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literatureismyentirepersonality · 1 year

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Plastic Theatre In Prose: Aşk-ı Memnu

For a while I’ve really enjoyed reading what I can only describe as ‘Plastic Theatre’, not simply in plays, but in prose.

Plastic Theatre is known as a technique used by 20th century dramatist Tennessee Williams, known for A Streetcar Named Desire, The Glass Menagerie and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof among other plays (these three that I have read/seen are excellent). It involves a symbolism that borders on the surreal and a heavy awareness of the spaces that characters operate in as representative of their inner states or relationships. If the curtains are blue, there’s a very good reason.

I haven’t, however, been able to find any criticism that makes the jump from Williams’ on-stage Plastic Theatre to its mirrors in prose. (If anyone knows of any, please direct me to it)

Margaret Atwood is the author who I saw it in first. She is an incredibly deliberate author, playing with language constantly, and so, of course, when she describes a space, she does not do so without good reason. The constant and intoxicating symbolism of The Handmaid’s Tale may be forgotten sometimes in favour of its high-concept, but one must note that the actual plot of the novel is very limited (just as our narrator is very limited). It is the prose, the linguistic entanglements and the imagery of flowers, of eggs, of corpses, that sustains engagement and creates such a powerful and meaningful story.

Angela Carter’s The Bloody Chamber (which I have some issues with, plot-wise) is linguistically and symbolically incredibly rich. Where I was tired by the constant returns to that (I don’t want to talk about it; if you know, you know) as apparently the only means of darkening a fairy tale, my interest was maintained by the cleverness of the prose and the richness of the text. As with Atwood, every detail has a secondary meaning or a hundred secondary meanings.

Halit Ziya Uşaklıgil’s Aşk-ı Memnu seems also to have an element of plastic theatre in its construction, gesturing not only to symbols of space, dress and action but also to genre. Plastic theatre in Aşk-ı Memnu is not so sustained as in the works of modern writers, but equally it is more sustained and intrusive onto naturalism than its contemporaries.

Firstly, Halit Ziya is luxuriously heavy-handed in the names he gives his characters; even in the text, he cannot help but inform us that ‘through a strange irony she was taller and more slender than her name’, a playful hint not at all distant from Williams’ Blanche dissecting her own name so falsely in A Streetcar Named Desire. Beşir, bringer of good news or prophet, seems almost to give the game away before he has begun.

Yet Halit Ziya does give the game away before he has begun. Forbidden Love and the immediate rendition of Firdevs’ history sets up Bihter’s fall from the very beginning and, like all adulterous women in such novels, her death feels inevitable (I am feeling very tempted to write another post about the agency dynamics of why these women must, narratively, at least, end in disaster). There are few narrative surprises in Aşk-ı Memnu. What is there in abundance, however, is linguistic and symbolic art.

I will only consider the first chapter in detail, but to do so will require much ranging across the text regardless.

From the first chapter, Halit Ziya puts perhaps excessive emphasis on the colours around the Melih Bey set, ‘Melih’ alluding to charm and beauty, the white of Bihter’s veil and the white of their boat against the mahogany of Adnan Bey’s— the innocence of Bihter and the stately rigidity of grief that her marriage to Adnan Bey will bring— and Firdevs’ wish to erase the whiteness of her own hair to prevent the returned innocence and what she perceives as the neutered sexuality of old age.

When ‘[Firdevs’] husband’s name was erased’, this is reflected in the narrative by the literal absence of him or his name. He is subsumed into Firdevs’ in the same way Nihal’s mother is into Adnan and part of Adnan and Bihter’s conflict is perhaps that neither can swallow the other into their world entirely until Bihter is dead.

The scenes between Firdevs and her husband are incredibly rich. The letter in the bouquet not only foreshadows Firdevs’ letter to Behlül, but also renders an image of Firdevs’ nature: a beautiful exterior which conceals an interior of unknown substance. Halit Ziya is a writer; he treats word and narrative as powerful (see the semantic field of literature, narrative and the physical object of the book when Behlül discusses his romantic feelings). No matter how grotesque Firdevs’ external pursuit of beauty becomes, she is notable for having the power of word and falling into the trap of its becoming revelation. She keeps her love letters in the yonic drawers and her husband savagely destroys in what can be read as an attempt to wrest back the masculinity that was lost in the erasure of his name, but when he is dead, Firdevs reasserts herself as masculine in power. She will hunt for a yonic ‘purse’, predatory, though unsuccessful.

The dynamic between public spaces and private spaces is also masterfully utilised. It is in the semi-public space of the river and the boats that Adnan Bey and Bihter’s relationship is born, but it is also there that Firdevs is first revealed to her husband. Forests also function in a similar way— a space where social convention is briefly confused, as in Chapter Seven’s picnic and Chapter Nineteen’s magical forest, oozing with the mutability of a Shakespearian or folkloric forest.

Outside, the narrative concerns itself with fashion, with known histories, with reputation and with mere flirtation, but when Nihat Bey brings the women inside, into their private sphere, the narrative immediately switches to domesticity and marriage. Where the externally focused Firdevs had managed to dominate the novel’s opening, now the internal world belongs to Bihter.

The more the narrator retreats, with Bihter, from the outside world, to the interior of the house, to her own small room, the more aware of her interior thoughts we become and the more tightly she seems to be bound by circumstance.

The early imagined ‘rainbow [...] deluges of green, blue, yellow and crimson, [...] sunshine composed of emeralds, rubies, diamonds and turquoises were being poured’ seems to signify a point of multiple paths, but also becomes the world of her relationship with Adnan. Like Stanley and Stella’s coloured lights in Streetcar, colour becomes dualistic in Chapter Eight, the luxury of jewels and silks becoming the oppressive greens, blues, yellows, and reds flowed over the shadows, creating and destroying each other. These colours of experience, pulling her from her initial ties with white, will once then again morph in to become an emblem not of Bihter and Adnan Bey’s relationship, but of her independence. Reconfigured, Chapter One’s rainbow is now representative of Bihter’s escape from Firdevs, just as Chapter Eight’s is her escape from Adnan into the arms of whatever love she can grasp, be it from herself, or later from Behlül.

Note also that the main item of jewellery Bihter will eventually receive is emerald green as Halit Ziya employs literary shorthand to emphasise Nihal’s envy.

The final confrontation of this chapter takes place on the şehnişin, a space neither inside nor outside, private nor public. Firdevs is most comfortable in the public arena, she wishes to draw Bihter outside, at least partially; it is in this space that Bihter assumes a ‘demeanour peculiar to children’, emphasising her own initially liminal state between childhood and womanhood. It is a ‘dark night’, yet through ‘half-closed eyes’, Bihter watches ‘a speck of light’. Halit Ziya refuses to allow the pair to exist certainly in any capacity.

Even in a single chapter, so many symbols and generic references are invoked. Later, Nihal will repeatedly signal the gothic and the folkloric without the narrative ever truly becoming either of these; Mlle Courton, in Chapter Three incessantly invokes the French sensibility tradition, yet this too, cannot overtake the narrative. Behlül persists in his romance. Yet, in death, Bihter reclaims the genre of the book for her own, enforces her own story. Nihal can try to evade it, try to pretend that she is the heroine who survived the wicked stepmother and her wicked prince, but Bihter’s stamp on the novel cannot be erased. She could not swallow Adnan Bey into the Melih Bey set, but she could swallow his narrative into her genre: the domestic drama wins out.

(I feel like I have to make a little addendum because this is a Tumblr post and not an academic essay; I write with excessive confidence as a stylistic choice. Every single point made here is up for debate.)

#Aşk-ı Memnu #plastic theatre #tennessee williams #margaret atwood #angela carter #halit ziya uşaklıgil #the handmaid's tale #the bloody chamber #a streetcar named desire #symbolism #lit crit

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slightlytoastedbagel · 7 months

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Bagel decided to review the new outfits because why not: Nightcord at 25:00

Kanade chair is still here. It's just Miku's now. And that's hilarious.

Nightcord's new outfits are decent. I think I prefer the grey to their old black and the flowers are a nice touch. That said it was such a missed opportunity to make the flowers a dull version of their character colours. Y'know... like their ribbons which already do so? Oh well.

Kanade's still being a hoodie while also being a dress is the most Kanade thing they could have done. Outside of possibly just making her sweats her new unit outfit. I'm not an expert on flowers so I have no clue what they're supposed to represent, but the flowers are pretty. I like that she still has her headphones.

Mafuyu has pulled a Rui on us, but she does let us see more of her new outfit at least. Her outfit being the only one to include white is a nice touch (which also links her to N25 Miku which I like). I love her new boots and also, compared to her old outfit's art, she looks slightly better... I think. She's getting there and I'm proud of her. (Discord server pointed out that she is also the only one not holding something which could link to how she doesn't feel passionate about anything like the other three do).

Ena's is the one I have the least to say about. I do like it but it feels too plain compared to everyone else's. I suppose I'll just mention here that I like that they're all holding one arm up to their face, it's a simple way of alluding to what goes on in their story but it's nice.

Mizuki's is my favourite of the four. The leggings are nice and so is the waist belt(?) I also just noticed the zipper here. So it's not just Kanade... I don't have much else to say I just like it.

N25 Miku's doesn't look like that much of a change compared to the other Mikus, but I like it. The keyring and the gear pattern instead of flowers for the skirt is a nice touch. Also her nails are painted but idk if that was always the case. Someone pointed out that her new shoes seem to be Ena's old ones which is sweet. Oh yeah and she now has both socks I'm proud of her.

Nightcord's are in the middle for me. They fit the bill for a group redesign and I think they do some bits better than their old ones (the black changing to grey possibly showing how they progressing?) I just wish their base colours got used more than in just the ribbons.

My overall ranking for the units is as follows (least favourite to most favourite);

MMJ > WxS > N25 > L/N > VBS

#project sekai #nightcord at 25:00 #bagel's rambles #i could have scheduled this for 1am to be funny #but i said one hour after each one so oh well

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a-lilacsong · 2 years

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"It's not symmetrical or perfect, but it's beautiful and it's mine"

[Image ID: A watercolour fanart of Isabela Madrigal from Encanto. She is wearing her blue dress with multicolour flowers and pollen on it. She is surrounded by plants and flower petals she has made. End ID]

#encanto #isabela madrigal #encanto isabela #disney encanto #encanto fanart #watercolors #watercolour art #watercolourpainting #My Art #fanart #Love her old dress' colours but I love what her new dress represents so much #2022-01-04 #encanto spoilers #traditional art #a-lilacsong art

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getcooler · 3 years

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Three Heartbreaks & a Rose

Kim Seungmin (Skz) x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, some crackheadery

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: mentions of a car crash, of hospitals; some crying; unnecessary jealousy caused by lack of communication

FLOWER STORE!AU where Seungmin is an annoying regular at your flower store but he sort of grows on you, eventually.

A/N: Sorry for not uploading more often :( But this is an extra long fic by our standards so maybe it’ll make up for it. Originally, this was part of a larger series of different fic based all around this business street and you might find mentions of it in the fic, but I’m not sure I’ll ever write the other members’ parts :( Nevertheless, enjoy and maybe maybe maybe leave some feedback somewhere :)

“Hello, I’m— Oh, it’s you again.”

It took you less than two seconds to identify the clear distaste in Seungmin’s voice as he walked into the store.

The tone of his voice made you roll your eyes, “Yes, it’s me again. Like every Saturday for the past 3 years.”

“And yet nothing ever seems to change,” he sighed, face void of any emotion. In a leisurely pace, he made his way over to the counter of your grandmother’s flower store and asked, “What do you guys have here this week? Anything pretty or are all the flowers here as tired-looking as you?”

“I’ve got some daisies fresh from the garden across the street,” you offered with a glare in your eyes, but he scrunched his nose in distaste.

He mumbled, “Too lazy.”

“Lazy?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “It would seem very lazy of me to take daisies to the home of the elderly.”

In all the years of him coming here, you had never once heard what he was planning on doing with the flowers. Every Saturday he came in, bought a giant box (yes, a literal box) of flowers and left after bickering with you for five minutes or more. Somehow this was the first time you found out that he’s taking the flowers to the house of the elderly.

“Okay, so what type of flowers would you like to buy?” you prompted him while silently begging any deity that he wouldn’t start a fight out of it.

Seungmin looked around, seeming to think for a moment or two before speaking, “I want something bright but not too over the top.”

“Something simple?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, agreeing with you just this once, “Maybe something that would remind the elderly of their home gardens? That kind of feel.”

You chuckled as you pushed yourself to your feet behind the counter, “You seem to be pretty clear on your decision.”

“Not really,” he sighed. “What do you have to offer?”

“Well, it is early autumn,” you pointed out while walking through the store, pretending to think and ponder. “It’s the perfect time to buy asters.”

“Asters?” he frowned in confusion.

You nodded without hesitation before lifting up a vase full of fresh asters, “They grow in most gardens and they look very pretty and colourful yet simple.”

“You do have a point,” he nodded slowly, eyeing the flowers in your hands. “I’ll take fifteen.”

“Great choice,” you said out of habit and Seungmin couldn’t help but snort as he reached for his wallet.

As you picked out some prettier and fresher looking asters, you cheerfully told him his total.

“Do you have to be so chirpy all the time?” he groaned as he pushed his card into the terminal. “You sound like a cartoon character. It’s going to scare away your customers.”

Without much thinking, you shushed him and handed him the receipt with a fake smile, “Please do come again.”

“Do yourself a favour and stop applying for customer service jobs,” he joked with a teasing smile before picking up the flowers and walking out, “I’ll see you next Saturday!”

“I hope not!” you called after him while cleaning the counter of fallen petals.

Just a week later, he walked in once again. This time he was dressed in a patterned button-up shirt and had his hair styled neatly, which was very unlike his usual attire which consisted of a random t-shirt and a baseball cap. He offered a smile as he walked in, “Do you ever get a weekend off?”

“As long as you keep buying flowers every Saturday – no,” you answered with a sigh before putting on your best smile. “How can I help you on this fine day?”

He looked around, just like every previous time, and spoke, “I need three roses and some more flowers.”

“Which colour?” you asked while walking past him towards the rose display.

“What’s the colour of happiness?” he thought out loud and you grumbled underneath your breath. He had the dumb tendency to act like an idiot just to make you speak more. You absolutely despised because it gave him several reasons to pick a fight.

“I believe pink roses are said to represent happiness,” you told him through gritted teeth as you opened the display’s door.

Seungmin smiled brightly behind you, “I’ll take the pink ones then.”

“Which shade of pink? Peach, bubblegum, rouge, watermelon?” you asked him, fully intending to offer him the best client service despite being annoyed by his presence.

“I mean pink,” Seungmin replied without much thought. A small frown had appeared on his face, “Also, I’m pretty sure at least three of those pink shades are actually food and-”

“So, peach?” you interrupted him delightfully.

Seungmin sighed and shrugged. “Just pink will do.”

“Whatever you prefer,” you sighed and handed him three of the pinkest roses. “How about these?”

He eyed the roses, twirling the bouquet in hand for a second before nodding, “These will do perfectly. Now for my other flowers.”

“Asters? Peonies? Poppies?”

“I was thinking something more,” he hummed in thought before deciding, “extravagant?”

“What the hell is happening in that home of elderly today?” you asked him with a raised eyebrow.

Your handsome customer spoke, “One of the older ladies there is turning 95 today. They’re having a little celebration.”

“That sounds lovely,” you replied in a rather monotone voice. “Would carnations do the trick?”

“Absolutely,” he grinned. “I’d like twenty, please.”

You couldn’t help but sigh. Did Seungmin have any idea how heavy twenty carnations were?

“I’ll pay you well today,” he laughed at your reaction. “I promise I won’t even nag you if you give me back the wrong change.”

“You’re paying in cash today?” you were surprised.

“Yeah,” he nodded with a nervous chuckle, “Lost my card when I crashed my bike on Wednesday.”

“Ouch.”

Another week passed. You expected him to come to buy flowers on Saturday but as the clock ticked on, you didn’t catch sight of him.

All-day you waited for him to come. There was not a single joke, not a single order of an outrageous number of peonies. There was simply nothing.

