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#just a lot of “be kind and demure and God will provide for us all worry not”
greypetrel · 1 year
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A small trip down one minimal character design choice...
#and josie's headpiece too! in this piece
I AM SO GLAD SOMEONE ASKED ABOUT IT. :D (so I can fangirl for a while over little trips of research I did)
Josie's headpiece is actually inspired by a regional Italian style from Lombardy (the region where Milan is, North, just above the peninsula)! Antiva is clearly Venice (motion: allow me to gift some spritz to Zevran in Origin), and back in the day Venice and Milan were biting at each other's neck... But the Inquisition symbol, so spiky, reminded me a lot of this hairstyle, very popular in XVII century Lombardy and featured in one of our most famous novels ever, Alessandro Manzoni's the Bethroted:
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This hairstyle is very typical of the areas north of Milan, comprehending the surroundings of Como, Lecco, Varese and the Brianza (the area between Milan and the lakes). It was worn in special occasions and festive days by young girls who were of suitable age for marriage, but still unmarried.
It consists of long braids collected on the back of the head in a chignon, pinned in place with a long metal rod on the base -called a "sponton"- and decorated on both hands, and a set of long pins called "spadinn" ("little swords") placed to form a fan/crown/halo shape.
The material of the pins varied according to the possibilities of the family: froom the cheapest wood, to copper and brass, going up to silver and even gold. The outer extremity of the pins also were more or less decorated, the richest could have pearls and filigree, the poorest had just a wider concave shape similar to a spoon (and indeed they were also called "cugiaritt", little spoons).
The number varies from town to town and family to family, there's a range going from 24 to 47 (!) in Lecco, or 30 to 40 in Varese, and the tradition went that parents gifted one pin to their daughter from their First Communion (Catholicism yay, it usually happens when you're 10/11), and one for each birthday until they married.
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A postcard featuring a girl from Lombardy in traditional dress.
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This tho is Empress Charlotte of Mexico, an Habsburg princess, with a traditional Lombardy hairstyle! (most of the north of Italy, except for Piedmont and Turin, was under Austrian rule by then and until 1861)
This is not typical of Venice, and really Milan/Lombardy and Venezia/Veneto are two separate entities, still I thought that it could be a good way to fit a variation of this, shaping it more like an Inquisition eye... And that's my research pit of today.
All the sources I found are in Italian, unfortunately, but I found this website that explains it in english, with a lot of photos!
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incel,,,, zhongli,,,,,,,,, :0
- two-faced disgusting professor of history, every single girl whose had his class had, at some point, a crush on him. is it the deep baritone voice? the elegant suit? the kind facade?
- whatever it is he doesn't care, honestly every time he sees another girl 'fall' for him just further hammers on his ideal that girls should just stay home and be good obedient housewives.
- a charismatic man that can convince someone his misogynistic thought process without ever having it be unnatural or weird, he's probably convinced more of the guys in his class to turn over into the incel community and be misogynistic creeps themselves
- there's always a condescending tone to his explanation towards the girls who ask questions, somehow no one has caught on (i guess being hot gives him that edge)
- then there's u, quiet and demure, only ever speaking when spoken to, always listening intently with a faint blush and a dazed stupid look,,,,
- always looking breedable and very, very close to the perfect house wife the zhongli is looking for
- it starts off innocently, him calling u over because of ur grades (u won't need to worry about this once he's done with u), slowly giving you touches that range from fleeing to just a tad bit inappropriate until u are conditioned to accept them gleefully, and then finally asking u over to his home because ur performance is not up to par with the rest and while that's expected, surely u can do a bit better than that?
- surprisingly, he doesn't go all out immediately, he likes the slow retraining and reconditioning he has u do. for the extra 'lessons', he simply has u cook for him, clean for him, maybe sit on his lap as he tells you how stupid u are without actually telling u outright
- when he deems u ready, he prepares one final lesson and having condition u to be his obedient wife, he simply states in his final one on one that his lessons are wasted on u and this course will do u no good. ur in tears, asking him what should u do and he gives u a smile
"despite all that, did u not notice how amazing and behaved u are when u were doing chores for me? when u take care of my home? why not stay here and continue to do so."
- the small touches turned to full one gropes and no longer was he restrained with u. when u accepted his proposal, the contract is sealed
- he calls it a pass when u spread ur legs for him pliantly, tears at the edge of ur doe eyes and knowing that this is ur place
//sorry for the long ass ask hehe i have gone overboard orz"
OH MY GOD???????? no NEVER APOLIGIZE for sending me things like this fuck this is delicious. drop me a name or emoji for u so i can make sure i keep u as top priority in my inbox u always feed me so good mwah mwah
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he's an incredibly knowledgeable man. graduated top of all his classes and pursued several degrees, odds are he's one of the smartest people at the whole of the university. being a professor offers him a whole lot of opportunities to divulge in inappropriate behavior without suspicion and he certainly uses it to his advantage. who would accuse the hot and genius professor of being a major creep?
his lectures tend to be rather long winded but with a voice and face like that no ones complaining. men both admire and envy him while girls have endless fantasies about what he could possibly be hiding under those tight dress pants, expensive blazers, and perfectly pressed dress shirts. speaking of his dress shirts, they always grow taught across his chest and back when he reaches or moves and its mouthwateringly hot. though, he does have to iron and steam everything himself and he's always left sighing and rolling his eyes at the fact he doesn't have a little housewife to do it for him.
no girl has ever truly caught his eye. they've always had at least one trait or behavior that he finds too tiresome to work out. sometimes its the drive to work a job regardless of how he can provide or a self-labeled 'feminist' (he hates that word) and sometimes they're just simply too boring for him to want. he needs a girl who can be good for him but not bland. a girl whos obedient but not a pushover. perhaps he's picky but really, how could that be? its girls that are the problem. not him. never him.
and then you came into his life. or classes, rather. amongst an audience of brash men and unbecoming women, you were like a breath of fresh air to the professor. your body was all soft skin and sweet curves. and your matter of dress was a bit... exposing but, how could he be upset when the short skirts and tall socks looked so endearing? usually paired with a button down and oversized cardigan it was nothing short of sweet. the picture of innocence. mentally, he was always cooing and awing when you'd wear such cute little outfits
now, he's certainly the type to believe in the whole retraining mindset but he's less intense on that than childe. more than anything, he sees you as something to protect and dote on. once your skull was emptied of the few thoughts you had left, of course.
the first day you showed up in his class he gave you a polite nod of greeting like he does with all of his students. his brained seem to be running slow from the lack of coffee in his system so when he finally processed just how soft you look, his eyes jump back to you. his expression was passive but his thoughts were the opposite. surely, a girl like you wasn't actually trying to pursue an education? the plan began formulating in his head. he had to have you.
he didn't ever call on you in classes or berate you in front of students as he was worried he'd scare you away. you were supposed to come to him, not run away. chasing you away would ruin the whole situation and he couldn't have that. so, after you handed in a particularly bad essay, he asked you to stay in his office after hours. his heart swelled when you obediently agreed. once there, he had you sit next to him on the small couch he kept in the room. having you across a desk of him would leave too much space, he concluded. sitting side by side he began going on about your assignment and grades. zhongli can talk about nothing for hours on end so he had no issue spouting out a whole lot of nothing that sounded like a whole lot of something. your doe eyes looking up at him so fascinated yet clearly not understanding a word he was saying (as if he was even saying anything of substance at all) made him crack the slightest of smiles. he let his fingers occasionally brush your shoulder and arms and reveled in the slight blush the touches would create on your skin. eventually, he knew keeping you too long would be too much for your first of many meetings so he ended it by standing and offering a hand to help you up. he cursed himself for wearing gloves all the time because he would've been able to feel your skin if he hadn't.
"goodnight for now. come in again tomorrow for me so we may discuss this further. i'd hate to see you fail."
and you did return. so obedient. another round of talking in circles was nothing for him; he did it with great pleasure. and he did so about 3 times more before being bold enough to ask you to come over to his home for further 'tutoring', as he called it. as you did many times before, you agreed. with an expensive calligraphy pen loaded with grey ink he wrote down his address and phone number in what you believed to be the nicest writing you'd ever seen. he watched you carefully fold it up and slide it next to your id in your wallet with hearts in his eyes. just too cute for your own good.
once you began meeting at his home, he'd disguise mundane chores as history lessons. letting you learn traditional recipes, care for plants and his home as they would in ancient civilizations. he'd deliver tales and explanations with you perched on his lap. sometimes he'd wrap his arms around you and other times he'd opt to simply rub softly at your hips. you weren't bright enough to see through such a poorly covered ploy and he was more than pleased to see you turn yourself into a little housewife for him. he simply had to come up with a couple sugarcoated phrases, ask you nicely, and you'd do anything he asked. 'what a lost little girl,' he thought, 'this is what she was made to do'. the hardest but most important part was, inevitably, securing you down for the rest of time.
you came over like you always did. "good afternoon, Mr. Morax! What will we be doing today?" he sighed with a look of pity and a faint frown. immediately, you panicked. "oh! was i not supposed to come over today? i'm sorry." the look on his face told you that wasn't the reason. you shrunk in on yourself slightly. "have i done something wrong? please tell me, i promise to fix it and do it right ten times over!" your determination was cute. he gestured for you to come in and sat you down in his lap as he always did.
for the nth time that day, and it was only one in the afternoon, he sighed.
"dearest... i'm afraid our lessons have proved to have had no effect on your performance." you felt like throwing up. "i'm sorry but... i really put my best effort in here and it seems as though you simply haven't been able to live up to even the lowest of expectations. i'd consider myself rather smart and a good teacher so its clear as day that the issue here isn't me; its you," he shook his head, "i feel rather let down. i didn't expect you to waste my time quite like this. you didn't strike me as the type to do something so... low. you're just not cut out for my classes. or any classes. school clearly isn't the path you should continue to pursue. you'd only waste money you'll never have even the slightest chance to get back. it's a shame." he almost cracked seeing your tears fall and lips wobble with your little sobs but all of his energy was being put towards not popping a boner at the sound of your little whimpers and cries. "that said, i do have you solution." you grabbed his left hand in both of yours and brought it to your chest.
"mr. morax, i'll do anythin' in the world i promise. don' wanna let you down. please, sir, anythin'." he smiled at your adorably slurred words and patted your head with his free hand.
"i knew you would, dearest. so," he takes a deep breath, "while all the lessons were entirely lost on you, you were such a very good girl doing all those little chores for me. don't you agree?" your enthusiastic nod has him cooing softly. "perhaps the suited path for you is to come stay with me. continue doing such a very good job here and then without all those silly classes and without you as my student, i can take you out on a couple dates. and we'll move on from there. i'll have you situated here as my perfect housewife, yes? you want to behave for me, don't you?" you let out soft 'mhm's and 'uh-huh's in response before he pulled you into his arms properly. "right then, before we start moving you in, i'd like to give you your first task as my housewife, okay?"
"spread your legs."
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ficsilike-reblogged · 3 years
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Glass Swords
Summary:  Tovar knew he had bad luck–it came with the curse the witch gave him on his thirteenth birthday. Trapped in a contract by a band of bloodthirsty noblemen who use Tovar for his skill with a sword, he has all but resigned himself to a life of servitude. But then a job shoves him into the path of a princess who almost makes him smile. (Cinderella!AU)
Pairing: Pero Tovar/F!Reader
Warnings: None really. I make an allusion to the events of the movie but you don’t have to have seen it to understand this. 
Word Count: 4.8k
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(Banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites​)
Or you can read on Ao3!
Once upon a time, there was a boy who seemed to have remarkably good luck. He was born to a wealthy, aristocratic family, and being the firstborn and a son guaranteed him a title of his own. His horse always came first in races, his opponents were always making simple mistakes in duels. He always had the keen eye to find a forgotten bit of coin on the ground. His first shot always hit its make when he was hunting.
Yes, Pero Tovar was lucky.
Until his luck soured at the hands of a woods witch.
On his thirteenth birthday, on a hunt with his band of friends and loyal servants, he darted into the forest to call for the hunting dog that had gone after gods-knows-what instead of the fowl they’d been hoping for when they set out. Again and again he called for the hound with no luck.
“Your dog has ruined my garden,” came a sudden voice behind him.
Pero turned to see a woman, old and shrouded in tattered grey robes, emerging from the forest shadows. An answering howl soon followed and a muddied hound bounded up to him, remnants of flowers and trampled vegetables hanging from his panting mouth.
And Pero laughed. What else was he supposed to do?
“For too long I have been held at the whim of your family. They have forgotten the treaty they signed when they came here, building your castle on my land and promising that you would provide. That you would never forget. But you have. And then you laugh when my little source of happiness was trampled by a hound.” Words tumbled from her chapped lips in a language he did not recognize and soon felt as if a bucket of icy river water had been dropped over his head.
“What did you do?” He hissed, feeling himself shake like a scared deer.
“I have made sure the world treats you as it treats me.” Her weathered mouth stretched into a smile he could see beneath the cowl. “But I am not cruel. I only want you to learn a lesson. But your lot seem stubborn so I would not be surprised if it took you the rest of your life.” She stepped forward and pulled a blade from the folds of her robes and Pero took an instinctive step back.
Almost instantly, his heel caught on a root and he tumbled to the moss-covered ground, pain zig-zagging up his spine as he landed.
The witch only laughed and continued forward. She twisted the blade in her hand and she held it out to him. And it was not as if he could say no. Not now. The short sword was clear—like glass. As soon as his hand wrapped around the handle, he felt the cold stone form to his grip, imprinting itself to his touch.
“When you’ve pierced the heart of a princess with your glass sword, then and only then will the curse lift.”
“A-a-a princess?” Pero parroted, feeling his stomach drop.
But the witch was gone and all he had was the glass sword.
His bad luck made itself known when he collided with his sister as they both rounded corners and she tumbled down the stone stairs of their home. Sancha was fine, thankfully but Pero would never forget how the blood pooled around her head or the scream she let out as she fell.
That was his fault. He knew it would only get worse as time progressed. He would not endanger his family. And so, Pero left a short note for his mother and father, telling them that he would return once he’d earned his honor on his own. The note he left for his sister told the truth, apologize for her injuring asking for her forgiveness even though he knew he already had it. Sancha was too pure of heart to ever hold any anger.
He set out. At first, trying to find another witch to counteract the curse. Then, to healers who promised anything and everything for the right price. And then, little by little, his hope faded. For a moment, he did consider driving the short blade through the heart of a princess—any princess—to just be rid of the curse. So he could see his family again. So he could live without worrying about bridges, loose bricks, or roots—or the millions of other things that the witch had made unlucky.
But he couldn’t. And in desperation to stay fed, he took up work as a mercenary. Another unlucky decision. It had led him to far flung lands that would have been an adventure to rival any explorer—he had fought creatures from another world!—but he did not enjoy any of it (aside from a few fleeting moments). And he could kill people who were trying to kill him all the time. Pero was good at it, he found. But it did not necessarily give him much opportunity to even know any princesses or be able to pick them out of a crowd so he could…stab them.
His bad luck continued.
When he failed to return to his employers, a group of nefarious noblemen from some country he didn’t care to remember, with the Black Powder they had requested, there were consequences. And now he was stuck in a contract, unable to leave his ‘employment’ because a bottle of ink had spilled across the contract and blotted out a very telling bit of information. He could not leave unless they were all dead. And if he broke that contract, his life would be forfeit.
He never would have signed—obviously—if he had been able to read that line.
But it was done. He was trapped. His bad luck mostly did not endanger his life—and he was sure the witch made sure of that. It would be no fun if it killed him and he was able to rest in death. The closest he had come to death because of his luck was when an ornamental sword fell from its hold on the wall and nearly took his eye.
One of the noblemen who benefitted from his terrible contract said the scar made him look fearsome. But he said it with a curdled milk smirk that rolled Pero’s stomach. It wasn’t a compliment, he knew.
And now he was called in by his ‘employers’ to settle another job. He vaguely listened—something about needing the little kingdom’s valuable port for some trivial reason and the easiest way to acquire the port was for Pero to kill at least the king and his eldest son so the second-born son could become king. Apparently, the noblemen who were employing him had an agreement with the power hungry prince. Pero was sure there were more details but he did not care to commit them to memory. He knew how to kill and his timeline.
That was all that really mattered.
But first, he needed to scout through the dense forest surrounding the castle to find a way in.
He weaved between trees as he started toward the castle. The outer perimeter walls had been easily climbed without drawing attention and while the surrounding grounds were vast, they were not heavily patrolled. As he continued to close the distance to the dark stone of the castle, Pero started to believe that this might the easiest job his contract had ever permitted him. The one solace he had was still being able to learn languages easily so he was able to learn of this mostly-unattended part of the perimeter wall by listening at the nearest market.
The sound of a horse’s hooves on the drying leaves drew his attention, his head whipping to the side, to one of the few bits of sunlight that slipped through the thick trees overhead.
It was a woman—one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, if he was being truthful—sitting atop a horse. She was smiling up at the birds as they sang in the branches. She was dressed in a simple smock and her horse was unsaddled. She was probably a maid from the castle.
But that did not detract from how his throat tightened as he looked at her. She was, after all, beautiful. It was almost embarrassing how he didn’t even realize she had spotted him until it was too late.
“Hello, sir.” Her voice was kind on his ears and he was instantly wondering if she would speak again.
“Hello, my lady.”
“Are you lost? It is not often I see strangers in the kingswood.” She nudged her horse toward him, uncaring of the danger strangers often present. Or maybe she was unknowing. There was a certain sweetness to her that Pero knew could not be feigned.
“I am hunting, my lady. I hope I did not disturb you.”
She shook her head. “I was not aware the king was having a hunting party today. I hope I did not scare away your prey.”
“No, my lady. I have just lost the rest of our party. Do you work at the castle?”
“Yes.” Her smile seemed to be hiding something but Pero thought little of it, instead focusing on how the light made her eyes sparkle.
“Do they treat you well? I am sure I could put in a good word for you,” he said, knowing his roguish smile was starting to cut across his face. He might have the worst luck but he still knew how to make a pretty woman smile.
And it worked because she demurely averted her eyes before biting her lip for a moment. “They treat me much better than they should,” she said with a shake of her head. “But I thank you for the offer.” She cleared her throat before looking at him again. “I can fetch you a bit of water or ale from the kitchens, if you would like? You must be parched.”
“No, no, my lady. But you are kind to offer.”
The sound of someone calling out in the distance had her turning her head with a frown. “I’ve lost track of the hour. I must go.”
And then her dark horse was setting off, galloping between the black-barked trees, and disappearing from sight before he could even ask for her name.
Pero did not find a way into the castle that day. He could have, but he didn’t. His employers allowed him another day of scouting in the woods and he happily took advantage of it and hoped his curse would subside just for a day, or even a few hours, so he might happen upon the maid again.
And his silent plea was heard as he found her at the base of a large tree, a well-worn book settled on her lap.
“Hello again,” she said as she spotted him.
“Hello, my lady.”
She patted the bit of grass beside her and Pero wavered for a moment before taking the offered seat. “Hunting again today?”
“No. I must confess that I was hoping to see you.”
Her answering giggle had something squeezing in the deep recesses of his chest. “Well, you have found me.” She closed the book carefully and turned to face him a little more. “What is your name? I have tried to guess it but I do not think any name I might have conjured would suit you.”
He could have told her his true name. It was not as if she would be able to stop him in his quest. But he knew to never think he could outsmart his curse. “I am Tovar.” And then he quickly added his title that he had not used in decades: “Marquess Tovar.” As if that would somehow make his lie about hunting with the royals more believable.
She gave him her name in return and then started to gently, simply pull him into conversation about anything and everything—from the animals he was unfamiliar with in the forest, to learning how the she grew up inside the castle and still got lost in its twisting, turning halls and rooms.
He knew he should be committing the hints she was giving to him about the castle’s layout to memory but didn’t want to. He only want to continue to hear her speak. She would ask him questions too, about how he was finding her homeland and if he still “did not require a bit of drink to slake his thirst from the kitchens.”
She was…sunlight. And such a sharp contrast to the darkness of the kingdom she resided in with its masses of dark stone, fog, and black wood trees. She did not deserve such darkness. Sunlight. She should have been bathed in sunlight, in warmth, in all things light and lovely. Not here. Not in the dark and cold. Even if it was her home—even if she called it home with a tilt of her beautiful lips.
“Tell me, Tovar. Are you coming to the Masque tomorrow night? I would like to see you again.”
“There is a Masque tomorrow?”
She nodded with another smile and stood, brushing the moss and dirt from her little dress and apron. “The King is celebrating his birthday and his daughter has finally returned from her time abroad.”
“A princess?”
She laughed and held out a hand toward him, helping him to his feet. “Yes. I thought the king would have told you about her when you were hunting.”
“I’ve only heard of his sons,” he said, not entirely lying.
“Either way, will you come to the Masque tomorrow?” She looked so hopeful, so happy. He could not tell her no. And it was with a soft kiss to his cheek that she bid him goodbye and he was left in the dark of the forest, watching her disappear again.
A Royal Masque. And a princess. Perhaps his luck was turning on its own.
This would provide the perfect opportunity for him—kill the princess and be able to dance with the woman whose lips pleasantly burned his skin.
**
It had been easy to procure an invitation to the Masque. It had been harder to find an outfit that would not gain him unwanted attention. The shops were nearly all too busy or too empty but he did eventually find a decent enough ensemble and matching mask without emptying his coffers too much. His employers had been pleased to know he had found a way into the castle without too much fanfare and seemed to approve of his plan to carry out their plot at the masque. (And if another royal died that night, who would think that it was not part of a larger plan instead of a desperate man trying to break a curse?)
Pero handed over his invitation to the major-domo standing in front of the black and gold doors and was finally ushered inside—even after a few of the knights eyed the short sword sheathed at his hip. The halls were filled with more shining dark stone and gilded suits of armor from centuries past. Paintings and tapestries were hung along the walls, depicting the kingdom’s fabled rise to power. Blooms of white flowers were littered about, a sharp contrast to the darkness that seemed to permeate each corner of this little kingdom.
No couples had already to the floor to dance yet but he did spot a few practicing an almost-familiar set of measured steps away from onlookers. The raised dais filled with a few ornately carved chairs—thrones, he supposed—was empty. His targets were not here yet.
But perhaps she was.
He scanned the crowd but did not spot her—even with everyone wearing masks, he was sure he would recognize her from leagues away.
Music suddenly blared, announcing the arrival of someone important. He turned with the rest of the crowd and listened as the royals were announced. There was the youngest son, the next, and then the eldest. The king was escorted by his daughter, but the answering applause and cheer drowned out her name and Pero could only crane his neck too much to try and get a look before he started to look suspicious.
The first official song was called and the heir apparent took the dance with his betrothed before other couples were allowed to join them on the gleaming wooden floor.
Pero continued to scan the crowd, briefly touching the small vials he’d hidden within his doublet, and found the servant in charge of bringing goblets of wine to the king without much trouble.
It was easy.
But then a woman dressed in fine clothes of the kingdom’s sigil was striding toward him, uncaring of the masses of people bowing and curtseying in her wake and she only slowed to a stop when she was right in front of him. This must be the princess. A mask of gold covered most of her features but her eyes sparkled in such a way that Pero could have sworn he had seen them before. They were alight with recognition and mischief.
“Dance with me,” she whispered.
“Your highness, I-”
The princess tilted her mask up and…
And that was when he realized, the girl from the forest and the princess…were the same person.
His fleeting moment of happiness had actually been another stroke of bad luck. How cruel.
She looked just as beautiful in her finery and jewels as she did in the smock she had donned in the forest. Her grip was gentle as she carefully started to lead him in the dance and didn’t laugh when he stumbled over her gilded shoes. Eventually, thankfully, he righted himself and was able to properly dance with her, letting the music guide his steps with her gentle corrections whenever he missed one or two.
“You’re a princess,” he said, hating the moment they left his lips.
