#so i had to resort to barbaric practices

[7s3ven]

GOOD LUCK, BABE! coriolanus snow + lucy gray

IN WHICH… coriolanus snow is obsessed with a girl from the Academy and goes to great lengths to keep her to himself.

“When you wake up next to him in the middle of the night. With your head in your hands, you're nothing more than his wife.”

Warnings/notes (woah, that’s a lot) : LONGGG oneshot, lucy gray x fem! reader mentioned, bisexual reader (closeted), bisexual lucy gray, possessiveness (coriolanus), snake and song bird spoilers, not rlly following plot, differing details, y/n’s family is distantly related to the romanovs, angst, death of a baby, dark, abuse, mentions of murder, mainly in coryo’s POV, mentions of attempted suicide, messy marriage, medicated pills, anxiety mention, mental health issues mentioned, some manipulation

A/N: I tried to search something up for this BUT I ACCIDENTALLY SEARCHED “DARK DAYS CANNABIS”

—

Coriolanus Snow had been brought up in a wealthy family within the Capitol. At least, they were rich. They lost their status and money during the Dark Days when his father was killed in the war.

Coryo could still remember what he had witnessed. The blood spilt, the weapons raised, and the hunger. The hunger that got so extreme for some people that they resorted to a barbaric crime. He could still remember seeing a man carve off the leg of a maid. The visions engraved into his mind kept his awake at night, which was obnoxious when he was trying to sleep between the hours he spent studying.

Tonight would be different, though. He had received an invitation to a party, courtesy of his friends who had snuck his name to the host. They all thought he was as equally as rich when in reality, he didn’t even have a speck of dirt to his name.

Coryo arrived at the large mansion in his usual appearance; his dark eye bags concealed, perfectly styled blond hair, and pale skin which victorians would have killed for. Even with ghostly hued skin, Corio knew he was attractive. He saw the way girls eyes him up and down like he was a piece of meat. He felt slightly disgusted by them but he enjoyed the attention they gave him.

The ball room of the mansion was practically glittering as he stepped in, his gaze wandering over numerous expensive paintings and architect features fit for a Roman king.

His friends hadn’t given him much information as to who the host actually was but he instantly knew.

Y/N L/N was a year older than him and studied at the Academy too. She was due to start the University next year. That was really all Corio knew about Y/N L/N. Her family carefully planned what details they shared with the public, which admittedly weren’t many to begin with.

Coryo knew the L/N’s managed to stay on top, even during the Dark Days, but he always wondered how. He didn’t even register how Y/N L/N was walking towards him until she tapped his shoulder, charmingly smiling like she did to all her guests, yet it made Coryo feel special. Like that tilted grin was reserved for him.

“Coriolanus Snow, so glad you could make it.” Y/N uttered.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Coryo repeated his practised script that he had prepared. He wasn’t a very social person but he knew somewhat befriending Y/N would have its benefits in the future.

She was wealthy, well-known, and clearly the favourite of various professors at the Academy. Crossing the wrong path with her was asking for a death sentence.

“Allow me to show you around, Coriolanus. It’s the least I can do for someone as important as you. My condolences to your father as well.”

Coryo felt a bitter feeling well up in his throat. His father had given their family a prestigious title, without him and his money, they were nothing. He kept up with the facade, revealing how broke he truly was would only make him an outcast.

“You must be excited about the 10th Hunger Games offer.” Y/N spoke to make small talk as she guided Coryo through the building, occasionally pausing to explain something. “You were chosen as a mentor, were you not?”

“Yes. I was. For District Twelve.” Coryo responded. He saw Y/N visibly scrunch up her nose. District Twelve was infamous for being poor and weak, the runt of litter. Their profession was gathering coal but they didn’t have the glamor other Districts had. That’s what made them so unlikable. “If I remember correctly, were you not also given an offer to become a mentor?” He questioned.

“I turned it down. I am far too busy with my studies as I am. I do not have the spare time to mentor some kid who will only disappoint me.”

Y/N spoke with harsh and blunt words, but she wasn’t wrong. In the end, there could only be one victor and the odds of that was 1 out of 12.

“Nevertheless, Dr Gaul has still given me permission to see the tributes after they are chosen.” Y/N had always been curious, even when it didn’t serve her. The fear of missing out drove her forward.

Y/N stopped in front of a large painting, gazing up at it. “The Romanovs.” She stated. Everybody knew how the L/N’s were distantly related to the Russian family, they bragged about it at every party. They, or rather Y/N’s father, was also convinced that they were related to Julius Caesar. “I keep telling my mother to take the painting down and let the Romanovs rest in peace, but he refuses.”

Y/N resumed walking, leasing Coryo down a dim hallway. The lights flickered and although Coryo was not one to get scared, the eyes of the paintings that lined the walls made him uneasy.

“This is the room with the best view.” Y/N said as she unlocked a door and gently pushed it open. It creaked and Y/N immediately strode forward. Coryo adjusted his tie and followed her. Without a word, Y/N opened the doors leading to the balcony and showed Coryo a small smile.

She motioned for him to look. The garden was lit up with different coloured lights swirling around. Joyful music was playing and Coryo could hear the sound of laughter over it.

“How stunning.” He piped up, gaze raking over the various guests below. “For a moment, I thought you were going to murder me when you took me down that corridor.” That was his sorry excuse for a joke. Nevertheless, Y/N quietly laughed.

“We can never seem to get those lights to work.” She explained. “Shall we return back to the party? Your friends must have arrived by now.”

Coryo only nodded his head. He trailed behind Y/N through the twists and turns of the mansion, listening to the faint noise of classical music and Y/N’s heels clicking against the tiled floor.

“It was lovely speaking with you, Coriolanus.” Y/N nodded her head in acknowledgement as they returned to the glittering ballroom.

“My friends call me Coryo.” He said out of instinct, forgetting who he was talking to. Y/N L/N was not his friend. She was an acquaintance, a companion, somebody Coryo should be associated with but could never be friends with. She didn’t have friends, she had people who benefited her.

“I look forward to our next conversation, Coriolanus.” As expected, Y/N ignored his nickname offer. She smiled as she subtly established that they were not friends.

Coryo returned her polite smile. “Me too, Y/N. Enjoy your party.” He watched as Y/N walked towards her school companions, greeting them. Her small yet exclusive group consisted of only the best people. There was another heiress, two military leaders’ sons, and a few more spoiled girls.

Coryo found his eyes glued to Y/N as he stood in a corner, leaning his back against a stable pillar. If he hadn’t been watching so carefully, he would have missed the looks one of the girls gave Y/N and how she subtly reached for Y/N’s hand every five minutes to brush against it then draw back.

This caused Coryo to raise an eyebrow. He knew the look of a crush, all the girls in his year looked at him with lovestruck eyes of awe. This girl, who he identified as a mayor’s daughter, was nothing better. Coryo wondered if Y/N even noticed. She seemed oblivious as she conversed with a boy across from her about what seemed like serious matters. Coryo saw the strain in Y/N’s jaw and the furrow in the boy’s brows.

Y/N L/N fascinated him and despite all of Coryo’s instincts to look past whatever effect she had on him, he could not ignore his burning curiosity.

—

The next time Y/N and Coryo spoke was at the Academy after the tributes had been chosen. Coryo was on his way to greet his tribute from Distract Twelve, a brunette girl going by the name of Lucy Gray Baird, when Y/N called out for him.

“Coriolanus!” She exclaimed, excusing herself from her conversation with the same boy from the party and a girl in Coryo’s class. “Are you going to pick up your tribute?” Y/N asked as she got closer to him. She said it like the District Twelve girl was nothing more than a pet. Though, in the capital’s eyes, she was below the status of a pet.

“Yes. Would you like to accompany me?” Coryo knew what Y/N wanted so he gave her the offer before she could ask. Despite the shining excitement in her eyes, Y/N only faintly smiled.

“Yes please.” She calmly answered. Coryo stuck out his arm for Y/N to grasp, a sign of politeness. Having done this many times, Y/N snaked her hand around his bicep, lightly gripping it.

“How was the party?” Y/N questioned, tilting her head to the side. “I hope it wasn’t too boring for someone like you.”

Coryo’s jaw clenched but he made sure not to show it. Y/N was above him, he knew. It was common knowledge to him. And although Y/N didn’t know the truth, she thought she was superior. She’d be surprised when she found out she actually was.

“It was all about politics. If I had known you were going to show up, I would have invited more people with similar interests to you.” Y/N smiled, searching for a sign that she was getting under Coryo’s skin.

He simply shook his head. “I am invested in politics, though I do not show it. Many of my classmates favor the government running currently whereas I oppose them. They are relentlessly taxing us only to give our hard-earned money to those who do not deserve it.”

There was a hum of slightly approval from Y/N. “I am glad you agree with my opinion. Many of my companions are blind-sighted as well.”

That was the end of their conversation.

Coryo fidgeted with the long-stemmed white rose he held in his free hand, a gift Tigris had urged him to give his tribute. There was no one else at the train station save for the pair. Y/N’s grip on Coryo’s arm never wavered as the hot sun beat down on them.

“They never manage to keep the trains on schedule.” Y/N stated with a small sigh as she broke away from Coryo to sit on a nearby bench. It was then that Coryo noticed she was not in her Academy uniform.

She was dressed in a solid black skirt, a fitted white blouse, and a slightly cropped black blazer with golden buttons. Coryo’s gaze lowered to the pretty bow that was tied around her collar then to her Mary Jane heels.

The pair waited an hour before Y/N let out an exasperated sigh and quickly stood up. “I’m getting a drink. Would you care for one?”

“Black coffee, please. No sugar or cream. Thank you.” Coryo replied. He liked his coffee bitter.

“Of course.” Y/N walked off to find the nearest coffee shop, which wasn’t far. It was just down the road. Coryo tapped his foot, waiting for Y/N to return.

When he heard the sound of her heels against the stone, he turned his head.

“Still no train arrival?” She asked as she handed Coryo his steaming coffee. She held an iced tea in her hand, taking short sips occasionally.

Another hour passed.

Sweat trickled down Coryo’s back.

Y/N had walked off again, this time to get pastries. She dropped a paper bag into Coryo’s lap, smiling. “I thought you’d be hungry since all you have is that rose. I don’t think it’d be very tasty.”

Y/N bounced her leg as she leaned back, resting against the wall behind her.

The minutes crawled by like snails. It was painful to wait.

Y/N’s eyelids began to droop, no doubt tired from staying up all night to study. Coryo was struggling to stay awake too, the heat of the sun beating down on him.

His head tilted to the side, feeling heavy, before it accidentally landed on Y/N’s shoulder. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her eyes were closed. She made no move to shake Coryo off, which made him conclude that she had fallen asleep.

Coryo let his eyes close for a split second. He didn’t expect to fall asleep. The next time he opened his eyes was when he heard the loud train whistle. The short train screeched to a sudden halt. It sat there for twenty minutes without assistance until a peacekeeper unlocked the chains and banged on the door with his baton, yelling at the tributes.

Y/N was the first to stand up. She watched as the tributes were harshly dragged out of the first cart. There was a furrow in her brow as the peacekeeper yanked a pale-skinned girl out, causing her to fall. The poor girl barely caught herself with her bound hands.

The peacekeepers banged at the door, shouting threats at the reluctant tributes. Coryo hesitated to move so Y/N plucked the rose out of his hand, sparing him small teasing smile.

“Hurry up, Coriolanus.” She whispered. Y/N strode towards Lucy Gray, whose eyes were glued to her. Coryo watched as Y/N paused in front of Lucy Gray. The brunette’s head was tilted up as she softly gazed at Y/N.

“Welcome to the Capitol.” Y/N greeted the brunette, holding out the white rose. Coryo wasn’t far behind Y/N. His hands lingered on her shoulders as she stared at Lucy Gray.

“Are you my mentor?” The District Twelve girl asked.

“Unfortunately not. Coriolanus here is your mentor.” Y/N said. Coryo saw Lucy Gray’s shoulders slump. She had been hoping for Y/N to be her mentor. “I best get back to the Academy. I have some work to do.” Y/N turned her head to speak to Coryo. “Lovely meeting you.” She politely smiled at Lucy Gray.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Lucy Gray asked as she played with the rose in her hands, referring to Y/N who had hurried off.

“No.” Coryo answered a little too quickly. “I’m Coriolanus Snow. Nice to meet you, Lucy Gray.”

—

Whenever Coryo went to visit Lucy Gray, Y/N would join him. Her arm was always wrapped around Coryo yet she spoke to Lucy Gray more than she spoke to him. Coryo was starting to think Y/N was only tagging along to see the District Twelve girl.

Coryo couldn’t help but let his gaze dart between the two girls who were locked in a laughter-filled conversation, separated by bars. Coryo could recognise the look of wonder in Lucy Gray’s eyes when she looked at Y/N but he clenched his jaw when Y/N started smiling at her more than him.

He was a better fit for the L/N heiress. Lucy Gray was merely a district girl, nothing more than that. She could never give Y/N what Coryo could. Coryo could make her dreams come true while Lucy Gray would only destroy them.

Soon enough, Y/N started visiting Lucy Gray without Coryo. He watched from a distance, tapping his foot in annoyance. Lucy Gray wasn’t even worth worrying about because Y/N was still loyal to her duty. As the only child of the L/N Family, it was her duty to continue the legacy. That started with marrying someone worthy, which Lucy Gray was far from.

Y/N wasn’t allowed to visit Lucy Gray before the Hunger Games started, so she passed on a message through Coryo.

“She says good luck.” Coryo uttered. He didn’t need to specify who the message was from, Lucy Gray already knew. “May the odds be ever in your favor.” Coryo said as he handed Lucy Gray another white rose. He eagerly watched as she smelled the rose which carried the scent of Y/N’s perfume to conceal the poison he had added.

He had grown infatuated with Y/N over time and he was determined to get to her before Lucy Gray, even if that meant slipping small doses of poison to her, which wasn’t enough to kill her but it would hinder her senses.

Despite wanting to prove his fellow mentors wrong because he was naturally competitive, Coryo was still clinging to a bit of hope that Lucy Gray would be eliminated early on during the game. She was not.

Coryo almost wanted to send a drone at her himself.

Y/N always stood beside him, not minding how Coryo laced his hands with hers. She was far too focused on the screen whenever Lucy Gray appeared on it.

Despite secretly rooting against Lucy Gray, he couldn’t help but be stunned when her singing lulled the snakes. They didn’t attack her, which made Coryo’s eyes narrow. He glanced at Y/N, who was subtly fidgeting. Clearly, she had used some sort of tactic to make the snakes docile only to Lucy Gray.

“She won.” Y/N whispered as all but one of the tributes were finally eliminated. “She won. Stop the games.” But nobody moved. “She’s won. Let her out!” Murmurs arose as Y/N’s voice rose in volume. She tugged on Coryo’s sleeve.

“Let her out. She’s the victor.” Coryo repeated Y/N’s words as he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. It fell, creating a loud clanging noise.

“Lucy!” Y/N exclaimed as the brunette girl exited the broken down arena. She hugged Lucy Gray while Coryo lingered behind, far enough to not understand what Lucy Gray was whispering to Y/N.

“Y/N, you have to run away with me. Please. It’s not safe for you here. You may think you know these people but you don’t. He’s going to kill you one day or another.” Lucy Gray gripped Y/N tightly, begging her. She saw the darkness in Coryo, even if nobody else could.

“Good job.” Coryo said as he walked closer, interrupting Lucy Gray. He pat her on the back but the gesture felt almost like a warning. Before their conversation could continue further, Y/N heard her father call out her name.

Lucy Gray’s victory would ensure Coryo the Plinth Prize, making him realize that maybe Lucy Gray surviving wasn’t such a bad thing after all. The rewards, however, were short-lived when Coryo was accused of cheating by Dean Highbottom. Of course, it wasn’t him, it was Y/N. But Coryo would never admit that.

He was given two options. Either enrol as a peacekeeper or be exposed. He had to choose the first to escape being disgraced. He had clawed his way to the top with what little he had and he’d rather die than let go of it.

