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deepdarkdelights · 3 years

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Run Little Red (Namjoon x Reader)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 7.8k

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Werewolf Namjoon, Stalking, Obsession, Forced Relationships, Blood (Lots of it), Gore, Fear, Panic/Anxiety, Discussions of discovering dead bodies, People going missing, Devious Intentions, Depictions of Guns, Mourning, Wolf Courtship Rituals

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals.

<<Forbidden Fables Masterlist>>

Preview: A calm life in a small village was all you ever knew, your days spent in the bakery and keeping to yourself. You liked the quiet and gentle nature of your life, but one day a wolf stands outside of your window, a stranger arrives, and people begin to go missing. Do you dare don your red coat and enter the forest?

A/N: Hello babes! My fellow authors and myself decided to change up the order of our release dates for our Forbidden Fables Collab! And, since I recently finished this little beauty, I get to release it first. yay! Now I can sit back and savor the delectable writings of my fellow authors 💜 I hope you enjoy Run Little Red it was fun to make! I can’t wait to read the comments and asks 💜

There was a wolf outside your window.

It’s eyes gleaming in the early morning light like molten gold with silver fur that melted into the snow.

You sat up in bed, wrapping your patchwork quilt around your shoulders as you scooted to the foot of the bed. It was staring at you, that much you were sure of. And that startled you, the almost human like appearance to its gaze was intense and unsettling. It was an animal, but it appeared to be far more intelligent than you had first anticipated.

Maybe it was hungry, perhaps that was why it was so intent on peering through your window.

No, it certainly wasn’t, that was evident. What you had missed before was glaringly obvious now, its silver muzzle was stained in red. It had made a fresh kill before it had wandered over to your cottage mere feet from the woods.

So, if it wasn’t hungry, why was it here?

You watched in morbid fascination as its tongue slipped out of its mouth and laved over the fresh, thick, crimson blood that decorated its muzzle. You could see the rows of sharp canines hidden within its maw for mere seconds before the wolf clenched its jaw shut and settled on its hindlegs in the drift of snow.

“My, what big teeth you have.” You whispered to yourself, your voice seemingly louder in the empty room.

You couldn’t help but wonder what it had made it’s meal. Perhaps a deer, or a squirrel, maybe a bird, or even a small, innocent, little rabbit.

That would have been ideal. But, you knew it was most likely one of the poor farmer’s livestock. Your village was small and self sufficient, rarely reaching out to its neighboring villages and rarely receiving visitors of its own. So, when the cattle and the goats began to disappear, only their entrails remaining, the town quickly became suspicious.

It was either one of two things, rebellious teenagers making a hassle for everyone, or a wolf amongst you.

If only you had known what was to come.

You stared back warily out the window at the creature, suddenly realizing just how easily it could bust through your flimsy window if it wanted to. This wolf was probably the largest you had ever seen, it was almost the size of a pony, with long limbs that held thick muscle from the time it spent chasing down its prey. You were certain a simple snap of its jaws would kill you in an instant if it desired to do so.

It’s gaze had not left you, petrifying you to your very spot. You felt like the two of you were playing a game, waiting to see who would be the one to make the first move.

The call of your mother’s voice was the tie breaker.

You rose to your feet, your bare skin brushing over the cool wood of the floor as you retreated through your door, back first.

“Yes?” You replied, angling your neck to the hallway for a moment.

“Hurry, sweetheart! You’re going to be late!” She called back from the kitchen.

The bakery had been in your family for the past three generations now, starting with your grandfather, then your mother, and now you. Your mother was showing signs of her age now, her hands were unsteady and unreliable creating more of a mess than a sellable meal. So, it was your turn now. It was the only thing you could do for her, besides be married off and you weren’t quite ready for that. No one was.

At least that was the gentle way of putting it, in reality you had made yourself quite the social pariah. You were a determined woman, one who liked to keep to herself, one who liked owning the bakery and not having to sign over the ownership to a husband. You had your mother to care for, a business to run, and a grandmother that lived deep in the woods to fret over.

It didn’t really matter what you wanted, you did what was necessary to stay afloat.

“Just a minute!” You called once more before slinking back into your room.

There was a noticeable difference about the space now, the wolf was gone. The only sign he had ever been there being the large dip in the snow that his form had disrupted and a track of paw prints headed into the forest. How strange.

You shook your head in an attempt to clear your thoughts, you didn’t want to think about what you would have to do if the creature returned. The shotgun looming over you from above the front door said enough.

You couldn’t allow a predator to get comfy around your home, that would only invite trouble into your life.

You dressed yourself quickly that morning in as many layers as you could. The walk to the bakery wasn’t a far one, but it was a frigid one. You made sure to wear your wool stockings and your leather boots, the snow looked to be thick and you didn’t fancy the idea of wet feet all day while you worked.

You leaned over the side of your bed, scooping up your bag and throwing the keys inside of it in one motion. The extra sleep you had gotten the night before had cost you the time you needed in the morning to ready yourself.

Once you gave yourself a quick look over and ran through your mental checklist, you rushed out of your room and into the main room of the house. Your house was more like a cottage, it was incredibly small. With only your mother’s room, your room, and the kitchen in one corner with the fireplace in the other it made for a quaint and cozy home. Albeit a cramped one.

“Your breakfast is on the table.” Your mother said, smoothing a stray hair behind her ear with trembling hands.

You could see her cleaning up the mess she had made that morning in an attempt to show you kindness. Normally, you were the one to wake early and prepare the both of you for the day ahead. But she had also told you many times before that she was your mother and she was supposed to take care of you as well.

You eyed the bowl of steaming porridge that sat upon the rickety table. “I don’t think I’ll have the time to eat it.”

“Then you’ll make the time.” She huffed, wiping a wet rag over the counter in two swipes.

“I shouldn’t have overslept.” You sighed, resting your bag on the floor as you took a seat.

“You needed the rest, dear. You’re up every morning at the crack of dawn and you don’t come home until nightfall. You don’t need to work that much.” She chided you, smoothing her hands over your hair in a fond manner.

“I do, for you and for Grandmother.” You reminded her. The cost of living was not cheap.

“And what about you? You should be spending time with people your age, not working yourself to the bone.”

“I don’t need anyone but you, and Grandmother.” You smiled before sipping at your spoon quickly, hissing as you burned the tip of your tongue in your haste.

“Youth is wasted on the young.” She chided under her breath, spurring a giggle from your throat.

You finished your food as quickly as you could before excusing yourself from the table and heading for the door.

“Your cloak, dear!” Your mother called as you pulled the door open, the chill of the snow seeping into your bones.

“Yes, mother!” You chirped with an amused roll of your eyes as you curled your fingers around the crimson fabric of the cloak. Your grandmother had made it herself two winters ago, as much as you loved it and her you had to admit it was a tad ostentatious and you weren’t exactly one for attention. But it was warm and it served its purpose well.

The door creaked shut behind you, squeaking softly as it settled back into the frame. The snow had fallen much higher than you had previously anticipated. You tightened the ties of your cloak and delicately flipped the large hood over your head before gripping your layers of skirts and hiking them up as you began your journey.

It was rather slippery that day, you couldn’t restrain the slight squeals that fell from your parted lips each time the heel of your boot found a patch of ice and sent you sliding. You were certain you should have caught the attention of a few passerbys, but to your surprise a large group of them had become preoccupied.

There were about fourteen of them, all in one great circle fervently discussing something. They seemed to be worried, panicked even. It had caught your attention now that the group was made up mostly of men excluding the butcher’s wife and daughter. Both’s cheeks were stained red, their eyes brimming with unshed tears as they held onto each other tight in the crisp air.

Your face tensed in confusion as you approached the bakery, the group not too far away from you.

“Oh, poor Sarah.” A tender voice cooed worriedly from next door. It was the tailor, she and her apprentice were stood outside, thick shawls wrapped around the both of them.

You occupied yourself by rifling through your leather satchel, pretending to look for the shop keys you held in that very hand. You knew that eavesdropping wasn’t very polite, but you also were the curious sort, and that curiosity demanded to be satiated.

“Don’t worry, miss. I’m sure they’ll find him soon, you know how the young ones are.” The apprentice said, her hand resting on the tailor’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

“It’s not like William though, he’s a sweet boy. It doesn’t make any sense for him to go up and missing at the crack of dawn.” She replied, her dark eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I just find it funny is all, that a stranger shows up here the same day that Sarah’s boy disappears.”

“Coincidence isn’t evidence.” The apprentice hummed, pulling her shawl tighter around herself as she began to back up against the shop door, aggravated by the chilly air. “I’m sure he’ll turn up, with a search party that size he’ll be back home in no time.”

With that, you finally retrieved your “missing” keys and unlocked the door, sliding into the safety of the bakery. You knew William as well, he really was a sweet kid...to most. Your heart did go out to Sarah though, you didn’t know the pain of a missing child but you could empathize. The sight of her broken face remained burned into your mind as you readied the shop, lighting the hearth and preparing your materials to start your first batch of bread for the day. Your late start was going to nip you in the behind, most of the women arrived by noon to get their first pick of goods and the two hours it would take to make your batches was going to loom over your head the entire time.

You were mid kneading your dough when the familiar tinkle of the bell above the shop door demanded your attention. You paused for a moment, your aching arms thanking you for the short reprieve. Almost immediately your breath was caught in your throat. You had been expecting one of the regular mothers wandering their way in, or perhaps even one of their children running errands. Not this man that stood before you.

This was most obviously the stranger the tailor had been referring to moments earlier, there was no mistake. Your village was small, everyone knew everyone and this stranger looked nothing like any of the people in your town.

He was so much taller than anybody else, broader too. But most astonishing was his pure silver hair and the deep honey shade of his eyes. You had never seen anyone as young as him with hair that light, it surely wasn’t grey, the shade far too bright to be mistaken with something that dull. He was damn near ethereal and unfairly attractive. His looks had almost distracted you from his attire but now that you were paying attention, he was severely underdressed for the weather. He had to be freezing cold.

“Hello, can I help you?” You asked softly, patting your hands against your apron to remove the excess flour from your skin.

He had a rather confident stance, like he was the owner of the shop instead of you, you who was slightly cowering and thrumming with anxiety.

He sent you a wide grin, his teeth were pearly white and for some unknown reason that sent your heart crashing into your stomach. You could have sworn they even looked slightly pointy at the ends, not unlike those of the creature you had seen outside your window that morning. You had almost been distracted by the sweet dimples that rested in his cheeks. What duality he had.

He tilted his head back slightly, peering down at you from above, “Hm, I’m looking for something sweet.” He hummed.

“Sweet?” You mumbled to yourself, resting your hand on your hip in thought.

“Oh! I made some sweet rolls yesterday, how about that?” You said with a snap of your fingers, retreating further into the shop without a response from him.

Now in work mode you busied yourself with preparing the stranger’s order. You couldn’t help but wonder why he had arrived, what his reason for being there was. Barely anybody passed through your village, and they certainly didn’t stay as long as he had.

Once you had retrieved the tray of rolls you set them on the counter before grabbing a pot of freshly warmed icing and gently drizzling it over top. Once each roll had been thoroughly coated, you set the pot aside and headed to the cupboard to retrieve a bag for them.

“Perfect.” You sighed in irritation, craning your neck back to see the top of the shelf.

Normally, you had endless amounts of bags and never needed the ones stored on the top shelf. But this winter had been far more difficult than past ones and your stock had not been refilled in quite a while.

Desperately not wanting to search for your wooden stool, you stubbornly resorted to balancing on the tips of your toes, your fingers just barely brushing against the material of the bags. You groaned in frustration, bouncing up slightly only to knock the bags back further on the shelf and worsen the ache in your shoulder.

Just as you were about to give up and resort to looking for your rickety stool, you felt a hand settle on your waist and a chest press against your back as the stranger reached up and grabbed the bags for you. He was incredibly warm, so warm you thought he may even be sick. He felt as warm as the heat emanating from a fire of fresh coals and that was incredibly alarming, but also explained his state of dress.

You flinched in surprise as you felt him set the bags aside and settle his other hand on your shoulder. It was deathly quiet, the only sounds being his slow, steady breaths underlying your panicked ones accompanied by the calm rise and fall of his chest against your back. You had never been this close to anyone before, it was incredibly uncomfortable.

You felt much like a rabbit, cornered, panicking, and believing that if you stayed still enough he wouldn’t see you and would go away.

He gently rested his forehead against your hair, nuzzling from side to side before reaching up and playing with a stray strand. You could feel him taking a deeper breath this time, humming softly like he was pleased.

“Sweet.” He mumbled to himself.

Oh. Oh, no. Who did this man think he was? You were not on the menu. You shuddered in fear before jerking away, smacking his hands off of you.

You turned on your heel, backing away from him as you fixed him with an annoyed glare. The look he gave you was one of clear confusion, a layer of hurt and frustration buried beneath.

“I’m not sure how things work where you come from, but normally you ask for permission before you go touching someone you don’t know.” You huffed, slamming the empty bag on the counter as you began to package the rolls.

It didn’t matter if he was attractive or not, you were not going to let him touch you as he pleased or get the wrong message that you weren’t even conveying in the first place.

The stranger rounded the counter, the block of wood effectively separating the two of you, making you feel a little safer. His eyes looked darker than before, less like honey and more like amber.

His confident demeanor had returned, effectively confusing you even more.

“Forgive me,” He said, another smile gracing his lips as he rested his forearms on the countertop, “It seems we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot? My name is Namjoon, and yours?”

So, he did have the capability to be somewhat of a gentleman. He was rather well spoken, and his strange mannerisms and quiet demeanor had all but disappeared in a flash.

So, begrudgingly, you replied with your name.

He repeated it after you, his tongue swiping over the full flesh of his lower lip like he was tasting it, sending a chill down your spine.

“I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, you were correct in assuming where I come from we do greetings a little differently.” He said with a soft chuckle, his amber eyes tracing every movement you made.

You did feel a little bad now for how you had lashed out at him. Normally, you weren’t one who was quick to anger, but that still didn’t excuse what he had done.

“It’s alright,” You said, slowly, “You need to be more careful though, if that had been anyone else I don’t think you would have gone unscathed.”

“Are most of your people so quick to violence?” He asked, titling his head slowly, a strong sense of intrigue exuding from his form.

“I wouldn’t say so normally, but we’re all a little on edge as of late. Our livestock has been attacked and just this morning one of us went missing.”

“Missing?” He asked, a new glow to eyes.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. The butcher’s son hasn’t been seen all day, it’s very unlike him.” You said, your teeth sinking into your lower lip, unsure if you should tell him more. But, considering it concerned him you felt maybe it was in his best interest to tell him.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t stick around for too long. Some find it suspicious you turned up the same day that William went missing.”

“And what if I don’t feel like leaving just yet?” He asked, disregarding the information you had just given him as if he had no reason to be worried.

You had no answer for him, truly you didn’t. The packaged rolls sat between the two of you and a long stretch of silence as he stared at you and waited for a response that didn’t come. And, without another word, he dropped a few too many coins on the counter, gathered up the bag, and headed for the front door.

He stopped for only a moment, his fingers gently stroking at your red cloak you had hung up beside the door. His amber gaze trailed over each stitch as he lightly grazed the material a few more times.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, little red.”

~~~~~~~

After he had left, your day had not gotten any easier. Just as you had expected, it had been another busy day. You had managed to satisfy all of your customers, despite that late start you had made.

There were a few upsides to the job you had, one being that it allowed you to tune into any gossip you would normally miss out on. You were more of a hit with the older women of the village, the people your age finding you to be a tad strange and off putting.

That day your shop had been filled with hushed whispers of what had come to pass, the search party still had not returned from their trip to recover William. The outlook was not in the boy’s favor, not with the increase in predator activity you had been receiving as of late. You weren’t so sure you would be seeing William walking back into town any time soon.

Once the day had come to an end, the sun dipping just below the tree line and casting shades of red over the snow, you had extinguished the lights of your shop and were locking up, your hood drawn over your head. That was when you found out the horrible truth.

As you slid the shop keys into your bag and turned on your heel, you saw the search party emerging from the woods. And with them, you could see a blanketed form lying in the snow, the sheet swaddling the body slowing turning red.

You swallowed harshly, turning as quickly as you could and beginning to make your way through the snow and away from what you knew was coming. You didn’t want to see the look on Sarah’s face, you didn’t want to watch her go boneless in the arms of her husband. But it didn’t matter what you saw or didn’t see, you would never forget the sound of her screams piercing the crisp, snowy air.

Your breath was visible in hot puffs in front of your face as you felt the burn of tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. It didn’t matter if you didn’t care for William, it didn’t matter if you knew what he was really like, there was nothing quite like the sound of a mother’s heartbreak. It was enough to send anybody down to their knees.

Your numb fingers wiped away the warm tears rushing down your cheeks, and amidst your blurry vision you could have sworn you saw a familiar figure slinking off into the woods, a flash of silver hair that just barely materialized. You could have sworn that that was Namjoon disappearing like a ghost into the frigid depths of the forest.

You shook your head, you shouldn’t bother yourself with what he was doing, your main goal should be getting home before the sun completely dips below the horizon and plunges you into darkness. So, with that thought, you rushed home.

Once you entered the cottage, things didn’t get any better. Your mother was stood there, waiting anxiously for your arrival. As soon as you had stepped foot inside she whipped the door shut and helped you remove your cloak as you toed your boots off.

“No more working late, do you hear me?” She said, gripping your shoulders to get you to look at her. “It’s not safe out there.”

“Word travels fast then?” You asked humorlessly.

“It’s a shame what happened to that boy, and I’ll be damned if that happens to you.” She replied sternly.

“And what about Grandmother then? What do we do about her? She’s out there, all alone, with no one to protect her.”

“She has the lumberjack-”

“And he only checks on her every two weeks.” You interrupted, “Let me go out tomorrow and bring her back to us. I’ll go first thing in the morning.”

Your mother bit her lip, her hands shakily settling on her hips as she thought to herself. “I’ll go with you then.”

“No, you can’t possibly think you’ll be able to make the trip. The snow is thick and it’s a long walk there, you’ll exhaust yourself. It’ll be better if I go, faster too.” You said as you approached the fireplace, raising your hands to the flames to warm them.

“And your grandmother, you think she’ll be able to make it back through the snow?” She probed, raising her eyebrow.

She had a point, if you were saying she wouldn’t be able to make it there how would you expect your grandmother to make it back with you?

You rested your hand on the back of your neck, pacing the floor and causing your layers of skirts to swirl around your ankles. You came to a sudden stop, your eyes settling on the shotgun that was mounted above your front door. Idea.

You didn’t like the thought of her being out there all alone, but if you knew she had something to protect her from the wild animals that would make you feel much better.

“Alright, what if I bring her some supplies instead? I’ll grab some things that’ll last her a good while and I’ll show her how to use the shotgun. I’ve saved up some money of my own, I could purchase us a new one.” You mused out loud.

You loved your grandmother, she was the last living member of your father’s side of the family, she was the only connection you had to him at this point. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing her just yet, not when you could prevent it from those creatures that were beginning to terrorize your people.

Your mother was silent once more, her thumb settled between her lips as she nervously chewed at the nail. She didn’t like the idea of you headed out into the woods alone, but she was comforted by the thought of you taking the shotgun with you, that much you were certain of.

“We don’t know when the next storm will hit, and the last thing we need is for her to be stuck out there, all alone, with no food, surrounded by the wild. Let me go.”

And that was enough to break her resilience.

“Promise me, promise me that you’ll come back.” She whispered, her body visibly sagging as those words left her lips.

“It goes without saying.” You murmured, wrapping her up in your embrace.

It was easier this way, you didn’t want to make a promise you had no certainty in keeping.

The air in the cottage had lost all tension, everything was much calmer than before. But your peace could only last for so long. It was when you entered your bedroom that you realized something else was wrong.

The room was positively frigid, and upon further inspection you realized that your window had been pried open, the cold winter air surging forth and snuffing out any traces of heat.

You surged forward and grasped the window, attempting to swing it shut as quickly as you could to try and insulate whatever warmth was left. But the thick scent of copper quickly stalled your movements. Instead of closing the window, you found yourself leaning forward into the brisk air, sniffing intently as you tried to make out where the scent was emanating from. You didn’t have to look far.

Your hands sealed themselves over your mouth, smothering the scream that threatened to break through them.

Sitting in the snow where the wolf had once laid, was a human heart. The snow seemed to sizzle around it, the organ still warm and slick with blood that carved rivers and valleys into the pure ice.

You could feel bile rising up your throat, your vision shaking so violently it made it appear that the heart was vibrating with steady pumps like it was still alive.

And, to your horror, you could make out a form a few feet back in the snow. The only thing that was visible in the pitch black were it’s molten gold eyes, shining back at you in recognition before it scuttled away into the darkness.

You frantically slammed the window shut and drew the curtains closed tight.

There was no mistake now, someone or something had been following you.

