd grown into this pretty woman, offering him a drink and appearing just as interested. An undeniable pleasure settled in him. Not desire but something parallel, an allure that might have been called satisfaction.

But he hadn't done anything to deserve her high marks. What with Penny's neglect, the trauma of reading aloud in front of the class, his condition and the urge to disappear, he'd been going through a lot, too. Survival had been a matter of keeping quiet. He hadn't defended Summer against the bullying mass. He hadn't walked with her. He hadn't gone out of his way to be kind.

A rising tide of shame eroded his satisfaction to unease. "I- I didn't know."

"That's all right. I never told you."

Roger's high-pitched laugh pierced their newfound connection. An exasperated hey from the boys' shared room. Luis rumbled. "Stop spraying me!"

Arthur winced. "Sorry."

Shaking her head, Summer called towards the hallway. "Ten minutes or I'm leaving without you guys." She walked past him to her purse, which hung by the door. "How much do I owe you?"

Whatever his faults in the past, Arthur could choose kindness now. "Nothing."

"You deserve something," she said, shoving three Lincolns at him. "You made Roger's day."

He blocked the bills with a raised palm. "That was enough."

A tremor twitched her bottom lip. "Thank you."

"If you have another party of something - or know someone who needs a clown - you have my number."

Summer turned the doorknob. She hesitated, then looked up to lock her stare with his. The corners of her eyes glistened. "Your wife's a very lucky woman." She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, chaste but brimming with old longings.

Flutters tickled his stomach. Sweat saucers grew to platters. Clown shoes stammered into the corridor. A deep breath and he turned towards her, the shock of a ten-year-old getting a construction paper heart tying him into a pile of knots. "Thanks. I- I'll tell her."