Lucy Gray and Y/N had long split ways but Coryo saw the way she searched for the brunette in every crowd. He knew they exchanged letters. He knew everything about Y/N, not because he was a creepy stalker but because Y/N willingly shared information.

Coryo knew her favorite color, her favorite pair of shoes, her favourite skirt.

He knew how she hated drinking a carbonated beverage after eating spice.

He knew Y/N down to every minor detail. All her hobbies, all the useless details she spilled to him, all her dark secrets.

He knew she had blood on her hands, having killed during the Dark Days out of pure necessity after being attacked.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself? There’s no maids to do your bidding.” Y/N adjusted Coryo’s shirt out of instinct.

“I’ll be fine.” He reassured her for the seventh time just as he had done with Tigris.

“No offence, Coriolanus, but you don’t belong out there. I give it three months tops before you lose your mind.” Y/N joked. He quietly laughed, tapping her chin. He would have grabbed it and kissed Y/N if it hadn’t been for the fact that she was hopelessly in love with a district girl.

Coryo knew that until Lucy Gray was out of the picture for good, Y/N would never kiss him back.

“I’ll write to you.” Coryo said, determined to overflow Y/N’s mailbox with letters from him instead of Lucy Gray.

“Good luck, Coryo. I’ll be here waiting for you. And tell her I say hi.”

Coryo nodded. He refused to relay the message but Y/N didn’t need to know that. Coryo planned to make Lucy Gray believe Y/N had forgotten her. He didn’t care what he had to do; steal Lucy Gray’s mail, whisper fake words to her, even forge a letter. He’d do it all to ensure Y/N was his to keep.

Days as a peacemaker weren’t easy. Despite having more food than he had in the Capitol, the work was laborious. Coryo didn’t even get a chance to stumble into Lucy Gray. He was losing his mind, just like Y/N predicted. He might’ve committed suicide if it hadn’t been for Sejanus Plinth, his good friend from the Academy, suddenly showing up.

The twisted events after Sejanus’ arrival shook Coryo. He had found Lucy Gray with her old lover, Billy Taupe, constantly trailing behind her. She sang at a bar of sorts, her voice echoing off the walls. Coryo had attended one of her performances for Y/N’s sake, not expecting Lucy Gray’s song to feel so targeting.

“When you wake up next to him in the middle of the night.” Lucy Gray locked eyes with Coryo as she sang, making him feel a little uncomfortable. He had a theory as to who this song was based around. “With your head in your hands, you're nothing more than his wife. And when you think about me, all of those years ago, you're standing face to face with I told you so.”

To make matters even worse, Sejanus was acting rather suspicious, always whispering with Billy Taupe like they were planning something. Coryo’s suspicion was proven true when Sejanus revealed his plan to flee North.

The first to die was Mayfair Lipp, the mayor’s daughter who had stumbled across a meeting and threatened to rat them out. Coryo had shot her.

And when Billy Taupe threatened to shoot Lucy Gray, Spruce shot him.

Sejanus was next, hung for treason and rebellion. Coryo could still hear the jabberjays repeating his last words, driving him insane. He still had one more person to deal with before he could be transported to District Two for elite training. And that was none other than Lucy Gray. As long as her name existed, Y/N would never truely be Coryo’s.

Lucy Gray escaped the bullets shot at her but Coryo knew she wouldn’t dare return. All he had to do now was wipe away her existence, brushing her off as a mere ghost.

Coryo returned to Panem crueler than he had left. The bloody stains on his hands deepened in color as he secretly poisoned Dean Highbottom, only adding to his rising kill count.

He had created the life he knew he deserved. He was powerful, respected, and known so it was not a surprise when the L/N’s reached out to him with an offer for an arranged marriage. Y/N never spoke about it to him but he knew she would prefer him over a complete stranger.

It was late at night when there was an abrupt knock on the door. Coryo had just gotten back from a long day of studying, barely having the chance to pull his long coat off. He slowly opened the door, peeking past the smooth wood to see who was outside. He raised an eyebrow in surprise when he saw Y/N. She had a bleeding head, blood dripping from the various cuts on her face.

“Can I come in?” She asked but Coryo was already stepping aside and opening the door wider.

“Sorry if the house is messy. We’re renovating.” He lied through his teeth as he pressed a cool towel to Y/N’s head to stop the stinging.

“I’m sure it’ll be beautiful.” She replied. Y/N didn’t even need to think to assume that Coryo was telling the truth. She believed every lie he carefully fed her.

“I always thought I lived in a house with an angry man… turns out it was my mother.” Y/N uttered, leaning against Coryo for support. It was no secret that Y/N’s mother was anything but kind. She pushed Y/N and her father past their limits.

And she always blamed Y/N for what seemed like the fun of it. The fights were usually only verbal but it had gotten of hand this time and shards of glass were now embedded into Y/N’s skin.

Coryo didn’t sleep much that night, too busy overlooking Y/N’s condition. She was bruised and battered, it had taken an hour to pull the shards of glass out even with Tigris’ help. Y/N was sleeping soundly now, her hand wrapped around Coryo’s wrist to comfort herself.

Lucy Gray couldn’t hurt him anymore. He had gotten what he wanted and he refused to let go of it until his dying breath.

Their wedding was grand and over the top, regarded as Panem’s greatest event. Coryo made sure the wedding distracted Y/N from thinking about Lucy Gray, which he knew she did. He would catch her reading their old letters which she kept hidden in a box. Y/N was under the impression that Lucy Gray had fled somewhere so nobody could find her. Of course, that was a letter orchestrated by Coryo.

With Coryo working alongside the Gamemakers and becoming a favoured candidate for presidency and Y/N’s position as a revered lawyer, the couple lived a good life. Coryo would never again know poverty and hunger. He would never have to eat those awful Lima beans again.

Coryo was so focused on his future and keeping his life the way it was now that he failed to notice the cracks in his marriage until he and Y/N no longer ate in the same room or spent any time together. Yet even then, he barely acknowledged it, his ambition pushing him forward.

Every word he uttered to Y/N was laced with poison, for he was beginning to resent her. She made him vulnerable and weak, the two flaws Coryo hated the most.

Their house was no longer happy, it felt like walking on eggshells and thin ice. Every week was filled with a new argument. Perhaps Y/N was starting to loathe him too because she never spoke when he was around, only sending him a harsh glare.

“You remind Lady Snow of her mother.” One of the many maids spoke as she adjusted Coryo’s pillow. He had fallen ill but Y/N never visited him. He could see why now.

Y/N hated her mother after the night she had thrown a vase at her head. She had married Coryo to get away from her mother, yet another version of abuse continued to plague her.

It was about a year after their marriage when Y/N became pregnant.

Coryo was still hard at work with his new job of president, which stressed both him and Y/N. Y/N was expected to be the perfect wife in front of other political women; never mad, never sad, never showing any emotion. It got to the point that she had to take prescribed medicine to calm down her rising anxiety.

Coryo was often out late, leaving Y/N to tend to the house and everything else herself. She ate dinner alone, looked at her work documents alone, slept alone. It felt like her husband was no longer in her life because he left early in the morning and never returned until midnight.

Sometimes she’d stay up just to feel the mattress dip as Coryo climbed into bed, his hand resting on Y/N’s waist for a split second before he retracted.

She often found herself waking up at three in the morning, haunted by nightmares of Lucy Gray. Y/N placed her head in her hands like she always did, letting a shaky breath pass her lips. Lucy Gray was right, she was nothing more than Coryo’s wife, if she was even that to him now.

Y/N was, to put it lightly, exhausted in every aspect a person could be. Her numerous medicated pills prescribed to her for various mental issues were giving her a headache and she couldn’t even recall the last time she had spoken to Coryo. She thought that since she and Coryo had gotten along so well before his peacekeeping training that their marriage would be similar to that. But it seems something in District Twelve had changed him for the worst.

“How is my baby?” Y/N asked the doctor, her hands clasp together on her lap. “You said last time he was doing good. How is he now?” She softly smiled, something she hadn’t done in a while. When the doctor hesitated, her smile faltered. “He’s still doing good… right?”

The doctor silently removed his glasses. “I’m sorry.” He uttered, shaking his head.

The death of her baby was all her fault. It was the pills and the constant stress no doubt. Y/N walked through the street, feeling numb. She crashed into various people but she couldn’t hear their angry shouts, the ringing in her ears was too loud.

She returned back to the house, fully prepared to lock herself in her room and break down. Maybe even take all her pills in a desperate attempt to join her baby. She wasn’t expecting Coriolanus Snow, her absent husband, to be perched on the sofa with a wad of newspaper in his hands.

“How was your appointment?” Coryo questioned as he flipped the page of his newspaper, not bothering to look up at his wife. This was the first time he had spoken to her in a week. He hardly ever came out of his room to eat with her anymore.

When there was no reply, that was when Coryo finally lifted his head to glance at his wife’s tear-stained face. His gaze studied her blood-shot eyes, her trembling lip, and the way she held a hand over her belly like she was trying to protect the baby. He pieced it all together.

“The baby…” Y/N muttered, pausing her words as she took a shaky step forward. She barely caught herself. “It…”

She didn’t have to continue before Coryo quickly stood up, casting his now abandoned newspaper to the side. His eyes were cold and unwavering and for a minute, Y/N thought he was going to strike her for being so careless of his heir. She flinched as he took quick strides towards her, expecting a slap.

“The baby… the doctors said it…” She couldn’t say it, she refused to say it. She had one job; take care of a baby and she failed at that.

Coryo didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Y/N’s shaking form. It was the first time he had hugged her in months, maybe even years. Y/N couldn’t quite remember.

“We’ll try again.” Coryo spoke as Y/N finally allowed herself to break down in his arms. He held her like he used to before their marriage became a mess. She missed the feeling of his arms around her. She missed him.

Coryo could feel Y/N’s tears wet his shirt and her sobs rack her body. He pressed a hesitant kiss to her head. “We’ll try again when you recover from this… I’ll give you the daughter you’ve always wanted.”

THG TAG LIST (comment to be added) : @bianca4ukiss

[junimo-plushie]

I'm way too radical for Dragon Age like I'm replaying Origins right now, and I always go with a mage elf so I start at the circle. I will ALWAYS do absolutely everything I can to help Jowan and I would destroy every phylactery in that room if I had the option. It's crazy they can just take kids from their families by law. The circle is a prison fr. And so what if Jowan is a blood mage?? How much injustice is an oppressed class supposed to put up with until they resort drastic measures? Should he have consented to the Rite of Tranquility? Absolutely barbaric practices. And the game doesn't really let you fully support these decisions. I love this game tho fr 10/10

[herohikara-wol]

FFXIV Write 2k23 - Day 8

Shed - Dravanian AU, direct sequel to Barbarous

“There’s really no need-” Haurchefant’s tail lifted from Hero’s hands as the Dravanian protested. “I wouldn’t make you deal with my scales, it must seem unsightly to you.”

The viera rolled his eyes softly, “Haurchefant I was adopted by Dravanians. I grew up here in Ishgard. I have like a dozen siblings who are of all different ages and have all gone through molting before- I’ve helped some of them with it even.” He snorted, “honestly, acting like I’ve never touched dead scales before.”

“Well it’s a sensitive topic to some. I didn’t want to turn you off, I wanted tonight to be special. You’ve been gone for so long, my dulcet. Tonight was supposed to be supper and spoiling you and taking you back to my nest to try to have a clutch of my own with you.”

“Well you can still do all those things, I’m here until Aymeric’s guard finishes assessing if Gridania wants war or if the Primal attack was an accident.” It could have just been an accident, it’s not like Nophica herself had shown up to try to turn him into a bloody tree or some shite. Whatever he’d fought didn’t feel like a proper primal either, it was too- dead? No, it was alive, but it felt empty. Like all the energy animating it was somehow inert.

Papalymo mentioned something about pre-Gridanian history, the war of the magi, and was currently researching the Gelmorran and Amdapori ruins for answers. Apparently the primal-not-primal had looked similar to depictions of the stone guardians from the war, but if Gridania was worried about offending the Elementals, that should be the last thing they resorted to. Right? The Flood had traumatized the forest spirits so badly that they refused to allow all but a select few to use white magic in the first place.

So whoever animated that statue was risking retribution from the Elementals. Which would explain why they were agitated and panicked when Hero showed up in the grove in the first place. Right now the only answer he could come up with was someone had a Paragon guiding them, puppeting their moves from the shadows, and Kan-E-Senna thought it was the dragons threatening her people and not the Ascians.

Hero’s mind was working so quickly to try to piece together the puzzle that he barely noticed his hands moving at all. Haurchefant had long melted under the fingers gently massaging lotions and oils into his tail and back to loosen and soften the dead scales to make them easier to remove. He was practically purring his adoration for the massage, and Hero wasn’t hearing a single word of praise.

It wasn’t until Haurchefant flipped over to grab him by the wrist that Hero even realized he’d already finished the job. “Dearheart, are you alright? You’ve been silent this whole time.”

“Sorry, luv.” Hero smiled weakly at him to hide the worry bubbling in his breast. “I was just thinking about work.”

“Thinking about the looming specter of war more like.” The taller man huffed a bit, “You started using the brush over an area you’d already gotten. I will admit, it is impressive what you’re capable of without thinking about it though. My back feels better than it has in ages.” He glanced at the small pile of dead scales and skin beside Hero with a grimace. “I still wish you hadn’t had to deal with it on my behalf.”

Hero shook his head and smiled at the other, “I grew up here, if you think my stomach is so weak I can’t help you with some basic grooming you’re out of your mind. Remember, a dozen siblings? Why do you think I learned how to be so gentle with it? I’d help my fathers with the younger ones, papa taught me how to do it so they wouldn’t cry about how much it hurt. Father’s a little more on the side of speed over comfort but you know how he can be.”

“Ser Charibert isn't exactly the man I would think of when I was considering comforts beyond tea and a warm fire. No offense but your parents are bloody terrifying on a good day, it’s a wonder you’re so sweet and gentle.” He was flinching as he spoke, only to smile a bit when Hero found himself laughing.

“You’re their future son in-law, of course they’re terrifying to you. They’re trying to make sure you’ll treat me right, I am their most fragile child after all.” Not that either of his parents would call him that to his face. His cousin Grinnaux had though.

Once.

Hero still had one of Grinn’s teeth on a necklace to remind his cousin why he wasn’t as fragile or soft as he looked. Like any Dzemael, Grinn seemed to respect Hero more for having the balls to lay him flat on his arse instead of chickening out or backing down. “Alright, help me clean this mess up and we can get dinner. Maybe one of those hand-pies they sell in the market?”

“I was thinking something a little more sit-down and classy. Hopefully they’ll let us in the door, usually only proper house members dine there and-” Hero put a hand to Haurchefant’s chest and smiled at him.

“If they don’t, I will be just as happy to eat a hand-pie and lean against you while you wrap your wing around me. I don’t care about the expense, I care about spending time with you.”

“Of course.” Haurchefant leaned down to take the hand from his chest, still covered in lotion and oils, and kissed the top of it regardless. “Of course, my dulcet. As you wish.”

[petervintonjr]

"O woman, woman, upon you I call. For upon your exertions almost entirely depends on whether the rising generation shall be anything more than what we have been or not. O woman, woman, your example is powerful, your influence great, it extends over your husbands and your children, and throughout the circle of your acquaintance."

Meet outspoken writer, orator and intellectual Maria Stewart. Born to free to African-born parents in 1803 Connecticut, Maria was sadly orphaned at the age of 5, and was then "bound out" as an indentured servant (we all know what that means, but: nice try, recently-revised Florida public school curricula!) to the family of a local clergyman. At the age of 15 she moved to Boston and married local businessman (and War Of 1812 veteran) James W. Stewart, and settled into the Beacon Hill neighborhood --at the time a thriving and unusually progressive middle-class Black community. The Stewarts cultivated the friendship of local abolitionist and activist David Walker (a name that will very likely merit its own entry in this series). Walker was particularly known for taking Christianity to task (or more scathingly in his words, pretenders to Christianity) whenever they made excuses for --or outright defended-- slavery. Walker accused so-called Christians of hypocritically twisting their own faith's basic precepts to justify treating Black people even more barbarously and cruelly than any other faith. This made a vivid impression on Maria, herself a devout Christian.