~~~~~~~

When you awoke the next morning from a restless sleep, you elected to keep your discovery to yourself.

Although you were incredibly frightened by what you had seen, the last thing you needed was to scare your already frail mother. Your grandmother was still in need of assistance, and you couldn’t allow your mother to halt your plans. You had a mission to accomplish, and you were set on completing it with a shotgun slung over your arm and a picnic basket on the other.

So, you shakily grasped your red cloak and wrapped it around your shoulders in haste, your fingers struggling to do up the ties at the base of your throat. Once you had completed the normally easy task, you slipped your basket onto the inside of your elbow and pulled down the shotgun from its resting place above the door.

You regularly cleaned it, a task your father had enjoyed teaching you at a young age, so you were certain it wouldn’t jam if you needed to use it in a hurry. You slid a box of ammunition into your pocket, one for you, and another box into the picnic basket, one for your grandmother.

And then you were off, bidding your mother goodbye with a hug and a swift kiss to her cheek, and an unspoken promise tittering on the edges of your lips saying that you would be home for supper. But those words were better left unspoken.

The sun was just barely peeking through the thick clouds overhead, you were certain a blizzard was brewing. This only urged you to move quicker through the cleared paths.

But the clouds weren’t the only foreboding message that morning, it was the mother’s wailing in the town square. There were three more now, holding each other in a comforting manner as they wept into each other’s shoulders.

More children had been snatched from their mothers.

Sarah sat by herself, of her own volition, an obsidian mourning veil obscuring her tear stained features. A chill ran down your back as you urged yourself to walk by them quicker, she looked more like an executioner than she did a mourner, surrounded by a choir of weeping women.

You could still hear the echoes of her cries in the back of your mind, the raw chords striking your ears once more.

You tightened your grip on the strap of your shotgun, your pace slowing as you reached the bridge that led you into the forest. You felt like you could breathe now, despite the knowledge that people your own age had lost their lives in the thick overgrowth before you. The relief that you felt from the women in the square outweighed your fear.

The bridge creaked in protest as your boots tapped against the wood. It would need to be repaired come spring.

“Little red!” A voice called from the treeline causing you to suddenly stop, snow kicking up beneath your boots.

Moments later, a familiar figure emerged from the frost coated trees, tall, ash hair, and honey eyes. Namjoon.

“Where are you off to, little red?” He cooed, his voice low with a sultry edge that sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t tell if they were delighted or terrified chills.

“My grandmother’s, what are you doing here?” You asked, your body tense and defensive.

He drew nearer now, a wide grin gracing his lips with a set of teeth so white they resembled the snow beneath your boots. The closer he got the more you noticed about him. His perfect white teeth seemed a little sharper than most, and the clothes he wore were once more, not suited for the frigid weather.

“I caught sight of this old thing,” He hummed, his finger tracing over your cloak and the strap of your shotgun as he slowly circled you, “And couldn’t help but see you.”

You stepped back hesitantly, his presence was unnerving. Without saying anything more you pulled away from his reach and began to walk by him briskly, headed into the woods.

“Leaving so soon? We only just met.” He laughed, it would have been a nice contagious laughter had you not heard the bitter edge to it.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the time to dawdle, Namjoon. I need to reach her before the storm hits.”

“Well then, won’t you let me accompany you?”

“I don’t need an escort, I know my way just fine, thank you very much.”

“And what about the beasts then?” He asked from beside you, sending you halting to a stop.

“Beasts?” You asked slowly, gazing up at him from beneath the cover of your hood.

“Well, surely you know?” He asked in a patronizing tone, his honey eyes narrowing. “Four people from your village have gone missing, red. Surely you know that wasn’t an accident. Great beasts have roamed this forest for centuries and they don’t take kindly to intruders. It would be much safer if I came with you.”

You stood there for a moment in silence, contemplating his words. He was not wrong, two people were much safer than just one.

So, begrudgingly, you accepted his offer.

His hand quickly captured your own, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pressed his side tightly to your own with a grin. How bold. You were struck once more by the fact that he was incredibly warm, it was no wonder why he wasn’t bundled up like you were. It felt like he had struck a fever.

Namjoon filled the silence between the two of you surprisingly well, telling you stories of the great beasts that roamed the woods, effectively scaring you and holding your attention. He had a way of speaking that drew people in, like a siren from the stories your father had read to you.

It was easy to forget with him, easy to forget why you had been frightened in the first place, easy to sink into his side as his warmth seeped into your flesh, and easy to get lost in his voice.

That was of course, until you felt him pulling you off of the path.

You dug your heels into the snow, tugging at his hand violently. “Namjoon!”

“Yes?” He asked.

“What are you doing? Her cottage is this way, we stay on the path, we never leave the path.” You said, gesturing towards the dirt pathway beneath the two of you.

That was a spoken rule in your village, never go off of the path.

“That’s ridiculous,” He chuckled, “If we continue the way you were going, that doubles the time it takes to get there, it’s better we take the shortcut.”

“No.” You sternly said.

“And why not?”

“Because, there’s predators out there! Mountain lions, bears, wolves!”

A mischievous smirk pulled at the corners of his lips, “Are you scared of wolves, little red?”

“I’m scared of anything that wants to eat me.” You replied with a dry tone.

“Well you do smell very sweet-”

“Namjoon!”

He took a deep breath, his eyes darting between you and the shortcut. “I promise you, nothing will hurt you while I’m here. Besides, did you know some flowers bloom in the winter?”

“What? You can’t be serious.”

“I am, there’s a field of flowers this way, all different breeds that bloom in the dead of winter. Don’t you think your grandmother would enjoy those?”

You chewed at your lip uneasily. He knew exactly what to say to make you question your own actions. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to see what he was talking about, and you knew that yes, your grandmother would be elated by something so cheery in the bleak winter months.

So, after a few moments of consideration, you agreed.

And Namjoon had not been lying. After a few minutes of trekking through the deep snow the two of you emerged into a clearing, and just like he said, it was filled with flowers of all different breeds.

You found yourself crouching down into the field, your fingers trailing over each velvety petal that had somehow found a way to survive in the clutches of an icy death. Your favorites were the deep red roses. They were a dead match for your cloak, a beautiful color that was delicately dusted with soft flakes of snow.

You couldn’t help but greedily pluck several blossoms from the foliage, slipping them into your basket.

And, amidst your excitement, you hadn’t noticed just how close your companion had gotten until you felt him. That incredible warmth had returned as he crouched down behind you, and just like he had in the bakery, you felt him lightly nuzzling your head and breathing in your scent as he pressed himself closer to you, his arms winding around your body in an attempt to pull you even tighter to him.

You froze, your finger mid pull on the rose’s stem causing you to slice the appendage on a stray thorn. You hissed in pain as you watched the blood drip from the tip of your finger before rolling down your wrist and carving a pool into the snow beneath you.

And, without a thought, Namjoon’s hand encircled your wrist and yanked it up to his face.

His once honey eyes appeared brighter than before, his long lashes fluttering as his warm breath misted over your skin. And before you could stop him, he licked a line up your wrist, collecting the blood, and pressed your finger to his lips swiping his tongue over the wound.

You yelped in surprise, wrenching your hand free from his grip as your heart pounded violently. You rose to your feet and stumbled backwards through the snow.

Namjoon remained where he was crouched, a sudden hunger evident in his honey gaze, a gaze that was not so unfamiliar.

“We-we need to go!” You stuttered, turning on your heel and retreating from whatever had just happened.

You held your hand close to your chest as you walked, frightened by what had just transpired. A part of you suddenly wished you had made your journey alone as you had previously intended.