The only customer you got all day was the new music store owner from down the street (Chan was his name, you believed). Even someone as new and unfamiliar as he noticed your sullen mood and expectant glances out the window.

The young curly-haired business owner chuckled and spoke softly, “I’m sure he’ll come. Maybe something just came up.”

“What if something bad happened?” You sighed as you wrapped Chan’s red roses in an old newspaper. “What if he never comes by again?”

“He will,” Chan told you without hesitation as he handed you the money. “Keep the change.”

He left the store and you didn’t see another human walk into the store all day. A sense of worry went through you as closed the store that evening.

You didn’t see Seungmin until Monday.

Focused on re-arranging the lily display, you barely noticed him enter. Truth be told, you didn’t even recognize him until he handed you the money.

Dressed in his school uniform and his face all serious and sad, he was nearly impossible to recognize.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t even look at you.

Seungmin merely walked into the store, picked up a bouquet and handed you the money before walking out.

The next day he came in again, this time dressed in a large hoodie and his baseball cap low on his face. You couldn’t believe how much of a mess he looked.

“Is everything okay?” you asked as you calculated the price of the three gerberas he had picked out.

Seungmin hummed in response, but it didn’t sound like him at all. It was almost like a part of him had gone missing. A part of essential to his being. Once again he walked out without saying a word.

The same thing happened the day after.

“If you want to talk about it,” you spoke hesitantly on Wednesday when he still continued ignoring you, “I’m always here ready to listen.”

To your surprise, when you handed him back the change, you heard a sniffle. Though his head was still hanging low and his cap hid most of it, you could tell that he had begun crying.

Within seconds his sniffles turned into sobs and he leaned against the counter to stay standing. In shock, your eyes widened and for a moment you doubted what to do.

However, when he reached out his hand to you and whispered “Can I take up that offer now?”, you couldn’t help but walk around the counter and pull him into a tight hug. Instinctively, he hid his face in the crook of your neck and let his fingers tangle in your shirt as you wrapped your arms around him and let him cry.

Your grandmother, having heard the crying, walked out from the backroom and gasped in surprise. Holding her hands over her heart, she motioned for you to lead Seungmin to the back, whispering, “I’ll take over your shift. Offer him some tea.”

Gratefully, you led Seungmin to the break room and let him continue crying. When he stopped crying, only half an hour had passed. To you, it felt like much longer. It felt like he had been crying for days, your shirt wet with his tears and your own eyes burning sympathetically.

Suddenly, Seungmin let go of you, as though realizing what he had done. Rapidly —roughly even— he started wiping his face with the back of his hand. He seemed embarrassed about his emotional state, about his willingness to cry on the shoulder of the one person he annoyed every week.

“It’s okay,” you whispered and it was like the valve of his heart had given in and all emotions came flooding out. There was no stopping them.

Without another second of hesitation, Seungmin pulled you back into his arms, resting his head on your shoulder and relishing in the words of comfort you whispered in his ear.

And just like that your heart broke for the first time, in unison with his.

“It’s my mother,” he whispered weakly as your grip on his hoodie tightened. “She’s in hospital. Has been for the past week.”

“What happened?” you asked hesitantly, afraid of triggering more tears.

Seungmin sighed deeply and squeezed his eyes shut, willing his crying to cease, “She was caught in a car crash and she hasn’t woken up still.”

“That’s why you’ve been buying flowers so often,” you realized and he nodded.

He mumbled, “I want her to wake up to the prettiest sight so she could smile again. I really miss her smile.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered again as another set of tears began running down his cheeks. “I’m sure she appreciates it. But she wouldn’t want you to cry.”

“Will you come with me?” he asked in a weak voice after a moment of silence. “To see my mother?”

To say you were surprised at his request would be a major understatement. You were beyond baffled and so you asked, “Why?”

“I don’t want to go alone,” he whispered. “It’s too difficult.”

“I’ll go with you. As long as you wish,” you sighed into his hair as he hummed in appreciation, his tears slowly drying.

That day you walked with him, flowers in hand as you entered his mother’s room. There she lied and at the sight, you felt Seungmin’s hand grip yours tightly. He let out a barely audible whimper of despair before walking up to her and beginning to quietly tell her about his day.

You stood in the doorway, watching him and offering him encouraging smiles whenever he seemed to falter. He seemed too fragile, so gentle compared to the Seungmin who came in every Saturday. This was a side of him you never knew existed.

After an hour of talking and even singing a bit, Seungmin finally pushed himself to his feet and walked back to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your shoulder. He whispered, “Thank you for coming along.”

It repeated for the whole week: every day he came in, bought some flowers and took your hand so you would accompany him to the hospital. In that week, the two of you grew close. You guessed crying with someone really brought people closer. It definitely was the case for you and Seungmin.

The sadness and exhaustion in his eyes slowly began to fade, being replaced with hope and appreciation.

Finally, on Friday, he practically waltzed in, a large smile on his face and his eyes shining with happiness. You could barely react when he ran over to you and picked you up to spin you as his arms remained around your waist. A delighted giggle left his lips as he spoke, “She woke up. She woke up this morning.”

“She did?” you asked, sharing his excitement.

Seungmin nodded enthusiastically, excited to tears as he hugged you tight and sighed in relief, “She’s going to be fine.”

When he came in next Saturday, it wasn’t for his mother.

“Good day,” he cheered as you walked into the store, dressed in a black t-shirt and a jacket. The weather was getting harsher and his clothing style was proof of that.

You hummed in response before focusing back on your crossword, “What would you like today?”

“I’ll have a look around if you don’t mind,” he chuckled, not wanting to bother you when you were so focused on another task. Partly because he cared, but mostly because he recalled a painful experience from the last time he attempted to tear you away from a crossword (let’s just say, he learnt exactly how painful a rolled-up crossword collection could be in the hands of an angry florist).

“Be my guest.”

At that, he began humming without a second of hesitation. He was in a good mood and he tended to display that by singing and today’s song just so happened to be “Be Our Guest” from Beauty and the Beast. You rolled your eyes at the realization.

After some minutes of consideration, he opted for sunflowers. He picked out ten of those and made his way over to the register. He spoke quietly, as not to startle you, “I’ll have these, please.”

You looked up from your crossword and offered a smile. “Sunflowers. My favourite.”

“You like sunflowers?” He raised his eyebrows but you snorted.

“Kind of,” you replied, “but it’s more of an automatic response now. Gotta encourage those customers somehow.”

Seungmin laughed at your honest response. “Do I look like I need more encouragement?”

“I mean,” you shrugged, “ten seems kind of a weak number for you.”

He laughed at that and reached out to flick your forehead gently. “I’m already spending half of my weekly pocket money on flowers. How much more do you need?”

“I’m just saying,” you teased him as you wrapped the sunflowers in a newspaper. “Anything else, oh dear customer of mine?”

“A hug would be nice,” he seemed sheepish to admit.

You were taken aback but not one to protest. If there was anything you learnt about Seungmin the week before, it’s that he loved a good hug or twenty. Not only that but he gave incredible hugs.

You chuckled after a moment of thought before opening your arms wide to invite him to hug you. He gladly walked around the counter and wrapped his arms around you. He sighed in content, feeling safe and happy.

“Oh, before I forget,” you pulled back from the hug. “We’re getting a shipment of cacti next tomorrow. Do you want one?”

He raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Are you trying to bribe me with cactus right now?”

“We only get those shipments once a year. The nice ones are usually bought within three days of arriving,” you told him before mumbling quietly, “I’ve seen you look at the cacti before. Figured you’d like one.”

Seungmin chuckled before humming in appreciation. “Sure. If you’ll be kind enough to put one cactus to the side for me to pick up later, I’d be very happy.”

“All I’m asking in return is you’ll buy me lunch next Saturday.”

“Deal.” He didn’t even hesitate. “But I have to go now. Minhee invited me to her tea party.”

You snorted, “What a perfect young man.”

“Shush.”

You hated Mondays. For several, relatively obvious, reasons.

This Monday though? This Monday you were looking forward to. Why? Because a new young florist would be joining the ranks of your tiny flower store.

You could barely contain your excitement and nervousness as a rather short yet athletic-looking young man dressed in all black walked into the store, holding in his hand a small paper and his phone. He looked up from the note to check the large banner above your head.

“This has to be the place,” he mumbled to himself after checking it twice. Feeling your gaze on himself, the young man walked over and offered a smile, “Hi, I’m Seo Changbin. I believe I was hired?”

“(Y/n)!” you heard your grandmother’s voice from behind. “It’s the new florist! Show him around!”

Normally you would’ve grumbled a bit, not being a big fan of the store’s layout. However, this was a relatively handsome young man in front of you, waiting for a quick tour and instructions. A new co-worker. (New eye candy.) You couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

“Sure!” You smiled and began showing him around, telling him everything he needed to know. As you had predicted by his looks, he wasn’t big on flowers usually. But the job had a good salary and he had rent to pay and school to attend.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to click. Within hours, the two of you were in perfect sync.

“You’re pretty good at this,” you told him on Saturday morning as the two of you attempted to arrange a bride’s bouquet. It wasn’t uncommon for locals to order bouquets and flower arrangements from your store, seeing as you grandmother and you had managed to make a good impression on almost everyone (this doesn’t include the rival store’s owner).

Changbin chuckled as he placed a pastel pink rose in the bouquet, doing so carefully as not to disturb your own work. He spoke, “You’re better than me though.”

“I’ve been doing this for years, Bin,” you told him while doing your damn best to not blush under his gaze. “If I wasn’t any good at this, I would’ve lost my job ages ago.”

“Still,” he continued, “this might just be the prettiest bouquet I’ve ever seen.”

“The roses from across the street are the secret ingredients,” you half-joked. “The gardener’s daughter has been sneaking in all types of roses from around the world. So we have a large variety of those, unlike some other places.”

“The pale blue ones are a nice touch,” he mumbled quietly and you couldn’t help but agree.

As he was about to say something else, the bell on the door rang. In walked Seungmin, once again dressed in a random t-shirt and a jacket. But this time he was missing his usual baseball cap.

“Seungmin,” you cheered, looking up from the bouquet, “What would you like today?”

“I think I have a cactus to pick up.” He smiled brightly before looking around. “I’d also like some lilies, please.”

You hummed before asking, “Which colour and how many?”

“White and red?” Seungmin thought out loud and you nodded before patting Changbin on the shoulder. You teased the new florist, “Your time to shine, Bin.”

“White and red lilies?” Changbin didn’t miss a beat and walked around the counter as you walked to the back to get Seungmin’s cactus, one you had picked out to your best ability.

Seungmin seemed a bit surprised to see your new co-worker but if it bothered him, he didn’t voice it out loud. He didn’t have to. His eyes said it all. Still, the moment Changbin turned to him, Seungmin’s glare was replaced with another bright smile.

“Would you like anything else?” you asked as Seungmin and Changbin made their way back to the counter.

“No, that’s all,” Seungmin replied, his eyes remaining on Changbin who kept sneaking quick glances at you.

What was this feeling in his gut? Jealousy? No. Definitely not jealous. Seungmin didn’t get jealous.

When he left the store and took one last look through the window, he saw you giving Changbin a back-hug and messing with his hair, a shy blush on Changbin’s face. It was decided. Seungmin was absolutely jealous.

Every Saturday from then on, Seungmin found himself fuming with spite when he walked into the store and found you and your co-worker practically linked at the hip.

You hadn’t noticed how close you and Changbin really were, seeing his hugs and teasing and occasional flirting as friendly. Seungmin, on the other hand, saw it as a threat to his very being.

How dare a new guy hit on the florist he never knew he had a crush on?!

The following weekend, Seungmin didn’t come in with the usual enthusiasm or playful insults. He actually hesitated to enter. You know because you watched him stand outside the door for 10 minutes, biting his lip and fidgeting with the sleeves of his slightly too large of a varsity jacket. Even his gaze was hesitant as it wandered around the building.

Finally, you had enough.

You marched over to the door and all but threw it open. Without giving him even a second to think about it, you grabbed him by his sleeve and dragged him inside. “It’s raining outside, idiot.”

“Barely a drizzle,” he mumbled in response as he obediently followed you to the counter. “Hello to you too, by the way.”

“Hi. Nice to see you!” you spoke after letting out a short disbelieving scoff. “What would you like today?”

Instead of replying, Seungmin looked around the room. It was almost like he was looking for something.

A minute passed before he turned back to you. The look in his eyes almost startled. He asked, “No loverboy today?”

“Loverboy?” You blinked.

He puffed out his cheeks and raised his hand to around his chin to indicate a height and spoke, “You know, the guy’s about this tall. Kind of looks like he should be working in a Hot Topic instead of a flower store. Always attached to you.”

“Oh!” you squeaked in surprise. “You mean Changbin? We’re just friends.”

Seungmin had the irresistible urge to roll his eyes. “And he’s not here today?”

“No. I trained him well so now he’s working shifts alone.” You leaned over the counter to pinch his cheek. “It’s just me today.”

“Great!” It was as though a switch had been flipped: Seungmin seemed oddly happy all of a sudden. He grinned and declared, “I’ll take some thirty of gerbera daisies.”

You sighed. Of course, he would place an order this large. “You know, my life would be much easier if you just placed your orders a few days ahead of time.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to see your pretty face red in anger,” Seungmin replied easily and you were stunned. He had just called you pretty.

“If- If you say so,” you stuttered out and walked over to the gerberas. “Colour preferences?”

Seungmin hummed in thought. “Red and peach. Half and half.”

“You finally figured out that there are different shades to pink?” you teased him but began picking out the flowers.

Seungmin merely chuckled at that and watched you. For a moment he wondered why he had been so hesitant about coming in.

“So, are you going to pay or not?”

“What?” Only now did he realize he’d been lost in his thoughts. Your little giggle snapped him out of the daze and his face felt hot all of a sudden. “Right. Pay.”

You chuckled at that and asked, “Are you okay, Seungmin? You seem a bit distracted.”

“Don’t,” he warned half-heartedly as he handed you the money.

“Do you have a crush on Changbin or something? You seem kind of upset that he’s not here,” you teased him and this time he scoffed.

His glare settled on you but it wasn’t harsh. No, you could only read playfulness out from his gaze. “Sure, that’s why I come here every Saturday. To see your boyfriend.”

“We’re not dating!” you laughed and walked around the counter to throw your hand over his shoulder. Seungmin felt his heartbeat pick up as you rested your head against him while pushing the bouquet into his hand. “Besides, I prefer you to him any day.”

“Lies.”

“Are you calling me a liar, Kim Seungmin?” you gasped and punched his side gently. He laughed at that.

Before he could reply, the door to the shop flew open and Changbin ran in. A wide smile on his face, the short man rushed over to you and pulled you into a tight hug, twirling your around the room after tearing you out of Seungmin’s grasp.

All hope and joy Seungmin had held in his heart for so long vanished in 5 seconds flat. He couldn’t help but glare at the two of you as you laughed in Changbin’s arms, the small man’s face hidden in the crook of your neck. He scoffed loudly and marched out, flowers in hand and heart burning with hatred.

You could just stare after his retreating figure as he walked out, fuming with anger and distaste as Changbin squealed, “She said YES!”

Another week, another Saturday. You were in the flower store, sorting flowers when the door opened and Seungmin stepped in. The usual bounce was gone from his step and he solemnly made his way to the counter where you were seated. Without a single smile or a hum, he spoke, “I’ll have a box of yellow roses.”

“Not asking me for suggestions this time?” you wondered out loud but began fulfilling his order either way.

You attempted to engage in small talk but he seemed to be having none of it. When you asked him a question, his only responses were quiet hums or shakes of his head. Not a single unnecessary word said.

You tried to shake it off. Maybe he was just having a bad day and was taking it out on you. Or perhaps he was trying not to take it out on you. But you couldn’t convince yourself. This just wasn’t like Seungmin at all and it bothered you.

“Could you hurry up?” he spoke after a while. “I’m kind of in a hurry.” The harshness of his tone made you flinch in your spot but you forced yourself to continue to be hopeful.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t order a box of roses on such short notice,” you suggested teasingly. The chuckle at the end was meant as a sign of goodwill but Seungmin only seemed more irritated by it.