Sadly Maria's life took a few more unpleasant turns --in short order her husband James and their dear friend David Walker both died. Denied an inheritance by the executors of James's own will, she had to resort to returning to a life of domestic servitude. However Maria's own religious faith remained unshakeable and she began writing antislavery articles in much the same vein as Walker's essays --eventually attracting the notice of noted abolitionist (and influential editor!) William Lloyd Garrison in 1831. Maria's essays appeared regularly in The Liberator, Garrison's antislavery newspaper.

Amongst Maria's essays, perhaps her most foundation-shaking work was a full-length pamphlet titled "Religion and the Pure Principles of Morality, The Sure Foundation on Which We Must Build." In this essay Maria pointedly spoke to the notion of freedom for all Black women regardless of status, and called upon Black women to uplift one another. But perhaps even more effectively, Maria invoked Christian rhetoric and principles to make her case --that the teachings of Jesus Christ ran absolutely counter to the notion that slavery should in any way be condoned or upheld, or even (as some arguments went) that Black people somehow deserved their enslavement. (Yes, victim-blaming isn't exactly a new practice, folks.) Unsurprisingly Maria deftly cited many chapters and verses to help make her case. The pamphlet, however, also left some room to criticize Black individuals themselves --suggesting that they were not, in fact, actively doing enough to secure greater freedom for themselves; an admonition to "take the plank out of our own eye," that met with some pushback.

Maria also intrinsically understood --perhaps more so than most-- that America's prosperity was directly dependent upon Black servitude and brutality; that slavery was encoded into America's very economic framework and that it would be a phenomenally difficult job to extricate it. Maria's success as a writer led in turn to more and more speaking engagements. One particular group that invited her to speak, was known as The Afric-American Female Intelligence Society Of Boston (yes, that really is the full name!), and significantly Maria's February 27, 1833 speech was addressed to a large crowd of Black and white people, comprised of both men and women. It's important to understand how, in context, just how groundbreaking such an audience truly was, in the 1830s. Maria continued to travel and teach (and evangelize!) over the years, delivering speeches in New York, Baltimore, and eventually Washington, D.C., where she ultimately settled and became Head Matron of the Freedman's Hospital and Asylum (later the medical school of Howard University). Contemporaneously her published writings found their way into many libraries and schools --a rarity in a time when so many Black people in America were still subjugated.

[scottandhiskind]

@questionmarkblock Okay but for real, how is there no thicc option? Though, I do feel like stocky is pretty much a synonym for thicc

[reachfolk]

i hate how much bethesda half assed the reachfolk storyline/culture bc i have SO MANY QUESTIONS ?? but in order to fill this huge gap i will just make a up a quadrillion headcanons and y'all will have to deal ❤

like the thing on my mind rn is the subject of cultural exchange. how closed off are the reachfolk from outsiders? have they always been like that, or is it just bc of their strained history with their neighboring lands? if not for that, would they be more open to sharing their knowledge of magic, alchemy, prophecy, etc? what's considered closed practice and what's the stuff they'd be open to sharing? like!! i have so many questions!!

my personal hc's? i think the only 100% closed practice they have is the briarheart ritual. like that's something reserved for reachfolk only; they guard the details of it with their gd lives, and i think the ritual has to be preformed by a hagraven anyway else the subject won't come back Right, ykwim? i also think a briarheart tree needs to be tended to in a very specific way, and that role (and the knowledge of how to perform it) is reserved for a select few people. it's sacred and not for just anyone to take part in, and that's something every tribe collectively agrees on.

other than that, i think most of the reason why they're seen as such a mystery is because very few people have in good faith tried to engage with them*. there have been a handful of scholars who seemed genuinely curious and had no ill will, but trust doesn't come easily for the reachfolk ⁠— ESPECIALLY not to nords or imperials. they don't take kindly to being called savages or barbaric, and they are a deeply religious people, so shitting on their gods is an easy ticket to getting your ass tossed in the karth river. if you worship talos, you're on their shit list by default and there's no hope to get off it. if you follow the eight divines, you're on thin ice (i have a buuunch of hc's about this but i'll leave that for another post).

* there is also of course the matter of how most of their traditions and knowledge is passed on orally, so unless a specific scholar got their approval to publish something (which is rare in and of itself), the only way to know about it is from the source.

so they have a lot of unique techniques in alchemy and magic that no one rly knows anything about because they think: 1) "what could those savages know? if you want any REAL training in the arcane arts, you have to get a Proper education at the college," or 2) "their magicks are dark and evil and sinister, and we're Moral Upstanding Citizens who won't resort to their foul deeds." and sure, certain practices of theirs can be seen as immoral, but people kinda fail to understand that morals are subjective and their sense of right and wrong is shaped by their upbringing. there's also a lot of unfaithful jumping to conclusions; ex. people hear that the reachfolk often use body parts in their potions and immediately think "oh god they're gonna kill me and harvest my organs!!" and not just "oh yeah steve over there was worried about his mom getting frostbite in the harsh winter so he donated a bit of blood to make a really good resist frost potion to make sure she'll be okay."

it gets kinda ridiculous because the reachfolk are goddamn amazing healers, and if not for the tensions between them and the nords/imperials, they probably could have stopped a lot of preventable deaths.

[anaiswriterr]

The Dragon Kings Queen

Pairing: Dragon King!Bakugou x Queen!Reader

Rating: M

Warning: This is part one, I’d like to point out be aware: 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝗼𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝗺𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐠𝗼𝐫𝐞, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐭𝐜. Please don’t read if you are not comfortable with it, and if you’re under the age of 18+ I will give a warning when it becomes NSFW but at the moment it’s SFW.

<masterlist>

Synopsis: ➪ When the word marriage crossed your mind, you believed you'd marry someone you loved. Not this brute of a King. So here you are standing at the end on an alter, pushing away the urge to run and fight. Possibly start a new life, instead of being dragged into a loveless marriage. But for the sake of your people.. They say he's not what rumors make him out to be, but how can you believe that when his eyes burn into yours; just as fiery as before. How could you, ever love someone as barbaric as him...

- chapter one: wedding of peace -

•

•

•

•

"May I introduce you, to my daughter, Princess Y/N of Airkin Kingdom."

"We are looking for a suitable suitor for her."

"You are doing your people a public service; think of all the possibilities that will come from this.. arrangement."

"You will soon be a Queen; start acting like it."

You wipe a tear away from your cheek as you soak in a bath of milk and honey; handmaids all around you scurrying scouring for jewels and expensive lace to dress you in. You clutch your knees together; pulling them into your chest as the bath water soaks into your skin. Quiet muttering of the handmaids pulling you out of your thoughts.

"M'lady would you allow me your hand; I must prep you for the ceremony." She gives off a gentle smile, her voice so small and soft; her hair is in two ponytail braids just separated by red satin ribbon. You nod, moving your shaky hand from the milky water; another handmaid coming to your side to prep the other hand. You hadn't realized somebody sat behind you combing your hair; brushing through your roots like silk.

You watch as they hang your dress up in awe, clapping their hands in cheer.

In another life, on another day you probably would've liked the dress. Maybe even fantasize about it, walking down the isle, eyes fixated on the love of your life as you smile. Ruling together as King and Queen; but most importantly as husband and wife. You frown at their smiles. Feeling bad that you couldn't share the same excitement towards them, you realize that the people of the Dragon Kingdom were much more proud people. From travelers and trades, you learned about the people from your kingdom by the royal bookkeeper; she had explained to you that the people of the Dragons were prideful and loud. Something you weren't quiet used too.

You were far more gentle and outspoken, quiet and kind. Your Kingdom was quite the opposite.

Tales of the dragons say that they are barbaric, and don't care what others have to say. And so did the tales of their people.

A part of you wonders why you were placed in this arrangement seeing that both kingdoms are extremely different from one another.

You sigh, it's for the best. This wedding will end the war between both kingdoms and more trade will come into the markets with many more jobs available for your people, it's important that you brush your feelings aside. You flinch as the handmaids drop your hands back to soak in the bath before being pulled up and quickly covered by a towel. Patting down your supple skin and moisturizing, applying expensive lotions on you and lathering it up your body.

You weren't used to being pulled in different directions. Soon enough a much younger handmaid, who seemed to be in training, came up behind you. Placing a silk robe over your exposed skin, you ask for them to leave the room for a while in order to gather yourself.

"Composure." You inhale.

They seemed annoyed but quickly wiped the fake expression off their faces and proceeded outside, following the orders of their future Queen.

You decided you would put on your undergarments yourself, keeping the last of your dignity. And later waving them in to help fit you in the dress, you feel the rough tug of the corset they had placed on your waist. Tightening it till you were nearly pulled to your feet; they apologized in advance as your hands grip the end of the counter. Grimacing at the nearly unbearable tightness, the handmaids at your kingdom were much more gentle and apologetic with you.

You missed them terribly.

They were finally finished with you.

Stepping back to admire their work, you smile weakly towards them.

The tiny white flowers that were gently placed into your hair, the vale.. all so perfect. So beautiful, the white and small blush on your cheeks radiating the innocence of a woman. You take a deep breath, your hands running down the bodice of your dress and smoothing it out. You wipe the last tear that dared threatened to escape. 

"Don't you dare start crying, don't you dare show weakness."

***

You watch as the waves crash against the rocks from the castles window, awaiting for your father. You smile, at least this kingdom was near the ocean and mountains. Such beautiful serene for a kingdom known for its brute and prideful attitude. You feel a tightened grip on your forearm, a man leaning down kissing your forehead. Your father Y/F/N, King of Airkin Kingdom here to give away his daughter.

"What a lovely Queen.." His voice comes out in a trembled whisper, you nod in agreement. Though you thought instead you'd be the Queen of your own Kingdom, your baby brother ended up taking over that role. You clutch onto your fathers bicep, staring off onto your gloved hand. You've never even had a single conversation with this man, you didn't know his name till last night, and you've never kissed anyone in your life besides your parents.

But those were most definitely not real kisses, those were cheek pecks and forehead pecks.

You feel your heartbeat start to pump faster as the wedding march played, hundreds of guests attended to see the ceremony. People from the kingdom and even other royalties attended the wedding, you exhale and start to walk beside your father. Feet moving on their own, you thought about running.

But the guards at each possible exist popped your thought of escape and pulled you into reality, if you were suicidal you'd most certainly throw yourself out the nearest window and allow yourself to plummet onto the pavement below, in order to runaway from this arrangement.

You look up from the bouquet of flowers in your hand, and notice the former Queen Mitsuki, bright eyed and smiling. Her Crown on a small velvet pillow, nodding in approval. The former King Masaru also seated beside her, holding onto her hand in pride and happiness. And suddenly yours eyes meet the man of all the rumors.

With long spiky hair, decorated with tooth necklaces, feathers, scarlet red tooth earrings, and tribal arm sleeves, a tribal tattoo imprinted onto his arm. With piercing ruby red eyes, not a smile in sight. The upper half of his body fully exposed, your eyes slightly widen. Noticing almost everyone on the Dragon Kingdom side wore very revealing clothing.

You surpass a small gasp, woman wore light fabric with exposed stomachs and legs. Meanwhile men were too show off tribal tattoos. You realize the reason why the kingdom was so prosperous. All dazzling in jewels, you didn't even notice your handmaids were dressed in similar wear, but with more decoration. The closer you got the more of him you saw, his lips pressed into a fine line. 

The both of you truly did not want to be there.

As soon as you reached to the end of the isle, your father gave you away to the man that you'd now forever be wed too. And rule beside, you pass the bouquet over down to the small flower girl beside you. Giving her a soft smile and placing the tiniest flower behind her ear, earning a tiny giggle from her and large toothy grin.

You turn around and reach down to his hands, traditionally the two of you were obligated to hold hands as the ceremony commenced. They were so rough against your tiny soft ones, his eyes a crimson red finally reaching your soft E/C ones. You start to chew at the inside of your cheeks, drowning out the words of the preacher finding the floor as the most intriguing thing other than his burning eyes. 

"Our father who art in heaven.."

He begins the prayer, holding out his hands, chanting prayers through the cathedral. You shut your eyes and bow your head down in prayer, following after the man in front of you. The wedding continued, and your eyes still refused to reach his. Though, you could feel his heavy gaze on you from to time. "Now we are granted the pleasure, of witnessing the matrimony of two young souls. Soon to rule this Kingdom, King Bakugou, do you take this woman, Y/N L/M as you lawfully wedded wife. Crowning her Queen of your kingdom?"

You almost forgot that you had no say in this.

"Yes."

The answer was simple, emotionless and short. You give a small nod and allow for the ceremony to continue, hand in hand with a man you had only met once. Dreading each second, the preacher raises his voice holding his hands up, declaring "the love" these two share in sake of their kingdom.

"I now pronounce you, King and Queen, husband and wife. You may now, kiss your bride."

You prepare yourself for a short kiss, something simple. But are hit with a searing kiss, long and burning passionately against your virgin lips. The side of the Dragon Kingdom roaring in excitement, it's former King and Queen nodding in approval. Meanwhile the Airkin side had only resorted to small cheers of happiness. His hand cups your jaw, a small growl erupts from his throat until he pulls away. You are taken aback but quickly replace the face of sudden surprise to a smile you practiced in the mirror hundreds of times. Waving off to the kingdom, and fixing the crown a handmaiden placed on your head.

You fight the tears that pooled on the outer corners of your eyes.

"Aw look! The Queen is crying of happiness!"

What a statement so far from the truth. Don't you know, I've practiced this smile since I was six?

***

"M'lady? You've had such a long day, we have a handmaidens awaiting for you with a hot bath. She will be in charge of clothing you for tonight.."

Your hands run through your hair smoothly, brushing out the flowers and placing them in a small basket. You nod, thanking her as she left.

Tonight..

Tonight you were expected to give yourself to the King in tradition of matrimony. With your assigned duty to birth a son or daughter for the next of kin. This thought had clearly blown over your mind as you suddenly realized tonight was the night. For years you thought you'd give yourself to the love of your life someone who'd cherish you forever. Sighing you are pointed towards the direction where countless of handmaidens are awaiting to prepare you for the night.

Silk robes and a black night gown that you thought was far to revealing for your liking sat neatly on a chair. A bath of milk and honey with rose pedals awaiting for you, and an assortment of creams and lotions and expensive soaps sat beside the counter. They strip you away of your clothes and lead you towards the tub.

"Your Majesty, we are so happy to have you as our Queen. We assure you you'll love it here, and the King. What a lucky woman to be able to represent our Kingdom. Tonight's going to be a night to remember." They rave on, startling you with how loud they were. You gasp as they place a cool cotton ball in your hand, wiping away any dirt with the rose water infused ball, scrubbing away at you hand. Then neatly wrapping your hand in a fist.

You nearly tell them to stop when they begin to pull and tug at your hair.

But it was their jobs and you wouldn't dare scold them for trying to help you, for years you promised you wouldn't be a mean Queen, you'd always be loving and kind. Even if it meant you had to endure few minor inconveniences.

Dreading each minute that went by, the time just edging closer and closer to the moment you'd be in a room with him. You bite at your lip, tugging the bottom piece not noticing thirty minutes had went by and it was time for you to leave the bath water. They tug you by your wrists and cover you with a towel, leading you into a changing room by yourself, leaving you to change into your undergarments before you wave them over.

Allowing them to finish their preparations.

You are seated back in your room, grateful you were provided your own room till you were finally settled to sleep with your “husband”. Facing the vanity mirror your body covered in a silk robe when a women knocks on the door.

"Hello, I'm Toga. I'll be your head handmaid, I'm tasked with preparing you for tonight's events." She grins, walking towards you and combing out your hair.

