#anyways I have never understand the french revolution more than I have before
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Quid Pro Quo | Michael Gavey x fem!reader
Summary: After being ditched by her friend at the Trinity College Christmas Party, she finds herself enthralled with learning the language of Michael Gavey | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings below the cut!
Part Two: Carpe Diem
Part Three: Veni, Vidi, Vici
warnings: virgin michael, semi-public sexual conduct, oral sex (m receiving), heavy petting
If she has to listen to Professor Wardon swoon over Ancient Greek and how it ‘drove him to pursue his dreams in extending his passion to other students’, she thinks she might actually fall asleep.
She's in a good spot to do so, nestled between two other students, the one on her right seemingly just as bored as her, and conveniently hidden behind a tall, lanky first year, who sits straight, with his head perfectly obscuring hers as he fixes his posture regularly.
Several times throughout, she's checked her watch, and yet the second hand never seems to move an inch.
Professor Wardon is just about to go on a lovesick spiel about Homeric Greek when the lecture concludes with a heaved sigh from every student as they sling their hefty bags over their shoulders.
“Remember I want 2,500 words on Les Liaisons dangereuses in my pigeon hole by next Thursday, before your Christmas parties!”
“Oh joy,” she sighs with a grin to the girl walking shoulder to shoulder beside her as they leave, feeling noticeably lighter knowing that that's their last lecture before Christmas break.
“Christ, you're telling me. I can't be arsed to even right my own name at the moment, nevermind read 18th century fucking French.”
She gives a snort in reply, “Merry Christmas to us, eh? Should do what the French do and have a revolution or something.”
“Yeah, eat our lecturers or something.”
“Alright, I wouldn't go that far.”
“Anyway, I'm off to T Library, see ya, have a good Christmas and don't do anything I wouldn't!”
She waves her off as her friend disappears, the cold air of the outside nipping at her skin that manages to sneak beneath her coat.
Oxford University is not what she imagined at all. She came here very much feeling like an outsider, like there'd been some sort of paperwork mistake and it was supposed to be someone else in her place.
The imposter syndrome seemed difficult to shift, but she'd at least managed to make a couple of friends since starting in September.
Languages had always found her well, and seemingly the only thing she managed to actually understand. People were inconsistent, cruel and fickle. Languages, though they shifted and changed, were firmly rooted in reason and understanding.
As sad as it sounded, conjugating verbs, vowel shifts and rare dialects were the one thing she found herself itching to discover more about. The idea that there was more to uncover seemed exciting and scary at the same time.
And Oxford University was the best place she could be to do that.
All that said, her eagerness to get involved with her studies had left her social life with much to be desired.
In the first two weeks of university alone, she'd gained one friend and lost a boyfriend. And while they were drifting apart anyway, it was still a relatively large blow to her self-esteem and her confidence to actually get out there, socialise and make the most of her first year of freedom.
The only friends she'd made were those on her course. Priya, who'd just abandoned her to stick her nose in books about the Great Vowel Shift, and Anya, who…to be honest, rarely left her room. Seeming more like a ghost than anything else.
It was a wonder she was still a student, with how often she missed classes.
What Anya does do best, is manage to somehow rise out of her pit to drag her to Christmas parties that aren't even run by their college.
Which is why she finds herself somehow at Trinity College campus, where she eyes several scantily clad women wearing revealing Santa costumes adorned with itchy tinsel.
Anya is the sort of girl who, well, every girl kind of wants to be. So much so she sort of wonders why she hangs around with her. She's pretty, fit and fucking clever. Her only downfall is her taste in men, so often being Oxford pretty boys.
So it is absolutely no surprise at all, when two jägerbombs in, Anya has somehow slipped into the arms of one aforementioned Oxford pretty boy, seeming in every way a clone of the previous, with the exception of the way he pairs his Ayia Nappa top with his low rise jeans and the only effort to conform to theme, is a pair of plastic reindeer antlers on his head bobbling side to side.
She grimaces as she watches them suck each other's faces off in a dark corner of the room, ‘Stay Another Day’ by East 17 blaring with a cheap crackle through the speakers as she makes her way through the bodies to somewhere quiet.
She sighs, nursing the rum and coke Anya had sloppily poured her in one hand as she closes the door behind her, shutting out the drunken squeals and cheers for the peace of a quiet common room.
It's still decorated, she notes, but empty. Maybe she could lurk here until Anya is done, if she ever will be.
The deep clack of a pool ball being sucked into a socket makes her jump, realising perhaps that she was not actually alone, as she'd previously thought.
The cool light hung above the battered pool table illuminates his deep red jumper, and the first thing she sees is the way he leans on one leg, standing straight as if he was imitating the rigid pool cue leant before him. The yellow lined detailing around the cuffs highlights his small wrists and big hands that stretch from it as he rubs blue chalk onto the tip.
Her eyes trail up the back of his neck, past the lazy waves of dark blonde hair, clearly due a trim at some point, and to his face, even from this angle able to see how his features sit. With a sharp nose and jawline, and black skinny glasses perched above his cheekbones.
She almost laughs at the way he's almost as tall as the light that illuminates the table, half-thinking that she might never have seen such a strange and yet interesting looking guy.
“Didn't fancy the party?” she finally says, alerting him to her presence.
She doesn't quite expect the way the light bounces off his sharp features, sinking his blue eyes in shadow as his head turns to her with an expression of boredom.
“Not particularly, no.”
His voice is lighter than she thought it would be and part of her wonders if he's putting it on. He presses his glasses further up his nose before assessing his next shot, stalking around the table.
“Why's that?”
This time, when he answers, he doesn't look at her. He simply leans down, and aims.
“Not. Fucking. Invited,” he replies bitterly, missing a yellow, “that's why.”
Her fingertips moisten against the glass as the ice begins to melt, but she pays it no mind.
“So you're lurking about in here instead.”
He plays with the cue in one hand, barely sparing a second glance, a bitter, quiet laugh escaping him.
He misses another red before he heaves a sigh, straightening to look at her again.
“You here alone as well?” he asks dispassionately.
She smiles lazily and shrugs.
“My mate is…a bit preoccupied, if you know what I mean,” she replies, taking an awkward sip of the now watered down drink, “like you, I don't really think these are my thing either.”
He seems to consider her statement for a moment.
“Why come then?”
She shrugs again, “trying to be sociable.”
“With those vapid cunts? Good luck getting any intelligent conversation out of them.”
She watches as he picks up the blue chalk again, applying more when he doesn't even need it in sort of a nervous gesture, his blue eyes averted and pretending to assess his next move.
There's something about him. How judgemental he is and how he forms his words. Perhaps she hadn't expected this sort of guy to be so outwardly honest with his opinions, and for the most part, she can't say she disagrees with the message, just the way in which he said it.
“Can I play?” She asks, leaning over to put her drink down.
“What are you reading?” He asks so suddenly, and out of context, that she does a double take.
She raises her eyebrows, smiling, “Does my answer depend on if I get to play or not?”
There's no answer from him. Shocker of the century.
“Modern Languages.”
“Fucking hell,” he groans.
She's a bit too happy and dizzy on rum to get defensive.
“Is that one of those subjects that sounds way less interesting than it actually ends up being?”
She gives a breathy laugh, “just like languages.”
He hums, as if the answer didn't impress him, “more of a science and numbers man myself, obviously.”
For a moment, it's lost on her why it's obvious.
He takes a sip of his, no doubt, stale beer, wetting his lips after, “Your name is?”
She narrows her eyes teasingly, smiling as she leans against the table, “quid pro quo.”
She enjoys the brief confusion on his face, before he realises what she's said.
“Okay, okay, Michael.”
She smiles, “See? You know what that meant. Who says you're not a languages man?”
It's the first time he seems to duck his head, hiding a blush she's barely able to see.
“I don’t think the Ancient Roman idea of fair exchange warrants the title of ‘languages man’.”
The blue chalk comes off on his hands as he fiddles nervously with it.
“So, am I bestowed the privilege of playing?”
He raises his head, and she can tell he's trying his damndest to not let a little beer-induced smile pass his lips.
“I suppose I could allow you to embarrass yourself in front of me for a bit, if you insist. We'll have to share a cue though.”
She doesn't have the heart to tell him her uncle was a pool player, and so by extension, has played pool for most of her upbringing. Rather, he finds out himself when she pots three yellows in a row.
It's either the alcohol or pity that kicks in when she misses the fourth, holding the cue for him to take.
“You being good at pool wasn't on my bingo card,” he mutters with some nervous teasing in his voice.
They go back and forth for a bit, missing some, potting some, with interspersed conversation between.
“Thought you might have been a Norman-no -mates, like me,” he says quietly as he watches her assess her next shot. Bending to aim.
“You're not far off,” she replies, “first fortnight I was down a boyfriend. Since then, I've only been up two friends and one of them is in the other room having ditched me for the shag of a lifetime.”
She doesn't see it until after she takes the shot, the way his eyes flit back to hers quickly as she rights herself to stand.
Was he checking me out?
As if he was lagging, he only laughs now at what she's said.
“What about you?” She asks, “no girls, or boys, on the scene?”
He blushes a lot when she asks that. And she can't help the fluttering in her chest she feels that someone might find her attractive.
“Can’t say there is.”
She stands close, passing the cue to him, electricity warming her fingertips as she grazes his.
“And why not?”
He scoffs bitterly, “have you seen me?” he mutters, wandering around the table, suddenly unable to shake the feeling of her gaze, “Not too many girls out there looking for the stereotypical nerdy math boy, really.”
“Hm,” she hums, “how unfortunate for them.”
He sinks a red, picking at his red jumper.
“Yeah, they're clearly missing out, huh?”
The bitter and self-deprecating tone of his voice makes her heart sink a bit. He's not a bad looking guy, she thinks. His style, glasses, hair, she would almost say look actually quite cute.
Maybe that's the thing he doesn't like.
“No interest? Or is maths the only one for you?”
He misses the next shot and sighs, holding the cue for her to take, “clearly, the only one I need.”
She steps close to retrieve, taking her time, looking up at him as she does. At this proximity, Michael sucks in a breath quietly, his lips, which she can't say she'd noticed until right this moment, parting and his Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flit rapidly down her.
A warmth swirls in her gut at that.
She circles the table, “what about in the past?”
He leans against the other side, his hand on the cushion, long fingers splayed on the green fabric. She has to shake her head to break her own trance.
“Can’t say my love life has exactly been a roaring success, honestly.”
The way he says it.
She wouldn't be surprised if he was…
Oh.
“So what? You're focussed on your studies?”
She misses. Too set on the conversation rather than the game.
He gives a mirthless laugh, “Sure.”
She rounds the table, holding the cue for him to take, but when he reaches for it, she pulls back with a smirk.
“So we've established you're not one for languages,” she starts, and Michael furrows his brows in confusion, “have you ever really asked for what you want? Ever?”
He seems to miss what she's trying to say.
“Have you been with a girl?”
At that, his eyes widen slightly, a blush crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears, cheeks near matching his shirt.
She knows she has her answer.
“Well…I…no, I haven't…”
At chest height, she can see the way his breathing elevates.
“And, hypothetically, if a girl expressed interest. What would you say?”
His lips part for a good few seconds before he gives a reply, “I’d…I um…I guess it depends who…”
It's like he's afraid she'll make fun of him for it.
“What about, if it was me?” She asks, her voice lowering as she reaches out to pick some lint off his jumper, like it's the most normal thing in the world. His body goes all rigid as she does.
This isn't normal in his world.
Michael swallows thickly, “you're not taking the Mick out of me, are you?”
She shakes her head, “I just want you to feel comfortable asking for what you want.”
For someone who had so often thought about it, now when faced with the situation, he feels as if he doesn't know what to do or say.
She's still stood with the cue in one hand, close enough so that when she shifts her weight from foot to foot, her knee grazes his leg. It's interesting to watch him think so deeply about it. Convinced he's probably never thought of anything so much in his life.
“What if what I want is…you?”
The tension deepens like the tone and volume of his voice. And without effort, a smile finds its way to her face when she looks at his expression. He's frozen stiff, for once, not knowing what to say.
So nothing shocks her more when he grabs the pool cue as a means of pulling her to him, and he has to duck considerably to press his lips clumsily to hers. He's eager, that much is true, but it's clear he's inexperienced. But instead of causing discomfort, she thinks it's quite endearing.
The pool cue clangs to the floor as she braces her hands on his shoulders and chest, guiding his lips with her own in a slower, more careful movement. She feels the edge of the pool table bite into her lower back when he presses her against it, clearly excited, if the hardness that's flush to her stomach is anything to go by.
The hands she had been staring at not half an hour ago are bruising as they trace her waist and hips, with a grip tight enough to tell her exactly how much he's enjoying the experience.
For a moment, they're not in a common room alone, against a pool table, with ‘Cheetah-licious Christmas’ playing in the room over, the bass of which rumbles through the floor and into their chests.
The kiss lasts a long while, and she has a feeling he wants to savour it as if it's the last time he will ever be able to do it.
One of her hands snakes its way to the back of his head, fingers gripping at his hair to pull him closer as either of them tilt to aid more contact between them. And at the little amount of tugging, Michael whines into her mouth, prompting him to pull away.
He looks halfway between mortified and pleased, his glasses having skewed to one side with the eagerness of what they'd done. And she laughs a bit, reaching up to fix them, which seems to make the mortification fade somewhat from his face.
Michael looks down between them, where his obvious erection is pressed to her, and pulls away slightly with a scarlet blush.
“Shit - sorry-”
“It's fine,” she reassures, “no need to be embarrassed.”
The words alone would be enough, if her hand hadn't snaked between their bodies to brush her palm over him. And if it were possible, his flush spreads to his neck, words failing him once more.
Her eyes flicker up to his, their lips all kiss-bruised and swollen.
“If you don't want to-”
“No, no, I want to…” he says, immediately embarrassed about how quick it was.
She smiles, one hand palming him through his jeans and the other trailing up his chest, “Sit down.”
He backs up to sit on a nearby sofa, watching with a kind of adoration as she makes space between his legs, her eyes glimmering at him as she slowly undoes his belt.
“If at any time, you need to stop, tell me.”
He gives a nervous laugh, his stomach muscles tightening, wondering probably if this is really happening to him, “Not sure I will want to…”
She smiles reassuringly, watching as his lips part as she palms him through his boxers, trying to suppress how impressed she is with his size.
It's always the skinny white guys.
“Well, the offer's there.” She smirks, pulling him from his boxers, Michael gives a suffered breath, feeling her touch on him and also her breath so close. He almost feels dizzy. The thought of this happening in this situation, with a party going on next door, is dangerous and exciting in equal measure.
She knows he has very limited experience, so decides not to tease him too much.
Michael gasps softly as she licks at the base of him, drawing a wet line with her tongue along the vein underneath, all the way to the tip. She concentrates her efforts slightly on the sensitive spot there before closing her mouth over the head of his cock, sucking gently.
She feels the way his thighs tense, and the blue disappearing as he closes his eyes. His fists are tight beside him, knuckles white, like he doesn't know if he should touch her or not. All he knows right now is that this feeling is brand new, and the sensation is so much already.
She pulls herself from him to run her tongue over his length, one hand moving to his hand, to encourage him. His blue eyes crack open just a bit, to understand what she's trying to tell him.
And she fights the urge to smile as his longer fingers swipe across her temple into her hair, his touch tender, soft and unsure as he holds her by it.
Her lips wrap around him once more, pushing him further into her mouth, taking him steadily and slowly at first. Michael's hips move barely, chasing the friction that he's getting on his cock when she bobs her head on him and hollows her cheeks.
He watches with parted lips and warm cheeks, moving her hair away so he can watch himself disappear into her mouth over and over. Her hand massages the rest of him, giving him two unique sensations in one, something that earns her a deep, throaty moan.
When her eyes open to look at him, he thinks his heart stops in his chest for a split second. He closes his eyes, not able to bear the way she looks with his cock in her mouth if she looks right at him, feeling that if he did any longer he wouldn't last.
The sounds he emits don't stop there as she increases her pace on him, pressing her tongue to the underside of him and taking him deeper into her throat, humming around him at the heady scent of his skin.
It's only when she takes him as far as he will go, working hard to control her gag reflex that he gives the first genuine buck of his hips, tightening in her hair and a far-too-loud moan. If anyone in the next room were quiet and paying attention, they'd likely know exactly what was going on.
“Fuck-”
It only serves to spur her on as she pulls back, moving in a more steady, quick rhythm, that she is sure Michael is loving judging by the rate of his moans and the way he chokes out his words.
His stomach clenches and unclenches, his high creeping up on him as her mouth tightens around his length.
“Shit - you need to - I'm gonna -” he chokes, weakly tugging her hair in an effort to pull her mouth off him before he cums.
If she didn't have his cock in her mouth she'd smile.
Her hand squeezes the base of him, and Michael throws his head back slightly, a long shuddered and choked moan reverberating through his chest. She swears she feels his thighs shake as she stills, warm ropes of his cum taste musky at the back of her throat.
His loud moan is followed quickly by more softer ones as her throat contracts to swallow as much as she can, briefly increasing the tension and friction around his sensitive length.
When she pulls off him with a pleased sigh, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Michael sits up slightly, having to gather his breath.
“Fucking hell…”
She takes it as a compliment and rises to her feet, her hands smoothing her skirt back down.
And she squeaks in delight as Michael quickly tucks himself away, barely doing up his jeans buttons before backing her up to the pool table again, kissing her fervently.
“What about you…do I…” he starts when he breaks away, panting softly. She smiles at the notion but shakes her head. This experience was for him alone.
“Not right now, don't feel inclined to,” she reassured, her hands on his chest, feeling the way his heart is beating rapidly beneath it.
“Right now?” he asks with a quiet, unsure tone, “does that mean…there's gonna be a next time?”
His tone is careful, and yet, she is able to detect something like desire there. An excitement for more, without seeming too eager so that he's not let down if she says no. Something that makes it clear he is 100% on board.
She bites back a grin.
“Quid Pro Quo, Michael.”
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L’manberg, Nationalism, and c!Dream
Okay, I know it’s been done to death, but I’ve been reading Benedict Anderson’s Imagined Communities for a class which talks about nationalism as an imagined community, so nationalism has been on my mind. And, of course, my mind’s natural progression was to start thinking about L’manberg and nationalism again. So, without further ado, here’s my post on L’manberg, Nationalism, and how that played a role in c!Dream’s story arc.
(Also, I haven’t written an essay in ages, and I haven’t done analysis in ages, so please cut me some slack lol)
It’s under the cut because this is a very, very long post (3.2k words long, in fact). (you can also read it on google docs if you'd prefer).
What is Nationalism?
To start this all, we need to take a moment to step away from Minecraft roleplay to actually talk about nationalism itself. Since I know most of you are here to hear about the Minecraft roleplay aspect, I’ll try to keep it as brief as possible, but it is very important for context. I’ll bold (and color) the main points if you just want to read those before skipping down to the L’manberg section, but you’re more than welcome to read all of this.
To understand nationalism, you need to understand a bit about how it came to be, which requires a bit of knowledge about the transition from pre-modern to modern times. In general, this transition is often thought to have occurred in the mid-18th century during the Age of Enlightenment and during the time when a lot of revolutions were taking place, such as the American Revolution and the French Revolution. But it’s important to note that there isn’t really such a clear cut line of when this transition from pre-modern to modern times happened, and, in many ways, this change is still occurring to this day.
The most important aspect of this change to think about in the context of this post is in terms of religion, though I will also briefly talk about the shift from dynastic rule to democracy. I want to start off by briefly talking about this because, in many ways, nationalism has taken on the role that religion held in pre-modern times. (Side note: this isn’t to say nationalism replaced religion, but the widespread role of religion in people’s lives today is different than it was in, say, the 14th century).
In pre-modern times, religion gave people a sense of belonging, and this idea of belonging is something I’ll come back to, but, for now, you should know that nationalism gives a similar sense of belonging. I won’t get into too much detail about why Anderson specifically says this is a sense of belonging to an imagined community, but it basically comes down to the fact that you’ll never know everyone in your community (whether that be religious or national), but you still feel a sense of belonging to the collective.
“Okay, Stella, very interesting, but you still haven’t defined nationalism.” Alright, alright, I’ll define nationalism, which requires me to define a nation. In Anderson’s words, from page 6 of Imagined Communities, “it is an imagined political community—and imagined as both inherently limited and sovereign.” I want you to take a note specifically of it being inherently limited and file that away for later.
I said I was going to briefly discuss the shift from dynastic rule to democracy, so I’ll do that now. So, a couple things about these dynastic rules with centralized power: firstly, it was believed that the monarchs had some sort of divine right to rule from God (see how this ties into religion?), and, secondly, a lot of borders were less defined the further you got from the centralized powers. Obviously, with the shift from pre-modern to modern times, both of these things changed, bringing the idea of giving power to the people, and also bringing more concrete borders.
Anyway, moving on. Nations are imagined as inherently limited because no one imagines one nation as encompassing all of humanity. Yes, in modern times borders are very concrete and defined, but it goes beyond that—in a person’s mind, nations are limited because there are always people who do not belong to the nation. It’s not often thought about, but with a sense of belonging comes exclusion. The entire concept of belonging comes from the idea of being with people who are similar to you, and this implies the existence of people who are so dissimilar that you don’t belong with them, and, thus, they don’t belong with you. It can easily become a double edged sword, I think; there is comfort in belonging to a collective, but it can be all too easy to fall into an “us vs them” mentality, which is going to be an important point moving forward.
So, how does this all relate to a Minecraft Roleplay?
L’manberg and Nationalism
Onto the fun stuff! Minecraft Roleplay! Obviously, L’manberg is a nation, so I’m sure you can already see how nationalism is going to play a role, but let’s get into it. First, though, I’d like to give a minor disclaimer that not everything is going to fit perfectly simply on account of the fact that the DSMP takes place in a very sparsely inhabited world, and, honestly, that alone makes governmental structures of any kind really interesting to look at, but I digress since it’s not the point of this post. (It also means that nationalism as talked about in this post isn’t really an imagined community like Anderson claims it is. From a meta standpoint, you could say this sense of nationalism actually leaked into the audience itself, but in the story it’s not really an imagined community).
