#my mc:na fanfic

[avauntus]

no. 10 -  “Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood”

(Personal rules - Roll for a random # 1-31, write for 30 minutes. No significant edits except for spelling or typos.)

Fandom: My Country: the New Age canon compliant - second strife of the princes (seo hwi) [gratuitous abuse of second person pov] --------------------------

It’s not anything serious. He hadn’t meant to wound wound you, just slow you down, and he didn’t know about the drugs besides. There’s too much to do, there’s too many moving pieces to let your moving pieces, the ones that shouldn’t be moving, slow you down. So you don’t.

There’s the rendezvous, then the denouement. There’s the expected betrayal. There’s about 30 more swords here than you were expecting, wielded by 30 fighters you hoped you’d never have to face, but this is your everyday, really. There are always more swords.

You’re--

You know you were supposed to be here ahead, but you came up behind, and to explain why is to explain the rest of it. There’s a tiresome familiarity to that-- whoever you’re talking to is going to overreact and demand certain things; things you’d demand of someone else if they were telling you your story, about themselves. But the rules have always been different for you-- other people get to collapse. Other people get to go home and have clean beds, warm meals. Other people get to acknowledge pain as a sign to stop. 

For you it’s always been an acknowledgement of a limit not quite reached-- Oh, you hurt but you can still move. See. Stagger. Fight.

You rally your fighters against two other armies. You stop the people you care about from killing each other. You help your friends retreat when they are wounded, when their pain is signaling ‘stop.’

You take him and you lie to the face of the man you promised not to lie to again and your--

You’re going--

 There’s a field. There’s a mountain. These are remote places. Uphill hurts worse than riding along the flattlands did; and riding hurts worse than fighting. Why is that; is your fighting affectionate? Mundane? Would that make a day cooking and resting extraordinary? That’s an odd thought. 

When was the last time you went a whole day without your hand clenching your sword for some part of it? Can you remember? When did you last take the drugs you needed? Why a mountain? You can’t remember. The drug speeds up heartrate; makes the thoughts race; kills pain. You’re racing, that must mean you have the drug, so you must have taken it--

You’re going to--

There are...tricks other people use to cope when their capacity is diminished. Techniques. You’ve heard of this. You’ve never needed them of course-- that is the curse of talent. We’re given time when we’re young to learn and fail, but if you’re remarkable enough it never occurs to you that your abilities might diminish, and so you never bother to learn the basic skills everyone else uses to get by. Then when you need to learn, it’s too late, sink or swim.

You’re sinking, but you promised her you’d wait, you’d keep trying, and you hurt but you’re not down so you keep moving, moving. Off the horse. Drag him down with you; hand him over to his scowling subordinate. “There are medicines,” you tell the other man. “Powders for the blood loss. I’ll bring them.”

“What about you?” says the subordinate, and you blink and grin because--

You’re going to be--

 The horse knows its own way back to the city and you let it have its head-- of the two of you, it's the clearer thinker at the moment. You wouldn’t say you ‘black out’ on the way back, but you have a distinct memory of the mountain cave, and then nothing at all until you are standing in front of Hwa-wol, telling her you need “The beige packets, and probably the blue vial...no that one.” She trusts you, and she wants to ask where Mun-bok is, but you don’t know. In fact, you don’t even know how you made it off the horse without collapsing, but you’re going to have to go back up the mountain again, so you’d better figure it out. 

There are things to say to Hui-jae first. You say them, it’s all items that have been written into your heart like wishes carved into the bark of a sugar maple. It doesn’t even require much conscious thought. You think she probably mistakes your flushed cheeks and ashy skin for nerves. If it wasn’t for the ‘delaying tactic’ you’re still dealing with, you probably would be a mess of nerves, so that’s fine. That’s fair. You’re breaking her heart, so it’s only right you feel like you’re dying...

It’s not that you expect yourself to be fine, or that your friends are so unobservant. It’s just--

You’re going to be just-- 

Just that only you would have the talent to go to an uninhabited stretch of road and come back with a wound to the gut that is purely affectionate. You didn’t take it at the battle, or the escape after, and you don’t think you can bear the crushing pity in your friends’ eyes when you try to explain that ‘yes it really was him’ and ‘no, he didn’t mean it like that’ and--

You’re tired. You’re tired, you hurt, you’re cold, you feel so old and just… done.