He grumbled something under his breath and leant back against the counter. A moment passed before he spoke, “I’m leaving.”

“I’m not even done with your order yet, Seungmin,” you scoffed at that.

“No, you don’t get it.” He cursed quietly, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. Then he tried once again, “I’m leaving Korea.”

Your heart stopped. The two roses in your hand fell to the ground. “You’re what?”

“I signed up for an international student exchange program two weeks ago,” he spoke quite clearly but refused to look you in the eye. “I’m leaving for America in three days.”

“That’s kind of last-minute.” Shakily you picked up the fallen roses and continued sorting them.

Seungmin shrugged. “They had a free spot and I’d been considering it for a while. Figured I’d give it a go.”

“When will you be back?”

He didn’t answer. “Are you done with the roses yet?”

“Yeah,” you finally sighed and placed the box on the counter.

He left after paying the total, never once looking back. Your heart grumbled as you realized - he never answered your question.

“(Y/n), did you order new gerberas?” Changbin’s voice broke you out of a daze.

You looked around, feeling a bit disoriented as you tried to recall what he had just said. You couldn’t and Changbin could see it in your eyes. He sighed and walked over to you.

Bitterly you stared at the couple ring in his hand. He had what you didn’t - the person he loved by his side. Despite the distaste radiating off you, Changbin pulled you into his arms and pressed a comforting kiss to your head. After all, as your self-appointed best friend of three months, he knew what was going on and could read you like the back of his hand.

You quietly grumbled and got lost in your thoughts again. In the months of not seeing Seungmin, you had come to three important realizations:

ONE: you missed Seungmin’s visits to the flower store and his idiotic habit of buying a worrying amount of flowers with no warning.

TWO: you absolutely did not like the fact that Seungmin was in America and you couldn’t communicate with him.

THREE: you were ridiculously smitten with Kim Seungmin, the annoying flower store customer who had left you alone in Korea for the sake of a student exchange program.

“He’ll be back,” Changbin tried to comfort you but you merely scoffed. “I’m serious.”

“I doubt he’ll come back to the store when he returns to the country,” you mumbled. “He’ll have new friends, new habits.”

Changbin rested his head on yours and sighed. “If he cares for you as much as you care for him, he’ll come back and never let you out of his sight again.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then he’s obviously an idiot and I will personally beat him up for you.”

For the first time in what felt like months, you let out a laugh and Changbin couldn’t help but smile upon hearing the sound.

In the six months of not seeing Seungmin, you had made friends with new business owners and staff on the block. The Ninth Street had become a very popular business sight thanks to the advertising that Changbin and Jisung, a boy from the record store down the street, had done over the months as a project for their marketing course in university.

Not a single day went by lonely. Every time you started to feel even a bit of boredom, a familiar face would walk in. Today it was Hyunjin from the photo developing shop at the very end of the street.

His tall model-like figure was not difficult to recognize even in the heavy rain pouring down from the sky. A wide smile appeared on his face as he walked in and greeted you. “Thought you’d be lonely on this rainy day.”

“You know me too well, Hwang Hyunjin,” you laughed and turned on the kettle placed under the counter. “Tea?”

“Yes!” he agreed immediately and enthusiastically. “I wanted to bring cookies but I thought the rain might soak them too much.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got a stash right here,” you proudly declared and pulled a bowl of your grandmother’s chocolate chip cookies out of a drawer. “Eat up.”

Hyunjin stared at you in awe. “I love you.”

“Keep that love talk for your girlfriend.” He scoffed at the mention. “How is she anyway?”

“Annoying as always,” he pointed out. “How many times do I have to tell her that I don’t want to model for her to understand that?”

You shrugged.

“Speaking of girlfriends,” Hyunjin’s eyes suddenly lit up in mischief. “Why aren’t you?”

Not quite understanding, you stared at him in question.

“I mean,” he choked and coughed on a cookie, “why aren’t you dating anyone? Are you not interested in anyone?”

“Not really.”

Hyunjin scoffed once again. “Lies. There are like 7 different, incredibly good looking guys working on this street all year round and you’re trying to tell me you’re not attracted to any of us?”

“Don’t half of you have girlfriends?”

“I get that Chan is a big guy but not even he is big and intimidating enough to make up half of us,” Hyunjin glared at you. “And I’m still single and so is everyone else on this block.”

You offered him a pointed look and he quickly corrected himself, “Alright, so maybe Changbin is in a dedicated relationship and maybe Jisung sort of kind of has a girlfriend but other than that we’re all single.” When you continued looking at him with that look, he finally sighed, “And maybe Minho’s off the market too. Geesh, just tell me.”

“There is this one guy,” you mumbled and Hyunjin’s ears immediately perked up.

Looking almost like a puppy who’s caught sight of a treat in his owner’s hand, Hyunjin asked, “Who? Tell me. Tell me!”

“You need to stop that,” you blinked. “It’s annoying.”

“Just tell me who you like,” he whined and stretched out his arm to flick your forehead. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Your cheeks heated up as you spoke, “There’s this one guy but he went away and I haven’t seen him since.”

The kettle clicked to let you know that the tea water was ready. Without much thought, you poured water in both your and Hyunjin’s designated mugs (which only existed courtesy of Felix who thought that everyone working on Ninth Street should be friends and exchange gifts - he got everyone personalized coffee mugs).

Enjoyable silence filled the store as the two of you waited for your tea to get ready. Hyunjin twirled the tea bag in his mug and suddenly asked, “Is it Seungmin?”

You almost spilt the contents of your mug. “How did you-?”

“Chan is not exactly the best at keeping secrets,” he mumbled sheepishly. “Maybe you should keep that in mind for future reference. Write it on a note somewhere.”

“I’ll keep that in mind from now on,” you grumbled and wiped down the counter. “But it’s not a big deal. He’s not coming back for a while.”

Hyunjin snorted. “He just came back to Korea last night. Jisung said so.”

“Jisung is friends with Seungmin?”

“They’re classmates,” he replied and lifted his mug to his lips to get a taste of the tea. He scrunched up his nose in distaste. “Gosh, this is awful.”

“You forgot the sugar, idiot.”

Seungmin felt like the weight of his feelings was trying to push him down, right into his grave six feet under. His heart was heavy and his head was filled with 20 different ways to speak to you.

During the long walk to the flower store, he came to the conclusion that he should just try to be himself. Sure, it had been 6 months but there’s no way everything had changed so much that he could no longer just be himself.

When he turned to Ninth Street, he was surprised at the number of people walking around. In the past, the street had been almost empty on weekends. He had found comfort in walking down the somewhat abandoned street and ordering a box of roses from you. The thought of you not having anything better to do was what had kept him from feeling guilt about placing such large orders on short notice.

How could he ever ask for a box of yellow roses now when the street was filled with hundreds of curious people.

“Seungmin!” Jeongin’s familiar voice sounded. “You’re back!”

“Yeah,” he laughed somewhat awkwardly. “Got back just two days ago. Slept all through yesterday.”

Jeongin hummed in understanding. “Maybe you should’ve rested today too. You look kind of exhausted.”

“Thank you for pointing that out,” Seungmin couldn’t stop himself from saying and Jeongin merely laughed at that. “Sorry. Old habits.” He cleared his throat and looked around. “What happened here? It’s so lively all of a sudden.”

“Ah, Jisung and Changbin had a marketing project for uni and they decided to advertise the Ninth Street as an ideal hub for small businesses. It worked wonders,” Jeongin told him happily. “Now not a single day goes by quietly. There are so many customers and new people. It’s incredible.”

Seungmin had only one question. “Does the flower store still exist?”

“Yeah,” Jeongin smiled. “(Y/n), her grandmother and Changbin are all so busy these days. The store’s become so popular — everyone goes there nowadays.”

Bidding farewell, Seungmin smiled and walked to the flower store. The building was bigger than he remembered and the sign above the door seemed to shine brighter than six months ago, yet the place held an air of comfort and familiarity. With a sigh of relief, he entered.

True to Jeongin’s words, the shop had more customers than Seungmin could recall ever seeing in the place. There was a couple discussing flower arrangements for their weddings in the lily section, a young man choosing roses to buy for his significant other and two elderly women gushing over the quality of the gerberas that they were trying to buy for their grandchildren’s birthdays.

Seungmin could barely recognize Changbin as he approached the counter. The short male still looked the same for the most part, but he had grown more muscular and the earlier vibe of ‘I’m only here to earn money’ had been replaced with an obvious genuine love for what he was doing. There was a wide smile on the man’s face as he handed a young lady her small potted cactus.

“Have a good day and visit us again!” he called after the lady as she left with a wide grin on her face.

Changbin’s smile only slightly faded as he cleaned the counter. As he finished that, his eyes landed on Seungmin. He couldn’t help but grin and call out, “Yo, Kim Seungmin!”

“Seo Changbin,” Seungmin chuckled somewhat awkwardly. “I see you’re busy.”

“Jisung and I did such a good job on advertising this street that now we get no rest. I’m starting to regret that school project,” Changbin joked.

“How’s (Y/n)? Is she here today?” Seungmin asked. “I thought she worked all Saturdays.”

Changbin clicked his tongue. “She and I switched shifts after she found out that you were coming back. I think she’s upset with you.”

Seungmin bit back a curse. “Do you think I could get her to stop being upset with me?”

“I might have an idea,” Changbin smirked.

It was unusual to work on a Monday. Usually, you avoided this day in favour of sleeping in and maybe going to the theatre. However, your fear of seeing Seungmin again had made you switch shifts with Changbin (who had been more than glad to do so because he wanted an extra couple of hours of sleep before the emotionally draining advertising tactics class in the evening) and now you were suffering the consequences.

“Would you like a ribbon with the flowers? We could arrange it in a bow,” you suggested to the customer as he stood in front of the counter, looking somewhat dumbstruck. Your guess was the guy didn’t visit flower stores very often.

“I- Uh- Sure,” he finally decided and you smiled.

Fiddling with the velvet ribbons, you asked, “Should we do a light blue ribbon to match the flowers or a dark red one to contrast them? Red would also give off an air of passion and love while the blue would give more of an innocent and pure vibe. What do you think?”

The man blushed and mumbled, “The red one should be fine.”

You obediently wrapped his flowers and finished the transaction before smiling and waving him goodbye. The blushy man left and for the first time that day, the store was void of customers.

You sighed in relief but soon put on a smile again as the bell rang. Without a second thought, you turned from the computer screen to the door. Your smile faded.

“Hey there,” Seungmin’s familiar voice greeted you. There was a shy quirk to his lips and you couldn’t help but stop breathing for a second. Instead of delving further into a conversation, he strolled over to the counter as demanded, “I’d like your best red rose. One.”

“Right, of course,” you broke out the miniature daze that had hit you when he entered. “One red rose, coming right up.”

Seungmin watched you quietly before adding, “And maybe a welcome-back hug from my favourite florist?”

Without thinking, you replied, “Sorry, Changbin’s not working until Wednesday.”

Seungmin scoffed between giggles and you melted. He looked you straight in the eyes and spoke, “I meant you, silly. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you couldn’t help but whisper as he rounded the counter and pulled you into his arms. Despite not seeing him for six months, you couldn’t help but cuddle into him. His familiar scent just pulled you in and the familiar beat of his heart calmed you down until your heart matched its speed with his.

Seungmin only pulled back from the hug long enough to mumbled, “I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re back,” you whispered. It would not be a complete lie to say that you were surprised at how fast you were caving in. How was it possible to be this infatuated with a person even after this long?

“Let me make it up to you,” Seungmin suddenly decided and pulled away from you. He seemed almost frantic as he suggested, “Let me take you out on a date and make it up to you. For all these six months that I was an idiot.”

You blinked. “How do you even know if I like you back?”

“Changbin can’t lie to save his life,” he joked, “and I had a feeling. Nothing to do with your computer’s wallpaper.”

Your eyes widened. You had almost forgotten that you had set your wallpaper to a photo of Seungmin. The sudden memory made your heart and breathing stop for a second but Seungmin was quick to comfort you, “Don’t worry. You’re my screensaver too.” He rested his forehead against yours. “So, about that date?”

“What about that rose you came to get?”

Seungmin chuckled, reach out his hand, picked out a rose and placed it between the two of you, never once letting his forehead leave yours.

In a low voice, he spoke, “It’s for you.”

You accepted it without a moment of hesitation.

#inkidz #skz #seungmin #seungmin scenarios #stray kids scenarios #kim seungmin scenarios #admin vy

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odanurr87 · 3 years

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My thoughts on... Hotel del Luna

From left to right: Pyo Ji-hoon as Ji Hyun-joong; Yeo Jin-goo as Gu Chan-sung; Lee Ji-eun (IU) as Jang Man-wol; Bae Hae-seon as Choi Seo-hee; and Shin Jung-keun as Kim Sun-bi.

Released in 2019, Hotel del Luna was my introduction to the works of the Hong sisters as well as actors Yeo Jin-goo and Lee Ji-eun (IU), and what an introduction it was! The first episode of the show was excellent, giving us a hint of Man-wol’s tragic past that left me wanting to know more, then moving forwards in time to reenact that scene from Beauty and the Beast where Belle’s father is caught trying to steal a rose from Beast’s garden to give to Belle, and finally reaching present day as Man-wol tries to recruit Chan-sung and introduces him, and us, to this world of gods, ghosts, and souls with lingering grudges, that reminded me of the wondrous world of Harry Potter. Everything clicked for me in this episode, from the beautiful cinematography and music to the strong performances, particularly IU’s as Man-wol who knocked it out of the park and, incidentally, has a most impressive wardrobe and an uncanny ability to look amazing in every single one of her outfits. This was a highly promising start for my next modern fantasy show after Goblin and I couldn’t wait for the next episode. But what is this show about and why should you watch it?

Plot synopsis

21 years ago, Gu Chang-sung’s father cut a deal with the beautiful and mysterious owner of Hotel del Luna, Jang Man-wol, so that she would save his life in exchange for his son. Regretting the deal afterwards, the father left the country with his son hoping to spare him his fate. Believing himself to be safe, Gu Chan-sung has returned to work as assistant manager in one of Korea’s top hotels but Jang Man-wol is intent on collecting on the old debt by having him work in her hotel instead. However, Hotel del Luna is not your typical establishment, as Gu Chan-sung soon finds out, providing a service for souls who need healing or have grudges left to settle before moving on. While initially afraid of the prospect of becoming assistant manager at a hotel that serves ghosts, Gu Chan-sung finds himself intrigued by the challenge and curious about the story of the beautiful owner who runs it.

A magical atmosphere

Stepping into the world of Hotel del Luna feels like taking the train at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and attending Hogwarts. In fact, our intrepid hero, Gu Chan-sung, also receives a magical letter welcoming him as Hotel del Luna’s new manager, and while there’s nothing magical about the subway that takes him there Jang Man-wol does use a little magic to ensure their first encounter goes undisturbed. The hotel itself reminded me of Hogwarts, not because it is filled with ghosts and can only be found by them (and the very much alive and fearful human manager), but because of the feeling of perpetual wonder knowing that behind every door lies a new magical mystery waiting to be discovered, be it a room only people who are alive can enter but not exit, the sky lounge, a swimming pool that is actually a beach in some undetermined plane of existence, or a beautiful garden with a magical tree that holds one of the hotel’s biggest secrets. Of course, one should not forget CEO Jang Man-wol (if one wishes to live) who, while certainly a very different character from Albus Dumbledore in terms of personality, always knows more than she’s letting on and is usually in control of any situation, even if the outcome isn’t always the one she anticipates. There is also the wonderful supporting cast in the form of the different incarnations of the deity Ma Go-sin (played by Seo Yi-sook, who looks like she’s having a blast playing the different sides of the goddess), a reserved but diligent Grim Reaper (played by Kang Hong-suk), and the welcoming staff of the hotel, represented by the trio of Kim Sum-bi (the bartender), Choi Seo-hee (the room manager), and Ji Hyun-joong (the hotel receptionist).

