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blackswaneuroparedux · 1 year

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coastalcurmudgeon asked: Hi, would you mind pointing me towards any articles, books, video essays etc that make reasonable modern pro-monarchist arguments? When queen Elizabeth passed a few months ago it got me wondering why not just the British but several other wealthy democratic nations hang on to their monarchs. I'm from the US so it's a little difficult to understand the monarchies perspective off the bat and you seemed a good person to ask about where to find good arguments for it. Thanks and have a nice day

I want to thank you for asking such a simple question but one that many of us don’t really give a thought to. We get sucked into the tittle tattle of court intrigue or the tawdry gossip of the latest royal scandal made public, partly because it’s a visceral pleasure to see those above us squirm in discomfort, and partly to see them bleed - perhaps to remind us that they are as mortal and as fallen as we all are.

In the wake of Queen Elizabeth II’s death, the question of monarchy is brought sharply into focus. The sombre and reflective tone of the tributes to the late Queen Elizabeth II suggests the esteem in which she was held, as well as the apparent popularity of Britain’s constitutional monarchy. But it was not always so, as the queen herself was fully aware. She might have remained more or less beyond reproach, but her family-members have not. Often the Windsors seemed like a bad soap opera, attracting derision and resentment in equal measure. Yet, like their ancestors, they have slogged on regardless. Other monarchies have been toppled, or cut down to size, all over Europe and beyond.

We focus on the institution and its rituals and trappings without asking the underlying question of why? Why do we believe in the institution? It’s a question that even ardent monarchists find hard to answer properly.

The hard leftists of course do know why they want to get rid of a monarchy in the name of some vague and unrealised ideal of equality and freedom from tyranny as well in the name of democracy. They do so out of historical ignorance given that the constitutional monarchy does exactly that and has been paradoxically a guarantor of these ideals through custom, heritage, and the rule of common law. For them it’s better to destroy than it is to build as Roger Scruton once said. Being historically illiterate, they don’t fully understand the folly on pulling one thread runs the danger pulling the entire tapestry of a nation apart.

I don’t want to caricature all them with one brush because not all leftists believe in the destruction of the monarchy in Britain. Some understand its value and even harmonise it within their leftist beliefs.

Stephen Fry, a socialist in his political beliefs but still widely considered (and righty so) as a national treasure, came out in his support of the monarchy in Britain. The beloved British actor, writer and presenter admitted in a podcast with Jordan Peterson that the Royal Family in interviews that “on the face of it is of course preposterous”. But he went on to explain how they can play a key role in society. The author referred to the Queen’s weekly Audience with the Prime Minister and suggested that the US could benefit from having a Monarch. He explained how his thoughts stemmed from his belief in “ceremony, ritual and symbolism”.

Fry told the podcast: “I look at America and I think if only Donald Trump and now Biden, if every week they had to walk up the hill and go into a mansion in Washington and there was uncle Sam in a top hat and striped trousers.” He explained how “uncle Sam” might be the US equivalent of a Monarch and described him as “a living embodiment of their nation”.

Stephen Fry added: “More important than they were that’s the key. He [uncle Sam] is America, the President is a fly-by-night politician voted for by less than half the population and he has to bow in front of this personification of his country every week. And that personification, uncle Sam can’t tell him what to do, uncle Sam can’t say ‘pass this Act and don’t pass that Act and free these people, give them a pardon’. All he can do is say ‘tell me young fella what you done this week’ and he’ll bow and say ‘well uncle Sam’.”

He suggested how uncle Sam might reply “oh you think that’s the right thing for my country”. Fry concluded: “Well that’s what a constitutional monarchy is and of course it’s absurd but the fact that Churchill and Thatcher and everyone had to bow every week in front of this something.”

The author went on to claim that “empirically look at the happiest countries in the world that’s all you need do and they happen to be constitutional monarchies”. Fry finished up by listing Norway, Sweden, Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg and Japan as some of those "happiest" places who have monarchies.: “They’re always right up there on the list. Now it may be that we can’t find the causal link between the constitutional monarchy but it might just be something to do with that.”

I happen to think Stephen Fry is right. For these reasons yes, but there are much better ones too.

It’s first worth stating it helps to understand what kind of monarchy are we talking about? A surprising number of countries have ruling monarchs but not the same role or power. It’s important to break down the distinctions between the types of monarchies that exist today. Generally, there are four kinds.

In the constitutional monarchy, the monarch divides power with a constitutionally founded government. In this situation, the monarch, while having ceremonial duties and certain responsibilities, does not have any political power. For example, the UK’s monarch must sign all laws to make them official, but has no power to change or reject new laws. Example of countries that follow this are United Kingdom, Japan, and Denmark.

In the absolutist monarchy the monarch has full and absolute political power. They can amend, reject, or create laws, represent the country’s interests abroad, appoint political leaders, and so on. Such countries Said Arabia and Eswatini and even arguably the Vatican (the Papal office is like an absolutist monarch but of the church).

In the federal monarchy the monarch serves an overall figurehead of the federation of states which have their own governments, or even monarchies, ruling them. These countries include UAE and Malaysia.

In the mixed monarchy there is an unusual situation wherein an absolute monarch may divide powers in distinct ways specific to the country. Here Jordan, Liechtenstein, and Morocco are stand out examples.

To many contemporary critics and political progressives, monarchies seem to be purposeless antiquated relics, anachronisms that ought to eventually give way to republics.

On the contrary, nothing can be farther from the truth. Monarchies have an extremely valuable role to play, even in the 21st century and beyond. If anything their number should be added to rather than subtracted from. To understand why, it is important to consider the merits of monarchy objectively without resorting to the tautology that countries ought to be democracies because they ought to be democracies.

There are several advantages in having a monarchy in the 21st century. First, monarchs can rise above politics in the way an elected head of state cannot. Monarchs represent the whole country in a way democratically elected leaders cannot and do not. The choice for the highest political position in a monarchy cannot be influenced by and in a sense beholden to money, the media, or a political party.

Secondly and closely related to the previous point is that in factitious countries like Thailand, the existence of a monarch is often the only thing holding the country back from the edge of civil war. Monarchs are especially important in multiethnic countries such as Belgium because the institution of monarchy unites diverse and often hostile ethnic groups under shared loyalty to the monarch instead of to an ethnic or tribal group. The Habsburg dynasty held together a large, prosperous country that quickly balkanised into almost a dozen states of no power without it. If the restoration of the erstwhile king of Afghanistan, Zahir Shah, widely respected by all Afghans, went through after the overthrow of the Taliban in 2001, perhaps Afghanistan would have more quickly risen above the factionalism and rivalry between various warlords.

Third, monarchies prevent the emergence of extreme forms of government in their countries by fixing the form of government. All political leaders must serve as prime ministers or ministers of the ruler. Even if actual power lies with these individuals, the existence of a monarch makes it difficult to radically or totally alter a country’s politics. The presence of kings in Cambodia, Jordan, and Morocco holds back the worst and more extreme tendencies of political leaders or factions in their countries. Monarchy also stabilises countries by encouraging slow, incremental change instead of extreme swings in the nature of regimes. The monarchies of the Arab states have established much more stable societies than non-monarchic Arab states, many of which have gone through such seismic shifts over the course of the Arab Spring.

Fourth, monarchies have the gravitas and prestige to make last-resort, hard, and necessary decisions - decisions that nobody else can make. For example, Juan Carlos of Spain - now in disgrace but not in the beginning of his reign - personally ensured his country’s transition to a constitutional monarchy with parliamentary institutions and stood down an attempted military coup. At the end of the Second World War, the Japanese Emperor Hirohito defied his military’s wish to fight on and saved countless of his people’s lives by advocating for Japan’s surrender.

Fifth, monarchies are repositories of tradition and continuity in ever changing times. They remind a country of what it represents and where it came from, facts that can often be forgotten in the swiftly changing currents of politics.

Finally, rather counterintuitively, monarchies can serve up a head of state in a more democratic and diverse way than actual democratic politics. Since anyone, regardless of their personality or interests, can by accident of birth become a monarch, all types of people may become rulers in such a system. The head of state may thus promote causes or stir interest in issues and topics that would otherwise not be significant, as King Charles’ views on architecture and climate change proved. Politicians on the other hand, tend to have a certain personality - they are generally extroverted, can make or raise money, and have a tendency to pander or at least publicly hold to pre-defined mainstream views. The presence of a head of state with a psychological profile different from a politician can be refreshing.

Most of the criticisms of monarchy are no longer valid today, if they were ever valid. These criticisms are usually some variation of two ideas. Firstly, the monarch may wield absolute power arbitrarily without any sort of check, thus ruling as a tyrant. However, in present era, most monarchies rule within some sort of constitutional or traditional framework which constrains and institutionalises their powers. Even prior to this, monarchs faced significant constraints from various groups including religious institutions, aristocracies, the wealthy, and even commoners. Customs, which always shape social interactions, also served to restrain. Even monarchies that were absolute in theory were almost always constrained in practice.

A second criticism is that even a good monarch may have an unworthy successor. However, today’s heirs are educated from birth for their future role and live in the full glare of the media their entire lives. This constrains bad behaviour. More importantly, because they have literally been born to rule, they have constant, hands-on training on how to interact with people, politicians, and the media.

In light of the all the advantages of monarchy, it is clear why many citizens of democracies today have an understandable nostalgia for monarchy. As in previous centuries, monarchy will continue to show itself to be an important and beneficial political institution wherever it still survives.

Constitutional monarchies are undoubtedly the most popular form of royal leadership in the modern era⁠, making up close to 70% of all monarchies. This situation allows for democratically elected governments to rule the country, while the monarch performs ceremonial duties. Most monarchs are hereditary, inheriting their position by luck of their birth, but interestingly, the French president, Emmanuel Macron, technically serves as a Co-Prince of Andorra - a fact I enjoy making my good French republican friends squirm in discomfort. But France remains resolutely a republic despite many other European countries being a constitutional monarchy.

Monarchy has a long history in Europe, being the predominant form of government from the Middle Ages until the First World War. At the turn of the twentieth century every country in Europe was a monarchy with just three exceptions: France, Switzerland and San Marino. But by the start of the twenty-first century, most European countries had ceased to be monarchies, and three quarters of the member states of the European Union are now republics. That has led to a teleological assumption that in time most advanced democracies will become republics, as the highest form of democratic government.

But there still remains a stubborn group of countries in Western Europe which defy that assumption, and they include some of the most advanced democracies in the world. In the most recent Democracy Index compiled by the Economist Intelligence Unit, six out of the top ten democracies - and nine of the top 15 - in the world were monarchies. They include six European monarchies: Norway, Sweden, Denmark, the Netherlands, Luxembourg and the UK.

It remains a historical paradox. These monarchies have survived partly for geopolitical reasons, most of the other European monarchies having disappeared at the end of the First or Second World Wars. Their continuance has been accompanied by a steady diminution in their political power, which has shrunk almost to zero, and developing roles that support liberal democracy. What modern monarchies offer is non-partisan state headship set apart from the daily political struggle of executive government; the continuity of a family whose different generations attract the interest of all age groups; and disinterested support for civil society that is beyond the reach of partisan politics. These roles have evolved because monarchy depends ultimately on the support of the public, and is more accountable than people might think.

Understanding this paradox of an ancient hereditary institution surviving as a central part of modern democracies is a key part of understanding why monarchies persist and will continue to exist.

I’m going to confine answering your question to constitutional monarchy because it’s what the United Kingdom and the rest of Europe is. This is partly to narrow the wide question to something more manageable but also reflective of the fact that each country is different with its own unique history of customs, traditions, and heritage, and practices of governance, that make up the unique quality of the monarchy in question.

I’m just going to give you a general recommendation list rather than a deep academic dive into political theory. But then theory is no good without practice. History is the best place to start to understand some of the things I’ve already highlighted.

1. The English Constitution by Walter Bagehot

I know I said to start with history and here I’m recommending you begin with reading a book on constitutional theory and practice. But hear me out.

First published in 1867, this remains the indispensable guide to the role and purpose of the British sovereign. The text by Walter Bagehot (who was editor of The Economist for 17 years) is often mistaken for an official account of constitutional monarchy. In fact, it is a lively argument on how Britain’s old institutions should cope with the coming of mass-democracy. It was in this spirit that Bagehot contrasted the “dignified” parts of the constitution - the monarchy and the House of Lords - with the merely “efficient”, the Cabinet, MPs and the like. In the new age of mass-politics, he considered that the role of the monarchy was to “excite and preserve the reverence of the population” for the country’s institutions and government. Although monarchs might not have executive power anymore, they maintained three rights over “efficient” politicians - “to be consulted, to encourage and to warn”.

That the British monarchy survived while many of Europe’s were overthrown is in no small measure to the Windsors’ scrupulousness in following Bagehot’s advice. And, prophetically, he cautioned that the whole royal conjuring trick could only work if its dignity was preserved: “If you begin to poke about it, you cannot reverence it…its mystery is its life. We must not let in daylight upon the magic.”

The great thing is you don’t even have to buy it. Free copies exist online to download. I have my own copy because it really is a sort of bible for me when I have to think soberly and stay grounded as the latest royal scandal erupts and everyone is losing their heads.

2. Crown and Country: A history of England through the Monarchy by David Starkey (2010)

David Starkey is one of Britain’s finest medieval historians and fine prose stylist. A Cambridge historian whose lectures I used to sneak off to listen to - I did Classics - because the man was so charismatic, provocative, and damn clever. From one of our finest historians comes an outstanding exploration of the British monarchy, from the retreat of the Romans up until the modern day.

Crown and Country is a spin off from his TV series on the same subject. However the book is a great introduction to monarchy in Britain. In it he provides the reader with enough intellectual rigour to impart context, before livening the page with pithy tales of treachery or cruelty, of double-dealing or disaster. His delight at their shock value is tangible as he takes us from England's earliest status, as a barbarous outpost of the Roman empire, through to a rather uncomfortable attempt to second-guess how history will one day judge the contemporary members of the Windsor family (going up to the marriage of William and Kate).

Academic historians often complain that Starkey writes with the snappy zest of an unrepentant telly-don, but I doubt anybody else minds very much. He has a lovely eye for a good story – William the Conqueror being so fat that he could not fit in his sarcophagus, so that “the swollen bowels burst and an intolerable stench assailed the nostrils of the bystanders”, for example, or Henry II having such a tantrum that he fell out of bed and “threshed around the floor, cramming his mouth with the stuffing of his mattress”.

He also has a nice line in snarky humour. Academics have recently been trying to rehabilitate King John as a good administrator, he notes, but to praise him “for being a royal filing clerk shows historians looking after their own with a vengeance”.

Starkey’s great skill is to weave big themes quietly into a rollicking narrative, so that you absorb them almost without noticing they are there.

From the beginning, he argues, England’s monarchy has been unlike any other, divorced from imperial Roman traditions and based on an unspoken contract between king and people, and so reflecting a deep sense of patriotic exceptionalism. From Alfred, who effectively invented the idea of an English nation, to George III, who became the incarnation of bluff, beef-eating John Bull during the Napoleonic Wars, and on to George VI, the personification of quiet determination during Britain’s darkest and finest hours, successful kings have come to embody a wider spirit of national defiance. Perhaps that explains why, for all his faults, we remain fascinated with Henry VIII: he may have been a monster, but he was proudly, unapologetically, our monster.

Since it is evidently raw power that turns Starkey on, perhaps it is not surprising that once we are past the Glorious Revolution and the rule of dour, cunning, competent William of Orange, his narrative begins to flag. The House of Hanover, he says, was a “national joke” and although he clearly relishes the amorous misadventures of George IV and Edward VII, he spends barely 20 pages on the House of Windsor.

Compared with the blood-soaked warrior kings of his opening chapters, our recent monarchs have been personally colourless and politically irrelevant. But Starkey is not ready to give up on the monarchy. Just like his forebears, he points out, the current Prince of Wales has become the symbol of something bigger than himself, the cause of the environment and the spirit of voluntary service.

Nobody else could have set up such a vast empire of charitable endeavour: “Only he has the necessary combination of social and economic power and imagination to pull it off.” And here, Starkey argues, lies a formula for survival: “A new kingdom of the mind, spirit, culture and values,” which would appeal even to Oliver Cromwell.

Starkey is particularly good at explaining the shifting tone of monarchical power. After the straightforward Anglo-Saxon model, English kings had to incorporate the Norman way of doing things, with its "chivalric virus"; we then see the Tudors appear with their imperialist vision, followed by the disastrous Stuart belief in the divine right of kings, which James I subscribed to intellectually, and which Charles I paid for with his head. After that we see Hanoverian mediocrity, followed by Victorian pomp, and Windsor flexibility – changing nationality and name as wars with Germany, their ancestral home, demanded.

Crown & Country is a masterpiece of accessible history, underscored with profound scholarship: it takes the essential structure of hereditary monarchy, chronicles the struggles and triumphs of a rich panoply of carefully crafted characters and lays out the story of a nation. Above all, the author's passion for his subject, the royal tale of England, which is the backbone of this nation's story, explodes from every page. I defy anybody not to enjoy this book.

3. Blood Royal: Dynastic Politics in Medieval Europe by Robert Bartlett (2020)

Throughout medieval Europe, for hundreds of years, monarchy was the way that politics worked in most countries. This meant power was in the hands of a family - a dynasty; that politics was family politics; and political life was shaped by the births, marriages and deaths of the ruling family. How did the dynastic system cope with female rule, or pretenders to the throne? How did dynasties use names, the numbering of rulers and the visual display of heraldry to express their identity? And why did some royal families survive and thrive, while others did not? Robert Bartlett’s engaging Blood Royal tries to answer these questions by focusing on both the role of family dynamics and family consciousness in the politics of medieval European monarchical systems circa 500 to 1500 CE.

He creates an authoritative historical survey of dynastic power in Latin Christendom in western and central Europe and the Byzantine Empire (or former Eastern Roman Empire), providing an impressive level of depth while putting aspects of royalty and kingship in perspective. Each chapter brings the reader into this political world and aspects of medieval politics’ ties to family politics. Bartlett transitions seamlessly from example to example, but this apparent ease and vast knowledge reflects years of research and underscores his area expertise.

Blood Royal is an excellent book for anyone who has ever had a question about medieval European monarchy. If you’ve ever wondered how medieval marriages worked, the politics of dynastic succession, or even something as simple as what happened when the current monarch died then Bartlett’s book probably has an answer for you. Blood Royal is split into two sections, the first focusing on the specific lives of medieval royals, with chapters on medieval marriage, children, paternal relationships, as well as female rulers and mistresses. The second section covers dynasties rather than individuals. It is in this latter section that you’ll find discussions of names and numbers, pretenders, as well as heraldry and even the role of prophecy and astrology in medieval dynastic politics.

The scope of Blood Royal is immense. Bartlett includes early medieval dynasties like the Merovingians and Carolingians alongside later examples like the Plantagenets and the Hohenstaufen. Bartlett also incorporates an impressive range of dynasties from across medieval Europe, not limiting himself to just the French, English, and German royal families. Overall, it makes for a very impressive piece of scholarship from a senior historian, but one that is written in a very approachable and engaging fashion. The breadth of the coverage means that no matter where your interest in medieval Europe lies there’s probably something relevant to it in Blood Royal.

4. On Power: The Natural History of Its Growth by Bertrand De Jouvenel (1945)

Bertrand de Jouvenal is one of the most under-read political theorists in Europe today and it’s only in the last couple of decades his works have been translated into English. He wrote two seminal books pertinent to the state and how politics and monarchy mixed. I would thoroughly recommend his book ‘Sovereignty’ (1957) in that regard. How he treats sovereignty is clear and insightful and better than any academic I know. He describes how sovereignty in the modern sense can be traced back to the eleventh century, when absolutism was developed under such rulers as Philip the Fair. Before absolutism, it was acknowledged that every man had his seigniory, the king just as much as a simple farmer. The seigniory of the king was far greater, of course, but only as inviolable as that of every other person (as exemplified in the anecdote of Frederick the Great and the miller). The idea of a sovereignty that flows down from the sovereign to all his subjects was taken from the ancient Romans, and formed the basis of absolutism. One consequence of this was that democracy as we know it became possible in the first place. Before absolutism, there simply was no sovereignty that could be removed from the king and given to the people.

However I’m going to recommend his other book, ‘On Power’, as it’s book that defines the role of power and its relationship to sovereignty and where it came from. It goes into the role of sovereign or dux, and his or her shared responsibility with the larger group. This book explains how absolute monarchy is a recent concept, and as a result of the Enlightenment. It points out the hazards of absolute power within any form of government. It then goes into change v.s. distrust of initiative, and emerging liberalism. One of the best political treatises I have ever read. Bertrand de Jouvenel is unconventional, creative, very thorough and stringent. It's not easy to sum up, as the book is rather suggestive in nature. It doesn't so much tell you the solutions as make you think for them yourself. It gives you tools with which to overthink and analyse political problems, but doesn't force a solution on you.

Bertrand de Jouvenel (1903-1987) was a French journalist and political theorist. During World War II, he participated in the French resistance movement and finally took refuge in Switzerland, where he finished his masterpiece, On Power.

Jouvenel was troubled by the savagery of the war. Such a total war, Jouvenel realised, could not happen without the power of the modern centralised state. Jouvenel called this state, “Power” or “the Minotaur.” The question he set out to analyse was how this monster had grown so large. As indicated by the subtitle of the book, The Natural History of Its Growth, the analysis is meant to be positive political science, as opposed to normative political philosophy. When he wrote On Power, Jouvenel obviously knew little of the libertarian or classical liberal tradition. He has been labelled a “conservative liberal” à la Alexis de Tocqueville (whom Friedrich Hayek, it is worth recalling, does recognise as a full member of the classical liberal tradition).

The modern state has acquired a crushing power that includes war and conscription, an “inquisitorial mechanism of taxation,” and a police more effective than at any time in history. “Even the police regime, that most insupportable attribute of tyranny, has grown in the shadow of democracy,” Jouvenel observes. “No absolute monarch ever had at his disposal a police force comparable to those of modern democracies.” Power has continued and continues to grow.

Power is “command that lives for its sake and for its fruits.” State rulers want power and the perks that come with it. But, Jouvenel explained, in the very process of being self-interested, Power also benefits its subjects compared to what would be their situation in the anarchic state of nature. To gain their support and to make them more productive and taxable, Power provides its subjects with security, order, and other public goods. This is an old philosophical idea dear to defenders of absolutism, but it carries an analytical value of its own.

From Antiquity until the 16th or 17th century, Jouvenel argues, three ways existed to limit Power: divine law, fixed customary law, and powerful social authorities such as the ancient or the medieval aristocracy. All these were overcome. Divine law was brushed away by modern rationalism. Fixed customary law was replaced by changing laws made by absolute monarchs and, even more, by democratic parliaments. The aristocracy was stripped of any power.

Sovereignty, Jouvenel explains, is “the idea… that somewhere there is a right to which all other rights must yield.” The king claimed sovereignty against the aristocracy. Once the aristocracy was defeated, “the people” invoked it against the king. The king was simply replaced by the people or, in practice, by its representatives.

Jouvenel conceives liberty as “the direct, immediate, and concrete sovereignty of man over himself.” It is not participation in government, which is “absurdly called ‘political liberty’.” He forcefully argues that no regime other than aristocracy is “equally allergic to the expansion of Power.” Between the fall of the Roman empire and the modern nation-state, kings had to negotiate grants in aid from the aristocrats in order, for example, to fight wars, which were limited for this very reason. General conscription was unknown and impossible.

Jouvenel argues that liberty has aristocratic roots for it came from aristocrats who had the means and the will to defend their own liberty against Power. Liberty “is a subjective right which belongs to those, and to those only, who are capable of defending it.” It was certainly “a system based on class,” with all the drawbacks that this implies. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, a modern prophet of democracy, suggested that slavery might even be the necessary counterpart of free and independent citizens voluntarily devoting their time to public affairs. To eliminate the independent social power that the aristocrats represented, kings allied themselves with powerless individuals such as the common people and the new capitalist bourgeoisie. Aristocrats were replaced by “statocrats,” individuals who derived their authority only from their position in the service of the state. The new democratic citizens would soon fall under a Power much more encompassing than that of the local lord.

A crucial idea of On Power, which can also be found in Tocqueville, is that instead of restraining Power, popular sovereignty reinforced it. Democracy was conceived by its early theorists as liberty and the rule of law. But another conception, which won the day, identified democracy with the sovereignty of the people. In this conception, democracy replaces the rule of law by the people’s good pleasure, which in practice means the good pleasure of its elected representatives and the government bureaucracy.

The popular sovereign became the new king, but without the restraints that law and aristocracy previously imposed. Liberty diminished since “[e]very increase of state authority must involve an immediate diminution of the liberty of each citizen.” Like ancient philosophers, Jouvenel sees aristocracy, democracy, and tyranny as the only feasible regimes.

5. The Role of Modern Monarchy: European Monarchies Compared edited by Robert Hazell and Bob Morris (2020)

No new political theory on this topic has been developed since Walter Bagehot wrote about the monarchy in The English Constitution (1867). The same is true of the other European monarchies. So this is a welcome update in terms of what’s happened in the last 150 years or so across Europe. It’s actually the brainchild of a project coming out of the Constitutional Unit at University College London. The book is excellent and is written by experts from Belgium, Denmark, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Norway, Spain, Sweden and the UK. It considers the constitutional and political role of monarchy, its powers and functions, how it is defined and regulated, the laws of succession and royal finances, relations with the media, the popularity of the monarchy and why it endures. This collections of essays written by academics is the first comparative study of its kind and broadly asks with their formal powers greatly reduced, how has this ancient, hereditary institution managed to survive and what is a modern monarch’s role? What theory can be derived about the role of monarchy in advanced democracies, and what lessons can the different European monarchies learn from each other?

The public look to the monarchy to represent continuity, stability and tradition, but also want it to be modern, to reflect modern values and be a focus for national identity. The whole institution is shot through with contradictions, myths and misunderstandings. This book should lead to a more realistic debate about our expectations of the monarchy, its role and its future. As a whole these twenty contributors notes several factors to the continued survival of the constitutional monarchy in Europe today.

Firstly, remain politically neutral. Monarchs who are too interventionist will encounter resistance and lose their reputation for neutrality. Secondly, avoid scandals, or any hint of corruption. Thirdly, keep the team small. The greater the size of the royal family, the greater the risk that one of its members may get into trouble and cause reputational damage; and the greater the risk of criticism about excessive cost, and too many hangers-on. Fourthly, Understand better the plight of the minor royals, allow them a means of escape and equip them to enter careers commensurate with their abilities. They lead lives of great privilege, but lack fundamental freedoms: the right to privacy and family life which ordinary citizens take for granted, free choice of careers, freedom to marry whom they like. Fifthly, keep in your lane. Although hereditary, the monarchy is accountable, just like any other public institution. The most high profile example is King Juan Carlos of Spain, now in exile and the subject of prosecutorial investigations. But he is not alone: other monarchs who stepped out of line have also lost their thrones.

Arguably the biggest factor of all is how accountable the monarchy is to its subjects - as paradoxical as that sounds. Accountability of the monarchy in a democracy is vital and necessary. Individual monarchs can be forced to abdicate; and support for the institution as a whole can be tested in a referendum. During the twentieth century there were 18 referendums held on the monarchy in nine European countries. It was through referendums that the monarchy came to an end in Italy and Greece, and was restored in Spain; and through referendums that the future of the monarchy was endorsed in Belgium, Denmark, Luxembourg and Norway. The monarchy may seem the very antithesis of a democratic or accountable institution; but ultimately continuation of the monarchy depends on the continuing support of the people for the roles it is seen to undertake. And people can be equally fickle with emotions as they can be reasonable and grounded in common sense.

I would also recommend two videos you can watch online which basically saves your from reading the above - or watching it may inspire you to go and read the books (which would be my intention).

1. Monarchy by David Starkey (TV documentary series)

Monarchy was originally made by Channel 4 as a British TV series that ran from 2004–2007. It was written and presented by the historian David Starkey charting the political and ideological history of the English monarchy from the Saxon period to modern times. The show also aired on PBS stations throughout the United States. You can watch the series on YouTube.

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The first episode looks at discusses the early history of England and the birth of the Monarchy. It looks migration of the Anglo-Saxons into Britain and discusses some early rulers including. It looks at the roles of Aethelbert and his Frankish wife Bertha in the Christianisation of Britain. It examines the dominant reign of King Offa of Mercia. Finally, it looks at Alfred the Great and how he united England against Viking invasion.

2. The Role of Modern Monarchy: European Monarchies Compared: book launch discussion

This is an online discussion hosted by BBC’s David Dimbleby amongst some of the main contributors of the book and the conclusions they reached. It’s very good discussion both wide ranging and insightful how modern monarchies operate across Europe.

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On the face of it, the British monarchy runs against the spirit of the times. Deference is dead, but royalty is built on a pantomime of archaic honourifics and frock-coated footmen. In an age of meritocracy, monarchy is rooted in the unjustifiable privilege of birth. Populism means that elites are out, but the most conspicuous elite of all remains. Identity politics means that narratives are in, but the queen kept her feelings under her collection of unfashionable hats. By rights, support for the crown should have crumbled under Elizabeth has sometimes imagined it might. Instead, the monarchy thrived. And it continues to thrive and thus maddening the bourgeois woke elites and perplexing trendy decolonisation academics.

Writing in the 1860s, Walter Bagehot, The Economist’s greatest editor, noted that under Britain’s constitutional monarchy “A republic has insinuated itself beneath the folds of a monarchy.” The executive and legislative powers of government belonged to the cabinet and Parliament. The crown was the “dignified” part of the state, devoted to ceremony and myth-making. In an elitist age, Bagehot saw this as a disguise, a device to keep the masses happy while the select few got on with the job.

You do not need a monarchy to pull off the separation, obviously. Countries like Ireland rub along with a ceremonial president instead. He or she comes from the people and has, in theory, earned the honour. A dud or a rogue can be kicked out or prosecuted. To a degree, history lays down the choice - it would be comic to invent a monarchy from scratch.

However, constitutional monarchy has one advantage over figurehead presidencies that is the final reason behind Elizabeth’s surprising success: its mix of continuity and tradition, which even today is tinged with mystical vestiges of the healing royal touch. All political systems need to manage change and resolve conflicting interests peacefully and constructively. Systems that stagnate end up erupting; systems that race away leave large parts of society left behind and they erupt, too.

Under Elizabeth, Britain changed unrecognisably. Not only has it undergone social and technological change, like other Western democracies, but it was also eclipsed as a great power. More than once, most recently over Brexit, politics choked. During all this upheaval, the continuity that monarchy displays has been a moderating influence. George Orwell, no establishment stooge, called it an “escape-valve for dangerous emotions”, drawing patriotism away from politics, where love of country can rot into bigotry. Decaying empires are dangerous. Britain’s decline has been a lot less traumatic than it might have been.

Elizabeth’s sleight of hand was to renew the monarchy quietly all the while, and King Charles’s hardest task will be to renew it further. The prospect is daunting, but entirely possible. My money is on the monarchy.

Anyway, this is by no means a definitive listing of books or other kinds of resources such as online resources. But I hope I can give you the flavour of the terrain of how and why monarchies continue to persist but also thrive in today's democratic environment.

Thanks for your question.

#ask #question #monarchy #united kingdom #britain #europe #constitutional monarchy #democracy #the state #society #politics #aristocracy #governance #constitutional #elizabeth II #king charles III #walter bagehot #david starkey

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metalgearsolidexclamationpoint · 3 months

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Finished Death's Door, The Dying Lands, and gained access to the Base. Subsequently climbed up the mountain and overrode a Sunwing, who is currently parked outside of Memorial Grove. I really hate to tempt fate, but… UH has not shown itself to be, like, ultra hard.

I think part of this is resource management. Supposedly HZD made it infamously difficult to get resources on UH. Merchants jack the prices way up, and drops are much more limited. I circumvented this problem by doing a whole-ass NG+ playthrough where I opened every chest, picked every berry and ridgewood, and used hardly anything but advanced hunter arrows so that when UH rolled around, I would have enough echo shell or crystal braiding or whatever. I'm also trying to be a little more conservative with my ammo, although it does feel like aiming is less forgiving -- perhaps there's some secret aim assist on Normal difficulty. Or maybe it's just more "realistic" in arrow trajectory? I feel like I'm going high with a lot of shots, and nerves definitely caused me to miss the stupid attachments in the Recluse Spider room. Luckily, Erik didn't actually do that much damage, and my outfit was my shock-absorption outfit (not to be confused with my anti-acid attire).

The Dying Lands was the first quest I had any worries about (assuming UH wouldn’t be overwhelmingly difficult from the get-go), and indeed, the first battle I died in was the Clawstrider bonanza. I remember dying to that fight a few times in my first playthrough. But I was also not great at strategizing (there are elemental pots/dead Bellowbacks all over the place that I didn’t use very effectively), and pretty sloppy overall. This time I played much more defensively and Berserked the Clawstriders in hopes it would give me time to pick off the stupid scroungers or whatever who apparently show up just to cause chaos. I need to be a little smarter about environmental assets, because I was trying to brittle them and wondering why Varl seemed to have an ice weapon, when in fact he had set off a little frozen pot.

The Grimhorn wasn’t bad (or the Leaplashers in the beginning of the cauldron), and Varl and Zo were much, much better at distracting and taking out the weaker enemies than I anticipated. They pretty much kept the Grimhorn’s companions at bay while I worked at taking down the big boy – much more so than I expected from non-controllable companions. I’ve always been diligent about placing traps around the arena every time it looks boss-like (the final override of a cauldron, obviously, but also the room where you meet Beta, the elevator where you fight Erik), but I haven’t used the tripcaster or ropecaster at all, and I barely use special stamina moves. Half the time I can’t figure out how to use them (how do you notch 3 arrows?? Do you keep hitting R1?? I get knocked the fuck over every time I try and it seems to all come to nothing!!). I really thought that I was going to suffer in UH based on how little of the new mechanics I bother to use – the aforementioned special moves, melee combos, shredder gauntlet/specter gauntlet (I can’t lock-on to an enemy then line up the aim to shoot it without getting fucked up for enough time to make the lock-on disappear – skill issue, sure, but my stupid hunter bow with advanced arrows has killed everything fine so far, and only takes a few shards (of which I have 60K) and ridgewood (of which I have 2.5K) to make new arrows)/boltblasters (takes waaaaaaaay too long to do anything), but so far it seems like I’m fine without it. And if I beat UH without it, why learn to master it at all? Sigh.

I finished The Fraud by Zadie Smith during the cutscenes. Fantastic read, and a great example of historical fiction being, basically, a parable for modern issues without being too winky or didactic (for the most part. There were a few moments that were too on-the-nose…). I had time to do this because besides the a few rebel back-stabbys, the Tremortusk, what is more or less an on rails section, and a Slitherfang that dies in a cutscene anyway, the next two chapters were basically just talking.

The Tremortusk was the imminent fight I was dreading the most -- I thought it would be the wake-up call (again…). It killed me a few times in my first playthrough. Funny thing, I’ve fought so many Dreadwings, Slitherfangs, and Tiderippers to farm upgrades that I’m not worried about those upcoming battles (in Demeter, the Kulrut, and Poseidon) even though I’m sure they can fuck me right up.