“I am. Very astute of you, Tovar.” She laughed and stepped back from him as the song ended with a flourish and clapped for the minstrels. But then she turned back to him “Come with me,” she murmured, just low enough for him to hear. The princess didn’t wait for his answer and grasped his hands, quickly leading him through the crowd, some of whom tried to stop them, asking for his name, for a moment of the princess’ time, on and on it went. But she did not falter. Her grip did not loosen.
Not until they were out of the humid air of the ballroom and in the beautiful, cooled night air did she finally stop. Her smile was still wide and his face hurt as he felt himself trying to, unconsciously, mirror her expression. His face was not used to the movement. “What are you up to, princess?”
“I have something to show you.” She squeezed his hands once. “Do you have somewhere else you’d rather be? I don’t mean to steal you away if you have someone else waiting for you.”
Pero shook his head. “No. No, princess. I am happy to know you want my time as much as I desire yours.”
She bit her lip with a soft giggle. “Well, I do hope you like it.” She stepped back to link her arm through his, and continued to guide him down the shining palace steps and into the lush, green gardens. It was as easy for her to pull little bits of information from him as she tossed her golden mask into a bush without a care.
“Tell me of your homeland.”
“It is beautiful, your highness. Filled with sunlight and…” he drifted off, finally allowing himself to think of his home and family for the first time in years. “I miss it very much.”
She was quiet as he thought and did not seem to mind as he came back to himself—a familiar, gentle smile on her lips as she looked at him. “You do not strike me as a man who would leave someone or someplace you love so fiercely without cause. What pushed you to do so, if I may be so bold?”
“Bad luck,” he answered simply. “But tell me, why were you in the forest? Not once, but twice and without an escort or lady’s maid.”
Her face twisted into a pout for a moment. “I must admit that I do not care for every bit of royal life. It can all be so…tedious.”
“So, you snuck away?”
She nodded. “Donned my maid’s dress and took my horse from the stables while the hand was busy tending to my brother’s mare. It took hours for them to even notice I’d missed luncheon.”
“Did you not just return from abroad? I would have assumed that they would scarcely let you out of their sights.”
She shook her head with a laugh as they slowed to a stop in front of rusted gate she opened and waved him through. A secret garden greeted them, filled with all the color that the rest of the kingdom seemed to lack. Even in the moonlight, he could see the vibrant yellow, pink, red, and orange hues of the flowers that were growing haphazardly and unkempt by practiced hands. It reminded him, achingly, of the gardens his mother and Sancha would tend to on their own at home. They had always liked the free-roaming blooms over the careful structure of the manicured grounds.
“They like having me close, true. But underfoot is nothing but annoyance for everyone involved.”
“What is this place?” He asked, letting her pull him onto a simply carved bench in the center of the garden.
She turned to him with another smile—she seemed so fond of smiling. “This was my mother’s secret place. Free from the confines of my father’s kingdom and his advisor’s disapproving eyes. She would bring me here when I was little and teach me the names of all the flowers and how to care for them.”
It did not take long for Tovar to recognize the hurt in her tone.
He wondered if she heard it in his voice when he spoke of home. Of his beautiful family in Spain. Perhaps that was why he rarely spoke of them. But he wanted to tell her. Wanted to tell her everything. So, he tried. He told her of the gardens his mother grew and refused to let their servants touch. Told her of how the fields around his home smelled sweet in the spring. Told her of all the colors he had seen on his adventures—even if he had to omit some bits of information to not reveal his true profession. And she listened keenly, asking questions and always seeming to think whatever he had said was interesting. In turn, she told him of her brief time in her mother’s ancestral kingdom, learning all she could and feeling torn when she knew she had to return to her home kingdom.
He was hardly aware of time passing, or how close they had grown on the bench until he heard a crier announcing the time—it was nearing midnight. He turned at the sudden noise and his hand slid across the bench—and quickly earned himself a handful of thorns to the webbing between his fingers. He hissed but hurriedly stopped himself as her gentle, soft hands cradled his and started to remove the thorns one by one. “Bad luck indeed,” she said, teasing. “I had trimmed those blooms back.”
Bad luck.
Bad luck.
Bad luck.
The sword at his hip grew heavier.
He could do it. He could run the blade through her chest and pierce her heart and be done with this wretched curse. But her eyes were shining in the moonlight and she smiled at him and he…couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
Seeming to sense his distress, her smile faded. “Tovar? What ails you?” She reached out toward him and the moment her soft hand touched his cheek…he fled.
Decades of running toward dangers left him in an instant and he ran like a coward. Out of the garden, through the crowded ballroom where people shouted for him to stop, and out into the courtyard.
He fled. He ran until his legs gave out.
And it was only then that he noticed his sword was missing.
**
Hiding in the woods was not the most comfortable of living quarters but it was not the worst he had used since he had run from home.
He would not face his employers’ wrath. Another job left unfinished would cost him his head, he knew it. To survive, he hunted and forged, only moving into the outskirts of the market when he truly needed to buy something—like healing herbs for when he cut open his arm on a low hanging branch, or new boots after his toe caught on a sharp stone and tore the sole clean off.
Perhaps it was his need to survive and not be noticed, but it took Pero weeks to realize that the kingdom was in a tizzy.
The King had nearly been murdered as the masque and his second son was implicated in the plot. A band of foreign nobles had been arrested and their heads now sat on spikes outside the castle.
But that was not all.
Apparently, the princess had been scouring the kingdom looking for the man she had danced with at the masque—who had left behind a very peculiar short sword; its handle seeming to fit only one man’s hand.
It felt silly to let himself hope.
Could he? Should he let her find him? The curse still loomed. He would not subject her to the danger that seemed to follow him. He could not-
“There you are.”
Apparently he had been ruminating too long and had not noticed the small band of people approaching him at the edge of the market. The princess—and he was loathed to admit that he had momentarily let himself refer to her as His Princess—was standing in front of him with her familiar, beautiful smile on her lips and his sword in her hand. She turned it over, holding the hilt toward him as he hastily bowed.
“This is yours, yes?”
He nodded and reached out for it, feeling the familiar hand fit into his hand like it had for decades. But soon a gentle warmth bloomed up his hand until he could feel it burrowing in his chest. Something had changed.
**
When the king learned of Tovar’s true identity, he was able to grant his daughter’s wish of allowing their betrothal. A son of duke of a wealthy kingdom was a worthy match—and the king liked to make his daughter smile, too, even if it was at the side of a foreign duke who came into palace looking slovenly.
But Pero was still nervous. Even if he no longer tripped on stairs, bricks did not fall and nearly crush his skull, animals did not dart in front of his feet. He wanted to be sure—after all, he had not delivered a heart to the woods witch.
But, on the eve of their wedding, as Pero paced in his ornate and comfortable bedchamber, a sudden blast of cold air had him turning. In front of him stood a familiar woman. Her robes were still tattered but she was…glowing. Near ethereal. The woods witch had come again.
“I could feel your worries from leagues away, little duke.” Her smile was all teeth and he knew to keep quiet. “While I would have preferred the actual heart of that beautiful princess, the curse has been lifted. That little glass sword led her heart to you. You are free. I promise you that.”
“I am sorry,” Pero said, feeling the words rush out as he looked at her. “I am so sorry, my lady.”
“I know,” she hummed before she glanced around the room. “She will like Spain more, little duke. I promise you that.”
Before Pero could ask for specifics, the witch was gone in another gust of cold wind.
**
Pero watched his wife’s smile grow broader and broader as their carriage drew closer to his castle.
The sun was shining. The air was sweet with the scent of springtime flowers and green grasses. It was filled with the colors he had promised her that night in the garden.
His family greeted them warmly and his sweet mother and sister cried in joy at finally having him back home while his father did look quiet near tears, too. Pero just watched it all with a smile on his face, so large and persistent it hurt his face.
“It is beautiful here,” she whispered to him that night in their bedchamber. “But, of course, I would expect nothing more from the land who gave me you.”
Pero kissed her, smiling against her mouth.
His glass sword was forgotten on their bedside table.
He had all he needed, all the good luck in the world, right here in his arms.
And they lived happily ever after.
The end.
A/N: please let me know what you think! 
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Title: Crown For Two {3}
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Henry Cavill AU x OFC Xari Thornton AU
Warning: Plot, Mild Cursing, Cheesy Christmas Themes, Slow Burn, Tease, PLENTY OF WORDS
Words: 7.2k
Summary: Xari Thornton is a travel photographer with a blog and social media that garners some heavy-duty traffic. People tune in to see where she is and what she’s doing there, all in hopes of either living vicariously through her or to plan their next vacation.  
Her slogan; “Traveling the path to the most off-beaten places, so you don’t have to.”  
Her next stop on her four destination travel itinerary of “Places You May Never Have Heard Of” is Sandvell, a small European country. When her plane makes an impromptu stop due to bad weather, she has no idea where she is. It feels like she’s stepped inside of a snow globe and back in time in a modern way. It leaves her fascinated.
This bad weather forces her to stay at an Inn, The Beaux, for the night. Rather than letting the hours tick by in her room, she explores and meets the friendly locals. While taking photographs, one local in particular captures her lens with eyes as blue as the ocean and a jaw that was chiseled from stone. They strike up conversation during their time drinking at one of the local bars, Ickles. Once they separate, she gets herself into a harrowing situation.  
As soon as she awakens, she realizes she’s not in some fever dream, but a palace and the owner of the palace is none other than the local she met before with the piercing blue eyes, His Royal Highness Henry Wellington Leopold Danglishton, First of his name, Crown Prince of Brexendor.
Note: All right, all right people, the ride continues. I really, really hope you enjoy this. As a reminder, it’s going to be fast-paced a bit, and I am gonna overload you with pictures because why the hell not, it’s a Christmas Fic. 😁 Feel free to come by and tell me what you guys think.
As always, thank you all for reading, I appreciate each and every one of you.
If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!! ❤️❤️
***Loosely Edited/Proofread***
***Slightly Interactive***
Previous Chapters: {1} | {2} | 
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Chapter Three
-Y/N-
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When you opened your eyes again, your head felt a lot different. It wasn’t spinning. It didn’t feel congested, heavy, or muddled. You saw everything with clear eyes, alert eyes. Glancing around the room, you took in your surroundings like it was your first time, though you were sure it wasn’t. Closing your eyes, you tried to remember everything that had happened. You remembered walking through the streets, taking pictures, and even watching the locals go about their business. You also remembered going into a bar and drinking that god awful drink.
 When you remembered seeing Henry’s face, you couldn’t help but smile. Your conversation played over and over in your head and how easy it was to talk to one another. Even his smile and goofy laugh had you snuggling deeper into the plush bedding. He was definitely attractive. All of a sudden, the accident flashed into mind. You’d been struggling with the wind and the snow and couldn’t see not even two inches in front of you. The pain of being hit was absent. It was like it happened so fast that you were out cold before your pain receptors could adequately translate it.
 You bolted up as the words “prince” and “your highness” echoed in your head.
 “Shit, he’s a prince.”
You rubbed your forehead, then pinched the bridge of your nose. Of course he is, you thought. Why would you meet some normal person in this clear fairytale country? Leaning against the headboard, you chewed your bottom lip, beginning to wonder about several other things. One of them was your exchange in the bar. He clearly knew who he was. You were not naïve when it came to the attention of men. There was evident flirting going on.
 “Was he trying to charm me into being some royal conquest?”
 Before you could think on the topic any further, there was a knock at the door. You sat up straighter while trying to figure out the right way to sit. You lied back casually but decided that was too casual. You then straightened your back and took note of how your breasts were accentuated thanks to the proper posture.
 “Too much,” you whispered, slouching again.
 The knock came again.
 “Ma’am?”
 Shaking your head, you sighed and said, forget it. You had no idea how to answer, so you said the first thing to come to mind.
 “You may enter.” You didn’t know why you decided to add an uppity British accent. Slapping your hand to your head, you shook it, already tired of your own shenanigans.
When you looked, it was the doctor you’d seen the night before.
 “Good morning, ma’am.”
 You gave him a polite smile as he approached with his black doctor’s bag.
 “How are you feeling today. Better, I hope.”
 “Much, thank you.”
 He nodded, then placed his bag on the bedside table.
 “How did you sleep? Any pain?”
 “No—well, not severe pain. I’m just mainly sore.”
 Dr. Alfonsi. nodded. “You can take aspirin for those aches. They should subside in another few days, as will the bruises.”
 You nodded again.
 “May I begin my examination?”
 Giving him a demure smile as permission, he approached and began doing all the things a doctor would at the beginning of any appointment. He took your blood pressure, checked your reflexes and your temperature. He examined your eyes, listened to your heart, followed along with your pulse and respiration, all the while taking diligent notes on his phone that he held in the breast pocket of his white coat.
 Ten or so minutes later, he closed his bag and then brought over one of the chairs in the room. Once he sat, he softly clapped his hands together.
 “And that is that. I am pleased your vitals are appearing better and better. Are you feeling the return of your strength?”
 “Not really,” you confessed.
 “As I explained yesterday, I had concerns from the results of a few blood tests I did. Did you know that you have several vitamin deficiencies?”
 Your eyebrows quirked. “Uh—n—no. I didn’t. What do you mean?”
 “Well, in an effort to provide a most comprehensive recovery plan for you, as I do with every patient I see in the royal family and elsewhere. I ran a full panel of tests and came back with several alarming finds. You have a deficiency of vitamin B12, Vitamins D, and E, you’re severely low in Iron and Folate. Have you ever been diagnosed with Anemia?”
 Your head swarmed with all the words and letters he’d just flung at you.
 “Uh—no. I don’t think so.”
 “I am diagnosing it now.”
 You watched his mouth move as he explained the dangers of the deficiencies and listed the symptoms one would expect, which all coincided with what you’d felt on and off for some time. The explanation seemed to go on and on. With every word Dr. Alfonsi. spoke, your breathing sped more and more. He must have seen the terror on your face because he reached out and took your hand.
 “It’s all right, dear. Though it is not as soon as I would have liked, we caught it. we now know that there is a serious problem.”
 “I—I didn’t know. I mean, I guess I’ve been busy these last few months and on the go, but—I never--,” you trailed off.
 “Calm down. It’s easy to fall behind on our health, but it is important we catch up. In order to do that, you’re going to have to make some changes.”
 “What kind of changes?”
 “Lifestyle and occupational. You’re going to need to change your diet, incorporate the therapies and medicines I will be prescribing, as well as taking it significantly easier than I suspect you have in the past,” Dr. Alfonsi explained.
 “Taking it easy? What exactly does that mean?”
 “Well, I mild cases I’ve seen in my years, I’ve recommended a month of strict relaxation along with what I’ve said before. That meant decreased hours at work, perhaps a sabbatical, bed rest until the patient begins to regain strength to prevent chances of falling and bone breakage.”
 “Bed rest?”
 “Yes, and that’s just for mild cases. Your case, I’m afraid, is a lot more serious. While I recommended it for others, for you, I would have to insist.”
 You sat up, giving him a look that said he was crazy.
 “I can’t go on bed rest. That’s not just decreased hours; that is complete incapacitation,” you protested.
 “I can understand your alarm, but that is how serious your situation is, ma’am.”
 “God, please stop calling me ma’am. My name is Xari.”
 “Ms. Xari,” he corrected.
 Several moments passed in silence. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Yeah, you hadn’t gone to the doctor in almost two years and didn’t take multivitamins and oftentimes forgot to eat, but you worked out, ate your greens—sometimes, and experienced plenty of holistic activities throughout the world. You had no idea you were in this bad shape.
 “Do you understand what I am saying, Ms. Xari? If you do not make drastic changes for the foreseeable future, you may not see the blooming of spring flowers.”
 Your jaw dropped. He was laying on pretty thick, but it was working. You were alarmed. Sighing, you rubbed your forehead.
 “What exactly do you suggest then?”
 “What you’re doing now, bed rest. I will communicate with the staff your dietary needs for the coming weeks as well as instructions for your medication--.”
 “Wait, hold up. What? You don’t mean for me to stay here, do you?”
 Dr. Alfonsi looked at you as if you were missing a few screws.
 “Yes.”
You flung your hands out. “Nope. Absolutely not. I can’t stay here.”
 “Why not? I am more than sure the prince would allow you to remain here until you are fully recovered, especially seeing it was his highness’ royal car that hit you for us to discover your ailments.”
 “No. I can’t stay here. I don’t—I’m a stranger to these people. I am—there’s no way. I can’t ask him or anyone here to wait on me.”
 Dr. Alfonsi smiled. “I understand your apprehension, believe me, I do, but it is unnecessary. I have known the prince since he was a child. He is a kind man and would never dare turn someone who is in need and sick away. You will be safe here.”
 Hearing how highly he spoke of his prince piqued your curiosity. It could have been one of those things where one’s subjects loved them so dearly they had not one bad word to say about them, or one’s subjects fears them so much that they didn’t dare utter one negative thing about them. You wondered which was the real story. Perhaps a little in the middle, you thought.
 Sighing, you leaned your head on the headboard, still adamant you didn’t want to stay here.
 “I have a life to get back to. I’ve already been here for two days too long.”
 “Two days?”
 The question in his voice had your head snapping to him. You cautiously opened your mouth to speak. “Yes,” you squeaked.
 “No. I’m afraid it’s been more than two days. It’s been a week since you’ve been here, Ms. Xari.”
 Your eyes bugged, and you instantly began searching for your phone.
 “What are you looking for?”
 “My things. Where are my things? My phone?”
 Dr. Alfonsi looked around the room then walked to a large wardrobe before he came back with your purse. You unintentionally snatched it from him, digging through it for the desired object. Once you had it, you discovered it was dead.
 “Fuck.”
 You began trying to get off the bed, but as soon as you stood, you dropped back to the bed, your legs unable to hold you.
 “I would caution against doing too much too soon. I’m impressed you were able to attempt an escape once. I doubt you’d be successful a second time.”
 “I need my charger. Where are my things? I’ve been off the grid for a week. I have family, people who will worry. I need—need--.”
 Your chest pounded so fast you could barely catch your breath. As you struggled to get a full breath, you began to panic. Dr. Alfonsi was to you on the other side of the bed in seconds, checking your pulse and instructing you to breathe slowly and deeply. You would if you could and wished you could shout that to him. Before you knew it, darkness was all you saw.
 ~~~~~~~~
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When you opened your eyes, you were again tucked in the bed, but you were now hooked up to an IV. You took a deep breath and noted the heaviness that resided in your chest. Groaning, you slowly sat up. Once rested against the headboard, you remembered your mission. Your phone. Kicking off the covers, you used the rolling IV rod as if it were a cane and stood on wobbly legs. After a full minute, you began moving though every step you took felt like you’d fall to the floor.
 What should have taken you seconds took minutes. The steps proved to be more challenging to maneuver with the IV stand. You searched the room, but you didn’t see your luggage. That was when you saw your phone plugged into a charger on the nightstand to the left of the bed. You wobbled toward it then quickly unlocked it. Feeling yourself shake even more, you used the wall as your brace as you scrolled through. You saw the bounty of missed calls, unanswered messages, and emails of alarm. As expected, everyone was worried to death about you.
 “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
 You found your sister’s number and dialed it. It didn’t ring; instead, it went to voicemail. Your frustration was evident as you knocked over the small glass figurine on the bedside table. You ignored the shattered pieces and grabbed the IV pole, ready to walk out of the room in search of your things. Once you opened the door, your jaw dropped, seeing another luxurious room similar to the bedroom but decked in different colors.
 You took one then two steps, and your knees gave out. Before you tumbled to the floor, you heard a shriek and your name being shouted; then you were in someone’s arms. You looked up into blue eyes that were framed by long lashes and thick eyebrows.
 “Are you all right?”
 You snorted. “We have got to stop meeting like this,” you teased with a soft smile. It was a smile Henry returned.
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“I cannot make any promises.”
 Henry then lifted you into his strong arms and carried you where you’d just come from. As he held you, you couldn’t help but glance over the side of his face that was perfectly in view. If you thought his jaw was chiseled to perfection before, now—you were certain there was not even one flaw about it. When he placed you back in the bed, he hovered over you for a few seconds. They were seconds that felt like minutes, especially with the intensity you saw in his eyes.
 “Xari.”
 Tearing your eyes from his, you glanced to your left to see Anika, your sister.
 “Nika!”
 She leaped onto the bed and scurried across to you, then threw her arms around you.
 “Oh my god. What’re you doing here!? How’d you get here?”
 “I’ve been so worried! I’m so glad you’re okay.”
 Relief filled you, and you found yourself relaxing a little more.
 “I don’t get it. How are you?”
 Anika pulled back with a wide smile on her face. She looked up, bringing your eyes to the man who still stood beside the bed. His arms were crossed across his chest, and a soft smile decorated his lips.
 “Him. He’s how I’m here.”
 You were still confused, and you knew your expression showed it.
 “I couldn’t reach you. I called and called and no answer. A few days ago, I got a call back, and it was the prince,” Anika began giving you a wide-eyed look when she said, “prince.”
 “Henry, please, I insist.”
 Anika smiled and actually giggled before she continued. “Henry. He explained everything and kept me in the loop with your condition. Because of that damn storm, I couldn’t get here. He ended up sending the royal jet for me once the storm passed enough to bring me here, so you’d have someone with you.”
 Wow, you thought, letting all she’d said register. He’d done a lot. You slipped your eyes to him and found them on you.
 “He’s been very kind, Ri,” Anika added.
 You were speechless. What were you supposed to say? Clearing your throat, you said the first thing you thought of.
 “Thank you.”
 Henry nodded and held your gaze. “It was done for you alone and with you in mind.”
 Well, shit, you thought, unable to take your eyes off of his. After a few moments, you heard Anika clear her throat, and it was Henry who looked away first.
 “Right. I was bringing your sister here for you to see. Now that you have her, I will give the staff instructions to see whatever the two of you will need for your stay.”
 “Uh—about that. It won’t be necessary,” you piped up.
 “Excuse me?”
 His intimidating aura increased, making you feel like a disobedient little whose daddy was about to punish her. At that comparison, you had a quick thought about whether or not he was a vanilla prince or one with plenty of shades of grey. Straightening your back, you held your head higher.
 “While I appreciate all you’ve done for me thus far, it won’t be necessary for you or your staff to fuss over my sister or me any longer. We’ll be leaving.”
 Henry cocked his head to the right, then tightly clenched his jaw.
 “Is that right?”
 “Why are we leaving?”
 Ignoring Anika’s question, you decided not to look away from Henry feeling a challenge in how he looked at you.
 “According to Dr. Alfonsi, you’re in no shape to be going anywhere.” He nodded to your IV pole for emphasis.
 “I will stay at the inn that is in town or a hotel.”
 “Nonsense. It was my fault you were hurt, and my responsibility to rectify the damage and harm I have caused.”
 “He’s right, Xari. It’s his fault, and you should let him accrue the expenses,” Anika voiced.
 “Nika!”
 “What! He’s a prince, Ri. He got it,” she replied a little under her breath but still loud enough for him to hear.
 “I must agree with Lady Anika.”
 Anika snorted and laughed. “I’m definitely not a lady.”
 Henry smirked at her then quickly looked back to you. “I must insist you remain here. At least until Dr. Alfonsi has given you the seal of good health. I am afraid if you were to go anywhere, something would happen to you, and I would not be able to forgive myself.”
 You studied him for a few moments, taking in the expression on his face as well as the tight clench of his jaws. Your eyes moved down to his still folded arms and the muscles that bulged because of his stance. He was definitely overwhelming like this, and though you hated to feel like a bother, you suspected that here was the best place for now. Glancing to Anika, she gave you a stern eye that said, “just give in already.”
 Rolling your eyes, you nodded. “Fine, but only until I’m well enough.”
 “If that is your wish, just know you are welcomed here for however long you wish.”
 “My goodness, such a gentleman. They sure breed them differently here, huh sis.”
 Henry smiled, then glanced at Anika. “Everything is different here in Brexendor.”
 “I bet,” Anika finished.