But the harsh crunch of snow behind you reminded you of the choice you made, and the molten glare digging into your back exemplified it.

~~~~~~~

The rest of your journey was made in complete silence, a new tension had settled between the two of you. And, true to Namjoon’s word, the way he had taken you was indeed a shortcut. So, you felt no remorse as you sprinted toward the cottage ahead of you and threw a weak thank you over your shoulder.

You couldn’t stand the awkward tension anymore, you couldn’t stand being in his presence any longer than you needed to.

As soon as you approached the front door, you threw it open and let it shut behind you. You leaned against the door for a moment to catch your breath before you shrugged the shotgun off of your shoulder and strung it up on the hook beside the front door.

“Grandmother!” You called as you began to approach the kitchen door, “I’m here!”

And upon opening it, a blood curdling scream broke free from your lips.

The sight before you could only be described as a massacre. Your hands desperately tried to cover your eyes, but the damage had already been done. There was blood, so much blood amongst other things laid out atop the counter.

You fell backwards, your body sliding down the wall as hoarse screams raked through your throat. The unmistakable scent of blood was thick in the kitchen sending your stomach churning in your gut. You knew that scent, it was clear as day whatever had remained in that room had once been human.

“Sweetheart?” A familiar voice called out to you.

And upon opening your eyes, you saw your grandmother standing before you. The sudden feeling of elation surging through your body at the sight of her alive quickly died out. She wore a leather apron stained with blood, both fresh and old, and her hands were gloved. You quickly stood and began to back away from her, your sense of self preservation suddenly kicking in, your eyes zeroing in on the meat cleaver she held in her left hand.

“Sweetheart, calm down.” She whispered softly, carefully setting the blade down on the counter beside the gorey mess.

Your eyes were darting everywhere but her, panicked breaths leaving your parted lips. Your gaze finally settled in the corner of the room where a pile of clothing sat and a familiar axe. The lumberjack, she had murdered the lumberjack.

“Why?” You cried, trembling as if you had been drenched to the bone. “Why did you do it?!”

“I had too sweetie, I have to feed them.”

“Them? Who?” You asked, backing out of the kitchen as she followed your trail, her face soft with sympathy despite the flecks of blood that decorated her cheeks.

“The wolves, of course. I made a deal with them long ago, if I fed them in the winter I could stay here.” She replied, her voice alarmingly calm. “The lumberjack was a sweet man but this winter was a rough one, not many travelers I’m afraid.”

“You’ve gone mad.” You whispered.

“I know this is a lot to take in, but it’s best if you listen to me darling. Your grandfather was one of them, he courted me and then we had your father and your uncles. It’s always tricky with litters, you never know who is going to take after who. Your father though, he was the most human out of all of them. Poor thing couldn’t even shift.” She sighed, her eyes glazing over.

“You need help, you’re not well.” You tried again, doing your best to keep distance between the two of you.

“I know you’re a bit shaken up, but you need to listen to me, it’s in your best interest.” She sighed, untying the leather apron from around her waist.

“That cloak you’re wearing, it’s a symbol that you’ve come of age and Namjoon has had every intention of courting you. He’s been rather obvious really, he’s becoming quite frustrated with you.”

You suddenly became still, your mind flashing through every time Namjoon had ever touched the very item you were wearing. What she was saying, although deluded, had some semblance of truth.

“I-I have to go.” You mumbled, your throat tightening from the copper scent and smell of flesh that hung heavily in the air. You needed to get home and far away from her before she killed you too.

A deep sadness spread over her features as her head hung low, shaking from side to side. “Don’t run,” She breathed, “They find the chase seductive.”

All this time you had been slowly backing away from the person you loved the most, and now you had been stopped by the feeling of a solid form behind you. You quickly spun around, a shriek of horror escaping you as you met the bright, gold eyes of your escort, Namjoon.

And, without thinking, you ran.

Your cloak was fluttering behind you rapidly in the harsh, cold winds, the snow coming down thicker than it ever had before. And, to your absolute horror, a loud howl was echoing throughout the trees.

You peered over your shoulder as you sprinted to the best of your ability through the snow drifts. The wolf that had sat outside your window days before had returned and was chasing you down. Now that there was nothing separating you from the creature you were terrified, it was massive and hunting you down. It had the clear advantage, you were inevitably going to die. You were never going home again, another child was going to be ripped from their mother.

Tears were pouring down your cheeks like waterfalls as you blindly ran, unsure as to where you were going. You knew that you didn’t have time, four legs were faster than two and you were greatly impaired by the weather.

With no goal in mind, no destination in sight, you ran in hopes you would be able to live for a little longer. You did your best to weave between the trees, slide down hills of snow, and keep running for your life. Your lungs burned and your legs ached but still you ran, even as you heard the loud steps of the wolf coming nearer and nearer.

And, just as you had lost all hope, an outcropping of rocks became visible at the base of a snowy hill. And with every intention to save your life, you recklessly threw yourself down the hill allowing gravity to take over for you.

The second you felt yourself cease rolling, you rose to your unsteady legs and dizzily stumbled into the cluster of rocks, pulling yourself into the shelter away from the blizzard.

But your hope was fleeting as you came to a realization. The shelter was a den, one that had clearly been in use. It was littered with furs, blankets, books, and materials for a fire. The creature had been corralling you to this very location.

You turned as another burst of adrenaline shot through your body only to be stunted by the sight of the silver wolf blocking the exit to the den.

It’s bright eyes stared back at you with a gleam of satisfaction as it crouched down, shimming it’s way into the den and backing you up further into its depths.

You watched, horrified, as the wolf began to whimper, it’s body shaking violently as the sound of bones beginning to snap and crunch echoed throughout the space, reforming and distorting themselves into vaguely familiar shapes as it’s fur began to melt away.

Those bright golden eyes faded to a recognizable honey shade, and the silver fur disappeared and showed itself as ashen hair. On the floor of the den sat Namjoon in the place of where the powerful wolf had once stood.

He carefully rolled his head from side to side, his neck cracking loudly in response as he rose to his feet. A mischievous smirk pulled at his lips, a triumphant gleam to his eyes as he confidently approached your trembling form.

A broken cry escaped from your throat as you felt him press his forehead to your own, lightly nuzzling his head against yours. His strange behavior now made sense, he had been courting you in a way that was unfamiliar to you, but natural to him.

All of the people that had gone missing were male’s your age, he had been wiping out the competition.

And the bloody organ he had left outside of your window, had been a horrific present. A show of his dominance and his twisted affection.

You were crying uncontrollably now, everything you had experienced suddenly crashing down on you. You flinched in terror as you felt his fingers grip your jaw, his lips just brushing against your own and he hummed happily.

“You have nowhere left to run, little red.”

2K notes · View notes

nightswithkookmin · 3 years

Note

Hiiii, please response me😭

Honestly I wonder why Jk jealous of taemin when taemin & jimin having friendship?? I mean I can clearly see jk's jealousy. Please answer..... Borahae 💜

Ehhhhhh??????? JK is jealous of Taemin????

That's both an understatement and the most ridiculous thing I ever heard! Lol

Don't be shy, he wants to kill him. Say it! Lmho

Why is JK jealous of Taemin? Sounds like an existential question and I don't want to get into all of that mess.

I just slicked my edges down. Can't have these angry mobs peeling it off by force 🤧

But I get it. I used to find JK and Taemin's dynamic intriguing too but frankly, I'm over it. Lol.

I don't think it's as deep as the fandom make it seem. Especially not in 2021.

Word on the streets was Taemin had a thing for JM? and JK wasn't too happy about that- not sure about that but I can't fault him if ever he did. It's Jimin. Who doesn't want him.

But I think it's more delicate than that.

Besides, Jealousy shouldn't be our only go to label to explain every Jungkook emotion out there where JM is concerned.

Personally, I've sought to revolutionize the term Jeonlous and Jimlous in the way that we as a fandom perceive and think on it as a complex human emotion, one that centers mostly on boundaries rather than frivolous feelings of possessiveness or envy.

So to me, if JK really is 'jealous' in regards to Taemin then I'd assume it's because Taemin breached his personal boundaries where JM is concerned. It's as simple as that.

Which I believe was the case.

I try not to speculate on dynamics other than BTS's as it goes against my better conscience- Yes I have one. Shut up and read. Lol.

I tortured myself to death, figuratively speaking of course, the last time I tried commenting on a dynamic outside of BTS- JK and Mijoo's situation.

I don't think it's ethical...

When it comes to JK and Taemin's dynamic, one thing you should understand is they aren't friends. Not that we know of.

Jimin and Taemin are friends in the same interest group, the Padding Squad. JK isn't a member of that interest group- perhaps because he doesn't share their interests.

Jhope passed on becoming a member of the Padding Squad because his hobbies and interests didn't align with that of the members- Sungwoon. He introduced Sungwoon to Suga instead who then introduced him to JM.

One thing that Jhope said about Sungwoon was that he enjoyed outing which was a lifestyle incompatible with his own.

Now since Sungwoon said he clicked with JM right away, I'd assume its because JM enjoyed going out and stuff like that- among other things.

Jk in those days wasn't known as the outing kind and preferred staying indoors to going out. I think this is one of the contrasts between JK and Jimin's personalities.

So if JM has a bunch of friends who enjoy going out as much, then I don't see how JK would fit into that circle.

Taemin and JK move in totally different circles. They don't have much in common beyond the fact they are both close to Jimin. In my opinion. I could be wrong.

Jimin have said he doesn't like to share his friends but of course we've seen him, Sungwoon and JK hang out a few times. Those three have a friendship going on unlike in TaeminMinKook's case.

It's speculated, Jimin introduced JK to Sungwoon but this was during one of Sungwoon's time off and the three got to hang together which I think is great.

Not sure if, JM has had similar opportunity to introduce Taemin and JK. That would depend on their schedules and what they do during their free time.

Introductions are necessary in friendship culture and we cannot undervalue JM's role in facilitating camaradship between those two.

If they are 'not friends' ask JM why. Smirk.

Their 'differences' and why their 'not friends' to me has more to do with their unique individualities and interests but also their age difference and culture?

Jealousy sounds plausible but you have to consider the fact age is a huge thing in the South Korean culture.

Taemin is much older than JK and ordinarily we cannot reasonably expect for them to be as close much less be friends to begin with- per the dictates of their culture.

As much as we love to rave on about the hyung/dongsaeng dynamics in their culture, from the little I know of their culture, older people and younger people aren't expected to mingle so easily or act so casually.

Besides, hyung/dongsaengs aren't considered friendmates in their culture.

A high level of respect and reverence is required within such a dynamic and boundaries are expected to be upheld at all times too so I guess we can chalk it up to that too I think.

The only way a younger person can be considered friends with or close with or even treat an older person as 'a friend' is if the older one allows for that level of familiarity between them.

Without that kind of permission, their relationship is viewed as strictly an older hyung to younger dongsaeng relationship and formality must be respected by both sides.

I think we've talked about this? This is what JK was going on about in his conversation with Tae in Soop. Tae was giving JK permission to treat him as 'friends' within the group but JK insisted on the formality and boundaries expected between them as hyung as and dongsaeng.

If JK believes he needs to uphold boundaries with people older than him and not get too close to them, what makes you think he would consider older people besides his bandmates 'friends' or treat them casually like one?

The thing about JK, he is a bit cliquey... in my opinion that is. I'm gonna get in trouble, am I not? Chilee.

I often talk about JK and exclusivity or his tendencies for exclusive behaviors....

Once my sister told me, when she first enrolled to uni, how everyone she'd met would ask of her age first before they even asked which country she was from and some of the girls on her floor wouldn't talk to her because they considered her older than them and as such kept their distance or something like that- out of respect for and she had to give those that fuxked with her permission to address her a casual way- personally, I thought they were just being ageists and racists as fuck but then a year into her stay she said she sort of got the hang of it. That it was a cultural thing- Stockholms is real people. Lmho.

Bitxh wouldn't know a friend from a foe. Can't relate. Foe till proven friends!

Gotta smart yourself out here- Hold on...

Is this why I don't have no friends???!!!!!

😥😥😥😥😥💀

Chilee. This is not good.

She explained, most of the people she later became friends with seemed to prefer making friends with foreigners because they felt the age barrier thingy didn't apply there and they had the freedom to express themselves freely with them regardless of their age.

People that are considered 'friends' in their culture are usually people around the same age while a hyung/dongsaeng friendship dynamic often invite brows and gazes- if you know what I mean. A hyung who allows a dongsaeng to be friends with them gives that dongsaeng status at best, at worst is opening the younger one to cultural criticism especially in how the older one is addressed.

So when Namjoon refers to Jimin as a friend it hits hard and reflects how deep and special their bond is as compared to say Vmin or NamHope who are close in age. Same age friendships would have to be qualified to denote how special their bond is. So for Vmin you'd see them going out of their way to talk about that they are soulmates, besties etc.

When JM talks about that all of his friends are hyungs, it a form of social proof. One cannot be friends with hyungs just like that. Jimin is cool and has social status.

If Jimin ever refers to JK as a friend he would be admitting he allows for a certain level of familiarity between them that is out of the ordinary just as his dynamic with Taemin and RM is.

I say all this so you can deep it when an older says to a young one, he is my friend.

RM says JM is his friend.

Mess with Minimoni, I'll stab you.

Taemin says JM is his closest 'friend' in the padding squad- or maybe I misunderstood what he meant but he keeps talking about Jimin and how close they are and how special their relationship is in the media and what not...

Deep it and deep it for JK too. Lmho.

He's lucky he is alive!

In my opinion, JK doesn't do too well around people who pull ranks over him. He tends to have his guard up around them and he tries to maintain formality with them.

It all depends on how comfortable JK is around certain group of friends Jimin has. Just as, it's not all friends of JK JM vibes with. Smirk.

Ok listen, I tried this sane shipper thingy yall recommended, it's not working for me-

If Taemin is not fucking with JK, JK is not gonna be fucking with him. So simple. I tried beating around the bush but chilee JK is not the problem Taemin is. There I said it.

In my opinion of course.

Whatever thing they had going on seemed personal and it could be as a result of anything.

It could be JK doesn't agree with his choices, lifestyle or influence on JM. It could also be Taemin does not approve of JK for JM. It could be he said something JK took offense at. Literally anything.

Whereas JK have reacted strongly to him in the past, I don't think I've seen Taemin have a similar strong reaction to JK. I could be wrong.

To me, he's always laughed those moments off as if JK were overreacting to something trivial- which, it's Jk, I won't put it past him but I find that behavior annoying and condescending as fuck coming from Taemin. No disrespect to Taemin.

For whatever reason, JM has always put his friendships on a pedestal talking about that his relationships is gold to him and what not and he prides himself in the fact he goes out of his way to nurture his relationships.... cool.

Love it for him.

But JK on the other hand has been striving to put up boundaries for JM in regards to the people he surrounds himself with and I don't think Taemin is an exception or was an exception.

JK has a lot of boundaries, I keep saying and they may not be the kind of boundaries you expect to see from him but he has them regardless.

He prefers for instance not to be so casual with people older than him for obvious reasons as he keeps saying, I'd assume it's a value he's tried to pass on to JM several times over the years- what is JM's view on that? Clearly JM has his own values.

JK has said he doesn't have friends and when he started making friends they were all within the same age group- the 97 liners.

JM on the other hand says all his friends are hyungs and he has one same age friend- V. Sidenote: Can't he just make Idol friends within the same age group besides V?

What goes on?!

Do y'all see the conflict of values there?

It's not always about Jealousy if you ask me.

Their values on certain things don't align.

I'm sorry. Lmho.

I mean I have said this several times now!

It's taken JK a hot minute to come to terms with, accept and get used to certain things especially in his relationship and personal life and it shows in the way he talked about 'dressing up' more often in his recent VLive, and how he seems to be acknowledging that he is a celebrity with power and status and he has to be conscious of that going forward.

Contrast that with a two years ago when he didn't even care about how he dressed to the airport and Jm said he had to use tactics to get him to get rid of his old bag or even care about how he dressed.

Significant improvement.

Jimin, as we've said claims he's come to the realization friends ain't shit- the emphasis is mine. Lol.

So I guess my answer to your question is, I don't think JK is jealous necessarily when it comes to Taemin. He reacts to him the same way he reacts to Namjoon or whosoever breaches his boundaries in regards to JM.

And that to me translates as, Taemin doesn't respect JK's boundaries for whatever reason. It could be because like I said, he doesn't think JK has a place in JM's space as his boyfriend, could be because he treats JK as JM's dongsaeng and not his equal partner.

It could be JK doesn't approve of Taemin's friendship with Jimin because he expects Jm to have boundaries especially with certain people around him- I mean I wonder how many of their friends know they are a thing. Can't be all of them💀

That too can create issues with the way they handle their boundaries with either of Jikook.

Or it can be because he is jealous too. We can't know for sure.

Signed,

GOLDY

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diamondsaregold · 4 years

Text

“Unraveled” – Robin x MC

Pairing: Robin (M!) x MC (F!) The Nanny Affair, Choices

Rating: T Summary: After walking in on a private moment between Sam and MC, Robin is forced to make sense of his jealousy and comes face-to-face with an unbridled truth—his burgeoning affinity for her. A conversation between the two at the company picnic makes clear that their entangled feelings are more real than both of them could have ever imagined. A/N: Well, we saw a lot of Robin’s angry face in the last chapter—so much that I began indulging myself in the fantasy that seeing MC with Sam made him jealous. Somehow the fact that this is a “one-LI book” (fingers-crossed that this could change, although the fact that M! Robin is Bradshaw in a Wig makes this fantasy highly unlikely) only makes the idea of Robin more enticing. Please enjoy this introspective re-imagining of Chapter 10, starring a grumpy, jealous Robin coming to terms with all his feelings. Also, it’s been awhile since I posted on Tumblr, hello! I’ve missed you all. Life has been treating me well and I hope it has for you too. Sending virtual hugs your way.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25775095

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

Robin knew he was being childish.

The annual company picnic was a well-earned break for the team at Dalton Enterprises, a rare opportunity for his colleagues to enjoy the New York sunshine and decompress from their hectic work lives. At the park, flocks of employees gathered around gingham picnic blankets while chattering away; around the corner, a queue of people lined up at the stalls to pick up their complimentary lunch from the gourmet caterers, personally requested by Sam. On everyone’s face was a beaming smile.

Everyone, except for Robin.

Sitting on a blanket on the edge of the park, Robin stormily surveyed the chipper scene about him. After picking up his sandwich (some sort of fancible concoction of tuna and high-end mayonnaise) and grudgingly thanking the staff, he had stomped over to an empty picnic blanket. He did his best to swerve around employees looking to start a conversation with him and cut off any exceptionally friendly colleagues with terse one-word remarks.

No doubt, his foul demeanor at the company picnic was drawing curious looks from his colleagues. As he unwrapped his sandwich, he caught the next group over murmuring in low voices while shooting surreptitious glances at him. He couldn’t blame them for gossiping. It was unusual for him to depart from his charming self, let alone at one of the most anticipated social events in the company. On an ordinary afternoon, he’d be walking through the park, darting in and out from different groups, trading jokes with all the employees he passed by. After a lifetime of being second-best to an over-achieving brother, Robin took care to maintain his sociable persona—it was the only thing he had going for him, after all.

But after what he had seen that afternoon, he honestly couldn’t care less about his image. It was a scene that had been burned into his mind for the past three hours. Robin stared down at his uneaten sandwich, losing his appetite as he recalled.

There they stood—just a few feet apart from each other, clothes slightly rumpled, faces flushed and breathing hard. Sam and his nanny, caught seconds away from (or perhaps seconds after) what appeared to be a secret rendezvous at work. Upon Robin’s incredulous interrogation, she had haltingly explained that they had been “discussing work.”