Back up the mountain. It’s terrible. It’s necessary. You discuss things with the subordinate-- mercifully a brief conversation-- and then you can finally sit down, because there’s nothing left to do but look at him and tell him…

“You’re going to be--”

You’re going to be just fine.

[avauntus]

Whumptober + random warm-up

So I don’t even remember how I found it, but apparently there’s a theme month in October for writing...angsty fic. Whumptober. Which is my default jam, but I feel badly about subjecting readers to angst without a lot of plot build-up first. But now! Here’s a whole 31 days of-- just write the bash-y parts!

...feels irresponsible! haha

I don’t think I have very many actual, non-garbage fics in me for these prompts, but I thought it might be a fun exercise to have my computer roll a random number 1-31 and then write for 30 minutes without editing much except misspelling and typos-- as a warm-up.

These little ficlets might be garbage! They (likely) will have no plot! But I’ll probably try this out until I get tired or sick of it... 

(why am I posting these, this is such a bad idea...) That being said, please don’t copy to another site without my permission - thanks!

no. 26 -  “ Migraine | Concussion | Blindness”

Fandom: My Country: the New Age AU: Canon Divergence (ep. 2 - post Military Exam) Seo Hwi & Nam Seon-ho (typed out over ~20 minutes in the txt msg box -- sorry for the odd formatting) -----------

“Hwi, you can’t go to sleep.”

“Seon-ho, haven’t you had ENOUGH of tormenting me today? You won, congratulations, your father is going to be thrilled. Leave me alone.” “I won’t. The barracks medic was firm on this- you shouldn’t sleep until he’s certain the head wound isn’t the kind that will KEEP you asleep.” “Every single part of my body aches, and that’s thanks to you striking me AFTER YOU FELL, so I’m not inclined to be very forgiving at the moment. Believe me when I tell you— Fuck off, Seon-ho. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t care what you think you want me to do... just get out of my face. Don’t you have some silly hat ceremony to go to?” “...I told them no.” “You what?” “Hwi, if you don’t want to see me after this, I will honor that, but I owe Yeon to deliver you back home in one piece. So DO listen to me right now—“ “Seon-ho, what did you do?” “I’m not the one who started punching the city guard first.” “Ugh. You were awake for that?” “The later part of it. Right before I started attacking them.” “You... Seon-ho, I feel like every part of me was used as a bellows at the forge for a day straight. You ARE NOT saying what I’m hearing. You’re not.” “You need to stay awake, and you need to get up, right now, Hwi. Between my making a mockery of the sham results my father arranged and your refusing to let them drag you out, they threw us into the soldiers’ bunkhouse until they could decide what they needed to do to fix this, but they’re going to need a scapegoat.” “This is too much talking. We have to run, fine, ok.” Hwi drug himself to his feet painfully. “Let’s go.” “Go to Ihwaru,” Seon-ho said. “Hui-Jae knows medicine, I think.” “We’ll both go,” Hwi said. “They need an example,” Seon-ho said. “Or two, if you stay. It will be worse for you if you stay. They just need to slap me on the wrist and then deliver the results my father arranged.” “And you’re OK with that?” Hwi asked. “If I have to be.” “Well,” Hwi said, tried to take a step forward, staggered, and fell. “I guess we’ll test that idea today too. I don’t think I can walk.” “Hwi...” “If it’s all the same to you, I think I will nap until they show up again. I’m exhausted.” “Hwi, don’t... Hwi!”

[avauntus]

no. 29 “Reluctant Bedrest”

(Personal rules - Roll for a random # 1-31, write for 30 minutes. No significant edits except for spelling or typos.)

Fandom: My County: the New Age Canon compliant  (ep. 8) | Yi Bang-won; Park Mun-bok; Seo Hwi

August 20, 1392 - “Bastard Yi Bang-seok appointed Crown Prince” 

----------------------------

Hwi had tried to explain, but in the end, he’d thrown up his hands and said, “If His Highness met the learned man who created the medicine, and saw him under its effects, would that salve his royal paranoia?”  

