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folkloreguk · 4 years

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Gold Rush (optional bias)

A/N: I honestly don’t know a lot about the middle ages, so if anyone is a history genius, pls bare with me if I write something that doesn’t make sense asfghjk PS: feedback is greatly appreciated!!

genre: optional bias (male), thief!au, strangers to enemies to lovers, medieval!au, suggestive content, reader is always ready to fight lmao, a tiny bit of angst

summary: As thieves, you both try to steal from the same royal carriage. Only it doesn’t go as planned for either of you. Will you get away before the king sentences you both to death?

words: 8.9 k

You had been tailing the royal carriages for an entire day now. You were sure your horse was getting exhausted, but the sun was setting and you knew what that meant. Soon, the transport would come to a halt. They would find a clearing somewhere, with trees as shelter from all sides. Then, they would set up their camp for the night, only to pack up everything in the morning and travel another two or three days, until they reached their destination: the castle. Only instead of delivering the full carriages, with gold, silver, pearls and gems, a few handfuls would be missing. It would be almost nothing to them, you suspected. They might not even notice it disappeared.

To you, however, it meant existing. You had to admit, being a thief hadn’t been your first choice when it came to choosing an occupation for the rest of your life. You had tried to integrate into different businesses. You were going to learn to be a baker, a glover and even tried to keep a job helping out on a farm. But none of these professions were for you. You were tired of being commanded around by men who tried to make you their little maid or worse – ask you for your hand in marriage. The judgement was tedious. “Aren’t you too old to be unwed?” “Where is your husband?” “How many children do you have?”

You wished you could talk back. “No, I’m just fine, he doesn’t exist and none – is it any of your business, by the way?” But you had learned that arguing with elders would only get you in trouble, and perhaps your decision to refrain from living the typical life was exactly what made it impossible for you to keep a job. That was, until you discovered your talent – a sleight of hand that was invincible. Some would call it avaricious; you would prefer to describe it as a passion. It wasn’t evil, just a thrill you enjoyed chasing. The beginnings had been humble. A few coins out of someone’s pocket here and there, some food from an unsuspecting marketer; you had to keep yourself afloat somehow, right?

But the seasons went by, and you became more audacious and greedier for your beloved adrenaline. Plus, you realized that stealing from the rich had something weirdly rewarding. Maybe it was the anger you felt at the king for hoarding the wealth of the land whilst letting his people starve in the streets. Either way, stealing from those who had power made you feel a sense of benevolence. You gave away some of your stolen goods to those who actually needed them, instead of letting all the money and jewelry rot away in someone’s bag and around someone’s neck. Sometimes you hid in the shadows after your theft had been settled, only to see the reactions of your victims. It might have sounded obsessive, but it gave you assurance, when they moved on after only minutes of complaint, because you knew those few coins were miniscule to all of them.

And currently, you were on to one of your most reckless thefts. You were well aware this could get you killed. Yet you couldn’t help it, the glimmer of the jewels and the gold was hypnotizing. Finally, the carriages had come to a halt. From a safe distance, you observed how they unloaded their tents and checked especially carefully where they kept the most desired goods. The wares would stay in the carriages, probably guarded all night long. You would need to wait for the right moment.

“Good job today, my dearest Dorato,” you whispered to your horse as you tied the reins to a tree. Gently, you pat his nose. He pushed his head closer to you, demanding more affection, but your eyes were already on your objective. For at least an hour you stood, hidden in the thicket, waiting for the sun to set completely and some of the men to lay to sleep. With a hawk’s gaze you counted the men and made sure you knew each of their whereabouts. One of the wagons stood with its back opening facing you – which was perfect. It was like they were presenting the goods to you on a silver plate. To the left of the wagon, some of the men had lit a bonfire and were seated around it. Judging by their laughter and lively conversations, you doubted they would go to sleep soon. One of them was sitting on the edge of the carriage, meant to guard the inside. He, who should have been paying the most attention, however, was fast asleep. And that was your chance.

“Wish me luck, Dorato,” you whispered to your horse, running your hand over his warm neck. Then, you slowly moved towards the carriage. Outside the shielding cover of the trees, you felt you needed to act quickly. The gales of laughter were helping against your vulnerability in reminding you that the men around the fire were trusting their sleeping guard to have everything under his control. Sly as a fox, you kept your distance and approached the opening of the wagon only when the bonfire was out of sight. You pulled the fabric to the side and with a swift jump, you landed on the edge of the carriage right next to the dozed off man. It only took one maneuver and you had opened the wooden chest nearest to you.

You grinned in triumph at the jackpot in front of you. With eyes sparkling just as much as the diamonds and gems, you grabbed handfuls and transported them into your bag.

“Henry, change of shift!” someone suddenly shouted. Their voice sounded scarily close to you, and then you heard footsteps approaching. Even though you had wanted to be greedier and steal some more, this was definitely your cue to get out of there. If they saw you inside the wagon, you’d be done for. So, without second thought, you yanked the cover away and leaped off the edge.

“Thief!” the surprised man howled as you passed him. Luckily, this wasn’t the first quick escape you had ever had to make. Your feet carried you rapidly, over the grass and into the trees where your horse stood. One quick pull and the reins had come off the tree trunk.

“Over there!” a hoarse man growled. Now more voices were heard, curses and angry shouts directed your way.

“Let’s go, boy,” you said and hauled yourself into the saddle. You pushed your legs against his belly, quickly signaled your horse the way and he knew the drill already. He took off sprinting, out of the forest cover. The wind in your face momentarily forced your eyes to tear up a little and you squinted against the cool night air. But just as you thought you were getting onto the gravel road, one of the guards jumped out in front of you. The fire from the torch he was holding danced aggressively in the wind. As he pointed it high, it was a blaze against the darkness of the night sky, and Dorato whinnied in terror. He jumped and reared up, and you lost balance.

“Seize her!” a man shouted at your disoriented figure on the ground. You wanted nothing more than to get back on your feet and flee. But it was no use. You were surrounded by a number of gravely livid men, and should you try anything stupid now, it would cost you your life, probably. Somebody grabbed your shoulders and pulled you up.

“Take the horse,” one of them ordered and your eyes widened. If they hurt your best friend it was the last thing they would do, you swore in silence. But to your dismay, as the men dragged you over to the wagon, they ripped your quiver and your bow from your back. You sat still as they tied your hands and feet and hurled you into the very wagon you had just stolen from.

“There you have your gemstones,” a guard spoke. “Look at them as much as you want, because soon you won’t be looking at anything anymore.”

Giving him a gaze so spiteful it should have hurt him physically, you spit right into his face. Lucky for you, he wasn’t up for a fight. It wasn’t on him to convict you for anything just yet. A complacent smile spread on your face as he walked away, wiping your saliva out of his eyes. At least now you had a guaranteed roof over your head for the night.

You were in slight trouble, you had to admit that. In two days, you would arrive at the castle. Depending on what the king decided, your punishment could be as severe as death. But until then, it would be a while. There was still plenty of time to escape, you assured yourself.

All night long, no matter how much you forced your eyes shut, you didn’t catch a minute of sleep. The men’s chatter was simply too loud and maybe you were concerned for your safety, after all – even if you would have never confessed it to someone other than yourself. The heavy chests of luxurious items sat across and next to you, as if they were mocking you for your foolish actions. For hours you sat staring at them, cursing your greed. Only in the morning, when the carriages continued their journey, the rocking of the wagon lulled you into a slumber.

You awoke later that day. Judging by the dim light falling into the carriage, it must have been the early evening. Curious, you scooted to the edge, lifted the fabric that was covering your sight and checked. Your assumptions had been right. The golden sunlight of the last hour of daytime shone into your face. The wagon you were in was the last of them, behind you only the bright gravel and trees left and right. For a while you daydreamed the boredom away. You went into another world, in which you didn’t have to steal to survive. In your real life, you were either born into luxury or you had to toil each day for the rest of your existence. There was no hard work that could have transported you out of your peasant-state and into something more carefree.

Suddenly, shouts ripped you right out of your dreamworld. The wagon had halted, but when you looked out the back, nothing was there. Trying to learn what the commotion was all about, you concentrated on the chaos of voices. Had they all gotten into an argument? The men were all talking at the same time, so there was really no use but to wait and see.

“You will be delighted to have some company until you receive your sentence from the king,” a man said. Footsteps drew nearer. Someone pulled away the fabric at the end of the wagon. Before you knew it, a figure was pushed inside. It was a young man but clearly not one of the guards, as he was dressed like a peasant. With a groan, he was bracing himself up across from you.

“Enjoying the ride?” the guard outside the wagon taunted you with a sneering grin. You spat in his face. Again.

“You little-“ he snarled.

“Let’s go! We can’t lose any more time!” someone yelled and unknowingly saved you from more trouble. The man disappeared and the carriages began to move again.

You welcomed the newest addition to your wagon by staring him down like he was about to take all the gold and diamonds clearly reserved for you. When he had sat up and checked his surroundings, he noticed your look.

“Is there a problem or something on my face?” he asked.

“Were you trying to steal from them?” you asked back. “Didn’t go as planned, did it?”

“Were you not?” he replied. “My highness, we’re in the same situation, so don’t you try to aggravate me out of tediousness.”

“Don’t you mock me, or you’ll receive the same response as the guard did,” you threatened. “And you are very wrong. You are going to be brought to the castle and thrown into a prison. I will escape.”

“Is that so?” he asked. “I see you’re making great progress with getting out of these ropes. You better hurry, or I’ll get away before you do. I can carry a lot in my pockets.”

You huffed.

“The diamonds are mine,” you stated, matter-of-fact.

“Whoever gets out first will have them,” he replied. “I’m betting on myself.”

“God…could you not have chosen a different day to steal from the royals?” you asked, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was your highness’ turn today,” he said, and his smile was taunting and cocky at the same time.

“I told you to stop calling me that!” you hissed, one second from collecting your saliva in your mouth.

“What do you prefer then?” he asked. His smirk made you wonder whether he was contemplating to suggest some more stupid pet names for you. He better not, you thought.

“I don’t know…what about my name?” you said. “It’s Y/N.”

“All right, Y/N,” he said. “And would you consider sitting on death row one of the more entertaining parts of your job? Are you used to it?”

If only looks could kill, he’d be torn to shreds.

“This is the first time I’ve ever been caught,” you said. “But judging by how lightly you’re taking this, you must spend more time in jail than outside of it.”

“What can I say? The guards love me,” he said. “But didn’t they teach you to be honest? I don’t believe you. Or maybe you were a coward for so long and this is your first time actually trying to steal. What’s the truth, sweetheart?”

There was nothing you despised like people who underestimated you. And with that, you spat in his face and turned away from him. Know-it-alls weren’t going to be granted a second of your attention.

“Hey, talk to me,” he said. “We’ll be here for another while, so we might as well become friends.”

“Missed your chance,” you said. And it was the last thing you said to him for a long time. Even when he tried so hard to lure you back into a conversation. You knew if you gave in, he’d never learn.

“My name is H/N, by the way. Oh, that’s right. You don’t care. I forgot,” he said. And he was right.

Having to rot away by yourself in the back of a carriage was already exhilarating enough. But rotting away in the back of a carriage while an irritating young man filled your head with stupid stories you could care less about? It made hell sound inviting. Even when the guards had set up their camp for the night, he occasionally tried to get you back into conversation. Because you had slept throughout the day, you knew you’d be awake until the early morning hours, a fact that only made your situation more unbearable.

Your ears picked up the crackling of the wood as the bonfire fed on it next to the wagon. Suddenly, a guard pulled aside the curtain. Without a word, he slid a plate with a piece of bread and a bowl with some water inside and left.

“This is going to be hard to eat with my hands on my back!” the young thief in front of you shouted, but the guard only laughed.

“Nice try,” you said, eyeing the food.

“Oh, she speaks after all,” he said. “And at least one of us is trying.”

“If I had one coin for every time you’ve provoked me since we met, I could buy my freedom,” you said. And again, he was in the wrong. Obviously, you had tried hard to figure out a way to get out of the restraints digging into your skin. If only you had a sharp object or –

“Are you gonna eat that?” he asked, pointing his head at the bread. He was willing to share, at least.

“I’ll bite off half and you get the other side,” you announced and bent your head down to the plate.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, shoving you out of the way so you tumbled onto your side with a huff of surprise.

“What the fuck is your issue?” you asked, regaining you posture.

“I’m taking the first bite,” he said. “I don’t know where your mouth has been.”

“I’ll show you where my mouth is,” you snapped. The next moment you tackled him, teeth digging into his shoulder. He groaned in pain, ferociously pushing you off him. His foot hit your thigh and you realized if you had any chance of getting away, an injured leg wouldn’t make it easier. So, you trudged away slightly.

“Are you out of your mind? Did you just really fucking bite me?” he growled.

“Go ahead, eat your damned bread,” you snarled. With a sulky sigh, you leaned back against the chest behind you, shut your eyes and tried to keep your fury in check.

You sat that way for an hour, maybe a few. With time, the roaring laughter from outside had died down. It must have been the middle of the night when you opened your eyes again. The silence let you conclude that your fellow captive had fallen asleep. Finally, you bent down to where you suspected the water bowl to be and took a few gulps. Only now you realized just how empty your stomach was. But your nose picked up something. Bread. In the darkness, you could hardly make out the half of the piece he had left for you. His humble act redacted your opinion of him from 100 to 98% dickhead. Like a starved animal, you gobbled the food. When you took your place against the chest once more, even you managed to snooze off into a much needed rest.

When the carriage steered through a pothole it shook you out of your slumber. Surprisingly, it was completely bright outside.

“You’re just on time,” the young thief across from you announced. “We’re about to arrive at the castle.”

He hadn’t woken you up. Maybe he had earned a few more sympathy points – with emphasis on a few. Only twenty minutes later, you were lead trough the cold halls of some dark part of the castle, down into the dungeon. While the guards dragged you around, even your loudmouth shut. This was new territory and made you slightly nervous. Were you going to make it out of here? So far, nothing was decided. You dearly prayed the king would be in a fantastic mood when he convicted you.

Your whole body was sore from the hours of sitting in the same position on the hard wood of the wagon, so you almost welcomed being shoved through the uninviting halls. One of the guards cut the remaining ropes from your hands, before pushing you into a cell. Much to your dismay, your fellow wagon inmate would also join you in this prison.

“The king will tend to you lowlives when he has time,” the guard said. The loud metallic clash of the prison bars closing and the lock sliding in place sounded like your demise. Your eyes followed the guard’s figure helplessly, until he had disappeared down the dark hallway. A slam of a door indicated that he was gone. Like a nervous animal, you paced from one wall to the other over and over. Your arms were crossed in front of your body and you were trying hard not to have a nervous breakdown. You needed your brain for more vital things right now – like contriving a plan to escape this hellhole before you could be sentenced to death.

“Would you sit down, goddammit!” the young man remarked. He was leaning against the back wall of the cell, eyeing you closely. “I need to think!”

“Do you think I don’t?” you replied. The moment of panic in your voice was short-lived, but he probably noticed it either way.

“I can’t focus if you’re losing it in front of me,” he said. “If you’re already processing your inevitable death, that’s cool with me. But I’m still planning on getting out of here, so please try to process in silence.”

Your nostrils flared in anger and you clenched your hands to fists by your sides.

“You idiot!” you said. “If you hadn’t done everything in your power to make me despise you right when we met, we could have tried to flee together.”

“Last time I checked, you were the one biting me for having a sense of personal hygiene,” he fired back. “We’re stuck in here. But get it together, we’re not on death row yet.”

In disbelief you stared at him, your irritation almost drowning out the restless pounding inside your head. He held his chin high as if to challenge you. And you could have gone for it. Down here in this cold, forlorn dungeon no one would hinder you from fighting each other. No, you knew for a fact that not a single soul in this castle gave one last damn about whether you lived or died. But you were completely drained. After all the sleep you had gotten, you should have been wide awake, and maybe your body was – but your mind was in the middle of shutting down. So, even though it hurt your pride, you stopped your uneasy walking and mirrored his behavior on another wall. Arms crossed and eyebrows furrowing, you kept your eyes on the ground. Maybe he was right. Giving up wasn’t characteristic for you, so why was your head spinning from dread?