The DSMP starts out as a world with no borders and no governmental structures of any kind—it starts with no nations. Rather, the DSMP in itself is a cohesive community to which everyone belongs. It’s not a community like nationalism, nor is it a community like religion, nor is it an imagined community in any way. As previously stated, the DSMP is a sparsely populated world, and, at least at the start, everyone knows each other or knows of each other as an individual. This sense of belonging is more akin to a group of friends than anything else, which I think makes the introduction of nationalism especially interesting.
c!Wilbur. What a guy, am I right? He shows up to the server, and he brings with him capitalism and the idea of monopolizing resources—there’s an interesting post to be made about that, I’m sure, but not the point of this one—and, most importantly, he brings with him the concept of a nation. He’s putting up borders, putting up walls, and essentially dividing a place that used to be united, citing L’manberg as an independent country, which is does not include everyone in the server (it’s limited), and which is separate from the DSMP and essentially is its “own server” (it’s sovereign). Sound familiar? Yeah, it’s ✨nationalism✨
I’ve seen posts talking about the fact that L’manberg was specifically satirizing nationalism, and though, despite my efforts, I couldn’t find these posts (if anyone has them please send them to me! I’d love to re-read them and link them in this post), I do think it’s true. I think there’s a lot to be said about L’manberg from a narrative and meta standpoint, and I think there’s a lot to be said about the fact that c!Wilbur was always written as a villain in the story (and not just during the Pogtopia arc, despite popular belief), but I can’t get into it all in this post. So, what I do want to do is come back to the concept of belonging and how that always comes with exclusion, and I want to talk about the “us vs them” mentality.
The reason I say L’manberg is satirizing nationalism is because it takes these facets of nationalism to the extreme. It’s not just a place made to give people a sense of belonging which in turn creates exclusion; L’manberg is a xenophobic nation, and I would go as far to say that its founding was based more on exclusion than inclusion. That is to say, the exclusive aspect was not just an unfortunate yet inevitable side effect of creating a nation. From the very start, L’manberg was founded on the exclusion of non-Europeons, and, more specifically, the exclusion of Americans. Sapnap actually originally wanted to join, but he was denied because he’s American. L’manberg wasn’t ever some place accepting of anyone who came to it, and it wasn’t a place to be free from tyranny, but let’s get into the idea of L’manberg going against tyranny.
The “us vs them” mentality is already extremely dangerous and something to be wary of, and it’s something I think we should constantly be checking ourselves on, but L’manberg takes that to a further extreme. I don’t want you to think this point is completely separate from the point I made before, because they do very much connect to each other and are intertwined. Nations are limited. This means there will always be people who don’t belong to any given nation. Obviously, in this case, members of the greater DSMP do not belong to L’manberg. (I think it’s also helpful to remember that c!Wilbur specifically didn’t allow dual-citizenship; c!Tubbo initially wanted to be a citizen of both the greater DSMP and L’manberg, but that wasn’t allowed, so in the end he became a citizen of only L’manberg).
But, this wasn’t just a case of the greater DSMP being separate from L’manberg. No, they were tyrants that L’manberg was escaping from. c!Dream was a tyrant that L’manberg was fighting against. It’s taking the “us vs them” mentality to an extreme of “we are the righteous good guys fighting against oppression and tyranny, and they are the tyrants trying to oppress us.” It sure sounds like a noble cause—and you can always count on c!Wilbur to spout pretty words that convince people to play on his terms—but is that really the case? In a place that previously had no nations and no real defined hierarchy of power, how could tyranny exist? As I said before, the DSMP previously was more like a group of friends living in a commune than anything else, and tyranny doesn’t really seem applicable in that context, does it? This is c!Wilbur spinning a narrative that is going to continue to affect the SMP all the way to the very end, and it’s also what places c!Dream and c!Tommy on opposite sides from the very beginning, by establishing that extreme “us vs them” mentality.
(Oh, it should also be noted that the “us vs them” mentality very often leads to the dehumanization of the other side, so keep that in mind for when we get to c!Dream).
(Also there’s something to be said about the L’manberg revolution being heavily based on Hamilton, which is based on the American Revolution, which was a very key part of the transition from pre-modern to modern times and how that relates to nationalism, but this post is already getting long enough).
So, yeah, L’manberg was satirizing nationalism. And, ultimately, L’manberg was never good for the server as a whole.
c!Dream and Nationalism, even in the wake of L’manberg
Ough. c!Dream… :( oh he really did walk the path laid out for him by c!Wilbur to the very end, didn’t he?
Listen, everything c!Dream does on the server is ultimately tied back to the founding of L’manberg, and, in turn, to the introduction of nationalism to the server. One of c!Dream’s primary goals is unity (or, specifically, the unity and simplicity of the server from pre-L’manberg times), and this is antithetical to nationalism, or, at least, to the extreme form of nationalism that L’manberg brought. Because nationalism brought division, and division brought conflict, and conflict brought death (specifically canon deaths). And, well, we all know how much death is a motivator for c!Dream.
(Also, there is something to be said about the start of nationalism and nations on the server not being framed as a good thing in the narrative, how it was satirizing and criticizing the concept of nationalism, and there’s something to be said about how the narrative agrees with the group of anarchists—the Syndicate—who push against the idea of nations. But, well, that’s also a post for another day).
Now, obviously, unity is not c!Dream’s only motivation—actually, I think we’d all agree that the thing that motivated c!Dream the most was fear. But, a lot of this fear does tie back to L’manberg and the narrative built by c!Wilbur. So, let’s for a moment take a look at how this narrative affected other people’s perceptions of c!Dream.
Remember how I said the “us vs them” mentality often leads to dehumanization? Well, well, well. Listen, this is dreblr. The dehumanization of c!Dream has been talked about to death, but that’s because it’s always relevant to his character!! And I’m here to say that this dehumanization started all the way back during the L’manberg revolution when c!Wilbur labeled c!Dream a tyrant. Obviously the dehumanization of c!Dream is incredibly apparent with the revive book and in Pandora’s Vault, but this is not a post about the box, unfortunately (I’m sorry—I know we all love the box here 💔).
c!Dream’s dehumanization started the moment he was labeled as a tyrant and the moment he was labeled as the “enemy.” He became the “them” in the “us vs them” mentality that was adopted by L’manberg. He’s the oppressor they need to defeat, and he’s the monster that needs to be slain. And this is important because this never went away. Even after L’manberg was gone, the concept of nations and the concept of “us vs them,” never went away! c!Dream was still the enemy that needed to be killed! And, over the course of time when L’manberg was still around, c!Dream lost pretty much everyone. Everyone was turning against him, people were using attachments against him, and people wanted to kill him (New L’manberg was planning to execute him under the false pretense of a peaceful celebration!). And, yes, he did plenty of bad things during this time (namely exile), but I think we should also remember that most people did not know about what happened during exile at this time. They wanted to kill him because he was powerful and dangerous, and he wasn’t with them so he was against them because that’s the narrative L’manberg created—if they’re not with us, they’re against us.
Everyone was against him, and he was spiraling (pushed further by the existence of the revive book) to the point that he commissioned the build of a giant, obsidian, inescapable prison and he locked himself in there with the hope that it would protect him and save his life. (☹️) Obviously that didn’t work like he’d hoped, but… well…
As I said before: none of this stuff went away even after L’manberg was gone. The concept of nationalism didn’t magically disappear from the server just because L’manberg was destroyed. Nations kept popping up. The server kept splitting itself into more pieces and factions, and it all became so convoluted. I think it’s important to remember the population of the SMP—they don’t really have enough people to make functioning governments, yet they keep trying to make nations, anyway. They’re following L’manberg’s footsteps. They’re chasing this concept of nationalism.
Obviously this affected everyone’s lives, but it really did ruin c!Dream’s life. The introduction of nationalism is what causes c!Dream’s life to essentially start falling apart. I don’t want to rehash stuff that’s already been said a lot in dreblr, so there’s a lot about c!Dream’s motivations and story that I’m not including, but I want to bring our attention to a certain line c!Dream said in the finale streams: “Why can’t things be simple again?”
Because things were simple before all this! It was a group of friends making a home!! They built the community center because the server was meant to be a cohesive community of friends. There was never a need for nations or governments! It was just a group of friends making a home together! And then it all became so convoluted, and there were nations when there didn’t need to be any, and people were being divided into sides and being divided into “us” and “them,” and it was so irrevocably different from what the server started as. And I don’t think c!Dream ever really figured out how to accept that it was irrevocable :( and even he himself was blindsided by the story crafted by L’manberg and by c!Wilbur, to the point that he didn’t even fully understand his own goals! Because he (and everyone else) got so used to nationalism on the server and factions and conflicts and “us” vs “them,” that he didn’t even realize he just wanted things to go back to how they were :( oughhhh c!dreamie :((
Sorry to devolve into emotions at the end of this, but it’s not an academic paper, so I think you should cut me some slack. It’s just :( “I don’t ever want to be alone” because with nationalism comes exclusion and it eventually brought c!Dream to a point where he was so, so alone and :( He makes me so sad </3
Anyway, the reason the DSMP didn’t end with c!Dream dead at c!Tommy’s hands is because that was never the point of the story—that was the narrative L’manberg was trying to spin, but that was never what the story was actually about. It took up until the very end for them to break free from the story of L’manberg.
(And, it’s been mentioned many times before, but there’s a reason this was never able to happen until c!Wilbur was removed from the narrative. c!Dream and c!Wilbur and c!Tommy are absolutely crucial in each other’s character arcs, and you can’t really understand any of the duo relationships without considering the third (says the person guilty of writing c!Dreambur fanworks without always thinking about c!Tommy lmao, but hey at least it’s not analysis, right?) but that’s also a post for another day).
I never really know how to conclude things. I’m kind of worried I’m forgetting stuff, and I apologize if I did forget stuff, but I’ve been working on this for, like, 4 and a half hours and am getting tired lmao. But my main points are that L’manberg was satirizing and criticizing nationalism, that the concept of nationalism stuck with the SMP until the very end, and that the concept of nationalism from the beginning set up c!Dream to be the villain (and, really, this is largely in part because L’manberg from the beginning set up c!Dream to be a villain, and I don’t think you can feasibly separate L’manberg from nationalism). Thank you for coming to my TEDTalk! Feel free to ask questions and discuss further, and I will do my best to respond lol.
#dreblr#dsmp analysis#dsmp meta#l'manberg critical#oh I don't know how to tag this 🧍♀️#I think this is probably good but if you have any suggestions for tags to add please lmk o7#anyway spent like 5 hours on this lmao putting my time to good use obviously
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My JP Presentation on Hugo’s Ninety-Three
Where I am currently studying, a JP, or junior project, is a presentation required of undergraduates in the third year. Basically we pick a book (sufficiently haloed) to do what is we call a glorified book report, and then a panel of professors roasts the presenting student with while other students watch and get entertained. Below is my presentation. Unfortunately there is no record of the professor’s questions, but I’ll just say that the one I did not expect was whether Cimourdain’s ethics were more Kantian or Aristotelian (although I did bring up Kant’s categorical imperative at some point earlier in the questioning so I was kind of asking for it). Anyway, I’ve been in love with Ninety-Three ever since I first read it in 2021, and I actually have always intended to write a character analysis on tumblr. So here it is some three years later, and I hope that someone out there will be interested.
Professors, friends, and esteemed guests,
I have the honour to present to you today an unparalleled book: Ninety-Three by Mr. Victor Hugo, whom we all recognise as a giant—not just of French letters, but of the world. To our great shame, although other works by Mr. Hugo are frequently read today, Ninety-Three, his last novel, has been largely forgotten; indeed, at this present moment no reputable publishing company is printing it in the English language.
I am here for the express purpose of reviving Anglophone interest in Ninety-Three. I consider this book a work of French Romanticism par excellence, for several reasons. First, it is an exercise of Hugo's literary theory, set forth as early as 1827 in the Preface to Cromwell, though never until now so perfectly demonstrated; second, in it we see the author’s reflections on a momentous point in history, the French Revolution, itself full of dramatic and philosophical potential. Additionally, the book is well-paced— which is perhaps the most difficult achievement of all for a work of this author. In sum, this book has everything that is required for a novel to ascend to the literary pantheon of the western canon: it has drama; it has depth; it is entertaining; it is true. Let us hasten, then, to place it where it deserves to be.
To understand the genius of Ninety-Three, one must understand the symbolic significance of its characters. But before I go any further, let us provide a general idea of the plot. In one sentence, it is a tale of the struggle between republicans and royalists in the Vendée (that is, Brittany), during the height of the Reign of Terror—hence the name, which is short for Seventeen Ninety-Three. Hugo divides the novel into three parts: At Sea, In Paris, and In la Vendée.
The story begins with a sort of prologue, an encounter between the republican Battalion of the Bonnet-Rouge and a Briton peasant woman and her three children, who are fleeing the war. They are quickly adopted by the battalion. We shall soon see why they are important. For the present our attention is redirected to the island of Jersey, an English possession, where a French royalist crew is preparing for a secret expedition. An old man boards the ship. He is in peasant dress, but by his demeanor seems to be an aristocrat. In the rest of At Sea we become acquainted with this jolly royalist crew—only to see them all perish in a naval battle before they ever reach the coast of France. Yet the old man escapes with the sailor Halmalo, and they land in Brittany in a little rowboat. He sends Halmalo off to rouse a general insurrection. Then, upon reading a placard, learns that his presence in Brittany has been known, and that someone named Gauvain is hunting him down, which sends him into a shock. Despite his dire situation, our protagonist is recognised by an old beggar named Tellemarch, who conceals him. We discover that he is none other than the Marquis de Lantenac, Prince in Brittany, coming back to lead the rebellion.
In the second part, In Paris, we are introduced to another character: Cimourdain. Cimourdain is a revolutionary priest, a man of iron will, with one weakness only: his affection for a pupil he had long ago, who was the grand-nephew of a great lord. At this period, however, Cimourdain dedicated himself completely to the revolution. Such was his formidable reputation that Cimourdain was able to intrude upon a meeting of the three terrible revolutionary men, Danton, Marat, and Robespierre, and cause his opinion to prevail among them. Robespierre then appoints Cimourdain as a delegate of the Committee of Public Safety, and sends him off to deal with the situation in Vendée. He is told that his mission is to watch a young commander, a ci-devant noble, named Gauvain. This name also sends Cimourdain into a shock.
Gauvain, in fact, is none other than the grand-nephew of the Marquis de Lantenac, in whose household the priest Cimourdain had been employed. Although they have not met for many years, there is a close bond between the master and pupil, and both adhere to the same revolutionary ideal. Hugo has set the stage. In the last part, In la Vendée, these epic forces are hurled against each other in the siege of the Gauvain family’s ancestral castle, La Tourgue. On the one side, we have the republican besiegers, Gauvain and Cimourdain, and on the other, the Marquis de Lantenac and his Briton warriors, the besieged. The Marquis has one last card to play: he has, as hostages, the children of the Battalion of the Bonnet-Rouge. For the safety of his party, he offers the life of the three children, whom he has placed in the chatelet adjoining the castle of La Tourgue, which will be burned upon attack. The republicans refuse. The siege begins, bloody for the republicans, hopeless for the royalists. At the last moment, by a stroke of fate the royalists contrive to escape, leaving behind an exasperated republican army, and a burning house. The republicans try to rescue the children, but find this impossible, as they can neither scale the walls of the chatelet, nor open the iron door that leads to it. As this is happening, the Marquis hears the desperate cries of the mother in the distance. Beyond all expectation, he returns, opens the door with his key, steps into the fire, and saves the children. Thereupon he is seized by Cimourdain, who proclaims that Lantenac will be promptly guillotined. Yet unbeknownst to Cimourdain, Lantenac’s heroic act of self-sacrifice set off a crisis of conscience in the gentle Gauvain, who fought for the republic of mercy, not the republic of vengeance. The final battle takes place in the human heart.
I will not divulge the ending. Already we can see that these characters are at once human, and more than human. “The stage is an optical point,” says Hugo in the Preface to Cromwell, “Everything that exists in the world—in history, in life, in man—should be and can be reflected therein, but under the magic wand of art.” Men assume gigantic proportions. They become ideas. The three central characters each represent a force. In the lights and shadows of their souls, we have symbols of the lights and shadows of a whole age. The fifteen centuries of feudalism, the Bourbon monarchy, the France of the past, when condensed into an object is the looming castle La Tourgue, and when incarnate is Lantenac. The twelve months of the revolutionary terror, the Committee of Public Safety, the France of the moment, is as an object the guillotine, as a man Cimoudain. The immense future is Gauvain. Lantenac is old; Cimourdain middle-aged; Gauvain young.
Let us look at each of these characters in turn.
I admit that Lantenac is my favourite character. In his human aspect he is impressive, and very compellingly written. Almost immediately upon introduction, he manifests a ferocious justice in the affair of Halmalo’s brother, a gunner who endangered the whole ship by his neglect, and who saved it in a terrifying struggle between vis et vir, between an invincible brass carronade and frail humanity. Lantenac awarded this man the Cross of Saint-Louis, and then had him shot. To the vengeful Halmalo, his justification is this: “As for me, I did my duty, first in saving your brother’s life, and then in taking it from him [...] He has failed his duty; I have not failed mine.” This episode sums up Lantenac’s character. True to life and true to the principle of romantic drama, Lantenac contains both the grotesque and the sublime, sometimes even in the same action. Like the Cromwell that inspired in posterity such horror and admiration, he shoots women, but saves children. He martyrs others, but is at every point prepared to be the martyr.
As an idea he is the ultimate embodiment of the Ancien Régime. Though himself unpretentious, Lantenac is perfectly aware of the role he must play. He demonstrates perfectly, unlike conventional aristocrats in literature, the principle of noblesse oblige and the justice of the suum cuique. He believes that he is the representative of divine right, not out of arrogance, but as a matter of fact. “This is the question,” he tells Gauvain in their first and last interview, “to be a Great Kingdom, to be the ancient France, [is] to be this magnificent land of system [...] There was something fine and noble in this system. You have destroyed it [...] like the miserable ignoramuses you are [...] Go! Do your work! Be the new man! Become pygmies! [...] But leave us great.” The force which animates Lantenac is his duty, merciless, towards the old monarchical order—until the principle was overcome by the man, who was still able to be moved by helpless innocence.
The first thing that Hugo felt it was necessary to know about Cimourdain is that he is a priest. “He had been a priest, which is a solemn thing. Man may have, like the sky, a dark and impenetrable serenity; that something should have caused the night to fall in his soul is all that is required. [...] Cimourdain was full of virtues and truth, but they shine out against a dark background.” There is an admirable purity about him: it is symbolic that we always see him rushing into the thick of battle, but never firing his weapon. He aids the poor, relieves the suffering, dresses the wounded. By his virtues he seems Christlike, but unlike Christ, his is an icy virtue, the virtue of duty, not love; a justice which knows not mercy—“the blind certainty of an arrow,” which imparts to this sublimity a touch of the ridiculous. It is a short step from greatness to madness. Still, there remains some humanity in Cimourdain, on account of his love for Gauvain. Through this love that he is able to live, as a man, and not merely as the mechanical execution of an idea.
On the surface Cimourdain has renounced his priesthood. But, Hugo reminds us, “once a priest, always a priest.” He is still a priest, but a priest of the Revolution, which he believes to have come from God. There is a similarity between Cimourdain and Lantenac, though they are on the two diametrically opposed sides of the revolution. Both are bound by duty to their cause. Both are ferocious. When Robespierre commissioned Cimourdain, he answered: “Yes, I accept. Terror against terror, Lantenac is cruel. I shall be cruel. War to the death against this man. I will deliver the Republic from him, so it please God." Quite appropriately he is represented by the image of the axe—realised in the guillotine erected in the final chapter. As with Lantenac, the Cimourdain of relentless revolutionary justice eventually finds himself face to face with the human Cimourdain, the spiritual father of Gauvain, the embodiment of mercy.
Gauvain at a glance seems to be a character of simple conception: his defining characteristic is an almost angelic goodness. He is also the pivotal point in the story: on one hand, he is the son of Cimourdain, a republican, and on the other, he is the son of the Gauvain family, Lantenac’s heir. Through him, we are reminded that the Vendée is a fratricidal war. Allusions abound in the novel, for example, when Cimourdain declared his brotherhood with the royalist resistors, a voice, implied to be Lantenac’s, answered, “Yes, Cain.” Gauvain finds himself caught in the middle of such a frightful war. At first, he was able to overlook his kinship with Lantenac, on account of the older man’s monstrosities, but with Lantenac redeemed by his self-sacrifice, it becomes impossible to ignore his threefold obligation: to family, to nation, and to humanity. It is because of this that duty, which seemed so plain to Cimourdain, rose “complex, varied, and tortuous” before Gauvain. The fact is, far from being simple, Gauvain's goodness is neither effortless nor plain, and we are reminded that the most colossal battles of nobility against complacency often happen in the most sensitive of consciences.
Indeed, the triumph of Gauvain is a triumph of the moral conscience, the light which is said to come from the great Unknown, over the dismal times of revolution and internecine strife, “in the midst of the conflagration of all enmity and all vengeance, [...] at that instant [...] when everything becomes a projectile [...], when [...] justice, honesty, and truth are lost sight of [...]” To Hugo, the Revolution is a tempest, in the midst of which we find its tragic actors, forbidding figures as Cimourdain, Lantenac, and the delegates of the Convention, some supremely sublime, some utterly grotesque, and many both: “a pile of heroes, a herd of cowards.” But, at the same time, “The eternal serenity does not suffer from these north winds. Above Revolutions, Truth and Justice reign, as the starry heavens above the tempest.” Gauvain finally comes to peace with this realisation, and we hear him saying, “Moreover, what is the tempest to me, if I have the compass? And what difference can events make to me, if I have my conscience?”
But Ninety-Three is, after all, a tragic book. We might ask whether it is not the case that Gauvain is too much of an idealist. He wishes to found a Republic of Intellect, where perpetual peace eliminates all war, and where man, having passed through the instruction of family, master, country, and humanity, finally arrives at God. “Gauvain, come back to earth,” says Cimourdain. To this Gauvain cannot make a reply. He can only point us upwards, by self-denial, and by his love, towards the ideal.
