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hookedonapirate · 1 year

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Lady Cassidy's Lover

Summary: 1919 England, Emma Cassidy, wife of a baronet, finds herself trapped in a loveless marriage after the war leaves her husband, Neal, paralyzed from the waist down and unable to produce an heir.

Despite the obstacles, she sticks by her husband's side at Goldby Hall, his family's estate, but when she meets former army lieutenant and Neal's aloof gamekeeper, Killian Jones, she feels curiously drawn to his distant blue eyes and quiet demeanor.

At first, she seeks him out for reprieve from her soulless, mundane existence at Goldby Hall, but what starts out as purely physical quickly turns into more than either of them expects.

But Emma is a baronetess, wife of an aristocrat and Killian is a working class servant. Their love affair is frowned upon, and she risks losing her title, her wealth and her position in the world by being with him. But she is determined to get her happy ending with the man she loves. Even if it means losing everything else in the process.

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd and for looking this over and for being amazing!

Based on Lady Chatterley's Lover for @captainswanmoviemarathon

Hope you all enjoy!

Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4 I Ch 5 I Ch 6 I Ch 7 I Ch 8 I Ch 9 I Ch 10 I Ch 11 I Ch 12 I Epilogue

Also on: AO3

Chapter Nine

Dear Emma,

Father is going to London this week and I shall call for you on Thursday, June 17th. You must be ready so we can go at once. I don’t want to waste time at Goldby, it’s an awful place. I shall probably stay the night at Retford, so I should be with you for lunch on Thursday. Then we could start at teatime and sleep perhaps in Mansfield with the Tremaines. It is no use our spending an evening with Neal. If he hates that you’re going, it would be no pleasure to him.

Can't wait to see you!

Love,

Mary Margaret

The sun is shining, the pale blue sky dotted with clouds as Emma walks beside Neal, his three-wheeled motor chair chugging along. It’s quite a lovely Sunday morning, despite the thick, gray clouds that have loomed over Emma ever since she told Killian she was expecting.

She had suspected it wouldn’t go over well with him once she told him Neal wanted the child for his own agenda—to have an heir—but Emma had been too wracked with emotions to tell Killian she didn’t want that. He had been too stubborn to listen anyway.

He is sure Emma only wanted him for a child, but that is so far from the truth. On one hand, she can understand why he feels made use of, but on the other, she would think he knows her enough by now—knows how much she cares for him—to know she wouldn’t do that. She’s not like Milah. Emma’s never met her, but she knows she is a vile woman who treated Killian like something his dog threw up.

“With the new generators, we’ll be able to reduce the workforce. Striking will be impossible.”

Emma furrows her brows at Neal. “What about the workers?”

He shrugs. “No man’s forced to work for me and I’m not forced to hire them. What is the point of striking in the first place? Merely ruins the industry, what’s left of it.”

“Perhaps they don’t mind ruining the industry,” Emma points out wryly, disgusted by Neal’s views on the working class. He speaks of them like they are less than human. Like they can just be replaced by machines and everything will be okay.

“Ah, don’t talk like a woman. The industry fills their bellies, even if it can’t keep their pockets quite so flush.”

Emma scoffs. “No wonder the men hate you.” She’s not sure what makes her feel worse—the way Neal treats the workers or the way she has hurt Killian. It was not intentional, but still, she feels completely and utterly terrible. She had seen the pain on Killian’s face when she told him Neal was glad to have a baby, as long as it seemed to be his.

Neal wrinkles his brows in confusion. He’s completely clueless. “They don’t hate me. They depend on me. They should be grateful. They’d starve without someone to tend to them.”

Her stomach turns as she flashes him a scowl. “You talk about them as if they’re herd animals.”

He chuckles. “Don’t be foolish. They are animals. Not all of them, of course. An individual may rise from the pack now and again. Most of those men have been under rule since the dawn of time.

He cannot be serious!

How did Emma end up with such a cold-hearted, callous husband? She’s ashamed to even call him her husband.

She rolls her eyes, speaking in a sarcastic tone. “And you can rule them?”

“Yes, because I’ve been brought up and trained to do so. That’s my role in society, as it’s their place to serve.”

She throws up her hands, completely done with this conversation. As well as Neal and his attitudes about the working class. “So there is no shared humanity between us?”

“We all need to eat and breathe, but beyond that, no.”

Emma stops in her tracks, dumbfounded and revolted, as Neal goes on his merry way, proud of his closed-minded and shallow views.

“Shall we go as far as the spring?”

You can go as far as hell, for all I care! Emma refrains from saying, feeling a powerful urge to turn around and head back, leaving Neal to fend for himself and hoping his wheelchair gets stuck and he rots in the damn thing.

Emma looks past him, her heart jolting when she sees Killian striding toward them, his dog trotting alongside him.

“Good day to you, Mr. Jones!”

“Good day.” Killian salutes, not even looking her way. She hurries over, her eyes pleading with him as she whispers so Neal can’t hear her. “Killian, shall I see you tonight?”

He ignores her as if she’s not there, his face expressionless as he continues walking.

Her heart plummets, but she supposes she deserves it.

Papp, papp.

Emma hears the toot of Neal’s horn. Annoyed and irritated by both stubborn men, she huffs and begrudgingly follows Neal.

When she catches up to him, the motor of his wheelchair strains and balks and struggles to move along any further.

“Wait, Neal. I’ll push.” Emma comes up behind him.

“No! Don’t!” he groans angrily. “What’s the good of the damned thing if it has to be pushed!” When he tries to get it going, the engine falters and starts up again, but more ineffectual this time.

“Neal, you’re making it worse!”

“Hell, be quiet, woman, will you?!” he barks indignantly.

Emma groans, the urge to leave him stranded here intensifying by the second.

“Damn thing!” Neal grunts in exasperation and honks the horn stridently. “Jones!”

Killian appears from behind, striding up to them solicitously. “Yes, Sir Neal?”

She knows he probably turned around and started toward them once he heard Neal shouting and struggling.

“Know anything about blasted motors?” Neal sighs.

“I’m afraid not. Has she gone wrong?”

“Apparently!” Neal snaps as if to say Isn’t it obvious? He gestures wildly toward the chair. “Just have a look and see that nothing’s broken,” he demands harshly, not even bothering with civility. After all, Killian is just an animal, according to Neal.

Emma seethes silently behind him, clenching her fists.

Killian sets his gun on the ground as Jolly sits in the grass, wagging her tail. He lays flat on his stomach and peers under the chair, poking at the greasy engine with his finger, inspecting it for a moment before pushing himself up. “Seems all right as far as I can see, sir.”

“Then stand back.” Neal starts the engine again and shifts it into gear. The chair hums and lurches like it wants to start, but it doesn’t budge.

Killian places his hand on the back of it to keep it from rolling backward. “Maybe, if I give her a push.” He starts forcing the chair forward but Neal resents the interference.

“No, no, keep off! She’ll do it by herself.” He is determined to get the thing moving again, but it only coughs and sputters, weakly ebbing forward. By this point, he is pale with anger and jabs obstinately at the levers. The chair reels on for a few more yards before coming to an end once more.

“She’s done,” Killian points out. “Not enough power.”

Neal doesn’t listen and instead yanks the gear again, successfully steering it forward. The chair fights the steepness of the hill, but Killian manages to get it moving again, pushing it steadily.

“Yes, that’s it! You see, she’s doing it!” Neal cheers victoriously, unaware Killian is aiding the chair along until Neal glances over his shoulder. “Are you pushing her? I asked you not to!”

“It won’t go if I don’t,” Killian wheezes breathlessly, using all his strength to keep the chair going.

“Give it a chance, man!” Neal barks vehemently.

Killian releases the chair and stands back, him and Emma watching as it struggles immediately, standing inert. Neal is white with vexation as he jerks at the levers, and with savage impatience, he moves the handles and gets some humming and rumbling out of it, only to have the chair slowly roll backward.

“Neal, your brake!” Emma cries, moving forward to stop it.

Killian grabs the chair by the rail, and Neal quickly brakes, the chair jerking sideways and coming to a halt.

Neal sits rigid with rage as he kills the engine. It’s silent for a moment before he exhales a sigh of defeat. “It’s obvious I’m at everybody’s bloody mercy.”

Killian is still holding onto the chair as Emma rushes over to the other side of him.

“It would seem, Mr. Jones, that she would need to be pushed,” he grumbles resentfully. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Alright.” Neal steers the chair forward and shifts it into gear.

“Hang on, hang on.” Killian catches the chair again when it starts to roll back. “One, two, three.”

The engine roars to life once more.

“Bombs away!” Neal shouts as Killian pushes it forward.

The chair is moving steadily for a moment.

“There we are.”

Killian grunts once it slows down.

The chair stops once more, and Killian coughs, struggling to move it any further.

“For God’s sake, man, what’s the matter with you?” Neal asks impatiently, showing the man no compassion, even though Killian is trying to help him.

“Lungs are a bit knackered, sir. Little souvenir from the war.”

Flushed with anger, Emma goes to his side, takes hold of the chair and helps him push.

“For God’s sake, Emma!” Neal barks at her. “What the hell are you doing?”

“He needs my help!” She’s nearly at her wits’ end with him. She turns to look at Killian in concern as they continue to push the chair up the hill. “You alright?” she whispers.

He answers with a nod, but he looks angry. She has to wonder if he’s still mad at her or if he’s angry at Neal.

She leans in and kisses his cheek, but to her dismay, he releases the chair, turns around and walks away, Jolly following behind him. Emma’s heart constricts as she watches him pick up his gun and continue without so much as looking back in her direction. She turns around and watches in vexation as Neal’s chair chugs along.

For the first time, she finds herself consciously hating Neal—with vivid hatred—and wishing more than anything that he was obliterated from the face of the earth. She uses her hatred to push him the rest of the way.

It’s strange how free and full of life it makes her feel, to hate him and to admit it fully to herself.

When they return to Goldby, the servants help get him into his house chair, and Emma, still furious, can no longer contain her feelings toward him.

“I suppose the other chair will need a new set of wheels,” Neal says, trailing behind her.

She ignores his statement. “Who do you think you are? I mean, how can you treat someone like that?”

Neal scoffs. “Who? The gamekeeper?” He says it as if Killian is nothing.

Emma turns around, pinning him with a glare. “He was injured in the war as well. I mean, if he was in that chair, what would you have done to him?”

Neal’s eyes widen and fill with rage as he wheels himself toward her. “I find your comparison in very bad taste.”

Emma turns around and heads upstairs, shouting over her shoulder. “Well, I find your lack of common sympathy to be in the worst taste imaginable!” She spins around, not even bothering to hide the anger and irritation she feels. “You and your ruling class! I thought you were different, but you’re not. You make people work for £2 a week or starve. It’s not ruling, Neal. That’s bullying.” With that, she turns back around and marches upstairs to her room, leaving Neal stunned in his chair.

She is determined to get him off her mind, though. She doesn’t want to hate him. She doesn’t want to feel anything toward him.

Outside, the sky turns gray, there’s a storm coming, but Emma is determined to make things right with Killian. She says nothing to Neal during lunch, and afterward, she sneaks out before it rains, racing across the park. She heads to Killian’s cottage and doesn’t bother to knock, simply steps inside and tries to catch her breath as her eyes search around for him.

He is sitting on a stair step, removing his boots and setting them aside. He looks over at her, his eyes no longer filled with anger. In fact, they’re the usual calming blue.

God, he is handsome. His hair is unruly from running his hand through it, and he’s dressed in trousers and a white undershirt with the top three buttons undone, exposing his exquisitely soft chest hair, suspenders strapped over his shoulders. She so badly wants to run over to him, wrap her arms around him and hold him, never letting him go.

“I’m sorry.” She steps closer as he plants his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on hers. “I’m sorry for hurting you.” She’s hoping he’ll forgive her, hoping he was simply frustrated this morning by Neal and the fact that she is carrying a child Neal will try to claim as his. A small smile tugs at her lips as she shakes her head. “I don’t want you for the sake of a child. I just want you , Killian. Alright?”

He nods, his expression softening. “Alright.”

“But Neal...he has to believe I tried to keep us together. That this was his idea, just all gone terribly wrong.” She sucks in a breath. “For him to give me a divorce, for us to be together, he needs to believe that.” She swallows hard and exhales deeply, her heart pounding. “I’m in love with you.”

