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thewriterwithnoplan · 8 months

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THE HIGHEST TOWER (1/2)

Summary: As a Princess of the Realm the chance to escape political marriage and abscond with your Promised was beyond anything you could wish for. When the time is right, your dragon will lead you to them and your mother will support your union. In return, you must do all you can to protect her claim, even if you must do so from within the very heart of the Greens.

Soulmate AU: Your animal familiar leads you to your soulmate.

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader (eventual), Aemond Targaryen x Reader (mentioned)

Word Count: 4296

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, just general character awfulness, some espionage, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd.

Masterlist

You had lived the better part of eight and ten years in the Red Keep. The daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen handed off to the Queen like some paltry trinket. The King’s first and final word on the matter of his granddaughter. Thrust carelessly into Alicent’s care at the fresh age of ten, a peace offering and a trade for Lucerys’ life. You scarcely remembered life beyond the borders of the castle. Only that one moment your brother's life had been under threat and the next yours was all but forfeit.

Your mother had clasped the back of your neck, pulled you toward her and begged her father for mercy. You who had not even been in the room when Aemond had lost his eye, lost to your own midnight flight atop dragon back. And then the curtain of Rhaneyra’s hair parted, and from over her shoulder Daemon met your eyes. For a single poignant moment, he stared and then a smirk broke across his face as if he knew.

Knew that you were not the innocent that your mother would have the King believe you to be. Knew that your midnight rendezvous with your dragon at the exact moment of Vhagar’s claiming was not mere coincidence. Your intentions had been innocent at first. A trip to the kitchen for a cup of milk which you would warm on the stove – a feat the late Sir Harwin Strong had taught you. Past your brothers’ room, your mother’s room, the servants' quarters and a balcony overlooking the beach. And then you had seen him. Aemond scaling your cousin’s dragon. And that just wouldn’t do.

Targaryens – true Targaryens who did not cower under the cover of darkness – needed their dragons if they had any hope of finding their Promised. Your cousin, Baela who always shared her sweets and let you borrow her wooden sword, deserved the chance to meet her Promised in the wake of her mother’s death. The man or woman that Vhagar would lead her to when the Old Gods saw fit. In the game of thrones when Targearyens already found so few chances for happiness, how could Aemond strip his cousin of her chance at true love? True, as an eldest daughter Baela’s future husband was most certainly decided – likely one of your brothers. But you were certain that Jacaerys or Lucerys would be understanding and gracious when the time came for Baela to claim her Promised, as she would be when the time came for her Lord-Husband. Such was the way of things. At least for the lucky.

Imagining your dragon, Laesuvion, claimed by another and leaving you with no guide to your Gods-given Promised made you feel ill. And so, you set out on bare, hurried feet to find and mount Laesuvion. You were a Targaryen born of the blood of dragons, of true Valyrian features. Vhagar was your cousin’s dragon by right and it was your duty to protect that claim. She was a formidable, indomitable beast but shackled with a new rider on his first flight. If you had one chance to disrupt the yet fragile bond being formed by dragon and rider, it was to dislodge the green boy and send him toppling toward the sea.

Laesuvion had hatched for you in your cradle. He was much younger and smaller than Vhagar but all the faster. It would be no trouble to fell your traitorous cousin. The difficulty became disguising the shock of white scales along the elongated arch of Laesuvion’s neck whilst searching for Vhagar’s camouflaged breadth.

“Aderī Laesuvion. Dokimarvose.” (Quickly Laesuvion. Focus.) You urged him.

Despite your efforts, you only caught sight of them twice. Once among the clouds, though you were sure Aemond got a greater view of you than you did him. And again, as Vhagar was returning to land Driftmark. Your hunt had been unsuccessful. But you had been sure no one would suspect you of such vengeful intent toward your uncle. Except perhaps Daemon.

“It is a fair price, Rhaenyra,” Daemon’s smirk was cunning, “They will not harm her.”

The betrayal on your mother's face heated your blood. How dare he tell her what to do? Your mother, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the iron throne. This man who was no one, husband of no one, Prince of nowhere, heir of nothing. Who was he to command your mother? And now, to step toward you and attempt to pry you away from her. So close you could almost-

Almost hear the two of them whispering. To each other. To you.

“Think.” Daemon hissed, “They will demand her for Aemond sooner or later.”

“She is my only daughter.”

“She will still be your daughter in the Red Keep.” He kept up the pretence of fighting your mother, despite her arms having gone lax around you. “Not a bastard. Not a bargaining chip. Your daughter. At the heart of the greens.”

“She is a child.”

“A Targaryen child.”

“She is my child.”

“Then let her prove it.”

“Mother,” You warbled. “I don’t want to go.”

“Tala.” Daemon shifted, and his eyes met yours again as if you should know this word. You did not. “You will go. Make your mother proud. Learn at court. Find those who support her claim and those who will side with the Hightowers. You are weak and a girl, they will not suspect you. When the time comes you will be our most valuable weapon.”

“But I want to go home, Kepa.” (Father or paternal uncle)

“Oh, my sweet girl.” Rhaenyra held your face and brushed away your tears. “You will.”

“’Nyra.” Daemon warned.

“But not today.” She kissed each of your cheeks. “Today you must be strong for me. You must be strong for your brothers. You must do as Daemon says, we must keep them happy.”

And then your mother pulled you toward her firmly, pressed her lips to your ear and whispered a promise. A reward should you embark on this mission. Beyond sweets and silk dresses and extra time on Laesuvion. Beyond anything you had ever been promised or ever dreamed of asking for. Do this for your mother and she would exempt you from the chains of political marriage that would shackle each of your brothers. There was no guarantee you would be lucky like your brothers, married to one who would understand. But do this and you could have your Promised under the eyes of the Seven, the Old Gods, and the traditions of old Valyria itself. Even at 10, you knew that for a Princess and a second-born, there was no greater boon.

So, you did what you had to do for your one shot to truly be with your Promised. You squared your shoulders, kissed your mother's cheek, and stumbled toward Queen Alicent. She gripped you by the shoulder, tucked you into the folds of her skirt, and stared cruelly down her nose at your mother.

“Now I will have no more fighting.” Said the King and having satisfied his wife for the first time in their long marriage, he ambled off to bed.

As the crowd dispersed, Sir Criston Cole flanked the Queen and as a unit, the three of you marched from the room. Your mother, scarcely held together in Daemon’s embrace, gave one last warbling cry as you passed the threshold and disappeared, not to be seen again for nine long years.

You were kept that night in the Queen’s own quarters to thwart rescue or escape. Behind a bolted door and no less than three kings’ guards. And yet, that morning, upon waking with puffy eyes from silent tears and aching limbs from the harsh sitting room sofa, you found something that had not been there before.

A gift from Daemond, most assuredly, tucked under the pillow you had slept on. The handle was perhaps an inch too long for your small age, but the blade was curved and wicked sharp and would require little finesse to cause harm. Inlaid in the pommel was a single ruby, the size of your thumb and wonderfully smooth. Carved into the cross-guard flowing Valyrian script read valar morghūlis. (All men must die.)

You would call the dagger gaomilaksir, duty. You would carry it as a reminder of the promises you and your mother had made one another. One day, as Daemon had said, you would become her greatest weapon.

There had been few bright spots in your life as the Queen’s ward. So, few in fact, that you could count them on one hand.

One.

You could not fly. Such a thing would only encourage escape back to Dragonstone and your mother. But you could visit Laesuvion and watch him sweep through the clouds. He had grown much in your teenage years. Still lithe in build and elegant in frame, but more angular like an arrow strung tight. He did not take to Kings Landing, not in all your years trapped there. So used to the comfort of Dragonstone and your family’s own dragons, he often abandoned the Dragonpit entirely. Kept tethered to the Keep by your presence alone.

“Where is Laesuvion?” You were just shy of ten and two when you approached the Dragonkeeper Acolyte.

“Hunting, my lady.” He knocked his quarterstaff against the ground. “He flew north not three hours ago.”

“Do you not offer him food?”

The keeper lowered his head, “He refuses it, my lady.”

“Offer him better.”

“We give him our very best, lady. He is a magnificent but stubborn creature.”

“He is a dragon, not a creature.” You conjured up a playful grin. “And I am a princess, not a lady.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” The Acolyte blustered, “Shall I inform you upon his return?”

“That won’t be necessary,” You strode to his side and plunked yourself down to lean against the stone entrance. “I shall wait for his return here.”

And so, you did. Silently, for the better part of twenty minutes as the Acolyte threw furtive glances your way.

Until finally, “Truly, my lady. Your Highness. He could be hours still.”

Wonderful. You thought and cast a dazzling grin up at him. “Perhaps you ought to keep me better company then.”

And so, you began your mission. You charm the Dragonkeepers – Acolyte and Elder, all seventy-seven of them – who knew the princes and their dragons, their strengths and weaknesses. You befriend the maids, the scullery, the wet nurses, and the servants they bunk with. Piece by piece, inch by inch, you win back your mother's share of Kings Landing.

Two.

Strange though she was, your Aunt Heleana always welcomed you into her chambers. In your shared youth, she always had a critter clutched between her hands as if it were the most precious thing she owned. You are four and ten, a year younger than your aunt when she is forced to split her time between her menagerie of insects and the chubby masses of her twin babes.

“The young prince has lungs,” You smiled at Heleana as the wet nurse rocked a wailing Jaehaerys. “He will make glorious speeches when he is grown.”

“Only one.” She examined the creature in her hands. Today she favoured a centipede, passing Jaehaera onto you.

You had long since learned to ignore her ramblings, “The sweet Princess must be the wordsmith, then.”

“The fourth in an age.” Heleana startled as if only just noticing your presence. “Apologies, Hāedar. You wished to speak?” (Younger female sibling or cousin)

“No apologies necessary, Mandia.” (Older female sibling or cousin). The Valyrian word tasted foul. You had your own siblings on Dragonstone, those whom you had been stolen from and those whom you had yet to meet. But Heleana liked it when you pretended that you were not a prisoner, that you were her mother’s daughter and not her forcibly attained ward. And so you swallowed it with a smile, “Might we talk privately?”

Heleana startled again as she turned to the wet nurse. “Take the children to the nursery, Bria.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Bria gave an awkward curtsy, shuffled the still-wailing Jaehaerys to one side and received Jaehaera from your arms. Heleana turned to you expectantly as the trio disappeared through a side door.

“It is a sensitive matter I am afraid,” You eyed the centipede as it escaped her hands and crawled across her skirts. “I do not wish to cause offence.”

Heleana’s eyes pinched at the corners, “It is not such a terrible burden – to be a wife. Mostly he ignores you.”

“You misunderstand me,” You hurried. “I only wished to speak of your grandfather.”

“Not my brother?”

“Do you wish to speak of your husband?”

“No,” Heleana gave you a quizzical look. “I speak of Aemond, who will be your husband.”

“Aemond?” Your uncle who’s selfishness had trapped you here. One of Alicent’s precious children married to her living doll. The thought would have been hysterical were it not so frightening. Surely not.

“It is the natural progression of things. I was given to Aegon and now you to Aemond.” Heleana’s attention returned to the centipede. “One pairing to strengthen our house, another to mend its bonds. So says grandfather.”

“Oh Mandia. I am entrusted to your mother. There need be no marriage to bring me into the fold. We are family.”

“Yes. So says mother.” Heleana stared. Not so blind as she seemed. “But grandfather always gets what he wants.”

And so, you are four years into your mission, having sat patiently by the Queen's side. Having listened and learned and noted those your mother can count on. Four years in and the time to begin quietly making moves had arrived with a head start from your oblivious Aunt.

But then you see the centipede crawl from her hands again and writhe across her skirt. And you think maybe Heleana’s warnings have more to do with where the critter is trying to lead her than it has to do with you.

Three.

It took you longer than you would like to admit to worm your way into Otto Hightower’s confidences – if there were such a thing.

You had quickly learned in your first year at the Keep that Alicent feared her father, distrustful of his greed and power lust. Not much unlike yourself, she had been sent into the greedy hands of a different house in pursuit of the Iron Throne. Were Otto not so blinded by his ambitions you might have begun to worry that Daemon’s strategy might ring familiar. But Lord Hightower’s strength was also his greatest weakness. So careful in his scheming, gently coaxing his will unto others, moving his pawns about the board, sacrificing all but himself, he could not see his tactics turned against him. Beyond your connection to Rhaenyra, you barely registered as a piece in the game.

Daemon had been right. Weak and a girl and not a threat. Not yet.

So, you worked tirelessly to endear yourself to Alicent. Just as you learned from her, you began to teach in turn. When you are in the room Otto Hightower dares not spin his lies about succession. When you appear around corners in search of your Queen-mother talk of hastening the king's condition ceases. When you are near, Alicent is safe. She begins to wear you like the expensive accessory you are, a decorative shield.

Hours trailing your Queen-mother to and from meetings of the small council, waiting patiently at her side as she sat in place of the King. Serving wine to fat and foolish lords.

And then finally, on the eve of your ten and fifth nameday, the Queen brings you along to the Hand's Tower.

“Father.” She greets.

“Alicent,” Otto brings you to his office, where a tea set for two lays steaming. “I see you have brought your shadow.”

The Queen barely glances your way as you serve her tea and then her father’s, before retreating to stand at her shoulder. She glares across her father’s desk, “This does concern her.”

“She is approaching her fifteenth year, two since her first blood. Time has well arrived for her to marry,” He stares directly at you then, “Have you any fondness for your uncle, Princess?”

“My lord, the Princes and I are often kept busy by our duties.” Your friends among the servants have divulged their schedules. You stay firmly away from drunken Aegon and selfish Aemond, remaining civil only with young Daeron.

“You must see reason.” Alicent implores her father. “They hold no affection for one another. Aegon and Heleana have already wed in the name of strengthening our family. To marry her would serve only to anger Rhaenyra.”

“And to bind her eldest daughter to us.” Interesting that he would say so openly in front of you. Perhaps you have been more effective in playing a Green than you had thought. “Aemond will be a good husband to her.”

“I have no doubt,” Alicent says and as silence stretches you suspect she is losing conviction; you have not saved her this time.

You clear your throat delicately, “If I may?”

“Of course, sweet pet.” Alicent reaches out to fuss with your hair. She likes it long and keeps its length to your hip despite how cumbersome it can be. Short hair is unbecoming, she claims.

You look to Otto in false deference, “My lord?”

“Very well.”

“I think,” You begin carefully. “Aemond and I may be of better use to you.”

“And how might that be?” He is condescending but you have his attention.

“When the time comes that grandsire passes on, I suspect the lords of the realm will need cause to back a claim to the Iron Throne. My Septa says that peace such as we have seen under his rule may bring unrest. I do not doubt that Aemond will make a fine and just husband. All I mean is that mayhaps it would be wise to keep us unwed until we may serve a greater purpose.”

No mention of your mother nor their ill-begotten plan for Aegon. Hightower's methods played against him.

“And when the time comes you will do this?” He demands.

“It is my duty to my house.”

He tilts his head as a predatory bird might. “You must swear it, to myself and to your Queen, upon your young brothers.”

To pause would mislay your ruse. To hesitate would be to sign your life away to Aemond Targaryen.

“I swear it, upon the lives of my brothers.”

He considered you for a moment, and then his daughter.

“You have done well with her, Alicent.” Your Queen-mother sighs as Otto Hightower stands. “Enjoy your tea, I have matters to attend to elsewhere. Perhaps you will be of more use than we originally suspected, Princess.”

Your first true victory. You will not be shackled to the Keep; you will be kept safe until your mother comes for you. Until such a time that you and Laesuvion can seek out your Promised.

Four.

The Queen held a strange fondness for you. Platinum-haired and purple-eyed, the spitting image of the Realm’s delight and perhaps the only trueborn among your siblings. She took pains to brush and braid your hair, dress you in green and flout you at court. Her perfect tamed Targaryen. Who would eat from her hand, take tea by her side, sit prim and silent as her Queen-mother decorated her. You were her walking-talking glimmering triumph over Rhaenyra.

At ten, Alicent’s obsession stole you from your mother. At ten and four, it protected you from a hasty marriage. And now, at ten and eight, it was your path to freedom.

“Mother?”

Oh, how Alicent loved it when you called her that. One more thing ripped from Rhaenyra’s thieving hands. Alicent pushed into your room with a tired facsimile of a smile and took the seat across from you by the roaring hearth.

“My sweet pet.” She was dressed head to toe in full regalia. “I am so sorry to have missed you today.”

You tucked a piece of scrap paper into the book you had been reading, buying yourself time to school your features into innocent confusion. “As am I. My door has been locked. I am sorry I could not come to you.”