And the task of the novel is no more than this, this reminder of the reality of life. The drama was created, as the Preface to Cromwell declares, “On the day when Christianity said to man: ‘Thou art [...] made up of two beings, one perishable, the other immortal, [...] one enslaved by appetites, cravings and passions, the other borne aloft on the wings of enthusiasm and reverie—in a word, the one always stooping toward the earth, its mother, the other always darting up toward heaven, its fatherland.’” And did not Ninety-Three achieve this? The legend of La Vendée, like the stage, takes crude history and distills from it reality. Let us conclude with this passage from the novel itself:
“Still, history and legend have the same end, depicting [the] man eternal in the man of the passing moment.”
#victor hugo#ninety-three#quatrevingt-treize#1793#reign of terror#vendée#romanticism#essay#lantenac#gauvain#cimourdain#in an earlier draft I also compared Gauvain to Alyosha Karamazov in a passing comment but I had to take that out for the sake of time#also Cimourdain is definitely a Kantian but doesn’t seem that Hugo approves of Kantian ethics#on the other hand Hugo isn’t Aristotelian either#because in his works reason and the passions are always diametrically opposed#whereas Aristotle / St Thomas would have said that the passions could be trained by reason
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Imagine all the ghosts older than Julian getting confused with today’s world map
Answering under the assumption that this is the first time any of them have taken a good look at a world map since their deaths and that you don’t mind me loading this thing down with headcannoning everywhere:
First, Pat is thrilled at the collapse of the Soviet Union. No more Cold War! He spent his entire life, more or less, under the shadow of the Cold War, long enough to learn duck and cover drills as a boy and to teach them to other boys when he became a man. No more looming shadow of nuclear annihilation. Isn’t that brilliant? Of course, Julian’s the only one who knows what he’s talking about, so he has to try to explain the concept of the Cold War (and nuclear annihilation) to the other ghosts, who do not take it well. Mary doesn’t really understand the concept, but it sounds terrifying. It enters her list of superstitions like swans and the devil and throwing cake and doomed marriages and every bright flash of light or loud noise for the next several weeks send her wailing about nuclear bombs, until Pat, through painstaking hard work, talks her down.
And the Captain irritated at all of it (and we’re not even talking about Mary’s wailing about nukes, that’s in the future, and we’re back in the moment). For the first portion of Captain’s life, it was Russia on the map. He should know. Geography was one of his better subjects. Then the Bolshies came and suddenly he had to learn that it was the Soviet Union. And now it’s Russia again. How is he supposed to keep up? And anyway, he had a bad feeling about that Stalin chap all along. The Cold War doesn’t surprise him at all. They showed up late to the Second World War and left the first one early; it should have been a clear sign not to trust them.
Fanny is cheered to know that Russia is Russia again. (She found out about the Soviet Revolution after she was dead, but then, it was impossible to miss, on the front of every newspaper and on the mouths of every titled aristocrat in England anxious not to have the silver spoon ripped from their own mouths. And of course, she was still haunting George morning, noon, and night then, in an endless screeching harangue, except every now and then she paused to take a breath she didn’t need and also to take in the latest gossip, and thus she learned about the fate of poor Tsar Nicholas and his lovely family... mind you, none of Fanny’s endless screeching made a difference to George. But maybe that didn’t matter to Fanny. Maybe she just needed a decade to vent. And George did develop a curious habit, after she was dead, of no longer sitting for pictures at Button House.) She is disappointed to learn that the monarchy was not restored when the Soviet Union fell. There were several Russian Grand-Duchesses that she was rather fond of whom she think survived.
But speaking of things falling, what happened to the Empire?! The British Empire, where the sun never set. Why has it been replaced by all these horrid little countries and who is going to civilize them now? (Alison hears this in passing and her brain short circuits at the prospect of explaining to Fanny that those countries are already civilized and they always have been and that ‘civilized’ is not a synonym of ‘British’ and she goes and makes herself a cup of tea instead.) The Captain’s a bit miffed about this, too. All that effort saving the world from the Nazis in World War II, just to lose the British Empire? That hardly seems fair. All of the Empires have fallen, Fanny notes. The Ottoman Empire. The Austro-Hungarian Empire. The German Empire. The Russian Empire. The French Empire, back in Thomas’ time. Maybe the days of Empire are done.
Thomas is barely interested. There’s no poetry in geopolitics.
But Kitty’s fascinated. How did the United States get so big? Was it always that big? No, even Thomas agrees that it wasn’t always that big? (’What’s the United States?’ asks Mary. Pat gives it a go, but fails. He doesn’t know a good way to explain the United States. [Nor do I, really.]) And that’s what Australia looks like! She’d heard all about it and it’s strange animals, but she’d never seen it before (she’d also always wanted to see a kangaroo hop, and fortunately, this is one problem that Alison can easily solve with Youtube videos... she quickly comes to regret it, though, as she spends the rest of the evening queuing animal videos for the satisfaction of all the ghosts who died before the existence of zoos. ). And all of those little countries! Isn’t it interesting how many little countries there are? The younger ghosts are annoyed, because the names of some of those little countries have changed several times, apparently, and none of them can agree on what things should rightfully be called, but she doesn’t care, she’s just happy to know that they all exist! She’d like to find the little country she was born in on the map, but she can quite remember what it was called. But then, Julian points out, that wouldn’t help, because the name’s probably changed several times since then anyway.
And Mary and Robin are just awed at the sheer scale of the thing. They both spent most of their lives within a county or so of the area they died in and that seemed big. The idea of England seemed nearly endless, Europe impossibly far away. And England? Is? Tiny? [Side note: I learned a few weeks ago that the land area of the UK is only a touch larger than twice the size of Ohio in the US and I was first: very amused (think of imagining something to be the size of elephant and realizing it was the size of a house cat) and second: rather ponderous about how sheer difference in scale can contribute to cultural differences.] There’s just so much of everywhere. So much of everywhere they never saw or went to and now never would. Mary is intimidated by this fact. Robin was already cognizant of it, in a way, though. He knew even when he was alive how much he’d like to understand and how little he did. It’s part of the reason he stuck around [I headcannon that Robin intentionally doesn’t move on out of boundless curiosity. He’s too invested in seeing where all of this goes and why to quit now.]. And today he learned how big the world is and how many different little countries there are in it. And he saw a video of a hippopotamus. That’s a good day.
As for Humphrey... well, he would definitely be pleased that Britain somehow managed to annex Scotland free of charge somewhere along the way, and I’m sure he would have an opinion on the collapse of the Spanish Empire- although what that opinion is might depend heavily on whether or not he’s Catholic. But of course, that doesn’t matter, because all of the ghosts have forgotten he exists again, save Robin, who left him in Mike’s underpants drawer this morning.
#bbc ghosts#pat butcher#the captain#lady fanny button#mary#kitty#robin the caveman#headless humphrey#modern world map#headcannons everywhere
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modern era courfius hcs:
for @a-rose-remembered, bae asf
-courfeyrac likes marius from the start. he has it BAD and it absolutely wrecks him when marius starts talking about this girl that he is deadset on being in love with, but courfeyrac is a good friend even when it hurts and helps marius to find and date this girl. he's happy that marius is happy, but it sucks to see him happy with somebody that isnt himself
-marius gets capital d Dumped because cosette realizes that oh my god she just isn't into guys. marius is sweet and she likes him as a friend but being with a man isnt what she wants and he is SO heartbroken and cries to courfeyrac. courfeyrac doesn't use this as an opening because once again, he's a good friend, and chooses to comfort marius and help him move on. it takes a few months for him to totally recover before he starts thinking that courfeyrac is a really good friend and also has very soft, curly hair and very pretty eyes and oh wait-
-bicon marius pontmercy confirmed
-anyway, they both really love halloween and do matching costumes every year. they always pick a new theme and never repeat a costume. joly and bossuet do the same thing, however, and the two pairs are weirdly competitive about it. one year, all four of them show up in matching sexy-zombie-french-revolution-bourgeoisie and it starts a legitimate fight that takes two months for joly and courfeyrac to fully forgive each other. the next year, feuilly and bahorel show up to the party as "joly and courfeyrac fighting in sexy-zombie-french-revolution-bourgeoisie" and neither courf or joly find it funny at all
-marius is trans and just saved up enough to get top surgery last year. courfeyrac was sosososo supportive and helped him out a lot after the actually surgery by lifting things for him and washing his hair and making sure he was comfy all the time and taking his meds and everything. courfeyrac was a very good bf when it really mattered to marius and that made him very very happy
-courfeyrac was also really helpful when it came to unlearning lots of things. marius's household had really old fashioned viewpoints and those fell onto him as well, but after meeting les amis and seeing different kinds of people and listening to their arguments (more listening than talking after the iconic Marius Gets Owned By Combeferre Incident) helped him realize that he had a lot of internal bias and he wanted to be a good person. courfeyrac explains to him when things are particularly harmful to another person or group when he just genuinely doesn't understand why what he said was bad and i also hc marius to be autistic so he appreciates that courfeyrac tells him straight up without being condescending or talking down to him like he's a baby
-courf has so many food allergies. so many. he's lactose intolerant and marius gets so stressed out when he comes home to see courfeyrac eating ice cream straight from the carton because "nnnnooooooooooooo you can't eat that!" but he's still nice enough to bring him pepto-bismol and his lactaid pills when courfeyrac gets a stummy ache
-marius can't stand pickles and a lot of other foods. he's not purposely picky but so many textures of food make him gag and he just can't do it. marius doesn't really like eating out for this very reason because he doesn't want to be in a situation where he just can't stomach something he didn't ask for. courfeyrac notices this when they do go out, though, and he wants marius to eat enough so if an order comes and it has something that marius can't do, he'll go up to ask the worker about it because marius is too anxious to. either that or he'll eat the pickle! courfeyrac loves pickles and he eats them all the time
-THE FISH!!!!! they have fish. courfeyrac has owned a fish every year of his life and he won't stop now. marius moved in and at first he didn't really notice or care about the fish but now he cares just as much as courfeyrac. they both fret the fuck over this little fish in its tank and are horrified of the thought of accidentally killing it. they both have a part-time job of worrying about this fish. its tank is very cute, though. jehan bought them LED lights for the tank and it's very well stocked and decorated for the lil guy
-marius had to have physical affection grow on him and it took a while, but the best way for courfeyrac to work with this was to always ask first and never be surprising. if he wanted to hold marius's hand he'd ask. if he wanted to hug him from behind he'd ask. even after marius becomes desensitized to touch with courfeyrac, courfeyrac still asks for permission every time he wants to do something
-courfeyrac is an attorney (he actually works at the same firm as enj) and marius has a job at a natural history museum. usually once a week, courfeyrac will come over during his lunch break to pick up his bf and they eat at the museum's cafe because marius already has an order he likes to get and courfeyrac is just happy to be there and see his bf
-marius also works in the back part of the museum, cataloguing new items and such and he fucking loves his job. evenings are always very eventful bc he can just infodump about this and that history-related topic while courfeyrac makes dinner
-courfeyrac gets insecure about his looks really easily. he doesn't mean to, but it happens. a lot of people have put so much worth on his looks during his life that he worries that when his looks aren't great, his worth as a person decreases. marius has learned to not be shocked by the occasional meltdown over a breakout or a change in courfeyrac's weight or worst of all- the day courfeyrac found a grey hair. he's not always sure what to say but he can press a kiss to courfeyrac's cheek and reassure him that he still loves him very much and he's still worth very very much as a person if he breaks out on his chin
-marius doesn't smoke weed because it just heightens his anxiety (he's tried it once and will never again), but he doesn't mind courfeyrac smoking. the smoke he isn't a fan of, but courfeyrac usually smokes outside or uses a dab pen so it doesn't bother marius. marius also doesn't mind a high courfeyrac because he gets very sleepy and is very happy and splays himself across the bed
#love love love#les mis#les miserables#les mis headcanons#relationship headcanons#modern era#modern au#les amis de l'abc#les amis#tw weed#tw drug use#tw drug mention#courfius#courfeyrac#marius pontmercy#trans marius
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"meet me at the ice rink after school" | park sunghoon
words: 5.3k
genre: high school romance, fluff
warnings: none that i can think of
i hope you like this story :))
☆September 2013☆
One late summer afternoon, you and your best friend Sunghoon were at the ice rink, your all-time favorite hangout spot. Of course, your skating skills weren’t nearly as stunning as Sunghoon’s, but throughout the years he had taught you enough so you could manage yourself on the ice. Sunghoon liked to show off new moves he had learned every time he saw you, and he loved to see how your face lit up with amazement when he pulled it off perfectly.
You mainly liked each other’s company, though. When you both were skating with each other, you were free to tell each other everything from your joys to your worries, trusting that the other would laugh with you or be there to comfort you. To each of you, skating with the other felt like home. Today especially, you both needed that. It had been a long day for the both of you; it was your first day of fifth grade, which also happened to be your first day of middle school.
“Today was rough,” you said as you skated alongside Sunghoon.
“Yeah. I didn’t think we would end up not having any classes together. Being apart from you for the whole day… ” Sunghoon sighed before he finished his sentence, “that’ll take some time to get used to.”
“By some miracle, we ended up in the same class every year from kindergarten to fourth grade,” you replied. “Obviously I didn’t think we would have every single class together until 12th grade, but I didn’t think about how hard it would be to be without you.”
“Me neither,” said Sunghoon. "After we got off the bus in the morning and I said goodbye to you, I only saw you once more the whole day. Unfortunately, we were in the hallway and you were way too far away for me to say hi to you. But sitting through eight classes without you in any of them felt really weird, like there was something missing.”
“I didn’t see you at all. All I could do was sit through all my classes, lonely because I barely knew anyone. I missed you, Sunghoon. I don't know how I’m going to do this,” you said with a cracked voice.
Sunghoon noticed you were about to cry, so he stopped skating and hugged you tightly. He let you rest your head on his shoulder as you cried. “It’s okay, y/n, don't cry.”
“It’s not okay!” you retaliated. “How am I supposed to survive middle school without you?”
“We won’t be without each other,” Sunghoon assured you. “I’m still alive, you know. We can still hang out like this after school. And once school clubs open up, we can find one we both like. In the meantime, I’m sure you’ll make some new friends; you’re good at that. You won’t be lonely for long, I promise.”
There was something so reassuring about Sunghoon’s voice that made you feel better. He was right; he wasn’t going anywhere. Even if you couldn’t be together in class, you would still see each other all the time. “Thanks, Sunghoon,” you said softly.
“Mm-hmm,” he said as he pulled away from the hug and wiped away one last stray tear from your face. “Are you good to keep skating?”
“Yeah,” you answered, and the two of you continued to skate. The two of you were quiet for some time, and then a lightbulb went off in the boy’s head.
“y/n, what’s your locker number?”
“56. Why?” you asked.
“Nothing,” Sunghoon said slyly as a sneaky smile crept up onto his face, “I was just curious.”
~~~
The next morning in second period, you were daydreaming instead of paying attention to the teacher. Among many other things, you were thinking of why Sunghoon wanted to know where your locker was. I’m sure it was nothing, you reasoned, but for some reason you couldn’t push the thought away.
After what seemed like forever, the bell rang and the class was dismissed. Your locker was right outside of that classroom, so you went there to switch out your things. As soon as you opened your locker, however, you were surprised to see a sticky note posted on the inside of the locker door. You were more surprised to see Sunghoon’s handwriting on it. Sunghoon had written you a note. It read,
What do you call a factory that makes okay products? Satisfactory!
You playfully scoffed at the joke before you continued to read the note.
Now you have this corny joke to remember me by all day so you won’t miss me as much. I’ll see you after school :)
From, Sunghoon your favorite person
P.S. My locker number is 179. Do what you will with this information ;)
You were so happy that your best friend had done something that special for you. You took the note and carefully placed it inside the cover of your binder so you would never lose it.
179, huh? You made sure to write Sunghoon a note in reply and put it in his locker before the day was over.
And so began a tradition between you and Sunghoon. Every day you would place a note in the other’s locker, whether it was a corny joke or a word of encouragement if one of you had a big test or a blank note on April Fools day. You never skipped a day; the only way one of you wouldn’t receive a note was if the other person wasn’t at school that day. This continued far beyond the fifth grade. You kept this up all the way through middle school, and now, almost all the way through high school.
☆March 2021☆
You and Sunghoon were now high school seniors, still each other’s closest friend.
Friend. You now shuddered to think of the word. You didn’t regret being by Sunghoon’s side for as long as you both could remember, but over the last two or so years you had developed feelings for him. You wished so badly that you could be more than friends, but you never brought the subject up to him because you didn’t want to risk what you’ve had since you were babies. The sophomore version of you figured that it was probably just a phase, that soon enough your little crush would go away and you wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.
How you wished that was the case.
Instead, your feelings were stronger than ever, and you found yourself constantly worrying. High school graduation was only three months away, and after that, the two of you were heading off to different universities. Would I have missed my chance by then?
Sunghoon, who was sitting next to you in history class, tapped his pencil on your desk, shaking you from your thoughts. You whipped your head in his direction, confused. He then pointed his pencil at the teacher, who was looking at you and expecting an answer. “I asked you a question, y/n.”
You glanced around the classroom and noticed that the whole class was staring at you. Embarrassed, you mumbled, “I’m sorry, Mr. Kim, I didn’t hear your question.”
Mr. Kim sighed in frustration. “I asked you what year the French Revolution started.”
You hesitated for a second. “Um, was it 1799?” you guessed, unsure of yourself.
“No,” he replied sharply. “1799 would be the year it came to an end. The revolution started in 1789. y/n, this is the third time I’ve caught you daydreaming during my class this week. I suggest you start paying attention.” And with that, he continued teaching.
You heard a few snickers around the room and you felt humiliated. You felt more blood than you thought you had rush to your face and you slouched down in your seat in shame.
Sunghoon glanced over at you sympathetically. He gave you a sympathetic smile as if to say, “I’m sorry,” and you reciprocated his smile.
You tried your hardest to pay attention to Mr. Kim for the rest of the class period, but it wasn’t easy. In fact, you were so far gone that the bell’s ringing at the end of class escaped your notice. As Sunghoon was packing up his things, he noticed you staring off into space, so he tapped his pencil on your desk once again. “Class is over, y/n,” he said. You saw that half the class was already gone and Mr. Kim was giving you an evil look. “Oh,” you said as you began packing up your things.
By the time you started to pack up, Sunghoon had already finished. You were lucky that he was nice enough to wait for you. “I’m sorry, Sunghoon,” you said apologetically.
“Don't apologize, y/n. I have no problem waiting for you,” he replied. “I have lunch right now anyways, so it doesn’t matter if I’m late.”
What did I do to deserve such an understanding friend?
Finally you finished packing up your things. “I’m ready to go now,” you said to Sunghoon as you put your backpack on.
“Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s go.” You walked with Sunghoon into the hallway.
“Is it an A day or a B day?” you asked as you walked alongside him. “I’m either going to study hall or AP Bio right now and I have no idea which one.” You hoped it was an A day, because you needed some time to yourself after what just happened in history.
“Today is a B day. You have a double period for Bio.”
You sighed in frustration. “Ugh.”
The two of you went quiet for some time. Then Sunghoon finally broke the silence. “y/n, are you okay?”
You quickly glanced at your friend, not knowing what he was referring to. “Yeah. What made you think otherwise?”
“You seem so unfocused lately.”
“Okay, Mr. Kim,” you said sarcastically.
“I’m serious, y/n. And I’m not just talking about history class. Like, you’re always on top of things. These days you seem so forgetful. For example, you’re the one to always remind me whether it’s an A day or a B day, yet today you had no idea. I know you tend to daydream easily, but these days you just seem so out of it. Is there something on your mind? You know you can tell me anything.”
I like you, Sunghoon. I like you a lot, but I have no idea how to tell you. I’m scared of ruining our friendship. I have the constant feeling of running out of time before we go to college, and I don't want it to be too late before I finally get the courage to tell you how I feel.
Of course, you couldn’t tell him any of that. All you could say was, “Don't worry, Sunghoon. I’m fine.” You felt a bit guilty because you rarely hid things from Sunghoon. He was aware of nearly everything that had ever worried you. But you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him about this.
Sunghoon didn’t believe that you were as fine as you said you were. He thought that there was no way something wasn’t bothering you, not with you like this. However, he wasn’t the kind to pry, and he trusted that you would come to him once you felt comfortable. He said, “Okay. If you ever need anything, you know I’m here for you.”
You simply nodded, and the two of you continued to walk in silence until you approached the AP Bio classroom.
“I’ll see you later,” you said.
“Yeah. Um, I have ice skating practice after school today, but I’ll FaceTime you as soon as I get home. I’ll see you then.” He then smiled at you and said, “Keep your head up, okay?”
Once again, you responded by nodding your head. Sunghoon waved you goodbye and he was off to his next destination.
You watched hopelessly as he walked away, and you didn’t enter the classroom until he was completely gone from your sight.
~~~
As soon as you got home from school, you went straight to your room and onto your bed. You pulled your sheets over your head and closed your eyes, trying hard not to think about anything. You were mentally exhausted from thinking so much. Of course, your efforts to not think about the things that stressed you only made you think about them more. Finally, you felt yourself drift into sleep.
After some time, your eyes fluttered open and you checked your phone to see the time. You were out for two and a half hours. You wanted to face your problems instead of avoiding them, so you sat up on your bed and decided to call your friend Sunoo. Sunoo’s good with stuff like this, you thought as your phone rang. You bit your nails as you anxiously waited for him to pick up.
“Hey,” you heard Sunoo say finally.
“Hey Sunoo,” you replied. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much, how about you?”
“Well, I kind of wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Go ahead, I’m listening.”
You took a deep breath to get rid of the nervous energy before you explained. “See, there’s someone that I like. A lot. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way, but I don't know how to tell him how I feel. We’ve been friends for a long time now, and the last thing I want to do is ruin our friendship right before we head off to different colleges.”
“Oh,” said Sunoo. “Sunghoon, right?”
You felt your heart skip a beat and you raised an eyebrow. That’s suspicious. That’s weird. I’m pretty sure I never told Sunoo that I like Sunghoon. In fact, I didn’t tell anybody… “Um, yeah. How did you know it’s Sunghoon?”