He is silent for a moment as he stares at her, but it’s a warm stare, not a cold one like the one he’d given her when he was upset with her. Finally, his lips crack into a smile, his blue eyes twinkling. “I’m so bloody in love with you, Emma.”

She sighs in relief, her heart singing as she goes over to him. “I just want to be with you. If that’s what you want.”

“You know what I want.” His eyes darken a little, a slight bitterness in his tone. “I want to be with you always, and not have to watch you go back to Neal ever again.”

Her heart squeezes at that. She wants the same.

“But I still have to get a divorce from Milah myself.”

She holds out her hand, and he takes it, pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She winds hers around his nape, sighing pleasantly against him. She had missed the way he feels against her, the way he smells, and being enveloped in his embrace. She had missed his voice and his tenderness and his kisses.

“Aye, let’s dinna fight,” he murmurs against her neck, kissing her there, sighing against her as he tightens his hold around her, whispering ever so softly, “I’m sorry, love.”

Emma pulls back slightly to look at his face. “I’m sorry for the way Neal acted this morning. It was horrid.”

He shakes his head gently. “Don’t apologize for him.”

Emma searches his eyes. “Are you sure you didn’t hurt yourself with that chair?”

“No, I’m fine now. My heart’s just not as strong, and my lungs aren’t as elastic as they were before the war.”

Emma’s heart aches for him and for all that he has suffered. She wants to take all his pain away. “Do you hate Neal?”

“Hate him? No. I’ve met too many like him to upset myself by hating him. I knew beforehand I don’t care for his sort, and I let it go at that.” He narrows his eyes at her. “Do you hate him?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t before today. But I hate the way he treats people. I hate the way he treated you. But I don’t want to think about him. As you said yourself, I don’t want to upset myself by hating him.” She cups his cheeks in her hands, speaking softer, a smile touching her lips. “Why don’t we just leave them all behind?” Her fingers brush along his ginger scruff. “Go to Australia. Go somewhere…anywhere.”

He grins, his beautiful blue eyes lighting up at that idea as his hand caresses her belly. “The three of us?”

Her heart flutters. “Mmhmm. Just our family.” She rests her forehead against his. “No one would judge us.”

He kisses her mouth, whispering against her lips, “Sounds bloody perfect.” He nuzzles her nose with his, closing his eyes. “I’m pleased for us. I’m pleased for you to be pleased.”

She giggles and kisses him again.

A peaceful silence falls over them for a moment, only interrupted by the low rumble in the sky and the soft pattering of the rain outside.

She looks over, watching the rain stream down the window. She rises from his lap and kneels down to unlace her boots, pulling them off and removing her stockings and dress.

“Emma? What are you doing?” he asks, his eyes dancing with amusement as she removes the pins from her hair and shakes out her loose blonde locks.

She smirks and cocks her head toward the door before opening it. The steady rain pours down like a sheet, and she feels a rush of adrenaline, knowing everything will be okay. Knowing she’ll get to leave Neal and be with Killian and raise their child together. There is something so freeing about knowing what she wants in life. Knowing what they both want— each other . And their family.

She dashes outside in her underclothes, extending her arms and tipping her head back to face the rain head on. She spins around, screaming and giggling, the rain wet and refreshing on her skin. “Woohooo!”

~*~

He rises from the step and goes over to the doorway, watching her in fascination. The second she stepped into his cottage, he saw the look on her face, and the anger and disappointment he felt toward her had instantly melted away. Her eyes were full of apology and softness and he didn't have the heart to not hang onto every word she told him.

He felt like a complete arse for storming away like he had in the park, but he could no longer listen to Neal and the way he spoke to Emma, his own wife, nor could he be around her without wanting to wrap his arms around her and kiss the bloody hell out of her right in front of the bastard. Then she told him she loved him and wanted to leave them all behind and go somewhere, just the three of them, and he was a complete goner, just like he was the first time they kissed. He decided from that moment on, he will do whatever it takes for the three of them to be a family. He will jump over whatever obstacles it takes to make Emma and their baby happy.

Their baby.

He still can't believe he's going to be a father.

It's surreal. But he loves the idea of that. Of him and Emma raising their wee little boy or girl together.

It makes him so happy to think about.

Killian holds his breath as Emma removes her underclothes and runs across his yard, tossing the garments aside and dancing. He grins from ear to ear, thinking she is crazy for running out into the rain, naked nonetheless, but at the same time, he enjoys seeing her carefree and happy like this, her naked form so beautiful and pure and ivory against the rain. He lets out a chuckle, strips off his clothes and jumps out into the harsh, slanting rain while completely naked. Jolly leaps in front of him, barking frantically.

Emma, her hair all wet and matted to her head, looks at him, her green eyes blazing with excitement. When he runs over to her and throws his arms around her wet, naked body and carries her in his arms, she shrieks and wraps her arms around the back of his neck, her chilled skin quickly heating up at the contact. He spins her around and then sets her down on her feet, falling to the ground when the world continues to spin around him. He chuckles and quickly recovers, getting up and chasing her.

They run around for he’s not sure how long until he catches her from behind and wraps his arms around her stomach. They stop, just standing there, holding each other, motionless against the biting rain.

When they head inside, he quickly grabs two towels and comes back to her. Emma’s hair is plastered down by the rain, her face flushed ruddy, and her body glistening and wet, her beautiful breasts rapidly rising and falling as she tries to catch her breath. He rubs her down with a towel before she takes it from him, scrubbing her hair with it. He wipes himself off with his towel, starts the fire and grabs a blanket from upstairs. When he returns, Emma is kneeling on the hearthrug, shaking out her hair in front of the fire to dry it. Killian wraps the blanket around his back and sits in the chair, watching her in fascination. He gazes at the lovely curves of her hips, her thighs, her beautiful arse. And in between her thighs is her warm, secret entrance he loves getting lost in.

Releasing the blanket, he reaches out and strokes her bare bottom with his hand, taking her round, perfect globes in his hands.

She cranes her neck around to look at him, giving him a smirk.

He smirks back, his cheeks heating. “Sorry, love, I can’t help myself. You’ve got a very lovely arse. The loveliest arse of anybody.” He caresses her soft skin, his fingertips disappearing between her thighs and sinking into her heat before brushing over the puckered entrance between her cheeks. “If I only lived ten minutes and had the pleasure of stroking your arse, I should reckon I’d lived one life very happily. Here’s one of my lifetimes.”

Laughing, she rises and turns around, climbing into his lap. She straddles his waist, her arms winding around the back of his neck, her eyes piercing his. “Kiss me,” she whispers against his lips.

And he does, slowly and softly, combing his hand through her damp, disheveled hair.

He knows the thought of their separation is latent in both their minds. He’s not looking forward to her departure to Venice, he dreads the thought of not being able to see her for three bloody weeks. It will be torture for him.

She rests her head against his chest as he pulls the blanket around them and holds her close, their naked bodies now warm and dry against each other, the flames crackling and blazing in the fireplace.

After the rain ceases, they both rise, and he wraps the blanket around her and dons the clothes he’d discarded on the floor, letting his suspenders hang from his waist. He goes outside the cottage to retrieve her underclothes, Jolly running out the door and roaming around the yard.

He wrings them out as best he can before heading inside. She puts on her dress, deciding to leave her underclothes hanging out to dry so she doesn’t have to wear wet clothes or explain to Neal why she took them off and is carrying them around.

~*~

Yellow rays of sun are shining through the trees as Killian escorts her to the park gate, his arm wrapped around her shoulders and hers around his back. They hadn’t imbibed any alcohol, but she feels drunk. Drunk on life. Drunk on the feeling of knowing she has a future with Killian. Drunk on love.

She loves this feeling and never wants it to subside.

She just doesn’t know what exactly will happen after she tells Neal she wants a divorce. She’s not sure where she and Killian and the baby will go, but it doesn’t really matter as long as they are together.

“I leave for Venice on Friday.” They stop in their tracks to face each other. She almost resents that she has to leave. “I want to see you before I go. Shall I come by the cottage the night before?”

He arches a brow. “Isn’t your sister picking you up that night?”

“Yes, but she’s staying nearby in Mansfield with some friends. She’ll sleep there that night and I’ll sleep with you. I can have her drop me off at your place.”

“Then she’ll have to know about us.”

“Yes, but that’s okay. I already mentioned you, just not by name.” Emma flashes a teasing smirk. “Don’t worry, she’ll adore you as I do.”

Blush paints Killian’s cheeks, and he smiles. “Alright then.” He leans in and captures her lips.

Emma’s heart races, her breaths shattered as their mouths fuse together, tongues caressing tenderly and passionately. He wraps his other arm around her frame as she melts against his body and runs her hand up and down the expanse of his back.

Her skin heats up as he completely closes the distance between them, their heads tilting to deepen the kiss, bodies flush against each other. She feels like she’s floating, and she never wants to let him go. She’s so glad he forgave her, she had been miserable when he was mad at her, when he thought she only wanted him for the sake of a child.

“Milady?!”

Emma’s eyes widen when she hears Johanna calling for her. They both separate immediately, and Killian pulls his suspenders over his shoulders, turning away from her, both of them trying to reassemble themselves after that kiss. But her heart is still pounding and her cheeks are still warm, her lips swollen. It’s obvious they’ve been kissing.

Mrs. Bolton’s face is pale as she rounds some trees and stops quickly, breathing a laden sigh of relief when she spots Emma. “Oh, milady, there you are! Sir Neal asked me to look for you. He was worried something had happened.”

Emma offers a faint smile, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, despite the fact she is livid that Neal sent someone out looking for her. “No. No, I was sheltering in the hut from the rain.”

Mrs. Bolton glances at Killian, and Emma thinks it’s obvious he loves her. It’s written all over his flushed face, his blue eyes sparkling as he looks at her. Mrs. Bolton can probably see that too. She’s no fool.

He greets her kindly. “Mrs. Bolton. Your Ladyship will be quite all right from here. Good evening to you. Good evening to you, Your Ladyship.” He salutes them, his eyes meeting Emma’s once more before he turns around and walks away.

Emma is fuming with anger as she walks back to Goldby with Johanna. “I am not a child. It’s monstrous I have to be followed.”

“My Ladyship, don’t say that. Sir Neal was sure you’d been struck by lightning. And he was determined to send Cogsworth and Plumette to the forest to find the body. So I thought I’d better come, rather than set all the servants agog.”

Emma offers her a small smile and shakes her head as she places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault. It’s foolish of Neal to worry.”

“Well, let’s go home now.” Johanna grabs the boots and stockings from Emma’s hands, taking in the state of her hair. “And I’ll take care of the rest.”

When they reach Goldby, Neal is waiting for her in the foyer as she marches toward him. “You don’t need to send the servants out after me.”

Johanna stands back, watching the scene unfold before her.

“God, where have you been, woman?!” Neal explodes like a volcano, steam practically shooting from his ears. She can tell he had been stewing for a while now. “You’ve been out for hours! Hours! And in a storm like this? What in the name of hell have you been doing?”

She shakes her slightly damp hair with her fingers. “I went to the hut and lit a fire.”

He eyes her up and down with a scowl on his face. “Look at you. The state of your hair!”

Emma gets a rush of satisfaction from seeing him so enraged. It’s one of the few positive feelings she has felt toward him in a very long time. “I went out into the rain… naked ,” she replies very breezily as she strides past him, heading toward the stairs, not about to let herself get worked up over Neal and how upset he is.

He spins around in his chair and rolls after her, his eyes bulging out, his nostrils flaring. “Are you mad?! Suppose Jones had seen you while you were prancing around with nothing on.”

She stops at the foot of the stairs and places a hand on the baluster, turning around to face him. She tries to feign a look of concern, but a smirk teases her lips. “Yes…suppose he had.”

Neal gapes at her, his face as white as a sheet.

She thinks about what Killian had said after he had not only seen her prancing out in the rain naked but also joined her. She wishes, she dearly wishes, she could tell Neal that not only did he see her bare ass, but that he said it was the loveliest ass he’d ever seen. Instead, she prances her lovely ass upstairs to her bedroom. “You’re right, Neal. I should really go and get cleaned up.”

He calls after her angrily. “Emma!”