“A precaution – one that I fought.” Alicent reached for your hair, running her fingers through its length. “But we cannot trust you to betray your mother. Regardless of the years you have spent in our care.”

“I do not understand, mother.” But you do.

“Your grandsire is dead.”

You close your eyes, “Aegon is king.”

“Yes.”

“You did not wish for this.”

“I wish Viserys were still a living corpse. That he would outlive us all so that none could claim his cursed throne. Not Aegon. Not Rhaenyra. Not my father.”

“That is not a solution.”

She tugs at your hair harshly, “Foolish pet, there is none.”

You blink harshly. Your eyes scarcely holding back tears. For the first time since you left your mother's embrace, you are truly scared. No longer are you the meek girl who walks in the Queen’s shadow. Given liberties and protection in a twisted echo of her love for Rhaenyra. You are a living embodiment of what House Targaryen will be to House Hightower. A pretty little puppet kept from your dragon, cloistered away like some trophy, scrambling for a scrap of power to delude yourself that you have some control.

“What is to become of our house?” You whisper.

“Your mother and Prince Daemon remain on Dragonstone. No blood has yet been shed.” Alicent brushed your hair softly behind one ear. “We have sent Aemond to Storm’s End to do as you once suggested. To offer himself to one of the Baratheon girls, that Lord Borros might see reason and acknowledge Aegon as rightful King.”

Good, there were those beyond the Keep who remained steadfast and loyal. It was time to return to your mother, then. To tell her all you had learned these last eight years. To name her allies and set Daemon loose upon her foes. Now was the time.

“What of my brothers?”

Alicent leant back, “Scouts have spotted Vermax flying north likely as an envoy to rally support among the lords.”

“How could they have mobilized so quickly? Was Aegon not crowned mere hours ago?”

“He was, indeed.” Alicent’s gazed into the fire. “The Lady Rhaenys was not so welcoming of solitude as you have been.”

“She has gone to Dragonstone?”

“She has.”

“And no one has come for me?”

“They have not.”

For a moment you each stared listlessly into the hearth. When Alicent shifts back to face you, she has a letter clutched in her hand. It is crisp and of fine quality but most strikingly, stamped with the King’s seal.

“I am under no delusions,” Alicent says softly, mournfully. “You can no more contest your mother's claim than I can Aegon’s. We are matching pieces in this game, I think.”

Your fear swells, “Mother.”

“Please, my sweet girl.” She smooths the hair atop your head. “You must do me one last favour as my ward.”

“I don’t understand.”

She presses the letter into your hands. “Jacaerys will fly first to the Vale, to treat with House Arryn and then to Winterfell. You will take this and beat him there. You will do as you swore to do those years ago.”

“I ca–”

“Listen!” She jerked you by your shoulders. “You must listen. You will wed Lord Stark. He is as fine a match as any. The north is loyal to Rhaenyra and will remain steadfast, you will be well treated. You must go, with this missive from the King, his final wish to send you north to snow and safety. In return for your hand, they will take no part in the fighting, they will protect you as their own, until such a time that the victor is crowned. Do you understand me, pet?”

“The King never cared for me.” You said foolishly.

“And yet, with his dying breath, he spoke of you and of Aegon. That you would carry his legacy, that you would see out his dream to the North. That Prince Aegon was Promised to this kingdom. You must believe me. You must do this for your grandsire.”

“I do believe you mother.” She was deluded. “I will do what must be done.”

Alicent has offered you one gilded cage for another. You will not be fool enough to fall into this one. You will find Laesuvion and be gone in the dead of night. You tuck the King’s missive into your book and smile at the Queen.

“Shall we call for tea, mother? You have much to tell me. I hear I have missed a coronation.”

Five.

You shape your fifth and final joy as the Queen Alicent’s Ward whilst escaping her clutches. You take three sharp detours on your path to the Dragonpit. First, to the chamber of the small council where you snatch the King's ball of quartz, you will make a gift of this to your mother. Then to the creche where the Keeper’s turned a blind eye as you pilfered three precious Dragon eggs. Finally, you find yourself ascending the steps of the Lord Hand’s Tower. To take the Dowager Queen from the Greens would be the greatest gift to your mother and her cause. But Alicent, despite her many faults, had been as kind to you as one might be toward a favourite pet. And so you do as a pet would – you do not bite the hand that fed you. Instead, you do both your Queen-mother and the woman that birthed you, a favour. You find Otto Hightower asleep in his study and you pass onto him your final gift from Daemon Targaryen.

You leave gaomilaksir in the heart of Hightower as you flee north, your duty complete.

(Part 2 : The Winter Keep)

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon #prince jacaerys #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #queen alicent #alicent hightower #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #otto hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 11 months

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May I request the FNAF movie with a reader possessing Sparky? They’re an adult or in their late teens as opposed to the kids. They don’t “wake up” often but when they do they have a commanding presence over the others.

YES thank you for this Sparky ask-

15 year old me would have flipped her lid if she knew a FNAF 1 hoax would become canon in a movie

........

First...it was the distant muffled screams that awakened your systems, mechanical eyelids slowly fluttering open.

Then..there were louder sounds. Clearer sounds:

A woman's screaming cut short.

Bones crunching.

Flesh squelching.

And finally, something heavy hitting the floor with a thud.

Only then were you fully alert.

As your optics adjusted to the dimness of the backstage room, you realized that it wasn't just the old costumes and springlock suits that were keeping you company.

Freddy was here, too...with half a human corpse laying at his feet.

Your eyes widened out of shock.

Although you've seen him and the others kill before, what he did to that woman was quite abhorrent.

You didn't even think was possible for him to-

"You're awake."

Blinking, your head turned to see the Golden Freddy suit lingering by the door, standing up. His mouth didn't move, but you could tell from his single functioning eye, which was pulsating with a soft blue glow, that the child possessing him was talking to you.

All you could do was glare, your suit's mouth opening. "What is the meaning of this? Why are you letting them act like animals?" Your voice spoke.

In the blink of an eye, he was replaced by a blond boy in a striped shirt. He walked over to you, taking your paw and helping you stand. "It's not me. Some bad people broke in and tried to hurt them. Three others were with her, but they've all been taken care of."

As annoyed as you wanted to be, you knew you couldn't blame them for wanting to protect themselves.

Hell, you didn't even know what fully happened.

Maybe it was justifiable.

"Fine. Bring them here so we can hide the evidence...assuming we have enough room to hide all of it, of course."

The boy just smiled innocently, pointing to where you were sitting.

"Don't worry, there's always enough room for everyone."

You briefly looked to the empty purple Freddy suit that laid in pieces beside you, huffing. "I guess it'll do...I just hope they didn't leave too much of a mess-"

When you looked back to where the boy was, he had vanished completely.

He liked doing that a lot.

You're just relieved that there's at least ONE person you could talk to after being stuck in this pizzeria for.....

For.....

It suddenly occurred to you that you had genuinely forgotten how long you've been here. And the same holds true for the other children...who couldn't even remember their own names anymore. Now they only respond to the names of their characters.

Although there were significant gaps in your memories of being alive, your latest one was of the day you saw a yellow rabbit leading some kids away--taking them one at a time to show them a "backstage tour".

After the fifth one vanished, you followed him, but for some reason....he got angry that you did so.

It's like he didn't want you to see something.

Next thing you knew, you woke up, looking through the eyes of Sparky the Dog--a character you remembered from a diner that once collaborated with Freddy's for a short time.

At some point he was retired, as he kept breaking down while performing to the point where the owner didn't wanna keep repairing him.

And so Sparky--and you--were shoved backstage, being used for nothing more than spare parts.

Unfortunately, that led to you scarcely waking up and roaming like the rest of the Fazbear Band. But whenever you did, they all seemed to listen to you for some reason, doing whatever you asked of them like obedient dogs.

Ironic, considering you were the one possessing a dog.

However it seems you've woken up a tad bit too late this time, as apparently a group of adults have broken into the place, and without your guidance, the gang took it upon themselves to deal with it how ever they could.

But it seems they left quite the bloody mess...or at least Freddy did, given the red stains on his teeth.

You approached him, stopping only to point at the half-eaten body. He seemed to recognize your expression as the "I'm not mad, just disappointed" look, and his ears flattened in slight shame.

If only he could talk to you so he could explain himself..

Before you could give him an order, the doors creaked open, and you both turned around to see Bonnie, Foxy, and Chica slowly filing into the room.

Each of them dragged in their own brutally-slain victim, the intruders he must have been talking about:

Bonnie brought a man who had blood oozing from his mouth, palms covered in the same sticky substance.

Using his bloodstained hook, Foxy struggled to carry the weight of a younger man covered in deep gash marks and bite wounds on his head.

And in Chica's grasp was another man whose face had been chewed off by her Cupcake--arguably the most brutal way a person could die.

All at once, they stopped and dropped the corpses to the ground, staring at you and awaiting further directions.

You assessed each one before turning just your eyes towards the wall where you often sat deactivated, pointing to the various suits laying there.

Immediately, they knew what to do, and you also got to work helping them hide the "evidence" and making these intruders part of the band.

Forever and ever

#clanask #anonymous #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's x reader #fnaf movie x reader #fnaf sparky #animatronic reader #fnaf movie spoilers

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year

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Who Taught You How to Love Like That? - Chapter Four

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x female character (third person) Warnings: Sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics. Smut. Oral (f receiving). Angst. Word count: ~3.5k

Series masterlist

Chapter summary: An understanding is reached and Aegon dishes family dirt at a BBQ.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

Her phone vibrates on the coffee table, the buzzing causing it to move dangerously close to the edge. Quick as a flash, Mysaria lunges forward from the sofa to catch it before it topples to the floor, smirking when she sees the name that’s flashing up on the screen.

“How many times is that today now?” She asks, gently tossing the phone to her as a missed call notification replaces the incoming call alert.

She shrugs, not averting her gaze from the TV screen as a rerun of Come Dine with Me, that neither of them are particularly paying attention to, plays to itself. “Dunno. He’ll get the hint eventually.”

It’s Sunday evening and she hasn’t spoken to Aemond since she woke up alone in his flat the previous morning, despite the fact he texts and calls her more times than she can count. She deletes the messages without reading them, and lets each of his calls go to voicemail. He’d made her feel cheap, used, put a price on her body, and she had no desire to ever speak to him again.

Mysaria sighs, flopping back against the sofa cushions. “Can I be a bitch for a second?” She asks, turning her head to face her. “You aren’t going to like it, but I think you need to hear it.”

She leans her head back, eyes flitting to meet her flatmate’s, already feeling a prickle of annoyance heat her skin, but decides to let her say her piece. “Go on then.”

“Why are you punishing him because you’ve caught feelings?”

Her annoyance bursts forth into anger as her brow furrows, her body language becoming squared and defensive. “I haven’t–”

“Yes, you have,” Mysaria interrupts. “I get that he did a shitty thing by leaving you high and dry, but he clearly feels bad or he wouldn’t keep trying to reach you. Give the guy a chance to explain himself, if you don’t like what he has to say then break things off.”

She scoffs in frustration, turning back towards the TV and rolling her eyes. “You are so bloody annoying!”

“Because I’m right,” Mysaria says smugly, leaning over to tap her on the nose. “You gonna call him back then?”

She chews her lip absentmindedly, turning her phone around in her hands. She supposes it wouldn’t hurt to reach out to him, if only to ask how to return the five grand he’d transferred to her.

The buzzer to the flat startles her out of her train of thought and Mysaria peels herself off of the sofa with a groan of “Finally! I’m bloody starving!”

Pizza first, then she’ll call him. She’s definitely not putting it off, she reasons with herself, she just doesn’t want her food to go cold.

“Erm…so it’s not pizza…” Mysaria says awkwardly as she re-enters the living room, a silver haired figure a good deal taller than her trailing behind her.

Dread gnaws at her stomach as she takes in the sight of Aemond, hair thrown back in a bun, dressed in a tight black henley and fitted black jeans, holding the largest bouquet of lilies and roses she’s ever seen before. Even when she’s angry with him he still manages to look absolutely breathtaking, and it irritates her.

“I’ll just…uh…” Mysaria makes a gesture towards her bedroom, and quickly makes herself scarce.

Lucky bitch.

“You’ve not been returning my calls,” Aemond says flatly.

“No…” She responds quietly, feeling the warmth of embarrassment spread through her, as she plucks nervously at the legs of her jogging bottoms. He’s never seen her not put together, and she loathes that she feels shame for her appearance, when she hasn’t done anything wrong. Him seeing her with messy hair, an oversized t-shirt and threadbare joggers makes her feel weak and vulnerable in his presence.

“Or replying to my texts.”

“I know.”

“Listen, if the other night wasn’t good, or I hurt you–”

“Why don’t you sit down?” She interjects, suddenly realising how absurd he looks, stood in the middle of the living room, dwarfing everything around him with his obscenely large bunch of flowers.

Aemond nods gratefully, taking the seat next to hear. “These are you for, by the way,” He tells her, handing her the flowers.

She hums a quiet thanks, immediately overwhelmed by the sweetness of their aroma, and places them on the coffee table, knowing she’ll need no distractions if she’s to say what she needs to say.

“The other night was great, really great, actually,” She begins. “But you just left the next morning without a word, and that really upset me.”

“You were upset because I left?” He asks, sounding almost surprised.

“Yes!” She replies with exasperation. “You made me feel cheap, and used.”

“Cheap? But I bank transferred you afterwards.”

“Jesus, Aemond! I’m not a prostitute!” She throws up her hands angrily, gesticulating her point.

He swallows thickly, clearly considering his next words carefully. “I know you said you’ve never done anything like this before, but neither have I, and I made a mistake. My grandfather called me into the office early on Saturday morning. You looked so peaceful sleeping that I didn’t want to wake you. I’m sorry that my carelessness has hurt you, but I am keen to continue our arrangement.”

It all seems so simple when he words it like that. She could easily have reached out to question his actions, but she’d allowed her emotions to guide her and now feels foolish because of it. When she says nothing, Aemond presses on.

“No funny business, I promise. We don’t have to sleep together again, but I’ve enjoyed having your company at family functions, it makes them more bearable. Please say you’ll consider it?”

She’s not sure what prompts the words from her mouth, perhaps it’s the pleading look in Aemond’s eye, or the fact that she enjoys his company too, but she says them before she fully has a chance to think about them. “Okay, we’ll carry on as before.”

“Thank you,” He says earnestly.

The buzzer sounding again prevents him from saying anything else, as Mysaria hurries from her room towards the door, in pursuit of her pizza delivery.

“I suppose that’s my cue to leave,” Aemond says softly. “I’ll text you, okay?”

She nods, and they both stand, hovering near each other, both unsure of what would be an appropriate goodbye. Eventually Aemond leans in, kissing the corner of her mouth lightly before pulling back and exiting the flat. She holds her fingers against the area, still able to feel the press of his lips even after he’s departed.

It takes three days for Aemond to message her again, and in that time it feels as though she could crawl out of her own skin with the apprehension that his silence brings. Had he changed his mind, decided her withdrawing contact over an honest mistake was too much to deal with? It fills her with a nervous energy that makes the days unbearable.

The relief she feels when he finally deigns to reach out is borderline humiliating.

Not sure if you remember my half sister, Rhaenyra, but she is having a BBQ on Saturday. Are you free?

I remember. Are you sure you want to go after what happened on your mum’s birthday? Xoxo

My mother will never let me hear the end of it if I don’t go. Will you come with me?

Yeah, I’m free :) xoxo

When Saturday finally rolls around, she keeps her hair and make-up simple, wearing a floral sundress and strappy sandals, but immediately feels underdressed as she recognises the house they pull up outside of as being the one they’d been to for Jace and Baela’s engagement party.

She has little time to dwell on her appearance though, as Aemond ushers her through the expanse of the house and out into the back garden. A sprawling, lush green lawn that could be considered more of a field due to its size plays host to various members of the Targaryen and Hightower families, as the smell of barbecued meat lingers on the breeze.

Aemond leads her around, his hand glued to the small of her back, so she can say polite hellos to everyone. Alicent and Criston greet her with warm hugs and kisses to both cheeks, Helaena does the same, while standing with Baela and Rhaena, the two girls offer a quick “hello” in sing-song unity. Aegon merely holds up a hand by way of greeting, looking less than enthusiastic to be there, and Otto says a polite “good to see you both”. The rest of the family’s greetings are a little more frosty, with Rhaenyra, Jace, Luke and Joffrey giving curt nods of acknowledgement, while Daemon is too preoccupied with the barbecue to notice they’ve even arrived.

“Viserys and Aegon not joining us?” Alicent asks Rhaenyra softly.

“It would mean having to switch off their Playstation, so I very much doubt it,” Rhaenyra says with a roll of her eyes.

