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hobidreams · 4 years

Text

june 1868.

but trust is a fickle, fragile thing.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: angst words: 1.2k contains: historical au, character death. historical context: “mama” is the korean equivalent of “your highness” & the proper address for a queen. a/n: this drabble is sponsored by a donation to Black Lives Matter.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble five. start from the beginning?

In the long decade since the night you swore utter allegiance to the crown prince, you have done everything within your grasp to uphold the heart of the commitment you’ve made. Even as the prince becomes a king, even as beloved companions submit to the passage of time, and even as the adolescent declaration of obedience itself matures into instead a steady, affectionate support, you keep your word on all but one occasion. But it is this exact decision, this single withheld secret, that shifts both your worlds irrevocably.

“You must tell my son that it is a common illness. A simple recovery, and nothing more,” the queen had commanded you on a somber day in winter the year before as you knelt beside her bed, wiping blood from the corner of her pale lips.

“Daebi-mama.” Your voice broke on the last beat. “How long have you been hiding this?”

“Please.” Though her elegant fingers were weak, she covered your hands with a warm, pleading palm. “He doesn’t need any more distractions. Not now. Especially not ones that don’t have… simple solutions.” She squeezed then, with what strength she could muster, silencing all your protests. “If you want him to succeed - don’t tell him.”

And so, you hadn’t.

But while you agreed with the queen’s intentions, you continued to fight against the inevitability in a way that only you could. The last six months have been a frenzied haze. You blistered your feet scouring the markets, begging foreign traders for rare or sometimes strange ingredients that you could incorporate into draughts. You sought documents written in symbols you did not recognize, paying translators to parse out a phrase or even a glimmer that could help. You can’t even remember all the nights that you spent brewing, steaming, straining until the sun came over the horizon. But with each subsequent draft you secretly delivered to her bed, the queen only grew weaker.

All of this, you kept hidden from man you cared for most, justifying the guilt to yourself whenever he inquired after his mother.

But now. Now, when the king is staring with unblinking eyes at the pure white cloth draped over his mother’s body, you find that you don’t know a damn thing about what’s right anymore.

You feel splinters in your chest as he takes one unsteady step towards the bed that you stand beside, hands folded in an act of repentance. His mouth opens, then closes, not a single noise passing between them for a century-long minute. All of your instincts urge you to turn away and allow him private space to grieve, but that’s your own cowardice at being faced with his sorrow, manifested in the quiver of his lip. You must put him first. You must be his witness, his pillar, even when your own heart tightens with grief.

“Mama.”

He stumbles forward, feet clamoring over each other until he’s close enough to draw back the cloth, just enough to expose her face. His short, forcibly-suppressed exhale hits the wall. Yoongi jerks his hand away as if scorched, lets it hang numbly at his side. It’s with an indescribable expression that he takes in the familiar, softly wrinkled eyes. The pink lips that were so often curved in a warm smile. The arms that were generous enough to encompass an entire nation, but never neglected the ones closest. “Mama,” he says, voice still so tight as he takes another unsteady step, as if he needs to be closer. He’d seen her just last night. He had left her alone, and now—

It’s when his knee knocks against the hard wood, when he can truly go no further, that he plummets to the stark floor and a lonely sob rips straight from his throat. Goosebumps shoot up your arms at the noise, the visceral howl and all you can do is watch as Yoongi breaks with a shuddering gasp, “Mom.”

In this moment, it’s not a king that kneels before you, but a son. Someone’s precious child, with no one to stay strong for any longer and so he throws the entire mask away. Lets the tears finally overflow, staining the bedsheets with salt and heartache before he crumples them in a weak fist. Yoongi cries like he has never done, not since he was old enough to learn how much the word responsibility weighed on his head and how many millions of lives his body, not him, is worth. A stray tear falls on the queen’s cheek and his red-rimmed eyes follow how it rolls down her face as if she weeps at the thought of leaving him too, and he cries. He just cries, with the delicate perfume of plum blossoms fast fading around him.