 “Since it is settled, I will proceed to advise the staff. Dr. Alfonsi has already given several strict dietary orders as well as health orders. If there is anything you require do not hesitate to speak it. Lady Anika, I have already instructed a bedroom be prepared for you, but I will instruct it be as close to your sister as possible.”
 “Thank you.”
 He nodded, then looked back at you. “I sincerely hope you feel better soon.”
 “Are you leaving?”
 “Unfortunately, yes. I am afraid I have quite a lot to do today. By all means, though, feel free to go where you please. My home is yours, ladies.”
 With that, he curtly bowed his head then walked toward the door. Before he walked out, he stopped.
 “Oh, Xari, try not to escape again. I cannot guarantee I will always be there to catch you.”
 You saw the hint of a smile on his lips and instantly knew he was teasing you.
 “Somehow, your highness, I suspect you will magically appear at the mere hint of a faint.”
 He chuckled to himself then walked out, closing the doors behind him. Once alone, Anika wasted no time.
 “Holy fucking shit, he is hot as fuck!”
 You snorted and laughed as you relaxed into the bed.
 “Wonderful censor you have there, Nika.”
 “Fuck censor.”
 “Well, that last time I said fuck here, I was looked at like I was the most uncouth Neanderthal. I suggest you keep your fucks to a minimum.”
 Anika bounced you. “Will you be able to keep your fucks to a minimum?”
 “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
 Anika rolled her eyes. “Whatever! The air hasn’t even gotten a chance to come back down from the sweltering levels your guys’ flirting raised it to.”
 Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me! There was no flirting.”
 “Yes, there was, and it was not on your side alone. He was flirting with you too. What in the world is going on? I need the whole story without even the smallest detail left out.”
 You sighed then proceeded to tell her the whole sordid tale. As instructed, you didn’t leave anything out. You even told her about that exchange between you and Henry before you walked out of the bar. At the end of story time, Anika had a huge grin on her face.
 “What are you grinning at?”
 “You. Leave it to you to get whisked away by a prince and have him fall; for you in record time.”
 “No, no, no. Falling? Nika, you’re imagining things. He hasn’t fallen for anyone. He’s a prince, for crying out loud. They don’t fall for anyone, let alone some commoner. Have you never watched The Crown?”
 Anika snorted and dropped to the bed at your feet.
 “First of all, The Crown is whack. Second of all, this is not England. This place is fantastic. It’s like some Hallmark country where everything is beautiful, quaint, and perfect. You smiled and bit your bottom lip, agreeing fully.
 “Third, I was sitting right here, listening to your banter. I think he could totally fall for you if he hasn’t already.”
 You rolled your eyes, ignoring everything she was saying. Anika loved to play matchmaker, though you hated every time she did it.
 “You’re practically in his bed. We just have to get you there.”
 You rolled your eyes again, shocked at how quickly she’d gotten there. “Okay, down, girl. According to this doctor, I’m falling apart, Nika. Any bed I’ll be in for a while is this one.”
 “Well, now you have me here to encourage you to lap up the luxury and hospitality of his highness the prince of Brexendor. Get the fuck outta here!”
 The two of you laughed loudly. This situation you’d found yourself into was the most ridiculous one either of you could have ever begun to imagine.
 A few hours later, you found yourself alone while Anika settled in her room. Another knock sounded at your door. Being unable to open it yourself, you instructed them to come in. Once the doors opened in walked a beautiful girl about your age with long black hair and features similar to Henry’s. In your head, you suspected she was a family member. She smiled sweetly as she approached you. When she was by your bedside, she dropped onto the mattress.
 “Hi.”
 You returned her warm smile. “Hi.”
 “My god, you are beautiful.”
 You snorted, then pinched your lips together, trying to suppress your laugh. She was insane. You looked the worst you’d ever looked.
 “You’re being kind. I haven’t showered in a week and only today got to comb my hair. You’re being very, very kind.”
 She giggled but still looked genuine.
 “I’m Jemma,” she said, holding her hand out to you. Once you took it, and instantly noted how soft they were.
 “It’s nice to meet you.”
 “I have been trying to get here to introduce myself, but Henry told me to stay away so you could acclimate. Otherwise, I would have been here much sooner.”
 You smiled and assured her it was fine.
 “How are you doing?”
 You shrugged. “I guess I’m okay.”
 She didn’t look convinced and took you in for a few moments. “I’m sure my brother has brought all the best doctors for your care and has thought of everything that would ensure your comfort. With that treatment, I expect you to make a full recovery in no time.”
 “Brother.”
 “Yes. Please tell me you did not think I was his girlfriend or something of the sort.”
 She looked disgusted, which made you laugh.
 “No. I suspected a family member. So you’re a princess.”
 Jemma rolled her eyes as she sighed out as if she was already tired of the conversation.
 “Yes, but I promise it is not nearly as glamourous as you’re thinking. The only nice thing about it is the diamonds, everything else, eh.”
 You smiled, already liking her. she gave off an air that said she didn’t take herself seriously and even liked to have a bit of fun more times than not.
 “The staff is all abuzz with news that you will be residing with us for the next few weeks. Henry has told them to cater to your every whim, and because it came from him, everyone is in a tizzy over it, prepping to ensure you are at your most comfortable,” Jemma explained.
 “What. No, that’s not what I want at all. They don’t have to go all out.”
 “It’s okay.”
 “No. then everyone will think I’m some prissy thing who likes to be waited on when that couldn’t be further from the truth.”
 Jemma took you for a little while, then took your hand and squeezed it gently.
 “Not to worry, Xari. I assure you no one will think that.”
 You sighed then tried to forget it because it was too late to change whether or not they thought it. You were sure everyone was already whispering about you and Anika, the two Americans who’d somehow found their way into the palace.
 “Also, we are not as gossip centered as other monarchies. I promise,” Jemma added, raising her hand as if to swear it.
 When she sensed you relaxed, she proceeded to ask a plethora of questions about you, ranging from where you were from to what you did and the all-important if you were single. You felt like you were on a modern-day “Who Wants to be Friends With a Princess” tv show. With every fact, you revealed she revealed a similar one and so on. After an hour, you found that you had plenty in common, something that was shocking for you.
 When Anika came back, the party really stated. Your laughter picked up, as did the stories that Jemma revealed about royal life. Those stories prompted Anika to tell stories of life as a commoner in America as she called it. The only thing was her stories we mainly all about partying, dating, and men. With each story, Jemma’s eyes widened, and you felt like slowly Anika would end up corrupting her.
 “Nika, stop. You’re going to have her on an episode of Princesses Gone Wild,” you joked, which had both of them in stitches on your bed.
 “I will have you know that I am not some innocent wallflower. I know things,” Jemma countered.
 You couldn’t help but laugh loudly. Just the way she said that told you she didn’t know very many things. That was when Jemma proceeded to list the names of the men she’d dated, a list of three men. Anika was the one to ask the nature of these relationships, to which Jemma said she knew in great detail the kind of underwear each man wore. You lost it right then and there, dropping onto the bed in a fit of laughter.
 Exhaustion caught you off guard, dampening the mood of the night. Jemma assured you that she’d keep Anika company and show her around to give you time to take a nap. After thanking her, the two women walked out of your room, leaving you to silence. Once the door closed, it opened again. this time it was the woman named Audrina.
 “Good evening, ma’am. Is there anything I can bring you?”
 “No. I’m all right.”
 She nodded, then closed the door leaving you again. You quickly drifted off to sleep.
  ~~~~~
 -Henry-
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He’d never met anyone quite as beautiful as you. he remembered when you’d walked into the bar and sat down beside him like you were right where you were supposed to be. You had no idea that the bar was empty because it was closed for him to be there, had no idea that he was not some ordinary citizen. He liked being a no one, especially if it meant he could sit there with you all night. He remembered wanting just that. If his phone hadn’t run, if he’d had more time, he probably would have tried to hold your hand. If he’d had more time, he would have gotten himself into an even bigger predicament than he was now—attracted to a woman he knew better than to touch.
 Slowly he looked over the features of your face and took in each detail. He pressed the elements of your face to his memory so he could call on them when he was alone, buried in work. A sigh escaped him as a lite feeling filled him. It was an unfamiliar one. He wanted to touch you. It was an urge that was so strong he almost couldn’t overpower it—almost. He balled his fist and sat back in the settee beside your bed, trying to ignore the feelings that washed over him.
 “Remember yourself,” he whispered before he looked back to the work he’d brought with him when he’d decided to pay you a quick visit.
 This quick visit was an hour ago. When he found you asleep, he should have turned around and left, but he couldn’t. He intended to sit here for a few minutes, ten tops, but he still had yet to tear himself away. He mustered what was left of his control and focused on the screen before him and tried to write his speech for the new world bank’s upcoming opening.
 This was one of his father’s pet projects, and he was filled with pride to see it to fruition, but also it made him miss the man more. Sighing, he closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples. Every time he thought of his father in the last few months, it brought him added stress. It was this stress that prevented him from sleeping longer than four hours a night.
 “Christ,” he whispered.
 “Are you all right?”
 Jerking his head up, he saw you awake with your head still atop the pillow. You looked like a dream, or perhaps his best nightmare.
 “I am sorry. Was I too loud?”
 “No. I um—just happened to open my eyes.”
 You slowly sat up, allowing the blanket to fall from your chest to your lap. As you adjusted yourself, he moved his laptop to the other side of the settee.
 “You didn’t answer me, though. Are you all right?”
 A smile tugged at his lips, but he fought it. “Me? Should it not be me be asking you that?”
 “Can’t we ask each other?”
 He studied you for a few moments, then nodded. “I am fine.”
 “Liar.”
 His jaw dropped, half shocked you would go there. There weren’t many people in his life that would dare.
 “I take it no one calls his highness a liar,” you teased.
 “You take it right. Maybe Jemma or my mother on occasion and a few of my friends but not many.”
 You smiled, then shrugged. “I call em’ like I see em.’”
 He crossed his arms and leaned back. “Pray tell, what gave me away to make you insult me so?”
 Your smile widened before you sucked your bottom lip into your mouth, bringing his eyes right there. He adjusted in the seat he sat and waited for you to continue.
 “Your eyes are red, under your eyes puffy, and one doesn’t just say Christ to say Christ.”
 You had him there. He pushed his fist under his chin and continued to watch you.
 “So you are implying I look bad.”
 You smirked then, and he picked up the change in the air.
 “I mean, I’m sure I look the same as you. So take comfort in that.”
 A chuckle escaped him. “So that is a yes; I do look bad.”
 You looked at him but didn’t answer.
 “I will take that as a yes on my part. however, regarding you, you look far from bad.”
 You snorted then laughed, and it was the most shockingly endearing sound. It wasn’t a laugh he would hear from others in his company. Their laughs would be all dignified, but yours was genuine. It was also downright terrifying, but he preferred it.
 “Now I know you’re a liar. I look absolutely disgusting. I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this, but I haven't showered in a week.”
 He pinched his lips, hiding his smile. You looked so uncomfortable admitting that.
 “Oh my.” He placed his hand over his mouth as if the fact mortified him.
 You pinched your lips.
 “Please tell me you have at least brushed your teeth.”
 “Today was the first day in just as much time.”
 Again he put his hand over his mouth and widened his eyes for emphasis. “Appalling.”
 You snorted again, and the delightful laugh came back. This time the laugh looked to encompass your entire being, and you glowed. When your laughter subsided, you dabbed at your eyes as you tried to catch your breath. He held out his handkerchief to you. When you took it, you used it to replace your fingers.
 “Thank you.”
 When you finished, you inspected the fabric, then looked at him.
 “You must like your women disgusting to still be here.”
 He shrugged.
 “How are you feeling?”
 “After that nap, I’m feeling well.”
 That made him happy.
 “Are you feeling well enough for some dinner?”
 “Uh—I was told I’m to stay in bed.”
 “Yes, Dr. Alfonsi has informed me and the staff as well. That is why--,” he began before walking across the room to the door.
 Once he opened it, the staff rolled in three carts filled with platters, trays, and bowls of plenty. Once the carts were parked, he thanked the staff and let them see themselves out.
 “Dinner is served.”
 The look on your face said you didn’t know what to say, so he uncovered the treys finding the menu items he’d chosen for the meal.
 “I was not sure what you liked, so I had them bring all of it.”
 He took up a plate and brought it to you. It took a few moments for you to take it, but you did. That was when he went back for his to sit back on the settee.
 “Also, do not feel as if you have to eat ladylike for me,” he began.
 You took up your fork and shoved an overflowing fork full of mashed potatoes into your mouth, letting a small glob rest at the side of your mouth.
 “What was that, your highness?”
 That was all it took for his attraction to turn to yearning.
 The two of you ate in silence for the most part. He asked you questions to get to know you better, and every new piece of information he found out only made him like you more and more. When you spoke about your career, he heard the passion in your voice, and it spoke to something in him. It had been a long time since he’d been around anyone who was genuinely passionate about the things they enjoyed. It stirred something in him, something he wasn’t quite ready to uncover.
 “I am sorry that I did not tell you once we met who I was.”
 You paused with your fork in your mouth.
 “It’s okay. To be real, why would you reveal to a stranger your secret identity. That’s like Clark Kent walking around in his incognito glasses with an S on his chest. It defeats the purpose.”
 “Clark Kent. Superman.”
 “Yes, one of my favorite superheroes.”
 A soft smile spread across his face before he nodded.
 “What’s yours? Wonder Woman?”
 He scoffed, then shook his head as he stood and approached the carts, ready for dessert. It wasn’t the Strawberry Cheesecake he truly desired, but it would have to do. When he returned to his seat, he placed your plate in front of you and sat.
 “It’s Wonder Woman, huh, or maybe Poison Ivy, ooh, Catwoman.”
 He sat there patiently, letting you list them off. He couldn’t help but wonder why those were chosen.
 “Before I answer, can I ask why you chose them?”
 He saw the mischievous glint twinkle in your eye as your lips quirked up into a smirk.
 “Oh, this, I must hear.”
 “No reason. They’re just seen as the most desirable by fanboy standards,” you responded while rolling with your eyes.
 He suppressed a chuckle to put a piece of the cheesecake into his mouth.
 “So?”
 “None of those.”
 “Oh, please do enlighten me,” you quipped.
 Resting the fork on the side of the dish, he responded. “Nubia and Storm.”
 He sat there and thoroughly enjoyed watching the emotions wash over your face. Shock was the first, then disbelief, and finally awe. Now you sat there assessing him as if you thought he was pranking you. He was not. You opened your mouth to say something, and he stopped you before you did.
 “I suggest you do not repeat it. I assure you I am not.”
 Your eyes darkened right at the moment you sucked your bottom lip back into your mouth. Losing his train of thought and head for control, he put another piece of the cake into his mouth, licking the back of the fork. Your eyes lowered to his mouth and your teeth sunk into that delectable bottom lip. If he were a weaker man, he would have tossed the plate he held to the side and been on you in under five seconds, but he was not a weak man. As future King, weakness had no place in the monarchy.
 Weakness was not an option until he saw you put the fork in your mouth to mirror his actions, only your tongue swirled around the teeth of the fork in a way that made his pants instantly too tight. Christ, help him.
 He cleared his throat and changed his position on the couch to one that would hide your effect.
“Interesting. I didn’t expect those,” you stuttered.
 “What did—what did you expect?”
 You shrugged and toyed with the fork against your lips. “Something else, but I’m pleasantly surprised.”
 Your eyes met again, and the temptation he felt was somehow more than he’d ever felt. He wanted you. He’d wanted you since you cursed about how disgusting the drink was at the bar. The only thing was, this want had shifted.
 “I am happy it is pleasantly.”
 Again your eyes lingered, and he wanted nothing more than to give in to the heavy cloud of temptation that filled the room.
 “What’re you working on?”
 He cleared his throat again and straightened himself. “Uh—a speech. One of my father’s projects premiers in a few days, the first since his um—” he cleared his throat again. “Since his passing, and I am going to be the one to cut the ribbon on it.”
 “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
 Keeping his eyes turned downward, he nodded. The sincerity in your voice touched him. “Thank you.”
 The silence between you stretched for a few seconds before you spoke again.
 “What’s wrong with it?”
 “The speech, um—I do not know. It just does not feel right.”
 “Want me to take a look?”
 “Do you have an aptness for speeches?”
 You placed your place to the side and adjusted your posture.
 “Not speeches in general. I do have a knack for words. I’ve spent the last few years writing about the places I’ve gone in such a way that makes people want to go there themselves. I might know a little something, something.”
 He smiled, put the plate beside him, and leaned forward to hand you his laptop. He watched as you read through the few paragraphs he’d already written and wondered what you thought of it. Every lift of your brow or nibble of your lip had him more and more curious as to the thoughts in your head. After a few minutes, you nodded.
 “This isn’t bad. You sound like you’re on a good roll.”
 “No critique?”
 “How about you leave me with it for a day or two, and I’ll have some notes. Or, you could give it to your royal speechwriter.”
 He chuckled. “What makes you think I have one of those?”
 You rolled your eyes and smiled. “Hello, this is a monarchy. I am sure the monarchy employs people to make sure their dear prince is always PC.”
 You were right.
 “I think I would rather leave it with you,” he replied, making you smile in the process.
 “Okay. I’ll knock your socks off then.”
 “You already have,” he said, standing to take your plate.
 He tried to arrange the empty plates, dishes, and classes on the carts in a way that wouldn’t have them falling once they were moved.
 “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
 He turned in time to see you wobbling toward him, clutching the IV pole with one hand and a plate with the other. He saw your knees buckle and wrapped you in his arms, taking you to the bed in the process. With you underneath him, he couldn't deny how right this felt. Your breathing was heavy, your eyes bright and chest heaving. The way you were looking at him made his next move the only possible one.
 He brought his lips toward yours but right before he claimed them, he hesitated. The tiny sliver of space between your lips made it easy to feel the literal electricity that sparked between you. He was so close, but so far, and he wanted to get closer. The fact that you didn’t look as if you objected to this made his blood bubble with desire even more than it had hours ago when he first walked in.
 “I apologize,” he whispered before he pulled away from you with whatever ounce of strength he had remaining. He stood before you then held his hands out to you.
 “Let me help you.”
 You placed your hands in his letting him hoist you up. He wrapped his arm around your waist and helped you back to the side of the bed you’d been this entire time.  When he eased you down, he spread the blanket over you and assured you were comfortable. Being sure to keep his eyes away from yours, he turned to his things and gathered them.
 “I will let you get some rest. If Dr. Alfonsi found out I were here preventing that, he would give me a stern talk.”
 “Thank you for this,” you said.
 He took his laptop from your bed and nodded. “I will email it to you.”
 “You have my email?”
 “I am head of this country; I have multiple resources at my disposal,” he replied, smirking at you. Your smile said you fully understood his meaning and knew he was teasing. You understood him. Yet another thing to like about you, he thought. He quickly averted his eyes then gave you a slight head bow.
 “Good night, Xari.”
 “Good night, your highness.”
  He walked toward the door and poked his head out to instruct the waiting staff to remove the carts. The walk back to his room was filled with several stops as he thought to go back, but when he realized he couldn’t, he carried on his way. He’d never been filled with so many conflicting wants and thoughts before, and he suspected as the coming weeks stretched, this would be just the tip of the iceberg.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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daughterofzagreus · 3 years
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Assigning Zodiac Signs to Greek Gods
Zeus - Sagittarius 
*sigh*, my sign. During Sag season too, LMAO.
Sag is ruled by Jupiter, which is Zeus's Roman counterpart. And it's fitting. It's the planet of expansion and good luck which relates to Zeus. He was the only one of his siblings who wasn't swallowed by his father, which makes him pretty lucky to me. Zeus is a cheating fuckboy, with a love for chasing tail that is the root cause for about 90% of all the issues and conflicts in ancient Greek mythology...that's a pretty typical Sag male move. It's no secret that Sags can be hoes (I say this with love🤗). According to the myths, Zeus was actually a pretty fun, jovial guy who loved a good party, singing, dancing and some drink (the word "jovial" comes from his Roman name Jove/Jupiter). He's impulsive and has a bad temper when angered, though. All fairly Sag tendencies.
Poseidon - Pisces
Pisces is ruled by Neptune, the Roman counterpart to Poseidon. It makes sense that the god of the Sea would be a water sign. Uncle Sy was an emotional MESS in Greek mythology, he's been described as emotionally unstable, temperamental and moody. I'm sorry Pisces but (as someone with a Pisces mother) I can definitely see it. He was quite a hoe too, so I don't know if it's just a mutable sign thing (In which case, welcome to the Hoe club, Pisces👏🏾). His moods and emotions change like the tides (like Pisces), so he's either in a very good mood or a very bad one. Apparently he was quite the sweetheart when in a good mood, as well. Although, man gets a lot of good PR from the Percy Jackson series😒.
Hades - Scorpio
Obvious Scorpio is obvious💀. Scorpio is ruled by Pluto, which is the planet of death and rebirth. Makes sense, as Hades rules over the underworld. Pluto is also Hades's Roman counterpart. Hades isn't technically an Olympian because he doesn't stay in Olympus, his kingdom is in the underworld. I think that's significant because Scorpios like to keep to themselves. The stereotype of Scorpio is that they're morbid, secretive and mysterious. Into the macabre. Kind of like an intellectual brooding, which all fits for Hades. He's not an unfair guy, though. Likely, more on the misunderstood side. I think the fact that only a few people (like his wife Persephone) understand him shows that he doesn't open up or get vulnerable easily or with just anyone. A very Scorpio trait.
Hestia - Cancer
We don't know much about Hestia's personality. She's demure, simple and rules over the hearth and home. Cancers tend to be family oriented. If not, they do have a significant relationship with their home (be that their actual house, or their hometown. Wherever "home" and the family is). The hearth is the centre of the household. It keeps the home warm and provides a place for the whole family to gather around to commune or just feel safe. So, I think that's fitting.
Hera - Virgo
Oh gosh, I can't help comparing her and Zeus's relationship to Jay-Z and Beyonce 😔. Bless her heart, that Sag man has her looking a fool. A complete fool 🤡. Anywho, Hera is beautiful and a perfectionist. Very regal, and strives to maintain perfection. Besides being the queen, Hera is also the goddess of motherhood, monogamy, family marriage, home and protector of all married, so I imagine that she's quite conservative and that (despite the fact that her family is a hot, hot mess) she likes to present the image of the perfect family, kind of like a first lady. She just brings to mind the type of wealthy lady-of-the-manor Virgo woman who runs a tight ship (i.e.: the house/the estate).
Demeter - Cancer 
I was debating on whether or not to make sis a Pisces. But, Cancer is linked to the mother and maternal instincts, which I think is fitting. Cancer is a very maternal sign (at least, there's a lot of significance with Cancer and its relationship to motherhood). The most famous myth involving Demeter is about her daughter Persephone being kidnapped by Hades, and how that affected her emotionally. Demeter is described as being very maternal, protective and kind and embodying a very specific type of love, the "mother's love". One the flip side though, she's also quite OVER-protective. She really does embody some of the more negative traits of Cancer as well such as smothering and being a bit over-bearing with her love. She also strikes me as the type to be emotionally manipulative and play the melodramatic "after all I've done for you, how could you be so cruel to your own mother😭" and "so what are you going to say at my funeral now that you've killed me😔" victim card that overbearing mothers like to use so much. But she doesn't play when it comes to her babies and loved ones.
Ares - Aries
Obvious Aries is obvious😠. Do I even need to say anything? Aries is ruled by Mars, which is Ares's Roman counter part. The planet Mars symbolizes raw masculine energy (you get words like "martial arts" from that), and so does Ares. Both Aries the sign and Ares the god are loud, quite aggressive, and they like conflict (they find it quite funny, and they can move on from it pretty quick, it doesn't really distress them). There's also the passion and explosive temper. Ares is also brave, strong and straight forward. He's also incredibly protective of those he loves. According to Greek mythology, the first murder was committed by Ares when he killed a man who raped (or tried to rape) his daughter, so don't fuck with an Aries's loved ones.