As it turned out, the Tremortusk was a simple matter of freezing and dodging it. The Kulrut was a simple matter of holding down the R2 button (my wrist is not pleased with me). And the Slitherfang was a simple matter of setting it on fire. Apparently there was a Tenakth giving me fire support, as she kept yelling at me to get it in range, but I saw no actual evidence of her hitting it. And I guess I just never noticed before that it dies specifically in the cutscene. I know that this is so it can collapse in such a way that it forms a bridge to get out of the arena, but it really gave me the impression that actually I only had to survive for five minutes and the fight would be over. Maybe it just felt that way because UH does feel a little like you are just chipping away at a huge and yet indeterminate health bar.

So now I'm worried about the Specters in the next mission. I think it will be my next potential wake-up call, followed by the Apex Thunderjaw in Faro's Tomb, plus doing the end of that quest in the stupid outfit. I'll probably be there in about three hours… it's kind of crazy how linear and quick the main quest line is. You know, if you already put 125+ hours in it so moving from point to point is a breeze.

#fox plays #horizon #hfw #text

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prittypony1 · 1 year

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At this point in the story I’m getting very bored. Is anyone else? I mean it dosent feel like anything’s happening. In fact, it feels like we’re getting to the end because everything is getting resolved very quickly.

Another thing is that at this point there is no antagonist. All of the antagonists have quickly been done away with. At this point, it feels more like ‘a day in the life of ‘ story. Where is all the adventure and excitement that was there in the beginning? All the relationships are getting wrapped up in a neat little bow with no action happening. Perhaps my boredom is only because it’s a week by week update and I’m just ready for the story to be over after 8 years. I’m getting readers fatigue. I know that this story will have a happy ending and I know that these two hopefully will get together there just doesn’t seem to be any stakes in the story anymore to keep me interested. It’s not that I’ll stop reading, it’s just boring now.

Problems I have with this story :

Every singe antagonist has quickly been dealt with. There is nothing for our protagonist to fight against.

There are no stakes. (Every single hint of stakes has been quickly resolved. But perhaps we are in the lull before the storm)

There is plot armor (even though things can bleed and die, apparently this rule does not apply to the main characters) ( Hyde only bled once but that’s all that happened. Nether character can be physically hurt in real life which is unrealistic.

Lanyon talking about his feeling after Jekyll’s wakes up from uncontioustess doesn’t really feel like it belongs here. You’d think he’d wait to do that. But I suppose since we are nearing the end, we have to put these moments somewhere in the plot.

Jekyll talking about how he hopes the society will fail seems weird because we’ve been told over and over again that his is important to him.

The exhibition ends up not actually being important and everything goes well. Like foreshadowing it as oh something gonna go down but then nothing happens.

Minor nit picks:

I still don’t know how someone can make a curved dagger that is sharp. How does that work? This boggles me and continues to keep me up at night.

Hyde’s fireworks that he picked up at the black-frog bazar diapered and have been completely forgotten. As well as Hyde’s dagger that also was introduced and disappeared. There was also a death potion. Are all of these things going to be important to the plot going forward? Because if you have a gun you have to fire it somewhere. If not useful to the plot, why we’re they introduced in the first place?

Why are Hyde’s pants drawn like there tights? This bothers me.

The prostatues clothes don’t seem historically accurate to me. It looks like a costume you’d find in an adult Halloween store.

It seems like we’re checking all the boxes on LGBTQ but have we covered a straight relationship yet? No. But we’ve covered everything else. I see no straight representation. It doesn’t matter, because this comic isn’t made for straight people. That’s fine I can deal with it. (There is some but it’s way in the background and not talked about much.)

The author said she wished that she made Jekyll trans. You already have two trans people in this comic, why do you need more? I get that your trans but does every character you make need to be that way? If you did that it would make this comic super boring.

(The author coming out as trans in 2020 did not surprise me. What did surprise me was it took them this long to realize it based on how much they talked about all there trans characters.)

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canary3d-obsessed · 3 years

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 23, second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Nature Abhors a (Power) Vacuum

Jin Guangshan, Nie Mingjue, and Lan Xichen have gathered to decide what to do about the remaining Wen people and also what to do about the Yin metal. They have not invited Jiang Cheng to this discussion, or blowhard Clan Leader Yao, despite those clans having been hit particularly hard by the Wens in the course of the war.

The three of them have a conversation about what to do with the Wen captives, showing their different attitudes towards killing.

Jin Guangshan: Killing is awesome, particularly in project management. It's just so efficient. Nie Mingjue: Killing is necessary, and a little bit fun, too. Lan Xichen: Killing is necessary, sadly, but we can randomly spare some women or old people, as a token sign that we’re not monsters. Kind of like when you have a fancy dinner and include a tofu dish for the vegetarians. Nie Mingjue: Nobody likes tofu, Xichen.

Jin Guangshan says he's looking for the Yin Iron and that they can't let any Wens or "ambitious people" get a hold of it. By ambitious people he means Wei Wuxian, not himself and his murder kid. Lan Xichen realizes this right away but doesn't, you know, do anything to contradict him. Jin Guangshan says he's asked "A-Yao" to look into it. Which is smart, because A-Yao is already in cahoots with Xue Yang, who actually has the piece of Yin Iron they're looking for.

Getting Jiggy With It

Then Jin Guangshan introduces Meng Yao, now renamed Jin Guangyao, in a weird twist on generation names. He has given him the name of a sibling or cousin of his own generation (starting with Guang), rather than a name of the next generation (starting with Zi). JGS says that JGY just recently learned about about being related to him, although we know perfectly well that's not true.

And they both talk like he appreciates JGY's efficiency and helpfulness, but that's not why JGS has him at his side. He has taken him in because he is a steel-eyed murder bot, not in spite of it.

(OP does not believe that Jin Guangyao could have been a good person if only his dad had let him hold Jin Ling that one time, as some have argued. Dude killed his own child because there was a chance he might be disabled in a way that could lead to gossip. Dude is a stone cold killer.)

(more after the cut)

In the language of CDrama costume (which is not, precisely, the language of actual historical clothing), Jin Guangyao has chosen to dress as a minister instead of as a chevalier. This is partly an artifact of his mother's ideas about a gentleman. It also suggests that he’s content with the sort of career that's available to a bastard of a noble house--not inheriting the noble title, but having enough favor to rise in power.

It may also be a ruse to make him seem like he's not a strong cultivator and not a strong fighter, when in fact he is both, at least by the time he’s throwing death chords at Jiang Cheng, much later in the show.

Mingjue makes all kinds of grumpy faces and snarky remarks to let everyone know that he fucking hates Jin Guangyao. Xichen agrees to his “nice refugee camp with only a little death” plan, with no qualifications.

Now we get to see Jin Guangyao's manipulation of Lan Xichen. Lan Xichen says that Nie Mingjue wants a plan that’s more killy, because he believes in punishing evil. JGY deliberately misunderstands this, pretending that Lan Xichen said he, JGY, is evil, kind of forcing LXC to reassure him and take his side in an argument that isn’t actually happening.

They have a little handholding while bowing, and then after Lan Xichen leaves, Jin Guangyao puts on his evil face and has all the prisoners killed behind the big closed door.

This is done in such a violent fashion that the blood apparently flows up several stairs to the door, and over the tall raised threshold, before flowing downward toward the camera. Some evil is so extreme that even traditional Chinese doorway architecture can’t stop it.

Run To the Rock

Then we go outside to where Wei Wuxian is standing on a rocky outcropping, thinking it would be a good strategic spot to choose if he's ever in a battle where he wants to commit suicide right quick.

Lan Wangji comes to join him and admire the view, not knowing yet that this view, or one a whole lot like it, is going to be seared into his memory for most of his life.

Lan Wangji is becoming more and more committed to Wei Wuxian, more and more inexorably joined to him, but he still doesn't agree with him. So they each have this comfort in each others' presence at the same time as being massively in conflict.

Wei Wuxian asks him what he thinks of all the politicking and murdering. Who is good and who is evil? LWJ doesn't answer because WWX is leaking black smoke, so he grabs him and tells him to concentrate. Lan Wangji is, incidentally, wearing Princess-Leia quantities of lip gloss.

Lan Wangji asks if Wei Wuxian would like to learn a new tune, "Absterge" according to Netflix. The fuck? [op looks it up in the dictionary]. "To cleanse, especially by wiping." Also known as aftercare. Netflix. Honey. This word is MIDDLE FRENCH. Will you knock it the fuck off?

So anyway, instead of answering his question about who is good and who is evil, LWJ asks if he wants to learn a song called "Cleansing." Wei Wuxian says “hey babe, are you fucking kidding me?”

His actual words are "you doubt me too?" meaning "you think I also took the missing 4th chunk of Yin iron to make my ugly tiger amulet, rather than obviously having used that giant sword I pulled out of the turtle?"

Lan Wangji mentally replays Wen Ruohan's questions in his head--the questions he barked at Wei Wuxian right before choking him unconscious--which Lan Wangji also feels entitled to know the answers to. Fuck you, Lan Wangji. He answers WWX with "when did you forge your amulet?" Which is his way of saying "yes, I doubt you."

Wei Wuxian kindly refrains from saying "while we were on a break, bitch" and instead tells him the exact truth--I found a yin iron sword in the turtle--but says it in his patented "make it sound like a lie" way.

LWJ keeps grilling him, eventually coming out and saying dude, you knew the sword was Yin iron, why did you need to use it?

This is the crucial question--why WWX broke his first promise, to Lan Yi, which was to try to get rid of the Yin Iron. He won’t tell anyone the answer, which is that he needs to use it because he can't cultivate normally, because he lost his golden core. He made a lot of promises before that happened, and he probably expected to keep them. But without his core, everything changed; without his core, he’s a different person, so it’s maybe not fair to expect him to honor his previous promises.

I’m reminded of my grandfather, who was the oldest son of an old southern US family, with lots of expectations as the firstborn. He went off to WWI as a soldier, expecting to die. He didn’t die, and so from that point on, he regarded his life as a gift. He felt could do whatever he wanted with it, and let go of expectations from before the war. He moved to Paris and took up with a glamorous divorcee 7 years older than him (my Grandma, eventually).

The actual point of that story, other than OP having cool grandparents, is that when you think you’re going to die, and then you don’t die, your ideas about what you owe to people can change quite a bit. Wei Wuxian expected to die in the Burial Mounds; he expected to die at Nightless City; he expects it, over and over, and each time he doesn’t die, he gets further and further from being what everyone else wants him to be. And--a lot like soldiers returning from a war-- NOBODY in his life knows how to talk to him about it.

Wei Wuxian tells Lan Wangji to back off, Lan Wangji says why aren't you letting me help you, and they are once again on the edge of the same fight they keep having. Lan Wangji does some impassioned arm holding while Wei Wuxian says he's not like Wen Ruohan.

Romantic Duet #1

The argument is interrupted by screams and killing, so they go to check it out, and find the Jins hunting down some prisoners for sport. They arrive in time to save two people. Yay?

Jin ZIxun acts like a jerk, as always. The new element is that per Jin Guangshan, anyone concerned with Yin Iron shouldn't be alive. He says that the Lan and Nie clans agreed, and challenges Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji stops him from responding, grabbing his wrist.

The Jins leave and Wei Wuxian refers back to their earlier conversation, saying there will be more resentful spirits now and that "Rest" is the music to play, not "Cleansing."

He gives Lan Wangji a long look and then pointedly removes Lan Wangji’s hand from his wrist, by holding his hand, which is some next-level mixed signaling. Lan Wangji totally deserves it at this point, though. He keeps pushing and pushing WWX about his cultivation method, but he refuses to discuss the underlying morality of it, or the morality of the killing going on right in front of them.

WWX walks off, leaving LWJ to stew in his own juices surrounded by a bunch of fresh corpses.

Lan Wangji fails his saving throw against the guilt trip, and sits his ass down to play Rest, just like Wei Ying told him to. So switchy! Wei Wuxian, out of sight but not out of earshot, hears him and accompanies him on Chenqing.

This scene is slightly ridiculous and a whole lot sublime. Ridiculous because it's their first time playing music together, so it's a super slow, romantic, extended scene, but they're surrounded by corpses. And not the helpful, friendly, third-wheel-on-a-date type of corpses.

It's sublime because the occasion of their first beautiful, literally magical duet is an argument. And they are joining together to play beautiful romantic music - as a service for the dead. And they are doing it while they are on literally opposite sides of a literal killing field. And Lan Wangji is sitting literally in the middle of a wide open road; the sort of road that they will both reject, metaphorically, later in the show. There is so much about their conflict and their journey that is encapsulated in this one musical moment.

Lan Wangji, by playing the song Wei Wuxian said was needed, is telling WWX that he took his words to heart, that he is listening, even though they're at odds.

WWX, by stopping and playing with him, is acknowledging this. And by settling the dead souls together, they are both reinforcing their dedication to doing what's right even as they both struggle with knowing what that is.

When Other Friendships Have Been Forgot, Ours Will Still Be Hot

Now we have the sworn brothers thing. I understand, plot wise, why this has to happen, but why would Nie Mingjue ever agree to this? Lan Xichen's puppy eyes are just that persuasive?

If they ever crack your spine, drop a line If they ever cut your throat, write a note If you’re ever in a mill and get sawed in half, I won’t laugh (HA HA HA HA)

Tedious Party Time

Now there's a cultivation party, which is about as excruciating to watch as it would be to attend.

Everyone is lining up to praise Jin Guangshan. To be fair, he did provide shelter for most of the smaller clans while the war was going on. So being grateful is appropriate, but Clan Leader Yao practically breaks his own neck kissing Jin ass. Yao says JGY’s contribution was the greatest of the war, adding, "fuck Wei Wuxian; everything is his fault."

The Jiangs show up wearing mourning belts that show off their itty bitty waists, and Jin Guangshan makes shifty eyes like a cartoon landlord when he sees them arrive.

JGS praises Jiang Cheng, and asks when his fancy clan-leader ceremony is going to happen. Jiang Cheng says he's still in mourning so it's not appropriate. JGS is like “Oh...yeah," as if he totally forgot about all the Yunmeng slaughter, and talks up his friendship with Jiang Fengmian. He acts comforting while WWX manages not to barf.

Then the Lan clan shows up and there is nice encouraging chit chat between LXC and JC...

...and just, SO MUCH mournful staring between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian.

Then the Nies arrive. Jin Guangshan tells Nie Mingjue he's late, and that everyone's waiting for him. That might be true in the script but it’s clearly bullshit on the screen, where the Lans and the Jiangs are still milling around looking for the coat room.

Nie Mingjue--who, let's remember, JUST swore to be brothers with Jin Guangyao--looks at him like he's something that fell off a garbage truck. Lan Xichen jumps in to maximize the discomfort by pointing out that Jin Guangyao should address Nie Mingjue as Big Daddy Da-ge from now on.

Then the Jins offer Nie Mingjue the giant fire throne because...he's the leader of the Sunshot campaign, I guess? Of course it's all a manipulation tactic, designed to make him say he won't sit there, so that JGS can elevate himself to head cultivator, or something? And sit in front of the throne but not on it? Cultivator succession seems kinda arbitrary.

I swear to god, it wasn't until I was clipping this episode that I realized Wen Ruohan had two thrones and they're in different rooms from each other.

Finally everyone goes to sit down, but because there hasn't been enough fucking awkwardness, JGY stops WWX to ask him what's on his mind. WWX asks him why he's not carrying his sword, which made me laugh and laugh. Wei Wuxian must have been just waiting for a chance to ask someone else that question for a change.

Jin Guangyao says he threw it away, because it was just a random sword, but he really means he had it made into a sneaky murder belt, that he will be using again in 13 to 16 years. They both fake-laugh and trade Mean Girls insults pretend to like each other.

Everyone wanders around toasting each other. Lan Wangji goes to find Wei Wuxian, after first making sure that his hair looks good.

Wei Wuxian is lying around on the steps, sprawling and drinking wine, and not, incidentally, looking for Lan Wangji. He continues to not seek him out and Lan Wangji continues to chase after him.

Wei Wuxian says "how about playing Cleansing?" but Lan Wangji says he's learning a new score. It looks like it's going to be another argument, but then Wei Wuxian smiles and kind of praises Lan Wangji for being stubborn.

Awkward Marriage Proposal

Just then everyone inside starts cheering for Jin Guangshan to give a speech. Jin Guangshan is making a move to marry Jiang Yanli to his son, which is a big time power grab, given that the Jiang Clan is 1. vulnerable and depleted 2. has control of the Yin tiger amulet.

We get a very rare glimpse into Jiang Cheng’s inner mind, where he thinks that saying yes isn’t a great idea, but isn’t sure what to do. This marriage would make his sister happy, but could destroy the Jiang Clan's independence.

Fortunately, Wei Wuxian joins the party just in time to fuck up Jin Guanshan’s plans. Will this teach Jin Guangshan not to invite Wei Wuxian to parties? It will not.

Soundtrack: Friendship, by Cole Porter (from “Anything Goes”)

Bonus:

#the untamed #the untamed gifs #wangxian #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs #words:2750

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skzsauce01 · 3 years

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Matters of the Head and Heart

Synopsis: Mechanical hatmaker Mr. Felix Lee finds himself being charmed by your flirtatious antics towards him. However, you being an upper class young lady means nothing will come out of it. Right? Steampunk-ish AU set in 1850s Victorian London. Historical accuracy not guaranteed.

Warning: none

Word Count: 13.1k

Pairing: fem!reader x hatmaker!Felix

Mr. Felix Lee, having been an apprentice and a hatmaker for several years, is no stranger to the odd request or so, but the one he receives today is by far the most peculiar.

“A tea party?” he repeats. He eyes the cream colored envelope you delicately hold out before him, still trying to comprehend the unusualness of it all. “And I’ve been invited?”

“Yes, Mr. Lee,” you say with a smile. “It’s a short notice, I understand, but the hostess would be delighted if you attended.”

He elects to stall for time while he makes sense of it. Why is he invited? Surely, it is unheard of for a hatmaker to partake in a ladies’ tea party. “If I might ask, who is the hostess?”

“A good friend of mine, Miss Shin. She is quite the hat enthusiast and has been inquiring about the designer of my mechanical blooming rose one.”

“That would be me, I suppose,” he dumbly says. He remembers the challenge of your headdress. The flower petals were meticulously arranged and joined together so that they would furl and unfurl. It was quite the endeavor to craft, so he can hardly blame Miss Shin for wanting to learn more. He takes the envelope from you and sets it down on the counter, accepting the invite. “Who else has been invited?”

“She would not tell me about the others, but I think she’s planning her debut ball soon.”

Felix sagely nods. A young lady’s coming out into society is a grand affair, and Felix has heard the stories from fellow craftsmen about the intricacies demanded. If he’s fortunate, maybe Miss Shin, apparent hat enthusiast, will order something from him. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Nothing else, I’m afraid. Good day.” You curtsy and turn to leave, your wide skirts brushing against the sides of a display table.

Felix is feeling rather bold after all that, so he asks the back of your dress, “Will I see you there?”

You look back, lips curled upward in a small smile. It’s different from your typical ones, more playful and less guarded. The downward tilt of your chin is almost seductive, and Felix is doing his best not to turn scarlet. Some of his customers have flirted with him before, but you have never done so so blatantly. He wonders why you are acting coquettish now. Perhaps he merely hopes you are.

“Of course. Who else would introduce you to her?”

The front door of his shop swings shut, leaving him alone again. It is then that Felix realizes how inappropriate the entire situation was. You, an unmarried young lady, had no chaperone with you.

Felix swiftly returns to his latest piece of work to distract himself. He will not say a word about what occurred, but it does not mean that he is not flustered by it. It does not help that the cornflower blue fabric of the silk ribbon he holds matches your skirt perfectly.

The next morning, Felix arrives at a predicament: what does one wear to a tea party if one has never been to such an event before? After much deliberation and a chat with his elderly neighbor, he decides on his Sunday best despite the day being Saturday. He hangs up a sign in the window of his shop stating that he is closed and begins the walk to Miss Shin’s residence.

Unfortunately, the journey is more arduous than he expects as her home is well outside the city. The vast, open countryside is a stark contrast to the cramped buildings Felix is used to, so he spends most of his time admiring the greens and browns of around him. The scenery is the only pleasant part of his day thus far. His newly polished black boots are dusty from the dirt path he walks on, and there is a thin layer of perspiration on his face.

Sometime in the midmorning, a horse-pulled wagon passes by him, and the occupant facing the back calls out to him in a decidedly ungentlemanly fashion when he sees Felix.

“Sir in the blue coat! Mr. Lee, is that you?” he shouts as he stands up while the wagon is still being driven. “It is! Mr. Yang, stop the cart.”

The wagon slows to a stop, and the loud gentleman waves Felix over. “Mr. Lee! It’s Mr. Han Jisung! Would you like a lift?”

Felix graciously accepts his offer and sits at the back with him. He then greets both men with a nod. Jeongin, the poor driver who looks like he is still half asleep, urges the horse forward.

“Are you heading to Miss Shin’s as well?” Felix asks. Mr. Han is a renowned dressmaker known for his use of mechanical moving elements in his designs, which now that Felix thinks about, is similar to his own specialty. If Miss Shin desires a grandiose debut dress, Mr. Han is the one to order from.

Mr. Han nods and pulls an envelope from his coat. It is the same cream colored one Felix has tucked away in his own, the only difference being the name of the individual being addressed on the front. “I’ve made a few things for her before, but this is the first time she’s invited me to her home. And for a tea party of all things! Have you been to her home before?”

“No. She has never ordered from me either. A friend of hers gave me the invite.” Mr. Han ponders over this for some time, and Felix adds, “Her friend believes that Miss Shin is planning her debut ball soon.”

Mr. Han snaps his fingers at the news and nods. “That must be it! She does enjoy extravagant gowns, and your hats would go well with my designs. The singing bird one in your window is astounding! I ought to make something to go with it.”

Felix, thrilled at such a compliment from a man renowned for his mechanical prowess, smiles proudly. For the rest of the way, they talk about other inconsequential things like the weather and the traveling play troupe.

Soon, they arrive at their destination. The conversation quickly dies away once they take in the estate. Miss Shin has no title, yet her family’s home is fit for a duke or even a king. The exterior paint is a blinding white, not a trace of soot anywhere despite there being a carefully hidden coal burner at the side of the mansion. The front door boasts of a large brass knocker and stained glass cutouts, while the front gardens have a large fountain as a centerpiece.

Mr. Han speaks, or rather whispers, first. “This is certainly a sight.”

“I would say so.”

The driver parks his wagon, dilapidated and shabby compared to the gleaming carriage by the entrance, a short distance behind the carriage. Felix and Mr. Han hop off the wagon while Mr. Yang drives the horse to the stables, also magnificent in their own right. As they walk to the front door, the carriage door opens and out steps another familiar face. Felix and Mr. Han raise their top hats and bow to you, and you curtsy once your footman has helped you down. Your chaperone, who was absent yesterday, follows, and Felix and Mr. Han greet her as well. Felix averts his eyes in an attempt to rid himself of the memory.

“Mr. Lee,” you say. “And you are Mr. Han, I believe? Miss Shin talks at great length about your designs. I’ve been meaning to buy one myself.”

Mr. Han beams at this and holds his arm out for you as your small group approaches the stairs. When you take it, Felix feels a twinge of envy. Instead, he offers his arm out to your chaperone, who also takes it.

A butler, an automaton of the latest model, guides the guests to the garden out back where the party is occuring. Felix cannot help but admire the clever design of the large clock in the foyer and decides he ought to make a clockwork hat soon. The garden, lush with more greenery and sweet scented flowers, has a round table topped with empty plates and pots of tea. The young lady wearing a large brimmed hat with dangling gemstones must be Miss Shin. A hat enthusiast indeed.

You let go of Mr. Han’s arm and head to embrace her. “Ryujin! It’s so nice to see you again!” You turn back and gesture at the two men who accompanied you inside her home. “You know Mr. Han of course, but this is Mr. Lee, the hatmaker you have been inquiring about.”

Felix bows to Miss Shin. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Shin.”

“And you, Mr. Lee. Come, have a seat.”

After the guests take their places — Felix happily notes that you take the seat across from his — Miss Shin signals the automaton waitstaff to begin bringing out the food and pours tea for everyone. There are small tea cakes, finger sandwiches, and other morsels of food that seem too delicate to eat. You make light conversation about how lovely everything is, and Mr. Han agrees. For the next few minutes, there is idle small talk about the garden while the craftsmen impatiently wait for Miss Shin to address why she has invited them to her party. Mr. Han, however, asks before she says anything.

Miss Shin is not perturbed by this. In fact, she smiles broadly at the opportunity. “My debut into society will occur in the upcoming season, and I intend to have a spectacular one. You two gentlemen design the most exquisite clothes, and I need something unlike anything the world has ever seen.”

Felix glances over to see your reaction about being correct, but your face is hidden by a porcelain tea cup. When he checks to see his Mr. Han’s reaction, it is similar to his — expectant and excited for a challenge.

“You will all be paid handsomely, of course,” she offhandedly adds. “No expense will be spared.”

“Did you have something in mind?” Mr. Han asks.

“A theme of royal blue and brass,” she dramatically says, waving her lace gloved hands in the air. “I confess, Mr. Han, I was so enamored with the evening gown you made last season that I decided I wanted something like it for my debut ball.”

Felix has nary an idea what she is referring to, but he assumes it is a work of art. On the other hand, you’re nodding your head in agreement.

“Oh, yes. Everyone at the party thought it was divine!”

Miss Shin picks up her tea cup and primly holds it to her lips. “Mr. Han, Mr. Lee: are you interested?”

“Yes,” Felix immediately replies, of which Mr. Han echoes.

“Perfect. I trust that you both will create something magnificent. But enough business talk. For now, please enjoy yourselves.”

The conversation about her debut’s details lasted less than five minutes. However, they defer to Miss Shin’s request. Felix awkwardly sips his Darjeeling tea while Mr. Han selects a pistachio tea cake.

More compliments to the garden and food are made, and it becomes apparent that there is not much else appropriate to chat about. Felix and Mr. Han are both already uncomfortable, and the chaperones and mechanical waitstaff surrounding the table only exacerbate their unease. Despite Felix’s feelings though, attending the tea party is not all terrible. Not only does Felix receive a commission from who he finally realizes is the daughter of the illustrious Shin Industries, he is allowed to spend some time with you. You are jovial and are able to elicit a few laughs from everyone with your humor. Felix adds upon your jokes and turns a pleasant shade of pink when you chortle at his pun.

By midafternoon, the party closes to an end. Felix graciously thanks Miss Shin for the invite and tells her that he will do his utmost best to create a stunning headdress for her. When the butler arrives to escort them to the front entrance, Felix purposely walks slower to be near you.

“I must thank you for your interest in my designs,” he says. “This is quite the opportunity. Without you, I do not think I would have been here today.”

You shake your head. “She would have found out about you anyway. She’s always on the lookout for latest fashions and innovations, so I was surprised that she hadn’t discovered you before I did.”

You are fast approaching the door; Felix remembers the large clock in the front room. Mr. Han is walking quicklier than Felix prefers, so Felix only has a few seconds to come up with something else to say.

“Will you be needing a new headdress for the ball?” he asks.

“Possibly. Of course, I will come to your shop if I find that I do.”

Felix holds out his arm for you to hold as you head down the stairs. Your hand is gloved, and his coat is thick, but it feels as if your bare skin is touching his.

“I look forward to it,” he says.

Right before you step into the carriage, you flash him yet another coquettish smile that makes him flush. “As do I.”

Your chaperone, an austere lady with a high necked dress, arches an eyebrow at this exchange but says nothing. The last Felix sees of you is the long skirt of your cornflower blue gown disappearing into the carriage.

“Mr. Lee, would like a ride back to the city?” Mr. Han asks, jolting Felix out of his thoughts.

“That would be wonderful.”

The journey back is filled with discussion about Miss Shin’s requests. Mr. Han describes the mysterious evening gown: a vision of royal blue silk, lace trimmings, and brass and phosphorus star-like ornaments. Felix realizes that you and Miss Shin share similar tastes for themed clothes. He tells Mr. Han of this, and Mr. Han gives him a sly look.

“If I may be so forward, do you fancy Miss L/N?”

Felix grows hot and directs his gaze to the countryside. “She is merely a customer of mine.”

“Of course, my mistake," he replies, though his tone implies it is anything but.

Fortunately, Mr. Han does not push the topic any further and mercifully changes the subject to decreasing prices of velvet. Felix inwardly sighs in relief.

Several days later, Felix is in the midst of his work when his shop swings open. When he hears the noise, he pushes his tools to the side and replaces the intense scowl with a pleasant smile.

"Welcome! How may I be of service?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lee," the young lady greets. She pushes the brim of her gemstone hat back. "I've just had the most wonderful idea for my hat, and I need you to bring it to life!"

Miss Shin has quite the eccentric style, and her grand idea exemplifies it. After a trip to the newfangled aquarium exhibit at the conservatory, she has decided on an oceanic theme for her debut ball and wants an “octopus” upon her head. Felix has no idea what that is.

"It’s a fascinating thing with eight arms. I hear they also call it the devil fish, though it is more devil than fish.”

Miss Shin’s chaperone nods in agreement and shudders at the mention of it. On the other hand, Miss Shin herself seems enamored with such a creature.

“I will do my best. Are your chosen colors the same?”

“Yes. The royal blue will nicely lend itself to the theme.” She sighs dreamily, and Felix wonders how deeply she has thought about this.

“It sounds marvellous. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Not today, but perhaps another time.” She glances back at the door momentarily. “I must go to Mr. Han about this. I’ll be sure to come with payment for it next time. Goodbye, Mr. Lee.”

“Goodbye, Miss Shin.”

The store is quiet again. Instead of picking up his tools, Felix grabs his stovepipe hat from its hook and heads to the local conservatory to get a glimpse of the octopus Miss Shin spoke so earnestly about.

It is indeed as fascinating as she made it out to be. The gears in his head begin to turn.

The following day, Felix spends the late afternoon at Mr. Han’s shop to discuss Miss Shin’s requests. Mr. Han is also amused by the prospect.

“She asked for an octopus-like gown as well,” he remarks. “Have you seen one before?”

“Just yesterday I visited the aquarium. It’s like a balloon with many strings.”

Mr. Han snorts the comment. “How accurate. Are odd creatures the fashion nowadays?”

Before Felix can answer — “I’m not sure, but Miss Shin seems to dictate trends than follow them” — the bell on the shop door rings, indicating someone has come in. Felix stops leaning against the wall and straightens up to greet the person. Upon doing so, he recognizes that said person is you.

You look just as surprised as he is. “Oh, Mr. Lee! Hello. I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Good afternoon, Miss L/N,” he says, bowing. He adjusts his hat to better hide his warming ears.

Mr. Han stands up from behind the counter and smiles broadly. “Miss L/N, Miss Wang,” he says, referring to your chaperone, who seems pleased to be acknowledged. “Are you here for a dress?”

“Yes. I’ve been waiting all week to come here. But just something simple though.”

Mr. Han’s “simple” designs are still far more extravagant than the gowns sold by typical dressmakers, but they seem to be your taste. Felix pretends to be preoccupied by the mechanical doves flying about the skirt of an unfinished dress while you select something from Mr. Han’s inventory. Your constant humming and deliberation make it difficult for him not to be distracted. He sneaks a glance at you, and you are browsing through the dress forms with interest. A delighted smile appears on your face each time you discover the hidden mechanical details embedded in the fabric.

“I think this one will do,” you say, stopping at a lilac walking dress with small turning gears in place of buttons.

While Mr. Han carefully wraps and packages the gown for you, Felix hovers by the counter, wishing that he had something clever to say. The weather is dull and unimaginative, the current traveling play troupe in town has been discussed to death, and the tea party from last week is old news.

“Have you seen an octopus before?” he blurts out, forgoing a transition. He regrets his decision when he realizes how impolite it is. He thinks he hears Mr. Han stifle a laugh at his eagerness.

To his relief, you don’t seem to care. “Oh, yes! I visited the exhibit at the conservatory a few days ago and saw one up close. A frightening but intriguing beast.”

“It is.” He’s running out of words now. Mr. Han seems to be spending a lengthy amount of time tying twine.

“What did you think of it?” you ask, oblivious to Felix’s increasing internal panic. “I assume you have seen one by your words.”

If he didn’t fancy you before, he does now. “Intriguing as well. And inspiring. It’s unlike anything I have ever seen.”

“Should I expect an octopus hat for sale soon?” you teasingly say. “I imagine you would be able to make something spectacular. You are quite the inventor.”

Your chaperone makes a noise of disapproval at your blatant flattery and possible flirting. “Miss L/N, I believe it is time for us to go. Now.”

You take your parcel from Mr. Han and thank him. To Felix, you grin and say, “I look forward to the hat.”

“Miss L/N, that is enough.”

You bid the two men goodbye and follow your chaperone out the door. Felix hears you grumble, “Fei, you are not very fun.”

When the door shuts, Mr. Han turns to Felix with a satisfied expression. “You’re welcome, by the way. What a shame Miss Wang interrupted.”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re referring to,” Felix says, a pleased blush spreading across his cheeks. There’s no denying that he enjoys being on the receiving end of your advances, no matter how much he pretends he doesn’t notice them. “I think it is best that I go now as well. To start on the drafting process.”

“Oh, you have an idea? What is it?”

Felix describes it to him, detailing the waving tentacles he has envisioned and the way they could be coiled into Miss Shin’s hair if she wished. Mr. Han looks impressed by his ingenuity and ponders over the design like he’s considering something similar.

“I’ll let you take your leave,” Mr. Han says. He unrolls some more length of butcher paper onto the counter and picks up his pencil. “You’re not going to chase after her, are you?”

“I wouldn’t do such a thing!”

Mr. Han nods, clearly not believing him. “Alright then. I hope your plan goes well. Good day, Mr. Lee.”

“Good day.”

True to his word, Felix heads back to his shop and does not run after you. He leaves the ‘CLOSED’ sign hanging in the window and heads to his work surface to begin the calculations for Miss Shin’s headdress. However, even with such an important task at hand, his mind still drifts to you.

He wonders why he is so easily tempted by your flirting. Yes, you are pretty, but beauty alone has never made his heart beat nearly as quickly as it does when he is around you. Your natural charm borders on brazenness sometimes, but he doesn’t detest it. To be honest, it’s refreshing in an era where everyone’s advances are supposed to be reserved and ambiguous.

He realizes he has answered his own question.

With a soft sigh, he returns to his sketches, each curve of his drawings reminding him of your carefree smile. He fancies you. He fancies you a lot.

As midwinter approaches and the beginning of the season begins, Felix’s shop is flooded with customers wanting new hats. Somehow, word has gotten out among the upper class about the new hatmaker with fine craftsmanship and one-of-a-kind designs. Most of his finished products are snatched up, and several people ask about placing future orders. He takes a select few; after all, he has another very important project that needs to be done.

He asks Mr. Han if he has experienced this wave of new business as well, to which Mr. Han says something similar happens to him every season.

“You’re a new face, so it’s natural,” he assures. “I imagine Miss Shin’s upcoming ball has much to do with it as well.”

Felix does not fully understand Mr. Han’s remark until Miss Shin stops by with her payment days later. She gives him a little more than necessary, but when Felix tries to hand the remainder back, she waves it off, citing it as a gesture of her appreciation.

With more cheer than before, Felix shows Miss Shin the progress he has made on her headdress so far: tentacles that trail down the back, moving pieces that make it appear the arms are waving, and glowing phosphorus eyes. Miss Shin marvells over each element and declares it spectacular. Then she pulls an envelope from her reticule and presents it to Felix, who stares at it not unlike he did weeks ago to a similar piece of stationery.

His name is clearly written on the front, but he hesitantly asks, “It is for me?”

