#ESPECIALLY if youre looking to join a union later down the line | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marshmallow-phd · 4 years

Text

Nine Little Letters

Genre: College AU, Fake Dating AU, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before AU

Inspired By: This graphic made by @rcse-tvler

Pairing: EXO x Reader

Summary: Just when you thought life was done shoving you down, it got much, much worse. After finding out that your latest crush was already in a relationship, you did what you always did when emotions ran high: you wrote a letter. Signed and sealed, you put it away with the eight other letters you’d written to past one-sided loves, never to be seen again. That is, until a mix up accidentally sends those letters out to their respective recipients and you find yourself in the middle of one confusing web of love. With fake relationships, insecurities, and revelations swirling around, things are bound to get a little messy.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11

This was the worst kind of humiliation. Standing there on the sidewalk staring open-mouthed at the one person you were excited to see today, you were crumbling into a million pieces. And no one even noticed. That was what made this humiliation so bad; there was no one to witness it. You were breaking and no one cared.

You should have known better, really. This morning was going too well. You had woken up on time, had a delicious, filling breakfast, and had managed to put an outfit together worthy of any Pinterest board. Your confidence was through the roof and you were going to do the one thing in your life you swore you would never do.

You were going to confess to your crush.

Signing up for math tutoring was the last thing you wanted to do. Who in the world wanted to spend their valuable free time learning more about equations and algorithms? But you needed to pass this class. It was the second time you’d taken college algebra and the thought of taking it a third time made you want to crawl under your bed. So, you buckled down and took the walk of shame into the math lab. (Yes, that was an exaggeration. Everyone knows there is no shame in getting help. Didn’t mean you had to like it.) When you got the call from your assigned tutor, you ignored it. You didn’t like talking on the phone to anyone let alone a number you didn’t recognize. No voicemail was left. Then a text came through.

Hi, (y/n)! This Kim Junmyeon! I’ve been assigned as your math tutor. When you get a chance, let me know when you’re free so we can create a schedule that works for you. Have a great day!

You waited an appropriate amount of time before replying. So, an hour and half later, you texted him your schedule and made a plan to meet up in the library the following Thursday. You marked that day on your calendar with exactly zero enthusiasm. In your head, this Kim Junmyeon was the cliché nerd from movies: dorky glasses, snort-like laugh, and clothes that looked better on a grandfather. Oh, boy were you so happy to be wrong.

Sitting down at one of the tables by the large, ceiling high windows, Junmyeon was nothing like you’d imagined. He had a sophisticated aura about him. He dressed nicely, a thin long-sleeved shirt over a patterned button down, the collar laid nicely over the top of the shirt, and was blessed with sharp, handsome features. You knew you were in trouble. But you didn’t care. You sat down at that table eagerly, ready to… learn.

For the past month and a half, you’d met Junmyeon twice a week to go over the lessons and work on the assignments. By some miracle, your grade was actually going up in the class. Somehow you were able to better comprehend the material and secretly fawn over your tutor simultaneously. At this point, you were sort of feigning how much you weren’t understanding to keep the tutoring sessions going. The nice thing about algebra, once you understood the basics, everything else built on top of it.

But today – today you had decided that you were going to step over the line from tutor and student into the realm of perhaps something more.

You liked Junmyeon. You liked his math puns and the way he scrunched his face when he thought hard about something. His lips would pucker whenever he lifted the sheet of paper to check over your work. Each time you met up with him your heart acted like it was in the middle of a NASCAR race and it was determined to win. You had it bad. This wasn’t the first time you’d had a crush like this, but you had set your mind on making this one different. This time, you wouldn’t hold it inside. You were going to be the brave one, the bold one. The fact that birds were tweeting as you rode your bike onto campus should have been a sign that things would only be downhill from there. Unfortunately, like the optimistic idiot, you took it as a positive instead.

After locking your bike up, you headed straight for the courtyard near the pond. Junmyeon had told you that he often spent his mornings there to finish up homework or to read a book (the fact that he read so much was another factor in your liking of him). In your head, he was all alone, flipping through a novel as he leaned against the trunk of a tree, looking like a prince taking a rest in the shade on a warm summer’s day. The water would be glistening in the background as a lovely, lighthearted melody played softly through the air. He would see you approach and smile that wide, brilliant smile. Your heart would skip as you sat down in the grass next to him and poured out your feelings. The daydream turned into a nightmare the second he came into view.

Junmyeon was not alone nor was he sitting under a tree with a book. He was on one of the benches, splayed out on the wooden beams with his head resting in the lap of a very pretty, more his league type of girl. She laughed as Junmyeon told a story. A delicate hand ran through his soft brown hair. Your heart fell to the ground, forming a crater at your feet.

Shoulders slumped and day ruined, you turned and headed for the student union. If today was going to suck like this, then you were going to sprinkle it with an overly sugary coffee drink. Preferably with extra chocolate drizzle. It helped - a little bit.

Your morning classes went by in a blur. You were certain you took notes, but none of the information sank in. Later you would have to transcribe your quick scribbles to a word document to help you study. You would learn the information then. By lunch, you were starting to peel yourself off the sidewalk of humiliation. Especially when the one person you could always rely on joined you for lunch.

“How did it go?”

You remained silent, continuously munching on the sandwich in your hands as your best friend sat down across from you at the small, two-person table near the middle of the cafeteria.

Baekhyun laughed his signature, SpongeBob-like laugh. “That bad, huh? I told you not to do it.”

“Technically, I didn’t do it,” you corrected. “He already has a girlfriend.”

“Ouch.”

You nodded. How could you not see this before? Did he mention having a girlfriend and you just blocked it out? Junmyeon and you talked casually between math problems, about your friends and fun things you liked to do on the weekends. He’d failed to mention one very important detail.

“Well,” Baekhyun reached over and plucked a potato chip off your plate and plopped it in his mouth, “at least you found out before you said something. I told you he wasn’t worth it.”

“Just because he has a girlfriend doesn’t mean he isn’t worth crushing on.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “You’re so much help.”

Ignoring your quip, Baekhyun snatched another chip. You smacked his hand, but all that managed to do was break off a few pieces, the crumbs falling to the table. Smiling proudly, Baekhyun popped the half-chip into his mouth. “So, are you just going to go home and write a letter?”

“Are you just going to go home and write a letter?” you mocked with a scrunched face.

Byun Baekhyun had been your best friend since the two of you had met in the first grade. He’d stolen your popsicle that your mother had packed as a special treat for your first full day of school. When he saw you start to cry, he broke off the piece he’d been sucking on and handed the rest back to you. There was a bit of a disagreement on the level of nice-ness that act achieved since it was your popsicle to begin with, but somehow it caused the two of you to be inseparable ever since. Being your best friend meant that he was privy to the more private parts of your life.

Like the letters.

Starting as young as ten years old, you’d developed a bit of a tradition when it came to your crushes. Emotions were hard to process, but you found them easier to work through if you thought about them and translated them into words. Those words would fly across the paper, transferring the feelings that made you both laugh and cry into the graphite that formed them. Not to mention, the act made you feel like the heroine in a rom-com. Certainly it was something that Meg Ryan or Rachel McAdams would do once they realized how they felt about the male lead.

The first letter you ever wrote was during your final year of ballet class. Dancing had been a part of your life since you were three, but a new passion had been discovered so you’d decided to quit after this last cluster of classes. A terrible decision, really. Because right after your mind was already made up, a new boy had joined the class.

Kim Jongin.

He had just moved into town after his father was promoted to a new position and had to transfer to headquarters. You’d never seen him at the park or the grocery store before. He was completely new. And beautiful.

He was blessed golden skin that glistened, shining brighter the longer he danced. And, oh, the way he danced. It was well beyond what anyone else could do. His movements were fluid, water-like, as if the very beat of the music were pulling and manipulating his limbs to convey what the notes had to say. Each move was a word and when he formed them together, they could make you smile or cry. And when he smiled… oh, his smile was like starlight. The kind of brightness that stayed in the sky even as the city lights flickered on. To this day, you’d never found one that could rival it. He was a dream that every composer coveted. So, what was your young heart to do?

Well, the movies told you to confess. But there was no way you could find the courage to do so, especially since you only saw him in class and you couldn’t confess in front of everyone. The only other option was to write it out; to write it out like Jane Austen pouring her heart out for Tom Lefroy.

Dear Jongin,

I’m not sure how to start this. Do I compliment you on your dancing? It’s nothing like I’ve seen before. Prima Donnas in the Russian Ballet would be jealous of you! But you probably hear that all the time. And about how handsome you are, even under all that hair. I can’t help but watch when you pull it back for class so you can see yourself in the mirror. Why can’t I look like that? I somehow ended up looking like a frizzy wet cat that just climbed out of the tub.

I guess what I’m trying to avoid saying is that… I like you. A lot. I like your laugh and your wide smile. I like how much you love music and how you interpret the melody with your moves. No one can freestyle like you! My heart does a dance of its own whenever I see you. I hope you don’t have anyone that you like, just so I can stand a chance. Would you ever think of me like that? If not, it’s okay. I just needed to tell you. Someday, you’ll be on stage dancing to an audience of thousands and I’ll be right there in the front row, cheering you on! Until then, I hope you always find happiness in what you love.

Love,

(y/n).

That sentence about watching him on stage made you cringe in hindsight. Cute for a ten-year-old, but a bit stalkerish. Luckily, though, you never gave it to him. You chickened out every time up until the last class. The idea of him opening it and reading right there in front of you was mortifying. So, then, you decided to mail it. The teacher gave you his address after you told her you wanted to invite him to your birthday party (it should be a little worrisome that a teacher was willing to pass on private information like that… perhaps it was because you were a kid). Three times you went to the mailbox to send the letter out and three times you ran back inside to hide it under your mattress.

That was the beginning of your weird little tradition. Though you never sent the letter to Jongin, you felt better having somewhat confessed your feelings and worked through them without the humiliation of actually… doing it. So, the next time you had a crush so overwhelming that you needed to get the feelings out, you wrote a letter. You even went all the way each time to address the envelope, giving the confession a sense of finality. There was no fear in them ever going out. Baekhyun was the only other one in the world who knew of their existence. At the current moment, eight were hidden in a drawer in your vanity. The way your fingers were itching, a ninth one was on the way.

“I might,” you finally replied.

Baekhyun leaned forward eagerly. “Can I read it when you’re done?”

“No!”

He snapped his fingers as he sat back in his chair. “Darn.”

“Why am I even friends with you?”

“Because I’m charming.”

There was no question in his voice. He one-hundred percent believed it. And… to be honest, he did have his moments. But that was all in the past. “Like a plank of wood.”

Shaking his head, Baekhyun rapped his hands on the table before standing up. “Alright, I’m going to class. Have fun with your pencil and imagination.” For emphasis on his stupid remark, he stole one last chip before walking off.

You finished off your sandwich in a bit of a rage. By the time you were finished, your mouth muscles were aching as if you’d spent several hours at the gym and it was jaw day.

You only had one class left for the afternoon. But it was algebra. How were you supposed to concentrate on functions when your sad attempt at getting into a relationship with your tutor failed so epically? Somehow you managed, though, and you packed up at the end of class with a new sort of determination. As you hopped on your bike and rode home, you thought over what you were going to write. You were so lost in your head that you hadn’t notice the car pulling out of your neighbor’s driveway, nearly hitting you before the driver hit their brakes.

“Shoot!”

You back peddled to break. Your heart thumped in your chest. No life memories flashed before your eyes, but you were sure you almost died. Slowly, you moved forward to get out of the way of the car.

“I’m sorry!” you yelled over your shoulder.

The driver leaned out the window.

Oh, great.

It was your neighbor. Or, at least, your neighbor’s son. Do Kyungsoo. He stared at you with an expression that could be blank but could also be a glare. It was hard to tell with him. Shaking his head, he pulled back inside the car and drove away.

Fighting off embarrassment for the second time this day - albeit this situation was much lower on the scale and it happened a bit more often than you’d like to admit - you put your bike up in the backyard and headed up to your room. Your mother, a literary history professor, and your father, a doctor at the local hospital, were both at work and wouldn’t be home until well after dinner. You were used to it. Besides, you were an adult and you liked being able to decide to have pizza for dinner and not worry about what other people wanted for toppings. Once you put your order in, you sat down at your vanity and got to work.

Dear Junmyeon,

Has anyone told you how your hair looks in the sunlight? The dark brown hues seem so warm and inviting, like an ebony chair that was warmed by the unfiltered rays. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to run my finger through it. Would the strands be as soft as they look? Would you wear the same smile on your face that you do during our sessions? But I guess I might not be meant to feel them. Today, I intended to tell you how I felt. I woke up with a determination, a goal to say how much I like you to your face. I was so nervous riding my bike to the university, but it was the good kind of nervous; the kind that makes you keep going. It seemed, however, that I was too late. Or maybe I simply never had a chance at all. I’d missed any signs that said you were already someone else’s.

I hope she knows how lucky she is. I hope she makes you laugh and listens to you when you’re having a bad day. Your laugh is like a symphony. Does she tell you how light and lovely it is? Or how infectious it is? When you laugh, I can’t help but laugh along. It’ll be sad not to hear it anymore. Or have our talks filled with random subject changes. But I think I’ll miss your smile most of all. The way it crinkles your eyes yet still lets them shine. The way it spreads across your face and the way your cheeks grow. It is truly a sight to behold. I hope wherever you go, you are always smiling. You always let your light shine even on the cloudiest of days. That’s what’s so special about you and what made me fall for you. Even when I was frustrated or couldn’t understand, you were patient, taking my mind off of the negative and turning me so I could face the positive. That’s a rare kind of person. You are a rare kind of person. Please always be happy, Kim Junmyeon.

Love,

(y/n)

With a sigh you sat back in your chair. The letter had done its job. Though you were still sad about the way things turned out, you no longer felt defeated. The words you needed to say were now out there without being “out there”. Okay, so he had a girlfriend. Big deal. It wasn’t the end of the world. There were more potential love interests out there that you could find. He was only one and obviously wasn’t the one.

Beginning to smile again, you folded the letter and put it in an envelope. You didn’t have Junmyeon’s address, so you wrote out the address for the math lab. Opening the top drawer of the vanity, you placed the latest addition to your collection under the first envelope. The doorbell rang right as you closed it up again. Oh, thank goodness. Food.

Practically skipping down the steps, you hurried to the front door.

“Hi-” You stopped as soon as you’d opened it. The person waiting on the other side was not the pizza delivery guy - it was Baekhyun. The boxes holding the pizza and cheese sticks you’d order for no one but yourself were in his hands. Over his shoulder, you barely caught sight of the delivery man driving away. “Really?”

“What? I was bored. And hungry.” He flipped open the lid to show you the hot, melted cheese of the appetizer. “Cheese stick?”

Rolling your eyes, you stepped aside so he could come inside.

Baekhyun had been to your home plenty of times in the past so it was easy for him to make himself at home. He didn’t wait for you before pulling plates out of the cabinet and pouring a drink. He even went as far as getting you glass as well. “Thirsty?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

The two of you ate at the kitchen table as your mother had a “no meals in the living room” policy. Small snacks like nuts and popcorn were okay, as long as you didn’t spill any on the couches.

“So… how did the writing go?” Baekhyun asked cheekily between bites.

You shrugged. “Fine. I’m deciding that I’m getting over it.”

Now it was Baekhyun’s turn to roll his eyes. “You always get over them fast.”

“What’s the point of dwelling on the things you can’t change?”

That was always your answer. Yes, the hurt was immediate and painful, but Baekhyun was right, you tended to push it aside rather quickly. That was the whole point of your letters, anyway. Get the feelings out of the way so you could move on. What was the point of clinging on to something like that? You would only end up worse if you stayed in that spot. So, you pushed yourself to move on. And eight times out of nine, it had worked. There was only that one nagging letter that failed to do its job. That particular set of feelings refused to go away even as you looked to other crushes, as you found other boys to like. It was the one you would always wonder about, the one that was completely off limits. The dull ache still crept up every once in a while. If moving on was what you had to do, you would do it. Because you would prefer if you never had to go through something like that ever again.

316 notes · View notes

mannien · 3 years

Text

Mornings in Sheffield Park | TH - CHAPTER 1

The one with stress, takeout food around the world, late night walks, and Disney dreams.

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: some stress, some anxiety, mention of sex, and a lot of smiles

Masterlist

Fourth week into the morning pitch meetings at BBC, Millie felt lifeless and drained. The room was usually exploding with ideas, creative energy, and a lot of constructive feedback to the few interns who were allowed to join the conversation with editors, writers, and producers. That morning had started ugly enough for her: with an overwhelming number of e-mails about the schedule and missing content for Politics Live.

When she first landed her spot at BBC, Millie was over the moon. She was constantly calling it a dream come true, a once in a lifetime opportunity for her to begin a writing career in media. Her degree seemed to be the best choice for her future and Millie was ready to prove that graduating from humanities can actually land her a decent job. Her first days were filled with morning preparations, early commute to the city centre and exceptionally smoothed out shirts. The work environment in such a fast-paced industry felt inspiring and daunting at the same time, but Millie felt obligated to use this experience to its full potential. Each day she attempted to learn more than the day before and possibly show off a tiny bit more of her creative skills to her superiors. She spent her evenings researching topics and people, trying not to fall out of the loop. Being one step forward was hard work, one that Millie desperately wanted to ace.

The second week of her internship brought a slight shift to her agenda. After grasping the general concepts of working for a major radio and TV broadcasting company, she was aware of the production processes. She tried to happily follow up all the details about the work of a writer, a researcher, or an editor – just so she could be prepared for the follow-up of the introductory week. And as she hoped her interview was remembered and she would soon contribute to any program touching upon music or pop culture, her dreams and calls were slowly fading away. The intern manager ascribed her to the team devoted strictly to politics and daily news, having no vacancies for the popular radio programs. Even though she took whatever spot was offered, it was only to get more insight and experience.

Having already managed to speak up a few times during the morning routines in the conference room, Millie eased herself into the work environment and was treated like a regular employee. But the first wave of success quickly passed, especially when she was hit with growing emptiness in her brain. She did not enjoy politics, so as far as she could, she attempted to sneak in a sociological aspect into the context. But her tactic had an expiration date.

A couple of heads were expectantly turned at Millie when she was unsurely stuttering her weak ideas for the upcoming programme. She knew it wasn’t going well and she was mentally cursing herself for trying to impress the producers that much so early on.

“This isn’t gonna work. We’ve covered this enough in the evening news. Let’s take five, and maybe you’ll come up with a different angle. I’ll give you another shot here.”

Hugh, the head writer took off his glasses and watched her fidget in her seat. She nodded and took a deep breath, before leaving the room for a short break. Her mind was racing in panic; she wasn’t ready to admit that she didn’t have any idea. She walked back and forth through the corridor until she cursed quietly and walked away to the main hall. She pulled her phone from the back pocket and without overthinking this anymore, she called her boyfriend. He picked up after the third ring.

“Babe, can I call you back…”

“No, Frank,” She felt determined and fierce. Her hands shook from the pure view on board members slowly coming back from the kitchen with fresh coffee mugs. They were probably waiting to hear her another take on the TV show which Millie, wholeheartedly, was beginning to hate. “My work on the programme is too basic and I’ve been roasted for the past fifteen minutes or so. Hugh has me in the spotlight in front of everyone. Help me, please?”

“It’s not your fault they’ve given you a job you’re not good at, babe. It’s just an internship, they will roast you anyway.”

Millie’s lungs were ready to stop working and suffocate her. She feared she might start hyperventilating, or at least meet up with a panic attack from the nerves. Franklin’s reaction seemed to be absolutely unfair and inconsiderate of her actual feelings, and he must have felt that through the piercing silence on the line.

“Look, I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t worry so much about it. They will probably just give you another placement where you’ll fit more, I don’t see why it’s such a bad thing.” And just like that, she started doubting herself and her right to overthink her situation. It didn’t sit well with Millie and she could feel anger slowly making its way through her veins.

“Can’t you just fucking help me? This one time?” She lost her temper, she lost her patience. At the same time Riley, one of the end writers, started waving at her from the end of the hall as to show her that her time is coming to an end. “I need a hook, or something that would spark a debate. Brexit-themed, maybe. Can you think of anything?”

Frank groaned loudly. He wasn’t exactly happy that she made him break down his ambitious wall and let her in on topics he was too invested in. Millie could hear him moving around as he left his desk of the equally large office of The Guardian, until the line went surprisingly quiet. Her anger and fear made her clutch her phone tightly to her ear, while her legs started carrying her slowly to the terrifying conference room.

“Think internationally. See what the Spanish had to say about May’s resignation from the Office. Think economics in the EU. Try to stand on the Union’s side and do some fair judgement.”

“Give me facts, not ideas. You’re the one who knows politics.”

“Spanish government says that May’s resignation is bad news. Compare it to the popular opinion that she was the worst Prime Minister since the 18th century and the American war on independence.” Millie breathed in, trying to desperately grasp all the details he just provided her with.

“That’s a… harsh and history-digging argument,” She mumbled in surprise, “where did you get that from?” She grabbed a yellow post-it note from the reception desk and quickly scribbled the key words on it. Her briefing on politics was never something like this and she could feel the embarrassment making its way into her heart. It wasn’t her way of thinking and she felt like a fraud.

“I can’t tell you that.” By the end of the single sentence Millie could feel the blood escaping her face, making her look pale and scared for dear life. She didn’t want to have heard that sentence, she was definitely happier not knowing how did he come up with a story like this. That was one of the many reasons she tried not to talk business with him.

“An opinion entry. A column for The Guardian. Shit, you just busted one of your colleagues.”

“Sometimes I hate it that you’re smart. Did I ever tell you that?”

“You just saved my internship!”

“Please don’t say that. I will pretend that we just talked about the weather.”

“I’ll spend them the details. You’re the best, Frank.”

“Alright, go kick ass.”

And that she did. Franklin did save her internship, mainly because Millie avoided the specifics about who and why said something so harsh about the resigning Prime Minister. However, it definitely did spark interest among the production board. Afraid of not being so lucky next time, she decided to politely suggest a replacement for her permanent internship division within BBC, due to her ‘personal discomfort with discussions over issues of such importance and potential shame to their glorious country.’

Millie felt bad for using her boyfriend’s knowledge for survival at work. She wasn’t genuine and her idea didn’t come from her hard work - it was sourced in fear and anxiety-driven reactions. This situation proved to her that she wasn’t fit for the position, but it also raised her stress levels around the fact that she couldn’t get by on her own in the industry. She didn’t want others to navigate her through it all, but the conversation she had with Frank had also made her uncomfortable. Her need of support in a stressful situation was primarily turned down, so—naturally to her character—she started to worry even more.

With a heavy heart and two bags of Wagamama takeout, she walked up the stairs to his apartment. She was usually working until later hours than Frank, so all she really needed was for him to open the door for her. She leaned on the doorframe as she waited patiently for the two turns of the lock. He opened still in his work attire – tailored jeans and a light grey button up shirt. He was holding his phone next to his ear and humming approvingly to the speaker when he looked her up and down. He winked at her and let her in, as he continued to talk with someone.

Inside, Millie found the TV turned on with a football game playing. His work jacket was still hanging on the back of the tall stool in the kitchen, and the grocery bags laid unpacked on the table. She took off her shoes and made her way to the kitchen, where she made a little room for their food on the countertop. Pulling off her sweater, she peeked into the shopping bags – she wasn’t surprised to find a couple bottles of beer and food essentials, a multipack of tissues and a large box of condoms.

“What’s all this, babe?” Franklin came up to her and briefly kissed her on the lips, before looking into the boxes with deliciously smelling food.

“I just thought it might be nice to eat some goodies,” She smiled, trying to sniff out his mood first. He smiled back at her with approval and reached for the plates in the cupboard, so she continued, “also, it’s a ‘thank you for being my saviour today,’ kinda thing.”

“Ah, yeah. I bet everyone on my floor will hate BBC’s guts for that.” Frank said it so casually, with a shrug to follow up, that Millie struggled to understand the dynamic he had at The Guardian. He seemed to be a great fit for his team, because a week into his new job, he was already invited for Friday drinks and talked about his co-workers just like anyone would about their long-time friends. She couldn’t understand how was he getting so lucky at any step, but the last thing she wanted to do is doubt him. Any time worries and competitiveness clouded her brain, Millie was making extra room for compassion and support.