Everyone and their uncle knows you and Sunghoon like each other. I’m pretty sure you two are the only people who don't know. You guys make it painfully obvious, Sunoo thought. “Um, uh, well I know Sunghoon has been your closest friend for a long time now. I figured if there was anyone you liked, it would be Sunghoon.”
“I suppose so,” you said.
“You should tell Sunghoon how you feel.”
You didn’t answer. You wished there was another way around this problem, but there wasn’t. The only option you had was to tell Sunghoon how you felt about him.
“y/n? Are you there?”
Shaken from your thoughts, you hopelessly said, “I can’t, Sunoo. I’m too scared.”
You heard Sunoo sigh before he responded. “There’s a chance he might like you too. But you have to shoot your shot, y/n. Because if you don't, one day you’ll be forty years old, wondering what might have been if you had told the boy you liked when you were 17 how you felt.”
You hated how right Sunoo was. “Sure, there might be a chance that he likes me too,” you started, not believing for a second the statement you just said, “But what if he doesn’t? I will have ruined our friendship.”
“I doubt something like that would ruin your friendship,” said Sunoo. “The bond between you two is incredibly strong, probably stronger than you realize. It’s gonna take a lot more than that to break you guys up. Of course, if he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, things might be awkward for some time, but eventually things will return to normal. Sunghoon would never leave you no matter what, and I know you wouldn’t leave him either.”
“Yeah, I guess so. But how do I even go about telling Sunghoon that I like him?”
“y/n, you’re way overcomplicating this. It’s a lot easier than you think. All you have to do is say the words: ‘Sunghoon, I like you.’ Repeat after me: ‘Sunghoon, I like you.’”
“Sunghoon, I like you,” you mumbled with clenched teeth.
“Louder, y/n, I can’t hear you,” Sunoo teased in a singsong voice.
You took a deep breath. “Sunghoon, I like you.”
“That’s more like it,” Sunoo said, satisfied. Then, all of a sudden he got an idea. “Don't y’all leave notes in each other’s lockers every day?”
You weren’t sure where Sunoo was going with this. “Yeah, why?”
“Slip a note in his locker asking him to meet you at the skating rink tomorrow after school. It should be easy to tell him then.”
You had to admit that it was a good idea. Wait. Tomorrow? “Tomorrow? That soon?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Sunoo answered without hesitation. “I don't see why not. Otherwise you’ll keep pushing it off and you’ll never actually do it.”
At this point, you were almost infuriated by how right Sunoo was.
“Okay, bet. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“You better. In fact, I’ll make sure I call you before I go to bed to ask you how it went.”
You laughed a little. “I hear you laughing!” said Sunoo in a playful tone. “I’m serious, I will call you.”
You heard your mom call you for dinner. “Yeah. Listen, Sunoo, I have to go now, but thanks so much for the talk. I really needed that.”
“No problem, y/n, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay, bye.”
You put down your phone. I can do this, you said to yourself, feeling more determined than ever.
~~~
Not even five minutes after Sunoo got off the phone with you, he received another call. Who could that be? He thought to himself as he looked away from his homework and at his phone. A sneaky smile appeared on his face when he saw who was calling him.
“Hi Sunghoon,” said Sunoo as he picked up the phone.
“Hey,” said Sunghoon. “Uh, I called because I need to talk to you about something.”
Sunoo could see where he was going. “Of course. I’m all ears.”
“Well, there’s someone at school that I’ve liked for a while, but I really don't know how to tell them. I’m also worried that I might ruin our friendship.”
The smile wouldn’t come off Sunoo’s face, no matter how he tried. Are y/n and Sunghoon really that oblivious? “Park Sunghoon, it’s about time you talked to me about this.”
Sunghoon was confused. “What do you mean?”
“It’s y/n, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” said Sunghoon, more confused than before. “But what do you mean ‘it’s about time’?”
“Sunghoon, everyone knows that you like y/n. I’m not sure you could make it any more obvious. The way you look and smile at them when they’re talking to you says everything. You’re obviously whipped. When I first noticed, I was so excited for you, and I wanted to talk to you about it. But I didn’t want to bring it up first because that might have made you uncomfortable. So I waited. It’s been two long years.”
Sunghoon could feel his face flush red with embarrassment. Sunoo really said “This you?”
“Oh,” Sunghoon replied softly. “Well, does y/n know? Do you think they like me too?”
No, they don't know. They’re just as oblivious as you. It kills me how unaware of each other you guys are. Sunoo took a deep breath and chose his next words very carefully. “I can’t say. The only way you’ll know for sure is if you ask.”
“But I can’t tell y/n how I feel. I might ruin our friendship.”
Oh my god, thought Sunoo, it’s almost like they share the same brain. Sunoo assured Sunghoon that he wouldn’t ruin his friendship by telling you how he felt about you. Then, to spice things up, he decided to give Sunghoon the same suggestion he gave you.
“Wait, you might be on to something,” said Sunghoon.
“I know,” said Sunoo, “it’s a gift of mine.”
“That’s actually a good idea, Sunoo. I’ll try it. I have to go now though, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Alright, see ya.”
Sunoo hung up the phone, feeling quite proud of himself. “I love it when a plan comes together,” Sunoo said out loud as he continued his homework.
~~~
It was third period the next day. Calculus was your favorite subject, and the one you usually paid the most attention in. Not today, though. All you could think about was going to Sunghoon’s locker and putting the note in there. Once you did, there would be no going back.
You pulled out the note you had written from your folder. Meet me at the ice rink after school today, there’s something I want to tell you :) was what you had written. You stared at the piece of paper as if it would eat you alive. Your hands became sweaty and you could feel your heart racing. How could something so simple torment you so much?
The sound of the bell ringing interrupted your thoughts. Calculus was over, and it was time to go to lunch. You packed up your things and left the classroom. This was usually the time of day when you would slip your daily note into Sunghoon’s locker, so today before you went to lunch, you started to make your way there. It was the same time that Sunghoon would normally do the same thing (except he was on his way to physics), so you two would cross paths in the hallway.
Today when you crossed paths, you quickly said “hi” with a smile to each other. Of course, you both knew that you were going to each other’s lockers, but what you didn’t know was that you had the exact same message for each other.
As you approached Sunghoon’s locker, your heartbeat quickened and your temperature rose, making your glasses foggy. With shaky hands, you put in the combination on the lock and opened his locker. You stood there for a moment, negative scenarios flashing through your mind. You thought about what you would be risking (which, by the way, was everything). We’ve built so much over the years. Do I even dare?
You fixed your gaze on the small, blue, diamond-shaped magnet on the door of Sunghoon’s locker. Every day since fifth grade, you would use that magnet to attach your message to his locker. He had managed to keep the same one all these years. You were so used to seeing it everyday, yet soon enough you wouldn’t be seeing it anymore. That reminded you that you didn’t want to lose your chance with Sunghoon. It’s now or never.
You took a deep breath, then attached the note to the inside of the locker door. Before you could think about taking it back, you closed the locker shut and headed off to lunch. There was no turning back.
After lunch, you went to your locker to switch out your books. Once you opened it, you saw Sunghoon’s note... It wasn’t anything near what you were expecting. Your heart skipped a beat, and your eyes opened wider than you thought they could. "Meet me at the rink after school, there’s something important I need to tell you."
As if you weren’t more nervous today than you had ever been in your whole life, Sunghoon’s note sent you into anxiety overdrive. What could Sunghoon possibly have to tell me? There were endless possibilities. You thought for a second that maybe, just maybe, he wanted to tell you the same thing you wanted to tell him. But you immediately rejected that idea and laughed it off. Don't be ridiculous, y/n.
You convinced yourself that it likely had something to do with his ice skating - he probably had been invited to a championship or something like that. It wasn’t the first time Sunghoon had invited you to the rink so he could tell you something important. It was just a coincidence that you both had big news that day. You switched out your books and walked to your next class feeling confident.
~~~
When you made it to the rink after school, you saw that Sunghoon was already there, putting on his skates. “You’re late,” he teased.
“Yah, no I’m not! Just cuz you got here first doesn’t mean I’m late. I’m here after school, aren’t I?” you said as you playfully punched his arm.
Sunghoon burst out into laughter. “y/n, what was that? That didn’t even hurt.”
“I could have made it hurt if I wanted to,” you teased. “You’re lucky I’m nice.”
You went to get your skates, and a few minutes later you both were skating alongside each other. You and Sunghoon were talking to each other, but it was mostly small talk. It was obvious that you both were preoccupied with what you wanted to tell each other.
“How’s your sister?” you asked.
“She’s doing good.”
A pause.
“Have you decided on a topic for the English essay?” Sunghoon asked.
“I’m most likely going to do the Civil War. You?”
“I’m doing the Industrial Revolution.”
“Nice.”
Another pause.
Sunghoon sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair, a habit you noticed he had when he was nervous. “Let’s get rid of the elephant in the room. We both have stuff to tell each other," he said.
You felt your heart rate go up and you found yourself playing with your fingers to ward off the nervous energy. “Mmm-hmm.”
Sunghoon noticed that you were a bit uneasy. “Do you want me to go first?”
As much as you wanted to say yes, you didn’t trust yourself to not chicken out at the last minute. It took every nerve in your body for you to say, “I’ll go first.”
“Okay. I’m ready when you are.”
“It’s definitely a big one,” you said. You stopped skating, and Sunghoon followed. You were so nervous that you couldn’t even make eye contact with him. I can do this, you thought to yourself as you began.
“Well, Sunghoon, we’ve been best friends since the beginning, you know? And, um, through all these years you’ve been there for me through thick and thin. You’ve honestly been the best friend I’ve ever had. Well, you see, it’s been about two years since I started feeling differently about you. I’ve been dying for so long to tell you how I feel, but I was scared that I might ruin our friendship. But I’ve been thinking a lot about my feelings lately, and I just can’t hide this from you anymore.”
Are they about to tell me what I think they are? Sunghoon thought to himself.
You took a deep breath before you continued. “I guess what I mean to say is,” you said as you finally looked up to make eye contact with Sunghoon, “is that I like you, Sunghoon. Could we be more than friends?”
At this point, you were insanely anxious. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you thought you could faint. And it didn’t help that Sunghoon wasn’t saying anything, just staring at you. What you didn’t know was that he was just as anxious as you; he was just better at keeping it all in than you. He could hardly believe that he had just heard those words from you.
You immediately broke eye contact with Sunghoon and looked off to the side so he couldn’t see how embarrassed you were. “Or not,” you mumbled. “I mean if you don't wanna be more than friends that’s okay I mean we can still be friends that’s completely fine I just hope I haven’t ruined everything oh God who am I kidding what have I done-”
You were interrupted by the sound of Sunghoon sighing. Out of the corner of your eye you could see him smiling from ear to ear. You turned your head to face him and said, “What?”
“Stop rambling already.”
Before you had time to process what he said, he leaned in and quickly, yet softly, kissed your cheek. You were in utter shock and disbelief, and you felt your face go hot. A tiny smile came across your face.
Sunghoon saw your glasses fogging up and that’s when he knew you were blushing. He decided to tease you. “Aw, I make you flustered.”
You became playfully defensive and flicked his hand. “Yah! No you don't.”
Sunghoon laughed. “Yes I do,” he said as he swiftly took your hand and intertwined it with his. He swung your hand up and down and his smile got even bigger as your eyes lit up. “You look like the pleading eyes emoji right now.”
You let out a nervous yet happy laugh. “Sunghoon, you’re killing me.” Never in your wildest dreams did you think this moment would ever come to be.
Sunghoon cleared his throat. “In all seriousness though, y/n, I really like you too.”
“I’m so glad I was able to get that out,” you said as you let out a happy sigh. “I’d been keeping it in for a long time. I was so worried about messing up our friendship and especially over the past few weeks I’ve been worried about once we go to college, we’ll be physically apart. Thankfully, though, yesterday I talked to Sunoo about everything and he really helped me muster the courage to tell you how I feel.”
Sunghoon’s heart skipped a beat when you mentioned Sunoo. There’s no way. “Oh, you talked to Sunoo? I heard he’s good with stuff like that. What did he say?”
“You know, he told me that it was better for me to shoot my shot so that down the road I wouldn't regret not taking a chance. And he was right. I don't regret this at all.”
“Well, I’m glad you told me, because I would really like to be more than friends with you. And, um, I’m not worried about going off to different colleges or being physically apart. I believe in us; we’ll find a way.”
“Then I’m not worried about it either,” you said, relieved.
“I’m glad,” Sunghoon said. “Does Saturday work for a date? I can pick you up at your house around 7:00.”
“That sounds great, Sunghoon.”
“Perfect,” said Sunghoon, his smile bigger than ever. “You wanna keep skating now?”
“Yeah,” you answered. “I’d like that.”
You and Sunghoon continued to skate, and the rest of the afternoon was filled with happiness and laughter. The smiles never came off either of your faces, and neither of you had even thought of letting go of the other’s hand. The two of you were so happy in this moment and you didn’t want it to end.
All good things must come to an end, though, and your afternoon with Sunghoon was no different. Sunghoon felt his phone vibrate in the pocket of his hoodie and he pulled it out. His mom had sent him a text. “My mom’s asking me where I am,” said Sunghoon with a twinge of disappointment. “I guess I can’t blame her; we’ve been here for almost four hours. I should get going.”
“No problem Sunghoon. I should probably get home as well. I need to get started on my homework.”
You and Sunghoon left the rink, still holding hands. You two were parked next to each other in the parking lot, and there you said your goodbyes. Before you went in your car, however, you thought of something. “Hey, Sunghoon, did you have anything in mind you wanted to tell me when you invited me here? You know, anything not related to what I told you?”
“Nope. That was exactly it,” Sunghoon said with a smile. “Believe it or not, I also talked to Sunoo yesterday evening.”
“No way,” you said, a bit dumbfounded. “Did you actually?”
“Yeah. Looks like great minds think alike.” He gave you a wink, and before he turned around to get in his car, he said, “I’ll see you on Saturday.”
#enhypen#enhypen sunghoon#sunghoon x reader#enhypen imagines#enhypen x reader#enhypen scenarios#park sunghoon#enhypen blurbs#enhypen fluff#enhypen soft hours#enhypen writers#enhypen reactions#enhypen timestamps#enhypen angst
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JACOBIN FICTION CONVENTION MEETING 7: SCARAMOUCHE (1921)
Hello, Citizens, and welcome to the seventh meeting of our lovely Convention!
I deeply appreciate your wishes for my speedy recovery and I assure you that I’m right as rain.
So, with that out of the way, let us begin.
1. Introduction
“Scaramouche” is a historical fiction novel written by Rafael Sabatini, who might be familiar to some of you via works like “Captain Blood”, which was among my favorite novel series when I was growing up as I’ve always loved (and still love) me a good swashbuckling story and I never quite grew out of these tastes in literature.
In the case of this novel, it never was a blip on my radar when I was a kid but my renewed interest in the French Revolution and my research of topics for future reviews led me to this story. Apparently there’s a sequel and I might review it in the future.
I found the ebook readily available in English on Project Gutenberg so it’s pretty much in public domain now.
I guess it shouldn’t be surprising that there’s a swashbuckling novel set in Frev - the setting is like a perfect fertile soil for external and internal conflicts, adventures and drama, so it was only a matter of time before someone came up with an adventure novel in this setting.
That being said, at first I had quite a few fears that this book would be just another propaganda piece, especially since the author was technically Anglophone.
Did my fears come true? Let’s find out.
2. The Summary
The story’s protagonist is one André-Louis Moreau - a ward and godson to a Breton nobleman and a lawyer by education who swears revenge on a Marquis who kills his friend in a duel.
To escape the gallows after landing himself in hot water for igniting the fire of revolution in Rennes and Nantes, André-Louis joins a troupe of traveling actors and performs as a character called Scaramouche, hence the title.
3. The Story
Like I said, I have a soft spot for swashbuckling novels so I actually quite enjoyed reading the book. And, on a pleasantly surprising note, the revolution is NOT demonized. If anything, the protagonist actually becomes an idealistic republican by the end, which is a really uncommon narrative choice in Frev media.
The narrative clearly portrays the nobility as too privileged and corrupt and the people are in the right - at least, this is what the protagonist understands during his arc.
There’s also not that much Thermidorian bullshit, at least no popular stereotypes, which I really appreciate.
That being said, I do have three main issues with the story.
Firstly, sometimes there’s too much filler and it feels like the narrative is barely dragging along, which got tiresome at times.
Secondly, I didn’t like the romantic subplot between André and the niece of his godfather, Aline. For context, the two were childhood playmates and grew up referring to each other as cousins, only to fall in love as adults.
Maybe it’s just me, but I find romance between family members (no matter how honorary) gross even if there are no shared genes involved. I know cousin marriages were more common in the past but personally I think the novel would’ve benefited from Aline and André only sharing a platonic bond and familial love.
(Spoiler alert!)
Thirdly, I highly doubt the “I’m your father” twist was necessary here as I usually dislike such plot points because they’re hard to do right.
Here there was no proper building up to the revelation, at least in my opinion, and the twist itself can (and most likely will) seem predictable to modern audiences.
However, it was resolved in a fairly realistic way. Marquis de la Tour and André don’t immediately reconcile just because they’re father and son but André calls off his revenge quest, grants the Marquis a safe passage out of the country and doesn’t want to see him again, which is understandable considering their prior enmity.
On that note, let’s take a closer look at the characters.
4. The Characters
Right off the bat, the biggest issue the modern readers might have is that the characters are too “black and white”. In the era of “grey morality” and complex characters, these archetypes might come off as done to death and boring but, other than that, the characters were mostly easy to empathize with.
Personally, I didn’t like André himself in the beginning but he grew on me.
He starts off as a stoic almost to the point of coldness, a cynic and a borderline nihilist who believes fighting against the noble class is futile and there’s no point in trying to improve the country.
But when his idealistic best friend is killed, André vows to take the Marquis down by using the volatile revolutionary climate to his advantage. Slowly, André too becomes a revolutionary and an idealist, which is admittedly rare as usually people in stories become cynical by the end.
Seeing this character ark but played in reverse felt quite refreshing to me so even though at times André’s sarcasm and stoic attitude made him insufferable, I think he is pretty well-written and fleshed out as a protagonist.
Next is Aline, and unfortunately she is underdeveloped in the novel, more so than a female lead should be. She is ambitious, which makes her consider marrying the Marquis, prejudiced against actors due to her upbringing and in general is a typical noble ingenue.
Her and André are playfully witty at times and verbally cruel to each other at others and, unfortunately, they suffer from the “misunderstanding” trope which makes them unable to talk things out. I always find this trope annoying and, coupled with prejudice and not being fleshed out enough, it played into my apathy for Aline as a character.
Then there’s Marquis de la Tour, the typical privileged corrupt noble. He loves women, is a master of fencing and has no heart. André even calls him the embodiment of sin various times.
I know despicable people can and do exist, but here it seemed like he was made a bit too evil, to the point of being simply cartoonish and hard to perceive as a threat or, for that matter, take seriously.
At least he wasn’t threatening for me personally as a character and was more amusing than anything else.
Interestingly enough, historical figures don’t feature much in the story but we do get cameos of Marat, Danton, Robespierre and Desmoulins, as well as Mirabeau.
Mirabeau is called a hypocrite by the author but the other four, surprisingly, aren’t portrayed as evil villains. Marat is even called a philanthropist and his pamphlets inspire André! How rare is that, Citizens?!
Anyway, let’s continue.
5. The Setting
Although at times the text is overloaded with descriptions, all of them were vivid enough for me to imagine myself in the story with the characters.
Sabatini sure knows how to convey the images of villages, cities, nature, inns, etc in an exciting and engaging manner. I just wish that the descriptions were a bit shorter.
6. The Writing Style
Seeing as the novel was published in 1921 and I’m pretty good at English, I didn’t have many problems with reading but there were some outdated grammatical structures and vocabulary so be prepared.
Besides, in the version I read didn’t have translations of French and Latin phrases that occasionally pop up in the text, which was a bit annoying but not that much as I could understand the context of the phrases and therefore figure out what they mean more or less.
In general though, despite occasional overload of descriptions and the aforementioned grievances I have with the text, the writing style is engaging, very easy to understand and not too complex.
7. The Conclusion
In short, I can definitely recommend this novel to anyone who loves good swashbuckling stories and hates propaganda. Not the most original story but enjoyable and a good read regardless.
With that, I announce the end of the meeting. Stay tuned for updates and stay safe, Citizens!
Love,
- Citizen Green Pixel
#french revolution#frev#history#maximilien robespierre#jacobin fiction convention#robespierre#frev art#frev propaganda#frev literature#camille desmoulins#georges danton#scaramouche#rafael sabatini#jean paul marat
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BESTIE I DON'T EVEN HAVE A PROMPT JUST
HAMDRE!
PLEEEEEEASE?
:)
KJSAKEJWWAKJEWKJE *screams* YES-
Sorry this is so late bestie, it took me all day to write this cause tumblr keeps distracting me-
But anyways-
But have some Hamdre for your soul.
(Some of the lines are from D&I when Hamilton met Andre-
(This is a long one- )
~~~
Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton sighs to himself as he sits at the long, rectangular table in the parlor, reading a letter from Laurens--no doubt upset again about Hamilton betraying him because of his marriage. Hamilton shakes his head, a slight scowl to his face as he grips the letter tighter, his leg bouncing up and down anxiously underneath the table, desperately wanting it to knock against a particular person's. He rests his chin in his palm, his fingers tapping against his freckled cheek. In his peripheral, he sees the aides eye him worriedly. They have been doing so since Laurens left for the South, but no one ever bothered to ask. But Hamilton knows his quietness and always forlorn expression, hurts his dear friend Richard Kidder Meade more than the Marquis.
"Oh, Jack..." Hamilton sighs, slamming the letter down flat, face down onto the table. He groans frustratingly, running his hands through his russet curls that are constantly always being out of place, as though every second of the day were he had just woken up. "Why can't you understand...? I love you both, you and her...why...why can't you see this...? I would never betray you...I would never lie to you--unlike you...The reason I...I didn't tell you of my Betsey sooner was because...because I didn't know how...Just like you feared of loosing me when you debated on telling me about your wife you left in England...along with..." Hamilton scoffs out a laugh. "God, a daughter..." He swallows the lump down his throat, blinking his eyes fast as he tries to control his breathing. "I...I was afraid to loose you too..." Another pause. He swallows again, licking his chapped lips, chapped and dry from the lack of kisses from Laurens. His hands shake. "But...I...I guess...I already have..."