#cs ff #captain swan #lady cassidy's lover

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yuyupowers · 3 years

Text

aristocrat!seonghwa

aristocrat!seonghwa x fem!reader

genre: fluff

trigger warning(s): patriarchal society mostly. let me know if there’s anything else!

author’s note: none of the pictures are mine!!

for reference, i’m using british peerage (hierarchy). there are five ranks: baron, viscount, earl (count), marquess, and duke - the highest being duke, and the lowest, baron.

second son of a duke

i imagine seonghwa to be someone who values tradition

unlike hongjoong who finds who finds the numerous aristocratic mannerisms pointless, hwa believes upholding these (rather stringent) rules is a sign of respect

perfect gentleman pt.1

excellent in swordsmanship, horse-back riding, and hunting

well versed in poetry, literature, art, and finance

(can maintain a conversation about politics but honestly it kinda goes over his head)

a bit on the shyer side, but a decent conversationalist

good at keeping the flow and mediating in case anyone becomes a little too heated about their opinions

definitely cares about his and his family’s image

naturally caring and tends to dote on those close to him

(translates into excellent manners)

holds the door open, offers his hand when stepping out of carriages, makes sure to walk on the side closest to traffic, diverts conversation when things are too “distressing,” wouldn’t be caught dead alone with a woman that wasn’t related to him or his fiancée/wife

and surprise, surprise !!

this is where you come in

you’re the second oldest daughter, fourth child out of six; born to an earl

hwa’s family had the highest title bestowed upon aristocracy

whereas your family accumulated more wealth and land than the park family

and since both you and hwa were prime marrying age™, your parents decided upon a mutually beneficial marriage

the first time you met seonghwa was under the watchful eye of both your parents, when the park’s invited your family for dinner

tbh, you were pretty relieved when you met him

“prime marrying age” was different for men, so you were just glad he wasn’t some old geezer

and he seemed like a decent person !!

a well put together gentleman, and his image was only consolidated throughout dinner

all in all, you didn’t have much to complain about from the initial impression

though it was kinda annoying when your little sister would not shut up about how he was the handsome man she’s ever met

even if you agreed

and didn’t she say that when she met woo?

anyways

after the first meeting with the park’s, both your parents set up multiple occasions for you two to meet

whether that be evening walks, picnics in the park, etc,,,

you learned a great deal about seonghwa

how his favourite is black, how he loved the stars and that his favourite planet was mars

how he loved kids and doted on your youngest siblings (much to your sister’s glee)

how he enjoyed spending a quiet afternoon with you reading dickens, discussing afterwards the contrast between carton and darnay

how he was always considerate of your feelings and opinions

you liked to think you were a decent judge of character and thought overall that seonghwa was a kind and caring person

but you also noticed a few characteristics that-

you wouldn’t say it was off-putting or anything but,,,

it might bother you in the future

see, you were pretty good friends with hongjoong

and while you weren’t as extreme,

(you didn’t sneak out weekly to hang out with a bar maiden that you definitely did not have a crush on)

you certainly agreed with him on certain points

like hwa, you thought that abiding by certain mannerisms = display of respect

but unlike him, you didn’t care all that much about your image

okay, that was a lie.

you couldn’t say you didn’t care about your image

(social ostracization isn’t exactly fun ya feel)

but you thought it was,,,exhausting

it’s one thing to be respectful, but it’s another thing to say things you don’t mean

to fake humility

to undermine people that are supposed to be your “friends” or “one of you”

to be perfect, when “perfect” was such a subjective term anyways

it just felt so fake and that left a bitter taste in your mouth

even now, you could see all the efforts seonghwa made to constantly keep his image of a “perfect gentleman”

with perfect mannerisms and perfect answers and perfect-

yeah, it kinda frustrated you

not to mention how obedient he was?

of course you didn’t fault him for being a dutiful and filial son, but his loyalty blinded him

and it wasn’t like his parents were bad people !!

no, you’d say they were much kinder than the average noble family

especially considering their status

but when they made important decisions for their son without consulting him,

(because they were more experienced, because they knew better, etc,,,)

and he accepted whatever decision they handed to him?

well,,,

nevertheless, despite being his fiancée, you, by this point, had realistically had known seonghwa for a couple months

and you didn’t feel like it was your place

(at least not yet)

to point this out

so the two of you continued your cordial but emotionally distant meetings

that is until “the incident” (as hwa fondly likes to call it)

okay, so-

one day you paid hwa a visit and the two of you decided to take a walk in his family’s garden

chattering about this and that

a lovely time !!

it was a bit overcast, but it didn’t look too threatening

so the two of you ignored the clouds looming in the horizon and wandered deep into the garden

big mistake

the weather took a turn for the worst, and soon it was pouring

by this point seonghwa was a little panicked

he knew that for women, getting ready could be excessively long and tenuous task

(courtesy of his little sister’s complaints)

and now !! you were getting rained on !! because he didn’t bring an umbrella !! just in case !!

!!!!

he turns to you, ready to shield you with his jacket and lead you back to the manor

but he’s at a loss by what he sees

he had expected you to be upset, to huddle closer to him, to,,,idk, maybe reprimand him for this thoughtlessness??

but instead, he finds you staring up at the dark sky, eyes shimmering with barely contained glee with the biggest smile he’s ever seen from you adorning your lips

he likes your smile

and if he was already confused (he was), he was about to become even more so

because the next thing he knows, you’re hiking your dress in one hand and grabbing his in the other, running through puddles of water and mud and everything in between, laughter falling from you like the rain

up until this point, you had been acting like the perfect (you hate that word) lady

polite, demure, charming-

in public settings, you only spoke when spoken to, with a voice that was purposely soft and soothing

you chatted with his mother and sisters about traditionally feminine things over tea with impeccable manners

whenever you two met, you were always prim and proper; never a strand of hair out of place

but here you were, getting not only yours but his clothes soggy and muddy, laughing without a care about how pleasant it sounded or how loud it was

seonghwa liked to think he wasn’t a judgemental person-

he wasn’t repulsed or anything by your sudden change in demeanor

just.

really confused

and when you looked back, you could tell,if his expression was anything to go by

but your grin only grew wider, because you could work with this

he wasn’t enjoying himself per say; a bit too confused and bit too stiff to do so

but he wasn’t horrified or disgusted

okay maybe he was a little grossed out; he liked to be clean thank you very much

you could work with this.

and so over the next few months, you showed him things he never dreamed of doing

some of which he liked, some of which he didn’t

some he was willing to try, some, less

like sneaking into the restricted section of the library (he’s never been so scandalized in his life)

or visiting the kitchen in the middle of the night so you could teach him how to make some basic recipes (which he surprisingly enjoyed)

or meeting hongjoong

(“of COURSE it matters if they got the colour wrong?! lord help me you’re the most insufferable person i’ve ever met-”)

and the more the two of you explored, the more he,,,real he became.

and vice versa.

gradually, the mask of perfection he worked so on hard to maintain was slipping before you

don’t get me wrong, he’s still kind and caring and a gentleman

but sometimes he would whine and complain when you encouraged him to do something he was less than enthusiastic about (usually something that involved getting him messy)

or he made The Face™ (the disgusted one) to you and when he didn’t like something or someone

or he would be stupidly stubborn about some random fact that you KNEW was wrong but he just WOULDN’T admit if even when you showed him proof

(“seonghwa for the last time toads don’t give you war-” “LALALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU” “eye-”)

once, he even playfully stole the strawberry from your cake

(big mistake. he’s never doing that again. he never knew a woman could move so fast or be so scary.)

it made you so, so happy because the two of you were finally getting to know each other

actually know each other

then one day, while the two of you were reading underneath a tree at the park

“,,,hey love?” (hwa)

“yes?”

“why are we doing this?”

“what do you mean, dear?”

“i mean,,,i’m not complaining, but i guess,,,why did you decide to show me this part of you? the part that runs around in the rain?” hwa

you don’t reply right away

instead, you shut your book and idly stared at the willow swaying over the pond, wind running its fingers through its drooping leaves

after a few moments of silence

“,,,i wanted to know you and what you believed in. actually believed in.”

seonghwa tilts his head slightly to the side

“love, i hardly think my convictions have changed”

“but do you know what your convictions are?”

and you know when you hear something that resonates with you?

something that strikes deep in your core and makes you rethink everything you’ve know?

yeah,,,this is one of those moments

now it was seonghwa’s turn to set his book aside, falling deep in thought

after an unnaturally long stretch of silence, you began to panic a little

because ?? maybe you misread the situation and got a little too comfortable-

cause i mean you were questioning his core values, which is something he takes very seriously

o god you messed up didn’t you o crap you need to apolog-

“will you help me figure it out?”

“,,,huh??”

“will you help me figure out my convictions?” he asked

and you swear, you’ve never seen such a smile from seonghwa

one that conveyed a plethora of emotions, ranging from honesty and vulnerability, to confusion and loss, to lightness and warmth

it filled you with an unnameable feeling

like something sliding into place, fitting perfectly; like it was always meant to be there, filling you with comfort

shyly intertwining your hands for the first time, you looked up to meet his gaze with a pattering heart and a smile matching his own

“,,,of course.”

129 notes · View notes

ohmightydevviepuu · 3 years

Text

the part of a swan

for @cshistfic (an extension of one of my august prompts)

It should be clear that Emma did not, by any means, regret her ruination. She did not miss the person she had been before that night; the eager, naive girl, brought up always to behave a certain way, to speak softly, to do as she was bidden, to be what she was told.

Emma no longer believed in allowing people to tell her who she could be.

But Killian Jones is not concerned with who she was--he's interested in who she is. And he might be the only one smart enough to uncover the truth.

AO3 part 1/? ~2.6k

Emma was twenty-eight years old when she stepped into a ballroom for the first time since she was ruined. The first time she was present for the judging stares, the awkward silences. For the public shaming and the elaborate ritual that surrounded it.

Emma no longer believed in allowing people to tell her who she could be.

Lady Emma Nolan—for that was who she was, though she barely deserved the descriptor and never claimed the surname—delighted in her ruination, and had done for years. It had given her freedom.

It had given her Henry.

Emma had faded into the background as she was expected to after her fall, after her scandal—watched the man she thought she loved continue to live his life as the toast of the ton, the darling of his father, the scion of a powerful family—and swore to herself it was the last time she would do what society expected her to do.

Until tonight.

Emma stood before the crowd, acutely aware of all of the eyes upon her, assessing her, from the style of her coiffure—a ridiculous confection of curls and white feathers—to the tips of her shoes. Surely, they were saying to themselves, surely it is her brother’s money that supports her.

Emma could read them as easily as if they were speaking.

But they were wrong, and that was her secret.

Still, they whispered to each other, muttered remarks hidden discreetly behind fans and glasses of Champagne, and their eyes followed her. Judged her for her past.

And for her presence.

They knew why she was here, and they hated it.

(So did she.)

“Lady Emma.”

The voice was lush and warm with roughness at its edges. Dry—acerbic—the syllables drawn out. He seemed to appear out of nowhere and Emma could do nothing but hold his stare, watching him as he watched her. Dark hair, blue eyes, sharp cheekbones unfashionably marred by unshaven shadows.

It suited him.

“Sir,” she said. “We have not been introduced.” It was both a rebuke and a lie, for she knew who he was. Killian Jones, the son of no one of name, who had made his career in the navy, nearly cashiered out of the service but not before making his fortune in captured prizes; now the writer of several prominent newspapers.

More importantly, a broker in the most potent currency of all—information.

“And you are lurking in the dark.”

“Then do allow me to rectify that on both counts,” he said, stepped forward and bending low over her hand. His breath tickled her skin even through the elbow-length gloves as he looked up at her through his eyelashes.

She pulled away. “What need has Killian Jones for an introduction?”

His eyes glittered. Blue, like the place on the horizon where the sky met the sea, made brilliant by sunlight; Emma held her breath and prayed he would not notice her slip.

Lady Emma Nolan was not the kind of woman who should know—or recognize—Killian Jones.

Finally, he said, “I see my reputation precedes me.”

Emma exhaled. “Why should mine be the only one?”

He laughed, a short bark that seemed to escape him unwillingly, and Emma smiled. It was a small, tight smile. She gestured at the ballroom and said, “I should return to my sister-in-law.” “How is the Duchess?” His tone was conversational, his eyebrow raised. “Not dancing, I hope? In her condition?”