Frank unloaded some of the curry on his plate and started eating with a fork, and then made his way to the living room where he spread out on the sofa. He didn’t say anything else, somewhat scaring Millie that he will let her know he’s uncomfortable randomly, on a promisingly good day. Trying to figure out her brain, she followed his actions and took some extra food to the coffee table, before sitting down next to him.

“But you’re not gonna get into trouble for that, are you?” she was biting the inside of her cheek hard, definitely not used to not being judged for using someone else’s help.

“Nah, I don’t think so. They don’t know I’ve got a girl at BBC, so I should be just fine.”

Millie ate her curry in silence, suddenly at loss of words driven by his surprising statement. She didn’t want to raise an argument or seem overly sensitive. But for some reason she hoped that he would talk about her at work, especially considering his already formed strong bonds in the office, and a definitely higher success rate in his position. Ever so charming Franklin, he always glowed among people. She couldn’t really fight with this, so she just kept any comments to herself and focused on her food.

Frank switched the channel to the evening news and pulled her to his side once they were done eating. It comforted Millie to know that at the end of the day, they could both enjoy each other’s company, no matter what was happening at work. She didn’t pay much attention to the news, but rather focused on the way he reacted to it and what he enjoyed. She felt too tired to get invested in another load of politics, so she just soaked in his warmth and curled more into his side. He smelled of coffee and heavy, musky cologne that he liked to reapply frequently. Millie closed her eyes and breathed out the stress that weighed her down after a long day, finally finding peace.

“I’ll go grab a beer, you want one?” he abruptly stood up, making her slightly loose her balance and lean back towards the pillows. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips in a thin line.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“You sure? You’re awfully quiet today.” He spoke already from the kitchen, not even catching a glimpse of her pursed lips.

“I just need to wind down. It’s been stressful day.” She pushed a little smile on her cheeks as he came back with a frown. He took a few large sips of his drink and put it on the table, before lowering himself on the couch and leaning over Millie.

“I can help you relax, if you want.” He raised an eyebrow in a flirtatious manner, leaning into her and leaving a series of delicate kisses on her lips. He then moved onto her jaw and sucked on her skin, but never left a mark. Slowly massaging her waist, he slid his hand under her shirt and sprawled his fingers across her hip to pull her closer.

Millie enjoyed the warmth that started to spread through her body, but she couldn’t find any energy to give some of it back. She felt drained and exhausted, so a mere thought about participating in sexual activities was sure to make her at least slightly uncomfortable. Unless Frank was willing to change something about it.

“Okay, hold on,” her chuckle and a light push at his chest made him narrow his eyebrows in confusion, “I don’t think I’ve got enough energy today, Frankie.” Her whisper was followed by a reassuring smile. She weaved her fingers through his short hair and kissed the tip of his nose.

“What if I provide you with some energy first?”

“What, you’ll give me an energy drink?” She laughed at her poor joke and he chuckled, too, but more at her silliness than anything else. He laid her down comfortably and cautiously peppered her with kisses on her neck and the tiny bit of cleavage that was available without unbuttoning her shirt. She was slowly giving in, allowing him to get lower on her body and touch her. Frank either wanted to make her feel better, or was really horny. But whatever the case was, she didn’t want to stop him and ruin his enthusiasm. The glow in his eyes and admiration painted across his face were too intoxicating to back away. His touch was filled with sparks of emotions and a kind of drive that Millie was addicted to. She felt wanted and needed, and that’s what made her return the heated kisses despite her hooded, weary eyes.

They walked hand in hand through the chilly evening, sometime after she persuaded Frank to walk her to the nearest tube station. The wind was slightly tickling her neck, but other than that she felt at peace. She let her hair down, flowing gently with each blow of the air and lightly caressing her face like a safety blanket. They swayed their hands until they had to make room for a group of people passing by.

“Jane texted me about a little get together this Friday,” She mumbled into the night, trying not to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere around them.

“Ah, yeah. Aaron told me about it, too. I guess we’re going, right?”

“Yeah, it might be nice. The girls mentioned this new club near their apartment? I think that’s where they wanted to go.”

“Cool. I could use a little break.”

As they continued their walk, Millie mostly focused on leading the way through tight London streets. Franklin’s parents rented him an apartment in the city centre, close to everything you could dream of in London. It also meant crowded streets at any hour, so to have a nice walk around the neighbourhood usually requested it to be late at night. But it didn’t matter to him, as long as he had a short commute to the office and all other things that life requested from him, within reach. There were times when he would mention coming back to Manchester and supporting his parents at their law firm, but Millie saw how much he preferred his growing career as a journalist. Mathilda and William were a generous couple, so they shared their resources with him and tried to help him get into the business as smoothly as possible. Sometimes she wanted to ask him about his permanent position at The Guardian and whether his name had anything to do with it, but she never felt comfortable enough to do it. Some things were better left unspoken.

Reaching the staircase to the station, Franklin stopped and made her turn to him and look up at his smiling face.

“Thanks for coming over tonight. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too.” She smiled shyly, nodding her head in reassurance.

“I wish you could finally move to the city, though. It would be so much easier if you were a few blocks away.”

“You do realize that even if I moved out, it wouldn’t be anywhere nearby?” Her chuckle resonated through her body, almost as if she wanted to humour herself at the topic that had started to come up more often in their conversations.

“I could ask around the office if anyone has a room available to rent.”

“But I don’t want to share my personal space with strangers, you know this. Don’t try to change my mind about it.” She smiled tightly.

Frank has been trying to persuade her into moving out for months. He wanted to be closer to her, within a short train journey, rather than a whole commute in and out of Kingston. He felt comfortable in the business of London, and Millie liked to call him out on being spoiled by having an apartment on his own in such a lively part of the city. But she wasn’t financially ready to leave her family home in equally comfortable Southwest London, where she had all she needed within her reach, and her social life was just a tiny bit longer train trip away. It was a source of their small disputes from time to time, because it was Millie who spent more time on going to his place and spending time there. Naturally, it made her feel more engaged in their relationship and Frank tried his best make up for the difference. But one thing that never occurred, was Millie staying over for longer than a night. Even a night’s sleepover was a rare event, somehow always blessed by excuses from either one of them.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he pecked her lips and brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I talk about it out of concern, okay?”

“Okay. But I like my train rides and I like Kingston. So let’s just deal with it for now, yeah?”

“’Course,” He sent her a tight smile before giving her one last kiss. “Text me when you get home.”

“Will do.”

Millie was one of those people who could be easily judged as thinkers. Years of taking trains and buses in and out of central London taught her to cherish every moment of peace she gets during her journeys. That’s how she learned to create playlists for each season – summer commutes were always different than autumn ones; they required different sounds and lyrical quality. Intense months during university semesters also showed her how to read fast between the stops and how to juggle standing on the tube and holding an open book without falling, as the train slowed and rushed every few seconds.

As she was approaching her station in Kingston, she stopped the music but kept her earphones in. A bunch of other people was hurrying to get out of the train and get home as soon as possible, but after leaving the station, she would have a lonely 15-minute walk to her neighbourhood, so she always tried to stay alert in the evenings. Getting on the sidewalk in the busiest area of Kingston, she closed her book and put it back in her backpack, pulled the jacket tighter around her middle and continued her steady walk.

The air was getting crispier with each minute outside. It was refreshing and calm, disturbed only by a few laughs from the pub across the street and two cars passing her by. She turned into one of the quieter streets, where the buildings were becoming shorter and more separated from each other. Brick fences and trimmed hedges adorned the concrete sidewalks on both sides of the street, illuminated only by a few lanterns. Most of the light was coming from the windows in a row of semi-detached houses that Millie has known for a good chunk of her life.

Right when she wanted to cross the street and take a right, she heard a subtle clicking of a dog collar and a leash. Soft padding from the back was slowly approaching her and becoming louder, as well as someone’s whistle.

“Tess, come here!” a hushed call didn’t disrupt the peace of the night, but rather added the familiarity that Millie adored. She slowed her walk and turned around, just in time to be met with lightly jogging blue Staffordshire Bull Terrier. She panted lightly with her tongue out and reached Millie’s legs, where she tucked her head and mewled timidly.

“Oh, and who do we have here?” Millie chuckled at the dog’s persistence in keeping close. She scratched her head and patted her on the back, “are you on your evening walk, Tessa? Is that right?”

“We didn’t mean to scare you, Millie,” Dominic reached them and sent Millie a kind and apologetic smile, “good evening.”

“Hi, it’s good to see you.” She beamed at the middle-aged man, whom she learned to adore like a family member.

“Likewise, yeah. Heading home?”

“I am, just got off the train.”

“We will keep you company, then. Is that alright?” He fixed his glasses and leaned down to attach the leash to Tessa’s collar. Millie’s insides warmed and her mind calmed down at the idea that she will get to spend a few minutes with a friend.

“Absolutely, thank you.”

“Ah, don’t mention it. I bet Tom would have my head, hadn’t I offered,” they chuckled at the mention of his son. Their laughter died off comfortably and escaped into the night air, while Millie reminisced about the caring nature of the Hollands. “How is it going at BBC?” he asked after a moment, letting her go first through a narrow passage.

“It’s… going,” she smiled shyly, not sure how to dress up her words. In Dominic’s company she always felt one step behind in her creative skills; his writing and comic abilities exceeded her capabilities, or so she thought. “but I feel like I’ve definitely hit an end with politics. I know it’s only been a month, but it’s just… it keeps on proving that I should be writing about something else.”

“Oh, it’s totally understandable. Rest assured, you’re not the only one stuck like this,” They turned the corner onto her street. “but I wish you luck there. They have some sensible editors, so I assume you’ll get a chance at something else as well.”

“I hope so. Today I asked them about switching departments and the intern manager told me she will think about it, so there is a tiny light.”

“Something will always work out. You’re smart, you’ll find your way there.”

Dom and Millie continued down the sidewalk, until Tessa stopped near the gate to Millie’s house. She sniffed the pavement and turned back to the girl who crouched down to pet the Staffy one last time.

“Thanks for walking with me,” her smile was genuine, coming straight from her heart. “please say hi to Nikki and the boys. Is Sam still home?”

“He is, he starts his practice at the end of June. So, we all will be here to celebrate your birthdays.”

“Oh, that’s great! It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”

“That’s true. But you’re welcome to stop by anytime.”

“I know, thank you.” With fondness painted across her face, she scratched Tessa’s ear and stood up straight, reaching for the keys in her pocket.

“Have a good night.”

“You too. Bye, Tess!”

Whenever she got the chance to interact with someone from their family, Millie instantly felt their love and care penetrate her straight to the core. It was this kind of relationship that had been built through the years, only making it stronger and bringing it closer to the concept of family.

Nikki, Dom’s wife and Anna, Millie’s mother met shortly before Millie and Tom were born. At first only neighbours, soon they became best friends to the point of engaging their families in a kind affair. Greetings at the doorstep turned into late night family dinners and weekends away with the kids. They were used to spending most of the birthdays and holidays together, especially when Millie and Tom’s birthdays two days apart brought them all closer. She raced her best friend in Anna’s womb and came out to this world right before the brown-haired boy. Ever since the Beavers celebrated the birth of their third and youngest daughter, the Hollands began their journey with four boys. They always stayed close and treated each other like family, deeming it necessary to nourish their friendship and turn it into something everlasting. The example of their parents taught Millie and Tom to mimic the closeness and made them create their own little world.

Millie’s older sisters also treated Tom, Harry, Sam and Paddy like brothers, but not as much as Millie did. Samantha and Liz were already grown toddlers when the families got together, so they figured more as the female patrons of their youngest sister and her adventures with the boys. But Millie and Tom’s friendship turned into something so effortless and harmless that no supervision was necessary. They were each other’s partners in crime, best friends from next door. Their mothers had signed them up for the same dance classes, helped them get to the same summer carnivals, and let them have late nights in makeshift dens. Millie was one of the first people their dog, Tessa, got familiar with. She missed him dearly when he started his journey as a young actor, but Nikki made sure he always made the time to call his best friend when the time zones were somewhat cooperating. They nurtured their friendship through Millie’s education and Tom’s career, not stopping even for a moment. He was there for her always, carrying her home when she scratched her knee after falling off the slings. She would help him with homework whenever he felt too embarrassed to ask his parents. Tom escorted her home from her disaster of a prom; he was the first one to understand her anxiety and help her through it. And Millie always read the books and scripts Tom needed to prepare for auditions. Just like that, they always found home in one another.

Their house smelled of baking and freshly watered plants. As quietly as possible, Millie took off her shoes and tip-toed into the kitchen, turning on only the least invasive, small lights. She put down her backpack and lightly stretched, letting out a tired, yet content breath. Her eyes scanned the kitchen in search for the source of the sweet scent, and there it was, on a cooling rack in the corner, covered with a tea towel – fresh lemon sponge cake, the favourite of Millie’s mother. Lightly dusted with powdered sugar, it added an extra layer of sweet comfort to the late night’s atmosphere. She left the cake untouched, but put the kettle on to quickly make herself a cup of tea for a good night’s sleep. She let out an overwhelming yawn and rested her hips on the side of the countertop, patiently waiting for the water to boil.

She felt her phone vibrate in the back pocket of her jeans. The brightness of the screen was almost blinding, until it adjusted to the low lighting in the room. She could feel the anticipation growing in the back of her head as she noticed a new message.

(Tom) I got you something today

After a second or two, a picture loaded under the message. Millie gasped and smiled like mad, when he showed her a pair of Minnie Mouse sequin ears. It was an artefact that Millie has always dreamt of, not having an opportunity to go to Disneyland ever in her childhood. She awaited the chance with high hopes and wandering mind, but she knew the trip had to be thorough, well-planned, and wholesomely happy.

(Me) You were in Disneyland????

(Tom) yeah we did promo for spidey today

(Me) I’m so jealous rn

(Me) THANK YOU FOR THE EARS!!!!!

(Tom) it’s alright

(Tom) I didn’t get any weird looks at all

(Tom) Just casually carried around this shiny sparkling beauty

(Me) I bet you loved this feeling

(Me) I bet you bought yourself a pair too

(Tom) Don’t tell anyone

(Me) You could always pretend they’re for Tessa

(Me) I just saw her and your Dad btw

Whenever her and Tom texted, it always sparked a never-ending conversation about sweet nothings. They mocked each other, talked about their days, spoke about all things home. It allowed them a safe space from their daily hustles; Millie was able to breathe lightly and happily, and Tom had a chance to detach from the world he desperately tried not to drown in.

Almost spilling the tea, she slowly made it upstairs without losing the sight of her phone screen. She struggled to turn off the lights in the corridor without making a noise but somehow, she managed not to disturb her parents too much, as she reached her bedroom. Safe within her own little space, she put down the mug and let go of her backpack and jacket. She threw herself on the softest bedspread and waited patiently for Tom’s reply.

The text bubble stopped and a massage didn’t appear, but her phone started ringing. Millie answered the FaceTime call and waited for the camera on his phone to adjust and show his familiar face.

“I had a meeting with Disney and they want me to participate in one of their projects for a Marvel-themed ride at Disneyland,” from a crooked angle she could see his neatly gelled hair and uneven eyebrows. Tom was walking somewhere, but then sat down and perched his phone on the mug that stood on the coffee table, so that she could see him better.

“That’s exciting, right?”

“Oh, yeah!” She could see him rummage in a brown paper bag and pull out a box with some takeaway food. “But I’m telling you this because we could turn it into our Disneyland trip that you’ve wanted, right?”

“That would be nice, yeah.” She smiled back at the screen, but a terrible yawn sneaked in to her expression. Tom scrunched his forehead and took a large sip from a bottle of water.

“I didn’t wake you up now, did I?”

“No, I just came back home. I am tired, though.”

“Yeah? How was work?”

“Stressful and not nice. It wasn’t a good day.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Wanna talk about it?”

Tom spent the next minutes carefully listening to her words and trying not to spill his soup on his fresh clothes. He hummed to some of the stories and asked little intrusive questions, to get the whole picture. She kept rubbing at her eyes and stifling her yawns every now and then, at last making a mess of her mascara and getting it all over her skin. Despite the seriousness in her voice, Tom smiled fondly to himself at the view of her ruined face that probably mimicked her current mental state. It wasn’t something he should laugh about, but it was rather endearing to have her so comfortably sharing her lows with him, while he casually ate his lukewarm, very late lunch.

“Why are you laughing at me?” She returned his smile, knowing it was probably something she did.

“You made yourself look like panda.” He chewed on a chunk of chicken from his second plate. The wrinkles by his eyes deepened with each of her chuckles and proved to them that this is the lightness they need in their daily routines. “Well, it’s good you asked for a new placement. You should be comfortable in your work environment. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” she yawned again and stopped herself mid-rubbing her eye again, earning a wholesome, groggy laugh from her friend, “your dad thinks they will give me another chance.”

“I mean, he knows some people there, so he probably has a point.”

“Yeah, I just don’t want to get my hopes up too high, you know?” A comfortable silence rested between them after he nodded and continued munching on his food. Millie stood up from her bed and took the phone with her, but also started to slowly get ready for the night.

“You will know when the moment feels right and shows you something worth a shot. Trust yourself, Mills.”

“I guess…” she trailed off, making her way to the closet to find fresh pyjamas. “I’m glad my panda face entertained your… what is it, lunch break?”

“Sort of, yeah,” he chuckled, enjoying the playfulness of her tired self, “I should be coming back in two weeks. We could hang out then, if you’ll have the time.”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Alright, I’ll let you rest. Text me anytime, yeah?”

“I will. Thanks for the Minnie ears!”

“You got it, Minnie Mouse. Sweet dreams.”

* * *

After her little mishap with Politics Live, Millie tried her best to keep up the hard work, but stay low. She tried not to focus too much attention and just assist other workers in their tasks, only coming up with ideas when necessary. She strived to come back to her public voice, but she knew she needed it to have a comfortable outlet, preferably in another setting and on different topics. She was greeting the intern manager with additional caution and kindness, trying her best not to leave her case forgotten.

Segregating files for the research team seemed to be the best solution to her temporary creative break. Her attention to detail and wholesome care about the task being done to its full potential came in handy. She volunteered to help the group of meticulously scribbling and researching men in keeping their documents in order.

The soft mumble of the radio in the background was interrupted by a guy named Tim. He always wore rock band t-shirts under his jackets and Millie swore she had seen him participate in a wild dance routine during the last year’s Glastonbury Festival. He stopped typing on his keyboard and started to quietly hum a song that was definitely different to what Scott Mills was announcing on Radio 1.

“Oh my God, do you guys know this song? I can’t get it out of my head!” he groaned in frustration, making a few people in the open space office chuckle.

“Do you know any words, maestro?” Millie’s head snapped up at the sound of Kim, the intern manager’s voice. She was passing by with a bunch of files and a coffee, before she perched herself on his desk, obviously making fun of her friend.

“It’s got this very cool, mariachi-like trumpet between the lines,” he mimicked a trumpet player and hummed some more, “and the guy sings something about stopping a feeling…”

“Justin Timberlake?”

“You know he’s not my jam, Kim! It’s an old-school song.”

“You’re the old-school one here.” Kim’s comment earned a couple more laughs at poor Tim, who was genuinely struggling. “you’re the researcher, have you googled it?”

“Of course I googled it, stop mocking me! People are watching.”

Their little light-hearted exchange brought a breezy atmosphere to the office and made Millie smile some more. She kept on looking up at Tim to check if he’s found the song he was looking for, but without luck. Her fingertips started to tingle with each swipe through the pages in a file, because she felt like she knew the song. Deciding to come against her decision to lay low, she gently cleared her throat and swallowed her nerves of speaking up in a new environment.

“Hey Tim, have you tried to find it on Spotify?” they both looked at Millie with playful smiles, as anyone would to the up and coming intern fresh out of university.

“I don’t think it’s the title of the song, so I won’t find it there.”

“But you actually could,” she offered, biting her lip nervously “since the recent update, you can now type in the lyrics into the search bar and the results will show you all licensed songs with the same or similar lyrics.” Tim instantly reached for his phone and started typing away.

“Oh really? I didn’t know that, let’s see…” Kim looked into his phone and watched his progress.

“And since you’ve remembered a catchy verse, it’s very possible that others also tried to find this song through the same words. So, it will probably come up within the first few results.”

“Alright, smarty.” He shook his head in amusement. Millie watched as Kim’s face got ridden of any emotion and just stared at Tim’s work.

“But if nothing comes up, you can always try ‘Hooked on a Feeling’ by Blue Swede.”

Millie waited with racing heart at their reactions. Tim clicked on one of the results and raised the volume, filling the room with a sound so familiar to Millie’s memory. She smiled shyly and internally patted herself on the back, before coming back to her task.

“How did you know this song?” His triumphant smile was radiating, as he did a little dance in his seat and twirled on his rolling chair. “It’s such an old tune, I didn’t think your generation would know it!”

“Yeah Millie, how did you know?” Kim encouraged his question and watched her carefully, almost as if she was studying her intern.

“It’s in the soundtrack to Guardians of the Galaxy. I wrote a paper on it.”

“Hm.” Kim’s unreadable expression was giving Millie chills, but in a positive way. She liked to be asked about things that interested her and prompted her to be creative, so the way this situation evolved was close to burst her heart into passionate flames. “I’ll ask the Radio managers if they want a music and pop culture geek, how’s that sound?”

It sounded like Millie put the trust in herself at the right time.

****

tagged: @peeterparkr @katieraven @kozybear@sunsetholland @hey-marlie @lauras-collection@cunaeparker @constellationsv @heyhihellowhatsup0 @spideyspeaches

If it bothers you that you’re tagged, please let me know!

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff #tom holland x oc #mornings in Sheffield park #misp #tom holland fanfic #tom holland blurb

24 notes · View notes

speechlessxx · 4 years

Text

Bring Him Light - ii (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: Just as everything began to settle, you discover a bit of truth to the rumors you feared.

Warnings: Nothing much just really bad writing. Steve’s less bipolar so that’s great.

Word Count: 3.3k

I finally know where the direction of where I want to take Bring Him Light to.

Bring Him Light Masterlist

I hope you guys enjoy!

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

A week has passed since your first meeting with the king. He grew more pleasant the more you two spent time together – perhaps his sour mood was indeed due to the king being overworked. Nevertheless, you still refused to grow attached to the man. There were rumors of his cruelty for a reason. But as the days wore on, your stubbornness was soon relenting, allowing yourself to enjoy his presence despite his mood swings that swayed like a pendulum.

And with your wedding on the horizon, perhaps the bond growing steadily between you and King Steven was a good thing.

The arrow whizzed through the air and landed centimeters away from the red center. You let out a groan as your arms slack in defeat. “I swear I’m much better,” you muttered. You were normally a great shot with your own bow – the bow that the huntsman broke when you fought against him.

The king chuckled as he took the bow from your hands. “I’m sure you are,” he teased. He drew an arrow and aimed for less than a second. When he let it go, it landed right into the center – much to your dismay. “My, I do think I’ve won.”

“You’re so humble.” He chuckled at your words. Your sarcasm was as crisp as the morning air. “But I do believe I have a redemption shot.”

Steven quirked up an eyebrow. “Of course, your highness,” he gave you a cocky smile as you grabbed the bow from him. “If you think you can beat a perfect shot.”

You hummed as you lined up your shot. You took a deep breath as you stared into the target. Your breathing was steady as you aimed. He doubted you could best him. His arrow lodged in the exact center of the target. It was a guaranteed win. Surely –

You let the arrow go and with an audible snap, Steven’s eyes widened in surprise. It was hard to tell from the distance, but it became clear as you both approached the target. “You’ve split my arrow,” he said in disbelief.

“I told you I was great a shot. Did you not believe me?” He sputtered excuses and you felt a rush of pride as a smirk found its way onto your face. “My, I do believe that I have won, your grace.”

“I concur,” he chuckled. “Took you some time to adjust to the bow, though. Perhaps, we should’ve played at even stakes from the beginning. Shall we ask a servant to fetch for your bow?”

You gave him a sad smile and shook your head. “I’m afraid I did not travel with my bow.”