...So it was that Yi Bang-won first met Park Mun-bok under a waxing crescent moon, and learned that Seo Hwi, in addition to being thoroughly fearless and clever as a fox, was also quite mad.

------------------------------

August 22, 1392, 3 days before the assassination plot

Hwi had tried to explain, but in the end, he’d thrown up his hands and said, “If His Highness met the learned man who created the medicine, and saw him under its effects, would that salve his royal paranoia?”

Bang-won had, rightfully, refused to acknowledge Hwi’s tone or the mocking content of the question, but he allowed, with the slightest dip of his chin, that he was willing to entertain the notion. He had agreed to hear Hwi’s plan, and the alternative seemed to be taking two arrows to the chest without any aid at all. Bang-won did not mind pain, when necessary, but he wasn’t the sort to seek it out either. He wanted to appear mortally wounded; not actually have to bear such trials. 

Still, he found something nearly hypnotically compelling about the complex scheme Hwi had woven in his study that evening, a web of ambition, corruption, and hubris that went nearly 30 years deep. If Bang-won could bring such schemes to light, surely his father would realize that his true sons, men grown and filial were better at his side than a mere child who had needed padding to fit the mantle of the Crown Prince to his tiny brow.

So it was that Yi Bang-won first met Park Mun-bok under a waxing crescent moon, and learned that Seo Hwi, in addition to being thoroughly fearless and clever as a fox, was also quite mad.

“That man has no medical training,” Bang-won had snapped at Hwi, five minutes into the interview, as Mun-bok stood before them.

The medic bristled. “Training? What kind would you prefer I had? Dusty tomes, written by old men who could barely remember what having blood flow through their limbs felt like, or actual, hands-on experience reattaching limbs in the midst of battle?! One’s a lot more practical than the other, let me tell you!”

“If you come within arm’s length of my limbs, I’ll arrange to have your fingers cut off,” said Bang-won nastily, and whirled to face Hwi again. “I allowed you to make a mockery of me when we met because your motives were intriguing. You will not continue--”

“No one is mocking,” said Hwi soothingly, and tipped his head at his crazed ‘medical expert.’ “Mun-bok really has done impossible things. He sewed up Nam Seon-ho’s stomach, from the inside, at Liaodong.”

“I don’t know why you bothered,” Bang-won snipped, but raised an eyebrow and glanced over at the ridiculous Mun-bok. “Is that true?”

“Aish, let one of your retainers open up yours, you certainly do enough belly-aching, you entitled rooster. Then we can find out,” said Mun-bok, and Bang-won’s eyes narrowed as he reconsidered ordering Tae-ryeong to cut off at least some of Mun-bok’s limbs.

Hwi’s other companions, who had accompanied Mun-bok to his interview, exchanged glances. “Perhaps if you just show His Highness the medicine?” suggested the larger of the two. The older, dour fighter cut his eyes over at Hwi, but all Hwi did was roll his eyes slightly.

“Mun-bok.”

“Fine, fine. I only created a minor medical marvel, but by all means, let’s waste it on theatrics.” Mun-bok pulled out a pill the size of a small rice cake and held it up between his forefinger and thumb. “This will allow you to ignore all pain, as if the wound doesn’t even exist. The more serious the wound, the shorter the time the pill is effective, but for a while you can go on as if nothing has happened at all.”

“What else does it do? Does it damage you?” asked Bang-won.

“Only if you take too many at once. It paralyses you, a bit. Part of the numbing. In order to make you look sufficiently weak, you’ll need a heavy dose,” Hwi allowed.

“Well let’s see it, shall we?” said Bang-won. “Does it take long to go into effect?”

“Not long, a moment or two,” said Mun-bok. “I make very effective medicines, else why make them at all?” And he held the pill up showily, then popped it into his mouth and chewed up the crushed medication with a crunching noise.

“Excellent,” said Bang-won, picking up his bow and an arrow he had resting on the tabletop. Before anyone could react, he’d nocked the arrow and released. Mun-bok staggered back, then stood up straight, the greater part of the shaft and fletching protruding from the upper part of his shoulder like a gruesome epaulet, and the wiry man glared at Bang-won, mouth opening and closing in indignation as his older, martial companion half drew his sword and Tae-ryeong stepped in, shaking his head. 