The tension is palpable, but her nerves subside slightly when she sees a Rhodesian ridgeback galloping around the garden, with a copper coloured dachshund hot on its heels.

“Oh cute!” She says, turning to Aemond. “Could you not have brought Vhagar?”

“No,” He sighs. “She doesn’t get along with Syrax and Caraxes, so I’ve left her with the dog sitter.”

She gratefully accepts a glass of Pimm’s that’s offered to her by Otto, before he tells Aemond he needs a word.

“You’ll be okay for a moment won’t you, darling?” Aemond asks her.

The pet name causes her breath to catch in her throat and she merely nods, not trusting herself to speak. As they walk away together, she wanders over to a corner of the large garden, pretending to examine an ornate sundial to keep herself busy, when she feels a presence beside her.

Aegon has sidled up to her, beer in hand, a slight smirk on his face. “Having fun?”

“About as much as you are, by the looks of things,” She replies with a tight smile.

“At least you’re getting paid to be here.”

Her eyes go wide, her chest tightening as she realises he knows.

Aegon chuckles. “Ah, you didn’t think I knew? It’s fine, who do you think showed him the app?”

“O-oh…” is all she’s able to stammer, feeling too shocked to say anything else.

“You play a convincing part,” He takes a swig from his bottle. “Too good to be acting, actually. You can’t fake how you look at my brother.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She snaps, feeling the familiar heat of embarrassment tingle at her flesh.

Aegon snorts derisively. “Look, take it from me, don’t get attached. My brother is the last person you want to get involved with. This whole family is a fucking car crash.”

She sips anxiously at her drink, nodding slightly. “I’d noticed none of you seem to get along that well.”

“That is the fucking understatement of the century. Has Aemond told you much about us?”

“Nothing substantial.”

“Allow me to fill you in,” He gestures discreetly towards Alicent. “My mother used to be best friends with my half-sister, they went to school together. My grandfather and my father were business partners, tri-owners of multiple companies alongside Daemon. When my father’s wife, Rhaenyra’s mother, passed away suddenly, my mother started dating my father.”

“Jesus…” She mutters under her breath.

“Oh, it gets worse!” He says with a leer. “See, Rhaenyra wasn’t happy that her best friend had shacked up with her dad. I mean, who would be? She was even more pissed off when the three of us came along, as it meant she was no longer an only child. She started sleeping around to get back at my father, that’s how she ended up with those three.”

Aegon nods towards where Jace, Luke and Joffrey all stand.

“What about her other two children, Aegon and Viserys?”

“Those are the kids she’s had with Daemon. They got married shortly before my father passed away. Mum thinks she did it just to strengthen her claim of the assets, as Daemon’s a partner in the business and Dad didn’t bother to leave a will. Everything Mum has ever tried to claim for us she’s contested.”

“So that’s what all that talk of Dragonstone Cottage was about at your Mum’s birthday?”

“Yeah, ‘Nyra’s sneaky way of trying to hoard assets for her brood.”

“How do Baela and Rhaena fit into all of this?”

“They’re Daemon’s children from a previous marriage.”

“But Baela is engaged to Jace, isn’t that a bit…” She trails off, not knowing the exact word she wants to use.

“Incestuous?” Aegon lets out a laugh that borders on being too unhinged to come from a place of genuine mirth, before taking another swig of his beer. “Yeah, yeah, it is.”

“So what does this have to do with Aemond? Why should I not get involved?”

Aegon rounds on her. “Has he ever told you about, y’know…” He taps his eye.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Hmmm. Probably best to leave that to him to explain then.”

Their attention is pulled away by the sound of a fork being tapped against the side of a glass. She turns to see Daemon standing at the head of the garden. “Just wanted to thank you all for joining us today”, He says as everyone gathers closer, herself and Aegon included. “I think such an occasion is cause for celebration.” He brandishes a bottle of champagne, before popping the cork, a few that are stood closest step back out of its line of fire.

Luke smirks, elbowing Aemond. “He should be careful, almost had your other eye out.”

It happens so suddenly it seems like a blur, but Aemond has Luke by the collar and Aegon is rushing forward to tackle Jace away. Punches are thrown from both sides, until the ensuing scuffle is broken apart by Daemon and Otto.

Aemond’s eye is wild as he approaches her, his breathing ragged, and his usually immaculately styled hair tousled. “Come on, we’re leaving,” He grits out.

She has to hurry to keep up with his long strides through the house and to the car, and they drive in silence, Aemond’s knuckles blanched with the force of the grip he has on the steering wheel.

She drums her fingers anxiously against her thighs, not quite knowing what to say, but it is Aemond who eventually breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” He says quietly. “It was a bad idea for us to go today.”

“What was that all about?” She asks as gently as she can. “What got you so heated?”

Aemond sighs heavily, keeping his focus on the road ahead, and for a moment she doesn’t think he will answer her.

“Luke’s the reason I lost my eye,” He admits. “His little comment today got to me, and I lashed out.”

“What happened?” She turns slightly in the passenger seat to face him.

“It’s stupid really, an irresponsible rich family allowing their kids to roam the woods with Airsoft guns. The official story is that it was an accident, but accidents don’t happen at point blank range, accidents aren’t something you never apologise for.”

“Jesus, Aemond, I’m so sorry.” Her heart aches for him, having to play happy families with someone who has maimed him

“It is what it is,” He says with a slight shrug. “Makes being around them harder than it already is though. Thank you for being there with me today.”

“That’s alright,” She fidgets nervously with the hem of her dress as they pull up outside her block of flats. “Do you want to come inside for a bit? You shouldn’t be alone when you’re feeling like this.”

No funny business.

Her heart races as Aemond’s hands disappear up her skirt, reappearing with her underwear grasped in his fingers, dragging them down her legs.

We don’t have to sleep together again.

She buries her hands into the softness of his hair as he latches his mouth against her, bringing her to quick release with harsh strokes of his tongue. Every thought of what they’d discussed on Sunday evening leaves her mind as he pushes her back against the mattress, the force of his thrusts inside of her causing her toes to curl and her eyes to roll back, until he eventually collapses against her with a grunt, the faint pulsation of him inside of her signifying he’s reached his end.

They fall asleep, curled around each other in her tiny double bed and she’s pleased to see he’s still there when she awakens the following morning.

“Your mattress is fucking terrible,” Aemond grouses sleepily, pulling her tighter against him. “It feels like I’ve slept on a pile of loose change.”

She giggles, nuzzling into his neck.

They spend most mornings like that, over the coming weeks. Aemond becomes a frequent presence in the little flat. Her feet stay planted in his lap while they watch TV after work in the evenings, before he fucks her into the mattress like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Their mornings are lazy and indulgent, spent slowly exploring every inch of each other, before they part ways to go to work, only to do it all over again in the evening.

She buys a dog bed, which takes up half the floor space in her bedroom. Aemond raises an eyebrow at this.

“Vhagar’s quite fussy about where she sleeps,” He tells her, only to watch in disbelief as the elderly doberman circles several times on it, before settling down to nap. “I stand corrected.”

Their presence in her life becomes larger as time goes on, and it’s difficult not to feel that it is more than it is, but she is constantly reminded of the transactional nature with every shopping trip on Oxford Street, every visit to Champney’s Spa, each time he hands her his credit card.

The thought occurs to her that perhaps she ought to broach the topic of what they are, how their relationship is developing, but each time she decides against it, too afraid he’ll say something she doesn’t want to hear.

Mysaria smiles as she sees them snuggled together in front of the TV, when she comes home. “You’re here so often, we’ll have to start charging you rent,” She says playfully.

Aemond pulls out his phone, bringing up his banking app. “How much?” He asks, deadly serious.

“Aemond, she was joking!” She laughs, swatting his arm playfully.

It’s been a slow Saturday morning, almost midday and she sits at the kitchen table, a satisfied ache between her legs, as she sips at a coffee while Aemond plates up eggs benedict for them both. One of the things that surprises her most about him is that he’s able to cook, and he does it well.

She eyes him carefully as she pokes at her breakfast, unable to shift the feeling of how his fingers dug into her flesh, how he gazed at her so reverently, his lips featherlight against her throat just an hour before.

His money, his lavish lifestyle, she wants none of it. She just wants him, so she decides that this time she’ll be brave and shoot her shot before she has the opportunity to second guess herself.

Carefully, she sets down her cutlery and rests her chin against her hand. “So I’ve been thinking…about us.”

Aemond pauses, fixing her with his right eye.

Nerves flutter in her belly at his silence, but she continues anyway. “What we have, let’s make a proper go of it? I don’t care about your money, Aemond, I just want to be with you.”

He clears his throat, setting down his own knife and fork, before slowly wiping his mouth on a napkin. “I can’t do that,” He says quietly.

She is immediately struck by the hollowness in her chest, sucking in a harsh breath to ground herself against the lump forming in her throat.

Aemond reaches across the table, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re perfect,” He reassures her. “But I’m not, and I don’t do relationships. My circumstances are too complicated, I’d end up hurting you, and that’s the very last thing I want to do.”

She can’t argue with him, he’s being so bloody nice about it, and Aegon had warned her of this. She wants to scream at him, to cry, to tell him it isn’t fair, but it’s her that has asked for this, and at least he’s being honest with her, even if the truth does make her feel like her chest is being crushed under a vast weight. “I understand,” She chokes out.

“I’m sorry,” He says sadly, genuinely.

“Can you…can you just go, please?” She whispers, unable to look at him.

He nods, standing and presses a gentle kiss to her temple before leaving.

Only after she hears the front door click closed, and the feel of his lips have faded from her skin, does she allow herself to fall apart. Hot tears cascade down her cheeks, as she feels the presence that has taken up so much of her life leave behind a gaping void in its wake.

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lunarw0rks · 1 year

Note

Hi! Is it possible to get an imagine where Ghost accidently walks in on reader changing (they're together and reader doesn't mind) but Ghost kinda freaks out and insists he can wait outside until they're done. I feel like with his past he'd constantly worry about invading people's privacy/violating them in anyway, so maybe just some fluffy reassuring him that he's ok and he makes reader feel safe? Sorry if that's a lot 🫶

༄ Poise | Simon Riley

Warning(s): !!brief references to ghost's trauma/SA!!, established relationship, mentions of sex/nudity, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, gn!reader

₊˚ෆˎˊ˗ Word Count: 1.2k ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ- ♡‧₊˚✧˖ 「 AO3 VER. 」 A/N: Tried my best to handle this topic respectfully. Definitely an underused, under-discussed part of Ghost's character.

Simon Riley was a complicated man, to say the least.

But he never intended to let his complications rub off on you — no matter how much suffering he voicelessly endured to ensure that.

Whether it was weeks into the relationship or months, his walls were still standing tall. Certain things: he just couldn't do with you. Reviewing old photographs of himself, going to a park where children run joyously with their parents, nor could he do anything to invade your privacy.

To you, your involvement with him was at a pivotal point. Where there wasn't a need to be bashful around the other and withhold the petty grievances.

Though, Simon's skeletons were anything but quaint.

There was weight to them; weight you only bore a measly tinge of. He never told you details, only bits and pieces of what he had been through. Those serious talks were scarce and short-lived — forgettable, even, if it weren't for the woeful nature of his past memories.

『 ♡ 』 • 『 ♡ 』 • 『 ♡ 』 • 『 ♡ 』

Per usual, he had gotten up long before you. It was a typical sight; laying in the empty bed unsure if Simon was even home, because of his default stealth. Even though you knew he wasn't beside you, your fingers outstretched to his side, palming the sheets that had gone cold in his absence.

With a drowsy sigh, you peeled back the plush comforter, revealing the remnants of the lustful night before. Or, the lack of remnants, considering you were still rid of your clothes.

Through the curtains, the risen sun engulfed the shared bedroom, illuminating its lackluster decor — at least on his portion of it. Little decor, no pictures or clutter out, clothes folded and hung neatly as he would with his uniforms on base.

After a few minutes of gathering your strength, you climbed out of bed and approached the dresser, giving your fatigued eyes a rub. You dug through the clothing piles until you found an outfit suitable for a slothful day in with him.

You set the pickings on the edge of the bed. Following, you were slipping into a fresh pair of undergarments, listening intuitively for any sound of your lover, which wasn't an easy task.

Simon ambled up the staircase, on his way to the ensuite washroom to retrieve the watch he took off to shower. In his mind, you were still fast asleep, especially after last night. His fingers clamped around the knob, opening it with slowness.

In a matter of seconds, he was poisoned with a sensation of unbearable discomfort, as well as disgust towards himself. Seeing you, nude and vulnerable rather than slumbering in the bed.

"Shit, I'm sorry, love." Unlike before, he handled the door with haste — closing it like he had just walked in on a stranger.

Your mouth remained slightly agape with bafflement, paired with a feeling of unease for him. You were only changing, and it wasn't the first time he had seen you undressed. This wasn't a little hiccup in the day, nor an off-beat moment that you could laugh at later on.

Something gravely upset him, and it wasn't your bare skin.

Quicker than before, you changed into the remainder of your outfit. As well as fixing up the rest of your appearance; an excuse to figure out how to approach the subject.

You exited the bedroom, giving the door a gentle close. No sign of Simon down the hall, not in the living room, either. You checked the office next, finding nothing but another uninhabited space. Lastly, you crept through the kitchen with wary arms folded across your chest.

Then, you caught a glimpse of Simon's unstirring silhouette through the window. Slouched while sitting on the steps of the deck; a thousand-mile stare into the garden.

He didn't flinch when the patio door shut behind him, not even when you sat beside him on the steps.

"This isn't about me being naked, is it?" You spoke into the crisp mid-morning air, feeling the unforgiving bite of it overwhelm your exposed skin and lips.

Simon scoffed at your poor attempt to lighten the bleak mood, giving you a brief glance. If only things— if only he were that uncomplicated. "No, it's not you. Nothing like that."

You nod your head, trusting that his blunt nature wouldn't allow him to stifle a thing as serious as that. If he truly wasn't attracted to you or your frame, you wouldn't be resting your head on his shoulder.

For a few minutes; the conversation stopped. Only the occasional passing car in the distance or an animal or insect chirping. The leaves blew gently, until the breeze eventually found the both of you, sending a bitter, unforgiving autumn wind.

The silence was fine; it was common with him. But it wasn't fine when you knew he was swallowed by sorrowful thoughts.

"Can I..." You began, still keeping your head pressed firmly against his solid shoulder. "Can I ask what's wrong? Why you wouldn't stay in the room?" Asking what happened was too far, and you were already walking a narrow line. He wouldn't hold it against you if you got too invasive, but that wasn't a chance you wanted to even consider.

Simon's flashbacks hadn't ceased for a minute. Not since he shut the bedroom door behind him and sat out here.

The worst part? None of it was your fault. It had nothing to do with your bare skin, not even him catching a glimpse of it. His inner voice had him convinced he overstepped; that he made you feel used and violated by proxy.

He sighed heavily, saying a thousand words with a mere exhale. "Things you don't need to hear, sweetheart. Trust me on that." That was one way of putting it lightly, considering the gravity of what he had endured years ago.

"Listen, Simon," your fingers roamed along his shoulders, caressing down his back, careful to avoid the scars he didn't want you to touch. "I feel the pain you walk around with, I do. Every moment we're together, it doesn't rest."

He nodded his head slowly, closing his eyes for a moment to absorb the bleed of your words. You weren't sugarcoating the rawness of how his past affected you, nor were you judging him for it.

"But you didn't hurt me, alright? You did nothing wrong." Your voice couldn't have reached deeper. The tightening of his chest had uncoiled a bit, soothing his silent episode of derealization.

Simon's shaky fingers found your cheek, caressing against your chilled flesh with a tender firmness, "don't think I deserve you and that bleeding heart."

Your brows knitted with benevolence, returning the same gloomy gaze his amber eyes were emitting. Following his words, you shook your head, gripping his wrists gently.

"You do deserve it," you retorted gently, "nobody makes me feel safe like you do." You had never said something more truthful. He really did make you feel safe, in every sense. Intimately, romantically, even just as another human being you decided to spend your time with.

"C'mere." Simon murmured, shortly before nudging your head in the direction of his lap, allowing you to lay against him completely.

Whether he believed you or not, that didn't matter. All that mattered was that he hit the jackpot with you. Someone who didn't tip the scale, who didn't need to be privy to his every sorrow.

You were there purely to be there for him, expectant of no rewards or praises — though Simon would definitely give them soon enough.

In his own, deeply complicated, way.