Athena - Capricorn
Capricorn is ruled by Saturn. In astrology, the moon (which rules Cancer - Capricorn's opposite compliment) is The Mother. It's soft, maternal and nurturing. Saturn is The Father. It's the planet of obstacles and boundaries and is a very harsh, stern planet. Success will come, but only after learning some very hard lessons. If the moon is like a emotional parent that coddles and nurtures their child (Cancer), then Saturn is that strict, tough parent that teaches their child (Capricorn) from day dot that the world is going to be cruel and unfair, and so they want to break you to make you stronger and prepare you for the world. That's what I get from Athena. Athena was born fully grown and fully clothed (in battle gear, at that). She literally came into the world with her guard up. She's the goddess of wisdom and battle strategy (among other things), so she's very pragmatic and somewhat cold (not cruel, but just realistic). She's Zeus's favourite child, which links to her ruling planet being The Father. She's kind of like the embodiment of the woman who works in a male dominated field (which, she does) so she has to work harder, adopt more masculine traits and develop a harder exterior in order to survive and thrive. She's not the most emotional or vulnerable person either, and it's noteworthy that she never had a childhood (again, she was born fully grown), so she's never had any of the innocence and naivete.
Artemis - Cancer
With the twins (Artemis and Apollo), Apollo is the sun while Artemis is the moon. Since Cancer is ruled by the moon, it makes sense that Artemis would be a Cancerian. This is the third time I'm bringing up Cancer being maternal, but here we are. Artemis has a close relationship with her mother (she killed this one woman's 7 daughters, because said woman was talking smack about her mother), but Artemis also acts as a foster mother for a lot of different people. She's nurturing, compassionate and protective. Artemis is the protector of young women, and women in childbirth (right after she was born, she helped her mother deliver her twin brother, Apollo). She has a group of huntresses (which any girl is allowed to join, so long as they forgo marriage) and she basically becomes like an adoptive mother towards them (she also, in general, likes to take in strays. She’s goddess of moon and hunting so she spends more time in the wild and at night, whereas Apollo spends more time in civilization in the daytime).
Apollo - Leo
Obvious leo is obvious 🦁. Leo's ruling planet is the sun, and is symbolized by a lion with a ~fabulous~ golden main. Apollo is the sun god (among other things). He drives the sun chariot every day and is always described as having long blond (or ✨golden✨) locks, a golden tan, and is just ridiculously bright and golden overall. Hence his other name being "Phoebos Apollo" (Phoebus meaning “bright”). Leo rules the 5th house, which is basically the house of having fun and being yourself, which matches Apollo. He's one of the more active and fun personalities. He's an over achiever (God of music, poetry, prophecy, archery, young men) and is considered to be the most beautiful male god on Olympus. Like most Leos, humility is not his greatest strength, to say the least. He's dramatic, loves attention and likes to stand out and be the sun (around which everything revolves), like a leo, too.
Hephaestus - Taurus
I really don't know why, and I'm exhausted from writing so much for everyone else. I really don't know which sign to put him in, but Taurus seems to match him. Mainly because he's patient and calm. He's a kind(er) soul who just minds his business and does his work. I know Taurus gets a bad rap for being "lazy", but Taurus actually are quite hard workers. They just like to work on their own terms, and usually the more "slow and steady" type (but still hard work with results). Tauruses also love beautiful things, and Hephaestus is an amazing craftsman who's created the most beautiful jewelry that's ever been made. Taurus is also a very possessive sign that is easily prone to jealousy when it comes to their romantic partner. This is exactly how Hephaestus is when it comes to his wife, Aphrodite (who frequently cheats, since she never wanted to marry him in the first place). The fact that Haphaestus STILL loves her and tries his best to prove himself to her an impress her by making all that jewelery for her (even though it's clear that she just doesn't love him, and the relationship won't ever be what he wants) is something a Taurus would do, as they are solid, committed people. Once they've decided they want to make a relationship work, they're fully committed to it. He does have a temper, but it's generally a long fuse, and he seems to function by the law of "don't start none, won't be none". Very Taurus. They mind their business and they don't start mess...but they will end it. The Taurus fuse is very long, but once it goes off...
Aphrodite - Libra
Obvious Libra is obvious😘. Libra is ruled by Venus, the Roman counterpart of Aphrodite. As the goddess of love and beauty, I don't think it's all that surprising to have Aphrodite be a Libras. Libras could flirt for their nation. They're also a bit vain, like Aphrodite, and they can be people pleasers. But, it's well intentioned. Libras are the scale because they like balance and harmony, and they generally don't care for discord or unpleasantries. Aphrodite is the mother of the goddess Harmonia (goddess of harmony) as well. The vanity also comes from their artistic love of beauty, as libra a generally a very creative sign. If the libra themselves isn't creative, they at least appreciate creativity and art.
Hermes - Gemini
Obvious Gemini is obvious. Gemini is ruled by Mercury, which is the Roman counterpart to Hermes. Gemini are multifaceted which makes sense for Hermes as he does a lot of different things. Kind of like a jack of all trades but master of none kind of deal. Hermes is one of the smartest gods in a witty, inventive and humorous way. He was Zeus's second favourite child and his favourite son, and has a more trickster vibe to him. A bit of a scam artist. Hermes is also the god of travelers and thieves. Man just has a way of charming people into liking him, which is a very Gemini trait. As the messenger for the gods, Hermes is also the god of communication (probably a bit of a gossip)...and lord knows Gemini's can talk your ear off. Hermes has a pair of sandles with wings to help with his messenger duties, so he's very fast and is all over the place, since he was so much to do and is always on the go (Gemini rules the 3rd house which is the house of, among other things, short distance travel).
Dionysus - Aquarius
The laid back stoner of the group. And a cult leader. He not only invented wine, but was also the god of substance use, ecstasy and madness. I find it hard to describe Dionysus just like I find it hard to describe Aquarius. I know that traits, but they're just too complex to be able to describe in a single sentence.​ Like Aquarius, Dionysus and his cult originally was a place where marginalized people could feel free. Sticking it to the man and whatnot, which goes with the activism and revolution that comes with Aquarius, along with the idea of paradise.
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blushing-starker · 3 years
Text
Cold mates and black coffees
For @starkerfestivals prompt of mates
There is, he supposes, something beautiful about a world such as this, primitive yet advanced and sophisticated. Children no taller than his knee carry around super computers that fit in the palm of one's hands, talk to friends thousands of miles away whenever they want. It used to take him months to receive his preferred concoction for the early night wake up call, now stores inhabit every corner of every city. They patiently wait to receive their dependents, all sorts of people relying on some version of the simple black coffee to jolt their system. Convenient, sure, no doubt about that. A quick stop at a Starbucks and violá, five hours of productivity guaranteed. But nothing builds character like swimming laps through a freezing lake infested with piranhas to keep away the urge to rest for just another five minutes. Unfortunately, sleepless days were the norm for him and Rhodey whenever they endeavored to race each other underwater.
There are clothes, too. Clothes for each season available year round. Fox fur adorns a lanky mannequin next to a twin showcasing how breezy summer fabrics can be. Riding boots that he would have spent a small fortune on decades ago shine below man made light for the cost of a nice meal over at Pepper's. Jewels fine enough for the family vault enchant any who take so much as two steps in either direction. Everything is for sale; it just means swiping a plastic card, presenting a number off a super computer or giving the cashier the remains of ancient trees. He could buy an ice cream cone (with sprinkles, of course, he's not an idiot) and immediately wander over to a restaurant selling sizzling curry. It's what his father dreamed about, a thousand years ago. How odd then, that his only heir couldn't be more nonchalant to all this.
It's his what, first month back from sleeping for half a century? He got accustomed to this whirlwind of a consumerist world by the first week. The soft purr of self-driving engines, flashing neon street signs, a melting pot of twenty, thirty languages, glittering clothes clashing with garish makeup, an overwhelming scent of smoke, perfume and money is as familiar as the palm of Rhodey's left hand or Pepper's right. Is it fantastic, being alive for the wild ride that is the twenty-first century? Yes, of course it is. But it's his father's dream; not his. His dream is the same as what drove Maria Stark into the world: finding his mate. Which, logically speaking, won’t happen until time has colored his hair with quite a bit more starlight and streaked thin lines around not too shabby cheekbones. (Rhodey’s teasing words.)
Going along with logic, there is a chance his mate will never show up. It was mere luck his father met the only woman besides Peggy that could stand his whole. Well, that could just stand him, period. A mate is found by scent, identified by touch and only bound with words. If his father had gone for one more drink, he’d probably be as real as the tooth fairy. In the back of his head, there lives a voice. And this voice he named Miss Lucky. She told him how lucky he would need to be in order to find a mate not too close to cradle or grave, a person that saw eye to eye in the majority of the basics and was open to his predilection. Someone that wouldn’t fear or expose him, wouldn’t want to strike the killing blow themselves. And Christ, with or without Miss Lucky, it’s a fool’s idea, thinking that in the middle of New York amidst one of the coldest winters to ever grace the city, his mate, his soul’s match, his other heart will chance upon him and actually accept the fact that he barely exudes a scent. Let alone something useful enough to help others recognize his class.
That’s the one downfall to living in this time; so much tension regarding one’s class. It is infinitely better than before when there were only three possibilities and the social restrictions could very rarely be shattered. But now it’s about pulling rank, percentages listed on a piece of paper could be used against you or signify one’s survival. A double-edged sword. To be a nurse, any applicants must be less than thirty percent alpha. Soldiers were forbidden from entering foreign countries if they had more beta characteristics than not. Lovers, in some parts of the world, could marry exclusively when their percentages were compatible. In the old times, if you smelled like an omega, you were treated as such. That could entail being thrown into a whorehouse or perceived as royalty destined to bring life into the world. Once puberty came, a simple prick and a vial of blood determined one’s next decision regarding the future.
He took the test. Just out of curiosity and it’d be rude not to provide a mate with information so readily accessible merely because of an unjustified fear over his identity. He is an alpha. And if the test had said otherwise, it would have been no problem. Of course not, he would have been proud to identify as a beta or omega. His mother was a beta and his nanny, basically his second mother, was an omega. No shame would’ve clouded his mind at receiving such news. The matter was this, though, he had believed to be an alpha the entirety of his life. If the paperwork said that was his lowest percentage, different rules and procedures, updated to today’s society, would need to be learned.
And he’s so tired of it all when only a handful can smell the fact he’s an alpha. What was he supposed to do, carry the results in his pocket in case a bigot searched for a fight? No, that would be, as Pepper had made very clear before, extremely silly.
He carries the test in case his mate considers such matters important. Or their family. Yes, it’s not because he worries that society will somehow doubt his identity. In the end, being an alpha is an integral part of who he is. It shouldn’t be that way and he barely knows what that means, but it’s true. Miss Lucky comes back around swiftly now, what if his mate isn’t interested in him because of his percentage? What then? Learn what the other classes represent to that person and behave in ways they believe suit said classes? Could his match be with a pureblood, intent on “staying true” to their highest percentage? Would he be able to, cinnamon. Wait, cinnamon and honey? Is that rain and sunlight? Since when does Starbucks incorporate those smells? And how the hell does he know what sunlight smells like? He’s insane. There’s no other explanation, oh that must have hurt.
A young man has just barreled into him. Slammed into his arm like a linebacker. A linebacker that weighs a feather and a half. How is he this light, a breeze had more force. What should he, what’s the proper ritual here, oh my god
“Your nose is bleeding- “
“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking. I’m just late for class and- “
“Calm down and let me buy you some coffee; you’re half dead- “
“Shit, your coat. I will pay you back, I swear.”
He hums, looks down and apparently he was too involved in his quest to find a mate that he completely bypassed the thought that this man had accidently crashed into him while holding a coffee…
A mate. He doesn’t know what sunlight smells like. How could he? Unless that’s what his mate smelled like. The young man inhales sharply, lets out a little “oh, I think, I know it’s you.” and, on further reflection, he notices this kid has the voice of an angel. Soft and kind while not being so lilting he’d think it weak and demure. Ah, he looks like an ethereal entity too. Of course he does.
It’s the eyes that do it for him, enchant him enough he wants to kneel and propose right there in the hopes of waking up each night to those amber pools as familiar and mysterious as the universe itself. The rosy lips, pink cheeks and sweeping lashes are also quite nice. He has the body of a being from the old tales, a nymph or a muse destined to bring light and joy to the world. And black coffee to coats older than his father and grandfather combined.
“Could I touch you properly? I think spilling sugar over that coat didn’t really give me the chance to feel my mate, Mister?” Rhodey’s gonna annihilate him. This is a child, twenty-one at most. They could exchange numbers; communicate when his best friend wouldn’t be tempted to take one look and accuse him of going for jailbait. He could make a plan, organize a way to gently explain how he’s an undead creature of the night whose low circulation means that somehow his hormone production slowed and therefore he barely smells like wood let alone an actual human being. They could make it work. If he’s lucky, Angel here won’t fall for another. If he’s lucky, lots of things won’t happen. Or they will anyway.
“Stark. Tony Stark. It’s a pleasure to meet you, all things considered. When I learned one’s mate smells like something unknown, I didn’t quite expect literal sunshine to be what I noticed. And don’t worry about the coat; it’s nothing.”
Marie Antoinette gave him this coat as a gift on his sixteenth birthday a few years before her death. It’s fine.
“Oh. I, I wouldn’t have thought I smelled like that. It’s really nice, actually. You smell, and please don’t take this the wrong way, like alpha. And home. I know it’s weird, but I can’t explain it any other way. I’m sorry if it’s too- “
At least he already knows he dislikes that worried furrow on such a happy face. He surges forward, clasps a soft hand and lets slip a shocked gasp, sees the mirrored reaction because Jesus, it’s as if he licked his finger and then stuck it inside a power outlet. Every hair on his body stands on end and when was the last time his heart beat that fast? Surely it was the night his old flame left or when they, no. No memories of a past lover when his mate is right here, clutching his hand like a lifeline.
“I don’t believe I know your name. Seems a little unfair, don’t you think? Wanna even the odds?” It’s meant to make the young man smile and he does.
It’s only when he grins that Tony notices the sharpened incisors and the slight cold coming from the small figure. The same fog that follows him around even on the hottest of days. The exact shape of teeth Tony cleans in front of his bathroom mirror each night.
“Peter. My name’s Peter. Nice to meet you, Tony.”
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whatisthisidefk · 3 years
Text
The River, the Sea, and the Stars Part Five (SFW version)
They stood to bid goodbye to Dra's parents after the teapot was empty and the plate of sandwiches bare. Dra gave Therien the responsibility of repacking their bags with new supplies she gleaned from her parents, while she distributed half of her tea supply into clay jars on the kitchen shelves.
Soon, though, they slung their bags over their shoulders. Therien could almost see Dra vibrating, shifting her weight with the lashing of her tail as she turned her face to the afternoon sun that streamed across the road.
In a way, he understood. He wanted to be on the road, too, though the witches' cottage had been comfortable like a dream. He could see how easy it would be to get lost in this lazy little village among the herbs and flowers and forest.
"Merci, Mem, Din," he said. "I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality."
"Dra's talked so highly of you, for so long," said Mem, placing a hand on his arm in exactly the same way Dra often did. "I'm glad we finally met."
"So am I. I hope we can visit again when all this is over."
She patted his arm. "Here," she said, "Since you have room in your bag now, some pasties for the road. They'll stay good for a few days if you need 'em to." She handed him a parcel wrapped in a worn tea-towel, tied with yarn. Therien packed them away at the top of his satchel. They were still slightly warm, and though he'd just had lunch, his mouth watered at the scent of the herbs she must have used in baking them.
"Ready?" Dra called from the doorway, and Therien nodded.
"Let's go save Andros," he replied, and followed her into the morning.
***
They left the village behind in short order, staying on the road going westward. For a few hours, they were surrounded by thick forest on either side. Occasionally, they came to crossroads or offshoots, but each time Therien expected a clearing, there were only more trees.
He couldn't complain. The canopy provided shade, but enough sunlight made it through and dappled the ground. The road itself changed surface whenever they neared a crossroads or a settlement, but for the most part, it was well-tempered dirt and fairly even. The weather agreed with them, as well, warm but with a breeze that ruffled the leaves and made the forest whisper all around. It made for a pleasant walk, and it would have been perfect, except the silence gave Therien plenty of time to think about Andros.
As ever, the memory of Andros begging him not to follow replayed itself in his mind. But so did the sound of those chains, and the fear in his eyes. The tug in Therien's chest still pulled at him, guiding him, he imagined, though toward what, he didn't know. Was Andros in a cage somewhere, or enslaved? Was he afraid? Was he alone? Was he--
"You're quiet, even for you," Dra said, disrupting his thoughts.
Therien shook his head. He felt dizzy. "Thinking, that's all. Um...could we rest for a moment?" He slowed to a stop, swayed in place. "I feel like...not right."
She was at his side in an instant. "Here, off to the side. Sit on the grass. Easy, like that." She offered him a canteen. "Take a few sips. I'm sorry--it's been a lot."
The water helped. Therien wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Merci."
"Ça va?" She asked. He heard the concern in her voice and the use of French meant she worried about him somehow not having full use of his mental faculties.
Which was odd. "I'm fine, Dra," he said irritably. "What was that about?"
Her shoulders relaxed. "Sorry. I wanted to be sure you were okay. The Feywild is...it's a lot for mortals, you know? Things affect people here. You wouldn't climb a mountain without adjusting to the altitude over time, right? It's the same thing here. We just leapt in because it's urgent, but if we'd planned this, you would have come over and gone back a little at a time."
"You tell me this now?" He snorted a laugh. "It's probably all the glitter in the air. Honestly, I'm fine. I promise."
"Okay. But tell me if you feel strange again. A few minutes' rest won't make much of a difference in our journey, and you should be ready for anything."
He handed the canteen back to her after another swig and was about to agree to let her know, but they both stilled at a sound from the woods behind where they rested. He glanced sharply at her. "Did you hear something?"
She frowned. "I did. It sounded like--"
"--elp? Help? Anyone?" A querulous voice called, then, more quietly, as if to himself, "This is the worst bloody day. Help?"
Therien scrambled to his feet and, dizziness forgotten, he and Dra left the road to locate the source of the voice.
"Where are you?" called Dra as they moved through the trees. "Are you okay? Say something?"
"I'm here!" A note of hope entered the tone. "Careful of the slope by the large elm. I slipped and I'm stuck. Oh, for the love of the gods, help!"
They reached the tree in question. As they came around it, one on each side, they found a well-dressed young man thigh-deep in mud at the bottom of a depression in the forest floor. He clung to the broken limb of a tree that arced over the spot, and not far from where he was caught lay a wide-brimmed, feathered hat.
The man himself was quite obviously Fey, with icy blue skin and silver hair. He was also, Therien couldn't help but notice, very pretty. At the moment, however, those pretty features expressed a combination of annoyance and helplessness. He brightened considerably once he saw Therien.
"Ah, kind sir, lend me your aid?" He managed to bat his eyelashes and attempted to position himself in a more fetching manner, though that movement was hampered by the mud. Still, he gamely tried, and Therien couldn't help but laugh.
"Hold on," he said as he unhooked the rope from his belt. He handed one end to Dra. "Can you get this around the tree without falling in yourself?"
Dra gave a derisive snort. "My people are made for this," she stated. To the blue man, who had yet to acknowledge her, "How did you end up here, anyway? We're way off the road."
"My hat blew off," he said, with a sad glance at the offending accessory. "I chased it and almost had it, then I slipped." He pointed his chin at a swath of disturbed leaves that did indeed run from the tree to where he now waited. "I'm just glad no one was around to see that."
"Well," Therien said, bringing the man's attention back to him full force, "We'll have you out in a moment." He picked his way around to a shallower side of the depression and eyed the limb of the tree. "How secure is that, do you think?"
The man gave the branch an experimental tug. It held firm. "Seems strong to me…?"
"Good. I can use it for leverage. I'm going to throw this over the top, and you catch it. All right?" He tied the end into a large loop, big enough to go over the man's head and around his waist.
"Anything you say," said the man, a little breathlessly.
Therien glanced at Dra. "Got that end secured?"
"Yep," she replied cheerfully, with a little wave. She'd wrapped it once around the tree and braced the end in her hands. "Pull 'im out!"
He ran the rope across his back and around his forearm to his hand, then tossed the free end over the limb. "Catch!" The man grasped for it; as soon as he let go of the branch to wind his hands in the rope, he began to sink again. Therien gave him as much slack as he could without losing tension. "Get it under your hips and hold on!"
Therien pulled. At first, nothing happened, but then the man's legs began to come free with a sucking sound. Therien walked backwards to haul him out of the muck until the man could get both arms around the branch and his feet dangled in the air.
"Take up the slack, Dra," he called, and she did as he asked. It allowed him to keep his end of the rope secure as he moved closer to the man, sliding along the rope until he reached the downed limb and could put his hands out for the man to take.
After a moment, the man let go of the branch and allowed himself to fall into Therien's arms, safely away from the wet earth that had trapped him.
"Got you," said Therien.
"Yes, you do," sighed the man with a dreamy expression, "my hero."
***
Dra retrieved the hat while Therien set the man on his feet, though he seemed loath to let go of Therien quite yet. "Just a moment," he said demurely, "let me catch my breath. I'm in your debt, kind sir. Tell me, to whom do I owe my thanks?"
"Pretty sure you are the one who's supposed to introduce yourself first," Dra said dryly, which gave Therien a chance to extricate himself from the stranger's grasp.
"Oh, but of course. Where are my manners?" He bowed with a flourish. "I am Mnaer, prince of the Starlit Court. And truly, I owe you a debt of gratitude."
Dra rolled her eyes. "Oh, that makes sense on so many levels. Careful, Therien. He's got a reputation."
"My reputation is sterling," he began, then shrugged. "Actually, no, it's not. But sweet--Therien, is it?--please believe me when I say that I honor my debts. And," he added, "I have a feeling that repaying you for your help would be an utter pleasure."
"You really don't have to," Therien began, only to be cut off with a wave.
"I want to, lovely. At very least, let me buy you dinner." He seemed to notice Dra for the first time. "Both of you, of course. There's an inn not far from here. What do you say?"
Therien looked to Dra, who considered a moment. "Drinks, too?"
"I'll buy the whole inn if it helps." Mnaer's eyes returned to Therien's. "Please, allow a man a chance to express his thanks."
"All right," Therien said at last. "Dinner sounds lovely."
***
"What is that accent?" Mnaer asked once they were on the road. "I have never heard anything like it."
Therien ignored Dra's poorly covered snicker. "I'm French," he replied. "Um, from France."
"In the Mortal realm," Dra added, which seemed to startle Mnaer.
"You're a Mortal? How odd." His study of Therien took on a contemplative air. "I've never been there. Would you say something in your language?"
This was at least a conversation Therien had had many times before. Ever since he'd first gone to America, his accent had been a topic of interest. "Ah, je m'appelle Therien de Mer, et j'aime nager."
Mnaer faked a swoon. "Gorgeous. I have no idea what you said but it sounded incredible."
"I just said my name and that I like to swim." Therien shrugged. "It's just a language."
"Darling, it is not just anything. Maybe in the Mortal realm where they can't appreciate the sound of heaven, but here? The Feywild understands beauty, sweet Therien."
"Is literally everything out of your mouth some kind of flirtation?" Dra asked, irked. "Can't you see he's not interested? Gods."
As she stalked ahead, Mnaer frowned after her, nonplussed. "One never knows unless one tries," he called after her, but then he turned to Therien. "Is that true? Am I bothering you?"
Therien weighed his response carefully. "I don't mind it," he said at last. "But I am not interested in that kind of thing with anyone new."
"Oh. There's someone...not new?"
"I'm on a quest, according to what I've been told here, you see." Therien couldn't stop his soft smile. "I'm off to rescue my True Love."
Mnaer made a small sound of understanding. "She must be the fairest in the land."