In desperate search of some sort of hope, you caught glimpse of his rather relaxed stance. If he could keep up a calm front, maybe you could too. Luckily, he wasn’t looking at you, and not noticing how you drew strength from his so simple but enheartening behavior.

Three days into your stay in the dungeon, you had found a daily rhythm. Your mornings consisted of pretending to be asleep for as long as you possibly could, then holding yourself back from attacking your beloved cellmate because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for more than five minutes. By midday your arguments had usually turned into playful bickering, because you couldn’t cope with being angry all the time. And frankly, you were bored. Even though standing his endless interrogations about your life was exhilarating, it was still better than losing sense of time and in the process also losing your sanity. Late, when darkness had fallen upon the land, a guard delivered a small ration of food for both of you. This was the part where your bickering morphed back into serious conflicts. If you were going to live on tiny amounts of food, you wouldn’t settle for the smaller ration of the two.

The fourth day was different. When you first reached consciousness, you heard nothing. Usually, he was already awake, noticing like a stalker when you awoke, only to tease you from the moment you woke up. But that day, you opened your eyes to a seemingly empty cell. Until you spotted him in the corner. His body was shaking, and his tiny, husky cough concerned you further.

“H/N?” you asked quietly. Considering the amount of loathing you’d thought you held for him, you sure worried an unnormal amount. But it wasn’t the mere thought of him being ill that concerned you most. It was the idea of having to suffer in the dark, murky dungeon all alone, day to day, until you’d have to face the king, who likely wanted you dead for your crimes. An ice-cold fear crept over you. You didn’t want to – no, you couldn’t – die lonely. Even if he was the last person you could have wished to be thrown into prison with, he was still company. This loathsome cell, the horrors of the near future, the neverending progression of time and the uncertainty that came with it – it all terrified you to the bone. Only now you realized just how much comfort he gave you, all by existing in the same space as you.

Carefully, you approached him. He wasn’t answering you, and he never not answered you. It was a heartbreaking sight. He was curled up in a fetal position, hands clenched to fists on his chest. A thin layer of sweat glistened on his forehead. Whether he liked it or not, you sat down with him. Gently, you reached for his forehead. A second was enough to determine he was burning up.

“Get off me,” he said, slapping your hand away. His voice was so frail.

“Hush. Let me help you,” you insisted. He huffed in annoyance.

“Are you a doctor when you’re not a thief?” he asked.

“No. But improving your mentality will help your body recover faster,” you said. “And you seem to be in a very negative headspace right now.”

His mouth opened to speak, but then a shiver rippled through his body and he wrapped his arms around his knees tightly. All this time, he hadn’t even opened his eyes.

“We need to keep you cool,” you said. “Take off your jacket.”

“This isn’t the time to ask me to take off my clothes,” he said, almost whispered.

“Will you just do as I say so you can get better? Do you want to die in here?” you said, brushing off his words. Something flashed across his face. Fear? Disappointment? Aware that it could invade his comfort zone, you very carefully took his hands. Lucky for you, he let you. When his jacket came off, you noticed the sweat stains that had formed on his thin shirt.

“You can lie down on this, it’ll be more comfortable,” you advised. Without arguing, he followed your instructions and allowed you to spread out the jacket underneath him. This behavior was new, you thought. But you could surely get used it. You knew it must have been serious, if he didn’t give you a silly remark for everything you said.

“I’ll get you more water,” you said, as you retrieved the almost empty water bowl from the center of the stone floor. Set on not spilling a drop, you lifted it to his lips and watched as he swallowed the last few sips. You used the sleeve of your shirt to wipe his wet hair out of his face, as he sunk back down onto the hard ground.

“Sleep now,” you said. You didn’t need to tell him twice. He had been almost unable to keep his eyelids open, so without hesitation, he drifted off into dreamland. For hours, you sat, hugging your knees to your chest, eyes on his anguished figure. Just as you had thought you could deal with the scary ordeal of being held captive in a castle dungeon, this had to happen. Stricken with sorrow, you waited for time to pass. If only you could have slept too, it would have made all the anxious thoughts go away. But someone had to look after him, and you weren’t tired.

His slumber must had been a hag-ridden one. Sometimes, he made small sounds, like whimpers, other times his brows furrowed, and his muscles flexed from whichever terror it was that haunted him in his head.

“Shh, you’re going to be okay,” you assured him, and maybe also yourself. But his tireless stirring only became worse, his body twisting and turning on the uneven ground. He groaned in agony, and your heart clenched like a million little daggers had slashed it.

“I’m here to keep you safe,” you whispered, bending down to his level. With utmost care, you lifted his head and let him rest in your lap. You weren’t really planning what was happening, but your hands found his hands. Softly, you stroked them, waiting for him to calm down and relax his tight fists. His mumbles and quiet moans of distress continued, until you realized. He was trying to tell you something.

“I can’t go like this,” he said.

“You’re not go-“ you started.

“No! My- parents need- me,” he stuttered. By now he was grasping your hands desperately. You sighed and his eyes opened ever so slightly. The anger he had held for you was vanished. You almost teared up at the delicateness of his gaze.

“I need to help them... they’re old and sick and can’t be alone,” he added in a small voice.

“We will get out of here,” you said. You had no idea when there had first been a ‘we’, but now there apparently was. “You have to be strong now, do you hear? Then you can meet your parents again.”

He was looking almost through you. His eyes were so dark, it was like staring right into the deepest part of the ocean. You stroked the back of his hand with your thumb, whilst trying hard to keep a hopeful gaze. For him, you had to appear strong. Or else, how else was he supposed to be?

“I’m sorry- I was such an asshole to you,” he suddenly confessed. “I thought you would steal away the gold before I could. And now look where that brought us.”

“This isn’t your fault. We were both being reckless,” you said. “I’m sorry I bit you. And threatened to spit on your face. And then spat on your face.”

The tiniest smile spread on his face. Success. Any sort of positive emotion could help him now.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he whispered. “I’ll think about whether I can forgive you. You must know, I’m very vindictive.”

His grin was playful, and his eyes were closed, as if he was on the brink of falling back to sleep.

“Forgiveness hurts less than holding a grudge for the rest of your life,” you said. Who knew? Maybe even the king could show remission. All you knew was that you would crumble, would you have to encounter the king alone. Your brain had set on the need for H/N. For years, you hadn’t formed any meaningful relationships – not counting your bond with your ardently loved horse. Now, with his head on your lap and your fingers intertwined with his, you ached for more. Was it really him you wanted? Or had you denied yourself of any affection for such a long time, the smallest contact with anyone appeased your yearning? Would you have felt the same, if it had been somebody else in his place?

At night, the metal noise of the door at the far end of the hallway outside your cell made you lift your head. Gently, so that H/N wouldn’t be awoken, you lifted his head to lay on the jacket instead of your thigh. In impatience, your foot tapped on the ground while you stood in the middle of the cell.

“Sir,” you called the guard with a fake-soft voice. “Will it be possible to receive another cup with water? My fellow inmate has fallen sick.”

The grumpy guard unlocked the metal bars, entering with the usual small ration of food and drink.

“What does it matter if he dies now or by command of the king? Do you think I care?” he growled, not sparing you a glance. You had been almost convinced this would have happened. So, you’d have to resort to different measures.

“Please-“ you begged, suddenly stepping towards the guard, who was on his way out of the cell. Without second thought, you threw yourself onto him, making sure to look extra-devastated and helpless. What could a weak, little young woman do to a guard, other than fall on her knees, right?

“Touch me once more and you’re dead, too, bitch!” he barked. One quick move of your skilled fingers and you eagerly backed off, hands hiding behind your back.

“Sorry, sir!” you said, lowering your head in false shame and guilt. “Please consider my request.”

All he gave you was a grunt of disapproval and he stomped out of the cell, the lock falling into place in a loud crash. Feigning inferiority and intimidation, you didn’t dare move until he was out of the dungeon. Then, you spun to the young man behind you on the ground.

“Open up,” you commanded, suspecting the shouting could not have kept him asleep. Finally, you could pull the flask you had stolen from the guard from behind your back. It seemed to be almost filled to the brim, too. Perfect. He did as he was told, and you let some of the water spill into his mouth.

“I take back what I said in the carriage,” he confessed. “Only full-time thieves have a sleight of hand like yours.”

“It was my pleasure proving you wrong,” you said. “Now, drink up.”

That night, you let him have the full ration of food. For at least ten minutes, he refused to have all of it. But you were stubborn and even though he hadn’t known you for long, he knew that much about you. If you wanted to escape with him, he would need to be fit to run. You had deemed your chances small to begin with, but in his state, you estimated them close to zero. After you had emptied the guard’s flask, you reached through the prison bars and tossed the item as far away from the cell as you could. He should never assume you’d had anything to do with its disappearance. The next day, a different guard would find it there, and bring it back to him under the assumption that he had carelessly dropped it.

Two days passed by. In the first night of the two, you had to comfort him through another few nightmares. During the day, he was sleepy, but had enough energy to have a little conversation with you now and then – something you read as a good sign. The second night, you were able to sleep all the way through, and when you checked his forehead in the morning, it had cooled down a little. On the second day, he had regained his strength enough to be able to sit, leaning against your shoulder.

“Will you stop moving? My head’s pounding,” he said.

“Your complaints make me wonder if you’re doing well now,” you asked, smirking.

“Like I said…my head’s killing me,” he repeated.

“Drink the rest of the water,” you suggested. “I think it’s almost evening. The guard will bring a new bowl soon.”

“It’s your turn to eat tonight,” he stated.

“We’re sharing,” you said. Lucky for him, he didn’t fight back. You wouldn’t have cooperated, either way.

“It’s time to make a plan now, if we want to get out of here. What do you say?” you asked. When he lifted his head, you looked over at him. The color was back in his face, the beads of sweat nonexistent and his cheeky smile bright as ever.

“I wonder…about what your little magic hands did to that guard’s flask…could they do the same with his keys?” he suggested. The way you mirrored his mischievous grin, he knew you agreed. But it would be trickier, this time. From days worth of observation, you had learned that the guards behaved differently. Some adamantly made sure the keys remained in their clenched fists – an instance you couldn’t work with at all – while others preferred to leave them in the lock by the door. You knew you’d never get close enough to even attempt to steal them from there. What you needed was the careless type of guard. The one who snuck the keys into their pockets or left them hanging on their clothes by the keyring. All it took now was to wait and hope the king would keep you locked away for long enough to give you a chance to flee.

That night, luck wasn’t on your side. The guard kept his hands on his keys as if they were his most precious possession.

“Do we really have to go over this again? I told you your pacing is driving me insane,” he said. It was midday of the following day, and you were deep in thought – or you had been – until he had to interrupt you.

“What do you expect me to do? We’re jailed like animals,” you countered. “I can’t stand around like you all day.”

When you saw him open his mouth, you read in his expression what he was about to do. It was his bickering face.

“If there’s one thing I’m not in the mood for currently, it’s getting lectured by you over nothing. Come up with a topic of conversation, please,” you said before he could speak. His smirk concerned you.

“What are you in the mood for, then?” he asked with raised eyebrows. Your death glare said more than a thousand words. “Fine, here’s a conversation topic…let me think…why are you not married?”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” you said in the most impassive tone you could muster.

“Oh, alright, if that’s not good enough, I’ll go back to flirting,” he said. The steps he was taking towards you made your brain activate fight mode.

“I’ve never met a man good enough for marriage,” you said.

“And what qualifies a man to be good enough for you?”

“Hm…where do I begin? I’m not a good cook, nor do I enjoy being a maid, nor do I know how to take care of children. Most men want those things in a woman.”

“You took pretty good care of me, didn’t you? But why waste your thieving talent on running a household?” he said.

“That’s where the issue lays. Men don’t favor women who sneak around the village at night and make their own money from being a criminal.”

“Nothing wrong with being a criminal,” he went on.

You laughed out loud.

“You know what? I like it this way. Why settle for staying with one man who might turn out to be a monster, when I can have them all for a night?” you said.

“Well, right now you’re not having anyone.”

“Seems like that’s bothering you more than it bothers me,” you replied in a feisty tone. If you didn’t call him out for the flirting, who would? Although you had to admit, you greatly preferred being courted to his unnerving teasing.

“Why would that bother me?” he asked. “You hate me, don’t you?”

He was right in front of you now, tilting his head and giving you a smirk that made you consider biting him again. And at the same time, something in your body – not your head – wanted to close the small distance between you two.

“If I hated you, I would have let you die,” you said.

“I assumed you kept me alive because you need me to get out of here.”

Now you had another reason to get up in his face. You gripped him by the collar, looking into his eyes.

“Excuse me? You think I wouldn’t be able to escape by myself? If you’re only trying to rile me up, you better let me know, because I already told you I can’t stand to be underestimated,” you said.

“Alright,” he rose his arms in defeat. “After your little stunt with the guard I’m actually pretty glad I have you in here with me. Honestly, I don’t think I’d get out without you.”

“Was that so hard to spit out?” you said, self-accomplished.

“No. But you only come close to me when you’re mad or worried,” he said. By now, his eye contact was captivating in the most confusing way possible. His eyes occasionally skipped to your lips. “And since I’m not sick anymore, I had to opt for the former.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you said. Unbelievably handsome, your brain added. And yes, maybe he was. Perhaps it wasn’t so much his beautiful face, but the way he spoke, understanding, even encouraging your lifestyle. You had just forced him to be honest with you. So, maybe it was time to stop holding back the truth from yourself, too.

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked. It’s time to give in, you told yourself. Therefore, rather than telling him, you showed him. With a sudden rush of hunger, your lips crashed against his. Momentarily, he seemed taken aback and let out a surprised groan. But within seconds he caught himself, hands grabbing your sides desperately. You thought addictions needed more time to develop, but the feeling of his mellow lips on yours already seemed like one to you.

You had never kissed anyone who had truly made you feel things. Now, your knees were weak in an instant when his tongue grazed yours only for a moment. After so much arguing, it was hard to believe your hands clasping the fabric of his shirt couldn’t be a product of you cursing him but derived from mere want. The way he claimed your mouth silenced even your most invasive thoughts. It was a serenity you had wished for ever since you had gotten caught a few days ago. A moment to breathe freely, make whichever noises you desired and be as close to him as you could.

You pulled him along, stumbling backwards until you hit the cold stone behind you. Being trapped in a dungeon was horrific – but being trapped between his body and the wall left you feeling safer than you had felt in a long, long time.

But the peace didn’t last long. You suddenly heard the all too familiar metal noise from the distance. Alarmed, you sprung apart. As the unexpecting guard walked down the dark hallway, you smoothed out your clothing hastily.

“Congratulations! Your time in here will be over. Tomorrow the king will see you,” the guard announced. You shot your fellow inmate an alerted gaze, which he returned. Silently, he nodded at you. It was time to do something. The guard was now opening the door, bringing inside your food. His key was in his hands – this was going to be an issue. He set the plate down in the front of the room, and was in the process of spinning around, when H/N spoke.

“Sir, may I attract you to a magic trick?” he asked the guard. “I have been practicing it for so long, and it would be a shame if I had to die before I could ever present it.”

“Go to hell,” the guard said.

“I have a coin here,” H/N added. The guard raised his head. “If you win, you get to keep it.”

“Give it to me,” the annoyed man said.

“That’s not how it works. First, I will need both of your hands,” H/N explained. You smiled slightly when the guard sighed. He complied, letting his keys disappear into his oversized pocket. Retrieving them would be child’s play for you.

