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sempersirens · 8 months

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raising hell all over town

pairing: best friend's dad!joel x f!reader

summary: you've been a friend of sarah's since you were old enough to steal bottles of her dad's whiskey for parties. sarah was always the sensible one in your friendship, getting you out of the trouble you usually started. but now sarah has gone off to college, who else but joel could pick up the pieces?

content/warnings: 18+ mdni. alcohol. drugs. age gap. violence/fighting. smut: unprotected p in v, spanking

a/n: inspired by this gif set, and the wonderful @amanitacowboy & @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for introducing me to that yellowstone scene kind of nervous about this, my first proper smutty fic - i find smut really difficult to write for some reason (weird because i'm feral horny 24/7) so this was kinda out of my comfort zone but i hope you all enjoy! PSA: i no longer have a taglist! feel free to follow my updates blog @breakfastupdates and turn the post notifs on to be notified when i post a new fic :)

Friday nights in Austin felt incomplete without Sarah by your side.

For years, she had been the epitome of your partner in crime; dragging you back to her place or putting you in a cab before the cops were called.

Had it not been for your fierce loyalty and protectiveness over Sarah, you're sure her dad would've barred you from the house years ago. Sarah was smarter than you in almost every way. Academically, emotionally, you name it.

Joel knew this, and he trusted the two of you together knowing you both balanced the other out. Watching the two of you reminded Joel of a younger version of himself and Tommy, always thankful that Sarah had followed in his footsteps as opposed to her uncle's.

Your relationship with your parents was rocky, to say the least, and the Miller's house had always been a safe haven for you. Joel had patched up your split lip or bloody nose more times than he wanted to admit for a girl your age. He swore he'd kill your old man one day for the states you'd turned up to their house in.

Still, he couldn't help but feel the urge to grab you by the shoulders and shake some sense into you from time to time. As much as his heart broke for you, it was also in your nature to be a damn brat. Joel had endured countless stifling days spent by the pool forcing himself to not let his eyes linger on the curves of your hips. He struggled to look you in the eye when he saw you sat on the kitchen counter waiting to leave for a party, your mini skirt riding dangerously high on your thighs.

There had been times when he had been reckless. Times that he'd had to pull himself away from your invisible grip on him and relieve his tension in the bathroom, fisting his cock onto the shower floor, biting down on the shape of your name on his tongue.

When he'd re-emerge into the living room, he knew that you knew. You'd look through your eyelashes at him and smile. His cheeks flushed, shame setting in at the speed at which he'd cum from the thought of your pussy clenching around his shaft.

He would never let it show, but something would rush through his body when he'd ask Sarah what the hell she do this time? He remembered one time in particular, as Sarah relayed the events of the night that had led to your bloody nose, he'd looked over at you perching on the counter. With blood leaking down your cupid's bow, you'd locked eyes with him and ran your tongue across your lip, revelling in the remnants of your victory.

Still, you had fine enough nights out with the girls from work. They just didn't get you the way Sarah did. They would shoot you judgemental glances from across the bar that lasted until the Monday back at work for whatever you had done this time that they disapproved of.

"They're just dull. You should see the way they look at me for literally just hooking up with guys." You had lamented to Sarah over the phone while you were both getting ready for your respective nights out on separate sides of the country.

"It's probably because they've seen you get through an entire friendship group before your second drink."

"Well, they should be taking notes. Tell me nobody at college is as fun as me." Jealousy tore through your chest at the thought of Sarah spending her time with new friends.

"Nobody here is as fun as you. They're very... reserved." You scoffed at her politeness.

"Babe, just say they're boring."

"I'm giving them a chance. Anyway, gotta go. Text me tomorrow and tell me the damage. Love ya!"

"Don't have too much fun without me. Love you too."

Despite their judging looks, you were always the first person they called upon to finish any mess they had gotten themselves into. Still, you were happy to oblige, even if it meant a few awkward minutes of silence at the coffee machine on Monday.

The group of you had poured out of an Uber into the busy bar around nine o'clock, buzzing with the confidence of your pre-drinks. Rounds of shots were ordered and consumed at a dizzying pace, and soon enough, bags of powder were discreetly distributed across the table.

"Bathroom?" Hannah, one of your closest and least judgmental co-workers nudged you.

"Thought you'd never ask." The two of you sauntered away from the table, hand-in-hand, quickly bundling into a tight cubicle.

The bathroom filled up as the two of you tried to be as silent as possible, scooping your pinky nails into the small bag.

"Hurry the fuck up!" Someone from outside the cubicle called, thudding her fists against the door.

"Get fucked." You called back, muttering this bitch under your breath to Hannah.

As the two of you packed your things back into your handbags, the cubicle door jolted half open, smacking Hannah in the shoulder.

"Are you fucking serious?" You shouted at the small brunette on the other side of the door, checking Hannah over for injury.

"You hit me, you bitch." She straightened herself up, rubbing her shoulder.

"I'll do worse if you don't fucking move." The brunette hissed in her face.

You screwed your face up and shoved her, making her stumble backwards into the sink. The other girls in the bathroom grabbed their bags and scurried to the exit, evidently not wanting to be caught in the crossfire.

"Apologise." You said, moving toward the girl who was now pulling herself up with the help of the basins on either side of her.

"Fuck you." She spat, saliva hitting your cheek before she lunged forward.

Your fist connected with her nose before she even had time to swing, and your right hand secured a tight grip on the back of her hair.

"I said, apologise to my friend."

"I'm sorry." She choked, pathetically. Her face shrivelled in fear and pain.

"Not so fuckin' big now, are you?" Hannah said, which was ironic, considering the girl who had bruised her was now quivering under your fist.

Content with her apology, you released your grip on her and re-entered the bar with Hannah trailing behind you. As you both rejoined your table, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

"Our friend said you just attacked her in the bathroom." Another petite girl looked up at you, one hand on her hip.

"She hit my friend, here. Was just trying to teach her some manners."

The entirety of your group was now turned to face you, exchanging harsh whispers of your name followed by just leave it.

"You broke her nose!" The girl shrilled. You looked over her shoulder to the girl doubled over, clutching her bloody nose with an ensemble of people crowding around her.

"No, I think it just looks like that."

You grinned at the rage growing behind her eyes, your smile unfaltering even as her fist collided with your cheek.

"Harder." You shouted, rolling your neck from side to side.

"What?!"

"Come on, hit me harder. I know you got it in you." She didn't take much convincing; her next punch knocked you backwards onto the table as everyone rushed to tear the two of you apart.

You stepped forward to finally let her have it when a pair of strong hands pulled you back.

"Get off!" You shouted, kicking against who you assumed to be security throwing you out. You just hoped they weren't calling the cops, too.

"C'mon, doll. You've had enough fun for one night." A familiar Southern drawl cooed, dragging you out into the warm night. "Now, that wasn't very ladylike of you, darlin'."

He let you go from his grip and you turned to face him. To your surprise, you were met with the smirk of the younger Miller brother.

"Tommy." You breathed, "I didn't see you in there."

"Well, lucky I noticed you ain't it." He grinned.

Spending so much time at the Miller's had you well acquainted with Sarah's uncle Tommy. He'd seen you in much worse states than this, and in turn, so had you.

"Didn't need you to swoop in and save me, Tommy."

"Wasn't saving you, sweetheart. Was savin' that poor girl." You both smiled at the tone of pride in his voice.

"You got somewhere to go, trouble? Don't think you should be hangin' round here for too long."

"Can't exactly go home bleeding from my face." You sighed, realising you probably hadn't thought this through. You missed Sarah.

Tommy fished around in his pocket for his phone before raising it to his ear.

"Hey, big brother." Your stomach flipped. "No, no- it's not me. Joel, listen." You could almost hear Joel on the other end of the phone, witnessing it in person more times than you could count. It's not even ten o'clock yet, don't tell me you're locked up already.

"Our favourite little troublemaker needs a place to crash tonight. I'd drive her over but I've already had my fair share of beers. Okay, great. I'll tell her."

Once he'd hung up, Tommy told you that Joel was on his way to come and pick you up. You could feel your heartbeat in your stomach. You'd never been alone with Joel for longer than a couple of hours at most, let alone spending the night at his while Sarah was out of town. Something inside of you twitched in excitement, a warm rush settling deep in your belly.

You told Tommy to go back into the bar, that Joel wouldn't be long and you'd walk down the street to meet him in case those girls came out looking for another round.

As you made your way underneath the streetlights toward the direction of the Miller's house, you pulled your compact from your bag and touched up your make-up, re-curling your lashes and dousing a thick layer of clear lipgloss onto your lips, not bothering to tend to any of the blood trickling down your skin. You spritzed yourself with perfume and ran a brush through your hair, smiling at the thought of Joel seeing you waiting on the curbside for him.

Right on cue, his truck pulled around the corner. You raised your hand and wiggled your fingers, a small smirk spreading across your cheeks.

You were grateful for your earlier decision to wear your knee-high boots with a denim mini-skirt, adding a little extra sway to your hips as you made your way to the passenger side of Joel's truck. You climbed in and turned to face him, flashing him a toothy grin, well aware of the blood staining your teeth.

"You're a damn mess, princess." Something deep inside of you came to life at his words, causing you to visibly clench your exposed thighs together. "S'there I was, thinking to myself how thankful I am for a peaceful night after workin' lates all week. When my phone rings, just as I'd sat down and made myself comfortable."

"Peace is overrated." You replied.

"So, what did you do this time? Steal another cop car? Break into a hotel pool? Make out with someone's husband?"

You played with the hem of your skirt as he spoke, blushing as he listed a few of your past activities he'd either bailed you out of or heard about from Sarah.

"I didn't start this one." You said, a slight whine in your voice. "Someone hit my friend, I was just looking out for her."

"Your friend can't fight her own battles?"

"You never have a problem when it's Sarah I'm throwing punches for."

He scoffed. "Now, you know I've always taught her to never start a fight but always to finish one. You on the other hand, I don't think nobody's taught you anythin' of the sort."

"And are you gonna be the one to do that, Mr Miller?" You mimicked his Texan accent, which was much thicker than yours, and parted your legs in your seat ever so slightly.

"If I didn't know you better, darlin', I'd think you were tryin' to get me in some sort of trouble."

He pulled into the driveway and switched the ignition off before jogging to your side of the truck and holding the door open for you, as well as offering you an outstretched hand.

"Always such a gentleman." You smiled, looking at him through your eyelashes as you stepped out, hand in his.

He exhaled out of his nose, shaking his head softly as he slammed the door shut behind you. His hand moved to the small of your back, guiding you into the house.

"Sarah's bed is all made up, I'm sure you know where her clothes are f'you wanna change into something more... comfortable." His eyes trailed down your figure, your clothes hugging all the right places.

"Do you not like my outfit?" You pouted, holding your hands behind your back and sticking your chest out, swaying from side to side.

"Course not, y'look real pretty. Just thought you'd wanna watch TV before going to sleep is all." Joel brought a hand to the back of his head, rubbing his neck nervously as his eyes shifted to the floor.

For such a handsome man, he was so damn insecure. Maybe it was the gentleman in him, thinking that it was wrong for someone his age to want someone the same age as his daughter. He knew you didn't think like that, Sarah had told him multiple stories about the older men you'd hooked with at the bar.

He'd even caught you making out with a kid from your school's dad a few years ago when he'd come to pick you and Sarah up from a party. Joel had seemingly known the man, and you remembered how he'd stalked out of his truck and toward you both, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and warning him that his wife wasn't going to like hearing about this.

So, you kicked off your boots and took yourself upstairs into Sarah's bedroom. Not bothering to close the blinds, you peeled your clothes off and looked at yourself in the full length mirror.

The warmth of your earlier drinks still coated your inhibitions. You knew you looked good in your black lace set, breasts sat perkily on your chest and your ass cheeks the perfect handfuls.

Fuck it. If he wasn't going to be ballsy enough to make the first move, maybe you should.

You kissed the tips of your fingers and pressed them against a framed photo of you and Sarah giggling at whatever was going on behind the camera.

"Sorry, Sarah." You whispered, before making your way down the stairs.

Joel heard you coming but was too preoccupied fighting with the TV remote control to turn around and face you just yet.

"If I can get this damn thing to work I think they're showin' Scarface at ten, I know you said you ain't seen it so thought we could watch it."

"Sounds good," you spoke, your voice more honeyed than usual. "Hey, Joel. Do you think this will be comfy enough?"

He whipped his head around quickly, ready to give you the same kind of answer he did whenever Sarah asked for his opinion in a changing room. It took a second for him to register what he was looking at, but when it clicked he dropped the remote to the floor and turned his whole body to face you.

"What the hell," his face turned bright red, unsure what to do with his hands. You could give him a few ideas.

"You not like it?" You asked, voice low as you walked slowly in his direction.

His trousers began to tighten around his hardening cock and you smiled, glad that you were indeed on the same page.

"Course I- I, what the hell are you playin' at?"

"Come on, Joel. I gotta make up for interrupting your peaceful night somehow."

You closed the gap between you both and placed a hand delicately on his chest, tracing circles with the tip of your long, manicured nails.

Joel swallowed hard.

"This ain't right." He said weakly, his eyes betraying his words as they devoured the sight of your body before him.

"Cut the shit, Joel. I know you want me, and I want you."

He didn't answer, but instead threw you over his shoulder and carried you up to his bedroom, placing a couple of firm smacks on your ass as you wriggle against his strong grip. Your stomach did backflips, exhilarated at the prospect of what was about to happen.

Upon entering his room, he threw you roughly onto the bed and worked at undoing his belt as you scrambled onto your back, resting on your elbows.

"Y'know what I really thought when Tommy called, tellin' me I needed to come pick you up?" He said, although it didn't sound much like a question. "I thought, this dumb slut needs some sense fucking into her."

You moaned at his words, basking in the side of him that you knew always existed.

“Thought t’myself, she needs teachin’ some fuckin' manners f’once.”

Joel stalked around the side of the bed and sat and patted his lap. Wordlessly, you shifted your weight next to him and dangled your legs over the side of the bed.

He brought his right hand in between your thighs, making you shiver at the feeling of his coarse fingers grazing your skin. He ran his fingers up and down the length of your thigh, each time stopping short of the hem of your skirt.

"This is what you want, ain't it sweetheart?" He spoke lowly, voice gravelly and as rough as his touch. Each night spent tangled and alone in your sheets, fingers grazing your soaked folds with his name on your lips felt redundant. Nothing could come close to the feel of his skin on yours.

Pulling you from your trance, he slapped your inner thigh hard when you didn't respond. "Need t'hear you say it."

"Yes,' you moan through gritted teeth, surprised you can even find your voice. "This is what I need."

Sick of his incessant teasing, you clamber onto his lap and hook your fingers around the back of his neck.

"But I think you need this just as much, Mr Miller. You must get so lonely in this house all by yourself. Sarah always tells me how you never have any lady friends hanging around."

You straddle his lap and grip his neck for support, softly grinding yourself on the hardness of his lap. He moves a hand from your waist to roughly seize your chin, tipping your face down to meet his gaze.

"Your old man must've forgot to teach you some manners, little girl." His low voice tore through your body.

Joel hoists your skirt up to your waist and flips you underneath him in one swift motion. His body looms over yours, fingers trailing a rough and jagged line down to where you need him most. He moved at an antagonising slow pace, but you can't bring yourself to give into his little game by begging for more.

"Here's what we're gonna do, darlin'. You're gonna be a good girl f'me and tell daddy exactly what happened tonight." The mouth on him.

The way your body writhed and squirmed at his words didn't go unnoticed. With no warning, he plunged two thick digits inside of you and held them deep in place, his face inches away from yours.

"N'if you stutter, or lie, or say anythin' I don't like for that matter, you'll be over my knee, red-raw," his fingers curl inside of you and you bite back a moan, desperate to not let him have the upper hand.

"No matter how much you cry those pretty little eyes out, I won't quit 'til you've learnt somethin'. Understood?"

You suck a breath in through your nose, a sharp sting reminding you of the open wound still decorating your face.

"Yes, sir."

part 2 coming soon

taglist: @cool-iguana @nostalxgic @chaotic-mystery @beardedjoel

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silantryoo · 4 months

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BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — the last great american dynasty, pt 2.

jang wonyoung, throughout the years.