"He is," said Therien with a sidelong glance. He didn't miss the way Mnaer brightened at that information. "His name is Andros."
The prince wound his arm through Therien's. "Now, this I must hear. Tell me all about him."
***
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musical-chick-13 · 3 years
Note
Melisandre too please
OKAY STRAP IN MY FRIEND BECAUSE I WANT TO SCREAM ABOUT GOT WOMEN TODAY
• Did they live up to their potential? / In what ways was their potential unachieved?
I’m going to stick to the show because, again finished when the books aren’t. So, I really love Melisandre with my whole heart. You know, you have this mysterious woman who easily manipulates a powerful man, but it’s not just a standard femme-fatale I love power kind of thing. She grew up enslaved (at least in book canon, I can’t remember if this was ever mentioned in the show), and she’s in, essentially, a codependent relationship with her religious faith. It’s not for some sort of fake demureness or quest for purity, it’s because she thinks it’s genuinely the only thing she can do to save the world. She’s not a corrupt pastor, she’s an extremist who truly thinks she’s doing the right thing. But she’s not quite a competely-brainwashed, naive young victim, either. Obviously being sold into slavery and trained in the priesthood since forever ago influences her beliefs. But she reflects deeply on the nature of morality and owns up readily to the fact that sometimes she engages in acts of violence in the name of what she believes. It’s not an accident, people’s lives simply come at the expense of her service to R’hllor and faith in the coming of Azor Azai. She balances a very fine line between two extremes of the religious zealot morality spectrum, and I think she does it very well. The one thing I will say is that the show couldn’t seem to make up its mind on whether or not she was a fraud or whether she actually had Special Magic Powers. And not in kind of a “We won’t show you all the details of what happened, judge for yourself if she’s legit” way. They had her whole conversation with Selyse about using potions for desired fire effects, but she gives birth to shadow assassin babies and then literally brought someone back from the dead. If you’re going to make it ambiguous, keep it ambiguous. If not, make a decision and commit to it. Being completely shrouded in mystery; being a complete, unapologetic fraud; and being a supernatural entity entrusted with magic who sometimes misuses it “For The Greater Good” are all much more interesting than flip-flopping back and forth on characterization because you’re afraid to commit to a concept. Also, for some reason, in season 7 her main objective was to bring Jon and Dany together? Why? They should have explained how she got to that point and why she thought it was necessary. Also her death, but I talk about that in the last point.
• How they negatively and positively affected the story.
Positive: She brought Stannis into the story, leading to a discussion about whether or not the concept of justice is born from conformity to rules or a desire to put more good into the world. We are introduced to another religion in Westeros that helps enrich the worldbuilding and leads to a moral compass that is centered so differently from the other characters that it provides a fresh way of interpreting the story’s events and keeps us engaged. We are introduced to Davos aka Onion Dad through her and I love that guy.
Negative: She brought Stannis and Davos into the story, to the point where show Shireen died FOR NO REASON  which COMPLETELY RUINED STANNIS’S CHARACTER IN THE PROCESS. Stannis wasn’t supposed to be The Irredeemable Bad Guy, he was supposed to be another link in the chain that encompassed all of the different ways of looking at morality. Instead, they used his multifaceted, complex relationship with Melisandre to flatten out his characterization, make him the resident Pathetic Game Player We Are Supposed to Laugh At, and ultimately left off all degree of nuance by making him burn a child alive for shock value. I’ll never forgive the show for that. (Also, what with Brienne’s smiting of Stannis, Davos being the All-Around Good Guy and the fact that Mel’s death was so...anticlimactic...we’re also apparently supposed to see Stannis as the one primarily responsible for Renly’s death? Just? Ignoring Mel’s (and Davos’s) part in that? Sounds fake and narratively inconsistent, but okay.)
• What my favorite arc for them is.
-I think, probably after Stannis’s death (how said death came about notwithstanding, see above), when she realizes that she was...wrong? About her faith? She thought she knew how the world was supposed to work, like she had finally figured it out and unlocked some big secret, and then it just wasn’t true at all. And (kind of similar to what I said about Cersei) she has to rebuild herself. She and Davos have reversed their ways of thinking, where Davos believes-maybe not in R’hllor or any god(s), but in the existence of inexplicable and superhuman things-and now he has to convince her. And only then does she (and the audience) learn of her true power. (Which, as I mentioned above, I’m not entirely sure how I feel about this. Her being a charlatan strikes me as a character choice I would want more in a story I was writing, but I’m not writing these books/episodes, lmao.) Her priorities become more skewed toward “Fighting the White Walkers and making sure whoever Azor Azai is has a world left to save,” which WE LOVE ORGANIC SHIFTS IN PERSONAL MOTIVATION WE REALLY DO Y’ALL
• What I think of their ending.
-Ugh. I don’t think I’ve ever actually talked about this, but her just going, “Well, my goal is done, bye” and then going out into the snow and just laying down to die is...how do I put it...utter bullshit. There was never any true payoff in her ongoing conflict with Davos, no resolution to her (weird, creepy) relationship with Jon or how he felt about her doing awful things but still being the person who brought him back to life, she didn’t even get a moment of dying in service of a cause she believed in (like, for example, Theon, whose ending I also hated but for much more personal reasons that have less to do with narrative structure and more to do with my feelings). She legit just said, “I’m out” and instantaneously died. Also...she, Davos, and Jon have been through a LOT. The fact that there was barely any mention of her or what her death meant save for that one conversation Davos had with Tyrion??? for some reason???? seems like a waste. If someone has been with you through multiple traumatic experiences, it doesn’t matter if you hate them, you’ll have some sort of feelings after they die. Davos never got retribution for Shireen, doesn’t that bother him?? How does Jon feel knowing he owes his life to the killer of an innocent child? How does Davos feel seeing yet another person die right in front of him, but intentionally this time?? *sigh* Emotional through-lines are a thing, people!
• When I wish they had died. / If I think they should’ve died.
-Ultimately, my biggest beef is that there was...nothing I saw in the show that suggested this was how she wanted her story to end. If you’re going to make a character feel hopeless upon resolving a specific problem or tie their entire reason for existing to one conflict, you have to have them talk about it or personally reflect on it? You can’t just stick that on as an afterthought to justify...whatever it was D&D were trying to justify. Melisandre has always had such a complicated relationship with Westerosi morality, and she NEVER got to see any direct consequence of that (and by consequence I don’t even mean, like...punishment or something, I literally just mean a result that happened because of it). She, again, legit just walked in the snow by herself and insta-died. It 100% felt like they just didn’t know what to do with this character so they just scribbled something in so they wouldn’t have to spend any time on her later because they didn’t care about her. (Which, obviously, they’re wrong. I love her and she’s so interesting this is a fact. Shame on you, D&D.) I do think, for her, it makes sense based on her religious ties to kind of...have a last-minute swerve toward penance. Not guilt or redemption, per se, but a way to honor the world she’s trying to save by way of choosing to die through a selfless act. Whether that be sacrificing herself as a distraction for the White Walkers or putting herself in the line of fire (ice?) for Jon because she thinks he'll help heal the world or (my personal favorite) fighting off a White Walker to protect Davos because she has finally come to sort-of understand his nuanced take on morality and that although he has some bad/dark parts, he is genuinely a good man and deserves to make it out alive. Let him have the life that Shireen didn’t get to have. Davos would be SO CONFLICTED because She Did a Good Selfless Thing For Someone Who Wanted To Kill Her But She’s An Awful Person What Do I Think About Good And Evil Now and the introspection would be delicious.
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hobidreams · 3 years
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Hi Rain!! So sorry this feedback is kinda late, I just feel I needed to really do October 1865 justice cus it was hands down one of my favorites thus far!!! The whole thing, from beginning to end, was so thoughtfully written. Like when she finally dons the pink hanbok and is inspecting her appearance in the mirror and wishing her mom was there for advice/guidance really hit hard. Like she really is all alone in this great big palace with no family and minimal friends. And I find that I’m always
PLS DON’T APOLOGIZE & TAKE ALL MY LOVE INSTEAD AHHHHH 💖💖
rooting for our dear mc, she feels like an underdog to me. Quiet, demure, poised, low ranking, but incredibly sweet and giving. “So far, you’ve begrudgingly won a few scraps of respect from the male physicians, and it’s a start.” LIKE YES GIRL GET IT. And when Yoongie comes to her door to get her?!? The equivalent of a man getting out of the car and walking to your door to pick you up on your date. LOVED IT. 
WAIT I DIDNT EVEN THINK ABOUT IT LIKE THIS BUT UR RIGHT LMAOOOO
And the description of his appearance was perfectly detailed- I can imagine exactly what he looks like!! Well done. He truly is “unfathomably handsome.” I especially enjoyed the lil tidbit of the two of them looking suitable for each other despite their marked difference in social status and rank. As if, at least for the night, they’ll look like they belong together. It warms my heart. I love that this Yoongi is still lighthearted with the way he jokes with Eunuch Kim. It’s so nice to see him like this, but continues to make me wonder what else happened to him to change him so drastically??? 
*slow, calculating laughter here* heheh i’m glad u enjoyed the clothing bits though! that’s one of my favorite aspects of the history to research :’)
Her excitement to see the Chuseok festivities is so palpable, and when she realizes “oh god, you just made the prince run” I WAS CACKLING HAHAH and the Jinkook appearace!!!!!!!!!! I WAS HOWLING. I love that you kept the basic appearance of the two from the mv. What a creative way to weave them into the story!!! “the bearded one looks about seconds away from giving the other younger man a good smack with the fishing rod leaning on the wall behind him.” HAHAHA SCREEEEEAM their competitiveness and banter is perfectly written!!! “Yah, you can take your beans and shove them right up your nasty sokgot… I’ll take two orders of each. Preferably not ones shoved anywhere.” I’M ACTUALLY DYING. The dialogue here is hilarious!! 
me: sobbing because humor is so hard & you are so kind T_T
And the way Yoongi passes off the treats to mc and Eunuch Kim!! And when they get mistaken as a couple by her mother’s old friend?!? CLASSIC. I’ve found that old ladies literally give no fucks. I had a patient who would thirst over the same co-worker that I did (and yk, fair, cus he looked like an older, taller JK) She was shameless about it and I wanna be her when I get older haha 
FDSLKDAFS MOOD I WOULD TOO HAHAHAA have u SEEEN JUNGKOOK LATELY??? that BUN? THE SHEER SHIRTS? im D E A D. PHEWW. but seriously old ladies never change, no matter the era HAHAH
ok, but one of the best parts is Eunuch Kim losin his cool over Chun-ja. The way he nearly drops his jeon and is soooo flustered has me so heart eyed for him. I’m so happy to finally be meeting this lucky woman who has ensnared our beloved Eunuch Kim’s heart!! And those letters?! Ugh, I am so fond of hand-written letters. They’re so nostalgic and personal and no one seems to do it anymore. 
heh i’m glad u like letters because-- oop i wont say anything more ;)
Don’t think I didn’t notice that Yoongi chose the bracelet she was eyeing. But are we gonna see him give it to her?? Or does he just secretly have it slipped into her room, cus that would be SUCH a yoongi thing to do. My favorite part though, if I HAD TO CHOSE, was probably the ending scene at the pond. I feel like this is the first time they’ve had the chance to have a REAL conversation. And how her theory that some things in the world are out of their control but can change in their favor if they never give up. Seems like it parallels their predicament perfectly. 
you may be the only person who’s picked up on that conversation FDASLJKAS but yes, it truly is ;-; i absolutely adore those quiet moments between the two of them & writing this one was... phew a ride and a half. there’s a lot of subtext there 🤣
But I need to know!!! WHAT DID THEY WISH FOR?! 
iono 🤭 (youll find out later)
Ugh sweet Yoongi is killing me. I love him, but damn knowing what he’ll become in the next few years has me heart broken. As always, well done Rain. What a chapter to come home to after a long weekend of work!! I’m so appreciative of your writing. Your page is always such a safe and comforting space. Your positivity and kindness really reinforce my idea that you’re a wonderful human being. I hate that you had rude ass anons leaving their trash comments in your asks. As King Yoongi would say, “they’re peasants!” fuck the haters, bubs, and keep shining. You’re a fantastic writer, and I hope that you keep writing what inspires you, and deliver it the way you want!! I know I’ve said it before, but I feel I need to say it again, but I LOVE the way you decided to present MLT. I LOVE the drabbles and the timeline. It’s unique and fresh and will always remind me of MLT. ILYSM, Rain!! As always, please accept all my love and adoration!
sighhh you are so so so lovely. thank you for taking all this time out of your busy life to send me this. it just warms my entire heart. please don’t worry abt my anons; they’ve actually been pretty nice!! i havent ever had a mean anon ever in my inbox or anyone purposefully being cruel in my comments so my frustration was more at seeing how my friends are contiuously disrespected for providing their FREE content. AGH. and they get rebuked if they reply with annoyance, which they deserve to do after being pestered over and over again!!! someone said they had 20 asks in their inbox asking for updates and AGGGGHHH !!! that makes me wanna tear those anons a new one. but anyway. it’s wonderful people like you that keep us going & i wish i had a better way of giving you my gratitude because it doesn’t feel like enough. thank you 😭💗 pls take this happy boy and i hope you have the fantastic day you deserve!!!!
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afsanaas · 5 years
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𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒂 𝑬𝒉𝒔𝒂𝒏...
Hello everyone, I’ve reached out to a lot of guys to plot so I figured it would be best to provide from background on Sana! Here is her very much extended bio (I had to force myself to condense things down for my application cause I realized just how long it was considering I’m adapting her from a previous character of mine). ALSO quick apology for the use of gif icons, there are not a lot of resources for Kriti available so I made a bunch of her gifs a while back and they are all icons so I’m a little stuck in that regard!
tw: emotional abuse, miscarriage, mention of death in the family
UPBRINGING
The daughter of two Muslim Indian immigrants, Sana was four years old when she came to the US. Chasing the American dream in hopes of building a better life her father had already been in Jersey when he married her mother, working on putting down roots, and gaining citizenship before he was able to have his wife and daughter move over with him. Though they made a home in the US, her parents never quite embraced America, or it’s culture. They kept themselves closed off from integration in the community they lived in, opting to only associate with other Indian muslims they either knew from back home or shared some kind of distant connection with.
The cultural barriers aside, they saw their religion as something that set them apart from others we well, never realizing that they have come to this country for the chance to gain acceptance, and to escape religious persecution. It wasn’t that they never experience bigotry, but the fact that they also experiences immense love and support from their neighbors but yet refused to embrace these positives that always bothered Sana.
It was because of this her life was always a struggle between who she was becoming, and who her parents wanted her to be. They failed to see that while they may not consider themselves to be American, she did. English was her first language, all her friends at school were people from different ethnic backgrounds, her diverse education meant she understood the fundamental need for acceptance.
As she grew older and really began to understand herself, she realized that she didn’t believe in their god, she simply didn’t believe in any god. She found the cultural norms her family followed to be oppressive, and at times suffocating yet there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Her family, and extended family, and family friends were so deeply entangled in her life that were she to say anything at all, just like that everyone she knew and cared for would distance themselves from her. She’d be ostracized, so really the only choice she has as a young adult was to keep on pretending.
No matter how much of herself she had to hide from those who were the closest to her, no matter how much doing so hurt her. She didn’t realize it at the time but she was spiraling into this endless pit of depression and anxiety.
EDUCATION
One thing her parents did value highly like most parents was the value of education. Her parents were not given the opportunities to be well educated and that’s why they brought their kids to America so that they would have those opportunities. So doing well was an expected, and school was after all her only reprieve so she put her all into it. She was a natural leader in school, involved in many extracurriculars, academic related as well as track and field, she was the first person to raise her hand in class if she knew something, and also if she required clarification not letting anyones opinion of her get in the way of her learning. As well as she did in high school it wasn’t a surprise she was able to get nearly a full ride to the college of her choice. However her choice did have to be within the approved radius of her parents choosing. Northwestern, up in Evanston was a stretch for them, but after weeks of pleading, and bargaining they agreed but only after getting her to agree to allow them to start looking for marriage prospects for her. This was something she knew was coming and had been dreading but at the time she figured it was just a matter of saying yes to get to go to the school of her dreams.
ARRANGED MARRIAGE
Never had she thought saying yes would mean they’d find someone for her in less than a year of her starting college. He was a friend of a friends son, a computer software engineer doing well for himself, living in Lincoln Park. For her parents it was perfect match, it was a family they knew well, and a guy who was financially stable, not more than a decade older than her even just twenty seven while she was barely twenty. He and his family seemed open minded, and were willing to allow her to continue to pursue her degree even after marriage, how could it be anymore perfect? And like every other thing she’s ever wanted in her life, the choice was out of her hands because it was a choice of choosing herself and her own happiness over her family. Not able to leave behind her family she reluctantly agreed after meeting the guy a couple of times. He seemed fine, there was no spark there but he seemed kind, and understanding she could definitely do worse she told herself.
Unfortunately what she failed to realized before agreeing to it all was a marriage among her community was not between a man and a woman but the two families, so very intimately involved in all their business. The plan had been to live with his parents for one year before finding their own place and building their own home, however a couple months in she could tell that was not happening. Slowly everything became harder, she felt suffocated in her relationship and under the burden of responsibilities that had fallen on her shoulders all while she was desperately trying to keep up with college, already having had to take a three quarter sabbatical. Everyday was a struggle, whether that be with her husband, her mother in law, or her bratty sister in law. She was emotionally and soon physically becoming so strained that it showed on her face, something her mother in law never failed to point out to her.
The worst thing to have happened at that point in her life was for her to become pregnant. And even worst for her husband under the instance of his mother to have tampered with her birth control (that his mother had never been happy she was taking). The pregnancy was they last straw for her however, she could not get an abortion or rather they would not let her. It was like she was trapped in a sick soap opera a cycle of abuse she had no way of escaping. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone when she miscarried, from how stressed and unhealthy she’d become in this period, no joy in her at all from the child growing inside of her. Of course she was tormented endlessly for it, her MIL having succeeded in placing a permanent wedge in her marriage, and leaving her completely isolated in her own home.
DIVORCE
Slowly she mustered up the courage then to return to college after the two years that had been wasted, it was this act of reclaiming control of her life that eventually gave her courage to get out of that toxic marriage against the will of everyone in her life. They all wanted her to compromise, give it time, try harder, but she was done trying to suppress herself for the benefit of others. She not only got her divorce but also dragged his ass to court, something no woman in her community had ever done. She get penance for her emotional trauma she suffered while in the marriage, the court ruling in her favor and ordering him to pay for the rest of her college expenses. This gave her some peace to focus her energy in earning a livable wage to support herself, she was not going to be returning to her parents home, or depending on anyone else for that matter. Soon everything was back on track she was living by herself in the city completing her bachelors and then going on to law school.
PLANS DERAILED ONCE AGAIN
Finally living her life on her own terms deciding what kind of person she wanted to be, figuring out what she believed in. College was fairly easy without any distractions holding her back. What she didn’t expect two years into law school was that her father would get a heart attack caused by her little sister getting pregnant out of wedlock. Already a heart patient who’d suffered from two minor strokes prior to this incident his heart gave out when this happened. And she found herself picking up the pieces of a family that had caused her so much pain and set her on a path of misery. After fathers passing she not only assumed the responsibility of caring after her mother and two sisters, but also the financial burden he left behind in the form of the money he’d borrowed from a crime family. 
ENTER RAFAL KOVALI
The stress of the thousands of dollars she’d inherited in debt was crippling for her, she was barely making ends meet and finishing school. It was a point in life when she was quite done with being in constant struggle to stay afloat, she wanted nothing more than a reprieve from it all. She wanted to get ahead of it, not someday, not in a few years, but now. It was then that she met Rafal Kovali, not a knight in shining armour by any stretch of the imagination but a king in his own right with midas’ touch, someone with more than enough means to lift her out of the toxic cycle of debt and despair she was trapped in.
Even despite her less than gracious introduction to him when she hadn’t a clue who he was by some miracle he seemed to be drawn to her, her beauty a factor but also her spirited nature.  She was tough, she’d had to be growing up against the odds with no one in her corner, she’d done the whole demure dignified thing and it had gotten her nowhere, she was done letting life fuck her. She knew he was a powerful man, and once she learned to what extent she decided to make her bed and sleep in it, metaphorically speaking. Her association with the Kovali has provided her for the first time some sense of security and stability, and though she realizes what a fine line she’s walking for the time being she’s willing to gamble with the odds if it means staying afloat, and staying ahead one more day.
Sana does not love the man, sleeping with him is as transactional for her as it was sleeping with her ex-husband. She realizes what that might make her, but growing up with little to no ownership of her body or her own self worth, her current situation is almost empowering. She’s given up on notions of romance she might have had as a teenage girl, she’d put those sentiments to rest the moment she signed her marriage contract years ago. Nor does she feel entirely awful about sleeping with a married man, was it anyone else she most likely would have. As pragmatic as she is she did her research and she knows enough about him and his wife to know they are not good people, in some screwed up way she’s rationalized with herself that their morally reproachable deeds obsolve her from holding any guilt for what she’s doing.
PUTTING UP HIGH WALLS
Given her struggles with herself and nearly every close relationship she’s ever had, Sana has now put up some very high walls around herself. Not allowing anything or anyone to penetrate them and bring her back to the places she’s worked so hard to escape from. She refuses to feel that lost and helpless against another person ever again. While being guarded and protecting herself is something that’s keeping her safe, it’s also holding her back from truly enjoying the freedom she finally has to be herself unapologetically, and keeping her closed off from anyone that might want to get close to her for the right reasons.
ADDITIONAL PLOTS FOR EXPLORATION
No Stopping The Heart -  Sana is very practical about most things, especially so after the end of emotionally trying marriage she’s given up on any notions of romance and a picture perfect life. While her relationship with Rafal is simply advantageous to her, she is not a disloyal person even in a relationship such as theirs. I would be interesting for her to fall for someone else. Currently she is gambling with her life something she is well aware and accepting of. Gambling with her heart however is going to be a much hard pill for her to swallow.
$470.000 Down  -  The precise amount of debt her father had collected, being uninsured and having a major surgery the first time around had been a huge burden and he’d had no choice but to borrow the money to pay for it when the debt collectors began to get particularly nasty, though it was trading one evil for another. And while Rafal may have settled that for her, she very much still sees herself indebted to him.
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ipurpleyou1993 · 4 years
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My thoughts on:
Rookie Historian Goo Hae Ryung
Starring: Cha Eun Woo/Shin Se Kyung/Lee Ji Hoon/ Park Ki Woong
- Stand up for what you believe in. I think this is very important. People usually take advantage of those who are weak. So make your stand - especially if your boundaries and rights are being poked.
- Sometimes, being different is okay. Averting the community's standards is okay too. Why be like everybody else when you can be yourself?
We do not have to compromise our identity to match other people's standards. ✅😊💯
- Let us be each other’s support system. Let us value encouragement over discouragement. If someone wants to sing/dance/act/write, let them. Let them find what they are passionate about and support them.
Encouragement and kindness are free.
- Equality has come a long way. 👍🏻
The series is set during the Joseon Era where the status of women depended on who they marry. They are practically born to serve men during this time. So, I’ve come to appreciate the liberties we have now more than ever.
- Do your part. Do not be afraid when you are just doing what you are supposed to do.
- Adapt to the changing times. Change is the only thing that is constant. Let's all move forward with lessons from the past. 💜
- Wouldn't it be nice... if the world was Cadbury? Char! Hahahaha! Wouldn't it be nice if someone makes the decision to let go of everything just to be with you? #SanaAll
It may sound cliché but it's really romantic - how two persons can come together to achieve everything together. Wouldn't this really be nice? 😊❤️🥰
- Safe to say, no matter what era we are currently in, women make the world a better place. HAHAHAHA!
The Gist:
The series depicts the story of two young individuals who, despite being in different social classes, fell in love against all odds.