Uselessly, you wish you could do something.

You wish you could have found a cure, a miracle or anything that could have bought him more time, even if it was only for a season more, or a single day. Really, it’s your own failure. You remain so fucking inexperienced, even after all these years. You should have told him. You should have tried harder. And it’s this shame that makes you reach out for him before you can think better of it, wanting nothing more than to hold him to offer a whisper of comfort and to say he’s not alone.

But when you touch him, he startles. Shifts back. Shifts away from you and you think he gathers the pieces of his crown and stitches them back together before you even have time to blink.

“Jeonha—”

“Su-uinyeo-nim.” He cuts you off with the deliberate use of your full, formal title. He’s never called you such before, preferring your name during the weekly reports you made to him. The words feel sluggish on his tongue as if he thinks, as if he knows, you don’t deserve the role too. You find the strength to meet his watery, but no less intense stare, and hear him carefully ask— “Did you know?”

He doesn’t need to elaborate. Your fingers, lingering just an inch away from him, freeze and falter. Crumple into themselves, because you can’t give him the answer his darkening eyes say he hopes for. Or maybe that’s just you thinking too highly of yourself in his heart.

“Did you know?” He presses again, tone a little higher, voice a little more desperate.

But language is your next failure, and he is left to take your silence for the admission of guilt it is.

“Get out.” He stands, hovers protectively over the bed as if you are the danger, the outsider. “Your services—and you—are no longer required for her. You’ve done more than enough.”

Your legs shiver as you sink into a bow, quick. “Y-Yes, jeonha.”

Then your slippers are slapping against the hard floor, feet aching from the pace with which you flee from the suffocating room. Your chest burns with the want to scream that you loved her too. That you wanted to tell him so many times, almost did with a slip of a tongue, but wanted to spare his already overtaxed mind. That you tried your damned best but you just couldn’t save her, and so you lost her. And from that last glimpse of him through the closing door, hunched over alone and silently breaking, you know that you’ve lost him too.

#ficswithluv #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts angst #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #yoongi angst #rain writes #moonlit throne #(sorry)

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nothingbutimagines · 3 years

Text

Betrothed (Peter Parker)

Pairing: Knight!Peter Parker x Princess!Reader

Warning: Cursing and lots of angst

Summary: The young Princess Y/n is, on the outside, perfect in every way. She is high society, beautiful, educated, and cherished by all. However, the seemingly perfect princess is hiding a secret with that of a young knight, Peter Parker. Peter is upset, angry with Y/n when she is forced to choose between revealing the secret to stay out of an arranged marriage to a prince, or stay silent.

Author: Dizzy

A/N: This is the second part to Arranged. As always, requests are open and I’d love some new ideas from you all!

Masterlist Request Any Of These Peter Parker/Tom Holland Masterlist

__________________

“Why the long face, Princess? You shouldn’t be so sad on your wedding day.” Marceline asked softly, already knowing the answer.

“He is not coming, is he?” You asked, looking up at Marceline.

The older woman shook her head, her light grey hair falling into her face as her eyes grew somber.

“I don’t believe so, darling. Sir Peter told the king that he was too ill to help with the wedding and training the cavalry to be ushers. He’s been holed up in that little cabin for about a week.”

You sighed softly, your eyes looking deep into your reflection as you frowned, the tears prickling your eyes. You knew it was a foolish idea, to think that Peter would somehow wake up one day and forgive you for sending him away, for so easily throwing him away like a love letter from an old lover.

You had done everything to get him to speak to you, sending him letters, having some of the younger maids walk down to send him gifts since Marceline had trouble walking that far. You had even showed up at his door, teary-eyed and remorseful, begging for forgiveness only to be told to leave, to never come back.

Peter had done everything in his power to keep you away, and you knew it was wrong to be torn up over it, since you had done the same thing first.