“Stick up your hands ahead of you. And keep your eyes locked on the coin. Be quick, or you’ll lose it,” H/N said in his dramatic voice. As he lifted his own hand with the coin in it, the guard followed and looked upwards. This was your time. Like a cat, you tip-toed around the guard’s back, not even paying attention to what H/N was doing anymore. Ever so swiftly, your hand slid into his pocket, fingers closing around the chill metal. As quickly as you had approached him, you stepped away, the key sliding into your sleeve and out of sight.

“Incorrect!” H/N called. “But you know what? I will grant you the coin either way. By tomorrow, I might not need it any longer.”

The guard even went so far as to laugh – even if it was a gloating sort of laughter. The only thing left to do now was hope he wouldn’t discover his missing key. But luck was on your side. Without another word, the man stepped out of the cell, shut the door, and walked off. The tune he whistled became smaller and smaller, until it faded out completely.

“Guess who’s getting out of here?” you asked, triumphantly revealing the key.

“You did it!” he exclaimed. You weren’t sure whether it was a spur of the moment decision, or maybe he was just too ecstatic to stop himself, but he flung his arms around your frame and squeezed you tightly.

“Hey, hey, you can’t crush me so close to my escape,” you laughed.

“Our escape,” he smiled. “We need to act fast. He could notice the missing key any second.”

Nodding eagerly, you grabbed half of the bread and downed half of the water bowl. You weren’t going to leave that behind. After all, you never knew when your next meal would be.

“If we make it to the stables, we can get a horse,” he announced. “I saw them on our way here. They’re to the west. The sun should be setting now, if my sense of time is still correct. Let’s hurry, or else we’ll be out of directions.”

“Dorato!” you exclaimed. “They took my horse!”

“The black horse that was tied to the carriage when we came here? I saw him,” he noted. You nodded, swearing you would leave here without Dorato only over your dead body.

Ten minutes later you had successfully exited the cell and approached the door at the end of the hallway.

“Out there it’s on both of us to keep running, okay?” you whispered.

He only nodded. “Towards the setting sun.”

The second you had slipped past the door you were spotted by a maid.

“Prisoners!” she yelled. Your plan to slip away unnoticed had gone down the drain quickly. With one last glance at the young man next to you, you both took off. The way out of the castle was still burned into your brain from when you had been brought inside. Back then, you had already planned to get out, so you had payed an extra amount of attention. When you reached a turn, you barely had time to think about the right way. By now, two guards were after you and you were forced to trust your intuition. H/N was a little ahead of you. The sudden exercise after being refined to a tiny cell for so long made your chest burn in exhaustion after only such a short while. But the adrenaline drowned it all out easily.

You knew you had to be close to the outside, it was a feeling. But then, all of a sudden, a guard cut off your path in front of you. H/N was racing far ahead, so that he could get away. You, on the other hand, had no time to overthink your actions. Before the guard could catch you, you had ducked under his outstretched arms. Now, sprinting down an unfamiliar corridor over the marble flooring, your sense of direction was gone, but your will to survive vigorous as ever.

For minutes you ran, collecting a horde of guards behind you the longer you kept going. When you turned a corner, you were greeted by another long corridor. Only this time, it was a dead end. Nevertheless, you kept up the speed. What else could you have done? By now, your calves felt like they were on fire, breath coming in short gasps. You suddenly took notice of the precious paintings and statues that adorned the hallway. Maybe this was the answer.

Without slowing down, you took hold of a stone vase. Just for a moment, you gathered all your might. Then, you dashed it forward, against the window at the very end of the corridor. Your body followed shortly after, but it was enough time for the glass to shatter before you. In a protective manner, you folded your arms over your chest and shut your eyes tightly as your figure flew through the opening.

When you had passed the window, your eyes opened, and you ducked. Soft grass caught your body as you rolled onto the ground. The impact knocked the air out of your lungs momentarily. But within seconds you were back on your feet. Aggressive shouts from behind you only motivated you to keep going. Faster. Just a little longer. Dawn had broken in, but the sky was still a bright blue to your left. That’s where you were headed. A market place close by acted as the perfect cover for a while. You barely had time to watch out, crashing into people’s shoulders and knocking over bowls and baskets. An enraged shout followed you, but you were already far gone.

And he had been right. Your nose picked up the scent of hay and animals. You had to be close. What if he wasn’t there? What if they caught you again? A short panic bubbled up inside of you. Stealing might could have been forgiven, but for your current deeds no king would let you live. The wooden stables were in sight by now.

You could barely breathe anymore, but something inside of you kept you up and going nonetheless. Every breath burned as you entered, stalls of horses and other animals to your left and right. But no sight of H/N. Nor of your horse. Did he leave without you? Had he assumed you had been caught and tried to save his own life, at least? Your head spun as you scanned the animals one last time. Then, the men’s deep shouts caught up with you. You needed to get out, or else this stable would turn into a trap.

When your feet hit the cobblestone outside, you spotted the mob of angered men and women coming at you. They were holding spears, torches and pitchforks and were livid.

“Y/N!” someone suddenly yelled from your right. The sound of his voice had never sounded better to you. He was on your horse, careering towards you. One last look at the furious crowd of peasants and guards, and then you only focused on him. Only a little more strength, and you could get out of here.

The second he was close enough to you, you started running again. Like you had done so many times, you hauled yourself onto Dorato behind him. Your hands caught his shirt and you pulled your body flush against him. You needed no words. Now, you only needed to trust your horse to get you out of here. Just for a moment, you closed your eyes in exhaustion and took a few, consciously deep breaths. In lightning speed, you raced across the grass and towards the archway out of the courtyard.

And you made it. He shouted in a boisterous tone, and while at first you laughed, you couldn’t help but join his happiness loudly.

~2 months later~

The rough bark of the tree was digging into your back, but you couldn’t have cared less. Not when he was all over you. Not when his scent was so intoxicating, and his busy hands made you forget about any other sensation on your skin. It took no time. You had escaped together, thinking it was your time to part ways after what you had gone through with him. Now, each day you hung on his every word and couldn’t even bear to be away from him for minutes at a time.

Not far from you, your two horses stood, grazing on the grass by their feet. Meanwhile, the two of you, supposed to be on the lookout for your next target, had found another occupation in the cover of the trees. The market close by wasn’t exactly your goal – it was the nobles who would arrive in their carriages like every weekend to spend time by the beautiful lake. While they had their picnics and gossiped about each other, there was enough time for you two check for some gifts to retrieve from their carriages.

You sighed happily as he kissed your neck ever so softly. In him, you hadn’t just found a partner in crime. He was your muse, your comfort and your home. His family was your new family and finally, you had someone to tell all your most unbridles stories and dreams to – someone who could actually reply, with no offense to your horse. Going out stealing was as exciting as hiding between the sheets with him. In such a short time, he had learned to read your face and knew every curve of your body like it was a part of himself, and you had no problem with that.

Suddenly, he pulled away. He looked over your shoulder, gaze changing from tranquil to fierce.

“There they come,” he announced. That moment, you heard the sounds too. Hooves and the crunch of gravel under wheels. Smiling in excitement, you turned to check the situation as well. But you had to be honest, he was much more entertaining to look at. Like in so many cases, you found yourself tied to his gorgeous features and the way his jaw clenched when he was plotting.

“Eyes on the prize, sweetheart,” he said, not peeling his look from the carriages.

“Don’t you know, I’ve already won the best prize there is in the world?” you asked, hearts in your eyes and a cheeky smile on your face.

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rouiyan · 4 years

Text

𝘖𝘍 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘛 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ the first volume of rouiyan’s debut series, till death do us part ⧐

synopsis: prince jeno is willing to trade his heart and soul for the throne. but lee jeno is also willing to trade his heart and soul for you.

✧ prince!lee jeno x crown princess!reader ✧ royalty au

✧ genres : fluff, angst ✧ word count : 7.0k ✧ disclaimers : brief descriptions of nudity (nothing sexual), allusions to sex (nothing explicit), malintent

✧ author’s note — i have a bad case of 'lee jeno will forever sit atop my bias list, unmoved,' but i guess this is just my way of coping. happy reading, loves.

back to series masterpost: till death do us part.

prince jeno will never be king. he will never sit atop the throne and his plates will always be silver, not gold. he shall be addressed with 'prince' prior to his name, always and perpetually, and until he's wrinkly, gray and even through the eons after he passes, he will only ever be 'prince jeno.' and this is only because of his stoic-faced brother, crown prince doyoung, who is always a step out of reach. born a little more studious, a little more driven, a little more empathetic, and born a little earlier. jeno knows this, his parents know this, even the kingdom is fully aware, that jeno is an example of what a future king should look like, but also that doyoung is the epitome.

but if there's one thing that jeno excels at, in greater lengths than his brother, it'd be his sense of independence. at the ripe age of one, jeno was already on his own two feet, quick and adept. at three, he could eat solid foods and put on his clothes without aid. at six, he'd gone out of his parent's willingness to learn professional swordsmanship. and at ten, he'd sworn, one sudden night in a fit of angry tears, that he would never marry. he was ten, just touching on double digits, yet he'd never felt such fervent ardor for any one thing. lee jeno was convinced, by none but himself, that he was better off alone, in marriage, in friendships, in brotherhood, in family. he needn't no one but himself for he knew more than anyone, his own capabilities. but he also knew that no matter how ardent he was in his endeavors, he would never be king, at least, not of the southern kingdom.

as he draws himself straight, emerging from the black marbled carriage drawn by horses of black mane, he sets his sights on the scene that unfolds before him. the northern castle is fortified in pristine white; white footbridges, posterns, battlements, towers and pinnacles, and all that meets the eye upon first glance. in the moment, the sunlight is cascading down between passing clouds, reflecting across the rounds of the turrets like thick coils of luminescence. the castle itself, though, serves as a halo of radiance that rests above a breathing orchard which is then, set behind a pathed meadow of gently mowed lawns. there's a noticeable wind that courses through the splaying fields, gurgling the water of the moat he'd just passed and ruffling the wildflowers. jeno's spirits lift as clusters of petals lift from their stems, undulating with the chorus of the wind and wafting a delicate scent.

the prince is accompanied, on either side, by his guards dressed in black and gold accents, he himself, wearing an ensemble of a similar but more explored palette. he's guided by a man of the recipient kingdom, dressed contrastingly in white, that strides a few paces ahead of the arriving group through the orchard of dew-laden trees, their boughs offering bundles of green apples low enough to be grasped by the hand.

it's easy for jeno to momentarily forget the reason he is here in the first place.

he stands, that night, under a flurry of blinding crystal chandeliers and in line with others, kindred to his age and stature, first as a guest and foremost as a suitor. a man enters from the archway on the left, stout but tall in posture, and he announces, "arrival of crown princess y/n of the northern kingdom, followed by the king and the queen of the northern kingdom."

jeno fails to notice how his own breath hitches, but notices the man next to him stir at the sight of you. for good reason, he thinks. your dress is nothing short of seraphic, a layered piece of cream silk upon silk, built up into a fitted bodice and sweetheart neckline. a pearled bodkin swirls back the upper half of your hair, allowing the supple skin of your face to spangle in the light. it's from this he understands that the rumors of your beauty are not half moonshine. he disregards the soft features of your face and focuses on the way you curtsy, gentle but profound, for each member of the line, a bow sent in return for each adjacent man. jeno is careful in his observations but he cannot seem to find a fault in your movements, each tailored to the exact second. your eyes, your attention, your pleasant countenance, spends no more time on himself than the others. this is one of the two things he notes during the feast, the second being your father, the king, taking a blatant liking to whom he knows to be the crown prince of the western kingdom, na jaemin.

an alliance as solid as marriage between the western and northern kingdoms would perhaps be the turnover of the century, a threat to be reckoned with. the aqueducts of the western kingdom, the pure water it provides for the region and its people, paired with the flourishing arts and wealthy merchants of the northern kingdom would yield tremendous power over the agriculture of the eastern and the coal mines of the southern. jeno is sharp in calculations, his resolve shifting and with this, the arranged trip becomes a lot clearer in purpose. he stares ahead, knowing that he has little charm to offer to the miss, but imagining himself on the throne of the northern kingdom for a change. albeit, next to you, but he'll find it in him to deal with that in the long run and for the time being, divert his attention to the young highness.

dinner clears out and the party moves into the nearest drawing room in the west wing of the palace. the princess and her parents are escorted earliest and jeno utilizes the opportunity to make his objective clear with whom he sees as his primary source of competition, the prince of the western kingdom. prince jaemin has a smile gracing his face at all times, a habit that jeno has come to despise the more time he spends looking at. "how do you fair with the princess' impression, mind i ask?" jeno is taken off guard when the boy speaks first, now standing beside him, both gazes held up front instead of at each other. he rights his expression before replying curtly, "a sight to behold, no doubt, but i find her to provide amusing company withal."

"and is that all you see her for? an eyeful and merriment?" jaemin's tone gives way to how he's condescendingly sneering at the prince, in distaste by means of long forgotten familiarity.

jeno doesn't bother to answer for it is now within his knowledge, and the other's, that his intentions are unearthed. jaemin continues, his voice light but carrying heavy weight, "i'd hope that she chooses wisely. the princess deserves her throne."

they are ushered from the vicinities of the dining parlor into the drawing room. the space is lit with candles that glint and flit across the pale green plaster, lined with golden leaf molding and wainscotting. the walls encasing the room are at least a bountiful twenty feet high, the echoes of thirty or so people colliding off the ceilings and upon the polished floor. nothing remarkable can be said besides the fact that the churnings in the pits jeno's stomach become painfully acute with each step you take towards him, and that he, in turn, can't help but take further steps back.

jeno returns to his assigned quarters without a word spoken to or from you. he does not feel belittled by the others, in fact, he knows his royal blood gives him a hefty advantage over the sons of advisors, distant cousins, older merchants, and others of far off importance. he retires into the crisp white sheets after he blows out the already billowing candle by the bedside. prince jeno only dreams of the throne, the only visions he has ever come to see behind the veil of his eyelids, but it's tonight that he's met with you. smile wide in response to something he's said, an act of jest maybe. he smiles along and towel dries your hair lovingly, brushes through it with tender fingers, lays you upon the bed in fluid motions. it's the morning after that he wakes up with no recollection.

the following day is open to any and every pastime the palace has to offer, the only program being the ball in the evening, a gathering of formal introductions by footwork and intense stares. jeno doubts the princess will have enough stamina to follow through with thirty or so consecutive dances, each with different men, but he's adamant to be one of the few. he's ambling directionless in the castle, unaware of which halls leads to what and in the forefront of his mind, he's looking for you, as he is sure many others are as well. he stumbles upon a dusty balcony, evidently unused, by the landing of the fourth level that opens up to an expanse of flowers, rows and rows of varying genera, each blooming in full vigor. it's here that he finds you, frolicking among the reposeful blossoms, mirrors of your countenance that rise to your waist. from what he can see, you're walking alongside the small dirt paths with a brown haired boy of sun kissed skin. hand in hand you walk, and he can almost see the pleasant smile the boy adorns and the vibrancy you radiate.

jeno learns from a maid with a adoring smile, that the boy is prince donghyuck of the eastern kingdom, the youngest son of four and therefore the most unfit match for a crown princess, a spiteful thought that jeno can't help but think. he also learns that he is the one boy, the one person, you've been the closest with since birth and that, out of anger and disapproval, your mother had invited the suitors for the purpose of serving you a more worthy husband and future king. the maid now sports a frightful expression, knowing that she had crossed her bounds by oversharing. jeno is glad though, and reassures her that the secret is safe with him.

he dresses accordingly for the ball, and while many of the fellow suitors donned garments of white to match your family's signature, jeno cannot find a single piece of his that holds the same hue. the color black oozes from the lapels of his pressed suit jacket, from the tie and shirt underneath. the color is second nature to him, one of his own family, and he gives it no thought.

perhaps it's the color, though, that catches your eye that night because you prance over to him not a half hour after the ball commences. kind eyes that feel so welcome on his skin, and though the churns and froths have resurfaced in his gut, he offers his hand in the first and last dance of the night. you say yes to both but the last is when he starts to chip off the guise of royalty to reveal the ramblings of a young girl.