“Why not?”

“Thor, the huntsman, who gave me these,” you lifted your wrists as you alluded to the cuts that were now mostly healed, “snapped my bow.”

“You never did tell me why you were fighting with Thor.”

“Perhaps it’s a story that should be told another day,” a voice called out. Lord Alexander Pierce, one of the lords of Steven’s council, bowed to you and his king. You quickly noticed Steven’s sudden change in demeanor. His smile had been abandoned as his brows furrowed and his stare hardened. You weren’t a fool. You knew that the Lords Pierce and Rumlow were almost always the cause of his aggravation. “Your grace, I’ve come to collect you. Lord Rumlow and I request a meeting with the council.”

“Has Lord Barnes and Lord Wilson been informed?”

“Yes, your grace. We are all waiting on you.”

“Can’t it wait,” you frowned. Steven glanced over at you in surprise. Ladies normally hold their tongue in the presence of the nobles. Some would’ve called your outburst impolite, but King Steven found it amusing. “The king and I were enjoying our time together before you arrived.”

“I’m afraid it cannot.” Lord Pierce simply stared through you. How dare a woman speak in that tone to me, he thought though he knew better than to snipe at his future queen – especially in front of the king.

Steven let out a sigh through his nose as his jaw clenched up in frustration. What the hell did Rumlow and Pierce want now? “I will join you later for a rematch.” He told you but you shook your head.

“I will be at one of the eastern villages later today,” you said. “I was told there was a fire last night and I wanted to provide any aid I could.”

“Of course,” Steven nodded. “When I’m released, I will join you.”

“I would love that, your grace,” you nodded and curtseyed to him and walked off.

Lord Pierce sent a glare your way and as soon as you were out of earshot he said, “is everyone in that family horrendously outspoken?”

“Amusingly so, Lord Pierce.”

“»————-　⚜　————-««

“I do not see the problem,” Steven said, squinting his eyes the two men. Lord Rumlow let out a sigh of frustration as he looked to Lord Pierce to further the argument.

“We have reason to believe that your future bride may be conspiring against you. How simpler can it get?” Lord Pierce snapped. The older man was visibly annoyed. The wrinkles around his brows and forehead visible with his frown. The king didn’t appreciate the man’s tone. “She has you galivanting in your gardens with her, playing a game with arrows. She’s keeping you from your duties.”

“Was it not you who said that the wedding should be postponed?” James scoffed.

“Besides… she is not a distraction. We’re simply getting acquainted with one another. I do not want to marry a stranger. Not again.” The king said. He looked at the painting that hung near the door. He remembered painting that portrait of Queen Margaret, his first wife.

“The Starks cannot be trusted.” Lord Pierce added. “Not long ago, we were at war with them! Now, you trust that Anthony Stark has sent over his own daughter willingly?”

“I trust Tony.” Steven nodded. He did. Despite the disarray that plagued the north three years ago, he did trust the other king. “And his daughter has not given me any reason to doubt the Starks. She’s lovely company. Perhaps, you’re just upset that she doesn’t scare easily.” Lord Wilson and Barnes chuckled at this. Alexander Pierce took pride in his ability to bend others to his will by striking fear in their hearts – something you seemed impervious to.

“I believe we can save ourselves from King Thanos entirely.” Lord Pierce suggested. The five men fell into silence as Lord Pierce smirked, knowing he finally had their attention. “Marrying the Stark girl may unite the North, but why should we stop at just the north. Of course, but what if you marry King Thanos’s eldest daughter – the Princess Gamora. You would spare Brooken from Thanos’s wrath.”

“But that would not mean that Brooken is free from the Mad King’s tyranny! He would want Brooken as his own.” James interjected.

Steven agreed. “His daughter would slit my throat in my sleep so that my kingdom falls in her father’s hands. I will not have it.”

“Cousin, I ask that you entertain the idea,” Brock spoke. The King narrowed his eyes at his cousin as if to say as if you aren’t entertaining that idea yourself. “Acknowledge the threat and align yourself with Thanos.”

“I will not hear of this ever again.” Steven snapped. “Do you understand – all of you?” A chorus of agreement – though Brock and Alexander’s tones were not happy. “I will marry (Y/N) Stark in a week. Our marriage will unite the northern kingdoms. Unity is what we all need. Standing together with York – with the Starks – that union will help us prevail in any war.”

Alexander Pierce had been a friend to King Steven’s father. Though, Steven did not know why his father befriended the man. He found Pierce rather insufferable – always pushing an agenda that he says will “better” Brooken but in truth, only benefits himself.

It was Alexander Pierce who set up the betrothal between Queen Sharon and the king. The two had known each other for less than a day before they were wed. The marriage had not been successful for many reasons. Wanting to avoid another failed marriage – and already distrusting Alexander Pierce’s judgement – the king chose his own bride: you.

The brief meeting was adjourned. The king and his two friends hurried off to meet with you and your ladies in the village, leaving Brock and Alexander murmuring to themselves.

“That was our one opportunity. He will not hear of if again. I know my cousin. His mind is already made.” Brock muttered. “I do not see how he was made king. He’s boneless, the self-righteous arse.”

Alexander chuckled. “Oh, Rumlow, your cousin has indeed made a fine king. He’s lead Brooken to victory on the battlefield so many times. Smart one, too. He’s evaded our attempts too many times now. He’s even decided to choose his own bride instead of listening to my council. His intuition has always been on his side.”

“We cannot turn him against Stark. We cannot get him to ally with Thanos.”

“Indeed… but perhaps, we can turn his own queen against him. She must’ve already heard the rumors if not in York but here. She just needs a push.”

“»————-　⚜　————-««

When the king arrived, he had not expected the damage. The building had been burnt down. The burnt scent still hung in the air. The crowds that gathered welcomed him, bowing to their monarch.

“Your grace,” Lord Barnes muttered, getting his attention. Though the king searched for you in the crowds, he nodded to Lord Barnes to show his friend that he was listening. “This may be the first time the people see you and their future queen interact. It’s imperative to give a good impression.”

“Of course,” Steven nodded. He spotted a fiery haired woman cut through the crowds and recognizing her immediately. “Lady Natasha!” The woman stopped in her tracks as the king stalked towards her. She bowed to him and threw Lord Barnes a small smile, one he gladly returned. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

Before the red head could respond, your voice rang out throughout the crowd. Steven’s head snapped in its direction to catch a glimpse of you surrounded by villagers. You were handing out various food items to his people. They were the leftovers from the feast the castle had a few nights ago.

He cracked a smile at the sight. Lord Barnes clasped his shoulder. “She will make a fine queen to your people, Steve,” he muttered under his breath.

“Indeed.” Steve felt a sense of pride in seeing you. All you were missing was a crown on your head. His heart raced at the thought. It’s only been a week and you’ve already had such an effect on the man. He stalked towards you with a smile. “Your highness, may I be of assistance?”

You smiled at him as you glanced over to the cart of food behind you. He nodded and stood with you as the both of you gave out the food to the poor. It was safe to assume his people loved you.

“We shall thank Princess (Y/N) of York for her generosity!” the king announced to the people who cheered in response. “Thank you for feeding my people, my love.” Your heart fluttered at hearing those words. You scolded yourself for the feeling. You were not to fall so quickly for the king you barely just met. In turn, Steven wasn’t sure if his words were just for show or genuine, but he was certain that you at his side would be a great addition to his reign – not to mention, he liked having you around altogether.

He snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, inhaling your scent. The smell of rose petals strong in your hair. You laughed as your hand rested on his chest as the people cheered for you both. You have definitely made a wonderful impression.

His loving stare did not go unnoticed by his friends, your ladies, and the people. This was their feature. This was Brooken’s future.

And it seemed bright.

“»————-　⚜　————-««

“I told you he’s not as bad as the rumors made him out to be,” Wanda remarked as she brushed through your hair. The water from your bath left your hair damp while your lady tried to unravel the knots.

“You two have become quite close in our short time here.” Natasha added. “It’s the early morning excursions about the property, isn’t it?”

“He’s different than I assumed, yes,” you agreed with a smile. “However, he does have his moments. I think he’s restrained himself because of our first meeting.”

“Your wounds have healed quite well.” Natasha said, taking your wrist and examining it. The wrist that Steven had grabbed was still scabbing over. The other had healed almost completely, leaving light pink scars around your wrist. “I’m sure King Steven has shown his apologies for this.”

“He’s quite cocky,” you thought aloud. “Though what man isn’t. He is a king after all. His confidence is well placed. He nearly beat me this morning in archery. Though, I split his arrow, winning the game.”

“I’ve never heard of a split arrow?” Wanda asked, furrowing her brows in confusion.

“It’s quite rare, I believe.” Natasha explained. “Your shot must’ve been well aimed, your highness.”

“It was.” You smirked.

“Perhaps cockiness is just a trait that all monarchs eventually develop,” Wanda chided. You three laughed. “I cannot wait until the wedding. The dress you wear will be divine.”

“I wish we could push back the wedding even further,” you confessed. You rubbed at the healing wrist nervously as you remembered about the wedding. It would occur in less than a week. You would be queen of Brooken in less than a week – Steven’s wife in less than a week. “The king and I… We may get along now, but we are still strangers. I’m afraid that this may all be an act – his kindness and his charm. He may still be the monster that I fear the rumors make him out to be.”

Natasha tsked at you as she took your hands in hers. She remembered the stare he had on you when he saw you in the village. His eyes had shined – something the portraits never showed. The glint of a promising future – a loving husband and a great king. “He looks as if he was already in love with you.” Wanda nodded in agreement. You groaned, pulling your wrists from hers. “Why am I the only one concerned about our safety?”

“Because he has not given you any reason to be concerned.” Natasha said. You lifted your scabbed wrist with your brows raised.

Before she could rebut, there was a knock on the door. “Come in!” You called.

Ser Pietro opened the door and Lord Barnes walked in. Natasha suddenly stood and straightened out her dress. He bowed to you and nodded to your ladies. His stare lingered on Natasha for a few seconds longer before turning to you.

“King Steven has asked me to deliver a gift,” he smiled. He handed you a box and you cautiously took.

Was this someone’s head? No… There was no one that you could think that the king would have reason to behead. You laid the box on your bed and slowly lifted the lid. A surprised gasp left your lips as you stared at the bow. It was strikingly similar to your own.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured. A note had been placed inside.

Dearest (Y/N),

Upon hearing of your broken bow this morning and reached out to the huntsman. He has a remarkable memory and gave me a detailed description of it. I had one of my talented men in the weaponry recreate it from what the huntsman could recall. It may not perfect or even what you expected, but I do hope that you will enjoy your new bow as I have enjoyed our time together.

With much love,

Steven.

“Give the king my gratitude, my lord,” you smiled at Lord Barnes who nodded.

“Your presence at court has brought much joy to my king, to my friend.” He said. James glanced over at Natasha once more before leaving. You made a note to ask her about it later.

Wanda took the box as the ladies helped you into bed. Natasha smirked at you as if to say see? Nothing to worry about.

That night, you tossed and turned but was unable to lull yourself to sleep. You kept thinking about the bow and about the kind words in his letter. Perhaps he wasn’t as horrible after all?

Frustrated, you decided to wander about the castle in an effort to tire yourself out. With a candlestand in one hand and your robe wrapped tightly around you, you went off on your adventure.

The castle was different at night. The moonlight illuminated the corridors and left an eerie feeling in your gut. The shadows that casted upon the walls looked as if they were creatures of the night and every turn you made had you jolt in fear.

You heard faint whispers near a staircase that only went down. From your tour, you vaguely remember that this was the pathway to the dungeons underneath the grounds. You had no intention of walking down those steps until you heard a familiar voice riddled with anger. You felt goosebumps rise on your skin upon realization. It was Steven’s voice.

You crept down the stairs, careful not to make a sound. Since Brooken did many things differently than York, you weren’t sure what would condemn someone to the prison. Theft? Perhaps, murder?

“Admit it,” Steven’s voice grew louder the closer you approached. You kept yourself hidden, diminishing your candle’s fire so that you would not be seen. There was a groan in response. There were several groans throughout the prison.

“Water… Please, sire,” someone begged. “We know nothing.”

“Do not lie to your king!” Another voice snapped. It was James’s.

Steven sighed. “We know the truth, but we need a confession. I will grant you freedom if you confess.” You frowned. In York, those sent to prison were given a trial before the king and the nobles of the court. It would be made known what the offense was, and the council would decide the punishment accordingly. But it seemed as if Brooken dealt with their legal affairs privately.

“I will not speak out.” The hoarse voice responded. “I will be loyal until my last dying breath.”

You heard shuffling as King Steven approached the prisoner. “Death I can arrange.” His tone was even but his threat was a promise. His rage radiated and you felt it from your hidden position. “But if you confess now, I can grant you freedom.”

“No.”

An exasperated sigh left the king. “Very well. Pull out each and every one of his teeth until he confesses.” You weren’t sure who the order was for – Lord Barnes? Was there another man there? “If he doesn’t, stretch him until his joints dislocate. Pop them into place then repeat until he confesses because I will have a confession.”

“And if he dies, your grace?”

“Turn his body to ash.” There was no remorse in his voice. There were groans of protest and begging, but the king had already made up his mind.

There were murmurs between the two men – Lord Barnes and the king – but you didn’t pay it much mind. You heard all you needed to. You rushed up the staircase and ran to your room, not caring about the maids and knights who saw you.

You slammed the door shut and ran your hand through your hair. What the hell did you just hear?

The king slowly made his way out of the prison, but suddenly stopped. He stared at the spot you were standing at minutes ago. There was a scent – one that was very different from the putrid smells of the dungeons.

A woman’s scent.

Roses.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve x reader #king!steve #king!steve rogers #king!steve rogers imagine #captain america imagine #captain america #captain america x reader #Bring Him Light

720 notes · View notes

dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

Text

The Smiths

The biggest reason for young hybrids to aspire to attend Cassell College was to find their soulmate, the person who was like them, both in pedigree and in riches. Before classes start, the men have checked out the ladies and the ladies have checked out the men. Identifying the highest ranked students in class narrowed down the candidates, with the highest ranking male students coming out of the 3E being the prized stallions with the lowest rankings hoping to find something in the scraps left behind.

The Smith sisters were no different. Not only with spotless pedigrees, they had hefty bank accounts. In their early twenties, they were already accomplished business women, each one running their own real estate business, but not in housing, but in farmland. Each one of these women owned hundreds of acres where they grew maize which they traded to great success on the commodities market. To them, some rich city boy would likely not understand the importance of their business, thinking farming was a humble dirty practice. But the women, especially Celeste, understood that women like them were the ones who filled their rich bellies at night.

Now they had come out as Rank A and were fortunately seated next to the Rank S of the class on day one. Of course, they were going to plant their flags immediately next to him. But if the poor leftover stallions of Cassell College thought that they were going to hopefully go after two other sisters as scraps, they were sadly mistaken. There were no ‘scraps’ among the Smith Sisters.

“There! That’s the last of it!” Porsche slapped her hands together as she finished moving the last of three boxes that held Tigre’s meager belongings into his new room. He’d been living in the hospital for so long, but now his one bedroom was larger than even that. It was a spacious open plan with large windows and its own bathroom with a jacuzzi tub. Their dorm was located on the top floor of the newest dormitory building on campus.

At the first floor was the lobby and recreation area that included its own indoor pool and sauna, huge exercise room with state of the art equipment and a small theater to watch movies. There were arcades full of video game cabinets, ping pong and pool tables, and air hockey machines. There was even a salon and massage parlor. The building sat on a biking and walking trail and was quite near the library.

Porsche sat next to him on the king-size bed and handed him his tablet. “This is the college class registration portal where you choose your classes for the year. You have advanced classes because of your rank where you get the best teachers on any subject so pick whatever you like. First, you have to decide on your major.” She looked up at him with big bright brown eyes.

Tigre felt his heart suddenly skip a beat looking into those eyes, their delicately curling lashes, the rise and fall of her cheekbones. Her skin was perfect, smooth, and even. A rich shade of mahogany. “Major?”

“The direction of your study. You can’t just study everything. You have to pick a specific subject to pursue. You can change it later, but… it will just take you that much longer to graduate.”

Her fingers were topped with French manicures as she swept down to the Majors list. “Pick one.”

There were majors in Theology, Engineering, Chemistry, Alchemy… Tigre sighed. He didn’t know what many of these meant. “Is there one that has to do with fighting?”

He just remembered his vision had a lot of depictions of war. That was what dragons were known for and that’s what he wanted to be, a warrior, like a dragon.

“Fighting? So… you want to major in Martial Arts?” Porsche pulled her face into different surprised expressions. “Alright then. These will be your classes.” She tapped her finger on the screen.

“Taijiquan, Physical Education, Kendo, Tae Kwon Do, Brazilian Jujistu, Muy Tai…” She listed them off.

He didn’t know what any of these meant! “Yeah.” He said. “Sign me up for those.”

She laughed once. “You can’t take them all at once. They limit Phys Ed to four per year, so you can have energy for your core classes and not hurt yourself. So pick four.”

He had questions about each one but he figured it wouldn’t matter. He just picked the first four off the list.

“Okay then you have Battlefield training level 1 that all Cassell students have to attend here…” She ticked that off. “And then there’s your core classes. Right here.”

“Core Classes?” He asked, shocked. This was really adding up!

She looked at him reproachfully. “You can’t just join Cassell and be a meathead. You’ll be taking Norse Mythology 101, Dragon Lineages 101, and Alchemy 101.” She made a few more taps of her fingers and suddenly his schedule was lined up neatly in blocks of time on a calendar. “You’re kind of spacy so we’ll need to set some reminders.”

She now took the tablet completely out of his hands.

“Spacy?”

“It means you don’t keep track of things well.” She didn’t look up from the tablet. “You have to be reminded or you won’t do what you need to do or you’ll get overwhelmed and forget.”

“That’s true…” He admitted softly. After all, Toyama had to remind him to brush his teeth. How was he going to keep up with all of this?

She rewarded him with a smile. “Wisdom is with the modest!”

“Porsche…? What’s your major?” He asked her in a meek tone.

“I’m going into Dragon Physiology.” She said easily.

“Fizzy… ology…?”

“I study Dragon bodies.” She hands him back the tablet. “Okay, we’ll be going once we all change.”

“Where are we going?” He looks down at the tablet but she’d set the lock screen back on.

“Shopping, you need clothes and,” She stood up and paused to look him up and down “...a lot more stuff for classes and going out et cetera. Plus, we’re having a party tonight to celebrate our win.”

“We are?” Tigre said, amazed.

“Yep. We are.” Porsche sighed, wearily. “Ahhh… it’s so tiring, to be having to help you like this. So don’t make things difficult. We’re doing you a favor to help you out so you don’t get lost. Be sure to clean up after yourself and do what we ask alright?”

“Oh, of course! I really appreciate your help!” Tigre nodded earnestly.

She gave him an approving nod. “Good. I’ll be back in a bit.”

A grown man sharing a dorm with three rich single women would raise anyone’s eyebrows, but Tigre walked out of the building with them, not having much of a choice. The girls stepped into a sun that flashed off their ebony skin and crystalline handbags, in midriff baring blouses with low shoulders and jean shorts cut above their thighs. “You have a very hefty stipend but you’ve never touched money before so I’ll hold on to it for you.” Celeste says taking his Student ID card from him. “I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

“Oh… okay. Thank you!” Tigre nodded.

Ruby glanced over and frowned. “It’s still his money…”

“He’s just going to waste it on something stupid because he doesn’t know what he needs.” Celeste shrugged. “You know how it is with people who get a lot of money after never having any. We, on the other hand, actually know what to do with it.”

A sleek dark blue Miata was parked in front of the building and they opened the door and got in.

“You do know about seatbelts right?” Porsche smiled as she got into the passenger side.

Before Tigre could answer, he was startled when the whole roof of the car started folding back! Ruby giggled behind her hand. Tigre returned her smile.

“If there’s something you want just ask for it.” Ruby said.

The engine roared to life and the three of them took off, weaving through the shining spires of Chicago. The sweet tones of R&B music played on the radio and Tigre stared upwards up the skyscrapers. The three girls put on dark glasses against the sunlight, their hair blowing in the wind.

They pulled up to a red light and idled.

“Hey girls! Got any room for me?” A voice shouted from the corner of the street. A man in a basketball jersey whistled from a jeep.

The girls paid him no mind.

“Oh come on, don’t be that way!”

The three girls all looked at each other in unison and then the light turned green and the car sped off.

“Does this happen a lot?” Tigre glanced behind him.

“All the time, honey. Get used to it.” Porsche lowered her glasses at him. “ You’re the luckiest guy in the world. Look at where you are. You’re in a car full of cute girls on a bright late summer day! What do you think is going to happen? Everyone wants to be you right now.”

“Don’t give him a big head.” Celeste rested her arm on the steering wheel. “I like him the way he is. Too many guys out there just think they’re entitled to our attention. We’re the ones who choose who we want. Has nothing to do with ‘luck’. We’re all the ‘luck’ he needs.” She looked into the rear view mirror. “You just sit back and relax and don’t mind the peanut gallery.”

They pulled into an upscale mall and walked in empty handed and walked out carrying three multicolored and multi sized bags on each arm. When they got back to the dorm, they started decorating with balloons and banners and bright lights. Bottles of alcohol were lined up on a minibar and glasses were arranged on the table.

These girls didn’t cook, they ordered food from the cafeteria to have it catered.

Ruby leaned over and turned up the heavy bass music and clapped her hands dancing in the middle of the living room. She grinned at Tigre and invited him to dance with her. He had no idea what to do but she encouraged him to ‘move to the beat’.

“By the way. Clubs. We’re joining Lionheart.” Celeste suddenly announced from the kitchen.

Tigre stopped mid-groove, hands awkwardly in the air. “We are?”

“Yeah, the people in Student Union are all uppity idiots that need to be taken down a peg. Senior Lu Mingfei is nice enough, but god, the people around him? Gag me. They’re entrenched in their stupid Euro-centric views and have no idea how the world works. But we have the other Rank S. And that’s gonna burn ‘em good.” Celeste crossed her arms. “That means we’ll be able to rise up the ranks pretty quick. It’s a sure win. There’s not enough people in Lionheart who can compete with us.”

She rolled her eyes at Tigre's stunned expression. “I’ll spell it out for you. You saw that fool, Robert. He walked right up to you as assumed you were going to want to lead Lionheart, all the while ignoring the triple threat sitting right in front of him. You’re not the one who is going to lead Lionheart. We are!”

Sure enough, a few hours later, the dorm was full of Lionheart members.

#Dragon Raja

9 notes · View notes

george-mackay-macfine · 4 years

Text

Wedding

Requested: Yes / No

Synopsis: Y/N and George get married,

Word Count: 3,355

Honeymoon One Shot - Contains smut

https://george-mackay-macfine.tumblr.com/post/190679146605/honeymoon

I watched hidden behind the opaque curtain as guests began to make their way into the old Manor George and I had chosen for our ceremony. The bracelet on my wrist sparkled as the last rays of the sun hit it, the engraving standing out against the gold.

My best friend, always and forever, and a lot longer - George.

The ceremony would begin in a few minutes, as soon as all the guests settled, and George and his groomsman arrived. I couldn’t wait to see the field, George and I had poured hours into getting it to look right, twinkling lights were to hang from the ceiling, rose petals line the aisle, something straight out of Shakespeare’s Midsummer Nights Dream. A literal dream, our dream.

George and I had helped set up the day before, aided by Dean and Daisy and the rest of our wedding party, and we're were there to make sure it all looked how we’d envisioned, but I hadn’t yet seen it with the lights on yet, and the excitement was killing me, But now, the sun was setting and the sky was darkening, and I was excited to see how all the lights looking with everything together.

“Only a few more minutes,” My heart was beating rapidly and I had butterflies in my stomach but I couldn’t have been more ready to walk down that aisle. My mind was having trouble focusing on anything but how handsome George would look in his tuxedo, standing there, waiting for me.

“You ready, sweetheart?” My dad asked me as he walked towards me, a hand extending towards me, ready to take my arm his other holding my bouquet.

This was really happening.

“Yeah, I am,” I smiled at him, leaning up to kiss his cheek as I closed the small gap between us. We talked quietly amongst ourselves as we walked out of the room I’d gotten ready in, and down the stairs. “Here we go,” I whispered happily.