Shin Se Kyung plays the role of Goo Hae Ryung. She is a quirky young lady from a noble family who enjoys reading a lot. In saying so, she works as a book-reader to noble ladies in her neighborhood to earn money. Although, due to her book preferences, she always ends up not getting paid.
During this time, women tend to enjoy books about cringy love stories - most of which are written by “Maehwa”. Hae Ryung, on the other hand, prefers western literature which usually end depressingly. Hence, the no-payment scenario.
Little did everyone know, Maehwa is the pen name of Prince Dowon Yi Rim (played by Cha Eun Woo). He is the King’s son who lives at Nokseodang - the most secluded area in the palace - where he stays with a eunuch named Sam Bo and 2 young court ladies.
Naturally, as a kid who never left the palace, he is very innocent, naive and gentle. He found writing as a means to pass time inside the palace. Thus, the inspiration for the novels he usually writes are the secret love affairs of eunuchs and court ladies.
Digging deeper into the conflicts inside the palace, the king and his right-hand man decided to request the hiring of female historians. They meant to spy on the queen dowager who seems to be plotting against them behind their backs by doing so.
This move took a turn when the crown prince - Yi Jun - approved the plea on the condition that the female historians should take the civil service examination for government employees and that their involvement should not be limited to the queen dowager but to ALL members of the royal family.
A lot of controversy rose as females were not allowed to hold any position in the government during this time.
Hae Ryung and Yi Rim's story start to blossom here - when Goo Hae Ryung decides to ditch her arranged wedding to take the civil service examination to work inside the palace as a female historian.
They are set to an adventure of finding out their real identities and the people behind their past experiences.
The rest is for you to find out. So, watch this. It will be worth your time. 👍🏻💕
What I liked about the series:
- I love how unconventional the theme of this series is. Well, it's a gender bender type of story. The aggressiveness of the female lead and the innocence and naivety of the male lead is fun and fresh. ❤️💕😍 It makes the story more interesting since it's different from the traditional sageuk we are previously acquainted to. 👍🏻😊❤️
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- I was thrilled when I found out that Cha Eun Woo was casted here as the male lead. I grew fond of him when I watched My ID is Gangnam Beauty. He's such an eyecandy! 😍😍😍
Of course, in relation to his outstanding visuals, we get to see a glimpse of his beautiful physique *wink wink*
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On a serious note, what I liked about him in this series is that he has a very demure personality. Rarely do we get to see men in sagueks who are effeminate - mainly because historical dramas are very patriarchal in nature (IMO, ✌🏻).
I also liked how his character really transformed from this very innocent prince to a very mature potential king. The character growth was well-displayed so it was very satisfying to watch. ❤️😊😍
His acting is one to praise as well. I could say that he has improved a lot in the duration of the series. You might find this hard to believe in the beginning. But wait til you see him in the last few episodes. You'll get to appreciate his improvement more. 😊👍🏻💯
Aaaaand, may I just say, the term "Face Genius" really works for the man. Well, who wouldn't love this BB's face? TELL MEEEEE! 💕😂😊
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- I was impressed with the acting skills of Shin Se Kyung here as well. The role of Goo Hae Ryung suits her! Her portrayal of the character was so on point that it actually came out naturally. Good job! 👍🏻👌🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻
I love how her character is so independent, responsible, intelligent, fun, aggressive (in a good way), lovable and just plain quirky with a sunshine-attitude. Like I said, I enjoyed seeing women do what is considered taboo in this particular era. It's something fun and interesting to watch. 💕😊👍🏻💯✅
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In this day and age, I think we need more Goo Hae Ryung's in the world - someone who stands up for her rights; someone who is not afraid to do her part for the common good; someone who is not afraid of power; someone who does not bend over backwards for power; someone who is righteous and responsible.
Very few are blessed with this kind of courage. So, if you're one of these very few individuals, SALUTE!
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Also, I love how she looks so elegant in a Hanbok. She's rocking the traditional outfit as if they were casual attires. No wonder she was part of the 2017 Hanbok PR Ambassadors. 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻
PO: I honestly think not all korean actresses look good in this traditional outfit. ✌🏻
- Their chemistry is 💯💕💕💕💕. They look good together. All their scenes made my heart flutter and skip a beat. 😍😍😍
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- I like how the series tackled a bit about Christianity. There's this one scene that I really liked between Min U-won and another historian who was willing to let go of his position and to sacrifice his life for his religious belief.
I honestly appreciated my faith more because all this time (in my 26 years), I was and I am still reminded that all are equal - rich or poor - in the eyes of God. 💯😊✝️
- Friendship appreciation post: I loved how the friendship of the people in this series protected and cheered up each other.
It's always good to know that someone has your back - all the time. 😊✅💯
- Yo, I also loved the big reveal regarding the leads' identities. Goosebumps, everywhere! Especially...
SPOILER ALERT!
Especially when they confronted the king on the latter part of the series. Ooohweeee! Daebakkk!! 👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻
- Storywise, it's good. 💯
It talks about love, forgiveness, friendship, faith, loyalty, dignity and responsibility.
Kudos to the team for a job well done! 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻
Cons:
- Okay... I have to admit, I did find the acting skills of Cha Eun Woo a little mediocre at the beginning. It was as if he wasn't ready for the role...
Some of his facial reactions were either exaggerated or repetitive... ✌🏻
But, let me tell you this. Do not let this bother you. He's got something in store for you on the latter part of the series. Do watch. 👍🏻😊✅
- I was a bit sad too when I heard that Cha Eun Woo was paired with Shin Se Kyung. My first impression on Shin Se Kyung is not that good. I honestly thought that her acting skill is not that impressive (Personal opinion, friends ✌🏻)
I have watched her in The Bride of Habaek and I was quite disappointed. Same with The Girl Who Sees Scents. 😔
But then again, all more reason to watch this because she really showed off what she's capable of. I've come to love her here because her acting prowess was showcased beautifully! 💕👏🏻👍🏻
- Again with the villain predictability. One can say that this story has the usual sageuk villain. ✌🏻
Soundtrack:
Rookie Historian Goo Hae Ryung OST
My personal favorite is Fall in Luv by Henry. It's the first track in the link provided above. 👆🏻👆🏻
Highly recommended for those who want to stray from conventional dramas. This one's fun and really enjoyable! You won't regret it! 💯👍🏻😊
CTTO Photos/GIFs/Music
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mtraki · 5 years
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(TW: Allusions to child prostitution/forced prostitution)
“... So this is a real thing?”
Miss Schofield gave him an amused look and answered dryly, “Mister Morgan, I would like to believe it’s clear I’m rather fond of you, but I am not so fond as to spend an evening arguing with Dutch van der Linde over a false lead, thereby lying to his face, just to ride out several days in the wilderness with you to eventually return to him empty handed.  Even I am not so brazen…”
Catherine adjusted her blouse and attempted to brush dust from her sleeves, “It’s not his house.  It’s his autumn and winter retreat.  His house is in Boston.”  Suffering Arthur’s disapproving look, and interrupting before he could give her a scathing reply on what he thought about that, the lady continued, “I only make mention of it because he has likely only recently arrived and will therefore not be anticipating company.”
“Is that important?” The outlaw wanted to know.
“It might be.  It will likely affect how many people are on the property and how easily he can send word to town if he decides it’s prudent-- which reminds me, we should scatter the horses or lock them all in the barn or something…”
Nodding, he motioned for them to turn off the road, into the trees, “An’ yer sure he’ll speak to us?”
Grinning, Catherine indicated herself, “... I’m Catherine-Louise Schofield, remember?  If nothing else, I’m his social peer.  It’s his obligation to treat me graciously and provide me whatever hospitality he has at his disposal.  He’ll see us.”
He shrugged and shook his head, “If you says so…”
“There _are _rules, Arthur,” She told him with a sigh, “Real rules.  Having a lot of money doesn’t mean there aren’t rules to follow, it just means there are different rules.”
It left a bad taste in his mouth, and sour memories crept forward from the dark, threatening to tug at his heart, “... I know…”
She gave him a long look before saying in a soft voice, “... That sounds like a story, Arthur…”
“Maybe.  Later.” The outlaw wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to tell Miss Schofield about Mary, “Speakin’ of stories… I suppose yer gonna want t’sell one t’this feller?”
“Well, as briefly amusing as it might be to introduce you to Mister Walker as ‘Mister Arthur Morgan of the notorious Van der Linde gang’, I don’t think that will assist us in getting any useful information…”
“Probably not… ‘Mister Walker’ you said?”
“Abraham Fitzgerald Thomas Walker, the Third,” Catherine explained with an off-hand gesture, “His family has packed ammunition since the start of the industry and has bought out most other labels.  I think it’s his older brother, however, who’s in charge of all the business…?  You’ll probably hear all about it tonight…”
“I can hardly wait…” The outlaw rolled his eyes, “So…?”
The lady gave him an appraising look, “... It depends on what sort of story you’re willing to go along with, Mister Morgan.  As much as I’d like to portray you as a man my father has hired for my protection, I don’t have the materials and you have made clear your disinclination to wear a disguise.”
“I don’ play dress-up.” He replied firmly.
“Indeed,” It was Catherine’s turn to roll eyes, and she grinned, “So perhaps it would be easiest to explain you as an ill-advised paramour?”
“... What do you mean?  You want to tell him I’m your lover?”
“Essentially.  You’ll be Dutch.”
Arthur snorted a laugh, “... I cannot tell you how poor a Dutch I make…”
“No, you’re filling his role, not play-acting as him!  I ran away from home and my father to join you on your adventures!”
“What ‘adventures’ would those be?”
Catherine looked him over, then shrugged and said simply, “Bounty hunting.”
“You ran away from home to be a bounty hunter?”
“No, silly man, I ran away from home because I was seduced by your rugged charms and untamed lifestyle!”
Arthur gave her a very dubious look, “You think he’s gonna buy that?”
“I’m going to sell that.” She smiled confidently back, “Will you help me?”
“... I don’ have any better ideas… So I guesso…” He shrugged, looking aside uncomfortably, feeling heat climb his throat at the idea of acting as if he fancied Miss Schofield when he was so used to spending all his effort acting like he didn’t, “... Though usually when I need to get information out of a man--”
“--I know.  But it’s not as if he’s alone, he’s going to have _some _security around the premises.  Even if you could shoot our way out of there again, we don’t need a massacre drawing all kinds of attention.  Believe me, I know you think beating him half-senseless and putting a gun to his head is easier, but this time, it’s really easier to just sit down and have a nice dinner and talk.”
“He’s gonna feed us?”
“Of course.  He’ll ply us with expensive liquor too if you like.  That’s all you have to do, my dear Mister Kilgore,” She smiled winningly at him, “Accept what he offers you, answer questions or decline to answer them politely-- ‘I’d rather not say’ will do-- watch, and listen, and ultimately make sure we leave again.  Under no circumstances do we stay the night, though he will probably offer to put us up.”
“Kilgore, huh?  Tacitus Kilgore?” “It’s one of your better stage names.”
They finished locking half the horses in the stables and scaring the other half out the open back gate of the pasture.  They saw noone and went unchallenged for the entire endeavor, and even all the way to the front door of the sizeable lodge.
Arthur’s loud knocking brought a barrel-chested man to greet them, his impressive size blocking them from seeing, much less trespassing, indoors.
“... Who’re you?”
Placing her hand lightly on Arthur’s forearm, Catherine smiled winningly and answered, “Miss Schofield, calling on my dear family friend, Mister Walker.”
The man’s distrusting scowl deepened, “Mister Walker isn’t expecting friends to come calling, Miss…”
“Oh, I understand entirely, but will you please let him know we’re here anyway?” Was her reply, her radiant smile never flinching.
The man closed the door again-- making no attempt to hide his disdain in the gesture-- and Arthur and the lady shared a look.
“Don’t worry.” She assured him confidently, despite the quirking eyebrow he’d noticed.
It was only minutes later that the same man opened the door again, this time looking much more chastened and respectful, which Arthur supposed was good enough that he wouldn’t have to arrange for it himself.  As he’d fully intended to.
“My apologies, Miss Schofield.  Mister Walker will see you in the sitting room.  This way…”
The cabin was large, and to Arthur, who had seen any number of rustic homesteads, it looked strange.  The rooms too spacious, their arrangement too manufactured and furnishings too polished.  An artifice.  A rich man’s approximation of what living on the brink of civilization looked like without giving up too much of the luxury and elegance with which he might be accustomed.  Before even laying eyes on the man, Arthur decided he very much did not like him.  He was everything wrong with this country.
His opinions didn’t change when he saw the man in the sitting room.  Upon seeing Miss Schofield, the gentleman rose and approached, a broad smile on his face.
“My dear Catherine-Louise!  My God, just look at you!  One would hardly think it possible, but I am quite certain you are more beautiful every time I see you!”
He was a spry middle-aged man of average height, and save for some thickness around the waistline, slender in a waistcoat and collared shirt, cravat loose around his neck.  His narrow face featured prominently a long, beak-like nose and was crowned with thick, curly hair of a warm brown, trimmed neatly along the sides, but longer and more wild at the top of his head.  With long booted strides, he crossed the wooden floor to the young woman, and for a moment, Arthur thought he would pull her into an embrace.
The big outlaw cleared his throat and held back every other urge to interfere more directly.
Catherine demured and smiled, “Mister Walker, it’s so nice to see you again!  I’m glad you seem to be keeping well.”
Another woman was stepping gracefully to meet them.  She appeared perhaps not too much older than Catherine-- maybe closer to Arthur’s own age-- and somewhat fuller figured.  Her blonde hair was pinned up elaborately and dressed with a comb and sprig of lavender to match her patterned dress.  Her wide blue eyes lowered to the floor and she blushed visibly under Arthur’s brief examination, which made him immediately uncomfortable and turn his attention back to the more out-going Mister Walker.
“Me?  But it’s you who-- I’m forgetting my manners.  I do not think you’ve ever the pleasure of meeting my charming and manifestly superior half!  Miss Schofield, this is Missus Delilah Walker.  My dearest, this is Miss Catherine-Louise Schofield, Robert Schofield’s daughter.”
The women shook hands, smiling fondly at each other, and then Catherine reached for Arthur’s elbow, “Meanwhile, I have the singular pleasure of introducing you to my dear, intimate friend, Mister Tacitus Kilgore.”
“Abraham Walker, a pleasure.”
Arthur accepted the handshakes offered him, “Sir.  Ma’am.”
“Wonderful, delightful, please, won’t you sit?”
They moved to the seating area, and Catherine took the outlaw’s hand, causing him to freeze at the side of the couch and look at her in surprise.  Still holding his hand, she smiled and sat herself elegantly, using his arm for support.  It occurred to Arthur that she’d just created the illusion that he had the first idea of what to do or how to behave in this room with these wealthy socialites.  Dipping his head to her in acknowledgement, he noted the movement of her eyes toward the seat beside her, so he went and sat somewhat stiffly and awkwardly next to her.  Meanwhile, Mister and Missus Walker had settled into a pair of overstuffed chairs across from them.
Quite suddenly, it began.
“It’s quite a ways from Boston, my dear.  What brings you to West Elizabeth?” Asked Abraham, smiling pleasantly.
Catherine’s smile and tone were mildly teasing, by contrast, “You would be well acquainted with the distance, wouldn’t you?  Seeing as you travel it every autumn and spring…”
“I’ve said it before haven’t I?  I cannot abide the frigid winters, and here the punishing summers.  I’d much rather escape both.”
“It’s only just now started to cool a bit, isn’t that right, Mister Kilgore?”  When Arthur nodded, attempting to make a thoughtful sound in his throat, Catherine continued, “Which is a welcome relief.  Still, I must say you are depriving your lovely wife by taking her out of New England during the prettiest of its seasons.”
“It is sad to leave behind the fall colors,” Missus Walker confessed quietly, but then she smiled at her husband indulgently, “But I suffer deplorably in the chill.  My husband is so good to look after my health.”
“I’m more surprised to see you leaving behind the vibrant northeastern autumn,” The husband interjected, turning the topic back toward the one he’d intended. “I know how much you used to enjoy them.”
“A sacrifice, I assure you, but one gladly made,” Catherine replied casually, giving Arthur a long glance he couldn’t immediately interpret outside of it being part of the act and not an actual communication-- or so he hoped, “but I had more than the harsh winter to escape, Mister Walker.  I’d appreciate your discretion on the matter…”
For all his apparent foolishness, Abraham Walker was quick, “... My dear Catherine, don’t tell me you’ve run away?”
“I’m a woman grown, Mister Walker,” was the contradiction, “I’ll thank you not to infantilize my desire for freedom like I’m some wayward girl.”
“No, no, that wasn’t my intention, forgive me.  But do you mean to say you are here against your father’s wishes?”
Shrugging, Catherine answered, “As of late, I know very little of my father’s wishes, and have even less concern for them.  I tired of being his prisoner, so I left.”
Mister Walker did not immediately reply, instead his gaze fell upon Arthur, noting the number of weapons as if just now realizing they might signify a danger, “... Is that where you come in, sir?”
Considering carefully, the outlaw picked his words with trepidation, meeting the other man’s eyes, “... A lady tells you she wants to go west, are you gonna say ‘no’?  ‘specially a lady like Miss Schofield?”
“Ha, you make a fine point, Mister Kilgore!” 
“I find it strange,” Catherine observed, smoothing her skirts, “that this is the first you are hearing of this.  I was certain my father would have enlisted your aid in the matter months ago.”
“He might have,” the gentleman replied, “were we still on speaking terms.”
The silence was abrupt and stifling, chasing tension through Arthur’s shoulders and into his hands.  He looked at Miss Schofield.  What now?
Catherine blinked her surprise, “...This is astonishing news!  I was not aware you and my father had had a falling out…”
“I’m embarrassed to confess that we had a… very severe disagreement.”
“It must have been, so,” She replied, “The two of you have been friends longer than I’ve been alive!”
Mister Walker shrugged, smiling sadly, “It is my understanding that there are two sorts of men in this world: the sort who, after confession, feel gratitude, and the sort, who, after confession, feel nothing but resentment.”
“You will not surprise me by revealing my father numbers among the latter.”
“Most men do, my dear Catherine.  Still, I think it a shame to lose his companionship.  I have long admired the ingenuity and energy of Mister Robert Schofield.” Then the gentleman’s head tilted a little to the right, and his expression changed, as if the new vantage provided a whole new perception of the woman sat across him, “You much re--”
“--I am aware of our familial similarities, Mister Walker, and would prefer not to be reminded,” Catherine’s voice was cold, but then she softened again, “...I cannot say that I share your opinions of your situation, for your own sake, but I do confess it complicates my own endeavor…”
Abraham straightened in his seat, “You come to me in need.  How may I be of assistance, dear lady?”
“... If you are no longer in contact, then I suppose you do not know anything about my father’s plans for Manzanita Post--”
“Miss Schofield.” Arthur rumbled, checking her tongue.  It was part of their approach: the moment she mentioned the location, he was to interject.
It worked amazingly well.  Immediately, Mister Walker’s interest only sharpened, they could see it in his face and in his dark eyes, but then he deflated again.
“No, I can tell you nothing.  I’m sorry.”
“It’s just as well,” The young woman relented with a sigh, seeming to sink into the couch, “Nevermind, Mister Walker.  I’m sorry to trouble you over it.”
The man started to protest that it wasn’t any trouble at all, but Missus Walker smoothly rose to her feet.
“Our guests would probably like to refresh themselves before supper, my dear.  Miss Schofield, will you accompany me upstairs?”
Catherine stood with equal grace, prompting both men to their feet as well.
“Yes, yes, of course!” The gentleman, addressed Arthur directly, “You will be staying for supper, of course, won’t you?”
“Well…” He wanted to say no.  If Mister Walker didn’t have the information Catherine was after, then they needed to make themselves scarce and find something else to take back to camp.  Absolutely, under no circumstances, did he want to return to Dutch with nothing to show… not with what little he could remember of leaving him.  Besides that, he didn’t like this man, or care for his company
But then he felt Catherine’s fingers slide against his calloused palm as she took his hand, and he turned his face to meet her look.
“... We could use a good meal,” Were her soft words, “and I could do with a proper bath…”
She’s trying to communicate something more, he knew it, but he just couldn’t tell what it was.  Chafed with frustration, the outlaw held her hand fast and pulled her after him, away from the couch and to the corner of the room without even an ‘excuse me’.  He knew it was incredibly churlish, even for a coarse man, but at present, he didn’t give a damn.  Thankfully, Miss Catherine went without protest, and didn’t resist when he tugged her into the corner and blocked out their hosts with his broad back.  Ignoring the gasps and alarmed mutterings, he kept his voice low and minded his words carefully-- they could probably still hear him.  They were most certainly listening…
“If you want a bath, I’ll take you into town--”
Her smile was all sweetness, her pale eyes wide while she adopted his hushed tone, “My dear, I didn’t mean to offend!  You take such good care of me, I’ll be sure to make that very clear--”
“--That’s not…  I don’t…  What’re we doin’ here?” Stamping down his frustration of the situation was hard enough, but now she’d assaulted him with the embarrassment of the implications of the act they were putting on, and already Arthur could feel heat climbing up from his collar.
“We’re going to have supper,” She told him quietly, squeezing his hand that still held hers, “I’m going to wash up beforehand, as is only proper, and I’m certain you’ll have the opportunity as well, should you want it.  In the meantime, I’m sure you and Mister Walker can find something to talk about…?  I’ve gone and monopolized the conversation, as usual…”
“... Catherine…” He ground out the syllables between his teeth, making clear along with every facet of his expression how much he did not want to talk with the gentleman.
“It’ll only be a little while,” She promised, “just for a bit of tidying up-- Oh, but Missus Walker will probably want to show me the rooms upstairs…”
“... You know I ain’t got patience for long conversation, Miss Schofield…”
“Your best manners, you promised me…”
“Did I?”
Mister Walker called from the middle of the room, “Is everything alright?”
Holding Arthur’s look for a moment-- and he was impressed as well as irritated with the sharpened steel he saw there in her pale eyes-- Catherine smiled all graciousness at the gentleman, “Yes, of course, everything is quite well.  My dearest Tacitus is just unused to the usual motions of social calls.  Now, Missus Walker, we were going upstairs, weren’t we?”
The outlaw did not hold on to her hand to keep her from going, despite his every desire to do so.  Part of him wanted to haul her over his shoulder and stride out the front door no matter how she might holler at him for the indignity…
Together, he and the gentleman watched the ladies ascend the stairs.  The mousy Delilah was whispering something in what Arthur thought looked like a _nervous _fashion, and that Catherine smiled over her shoulder at him made clear she was commenting on him and his behavior.  She was probably mentioning how poor a match they were…
He’d warned her, dammit.  He couldn’t play these complicated smooth-talking roles!
“... She’s quite something.” Abraham said after the women had vanished through a doorway, “Always has been, that Catherine-Louise…”
“...Mhm.”
The gentleman turned his gaze to Arthur’s face, and the lightness in his tone vanished, turning it very grave, “... Do you plan on keeping her, Mister Kilgore?  Or just until the fancy passes?”
Scoffing a light laugh, Arthur fixed Abraham a hard look, “I ain’t in the practice of havin’ nothin’ taken from me, Mister Walker, if that’s what you’re suggesting…”
Watching the rich man squirm almost made the evening worth the trouble.
“... I don’t want to give you the wrong idea… Just a friendly warning: if you care for her, and intend to keep her, then stay far out of the reach of her father.”
“I’ve heard some of dear ol’ Daddy Schofield.” Arthur shrugged.
“I don’t think you understand…” The gentleman tugged at his collar, “... You see, she’s what?  Nearly thirty now?  It’s an important time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well… she’s nearly too old to be of her… previous uses to him… So now his only recourse is to marry her off to the highest bidder!”
“... Excuse me?”
“Do you think it is an accident she is so charming?  Do you imagine you are the first man she has beguiled?  My dear Mister Kilgore, the poor girl is only doing as she was trained to do!”
“I’m the ill-bred man,” Arthur snarled, “and here you’re talkin’ about a lady like she’s no more than a trained hound!”