"i'm not in love with him, most certainly not, but i feel strongly that if i were ever granted a say in marriage, it would not be of anyone in this room, no, i would marry my dearest companion." jeno fails to admit that the smooth vibrations of your voice are enough to set fire to his resolve, the purpose behind your hand on his shoulder and his around your waist.

he draws you in, "and why not marry for love?" though he's sure he doesn't mean to.

"and why not should my love for a close confidante count? is it not love all the same?" you pull from him and jeno follows in step of the music to twirl you back into his embrace, just the way a prince should.

"i believe the love you speak is of the head," jeno counters. the ball is in his court, but he pays it no attention, sincere in obtaining an answer, "i am asking why you should not marry for love of the heart?"

"of the heart," you repeat to yourself, an utterance that jeno finds so endearing but cannot bring himself to immerse in. "i've yet to encounter such an emotion. may i ask, has the prince himself ever held such affection towards another?"

he chuckles, "i only know of once where another held my gaze captive. i know little of her, yet i can speak quite arduously on her behalf."

"what a sight she must be," you muse, partially uninterested now that your partner has declared the purpose of his attendance entirely political by speaking of his one true love whilst in your presence.

prince jeno stops, the hand of his on your back slots for more support and he lowers your figure down by the waist, hie eyes never leaving yours and your noses touch, "yes, you are quite the sight."

prince jeno's passed the golfing greens, the rose gardens, the hiking trails, and the fencing grounds, but he has yet to find something that catches his eye, something he has never seen. as a southern kingdom native and royal, the northern kingdom is easily foreign territory. the air is clear here, there's no soot to brush off when you head inside, and a step outside the walls of the palace, he knows he'll find artisan markets that run for miles instead of coal sites. the artisan markets, he thinks, is where he wants to go.

he's just tipping into the edge of the thick forest that lines the southeastern bounds of the estate when his ears pick up on the babble of a creek. jeno's quick to brush through the creepers and ramblers until the trees give into an expanse of open air. the creek he'd thought he heard is in actuality a wide bathing pool, the water a clear green. he spots a level bronzed rock on which you lay, bare-skinned, the direct sunlight engulfing your figure in glorification. quickly, he diverts his eyes and clears his throat to announce his presence. you're also quick to your feet at the sound, scrambling to grasp at your robes strewn about.

to your surprise, the man, whom you've now identified as the second prince of the coal mines, has not left and is simply standing still, his back turned to you. it's now you that clears your throat and he understands well enough by turning back around to face a clothed you, the flames of his cheeks withstanding.

"it's quite alright, you know, nothing to be embarrassed about." he hums in response and you proceed with your thoughts, "but i'd like to affirm it was by chance, was it not?"

jeno clasps his hands behind his back, willing his eyes to yours, "surely by chance, i would no- never- not dare, such intentions are not-" he's cut off by your chuckles, light and airy, like bouts melancholy chords to his ears. the prince, a boy who had been schooled by only the finest etiquette scholars of the region, finds himself blundering for words. jeno is undeniably embarrassed by now, but his eyes soften as you take steps towards him, fingers fumbling to tie your robes shut.

the heat in his cheeks is still very noticeable but his shortness of breath is not. the prince even goes so far as to close the distance between the two of you himself, hands coming to your aid in lacing the strands of ribboned satin together, gently tugging it into a looped butterfly. you think his favored form of communication is the clearing of his throat for he does it once again, "will you allow me hold account for my mishaps?"

"you hardly did much wrong, your highness." his nose scrunches at the formality.

"then may i repay you for your forgiveness?"

your expression isn't shy to conceal your incredulity at his persistence, "my, now i cannot help but be a tad bit intrigued. what can you offer than i cannot already find on my own land?"

"allow me," he pauses, a smile forming before he can even let you in on his gracious idea, "to give you a tour of the artisan marts, what do you suppose?" the smile is contagious, infectious even, spreading onto your face as well, "a mineral boy to guide me through fine arts? i think i ought to say yes."

your peals of laughter are imminent in the air of sundown. he thinks the painted coasters are plates, he sees the tapestries as scarves, the delicate ribbons as horse whips. but when the two of you come across an array of jeweled accessories, he has the gall to sneak a sapphired hair pin from the display and slot it between your locks, the hood shielding your identity from passerbyers falling back. you're eyes are blown wide at this but jeno simply smiles, fingers coursing through two entangled tresses, courtesy of the abrasion on the rough commoner's fabric.

"a pretty face like yours should never have to hide," he chides. jeno's eyes form soft crescents and he's subtle when he takes your hand in his, "wouldn't want to lose you, princess." you see him slip a gold coin for the dear madam selling the goods before he's off, jogging lightly and pulling you close to his back. the destination is unknown to you but the man seems to lead with an air of awareness. he slows a few blocks down, allowing you to catch your breath as you note that his hood has also been brushed back. returning the favor, you go on your toes to ruffle the strands into place, not missing the surprised flinch his composure gives way to. people left and right are starting to notice, it just so happens that the two of you are stood right in the middle of all the commotion that comes with the afternoon wave of customers. "over here."

jeno's hand is in yours again and you wonder if it's the cause of the heavy hammering in your heart. you wonder, because though it is certainly not an unwelcome feeling, you doubt you've ever felt it beat so hard. his hand gives your own a squeeze and it's as if your heartstrings have been strummed like a guitar, his ragged breaths music to your ears, a remedy for your aches. the narrow alleyway he's entered hosts a light at the end and it opens up into a view of the town, the terracotta-tiled roofings, bronzed candle streetlamps, public works funded by your mother, and all the townspeople going about their days, now in miniscule movements. the sun is just about setting but from the looks of it, it might as well be seen as rising. afterall, who is to say that only sunrises bring new days? new times, new beginnings, new understandings, new loves are all brought about just as much from sunsets as sunrises. and if there's one thing to prove that, it's the way jeno's hand never leaves yours, not for the rest of the night.

"and they'd asked if i should want to extend the stay for anyone."

prince jeno crosses his room and leans upon the footboard of his bed. a week certainly isn't enough to develop a bond of marriage but he is glad to acknowledge that it doesn't get any better than this. "and did you?" he knows where you're going with this, you know that he knows, the whole palace knows that you know that he knows. why else would crown princess y/n head down to the guest quarters, to ask for the room number of a specific boy, if not to tell said boy, whom she had spent almost every second of the week with, that she would like it if he stayed?

"yes, i did, i requested your stay. late yesterday, in fact, but i didn't have it in me to inform you until now." you're blushing and he's thrust into the awareness that the feelings you subject him to aren't customary. "will you be staying?" his eyes are unwavering on yours as if to tell you exactly what he means to say before he eventually does, "it'd be my pleasure."

a knock on the door breaks the moment, but jeno is quick to call the maid in. a letter is tucked between her fingers and upon delivery, the prince recognizes his name printed in the neat scrawl of his mother. an absentminded, "thanks" is followed up by the zealous unsheathing of the letter, a ill-minded idea of the content already forming in the forefront of his mind.

our dearest jeno,

it has come to our attention that you plan on extending your stay until a month's time. officials of the northern kingdom are already working in conjunction with our advisors to plan a date. of most excitement did it certainly incite within your family. had i known you'd be married off to a lass of such prestigious blood, i would have sent you much earlier. your father would love to hear of your methods of courting, perhaps your brother could do well with it no doubt. i've no time to spare, the schematics of your succession are coming fast in the drawing room. expect no less than the best and send my warmest regards to the young highness.

all the best, your dearest mother.

"she'd like to welcome you to the family, that's what's said." jeno's thankful that you decided to teeter over to him now, after he finished skimming through the damned article. he has time to fold it closed before you're by his side, fingers reaching for his. he's rubbing smooth lines into the ridges of your palms. "i suppose they are all thinking the same thing, marriage."

you speak, "do you suggest that it's wrong of them?" but jeno wishes you'd get to the point so he can tell you just what he means.

"not wrong, but natural. if i was my father i doubt i'd think any different."

"then, if not your father, how would you think?"

"i think," he's drawn to the way your teeth bite down on your lips. "i think i'd like it." his thoughts block out everything except the image of your lips and he ponders following through with the ideas plaguing his mind. jeno goes in when you draw back, turning to hide your flushed state. you're retreating even further now, taking an exit all together but not before clearing the air. "breakfast tomorrow at seven, east wing. ask a maid if you are unsure."

next time, he thinks.

breakfast is silent sans the clattering of cutlery on plates but jeno finds baseline joy in the shy glances that you sneak at him across the table. he does not, however, particularly like the prolonged stares your father blatantly spends on him. jeno thinks he's about to look away, for the sixth time at that, when the elder decides upon the moment to speak, "a striking young man, i'll let that. y/n, dear, pray tell me your decision was not built on his good looks." your father is rather speaking to you.

your face burns up in tinged mortification, "father, that is hardly an appropriate question to bring up over the course of a family meal-"

much to your chagrin, the king pays no heed to your interjections and resumes, "preposterous as it may seem, i would despise if our ranks were to be infiltrated by those of the miner's kingdom. our liberal arts are not so often mixed with a line of lowly traitors, an observation may i add-"

"father! oh, how lowly it is of you to be restricting a kind young sir of royal blood to the bounds of his heritage!" your mother has halted in her tracks, setting a golden spoon aside and retreating her hands to her lap.

"must you forget that the blood in him courses silver not gold?" your father's voice never raises, never lowers. you fail at maintaining the same composure, distress budding between outbursts.

"color does not render the propriety of one for better or worse. i believe that was what you'd taught me to rule by but for laughs or for naught, a king you so-call yourself!"

breakfast is silent once again, but this time, not even the aid of cutlery against plates is around to sheath the tension in the air. jeno's enlightened to learn of this side of you. your eyes are hardened, your jaw left slightly unhinged, and deep breaths are taken to retain any sort of semblance. he sees determination in your eyes, lined with a raw and unearthed air of conviction, and there's no other way to describe the look on your face except to say that you are solely driven by a vehement passion for righteousness. but drawing back from the you who has captivated him, he's left with the realization that he hasn't given a second thought to his original resolve since setting foot in the palace. and while the four of you sit in silence, glares and glowers being thrown about, prince jeno is daunted by the fact that more than ever, he feels the fervent ardor that in order to be a king, deserving of accolade and reverence, he needs you by his side to be his queen.

"what my father thinks is beyond me, really. i'd only hope what he said doesn't deter you all that much." you pop a cherry into your mouth, fingers clasping the stem and tugging it off with a pop. jeno looks down at you in adoration, the events of this morning a figment of the past. "not much at all for me, if it doesn't bother you." the soft smile that fills his countenance is given as if to say, 'as you wish, my love.'

you sit up abruptly, the thin cotton cloth scrunching under your thighs. the grass is still dewy from the morning showers but you slip off your sandals in favor of the bare grit of soil beneath your feet. the sun is beginning to stutter from its position overhead but not so fast, you think, the day has just begun. with one last look spared for the bewildered boy, you mouth a 'catch me if you can,' before bundling up the folds of your linen dress into your hands and taking off into the open fields. native flowers of poppies and calendula, orange and white, are trampled in your wake but you don't mind because prince jeno is hot on your heels. he is hot on your heels with a grin of mirth gracing his expression and strides that are long and fast. so fast that you are caught within a matter of seconds, encased in his arms before you even know it, feet lifting off the ground and squeals of protest in response. the adrenaline in your system is slow to subside as you land on your feet once again, eyes lit up like a child's in front of santa claus. the verdant grass looks a murky brown behind your rose-tinted glasses but prince jeno continues to look ethereal. grasping his dark locks in a fistful, you tug him down so that your lips meet and in no time, his lips are working fast against your own. the sensations are nothing short of paradisiacal, as opposite ends of the planet meet, the sun and the moon, the sky and the earth, summer and winter, water and fire, and silver and gold.

wet and slippery, you laugh at the strand of saliva that spreads thinner as you part from his lips. jeno repositions so that you are situated on his back and he allows you to catch your breath before strolling aimlessly across the grounds, as if what happened seconds beforehand didn't just mark the beginning of time. he takes you back inside once the sun has set and your eyelids are half closed. he waits outside in your chamber as you bathe and he stands behind you as your sit in front of your vanity, hair dripping wet and a towel in hand. jeno is gathering your hair in his hands, smoothing over your wet locks with the cloth when he remembers. he remembers the dream he had just over a fortnight ago. the one where he stood in this exact spot. he remembers it just as he sees you give a small chortle in the reflection of the mirror in response to him playfully pulling your hair a little too hard, an act of jest. the trickling feeling of déjà vu hits him so terribly hard but he can only live out the dream in real time, his fingers gently raking your now dried hair. he spins you in his seat and decides that whatever vision he was granted hadn't been revealed to him until now for the very reason being that he simply wasn't ready. the jeno of two weeks ago wasn't ready to love another, to accept another, to cherish another as he does now. now, for you.

prince jeno's eyes are glazed over in awe and revelation as he feels the way your hands draw him closer to you by his waist, entwining your bodies. he's overcome with the need to be the one to make you feel the same way you do unto him. gingerly he lifts you from your spot, hands hooking under the crevice beneath your knees with your arms riding up to his shoulders while effectively removing his shirt in one fluid motion. he's glad that you share the same idea.

that night is the first of many where he shows you the sheer magnitude of which he loves you. he lives for the look of your star-studded eyes, rolling back into your head and the way your toes curl as you call out his name and his name only. he breathes for the way your fingers are in a world of their own as they scour every inch of his hair, pushing and pulling the same way the moon teases its waters. his mere existence is reliant on the shine of his arousal on the bare skin of your stomach. with each time, jeno is reborn.

it's the crack of dawn when he hears your voice, barely scathing the absolute threshold, "i am still very much awake."

"as am i," jeno lifts his head to look across the room, past the dirtied sheets, the swathes of clothes on the ground, to the doors of the balcony that are swung wide open. the sky is of a distilled blue, not yet bright, but still illuminated by the crown of the sun.

"would it be deemed a waste to simply lay here for the duration of the night?" you question, but move to sit up in decisiveness. jeno answers offhandedly once again, even now revelling in the feeling of your skin on his, "i would feel so, yes."

"shall we take a trip to the study? i recall you mentioning a desire to visit." the prince smiles at this. curt again, "if you'd like."

"yes, a warm cup of tea and agreeable literature is an ancient remedy for sleeplessness. my, morning it is already. i don't suppose a morning nap has ever been heard of, though i'd think i'd like just that at this moment." you mumble out the last half, partially rambling to yourself.

"light a candle, my dear, my eyes aren't half as sharp in the dim light." you chuckle at that and reach for the brass pricket set on your bedside table. upon lighting it, you are met with the boy's face irradiated in such a way that accentuates everything from his sharp jawline to the apples of his cheeks. he smiles as takes the instrument from you to allow you to don some clothes. the same is done for him and the two of you make quick time in rushing across the stale floors of the palace to the opposite wing.

the main library, situated on the third floor but occupying large parts of both the third and fourth, is certainly the pride and treasure of the palace, the crown jewel of the northern kingdom even. the separate floors are each sixteen feet in height, filled wall-to-wall with encased book upon book. the collection dates back to the romans and as far forward as your most recent journal entry. jeno pads upon the floors that boast a parqueted mahogany, the same that runs along the integrated shelving and the carvings that crown the skylight above. the windows are made of giant panels of stained glass, mosaics that depict the landscapes just beyond, and as a result, the little light the sun has to offer is cast in shades of blue, green, and red. an assemblage of the masterpieces of ettore forti, genuine, he suspects, are hung in individual alcoves and molded with golden embellishments. jeno thinks the northern kingdom simply cannot have anything better to offer than this. except for you, he thinks.

a maid delivers your tea promptly, a gentle brew of loose leaf herbs, ginger and rooibos by the taste of it and you settle into the plush velvet of the segmented lounge. the work you're reading aloud is enough to keep you awake for the better half of an hour before you begin dozing off. your soft and even breaths are enough for jeno to be shaken from his attention on a few select poems, and he's careful when he moves to replace the leather-bound diary in your hands, with a hand of his own. jeno uses his other hand to cradle the side of your face, as any besotted boy would do, caressing by the means of docile strokes. he feels a mellow calm when you're persistent by his side, even in your sleep. tucking a strand of hair behind your ears, he's leaning in for a quick kiss to the temple when the door of the study is propped ajar, a boy of briefer height emerging from the unlit halls.

jeno recognizes the boy almost instantly, the image of you walking hand in hand with him still as unrelenting in his mind as it was on day one. lee donghyuck, of similar surname but a long-diverging lineage, the fourth prince of the eastern kingdom of agriculture. jeno isn't hit with jealousy, per se, but rather annoyance.

donghyuck's steps halt the moment he sees the still figure on the juniper-stained chaise. his brows draw in suspicion but he's prudent of the expression he lets on. a dialogue of whispers ensues.