WARNINGS ; misogyny, toxic household, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, absent parents, mentions of affair families, hints of eating disorders, overworking, health issues, implied depression, imposter syndrome (7.2k)

hannah was just a name.

it was a combination of letters that the high schooler couldn't bear herself to recognize. she willed herself to read it as presented in front of her, but wonyoung had always been good at reading between the lines.

still, it didn't matter.

the name held good memories, ones that the young heiress should've treasured. the lullabies and stories that she cherished, the warmth and protection she had been engulfed in, all of it was gone.

good memories were for good people, perfect people. they were for people who kept their promises.

yoo jimin probably had good memories, ones that she didn't feel guilty about.

it helped that her half-sister stayed in the previously occupied room. it gave more of a reason to steer away from hyunseo's vicinity, despite wonyoung's desire to see the familiar layout.

wonyoung knew it would only anger her.

she had peaked into the youngest's room, the door ajar as western music blasted through the crevice. wonyoung had already been upset that day, her mother and father arguing about wonyoung's desire to join her high school's volleyball team. she needed to calm herself, to gather her thoughts and study, but hyunseo was making it difficult, blasting noise through the vents.

the wallpaper was different.

she was disappearing, just like wonyoung wanted.

(it hurt, more than it should've.)

it didn't matter. the young high school student had no time for grieving over her incompetence. her schedule had been filled to the brim with studies and practice since she had officially entered high school. wonyoung had little time on her hands, bouncing between studying and practicing in her free time.

it was a consequence of becoming perfect.

(wonyoung wondered how many consequences she could endure.)

the day after wonyoung had finished the final tryout, she had looked at the board, the official team roster was finally up.

her name was there, the very bottom written hastily as if a second thought. for once, wonyoung was glad to be last. she was glad to be there at all.

the young jang went home, eager to tell someone, anyone about her achievements. her mother and father, as usual, were nowhere to be found, but out of habit, she found herself rushing to her room.

oh.

the wallpaper was different.

hyunseo looked at her, eyes the same as their father's. before the youngest could speak, wonyoung rushed out.

hannah was just a name. she wasn't anyone.

wonyoung wished she wasn't just a name.

wonyoung had never played in a game before.

she had watched many on the tv in her room, juggling her studies and taking notes on all the events and mistakes that happened each minute.

she wanted to be on that screen one day, not as the leader or the libero, but as the ace, the outside hitter who scored all the points, who always seemed to play the perfect game despite not being so.

yoo jimin was an outside hitter, one who had a perfect family.

perfect.

"i have my first game next week." wonyoung looked at her food, hyunseo's head turning to her at her words.

her mother rolled her eyes.

"you got in?" wonyoung had gotten in a month ago. her father should've known that if he paid attention. "that's surprising."

she bit her tongue back, hyunseo's eyes glued onto her half-sister in awe. wonyoung calmed herself before speaking. she wasn't going to cause a scene, not when her father had just came back from work.

"so," wonyoung already knew the answer. "can you guys come?"

jiyoung and wonseok's eyes met briefly, and anyone who could see knew what they were thinking.

they weren't going.

"we'll see."

the youngest jang was proven right a week later, her teammate's parents crowded in a bunch on the bleacher, cheering on their kids. colored banners filled the area, and different players' names were displayed except hers.

disappointment settled in her chest, but not surprise.

she looked once more, scanning the crowd, a false hope still bubbling in her chest.

it was baby blue.

'go wonyoung-unnie!'

wonyoung frowned.

she asked for her parents. she asked for her family. she didn't ask for the affair child of her father to come, much less live under the same roof as her. wonyoung couldn't fathom the thoughts that were going through hyunseo's mind.

it was an insult to her, to the jang's. how dare she come to her game? she had no right.

hyunseo wasn't a jang. she would never be.

they had lost that day, wonyoung too angry to focus on what was in front of her. all she could see was the blue on the sidelines and red all around.

wonyoung didn't speak to hyunseo for the rest of that month.

time kept moving, but all the young jang could ever want was for it to stop.

her first season had ended two weeks prior, her official school training finally slowing down. there were no more long days spent in the gym, or sore shoulders and legs from overworking. instead, they had been replaced with gruesome hours at cram school, and an aching wrist from writing for hours nonstop.

the end of the semester was near, and wonyoung had noticed a slight drop in her grade.

she had to do well on her final.

the sun had already set, the heiress stepped inside her residence with a tired haze. friday was always a stressful day for wonyoung, her off-season conditioning and the weekly test at cram school lining up.

she needed food, and then sleep.

wonyoung took off her shoes, listening to the lack of britney spears blasting from upstairs.

her father was home.

"the ahn's told me you did well."

wonyoung jumped as she heard her father speak, his voice loud against the silence of her house.

jang wonseok worked late nights, even now, when his mistress was no longer with him. seeing him home before twelve, completely sober and talking to his eldest child in such a manner was whiplash to the young jang.

she collected herself, clasping her hands in front of her as she bowed politely.

"you watched my finals?" wonyoung bit back a smile, hoping that her true emotions hadn't shined through.

"i was busy." wonseok shook his head. wonyoung looked away. she should've known better. "their daughter watched it with them. why didn't you tell me you were starting?"

the young jang could feel the pride bubbling in her chest, her father's approval filling her with a warmth that she hadn't felt in over a year and a half.

she had worked hard to get where she was, adjusting her schedule to fit more practice and less studying, just enough to maintain her grades but improve significantly. wonyoung's coach had congratulated her progress, rewarding her with her hard-earned spot as the opposite hitter.

she was one step closer to being perfect, just like yoo jimin.

"i did." wonyoung tried her best to sound non-combative. she hated it when her parents twisted her words. "i told mom."

wonseok sighed. leave it up to jiyoung to forget. "your mother never told me anything."

wonseok had never talked to her this long, and the lack of interaction had become evident as the two fell silent, the younger avoiding her father's eyes.

wonyoung internally debated whether she should leave. perhaps her father had gotten tired of her presence. it wouldn't have been the first time, and she was sure it wouldn't be the last.

"how are your grades?" her father spoke once more, wonyoung's head shooting up at the sound. "are you getting along with hyunseo?"

his words left a bittersweet taste lingering in the air. wonyoung was partially elated, her father suddenly caring about her to this extent. it was what she had always dreamt of, back when she had been a child.

still, hyunseo was still his favorite, no matter how hard wonyoung tried.

"um, my grades are good." wonyoung barely stuttered out her words. "i'm at the top of my grade."

"good." wonseok smiled. "good job, wonyoung."

good job, wonyoung.

wonyoung always wanted to make her dad smile.

it was a name that she had forgotten, just like the shadow that used to linger next to her closet, holding a glass of water as it urged her to come out.

"who's hannah?"

the walls of the jang household seemed to echo it, chills running down the second-year high school student's spine.

"what?"

wonyoung could feel the memories, hazy and distorted, like an old vinyl playing on a forgotten record player. she could feel it, see bits and pieces of everything. she could see her crayons, lying on her bed. a familiar hum seemed to invade her ears, a lullaby.

then there was a casket, and a broken promise.

to love someone is to do the right thing.

wonyoung wasn't good enough to love or be loved.

"who's hannah?" hyunseo repeated her words, and anger flaring up in the young jang. "dad mentioned her, and-"

"he isn't your dad." wonyoung snarled, gripping the counter as her mother sighed from behind her. "you aren't my sister."

"i just heard-"

"then stop hearing." wonyoung had never asked for her in the first place. she didn't want another person ruining her family. "no one asked you to be here anyway."

hyunseo flinched, her head down as she nodded. the heiress watched as her half-sister walked away, most likely to the room that she had stolen.

wonyoung could see her mother shake her head, jiyoung's doe eyes staring at her with disgust. it was nothing new, especially as of late. it didn't bug the young jang anymore. she had gotten used to it.

still, it stung that jiyoung treated hyunseo, the product of her husband's affair, better than her own daughter.

"you need to control your emotions, before you hurt hyunseo." jiyoung's voice was stern, reprimanding. wonyoung almost laughed at how odd it sounded, like a mother scolding her friend's playmate.

hyunseo had everything she didn't.

"it's not your problem, mother."

jiyoung shook her head, and wonyoung hated how eeriely similar she and her mother looked.

"god, you're exactly like your father."

she didn't know why those words hurt more than they should've.

jang wonyoung had known the ahn's from the moment she was born.

her father had many connections being a politician. he had friends from all over the globe, from switzerland to hong kong. it didn't matter what their profession was. as long as it benefited the jang's, wonseok would treat them with the highest respect.

the ahn's were like them, the head of the family owning one of the biggest acting agencies in all of asia. it helped that they had lived in the penthouse two minutes away, and that their youngest daughter was near wonyoung's age.

yujin was a breath of fresh air, and wonyoung was glad to call the older girl her best friend.

the two younger girl's continued their conversation, ahn yeojin, the oldest of the two ahn sisters, keeping a watchful eye on them. she rolled her eyes, sending petty jabs at yujin. her parents had forced her to accompany the two teenagers in case her sister did anything stupid again.

it was a complete waste of her exam break before she had to go back to campus.

(yujin had broken her grandmother's china plates recently, their father cutting both their allowances in retaliation.)

hyunseo walked down, eyes hesitant as she approached wonyoung. the young jang was glad she had gotten the hint to leave her alone, hyunseo clearly avoiding her for what seemed to be weeks. she ignored the gnawing guilt that built up in her chest whenever she looked at her younger half-sister, replacing it with annoyance instead.

still, there were times were hyunseo refused to get a hint.

"unnie," hyunseo's voice was small, just like how the young lee felt. "can you help me with my homework?"

"learn how to do it yourself." wonyoung sighed. "you're a big girl, hyunseo, and i'm not your tutor."

"oh." wonyoung didn't know why it upset her to hear her half-sister's defeated voice. "okay."

wonyoung tried to ignore it, but the guilt seemed to overtake her. she watched as hyunseo walked back upstairs, her glassy eyes glued onto her paper.

english. wonyoung was good at english.

"you should be nicer to your sister." yeojin sighed. she turned to yujin, pinching the younger girl's cheek. "i would kill for yujin to go back to being that sweet and cute."

yujin blushed, her eyes going wide as she stared at wonyoung. she tried to push the older girl off, embarrassed at the thought of the heiress seeing her like this.

"hyunseo isn't my sister." wonyoung muttered, her eyes lingering on the stairs. "she's not a jang."

"you sound like your dad." yujin noted, eyes void of any thought.

yeojin let go of her cheek and smacked her head, the sight of wonyoung frowning enough for her to justify her actions. "ouch! unnie!"

wonyoung should be grateful that she was turning into a jang. it was what she wanted, to be the perfect daughter her dad wanted.

she paused. when did becoming a jang equal perfection?

yeojin sighed, wonyoung's turmoil evident. she looked at her younger sister, shaking her head.

"private school is melting your brain, ahn yujin."

yujin pouted. "i didn't do anything, though!"

"dad?"

jang wonseok was a busy man. wonyoung didn't know if all his flights were work-related, but she knew that all the papers piled on his desk occupied his time. she knew that from a young age, wonseok couldn't find the time in his schedule for her, and she continued to hold that belief.

jang wonseok stood outside her school gymnasium. he watched. he watched her.

wonyoung didn't understand why she wanted to cry, or why there was an odd feeling in her chest, one that she felt a long time ago with a shadow of person.

it felt warm, but it felt misplaced.

"let's go, wonyoung." wonseok's voice was stern, but he still managed to smile at anyone who came near them.

her father was still a politician before a dad, but wonyoung was still glad he decided to be dad today.

"you came to watch."

warmth and love.

it was all wonyoung had ever wanted from her parents. she had tried different ways of getting their attention, of becoming the version of herself that they had always wanted her to be.

even though she had found it in places where she had never expected, in the cracks and crevices of her closet, behind the shadow that casted against her wall, she had always wondered what it would feel like.

it felt wrong. it felt like she was undeserving.

maybe because she was.

silently, she followed her father into the parking lot. the different muted black and bone-white hues reflected from the sun and into her eyes. her father's car stood out like a sore thumb, however. it's clean, sleek finish emphasized the wealth of the jang name, just like all of the things that wonseok owned.

wonyoung could feel her father's temperament rising with each tired step she took. his patience was running thin and it didn't take a mastermind to figure out it was because of her.

she gets in the passenger seat, the slam of the driver's door making her flinch as she closes hers gently.

her father came to watch her, yet there was still a sinking feeling in her stomach, one that felt worse than before.

the car ride was mostly silent, the hum of the engine virtually silent as they drove.

"what was that?"

wonyoung didn't know what he was talking about.

"what?" she hadn't heard her father speak to her in such a tone, not since he found out that she had been playing well. "what was what?"

"that game, wonyoung."

wonyoung had hurt her shoulder during practice. she wasn't sure how it happened so fast, but it left her feeling discomfort every time she winded her arm back.

her coach had instructed her to take it easy for today, and wonyoung agreed. had she known her father would be watching, she wouldn't have.

why did he have to watch today?

"i hurt my shoulder during practice." wonyoung mumbled under her breath, playing with the cinnamoroll pin of her volleyball bag. "i usually play as the opposite hitter but-"

the car jolted, wonseok stepping on the gas, burning the rubber on his tires. his grip on the steering wheel tightened before he lifted his foot off, no longer accelerating.

she hated it when her father was like this. she would rather have her driver pick her up. at least then, she knew she wouldn't crash.

wonyoung wished he never watched her game.

"i'm not paying for you to be mediocre!" his voice was akin to a whisper, yet much deeper, and much angrier. "i'm not sending you to camps or paying for your physical therapy for you to play middle."

"i still played well." wonyoung tried to reason, slightly afraid. "coach said-"

"your coach doesn't pay for you." wonseok never took his eyes off the road, the snarl on his face staying. "i do. you should be doing everything that i say."

she did. she has. had he caught her playing any other day, she would be there, all over the court and in the air, playing with the pride of the jang's on her back.

she had picked '01' out for that reason.

wonyoung wanted to make him proud.

she just wanted to make him realize that today had been a bad day for her.

"dad-"

"what?"

but there was nothing she could do, not when he had decided that she was as useless as she truly was.

wonyoung stayed quiet, no longer finding the energy or worth to reason with her father. it was one of the many things her father had praised her for when she was younger.

her compliance was a gift.

"get your head out of your ass, wonyoung." wonseok muttered. "don't act like that ever again."

wonyoung, as obedient as ever, nodded.

"yes, dad."

she wished that her father stayed a busy man today.

the only person to knock on her door was hann hyunseo.

her father rarely went up to her room, always opting to call her downstairs to scold her or review her game videos. her mother preferred to barge right in, yelling at the top of her lungs about whatever she was particularly upset about that day.

it was one of the only things that hyunseo had done well, at least in wonyoung's eyes.

wonyoung grabbed the door knob, twisting it open to come face to face with her younger half-sister.

in hyunseo's hand, a piping hot of cup noodles steamed, and in the other, wonyoung's favorite water bottle. no one, not even the housekeepers, bothered the heiress during her study sessions. they knew that they wouldn't get a response at the very least, or gettting yelled at by jiyoung if her daughter answered at the very most.

wonyoung would've scolded the young lee instead, if not for her tear striken face.

"hi." hyunseo's voice was soft, trembling.

wonyoung knew that hyunseo was an energetic young kid, albeit too much for her liking. she always walked around with a smile on her face, even when the jang ignored her.

this wasn't like lee hyunseo.

"you haven't eaten all day." wonyoung didn't know why she felt so guilty. "i made you some food."

she hated hyunseo for many things.

she hated how hyunseo had erased her, even though the young jang had wished to. her shrill, excited voice annoyed her, especially when her mother seemed to be too fond of someone who wasn't hers biologically. she seemed popular at her school, friends hovering all around her with a smile.

hyunseo was too much. too loud, too annoying, too happy.

she was too much like wonyoung, or at least everything she wanted to be at that age.

"are you crying?" wonyoung asked, her voice almost comforting.

tears fell faster down the lee's face. hyunseo had always wished for her older sister to speak to her like that.