Emma’s smile tightened. She shifted, uncomfortable in the ill-fitting corset her sister-in-law had pressed upon her, and started to walk away.

He followed her movement, his gaze traveling from her neck to her navel, and Emma blushed.

“Let’s not play games, Lady Emma,” he said. “You’re here for a husband. You’re here for your son.”

He leaned in, coming closer, and Emma held her breath. Anywhere but here—now—she might have welcomed this battle, this back-and-forth—welcomed him, for he was devastatingly handsome—

But she had felt that way before, and fallen for it; left broken, and alone, though it had not been Neal who had destroyed her. She had never said his name aloud since the day he’d left, never told anyone the identity of the man who had, however unwittingly, given her freedom.

Fathers’ sins, after all, never stuck.

It had been them—the gaggle, the gossips, the matrons. The glittering ballrooms of the beau monde. She had chosen not to play by their rules, and paid the price for it. Emma’s scandal became both entertainment and a cautionary tale. She’d been exiled by all save her brother and sister-in-law, the duke and duchess married in a scandal of their own, the stars of a different tale.

Love.

But even that had come at a cost: The respect of their late father, and of the ton.

And now, ten years later, here she stood. “Do not,” Emma said, stepping forward and nearly baring her teeth at him, “mention my son.”

He stepped back, slowly. His eyes did not move, and neither did hers. His tone did not change when he said, “Lady Emma, I understand your urgency. With the duchess increasing—”

Emma did not answer, but she made no move to leave this time.

Because he was right, the perceptive bastard.

All of the joy she felt for her brother and sister-in-law did not assuage her suddenly urgent need to see that Henry was properly taken care of—by a father. Someone with a title—someone who needed an heir, now that her brother no longer did.

“There are other dowries, Lady Emma,” he said. “Why yours?”

Emma’s eyes widened. Perceptive, and too clever by half. Maybe that was she answered him honestly. “There are none so large as mine. And none that come with as much freedom.”

“Freedom?” For an instant only he looked confused. Then he spoke, softly. “Ah. You have no expectations. No dreams of a convenient husband turning into a love match. You’re awfully young to be so cynical.” He chuckled, a sound utterly devoid of humor; his eyes once more took her measure. “But then again, wounds made when you’re young do tend to linger.”

He, too, spoke honestly, as if he knew. As if he, too, had wounds. He lifted his hand as if he was going to touch her again—and if he touched her, she was going to like it.

“No one has ever done what you’re about to do,” he said, his hand falling. “And I wish for you to succeed. In fact, I want to help you.”

Their eyes locked.

“You do?” Emma challenged him. “Why?”

Some of the scandal sheets that had delighted in her fall had, after all, been his.

“My reasons are my own,” he said. “There is little love between me and Society.”

She should end this conversation, Emma knew. She’d been away from the crowd, and from Mary Margaret, her sister-in-law, long enough to be noticed. Another black mark for the record-keepers.

But Emma stayed. Said, “You keep them entertained.”

He smirked. “And you, Lady Emma, are the entertainment in question.”

—

Killian Jones stood on the edge of the ballroom and watched them. Watched her.

Emma Nolan was every inch an aristocrat, born and bred into this world; a true diamond of the first water. Everyone in this room should be on their knees at her feet and instead they whispered, waiting to pounce—waiting to destroy her all over again.

He shouldn’t care. He should stay focused.

“You should not have flirted with the girl.”

Killian did not turn. “What do you want with her?”

The answering chuckle was dry and unpleasant. “Let’s just say I’m keeping my eye on young Miss Nolan.”

“Lady Emma,” Killian corrected, only to be granted with another chuckle that had him biting back a curse.

“Of course.” Robert Gold’s words were soft, delicate—silk wrapped around a knife.

“What do you want with her?” Killian asked again.

Gold tutted. “So cold a greeting from my oldest friend.”

Killian had known Gold—now Lord Boyle, Baron Ross, Earl of Glasgow—for almost fifteen years, and hated him for every moment of it; one of the King’s most trusted advisors, with tens of thousands of acres that earned him close to thirty thousand pounds per annum.

The man was as rich as a fictional king, but that was never enough for him.

No amount of power was enough for him.

“I could kill you right here,” Killian said.

“You could,” Gold agreed. “And you would hang for it.”

“At least it would be for a crime I actually committed.”

“Big words, Captain. You and I both know that you are not in any position to move against me.”

Killian finally turned to face him, ignoring the shiver of fear that went through him as he did so; hating it. “I won’t ask again.”

“And I won’t answer. Your only concern is that she interests me. It is so tiresome, having to threaten you. You would do better to just accept our arrangement. I command, you act.”

As though Killian could ever forget.

But Killian was not the only one with secrets—Gold had them, and deeper and darker than any one man should. Secrets that would see Gold, not Killian, at the end of a rope.

If only Killian had proof.

Snarling, Killian backed away from the earl and made his way through the ballroom for the exit.

And found—

“We meet again, Mr. Jones,” said Lady Emma Nolan. Her bright green eyes sparkled and her voice—somehow it brought light with it. Killian was helpless to do naught but smile back as he inclined his head in greeting.

“My lady,” he said, and enjoyed the surprise in her eyes at the honorific.

The night was still young and they were the only two preparing to leave. Emma’s maid stood discreetly behind and the duchess, her chaperone, was nowhere to be seen. “Are you for home already?”

Her nod made the feathers in her coiffure tremble. “Believe it or not, Mr. Jones, I am unaccustomed to this sort of evening. I find myself quite exhausted.”

“I noticed you found the energy to dance,” he said, and wished he hadn’t.

She had stood up for every dance, had played her part brilliantly; Killian had noticed several of her brother’s titled friends called in to do a set with her in the hopes that all of their combined wealth and power might blind Society to the lady’s sins.

She was all anyone talked about, but it was neither her brother’s chosen champions nor her beauty that fueled the whispers in the ballroom.

If Gold wanted her—

“Did you?” She adjusted her wrap around her shoulders but could not hide her smile. “And yet you never thought to ask me?”

“Lady Emma,” he said, affecting shock, “when we have not even been introduced?”

Her laugh seemed to reverberate; as if the street lamps themselves would dance to her tune, and for a long moment there was silence between them, neither of them moving to break the moment. The sound of approaching hoofbeats and carriage wheels emerging from the neighboring mews was both an irritation and a welcome distraction as she made to leave him.

“The duchess does not accompany you?”

The feathers trembled again as she shook her head, still smiling. “I’m for home, Mr. Jones. I wonder, what shall you write about this evening for your Scandal Sheet?”

She meant the words to amuse, he was sure—a perfect combination of wit and boredom—but underneath it all, Killian heard something else. Something, he thought, no one was meant to hear: Sadness. Loss. Frustration.

“You don’t want it, do you?”

She watched him, weighing, calculating, as the carriage waited before them to take her away from this place and this life, if only for an evening. If she was surprised by how easily he read her, she gave no sign of it. “This is my bed, Mr. Jones. I must lie in it. And to do that—it seems I need you.”

The words landed, harder than she ever could have intended, his silly promise of social redemption echoing hollow. It was cold comfort to know that the earl was already married and could have no designs on Emma’s dowry.

The man had a terrible track record when it came to his wives.

Killian thought that it must be her family—her brother—that interested him. The young, golden-haired duke had clawed his way back from his sister’s scandal and his own marriage based, as best Killian could ascertain, solely on his charm.

“Lady Emma—” he began, but he did not know what else to say.

“Good night, Mr. Jones.” She was already moving, down the steps to the waiting carriage.

He watched her, the way she moved, fascinated by the way the pale fabric of her skirts seemed to swirl in the night air, the way her arm balanced as she smiled at the footman handing her in, a glimpse of ankle in a silver slipper before the door slammed shut and her outrider climbed onto his perch.

He imagined what he might write about her as his curricle pulled up to the mounting block and he took the reins, so lost in his thoughts of her that he did not realize he still followed the lady’s coach until they were well past the turn out of Mayfair and toward her brother’s town house.

He followed her down Bond Street toward Piccadilly and then St. James before he allowed his curricle to fall back, watching the lanterns on the carriage as they navigated the back alleyways behind Duke Street toward the men’s clubs of London.

Lady Emma Nolan, sister of a duke, with a dowry big enough to buy a palace, desperate for a restored reputation and a father for her son—that he had determined to secure for her—was in a parked curricle behind the most exclusive men’s club in Britain. More than a club—the most expensive, high-class gaming hell in London.

Lady Emma Nolan, behind Killian’s own destination, behind his club, The Swan. A club run by some of London’s darkest men on behalf of the club’s owner, who went only by the name Swan. Killian had never seen nor spoken to Swan in spite of their years-long profitable relationship in the trade of information.

Of secrets.

Just the person, Killian had decided, to turn to in order to free himself from Gold’s yoke once and for all. If anyone could access Gold’s secrets, it would be Swan, and Killian was willing to pay any price for what he desired.

Emma’s outrider—a giant of a man, Killian suddenly realized—was stood in front of the heavy steel door that marked The Swan’s back entrance, banging in a specific pattern to gain entry.

He should stop her. He moved to, just as the carriage door opened and Killian strained for a glimpse of her pale slipper, her white skirts.

But that was not what he saw.

The slipper was high-heeled and dark—the skirts a silk the color of the purest red rose—a corseted bodice that put on display a décolletage of perfect proportions. Painted lips, kohl-rimmed eyes, and a dark wig that hid every golden hair.

Killian Jones watched her disappear into the club’s back entrance and he smiled.

Here was a story.

And—just maybe—an answer to all of his problems.

@katie-dub @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @shireness-says @pirateherokillian @stahlop @onceratheart18 @kmomof4 @mariakov81

#cs fic #cshistfic #regency AU

45 notes · View notes

lyracasstuff · 3 years

Note

!!!! could i please get hcs for naib and demi (separately) with a princess s/o (fem)? like her role is a princess and all that jazz :D (i recently made a main which is this one, im an idv blog myself i just like requesting things for other blogs :D)

I really really like this request..（・∀・）

Although, please excuse me if these headcannons are shorter for your taste,, I had been busy for quite a while,, and so my brain juices are a little drained...(⌒_⌒;)

Also,, hello fellow idv blogger!!（〜^∇^)〜

Naib and Demi x Fem! Princess! S/o👑✨

Naib Subedar🌛🌌

He would really be shocked and confused as to 1) HOW you got here? And 2) WHY are you here?

You, a ROYAL? Someone who's been sheltered and pampered ALL her LIFE, would PARTICIPATE in a gruesome game like THIS???

He really couldn't understand it..

Although he was very curious about you,, he *did* hold himself back from walking up to you and just bombard you with ALL sorts of questions..

So, it took the both of you some time to be acquainted with each other.. Naib started out small,, like greeting you with a rather stiff and rusty bow in an attempt to "match" with your own elegant courtesy whenever you two crossed paths..( ´ ▽ ` )

Or pulling your seat for you whenever you would sit down and prepare for a match..

To even lending you a hand in carrying your stuff when they were too heavy such as books, clothes, personal hygeine items, hair care, skin care, etc...

(Naib really wonders if you REALLY needed all of your 50 ballgowns and dresses...)

He just really wants you to feel at home despite being trapped in a manor..

On the topic of making you feel at home...

There's another thing aside from doing acts of service: protectiveness

He understands that you were most likely protected and guarded by knights before you went into the manor,, so you *probably* didn't know much about self defense...

So if anyone EVER tries to touch you, be it your hair, your face, your arm..

You can *BET* that Naib is going to be slapping said person's hand away while ushering you to get behind him..

He WILL do this to BOTH survivor OR hunter by the way...(｡･ω･｡)

You were very much pleased by Naib's protection and support,, he was just like your own personal butler and knight back home!!

Over time,, Naib's gestures had gotten bolder and bolder...

He went from doing acts of service, to teaching you how to kite, how to heal, how to rescue, how to vault windows, etc...

However,, you may or may not have teared up from the fact that you accidentally snagged a piece of your favorite dress from trying to put down a pallet...(^_^;)

Naib really panicked at that time.. He knows how to sew open wounds, not dresses and ballgowns!! (◎_◎;)

Nevertheless,, the both of you would still have fun by the end of the day..

Naib really couldn't help but be in love with you... How could he not though?? You were so sweet and elegant in everything that you do..