“We are all products of our training, Mister Kilgore.” Abraham said quietly.
“Unless you want to see what my training has turned out, Mister Walker, you’ll shut your goddamn mouth about Miss Schofield!”
He was quaking with anger.  Still, he knew silencing the other man was a mistake-- whatever information he had, even the distasteful sort-- was information he shouldn’t turn aside out of hand.
But he couldn’t help himself.  He kept picturing Catherine in the moonlight, on the ridge, telling him she intimately understood already that she was an object, a plaything, for men, despite all her fierce independence and cunning.  Catherine, bent over the little side table, her face distant, as if she’d turned dead and cold inside-- like it was a familiar habit-- while Dutch rutted into her.
Catherine wanted vengeance on her father.  That much had been clear since the very beginning.
Abraham had said ‘nearly thirty’ was ‘too old’ for her ‘previous uses’.  Arthur wanted to tear him apart.
Their eyes met, and Abraham was solemn, not afraid.
“If you care for her--”
“--Shut up--”
“-- take her far away.  This is not nearly far enough.” The man shook his head, “Heed my advice.  She’ll think it silly.  Overcautious.  But she has always famously underestimated him.”
“If I was you,” Was the low reply, “I’d worry more about my own damn self, the way you keep on…”
With a heavy sigh, Mister Walker made a gesture as if sweeping the matter aside.  Then he brightened.
“... Can I offer you a cigar, Mister Kilgore?”
Supper was a brief, bright event.  Arthur’s appetite had abandoned him, though, and Abraham did not seem to be faring much better, no matter his attempts to maintain a cheerful demeanor.  Catherine must have sensed the change, for she did not protest when Arthur suggest they bid their farewells and move on for the night.
The Walkers did not invite them to stay.
Once out of sight of the cabin once more, they mounted up where they’d left the horses in the near-dark just after sunset.  The lady’s pale gaze looked far beyond the road when she spoke to him, her chin held proud, but not haughty.
“... I’m sure you’ve heard a little about my history.  I knew it was a risk.  So I would appreciate it if you kept whatever it was to yourself, Arthur.”
“... I didn’t hear anythin’ worth repeatin’, Miss Catherine.” The outlaw shrugged, scowling as he adjusted his hat, “... I’m just hopin’ you did.”
“No, but I did find this…”
He saw her pull the folded memo from her skirt and took it when she passed it over.
“Missus Delilah Walker is a lovely, trusting soul, bless her.” The young lady sighed, “She didn’t even notice while we were in his upstairs study.  It was on the desk, under a few less interesting papers.”
Smirking, Arthur shook his head and offered the paper back-- but she held up her hands for him to keep it, “... If I had known you meant to steal somethin’ like this when you went for yer bath, I wouldn’t have made a fuss!”
“You were brilliant, Mister Morgan.  I couldn’t have scripted you a better part.”
“Hush.”
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20qs20somethings · 6 years
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Calvin, 29
1. Would you describe yourself as a millennial? Why? Yeah, but I feel like it’s a slur. I feel like no one wants to be called a millennial. So yes, because I qualify as a millennial, but also no because I feel like it’s a slur. I feel like people use it as a way to say something nasty about someone like, “millennials are killing x y z.” It’s not really a moniker I adopt. 
2. What’s your relationship with social media like? This is tough. I think for me, I’m able to do the work I do because of social media. Social media provided a community for me when growing up in New England in a town of a couple hundred people, there were no gay people. So social media was great for finding like minded people with similar experiences who you could talk to. I think it’s been great to learn. You learn so much from listening to other people with lived experiences that you don’t have that wouldn’t have surfaced unless you were looking on social media to hear them tell their own stories so I think that’s great so I think that’s positive. 
But when my friends look at my mentions, there are so many death threats everyday, real vitriol. I’ve become kind of immune to it, but it’s always a reminder for me when someone from the outside isn’t engaged as thoroughly as I am, they see it and ask, “how do you put up with this everyday?” I’ve just built up an armor where this is just my normal day to day experience so I don’t think about it all that much. So I’m glad I’ve been able to build up that armor but it makes me very afraid when I see things like 13 Reasons Why and teenagers that don’t necessarily have that armor. Everyday I thank God that Twitter wasn’t a thing when I was in high school. 
So it’s definitely a double edged sword. I think it brings a lot of good but people can utilize it to do some really ugly things. When we were in school, if someone were to bully you, they could only do it when you were together. Now they can torment you 24/7 and I think that’s really scary and I still don’t think people have adjusted to figure out how to deal with that. Because i Think that’s a modern issue for schools and workplaces. 
3. Selfies: Thoughts? Go for it! I mean, when I was cuter, I took them all the time. I think there’s nothing wrong with a selfie. If you look and feel good, show it off.
4. Do you believe in love? Oh of course! Yeah, how can you not? If you didn’t, this world would be a pretty miserable place.
5. What’s something you think people assume of you based on your internet persona? The internet’s really odd because people feel like they know you inside and out, there’s not much room for nuance. I always say, you’ll meet a lot of people online that are lions and then you meet them in real life and they’re mice. They’re very loud online and very shy or demure in person. I say I’m just as annoying on the internet as I am in person, but I think it’s easy for people to get a black and white image of someone following them online versus assuming or understanding that every person just like them has layers and nuance and everything that makes you a human being. 
I think the second that you have a platform for better or worse on the internet, everything you do is highly scrutinized. People will pick apart your breathing technique, there’s nothing you can do that’s right. But that’s another thing where I’ve built up an armor to it and I find more often than not that when I do meet someone in real life that has been an agitator to me online that has said some not nice things, they’re always weirdly apologetic in person. To the point where I’ve had a few sob telling me that they were sorry that they were mean. And for me, everyone goes through the phases, and I was like, “Yeah I was a jerk once so it’s fine, don’t worry about it. Just please stop doing that to other people.” It’s odd. I think it boils down to people don’t allow for the nuance that they allow for themselves, their friends, or their family for the people they’re targeting because that person might have a couple followers which is stupid.
It’s such a weird thing, it’s one of those things like Uncle Ben said, “With great power comes great responsibility.” I‘ve had to learn to be more thoughtful about how I use my platform and what I say. You learn to be more judicious in what you say or do. You realize that whether it’s fair or not, the things you say or do have a lot more weight because you do have a larger audience listening so you have to be very careful about who you’re subjecting to public scrutiny. I’ve learned over the years that there’s a disproportionate power play there that I try to be conscious of.
6. What’s one thing you want people to know about you? That I’m really boring. I’m really really boring. I can tell you if you look at my YouTube history, I just watch hundreds of crafting videos, and I don’t even craft, I just find them very soothing. Everyone assumes because I’m very loud and very much an extrovert that I must be going out all the time and getting crazy. But I like sitting home and reading, I try to read 2-3 books a week, I watch a lot of those crafting videos, I’m like a little old lady.
7. How do you consume news? Mostly Twitter. I also watch Fox News every single night. I was raised by a politically very conservative family, identified as a conservative until I was a teenager, and I try to get ahead of what my family and friends back home are going to send me. But I torture myself by watching Sean Hannity and Tucker Carlson every night. I read Drudge Report and Breitbart everyday. Twitter already gives me a clear view of the stuff I already agree with which is great, but I always want to make sure I’m going outside the echo chamber, so when I do get some crazy forwarded email from my grandmother that’s this conspiracy theory that i know where she heard it from, I know the best way to counteract it. So mostly Twitter, but also I torment myself a lot with the conservative stuff so I’m not in the bubble too much
8. What are your thoughts on race? I’ll start with a disclaimer: I feel like white people have been giving their thoughts on race for so long and dominating that narrative. My thoughts are very much molded from my personal experience. I was born and raised in a place that has probably less than 1% of the population is anything other than white Irish Catholic. It wasn’t until I moved to New York City when I was a teen that I kind of got exposed to everything, other races, cultures, languages, foods. My friends think I’m joking that growing up, every night we would have the same meal. It was steak and potatoes and the potatoes couldn’t touch the steak. My parents didn’t use any seasoning, no gravy or anything, just salt, pepper, and butter, nothing on the steak either. I thought that was normal and I thought that anyone that didn’t do what I was doing was weird. 
So when I moved to New York, I was like, this is surreal, my world isn’t the world and kind of removing yourself from that, I’m not surprised that this country has so many issues with race, because this country was built on white supremacy but on top of that when you’re in school in history class, that’s not what you’re learning. You’re learning that slavery was bad, but it ended. After that, segregation was bad, but it ended. So everything’s great now, there’s nothing to worry about. I think we have generation after generation propagated this very dangerous notion that it’s good to be colorblind, which no one is. If you are, see a doctor. Clearly you’re not, but we’ve taught people to say that as some sort of egalitarian view, but I think that ignores generations and millennia of lived experiences of people that have been marginalized. 
I wasn’t too shocked by the election results, where I came from, Trump won my county by a significant amount, so I wasn't too shocked when it happened. I remember the day after seeing all my friends of color, none of them were surprised, the only people that were shocked were white liberals. I think there is a lot of introspection that particularly White Americans need to do. I was a part of the problem as a teenager, and that’s something that I’m still unlearning and also learning because you have to unlearn all the things you took in and assumed were universal truths and that’s where it’s so important to listen to people who have lived this life and they can tell you and it’s not an outlier. If everyone is saying the same thing, listen to them. 
I still feel like White Americans are living in this bubble, I know I still am, so it’s learning and taking in what’s going on and what the people experiencing this stuff are saying so that I can be better informed and then use that education to reach out to a white friend or family member that might not be too willing to listen to someone that’s different from them. Use your ability as an ally for good to make that change happen because we’ve tried to put all the work on people who have been marginalized when it’s time for us as white people to clean house and start taking on responsibility for ourselves with all the bullshit that’s going on. 
9. Do you think the American Dream is still alive? Growing up, I think we’re taught the American Dream is that you can come here with nothing and you can build a life for you, for your kids, and certainly, there are people who have done that. But I also think we’ve made it incredibly difficult, whether it be the immigration laws or the way we’ve frozen social mobility where it’s very rare for someone to not die in the class they were born into and that can be a great thing if you’re born rich or a horrible thing if you’re born poor.
So I think right now, I don’t have the exact stat, but social mobility has never been as bad as it has been now in this country. So if the American Dream is that anyone can start from nothing and become a millionaire, I don’t think that’s true. There are plenty of people that do it, but it’s not just hard work. If everyone that just worked hard was rich, there would be janitors that’d be millionaires all over the country right now. It’s not just hard work, I think you have to have some luck thrown in there. I think there’s a lot of circumstances that make it a lot harder. Certain political parties have made it harder for the American Dream to happen.
10.  Is college overrated? I think it’s contextual, I think it depends on what you want to do. I think a lot of people don’t need to go to college and I think as it becomes more assumed that everyone’s expected to have a college degree, I think the college degree will no longer set you apart. I think if you have the means, go. I think the most important thing is fighting so that everyone has the means to do so. There’s no reason that public colleges shouldn’t be free and accessible to everybody and that’s not the case right now. 
But I think we’re about to enter another bubble burst of the student loan bubble and that’s gonna do a lot of horrible things to the economy and people who have incurred a lot of debt. I also think there should be ownness on employers where this expectation that you’re hiring someone for an associate level position and you want them to have a 4-6 year degree and 5 years of experience, when this is an associate level position, this makes no sense. 
I also think it’s about reeducating employers to not demand degrees if degrees aren’t necessary. Because if you start saying to people “you don't need college” until employers catch up to that, then you’re screwing people out of work. So it’s a very thorny issue for me. In a perfect world, no. But it has a lot of bad side effects that we’re forcing everyone into college when that might not be right for them.
11. Would you rather have security or fulfillment in your work? Fulfillment. After 4 years at DoSomething, I took a year off and went to go work at a creative agency which was great. Incredible pay, really smart people working there, but I was using all my digital marketing expertise to sell things that weren’t making the world a better place and I miss doing work that was based in, “Okay, here’s an issue, how can we get people to do something about this issue?” So I quit after a year and took a pretty severe pay cut to go back because I miss the fulfillment work, which was another adult learning lesson that money really doesn’t make you happy. If you have enough that you have security that you’re not worried about paying rent or paying a medical cost, anything on top of that isn’t going to make you happier and I just assumed if I made more money, I’d be happier which wasn’t the case, so I went back to DoSomething.
12. What’s the title of the current chapter of your life? Golden Cal 
13. What do you want out of this life? To leave the planet in a better place. So hopefully the work I’m doing sparks a generation and movement of social change and people being involved so we have more people voting, we have more protections in place where people experience discrimination, and protection for the environment. 
14. What would you say is your biggest character flaw? That I don’t have a filter. I get myself in trouble all the time because I say what I think and it gets me in trouble at work, with people I date, with friends. So I’m always honest. 
15. What’s something that makes you angry? Apathy. If you can look around at all the stuff happening in the world, and this is nothing new, this is the same story before Trump. If you can look around and say “Eh, it doesn’t affect me so I don’t care.” It’s apathy attached with a lack of empathy. If everyone had the power to be empathetic, the world would be such a better place because you hear so often that someone didn’t care about something until it affected them personally. You hear this with people who are socially conservative all the time where they’re very much apathetic to immigration or queer rights and they have a gay son and all of a sudden they’re like, “oh my god I’m so sorry I wasn’t fighting on your behalf.” I just wish you could naturally be empathetic because then the world would be a much better place, we’d be farther along than we are now. 
16. How do you measure success? I try not to. I feel like the second you put a measuring stick on it, you’re always going to be doubting yourself and worse, you’re going to be comparing yourself to your friends. Your friends are the same age but they might make more money or have a cooler job title and I think that’s really toxic. 
It will hurt your relationship with your friends, your family, and make you incredibly neurotic and full of self doubt so I try not to. There will always be someone smarter, better looking, that has a better job, that makes more money and you will never win if you play that game. Stay in your lane, focus on what you want to do and you will be much happier if you do that. 
17. What are qualities that you value? Empathy, Kindness, Patience
18. What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned so far? To slow down and open yourself up to experiences outside of your own. Whether that be talking to people who have a different lived experience than you, listening to an argument that you might not agree with, trying a new food, going to a new country, and really being open to new ideas and experiences.
19. What’s the hardest lesson you’ve had to learn? That you, just like everyone else are imperfect. I think we spend so much time telling kids, “Don’t change who you are, people have to learn to love you, you’re perfect the way you are!” No one is perfect. I think there’s beauty in imperfection and having enough introspection to actually say, “Oh I’m always demanding my friends invite me to things but I don’t invite my friends to anything.” Maybe that's something to look at that I’m asking more than giving in these personal relationships. Everyone has character flaws, it’s okay, it’s what makes you human. It’s realizing that you’re not as great as you were always told you were. 
20. What is the best piece of advice you want to leave the world with? Practice empathy. Truly, the world would be a better place if everyone just practiced empathy. 
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brianjaeger · 5 years
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2019 Academy Award Best Picture Nominees Guide For Those Who Haven’t Actually Watched Them
It’s the 91st time Hollywood comes together to pat themselves on the back and this year marks the 5th time I’m bringing you the rundown of every Best Picture nominee so that you aren’t the “goddamn idiot” someone at your Oscars party is referring to when they ask, “Who invited this goddamn idiot?” Only, as in 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015 and 2014  (check out the hyperlinks for previous years’ rundowns - and likely some jokes that don’t age very well) - this is all based on the name of the film, the poster for the movie, or things I’ve heard while flipping past Extra or E! So take it all in and enjoy my tips on things to say to other guests so that your party has an ending that is more like Ally’s and less like Jackson’s!
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Black Panther
After Creed loses in embarrassing fashion to Ivan Drago’s son, he tats up, grows that hair out, and heads to outer space. After landing on a planet right between the planet from Avatar and Naboo, pissy Creed picks a fight with a space prince who was bit by a radioactive space panther in the movie that had audiences saying, “I bet Forest Whitaker is in this movie. How is Forest Whitaker not in this movie? I’m honestly shocked that Forest Whitaker is not...oh, yup, there he is.”
3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:
A little insider Easter egg here - Wakanda backwards spells Adnakaw, which happens to be the name of Thor and Loki’s OTHER brother who is going to save everyone in Avengers: Endgame. He’ll be played by...Forest Whitaker.
In a deleted scene, Black Panther’s brother, The Pink Panther, visits to check out the Wakandan castle’s attic and then installs fiberglass insulation.
Spike Lee really turned the super hero movie genre on its head with this didn’t he? (Pause.) Oh. That was...um...oh, well um... (Slowly walk backward out of the room and do not return.)
BlacKkKlansman
The Chapelle’s Show’s first skit-to-feature length film gives the big screen treatment to the story of Clayton Bigsby. Based on the success of this film, 2019 also saw the big screen adaptation of The Chapelle’s Show’s “What Men Want” skit to a movie starring Taraji P. Henson. In 2020, anticipate a feature length Rick James biopic, a Playa Hater’s Ball film, and “Game, Blouses: The Movie”.
3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:
This film marks Ricky Jerret’s first acting role after he was cut from the Miami Dolphins by Charles Greane - who he thought was his friend - for his use of PEDs.
This film holds the distinction of having the highest number of different spellings on social media - just barely edging out Bohemian Rhapsody and The Favourite (well, in America).
Reggie Miller purchased a seat in the front row of the Oscars and is planning to wear a The Favourite jersey and baseball cap, then spend the entire show heckling Spike Lee and screaming, “See?! How does it feel the other way around?!”
Bohemian Rhapsody
Bohemian Rhapsody is a French film with a title that can be loosely translated into English as “The Sassy Singing Lad With The Donkey Snout”. 
3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:
A bit of trivia for you. Did you know that Freddie Mercury wasn’t his first choice for a stage name? It was actually Fred Mercury.
A bit of trivia for you. Did you know that Brian May wasn’t his first choice for a stage name? It was actually Brian February.
A bit of trivia for you. Did you know that Queen’s first band name was actually Princess and they didn’t become Queen until they married Prince...and enjoyed a Purple Reign? Yup - I will show myself out now.
The Favourite
Rain droups on rouses! This perioud piece stars Oulivia Coulman, Emma Stoune, Joue Alwyn and Nichoulas Holt! It’s abot a grop of people in the contry of England that’s two hors long and y will find fabulos! 
3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:
This is the movie about a Queen that doesn’t end with an AIDS diagnosis...I think.
Wigs and bodices accounted for 48% of the film’s budget.
The film’s title has nothing to do with the plot or characters and is instead a sly attempt to influence the outcome of the Academy of Motion Pictures and Sciences members’ voting.
Green Book
In this sexual thriller, we see the raw, animal side of Kermit the Frog as he provides details from his Little Green Book of every single Muppet he’s fucked. With an original working title of Fifty Shades of Green, we’ll see how Miss Piggy was at first a mousy and demure fill-in interviewer whose sexual spirit was awakened by Kermit’s dominant yet mesmerizing magnetism. Kermit also does some butt stuff with Bunsen Honeydew and gets down group style with all of The Electric Mayhem.
3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:
There’s an odd cameo halfway through the movie where Mahershala Ali enters a gas station on the road and encounters a man in his late 20′s/early 30′s who says in a southern drawl, “I’m Stephen Dorff and I’m your partner,” then another Stephen Dorff, this one in his 40′s limps up and says, “And I’m Stephen Dorff. I’m also your partner,” then finally an old drunk one in his 70′s hobbles up and says, “I’m Stephen Dorff and I too am your partner!”
Mahershala Ali generally tried to avoid Viggo Mortensen, who continually would run up saying, “Dude, Mahersh! We have to get matching tattoos of the number two - for the two of us to commemorate this journey that we’re on together. It’s what you do with your cast mates!” When Mahershala would decline but say it was nice what Viggo and the cast of the Lord of the Rings trilogy did together, Viggo would walk off grumbling, “Hidalgo got a tattoo with me...”
*Before the next comment - be sure to do a thorough research on Google and on social media to determine the prevailing public opinion of if Green Book is a remarkable cinematic achievement faithful to the story of Don Shirley and Tony Vallelonga’s relationship and an examination of the complicated issue of race and its impact on friendship and business OR if it’s just another white savior movie before you speak, so that you can make sure that you’re aligned with whatever is currently the popular thing to say at that moment in time about this movie. Then say...
Ahem. This is the same director who wrote and directed a scene in Movie 43 where Hugh Jackman is on a blind date with Kate Winslet and has prosthetic testicles hanging under his neck which go into her mouth - and that’s, like, it.
Roma
Set in a world with no color, this movie is about a bunch of people (mostly children) hugging on a beach who may or may not be related to each other, may or may not be involved in some kind of national tragedy in either Italy or Mexico, and may or may not be sick, dying, sad or overcome with joy. I honestly have no clue on this one. But it IS on Netflix.
3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert: 
They say that Alfonso Cuarón painted a realistic picture of his childhood in Roma which is the exact same tactic he employed in making Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
Netflix forced Cuarón to cross promote other Netflix titles throughout the film, so there is an odd scene in which Cleo’s son meets his Big Mouth Hormone Monster to talk about masturbation and then later on the family enters The Upside Down (or Al Revés de Abajo). Also, every single cast member gets a stand-up comedy special.
Yalitza Martínez plays a housekeeper here and after this star-making turn, she’s got it MAID!
A Star Is Born
Jackson Maine wants to create a star. But after consulting a high school astronomy textbook, he learns that the only way that a star is truly born is to squeeze atoms of light elements under enough pressure for their nuclei to undergo fusion. He closes the book and says, “To hell with that science shit,” then gets drunk and just hires Lady Gaga to write a song that sounds like she’s a child screaming at her mom to watch her do a dive at the community pool.
3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:
As a first-time singer, Bradley Cooper devoted countless hours over several months in order to unlock the instrument of his voice to become a mostly-inoffensive singer. As a first-time director, Bradley Cooper bought one of those chairs with “Director” on it.
Bradley Cooper refused to urinate for the duration of filming until the big Grammy’s scene so it played better on film. He did poop a lot during filming though.
The young actress from Eighth Grade is already planning her Oscar bait remake of A Star Is Born to come out in 2043 where SHE plays the aging star and enters a romance with a young male singer played by Boy from Bird Box.
Vice
As the DC Comics universe continues to expand, we finally get the origin story of Batman arch nemesis and super villain, The Penguin.
3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:
Unable to shake his Saturday Night Live roots, Adam McKay decided to insert a scene late in the movie where - unannounced - the real Dick Cheney walks in to surprised applause from the audience and Christian Bale acts flustered before stammering out that it is an honor to meet him. Cheney pauses for the awkward “oh my god, can you believe this” murmur to die down in the audience and then stiffly delivers, “You know, Christian, you could have just worn a fat suit for this role.” The audience erases all memory of the terrible atrocities that the man has committed during his lifetime and erupts into wild clapping and bark-laughing like seals while Christian and the rest of the cast just have to hand it to the guy for being such a good sport about it all.
Dick Cheney is just happy that A Star Is Born is in the field this year so that in defiance of Vice he also doesn’t have to root for any movies about gay guys, black people, immigrants, or foreigners.
While watching the film, Laura Bush continually had to remind a startled and frightened George W. that no, he was not trapped up in the big movie screen.
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! Not sure if you're still taking jonsa prompts but I love a kinky domJon and know you do too so here goes nothing. By day Sansa is all business, negotiating trade, handling petitions, dealing with the left over Dothraki, currying favor with visiting Lords and generally healing a post Long Night 2 Westeros. By night however she just wants to let go of control and enjoy being taken like a bitch in heat, commanded, used for pleasure, marked, denied and made to beg by her King.
Oooh boy! I don’t think I’ve played a lot with Dom!Jon, but I think I like it! Thanks, anon! 
I Crave Subjugation
Rating: Explicit as Fuck 
Jon’s heart swelled in his chest as it always did when he saw Sansa after a long day of being apart, tending to their duties. He feared that his Queen worked harder than he did. It made sense though, for she was more politically minded than he was, and it wasn’t odd to have his council seek her opinion along with his. Or to go with hers instead of his.