With that, he offered a head bow and skedaddled.

~~~~~

Y/N squeezed strawberry essence White Rain into her hand, craned her head back, and lathered her hair. Droplets rained on her shoulders. Her palms slid to cradle the nape of her neck, and she released a long exhale of happiness. Even on warm days, a hot shower hit all the right spots.

The bathroom door thudded shut. Swiping suds from her forehead, she cracked one eye open, spotted Arthur through reeded glass on his way to the sink. "Back already?" she asked, a grin in her tone and on her mouth.

He stopped short to slide the shower door open a third of the way. Arms folded across his chest, he propped one shoulder on the wall. He'd shed his yellow vest and blue flower speckled button-up, leaving him in his white t-shirt. His greasepaint remained. "Hey."

Even through the humidity, she could smell his sweat, which she didn't mind at all. "Hey yourself," she said.

"How was Patricia?"

"Better. Her mother's expected to be discharged on Monday." On the cusp of eighty-five, Pearleen's diabetic stroke had shaken her only daughter. Y/N had left work to sit with Patricia at Gotham General, made sure to check in every day or talk to Matt if she wasn't at the office. It'd taken some cajoling to get her out of the apartment to meet for lunch. To convince her missing a call was unlikely but all right. But the outing came with the good news that Pearleen was showing small improvements day-by-day, along with much needed laughter. "There's a doggie bag in the fridge. How'd the party go?"

"Well, it wasn't really a party. Just the mom and a couple of kids."

"I'm sure they were happy to have you. I'm almost done if you want to clean up."

He gave a light nod, his gaze fell to her feet. Stray droplets dotted his clothes. "I went to school with her. The woman who hired me, I mean. I didn't remember her at first." A bashful, bewildered laugh left him. He scuffed a toe against the tub. "She told me she had a crush on me. When we were kids."

Y/N smiled. Arthur had made more of an impression on the world than he'd believed. "Can't say I blame her." She raked through her hair, fingers catching in tangles towards the ends. "I had a crush on you pretty quick, too. Had and have."

"She said you're a very lucky woman."

"She's right."

The bare tip of his nose went pink. He outlined a little more, the girl's uncleanliness and bad skin. How withdrawn she'd been, her frequent tardiness. Y/N's movements slowed. She recognized those symptoms from the child protective cases she used to work on, signs that nowadays would've rubberstamped a student as at-risk.

She inched towards him, leaned in to bestow a peck. The chalky makeup on his lips dappled her own. "I'm glad she had you to anchor her back then. And that you finally got the chance to hear it." A smile started. At his eyes first, crinkling his crowsfeet, curving his lips at the very last.

His joy made her whole body glow. Swiveling slowly, Y/N retrieved the soap from the wall mounted dish and lathered her washcloth. "Come in before the water gets cold. I'll scrub your back."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics @iartsometimes @fleckficgirl @chaimshelii

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #joker 2019 #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #watchwhathappens

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goodstuffhappenedtoday · 2 years ago

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The more than 30 proud, self-described gutter-pagan, mostly queer dirtbags in their early 30s gathered ‘round Friday night bearing shots of Svedka and Roman candles and sparklers, as the glow of Camden kissed their facesfrom across the river. The thing that drew them to what’s affectionately known as Chicken Pier was about to be burned to bits.

There was just one hiccup. The giant “medical billing statement” was not responding to the long candle lighter South Philly union organizer Claire Hirschberg was aggressively taking to its bottom-left corner.

Someone sprinted for the backup lighter fluid and someone else led a “debt is hell” chant.

The jubilant crowd handed back a “let it burn” in response.

While the giant bill was fake, it represented a very real accomplishment. The group raised more than $17,000, which purchased more than $1.6 million in medical debt owed by Philadelphians, according to their nonprofit partner RIP Medical Debt.

When hospitals or physician groups have delinquent debts they have little chance of collecting on, they’ll typically go to what’s called the secondary market and sell their portfolios for pennies on the dollar. This is where collectors can come in and begin hounding patients anew. Enter RIP Medical Debt. The nonprofit helps people like Hirschberg and fellow campaign organizer Lou Garner buy portfolios with the explicit goal of forgiving outstanding balances. The relief comes with no strings attached.

With the funds Hirschberg and Garner helped raise, more than 1,700 Philadelphians are slated to receive white envelopes with letters informing them that someone has helped cut into part or all of their medical debt.

#good stuff

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largersillierfriend · 29 days ago

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This week we've been flushing out our Fallout TTRPG set in the ruins of the city of Portland Oregon.

My character, Jack Walters, is a Securitron that was programmed to keep the a neighborhood school loading area safe. Which he did, even when there were no children to keep safe, for over 200 years.

The other character in the game is Tom Ham. A ghoul who has survived the apocalypse by being sneaky, both in action and word. He convinced Jack to leave the safety of the school parking lot and help the children of the world.

The rest of the short campaign (and illustrations) after the cut. ✂️