"oh, i didn't notice." hyunseo muttered. "don't worry. i just get sad sometimes."

wonyoung got sad sometimes, too. especially when...

oh.

"did dad yell at you?"

hyunseo hesitated before shaking her head, and it was all wonyoung needed to know.

"it's okay." hyunseo handed wonyoung her food and her water. the older girl couldn't help but stare. "i'm gonna go to my room now."

to love someone was to do the right thing.

when was the last time wonyoung had loved someone?

wonyoung hated meetings.

her father seemed to love them, yet she didn't. she hated the way each season started with a mandatory get-together, discussing away games, team trips, and fundraisers. it all seemed like a headache, organizing and planning. she would hate to be left with a task as such.

she could only shiver at the thought.

still, wonseok always got what he wanted, whether it be women or money. the beginning of the season allowed for him to 'suggest' the head coach to put in a good word for wonyoung to recruiters. although it was never needed, wonseok couldn't help but want a little cushion, just in case.

"we're gonna be late." he looked at his watch, handcrafted in spain.

"dad, it's just a meeting." wonyoung wished for hyunseo to talk longer, hoping that her father would just get frustrated altogether and not go. "you know that coach won't care."

"i care." wonseok was getting tired of the youngest at this point. making him wait for three minutes had already pushed his limits further than it should've. "hyunseo! hurry up!"

wonyoung winced, knowing exactly what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his screaming.

she felt horrible, like she was watching her four-year-old self get yelled at in the third person.

"dad, it's fine." wonyoung would've grabbed his arm, if she weren't so afraid of him. "it's only ten minutes away. we still have tim-"

"lee hyunseo!" his voice cut through the air in a way wonyoung had never heard in her life. instinctively, she took a step back. "do you want me to go up there and force you down here?"

jiyoung and wonyoung frowned at the thought of the man dragging the young lee down. it took everything in the younger jang to stay quiet, knowing that if she spoke, he would only get angrier.

jiyoung didn't care. that was sister's blood, regardless of origin.

"wonseok."

"shut it, jiyoung." wonseok's voice was raspy from his shouting. "i can't have that child ruin the reputation that me and wonyoung have built."

wonyoung bit the side of her cheek. if anything, he was ruining the reputation she built. wonseok's instant donations had spread rumors throughout multiple schools, and regardless of truth (which they weren't), wonyoung had to face the blow.

thank god for uchinaga aeri.

"she's a child." jiyoung tried to explain.

envy coursed through the young jang's veins. hyunseo was lucky to have jiyoung on her side. wonyoung would die for her mother to defend her, especially against wonseok.

she was a child, too. why didn't her mother care for her?

"she's grown enough to know that the world doesn't revolve around people like her." wonyoung was a hypocrite, just like her mother and her father. "lee hyunseo! last warning!"

wonyoung couldn't do this anymore. she could let a kid relive everything that she tried so hard to escape from.

hyunseo wasn't wonyoung, and wonyoung needed to see that.

"i'll go get her, dad." wonyoung smiled kindly, the facade threatening to fall with a single accusation.

she waited for her father to allow her, and with a simple nod, wonyoung rushed upstairs.

she hadn't been to han - no, hyunseo's room before. she had peaked inside multiple times, the old, grey wallpaper replaced with a soft pink that complimented the younger girl's personality.

the door was still the same though, and it reminded wonyoung that not all things change.

wonyoung felt a wave of deja vu as she knocked on the mahogany, the solid thud with each hit. her shadow bounced off the ground, and wonyoung wondered if hyunseo could tell who was there from it.

it was silent.

"hyunseo?" hyunseo heard the shadow speak. "can i come in?"

wonyoung could hear the faint footsteps approaching the hardwood door. her younger sister's tear-stained cheeks peaked through as hyunseo let her inside.

wonyoung closed the door behind her, knowing her father and mother would do their best to listen despite the soundproof walls.

everything felt familiar.

the air conditioning blasted from across the room, whirling out puffs of cool air that made wonyoung shiver. she could see the vanity, still in decent condition, just like how it was left before. the back of the door had an empty space between two of its hooks when a young jang wonyoung had decided to hang a chair off it.

the memories came flooding back, but jang wonyoung didn't deserve any of it.

but wonyoung couldn't dwell on it. lee hyunseo needed her older sister more.

"why are you crying?"

wonyoung could list multiple reasons off the back of her hand, many of it her doing.

she felt horrible. she could've stopped this.

hyunseo rubbed her eyes as if she were tired. "i can't find my brush."

although a brush was an odd thing to break down about, wonyoung couldn't help but brush it off. she had her fair share of meltdowns as well, one of which was a missing throw pillow in her closet.

"do you want me to look for it?" wonyoung's voice radiated a warmth that hyunseo had never felt from her.

without thinking, the younger girl threw her arms around her sister, wonyoung holding her in place. she was confused, even more so when the younger began to sob.

"hyunseo?"

it was heartbreaking to hear a child as bright as hyunseo cry. wonyoung didn't know how her parents managed to listen.

"i can't find my brush..." hyunseo could feel wonyoung embrace her back, and she felt as if she finally had someone on her side. "i miss when my mom. i miss my friends from my old school. i miss when dad was nice to me."

wonyoung didn't know why she felt as if hyunseo would shatter if she released her hold, or why it sounded like a six-year-old version of her, begging her dad to stay for her birthday.

"i wish i was you, unnie." wonyoung could feel the tears staining her shirt, and the shock running through her body. "you never mess up. you're always so pretty and smart. you never say the wrong thing. everyone loves you."

each sentence seemed to amount to the lie that was jang wonyoung. everything, every word that had come out of her younger sister's mouth, was all carefully curated by her in fear.

wonyoung was terrified that people would see through her, that they would see an imperfect, horrible monster. the one that resembled her father in namesake and in emotion.

wonyoung had even managed to fool hyunseo, but the eldest could never fool herself.

"you're perfect."

jang wonyoung was a useless, stupid crybaby. she was a coward who hid behind walls, who didn't deserve the love and praise that came to her.

jang wonyoung was jang wonyoung, and she feared that it would never change.

""i'm sorry, hyunseo." the younger girl cried as wonyoung tried her hardest not to. she was fooling everyone but herself. "unnie's here now. don't cry, okay?"

hyunseo's sobs eventually faded seconds later, her face flushed in embarrassment and exhaustion. wonyoung could tell that the younger girl had been needing her by her side, and all this time, she had done nothing out of pure selfishness.

"feel better?"

hyunseo nodded, her hair still messy. the eldest could only laugh at her sister.

"let's go find your brush."

hyunseo nodded, her head low as she watched wonyoung's shadow bounce off the hardwood floor.

wonyoung getting scouted to her dream school was basically a fantasy.

both her parents hailed from different SKYS. her father, like the typical jang he was, was an alumni of seoul national university. her mother, on the other hand, was from yonsei university.

she knew that her father wanted her to follow in his footsteps. wonseok had made it clear that if wonyoung were to continue volleyball, it would need to be at snu, where she would major in political science, just like him.

but, like yoo jimin, she wanted to go to seoul's university of multi-arts.

her father didn't need to know that she had a one-on-one meeting with the coach today. it wasn't like she could accept their offer without discussing with her father first.

but then there was her mother.

"i need to go, mom."

wonyoung had dressed for the weather. her light jacket, engraved with the letters of her high school, lay neatly on her figure. it wasn't one to keep her insulated, but with every word her mother spoke, it seemed more and more the case.

jiyoung was against wonyoung playing volleyball as a whole. she had heard from aeri that her mother would go on rants, demonizing the sport as if it was the reason for her daughter's shortcomings.

the reason for her daughter's shortcomings was many things, including her mother, but it was never volleyball.

still, jiyoung was sure wonyoung was going to get nowhere in life.

"you need to pass your csat." jiyoung had said those words before, like a mantra. "volleyball isn't going to get you there."

wonyoung could only scoff. being the top student at her school should've been more than enough, especially since wonyoung was also in the top ten players for volleyball.

she was eighth, right above a girl named shin yuna, whoever she was.

"i'm already going to pass." wonyoung muttered, putting on her shoes hastily. "i've been studying myself to sleep for the past month."

wonyoung remembered many mornings where she would wake up at her desk, her face pressed against her textbook.

"that's not enough for someone like you."

wonyoung blinked.

"someone... like me?"

wonyoung knew she was stupid. she knew that there was nothing inside her head aside from volleyball and textbooks, and that she always had to try twice as hard to be at the same level as everyone else.

she knew that she was worth practically nothing, but she was growing tired of her parents repeating it over and over again.

wonyoung didn't need a reminder.

"you need to study harder and stop trying to be something you're not."

wonyoung hated how her mother saw right through her, just like how she hated her mother for never loving her.

she hated how she could never love herself because of it.

"is that why you married dad?" wonyoung's voice sounded unfamiliar to her, as if it wasn't her own. "is that why you let yourself get cheated on and why you let his other child live under your roof?"

hyunseo gasped, and wonyoung had forgotten she was sitting in the living room right next to jiyoung.

"this has nothing to do with my marriage and has everything to do with how stupid and useless you are." jiyoung's words still cut deep, no matter how hard wonyoung had willed it not to. "you think your father cared about you before this? you think he cares now?"

wonyoung could only blink her tears away.

she knew the truth, just like then. wonyoung was an extension of the jang name, nothing more. her failures were hers and her successes were his.

she wondered if wonseok ever cared about anyone but himself.

"he cares about someone!" wonyoung bit back with the same furosity as her mother. "and that's clearly not you."

hyunseo wanted the shouting to stop. she wanted everyone to calm down, to get along.

(deep down, she wondered if the real cause of the tension was her.)

"you don't know how hard it was carrying your burden." jiyoung could remember every insult that wonseok threw her way. every jab at her character, she took and held, and it was all wonyoung's fault. "you don't know the things your father put me through."

"i don't need to know!" wonyoung could feel her throat growing tired of holding back her tears. "you're a horrible mother. i wish you died instead!"

the room fell silent.

wonyoung could hear the quiet chatter coming from the tv, playing whatever show hyunseo had been watching. the polyester cuff of wonyoung's sleeve rubbed against her wrist as she covered her mouth. she could smell the rain from outside, no longer pouring,

in front of her, wonyoung watched as she saw her mother cry for the first time.

to love someone is to do the right thing.

"how can you say that to me?" jiyoung didn't know she could feel pain like this again. "how could you hurt your mother, wonyoung?"

("it should've been you, jiyoung. it should've been you instead of jihyun.")

but wonyoung was tired of asking her mother to love her.

"whatever."

wonyoung turned, slamming the door behind her. she could feel her hands shaking, a part of her guilty for saying those words, and a part of her horrified for meaning them.

wonyoung wished the rain would start once more. perhaps she could hide her tears in them.

wonyoung and her mother hadn't spoken about the incident, and she never would.

upon thinking about it, only regret gnawed at the bottom of her chest. she hated how a significant part of her meant the words she said, and how deep down, she truly wished for it to be true.

wonyoung was just like her father, in every sense.

"dad told me to pick you up today."

wonyoung could see the middle schoolers around her, mouth hung open as the eldest picked up her sister. behind hyunseo, a boy around her age scurried away, nearly tripping over himself in fear.

granted, wonyoung was glaring at him.

"was that your boyfriend?" wonyoung felt a deep-setted anger simmering in her chest.

"no!" she could see her sister blushing heavily. "why?"

she knew her mother couldn't care less about who she dated, but she wondered if jiyoung felt the same as her when it came to hyunseo.

"you guys shouldn't be that close if you aren't dating." she felt like a mother scolding her daughter. sighing once she saw hyunseo's pout, wonyoung relented. "does he like you?"

"i don't think so." hyunseo's frown deepened, and a part of wonyoung wanted to reassure her that it was the boy's loss. "do you think he does?"

oh. wonyoung raised an eyebrow.

"do you want him to?"

hyunseo's face burned a firey red as she refused to answer. it took everything in the older girl to not tease her sister. wonyoung never understood someone crushing on another person that much.

perhaps she hadn't met the right person yet. at least, that's what aeri and yeojin had told her (yujin had stayed oddly quiet when wonyoung had asked her).

the two walked out of the building, wonyoung smiling at every passerby she had recognized. there were many of her father's business partners around, all because wonseok had decided hyunseo had to attend private school.

wonyoung shivered at the thought of entering a private school.

"you should apologize to auntie." hyunseo frowned, fiddling with the strap of her backpack.

wonyoung sighed. "it's not your problem, hyunseo."

hyunseo lowered her head, feeling as wonyoung gave her a soft pat on her head.

"i don't like seeing you upset, unnie."

upset was an understatement.

"i'm not upset." wonyoung tried her best to reassure her younger sister, smiling as she opened the car her dad had gifted her on her sixteenth birthday.

"my mom said that lying can put you in jail for life." hyunseo scolded her, and wonyoung couldn't help but burst out laughing. "i know it doesn't because i'm not five anymore, but still."

the two hopped inside, wonyoung starting the car as hyunseo settled in.

"it's her fault." wonyoungg muttered.

she didn't expect hyunseo to understand. although there was a sliver of her that felt bitter, the younger girl wasn't there for wonyoung's childhood. she couldn't blame hyunseo for defending her version of jiyoung.

"i know." hyunseo looked at the window as they pulled out of the parking lot. "but sometimes, it's not just her fault. no one is perfect."

wonyoung felt her heart drop.

hyunseo had seen through her facade.

"i thought you thought i was perfect?" wonyoung's calm voice failed to reflect her true emotions.

did hyunseo hate her now? did she realize that the person she looked up to was nothing but a selfish, ruined person who wished death on her mother?

wonyoung needed to focus on driving before she crashed the two of them on the side of the road.

"you are." hyunseo seemed truthful, but wonyoung begged to differ. "but even perfect people mess up sometimes."

she knew. she had to.

"that would mean they aren't perfect."

wonyoung wasn't perfect. it was her fatal flaw.

"oh." hyunseo hummed, oblivious to her older sister's internal turmoil. "that makes sense, i guess."

wonyoung wondered if she'd ever be perfect.

she wondered if hyunseo would forgive her.

it had only been almost a year since the two had gotten close. hyunseo had followed her around like a baby chick following her mother, and wonyoung cherished it like she cherished her little sister.

but she couldn't stay in this place anymore, not when her father and mother was here. she couldn't become who they wanted, no matter how hard she wanted to.

wonyoung just wanted to be selfish. she just wanted to be anything but her parents.

"look at my daughter!"

wonseok had been babying her since she agreed to go to snu. it was everything she wanted when she was a child, to be recognized and loved by him, but she was terrified of becoming another jang clone.

"top of her class, and on her way to seoul university, just like her father."

she had to break the news to him coldly, just like how he had announced to her mother about his affair.

"i want to go to suma."

wonyoung could see his facade drop, and she was met with the face of the wonseok she knew; cold, unloving, and terrifying.

she hoped hyunseo wouldn't see her like that once she left.

"what?"

wonyoung repeated herself. "i'm going to suma."

suma was a prestigious school, one of the SKYS that everyone had obsessed over. still, in the eyes of the elite, sending your child to the worst out of the four was a mockery.

jang wonseok wasn't a mockery.

"no, you aren't." wonseok's voice was firm and wonyoung could see her mother stiffen at his voice. "that's a performing arts school. your mother went to one when she was younger and look how she turned out."

"she graduated in yonsei."

"she went to a performing arts high school." wonseok reasoned before standing up. "wonyoung, you're not going to suma. you didn't even apply."

she sent the registration forms the day her and her mother had fought, with a letter of recommendation from her coach and the principal.

it was the only school that she had done so.

"i did." wonyoung tried her best for her voice to not waver. "i'm going."

wonseok took a heavy breath, internally blaming his wife for raising a daughter so disobedient. "who's gonna pay for your tuition?"

"i'm on a full-ride scholarship." she decided to answer, quick and curtly.

suma was the only school that had given her a full-ride scholarship, included in which are dorms and her meal plan. snu had only given her a partial one since the campus was only a couple minutes drive from gangnam.

"the majors there are useless." wonseok tried to reason, his temper slowly getting the better of him. "you need something practical, something that makes you-"

"a jang?"

wonyoung had meant it as an insult, but all wonseok could take it as a compliment.