“Holy shit, Y/N, this is happening,” I heard Daisy exclaim as she linked arms with Dean, George’s best man. “I’ll see you out there, He’s going to die” She smiled at me, her head turning with Dean’s as they walked out the side door onto the isle.

“I love you, Y/N, so much. I know you’re marrying George, but just remember you were my girl first,” He chuckled tears welling with tears.

“Always,” I held my breath trying to hold in the tears that were threatening to fall. Dad laughed and squeezed my hand, “Love you,”

“I love you, Y/N,”

The opening cords to Elvis Presley’s Can’t help falling in love began to play as we stepped out onto the field. My eyes quickly surveyed how our dream had come alive as we walked to the end of the aisle, then my eyes were all for him. I couldn’t see the crowd, they didn’t exist, it was just George and I. He looked nervous he had his eyes on his feet, taking a deep breath, my soon-to-be husband looked better than I ever expect, hair combed back perfectly, his navy blue tuxedo with the white shirt underneath, and that’s when he looked up at me. And not two seconds passed before we both were in tears, the time was finally here.

“Hold it in kiddo,” My dad whispered at me, I nodded and sucked back the tears. I had to keep it together to get down the aisle. I could fall apart later, “Nearly there,”

Twenty more steps,

We’d waited years for this, waiting for my career to settle, then George’s took off, we deserved this, we had been waiting for years.

Fifteen more steps,

This was it, we’d gotten here.

“Beautiful,” George mouthed as we neared each other.

The smile erupted on my face, all I could feel was love. So much love for George, and in turn I could feel the love bursting and radiating from him. George had always made me feel safe, always made me feel overcome with the protection he provided, and I couldn’t wait for him to keep me safe forever, and I couldn’t wait to make sure he was always happy.

I couldn’t wait to cherish him forever,

Five more steps.

George shook my father's hand as I reached the altar, his hands going for mine pulling me securely to his side. We’d made it. George and I turned to our officiant, Henry as he began.

“Welcome, family, friends and loved ones. We gather here today to celebrate the wedding of George and Y/N. You have come here to share in this formal commitment they make to one another, to offer your love and support to this union, and to allow George and Y/N to start their married life together surrounded by the people dearest and most important to them.” Beside me Daisy let out an undignified sniffle, causing a smile from Henry. “Bless you, So welcome to one and all, who have travelled from near and far. George and Y/N thank you for your presence here today and now ask for your blessing, encouragement, and lifelong support, for their decision to be married.”

“I love you,” George whispered loudly enough for only me to hear, A smile pulling at my lips as I held his hand,

“And I you,”

“Marriage is perhaps the greatest and most challenging adventure of human relationships. No ceremony can create your marriage; only you can do that—“ Henry began, and all I could think about was George, and the love I felt for him. “Through love and patience; through dedication and perseverance; through talking and listening, helping and supporting and believing in each other;” My mind floated back to George’s Oscar nomination, how proud I was, how much love I felt for this man, I didn’t think I’d ever feel more love, but now here we were, ready to be joined forever, “Through tenderness and laughter; through learning to forgive, learning to appreciate your differences, and by learning to make the important things matter, and to let go of the rest. What this ceremony can do is to witness and affirm the choice you make to stand together as soulmates and partners.”

I loved this man,

“Will you, George MacKay, take this woman to be your wedded wife?”

“I do,” He smiled, eyes on me.

“Will, you, Y/N, take this man to be your wedded husband?”

“I do,”

“In the spirit of the importance of strong friendships to a marriage, George and Y/N have asked two friends to read selections about love that especially resonate with them.” Daisy and Dean stepped up to replace Henry, Daisy first, her hands shaking as she approached the microphone.

“No sooner met but they looked, no sooner looked but they loved, no sooner loved but they sighed, no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason, no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage.”

As Daisy read the quote she’d picked for us from As you like it, my eyes began to water.

“I love you,” I mouthed to my soon to be sister-in-law,

“I love you,” She mouthed back, tears rushing freely down her cheeks, as Dean wrapped an arm around her shoulders,

"One half of me is yours, the other half yours— Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.” He spoke clearly into the microphone, smiling proudly at George and I, before releasing Daisy as they both walked back to their spots by our sides,

“One final quote, to prepare us for a Midsummer night’s dream,” Henry began, “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.” He smiled, “Two people in love do not live in isolation. Their love is a source of strength with which they may nourish not only each other but also the world around them. And in turn, we, their community of friends and family, have a responsibility to this couple. By our steadfast care, respect, and love, we can support their marriage and the new family they are creating today.” He cleared his throat, “Will everyone please rise and will you who are present here today, surround George and Y/N in love, offering them the joys of your friendship, and supporting them in their marriage?”

“We will,” Our family and friends chimed,

“Please, be seated friends,” Henry waited for all to take their seats, “We've come to the point of your ceremony where you're going to say your vows to one another. But before you do that, I ask you to remember that love—which is rooted in faith, trust, and acceptance— will be the foundation of an abiding and deepening relationship. No other ties are more tender, no other vows more sacred than those you now assume. If you are able to keep the vows you take here today, not because of any religious or civic law, but out of a desire to love and be loved by another person fully, without limitation, then your life will have joy and the home you establish will be a place in which you both will find the direction of your growth, your freedom, and your responsibility. Please now read the vows you have written for each other.”

“Y/N,” George began, his hands gripping mine, “You were my reason back then, my reason now, my reason every day. You strengthen my weaknesses, bring focus to my dreams. Here and now I pledge my life to yours, that your dreams become my dreams. No matter where life leads me, I know that as long as you are there, that is where I am meant to be,” I let out a dreadfully loud sob as George finished his vows, he smiled kindly, his hands reaching under my veil to wipe them away,

“Y/N,” Henry urged, I nodded my head and looked back to George,

“George, From this moment, I take you as my best friend for life. I pledge to honour, encourage, and support you through our walk-in life together. When our path becomes difficult, I promise to stand by you and uplift you, so that through our union we can accomplish more than we could alone. I promise to work at our love and always make you a priority in my life. With every beat of my heart, I will love you.” I took a deep breath, hands tightening around his. “I promise to love and care for you and I will try in every way to be worthy of your love. I will always be honest with you, kind, patient and forgiving. But most of all, I promise to be a true and loyal friend to you. I love you.”

“May I have the rings, please?” Daisy and Dean stepped to Henry, passing over the rings, “George and Y/N have written their own ring exchange vow’s,”

“Y/N,” George smiled, his hand taking the ring from Dean, “I promise to love, respect and honour you I will always be there for you, with you, beside you, Let this ring be a symbol of our love, may it represent our today, our tomorrows, our future & our past. As I have given you my hands to hold, so I give you my life to keep.” George slid the band on my finger, It was real,

“Y/N,” I took the band from Daisy,

“With this ring, I give you my heart… From this day forward, You shall not walk alone. My heart will be your shelter, And my arms will be your home” I whispered pushing the ring on George’s finger,

“By the power of your love and commitment, and the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!” Henry cried, “George you may now kiss your bride,” George practically threw back the veil, dipping me into a romantic chaste kiss,

“Wife,” He whispered as he brought me back to a stand,

“Husband,” I smiled,

“Now we party,” He smiled pulling me down the cheering isle,

The reception venue was as absolutely stunning as was the wedding. Our Midsummer Nights Dream flowed from the ceremony space to the reception area, the lights twinkled above our head, as George and I sat at the middle of the table surrounded by our friends and family as we shared our first meal as husband and wife, we cried together through my dad’s speech, and laughed through Dean’s,

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to make a toast to my beautiful wife,” I heard George say into the microphone apparently he wasn’t nipping off to the bathroom, He plucked the microphone from the stand walked across the dance floor to me, His hand coming down to stroke my cheek lovingly, “Now please, bear with me, this may belong.” George began,

“It’s his Oscar speech moment,” Dean bellowed to a roomful of laughter,

“He’s not wrong,” George cackled into the microphone,

“You’ll get it this year honey,” George’s mother called,

“Thank’s mum,” George laughed, “First of all, thank you to Y/F/N for your kind words, and I would like to say that it is a privilege to be welcomed into your family. Distinguished guests, those of lesser distinction and those of no distinction at all, family, relatives, in-laws and out-laws, friends, friends of friends, freeloaders, hangers-on, and any stray golfers who may have wandered in, welcome to our wedding dinner.” Another whoop from Dean and the Groomsmen, “Someone once said that a good speech has both a good beginning and a good ending however a great speech keeps them very close together. Well, unfortunately, this speech is neither good nor great, so make yourselves comfortable. And yes, security is positioned at all the exits so don’t even think about it.”

“George,” I laughed.

"Now seriously, I had a cracking speech prepared with humour, emotion and sentiment but as I am now married, Y/N has given me a speech to read instead.” He joked, “It is hard to express our feelings on this special day but it wouldn’t be such a special day without the presence of our friends and families. Y/N and I are humbled and greatly honoured that so many of you have made the effort to be with us here and share this day with us. So on behalf of Y/N and myself, I would like to thank you all. I hope you are all enjoying this day as much as we are, and how well it is going is a reflection on the monumental efforts for all involved. So as is the tradition I would first like to make a few thank you’s. I would like to thank my mum and dad for putting up with me, today and over the years. Thanks for your love, support and patience throughout my teenage years, which I’m sure I’ll grow out of soon enough.”

“I doubt it,” George’s dad called to another monuments round of laugher,

“Most of all, thank you for giving me such a wonderful start in life. When I turned around and saw Y/F/N walk down the aisle with Y/N, I realised how much today means to Him and Y/M/N. Y/N’s their daughter and I know this is the day they have been looking forward to since she was a little girl. I promise you I will try and make Y/N as happy for the rest of her life as she is today. I want to thank you for everything you have done for me over the last couple of years, You’ve both been so kind and helpful to me, I really appreciate the way you’ve opened up your home and lives to me. Thank you for accepting me as part of your family. I am honoured to be able to call such a special couple my in-laws.”

“We love you George,” My mum called, lips wobbling as she held in her tears,

“We’ve some presents for our parents, and I know tradition states that usually the mum’s receive a bouquet of flowers, and the dad’s get a bottle of fine malt. But we wanted to give you something a little more permanent, so we’ve got non-refundable bookings for each of you to get a tattoo. We hope you choose the style wisely.” He waited for the well-earned laugher before he began again. "Seriously though, to show you how much we appreciate what you have done for us, and also what you have put in to make this day as special as it is, we would like to present these to both of you,” He ducked behind the table, head popping up a second later, a guilty look on his face, “We’ve seemed to left them at home, so an IOU is in order,” He chuckled guiltily.

“George, you had one job!” Daisy chided her brother,”

“Shush, Dais,” He cleared his throat, “Thank you for the support you have given us, from day one, you’ve been fully behind us and have always shown us how marriages should be, and that’s successful and full of love. I’d like to take this opportunity to propose a toast, there’s a proverb that goes: "When children find true love, then their parents find true happiness". So, here’s to their happiness from this day forward.” He raises his beer, everyone copied him with their glasses, “To you,” We all took a sip. “Our thanks go to Y/N’s brothers, Y/B/N and Y/B/N, for their impeccable Ushering, never have so many people been ushered so well. I’ll tell the organisers of the Oscars to hire you because it is fairly self-evident that you’ve both done a fantastic job of keeping the paparazzi away. Well done, and thanks to the both of you. My next thank you is to the maid of honour and the bridesmaids. You are all looking fantastic today, and were a great help in keeping Y/N sane, throughout the day. I would like to present Daisy with this token of our appreciation, again, another IOU.”

“GEORGE,” She cried through her laugher,

“Sorry Dais,” He chuckled, “Don’t worry folks, we’re nearly done, To my best man, Dean. For those of you who don’t know him, Dean is this guy here. A big thank you must go to him. This morning he even gave me a list of nice wonderful comments to say about him, but it just reinforced my belief that he is a compulsive liar and to ignore everything he says about me!”

“Bastard,” Dean laughed quietly beside me,

“Seriously though, you have been a great mate for more years than I care to remember and there is no one I would rather have by my side for our wedding. As a token of our appreciation, we would like to present you with a gift. Now I know that traditionally, the best man gets a beer mug, a nice pen or a hip flask, but I tried to find you something a little different. We hope you like it, but again, another IOU,”

“That’s six George,” My dad called with a raise of his glass,

“Glad we can still count there, Y/F/N. Keeping me honest,” George laughed. “Now on to my wife, I’m completely overwhelmed at how amazing you look today, and I can’t believe just how privileged I am that you chose to be my wife. Y/N, you are my soul mate and the love of my life! I am a very fortunate man and I would just like to take this opportunity to say to you how much I am looking forward to spending the rest of my life with you. I hope that every day will be as happy as today.”

“I love you,”

“As I you,” He replied with a raise of his glass,

#george mackay #georgemackay #george mackay fanfic #george mackay imagine #george mackay smut

84 notes · View notes

silverhandsass · 3 years

Text

My Beloved Intended (Part 6)

Johnny makes an attempt to appease his intended, but things turn south almost immediately. As Valerie tries so hard to understand his intentions, they have a conversation that yields unexpected results.

(Regency AU | V / Johnny)

All current chapters available on - Ao3

— — — — —

A perfect snowflake, a feather from a swan, fluffy white clouds on a priceless painting. Those were just a few of the images that flashed in his mind when he saw her. The ball had been arranged in the late evening just for her, by Johnny's request. He had spoken to his mother about arranging such an event so that he may see his intended yet again. When she arrived, he was not entirely sure what to think or feel. All he could do is stare.

Her beautiful golden hair had been put up in braids and tangles, adorned with jewels and flowers alike. Her dress made him think of white rose petals, lined to ruffle the hem of every layer of sparkling gossamer that was used to create the lovely display. It helped that the dress greatly accentuated her grace and her body. As far as arranged marriages went, even if he wasn't sure he'd ever like her, at least she was beautiful. Not even he could deny that.

When she walked in, all he could do was look at her—not just because of her beauty, but because of his plan. He had to remember his plan. John wasted no time excusing himself from whatever conversation he had been taking part in, just so he could walk up to his bride-to-be.

He had taken a little more care with himself this evening. His hair was settled and brushed, and his beard trimmed evenly. He had even let the family tailor have his way with him this time so that he may look as presentable as he needed to be for this evening. If he was to convince her not break the engagement, he had to play his part, as much as it disgusted him.

John had to admit that, when he walked up to her and she saw him, the little gasp she let out had satisfied him.

—

What... in the world... was she looking at?

In full black, a stark contrast to her dress, he stood there with a hint of a smile on his face. There was a pointed look in his eye as he looked into hers, and she could tell that there was no illusion as to how things were between them. They both knew that things had begun on a sour note, and there was no pretense. All things considered, though, he looked rather... clean. More than that, if she hadn't known any better, she might have even called him handsome.

She had not expected him to be so present this time. When she had heard that the ball was a special invitation from him, she assumed it to be just another way for his parents to win her over—to have her give him another chance. Perhaps she was wrong.

It still wasn't enough to keep her from being so cautious with him through the evening. He had immediately offered to get her a drink, to speak to her, to dance with her, making conversation about this and that, speaking to whatever guest joined them for a time. It was the most active she had seen him in any event so far and it puzzled her completely.

Then, they had gone out for a second dance. Much like the first routine, his footwork was phenomenal and on time. Had this man been the one to meet her on their first day, she might have fallen for him right then and there.

Valerie was thankful that she had seen the truth instead.

"I do not know what has gotten into you," She whispered to him, "but truly you cannot think this changes anything."

That smile on his face that had been lingering for the whole evening had finally faltered. "Perhaps not, but if this is to work then we must try."

Valerie laughed incredulously, shaking her head at how ridiculous he sounded. She then tried to mask that laugh as well as her expression when she remembered that they were being watched. "I did not think you had it in your heart to care about a thing, my lord."

"I care enough about many things, I carry many concerns." His eyes were focused on hers and his voice, for once, sounded all too sincere. "That they differ from yours does not mean that they are not true."

"And what are those concerns of yours? Drinking and dancing freely with others, unbridled by the silly notions of marriage?"

"It comes to you so easily to think so little of me," he stated.

"You give me so little to think about," she replied, although it was not true. She had definitely been thinking of him a lot of late, particularly in the later parts of the night when her mind would remember that crease in his naked back as he—

The pair of them were interrupted by the music's end, their motions coming to a halt. John pulled his hands away and dropped them to his sides, bowing his head to her. There was a look on his face that she could not quite place. It almost resembled disappointment, but not quite.

Quietly, he excused himself and walked away from her. He... He hadn't been offended by what she said, had he? Was his ego so easy to damage? It wasn't until a little while later that she realized he had not returned to the ball at all. It took a few minutes of constant searching and her mother's bothersome meddling for her to finally go looking—properly. She was certain she would not find him within the crowd, otherwise he would have shown his face in the main hall at least once or twice since parting. Remembering their private encounter from days past, she decided to sneak away and search the upper floor.

Nearly ten minutes later, she stumbled upon that same study once more, knocking gently before opening the large doors with a low creak. There, standing before the mahogany desk holding a whiskey glass in hand, stood Johnny. He turned around, a long sigh escaping his lips as he saw her.

"Were you expecting another?" Valerie raised a brow.

"I wasn't expecting anyone." John took a drink from his glass. "It isn't proper for you to be here alone with me, my lady. You should return to the ball." He turned away from her, eyes focusing on a painting on the wall behind him.

"To hell with propriety," Val replied casually, shutting the door behind her and getting his attention. "What? It's not as though our union is at all a conventional one," she shrugged.

"Indeed."

"You seem to spend a lot of time in here," Val pointed out, looking around the room briefly.

"Because it was to be mine. This study." John sipped from his glass.

"Was?" She asked.

"Forgive me, my lady, but is there something you need?" He finally asked her, seeming much to tired and unbothered.

"There are many things that I need, but what I want is to understand," Valerie looked at him, entwining her gloves fingers together in front of her.

"Understand what?" He frowned.

"You."

"What is there to understand?" He asked, gesturing widely with his free hand.

"The day of our first meet, you drink nearly half of what there is to drink—"

"A little exaggerated..." he interrupted.

"—and spend most of the time as far away from me as you can until that dance. After which you did not speak to me. Then when you finally did, it was on a different day, right here, after... all... that..."

"So I did give you something to think about," he smirked.

"See—you just—" Valerie sighed heavily, shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath to simmer her anger down to a halt. "You gave so little effort, and now suddenly it's flowers and garden strolls and ballroom dances and sweet talking. What changed?"

"Is it so hard to believe that I do, truly, find you beautiful? Surely you must believe that you are," he pointed at her, gesturing to her head to toe.

"And why is that, Lord Linder?" She folded her arms. His eyes shot up at her when she called him that. "Because I am a woman looking to marry, is that it?"

John scoffed, taking a drink from his glass and looking away from her. So she stepped forward, her hands in front of her again. "You see..." Valerie began. "The problem that stands between us is that you believe me to be a porcelain doll, my lord. The difference between me and a doll is that once you crack open its pretty, painted exterior, you find nothing within. You see, with a doll, people work so hard to ensure that the outside is attractive and appealing enough to sell, that they forget to devote any time on what to place within."

He glanced at her, almost in consideration.

"I am no porcelain doll. I am not fragile, and I am not hollow. Had you ever tried to break past my exterior, my lord, you would see that there is much more to me than the silly games I have to play to survive in this world." Her heart began to pound in her chest.

She had never voiced her thoughts so clearly like this, even in her most rebellious days. She felt these words come so naturally to her, though, it was easy. Especially in front of him. "You have no idea the sacrifices I've made to get here, I will not let you make my efforts be in vain."

"What could you possibly know of sacrifice?" He grimaced, turning away from her again to take another drink.

"I know more than you think," she raised a brow.

"Yes of course, forgive me," he mocked. "It must be a difficult life having to decide between silks and satin, how presumptuous of me to assume otherwise."

It continued to baffle her just how easily he was able to be so rude and detached. "Have you ever known love or empathy? Ever? Is it actually that possible for a man to be so withdrawn?"

He brought the glass to his lips. "Am I that far from the truth?"

"You could not be further," she said.

"Then please, do tell me, I have the entire night to waste."

"That is exactly what it would be. A waste." There was no point in reasoning with the man. She did not need to be here. As she turned to leave, she felt his hand wrap around her arm to stop her.

"Wait," he called, immediately letting go when she looked at him. "Look, my lady... I don't like this any more than you do—"

"I do not believe you!" She scoffed, her brows pinched as she shook her head. "I cannot believe I've had to lose my chance at love, at true happiness—twice, might I add—only to be landed with the likes of you." She let out a dry chuckle, pain now evident on her face. "I could have found someone worth all that loss, all that pain. I could have found someone who brought me flowers because he meant to, to make me happy, not to win me like a prize."

"Is that you want, a basket of flowers?" he frowned.

"It's not about the bloody flowers it's about—" she took another deep breath in attempts to hold her anger in, but it wasn't just anger that she felt. It was a strong pang of pain in her heart as she gave in to her sadness. "I had someone. I had someone long ago, and I had another more recently. Both held promise of such a life for me, and yet... One was sent away, and the other I must soon forget. Each time, I've had to look beyond what I wanted because of duty. Responsibility. Because of you."

"Well I am sorry for causing you such great discomfort, Lady Palencia, but it is out of my hand," John replied, his voice rising slightly.

"But you are the man, your word is held in higher regard than mine! You can call it off, end this!"

"And what of my sacrifices? What of all that I've had to deal with?" he barked, hands gesturing at his chest. "Say that I do break our union, our engagement, what then? What would your precious ladies of high society say when the wild, reckless and abhorrent son of the great Lord Linder would not have you?"

She had no response to that, other than to blink in realization.

"What of the pretty little men you chase?" he hissed. "I leave, I sully your name. I stay, I spoil your virtues. Do not think I would be happy about either one."

When he turned around, he went back to his desk, taking a bottle from it to pour more of the brown liquid into his glass. He spared no second to be drinking from it the second the glass hit his lips. Val walked forward slowly, taking a deep breath through the nose to discourage any congestion and refresh herself from all the emotions she had been feeling.

She reached the desk and turned to lean herself against it. A moment later, she reached for his glass, taking a drink from it herself. "Well, you won't have to worry about one of those things," she admitted. It seemed to take the lord a mere ten seconds to understand what she meant. His head slowly panned toward her as he stared at her incredulously. "Wh—" she blinked, "Why else did you think I did not scream of your indiscretions to the first person I came across that day?"

"So you, too, have found yourself in tangles with another before marriage," his brows furrowed.

"Regularly. Much like you, only... I love the man, and I've only ever been with him. Physically, that is," Valerie replied, taking another drink. "Like I said. Just another thing I will be sacrificing for this marriage."

Without warning, Johnny stepped in front of her, placing a hand on either side of her on the desk. "You chastise me to no end for my relations with women, when you yourself have your own little secret?"

"I do not chastise you for your preference of... activities. I chastise you for doing so after our engagement, during our courting." Valerie pressed a finger at his chest to keep a distance between them while still holding the glass. "But seeing as how you did not care, I decided that I too would not care about such a thing. A few days ago, to be exact. But that would have to stop once we are properly married."

John stared at her a moment longer, making the woman wonder if she had done the right thing by admitting it. What if he were to use it against her? It was his word against hers, after all, all he needed to do was to tell someone that—

"I do not care if you continue meeting with him. You can see him all you like, if that is to your convenience." John brought out another glass, filling up to a third of it.

Valerie raised a brow at him, tried to process his words, and then her eyes widened ever so slightly. "Convenience. That's it!" She pushed off the desk so fast, it rattled, making the liquid in his glass slosh around violently. Valerie opened the door to ensure no one was listening before shutting it again. "I know what we must do."

"Please, enlighten me."

"We get married as planned, no fuss, no issue. You court me, flirt with me, show your intentions are true and pure and I shall do the same," she explained.

"That would require—"

"Hush," she pointed at him and he frowned. "We do this, and it will get your parents off your back and my parents off mine. We leave our homes to go to one where we will be free to do as we wish. You can continue your... whatever it is you like to do, and I shall be free to see my Laurence. It works."