“What was that?” gasped Mun-bok. “I thought the royals were supposed to be civilized?!”

“A demonstration, and a reminder of who you’re addressing,” said Bang-won smoothly, and turned to Hwi. “He really doesn’t feel it, does he?”

“The pain suppression doesn’t stop injury, or a wound becoming poisoned, Your Highness,” said Hwi, concerned.

“You’ll find I shot nothing vital,” said Bang-won breezily. “The arrow was clean. It’s the kind of injury a halfway-decent scholar of healing should be able to clear up with a few days bedrest.” He narrowed his eyes at Mun-bok and added softly, “You are a halfway-decent practitioner, yes?”

“We don’t have a ‘few days rest,’ you gold-plated pisspot--” 

“I think what Mun-bok is expressing is that we need to be ready to put the diversion into motion at any time, Your Highness,” said Hwi quickly, overriding Mun-bok. “We don’t know when Nam Jeon will make his move, only that it is likely to be soon now that His Majesty has declared the Crown Prince.”

“What we have to hand will suffice,” declared Bang-won, still airy. “We do not require your medical expert to administer the pills, do we? Or to apply the appearance of the assassination? Only to attend us after, and it will be a less urgent matter away from the treacherous eyes of those we wish to deceive. Your being slightly slowed is no difficulty,” Bang-won told Mun-bok condescendingly.

Mun-bok hissed through his teeth and glared over Hwi’s shoulder at Bang-won, but the dour fighter that had accompanied them had rested his hand on the wiry medic’s uninjured arm, and if Mun-bok had further invective to fire Bang-won’s way, he kept it under his own tongue. This pleased Bang-won, that he’d made his point-- Hwi’s subordinates might be stubborn, brave, and cunning, but he was a prince of the nation, and of a different class entirely. Proper respect would be paid.

“You agree to the plan, then?” asked Hwi.

“Let us set a snare and raise a clamor,” Bang-won replied agreeably, “And see what blue-blooded quarry we might flush into our trap.”

[avauntus]

no. 4 -  “Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building”

(Personal rules - Roll for a random # 1-31, write for 30 minutes. No significant edits except for spelling or typos.)

Fandom: My Country: the New Age Missing scene: time skip | Yi Bang-won

What shall it be: this or that? The walls behind the temple of the city's deity has fallen - shall it be this? Or if we survive together nonetheless - shall it be that? --Yi Bang-won’s death challenge to Poeun, 1392

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Yi Bang-won held out hope, and so he arranged to run across Poeun at dawn on the Sonji Bridge.

“There is still time to step into the sun,” he told the scholar. “The walls behind the temple that would have restrained you are fallen, their stones swept away.”

“I received your poem,” said Poeun. “You have my reply. My lord remains constant, as do I, even if I perish.”

“Yours are the words upon which my father’s dynasty was founded,” said Bang-won. “All know of your learning. Is it not worthy, to bring your wisdom to those who are not so sagacious? Your lord misused the crown, the people starved, the skies bled-- these are signs of corruption. It is not right, to cling forever to the dry bones of tradition when the stewardship of the people is disordered.”

“Yi Seong-gye creates disaster, sows mistrust, then claims the harvest of woe as his justification for his bloody acts,” said Poeun. “He owed service that he turned away from for the throne. I hold no such earthly ambitions. If my words moved your father to found his dynasty truly, then you should listen now: he must step down. He is no fit King, only a butcher with an eye for power.”

“Only those who survive can write the annuals,” said Bang-won. “Yet, I will do what I can to see you words outlast you-- I can do this much and no more.”

“We are all bound to our duty. I hope when you are buried by the judgement of history, its weight rests easily on your shoulders,” said Poeun, and Bang-won’s sword flashed silver in the rising dawn light, before the bridge was stained dark, red.

Bang-won’s subordinates had moved forward, their own swords and sickles drawn, but he waved them back and went to kneel by Poeun’s head. This, at least, he had accomplished well-- the sage was dying, quickly. He did not seem to be in pain. “The nation will remember what you have given, for Joseon,” he told Poeun softly, reaching out and resting his spread hand lightly on Poeun’s chest, and Bang-won found his throat was tight. “As will I,” he said, and reached out to close the scholar’s staring eyes.