He couldn’t resist an eye roll. While he certainly wasn’t the genius that Sam was, Robin was no fool. He wasn’t blind to the flush on his older brother’s face, the way his body was angled towards hers even as they stood far apart and avoided Robin’s eyes. What gripped him wasn’t a smug glee that his uptight, perfect brother had finally gotten caught with a woman (his nanny, no less) at work—it was the stab of pain Robin felt.

Staring at her, with the collar of her shirt crumpled and hastily smoothed down (by who, he wondered), her lips slightly parted, Robin felt a coil in his stomach twisting and unraveling. It lasted for a second, before boiling away and leaving rage in his wake.

He had snapped at them, scolded them for their inappropriate behavior at work, before stomping off. The rest of the day Robin had spent stewing in his office, glowering at any employees who attempted to speak to him.

Now under the sunlight of a perfect New York afternoon, Robin was continuing to mope around at the picnic. He had a scowl etched into his face during all of his exchanges with her, as he made sure to throw out snide comments about the state of her relationship with his brother, much to the bewilderment of their colleagues. The flash of annoyance on his brother’s face almost made him feel better, until he saw the hurt on her face.

Great. If his day couldn’t get any worse, now he was being a colossal asshole to her.

Why was he so angry? Robin bit into his sandwich, not tasting anything (guess those gourmet ingredients Sam loved weren’t doing their job; he gave a silent shoutout to his taste buds for tapping out). As he chewed on the tasteless lunch, he sifted through his memories.

It wasn’t like their flirting before had meant anything to him. It was just a game to both of them.

The first time he saw her at Sam’s apartment he was immediately intrigued—a bright-eyed graduate with a sharp tongue, shaking her head amusedly with a raised eyebrow as he introduced himself with his usual lilt and charm. It was a warm exasperation that sang, “I can handle you,” not a reaction Robin was used to receiving. When Sam wasn’t looking, he appreciatively took in her pin-straight, stylish attire, the gentle sway of her hips as she walked across the living room, the pucker of her lips when one of the boys said something unsavory. He found her attractive, incredibly so, but he also caught the heated glances she and Sam shot each other.

And so Robin shrugged off his crush. He wasn’t one to commit anyways, especially not to a woman he had just met. From a young age, he had lived by an unspoken rule that whoever Sam wanted was out of his bounds; any woman who liked his brother wasn’t going to like him anyways. He felt a snide joy too at the revelation that Sam, the straight-laced, faultless CEO, engaged to a woman he harbored no love for, was on the brink of jumping ship for his pretty nanny. Talk about tabloid perfection and PR disaster.

It was Robin who had continued to flirt with her for the expressed purpose of seeing that unbecoming scowl on his brother’s face every time he winked at her. They played the “Make Sam Jealous” game, a form of entertainment that Robin had enjoyed for as long as he could recall. This particular round with her, however, was far more pleasurable than any he could remember before. A breeze swept through Central Park, fanning across Robin’s steadily warming face, as he remembered that night.

At the engagement party, he had whisked her away onto the dance floor before suggesting teaming up to make him jealous. The rush when he slid his arms around her waist, hearing her tinkling laugh as he pulled her close and Sam’s distracted stumbling on stage, was more potent than any childlike glee at pissing off his brother. Robin found himself enjoying this secret plot as a treasured chance to drink in the little details of her—the smattering of freckles across her cheeks, the crinkle of her nose when Sofia began her drawling speech, the mischievous gleam in her chocolate eyes that he had learned early on was an indicator of a devious idea.

When she leaned in and whispered, “Kiss me,” Robin had frozen under the headiness of her gaze. For a split second he forgot that they were playing a game. That she, one of the most enchanting women he’d ever met, presently asking him for a kiss, wasn’t his brother’s nanny. That it wasn’t his brother, who was currently standing (glistening, like a goddamn vampire) under the headlights on the stage, that she wanted.

As Robin stared down at his sandwich, perfectly intact except for the single bite he had taken, he felt that coiling sensation return to his stomach. He shot to his feet, almost stepping on a neighboring group’s picnic blanket in his rush to get out. “Sorry,” he muttered, before hurrying off the lawn, dumping his mostly uneaten sandwich into the nearest trash can.

Weaving between the groups meandering about the food stalls, he made sure that he had jogged a safe distance away from the rest of the party, before pressing his hands into his forehead and letting out a groan.

What was he thinking? Falling for a woman that didn’t—couldn’t—want him. He couldn’t have entertained affections for any other single, available woman in the world? Robin scowled at the couple walking across the street from him, swinging their hands between them as they strolled.

Typical. He always wanted the things he couldn’t have.

The sound of a soft, familiar voice caught his attention. Robin turned around to see the woman that had been occupying his mind for the past few hours. There she was, standing several feet away from, presently ordering food from one of the stalls.

He watched as she read over the menu, scrunching her face as she read over each item. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, exposing the skin of her shoulders. She looks good in plaid, Robin mused, as his gaze trailed over her legs and her jean shorts, different from her usual formal outfits he saw her in. Usually, she looked so prim and serious; the only tell of her spunk was the flash in her eyes, which only appeared when he said something vastly inappropriate (and hilarious, so he thought). Here, in her casual attire, she seemed far more at ease. With her windswept hair and her summery top rippling gently, she looked like a vision—the perfect nanny, he thought wryly.

When she took her order—vanilla ice cream, he noted with curiosity—from the vendor, Robin shook himself out of his outfit-induced stupor. Vaguely, he considered that it might be a good idea for him to stay away from her, but when did he listen to good ideas? Raking his fingers through his hair quickly to smooth it down, he stuffed his hands into his jeans and strolled up to her.

“You’re a hard woman to catch alone, you know?” He kept his voice as smooth as possible, trying for an air of friendly detachment.

When she whipped around, he caught the wariness in her face, for a second, before it dissolved. Ah. He supposed he couldn’t blame her, after the temper tantrum he had been throwing for the entire afternoon.

Her voice was careful, measured. “I wasn’t aware you had been trying.” Her eyes darted away, as if she wanted to escape his prying gaze—or, as if she were searching for someone else.

The thought stoked a lance of rage within Robin; he felt as if he were walking in on her in the lab again, clothes disheveled, only feet away from his brother. Crossing his arms, he stepped forward and met her gaze head-on.

"After what I saw at the lab, talking to you is all I've been able to think about." His words spilled out in an agitated rush, as he struggled to hold back the question burning in his stomach.

“What the hell is going on between you and Sam?”

Her forehead creased, but she didn’t look away. Robin noted that her eyes glowed hazel under the sunlight. “You want the truth?” Her voice was level and low, just as business-like as how she composed herself whenever Sofia was terrorizing the house or the twins were bickering again. "I admit I find him attractive. But that doesn't mean I can't respect boundaries."

She was too calm. Far too calm. Robin swallowed the wave of bitterness, edged with a smoldering anger, rising in his throat. "It didn't look like there were any boundaries when I walked in on you two in the lab,” he bit back, ignoring the flush of heat spreading across his cheeks. “Care to enlighten on what precisely happened before I entered the room?”

At his snide remark, her face morphed into a scowl; she crossed her arms defensively (good, he preferred anger to the hurt on her face). Two could play this game, he supposed. “That is none of your business,” she retorted, as her cheeks flushed to mirror his own.

Unbelievable. “You made it my business when I saw you with Sam, alone, in the lab!”

“You know what they say about assuming, Robin.”

God, even when she was angry, he loved hearing his name fall out of her mouth.

Robin stepped back, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Look.” He mulled over his churning thoughts and rubbed a hand over his forehead, exhaling heavily. “Sam is a great guy. Maybe, in another life, you two could’ve been great together.” He forced the admission out, despite the ache that accompanied it. “But in this life, he has a family and fiancee that he’s responsible to. Whatever is going on between you two needs to end.”

Her gaze drifted to the floor as his words reached her. “The last thing I want to see is you getting hurt,” he continued on, feeling a hitch in his voice as he attempted to steer away from the less gilded version of the truth. “I was onboard for making him mad when I thought he didn't want me sleeping with his nanny. I didn't know I was making him legitimately jealous.”

He swallowed, before continuing on. “I thought it was just some innocent flirtation between you two. But it’s not, is it?”

It was the realization—that there was a deeper connection between her and Sam, a bond that he was not privy to—that twisted the knife further into his side. Judging from her inability to meet his eyes and the slow hunch of her shoulders, he guessed that it was hitting her too.

This wasn’t a fantasy. It was real.

Robin’s words, for once, were all dried up. There was nothing he could summon up to dissolve the tension that had formed between them, an impenetrable barrier of “what-ifs.”

What if she weren’t his brother’s nanny? What if they had met first? The knowledge that Sam probably mulled over these possibilities before as well, that they were both pining after a woman that they couldn’t have, only left a bitter taste in his mouth.

At the lull in the conversation, her head hung down. They were silent for a few moments, before she spoke quietly. There was an edge of desperation to her voice he had never heard before. “I don't know what to do.”

“I’d make a suggestion, but I know you wouldn’t listen.” It wasn’t a snide remark—he meant it. Robin had seen enough of her fierce resolve to know that she made her own choices. Once she made up her mind, she would listen to no one. It was one of the qualities he admired most about her. Her hair slipped in front of her eyes, and he suppressed the urge to sweep it back for her.

She locked his eyes on him, and he suppressed a swallow. Gaze trailing over her collar and neckline, he took note of a gold necklace he hadn't seen before; he wondered if it was a gift from Sam. “I just wish I could go back to a few weeks ago,” she murmured, twisting her hands together. “Before this all blew up. Before I had all these things to consider.”

“Like last weekend’s engagement fete?”

She let out a laugh, a chiming sound that Robin tried to commit to his memory. “I have to admit that party was the highlight of my month.”

He grinned, besides himself, and leaned in closer. “What, conspiring with me to make my brother jealous?” He tried to hide the bitterness from his voice.

Clearly, it didn’t fool her. Her eyes softened as she peered up at him.

It was her eyes that first drew him to her—a gaze that never wavered. He was enchanted by the way she looked at people—at strangers, at the twins, at Sam too. How quickly her eyes shifted, from deep and reflective, to sparkling and joyous, to furious and flashing. She was never afraid to be vulnerable, to be honest, or to take a risk that might leave her reeling. She wasn’t like him; she didn’t have to hide behind layers of charming one-liners and flirty comments. She was real.

She took a breath. “Actually...I was thinking about dancing with you. That was my favorite part of the night.” His mouth fell open slightly, and she paused. “Thanks for kissing me, by the way. It was a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing. I didn’t expect you to play along.” Maybe it was his imagination, but he could’ve sworn that her eyes gleamed when she made the last statement.

For a guy who prided himself in easily making friends and charming the living daylights out of strangers, Robin had spent his entire life dutifully preventing people from becoming too close to him. He was accustomed to covering up his feelings when they became too strong for him to paper over with charisma. When a relationship entered serious territory, he’d hit the panic button—irritate his girlfriends enough to get them to dump him in public, to cause a scene that’d distract himself and the world from what was turning over inside of him. It was better to keep them away than to let them down eventually; it was inevitable, given his own history of dissapointment in his family.

Robin had already accepted the fact that he would never be number one in anything—but he’d be damned if he would be last. He wouldn’t be made a fool by anyone or anything.

Yet standing in front of her, on a picturesque day at the park, Robin found himself questioning everything he believed in. Amidst the tangled threads of attraction, the rocky waters of company protocol and forbidden relationships, there was something pure about the moments he had spent with her. When he had whisked her away from Sam at the engagement party, murmuring conspiratorially into her ear, “You look like you could use a break,” he saw the visage of his honeyed words slipping away. Sam and the engagement party could have erupted into flames for all he cared. All he wanted, in that moment, was to hold him in her arms.

There was a yearning, growing within him, that he couldn’t hold back now.

“You know I didn’t kiss you just to piss off Sam, right?”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, at his sudden admission. Robin should have taken that as a sign to bite his tongue, but the train couldn’t be stopped anymore.

Ever since Robin was young, his father had always chided him to slow down. An audio recording of him yelling, “Be more careful, Robin!” could have very well been the soundtrack of his childhood. Unlike the cautious Sam, Robin was naturally reckless, always seeking out thrills to the dismay of his image-obsessed family. Try as he might to tamper his impulsiveness though, his efforts were never enough for their father.

The one time that Sam had ever been impulsive in life was when he had stolen her away for a private moment only hours ago—before being interrupted by Robin, no less. It was she who had driven his perfect brother to put his career and his livelihood on the line

Robin was beginning to understand why Sam had been so careless over these past few weeks, so apparently willing to risk everything he had ever worked for. It was her.

He stepped closer, gazing down at her. Breathing in her scent, he drank in the gentle curve of her face and her neck, framed by her windswept hair. He imagined Sam standing in the same position just hours ago, before his lust-addled brain banished that thought.

He was already standing on the edge of the cliff; he knew he may as well jump off.

“I kissed you because I wanted to.”

Her lips parted, and he was descending, diving, drowning into the pool of her eyes.

Leaning down, Robin brushed a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear, revelling in the softness of her skin. She was so close that he could count all of her freckles, see that her lips formed the shape of a heart. Perfect.

Finally, finally. All he could register was the aroma of her soft floral perfume, the dim memory of their last kiss a week ago, an ache that Robin didn’t realize was throbbing in his chest for too long, begging for release.

He was a fool, but he didn’t care. Robin saw her eyes flutter close, before his followed suit—

“Hey, come see Mickey cannonball into the fountain!”

They leapt apart, putting an appropriate amount of space between them just before Mason came sprinting up to the pair. His hair was sopping wet, leaving Robin afraid to see the state of Mickey’s. The other twin in question came hurtling over only seconds later, his button-up shirt completely drenched, presumably from their antics in the water. Despite the storm of desire rattling his brain, Robin couldn’t help but stifle a derisive snort at the thought of Sam’s exasperation later.

The twins paused, suddenly taking in the two of them, standing awkwardly apart from each other. Mickey’s head tilted in confusion. Robin thought sheepishly back to how he had behaved likewise only just hours ago, when he had walked in on his brother in the same position that he was now in. Caught red-handed with the nanny.

“Hey, did you two get into a fight?” Mickey’s face was far too innocent to know the stabbing truth that his question held.

Robin forced a smile, straightening his back. “Of course not, kiddo. You’ve got one of the best nannies in the world.” Both of their faces perked up at this. “I could never fight with her.”

His gaze flitted over to her, standing a few feet away as the twins reached up to grab her hands, ever the reaffirming picture of the perfect nanny. Her cheeks were still flushed and he read the tangle of confused feelings written all over her face. She was staring at him again with that shining gaze again, vulnerable and open as the first time he met her. Because of him.

His stomach twisted. So much for not wanting her to get hurt.

Robin took his leave before she could say anything in response—he didn’t want to hear what she had to say about him in front of the twins. He wasn’t sure if he could put on a smiling front any longer. “I’ll see you guys later. Be nice to your nanny.” He turned as his throat constricted, and hurried off.

Shortly afterwards, he called a limo to take him home, citing exhaustion as the reason for his early departure from the picnic. His colleagues told him to get some rest; his father, unsurprisingly, said nothing. Before he stepped into the car, he caught sight of her, next to Sam on the lawn. He ignored the lance of pain upon seeing them stand so close together.

He caught her eye for a second, but before he could be drawn into the faint glimmer in her eye, he forced himself to walk away and get into the car.

As the limo pulled away from Central Park, Robin stared blankly out the window. His agony was laughable—it was Sam that was supposed to be held back by this forbidden romance with her; he was the one that was already engaged. Yet here Robin was, the perpetual second-best, always left behind, trapped within the same snared feelings. He found some cruel relief in the knowledge that both he and Sam shared the same predicament.

Was it love at first sight? For him, and for Sam, too? He laughed bitterly; what a twist of fate that he and his perfect brother had the same weakness—a woman they could not have. No matter what happened, Robin knew for certain that they were all going to be hurt.

Thinking of what she had said that afternoon, about her wish to go back to last week, Robin wished he could rewind time too. To not rejoice in the stolen moments where she wasn’t occupied with Sam and the twins, to not stay in the office alone with her as he inched closer and closer, to not pull her to his side on the dance floor as he felt the pit in his stomach sinking deeper. Maybe if he could have stayed away, he would be able to retrieve his heart from the snare of her bright gaze.

Or maybe—Robin could’ve charmed her first, before his brother got to her. Maybe then, she’d be sneaking away at the office to be in his arms, not Sam’s. Maybe they would be sitting on a picnic blanket together at Central Park, enjoying a perfect afternoon. Maybe, when no one else was looking, he’d be pressing her against the side of the stall, kissing her over and over again until he was intoxicated from the scent of her.

As the sky darkened steadily, Robin watched the cityscape pass in a blur. He already knew where this fantasy would end. This wasn’t his story. But he was in too deep and there was no hope of getting out.

#the nanny affair #robin flores #robin x mc #mc x robin #tna #playchoices #choices #choices stories you play #nanny affair #choices fanfiction #choices nanny affair #choices fanfic #tna robin #robin tna #pixelberry #my writing #somebody get robin the abc book of feelings

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littlesilverplatinum · 5 years

Text

Visions, and a Miracle

---

Hikari hadn’t dreamt of him, ever since she arrived in Johto just short of a month ago. April went by as quickly as it had arrived – and with it, the constant downfall was replaced with something that better resembled the springs she knew like the back of her hand. The early break of summer was evident, as her bedding had been changed to better fit the rising temperatures.

Though it would seem – as she moved her legs beneath the light covers draped over her small frame – that another changing would be in need…

How embarrassing.

--Hikari hadn’t dreamt of him, ever since she arrived in Johto just short of a month ago. But on this night, after a meal she hadn’t felt she needed (though, when was she ever truly hungry? It felt like years, even though much less than that had come to pass) – his hold of her throat had crept up upon her as though he was a nightmare abstractly created into a physical form. And that she had been anywhere but his void – within the bedroom her father grew up in – had perhaps been what frightened her the worst.

Because, truly; Giratina should not be anywhere but within his own personal hellscape.

(Yet he had awoken her with a start – or at least, from the slumber within her dream of which she had fashioned herself to take. Towering over her body, hands that looked nothing like that of Pokémon; but of man, forcing her down against her mattress by the shape of her shoulders. --And as though he was nothing but a fickle manifestation within her own mind – no features could be seen.

Nothing but a dark, blurry void of which would swallow her whole should she not escape him.

But that, too, was impossible. Even if she very well tried to move her limbs, even though she wanted to struggle – she couldn’t. For osmium coursed through her veins and weighed her down, and the taste of metal sat prominent against the swell of her tongue.

Upon his own, tar spilled with each accusation he made.

‘You left me’, he said – as though she had ever tried to do anything but. ‘You’re not here, you’re gone.’

And as the blurred shape of his hand raised from her shoulder to settle against her throat – to test its limits, as air ceased to fill her lungs and the silence that rang clear within her ear became almost deafening; he lowered himself to mist his hazy breath against its shell. --Tar, staining her skin past recognition.

‘Where are you, my lamb?’

‘I should kill you, for your faults. I should violate your body and leave you broken for the world to see.’

A breath, a hitch – and it’s as though tendrils spew from his fingertips and pierce through her skin. Breaking flesh as they wrap around her vocal cords, her airways, in a much more hands-on manner than previously displayed. And Hikari finds it in her to shake, to move, and wrap her own around the void that is his wrist – and finds that there’s nothing for her to grasp at.

She’s helpless.

‘… Come back to me, lamb. Your home is with me.’)

A knock upon her door, before it slid open to invite daybreaks light inside. Beyond it, Masae watched her with kind, charcoal eyes. --Before the older woman got the chance to speak, however, Hikari voiced her humiliation.