“I don’t want to get married, Marceline.” You whispered, looking at the woman in the mirror.

“I know, Princess, but there’s nothing we can do about it now. I wish it were different, but we mustn’t hold such pain in our hearts. We must look on the bright side, you do not have to leave the kingdom to be with your betrothed.”

“Yes, I suppose so. However, I would see Peter everyday. I would rather leave the kingdom than see Peter for even a moment.”

“Sir Peter told me he may leave the kingdom and live with his brother, the sheep herder, in Astoria.”

“Marceline, why wouldn’t you tell me this?” You snapped, turning fully to face the older woman as she took a step back.

“Princess, I didn’t tell you because I thought it would ruin your wedding day. Sir Peter also told me to wait to tell you until he was already gone, when the wedding bells tolled.”

“Why must you always follow the orders of Sir Peter?” You cried, the tears you were holding back finally flooding out. “Anything Sir Peter tells you should be told to me, we went over this before! God, I need to go, I need to find Peter.”

You pushed yourself up off of the chair using the vanity before you for leverage, your tears blurring your vision as you made your way to the other side of the room and slipping on your shoes. You were fueled by your anger, not just at the poor old milkmaid, but Peter as well.

“Princess, wait!” Marceline called out as you past her, her hand grasping for your arm as you turned to her, yanking your arm away. “You cannot leave. You are in your wedding gown and your father, the king, will be here any moment to give you away.”

“You can tell him I am on a walk.”

“It is not that simple, you know that, he is pacing up and down the hall, you will never be able to pass him.”

“Then I will outrun him. He cannot stop me.”

“Princess, he knows your distaste for this arrangement. That is why he wanted Sir Peter and the cavalry to be here, to keep you in the castle.”

“Then he shouldn’t have given me a dagger.” You replied simply, turning on your heel and opening the chamber door to come face to face with your father.

You cursed yourself for being so rude to Marceline as she was right, he was pacing in the corridor and now standing before him, you never felt so small.

“Y/n, my love, we must go. You were supposed to be upon the altar at three o’clock sharp and it is three-o-two.” Your father spoke softly, linking your arm in his before resting his hand upon yours.

“Father, I-”

“I know, love, you wish your mother was here. Believe me, I wish for that as well, but do not fret, I will be there for you.”

“Father, I don’t know if I can do this, get married.” You admitted, causing the older man to fall silent, leaving the sound of your footsteps as the only echo in the silent corridor.

“Y/n,” Your father’s voice was stern as he finally spoke, “you will be getting married. I will not allow you to ruin the sanctity of this kingdom and our good name just because you are infatuated with a knight.”

“W-what are you talking about?”

“You know who I am speaking about, do not pretend you do not.” He snapped back at you as you finally reached the entrance to the cathedral. “I have known about you sneaking away to see Sir Peter Parker all these years. I had hoped it was nothing but a teenage romance, but it seems as though I was wrong.”

“How had you known and yet never told me?” You attempted to pull away, but his hold was tight on your arm.

“Do not speak back to me!”

You bowed your head in sorrow and shame, attempting to hide the look of fear that had fallen upon your face.

“I have heard the whispers between the housemaids, the way they snickered about you using their entrances and stairways and how it was almost romantic the way you had begun to see the handsome boy. Almost romantic! You knew I would never allow such a thing, yet you had done it anyway.”

“Father, I’m s-”

“Let me finish! I kept tabs on you, having that old milkmaid tell me what the housemaids were saying, what they were saying about you and Sir Peter Parker. That’s when I decided that it would be best to marry you off before you ruined this family’s name further. I had that boy help with the wedding in hopes it would tear you apart, and it had.” Your father sighed, leaning forward and knocking on the door for the ushers to open it. “Now, put on a smile. It is your wedding day.”

You swallowed harshly, unsure of what to say as you allowed him to drag you down the aisle.

“Smile.” Your father hissed, only moments after you started walking.