"exactly." he felt as if he was starting to get through to his daughter. "i thought you said you were doing political science, wonyoung."

she never wanted to do political science. if she had to choose a major, one of which wasn't in multi-arts, she would've chosen biology with a focus on flora.

wonyoung never got what she wanted, though.

"i changed my mind."

this time, she would.

"you're kidding me." wonseok couldn't believe what he was hearing. he looked over to jiyoung, face red from anger as he adjusted the cuffs on his shirt. "talk to your daughter."

with one look, wonyoung knew her mother knew that she wasn't going to change her mind. it was one of the many things that terrified wonyoung, especially back when her mom found out about her preference for women.

("it's gonna be my problem if your dad finds out. keep your mouth shut.")

"wonyoung, now's not the time to annoy your dad." jiyoung just wanted to go upstairs and turn off her brain. she was tired of hearing her husband yell and her daughter whine. "just do what he says."

wonyoung shook her head.

"no." she stood her ground, just like her father had taught her. "their volleyball team's good. it's basically the best way to get into the national team. each year they take someone to go and-"

"that's not you!" wonseok could feel his temper skyrocketing. the jang's were made for politics like they have always been. "you're a jang!"

wonyoung never asked to be born a jang.

"i'm going." this was her only way out. "i already accepted."

jiyoung shook her head. with a piercing glare, she looked at her husband. "this is your fault for enabling her fantasies."

"kang seulgi and lee chaeyeon went there. so did seo soojin." her father shook his head, muttering curses under his breath. suddenly, wonyoung had realized.

"dad," there was a reason why she had gone to that high school in the first place. if the jang's were anything, they were easily influenced. "yoo jimin goes there."

"you're not yoo jimin."

wonyoung knew that, but she still wanted to dream.

"yujin-unnie is going. aeri-unnie also goes there." wonyoung begged. she knew that deep down, no matter how hard she tried, she would always need her father's approval. "the oh's went there too! haewon-ssi is next in line to inherit-"

"enough."

wonyoung looked down, her act no longer hiding her desperation.

she couldn't stay here. she couldn't go to snu, and be a half-baked politician who lies their way out of problems. wonyoung had no say in her life, but this time, she just wanted one chance.

"who else?"

wonyoung thought to herself.

"hwang yeji."

wonseok nodded.

"i'll think about it, wonyoung."

that was more than enough.

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rwbyrg · 5 months

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RWBY Ship Parallels #1: Fear & Bravery

There are too many ship parallels to put them all in one meta, so I'll make individual posts as I remember them. The first one I want to tackle is how all the canon or hinted-at-being-canon ships all have pivotal moments where the themes of being afraid and/or having courage come up.

Some elaborations under the cut!

For starters, just for context to refer back to throughout the post, the definition of courage/bravery is as follows:

noun 1. the ability to do something that frightens one. 2. strength in the face of pain or grief.

I was initially going to list these chronologically, but we're going to do it on a ship by ship basis instead. First up:

Renora

The first incident for them happens all the way back in V4 during their backstory flashback. Ren underwent a small arc learning from his father that sometimes the worst action to take is not taking any action at all, even if it's scary. He then tries to support Nora by teaching her this same lesson: that they both need to be brave. She expresses vulnerability about how scared she is, Ren confesses to feeling the same, and together they decide to look after each other from that point on. Which makes everything just a bit less frightening.

We also revisit these same themes in their V8 confession. First we see Nora criticizing Ren for running away just because things got difficult:

And after Ren owns up to this cowardice, the things he did out of fear of failure, the conversation shifts. Nora admonishes herself, and Ren lists things off about her that he admires, the last of which - while not using the word itself - calls to how brave of a person she is and cites it as one of the main reasons why he loves her. Because as the definition above states, being strong and helping people without worrying about how much it might hurt you in turn is what it means to have courage.

WhiteKnight

Their heart-to-heart in V9E9 says it all. Weiss has been carrying the weight of failing to save Atlas since it fell, and after Ruby's actions in the episodes prior, she became aware (a bit too late) of how those same failures were weighing on their leader. So when Jaune acknowledges the harm he caused from trying so desperately not to repeat their past mistakes, Weiss is the perfect person to step up for reassurance.

She knows that their failures do not equate to their worth or all the good they're capable of doing. And reminding Jaune of this, calling him a brave and good person in spite of his failures, is what he needed to hear to be able to reach an acceptance he hadn't been able to achieve in all those years trapped alone in the Ever After.

(Also the framing parallel of BB and WK both holding each other is a very nice touch.)

Bumbleby

With BB it's not just one or two moments. Blake and Yang's characters both centre around the themes of cowardice and bravery since their beginnings and we see it come up throughout the show a lot. Back in V2, Yang sees the bravery in Blake when she herself can only focus on the opposite:

Blake: When you figured out I was a faunus I didn't know what to do, so I ran. when I realized my oldest partner had become a monster, I ran! Even my semblance... I was born with ability to leave behind a shadow of myself. An empty copy that takes the hit while I run away.

In V4 and 5 we see Yang struggling to get back on her feet after losing her arm and the trauma she endured at Beacon. Blake tells Sun that she sees Yang as the "embodiment of strength" and we, the audience, get to see the proof of this every time she keeps fighting despite shaking, and especially when she faces off with Raven in the finale.

These parallel arcs culminate with both of them facing off against Adam together, but most especially gets called back to in their mutual confession scene in V9:

Yang acknowledges what she saw in Blake all those years ago, that she doesn't give up on what matters to her, even when people hurt her, she still fights for what's important. While Blake acknowledges Yang's reliability, her strength, and her courage. And both of them, like Renora, cite these reasons as things they admire, and reasons why they love each other.

Now last, but certainly not least:

Rosegarden

One of the very first things Oscar says to Ozpin when he leaves the farm is that he's scared. This comes back time and time again, especially in the Atlas arc where Oscar spends so much of his time counselling Ironwood against letting his fear control him (a conflict Ruby is also a part of). Our little prince even has a theme song titled Fear to really drive it home.

Whereas Ruby has always been the poster child of "keep moving forward", no matter how much the trauma, stress, pressure, and grief weighs you down. You just have to be strong and keep pressing on, fighting the monster that took her mother away. No matter what.

So, much like BB, there are themes around bravery, fear, and perseverance that apply to both Ruby and Oscar's personal arcs. Both of them especially have focus on being brave despite fears of loss. With Oscar, it is fear of losing himself to the merge; whereas Ruby has a fear of losing those she loves.

All the way back in the infamous Dojo Scene is where we first see these themes addressed in their dynamic. It starts with Oscar expressing vulnerability to Ruby about how afraid he really is.

Ruby initially tries her usual strategy; surface level reassurances about just pushing through it... but it doesn't work on him. So after some upset from Oscar, she ends up being vulnerable with him too. Something she hadn't done with anyone else in show by that point.

Ruby admits that she's afraid too, not just for herself, but for the threat Salem poses to the world as they know it and the people within it. Ruby tells him about those she's lost and says that if it had been her instead, those friends would have kept fighting too. That vulnerability, which requires courage in and of itself, is what motivates and inspires Oscar to keep moving forward where Ruby's earlier attempt could not. The scene closes off with one more nod to these themes where Ruby pauses at the door and turns back with one final thought:

In both the above scene and the V4 finale, Ruby cites "fighting for those they've lost and those they haven't lost yet" as her main motive to keep fighting. Up until V8/9 she used this as her greatest source of strength, but that strength is a double edged sword which eventually became her greatest weakness when Neo used it against her. First trapping her in a room with all the people she "failed":

And then landing a finishing blow with making her kill lose one of the people she loves most: Oscar.

Ruby can be brave if it means she can protect the people she loves. But just as Penny's death dealt a very big hit to Ruby's hope, what little she had left was crushed at the thought of losing Oscar (and Little) too.

Aside from that, there has also always been an underlying mystery around what having silver eyes means for Ruby. In V4, she is hunted by Tyrian and in V8 she finds out what her fate would have been had he succeeded. A fate which very justifiably terrifies her and seems to be a theme that will carry on into the Vacuo arc. It is also something that was brought up in the second RWBY x JL movie, I talked about this a little bit in this meta, but I'll share it here as well. In the movie, Ruby opens up a bit about this fear saying the following:

“Did you know I lost my mom when I was a kid? I don’t know exactly what happened to her, I don’t really remember her, I just have stories. And I keep trying to live up to those stories, but… I realize they don’t matter anymore. Heroes fall. And I just want to get as much done as I possibly can before I do.”

This scene directly parallels one of Oscar's back in V6:

“I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be… me. But I did some thinking, and I do know that I want to do everything I can to help with whatever time I have left.”

Both of these scenes show their respective courage around fears related to their issues with identity. Oscar saying he will do whatever he can before he loses himself, and Ruby doing whatever she can before she loses her life as all heroes eventually will.

So to summarize: Renora, Whiteknight, Bumbleby, and Rosegarden all have a scene where one or both partners cite the other's bravery as something they admire or love about the other person. All of these ships also include at least one scene - but often more that just weren't listed here - where they open up and are vulnerable with each other about their fears and motivations. And lastly, with BB and RG especially, bravery and fear are central themes to both their relationship dynamics as well as their individual character arcs within those pairings, all of which narratively parallel each other extensively.

CRWBY is very consistent with how it writes its ships and this is only the tip of the iceberg of all the parallels we've seen between these partners so far. But that's all for now; thanks for reading!

#rwby #ruby rose #oscar pine #rosegarden #rwby rosegarden #ship parallels #bumbleby #renora #whiteknight #rwbyrg #meta #rwby ship parallels

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mimiatmidnight · 1 year

Text

So, twelve hours post, here is my first round of thoughts:

I will never recover from all the baby clips. NEVER. RECOVER.

Doria is the classiest, most dignified person in history. That poor woman deserves a medal for what she endured so strongly.

The producers did such a fantastic job of weaving the love-storytelling in with the historical discussions and the present-day narrative. And MAN what a love story. I really thought I had a good sense of them before, but I feel so different now. I see them and their love in a new light. Which, hey, isn't that the exact point of this whole thing? So, mission accomplished. I am completely warmed and enchanted.

I especially feel I understand so much more about who they were before each other. I love how dedicated the producers were to establishing Meghan's pre-Harry personhood and just how much she lost to be with him. And I was so unspeakably moved by Harry's recounting of his relationship to the people of Lesotho and Botswana. How they took him in when he had no place he felt at home. How it fundamentally shifted his development into the man he would be become. Genuinely one of the most beautiful stories in the whole production.

Meghan is better than me because if I had to meet my future in-laws and there in my kitchen was Kate Middleton looking at me the way Kate Middleton looks at people, I would be on the next plane back to America. EXPEDITIOUSLY.

Also um can we take a sec to laugh at how Cambridge stans (esp those in the rota) are taking personal offense to Harry's cheeky but astute observation about his male relatives marrying for convenience rather than love? SO funny. I think he was very obviously talking about his parents, but hey if you wanna be like "This is so clearly about William and Kate" like . . . Ok mama, if the tiara fucking fits!!!!

Meghan is better at communicating the warm, gooey, happy parts of the story, and Harry is FAR better at communicating the serious, difficult, upsetting parts of the story -- the "shocking revelations," if you will. Meg is seemingly still struggling with this incredibly frustrating naivete surrounding their situation, and it does not come across the screen well to me. But that is a discussion for others to have, so that's all I'll say on that.

The Black historians and political commentators they brought on were absolutely critical to nailing that side of the story. Afua Hirsch was my very favorite.

I've already gotten at least one anon asking about my perspective on the addressing of Harry's SS costume. I appreciate the interest, but no. I am the granddaughter of a Holocaust survivor. My family and I have been discussing how to internalize and process Harry specifically, as well as people like him, for years now. And it's not something I'm willing to do over the internet with strangers. Sorry, but I hope you can understand.

Mandana's scene was so funny. She was like "Royal expert? You literally just made that up right now 🤨" LMAO

Ashleigh's appearance knocked me BACK omg. I'm so touched to see how they connected all those years ago, and I hope they have found a way to reconnect, away from all that sabotage.

As I posted just before, the way they are juuuuust planting the seeds for the Jason storyline to come . . . literal fucking chills.

I love that they know which photos of them are iconic. When the umbrella shot showed up I was like "Yeah they know that was history right there" 😌

Oh and showing them Meghan's old This or That interview, the producers are SO real for that kjgfhfdgfjgh

Please believe me when I tell you that I am not usually one to be all "Ohhhhh Diana ohhhhh she's looking down on them ohhhh this or that." Lol. But the clip of Archie reaching his little hand to her photo on the wall, and not to her face, which babies are neurologically wired to focus on, but to her hands. Yeah a bitch might just have teared up or whatever 🥲

I thought the whole thing was really well produced. So far, it's not the nuclear war all those panicking lil media experts were predicting. But my sense is that Volume I was very much an introduction to lay the groundwork for whatever we're about to go through in Volume II. And I cannot wait. For the time being, I am so over the moon to be granted this truly moving glimpse into what a beautiful life Harry and Meghan have built for themselves.

#meghan markle #prince harry

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tenabrye · 1 year

Text

Baby Blues

Wolfwood x Fem!Reader (Stampede Version) ft. Vash

Requested by: @sweetchildcloud

Warning(s): Childbirth scene, post-birth fever, death, angst

Your grip on Nicholas' hand tightened, causing him to wince a little at the pain, but he endured it for your sake. His eyes scanned over your body, small droplets of sweat having coated your face, neck, and hands as you breathed hard through your nose and mouth, switching between the two often. A frustrated groan ripped from your throat as your body tensed, your lower half doing its best to push out this child of yours. When you ceased, you leaned your head back against the pillow and closed your eyes.

"You're doing great, (Y/n)," you heard Vash say. He had been assisting with the birth, much to the dislike of Nicholas. The undertaker would have preferred to be in a town with a doctor, however, things never go according to any plan of his and your little one arrived sooner than he thought. "Just keep pushing."

You raised your head up a little to make eye contact with the blond. "I'm trying," you told him, your breathing heavy as you struggled to sit yourself up a little more. Wolfwood moved along with you, helping you ease yourself up into a more comfortable position to continue pushing. You glanced at him and frowned. "You did this to me."

"It takes two to tango, sweetie," he said, lips curling into a slight smirk as you rolled your eyes at him. The smirk was then quickly replaced with a frown as your grip on his hand tightened even more as you let out another pained groan, eyes closing as you struggled to push once more. "Don't worry," he reassured, "just a little more and it'll be over."

You stopped pushing, allowing your body to relax a little before the next time you would have to repeat it. It was difficult and you knew it was straining your body doing this. The pain didn't make it any better, either, but it seemed to have dissipated a little with each push you gave. A shaky sigh slipped out as you hung your head, trying to relax for a second before hearing Vash asking for you to push once again.

"I can't," you said, voice soft and shaky, "I just can't."

Wolfwood exchanged a look with Vash before the pair turned their attention to you. "Just one more," Vash said, "one more big push and you'll be done." You looked at him, the frown on your face causing him to mimic it. "One more time and it'll all be over. I promise."

"You can do it," Nicholas whispered to you. His hand gave yours a gentle squeeze as he softly smiled at you.

You gave him a small nod, your lips mimicking the smile on his face as you prepared yourself for one last push. The pain of doing so was excruciating, and you couldn't help but let a scream rip itself from your throat as you pushed with all of your might for the final time. The soft crying of your child echoed in the room, causing you to smile as you laid back in the bed and relaxed your body, but something felt wrong.

Vash could be heard cooing at the infant as he held the child in his arms. "It's a little girl," he smiled, causing Nicholas to grin.

"You hear that, (Y/n), it's a--" He froze when he turned to look at you, his eyes widening at how pale you looked. Your skin no longer the vibrant tone it was before. Fear washed over him, and he panicked. "Oi, oi," he said, getting the blond's attention, "she's not looking too good."

Vash's eyes immediately took in your current state, and he frowned. "Check her forehead."

You closed your eyes, letting out a soft hum as you felt Nicholas place the back of his hand up against your forehead. It felt so nice and warm compared to how cold your body now felt. "You're so warm," you mumbled out, causing him to worry even more.