Silence fills the room. Hamilton shivers involuntarily, shaking his head as he sits back from the table, running a hand through his dark red hair again before letting it slide down his face exhaustedly, letting his skin drag along with it.
"Do you always talk to yourself?" says a very fine familiar French accented voice Hamilton knows all too well.
He feels his burdens and worries lifted from his chest almost in an instant, his eyes slowly cracking open and he sniffs, rubbing the edge of his watery indigo eyes--the very same deep violet eyes Laurens had always find entrancing--with the heel of his palm before sniffling.
Hamilton scoffs out a laugh and shrugs as the Marquis pulls out a chair from the table and sits himself down beside Hamilton. He tilts his head to one shoulder, furrowing his brows.
"Are you alright, mon ami?" Lafayette asks, breaking the silence.
Hamilton sighs heavily through his nose, staring down at Laurens's elegant, beautiful handwriting. He swallows again and presses his lips together.
"I just..." Hamilton shakes his head. "I just...I'm terrified, Marquis..."
Lafayette presses his lips together tightly, keeping his expression calm and collected. Instinctively, he rests his hand upon Hamilton's slightly smaller one, squeezing it comfortingly. Hamilton tips his head up and smiles gently.
"I know," Lafayette tries.
Hamilton knows Lafayette is just trying to offer him some comfort, but Hamilton couldn't help but snap, "You don't know..."
Lafayette sighs. "Alexandre...Laurens is my friend as well. I care for for him as much as you. But--"
Hamilton yanks his hand away, clutching it towards his chest and letting out a shaky breath, glancing away from the Marquis. "You don't...You don't know..."
A pause.
"Have you heard anything on what the General has said on the condition for Major Andre?" Hamilton suddenly says, his voice tight as he turns back towards the Marquis over his shoulder.
Lafayette presses his lips together again and respectfully takes his hand back, resting it in his lap. He ducks his chin a little towards his chest. "He requests to see one of the General's staff." A pause. Hamilton raises an eyebrow, expecting for more. "He requested you specifically."
Hamilton eyes Lafayette for a moment before nodding once, standing up from his chair and pushing it in. He folds the letter into neat squares before tucking it into his waistcoat pocket. He begins to turn about, but Lafayette catches Hamilton's wrist, flashing him a pleading yet concerned look.
"Alex," he whispers.
Hamilton stares at him before yanking his wrist free and marching out the parlor, swinging the door shut and letting it slam shut behind him.
Hamilton stands in front of the closed door, his jaw clenched as he closes his eyes. He breathes in deeply, holding his breath for a few seconds before reopening his eyes and letting out a shaky breath.
"Oh, my Jack," is all he says, his voice cracking, before clearing his throat and marching towards Andre.
***
"Major Andre?" Hamilton says as the guard closes the door behind him. Hamilton scans the room, searching for a familiar coat of red, a mysterious braid, dark brown eyes--the color of coffee--searching for skin, pale as a peach.
"Colonel Hamilton." Andre stands from his seat at a circular table in the far back of the room, inclining his head respectfully towards Hamilton.
Hamilton stands a few feet away from Andre, his breath hitched in his throat and his deep blue eyes--almost indigo--widen slightly at the sight of the doomed Major in front of him.
He is quite handsome, Hamilton thinks, quirking an eyebrow. Up so close, at least.
Andre tilts his head slightly to one shoulder, his brows furrowing together as he smiles slightly down at Hamilton, whose freckled cheeks suddenly turn a deep shade of red--almost red as his coat. Andre raises an eyebrow as Hamilton dips his head slightly, pressing his lips together tightly. Hamilton meets Andre's eyes and he swallows, his head still dipped low.
He is...beautiful, Andre thinks, curling his fingers to resist the urge to tuck back a loose strand of dark red hair out of his half-opened eye. Extraordinarily...breathtaking...with eyes like his...violet...
Brown...Hamilton thinks as his eyes up towards Andre once more. They're brown...and that braid...his accent...
The two stare at each other for rather a very unusually long time, perhaps roughly around fifteen minutes or so, the room filled with nothing but silence and their own breathing.
Andre clears his throat, blinking out of his daze. He bends, bowing respectfully which catches Hamilton way off guard. He watches Andre with wide eyes and flushed cheeks as he brings his smaller hand up towards his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to Hamilton's knuckles as if he were greeting a woman.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Major," Hamilton says politely as Andre guides Hamilton towards the small table.
Andre nods, a warm smile to his lips. "You as well, Colonel Hamilton."
"Alexander!" Hamilton bursts out instantly. Andre raises an eyebrow. Hamilton clears his throat. "Please...Call me Alexander, Major."
"Then you may call me John," Andre says.
Hamilton straights himself up taller in his seat, trying to keep himself calm at the name John.
"I was told you wished to speak to someone from the General's staff," Hamilton says. "I am here."
"Thank you," Andre says quietly as he shifts some papers around smoothly, graceful--almost like a dancer--before handing Hamilton a sealed letter. "I have a letter for His Excellency."
Hamilton takes the letter, eyeing it suspiciously as he chews on the inside of his cheek. "Might I ask to its contents?"
Andre smiles grimly. "It regards my execution."
Hamilton stills, his shoulders tensing as he stares at the General's full title, swallowing hard. His fingers shake. "I shall deliver the letter directly into his hands..."
Andre nods curtly. "Thank you."
Hamilton shifts in the chair but he does not stand. It appears Andre has nothing more to say, nor anymore specific reason for calling him. Yet Hamilton would rather not remove himself just yet. He finds the mysterious man quite...fascinating. Charming, polite, handsome...accomplished, from what the rumors have said. Hamilton wonders what they could talk about if Andre were allowed more time?
Andre must have been reading Hamilton's mind because he says, "You have such singular eyes, Lieutenant Colonel..." This catches Hamilton's attention as he tips his head back up from the letter. Andre grins, tilting his head to one shoulder as he furrows his brows. "They are such a startling blue...almost...violet...I would imagine they could make for an impressive portrait..."
Hamilton purses his lips together in an effort to control the smile which threatens his face. He clears his throat.
"You are...kind to say so..." A pause. Hamilton glances back up and his eyes catch a rough outline of a woman's hair, wavy and curly at the same time, sees the rough lines marking her thin shoulder, the fluff of her dress. He smiles slightly as he turns to Andre, his eyebrows high with curiosity. "Are you an artist yourself?"
Andre whips his head suddenly to Hamilton, blinking out of his daze. Hamilton leans forward slightly, his hands clutching onto the letter underneath the table. He raises an eyebrow curiously.
Andre smiles thinly. He nods. "Though I may confess...I have not painted in some years." He turns to Hamilton. "I blame your Revolution for that."
Hamilton sighs rather dramatically. "A loss indeed."
"A man need not only be a soldier."
Hamilton chuckles, a faint sound causing the corners of Andre's lips to quirk up slightly. Hamilton's eyes travel to the portrait of the strange yet beautiful woman before him on the paper. He frowns instantly, remembering the way Laurens would always sneak in a drawing or two whenever Hamilton isn't looking, remembers how delicate the lines were when he shaped out his hands and eyes and the curled strokes to indicate his curled hair, the dots on his cheeks to indicate his freckles.
"Are you well, sir?" Andre says, breaking the silence in the room.
Hamilton blinks out of his daze and tips his head back up to Andre's. Hamilton clears his throat, shifting around in his seat.
"Um...yes...my apologies...it's just..." He lets out a shaky breath, seeing Laurens in his head, running through the field to dodge cannon fire and bullets, slicing his sword against a Redcoat's chest, a Redcoat jabbing his sword directly--
Hamilton shakes his head, forcing a tight smile onto his face.
"It's just...he...my friend...he's currently in the South...but your style reminds me very much of his." A pause. "He is an artist too, you know."
Andre smiles politely, resting his hand on top of Hamilton's for comfort most likely. Hamilton stares at Andre's slightly larger one, his strong fingers curled around between his index finger and thumb.
"I think I would have liked to meet your friend," Andre says.
Hamilton nods in agreement. Andre furrows his brows, realizing Hamilton looks rather distant.
"You are scared?" Andre admits for him. Hamilton turns to him sharply. "For your friend?"
He swallows. "Yes..." He turns back to their hands on top of each other. "He was... he is...known to be...quite reckless. He would often come back injured after a battle. He was shot in the shoulder three times once, if I recall." Hamilton sighs heavily. "Sometimes I wonder if he only lives to frighten me. If so..." he scoffs. "He's doing a damn good job of it."
Andre couldn't help but chuckle a little. He glances up at Hamilton, who smiles softly. He clears his throat.
"What is his name?" Andre wonders. "Your friend?"
Hamilton sighs once more. "Laurens...John Laurens..."
Andre nods. "Of course." A pause. "But have faith and hope, Colonel Hamilton, that your friend will return to you alive and well and unharmed. He's a right thing, you know? For himself, for his country, for you."
"Why are you telling me this, Major Andre?" Hamilton asks.
"I'm telling you the truth," Andre says, lifting Hamilton's chin up to meet his eyes.
Hamilton's heart skips a beat and he breathes in sharply through his nose. He can see Andre's jaw clenched and lips pressed tight, clearly fighting off temptation for something. But his eyes shine with a look Hamilton knows well enough.
"Hamilton...Alexander...I know I only have known for the briefest moment...but I must confess, you are truly indeed beautiful. I have never seen someone with such exquisit eyes as yours, a shade of auburn as your hair--" Andre grins when he sees Hamilton's freckled cheeks flush with color. He continues. "--But...since it maybe my last day here..." He clears his throat. "I'd very much like to kiss you..."
Hamilton's eyes fly wide.
"If you'll allow me, of course."
Hamilton swallows and without thinking he nods shakily. "Better make it quick, Major."
Andre smiles wide, leaning down to press his lips against Hamilton's, gripping Hamilton's elbow tightly. Hamilton grunts with some surprise as both of his hands fly up to cup both of Andre's jaw. Hamilton squeezes his eyes as Andre's lips presses harder against his, groaning occasionally, shifting himself closer so his chest is flushed against Hamilton's. Hamilton argues back, fighting for dominance but he knows Andre will win at this game.
After a few minutes, Hamilton pulls back slowly, a lopsided grin on his face. Andre huffs as he tries to catch his breath, pressing his forehead against Hamilton's.
"Thank you," Andre whispers.
Hamilton nods, his eyes closed. "Of course, Andre."
Andre pulls back and stands, squaring his shoulder. He grabs hold of his braid in his left hand and with his right, uses it to grasp hold a small pocket knife and slices a small piece of his braid off with a grunt.
Hamilton stares wide eyed as Andre places it gently in his palm. Andre nods.
"Keep it," he says. "For I'll have no means for it."
Hamilton never lets it go.
***
The following day becomes Major John Andre's execution, the sky a dark gray, clouds rolling in followed by a soft warm breeze, the leaves shifting from the dark evergreen color to more oranges and browns.
Hamilton stands among between General Washington and the Marquis among the crowd surrounding a tree. Hamilton closes his eyes softly, breathing in a couple of times, before slowly reopening them. Just as he does so, Major Andre's carriage arrives. Hamilton swallows the lump down his throat when he sees Major Tallmadge hop out first, swinging the door open and roughly pulling out a well, formal dressed British officer: red coat smoothed and ironed, almost looking new, dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, the Major's typical mysterious braid shorter than before.
Hamilton breathes in again, clutching onto the braid beneath the cloak he wears to keep himself warm.
He sees Tallmadge guide Andre up to the wagon, flipping his coat around as he shifts to the opposite side. He pulls out a white handkerchief and hands it to him. Andre snatches it from Tallmadge's hands, his eyes scanning the crowd until they land on Hamilton's.
Andre smiles softly yet reassuringly when he sees the Colonel's eyes beginning to water.
"Will be but a momentary pang," he whispers into the chilled air to both himself and Hamilton.
Hamilton seemed to have heard for he nods his response.
Andre breathes in shakily, staring up at the sky for a moment before wrapping the white handkerchief around his eyes.
"If you wish to speak, now will be the time," Tallmadge says.
Andre breathes in, keeping his fixed on Hamilton's.
"Bare me witness...that I may bare my fate like a brave man."
Hamilton whimpers, flinches when he hears a shuddering snap, almost like a branch snapping against a person's knee. Hamilton whips his head over his shoulder, feeling a few drops of tears roll down his cheek. He clutches onto the braid in his palm as he feels the Marquis wrap his arm around him comfortingly, shushing him.
Hamilton's chest aches and squeezes. He stands among the crowd, letting the sight before him sink in.
He wishes Laurens were beside him so he may grip his hand tight.
And never let go.
#AAAAAAAAHHHH#IT'S FINALLY FINISHED#I HAVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS ALL FRICKIN DAY#HOPE YOU LOVE IT BESTIE!#asks#ask liz#skye!#ficlet#hamdre#alexander hamilton#john andre#I am so exhausted-#oh my god-#the longest fic (time wise) i have ever written-#whew im tired#thank god it's finally finished-
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I would love to hear about Taka secretly being the murderer instead of Toko!!
HEHEHEH I now have an excuse to talk about the Brainrot. Also gosh. This is real long. And kinda just a string of thoughts, though no more so than usual I guess. I got into this one
First and foremost, we got to establish how close to the Toko/Syo situation Taka would be in this case. For the sake of simplicity, we'll say it's another situation of Taka and Ishida being separate personalities, just like with Toko and Syo. I think there's definitely merit to them being the same person, but I'd have to think that over since...well I've never thought of this concept from that mindset before.
Let's consider Taka not knowing. I like that it's kinda a metaphor to some degree? Because as kids, we all have a very black and white, pure idea of morality and justice. Don't steal from others, don't lie, don't hurt people, ect. And that clear cut morality is very much in line with Taka as a character. He follows the rules! All the time! Even in a death game he'll yell at you for running in the halls. And this morality of his is so pure and simple, to the point of being childish.
But morality is not black and white in the real word. It's complicated, with tons of different factors to consider more often than not. Is it already to steal if you'll starve otherwise? Is it alright to lie if the person you're lying to has bad intentions, even if they are a authority figure? Is it okay to hurt someone if doing so saves others? Morality isn't clear cut and sometimes rules need to be broken. But when we're immature, it's easy not to realize this.
So having Taka not know about Ishida would be representative of this concept of immature vs mature morality. The immature morality, the black and white view, is unaware of the need for complexity. This would be Taka, because Taka seems unable to accept grey morally. His interactions with Mondo reflect that. When he thought Mondo was bad, he was totally bad. He was violent, lazy, and a criminal. When he decided Mondo was good, he was totally good. He was the perfect man, unable to do any harm, let alone kill someone.
So Ishida would be the mature morality, the one who realizes that the idealistic views of the immature morality are just that, an ideal, not reality. Ishida would understand that Taka's belief that, if he can just bring his ideas and morals into politics everything can be solved, is wrong. Corruption runs deeper than Taka's willing or ready to confront. And even with all the hard work in the world, Kiyotaka isn't going to be able to solve everything.
How do you solve society's issues when the avenues to legally solve it are corrupt? Who do you call when the cops abuse the people? When the billionaire has all the judges paid off? How can you uproot corruption when so many politicians benefit from it and strive to perpetuate it?
You can't. And that's what Ishida's there for. Ishi is more of the revolutionary that Taka is, the one who's willing to break the rules to ultimately create a better world to live in.
So yeah. Ishida is a murderer. He kills corrupt authority figures, those who'd would lie and bribe their way out of trouble if he didn't kill them. Because for far too long justice has only affected those who couldn't pay their way out of it. I guess he's kinda a Sparkling Justice kinda situation, motivation wise.
His calling card would definitely be different from Syo's. He'd probably leave a file of all the crimes the politician was executed for. Nobody knows how he gets the info, since so much of it was covered up, but he has it. Along with this, his victims are always decapitated. This is in reference to the French Revolution, where the people rose up and used a guillotine on the ruling class. (I’m sure there’s a more Japanese appropriate revolution I could make reference of, but I don’t know what it is.)
Now actually, how does Ishida get all that info on his victims? Not sure fully myself, but he probably uses Takaaki's position as an officer to his benifit. I'm sure he can get a lot of confidential information by breaking into police files. He has his ways.
Also, it should be noted that someone like Mondo wouldn't become a target for Ishida. Ishida doesn't deal with petty criminals, or even serial killers. He deals with criminals that'll powerful enough to manipulate the justice system to their advantage. Ishida only kills those the law refuses to deal with.
Unlike Toko and Syo, I think that Kiyotaka would be totally unaware of Ishida. I like the idea of Ishida attempting to protect Taka from what he does. Because Taka is everything Ishida fights for; to protect innocence by destroying corruption. So Ishida wouldn't want Taka to know about what he does.
Perhaps fittingly, this isn't exactly a good thing. How can Taka grow as a person, learn to be a leader himself, if he isn't aware of the corrupt world he's getting into? Taka does need to evolve into mature morality, but Ishida won't let him in his desire to protect Taka. Ishida keeps Taka innocent and naive, which isn't always a good thing.
Moving on, I want to talk about backstory for this AU. It's basically the same. Toranosuke's corrupt in his actions as Prime Minister, probably cheating many out of their livelihoods and ruining lives in the process. He's eventually found out, leaving him and his family in dept. As far as I know, Toranosuke never serves a prison sentence. I don't know why he didn't in canon, but I'm going to say he bribed his way out of it in this AU.
And all of this is...upsetting to Taka to say the least (I'm going to say Taka's like 8-10 at this point) . Because even if his father tries to hide it from him, Taka's aware of the fallout of what his grandfather did. The thousands who were cheated, the workers left jobless, the safety violations that were ignored. He knows what his grandfather did was wrong. And everybody, from the news reporters, to the people on the street, to even his own teachers, say Toranosuke should be imprisoned for what he did.
The situation is terribly unfair. Why should everyone hate him because of what his grandfather did? Why should his dad have to work all day just because of Toranosuke? Why isn't his grandfather in jail if he did so many bad things?
Kiyotaka is a passionate boy, and while he's well behaved, that level of passion wouldn't be easy for a 10 year old's willpower to contain. I think that eventually the stress of everything becomes too much. The constant bullying at school, the fact that he never sees his father anymore, the fact that his mother left them after grandfather got in trouble. It's all a lot for a child. And Toranosuke, the man behind all that heartache, is still there. An old, withered man, just laying in bed while everyone else suffers for his mistakes.
It's not fair. It's not fair that the bad guy gets away with it, and Taka hates his grandfather so much for it. Perhaps if Toranosuke had spoken to him, had said anything in explanation for what he'd done, Taka could've dealt with it better. But he didn't, so Taka didn't.
I think Taka eventually does something drastic. It's not planned or calculated in any way, more like a child having the worst possible meltdown. Perhaps he pulls out his grandfather's life support, or he smothers the man with a pillow. Either way, Toranosuke Ishimaru dies at the hands of his grandson, a young boy who couldn't handle the stress the world put on him.
And Taka's horrified when he realizes what he's done. Because he just killed someone, someone who had hurt so many people, but someone nonetheless. And regardless of how angry Taka was with his grandfather, he honestly didn't mean to kill the man.
So Taka does what any terrified child would do. He runs as far away as possible, with absolutely no plan. And it's days later before anyone finds him and brings him home. He's completely catonic when Takaaki finally finds him.
Taka's fingerprints being on the crime scene wouldn't be suspicious, since he lives there and is in charge of taking care of Toranosuke while Takaaki's out. So it wouldn't be hard to assume someone came in, killed Toranosuke, then cleaned up any evidence before leaving. After all, Toronosuke was dead for hours before Takaaki returned home.
It's possible that Takaaki knows what actually happened. I mean, Taka's still Taka. He'd probably confess what'd happened once he's less catonic. But, regardless of if Takaaki believes the confession, he sure as hell isn't going to accept it.
It’s the only time Takaaki ever yelled at his son. Not out of anger, but a panicked terror of not knowing if his son was deeply traumatized and blaming himself. or if he was truly guilty of murdering Toranosuke. He makes Taka swear to never say he killed his grandfather again.
And somewhere in the midst of all that issue, Ishida starts being a thing. Perhaps it comes from Taka’s immaturity; his childish views on morality are completely incompatible with what he’d done. And how he’s promised to never bring it up again, but that means that he can’t do the right thing and confess. It’s a horrific contradiction and a horrific situation.
Perhaps Ishida is Taka’s means of coping with that. Taka doesn’t remember what happened on that day, but Ishida does. Ishida carries the burden of that day and, as Taka gets older, all the other deaths.
Does Takaaki know about his son’s vigilantism? Who knows.
Anyway, as for in the death game. I would still say the murderer gets revealed in ch2, but I’m not quite sure how. There’s no way that Taka could tell anyone he’s Ishida (or whatever the media calls this ‘mysterious killer’), since he himself honestly doesn’t know.
I feel like it would be possible for Togami to catch him however, assuming there’s info on his case in the library. When the secrets are passed out, Taka would probably be pretty vocal about his being a “total false accusation”. After all, there’s no way he killed his own grandfather! These so called secrets are clearly just slander, right?
Given how honest Taka’s shown himself to be, Togami might think that’s suspicious that he likely honestly doesn’t remember his secret happening. Which might be enough for him to connect Taka to the string of murders. After all, Toranosuke would fit the bill of the killer’s usual victims.
I guess to get Ishida to front, Togami would have to convince both the class and Taka that he’s the aformentioned murderer. It would be...A very bad time for Taka. Bringing up a lot of repressed memories.
Also, gotta talk about Ishida a tad more! With Toko and Syo, the fact that they have such different personalities is part of the charm. So, it seems kinda lame to keep Ishida as “just Taka but loud and rude” like in canon. Not to mention that Ishida wasn’t made with Mondo in mind, so it wouldn’t make sense.