You complied, a faint smile now stretching on your face as you gazed down the aisle and to the altar, to where the prince stood, stoic.

When you were a young girl, you’d always imagined that when you got married, seeing your betrothed at the end of the aisle would have you feeling joy, warming your cold feet and filling you with the utter glee of marriage. You pictured your betrothed teary-eyed and smiling in a way that showed true love.

However, as you gazed into the blue eyes of the prince, you couldn’t feel anything but despair and could only feel your cold feet growing colder.

You allowed your father to kiss you, give you away as he handed over your numb fingers and palm to the prince, who guided you up the small altar stairs.

You gave the prince a small smile before sighing, your eyes moving around the chapel, trying to find Peter as if he would be there. As if he would show up and confess his love for you.

You felt foolish, so lost in your own thoughts and your quest to find the familiar brown curls and warm eyes of the knight, the prince of your heart, that you hadn’t realized the pause in the priest’s sermon.

“...if anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” The Father announced, allowing for a moment of silence to fall upon the witnesses.

You held your breath, glancing up at the man before you, your husband to be before gazing back into the crowd. You allowed yourself to let go of the tension in your lungs as you saw the familiar brown curls peek out from behind the cathedral doors.

“I object.” You declared before you’d even realized the words had come from your own mouth and not the opened mouth of the young knight. “I cannot go through with this arrangement when my heart is in the hands of another. I’m sorry, I must go.”

You quickly stepped out of your heels, gathering your dress in your arms before rushing down the aisle, your eyes never breaking from Peter’s gaze.

“Sir Peter!” You called out his name, a hand raising to wave for him as he fully emerged from behind the door.

“What do you think I have assigned you to do?!” Your father bellowed from far behind you. “Retrieve her!”

Knights began to rise from their seats as your ran, hands reaching our to grab you from the sides of the aisle.

You slipped from their grasps, your dress tearing at the seams they attempted to pull you with and the sounds of your bare feet on marble filling your ears. You could only focus on Peter, brown eyed and soft faced Peter.

Your arm reached out for him, his hand grasping yours as he pulled you into the foyer.

“Peter, I-”

“There is no time for words. We must go.” Peter interjected, his grip firming on your hand as he pulled you down the corridor.

You both erupted in laughter, hands still gripping the other as you ran into the street and towards Peter’s horse.

“Princess, would you like to run away with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” You grinned, throwing your arms around his neck before kissing him with the passion you wished you had had in the first place.

You pulled away from him as the screams and howls of your father and his knights erupted from the church, the men running towards you.

“I believe that is our cue to leave.” Peter chuckled, quickly picking you up and helping you on the horse before getting on himself.

You wrapped your arms around him as he guided his horse down the street, going as fast as he could away from the crowd that had started to gather in the street.

“Peter, I am sorry.” You finally spoke up, as the kingdom had disappeared into the background and you could no longer hear the howling of the crowd.

“No, Bug, I am sorry. I should have been more sympathetic to your situation and I should have never made it about myself. It was you that was forced into a marriage, not I.”

“Peter, you have no reason to apologize. I was the selfish one here. I did not think of you, not once. And I should have done so. I should have considered you before I made my decision.”

“It is alright, Bug. We both have things to feel sorrow for.”

His hand rested on yours, his thumb running over your fingers as silence fell upon you once again.

“Why did you come to my wedding? I had believed you were not going to come.” You finally asked, the question mulling over in your mind once again.

“I could not go another day without loving you.” Peter stated simply. “I could not go another day without you knowing that I loved you, even if you would spend your life with another.”

“You will never have to go another day without being by my side. I swear to you.”

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roman-catholic-mass-readings · 3 years

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1st February >> Mass Readings (Except USA)

Feast of Saint Brigid, Abbess, Secondary Patron of Ireland

Monday, Fourth Week in Ordinary Time.