---------------

A/N: This one is not very good! Ugggh. :-/

[avauntus]

Yo you have My Country WIPs? How exciting! I've been meaning to read Messenger for a while, that reminds me.... anyways, can you tell me about and/or post a snippet of trillium??

Thanks for asking! (If you end up reading Messenger, I hope you enjoy it!) 😀

Trillium

(another WIP set in @staidwaters One more lie... -verse. Hwi & Seon-ho on the road.)

What we call the trillium ‘flower’ is no flower at all...trilliums have no above-ground stems or leaves. Instead, the plant is a fragile extension of its underground rhizome, a process that happens, hidden and secretive, for up to seven or more years before a trillium grows from seed to a mature, blooming plant.

They weren’t even two days on the road when they had their first (post-death) argument about, of all things, a horse. Yi Bang-won had, inconceivably, decided not to kill them after they survived the first round of arrows and spears. That had been an odd hesitation that Hwi could not recall having seen before in his eight years of service to the lord, prince, and now King of Joseon. But Bang-won had given them enough supplies for a few weeks -- enough to load down a pack horse, also provided-- and sent them into the wilds. 

If they had decided to bicker over the direction, or the degree of trust they had in Bang-won’s word that they would be allowed to flee if they kept their survival quiet, that might have been understandable. Instead, they seemed to fall into an unspoken accord-- if Bang-won was going to change his mind again, there was little to be done about it, and clearly northeast into Gangwon-do and its mountainous landscape dotted with tiny valleys was going to be their best chance at vanishing. 

On the morning after they’d left Bang-won’s escort on the road, Seon-ho had rolled out of their blankets and said, calm as anything, “We should stay here awhile before heading out.”

“Why?” asked Hwi, blinking sleepily. He wouldn’t mind the chance to rest, but-- “Bang-won is going to expect us to go further away if we’re meant to disappear, and the longer we linger down here in the foothills, the deeper the mountains will be into winter when we get that high. The leaves are already turning,” he said to Seon-ho, although he would have thought Seon-ho knew all this, already.

“I’ll only need a few hours,” said Seon-ho, and Hwi had shrugged and yawned. Fine by him, then.

...

Seon-ho nodded, but didn’t otherwise comment, and Hwi huffed out a slightly frustrated breath. “Are you actually angry about something, or just brooding?” Hwi asked at last, and Seon-ho’s chin shot up-- he’d been staring at the ground, but now he met Hwi’s gaze.

“If I went ahead, you could probably return to Hanyang,” said Seon-ho levelly. “Whatever this is that Yi Bang-won is doing, it’s for you, not me. He’d take you back into his service if you asked.”

Hwi made a face, feeling the certain instinct he always had about Bang-won’s motives-- Seon-ho might be right, but that would only be enough to save Hwi alone. Bang-won’s own suspicion of the people around Hwi would lead him to act, sooner or later. 

“Maybe,” he told Seon-ho, serious. “But I don’t want to return to his service, and especially not without you! That promise he made to leave Hui-jae and Ihwaru’s network and the Northern Forces settlements, Chi-do, Jeong Beom, and Mun-bok alone, to not kill you-- it only lasts as long as we play his games, and this is one of them.” He grinned a bit. “Besides, it doesn’t sound so bad, retiring to the mountains! This is what I always wanted, you know-- freedom and enough space to settle down and live well. It won’t be a noble estate, but…”

“Hwi, it’s fall, and soon it will be winter,” Seon-ho cut in seriously. “I don’t think settling down is going to be a possibility in snowbanks deeper than our heads, and Bang-won isn’t going to allow for us bedding down in a farming village for the winter either, not if we’re meant to be dead.”

“How will he even know?” asked Hwi, and Seon-ho gave him a look.

“He’s had men tailing us since we left his guards on the highway,” said Seon-ho, and Hwi’s mouth twisted, because he couldn’t argue-- that sounded right. “In any case, I’ve sorted out the supplies, and I think I can carry enough of them that you can ride the horse from here on out without laming it,” continued Seon-ho, still level and nearly breezy, as if this were a foregone conclusion and they were just repeating their next steps.

“That’s not necessary, Seon-ho,” said Hwi with a little frown, looking intently at the other man. “If anything, you should ride and I’ll carry the supplies; you were much more seriously wounded at the palace than I was.”