Even during the moments where you weren't the most elegant,, he still cherished it all the same..( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

Which is why he REALLY couldn't deny his jealousy and saltiness towards Wu chang, Joseph, heck,, even Mary sometimes.. Joseph and Mary are both nobles so OF COURSE you would relate to the aristocratic life,, and Wu chang were GUARDS before they got into the manor,, so OF COURSE they would serve as better protectors than he is..

Then, look at him,, he's nothing more than a man whose ENTIRE job revolves around killing targets that his clients propose.. Well,, at least that's what he thinks anyways..

Be that as it may,, Naib's mind would still be plagued by this thought.. So much so that He doesn't even notice that he's been distancing himself from you...

You aren't the same however... You KNOW that something's been disturbing him, you KNOW that something's upsetting him.. You can literally FEEL it..

And so,, in these times, you would decide to come visit him in his designated room,, all the while comforting him and telling him that while he may not be a noble or a guard,, you still love him regardless of his status and that you are grateful for everything that he's done for you..❤

Naib says nothing,, however, his body language and look of pure love and adoration on his face tells you everything you need to know..❤❤❤

That day has now marked an important event of your lives: the start of a new, blooming relationship..（⌒▽⌒）

First of all,, remember how I talked about his jealousy and protectiveness?? Well,, those just got amplified when you two are confirmed to be in a relationship now..

He sometimes does this thing where if someone wants to speak with you,, Naib would do either of these 2 things: either he asks you if you want to speak to them OR if he's feeling a little selfish with your time,, he just tells them to go "set up an appointment" with you...

He is really astonished at all the different kinds of spoons and forks, all the different etiquettes you follow, the amount of tiaras that you have...

And *especially* at how many relatives that you have.. Which was MUCH larger than the average family size...

((Fun fact: During the Victorian Era, the average family size was actually 6 children.. It had gone down by half by the end of said Era..))

I can't tell why,, but I have this headcannon in my mind that Naib actually prefers more simpler clothing on you.. He just doesn't like too much "eye clutter" per say...

That,, and there's just something so mesmerizing about your regal beauty meshing into the very simple clothing that Naib just finds so.. Heavenly..

All in all,, Naib is just dumbfounded and amazed as to how you had fallen in love with him and just how lucky he is at being with someone like you..

🌛💚🌛💚🌛💚🌛💚🌛💚🌛💚🌛💚🌛💚

Demi Bourbon🍺🍷

Much like Naib,, Demi over here is confused as to what a royal is doing here...

Unlike Naib, however, Demi is more upfront and straightforward and would just walk up to you and ask you directly..

"Woah!! Hey there!! What's a cute lil blueblood doin here??"

You get this question a LOT.. It stuck around for so long that it became an inside joke whenever Demi sees you in the same room as her...╮(─▽─)╭

Now,, she may be a girl,, but don't be fooled... She's surprisingly strong for her physique... So she'll DEFINITELY help you carry your stuff...

Just be prepared to be bombarded with ALL SORTS OF QUESTIONS about your stuff..

"Daaammnnn~ You royals really love your fancy schmancy stuff,, do you??"

"Ooooohhhh~~ A diamond encrusted necklace?? Hey, you wouldn't mind me borrowing it right??"

"This ball gown matches well with one of my costumes! Hey, how about we both dress up? We would REALLY look great together~❤"

You're going to have to get used to these questions someday...（・∀・）

She DOES teach you the basics,, but in all honesty, she never really lets you apply the things that you learned when you're actually in matches...

A hunter is right behind you?? You can bet that Demi will chug down her D.U.P.H.R.I.N, run as fast as she could and sweep you off your feet in a bridal carry..（＾ｖ＾）

"It is I, Your Knight in shining armor!!"

This happens all the time in matches

A hunter is preparing to take a swing on you?? Well,, not on Demi's watch!! Before the hunter can swing their weapon at you, Demi takes one of her bottles and smashes it onto their head...

She DID lose some morality points for that though....

Eventually,, you had to tell Demi that as much as you appreciate her "support", you still have to stand on your own,, ESPECIALLY when Demi is not in the same match as you are..

Demi would *reluctantly* agree and say that she just can't stand the thought of you being hurt, she doesn't want you to be in harm's way because she knows that some survivors *probably* just see you as dead weight,, considering you've been pampered your whole entire life..

Demi would then go on and tell you that she had been taking a liking towards you, and is interested in being in a relationship with you..

"Listen, your highness, I may not be an ACTUAL knight in shining armor, or a prince from some far away land.. But, I'd still want to take a chance at persuing you.. So, what do you say? Will you allow me to take a chance at wooing your heart??"

You of course say yes,, besides, you don't really care if she is of noble blood or not.. Her bold and daring personality is what made you like her..

And thus,, your relationship has started!!

Demi gets a *little* protective over you,, ESPECIALLY when someone's trying to flirt with you..

"Ah, ah, ah, she's mine~~"

"Oi, she's already taken, you idiot! How about go flirtin with someone who's NOT TAKEN???"

Demi over here doesn't really have any problem regarding jealousy,, if anything,, YOU might be the one having some jealousy problems here and there..

Because Demi practically flirts with anything and everything..

Never fear!! Demi would ALWAYS be there to give you reassurance that you're her one and only..( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

After that,, she'll tone down her flirty nature by a couple of notches so as to not worry you too much...

Demi would also serve you drinks!! For FREE!!(ノ^o^)ノ

The best part about this is that,, not only are you getting it for free, but you're also getting the FINEST quality...

And she serves your drink in the most dramatic way possible,, all accompanied by a cheeky wink at the end..😉

"Only the FINEST for your highness~❤"

Overall,, your relationship with Demi is surely an exciting and playful one! But don't let that make you think that Demi doesn't take you seriously..

Because she does!! And she will ALWAYS take your relationship seriously!!❤❤❤

🍺🍷🍺🍷🍺🍷🍺🍷🍺🍷🍺🍷🍺🍷🍺🍷

Author's note: I apologize if these headcannons are shorter and a bit "lackluster" for everyone's taste.. As stated before,, I had been busy as of late, so I wasn't able to regain much of my brain juices to write properly like usual..

Nevertheless,, I still hope that you enjoyed reading these headcannons!! (⌒_⌒;)(*´∀`*)

Until next time!! See you all in my next post!!ヾ(＠^∇^＠)ノ💚

#identity v #identity v imagines #identity v headcanons #identity v x reader #identity v mercenary #identity v naib #naib x reader #naib subedar #identity v barmaid #demi bourbon #idv headcanons #idv imagines #idv mercenary #idv naib #idv x reader #idv barmaid #idv demi

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princeescaluswords · 3 years

Note

Why does the fairly well adjusted, kindhearted teenager with no training in using lethal force not use lethal force? Hmmm? Got you there, Scott fans!!!!!

Interesting observation. It’s like you watched the show!

Someone was talking to me, last night in fact, that they believe there’s a reason many fans don’t like Scott. They said that many parts of the fandom resent that the show, in its lead, rejected “their preferred narrative of worshiping inherited power and/or power attained through violence.” I can’t really argue with it. I tend to focus on the racial aspect of fandom dislike, yet I think that they’re interrelated. It’s not just that Scott rejects the possibility of succeeding through lethal violence, it’s that he rejects it when doing so is not offered to white characters.

There are white male characters in the show who not only possess the capacity for lethal violence, they employ it as often as they can, yet it’s never shown as a victory. Peter murders ten people, even criminals in police custody, even innocent people, even allies, even family members, and it’s never portrayed as triumphant. Even his executions of Jennifer and the Mute are portrayed as signs of incipient madness and bloody horror. Derek fails miserably at trying to kill people other than his own family member which brings him nothing put pain, and loses his replacement pack in the process. Matt is more successful, but his motivations are shown as rather pathetic deficiencies in his personality. Gerard keeps getting screwed by his own strategies. Stiles is almost destroyed by the lethal violence he grasps for in desperation.

To these parts of the audience, that’s not how it’s supposed to be. Think about other examples of supernatural shows on television: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, True Blood, The Vampire Diaries, the Originals, etc. Violence -- especially death in judgement -- is the prerogative of protagonists. In fact, one of the ways they mark the protagonist in these shows is the casualness of how they approach lethal violence. How many times did Buffy casually kill vampire extras like an afterthought? Don’t get me wrong, I love BTVS, but Buffy’s execution of vampires is ultimately reduced to something banal, like brushing her teeth.

Connected to this is a number of tropes that they love, especially that of aristocratic or superior white men -- deprived of their rightful place or recognition in the world -- conquering those who oppress them and punishing them, even killing them, and thus they reassert justice in the world. It’s literally written into the genetics of fiction that the hero kills the villain.

Yet, the audience has trouble remembering that the biggest victim -- though not the only victim -- of Season 1 is Scott McCall. He had a life -- not a great one, but not a bad one either -- he had hopes and dreams. He didn’t want to sit on the sidelines anymore, he wanted to play first line and he worked for it. His father was neglectful, but he had a great mom and a fantastic best friend.

When Peter chooses him to become his murder assistant, it all goes downhill from there. He lies to his mother. He stalks Stiles in the locker room and disappoints him repeatedly due to his lycanthropy. It threatens his relationship with Allison. Derek manipulates him and uses him to hunt and kill the alpha. Peter violates him and threatens his loved ones. The Argent parents’ whole purpose in life is to kill him. This injustice can’t be solved through lethal violence; this injustice is caused by lethal violence.

And yet, the audience gets confused when he tells Deucalion “I’m not like you. I don’t have to kill people.” It just doesn’t occur to them (the villains or parts of the fandom) that Scott simply doesn’t want to be forced to do to others what was done to him. People complain that he’s a hypocrite because he makes first line due to his werewolf abilities while disliking being a werewolf, as if he’s supposed to stop playing and focus on being the Hale Family’s newest servant in gratitude. Yeah, he gets power, but the cost is constantly too high, such as when Stiles compliments Erica’s appearance in Season 2, and Scott says “How good do you think she's gonna look with a wolfsbane bullet in her head?” Scott’s breaking the established script the audience expected, where he learns to relish his power over others. When Derek manipulates Scott into believing that he has to kill the alpha to be human again, Scott’s determination to do it is not presented as Scott’s decision to serve justice but as Scott’s desperation to make the nightmare end.

Yet it doesn’t end, does it? Do we ever see Scott have a season enjoying first line at all? Do you think he loved being a werewolf when he held Allison’s dead body in his arms or watched Kira join the Skin-walkers? When he used his supernatural hearing to listen to his mother cry or Dr. Geyer struggle to save her life? When he watched Derek fall from the ledge in the mall and think it was his fault? He rejected the capacity to do lethal violence to others as a way of reasserting justice in the world because he never saw the use of violence successfully restore anything. Peter’s defeat in Season 1 and 4 ended a nightmare -- it didn’t erase the monumental changes to his and his friend’s lives, the horror they lived through. Matt died miserably; Gerard died miserably; Jennifer died miserably; Derek gathered more pain into himself. No one lived happily ever after because they could kill the people who hurt them -- they just continued the cycle.

Scott’s development as a protagonist -- and, not coincidentally, his subversiveness as a character in an action-adventure show -- hinges on his increasing capability to employ lethal violence as a corrective, while constantly repudiating it as anything but an unfortunate and painful necessity. Do you notice that he never talks about or takes pride in the defeat of his enemies? Not Peter, not Derek, not Gerard, not Jennifer, not the Nogitsune, not Kate or Theo or The Beast or Douglas or the Anuk Ite. He defeats them and then he’s done. There’s no celebration of the defeat of the enemies, like Ewoks dancing while burning stormtrooper helmets at the end of Return of the Jedi. He employs violence when he has to, he regrets the necessity, but he doesn’t dwell on what they did to him. Instead, he has hope for Peter and Deucalion and Theo.

Why? Because the motivation to reassert justice in the world by punishing enemies - the privilege of other heroes - is what ruined his life in the first place. Lethal violence invaded his life and changed it, down to his very nature. He’s never going to treasure it. He’s never going to turn to it first. Why should he?