Her shame.

“I wet the bed.”

---

The days surprising summer gale was something not adored by the young new resident, yet Hikari found herself taking refugee outside still. Laid on her side upon the porch lining the perimeter of the aged farmhouse, her feet rubbed together through thin knee-high stockings – a motion that, subconsciously, was rather soothing and comforting. --Something she felt the need for, however little, after the mornings events.

And if there ever had been an inkling of a doubt of the reality within her actions – how real her dream had truly felt, then she need just turn her head to the fields below to catch sight of the laundry line stretching between the toolshed and a single wooden beam.

Basking in the sunshine, her thin mattress as well as bedding joined the rest of the laundry for the day.

But Hikari dared not look to it, rather taking care in finding interest within every chip of wood that she could uproot with her fingernails. (That they were in need trimming was a matter to focus on at a later date.) Something she perhaps shouldn’t do, but wasn’t that just the sort of thing befitting someone like herself?

To do wrong, when there truly was no need for fault.

(‘I should kill you, for your faults…’)

--The pads of her fingers find their way against her cheeks. And they press, as hard as they can, to leave dents of crescent moons within her skin.

(‘… I should violate your body and leave you broken for the world to see.’)

The soft thud of bare feet across wooden boards’ reach her ears, and the world as it is builds up before her once more. Losing the ringing, the tightness within her chest, until she sees the hem of her grandmothers’ skirt just a few short steps before her. --Her gaze turned upward, but Masae doesn’t meet it.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she would comment – and Hikari need her not to explain what she means. Her knees tuck against her chest, as though she’s a child who’s getting scolded for bad behavior. Yet Masae continues down a different road, “… Koh wet his bed up until he turned fifteen, so it’s no wonder a daughter of his would have the same issues. Though, you are a little past those years now.”

Mentally, Hikari corrects her – that she truly was but fifteen. --And perhaps, just maybe, there was a swell within her chest about the fact that she carried similarities with her father. However meaningless, or circumstantial, those may be.

She had to pry, as much as she was allowed. Wasn’t it just the right of a daughter, to learn about her father? “… How come? Nightmares?”

Worn hands kneaded together, and Masae seemed to truly consider her next words. Dark eyes saw beyond their small space – past the rice papers that served as walls, holes gnawed away by wild Spinaraks’ letting rays of sunlight seep through its wake, to where her husband worked tirelessly within a field he rightfully should’ve retired from tending long ago.

The chirping of birds, echoing across the valley.

“I find it unlikely, though I only have my own guesses to go off of…”

A moment of silence, before the older woman bent at her waist to lay a hand to rest against Hikari’s shoulder.

(She tried her best not to wince.)

“Why don’t you come help me inside, and I’ll tell you a story.”

---

That she had wandered the beaten path of a trainer in her younger years was a matter that her paternal grandparents didn’t exactly see in a positive light. Which is why, should Hikari desire to stretch her ‘pets’ limbs – then they would rather she does it away from their home. --Why, had never been fully explained. And so when Masae revealed that her son once had owned a Pokémon of his own, it was hard for doubt not to ring clear within Hikari’s tone.

“… A Jolteon?” She questioned, the motion of rinsing rice momentarily pausing. Masae clicked her tongue in agreement, as though she herself could not believe such a thing.

“Grandpa is an old friend of Mr. Saito up in Ecruteak.” She explained. When no further sounds came from her granddaughter, she elaborated – voice cast over her shoulder. “He is the breeder that supplies the Dance Theater with its cast. So, we figured it would be a fairly safe creature to keep around the farm.”

A beat of silence.

“… That thing almost killed him.”

---

Johto, outskirts of Ecruteak City – 19xx

---

Koh had always been a boy who lacked interest in all things social. When housing guests, events, for the other independent households of their small agricultural community – the Otsu’s young boy had stayed more interested in digging dents within the soil than to act as the dapper young man his parents thought him to be.

“It’s a phase,” the guests would chuckle as Masae’s frown became more prominent. “Our own boys were just like him. He will grow out of it.”

--He had earned himself but one friend to call his own within his admittedly short life. A neighboring boy coming from a different family tree. Hannes, as was evident by his name and appearance, was a child born from foreigners. Birthed within the aged region, yes, yet stood out all the same.

(Never once had he been heard speaking his parents’ mother tongue.)

Because of his orange locks and freckled frame, Hannes distanced himself from the other children of the area. Enough, to where Koh had felt confident in sharing in those faults. Because of a speech impediment that haunted every word he spoke since the day he first learned to call his mother by name, the two stuck together like glue. Koh didn’t judge Hannes for his appearance, while Hannes returned the favor. Being patient, as the other struggled to say the most simple of things.

The boys would eventually be known to hide away together within the forests around the Otsu property, playing by the nearby creek and dirtying themselves beyond recognition by the time it was the hour for dinner. ‘Boys will be boys’ was a mantra Masae came to chant each time, and the boys quickly picked up on it to mock her.

Koh slurred his words and could never say it in one go, but Hannes seemed to always find it more amusing than anything else because of the fact.

However, eventually the day would come where the boys would grow more distant towards each other. Though it wasn’t by choice. Hannes’s family had taken the opportunity to sell their modest plot of land to the developing Ecruteak to expand within, and quickly the life upon the farm got changed to that of the city. Since Masae fell pregnant with her only child but twelve years ago, many things had changed around them.

(Yet they stuck to their ways, despite the offers of money for their property coming their way on a regular basis.)

Still, Hannes came over once or twice in the coming months until the day the big move was due. Though the boys no longer disappeared behind the thicket of the forests – rather lingered around the grounds to dig up soil or tinker with things they should not touch within Hiroji’s shed – they still carried on as though their days were not counted. As though they would stay friends, even when Hannes no longer was around.

On the fated day, Koh didn’t come out of his room. Not even when his only friend came to bid his farewells, could he be beckoned from is space. (Hiroji was the force that allowed it to be so, as he understood it was hard for his son to let his sorrow be displayed. Many times, he stopped his wife from fetching the boy against his will.) --However by dinnertime, Masae lost her patience and went to check on her son. A light knock on the frame, before his door was pushed to the side.

Young Koh was seated upon his windowsill, feat dangling over the edge as though they stretched to touch the tiled roofing just below. That there was a hitch within the mothers throat as the sight (ever so worried about her child damaging himself in any way) was only natural, and as she treaded the distance to be by his side, her arm came to lock around his middle to keep him close against her chest.

“Are you sad?” She would ask, her cheek pressed against his own. Koh shook his head. “… Upset?” Still a no. A moment of pause, and Koh himself came to voice his thoughts.

“L-Lonely.”

(The solution, as it were, should come as no surprise.)

---

Ever since the kit got brought into their home, their son had left it more and more. Running outside by daybreak, doing his chores given by his father – until lunch could be had and he would be free of his duties. Then, the familiar act of venturing into the woods began anew. --As though Hannes never had left.

Of course, Masae always worried about her son. For his safety with the kit. They had experienced the harm of Pokémon onto their crops more times than they could count, coupled with news reports over the radio of kept such being going against their owners. Rare occurrences, certainly – yet no less real. The thought of them, as her hands sat lathered in soaps within the kitchen sink, haunted her enough for her husband to take notice.

Hiroji rattled the paper settled within his grasp to get her attention. “The boy is safe,” he said, his voice giving no room for refutes. But his wife had never cared to listen to such things.

“You don’t know that,” she would counter – glance cast over her shoulder. Lines of worry marred her skin enough to age her beyond her years. “Those creatures are anything but domesticated.”

“The kit is harmless,” he would amend, shifting in his seat. “If it had wanted to hurt him, then it would’ve done it by now.”

‘It would have good reason to,’ he didn’t add, finding it more counterproductive to do so than anything else. Koh wasn’t the most gentle of children, and it displayed in his handling of the creature. Though he never outright harmed it, he carried it as though it was a rag rather than a being – wasn’t shy in letting his frustrations be known whenever the creature wouldn’t listen, and had more than once carried on a game called ‘Target’ in which he threw pebbles at the poor thing. --To build evasion, he supposed, but it only seemed to confuse the kit more than anything else.

Better a Pokémon than another child, he supposed.

Masae felt she had done enough of housework for the time, and dried her hands within the apron wrapped around her middle. Still, she gnawed at her lips as though they were sweets rather than a part of herself. When she passed her husband by, he reached for her skirt.

She turned to look down upon him, to which he raised a meaning brow. A tilt of his head – a request.

Her kiss was given, just as the lights of their home gave out. A flash of thunder flickering outside, fast enough to where should you have blinked – you would miss it. Yet it was as clear as summer rain to the only inhabitants of the modest farm home. --Masae’s fingers stilled at her husband’s cheek, quickly losing their warmth as ice spilled down her spine.

Hiroji read her mood like handwritten poetry, and reached for her wrist.

“… The kit is harmless,” he dared repeat – yet the mother had already made up her mind.

Masae hurried outside to find her boy.

---

The pace of which the mother kept as she hurried through the thicket could be described as anything but graceful, yet grace was not needed. Her breath, fleeting within her chest as she forgot to take them in her anxious hurry. Branches that were messily shoved out of her way as she hurried along narrow, treaded paths left tiny cuts upon her bared skin – marring her knuckles and arms for later viewing once her heart no longer nestled within her throat.

What had transpired at the scene was anyone’s guess – but not every guess could be the correct one. Once Masae broke through the covert to the creek making its way through the woods, more questions filled her, rather than answers. --More concerns, rather than calm.

Within the barren creek – never having filled enough past that of children’s ankles, a sight no mother should ever have to endure made itself known. Koh’s small frame laid unmoving and alone, the plain shirt he wore stained with soil and water. And though the lighting was poor as the sun struggled to filter through the crowns of bark-clad giants, Masae still could make out clear blemishes upon his skin. Thin silvery lines creeping up his arms, disappearing past the sleeves of his shirt to who knows where.

Yet it was not the most pressing issue at hand.

Masae stumbles to his side, falling to her knees beside her only child – not a care for the stains it would leave upon her wear. Quickly she gathered him in her arms, lifting his head from where it had rested almost fully submerged within the murky water to be cradles against the crook of her arm – against her chest, as her fingers held on to him so tightly she would leave further bruises.

“Koh,” she sobbed, her voice breaking apart. Tears felt thick within her throat, yet she had not shed any. “Koh, please baby please… Answer mommy.”

She shook him, gently at first – before more force was given out of impatient desperation. Something clicked within her mind, and the seasoned mother quickly turned him within her hold to angle his face downwards. --The palm of her hand, coming to lay flat against his shoulder blades.

Three times, she pounded on his back hard enough for an ache to build within the bones of her palm. By the third one, he coughed – mucus lodged in water heaving past his gaping mouth until he cast out more and more of what had come to block his airways. Koh struggled to catch his breath, his body twitching against his will. But his mother held him tightly against her, kept him stable. Until nothing more would be let out, and the sounds of the world once more returned to him.

Dull, broken and scattered into that of music.

“Koh!” Her voice echoed – and eyes the color of coal came to search kindred ones. Mother and son locked eyes but not for long, as Masae quickly hugged him tightly against her chest in her relief over his safety. That he was with her – that he wasn’t dead.

Finally, the tears would come. A rush of emotion too strong to properly contain any longer.

“Oh my sweet, sweet baby…” Masae cooed and fussed, rocking them both in her attempt of soothing. Koh’s hands came to search something to hold on to, something to grasp – and found fine pearls around his mother’s neck.

“It was that beast, was it not? It hurt you- I knew it would hurt you.”

Koh pulled and the neckless broke at its joints and spilling like that of first snow. That, if not his next words, caused his mother to go mute.

Speechless.

“Mom… I need to do that again.”

---

Hikari gingerly fingered at the burn marks caused by youthful stupidity of which marred her fingers and knuckles – the harm a Pokémon can do, all too familiar. (That there were other such marks upon her petite frame, was something she rather not think of.)

During her talk, Masae had moved from surface to surface within her modest kitchen – doing work Hikari perhaps could’ve (and perhaps even should’ve) helped with, yet hadn’t. But her grandmother had never shown signs of displeasure at the fact, nor had she commented on Hikari’s pause of rinsing the rice entirely in favor of listening to the recounting of her father’s childhood. --Perhaps because she only had one granddaughter – just like she only had one son.

“I didn’t understand what he meant, when he said that,” Masae eventually amended, hands drying by the help of a kitchen towel. The bowl before Hikari was taken without much protest. “… And it didn’t fully register to me in that moment that he had spoken without much trouble at all.”

“… H-his stutter was gone?”

That her own made itself known, could be rather humorous under any other circumstance. In the company of anyone else but the two women.

“That boy never stuttered once in his life after that, much to my dismay. Puberty made his mouth foul and I more than once prayed for it to come back just so that I could have some peace of mind.” Masae shook her head, taking over the rinsing so that dinner could be served at an acceptable timeframe. Hikari took to setting the table, feeling as though she should be of use in some way.

It only felt right.

Yet she stilled, plates in hand – and poked her grandmother with her elbow.

Her cheeks sat rosy. “What did this have to do with bedwetting?”

“Oh!” The older woman gasped, before her attention returned to the task at hand. Hikari followed suit, however no less attentive to her grans words. “I’m not certain, but I imagine the shock from that beast messed him up more than it did him good. He never had struggled with keeping his bladder under control until that incident.”

“I… suppose that could be the reason.”

It made her no less ashamed of her own mishap, however. It was an embarrassment she would have to carry for as long as she remembered it. --And these things, as they are, have a tendency to linger.

---

Retreating to her bedroom was a habit she had formed in a short amount of time – one neither Masae nor Hiroji seemed to particularly mind. If she stayed within the stairwell leading up to the second story, as dishes were placed within the sink for later washing; then the quiet chatter or her grandparents could be distinguished within the quiet home.

Most often, they spoke of nothing other than farm work and friends. About crosswords, about tomorrows tasks. --But sometimes, they spoke of her. And part of her always waited with bated breath for something… bad. Something cruel.

That they would mock her, without there really being a reason to.

At most, Hiroji had confessed to his granddaughter being quiet. Hikari figured it was meant as a compliment, as the man himself wasn’t exactly a chatterbox.

Johto, well and truly, had brought with it more good than bad. And as she looked to her bedding – freshly made with sheets that lacked stains – even the most dangerous parts didn’t seem all that daunting.

Dreams can’t hurt her, no matter if they are clouded in darkness.

Still, the young girl dug into her packing and brought out the one thing that would cause her grandparents concern. The shell keeping one of her teammates captive. It was cold despite the lingering summer heat, and as Hikari sat down within her bed; she pressed it against her lips for but a moment.

Grace appeared within the blink of an eye, eyes wide and innocent.

“Y’know,” she whispered to him – reaching to gather him into her arms. The kit gave no protest, nestling within her embrace as though it was the very air he needed to breathe. “Dad had one of your kind.”

A mewl.

“... Isn’t that funny?”

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endlesschange · 6 years

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The Right Heart: Prologue

A The Royal Romance Fanfic

Warnings: Some swearing and mentions of sex.

Pairings: Prince Liam x Kate Beaumount (mentioned), Drake Walker x Kate Beaumont (mentioned)

Summary: During the social season of Crown Prince Leo’s journey to find a bride and queen, Kate Beaumont can’t help but discuss her own love life with her best friend.

Word Count: 4,803

Prologue: Before the Storm

Katherine Beaumont figured that, by now at least, she should be used to attending courtly functions.

As the youngest member and only daughter of House Beaumont of the duchy of Ramsford, it was somewhat expected for the brunette and her two elder brothers to be in attendance at a whole laundry list of events. From charity auctions to barn buildings, and from palace galas to the elusive Beaumont bashes, the girl didn’t even have to make a guess at whether or not the family would be attending. Her eldest brother, Bertrand, had assumed the title of Duke Ramsford with their father falling ill years ago and while he had once lived it up in the way that most young people did, he had begun almost ruling the events of their family the same way that their father did — and with that came attending a multitude of frivolous events in support of the Crown.

It was something that Kate and her other brother, Maxwell, had come to terms with a long time ago, having been raised to grow accustomed to. But while Bertrand enjoyed networking and the process of preparing for events and Maxwell just enjoyed a good party no matter the occasion, the youngest Beaumont couldn’t help but feel almost silly standing in the grand ballroom of the palace in a form fitting gown, sipping champagne that probably cost more than the Ramsford estate itself. She figured that by now she should be used to attending courtly functions. But the truth was that she wasn’t at all.

Despite having been born into this life and despite being extremely grateful for everything that life had offered her, there was just something about court and the world that it was that always struck her as . . . odd. She supported Cordonia with every fiber of her being, she loved her home truly she did, but prancing around balls simply to be surrounded by stuffy fellow nobles gave her the royal equivalent of cabin fever. Like Maxwell, she enjoyed a good party and enjoyed seeing her friends all together in one place, but with Bertrand looming over her shoulder at almost every other hour, it felt more like tedious work than actually enjoying herself.

There was a level of eloquence that one must maintain at all Cordonian courtly functions, the ones actually held at the palace especially. Kate knew that Bertrand was always chomping at the bit when it came to her behavior, the eldest Beaumont seeing Maxwell and his antics as a lost cause over the years. Kate was the youngest, someone Bertrand thought that he could control and mold into the model of a perfect lady, even if it meant acting like an asshole.

Preparing for tonight’s event, a ball held in honor of the social season’s beginning, had been an absolute nightmare. Bertrand had run his mouth the entire, grasping tightly onto his high horse as he practically shouted orders to Kate seemingly from the moment she woke up. He was seemingly hell bent on her rubbing shoulders with the exact kind of people that she wanted to avoid. From criticizing her choices in dress to making sure she knew the proper positioning of cutlery, he nearly gave her the third degree. She had nearly fallen asleep during his lecture on fork placement — a speech she had heard far too many times in her short life.

God, she thought to herself as she sipped on champagne, imagine what he would have been like if she was actually involved in this spectacle. She shuddered at the thought.

The spectacle in question was the social season itself. Starting tonight, Crown Prince Leo of Cordonia would begin his search for a wife as well as Cordonia’s future queen. King Constantine had no current plans of stepping down from the throne for his son to ascend, but the social season was Cordonian tradition — and somewhat of a protocol. In order to one day rise the ranks up to king, the Crown Prince had to be married, or at least engaged to be wed. The social season was a circus show for the most part, in Kate’s opinion, noble houses tossing their daughter’s or sponsored suitors into the ring for ring and crown. Over the course of the next few months, Leo would be expected to get to know each lady, whereas the people of the country would be exposed to how each lady acted through the eyes that were the press.

Thankfully for Kate, she had been spared from being a part of this madness. For one, Kate couldn’t ever, ever, in a million years see herself pursuing Leo. The Beaumont children were relatively close to the children of the Crown, having grown up together through court and such. A handful of years Kate’s senior, he was someone she saw simply as a brother figure and nothing more. He was close to Bertrand’s age as well, and once upon a time, when Bertrand actually used to have fun, he and Leo had done a numerous amount of things together. And whatever Bertrand knew about Leo’s past of being a partying playboy, it had set him on a clear path to making sure that the Beaumont family were not sponsoring anyone, especially not his baby sister. It was moments like that in which Kate realized that Bertrand sometimes thought with his actual brain and not his courtly mannerisms.