We came across a group of book fanatics at Owl's Books (Powell's Books has some letters missing all these years later.) The book keepers all dress like great horned owls, wearing cowls made of terry cloth towels.

The first mission the owl people sent us on was to locate a first edition of the book "The Rat and the Racecar" by Barbra Clearly (instead of The Mouse and the Motorcycle by Beverly Cleary.)

First we made our way down to the Cascade Trading Trail Market (where Portland's Saturday Market used to be held) and bought stuff for the mission. Since Tom actually gets healed from radiation we decided to head to the Willamette River and get some irradiated water for free ... Big mistake.

The two of us didn't really do well against the large Bullylurk (using a Mirelurk game stats but with frog qualities and features for the narrative) but we DID manage to get away and leave it with a limp. But we also had to spend a day and a bunch of our inventory on healing.

Bongo Java is a local favorite, and rival company to Nuka-Cola. Though it isn't a soft drink, the people of the Pacific Northwest used to drink the same amount of coffee as most people did soft drinks.

The next day we stopped in the Bongo Java factory (where the Franz bread factory is, off Sandy Blvd.) and found a whole bunch of different one-off coffee drinks our GM made up for us. We also fought a few ghouls and radroaches.

We headed up Sandy towards the Nuka-Cola bottling plant (where the 7-UP bottling plant is)and found it, and the overpass over the freeway has collapsed into a sinkhole filled with Nukalurks making it impossible to travel up Sandy any further. Which was honestly fine, because we needed to head north towards Clearly Park (Grant Park and High School area) where Barbra Clearly's house was.

We ended up running into some raiders in the museum/home of author Barbara Clearly, but we were rolling really well for that combat and made it through okay.

After we made short work of them, the survivors and scavengers of the neighborhood popped out and thanked us for helping, and we got to shop amongst them for items.

Tom bought a bunch of stuff for healing himself, and Jack got to upgrade his armor!

We hacked the terminal in Clearly's house and found an email from the nearby school thanking her for donating the first edition. But when I rolled to hack the computer I rolled "a complication" which was that they shored up security because of the book.

TODAY'S SESSION:

We went to the school and fought a Super Mutant. It was a pretty short fight, but he harmed us A LOT.

After that we found the library and the "extra security" I accidentally rolled was a Protectron that booted up when we walked in. Tom rolled for stealth while I (using my high charisma) convinced the robot that I was a school worker and SHOULD be in there. At that point Tom hacked the computer and shut the robot down anyway.

All the rest of the rolling in the RPG session was for stuff like "how much time did it take to find the book" and looting the room.

As a great button to the end of the campaign, we found a radio attachment in the room to install in my character's chassis. But as Tom the ghoul started helping me install it he rolled another damned complication.

A radroach jumped out of my frame and attacked him. Game-wise the GM rolled that it incapacitated Tom's arm, but ALSO rolled zero hit points. So he basically described the gist cockroach hitting Tom in the funny bone.

As Jack went to smash the bug (and succeeded) I rolled A THIRD FUCKING COMPLICATION!

Since we were ending the session anyway the GM described that because my chassis was opened a spark flew out and set the library on fire, then spread to the entire building. IRL This song came on the radio, painting the scene as a robot and a ghoul flee from a burning high school:

We convinced the GM that since you can fast travel in the video game we should be able to fast travel in the RPG. And we made it back to the Bookstore, ready for our next mission (either chuck palahniuk, or ursula k. leguin) from the Owl People.

Thank you for reading this far, if anyone did.🩷

#mine #illustration #comics illustrator #illustrator #illustrators on tumblr #adobe fresco #fallout rose city #fallout ttrpg #fallout #Portland Oregon #portland #pdx #ttrpg #game #table top role playing game #role playing games #Spotify

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k-nayee · 5 months ago

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CHAPTER 16. ARROWS OF THE DIVINE

❝A hero is someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself.❞

Warrior M.List | Act Ⅱ

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˚＊˚✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ⚔️・⚔️・⚔️・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ˚＊˚

War on Troy: Year 6

The heat of the midday sun bore down on the Greek camp with intensity. Barely a year had passed since the sacrifice made to Poseidon, a fleeting moment of divine favor amidst the Gods’ capricious whims.

Apollo’s wrath remained a lingering curse that plagued the Achaean forces.

Those not blessed by the Sea God suffered sickness, their bodies weakened, leaving only the strongest among them to continue to fight in raids and battles.

Achilles and Patroclus had departed days earlier on another raid with Briseis in tow as a ward in battle. It had been Achilles’ idea to expose her to the realities of war, to train her in leadership and combat.

The young girl—now fifteen years old—was no longer the frightened captive you had first encountered. She had grown confident under your influence and the fierce guardianship of her pseudo-parents.

Soldiers quickly learned to either respect her or face the consequences—whether it be from Achilles’ wrath, Patroclus’ quiet but firm disapproval, or your sharp blade.

From the updates Briseis managed to send back it seemed she had adapted quickly. She had even adopted some of your own mannerisms, particularly in her refusal to allow unnecessary harm to prisoners.