"prince jeno, is it?" donghyuck's face darkens when the other nods. "ah, i've heard of the tidings, may i pass on sincere felicitations to you and your betrothed."

"much obliged, prince donghyuck, i presume." obverse, the aforementioned boy nods.

despite all his efforts, donghyuck can't help but let loose a sliver of his composure, "i have little credit i can give to your word, but i'd like to hear what you have to say in regards to the arrangement."

prince jeno is ticked off now, to say the least, he hides his vexation by keeping his reply as formally insincere as he can muster, "elated, the arrangement could not have been better dealt with."

"and you are a man that deals in the prospects of union?" donghyuck does not mean to nitpick but there's no way around it when the prince in front of him is so obviously indignated by his presence. you could say that he's been provoked.

voice held level, jeno proceeds, "i am a man of virtue and i come in good faith, i assure you."

"i must inquire, a man of virtue and good faith? i'd like to know of you and your families' conspiracies, falsities, machinations." a snide and low-shot remark, no doubt, but it riles up the taller of the two fair enough.

jeno sussurates, raspy voice and all, "and who are you, brave enough to speak in such a fashion to a second prince."

"gold by marriage is synonymous to silver by birth. why count the numbers when we are one and the same?" donghyuck's voice is still a bare undertone, but harsh and course in resonance.

"a pity you weren't raised to tell the difference." neither of the princes bother to conceal their malignity for the other. if you were awake, neither would know, too caught up in the heat of their frustration.

donghyuck is fed up with years of spite and built-up distaste. in between all the blundering he has found a point, a target to aim for. he may not see jeno as a harm to you but he knows there's an unspoken wedge that revolves around his family. donghyuck glows in his opportune moment, then he strikes, "and you were raised upon your father's supremacy. do tell, do you believe your father to be an honest man?"

he is met with jeno's silence, compliance, submission.

the leisure sport of swordsmanship is what prince jeno sets out for first thing after ensuring you had woken and eaten something fulfilling. he is in the need to exert his energy on something, or someone, that isn't an acquaintance of yours, for fear that he has done more damage than good by manifesting himself as an enemy in the eyes of your closest companion. he requests your court's highest ranking knight and is surprised and slightly jarred that the man before him is of a smaller stature, a few inches shorter with narrow shoulders and lean muscles. renjun is the name he goes by and he dominates without the need of force. jeno tells the boy to display his best effort, that a scuff here and there is fine, but he severely misconstrues his opponent's abilities.

renjun, as it turns out, finds amusement in jeno's stances, flaws evident in ways that only he can see. undermining the prince's pride is what he aims for and he does exactly that, successful with three strokes, two that flit like sparks in the air and the last that scathes the skin of the prince's left wrist. it's small in area and deep in puncture, the raw film underneath unfurling within itself, but it's enough for him to call the session off. jeno's hand withdraws from the new wound and he's met with the sight of red.

the prince is drawn, in many ways more than one, to the red as it seeps between the clasp of his fingers. as it begins its descent towards the fast-approaching floor, the floor of white limestone. he's drawn by the depth he sees within the color, the solidarity he feels towards the hue. in the silver ichor that pools by his feet, he's drawn to his blood red reflection.

jeno finds you retired in your room that night, in exhaustion of formal meetings and other circumstances that required a princess' supervision. despite this, your visage still lights with joy upon seeing the prince. "would you prefer if i let you rest?"

"depends, what will you propose if i refuse?" the lilt to your voice has him almost coddling, his thumbs running circles on the skin behind your ears down to your neck to release the tensions. "i'd propose a midnight adventure, stargazing maybe."

you give a modest snigger, "a bit of a romanticist, aren't you?"

"only for you i must admit." his tone is humorless. "are you up for it, dear?"

your face returns taut, "yes, needless to say, only for you."

prince jeno takes you by the hand, he leads and you follow. he makes rounds about the same halls, you think he's unsure of where he is heading, but he comes to a stop at the precipice of the fourth landing. the balcony that leans off to the side is one that you have never stood atop of before though you're unsure why. the outlook it bestows upon you is breathtaking, even in the dead of night. just barely are the outlines of the flowers oscillating in the drafts shown, even fainter are the hills that overlap in the distance, but oh-so-clear is the moon.

it's quartered today, the slope of the curve is round and prominent. all of a sudden, jeno is quoting ray bradbury, a classic text he knows you'll know a little too much about. "and if you look," he nods to the sky, "there's a man in the moon." as he conjectured, you're quick to catch on the act before the moment dissipates, "he hadn't looked for a long time."

"do you believe in the man in the moon?"

"i believe in the man and the moon, but the man in the moon is very much apparent as well." your eyes are set in the stars. "he is astray and far from the ground, from earth. he does not seek what we all should seek, but rather he dives headfirst into the superficial."

"and what is it that we all should seek?"

"the one thing in the world that carries any significance at all: happiness."

it is now that prince jeno sees himself as the man in the moon, chasing after mirages of aspirations when in truth, he does not find solace in power, he does not revel in the destruction of others, he does not take lightly when the lonely are forsaken and he shall never partake in the atrocities his father subjects him to. but the man in the moon is a conscious past of his, a living memory of growth, for jeno finds happiness in you; you who grounds him to the earth.

lee jeno thinks the world of you and, as the greatest russian poet ever wrote, "she is a beauty. yes, a marble nymph; angelic eyes, unearthly lips…" (Alexander Pushkin, The Collected Works; "A Suite of Lighted Rooms")

read volume two here: overcast skies and those who die.

#nct ff #nct fics #nct scenarios #nct jeno #jeno x reader #jeno x you #jeno angst #jeno fluff #jeno ff #jeno fanfic #rouiyan fics #rouiyan writes

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macklives · 4 years

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alright, im actually kind of in the mood to unpack some stuff regarding karkat's character and the way alternia works actually, so i dont mind giving this a go. and while act 5 isnt completely finished yet (so this is an analysis post for act 5 up until page 2305), there is still more to explore, and im pretty sure i have a lot more to read regarding both karkat AND alternia. until then, i will give a general layout as to what i know so far and how i can expand this in a psychological way (especially considering i did my psych exam so my mind is FRESH from studying)

alright, starting with what seems to be the deal with the hemospectrum, theres a total of 12 blood colors. HOWEVER, one of those blood colors is a "mutant" blood which is unwanted in troll culture as it is, well, "mutant", meaning whoever has this blood will get brutally slaughtered. hurrayyy. im guessing it is even lower than aradia's rust blood, as she is allowed to live but is the lowest on the hierarchy triangle. meaning karkats blood is not even ON the hierarchy triangle and simply buried underground where they hope he stays. so its not exactly pleasant to be living in a society where everyone is trying to KILL you or at least keep you away from everything.

from what i remember, troll reproduction is a vital aspect in their culture, that everyone is forced to mate and drones will come by each house to collect the genetic material. this is mandatory apparently, and if someone were to object, they will be “culled" as quickly as they could say no. alternia seems to be really keen on the whole "blood and carnage" thing, which means their probable solution to anybody breaking the law, is to kill them on sight and just leave them there to rot - regardless of who they are and what families they comes from or have. trolls are free to kill whenever or whoever they please without any governmental repercussions. which means revenge upon revenge happens without any policy.

however this is very important when looking at karkat, because karkat may not be able to do the whole reproduction process (not that we necessarily want him to, im saying this in terms of how its mandatory for every troll and there will be a time when the drones WILL come for karkat). but as he is already a mutant and if they were to "collect" from him, they would find out his blood regardless of how he hides it. they will either cull him for saying no, or cull him for his blood. karkat, in this sense, is doomed regardless. which makes his character much more interesting.

and keep in mind alternia kind of sucks, because from the looks of it, trolls are constantly tested throughout their lives to prove themselves to society that they are allowed to live and survive. but ONLY if they are the strongest among them. alternia wants to become this fearful planet where the weak die off and only those proven worthy can stay to grow up and slaughter more of their kind until the world is nothing but blood thirsty strong murderers. im not too sure who is governing alternia but they can suck a dick if they think this is how good morals work. alternia only really has one way to solve things which is to kill those who question/fight back, OR to kill those who CANNOT fight back essentially. which puts all the trolls through a double edged sword where they cannot do anything but follow the guidelines given to them by troll's society and government, and try to survive as much as they can until then.

if i remember correctly, when it comes to the law side of things. if you look at it from terezi's introduction where she explains prosecutions with her plushies (lemonsnout ect ect i forgot the term for them lol), she said "you are guilty until proven innocent" which is the polar opposite of "innocent until proven guilty” used in OUR own society today (tho i guess we are by far the "good guys" in this situation, but we are far different than how trolls live their lives). anyways, what this means is that everyone dies regardless unless theres literal proof that they have not done the crime. even so i wouldnt put it past them to do nothing about their case even WITH proof. terezi even goes to say that technically there is no way to deal with the law on alternia, and most of crimes get solved through death. she even demonstrates this by how easily she hung the "suspect" and flipped a coin to determine his fate. however, even with the coin landing on the side of safety, where the suspect were to be released, she said "im blind remember i cannot see this coin" and essentially "killed" him. while terezi may have just been playing with her plushies, theres something we can take from this which dictates how their actual court cases are actually solved.

NOW, vriska (yes ik pls bare with me here, i will not make it about vriska but i do have a point here), from the last few pages i saw, can basically kill her friends in an instant, without any remorse. i can tell she sees this as the most "necessary" solution for her problems. i wouldnt say its for survival, but she does do it as a way to provide some sort of safety on alternia. she is a higher blood, and apparently the high bloods are known to kill whoever they please as long as its convenient. and since trolls have this whole fad of "killing the ones who cause you trouble so the problem is out of the way", she is wired to think its the only solution when threatened or when you dislike a person.

god, she killed aradia because she wanted "revenge", because she wanted to get back at aradia for tormenting her with ghosts EVEN IF aradia did so because she threw tavros off a cliff in the first place. this may have worsened their friendship, KEEP IN MIND THEY WERE FRIENDS, but NEITHER, and i mean neither terezi/vriska/aradia, had any remorse if the other dies as long as there was a reason. in the story, vriska didnt care what happened to tavros because she disliked him, therefore becoming pretty bias over his fate. because of this attempt at killing, aradia didnt care what happened to vriska either, and neither did terezi. terezi sold her out to one of the most powerful beings on their planet, solely because of their revenge cycle. as long as the troll in question did something "malicious”, then that plays a factor in their morals. vriska gave no second thought to killing both of her friends (or at least attempt to with tavros), terezi also tormented john in act 4 which led to his “doomed timeline death” and sold vriska out after she realized vriska wouldnt change. so no fucking WONDER karkat tries to hide who he is, he's overly cautious to not let it slip out because even the people he calls friends could backstab him at any given time considering theres LITERAL EXAMPLES OF THESE TROLLS HAVING DONE SO.

to karkat, he sees this as dangerous, which is why he even CALLS vriska dangerous to begin with. she might not even hesitate to kill him herself or maybe sell him out to the drones, because 1. she may not want to be a witness to something society actively seeks to destroy and 2. she cares more for her survival than karkats. EVEN if they were friends (re: aradia and vriska and terezi). so it just shows.

on that note, i find it funny how karkat indirectly distracted vriska after she baited him with the question of his blood in a past conversation, which prompted karkat to monologue about troll romance. he was, yes, VERY interested in this topic to start with, but it was a nice little bonus for karkat as to not be found out by the one person who would most likely kill him even if it wasnt on purpose. however, we do not know how this will play out IF she does find out, we just know karkat is in the right to be scared of the theory.

and, alright i do have to mention this, while karkat may have been an angry fucker to START with, who spites the world and throws out insults every chance he gets, i feel he does this as more of a survival instinct as well. he doesnt care what he says to people no matter what they rank on the hemospectrum. they dont know his blood color so he feels he has some sort of immunity, but he just needs to keep it hidden. it also may just be his personality, as he IS a character who was given specific traits and andrew went along with it without so much thinking about plot. yet if you look at this from more of the metaphorical route, think about it with uhhhh lets say the perspective of how dogs work. for example, when you put a chihuahua next to a doberman, a doberman is more of an excited, energetic dog whereas a chihuahua will rain hell down on anybody who so goes near them. sometimes this is to make up for their size, to seem as menacing as the larger doberman, as they have nothing else to fend themselves with. another way to look at it is, if you see a bear (i forget if its black/brown or grizzly) you make yourself seem like the bigger person by scaring it off with sounds and eventually it will leave you alone. these sort of tactics work in the sense of survival. this is sort of what karkat could be doing, he uses insults and a defensive shouting to not really "hide" himself, but to have some sort of way as to not be found out if people start to question. someone asks him "hey karkat whats your blood" he goes "FUCK YOU, FUCK OFF, END OF STORY" which could make a person go "yo sorry dude forget i ever asked". so this could be a factor as to why he is so crabby, however on the other hand, he is crabby because that is also his character. andrew probably thought yo cancer = crab = crabby. however i do like how he is perceived and the whole "mutant blood" really made me do a double take on how he views life himself. he has to always hide who he is or he will get physically killed. alternia would take joy in finding out he does not belong there because lets face it, alternia is a bitch of a planet.

this also brought me to ask the question, why does karkat want to be a leader if hes so scared of what would happen to him if he were to be found out? which then, at first i said lol this is just karkat, he wants to a leader because he just wants to be the leader, he likes when things go to plan and that he the most say in their sburb plans considering he thinks everyone else is a "dumbass". to which, i then thought about it more and went ouch what if hes a leader because he knows hes not valued enough in society, that he somehow wants to feel some sort of importance in the world, so he wants to become a leader. i imagine younger karkat, not knowing why his blood is so undermined, finding out he is not wanted and suddenly on the most wanted list without having even DONE anything. even TAVROS said he was on that list, but only because he was weak and had no back-bone, here karkat may have been strong but no matter what, he was to be culled BECAUSE of his blood. something he cannot change no matter what. imagine a little kid knowing he will die at any point because of who he is (rlly sounds familiar if you think about it). so of course, he hides himself from the world, but do you think for an instant, little angry karkat wants to simply be FORGOTTEN about? i doubt that, he wants to be heard, he doesnt necessarily want to be rejected as he knows he will be, so while he does hide his blood, he wants to have a voice no matter what. when being a leader, people dont reject you, they LISTEN. they all may not want to because karkat is just a fucking ticking time bomb, who can lash out at any second, but i feel theres now a reason why he has this superiority complex. he wants to sort of become the person he knows he never will become (if you put it into that perspective). so thats kind of why im giving him the benefit of the doubt here.