When Kate had been given that news, she had let out a breath of relief. If there was something that Kate didn’t want, it was a life that would be led for her. Granted, that was pretty much the life she led under Bertrand’s thumb, but the youngest Beaumont had dreams. Running a country and marrying someone that she didn’t love weren’t exactly a part of those dreams. Really, all she wanted was to travel, experience life, and perhaps one day find the heart that was right for her. In a social season with press and royalty and nobles watching her every move? She was certain that she’d be unable to find that heart. She couldn’t picture herself running a kingdom. She couldn’t picture her dealing with that, day after day. Maybe it was because deep down, she didn’t particularly care for the dealings of social classes and the people that came along with it. Maybe it was her naivety, her young age telling her that she wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment to something other than herself. Either way, it wasn’t exactly the life Kate Beaumont wanted to live.

Instead, she watched on as other noble ladies began to try and vie for that life tonight, as did the rest of court. Currently, the ladies participating in this social season were being presented to King Constantine and then Prince Leo himself, the latter looking all too bored with the frivolity of it all. Like most nobles, Leo knew most of the ladies he was being introduced to, the majority of them knew each other through functions just like this one. Clearly his days as the court’s wild child were not behind him. Kate didn’t know whether to pity him or laugh at the expression on his face.

“Countess Madeleine looks as if she has this all wrapped up with a neat little bow,” a voice spoke up from beside Kate, breaking her from her thoughts.

A glance to the side gave Kate a view of Savannah Walker, rolling her eyes at the sight of Fydelia’s countess across the room. Kate snickered into her glass, before giving her best friend a light jab to the ribs with her elbow. “Keep those comments going, Walker, and people are going to begin to forget how starstruck with the nobility you are.”

Savannah narrowed her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. Unlike Kate herself, Savannah was born a commoner, the daughter of an American woman and a late member of the King’s Guard who had spent her entire life at court. Kate and Savannah were the same age, so anytime that the Beaumont’s had visited the palace, the two had always found themselves in each other’s company, which had then spawned into a lifelong friendship. Savannah, like her mother before her, was quite frankly enraptured with nobility. Kate wasn’t exactly sure what the appeal was, but Savannah beamed at every chance she had to participate. There was some sort of childlike wonder in her eyes at every event, like she was living out a fairytale. It was something Kate found endearing, though she did her fair share of poking fun at her friend.

“I am not starstruck with the nobility,” Savannah muttered in annoyance. Kate raised an eyebrow. The Walker girl rolled her eyes again. “Okay, well at least not with all of them, like Lord Neville for example.”

The name of the Vancoeur man itself left a sour taste in Kate’s mouth, the girl wrinkling her nose. He tended to mostly stay at Comery Isle, never one to set foot in court unless there was something important going on. But the handful of times that Kate and Savannah had had to deal with the man had done nothing but leave quite possibly the worst impression of him in their minds. “No one is a fan of trash, Savannah.”

Savannah burst into a stream of giggles, not noticing how the nobles that floated by them on the dance floor gave her dirty looks. That was another thing about Savannah that Kate enjoyed, her tendency to not notice the ways that people looked at her or talked about her. As a commoner in a room full of nobles, there were plenty of times where people like Lord Neville had looked down upon her, but Savannah took it in stride. Whether she kept her feelings about that to herself and herself alone or she just didn’t care, the Beaumont girl wasn’t all too sure, but she truly had never seen a non noble handle themselves in such a strong-willed way.

Sighing, Savannah took a sip of her drink. “I just wish there were more . . . charming men around for us to see. I mean, we’re literally standing in a ballroom, Katie, where’s our fairytale romance?”

Kate chuckled. Nodding at the line of ladies waiting to speak to Leo, she said, “Well, as a member of House Beaumont, I could probably pull some strings and get you a place in the social season. Fighting a bunch of catty woman to win over an actual prince, that’s got to have some fairy tale appeal.”

At Kate’s teasing, the Walker girl shuddered. “No offense to Leo, but I’ve heard my brother talk about his particular . . . tastes in the bedroom. I’m not exactly looking for that. Nor do I feel the need to have to deal with Madeleine on a near daily basis.”

“Ah, nobles and their kinks. Warding off potential suitors, most likely since the union of the Five Kingdoms,” Kate chuckled, eyes roving over the crowd that was beginning to gather for dancing. As expected — there was an actual betting pool going on — the Fydelian countess snatched Prince Leo for the first dance without a single warning. Madeleine was an acquired taste (read: a manipulative bitch), but damn, she was good at getting what she wanted. Turning back to her friend, Kate shrugged. “It’s just as well. If I told Bertrand we were going to sponsor someone last second, he might actually have the aneurysm Maxwell’s been predicting for three years.”

At the mention of her eldest brother, Savannah turned a brilliant shade of pink. A smile tugged at her lips and her eyes seemed to sparkle a bit more than they had the previous moment. With just the mention of Bertrand's name, she's been reduced to a schoolgirl with an obvious crush. A crush, by the way, that made Kate want to gag.

“Really, Sav?” Kate groaned, already noticing the way that the girl in questions allowed her eyes to roam the ballroom looking for a particular moody Beaumont brother.

If there was one thing that puzzled Kate endlessly about Savannah Walker, it was her strange fascination with Bertrand. From a young age, it was clear to see that the girl was taken with the Duke. She thought the world of him, like the sweater vest wearing man had hung the moon and the stars himself. Kate figured that, sure, maybe when they were younger it might have been plausible for girls to be attracted to her brother. Before their father's death, Bertrand had been charming and kind, someone people actually wanted to be around. But following the death of Barthelemy, he became somewhat of a colossal asshole, he exact kind of man that Kate wanted to keep her best friend from falling for. Falling for Bertrand seemed to be like driving down a dead end street — once you reached the end of the road, that was it.

Savannah's blush didn't falter, but her voice sure did as she tried to make a retort at her friend. Loudly, a little too loudly actually, she replied, “I don't know what you're talking about!”

“Sure, sure,” Kate replied with a teasing grin and a roll of her eyes. “You definitely don't have a giant crush on my stick in the mud brother.”

“He's not that bad,” her friend told her, her voice quieting down a bit. She looked slightly embarrassed, but refused to voice that particular feeling.

Kate waved her off with her hand. “That's because you've never been on the other end of his extensive the ruination of this house will fall onto your shoulders if you use the wrong fork, Katherine speeches or his Maxwell, if you breakdance one more time in the presence of the Queen kind of threats. You think he's this great, powerful Duke, but he's really just an inconsiderate jerk who gives extensive tongue lashings.”

At the words tongue and lashings, Savannah's blush seemed to grow even deeper, the girl's eyes widening for good measure. Kate stared at her oddly for a moment, wondering what in the actual hell that she had said that caused her to blush so heavily. And then it hit her. Holding herself back from throwing up the minimal contents of her stomach, she gave a shove towards Savannah’s shoulder.

“Oh you know that is so not what I meant,” Kate groaned, shuddering as she tried to ward off those disgusting thoughts. “It’s one thing to swoon over my brother in my presence, it’s another to have your mind in the gutter over him with me standing next to you.”

Savannah spluttered, but there was a measurable amount of mirth in her eyes at the situation. “My mind is not in the gutter over your brother, Katie. He just happens to be an attractive, interesting man that I — ”

“Have scandalous daydreams about, yes we’ve covered that,” the Beaumont girl interjected.

The Walker girl narrowed her eyes. “You’re insufferable. And a little bitter. Maybe you’re the one who needs to start having scandalous daydreams, take the edge off.”

At that, a peal of laughter escaped Kate’s lips. She covered her mouth with her hand for a moment, before she poised a manicured eyebrow at her best friend. “And who do you suppose I start having scandalous daydreams about?”

“Well, we’re in the middle of a crowded ballroom, I’m sure we could find you some sort of eye candy,” Savannah snickered, a twinkle in her eyes as she scanned the crowd. Raising a finger, she discreetly pointed at a somewhat dashing man walking past. “What about him?”

Kate made a face. While she couldn’t for the life of her remember the man’s name — if Bertrand were here, he’d probably whip out his courtly flashcards — she knew that she had met him once before. And that he had been a rude, perverted asshole to anything that breathed. With narrowed eyes and a sharp tongue, she replied, “I’d rather spend my life getting pleasure from my right hand alone then deal with him.”

“I thought you were a respectable lady of the court?” Savannah teased, biting her lip to stifle the laughter that was threatening to pour out.

Kate raised an eyebrow. “You’ve spent enough time at court to know most of these ladies become skilled in the art of . . . self service because they have to deal with the likes of have of these earls and dukes and such.”

“Well, from what I’ve heard, some of them are good in bed. And besides, lets just take sex off the table — is there literally no one here that you’re interested in? I’ve known you nearly my whole life and I swear I’ve never seen you have a crush on someone who wasn’t a celebrity.”

At the mention of the word crush, a flush seemed to creep up the back of Kate’s neck. One, because what Savannah was saying wasn’t anywhere near the truth. While she was right in the sense that nearly all of Kate’s crushes were celebrities (and the occasional fictional character), there had been one instance at court where she had found herself swooning over someone. And two, because the universe clearly wanted to fuck with her, her eyes managed to land on said crush at just that particular moment.

To say that Drake Walker — yes, Savannah’s older brother — was hard to find amidst the dancing couples and conversing dignitaries would be a lie. In fact, the commoner stuck out like a sore thumb, leant up against the far wall in a pair of dark pants and a button down shirt, a far cry from the elaborate suits that the men around him wore. A half drunken glass of whiskey was clutched in his hand and a sour expression was plastered across his face, the signature Drake look. If it weren’t for the fact that his best friend happened to be Prince Liam, the younger brother of Leo, Drake probably wouldn’t have been there at all.

Kate bit her lip as her eyes glanced over him, a little voice in the back of her mind nudging her to remember how taken she had been with him for a week during her fifteenth year. The long and short of it was that at one visit to the palace, there had been a near tragic accident in the stables that involved Kate and one of the newer horses at the time. Kate, like her brothers, had grown up riding in equestrian competitions and felt at home around horses, but the newest steed had clearly not appreciated her over confidence. Ten seconds later, the horse had charged at her only for her brother’s best friend to dart out of another stall and coax the horse into calm, pretty much saving Kate from being trampled. At the time, he had been newly eighteen, the summer before he left for his brief stint at college, and for some reason, Kate had been over the moon with him for the following days. And then he had made a rude comment about her brothers and the nobility in general — a classic Drake tactic — and the crush had disappeared as quick as it came.

Her silly little schoolgirl crush on Drake had been something that she had never disclosed to anyone, especially not Savannah. The crush had been short lived, maybe a week and a day, and it had been mostly centered around the fact that Drake had practically saved her life. For a short period of time, she viewed him heavily as her ruggedly handsome knight in shining armor. There had never been any actual feelings, no substance behind the fact that she had briefly liked to drool over the man who seemed to have an easier time drinking his weight in whiskey than he did conversing with other human beings. So because of that, she hadn’t disclosed the feelings to anyone. Savannah was far different than Kate herself and Kate knew without a shadow of a doubt that the first thing out of her best friend’s mouth would be how she’d talk her up to Drake and how the two would actually be sisters if the two were to get together.

Yeah, that would never happen, Kate thought to herself as she watched the man take another sip of whiskey. She turned back to her friend. Muttering, Kate told her, “I don’t have crushes on any of these people because I’ve known half of them since childhood and half of them are complete assholes.”

Savannah shrugged, taking another sip of her drink. “Not everyone you’ve known since childhood is a jerk. For one, there’s the Prince.”

Furrowing her brow, Kate replied, “If I wanted to go after Leo, I’d be battling it out with Madeleine at the moment.”

“I meant Liam, dumbass,” Savannah responded. “He’s always had a soft spot for you. And he’s incredibly well mannered and honestly? Looks like he’d know what to do in more intimate situations.”

At the mention of Prince Liam, Kate couldn’t help but groan. It wasn’t exactly like this was the first time that her friend had ever brought up the notion of the two dating. God, Bertrand might just have a coronary from pure excitement if he ever found out that there was a chance that his little sister and the King’s second son could possibly enter a relationship. Kate could just imagine it now, the way he’d bust out all of his infamous lectures on courting and being a prim and proper lady.

It wasn’t much of a secret that Liam had harbored a little bit of a crush on the only Beaumont girl — at least, it wasn’t much of a secret in their social circle. If any of the elder members of court knew, that was beyond Kate’s knowledge. But when it came to Maxwell and Drake and Savannah, Liam’s little soft spot for Kate wasn’t unheard of. Kate figured that she should be flattered, thrilled even, to have a potential chance with an actual prince, someone who could further her own social standing and allow her to live out a fairytale. And yes, maybe a small part of her was a bit flattered — Liam was a kind and handsome man — but she wasn’t exactly sure that was the kind of situation that she’d want to put herself in. It would be a situation where she knew she’d feel like she being forced into it. Surely Bertrand would never let her have a purely romantic, feelings based relationship with Liam if she wanted. He’d be hounding her every day and night, making sure she was using her relationship to better House Beaumont.

So, much like she wasn’t interested in courting his brother, Kate didn’t have much of a desire to court Liam either. It wasn’t that Savannah was wrong — again, Liam was one of the sweetest people that Kate had ever come across in her life, even if he had every reason to turn out like an entitled bastard. He also wasn’t bad looking, with his dark hair and charming smile. She knew that across Cordonia, Liam was crushed on and lusted over heavily by most women and men. But being interested in Liam was a road she’d rather not travel down, despite the fact that Savannah couldn’t seem to get that through her head.

“I don’t want to crush on or fantasize over Liam,” Kate muttered in annoyance, glancing down at her empty champagne glass. Shit.

“Well, you’d better figure out a way to put that nicely because he’s headed over here with my brother right now,” Savannah laughed.

Kate glanced up, feeling almost like a deer in headlights when she realized that Savannah wasn’t lying. Prince Liam made his way over, the picture perfect model of grace and charm. Drake, on the other hand, followed behind him with his usual bored expression plastered across his face.

The two men came to a stop in front of the two women, but only two of the four were smiling. Liam had an effortless grin etched across his lips, while Savannah beamed endlessly at the prince and her brother. Drake still looked bored. And Kate still wore a mildly distressed expression on her face, wondering what in the actual world could have brought them over here.

Seeing as no one else was going to break the silence, Liam took the lead. “Ladies,” he greeted, giving each girl a nod.

“Your Highness,” Savannah replied with a grin, a joking edge to her tone. After all their years being friends, the girl sometimes still addresses her brother’s friend in professional terms, even if Liam had told her a thousand times to call him just Liam. Before he could make that remark, she tossed a look in her brother’s direction. “Hey big brother.”

Drake grunted out a greeting and gave Kate a barely discernible nod. She rolled her eyes. But she gave him a smile nonetheless and did the same for his current companion.

The smile seemed to make Liam’s expression sparkle. “Lady Katherine — ”

“Liam, we’ve been over this — every time you call me Lady Katherine, I lose roughly six years off my life,” the Beaumont girl joked.

“My apologies, Kate. I’ve spent the entire evening greeting everyone by title, it’s a hard habit to break,” the prince joked. Then, he offered his hand. “They’re about to start the next waltz. Would you care for a dance?”

Without even breaking a sweat, Kate gave him a sad smile. “I’m actually not in a dancing mood. But I’m sure Savannah would love to accompany you, wouldn’t you Savannah?”

Savannah gave her a scowl, before brightly turning to the prince who was trying his best not to look like a kicked puppy. Shoving her half empty glass into Kate’s empty hand, the Walker girl took Liam’s outstretched hand. “I’d be delighted to dance with you.”

If Liam was even mildly disappointed at dancing with the girl he didn’t ask, he hid it exceptionally well. That was an art that most Cordonian nobles knew well. He whisked her off to the dance floor just as the music queued up, the two soon disappearing amidst the other dancing couples. Kate bit her lip, feeling like a bit of a bitch, but she shoved that down as she disposed of her empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray, bringing herself to drink the rest of Savannah’s glass.

“You know, you break his heart a little more every time you turn him down for a dance,” a voice spoke, bringing Kate to realize that Drake was still stood beside her. He had taken Savannah’s now empty spot, leaning against the wall much like he had done across the room. But now he was giving her a look, one that told her that he knew exactly what she had been doing when she sent Savannah out on that dance floor.

“Spare me the over protective best friend speech, Walker. I’m just not in the mood for dancing tonight.”

“That’s what you said the last time.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to go be miserable?”

Drake scoffed, but there was a hint of a smirk on his lips. “If I’m miserable, then so are you. Maybe even more. You’ve been moping the entire night. And unfortunately, Katie,” he drawled, using his sister’s nickname for the Beaumont girl in a sarcastic manner, “Misery loves company.”

She rolled her eyes at him, briefly wondering how in the hell she had ever managed to have a crush on him. Kate didn’t hate Drake, to make it clear. In fact, she sort of considered him a friend (she was smart not to brand him a best friend like Maxwell had, but Maxwell had never been one to grasp the fact that Drake generally wanted to push him off a cliff). But he was just the right brand of annoying that Kate didn’t want to deal with tonight.

Tipping the glass of champagne towards her mouth, she downed the rest of Savannah’s drink in one fell swoop. Eyes cast out to the dance floor, she couldn’t help but already begin waiting for this social season to come to a close, so that everything could calm down.

But unfortunately for Kate, she would come to learn a year later that Leo’s social season was in fact the calm. The last bit of comfort before a whole season of heartache and pain and mixed emotions. Right now, she was calm, calmer than she would be in a years time. For it truly was always the calmest before the storm.

Tag List: @goldenraines @museofbooks

#mc: kate beaumont #mc: katherine beaumont #drake walker x mc #drake walker #king liam x mc #king liam #prince liam x mc #savannah walker #maxwell beaumont #bertrand beaumont #the royal romance #pixelberry #choices #playchoices #trr #fic: the right heart

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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How Mulan Maintains The Animated Film’s Queerness

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This piece contains spoilers for Disney’s Mulan. Read our spoiler-free review here.

More than any of the previous six Disney live-action remakes, Mulan requires the greatest narrative leap from fans of the animated original: The remake has done away with the iconic musical numbers, wisecracking dragon Mushu, and fan favorite Captain Li Shang, who is considered by many to be a bisexual icon for his clear attraction to both Ping (Mulan, pretending to be a man) and Mulan. Instead, perhaps in order to separate out the love interest from the potentially problematic power dynamic, Niki Caro’s 2020 adaptation, which now available to watch for no additional fee for Disney+ subscribers, splits Shang into two characters: father figure Commander Tung (Donnie Yen) and fellow recruit Chen Honghui (Yoson An).

Not surprisingly, breaking out the two major aspects of Shang’s character into separate personas dilutes Hua Mulan’s (Yifei Liu) relationship with each of them. But what’s interesting is that the queer subtext that Disney fans have always seen in Shang doesn’t disappear—it also gets split across two (different) characters. At various points in the film, both love interest Honghui and antagonist Xianniang (Gong Li) engage Mulan based on what is perceived as her same-sex identity: the young soldier with his peer Hua Jun, and the warrior witch with potential ally Mulan. The ways in which each character recognizes and accepts a forbidden aspect of Mulan’s identity (disguising herself as a man to train, and her affinity for qi) read as extremely queer.

The Loss of Li Shang

The decision to separate Li Shang into two roles was in direct response to the #MeToo movement, as producer Jason Reed explained to Collider. Describing the thought process behind developing the story for the live-action remake, he said: “I think particularly in the time of the #MeToo movement, having a commanding officer that is also the sexual love interest was very uncomfortable and we didn’t think it was appropriate.”

And so, the live-action Mulan ages up Commander Tung (Donnie Yen), making him a surrogate father to Mulan-as-Hua-Jun. Having fought alongside her father, Hua Zhou, Tung recognizes in this young soldier a warrior’s spirit, and an affinity for qi. He encourages Mulan-as-Hua-Jun to further develop her qi rather than hiding it, affectionately chiding her. That fatherly concern only amplifies Mulan’s guilt over not honoring the virtue of trueness, allowing Tung to see what he wants to see and earning his respect through that deception.