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loud-n · 1 month

Text

What's up with Roshar's Money and Why is Sapphire so Valuable

I recently started my reread of Stormlight Archive to prepare for book 5, and coincidentally, this happened at roughly the same time the cosmere rpg started kickstarting. So, reading TWoK and the beta rules of the rpg at the same time, a few things happened to come together. For one, the rpg had this table:

I thought this was very interesting. I hadn't ever seen anything like this (though, checking coppermind, a similar chart has been available since an interview in 2018 that I wasn't aware of). It's a nice way for me to contextualize just how much money Shallan throws around at the beginning of TWoK (for example, based on remarks from Yalb in chapter 3, we know that a week's wages for a sailor is roughly one ruby mark/firemark, or 10 diamond marks/clearmarks), and while it seems like it might be simplified for gameplay purposes, it's also broadly consistent with the other sources.

So I kept reading until I got to this line:

"Emeralds were the most valuable, for they could be used by soulcasters to create food." (The Way of Kings ch. 3, pg. 72 on the trade paperback)

This line lays out explicitly that the soulcasting traits of a gem are the primary way (or at least a very significant one) that these values were assigned. This makes a lot of sense: the ability to soulcast food is the key component that allows Roshar the kind of military structures it has, and would provide an extremely valuable way to compensate for issues with harvests that might come with Roshar's 'temperamental' weather patterns.

(some major oathbringer spoilers below the cut)

I then wanted to know how this translates to the other types of gem. Many of these make a lot of sense: amethyst can be used to soulcast metal, which is important and difficult to obtain on roshar (coppermind notes that this may also be the only way to get aluminum on Roshar); ruby, smokestone, and zircon are all used as part of infrastructure for food preparation and waste management (and rubies seem especially common in the fabrials we've seen); garnet, heliodor, and topaz all provide less vital (though still useful) and less valuable materials; and diamond can be used to soulcast quartz, glass, and crystal, none of which are particularly valuable (especially given easy access to even light with stormlight and danger from highstorms making windows difficult and less valuable).

However, one gem caught my eye here.

Why is sapphire so valuable?

Sapphire's soulcasting can produce translucent gas or air, which seems a bit redundant with smokestone, a stone we know is regularly used. To my knowledge, we don't see any characters ever use soulcasting powered by a sapphire (please correct me if I'm wrong, I may be forgetting or confusing an instance with smokestone). So unless there's something we're missing or something to come, it doesn't seem like sapphire's value is because it is especially useful in soulcasting.

If this isn't the case, I can think of three possible explanations for why sapphire is worth so much:

Sapphire is less common. We know that obtaining emerald is a major part of the Rosharan economy and a significant reason for the continued occupation of the shattered plains at the start of the series. This might also be the case for sapphire: greatshells with sapphire gemhearts may be less common or more difficult to farm, making sapphire more scarce and thus more valuable.

Sapphire is especially useful in fabrials. So far, we've only seen one fabrial using sapphire that I can remember: the soul-harvesting dagger used to kill Jezrien (Oathbringer ch. 121). Even this may not be a specific trait of all sapphires, but rather due to the fact that sapphires are associated with Jezrien and the windrunners. I think it's possible and maybe even likely that sapphires are the gems used in half-shards, since none of the examples ever specify what gem is used and Taravangian states that the spren within could have graced a knight radiant (Oathbringer ch. 100) - possibly an honorspren trapped within a sapphire. This may also have been Taravangian lying, though.

The value is somehow associated with Jezrien and the Windrunners. This one seems the most far-fetched to me: at the start of the series, the knights radiant are not viewed especially fondly, and I doubt the Windrunners would have enough staying power to change the value of a gem. The idea that it may be association with Jezrien seems to me to have more merit; Jezrien seems to generally be elevated to a point beyond the other heralds.

Based on the information we have, I think that my second proposal has the highest chance of being at least partially correct. Association with Jezrien seems far-fetched, sapphire being especially scarce seems like something too far off course to get significant confirmation of in-text, and fabrials are one of the elements of the world still being developed in universe that we also don't have a lot of extra information about.

If any of this is going to be answered, I honestly think it might come through the rpg: the first wave of releases will include a world guide with canon information that might shed some light on these elements less important to the actual story, and the rules will also detail a lot of information about fabrials that could answer my questions about half-shards. Until then, though, I'm just going to have to sit here and wonder (and keep a special eye out for mentions of sapphire on my reread for anything I missed).

#cosmere #the stormlight archive #roshar #stormlight archive #brandon sanderson #cosmere rpg #stormlight rpg #stormlight archive spoilers #oathbringer spoilers

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l393ndjean · 7 months

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What I Need in St5 (That isn't ship related)

I need Will to save El from something. I need Will to not be a damsel in distress and El to not be a superhero. Not for the whole season or anything, but like, he saves her from a demogorgon by thinking outside the box. Will isn't violent and subverting their current roles by making him violent doesn't sit right with me. This would prove that yes, Will does care for El, and vice versa, which some people are still skeptical about fsr.

More of Robin and Nancy being best friends. And, address Nancy's trauma of losing Barb and how that affects her friendship with Robin. I want to see Nancy being protective of Robin, never wanting to let her out of her sight. And I need Robin to remind her that hey, despite it all, they're still young. They're teenagers. I need Robin to remind Nancy that she can still have fun, and that it's not her fault that Barb died. (Also I need them to solve the mystery together, their detective dynamic is so great.)

I need Vickie to befriend Jonathan. I need to know more about her as a person, not just as Robin's crush. If Argyle's not gonna be around this season I need Jonathan to have a friend, who he isn't linked to in a weird way (Steve is his girlfriend's ex and his ex bully and as much as I wanna see them interact and form a friendship, I also need him to befriend Vickie.) Jonathan's character development into making friends with her could also be quite interesting. He's never really interacted with anyone his age other than Nancy. (I love his dynamic with Argyle, but I also really need to see him with a... less high person.)

The party interacting, as a whole. Combining their knowledge to solve problems, arguing over stupid shit and getting to be teenagers for once. I need my nerdy little boys to be together for once, they're always separated. When they're together they're unstoppable.

El interacting with Lucas! Oh my gods, since season one we've scarcely seen them in the same room! I need to see them bonding over their grief, and working together on where Max's consciousness is. I need them to bond over high school and feeling like they have to be someone else to fit in. (We're getting this for sure, but I need this more than oxygen.)

I need Mike to be leading THE PLAN! When Mike leads the plan, they win. S1, they saved Will, S2 they saved Will and closed the gate. Both times Mike was heavily involved in forming the plan. In S3 Mike's Sauna Test worked, it confirmed that Billy was flayed. And his physics moment. But in S4? They lost. Why? Because Mike wasn't involved in the plan!

I have way more but that's enough for one night, lol.

#mike wheeler #will byers #el hopper #el hopper byers #max mayfield #stranger things #st5 hopes #st5 speculation #st5 #stranger things 5 #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #jonathan byers #steve harrington #vickie stranger things #no ships #jean's favourites

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pasteidolons · 15 days

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𝖍𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌 - 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊

a seventeen inspired historical, route-based au.

pairing: route specific member x female!reader genre: historical au, fluff, angst, smut (later routes), supernatural members: choi seungcheol, yoon jeonghan (later), hong jisoo (later), wen junhui, kwon soonyoung, jeon wonwoo (later), lee jihoon, lee seokmin (later), kim mingyu, xu minghao (later), boo seungkwan, choi hansol (later), lee chan warnings: crass humor and language, blood, violence, mentions of suicide, alcohol, minor character death, 660's sexism, crossdressing word count: 11.2k

in 662 𝔰𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞, you leave your hometown in search for your father, a physician whose work takes him far from home and oft to the battlefields of the kingdom. but with no word from him in months, you disguise yourself as a man and head to seorabeol, the kingdom’s capital, in search of him. it’s not until you become involved with a group that calls themselves the 𝔥𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤 that things begin to unravel at the seams.

𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔱𝔢 𝔤𝔲𝔦𝔡𝔢 || 𝔰𝔳𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

𝔍𝔞𝔫𝔲𝔞𝔯𝔶 3𝔯𝔡, 661 - 𝔖𝔢𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔢𝔬𝔩, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 It has been two months since your father left. And those two months felt like a lifetime. It isn't that you are so solely dependent on your caretaker that you’d let your home and his practice fall into ruin. It’s just that he said he’d be gone for at most two weeks while he attended to a patient in Seorabeol. He’d neglected to write, forgotten, maybe. But he isn't a careless man, you know that as much as he. Perhaps that’s why you find yourself so stricken with apprehension as you near the gates of Silla’s capital, the dirt under foot hard in the dead of winter.

The gates of the city stand menacingly in front of you, the grip you have on the knapsack slung over your shoulder tightens as you begin to notice the mass of people making their way in and out of the city. You have to dodge every nudging elbow prodding into your back to move you forward, duck or sway when a merchant’s wares almost topple from their carts and try not to make eye contact with the soldiers who line the entrance.

Eventually, you make it into the city with little to no fuss raised about you, everyone seems so deeply enthralled with their own business you are easily out of their minds. Yet now that you stand in the streets of Seorabeol, you don’t know which way to go. It isn't as if your father had left a directory for you to follow him up on, nor had any of his letters detailed his whereabouts in the capital in full. So, you sigh and continue forward, beginning to scan the crowds in search of a face you haven’t seen in months.

Despite the golden sun shining down onto the Kingdom’s capital, Seorabeol lies under a blanket of cold air. And despite the layers of cloth and fur adorning your shoulders the wintery chill sets into your bones as you continue along the streets.

Through the passing greetings of friends, the shouts of merchants and the bickering of their patrons, the voices collide together in a symphony of noise, you can’t seem to pull one apart from the other. No faces look at you with recognition, but why would they? This isn't your home, and you are surely just another visitor that they’d forget as soon as you leave their line of sight.

You had come to the capital when you were a child, your father had been called upon by some aristocratic family, but you could scarcely remember who it had been. After the patient had been treated the pair of you had retreated to your village some distance away from Seorabeol, the memory of this place and its people quickly leaving your subconscious.

Even now, after the partial loss of that memory, you can recall how cold the city had been compared to how cold it is now. It might be due to the winter chill that resides like a phantom over the streets, but this feels different, more ominous now that you’re old enough to realize it.

Had you been right to leave your home?

The question plagues you as you wander the winding streets, your legs tired from your trek and eyes even heavier from the lost sleep over the course of your father’s absence. You question, ask if anyone had heard your father’s name or had seen him before, but conclude that those who had seen or met him had done so weeks prior.

And then you ask of Namekawa Yasuo, an acquaintance of your father’s. He is another physician that might know where he resides. But that inquiry leaves you with a snickers and a turn of the other’s heels. It is most likely that your father and his friend had ventured on to another town from here. You are alone once again.

Before you realize it, dusk has fallen over the city, the gray clouds beginning to unleash a torrent of snowy flurries that make the streets become almost unnavigable. Your hands pull your overcoat together, trying to find warmth where you already know there won't be. If you don’t want to freeze to death, you’ll have to find somewhere to stay the night or die by freezing or by some wandering bandit.

“Excuse me,” you call out as you stop traversing the road, turning to the side and over to a small stall aligning the street. Eyes locking with those of a miserly sort of merchant, you poise the question, “Do you know where the nearest inn is?”

For a moment you've forgotten that you’re wearing your father’s clothes, so when the grizzled voice of the merchant asks if you’re looking for a pleasure house to get lost, you are somewhat puzzled. It's only with a moment of insistence that you’re just looking for a normal inn, do they comply.

“Past the butcher’s, it’s cheap enough.” He turns away from you with that final statement, continuing to close up his stall and lock his goods away until the next morning.

A quick nod and you’re off, the lanterns aligning the street only helping when the flurries die down a bit and you’re able to see several meters in front of you. You quicken your pace whenever you hear someone behind you, all too skittish to get out of this outbreak of snow. It isn't as if you fear the city’s inhabitants, but you’d heard warnings throughout your life that traveling alone at nighttime isn't ever a great idea. Maybe being dressed as a man should put you more at ease, but the message ingrained into your brain is even more overpowering.

The city grows even darker as you fail to find the inn that the merchant had mentioned, had you already passed it? Ahead of you looks to be one of the agate walls aligning the city, stopping you dead in your tracks as you think of where to go next.

“Hey, kid.” A voice calls out behind you, it sounds disjointed, slurred. Are they drunk?

You spin on your heels, your hand reaching for your bag, for the small blade you’d tucked away in case of an instance like this. But it isn't just one man, it is three men swaying on their feet. Even at some distance away you can smell the sickeningly sweet scent of their perfumes and notice the bright colors their robes are made of. They are of some standing in society, but with the way they are presenting themselves, you suspect they are of the aristocracy’s lower ranks.

“Can I help you?” Using a lower register of your voice as you speak, as if it’ll somehow cast some sort of intimidation onto the men, you nod at them. Your fingers gently undo the string on your bag, reaching around for your blade. When you were younger your father had encouraged lessons, somewhat breaking the mold as for what was appropriate for a girl to learn, but your father had always been the unconventional sort.

“That’s a pretty blade,” one notes as you slip the weapon from the bag, the sheen from the hilt catching in the light of the streetlamp above. It is then you realize that they are probably more interested in the family heirloom than they are in you. “Seems a little extravagant for a commoner like you to have.”

“Why don’t you hand it over? We’d put it to much better use,” another snickers, stumbling forward and reaching his hand out towards you. Their heavily jeweled wrist chimes as their hand outstretches towards you, the gold glimmering in the now open moonlight.

“But this is…” you hesitate, understanding that they wouldn’t comprehend its sentimentality. The handle of the blade is cool under your grip as your knees tense. It doesn’t look as if any of the men are going to stop harassing you until they get what they are after, your only choice now is to get away from them at any cost.

So, you run. Feet slapping atop the ground, the tops of your shoes becoming wetted by the puddles of melted snow you step into as you bolt down a side street.

“Son of a— get back here!” You hear one of them call out after you, the collective sounds of their footfalls chasing after you only seconds later.

It seems like you were running for hours, your heartbeat loud in your ears and the cold air tearing at your lungs with every breath you inhale. They are still chasing after you, they sound more distant now, but their curses and footfalls still echo the street behind you. You spot an alley and decide to duck into it for an attempt at eluding them.

There are several long sheets of wood leaning against the side of one of the houses, finding it an apt hiding place, you crawl under them, trying to calm your breathing as you hear the footsteps of the nobles approach.

“Are you sure it was this one?” You hear a voice after a few seconds at the opening of the alley, the labored breathing tells you it is one of your pursuers.

“It had to have been,” the voices and footfalls edging closer, the clinking of their belts signaling their proximity.

You hold your breath, expecting to be found out any second. But you’re not, instead the air goes quiet, the sound of the wind whistling through the alleyway all you can hear. It isn’t until a few seconds later that one of the men cries out in pain.

Before you can peek out from behind the board you stop yourself, not wanting to be caught by those men or whoever had caught them.

“What do you think you’re doing!” One of the men cries out, you hear a blade being unsheathed as they speak.

Another blade unsheathed, the sounds of iron on iron clanging through the air for a few seconds before one of the men speaks out again, “Why aren’t you dying?” A few bated breaths, “Jinyoung, we should get out of here—”

Something akin to primal fear takes over you at that moment, locking you in place, unable to move for a moment. What is out there? What are they fighting? With your mind flying with all sorts of gruesome imagery, you barely have time to comprehend what you are doing. Your head peeks out from your hiding spot and into the alleyway.

There’s another clangor of steel as you look, the light from the street reflecting off one of the blades as two people are interlocked in a fight. The only figure you can see fighting is donned in a light blue robe, had they saved you?

Something of a menacing laugh emits from them, their blade once again falling onto the other’s as one of your pursuers cries out for help. Your savior says nothing as he stops his attacks, only now moving to raise his blade over his head and bringing it down to fatally slash against the chest of his foe. The struck noble lets out an anguished yell as he falls to his knees, the sword in hand clattering to the ground as he reaches to try and staunch the blood flow from the gash in his chest.

A high-pitched laugh overtakes the man’s anguish, the man donned in blue still standing over his opponent and nearly snickering at his demise. You have to hold your hands to your mouth to stop you from gasping when the blue-clad man raises his sword once more. He begins hacking away at the now vanquished noble, his blows tearing into flesh more so like a butcher’s knife than a sword. There isn't skill, just a raw brutality behind every blow.

The screams grow quiet, just wet bellows that still after a moment more. Your breath heavy and your chest heaving after watching that, you’d just witnessed that man’s murder. Wanting to get away from this situation, you fall back under the cover of the wood, your back hitting the house’s exterior as you try and keep yourself together. The man keeps hacking away, the splatter of blood on the ground and onto the nearby walls almost causing you to be sick to your stomach.

This isn't human, it couldn’t be. Sure, it’s a man committing the act but the brutality of it is more akin to a beast. It is as if they’d forgone any sense and given way into a psychotic madness.