i would also like to point out a sort of.... comparison?? not with the dogs but with unwanted children in a family household. this doesnt necessarily apply to karkat, but sub in family household with society and it might as well. (on that note, a warning/viewer discretion, if you have any problem with this kind of discussion, i wouldnt read further into this paragraph and skip to the next one) alright, the unwanted child psychology basically deals with the process of a child which is neglected by their parents, and/or know that they were never wanted in the family. i read an article a while back when we were discussing this in a lecture, we were browsing multiple people's perspective on the matter, and one said "An affective relationship may be suffocating to [the unwanted/neglected child]: it’s a defense against intimacy of which they know nothing. Normally they fluctuate between egotism and deep feelings of inferiority. They don’t understand what a balanced and healthy self-esteem looks like." it explains how the child who grows up in an unwanted home admits great emotion deprivation, because the child's bonds of affection are extremely fragile, and this can lead to both egotism and feeling like they are inadequate. and it really strongly shows karkats personality. we havent gotten that much from him in general, but considering how he uses this egotism to cover up the fact that he may be doomed, really shows the similarity. i liked this short article so i want to give some points to take into consideration, specifically this part: "It will be very difficult for unwanted children to build healthy relationships of affection in their adult life. Love is a foreign language to them. They don’t know how to decipher the codes and much less how to build them. It’s very hard for them to need and to be needed. That’s why, more often than not, they completely shirk their conflicts with peers and superiors, or do nothing but generate them. They speak incessantly about the broken relationship that marked their arrival in the world. A person with such a background will need help to get through those abysses of love that live in their heart. The most important step is that they recognize that their discomfort doesn’t depend on who they are, but the circumstances that led to their being." it may not be 100% tru for karkat but theres a small portion of it that can link back to karkats view on life and how being this mutant can really change who he is as a person. and i hope you can see the similarity between karkats character and this form of psychology. yet i also do not fully know the depth of karkat vantas. however i do hope it continues to build up in this way, as it would be both interesting and make us feel more for him as a person.

alright, i think if i write any more i will never stop aghjsk, which is a bit too much for a sunday afternoon, basically to sum up this post, trolls are violent and karkat will be killed if hes found out, even by his friends if it comes down to it. so karkat cannot really trust anybody, hes alone and imagine the thrill he had when he saw jack cut his hand to show the bright red blood? that he finally has someone LIKE HIM. imagine when he finds out about the kids. so i believe in his growth, while he needs to get a better vocabulary, i do get why hes so defensive all the time. because hes both scared and unwanted. and he wants to make up for it.

and i guess with all that being said, you can tell i now have a slight soft spot for the kid lmao

#hs95 #hs95 ask #anon #ask #analysis #i may not have it FULLY understood yet but thats my perspective of karkat vs trolls society

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musical-chick-13 · 4 years

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Cersei Lannister for the character ask thing :)

YAY MY ALL-TIME FAVE

• Did they live up to their potential? / In what ways was their potential unachieved?

-Um...YES. I’m going to focus on show here because...the books...aren’t finished...SO. Although I do wish the end of the show had focused more on the fallout of her history with Sansa and I do wish she had been afforded a more direct confrontation with Dany, I don’t think I could have ever asked for a better villain. I started watching the show because I was told there was a hot evil lady, and I could never have imagined the utter humanity Lena brought to her or the nuance and clearly-motivated yet realistic complexities afforded to Cersei’s character. I had waited my whole life for some female character any female character to be allowed to be fucked up. To do stupid things and make mistakes and feel ugly/extreme emotions and experience internalized misogyny and have terrible coping mechanisms and be mentally ill in an ugly (as in, not cute/romanticized) way. To keep going out of spite even though she thought there was nothing to keep going for. I saw little glimmers of that early season 1, and those only got better and better as Cersei only got more and more formidable as time went on. I truly am winning the most I love her so much.

• How they negatively and positively affected the story.

-The thing here is that without Cersei, there really is no overarching story. Her relationship with Jaime is what drives the entire plot and Ned’s uncovering of the court’s corruption. Her refusal to have Robert’s child on the throne (or give birth to his child in the first place) is what causes the succession crisis that even makes everyone else’s power plays a possibility. She spurs Sansa’s development from idealistic child to jaded young adult, which is lynchpin of the whole Northern Independence arc that ultimately ends in her being crowned there. And through all of this, she is both ruthless and sympathetic. She has understandable motivations: she is tired of being treated as less-than for being a woman. She feels like her life is meaningless in such a world if she cannot have power. Power is the only way to truly be safe. She wants to protect her children. She wants her father to understand her. She wants to break herself away from her womanhood but she can’t escape it. All of these things enrich the story because they make the watcher/reader ask, “What truly makes someone evil. Is what she’s doing that much worse than what anyone else in this show does? What course of defense does she have by not being an athletic woman who can physically fight? If love makes you do terrible things, is it always a force of good? What do we allow people to get by with in the name of protecting their family? At what point does self-preservation become irredeemably villainous? How do we talk about abuse of power when the people abused are also terrible people who do terrible things?” All of these questions deal with deconstructing the idea of black and white morality, which is, I would argue, the entire point of the series. So she serves that end quite nicely. :)

• What my favorite arc for them is.

Oooh, this is a tricky one. I’m a sucker for anything that allows Cersei to go absolutely feral and I love pain, so probably her fight against the Faith Militant. They try to take absolutely everything from her. She is so blinded by the threat Margaery poses to her family’s and her stability, that she makes a not-too-well-thought-out decision. (You know, like a real person.) She loses her reputation, she gets thrown in prison, her main ally turns on her, and she goes through the Walk of Atonement, which is honestly probably the most painful thing I’ve ever fucking seen. She spends an entire season trying to pick up the pieces and it culminates in the most badass death-to-my-enemies scene I think I’ve ever seen. And to see a character pull themselves back up from the brink of complete ruin? Especially one who is severely depressed and “hysterical”? We love to see it.

• What I think of their ending.

PERFECT BEAUTIFUL AMAZING 10/10 MY GIRL DIED THE LAST QUEEN TO EVER SIT ON THE IRON THRONE DIDN’T GET BRUTALLY MURDERED AND DIED IN THE ARMS OF THE ONLY MAN SHE EVER TRULY WANTED WHO LOVED HER UNCONDITIONALLY GOD FUCKING BLESS

Personal bias aside, Jaime and Cersei were always going to die together. Jaime was never truly “redeemed,” he just became more understood. (Feeling ashamed of being ostracized and generally agreeing some of your actions were bad =/= becoming a good person who breaks ties with every unhealthy or immoral behavior you engage in.) Jaime came back to Cersei because they understand each other. And Cersei recognizes that she is about to truly lose everything. Her family, her power, her empire, her life. But in the end, she realizes that there was one glimmer of good and that she doesn’t have to lose all of those things alone. It’s a humbling, miserable death, but in very many ways it comes the way she always knew it would: at the hands of another woman, and by the side of the man who is such a part of herself that that other woman in question ceases to matter. Her last moments might be because of Daenerys, but they aren’t about her, they’re about Jaime and Cersei. The only two people. Together. Just as they’d always predicted. And then the person responsible for her death doesn’t even get to enjoy it because it came at the price of a complete loss of conscience. My fave not brutally murdered onscreen via betrayal and whose demise is because of someone who ultimately doesn’t even gain that much from her death? Beautiful, I want 500.

Cersei is terrified (which. yeah of course she is.) but she went out knowing that everything she did in her life wasn’t completely meaningless, that her pursuit of safety and security at all costs ultimately ended in someone she loved trying to comfort her. She gains that sense of comfort and self-awareness she always wanted in chasing after power, but not in the way she had ever envisioned. Not because of any specific thing she did or any specific enemy she defeated, not because of a particularly intelligent power play or who her father was or which house she aligned herself with, but simply because she loved someone who loved her and that alone was enough. In her final moments, in a way completely at odds with everything she has ever tried to do, she finally finds acceptance. The tragedy is that she can’t enjoy it longer. What a poetically sad, cathartic, fitting end to her quest for self-preservation.

• When I wish they had died. / If I think they should’ve died.

She almost, almost makes it to the end. She outlasts the White Walkers (which I think is valid because she was nowhere near the battle, and, ultimately, her primary enemy is her own penchant for self-destruction, in a way most of the other characters’ aren’t). For years she hangs on out of spite, and no human can kill her though many have tried or wanted to. Ultimately, she can’t compete with dragon WMD’s and a crumbling city. She did sort of achieve her objective. No specific person killed her. It took nonhuman entities to succeed at that. Fits in nicely with the “So you got what you wanted but not quite” theme of the series. Obviously I wish that she and Jaime could escape to Pentos with their child and live peacefully forever, but a) they would be hiding forever to prevent the people they’ve harmed (so like...the whole realm) from coming after them which I just don’t think they’d have much patience for, and b) I really don’t think Cersei would ever give up her quest for power and ruling the world because she would never feel safe or like her existence was meaningful otherwise. In order for the story to have anything remotely resembling a peaceful or happy ending for Westeros at large, she has to die. Which makes me very sad because I LOVE HER, but narrative cohesion is also a thing.

#cersei lannister #meta #(is this meta?? idk)#jaime x cersei #got #light of the west and my life #cersei meta

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randomsnakesimp · 3 years

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There are so many moments in W.i.t.c.h. that are only acceptable/make sense to the reader because they have more input than the main cast.

Just a few examples (yes, they are Cedric-centric, please feel free to add something else):

- your best friend meets a mysterious older guy at a school party. She goes on one date alone and perfectly fine, yet the second date does not only have a super suspicious time and location, but she also asks all of her friends to please come along for "support". You get to the school gym and instead of even getting a glance of your friend or her date, you are ambushed by monsters. HOW does "holy shit Elyon and/or Cedric were killed by monsters who are after us" not even cross your mind once? Then, after, when you find out the guys still fine but your friend and her family are missing, HOW is SHE more suspicious than him? They IMMEDIATELY jump to "Elyon has betrayed us"

- Both Elyon and Vathek, after having been no better than Cedric themselves, not even considering that maybe he has some misconceptions too or might have been lied to by Phobos and just passing these lies on

- I personally also feel that Elyon bitching at Cedric after her change is both a bit hypocritical (yes, he attacked Will after she saved him, but HE was the one objecting HER psychological torture of Taranee, and the one to tell her to just keep Will busy while she jumped at the ability to attack her) and just in generally a bit unethical because he is beneath her in court order and obviously cannot fight back like a equal could. This one might be personal bias, though, but I feel that redeemed people often get this free pass at judging everyone who didn't switch sides immediately with them

- Elyon refusing to hand her crown to "Endarno" for free elections. The W.i.t.c.h. warning her/helping her run I'll excuse because they know he's fishy by then, but both Elyon and Caleb refuse before they ever met him, and both just because "Elyons such a good queen, he must be mistaken"/"I can't do it". Shouldn't they at least consider carefully, maybe include the council, and then decide what's best for the people?

- the girls, save Orube, never once offering Cedric any help at all while he's stripped of his powers and in their care. They spent such a long time helping Orube adapt, and I really liked that entire subplot, but no one even checks if Cedric needs help not starving to death or setting his house on fire.

- Will straight up electrocuting Cedric upon assuming he trapped Matt in the book of elements and NO ONE checking if he's okay after. (also, his casual reaction hurts me everytime. He doesn't even question being tortured when people are mad at him)

- Cedric even being pardoned. The oracle wasn't the oracle at this point, so they couldn't have just known. And from what was publicly visible, Cedric and Phobos worked together until the end, or at the very least both have worked again Kandrakar. (I feel like, originally, maybe the plot was Cedric just handing off all info to the guardians out of spite and they just forgot to adapt the followup?)

And these are not to say the girls are generally Mary Sues, they actually make quite a lot of mistakes and are allowed to quarrel or disagree. These are also not to say I dislike them acting wrong, I just dislike the fact that they all just agree on these things, and that if they are wrong, there are no repercussions, or that the results they arrive at make no sense for me from the point of which info the characters should have had to make their decision.

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sepublic · 6 years

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An analysis of the relationship between Hordak and Shadow Weaver

I’ve gotta say, I really am in love with the new She-Ra netflix reboot. Any praises I have to say about this show have already been repeated at least a hundred times over by everyone else on this site, and with good reason.

With that in mind, I feel inclined to talk about the dynamics between two of our primary antagonists in the show; Hordak, and Shadow Weaver. Because I find it to be a surprisingly interesting one, from what I’ve seen.

Now, maybe I’m just looking too deeply into things, or projecting some of my personal headcanons, but this is what I’ve noticed about the two; Namely, that Hordak, in general... actually seems to dislike Shadow Weaver.

In their interactions, you get the feeling that Hordak is mostly tolerating Shadow Weaver. Just about all of their on-screen interactions have ended in Hordak expressing contempt for Shadow Weaver, and for surprisingly valid reasons. He seems to dislike her excessive cruelty, which he evidently views as hindering the Horde as a whole. And honestly? I get the impression that up until the end of the season, Hordak was legit waiting for someone to appear and prove themselves as a better commander than Shadow Weaver. It seemed like he was waiting, if not looking, for a proper excuse/reason to not have to deal with Shadow Weaver.

I get the impression that Hordak only tolerates Shadow Weaver’s selfish agenda and antics because she’s comparatively the best person for her position as Second-in-Command. She’s a big fish, in a small pond, mind you... Which makes me wonder if Shadow Weaver has been deliberately keeping said pond small, in order to keep her position.

As we’ve already established, Hordak was pretty clearly waiting for someone to come along and prove themselves as better than SW, so he could finally get rid of her. And I think SW knew this... which in turn puts an interesting spin on her training and overlooking new recruits and child soldiers. Because if SW knows that Hordak is looking for a replacement, then it gives us the very real possibility that she’s been actively hindering these new cadets in order to keep her authority.

And Hordak? Hordak suspects, if not outright knows, this. Which is where his little spy/pet(?) Imp comes into play. Hordak has considered the possibility of Shadow Weaver’s bias. He’s considered the idea that she’s deliberately skewed his perception of Force Captain candidates through her biased reports, such as in cases where one cadet is ideally the better Force Captain, but is kept from the spot because said cadet doesn’t respect SW’s authority and is more inclined towards Hordak.

So in comes Imp, as the objective truth and reality of how well these cadets are doing. Imp is a spy that even SW doesn’t have tabs on. While Shadow Weaver feeds Hordak an altered perception of the cadets and their progress, in order to get the ones she desires elected, or else NOT elected... Imp comes in and watches the actual mission. He watches the actual, raw, unchanged events of the cadets training, and then gives Hordak the actual reality so that Hordak can figure out who is REALLY the ideal person he wants to promote.

Because in all honesty... I think Hordak KNEW it was Catra’s idea to kidnap Glimmer and Bow. He just blamed Shadow Weaver for it anyway, as karmic justice for her taking credit for things as always.

So with all that in mind, I can see Hordak receiving a report on the alleged worthiness of certain cadets or candidates for promotion, before he has Imp come in and tell him the truth. And by comparing and contrasting Imp’s objective reality with the twisted lies of SW, Hordak gets an idea what it is she’s trying to do behind his back, and who he wants to look out for.

And I can see SW realizing Hordak knows this, and vice-versa... Which leads to this careful game of cat and mouse, this delicate power balance between the two as Shadow Weaver keeps an eye out for Imp, all while trying to prove her comparative worth by low key sabotaging others and/or taking credit. And Hordak, ultimately, has to keep SW in power... Because by the end of the day, by her fault or not, she IS the comparatively best candidate for Second-in-Command. But not for long... someone will rise through the Horde’s ranks and prove themselves. Shadow Weaver will slip in her plans... and that’s where Adora comes in.

Adora is Shadow Weaver’s hidden ace up her sleeve. At some point, I imagine Shadow Weaver realized that, no matter how hard she tried, someone would come along, prove themselves, and ultimately be recognized as more viable a commander than SW to Hordak. So what does she do? She prepares Adora.

Shadow Weaver raises Adora... personally teaches, praises her, acts more like a parent than a teacher to Adora... She ensures Adora succeeds above everyone else. No doubt most of Adora’s success is of her own merit, of course... But I can see SW going out of her way to give Adora an unfair advantage for tests anyway, just in case.