In the same way we cannot divorce Harry Potter from its music, given its distinct signature by that legend that is John Williams, I cannot forego mentioning Hotel del Luna’s mysterious, magical, and ethereal, instrumental soundtrack. Let me take you on a brief musical tour, shall I? Let’s start by taking subway line 4 and going to Hotel del Luna. The receptionist seems to be asleep so why don’t we let ourselves in? Wow, looks like the hotel’s throwing a party, apparently they’re welcoming human guests for the first time in years and the staff is particularly excited about it. That explains how we managed to get in (remember, this is not really a hotel for living, breathing, people). I can see that the bartender is busy receiving food orders and members of the staff are decorating the hall with real flowers. Hey, where’s that kid sneaking off to? Let’s follow him. Oh, that’s the Samdocheon Tunnel, which marks the boundary between this life and the afterlife. The Grim Reaper and the manager are there to bid farewell to one of the hotel’s guests. Apparently, there’s a bridge beyond the tunnel that takes 49 days to cross! I’m not eager to cross it just yet so let’s return to the hotel. Wait, why is there water everywhere? Looks like a water god managed to get past the receptionist (not that difficult when he’s asleep) and the CEO isn’t very happy about it. Yup, she definitely doesn’t look happy. We’d better make our exit before she figures out we shouldn’t be here.

To complement this excellent instrumental soundtrack, my favourite among all the kdramas I’ve watched to date, there’s an amazing selection of songs by artists like Red Velvet, TAEYEON, Heize, Punch, Chung Ha, and Paul Kim, among many others. IU herself sings an absolutely beautiful song that plays in one of the most highly-anticipated scenes of the show but which, sadly, has not been released. However, just as important as having a great soundtrack is using it well. If you’ve read my reviews of Angel’s Last Mission: Love or Strong Woman Do-Bong Soon, you should have an idea of how much I value using the right music at the right time to convey or accentuate the proper emotions during dramatic, comedic, or romantic scenes. Correct music usage can lead to your soundtrack being memorable, whereas incorrect music usage will surely render it forgettable. Fortunately for us, Hotel del Luna knows precisely when to use its music and how. It knows when levity is called for and when it’s not, when to highlight the wondrous side of magic and when to show its darker side, when to use Heize’s “Can You See My Heart” or Punch’s “Done For Me.” I believe it was John Williams, when talking about the music of the original Star Wars trilogy, who said that he wanted the score to tell the story of what was going on in the screen. I believe Hotel del Luna’s score achieves this feat.

Another aspect that contributes to the magical atmosphere of the show is, without a doubt, its incredible cinematography (from camera angles, through its beautiful use of lighting and colours) which, combined with its excellent score, can create scenes that are best defined as poetry in motion. I particularly liked how it favoured studio sets for shooting many of its scenes, giving the sensation that we’re watching a superb play that encourages us to send our imagination into overdrive. Even some of the more noticeable VFX work, like the city view from the hotel’s sky lounge plays into the notion that one cannot always tell what’s real and what’s fake in Hotel del Luna, as Man-wol warns Chan-sung that the view from the sky lounge is not from this world, but the fall will kill him just the same (Man-wol being Man-wol). Because I’m not knowledgeable enough to explain the show’s cinematography in technical terms, I’ll leave you with a trailer that captures some aspects of it and, luckily, also showcases Jang Man-wol’s incredible selection of dresses.

youtube

A part of a greater whole

In my review of Bring it on, Ghost I mentioned the show followed a certain formula that is often poorly executed in Western shows. There is a main story-arc that encompasses the whole of the show and there are side stories where our protagonists confront the “ghost of the week.” One of the strengths of Bring it on, Ghost lied in how these side stories would sometimes tie into the main story or would be used to expand on a character’s backstory so that they rarely came across as filler. Hotel del Luna executes the same formula with a lot more thought and care, often laying out the groundwork for events later down the episode, what is expected, or even later down the show, what is a bit more impressive. The Hong sisters remain true to their initially-stated intention throughout the show and reinforce this with the aid of these side stories, preparing both Gu Chan-sung and us for the inevitable dénouement of the show. Let me try to illustrate my point by way of an example. I don’t want to give more for fear of completely spoiling the show for you.

Episode 5 tells the story of a ghost bride whose parents want to give a soul wedding so she will be able to peacefully pass into the afterlife. Unfortunately, the chosen partner for this soul wedding ends up being Gu Chan-sung’s best friend, Sanchez, so while Man-wol goes shopping as Audrey Hepburn with the parents’ black card (our girl has very expensive tastes), Gu Chan-sung tries to figure out a way to spare his terrified friend. After some twists and turns, what is often the case with this show as the truth is not always what it seems, it is revealed that it is actually the groom’s parents who want to marry off the bride so she’ll let go of their son, who’s in a coma. For those who’ve watched Bring it on, Ghost, the parallels with the ghost side story from Episode 10 are fairly evident, as the ghost bride needs to find the strength to let go of the person she loves and she ultimately does so in one of the most beautifully composed scenes of the show. This is one of those “poetry in motion” scenes I was talking about. As the groom runs away in shock and fear, the bride gathers the courage to cut the red string of fate tying them together, under the intent gazes of Gu Chan-sung, dressed as the groom, and Jan Man-wol, dressed as a bride (in red).

You need a stronger will to let go than to hold on.

This scene is a portent of events yet to come, when the day finally arrives where Chan-sung and Man-wol will also have to part ways. Indeed, several episodes later, the room manager will remind Gu Chan-sung of the words Goddess Ma Go-sin then told the ghost bride, “You need a stronger will to let go than to hold on.” The bride’s selfless act of letting go of the person she loves, breaking free from her earthly tether of her own volition, can be seen as a challenge to Man-wol, whose hatred for the man who betrayed her has been her sole drive for the past 1,300 years but also a curse that has bounded her to the hotel and prevented her from dying. Could she, like the bride, unburden herself by letting go of her hatred? Is it possible for someone with such a long and deep resentment to simply let go? This is a recurring question throughout the show and one that puts her at odds with her increasing desire to protect Gu Chan-sung, as she fears her actions, born of her hatred for the people who wronged her, might end up harming the man she loves.

Side stories such as this one often give us further insight into Man-wol, whether it be a glimpse of her past or challenging her beliefs, making her question herself and her actions, however briefly.

A fairy tale romance

Man-wol is a tsundere character, both a Beauty and a Beast, who has been nursing a thousand-year-old grudge against the people who betrayed her and consequently filters every human interaction through a lens of cold cynicism, expecting the worst from people. Chan-sung on the other hand, is a proper gentleman, a type of character we don’t often see in kdramas and a natural consequence of his training as a hotel manager. He’s friendly, cultured, well-mannered, kind, clever, and someone who's very much in control of his emotions most of the time. The evolution of the relationship between these two characters is the centrepiece of Hotel del Luna, a breath of fresh air in a landscape that often feels the need to use love triangles, or other polygons, as a shortcut to properly fleshing out the relationship between two characters. While there are elements of a love triangle present, such as expressions of jealousy for the sake of comedy, Hotel del Luna chooses to forego this trope and commit fully to the main characters’ fairy tale-like romance.

When you tell her you’ve been dreaming about her.

Another trope the Hong sisters mostly dispense with is that of misunderstandings, which are kept to a bare minimum, as Man-wol and Chan-sung are very open with each other regarding their thoughts and feelings, although Man-wol is, understandably, less transparent about her feelings in the beginning. It was incredibly refreshing to witness two characters that could guess each other’s thoughts and were willing to have an open and honest conversation about it rather than to hold back for the sake of drama. Of course, this did become somewhat frustrating for Man-wol (and fun for us) when Chan-sung started gaining more confidence, feeling at ease with Man-wol, and rebuking her selfish or materialistic actions. Their playful banter and bickering throughout the show is, to my mind, a clear indication that they’re comfortable with each other, as strong a sign of the chemistry in their relationship as half a dozen kisses, if not a better one, what is a good thing because those are few and far between. On the other hand, it makes those moments much more valuable and meaningful. The love between Man-wol and Chan-sung comes across in the gestures they make, in their facial expressions, in the words spoken and left unsaid. When Man-wol tries to comfort Chan-sung but doesn’t know how (Video), when she confesses she wants him to stay with her till the end and they share an intimate hug (Video), when Chan-sung breaks down and cries at the thought of not being able to see Man-wol ever again (Video), when the two have a conversation on the balcony under the moonlight (Video)... These are a precious few examples of the beauty, strength, and depth of feeling, of their relationship.

When the adult catches you in a lie.

While Man-wol is not the same ruthless person she was at the beginning of the show as she is at the end, she still retains some elements or traits of her personality throughout the show (there’s still a little tsun in her dere), as it should be. In one episode Chan-sung is remarking upon how much nicer she has become and she replies, “Gu Chan-sung, you’ve made leaves and flowers grow and have changed me a lot. But you won’t be able to change my core personality. Don’t even expect that.” Even as she says this you can see her looking a little uneasy about something, a little girl about to be caught in a lie by the adult who’s trying to keep her out of trouble. It is thanks to Gu Chan-sung’s patient and enduring love, that protected her from the worst aspects of her own self, that Man-wol is able to let go of her anger, both literally and metaphorically. But Man-wol also deserves praise, as she reciprocates Chan-sung’s love and equally tries to protect him from the dangers of this new world he has entered but most of all from herself, to the point she is willing to renounce her revenge and extinguish her existence to ensure she can never harm the man she loves.

Conclusion

It should be evident by now that I absolutely love this show and it is, without a doubt, my favourite out of all I’ve watched thus far, including Goblin. This is not to say the show is without flaws. Its almost single-minded focus on the story of Man-wol and Chan-sung has some collateral damage, most notably in the form of a character’s loved one, an event used as a means to highlight the pain experienced by those left behind, anticipating the day when our main protagonists will be forced to part ways. In another case, a poignant encounter for Chan-sung is not properly fleshed out, perhaps intentionally so but it seems like a wasted opportunity. Additionally, the introduction and development of the secondary villain’s arc (Man-wol is both the love interest and the main antagonist) felt a little weak, but is still a functional plot device that leads to some of the show’s best scenes. Finally, there is also the way the Hong sisters handled the riddle of Chan-sung’s dreams, which I may address in a separate post because it has too many spoilers.

If you’re a fan of fantasy dramas like Goblin, there’s simply no reason for me not to recommend this show and, hopefully, I’ve given you a few to persuade you as to why this is such a standout drama and, to my mind, the Hong sisters’ best work to date. It’s even on r/KDRAMA’s banner as one of those must-watch shows. If you do decide to watch it, I advise you to pace yourself so you don’t have to say goodbye to Hotel del Luna’s wonderful family too soon.

#kdrama #hotel del luna #jang man wol #lee ji eun #iu #gu chan seong #yeo jin goo #review #kdramas

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 3 years

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please tell me your headcannons about the silly old traditions and funny hats and gowns worn at the Assassins Guild graduation ceremonies (bonus points: Vetinari occasionally attends as a distinguished alumnus; differences for those not taking the black) Downey has to make a speech

I love this ask, thank you so much. <3

Downey has added feathers to the hats because it’s Downey and he believes all hats need a nice feather.

Vetinari: . . .I refuse.

Downey: It’s a single, white feather. Very stylish.

Vetinari: You can’t make these hats stylish. It’s impossible.

Downey: That will not stop me from trying.

First it must be said, I place most of my Discworld fashion firmly in the “anywhere from 1350-1650″ camp. Which means there’s lots of diversity but it’s all still very late medieval/early modern. This is a just-me thing though, as the books are all over the place with the fashion. There seemed to be a sense, in the early Watch books, that fashion went backwards (i.e. the more recent, to our mind, the clothes the more old fashioned they are on discworld) but that was quickly abandoned partway through the series and then it became a hodgepodge.

I still like the early modern feel and so am keeping to it. You can pry Downey’s stupid fucking doublet with its black pearl buttons and his slouchy hat with the Florentine “I’m very gay” feather from my cold, dead hands.

This got long so it’s under the cut.

Fashion first, because this is Downey and the Assassins we’re talking about after all.

So I imagine the hats that the professors/teaching staff wear are the slouchy ones like these. This is modeled off of hats that were in fashion when the guild first instituted formal graduation ceremonies which are relatively recent (for a given value of “recent” i.e. only circa 150/200 years ago).

The students graduating with the Black get the slouchy hats too. The ones who didn’t take the black get the more familiar flat board graduation cap. (Students 100% balance things on top of the flat board cap. This may or may not be desired by the cap-wearer.)

The formal, ceremonial gowns, indeed the entire outfit, for the teachers are hilariously ornate because of course they are. It’s the Assassin’s Guild.

All ceremonial gowns would be different iterations of the houppelande.

Beneath the gown there is the Assassin’s black of the doublet with a long-ish skirt beneath the belt (knee length? perhaps floor - but then it starts hitting gown territory). The doublet is form fitting at the top, belted off with the skirt below. Naturally, there are very nice buttons. The linen undershirt is white and can be seen at the collar and wrists. Leggings/tights/hose/whatever you want to call them, also black and worn with dress shoes, not their usual working day boots. All men present wear this, including Vetinari.

(Downey: No grey-blacks allowed on stage unless it’s representing your specialty and I know you didn’t specialize in astronomy and quantum mathmatics.

Vetinari:

Vetinari: But it’s My Colour.

Downey: Put the doublet on.)

Women on staff are also all in black, but it’s a dress over a kirtle which is over their undershirt which can be seen at the cuffs. The dress et al is also form fitting on the top with tightly buttoned (or laced) sleeves, then there’s the belt and full skirts after. Dresses are always worn with a high neckline. They too have formal dress shoes, though you can’t see them.

The ceremonial gowns are black with coloured lining and trim. I’m thinking the sleeves are large and pinned back to show the lining which represents the general field you’re a specialist in. So, green for biology; red for literature/linguistics; white for deportment/dancing; blue for history; yellow for mathematics or whatever. The lining can be dual-colours if applicable. The trim will accent the lining but doesn’t mean anything in particular.

The slouchy hats, however, tell you what the person specialized in with regards to their training i.e. poisons; knife work etc.

Some gowns have that long drapey hood that is purely for aesthetics, but not all. I’m thinking if your specialty is stealth (coughHavelockcough) you get it. But, of course, as a specialist in stealth you don’t want people knowing that so no one who qualifies for a drapey hood wears it.

Students wear simple black gowns with relatively short, deep cut sleeves so you can see more of their doublet beneath. Boys wear the usual doublet/hose combo (kind of like this) and girls the formal dress/kirtle combo (think this, but all black and with less jewels and tighter sleeves) beneath their graduation gowns.

All gowns on students and staff alike are closed in the front - either with buttons or ties.

Aside from the hat distinction between those who are taking the black and those who aren’t, the gowns for those taking the Black are all black and have the drapey hood. Those that aren’t taking the black have gowns trimmed with a dark colour - maybe blue? grey? something that blends but still is distinct.

Ceremonial Nonsense

The graduation is held in the great hall where the students usually dine on a day-to-day basis. Parents are allowed and all families get a “plus two” for grandparents or family friends or whatever.

There are two separate ceremonies - the first is for those taking the Black. That’s the one where Downey forces Vetinari to give a speech as he is Guild Provost and one a Distinguished Old Boy etc.

Downey does his speech first and usually lines up those coming after him (Vetinari; Mericet; Lady T’Malia is what I have in my head. Though Mericet can usually convince Downey to sub in someone else as he is Too Old For This Shit).

For those taking the Black Downey will pepper in Fun Facts About Assassins and Helpful Pro Tips for Life (some of which are more helpful than others). Vetinari’s speech usually offers subtle rebuttals to Downey’s more outlandish life advice. Lady T’Malia’s is a universal favourite because she has the dry, disdainful wit of a person who has seen way too much nonsense in her life and has lived to continue to roll her eyes at it all.

Mericet, when he’s made to do a speech and can’t pawn it off on one of the younger staff, is always very short. His record time was 15 seconds wherein he got to the podium, looked somberly out at his soon to be former students, and said “All I can say to you is, good luck and don’t die” then he sat down. Downey could be heard to mutter: Really?? rather loudly.