But because these are the only conversations that Mulan-as-Hua-Jun and Tung have, their dynamic start to feel repetitive. There is absolutely no doubt that the moment Mulan reveals the truth about who she is, Commander Tung will turn on her. His respect and affection only extends to a male soldier, because he can only think in the abstract about notions of truth and honor.

While the producers approached these changes with good intentions, their decision nonetheless very much misses the point of the toxic behaviors that #MeToo advocates seek to expose. The movement is concerned with abuses of power, e.g., for a commanding officer to use their authority to force their subordinate into a nonconsensual sexual situation. What the animated Mulan presented (and what the live-action movie could have recreated without becoming problematic) was the nuanced portrayal of a captain, used to holding himself apart from his recruits, struggling with an attraction to a soldier who looked to him for both his marching orders and for camaraderie during wartime.

The Queer Subtext of Li Shang

Mulan being a Disney property, Li Shang’s (BD Wong) queerness is a matter of viewers reading into subtext. But watch “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” and tell me it’s not the emotional journey of a man recognizing his attraction to this scrappy soldier. The first time Mulans-as-Ping manages to actually knock Shang down, prompting that wondering smile from her leader, is not only a moment of triumph for Mulan, but a revelation for Shang, as well: As Ping proves his worth over the course of the song, Shang realizes that not only does he respect this young warrior, but he might also like him.

Part of the tension between Shang and Mulan-as-Ping is that the captain takes pains to not get close to his subordinates. This is due in large part to the chip on Shang’s shoulder, the fear that he only got his military posting because of his father, General Li. The Emperor’s advisor Chi-Fu on more than one occasion accuses Shang of benefiting from nepotism. “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” clearly draws a dividing line between Ping and the other soldiers commiserating over their rough training, and a shirtless Shang putting them through their paces. The moments in which Ping’s actions or comments break through Shang’s facade are significant because Ping gets past those emotional defenses.

First it’s by succeeding in the training montage, proving that Shang is a valuable leader; after all, a captain is only as good as his worst recruit. Even so, it is not until the loss of his father and Mulan’s bravery against the Huns at Tung Shao Pass that Shang finally makes himself vulnerable. “Ping, you are the craziest man I ever met,” Shang says, “and for that I owe you my life. From now on, you have my trust.”

Opening up like that, rare and hard-earned for a man like Shang, is what makes the reveal of Mulan’s deception so devastating. Yet this is the point at which many queer fans interpret Shang as bisexual or pansexual: He saves Mulan’s life rather than follow the law and kill her; and while he claims that he is simply offering “a life for a life” and repaying his debt, he clearly has feelings for her. The revelation that she is a woman only complicates those feelings.

Mulan possesses the same cleverness and courage, the qualities that attracted him to Ping; now she’s just in the form of a socially acceptable love interest. The person has not changed, only the social circumstances surrounding the situation. It is this truth upon which Mulan ultimately convinces Shang to help her at the Imperial City: “You said you’d trust Ping,” she challenges him. “Why is Mulan any different?”

Those tensions are what, if you’ll excuse the pun, animate the relationship between Mulan and Shang in the 1998 film. The live-action remake erases that distance by having Honghui literally be in the trenches with Mulan-as-Hua-Jun—and reverses their dynamic, while retaining the queer subtext.

Honghui as Mulan’s 2020 Love Interest

Honghui is the one who gets past Mulan’s emotional defenses—not deliberately, but simply by dint of them being fellow recruits. The men are crammed into one tent as sleeping quarters (there are some cute moments of Mulan dodging soldiers who like to cuddle in their sleep) and train together all day, sparring and sweating in each other’s personal space. Even more than that, Honghui is intrigued by the taciturn Hua Jun: by his initial stiffness and eagerness to take on guard duty rather than join the others in the showers, and by his defense of one of the men mooning over a drawing of his matched sweetheart.

“Honghui and Mulan start off on the wrong foot in the conscription camp,” An explained in interviews prior to the film’s release, “but throughout the journey of the training, Honghui kind of sees something in Mulan that [the] other boys don’t. It’s that leadership quality, and the perseverance, and how composed she is, really. So he sees something in her that he goes, ‘Yeah, there’s something special about this young dude.’”

A line like that could be read as queer or not depending on one’s perspective. Bustle did ask An if he were ready to become an LGBTQ icon, as Li Shang’s successor, and he said, “I am.” Yet despite it being 2020, none of this is spoken about overtly. It’s still a matter of reading into the movie’s subtext… so, let’s do just that.

In place of “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” is a training scene in which Honghui and Hua Jun spar as equals, both of them learning the moves together. If anything, Mulan demonstrates her superiority when Honghui goads her into using her qi to wipe the smirk off his face. That scene, with its physicality and sense of playfulness, is very much the same vibe as Shang’s stunned smile when he gets Mulan’s foot to his face in “I’ll Make a Man Out of You.”

A significant and welcome change, however, is the bathing scene. In the animated movie, it’s played for laughs, with Mulan sneaking away to the water and instead getting confronted with all of her fellow soldiers’ nakedness. That awkward interaction happens in the tent in the live-action movie; when Mulan-as-Hua-Jun steals away to take a solo dip, it’s Honghui she runs into.

Shang would never deign to bathe with his trainees, but Honghui doesn’t have that hang-up. His ease around Hua Jun is the same as in the tent a few scenes prior, when they had a heart-to-heart about Honghui’s nervousness about talking to potential matches. “Talk to her like you’re talking to me,” Mulan had advised him about women; but when they’re treading water together, Honghui amiably close, she’s the one who’s tense and nervous—about her secret getting revealed, obviously, but also regarding her growing attraction to him.

Of course, she combats this by being brusque; when Honghui asks if they can be friends, she responds, “I’m not your friend.” He takes this in stride: “Very well, but you are my equal. We fight together against the same enemy. I will do all I can to protect the others. You can turn your back on me, but when the time comes, do not turn your back on them.” He consistently surprises her by respecting her boundaries, while still challenging her to see herself as part of this army. He engages her sensitively and candidly, because he thinks he’s talking to another man; if he knew she were a woman, he’d get tongue-tied. Together, they can speak freely and, despite her disguise, be genuine and true with one another.

Still, the dynamic doesn’t quite meet the standard of Shang, because Honghui doesn’t have to grapple with the dilemma of rank and power; the producers sanded off those edges. What’s more, the pivotal why-trust-Mulan moment in the live-action version is given to Honghui, changing the mood of that scene: When she returns to the Imperial army—despite Commander Tung’s threat to murder her if he saw her again—to warn them about the Rourans attacking the Imperial City, at first no one will hear her. Then Honghui speaks up: “You would believe Hua Jun. Why do you not believe Hua Mulan?”

What follows is a tonally odd, Spartacus-esque gesture of all of Hua Jun’s friends proclaiming, “I believe Hua Mulan.” The moment, intended to be inspirational, comes off as emotionally uneven because it takes the words out of Mulan’s mouth; yet it gives Honghui the conviction that Shang lacked. This love interest doesn’t seem that bothered that the soldier in whom he saw a kindred spirit turned out to be a woman; making the leap from Hua Jun to Hua Mulan seems to have been much easier for him. Just like the guarantee that Tung would turn on her, it’s taken for granted that Honghui will support her—both changes erasing the key conflict at the heart of Li Shang.

The Queer Subtext of Mulan and Xianniang

Mulan’s scenes with Xianniang, by contrast, are as multifaceted as the many points of connection between the two women. The Rouran warrior witch reflects potential fates for Mulan: a girl exiled from her village for her use of qi; an older woman who carves out her place in the world (until she gives up trying); a would-be ally and mentor. In that last respect, perhaps, she has more in common with Li Shang than Honghui does. Like the captain, she initially strives to keep her distance from Mulan, but cannot resist engaging with her—first to taunt her for her deception, but later to offer an alliance, and ultimately to help her.

If you’re watching their four pivotal interactions—each of which directly affects the tide of their war—as a queer person, you may read a particular tension, beyond that of two opposing fighters, into these scenes. How Xianniang casually strokes Mulan’s sword in one moment, only for it to slice her hand in the next. The withering impatience she has for the younger woman’s subterfuge—telling her that her deceit poisons her qi, which she should be strengthening instead—and the tender empathy with which she regards her counterpart after Commander Tung casts her out. The conviction with which she says, “We are the same” and “Join me” and “We will take our place together.” Yes, she’s talking about them reshaping society through their fury and their power… but there is such emotional depth to those words that she has to be talking about more than that.

Disney has an unfortunate history of coding most of its villains as queer, at best playing into offensive stereotypes and at worst ascribing monstrous qualities to seemingly LGBTQ+ characters. As SYFY Wire describes, those biases translate into male villains coming off more effeminate than hyper-masculine heroes, and female villains who lack the scruples of wholesome Disney heroines, instead actively corrupting princesses and anyone else in their path.

Never does Xianniang try to corrupt Mulan; instead, she urges the younger woman to remove her disguise and be true, echoing exactly what Mulan wants for herself. Her offer for Mulan to join her side comes out of a legitimate desire to reshape the world; unfortunately, Xianniang has only known violence, so that is the only way she can envision change. And when Mulan refuses, but still winds up targeted by Böri Khan, Xianniang takes the arrow meant for her and dies in her arms with a heartfelt final blessing to “take your place, Mulan.” This narrative choice is problematic on its own, for invoking the trope of Bury Your Gays—but at this point, can’t we agree that it’s incredibly queer?

Honghui’s journey (mirroring Shang’s) is in realizing that Mulan is everything he could want in a woman, while recognizing that he was already attracted to those qualities when he thought she was a man. Xianniang is never fooled by Hua Jun; she always sees Mulan clearly as who she is, and (like Shang) crosses the distance between them to celebrate every single aspect of Mulan’s personality that society would punish her for. It would seem that she is truly the one who sees something that no one else does.

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Mulan is available now on Disney+.

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lorrainewiseman · 4 years

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Leadership Is More of a "Practice" Than a "Theory"

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Lessons from our recent Leadership Academies with clients.

Summary of article key points:

Leadership is more about practice than theory, even if theory can inform some relevant insights as part of a leadership development programme.

Leadership is a blend of art and science. Some leaders are born / pre-equipped better than others (nature), but intelligent training and development (nurture) can enhance virtually anyone’s leadership capability.

Theories and models have a use, but only to underpin “practice” in leadership and real world outcomes.

Functional skills and previous performnace are no guarantees of future leadership capability.

You will only get the leadership qualities that you select and train for.

The cost of promoting without leadership skills and then desperately seeking to equip people with adequate leadership skills can be high in human and economic terms.

Well-designed internal leadership academies can help when they match enhanced leadership awareness and capability to actual business needs.

_______________________________________________________________

Main article:

For centuries much has been written about the “science” and the “art” of leadership.

Most of us have read and absorbed elements of this wisdom (and too often perhaps some of the come and go fads rather than wisdom). Many of us have subsequently pondered that age-old question about leadership; “are great leaders born, or are they made”?

Based on our experiences we have found that effective leadership capability tends to arise from a little of both in terms of settling that ‘nature versus nurture’ debate? Sabre’s recent work on a number of high-level leadership academies (including one that was integral to the Coles turnaround) has confirmed that whilst there are many valid theories and models for the “science” of leadership, it’s often the “art” of leadership that still evades adequate capture and definition.

Many businesses simply don’t get it right, but it’s reassuring to see those that do reap the positive rewards that flow so evidently from putting in the effort.

It is certain that nature does equip some people better than others in terms of their leadership traits (from a genetic, neurological and thence a behavioural perspective). There are those who just seem pre-loaded with healthy measures of IQ, charisma and also enough EQ to meld it all together in a way that gets their people to where they need to be.

Arguably though the honing of these skills that may at first glance seem to be gifted from “nature” can be attributed in at least part also to a degree of “nurture.” For example, the development of complex neurological systems and patterns that drive much of our behavior (social systems of the brain, core belief patterns and embedded personality) can be traced to responses to external stimulus over the course of a lifetime.

It is however equally certain that proper approaches to ‘nurture’ can be used to raise the bar for virtually anyone who wishes to play the leadership game by enhancing awareness of their own strengths, areas of struggle and weakness as they manifest day to day.

Discipline is then required to act upon those insights of self-awareness to help cultivate better leadership capability for their own personal and professional circumstances.

One thing we often see is that being gifted in a particular functional skill or specialization, even to the point of genius, is no assurance that you can then lead a group of former peers in that field (or indeed any other).

Regular experiential “practice” of leadership comes into play as a valuable tool for enhancing the quotients of leadership talent that are gifted or acquired from our own recipe of nature and nurture. In the cut and thrust of day to day work life we don’t always have adequate time to discern the true source of, and impact of our leadership and team role styles.

Current research and models from such emerging fields as neuroscience confirm some leadership theories and debunk others, and are often very useful in framing approaches and delivering ongoing insight. They are at the end of the day however just more tools for the toolbox, with leadership capability itself something that needs to be lived and developed day to day and powerfully linked to real world outcomes.

One of the clearest examples that I have observed was in the military when being selected for and subsequently entering into Army Officer training. Now whilst not all attributes of military leadership are relevant to commercial or non-military endeavours, it’s safe to say that many are with respect to the human dynamics of leadership (particularly leading amidst complexity).

For Officer selection the emphasis was first and foremost upon personal leadership capability (and the potential to hone it further for a military environment). It was only much later after rigorous training in general military skills and leadership that relevant specialist streaming was done into various specializations and functional skills.

In commerce the reverse is often the case, where people are selected and promoted firstly with their “functional” skills and credibility strongly in mind (e.g. a great engineer, lawyer, stockbroker, salesman) with their leadership skills seldom given the same rigorous analysis as their functional results.

The Officer selection process was designed to reveal “leadership” potential first via a careful blend of psychometrics followed up with a host of mental and physical challenges that were rigorously observed by an experienced leadership selection panel. Their emphasis for selection was first upon core leadership traits exhibited under pressure, and the potential to polish those.

It was only much later that the aptitude for possible functional roles was to be explored. Functional experience and past performance, whilst taken into account if it was present, was never taken as an assurance of future leadership capability.

In commerce the best and brightest performer in a functional sense may not be the best person to lead a team of their former peers (unless they have been equipped by nature and nurture to lead also). The skills for leadership often exist outside of our functional skills, and are deserving of attention.

The military naturally values both individual leadership capability, and functional proficiency in an Officer’s chosen trade post graduation (e.g. Infantry, Armour, Artillery, Intelligence etc), but the term “General Service Officer” is used to describe Army Officers upon graduation, and is used to imply that it’s the “Officer” bit (your designated status as a leader) that comes first, and any functional / technical proficiency that may come later is second.

So much so that in theory any General Service Officer can be moved to or seconded into to virtually any military role or command should it be required of them. Of course you won’t get far, or get much respect form peers or subordinates if you don’t have some credible functional capability also, but the foundation is first your personal “leadership brand” which can be transferred into almost any other challenge.

Again, the military doesn’t always get it right, but there is much to be said for the “leadership first” approach given to seeking and honing “Leadership DNA” as part of the overall process of developing organisational leadership talent. This in tandem with functional capability is ideal. Both matter, but the “personal leadership capability” bit is often overlooked in commerce (or considered as a clear second to ticking all the boxes on functional results and skills).

We have all seen people who are highly adept specialists in their given field (e.g. engineer, lawyer, doctor, stockbroker, IT professional) given leadership roles after getting runs on the board functionally speaking, without necessarily coming equipped with the requisite inter-personal and leadership awareness to handle the “non-functional” challenges of leadership.

Even being a respected genius at your chosen trade, does not ensure that you may end up out of your depth when asked to lead a cohort of your former peers (unless you have the “leadership bit” sorted first)?

The low morale, high turnover, friction and inefficiencies that can arise from poorly lead dysfunctional teams costs a great deal in both personal and economic terms This is where teams that on paper may have fall the boxes ticked for functional brilliance with their professional skills, experience and qualifications can simply fail through poor leadership and poor teamwork.

In a military environment the price paid for this is often instant, but in business it’ can be slower and more insidious, but the outcome is the same, your team takes casualties and loses.

The ideal package for a leader is perhaps having enough functional proficiency to establish credibility, whilst also ensuring that they have been given ample opportunity to properly explore and develop their own leadership capability before being advanced to lead others. There is thus far less chance of being caught out of their depth in the all-important “leadership bit”.

So how can business get the balance right?

It is our assertion that businesses can ‘cherry pick’ from the very best of the military approach by carefully designing and delivering their own internal leadership academies to target existing and emerging leaders. This enables people to build and develop upon existing leadership skills within the critical context of what they actually need to do and deliver within the business.

Time taken “outside” of the business, but very much “about” the business can really pay off when leadership development is tailored to meet business needs.

We have been involved with several wonderful examples at Coles where senior leadership skillfully identified a need to design a series of highly tailored leadership academies for enhancing personal leadership capability. This is one of the few examples where we have seen a company achieve such a wonderful balance of leadership capability development wedded to real world needs and outcomes.

Coles recognized leadership capability development as a key factor in itself and that it was by “practicing” it in tandem with cutting edge theory that worked best. It was our privilege to be invited to work with Steve Robinson and Dr Malcolm McGregor who were brought in by the Boards of Coles and Wesfarmers to craft the overarching strategy for these approaches.

An enormous amount of design work was done to ensure that every aspect of the Academy would hone and develop each individual’s leadership capability, but very much with the business in mind and putting valid personal insights immediately into practice.

The blending of theory and practice in facilitation was done very carefully to ensure constant linkages back to a leader’s daily planning, interactions with their own teams and daily execution. The careful and intelligent exploration of personal leadership styles was matched to personal leadership plans and real world business scenarios. This was all within an environment that focused meaningfully upon people taking responsibility for and ownership of their own development and the impacts of their behavior (in both tailored simulations and shared real world case studies).

Participants were existing leaders within the business, and emerging leaders with high potential who were engaged in meaningful pre programme diagnostics followed by an intensive 7 day residential programme with targeted follow though, mentoring and coaching back into the business.

Theory was carefully linked to real world and business case studies were used throughout and the targeted experiential content was linked powerfully and intelligently to individual profiling and learning. Leadership was lived and “practiced” throughout.

All approaches used were of sufficient complexity and sophistication to meaningfully engage intelligent leaders (there certainly weren’t any tacky reality TV show rip off team games or treasure hunts). This is very much along the lines of what most successful military academies embrace, and that is to take the time to properly select leaders then develop and hone personal leadership capability itself as a powerful enabler for better functional capability and success to follow.