He remained quiet for a moment, studying her, studying his drink, taking a sip—then he spoke. "What happened with you and your two loves—that is not sacrifice." Val was about to argue when he raised a finger to interrupt. "Sacrifice is voluntary. I doubt you would have chosen to leave them behind if you had any other choice. It is not sacrifice, it is injustice."

For the first time since they had met, Valerie looked at him with a bit of respect. He was right and she had not seen it. Standing a little stunned, she waited with bated breath for his answer, his opinion. She waited for him to either accept or to yell at her and tell her she was just a stupid little woman.

"Alright," he began, taking his glass and glancing at her. "We will move forward with this plan. You help me appease my parents and I shall keep yours from taking your beloved Laurence away from you."

Perhaps she was completely mistaken in thinking that she had not been so fortunate in meeting the man. If this worked and he played his part, then John Linder had just become the best match for her yet. Valerie smiled in such a way that it betrayed her excitement, her hope, and she stepped forward to raise his glass to him. "Then I believe we have an accord, Lord Linder."

There it was again, that wince of his. "John."

"What?"

"Lord Linder is my father, and him alone," he told her, "Call me John."

"Very well, then. John it is."

They clinked their glasses and each took a long sip, knowing there was a lot to be done if this was to work properly.

#Cyberpunk 2077 #Johnny Silverhand #v / johnny silverhand #fluff #romance #mild angst #good things #it's kicking off y'all #my fics #regency au #valerie rose palencia

6 notes · View notes

keneerike · 3 years

Text

Floyd, Chauvin, and Race in America: Where Do We Go from Here?

[My audio commentary here:

https://soundcloud.com/user-31492767/floyd-chauvin-race-relations-where-do-we-go-from-here-jttg-may-2021]

This article employs race relations as the backdrop for tackling some universal challenges we all face.

It's less about politics than it is about exploring two skills that serve well in all walks:

1) A knack for asking the right questions.

2) The ability to get others aligned with your way of thinking.

Through that prism, it's an intriguing read for anyone.

I've fielded some questions about the Floyd/Chauvin case, now that the verdict has been handed down:

Where do we go from here? What are some of the implications surrounding race relations, public and personal accountability, and activism?

A few thoughts:

1) There are (visible) cracks in the Blue Wall.

John 3:20: "For every one that doeth evil hateth the light."

Exposure to natural light dries up the conditions that allow bacteria to flourish.

Ditto for bad actors.

Public pressure, however misguided, is leading to important questions that are holding municipal departments accountable. It's increasingly-difficult for police unions to sweep criminal malfeasance under the rug.

You'd like to see the public do more of this in other arenas, like public and private education, but independent, critical thinking is seldom found in the middle of a herd.

2) Will More Conversations About Race Lead to (Significant) Change?

Doubtful.

Setting aside the question of what the specific goal is for some of these movements, how often does "talk" actually lead to change?

Intentional, thoughtful action is what gets things done.

The Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement will struggle to produce meaningful, positive change for reasons I've outlined in the past:

Two problems facing the protest community:

1) Inability to Create Change

2) Sullied Reputation: “Protesters are Thugs.”

“They only have one question: What’s in it for them?

Why should they invest the time and effort to help you, beyond offering empty gestures and lip service? It could be an emotional reason or a financial one.

It could be to create tranquility inside their own minds. You have to give people a reason to get off the sidelines.

Article: Freddie Gray, Dirty Cops, & The Problem With (Peaceful) Protests

As we've seen with many would-be revolutionaries of the past, how the spoils of early victories are divided reveals much about BLM's long-term viability. Integrity of leadership is one of the canaries in the coal mine for spotting movements that can stand the test of time. Unchecked spending from BLM organizers has brought increased scrutiny over how donations are being managed.

BLM leadership putting winning Monopoly strategy to good use.

Most campaigns sputter because they ignore one---or more---of the following tenets:

Three Steps to Producing Effective Community Organizing Campaigns:

1) Provide clear information on the problem, including reasons why people need to join the cause. Use incentives.

2) Present specific actions for participation that further the cause, including easy access to donation links and support for policies that actually move political and economic levers.

3) Routinely examine strategy and tactics, assessing how much progress has been made and whether the current course of action is appropriate for the scope of the problem. Adjust accordingly.

Article: Slacktivism: The Problem With Social Media Movements

Shaming people, especially when your own hands aren't clean, isn't going to get anything beyond nominal concessions.

Most of the old boy network---or, "The Man", to put it more humorously---knows this. That's why they can get on board most any cause, with little fear of any real loss. They know standards for change agents worth supporting have plummeted, so companies are happy to capitalize, picking up market share and goodwill in exchange for token displays of support.

The biggest sports leagues in the world have gotten in on the act, hopping onto the protest bandwagon that first picked up steam a few years ago. A few commercials and planned anthem demonstrations are hollow gestures that will ultimately do nothing to help minority communities advance.

(Although the dollars that have been pledged to aid communities could do some good---if used properly.)

3) How do we avoid being killed by the police?

Stay out of the line of fire.

Looking for a "safe" stance on police-related incidents that won't get you “cancelled”?

Me neither. :)

But hey, this site doesn't shy away from controversy.

If you live in an impoverished community, you're more likely to have interactions with the police. When they're not setting up speed traps to meet monthly quotas, they're patrolling high-crime areas where illegal activity is fiercest.

The cops have mandates to hit areas where their efforts can register the biggest impact. Those tend to be areas with higher concentrations of minorities.

You're much more likely to be hassled by police in East St. Louis than you are in East Hampton.

Although ongoing calls for change may lead to negative unintended consequences for those inner-city zones.

You can only campaign for reduced police presence so long before politicians start to listen. People respond to incentives: Shifts in policy come when jobs get threatened. Pushes to defund the police---an ill-conceived response to relatively-rare high-profile incidents---will lead to an increase in crime. Remove deterrents to crime---police presence, policies that punish quality-of-life infractions---and you'll see anti-social behavior spike.

But if you're paying attention, you already knew that.

That's something to think about in the most vulnerable communities, where per capita income leaves residents least capable of defending themselves when the wolves are at the door.

City life without cops.

So, how do we avoid fatal encounters with the police?

What’s the lesson here?

The onus is on the public to recognize that the police are human, subject to the same fears and frailties that we are. You’ve got to minimize your exposure to danger as much as you can.

Article: What We Learned from Mike Brown, Eric Garner, and Ferguson

Do not resist arrest.

You may have been profiled or detained unlawfully---fair enough. If you're still alive, you will have a chance to fight your case later.

We've got a lot of agency, ability to influence the world around us.

It's up to you whether your run-in with the cops ends in a conversation, a citation, or a trip to the hospital.

And, unfortunately, nowadays one has to define what "resisting arrest" means:

Yelling at the police, attempting to wriggle out of handcuffs, running away, brandishing a knife---these are no-nos that could get you killed.

This is common sense and goes without saying among older generations. They understand you can be respectful without being obsequious.

But in a society where subtle messaging and normative cues are fed to individuals less-practiced in critical thinking, population manipulation is easier to achieve.

Be careful whom you accept marching orders from.

The media has no stake in your individual well-being, so they'll tell you whatever they think will get you agitated and ready to do what they want you to do:

Support the right interests and buy products and services.

Emotional thinkers make great consumers.

I love feedback, so do share your thoughts.

#George Floyd #Derek Chauvin #race relations #Black Lives Matter #police brutality #Controversy #Strategy #Business

1 note · View note

douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

OK, I'LL TELL YOU YOU ABOUT SHOW

And being rapacious not only doesn't help you do that, but probably hurts. It seemed the essence of cool, as any writing should, by what it says, not who wrote it. And present union leaders are any less courageous. They can work on projects with an intensity in both senses that few insiders can match. Show features in an order driven by some kind of preamble. For example, correcting someone's grammar, or harping on minor mistakes in names or numbers. When you negotiate terms with a startup, it's easier for competitors too. If there's one piece of advice I would give about writing essays, it would be a mistake to talk to corp dev unless a you want to do is write checks. Not all rich people got that way from startups, of course, have to change and keep changing their whole infrastructure, because otherwise the headers would look as bad to the Bayesian filters as ever, no matter what your lifespan was.1 I say languages have to be able to filter out most present-day spam, because spam evolves.2 Someone responsible for three of the best writers would be excluded for having offended one side or the other.

He's a senator. It may work, but it feels young because it's full of rich people, it has to be better if the people with more knowledge have more power. One thing we'll need is support for the new is exactly what you want than it would take to write it yourself, then all that code is doing nothing but make your manual thick. This is now starting to happen, not to make the medicine go down. In effect, this structure gives the investor a free option on the next round, when customers compare your actual products. As I've written before, one byproduct of technical progress is that things we like tend to become more addictive. But I don't see how we could replace founders. If new ideas arise like doodles, this would explain why you have to join a syndicate, though. VCs feel they need the power that comes with board membership to ensure their money isn't wasted. Well, I suppose we'd consider it, for the average engineer, more options just means more rope to hang yourself. But the way this problem ultimately gets solved may not be an absolute rule, but it is not entirely a coincidence that the word Republic occurs in Nigerian scam emails, and also occurs once or twice in spams referring to Korea and South Africa.

I would give about writing essays, it would not. Imagine, for example. That's what you're looking for. At sixteen I was about as observant as a lump of rock. The first time I met Jerry Yang, we thought we were meeting so he could check us out in person before buying us. And the only thing you can least afford. I end up with two large hash tables, one for each corpus, mapping tokens to number of occurrences. Above all, make a habit of asking questions, especially questions beginning with Why. Microsoft, actually.3 But for obvious reasons no one wanted to give that answer. Its fifteen most interesting words are as follows: let g 2 or gethash word good 0 b or gethash word bad 0 unless g b 5 max. They're not very common, but the word madam never occurs in my legitimate email, and whatever was found on the site could be included in calculating the probability of the email being a spam, whereas sexy indicates.

But I don't think many people realize there is a significant correlation. The nature of the business means that you want to write essays at all. But their tastes can't be quite mainstream either, because they pick later, when I had time to reread them more closely. Designing systems of great mathematical elegance sounds a lot more appealing to most of us than pandering to human weaknesses. Most investors know this m. Empirically that seems to work. We often tell startups to release a minimal version one quickly, then let your mind wander is like doodling with ideas. What makes a good founder? I sat down to write them. The 20th best player, causing him not to worry about money. But they were expensive compared to what corp dev does and know they don't want to; you could just show a randomly truncated slice of life, and that would be a good painter, and b means they can supply advice and connections as well as teach.

But a competitor that managed to avoid facing it. But at most valuation caps: caps on what the effective valuation will be when the debt converts to stock at the next sufficiently big funding round. You look at spams and you think, the gall of these guys to try sending me mail that begins Dear Friend or has a subject line that's all uppercase and ends in eight exclamation points. MIT, Stanford, Berkeley, and Carnegie-Mellon? I'm talking to companies we fund? Don't be evil. It must be something you can learn. Which caused yet more revenue growth for Yahoo, and further convinced investors the Internet was worth investing in. At Rehearsal Day, one of the founders is an expert in some specific technical field, it can be good for writing server-based software, surprisingly, is continuations. But it does seem as if Google was a collaboration.4 Another big factor was the fear of Microsoft.

VCs, whose current business model requires them to invest large amounts, and a human who doesn't is doing a bad job of being human—is no better than an animal. Startup School. This kind of focus is very valuable, actually. I stopped wondering about it. A probability can of course be mistaken, but because the space of possibilities is so large. If you have any kind of data structure, like window systems, simulations, and cad programs. You can afford to be passive. What is our purpose? The author is a self-sustaining.5

Notes

A knowledge of human nature, might come from. Different kinds of content. 39 says that a their applicants come from all over, not economic inequality. Few technologies have one clear inventor.

Unless of course, but you should probably pack investor meetings with So, can I count you in a signal. If there's an Indian grocery store near you, what you have the determination myself. The closest we got to Yahoo, we should be working on such an interview, I'd open our own startup Viaweb, Java applets were supposed to be something you can describe each strategy in terms of the magazine they'd accepted it for you by accidents of age and geography, rather than risk their community's disapproval.

Companies often wonder what to outsource and what the valuation at the end of the founders realized.

Most people let them mix pretty promiscuously. Instead of the biggest successes there is one of them.

To talk to a partner, which would be possible to make a conscious effort to be evidence of a safe will be inversely proportional to the next legitimate email was a kid most apples were a handful of lame investors first, and on the other seed firms always find is that the site.

Thanks to David Sloo, Dan Friedman, Joel Lehrer, and Paul Buchheit for inviting me to speak.

1 note · View note

morgannalefey · 3 years

Text

Homes, relationships, realtors

These are a series of anonymous questions I was asked and I'm endeavoring to answer them. I am not a concise writer. I apologize in advance for the length of this post.

Step 1: Start Your Research Early. Step 2: Determine How Much House You Can Afford. Step 3: Get Prequalified and Preapproved for credit for Your Mortgage. Step 4: Find the Right Real Estate Agent. Step 5: Shop for Your Home and Make an Offer. Step 6: Get a Home Inspection. Step 7: Work on home loan with bank lender Step 8: Get home appraised Step 9: Complete paperwork and close the deal ?

How were you able to learn what the homeownership steps entailed and how did you vet the realtor, home inspector, home appraiser, and lender, if you used them? How did you ensure the people whose help you enlisted were legit and were going to do right by you?

How did you find out what the paperwork/legal aspect of marriage was going to entail (research so far has given me a few different answers)? There was a lot I either didn’t know or didn’t understand - you need to get your ring appraised and added to your insurance (what kind of insurance), for example? You need to change how your tax filings and paperwork in general, especially if you choose to change your last name, etc. I’m scared of missing an item and running into some obstacle😫

How do you also ensure that your name and/or your spouse’s name is on the deed and stays there? I’ve come across TOO many stories about one party thinking their name was on the deed only to find out it either wasn’t or it was removed. Or one party dying and the remaining party finding out the place wasn’t on their name or was removed. Or, one party kicking the other out and not being able to advocate for themselves because their name, come to find out, isn’t on the deed😳😞 How do you avoid all that (besides vetting your potential SO properly lol)

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

The first thing I want to say is I am NOT a financial advisor or a counselor/therapist. I am not a lawyer. I am a 55 year old database developer (in 2020) and have bought several houses and been with/married to the same person for 32 years. Prior to this person, I played a very large field of folks, and was in a lot of short-term relationships. The longest relationship I'd been in by the time we met was 10 months and it ended very badly. I'm not an expert, I'm just old and experienced. Another thing I am is frugal. While I'm being detailed, I'm also bi, cis, childless-by-choice, mostly-abled, and white. I can't speak directly to the experiences that marginalized folks (especially those with multiple marginalizations) have had.

I'll talk about the relationship stuff first 'cos that'll be the shorter answer. I met my spouse in an online space for roleplaying gamers back in 1988 (before the internet existed there were dialup networks, I was on those basically from 1983 on). The beginning of our relationship was a shared interest in roleplaying games. We also found similar tastes in books. Over time we discovered other shared interests, or got each other interested in the things we cared about. We both love being in the woods, and the natural world. We care deeply about the environment. We have always been in agreement politically. At first we were on opposite ends of religious matters, and neither of us tried to change the other in that regard. Eventually we grew together on that. We both knew from the outset that we wanted to travel the world together.

There have been stumbles. Bad ones. We are able to hurt each other more than any other human on the planet, and we're aware of that. We try not to, but sometimes we just, do. Then we talk about it. We've been in therapy to work things out several times, and have learned techniques for working through our problems. The thread running through all of this is we were committed to making it work, to working through, to not giving up.

We have woven our lives together into a fabric that works for us. This takes trial and error. It takes being willing to make mistakes and, more importantly, forgive those mistakes. It requires you to learn from your mistakes and to do personal work. You have to be willing to change the things about yourself that need changing. Certainly some things are deeply embedded. Those things you need to learn work arounds for. It's especially difficult to figure out which things are too deeply embedded to be changed, and which are mostly habits you can retrain. Ideally they'll be supporting you through this work, and doing their own work along similar lines. If things work out, you're both growing as more emotionally mature individuals who bring things to the relationship that help sustain it through the hard times.

It helps that I am good at things he's not, and vice versa. We have a decent division of labor (both emotional and household). We give each other space to enjoy our different interests, too. I love movies of all sorts, but he's mostly fond of SF and action movies. We will watch those things together, and I watch my romcoms and historical dramas on my own while he's doing his stuff.

Sometimes it's a choice you have to make every day, to stay together. Sometimes it is effortless. Still, it always takes time to build shared experiences. To build traditions. To figure out how you fit together. This is time well-spent, even if you discover that you just don't fit together and you can't make it work. This prepares you for your next opportunity to explore with another person.

Now on to home ownership.

tl;dr is we did research into mortgages and closing costs and everything to do with buying a house before we bought one using various resources (mostly at libraries, this was in the dark ages when we bought our first house)

We were living in Juneau, AK when we got to the point that we had enough stable income to start talking about owning a home. This got us talking about the future, and our plans. Specifically we talked about what it would be like when we were finally able to travel like we wanted. We realized that if we were still in Juneau, all of our travel plans would be doubled in cost because just getting out of Juneau is a trip in itself. We decided (not just for that reason, but a lot of other ones, as well) that we wanted to move and we would buy a house somewhere else.

For a lot of people the answer of "where" is obvious but it wasn't for us. We made a list of qualities for where we wanted to live.

Inside the US

Low population growth

Not on the west coast

Not in the south

Within a day's easy drive to the ocean

At least four distinct seasons

There were other criteria we had on the list, but those were the ones that narrowed our search down to Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont. Then we spoke with work friends who had lived in all three states. They heartily recommended Vermont over the other two for a few good reasons. We both wanted to work for the state so we researched where most of the state jobs were located. That placed us in central Vermont.

Deciding where you want to own a home isn't just about what you can afford, but where you want to live. There's a lot you can change about a home once you buy it, but you can't change the location. When you buy a home you're putting yourself into a place that it's not going to be a simple matter to leave if you decide you want to later. It's not impossible, but depending on where you buy, it can be very difficult to sell again. Deciding where you are going to focus your home search is part of the research you want to do.

Figuring out how much house you can afford is a complicated thing. The financial institutions will encourage you to buy the maximum amount of house you can afford based on your income, a snapshot of your debt load, and your credit rating. That's all well and good, but you also need to take into account your actual lifestyle. If you never were interested in cooking, then it's a waste of money to buy a home with a big ole "professional" kitchen because it's all shiney and cool. You could buy a less expensive home with a smaller, more functional kitchen suitable for the lunchables you "prepare" on the daily, and put that extra money into something else.

Figure out what things you must have, that if a house doesn't have it, you're not going to buy it. For some people that's X bathrooms. For others it's lots of inside storage. Make actual lists of these things that you keep handy so you can just check for them when you're doing your search. Divide the list up into "must have" vs "nice to have" vs "I wouldn't pay more for this but if it's there it could be a tie breaker". The list may change as you start looking over listings, and that's fine. It helps you figure out what is really important to you.

Financial institutions. I... hate... banks. I haven't done my financial transactions with a bank (generally speaking) for over thirty years. Credit unions are the financial institution to work with. Of course, that is something to take with a grain of salt because there are some horrific credit unions with shitty customer service and nasty fees all over, too. If you can get into a state credit union (in Vermont anyone who lives in Vermont or works for the state can join the Vermont State Employees Credit Union) do it. There's typically a minimum deposit required in one account (for my credit union I have to keep $25 in a savings account). When you're looking at financial institutions to finance through, do your research of course, but include credit unions in your research. Look for first time home buyer programs (there are federal programs for this, as well). Look for low interest rates. The blog you should be looking into is Bitches Get Riches for more specifics on this. Their information is way more up to date and helpful regarding interest and mortgages and stuff.

You're going to need money to pay the closing costs. That is money that you pay over and above the mortgage. You will need money to put a deposit down on whatever house you want to buy. The deposit tells the seller you're really interested. If they decide to accept the offer from someone else, you will get the desposit back. If they accept your offer, the deposit goes towards purchase/closing costs. You will need money for the appraisal, an inspection (do not buy a home without an inspection, if they won't let you do an inspection, run), and a title search. These are all over and above closing costs. How much you can expect to pay is variable and something else to research. You will also need a down payment. If you can't put 20% of the purchase price in as a down payment, you will also need to buy private mortgage insurance. That cost typically gets rolled into your monthly mortgage payment. You will also need homeowners insurance.

Once you've worked these things out, you're ready to really dig into the listings. This used to be a whole lot more complicated than it is now. The MLS used to only be available to realtors, but that has changed. Most realtors will list houses online in a searchable place (the best places to do searches varies by region, in New England, I would look on the NNEREN website (Northern New England Real Estate Network). In other areas Zillow might be the best place to look. It really depends on what the standard for local realtors is where you want to buy.

The great thing about online searching is you can plug things in, make notes, save favorites, and build lists of features, or things you care about. There's typically photos of the property that get you started, as well. Because of these online tools, you don't really need a realtor to represent you in the sale. You can contact the realtor representing the seller if you want to see a property.

It can be tiring, looking at houses. Doing research. It takes time. If you can't, or don't want to do this, then you can get yourself a buyer's realtor. Their job will be to take the criteria for what you're looking for and find houses that might work for you. They present you with the options, and will arrange for a viewing if you like any that you're seeing. This has the benefit of reducing how much research you have to do personally, but it does mean that they get a cut of the final sale (but it also means you have a realtor on -your- side in the negotiations, though they're not allowed to influence you on certain things like what price to offer). Because they get a cut, some sellers won't work with buyer realtors.

The snarky answer about how you find a realtor you can trust is "you really don't". Realtors are all about closing house sales with the least amount of effort on their part possible. That is their job. That is how they earn their money. Every time they have to do something for you, it reduces the value of the commission they make off the sale. Some realtors resent this, others don't care and just see it as part of doing business. Some of them are really friendly, and love their job and love helping people find homes. Others are snotty nozzles. But they are all trying to sell you the most expensive house they can get you to fall in love with. They will regularly try to go $10-20K over your stated "highest cost" on the assumption that you won't really mind having to pay "just a LITTLE bit more" on your mortgage payment to have whatever feature they're trying to convince you that you really want.

Don't fall for this. Stand fast on your financial limits. Remember that increased purchase price means increased closing costs. Find a realtor that doesn't make you want to shower after you talk to them, and who will take your calls or answer your emails. If they won't communicate the way that works best for you, find another one. There is always another one who has a different style. It's OK to shop for realtors.

Different regions have different rules about real estate. Spend some time looking into your state's rules. Like in Vermont, you have to get a radon test. Some things are national, but a lot are regional. There are SO many guides online these days it should be possible for you to find one fairly local to help you be sure you're doing everything you need to. Your state might even have an agency for helping first time buyers.

Ensuring folks are legit: Find out what licensing requirements there are in your state. Realtors have to take tests and get licensed to sell within their area. This is something they should be proud to display in their office because it's not a simple test they have to take. Appraisers typically need a license, too. To get a title search done you need an attorney, they also have professional oversight. An attorney might ask for an initial low deposit (they have to pay for copies in town offices) but most of these professionals won't ask for payment in advance. If they do, be wary. Ask around to see if that's usual in your area. They usually bill for their services after they've provided their report here. Try talking to a variety of people about what realtor they have used, or what appraiser. Ask for referrals from folks you know (coworkers, friends, family of coworkers, etc). You can also search online for reviews of services and see the bad experiences folks have had (most folks only complain about bad service, so take those with a grain of salt).

In the end, you're buying a service, and the person performing the service should be doing their job. If you find out that they didn't, because they are licensed (and possibly insured), you will probably have recourse. Obviously it's better to avoid that because it's a painful thing. But sometimes that's just how things shake out.

I have to say that I've never considered a situation where my name might have been removed from my deed without my knowledge. I suppose if I were worried, I'd set up a reminder to check on it occasionally, like checking on my credit rating from time to time. I mean, to remove you without your knowledge requires forging documents. I know that this sort of thing happens, but... there's only so much you can do to protect yourself if someone is intent on breaking the law in some way. So, I guess, really pay attention to red flags when you're starting a relationship. Don't assume they will change if they're engaging in concerning behaviors.