#scott mccall #scott mccall defense squad #teen wolf meta #teen wolf racism #fandom racism #brydeswhale

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choco-mark · 4 years

Text

A Marriage of Inconvenience (1)

overall pairing: mafia!jeno x mafia!oc

overall genre: angst | smut | fluff

warnings: language, mentions of violence + death, y/n wanting to kill jeno, jeno being an asshole, oppression of women

summary: when two mafia gangs decide to end their family feud after decades, your mother decides to give your hand away to marriage of their son, lee jeno. he seemed to hate you from the moment he laid his eyes on you, but could the resolution lead to something much more than a bride and groom?

words: 2.8k

masterlist

requested by 🤡 anon

15 April

“You’re going to invite her in, and take her to her room. I don’t care what you have to say about it, son, you’re doing it.” Jeno’s father finally finished his words, looking over at his son with an annoyed expression on his face. “This is for their family and ours, don’t be selfish and get on with it.”

Jeno scoffed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “Oh, I’m gonna be selfish, I just find it so fucking hilarious that you decided to let a girl from our rival clan inside of our damn house. And what’s even funnier is that I’m engaged to her. Really fucking ideal, Father, seriously. I’m loving it so much.”

The sarcasm in his voice didn’t fail to burn searing holes into his father’s skin, making him sigh at his teenage son’s resistance. “Stop complaining and get out of my office. I don’t care what you have to say about it, son, you are getting married to her. It’s already been signed off completely.”

He rolled his eyes, running a hand through the light colored hair. “I don’t even understand why we need another girl in our house; we have enough. What’s so fucking great about her that you wanted her here so fast?”

“We just—need her.”

Jeno looked up at his father’s words, his eyes half closed with absolutely no amusement in them at all. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? If she’s a Park, we don’t need her.” His father’s head was down, pretending to look through papers that were on his desk. “Father—”

“Get out of my office, Jeno.”

You were currently standing in the lobby of NCT Lee’s mansion, which was surprisingly glittering with jewels and riches that you knew they could have never gotten without their illegal antics. Well, you leaned against your luggage, smirking as you looked up at their diamond-encrusted chandelier, none of us could be living such a luxurious life without murder.

“Park Y/N,” a voice came from beside you, startling you a bit as you slowly looked to the side. You didn’t show your surprise, at least, not when your eyes fell upon the man standing in front of you. “I have to say in all my time here, you are the first Park to enter this house without a fight.”

He was handsome, you acknowledged as you looked him up and down, your eyes stopping momentarily on the velvet choker fastened around his neck, probably the most good-looking guy you had seen in—a long time. But something, judging from the way he was looking at you, told you that this wasn’t the man you were forcibly engaged to.

“That’s a shame,” you answered, watching the man check you out immediately, licking his lips as he trailed up your body. You could’ve laughed in pride at the way he was basically eye-fucking you, but instead, you moved forward, standing in front of him. “I must be a pretty first, then.”

His eyes met yours, the gleam of his colored contacts bouncing into yours as you stared back. As he moved a step forward, his hand stretching out as if to receive you, there was a loud call that broke him out of his trace, making him look to side in annoyance.

“Taeyong,” the call was loud, almost as if of a young boy’s, making you look over in caution. It was, yet another, attractive man walked towards the two of you, holding a straight posture that made him appear taller than he was. “Father wants to talk to you in his office, he said it’s important.”

The man hummed, looking from him to you, and then bit his lip slightly. “This is Park Y/N, Mark. She’s here for her first day as Lee. I was going to escort her to her room, but it seems I have other commitments right now. You don’t mind, do you? Escort the lady to where she belongs?”

“Just go Taeyong,” Mark sighed, glancing over at you for a brief moment. “Don’t keep him waiting, he’s been looking for you all day and he’s not happy. Hurry up before he kills someone else.”

The man rolled his eyes, giving you a wink as he walked away, the chains on his dark jeans clashing against each other to give an attractive noise. You watched as he walked away, chuckling slightly from the way he clearly wanted to ‘escort you’ to your room. It wouldn’t have been much of a distance anyway, considering he looked at you like he could take you against a wall in less than a second.

“I’m Mark,” the man beside you held out his hand, his actions being much different from the earlier. “That was Taeyong, assuming that he didn’t introduce himself in the first place. Jeno was actually supposed to be here for your arrival, but since he isn’t, I guess it’s me.”

You scrunched your face at the sound of your fiancee’s name, which sounded familiar when it rolled off his tongue. Taking his hand, you gave it a short shake before asking him, “Who’s Jeno?”

Mark blinked, “My brother, the one that you’re engaged to? Right? Or are you not Park Y/N? Because I’m pretty sure Park Y/N is engaged to my brother.”

Oh, shit. I forgot his name already. You chuckled slightly, looking away from his awkwardly. “Yeah, that’s me. Kinda just learned I was getting married to him—like—yesterday so—” Jeno, Jeno, okay that’s not that hard. Je-no.

He seemed to understand your struggle, or he was just really good at pretending that he understood, since he nodded frantically at your statement. A few moments later, Mark finally took you up to your room, which seemed to be a little more of a maze than you expected.

NCT Park was a high class clan, that was something you knew. You all were able to dish into the black market and purchase expensive items at such a price you would never have gotten if you lived a normal life. The vases were made from pure gold, and the handmade clothing made from silk. It was a beautiful sight for anyone to see if they ever entered the palace of a house.

But NCT Lee was higher, and it was something you knew, but you hadn’t expected so much. They were at the aristocratic class, one of the highest of all you had ever seen. You could tell from their weapons; the way your eyes drooled at the sight of rubies on their blades and precious metals on the triggers of the rifles. And this mansion, was beyond one you had ever seen.

Mark, you learned on your way through this house, was a friendly person. Well, he really seemed like he liked to talk. His words were welcoming, however, a little different from what you had expected when you entered the house in the first place, but you didn’t mind it. It seemed that he looked past your status as a Park, or looked at you more as if you were a human.

“Anyway,” the two of you finally stopped in front of a door at the end of a huge hallway, one that didn’t seem to have any other rooms other than random doors you were a confused. “This is your room. You have a personal servant, by the way, she’s usually two doors down. There’s a speaker in there if you want anything, and she’ll bring it to you.”

You could’ve gasped at the sound of the word ‘servant’ flowing through your mind, but instead you widened your eyes. It was safe to say that your family did not have anything of the sort, other than the chefs and maids. Personal servants, that was a bit new to you, and not to mention, it startled you from the level of their class.

He left shortly after that, telling you that Jeno should be there soon enough to introduce himself to you, considering he had avoided it in the first place. You finally let yourself into the room, one that seemed a little massive for a bedroom, but decent enough to accommodate you.

And so the challenge began.

Jeno hadn’t expected an empty room when he bottled up the annoyance of his arranged marriage and went to visit you; and he sure didn’t expect your personal servant telling him that you had decided to go to their training room.

The first thing that went through his mind when he stormed off to the training room was ‘a Park shouldn’t be able to do as they pleased in the Lee palace’ but it soon turned to ‘she should’ve at least waited to meet me.’

But something that didn’t seem to go through him mind when he entered the room, was the fact that maybe you had also not wanted to get married. It would’ve been an easy way to blame, which was his exact plan. However, you weren’t about to let that happen.

The Lee training room was different than the Park’s, smaller in size as they had multiple rooms depending on what training they wished to do. You, however, were currently in training clothes, practicing your knife throwing skills in the corner.

Jeno tried to compete with just his eyes, watching as you held the blade with caution before you sent it hurling through the air. It landed dead in the center, perfectly straight as he blinked in disbelief.

You clicked your tongue at your outcome, cocking your head sideways as if you had just missed by a hair. But in reality, you could feel the eyes of someone else on you, and as much as you wanted to hurl a knife at them, you kept your calm. If it’s another one of their boys that’ll ogle at me, might as well try and scare them away.

However, the moment you heard steps of a person from close behind you, you quickly swiped from behind, tripping them in response. You grabbed the other knife from your hand, enclosing your fingers around the shaft as you turned around.

Even though you had no clue who it was, you took a seat on the man’s chest, leaning yourself close over him to make sure he saw how close the knife was to his face. He watched with wide eyes, struggling to stand up from the way you were intricately positioned on him.

“You want to stare at me some more?” you offered, pricking your finger with the blade lightly to show how sharp it really was. “Because you can loose an eye as a complement.”

Jeno managed to grab your ankles, yanking you forward to pull you off him and onto the ground instead. He stood up at the same time as you, giving you an odd look. “Didn’t know Parks were that fucking crazy.”

You chuckled unhumorously at the statement, sucking the cut in your finger that was already forming a clot before rolling your eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m a special one. Everyone’s always got their filthy eyes on me.”

“Filthy? What made you think I was even looking at you? I literally walked up with zero intention to maim but you’re already making it a lot harder than it should be—”

“Goddamn, you talk a lot,” you commented, skimming the man from head to toe. “Which Lee are you? The one that wanted me to marry one of your people because you thought I’d be a nice sex slave? I’m hoping you are.”

Your words were full of fire, definitely the opposite of what he expected when he walked into the room. It was different, different from how his sisters sat pretty and pure like statues of virtue as a breeding ground, while you seemed to be a female—fighter?

Jeno was always told the Parks were different, so completely opposite from the Lees that it made them unfit to enter the higher status that they were already in. All he had expected for you, just like the Lee girls, was for you to be sitting at the end of your bed, reading a book or doing something that was stereotypically ‘feminine.’ And god, he had expected you to be obedient, a listener to his words.

“Staring at me some more,” you snarled, rolling your eyes again as you stepped forward, knife twirling in hand as you did. “Have you never seen a woman before? Everyone in your household seems to be like that, but I can’t take out all of their eyes. Yours look pretty inviting, however.”

Jeno took a step back, holding out his hand as if to stop you. “Shut up and put the knife down, stop being stupid. We have women in our house you know, they aren’t a rare species.”

You scoffed at his remark, crossing your arms. “You can stand in front of the target and I can practice; you’ll see how great my knife skills are till your death.”

“Do you even know who I am?”

“Why should I?” you cocked an eyebrow up, pursing your lips. “All you Lees think you’re so high and mighty, but you all end up sounding so full of yourselves. Most of the time, people introduce themselves instead of assuming everyone already knows who they are.”

Jeno was left speechless to that, never having been spoken to by a woman so—harshly before. It was weird, but it fueled him to want to win as you rested your hands on your hips, still looking at him as you waited for an answer. “I’m Jeno.”

“Very nice,” you commented, scanning him once more. This is supposed to be my fiancee? Damn, no wonder he looked at me like that. “I’m sure you know who I am, I’m the only one of my kind here. Now, if you’ll let me go back to practicing.”

“No. You’re coming with me.”

After Jeno had (forcefully) taken you to the lobby of the palace, he had very unsuccessfully attempted to establish some rules in place. Rules that he thought would be hurting enough to make you run crying back to your Park family, but you honestly could care less about his words.

You had sat on a velvet covered sofa as he spoke, barely paying attention as he went on and on about not caring about marriage or engagement. It made you think, for a very slight moment, what the rest of the household would do if you pulled out your knife and stabbed him right then and there.

“Park?” He snapped his fingers in front of your face, gaining your annoyed attention. “Are you even fucking listening to me?”

“You sound like a child, Lee,” you leaned back in the chair, looking at the ceiling. It was decorated with jewels all around the rimming of the walls, making the room shimmer. “Telling me I shouldn’t leave my room, tsk, do I look like a toddler to you? Or should I break your arm as a lesson?”

Jeno sighed at your words, realizing that there was no way he couldn’t keep you from wandering about the house. But he shook his head, clapping to grab your attention again. “No, Park, we’re taking you on a mission tomorrow.”

Your ears perked up at the word ‘mission,’ and your eyes narrowed back down on the handsome man. “Mission?”

“My father insisted that you join us this time,” he crossed his legs, mimicking your positioning. “But only this once, he doesn’t like to see women out of the house.”

“Excuse me?”

“And out of all women, you are the one I’m engaged to,” he groaned, throwing his head back at your defensive stance. “Nothing seems to get through that thick head of yours, huh, Park? What the hell are you doing here anyway?”

You had enough of Jeno’s back and forth conversation, not even fully understanding what he ever truly meant because his teenager-like mind kept him babbling like he was talking to himself. Rolling your eyes, you leaned over, delivering a sharp slap to his thigh.

“I’m here because your lewd family took their chance at seeing women outside of the bedroom,” you snarled. “I’m here because someone inside this marvelous house thought that I was a perfect snack for them to feast on, so they sent a letter to the head and asked for me to come and fulfill their pleasures. I’m here because I’m thinking of my family before myself, and I am the reason we are all not infiltrating your hideouts right now.”