A coppery tinge to the air almost makes you gag; the scent of the deceased man’s blood has risen to greet you. How are you going to get out of this?

You pull your hands away from your face, the cold air meeting your skin all too unpleasantly. If you stay in place the killer would easily find you if he wants to, perhaps your best bet is to outrun him like you had the now deceased nobles. So, you brace yourself, pushing yourself up to your knees and prepare to make a dash down the alleyway and towards the opening on the other end. But as you do, you find that your joints have locked, sending you stumbling forward as you stand and knocking the sheets of wood over. With a dreadful fear encasing you, you turn to see that it hadn’t been just one man to kill the three that are after you, but two others had joined him as well, all wearing the light blue robes. All of them drenched in the blood of the fallen nobles.

Their eyes bore into yours, smiles etching their way onto their faces as if you’ve become the lamb brought to the slaughter. You have to run, have to get away. But you can’t, your legs are locked in place out of the sheer madness of this situation. They laugh as they turn towards you, wordless in any other manner as they begin to saunter over to you, their silvery hair and reddened eyes looking almost ghostly in the moonlight.

You are going to die. You can’t even muster a scream to call out to any city patrol, nor move your limbs with how wrought with fear you are.

Eyes closing as you begin to accept your fate, the sounds of their footsteps nearing, you can almost sense them lifting their blades to cut you down before— A whirring through the air and a grunt from one of the men in front of you has your eyes flying open. Someone had shot an arrow and hit one of the silver-haired men, causing them to stumble back a step or two. In theory, a blow like that should have downed a man, an arrow to the chest isn’t a superficial wound by any means, but it looks like the man is more angrier now rather than injured.

The trio raise their swords, their target now someone behind you, and before you're able to turn and see who or what it is, a glint of a silver blade flashes across your vision and cuts in front of you. You’re able to feel the warm blood splatter across your cheek before you register what just happened in front of you. Now the trio of men lay on the ground, dead by the looks of it, as a long gash seems to have torn across their bodies. The same queasiness from before begins to invade you as you wipe the gore from your cheek onto your sleeve, but before you’re able to do anything else about it, you hear a voice behind you.

“Is this really what we’re dealing with tonight?” It’s a sigh of disappointment, but somewhere in the tone there is almost a sound of amusement. “I wanted to take them out myself, couldn’t you have picked a different patrol group, Captain Choi?” You turn to see two men behind you, clad in the same blue as the murderers, but they look calmer, despite the one talking having a grin plastered onto his face.

“I did my job,” the one that must be Captain Choi sighs, watching the other slinging the bow he’d used to shoot one of the men around his shoulder before moving to withdraw the sword he’d used to slay the men that had been after you. “Unlike you, I’m not getting any gratification out of this.”

“That’s a little rude,” his partner laughs.

“You’re not even trying to hide it,” Captain Choi frowns, he carries the air as if he’s dealt with the other’s antics for quite some time. His gaze then flickers from the trio of fallen men to you.

“You know me well enough to know that I’m joking,” the other shakes his head and turns to look at you. “If you had just let them kill the kid you could’ve saved us some trouble, though.” Despite the lightness in his tone, the content of his speech made the same chill of fear creep down your spine. You’d escaped the nobles and the murderers, but now a different foe stands before you.

“Maybe,” Captain Choi notes, “but this isn’t our decision to make.”

Your brow furrows as they speak, by what they are saying it would leave you to believe that these men are a part of some sort of organization. Thinking more on it, you only knew of one group prominent enough to walk the streets of Seorabeol at night in place of any military patrol. Were these truly members of the Hwarang?

Before you’re able to part your lips to ask, a figure rounds the corner behind the two men and makes his way over to you. He wears the same blue as them, his hair styled the same way with a headband across his forehead and his long locks held in a topknot atop his head. The other two grow silent as he approaches, denoting some sort of superiority as he stands shoulder to shoulder with them.

His gaze travels behind you, looking at the splayed out remains, and then returns to you, a frown adorning his lips. “It doesn’t seem like luck was on your side tonight.” He speaks sharply, as if his words are whettened by the same stone that had sharpened his blade. The cold blue of the moonlight reflects off the blade in his grasp as he raises it towards your chest, sending another bolt of dread to your stomach. Although it isn't necessarily the steel pointed at your heart that makes you feel this way, it’s the way his gaze bores into you. It is cold and fierce, but there is another emotion stowed away that you aren’t fully comprehending. Mercy, maybe? The man fully seems capable of killing you instantly, but he looks somewhat troubled. “If you run, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

You nod immediately, knowing full well that he wouldn’t back down on that statement. He stares at you for a moment longer before sighing and sheathing his sword.

“W- What?” Too surprised to stop yourself, you blurt out the question as the man crosses his arms.

“Are you sure about this Lee?” The snarkier of the two others asks, his eyes narrowing at the one he’d called out to, “The kid saw everything, and didn't even say thanks for saving his sorry ass.”

Lee frowns, “Quiet. If you keep saying that then you know what we’ll have to do.”

With their apprehension to mention what had just occurred, it’s clear that you’d seen something you weren’t supposed to. The more they said the easier it is to figure out what they are trying to hide and no one wants that.

“Don’t you think it’ll come back to bite us in the ass if we let him go?” With the way the Hwarang speaks it sounds as if he can read your mind.

“And so the right thing to do would be killing him? No,” Lee shakes his head, “We’ll see what to do with the kid once we get back.”

“I agree with the Commander, the longer we stay here the more likely we’re to be seen… Again.” Choi adds, moving to sheath his own sword and look at the creatures they’d slain as though he hadn’t seen them before. “If this is their reaction to blood, I don’t think they’ll have a practical use.”

“Damn…” Lee looks down to the corpses, an emotionless expression on his face before he looks back to his companions. “As for you two, stop with the ‘Lee’ and ‘commander’, we’re trying to keep a low profile.”

“You can’t be serious, our robes are a big giveaway,” the nameless Hwarang snorts.

“What should we do with the bodies? There doesn’t seem to be any physical signs…” Choi notes, looking at Lee.

The commander thinks for a moment, “Just take their robes, Chan can deal with the rest.”

“Understood.”

“Another man killed in the streets of Seorabeol,” the other Hwarang sighs out before bellowing out a bark of laughter, “We’re doing a great job, aren’t we?”

“As long as we don’t talk about it, I don’t think anyone will know we were here,” Lee looks at you and you get the feeling that his words aren’t directed towards his companions. It isn't uncommon for people to be murdered in the capital, with rising tensions across the kingdoms as different factions had been popping up everywhere and leading anywhere from small to large fights. Seeing it happen is a different story.

“Hmm, we did save you, didn’t we?” The nameless Hwarang muses as he looks at you.

Eyes widening at his statement. Despite his earlier attempts of pursuing after your death, he and Choi had saved you from the murderers. “Thank you,” you bow, hesitantly as you don’t trust them entirely. “I’m sorry for not thanking you earlier, there was just so much going on…”

Looking back up at the three, they look almost as confused as you feel. You quickly break eye contact and look down to the ground, “It’s a little strange to say that… but he told me I should say thanks so—”

Gaze returning to the men, Lee and Choi are looking at anywhere but you while the third man is shaking with laughter.

“I guess I did tell you to, didn’t I?” He laughs again, doubling over to the point he has to wipe a few tears away from his eyes before straightening up. “You’re welcome, I’m Boo Seungkwan. Nice to meet someone who actually knows how to be polite.”

“Thanks for helping me…”

“The one you should be thanking is Captain Choi Hansol over here, and this bossy guy—” He begins again but is abruptly stopped by Lee.

“The hell do you think you’re doing, Boo?” He frowns as he turns towards Seungkwan.

“I understand your concerns, commander, but we have to move.” Whatever pervasive happiness that had penetrated the bloodied air dissipated with Hansol’s words.

Boo reaches out and grabs your wrist, gives you a small smirk and begins to lead you out of the alleyway and down the street. His grip is too rough and tight to be friendly, his fingers feel like stone wrapped around you. There isn't any question about the situation you now find yourself in; if you are to run you are to be killed. Your life is now in their hands and up to their discretion.

“It would be best if you prepared for the worst,” Hansol says as you traverse the streets of Seorabeol, wondering how the sight of their bloodstained robes isn’t catching anyone’s attention. “I doubt this will end well for you.” His words are sharper than the blades of cold that soar through the streets, tearing into your chest.

𝔍𝔞𝔫𝔲𝔞𝔯𝔶 4𝔱𝔥, 661 - 𝔖𝔢𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔢𝔬𝔩, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 The harshness of the sunlight beaming in through a nearby window pulls you from a dreamless slumber, the ground underneath you far too hard to allow you a peaceful enough rest for such frivolities. Head reeling at the events of the night prior, it isn’t until you try and rub the sleep from your eyes that you realize where you are exactly. The knot roping your hands together brushes against your wrists, the fibers of the cordage causing the skin to burn.

Looking around the room, you realize that there isn’t anyone else present. In a way that makes you feel a little more comfortable, but again, waking up in an unfamiliar place is sure to keep you on edge. You writhe on the floor for a moment, realizing that your feet had been bound too, the blankets that had been strewn atop you falling away and pooling on the floor beside you. A dull ache in your back tells you that you’d be feeling the consequence of sleeping on such a surface for the next day or so, the twisting already signaling a crick in your neck as well. For as dull as your own home had seemed to you as a child, you miss it now more than ever.

“This is a nightmare,” a sigh under your breath as you think to the men who you’d come across the night prior, and whatever situation they’d found you in.

Finding the scrambling on the ground unhelpful, you lay back down, your bound hands falling atop your stomach as you stare up at the dark ceiling.

It’s only a few moments later that you hear the gentle slide of the wooden door across from you, noting that someone is making an appearance. You try your best to sit up, looking at the face of the newcomer and realizing quickly that it isn't one of the men with whom you’d been acquainted with last night.

“Are you awake?” a small and awkward smile as they peek their head into the room, they pause for a moment as they notice the ropes binding you. Their brow furrows as they step fully into the room, “This isn’t normally how we treat guests… If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll untie you.”

A silent nod as they approach, loosening the ropes around your ankles as you can now sit up freely, unencumbered by the restrictive ties. You note that he’d left your hands bound, you can understand why but the chafing still hurts.

“Who are you?” You question as they step back, a small smile quirking on their face as they move to kneel by your side.

“Ah, my name’s Song Eunseok,” he says, a look overcoming him as if he’d forgotten himself for a moment.

“Thank you… Eunseok.” Muttering out as he stands, offering out his arm to you to help you rise from the floor.

“A few of the captains want to talk to you,” there’s something likened to a worry in his eyes, you hardly know the kid, but he reads like an open book. “If you’d just follow me…”

And you do, walking in silence through the compound for a moment or two before the younger speaks up again. “They’ve been discussing what to do with you since they woke up. I think they’re going to try and hear what you’ve got to say and see if they’ve got to report you or not…”

“Report me?”

“Mhm,” he nods as his feet slide over the smooth floorboards. “We’re not like the city guard or anything, so we don’t have that much jurisdiction over—” Eunseok pauses, a hand raising to his mouth as if he’s said too much. He lets out a nervous chuckle, “Well, you’ll see.”

Eunseok’s courtesy is nice, better than that of those men you’d seen last night. But it has an air to it that tells you to be cautious, you are the one impeding on their space and it is their judgment to dole out.

As if he can tell you are on edge, the younger one says, “They might seem scary at first but they’re really not that bad.”

The Hwarang themselves don’t have a tainted name, but you know that the ones located in the different towns and localities of Silla had varying degrees of severity. And with this being the unit of the capital, you don’t expect them to be anything less than vicious towards any perceived troublemaking.

“You’re actually probably around the same age as our commander, well, we’re all really around the same age,” his laugh resounds around the space for a moment, his hand trailing up to his ear to toy with a small, dangling earring attached to it. “Captain Kim and Captain Wen tend to sate any tension too so I wouldn’t worry all too much.”

Eunseok’s reassurances go partially on deaf ears as you approach what seems to be the main building. Through the hanji walls you can hear muffled chatter as the people inside are undeniably trying to decide your fate. With a steady hand, Eunseok slides open the door and motions you inside.

You don’t need to announce yourself, as the sound of you entering causes several heads to turn in your direction. A quick glance around the room tells you that these are probably the heads of the Hwarang. Their own gazes feel like daggers, picking you apart silently and without a care other than what the hell your presence means to them.

“I take it you slept well, then?” A voice to your right calling out to you. You turn your head to see Seungkwan, or at least that’s what he’d been referred to as last night, glaring at you with a smirk on his lips. His attire is different from last night, as were the robes of the several others you recognize standing around, more lavish than what their Hwarang uniforms had been yesterday. The red of his robes feels even more threatening to you in lieu of this situation.

“It wasn’t… great.” A small frown as you respond, noticing his brow contort into an irritated expression. You grit your teeth, maybe it would be better to kiss up to them?

“Is that right?” His shoulders shrug, “When I went to check on you earlier you didn’t move at all, no matter how many times I tried to wake you up.” Seungkwan sighs out, “You looked like you were dead to the world.”

You don’t say anything, feeling a rise of embarrassment in your stomach at his words.

“Don’t take what he says too seriously,” another face emerging from the mass, belonging to another man you’d met last night. You think it’s the one they’d called Choi Hansol. “Seungkwan didn’t go anywhere near your room.”

A devilish grin spreads over Seungkwan’s face as he sees how flustered his statement has gotten you, “You didn’t need to ruin the fun that quickly, Hansol.”

“Captain Choi didn’t do anything wrong though, you though—” a glare at Seungkwan, your fingers rubbing together as you try to find the will to butt heads with him.

“That’s enough.” A voice cuts through your conversation swiftly, drawing your attention to the figure standing at the head of the room. Their head hangs low, as if they were just listening to the chatter before calling out. “You sound like a bunch of kids.” It is the third man from last night, Commander Lee.

“This is your witness Commander?” A new voice with a deeper tone, calls out from your left. You turn to see three men sitting together, presumably having been conversing with one another prior to your arrival.

The notoriety of the Hwarang stems from the fact that they only chose youthful men to be a part of their organization, you can see that while glancing around to the other faces in the room. Maybe you’d expected them all to be a little older, but it seems as if the eldest is just in his late twenties or so.

“He’s just a stick,” the voice continues, you see that it looks like the younger of the trio’s talking. His hand rests lazily over his knee as he looks you over, a frown settled onto his lips.

“You’re calling him a kid, Kwon?” One of the other men sitting snickers, “That’s funny.”

So, that’s at least one of their names.

“Put them together and they’d look just like scared little kids,” the second speaker sighs out, head resting lazily in his hand.

“I can call them that because I’m a mature adult, obviously.” The two begin to have a bickering discourse, glaring at one another from their seated positions.

“Mature adult?” The other barks, his hand moving from his cheek in disbelief, “Wen, I knew you weren’t smart but that’s a reach even for you.”

Their tones aren’t angry, more so a taunting argument between two friends. It is lighthearted enough but if you’d just been passing by and not listened fully you might’ve just seen it as two people arguing. Were these the two people that Eunseok had mentioned, Kim and Wen?

“You’re just a pair of grumpy old men,” Kwon rolls his eyes, “I think you’re both going senile.”

“You think you can get away with talking to us like that?” the one you presumed to be Wen scoffs, “I’m hardly old enough to be called old… Kim here though…”

“I thought we were friends, you son of a bitch,” Kim looks to the other, an expression of faux hurt caked onto his brow. “And you both are older than I am.”

“Real adults, my ass,” Kwon shakes his head at the two. The back and forth between the three is certainly interesting to watch, it is almost as if they’d been going at it like this for years with one another.

Despite their light-hearted banter, it doesn’t downplay the tension you feel encroaching on this space. This is the home of the Hwarang, and you are an outsider, foreign to them in almost every way possible.

“I’ll apologize on their behalf,” a soft voice says, it comes from one of the men standing next to Lee. “Don’t let them unsettle you too much.” The warmth emanating from his tone is enough to make you relax even in the slightest bit, forgetting for a moment the peril you may be in.

“Don’t kid yourself,” the Commander speaks up, shooting a glance to the other, “You’re the scariest one out of all of us, Choi Seungcheol.” You’re almost too lost in looking at the one who’d spoken to notice the number of heads nodding in agreement with Lee.

“Really? I get that from the other men but from our own demon commander?” Choi muses, his hand toying with the long strands of hair falling over his shoulder before looking at his compatriot, “I feel a little flattered. I only try to hold the Hwarang to the highest standard I can.” His hand falls away from his hair, settling to rest on the hilt of his sword fastened around his waist in such a relaxed manner you hadn’t realized he’d had it on him in the first place, “Although I suppose it’s easy to get confused when our standards… or maybe our taboos, are at your mercy.”