“Yes. An invitation to my debut.”

You will certainly be there as a member of Miss Shin’s court, and if he goes, then…

Perhaps a dance? A chat? His mind spins with possibilities. However, he’s more concerned about why he’s being invited to such a high-class affair as a hatmaker.

“Pardon me, but why am I invited?”

“In case of mechanical errors. I can’t have the day spoiled because of something like that. Not that I expect it to,” she hastily adds after seeing Felix’s affronted expression. “Mr. Han has been invited for the same reason. It’s simply a precaution.”

“I see.”

“A few of my friends are asking about you as well. Besides,” she slyly adds, “you’re a young, eligible gentleman. I’m sure someone will be delighted with your presence.”

Felix nods slowly as if he is thinking it over. Is she talking about you? He certainly hopes so. “Thank you for the invite. Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

“Just sure to attend my debut. Anyway, I must be on my way now. Good day, Mr. Lee.”

“Good day.”

She and her chaperone head for the door. Once they are out of sight, Felix breaks the seal on the envelope and notes the date of the party: nearly a fortnight away. No matter his previous apprehensions about it, he is going to attend. He would be a fool not to.

The ball is in a week’s time, and Felix has spent the past few days and nights putting the finishing touches to the octopus headdress. It is done now, nary a mechanical error or physical blemish in sight. He even has Mr. Han look it over, and the mechanical genius himself deems it to be perfect.

Felix sighs in relief and sinks into his chair, the cushion worn thin from so many hours of him sitting on it. “This was the most challenging design I have ever done.”

“You did a splendid job,” Mr. Han reassures. “Would you like me to mail it to her along with her dress? I’m nearly done with it.”

“That would be wonderful.” He doubts Miss Shin will return since he has not heard a word from her since she last visited a week ago. The pieces of gossip he overhears from customers corroborate his assumptions; they whisper about Miss Shin overseeing the planning of her extravagant ball by herself and how exhausting it must be.

He delicately places the hat into a velvet-lined hatbox and covers the top with tissue paper. Then he pops on the lid.

“Are you attending her debut?” he asks. “Miss Shin said she invited you.”

“Of course!” he replies, and Felix is glad that he won’t be the lone craftsman there. “It’s far too good of a business opportunity to pass up. I take it you will be there as well?”

“Like you said, it’s far too good of a business opportunity to pass up.”

“And other kinds of opportunities as well.” He glances at the clock hanging above Felix’s head. “Ah, I ought to get going. This was supposed to be a quick break. Goodbye, Mr. Lee.”

Mr. Han holds the box close to his chest when he leaves. Felix watches closely and relaxes when Mr. Han does not run down the street like he expected him to. He trusts that the hat will arrive in perfect condition, but if it does not, well, that is why Miss Shin invited him to attend the ball in the first place.

Despite knowing that he will be going to an upscale affair, he has not prepared himself in the slightest. After deliberating for a few minutes, Felix takes up his stovepipe hat and heads down the street as well. If he wants to impress you — potential future customers, he means — he should at least buy a new coat and cravat.

On the day of the highly anticipated ball, Felix rises before the sun. It’s an evening party, so he needn’t be up so early, but he cannot sleep. His body is tired and demands to rest, but his mind is buzzing. As such, he brews himself a cup of tea and begins searching through old design sketches to fix.

Two redesigns and recalculations later, a gentle tap on the storefront’s window makes him look up. He has only had a half a cup of tea, so he is unsure if his eyes are truly working when he spots you standing outside. He isn’t even open for business yet. You cup the glass door and peer inside, presumably to see if he is awake yet. He blinks twice, and you are still there.

He walks over and unlocks the door, making you take a step back. When he sees you wearing in the purple walking dress you bought weeks ago, he feels disheveled in comparison. He pats down his uncombed hair. “Good morning, Miss L/N.”

“Good morning, Mr. Lee. I apologize for coming this hour, but it was urgent, and I wasn’t sure if there would be enough time if I came by later.”

Felix is wide awake now. “What is the matter?”

You hold out a bronze hatbox to him. “Do you remember the blooming rose headdress you made? Well, I was careless last night and accidentally dropped it. It’s broken, and I was planning to wear it tonight. Is there a chance it could be repaired by then?”

“May I…” He hovers his hand over the box, his fingers just a few centimeters above yours.

“Yes! Of course.”

Felix opens it, and to his relief, the damage is not as bad as he expects. There are a few petals askew, jamming the other flowers around it and causing the entire mechanical rose garden to stutter. The only other concern is the small grease stain on the silk ribbon, but that is a simple fix. He wonders where you dropped it. Certainly not on the ground since the damage seems to be minimal.

“I can repair it. Could you come back in a few hours? Around mid-morning?”

You sheepishly smile at him. “Would it be possible for you to give it to me at the party? I wasn’t actually given permission to leave the house today.”

It is then that Felix notices that, once again, you have no chaperone with you. Or does your carriage driver count as one, he flippantly thinks. It does not matter though. The sudden realization about the inappropriate situation makes him more shy.

He takes the box from you and steps back into the safety of his store. With the clear door threshold dividing the two of you, he feels much more at ease. You seem slightly saddened by this, but perhaps it is his wishful thinkings.

“Of course,” he says, trying to hide his reddening face by looking at the cobblestone pavement. “Where shall I wait for you?”

“By the fountain in the front gardens. I have to arrive at the Shin residence early, so it will likely be me waiting for you.”

Felix nods and takes one small step backwards. “I will see you tonight then, Miss L/N. Good day.”

“Good day, Mr. Lee. And thank you for your help.”

You walk back to your carriage and wave goodbye when you see that he is still standing by the door. He weakly waves back and scurries to his work table where he promptly sets the box down and whispers panicked mutterings to himself. He feels like he’s overheating.

He drinks the remainder of his tea to cool himself down before settling into his chair. He reaches for his tools and begins taking apart the mechanical flowers. It is a distraction from you but not a very good one.

When Mr. Han show up in an actual carriage in the evening, Felix’s nerves are not any better. He fumbled with the top buttons of his shirt while dressing, and it took him several attempts to tie his cravat correctly. Now, every bit of his body tremors as he steps inside the carriage.

“Well, don’t we look like dandies tonight?” Mr. Han remarks. He eyes the hatbox Felix has on his lap. “Did Miss Shin send it back?”

“Miss L/N needed an emergency repair,” Felix responds as he pretends to adjust his cravat, making it look worse than it did mere seconds ago. The evening air is warmer than he anticipated. “Are you excited?”

Mr. Han lets his poor attempt at steering the conversation away slide. “More or less. I would rather be at home, but parties can be fun.”

Felix is inclined to agree, though he is most excited and terrified at the prospect of seeing you again. The conversation devolves into silence as both gentlemen stare out the windows, observing the countryside at night. There is not a hint of light save for the moon and stars above. The wind blows in any direction uninterrupted, making the grass and wildflowers rustle.

It is a romantic picture.

Soon, the natural countryside begins to wane as they approach Shin residence, lit up in shades of blue with phosphorus lamps, comes into view. There is a line of carriages on the gravel path leading inside the estate. They are one of the last ones, and Felix is overwhelmed by guilt for being so late. How long did he make you wait? Mr. Han pokes his head out the window and mouths an exclamation at the sight.

“I don’t think I have seen or even heard of a debut ball of this size,” he says. “Well, she did that no expense would be spared.”

Felix, even more anxious about the party now, only nods in agreement. As their carriage nears the entrance, he scans the gardens for the designated meeting spot. There is a shadowy figure by the fountain, nearly hidden by the tall hedges. Although he cannot make out who it exactly is, it must be you.

When they finally reach the entrance, he opens the door and steps out with your hatbox tucked under your arm. He heads towards the fountain, the opposite from the main door of the house. The driver, the same one as last time, gives him a strange look but says nothing. Mr. Han seems to understand and says that he will see him inside.

Felix slows his pace, making sure that the few guests waiting to be let into the estate will be inside by the way he reaches you. There are curious glances in his direction, but they rapidly turn to the decorated main door as the line moves forward. Once there is no one left outside, he quickly strides over to the fountain. You are nowhere in sight, so he presumes that you are behind a hedge. Hopefully, you have not left.

“Miss L/N,” he softly calls, “are you here yet?”

Like he hopes, you walk out from behind a hedge, the hem of your dress showing up first. Felix has to suppress a gasp when you stop right in front of him. You are very close, and your evening gown and typical daywear are vastly different. Your bare shoulders, to put it mildly, are distracting.

“Hello, Mr. Lee. How are you tonight?”

“I am well, thank you.” It comes out a little strained, and to deflect from that, he holds out the hatbox. “Your headdress, as requested.”

“Thank you. The ball has started, so I should head back before they notice me missing.” You take it from him and hold it in your arms. “Shall we head in together?”

You really are brazen. As much as he would like to spend more time with you, he knows the social implications it has and the damage that will be done to your reputation. This very act of meeting you alone is illicit.

“I think I would like to wander the gardens some more,” he lies. He vaguely gestures at the plants. “They’re quite lovely.”

You give him a half smile. “They are. Ask me for a dance later, will you? I would very much like it. Until then. ”

Like nothing out of ordinary occurred, you merrily head back to the house, leaving Felix at a loss for words. He paces around the fountain and imagines the conversation over and over again. You were no doubt flirting with him. He is beyond delighted, but he has no idea what to do with this newfound development. He spent the last months admiring you from afar.

Ten minutes later, after he is certain that no one will connect your reappearance with his, he finds himself inside the bustling ballroom of the mansion. ‘No expense spared’ is correct.

There is a full orchestra playing on a raised section and a quadrille underway. He must have missed the first dance. The automaton waitstaff are conducting their own dance through the crowd as they distribute drinks and collect empty plates. The oceanic theme, so earnestly described by Miss Shin, has come to life with the blue tinted lighting and sea creature motifs decorating the walls. Felix notes that although there are many species of fish, the devil fish is not among them. Against the west wall leans the refreshment table, draped with scalloped tablecloth reminiscent of the waves. Just a few steps away, to Felix’s amazement, is an enormous aquarium filled with exotic fishes and elegant aquatic plants. He suspects that the conservatory might have loaned them for the night. However, he would not be surprised if the Shins had their own aquarium.

“There you are.” Mr. Han emerges from the crowd, relief clear on his face. “Miss Shin has been wondering where you were. I didn’t say anything about your… plans, but I may have given her the impression that you got lost on the grounds somehow.”

Mr. Han leads Felix to wherever Miss Shin is. In the meantime, Felix hopes that she just wants to introduce him to a few of her friends and not that her headdress needs to be fixed. Imagine how mortifying that would be.

“Mr. Lee! You’ve arrived!” she exclaims. The surrounding guests all immediately turn to get a look at him, and he feels embarrassment coloring his face. “Everyone, this is the gentleman who created this extraordinary octopus upon my head.”

Just like that, Felix is inundated with questions.

“How long did it take?”

“What excellent craftsmanship! Are you taking commissions now?”

“How much for a hat?”

Felix politely answers them all, half bewildered and half pleased by the attention. Mr. Han watches from the sidelines with a proud expression and gives Felix encouraging nods when no one is looking. Several minutes later, Felix has earned himself a slew of new potential customers, all who are more than willing to pay a visit to his shop the next time they are in town.

“It has been in perfect working order ever since I received it,” Miss Shin reports. She reaches up to adjust one of the metal tentacles coiled into her hair. “You won’t be disappointed.”

Felix relaxes when he hears the good news. “Thank you for compliments. Pardon my manners, but I do not think I have mentioned how wonderful the evening has been so far. Your ball is a true success.”

“Thank you,” she says, the ever gracious hostess. “Do enjoy the rest of the party.”

One of her court members adds, “And do be a gentleman and ask a certain Miss Y/N L/N for a dance.”

“Yuna! Don’t be so—”

Felix does not get to hear what Miss Shin says next since Mr. Han pulls him away to the refreshment table, far away from where they were. Thank goodness for his perceptiveness. Felix is only a few shades lighter than crimson.

He does intend to ask you to dance, but the question is when? You were not with the other court members by Miss Shin, and at a party this large, he is unsure if he will even be able to find you.

“Having fun so far?” Mr. Han asks as he plucks a cream and jam roll in the shape of a fish off a serving tray. “It seems like everyone knows about your fancies.”

Felix ignores the last sentence. “It’s a magnificent party. It really does feel like we are all in the depths of the ocean here. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“More or less. The food is divine.” He punctuates the remark by grabbing another roll. “If I were less refined, I might just filch the entire tray.”

By the way Mr. Han is marvelling over the selection, Felix does not put it past him. He is not in any place to judge though; he, too, is considering taking a few treats home to eat.

“Mr. Han! And Mr. Lee as well! Good evening.”

Felix does not have to turn around to know who it is. Mr. Han’s sly face gives it all away, and your voice has become all too familiar to him.

Mr. Han greets, “Miss L/N! How lovely you look tonight.”

In the darkness, Felix was not able to see you clearly. Under the phosphorus lights and gas lamps, you are radiant.

He first notices the gold roses, slowly blossoming and then slowly wilting, adorning your head. Then his eyes travel downward to the ribbon choker around your throat and to your shoulders. He quickly averts his eyes to the evening gown you wear — sage green with an understated floral pattern, which perfectly matches your headdress. The fan in your hand is closed shut, the golden handle appearing bronze under the lights. He cannot bring himself to look at your face; he can already imagine the pretty smile you have, and that alone is making him grow warm.

“I do believe that is Miss Choi!” Mr. Han interjects. “Pardon me, I must speak to her immediately.”

You and Felix bid him goodbye, leaving the two of you alone. You wait for him to greet you, speak, something, but nothing comes to mind. He steadily shifts his gaze upwards and tries to lessen his blush when he sees the corner of your mouth quirked up.

“Did they miss you?” he says, breaking the silence. “Miss Shin and the rest of the court, I mean.”

“I don’t think so, being a very busy night and all. I think they were more concerned about dancing.”

Which reminds him…

With as much confidence as he can muster, he holds out his right hand to you. “Would you like to dance, Miss L/N? I recall you requested one.”

You place your left hand in his and let him guide you to the middle of the dance floor. “I must confess, I only came to ask you if you were going to ask me to dance.”

“I would not have forgotten.”

“Are you certain?” you tease. “It seems like you only remembered when mentioned dancing.”

“Believe me, Miss L/N, I would never be able to forget such a bold request.”

He knows exactly where the surge of genuine confidence came from. The second he felt your fingers on his palm, something inside him lit up. Your touch made the moment so much more real, his wishings no longer daydreams.

The quadrille finishes, and the orchestra starts playing a waltz. Though he is stunned by the change — he had been anticipating walking and turning about you, not twirling you around — you are not. While you curtsy as a formal greeting before the dance, you deftly switch your fan to your left hand. Before he can bow in return, you hold his left hand and smile demurely at him.

“I have another confession to make Mr. Lee: I have been waiting to dance with you for the longest time now.”

He cautiously presses his hand to the small of your back, pulling you a bit closer than social customs allows. He can blame it on the crowded ballroom. He can feel your warmth through the fabric, and it occurs to him that you are in his arms just like in all those outdated fairy tales.

“If we are making confessions, then I suppose I have one as well,” he says.

He hears the expectant note in your voice. “And what is it?”

“I wanted to dance with you too.”

It’s a simple statement, but you grin from ear to ear, so bright the rest of the room seems dark in comparison. His heart flutters. When he twirls you around again, you lean your head back and sigh.

“You are marvellous dancer,” you remark as you sweep back your skirts to make more room for him. “Did you take lessons? Or do you just have a natural talent for it?”

“A bit of both. I took some about four years ago during my apprenticeship. I guess I still remember the basics.”

“No time for anymore now, I presume, with the amount of business you have been getting. Ever since I bought the butterfly headdress — do you remember that? It was ages ago, but it was the first one I bought from you.”

Felix remembers that day very well. He had opened his shop just half a year ago, and you and your chaperone stumbled in to wait out the rain. While you were captivated by the beating wings of a butterfly, he was awestruck by your gaiety on such a gloomy day. The silk flowers of your bonnet were drooping, your jacket damp from the incoming storm, and your face flushed from running, but your eyes held wonder and your lips a song.

You sang so much praise for the headdress that he went to bed that night hearing it in his sleep.

“Anyway,” you continue, “from the first time I came to your shop, I just knew you were talented. How long have you been working as a hatmaker? Your age and expertise don’t seem to match up. You are quite young compared to the other mechanical and automaton designers.”

“A year and a half now. I took over the business when my mentor retired. I do not think I am much older than you.”

You ponder over this for a while. “Forgive my forwardness and my lack of regard for etiquette — being friends with Ryujin for so long has its flaws — but are you courting anyone?”

Felix stops breathing for a few seconds. “I am not. Why?”

“Just check— just curious. Well, perhaps you will find someone that interests you here. You could ask someone to dance and talk to them to see if they catch your fancy.” Your expression is innocent, but your words are laced with whimsy.

“Who do you think would be a good match for me?” he asks, playing along. “Surely you know a few of the guests here.”

You pretend to think it over, pursing your lips together in concentration. Felix thickly swallows and glances at the space between your brows instead. His heartbeat is even more erratic than before.

“I don’t like to gossip, but I did hear a rumor that a young lady on the debutante’s court is interested in being courted soon. Her coming-out will be happening this season.”

“Ah, interesting,” he replies in an overly thoughtful manner. “If only I could receive an invite to the event. I am afraid that I am rather unfamiliar with most of the people here.”

“I think I can help with that,” you say. “I will speak to her about it. I’m sure she would love for you to attend.”

He tries to keep an air of nonchalance but fails when he spots your lips twitching into a smile. “Thank you, Miss L/N. I greatly appreciate it.”

Like the scene has been rehearsed before, the waltz ends then. Felix shallowly dips you like the dance dictates and helps right you back up. In doing so, you wind up far closer to him than you were before. You are pressed up against his chest, and he can hear your breaths. With the bubble of intimacy gone and the reality of the situation settling in, Felix hurries backwards, confidence dissipating.

He is not alone though. You snap your fan open, drawing it across your cheeks and concealing your face. He does not think he has seen you this flustered before.

“Thank you for the dance,” you tell him behind the painted screen. “You were a wonderful partner.”

“You were as well.”

The two of you walk to the sidelines together, an appropriate distance apart. He glances over to you occasionally and notes that your usual cool composure has not returned yet. Before Felix can continue the conversation, the excitable young lady — Miss Yuna Whatever-Her-Surname-Is — emerges from the crowd and rushes to you.

“Y/N! Do tell us about it!” she exclaims, forgetting that Felix is right there. She sidles up to you, holds your arm, and waits expectantly for the details.

You duck a little lower behind your fan and hiss, “Yuna!”

“Good night, Miss L/N,” Felix says. “It was a pleasure to dance with you.”

He makes himself scarce but not before he overhears you laugh and sigh, “Yuna Shin, don’t ever do that again. But yes, it was all very lovely.” He swells with joy.

The orchestra has started another waltz, one that is uplifting and bright. Felix hums along to it as he heads to the refreshment table. Almost unsurprisingly, Mr. Han is still there as well with a miniature trifle in hand. The dessert looks unappetizing to Felix with its blue layers, but Mr. Han is enjoying it.

“You don’t like dancing?” Felix says as he inspects the table for a drink.

“The contrary. This is just replenishment for the night.” He spoons another bite into his mouth. “And all the ladies seem to be on the dance floor anyway.”

Felix finds a cup of punch and drinks it heartily. He has never attended a debut ball before, so he is not sure of what there is to do other than dance and mill around. He spends some time observing the creatures in the aquarium nearby. There is unfortunately not an octopus in the glass tanks, leading him to believe that this is the Shins’ own aquarium.

He returns back to Mr. Han, and the two spy a few of their creations in the crowd. They all seem to be garnering attention from other guests, which bodes well for their financial future. Mr. Han, who is much more knowledgeable about who is who, updates him on the latest news regarding each of the guests. Felix nods along, only partially paying attention to his words as he watches couples dance at the same time.

As much fun as it is to be an observer though, it gets dull quickly when Felix realizes how much he would rather be home than here. He has no idea where you currently are, but it would be impolite for him to monopolize your time with another dance. Not to mention, it would stir rumors, and he wants no part in them.

“Would it be rude to leave now?” he rhetorically asks.

Mr. Han ponders over this. “Considering it has only been an hour, I think so, but let’s leave anyway.” He picks up a napkin and starts surreptitiously piling rolls and tarts inside. “Keep watch for me.”

Felix complies by standing right in front of the napkin and thus obstructing the view from the rest of the room. “You just said it would be rude.”

“I have to open early tomorrow, and so do you. New commissions to work on and all that.”

The people in his life, Felix notes, have a tendency to disregard social customs. However, he does not mind in this case or your case. Mr. Han filches a few more desserts at the behest of Felix, and the two wait for Miss Shin to finish her waltz to say goodbye.

“So early? The ball has just begun! And what if a problem arises?”

Felix gives this comment pause, but Mr. Han bats it away as if it were merely a pesky bug. “Miss Shin, I assure you that all of my — and Mr. Lee’s as well — are in perfect working order. When has anything I made for you been otherwise?”

While the two of them discuss this, Felix stands by and adds whatever he can. Both Mr. Han and Miss Shin are quick with their replies, and there is hardly a break in between. However, Miss Shin eventually concedes after learning of the new work they have to start.

“Very well. Thank you for attending” — she taps one of the brass tentacles on her skirt with her matching fan — “and for this beautiful evening gown. And thank you for the wonderful headdress, Mr. Lee.”

“It was our pleasure,” Felix answers. “Good night, Miss Shin.”

Felix and Mr. Han make their way to the exit, sidestepping the people lingering around the windows. Felix glances around to find you. He wants to give you a proper goodbye, but you are nowhere to be seen. There are no gold roses in the sea of people. He resigns to his predicament and hopes that you will not be too disappointed that he danced and left.

The area outside the mansion, swarming with exhilarated guests not too long ago, is empty. The blue lamps illuminating the cobblestone path seem forlorn instead of lively, and the silence only emphasizes the feeling.

“I’ll get the carriage,” Mr. Han offers, already heading in that direction. “Just wait here.”

Felix sits on the last step of the stairs and listens to the crickets in the bushes. The moon is higher in the sky now, and the wind from earlier has died down to a breeze. He sighs and loosens his cravat leans backwards on his forearms, enjoying the cool air on his face. It is a pleasant contrast to the party inside.

“You could have said goodbye at least.”

When he turns around, fumbling about and trying to make himself presentable again, you are standing a few steps above him. You said the words jokingly, but he hears the hurt underneath.

“I apologize,” he whispers. The darkness hides his guilt well. “I couldn’t find you.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Not one for parties, I take it?”

“I only came to talk and dance with you,” he admits, growing more embarrassed by the second. “If things were different, I would stay all night, but once I used my chance, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“We could have still chatted after.” You walk down to his step and sit beside him, the silk of your gown brushing against his leg. The only thing separating the two of you is your wide skirt. You place your hand only a few centimeters away from his on the steps. “I know I was acting a bit silly earlier, so I want to ask you outright. Forgive my forwardness, but do you intend to court me, or am I just seeing things that are not there?”

Felix goes still. He had not thought about his feelings that way. He certainly likes you, but a courtship never even crossed his mind because of how far up the social ladder you were. He wanted to catch your eye, but he never thought you would pay genuine attention back to him.

“Because if you do,” you continue after he says nothing, “I want to be courted seriously. If you are merely teasing me, then tell me now.”

“Miss L/N, are you teasing me now? I am no one important, yet you pursue me.”

“I am not teasing, I swear,” you solemnly say, looking directly into his eyes. “I will not play with your heart like that. And to me, you are important. Never mind the wonderful things you have made for me, I like you. You and how industrious you are, how assured you are in yourself, how you play along with my jokes for my sake. You are nothing like all the rakes and fops around me.”

He can hardly believe his ears. After a tense silence, he says, “If you will let me, I will court you seriously.”

“Mr. Lee, I have always allowed it. Every joke, every smile — it was an invitation for you.” He glances over at you in shock, and you halfheartedly smile at him. “Perhaps I was not clear enough about my advances.”

“No. I was simply too afraid to act upon them. I did not realize your intentions were pure.”

“I assure you, Mr. Lee, you were the only gentleman I flirted with.”

The nearby sound of a horse trotting interrupts the moment. Felix glances down to where the stables are and spies a silhouetted carriage approaching. Mr. Han was quick with his task, and Felix wishes he had been less so.

Having seen the same thing, you stand up and fluff out your skirt, preparing to go back inside. The silk ripples in waves, and Felix stares in fascination. You catch him in the act and flash him a knowing smile. “Good night. I hope to see you soon.”

Felix bashfully replies, “Good night.”

You give him one last look and hurry away before company arrives. Your head bobs up and down as you take the stairs two by two, and Felix watches you disappear into the mansion. He is still staring at the door when the carriage drives up.

“Mr. Lee!”

“Coming!”

The journey back to the city is mostly silent since Mr. Han seems worn out by the night’s events already. Felix does not try to engage him in conversation, choosing instead to sink into the velvet seat and to admire the sky. If he looks at it long enough, he thinks he can see your face among the constellations.

The following days, all Felix hears about in the sparse amount of time he interacts with customers — his shop has been mostly devoid of hats and headdresses ever since Miss Shin introduced him to all her friends — is Miss Shin’s debut. Every piece of gossip he overhears while out revolves around it and the other upcoming debut balls in the season. On one of his outings to the market, your name is mentioned, and he stops in his tracks. He pretends to check his pocket watch and turns it over and over in his hands as if he has found a new scuff mark on the brass.

“I heard she sent out the invites already,” says the young lady with a pink bonnet. “Did you get one?”

“Of course! But Tzuyu Chou’s ball is on the same night, so which one do I go to?”

“Both, silly! Just leave one of them early and—”

Once the topic changes, Felix quits his act and continues onward to the market. He has not received an invitation to your ball yet, and surely that was what you were alluding to during the waltz. Perhaps you are going to hand-deliver it yourself. That is all he can hope for because the other reason is that you have changed your mind about him.

When he returns to his shop with new bronze sheets and copper wiring, he is disappointed. You are not waiting outside nor is there an envelope tucked underneath his door. Felix brews himself a cup of tea and settles at his work table chair. He pulls out his sketches for a hat decorated with swimming fish and starts on its construction. All he can do now is wait.

After several days and far too much time spent agonizing over the issue, you finally grace Felix’s shop with your presence. When the bell on the door chimes and he sees you at the threshold, he nearly leaps out from behind the counter, shoving away his tools in a weak attempt to appear well put together. He wipes a spot of grease from his brow with the back of his hand and bows at you in greeting.

“Welcome. How may I be of service?”

“Are you accepting custom orders right now?” you ask, walking closer to him. Your chaperone follows closely behind to ensure that you are not about to blatantly flirt with him again, though Felix has a sneaking feeling that you will anyway. “I heard you might be busy. It seems like everyone wants a hat from you now.”

“What did you have in mind?”

You glance at the current project is working on. “Actually, that one seems interesting. Or is it someone else’s?”

The clockwork hat is indeed someone else’s, Miss Lia Choi, to be precise. “It is.”

“Ah, I see.” You do not look the slightest bit dejected at the news. “Well, I think something with butterflies would be lovely. I have lots of good memories involving them, so I want them to be part of my debut ball.”

Felix cannot get a single sound out, so he elects to duck back behind the counter. He picks up his pencil and rolls out another sheet of butcher paper. The blank canvas stares back at him, and he hastily sketches the form of the headdress like he wants to show you an idea he has in mind. He has nothing in his mind. He cannot think after a statement like that. He puts the pencil down.

“I can have a rough draft of the headdress done in a few days,” he says. “Or do you have a design planned out?”

“Perhaps something like this?” You take the pencil from the counter, your fingers brushing against his in a manner that is not accidental.

While Felix does his best to maintain his composure in front of your chaperone — she seems to not have noticed your gesture, thankfully — you draw a cluster of butterflies on the side of the headdress and small flowers to fill in the gaps. You mindlessly hum a melody as you sketch, and it sounds awfully similar to a waltz he danced to sometime ago.

You push the paper towards him. “Here.”

He glances over it, lightly touching the lines and curves with his finger. It is a pretty design and very extravagant. He will likely have to make some adjustments so you can actually wear it without injuring your neck, but it is possible to make it into a reality. “I will get to work on it soon. When do you need it by?”

“As soon as possible.” You open your reticule and set down a sheaf of banknotes so large, Felix cannot see your hand at all. “I know you have a long line of customers, so I will pay double the regular price for it to be finished in two weeks’ time.”

He would have done it without the monetary incentive anyway. Nonetheless, he nods and assures you that it will be done by then. You audibly sigh and thank him in advance for his timeliness.

“Is that all for today?” he asks. He wants you to say no, to make up an excuse to stay.

To his disappointment and seemingly to your own as well, you reply, “Yes. I’ve got a busy day ahead of myself. Well, good day. It is always a pleasure coming to your shop.”

“Good day.”

He watches you leave. You do not turn around to give him one last look like he anticipates. Your chaperone is keeping a careful eye on you and your antics, and she is following close behind as you out the door anyway. However, you do smile at him through the window. Even though you will not be able to see it, he returns it.

Once you are out of view, he collects the banknotes on the counter to put away. As he does so, he notices a corner of an envelope peeking out from the pile.

Mr. Felix Lee, it says across the front in black ink.

Could this be the invitation he has been waiting so long for? He does not know what else it could be, but he is still nervous. With trembling fingers, he breaks open the glossy red seal and takes out the stiff cardstock inside.

You have been cordially invited to Miss Y/N L/N’s debut.

He laughs, one mixed with relief and pure joy, and it echoes throughout the shop. The sound bounces off the empty walls like a never-ending symphony of happiness.

Once the euphoria has waned a bit, he sets his previous project and begins refining your sketch. He traces over your butterfly wings, adding more dimension and adjusting angles as he does so. He can already see it coming to life, the wings beating in harmony to the music, the delicate twitches of the antennae as you move your head.

To think that you will be wearing this at your coming-out and that he will be there to see it. Though it is an inside joke between the two of you, it might as well be a public declaration of courtship to him.

He works on your headdress almost feverishly, neglecting his other projects for as long as he can afford. When Mr. Han comes by for tea and a chat a few days later — they have become friends after Miss Shin’s ball — Felix is frantically soldering the minute hand onto one of the many tiny clocks on this hat.

“Do you want any help?” Mr. Han asks, popping the last bite of his biscuit into his mouth. “I do have experience with metalworking, you know.”

“I’m alright,” he mutters. The client is supposed to be arriving within the hour, and he cannot imagine how damaged his reputation will be if someone else other than himself is found working on the hat. He shudders as he pictures the suspicion on his customers’ faces. “Sorry for not being better company.”

“Don’t fret. I only came because I had news regarding Miss L/N.”

Felix nearly misplaces the minute hand in his surprise. He feigns nonchalance at Mr. Han’s statement. “Oh?”

“Do you know Lord Seungmin Kim? Apparently, he is interested in courting her. I overheard someone say that he is to be her partner for the first dance.”

Felix says nothing, just grips his tool tighter and intently stares at the tiny Roman numerals in front of him. He did not expect to be chosen for the honor of the first dance, but it does not mean his pride goes unhurt. Lord Kim, a nobleman with wealth and connections, is well above him in terms of social status.

“That’s… that’s impressive,” he says.

“Yes, and I also heard that she does not want him to be her partner. Something about another gentleman in mind.”

Mr. Han looks pointedly at Felix, who pointedly pretends not to notice it. He affixes the hand to the remaining clock and checks everything once more for any careless errors. His heart thumps in his chest, twice the speed of the soft tick-tocking of the miniature clocks. If he is the alleged gentleman you have in mind, then the first dance would truly be a public declaration.

“Have you been invited?” Mr. Han asks, though it seems as if he already knows the answer.

“Yes. What about you?”

“No.”

As far as he can tell, there are no flaws with the hat, so he puts his tools away. “You seem content with that,” he remarks as he rummages around in his cabinets for an empty hatbox.

“Of course! I will only miss the food, so do filch some for me. I did it at Miss Shin’s.”

Felix makes a noise in acknowledgment. The gears in his head are working overtime as he plots out what your debut will be like. You and him, in each other’s arms, in front of everyone. What will they say? What will he do afterwards?

The sound of a ringing bell interrupts his thoughts, and in flies Miss Choi, another member of Miss Shin’s court and a friend of yours.

“Is it ready? Please tell me it is! I have been waiting all day for it!” she says, breathless from her bursting in. She spies it sitting on the counter and immediately sets it on her head. “It’s lovely! And not heavy at all.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Choi,” the two men chorus.

“Oh, yes. Good afternoon. I didn’t know you two knew each other this well,” she distractedly says. She turns to Felix, her hand reaching for her reticule. “I paid for this already, right?”

He nods. “Last week.”

“Perfect. Oh, goodness” — she glances at the wall-mounted clock behind Felix — “Y/N will be cross with me for being late. I will see you at the ball then, Mr. Lee. Thank you again. Goodbye!”

She leaves in the same frenzied manner as she came, and her worn out chaperone hurries after her.

“That was a confirmation if I ever heard one. She must know the details.”

“That was nothing.” Yet he desperately hopes that it was something.

“You keep pretending that as if no one knows of you and Miss L/N’s relationship. Everyone knows she fancies you, and you her, so there is no need to keep putting up this act.” Mr. Han sighs and crumples up his paper napkin. “I ought to get back to work now. Thank you for the tea.”

“Thank you for the company. Good day, Mr. Han.”

Mr. Han stands up from his seat, throwing his coat back, and heads for the door. “Good day. Do not forget about the food.”

Felix rolls his eyes, but a small smile forces its way onto his face anyway. “I won’t.”

Possibly the most important day of Felix’s day has arrived. He adjusts his cuffs, his cravat, his shirt — everything really — mindlessly as he waits for the time to tick down. He is restless. His usually nimble fingers turn clumsy when he tries to work on a hat for a client, and he cannot focus on anything. He has not seen you since you dropped off the invitation all those days ago. Your chaperone came to pick up your headdress, and she gave him a cool onceover before advising that he come to the ball a tad earlier.

As such, he locks up his shop two hours before the starting time and makes the walk to the banquet hall where your debut is being held. He could have rented a carriage like Mr. Han did for that seemingly long ago ball, but the hall is not too far away. Being dressed in finery, he receives curious looks from passersby and more batting eyelashes from young girls than he likes.

By the time he arrives at the hall, dusk is darkening into night. The gas lamps on the streets have lit up. He is a little more than half an hour early, which is hopefully sufficient for whatever reason why he was suggested to do so. There are no signs of guests, and stricken by the fact that he has no idea what to do, Felix idles around the entrance. He cannot just barge in; that would be rude. He incessantly checks his pocket watch for the time, wishing that someone would come and save him for this predicament.

Fortunately, his wishes are soon answered. The main doors open, and out steps you in all of your radiance. Your eyes meet his, and all he can do is gaze at you.

Your dress is reminiscent of what you wore at Miss Shin’s debut: a green evening gown dotted with tiny pink blossoms, and gold trim around the shoulders that complements the gilded butterflies that swarm around your head. Green and gold appear to be your signature colors, and you wear them well. Even the lighting seems to be in your favor; warm light spills behind you, highlighting the wisps of your hair.

“Oh, Mr. Lee! I was just coming out to see if you were here yet. Fei said she told you to come early.”

He thickly swallows before greeting, “Good evening, Miss L/N. You look… stunning.”