"She's burning up. What do we do?" The dark-haired man held a sad look on his face as he made eye contact with the blond. Vash then spoke up, instructing him on find a cloth and dampening it to place on your forehead, however, that seemed to be all that they could do. "Is there nothing else we can do?" Desperation was hinted in his tone, and Vash shook his head, frowning.

"We don't have a doctor."

Wolfwood's jaw clenched, and he hung his head for a moment before glancing back at your resting form. You looked worse than before, skin a lighter tone than it was prior, having now been coated with even more sweat as the fever slowly wrecked your body. "She doesn't look like she's getting any better. She looks--"

"She is," Vash said, cutting off Wolfwood. The man widened his eyes and turned to look at the blond, watching as he stared down at his daughter with a sorrow-filled look. "I'm sorry."

Nicholas' shoulders dropped as his brain tried to process it all, body shaking lightly. His attention went back to you, taking note of how you now had your eyes open and were staring at him with a sweet smile on your face. "Nicholas," you called out to him, and he came to your side, "can I see the baby?"

He stepped aside as Vash brought the infant to you, gently placing her into your arms before stepping back and allowing Wolfwood to be closer to you. "What do you want to name her?"

You smiled as you looked from the infant and to the undertaker beside you. "Clover."

Nicholas swallowed hard as he nodded. "It's a pretty name for her," he said.

You hummed a reply before your attention went back to your newly born daughter. "Clover," you let out a small sigh before pressing a kiss to her head, "I want you to be a good girl for daddy."

Wolfwood's body froze as he now looked down. He couldn't look at you right now, for if he did, he would break. He tensed when he felt a hand clasp his shoulder and give it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Nicholas then looked up and met the soft expression on Vash's face. "You stay with her," he said. The blond slowly exited the room after receiving a nod from his friend, leaving him with his family.

"I'm sorry," you heard Wolfwood say.

"For what?"

"This," he said, gesturing to your condition.

You let out a small, slightly strained chuckle, coughing lightly as you shook your head. "It's okay, Nicholas. Sometimes life doesn't go as planned, but know that I love you...okay?" He gave you a small nod and clenched his jaw once more as you coughed a little more before relaxing. "I know you'll take good care of her. You and Vash will keep her safe for me."

His hand held yours as he stared at you, now frowning. He closed his eyes, and you could see them. The little tears that rolled down his cheeks and dropping onto the bed. You closed your eyes and laid your head back. You let out a small breath, feeling yourself slowly succumbing to this sudden sickness. You could feel your strength fading away, which was why Wolfwood took the infant out of your arms and held her in his own. It wouldn't be long now, but you would simply lay here and enjoy the peace with your little family.

Vash held Clover in his arms as he watched Wolfwood crouch down beside the grave, saying a few words to honor you before placing a small cross down upon it. The infant made a small noise, causing her father to stand to his feet and turn towards her and the blond. "Is she okay?" He asked.

Vash smiled softly and gave a small nod before glancing down at the child. "She is," he replied, "are you?"

Wolfwood didn't respond, which gave Vash his answer. He then pulled out his carton of cigarettes, flipping them open and bringing it to his lips to pull one out, only to cease when he heard his daughter make another noise. With a chuckle, he flipped the lid, closing the carton and sticking them into his pocket. "Let's go, Needle-Noggin. Need to make it to town for supplies."

The man chuckled at his nickname and nodded. "You think she'll be fine with us? We do get into trouble."

Nicholas stared at Vash before glancing down to the now asleep infant in his arms. "With us watching over her, she'll be the safest baby on this planet."

He would abide by what you said. He would keep your daughter safe, even if it killed him. She would grow up knowing you, hearing the many stories Vash would tell her about you, and how Wolfwood would interject at the outlandish parts. She would know the kind of person you were, and how he could never love anyone as much as he did you.

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun wolfwood #trigun stampede wolfwood #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun angst #trigun stampede angst #nicholas d wolfwood angst #wolfwood angst #wolfwood x reader #wolfwood x you #wolfwood x y/n #wolfwood x female reader

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queen-dahlia · 1 year

Text

𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐯𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧

𝗠𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗥𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗲 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟯 𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗣𝗢𝗩

Note: Translation is not 100% accurate. Expect grammatical errors.

// : alternate translation

If one were to ask which is more difficult: dominating people through violence or making compromises through communication,

It would definitely be the latter—trying to resolve everything through communication would be more difficult.

The little rabbit knows this, but she has not given up on communication.

And I've made up my mind that I'm not going to get involved in anything but violence,

On the contrary, she is willing to endure violence.

It may be a perfect score for the woman with the most beautiful heart in Rhodolite.

But I feel sick looking at her.

(… I made it happen, but I thought you would break sooner.)

Succumbing to people's violence and giving up on communication because it is impossible, the little rabbit herself becomes tainted with malice.

The pure white heart is now dyed black, and the "Final Judgment" is over.

But it was not easy to do so. The little rabbit is brazen.

(But…)

I stood in front of the little rabbit's room and gently opened the door.

As expected, there was a little rabbit lying on the bed and crying.

No matter how beautiful your heart is and how noble your beliefs are...

A heart stabbed with malice can't be okay.

(… A villain never misses a vulnerable prey, right?)

I hide my presence and sneak up on Little Bunny to look into her face.

Gilbert: "Wow, you're crying. Poor thing."

Emma: "!?"

The little rabbit, seemingly unaware of my presence, froze like ice.

Gilbert: "You must have let your guard down. But too bad, I wouldn't leave such a fun situation unattended."

The little rabbit raised her upper body and covered her face with her hands.

Perhaps she didn't want to be seen so much, but she was red all the way to the tips of her ears.

(… So cute.)

Gilbert: "I was waiting in front of your room, making sure my presence went unnoticed."

Gilbert: "Oh, and I am here to remind you about the cookies. You promised me 1,000 cookies, right?"

Emma: "… Please wait five minutes."

Gilbert: "As much as you want. In the meantime, I'll look around your room."

Emma: "No, please don't!"

Gilbert: "Didn't I let you look around my room before?"

Gilbert: "I wonder if you have something to be so flustered about."

Gilbert: "But don't worry. Even if you have embarrassing proclivities, I will still accept you…"

Gilbert: "I'll keep quiet about it to the people around us. …Maybe."

Emma: "I have no such proclivities!"

Gilbert: "Then there's no problem if I look around, right?"

The purpose of visiting the little rabbit's room was not just to make fun of her crying face.

(… Yeah, I knew it.)

Feeling a sense of discomfort, I open the book lightly on the desk.

A dangerous needle was attached to the bookmark, and I retrieved it without being noticed.

(The violence is getting worse. …I should probably nail them down soon.)

(Anyway, this guy... yep, I'll kill him.)

All the malice directed towards the little rabbit is managed behind the scenes.

What kind of action is likely to occur, and what real harm is done to the little rabbit?

They don't even know they're dancing in the palm of a trampling beast.

Gilbert: "Have you read this?"

Withdrawing my evil schemes, I pointed to the black book so as not to seem unnatural.

It was a book I had given to the little rabbit on a whim earlier.

Emma: "Yes… I read halfway through."

Emma: "I thought about it again, but the main character of that book is amazing."

Emma: "Confronting the insidious crimes in the court many times…"

Emma: "No matter what obstacles stand in her way, she keeps looking forward and never cries or looks down."

Emma: "She had a dazzlingly pure and beautiful heart, and even the people around her were inspired by her…"

Emma: "… I don't think I can do it."

Gilbert: ". . . . . ."

(I see... so that's what the little rabbit thought.)

(Certainly, I may have been too virtuous and lacked a sense of humanity.)

Gilbert: "The girl in the book might have cried, too, just not written down, you know?" // "The girl in the book might have been crying just because it wasn't written, right?"

Gilbert: "Even a girl with a beautiful heart has troubles and pains. It's natural because she’s human."

Gilbert: "… It's just that the author missed it."

Gilbert: "I've been imagining a girl who smiles happily every day, but I just haven't gotten to the deepest parts of her life." **

Emma: "I... see."

Gilbert: "That's right."

(After all, you must see the real thing in person.)

(This haul alone was worth the trip to Rhodolite.)

I turn my back to the book and once again wrap my hands around the crying face of the little rabbit.

She looked awful.

But somehow, I didn't think it was ugly.

Gilbert: "Honestly, I thought you were a young woman who never cried."

Emma: "… I do cry too."

Gilbert: "Yeah, it seems so. But you care about others and hide it."

Gilbert: "You keep killing your heart by saying "I'm fine"…"

Gilbert: "In the end, you will become a beast like me."

Emma: ". . . . . ."

(Saying "I'm fine" isn't okay.)

(… Just like I used to say, "It's okay" every time I killed someone.) // (Same as me, who used to say, "I'm fine" every time I killed someone.)

If you fake the pain of the wound, you will soon feel nothing, and even "okay" will become unnecessary.

If you don't feel pain, you won't cry.

Gilbert: "Crying means you are still human."

Gilbert: "You should take such good care of yourself."

Gilbert: "If you keep lying that you're fine, then I'll see... okay?" ***

(You shouldn't become a beast.)

(—No, wait... It's contradictory.)

(Why am I comforting you?)

(I'm the one who cornered the little rabbit, and I'm looking forward to seeing if she turns into a beast.)

(I would have rather thought about catching up or something…)

Something is preventing the evil schemes of the trampling beast.

I can't figure out what that "something" is, and it makes me feel uncomfortable.

(It's like I'm resisting myself. …It's weird.)

Gilbert: "Hey, do you want me to comfort you?"

Emma: "N-No…"

Gilbert: "Where do you want to be bitten?"

Emma: "What kind of comfort is that!?"

I tease the little rabbit in order to get rid of the discomfort that has built up.

The tears seemed to stop as we exchanged light banter.

I unconsciously breathe a sigh of relief when the little rabbit bites me as usual.

Gilbert: ". . . . . ."

Emma: "Prince Gilbert?"

(… I should have made you cry more.)

(Ah, but it's unpleasant to see you cry for other people's malice instead of mine.) // (Ah, but it's unpleasant to see you crying from the malice of others and not of me.)

(I'm sure that's what this is.)

I pinch the soft cheeks of the little rabbit.

Although the tears had stopped, they were still wet.

Gilbert: "It's boring. You've already stopped crying."

Gilbert: "I thought it was funny to see you cry."

Emma: "Forget about it!"

Gilbert: "Ahaha, who are you talking to?"

Gilbert: "Come on, let's go, Little Bunny."

(… Let's distract ourselves by eating.)

I open the door and prompt the little rabbit to make cookies.

In doing so, I thought I heard a small, inaudible murmur.

Gilbert: "…? Did you say something?"

Emma: "No, nothing."

Emma: "Just… thank you."

Gilbert: "My kindness has bad intentions, okay?"

Emma: "Still, I feel a little better. I feel like I can do my best again tomorrow."

Gilbert: "… You do that a lot."

Emma: "I cried, but I don't want to give up."

Emma: "And besides, it's a good thing that Prince Gilbert came to Rhodolite…"

Emma: "As I thought, I want you to fall in love with me." // "After all, I want you to like me."

Gilbert: ". . . . . ."

For a moment, I forget to fix my expression.

(What... is one of the reasons you endure that malice so silly?) // (Why... is one of the reasons why you endure such malice so desperately such a silly thing?)

(To a beast that has lost its love, it's all nonsense.)

Gilbert: "Is that what you were thinking?"

Emma: "… I was thinking. I wanted you to like me so much that you wouldn't want to trample Rhodolite."

(I see... the little rabbit was secretly harboring such a purpose…)

(… Maybe I'm getting so uncomfortable and inexplicable right now.)

(I just don't want that to happen.) // (But that's a problem.)

(… That's the only thing I can't accept.) // (… I just can't take that.)

Gilbert: "It's up to you, Little Bunny. Good luck?"

(If I'm really starting to like you...)

A new malice is rapidly growing.

It was an unexpected move that had never been planned before.

(I have to control you so that I can "like" you… right?)

#サイバード #イケメン王子 #ギルベルト=フォン=オブシディアン #ikemen prince #ikemen prince gilbert von obsidian #ikemen prince gilbert #ikeprince #ikeprince gilbert von obsidian #ikeprince gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #ikeprince jp #ikepri jp #ikeprince translation #ikepri gilbert route spoilers #ikemen prince spoilers #ikeprince spoilers #ikepri spoilers #dahlia's bad translation

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cosmicjoke · 5 months

Note

I find Isabel and Levi's friendship adorable. Like he took her in from the streets when she was dying and cared for her like a Lil sister. And Isabel calling him big brother.

Do you think Levi still remembers her (post rumbling) and gets sad sometimes?

Also what are you views regarding how Levi raised Isabel? I tend to think Levi more as a parent when it comes to him taking care of Isabel than a brother.

Hi there!

I absolutely adore Levi's relationship with Isabel. I think, if you look at his relationship with her, it in many ways encapsulates who Levi really is as a person. Just an incredibly kind and caring man. The fact he found Isabel dying in the streets and took her in says it all. I always say that it was no doubt easier to Levi to survive on his own in the Underground, but he decided to take care of two people in Furlan and Isabel anyway, probably making his own survival more difficult. But that's Levi for you. He's always tried to help people, even when it makes his own life harder.

He undoubtedly remembers both Isabel and Furlan post-Rumbling. Whenever anyone asks me who were the people closest to Levi in his life, I say Furlan and Isabel. They were his family, really. The only people who understood the world he came from and the hardships he faced, because they faced them too.

In terms of how Levi raised Isabel, it's an interesting question. I don't know how old Isabel was when Levi found her, but I'm assuming she must have been pretty young, since she seems young in the manga/anime. We know Levi was extremely protective of her. People always talk about that scene in "No Regrets", when he apparently kills some people who were messing with her. I've seen people try to accuse Levi of having an outsized reaction here, saying he killed those people for "cutting Isabel's hair", which is a ridiculous oversimplification of the scene and what's really going on. Levi killed them (presumably) because they were threatening Isabel's life, and possibly even threatening sexual assault against her. We know from the scene that Isabel had run into these men before, that she apparently was hanging out with them in some capacity. When she comes back, she's crying and extremely upset, she has a bloody nose, if I remember correctly, which tells us she was beaten up, and Levi and Furlan notice her hair has been cut. When they ask her what happened, she gets furiously mad and runs away, and we later see her lying in bed, still crying and wishing she could kill the men that did this to her. The idea of someone holding Isabel down (a young girl, we have to remember) and cutting her hair, has a heavy implication of sexual assault to me. We know for a fact that sex trafficking rings are a thing in the Underground, and knowing Levi's own experience with that, and what his own mother had to endure, he was no doubt hyper-vigilant against that kind of thing happening to Isabel.

Anyway, I think Levi was likely just very protective of her, but he also let her make her own choices and didn't keep her isolated or off the streets or anything like that. He allowed her freedom. I don't think Levi likely saw himself as a father figure for Isabel, but more like a big brother, because Levi never tried to exercise any real authority over her or Furlan. We never see him trying to tell them what to do, really. He tries in the anime version of "No Regrets" to tell them they can't come on the expedition, but that's just out of fear for their lives, and they pretty easily convince him later to let them come. He let them make their own choices and considered them to be his equal when it came to decision making, even though he was kind of the de facto leader of their little group. Near the end of the story, when Levi lays out the plan for him to go after Erwin and for Furlan and Isabel to stay behind, Furlan asks Levi if it's an "order", and Levi hesitates and says "Why does it have to come down to that?". So he never tried to control either of them, or exercise any power over them. I think, more than anything, Levi just wanted to help them realize their dreams, which is why he agreed to go through with Furlan's plan of accepting Lobov's offer and joining the SC in the first place.

I basically figure Levi just did all he could to provide for both of them, making sure they had enough food and had shelter, etc... I also wrote a one-shot story about this too: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33966748 And that's sort of what I imagine when it comes to Levi's role in their group. I think he probably took on the responsibility of being the provider. He probably saw it as his job to protect them and take care of them as much as he could.