“Maybe you’re right, but this isn’t the time to get into that,” Lee sighs out, a small smirk mirroring Choi’s, his gaze once again pinpointing on you after a moment.

“You’re lucky to have a friend like that, Jihoon,” a new voice comments. The dialogue between Choi and the Hwarang’s Commander hadn’t been exactly what you would call ‘friendly’. It is cold and lacks the warmth that had flowed between the prior conversation with the other three captains. Although from the way the new face had spoken it sounds as if he had perceived the pair as such.

“I haven’t introduced myself,” he says, turning from the pair and facing you. “Sorry, my name is Kwak Youngmin, the leader of the Hwarang. Or at least, this division,” he chuckles at himself.

“So, you’re the most important man in the Hwarang?” A tilt of your head as you look at him, his presence is far less intimidating than the handful of others that had come before him.

“Well,” another short laugh, “I wouldn’t go that far. I merely represent everyone in the Hwarang. Jihoon’s the commander and Seungcheol’s more or less the colonel.”

“Don’t you think that’s important information to be divulging, Youngmin?” Jihoon cuts the other off, arms crossing over his chest as he continues to glare at you.

“Ah,” Youngmin’s brow softens, a confusion taking over his demeanor, “Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

“Unless you want them to learn everything about us,” a grunt as Wen pushes himself up off of the floor and strides over, quickly followed by Kwon and Kim, “I think you’d better keep your mouth shut.”

“Exactly! We don’t owe him anything,” Kwon adds, glancing over to you.

“Those are good points…” Youngmin cedes for a moment, “But it’s rude to ignore your guests, isn’t it?”

A laugh from Kim as he shakes his head, “I guess you’re right.”

Youngmin perks up ever so slightly, he’d looked dejected at Jihoon’s words and it seems as if the affirmation helped his mood. His demeanor is much more cheerful than the others, seeming to radiate a positivity that hadn’t been shed amongst the others.

Another smile flashes on his lips as he looks at you, it's brief but there’s a coolness in his gaze that tells you the newly found lightened mood is due for a change.

“Now, let’s get back to why we’re here,” he glances at Hansol before speaking again, “Can you tell me what happened last night?”

“Last night we were on patrol when we encountered a band of thugs wandering the streets. They attacked first so we fought.” Hansol’s voice is calm as he recounts the events, calmer than you would ever be in his shoes. “A few of the men were able to subdue them,” His eyes look to you, prodding at your own take on the events that had transpired.

“I didn’t see what happened,” you insist, shaking your head as you lock eyes with the speaker.

Despite that, you can feel Jihoon’s glare boring into you. It is akin to the harshness of a parent severely scolding their child. Hansol’s expression doesn’t change, despite the pleading in your gaze, and in your peripheral vision, Seungkwan continues to smirk at you.

“Positive you didn’t see anything?” Kwon prompts, causation enough for you to turn your attention back to him and his other two compatriots.

“I didn’t,” you press, trying to muster as much authority in your voice as you can.

“Hmm,” his hand moves under his chin as your eyes dart from Wen to Kim before settling back onto Kwon. “If that's the case then I really don’t see what the problem is.”

“Didn’t Seungkwan say you helped out some of the guys?” Kim mumbles, his arms crossed as if he is deep in thought.

Your brow furrows before you begin to shake your head once again, this time a little more vehemently, “That isn’t true.” The plastered grin on Seungkwan’s face remains, despite the accusatory glance you throw to him. “I was trying to get away from those noble thugs, or whoever they were and then some men in Hwarang robes showed up, if anything, they helped me out.”

“So, then you saw them apprehend those men?” It is lightly put, the flashes of viscera still playing in your mind occasionally. Kim is testing the waters and you are beginning to sink your own ship.

“I…” You can’t deny it, something tells you that if they even get a whiff of inaccuracy, you’ll be in much deeper shit than you are in now.

“If you’re not going to say anything, we can only assume you saw everything, right?” Kim questions. The silence you emit must be answer enough for him as he sighs and continues, “I can tell you’ve got an honest heart, and that’s not a bad thing, really, but…” The eeriness of that sentence puts you on edge, will the next thing that falls from his mouth be the words that would damn you?

“I promise I won’t tell anyone what I saw!” The words fall from your lips, blithely and almost incoherent as your hands clench together.

“Hmm,” Seungcheol’s gentle hum resounds around the room after your outburst. “The attack doesn’t seem like it wasn’t deliberate. Yet, it also seems unlikely that you’re our enemy. Even if you have good intentions, we will still have to interrogate you... Can you handle torture?”

Images of bodies rolled in straw mats and being beaten with wooden sticks courses through you, of what they could possibly do to you. Seungcheol’s words, despite the warmness of his voice, are cold, calculating. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, unable to respond to such a question without an air of incredulity.

“Staying quiet is easy, but if you were captured, you’d have no loyalty to us regarding what you saw.” Hansol points out nonchalantly.

“Let’s just kill him,” Seungkwan shrugs, almost as if the thought doesn’t carry the weight of your life, “That’s the only surefire way to not have him talk.”

“Seungkwan, that isn’t our way.” Youngmin interjects, his brow furrowing at the other, before you can protest, “We don’t run around murdering civilians.”

The other laughs, “Don’t look at me, I was only kidding.” It sure hadn’t felt like it. Nor had it sounded like it either.

“You may need to work on your delivery, then.” Hansol shakes his head, as Seungkwan chuckles with that cheshire-like grin.

“If anything, he can’t be that much older than me,” Eunseok, who until up to this remained silent, speaks out from behind you. You hear his feet tread across the floorboards until he’s standing by your side, “That’d almost be killing a kid, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t want to kill him but choosing to ignore the unlikelihood of his untrustworthiness is very irrational,” Seungcheol frowns, his fingers toying with the butt-end of his sword. “What’s your take, Commander Lee?”

Everyone’s attention turns to Jihoon, the Commander’s lips curving down into an ever sourer grimace as the gazes’ rest upon him. He sighs before looking up and around at the different faces.

“Last night we killed the wang-do that broke our code, this kid shouldn’t have been involved in the slightest.” It isn't an answer and it only heightens the anxiety coursing through you.

“Is that all you have to say on the matter?” Seungcheol prods.

“He probably saw something that he doesn’t understand…” Lee mutters as Wen rises to his feet.

“Even if that’s the case this is pretty serious,” Wen’s foot taps on the floor, the light from outside glinting off his deep green robes. “We have to sweep this under the rug. If the rumor spreads that the Hwarang have turned blood-thirsty it wouldn’t sit well with the people, or the crown for that matter.” It looks as if people are taking Wen’s words to heart, a grimace overcomes Jihoon’s face as the taller continues to speak.

“Watch it,” Jihoon fires back, “It’s our responsibility to regulate the wang-do that haven’t followed the code. We are going to do something about it.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he saw something.” Seungkwan looks at you again, but you refuse to acknowledge it.

“He does have a point,” Kim muses, “I’ll do whatever Kwak, Lee and Choi tell me to do.”

“I think we should let him go,” Kwon notes, his hand moving to brush a few strands of hair out of his face. “It’s not like he knows everything.”

“...Everything?” You question aloud and the room once again turns cold at your words.

“I think it’d be best if you stop talking, Kwon.” Jihoon says solemnly, as the younger mutters out a brief apology.

“Now it’s going to be a little harder to just simply let you go,” Seungkwan says pointedly, crossing his arms as you look at him briefly.

“A man should always be ready to face death. You should make your peace with that,” Wen notes, nodding his head as if he were agreeing with his own statement.

A man…. The words resound around your head and it isn’t until you look down at your feet and the clothes you were wearing do you remember. Right, you’re not dressed in your typical attire, this was stolen from your father’s chest, his clothes that you had mended as you awaited his arrival. The clothes you had taken to undergo your journey to find him, the journey that had somehow led you here. It hits you that they think you’re a man. With the whirlwind of events that had led you here you’d completely forgotten about your attire and how they may have perceived you.

“That’s true, there’s nothing wrong with a brave death. When I was younger, I committed honorable suicide,” Kim shrugs his shoulders, a humor riding his tone as he spoke of the grave topic.

“Didn’t really stick though, did it, Mingyu?” Wen snorts, giving the other captain a nudge with his shoulder before they break out into a short burst of laughter.

“Commander, since we can’t figure out what to do, should I just send him back to his room for the time being?” Hansol asks Jihoon once the laughter has died down. “The more we leave him out here, the more likely he’s going to hear something he’s not meant to, and we’d have to kill him regardless.”

Even if Hansol hadn’t said it for your well being, a flush of relief floods through your muscles.

“Alright, let’s do that. Besides, there’s something I need to look into.” The commander acquiesces, before looking over to Seungcheol.

“I agree, there’s a few careless voices among us, you never know what could slip.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Kwon’s eyes widen as he realizes that the colonel is glaring in his direction.

“You’ve gotta admit we’re all pretty reckless with our words, especially you, Soonyoung.” Kim huffs, begrudgingly agreeing to Choi’s observation.

“It was just a mistake! No need to blame me for all of it,” Kwon’s voice rises as he tries to defend himself. He sighs out and glances at you, mumbling a quiet, “I’m sorry” under his breath.

Still apprehensive about their plans with you, you can’t find it within you to respond to him in any sort of affirmative way. It still seems like he understands the intention behind your curt nod.

“Alright then, Captain Choi, take care of the kid.” The commander says as he begins to turn on his heels, heading towards a side room branching off the main hall.

“Will do…” Hansol nods and turns to you, “Shall we go?”

After Hansol has walked you to your room in relative silence, you find yourself sitting on the floor, your hands still bound, after what seems like hours since the meeting.

The Hwarang were esteemed because of their loyalty to the crown and their way of life, you hadn’t realized how vicious it could be. But behind all of that there is a humanity behind the veneer of the aristocratic and diplomatic traits they were meant to have. Despite it not seeming like it as of your first meeting.

Their presence isn't that of cold-blooded killers or snotty aristocrats, the message garnered through that meeting had been along the lines of ‘We are not killers, but to protect our way of life we must bring death’. It didn’t make you feel great, but it could help you understand them a little more.

As you sit in the room, watching the sun flit in through nearly closed shades you ponder that the longer you stay here, the less chance you have of returning to your home in one piece. They have no real right to let you go, your loyalty to them is a contract by word, not by blood. And you are sure they would recognize that sooner or later.

If they still thought you to be a man would they still make you face that fate? Would exposing your true identity be worth mercy on your life? Even then you don’t know if the repercussions of that would be any better, it may backfire and lead to an even worse end for you.

If possible, you would like to forgo either of those scenarios. Perhaps escaping would be your best bet...

As your feet had been left unbound, it is easy to push yourself off the ground to unsteadily rise on your feet. With your feet free it shouldn’t be nearly as impossible a feat to escape if both your feet and hands were bound. You take a deep breath before walking towards the door, thinking of how they had brought you in last night and where Eunseok had guided you to the meeting and Hansol had taken you from. It is a rudimentary enough map in your head, but you can make it work, you have to make it work.

You approach the sliding door quietly, inching your foot towards it as to open it. Before you’re able to though, it slides open and a figure almost runs face-first into you.

“Ah-!” Youngmin stops himself so he doesn’t run into you, you take a cautionary step backwards to distance yourself from him.

A figure peers out from behind Youngmin, Seungcheol’s eyes wide as he realizes what is going on. “Oh, you weren’t trying to escape, were you?”

“I was just…” you search for a response, but your situation is already damning enough.

“Trying to escape isn’t really going to make your situation any less difficult,” he frowns, stepping out from behind Youngmin to stand in line with the leader. While his voice is soft, his eyes hold that same calculating glare that had scrutinized you earlier in the day.

You think for a moment before a realization dawns on you. They hadn’t tied you up because they’ve been watching you the entire time. Maybe you should’ve figured that out sooner, but your brain is too muddled with flight or flight instinct.

“I’ll only repeat this one more time,” a voice coming from the hall outside as two pairs of footsteps approach the room, “if you try to run, I’ll kill you.” Jihoon’s voice is stern as he rounds the corner with Seungkwan.

“Sorry, that means we’re forced to kill you,” Seungkwan sighs, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword, “We can’t let you go if you can’t keep a promise.” He doesn’t look sorry with the way a fresh smile danced along his lips as he spoke.

Teeth gritting together you plant your feet firmly on the ground and look at the men in front of you. They aren’t presenting any favorable options to you, and if they were going to kill you anyway, the best thing you could do is try and run for it.

By some miraculous means you’re able to push your feet from the floor, sliding around Youngmin and beginning to race down the corridor of the building. It’s not long until you feel a hand grab the back of your robes, pulling you back towards the room you’d been kept in.

“Did you really think you could escape?” Jihoon asks, sounding somewhat bewildered by the actions you’d taken.

“Let me go!” You writhe in his grasp, trying to free yourself from his grip, but it is holding firm to you with no sign of weakness.

“If I do that, you’ll just run off again,” he sounds annoyed now as he leads you back into the room with Seungkwan, Seungcheol, and Youngmin.

“I don’t want to die, though!” You say, still struggling under his hold. “There’s something I have to do!”

“And what’s that? What’s important enough for a girl to dress up as a boy and run around Seorabeol?”

You freeze at his words, eyes widening as his grip on you goes slack. It’s given you the opportunity to run for it again, but you find yourself too stunned to move. Did he know this whole time? You turn to look at him, your mouth parting as if to say something but you can’t think of what to utter.

“Did you just call me a girl?” You can tell by the steely glare he gives you that your feeble attempt at a lie won’t work on him.

A small ‘huh’ and you look over your shoulder to see Seungcheol looking at you, “So you really are a girl.”

“Did you really think putting on a pair of pants and a man’s robes would fool us?” Seungkwan questions as he crosses his arms, a teasing tinge to his voice.return

“You all knew from the start?” Eyes widening, you thought your disguise had been rather good. But perhaps not as much as you had thought.

“Kwak Youngmin you idiot,” the leader of the Hwarang mutters just loudly enough for you to hear, “How did you not realize this sooner?”

Youngmin’s reaction puts you more at ease, seeing that not everyone had seen right through your facade.

“You almost got killed for whatever you’re here for, maybe it’s time you enlighten us,” Jihoon doesn’t ask, rather demands the information out of you.

You nod at him and the trio silently takes you back to the hall where you’d been questioned only hours prior. The rest of the men filter in from whatever they’d been doing at the compound, none of them sparing you more than a second’s glance once they walk into the large room.

“I thought your features were a little more effeminate than most men but to think you were a lady this whole time…” Youngmin leads, his head nodding as if he’d come to the conclusion hours earlier and hadn’t only just learned your secret moments prior.

“Once you realize she’s a girl she really doesn’t look like a guy at all, right?” Kwon muses as he looks into your eyes.

Uncomfortable with this, you break away, looking to Eunseok who stands next to him.

“So, we really left her tied up all night to sleep on the floor?” The younger mumbles, looking down to his feet before looking up to you and giving a very heartfelt “Sorry,” before returning his gaze to the floor.

“Well she claims to be a girl, but it’s not like we have any real proof, right?” Wen muses as he looks at Mingyu.

“You want proof?” You fire back, eyebrows raising at the implied suggestion.

“Would you feel better if we stripped her down?” Kim scoffs, eyes rolling at the other.

“You will absolutely not!” Youngmin interrupts, seemingly not understanding the sarcasm of Kim’s statement. “To suggest that goes against everything we stand for.”

“It was a joke,” Kim shoots back, “But if we needed absolute proof…”

“If you are a girl though,” Wen muses, “Then I think it would feel kind of wrong just to kill you.”

“Why are all of you acting so naive? If we have to kill her, we have to kill her.” Jihoon frowns while looking over his men.

“Exactly,” Seungcheol nods, a small frown overcoming him, “Although it’s not her gender that’s the issue. Killing in general is wrong.” Even with those words, the way his hand rests on the hilt of his sword makes an uneasy feeling lurch in your stomach, “We were organized by the crown to protect Silla and her people, killing those people in cold-blood wouldn’t put us in a favorable light.”

“But if this girl, or boy, is a threat to the crown, that’s a whole other matter in itself.” Seungkwan notes, the sly grin on his face present once more. At this point you’re concluding this is what he normally looks like.

“I apologize,” Jihoon looks at you, “I took it upon myself to look through your things. It seems like you’ve come all the way from Toehwa-hyeon by yourself. You didn’t have much; some change, clothing, a few scraps of letters and a blade.” He pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts, “One of the fragments of letters was signed by Namemekawa Yasuo, I assume you saw him?” Another pause as he looks into your eyes as if he’s searching for something, “What exactly are you here for?”