“Thank you. You look very handsome yourself. Do come in. I have something to discuss with you.”

He follows you to the main hall where the ball is to be held. The entire room is decorated like a greenhouse with vines tumbling down the walls and perfumed flowers on every surface. It is bright inside, as if the banquet hall has been bathed in sunlight. Stationary butterflies hang down from the ceiling, while steel dragonflies are strung like lights across the room. Your court members and some chaperones linger around the refreshment table, no doubt taste testing the morsels you have decided upon. Felix spots a tray of small tea cakes in the shape of leaves and makes a mental note to take a few for Mr. Han.

Upon seeing the two of you walking nearby each other, Miss Wang, your usual chaperone, lets out a theatrical gasp. “Miss L/N! Why did you not ask me to accompany you? You should know better. And on this day as well!”

“Miss Wang, no one is fooled by you. Besides, if it were to be on any day, today is the best choice,” interjects Miss Ryujin Shin, who holds a cup of punch in her hand. “After all, this is the gentleman she desires to court anyway.”

The other chaperones do not seem shocked by this revelation, presumably because they all knew already. Miss Choi and Miss Yuna Shin even clink their glasses against Miss Ryujin Shin’s in a mock toast.

“Ryujin’s right,” you agree. You turn your attention to Felix, and the room goes quiet. “I thought it would be best to ask you in person, and I know I don’t give you much time to think about it, but will you be my partner for the first dance? I meant to ask you the last time I visited, but there were a few things that had to be sorted out before I could.”

The orchestra begins rehearsing then, and the triumphant music perfectly matches how he feels. “I would be honored.”

The ball begins precisely at the hour, but guests begin allowing themselves inside a few minutes before. While you flitter about, greeting guests of importance and smiling at compliments, Felix mills around the sidelines in anticipation of the dance. He recognizes some of his customers, a couple of which say hello and show off the hats and headdresses he has designed for them. He politely engages in conversation with them before looking back at you. He does not know when the dance will begin, and he wants to be prepared for the moment.

Once he is alone again, you approach him with a secretive smile. “Are you ready?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“Of course. Let the ball begin.”

He holds out his hand for you, and you lead him to the center of the dance floor. The crowd takes note of this, and their chatter dies down to murmurs. Felix overhears some of the whispers, most of which are confused questions of who exactly he is, where Lord Kim is, and why you have selected him of all people. They take in his second-rate coat and the way you gaze at him in wonder. It has to be a jest, someone nearby mumbles.

However, you are unfazed by it all. You look over to the orchestra and give them a slight nod. They stop their light, airy opening number and begin a waltz piece. The butterfly wings of your headdress beat at the same tempo, and he suppresses a chuckle at the sight.

This time, Felix holds you at a respectable distance away, not wanting to exacerbate the growing rumors. More couples join in on the floor, but most of the attention is focused on the two of you.

“Everyone is watching,” he whispers as he twirls you around.

“I am the debutante,” you reply. “And it is only natural people stare at such a handsome gentleman.”

You flirt even more shamelessly than before, not even bothering to hide your flattery behind sly words. He has still not gotten used to it, which means his burning red ears are on display for everyone. Still, he smiles. “You will be alright with this when we court?”

“Of course. Will you?”

“Of course,” he repeats. “And will you be alright with your beau being more attractive than you?”

He has never teased you before, and you laugh at his overly serious demeanor as he says it. “Mr. Lee! Well, how could I be upset with having such a striking beau, especially one with charms like yours.”

He twirls you around again and pulls you a fraction closer. “I suppose this is as good as a time as any to ask: will you, Miss L/N, allow me to court you officially?”

You completely close the gap, earning several gasps from onlookers and Felix himself as your chest presses against his. With a wide grin on your face, you say, “Mr. Lee, I will.”

It is all anyone can talk about the following day: Miss Y/N L/N of a wealthy, upper class family is set to be courted by Mr. Felix Lee, the popular mechanical hatmaker. Through the shop window, Felix can see passersby trying to get a glimpse of him inside as he works. He has to close his store for the day because of the sheer amount of people visiting and treating him like an animal at an aquarium.

By the time the sun sets, less and less people pass by. By the time the gas lamps light up the street, your carriage drives up the street and stops in front of the store. You step out in a cornflower blue gown and knock on the door. Felix has been ready for you for hours now.

“Hello, Mr. Lee,” you greet. Your excitement is palpable as you say, “Shall we go on our first walk together?”

“Good evening, Miss L/N. And to you as well, Miss Wang.”

Your chaperone follows behind the two of you, ensuring that the two of you — well, mostly you — will be proper.

“Where shall we go? Around the block for tonight?” he suggests.

“My dear Mr. Lee, I will go anywhere you wish.”

Miss Wang halfheartedly reprimands you for the term of endearment, but Felix does not mind. You share a glance with him, and he already knows you will be calling him ‘dear’ until the end of time.

He could get used to that.

~ ad.gray

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

Magic as Always

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 71: Magic of Ordinary Days AU: 1940s, Katniss is a single pregnant girl. Desperate for her daughter not to have a child out of wedlock, Mrs Everdeen contacts a priest who in turn knows a young man who just may be willing to help. Sweet, kind and shy Peeta stayed home to take care of the family farm when his beloved brother went to war to never come back. He’s always wanted a family but rural small town life gives little chance to court. He hears of Katniss’ plight and graciously offers to marry her and raise the child as his own. He does everything he can think of to make a home for Katniss and the baby. How does Katniss take it? How does their relationship develop? Will they fall in love? [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: this chapter is rated Teens and Up

Tags: Historical!AU; WWII; 1940’s Era views on marriage, sexism, pregnancy, etc; Katniss/Marvel relationship; Non-graphic Unprotected Sex; Unplanned Pregnancy; Arrange Marriage; Miscellaneous Religious views; Grief/Mourning; Canon Characters Death; OOC!Mrs.Everdeen; Somewhat OOC!Katniss; Everlark is Endgame; Other tags to be added.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this prompt. I must confess, I’ve never seen the movie ‘The Magic of Ordinary Days’ or read the book the movie is based on. I did a quick skimming on the plot of the movie and then dug up all kinds of reviews on the book, most of my plot points come from a combination of movie and book (which apparently differ only in a few parts), besides what the prompter asked for. I just really loved this prompt, and see the potential of this story, which will be a few chapters long, cross posted to AO3 and I already have a good chunk written ;) The rating will be adjusted too, because there will be explicit Everlark smut in the following chapters. Anon, I hope I don’t disappoint you, this story will be only loosely based on the source material, and adapted to fit THG characters in the narrative, I will try to stick to the main plot points as much as I can, but I’m also taking several liberties with the story. I hope you still like it though.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Prim died on a Tuesday, after a very long, strenuous battle with poliomyelitis. My sweet little sister’s face looked as fresh as a dew drop even in death.

“Come now, Katniss,” my mother calls from the open door of the mortuary hall, where visitation took place an hour ago.

The mortician has arranged for the coffin to be taken to the cemetery and put in the ground this afternoon. There will be no graveside mourning. It’s all we could pay for, but then again the war has left everyone penniless nowadays.

A big, rotund man comes to close the coffin, and offers a curt nod.

That’s it then. The very last time I’ll ever set eyes on Primrose’s sweet face.

“Katniss,” Mother whispers, insistently. It’s probably all she can muster before breaking down in tears.

I look on at the box my sister’s body lies in, numb and heartsick. I bring my 3 middle fingers to my lips and then rise them in the air. My last salute to my beloved Little Duck. I step away from the coffin and shuffle towards mother.

Up close, I can see the deep, dark bruises under my mother’s eyes. She used to be beautiful in her youth— according to friends and old photographs— but now she just looks tired and defeated. I guess having to bury first her husband and then her 15 year old daughter, in less than a year, would have that effect on anyone.

Prim would’ve looked like our mother, with their soft blonde locks, almond shaped blue eyes and alabaster skin. She had a softer spirit though, she enjoyed music and loved animals. She always said that if she was older, she would’ve joined the Red Cross and signed up to serve as a nurse to our boys in the Pacific, like Father did… Father wasn’t a nurse though, he was a chaplain.

It’s funny to think that I inherited so much of my father, like my dark hair, gray eyes and olive skin. We both also share the same aversion to human pain and blood that moves my mother and Prim to action; but unlike Prim, my father’s calling to help the soldiers in their worst situations, passed me and went directly to my baby sister.

I sigh… Prim would’ve made a terrific army nurse, if only she hadn’t wasted in bed with that odious disease! If she had been given the chance to live, I’m sure Prim would’ve had so many boys trailing after her. She would marry at some point and have a beautiful full life.

I don’t plan on marrying and having a family. If the acute pain in my own chest wasn’t enough warning, watching my mother walk silently from the funeral home to our apartment, with her head bowed and listening to her quiet sobs at night would be enough evidence that there’s too much sorrow in losing one’s husband and children.

I think my efforts will be better spent in cultivating my mind, and getting my degree in botany, like my father always dreamed, anyway… plus, I’m not much of a looker… not like Prim at any rate.

We finally arrived at our modest home. Mother drifts ghost-like into the door, and then we both shuffle quietly into our separate bedrooms. There won’t be a meal at the table tonight, but I make sure Prim’s old tomcat gets fed and watered, and after he meows in distress at my sister’s door, I open mine, and let him strut inside my bedroom and hop into my bed. The hideous fur ball and I distrust each other, but he understands his mistress is never coming back, and he’s the last thing I have from her… so he lets me pet him and he cuddles close to my chest as I fall asleep, crying.

——————————-

Mother and I walk slowly through the busy streets of town, mostly ignoring the bustle and disarray around us. People shout, cars honk horns, a baby cries in the distance, and the few young men rush back and forth in the busy sidewalks, like they’re being lashed by invisible whips.

“We should stop by the grocer and see if we can pick up some eggs.” Says my mother, pulling her “Sugar Book” out of her handbag.

Because of the war, everything is being rationed, from sugar to shoes.

I could care less about food and clothing, though. But I still go into the shop, dutifully.

I’m so immersed in my own thoughts, I don’t see the lanky man walking towards me with his arms full of vittles.

We collide. The man’s groceries fly up in every direction, raining over me, as I sit on my rump on the floor.

My mother is nowhere to be seen. Typical.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there!” Says the man, pulling a packet of oatmeal from the floor, while extending his other hand to help me up.

“No… it’s alright, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Well, let’s agree that we’re both klutzes, and leave it at that?” The man offers.

I’m on my feet, dusting my skirt off and righting my blouse, “Sure, let’s do that.” I scowl at the skew state of my clothes and finally look up at the man.

He’s smiling down at me, and I must admit, his smile is dazzling. He’s got short brown hair, greenish-brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles over his nose. He also towers above me.

“My stars! If it isn’t Katniss Everdeen!” The young man says, unexpectedly excited.

I blink owlishly at him, and try to place his face, but I’m horrible at remembering people. Or their names.

“Marvel Quaid,” he offers genially, unfazed by my lack of response, “we went to grade school together?” He prompts, “My pa used to sell luxury goods in District One?”

“Oh, I think it’s coming back now,” I say smiling for the first time in what feels like months. “You used to throw sticks, pretending they were spears or something,” I tell him, showing that indeed, I do remember him.

Marvel scrunches his nose, “Javelins, actually. I was pretending I threw javelins. I saw a fellow doing it for the Olympics in a film, and then he won a medal for it. I thought to myself that making a victory lap with the good old American flag flapping after oneself looked like fun; well, I wanted to be a victor too!” He chuckles, then deflates. “But as everything, those dreams are gone now, crushed to dust under the weight of the war.”

As is the norm, once the war gets brought up, gloominess settles on, dampening the cheeriest of spirits.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m all too familiar with the sentiment.”

Marvel nods, grimly.

“We lost Father in France.” I’m not sure why I said it. “We put my sister in the ground last week, too.” I avert my eyes.

“Aww, geez, Kit… that’s truly awful. I’m so sorry for your loss,”

I’m mildly surprised I don’t immediately recoil at his little pet name. I guess the fact that he doesn’t sound condescending while delivering his condolences, helps.

“Oh, well, as my father would’ve said, at least their toils in this world are over. They can finally rest in peace.”

After a moment of heavy silence, Marvel shares, “I’m being shipped out tomorrow morning.”

I scowl, “Oh,” I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how he’d manage to evade the draft for this long? Marvel is my age, 19 going on 20… boys get sent to the front lines at 18. “I… I could write to you… if you wanted?” I offer shyly.

Isn’t that what young women are being told to do, in order to keep our boys’ morale from plummeting?

Marvel grins, showing slightly crooked teeth, “That would be swell, Kit!” He stares at me for a long moment, then sighs, “I should go back to my shopping, before they miss me at home. Lord knows when will I have the chance of doing something as mundane as picking up my mother’s weekly grocery allowance.”

These days it is not only uncommon seeing men doing grocery runs, but simply seeing young, able-body men around, period. All of our boys are either in Europe or the Pacific, fighting to keep the devastation of the World war from reaching our shores.

“Well, for what is worth, I hope you get to return home safely… you know, so you can do all the boring tasks your mother tells you to do. And when I say safe, I mean, I hope you don’t run anymore into spaced out girls, like me,” I smirk.

“Oh, Kit, if only you knew how much I’ve enjoyed our accidental skirmish. It’s like a gift from above, seeing you after all these years. Your smile and the color of your eyes will forever be branded in my mind, to give me a reason to fight. To have a dream,”

I’m momentarily floored by Marvel’s florid little speech. Nobody has ever said anything nearly as sweet and gallant as that to me, and for a moment, I forget all about my dead sister and father, the war, and my own sorrow.

I avert my eyes, bashfully, as he finishes picking up his vittles off the floor.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I lean over to pick up a can of milk, and put it on top of his pile.

“I only speak the truth,” he smiles brightly.

My mother chooses to interrupt at the exact moment I bat my lashes at him, “Katniss, there you are! I’ve been waiting for you by the counter.” She shakes her head.

Marvel wobbles on his feet, rearranging his load, and then greets my mother, warmly, “Mrs. Everdeen, how nice to see you again,”

My mother eyes him, unimpressed. “Good afternoon, young man,” she answers.

“Ma’am… pardon my forwardness, but, would it be too troublesome to ask Miss Katniss to accompany a soldier about to be shipped out, to supper in the town?”

My mother narrows her eyes, distrust dripping from her voice as she speaks, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. My daughter and I are in mourning, you see,”

“Oh, this won’t be an untoward celebration of any kind, ma’am. With the war raging on, we’re all in mourning. All I ask for is one last night of normalcy, a chance to reconnect with an old grade-school mate,” he smiles, hopefully, “For old times sake?”

I’m watching my mother’s face closely, with bated breath.

“Very well,” Mother sighs, “You may ask Katniss out to dinner. But have her home by 9 sharp!”

I don’t hesitate to step up and give him directions to my apartment building in District 12.

I spend the rest of my day giddy and nervous, pressing my best Sunday suit, the gray one with the matching jacket, and polishing my only pair of leather shoes. There isn’t much I can do about my hair… the thing can’t be fashioned into the favored waves, not even putting it in curlers overnight, so I let it be.

I briefly wonder if this was all Prim’s doing? Meeting Marvel and mother’s somewhat easy aquiciscent. Prim hated seeing me sad, and constantly talked about how she’d love to help me get ready for dates with a beau. She couldn’t wait to be of courting age and date a strapping, young man herself… but of course, that would never happen for her, but she would probably still want to see me have those things.

Maybe Marvel is right, and our serendipitous encounter is a gift from above, to heal our wounds… at least for the night.

————————-

Marvel arrives at my house in his father’s car at 5:45. Riding is now such a luxury, with gasoline being rationed and all. He takes me to a quaint little dinner in the middle of town. We share malts, a greasy burger, and a small portion of fries and onion rings.

We talk about baseball:

“You’d look good in a baseball uniform, Kit! Can you still run as fast as you did in school?”

I laugh. “I’m not much for sports,” I demure, “but I’ve heard playing in one of the new teams pays alright. Anyway, I’m gonna be starting my second year of college soon. I put my studies on hold while Prim was at her worst, but now that it’s only just me and mother… I’m anxious to go back to study.”

“Wow, beautiful and smart!”

We talk about cars:

“I loved driving… but Mother sold our car when my sister took a turn for the worse. She didn’t want to at first, saying that Father saved up to buy it, and it held sentimental value to her, but I had to push to sell it. We needed the money and gas was a nightmare to come by, anyway,”

“The only reason we still have ours,” says Marvel, “is because Pa is too stubborn to let go of the things that still made him feel wealthy.” He scowls, “He’s trying to get into the ice business now, since it’s pretty much the only thing one where the raw material is plenty and relatively cheap, and there’s guarantee that people will buy the product… everyone still needs ice for their ice boxes, right?”

No one can afford luxuries anymore with every penny going out to support our boys in the battlefields.

We talk about many other subjects: his sister’s wedding; my father’s unit getting pinned and killed by Germans… We didn’t get a body to bury, but I got a medal on his behalf as his eldest child.

Marvel lets me sniffle against his chest, and then kisses my lips slowly.

I’ve never been kissed on the lips, and I feel my face heat up.

“Would you… like to take a drive with me, Kit?”

We drive all the way to the city limit. It’s exhilarating to be in a car again, and sitting at the overlook, at twilight, alone with a handsome boy, feels positively forbidden!

I’ve never done anything remotely injudicious all my life, and this whole moment feels… magical… exciting!

Tentatively, I initiated our next kiss, but he takes over in a rush of caresses and flitting touches.

“Beautiful, graceful, Kit. You have no match!”

“Marvel…” I kiss him again, not knowing how to answer his sentiments with words.

His hands are restless, groping my shoulders and elbows. “I wished he had more time! I would’ve loved to marry you before departing. I would’ve show you so much passion and love!”

“You still can show me, Marvel… you absolutely can!”

It’s all the permission he needs to dive into a frenzy. He doesn’t stop until the deed is done, and we’re a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs in the back seat of the car, only partially clothed.

A deep feeling of lethargy pours over me. My muscles are sore and heavy, and wished I could fall asleep in here.

“I intend on coming back to marry you, Katniss,” Marvel says, stretching his lanky, long legs to zip up his pants.

I sit up and start finger-combing my ruined hair, hoping my mother won’t notice the strands are extra frizzy. “Um… I guess we should after this,” I say shyly, gesturing between us.

“You could still go to college while I’m away,” he offers with magnanimity.

“You… wouldn’t mind that?” I ask incredulous, college women are so rare, unless they’re trying to become nurses or teachers. Most girls start courting right after high school and get married in the span of one to two years, and their husbands don’t normally encourage an education beyond what their wives came into the marriage with; so to hear Marvel say that wouldn’t mi d me stay in college is just about the greatest thing possible!

“My darling, Kit, I don’t want you to be one of those girls pining and wasting away for her beau. I’ll be busy at war, it’ll be unfair to keep you from occupying your own time while you wait fir my return. Go to college, my clever girl!”

I smile indulgently at him, leaning closer to slip his necktie around the collar of his shirt, “You are truly a generous, loving man,” I say.

Marvel beams, circling my waist with his arms pulling me against his body. “It’s all inspired by you, sugar plum!”

I giggle, kissing his cheek, “I’ll write to you every day!” I promise.

“That’s nice… but just so you know, I might not be able to write back right away. It’ll be a while before I get settled enough to write. But you’ll be in my thoughts every minute of every day, and that’s the honest truth! I’m serious about marrying you when I return, Kit,” he kisses me again. And then, he looks at his watch, sighing. “It’s 8:32. We should get on going, gotta keep in my future mother-in-law’s good graces!”

We share a carefree laugh, and finish tidying ourselves up to drive back to my house.

He walks me to the door, takes me in his arms, and kisses me passionately before promising he’d be back to officially ask for my hand in marriage, and for my part, I swear I’ll write to him every day until he returns home safe and sound.

But neither of us keeps our promises in the end, although I tried.

————————-

Three weeks go by and I keep my word of writing daily letters. I receive no word in return from Marvel, but think nothing of it… Europe is far and traveling by sea is tedious and time consuming; Marvel will get in touch once he’s settled down.

Another week goes by, still without news from my would-be fiancé. I still don’t worry. I’ve been busy with university, and the few other girls attending school with me keep me busy, but my heavier workload is starting to get to me.

I’m usually so tired and moody after school that socializing with my classmates becomes a chore. I barely eat supper before I’m passing out in bed, and my letters to Marvel start to get shorter and simpler with every passing day.

I skip writing one afternoon altogether, and take a long nap. Buttercup— Prim’s ugly cat— perches on my bed like a sentinel to watch me sleep. I believe he’s worried about me… stupid, clingy cat thinks I’m sick.

But the feline’s intuition proves right, because just two days later, I shoot out of bed and run into the washroom to spill every last ounce of last night supper into the toilet. I must’ve caught a bug or something!

I feel queasy and lightheaded every morning after. My appetite wanes and it seems my delicate stomach can only tolerate pears, and broth.

I visit the post office to place out my letters to Marvel almost everyday; Every time I come, the nice old mailman comments on how sweet it is to see all the young-uns holding romance strong. Marvel has yet to respond to one of my letters, so I just smile tightly and demure.

I’ve been thinking though; the longer I go without news of my supposed future husband, and despite the whirlwind night of romance with him, I start questioning my actions, my promises. I never wanted to marry before, and suddenly I was okay getting a hasty, unofficial engagement with a virtual stranger, I barely remember from grade school… maybe it’s better if Marvel never writes.

My plans on earning a college degree and finding a well paying job will go unencumbered— I’m aware women in prominent working professions are as rare as snow in July, but women’s presence in the working forces keep growing as industries need laborers to keep up producing while the men fight in the war. Educated women are almost becoming less rare.

At the two month mark since I last saw Marvel, I become weepier than usual… is to be expected in my opinion; Prim’s been gone for a little over two months and she was the only person I knew I loved. But now I’m worrying about my health on top of everything.

One morning, while I’m kneeling on the cold, hard floor in front of the toilet, feeling miserable and tired, my mother calls my name from the open door.

“Katniss, I think it’s time to get a test.” She states evenly, and then enters the room to fetch a damp washcloth to wipe my face clean. “I hope I’m wrong, but I’m afraid you may be with child,” she sighs.

I squirm. “No,” I gasp. “I— I can’t be with child. I just can’t!” But the thought has crossed my mind a few times already. “It’s not supposed to be this way!”

“I know, child,” My mother pats my head, “there’s only one way to know. Get dressed for the day, I will call the most discreet physician I know, and have him pay us a visit.”

————————-

Doctor Aurelius— a physician my mother has helped deliver babies and treat maladies with— confirms the pregnancy with a grim face.

I sit at my kitchen table numb and despondent. My mother writes a check to the doctor for his services, while talking in no so hush tones in the other room. I listen to their whole conversation, as if submerged in water.

“I blame myself for this, doctor. I should have kept a closer eye on her,”

“Don’t blame yourself Ms. Everdeen, it’s that war business bringing out all sorts of evil into the world! It’s unfortunate the rise of these cases in our community. Young ladies— from good families!— engaging in acts ought to be saved for marriage. Youth do things without thinking, guided by fear. Our boys fear they may not return from that senseless, awful war, and settle down properly, and I don’t blame them one little bit.”

“The only solace I have right now, is that my poor husband is not here to see the shame that’s fallen over our family,”

“I understand the sentiment, ma’am. There’s no telling how Preacher Everdeen would’ve taken this blow. But I’m sure things will work out as soon as young Katniss hears from the father…”

I dissolve into silent tears then. My mother escorts the doctor to the door and then there’s silence.

My pinky finger curls into the soft fabric of the table cloth, and I try to ignore the urge to vomit boiling in my stomach. There’s one thought circling mi mind: my college days are over.

——————————-

“Ah! Miss Everdeen, I have something for you.” Says the mailman as soon as I reach the desk. He smiles, but rather sadly, like he’s about to give me bad news.

I’ve come to the post office with urgent letters every day for 6 days, and he’s never looked at me this way.

The old man digs around for a moment and almost reluctantly, passes a parcel tied up in twine. An envelope is attached to the top of the parcel, and with a sinking feeling, I realized it’s a stack of my own letters.

“It came in today, miss.” Says the man, voice laced with pity. “Sorry for your loss.” He says.

At first I don’t understand what he could possibly mean by that; he’s offered his sympathies fir my dead father and sister already; it makes absolutely no sense to repeat himself randomly after so long.

Then it hits me like a ton of bricks.

I gasp, and press the parcel to my chest. “Oh no! Marvel!” I whisper. I give the man a hasty wave, thanking him, and rush out of the post office like mad.

Tears run down my cheeks, while I dash home, imagining the worst. “Poor, Marvel!” Is all I can think.

“Katniss, what’s wrong?” My mother calls, alarmed, when I rush to my bedroom, sobbing. She follows me in, and watches me tear into the envelope at the top of the stack.

I frown in confusion when I’m met with handwritten, chicken-scratch scrawl, instead of a formal missive typed in official US military stationary.

My scowl deepens as my eyes rove over the flowery vocabulary, and then I screech, “What?!”

“Katniss, what’s going on?”

I ignore my mother when she approaches to read over my shoulder; I step around her, shaking the piece of paper in my hands and stand by the window, as if sunlight will make the words change their meaning.

I smooth the creases and folds on the page over, and read out loud, “Dearest Kit, sorry it took so long to write, it’s been a wild time since we arrived and finding time to correspond with everyone back home it’s been hard.

“At times, your letters have been the sole source of light and hope in the darkness of this conflict. Is for that reason, and with a heavy heart, that I must come clean to you now. I truly meant it when I swore to come back and make you my wife, but as the Good Book says, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and love has sprouted out the most unlikely place! Kit, I’ve fallen in love and married a lovely gal here in England…”

I stop reading. He goes on talking about the why and how, but I sincerely don’t care.

“That good for nothing, virtue dasher, future crushing… liar!” My mother bleats to the ceiling, raising her palms over her head, dramatically.

I’m angry too, of course. I feel used and disposed of like a dirty rag, but my mother’s reaction is borderline hilarious. Except, it isn’t.

I’m pregnant, unmarried, and soon— once my still flat stomach starts rounding— I’ll be socially ostracized for my condition. My only saving grace was the promise of marriage that bastard Marvel had given me. But that’s gone now.

“I knew that boy was bad news the second I laid eyes on him! He never even introduced himself to me, the little weasel! This is my fault. My fault! I should’ve never allowed you to run amok with the likes of him…”

“Mother, will you please?” I nearly growl, gesturing at the open bedroom door.

She stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, before pursing her lips in disapproval, and stalking out of the room muttering her aggravation under her breath.

I sink into my bed with Marvel’s stupid letter crumpling in my fist. A single, hot, angry tear rolls down my face, and for the first time since finding out of its existence, I hug my midsection and address my child, “I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess. I know you didn’t ask for a mother like me, but I’m all you got now, little one. I promise we will be alright… I’ll try not to let you down.”

———————-

My mother has been unbearable for the last two days. She cries in her room worse than when Prim died, and when she sees me, she starts lamenting my poor choice, like I’m not even standing there… as if I don’t feel discouraged enough.

I keep myself busy with my education. I will need to earn this diploma now more than ever before, and I need to do as much as I can before the baby arrives and my studies get put on hold.

In the meantime, I scout the newspapers for possible work options to sustain me and my mother. Our savings keep diminishing and the small stipend my mother got from the Army since my father passed away is becoming more insufficient by the day.

There’s a knock on the front door, and I push out my chair unhappy by the interruption.

“Afternoon Miss Katniss! Would you let your mother know she’s got a telephone call down in the lobby?” Says the building’s doorkeeper.

“Of course, thank you. She’ll be right down!”

Telephones are yet another luxury we had to give up when moved to this small place after losing my father.

I go back to my job hunt, and my mother descends to the lobby, quickly.

She returns after only 10 minutes, almost running through the door, excitedly calling my name. Tears wet her face, but her smile is so blinding, even without knowing what sort of news she’s heard to cause her such joy, I stand from the table with nervous anticipation.

“Oh, Katniss! Katniss my dear daughter, you’re saved!” She exclaims, hugging me tightly.

I’m confused. I step away from her embrace, “What do you mean?”

“It’s the best thing possible ever, I tell you! The Lord has answered all of my prayers!”

“This is all so exciting and all, mother, but… could you please share this great news already?”

My mother cups my face in her hands, and beams at me, “You need to pack your things, darling! Your father’s good friend, Reverend Undersee, has found a husband, and you are to wed, in three days time!”

—————————

Reverend Undersee and his daughter, Madge, meet me and my mother at the rinky dink bus station, in the equally tiny town my mother has banished me to.

“Katniss! How long has it been?” Says Madge, hugging me enthusiastically.

I bite my tongue to keep the acidic retort of “not long enough!” to leave my mouth.

“Welcome to Panem,” says the reverend, soberly, shaking my mother’s hand in greeting.

“Thank you, revered. We appreciate your hospitality and your understanding,” my mother responds, then gives me a pointed look and a wordless command.

I nod and mutter, “Thank you, sir. Madge,”

I scowl at a crack in the pavement, not feeling an iota of gratefulness for this charade!

Any man agreeing to this questionable union has to either be desperate, or be hiding terrible, ulterior motives to go along with all of this. Nobody in their right mind would willingly marry a girl pregnant with another man’s baby, and be happy about it… unless that’s the reason!

I shudder at the thought.

But it is a very real possibility that my intended is a simpleton, who can’t find a wife otherwise… or worse! It could be a man very advanced in age, looking for a supple, young body to leech off. Gross!

My mother had been too excited about the news that a man offered to marry me (as if I asked for, or even wanted a husband!) to bother to ask his name.

Reverend Undersee coughs daintily, clears his throat, and starts, like he’s giving a lecture at the university. “It is our Christian duty to lend a helping hand to widows and orphans in their time of needs. Same way it’s our duty to keep the memory and honor of an old friend from being dragged into the mud.”

I wince at the harsh words, and let my face fall lower, if that’s even possible.

“Well, it’s a good thing that we are all recipients of the abundant grace of the Lord, which covers multitude of faults, and it’s never hard to reach,” a deep, velvety, masculine voice cuts into my embarrassment.

I lift my eyes from the ground, to find a man striding confidently in our direction. He smiles kindly at me, his eyes fixed on my own, like I’m the only person still standing in the station.

He finally cedes our staring contest, to take in the rest of the group.

A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, because I recognize him from years past when my family used to visit this town, and I’m afraid I know exactly why he’s here.

“Good afternoon, all. I apologize for my tardiness, I had a last second detail to take care of before leaving the house,” he nods in our general direction, taking his hat off; a riot of ashy blonde curls falls onto his forehead, before bending forward to shake my mother’s hand, “I’m Peeta Mellark, at your service, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, mister Mellark,” says my mother, her lips twitch tersely, “Widow Everdeen, and this here is my daughter Katniss… your bride.”

Peeta Mellark’s baby blue eyes slip back to mine, and the left side corner of lips curls into a shy, earnest smile. “Welcome to Panem, Katniss, I’ll sure do my best, so you’d like it here.”

#alliswell21 #prompt 71 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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khaleesiofalicante · 3 years

Text

START OF SOMETHING NEW

“Tavvy, on your left!”

Rafael swivelled off the tree branch, landing gracefully on the floor and quickly wiped off the dust from his coat. They were in the middle of a fight, but his Bapa had taught him that one always had to look their best - especially during a fight.

“Rafe?” his parabatai called out, grabbing another seraph blade from his boot.

Rafael’s fingers pulled on the bowstring by instinct and muscle memory. The arrow slashed through the air and landed on the Shax’s demon’s forehead - or whatever that body part was. It was always so hard to tell with demons.

“Thanks!” Tavvy clasped his shoulder. “Let’s go find the others.”

Rafael nodded and they both ran toward the garden. Mina and his brother had been separated from them during the fight. He hadn’t applied a speed rune, but he didn’t need one when it came to Max.

His dad had taught him everything about what it means to be a good shadowhunter. But the first lesson was simple - always have your family’s back. Always.

They spotted Mina as soon as they made it to the garden. Mina, who was the youngest among them but probably the boldest, was fighting off a Shax all on her own. Rafael noticed another one creeping up behind her. He raised his bow and aimed his shot.

“Not my bestie, you bitch!”

A bolt of blue magic appeared from above and Max landed on the ground, his blue curls falling over his forehead. The Shax turned into goo as Mina skilfully took care of the other one.

“10 points for Ravenclaw for that reference,” Mina high fived Max.

“Nerds,” Tavvy chuckled as the two of them ran up to them.

“Nicely done,” Rafe told the team as he checked Max for any visible wounds.

“Hermano, no!” Max shooed him away. “There is something you both should see.”

Rafe stared at Tavvy, who shrugged and followed the others. They walked into mansion..or what was left of it.

“By the angel. What the hell happened here?” Rafe gasped.

“There were too many Shax demons,” Mina explained. “Max and I had to release a fireball. A big one.”

“Max, Bapa has told you not to do the fireball unless it’s an emergency!” Rafe sighed.

“Excuse me but if battling twenty shax demons doesn’t count as an emergency then I don’t know what does!” Max argued.

“Twenty?” Tavvy echoed. “There were only five!”

“The rest of them turned up after we got separated,” Mina pointed out. “I think they were hiding in the mansion.”

“Do we have any idea who the mansion belongs to?” Rafe asked, already calculating possible damage costs. “Is it a mundane?”

“We don’t know,” Max shrugged. “Can we go now?”

“We can’t!” Rafe said. “You just blew up someone’s mansion. Protocol says we need to do something about it.”

“Protocol is the worst,” Mina and Max mumbled.

“We need back up,” Tavvy looked at him.

“Oh no,” Mina pouted. “Not back up!”

Calling for back up usually meant the mission had gone out of control - and that usually meant no more missions for a while.

“If we call for backup, then they probably won’t let us go on a mission for another three months!” Tavvy grumbled. “Remember what happened in Shanghai?”

“Let’s not,” Max winced. “I think the only reason we got away with it is because of Uncle Jem.”

“Well, we can’t call him here now,” Rafe replied. “He already helped us last time!”

“Then what are we going to do now?” Mina asked. “We need help. But we can’t let the Clave know about this. No offence, guys!”

“None taken,” Max and Rafe said at the same time.

One would think that life would be easier when your dad was the Consul. But that wasn’t the case for Max and Rafe. Their dad was extremely protective of them and would probably take them off field duty for god knows how long.

“Alright, gang!” Max said as they stood in a circle. “We need to find someone who will help us handle this quietly without getting into trouble.”

“We can call Kit,” Mina said. “You know he won’t say a word.”

“But he is in the Moscow institute with Ty,” Tavvy groaned.

“We can call Uncle Jace,” Max beamed. “He is the perfect man for the job.”

“But he is in faerie,” Mina sighed.

“Anyone else borderline concerned that both our options are Herondales?” Rafe inquired.

“We need more Herondales goddamnit!” Max swore. “What are we gonna do now?”

“Well,” Tavvy rubbed his neck. “We are in a helpless situation and need someone to save our asses. Historically, there is only one person we can rely on.”

“Nope,” Rafael said immediately.

“Already texted him,” Max grinned as he put his phone away.

A blue portal appeared in less than a minute and their Bapa stepped out, striding towards them in a hurry.

“Are you all okay?” He started checking them for wounds, even Tavvy and Mina.

“We are fine, Bapa,” Rafe smiled. “But we can’t say the same for the mansion though.”

“Yikes,” his father said eloquently as he took in their surrounding. “Well, it looks like it was badly in need for a renovation anyway.”

“Uncle Magnus,” Tavvy gulped. “Why is the portal still open?”