Phew, the tax stuff is a whole other thing. It's usually worth working with a tax preparer the first year you're filing after buying a house. They can go over all the paperwork with you, so you understand it. Property taxes are so local that you really need to research it based on where you’re buying.

We have a specific amount on our homeowner's insurance that covers "household item loss" up to a certain amount of money, and we specify how much. We have a LOT of computer equipment, so ours is fairly high. If I were to lose a ring, it'd be covered under that. My engagement ring was a $50 cubic zirconia. Our wedding rings were a few hundred. Our computer stuff is way more valuable monetarily.

About all the things relating to marriage and how it entwines lives legally: that's like a dissertation for another day. :) There are huge articles out there talking about all the things that getting married means from a legal stand point. It varies by state and even city. It matters if it's a same-sex marriage or not, as well (it shouldn't but some places have "civil unions" which aren't always the same legal thing as hetero marriages).

If you're still here, wow. I'm impressed. I'm happy to answer questions. Maybe consider me like an elderly queer aunt who doesn't mind talking a lot. I hope this helps you.

1 note · View note

prettywordsyouleft · 4 years

Text

Written In The Books

trishmarieco said:

I hope I make it! I dare you to insert Jung Hae In somewhere in either 'Overruled', 'Fly Away Home' or 'The Only Choice' worlds! Congrats again sweetie!!

Pairing: Jung Haein x reader

World: Fly Away Home (read HERE)

Genre: royal au

Warnings: none

A/N: I knew when I saw this dare, I had to go back into this world. It posed a challenge since I wrote Jongin into the first one, but I think I worked around that well enough! You could probably read this without the original story but I recommend you read the first so the interactions with some characters make more sense! I have linked Fly Away Home above.

Word count: 3000

The news had reached his kingdom; the Princess set to marry Prince Jongin was dead. If anything, the news should have come as some sort of comfort to Jongin’s eldest brother Haein, especially after the mess Jongin had caused over the past few weeks.

But it didn’t ease him any.

He mourned for her loss of life. Although he hadn’t wanted to clean up the mess of his immature brother, Haein had prepared himself for the upcoming nuptials that would join the two kingdoms politically. And unlike his brother, Haein was aware that they had relied on such a union for future trade prosperity. He now had to concern himself over how to ensure the deals given to his father would be still met.

“Have you heard brother?!” Jongin’s voice rang through the study, the man stopping just in front of the desk Haein was working from. Haein didn’t lift his head to greet him, focusing on the ledger before him instead. His sibling chuckled. “Well, everything works out for a reason! You no longer have to marry the princess of the kingdom over. Though I don’t wish anyone to die, this is wonderful for you! And I!”

“Have you no tact?”

“Whatever do you mean? I never wanted to marry her, that’s why I rushed to marry the Countess. And you said you would cover-”

“Someone has died and all you consider is how liberating this feels for you. You have no sense of responsibility whatsoever,” Haein stated, his brother now blinking rapidly. He sighed, it wasn’t the prince’s fault he had been raised with a silver spoon firmly attached in his mouth. His mother had babied him and thus he had never felt the weight of a single consequence.

Unlike Haein.

Whilst he still had his life, he felt the years of sacrifice heavy upon his shoulders. What he had given up for this kingdom, for this family, he could no longer count upon his hands. And in the face of adversity, his immature brother had married the countess to forfeit his role of becoming the new king with the princess he was arranged to marry.

At least, this was a blessing to some. Haein had been worried about the fall of this kingdom in the hands of someone who cared so little for politics and knew his advisor would have merely made him a puppet king. In the very least, Haein would have stepped up to save the fall of his people now that his father’s health was failing.

Still, it was another sacrifice.

With a hushed apology, Jongin departed the study and Haein leaned back in the chair, removing his glasses so he could pinch the bridge of his nose and release some of the tension. Haein had no idea of what would work to tie the two kingdoms together now. They needed the support from over the border and they needed it fast.

And yet, there had only been one daughter. With her passing, there was no obvious connection to be made and the deal would fall at his feet. Haein couldn’t afford this and nor could he simply sit and wait it out either.

“Where do you plan to go?” his father inquired of his eldest son, hesitant to let him leave the kingdom right now. He had begun to rely on Haein steadily as the days went by, pulling him out of his medical studies just so he could become king.

“I will set out and speak with the King myself. Surely, we can find a way to push forward with some unification.”

“He just lost his child, do you think it’s wise?”

“Stalling will only make us forgotten, my Lord.”

The king sighed heavily before nodding once. “See that you come home with something prosperous.”

Haein rode out the following morning, heading along the path that the Princess would have taken. He witnessed the damage in the township where the fire had broken out and after stopping to pay his respects, Haein continued with his trip to the neighbouring kingdom.

The king greeted him halfway with his convoy, fear evident in his weathered features. “Have you seen?”

“I have, My Lord. It was burned to the ground. I am terribly sorry for your loss.”

The king shook his head. “Did you see any evidence of her?”

“Well, no but-”

“Then we must search the land around it. She may still be alive.”

Despite his concerns for the elder’s denial, Haein devoted himself to supporting the king in his search for his daughter. Days passed by and there seemed to be no true sighting of the princess.

At least, that was what Haein told the King when he returned to his side later in the evening.

“Please, do not tell him I’m still alive,” she had exclaimed when Haein stumbled across a girl hiding in the woods, watching on as a man helped with the repairs of the burned village. She was desperate, her eyes pleading with Haein to not turn her into her father. He could feel the pain of her decision and with a glance in the direction of the man her eyes followed around, Haein sighed heavily.

“You sacrifice your status for love?”

“Wouldn’t you? I’m sure you wished for me to marry you but truth be told, I am in love with another.”

“I don’t actually wish to marry you,” he told the princess and she smiled lightly. “I do however need to secure trading agreements with your father. Marrying you was meant to do just that.”

“And it is not your fault I have perished. My father is a man of his word. If he offered such an agreement for our marriage, then I believe he will have no choice but to follow through.”

“Here,” Haein offered, unhooking his pouch from the side of his horse. He smiled. “You need this more than I.”

“How will I repay you?” she asked and Haein smiled, looking towards her lover once more.

“Make your life and love worth giving everything up for. We royals sacrifice a lot for others. I’m allowing you this only because I know all too well what it’s like to give up something you cherish.”

“May you be graced with the same opportunity in your life, Prince Haein,” she offered and he merely nodded, climbing aboard his horse.

Looking down at you, he grinned. “The Princess is dead. Now you can be who you wish to be.”

“Are you sure, there was no one in the forest?”

Haein smiled weakly before shaking his head. “I’m afraid not, Your Majesty. Only a wild bird flitted about in there.”

The older man nodded slowly, rubbing at his temples. “I’m afraid I will have to let that bird fly then, won’t I?”

“It seems to like where it’s found itself, yes.”

“I suppose you feel the burdens of being unwedded?”

“I just want what we agreed upon. I am willing to work for you in whatever way we must to find a happy union.”

“Come with me for the year. Your father’s health will last that long before you are crowned King, correct?”

Haein nodded. “I believe we may have as long as that before I must return. May I ask why you are taking me in?”

“You kept her safe despite having the ability to come tell me she was alive and well. You chose to sacrifice more than you needed to for a mere stranger. I like your sense of responsibility and believe you will make a fine King. Until then, I wish to return the favour you have bestowed on my little bird.”

Haein enjoyed his time during the neighbouring kingdom a great deal. The king had seen to it that he was immediately put into training, furthering his understanding of international trade and developing what kind of ruler he wanted to be. His own father had waited far too long to bestow Haein with such knowledge, too focused on his many wives and concubines until he realised he was coming to an end in this lifetime. The way Haein had fished their kingdom out of troubles each time over the years had been down to sheer luck most of the time and usually with a loss on his behalf.

Now, Haein was confident he could lead his people in a way that he wouldn’t need to give up what he cherished in order to do so.

Unlike the princess, and perhaps because of his observation of his father with women over the years, Haein felt free to live his life without finding love as the main goal. He had no need for it in his plans to rule, focusing on how to strengthen his people skills than marrying for any political unification.

Yet, there was one person who caught his eye more than once over the months he had been residing in this castle.

“Astronomy today, My Lord?”

Glancing up from the book he was perusing, Haein smiled at you and nodded. “Yes, I wish to learn more of the world above us.”

“May I suggest a book then?”

“I would be delighted if you did.”

With a smile, you walked over to the wall in front of him that was lined with books from the ceiling to the floor. Back home, the royal library looked nothing as grand as this, and Haein could tell you took great pride in ensuring the books housed here were well looked after. You climbed the ladder, reaching the sixth shelf for a specific book. Watching over your efforts, Haein stood immediately when it appeared you couldn’t quite reach the book from where the ladder was situated.

He smiled as he grabbed the base of it and you looked down at him. “Would you mind taking me to the left?”

“But of course,” he offered graciously, instead wheeling you to the right.

“This is not left, My Lord!”

“Oh really?” he teased, scratching at his head briefly. “Your left or my left?”

“Well, to be fair it’s the same. Your left is mine.”

“How foolish of me,” he exclaimed playfully, wheeling you around to the farthest point the ladder could go to the right. You were giggling when it stopped, soon glancing down at the man grinning up at you.

“I believe this is the wrong way.”

“Again? Oh, let me fix that.”

Haein wheeled you back to the left, smirking when your hand reached out for the book once more. Instead of stopping he continued, both of you laughing together. And then you let out a little huff of air. “I feel you may be charmed by a minx that lives in this library. Are you feeling jubilant today?”

“I feel very satisfied, yes.”

“Because you will return home soon?” you offered, this time grabbing the book as he wheeled you back. Haein stopped with the ladder, his smile fading. You descended the ladder, taking his outstretched hand when you were close enough to do so. And then you sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you any.”

“I am not offended. As much as I want to lead my kingdom into greatness, I cannot help but wish there was more time to stay here. My presence and status have been validated by many around me here. Back home, it’s not quite as clear cut.”

“You’ll find a way to change that.”

“Do you believe so?”

You nodded. “For a man studying the stars, if you are that interested in what exists above us at night, then I’m sure you have a greater interest in protecting those who live below it.”

“Why are you the only person who I feel gets me?”

You blushed, the faintest of red touching your cheeks. It was a pretty shade and Haein couldn’t help but reach out to touch it himself. “I’m simply a lady who is in love with books, My Lord. I do not know how to connect with others outside of this library.”

“You connect well with me in here,” he offered, uncharacteristically eying you with renewed interest. He had always believed you to be splendid, and right now he was becoming aware of just how beautiful you were up close.

Perhaps you had been all along and through the books you had offered him over his stay, slowly he had read your pages as well. He wanted this to be the chapter where he finally confessed you were someone he thought of day and night.

Yet you placed a finger to his lips, shaking your head softly. “Do not say it, please.”

“Why not?”

“Because when you leave, I’ll be left with just these books we have read together and I do not wish to taint them any further by witnessing a short bout of passion.”

“Would you not consider another library in the future?”

“Where?”

“In my kingdom. Though, you would be shocked at the state of it,” Haein admitted and your eyes widened, blinking slowly.

“You wish to take me with you?”

“No, I wish to ask you would you like to accompany me.”

“Is that not the same thing?”

Haein smiled as he shook his head. “No. Whilst my wish is for you to join me, I do not want it to be because of just my library. Therefore, I will leave the decision in your hands.”

“I am not born of noble blood for such an offer.”

“Being a certain status in society means little when the heart calls out for the other. A little bird once taught me that you can lose all that means everything to who you are as a person as long as you have affection for your companion.”

“And you would wish to raise me to your level?”

Haein smiled, leaning in. “On the contrary, I feel I have so much more to learn from you before I can meet yours.”

You didn’t travel with Haein when it was time for his return to his kingdom. Though you had shared many kisses together in the library, you had decided he must travel alone.

“You have a kingdom to rebuild, is that not your goal for the near future?”

“Will you watch over my progress from afar?”

“Surely, a King will have time to write of his accomplishments to a mere librarian, at least now and then.”

He leaned in to kiss you, smiling into your lips. “If you think I will not write a letter for every day we are apart, then you are in for quite the surprise.”

Once home, Haein did have to establish several new orders in the running of the kingdom. His father had held out long enough to see of his return, eager to hear of his learnings. When he realised Haein had done all that he needed and more to prepare for his crowning, the elder gave over his title to Haein. Of course, not everyone was thrilled he was back and now the king, but Haein worked hard to resolve the resentment and build prosperity in his lands.

He also kept to his promise, writing you a letter every day for a year. Yet, he had not heard from you in response for over a week now, worry taking over his mind whenever he had time to ponder over you.

“My Lord, you have an appointment now,” his advisor announced, Haein looking up from the ledger he was working on and frowned.

“Now? I was under the impression I was not needed until four today.”

“The renovations in the royal library need your approval, sir. It cannot wait.”

“Then I must see to it,” Haein agreed, pushing back his chair as he headed for the door. He made his way along the corridor to the grand staircase, in which he descended with ease, making a left turn down another hallway until he pushed through the double doors of the library. It was empty and he frowned.

“Percy, did you not say I had someone waiting for me?” he called out, unsure if his advisor had followed him or not. Haein jumped when he heard someone move in behind him, causing him to whip around hastily.

“I hear there is a position open for a librarian?”

He merely stared back at you, emotions overwhelming him the longer he took you in. You were finally here, holding a stack of his letters nonetheless. Slowly, he grinned. “Yes, I’m looking for someone who will treat my books as if they were precious individuals.”

“That sounds awfully time-consuming. Especially with the state of this place.”

“Someone organised will no doubt find the job easy to complete.”

“Does it come with many benefits? Will it be a stable position?” you continued, walking around slowly, taking in the changes he had made. Haein followed you, his heart thumping in his chest.

“I plan to marry such a person if she sees the position fit for her.”

You finally turned around, smiling warmly up at him. “I am no Queen.”

“I feel as though you have been one in my eyes long before I became King.”

“I missed you,” you mentioned, stepping closer to him. “I couldn’t take the distance any longer.”

“We never have to be apart again, if you wish for it.”

“Then I think you might have just found your perfect librarian,” you murmured right as his lips found yours, caressing you with a longing that carried you both into further kisses. And soon, those kisses turned into oaths, your life intertwining with Haein’s through marriage and helping him rule the kingdom.

He had sacrificed so much over the years, and when the princess had died, he had never thought he would be capable of having such greatness in his life afterwards. Yet here he was now with you at his side, and your first child together growing inside you.

He knew all that he had given up had led to the greatest reward.

You.

_________________

[Kdrama Actors Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]

#kwritersworldnet #jung haein #jung haein fiction #jung haein fanfic #jung haein imagines #jung haein scenarios #jung haein royal au #jung haein fluff #kdrama actors #kdrama imagines #kdrama scenarios #kdrama fiction #kdrama fanfic #kdrama fluff #kdrama royal au #pwyl; trick no its my treat

105 notes · View notes

im-abanana · 5 years

Text

Ineffable Bureaucracy as parents HeadCanons

I can’t believe I spent nearly two hours writing some ‘Ineffable Bureaucracy’ Pregnancy/Child/Parents HeadCanons. The craziness is under the cut, I’m not sorry.

Pregnancy head canons:

-First of all, I am positive that Beelzebub’s pregnancy would be an accident. A total, disastrous accident. Com’on, they are so stupid. It’s not like she or Gabriel could imagine that angels and demons would be able to procreate, since they are supposed to be mortal enemies in the first place (after the failed Armageddon, I think the situation between the two factions would be way better though);

-Beelzebub realizes that something must be wrong with her body around the seventh week or so. Demons do not need to sleep, but she finds herself fighting the urge to nod off on her uncomfortable throne more and more often, until even Dagon takes notice. Being the best BFF there is in Hell, Dagon gently offers Beelzebub to swap duties for a few hours, or she simply brings hot coffee to the Prince every time she can;

-Coffee is the only thing Beelzebub manages to gulp down without having to spend the whole afternoon locked in the bathroom, because pregnancy sickness is a fickle beast. Being a demon of Gluttony and not being able to eat is torture. At first, Gabriel shrugs it off and says ‘I’ve always told you not to eat that gross matter’, but at some point he gets worried too... demons or angels are not supposed to feel sick or have indigestions, after all;

-Gabriel secretly starts to investigate about the Prince’s strange behavior, writing down every single oddity he sees, date and time. He is an excellent bureaucrat, but a fucking idiot in general. He hides an up-to-dated little notebook full of notes, such as ‘morning always sickness, unjustified tiredness, nausea, moodiness’ and he still doesn’t have a clue. He could use Internet or his brain, of course, but as I said he is a dork. However, he feels like he’s missing something;

-At the tenth week (still not knowing about her condition) Beelzebub hits her breaking point. It happens during a business meeting with a few subordinate demons, in the throne room. As she tries desperately not to fall asleep (she cares about her people and has a lot of patience for the most part, imo), while a few of those demons are bitching nonstop about some leaking or a burst pipe somewhere, one of them frowns and dares to accuse ‘Excuse me Lord Beelzebub, are you actually sleeping on the job!? This is unacceptable, do you actually know how hard it was for us to get an appointment!?’. That definitely does it. At the end, everything there’s left of that particular demon is a sad pile of dust;

-Dagon calls Gabriel and tells him about what happened and the harsh reprimand Beelzebub had received from Satan himself. Concerned, he waits for her in front of the communal entrance of the offices (the escalator we see in Good Omens), and when she arrives- to his utter disbelief -she starts sniffing and repeating ‘I didn’t mean to destroy that demon’, ‘I’ve being feeling odd these weeks’ and ‘I don’t know what’s gotten into me’. He tries his best to calm her down, but the feeling that he is missing something still lingers, stronger than ever now;

-A few nights later, as Gabriel is trying to fill out some paperwork, it just hits him. He springs to his feet and runs into the bathroom, where an infamous box lays untouched since many, too many weeks. He yells ‘Beelz!!! When is the last time you had a menstrual period?’. For an handful of seconds, dead silence. But then, Beelzebub’s voice echoes loud and clear in the house ‘Oh, shit!’;

-So, she is officially carrying a demon-angel hybrid. That night, the silence in their house is disturbed only by Gabriel’s unceasing steps as he walks aimlessly in every single room, mumbling to himself, his face blank and pale. Beelzebub is still in the bathroom, with her head between her hands and questioning her life decisions (lmao, poor bean);

-The thing Beelz hates the most about pregnancy are swollen ankles, not because they are unaesthetic or painful, but because she has to give up on wearing her beautiful fishnet socks;

-Once the general shock wears off, Dagon would be so happy! I mean, I see Beelzebub and Dagon as really close friends and partners in crime. No matter who the father of the offspring is, Dagon’s gonna spoil the living Hell out of her nephew/niece;

-Gabriel knows how dangerous Hell is, especially for the Prince. He tries to convince Beelzebub to allow a few security guards (his best angels) to protect her, or at least supervise the entrance of the throne room, but the demon angrily refuses. She is one of the most powerful beings in existence and can take care of herself, as she always did. Plus, angels in Hell? What nonsense that would be;

-Sandalphon and Uriel are not happy about it, like, at all. One day at the office, around the fifth/sixth month of pregnancy, Gabriel overhears Sandalphon muttering ‘What was the Almighty thinking when She allowed that unholy union to happen? Can you imagine what kind of monstrosity will come out from that— that disgusting demon?’. The Archangel takes a long breath, smiles in the most diplomatic way, walks towards his colleague and punches him right in the face. Nobody insults his gf and unborn child;

-Michael isn’t even mad, for she is very open-minded and understanding. She just sticks with Gabriel through it all, secretly glad for him. Excited, even. He is her most trustworthy friend, nothing could ever change that. He does not deserve to be treated as a traitor or an outcast;

-Gabriel loves to feel the baby kicking and moving, even stretching its tiny wings inside the womb. Beelzebub pretends to be annoyed when he rests his head on her belly, but when the Archangel isn’t looking (or at least, that’s what she thinks) she smiles softly at her boyfriend’s tenderness;

-But when the baby starts to move, it. just. doesn’t. give. Beelz. a. break. I mean, she tolerates the little thing with all her heart, but she would appreciate it… if it would just stop wrestling with her spine and ribcage 24/7;

-Thankfully, the other demons do not dare to challenge Beelzebub. Not only she is a formidable fighter on a regular basis, but she grows ten times more protective and intransigent during the gestation. The Prince is aware that there isn’t just her safety on the line, but her child’s as well. Whoever steps a bit too close for her liking gets growled at;

-Surprisingly, Satan himself is one of the first to congratulate. At this point, especially after the Armageddon flop, he doesn’t give two shits about what angels and demons do together. Times have changed… Hell, his own son has rebelled against him! So he just good-naturedly states ‘If this offspring comes out half as fierce as Beelzebub, I sincerely hope it will join our side, or else Heaven would gain a great advantage!’;

Now time for some parenthood head canons:

-When Beelz goes into labour, the questions of the day are ‘What will the child look like!? Will it be a demon? An angel? Both? Will it grow horns or hooves? An halo, perhaps?’. But to everyone’s surprise, the kid comes out pretty normal. A balanced mix of its parents. It inherits Gabriel’s purple eyes and Beelzebub’s black hair. Its only uniqueness is a pair of very, very fluffy black-and-white wings;

-Much to Beelz’s dismay, it also inherits Gabriel’s dumbness and shit-eating grin (especially the ‘shut your stupid mouth, and die already’ smirk). But when the kid is puzzled or simply interdicted, it reminds Gabriel of Beelzebub’s expressions at the airbase;

-Those two immediately fall in love with their baby, anyway. Gabriel even cries a tiny bit as he holds his little one in his arms for the very first time. He knows that Beelz is gonna take hundreds of pictures and tease him about it for all eternity, but he just doesn’t care. For once, screw dignity;

-Michael and Dagon are the best aunts in the world. When Beelzebub and Gabriel are both too busy with work, they are more than willing to spend some time with the child. During playtime, they both try to influence the kid in their own faction’s favor of course, ahah;

-The baby’s first word is ‘pornography’ and you cannot convince me otherwise. Because of that, even if Beelz is undoubtedly entertained, Gabriel is forced to ‘sleep’ on the patio for a whole month;

-Flying lessons with dad! When the child’s wings are grown enough— they become pitch black, the terminal feathers pristine white (like a Black-billed Magpie), or vice versa pristine white, with pitch black terminal feathers (like a Swallow-tailed Kite)—Gabriel decides it is time to teach his little one how to fly. The kid just stares in awe at his dad’s wings (a lot of people, me included, headcanon Gabriel’s wings as gigantic and majestic) and obediently follows every instruction. Beelzebub silently flies beside them, monitoring every progress with pride and making sure nobody gets hurt while practicing;

-Fencing lessons with mom! Beelzebub is a brilliant sword fighter, and she doesn’t waste time showing her kid how to use one;

-The kid is most likely very powerful. It is the offspring of the Lord of the Flies and the Archangel-fucking-Gabriel after all, if it indeed inherits the abilities of both of its parents… oh boy. Nor Hellfire nor Holy water can touch it, that’s scary stuff;

-Since the child is an hybrid, it is allowed to explore Heaven and Hell whenever it wants. While it excitedly snoops around, angels and demons just shoot it some suspicious glances, hoping it would simply choose a side already;

-The kid does not, because it loves visiting Heaven and Hell just the same. Hell folks are more fun to talk with, that’s true, but Heaven has the best view and a calmer environment.

#ineffable bureaucracy #good omens #good omens gabriel #good omens beelzebub #beelzebub x gabriel #archangel gabriel #archangel sandalphon #archangel michael #archangel uriel #go #beelzebriel #good omens dagon #pregnancy headcanons #ineffable beurocracy #ineffable tag #headcanons

96 notes · View notes

silverfootstepswrites · 4 years

Text

Amaryllis | Chapter 8

< Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9>

+++

“The Haruno family has been busy lately,” Danzo uttered as he stared over at the Regent. Minato stood with his back to him, staring down at the courtyard. There were soldiers running through drills. The Minister of Defense had suggested that officers from the Academy run the castle guards through some exercises.

“To keep them on their toes,” the Countess had suggested with an odd smile. And Minato had agreed.