The girl’s growth was a source of pride for you even as the war’s cruelty weighed on her youthful shoulders.

Still, her rise (much like your own) only deepened the growing resentment festering among the Greek leaders. Agamemnon, in particular, seemed to bristle at the power Achilles held—both on the battlefield and in his unwavering support of women like you.

You were grateful for the distance that had formed between you and the High King. Since his illness and Achilles confrontation, his interactions with you were limited to formal meetings and shared battlefields.

Unfortunately that same distance meant fewer opportunities to see Chryseis. Briseis, however, ensured you were kept up to date, her letters filled with tidbits of the girl’s growing confidence.

She had even begun teaching Chryseis a few dagger tricks—skills that Briseis had learned from you long ago. The thought brought a faint smile to your lips.

The rumble of hooves and the clatter of armor pulled you from your musings.

You adjusted the straps of your chest plate, the familiar weight grounding as you joined Diomedes and his Argive troops at the edge of the camp.

Word had spread of Hector’s recent victories—his stalemate in the duel with Ajax cementing his reputation as Troy’s mightiest warrior.

With morale among the Greek forces wavering with each passing day ,you knew something had to be done to break the Trojans’ growing confidence. This was why you found yourself here, preparing for the renewed campaign along the Scamander River.

The thought of leaving Penelope behind weighed heavily on you, but you trusted her to manage the camp alongside Eurylochus and Polites.

Still, the unease lingered.

Diomedes gaze swept over his men before briefly pausing on you. “Stay close,” his tone was a mixture of authority and camaraderie. “The Trojans are cunning and Hector will not make this easy.”

You nod, falling into step beside him as the army moved forward. The journey to the battlefield was uneventful, the tension palpable as the troops marched in solemn silence.

When the river came into view, the faint shimmer of sunlight on water was overshadowed by the glint of Trojan spears on the opposite bank.

The battle had began with a deafening clash of metal and the roar of war cries.

Air thick with the smell of sweat and blood, the ground beneath your feet quickly turned to mud as bodies fell. You fought with precision, every movement calculated as you weaved through the bodies.

Diomedes was never far, the two of you moving in sync as if bound by an unspoken understanding.

“On your right!” he called through the din. Spinning, your blade slicing clean through a Trojan soldier's exposed side causing the man to crumple with a guttural cry.

There was no time to savor the victory.

Another soldier rushed at Diomedes and you stepped in tandem—your blade blocking the strike before Diomedes' spear drove the enemy back.

The battle raged on, each second blending into the next in a blur of steel and shouts.

You and Diomedes remained a constant, your backs to one another as you faced wave after wave of Trojan forces.

At one point a spear came hurtling toward you from the left. Though you saw it too late to dodge Diomedes was quicker. His shield caught the weapon mid-flight, the impact reverberating through the air.

“Careful,” he said, his tone gruff but not unkind. “I’d hate to explain to Penelope why her Second-in-Command came back in pieces.”

You huffed out a laugh, the adrenaline coursing through your veins dulling the ache in your muscles. “She’d probably blame you anyway.”

Diomedes smirked, but the moment was fleeting as another wave of Trojans closed in.

The battlefield stretched out in every direction as your muscles burned with exertion, the familiar weight of your sword growing heavier with each swing. It was second nature by now—a brutal line where hesitation meant death.

Yet, amidst the chaos, something caught your eye: a glint of silver streaking through the air with precision too perfect to be random.

An arrow—its craftsmanship exquisite and unmistakable. The arrow wasn't ordinary. In fact it appeared deadly.

And it was soaring right towards Diomedes.

“Diomedes!”

The raw panic in your pulls his attention to you.

Time seemed to slow.

You lung toward him without thinking, your hand catching his arm in a firm grip. Twirling in a fluid motion that resembled a macabre dance, you pulled him aside, half-dipping him as you leaned into the support of your legs.

It was almost graceful—your body shielding his as the arrow found its mark.

Pain exploded through your chest. The projectile pierced clean through, the force of it knocking the breath from your lungs.

A vulture-like cry echoed from above as if the Gods themselves had borne witness to your sacrifice.

Diomedes, still caught in the momentum of your actions, looked up at you, his expression a mix of confusion and dawning horror. Blood trickled from the corner of your mouth, splattering onto his face as he stared in wide-eyed shock.

You managed a strained chuckle though it came out wet and broken. “You’re...heavier than you look,” you rasped.

The absurdity of the moment wasn’t lost on you—a towering man like Diomedes, nearly thrice your size cradled in your arms like a swooning maiden.

Another strangled laugh escaped you causing you to coughed again and splatter more blood on your armor.

“You—” Diomedes began, voice barely audible over the roar of the fight. His gaze dropped to the arrow embedded in your chest.

Realization hits him like a blow.

“Focus,” you hissed, pushing him away with surprising force for someone skewered by an arrow. Your legs wavered but you managed to steady yourself by gripping your sword tightly.

Believing to see an opening from your injury, a Trojan soldier rushes toward you. But before he could make another move you swing your sword in a clean arc and decapitate him.