When the doctor’s name is spoken, chatter begins among the men, did they know Namekawa? And it isn’t until Jihoon asks what your true purpose here, followed by your full name, does the entire room go silent.

“Commander… that name…” Wen’s eyes are wide as he addresses Jihoon.

“It’s not just some bizarre coincidence, is it?” Kim adds on, his face looking almost as equally as confused as Wen’s.

“Now, let’s hold on for a moment,” Youngmin tries to calm the room’s mounting tension. He looks to you, a weary expression on his brow as he continues, “We need to determine if you are a threat. Why did you come to Seorabeol?”

At Youngmin’s behest you move forward to speak, with a quiet voice you announce your name, and the chatter begins quietly once more for a moment. Once it settles down you speak again, “My father is a doctor in Toehwa-hyeon. I traveled from my home there in search of him as I haven’t heard from him in several months. The last time we spoke he said he was traveling here, the capital, for work.”

“You’re from Toehwa-hyeon as well?” A small smile dances along Youngmin’s lips, “And you came all of this way to find your father? Who is he?”

“I am the daughter of Physician Heo Jinsang.” You answer shortly, not fully expecting their reactions.

They don’t seem angry, rather sate in their realization of something.

“So, it’s all piecing together,” Jihoon sighs out.

“The handwriting does match Jinsang’s but… To think you were his daughter,” Seungcheol’s gaze furrows at you as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“Do you know my father?” You ask as you turn to look from Seungcheol to Jihoon.

“You’ve been withholding information from us?” Jihoon’s voice, now angered, calls out to you. It’s accusatory in nature and you can’t begin to fathom as to why.

“I… What?” A step backwards at the intensity of his words, your heart begins to pound in your chest as the next words flow from his lips like a torrent from an incensed river.

“There’s no point in lying now!” His gaze hardens, voice unrelenting in its authority, “What the hell are you doing in Seorabeol?!”

“I just came to look for my father.” You protest, your muscles tense as the commander takes a step towards you.

“No, you came into this city fully aware of what your father is doing, didn’t you?” Jihoon’s presence itself is harsh, unsettling as his heightening anger bores directly from his voice and to your ears, trying to dig up secrets that were unknown even to you.

“I was told that he was traveling here for medical work, I haven’t seen him in months!” Voice almost cracking under the stressful strain of trying to prove your innocence to them, your heart grows heavy at the thought of committing a crime just from being someone’s daughter.

“Jihoon, it may be better to leave her be. She may not know anything…” Seungcheol interjects, stepping forward to place a hand on Jihoon’s forearm.

A reprieve from the interrogation allows you to collect your breath and pose a question of your own, “So what do you know about my father? Do you know where he is?”

“The Hwarang are currently trying to find the location of Physician Heo Jinsang.” Hansol responds with a flat tone, as if he’s not trying to interject any emotion or his own opinion into the matter.

“You’re after my father?” A furrowed brow as you look at him. What exactly had your father done?

“It’s not like that… We’re not after him, per se.” Seungkwan interjects by shaking his head.

“I see…” A small exhale of air that you hadn’t realized you were holding escapes you, a slight weight lifted from your shoulders.

“He’s a supporter of the crown but he disappeared a little while ago.” Seungkwan explains.

“There’s a chance a few Baekje loyalists have identified him as a threat,” Hansol adds after Seungkwan has finished speaking.

“Really?” You frown, beginning to think the worst before Hansol begins to speak again.

“Of course, there’s a chance that he’s still alive, there are a few Tang-trained physicians in Silla at the moment.” He notes, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Youngmin, what do you think we should do? Would it be in our interest to help her because we’re both looking for her father?” Seungcheol questions as you feel your heart about to burst from the anxiety of this situation.

“What do you mean by ‘help her’?” Youngmin asks, one of his hands resting on his hip as he looks to the colonel.

“I think it would be in our best interest to cooperate with her until we find Heo,” Seungcheol’s lips purse, it looks like he’s already thinking of ways to find your father but you can’t be too sure. “With her help I’m sure our chances of finding him will increase drastically. It may prove fruitless to look for him if he’s in disguise. However, you are his daughter, you should be able to recognize him no matter how he’s disguised himself, right?” Seungcheol looks to you inquisitively, his head tilted to the side and his eyes wide in question.

You nod, “Of course.”

“What do you say Jihoon?” Youngmin turns to look at the commander, “Seungcheol is making some sense of this mess.”

“If she really doesn’t know anything…” Jihoon hums, looking at you warily.

“I really don’t, all I know is that he was headed here for work but I really don’t know anything else—” You huff, “And about last night, I didn’t see anything, I promise!”

Jihoon huffs out a sigh as his eyes narrow, “Well, if she really is his daughter, we can’t really kill her, can we?” He watches your reaction for a moment more before continuing, “If you promise to not talk about the events of last night, we’ll let you stay here until we find your father. Fair?”

“I can promise that the Hwarang will do whatever we can to find your father,” Youngmin adds with something of a reassuring smile.

“Thank you,” you say and bow as deeply as you can, thankful for their gratitude and, most of all, them deciding that your life hadn’t needed to be halted. You’d found your first lead in finding your father, and it seems they are actively looking for him as well.

“You must be glad we’re not killing you,” Seungkwan quips, “not yet anyway.” That same snide grin encapsulating his lips, as you frown at him. In no way is your position desirable, but you were alive and, on your way, to finding your father.

“More than glad,” you snip back at him.

“I’m happy we didn’t have to kill you,” Eunseok sighs out, “or turn you into the Crown. My brother’s a guard there and he says it’s awful.”

“Oh, really?” You ponder on that for a moment, thinking of what may have happened if the official patrol had found you instead of the Hwarang.

“Hm, Eunseok? With her being a lady, I’m not sure the compound is equipped for all her needs. It’s not as if we have Wonhwa anymore…” Youngmin frowns as if he’s just realized an all male domicile may not be the best suited for you.

“That’s a good point…” Eunseok mutters.

“If you need anything you only have to ask,” Hansol nods, “We will do what we can to accommodate you.”

“Thank you, Hansol.” You nod and turn to look at who’s just begun to speak.

“I guess if you are a girl, we’ll have to be nicer to you, huh?” Wen says, a nervous laugh escaping him.

“Hah,” Kwonsnorts at him, “didn’t take long for you to change your attitude, huh, Jun?”

“It’ll be a nice change of pace though, brighten things up a bit from all of your guys’ shit,” Kim scoffs at the two of them.

Your brow furrows, not fully believing that sentiment as the trio begin bickering with another once more.

“Everything may not be up to standards here for a lady,” Seungcheol sighs, almost sounding embarrassed at the state of the place, “You’re not a soldier so we can’t fully expect to treat you as such.”

“Then make her an assistant or something.” Jihoon suggests, “Do you need a page, Youngmin? Or you, Seungcheol?”

“It’s your idea, Lee,” Seungkwan pipes up once more, a teasing tinge to his voice, “you can’t just drop her onto someone else.”

“That’s perfect, we can entrust Jihoon with her,” Youngmin smiles, playing along with Seungkwan’s antics.

“That settles it, I think,” Seungcheol nods, trying to suppress a laugh as he looks at the increasingly flustered commander.

“You— You can’t just decide like that!” Jihoon barks angrily as those around him laugh. Their back and forth, while humorous to them, caused the relief you felt prior to chip away little by little with each of their jabs.

It is eventually decided that you are to be Lee Jihoon’s page, if only for the time being, until your father is found. Rather than immediately give you a task to accomplish, the commander sends you back to your room, assuming that you probably hadn’t had a restful night and that your pagely duties would start the next morning.

“I brought some clothes for you to change into,” a voice calls out from behind your closed door, it sounds like Eunseok. “The ones you’re wearing were a little bloodstained and I figured you might want to change,” he says as you allow him entry.

“Thank you, Eunseok,” you nod as he sets down the pile of cloth on a nearby tabletop. “Do you think I’ll be here for very long?”

“Hmm,” he thinks for a moment, “I’m not sure. I know we’ve been looking for your father for a while now, but with you joining us I’m sure it’ll help us out immensely.”

“I see…” you sigh as he begins to make his leave. “Thanks again, Eunseok.”

“It’s no problem,” he smiles, “I’ll see if I can get some food brought to your room if you don’t want to join us for dinner yet.”

“Alright,” you nod and Eunseok exits your room, closing the door behind him as you’re left alone once more. As you rise to your feet and move your now unbound hands to reach out for the clothes the younger had brought, you can’t help but notice the dirt and dried gore adorning your hands. Had all this happened within a day of arriving in the capital? It feels surreal, almost like a dream that you haven't woken up from yet.

But as the hours passed, it is more and more obvious that this is now your home for the time being. And all the men, and their strange characters, are your company.

You sigh as you begin to undress yourself, wondering when and how the mystery of your father’s disappearance will be solved.

curious to see what happens next? head on over to the route guide to see all available routes.

enjoy what you read? leave a comment! it helps with motivating us writers to keep producing content for our lovely readers ❤

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meiieiri · 1 year

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LATE NIGHT SNIPPETS [FT. JUJUTSU KAISEN]

❁—CHARACTERS: suguru geto, gojo satoru, nanami kento, megumi fushiguro

warnings: mentions of death and violence in megumi’s part ( T ^ T )

a/n: now this one got so bad it took me two days to write. ALSO, have ya’ll seen the new episode? WASN’T IT SO GOOD? like the symbolisms and the many artistic references to buddhism and enlightenment was just so GLORIOUS??? and yea, my heart hurts knowing what’s about to come. anyway so much for that. here are some new drabbles to keep us relatively happy in the meantime, prompts are open, btw!

༊*·˚ GOJO SATORU

you think it's charming to see satoru try. he's not as half-assed as people think he is when it comes to devoting his time and effort to the things close to his heart. and for better or for worse, that included you.

his hands gently rakes a hand through your hair, your back pressed to his broad chest. he stops every now and then to untangle the unruly bits with the wide-toothed comb he held between his lips as he painstakingly lathered your locks with the new shampoo he just bought for you, the same one you’ve been eyeing whenever the two of you are out on your supermarket runs.

he treats the entire affair of doting on you, bathing together, as if he were perfecting an art form, and he — a mere blushing apprentice — utterly lost and in ruin in the presence of his ethereal muse. his head drops against your shoulder where a loving kiss makes a picture perfect landing that not even the most proficient trapeze artists can achieve. he cradles you close to his naked form but there was nothing overtly lustful about the entire affair (which is unlike the both of you, by the way, satoru was normally insatiable when it comes to his sexual desires).

there was only an intimate quiet — the kind of passing moment devoid of any unnecessary words and contemplations of love or adoration because there was no need for such futile philosophical bullshit when faced with an absolute truth that needs no explaining, no theorizing, no rationalizing for satoru knew, that in this horrible world riddled with lies, his love for you extends into the limitless void.

“i love you,” he mumbles sleepily into your ear, his eyelids drooping, his breath becoming more even by the second owed to the comforting warmth of the water in the bathtub.

it doesn’t hurt to say it every now and then, though.

༊*·˚ NANAMI KENTO

the warm ambient light of the overhead lamps above you illuminates the dark space of your living room, revealing the adonis-like features of kento, the shadows only seem to accentuate the contours of his defined cheekbones, the slight outline of his perfectly-shaped lips and his masculine jaw. you don’t know how you could have caught the eye of someone so beautiful, so…otherworldly.

he was like a monarch butterfly, a warm ball of fire that danced in an evergreen meadow, so guarded and scarce in his movements in fear that he’d burn the entire valley down with just a subtle flutter of his wings. but since you so desired to burn into cinders, who was he to deny your wishes? a yelp of half-surprise and sheepish laughter slips out from your lips when he suddenly sends you into a romantic dip, catching you by surprise, your heart racing in your chest.

“kento!” you lightly slap him on the arm which only causes him to throw his head back in delighted laughter.

and to the sound of the piano’s crescendo, and the singer’s luscious alto tone, he picks you back up, righting your positions, leading you in a slow dance. he sways both your forms side to side, sometimes hoisting his arm up to allow you enough space to innocently twirl around in time to the climax of the song playing on the vinyl player and in time to the sound of his heart breaking.

oh, how he desperately depended on you and you don’t even know it.

you wouldn’t even understand it if he articulated just how mystified he was to hold your smaller hand in his larger hand, to walk beside you for a thousand miles and not even feel an ounce of fatigue, to naively dance with you like this barefoot in the kitchen at two in the morning, to be able to call you his and him yours.

the song nears its end, the bell-like notes dissipating into the air. you try to pull away, suddenly remembering the dirty dishes from dinner earlier which you so carelessly abandoned in the sink but kento only tilts your chin towards him, his breath hot against your lips, “i’ll do the dishes later. dance with me again?”

༊*·˚ GETO SUGURU

a snort of laughter escapes suguru upon hearing the latest gossip you caught wind of in the teacher’s lounge earlier today . “so, i take it kento has a girlfriend now,” his eyelids flutter close when your dainty fingers lightly massage his forehead with a cool moisturizing balm that smelled absolutely divine with the earthy undertones of tea tree balm and aloe vera.

“engaged, at least that’s what shoko told me,” you correct him and he scrunches his nose in displeasure. you smooth away any of his stray bangs, and the soothing action causes him to sigh contentedly, basking in your butterfly-like touch.

to suguru, this was home — spending the midnight hours braiding one another’s hair, chatting away about anything and everything with your silly little skincare masks on, the humidifier in your room in its maximum settings spewing out the comforting aroma of yours or suguru’s favorite essential oil depending on who wins your little match of rock-paper-scissors, chaste kisses and most of all, you. “what are you staring at?” you ask, breathless, when you notice how his raven eyes stared up at you with so much wonder.

his hand lazily comes up to cup your cheek, memorizing each crack and bump of you as if tonight would be the last time he could ever do so. maybe he was selfish — as many mortals are — to want to beg the gods for time and the stars to stop turning, halting their perpetual orbit, so that he may savor this moment just for a while longer. and a while longer. and a while longer. ‘till eternity herself, in her humiliation, feels cheated.

“my entire world.”

༊*·˚ FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

you were woken up by his shikigami, the arctic dog wagging its tail excitedly as it tries to climb up your bed. you blink away the remnants of your slumber, yawning. “what are you doing here, cutie? where’s your dad?” you affectionately pat the creature on the head and it lets out a happy bark, leaning into your touch. wait a second. if the shikigami had appeared, then, megumi must surely be up and about somewhere in the house. you pull on your silk robe to go look for him when you find only moonlight on his side of the bed.

you eventually find yourself in the living room’s main balcony which functioned as a sun room of sorts. you find megumi hunched over, watering can in hand, seemingly in a daze, he diligently waters the many potted plants you’ve collected over the years. you shake your head, beguiled at the sight, leaning against the glass door.

“your orchids were starting to wilt,” he replies when he senses your presence, a touch of sadness in his voice. he’d gotten you those orchids for your anniversary as the two of you were on your way home from a backbreaking mission in shizuoka. he’d been horrified to see it practically wasting away in the scorching summer heat. “…i…i had to do something,” he swallows thickly, a few tears pooling at the crescent of his green orbs.

you instantly understand. you walk over to him, hugging him from behind as he works. his breath stutters, his grip on the watering can slackening. it falls to the ground in an unceremonious clang! something uncoils within megumi and right then and there…he weeps, falling into the sanctuary of your arms, his tears staining the fabric of your robe, glistening like the most precious of jewels serendipitously unearthed in the forgotten mineshaft that is his heart. “shhh,” you hush him as he continues to cry.

he could have saved that little girl.

if only he’d been faster. if only he didn’t freeze up in front of that curse. if only he hadn’t been his usual second-rate mediocre self even for just a second, maybe she would have lived. “what if it had been you?” his ivy green eyes are filled with abject fear. “what if—?”

“—then, you’ll come get me,” you reply without a second thought, your voice as soft as a spring night’s dewfall, your hand comfortingly raking through his disshelved raven hair. “i know you will.”

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darkcircles4lyfe · 8 months

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Behind the locked door

In honor of Izuku’s mask disintegrating into rubble, I think it’s finally time for me to really dig deep into his character. I’ve been keeping this one in my back pocket for a while. Amid all the talk about Izuku’s fading narration, the “control your heart” subplot, I’ve been trying to find the words to articulate how I know exactly where this is going, at least on a certain level. Most recently, I read this meta from pika who brings up how the word “control” alone can be misconstrued (by us). And then I thought about how a while back I made a similar point, although I said Izuku was the one who got it wrong. At that time, I was holding back a huge piece of evidence because it was external to the story and I wasn’t sure it would be received well. As a result, my argument fell a little flat. Well, now—after 411, right before leaks for 412—it might be my last chance to play this card.