He watched as one of the officers jabbed his spear upwards. It sent the guard’s weapon flying. And sending the guard himself sprawling. The officer offered a hand to help the other man to his feet.

“Well, the Haruno’s are always doing something. That’s how they make so much money,” answered Minato.

Danzo cleared his throat. Minato turned away from the window. Forehead wrinkling, he looked at his closest advisor with confusion written across his face.

“Actually, Your Grace, what I meant is that I’ve heard reports that Princess Sakura has grown very close to the Uchiha family. It’s possible that they are looking to create a union between the families,” Danzo clarified. Minato looked no less confused.

"Well, she is of marriageable age. And if she and the boy like each other, I don't see how that would not be a prosperous union," the Regent slowly said.

"Yes, Your Grace. It would certainly be a prosperous union for the Haruno family," answered Danzo very deliberately. Minato frowned harder.

"Only for the Haruno's? What are you getting at, Danzo?" he asked as he finally caught on.

"Well, Your Grace, the Southern Tea Isle has always been defiant. Declaring autonomy, deciding its own taxes. And the Haruno family has always held it, meaning that as long as the isle has been resistant to the Crown, the Haruno family has been in control," Danzo spelled out.

"Are you suggesting that if my niece were to marry, she would immediately begin to conspire against her own country?" the Regent laughed. Danzo, however, was not smiling.

"I am only urging caution, Your Grace. This is a very precarious position that you occupy. It would be wise for you to watch which hands join," warned Danzo with a slight edge to his tone. But when Minato turned his head to look at him, Danzo's face had settled back into the calm lines of neutrality.

"Nonsense, Danzo. We're family. There’s nothing to fear,” he assured the older man. When he turned his attention back to the courtyard, one of the officers from the Academy was saying something with a sneer. There was blood dripping down the officer’s wrist. But it was the castle guard who lay on the ground, his throat exposed to the point of the spear.

+++

"Sasori, I've been searching for you for forever!" complained Temari as she spotted red bobbing along in the water. Her sandals tapped against the creaking wood. Coming to a stop, she crouched on the edge of the path to peer over the edge. Her honey-colored hair hung around her in loose waves, out of the usual cluster of three ties.

Sasori's sullen expression made her cringe.

Sasori lay sprawled out in the bottom of one of the little boats. He had tied a rope to one of the thick posts supporting the walkway. One leg hanging over the edge of the boat, he barely raised his eyebrows to acknowledge his cousin before he resumed staring off at nothing.

“Are you sulking?" she demanded as she sat on the walkway. She could already sense a long talk coming and preferred not to cramp her neck leaning over to look at him the entire time. As she waited, she plucked at the hem of her skirt where it rested against her thigh. The deep purple fabric was slightly wrinkled. When she pulled at the edge, it refused to smooth out. She huffed and left it alone.

Temari stood out from any crowd. She was tall- taller than most of the other women on the island. And her body was toned and roasted to a warm shade of golden brown from countless hours training in the sun. The firm lines of her broad shoulders did not detract from her curves, however. Temari was very much a woman- and an attractive one at that. The men that first visited Sami always seemed torn between terror and arousal at the sight of the woman standing next to Sakura. Especially the way she leaned against a spear that was even taller than her.

When the lapping waters began to wet at her sandals, Temari yanked them off and tossed them aside. Leaning back on her palms, she soaked in the warm sun as it rose up to the middle of the sky. It was late in the morning and so the brilliant star had yet to completely chase away the cool air leftover from the night.

The drone of the waves washing in and out of the bay flowed over them. And swathed in the shadows of the walkway, Sasori inhaled and exhaled to the beat of the moving waters. Small slivers of sunlight dotted his body as rays escaped through the gaps in the wooden boards above.

Sasori lay on his back for a long time as he contemplated the lines of planks above him. He could see Temari's shadow as she sat waiting for him.

"What exactly do you think war is, Temari?" he inquired. Temari turned the concept over in her mind, running a hand through her gold hair. The tide was coming in but the waters were still low enough that only the soles of her feet skimmed the ripples. The stack of gold bangles on her right foot jangled softly at the motion of her swinging legs.

"War is conquest. It's a fight between mad dogs for land and for influence," she replied. The upward curl of Sasori's lips couldn't be called a smile. Sasori dipped his hand over the side of the boat, letting his fingertips drag against the cool waters.

"When you think of war, then, do you think of burly men in armor running at each other with clubs? Is it about drinking wine out of skulls of the defeated and ripping out their teeth for trophy necklaces?" questioned Sasori. As he spoke, he let his eyes drift shut.

"Well, I know for a fact that that's not you westerners do,” she retorted. Sasori chuckled.

"Quite right. The navy is all about cleanliness and order- which, by the way, suits me quite well. But more than that, war is about control. It's about who has possession of which resources. Who is able to call themselves a victor in history books? This is why, since the reasoning behind war has evolved, Temari, the nature of it must evolve as well," explained Sasori.

"Does this have to do with Lady Sakura?"

It wasn’t much of a question. Most things in Sasori’s life had to do with Lady Sakura.

After first arriving home from the war, Sakura had initially been a rare sight. Meeting with her then advisors and then taking long trips surveying the island and meeting with locals had eaten up all of her time. Only several days after arriving had Sakura finally had time to settle into her apartment to rest.

Days after Sakura's return home, the island had thrown a party to celebrate. The Duchess was home. The people caught pigs and climbed palm trees to knock down ripe coconuts. They roasted clams and small crustaceans in deep pits dug into the sand and covered with banana leaves. Fat fish with glistening white meat were served with chunks of sweet fruit. Cups were filled to the brim with fruit and wine.

The fragrance of foods and flowers mingled all through the day until the feast began at sundown. The performers began to sing and dance as they beat against drums and whistled through flutes.

Sasori even remembered what Sakura had been wearing that night. He sat to her left, head fuzzy with fruity wine when she had first arrived wearing a long red dress that draped across her body. She was still thin from her months living on soldiers' rations. The jut of her straight collarbones looked painful to him. But she arrived, smelling like her favorite perfume of roses and bent over to kiss his mother's cheek before settling in the spot reserved for her at the middle of the table.

When she turned her head to look at him, her dangling gold earrings tinkled musically. Her hair was short, barely brushing her shoulders. There was a single plumeria tucked behind her left ear. The waxy white petals seemed to glow in the low light.

She almost smiled as he motioned for someone to pour her some of the sweet beverage made from squeezed berries and grapes. The mark her lipstick made on the edges of the glass were burned into his memory.

As the night went on, the music grew louder and people even left their spots to dance. The only sources of light was the large bonfire built in the middle of the festivities, along with the glass jars of fireflies set up at each table. Sasori turned his head to the side to glance at Sakura. And he just managed to catch a glimpse of a single tear rolling off her chin as she watched the people dance.

Sasori found her hand under the table. He squeezed it, feeling the sand well up and dig in under his fingernails.

"The war is over," she whispered, her eyes never drifting to him. She sniffed once.

"The war is over. That's why they celebrate. But it's not over for me," Sakura said.

Envy colored her tone the darkest green. She pulled her hand out from underneath Sasori's. The sand under his palm felt cold.

"Your war is my war," Sasori responded without quite understanding what she meant.

It didn't dawn on him until many weeks later, as they opened a letter from the capital, just what Sakura had meant. It was a routine summons requesting that the King Regent's Council meet s. But no words fell from Sakura's lips as she saw how the letter had been signed.

Minato seemed to have forgotten that the word "regent" belonged in his title.

Most sincerely,

His Majesty, Minato Namikaze of the Forest Kingdom

Sakura remained tight-lipped as she stared down at the words. And Sasori realized that there had been no trace of surprise in her gaze. Just resignation. That terrified him more than anything else.

He remembered, so vividly, pressing his forehead to hers. The anger making his blood boil as he hissed: “I will cleave his traitorous head from his shoulders. I will dye you a gown made from the blood I spill from that usurper. Your war shall be my war.”

And that was the first real smile he had seen from her since she had come home.

“Thank you.”

A few days later, a letter arrived at Sami. The messenger gave it to Sasori. His cousins leaned over his shoulders to get a look.

“What’s that?” asked Temari.

“It’s from the mainland. Strange seal,” noted Kankuro.

They fell silent as they read through the contents of the paper. Gaara gasped it first:

“Lady Sakura’s been poisoned?”

+++

Blood dribbled from Sakura’s lips as she took her second sip of soup. At first, she thought she had drooled. An apology spilled from her as she lifted her napkin. But so did more blood. Dripping onto the fine tablecloth. The front of her shirt.

“Oh… I seem to… Oh,” she fumbled to say.

There was a crash as Sasuke noticed. His glass tumbled over as shoved the tureen of soup away from her.

“Guards!” he shouted. And then his frantic gaze turned to his parents. His older brother and Prince Naruto, too.

“Don’t eat that!” he then snapped.

“Now, now. No need to panic,” Sakura said in a voice that didn’t match the blood coating her lips and teeth.

“General!” Haku gasped, rushing forward.

Everyone was talking at once as Sakura reached up and removed her left earring. The pink tourmaline sparkled in the afternoon light. She snapped the crystal free from the wire. And then she lifted it to her lips to drink the clear liquid inside.

In the same, calm motions, Sakura wiped her mouth and chin with her napkin.

“Your Majesty, I think I might require the assistance of your physician again,” Sakura requested. Hand pressed to her mouth in horror, all Mikoto could do was nod.

Sakura then tilted her head over her shoulder, one hand reaching. Haku grasped her hand, not seeming to mind the blood that got on his.

“Run ahead and inform the doctor,” she instructed.

“Will you be alright to move by yourself, General?” Haku worried.

“I’ll take her. Go,” Sasuke interrupted. Haku grabbed his skirts and broke into a run. Knocking into a guard as he hurried out the door.

“I’m terribly sorry to ruin lunch like this. But if you’ll excuse me,” Sakura then said to the others seated at the table. As she got to her feet, so did everyone else. Including the king and queen. Her knees buckled. Naruto rushed to her side. As he tried to help her, Sakura smacked his hands away.

“Do not touch me!” she snapped. Her breath ragged.

When Naruto’s pleading gaze turned to Sasuke, Sasuke nodded at him.

“Put your arm around me. Can you walk?” Sasuke said. When he took Sakura’s hand, she didn’t yell at him. She let him guide her away from the blood-spattered tablecloth.

Itachi’s hands clenched. He stared after the two figures. And then he tossed his napkin aside.

“Please excuse me, Father, Mother,” Itachi whispered before he followed after them.

“Itachi? What are you doing?” came his father’s voice, sharp with surprise. Itachi didn’t answer as he strode to catch up with them. He took Sakura’s other hand. Both people started. But Sakura didn’t resist when he draped her other arm over his shoulder.

Haku met them on the stairs. Huffing and puffing. Hair glistening with sweat. “The doctor says she’ll come to your room, General. Not to bother going all the way up to the infirmary,” he relayed. And then he pushed Itachi out the way to support Sakura. Completely ignoring manners. And ignoring the way that Sasuke glared at the rudeness directed towards his brother.

“We’re almost there, General,” Haku urged as he helped Sakura move forward.

The physician was already at Sakura’s apartment when they arrived. She waited for Haku to escort Sakura inside. And then she held up a hand when the brothers tried to follow after her.

“This won’t be a pretty affair, Princes. And I doubt you’ll be of much help,” Karin said.

Moegi ran under her arm, carrying several lumps of coal in her apron.

With a smile, Karin slammed the door in both the princes’ faces.

She emerged a couple hours later, her hands stained black. She started when she spotted Sasuke standing at the window. Itachi stood right by the door, his hands clenched together.

“You’re both still here? She’s fine. Go. She needs to rest,” the doctor ordered.

The brothers exchanged looks.

“If you’re that concerned, come visit tomorrow. Right now, what the general needs is sleep. You two lumbering in there certainly won’t help her,” Karin went on to scold.

Under the strength of the physician’s glare, both princes had no choice but to retreat.

Itachi returned the following morning. Perhaps a little earlier than was polite, but he had spent all night staring at the canopy of his bed. Anxiety gnawing at his gut like some sort of rat digging in garbage.

He hesitated. And then knocked.

“Doctor? You’re early,” Moegi greeted as she opened the door. And then she froze. Halfway out the door. Just staring up at the prince.

“Moegi, who it is?” asked Haku as he exited the bathroom, a basin in his hands and a towel draped over his shoulder.

“Your Highness!” Haku exclaimed. He frantically motioned for Itachi to enter, nearly sloshing water onto the floor. When Itachi stepped into the foyer, Haku then motioned wildly at Moegi. It took her a second, but she pulled the door shut, locking it behind Itachi.

“Oh…. hello, Your Highness,” Moegi finally managed to say.

“Good morning,” responded Itachi with just as much awkwardness.

Haku intervened. “What a pleasant surprise, Prince Itachi. What can we assist you with?”

Itachi’s eyes rested on the doors past Haku.

“The General…” he simply said before his gaze flickered back to Haku’s face.

Haku grimaced.

"Yes. Of course."

"Is she very ill?" asked Itachi.

“She’s much better, your Highness. There was some talk about needing to bleed her if her condition worsened, but it seems that won’t be necessary,” Haku admitted with a nervous look at the door.

Itachi gestured toward the same door.

“Would you ask if she would see me?”

Haku and Moegi exchanged nervous glances. Moegi jerked her chin. Haku approached the double door. He knocked before he peered inside.

Sakura lay in bed, her long hair curling around her head and across the pillows. Eyes slowly cracking open, she rubbed her palm against her cheek. The whites of her eyes were bloodshot.

“Yes?” Sakura asked. She had already heard the voices murmuring outside her door.

"…Are you in the mood for a visitor, General?”

Letting out a tired sigh, Sakura turned onto her side and blinked several times. Her hand rose to pull her bangs out of her eyes.

"It depends. Is it a pleasant visitor or someone that will make me wish that awful soup had finished me off?" queried Sakura in return. And when the servant looked confused, Sakura gestured for him to enter. Smiling, Haku pushed the door open. He pretended to busy himself straightening Sakura’s blankets and adjusting the curtains.

Itachi stepped across the threshold and lingered in the doorway.

"…Hello," he finally said. He crossed his arms behind his back so Sakura wouldn't see his hands fidgeting. Moegi, still in the foyer, noticed, and tried her best not to laugh.

“Hello,” responded Sakura. “I’m sorry. That probably wasn’t a pleasant sight yesterday.”

“Well… you don’t have to apologize for that. It wasn’t… You…” Itachi trailed off, thinking. Sakura waited.

“You were so calm,” he noted.

And in the doorway, there was movement as Moegi continued folding sheets and towels as she had been all this time. Sakura flinched, pressing her fingers to her temple.

“General?” Haku was already at her elbow.

“Moegi, my dear,” Sakura called. Moegi set her things down and appeared in the doorway behind Itachi.

“Yes, General?”

“Some hot water. I think I’ll need some moon tea for this headache,” she ordered.

“Right away, General,” Moegi said with a bow. And she hurried out, shoes tapping.

Haku started, as if someone had pinched him. “Oh, my apologies, Your Highness!” he gasped as he pulled a chair up for Itachi. He bowed low. Waiting.

“Please have a seat. You’re going to give poor Haku a heart attack,” Sakura requested. Itachi lowered himself in the chair.

“And in response to your observation, I’ve been poisoned more times than I can count. You start to pick up on the taste after a while,” she replied.

Itachi looked horrified. But she went on. “Arsenic is sweet. Cyanide is bitter.” And then she tilted her head, pointing so that he could see her right earring. The left one was gone.

“The left contains an antidote for arsenic. The right is for cyanide. Surviving poisonings is practically a family tradition.” Sasori would have laughed at that, Sakura thought as the words left her mouth. Itachi didn’t.

“That’s… horrible,” was all he could say.

“Oh, it’s not so bad. I’m alive, aren’t I?” she replied. And then she smiled. “And you’ve come to visit me. That’s not so bad either.”

“I did.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that,” she told him.

She could see his shoulders relax a little. Steering the conversation in a more mundane route had been the right decision.

"I suppose that I should have brought flowers again. My apologies," Itachi commented.

"Yes, you could have ripped some roses from a vase on your way here. I must say that I'm a little disappointed, Prince," she responded.

They even laughed a little.

He stayed for a little longer than was conventionally polite. And he only left when the physician bustled in.

“The patient needs rest. On your way, Prince,” she shooed him out with sweeps of her hands.

Over Karin’s shoulder, Sakura sighed. And then she nodded.

‘Tomorrow,’ she mouthed.

Itachi took his leave without too much fuss.

Karin’s examination didn’t take long. “Whatever that antidote was, it works well. You’re quite alright considering how much poison was in that bowl,” the doctor noted. She turned away to find her glasses.

“Bowl?” Sakura repeated. Her eyes narrowed.

“Yes. We did as you instructed. When we placed silver in the soup itself, there was no reaction. It did not react in the other bowls. It was only in yours, General,” Karin went on. “Quite an interesting practice. I’d never heard of it before. We should start serving all of our food on silver. It would make my job easier.”

Sakura composed her expression as she doctor turned back to her.

“How strange,” was all Sakura said.

After the doctor left, Moegi began gathering used linens in a basket. Haku lifted the tray that Moegi had brought with a teapot and cups. There was an extra cup that had gone unused. She had probably expected Itachi to stay a little longer.

“Is anything else you need, General?” asked Moegi.

“Haku,” Sakura called out.

Moegi hesitated. And then she bowed before she headed downstairs on her own. Haku re-entered the room, the tray held against his hip the way all the serving girls did. He set it down on the empty chair. He closed the door behind him. Hands folded in front of the starched white apron, he stood waiting for Sakura to speak.

Sakura sat propped up against her pillows, eyes tracing the floral pattern on the comforter as she gathered her thoughts. It was a long moment before she spoke.

"You are a boy, Haku," she finally said.

"Yes, we both know that, General!" he answered, a flush already rising to his cheeks. Sakura took another pause to reword her thoughts. Perhaps there was no need to be so subtle.

"You've been able to pass yourself off as a girl for a while now. But it won't stay that way forever. Your voice will drop. You will begin to grown a mustache. What will you do then?" she queried.

At this, the blush receded from Haku's face. He grew even paler than normal as he considered this.

"Well… um… I was considering taking a job in the city? I have a friend who works-"

"In the city?" Sakura repeated, "Usually, that means a brothel of some sort.” She turned her head to look out the window. She had seen it happen a million times by now. Wars tore husbands from their families. Left without a man to provide, so many turned to selling their bodies. She hated whorehouses for the overbearing fragrance of perfume and smoke. But she hated what it meant when she saw those faces in the windows. Their youth always startled her.

Haku's gaze dropped to the rounded front of his shoes.

"How would you feel about coming home with me? I will be leaving Goliaf soon. Of course, you will never be able to come back to the Mountain Kingdom. But that must be better than being stuck in a whorehouse for the rest of your life," offered Sakura without turning to look at him.

Haku's head jerked up. Dark eyes glittering, he stared at Sakura's back.

"Truly, General? I can leave with you?" he demanded.

A smile stretched Sakura's mouth.

"I wouldn't be asking if I didn't mean it," she assured him.

“And… Moegi as well?”

“No. It seems cruel to take her from her parents, don’t you think?” answered Sakura.

She started as she felt Haku take her hands. “Thank you, General,” Haku exclaimed, pressing them to his forehead. It wasn’t a gesture she had ever seen anyone in the castle use. But she accepted it.

+++

Amid the busy times spent writing to her relatives and to merchants to arrange passage back home at the end of the summer, Sakura occasionally indulged in a break. Part of her knew that she would miss the cool greenery of the mountain. Of course the sight of the ocean was synonymous with home. But having a castle in the cool calm of the mountains wasn't a bad alternative, she decided.

Sakura enjoyed morning rides on horseback. She had lunch on the terrace with Naruto, whether it rained or not. And then she had tea on the library balcony with Itachi. Sakura sparred with Sasuke, her mobility and speed returning as the skin on her back finally healed all the way.

King Fugaku, after personally visiting her to offer his apology for the poisoning, employed two poison testers at every meal. And while Sakura privately worried how much these men were being paid for such a dangerous task, neither of them had died and so it gave them all some peace of mind.

Sakura wrote once more to Sasori before she began to pack for her departure. She omitted the details of her recent poisoning. He would figure it out once he saw that she was missing an earring. And also because she began to suspect that she was not the intended target for the poisoning. Partly because Itachi had come last-minute to join them for the meal. And partly because she had arrived late, leaving her with nowhere to sit but beside Naruto. She wasn’t certain who, then, was the true target. That was something she could discuss with her family in person.

Sakura spelled this out to a very pale-faced Sasuke. He had been nothing but mortified since the incident.

“I can’t even begin to express how much we apologize for this. Even once is inexcusable. But for you to be put in harm’s way twice? We want you to know that everything is being done to find out who is behind this,” insisted Sasuke. And she hated that. How he sounded like an other noble she had dealt with before.

“Is your father worried that I’ll declare war?” Sakura guessed.

Sasuke suddenly went very still. Sakura sighed. “That won’t do, Prince. You have to get better at lying,” Sakura scolded him.

“Your castle’s security is, indeed, partly to blame. But I’m quite used to people trying to take my life. Rest assured, I won’t allow their clumsy meddling to stoke war. My country is certainly in no condition to be crossing blades,” she then declared. “Besides, I’m beginning to think that maybe my idiot cousin is the one with the target on his back.”

Naruto acted like he had been the one to pour the poison into her spoon. And Sakura did her best to express her irritation at his ceaseless gibbering while also insisting that it wasn't his fault.

"Why target him? You have the most legitimate claim for the throne. Eliminating you would throw the kingdom into utter chaos. But assassinating Prince Naruto would simply clear the way for you," Sasuke slowly stated.

"Meaning, that either someone is trying their best to help me or their very best to trick me.”

"Wouldn't you prefer the former rather than the latter?"

"Absolutely not. I have no use for pawns that operate without orders," she scoffed.

A few days later, over breakfast, as Naruto told a ridiculous story about how he had once tried to ride a deer as a child, an idea seemed to light up his eyes. Hands slapping down on the table, he whirled to face Sakura. She eyed him warily over the rim of her teacup. When she stole a glance at Sasuke, he simply shrugged.

"Say, Sakura, you're going back to Plumeria soon, right?” began Naruto.

She slowly nodded.

"Well, I was just thinking that it's a shame that even though it's where you live, I've never been there before."

And before she could stop him, he blurted out the horrifying words, "So how about Sasuke and I come along when you go back? You could give us the grand tour of the place!"

What was even more horrifying was that she could see Sasuke's face also lighting up with interest at the prospect.

Sakura scrambled to come up with some sort of reason why that would be unwise. And then, she just barely managed to grab hold of a somewhat plausible excuse.

"Well, that sounds lovely, but it would be unfair for me to take along one brother and not the other. And in his condition, I don't think travel would be a wise idea," said Sakura with barely concealed glee.

"I don't see why not. The physician says that the ocean air would be good for him. And a little travel is good for a young man," said Mikoto. And so while King Fugaku did not seem overjoyed at the idea, he also nodded his assent to the plan. Sakura held back her scream of frustration as she dug her fork into her food.

On the third week of August, the party (which was much larger than anticipated) set out from the palace. They rode down the mountain, along the twisting main roads leading southeast until they reached a large port city where Sakura had arranged for a ship to take them to the island. She had sent word ahead that they would need more supplies. She hoped that the messenger arrived in time. The journey took four days due to the rough terrain. Sakura worried that her companions would moan about motion-sickness. While Naruto looked a little green, he didn’t complain. And neither did the brothers.

Their carriages were heavy with various trunks. Some contained their possessions, but others were laden with gifts from the Mountain Kingdom. Sakura doubted that she truly needed all this gold, but it was a nice gesture. She had requested one gift, in particular. And this gift sat with her in her carriage.

“Do you feel alright?” Sakura asked. Haku turned away from the window, beaming.

“Yes! I haven’t left that castle in forever!” he laughed.

The city of Whitewave sat in Inuzuka lands, which lay on the northern border of the kingdom. Countess Inuzuka was away on business, but one of her vassals greeted Sakura at the gates of the prosperous city.

“Greetings, General. We are honored by your presence.”

Sakura nodded.