Rafe turned around immediately to see the portal shimmering behind them.

“Um, about that,” his Bapa fiddled with his rings. “I might have bought some backup.”

“Dios mio!” Rafael gulped.

“It’s not my fault!” Bapa put up his hands. “Max texted 911! I freaked out! Besides, he was right there when you texted me! What was I supposed to do?”

Before any of them could answer, their dad, and the mother effing Consul, stepped out of the portal.

He immediately ran towards them and scanned them with frantic eyes.

“Is everything okay?” He asked. “I was on a call with the Alliance and they can get here-”

“Bapa, we are fine!” Max reassured him. “It’s just…well.”

“Just some collateral damage, darling,” Bapa chuckled.

The Consul looked around at that and gasped. The mansion was still slowly falling apart slowly.

“Paperwork,” their dad whispered, mostly to himself. “So much paperwork.”

“Darling, it’s just a little mess.”

“Little?”

“Alec, it isn’t like we didn’t blow things up and cause a mess back then,” Bapa said - ever the support of mischief.

“I have never blown up anything in my life,” his father said indignantly.

“True,” Bapa shrugged. “But I do recall you making questionable decisions. Remember how you almost ripped apart that vampire because he insulted me?”

“Wasn’t that last week?” Mina chuckled.

“Exactly,” Bapa grinned at her. “They are still learning.”

“Magnus, I get that. But they ca-”

“Dad, I’m sorry,” Max bit his lip.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Mina said quickly. “We were outnumbered. We had to do a fireball.”

“Blueberry, I know fireballs are a cool aesthetic. But I’ve told you that strong magic must be preserved for serious situ-”

“There were twenty Shax demons, Bapa!” Max pointed out. “Mins and I got separated from the others. We couldn’t fight them all off on our own. We didn’t do it for the aesthetic. We needed to do the fireball to survive.”

The Consul, who was listening them intently, rubbed his beard. Rafe had told him to shave it off multiple times, but their Bapa apparently liked it and thus the beard stayed on.

“Twenty Shax demons isn’t normal!” He pointed out. “We need to launch an investigation.”

“Can we do it?” Max asked, already excited at the prospect.

“Max, all of you are too young-”

“We are almost the same age as you were when you battled Valentine,” Rafael pointed out defiantly.

He saw Bapa smile fondly but dad didn’t falter.

“We’ll be careful, sir,” Tavvy said in a way and that reminded Rafe so much of Julian. “We’ve been tracking the demons since last month. We can handle it.”

Alec looked at Magnus - they were clearly communicating in a way only married people could. Rafe looked at Max who just shrugged. Either of them had been able to break their parent’s secret communication code.

“Alright,” their dad finally said. “Octavian, you will lead the team. You must report to me directly. But I will be nominating one nephilim and downworlder adult to assist you in the mission. If something goes wrong next time, you must directly contact them.”

“Thanks, dad!” Max threw himself at their father. “I knew you are the best Consul.”

Their father only grinned and ruffled Max’s curls. Rafael slowly made his way to him and hugged him from the side.

“Sorry about the mess, dad,” he mumbled. “I promise I will watch out for Max next time.”

“You need to watch out for yourself too,” their dad whispered softly.

“Mr. Consul,” their Bapa said in a formal voice and their dad rolled his eyes. “I would like to volunteer as the downworlder representative for this Taskforce.”

“Hells yeah!” Max pumped his fist in the year.

“Not gonna happen,” their dad shook his dead.

“What? Why?” Their bapa pouted.

“You’re gonna sit this one out,” his father said sternly. “You have a pathological need to get involved in shadowhunter business.”

“No, I don’t!” their bapa gasped. “You’re the weirdo!”

“You will be working with Drusilla Blackthorn and Lily Chen,” their dad said. “Rafe, I need a report on today’s mission by the end of this week. Octavian, arrange a meeting with Drusilla and Lily immediately. And Max and Mina, try not to blow anything up in the meantime.”

“We have one more request,” Max raised his hand.

“We do?” Rafael questioned.

“This is clearly a serious mission,” Max said in a serious voice. “We need more manpower.”

“Maia and the others are busy with the Allia-”

“Actually, we were thinking of someone younger,” Mina pointed out.

“Someone whose last name might be Herondale,” Max grinned.

“No,” their dad whispered softly. “Not the twins.”

“It’s a dangerous mission that involves fighting demons and blowing things up. If we leave Alex and Charlotte out, we will never hear the end of it,” Rafe pointed out with a smile.

“Fine,” his father relented. “Only because they are excellent fighters and would actually be helpful.”

“In blowing things up,” their bapa chuckled softly.

“Oh oh!” Max put up his hand up excitedly again. “Can we ask George to join us too? And Becca?”

“Max, this is not a birthday party!” His father sighed. “You can’t just invite all your friends.”

Max looked Rafe with a sad face. Rafael had never really been able to say no to that.

“We get it, dad,” Rafael nodded. “So if aunt Izzy asks why we didn’t include her kids in our mission, we’ll just say you said no. Is that correct?”

Their bapa covered his mouth from laughing out loud. “They do have a valid point, Alexander.”

The Consul looked at all their faces and sighed tiredly. “Fine. But if one more person is added to this list…Magnus and I will handle the mansion. The rest of you are dismissed!”

“Dad, quick question,” Max raised his hand - again. “If we add Elyaas to the gang, does that count? Cause he is technically not a person-”

“MAX MICHAEL!!!”

A holiday gift for @crying-is-your-latest-fashion - for being pretty fucking amazing 💚

#tis a crack fic #hopefully I can write something better for you later <3 #rafael lightwood bane #max lightwood bane #mina carstairs #tavvy blackthorn #tsc snippets #my writing

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rocorambles · 3 years

Text

Reminiscent

Pairing: Daichi x Reader

Genre: SFW, 5+1, Soulmate/Reincarnation AU, Angst (there is technically a character death, BUT THERE’S AN ULTIMATELY HAPPY ENDING, I SWEAR), Fluff

Prompt: You woke me up at 3 in the morning for this?

Summary: 5 lifetimes Daichi and you just weren’t meant to be and the 1 lifetime you finally found your happy ending together.

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s SFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this spicy prompt. (Masterlist goes live December 1st!)

Tagging @sawamooora since I accidentally scarred her by making her read only the section where there was a character death without the heads up...OOPS, so I guess you can have your happy ending now~

When Daichi meets you in this first lifetime, he can’t help but notice just how different you are from him and he stares at the luxurious fabrics beautifully accentuating your figure, wishing he could wipe off the meticulously and elegantly layered on makeup and see more of your bare face, wanting more than anything to know who you are beneath the graceful and well-mannered smiles and bows you grace the court with. But when he looks down at himself and sees the memories of crimson blood splattered all over his skin and robes, hears the sound of his sword piercing flesh, remembers the way your father enthusiastically thanks him for another job well done as a flash of fear races across your eyes at the corpse of proof he drags in, it’s all too apparent just how different the worlds you live in are.

And really, that should have been it, he should have stopped himself right then and there, stopped thinking about you, stopped his gaze from trailing after you when he sees you roaming around the clan property. But his heart has different plans and here he is, a well respected samurai who works underneath your father, pining after you, a clan leader’s daughter, someone already betrothed to the son of a neighboring clan, someone much too pure and innocent for his blood soaked hands.

He smiles when he sees your posture relax, your body slouch in relief when you think no one is watching you, no pretenses and facades to keep up when it’s just you, unaware of the brown eyes watching you. He clenches his fists so hard his nails threaten to break skin when he hears your secret anguished sobs as he guards your bedroom the night after you meet your fiance for the first time and realize you’ve been doomed to a life with a man who’ll never love you, a man who doesn’t see you as anything more than a political tool. He dreams of a life where he can whisk you away, a life where there would be no consequences if the two of you ran off to live a peaceful, happy life together far far far away from the cruel and cold world of money and power you’re both entangled in.

But there are consequences and he lives with the constant shattering of his heart as he watches the light dim in your eyes as you continue courting your fiance, the cool indifferent look you wear on your face throughout your own wedding ceremony, the way you seem like just a shell of the vibrant young woman he once knew and fell in love with. And yet, he doesn’t do a thing, remaining faithfully by your father’s side and serving your clan for the remainder of his days.

II.

Something jolts inside of Daichi when he sees you in the second lifetime and he can’t help but feel like there’s something familiar about you, something nostalgic about the situation you’re both in as you humbly bow before helping him dress and get ready for the busy day of meetings he has. And you watch in awe as you dutifully trail after him, making sure all his needs are attended to, amazed by just how hardworking, intelligent, and kind the young lord is, so different than the stories you had heard of royals. Not once does he ever treat you as anything less than an equal, not once does he ever lay an unwanted gaze on you, let alone a finger and you find yourself jumping to please him and aid him out of something more than just a sense of responsibility as your heart flutters from just his presence.

You feel honored by how much he entrusts you with when it’s just the two of you in his room and you patiently listen when he throws his disciplined manners out the window, grumbling and ranting about the power-hungry ploys of his fellow royals, the way greed and privilege have corrupted them, how he can’t trust anyone anymore. But when he wonders if he needs to change, to adapt in order to thrive, you surprise the both of you with your vehement outburst as you blather on about how he’s perfect the way he is. And then there’s silence as the two of you look away, both your faces heating up at the hidden message in your words, a message so incredibly inappropriate considering both your positions and the time you live in. But before you can open your mouth and stutter out an apology, you freeze at the warm smile Daichi sends your way, heart racing at the heartfelt, but quiet thank you he utters in response.

Of course nothing happens after that. This is real life after all and Daichi is far too respectful of his family and their reputation, far too noble to smear his clan’s name with taboo affairs, far too kind to hurt his future bride despite the fact that he’s never even met her yet, doesn’t know the first thing about her other than her name, to pursue something just for his own pleasure, his own satisfaction, something that could potentially harm so many others. And you understand. After all, these are the reasons you fell in love with him, and you’re just happy to be able to remain by his side for the rest of your days despite the lancing pain in your chest every time you see him with his wife, with his future children, living a life where you just exist on the sidelines, watching and longing for something you know you’ll never have.

III.

In the third lifetime Daichi meets you in, he can’t understand the regrets of a missed opportunity he feels when you introduce yourself to him, welcoming him to the neighborhood with a basket of freshly baked goods. He knows he should smile, graciously accept your kind (and delicious smelling) gifts and he does, but as he bites into the still warm cookies after you leave, the image of the gold wedding band around your finger is branded in his mind.

In a small rural community like yours, you’re bound to run into each other, especially since your farms are right next to each other and he thinks you look ethereal each morning with the sun rising behind you, a soft golden glow framing you as you gather eggs, milk the cows, and water the crops. But there’s a sense of bitterness he can’t explain when your husband joins you, a hulking stoic figure besides you as he helps you on the fields, and he turns his back on the two of you to tend to his own chores.

There’s nothing “wrong” with your spouse, nothing Daichi can truly fault him for and if he’s honest, if Ushijima wasn’t your husband, he’d have only respect and admiration for the man. He certainly can’t complain about how he treats you and something bittersweet churns inside of him when he sees Ushijima’s usually stern face soften whenever you’re around, when he sees the way Ushijima’s broad shoulders relax whenever you affectionately hold his hand. And although he internally chides himself at night in private when he dreams of what it would be like to be in Ushijima’s shoes, he can’t help but feel relieved, glad that you’ve found someone who loves and treats you well.

But he laughs the silly thought away. Of course you had found someone who loved you. Why wouldn’t you have? And yet that night he dreams of your face, dressed in a beautiful silk robe better suited for the historicals eras of Japan, seated next to someone he somehow knows is your husband, but there’s only loneliness in your eyes and he wakes up with tears in his eyes, unsure why he’s crying, why he’s hoping you never feel alone ever again.

IV.

Daichi should be scared of you when he meets you in the fourth lifetime, but although he’s certainly wary of you, staring at you with his beady eyes from the branches high above your head, he can’t help the curiosity he feels when he sees your small furry body try to leap and paw at him despite how far the distance between the two of you is. And despite all his natural instincts, he feels himself relaxing, cawing teasingly at you as you tire yourself out, fluttering down a few branches closer to you when you give up and just sprawl out on the floor, tail flickering back and forth in interest as you watch him draw nearer. But before he can get any closer, he hears a human voice calling for you and the two of you lock eyes before you rush back to your owner and even after your body squeezes through the little cat door that had been built in the front door, he can’t help but watch your home closely, wondering if he’ll see you again.

To his delight he does see you again, every single day as a matter of fact. On sunny days, he spreads out his wings and swoops down to meet you when you lazily curl up at the base of his tree and sometimes the two of you just lay there together, basking in the warmth of the beautiful day, sometimes the two of you take a stroll together, you trotting down the sidewalk as he flits from tree to tree beside you. He’s learned that rain and water in general don’t sit well with you and on gloomier days he glides over to the outside of your favorite window, peering through the glass and cawing warmly when you jump up and curl up on the windowsill, his beak and your nose pressing against the glass across from each other.

But time is limited, especially for a crow like himself, and as you grow bigger and stronger, he begins to lose his appetite, begins to struggle flying for as long or as well as he used to. And although neither of you can speak to each other, there’s an intuitive understanding as you tone down your playing and spend his last remaining days just laying side by side, his feathered body curled up in the warm plush of your fur, your body and tail wrapped protectively around him until he passes away peacefully.

Daichi only has himself to blame for the fifth lifetime being a complete loss. You had caught his eye in a way no girl ever had before when he saw you skillfully racing across the court at the Tokyo training camp. He can’t explain exactly what draws him to you. Sure, you’re attractive, but he’s been around other beautiful girls before, hell Shimizu is the manager of his team and even she’s never captivated him like this. Maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t seen many talented female volleyball players up close before? But that can’t be it. No other female player in the room even remotely peaks his interest. No...it’s something deeper than that and he swears it feels like there’s an invisible thread tying the two of you together.

He watches and watches until a lanky arm is thrown over his shoulder, a sly voice purring in his ears.

“Sa’amura. My, my, my. I thought a country bumpkin crow like you would have better manners than to gawk at our pretty Tokyo girls like a creep.”

Daichi scowls at the messy haired Nekoma captain, but his face heats up when he realizes how strange he probably looked just staring at a gym full of female athletes. But before he can spout any excuses, Kuroo hums in interest as he follows Daichi’s gaze to see who he had been looking at so intently.

“Well well well. I guess birds do attract each other. You have some good taste, Sa’amura. She’s a great player, although I personally think she would have been a better fit at Nekoma than Fukurodani. She moves a lot like a cat, doesn’t she? But if you want to get closer to her, try talking to Bokuto. They’re both pretty close.”

A cat? Daichi wordlessly waves goodbye to Kuroo who’s strolling away before turning his attention back to you. And he’s surprised to see that there’s something eerily correct about Kuroo’s observation, something about your feline movements that nags at a deep unconscious thread inside of him, and it’s unnervingly easy to imagine you with a tail swishing back and forth behind you, to imagine you with soft ears and claws. But when he blinks, there you are, completely human once again, celebrating a point your team had scored, no cat appendages anywhere in sight.

He doesn’t take Kuroo’s advice, never approaches Bokuto to learn more about you, and he leaves training camp without even exchanging one word with you. But from time to time for the rest of his life, he’ll dream of you, dream of a friendly cat he feels like he used to know and he’ll wake up with a pang of regret, wondering what would have happened if he had the courage to talk to you all those years ago.

VI.

Daichi groans, nursing a hangover as he groggily sits up in bed and turns off the ear splitting alarm. Thank God for humans and their habits, his brain not needing to work at all as he methodically brushes his teeth and throws on his uniform. But as he makes his way to the precinct, he pauses at the corner of the street, intrigued by the sight of a newly opened cafe. There’s technically coffee at work and the smarter and financially responsible choice would be to just wait and drink the free caffeinated liquid, but something draws him into the quaint storefront and before his mind can even catch up to his body, he’s already pushing open the door and walking towards the counter.

He hears your voice ring throughout the small store, telling him you’d be with him in just a moment and he takes his time to peruse the menu, the soothing scent of coffee whetting his appetite and making the pastries in the glass case look even more appealing. He’s narrowed down his options to either the chocolate frosted donut or the coffee cake when he sees you approaching from the corner of his eyes and he smiles only to freeze when he sees your face.

“Do I know you-”

“You look familiar-”

Both of you start and stop talking at the same time and there’s an awkward silence before you both burst out laughing. As you prepare his order, both of you throw out possibilities of where you may have met before, but nothing pans out, and you both shrug your shoulders as you hand over the paper wrapped pastry and piping hot coffee. It’s a big world with tons of people. Perhaps both of you had met someone who looked similar to the other. But as Daichi sips his coffee and as you wait in the cafe for your next customer, neither of you can stop thinking of the other, wondering if you really hadn’t met before.

And maybe it’s that curiosity that leads Daichi to regularly return to your cafe on a daily basis, that leads you to always perk and brighten up when he walks through your door. Daily morning coffee runs before work is how it all starts, but pretty soon you’re seeing him at all times of the day. Sometimes he pops in to order a sandwich and some chips for lunch. Sometimes he’ll plop down at one of your small tables, plugging his laptop into an outlet as he works for hours on end even on the weekends. And sometimes, when there’s no one else in the store, when you’re technically closed, you’ll join him, sharing a new dessert you’re testing for the menu with him and chatting away into the wee hours of the night.

So really, it shouldn’t be a surprise when Daichi nervously enters the cafe right before closing one day, making sure no other customers are around before asking you out on an official first date. And even though you knew that the day where you two would discuss what your relationship exactly was would come soon, your face still heats up. But you eagerly nod, fingers instinctively interweaving with his when he hesitantly reaches to hold your hand and as the two of you walk hand in hand to the restaurant he’s chosen for dinner, you both can’t help but feel like your hands fit perfectly together, like you were made to be with each other.

Romantic candlelit dinners become more frequent casual affairs after a while and the two of you find yourself cuddled up on a couch in comfortable clothing, eating a meal the two of you had cooked together more often than not. You make fun of Daichi’s bachelor closet, dragging him to go shopping and ignoring his squawking when you pay for all his new clothes while he’s still changing in the fitting room. He teases you for how flustered you get when you see him in his cop uniform, purposefully striking a cheesy pose in the doorway only to bend over in a belly bursting laugh when you just wordlessly gape and stutter at the sight.

But the change that both of you love the most is never having to sleep alone again and your bodies slot together perfectly like two puzzle pieces when you curl up with each other in bed, letting sleep, body warmth, and rhythmic breathing lull you both into the best nights of sleep you’ve ever had.

Well, usually that would be the case.

Daichi grumbles as you insistently shove his body until he begrudgingly sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and batting away your hands that keep on nudging him awake. He looks at you in confusion and maybe the slightest hint of irritation at being woken up at such an ungodly hour of the night, but the bright smile you flash his way softens him and he internally groans about how weak he is for you as he stumbles out of bed, sleepily accepting the bundle of clothes you throw at him and haphazardly throwing them on.

He lets you drag him out the door, shivering a bit as the cold night air wakes him up and he holds you close to him, his cop instincts keeping him alert as he continuously scans the area. You live in a safe neighborhood, but it is the middle of the night and he’d be a hypocrite to not be aware of his surroundings when he’s always warning people not to be out by themselves late at night. But the two of you make it to what he assumes is your final destination unscathed and his jaw drops in disbelief when he sees that you’ve brought them to the neighborhood park.

“You woke me up at 3 in the morning for this?”

You giggle at his outburst, slapping his arm in mock anger as you pull him to sit beside you on one of the benches.

“I checked the weather and tonight’s supposed to have the clearest skies for stargazing! And you and I both have off tomorrow, so it seemed like perfect timing. Don’t be such a grumpy old man.”

And how can Daichi possibly be angry when you’re practically radiant, the soft glow of the stars illuminating your features as you stare up in awe, holding his hand and snuggling into his side as your free hand points at the different constellations you recognize. But the two of you freeze when you hear rustling nearby, letting out a sigh of relief when only a stray cat stalks out from behind a bush and you both watch in amusement as it regally walks towards your bench before plopping down with its stomach bared right at your feet.

But just as Daichi is about to reach down and accept the invitation to pet the furry creature, a loud squawk echoes throughout the area and suddenly the cat is leaping to its feet as a crow swoops down and hops around on the ground just a few feet away. And the two of you watch in amazement as the two creatures play with each other, paws lazily batting at the bird while wings spread wide and teasingly brush against a whiskered face in a practiced friendly dance.

It should be just a light hearted scene, maybe heartwarming at most, but to the two of you it’s more than that and your hearts ache, tears streaming down both your faces in a strange combination of soul crushing sorrow and gratitude for the present. But why is it so sad? Why are you both crying? The two of you shakily laugh, apologizing for your strange behavior as you hurriedly try to wipe the salty streaks away, but they don’t stop, only growing worse and turning into body wracking sobs as pain, loss, regret, and unrequited love built over what feels like multiple lifetimes slam into both of you all at once.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

But like magic it all instantly fades away when the two of you find yourselves tightly wrapped in each other’s arms, your body somehow now in Daichi’s lap as you bury your tear stained face in his chest, his arms wrapped around you in a bone crushing hold as he buries his face in the top of your head. And the two of you just stay like that for a bit as the calming breeze swirls past you, as the creatures and sounds of the night begin to fade away, as the morning sun begins its ascent into the sky, all the while exchanging words of love with each other, words of gratitude for finding each other.

And when the tears have finally all been wiped away and the sun is shining brightly down on both of you, the two of you share a smile before Daichi is ushering both of you back home, jokingly whining about immediately going back to sleep once you both return home, both of you animatedly bantering as you walk away, ignorant of the way the cat and crow lay curled up beside each other, both their eyes never straying from your retreating figures until you’re out of sight.

Neither of you ever discuss that night again. Neither of you ever try to understand and explain the chaotic overwhelming mess of emotions that had bombarded both of you. But every now and then, even after the two of you exchange vows, even after your shared home is filled with children’s laughters and voices, the echoes of that night follow both of you in your dreams and you wake up with tears in your eyes and a lingering ache in your hearts.

But all it takes is a quick glance to your side, the reassurance that both of you are together, right where you belong, to completely snuff out any negative emotions and you let the comforting warmth of love lull you back into slumber, smiles gracing both your lips as Daichi holds you just a bit closer and tighter to him, as you snuggle just a bit more until you’re firmly tucked underneath his chin.

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #daichi x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu headcanons #daichi #sawamura daichi #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu writing

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years

Text

Every Glance A Step Closer

Prompt: Glances | AO3 link here. Connect with me on Twitter. Happy SS Month everyone! 🌸🍅🥗 @ssskmonth

“This one barely goes out of her laboratory. I swear to god she smells like formaline.”

“He smells like the dust and cobwebs in the library. I cannot even pronounce what he’s doing – archi…something. I just know he handles lots of old papers and books. B-o-r-i-n-g.”

“So anyway, Haruno Sakura meet Uchiha Sasuke.”

This was her one free day in her experiment period week, but she needed to steam off for a night and so she allowed her friend to tug her along for a chill night drink. What Sakura didn’t expect was to socialize with a small group of people in their year and to suffer the cold indifference of the guy in front of her.

To her another surprise, he held out a hand to her. “Hello there.” She took it, slightly conscious whether she used her formaline-cancelling hand lotion. A brief and firm shake and he quicky turned away.

“Sasuke finally speaks.”

“That hello sounded a little spicier.”

“Oh my, that hand holding definitely had some electricity.”

The cajoling and teasing finally stopped when the first round of beers came in. Local university gossip was the go-to conversation opener, from the open secret student-teacher relationships to recent couple break-ups. It eventually led to Sasuke and his list of confessions.

“I heard you turned down Mio from fashion design department.”

“No way. I heard she was approached by Celine for a gig.”

“Really Sasuke? That makes her the fifth girl you dumped for this week alone.”

“You never actually had a girlfriend, did you?”

Sakura stared at him doe-eyed, genuinely curious of his answer. He returned her gaze and raised one brow. “I have high standards.”

Oh wow, what a douche, Sakura thought. Hoots erupted in their table but only for a few seconds. While the drinking and the exchanges went on, Sakura found herself wanting to go home early. She was bored and her neck was tired from not looking at him. Under the guise of stretching her already strained neck, she stole a glance, hoping to have a brief moment to take in all of his features and remember his face.

But he was already looking at her. His eyes went to the door of the restaurant then back to her. Bored? He mouthed.

Sakura looked at the door, knowing perfectly what he meant. She chugged her supposedly last bottle of beer and made a small gap with her thumb and index finger. He caught her signal and started to stand up. Their group was tipsy enough not to notice their sudden movements as they shuffled out of the door.

She halted after a few steps, Sasuke’s figure already paces in front of her, wondering whether she should say goodbye or just walk towards the opposite direction back to her apartment. She didn’t think too much of it and quickly chose the latter.

She had to get ice cream first though, a sugar rush to help jolt her senses awake. She was choosing between chocolate and strawberry when a large figure stood beside her.

“A vanilla one, please,” Sasuke said, looking smug with his hands both in his pockets. “Your treat.”

Sakura felt weirded out by the fact that he actively kept on engaging her. His reputation preceded him, but she decided to humor him for tonight. “So library science and you’re an archivist.”

“Intern archivist actually. So you actually know me.” There was arrogance in his voice that made Sakura almost choke on her ice cream.

“Process of elimination. There is no male major in our year in the History department.” She glanced at him and saw that smug look slowly transition into a slight flush of embarrassment. Cute.

“And what if it was a hobby?” Sasuke fiddled with his still unopened vanilla ice cream.

“There was a job posting in the bulletin specifically calling for Library Science students.” Their feet led them to the park still bustling with university night life and settled on a bench under the canopy of a fully bloomed dogwood tree. “See, I’m not your admirer.”

“Well, that’s a downer,” he smirked.

They talked like that for a while, fleetingly exploring related topics to their degree programs, the usual prominent teachers, the busy schedules, until Sakura finished her chocolate and strawberry popsicles. It was on her way home, finally this time, that she realized he never ate his ice cream.

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

She next saw him on their building’s rooftop with a group of friends, a piece of unsmoked cigarette in between his fingers. He quickly met her eyes, did a brief nod, and looked away. She inadvertently expected more than that but she wasn’t here for a smoke break, and it wasn’t her intention to take it further. She was here for a quick getaway from her microscope and to appreciate the city view dotted with the flowers of spring.

He kept glancing her way, however. He would be in the middle of a conversation and his eyes would stray to her, and she would catch it in her periphery, trying not to notice it. She got tired after a few repetitions of this, and the next time he glanced, she caught his gaze.

Stop it, she mouthed.

I’m bored, he mouthed back. Walk with me. His fingers mimicked the gesture, his fingers walking in the air.

She put her hands together and slightly bowed in apology. Next time, she winked at him before running back to her laboratory, a small smile painted on her lips.

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

It became like this for the next few weeks; they conversed through glances and awkward gestures whenever they were in public with their friends. When it was time to come home, they would walk in separate ways and meet again in the park under the same dogwood tree and they would converse for hours. It was mostly Sakura word-vomiting about her experiments while Sasuke would look at her with abandoned fascination.

“Stop doing that,” Sakura called him out one time.

“Stop doing what?” Sasuke asked, his ember eyes never leaving her face.

“You stare too much I feel like I’m melting.”

Sasuke made a small grunt and wore his hoodie over his head to mess with her more. He waved his hands on both sides of his face, and she immediately understood the reference of a horse having its blinders on. “Good because usually I’m the one being stared at.”

Sakura reached out to his hoodie and tightened the strings around his neck. “You’re hopeless.”

He leaned forward, almost touching her lips, his face still between her palms. “Hmm, maybe I am.”

Sakura moved away just as quickly as he moved into her personal space, a hot flush creeping to her cheeks. She hated this particular situation since blushing always made her look like a cherry tomato.

“Cute.” Sasuke apparently said his thoughts aloud because he was taken aback the moment she glanced back at him. “Cool, I said cool.”

She laughed this off just as he completely covered his face inside his hoodie.

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

She visited the basement section of the library for reference materials. Her writeup was due tomorrow and she was missing a section on historical evolution of vaccines and dosages for the viral DNA she uncovered. The small library slip in her hand, she made her way to the dimly lit rows on Biology. The shelves were twice taller than her, but there were spaces in between stacked books.

Would make it very easy to spot a ghost, Sakura chided to herself. A shadow moved along the row adjacent to the Biology section, but she dismissed this as the library staff. Her fingers traced the spines of ragged books and examined the list of recommended titles in her hand. When she raised her head, ember eyes stared back at her between the spaces of the opposite row.

Hi, Sasuke mouthed. He glanced around and seeing no one, he whispered, “Can I come over to your side?”

She found it hard to stop her grin from rising. “More eyes, the better.”

It took only a few minutes for Sasuke to find all the titles in her list, but they littered around, walking in between shelves, taking one random book and flipping its pages, stopping when they find something interesting. When heavy footfalls were heard on the stairs, Sakura inclined her head, gesturing she needed to go.

Sasuke seemed to misunderstand as he pulled her through the sleeve of her cardigan to the area further behind the room, and as the shadows grew darker, and the noise became more muted, she heard the racing beat of her heart.

Finally reaching the wall, Sasuke slumped to the floor and patted the space beside him. Sakura followed suit, consciously leaving a space between them as she was slowly becoming hyper-aware of their proximity.

“How are you faring so far? Done with the requirements?” Sasuke asked, his voice low but audible enough for her.

Sakura nodded, and after beat, rolled her eyes at him. “Shouldn’t you be out there assisting others?”

“I believe you need more immediate help.” Sasuke pulled his knees in to rest his chin on and trained his eyes on her. “Sakura.”

“Sasuke.”

The longest minute of silence hung between them, tension strung by the stare, until Sakura broke it off with her eyes shifting to the floor. “What are you doing?”

“Flirting,” he said like it’s a matter-of-fact. “This is what they usually do to me.”

“And what should I do?” She let the words roll out of her mouth, unsure why she asked, uncertain also of what he felt. She met his gaze again.

And in that moment, he just sincerely looked at her. “Flirt back.”

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

Sakura was done for the school year. She will be officially graduating in a month, and to celebrate, she went out with their group for a sem-ender discotheque clubbing. She was gonna shoot her shot for a one-night stand with literally anyone who had chemistry with her – haha she was just kidding. As this seemed to be the final cap-off to her university life, she went all out with her clothes Sakura-style – basically a boxy cropped tea, high waisted jeans, and old heels her best friend gave to her in pity.

This was actually her first club experience, but she was glad to be with veteran friends. The first few minutes inside a closed space with bass boosted, unfamiliar crowds, and lots of skinship made her very uncomfortable. Her only reprieve was the free-flowing drinks – ironically she can handle alcohol well. The disco lights would have made it difficult to spot faces, but she found him in the dark, on the corner directly across her group, his eyes already glued on her.

She wondered if he ever forgave her for scrambling out of his presence in the reference section last time, explicitly avoiding his request to flirt back. It seemed like she worried for nothing since Sasuke raised his glass to her and mouthed congratulations. She raised her glass back, resolving to mind her own business tonight. But he kept looking, a smirk etched on his beautiful face, urging her to meet him halfway.

She didn’t need to look for an excuse as her friends suddenly pulled her into the harmless mosh pit of friendly grinding. Sakura allowed herself to move to the beat, enjoying the bubble offered by the club to lose herself for a few seconds. But she kept glancing towards his direction, his eyes looking for her in the mass of bodies. At first, the glances were mischievous, like playing hide-and-seek, then they held gravity, heavy lidded and palpable.

Sasuke was impatient, and soon enough, at her next spin on her heels, he was right behind her, his hands hovering over her arms, seeking consent to touch. Sakura turned to face him, one part shy, other parts unnerved, and she slowly encircled her arms around his neck, her eyes a definite yes. His hands went to her waist, and he brought her closer to his embrace.

“You don’t have your hoodie though,” Sakura said, a little louder over the crooning of Carly Rae Jepsen to Gimmie Love. “Someone will definitely see you.”

Sasuke closed whatever distance was between them and brought his lips to her ears. “That’s a relief then. I want to be seen with you.”

“Simp,” Sakura teased. “You’re probably expecting a confession out of me, aren’t you?” This was a long time coming and she wanted to get it over with tonight especially when she had alcohol buzzing on her side.

“I am actually,” Sasuke said. “I was hoping to beat you to it in the library last time, but you ran away. Coward.”

“What?”

“What? Didn’t you hear me?”

“You like me.” Sakura said in realization. She edged her face away from his hold to take a good look at his embarrassed face. “Oh, you really do.”

“You could be dense sometimes, Sakura.” Sasuke poked her forehead playfully, and he was rewarded with a bubbly laughter from her.

Their friends finally noticed them and the intense skinship happening. The yells and woots started to drown out the speakers.

“That took you two long enough, huh?”

“They really waited for the end of the school year to do their big reveal.”

“As if the whole school doesn’t know already.”

“What?” Sasuke and Sakura asked in unison.

“It was the constant eyesmex.”

“Really, they do it every time with no shame. It gives me secondhand embarrassment.”

“Right? Sometimes I think I need to yell get a room.”

“Maybe they’ll get a room tonight.”

“Oh my god, shut up."

🌸 It's my first time participating actively for SS Month so please go easy on me haha. Work is loosely inspired by Nevertheless webtoon (which now has a Netflix adaptation). Hope you enjoyed reading!

#ssm21 #sasusaku month #sasusaku #ssm21d1 #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #sasuke #sakura #fanfic #anime fanfiction

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histrionic-dragon · 4 years

Text

Leverage and the Black Widow

Found some scraps/scenelets I wrote a while back.

“Look at this,” Hardison said, staring at the security footage. “She’s like if Eliot and Parker had a scary ninja baby!”

“Ew,” Eliot and Parker muttered at the same time.

“Wait, she was at the thing earlier. She’s Goffson’s newest secretary-slash-trophy-girlfriend. Facial ID confirms it. It’s her. But her identity is airtight, guys—she’s got a Masters in HR from NYU and grew up in Wisconsin, series of moderately crappy boyfriends, no criminal activity. There is no reason this lady should be skulking around on a rooftop beating people up. There’s no way she should know how.”

“Well, obviously, she does.”

“Ohh, shit. Facial recognition just gave another ping. But something’s wrong—there’s only two records I can find here, it’s like it’s been . . . it’s been scrubbed, like what I do for us after a job. Only here, someone missed something. And she’s a totally different person. This was in Nevada eight months ago, and she was a historical monument docent or something.”

The shadowy figure slipped over the side of the building and down.

[later, they all surprise each other on the rooftop and the Widow Bites come out]

“I was wrong earlier.”

“Wrong about what, Hardison?”

“She’s like you and Sophie had a scary murder baby and then Parker raised it in the ways of the rig and the taser.”

“Can you stop saying stuff like that?!”

“You know her? You know her. –Pretty lady who can kill us, of course Eliot knows her.”

“Shut up, Hardison.”

“I’m just saying, it’s pretty much par for the—”

“And I’m just saying, shut up!”

“Long time since Romania.”

“I hear you’re working for another side since then.”

“I hear you went freelance.” Her eyes flicked to Parker and Hardison. “But apparently not anymore.”

He took a step closer to the others, putting himself between her and them, knowing she’d read it as acknowledgement. “Found a good crew. You?”

A corner of her mouth turned up. “They sent a smartass with a bow and arrows to kill me, and he decided to recruit me against orders. I thought that was . . . interesting.”

“I kinda know what you mean.”