It's quiet for a while, an eerie feel swells in your chest. Her smile yells to not trust a single word that escapes her mouth, she's grinning like a slithering snake. Eyes slanted and dark, her voice chirps up to fill the silence.

"I heard you're pure.."

A gasp escape past your lips, her smile only getting larger by your expression.

"You know what's to be expected by tonight, I wouldn't be surprise if you wouldn't be able to walk the next day. You know what they say about the Dragons, barbaric.." she grabs your jaw and forcefully tugs you near her, whispering into your ear, "rough too. But I'm sure you'll be fine."

"H-He's not a-"

"Oh sweetie, of course he's not. Which makes it better for him... he'll know what it's like to fuck a virgin."

You slap the hairbrush out of her hand, kicking your vanity chair from beneath you.

"How dare you speak to me in such a malicious tone! Get out, immediately. Or else I'll be forced to hire another head handmaid. I'll prepare myself!" You sneer, pointing your finger towards the door.

She bows, and tsks kissing her teeth, “Whatever you say, your majesty.” She grins, her fingers trailing on the bed spread as she exits your room. Leaving you fuming at your vanity. You throw on the stupid night gown, huffing and running your fingers through your hair. You barley notice the figure standing at the end of your room, leaning against her door frame. You gasp, startled at the reflection of his ruby red eyes.

You turn around, hand on your chest. Walking backwards till your back meets your desk, his eyes aimlessly wandering over your body, tracing every dip and curve. He knocks on the door frame, “C-Come in...” your voice wavers.

His boots clank against the mahogany wooden floorboards, as he approaches you. Arms crossed over his chest till he’s finally only inches away from you, your heart is racing and a part of you wants to tell him to go away. To never come in here again, allowing Togas words to bounce around in your head. He takes a strand of your hair in his hand, admiring as it aimlessly fell through his fingers, draping over your shoulders. A finger tracing over your exposed shoulder.

“I thought you had Toga helping you out get ready.” His voice is firm, yet calm.

“I-I decided I wanted to change myself, tonight.” Your voice comes out in a stutter, you didn’t mean for it to sound so small and unsure. He nods, noticing your stature. He arches a brow, before stepping back.

“No harm, will come to you in this Kingdom. I won’t force you to do something you are clearly not ready for, nor will I make you perform an act we clearly don’t want to do. So sleep tight, and stay out of my way.”

Your breath hitches as he leaves your room, closing the door shut behind him. Your heart rate increasing by the second, you finally release the breath you yourself didn’t notice you were holding.

[flatlinedgamer]

Battle from the Stars

This is what I have so far and I don't know if I can keep writing it. I'm tired and content fuels my work.

@onlycodcanjudgeme

---

Two months ago Earth was attacked. An alien force came down from the sky with hellfire on their minds. They made no attempts at diplomacy. They hammered the world’s major cities with plasma fire with the expectation that the humans would crumble under the assault. They considered humans the inferior force.

They underestimated human courage and tenacity. The humans gave as hard as they got on the ground and in the sky but they were slowly losing ground.

In orbit, another war was raging. A coalition of species had caught up with the invaders. Horrified that they’d been too late to stop the assault, the coalition set out to stop the invaders.

The invaders? The Invali. They’re a nasty species that enslaves or wipes out entire planets while stripping the planet of its resources. The Invali were once a highly intelligent and peaceful species. Their genetic experiments eventually twisted them into the horrors they are today. They enslave timid species to use as genetic material to make new troops. They wipe out species that put up a fight with orbital cannons they set up upon arrival to a new planet.

The species fighting against them consist of the Kattal, the Veskad, the Mathric, and the Uvenis. They’d fought a centuries-long war against the Invali. The Veskad were the first to be attacked. They wanted to learn from this new species but the Invali only want to take from them. They turned from peaceful pursuits to war machines from far in their past. The Veskad fought them off but it didn’t take the Invali long to find a new target.

They found the Kattal next. Not as advanced as the Veskad, the Kattal were embroiled in a bitter fight against a genetic mutation. They’d resorted to killing infants and the unborn to curb the fighting and attacks from mutated individuals. The horrid practice caused a rift between the peasants and royalty. They were fighting a losing battle that put them on the brink of civil war. The Invali found a broken people to attack and the Kattal found a purpose for the aggressive behavior of those they called the Feral. It elevated the once hated genetic mutation to a necessary evil. The Feral found status and a place in a world that hated them

Next, they found the Mathric. A barbaric species, they thought they’d found worthy opponents in the Invali. What they found was that the Invali would use any means necessary to wipe out a species. The lack of honor pushed the Mathric to join an alliance with the other species in an effort to stop the destruction of their home and clans. They were unconcerned with making scientific advancements and relied on their allies to provide their troops with armor and weapons they found acceptable.

Centuries of brutal fighting ensued and many worlds were lost to the Invali. Newly discovered species were wiped from existence and allied worlds were destroyed. Eventually, the Invali found another species that refused to roll over and die. The first species that the allies would manage to save. The Uvenis were a tribal species that made advancements slowly. They were fairly peaceful, rarely ever going to war. They learned quickly that the Invali didn’t want peace. In the end, it didn’t matter. The Uvenis found themselves surrounded by allies.

The humans would soon find out that there were other species willing to fight for their world.

----

Present Day, Undisclosed Location

“They’re trying to flank us!” Captain John Price yelled as another group of aliens tried to take out his team. “These bastards don’t know when to quit!”

Task Force 141 was low on ammo and lower on morale. They’d lost many of the soldiers that had been sent to bolster their numbers. The aliens had been coming at their position in waves for days. At some point, the radio had taken a hit and they had no way to call in backup. Not that it would come.

“It’s the little ones,” Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish said loudly. “Not sure what they were doing. They’re dead now.”

The aliens in question were small, stupid things that ran on four legs until they attacked, when they would stand on two thin legs and swipe sharp, metallic claws at their victim. Their skin appeared to be nothing more than a transparent film over their gray muscles. They tended to run in packs, making them a dangerous foe to turn your back on.

“Gearing up for something bigger,” Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley replied. “They have to know by now that throwing those things at us won’t work.”

Something bigger did arrive. A massive creature that resembled a T-Rex charged out of the trees with a roar that 141 could feel to their bones. It stood over ten feet tall with a wedge-shaped head and claws that curled in the air just above the ground.

CFS Brekir, Sub Orbit

“Let’s go, Hisan!” A woman yelled as she buckled herself into a pod. “It’s time to go introduce ourselves!”

The other members of her team didn’t seem so thrilled. The pods would drop from the ship when they reached a certain altitude above the planet’s surface. They’d be sent plummeting to the ground at insane speeds only to be slowed just enough that the pods wouldn’t be destroyed on impact. They were used by the Kattal to drop troops behind enemy lines. She’d seen many missions like that through but this would be her companions’ first jump.

“Come on,” she laughed. “We have a very small jump window and we need to meet that timing. It could turn out badly if we don’t.”

“How are you so happy about this?” A large male asked. “This is unnatural.”

“I’ve done it enough times to know to trust the process,” she replied. “We’ll be fine.”

After a lot of grumbling, the three other members of her team entered their pods and secured themselves and their weapons as the chipper woman had shown them.

“Closing pod doors,” she said loudly.

“Prepare to drop in 3… 2,” the technician counted down before releasing the pods. The doors opened under each one and dropped the team to the planet below.

Task Force 141

A shrieking sound split the air and caused the massive alien monster to flinch back. Four massive metal containers hit the ground at the edge of the trees, just far enough away that they didn’t cause the team to do more than stagger at the impact.

“What the fuck is that?” Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick asked in disbelief as the doors began to blow off three of the containers. They watched as three new alien species staggered out of the pods.

“Fuck!” Price shouted. “There’s more!”

The final pod remained closed and the monster turned its attention to it. It edged closer to inspect it and an alarm began to sound from the object. When the monster was within twenty feet, the pod let out a loud hiss of air. The door launched with an angry pop and embedded itself in the monster’s skull. It dropped to the ground, dead by drop pod door.

A high laugh sounded from inside the pod and they watched as a small, heavily armored woman with rusty brown hair and a fucking tail to match launched herself from the doorway. The second her feet touched the ground she pulled a gun like they’d never seen before from her back and began firing on the aliens that had been attacking the team for days. The other three soon joined in and made quick work of the creatures they’d had so much trouble with.

“Who the fuck are they?” Ghost asked, not expecting an answer. These aliens were new. They had no idea what to expect.

One tore away from the others to slowly approach them, hands held up in a gesture of peace and free of weapons. It was tall. Around six feet if they had to guess. It looked like a plant had taken a human form with mottled green skin and wide, orange eyes. Depending on who you asked, it could be the most beautiful creature they’d ever laid eyes on or a horrid monstrosity. It appeared to be a woman, though none of them could tell for sure. The noise she made sounded a lot like rustling leaves. She was trying to speak to them.

A massive creature hissed behind her, speaking to her. That one was well over seven feet tall, muscular and covered head to toe in blue scales. Its face looked like it belonged on a reptile but its snout was snubbed and close to its face. Its blue eyes watched the plant woman with caution as if it was telling her to be careful approaching the team.

The other two were just as odd. The woman that had killed the monster using her pod door looked the most human but her pale skin had a reddish cast much like her hair and furry tail. Her eyes were yellow and very cat-like. As she grinned she flashed sharp fangs.

The other alien was harder to look at. It looked like an insect that stood on two legs. The other ‘legs’ had become four thin arms. Its carapace was mottle with gray and brown. Its insect-like face was horrifying and its mandibles clicked as it chittered at the strange cat woman. In short, it looked a bit like a grasshopper standing around looking uncomfortable. The cat woman laughed, though, and replied in her own language. The words were completely unknown to any member of 141 but still recognizable as words.

Price kept his gaze on the plant woman. She slowly took a small case from behind her back before making a gesture with her hands that he didn’t understand. She tried a different gesture. She held one hand to her mouth and then brought it away like she was blowing a kiss. She then brought that same hand around to the side of her head, where Price noted she had no ears, and then brought it back to her mouth. She kept repeating the gesture but seemed to give up in frustration.

The plant woman turned to the cat woman and spoke to her. The cat seemed to consider her words for a moment before replying.

“Speak,” the cat said to the team, her voice heavily accented. “Hear.”

“What?” Price asked. “What are you saying?”

The cat huffed in annoyance. “Speak,” she repeated. “Hear…” She shook her head and repeated the plant woman’s gesture. She put her hand to her mouth and pulled it away. “Speak.” She brought her hand around to her slightly pointed but mostly human-like ear. “Understand.” She pointed at the case the other woman held.

“Fine,” Price said after considering options. “You all clearly want to speak to us. I’ll do it but you’ll be in trouble if it kills me.”

The cat rolled her eyes while the plant pulled a small, gun-shaped device out of the case. She slotted a small capsule into it and stepped closer to Price. She brought it up to the space behind his left ear and pulled the trigger. There was a soft hiss and she stepped away from him. There wasn’t any pain but he still rubbed the spot.

“How long will this take?” he asked.

“It’s already done,” the plant said and he understood every word. He could still hear the rustling that was her actual language and it was strange to hear. “I should have enough translation chips for your whole team but I will defer to your judgment since you are clearly the commanding officer.”

“Could you understand me before?” Price asked. “It seemed like you could.”

“Yes,” she replied. “Our chips were updated with your languages almost as soon as the linguists finished their work.”

“All Earth languages?” He asked and she nodded. “How long did that take?”

“A week at most,” the cat said. “About how long it took to blow the Invali’s orbital cannon to bits.”

“Ruska!” The insect chided. “He didn’t need to know about that!”

She, Ruska apparently, snorted. “Yes, he did. Who doesn’t want to know the enemy was preparing to blow their planet up if things didn’t go their way?”

“What?” Price asked with a hiss. “Those bastards were planning to blow up our planet?”

“Mostly,” she replied. “When they fail to subdue what they see as inferior species they just wipe them off the planet and take their natural resources. What’s left, anyway.”

“And who the hell are all of you?” Price finally asked. “What are all of you?”

“Ruska,” the cat said, slightly raising one hand. “I’m a Kattal.”

“Amris,” the big, blue reptile answered. “I am Mathric, blood and bone.”

“My name is Meyvari,” the plant replied. “I’m of the Veskad.”

“Hy’Zek,” the insect said, bowing. “I am an Uvenis.”

“We’re members of the Warena Coalition,” Meyvari told him. “We are allied species that are trying to stop the Invali from taking another planet and destroying another species. We’ve failed to stop them in the past. This time we arrived before the orbital cannon was fully assembled.”

“Price,” Ghost called. “What the hell is going on?”

“They’re here to help,” Price called back.

[qceensofkings]

continued from x.  @fallesto​

“It’s nothing,” She insists as she straightens up once more, her head still fuzzy from the incident she’d had earlier in the week. Everyone aware of her condition insisted that she go to the hospital but she won’t be caught dead in a hospital bed.

Brushing her hair out of her face as she straightens out her jacket as green hues focus on him once more, set with a determination as he mocks her. 

“You think you know me so well, don’t you?” She breathes, pushing herself up to stand once more before she leans onto the table, her jaw set. “Whatever image you have of me in your head, you can forget about it. I’m stronger than I was even a year ago. I can do this.”

“You help me, I will do more than smile for you. I’ll bring the whole city to it’s fucking knees and I’ll let you pick which of those traitorous rats dies first. Hell, I’ll even get you out of here too. Something tells me this asylum isn’t exactly a five star resort seeing as how I’m almost positive I saw they still practice electro-shock therapy? A bit barbaric, don’t you think? Maybe it’d better serve as ashes with the ground salted around it.”

[jjaeong]

The Heiress, & The Twelve. Act I.

Episode II: The World, Turned Upside Down.

Series: KPOP Girl Group: 이달의 소녀 (LOONA).

Pairing: OT12 & Mafia Heiress Female Reader.

Summary: As Haseul told Y/L/N Y/N of her origin and purpose, her life had quickly shifted in preparing for her upcoming initiation. And if Y/N thought coming back to take the position that had been destined to her by blood was going to be easy, she'd yet to think again—as she'd been blatantly deemed unworthy by a few members of her own Family.

"So what you're telling me is that.. My real name is actually Y/L/N Y/N, Sooyoung-unnie isn't my real sister—and that I'm supposed to be an heiress to a Mafia Family that's currently the most strongest running Family there is..?"

"Yes."

"..And I'm just supposed to become a boss? Just like that?" The orange haired lady whom had introduced herself earlier by the name Vivi giggled at your puzzled expression, before looking back at the acting boss, Haseul, that studied you carefully as she sat rested back on her seat.

"Precisely."

"But I'm barely of legal age? And I'm still in High School?"

"You Grandfather became our boss just when he graduated from Middle School."

"This doesn't even make any sense!" your eyes snapped over to Sooyoung's who looked almost just as exasperated as you were. Though the woman had been revealed to not be your actual sister, the way you both seemed to have acted with one another after the revelation was exactly the same—even though she knew of it from the start, she still looked at you with the same gentle eyes as if nothing had been said. Jinsol, the woman with the defined jawline shot up from her seat to stare directly at you.

"She's right, this doesn't make sense anymore," Jinsol turned to Haseul with a pleading look while the other girl just kept her eyes dead set on you, "Haseul, we're good now! We've peaked over the last year under your leadership—if we hand it to this.. Child, we'll lose control over our own people before she even gets past initiation!"

"Jinsol, don't—"

"Don't what!? You know damn well what I'm saying right now is what's going to happen after this! What more do you guys need to hear!?" Hyunjin stood from her spot to make a move towards Jinsoul who shot her a warning look just when Jungeun grabbed ahold of the younger girl's wrist, Haseul then tore her eyes off of yours to nod at Jungeun before looking up at Jinsoul's dejected expression.

"Go outside and keep watch with Gowon's team, I will speak with you later." Jinsoul clenched her jaw, practically scowling at you before bowing in Haseul's direction, slipping out of the room just as Jungeun stood from her spot to follow after the girl. Haseul then looked over to Hyunjin, who remained standing stiff on her spot with eyes stuck on the entrance of the living room.