My first thought is that Ishida is almost the total opposite of Taka. He’s still just as militant as Taka, but he’s far more serious, less expressive. He probably very openly consiters making Togami his next target for the whole mutilating a corpse thing, but decides not to on the grounds that he’s a minor (and also because they’re in a death game and Ishida doesn’t want to risk Taka dying)
Also I’m realizing that, if Togami sets up the killer like he does in canon...That means he cuts off Chihiro’s head….Ew
#Not sure if I'm happy with all the details of this#but whatever#I just think it's a cool idea even if I haven't thought it out fullyl#Taka#Danganronpa#kiyotaka ishimaru#an ask tag
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I listened to Stay Alive (reprise) and thought of something horrible.
Alfred convinced Matthew to get involved in a duel with someone who disrespected him as a way of trying to finally push the other nation to stand up for himself. The plan is for Matthew to put his gun in the air(to show that this time he yields, it's Matthew we're talking about he would never shoot.)
Matthew is hesitant to do this, since it'd have to be a secret from Francis. But the plans have already been made, besides, Alfred has always kept a secret, so how would Francis know anyway?
The duel goes awry, as his opponent turned on 7 and shot him in the side while his back was turned.
Panicked, Alfred rushes Matthew to a doctor. He knows that this is fruitless, the wound would already be infected by the time they got back across the river from Jersey. That or Matthew would bleed out.
When Matthew finally is given to a field doctor, it turns out 1. Alfred was right and the wound was infected. And 2. The bullet had moved from his hip and was now trapped in his arm.
Matthew who at this point is scared for his life and panicking, Alfred starts to comfort him the best he can, despite what the ending to this story would be. However, there isnt time for this, as Alfred hears the sound of someone outside the tent speaking frantically in French.
It's Francis.
He must've felt Matthew starting to dissolve Alfred thinks
Not knowing what to do, and not wanting to cause Matthew more grief than he already has, Alfred hurries out the otherside of the tent before the other country has a chance to spot him.
When Francis enters the tent Matthew immediately starts apologizing. How he never meant for things to turn out this way and how he never wanted to do this in the first place.
Francis quickly assures his son that he isn't mad, all he wants to know is how he got himself in this situation in the first place.
Matthew goes silent for a minute, and glances at the other end of the tent for a second before responding.
Matthew tells the best story that one can come up with in the midst of dying. And tells the story of a vengeful English soldier who shot him as he confused him for Alfred.
A lie.
He feels terrible for lying to his father in such a serious situation, but he'll be dead soon. So why not have his final act be in character? And protect someone else at the expense of himself.
Francis doesn't believe him, he knows for a fact the English had given up at this point. There was no reason for someone to come after him in vengeance, especially so many years after the revolution.
But he doesn't push it, not now. Instead, he recalls the time he taught Matthew Piano, and in response Matthew begins to weakly sing back.
Soon, before the song can be finished, in a state of deathly delirium Matthew suddenly becomes distressed, and starts apologizing again. Francis knows this is the end, and through tears tries to comfort him.
As the situation begins to calm, and Matthew's cries transition into feeble mumbles that's when Francis realizes what he's saying.
Hes apologizing, yes, but not to him. Hes apologizing to Alfred
Francis' sorrow suddenly turns into that of rage. A thousand thoughts cross his mind.
Of course it was Alfred who would convince Matthew to do this. That damn kid never thinks a single thing through.
Not long after this realization does Matthew pass away, not only is Francis heartbroken by seeing his child die so young, but also by it not being peaceful.
Again the feelings of sorrow leave him as he rushes out of the tent, not saying a single word to the doctor on his way out.
Sometime later Francis bursts into Arthur's house, and immediately starts asking where that "bastard son of his is."
Arthur who is already hurting from the fall of another country, doesnt understand the question at first, and asks him to repeat himself.
Francis takes this the wrong way, and forcefully shoves Arthur up against the wall, asking the question a little more aggressively.
Arthur is scared at this point. He has never seen the other man this angry, nor be this violent towards him. Not to mention another country fell and he doesn't know why and now someone is demanding to know where his son is.
After a couple moments of silence, he truthfully answers that he doesn't now and that he hasn't seen or heard from Alfred since he gained his independence.
-------------------------------------------------------
I'm leaving it here as I want to turn it into a fanfic I might post on here when its finished if yall would be interested.
#hetalia#aph france#aph england#aph america#aph canada#hamilton#tw: death#tw: weapons#tw: violence#tw gun
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Satisfied [F. W.]
Summary: y/N Bilmes is the daughter of the owner of the Zonko’s Joke Shop, Bilton Bilmes, and, in her sister’s wedding day, she remembers a night with Fred Weasley when she learned she would never be satisfied.
Pairing: Fred Weasley x Bilmes!reader (platonic)
Musical Hogwarts Series || Harry Potter Masterlist
A/N: it’s angsty because this song is angst! But I hope you all like it! It has an open end, where you can interpret it as you see fit. PS: gif is not mine so I have no idea if that’s really James (Fred) or Oliver lol. PS 2: Bilton Bilmes is the guy who works at Zonko’s when you play the app Hogwarts Mystery and my quick research told me that Bilmes might be the owner now, who knows.
Based on the song Satisfied from the musical Hamilton (no need to like the song to read/understand the fic!)
“Alright, alright. That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Now, everyone, give it up for the maid of honour: y/N Bilmes!”
Lee Jordan’s voice echoed through the ballroom, accompanied by clapping. You stood up, wiping your hands on the skirt of the blue dress, chosen by your sister.
It was a beautiful model, with a slightly rounded skirt. The blue subtly highlighted your skin tone, but it certainly wouldn’t have been the colour you would’ve chosen.
Taking your wand out of your pocket, you marched to the small arranged stage and subtly cleared your throat.
“A toast to the groom!” you exclaimed, as soon as you chose a place to stand. You were in front of your sister, who had one of the most beautiful smiles on her face. You were avoiding looking at the groom, though.
The crowd of guests — your sister could not limit herself to inviting only the most intimate — echoed your words, raising her glasses of champagne. “To the groom!”
“To the bride!” you continued.
“To the bride!” mimicked the crowd.
“From your sister, who is always by your side,” you allowed yourself to smile while keeping your eyes fixed on your sister. “To your union!”
“To the revolution!” added some guests.
You shook your head, pretending not to mind the interruption of the guests.
“And the hope that you provide!” unconsciously, you brought the tip of your wand closer to your neck and the sensation was uncomfortable, but you kept smiling.
It was a beautiful scene, after all.
Your youngest and only sister was getting married. And she was a beautiful bride...
“May you always...” you couldn’t avoid the groom any longer, “...be satisfied.”
The groom you were avoiding looking at was none other than Fred Weasley. And he was the love of your life. But the love of his life, unfortunately, was your sister.
He was beautiful that night. He had combed his red hair back and was probably using hair gel. His black suit clutched in the right places, enhancing the muscles earned in puberty.
In that light of the ballroom, his appearance reminded you of a night not long before this one...
You remember that night, and you just might regret that night for the rest of your days. You remember those soldier boys, believing they were the kings of the world just because they battled in the Battle Of Hogwarts. They were tripping over themselves to win the praise of the girls.
Hogwarts had been just reconstructed, but it looked as beautiful as ever. Generally, you and your sister avoided attending these types of social gala events, but as your own father said: the occasion was worth it.
The new Great Hall was decorated with dreamlike candles, like a dream that you can’t quite place.
You could have been distracted by the setting for hours and hours. Of course, that would have been if Fred Weasley hadn’t come in the front door as if he owned the space.
Fred, I’ll never forget the first time I saw your face, you thought.
Since that night, you have never been the same. He had intelligent eyes in a hunger-pang frame. He was saying hi to everyone, smiling brightly. Apparently, everyone knew who he was. You weren’t familiar with him, however.
When he walked towards you and said “Hi,” you forgot your social manners. It was rather embarrassing.
He chuckled at your blushed cheeks.
You weren’t used to talking to guys, but he had set your heart aflame, every part.
“Dance with me,” he asked, noticing the songs had changed.
Hesitantly, it took you a second to regain your courage and accept the hand he held out to you. The band played a song with an unromantic but slow-paced lyrics, so several other couples were clinging to each other on the improvised dance floor.
Fred was a gentleman, holding you close to him, but with an impressive delicacy. You didn’t have much experience with men, but you knew from your friends’ stories in France that they could be quite inconvenient.
The dress you were wearing was a red a shade darker than the boy’s hair, which made it look like you two matched even more. He wore a two-piece suit with an orange shirt, but the suit was slightly greenish.
He didn’t try any risky dance moves, he just swung you from side to side, and you were grateful for that. He had a worse effect on you than drinking a whole bottle of alcohol, and if he tried a more difficult dance than that, you were sure it would be shameful.
“You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied,” he whispered, close to your left ear.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. You forget yourself,” his commented made you feel offended for a split second, so you leaned away from Fred a bit.
“You’re like me,” he said, in sweeter tone.“I’m never satisfied”
He was trying to show you that being satisfied was not a bad thing. It meant you always wanted more. And he could be right about that.
“Is that right?” you tried to sound as charming as you could, using all of the flirting tactics that your Beauxbatons friends taught you.
“I have never been satisfied,” he sighed, not in a tired way, but in an enchanting way like he was playing the same game as you.
The song, unfortunately, was over and the band drastically changed the tune to something more agitated. Some couples left the dance floor, but you and the red-haired boy stayed there, only letting go of each other but remaining very close.
You decided it was time to present yourself. “My name is y/N Bilmes.”
“Fred Weasley,” he informed smirking.
“Weasley?” you repeated. The name seemed familiar.
“Yeah, but don’t let it fool you. There are a million things I haven’t done, but just you wait,” he shrugged, nervously, and offered to get yourselves a drink which you accepted.
While he was gone, somethings started to click in your mind. Your eyes wandered the room, looking for your sister. Would she like to know that you finally found someone at your level?
Fred made you feel the feeling of freedom, of seein’ the light in just a couple of minutes, perhaps a bit more. Every word said was in total agreement; he seemed to know more about you than you did yourself.
But then, you asked about his family, and his answer wasn’t promising. His hands started fidgeting, he looked askance — but his words were just trying to distract you. An attempt of making you forget who the Weasleys were, but with him away from you, the information appeared. The Weasleys were penniless, and a big, huge family.
But he is so handsome! Yeah, there was a peach fuzz that he can’t even grow, but somehow, that didn’t erase his charm. You wanted him. You desired him.
Maybe he could be yours, at least for the night. Your French friends did it all the time... Sure, you were bound to catch feelings, but he could catch them too, right?
Then you turned and saw your sister’s face, and she was helpless. She was following Fred with her eyes, and you needed no more signs of how she was feeling. Probably because you were feeling the same.
You realized three fundamental truths at the exact same time…
Fred came to you, giving you the second drink in his hands, but you barely grabbed before reaching for his arm and making him walk.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked after sipping his drink.
“I’m about to change your life,” you forced yourself to smile when he stared at you.
“Then, by all means, lead the way,” he smiled back.
The first thing you realized: You were a girl in a world in which your job was to marry rich. Not that your father would be mad if you didn’t, but the family had a significant debt that no one knew about, and it was you the one suppose to pay it.
You were the oldest and the wittiest, and the gossip in the Wizarding World was insidious, and Fred was penniless. As a Weasley, anyway, he had to be very much poor...
Perhaps he was rising... Wasn’t he one of the owners of that Joke Shop in Diagon Alley that your father was bothered about?
Ha! That doesn’t mean I want him any less, you thought.
You had approached your sister, who exchanged looks from you to the handsome boy. You raised your brows and tilted your head, wanting to say: present yourself.
She gulped before offering him her hand. “Elizabeth Bilmes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Fred handed you his glass as he grabbed her hand with both of his.
“Bilmes?”
“My sister,” you explained, but he still seemed confused.
“No, it’s just... the name sounds familiar.”
“Oh! Our father owns the Zonkos’s Joke Shop!” exclaimed Eliza, happy to help. “Perhaps you know him.”
Fred turned his face to you. “Why didn’t you mention?” he asked, but he wasn’t mad — he was excited.
There was the second thing you realized:
He’s after you because you’re a Bilmes heir, which would elevate his status— you’d have to be naïve to set that aside.
Maybe that is why you introduce him to Eliza, and, now, that’s his bride.
Nice going, y/N, he was right — you will never be satisfied.
Eliza was smart enough to continue the conversation while you were spacing out. “Thank you for all your service.”
It was well-known that the Weasleys played a significant part in the Battle, primarily because they were Harry Potter’s family.
“If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it,” Fred kissed her hand, but he kept his eyes on hers.
You were about to roll your eyes or vomit — which one was going to happen first you had no idea— so you decided it was time to leave.
“I’ll leave you to it.”
They didn’t even look back at you, so you just turned and walked away. With both Fred’s and your drinks on hand, you drank them fastly, not even caring for the bad taste it left in your mouth.
You couldn’t look back; you couldn’t let your mind wander about the likelihood that your sister and Fred were already kissing.
Eliza has always been more proficient with boys than you, even though she was shy and humbled, her face called attention, and it didn’t take long for a brave boy to court her. Even more different from you, she always accepted.
The third thing you realized that night:
You knew your sister like you know your own mind — you will never find anyone as trusting or as kind. If you told her that you love him, she’d be silently resigned — he’d be yours.
She would say, “I’m fine”, but she’d be lying.
You walked directly towards the bar, getting yourself a couple more drinks. You would need it.
Your father bumped into you, asking what was wrong, but he would never understand. He just couldn’t.
Maybe your mom would, but at the moment, she was back in Paris.
But when you fantasize at night, it’s Fred’s eyes, as you romanticize what might have been if you hadn’t sized him up so quickly.
At least your dear Eliza’s his wife; at least you keep his eyes in your life…
But you knew, as you watched their relationship grow — as you were obliged to listen to your sister ramble to you how gorgeous and romantic Fred was — you knew he would never be satisfied. But so wouldn’t you.
Shaking your head for a what felt like a full minute you were finally able to look way from Fred and so finally able to lock the memory of that night forever in your mind.
Putting the wand back in the dress pocked, you walked down the stage towards the couple’s table, and you let a tear go down. Eliza would think you were moved by the wedding; only you would know the truth.
You could hear claps, but you didn’t care.
“I’ll always be by your side,” you whispered to your sister as you hugged her tight. She cried too, but she was way more emotional than you.
You knew who you had to hug after her.
And he was already up waiting.
“May you always be satisfied,” you whispered to Fred as you hugged him, letting yourself breath his perfume guiltless.
You felt him gulp to your words, but he said nothing and pressed his hands on your waist harder than before.
The door of the ballroom was abruptly open, and every face in the place turned to see who it was. Fred let go of you and smiled when he noticed who was walking.
Eliza seemed to be smiling too, and she rushed to the door, following her groom.
“Who’s that?” you asked the lovely woman sitting down closer to you, but she was also so happy that you thought she wasn’t going to answer.
“Fred’s brother,” she explained to your surprise.
You looked at her table where already five of Fred’s siblings were sat.
“Another?”
The pretty red-haired girl answered after giggling.
“That one is his twin,” she said while you both — and all the guests — watched the touching hug Fred shared with the man walking in. “He left just after the war; he was so traumatized with almost dying and almost losing Fred.”
“He wanted to calm down alone,” added one of the red-haired boys who was seating next to the girl.
“Harry did the same, so the whole family understood George’s point,” finished the girl.
You stared back at Eliza, Fred and Fred’s twin. Eliza did mention Fred had a brother just like him, but you thought she meant like someone with similar personalities, not the same face.
The three walked towards the family table, and all of the red-hairs got up.
“Oh, Georgie!” gasped the elder woman before hugging the tall man.
He hugged everyone, even your parents and he stopped next to you.
Eliza made the introductions.
“George, this is y/N, my sister,” Eliza said, putting a hand on your shoulder while you offered your hand to the man.
George looked down at your hand, but completely ignored and pulled you in a hug, that made you gasp in surprise. He had a tight embrace.
“We’re family now, y/N. Get used to hugs,” he muttered before letting you go.
You smiled, sympathetic. He was as beautiful as his twin, but somehow his eyes were... better.
“She’s like my own twin,” continued Eliza to George who chuckled at the comment. “Sure, we don‘t look alike. But she’s everything to me.”
“Thanks, sis. You’re all to me too.”
The twins laughed at your exchange of love with your sister, and you two pretended to be angry. Then your father asked for the floor, and the whole moment was interrupted.
Someone got George a chair right next to yours, so you were both facing your father, and he kept thanking the boys for buying the Zonko’s and restoring it.
“I knew my best costumers would be my bosses one day,” he said, and the whole place laughed.
It was George who requested to talk after, and he made such a cute speech that even you were moved. It seemed that George was the emotional one from the twins, much like Eliza was the emotional one from you and her.
“And I’m sorry I came a little late,” George continued just before ending. “Forgot the address I had to Apparate.”
As expected, he finished making everyone laugh.
The night went on better than you imagined. There was a moment there when your French friends made you embarrassed, then it was your parents’ opportunity to make you ashamed, but after a couple of drinkings, you were laughing at their dance moves.
All the Weasleys were marvellous, and all of Fred’s brothers danced with you, even the married one — even though the dance you two shared was much more to make everyone laugh at your moderns moves than anything else.
You knew Fleur, his wife, from back at school, so you two talked for a couple of minutes about the time at Beauxbatons.
And you also danced with George, who was a fun guy with a beautiful smile. He talked about his time away from home — how much about himself he learned, like how different from his twin he was.
“But at the end of the day, I missed him more than anything,” he had said, and you could only imagine how hurt that boy must have been to feel like leaving all his friends and family behind.
You laid your head on his shoulder while he moved around you, and the music slowed down. He realized that you were breathing hard.
“What’s it?’ asked George whispering.
“My sister,” you said simply. That was all you could tell.
Your sister was still beautiful, even after sweating on the dance floor, and now she was tied to Fred, just as you clung to George. They suddenly turned, and you looked at Fred, who smiled sadly in your direction.
“She’ll be happy as his bride,” you said to George, taking your head off his shoulder and looking him in the eye.
George seemed to agree, but he said nothing.
“And she’ll be satisfied.”
He then tilted his head, firming his hand on your waist.
“What about you?”
“Huh?” you frowned, confused.
“Are you satisfied?”
You took one last look at Fred over his twin’s shoulder before facing George again. And what seemed unlikely, happened — you smiled, this time, truly happy.
“I’ll never be satisfied.”
#fred weasley#fred weasley fanfic#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley x you#george weasley#Fred and George#Fred and George Weasley#george weasley x reader#satisfied#hamilton au#hamilton#battle of hogwarts#harry potter#harry potter fanfic#zonkos joke shop#zonkos#bilton bilmes
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Yamagami Tokuichi - Murmurs
Murmurs are snippets of character reflection earned by increasing Explore Points during Exploration. They usually include 6-7 monologues about other characters and 3-4 monologues about things important to the specific character.
These lines are taken straight from the English translation of the game, so fair warning of bad grammar.
About Yatsufusa
“Yatsufusa... is like a son to me. I can’t help myself whenever I see his hopeless eyes.
...But I don’t blame him. Because it takes time to accept the fact you’e suddenly become a vampire that can only drink blood. Even I haven’t fully accepted it myself. Why are we alive... and how long do we have to endure this... What’s the point of all this anyway? Nobody can keep up if those thoughts cross their mind.
But he is a C-Class- unlike an unranked vampire like me. He’s surrounded by good people too. He can live a good life if he wishes to.
Wait, “life”? ...Are we livin’ a “life” when we never die? We don’t have a clue how long vampires last... Argh, there’s no way I can teach him somethin’ because even I don’t know what vampires are exactly. I’m so unreliable...”
About Kurusu
“I became a vampire the same time as Kurusu. I was a major and he was a private first-class. I was a bigwig when I was a human who didn’t even know Kurusu existed...! Then, I was bitten by a vampire and became unranked in the vampire ladder. And Kurusu, who was just a private first-class is now an A-Class vampire- the strongest in Japan...
In the military, you can climb up the ladder by working your butt off. But an unranked vampire stays unranked no matter what...
Why?! Why did this happen to me?! I was just an honest guy... Where did I miss my step and let a private-first class surpass me...?
Life can change in the blink of an eye. It would’ve been me and not Kurusu ranking in A-Class if I would’ve walked a little more to the right. You really can’t guess what life brings you.”
About Maeda
“Maeda is worse than a vampire when it comes to being disdainful! You know how people call each other evil? Well, he’s the master of evil! He’s always been like that. Cause he doesn’t have any friends. He always looks down on others. That’s just how he is.
It’s the worst when you go against him in kendo... He doesn’t care about samurai spirit and kicks. He was boastin’ that he’s a master of Taisha, but he’s outta his mind if he thinks his moves are so elegant, belongin’ to a classical martial arts school! Call it “Maeda” school if you must. He provokes you and threatens you, playin’ with your mental state. He attacks once the opponent loses it. It still gives me the chills when I remember his fightin’ strategy.
He’s now leading Code Zero, but nothin’ has changed about him. I feel bad for the vampires that he taunts and then kills. Poor them... they underestimate him ‘cause he appears human. But that’s a bad idea ‘cause he’s not.”
About Takeuchi
“Why does Takeuchi wanna his inventions on me every single time?! Invent all he wants. But why does he always have to use them on me?
He’s not scary ‘cause he’s a vampire. He’s simply a monster. He’s intelligent, and my hats are off to his inventions. But he lacks heart. I don’t think there are any vampires out there like him. I doubt that anything has changed from when he was a human.
I hate the skunk ball the most out of his inventions. Only vampires understand how bad it smells. The smell even gets to the eyes. What’s even worse is that our clothes absorb the smell and won’t come off for a week. Yes! It’s effective in battle ‘cause we all have the deodorize mask and it stops the enemy for a second. In a way, it’s the best weapon. But I can’t stand the lingering smell after we take off the mask! Make a soap that gets rid of the smell if you’re gonna invent somethin’ like the skunk ball, Takeuchi!”
About Suwa
“Suwa mocked me from the first time we met. He might look like an innocent kid, but... I can never win against him in arguements either. I secretly call him “Mini Maeda.” He said he was already alive before the Edo period. But I can’t believe that he managed to survive that long with his personality. I mean he said hunting vampires is his hobby... What kind of hobby is that? I guess he holds some knd of a grudge against vampires because he grins when he kills them. Talk about horror stories, right?