And why does SW do a 180 on her previous tactics of keeping power in the Horde? Because, as far as she can tell, as Adora’s abuser and parental figure... she controls Adora. Which means that even if Adora takes her place as Hordak’s Second-in-Command, it doesn’t matter- Because she can tell Adora what to do. She (thinks) she knows Adora’s every weakness, how Adora ticks... ideally, if her plan goes perfectly, it won’t even matter if SW is demoted to a freaking janitor.

Because as long as she controls Adora, she can make Adora be biased in her own assessments of potential rivals to SW’s control. SW can have Adora do things that she herself would never dare do under Hordak’s watchful eye. And she knows this- Adora is no more than a puppet leader to be controlled by Shadow Weaver, from the shadows. This way, she still keeps power, without having to play her dangerous game with Hordak.

As for Catra? I imagine that Shadow Weaver lowkey feared Catra, because she was exactly what Hordak was waiting for. She’s ambitious, clever, and most importantly, dislikes Shadow Weaver. And I can see Shadow Weaver arranging an ‘accident’ to get rid of Catra, to keep her from ever reaching her potential, but then Adora and Catra become buddies. And as someone who aims to have total control on Adora, SW needs her on her good side.

So, she lets Adora keep Catra, figuring it’ll make Adora grateful to her and even more of a pawn. Thus, Catra, despite the risk she poses, has her own uses... until Adora defects.

THAT’s when things go wildly wrong. Because Shadow Weaver has poured so much effort and resources into this one puppet leader, and without her... we have a fully-trained Catra to take Adora’s ideal spot, and replaced SW. And Hordak KNOWS this, which is why Shadow Weaver panics and wants to take back Adora.

And she doesn’t just kill off Catra as a threat, because she recognizes that as Adora’s best friend, Catra could easily bring Adora back to the horde. So Shadow Weaver lets Catra live, if only to bring Adora back. Once she does, however... lights out for Catra.

But Catra fails. So Shadow Weaver decides to take things into her own hands in Episode 7. Shadow Weaver thinks she knows Adora. She thinks she can CONTROL Adora to her every whim. She is, after all, an abuser. And abusers are the ones obsessed the most with control, and yet they have it the least... perhaps as a result, or cause of their desire.

But Shadow Weaver realizes she can’t control Adora, because Adora’s tasted actual love, friendship, and support. She never understood Adora, unlike Catra, who was an actual decent person and friend. And when she realizes that Adora is truly lost... that she’s truly gone...

...Well, things go downhill from here. Catra has already been promoted to Force Captain in Adora’s place. She’s gotten Hordak’s attention. Her ideal puppet leader has been lost forever, and now the person SW fears the most for potentially replacing her, is rising through the ranks.

And this ultimately culminates in Shadow Weaver trying to straight-up murder Catra, openly defying Hordak’s orders and being just a tad shy of outright treason against the Horde. But it’s too late- Catra wasn’t some dumb child. She wasn’t JUST a victim- Because in her lifetime of abuse, she observed. She, too, saw and began to understand Shadow Weaver’s tactics. So when SW comes in for the kill, Catra can predict her every move and retaliate, ultimately defeating Shadow Weaver and rendering powerless in every sense of the term. Shadow Weaver’s greatest fears have come to fruition.

And you want to know why? It’s because, by the end of the day... nobody likes Shadow Weaver. Oh, sure, some tolerate her... but nobody actually likes or feels real loyalty to her. She literally had nobody to be a friend, much less an ally, and so she had to MAKE her own ally in Adora- But Shadow Weaver is such a twisted person that that, naturally, fails.

Contrast this to Hordak, who, for all of his disregard for nature and the natural order, is still a reasonable and pragmatic boss who will promote someone if he feels they have proved themselves. Or Catra, who is an actual person and isn’t truly malicious, and is able to find friends in people such as Scorpia, whom Shadow Weaver deliberately selected to keep an eye on Catra.

And speaking of Scorpia, I imagine Shadow Weaver chose her to watch Catra, because comparatively... Scorpia was the Force Captain that hated SW the least. Scorpia actually had no loyalty to Shadow Weaver, just no spite. Plus, I can see SW underestimating Scorpia as just a ‘dumb goon’ or something like that, and underestimating her need and willingness for friendship that allows her to hit it off with the far more appealing ally that is Catra.

So, yeah. The follies of Shadow Weaver ultimately lie in her unpleasant, cruel nature as a person. She is selfish, abusive, and controlling. And ultimately, Shadow Weaver’s greatest weakness is that she is alone. After all, the show’s own theme song stresses the importance of people acting as a team, as a group, and supporting each other.

And Shadow Weaver supports no one... which means she has no one to support her. And that’s why Hordak is outright looking for someone to replace her by the beginning of the series.

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funkymbtifiction · 6 years

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Stereotype: Enneagram & MBTI Applied

SUBMITTED by truthaliar

gif from aryastarksource.tumblr.com

As a high-Fi user and someone with a 4 in their stack, there’s part of me that pushes hard against the notion of ’this is your type, this is where you should be’ - and yet accepting the helpfulness that these hypotheses - enneagram and mbti - have in reality.

A year ago, if you would have told me ‘your career makes sense with your personality type’ I would’ve agreed. 'Totally’, I’d say as i observed the sheer number of xSFPs and xSTPs in the wildlife clinic I worked at. We’re an interesting bunch, wildlife rehabbers. We’re nimble enough to catch full-grown birds of prey out of mid-air with homemade nets yet idealistic enough to believe our work makes a difference.

It’s true that the wildlife people I worked with early on have similar MBTI types; we are largely xSxPs with the occasional xNxJ thrown in.

But our enneagram types are all different. And as I’ve taken time to learn about enneagram, I’ve found that there’s a lot of assumptions as I read through literature and scan websites. 5 seems to equal science, and 2 seems to equal medicine. So it stands to reason that we’d have a lot of 52x people running around, and anecdotally, that’s not true.

Source: http://pickleston.tumblr.com/post/142316435561

I’m an xSFP, a cp 6w7 and probably a 684, gradually accepting that I’m probably an so/sx subtype as I’m constantly broke and hop from job to job as though I can sustain myself this way forever. A quirky former coworker, an ESFP, strikes me as a 749. Another former coworker, an unhealthy xSTP, was probably an 835 or 385. Only my ISxP supervisor seems to lead with 5 - maybe a 514 - and it’s hard to say if she’s a 5w6 and 6w5. It’s speculation because I haven’t had the time to sit down face to face with each person and ask them, 'what motivates you?’.

But more than anything - like always - it’s the associated archetype that seems to bother me. Just like it always irritates me to see when ISFPs are equated to 'butterflies’ and ISTPs are 'mechanics’ - something feels kind of off when I see that 2w1s are associated with doctors. It’s less of a visceral response than the other stereotypes - like I get it - but it something still seems like it’s missing.

Though the 2w1 stereotype seems to follow human medicine more than veterinary medicine, I can’t help but see through it. I’m sure human medicine is as weird and interesting and diverse as the field of veterinary medicine. I’m guessing some people like anesthesiology because it puts you in a position of power rather than just being helpful (though that could be an added bonus). I like radiology because I think it looks cool and I like diagnostics because I like solving problems. My supervisor tells me that to her, veterinary medicine is like an art. That like an artist, I need to accept that I’m not going to make a ton of money in my future and figure out how to make things work for myself as I begin vet tech school and pursue veterinary school in the long-run.

Focus on yourself, she says. Which I process and interpret as: build your connections and run toward the things that scare you and have some adventures along the way (6). Control your life. Remind yourself that you retain control at all times and the world is malleable - you can work with and change an outcome you don’t like (8). And remember that there’s something unique about you that pulls you toward this path - your patients can’t ever pay you back or reciprocate; not everyone is cut out for this (4).

Source: https://media.giphy.com/media/wzQvTjcT1Fb5S/giphy.gif

My understanding is that while 2s want reciprocation for their helpfulness, doctors, nurses, veterinarians and others often don’t get it. Maybe that’s where you begin seeing the old, cranky, thankless doctors falling into 8. I’ve known a couple, but they haven’t been the majority. And based on my readings - and probably my own bias - 6 makes a touch more sense - helping others to ease their own anxiety, without expecting anything in return based on navigating the anxieties that accompany disease, injuries, illness, death. And even then - the other 6s I know work in different fields. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ so that doesn’t make sense - and nothing make sense because the world simply doesn’t work that way.

I see stereotypes everywhere, even though reality seems to rarely match them. I recently finished grad school and I had one professor - an ESTJ epidemiologist point out 'what an odd personality’ I was for grad school. I told them - half joking, half serious - that I went to grad school out of spite and they reminded me that I was a very feeling person, but grad school requires more than that. She once even told me that I seemed like I’d be fun at parties, but am I really cut out for science?

Source: https://thumbs.gfycat.com/MistyFirstFruitfly-small.gif

Essentially, she perpetuated another stereotype I dislike - that scientists must be objective and detached and ignore their feelings. She’s not a stodgy person; she’s upbeat and energetic and loves life. It’s true that the best scientific argument is completely objective - and my Se and Te ensure that I meet those standards. But pretending you don’t feel anything at all in favor of neutrality actually aids in science censorship and poor science communication in the long run - problems that we’re trying to actively combat.

One example is convincing others that it’s okay for me to be angry about birds of prey dying of acute toxicity from consuming poisoned mice. It doesn’t implicate bias in my work as long as my methods are properly outlined and my findings are accurate. As long as I don’t write 'wow this case pissed me off’ in a research journal, it’s okay for me to express why the situation is problematic. Others, guessing SP first, will be disappointed, but look at protecting their career first. And I get it: you don’t want to get blacklisted - me neither. But that potential consequence is illustrative of the toxic effects of that stereotype to begin with.

Image source: https://i.gifer.com/Dn0S.gif

Anyway, after I completed my coursework, I did some fieldwork - and worked wiht a diverse group of young wildlife biologists. There was an ENFP and ESTJ who constantly fought; some ISTPs and ISFPs who I usually got along with, though we challenged each other; an ESTP and ENTP. I lived with an ESFJ 3, an INTP 5, and an ENFJ 9. My bosses were an ESFP and an ISTJ respectively. It was super diverse, though I’d still say Se was the most common. And yet, we all had very little in common. Everyone had different motivations. Everyone had different perspectives. We were worked to the bone and many of us were miserable. There were a lot of 9s. Some people were overly optimistic about finding a job after the season ended (which rarely happens in wildlife biology unless you live in a warm climate) and were quieted when they didn’t.

One of the things I like about enneagram is that it reflects growth as something constant. Everyone’s growing. You’re not done just because you finished school or because you’re 26 and should be a better adult by now.

I was glad to learn of the diversity that exists within my field. The only lingering stereotype I have is that Se is the most helpful function when it comes to working hands on with wildlife, though the ENFP I worked with is now doing pretty cool hands-on work elsewhere and is making it work just fine, and the INTP I know really loves her work. So I guess basically in conclusion, you can do whatever you want, and the stereotypes out there can provide an outline or a framework - but they don’t necessarily mean anything at all.

Has anyone else seen this within their chosen field/school? What stereotypes do you hate, and why? What ones do you find true?

#submission #isfp #enneagram #enneagram 2 #enneagram 4 #enneagram 6 #enneagram 8

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gerardfreeman · 5 years

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To destabilize a targeted population you take control of their media images, statistics, and societal narratives and you constantly negatively distort them. This heavily demoralizes, divides, makes them self hating, and resentful towards their own group.

People are easily controlled by the information they routinely receive about themselves. When people are constantly presented with positive and affirming information about themselves this unifies and uplifts them. However, when people are constantly inundated with fraudulent negative information about themselves the exact opposite happens. They become demoralized, divided, and self hating. And they also become more compliant with the dominance of other groups over their lives. Here is a basic example of how this demoralizing divide and conquer warfare tactic works:

Imagine that a crew was out at sea aboard a great ship. And that their ship was being followed by a second ship - that was constantly broadcasting false negative derogatory messages to them about themselves. The messages that their ship was not sea worthy - therefore slowing sinking, that the crew was incompetent, or that their ship was lost...etc.. With time, the crew constantly receiving the negative, derogatory messages about themselves - being unable to refute nor to confirm them, will grow weary and will eventually comes to accept the negative assessments of themselves. Many will then become resentful towards their other crew members, distrustful of them, and will eventually start fighting among themselves. The taunted group may even become so besieged by deep feelings of resentment towards their crew members that they will try to dissociate themselves from them. Some may even jump into the sea and swim towards the taunting ship — seeking acceptance— now believing it to be superior to their own ship -- even if their own ship was in fact better. This entire process was accomplished by constantly inundating the ship's crew with negative demoralizing disinformation about themselves. Its weapon was the negative message and the way that they adversely affects the targeted crew. No group can be constantly subjected to receiving only the fraudulent worst about themselves and not suffer some adverse effects. This is the psychological warfare tactic that white oppressive forces presently deploys against Black people unrelentingly.

It's no strange occurrence that many Black people are now divided, self loathing, perceives themselves as being their own worst enemies, and thinks favorably of caucasians in spite of a brutal history to the contrary. These thoughts and perceptions, that clearly benefits white societies, were shrewdly indoctrinated into the minds of millions of Black people without most even realizing it. The white media's unrelenting negative depictions of Black people-- that amplifies the negative to the point that it distort reality-- is much more than just bias media reporting. It is actually a Black Racially Demoralizing Divide and Conquer psychological warfare system.

Demoralizing Divide and Conquer warfare is the method of maintaining control over a targeted population by creating self hate and encouraging dissent between them. White people controls all Black mainstream media images, statistics, and societal narratives. Therefore Black people interpret themselves according to information and images presented by white people. White social engineering scientist and propaganda designers learned along time ago that by negatively controlling what Black people believes about themselves (collectively) they could demoralize, divide, and make many Black people self hating. This condition makes Black people much easier to control and subjugate. It’s how white societies protect themselves from unified Black retribution.

This is not a uncommon practice. Throughout western history those empires that were brutally oppressive, fearing eventual retribution from the oppressed, have always prevented such retribution by deploying a demoralizing divide and conquer tactics against the oppressed. Black people are the unknowing targets of the most elaborate divide and conquer psychological warfare campaign in history. This warfare tactic is deplored like a massive media marketing campaign that constantly subjects Black people to seeing only the fraudulent worst within themselves. Within this system fraudulent black racially demoralizing propaganda is pumped unrelentingly into the unsuspecting minds of Black populations--without being challenged or counterbalanced by an equal amount Black positive racially affirming information. Its weapon is the message that it carries and the way that it adversely effects Black people in terms of our behaviors. It conveys the subliminal message that Black people are there own worst enemy and therefore needs whites to govern over their lives. Moreover, that Black people should admire, respect, and trust only Whites. This system is extremely effective because when Black people are repetitively presented these noted narratives from trusted white media sources it can be very difficult to resist it's implied programming. Especially when the propaganda is being told daily and so unrelentingly. With time, being unable to refute the constant negative information about themselves, many Black people eventually comes to accept them. They unconsciously influences how many within the Black population perceives themselves, creating division and self hatred among themselves. It also turns the collective frustrations and aggressions of Black people away from their white oppressors and turns them inward towards themselves.

This is all possible because people are like computers, all you have to do is keep giving them certain information thru the media every so often and you can persuade an entire nation towards an implied objective. They can even be made to believe things that goes against their instincts. Because perceptions created by the media leads to non-deliberate thoughtful decision-making or decision below the level of consciousness. It has been called "thinking without thinking", and it ultimately leads to unconscious similar behaviors. It doesn't matter if the information is true or not most will agree because they too have been given the same information. Fear of inevitable Black retribution eventually led to this same mass media brainwashing system being used to control the mind's of Black population. When the earlier racist systems used in the past, for maintaining white dominance, had became no longer socially acceptable, this method was also the logical choice. This psychological warfare program works so well in fact that it not only makes Black people more compliant with white dominance over their lives, it in fact makes many even prefer it.It is at the root of both the feeling of self hatred now afflicting so many Black people and is at the heart of internalized feelings of superiority that many whites possess.