Vetinari, more out of a desire to cause Downey some form of annoyance than anything else, will drone on for a long time and pepper in weird references only the headmaster of the guild will understand. He makes a few tiger jokes every year to which Downey, when he gets up to introduce the next speaker, will reply: “You really need to get over that”. No one knows what they’re talking about. However, the students always haaate it when Vetinari takes the podium. There is much sighing and sliding down in seats out of boredom.

The students are called up to the stage the receive their diploma in order of their name and it’s done by house (so viper house then black widow then poison dart frog or whatever they all are).

Weapons are expressly forbidden on all students after that One Unfortunate Incident back when Cruces was headmaster about which the least said, soonest mended.

Back when Downey and Vetinari were graduating, when weapons were allowed, all students were given a ceremonial sword and they got to wear it when they went up to take their diploma. Students still get a ceremonial sword (or dagger, depending on preference) but they are received after the ceremony.

The infamous ring is presented alongside the diploma.

For those not taking the Black, it’s still the same roster of speakers but it’s usually a faster ceremony (though, that is changing over the years as the Guild is sought out more and more as a general-purpose educational institution for parents seeking a classical education for their children).

Students in this group are also gifted a ceremonial sword but they’re allowed to wear theirs during the graduation ceremony because most can do nice, polite, gentlemanly dueling and not much else. Unlike their colleagues who can use it in increasingly diverse and experimental fashions.

After both ceremonies are complete there is a grand dinner with students and their families and much conviviality. Under Downey’s reign as headmaster the amount of “accidental deaths” that occurred at this dinner have decreased dramatically. Mostly because unlike previous headmaster, Downey thinks it a waste of a good education to knock someone off so soon. Also, it is deplorable manners and not civil.

(Vimes, “It’s also immoral.” Downey, “I fail to see your point, commander?”)

Wait at least a year or two until inhuming that One Guy who was A Class A Cunt During Maths. Or, if they’re really that bothersome, at least have the grace to wait until after the pudding has been served.

Pre-graduation tomfoolery

The graduating class, as a whole (well, those who survived the Run and those not taking the Black who haven’t accidentally fallen down the stairs), have two weeks between end of term and graduation and tend to run absolutely wild.

Downey’s main rule is: no one is inhumed, his dogs are left alone and nothing is set on fire; flooded; booby-trapped; or exploded etc.*

*see fine print for continuing list.

It is considered a grand tradition for each house to prank their house master. One year, students cellophaned everything in Mericet’s office. Including individual pages of books. Downey thought this absolutely Delightful. Mericet said, “that’s it, I’m retiring.” Which is, coincidentally, what he says every year.

Students will also strike up a very large game of Gotcha (i.e. Assassin) over the course of the intervening weeks between Term and Graduation. It used to be a very deadly endeavour but due to Downey’s new rule of “no inhuming until after graduation you daft kids” it’s just become a way to dunk on people.

These are also the weeks that students clean out their rooms which is always an adventure. Many will try and discreetly sneak out their illegal pot plants and shroom logs. Those that hide them in places that aren’t their room will have minor panic attacks because Lady T’Malia and other staff enjoy rounding up the plants ahead of the students and watching the fallout.

(Vetinari: I really should tell Vimes you have enough here to supply everyone in the city for a decade.

Downey: Leave my drug collection alone.)

There is a lot of Lady T’Malia and others being like, “You all do know we hid our illegal shit in the exact same places, right?’

Students will also throw end-of-year ragers in the common room which the staff pretend to know nothing about. These tend to get very messy very quickly. Downey will show up around 3am to shut it down, though. Because some people need to sleep and aren’t 18 anymore.

Anyway, that’s the long and short of my headcanon for Guild Graduation nonsense. All in all it’s a rowdy if somewhat bittersweet time. Downey secretly gets a little teary eyed over it. Aww look at his tiny little murderers going off into the big wide world. He remembers when they first arrived with knobbly knees and big eyes. His paternal side comes out in full force.

Vetinari: it’s very good you have hundreds of students and several dogs because I don’t know what you’d do without them since you’re basically 110% a dad.

Downey: i might have gotten married. What a horrifying concept.

Vetinari:

Vetinari: I have weird feelings about that which I am not going to explore in any great depth.

Thank you so much for the ask! <3 <3

#ask #reply #discworld #assassins guild #lord downey #vetinari #discworld headcanon

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fallin-flcwer · 2 years

Text

Darcie Graham-Choi 👑

➥ BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Darcie Graham-Choi (Birth name: Choi Do Hui) Nickname(s): Cece Gender: Female, she/her Age: 22 Birthday: July 16th, Cancer City or town of birth: Seoul, South Korea Currently lives: Lives in an apartment with Deiji (?), but also stays at the Graham Residence regularly. Languages spoken: Korean, English & basic Italian. Faceclaim: Kim Yoo Hyeon

➥ SEXUALITY

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Relationship Status: Single

➥ PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Height: 5’7 Tattoos: A four leaf clover on her arm & the word ‘liberté’ with a bird on her rib Piercings: Ears (singles & doubles on both ears; helix on her right) Scars/distinguishing marks: None Preferred style of clothing: Comfy, yet trendy. She's usually seen wearing summer dresses throughout spring and summer, then cute tops and baggy pants throughout fall and winter. Frequently worn jewellery/accessories: A silver necklace with a blue butterfly pendant. Her mother has a red one and her older sister has a green one.

➥ PERSONALITY

Personality: A very big social butterfly. She loves getting to know people, going out, and finds it really easy to sympathise with people, so I imagine she'd be pretty well known across several crowds in Violet Springs. On the flip side, she can be very clumsy, and is prone to making mess if she isn't fully paying attention to what she's doing. Fears/phobias: Mice & thunder. Favourite colour: Blue Taste in music: All over the place. She definitely grew up liking all the different genres her siblings played, and listens to kr&b in her own interest.

➥ CAREER

Darcie has recently debuted as a member of Dreamcatcher. While she doesn’t have any songwriting credits under her group’s songs, she wants to write music for them and for herself in the future.

➥ BACKSTORY

Darcie was born in Seoul, South Korea. Her mother died shortly after giving birth to her, and her father was assassinated when she was five. Unaware of what was going on, she was taken to an orphanage by her grandfather. Her grandfather gave the orphanage owner enough money to ensure Darcie was a priority and that she’d be matched with a trustworthy family. Two years later she was adopted by the Graham Family, who were known for adopting children from around the world, giving them a loving home in Violet Springs. She was the seventh and final addition to the Graham Family.

Despite moving to an entirely new country and having to learn a new language, it wasn’t long until Darcie had forgotten the two years she was in the orphanage for. Even though her mother owned a museum in London and her father was the administrator for the Violet Springs hospital, they prioritised their children over pretty much everything. Shortly after Darcie turned 18, a woman visited the Graham residence, asking if she could speak to Darcie, claiming to know her biological family.

SECRET:

Darcie is the Princess of Korea and the only member of the Imperial Family alive alongside her grandfather, the Emperor of Korea. While South Korea is a republic and the monarch has lost its influence over the past century, members of the royal family are still given the royal titles and are treated as so, being invited to galas and political events as representatives of South Korea alongside government officials. She hasn't brought her biological family up to anyone because she's always confidently said that she belongs in Violet Springs. However with her grandfather getting old and no one else around, she knows that she'll have to go to South Korea sooner or later.

#darcie graham-choi #st judes; revamp

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jungshook69 · 3 years

Text

Love is a myth :: 04 (Finale)

DISCLAIMER: This doesn’t represent the members’ actions or the army’s actions in any manner it’s pure fiction. This is an original work, do not copy. The taglist is open if you want. Taglist is now closed.

WORD COUNT: 4.8K words (it’s the finale y’all don’t look at me like that)

MAIN PAIRING: musician! Yoongi X waitress! female reader

SIDE PAIRING/S: Jungkook X female reader ; Taehyung X female reader

GENRE: FWB! au ; Strangers to lovers! au

WARNINGS: Implied smut (Forgive me cuz I suck at writing it, no puns intended) ; Mentions of alcohol and smoking (I do not condone smoking) ; Profanity ; Mentions of infidelity ; Heavy angst ; Self loathing (Namjoon’s about to wack me in the head with his slipper) ; I apologize in advance if there’s any spelling errors.

SUMMARY: "You covered your bare form with the silk sheets beneath you, as you watched him walk out your door without a word." // "Love is a myth. All that existed between you two was pure lust." // "The last rule was if anyone of the two of you caught feelings for the other, the deal would be off."

SERIES MASTERLIST: Trailer » Meet the cast » Chapter #1 » Chapter #2 » Chapter #3 » Chapter #4

STATUS: Complete

You were even more motivated than ever to get ready for that blind date. Your fight with Yoongi from 4 hours ago was still fresh in your mind. You needed to get your mind off of things, and this date provided the perfect escape. You looked down at your phone that flashed with a new message.

New message from ‘Michael “Jackie”-son’(2):

‘Dress in something fancy’

‘Address: XXX, 47th street’

After ripping through every dress in your closet, you finally settled on going for a sleek, deep wine-coloured, silk gown that hugged your curves, but also loosely flowed to your feet. A slit ran down your left thigh up to your ankles through which your black lingerie stocking was sticking out. Yes, you’d chosen black lingerie for the night. It was the one you felt most confident in. Your hair was pinned into a simple, elegant, low bun, some loose strands of hair framing your face. You wore a simple chain choker, some elegant bracelets, shiny black pumps, and tiny pearls on your ears. Your lips were tinted in a gorgeous wine-shade, and your eyes were lined with a black liner. You knew your bear arms would feel cold, but you felt confident in your looks for once. But sadly this much reminded you of how your mother would dress. You pushed all these thoughts aside and grabbed your clutch, before you could make a tardy first impression.

You stood before the building, drinking in the beauty of the exterior. You weren’t too surprised as you had worked at a 5-star restaurant for the majority of your life, but you were fairly nervous as you had never been on the receiving end of such ambience, ever since you had run away from your family’s wealth when you were 16.

You walked in and were immediately greeted, “Good evening ma’am, how may I help you?”

“Ummm… I have a reservation for two under the name Mr. Kim?”

“Okay, I’ll check that for you.”

You looked around and observed the luxurious decor of the place while the hostess went through the registry. She finally cleared her throat and spoke up, “Yes ma’am, Mr. Kim has been here for 2 minutes already, if you follow me, I shall take you to your seat.” She said smiling.

Your palms start sweating as you follow the hostess to your table. Why were you so nervous? Was it because he was rich? Was it because he’d treated you to such a fancy place just for a blind date? Was it because you were afraid to break it to him how you were only expecting to have a good time, and not a committed relationship?

Your brain most definitely started malfunctioning when you saw the hostess motion you towards a man sitting at what you presumed was your table. You took small strides as you made your way over to the intimidating man. He pulled back your chair for you and seated himself in front of you.

And when your friends said this man was devilishly handsome, they weren’t exaggerating. His skin was clear and almost glowing. He was dressed in a fitted black blazer and trousers to match, along with a classic white button down underneath. His eyes were deep and intriguing, making you want to sit and stare into them all day. His lips were perfectly curved and looked inviting. You noticed two cute moles, one below his lip, and the other below his nose. His hair was a gorgeous jet black and was gelled back. A single strand cascaded on his forehead making him look even more suave. His poise held confidence, his shoulders held high, which seemed intimidating enough to you.

“Good evening Miss. Y/N.”

You thought his looks had attacked you enough. But that wasn’t the end of it. It’s when he spoke that you melted. His voice made goosebumps travel down your spine. What had you gotten yourself into? There’s no way this man was going to give you just a night of fun! What was Jackie thinking?

“G-Good evening Mr. Kim.” You said trying to cope with his formalism.

“Can we drop the act?” he asks, your eyes widening in surprise.

“Pardon?”

“I meant I know I’m intimidating, but like this is a bit much isn’t it?”

“Wha… but you…”

“Jackie said, and I quote, ‘You got money right? Flaunt it!’.” He says smiling.

“Oh god.” You say trying to hold back a smile and failing.

“Sometimes I wonder how Mark tolerates her.” He says giggling.

“They do love each other a lot.” You say sighing.

“Hey ummm… Y/N?” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks, eyes shining.

You were sweating and panting as you held onto his shoulders.

“Taehyung, go slower, you’re killing me!” you yell out.

“Jeez what are you? 60?” he scoffs.

“Ayy you try walking in my heels!” you roll your eyes.

You were both currently walking up the stairs to an old skating rink that overlooked the entire city. Taehyung held a takeout bag with 2 simple diner style burgers in them, while his other hand was clasping yours, helping you get up the last flight of stairs. You finally reached the spot he told you about and gasped at the sight you saw. You could see the entire skyline from here and it was a gorgeous sight to enjoy while eating the perfect comfort food.

You both sat down and Taehyung handed you your dinner. “I much prefer these burgers than some expensive ass Pacific Bluefin tuna.” He says with a mouthful of food.

“I’m surprised at how humble you are.” You say sincerely.

“Yeah, the key is to never forget your roots.”

“Sometimes people need to forget their roots…” you whisper unconsciously.

“What?” he asks.

“Uhh… the burgers are delicious.”

“I know right? Mark doesn’t like them.”

“Well Mark can go jump off a cliff.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He said smiling wide, as you admire his beautiful smile.

“To be honest I never thought you’d be such a breath of fresh air when I first saw you.”

“I tend to leave such a first impression.”

“Umm… actually… I just wanted to clarify.” You say as you finish your burgers. “I don’t wanna lead you on. I’m not looking for anything serious.”

“Well you’re lucky, because I’m not either. I tend to travel a lot. And I tend to fool around here and there and not stay emotionally grounded with anyone.” He says shrugging.

“I hate commitment too. I just like to have a fun time.” You murmur.

“Want me to show you a fun time?” he asks smirking.

30 minutes later, you were back against the wall of your apartment, as your lips were engulfed by Taehyung’s. His tongue felt hot, clashing against the walls of your mouth, as you shamelessly moaned into the kiss. His blazer had long been discarded on your floor, and your hands were tangled in his soft black hair. His hands roamed on your body rather daringly. His hands travelled up the length of your leg, causing goosebumps across the skin of your exposed thigh. His long fingers gripped around the meat of your thighs before he lifted you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist and gripped onto his shoulders to balance yourself.

The kiss was sloppy and heated with none of you willing to stop for breath. His hands undid your hair and let your curls fall around your shoulders. His fingers thread through your long locks and he pulled on your hair, biting your lip as he broke the kiss. “You’re gorgeous.” He murmured shakily. You gave him a sly smirk and pulled his neck, connecting your lips again. He broke apart again, and stared into your eyes. His deep brown orbs were completely blown out, drowning in lust, and you were sure you matched it with the same darkness in your eyes. His voice was breathless as he said, “Why is the god damn zipper so tiny?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his urgency. “What’re you laughing about?” he asks furrowing his eyebrows.

“It’s just you sound like those guys who struggle with a bra clasp and end up giving up in frustration.” You laugh out loud.

“Oh I’m not giving up. You best believe I’m getting that god damn dress off of you.” He says, his voice husky.

He turned you around and dropped you on your bed. He climbed over you, his leg landing between your thighs, his hands working on taking off your dress. He devoured your lips with an almost animalistic hunger when he’d finally exposed your lingerie to him.

Your chest was heaving as you stared up at the white ceiling fan. You had a déjà vu from about 2 weeks ago, from one of the many nights with Yoongi, where you had watched him leave after satisfying both your needs. You turned your head to see Taehyung’s angelic face next to you, as you catch his eyes already on you.

“Why’re you staring at me like that?” you ask smiling.

“I’ve slept with a lot of people ‘for fun’. But trust me when I say I’ve never wanted to stay back and cuddle as much as I do with you.” He says sighing.

“Don’t fall in love with me Kim.” You say rolling your eyes.

“It’s next to impossible, but I’ll try.” He says sarcastically, receiving a playful nudge from you in response.

“Pillow talk has never been part of my routine…” you speak out, sincerity lacing your tone.

“Me too…” he whispers and what he does next shocks you. He places his head on your chest, his face burying into the crook of your neck, and his arms wrap around your waist, sending shivers across your bare skin.