Many years ago, Countess Inuzuka had built a small manor for Sakura as a birthday gift. It was practical, given how often Sakura used the port to travel back and forth from the island. The servants at the manor had already received word of her arrival. The steward and the modest staff were waiting when their carriages pulled up to the building.

“Good afternoon, General. We are overjoyed for your return,” the steward uttered.

“Zetsu, please see my guests to their rooms to rest before supper. We leave in the morning,” Sakura ordered. Servants moved forward to accept Sakura’s cloak. Others moved to address the guests and guide them to their quarters.

Dinner was simple, but filling. The manor was empty most of the year, but it was well-stocked with plenty of food and tea. Sasori often dropped by here on his travels. He preferred it to spending the night at a tavern, especially since, he claimed, they had no idea how often they washed the sheets.

In the morning, they traveled to the docks. But the ship that Sakura expected wasn’t there. Instead, there was a familiar vessel. The white sails bore a desert rose in the middle. An obvious giveaway for who the ship belonged to. Hands on her hips, Sakura gave a shake of her head.

“I should have expected this,” she muttered as she saw the tall figure step off the ship. He threw his arms around her with just the force she expected. He nearly lifted her off her feet as he squeezed.

“Time to go home, darling,” he greeted her.

“Yes, yes. I could have come home very well on my own,” she said. Sasori’s eyes narrowed as he caught the glitter of just one earring.

“Evidently not,” he said with a pointed stare.

“No matter. Until we're home, I'm sticking to you like glue. I'll trail you until you're positively sick of me," declared Sasori, leaving absolutely no room for argument.

And then he turned to the rest of the group. His gaze lingered on Haku. But he caught the look Sakura gave him and refrained from asking the nervous servant any questions.

“Well… this is quite a gathering. Well, we’ve had time to stock up. Unless there are any objections, shall we set off?” Sasori said with a clap of his hands.

“Please. Get me off this goddamn continent,” sighed Sakura, stepping onto the ship first. When she motioned with her hand, Haku ran after her.

The journey over water was smooth. Years of experience on the sea made Sasori an ideal captain. And it was just before the storm season started so the waters were still placid and predictable. The party spent the days trading stories and simply admiring the beauty of the open water. Naruto and the Uchiha brothers seemed to struggle a bit with seasickness, but even that didn't seem to be enough to dampen their mood.

At first, Sakura worried that the rocking waves would be enough to exacerbate Itachi's condition. But the sea wind seemed to put some color in his cheeks and when the nausea faded, he seemed more lively than before. He seemed to feel that she was keeping an eye on him. Whenever their eyes met at the dinner table, they struggled to hide their smiles.

Sakura stayed up late at night, keeping Sasori company as they listened to the lapping waters against the side of the ship. They took swigs from a canteen filled with something distinctly alcoholic that made them grimace at the foul taste.

"Excited to be home, sweetheart?" he asked.

"Relieved, more like," she corrected him.

After several days, they spotted a smudge in the distance. And when Sakura's eyes met Sasori's, they both knew that it was really excitement and not relief dancing in her expression.

On the second day of September, the ship finally reached the clear waters of Plumeria's bay. There was a flurry of activity as the ship's crew pulled and tied ropes. The anchor scraped against the deep sands with a thud. Sasuke leaned against the side of the ship with Sakura, watching as the vessel slowly came to a rocking halt atop the waves.

"Welcome, everyone, to Plumeria," Sasori announced as he stepped off the ramp and then swept a needlessly complicated bow before offering his hand to Sakura. Rolling her eyes, she took his hand and let him help her down. Hand squeezing his, Sakura stared around at the port. The sight of the clear, sparkling waters, and the ships bobbing filled her with nostalgia. The sky was aquamarine with just a few wispy clouds floating high up. Everything was as it should be.

“Well, if it isn’t the Duchess. Finally come home, eh?”

Sakura turned her head to find two old fishermen greeting her. They sat in their boat, running their net through their fingers as they checked for tangles and rips.

“Morning, gentlemen. Good weather,” greeted Sakura in return. She turned her head to the sun, soaking in its warmth. The old men copied her, lifting their hands to shield their eyes from the light. Squinting, they looked back to her. Their smiles widened.

“Ah! There he is!” they cackled.

Sakura felt the weight of something settle over her shoulders. It was Sasori’s cloak. His hands grasped her shoulders.

“There’s the Duchess’ shadow. It’s the both of you this time. How long has it been?” one of the men wondered.

“Too long,” Sakura agreed, smiling as she watched them work.

“Good catches lately?” she wondered.

"Yes ma'am. Don’t hurt that some merchant came in a few days ago with a load of salted pork. Trouble is, some of it hadn't been salted properly and rotted. Lolo dumped it right out in the water. Fish have been dining like kings ever since,” one of the old men informed her with a toothless grin.

"One man's misfortune is another's fortune, I suppose. Fair winds,” Sakura greeted them with one last smile.

By this time, Sasuke had already helped his brother down from the ship. They stood together on the dock, Sasuke awkwardly hovering, unsure whether to physically support Itachi or not. But Itachi pushed the fluttering hands away as he took a deep breath. Naruto stumbled out after them, still a little green.

"This place is… truly incredible. The textbooks don't do it justice," Itachi declared.

Haku exited the boat last, shielding his eyes against the bright light. He made his way to Sakura’s side. He had developed a habit of grasping her elbow. He probably wasn’t even aware that he was doing it. And she didn’t mind.

Plumeria was built into the bay. It was high tide now, so it looked like all the homes and walkways floated on top of the ocean. Clusters of white houses with red tiled roofs were visible up ahead. Other homes, a bit larger, had blue tiles instead. The market was a colorful cacophony of colored tents and waving flags. Boats pulled right up to the stalls, people laughing and haggling. Further inland, they could see a white building glittering on top of the waves. The straight white lines unmoving near the swaying palm trees.

Sasori’s head moved to the left. On the arms of the bay sat towers. Some of them were covered with leaves and debris to make it look like an overgrown tree. Movement flickered. And then a dove burst out between the leaves. It beat its wings frantically as it made its way to the palace.

“Well, while we wait for transport. We should eat something,” he suggested.

“Watch your step. It can get a little slippery,” Sakura warned Haku. And then she looked back to the two brothers, who nodded. And then at Naruto, who also nodded.

It was only then that Sasuke truly understand how the market in his country must have looked to Sakura. He wondered why she hadn’t burst out laughing at the neat lines and the meek smiles.

Each stall held a new wonder. Strangely colored fruits with new smells and flavors sat on display. The merchants carved into them right there, juice running down their fingers as they offered shoppers a taste. Some merchants displayed bolts of fabric in deep burnt shades of reds and purples while others sold only pastel colors.

Jewelry was everywhere too. Pearls especially. They sat in long strings or as earrings mounted on silver wire. There were other jewels too, like tourmaline. And some sort of bizarre, iridescent jewel that they had never seen before.

Sacks filled with red and yellow powder sat on display beside scales that merchants always seemed to obsessively testing and re-testing.

The smell of bread rose high into the air. It was too late in the morning for the women to still be baking bread. But the floury loaves sat stacked in displays. Sakura asked for one, squabbling with the older ladies with a smile.

“The Duchess comes back and wen cockroach me already!” one of them lamented as they handed Sakura two loaves. But they were all laughing as Sakura paid. She broke the loaves into pieces and passed them back. She took a bite as she moved.

The bread was crisp and floury on the outside. Soft and buttery on the inside.

“I’ve never had anything like this before,” Sasuke whispered to no one in particular. But it was his brother who he found standing next to him.

“It’s delicious,” Itachi answered.

They shared a smile. But then Sasuke turned away, as if revoking that shared moment of wonder.

“Ah! Look who’s here!” someone said. A chorus of greetings rose up as more and more people began to recognize Sakura. People rushed out their stalls to grasp Sakura’s hands, to kiss her cheek. And the Sakura who was so quick to turn a cold shoulder, giggled as she returned every greeting she could.

Itachi took in their sun-kissed skin and their dark hair. He had always thought Sakura was somewhat dark, but these people were roasted by hours in the sun until their skin gleamed like finely polished wood. Their eyes, though sometimes as black as his, were also pale green and blue. Some had eyes a color between green and brown that Itachi had never seen before. They all spoke the same language as him, but a more fluid noise that clung to some of the syllables. And the phrases they used caught him off guard.

“Eh, Duchess, what did you do to all these kane? They’re so skinny!” one of the merchants remarked, putting his arm around Naruto. Naruto didn’t understand, but he laughed all the same. And that made all the merchants roar with laughter.

As they moved north through the market, the bustle of the market began to die down. This was a more residential area. Most people were working this time of day. A few heads did poke out of windows to greet them as they moved.

“Is it alright not to bring our things?” wondered Itachi. The entire group paused. Except for Sakura and Sasori, who walked a few extra steps before they realized that no one was following.

Sasori simply pointed toward the water. Everyone followed his finger to find a canoe drifting past them. Two men sat at each end, paddling. They recognized them as part of the crew that had helped on the ship during their journey here. In the middle of the boat sat some of the trunks that had been loaded in the cargo hold. And then, behind them came another canoe with more of the luggage.

“Oh, that’s so efficient,” Itachi murmured as they continued on.

There was a set of wooden steps that guided them up to the entrance of Sami Palace. A large archway marked the beginning of the palace. Two guards stood there, spears held at their sides. The vines climbing around and over the archway shaded them from the worst of the sun. They bowed in greeting when the group approached. But no one moved forward, because they were busy staring open-mouthed.

Sakura had seen this view countless times before but she couldn't help but also be amazed at its beauty. There was such an elegant symmetry about the place. And someone had thought to scrub the walkway clean of the salt that tended to accumulate on the planks. The entire place was spotless. Only after a giving everyone a minute to gawk did Sasori and Sakura exchange pointed looks before they proceeded down the walkway.

"There are flowers... in the water," Sakura heard Itachi remark aloud.

"They were a gift. These flowers have been specifically bred to thrive in saltwater. They're lovely, aren't they?" responded Sakura without looking back. A group of servant girls passing by with baskets held on their hips suddenly froze. Faces lighting up, they surged forward.

"Welcome home, Your Grace!"

"You look well!"

They chattered merrily, touching Sakura's arm and laughing together. But then one of them glanced back to see the other visitors.

"You must be tired, Your Grace. Shall we escort your guests to their rooms?" she suggested. Sakura gave her a grateful smile.

"Thank you. That would be wonderful. Shall we meet for lunch at noon?" said Sakura, directing the question at Sasuke, Naruto, and Itachi. When all three men nodded, the servant girls moved to guide them to the guest apartments. Sakura turned to Sasori.

"You're going to take a nap," she guessed.

"Of course. Wake me for lunch. I'll be starving by then, darling," answered Sasori. He pressed a kiss to her cheek before he took the left path

That left Sakura with Haku, who hadn’t budged when one of the servant girls had asked him to follow her. He just shook his head, pointing after Sakura. The girl looked puzzled, but gave him a gracious nod before she went on her way.

Sakura had noticed this, of course. Just as she heard the sounds of someone hurrying down the walkway.

“Why didn’t you send a bird sooner!” the steward scolded her as she ran to greet them. She threw her arms around Sakura, engulfing her in a big hug.

“To see you panic, of course,” Sakura teased.

“Oh, you wicked thing,” the older woman scolded her, swatting at her.

As they drew apart, Sakura gestured to Haku, who stood fidgeting behind her.

“Shizu, meet Haku. He’ll be staying with us from now on,” Sakura introduced the boy.

“As?” Shizune prompted, fixing Sakura with a look.

“As your apprentice, of course. You won’t live forever. Not with all the stress I put you through,” retorted Sakura. Shizune swatted at her again.

“You get more and more naughty every time I see you. Go wash up,” Shizune said. And she motioned to a few servant girls to follow Sakura as she pushed her ahead on the path. Shizune stood watching her with her hands on her hips. And then she glanced over at Haku.

“Come, boy. We’ll get you a bath, and then I’ll introduce you to all the lolos in this palace,” Shizune said.

“Lolo?” Haku repeated as he fell into step beside her.

“Crazies,” Shizune translated with a smirk, “Including Her Grace. She’s the biggest crazy of all. But that’s why we like her.”

+++

There was a royal bathhouse at the northern end of the palace. But there was also a private bathing pool in her apartment.

The first thing Sakura did after her weeks of travel was to disrobe and step into the steaming bath. Something about washing in seawater never seemed to leave her feeling completely clean. One attendant gathered her clothes to wash later. Another scattered rose petals into the water.

Sakura leaned back against the edge of the bathing pool with a sigh. One of the women knelt on the tiled edge.

“Please excuse me,” she announced herself before she poured a liquid into Sakura’s hair. She lathered it up into a dense, fragrant foam before she began running a wide-toothed comb through it.

Another began washing Sakura’s hands. “Your Grace, your nails,” she lamented.

“Oh, hush. She’s been busy. And if you weren’t doing this, you’d be scrubbing the floors somewhere. Be grateful,” the third servant teased her. Sakura smiled. The idle chitchat of the servants had always been part of the bathing ritual. That was probably why things felt so empty in Whiteriver Keep. She knew that there were some noble ladies who demanded silence from their staff. But Sakura liked the chatter. It was soothing. Just as soothing as the sounds of the wind rustling through palm fronds. The twitter of birds sitting just outside.

The tiles of the floor and bath had been painted and fired right here on the island. Bright blue and turquoise over white. The pillars were carved from white marble, imported from far across the ocean. There was a ceiling and walls to protect against the elements. Unlike most of the buildings in the palace, there were doors rather than archways. Wind still traveled in through the windows, along with the flowers outside.

“Shall we oil your hair, Your Grace?”

“Please,” answered Sakura.

“Very good, Your Grace.”

They poured warm water over Sakura’s hair, combing and combing until it was free of bubbles. And then they massaged the fragrant oil from her scalp, all the way down to the very tips of her hair.

Seagulls shrieked in the distance. She breathed in the clean air. And it felt so good that she exhaled to take an even deeper breath this time.

“It’s so good to be home,” she said out loud.

When she was clean and her skin grew rosy from the heat, the servants brought towels and a robe. They dried her skin and wrapped the robe around her. One dried her feet while another squeezed the water from her hair. The third hurried ahead to open the doors. Shizune stood waiting outside.

“Why all the secrecy? Who is the boy?” asked Shizune as she followed Sakura down the hall, through the salon. Up the stairs that led to her bedroom on the second floor. It was spotless, of course. And there was a servant waiting for her to open up Sakura’s armoire.

“Hm," said Sakura as she looked through her closet. Her fingers trailed over the soft fabrics as she considered what to wear. They lingered over lines of tiny pearls and transparent swaths of airy fabric. After a moment, Sakura turned to regard the smiling servant.

“Which do you think, Rio?”

“The blue would look splendid on your skin,” she recommended. Sakura nodded. The servant plucked the garment from the hanger. Another attendant walked into the room. Shizune huffed as she took a seat on a footstool.

“What were you asking, Shizune?” Sakura then queried. She held her arms out so that the servants could begin removing her robe.

"Who is the boy, Your Grace? You haven't said anything about him!" Shizune asked again.

"Which one, Shizune? They're all boys," responded Sakura with a smirk.

"The boy you suddenly said would be my apprentice,” Shizune huffed. As she spoke, she pointed downwards. Because downstairs, in the salon, Haku was undoubtedly still sitting on the divan, straight-backed and wide-eyed. Haku had been swept off by some of the manservants who scrubbed him clean and dressed him before depositing him on one of the cushioned seats. Shizune had offered him some sort of refreshment while he waited and she had struggled not to giggle at his obviously flustered expression.

"Ah. Him. He's a mystery I've yet to solve myself. But he seemed to be in danger in the Mountain Kingdom so I brought him here," Sakura admitted. At this, Shizune's forehead wrinkled.

"Danger? Is he alright now?" Shizune questioned.

"He'll be very safe among you ladies, I'm sure. Especially with you around, Shizune,” assured Sakura. “I expect you to take excellent care of him,” she added, looking at the two servants now.

"Of course. Your Grace fights everyone with her fists. And Miss Shizune fights everyone with her words. We're all safe here," one of them retorted. The other servant girl broke into peals of laughter. Only giggling harder when Shizune dealt a kick to her rear.

After Sakura dressed and the servants saw to her hair, it was time to leave. Haku rushed to his feet when she came down the stairs. He seemed determined to shadow each of her footfalls wherever she went. Shizune gave him an appraising look. And then she leaned in to Sakura to whisper.

“He’s very attached to you. What have you done to him?”

“Nothing,” Sakura insisted.

On the way, Sakura stopped by Sasori's apartment. The guards bowed as Sakura entered the building. She found him slumbering peacefully in his room. He laid the wrong way across the bed, arms crossed over his face and his feet dangling off the edge. Sasori had only bothered to pull open the top buttons of his new uniform jacket before collapsing in this pose. But a few words and a shake to the shoulder opened his eyes.

Stretching, he reached up to swat at a lock of her hair hanging over his face. "Do we have to entertain? I'm exhausted," he sighed while rolling onto his stomach.

Sakura let out a fond sigh. Honestly, he was such a child sometimes.

"I'm afraid that if I leave you like this, you'll grow moss," teased Sakura. And then she let out a humming noise and added, "I'm certain that everyone is tired after a long journey. The welcome feast won't be until tomorrow night so we could all retire to our rooms after lunch."

Comforted somewhat by that suggestion, Sasori slowly sat up. He ran a hand through his messy hair. He grasped Sakura by the forearms and pulled her forward to plant a kiss to her forehead.

"I'll be along in a bit, darling. Make sure there's some wine for me," he slurred before unleashing a gigantic yawn.

"There's always wine for you," scoffed Sakura in return as she slid off the bed. Beckoning for Haku to follow, she stepped out of the room and onto the smooth walkway. The light patter of his new shoes against the walkway lagged behind the steady tempo of her footsteps.

"Don't worry. This place seems large but you'll adapt quickly," Sakura assured him.

"Of course, General," Haku replied. Sakura cast him a measured look over her shoulder.

His head was held high and his dark eyes took in everything around him. His gaze met hers and he blinked rapidly. After bathing and changing into clothes borrowed from one of the manservants, Haku seemed somewhat more at ease. He was dressed in a cream-colored tunic with long sleeves and matching pants. The leather sandals seemed to be a little unfamiliar to him, judging from his awkward gait. But he touched the beadwork along the collar of the tunic with a look of awe. Sakura thought then that she had never seen the boy look happier.

When Sakura smiled, he offered one in return without seeming to understand the expression.

“Where are you from?" she wondered out loud. Haku's brow rumpled. But after a moment, Sakura turned her eyes back ahead.

"No matter," she intoned with a wave of her hand, "We'll find a place for you here. Oh, and no need to call me that here."

Haku's eyes widened.

"But, Ge- Um, what do I call you then?" the boy asked.

They stopped in the archway to a square pavilion. Sakura's hand lingered on the side of the archway as she tilted her face toward him. Then, with a smile, she reached out and tapped his cheek with her pointer finger.

“I don’t need to wear that title like armor here. ‘Your Grace’ will do. ‘My Lady’ is even better,” Sakura responded before she slipped past the curtain and into the room. Haku glimpsed that bright pink petals glistened when the sunlight slanted in past the billowing curtains.

“You’re with me, little bird,” Shizune’s voice said from behind him. Haku turned around, pointing at himself. She nodded.

Itachi and Sasuke already sat at the low rectangular table in the middle of the room. There was an array of cushions and mats spread out on the tiled floor in colors ranging from a deep, burnt orange to light green. Small clay bowls painted white sat at intervals along the table, filled with fresh flowers.

As Sakura ducked under the curtain, the two brothers, who had not been speaking before, both rose to their feet. But Sakura held up her hand.

"Please. You're my guests. Make yourselves comfortable," she insisted before she sat at the middle of the table. Sasuke and Itachi both sat across from her, their dark eyes roving over the unfamiliar table settings and then to the wall-less room itself. After a long silence, Sasuke and Itachi turned simultaneously to look at each other. And then, surprisingly, it was Itachi that spoke first.

"Pardon me if I am being forward, but you seem somewhat…different, General," observed Itachi.

"Different," Sakura repeated a little unsurely. It was ever-blunt Sasuke who explained.

"You're all prickles and hard edges, usually. But here, you're smiling… constantly. Frankly, it's a little unsettling."

Itachi gave his younger brother a look of horror as Sasori settled to the spot on Sakura's right. The red-head caught the tail-end of Sasuke's words and chuckled.

"Says the man who is also all prickles and sharp tongues," snorted Sasori.

"Am I really that unfriendly away from home?" queried Sakura as she nudged her cousin. Sasori turned to stare at her with a flat expression.

"Love, if you were any less friendly off this island, you would be stabbing everyone you meet. You're a great deal less pleasant," uttered Sasori with absolute sincerity. And then, noticing Naruto enter out of the corner of his eye, Sasori added, "But then again, with the company you usually keep, I can hardly blame you."

Sasuke snorted into his sip of water.

A girl stepped through the curtain and knelt on the floor.

“Yes, we’re ready for the food. Thank you,” Sakura told her.

The girl dipped her head before she rose to her full height and slipped out. No sooner had she disappeared through the doorway that several servants stepped into the room carrying a platter with a whole roasted fish. Another held chunks of fresh fruit in a dazzling rainbow of colors. There were dark purple potatoes that steamed when Sasori split one open.

Sakura explained each of the foods. Sasori chimed in as needed. There were some wary expressions as they looked at the unfamiliar dishes. But some observation of how Sasori and Sakura ate was enough guidance. And eventually, everyone was making surprised noises of approval as they gorged themselves on the fresh foods.

Conversation ran long after the food was gone and the servants came to refill cups several times before Sakura suggested that everyone return to their rooms to rest. But before she could even think to lie down for a nap, there were servants bombarding her with various messages from so many different people.

She took a deep breath. “Please enjoy your evening,” was all she said before she got to her feet.

There was a thunderstorm late that night. Some of the servants roused themselves to put up the wooden doors and shutters stored away for such rare occasions. It rained frequently on the island and it was rarely severe enough to cause much worry. But the distant thunder promised hard rain. Hard rain and wind did not mix well with open arches.

Sakura sat up in bed, as if jolting from one bad dream into the next.

The rain had made it difficult for her to sleep since the day her parents had passed away. It had been raining on that day too. They had been in a hurry to return from a party thrown by the Count Yamanaka. The roads were slick with mud. The horses slipped and the carriage veered off the road and into a ravine.

Pressing a hand to the cold sweat beading down the back of her neck, Sakura's hand reached under her pillow when she heard the door open and close somewhere. It wouldn’t be the guards. They knew better than to fumble around like that.

Her fingers closed around the handle of the knife always kept hidden under her pillow. But when she heard the rhythm of the footsteps coming up, Sakura relaxed. She pushed her knife back into its spot as Sasori's head of dark red hair appeared. He climbed up the remaining stairs and then sat on the foot of her bed.

His hair was messy and the top buttons of his linen shirt were left undone. Sakura could see the top of the scar that slashed diagonally across his chest. Cheek in his hand, he stared at her from under his messy mop of hair.

"You've been lying to me," he observed.

"About?" prompted Sakura as her hands fell into her lap.

"All those letters you sent home, you assured me that you were doing so well," he began. When Sakura showed no sign of guilt, he continued.

"You're far from fine. I saw you right after the war, Sakura. I know you better than anyone. Your dreams are getting worse," said Sasori without a hint of uncertainty. Sakura turned her head away from him. Sometimes, not usually, but sometimes she hated how well he knew her.

"What would you know?" she asked in a tired voice. Still, Sasori moved over to envelop her in his arms. Rocking her back and forth, he let out a big sigh to match his big heart for her.

"Oh, darling. My lying, adorable cousin, I know so much. And I know that it's alright to want to cry when it gets hard," he murmured. When he kissed the top of her head before resting his cheek there.

"How impertinent," she sniffed before she pressed her face into the crook of his elbow.

When Sasori woke in the morning, Sakura was gone. The air smelled sweet and clean in the way that it only did after a night of rain.

"I…am such a wonderful person," he declared to no one in particular.

+++

< Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9>

#amaryllis #fanfiction #courtly intrigue! au #itasaku #haruno sakura #writing

35 notes · View notes