She glided across the room in a dress made up of Stark colors. It clung to her curves, showing her waist and the swell of her bosom. It was dipped low, the tops of her breasts pushing against the décolletage of her dress, giving Jon and every man in the dining hall a show.
Jon felt himself start to harden at the sight. He knew what his wife wanted this evening. What she always wanted after a day of ordering others about, making decision after decision for the good of Winterfell, the North, and all its people: subjugation.
He had never considered himself the sort to command a woman, to do the depraved things Sansa craved him to do to her in the bedchamber when she had need of it. But with Sansa…she had the ability to awaken him to things he’d never known he’d wanted or needed.
It was no wonder he loved her so desperately. Needed her endlessly. Craved her constantly. With her, he was his true self. With her he could be vulnerable. With her he could rule the North, but only with her as his Queen, only with her by his side.
And with her, he could tap into a side of himself he didn’t know he had in him. The darker side; the side that craved to command his Queen, to make her bend the knee to him, to make her please him, to make her irrevocably his over and over and over again.
She taunted him now, got his blood up as she passed by the Northern Lords in attendance and made them love her and lust after her with well-placed smiled and quips. She wanted to rouse his anger enough to take control over her, and thereby bring his lust and his need to the forefront.
It worked. Every. Single. Time.
He didn’t like the Northern Lords looking at their Queen like that. At his Queen. At his Sansa.
Finally, when she came to sit beside him, he stood, pulling her chair out for her. She smiled at him and sat, and when he pushed her chair in, he leaned in to her ear and whispered, “Did you enjoy your flirtation with the Northern Lords, my lady wife?”
“Perhaps,” she said nonchalantly.
“Are we feeling impertinent this evening?”
She looked at him, and then lowered her eyes as soon as she saw the ire written all over his face. “No, my King.”
His nostrils flared. Their game had begun.
“Eat your dinner, Sansa,” he commanded lowly. “And as soon you are done, I want you in our bedchambers. Ready a bath for me, and it better be ready and piping hot by the time I arrive. I want you naked and I want you on your knees.”
“Yes, my King.”
Jon sat back, thinking this might be the longest dinner of his life with his cock hard and his blood up. Sansa would be lucky if she made it through this meal without him taking her right there on the table.
xxxxxxxx
As soon as her last morsel of dinner had been put in her mouth, she saw Jon looking at her pointedly out of the corner of her eye. She swallowed quickly and hurriedly excused herself, flushing with heat and anticipation.
Her skin tingled with the promise of what was to come, of how Jon was going to take her that night, of how he was going to order her to serve him and do every filthy thing he could think to make her do.
Gods. She could not wait.
She needed the release that their game provided.
At first, she thought there must be something wrong with her when her desire to be dominated in the dirtiest ways possible came to the forefront of her and Jon’s heated couplings. It had started with asking him to smack her ass, then pull her hair, then mark her skin with his mouth. He had hesitated with each act she asked of him, ever mindful of all that she’d endured under Ramsay.
Was it because of him that she’d wanted this? Was there something sick and broken inside her that made her desire such things? Or had it been there all along and had only needed the right man to set it free? She chose to believe that it was Jon, her trust in him, and her love for him.
With Jon she felt safe, always. She knew he would never hurt her unless she asked him to, and even then it was never a real kind of hurt. He never made her afraid. Instead, he made her feel alive. Free. And she knew he felt the same when they played this game.
An hour after she’d left him, the bath was prepared. Steaming and scented with bergamot, just as he liked it. And she was naked, aside from a strip of leather she wore tied about her neck that fell down to her calves. She knelt next to the tub, waiting for her Lord and Master to arrive.
When he arrived with a boom and a shake of the door, he stood before her, crown on, and fully dressed.
Her mind slipped into that of his subjugate.
He walked over to her and her heart began to race. Would he find the bath pleasing? Would he find her pleasing?
He dipped his hand into the water. “Well done,” he said. “Now stand and undress me.”
Sansa stood quickly, and her head felt light. She reached for his crown first and his penetrating gray eyes bored into her with warning. “Be careful of my crown,” he growled.
Sansa shivered, gooseflesh appearing on her arms. “Yes, my King.”
Carefully, she removed his crown and carried it to the bureau and placed it next to hers. Demurely, with her hands folded before her, she returned to him and began to undress him.
“If you don’t do this quickly,” he drawled, “then my bath will turn cold and I’ll have to punish you for it.”
Oh, how she wanted to be punished! Still, she undressed him quickly and laid his clothes neatly on a nearby table. When she turned after having finished, she found Jon looking at her with eyes narrowed.
“My bath is not as hot,” he told her. “You took too long laying out my garments.”
“I—I am s-sorry, your Grace.”
“You certainly will be. Now get over here and help me into the bath.”
She practically ran to assist him. Once he was leaned back in the hot water, groaning with satisfaction, he crooked his finger at her. “Kneel and wash me.”
Grabbing a cloth and soap, Sansa dipped both into the water and lathered the cloth up. She then proceeded to glide the cloth along Jon’s strong arms, his muscled chest and stomach and down, down, down to his hard cock. She stopped and looked up at him through her lashes.
“Did I tell you to stop?” he asked.
“No, my King.”
“Then why did you?”
“You would have me wash it for you?”
“Yes,” he said with a hiss.
Excited, but trying hard not to show it, Sansa wrapped her hand around his cock with the cloth acting as a barrier and stroked up and down his length. Gods, he was hard. And she was getting wetter by the second.
She rubbed her thighs together and bit back a moan. But Jon noticed. He always noticed. He never took his eyes off her. “Get up,” he ordered. “Get up and go to the bed. Bend over and put your hands on the bed. I want to see your ass. And do. Not. Move.”
Sansa nodded and did as she was told, her face heating with what was to come.
She heard Jon finish up his bath and she dug her hands into the furs on the bed, wishing she could see him wet and as naked as his nameday.
Silence fell and Sansa wondered what he was doing. She didn’t even hear him moving around any longer. The longer the silence, the more restless she became. She couldn’t help but peak over her shoulder to see what he was doing.
And he was right there behind her, naked and frowning at her disapprovingly.
“Tsk tsk tsk, Sansa,” he said with a shake of his head. “I told you not to move and yet you did.”
“Jon—”
Thwack! His hand came down on her ass and she jumped at the sting and surprise of it.
“What did you just call me?” he demanded.
She was panting now, eager. “Jon. I called you Jon.”
He smacked her again. “Is that what you call me?” he roared.
“No!”
“What do you call me?”
“I call you my King!”
He smacked her again, twice in a row. “Because what am I to you?”
“My King,” she gasped. “My Lord and Master.”
He smacked her again and she ducked her head, shutting her eyes tight and resisting the urge to moan.
“On your knees. I want you to suck me.”
Sansa swallowed hard as she got down on her knees, lightheaded from being bent over. She gazed up at Jon, knowing how much he liked to see her looking at him when she took him in her mouth.
“Take down the leather,” he ordered.
She nodded and undid the leather strip about her neck. He grabbed it and looped them around her wrists, binding them together.
“You’re going to take me all the way down your throat like the filthy girl you are. You’re not my Queen in here, Sansa. You’re my whore. You acted the whore for all those men tonight. Enticing them with that dress and your tits on display. You don’t smile like that for those Northern Lords. You smile for your King like that, do you understand me?”
She nodded. “Yes, my King.”
“Suck me off. I want to hear you choke on it.” He grabbed her chin roughly and leaned down so that he was in her face. “And do not turn your eyes from me. Nor do you use your hands, understand?”
She nodded. “Yes, my King.”
“Suck.”
First, she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, gathering up his juices that were leaking already from the tip. Then she suckled on it, which caused him to card his fingers through her hair and tug slightly. Then she took him down as far as she could, which wasn’t far the first time around. He waited patiently for her to try again. Further this time she went, focusing on relaxing her throat.  
He grew impatient, as he always did, and thrust forward into her mouth, causing her to gag. Her eyes closed and he tugged on her hair.
“Don’t close your eyes,” he growled. “Look at me.”
She opened her eyes, watering from having gagged on him, and began bobbing up and down on his cock. He hit the back of her throat again, and she gagged again. She moved her mouth off him, and gathered her breath. She spit onto his cock and a trail of it landed on her breasts.
He forced her mouth back on him and she took him in deep. He pushed further down and she gagged again and backed off, spitting again on his cock. Again she took him in and this time went further. When she tried to pull back, he wouldn’t let her. Instead, he held her there and she waited, trying hard not to struggle. Then he released her and she took her mouth off him and coughed.
“Again,” he commanded.
He gripped her hair hard enough to sting just a little, and she managed to take him down further and then further and then he started fucking hard and fast into her throat.
She choked and gagged and drooled messily all over his cock. Finally, he released her and pushed her off of him.
His cock was wet and glistening, a trail of spit on the tip. She licked her lips, thinking of it being inside her cunt.
Jon reached down and undid the binding of her wrists. He dropped the strip of leather onto the bed and told her to get onto it with her ass on the edge and her legs up.
Sansa assumed position and watched him go to their bureau. He extracted a large black pouch and felt a tremor of excitement ripple through her.  He was getting the black wooden phallus he’d had made for her. It resembled his cock, only not as long as he was.
He came over to her and placed it against her folds, twisting and turning it in her wetness. “Such a whore,” he commented. “So wet and wanton for me.”
“I am a whore, my King.”
“Whose whore are you?” he barked.
“Yours, my King. Only yours.”
“That’s right. My whore. My woman,” he gritted out. He placed the head of the wooden phallus at her hole and pushed it in.
Sansa gasped at the intrusion. Instead of pulling it out and fucking her with it, Jon kept it inside her as he bent his head and licked at her nub. She squealed and struggled not to move in the direction of his mouth.
“Don’t you dare peak,” he warned her. “You don’t peak until I tell you to, do you understand me, whore?”
“Yes, my King,” she said, breathless and strained. She was so close already…
He started to fuck her with the phallus while he licked at her and when she was close, so close she couldn’t have possibly held back one more second, he stopped licking her and pulled the phallus out of her.
Sansa knew this was to be expected that at some point he would deny her peak completely, but still she reacted as she always did because Gods, she had been rightthere.
 She cried out, sobbed, and begged Jon for release while writhing on the bed. “Please, my King, please, please, please…I need to peak, please, my King…”
He stroked his cock as he looked down at her, snarling. “Look at you, writhing on the bed like a bitch in heat.”
She reached for him, eyes pleading, her folds throbbing with need. “Please, my King. Use your whore, your dirty whore. Make me peak for you.”
He came over to her and stroked the tip of his cock against her nub. Her breath hitched and she undulated her hips, seeking him, seeking release.
“Play with your tits,” he ordered.
Her hands immediately went to her breasts. She pulled on her nipples, teased them, made them hurt just enough.
“Back on your knees, I want to fuck them.”
Sansa begged still, unmoving, knowing that would rouse a punishment from him. She wasn’t disappointed. He grabbed the leather strap and folded it several times over. Then he commanded her to hold her legs up again. She did, quivering and he smacked her ass with the leather.
She cried out, writhing again, and he smacked her again and again. He dropped the leather to the floor and then she felt his hand on her ass smoothing where he’d struck. She whimpered. She was out of her mind with need now; she was desperate. She clawed at the furs as he then put his mouth on her ass, kissing it gently.
“Spread your legs.”
She did and he licked her from the rosebud of her ass to her cunt. She dug her nails into the furs so she wouldn’t grab his head and push him into her cunt.
“Please, please, please,” she babbled over and over again.
“Get into the middle of the bed,” he told her with one last lick.
She scooted back, wincing only slightly from her sore bottom. She glanced at Jon and noticed the look of concern that passed over his face.
“How do you want me, my King?” she asked, letting him know this way that she was fine. That she loved this and needed this so badly.
“On your back, push your tits together.”
He crawled over her straddling her chest, and spit into the valley of her breasts. She spread his spit down between her breasts, making the passage slick for his cock. He laid his cock at the bottom of her pushed together breasts and thrust forward. He fucked her tits hard and fast, groaning, and Sansa rubbed her legs together, seeking some kind of relief.
While he fucked her tits, he reached behind him and teased her folds with his fingers. She lifted her hips and he pinched her clit, causing her to cry out for more.
He moved off of her, and she begged again. If she didn’t peak soon she was going to fall to pieces, she needed it so very badly…
“On your knees, whore,” he ordered her.
Whimpering, she got on her knees and spread her legs just as he liked, pushing her face into the furs.
He put his cock at her entrance and Sansa held her breath and shut her eyes, willing him to fill her. Please, please, please, she begged in her mind.
He slammed inside her and she cried out, grabbing at the furs as he set a brutal pace. His hands dug into her hips and she knew he’d leave marks there. He usually did. A reminder of who she belonged to.
“Cum!” he shouted.
And she did, crying out, with tears rolling down her cheeks, so thankful for the sweet release. She shut her eyes, dizzy, as her peak washed over her, causing her legs to tremble, and her body to quake.
Still, Jon pounded inside her, seeking his own release. “You’re mine, Sansa,” he grunted. “My whore. My Queen. My woman.”
“Yes,” she said weakly.
“Yes, what!” he shouted.
“Yes, my King, my sweet King, my lovely King…”
She felt him press against her nub with his finger and her eyes widened. She couldn’t possibly peak again, but she knew that he was going to make her. She shut her eyes, feeling that familiar tension build as he rubbed her again and again.
She cried out hoarsely when she peaked again. Jon roared, holding himself inside her as he emptied his seed. Sansa’s legs gave way and she collapsed against the bed, taking Jon with her so that he fell against her back, bracing himself on his arms so she didn’t take the full force of him.
He pulled out of her and she whimpered. He fell to the side, facing her. He was panting, and she could see the sweat on his forehead and chest. She was boneless against the bed, unable to move. But that was fine. Jon did the work this time. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, and then finally her mouth. He kissed her lovingly, passionately, and greedily.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Gods, I love you, Sansa. My Queen.”
“Your whore,” she teased.
“No, not now. You’re my Queen.”
She smiled tiredly. When the game was over, he refused to refer to her as such. And she loved him all the more for it.
“Did I hurt you at all?” he asked her tenderly, as he ran a hand down her back.
“No,” she said. “I loved it all. You know I do.”
“I saw you wince,” he said. “You know I don’t want to hurt you, sweet girl.” He groaned and kissed her. “Gods, you drive me mad. You consume me…”
She kissed him and ran her fingertips along the side of his face. “Perhaps you could put oil on my bum?”
He nodded. “Happily. Whatever you need.”
Sansa snuggled into the furs as Jon got up to grab the oil and tend to her. She smiled happily, contentedly. And sated.
For now.
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bloodinhershoesrpg · 7 years
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Congratulations Becky, you have been accepted for the role of Barbara Donne with a faceclaim change to Kat McNamara! Your application was the first I read over and to say it provided a great start would be, quite frankly, an understatement. I am absolutely enamoured with how perfectly her struggles and reasoning for being who she is to date resonated within your app, how vividly you have portrayed the many facets of Barbie and how well they harmonise within your writing which I can’t wait to see liven up the dash soon! Please send in your account with 24 hours and have a look at the checklist before you do!
REGARDING YOURSELF
Name / Age / Pronouns: Becky, 19, she/her.
Activity: Activity is subject to heavy fluctuation (anywhere from a 4-7), depending a lot on my uni schedule and when my tests are. However, I always will ask for a hiatus when it’s necessary and let anyone playing with me know what sort of activity they can expect from me.
REGARDING THE STAR OF YOUR SHOW
Character name and faceclaim: Barbara Donne – with a FC change to Kat McNamara? :)
CHARACTER DISSECTION
BARBARA. Hailing from the Greek word barbaros, meaning foreign or strange - she’s always figured that she had been named aptly. Always an outsider, always a stranger, even in her own skin, she takes comfort in Saint Barbara, in her strength. She knows how the story goes: every wound inflicted upon her healed, every fire brought near her skin extinguished. But she knows how the story ends and sometimes, in the dead of night, Barbie wonders if she’ll end up like her: end up the martyr, end up the sacrifice, with the insides of her veins painting the ground. ANAIS. French for grace, her middle name always seemed like a taunt to her – in her former years, she had always been lacking grace, been too much raw power and not enough silk covered elegance. But in recent years, she has lived up to it, coating her movements with an old world finesse like a second skin, moving through the ranks without a ripple, leaving onlookers always confused as to where she came from and how she ascended. (Surely, she cannot deserve it.) DONNE. Rooted in Irish mythology as Donn, the god of the dead – her last name always felt like a little bit of a promise, and a little bit of a curse.
PERSONALITY. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be? Barbie thinks she remembers being soft, being kind in the beginning – and part of it stems from her looks. She was born with delicate features, handpainted on a canvas of porcelain, doe eyes that changed with the context of her background (green in the woods, golden on cloudless mornings, honeyed hazel in the pale afternoon light), and hair so bright it was only rivaled by her smile. When people saw her, small and lithe and fragile, flighty in essence, a little dove that alighted in the palm of their hand, it was hard not to trust her, an impossibility to expect cruelty from her. And because the world craves sweet things, beautiful little souls, because it aches in constant hunger for a minute kindness, it swallowed her up, turned her softness into a warzone and layered her edges into knives.
So she remembers her obsidian mouth, flinty and stone cold but still beautiful – tongue cutting through skin so thinly, down at a molecular level, that most of the time, people didn’t even notice blood being drawn until they left, drained and cold. But she believes that everything has a purpose, and this portion of her life is no different. She remembers that it feels just as empty, just as painful, to be throwing words like punches as it does to receive them, and how truly heavy lies the head that bears the crown. She dissembles her weaponized empathy, sheds her cloak of cruelty – it never suited her well anyway.
So here she stands, bearing kindness around her neck like a cross on a chain, letting it glint and dangle in front of everyone, takes the shattered glass hate and grinds it to dust beneath the molars of her smile. She tastes war, heavy on the back of her tongue, and everyone knows the innocents are the first to go. But here’s the beauty of being delicate: when she shatters, all her broken little pieces will cut them right back. And everyone leaves none the wiser; everyone thinks that it’s their fault for breaking it in the first place. Everything has a purpose, everything is by design.
BACKSTORY.
i. dig up the bones
Her father likes to talk about the day she was born – about how when her mother finally had her after an exhausting eight hour labor, she had said, half delirious, “She will have a hard time of it.” He likes to talk about how her mother had cried and held her close after that, rocking her gently as tears dropped from the tops of her cheeks onto Barbara’s forehead. “She is so beautiful, and the world will not stand for it. Don’t argue with me. Just answer me this, my love: why do flowers wilt? Why do they wilt, when they should bloom forever?”
He has no answer for that question, and Barbara learns early on not to ask it.
But her mother is right, in the end. She spent her childhood tucked away and loved, hiding like a little mouse from the rest of the world, spoiled sweet to the core. But the world finds you eventually, and everything will come all at once.
It starts because her hair gleams like a halo of fire around her porcelain skin, and the kids at school tug at it and make fun of her for the translucence of her cheeks when blood rushes to the surfaces and matches her hair. They call her carrot-top and throw the baby carrots from their neatly packed lunches at her, and she finds out everything can hurt her, no matter what it is.
She goes home and cries in her room, cursing her hair and her fair skin and her thin frame. She wishes she were big and burly and tall, so no one would dare hurt her. She begs her father to let her take self-defense over dance, but can’t find her tongue when he asks why. So she channels her hurt and her anger into ballet – it makes her feel beautiful and strong, this tulle-layered corner of hers, far away from playground wounds. (All this hurt and loneliness and spite bites her in the ass one day, when they say her dancing is too much the raw provocateur and too little of the soft princess they’re looking for.)
Either way, her wishes aren’t heard, and this is how she learns the casual cruelty of children.
It changes in high school – while she’s not big and burly and tall, no one dares pick on her because her beauty becomes her sword and her armor. Boys who used to pull her pigtails find themselves wanting to tug her hair for different reasons, those who laughed at the easy blush of her cheeks covet how naturally color comes to her, and with time, they want to press bruises into her skin with their lips and not the packaged contents of their lunches.
She is a stroke of lightning upon her childhood tormentors, just how a vengeful god smote St. Barbara’s killer where he stood after her death. She hides wolf grins behind demure hands, sharp teeth snapping, blood-hungry. Is she not made from the gilded dust of monarchs of ages past, sitting pretty with a crown tipped on a bed of curls?
Payback feels like freedom until you stop and realise you’re still just as pissed as before.
ii. but leave the soul alone.
In the end, it’s love that unclasps the years of trauma she wore swathed around her delicate shoulders, that pulls her down from where she played judge, jury, and executioner in her academy. They find her in an empty training room, lights dimmed and pushed up against the mirror, only it’s not any of the boys they find her wound around, and the lipstick prints on her neck attest to that fact.
Barbie is all little red riding hood to Isa’s big bad wolf, and she’s homesick for a sixty second love, hungry for the sink of her canines.
She is quickly and swiftly ousted from the uppermost echelons of academy hierarchy, but she can’t bring herself to mind. (What she does mind are the slurs pressed in whispers behind her back, dyke dyke dyke.) So she goes back to drinking venom insults and letting it drip off her lips like honey instead, lets herself be repainted kind-bubbly-weak-Barbie, kind smiles reaching welcoming eyes, the Sistine Chapel amongst a sea of sinners, a safe harbor in a storm. She pats the seat next to her and her quick taps sound like welcome home, stay for a while.
CONNECTING THE DOTS
LINDSEY DAVIES. Barbie offers smiles and hugs like an olive branch, offering a friendship. With all the attention driven her way, the whispers plaguing her have abided, instead bitterly haunting Lindsey. They’re a strange duo, abrasive as Lindsey is – but they work surprisingly well. Barbie tries to be a cushion, a buffer of sorts, in social situations, working to smoothing the edges of Lindsey’s demeanor, acting like a balm in hostile situations. While she comforts those left in the wake of Lindsey, a small part of them rejoices to see them put in their place by her words.
CRISTINA REYES. Like attracts like, no? Despite how the rest cage around Cristina like she’ll pounce at any moment, expecting the flower to sprout a pair of fangs, Barbie edges closer and closer, curious to see what sort of kindness the other girl offers, and for what reason. After all, there’s an explanation for everything, and nothing comes without a reason.
REGARDING YOUR INSPIRATION
HEADCANONS.
PICK UP YOUR HEART ON THE WAY OUT. Barbara’s always been in the minority (her name taunts her, foreign, strange little Barbie). Statistically, less than 2% of the population possess either red hair or green eyes, not to even touch upon having both – she honestly doesn’t know why she expected to be part of the majority when it came to love. Boys have wanted her since middle school – since they discovered redhead was a porn category – but she has never wanted a boy; not in the same way they want her. She’s tried, really, she has, to convince herself that she wants them – she’s kissed many a boy feral and left them to scramble in her wake as she leaves. But let’s just say it straight: she’s not.
FAIR FOLK. Barbara doesn’t lie – much like the mythical fae of fables long forgotten, she only speaks in truths or not at all. Of course, this doesn’t stop her from concealing the whole truth, letting others falsely assume their own truths or speaking poison edged half truths. But a full on lie, she cannot and will not do.
NICOTINE FROM A SILVER SCREEN. It’s a stereotype, rail thin ballerinas who have a cigarette for dinner; but it’s the truth. It’s not uncommon to find her outside, white Insignia hanging off her lips, exhaling tobacco smoke like it’ll cleanse her.
ANIMAL PERCEPTION. Ever heard of a saying that animals have a sixth sense? Barbie bonds with animals of all kinds, offering birdseed in her palm, petting every dog or cat she comes across, and those who look at her and see undeserving written across her hiss in anger. Fuckin’ disney princess or some shit.
Thank you for reading! i would have written more but i’m also really guilty of always writing last minute apps; best wishes & really great job with everything even if i don’t get the part x
MOCK BLOG. https://barbiemocks.tumblr.com
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