Each movement sent fresh waves of pain through your body, but you refused to falter. The action snaps Diomedes out his stupor.

“....beautiful.”

The mutter word slips out unbiddenly, the King of Argos watching you in awe as your trembling body straightened with effort..

Your head turns to glance at him, a flicker of dry humor flashing through the pain. “Don’t make it weird.”

Mocking laughter interrupts before he could respond. “Well well,” a voice crooned.

Pandarus.

The Trojan archer stood atop the hill with his bow in hand. “Not my intended target but I suppose it works just as well. The Greeks are far easier prey than I thought. First Menelaus, now this? Not to mention the mess you’ve made! No matter—you won’t last long enough to see the sun set.”

The blood in your veins turned to ice as his words reached you. Your grip on your sword tightened as your vision blurred, the pain finally catching up to you.

Your knees buckled, and this time, you couldn’t catch yourself.

Diomedes was there in an instant, his arms encircling you as he lowered you gently to the ground. The gentle touch was at odds with the fury radiating from him. Jaw clenched, his eyes were hard as they locked onto Pandarus.

Without a word he cradled you against his chest to shielding your body from the mayhem around. His low voice shook with rage as it carried a prayer that seemed to reverberate through the very air.

“Hear me daughter of aegis-bearing Jove!” he bellows. “If ever you favored my father, stand with me now. Grant me the power to destroy the man who boasts of her fall. The strength to protect my own!”

As if in response the clouds above shifted.

A golden light pierced through the haze to illuminate the two of you. A hazy silhouette moved within the light—a massive owl with molten eyes, its wings spread wide as it appeared to descended toward you.

Athena’s presence washed over bringing a fleeting moment of clarity through the pain.

Diomedes; A cool and commanding voice echoed in your mind. I grant you the courage of Gods and the sight to pierce mortal veils. Fight as my chosen, but heed this—your hand shall not rise against any God save Aphrodite.

As the light receded Diomedes rose, his frame taut with strength and unshakable resolve. Eyes burning with newfound clarity he jumps into action without hesitation.

The nearest Trojan didn’t even have time to raise his weapon before Diomedes’ blade cut through him with lethal precision. Another soldier fell just as swiftly, and then another.

Each swing of his spear was guided by divine strength.

You saw him cut down another Trojan. He didn’t even glance back as he fought with absolute command.

Turning briefly, his sharp gaze locked onto a group of nearby soldiers. “Get her back to camp!” he ordered, his tone like the crack of a whip.

The soldiers snapped to attention as they rushed to obey. Two men lifted you while others formed a protective circle around them with raised shields and readied swords for any enemy who dared approach.

Even as your vision began to blur you caught glimpses of the fierce fighting around you—Greeks clashing with oncoming Trojans.

The last thing you saw before the world slipped into darkness was Diomedes himself as he strode deeper into the battlefield, his figure framed by the golden light of Athena’s blessing.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

You awoke to the muted hum of the infirmary camp. The pain in your chest was a dull throb now, a reminder of the arrow that had nearly ended you.

The tent was dimly lit, the faint flicker of a lantern casting long shadows on the canvas walls.

You seemed to be the only one in the tent, no other cots around nor injured soldiers.

The sound of footsteps drew your attention toward the entrance. It was Penelope.

She carefully approached your bedside as though afraid to disturb you, the tension in her shoulders betraying her worry.

When she sat down her hands trembled as she took yours into her own. you spoke.

“You...gave us all a fright,” she finally said after a moment of silence, her voice steady despite the thickness in her throat.

You managed a weak smile. “Didn’t mean to steal the spotlight.”

Though Penelope chuckled, the sound was strained. She squeezed your hand. “You’re lucky to be alive,” she said, her tone lighter than her expression. “Diomedes nearly tore the battlefield apart after sending you back.”

She recounted the events in careful detail of Diomedes’s rampage.

How he had slain Pandarus without mercy, his spear piercing the Trojan archer’s heart in a single strike. How he had wounded Aeneas forcing the intervention of Aphrodite herself. How in his fury, he had even driven his spear into the Goddess of Love's wrist—even Ares’ side, sending the God of War retreating to Olympus.

“And yet,” she adds as her thumb absentmindedly brushes over the back of your hand, “it was Athena and Hera who truly turned the tide. Their intervention reminded the Trojans that the Gods do not favor them entirely.”

You nodded faintly as the weight of her words sink in.

The war had escalated to heights you hadn’t anticipated. Even so through it all you found a strange sense of peace in Penelope’s presence.

“Try to be more careful next time?” Penelope's hand lingered on yours, her voice softening “You are more than just a warrior to us. To me. You know that...don’t you?”

You met her gaze. “I know,” you murmured.

She smiles.

“Rest now,” she says, her tone is warm as she stands. “You’ll need your strength. The war isn’t over yet.”

Light of the lantern flickers as she leaves casting dancing shadows along the tent walls. You stared at them, your mind drifting to the battlefield, to the Gods, to the faces of those you fought alongside

The war was far from over, but in that moment, you allowed yourself to breathe.

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