"The oppressed will always believe the worse about themselves" --Franz Fanon

The following is the hidden history and reason why this elaborate psychological warfare campaign was deployed against Black people. The system started in the U.S. and then went global.

The 1960’s was the most turbulent decade within America’s history. America’s blatant racist mistreatment of African Americans had ran its course and resulted in unprecedented Black protest that eroded the nation’s stability and global image. The unified strategies implemented by African American against the U.S. systems of white supremacy during the 60's was unprecedented; and remains unrivaled by any other minority group in U.S. history. African Americans confronted white America's racist institutionalized practices on every front using militant means, nonviolent civil disobedience methods, and through Black lawyers pleading their cases for equality within America’s highest Supreme Court.

The brilliant organization and mobilizations of mass bus boycotts, marches, freedom riders, and sit ins that were peacefully conducted through the unified protest of civil disobedience by African Americans was remarkable. This gave the world those media images of Black people being violently attacked by whites and not violently responding to them in return. This tactic, once shown in the media, shifted moral judgement away from the white oppressive society and moved it to the side of African Americans which gained national and global support for African Americans. Dr. King was even awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. This embarrassed the US government and eventually led to the government abandoning many of its blatant racist systems — that were used for maintaining its white dominance. This also resulted in the enactment of many civil right laws that improved the lives of all minorities. Therefore while all ethnic groups possess the ability to bring about real change within the United States, only African Americans have produced some change. It's for this reason why every other minority group in fact actually owes a debt to African Americans. African Americans had proven themselves as being the most formidable organizers, and protestors against the U.S. systems of institutionalized white racism. African Americans had also unknowingly proven themselves as being the greatest threat against the U.S. system of white supremacy. When asked; “ what is the greatest single threat to the United States”, FBI Director J.Edgar Hoover replied: “ The Unification of America’s Negroes.” To address this so called ' Negro problem" President Lyndon B Johnson ordered the formation of the Kerner Commission. Its mission was to investigate and prescribe a cure or recommendations for the problem.

The Commission concluded that blatant White racism was the single aggravating factor for the collective problems. The Kerner report’s findings required that the U.S. Government abandon its blatant forms of racist systems used to protect its position of White dominance. This abandonment of outdated tactics necessitated an implementation of an improved system. The U.S. Government agents of White supremacy quickly reformed their techniques into a method better suited for the changing times. It was logically decided that a covert system for maintaining white dominance was necessary. A method not easily recognized nor comprehended by its black victims. The logical conclusion was to implement a massive ideological subversion (psychological warfare) program that would create divisive self hating feelings among African Americans and make us more compliant with white dominance over their lives.

“The most potent weapon in the hands of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed.” - Steve Biko

The Black Matrix by Franklin Jones.

Learn more at www.theblackpeoplematrix.com

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littlemisssquiggles · 6 years

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Squiggles Talks: RWBY: So…I just finished V6 Chapter 5…

///MINOR SPOILERS FOR VOLUME 6 CHAPTER 5///

If I’m being honest here, this episode is sadly my least favourite episode of the season. The only saving grace of this episode was a certain character’s grandiose return. Speaking of which, okay, to all the Neo-stans in the FNDM community, I owe you guys an apology.

You can say I tip my bowler hat off to you.

Turns out you were right about Neo returning after all and it seems like she will be teaming up with Cinder to target Ruby. That’s a pretty cool dynamic. Both Cinder and Neo shared the role of Roman’s accomplice back in the Beacon Days so seeing them working together is going to be fun. I’d like to think that Cinder’s side of the story just got a whole lot more fascinating. It does make me wonder, however, if this episode will mark the last time we see of Little Miss Malachite. If so, then that’s a darn shame since she was an alright character. Would’ve loved to have seen her and her spiders working with Neo and Cinder going forward but I guess we’ll see? Who knows?

But other than that stellar opening scene, sorry guys, this episode didn’t really cut it for me. While the Bumblebee and Whiterose supporters might enjoy this episode the most because we got to see the four RWBY girls pair off and have their little bit together like old times. That part was okay, especially because it touched a bit on Yang’s tension with Blake and Weiss’ continuing reluctance to go to Atlas. I did laugh when Ruby and Weiss found those can of beans for the group to munch on. It made me think of the meme from Life is Strange. I know, different fandom but still a good joke if you know LiS.

I made a hunch about this chapter being the set up to the big epic payoff that would probably come from the next few episodes afterwards. Beyond that, sorry folks but I’m afraid the squiggle meister has very little to say concerning this episode.

If I’m being honest here, this episode disappointed me. Don’t get me wrong. That doesn’t mean it was a bad episode. The opening fight with Neo and Cinder was by far the best part of the episode for me. Once again the CRWBY nailed it with the fight animation and choreography.

However beyond that, this episode didn’t leave the impact on me as other episodes did. At least up until the ending shot and I’ll bring that up in just a bit. I’m going to be very biased here but I was hoping that this episode would’ve shown a continuation of Ruby trying to be empathetic and supportive towards Oscar after what transpired in C4. The kid seriously needs someone in his court. Heck he still needs someone to hold him and comfort him and coddle him and I was REALLLLLY hoping, it would have been Ruby.

Nope. Instead it was substituted for Ruby comforting Weiss after she was spooked by the dead bodies found upstairs which was like HOLY SHIT! Was not expecting that at all so I don’t blame Weiss for being freaked and Ruby wanting to comfort her friend in that traumatized time.

I just wish some more attention was directed at Oscar’s feelings too. Sorry this is my Pinehead side mostly speaking here. But I do find the conversation between Ruby and Weiss to be interesting. Weiss’ question to Ruby and he response was thought-provoking just to hear those two perspectives.

It’s nice to see that Ruby hasn’t given up on the group’s primary objective in spite of the reveal so that was noteworthy. I’ll give the episode for that.

But yeah, I wanted more Oscar this episode. I’m sorry my Pinehead instincts kicked in during the episode and I was hoping to see more scenes with the boy. We spent the last 3 episodes focused on Ozpin. I was really banking on the next coming episodes setting up more focus on Oscar but…this chapter left me thinking otherwise. Sorry. Pardon my biasness again.

As for Oscar, he was left alone with Maria mostly which admittedly was adorable. Maria was a gem this episode. I wonder what story she’s going to read the group next episode. I hope it’s something on the Silver Eyed Warriors. It has to be! If she doesn’t find a good story, I want Maria to tell everyone a story she grew up hearing as a kid---the legend of the Silver Eyes. That could be cool.

Guys, overall, V6 C5 is my least favourite of the season thus far. This is ironic since last season; C5 of V5 was my favourite episode of that season. Mind you, this doesn’t mean that the episode was bad. On the contrary, V6 C5 was another solid episode. Short yes but it did the things it was supposed to do. It set up the further tension among the groups while teasing us with the dread of the beast that’s yet to come. C5 served its purpose of setting up C6 while also giving another exceptional episode

I just didn’t enjoy it as much because when I stack C5 up to the previous chapters, personally I enjoyed the last couple of episodes more than I did this episode. But again, let me be clear. This is only my opinion. Let me also stress that though it disappointed me in some scenes, this episode is still a good episode.

I guess I’ll have to wait til Monday to see what’s in store for C6. Hopefully C6 is a much longer episode with more Rosebudding moment or at least Oscar getting focus. Sorry if my Pinehead bias is getting annoying here but for real man…after what happened with Ozpin, if I’m being truly honest, Oscar needs the most comfort in all this. Him and Qrow.

If the next two episodes are to focus on any character, let it be Qrow and Oscar and the one person connected to them both---Ruby. But that’s just my opinion.

Anyways, this is my first impression of the episode. Nuff said.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2018)

#rwby #oscar pine #rwby volume 6 #rwby volume 6 chapter 5 #squiggles talks: rwby

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knightofbalance-13 · 6 years

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=suFTBHoLGco

Unicorn of War, I’ve gone on record to say you’re probably the second best RWBY critic on YouTube.

Unforunately, videos like these show that’s more a reflection on how low the bar is in that community than any real indicator of quality. No offense to you but, I think you need to consider certain factors before making videos like these.

Okay so his number five pick is...Raven Branwen. The reason why he choose Raven is because the writing makes Raven out to be a petulant child whose a bad guy when she’s suppose to be a morally complex grey character.

... Issue here is that what she just said is only half right and even then, it’s intended. Raven is suppose to come across as a petulant child to contrast Yang’s maturity as a person as well as the reasoning behind why someone like Raven would do the things she does. As for being morally grey: the issue here is that Raven is morally grey in that she acts for her own selfish goals that contribute to either side. If you were expecting Raven to be this super complex character morals wise from Volume 4: She willingly left her family to join a tribe of bandits that is so horrible that Qrow (her twin) hates them. Not to mention the mass murder. It was clear she was never gonna be on the lighter side of the moral spectrum.

Also he says part of this is due to how Ozpin isn’t called out for being nefarious (I personally doubt that but moving on). Bit thing is: that should contribute to OZPIN’S character, not RAVEN’S. This just comes across as kind of narrow minded in how he views characters and that just leaves a bad feeling in my stomach.

His fourth pick is Leonard Lionheart. He says this is because...um...

Okay first he gives the opinion that Leo’s defection to Salem wasn’t explored enough and wasn’t given enough details. But ironically, he doesn’t really give any details here to really sell that as a reason.

Another is that he’s a headmaster of an Academy in a racist kingdom and says they could have explored his implications but that’s only speculation and if we judge things based on how many opportunities are missed, we’d never have a good character or show.

The third is that he’s a poor representation of the theme of choice in Volume 5...which doesn’t make sense since this is never directly commented on, it isn’t really prevelant and, considering how greenhorn Miles and Kerry are, I doubt they would have a theme of choice and NOT have the target relic be the relic of choice (Haven’s is the relic of knowledge). He also cites another reviewer as a source which...yeah, even if I like the reviewer, you use your OWN words.

So we have three reasons that don't really contribute to anything let alone each other so I have no idea what the central reason why Unicorn choose Leo for this part other than “I don’t like him.” There’s nothing to really judge or discuss here, not even any suggestions on a better way to do this or improvements. I feel even more numb than he does towards Leo.

Third is Blake Belladonna and he admits that Blake was great in Volume 5....which is it’s own bag of worms. Look, there can be different incarnations of the same character but this is from things like spin offs, reboots and non canon material: NOT between seasons of a show. If this ws Blake from a spin off then this statement was fine...but the fact that he uses original Blake despite complimenting her most recent incarnation is like hating Jaune for his actions in Volume 1 but praising him in Volume 5: it’s really conflicted and weird.

Not that his reasonings are the best. He says that Blake is switching between wanting to be left alone to participating in Team RWBY;s antics...while using footage from Volume 1. Not even really Black and White, like Emerald Forest and Badge And Burden. Issue here is that these are two very different situations. Before, Blake didn’t know people like Ruby and Yang and had no reason to try and get along. Now, she’s a member of their team for four years and has gotten to know them a bit better: it makes sense that she’d get along with them better here. The other reason why he puts her here is because since the Volume doesn’t focus on her self hatred, her leaving her team left a bad taste in people’s mouths. This only works if you don’t consider Blake’s martyr complex and her previous actions. This is like expecting to know why Goku fights every single person he does when the reasoning is obvious.

The only thing I liked here was him addressing her relationship with Adam and how it wasn’t explored. But I only liked it because I understood where he was coming from, not because I even agreed with him on an objective level. The relationship doesn’t look explored because you have to view Blake’s character through the lens of an abuse victim AFTER Volume 3 and RWBY...isn’t the most rewatchable show. Oh and he ends by saying she has gotten much better in Volume 5, which is just confusing me on this list even further since he could put someone else (like Ozpin since he has issues with the writing surrounding Ozpin) here and made it more relevant.

Second to last is Adam Taurus. He’s here because...Raven. He’s here for one of the same reasons as Raven: he was something in Volume 3 but now he’s a petulant child. And again, this fails because that’s the point of Adam: he’s a psychopathic manchild. He’s Raven ramped up to 25. He says that Adam is a joke now because he tries to be an edgelord but in one episode he has one of the cringest lines possible (”Hello my Darling) but in the next he singlehandedly cuts off Yang’s arm without so much as a blink. Unicorn tries to justify this by saying his forces were defeated, he tried blowing up everyone in a fit and was defeated by a backhand. But again, this is AFTER he was shown to be fully willing to destroy YET another Hunstmen academy and do god knows what to Blake. This doesn’t work as a good reasoning.

His last reasoning is that his character keeps bouncing back and forth between wanting justice for his people (which is incorrect, he wants supremacy) and wanting to get back at Blake...ignoring how there is an underlying connection here of “I was wrong ergo I’m going to do terrible things to get back at people” AKA SPITE. The show literally handed this to the viewer on a silver platter, I can’t excuse this mistake. It’s isn’t being torn apart or attacked: they’re the same goal, just targeted at different people.

Dishonorable mentions:

Corsec And Fennec: makes some sense but the compliant of ‘their manipulative side isn’t shown’ doesn’t hold up, rather it should be ;their manipulative side isn’t shown enough.’ Also they should have replaced Blake since, you know, they are disliked throughout their ENTIRE incarnation.

Vernal: Is said to be on here because nothing is really done with her aside from being a red herring. Again, not really enough to justify being on this list over another choice like Ozpin.

Ruby Rose: “She’s the exact same character as she was in Volume 1 and the attempts at character development are just...so shallow.”

... I have discussed this so much that at this point, I’m not even gonna dignify this with a response.

And Number 1 is Cinder Fall. And it’s all the same arguments so I’ll just give the bullet points version:

1. She has no backstory: I’ve pointed to villians like the Joker as a counterpoint to this. You don’t need a backstory for a good villain.

2. She fought Jaune instead of Ruby: ironic considering the clip he used to illustrate his point is PRECISELY why this doesn’t work. Jaune attacked first.

3. She was stupid in her volume 5 plan: Look, I could explain why this makes sense since she’s a sadist and wants to kill people. But you can’t have this reason and Number 2 together. The second is all about how she didn’t kill Ruby when doing so would be stupid but then you decry her for NOT being stupid. Choose one, these reasons are knife fighting to the death here, that’s how badly they work together.

4. She doesn’t interact directly with the characters directly to have a real presence against them: ... Fire Lord Ozai. Same supposed issue, didn’t stop him.

He brings up the idea of ‘good idea, flawed execution’ at the end and while I would normally agree with this:

This is like someone calling a guy ‘flithy’ when they themselves look like they just swam through a river of sewage. AKA I can’t focus on the second party because the actions of the first has drawn attention to their own issues.

Unicorn of War: I have no idea what you were trying to accomplish here. Was this suppose to be a list about characters you personally don’t like? Then why did you keep bring up the public perception of characters? If this si suppose to be an attempt at an objective look at the characters: then why do you keep bring up personal issues and personal points?

I have no idea what I’m suppose to take away from this. You make some good points here and there and unlike people like Muffin Man Dan or FMF: I didn’t have to wade through absolute bile to get to them. But your execution and your reasoning is so all over the place that I can’t take anything away from this. I’m just left a confused mess by the end of this because I don’t even know how I’m suppose to judge this. Like-Dude, sit down, take a breath and decide whether you want to look at things from your own personal experience and feelings like MurderOfBirds or try to look at things objectively, trying to distance yourself from personal bias like...okay, there’s no RWBY Youtuber equivalent there. But you get my point.

As I have said in the past: You can make good points. It’s just when you delve into the points is when things get confusing. If not for common mistakes (like saying that the Volumes of RWBY post 3 are rushed when they take about as much time to make as Volume 2 did), then for confused execution like what you did here.

#rwby #unicorn of war #Thomas vaccuo

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