“W-What’re you doing?”

“Don’t think about it too much, just relax.” He huffs out, his breath running against your warm neck.

You relax under his touch and involuntarily find your hands wrapping around his head as you nuzzle him closer. You let out a shaky breath as this reminds you too much of your college boyfriend. “Do you have to leave tomorrow?” you ask in a daze.

“Sorry but yes… but I have a feeling I’m not gonna lose contact with you like I do with other people I sleep with…” he said smiling.

“Me too…” you say letting your tired eyes flutter shut.

You wake up to a different sound everyday it seems. Today you woke up to the sound of what sounded like empty plastic bottles falling. Your eyes met with Taehyung’s, who came stumbling out of the washroom. “Sorry if I woke you up, I accidently dropped the shampoo bottles on your counter.”

“No it’s okay.” You say smiling as you got up and put on your robe onto your naked form.

You watched Taehyung, as he was folding the sleeves of his white button down to his elbows. His hair cascaded over his forehead in a messy, but still intimidating manner. He looked up at you as he grabbed his coat. “Well I should get going, my driver’s downstairs.”

“Oh okay…” you murmur softly.

He walks up to you and lifts up your chin ever so lightly. You meet his warm smile and you instantly melt. He leans in and lands a soft kiss against your lips. “I left my number on a note on the night stand. Promise me, we’ll stay in touch.”

“Sure.” You say sighing, with a sad smile.

“Hey, I meant to be friends, not for just hooking up again…” he says chuckling lightly.

“Oh…” your eyes were wide.

“Well I have to go now, bye Y/N I had a great time…” he says walking away, his hand slipping from your hold.

You watched as he left your place, and you went to take a shower. Somehow this time when you heard the familiar click of the door, you didn’t feel hurt. Even though Taehyung was gone, you didn’t feel sad. Did it have anything to do with the affection he had shown you, besides the lustful sin you had committed?

Yoongi walked up the stairs of your building. His hair was a mess, his eyes were swollen from not getting enough sleep. He didn’t like the way he had yelled at you yesterday. He wasn’t in the right mind and he was just angered when you had told him that the memories he held dearest to his heart were a mistake. He finally reached your floor at 9 am in the morning, hoping he could resolve a few unspoken issues. Confrontation was always Yoongi’s go-to method.

But Yoongi stopped in his tracks when he saw a man with tussled dark hair close the door to your apartment. He could only assume the worst by the sight in front of him. The man passed by Yoongi, bowing out of courtesy on his way to the stairs. All his obsessive thoughts started coming back to him. Maybe you didn’t want to go back to being friends. Maybe you should stick to the deal you had made. The slight bit of confidence Yoongi had when he was making his way to meet you was wiped away as he turned on his heel and made his way towards the exit.

He needed some time. You needed some time. Alone.

The next whole week had gone by in a blur. Yoongi was procrastinating on whether or not to talk to you, ultimately deciding against it. You had continued to ignore Yoongi’s presence in your workplace the whole time. He didn’t walk you home every night since. You had also begun texting Taehyung from time to time, and you both had settled on being just friends, since you learned you both much enjoyed each other’s goofy side. Your life was in a constant loop, going to work, ignoring Yoongi, reaching home, and sleeping, only to repeat the same schedule every other day of the week.

But today was a bit different. It was a Saturday night, and tonight was important for you, and every other employee. Tonight, all the heads and managers of the other branches of this ambiguous chain of luxury restaurants, were here to dine. Along with the CEO of this chain. You knew you were a waitress, but you had assisted in cooking tons of times before. Tonight they had all the experienced heads, like you assist in cooking, while they assigned the newly trained rookies as hosts and hostesses. You were all told to be super attentive and to make your nerves worse, you were being supervised by your head chef and manager Kim Seokjin.

But the timing was completely wrong. Today your thoughts about your personal life were unnecessarily heightened. Seeing Yoongi working his fingers across the monochrome keys of the sleek black piano, he himself being dressed in an all-black suit and shirt tailored to be strained across his firm chest, was extremely distracting. You tossed the meat into the pan, aware of the powerful gaze of Seokjin standing in the corner of the kitchen.

You tried to vaporize the alcohol by doing a simple flambé. You had done it tons of times before. You tilted the pan so the fire could catch the alcohol and a flame could erupt in your pan. But your mind being lost elsewhere you were shocked when the flame came on, and failed to move out of the way in time, burning your exposed forearm in the process. You yelped in surprise and pain as Maya took the pan from you for relief.

“Chef, focus! This is no time to slack!” Seokjin’s voice rang through the loud kitchen.

You huffed in annoyance and took the pan back from Maya explaining to her you’re okay, and began tossing the meat, ignoring the searing pain in your arm and the mark that was beginning to darken. As soon as all the dishes were made, you were given a 5 minute breather, till you waited for new customers to arrive. You stood in the corner, your hands cupping the burn on your hand in pain. You looked up in surprise when you heard a slam on the table in front of you. You watched Seokjin walk away, as you looked down at the ice pack he had left for you on the table. You couldn’t help but land a small smile as you iced the burn on your arm.

It wasn’t 10 minutes later, and you were already pan frying zucchinis and slicing cherry tomatoes. Your break had barely lasted 2 minutes, before you had been called in to make a very important dish for the CEO’s family which had just arrived. “Move it! Move it! We don’t want to keep Mr. Kang waiting!” you heard Seokjin clap his palms together.

What didn’t help your sense of urgency and added to the pressure was Yoongi entering the kitchen, as he stood in the corner having a chat with Seokjin. You knew that they were close, but you never knew Yoongi was close enough to lay a hand on Seokjin’s shoulder like that. You immediately placed the dish onto the counter, your mind distracted by Yoongi’s presence.

Before you knew it there was a sharp call of your name leaving Seokjin’s lips. “CHEF Y/N?!”

You rushed towards the counter, scared out of your wits. You watched as Yoongi’s eyes met yours in a sense of panic. “Y-Yes Mr. Kim?”

“DID YOU DROWN THIS SALMON IN THE PACIFIC OCEAN AND PLACE IT ON THE CEO’S PLATE?”

“N-No sir…”

“IT’S SALTIER THAN THE BOTTOM OF THE PACIFIC! YOU KNOW WHAT COULD’VE HAPPENED IF WE SEND THIS PLATE OUT? YOUR HEAD IS NOT IN THE GAME CHEF! WE DON’T HAVE ROOM FOR AMATEURS IN THIS ESTABLISHED CHAIN!”

“I-I’m sorry sir…” you said trying not to let the humiliation get to you.

“You are one of my trusted employees so this is a warning, but if this happens again, I’m gonna have to let you go, you understand that chef?” Seokjin finally calms down and says.

“Y-Yes sir…” you feel everyone’s eyes on you.

“Retire for the night chef. You’re too distracted. We’ll fill in with someone else. You can leave.” Seokjin announces before leaving the kitchen. You take off your apron and before any of the others can ask you any questions, you stride out the back door. You sit down on your heels in the dark alley and hold your head and pull on your hair in frustration.

Damn you Min Yoongi.

Your cheeks stained with long gone tears, you held a cigarette up to your lips, as you tried to calm yourself down. You heard the door to the kitchen creak open.

“Don’t try to ask me if I’m okay Jackie because frankly I’m n—” you speak out without looking.

“The name’s Yoongi, Min Yoongi. Not Jackie.” A low voice echoes down the walls of the alley.

All you can do is let out a huff of frustration and crush your cigarette under your shoe. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything from you… just wanted to check on you…”

“Since when do you care about my feelings?” you ask rhetorically, not expecting an answer.

“Since last month I suppose, since when we walked to your apartment that night.” His straight forward answer surprises you.

“What are we doing Yoongi?! What the hell is going on with us?!” you ask frustration lacing your tone. “We’re supposed to be fuck buddies. And we haven’t even had sex in 2 weeks! And before I know it, we’re sharing deep secrets with each other and talking to each other like we’ve known each other for years, and kissing each other like we’re in love—”

“Because I am in love.”

Yoongi stops your little rant and shocks you with his words. You weren’t expecting such a direct answer to leave his mouth. You stood up, brushing out your skirt and muttered softly. “W-What?”

“You heard me. I’m in love.” He enunciates.

“But why?” you ask, oblivious. “I’m damaged goods. I’m toxic. We both are in a toxic relationship.”

“But I’m willing to work to fix that.” Yoongi says with soft eyes. “I want to fix that gaping hole that the bastard left in your heart 6 years ago.”

“Listen I really like you too, but I don’t want to… hurt you…”

“You would never intentionally do that…”

“I-I’m not ready…”

“I’ll be here for you when you’re ready. This is new to me too! We can work through it together, please Y/N just trust me.”

You sigh loudly. Before you could think you grabbed his collar and landed a kiss on his lips. He stumbled, but eventually his arms snaked around your waist, holding you so tight, afraid to let you go. You broke the kiss and looked into his beautiful deep brown orbs. “You really wanna do this?”

“Yes.” He smiles and lands a small peck on your cheek.

You smack his chest playfully and say, “You’re creeping me out, what happened to the Yoongi who could never even give me a straight compliment?”

“Well I’m afraid someone changed him…” Yoongi says after thinking.

“Oh really? Who may that special someone be?” you smirk playfully.

“This woman at work. I’ve known her for 4 years, but never got around to talking to her until about 2 months ago.” He says chuckling.

“Wow what a coward.” You scoff.

“Well I don’t care, because I proudly simp for her now.” He says, his precious gummy smile making a rare appearance.

You tug his collar, and smile as you look into his eyes. You lean in painfully slow, your breath ghosting his lips, but never coming close enough to touch them. “Quit playing me like that.” Yoongi whines making you giggle.

“Well maybe I should—”

“Miss. Y/N— oh sorry, please meet me inside, I need to have a word with you chef.” Seokjin says from behind the door.

You immediately shove Yoongi away and walk back into the restaurant, your cheeks on fire. “Yes sir?” you say once you’re inside facing him.

“I’d expect you to be a bit more professional. I didn’t peg you as the type of person to have a romantic rendezvous behind your workplace, but go off I guess.” He sighs. “Well getting to the point, I just wanted to say that, please maintain your work ethic. Your professionalism is something I’ve always respected, and something that made you stand out in this field. And I’d love to keep you in this kitchen, so please focus on your job.”

“Yes sir.” You say softly, feeling a bit relieved.

“And… I apologize for over reacting a while ago. I was not in the right head space. It’s just the CEO never stops pestering me on the tiniest details, and I wanted to prove him wrong, and show him that I can run this place. So if he received an overly salted plate, he would hold that against me my whole life.”

“I understand sir. You don’t need to apologize. I’ll be sure to maintain my work ethic and never make a careless mistake like that again.” You say smiling.

“Great. Well have a good night chef.” He says before bowing in courtesy and exiting the empty kitchen. You noticed that all the dishes had been done, so you went back to grab your coat and exited the restaurant to your new life waiting for you in the dark alley.

You were pretty sure you made the cab driver uncomfortable, but it’s nothing he hadn’t seen before. You both had long forgotten the sweet kisses and passionate hugs you guys had given each other merely 30 minutes ago, when you confronted each other, and now you were busy devouring each other’s lips, your tongues twisted in a feverish make out session.

You stumbled into a familiar apartment, not yours, but in fact Yoongi’s. It had been 3 weeks since you’d last been here. You wasted absolutely no time as you both hurriedly discarded all your clothes onto the floor. Yoongi gripped your hip, with enough force to bruise it, as he lifted your form across the house and dropped you onto his bed. You drank in the familiar scent of Yoongi’s sheets around you, and the sight of a hovering Yoongi above you. His eyes mirrored yours, drowning in lust. His hair was disheveled and he looked at you with hunger. His lips landed on your neck, as you tilted your head the other way to make room for him to explore as much as he could. His hands ran along your sides as your hands raked his back. Your eyes fluttered shut, as you let out an uncontrollable moan, when you felt his teeth nip into the skin at your collarbone. You felt his warm tongue lick the mark he had made on you, as he continued his way down your torso.

“You sure you wanna do this?”

“Bitch, we’ve fucked 15 times before!” you laugh out loud.

“Jeez woman, I’m out here trying to make it romantic, and you just rail me like that?”

“Just shut up and do it. I need you right now.” You whine, which seems to turn him on.

Your eyes flutter open and you’re surprised that you aren’t woken up by any displeasing noises. The sunlight partially blocked by the semi see-through blinds, cast a dim light in the room. You found your head resting on Yoongi’s chest, a soft rhythmic breath leaving his chest, sounding like music to your ears. Your hand laid across his naked chest, while his hand was wrapped around you, his palm laying across your bare back. You yawned and suddenly flinched when you felt Yoongi’s lips on your forehead.

“Good morning.” He said, his voice raspy and gruff.

“Good morning.” You reply smiling.

“I’ve never wanted to wake up next to someone this badly…” he sighs.

“Why’re you so cheesy? What happened to Yoongi? Who are you?”

“I don’t know Y/N… but I’m open to change.” He says smiling, looking down to meet your eyes.

You chuckle in response. You watch as his fingers run across your hand which is laying on his chest. His fingers brush your knuckles and he looks as though he’s in deep thought. “Where’s your ring?” he asks unconsciously.

“I took it off last night. It’s on your night stand.” You say smiling.

“Oh… well I hate to break it to you, and I know it’s a Sunday, but I booked us a brunch reservation at a nice café down the street.”

“You really didn’t have to…”

“But I did. We’ve been sleeping with each other for 2 months, and I haven’t taken you out on a proper date, like ever!”

“Well food does sound like a good idea, I’m starving.”

“Well then get your tiny tushie outta bed.” He says playfully pinching your cheek, and jumping out of bed to freshen up.

After you both had showered and gotten your clothes on, you were wearing your heels by the door, when Yoongi walked out of his bedroom, “You forgot this!” he says handing you your silver ring. His curious eyes watched, as you took the ring from him, and slipped it into your purse instead of putting it on your finger. “Come on let’s go.” You said grabbing his hand, unaware of the wide smile your bare hand had brought onto Yoongi’s face.

Brunch was delicious. And so was the dinner date you had a week later. 2 weeks had gone by, smooth sailing for your new relationship. Your fingers remained naked, no ring in trace, in the entirety of the last 2 weeks. It was a cold Friday night, and you were now sitting at the piano bench, in an empty restaurant. You glanced over your shoulder to see Yoongi’s eyes, focused on the keys in front of him. For once in a long time you could truly say you were happy. Your life was blissful.

“Y/N…?” Yoongi says interrupting your thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Could you sing…?”

“Sure.” You said smiling, as you already knew which song he wanted you to sing. You cleared your throat as you begun the first verse of ‘My Heart Will Go On’.

There you both were, all alone, doing the things you loved, with the person you loved beside you, and you couldn’t have asked for more. No more did you feel lost. No more did you think of love as a myth. You had finally found someone to keep your heart safe, in this cruel world. And you couldn’t be happier, that your savior was Min Yoongi.

«Previous :: Masterlist

A/N: Y’all I still can’t believe I wrote a whole ass series. I’m usually one to write really long oneshots or two shots, but I decided to turn this into a chapter wise series. Anyways, I hope you guys really liked it, and stay tuned for more works from me, in the near future :)

Don’t forget to follow @jungshook69 for more content:) You can check out more works of mine here. Have a great day:)

TAGLIST: @kookieebangtan

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osferth · 3 years

Text

nainowale ne || part two

chapter summary: The two girls are older now, which only means one thing for Aethelflaed: marriage. But marriage does not bring the happiness she has been seeking.

word count: 4.4k

tagging: @marv-llous @lauwrite1225 @maggiescarborough @volvaaslaug @wildwren @aadmelioraa @emilyhufflepufftlk @for-bebbanburg @poguesmaybank @cheerylogan @northumbria @geekandbooknerd @morosemagick

part one

The first time Estrid met Uhtred was not until two weeks later, where she happened to come across him at the exact moment he stormed out of the doors of the court. He had nearly barrelled into her in his haste to leave.