Feast of Saint Brigid, Abbess, Secondary Patron of Ireland

(Liturgical Colour: White)

Either:

First Reading

Job 31:16-20,24-25,31-32

Have I been insensible to the needs of the poor?

Have I been insensible to poor men’s needs, or let a widow’s eyes grow dim? Or taken my share of bread alone, not giving a share to the orphan? I, whom God has fostered father-like, from childhood, and guided since I left my mother’s womb. Have I ever seen a wretch in need of clothing, or a beggar going naked, without his having cause to bless me from his heart, as he felt the warmth of the fleece from my lambs?

Have I put all my trust in gold, from finest gold sought my security? Have I ever gloated over my great wealth, or the riches that my hands have won?

The people of my tent, did they not say, ‘Is there a man he has not filled with meat’? No stranger ever had to sleep outside, my door was always open to the traveller.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

First Reading

Ephesians 3:14-21

A prayer that faithful may know the love of Christ

This is what I pray, kneeling before the Father, from whom every family, whether spiritual or natural, takes its name: Out of his infinite glory, may he give you the power through his Spirit for your hidden self to grow strong, so that Christ may live in your hearts through faith, and then, planted in love and built on love, you will with all the saints have strength to grasp the breadth and the length, the height and the depth; until, knowing the love of Christ, which is beyond all knowledge, you are filled with the utter fullness of God. Glory be to him whose power, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine; glory be to him from generation to generation in the Church and in Christ Jesus for ever and ever. Amen.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 106 (107)

R/ Give thanks to the Lord for he is good; for his love has no end.

The Lord changes desert into streams, thirsty ground into springs of water. There he settles the hungry and they build a city to dwell in.

R/ Give thanks to the Lord for he is good; for his love has no end.

They sow fields and plant their vines; these yield crops for the harvest. He blesses them; they grow in numbers. He does not let their herds decrease.

R/ Give thanks to the Lord for he is good; for his love has no end.

But he raises the needy from distress; makes families numerous as a flock. The upright see it and rejoice but all who do wrong are silenced.

R/ Give thanks to the Lord for he is good; for his love has no end.

Gospel Acclamation

1 John 4:12

Alleluia, alleluia! As long as we love one another, God will live in us and his love will be complete in us. Alleluia!

Gospel

Luke 6:32-38

Be compassionate just as your Father is compassionate. Ps 106 (107):35-38, 41-42. R/. v. 1

Jesus said to his disciples: ‘If you love those who love you, what thanks can you expect? Even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who do good to you, what thanks can you expect? For even sinners do that much. And if you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what thanks can you expect? Even sinners lend to sinners to get back the same amount. Instead, love your enemies and do good, and lend without any hope of return. You will have a great reward, and you will be sons of the Most High, for he himself is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. ‘Be compassionate as your Father is compassionate. Do not judge, and you will not be judged yourselves; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned yourselves; grant pardon, and you will be pardoned. Give, and there will be gifts for you: a full measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over, will be poured into your lap; because the amount you measure out is the amount you will be given back.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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Monday, Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

(Liturgical Colour: Green)

First Reading

Hebrews 11:32-40

The example of the Old Testament saints

Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, Samuel and the prophets – these were men who through faith conquered kingdoms, did what is right and earned the promises. They could keep a lion’s mouth shut, put out blazing fires and emerge unscathed from battle. They were weak people who were given strength, to be brave in war and drive back foreign invaders. Some came back to their wives from the dead, by resurrection; and others submitted to torture, refusing release so that they would rise again to a better life. Some had to bear being pilloried and flogged, or even chained up in prison. They were stoned, or sawn in half, or beheaded; they were homeless, and dressed in the skins of sheep and goats; they were penniless and were given nothing but ill-treatment. They were too good for the world and they went out to live in deserts and mountains and in caves and ravines. These are all heroes of faith, but they did not receive what was promised, since God had made provision for us to have something better, and they were not to reach perfection except with us.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 30(31):20-24