"Would you like to follow too, Hyunjin?" Haseul asked just as Hyunjin blinked, shaking her head in reply before sitting back down and staring vacantly at the ground.

"At your command, Unnie."

"I'll go," Sooyoung answered, rising from her seat when you opened your mouth to protest—not wanting to be left alone with these people you barely knew—but your older sister only shook her head at you, "you can trust them with your life, Y/N. I'll be back when they leave," her eyes then moved to the two girls that sat closest to you.

"At least when the majority of them do."

"We're not asking you to immediately become the boss, Y/N. What we're asking from you is for you to accept the role which was bound to you by birthright." Haseul didn't waste a single second as she quickly resumed from where she left off—just before Jinsoul's outburst. Sooyoung then bowed as well, leaving you with only four members of your Family with you as Haseul turned to look at Heejin this time, motioning for her to present you something.

"You are to be trained, to take all the necessary steps until you're enough to not just be an image to our Family—but as an actual boss, the matriarch of thousands of our associates who's loyalties lie only to you, to the blood." you felt your throat dry up as Heejin reached over to place a small, golden plated box with twelve colored gemstones that surrounded the outer rim and the lid of it with the first letter of your last name engraved on the top. The girl pressed what seemed to be a hidden lock on the box, for it to slowly open and reveal what reminded you closely of Jungeun's pin from earlier—except this one had a clear image of a golden full moon in the middle, surrounded by what you'd initially think as blue gem stones but from how it practically oozed of vivid clarity..

A blue diamond ring.

"You can't escape this, Y/N. Your predecessors had carried this through for thousands of years—none of them even dared to attempt a decline. And so will you."

"Is that a threat?" your voice almost failed you as you tried to muster up the courage to talk back, to which Haseul only returned a disappointed expression at.

"If that is how you want to look at it, then so be it."

You leaned back on your seat, feeling defeated as everyone looked at you expectantly with the ring that sat in the golden box taunting you—as if it was asking you to take it and just accept your destiny. But would it truly be such a loss if you didn't bother to try in the first place? How would you know how deep this entire.. Bounded by blood to the Mafia would be any different to how you've always lived your life? Other than the usual days spent doing your chores and diving into your hobbies once they're done—would it be replaced with dropping out of school to do combat training and sign paper works?

The saying with "curiosity killed the cat" echoed in the back of your head, but then will your curiosity get you killed as well?

"We're not like the usual Mafias you see on television, Y/N. Your grandfather had always been clear with the Family values," you looked back up to find Haseul's lips pulled up into a tight lipped smile, eyes seemingly in deep thought though she kept them on you, "for all these years that we've worked under his care, he lived a simple life and wanted all of us to have the privilege of living the same way."

"You mean after years of slaughtering who ever got in the Family's way got repetitive so he decided to stop?" Haseul's thoughtful eyes quickly shifted into an expression that looked as if she was stung by your choice of words.

"We never resort into such barbaric actions—until it is just."

"And how do you know that? Aren't you just taking orders from him because that's where your loyalty lies? To the blood? Because he's a Y/L/N?" you pressed even further, slowly finding yourself disapproving of whatever statement the acting boss was trying to convey about your Family. The thought of the current highest ranking member of your Family speaking of the group as if looking through rose colored glasses had rubbed you the wrong way.

To you, this is just another Mafia—you've heard about the association well enough to understand that they kill when needed to, but that doesn't justify all those who could've possibly felt the wrath of your Family name when they were barely proven guilty. But to Haseul, as you've observed, she holds the Family at such a high place that it even convinced all four members that were present in front of you, everyone seemed to have understood where she was coming from.

Only you didn't understand, having the perception of a complete outsider, a civilian that was about to be dragged into the dark depths of an underground business empire.

"Y/N, please. Keep an open mind.." Haseul pleaded through her teeth, making you look away from her to stare at the wall behind her. She seemed to have paused for a moment to see if you had wanted to push even further, but when you kept your mouth shut she released a sigh, feeling disheartened at how little you expected from them when they've anticipated for your return for over a year.

"When you become boss.. You will be able to turn the Family around, your beliefs will be weighed along with the members to find a common ground. We can shape the values to what you'd want under your command, Y/N—your grandfather did his best to undo the mistakes of the past bosses as well," your eyes locked with Haseul's yet again, but this time, she had a knowing look set on her features, "you can turn this Family around, just like he did when he took us in."

Took them in? So all these women were all under your grandfather's care? He took care of over seven or more girls yet he couldn't even pay you a visit?

"Why did he.. Keep me away?" you dragged slowly, keeping your eyes on Haseul even though she could clearly see the pain in your eyes as you spoke. Heejin turned to look away from you, not wanting to make you feel any less of yourself at the slightest hint of vulnerability in your voice as Hyunjin inhaled deeply before doing the same.

"The night your Mother was assassinated—was your Father's initiation. You were with her in that separate room, supposed to be kept safe until it was done but.."

"We were attacked," Vivi continued, speaking for the first time since she introduced herself. The lady who was claimed to be the eldest of the group had a calculated smile gracing her features as she looked at you, "at the ceremony, I was the one that first identified the traitors—they were interrogated after that night. It was a coup, they didn't approve of your Father becoming the boss."

"Why?"

"He had the same vision as your Grandfather, he wanted everyone to live a simple life just as he'd experience when he left with you and your Mother a few years back."

"He returned because your Grandfather fell ill. But when your Mother died, his guilt got to him and.." the grim expression that fell on Haseul's face already said enough of how it all ended as you sat there, moving your eyes from Haseul to Vivi who eyed the Leader before she faced you again, nodding slowly.

"And so your Grandfather left you with the Ha's to make sure you were kept alive."

"You're our only hope in finishing what they both had wanted for your Family, Y/N. We can't achieve this on our own, we need a true Y/L/N to stand for us.." Haseul started to sound desperate, the collected girl looked as if at any given moment she would lose it and shut herself down. You still couldn't entirely understand what these girls were trying to persuade you into—but something inside of you just gave into it, they barely even look like the type of members that would end lives without a second thought.

They were following what seemed to be a great cause before, there must've been some sort of oath that had been pledged among these girls with your lineage even before meeting you.

You’d be lying if your curiosity didn’t catch up at the thought of uncovering more.

"Okay." the members tensed up on their seats as you sat up on your own, eyeing the ring that made your heart race up at the thought of it slipping it on your finger.

"You'll guide me, right? Tell me how everything goes and.. Not lie to me about it?" you mentally cringed at your lack of proper vocabulary that would be suited with your destined high position.

Haseul made it look easy.

"Of course, you'll be the future of our Family—coming clean with you is the least of your worries with us." Haseul waved her hand dismissively as you hummed in acknowledgement, eyeing the ring yet again when you heard Vivi giggle yet again.

"Go on, you're supposed to wear it to officially become one with us." she pointed at the box before standing up on her spot, grabbing the empty tea pot that she had practically finished herself before slipping past you and your members to probably make some more. You took note of Vivi's informality with the acting boss when Haseul barely tore her eyes away from you, anticipation practically dripping from her expression.

Reaching over to the box and pulling the ring from it's velvet cushion, the members seemed to have held their breaths as you inspected the delicate designing of the ring closely, eyeing the material in awe at how luxurious it seemed. And with the thought that Jungeun's pin looked expensive, this one looked almost ten times more than what it's bargained for. You slipped it in your left pointer finger and the three practically sighed at the image, your eyes still stuck on the golden full moon crest that lay on the top of the ring.

"Just like your pins." you breathed, looking over to Heejin’s tie to observe her pink gemstone pin with a golden silhouette of a rabbit in the middle. The girl smiled charmingly back at you, eyes crinkling into crescents as she did so.

"Just like our pins."

"I'm going to call Sooyoung-unnie and tell the others we're finished for the day." Heejin simply pat both her knees before standing up with a grin on her lips, smiling even further when you looked up at her which made your cheeks flush before she literally skipped out of the living room. Hyunjin rested the back of her head on the couch, covering her face with both hands as Haseul continued to smile warmly at you.

"We'll be meeting again soon, but for now this is where we'll cut it short. I've assigned Jinsoul, Heejin, and Hyunjin to stay here with you and Yves starting today—just a precaution if the news about your return breaks out." Haseul said as you blinked at her before knitting your brows, thinking to yourself about how fast the leader had planned everything out—as if she already knew how this meeting would end up.

"If I'm guessing the.. “Aliases” correctly—Jinsol is Jinsoul, Heejin is.. Heejin, Hyunjin is—"

"I use my real name too." Hyunjin's muffled voice uttered against her palm, which made you look at her and she just winked at you, completely expressionless.

You wonder why the girl acted like that.

"Okay, then.. Um.. Why is Sooyoung named Yves?"

"The Ha's had been part of the Family since before your grandfather's time, when your grandfather named us—he had certain ideas in mind. Yves refers to the first woman to ever grace the Earth." you looked at Haseul in astonishment.

"So he's sentimental?"

"He named Jiwoo-unnie 'Chuu', I wouldn't go that far." Hyunjin snorted as you almost followed suit, clasping a hand on your mouth at the thought of some Mafia member beating the living daylights out of them, only to remind them to remember her name.

"Kahei is Vivi, Chaewon is Gowon, Hyejoo is Olivia Hye, Yerim is Choerry, and Jungeun is Kim Lip." Haseul named them all for you to only furrow your brows in puzzlement at the information that there were actually more of them.

And why was your Jungeun-unnie named Kim Lip?

"We don't always use our aliases when we're just with one another, we only use them when we're outside doing errands." the acting boss added, holding a finger up as Vivi came back from the kitchen with what seemed to be a handful of the brownies that Sooyoung had made the night before. Vivi then gave you one before handing another to a suddenly perked up Hyunjin that shoved the entire thing in her mouth in one go. You stared at her as she stared right back at you with a mouthful of brownies, tilting her head as she chewed.

"Sooyoungie needs to make more of these." Vivi said as she bit a piece from her brownie to which you followed with your own. Haseul stood up to then bow at you which quickly got you up on your feet to bow back but she shook her head, smiling as she straightened.

"You need to get used to the formalities soon, you'll be our boss after all."

"Please, call me Y/N. And tell them outside as well.." Haseul nodded as she walked out of the living room with Vivi following suit, but not before smiling back at you. You felt your brownie being snatched from your grasp, only to find Hyunjin shoving it in her mouth as she stared at the entrance of the living room with a pondering expression before turning to look back to you.

"You're oddly informal with me—compared to your leader." Hyunjin wiped her mouth with the back of her hand after she swallowed down your brownie, scrunching her nose up at you before eyeing you from head to toe for the second time since your meeting.

"Aeong."

After the events had settled in, you found yourself squished between Jungeun and Jiwoo's embrace as you all managed to fit in your small bed. The two kept apologizing as you gave them a look the moment they stepped foot in your view and had you in theirs arms in no time, and it didn't stop until the two were sleeping peacefully in bed with you, Jiwoo mumbling an apology as if she was still dreaming about it. You'd expected your room to be packed as Jinsol, Heejin, and Hyunjin had made this place their own as well, but since Sooyoung shared her room with Jinsol—the guest bedroom was then occupied by the two other girls, after much to Heejin convincing Hyunjin you'd be safe since your two Unnies have decided to stay with you just for the night.

But Hyunjin swore that the next day, she'd be sleeping in your room whether you'd wanted it or not—to which Heejin only sighed at and asked you if she could as well, not wanting to be the last one to wake up if there was an emergency. 

Breakfast was practically the liveliest it’s ever been since you and Sooyoung moved to the house in the city, with both of your parents staying in the country side and Sooyoung graduating High School just a year ago—you both had barely seen each other in the house, but when you did you check up on how the other’s been until your workloads caught up with you again. And so watching Hyunjin and Heejin arguing from who’s getting the last pancake, Jiwoo and Jungeun singing a duet song you’ve heard too many times in one morning—and a silent Jinsol sitting next to Sooyoung who then stood up to grab Hyunjin and Heejin by their ears to tell them to just cut it in half.

But as you found your eyes lingering Jinsol, she tore her eyes off Sooyoung's prepared breakfast to set on you, a grim look setting on her features before she pushed off of her seat to leave. Jungeun stopped singing with Jiwoo to watch the woman retreat, to which you'd hope was just back upstairs to her room but only to feel disheartened when you heard the front door shut close—looking back down on your plate without seeing Jungeun and Jiwoo's worried eyes trained on you.

You could already tell that being stuck with these girls wasn't going to just smoothly pass you by, adding up the fact that this was a Mafia, with real lives on the line under your name—you understood the cold shoulder that would've come from a member sooner or later.

The way to school had you sitting in the back seat of the luxurious yellow car from last night—that had been revealed to be Hyunjin’s—with a void expression set on your face as your mind did it’s best to decline the image in front of you. Hyunjin tailed Jungeun’s electric red car in front on the way to your school, with your mind making up some excuse that you wish the two that sat in front were only kidding as they donned your school uniform which you had merely glanced at earlier—only realizing what was about to happen the minute you squeezed in the back seat. As if it couldn’t get any worse, Heejin popped open the compartment to rummage what you couldn’t see at first—until the girl pulled out a golden plated pistol from the container, as if it was completely ordinary for her to do so.

“Heejin, what are you even—we’re going to school, not a battlefield!” Hyunjin glanced at Heejin who looked at you as if you're the one that had grown two heads.

“We need to be ready at all times, Y/N. They won’t hesitate to kill us, trust me—I’ve seen it.”

“You guys can’t be serious!” Heejin kept her concerned eyes on you the entire time she loaded her gun, glancing down at the magazine to pop it back in and easing a bit of your tension when she put the safety on before handing it to Hyunjin, who only needed one hand to hold the wheel to shove the tip of the gun on the band of her skirt behind her—concealing the gun with the uniform coat. And so there you sat, watching in complete despair as the two supposedly simple High School girls—looking almost like an image of pure innocence in their uniforms—continue to arm themselves on the way to school. Just before Hyunjin parked the car, Heejin attempted to at least hand you a combat knife which made you shoot her a look.

“You’ll get used to it sooner or later.” Heejin nonchalantly said as Hyunjin pushed her door, exiting the car to quickly pull her seat to the front so you could also get out. You suppressed a groan once you found almost the entire student body standing still on their spots to gawk at Hyunjin’s car and the two new students that had easily won the hearts of the onlookers. The only thing that stopped you from stomping to your class was Jiwoo exiting Jungeun’s car that had just shut it’s engine next to you, she let her usual excited squeal out as if the three of you didn’t just tail after them or came from the same place as they had.

“I told you I had someone in mind to park in my spot! Aren’t you excited Y/N? You’re finally going to have friends in your class!” Jiwoo wrapped her arms around your body to spin you around while giggling, correcting herself mid way to drag the word “family” before releasing you from her hold, smiling adorably at Hyunjin who looked at the older girl in horror. As Jungeun and Heejin rounded the car to join the three of you, Jiwoo bounced on her feet excitedly before squishing her cheek against an endeared Heejin who did her best to reciprocate the energy.

Wait.. Did she just say your class?

“Why me..?” you stared up at the sky in dread when an unfamiliar voice called Hyunjin from the other side of Jungeun’s car, the familiar wavy haired girl smiled brightly at the sight of the five of you, followed by the short girl, the mint hair colored girl, and the expressionless dark haired girl who almost fell over when Jiwoo ran up to smother the girl with affection. 

“Unnie! You look cool in our uniform!” the girl with the bright smile complimented Hyunjin who’s expression quickly shifted into an endearing one, reaching over to ruffle the younger girl’s hair to which the girl laughed at, attempting to shove her hand away.

“Girls, introduce yourselves to Y/N.” Jungeun cut the encounter short, the four girls turning to look at you.

“Choi Yerim, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you Y/N-unnie!” the wavy haired girl beamed up at you, no hesitation as she reached over to grab your hand and shake it excitedly—for her to only gasp when she stopped mid-way to stare down at the ring on your finger, to which made your eyes subconsciously look at her tie to find purple gemstones and a golden resemblance of a bat.