#Levi Ackerman #Isabel Magnolia #Furlan Church

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theladyofbloodshed · 1 year

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my memory is shit and it has been a time since i last read acomaf, but when tamlin locked feyre, he was wrong, yes. But the fact that feyre didn't want to hear him and was constantly tring to put herself in risk of physical harm (like, she was too skinny and sick, had no trainning in self defense and no one new yet that she had power) and she already has a history of not listening safety warnings and going to dangerous places anyway (like in the camalai, she went there as human, two times i think, and left her room at night insteaf of locking the door as anyone with a drop of sense would do in this situation) wouldn't make his actions understandable? (Not justified bc i still think it was wrong, like, when i imagine myself in his shoes i honestly not sure what i would do with a person like feyre bc she doesn't listen. I think I would put 3 bodyguards to take around in a city maybe? Or if the situation was too bad to at least let a space around the manor so she can walk around? I really idk...)

And when we compare it to acosf, nesta wasn't putting herself in risk physical harm, she was simple having sex, she was starving herself, yes but she was drinking so even as it wasn't the ideal, it kept her from completely starving. And the reason she was locked in the house of wind (or indirectly locked but still locked, since no one would take her out of there and she was too weak) was bc the ic felt shame of her.

What i mean is, when comparing both situations:

Feyre was locked bc she constantly doesn't listen to safety warnings.

Nesta was locked bc ic was ashammed of her.

And Tamlin is saw as the devil who did the worst thing in this situation, while what was done to Nesta is justified, when from a logical point of view what Tamlin did is easier to understand when you look at the danger feyre would put herself in, while what was done to nesta was purely bc she didn't do what was expected of her.

Many people really don't look at the situation from Tamlin's POV. Feyre didn't follow his warnings multiple times as a human and needed rescuing multiple times. He sent her away. She came back. She endured hell at Rhys' hands and then Amarantha killed her. Rhys has a magical deal where he will steal her a week every month and hasn't come to collect. Rhys - his worst enemy - hasn't come to collect Feyre, but why???

Tamlin is already paranoid at this point, but his manor should now be safe thanks to the magic returning. It is likely the one place he can keep Feyre safe from Rhys and all other threats. For him, keeping her in that house was about keeping her safe from Rhys/the Attor/other threats.

He was also not in a place where he could offer her stability or help because he needed help too. He suffered for 50 years, but prior to that we even know from Rhys that Tamlin's family is worse than "Beron's brood".

What Tamlin did was not right, but for him that was the only option he could see that would keep Feyre safe in a court where he had few sentries.

I saw a post on reddit the other day that annoyed me because it was talking about a sex scene at the beginning of ACOMAF and how it sealed the deal that they wouldn't be endgame, but Feyre was the one who kept initiating sex with him. Tamlin was often at the bottom of the bed in his beast form, not sleeping. He was not mentally okay either.

With Nesta, all of the IC (except maybe Elain) are mentally stable (okay and maybe azriel). They are all in a place where they can offer support and it not be detrimental to their own wellbeing. The issue we have with the IC is that - Amren washed her hands of Nesta - Rhys doesn't like Nesta - Mor doesn't like Nesta - Cassian only wants to sleep with Nesta

Which leaves Azriel as the only neutral member of the IC to help Nesta*

The moment they met any resistance from Nesta, it was treated as her being difficult. Not that she was somebody in pain. She wasn't ever offered the same love that Feyre was offered when she first came to Velaris. Nobody ever tried to be her friend before they became her jailor. Would it have been so difficult to have just gone to a tavern with her and open up that channel of conversation?**

If putting Nesta in the house of wind was about her safety then they would have done it sooner. They left her for months and months drinking and sleeping around. She could have been killed by any random stranger she met. It was only when she ran up a massive bill and put it in Feysand's name, did they find an issue with her behaviour.

Their idea of "help" was forcing her to do an activity she didn't want to do, in an outfit she wasn't comfortable in, in a place none of them like, in front of misogynists and they literally could not understand why nesta didn't want to train in Windhaven.

*all my nesta vs the buffer girlies can i get a heyyyy

**all my steel & flame girlies can i get a heyyyy

#anon asks

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gautiersylvain · 3 months

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Something that Baldur's Gate 3 does really well is make the characters behave like people. Like real actual people who can be stubborn and sometimes lie, to themselves and to the player, and have conflicting motivations and feelings. This is illustrated particularly well through pivotal moments in companion quests when you have the option to persuade/otherwise influence them.

I was initially inspired by the somehow enduring opinion of some that "it's wrong to persuade Astarion not to complete the ascension ritual" and wanted to explore that idea a little more, especially in contrast to other companions throughout the course of the game.

A. Lae'zel and the Zaith'isk (Act 1)

Anyone who has been to the Githyanki creche and had Lae'zel use the zaith'isk knows that the persuasion checks (all of the checks involved, tbh) are EXTREMELY difficult. We know going in that purification is Lae'zel's highest priority. She does NOT want to get out of the zaith'isk no matter how much it hurts. The first persuasion roll you get to try to convince her to leave the zaith'isk has a whopping DC 30. Alternatively, you can try to roll a DC 30 wisdom roll to show her via the parasite the consequences of remaining in the zaith'isk. I've never succeeded on either myself.

"Get out of there, Lae'zel. You won't survive this anguish"

"Call on your parasite. Show Lae'zel what she stands to lose."

If you fail either of these checks, Lae'zel begins to suffer adverse effects (permanent -2 to certain ability scores) that stack the longer she remains in the device. There are real, in game consequences due to your actions/failed rolls and Lae'zel's unquestioning loyalty to and inherent faith in Vlaakith.

After succeeding on DC 21 wisdom roll to discover that the zaith'isk in fact is not a means of curing the infected, but to kill them, you have the option to try to persuade Lae'zel again to leave the device but with a much lower DC of 21.

"I've seen the truth, Lae'zel. This device doesn't cure - it kills."

So what does this tell us? How does this help us to better understand Lae'zel? We already know that, out of all of our companions, Lae'zel is one of the least likely to lie. She prefers to be direct and efficient. She is unyielding both in her loyalty to the githyanki and to Vlaakith. To try to convince her that the zaith'isk, what Lae'zel refers to as her "right" and "Vlaakith's purity," is actually intended to kill her is a difficult task. So if you're looking for someone who actually doesn't want to do something and you're trying to persuade them otherwise...this is it! That's why the difficulty class of the rolls is so high!

But she can be convinced. Lae'zel is not immune to reason. This can be the first step Lae'zel takes in her journey to defying Vlaakith.

B. Shadowheart and the Nightsong (Act 2)

Shadowheart's confrontation with Aylin in the Shadowfell in Act 2 is one of the highlights of the game for me. There is a DC 30 persuasion check at the beginning of the scene to convince Shadowheart to spare Aylin. Again, not a roll I've ever succeeded on myself. And personally, I find the dialogue option "trust Shadowheart - do not interfere" much more narratively satisfying. After this, the paths diverge slightly.

If you chose to side with the Absolute cultists and raid the grove in Act 1, you have 2 dialogue options to persuade Shadowheart not to kill Aylin with fairly low DCs (I believe they are both 14). Take this with a grain of salt - I haven't verified this myself in game.

"She knows something about you. Spare her, see what she has to say."

If you chose to side with the grove and killed the Absolute cultists in Act 1, you have one persuasion option with a similar DC.

Then we get to my favorite part. To the best of my knowledge, no matter what "evil" or "good" choices you made previously, if you choose to let Shadowheart make her own decision here, she chooses to toss the spear into the shadowfell's depths. She spares Aylin and defies Shar.

This tell us A LOT. Up to this point, Shadowheart has spent much of her dialogue telling the player about her faith and dedication to Shar. She tells us that she wants nothing more than to become a Dark Justiciar. So why, when given the chance to make her own decision by someone she trusts, does she choose to defy Shar? To lose her chance to become a Dark Justiciar? Why would the player need to direct Shadowheart to do something she's told us is all she's ever wanted?

I would argue that, as we see when you allow Shadowheart to decide on her own, it's because she doesn't really want to kill Aylin. I believe that she believes she wanted nothing more than to become a Dark Justiciar, but did that dream originate with her? I find it more likely that it was due to her religious indoctrination, as well as a result of the trauma she endured at the hands of Viconia. The Mother Superior often punished Shadowheart for failing to live up to her expectations, the expectations of Shar. Becoming a Dark Justiciar would prove that she belonged. But as we learn later, she never really belonged. When given the choice, Shadowheart stays true to her own nature rather than trying to appease Shar.

C. Astarion and the Rite of Profane Ascension (Act 3)

A lot has been written about Astarion and his personal quest, understandably so. For this post, I'm going to focus specifically on the persuasion checks you can make after defeating Cazador in battle in Act 3.

The claim I've seen several times is that it's "wrong" to persuade Astarion not to ascend because you have to make a persuasion check to do so which is....an interesting take. Persuasion dialogue options aren't inherently bad or manipulative, they're simply a game mechanic. That being said, let's take a look at the actual dialogue options.

Going in to this scene, we know that Astarion doesn't really want to kill the other spawn - his "siblings" or the spawn who have been captive in the chapel. His main goal is to kill Cazador. But he is tempted by the power he would gain if he completed the ritual in Cazador's stead, which would require sacrificing around 7,000 spawn. We also know that Astarion isn't a "details person" meaning he doesn't tend to think things through. Yes, he would gain power, but what would he lose? What other consequences would result from his decision?

Above all else, during his time as a vampire spawn, Astarion was taught that power keeps you safe. Specifically the power to manipulate and hurt others. The ritual promises power. But in his haste, Astarion risks repeating the cycle that began many many centuries ago, going back well before whoever turned Vellioth (Cazador's master).

First, you're presented with a DC 18 persuasion check that convinces Astarion not to complete the ritual if you're successful.

A high difficulty class, but compared to the DC 30 of Lae'zel's first zaith'isk checks? It's practically nothing. I personally prefer to take a different route, however.

In the same dialogue options, you can choose to make a DC 20 insight check to see why Astarion is still so adamant on performing the ritual - a more difficult check to be sure, but an illuminating one if you succeed. The narrator tells us that Astarion is afraid - he can't see past the power he might gain and "the freedom that power brings." He can't see the forest for the trees, or perhaps he can't see the potential consequences past his desire for (presumed) safety.

If you succeed on that insight check, you get the option to make a slightly easier persuasion check of DC 15. The DCs of skill checks and saving throws aren't arbitrary - the fact that convincing Astarion not to complete the ritual is easier than the checks discussed earlier gives us some insight into Astarion's mindset.

"I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

This has never felt manipulative to me. To me, it comes across as the player pointing out to Astarion that power comes with a price, one that he might not be willing to pay, one that he might not be considering in the moment due to fear and desperation.

So what can we make of this? Given that spawn Astarion later thanks the player for, in his own words, saving him, he seems genuinely happy to not have gone through with the ritual. He also says that he almost lost everything, including himself. Astarion seems to realize, to some extent, that completing the ritual and killing all of those people would have changed him - costing him what really makes him him. His vulnerability, his silliness, his joy. By persuading Astarion not to ascend, you teach him that the power from the ritual (that "never having to fear anyone again") isn't worth the cost. That he is enough just the way he is.

Going into the fight with Cazador, Astarion is clearly of two minds. He desires the power offered by the ritual, but he also feels responsible for the fate of many of the people trapped in the crypt and doesn't truly wish them (further) harm. He is standing on a precipice, unsure of whether or not to stumble backwards into old habits and isolation or to leap into the terrifying unknown of freedom. Astarion has also spent 200 years unable to make choices for himself - and he is now presented with a huge choice that will affect thousands and change the course of his own life forever. Ultimately, it's up to the player, the influence your character has on him, that encourages him to either continue or break, as Astarion puts it, "the cycle of power and terror."

#baldur's gate #some meta analysis stuff that i wrote 2 months ago and have been sitting on #clearing out my drafts #i dotn even really want to tag this for fear of The Discourse but i also didnt want to just delete #so i am tossing it into the wild

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batrachised · 8 months

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just reread the curious case of walter blythe................ i trust you with my blorboy. any other thoughts on him?

(referring to this post - highly recommend digging into the reblogs as well because there was a lot of interesting discussion!)

Thoughts on Walter Blythe? Do I have thoughts on Walter Blythe? My home-boy, my rotten soldier, my sweet cheese, my good-time boy? He's hard to analyze because the tears make it difficult to see the screen to type, but I will assuredly try my best.

Gah, it's hard to know even where to begin with Walter. Walter is difficult to poke at it in one sense, because (as I read somewhere once), he's more of an emblem than an actual character. He repeatedly represents WWI in the text, and WWI's impact on his generation. Like Emily, he seems to have a connection to a "second sight" of sorts, but unlike Emily, this isn't in your local neighborhood witch way - it's in a 'terminal and aware of it' way (to borrow the phrase from gogandmagog). Both Rainbow Valley and Ingleside mark him for death; a rather abrupt shift from the sunny childhood tone of the novels. What's more, this sometimes comes from Walter himself. In Rainbow Valley, he's the one to say they'll follow the Pied Piper, while also being the one to sense the horror flickering underneath the idea. In Ingleside, we have the shadow of his cross over his bed, breaking the placement of the story for a moment; it pops forward to a future Anne, looking back and wondering if that were an omen in her grief (a chilling vignette in an otherwise idyllic, literal 'tucking children into bed' scene). Then, of course, there's this poppy passage I'll never stop thinking about:

"Look at that wave of poppies breaking against the garden wall, Miss Cornelia. Susan and I are very proud of our poppies this year, though we hadn't a single thing to do with them. Walter spilt a packet of seed there by accident in the spring and this is the result. Every year we have some delightful surprise like that." "I'm partial to poppies," said Miss Cornelia, "though they don't last long." "They have only a day to live," admitted Anne, "but how imperially, how gorgeous they live it! Isn't that better than being a stiff horrible zinnia that lasts practically for ever?"

As posted before, it's a subtle foreshadowing of Walter's short life, while also referencing his fate - poppies are its enduring symbol of WWI.

So, in the midst of this repeated foreshadowings, we have actual child Walter. Extremely sensitive, bullied, a misfit, a misfit to the point that he doesn't even look like his family (a hop out of kin, as the book says), and someone who is ruled by fear yet has a iron moral backbone. He hates violence in all forms, and yet can savagely beat another child when called for. He's implied to have a gift for poetry that's exceptional, the same gift that leads to derision and confusion from everyone around him. He's asexual in the text, as the article I cite in the original post would say, never displaying an interest in women (besides one person suspecting he liked Faith) in a way unlike every other LM Montgomery hero. He's very earnest - see this passage from Ingleside, which is probably one of my favorites from LM Montgomery, just look at our helpful boy:

"Did you hear what happened to Big Jim MacAllister last Saturday night in Milt Cooper's store at the Harbour Head?" asked Mrs. Simon, thinking it time somebody introduced a more cheerful topic than ghosts and jiltings. "He had got into the habit of setting on the stove all summer. But Saturday night was cold and Milt had lit a fire. So when poor Big Jim sat down...well, he scorched his..." Mrs. Simon would not say what he had scorched but she patted a portion of her anatomy silently. "His bottom," said Walter gravely, poking his head through the creeper screen. He honestly thought that Mrs. Simon could not remember the right word. An appalled silence descended on the quilters. Had Walter Blythe been there all the time?

Then we have adult Walter, whose character focus has been tightened to the war entirely. Walter's arc as an adult is facing his fear of violence, but also, of himself - of not being good enough. Walter has been looked down his entire life for who he is, including by his loved ones (both Gilbert and Susan imply or explicitly state disapproval of Walter at different points, although Gilbert's is very understandable in context). Wrapped into this has to be the self-knowledge of what he was like fighting Dan Reese, and knowing that he'll be expected-encouraged-required to tap into that part of himself. It's a pressure cooker situation, with societal pressure, moral pressure, moral censure, and self-censure all thudding down on him at once.

And Walter goes, and Walter dies. His arc as the "other" is complete; his poem and letter to Rilla speak to a hope for the future; he even sees his death as a mercy, because he couldn't have lived after the things that he'd seen. Jem will come back to work as a surgeon and marry Nan; Nan will wed Jerry; Rilla be a mother and wife to Ken -- Walter will forever be "Somewhere in France."