“Sorry, Lord,” Estrid said quickly, moving out of the way. She had improved a lot in remembering the terms she needed to use, much to Gytha’s delight. Uhtred paused suddenly upon hearing her accent. They both frowned at each other at the same time.

“You are not a Saxon, are you?” Uhtred asked, crouching down to meet her level.

Estrid shook her head. “You must be Uhtred,” she said. “Aethelflaed told me about you. Were you fighting with the king again?”

The initial anger on his face dissolved and he grinned at the lack of tact one would come to expect from a ten-year-old. “I wonder what you’ve been told about me,” he said. “I was not arguing with the king, no.”

“Then who was shouting in there?” the girl asked, pointing at the door. “I heard someone speaking Danish too, but I don’t think I’m allowed to say what it was.”

Uhtred laughed. “Alright, yes,” he said. “From one Dane to another, that is exactly what happened. It seems you’ve had more success with the Saxons than I have.”

Estrid scowled suddenly. “I mean, I love being Aethelflaed’s friend,” she said, “but everyone else wants me to be baptised. I don’t want to be a Christian! They’re too holy and they think they’re better than everyone else because they are always kneeling and praying somewhere. It sounds boring and stupid and I won’t do it.”

Uhtred tapped her shoulder. “They made me get baptised too,” he told her in a confidential whisper, “and yet I am still a Dane. I don’t pray to their nailed god, nor do I attend church. I think I would set on fire if I ever stepped foot inside one.”

Estrid giggled. “I think I would, too,” she admitted. “But you’re a grown-up warrior. I’m only ten, Gytha will just make me go to church. I think I would rather go to Hel.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Uhtred said enigmatically, standing up. “Gytha is who, a maid?”

“The scary one, yes,” Estrid said. “You’ll speak to her?” she added hopefully.

Uhtred nodded. “Something like that, yes. Take care of yourself, Estrid.”

Estrid smiled and waved as he left. There was a new spring in her step as she made her way to the garden, ready to meet Aethelflaed and tell her everything.

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

When Estrid returned to her quarters that evening, she found a very distressed Gytha meeting her at the door. She appeared quite red-faced and flustered.

“Have you been speaking to Uhtred?” she asked immediately. “He said you have not met him, but I can never fully trust a heathen-”

“Who is Uhtred?” Estrid asked as innocently as possible. Stifling her grin proved to be very difficult, even more so when Gytha threw her hands up in the air.

“He warned me against having you ‘dragged’ to church each week once you are baptised,” she exclaimed. “That you are a Dane at heart and it would be wrong to change that.”

“Oh,” Estrid said, taking off her boots. Her hair covered her face and she allowed herself to smirk in the few seconds before she straightened up, a look of pure concern on her face. “What did you say?”

“I told him I’d try my best,” she muttered, and Estrid’s eyes widened. “It was an honest answer! Do not think you’ve completely gotten away with not attending church, young lady, I will make sure you see the inside of it one day, even if you set on fire upon entering.”

“Funny, Uhtred said the same thing,” Estrid said absent-mindedly. Only an incredulous noise from Gytha prompted Estrid to realise her slip, and she quickly scampered off before Gytha could catch her.

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

Unfortunately, despite her best efforts, Estrid was baptised upon the orders of King Alfred not too long after. At Gytha’s request, it was a private affair, unlike Uhtred’s - according to him, it had been incredibly public. Estrid had supposed the ‘conversion’ of a Dane warrior warranted more of a spectacle than a child’s. In any case, she still called herself a Dane. The baptism did nothing to change her beliefs, a fact Gytha had been forced to come to terms with quite quickly.

Her relationship with Gytha continued to improve over the next few years. By the time Estrid was seventeen, their bond was almost that of a mother and a daughter. Gytha was still as strict as ever, but even she would not be loath to admit that Estrid’s behaviour - in her eyes, at least - had improved solidly under her guidance. Becoming Aethelflaed’s maid the previous year had been a major step for Estrid, though she had already started taking over some of Gytha’s duties earlier on than that.

Estrid’s friendship with Aethelflaed had only grown stronger. Anyone would say that Aethelflaed had matured into a beautiful, vivacious young woman, though she and Estrid were still as thick as thieves. They were hardly seen without each other, something the queen was persuaded into believing as a good thing - Estrid was no longer the wild child they had brought in six years ago, and with Aethelflaed’s influence she would continue to mature and grow in the same way.

Along with that was the very good appearance of piety that Estrid kept up around her and the king, of course.

A meeting with representatives from Mercia, along with Lord Ceowulf himself, ended in tragedy - or hilarity if your name was Aethelwold - when Ceowulf suddenly died halfway through. Estrid had been standing in the corner, watching all of it take place with mild interest. She attempted to make eye contact with Aethelflaed, but found her attention elsewhere.

Estrid followed her gaze across the room to Lord Aethelred, the young man that had accompanied the king of Mercia to Winchester. From what she understood, Ceowulf’s death would now make him the lord of Mercia, but she did not care about that. There was a sharp pang in her chest all of a sudden, and she realised she was glowering at Aethelred. Although he had not even spared a glance towards her, already the Dane did not like him.

It seemed Aethelflaed did, though.

After the chaos of the meeting, Estrid caught up to Aethelflaed. “I saw you making eyes at Lord Aethelred,” she said in a low voice, smiling to cover her irritation. She was unsure why she was beginning to detest Aethelred already, but she was certain that her mind would not change. Although she usually trusted her instincts, she decided to ignore them in favour of Aethelflaed’s happiness.

“I was not doing anything of the sort,” Aethelflaed denied at once.

“Of course not,” Estrid said, “and I am a Saxon.”

The shove she received a second later did not surprise her.

“I was just looking at him,” Aethelflaed added defensively. “There is no harm in that.”

“I never said there was,” Estrid countered. “Look, I know that you like the look of him. And now that he is to be the lord of Mercia, he has risen in standing even more. I know your mother likes him too,” she added.

Aethelflaed’s eyes widened. “She does? How can you tell?”

Estrid did not want to answer that. Already she felt as though she had said too much, but she felt obliged to speak. “I saw her looking at you… while you were looking at Aethelred. She certainly looked approving.”

The smile on Aethelflaed’s face almost made it worth it. “I am glad,” she said after a moment.

“But don’t you realise what that means?” Estrid asked. “You are of age now, you know. They will want you married. And he is the perfect match, especially after what happened today with that old fart.”

“Estrid!” Aethelflaed exclaimed, lightly smacking her arm. The Dane grinned. “I do know that,” she continued. “And is it really so bad? Lord Aethelred seems… lovely. I wouldn’t mind getting married if it was to him.”

“I would,” Estrid muttered, all traces of her grin disappearing. “He looks like a turd.”

“Perhaps you’re just jealous,” Aethelflaed teased.

“Oh, definitely not,” Estrid said, rolling her eyes. She was certainly not jealous of Aethelflaed, at least. “There are just some faces you don’t like, Aethelflaed. His is one of them.”

“I don’t understand you, Estrid,” Aethelflaed sighed. “Is it just because he is a Saxon too?”

“Of course not,” Estrid replied. “He looks more like a Dane, if I’m honest. No, it isn’t that at all, else why would I be friends with you?”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted with a shrug. “Perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps it’s just that I don’t want to see my best friend married off so soon. We won’t be able to see each other as much if he is taking up most of your time.”

Aethelflaed reached out and took her hand with a smile. “If I do end up marrying Lord Aethelred, I won’t leave you here in Winchester. You’ll come with me, and I promise I will not spend all of my time with him. I’ve known you far longer, Estrid, you know how I care for you.”

Estrid met her gaze with a little smile, though her throat felt tight. “Alright. I’ll hold you to that, Lady.”

Aethelflaed laughed then, and everything felt alright, if only for a short while.

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

Estrid’s prediction was correct. She was standing behind Aethelflaed with the train of her wedding gown in hand, the lady Aelswith leading the way to show it to Alfred. Estrid’s breath had caught in her throat for a moment after Aethelflaed had put it on for the first time.

Aethelflaed looked stunning, even more so than she had thought was possible. The dress was quite simple, but the soft pinks and blues brought out the colour of her eyes and the rosiness of her cheeks.

“Do you like it?” she asked, spreading her arms slightly to show it off. Alfred appeared to agree. A rare smile broke out on his face, pride evident in his eyes.

“I have not seen anything so beautiful,” he said. Estrid silently agreed.

“Did I not say the same?” remarked Aelswith.

“I hope that Aethelred says the same,” Aethelflaed smiled. Estrid wished the same, even if it pained her to think about. She tuned out the rest of the conversation after that, her ears perking up when Aethelflaed asked whether Uhtred would be attending.

“Sadly, he will, I'm sure,” Aelswith said, her displeasure evident in her voice, and Estrid could not help but grin to herself. In doing so, she accidentally caught Alfred’s eye and immediately wiped it from her face. He was the only person other than Aethelflaed and Gytha to be aware of her friendship with Uhtred. It was only natural, given that they were both Danes, but it was better for Aelswith not to know.

“I consider him to be our lucky charm,” Aethelflaed said proudly.

“Now, now, there'll be no mention of luck or charms,” Alfred said quickly, making Estrid smile at his godliness. “There is God's will and nothing more.”

“Praise him,” added Aelswith.

Estrid remained silent until she had left the room with orders to take Aethelflaed back to her room and safely store the dress away.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be married,” Aethelflaed told her, her excitement practically bouncing off the walls. “Do you like it, Estrid? The dress?”

Estrid didn’t say anything for a moment, nearly forgetting to speak until Aethelflaed gave her a searching look. “Y-yes,” she answered quickly. “I do. You look beautiful, Aethelflaed, really. That turd won’t know what to do with himself when he sees you.”

Aethelflaed beamed at her. “I’m so glad you think so,” she said, ignoring the insult to Aethelred. “I was hoping you’d like it, I wouldn’t have chosen this one unless I’d thought you would.”

“I wonder what the queen would think of you choosing your wedding gown to please a Dane,” Estrid said, laughing in an attempt to cover the rising blush on her cheeks.

“Keep your voice down!” Aethelflaed urged her, smiling nonetheless.

“Sorry, sorry! But, I really am honoured that you were thinking of me when you chose it,” Estrid continued. “It really means a lot.”

More than Aethelflaed would ever know, she thought to herself.

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

The day of the wedding had finally arrived. Aethelflaed was a bundle of nerves, and Estrid was trying desperately to calm her down.

“Estrid, what if this is the wrong idea?” the princess asked suddenly, and the Dane sighed.

“It isn’t, I promise you,” she assured her, even if privately she, too, was incredibly anxious. That man gave her a bad feeling; he looked too nice. “You like him a lot, and he clearly likes you, too. Nothing will go wrong, I swear.”

She adjusted the flower crown on Aethelflaed’s head. It was something that Estrid had first suggested and then created herself. The women living in Estrid’s settlement had all worn crowns made of flowers weaved together on the day of their wedding, something only Aethelflaed was made aware of. The princess had loved the idea as soon as Estrid explained it to her, though she omitted the Danish influence in her own explanation to Lady Aelswith.

“There. You look incredible.”

Estrid stepped back to admire her handiwork, although the beauty of the princess kept distracting her. It was only a sigh from Aethelflaed that finally prompted her to tear her eyes away. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“What if my mother was right?” Aethelflaed said, a note of panic seeping into her voice. “We have only met briefly, after all.”

Estrid took her hand. “I saw the look he gave you, did I not?” she comforted her. “Worrying is natural before any wedding, but don’t let it hinder you. You and Aethelred… you will be perfect for each other.”

Her breath hitched for a moment as she spoke. To an outsider, it would appear to be a sign of her happiness that her closest friend was getting married to the man of her dreams, but Estrid could not be feeling any worse. The hour was drawing nearer, and as she reassured Aethelflaed, she felt her own heart pound horribly in her chest. Her throat was tight and she quickly turned to rub her eyes before Aethelflaed could notice. Estrid drew a breath before she spoke.

“Are you ready?”

Aethelflaed nodded silently, and the two of them embraced each other tightly for as long as they dared, until Estrid finally drew back and reached for the veil. She draped it over the princess’ head before stepping back to pick up the train of her gown, her eyes swimming with tears she was thankful Aethelflaed could not see.

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

Estrid was excused soon after that. She could have chosen to remain with Gytha and serve the guests at the wedding feast, but after having seen how miserable she looked, Gytha had been the one to suggest she get some fresh air. So Estrid immediately left to find Uhtred who, as it turned out, was not far from the palace. In fact she found him seated on the steps outside, together with Finan. Sihtric was a few feet away, embracing the woman he had recently been allowed to marry, and Estrid quickly averted her gaze. That was the last thing she wanted to see at that moment.

In front of them was Aethelwold, nattering away about something clearly nobody was interested in hearing. Uhtred seemed relieved to see Estrid standing there, and beckoned her down to sit next to him. “They let you go already?” he asked.

“Gytha did,” Estrid replied. “What’s that turd doing here?”

‘That turd’ scoffed. “I speak of treachery and treason-”

“Nothing important then,” Estrid said, cutting across him. From Uhtred’s other side, she heard Finan snicker.

“You don’t look happy,” Uhtred commented. Estrid shook her head, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. “She is too good for him, I know it as much as you do. But you will be the first to see her tomorrow morning, don’t forget that. You will still be by her side every day after that, too.”

Estrid smiled a little. Uhtred did not know the truth of her misery, how it extended beyond just healthy concern - but then again, she hardly understood it herself. Despite that, he was right. She needed to see the positives for what they were and make the most of them, or risk letting her sadness get the better of her. Without a word, Estrid nodded. She would not have had the time to speak even if she had wanted to, for Aethelwold had resumed his incessant talk once again. Standing near him, however, was a boy she had not seen before. He, too, seemed to be attempting to get Uhtred’s attention, but Aethelwold would not be quiet.

“Excuse me, Lord Uhtred,” the boy repeated, and Estrid nudged Uhtred.

“He wants to speak to you,” she whispered. “For the love of the gods, please say something to him. If I have to hear another word from Aethelwold-”

Uhtred nodded slightly and Aethelwold finally fell silent, letting the boy speak. He introduced himself as Osferth, Leofric's nephew. Estrid had never met Leofric, but Uhtred had told her many stories of their adventures together. She knew how much he meant to the man. Aethelwold then interjected, proclaiming him as Alfred's bastard, and Estrid finally looked up. Osferth did not look much like Aethelflaed, or Alfred for that matter, but she supposed both favoured their mothers.

As Osferth told Uhtred of his intention to serve them as a warrior, just as his uncle had, Steapa appeared behind them. Apparently, Alfred wished to speak with Uhtred immediately, making Estrid wince. Whatever Uhtred had done now, she knew it could not be good. She watched him briefly tell Osferth to find him again, to which the boy beamed and thanked him, before he left to see Alfred.

Estrid did not stay for long afterwards. She stood up and asked Finan to make sure Gytha knew she had returned to her quarters if she asked.

"It'll be alright," he told her, patting her arm. "Just as Uhtred said, you'll see her soon."

Estrid exhaled and nodded, knowing both of them were right. She gave Osferth a reassuring smile before she turned and left for her quarters, willing herself not to cry.

Closing the door behind her, she sank down onto her bed and sighed. At least she could be alone with her thoughts for a while, long enough to collect them and attempt to figure out what exactly was wrong. Estrid was already not fond of the thought of Aethelflaed marrying the man Uhtred had aptly described as a ‘bread-pudding of a boy’, but she was unsure of whether it was because he had a look to him that she disliked, or whether it was simply because he was marrying Aethelflaed.

She supposed Aethelflaed had been right there. If him marrying Aethelflaed was the issue, there was still no reason for Estrid to be upset. It was not as though she would be separated from her best friend, much the opposite.

So what in the name of Odin was her problem?

Estrid had never bothered to sit down and examine her own feelings before. What was the point? She had never understood the way other girls would become so afflicted by their feelings towards the men they were surrounded by, but whenever they became the subject of a conversation, Estrid certainly did not want to feel left out. Every so often, she would search out a relatively attractive young man and force herself to harbour feelings for him, without properly understanding what she was even doing. As long as it meant she fit in, she did not mind.