“Park Chaewon, and this is Son Hyejoo. Yerim, Hyejoo and Hyunjin are triplets.” the mint haired girl motioned to the girl with intimidating eyes next to her, but as Hyejoo seemed to have assessed exactly who you’d be in her life—she bowed in greeting, to which Yerim gasped at before she did the same.

“No, it’s fine guys—please, I’m not initiated yet,” the stood back up on their height as you turned to look at Hyunjin who seemed to have been staring at you the entire time, “and you three bizarrely do.. Look alike.”

“We’re not related, it’s just what we’re known to be called for. Chaewon always tend to give off the wrong impression.”

“Im Yeojin.” the shortest girl bowed without directly making eye contact with you, turning to Jungeun to tell her she’d be heading to class now and left without another word. Yerim gave you an apologetic look.

“She’s Haseul-unnie’s younger sister, she’s just worried for her," she shyly smiled this time, looking around at your group before placing a hand on Jungeun and Hyunjin's arm to glance at the commotion behind her to Jiwoo shaking Hyejoo as she coo'ed, with Chaewon groaning at the sight and Heejin laughing—arms wrapped around Chaewon's arms as they both stared at the other two, "we did our usual rounds, no signs of threat today too."

"Good, that means no one's caught up on our rendezvous yesterday. Stay on guard, they could easily get someone in the vicinity." Yerim nodded at Jungeun's calculating look before the older girl looked at Hyunjin with a stern expression.

"And if it comes down to a fight, Hyunjin and Heejin are with Y/N. That's the closest they can get to her."

"They'll have to figure out which one of us is the boss first." Yerim's lips started to pull up in a grin when you looked at her in confusion just before Hyunjin nodded, grabbing hold of your forearm gently to then eye the two.

"Get to class, we'll talk more later." and with that, the expressionless girl tugged you over to Heejin whom she also practically dragged away by the forearm. Jiwoo and Yerim waved at your retreating figure with big smiles as Chaewon apparently followed behind the three of you, staying close but not too close.

"Why wouldn't Chaewon just walk next to us?" you asked once Hyunjin let go of you and Heejin, the older of the two scurrying from Hyunjin's opposite side to take her place on your left with a contented smile on her lips. Hyunjin merely glanced down at your curious gaze before facing the bustling hallway again, not paying an ounce of attention to your fellow students that gawked at the two girls that walked beside you.

"She's guarding our rear," Hyunjin stated before looking back at you with a knowing look, "if she's seen with us, the enemy would assume she's part of our group. So if she guards from afar.."

"We're at an advantage, got it." you finished, to which Hyunjin nodded at, turning back to the hallways—with you not being able to see the impressed look on her face as you caught up quickly. Heejin peeked from next to you, smiling with her hands behind her back.

"Did you ever catch Chaewon following you around?" Heejin asked when you looked at the girl in bewilderment.

"What?"

"She's been ordered to guard you since the boss passed, over a year ago." Hyunjin said beside you, making you look behind you at the striking girl with flowing mint-colored hair who looked as if she was gliding smoothly past the people around her—something about her aura lit the halls up yet at the same time, she camouflaged in them.

Park Chaewon had been walking behind you for an entire year, and the only time you've actually seen her was that one time in the gymnasium assembly—and the other when she talked to Jungeun in the lot.

The girl was damn good at her job.

"Don't stare at her too long, you don't want rumors of being connected to her floating around. You'll make her job harder for her." you heard Hyunjin say, feeling her hand on your forearm yet again to which made you turn back to the front—but not before shooting Chaewon a tiny smile, making the girl's lips twitch before nodding ever so slightly.

"But she's in the class next to ours, right..?" Heejin laughed, gently bumping her shoulder to yours which made you also bump into Hyunjin who didn't even look back at you two. The soft-featured girl slinging an arm loosely around your shoulders to grin at you.

"Just trust in Kahei, Y/N. She knows what she's doing."

Oh, so the team's strategy is Vivi's role.

When you sat on your assigned seat, you've decided to finally drop the continuous surprise at how fast the group had seemed to settle in your life when the two seats by your own that were usually occupied by your classmates had now been moved to sit in the back of the room—to which Heejin and Hyunjin then taken as if it had been theirs all this time. It didn't stop them from their class introduction though, with Kim Hyunjin staring at the back of the room with a vacant expression—the complete opposite of Heejin's shy smiles and sparkling eyes setting on each student in your class.

You winced at the boys cheering and the girls quickly trying to chat them both up in front of your class advisor, telling them to settle down when Hyunjin barely spared a glance at them as she walked back to the seat next to you—with Heejin apologizing and waving along the way.

You wondered how much longer the day would drag before something else comes to continue flipping your world upside down.

Hello~

I started to write on my laptop and this is way more fun than doing it on my phone (specially proofreading overused words) but as far as this series goes, this chapter did not go the way I envisioned it but.. It still came close. And this is fine too, but now that Y/N and the girls have met—I wonder how this is going to play out. A soft next episode? Maybe a hint of action? We won’t know until it’s there~

Are you guys liking this too? I kind of am, but I need more foundation to the lore in my head and I’m trying to plan out each episode the best I can. All writers want to achieve with their writing is giving a clear picture of their vision through words, you know? Vibe.

Anyways, here’s an episode~ I hope you guys really are enjoying this, I’m slowly easing back into my writing style back when I used to be passionate about writing—so it’ll continue to be lengthy, and more so when I keep at this~ But that’s all for this Author’s Note. The idea of the pins and ring though, had me giggling like a school girl to myself lmao.

And yes, the title was a Hamilton reference aha!

Laters,

JJ.

>ovc: Mnet-KPOP (200206)

https://youtu.be/BRgfqbu3GdE

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[matts-lair]

Reactionary vs Diplomat

It is easy to get swept up in the fervor of the news media reporting on the recent events in Afghanistan.

If I were to speak as a Reactionary, I would call Joe Biden a Traitor to the United States, deserving of a Court Martial and removal from his Office. I would angrily decry the gifting of First World Weapons and Vehicles to a Third World Enemy Military. I would scream for the suffering and death that has happened as a result of this badly managed Military Transition of our Forces away from Afghanistan, as well as the death and suffering that is to come.

If I were to speak as a Diplomat, I would see Afghanistan as a place that the United States should never have interfered with. There is always more than one side in an argument, and empathy is required in diplomacy. Afghanistan was a purely Islamic Country, with Islamic Laws & Culture. Those may not be appealing to Westerners, but trying to Westernize the East was just as much of a mistake in Afghanistan as it was in Japan. I can even say this for the North, in the English Cultural invasion of Canada. French was once their language, and now it is a mixture of French and English in Language and Culture. Cultural Purity is seen as Racism, and perhaps it is. However, there is another way to look at it.

People from different Cultures should have places to come together and share ideas, but there should be a place that they can return to, and have a cultural legacy untainted by the influences of other cultures. You should be free to mingle and mix with peoples of all kinds, but there should be a place for you to recharge your batteries as the source of your cultural heritage.

For me, I have the French Canadian region of Woonsocket, RI to see as both my birthplace and cultural home.

America is a melting pot of different cultures, but even in America, there are places where cultures are rich in the density of social fabric binding communities together.

This is often the stance of racism and nationalism. It is the stance of white supremacy and the perversion of the word “Purity.”

Do not label me as a racist, or designate my political leanings for me to attribute a long list of the qualities of what you think my character is composed of. These are your biases, and they don’t apply to me. Please keep your biases off me as you would your hands. I’m going to feel both, and in both cases I’m going to say “No.”

But, I digress. We entered Afghanistan in reaction to the attack on the World Trade Center Buildings of New York City on September 11th, 2001.

We dived into a Culture, and transformed a culturally stable country into a War Zone. If China started invading the United States, a lot of Americans would resort to the same Guerrilla Warfare Tactics as the Taliban to defend our home from the Invasion.

The Afghan Government and Military need some kind of Disciplined Power to run correctly. We replaced the Taliban as that power, and began Nation-Building, as we have been working at for 20 years or so.This divided the country between those that found American Freedom attractive and those that did not. They saw how Western Culture had changed other countries with their influence, and they wished to protect their culture from that influence, even if it meant War.

Now, after a couple decades, a great many people of Afghanistan are proponents of American Freedom within Afghanistan, with many still holding out. They are terrified of losing that Freedom now that one Military Power is being swapped out with another.

A permanent American Military Presence in Afghanistan is a threat to their Culture, and the eventual conversion to a Eastern Annex of American Soil.

Looking at this situation with realism, an Islamic Country cannot run on American Leadership anymore than America could run under Islamic Leadership. These are two different systems of social administration that are not compatible. Under American Leadership, the Afghan Government and Military became Corrupt, which was the specific reason the Afghan Army, which outgunned and outmanned 3-1 the Taliban Forces, were overtaken and surrendered to an embarrassing level of incompetence. The US Military and Government are backed by American Culture and Values. We have corruption, of course, but we work to correct and clean it back, just as one fights mold as an endless war in the household. This is why we must be vigilant, and always seek out corruption where we find it in our Government, to fight back the mold/corruption with our rubber gloves, aprons, spray bottles and cleaning rags.

This is why Nation-Building in the way we have been doing it is wrong. Countries have Native Culture, and the Military and Government can only be self-sustaining under their own System.

If you want to Americanize a country, just Conquer, Colonize, and Expand American Territory. Nation-building, in the current state of the definition, is blatant half-assery.

This is the behavior of the original colonists that transformed the Native Lands of the West into what would become America. If we can’t acknowledge our mistakes, or practice the movement away from that barbarism, then learning History has no practical value.

We must move on from our own barbarism if America is to grow more civilized. The proper way to handle America would have been the empowering of the Natives. The Natives should not have been replaced with English Culture. America is a failed lesson in Nation-Building by the English, and we can correct our behavior by moving in a more optimized direction.

So, while I may have one perspective as a Reactionary, I certainly have quite another frame of mind as a Diplomat. The people who desire American Freedom should be allowed to leave Afghanistan. The Biometric Data of the Afghans that helped the US Forces should never have been given to the Taliban, because they need to reestablish their control of their own Country, Government, and Military, and that blacklist is practical for them to use as a method of reestablishing Authority. This is why we never should have given them this Data, and the US Military should have protected the Airport in full force while everyone on that list, as well as every Afghan who tasted American Freedom and liked it, could depart the country in peace. This all happened too fast, and in the wrong order of events.

The Taliban wish to be Internationally Legitimized, and this means that they will be forced to obey International Standards for the behavior of Civilized Nations. Let people come and go as they like. Do not trap people in your country, or create a hostile entry situation. If you want to avoid “Brain Drain”, then keep your Borders open to International Traffic to where there is a feeling of safety. Attract Islamic Talent from all over the World. Power up and develop your Universities. Become a Genuine Power that the International Community can respect.

I see a First World Taliban building up a First World Afghanistan.

Respectful Tourists and Traders will do as Romans do. Blend in, and respect the culture.

[writerbyaccident]

An Enchanted Cage: Part Three (Yandere Draco MalfoyxReader)

Part One Part Two

           Narcissa hadn’t been entirely accurate when she had told Draco to take you to your room that first day. You had discovered that quickly enough, when Draco had carried you, ropes and cords still wrapped around you. No, you did not have your own room in Malfoy Manor, though you supposed that you shouldn’t really be surprised. People who saw you and your apparent kind as little more than wild animals to be tamed into pets weren’t exactly likely to respect your privacy, after all. But still, you couldn’t help but long for even the smallest possible piece of solitude, especially at times like this.

           The Malfoys, you had swiftly learned, loved order, and they absolutely loved routine. Draco apparently took after his parents—in that matter and many others—meaning that your life was now broken up into small, predictable pieces, scheduled so thoroughly that you practically feel the pattern crush you under its weight. Between your walks, your naps, story time, and your music and painting lessons, you were almost kept too busy to even think. According to Draco though, you didn’t really need to think. All you needed supposedly was to listen to him and his family and act the perfect, docile little pet he knew that you were deep down.

           It was around ten o’clock in the night at the moment, and in the Malfoy household that meant one thing for you: bath time. That part of your routine was by far your least favorite, not that Draco particularly cared. As long as he got to undress you each and every night, able to take his time cleaning and caressing you, he was perfectly content. So there you were, trying in vain to wear the frothy bubbles as makeshift clothes as you avoided your former friend’s gaze.

           “…and so Mother helped me to pick out the proper soap and shampoo and things for you,” Draco was saying, his voice impossible to ignore no matter how hard you tried. “It took nearly an hour to pick all of them out, but I believe they will more gentle on your skin and hair than the others.” Kneeling just outside the bath, Draco scrubbed you softly, making sure to wash every last inch of your skin. He was focused on your back at the moment, having already done your arms and legs, but you knew what was to come next.

           “I will have to check over your skin especially carefully for the next few days though,” Draco continued, unconcerned by your lack of response. “And I hope that there won’t be any whining about that on your end,” he added with a patronizingly stern look towards you.

           “But can’t I simply—”

“No. You know perfectly well that everything I do, I do to take care of you. You simply can’t do it on your own, you ought to be thankful that you have a wizard who cares about you.”

“But I—” Sighing exasperatedly at your attempt to keep arguing, Draco reached into his pocket, pulling out his wand and muttering a word you no longer needed to hear clearly to understand was the incantation for the silencing spell. Each time you “spoke out of turn,” as Draco put it, you could count on being magically muzzled, not given your voice back until Draco believed that you had earned it. And the only way to do that, you knew, was by cooperating.

And so, when Draco grasped your shoulders to turn your face towards him (right on schedule, you couldn’t help but think to yourself), you didn’t struggle as you had previous times. Instead, you simply did your best to focus on the rest of the bathroom behind your captor. With its shining marble floors and rather enchanting stained glass ceiling depicting the heavens, the bathroom provided a fair amount of distraction. Watching a thin cloud passing over the full moon, you were almost able to ignore the feeling of Draco running his hands over your breasts. Yet you couldn’t block out the sensation entirely, meaning that you still felt it as his fingers lightly grazed your vulnerable chest, tracing unknown patterns over your nipples. The feeling was so incredibly gentle that the soft sigh that escaped your lips was merely instinct, although that certainly didn’t stop Draco from smirking at his perceived victory.

“Look at me while I bathe you,” he suddenly ordered, his need to drink you in too powerful to ignore any longer. Reluctantly, you lifted your gaze towards that of your captor, heart breaking for the umpteenth time when you saw the face of someone you had thought to be your friend staring back at you. Draco’s eyes glittered with obsession and longing when your eyes met his own, with him utterly sure of himself that he was doing the right thing by taking care of you. He just wished that he could make you understand that.

“That’s better,” he purred darkly. “You know, you truly have improved tremendously since I first brought you home. Of course you have always been a treasure, so beautiful and bright, especially when compared the beasts who dared call you their kin. But over these past few weeks, with the proper nourishment, enrichment, and training that only a worthy, pureblooded wizard like myself can provide, you have begun positively flourishing. There are still some improvements to be made, but overall I have been thrilled with your progress. I’m certain that soon enough you will be thoroughly tamed.”

Draco’s condescending words echoing in your ears, you tried to summon the anger, the utter rage that you had once felt towards him and his prejudice. But as you combed through the dregs of your emotions, all that you were able to muster was a sad resignation. You had heard him say such things countless times, and never before had fury ever helped, so you supposed its absence didn’t truly matter. Even as Draco drained the tub, lifting you out of it and setting you on the cool floor to towel you off, you didn’t bother glaring at him as you had previous nights. In fact, you couldn’t even muster the spiteful energy to attempt to cover your bare body or grab the towel yourself. No, all you could do was stand there, much to Draco’s delight.