“Well, it’s been great catching up, but I’m afraid I can’t let you cover for Goffson.”

There was an offended squawk from somewhere behind them. It had to be Hardison, because the “Hey!” was Parker. Very stealthy.

“We’re not covering for him,” Eliot said, watching her carefully.

“No?”

“But we thought you were.”

“I have reason to believe he’s been selling classified information,” the Black Widow said. “I’m here to make sure he sells something else. Swap the intel, wipe everything that’s valid, let the rest play out.” By which she meant let them find out they were sold bad intel and take retribution. Elegant and brutal. “If you’re not protecting his sales, what are you here for?”

Apparently this sounded enough like a briefing that Hardison thought it would be a good idea to jump in, yelling out from behind the stack of crates they were using as cover for his little workstation. Great. “We’re actually more interested in his quote-unquote ‘legitimate’ business, by which I mean the way he’s been ripping off hundreds of people’s life savings to bribe his way into…something. Which is guess is your thing.”

The Widow frowned. “What does a group of thieves get out of that?”

“We’re the good guys now,” Parker said from behind her, just about giving Eliot a goddamn heart attack. “We steal from people who steal from people who need the money, and we give it back. Oooh, this rope is tiny. What is it?”

Fortunately, the Black Widow didn’t automatically kill people who snuck up on her. She had the look on her face that most people did when they first met Parker, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. “How did you get that without me noticing?”

“Thief,” Parker said, pointing to herself without looking up from the thin coil she was inspecting. “Hacker.” She pointed to Hardison. “You know Eliot. We’re as good at what we do as he is.” She finally looked up, though she kept fingering the rope. “You’re not as good as me.” She smiled. “You’re close, though. And I really like your gear,” she added, with the look that said she was remembering one of Sophie’s lessons, probably about softening interactions with compliments. “Seriously, where did you get this?”

“It’s carbon fiber,” the Widow said after a moment. “And it’s not available to the public.”

Parker shrugged. “That’s not a problem,” she said, and waited expectantly.

“Don’t steal from the SHIELD depot, Parker,” Eliot said, sighing, and gestured toward the ledge of the rooftop: truce? Let’s all sit down?

“Why not?” Parker demanded, as the Widow gave a sigh of her own and sat down next to Parker. It didn’t make her any less dangerous, but it was still probably a good sign.

“Professional courtesy,” Eliot answered.

Parker frowned. “But our profession is thieves.”

“Ours is,” Eliot said. “Hers isn’t.” He looked at the Widow. She was wearing a very small, patient smile. “She’s a spy.”

“She steals intel instead of money,” Hardison said, walking up to them. “I’ve disabled all the motion detectors up here for another ten minutes,” he added. “We can talk. But I’ve re-activated other parts of the security system and I’m not telling you which ones, so if you try to do anything—”

[They talk. Hardison has heard of certain shadowy operatives but….]

“No. That’s not real. That’s a myth. The Black Widow doesn’t exist.”

“Well, then if I have to kill you, you’ll be pleased to know you’re dead of natural causes.”

“You—buh—that’s like saying you’re Slenderman or something!”

It actually didn’t take long to come to an agreement, even if Nate was sputtering on the coms the whole time. Their aims weren’t in conflict, just their methods, and they could be more efficient if they teamed up. Hardison would bring down the security system. The Widow could go in and get her data directly, skipping about three steps of her existing plan, and plant some of their evidence while she was in. The Leverage team wouldn’t have to go in at all that night. She’d make sure they had access during the confusion of the bust the following afternoon.

“What if it’s a setup?” Sophie kept fretting. Nate wasn’t fretting; he was just yelling.

“She wouldn’t bother,” Eliot said. “We don’t have anything useful to the US government and she’s not in any kind of law enforcement that would bother with us. If she wanted us out of the way, we’d be dead.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you seem to believe it is.”

The files were all in Goffman’s office—not even in a safe, just in a locked drawer in a filing cabinet. Parker seemed personally offended by that. But there was one more thing they found when they checked the “secretary’s” desk. Nora Riddel had obviously left in a hurry, and everything she’d left behind would corroborate her cover story, from the tissues in the trash can to the photos on the desk, but one thing didn’t fit: A silvery envelope tucked under the keyboard, labeled only “Leverage.”

The envelope contained a list of account numbers that would make going through Goffman’s files even easier, and—Parker squealed—a length of very thin, very tough rope.

#Leverage #MCU #Parker #Hardison #Eliot #Natasha Romanoff #Black Widow #why do all the MCU Leverage crossovers have Bucky and no Nat #it's a MISSED OPPORTUNITY I tell ya

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cecilyneville · 3 years

Text

the spanish princess: episode 8

“why are people watching this show if they don’t like it???”

me:

(i mean hating on this show, not actually watching it - nothing about tsp is fun, the whole thing has been mean-spirited from beginning to end)

ruairi was good as prince henry, but as king henry? awful

“i would not come to help you” so how much more of coa being a cunt are we going to get? bc if this episode is called “peace” i assume she has to...idk...start being a bit nicer

god, fucking finally

if they want us to like catherine bc she’s finally paying attention to mary that isn’t “HMM SHE IS NOT A BOY”, they got another thing coming

catherine was horrible to everyone including her ladies and her daughter, but she’s slightly nicer now so it’s ok!!!!

“men of arran and men of hamilton” the writers have finally realised there are more families in scotland than stewart and douglas

WHY has albany kidnapped james? at first i thought it was a ruse b/w him and meg but apparently not. wouldn’t it make more sense for her to return to scotland to find that angus has kidnapped james?

it makes so much sense for ef to just ignore the fact that margaret douglas exists and keep prince alexander alive

ursula where you been all this time???

finally some semi-accurate headwear on maggie. but ONLY on maggie, not on ursula, bc if it’s anything the costuming on all three series have taught us, only old ladies cover their heads

also finally - laura carmichael is getting some decent material to work with! (relatively speaking)

bessie instructing henry fitzroy is very similar to her tudors counterpart doing the same, bc of course

comb ur fuckin hair dude

i’m not gonna lie, this latin standoff between mary & henry fitzroy is hilarious, like a 16th-century spelling bee

“there’s nothing i can give a girl” except, you know, sending her to ludlow as heirs to the throne were before her, but even that level of nuance is too confusing for fraham

“my brother is more sympathetic to her cause than he has been” this week: henry discovers the concept of divorce

“go to the king anne, smile and win his favour” yet another barely-concealed tudors ripoff

thomas more just like “maggie you’re fucked up bc your life has been so shit”

if henry is speaking about this script then he is 100% correct

oh rosa’s here! so not one but BOTH of catherine’s besties will ditch her, delicious

FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, THIS IS THE MOST OBVIOUS, CLUNKY WAY TO DO IT LMAO

oh they’re going for a becket/henry ii vibe here with wolsey & henry, don’t mind this

it bothers me SO much that they keep calling maggie henry’s aunt when they never bothered to include elizabeth’s actual sisters after they put cecily on a bus (which, to be fair, was probably for the best)

i kind of recoil when people say “[insert historical figure] would be so offended by this depiction” because if someone like catherine of aragon were shown any modern depiction of herself, her head would probably explode out of confusion and horror. BUT this is so offensive to the real catherine of aragon

i would like to see laura carmichael as elizabeth of york - it’s the big brown eyes

is she doing this out of hatred for her inability to give the king a son??? what does it all MEAN emma

i mean i guess he’s hotter than angus

i know this hunting scene is supposed to reflect something from part one which i didn’t watch, but it just reminds me of the tudors s1 finale when henry and anne fucked in the woods

also reminds me very much of the great when peter tries to drown catherine

catherine quoting deuteronomy and unwittingly confessing to consummating her marriage with arthur...CONGRATULATIONS YOU PLAYED YOURSELF

soz to sound like a broken record but the fact that people - even some actual critics - watch CH’s performance and think this is actually good acting will never not be funny to me, she’s atrocious. it’s so jarring looking at behind the scenes footage and seeing her smiling, like couldn’t you actually do this on screen? she plays catherine like the woman’s never felt happiness in her life, or any other emotion for that matter

lina’s not gonna sell catherine out and i’m so mad about it, she has treated you like SHIT for YEARS

god, she can’t even cry believingly

HELL YES MEG, DISCO INFERNO

we won’t have time to see meg’s marriage to henry stewart fail spectacularly, which is probably a good thing bc my heart would break

catherine has been absolutely VILE to lina but it’s ok bc she’s said sorry now

“i would speak with you” / “it seems you already are” LOLLLL

so funny that it’s only NOW that they’re getting french hoods of some kind, but not with actual veils because, like i said, only old dowdy matrons don’t get to show their sexy hair

WHAAAAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

i mean, i’m not surprised, given how much fraham hate anne

“so, you’re playing anne boleyn. congrats! but you’ll only get, like, one line, and you WILL have to get your tits out”

guys she’s so upset can’t you tell

CH got a taste for holding bows on game of thrones it’s the only thing she’s good at

STELLLAAAAAA

of course meg has to actually fire the cannons rather than just train them on angus and his men, but this is very fun

surprised they didn’t point out that one of scotland’s greatest cannons was called “mons meg”

fuck this nice scene between catherine and lina! she doesn’t deserve your forgiveness lina!!!

i guess catherine’s woke levels need to be maintained by keeping her one black friend who was a slave irl

hahahaha i fucking love her

“i will always be your wife, there is nothing you can do to change that” knock knock it’s the reformation

catherine choosing to leave makes no sense for this show or for the history they’re ~supposed~ to be depicting

“you will never take my place as queen of england” KNOCK KNOCK IT’S THE REFORMATION

catherine is an old lady now so we shall signify this by giving her a gable hood

catherine she just asked if the bird was dead jesus

which it should be by now...it’s been around since like 1510??

ah yes, let’s bring back that other metaphor, the imperialism compass

if all the disgruntled tories had their way this would be on the end credits of every episode of the crown too

and that’s all folks! let’s all be thankful that this show didn’t submit us to an absolute butchery of catherine’s blackfriars speech

#the spanish princess #tbd #there are only two people speaking sense in this finale #and both of them are named margaret

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joontier · 4 years

Text

The King’s Guard | the minis ii.

pairings: kim seokjin x reader ; jeon jungkook x reader ; min yoongi x reader

rating: R (18+) | genre: established relationship! au, historical! au smut, fluff

warnings: explicit sex; (dunno what this kink is called) but jinnie likes being called the king by the lohs; kink discoveries; oral (m receiving); dom-sub undertones

word count: 4.9k

g/n: and because it’s seokjinnie missing hours~~~ Okta is also based off Okta in Hwarang and YES AHRO MAKES AN APPEARANCE WOOTTT also,,, chapter 6 might also come out real soon aCIfjoasdfj

The King’s Guard - Masterlist || navi.

It’s been a while since Seokjin had retired to your shared room after a long day. He’d initially considered waiting for you while he changed into his sleeping garments but after some time and eventually managing to finish a scroll he’d taken from his office, Seokjin gets up from where he’s seated by the window and asks for Yunho.

A different voice answers from outside, “Jeonha, the guard you are looking for is not with us right now.” Seokjin tries to push away the worry that’s starting to creep through him. The king chooses not to reply, quickly heading over to the dresser to put back on the clothes he was wearing earlier.

You’d never stayed out this late before and as much as he hated to admit it, the capitol isn’t always the safest place, even for its own citizens. There were rumors of an uprising rebellion in the south and the thought of you in danger - he couldn’t risk it. He won’t risk it.

The king asks for Chaeyoung, who was told to be by the palace kitchens. He flees out of the hanok as soon as he gets dressed, taking his sword with him. Just in case. With haste in his steps, Seokjin arrives at the kitchen in no time, asking the cooks if they happened to see you anywhere in the palace.

He receives no response concerning your current whereabouts from the gungnyeo’s quarters either, so he gestures to the guards to follow him, the group walking briskly towards the stables. When Seokjin discovers Yunho’s horse is likewise missing, worry grows in his chest, already praying to the heavens that nothing bad has happened to you.

Gesturing for the troop to hurry, he arranges the saddle on his horse by himself. “Jeonha!” Seokjin breathes a sigh of relief as he hears Yunho’s voice calling him from a distance. He pulls on the reins, directing the horse to turn around. The king, however, doesn’t see you with Yunho, nor does he sense any security in the guard’s worried expression.

“_________?” The guard bows briefly, before opening his mouth to speak. Realizing his current predicament does not need to reach the ears of the other guards, Yunho manages just in time to stop himself from speaking out loud.

“My King,” Yunho speaks, voice low as he guides his horse nearer to Seokjin’s. “Jungjeon-mama is uh…” the guard racks his brain for a better word to explain your present condition but attains nothing. Instead, he settles on the plain truth, despite how strange it sounds rolling off his tongue, “the queen is...um… she’s drunk, your grace.”

It takes Seokjin a moment to process Yunho’s words - the possible image of your drunken state too much for your husband to even picture properly. Seokjin worries for your safety - knowing that you’d never had any proper alcohol in your life. The king quietly prays to his ancestors to watch over you for the meantime while he recollects himself before anyone notices, not wanting to cause any more worry.

When Seokjin deems everyone ready, Yunho suggests the troop to prepare a palanquin after having seen your state - clearly far too intoxicated to even sit upright on a horse. Yunho escorts the king to the establishment where Haesoo had called for his help.

Much to yours and Seokjin’s luck there aren't many people on the streets, given it was already deep into the night - which only got Seokjin worried and wondering; what could possibly be the reason for you to visit such a place? And at such a late hour?

Were you unhappy with your marriage? Was he lacking as a husband? As a king perhaps? A million questions are running through his head - unable to think straight as his horse gallops along the dirt road.

“Lady Ahro! Why do I feel like my husband is here?” you giggle, leaning nearly all of your weight on the poor lady. Ahro has been watching over you since she called for Haesoo’s attention who then called for Yunho, and now the same guard had paid her for such a task. Watching over royals was never in her line of duties, especially those whose drunken selves are a pain to attend to, but the lady was willing to do anything as long as she’d get paid.

When someone came to inform her earlier this afternoon of the soon arrival of an elite client, she was banking on one of her regulars paying her a visit, but she never expected the nation’s queen to visit such a place like Okta.

The establishment was built by and for the elites, yes, but it catered to a more generally younger and more… for lack of a better word, carefree audience. People usually came to Okta for two things: to meet new people of the same societal ranking and to have fun, occasionally, a little too much fun in privacy of the rooms it provided.

It was awkward, at first, unsure how to approach each other. You take a deep breath and speak first, and you can sense her gratitude in the small smile playing in the corner of her lips. “I need your advice,” you start off, voice barely above a whisper.

The lady in front of you lightly raises an eyebrow at your request. “I believe you have to be more specific with your request, my queen. It is my belief that I am knowledgeable on most things - but I am not sure which field in particular you wish for me to share my insights.”

You gulp, completely frozen in place. Chewing on your bottom lip, you consider rethinking your life decisions. Why were you here? What actually got you here in the first place? Ah yes, to learn more about what goes on behind the doors of a married couple, or, if you were being completely honest with yourself, you wanted to know more about the pleasures of the flesh.

Confessedly, you and Seokjin were relatively a young married couple, you were together for quite a few years already, but you only had the chance to stay in the privacy of your shared room only after your marriage. Other than that, the only displays of affection you had with Seokjin never really went past kissing, or that one time he accidentally groped your chest when you almost fell out of balance while on a horse… if that even was to be considered under that category…

And it wasn’t that the both of you hadn’t been on that certain level of intimacy yet, but during those times - you felt like you could have actually contributed more. If you were being completely honest, you had mixed feelings about the whole matter - even questioning the fact that you are even concerned about this in the first place.

Due to the hushed rumors circling the noble class of the city, you’ve had the chance to eavesdrop about this particular establishment which allowed the citizens to enjoy art and music in a more...unconventional manner.

Okta was a crossover between an inn and a canteen but people apparently spent more time consuming alcohol while enjoying each others’ company (whichever came first) in the common and private areas inside the place.

You’d even heard of a lady who told tales of all genres, including erotica, in exchange for a few silver coins. The price was reasonable and with your curiosity and your married-woman-insecurities out on your sleeve, you thought Okta was perhaps the place where you’d finally discover the answers to your unspoken queries.

So you had secretly scheduled a meeting with the infamous “Ahro” and the only other person who knew of this rendezvous was Haesoo, who swore on her ancestors that she wouldn’t tell a soul of your whereabouts, unless it would be of a life and death situation.

Your intoxicated state was apparently considered one.

You had most definitely not intended to actually consume alcohol but considering the fact that Lady Ahro’s stories ultimately had the small hairs on your nape stand on end, not to mention those tips she occasionally throws in for you to use, (tonight too, just as she had advised!), you figured you might as well have a little wine running through your veins to boost your lack of courage.

How you got to this point however - practically clinging onto Ahro for dear life as you giggle uncontrollably - was beyond you. Both your mind and vision have become hazy as the hours pass and you’re barely aware of what’s going on in your surroundings.

She hears rustling from outside the room where you spent talking for hours on end, and she wonders if her temporary guardian duties will finally end. At least the handsome guard had already given her more than three weeks worth of her wages.

The king pokes his head in, eyes scanning the room. He finds you practically draped over Ahro who looks like she’d had to deal with you since time immemorial. Apologizing in your stead, he requests Ahro to leave the two of you for a moment.

It takes the pair quite some effort to pry you off the lady. Seokjin offers another bag of silver in exchange for her silence and Ahro almost considers not taking the payment to preserve her dignity, but quickly remembers she didn’t have much of it in the first place so with a wave and a gentle reminder to Seokjin to never leave you alone again in the establishment, Ahro takes her money and scurries off.

“Sarang, it’s time to go.” Seokjin tugs at your hand to pull you up but you decline, looking away as you put on your best cutesy angry face. He just chuckles at you, gasping in surprise as you tug him downwards, ultimately landing on the spot next to yours. “I still want to play.”

Feeling Seokjin’s chest vibrate with laughter, you pout at him. Since when did Seokjin have such a wonderful neck? It seems like this is the first time you’ve seen his bare neck in years - his throat and whatever is that lump that’s sticking out from his throat is suddenly so...attractive?

In fact, you’ve found it insanely attractive that you’re unable to stop yourself from placing a wet kiss on his neck, just below his jawline. His breath hitches and the action only spurs you further, peppering his throat lingering kisses, working your way down to his collarbone.

Seokjin exhales shakily as he gently tries to pry you off him. “_______, dearest. Not here jagiya. We need to get you home.”

“Can we play then? When we get home?”

He’s never seen you reply like this before and your husband is tempted to ask who you were and what could you have possibly done to his wife, but judging by your current state, he deems it’s not going to end well if he does. Instead, Seokjin just nods at you in reply.

He’s surprised when that actually gets you on your feet. Wincing at the sudden headache that booms through your temple, Seokjin holds you steady as you stumble in your stance. As the pain subsides enough to be tolerable, you shake yourself off of Seokjin’s grasp, skipping giddily out of the room.

Finding difficulty bearing with your drunken mood swings, your husband lets his head flop forward in exasperation as he rubs his face with his palms. Realizing he has yet to watch you in case your inability to walk in a straight line might strike again, Seokjin quickly runs after you.

Just as he had thought, you fall midway to the back door, landing on your knees. Your husband rushes to you, asking if you felt any sort of pain. The boisterous laugh that escapes your lips answers his question efficiently.

Because of the sudden sound, Seokjin sees some of the people from the common area are trying to peek through the slits between the wooden panels covering the hallways, wondering where that sound came from. With graceful haste, Seokjin scoops you up from the floor and walks briskly towards the end of the hallway where Yunho and the rest of the group were waiting with a palanquin.

Your husband ushers you into the litter but your unusually stubborn self continues to cling onto the silken fabric of his jeogori so Seokjin had no other choice but to climb in as well - the palanquin, thankfully, spacious enough to fit two passengers.

Latching onto his arm the moment you’ve settled in your seat, Seokjin wonders slightly if you’ll have any recollection of this once you’ve become sober tomorrow. The king heaves a sigh, finally getting the chance to feel that certain level of relief now that you were quiet and beside him at last.

Seokjin might have spoken too soon.

Next thing he knew, you were snuggling into his chest, fingers dancing lazily along his thigh while you’re at it. Your husband didn’t find it suspicious at first, but when he feels your digits trail dangerously up north, Seokjin gently pushes your hand away keeping them secure under his grasp as he places them on your lap.

Desperation can’t seem to stop anybody though. Even with your hands cuffed beneath Seokjin’s huge palms, you manage to latch your lips on his neck one more time, sucking on the sensitive spot along the creamy expanse of his throat.

The sound that reverberates throughout Seokjin’s body is something you’ve never heard of before - the almost animalistic sound canonically shooting a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

You continue your ministrations until Seokjin gets a hold of himself after an embarrassing amount of time, pulling away from you with a stern look on his face. He calls you by your full name, scolding you slightly of a behavior unbecoming of a queen, reminding you that you both weren’t in the confines of your room and any occurrence of a scandalous event is unaffordable by the royal family. You cower slightly in your seat, not expecting your very own husband to use his authoritative king voice on you.

But just like the interesting turn of events in a short time span tonight, the alcohol coursing through your veins seem to have a mind of its own.

Instead of letting your husband hinder you from your intentions, you take advantage of Seokjin’s loosened grip on your hands, climbing onto his lap swiftly and gracefully, that the palanquin manages to not move much so as not to raise any suspicion from outside.

“Have I been a very bad queen, Seokjinnie?” Your hand purposely brushes through his crotch before trailing upward to cup his jaw. Seokjin staggers at the teasing tone of your voice, thoughts drifting off to whatever they made you drink inside that made you a completely different person. He badly needs to get a hold of those too.

Pushing yourself further into his lap, so close that he feels your breath fanning against his nose. “Jeonha,” you whisper salaciously, nipping at the shell of his ear, “Aren’t bad queens going to get punished?” Seokjin remains silent as he stares at you with an intense gaze, lust clouding over his dark orbs.

“Hmm?” you tap his chin once, feeling the faint stubble of a promising beard. Your husband’s face remains stoic even with your provocative efforts, so you decide to take it up a notch, inspired and fueled by one of Ahro’s stories earlier.

Your hand travels under your skirt, lifting it just a little to reveal that tiny sliver of skin to your husband and as you raise yourself a tiny amount from his lap, you swiftly untie the cloth covering your most private of parts, throwing them aside somewhere else inside the palanquin.

“I am most willing to take any punishment, jeonha...” you whisper as you grind your core on his crotch. Even with your thick skirt hindering you from experiencing the intense pleasure from grinding on his clothed cock, there’s still that faint feeling of his erection as you grind even heavier. “Twofold,” you state, gyrating your hips to match your counting. “Threefold…” another one. You see the lump on Seokjin’s throat bob up and down as he gulps. “Fourfold.”

“Don’t worry, my queen. I’ll be sure to punish you accordingly,” comes Seokjin's equally strained reply, not taking his eyes off you as he thrusts upwards.

Seokjin returns you back to your seat beside him effortlessly, not a word spoken. Well, it’s not as if it’s needed. The tension inside in the now-seemingly cramped space is enough for you to perceive what might happen in the next few moments. As if in sync with your thoughts, Seokjin reminds, “Stay still in your seat, unless you want more punishment later.”

You manage to stay still in your seat, despite your thoughts completely haywire. Maybe you wanted more punishment? Or are you already asking for too much? Was he really going to punish you?

Not before long, the palanquin halts, indicating your arrival at the palace. Seokjin spares you a look, heart melting at the sight of you already asleep, snoring slightly in your sleep.

He chuckles at your slumbering form, climbing out of the palanquin first before asking Yunho to assist him as he clambers to get you out of the litter. Seokjin then proceeds to carry you in his arms and up the stairs to your hanok.

Laying you gently on the bed, Seokjin undresses you layer after layer, knowing how uncomfortable it will be for you if you continue sleeping in the multiple layers of clothing you have on. Your husband delicately tears off your jeogori first, then laughs to himself as he turns you to the side to untie the knot on your skirt, remembering your alcohol-induced bravado earlier. The young king makes a mental note to ask someone tomorrow to get a sample of whatever they had given you prior...for research purposes.

He takes the bowl of water he’s kept by the fire to maintain its temperature, pulls out a small washcloth from your dresser and dips the same into the bowl. Seokjin drags the white fabric along the expanse of your skin not covered by your undergarments. When he deems you freshened enough, he pulls on the ribbon holding half of your hair up in a ponytail.

Fishing your favorite brush from a nearby drawer, a satisfied smile plays on the corner of Seokjin’s lips, running the brush along your hair fanned out on the pillows. Though he loves you for who you truly are, one physical attribute of yours that appeals to him most is your hair - he can’t quite put a finger on it, but there’s something about your hair that he finds so feminine, something he finds strangely, but insanely attractive - much more than he can ever admit out loud.

Propping an elbow for something to lean on, he finds brushing your hair particularly soothing and therapeutic, enough to even lull him to a deep sleep, one hand on the brush and the other holding your hand.

A raging headache and a parched throat wake you from your peaceful sleep, squinting as your eyes adjust to take in your surroundings. You try to recollect what happened last night, vague splashes of last night’s events splayed across your thoughts.

A royal robe covering haphazardly draped over someone’s legs discontinues your momentary reminiscence. Twisting your torso to the side, you see your husband, mouth slightly open as he snores away happily in his sleep. He must’ve taken off your outer clothes last night and — you rack your brain thinking hard if you had done something unintelligible and embarrassing.

Your brazen advances last night finally dawn on you, face cringing as you remember bits and pieces of how you were the night before. ‘It must have been a nightmare for Seokjin,’ you think to yourself, already conjuring up a lame apology for your inexcusable behavior.

Pushing your robe away from Seokjin’s legs, you take notice of the erection hidden beneath the confines of his pants. You make an attempt to not stare at it perversely but it was standing tall and proud like that, and oh - your eyes widen as you see it twitch, as if demanding all of your attention.

Wasn’t this a common occurrence in the morning? You might have felt it a few times during your rising when Seokjin spooned you in his sleep, but your timidity can’t seem to address the concern to your own husband.

Looking away, you shift in your position to share your blanket with your husband. Seokjin unexpectedly wakes up at the action though, giving you a small fright. “Sarang, you’re awake already? Seokjin is talking slower than usual, voice still groggy from sleep.

You nod at him with a shy smile, embarrassed at the fact that you almost got caught eyeing that thing between his legs. “Are you alright? Dizzy, perhaps?”

“Just a little, but I’ll be okay. Thank you for taking care of me last night,” you place a kiss on his cheek as Seokjin hums delightedly. “You must have taken quite the beating last night.” Fiddling with your fingers as you apologize for your behavior last night, Seokjin grabs at your hands and takes them between his.

“It’s fine, sarang. Actually, it was quite...amusing, if I do say so myself,” your husband comments, winking at you. Seokjin sits up, resting his back against the wooden board and beckoning you nearer to him.

As you scoot closer, you snuggle into Seokjin’s chest. Your husband places a kiss on your temple, before playing with your hair, just silently carding his fingers through them. “Do you mind telling me what actually happened last night - the things I said, perhaps? I can’t really recall them properly…”

“Truthfully I was worried when I didn’t see you here yesterday. It was already late when I returned from the office and I don’t really want to be that type of husband that locks you inside the palace but I became really anxious when you still hadn’t returned.”

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” you frown, mentally noting to inform Seokjin of your whereabouts before leaving the palace.

“It’s alright, really. Anyways, I found you practically attached to Ahro, was it? And then we went home. Now we’re here.”

“That’s it?” With the evident Seokjin’s haste in his recollection, you’re starting to get suspicious about how the previous night could have ended that quickly - that...uneventful.

“Nothing else happened? Like I didn’t do or say anything? Am I a quiet drunk?” Your husband looks overwhelmed with all your questions, gulping before he responds.

“You kind of said a couple of things...but! It’s nothing really, nothing major…” Seokjin chuckles nervously, scratching at the back of his head.

“That can’t be the whole story?” You raise an eyebrow at your husband, testing him. Sliding lower down his chest a little so you have a better view of him, you trace the faint stubble on his chin. “Tell me, my king? Please?”

“Don’t call me that,” Seokjin mumbles, looking away. “Doesn’t seem like you dislike it though, jeonha.” Your husband heaves a sigh, knowing you’ve won again. “You do know I love you with all my heart, right? And I don’t want you to think that I might take advantage of your drunkenness - which I didn’t, really, because you fell asleep too before anything actually happened…” He was stalling, you figured, as it might involve something that made him uncomfortable.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell the whole thing… I just… why do I only remember me saying something along the lines of punishment?” Seokjin looks down at you with dilated pupils.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you...it’s just…” your husband pauses, thinking deeply about what his next statement might entail. “I can’t think about it without getting hard…”

Seokjin looks almost strained as he looks to the side, avoiding your eyes. “If only you’ve seen - heard yourself last night, gods! It was like a different you completely”

Just as if the universe is on your side, you’re starting to get clearer recollection of last night’s events, realization slowly dawning on you. Likewise, Ahro’s words ring inside your head, urging you to go make your move. Relying on the last possible ounce of alcohol remaining inside you, you gather all your courage and make a proposition. “Am I still up for punishment? Jeonha?”

Seokjin dramatically exhales, rubbing at his face. “Don’t say things like that, ________!” Laughter is already bubbling in the pit of your stomach (just as much as the anticipation for what’s to come, in case your plan works out) but you control yourself, maintaining a straight face as you continue to query him.

“Why? Did I say something, my king?”

Your husband makes a sound, somewhere between a grunt frustration and resilience, and looks at you dead in the eye, “You saying those things just makes me really want to punish you.” Pulse rapidly accelerating, you make a final question, “What’s stopping you, jeonha?”

Seokjin wastes no time with your affirmation, connecting your lips together. Moaning into the kiss, he shifts in his seat to cage you between him and the bed, strong arms holding him up as he deepens the kiss.

Shamelessly grinding his erection against you, Seokjin grunts, gripping at your thighs to keep them spread, “Do you feel how aroused you get me all the time?” Mewling at the sensation, you manage to choke out a reply, “As do you, my love.”

Your husband deftly unties the undergarments you’ve slept in. “Seok…” a breathy whine escapes you as he latches onto on of your nipples. The foreign feeling of his warm, wet tongue sends you shivering and it takes all your might to stop him as you remember Ahro’s advice yesterday, squeezing at your husband’s lithe biceps.

“What is it, sarang? Do you wish to stop?”

“N-no. I want to take control, Jinnie.”

Albeit slightly taken aback by your behest, Seokjin nods, sitting on his heels. “Lie down, my king. I want to pleasure you.” Shock is evident in your husband’s features as he complies with your command, cock already twitching in anticipation. “Take off you clothes too.” Seokjin obeys without further questioning, unknowingly easing the mild worry nipping at you.

Just as what Ahro had told you yesterday, you splay your hands on his chest, before bending down slowly to place kisses all over the milky expanse of his skin. Moving further south until your reach that thin trail of hair, Seokjin’s sudden intakes of air continuously urge you on, until you finally get to his crown jewel.

Licking at your lips, you hastily pull his pants down, your desperation for a mutual release guiding your actions on instinct. As soon as his cock springs free from its confines, you get into action, placing a wet kiss on the tip of his length before slowly taking the head in your mouth.

“O-oh, fuck! What did that lady tell you back at Okt…” Seokjin cries out a broken moan as you pull your mouth back up then diving back in, eventually getting lower to the base. You feel your husband tremble with your every bob, subconsciously tugging at your hair in pleasure.

Seokjin starts to squirm around you, pushing your mouth away from his shaft. “My love, please…. please let me be inside you. I can’t cum like this, please.” Seokjin beseeches, torso already covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

Your husband switches your positions as he pushes you gently onto the bed, but your hand shoots out to grab at his wrist. “C-can...can I be on top?”

There’s a slight furrow in Seokjin’s brows at your request, but he smiles nonetheless, keeping his excitement at bay. “Of course, love. You’re free to sit on your throne anytime.”

He lies back down, both palms out to support you in your task. Gladly placing your hands on him, you crawl back on his lap, moving on your knees to position yourself to impale yourself on his cock.

Taking his length in your hand, you languidly swipe the tip against your wet folds. With one final breath, you push downward, sinking down on his cock until he’s fully seated inside you. Slowly you start, swiveling your hips just as you were told. Seokjin keeps his gaze at you through hooded eyes – a definite boost of confidence for you.

You settle on a particular rhythm, just gyrating your hips around before it gets too much like you’re almost at that point, but not quite yet. You start alternating by bouncing atop him, while your fingers find your clit, rubbing at your nether bud vigorously to push you towards your high.

Seokjin grabs at your breasts, twisting and tweaking your nipples, stimulating you further. He feels you clench around him as you orgasm nears quickly and his balls tighten likewise, painting your velvety walls white as he reaches his climax after you.

You fall to his chest, panting just as heavily as Seokjin. He decides on keeping himself still sheathed inside you for a while longer, reveling in the feeling of his cum dripping out of your pussy and onto his thigh. “The next time you go to Okta, take me with you, alright? I’ll have whatever you had back there.”

#bts smut #bangtanhq #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #btswritingcafe #btsguild #hyunglinenetwork #bangtanarmynet #btsghostie #bayanihanboost #kim seokjin #seokjin smut

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bangtiddies · 4 years

Text

Full Moons and Arrows

Pairing: Prince!Jimin x Female Reader, a split second of Taehyung x Unnamed Female OC Genre: Romance, Angst, Fluff, Fantasy Rating: PG15 Words: 3.1k Warnings: minor violence, blood, kidnapping, mentioned death, use of weapons, mentioned sex

Summary: Despite having spent almost five full moons with Prince Jimin, you haven’t managed to tell him of your past. On the night of your fifth full moon together, your old enemies discover your whereabouts.

Note: unedited because I’m a fool. I’m so sorry that this took me so long to write jdfksnkekd but here’s my last Drinks & Drabbles fic!! This fic is heavily inspired by D&D and those fantasy historical anime I used to watch as a kid (*cough* Inuyasha *cough*) Requested by @hyyunjins for Drinks & Drabbles: i would like to request jimin + wine + whiskey ;-;

Jimin is never late, always making it by the entrance of your orchard thirty minutes after sunset. He always greets you with a kind smile, affection in his eyes. A passionate kiss, hand intertwining with yours, “I missed you today.”

So, you feel a shiver down your spine when the glass candle clock tells you that it has been almost sixty minutes since you lit it after sunset. Jimin is late. And it’s not something you can shrug off — he would send his trusted adviser to inform you if he got caught up in business. You know that with Jimin’s status as the crown prince and how fast rumours spread in the small kingdom, news of him being potentially unwell would have reached you by now. Not to mention that you had seen Jimin earlier today in the village when he was tending to some business, fond look in his eyes telling you that he would meet you tonight under the full moon.

It’s become somewhat of a tradition to meet under the full moon and spend the night together, ever since you had met him five moons ago. Since then, you had been courted by the crown prince. Since then, the nights spent together would sometimes last a full candle clock.

Five moons ago, you had arrived in the small kingdom with your friend Jungkook, deciding to settle down. There was an orchard owned by an elderly elven couple that the two of you had inherited after a mission that lasted four moons. The owners were thankful of the two of you granting their favour, and since they had no heir, they gifted their orchard to you in gratitude.

Settling down was a decision that you and Jungkook agreed on, disbanding from your party of rogue travellers and wanting nothing more than to settle in one place. To finally find a place to call home. You had offered the rest of your friends to settle alongside you and Jungkook, but they denied your offer, still wanting to live in the thrill of adventure.