You stood up, turning on your heel to walk away before you looked back at the man’s shocked face, watching you with confused eyes. “I am not here for you, Lee. I am not here for anyone else in the house, and I am most certainly not here for me.”

“I am here for my people, my clan. I am a Park, and loyalty is before anything.”

previous | next

what’d you guys think??? this took a long time lol, but please look forward to the next part it’s gonna get real saucy out here...

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nightimedreamersworld · 8 months

Text

Six Sentence Sunday

Thanks for the tags today, friends @letraspal @artsyunderstudy @j-nipper-95 @hushed-chorus @iamamythologicalcreature @larkral @forabeatofadrum @confused-bi-queer love to see what you guys are working on!

So, the good news is: my vacation is finally here!! Which means lots of free time to write and read and relax. Whoo!

The even better news is: I've fully shifted into CORB mode. You guys, I lucked out. I get to work with not one but two absolutely amazing artists for this fest, and it's been so fun to come up with ideas with them both.

I've got a general outline + some words for both of these wips and I'm so excited. Have a snippet for each:

#Wip 1, Baz pov: a list.

1. The Mage is my captor. He sent numpties, of all creatures, and told them to lock me up in a coffin.

2. He doesn't want me dead, just locked up. There must be a reason, and I'm going to find out what it is. Soon.

3. Simon Snow isn't coming to my rescue—hell, he might as well be in on this, following orders from his mentor. He's probably guarding the damn bridge, waiting with his sword at the ready in case I try to escape.

4. (I know it probably isn't true—I'd be able to smell him a mile away—but still, the thought sticks, rotting in my mind.)

5. No one is coming to my aid—I've heard the numpties talking about a ramson. If my family pays, that would be like admitting defeat. Maybe it's what the Mage really wants: to wring out as much money and resources as he can using me.

6. Despite knowing all those facts, I won't stay here. I'm tired of the dark.

7. I don't need to be saved. I'll take matters into my own hands.

And #Wip 2 (also Baz):

I grew up underneath the Cirque's lights.

My first memories belong to the stage, watching my mother dance with flames like they were part of her. Like she was made of fire.

She was the star of the circus. Natasha the Great, they called her. They might as well have named an entire show after her.

I'd like to say I learned everything I know from her. I would have, if I'd had the chance.

But I learned it, anyway. Fiona likes to tell everyone that I used to do handstands before I even learned how to walk. Which is a gross exaggeration, but not far from the truth.

I suppose I do fare better upside down.

“It's the blood rushing to your head," Snow poked me once. “Makes you even more of a prick."

So there you have it. These both feel very tentative and drafty, but it's a start. I can't wait to tell you more about them!

Tagging a few friends for Wednesday: @cutestkilla @bookish-bogwitch @captain-aralias @rimeswithpurple @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @ivelovedhimthroughworse @whatevertheweather @fatalfangirl @aristocratic-otter @blackberrysummerblog @prettygoododds @palimpsessed @valeffelees @facewithoutheart and anyone who'd like to share!

#simon snow series #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz

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bailey-reaper · 3 years

Note

How do you think Barok would react to realizing that he's in love with a working class person? Given that he's rather blunt about his dislike of the "vulgar class", I imagine that there'd be some internal conflict on his end.

Headcanons (Classism)

Notes: Good question, anon! Before I get to the character headcanons I will make a few general points about class / status in the Victorian Era -- but I'll try to avoid it becoming too dry!

Content Warnings: Historians... please don't look; Classism; Tia butchers history... again.

A few important terms:

Noble ('the nobility'): those who hold 'titles' ('Duke', 'Baron', etc) that have been passed down through their bloodline. Not all nobles possess the wealth that one might expect them to, but they do hold prestigious titles and their families are often well-respected (which makes marrying into such families attractive to those with wealth but no social standing).

Aristocrat ('the aristocracy'): the term aristocracy literally means 'rule by the best', and that has typically come to mean the wealthy (because wealth gives access to better opportunities, such as education, and influence, often political or military). Not every member of the aristocracy is a noble, but all nobles are deemed to be aristocrats.

Middle Class (aka 'the Bourgeoisie'): is a category that grew rapidly in the Victorian era due to the expansion of cities and the economy. They were people who worked skilled jobs in order to support their families, e.g. merchants or 'white collar professionals' (doctors, lawyers, etc).

Working Class: people who were uneducated and unskilled. They were perceived to have nothing to offer society, save for their labour. Most working class people lived in abhorrent conditions and were horribly exploited.

There were three umbrella terms for the 'classes' of people in Victorian times: (1) the Upper Class; (2) the Middle Class; & (3) the Lower Class. To make things even more confusing, the Upper Class was further subdivided into: Royalty; 'Middle Upper' (important officers / lords) and 'Lower Upper' (wealthy men and business owners); while the Middle Class was divided into 'Higher Level' and 'Lower Level', with the lower Middle Class working for the higher Middle Class.

Finally, there was a class deemed lower than Working Class: the 'Under Class', this was comprised of the helpless / those who depended on others to survive (e.g. orphans).

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General points:

The Victorian era was an interesting time in terms of class, because the 'ruling' class (i.e. the nobility) was becoming increasingly impoverished while 'commoner' merchants and entrepreneurs were amassing vast amounts of wealth. These people then looked to acquire status by marrying members of the nobility.

It became increasingly ordinary for nobles to marry into wealthy 'commoner' families in an exchange of status for financial security.

Note that the term 'commoner' at this time was not synonymous with the working class, it was a person who lacked a title.

So although noblemen and women would marry 'commoners', and that practice would becoming increasingly accepted as the wealth amassed by the ancestors of noble families dwindled, the notion of a noble marrying a person of working class was completely unheard of.

In short, nobles and working class people existed in circles that were so separate from one another that the idea of them meeting was inconceivable let alone a noble 'debasing' themself by marrying a person without education, skill or means.

At first, merely marrying a commoner was enough for a nobleman or woman to be ostracised from their aristocratic family but as I've mentioned above: this became an increasingly common practice among the nobility as they sought wealth rather than holding on to lofty principles of keeping bloodlines 'pure' (sadly such thinking was a commonly accepted notion in the past, hence why people cared so much about the standing of families / potential spouses).

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Character points:

So, if I were to go 'full Victorian' then no matter how much Barok might have loved someone of working class, it's unlikely that he would have married them (it's also questionable about what kind of common ground they would find together if his partner was uneducated and unskilled).

Therefore, I'm going to depart from the strict notions of class that existed in Victorian England and think more in terms of Capcom's far softer world -- where even a working class (or even an 'Under Class' person, like Gina) could have access to opportunities to develop skills and thus practise a profession.

Personally, I've always taken Barok's reference to the 'vulgar classes' to be somewhat tongue in cheek. It feels more to me like him insulting the tastes of those he disagrees with (e.g. questioning their interest in literature rather than their actual standing).

Regardless, I believe that as he becomes a more open-minded individual he would start to see things such as class and standing as superfluous when compared to meaningful connections.

After all, what good was his title once Klint was dead? What does a title matter when so many aristocrats are more rotten than the majority of British people? By the end of GAA, I think he'd see his title as a meaningless word. So what if he comes from a noble family?

Does he conduct himself in a noble manner? Does he act with honour? That's what really matters. In the same vein, his partner's status would come to be irrelevant: it's the quality of their character and the strength of feeling that he holds for that that important to him.

Of course, he knows others might gossip and he would worry about the way in which his beloved might be treated by the members of the aristocracy (because they will almost certainly fixate upon the 'peasant' and be generally unpleasant) -- but from his perspective, he loves them and that's all that matters.

#barok van zieks #Barok x Ors #request #cw: classism #cw: butchering history

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to-many-towered-camelot · 3 years

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for anyone who is interested in a nuanced take on fairy beliefs vs the Christian Church in the Middle Ages, this book by Richard Firth Green was actually so good, if your library has it:

[Image: Front cover of the book ‘Elf Queens and Holy Friars: Fairy Beliefs and the Medieval Church’ by Richard Firth Green]

like, obvs it’s just one person’s take on a very complex topic, but it’s well-written, well-researched, and it uses a bunch of Arthurian examples throughout to explore this dynamic (see under cut)

really interesting exploration of how the Church’s response evolved from the early-High Middle Ages (”dude, you believe in fairies? hhhmmm, do penance for 10 days”) to the Late Middle Ages/Early Modern Period (”kill them for heresy and witchcraft!”)

and how it enfolded vernacular/fairy beliefs into Christian doctrine as fairies being either a) demons or b) the illusions of demons (and how dangerous/bad these demons were depended on the time/location/cleric in question - some packaged fairies as “neutral” demons who fell when the rebel angels did, and who must be punished on Earth but will return to Heaven on Doomsday - potentially doing this to soften things for their parishioners, who often held these fairy beliefs and reconciled them with Christianity, uh, differently than the Church officially would prefer)

and enduring belief in fairies existed in both common and aristocratic circles (can see this in medieval romances, although they’re not the only source of evidence), rather than just being used as cultural “decoration” by a more sceptical upperclass

aaaaand because of this conflation of fairy = demon, you get a really interesting blend/overlap with medieval demonology and enduring “folk” beliefs (obvs not all of medieval demonology was just rebranded fairies, but some of it defs was - you see stories being retold with “devil” instead of “elf”, for example)

INCLUDING in Arthuriana - how you get Morgan the Fairy (”le Fay”) vs Morgan who was raised in a nunnery and learned dark magic there, the Lady of the Lake as a (largely) positive force, Merlin inexplicably as a (perceived to be...) Good Guy despite being the literal antichrist, the Green Knight and all the overlap with Christian symbolism in that story, etc, etc. and they all just either??? co-exist in the same stories or appear through either more fay or more ~Christian lenses depending on the version

and it creates a very interesting and very confusing soup of Stuff stemming from a very confusing - and sometimes dangerous - soup of official and unofficial beliefs evolving over hundreds of years

anyway, WRT Arthuriana it’s got (and ymmv on these, but they’re all interesting thoughts):

(i think in Gottfried’s Tristan???) apparently Tristan has a rainbow fairy dog called Petitcriu...name a knight less deserving of such a Good Boy smh

Chretien’s Yvain flooding out Laudine at the fountain (...jerk) as a continuation of the beliefs surrounding a magical Spring at Barenton

Gingalain moving from being the son of Gawain and the fairy Blanchemal (and having a fairy love interest, Pucelle) in the French OG version (~1200-ish) to being the son of Gawain and his human mistress (with Pucelle also being human) in a later 15th-C Middle English version)

AJDKN UJ IOE E Merlin’s conception, that one’s a wild ride - theologians REALLY didn’t like the idea of demons being fertile, and the work-arounds they came up with were...incredible. but skipping over that sheer comedy, the author draws links between Merlin’s conception and the general trend of claiming a fairy lover/whatever when a difficult-to-explain pregnancy arose. He also theorises that Geoffrey’s idea for Merlin’s father being a demon/fairy may have come from Nennius saying that Merlin/Ambrosius’ mother “never knew a man”. Later adaptations of this storyline made it even more fay-like (when they weren’t, like Robert de Boron, making it more fucked-up) by making Merlin’s father invisible (Wace) or a super attractive guy in swanky gold clothes (Layamon) - and Vortigern’s advisor explaining the creatures that lived between the earth and the moon until doomsday, etc, etc (walking that line between fairy and incubi, whichhhhhh was not clearly delineated in the Middle Ages the way it is now). also there’s one 13th-C Anglo-Norman poem where Merlin’s father is a bird that transforms into a dashing young squire, which isn’t terribly demon-y. So even though most versions of this story describe Merlin’s dad as an incubi-demon, what people understood this to mean may have been more fay-ish that we’d expect nowadays (depending on the reader, and also on authorial intention - some are pretty explicit that he’s a demon [many clerics keen to push this as the main narrative], while others refer to him as an elf or fairy). some contemporary scepticism during this time about Merlin having any sort of supernatural parentage as well

[none of the same Church anxieties about explaining away how the Plantagenets and other aristocratic families claim a female fairy ancestress - maybe bc there’s none of the stress about patrilineal bloodlines??? who knows! but yeah, much less thought given to those stories in ecclesiastical circles, and they were very popular in vernacular romances (male aristocratic wish fulfilment?). also, fairy enchantments =/= necromancy, so there are stories like the non-cyclic Lancelot where the Lady of the Lake is found out to be “a fairy by education, not by nature or heredity” (Elspeth Kennedy), with the spirits used in necromancy being demons, not fairies. also potential trend of female-associated magic becoming more passive and book-learned, gradually demonising it leading up to early-modern witch hunts.]