So about that external evidence. I struggle to bring it up because it’s gonna sound an awful lot like I’m projecting onto Izuku if I don’t do it justice. But… I look at the way his storyline has been going lately and I see a pattern emerging that I’m very familiar with. Fortunately, I don’t have to dump a bunch of personal junk on you in order to illustrate this pattern, because a certain personality typing system already has it all figured out: the Enneagram.

Now, hang on. I’m not one to put people in boxes. My trans ass? I managed to get a different result every time I retook the P0ttermore quiz. MBTI, zodiacs—not my thing. But the Enneagram comes the closest I’ve ever seen to covering all the bases and revealing actually meaningful insight, at least for myself. On top of that, I find it extremely useful for fleshing out fictional characters, hence this post will be taking advantage of that.

For those who aren’t familiar with it, here’s a quick overview: The Enneagram consists of 9 individual personality types, each arranged carefully in a sequential, circular manner. They are also simply named 1 through 9. While this might seem kinda basic, there is actually a surprising amount of nuance and fluidity involved. Typing is done largely through personal introspection (you don’t really have to take a test). Adjacent numbers share some core themes with each other, and according to a web of arrows between them, one type can take on either positive or negative traits associated with other types depending on how emotionally ‘healthy’ they are, causing a lengthy spectrum of different ways each type can manifest. That part gets kinda complicated to explain here, so for more info, the Enneagram Institute website is a decent place to start. I also highly recommend the Enneagram album by Sleeping At Last (and if you really want to dedicate some time, the accompanying podcast) to really get inside the heads of the types on a deeper level.

My interest in applying the Enneagram to Izuku comes from observing how differently one can interpret his character based on whether you read him as a 2 or a 9. And even though no one uses this language to talk about him, the distinction accounts for a bunch of different rifts in the fandom: whether you appreciate bkdk’s relationship, whether you can acknowledge Izuku’s flaws and weaknesses, the severity of his vigilante/rogue phase, and most importantly the gravity of his concealed heart, his rage, and what it all means—what he needs in order to grow and triumph.

Discussion of Enneagram types in the fandom is pretty scarce, but where it exists, I have only seen him labeled as a 2. Type 9 and type 2 can be similar at a glance in a lot of ways (actually, 9s can be mistaken for any type because they are like all of them combined). It’s easy to see Izuku as a 2 because he is the helping hero archetype. He puts others’ needs above his own and he is always ready and eager to help. If you listen to Sleeping At Last’s song for 2, you’ll notice that it’s all about care and noble sacrifice with the underlying theme of neglecting or even harming oneself: “I just want to build you up, until your good as new, and maybe one day I will get around to fixing myself too.” Sounds pretty obvious, right? Well, here’s the thing. You really get to know what your type is by how it hits you where it hurts, so I like to focus on each type’s basic fear and basic desire, first and foremost, as a tell. A 2′s basic fear is of being worthless and unloved. Consequently, their most basic desire is to be loved. And 2s have been taught through their negative experiences that love is conditional, something they have to earn from others. They need to be needed. So let’s say you think Izuku is a 2. This means you consider his heroic, self-sacrificing tendencies to be a result of his growing up quirkless and being told he is worthless and powerless because of it. Through this lens, he is trying to prove himself to the world by being useful. Along these lines, you may also assume he is trying to prove himself to Katsuki. Taking this train of thought even further, you may interpret Izuku’s relationship with Katsuki as an obsession of his, where he is either blind to Katsuki’s more negative traits in favor of gaining his love and praise, or else bitterly determined to prove him wrong. This is how a 2 might behave in an unhealthy relationship with an 8, which, yes, I do think Katsuki is an 8. That’s a tangent for another time, though.

But does Izuku ever “need to be needed?” It’s worth noting that while 2s’ search for validation might seem insincere, it is actually motivated by a deep, heartbreaking insecurity. They think they don’t even deserve love unless they are useful to someone, so they do everything they can to be worthy. Does Izuku show signs of this motivation?

If I stop to think about it, I can’t exactly see this in Izuku’s character. Yeah, his dream is to be a hero, and in his childhood, he was denied that dream. However I think we need to take a step back from that for a second if we want to dig deep. I mean, a lot of the other characters also behave heroically, act selflessly, and strive to help. Does that mean all of them are 2s as well? Of course not. So let’s instead turn to observe how Izuku acts with his loved ones, friends, and peers in other/adjacent contexts:

Inko: He is committed to protecting his mother from fearing for his safety. He wants to be good enough to not cause her to worry, rather than good enough to make her proud or make her love him. Idk about his father but at this point I think it’s safe to assume he is deeply unimportant.

All Might: I would describe their relationship as one of mutual responsibility. Izuku feels a responsibility to uphold All Might’s legacy, All Might feels a responsibility to teach him well. Because of this mutuality, I don’t think it quite makes sense to say Izuku deliberately seeks approval for its own sake. You know what I mean? They may be a mentor and a pupil but in practice they are almost more like co-conspirators. They don’t really have a power dynamic going on.

Shouto, Tenya, other friends: Izuku seems to take an interest in what makes his friends tick, and he sets himself aside in order to both analytically and intuitively determine what’s wrong and how to solve it. Examples include his fight against Shouto in the sports festival, and his stubborn concern for Tenya’s reaction to his brother’s forced retirement. He will put himself in the line of fire specifically when confronted with another person’s inner demons. This is not a labor that is asked of professional heroes, it’s just who Izuku is. You can also extend this observation to how he sees through Tomura to Tenko, but I’ll get to that later. Basically, while 2s seek to help in all kinds of ways, a 9’s strategy is always centered on the realm of the mind.

Kota: Adjacent to the paragraph above, before Izuku literally gets into a position where he needs to save Kota, he becomes interested in the boy’s point of view out of genuine curiosity. He doesn’t go “oh no, this kid doesn’t like heroes, I better get him to like heroes.” Instead he seeks out information as to why he thinks that way, and patiently listens. He’s sorry about what happened to Kota, and he understands. Twice (ch 71 and 72), he recognizes the fact that everyone has their own point of view on quirks, and he can’t really do anything about that.

Mirio: This might be one of the most telling examples. Mirio is the platonic ideal of an All Might successor. He’s “perfect.” He even looks the part. While this initially makes Izuku uncomfortable, he doesn’t become insecure and defensive over it. On the contrary, he easily comes to the conclusion that actually, Mirio should have One for All. Just like that (ch 172). If Mirio hadn’t dismissed the “hypothetical,” he probably would have gone through with giving it to him. That’s not how a 2 would respond. A 2 would double down and aim to be better than Mirio by trying to establish some relationship of need, fueled by the insecurity. Their shared subplot with Eri would have looked pretty different, I think.

Katsuki: I’ve mentioned before that I believe their rivalry only exists because Katsuki put it there. First of all, we can see that after the sludge villain incident, Izuku weirdly takes Katsuki’s dismissal of Izuku’s help as practical advice. Like, “oh yeah, I guess what I did was pretty stupid and dangerous, and I’m not cut out for this hero stuff. Now I can move on and find a realistic career.” Hello?? He accepted that so easily. So Izuku clearly isn’t motivated by a desire to prove himself to Katsuki. Even when he proclaims he’s going to surpass him, it’s like he’s happily mimicking Katsuki, not reacting based on insecurity or pride. Izuku is content to meet Katsuki wherever he is, and he’s satisfied with whatever kind of relationship they are able to have, including a rivalry, so he isn’t vying for his affection either. We can observe this when he gives up the role of reaching out a hand to save Katsuki to Kirishima, and also when he thinks about how “blessed” he is to even have a normal conversation with Katsuki. He doesn’t push things. It’s also stated in Deku vs. Kacchan 2 that Izuku doesn’t excuse or overlook Katsuki’s “bad side” but still admires him for his other traits. This is not at all characteristic of a toxic 2x8 relationship.

When 2s are at their very worst or pushed into unhealthy situations, they tend to become more needy and self-centered, even downright manipulative. But at Izuku’s worst, when he went rogue, he pushed everyone away to avoid being a burden. When the refugees at UA tried to prevent him from returning, he was like, “you’re right” and would have turned back immediately if not for his friends, loved ones, and other people who care about him telling him it was all okay. Meanwhile, Katsuki, in true 8 fashion, was pissed off at being rejected and having to deal with Izuku’s stubborn and evasive side (oh yeah, have I mentioned 9s are actually stubborn as hell?), but he made sure to establish that they are (he is) here to step in when Izuku can’t handle things by himself. Katsuki even opened up and admitted to his own weaknesses to show why mutual support is so important. Tbh, a lot of the above can be construed as just super healthy type 2 behavior, but not this. The way Izuku acts at his lowest, and his dynamic with Katsuki? Totally different. Dead giveaway for a 9.

Let’s get into the type 9 itself in more detail to show how it applies to Izuku more deeply—seriously, it’s beat for beat. One of the key differences is, while 2s seek validation, 9s are actually resigned to the belief that they aren’t important. Similar to 2s, a 9′s basic fear is of separation, but their basic desire is actually just peace or harmony rather than love. Notice how these motivations are just like a 2’s, except they have the “self” part taken out. With that in mind, they “achieve” their basic desire through selflessness in and of itself, without the need for recognition. That’s not to say that 9s are better than 2s. In fact, a 9 can be worse, in a way. If unhealthy, they will seek peace at almost any cost to themselves. In other words, they can be more self-destructive while still under the impression that they are doing just fine. “Peace” may refer to the expression of empathy, fulfilling the needs of others, sheltering someone, or mediating a fight—but also to repressing their own opinions and needs, not “rocking the boat,” ignoring negative emotions, or becoming a vessel for someone else to vent to.

What about inner peace? 9s value serenity, and thus they have a complicated relationship with the most tumultuous of emotions: anger. On the surface, 9s look like the type that is extremely slow to anger and highly tolerant. However, as much as they would like to believe this about themselves too, deep down, 9s are afraid of what might happen if they lose control. My phrase for it is this: I feel like a bottled tornado. Personally, I also think of anger as a basic desire to make others feel your pain—not necessarily sadistically, but in an effort to be known, to be understood. The difficult thing to grasp, especially for a 9, is that this is NOT inherently a bad thing. It isn’t wrong to seek sympathy. On the contrary, it is harmful to tell yourself that getting angry is wrong, because it’s like telling yourself that your pain is wrong, your pain doesn’t matter.

The problem is it doesn’t stop there. A 9, in shutting down their anger, ends up with such a low opinion of their own heart, their other emotions dull along with it. They cry less, laugh less, love less. It’s often said that they “fall asleep” to themselves. It all starts with anger. It’s interesting to note how different this whole mindset is from toxic masculinity—where men only feel allowed/able to express emotions through anger. This is sorta like the opposite. Anger becomes the dam rather than the river. For Izuku, I want us to consider that his suppression of anger carries with it the implication that he is hiding other things, too. It’s a given. There’s a whole sea of feelings out there, and we can only see the waves hitting the shore. This brings me to the whole “control your heart” thing. I do think it is worth mentioning that Banjou didn’t just tell Izuku to exercise control. He also told him that his anger could be useful if it is harnessed. With this added context, “control” here means “to master.” And Izuku seemed to grasp this concept… sorta. I think that if Izuku is like a 9, we can assume he has trouble understanding how anger could be a worthy source of strength. His emotions in relation to Katsuki feel more like a weakness to him, a character flaw in a hero, who is supposed to be detached and selfless. But he’s trying to understand, even though he’s afraid of it. He essentially applied the same strategy he used for mastering OFA itself: incremental strength training. Which, okay. Take a moment to absorb how odd that is, in relation to emotions, specifically. Does one learn to cry incrementally? Does one learn to use anger by bottling a fucking tornado?? Like, what, you think you’re gonna be able to let out juuust the right amount of air to avoid an explosion??? No, man… if you want to be the master of your emotions you have to be willing to sit with them. Confront them. Listen to them. Take them in completely and accept them as a part of yourself.

For someone like Izuku, though, it is very difficult to imagine how this is even possible. Tomura, as with every villain, can be used to reflect his hero counterpart’s greatest fear about himself. Tomura literally touches everyone and everything with his rage, and as a physical manifestation of that desire to pass his own pain onto others, destruction radiates from his fingertips. Thus, losing control in this manner must be Izuku’s worst nightmare, as if he would be completely unable to stop the collateral damage like an infinite line of dominoes. But his anger is not something he can overcome, as such.

An overarching theme in this heroes vs. villains conflict is that the villains are not merely obstacles to be overcome. Just think back to Himiko’s bitter rejection of the heroic sense of superiority. She demanded not to be pitied, condescended to, or lied to. Likewise, the answer cannot be that Izuku needs to restrain himself where Tomura doesn’t. What purpose would it serve to show that Izuku is better than him? Certainly not saving Tomura. If this was a battle against AFO, it might have been a different story. In that case, Izuku would have to overcome his emotional manipulation tactics. Tomura, on the other hand, is not so strategic. With his strangely childlike tendencies, he must relish making Izuku mad because it brings them closer to the same wavelength. It’s his own twisted way or seeking sympathy, or at least, the closest thing to sympathy he can get anymore, because he believes he is beyond saving. With that in mind, Izuku isn’t going to get anywhere unless he rises to meet him. Izuku has to match Tomura’s hatred with equally strong emotions of his own, whatever they may be, or else face the loss of OFA (as established in 305). This is not an easy thing to ask of a 9, once they have started to pull the blood from their extremities, become cold and numb. Bringing back circulation is painful and makes the skin crawl.

In case you’re worried about the focus on anger here, I want to reiterate that concealed anger in a 9 is just one sign of so much more. Back when everyone started fretting about Izuku’s habit of self-sacrifice, which would have been the only thing we need to worry about if he were a 2, I was freaking out because Izuku was also starting to look like a person who has too many secrets. You don’t even have to acknowledge the possibility that he lied about what triggered blackwhip. It’s written all over his face all the time these days. It’s especially noticeable when you contrast him with Katsuki after all his own growth. Katsuki confides in people. He acknowledges his weaknesses. He enjoys being himself. He asserts his place. He thinks about Izuku all the damn time and now he even lets himself be soft about it. All this warmth while Izuku is distant, muted, and blank. I know all too well what this state of mind is like. Man, I hate secrets. You get to the point where you don’t know how to talk about even the simplest most inconsequential shit. And the bigger things? They’re like a growing snowball of words in your throat that cannot possibly fit out of your mouth. The “easiest” way to cope is to simply fade into the rhythm of life. Go with the flow.

Since 9s have a natural curiosity about the interiority of other people, they may choose to focus on that in order to divert their own attention away from themselves. Taken to the extreme, they will lose track of their sense of self. Like I said, you can see Izuku doing this as he fights, analyzing the psyche of his opponent, and his match against Shouto in the sports festival was a fantastic early example. They became friends because of how observant Izuku is. His emotional intelligence and intuition are very strong, but gradually, as he has taken on greater responsibilities and experienced more trauma, he has gotten worse at applying these skills to himself. You know, we go on and on about how his narration has been reduced to nearly nothing, and it’s not just an absence of introspection, it’s an absence of self. It creates a lack of ownership over the narrative—what should be his narrative.

Right now, he’s focusing on trying to see Tomura as a person, figuring him out. I think it would be really satisfyingly ironic if in the process, he ends up uncovering insights about himself instead. It’s about time we learn what Izuku’s secrets are. I don’t actually think that Izuku mastering anger will constitute the emotion that is strong enough to keep Tomura from taking OFA. Moreover, he can’t expect to reach Tomura’s core, Tenko, unless he exposes his own. Rather, anger is the conduit for Izuku to unlock something else. Think of the way he described how Katsuki is his image of victory. The feeling manifests when he asserts a stronger sense of self (the urge to win) and he becomes more free with his words. I have no doubt that Tomura has the power to make unfiltered honesty spill out of him. He knows how to bring out his selfish needs, his pain, his pressure points, his fears, his insecurities. Hell, maybe Mt. Fuji erupting is a metaphor. I want to see Izuku explode while Tomura watches with mad glee. But then I want Izuku to Realize Things such that it finally sets him free. Then, instead of Tomura witnessing yet another person he touches fall apart, he gets to see someone become whole.

"I let the scale tip, feel all of it. It's uncomfortable but right. And we were born to try to see each other through. To know and love ourselves and others well is the most difficult and meaningful work we'll ever do." --Sleeping At Last, 'Nine'

#you are very much welcome to send me asks about this and the enneagram etc because it's very fun to talk about!#bnha meta #bnha manga #bnha 411 #bnha 412 #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #character analysis #midoriya izuku #shigaraki tomura #bakudeku #bkdk #dekubaku #dkbk #lin speaks

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