On the second night of your settlement, you were greeted by a beautiful prince at the entrance of the orchard. Kind eyes and friendly conversation lead into stories of the young prince’s childhood spent playing in the orchard and picking the fruit off the trees. Several nights under the stars passed, slowly falling into a romantic rhythm with the crown prince. Until one night, under the first full moon, you were courted by the prince, confessions shared and a candle clock spent in passion.

Five moons have passed and you’re still enamoured by Jimin, Crown Prince of Jasmine, just like you were the first night you met him. A season has passed, and your lover looks even more beautiful under the cherry blossom trees. Despite your love for him, you’ve yet to tell him of your past. He knows that you were an adventurer before settling in Jasmine, but the reputation you once had is something you’ve kept in the dark.

Perchance you’ll be telling him very soon.

You see a glimpse of the shadow of a person on the path toward the orchard, worry filling your lungs as the candle clock burns past the sixty minute mark. It takes a while to find the owner of the shadow, only to have a person you had not seen in five moons appearing by the trees beside you. Your eyes widen, an unsettling feeling travelling down your back. It’s too convenient for an old friend to appear when your lover is late. There’s no way that this could be a coincidence.

“Fox,” you whisper into the silent night. “What are you doing here?”

Jung Hoseok, also known as Zinnia’s Fox, one of the best rogues you know, looks conflicted. His sombre expression brings a constricting feeling of fear to your chest. Jungkook, who seemed to have noticed Hoseok’s arrival, stumbles out of the front door of your humble house. Doe eyes wide, he looks between you and Hoseok.

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok says, taking a shaky breath in. “The Crimson River Bandits, they--”

“They have the prince, don’t they,” Jungkook says, realising the situation after seeing how much time has passed since lighting the candle clock.

“I overheard them talking about capturing the Monkey’s lover and I had to come here to inform you.”

“Is the rest of the team with you,” you ask.

Hoseok nods. “They’re in the forest by Jasmine’s Southern river.”

“The bandits?”

“By the river.”

“Of course they are,” Jungkook mutters. “Bloody river bandits and their obsession with rivers.”

“Rabbit,” you say, Jungkook’s alias feeling so odd on your tongue after so long. “Get my bow and arrows, will you?”

Jungkook’s eyes light up. “Are we fighting again?”

You smirk. “Of course we are. Those bandits picked the wrong target.”

(As you rush down to the river, Jungkook lets out a confused huff.

“Why would river bandits want to kidnap your prince?”

Hoseok lets out a chuckle. “Remember when Monkey retrieved that crimson artifact for the noble family thirteen moons ago? Apparently it was one of their most prized stolen possessions.”

You scoff. “They’ve been holding a grudge for that long? How pathetic.”

Jungkook laughs, excitement coursing through his veins. “This is going to be so fun.”)

The Crimson River Bandits are known for their bloody deeds, usually performed by a river so that the outcome from their fights turns the water into a deep crimson colour. You know that they’re after your head, so you have faith that they’ve yet to kill your beloved. Most bandits that you’ve come across find more thrill in fair fighting and looting — killing a prince would definitely put an unwanted target on their backs from people other than a skilled rogue party. And with the reputation that your party had, they probably only expected to fight you alone.

Your old party greets you when Hoseok leads you to their camp in the forest. Taehyung pulls both you and Jungkook into a bone crushing hug upon your arrival, blabbering about how he missed you.

“Starling has his eyes on the bandits. He’ll signal us if the bandits do anything suspicious,” Taehyung says after pulling away from the two of you.

Seokjin has a teasing glint to his eyes when he approaches you. “So, a prince, huh? You’ve really settled down.”

You feel your cheeks heat up, averting your eyes so you don’t lose your composure under Seokjin’s teasing gaze. “And?”

“They’re disgusting,” Jungkook teases. “They make love under every full moon.”

“I will skin you alive,” you grit through your teeth.

“Careful, she might actually hurt you,” Namjoon warns from where he’s sitting by the tents, eyes not leaving his spell book.

“We should also make our way to the river,” Hoseok says, before turning to Namjoon. “Are your spells ready?”

Namjoon sighs and nods. “I hope I don’t have to use them, though.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Seokjin says.

“Raccoon, make sure to signal us if anyone targets the camp,” Hoseok says, turning to the bard standing by the tents. She nods her head in response.

The river isn’t far from the forest, but far enough that the plan for rescue won’t be heard from where the river bandits are situated. Seokjin lays out the plan to you and Jungkook before you leave. Soon enough, your team of six are stealthily making your way toward the bandit camp by the river.

When the camp comes into view, your breath hitches. There’s no sight of Jimin yet — you suspect that he’s probably being held in one of the tents, away from sight. You check your peripheral vision, to see if anyone from your party is in sight, before revealing yourself in front of the bandits. They sneer and laugh at the sight of you on your own, probably thinking that they’ll have you cornered. You stand with the most powerful posture you can, keeping your head up.

“You have the prince,” you state.

A man steps forward with a menacing grin, yellow teeth showing proudly. From the red garb that he’s wearing, you assume that he’s the leader of the bandits. “You arrived quickly. How did you like our message?”

You didn’t receive the message, having already left the orchard before it was sent by arrow. But you know the contents of it, information from Hoseok’s amazing eavesdropping skills coming in handy.

“It was pretty pathetic,” you said, glaring at the leader. You want to rile them up as much as you can. “If you want to seek vengeance against me, why kidnap a prince? Why not ambush me when my guard is down?”

The leader laughs and it echoes through the silent night. “He’s your beloved, is he not? Holding him captive will prevent you from running from us just like our last encounter.”

“I had no business with you in our last encounter. I already had what I needed.”

The man’s grin drops into a sneer. “You took an artifact that was important to us.”

“The artifact was not yours to begin with.”

“Silence,” the leader growls, pulling out his scimitar. “Or I will kill the prince with my own hands.”

You smirk. “Now, you wouldn’t be foolish enough to kill a prince, would you?”

“I will make it that the river turns crimson with your blood for getting away from the Crimson River Bandits. Men! Get the prince,” the leader spits, glaring at you as his mouth widens into a menacing grin. “Don’t worry, wench, we’ll let you see your beloved before you perish.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t say a word. You need to make sure that Jimin is alive and well first.

The bandits bring Jimin out from one of their tents, the young prince struggling in their grip. His wrists are tied together by rope, the red burn around his wrists evidence that he’s been fighting the moment he’s been captured.

“Let me down!” he yells at them. “Get me out of these restraints immediately!”

When he notices you standing by the river, his eyes widen. He stops struggling, mouth open, about to speak to you.

“Dear prince, how nice of you to join us,” the leader says with a glint in his eyes, grin teasing you.

“Nice?” Jimin scoffs. “I was taken here against my will.”

The leader laughs. “You can blame your beloved for that.”

Jimin looks over to you, noticing your hostile state, the fact that you’re not in restraints like himself. His soft eyes ask you a million questions, and you try to send him a message with a single expression. He gives you a nod, and you hope that it means that he understood.

“Are you petty enough to hold a grudge for thirteen moons,” you ask the leader.

“You took an artifact from us,” the leader snarled.

“So you decided to hold my beloved captive?” you laugh. “Unfortunately, you picked the wrong enemy.”

You draw an arrow, causing the rest of the bandits to draw their weapons. Jimin’s eyes widen, trying his best to remove himself from the restraints. The situations seems unfair. There’s about thirty bandits. Against one you.

Suddenly, a yell is heard from behind one of the tents. A bandit falls unconscious, weapon now disappeared, the sound of rustling in the bushes nearby.

The leader turns to see his fallen bandit, before turning back to you with a glare.

“You have people with you,” he states.

You smirk. “Did you really think I was going to come alone?”

Lightening strikes, barely missing one of the bandits, starting the ambush from your party. Each of your party members appear from different areas of the camp, fighting away the bandits and disarming them. You jump back onto the bridge, keeping yourself at a good distance from the camp for your ranged weapons. A shadow weaves between bandits to swiftly remove Jimin from his restraints, all while taking down the bandits by his side.

“Thanks,” Jimin says to the man who freed him, taking in his black attire and harnesses. With the man is a familiar face, Jeon Jungkook, hands and feet bare, in a stance prepared to fight.

Hoseok smiles. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Monkey’s beloved.”

Jungkook scoffs from beside him, kicking and punching away any bandit that came close to the prince. “Stop being weird, Fox.”

“I have an ought to meet the man who stole the heart of my friend,” Hoseok says to Jungkook, before striking a bandit who comes up behind him and disarming him. He then turns to Jimin. “I can take you somewhere safe.”

Jimin’s eyes harden, cold stare toward the leader who’s occupied by a giant tiger. “I’m not going anywhere. I can fight.”

“Prince Jimin, please,” Jungkook starts, wanting to deter Jimin from staying the middle of the camp, the fear of the potential of the prince being struck by a weapon in his mind. But he sighs, seeing the determined look on the prince’s face. “Don’t get hurt.”

Jimin nods, picking up a weapon from one of the fallen bandits, and readying himself for the fight. Jungkook smiles with excitement and curiosity, having never seen this side of the prince before. He would assume that this Jimin was someone else completely different from the one he knew, if it weren’t for the soft glances he keeps making toward you.

Half the bandits down and disarmed, you continue to shoot your arrows toward the rest of the bandits, making sure you don’t kill them. You notice that Taehyung’s struggling with the leader of the bandits on his own and decide to help, not seeing Jimin sneaking up on the leader.

When you do, however, it’s too late.

Your eyes widen, hands shaking. It’s too late. You’ve already let go of your arrow. Your world slows as your arrow strikes Jimin instead of the leader of the bandits.

You quickly jump off the bridge, running toward where Jimin is. The leader, distracted by Jimin’s yell of pain, is suddenly disarmed by Taehyung, taking the leader’s weapons with a growl. Jimin strikes the man with his weapon before falling, arrow still lodged in his back.

“Jimin!” you yell, catching your beloved before he hits the ground. You make sure to not touch the arrow, not wanting to make the injury worse. Guilt rises in your throat as you noticed Jimin’s ragged breathing.

“Hey,” he smiles at you, love in his eyes. “You’re pretty cool, you know.”

You try to smile back, keeping your emotions at bay. You can’t show the bandits any vulnerability. “Just keep your eyes open for me, okay?”

The leader of the bandits laughs, gripping onto his bleeding arm. He opens his mouth to say something condescending, only for Hoseok to jump through the shadows to blow some sleeping powder in the leader’s face.

“I don’t want to hear another word from you,” Hoseok says to the leader, getting one last tired sneer before the man passes out. The rest of your party runs to where the rest of you are, Yoongi already by Jimin’s side to give him a quick healing spell.

“All the bandits are disarmed and unconscious,” Namjoon lets Hoseok know.

Hoseok nods. “Let’s get back to camp.”

You’re lucky that your party has some decent healers, worry no longer sitting in your chest as you sit by the fire of your party’s camp. Yoongi plays his lute to entertain the rest of your teammates as you wait for Jimin to fully heal. Taehyung, back in his human form, rests in his tent with his beloved, scars he received from fighting with the leader of the bandits being healed by her.

Jimin walks out of the tent after a few songs, Seokjin following after him. His eyes scan the camp before they land on you, a wide smile breaking out on his face. He walks to you and you intertwine your fingers with his as he sits next to you.

“How are you feeling,” you ask in a quiet voice.

“Like I’m brand new.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, guilt still in your chest.

“Hey,” Jimin whispers, pulling you in so your head hits his chest. “I’m alive. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

Yoongi starts a new song and this time, Jungkook sings along with his soft and beautiful voice. The two of you sit together in silence, listening to the beautiful music. Seokjin is sitting close by so he can keep an eye on Jimin, but he gives the two of you privacy and starts a hushed conversation with Hoseok.

“So,” Jimin says after a while, pulling away from the hug so he can look at you, teasing glint in his eyes. “You’re a ranger, huh?”

You nod. “I wasn’t sure how I could tell you. I’m sorry.”

Jimin laughs. “It’s fine. We’ve only known each other for five moons. We have plenty more time to get to know each other.”

“Well, I guess I should also let you know that I’m known as Hydrangea’s Monkey.”

“I heard,” Jimin smirks. “Even I knew about Hydrangea’s Monkey before I met you. When the crimson bandits talked of Hydrangea’s Monkey, I couldn’t believe that they were talking about you.”

“So,” you ask. “What will you do with this information?”

Jimin leans into you, lips centimetres away from yours. “I think I want to see more of Hydrangea’s Monkey. You look ravishing when you fight.”

You close the gap between you and Jimin, locking your lips with his, kissing him with passion, desperation, love, love, love. You run your fingers through his hair and he gasps into the kiss, hands gripping your waist.

“Hey, not in front of the kids!” Seokjin yells, running to Jungkook so he can cover his eyes.

“I’m not a child!” Jungkook exclaims, fighting Seokjin’s hands. “I’ve seen enough of their lip-locking already.”

You pull away from the kiss so you can laugh at your friends, arms still over Jimin’s shoulders. Jimin’s hands don’t leave your waist, instead he grips them tighter.

“It’s a full moon tonight,” Jimin whispers.

You turn to him, a glint in your eyes, smile on your face. “Let’s go find ourselves some privacy.”

The two of you swiftly sneak away from your party, giggling together and holding hands as you find a nice clearing under the moon. You spend your fifth full moon with Jimin like you always do, only tonight is filled with more love and passion than the full moons before. That night, you make a promise. A promise for a future, a promise to get to know each other more.

Under the fifth full moon together, you find yourself loving Jimin more than you thought you ever could.

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squidpro-quo · 4 years

Note

Are you guys still working on the Pandora's tears au? It's fantastic >v

Oh my goodness, anon, thank you so much for the continued interest! The Pandora’s Tears au is still near and dear to @qxiu, @sup-poki and my hearts, I have the next piece of the puzzle here and I hope you enjoy it!

PROLOGUE|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Shinichi’s legs had been cramping ever since he returned to his proper form and Haibara had been less than discreet in commenting about the circles under his eyes. He didn’t like the insinuations she’d gone on to make afterwards of ‘connective tissue strain’ and ‘melatonin imbalance’ from his time as Conan. But it wouldn’t matter as long as he found the missing component and, historically speaking, he was one of the best at finding what was absent from a complete picture.

And he knew someone who was an expert at acquiring things that nobody wanted to let go of.

What he hadn’t expected to find was KID facing a gun with the kind of resignation that came with someone who had little left to lose, and the calmness of one who had been through the same rigmarole many times before. It painted a different picture of the thief than he’d always assumed; he’d somehow thought that he was the one who brought the dangerous element to their collaborations and to find that KID faced such kinds of threats alone tugged at something in his chest.

The decision to take a leaf out of KID’s book had been impulsive but he hadn’t stopped wearing the watch or the bowtie so far, out of an understanding of their usefulness is what he tried to believe, instead of forces of habit that he hadn’t broken yet. He’d thought that KID would leave just as quietly as the other at the sound of the pursuit, had accepted the fact that he’d have to try again at another heist, but the thief had let out a faint groan instead and addressed him.

“What brings you here, so late to tonight’s game?” KID asked, hand rising to tip his hat in a greeting, though Shinichi suspected it was actually to shadow the wince that flitted across his face. “I have no further interest in the Song of the Sea, you may have it. You missed the fun part, however.”

“I’d wager I caught the end of it.” Shinichi stepped into the cafe proper, slowly drawing closer to the thief who had edged towards the windows at his back. “I had a question to ask.”

“Why am I unsurprised by your new appearance?” KID grinned, the flash of his old brilliance painfully brief and Shinichi wished he wasn’t about to ask him to jump into something else likely just as bad as what he was apparently fighting already. “The bowtie suits you. No glasses?”

“That would be too much,” he admitted, remembering the contacts he’d struggled with that morning. Some things he couldn’t bear to bring along, and some things he wanted to ignore in the hope that it wouldn’t last forever.

“Ah. Well, if that’s all, I can answer simply. Our circles have a sliver of overlap, not to mention I’d be a pretty shoddy excuse for a thief if I didn’t keep track of those who can keep up with me. Now then,” KID said, bowing as he came to the end and stepping up onto the sill of the window and drawing aside the pane to let the breeze play with the free-floating folds of his cape. It billowed behind him like the ethereal trail of a comet, ghostly in the pale light and Shinichi had the feeling that he was talking to someone who had already gone beyond the fade.

“No, I wanted to ask you about… P4NDØ124?” As soon as the designation left his mouth, Shinichi knew the answer to his question. KID’s mouth thinned just slightly, if he hadn’t been watching so carefully for any sign from the tightly shuttered thief he’d have missed it entirely.

“What does that have to do with you? Where did you hear that?”

The defensiveness behind the questions threw Shinichi off his stride, unused to hearing the note of fear in KID’s voice.

“I need it... to stay like this.” He gestured to himself, moving closer on the chance that that would keep KID from fleeing their conversation.

“This isn’t permanent?” Kid asked, the eye clear of monocle or shadow softening. “How many times have you switched back and forth?”

“More times than I should have. This last antidote works, but it’s incomplete.”

“Why do you think I’d have any idea how to find what you need?”

“I came to ask for your help, because while I might not be Conan anymore I thought you hadn’t changed.” He took a chance, risking the thief’s privacy on his hunch. “And I know there has to be a reason you return every jewel you take. You’re searching for something, I can help you in exchange. While there’s still time.”

KID turned, putting his back to the open air outside and the moonless silhouette that now faced him was unnerving in its stillness. Shinichi had always thought he understood how KID thought, at least on a base level, but he was questioning many things tonight.

“A little quid pro quo then, like old times. I’ve not yet had the opportunity to work with you without taking your place instead,” KID noted, his expression hidden even though Shinichi thought he sounded pensive. “You’re lucky, my great detective, that what we seek is one and the same.”

The revelation was closely followed by the sound of the squad officers thundering up the stairs, having completed their search of the rest of the building, and this time their noise was not a fabrication. Shinichi started forward, hand outstretched, for what purpose he could only guess at but his fingers did brush the very edge of a sleeve.

KID loomed over him even as he shifted out of his grasp, a glint of light the only disruption of the darkness he cast over the room and Shinichi felt fingers close over his wrist.

“Find me, while there’s still time,” the thief whispered, abruptly letting go as he leapt from his perch. Shinichi was still standing at the open window when Nakamori reached him. While the Inspector and his men exclaimed in relief over the jewel hanging at his neck, Shinichi’s thoughts were occupied with the tremble he’d felt in KID’s hand, shaking even as he’d tried to hold on to him.

#kaishin #dcmk #Kuroba Kaito #Kudou Shinichi #kaitou kid #pandora's tears #my writing #dcmk fic #prompt response #anonymous #ask tag #thank you for the nudge #i need reminding sometimes about what i've started #i can't believe it's been so long since we came up with this!

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restlessmaknae · 4 years

Text

promises for pride - past days

Beware of promises. You never know what they might turn you into.

Also; the downfall of a prince and his way of becoming one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

♦ Characters: prince!Seokjin x princess!OC (later Pride!Seokjin)

♦ Genre: demon au, seven deadly sins au, pride au, historical, angst, drama

♦ Words: 13k

♦ Warning: mentions of blood, death and the usual historical stuff

♦ promises for pride: past days (first half) / present days (second half)

🙝 1 🙞

Humble. Light-hearted. Innocent.

Kim Seokjin was the definition of purity, humility and goodness. Even though he was one of Goryeo’s princes, he didn’t look down on anyone, except himself. He was said to be the only royal in the palace whose soul wasn’t chained to the Devil. In the midst of hatred, treason, pride and intrigue, he was a living angel.

As a result, he was the one who was constantly bullied, both physically and emotionally abused and even his royal family and their servants called him names. Sometimes they mocked him because of his baby cheeks, reprimanded him for his bad eye-sight and made fun of him due to his fragile body. Sometimes they made up lies, just to make him receive the punishment. He could easily be used because he never − not even once − protested. Not when they accused him of stealing from the King’s jewellery box, for shoving his brothers into the palace’s lake or laying a hand on the soon-to-be king.

Why would he bear everything, although he knew that he didn’t deserve it? The answer was pretty easy. He didn’t know. He had no idea how he was supposed to be treated. He didn’t witness love, affection and humility around himself. Not until Park Myungeun showed up in his life, Myungeun being 12 years old and Seokjin being 13 years old at that time. After her arrival, his world was lifted upside-down.

Myungeun and Seokjin were the parties for an arranged marriage as a beneficial diplomatic deal, signed by the king of Goryeo and the king of Hubaekje. He was the 7th prince back then and she was the 8th princess. It was said that once Seokjin turns 19 years old, they would get married.

Being only 13 years old, he had no idea what to expect when Princess Myungeun and the king of Hubaekje - King Gyeonhwon - arrived at the palace, her father literally tossing her into the grandiose hall of his home.

Seokjin was eating his breakfast in the kitchen (another way to show that the King treated him differently; he couldn’t eat with the others, his breakfast was served in the kitchen where the servants worked), therefore he could eavesdrop the conversation with the said princess and her father. He even sneaked a bit because he was curious and came in sight with a tall, manly figure and a pretty girl with glistening eyes and a heart-shaped face. He gulped when he saw her. Her beauty was out of this world.

“Behave, child!” The father’s voice struck like lightning and resonated back from the rigid walls. The little boy shivered. “I don’t want to hear anything from you. Not even good, not even bad. Don’t forget that you are only here because Hubaekje doesn’t need another enemy at its current state. If things go wrong, you can get killed, you can be used or sold. Don’t forget that you are under King Wanggun's supervision from now on,” he splattered without any emotion displaying on his face. Without even love, hate or pity. Absolutely nothing. He was almost as stern as a statue.

“Put the children in her room until I meet with King Wanggun,” he turned to one of the servants, a pretty fifty-something lady with grizzled hair who looked just as puzzled as Myungeun. She was so startled that she almost forgot about the child when she started walking towards the corridor. Seokjin assumed that he was always as strict as this time but judged by the shock on the lady’s face, he knew that his behaviour wasn’t usual. “Make sure to keep an eye on her! I don’t want her to cause any trouble,” he added impatiently, his lips pursed in a thin line. The servant bowed politely and gently grabbed the girl by her wrist, leading her to her room.

Even though Seokjin was quite far from the scene, he could still feel the scorn and detestation that radiated off of the king of Hubaekje. He didn’t only look mean but also dangerous. He couldn’t understand how his father convinced King Gyeonhwon to seal a deal with him instead of attacking Goryeo and taking over the country. Everyone knew that Hubaekje had more soldiers but it was also a well-known fact that those soldiers weren’t as strong as the ones in Goryeo. As a result, signing a contract and deciding on peace was a win-win for both parties.

At that time, Seokjin didn’t know a lot about politics. He was forced to learn the name of previous kings and commanders, learn a bit about Goryeo’s history but he was never properly taught how to lead a country, when it was beneficial to seal a deal and what should we prioritise when we go into war. There was only one thing that he was taught to believe; everyone was an enemy outside the palace. However, despite his young age, Seokjin already knew well that he had enemies within the palace, too. In fact, that was all he had. Until Myungeun showed up that day and they started talking, he had nothing but enemies by his side.

Oh, what a lovely conversation they had! He could still remember every word that left her rosy-coloured lips, every expression that was displaying on her heart-shaped face and every glint that was swimming in her obsidian-black eyes.

What he didn’t know then that she would also cause the death of him and their love would really be one that lasts forever… and even more.

🙝 2 🙞

Come to think of their first conversation, Seokjin always had an ambivalent feeling. At that time, it felt natural but as years went by, it became a constant subject of their heart-to-heart talks and a reason why they suddenly started smiling, no matter where they went or what situation they were in. Being the Pride himself, he didn’t feel anything, only numbness. The smile that dared to creep onto his face was chemical; it was a mere trace of his usual smile.

It was the day of Myungeun’s arrival. She was sitting on the green grass, in the middle of their breath-taking garden, almost right beside the lake. The weather was lovely – the sun placed searing kisses on their pale skin, slowly caressing the fragility of their human bodies. Sometimes he wished he could still have a chance to feel the sunshine on his cracked skin or to feel the touch of her hand just one more time.

Nevertheless, he knew that it would only make things worse. She would make him feel even more miserable and cause more pain that she had already done.

First of all, little Seokjin only watched her from afar; watched as the wind played with the childish curls of her hair or as the butterflies were flying above her head, creating an invisible halo. Only after a few seconds when he had already made sure that they were alone did he actually approach her, clearing his throat as he came to a halt beside her.

Myungeun looked up from her book and averted her eyes to the boy. She was apparently taken aback by his sudden visit or his mere presence. He didn’t really know, after all it was their first proper encounter after the arranged marriage deal between their parents. Since they were still minors, they weren’t there when they came up with the conditions.

“May I sit beside you, Her Royal Highness, Princess of Hubaekje?” He bowed in respect, calling her by her proper name. He was once beaten because he couldn’t address a princess in the right way, so he made sure that he didn’t make any mistakes this time.

“It would be an honour, Your Highness,” she bobbed her head in response, closing the book in her hand. After her invitation, he hopped down beside her, stretching his hand out to touch the slightly wet grass which was watered by a sudden downpour earlier that day.

Myungeun smiled coyly, her adorable big doe eyes shining with both fondness and affection. She was quite flustered because it was her first time meeting a prince in person (and not his own brothers), not during a ball or a birthday celebration. Not to mention that she was perfectly aware of the fact that the boy who was sitting beside him, looking oh so harmless would be his husband one day. Even though she was only 12 years old, she knew that she sacrificed her safety, free-will and even her happiness for that marriage. She didn’t have a choice though, she had to do it for her kingdom. She was a princess, that was her duty.

“You have a really pretty dress,” he complimented, examining her from head to toe in that typical childish manner which was anything but rude. He looked at the world like he could still find something new, something magnificent and he could wander for long minutes without saying anything, without moving around. That was what infancy was about; to explore the beauty of the world because as soon as you grow up, you will find it harder and harder to find the rainbow in the midst of a heavy rain.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” she blushed deeply and her cheeks looked like two rosebuds.

“I don’t like to be called Your Highness,” the boy pouted sadly. “It makes me feel old. I’m just 13 years old. Instead, how about coming up with a nickname for me?” he leaned forward to see the hidden universes in her obsidian-black eyes. She flushed even more, not knowing what to do about the sudden intimacy.

A moment later, he also got embarrassed and backed away, questioning why he even dared to get closer to the 8th princess of Hubaekje. If his father had seen it, he would have punished him for his shameless behaviour. “So that you and only you can call me by that,” he added with a subtle smile, still a bit ashamed of his previous act.

The girl was left thinking for some seconds. Seokjin found it cute how she started biting her lips while she was pondering for a thought. It was an act out of hesitation but he still thought that it was adorable. She seemed natural and not at all princess-like and it made him feel at ease. At least, someone in the palace didn’t act like they ruled the world.

“What about Jinnie?” she suggested but as soon as she said the made-up nickname out loud, she giggled. She didn’t think that it would be so awful until the words left her mouth.

“Ah, that sounds like a girl’s name,” the little boy huffed in disbelief but a mischievous smile was evident on his face.

“Oh really, I’m so sorry,” Myungeun apologised in between laughs. Her laughter reminded him of the bell that was ringing through the utmost silence of the room; it was glorious, soothing and one of a kind. Something that chilled him to his bones and made his young heart beat faster. Something that was like an unknown character for him; he saw its curves and lines but he still couldn’t know its meaning. “And JinJin?” She raised her eyebrows, curiously waiting for his answer. Seokjin shook his head in disapproval.

“That sounds like a Chinese emperor’s name.”

“You are so hopeless,” she blurted out with the honesty of a 12-year-old and gently nudged his shoulder. He was actually flabbergasted at her behaviour. Apart from their introductions, she didn’t treat him like a prince and it might have been bothering or even upsetting for some of his brothers but he was an exception. It actually made him feel like a bird escaping its cage; it was truly deliberating yet scary. Coming off the safe ground was never easy. However, the unknown world never seemed as alluring as right then and there, just because he was with Myungeun.

“How about simply Jin then?” She winked at him and earned a satisfied smile from the little prince. Now, he was pleased with what he had heard.

“Well, I like that,” he admitted sheepishly. “It’s simple and nice,” he smiled to himself, not knowing why his heart was beating so fast. In general, he was like a ghost; he had to be around people to let them know that he was still there but he didn’t want to gain others’ attention. On the other hand, while he was with her, he didn’t want to hide in corners anymore, he wanted to be seen. He wanted to be loved.

“Then Jin, promise me to stay happy and healthy until we get married,” Myungeun said as she turned to face him, her eyes shining with affection. Jin raised his eyebrows in question.

“Why just until then?”

“Because after that, I’ll be your wife and I’ll take care of you,” she puffed her chest out in pride and held out her petite hand. Seokjin looked at it with fondness, examining those state-of-the-art fingers and her pale skin. “Promise?” she asked gleefully while playing with a loose strand of her hair with her other hand. The little boy didn’t have to think twice.

“Promise,” he intertwined their pinkies and sealed their promise.

Neither of them knew that it was a promise which was meant to be broken. They were already in another world when they should have got married.

🙝 3 🙞

It was almost a month after the princess of Hubaekje had arrived that she found out that Seokjin was constantly bullied. To be precise, she witnessed when he got beaten by one of his brothers – to be precise, the 4th prince who was called Sangchul. Oh, how he wished she hadn’t been there!

Seokjin was pressed against the wall in one of the corridors while the 4th prince was punching him in the face. Once, twice, three times… After that, he didn’t even keep count of it. Even though Sangchul claimed that he had stolen his fan that he had got from the Queen for his 16th birthday, he wasn’t the one who stole it. Nonetheless, he willingly received the punishment and didn’t even budge when he hit him again.

The 13-year-old boy saw from the corner of his eyes that a figure showed up at the end of the corridor. He couldn’t see properly who it was but he assumed that it was only one of his brothers or his parents who didn’t care about their son, not even a single bit.

Unfortunately, the sudden visitor turned out to be Myungeun who didn’t have the heart to back off and leave him there. She boldly came up to them, taking Sangchul by surprise who suddenly froze when he caught sight of her. The young girl looked ridiculously small beside the 17-year-old prince and Seokjin wanted nothing else than to warn her and shout until she got scared and ran away. Yet, the words stuck in his throat and his mouth went dry. Blood was streaming down his face and his lips were chapped. Overall, he was a beautiful mess.

“May I ask what I am witnessing, Your Highness?” the princess turned to Sangchul whose eyes widened in amazement. Even though the 8th princess of Hubaekje was younger than them and looked absolutely harmless, there was something in her tone that make everyone dread her words.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” the elder prince shook his head. “Seokjin-ssi is merely receiving his punishment for stealing my property,” he added nonchalantly, glancing at the younger boy who was trying to stop his nosebleed in vain. He didn’t even dare to look up until Myungeun turned to face him and directed a question at him.

“Is that true?” she inquired without any hint of accusation. The boy felt the tension in the air and it didn’t help either that his heart was beating so fast, it ran like a wild horse who had just escaped its cage. He hesitated whether or not to tell her the truth. He didn’t want to look up, he didn’t want her to see his face and see how weak he was. He didn’t want her to get involved.

Yet, he couldn’t resist the urge to look into her hickory-brown eyes. Those beautiful blossoming rose buds that glowed more than ever. Those remarkable books that kept secrets and legends under their cover. Those nights that carried the cry of an innocent child and the giggle of a growing woman. Those little diamonds could tell anything but so could Seokjin’s worry-filled orbs.

Without saying a single word out loud, he shook his head in disagreement and knew that the girl got the message. To prove that he was right, she averted her eyes back to Sangchul who was flabbergasted at this absurd scene.

“It’s true, Your Highness,” he lied without a blink of an eye. “Don’t believe him! He’s a notorious liar,” he stumbled upon his words and the princess couldn’t feel anything but pity. Despite the fact that the 4th prince was 5 years older than her, he seemed like he was her interior, he didn’t act like a reliable soon-to-be-king. Not to mention his horrific acting skills, he was terrible at lying.

“Do you have evidence?” Myungeun counter-attacked and left both of the boys open-mouthed. Sangchul was apparently cornered by her question while Seokjin was more than surprised to see her acting like that. He had never seen her so serious and bold before. She was the definition of justice, that’s for sure.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you have evidence that the 7th prince stole what is yours?” she repeated patiently, not even showing signs of irritation or fear. She was utterly calm and firm.

However, the 4th prince seemed to come back to his senses and regained his usual, aggressive self. He started fuming in anger and spitted the words like they were infected animals on the verge of dying and he had to witness while they were suffering. He looked at her with disgust and pity in his eyes.

“How dare you ask me if I have evidence? You are just a useless princess, you have no right to question my words,” he bellowed like a bull and without warning, he came closer to her and slapped her in the face.

Three seconds of silence fell between the three of them. None of them said anything out loud; Seokjin gasped in horror, Sangchul had to suppress a triumphant smirk while Myungeun didn’t show any sign of pain. It was almost like she was too used, so it didn’t even make a difference to her.

“You are aware that I can inform my father anytime to send the army of Hubaekje and attack your kingdom. Is that right, Your Highness?” she raised her eyebrows in question.

Seokjin presumed that she would be shivering or at least her voice would be shaking but no, not at all. She was in perfect control of her emotions and her body. She wasn’t afraid. God knows how she had such a will-power to even question the 4th prince’s words who was 5 years older than her!

On the other hand, she was absolutely right. Goryeo didn’t have a choice but to either seal the deal with Hubaekje or get attacked by its army. She was a figure on the chess board, to be precise, the most important one. If she gets hurt, Hubaekje finally has a reason to attack the other kingdom. If she stays there, her home can stay safe and sound until the two kings decide otherwise. If we take that into consideration, she was almost like a hostage in the palace but she made sure to take every advantage of her role.

“You…” the elder prince spluttered furiously. He was apparently outraged and didn’t even know what to say after her fearless response. “You will get killed before your army can cross our borders,” he jeered at her with a wavering tone but to no avail. She was perfectly aware of the fact that it was an act out of defence, nothing more and nothing less.

Nevertheless, it was enough to scare Sanchul away, so he swiftly let go of his brother and leave the two children together. He disappeared so quickly, it seemed that he hadn’t even been there.

“Myungeun, are you okay?” Seokjin tumbled a bit to examine the aftermath of the prince’s violent act but she was really fine. She was only worried about him.

“I’m okay but you certainly broke our promise,” she whispered with a horrified flinch as she looked at his injuries. His face was covered in blood since his nose was still bleeding and he blurred his face with it like his skin was a canvas and his blood was his paint. He was really a beautiful mess.

“What promise?”

“You promised me that you will take care of yourself,” she reminded him gently and touched his left cheek. He backed away in an instant, both because his wound hurt and because he didn’t want her to touch him like that. Not when he’s covered in blood and literally on the verge of fainting.

“I will take care of myself from now on. I promise,” he bobbed his head but she wasn’t convinced. Instead, she took a step closer and hugged the little boy. It was only a childish hug with which she wanted to reassure him, telling him that she was there, no matter what happened and what he did. Love wasn’t in sight back then.

Nonetheless, she still got her hopes up and believed in his words. Again. But the first promise was already broken and more followed.

🙝 4 🙞

After seeing how his brother treated Myungeun and helplessly witnessing everything, Seokjin spent more hours learning sword fighting and martial arts than he had ever done before. His father didn’t even notice how he sneaked into abandoned rooms, diligently studying with the help of hidden notes from the palace’s library and practising over and over again.