Geoffrey of Monmouth in his Historia and in the Vita Merlini being actually pretty circumspect about saying whether or not Arthur was alive/dead, returning/not returning, maybe due to his work/text being a (hypothesised) defence of the Welsh as being “civilised” (and having been so for centuries before the Normans came) - with the corollary that believing in Arthur’s return was somehow “uncivilised”. Author argues that this may be due to an association with fairy beliefs, and that Layamon is the one that makes Avalon explicitly fey. Also the author describes Arthur as living in a “feminised version of the Christian heaven” (iconic) and says that later writers and people could be very scornful of this belief held by the Britons/Welsh/etc, and that it was contrary to orthodox ways of thinking.

Links the “discovery” of Arthur and Guinevere’s bodies in Glastonbury in the late 12th-C as similar to when individuals found the bodies of their loved ones, thus making it much harder to believe (and hope) that they were still alive in fairyland. Makes a suggestion that the monks in Glastonbury who “found” these bodies may have been trying to curry favour with the English crown (i.e. champion/hope of the Welsh isn’t coming back) but also may have been trying to “help”/”save”/correct the thoughts/ideology of the Welsh (i.e. “set them on the correct path to salvation”). Lots of medieval writers describing Arthur as living in “fairyland”. Precedent of people visiting fairyland and returning, so Avalon/fairyland =/= a place only for the dead (i.e. Arthur isn’t dead). An Arthurian example, albeit a less explicitly fay one, is Lancelot getting in and out of Gorre (with Gorre as a “typically supressed and rationalised” version of fairyland) in Chretien’s Knight of the Cart.

Some stuff about the wild horde (distinct from the wild hunt) being presented by some writers as very penitential (i.e. they are departed souls that may look like they’re bearing arms/hunting/whatever as they did in life, but really they are in agony e.g. because their weapons burn them) and tbh demonic (black armour, carrying torches, ominous aesthetic). Other writers thought maybe it was - once again! - demonic impersonators rather than actual mortal souls. (Should note also that the wild horde/wild hunt motifs were not always associated with their being dead). Relevant in the Arthurian context because Arthur and his court were sometimes associated with the idea of the wild horde (as in, sometimes the wild horde is described as Arthur’s court living it up in a cool, undying sort of way - “in the likeness of knights hunting or jousting, commonly known as the household of Hellequin or of Arthur” [Etienne de Bourbon, a medieval writer] - with Hellequin’s household often being used to encompass either the wild hunt or the wild horde). Ultimate point made by the author (props to him, he’s always like “if i’m right” lol) that for many clerical writers, it was very uncomfortable to leave people with the impression that Arthur and his court were living it up in fairyland (and similar for other figures associated with the wild hunt/horde) and this idea needed to be corrected/shaped to suit more orthodox perspectives - e.g. tying in with notions of purgatory, etc.

Aaaand this one was exciting to me just bc i’ve vaguely heard about Arthur and his knights snoozing under a hill, but for some reason i could only remember this being in Victoria-era-and-onwards poetry. 3 versions of the same tale, where a servant looks for his master’s lost horse on a Sicilian mountain. Version 1) servant of a bishop finds his master’s horse in the beautiful palace of Arthur’s court beneath Mt Etna. Aside from the fact that the ancient wound Arthur received from Mordred opens once a year, it’s not very purgatory-like. Version 2) a dean’s servant is told by an old man that King Arthur has the horse on Mt Gyber (Mt Etna). he is told that his master must attend Arthur’s court in 14 days, but the dean laughs it off...then sickens and dies on the appointed day (whoops). Enough differences to this story compared to the first to suggest an oral circulation. Also a note in the version/text that such mountains are said to be the mouth of hell, and only the wicked are sent there, not the chosen. Version 3) Etienne again! Also likely changed with intervening oral circulation. The master is not an ecclesiastical figure, and Arthur’s palace is now a populous city - also Arthur is not referred to, just a nameless prince. There is a gatekeeper who warns the servant not to eat or drink while he’s there (that...is a very fairy-ish proscription). This mountain is apparently reputed to be the site of purgatory. The book author (Richard, i mean) ties these versions in with other stories/accounts of different entrances to purgatory (e.g. one on an island in an Irish lake) as being part of a gradual process of “rendering [...] fairyland purgatorial”.

Finally, Gawain in Roman van Walewein: To get to an ‘earthly paradise’ [i.e. King Assentijn’s garden with its fountain of youth - side note that ‘earthly paradises’ were often popularly described to be fairyland/where fairies live, in addition to their theological functions, e.g. Avalon was sometimes described as an earthly paradise...i should also say that purgatory was frequently thought to be located beside earthly paradise, so there’s the proximity element] and the castle containing it, Gawain must cross a river (guided by a magical talking fox) that a) has waters that burn like fire, and b) can only be crossed by using a bridge sharper than a razor. His reaction? “Is it the enchantment of elves or magic / that I see?”. He is then guided by the fox underneath the river through a tunnel, and is told that the river’s source is in the depths of hell, and “[the river] is the true purgatory / All souls, having departed from the body / Must come here to bathe.” So it’s a very strong intermingling of fairy and purgatorial imagery/ideas!

I dunno, I just found this very ??? satisfying to read

it leaned towards lit-crit at times (which, considering the subject matter, is honestly fair enough), but it was more respectful of vernacular beliefs than so many other academic takes i see (ofc ymmv re: anything to do with non-Christian major religions, but i think the author’s pretty solid on this!), and it had an explanation for the survival of these beliefs that imo made a lot of sense, especially from a pan-European perspective, not just a Celtic one

plus it explored the undeniable damage done by Christianity over history without making up some “ranged battle between paganism and the Church” that i see e v e r y w h e r e in casual Arthurian circles...which, like, i empathise with the vibe, but also! that’s just straight-up historical revisionism! (i blame MZB and the 80′s for that one)

(there was a fantastic post floating around a while ago about how the religious syncretism in Arthurian literature is much more interesting than peeling away all of the Catholicism in the medieval lit (...you ?? don’t end up with much left?) and saying that this is more “accurate” to some obscure original)

anyway yeah yeah ymmv but it’s v interesting 😊

#arthuriana #Arthurian legend #religion #religious history #christianity #folklore #*#richard firth green #AUDEI FEF HEF this is hilariously long #but really it was such an interesting book!#esp if you're a bit like me and you've been turned away from discussing vernacular/folkloric elements in Arthuriana bc of how badly/weirdly #it's been handled in the past #arthurian literature #medieval history #medieval literature #medieval romance #(also im so sorry to any medieval historian reading this im just throwing around 'The Church' willy-nilly i know it's not a monolith!!!#pinky swear

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blackdevilwhitedemon · 3 years

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Writing An Otome Isekai Thingy

Anyway, as the title states, I'm writing an otome isekai thingy! I didn't know where else to post this (besides r/otomeisakai), so here I am. I'm writing one for 3 reasons.

A- I’m very bored. :(

B- My brother rec me one of these things a few months ago; I've descended into the rabbit hole ever since.

C- Writer's block! I wanna write for my fanfics, but my brain said no. Maybe if I write OG content it can get my creative juices going and I can finally go back to working on updates.

Had a couple of ideas for a story and had my brother pick one by random.

The 'guy gets reincarnated as the yandere capture target' idea got picked.

My general idea is that a guy who’s an Otaku and reads/watches romance series as a guilty pleasure gets reincarnated into an otome. He actually played the otome he’s in bc his younger sister basically nagged him to bc she wanted someone to talk to about it.

He realizes though that he woke up as the baby version of Shamus Hendell, the yandere capture target of Yellow Rose of Amarea.

Yanderes don’t typically become yanderes through a loving family and a good life, so of course this character had a tragic anime backstory and goes through maybe hardships in his life before ending up in the academy where the game starts.

The MC realizes this and is freaking out, bc he doesn’t want to deal with the series of horrible events that the OG character went through.

I like series where the Protag kisses up others to survive bc even if they’re appealing to others, typically they are the ones who have others wrapped around their fingers. (And for some reason that’s assuming to me.)

So he kinda ends up doing that. He seeks out the other capture targets, and the heroine and villainess. Mostly to get them on his side. His thought process is, ‘if I can’t really protect myself, why not get ppl in higher places to do it for me?’

And it does work as he gets very chummy with the 2nd prince who’s the one that gets him out of the bad situation first. And bc he has the attention of the second prince, he’s able to meet some of them other characters.

There’s a few characters he won't meet until the academy arc, but most of the important characters he’ll meet around here.

For instance, there’s the commoner character who got into the school through scholarships or bc he has high/rare magic skills or whatever. He’s also one of the capture targets. The MC doesn’t want to find him bc he wants his guy on his side, but bc he knows this guy is actually batshit crazy. He wants to find him earlier to stop him from blah blah that the guy does in all his endings. But he cannot find him until then bc this dude is a commoner and the MC is still technically a part of high society. So it was basically impossible to find him.

This is going to be a big anxiety of the MC once he’s in a more comfortable position. Knowing that this guy in the future will try to do smth very drastic and dangerous, is still out there.

The MC will try to appeal to important characters by acting weak and soft, like, a crybaby a guess? He wants to seem like a little rabbit to others. And to his utter surprise, it fucking works. (He’s taking advantage of his softboi looks, as the character was designed to look feminine and non-threatening so fans during the hype wouldn’t be able to tell the character was going to be a yandere. And therefore making the fact like, a plot twist in the game as Shamus comes off as a quite n’ shy guy at first.)

He forms a bromance with the 2nd prince. After some stuff happens he befriends the villainess who ends up crushing on him. The villainess big bro who’s a siscon is chill w/ him since his sister likes him. But is very much in the mindset that if the MC hurts his sis in any way, he’s never gonna see the light of day. The heroine falls for him very quickly which is actually off-putting for him. (The joke is that she’s airheaded & kinda dumb. She just has a very cheerful personality by default. The reasoning is that that’s how marketing portrayed her and since she’s supposed to be a blank slate that’s just what her personality turned into.) The heroine 100% has her bangs covering her eyes.

The MC leaves a powerful impression on the short cute boy (who’s actually a meanie) and later in the academy arc has this weird anime admiration for him. You know what I’m talking about. The commoner, while harboring a hatred for the aristocrats and nobles, respects the MC to an extent later turning into a crush. (That of which will absolutely give the MC whiplash.)

Two characters who are mobs in the game become the MC’s normal friends when he feels like the personality of the main characters are too much. Maybe he has more mob friends idk yet, but two of the ones he adored as characters the most both end up having crushes on him. One girl, one boy.

5 ppl will like-like him. Perfectly balanced as all things should be.

He definitely takes advantage of this lmao. (In like, a protection squad way, not harem.)

Maybe I’ll even have two of the girls lose interest bc they realize they like each other,,,, Have a lilly aside romance,,,, You know bc,,,gurls pretty,,,,

My need for sapphic content aside, ultimately my goal is to have fun while writing this and confuse the heck hacky out of my readers on who the true love interest will be. >:)

I guess I’ll mostly be writing this with a wattpad audience in mind??? (But it’s mostly just for fun so who knows.)

Since AO3 is more oriented to fanfics, my Quotev is the physical manifestation of a dead goldfish in a bowl, and I don’t think this is smth the ppl on FictionPress would like to read about… So yeah, my Wattpad audience it is. I have no choice.

I’m still on the 1st ch as I keep revising my outline. I at least want a solid outline of the first arc before I post anything. Imma try and attempt constant updates but to do so I need to know wtf I’m doing. So all this jazz is subject to change.

And just to let you know how the tone of the story will be (for most of it, the 1st arc is definitely going to be more serious), the title for chapter 1 is ‘Sorry Truck-kun, You’ve Been Replaced’ since he died by choking on an apple instead of being hit by a truck.

#textpost #otome isekai #isekai #isekai novel #writing wip #my writing #story ideas

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