Mouth curling upwards in a small but genuine smile, Draco thanked Merlin that you were doing better as your bath ended, without too much fussing or fighting. He never particularly enjoyed punishing you, after all, although he knew that it was for your own good. As much as you were so far above the rest of Mugglekind, you had still picked up several bad habits from those animals, meaning that Draco had to help you correct them. It was difficult to remain patient at times, the option to simply brew a love potion or cast the Imperius curse tempting him, but it would be worth it in the end. The hardest things to accomplish were the most worthwhile, Draco reminded himself. And when he thought of you completely docile and dependent on him, gazing at him, your savior, with genuine love in your eyes, Draco knew that he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Lifting up your arms for you, Draco tried to ignore the growing tightness in his trousers, the sight of you so exposed vulnerable before him almost too much for him to take. He refused to resort to the kind of barbaric methods that Muggles were known for, after all, he was still trying to show you that he was better than them. Although, he thought as he pulled your dark green nightgown over your silky skin (woven from hair from a unicorn foal, only the finest for his darling pet), you were certainly making it difficult for him. But, Draco reassured himself as he climbed into bed, holding you tightly in his arms, you would fall under his spell eventually. You didn’t have a choice.

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[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: You sound like a remarkable woman out of her time. Your posts suggest you are modern and feminine yet your cultured intelligence and cleverness seems from an earlier lost time. Would you prefer to be living in 18th Century Georgian England? One imagines you would fit right in as a heroine in Jane Austen’s Regency world of aristocratic manners and clever barbs over tea in the drawing room.

I had to smile to myself a little because the last thing I ever saw myself was a Jane Austen character. I certainly don’t see myself as heroine of Austen’s world. After all don’t most if not all of Austen’s literary heroines spend their time pathetically pining away for the socially aloof and yet heroically vulnerable gentlemen they profess to love, men who are usually too dense to know that these whining women have childish schoolgirl crushes on them? I know I’m going to angry mails now from pouting Austen fans but I have to speak my mind.

Like most people I do profess to liking a nice, cosy Jane Austen adaptation on television. The fabulous frocks, fans, feathers and finery soothe us with images of a gentler, well-mannered time when gentlemen in cravats and breeches wooed perfumed ladies across ballrooms and well-manicured lawns.

However the reality was not quite so lovely. It’s not that women - like Austen’s literary women - were caught up in the social constraints of their time but also I would get restless just sitting down all day to tea and gossip. I would sooner catch the first ship bound for India and have adventures in the Orient along the way. Tea with Mr Darcy in well stuffed breeches might not be enough for me but then again a well stocked library as most landed gentry homes had would make me reconsider.

I’m fortunate that within my family we have a wealth of diaries, correspondence, private papers, and other family heirlooms that go back a few centuries which we have scrupulously stored to hopefully pass onto future generations.

So when I can decipher some letters of my ancestors it gives me some insight into what life was like for them as men and women of their time. It’s not always easy to read as they loved to scribble in ink (now faded) in the margins on nearly every page of the books they read. And so the penmanship is stylish but minuscule and therefore sometimes hard to make out. The letters are somewhat more legible but it requires patience and perseverance to make sense of what they were writing about. It’s a wonderful way to flesh out the genealogical tree with titbits of personal anecdotes that could be perfunctory, mundane, scandalous, salacious, romantic, and even political.

I’ve read Jane Austen like every other girl at boarding school I imagine. I like her writings but I wouldn’t say my heart is in it to actually live through that time.

Life for Georgian women, even of high birth, was harsh enough in a time when men still held all the power and husbands could beat and even rape their wives. Noblewomen caught diseases passed on from their husband's prostitutes and were still subjected to confinement and the barbaric medical practice of bleeding when pregnant. Even their fashions and frippery provided cold comfort when their make-up poisoned them, unwashed dresses and undergarments stank and their fancy foods made their teeth rot and fall out.

The fact that women did survive and even thrive is a testament to their strength and fortitude which I find admirable. 

I’m used to mud and sweat and even living rough because as ex-army officer I was trained to suck it up but it’s also in my nature because I love going rough when I hike or climb mountains or trek to other places off the beaten track. So I’m not squeamish so long as at the end of the day I can bathe or shower my aches away and I can put on a fresh change of clothing. However even I recoil in some horror when I consider that despite their elegant appearance, Georgian women carried a world of stench. While hands and faces would be washed daily, immersive bathing was considered bad for the health and was only indulged in occasionally.

The heavy gowns of the period would have caused the wearer to sweat profusely, with only perfumes such as rose water and orange blossom to mask the smell. The clothes themselves would also be pungent. Due to the huge amount of work involved in laundering, most households would have a maximum of one wash-day a month. Linen undergarments were changed as often as possible, but their "clean" smell would still be unappealing to us. Linen was often bleached in chamber lye, a kind of soap made from ashes and urine.

As if bodily odour was not bad enough, there was also the whiff of rotting teeth. A sugar-rich diet led to frequent tooth-decay in the upper classes. Cleansing tooth-powders had started to emerge but most of these featured "spirit of vitriol", known to us as sulphuric acid, and stripped teeth of their enamel. Often the best remedy for smelling teeth and bad breath was to chew herbs such as parsley. Where a tooth was past hope of redemption, it would be pulled with pliers or a tooth key, a claw that would fix to the teeth so it could be loosened in the jaw. To avoid a gummy smile, ladies of fashion sought false teeth made from ivory or porcelain but, where possible, they preferred to have "live" teeth in their dentures. Poor people were encouraged to sell healthy teeth for this purpose. While such a practice was unethical, it was better than the other method of sourcing human teeth: pillaging them battlefields and graveyards.

Georgian women were renowned for their snowy faces and dark eyebrows but achieving the fashionable skin tone could be extremely dangerous. White face powders were lead-based and some also featured vinegar and horse manure. Years of coating the entire face, shoulders and neck with such a mixture could lead to catastrophic consequences. Society beauty Maria Gunning died at the age of just 27, having spent her life addicted to cosmetics. Lead-poisoning could cause hair loss and tooth decay but ingeniously, these problems were elegantly adapted into the fashion and it became desirable to have a high forehead and pencil-thin eyebrows. If your own eyebrows failed you completely, you could always trap a mouse in the kitchen and use its fur to make a new artificial pair.

I usually wear my hair straight or tied up in a bun so I don’t fuss too much over my hair. This would certainly be out of place if I lived in Georgian times. Georgian ladies were the mistresses of big hair. They piled their frizzed and curled locks over pads or wires to create show pieces for the drawing room. Often their own hair was not sufficient and had to be supplemented by horse hair and false pieces. Styles from the 1760s were domed or egg-shaped, elongating into the pouf in the 1780s. But Georgiana, the infamous Duchess of Devonshire, had to take things a step further. She introduced the three-foot hair tower, ornamented with stuffed birds, waxed fruit and model ships. Following her example, women competed with one another to make the tallest headdress. Since these styles were costly and took hours to arrange, they were worn for several weeks. Ladies had to sleep sitting up and travel on the carriage floor to avoid spoiling their creations. With no combing possible, lice were inevitable so a special scratching rod was invented for irritated ladies to poke into their piled up hair.

It wasn’t any real fun being a woman and I often think Jane Austen is selling a false bill of goods in her books. You never see women in her novels deal with their menstrual problems. No one has proved for certain what they did, if anything, for sanitary hygiene. With no knickers to hold in strips of linen or rag, they were left to Mother Nature’s mercy. I can imagine that being a conversation stopper in the drawing room over tea with the vicar and his prissy wife. Their toilet habits were a little more civilised. When ladies at the royal court were caught short, they resorted to porcelain jugs much like a modern-day gravy boat. This contraption, called a bourdaloue, was stuffed up beneath the skirts and clenched beneath the thighs. Apparently it was quite normal for a lady to continue her conversation while urinating into the device! I think Jane Austen missed a trick by not having at least one scene with Elizabeth Bennet urinating under her skirts whilst trading clever barbs with Mr Darcy.

Speaking of which marriage was not a box of chocolates in the early 18th Century or indeed later in Austen’s day. Upon marriage, a lady and all her worldly goods would become property of her husband. It was therefore essential to guard a well-to-do bride’s interests with a legal marriage settlement before the ceremony took place. I read somewhere that Henrietta Hobart, later mistress to George II, had reason to be thankful for the settlement drawn up before her marriage to Charles Howard in 1706. It stipulated that two thirds of her dowry should be invested, with the interest at her sole disposal. Should Henrietta die, the funds were to pass to her children. This arrangement was to prove life-saving when her husband became an abusive gambling-addict and alcoholic.

Lower class women were known to take extreme measures to protect their future husbands from their own debts. "Smock weddings" were intended to show that the bride brought no clothes or property to the union, thus exempting each spouse from the other’s financial liabilities. The woman would be married wearing only her undergarment or smock – or sometimes nothing at all. Of course no marriage settlement, however generous, could save a woman from a violent husband and it remained legal for a man to rape or kidnap his wife. While excessive beating was frowned upon, whipping was considered a reasonable measure to discipline a wife.  Even so, it would appear many men pushed their rights beyond the limit, for laws were later amended to say a man could only beat his wife with a stick "no thicker than his thumb".

Escaping an abusive marriage then was well-nigh impossible. Divorces were so expensive that they remained the privilege of the very rich. Even if a lady did have the money to appeal for divorce, she was by no means certain of success. She would have to prove both adultery and "life-threatening cruelty". And if she won her freedom, it would come with more than just a social cost - any children from the marriage would remain property of the husband. Certainly in my family - on my father’s English side of the family - they had their fair share of scandalous behaviour that didn’t reflect well to our 21st Century minds.

Certainly the Georgians were not sexless and they enjoyed their carnal pleasures but of course being aristocratic they never did things that would publicly expose them to scandal. I was reading one such letter of an ancestor who was writing to her older sister about how hard it was for her to conceive her first child - a son naturally - that her rakish husband first took to prostitutes in an era when such things were common and the risk of infection from sexually transmitted diseases was rife. And then later settled on one mistress whom he seriously gave thought to impregnate her. However the mistress was an actress and thus such a union was frowned upon in landed gentry circles and so he was shamed back to his high born wife and to ‘try harder by God’s Providence’. The duty of any aristocratic wife was to produce a healthy son and heir but if nature did not take its course, they could seek help and so these ancestors of mine did.

Like many other aristocratic couples with trouble conceiving children they sought out quacks who made promises to cure infertility. One such person was a Dr James Graham who had invented what he called ‘The Celestial Bed’ that guaranteed conception and unearthly sexual pleasure. The bed itself was electrified and stood on insulating glass legs. The mattress was stuffed with stallion hair to increase potency. Mirrored floors and music from a glass harmonica heightened the experience, while the air swirled with exotic perfumes. Having made love on this bizarre contraption, the couple were encouraged to take ice baths and have a firm massage. The lady would also be advised to douse her genitals with champagne.

It must have worked because the family line did not die out but flourished. It proves to me that champagne is the answer to almost every question in life. A woman’s travails were not over just because she was successfully pregnant. More hazards lay in her path. Despite advances in medicine, a shocking number of medieval practices remained in the Georgian birthing chamber. The long period of rest or "confinement" leading up to the birth was still enforced for wealthy women. The rooms would be kept dark and sweltering with the expectant mother wrapped up in fustian waistcoats and petticoats. As soon as she had given birth, the room was made even hotter, with the curtains round the bed pinned and even the keyhole in the door stopped to prevent a draft. When I lived in China I discovered this is what Chinese mothers did and still do to this day. So I wasn’t so surprised when I read such a practice happened in other cultures like my own.

Those more fortunate might find themselves in a birthing chair. This had a sloped back and a semi-circle cut from the seat, designed to let gravity aid nature. It was certainly a better option than staining expensive bedding and linen. With only female relatives and an unofficially trained midwife to help, many women and their babies died in childbed, as it was known. Even when male surgeons became involved in obstetrics toward the end of the century, treatments were woefully inadequate. I read in the correspondence of one of my female ancestors that she was frequently ‘bled’ during her pregnancy. Somehow she survived any risk of post-partum haemorrhage.

Even when a birth was successful without complication the wife/mother was not out of the woods just yet. In keeping with custom in landed gentry circles of the times, the new mother would not suckle their own babies. In keeping its custom this taks was given over to a wet nurse. In the case of one of my ancestors whose correspondence I read she got a village girl from the family estates to breast feed the baby. The reason for doing so was brutally simple. Firstly, it was to ensure that the lady could conceive again as soon as possible. And secondly, Wealthier women often had difficulty breastfeeding due to their tight corsets or stays. It was also believed that a child would grow up stronger and hardier with a country-woman’s milk.

But even when the baby sprog was weaned, it was common practice for it to be handed to foster-parents until it was old enough to run about and talk. Interestingly enough Jane Austen and her siblings were fostered by a cottager in Deane village, two miles from their family home.

So overall I’m no so sure I would be thrilled to be living in the Georgian and Regency era even if it meant challenging that scoundrel Mr Wickham to a sword duel (and kicking his arse), match making with Emma, or even missing out on the pleasure of taking tea with Mr Darcy.

Sorry Mr Darcy.

Of course I’m fascinated with history and one sometimes wonder what it might be like to live in a particular time. However it’s just a flight of the imagination because to paraphrase Sir Roger Scruton I prefer to live in “the pastness of the present” rather than the past itself. This is the difference between being an historically illiterate reactionary and being a true conservative.

Thanks for your question

[sketchdrawsstuff]

Moments and Minecraft (ZaDr drabble)

“No you have to jump- oh my god jump, Zim! Not in the ravine- and now you’re dead, good fucking job.”

“Stupid, useless piece of earth dirt technology-”

“Aren’t you supposed to be advanced?”

“BE‌ SILENT Dib-pig! How DARE you insult ZIM with you- your blocky nonsense-craft game!”

If it weren’t for how hard the little alien was clutching Gaz’s controller in his hand, Dib would have found his little hissy fit amusing. Instead the teen stared and ultimately ignored the mixed curses in Irken that poured endlessly from Zim’s mouth. Slowly, he drew his gaze back to the TV where the words ‘YOU‌ DIED’ were printed, and underneath them sat ‘Zim fell from a high place’.

It had taken a whole hour just to teach Zim how to play, and even then by the time they switched the game to survival mode the invader had managed to die more times than Dib could keep count of. Of course, the teen taunted and mocked Zim endlessly for it.

Now, Zim was currently strangling one of the couch pillows in his frustration, claws starching at the cloth and, for a moment, Dib worried about the scolding he would get if the other actually tore it. Still, it was better to face a light reprimand from his father than deal with the inescapable doom that would await him if Zim ended up breaking, scratching, or so much as leaving a single mark on any of Gaz’s controllers. Dib had no doubt that his sister would drag both their asses into a grave if they were even lightly damaged.

“Don’t get upset when you were the one who decided to jump into the ravine.” Dib chided, irritable after having endured the Irken’s non-stop whining.

“Zim did not decide to do anything.” The invader hissed, stopping his pillow-beating just as quickly as he’d begun. “It was your stupid game!”

“Zim, it isn’t fucking sentient. Maybe if you listened to me for once you wouldn’t die over and over.” Dib rubbed his temples in exasperation.

“LIES.”

For once, the human boy didn’t bother with a response. They had been doing this long enough for him to abandon all hope of trying to even imply that the ‘almighty Zim’ had done anything wrong. Sometimes, Dib wondered if this is what babysitting was like.

Still, he never denied Zim when the Irken followed him home after skool. He never protested as they walked together, chatting over their endeavors in class, at lunch, and over whatever stupid assignments they had been given that week. Dib didn’t protest when they approached his home and Zim just walked inside after him, bags discarded at the door and immediately snagging their spots on the couch to watch old Mysterious Mysteries reruns or play video games.

This time, they had gone for the latter. Now Dib was seriously regretting his ‘brilliant’ idea to try to teach him how to play Minecraft. The game was old, having been buried in the back of the TV shelf under numerous other games and simply collecting dust. He hadn’t played it in years, and the version was outdated, but Dib had figured that there was no harm in trying something new.

He should have known that it would come back to bite him in the ass.