“I’ve recovered enough, and I’m not the one who was reckless enough to offer myself up to a rabid tiger in search of a crown,” said Seon-ho.

Hwi bristled at the implication in the statement. “There wasn’t another way to halt the bloodshed,” he told Seon-ho shortly. “Besides, who attacked us first? Yi Seong-gye. Bang-won had nothing to do with that!” He stood up and grabbed the cookpot off the coals with a hand wrapped in the folds of his shirt, and began forming the remaining rice into balls, briskly. “You want to prove something by hauling part of the horse’s packs uphill yourself, go ahead. I can tie you on to the horse’s back when your goat-stubborness leads you to pass out from the strain.”

Seon-ho huffed out a breath through his nose and smirked at him, as if Hwi were the one being ridiculous. “Hwi, your skin has been the same shade as campfire ash ever since we left the highway. It’s not me collapsing we need to worry about. This isn’t something you can wish your way out of.”

“I’m not!” exclaimed Hwi, then sighed at himself. He should be happy that Seon-ho cared, right? He should, and he was. This wasn’t Seon-ho trying to slash at him, verbally or otherwise, Hwi reminded himself. Maybe they could be the same as they had been, before Liaodong-- he’d like to get back to that, if it was even possible. That meant Hwi needed to try. He took a deep breath and smoothed his expression, even managed to laugh at himself, a little. 

“Sorry. I guess with everything, and worrying about Hui-jae and the others, I’m a little too on-edge. I really am fine. I’ve just been sore these past few days; I’m dealing with it, I promise,” he told Seon-ho earnestly.

“It doesn’t seem like just your arrow-wounds,” said Seon-ho, still looking at him seriously.

“Seon-ho, I know you mean well, and I appreciate that,” Hwi said, finishing shaping the last of the rice balls and setting it on the pot lid with the others. “But you don’t know me, now. We haven’t done much more than yell at each other from the opposite sides of a battle for years. I am fine, except I don’t like arguing with you about this,” he finished, meaning to bring the discussion to an end.

“Fine,” said Seon-ho flatly after a moment. “We’ll load it all back on the horse, then,” and they did, although Hwi noticed that Seon-ho kept some of the supplies split out into the smaller bag, as if he were preparing to carry them later. Hwi really didn’t want to fight, though, and left the organization of the horse’s packs unremarked upon.

It was a warm autumn day, for all they had been discussing snow and ice earlier, and they made decent time. Hwi was beginning to sweat more seriously as midday wore into afternoon, and he could feel the odd twinge and stab from his poisoned wound and stomach. Their supplies of medicine were limited, though-- they would have to find someplace to settle and work out how to contact an apothecary or doctor for more without alerting Bang-won’s men, and that would all take weeks, if not months. So Hwi resolved to save what supplies he could now, pushed on without the usual second dose he’d take at this point, with all the activity they’d been up to, and convinced himself that it really was fine. The pain wasn’t much different from his arrow-wounds, and those were healing. 

When Seon-ho paused at a fork in the road, Hwi realized it wasn’t just the pain-- he felt...light, almost. As if he could take a step forward and just float away. But rather than try it, he came to a swaying halt and looked at Seon-ho. 

“Right is more direct, but left might take us closer to a town,” said Seon-ho. “More wheel tracks. What do you think?”

 Of the two of them, Hwi had always been the more talkative, but this was getting ridiculous, he thought. Seon-ho was going to be down to single-word sentences soon. “Why are you so...tense?” Hwi asked, meaning to grin. His lips just twitched instead. “Did the Jurchen have something...against words?”

Seon-ho turned to stare at him, brow wrinkling as his eyebrows drew together, and Hwi took a shallow breath so as to not pull at his aching chest, then sighed.

“Go right,” he told Seon-ho. Better to arrive wherever they were meant to be going sooner, wasn’t it? 

As Seon-ho continued to frown at him, Hwi took a step forward down the right-hand road, meaning to show the other man how it was done, and his foot lost contact with the ground as his stomach spasmed. A bright flash of grey-white pain shot across his vision. He had a moment to be confused, and then was briefly, intensely irritated with himself before he hit the dirt and whited out entirely.