A grim ending, but LM Montgomery is deliberate in highlighting its hope. Walter writes of the poets of the future, and his death is understood to be both a pointless tragedy and a necessary, noble sacrifice.

What interests me is how this changes in the TBAQ. This book...it's raw. It's just raw. There are notably moments when the importance of Walter's death is emphasized, and this importance is intertwined with a steady hope - see the following line from Gilbert...

...but repeatedly, it's raw grief. Walter's siblings rarely refer to him dying; instead, they describe it unsteadily as "when he went away." Anne especially - the main character of the series, a cultural cornerstone synonymous with optimism and joy - is a far cry from how we've seen her before. It's repeatedly mentioned that Anne has not been the same since Walter's death, and whenever we hear Anne speak after the war in this book, it's almost always--if not always--something downcast and hopeless. It's her children and her husband who are the ones trying to comfort and find meaning; Anne herself is broken. The book reflects the themes of Walter's arc in Rilla - his noble sacrifice, the violence of his passing, its inevitability as deemed by the text - but it is also a blunt, uncushioned statement that Walter's death left a wound that will never be healed. Unlike with other major character deaths in the Anne series - Matthew, Joyce, eventually Marilla - there is no acceptance here. Anne of Ingleside mentions how Anne still mourns Joyce, but that's one beat of many in her life filled with babies and laughter. Here, Anne's grief is the only one. Everything we learn about her in this book indicates that Anne is not okay, and will never be okay again. It's a picture of a woman so deeply sunken in her grief it becomes her primary characteristic. She finishes Walter's unfinished poems, she reads them aloud to her family, she is disconsolate in every paragraph, and the book ends with her finding a poem of Walter's he wrote on the front where he imagines viciously bayonetting a teen soldier to death, resulting in her saying she was happy Walter had never come back.

I'm getting offtrack from the subject of Walter here, but the point of these very rambling paragraphs is that Walter's inherent textual purpose is to illustrate the horrors of WWI. Normally, LM Montgomery's strength lies in the slice of life approach that deftly handles the reality of life's bittersweetness. With Walter's fate, it's just bitter. There's no uplifting message, or character growth--the characters are crushed (at least in TBAQ, vs in Rilla, where its tied to the defeat of evil and Rilla's arc as mentioned above).

This inherent purpose is impossible to separate from Walter, or at least very difficult [trust me, as someone who is writing a fanfic on a no wwi walter]. What would a Walter who survived WWI been like? Would he have been transformed into a darker version of Dean Priest? What about a Walter who never went to war at all? Would he have married Una? Would he have married at all? Was part of his tragedy realizing the reality of romance (ala Anne in Anne of Avonlea) too late, quite literally the night of his death? How would that play out if he had survived? If WWI had never happened at all? Would he have been a famous poet? Or was this only achievable through war and his Piper poem? WWI is the fabric of Walter's character, and so answering these questions - while definitely possible and reasonable - can turn into a bit of a guessing game. The implication in Walter's tragedy - in this sense, tragedy meaning what he himself lost with his death - is that he never achieved his dream of being a poet, and he never married Una/didn't see her until it was too late. This provides us with the implication of what his life would have been like if he had survived, but the war also serves as his mechanism for achieving them. Walter becomes a famous poet because of the war, and realizes his [??????] for Una only once he realizes his death is inevitable.

Then, as seen in the post you brought up, Walter's intended character arc inadvertently doubles as an unintended character arc of his sexuality. A lot of Walter's "terminal and aware of it" characteristics double as signals for the potential truth of his sexual identity. I think this is seen most sharply in the short story from TBAQ where Patrick, also unlike other boys, also censured by society, says he loves Walter with all his heart - meant to pair them due to their brushes with death, but the secondary reading here is inescapable. [i recognize they're related, but this was the time of cousin marriages so]

This post has become a sprawling behemoth, but it visually demonstrates my overall point: I think Walter Blythe is one of the richest and most complex characters LM Montgomery wrote. It's fun to tease out the other characters' beliefs and habits and depth, but Walter is a universe of implication and tragedy. There are endless questions to be asked here: what did Gilbert think of Walter, as almost polar opposites? How did their relationship change as Walter grew into a man? What about Walter's nephew, who is said to also love poetry? What sort of relationship would they have had if Walter had survived? How do you grow up dealing with censure from all sides? How do you grow up dealing with censure from all sides, and with a popular and well-liked older brother who is everything you are not? The war serves as a christening of Walter's courage and therefore his masculinity - how would Walter's struggles with his perceived masculinity have played out had the war never happened? Would it have taken international success for him to gain respect? What if he never did? How would Walter's capacity for savage violence have played a role in his life, if it all? Why is Walter so capable of savage violence compared to his siblings? If Walter had survived, would this part of him become more prominent? On the flip side, Walter is extremely sensitive to ugliness and violence - how would this impact his life if the war had never happened, because life inevitably brings this everyone's way?

Most importantly of all, can Walter as an emblem be separated from the thing he is the emblem of? What do you do with a symbol that loses its meaning?

In the end, Walter's character has the unavoidable tension of a tragic figure for the reader. His story compels us because of its end, and yet wanting to change the end is what compels us. Separating Walter Blythe from his death in the text is nearly impossible- but also irresistible.

#walter blythe #lm montgomery #this is very train of thought so apologies if you wanted something cohesive friend #and yes I did tear up #“somewhere in France” just GETS me

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jerzwriter · 2 months

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5 For Tobías and 4 for Eli! (I love seeing others takes on canon characters 👀)

Hey Thia! Thanks so much for the asks - and OMG, I SO AGREE! Dangerous as that can be around here, I love to see different takes, too, and I think it can really deepen the understanding of characters when we see them through different eyes. OK - let's do this!

(Note after answering: I'm so sorry - this is long - I got two questions that were just too fucking good for these two. lol I'm sorry... really.)

#5 Tobias:

OK. I'll attempt to keep this short and prob fail! lol It was complicated. I have a detailed backstory for Tobias, and his life straddled two extremely different worlds. His white father was from an extremely wealthy, powerful, and influential family. Old money through and through. He was practically disowned for eloping with Tobias's mother, his true love who was a brilliant and beautiful woman from a kind, loving, and moral lower-middle-income family. Classism was part of it, but it was the racism y'all. The couple met in college and was forced apart by both families (his because they felt she was beneath them, hers because they feared the damage his family could do), but their love was true and they eventually eloped. Afterward, her family welcomed Charles (his dad) to the family, but the Carricks were not about to do the same for Vivian (his mom).

When Tobias was born, everyone made a concerted effort to mend fences, but with the exception of a few relatives (notably, his Uncle William), most continued to look down on both Vivian and Tobias. Tobias never felt welcomed amongst the Carricks, where he was subjected to microaggressions, even from well-meaning relatives who truly loved him. (This led to major issues with his father that began during his senior year in high school, leading to their eventual estrangement. Then his dad died before they had a chance to reconcile, but that's for another time! lol) His mother's family was where Tobias felt most loved, wanted, and accepted. It was a warm, safe place that came crashing down in his pre-teens, but we'll stick with early childhood for now. lol

Vivian and Charles were good but imperfect parents. They loved Tobias with all their hearts, but they were often absent during his early years. They were determined to prove themselves in their professions and in the Washington, DC, social scene that his father grew up in. Vivian was very astute and knew playing the game would behoove not only her but many others that she hoped to help. She was determined to effect positive change, and Charles was determined to show his family that he and his wife could thrive without their support. But that took a lot of time away from their son. Another issue was that Vivian and Charles loved each other so much that Tobias sometimes felt like he was an outsider. He was an only child until he was seven years old, so childhood was lonely and filled with contradictions. This set the stage for some major drama later on, and impacted much of his future life.

That wasn't short, was it? lol Sorry! It could have been much longer! lol This is my passion project! lol

#4 Eli:

So, Eli and his family are my other passion project - so once again - I'm going to do my best to keep this short! lol

It was extremely difficult. Eli and his brother David came of age in a post-apocalyptic world. Prior to the outbreak, they lived a fairly normal life filled with school, friends, and little league. Their family and home were filled with love and warmth, providing a safe space for the boys. Eli was old enough to recall the racism the family endured (per canon). That took a toll on him, but his family's strength and devotion to each other saw him through.

He was forced to grow up quickly when the outbreak occurred. I wrote of that extensively in A Mother's Journal shameless plug. lol Life became about survival, but his parents, particularly his mother, did all they could to give their boys some semblance of normalcy among the unimaginable. They moved to their summer cabin in the woods, finding it to be safer than their hometown, and it would be easier to live off the land. His father refused to live in a colony (for good reasons) and was determined to remain independent, but this led to an isolated existence, with only a few other families to socialize with... and one by one, they disappeared.

Adolescence, in particular, was hard. It's a time to find and discover yourself, and how can you do that in a vacuum? How can you do that when tomorrow is never guaranteed? I wrote about this in Coming Up Blank again, a shameless plug. lol Eli and his brother struggled with their sexual identities - how do you really know who you are when you have practically no peer group? Adolescence is always filled with confusion and complexities, and Eli's experience was heightened... and filled with a type of heartbreak none of us could ever know. His solace was his family - a place of unconditional love and devotion. He steeled himself to the rest of the world, believing he had all he needed within the walls of his cabin, and in many ways, he did... until that all came crumbling down.

God, I'm not going back to work after lunch so I can write now! (I mean, I wish! lol)

Thanks so much for the asks! :)

#ask generator #tobias carrick #eli sipes #open heart #wake the dead #asks answered #god i loved these questions!

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tanmono · 1 year

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GILBERT VON OBSIDIAN MAIN ROUTE....

CHAPTER THIRTEEN, HIS SIDE STORY.

I want to defile the little rabbit.

translations are not 100% accurate. expect mistakes.

minors and ageless blogs dni.

If one would ask which is more difficult, to dominate people through violence or to compromise through communication,

I’d say it is definitely decided that it’s more difficult to try to solve everything with the latter one-to-one discussion.

Little rabbit knows this, but she has not given up on the communication.

I've made up my mind that I'm not going to get involved in anything but violence,

And on the other hand, she is willing to endure violence.

This may be a perfect score for the woman with a beautiful heart in Rhodolite.

But looking at her makes me sick.

(…..I set this up to happen, but I thought you would break sooner.)

Succumbing to people's violence and giving up on communication as impossible, little miss rabbit herself is stained with malice.

Her white heart is now completely black, and the final judgment is over.

It was not easy to do so. She was brazen.

(But…..)

Standing in front of the little rabbit’s room, I gently open the door.

As expected, there she was, lying on the bed, crying.

No matter how beautiful her heart is and how noble her beliefs are.

A heart that has been stabbed by malice cannot be okay.

(….The villains don't miss out on vulnerable prey, do they?)

As I quietly sneak up to the little rabbit and examine her face.

Gilbert: Wow, you’re crying. You poor thing.

Emma: !?

It seems the little miss rabbit didn't notice my appearance, and she was frozen like ice.

(…..So cute.)

Gilbert: I made sure my presence went unnoticed while waiting in front of your room.

Gilbert: Oh, and I'm here to remind you of the 1,000 cookies you promised.

Emma:.....Please wait five minutes.

Gilbert: Of course, I'll ransack your room in the meantime.

Emma: Don’t do that!

Gilbert: Didn't I let you look around my room before?

Gilbert: I wonder if there is something to be ashamed of.

Gilbert: But don't worry. Even if you have embarrassing proclivities, I’ll still accept the way you are….

Gilbert: I’ll keep it quiet from people around us….maybe.

Emma: I have no such proclivities!

Gilbert: So there's no harm in rummaging around, then?

The purpose of my visit to little rabbit’s room was for more than just teasing her crying face.

(...Ah, I knew it.)

I felt uncomfortable with the book on her desk and opened it lightly.

There, lies a dangerous needle as a substitute for medicine, and I retrieved it without being noticed.

(Violence is getting worse. .....it's about time to nail it.)

All the malice directed at little rabbit is managed behind the scenes.

What kind of action is likely to occur, and the damage will be done to the little rabbit?

She doesn’t even know that she is dancing in the palm of the overrun's hand.

Gilbert: Did you read this?

Withdrawing the evil scheme and point my finger to the black book so as not to seem unnatural.

It was a book I had given to her on a whim earlier.

Emma: Yes. ....I’ve read it halfway through.

Emma: I thought once again, but the main character of that book is amazing.

Emma: Confronting the insidious evils of the court again and again...

Emma: No matter what obstacles stand in her way, she looks forward and never cries or looks down.

Emma: She had a dazzlingly straight and beautiful heart, and even the people around her were inspired by her...

Emma:......I don't think I could be like her.

Gilbert:………

(I see. .....So that's what the little rabbit thought.)

(Indeed, maybe I was too virtuous, but on the contrary, I lacked humanity.)

Gilbert: The girl in the book might have cried too, you know? Maybe that’s why they didn’t write it down.

Gilbert: No matter how beautiful the girl’s heart is, she has troubles and pains. It's natural because she is a human.

Gilbert:.....The author just missed this part.

Gilbert: I imagined a girl who smiled happily every day, but she was something else deep on the inside.

Emma: I…see.

Gilbert: That’s right.

(After all, you have to see the real thing in person.)

(This haul alone was worth the trip to Rhodolite.)

Turning my back from the book and once again bring my hands to the little rabbit’s crying face.

She looked awful.

But somehow, it didn't seem ugly to me.

Gilbert: I honestly thought you were the kind of girl who never cried.

Emma:….I do cry too.

Gilbert: Yes, it seems so. But you hide it because you care about others.

Gilbert: And if you keep killing your heart by saying that you’re okay…..

Gilbert: You will eventually end up like me.

Emma:………

(Claiming that you’re fine is never okay.)

(….I used to say, "It's okay." every time I killed someone.)

If you fake the pain of the wound, you will soon feel nothing, and even "okay" will become unnecessary.

If you don't feel the pain, then you can't cry.

Gilbert: If you can cry, then you're still human.

Gilbert: You should take such good care of yourself.

Gilbert: If you lie to me too many times that you're okay, well, you know me.......right?

(I mustn’t fight.)

(No, wait..... it’s contradictory.)

(Why am I feeling this?)

(I'm the one who cornered her, and I'm just looking forward to seeing if it's going to be a challenge.)

(I would have rather thought about catching up or something...)

Something is preventing the trampling beast from being devious.

I can't figure out what "that" is, and it makes me feel uncomfortable.

(It's like I'm resisting myself……that’s weird.)

Gilbert: Hey, do you need a little comfort?

Emma: N….No…..

Gilbert: Where would you like to be bitten?

Emma: What kind of comfort is that!?

I teased the little rabbit in order to eliminate the discomfort that had built up.

It seems her tears had stopped while we were exchanging light banter.

I unconsciously breathe a sigh of relief when she bites me as usual.

Gilbert:……..

Emma: Prince Gilbert?

(…..I could have made you cry more.)

(Ah, but it's unpleasant to watch her cry for the malice of other people instead of me.)

(I'm sure that's what it's all about.)

I pinch the soft cheeks of the little rabbit.

Although the tears had stopped, she was still wet.

Gilbert: Boring. You’ve already stopped crying.

Gilbert: I thought it was funny to see you cry.

Emma: Please forget about it!

Gilbert: Haha, come on, little rabbit.

Gilbert: I'm not letting you sleep tonight, okay?

(……Let's eat a lot and distract the mood.)

Opening the door and urged her to make the cookies.

At that time, I thought I heard a small inaudible cough.

Gilbert:….? Did you say something?

Emma: No, it’s nothing.

Emma: Just….thank you very much.

Gilbert: You do know that my kindness is not any sort of good intentions, don’t you?

Emma: Still, I feel a little better. I think I can start working hard again tomorrow.

Gilbert:…..You do that, a lot.

Emma: I cried, but I didn't want to give up.

Emma: Besides, Prince Gilbert came all the way to Rhodolite...

Emma: After all, I want you to like me.

Gilbert:……..

For a moment, I forget to take an expression.

(Why….is one of the reasons you endure such malice desperately is that such a silly thing?)

(What a joke at a station, as someone who has lost love.)