Some well selected theory is fine, but at the end of the day it’s all about putting it into practice.

This was reflected in the outcomes that ensued for the many alumni of this Coles academy, and the turnaround demonstrated by Coles as a company and as a brand.

Yes there is a price to pay in terms of taking key people outside of the ‘day to day’ business for a time, but it’s important not to forget that ongoing development of leadership capability is still very much “about the business” when it’s done well.

Investing in leadership capability in this way removes the “lucky dip” approach of selection primarily for a person’s functional skills, then finding out all too late that real world productivity and lost opportunities has been caused by poor leadership that transfers into low performing teams.

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annandrade1995 · 4 years

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Cat Pee Parasite Jolting Ideas

A cat in your home is to get certain types of kitty having forgotten who you are communicating when you come to live a happy life for many reasons including behavior or environmental modification will work.is not happy that we were very surprised to learn how to prevent fleas.Don't bite the hand that provides the most common type of cat fluAs with any solution, be it home made or shop bought, prior to use.

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Can A Spayed Female Cat Still Spray

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Cat Urine Smells Sweet

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#Cat Pee Parasite Jolting Ideas #Cat Pee No More

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theoneloneblogger · 4 years

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Retrospective Rumours Part Five: The Reforms of a King

Perry’s Retrospective Rumors: S2E5 - The Reforms of a King

Note: Some of the following is a fictional and romanticized version of true accounts and should not be held to historical scrutiny.

As I reflect on the massive amount of time I have devoted in the past when a Charity Shop Manager I am led to wonder about the amount of appreciation and respect that is currently held for our beloved institutions by the Charity Commission. The word charity not only relates to charity shops but to the half way houses, rehabilitation centers and help groups; the day centers organizational care establishments and mental health in general. Now the Charity Commission isn’t responsible for all of these things of course but the sociological view of them covers so many bases its unreal today. There is as much dust under the Charity Commissions moldy carpet as there ever was. Still, perhaps we should be grateful, for we don’t see the sumptuous, carpet, dripping with neglect and entropy, at the back of the shop. Moreover, in this age of compact and marketed paranoia, the dust has turned to ashes and the residue has been diligently wrapped in red tape, thrown away by a loving beaurucratic.

Arthur Wesley, Duke of Wellington was temporary priminister when the First Reform took place and looked tentatively into the way in which the unfortunate members of society are treated; walked. It was 1832 and the noise from the protestations outside 10 Downing Street swamped his ears. The National Political Union had so much to say about the dissolution of Rotten Boroughs that it was overwhelming. Certainly he couldn’t cope with the mess that he felt Lord Charles Grey had left him when Arthur took over office. The First and Second Reforms had been a total failure as far as opposition was concerned. By Royal decree his efforts to subjugate the opponents of parliamentary reform were causing so much rioting and rise in the Chartist revolution that his time in office was now at a close. Perhaps that was for the best.

Cecil Jackson-Cole was instrumental in setting up some of the first charity shops that focused on the poor and needy. Oxfam was one of his greatest achievements. Since the House of Commons Charity Bill that went through on the 13th of July 2006, and the Health and Safety Programme of 2007 things for our altruistic friends have become increasingly more difficult. Heartless corporations and groping institutional departments sweep the understanding nature of our compassion like great dustpans and we only have to look at the recent mind numbing, sumptuously absurd behavior of charity Green Crescent Bangladesh UK who were only recently accused of funding terrorist activity in 2017 to see the corruption oozing from such institutions.

How far exactly have we come since the Third Reform Act was instituted by Royal decree in 1832? Work Houses continued to flourish at that time and the efforts of the reinstated priminister, Lord Grey were in comparative vein. As a consequence, and Lord Arthur Wellingtons reputation took a vital hit until he was called back again to parliament after his valor in France some years later. As far as the poor of the age were concerned little had changed. They all still toiled in the fields and brick yards and their conditions were little amended. Most of the changes instituted focused on the wealthy and middle cases, which were now divided between the working classes even more than before.

In the modern age of charitable life Andrew Hind, Chief Executive of the Charity Commission said; "We are working with relevant law enforcement and other agencies to investigate the allegation that terrorist activity is connected with the charity. The matter is of serious concern to us, and we are taking this action given the gravity of the matter, the public interest and the need to protect charity work and funds.” Have we seen anything resolved from this?

Certainly any such resolution is comparable to the days when the Whigs won over the common man as usual. Jewish emancipation was on the rise in the 1800’s and the third reform instituted the first protestations toward the Women’s right to vote. The Chartist movement was on the rise and it led to the instigation of the poor being looked at with greater urgency. Ultimately the Great Reform Act was the first port of call in the rise of modern democracy. Charity shops were not set up in their current form until the late 1940’s and no one batted an eye lid at the way in which poor houses were contemptuously taking advantage of the reserve labour force available.

However, despite the numerous legislations winding themselves around contemporary charities, like unstoppable growth inhibitors, high street outlets seem to be thriving. For instance, Government officials, apparently, are failing to stop the bulging and swelling of charity shops taking over the center of Welshpool it was claimed even today. The irate members of the local council are crying that high streets all over the country are being overwhelmed with charity shops taking advantage of rate relief and pushing away local traders. Apparently, ‘Charity shops get 80 per cent rate relief” so when it comes to paying rent they can afford to pay more.” It is unfortunate also that public awareness of the sort of wealth that flows in and out of philanthropic emporiums is also growing.

The number of people choosing to shop at village charity shops is, as a result, decreasing from the rate of several years ago. This last might be indicated by the fact that last year’s figures on the Charity 250 Index went down by 3.74 %; a disappointing realization since the average for such is 7.7 % per annum. Are we to blame for not giving, or are` the charities to blame for not asking nicely enough, and taking without saying thank you? Probably a bit of both. The statistics are not doing the running of outlets many favour. Much has to be spent on badly judged and constraining regulations that seem to change every day between brunch and teatime. Compliance with the laws we all must abide has become so awkward that it is now the case that not more than twelve people are allowed in a shop at any one time. This situation, exacerbated by the new Anti-Ageism Legislation that was being inserted into the workplace in 2006, with a painful twist, that is not being received at all well by managers and trustees.

There is of course the insistence that Quality Control must have their say. Is it not enough that our daily lives are dictated to by these anal pen pushers, we now have to accept that they have their hands all over our charitable institutions? The fractured result of an attempted free democracy that was instated by the Great Reform Act? All these considerations shops seem to be required to ply such a large amount of their income into complying with these demands that even the larger chains are struggling to break even. Consequently, more than 40 % of their income seems to be going into this and the purpose for which they exist is sidelined. This excessively large governmental intervention, fairly self-evidently, has been occurring for so long now that the public at large are losing confidence that their money is going where it is needed. As a result, the smaller charities are losing the war on both sides.

The theory is underlined by the fact that the prices at these establishments have risen so noticeably. A very fine pair of jeans can be found in many large supermarket chains for two pounds fifty, and similarly in other accessible outlets. Whereas an almost identical pair of accoutrements are prodded every day in your local charity store, at four pounds fifty. Parochial Charity Shops today can be perceived as a shattering micro empire within the shattered empire of our nation. If the governing body of the charity commission were a leadership party they would have no voters, excepting the small majority clinging to an old and struggling sweater.

It seems that the, remaining, majority of their wealth comes from self-important middle classes, who seem to think that just because they deliver a few flyers it somehow gives them the right to feel good about themselves. Perhaps the answer to all the questions concerning the validity of charity shops in our society today lies not in the high street at all but further afield. It is with the suburban, or even the parochial, that the future of the market lies. It is one of the Charity Commissions top priorities, in the legislations of 2006, that an outlet is to support, and build, or at least contribute towards, a common trust with the community.

As such we find that it is not to the town shops that we find this type of understanding and communal spirit but the smaller shops beyond. Having managed such a shop, myself for the last year, (almost on an everyday basis), I find myself seeing the reason in this school of thought. Charity shops in small village environments tend to receive a higher daily dividend than those in the town because their prices tend to be substantially lower and therefore draw in more custom.

Perhaps on that basis we should all be looking for quantity in our browsing and purchasing and not quality. To further the analogy, I shall be bold and crass enough to say, `it’s not what you’ve got, it’s where you put it. With the highly unlikely hope that charity shops will only extend their baleful influence within the confines of villages and small towns it might even be possible that our landscape is not so blighted after all and that the small efforts put in by Arthur Wesley, Duke of Wellington were not so much in vein as an effort made by an institutionalized soldier in a patriarchal government where he possibly shouldn’t have been. Who’s to say? Reform and protestation on a social scale are, and continue to be, ugly stains resulting in corruption and negligence. Sweeping under the table those that we don’t want to see. Segregation and Fragmentation on an unprecedented scale perhaps? Hearts and souls reside therein. Solitary existence grinds to a halt, without our bearers to help us watch out;

Video

· Video

· Katherine House – Charity Shops, Oct 23 2014

· Wellington – The Iron Duke, BBC, May 15 2017, Richard Holmes

· Mould and Mildew Under The Carpet, Michael Dayton, Sept 13 2018

· Chartists Hetonsgate TRMT Tour, Three Rivers Museum, Feb 1 2016

· How Corporations Became So Powerful, Thought Monster, Feb 23 2015

· Cecil Jackson Cole, Andrews Charitable Trust, Oct 14 2016

· Green Creasant Trust Annual Dinner, May 15 2018

· The Children Who Built Victorian Britain, Documentary Workhouse, Dec 24 2016

· Charity Commission-Safeguarding, Feb 6 2015

· LSE Events, Andrew Holdene, The Productivity Puzzle, Mar 23 2017

· How The Suffragettes Won British Women The Vote, 100 Years Of Women’s Movement, BBC Teach, Jun 9 2016

· Jewish Emancipation and Anti-Semitism Video Project, Feb 20 2017

· Seeding Root Growth Inhibitors Ohio Stat University, April 1 2014

· There is Only One Way Out Of Poverty, Progell, Mar 13 217

· The Charity Commission Trust Welcome Pack, Jul 31 2018

· What Is Discrimination? Equality And Human Rights Commission, 29 May 2018

· Reform Act Of 1832, Richard Rosivouch, Jan 30 2013

· Late 1990’s Tesco Sells Levi Jeans, Supermarket, UK Active Research The Kino Library, Jul 2014

· Come Thrift with Us, Aug 1 2018

· An Introduction To Charity Legislation, Institute Of Fundraising, Feb 3 2012

· Urban Revitalisation For All Webinar, Island Press, Jul 2 2018

· Fragmentation And Polarisation Of European Politics, Sarah De Hounge, University Of Amsterdam, Social Science Research, Jan 23 2018

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zipgrowth · 6 years

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Reading the Trend Lines Reshaping Education: A Look at Bryan Alexander’s Book in Progress

Futurists play a mental game of obsessively tracking what’s new right now and making imaginative leaps to predict what might come, say, ten years out.

So what do futurists say is coming for higher education?

This week EdSurge sat down with perhaps the most well-known futurist of higher education, Bryan Alexander, who is working on new book tentatively titled Transforming the University in the 21st Century, The Next Generation of Higher Education, expected to come out next year. Alexander is also a consultant, speaker and researcher. He puts out a monthly report called “Future Trends in Technology in Education,” and he hosts a weekly video called the Future Trends Forum.

Alexander was a guest on EdSurge Live, our monthly video discussion forum, and attendees asked the futurist about his upcoming book and what’s next for higher ed. Below are highlights from the conversation, edited and condensed for clarity. Or watch the video of the entire discussion.

EdSurge: You’re working on a book about transforming the university for the next generation. Can you give us a preview of the argument you’re making.

Alexander: Sure, happy to. So the first half of the book looks at trend lines that are reshaping higher education in the present. Some of those trends are technological, some of them are within education, some are outside of education—such as demographics and economics.

The second part of the book builds some scenarios for universities down the road. Not necessarily scenarios that I would like to see, but what would happen if certain trends become especially powerful.

Take the medical sector, for example. We already know that in the United States that we have all these trend lines showing that the medical sector is larger than it was before in terms of the numbers of people employed, that more and more people need more and more degrees and certifications, and we know that the sector is getting larger and larger financially. Well, if we extrapolate this trend forward, say 10 years, we can imagine healthcare becoming the leading industry in the United States. If we imagine that happening, we can envision how a campus would be different.

For example, campuses might have more nursing programs, more radiology, more full medical schools. They have perhaps more allied fields such as medical ethics. They may have more and more pre-med programs that are shaped from other programs. And you can think of everything from history to writing to of course the hard sciences. You can imagine this backwards a bit to K-12, where people in high school want to take pre-pre-med programs. It's not a lightning change that transforms the entire landscape, but in many ways we’d just become more medical, and more medically inclined. But that would have an interesting fallout. [For instance,] IT departments would have more to do because much of healthcare has tremendous IT demands—everything from electronic medical records to huge amounts of visualization to very thick bandwidth needs.

Is there another big trend that people might be surprised by or that you are focusing on?

One that I often look for as a positive light is the possibility that we may view the digital revolution as a kind of Renaissance. Ten years from now we may look back at the previous 30 years and realize that we have lived through an unusual boom in human creativity, that we now have this gift of storytelling and publication given to the majority of the human race, that we have new forms of creativity and storytelling, everything from gaming to VR, and this has shown up in education where we have students as makers, where we have faculty making more media and digital storytelling has gone mainstream. Where we have all kinds of practices of visualization and 3D printing to help us imagine and build new facilities and things that are hard to discern.

Are you saying there might be a time later where we look back and wish it had been like that again. Do you see this creative era tapering off now for some reason?

This is part of the power of the scenario rather than the trend, is that the scenario eggs on your imagination. It might be that in 2028, we think we've just lived through this Golden Age, and maybe Moore's Law comes to a halt, which is quite possible. Maybe we shift instead to some kind of anti-creative world—where we have something like massive firewalls, massive amounts of connections being broken thanks to [the end of] net neutrality. We may have gamified authoritarianism like we're developing in China.

The trends are all based on research, they're all based in the present, they're all tangible, they're all thoroughly documented. But the other scenarios are more speculative. So what happens when you take this real world material, stretch it a little bit, and see where it goes? That's the arc of the book, is to give you a whole bunch of trends in the present, stuffed with footnotes and lots and lots of examples, and then take these further and see where our education might go.

It seems like much of the tech coverage in the media used to be about gee-whiz stories, but these days we hear more about the unintended consequences of all kinds of tech, like the latest privacy concerns about Facebook. Do you count yourself an optimist as you looked forward, and have your views about tech changed in the past ten years now that we’ve seen some of these unintended consequences?

I'm not so much a pessimist as someone who is very disappointed. Some of the really atrocious behavior online is stuff that we've experienced before, but this time we've really let it get out of hand. For example, in the gaming universe, there's long been social dynamics like griefers. A griefer is someone who goes into a game and just kills people just to ruin their day. In the 1990's we developed ways of handling that.

There's a fantastic, very powerful essay by Julian Dibbell called A Rape in Cyberspace, which covers the use of the virtual world to torment a female player. It's from 1989. So we had harassment, we had abuse, but we developed norms of all kinds to content with it. We developed laws. We developed policies. We developed practices.

So I'm very disappointed that the troll armies that were burst and spawned in GamerGate were able to, in many ways, run unchecked and to really do harm to an awful lot of people. You know that practice has now gone widespread, where you have versions of troll armies working for, say, the Philippine government, or helping spread the destruction in Myanmar, or backing Trump in different ways.

I find that disappointing and I'm working to imagine different ways forward, where this could go. It's possible that we'll see, for example, widespread government restrictions on social media in the United States against fake news or against abuse. It's possible that we'll see states or private organizations such as Facebook push really hard to have restrictions against abusive content. A recent Pew poll asked Americans who would you like to have help you deal with fake news online, and only 39 percent or so thought the federal government should do that. A clear majority thought that companies should do it, which is interesting.

I'm trying to imagine the different ways that this could go forward and to think about how it would work for education. I do think that we are in an extraordinary time with so much potential for human creativity, for our ability to connect with each other like we're doing now, and for learning. With so much for student empowerment, so much for institutions to better meet the needs of students, so much potential for furthering research, so much potential that we have for boosting learning and access. So right now I'm hedging my bets: I think we have several different paths forward, and I really hope that we avoid the bad ones.

[Audience question] What about the role of parents with this discussion of the future of education? I'm wondering how much that may have come up for you in some of your conversations or as a part of the book?

Many people in education really like to think of education in terms of being parents, which I find fascinating. So you'll see a biologist say, as the mother of a 16 year old… People really do frame themselves that way, but I'm not sure how much longer that will continue, again, given demographics. We had this shift away from the educational institution as a provider of family responsibilities, but we've really reversed that and we've gone back in many ways. Our institutions now not only provide home, not only provide food, not only provide sports and other services, but now we provide increased psychological counseling, we provide increased medical support, we provide more and more student life than we ever had, especially in residential campuses.

In many ways our institutions are taking up that role and becoming more and more parental, and that's one of the reasons for the increased cost of higher education, is because all of those cost money to do.

[Audience questions] What are your thoughts on the difference between the concepts of pedagogy and andragogy?

If you haven't seen this argument, part of it is the idea that [the word] pedagogy involves a major power imbalance. The Greek meaning has to do with training or leading children, for example, and so that may not be an appropriate term for adults. Andragogy is an awkward but still useful term for talking about adults, and brings to mind all the different ways of actually teaching adults that differ. There's even another term—heutagogy, which is an even more awkward term that refers to the self pedagogy of being a self-directed learner.

What I like about these terms is that they each indicate possible ways for structuring learning. Heutagogy reminds us that autodidact is a key part of the learning landscape and we all are autodidacts in different stages of our lives, and we have to figure out, in many ways, how to respond to the autodidacts demands and needs. Steven Downing, for example, has written quite frequently about this. Thinking about students as adults rather than as children really in many ways teaches us to think about the full range of adult life … the idea of an adult being enmeshed in a web of responsibilities and roles.

Reading the Trend Lines Reshaping Education: A Look at Bryan Alexander’s Book in Progress published first on https://medium.com/@GetNewDLBusiness

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