Yet, he likes watchin’ plays, so I don’t get that guy at all. If he still has humanness left inside him where he enjoys watchin’ plays, then why can’t he share that with me? Total mystery I tell you.
Oh... and another thing I hate about Suwa is how he likes to quote kabuki. It stops our meeting ‘cause it doesn’t make sense at all, so we gotta ask what he means.
So, to sum it all up.. evil ones will always be evil, no matter how long they live for.”
About Defrott
“Defrott is a mysterious guy. Apparently, he became a vampire during the Hundred Years’ War... But you don’t see underaged vampires that often. Because they’ll burn themselves before figuring things out. And I heard western vampires kill underaged ones. So- it’s tougher for them to survive.
It’s even tough for an ordinary vampire to survive. Yet, he appears to be a child and made it through the Hundred Years’ War. So... he must be really smart. I’m sure he’s mighty since he’s an S-Class... But I bet he has to be pretty wise if he was goin’ against another S-Class ‘cause he’s pretty petite.
Although... he’ll vanish me before I can even realize it since I’m unranked.
Defrott... is a French name. But the Hundred Years’ War took place where things were complicated between England and France, so he must be pretty complicated too. I wonder where he was born.”
About Tenman-ya
“I feel relaxed at Tenman-ya. So, maybe I’m suited to work as their manager instead of Code Zero. I bet they rarely have dangerous jobs, so I’m seriously thinkin’ if I should work for them and leave the military...
Only, they deal with vampires far more than Code Zero does. It’s a problem ‘cause the eyes of vampires ranking above me freaks me out... it’s really terrifying.
And I heard that even the ones you should avoid go there too. If I leave the army, I won’t be able to use any of Takeuchi’s weapons. So, when I consider that... I mean, I’m just an old fart that’s slightly stronger than a normal person. Just thinkin’ about being surrounded by vampires gives me the chills...! In the end, Zero is the safest place because Kurusu is there.
I heard Shinnosuke’s grandfather passed away when he was just a child... He must’ve sacrificed a lot of things.”
About Family
“I wonder what Tomiko is doing right now... She originally came to our house as a servant. I was 14. It was love at first sight. My father found out my feelings for her, and fired Tomiko. I left my house to be with her and I went to her house.
But I was rejected by her parents... Because we weren’t socially equal... Who know how many times I begged for their approval. I didn’t care if my family disowned me.
I went to her house everyday... But I realized that I never asked how she felt about me after persuading both of our parents... I remember my body shaking when I asked her to marry me.
I promised her that I’ll love her for the rest of her life... but... I’m sorry, love... I’m sorry I became a vampire... I can’t be by your side anymore.
But I will keep my promise. I’ll always watch over you. Until... your very last moments.”
About the Past
“I wasn’t good at kendo, judo, or jukendo... So I worked my butt off. I studied military strategies so that I can become a general one day. Takenaka Hanbei and Kuroda Kanbei were my idols because they won battles solely with their brains...
But the secret order given to me by the Empire was espionage of Britain’s special unit. I had no clue where to look into at first. But soon after, I found that I was gettin’ myself into an atrocious matter...
Nobody would’ve guessed that it was a vampire research. Vampires lost their homes- as modernization took place during the Industrial Revolution. And the British Empire asked for cooperation in exchange for providing them a place to live. Now that I think of it, that was the template of Code Zero...
And I ended up gettin’ bitten, becoming a vampire myself... Nothing went according to plan for me.”
About the Change
“Nothin’ interests me since becoming a vampire. Code Zero does pay us... but I told them to send all the money to Tomiko.
I can live as long as I drink blood, so it’s not like I have any hobby. I don’t go watch plays like Suwa. And it’s not like we can go out to eat or grab somethin’ to drink. It’s pointless to dress up. I mean, where do we have that we can go to lookin’ fancy, right?
So, that’s probably why vampires need a hobby or else we’ll die of boredom. I only cared of Tomiko’s happiness and nothin’ else. So, I don’t have a clue how to kill time...
Oh yeah, an ambassador taught me chess back when I was in Britain. Maybe I can be the strongest chess player if I keep playin’ it for 100 years. Kurusu... is my only choice I guess. I doubt he’s any good though.”
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Secret States Chapter 11
More Than You Know (It Was The Thirteen Colonies After All)
America POV
I continued to cry as I though back to that war. I hated it. The feeling of being ripped apart, the South leaving, and all of the fighting. I hated how my army had to be so aggressive towards the South, towards my kids. I hated how Confederacy tried to build a nation on slavery. I hated it all.
And the Civil War was my fault. I should've been better, I should've known better. Everything that happened was my fault. I didn't deserve to be forgiven for the Civil War. I didn't deserve to be forgiven for a lot of things.
I didn't understand why Maman was here comforting me. I shouldn't be showing this kind of emotion to her anyways. She doesn't have to worry about me. I have to take care of myself. I can't accept help from others. I can do it by myself. Maman began running her hand through my hair.
"You're okay Ame." She said. That just made me cry harder. I was...I was fine. I was fine. I didn't need help I could do things on my own. My eyes started slipping closed again. I tried to keep them open. I had slept. I didn't need to now. I had to go back to my work. I didn't need sleep. I had to make up for my mistakes, I had to keep my government from making another mistake.
I didn't want to mess up my family anymore. Everything bad that's happened to my kids since they became a part of my family was all my fault. I need to be better. I can't take breaks for my sake. I'm not important. They are.
"Ame, go back to sleep mon fils." Maman said, continuing to run her hand through my hair. Why did Maman care about me so much? I didn't deserve it, not after all the ways I've messed up.
I tried to stay awake, but my exhaustion from earlier was overwhelming me. Crying had only amplified that exhaustion, and Maman's hand running through my hair felt so relaxing. I felt my eyes flutter close as I began slipping off into sleep.
I was fine. I didn't need anyone to take care of me. I could do that myself.
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Britain POV
"So, um, how does Ame manage to take care of all you?" New Zealnd asked as we watched Florida chasing a flaming California with a panther and an alligator. Something tells me that kid's like Australia.
"I help him, along with Vermont and the Thirteen. So it's not one person taking care of fifty-eight, it's fourteen people taking care of fourty-two. Plus, not all the states are like Florida. Some of them can actually keep out of trouble. Maine and NASA do, and NATO also steers clear of major chaos. And obviously all of my independent siblings can take care of themselves." DC explained.
"We hope so at least. If they don't then that's their problem. Just like Florida is yours." An unfamiliar voice said from behind me.
"Jersey can't you be polite for once?" Another voice said. I turned around to see two new states. The first voice, a boy, had a flag that was buff colored, with a coat of arms on it. He was wearing jeans with a green shirt, and had a garden trowel in his dirt covered hands. I assumed he was Jersey.
The second voice was a girl, and her flag was three stripes consisting of red-white-red, featuring a blue canton containing a ring of 13 white stars encompassing a golden shape. She was wearing a peach colored sundress with sandals.
"Now why the fuck would I do that?" The boy said. The girl rolled her eyes before smiling and holding out her hand.
"Hello. I'm the State of Georgia, the Peach State." She-Georgia-said.
"And I'm the State of New Jersey, the Garden State." The boy said.
"Hello. It's good to meet you." I said. I was a bit nervous. Not all of the states have liked me, or England, and I knew these states were part of the original thirteen, who so far didn't seem to like me.
"You fucking suck." New Jersey said. I sighed. I wasn't expecting anything different. I messed up a lot with America, so I makes sense that his kids wouldn't like me. Georgia smacked the back of his head.
"Jersey! Cut it out!" Georgia said. At least one of the original thirteen didn't seem to hate me. New Jersey scowled.
"Why should I? I'm still mad at him for a lot." New Jersey said. DC sighed.
"You two weren't even alive during the American Revolution." She said. New Jersey and Georgia exchanged looks.
"Sure...we weren't alive, but that doesn't mean I can't be mad at him!" New Jersey said. What did that mean? The way New Jersey said it made it sound like he knew something DC didn't.
"Jersey you're constantly mad at everyone." Georgia said, laughing slightly. New Jersey rolled his eyes.
"That's because everyone is an idiot. Most noticeably him." He said pointing at me. Scotland and Ireland began laughing, while North rolled his eyes and smiled. Brothers are great.
"I don't think I'm that much-" I tried to say before being cut off.
"Once Jersey tells you you're an idiot, you're an idiot. You don't get to argue or he'll put his trowel in your eye." DC said. New Jersey smiled.
"Florida! Beheef dich! Before I get Ohio!" I hear someone call. Was that German? Florida stopped and turned around, looking at the state that had just shown up.
"Come on Penny! Cali was being a dick. They deserved it!" Florida protested. The new state, Penny rolled her eyes.
"I don't care! Cali is cool. Chase West! I don't like him. And Ginny will back me up on that." Penny said. Cali flipped Florida the middle finger before they stormed off.
"Thanks Penny!" They said. Penny laughed.
"No problem. Er is weenich ad." She said.
"I don't know what that means but I think it's an insult, so hey." Florida said. Penny laughed before walking over to us.
"Gude Daag. Wie bischt du? Mei Naame is Pennsylvania." Penny said in what I believed was definitely German. Why did an American state know German? It makes sense for Louisiana to speak her French, after all, French Empire was her mother, but America had introduced us to all of his adopted kids. Why did he have a German state?
"English Penn. Nobody here speaks Pennsylvania German." New Jersey said, rolling his eyes. Penny rolled her eyes. Pennsylvania German? I'm guessing that's the German dialect she was speaking, but I recognized the name. Pennsylvania was one of the original colonies, an English colony. Why did she speak German, and have her own German dialect?
"Hello. My name is the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, the Keystone State." Pennsylvania said, confirming that she was one of the original states.
"Pennsylvania German?" Wales asked. Pennsylvania nodded.
"My state took in large amount of Germans immigrants before the Revolution. Actually, I had more German than English settlers. They continued to speak their language in my state until it eventually became Pennsilfaanisch Deitsch." She said, shrugging. I guess that makes sense. America was created by immigrants and immigration.
"Don't underestimate the influence that Germans have had in US history and culture." Georgia said. I furrowed my eyebrows. I never really though about the influence countries other that France, Spain, and I, would have on America.
He was a country built off of immigration, so of course other countries would have an effect on him. I always knew that, but meeting the states has shown me how much of an influence they've actually had.
"Really?" North asked. The states nodded.
"Baron Von Stueban was a Prussian general who trained the Continental Army and Daed during the American Revolution. What he taught the American soldiers there formed the based for the US military training handbook." Pennsylvania explained.
"He was also gay, which is really cool." Georgia said. A gay German guy taught America how to professionally fight? That...definitely wasn't what I was expecting to hear, although America has always been full of surprises.
"A gay German guy taught America how to fight. That makes a lot of sense." Scotland said.
"Germans are cool. Aside from 1934 to 1945. They were not cool. Just assholes. But now that the fucker with the shitty mustache is dead, Germans are cool again. Most of the time. The only person I consider cool all the time is Scotland." New Jersey said.
"John Paul Jones?" DC asked. New Jersey nodded.
"Yep. Wish I had been born sooner. Like maybe when our states sighed the Articles of Confederation which allowed us to act more like countries but no, because the universe decided to wait until the fucking Constitution." New Jersey ranted, causing Pennsylvania and Georgia to laugh.
The Articles of Confederation. I felt like I had heard that term before, but I couldn't remember where. It sounded like a governmental document or something, which made me think it might of been important in America's government.
It must of also laid out how America was a union if the states, or at least New Jersey, expected to get a countryhuman after that document and not the US Constitution.
"You're still mad about that?" Georgia asked.
"Yes!"
"Oh speaking of the Articles, D, leave." Pennsylvania said. What? DC looked surprised.
"Excuse me?" She said.
"Leave. Take Northern Ireland, New Zealand, and Australia with you." Pennsylvania said, her voice stern. What? What were they planning? After all of them left it was just the states, Irel-oh. I see. The original states what to talk privately to the countries that were in charge during the Revolution.
"What?" Australia said.
"Why?" New Zealand asked. New Jersey rolled his eyes.
"We want to talk to the countries who were around when we were colonies. Privately. Go introduce Australia to Flor or something. We have business to wrap up." New Jersey said. DC looked suspicious, but ended up nodding.
"Wait why are we leaving?" North asked.
"Think about who will remain after you leave. The countries that made up the British Isles during the Revolution, and the original states." England said. Australia's eyes widened.
"Oh. So this is about the Revolution." Ireland said. The original states nodded. I felt a pit growing in my stomach. While America and I had mostly repaired our relationship, we avoid the Revolution. It was just to painful of a subject for us.
North, New Zealand, and Australia left, following DC towards a field were you could see other states working, and the panther Florida had running around.
"So what do you want to talk about?" Scotland asked. New Jersey smirked.
"Before New York's eyes became black, they used to be a yellow-goldish color." He said. I furrowed my brows in confusion. Why did New Jersey say that? Why did the original states make them leave only to tell us this?
"What?" Wales asked. Georgia smiled.
"Think hard. To before the Revolution. 1767." She said. I was still confused, until I remembered an old memory. When I told America about the New York Restraining Act. His eyes changed to a yellow-goldish color. He also felt different, like he was a different person. I had a bad feeling.
"When I told America about the New York Restraining Act..." I started, watching the realization appear in my brother's eyes. Pennsylvania nodded.
"That was New York. He didn't like you taking power away from his assembly. Georgia, Del, and Mary were able to pull him back before he took control." Pennsylvania said. I was shocked. The states, the original ones at least were around in 1767? They were a part of America?
I mean, I knew they had always been a part of America, but I didn't realize that they had...existed before they became countryhumans. I didn't even know that could happen. But how?
"You were there?" England asked. Georgia smiled and tilted her head.
"We've always been around. Dad was the Thirteen Colonies after all. Didn't you think it was odd that thirteen colonies had one countryhumans?" She said.
"I...I always did. But...I...I...just assumed it was because it was one connected land area." Ireland said, stuttering slightly. I had assumed the same.
"First. Dad doesn't know what we are about to explain to you. So you have to promise to keep it a secret. Please. I don't normally beg for things, but this has to remain a secret. Please." New Jersey said. A bad feeling was growing. I wasn't sure if I would like it.
"I promise." England said without hesitation. Of course he wouldn't hesitate. He was already used to keeping big things a secret from his family. As much as I could understand his reasoning for keeping whatever happen in 1860s a secret, it still hurt.
Whatever happened hurt America, badly. I have seen America during the Burning of Washington, at his low points during the Revolution, 9/11, and his triumphs he won through the suffering and death of his people.
I've never seen him look so horrified, so terrified, seen that kind of raw fear in his eyes. Whatever happened terrified him beyond anything I had ever seen. And England knew, he kept it a secret, even before America dangled reconciliation as an incentive to keep secret.
I wanted to help my son, but he didn't want my help. He didn't seem to want anyone's help. He was pushing himself to the brink of exhaustion, of his health, and continued to insist he was fine. What had happened to my son after he became free?
"I promise as well." I said, as the statement was echoed by Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. I didn't know what exactly I was going to learn, but I wanted to help my son, I was going to help him. I spent to much time fighting with him. We had begun the process of fixing our relationship. Now we needed to finish fixing it, so my son knew that he could trust me with his personal life.
So we could finally have the relationship we lost so long ago.
"There may have been one countryhuman for the thirteen colonies, but there were thirteen colonies within that one countryhumans. We...well we were kind of like voices in Dad's head ever since our colonies were set up. Dad never realized, always though we were his thoughts." Georgia began.
"It wasn't until after the French and Indian War, when the unrest began between the thirteen colonies began, that we began to have a more physical affect on Daed. When ever we became passionate about a topic, Daed would get headaches, and New York, after he learned of the New York Restraining Act, realized that we could force ourselves into control over his body." Pennsylvania continued.
"The only one of us ever actually got control was Mass, but it wasn't full. He shared control with Dad at Lexington and Concord, and at Breed's Hill. And even after well all became states, the territories all briefly had a stay in Dad's head. Most of 'em became states. Some got split into different territories. Unorganized territory, according to my siblings that knew him was a nice person, a peacemaker. He always knew he was going to die. So he tried to keep peace. I wish he had been given statehood. Okie, Oklahoma, went from being Indian Territory to being a state." New Jersey said.
That was...a lot. The states had been...sharing a body with America. I though it was some sort of rebel group that was creating a new countryhuman, that one incident with New York. Instead it was one of the colonies that kept America together, a colony that was done with my acts before America was.
No wonder the some of the original states hated me. The Revolution, and everything that lead up to it wasn't just something they learned about after they were born. They had lived through it, through the Revolution. And they lived it through America's body.
No wonder they hated me. I still haven't forgiven myself for that...incident in New York either.
"Did all of the states go through this?" Scotland asked. Georgia shook her head.
"Florida, Louisiana, Alaska, Hawaii, Texas, Vermont, and California all were countryhumans before they joined the US, so that never happened to them. And the current territories, Guam, Mariana, V, Sam, and Rico all had countryhumans before, so they have their own bodies instead of being a spirit sharing Dad's body. The Dakotas also never went through it, because the Dakota territory was split up when they became states." Georgia explained.
"DC also doesn't know because she was carved out of a state, and never existed beforehand. Same with Maine and West Virginia." Pennsylvania added.
"I...this...is a lot to take in." Ireland said.
"Is there any other countryhumans that are sharing a body with America? At this moment." I asked. The states shook their heads.
"Not as far as we know." New Jersey answered.
"And America doesn't know about this? Any of this?" Wales asked. Georgia laughed.
"Surprisingly, no. And we rather not tell him. Dad second guesses himself enough. If we told him, he'd go back and second guess everything he's done, wondering if it was serially the best choice or just him being influenced by us." She explained.
"Yeah. Dad may not show it, but he's gets anxious over everything. He tries to do the best he can, but he constantly gets told that he's not doing enough, or that he's doing too much. Regardless of what he does, he receives heavy criticism. He's lost a lot of faith in his choices because of that. He's convinced that not matter what he does, he'll never make good decision." New Jersey added.
Well now I felt worse. America had always seemed so confident, and unshakable. Now I was finding out that he was barley taking care of himself, second guessed everything he did, was hiding some sort of extreme trauma, all while trying to raise children.
Even though we only became a family again in 1945, I thought I had learned everything about how my son changed. Now it was like meeting him again during World War 1. He had changed so much and was like a stranger to me. I thought I knew everything important about him again.
But now I see that stranger.
Did I really even know who my son was?
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ok not sure how comprehensible this post is gonna be but! regarding the languages discussion, here are my thoughts about the anglo americans. be warned this post is long as fuck, but thank you so much if you do read all of it, and i’d love to hear your thoughts about it as well!
so i just wanna start with alfred’s name- alfred. i think he may be named after alfred the great of wessex, who may or may not have been the first king of england. he wasn’t technically the king of a unified england that we’d think of it as today- he was the king of wessex, as his title implies, but there was a point at which he was “in charge” or however you want to put it of most of present day southern england. anyway this presents the first of his issues with his identity. he’s permanently tied to britain beyond just his culture and most common language- his name is a reminder of who he “belongs to.” of course most people don’t know that and they just think it’s a little odd that this 19yo miles morales type is called alfred but eh, what are you gonna do.
then you have the fact that there’s no official language in the US, which makes things a little harder for him. he’s never sure what language he’s supposed to be speaking in, as the human representative of america. he thinks it should be english, seeing as that is the lingua franca, but there’s times when he just doesn’t vibe with english as a language. i mentioned before that he struggles with keeping his (spanish) dialects straight (which @cupofkey summed up as immigrant-kid-syndrome and that’s exactly it), although its not limited to just spanish. he also has a hard time keeping other shit in line, to the extent where his thoughts are a messy jumble of languages, concepts, images, and feelings. this is most evident when he’s nervous, because his accent will get super thick and he’ll start just saying the words that pop into his mind, even if they’re in another language or straight up not words at all. the only peson who can understand him when he’s doing this is canada. both of them are countries of immigrants, although they are different in who immigrated and when, so they dont have the exact same nervous tick language, but it’s close enough that they can communicate well. it’s sort of like a more global version of europanto? might sound something like this to an outside observer, but again, more global (also for the video they dont start talking until 1:17).
america and canada also have a sort of inextricable bond because of the first nations people. the first tribe that comes to mind are the members of the okanagan national alliance, which straddles the present day border of british columbia and washington state (this is also something america shares with mexico). it’s caused a lot of pain between them personally, and with the okanagan nation. just as the border itself is vague- though the us-canada border is more respected than the okanagan borders- the parts of their identities are also vague. they feel bits and pieces of themselves ebbing and flowing, and matt and fred have gotten into arguments about it because they struggle to define their identities and they just want to be able to explain themselves to themselves. but you know that often winds up causing friction with the okanagan nations, because whatever issues with identity regarding their indigenous people fred and matt are having. they’ve got it worse, only in a sort of..negative image. like whereas fred and matt feel it on the fringes of themselves, making it so they cant tell where they end and other nations begin, the okanagan nations feel themselves being slowly eroded. none of them want each other to suffer, though, because the okanagan people can be americans and canadians and okanagans all at the same time.
this also applies with the american border with mexico, seeing as there’s some areas in the southwestern us where spanish is spoken more than english. when he’s down there, freddie finds it easier to communicate than when he’s speaking english. chicano is his language just as much as english is- he just sort of became able to speak it when the west was colonized, and he already knew spanish for business purposes, so there ya go. there are some issues with that though because the spanish in the west is primarily from mexico and central america, whereas the east is more from the caribbean- like how miami has a large cuban minority. so he’s got a weird sort of chicano english too, because it’s no longer “pure” chicano. pure is a very loose term there because there is of course variation within southwestern chicano speakers. angelinos don’t have the same chicano as nuevomexicanos. anyway i think he’d get it mixed up with spanish proper or spanglish a lot because of the similar phonetic rules. i’m not sure about any indigenous tribes who have land that straddles the us-mexico border, but that’s probably not alfred’s biggest worry with That Border. actually no i think he might purposefully talk in an aggressively chicano dialect whenever someone in the government wants to talk to him about the ice concentration camps. like he usually doesn’t try that hard to keep the wrong language out of his mouth but he will go Full Chicano, just to make them uncomfortable and to try to get the point across that he can literally feel the physical pain of the people trapped at the border in those camps. but this also causes some tension with the countries of origins of those people, seeing as they can also feel that pain. there’s quite a lot of discourse between america, mexico, guatemala, honduras, and el salvador about that, because none of them quite know what to do. they argue again about whose pain it is and how they should, as nation personifications, deal with it.