Gilbert: Is that how you were thinking?

Emma:……I was thinking about it and that you don't have to trample Rhodolite.

(I see...because little rabbit was secretly harboring such a purpose...)

(…..Maybe I'm getting so uncomfortable and inexplicable right now.)

(But, it’s so troublesome.) // (But, I just don't want that to happen.)

(…..That's the only thing I can't accept.)

Gilbert: Little rabbit, it all depends on you. Good luck.

(If you're really starting to like me...)

A new malice is rapidly growing.

It was an inspired move that had never been part of the plan before.

(I have to control you so that you can "like" me. .....Right?)

▸ [ previous / next ]

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen ouji #ikemen prince spoilers #ikepri jp #ikemen gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert #ikepri translations #ikemen series #cybird

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queeraroace · 4 months

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Christmas is difficult in a way few cis people can understand.

I grew up Catholic, which meant big family gatherings, knick-knack nativity scenes, and midnight mass. Every year my immediate family would huddle in the family entertainment center to watch National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation (hated it), and Home Alone (love it).

Seeing the extended family was a mixed bag. Some made snide comments about how "anti-social" I was as a kid (overstimulated and autistic) but it meant the world to see my little cousins. I held them as infants when I couldn't have been more than 10, and watched them grow up as I babysat them since they were in diapers.

I looked forward to Christmas the way any middle class white kid does - I usually got one big gift and a heap of smaller ones. Christmas meant lots of candy, and maybe a Gameboy. It meant my dad's signature whipped potatoes and honey smoked ham. It meant seeing Macaulay Culkin outsmart adults in the funniest ways possible. It meant bearing church service so I could hear "Come, All Ye Faithful" and "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" from the choir. It meant enduring cutting comments from my aunt about "always needing to be on a screen" to watch Jim Carrey's the Grinch with her tiny daughters.

To make a long story short, when I was 18, I came out as a trans man. I could only endure one family Christmas while trying to softlaunch my gender to my family. I took my blue hair and pronouns, and snuck out only a few hours later with a stolen bottle of wine to bring home to my other trans friends and roommates.

One aunt had compared me coming out as a man, but dressing feminine, to her belief that her ex-husband would fake his disability to seem worse than it was out of convenience (her eldest son would later develop that same illness she accused his father of exaggerating). When she saw this comparison didn't quite land, she assured me that being trans isn't something this generation would get, but there was always the next generation. I didn't feel like I had time to wait for that acceptance. I ended up in the hospital for suicidal ideation the next year.

I haven't been back to a family Christmas since. It's been ten years. My mother has asked me almost every year to come back, assuring me my family would be happy to have me - ignoring that her husband had kicked me out of the house out of anger about my queerness, and general abusive tendencies.

Last year, I tried. My little cousins have grown up enough that I spent the year reaching out and building bridges with them now that they're old enough to have cell phones and be out without parental supervision. The oldest of my little cousins, who's in college now, invited me to Christmas dinner, and I thought I could handle it.

I had top surgery, some bottom surgery, been on T long enough my voice had dropped. If my family misgendered me, it wouldn't hurt as much as it had a decade prior, when I was less sure of who I was.

Her mother found out about a week before the 25th, and let me know only two hours before dinner that I was not welcome in her house.

I have spent every Christmas since 2015 at a friend's house. Their families love me. They get my pronouns right. They offer me vegetarian spreads, and presents, and a warm bed for the night. I am so grateful. It is not the same. It does not fill the hole in my heart to feel like an orphan adopted for one night in a family that is not my own.

I hate this time of year. I resist celebrating it annually, trying to create my own traditions, and survive the winter. I still watch Home Alone every December. I still tear up when I hear "O Holy Night". I don't think cis people understand what I mean when I say "I hate Christmas".

#christmas #holidays #cismas #hrt #trans #trans man #queer #grinch #grinchmas #solstice #home alone #yule #winter solstice #winter #transgender

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sealrock · 2 months

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send STRAINED for a scene from my muse's past in which they interact with someone they have a difficult relationship with

ask meme

cw: discussions of death & religion

(ty for the ask @oneiroy!)

"D'you think She's listenin'?" A low voice came from her right. It was midafternoon, a time dedicated to meditation and spiritual nourishment, not childish whispering. Tauvane usually spends her rest period alone in the empty chapel, but the task to monitor the recovery of one poor soul her Sisters had saved fell squarely into her lap. Tauvane didn't falter in her prayers, however. She kept her head bowed, her eyes closed. The muted words flowed from her mouth like water from a spout. She knew the Halonian prayers better than anyone, for it had been ingrained in her mind since she was old enough to talk. "Ya have to wonder if the ice queen up above gives a fig about Her flock if all She does is plug Her ears."

Her eyebrow twitched, a sign of slight irritation. Tauvane rolled the rosary between her fingers, clasping the beads tighter. She heard a petulant sigh and shuffling, followed by a sharp wince. Tauvane let out an exasperated sigh before turning to face her fidgety companion. Pelleas scowled in discomfort as he massaged his lower back. Perhaps the stone pews were too uncomfortable for his battered body, but this was the first time Pelleas had been allowed outside his cell after five moons of confinement.

The spear of a fellow knight impaled his abdomen in the chaos of the ambush. Instead of wisecracking, Pelleas should thank the Fury for aiming the polearm slightly to the right so it would not sever his spine. Tauvane felt a slight twinge of pity for the man, nonetheless—slight.

"Come, you must return to your quarters for another healing session."

"Oh, joy, more manhandling," came a deadpanned response. Tauvane let the comment slide as she helped Pelleas into his wheelchair since he still couldn't walk a few fulms before growing exhausted. Tauvane noted how the muscles atrophied during his time bedridden, meaning he would have to rebuild strength in his legs to support his tall frame. Pelleas, usually cheeky enough to playfully fake aches and pains to get a rise out of his caretaker, was not up to it today. Exhaustion painted Pelleas' features and aged him considerably, his one good eye sunken and dark.

She wheeled him down cold, unassuming hallways and into the snow-covered cloister, making a note to go faster at risk of Pelleas catching sick. Tauvane made no effort to speak to her fellow Swordsisters who passed her by, for they would not turn their gazes to her and her charge. For all concerned, Pelleas was invisible, something to look past.

While not outright forbidden, it was rare for the Order of Saint Jehanne to take in male outsiders, but they wouldn't stay long. The vow of chastity was an unbreakable oath every Swordsister took to heart, but temptation lurked around every corner. To have a man housed underneath their roof for so long was a test sent from the Fury; would Her subjects endure this trial or be swayed by earthly cravings? Pelleas knew not the way of the Swordsisters, and he was as ignorant as a newborn. But even newborns need to be taught much like Tauvane had been.

The warmth from the fireplace kept away the chill from Pelleas' stone walls, his back exposed as he lay on his belly in bed. Tauvane's knowledge in conjury wouldn't be a cure-all, but it helped the man's pains during these long winter months. The tingle of aether weaving through Tauvane's hands set Pelleas' taut muscles underneath the ragged scar tissue at ease, and a sigh of relief broke the silence. Tauvane gave no outward reaction. She continued to provide aid as any good shepherd would do to their flock. But a flock of karakul can't speak.

"I can't stand the church."

Her fingers twitched. Tauvane lifted her gaze to rest on the back of Pelleas' blond head, his face obscured by his cool pillow. His words came out muffled, but the lingering contempt was plain.

"Does that include me, Ser Pelleas? I am but a cog in the greater design."

A mirthless snort came as a response.

"You're a cog, yeah. But not a well-oiled one."

"Why is that?"

Tauvane's neutral response elicited Pelleas to twist onto his back to stare at her. His green eye burned with resentment.

"Look at me, look at yourself. We risk our lives day in and day out for the blasted church filled with sniveling whoresons, fighting this war with no end. We are cogs in a machine, but there's no one operating the machinery. But that's besides the point I'm tryna make: why doesn't Halone send down Her bloody spears and kill the raving lot of snakes already? Why should I have to do all the hard work?"

Tauvane pinched her brows together; she didn't like the tone of voice Pelleas took. He would usually incite Tauvane with innocuous statements of blasphemy that would lead to ecclesiastical debate, but Tauvane never realized Pelleas held such resentment in his heart.

"I suggest you keep your voice down ere any judgment come upon you," she earned a scoff, "but to answer your question: yes, Halone could end the war with one fell swoop. But you and I, as Her congregation, are Her earthly soldiers tasked with preserving the land, and we must continue to show Her our unbending loyalty and spirit to fight. To suffer is to be closer to the Fury, and for you to suggest indolence is inaccurate and borderline heretical. We cannot rely on Halone to solve all of what ails us, for we would not be able to grow. You must have faith in Her, as She does you."

Tauvane's response was automatic and well-rehearsed, but it sounded halfhearted in her ears. Pelleas said nothing, but he didn't seem happy with the answer. Tauvane sighed and licked the dryness off her lips, sitting at the soldier's bedside for what felt like hours, the crackling fire acting like a ticking timepiece.

"I know it's difficult to grasp for someone lapsed in his faith, and you have indeed suffered great loss in your life to warrant your frustrations, but She loves even all wayward souls under Her domain. Volume eleven of the Seventy-two Articles of Halonic Polity says: 'Of the Fury's love all men will receive, and by the balance of Her spear will all be set free.'"

"Is that what you truly believe?"

Her response came a few seconds late, "Of course."

Pelleas worked himself into a sitting position, his good eye meeting Tauvane's steely gaze. He leaned in towards Tauvane's hidden ear, the scent reminiscent of petrichor filling her nose, and whispered:

"Don't kid yourself."

Tauvane recoiled, "Excuse me?"

"Admit it. You're just as bitter as I am. We're supposed to be Halone's children, but look at us: a filthy Brumerat with no future and a sinful halfling. She abandoned us. We got no seat at Her table. I know that line all too well, it's been smacked into me head since I was a child scrounging for food after me folks froze. We're all equal under Halone, yet the wolves at Her gates dressed in fine silks and gold keep me away. For people like me in the Brume, Halone couldn't give a rat's arse about us. If suffering is close to godliness, the whole of the Brume would be saints. If I spent my whole life in solitude like you, constantly praying, singing, and whipping myself, would that earn me a ticket into the Halls? Would I be good enough then?"

It was Tauvane's turn to say nothing. Her gaze wavered—she couldn't bear to look at Pelleas' intense expression any longer.

"You could say I've lapsed in my faith, but I have a hell of a good reason to. You didn't have to watch your parents hopelessly pray for safety in a blizzard, only to wake up the next morning and find them frozen stiff in each other's arms, or spend the rest of your life praying for relief only to be ignored. And what did the holy bitch do to stop it? Absolutely nothing. I spent half of my years screaming for a reason why She couldn't extend Her grace unto me, I have done nothing wrong to be forsaken. You never had to struggle like I did, you've been kept safe and secure in your castle walls here all your life. A privileged life in the bosom of the Fury. So forgive me if my faith calls for the sacrifice of what little I have left, but you don't know me. I'm not a mindless karakul being led off the ledge by the holy book like the rest of you. Call me a heretic if that makes you feel better."

Pelleas was calm as he spoke, but Tauvane could feel the undercurrent of rage in him, evident in how his shoulders hunched over and the low growl in his voice. She dropped her eyes down to her lap and picked at her cuticles in shame. Pelleas was right; she didn't know him at all... But it goes both ways.

"Forgive me for overstepping my bounds, I mean no offense. However, I must make it clear that I am not privileged. Yes, I am a halfling, but I am as much of a sinner to the Fury as anyone else. I was not blessed with a warm and happy home—far from it. My earliest memories are of the confines of my mother's living quarters amongst the servants of my father's house... his lawful wedded wife couldn't bear my presence. I wasn't wanted, I'm a karakul with no shepherd. I was born in the sin of my mother and shaped by my father's iniquity. Contrary to what you may think, I have no place anywhere, not even within the Order."

Pelleas straightened his posture and narrowed his eye, watching Tauvane coolly unpeel the layers of her troubled past like one would do an artichoke. The whole while, Tauvane kept her eyes on the miniature painting of Saint Jehanne hung on the back wall, her patron's humility reflected in the faded watercolors. She detached herself from the current conversation as to not show emotion, she was speaking as is Pelleas wasn't just a few ilms beside her.

"I was like you once. I prayed until my knees bled for salvation, I beat myself raw with reeds for confirmation that She loved me. The church teaches us that Halone loves Her people, so surely She would have boundless adoration for a helpless innocent who did not ask to be born, not if no one else would grant me the feeling of attachment. I have no friends here, they all believe me damned. I prayed for Halone to answer my calls and tell me that I was not a sinner, I have suffered many times for Her. But because of my wretchedness, I would have to endure a thousand hardships before She'll take notice." Tauvane gave a wry smile.

"As said in volume forty-one, the Parable of the Lost Karakul: "'Which of you men, if you had one hundred karakul, and lost one of them, wouldn't leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness, and go after the one that was lost, until he found it? When he has found it, he carries it on his shoulders, rejoicing. When he comes home, he calls together his friends, his family, and his neighbors, saying; 'Lo, rejoice with me, for I have found my karakul which was lost!' I tell you that even so there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents, than over ninety-nine righteous people who need no repentance.'" I read that passage every night before I went to sleep as a girl. I saw myself as that lost karakul, and Halone as the good shepherd who carried me home. I awaited the day where She would extend Her hand and wrest me from my suffering... that day hasn't come yet."

Tauvane drew in a deep breath, "My devotion to Halone is absolute, I was raised by the Order to honor Her. But my relationship with Her is strained, like a daughter towards her mother. Is it because of my birth that She refuses me? Does life not yet born pass Her keen judgment? For all my life, I have been told of my sin, about how much I need to repent. The price is a hefty sum, and I have already paid half of my life to the balance owed. But how much is enough?"

Silence hung over them for seconds, minutes, hours. The air felt thick, the walls closer than usual. Tauvane felt like she was being buried alive. In truth, only a few minutes passed. Tauvane returned to her senses to find Pelleas propped against the headboard of his bed, arms crossed with a serious countenance. She blinked once, then twice.

"My apologies, I fear I got too ahead of myself. What I said to you is confidential—do not say a word of this to anyone."

The dour look was soon replaced with a playful smirk stretching across his lips, "I would not think it, my fair lady."

Tauvane felt the irritation rise in her throat. She started to say something but quickly clamped her mouth shut. All she could do was shake her head at the snicker she received.

"Enough idle talk. The hour grows late, and I must return to my duties."

"Leaving so soon?" Pelleas pouted, "We were just beginning to bond over our shared disgust for organized religion."

"I'll bring you your supper in a moment. Good day, Ser Pelleas."

Tauvane ignored his last comment in favor of leaving the room, her stride unbroken as she closed the heavy door behind her. In that short moment in the emptiness of the hallway, she allowed herself to double over as it felt like the air had been forced out of her chest. The words that fell out of her mouth began to sink in.

I didn't mean any of that. O 'lone, the almighty heritor of ice, please forgive your humble servant, nothing I said was true.

Tauvane repeated that like a mantra. Why did she do that? To let herself grow so vulnerable to an outsider, a man with loose morals, it settled like a rock in her stomach. Pelleas' soul may not be saved in his final hours, but Tauvane would not be easily swayed.

She let Pelleas know her weak points, and he exploited them to his advantage to spread heretical ideals. Yes. That's the story she'll tell to the Reverend Mother if word gets out about their conversation. Tauvane let go of the doubt in her heart a long time ago through ardent prayer, she's above that now. She knows the Fury would not lead her astray; She loves even a poor sinner like Tauvane unconditionally.

She does.

She doesn't.

Tauvane shook her head as if to rid herself of the niggling worm in the back of her head, a worm that tells only lies. She'll have to show penance for her lack of faith later, a proper mea culpa. The scabbed scars on her back began to itch in protest, but she ignored it.

#inbox #oneiroy #this uh. got away from me. over 2k words jesus christ #lots of mentions of karakul in this one #tauvane and pelleas bonding. not directly related to the prompt but it deals with their complicated relationship with the church + halone #plus their actual relationship with each other wasn't the best in the beginning #that counts as strained right #q.#writings.

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