He was lucky because when it once came to his usual practice in the afternoon, one of the martial arts’ teachers who worked with his brothers in the palace, caught him in the middle of his act and offered to teach him properly. He wasn’t allowed to train with his brothers because his father claimed that it wouldn’t do any good to the royal family. It wasn’t a surprise though as he didn’t even look at Seokjin like he was his son. From the day Seokjin was born, he was labelled as a scourge. He didn’t even know why Bang Sihyuk-ssi decided to help him.

However, with the said martial arts master, he finally had the chance to learn all the tricks that he needed in order to protect himself. Nonetheless, every learning is a process, so it came as no surprise that at first, he still couldn’t put into practice what he had learned. He wasn’t strong enough. He knew that it wasn’t merely psychological; he wasn’t mentally prepared to fight back. He would have to go against his own rules if he wanted to overcome his fear of hurting others.

Due to the fact that he was still a newbie, he could easily end up in the larder with the lovely Myungeun who was trying to patch him up. Of course, the doors were locked, they were all by themselves. Not even the chef knew about their secret hide-out.

“Why do people hurt others?” the little boy asked innocently while Myungeun was putting some kind of a leaf on his bruised skin. It hurt him like he was walking on fire but he tried not to show it. The girl was risking her own status in the palace while helping him, so he didn’t want to put an even heavier weight on her shoulders.

“I’m afraid I don’t know the perfect answer to that question,” the princess shook her head with an apologetic smile. Even though he was in pain, just seeing that smile of hers or looking into her hickory-brown eyes made him forget about all the misery in the world. “I don’t know the reason behind people’s hate. I think in a way we all try to find our place in this tangled world, chasing after shooting stars and wishing upon them like they would really make our dreams come true. When things don’t go according to our plan, we panic, we blame others and we try to hate someone instead of hating this unknown mystery that some call fate, some call destiny,” she whispered to make sure that no one could hear them while she placed some herbs on his scarred skin. He flinched at the sudden searing pain but pressured his lips and endured the pain. It was still better than being beaten up by his own brother.

Apart from the green leaves, her words felt like a kind of medicine, too. Not just his body but his heart was also screaming for help; when his misery seemed unbearable, she was there. Every single time. Not just this one. She definitely kept her promise.

“How can you be so smart?” Jin blurted out and the princess couldn’t help but giggle at his adorable question. Her laughter sounded like a lullaby told by beloved mothers – it was precious for him because he never once heard anything like this before.

“I’m not smart. I just read a lot,” Myungeun emphasised with a cocky smile. She gently wrapped a bandage around his wrist and pulled down the sleeves of his hanbok. Then, she let out an aghast sigh and looked at him with the most affectionate pair of eyes that he had ever seen. He was certain from the twinkles and the little backflips in that infinite abyss that she was pure, humble and most importantly: honest.

“I had the time to read as I was locked up in my room since I was born. My father didn’t want me to cause trouble that could lead to him losing the crown, so he made sure that all of his heirs were kept close to him. They even killed some of my brothers because he accused them of treason. If we take that into consideration, I’m lucky to be alive,” she trailed off at the end, her voice a bit shaky. The bittersweet aftertaste still lingered in his mouth when he decided to speak up. Maybe her confession triggered him to confess as well.

“I wish I was dead.”

“Ah, don’t say that, Jin,” the girl’s eyes widened in shock, her lips pursed into a thin lie. She didn’t hesitate to sit down beside him as soon as she heard his wish. A moment later, she reached for his hand and he didn’t have the heart to swat it away. Despite the fact that he wasn’t worthy of her touch, he let her hold his hand and draw invisible circles on his pale skin. If there was someone who wanted to leave traces on him, he wanted her to be that someone. “You are so special to this world,” she added lovingly, her eyes full of precious little raindrops that people looked after a terrible drought.

“How?” Seokjin cried helplessly. “I’m not smart, I’m not handsome and I’m not even strong. I’m nothing while my father wants me to be everything,” he said and felt as the weight was lifted off of his chest. Given that he had no friends in the palace and he couldn’t talk to his relatives either, he really had no one to turn to when something was bothering him. He was young, scared and lonely. Until Myungeun appeared in his life like a shooting star on a sultry summer day, he was lost in this world. Now that she was with him, he wanted to find his place but didn’t know how.

“You are smart, you are certainly handsome and you are so strong. If not physically, then mentally. Just because you can’t see it, it doesn’t mean that it’s not true,” she tried to reassure him but to no avail. He could always find something to prove her wrong.

“How can I believe in all of what you've said when all I did was reprimanding myself and finding flaws and weaknesses?”

“It’s time to change your way of thinking,” she stated sadly as he yanked his hand away from hers. He saw the disappointment in her eyes but he couldn’t help. He was disgusted of himself, of his weaknesses and childish worries. He hated his whole being, his fragile body and his inability to do anything to protect himself but most of all, to protect the only people who cared about him; his future wife. He didn’t want to push her away but he was afraid that she might get hurt if she stays with him. Nevertheless, she was too adamant, so she stayed.

“It’s not selfish to accept and love yourself, Jin. You shouldn’t think less of yourself but you should think of yourself less.”

“But it’s so hard when I’m the 7th prince of Goreyo and everyone hates me,” he flung his arms in the air in frustration. His life was a mess and he was destined to die as Goreyo’s hidden prince that no one knew about yet everyone wished to forget. He accepted his fate, so why couldn’t she do the same? “And I’m also afraid that I will become a narcissist if I believe you,” he confessed, his voice barely audible. That was what terrified him the most; the change. What if he would overdo it and become someone like his father? Become a merciless, heartless and narcissistic dictator. He didn’t want that. He would rather die than become someone like King Wanggun.

“You won’t become a narcissist. I promise you,” Myungeun flashed a reassuring smile and soothed his nerves a little. Maybe he didn’t believe her but until she was with him, he wanted to - at least – try to believe her.

“Pinkie promise?” he raised his eyebrows in question but she nodded without hesitation.

“Pinkie promise,” she reached for his hand and intertwined their pinkies.

Little did they know that it was another promise that was meant to be broken.

🙝 5 🙞

In order to reach the top of the mountain, you need to fight against snowstorms, you have to get up after you fall down and you need to be patient and stay strong. No matter what happens, you have to stick to your goal and keep going.

Just like climbing a mountain, living a life as the 7th prince of Goryeo was exhausting and unpredictable. Kim Seokjin was already said to be a waste when he was born and he proved to be even more useless as time went by. Or at least, that’s what his family thought. That’s what the palace’s servants assumed. On the other hand, there was this one special person who didn’t care about the stigma around him; who didn’t believe the gossip and who didn’t even get scared when he got slapped for taking the prince’s side. Myungeun was his last ray of hope but she not only painted his starless, grey sky scarlet-red like her cheeks when she heard a compliment from him but also sent stars that he could wish upon. One by one, beside her, every of his wishes came true.

Seokjin apparently changed but in the best possible way. He wasn’t that lanky, physically weak little boy that he was at the age of 12. He was a well-built, strong and outstandingly tall young man, on the threshold of adulthood. He was now the 2nd prince since 5 of his brothers had already died before he turned 19. One was killed by an assassin from Silla, one was poisoned in the palace by another one who hang himself up with a rope after he had killed his brother, the 4th prince was actually killed during a revolt between the people of Goryeo and the people of Silla while the previous 2nd prince died of heart-attack.

It wasn’t peculiar though. It was actually natural for the royal family to die out like that, however, it was detrimental for the boy who was growing up beside them, witnessing some of the cases with his own eyes and bearing the consequences of their death. He should have been delighted because his brothers didn’t abuse him anymore since he learned how to fight them back and since they were already dead. Nonetheless, all he felt was fear. He was terrified that the Crown Prince would also die soon and he has to take his place. Which means that as soon as his father - who was sicker than ever - steps down the throne, he has to take it. He didn’t feel ready to take over the kingdom at the age of 18.

He was quite sure that the King had planned something against Silla as a revenge for the previous revolt between the two kingdoms’ citizens but he didn’t want to think about it further until he really had to. Therefore, he lived his life as usual, not even changing his behaviour around Myungeun.

“What do you think will happen now?” asked Myungeun one day as she was walking in the palace’s garden with the 2nd prince of Goryeo by her side. The garden looked flawless in the dim light of the spring evening, scenting like a bouquet of her most beloved flowers.

The girl became a mature, wise young lady, despite the fact that he always knew that she was intelligent. Yet, he never really realised that he would see her turning into a real woman by having curves, losing her baby cheeks and smiling like an angel all the time. The joyful twinkle never left her brown orbs, she was just as beautiful now as she was when they first met – if not more. Honestly, he couldn’t compare her to her old-self because she was really a child then and she was a woman now. A woman with all the beauty and love in this world. The definition of humility.

“I don’t know,” Seokjin shook his head and looked down at his intertwined hands. “If the negotiation goes according to plan, nothing extraordinary will happen. However, if it doesn’t go according to plan, we may have to be ready for a war,” he concluded wearily, letting out a heavy-hearted sigh.

The Crown Prince was currently trying to reach an agreement with the king of Silla in order to secure the barriers. He had to take this responsibility on because the king of Goryeo was so sick that he couldn’t even leave the palace. He could hardly move, yet the outside world was led to believe that he was on a political trip to Southern Tang to seal a deal with Emperor Liezu. Taking everything into consideration, providing the current unstable situation of the later three kingdoms, Seokjin wasn’t sure that the negotiation would go as smoothly as they wanted to.

“I wish we had more peaceful times to live in,” Myungeun confessed sadly as she looked at the blossoming cherry trees, getting immersed into the scenery and the serenity of the park.

“We can’t choose when we live but we can choose who we spend our life with,” the prince added absent-mindedly but his words had quite an effect on her. The young lady came to a halt and turned to face him. Her lips were wavering and the expression on her face was one that he had never seen before. The sudden seriousness made his heart leap because he knew that she didn’t easily lose her temper or let her emotions come to surface. What happened now that she was on the verge of crying? Did he say something wrong?

The moment Myungeun opened her mouth to say something, a masculine figure showed up at the gate of the park and swiftly made his way to the two of them. They were both so in their little worlds that they didn’t even notice when the commander-in-chief – Lee Junghwan - ran up to them. Not until he addressed the prince did it finally dawn on them that he was there.

“Your Highness, we have news.”

“Tell me, Junghwan-ssi. What happened?” Seokjin raised an eyebrow at the commander-in-chief who looked like he had just finished a long run. He was quite short of breath but he insisted on telling them the whole story.

“The Crown Prince is dead,” he gulped and paused on purpose. Myungeun’s hands flew to her mouth in shock while Seokjin threw a flinch. He wanted to say that he didn’t see the tragedy coming but he actually did. The news was hard to bear but the continuation was harder. “He was killed by a soldier from Hubaekje. We were fighting against the army of Silla when we saw the flag of Hubaekje and we thought that they would help us but they didn’t. They were on Silla’s side,” he announced, his stare darting between the prince and the princess.

Both of them were utterly shocked. Myungeun couldn’t even dare to say anything. She felt ashamed. She felt trapped. The worst thing was that she felt betrayed. Even though she was aware of the fact that at times like this, deals didn’t mean a thing. Yet, she wanted to believe that if the deal concerning their marriage could be kept for 6 years, they wouldn’t break it now. She feared the consequences since her people were the ones who made the tables turn. Her father’s words suddenly crossed her mind: “If things go wrong, you can get killed, you can be used or sold.” Whatever was awaiting for her, she didn’t feel ready. Last but not least, she didn’t want to let Seokjin down.

“The King must be angry,” the boy blurted out and Junghwan bobbed his head in agreement. They knew each other for a long time, Seokjin still remembered the time when Bang Sihyuk introduced him to the new commander-in-chief and their friendship lasted until now. The only thing that was still a barrier between them was the honorifics. Junghwan persisted on using appropriate and long forms and although Seokjin hated being called Your Highness, he let him call by that name. After all, Junghwan was his friend and friends can make such deals, right?

“Actually, he’s not well. Since he received the news, he has fainted several times. He asked to see and that’s why I’m here,” the commander-in-chief pointed it out and let that sink in for a moment. The prince – the new Crown Prince – took a deep breath and repeated the action several times. He was more than anxious, he was on the edge, he was out of his mind. His thoughts were running crazily, his heart was beating like never before and his whole life seemed to collapse like a house of cards.

Yet, he didn’t want to show it. If he showed it, he would have to face reality. On top of that, reality was always cruel to him.

“Thank you, Junghwan-ssi. I’ll go into the palace,” he bowed in respect and put a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Take your time to rest a bit,” he looked into his friends’ eyes, making sure that he was doing what he asked him to do. Seokjin was delighted to see him in one piece, therefore he didn’t want him to overwork himself after such a terrible day.

Junghwan obeyed him - as an inferior and as a friend would do - as he bid his goodbye with one last smile and headed to the palace.

“I’ll wait for you here until you get back,” Myungeun cleared her throat after the other male had left and her strained voice snapped him back to his senses. He saw the hesitation running across her face, her ambivalent emotions apparent in her gestures. She had no idea what to do and he had no idea how to help her. It was the best if he went to talk to his father. After that, he might know what will be her fate.

“That might take a long time,” Jin reminded her but she merely shook her head. She was more adamant than ever and said with a confident yet scared smile:

“I know but I will still wait.”

“I will come back,” he promised her and without giving a second thought, he put his arms around her waist and hugged her. Gently, soothingly, affectionately. He touched her like it was their last time, like it was already their goodbye. Maybe it really was. At least, things were never the same after this day. Kim Seokjin was never the same after the death of the previous Crown Prince.

He promised that he would come back but he didn’t. Myungeun waited for long hours in the garden but he was already discussing possible attacks with the commander-in-chief when she decided to head into the building.

She couldn’t help but wonder why all of their promises were meant to be broken sooner or later?

🙝 6 🙞

The king was paler than ever when Seokjin entered his room. He was laying on his bed, covered with sheets. The boy predicted that he would look ill but he never even dared to assume that his father would look this ill. He could clearly see the navy-blue and mulberry-like veins through his skin; they were like oddly connected lines on a parchment paper.

When the king heard the door closing, he opened his eyes and looked at the sudden visitor. He acknowledged the boy’s presence with a firm nod and motioned him to come closer. Seokjin obeyed him and crouched down beside his bed. He seemed even more ill from up close.

“I’ve heard you wanted to see me, Your Majesty,” he started speaking, using the honorifics that he was taught to use, even with his father. Considering that the royal family didn’t consider him a relative, it wasn’t actually a surprise.

“Seokjin…” the king whispered, his voice terrifyingly raspy and somewhat dry. He looked like he was about to pass out any moment but the boy wasn’t taken aback. The royal medical man had informed the family that the king was a victim of poisoning. Someone must have put something in his food or he might have touched something that was actually contagious. Not even the psychiatric knew what had happened exactly. It was an unknown mystery to all of them.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“I want you to be king,” he stuttered feebly. He wasn’t his usual powerful self. He was really a dying old man; he was just like a servant who was about to see miseries of the underworld. After all, death didn’t make a difference between peasants and royals; it came to collect them, no matter their age, gender or status.

King Wanggun’s words didn’t even surprise him. He was well aware of the fact that he was the eldest of the heirs who were apparent to the throne and since he received the news of the Crown Prince’s death, he knew that he should better be prepared for a possible coronation.

What really struck him was the following:

“I want you to take over Hubaekje and Silla and create a united kingdom. That’s my last wish and as my son, I want you to fulfil it. You must fulfil it!” he emphasised with a sudden strike of energy and left Seokjin absolutely devastated.

He had no idea that his father was planning to take over the other two kingdoms as he had made a deal with both parties. In Silla’s case, it was a plain contract that ensured that they wouldn’t generate hatred between the two kingdoms, therefore no war or riot was permitted between their people. Not to mention that in Hubaekje’s case, it was his marriage with Myungeun! He may not have been 19 years old yet but a deal was a deal, he couldn’t disregard the rules, no matter what happens. Not just for the kingdom’s sake but also for Myungeun’s sake!

“But how, father? We had made a deal with both Hubaekje and Silla! How can I ignore them?” he cried helplessly but his father merely shook his head.

“Deals are meant to be ignored. They exist only until one of the parties changes their mind. Now, it’s going to be you,” the king said matter-of-factly as he vigorously grabbed the collar of Seokjin’s hanbok and brought him closer. He could see the insanity in his eyes; his orbs were filled with tons of dying stars. Red ones, bathing in the void. He was almost like a monster, there was nothing humanlike left of him. There was no need to romanticise it anymore; he was apparently on the verge of dying.

“Or you want them to make the first move and take advantage of a weak kingdom with a kid as their king? You want them to use you and your stupid bond with that girl?” he spluttered furiously, his voice gradually rising.

He was almost screaming when he mentioned that girl and Seokjin couldn’t have been angrier than that. Myungeun had been living with the royal family for 6 years and his father still couldn’t remember her name? On top of that, their bond wasn’t stupid! It was the only thing that prevented him from ending his own life when he felt like there was no reason for him to live through another day.

Reckless young man he was, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“But our marriage is based on that deal and Hubaekje didn’t do anything to be conquered! They kept their words, why can’t we?”

“Our nation will become stronger but only if we unite the later three kingdoms. You could try asking them to let you take over their territory but they wouldn’t agree,” he concluded with no fear in his voice. A moment later, he started coughing again and Jin caught sight of blood on his sleeves. He coughed up blood and that could only mean one thing; death was near him. “Please, Seokjin! Make your father’s wish come true. You could make history, you are capable of doing so! I would be so proud of you if you united the later three kingdoms,” the older man now begged him and held his hands so tight that the young boy was afraid that he might break his bones.

The words left a bittersweet aftertaste in his mouth. Proud. His father had never once said that he was proud of him. Yet, all he wanted his father to do was to say some nice words to him, to acknowledge that he was his son. That he was worthy to be called the son of King Wanggun. It was like a dream coming true! He could finally make his father proud. But for what sake, came the question. Should he really conquer the two kingdoms and create a new and stronger country? Would he really be capable of such a horrendous thing?

He would. His father told him the exact same thing a second ago and even Myungeun reassured him that he would make a remarkable king. He had to make both of them proud. He had to make the nation proud. If someone couldn’t see that it was for the sake of a better and stronger country, they would definitely have to change their mind-set.

“I will do it, father. I will make you proud,” Seokjin announced fearlessly and that was enough for his father. With one last smile – or to be precise, a trace of a smile – he had passed out and never woke up again.

Nonetheless, Seokjin was more determined than ever. He immediately went to Junghwan to start talking about how they were supposed to surprise Silla in the first place and take over the dynasty. The commander-in-chief tried to talk some common sense into him but to no avail. He was on the edge; if he could, he would immediately go to the battlefield, just to make his father proud. If he couldn’t do it while King Wanggun still lived, he would do it after he had died. Either way, he would make his father’s dream come true.

After Junghwan, Seokjin rushed to discuss his coronation with the royal family’s counsellor. His mother had died a year ago, so there was no need to ask for her permission. His brothers were even younger than him, so they didn’t have a say in the matter.

Now, he only needed to talk to Myungeun and persuade her to assist him with his mission to unite the kingdoms. He was sure that he could convince her if he mentioned a better and stronger nation with all the later three kingdoms and their people. There was no need to shed blood if she agreed to help him.

Yet, a promise was a promise. Unbeknownst to him, Myungeun had already promised her people – the people from Hubaekje – that she would protect them, even if it costs her own life.

In the end, it did. She died for her people. Not for Kim Seokjin like she had always imagined.

🙝 7 🙞

The coronation took place the day after the king had died.

It wasn't a solemn, grandiose event as most of the servants were still mourning over the loss of the previous king. Not to mention that apart from Myungeun, nobody believed that he would make an appropriate ruler for several reasons. First of all, he was young, he was only 18 years old. Secondly, he was never considered to be a royal member, so they didn't prepare him for the duties of a king. Everyone claimed that he wouldn't make it. He would wither away like a cherry blossom petal being destroyed by the stormy wind.

Nevertheless, the coronation took place without any inconveniences and Kim Seokjin was now the king of Goryeo. Servants started to look at him in a different way and even his three younger brothers seemed to fear him as he was walking past them. They even crouched down before him without any kind of hesitation and tried to avert their eyes elsewhere but his face.

Even though he was told that a single status wouldn't make a change and even if he was the king he wouldn't be treated differently, everything proved this theory wrong. Yet, he believed in those lies until he saw the opposite with his own eyes. Everyone acted like he was really a new person and it fuelled his will to make his father proud and unite the later three kingdoms. He seemed unstoppable and no one, not even Myungeun was able to snap him back to his senses.

"Where are you going, Jin?" she inquired one afternoon – right after the coronation. She looked absolutely flawless in her beautiful hanbok which was made for the special occasion. She was wearing it the whole day, making it hard for him to concentrate. She looked lovely in pink and it reminded him of the times when he first said that she should wear more pink because the light colour really suits her. He was only 14 at that time and didn't care about such things as seduction or lust. However, now that the hormones were working in him, he sometimes wished that he hadn't said it all those years ago.

"I am about to unite the later three kingdoms. It was my father's last wish which I ought to fulfil," he admitted right away and not until he said his plan out loud did it finally dawn on him that Myungeun didn't even know about the conversation between him and his father. At least not until he blurted it out himself.

"Jin..." her voice trailed off and his name sounded so brittle. She was so shocked that her mouth couldn't even form words. That innocent boy who couldn't even kill a bug for the sake of his brothers' wishes wanted to rule over the later three kingdoms? Even though she knew that parents could really leave an impact on a child and its mind-set, especially in the royal families, could that lovely little Seokjin really change that much? As far as she knew, he never loved his father, so why would he want to fulfil his wish? Which wasn't just outrageous and absolutely bold but also dangerous.

"I have to do it, Myungeun," he shook his head and it was more like he tried to convince himself, not the girl in front of him. "There's no other way that I could make my father proud."

"You only do it because you want to make him proud?" she couldn't help but flinch at his choice of words. Since when did his father's words mean so much to him? Since when did his wish was primary, more important than the need of his kingdom's people and its prosperity? Since when did he care about his father?

"No," the King answered fervently but his voice obviously shook a little. Myungeun looked puzzled and tried to scan him from eye to toe. He really looked more confident, more ready to be a king but it looked like he was fighting with himself. He wasn't in peace with his own mind and the hurtful sight bothered her. She never really saw him this way.

"I also do it for the people of Goryeo. This is the only way we can make our name known and engraved into history. People will know who we were but only if we do what seemed impossible until now," he explained almost maniacally, totally immersed in his own words.

The expression on his face was anything but scared. How could he change so much in one day? The question got Myungeun thinking. Seokjin was no longer the boy he used to know. She would swear that he would never become someone like his present self. It turned out that she was wrong all along.

"Are you about to seal a deal with Silla and persuade my father to unite the kingdoms?" she whispered cautiosly, although she assumed - somewhere deep down - that he wouldn't bob his head. Something in her guts told her that it was only a foolish dream of a child and neither of them were children anymore. Or at least, not at heart.

Just as expected, Seokjin didn't nod in agreement.

"No," the devastating word left his mouth, suffocating the girl who felt like holding the weight of three kingdoms on her shoulder.

"Are you about to take over the two monarchies by taking lives and killing innocent people?" she inquired boldly, nibbling her lips in impatience.

Oh how she wished she hadn’t got her hopes up! The expression on Jin’s face could tell more than thousands of words; the sight was more than heart-breaking. He looked like he was hurt by her words, like he couldn't believe that she dared to assume that he was capable of killing people. Yet, in an instant, the innocent glint in his eyes changed and instead of the usually affectionate brown orbs, they were like wood on fire; burning and burning, not afraid to hurt others and not afraid to be burnt themselves, too.

"If that is what's necessary," he shrugged his shoulders like he was talking about a mere game, not the lives of thousands of people.

"What has gotten into you, Jin?" she cried out frantically, unable to mask her emotions. Maybe people expected her to be nonchalant to political issues but it was because she was still a minor, therefore she was taught that she didn’t have a say in the matter. However, tables turned in a blink of an eye and she was now on the verge of becoming the wife of the King of Goryeo. The coronation only involved Jin’s inauguration, nothing more. Her fate was still unknown.

"You would never say something like this before," she reminded him but to no avail. His expression didn't change a single bit, if only it got darker and more adamant than ever. Her heart churned with worry. What was she supposed to do? Should she throw all those years that they spent together out of the window? Oh no, she couldn't let it happen, so she had to talk some sense back to him. If not politically, then morally.

"Please, Jin, come back to your senses! You wouldn't want to do that to all those people. Try to find a way to save those innocent lives. I'm sure Silla would do anything to avoid picking a fight with Goryeo and I could also talk to my father," she suggested naively and her biggest fault was that she believed that what she said could be true – Seokjin could still change his mind. She couldn't see at that time that the world was the definition of cruelty and the royal family was the best example for that.

"I have to do this, Myungeun. They wouldn't let me take over their kingdoms, you know that well," he reasoned gently, his voice suddenly filled with sympathy. He even took a step closer to her and touched her shaking hands.

She was absolutely flabbergasted by the sudden skin-ship as something like this was rare between the two. It only happened when they were careless and their arms accidentally brushed each other's or when they were pressed together in a crowd. Seokjin had never tried to touch her so freely before.

"Please, understand me," he pleaded as he took her hands in his. "As the king of Goryeo, I only want the best for my people. That's the most important rule that I have to keep in mind."

"You can't possibly think that sending them to war only to get killed as targets would be the best solution!" Myungeun counter-attacked and yanked her hand away from his. She didn't want to be harsh but she didn't know the boy in front of her. It wasn't Seokjin, that light-hearted child who asked her not to call him by honorifics during their very first conversation. The one who picked colourful flower bouquets for her from the palace's garden, even though he got in trouble because of his little gifts. The one who learned martial arts just to make sure that he could protect Myungeun and himself as well. Where was that boy anymore?

"People need to be killed for greater purposes and you can also help to make that come true."

"I won't help you," she gritted her teeth and took a step back. She wasn't interested in his plans provided it was about taking the lives of innocent people. Even if it meant that it cost her life, she wouldn't want to join him. This Seokjin wasn't the one that she wanted to support.

"Don't do this, Myungeun!" Seokjin let out an aghast sigh. "You are smarter than this. If you cooperate, you and your loved ones won't get hurt. I can promise you that they will be safe," he added but she couldn't believe him anymore. More promises were broken than it was necessary and she was tired of being the one who had to suffer its consequences.

"Can you promise that my people won't get hurt?" she raised an eyebrow challengingly. The King had to think twice.

"If you mean the people from Hubaekje... then, I can't promise you that. However, if they cooperate, no one will get hurt," he flung his arms in the air in defeat but she already made her decision.

"Even if I have to die with them, I will day as the princess from Hubaekje, not as a business partner of Goryeo," she confessed without hesitation, making Seokjin more than displeased with her words.

"Then, I'll see you on the battlefield, I guess," he concluded with a fathomless smile and turned around to leave the room. As soon as he closed the door, Myungeun burst into tears.

She knew that he couldn't keep his promise. There was no way that all her relatives, herself and even Seokjin could make it out alive.

🙝 8 🙞

The road to the unison of the three kingdoms was crueller and more demanding than he had ever imagined.

It all started with a one-month preparation and a sly distraction to make sure that Silla wasn't prepared for the sudden attack. On top of that, he had never been in a war before, so he had to make sure that he and his soldiers were well-trained, let it be sword fighting, martial arts or archery. He knew how to ride a horse, therefore that couldn't be seen as a drawback. Yet, he had never tried doing archery and riding a horse at the same time but it was a must when someone was in a war – in other words, when it was a matter of life and death. He was glad that his former martial arts master − Bang Sihyuk − was the one who taught them the basics, even though he didn't seem like he really wanted to be there.

There was just something in his eyes that justified that preparing the soldiers to attack the people of Silla and then the people of Hubaekje was the last thing that he wanted to do. He was satisfied with their progress, however, he didn't look happy at all. That's when Seokjin realised that happiness and satisfaction weren't synonyms. They could be present at the same time but delightfulness didn't necessarily result in satisfaction and vice versa. His mission was to make his father proud. So could he ever be happy with the outcome? Or he just had to be proud of the result and that's all? Was there anything that he could gain from this annexation?

He didn't know the answer but he couldn't stop. He had to fulfil his father's last wish. If he wasn't a good son when the previous king was still alive and he considered that he wasn't worthy to be a part of the royal family, he would have to prove to him now that he was willing to do everything to make history because of his father.

Of course, he also doubted his abilities since he was only an 18-year-old kid who had to take responsibility for a nation when the sudden role was forced onto him the moment his father died. Plus, he had never been in any kind of fight before, he didn't have to deal with political issues and he didn't have to think twice whether he was taking a step forward. To make matters worse, he wasn't alone. Not anymore. The weight of a whole nation and the reputation of the Kim dynasty was on his shoulders.

He had to make plans as soon as possible and as efficiently as possible. Even the one-month preparation was risky since anyone could ascend the throne without his permission. Therefore, he had to leave someone behind who would make everyone believe − even his relatives − that he was there, locked up in his room, trying to get over the loss of his father and making plans for a better and stronger Goryeo. So he asked Junghwan to take his place and even though the commander-in-chief was reluctant at first, due to their long friendship, he wanted to help him. In spite of his lack of knowledge concerning the King’s plans, he trusted Seokjin. Little did he know that he trusted the old Seokjin. Not the new, cruel one.

Everything was settled, so the plan could go on. After the one-month preparation, they were finally ready to attack Silla. The war lasted for two weeks straight. Seokjin had never seen so much blood before. It was different when he saw his own blood on his hands but when he saw others' blood on his hands, he was terrified at first. Physically, he was prepared to fight against people and see others dying but so much blood had been shed in this war that he couldn't bear the sight after the first day.

As a result, he just let the trauma hunt him in his dreams and make him vomit when he couldn't take the pressure. He hated that he was so weak, so he decided that instead of letting his emotions all out, he would just suppress them. Like a bottle that one wanted to keep under the water despite the rules of physics, he didn't let the emotions come to surface. In order to do so, he ought to get rid of his human side; he rather became like a lifeless machine. One that didn't feel fear, neither joy nor gloom. One that didn't know the definition of pain or humility. And one that didn't know how to stop; the order was coded in him and there was no way that he disobeyed what he had to do. He had to succeed, even if it meant that he would have to sacrifice his whole life.

He saw blood everywhere. Crimson-red spots. Wine-like hands. Mahogany veins. Scarlet-red eyes. Cherry lips coloured with merlot lipstick. Even the stars were ruby-red. They cried fire brick tears. The rivers were painted rosy-coloured. His heart was like a red stone. Everything was red, bloody, lifeless, cruel red. Fathomless, invincible, fearless red. He became one with red. He was red.

Silla was now one with Goryeo.

As a result, the soldiers from Silla had to take their sides and assist them to take over Hubaekje. Seokjin couldn't stop there though. Not when he saw with his own eyes that he could really make a change; he could write a new chapter in the later three kingdoms’ history. He just couldn't come to a halt. The next destination was Hubaekje.

He couldn't wait to shed more blood. He was like a vampire now; if he couldn't put his hands on blood as soon as possible, he became even more evil, even more unbearable. He wasn't a human anymore, he was more like a monster. The only thing that kept him alive was pride.

Pride is there with all of us since we were born. Some of us are less likely to become narcissists and some of us are almost born as real egoists. Whereas we are all born with it, only the triggering factors can lead us to become haughty. And that triggering factor was the previous king's last words. All he wanted to have in his life was affection. All he wanted to hear that he made his father and his royal family proud. Was it too much to ask?

Hubaekje wasn't any different though. It seemed that the people were more prepared here but they could easily defeat them, too. It took them more than a month but they could defeat them.

They stayed the longest in Sabi, the capital of Hubaekje, where the Park dynasty and the most powerful soldiers were present. Unlike the rumours, Hubaekje’s army wasn't as talented as it was said to be. They fought with solemnity, pride and endurance but they were just like the people from Silla.

Except that Seokjin stopped right in his tracks when he noticed that he had just hit a familiar figure with his arrow. He was quite talented in archery but he had never imagined that he would hit someone right at the heart. The heart that once was beating for him.

"Myungeun..." his voice trailed off as he watched the girl falling off of her horse. She fell down like a little bird falling out of its nest − so slowly and innocently. She withered like the cherry blossoms at the end of the summer, saying goodbye to the world, becoming one with the ground where they were born.

Something panged in his chest while he was watching as her fragile body hit the ground. His suppressed human side found its way and his inner alarm went off. He didn't think it through when he got off his horse and ran to her. As soon as he reached her, he crouched down and started cradling her against his chest. She suddenly looked up at him, her face covered in crimson-red blood, her eyes filled with remorse and her once rosy-coloured cheeks now paler and scarred than ever. Her peachy lips were wavering.

"Myungeun, please..." he cried out helplessly but didn't exactly know what to say. Should he cry out for help? What would that say about him? What would his soldiers think? He couldn't forget that he was in the middle of a battlefield!

"Just let me go, Jin," she smiled a half-hearted and utterly sad smile, it was almost like the one before saying goodbye. The last goodbye. Their last goodbye. "I die as I always wished to be. I couldn't ask for more," she added with a hurtful flinch.

A second later, she coughed up blood and Seokjin knew by experience that she was really about to die. Yet, he couldn't think straight. His mind was blocked by flashbacks of his father who had died just like that. The exception was that he didn't kill his father with his own hands - or to be precise, with his own arrow. But he shot an arrow at her and it hit her heart. Exactly her heart.

"No, you can't."

"Why, Jin?" her voice rattled in her throat as tears were streaming down her face. Memories from their first encounter filled her mind, making her feel even more miserable. She didn't want to think about those times when he was still an innocent, light-hearted and naive boy who couldn't even defend himself, let alone annexe the three kingdoms. Those times looked so distant, so unfamiliar. It wasn't even him, she wished she hadn't even met him. The arrow that pierced through her heart didn’t only cause physical pain but emotional as well. "We broke all of our promises," she reminded him, coughing up some more blood.

Seokjin looked around frantically but he had to admit that Myungeun couldn't be helped. He knew that he was lucky that he hadn’t already gotten shot, even though the war seemed less bloody than before. Things started to cool down.

"I know I promised you that−" she stuttered quietly when she suddenly had to stop to clear her throat. The more she talked, the worse her condition got. Her tears and her blood didn't part ways, they rather became one, they went on like they were supposed to fuse.

"Don't talk, Myungeun,” he shushed the young girl who looked achingly beautiful, even on the verge of dying. “You will only make it worse," he warned her gently while he still didn’t move an inch from her dying body; he held her tight like he never wanted to let her go. Well, he didn't. Unfortunately, it was already too late. He realised only then and there, holding the fragile body of a dying soul that he loved her.

"That you won't become a narcissist," she finished her sentence that struck him like lightning. "I'm so sorry that I couldn't keep my promise," she mumbled in between little fists of laughter and apologetically smiled at him.

Just like the sun going down after shining brightly throughout the day, overcoming storms and defeating clouds, she also left this world as the most beautifully glowing creature on Earth. Her eyes unintentionally closed and her breathing slowed down until it stopped for good.

It was the first time after all those years that he could cry without being ashamed and with all the rawness he had bottled up inside. He could vividly recall the last time he cried; it was when Myungeun first shared how his father physically abused her. She was in his embrace, her tears painting the back of his hanbok, searing his paper-like skin and leaving unforgettable traces of her ever-growing kindness and fragility.

On the contrary, this time she was in his arms again with the deadly arrow that he had sent through her heart, saying sorry for one last time.

Not like she was the one who needed to apologise.

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