another thing that he struggles with where matt is concerned is with his indigenous languages. the languages of his northernmost people are the most at risk and endangered, and some are actually in the process of dying. he hates that, because as much as he wants to act like he speaks just SCE and quebecois, he doesn’t. he knows all of his people’s languages, and it makes him feel like he’s losing his identity a little bit when his indigenous languages start fading away. the worst part about this is that he doesn’t even always know it’s happening until the fading feeling kicks in, so sometimes he’ll just make a point of going up to the northwestern territories and try to hang out with the oldest inuit people he can find to try and have a chat. and it’s ROUGH communicating at first but when he can get back into it he feels more solid and defined. i think this isn’t unique to him, and that the other countries in the americas do this too, but bc of the way civil rights work in canada, it’s a little different for him. because indigenous canadians are recognized as a certain class of citizen, indigenous canadian governments have a collective legal bargaining power and could theoretically ask for legal protections from the ottowa government for their languages. however, this doesn’t apply to the northwest territories, so that’s why matt goes there specifically to talk to old ass indigenous people. their languages aren’t protected legally in the same way that french and quebecois are, so he sort of takes it upon himself as mr canada to do preserve the languages and history. it’s especially sad when a language dies out forever, because then he’s one of very few people who still speak it and if he wants anyone else to know about it he’d have to teach them. but since the language is dead, there’s no one for him to get help from. the people who once spoke it are gone or use other languages now, and it’s all very weight of the world on his shoulders. i think this makes him very sad, because of the weirdly smug left wing anti-american nature of canadian nationalism. like he understands exactly the sort of pressure freddie is under but also has a cultural pressure to not say anything about it or even offer to help.
this is also why he has the most boring and basic idiolect out of perhaps the entire anglosphere- even arthur has a distinct posh dialect that he uses most of the time. matthew talks like a textbook. a very polite and anxious textbook, but a textbook all the same. and matthew williams actually kind of likes what alfred jones has going on, but canada doesn’t. canada fell into british hands after the end of the 7yr war, which happened to be the war that sparked the american revolution (speaking of which the ages for america and canada make no goddamn sense, ask me about it if you want more detailed thoughts). loyalists fled to canada, and developed a superiority complex around the idea that they weren’t ungrateful. then it was about how they weren’t slave owners- which isn’t entirely true- and in the present day, even in hetalia canon, canadians often define themselves in relation to america. that is, they are better than americans because of xyz political thing. right now, to quote the anime, it’s “our free healthcare and lack of gun crime, eh.” this also poses some difficulties for canada in terms of culture, though, because if that much of their national pride comes from being better than america, what do they have to make a name for themselves? for anglo canadians, that’s a more complicated question. for quebeckers, it’s that the’re not anglo canadians. but quebec is also annoying as fuck and canada actually has nightmares about there being a successful secession movement there, so. i don’t know what the average anglo canadian thinks of quebec seeing as im not an average anglo canadian, but i do know that i hate their accents so now matt does too, although he will respect their right to have their language protected by the ottowa government (because quebec, that’s why).
anyway i do have one last thought and that’s that nobody will ever really know america or canada like they know each other. they struggle with a lot of the same issues regarding language, but america has just sort of given up. in some ways, matt’s jealous of him, and in others he’s so glad he’s not the united states. but they do understand each other a lot as the anglo americans, and as some of the number one destinations for immigration out of the entire world. so yeah, i dont have any specific strong conclusion ot this post, but would absolutely love to hear your thoughts about languages in the americas! shit’s wack in this neck of the woods my dudes.
oh actually one last thing. i think america and canada struggle a bit with their identities because they dont fit into any one specific group, linguistically or otherwise. they feel a bit isolated from the rest of the world specifically due to the intensity of the melting pot effect, and even within their own countries sometimes. people will be like oh you’re too white or you’re too black or you’re too dine or too much whatever other culture, so they often feel isolated from that stuff because they are all of those things, and have a deep connection with all of it. anyway they’ll always be there for each other
#hhh this is Long#good job if you read all that its just pure unfiltered thoughts about the anglo americans#anyway sorry if the stuff about indigenous languages was weird or wrong#i have family who are dine so i tried to echo what they've told me about their relationships with that aspect of their heritage#as white passing dine latinos#but also just thinking about how fucking painful it must be to be a country#like my heart really goes out to them#specifically these lads#just because of the treatment of minorities within their borders..like how in the us you have so called patriots who are violently racist#im not sure how exactly i think stuff like domestic genocide or ethnic cleansing works in hetalia#but i think it might be analogous to self harm#idk#anyway enjoy this#hetalia#hws#hws america#hws canada#hws mexico#sort of#hws languages#this took..way too long to write but eh i enjoyed it#ceros posting
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Unification - Prologue
Red, gold, and black flew in newly minted banners from every balcony it seemed. In a moment of triumph the people’s will had risen to the surface. One voice dominated the Spring and it sang with rapture of a German fatherland united against all outside who hoped to divide and destroy it. The shining ideal that had never been was raised above all, deified in song and painting.
And yet, as Prussia stood above it all he felt a profound hollowness. None of his German cousins could name a time when they had been united and strong. The Holy Roman empire had been nothing more than a boy who lived in frustration and died in futility; his passing had been marked by remarkably little mourning from the states that he had ruled, even among those who had the honor of being ruled by the emperor.
The truth was that the Germans, as long as Prussia could remember, had despised the idea of being led. Consensus could only form coalitions in the most desperate of times. But, it did sound lovely in the poems of mortals who did not have the experience to understand the centuries of wounds.
The revolution had taken the streets of Berlin in a way that Prussia had never before experienced; it had been like a wild fire that jumped from house to house. He did not have the forces to snuff it out, and he wondered if it was even the wisest solution. He had given his word that he would fight the reactive power of nationalism and pledged himself in a quixotic crusade against a changing world. But, it had come beating on his door despite all the effort he had put into defeating democracy in every form it appeared. Somewhere within this defeat, there lay a way to victory.
Prussia glanced down at the people assembling in the hall beneath him and still found something of theatre in it. They were the delegates meant to decide the fate of the fatherland, appointed by the will of the people so they claimed. In whose name they worked, Prussia was not certain. They claimed it was for the great power they had once been, and that could be again.
But, he saw nothing of his father in the painting of a beautiful idealized Germania that watched over them all. He had not been a fair maiden with a just sword, he had been a tyrant.
Prussia had only a handful of memories of his father, but he knew from them that the unified Germany that these men sought was a myth.
And yet, he could have remained in Berlin instead of coming all the way to Frankfurt, but the spectacle called to him.
Movement caught his eye and he turned to see that he was no longer alone in his contemplation. The white coat was always unmistakable, as was the scowl that marred the otherwise handsome face. Prussia said, “Greetings, Roderich. Have you come to see the people’s choice as well?”
That did nothing to change the expression on Austria’s face, though Prussia had hoped that at least it would soften one of the lines that were etched there. Austria joined him at the edge of the balcony before saying a single word.
Only once when he had looked over the edge with a look of haughty, aristocratic disgust, did Austria say, “This will be our undoing.” Prussia could see the white in the other man’s knuckles in the hand that was balled into a fist. He could have tried to spoken comfort to the man who had become his compatriot in recent years, but Prussia had none.
Instead he said, “Take a breath.” Austria snapped back with an anger that usually did not penetrate his aristocratic manner, “Do you think it is that simple? They’ve gotten what they want so far. What will they demand next? How long before there are heads on pikes like in France?”
Prussia took a deep breath, letting every trace of what was really in his mind sink below the surface. Austria need not know what he was grappling with. Instead he said, “We should wait to see how this unfolds. Violence now can only feed their flames.” Austria gave him a sneer, “Where was this patience when you went to war with me?”
Prussia met the expression with a glare, “What are you asking of me?” He suspected he knew the answer. Austria’s response to crisis was predictable. The other tapped his finger impatiently on the rail of the balcony. He said, “Do what you do best. Rally your troops and charge in. Canon shot will scatter these vermin.” One of the albino’s eyebrows arched in response, “What I do with my canon shot is up to my own discretion.” Before the Austrian could attempt to dictate to him again, Prussia continued, his gaze drifting down to the floor, “And I choose to wait. Who knows? Nest of rats eat themselves.”
Austria replied again, in a tone that was irritatingly familiar, “What do you think is going to happen? Their dream is a fallacy. Trying to rule the German states tore Maximilian apart! Their is no man who could rule us all. It takes a strength that no one possesses.” The hall below was was nearly full. And there seemed to be great irony in Austria mentioning Holy Rome, when he had done nothing to publicly mourn him. He had crowned his emperor again and continued on as though nothing had changed.
Prussia answered the question in his own mind first. He hoped for very little, but there was a possibility within it all. Perhaps Austria was correct that it was strength, not consensus, that mattered. But, not strength alone. It had not been enough to defeat that french commoner who had styled himself emperor. It would take wit as well. He could feel Austria’s eyes on him, demanding an answer from him.
He said, “What if they do decide on an empire? If they offer you the crown, will you take it?” Austria shook his head without a moment’s hesitation, “They would want a purely German state, and I will not give up the rest of my territory.”
He paused for a moment and looked at Prussia with the first smile that spoke to the conspiratorial moments they had shared, those moments where they could almost imagine that they were friends. Then he said, “And you would not accept me anyway.” Prussia smirked to himself, “You are right about that. But you wouldn’t accept me either.”
Austria turned away from the subject, “But it does not matter because this rabble has no power to give an imperial crown to anyone.“
He then turned away with one more glance of the darkest distain at the people assembled below. Prussia lingered a moment longer before turning a questioning gaze towards the Austrian.
He got his answer before he could even bring the inquiry to his lips. Austria said, “If this amuses you, then wait. I am going back to Vienna to deal with the other rebellions in my empire. But, I want this entire spectacle gone by the time I return.” Prussia said, catching the last word before his rival exited the range of his voice, “For a man who doesn’t want to rule Germany, you command like an emperor.”
Austria directed one more withering look at Prussia before walking away again. Once he was gone,
Prussia returned to his own inward contemplation. Austria seemed convinced that this was just another dangerous radical movement, but Prussia had the distinct feeling that this was a crucial moment. Passion like this would not fade and continuing to fight it would only make him more enemies.
His mind drifted to the secret he was very carefully keeping from Austria. He thought of Ludwig, who was still at home in Berlin. At this hour he was probably playing with his new set of toy soldiers before he was swept up by one of his tutors.
If he still believed in divine will, Prussia would take Ludwig’s existence as a sign that unity would come some day. It was only a matter of time and leadership. But, on the question of methods, he agreed with his Austrian counterpart. It would take a strong leader, not the consensus of intellectuals who had little experience with politics. Trying to make an ideal real would only result in failure, especially through a congress.
It could not be done this suddenly; it would take time and patience. Ludwig was not yet old enough to rule; he had so much left to learn before he would be ready. Austria had said that it would take extraordinary strength to unify the German states. Well, that sounded like a challenge.
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I made this long time ago, but I thought it's a good time to share it here for @aphasiaweek!
I chose 《Hoi Sam☆Nice Guy》over 《Maji Kandou☆Hong Kong Night》because there are more stuff about HK in it. So let's see if the lyrics are accurate in a native's point of view!
Spoiler alert: it's very accurate
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Hoi Sam = Happy (in Cantonese)
Guy = sounds like street in Cantonese (gaai1)
“Yooooo, so since there’s a song… while I’m at it
I kinda put some effort into my costume… I think I’ve got like, serious swag
Pardon? You can’t see me…for real? Woah!!!!”
FASHION: yes, HKers love to be trendy, always want to be on top trends! Trends come and go very very quickly, it's seriously really hard to follow trends in HK.
MIXING ENGLISH WITH CANTONESE: yup, we do that a lot, we almost couldn't finish a sentence without English, some words just sound "uncool" in Chinese lol (it’s always about being cool in HK lol), but we don't really say “pardon” unless we are speaking English
Sup-sup-sup-sup-sup-super mobile (snap snap)
It’s my hobby to take pics and collect them (I guess)
Not gonna lie, everyone’s got a mobile phone, penetration rate (highest in the world)
Yeah! If you’re going sightseeing then
Nathan Road! (Fuu~!)
TAKING PICS WITH SMARTPHONE: Aph HK loves taking (embarrassing) photos (of China lol), but in real life HKers do love taking pictures, or videos too (it's dangerous if you misbehave, people would film you and post on Youtube or Facebook)
MOBILE PHONE PENETRATION RATE: I couldn't find data for HK, but I think I heard on average, each HKer carries at least 2 cellphones! So this could be true!
NATHAN ROAD: It's the longest street in HK and there's so many things, good food, good shopping places and yup sightseeing! (A lot of our streets are named after the Governors during the colonial time, this street is named after Sir Matthew Nathan for example)
Welcome
this makes me kinda happy (Check it out!)
Learned this from England - tea in the afternoon (high tea)
Welcome, this is kinda fun (Shake it up!)
Yum cha, Hong Kong milk tea, cha-cha
Nice culture (frivolous)!
AFTERNOON TEA: Yes, it's still a tradition for us to have tea time, we call it 3:15, workplaces would have tea breaks, restaurants do tea time menu during 2-5pm, it's really cool and cheap! We usually drink HK milk tea (evolved from British milk tea) during tea time and there are so many delicious snacks like French toast, pineapple bun and of course egg tart!
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YUM CHA: It literally means “drink tea”, but Chinese tea this time. It's a tradition for us to go Yum Cha every Sunday with our family! Dim sum is part of Yum Cha! We just eat and catch up with each others for HOURS!
Oh. My. God. “LOHAS LOHAS”
Oh. My. Mind. “Gonna take a pic~”
Take away “Is this delivery service for real?”
Like, seriously, even if it’s way out of the way, no problem man
LOHAS: I didn't know what this refers to for a long time, I finally found the answer. This refers to LOHAS park, an eco-friendly residential area newly built few years ago. But what's so special about it? Is it famous in Japan?!
DELIVERY SERVICE: Well delivery service in Asia are generally good anyway, but I guess we are good and fast?! (but I think Korea too!)
Super
Feeling unlucky? If it’s getting to you, go villain hitting at Ngo Keng Kiu
A medium will perform an exorcism, and hit a paper doll with a shoe
For fortune telling, go draw fortune sticks, or get a divine answer by throwing moon blocks at the temples…
at Wong Tai Sin, light the fire of your incense!
If you’re feeling tired, maybe you can give Feng Shui a try or something?
A spiritual site in Lantau Island
The Wisdom Path…is super
Awesome for meditation, but there aren’t any toilets, so watch out
Gold fish, bring me luck! (In money!)
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NGO KENG KIU: Generally HKers are not THAT superstitious, but the culture still lives within us. I have never known anyone who did the villain hitting, but it's still quite a thing (and a great tourist spot). It's mainly for people who backstab you (we call them "small people" siu yan), but I guess evil spirit too.
WONG TAI SIN: Again, it's more for older generation who are still a bit superstitious. People like to go to Wong Tai Sin Temple during Lunar New Year to wish for luck in the new year. It's still quite popular!
See I told you we have natural landscape (source)
WISDOM PATH: I've never been there lol. Apparently it's a "path lined with 38 wooden monuments inscribed with the Heart Sutra prayer". In general, HK has a lot of nice hiking trail, our landscape is actually amazing, it's just we focus too much on making money...
P-Pe-Pe-Pearl of the Orient is me! (I guess?)
Got completely wasted? Ended up in a dress (totes sick)
Not gonna lie, population density is highest in the world in Ap Lei Chau
Yeah! If you’re going sightseeing then
Hong Kong Island! (Yeah~!!)
PEARL OF THE ORIENT: It's the nickname of HK, the Philippines is Pearl of the Orient SEAS
(Ending up in a dress refers to this comic, thanks parallel France!)
POPULATION DENSITY: Yea, that's what we are famous for really, small place lots of people (HK is a very hilly city, surprise, surprise), we have the most expensive estate price in the world 🤦♀️, not sure if Ap Lei Chau is particularly population-densed, but the whole HK is like that!
Good luck in everything
this makes me kinda happy (Check it out!)
Learned this from England - how to be a gentleman (ladies first)
I wish you good health, this is kinda fun (Shake it up!)
Typhoon, Kung Fu, WA-TAHH
Supplements, Chinese herbal medicine (healthy~!)
LUCK: The newer generations are less superstitious now, but luck is still kind of important for us? It's more like a tradition than a belief, we do them just in case (like Feng Shui).
TYPHOON: As a coastal city, we get typhoons a lot in summer, but they are not as strong in comparison to the Philippines or Indonesia.
KUNG FU: We are known for our Kung Fu films, as the actors are all trained martial artists! Bruce Lee (WA-TAH was his catchphrase), Jackie Chan and Donnie Yen are great examples! Because of the wars and Cultural Revolution, many people fled China to HK, resulting the influx of high quality martial artists (eg. Ip Man).
HERBAL MEDICINE: As western as we are, we still believe in Chinese Medicine, but more in a preventative way.
Oh. My. God. “Air conditioning in full blast!”
Oh. My. Mind. “That’s not eco-friendly…”
Oh well “The air will become cleaner, I think?”
Seriously a Mistake, but, no problem man
STRONG AIR-CONDITIONING: This line had me laugh die (Imao in Cantonese)! It's so accurate! You can catch a cold from the airconditioning in HK! And that's why we always carry a jacket even in summer! It's not very eco-friendly and our government is trying resolve that.
AIR POLLUTION: Yes we have smog (smoke + fog), it is becoming quite the problem really. The root of the problem is that Shenzhen, the city next to HK, is developing rapidly and a lot of factories moved there, so the smoke is blown towards HK (we don't really have many factories left, it's too expensive here).
Awesome
Riding on a roofless bus, cruising through the neon streets
If you want to, like, go shopping… at Ladies Market
There are stalls with cute stuff, souvenirs (lots and lots of them)
Talk the price down! Haggling is what really counts
For some more miscellaneous and deep junk, more for the adult and thrilling
The street where mystery thickens… Temple Street
Would you like to try some cheap eats at the street stalls?
Absolutely delicious! Asian food is the best!
NEON LIGHTS: You've all seen the stereotypical HK streets full of neon lights, but it's actually decreasing, because there's no newcomers to the industry (the lights are handmade).
LADIES MARKET: You can find so many stuff there indeed, for a cheap price! Branded stuff, fake stuff (we don't make them but yea you can find a lot of them), food and goldfish. Yes, there's a goldfish street. Why? I dunno, for luck I guess?!
TEMPLE STREET: Similar to ladies market, it's also great for shopping. This street is also known for (illegal) prostitution and triad, but it's still safe to visit, never in my life have I encountered any of them.
“Yoooooo, Mister, so I kinda sang this song,
but seriously, rapping is surprisingly, like, tough?”
“It’s also a shame that no one can see what I’m wearing, I’ve got serious swag, y'know.”
“Phew… I kinda want to go home already… I mean, the peach buns are gonna be sold out.”
“…can we go now?”
“…can’t we go yet?”
“Haah…”
“Okay fine, like, whatever.”
One, two, three!*
PEACH BUN: They are actually eaten on birthdays, for longevity (that's what peach represents in Chinese culture).
*this line was spoken in Mandarin in the song, which would be the only critism I'd give. Yes a lot of people may understand Mandarin, but Cantonese and English are preferred and they are our official languages. One, two, three in Cantonese would be "yaat, yi, sam".
Oh. My. God. “The rent is really expensive…”
Oh. My. Mind. “It’s not easy…”
Why oh why? “It’s like, the highest in the world”
We have serious inflation, but, whatever
EXPENSIVE RENT: We are the most expensive in the world, thanks to the high population density (and foreign buyers 😶), it's really not easy to afford a flat in HK, that’s why most HKers live with their parents until they get married (it’s also a cultural thing).
INFLATION: Stuff are still relatively cheap, but they are getting more expensive really quickly, mainly because of the rent of the shops.
Super
they’re so adorable it hurts, the perfect balance of black and white
pandas that bring you happiness… we sell them, sort of
So fluffy and cute, such big round eyes
The kinda? Make you Happy! Uh-huh
PANDAS: We actually only have 2 pandas here like everyone else, in Ocean Park (it's like an amusement park and zoo). They finally successfully mated recently, probably because of Corona shutdown lol!
There are over 100 of them, Tin Hau Temple, so super
Before I head there, I seriously wanna eat… mango pudding!
So many gods, like, one in every street
Pay homage at the temple, light the fire of your incense!
TEMPLES: We still have the temples built before the colonial time! Hopefully, we are able to keep them too...
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MANGO PUDDING: It's so good yes! Our dessert culture is just the best seriously! We have so many restaurants just for desserts! They are great places to hang out with friends after work or school!
The air conditioning at its max, the fire burning strong
A steaming hot pot made with a carefully chosen soup base
If you want to detox, have a Chinese herbal hot pot
Absolutely delicious! Asian food is the best!
Riding on a roofless bus, cruising through the neon streets
If you want to, like, go shopping… at Ladies Market
There are stalls with cute stuff, souvenirs, lots and lots of them
Talk the price down! Haggling is what really counts
Absolutely delicious! Asian food is the best!
Every minute
Happy☆Nice Town (Guy)
HOT POT: We love it! We basically love when a lot of people sit together, talking, sharing food (like Yum Cha), it's the harmony and atmosphere that we like so much! And yes, there are a lot of different soup base you can choose from!
BARGAINING: Yes do it, especially if you're in places like Ladies' Market and you're a foreigner, they do price things up if you don't look like a local.
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Shout out to Takagi Motoki, the voice actor of HK, his voice fits the character perfectly! (and please get a new va for the new season please funimation) And how can he speak so fast?!
#aphasiaweek#APH Hong Kong#hws hong kong#hetalia#not biased at all but hk has one of the best character songs pls give him new songs in the new season himapapa#sorry im not following the prompts that well i dont have much time to make stuff#science poetry coming up i promise#Hong Kong culture
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