They really should have just stuck to doing homework instead, but Dib had wanted to relax. He had wanted to enjoy the time they had to lounge on the couch and play games to their hearts content while Gaz was over at one of her friend’s house. Again, Dib should have known better.

At least they had been getting along, and by getting along he meant they hadn’t resorted to throwing punches quite yet.

All things considered, Dib was almost impressed with how calm things had been. Sure they had gotten on each other’s nerves enough to leave them both frustrated, but that wasn’t so out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary, however, was the way that Zim sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

The teen blinked, surprised that the alien had stopped yelling so quickly. That was definitely a new record.

“Whatever,” The other hissed through clenched teeth, but otherwise remained civil. “Zim does not need your silly game of craft. It is barbaric, anyway.”

“Wha- how is Minecraft barbaric? And don’t you think that’s a bit hypocritical coming from the world conquering alien??”

Zim was up and standing on the couch cushions in an instant. He was glaring holes into Dib’s head, magenta eyes hidden behind fake lenses, though the teen could still feel their intensity. “Your craft game is stupid, just like everything on this miserable dirt planet!” He declared, like he hadn’t been so determined to play said game just ten minutes ago. The Irken had practically forced Dib to teach him to play once the human brought it up. Dib rolled his eyes, and Zim continued.

“Zim has no need for your games. I am just gathering information on your primitive earth technology-”

“You asked me to teach you to play-”

“-soon Zim will hand you to your BLOCKY ‌DOOM!”

Unimpressed, Dib grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at Zim’s face. The Irken let out a shriek and fell back onto the couch rather dramatically, screaming the entire time. “HOW‌ DARE‌ YOU‌ DAMAGE ZIM!”

A slow grin was already inching its way across Dib’s lips. He reached over and grabbed the pillow off the floor. “It was a fucking pillow, you baby.” He mocked, and the second that Zim sat up Dib smacked him in the face again.

Zim let out another scream, and Dib was laughing up until he was yanked down by small hands that had grabbed onto his shirt collar. He barely managed a squeak before he was thrown to the floor and a weight settled on his chest. Zim’s grip was tight, both hands fisting the collar of his shirt and yanking it close so that the teen was forced to crane his neck up uncomfortably, face level with the alien’s.

Zim’s wig was crooked on his head, face contorted in anger and his thin lips curled back into a snarl. “STUPID, stinking human pig! How DARE you!?” He slammed Dib’s head back, and suddenly the teen was glad that they were on the carpet. Still, it hurt, and his head pounded from the force of his skull hitting the floor.

“You wouldn’t shut up!” Dib countered, and his argument was weak, but he couldn’t have cared less. “You’re the one getting upset over a stupid game!”

“It is stupid.” Zim was still glaring, but at least he’d stopped man-handling Dib. “This is a waste of Zim’s valuable time.” He sniffed, and in an instant the weight that had sat on Dib’s chest was gone. Zim stood and took a moment to readjust his wig while the human peeled himself off the floor.

Dib frowned. “Oh come on. Just…..fuck, Zim, sit down.” He slowly stood and brushed some imaginary dirt off his jeans.

Zim didn’t sit, but he didn’t leave either.

The teen stared at the Irken, watched how Zim stood with his arms crossed, foot tapping against the carpet and a steely glare pinned to the far wall. Dib ground his teeth, and dammit if he didn’t feel like he was babysitting a fucking two year old.

Dib sighed.

“……Wanna watch something? I think I have some Mysterious Mysteries episodes still recorded.” Dib tried, and for a moment he worried that Zim might actually leave. Eventually, and after a few moments of tense silence, Zim moved from his spot. The Irken walked right back over to the couch and sat down in his previous spot, arms still crossed but a bit of the tension draining from his shoulders.

“….there had better be the Bigfeets episode.”

Dib let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and resumed his spot on the couch. He took the remote and smiled to himself as he shut off the game and switched to the main television. “There is the Bigfeets episode.” He repeated in confirmation.

Soon enough the promised episode was on, and Dib found himself sitting back. He was pleasantly surprised when Zim did the same, both their gazes pinned on the screen and an almost calm silence falling over them, save for the sound of the TV.

So maybe they had ended up sort of fighting, but Dib thought that it was better than the alternative. If ever asked both of them would deny that they were anything even close to friends, but even Dib had to admit that, other than Zim, he didn’t really have anyone else. No one else would walk home from skool with him and talk about homework and his theories, his paranormal studies, anything he actually cared about. Maybe that didn’t mean that Zim necessarily cared, but the Irken always listened to him.

To Dib, that was worth a bit of irritation and some extra bruises because, whether he would admit it or not, he wouldn’t give up moments like these for the world. The teen smiled, small, but there, and his eyes darted over to catch a glimpse of Zim’s expression. Dib was surprised to find that the alien was staring at him directly. He looked confused, a mixture of curious and….not quite understanding of why Dib would be smiling. It wasn’t like his usual smiles, the wide, idiotic grins the human sported whenever they watched his favorite show. This was much…..nicer. Zim had only a moment to scowl at his own thoughts, face heating up and immediately looking away.

Dib blinked, confused, but he said nothing.

“Your smile is ugly. It almost compliments your absolutely massive head.”

Dib stared for a moment, and then he frowned. Okay, so maybe Zim would always be an asshole. Somehow, the teen had grown used to it through the years they had spent bickering. Really, it was just Zim, and despite the fact that Dib thought the Irken was the most irritating being on the planet (and he wasn’t even human), he couldn’t imagine being without him.

“Shut the fuck up, Space-boy.”

Zim didn’t respond, and silence washed over them again. Dib didn’t bother to mention how their shoulders touched through the rest of the episode, or how he thought that Zim looked rather cute when he blushed.

~Fin

[noshitshakespeare]

Speaking the language of Tvtropes,did Shakespeare intended the titular character of Titus Andronicus to be seen as Anti-hero or as Villain Protagonist? I honestly see Titus as Villain Protagonist, even if Chiron and Demetrius had richly deserved to be baked into pies.

This is such a pedantic way to start answering a fun question, but I’m not very keen on talking about Shakespeare’s intentions because there’s no way of knowing what those would be. And as tempting as it is to apply modern terms and tropes to early modern literature, I’m not entirely convinced that they are unproblematically applicable to Shakespeare. If I was being entirely pedantic, I would say it makes no sense to talk about Shakespeare’s intentions concerning tv tropes, since those didn’t exist in Shakespeare’s time. But you know that perfectly well, I’m sure! 

What that leaves is a more interpretative question about how applicable these particular tropes are to Titus Andronicus, and whether there’s anything to be gained from such an application. 

As I understand it, the ‘anti-hero’ is a flawed hero (possibly has problems, probably can’t fully believe in the virtuousness of his cause) who often resorts to criminal actions to achieve justice, but nevertheless works towards some form of good and justice. The immediate question this raises is the scale against which to measure a character’s actions. What is good or just in the world of Titus Andronicus, and is Titus ultimately working towards justice? 

Frankly, that’s really complicated. Many early modern revenge tragedies have anti-heroes as protagonists. In most of those cases there’s a sense in which the institution which they’re up against is hopelessly corrupt (check out The Spanish Tragedy or The Revenger’s Tragedy, the latter especially). But, as with many of Shakespeare’s plays, Titus Andronicus doesn’t have a obvious sense of what is right. Titus does have some notion of justice since he says ’Terras Astraea reliquit’ (4.3.4 - the goddess of justice has fled the earth). But he’s not really doing bad things to restore justice, and, on close notice, it’s not even evident that there is a clear sense of justice in the world of the play. Shakespeare chooses to show from the start that Titus is capable of barbaric practices like the sacrifice of an already defeated enemy, which is what starts the cycle of revenge to begin with. Evidently, Rome in its normal state is not free of institutionalised violence. What Chiron and Demetrius do is obviously wrong, but what Titus says to them before killing and baking them doesn’t give an indication that it’s done to restore justice. It’s more a case of revenge, and while revenge can be a ‘kind of wild justice’ as Bacon called it, there are revenge tragedy cases that are presented more that way than here. In Titus Andronicus the protagonist doesn’t show enough awareness of the morality or immorality of his actions (though he does have a concept of honour – quite a different thing).

‘Villain protagonist’, on the other hand, suggests that the main character has to be a villain: somebody who isn’t motivated by a sense of good or justice, and who may enjoy doing bad things or whose badness doesn’t bother them. In other words, their evil actions require no justification. Although I understand why you may wish to classify Titus as a villain protagonist, I don’t think this quite fits either. As I said, Shakespeare shows that Titus is capable of cruelty. Still, his sacrifice of Tamora’s son is intended to appease the ghosts of his sons who died in the war against the Goths (1.1). Tamora may point out that such sacrifice is 'irreligious piety’ (1.1.133), but it is nevertheless justified by some kind of moral code for Titus himself. It’s true that he displays a certain grim enjoyment of his treatment of Chiron and Demetrius, but that’s also explained by Titus as a response to what they did to Bassianus, Lavinia and her brothers, suggesting that he is motivated by some sense of their crime against him rather than a villainous relish in doing bad. Shakespeare certainly distinguishes between Titus and the almost ludicrous villainy displayed by Aaron, who curses the day 'wherein I did not some notorious ill’ (5.1.126), and delights in doing evil things for their own sake because he enjoys it. And even Aaron is made less two-dimensional through the love and care he shows for his own son.

So if the application of tropes can show anything, it’s that such simplifications obscure the complexity of the characters and the world they live in. You could even say that their inapplicability reveals how the characters exceed easy classifications. Titus partakes of certain features of the anti-hero and the villain protagonist, but he’s reducible to neither, and in the fictional Rome he inhabits, concepts of good and evil are so shaken up that what constitutes morality is itself a matter for consideration making it difficult to classify characters according to moral alignments.

[thefudge]

How is it right that Dany can crucify people when not everyone who she crucified is guilty. Why is collective punishment ok just because the people being punished belong to one class instead of the other. I thought collective punishment of a group whether or not they are guilty was wrong.

i don’t know where this is coming from, but it’s an interesting question and here’s how to look at it, from my point of view

a) i think the show/books are pretty clear in not totally condoning dany’s actions against slavers, despite her passionate reasoning (the show doesn’t do a good job with the ethical ramifications, but rather the practical ones). the issue is not solely rooted in morality; it’s also the fact that collective punishments don’t work on a practical level. dany’s reformation of slaver’s bay is a complicated process which she had hoped to streamline by simply purging the slavers’ class indiscriminately (more on that later on). GRRM and the showrunners (in their hamfisted way) are pointing out that it takes more than that to rehabilitate these societies. 

b) “ when not everyone who she crucified is guilty” - this is our modern outlook on things, but in the world of asoiaf, the mentality is “you have to raze the whole village”, a principle applied by many characters in both books and show. basically, you don’t leave survivors of a certain group or community you mean to disempower, because they will rise up and try to stir that shit again (in this case, they’ll try to bring back slavery, and wouldn’t you know it, the slavers/masters in neighboring cities do. in fact one of the reasons they want to invade mereen is to bring back the good ol’ days. the discussion is a bit more complicated in the books, because there’s a lot more political chaos on both sides). however, you can’t exterminate everyone and call it a day. GRRM underlines that the “raze the whole village” model doesn’t work in the long run, because there are always ppl who survive and remember what happened (”the north remembers” is coming for the boltons in the books), or alternately, the damage done by the extent of the violence has ramifications that the perpetrators don’t even understand.

the best example of this is tywin obliterating house reyne (and btw, unlike dany, he doesn’t just execute the male adult “masters”/nobility, he makes sure no infant, woman, or elder person survives the purge). in theory, tywin is removing a tumor so that nothing will grow back. the problem is, the story of house reyne became infamous. and this made house lannister look formidable and impregnable, BUT, very importantly, it imposed a future pattern: house lannister from now on will have to keep one-upping the competition, secure their power by totally exterminating other houses. if they do anything less, their prestige wanes, i mean there’s even a song about it, for christ’s sake. it’s basically like crossing a line. once you do that, you have to keep crossing it to maintain your position. basically, tywin showed his hand: he doesn’t negotiate, show compassion, or adapt, which makes the whole “a lannister always pays his debts” more of a funeral dirge than a bargaining chip. it also makes house lannister inflexible and rooted in a model that can’t survive a modernization of westeros. (which reminds me, i know there’s talk in the books that tyrion is the child that most resembles tywin, but i think cersei isn’t far off. she has the same mentality of “leave no survivors” which she thinks is very clever cuz she got it from her daddy lol anyway)

these are the ramifications leaders, both good and bad, don’t always see. dany, who is a much better person than tywin all around (and no, i won’t debate this), is also slowly required to up the ante, to cross certain lines. and once you do that, you have to keep going forward (”if i look back, i’m lost”). 

this is all to say that while we as readers/viewers can perceive dany’s actions as problematic, dany and her contemporaries would not, not to the extent we do. in the world of asoiaf this is just another strategy. on the other hand, while readers/viewers didn’t necessarily celebrate the crucifying of slavers & nobility, no one wept over it either. and here i contend with the ethical argument:

(more under the cut cuz this is getting too long) 

 as many others have argued, dany doesn’t understand the hierarchy or the inner workings of these societies and may be killing innocent people while other guiltier masters may get away (163 masters for 163 children is a tough thing to get 100% right). but dany doesn’t have the resources or the ability to measure everyone’s degree of complicity. that’s why in modern society, collective punishment is frowned upon, you just can’t quantify that shit. that doesn’t mean whole groups don’t benefit off of exploitation and must be exonerated. we just don’t resort to indiscriminate violence. in the asoiaf universe, however, when you can’t quantify it, you do what you think is the next best thing which is to root out the tumor. who is likely to reinstate slavery and rise against dany? the masters & nobles. it should also be pointed out that the crucifying is her passionate response to the earlier crucifying of slave children. 

no, dany’s actions aren’t right (or smart, in the long run) and she suffers the consequences for it since she hasn’t really eradicated the problem but 1) the slavers are forcing her hand. she has to respond to the crucifying of children, otherwise she will appear to the people she’s liberating as not much different from the slavers, 2) she is acting on the assumption of the greater good (and her own great destiny as liberator), which can very easily blind a leader to the nitty-gritty of day-to-day politics.

basically, dany is #trying but failing due to 1) deeply flawed systems that were installed long before she got there and 2) her own skewed perception of what a leader can do. 

now, does this make her a blood-thirsty tyrant? i say no. i say she is a good mirror for the unexamined righteous self. she is actually more like us than we’d care to admit. we like to think our heart is in the right place as we strive to do the right thing, but sometimes we end up making things worse. 

and this is coming from someone who has always squinted at dany’s biased and rose-tinted portrayals in the fandom. i’ve always been a dany skeptic who sees a tragic, rather than truly heroic figure in her. she is meant to be an anti-heroine, make no mistake about it, but she will never be the gross caricature d&d fashioned in 1 and ½ episodes. like i said, d&d actually made me more of a dany fan after their reductive conclusion. 

the recent dany love from many ppl stems not from deciding to uncritically “stan” her 5ever, but as a response to d&d’s bad writing. once GoT is put to bed, i think there’s room for more nuanced discourse (and there’s a lot of it already). and as an aside, you can still support and cherish dany and see where her faults lie. 

as a second aside, i always find it interesting that such complex debates about ethics always revolve around dany, but not so much when it comes to other characters. the northeners’ purity politics & isolationism on the show, for instance (which extends to those barbarous wildlings that have to go back beyond the wall)? unexamined. but dany tries to do smth about slavery??? what a heinous human being. again, i know the argument is made in good faith, because after all, the books themselves are supposed to make you question dany’s actions. but i don’t think GRRM meant for ppl to dedicate so much time thinking about those poor, poor masters/slavers. GRRM is rather pointing out the fallacies of collective punishment as a rule, as you mentioned yourself (it never works, it isn’t moral etc) but we’re not supposed to become devil’s advocate for the oppressors (i mean his depiction of some of those nobles & slavers in book 5? priceless. they’re all dehumanized caricatures, or just plain dehumanized).