One thing Estrid noticed, however, was that she had never once spoken of any of these men to Aethelflaed out of what she realised was guilt. And after spending enough time with Aethelflaed, their very names would slip her mind. None of them stood out to her enough to remember anyway, especially compared to Aethelflaed.

The girl groaned and put her face in her hands. Why did it all have to be so confusing?

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

They travelled to Mercia soon after the wedding. Gytha had been teary-eyed upon parting with Estrid, the most emotional she had ever seen the older woman. Leaving her side for the first time was the most painful goodbye of them all, even if she promised to visit as often as she could. Uhtred had wished her good luck as she got on the boat, telling her he hoped her patience would withstand Aethelred’s now-infamous temper, and Estrid had laughed.

She had hardly laughed afterwards.

Aethelflaed had been unusually quiet for the whole journey, hardly meeting her gaze. But Estrid still could not find a moment to speak with her alone, not with Aethelred hovering about.

That evening, she was back to serving food again. Estrid wished Gytha had accompanied her, for the other servants were strangers to her, and she was in no mood to befriend anyone. Silently, she refilled the jug of wine before Aethelred, not even looking up as he spoke.

“You’re eating like a little bird,” he said to Aethelflaed. “Peck, peck, peck.”

Estrid bristled at this. Aethelred could almost playfully be teasing her, if it were not for the snark in his voice.

“I have no appetite,” Aethelflaed said quietly, pushing the plate forward. There was a moment’s quiet, before Aethelred spoke up once more.

“Tomorrow we ride. I would like you to travel with me.”

“To battle?”

“Part of the way.” Aethelred took a swig from his cup. “Or would you rather not?”

“No, no, lord, I would like to go,” Aethelflaed answered quickly. She did not sound eager, but nervous. Estrid frowned from where she was standing, wondering what had happened between the wedding and now.

“Then eat,” Aethelred ordered. “For strength.”

Estrid watched Aethelflaed tentatively reach out and pick up a tiny morsel of food, eating it slowly.

“Out,” Aethelred ordered the servants suddenly. Estrid flinched, nearly spilling the jug in her hand. “All of you, out.” She quickly handed the jug to an older servant who glared disapprovingly at her before they filed out of the room. For a moment, she met Aethelflaed’s eye. The princess gave her a nervous sort of smile before Estrid was forced to keep moving. While the others went their separate ways, Estrid hung back, opening the door slightly. If she could not speak to Aethelflaed, then she would see for herself exactly what was happening.

Through the crack in the door, she watched Aethelred rise from his seat and slowly walk towards her. “You have the palest of skin,” he commented. Estrid felt her skin crawl. “Unblemished.” Reaching out, he brushed his fingers against Aethelflaed’s cheek, to which she recoiled slightly. “My touch offends you?”

“No, it was a surprise, lord, nothing more than that,” Aethelflaed said placatively. “Lord, love should be gentle and kind,” she added.

"Gentle and kind, she says,” sneered Aethelred. Estrid’s hand tightened around the handle of the door. “How is it that you have a knowledge of how love should be?”

“I do not.”

“Am I not the first?”

“You will not insult me.”

“And you will not offer me lessons on how to plough a field!” Aethelred snapped, and Estrid’s hand enclosing the handle began to shake.

“That is not what I was doing,” protested Aethelflaed, to no avail.

“Who is it that you've been with?” he demanded, growing louder by the second. “How many have you been with?”

“Lord, please...”

“Uhtred is one, is he not?”

Estrid wanted to throttle him.

“You have no right to speak to me in this way!” said Aethelflaed, her own voice rising now. Estrid shakily exhaled, glad that she was standing up for herself.

“Of course, I have a right!” Aethelred bellowed. “You are my wife!”

“I am Aethelflaed of Wessex!” she cried, abruptly standing up. “And you will not treat me like I am a servant girl!”

All of a sudden, Aethelred reached out and grabbed a fistful of her hair. “Do not,” he panted, pulling her head down until it thudded on the table, “do not... never... raise your shrill voice to me! You will see a priest and we shall find the truth of this.”

Estrid gasped without meaning to, feeling helpless as she watched him mistreat Aethelflaed. Her whimpers were quiet, but Estrid could hear them nonetheless. It took every ounce of self-control within her to not kick the door down and beat the shit from the turd who called himself the Lord of Mercia.

“This is not love, that is the truth of it,” Aethelflaed said, her voice tremulous as she sat up.

“You will see a priest!” shouted her husband. Estrid felt unable to move from where she was standing, her hand pressed tightly over her mouth, until she realised Aethelred was headed for the door. Quickly she pulled away from the door and turned the corner, pretending to be busying herself with a basket that sat nearby. He walked right past, paying her no mind.

Whatever doubts Estrid may have had about this man, they were nothing compared to what she had just seen. There was no telling what he had done to Aethelflaed the night of the wedding itself, and she certainly did not want to imagine it. Estrid had disliked Aethelred before, but now she despised him. She despised him for marrying her, for daring to think he was good enough for her, for treating her with less respect than a dog.

Aethelflaed was the Princess of Wessex, and Aethelred was unworthy of her. Estrid did not believe for a second that she was worthy either, but by the gods she vowed she would never have even thought to treat her so appallingly.

Her heart broke for Aethelflaed. The romantic dream she had harboured of a happy marriage had swiftly turned into little more than a nightmare, one that she was now trapped in forever, and all Estrid could do was watch from the sidelines, no matter how much she wanted to do something. For now, at least, everything felt hopeless.

#the last kingdom #tlk #aethelflaed #lady aethelflaed #aethelflaed of mercia #aethelflaed x oc #nainowale ne #uhtred of bebbanburg #aethelred of mercia #alfred the great #lady aelswith

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twinkleallnight · 3 years

Text

Marshmallow

(Part -15) Denouement

Book: The Royal Romance AU

Word count: 1974

Disclaimer: All characters belong to pixelberry.

Rating: Teen/ PG

Warning: None.

A/N: An AU with Drake’s POV, showcasing his life as a commoner at the royal palace. Catch up here

I meet Hana couple of times after the drunk incident but ignore all signs. We never speak of what happened that night. May be, because I don’t want to acknowledge the obvious feelings blooming between us and she is too embarrassed about her state that night.

*******

Finally, the day arises when the country is full of cheerful sounds and bright colours. The palace is being decorated with expensive flowers and exquisite tapestries. Tapestries that depict the valour and courage of the Rhys dynasty.

I stand with Liam in front of a blank wall in anticipation. A life-size portrait is raised up by the palace staff and I see Liam’s chest swell up with pride as his head is held high looking into the eyes of his ancestor King Fabian in the image.

“Your favourite person.” I look at him knowingly.

“My idol. When I wear the crown today, I want to be just and true to my people like him.”

I clasp his shoulder. “You will be the most compassionate king Cordonia has seen.”

“I hope.” Liam beams. “Would you like to come with me to the study? I plan to brush up my speech and then head for the lunch.”

“You go ahead. I think I will see you at the ball. Call me if you need me around.”

“May I know where are you headed to?”

“I have to be at the boutique for a trial.” I say sheepishly.

Liam’s eyes widen, “You are going to dress up?”

I grin, “It’s my best friend’s coronation ball.”

He cocks his head searching in my eyes. “Or is it Hana?”

“I won’t deny.” I reply bashfully.

Liam nods his head with a smile. “I like the new Drake.”

“It’s the same old me.”

“Well, that we will see in the evening.” Liam chortles. “See you at the ball.” He waves and walks away.

I make a beeline to the boutique and coyly enter in. Hana had assured me that no one will be there around at this hour of the day.

“Hana...”, I call out in a tense voice.

She sways down smiling at me from the back of the room and holds my hand. “I am so glad you agreed. You are going to love this.” She pushes me to the trial rooms in excitement. “Go on. Try it.”

When I walk out dressed in a grey suit, she lets out a gasp and scurries to me. Her arms wrap around my neck making me chuckle. She gives me a quick hug and steps back admiring. “Wait here. I want to show you something.”

She brings out another garment bag. She flips the bag to reveal a silver grey gown. “ I found something matching with your suit to wear.” She giggles. I shake my head smiling in disbelief.

“What? You find it funny?” she pouts, a bit disheartened.

“Absolutely not!” I raise her chin with my curled finger. “Look at me. I was the commoner who never showed interest in any of these pompous affairs. But with you around I feel like a different person. I want to try it all. It’s not funny. It’s just that I am beaming at the new me.”

Her eyes brighten up again. “I am so excited for tonight.”

“ I can see that. Me too.”

“Okay, now you need to leave. I have some more last minute things to finish.”

“You sure don’t need my help anywhere.”

“No. Thank you.”

She pushes me out of the boutique giggling in enthusiasm.

I have a quiet lunch and retire to my quarters till evening.

*************

Later in the evening:

The palace shines in all its glory with strings of lights twinkling around its edges. The nobles arrive in their luxury vehicles one after another draped in choicest of designer wears, waving out to the cameras flashing at the entrance. The media is covering the country’s most important event in decades, alerting their representatives to capture who’s who of the royal court.

I calmly observe the rush, as usual, from my favourite spot, the bar. Liam joins me soon.

“Hana has a great taste.”

“What?” I look at him quizzically.

He raises his eyebrows in praise and waves his hand at me. “The suit looks good on you. She chose well.”

“Chose well? You mean the suit or me?”

He laughs out. “She has improved your sense of humour too. You are no longer the grumpy one.”

“I was never grumpy except in Riley’s dictionary.”

Just then, Max sprints towards Liam, “Hey Li, have you seen the grumpy guy around?”

I turn to him, “Very funny, Beaumont.”

“Oh, is it really you Drakey!” He gropes over and cups my face, his voice, a note higher and melodramatic. “You gave away your denims for a suit? That must be so painful. Are you alright?” He places the back of his hand on my forehead, trying to test my temperature.

“Cut it out Max.” I shrug away his hands as I notice Liam stifling a laugh.

Hana and Riley join the gang and they get busy with the chit chat. I notice Hana stealing glances at me but her eyes have a worried look. Something seems to be amiss that I cannot place my finger upon. After sometime she excuses herself and I find her exiting the main doors. I follow her towards the lawn.

There under the silver of moon, Hana shimmers in her silver gown, standing alone, deep in her thoughts. I step closer to her and wrap my arm around her shoulder.

She turns around to face me and suddenly hugs me tightly. “What’s wrong?” I ask her softly.

She doesn’t utter a word but pulls out an envelope from her clutch and hands it over to me. I don’t understand the foreign language written in it but definitely know that whatever it is, it has upset her. Her voice is almost a whisper when she says, “It’s over. I have to leave.” Still looking down into the letter.

I hold her at her elbows and tug, “Leave? Why?”

She raises her head and I see her eyes are welled up with tears. “It’s a letter from my parents. They say if I am not Liam’s choice tonight, which they know well, I should be moving back to Shangai tomorrow.”

I feel like someone has sucked out the breath from me, as I stand speechless in front of her.

‘Is this how it ends? No. Is this how I want it to end?’ It’s a split-second decision I make in a trice. I embrace her tightly. I hear her gasp with my unexpected move. Her hands lightly resting on my arms, letter still held in one.

I cup her face and look into my favourite honey almond eyes. “Hana…” I gather some more courage to say things I intend to. “I don’t know what happens tomorrow. But I want you to know that you are the most amazing person I have ever met. You are epitome of perfection yet you ignore the imperfections people around you have. Hell, you turn those short comings into a silver lining. You do things for the people you care. It’s impossible to stay away from you once someone gets to know you. I don’t know if I even deserve to be with you. But I want tell you this, that I… I love you. And I won’t let this end here. It’s not over. Not yet.”

She tries to open her mouth to say something but before that I lower my mouth on hers and capture the warmth of her lips. My fingers, cupping her face, feel the wetness of her tears rolling down her cheeks. I roll my thumb to wipe them away without breaking the kiss.

********

“How do you think it goes from here?” Riley questions in general.

“I don’t have any idea.” I rub my hands over my eyes.

I had requested Liam for an urgent word regarding Hana’s plans, in turn he called Riley and now we are all seated with him in his study.

“Can’t you stay?” Riley asks Hana.

“No.” Hana speaks softly, looking into a hollow.

“Why?”

“This is how it was supposed to be. My parents wanted me to be in Cordonia so that I find a suitable match in some noble house. With the social season coming to an end tonight, they don’t want me to stay any longer without purpose.”

“Damn it!” I curse in frustration.

“So, we really can’t do anything?” Riley looks at Liam for an answer.

“Not immediately. We will have to wait.” Liam says brooding.

“How long?” Riley seems to be more restless.

“Until I take over the office as the king of Cordonia.” He pauses, “And I can’t directly pass the first orders for Lee family at Shanghai when there must be many pressing issues Cordonia is dealing with. So we will have no option but to be patient.”

There is a knock at the door. Bastein peeps in to remind, “I am sorry to interrupt but we are running against time, sir. The king has asked for your presence in the main hall.”

Liam gets up looking at the watch. “I am afraid, we will have to curtail this meeting. Drake, I will see what I can do. I will update you.” He pats my back and then addresses Hana.

“Hana, trust me, we will find out a solution. I am sorry that you have to go through this.”

She gives a forced smile. “Thank you.”

Riley hugs her in reassurance and they both walk out of the study. I keep looking blankly at her retrieving figure. Bastein clears his throat to pull me back from my thoughts. “I… I…”

Bastein walks to me. He places his hand on my back. “Son, you are dealing with the nobles here. Don’t jump into action too soon. Take one step at a time. Things will fall in place if all goes well. Tomorrow, the king will be the one who is your best friend. As much as I know the boy, he will always have your back.” I nod in agreement.

“Have faith and some hope. This too shall pass.”

“Thank you, Bas.” I compose myself and stride down the hall with him.

The coronation ceremony is conducted smoothly. Watching Liam bearing a crown is a moment of pride. Minutes later, the announcement for the queen is made and against all odds he declares his love, lady Riley, as his future queen. They exchange rings and pose to the paparazzi as an officially engaged couple.

My eyes are stuck at the grand clock, each passing second ticking in my ear. My heart is racing against time. I scan through the crowd once again. Hana stands on the other end of the hall with other suitors. Our eyes pierce into each other hers throwing away sadness and mine hoping against hope.

“You know if Liam can get true love, against all odds, you too deserve to be with the one you love.” I snap at the voice that spoke behind me.

“Leo? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t have missed my baby brother’s coronation ceremony.” He shrugs. We meet each other with a hug.

“So, you and Hana, huh?” he asks inquisitively.

“Didn’t you just come back to Cordonia? How do you know?”

He looks across my shoulder at someone. “She knows, so I know.” He raises his glass wine in someone’s direction.

I turn around to see whom he is pointing to. My jaw drops when I check the lady walking towards us. She stops besides Leo and he places a soft kiss on her cheek. Their arms wind around each other’s waist.

“You…and…Livy?” I falter, astonished at the sudden turn of events.

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that-sw-writer · 4 years

Note

13 for Kylo!! don’t care if reader or kylo is jealous, I just love me some good ol jealousy

Sorry this has taken me so long!! Hope you like it xo

13: “Oh! You are so jealous!”

Word count: 1251

Warnings: jealousy, but like fluffy kinda jealousy nothing rly malicious

“Oh! You are so jealous!”

You weren't a jealous person. If anything, Kylo was the jealous one out of you both. If he so much as saw someone lay a finger on you without your explicit permission, the likelihood is that he would kill them on the spot.

You on the other hand, you didn't get jealous. Or so you kept telling yourself as you watched the stunning Duchess of Contria, a tiny planet in the outer rim, attempt to court your boyfriend.

Of course you were used to watching people throw themselves at Kylo. That was just an occupational hazard that came with dating the Supreme Leader, everyone wanted to be in your shoes, and many people weren't afraid to step over you to try and get there.

"I don't know what she's trying to achieve, Contria's just a pile of bantha fodder anyway." You huffed, venting your frustrations to the slightly bemused General Hux.

"If you're that concerned, why don't you go over there and say something?" He cooly suggested. The First Order was hosting an evening for diplomatic allies, new and old alike, to mix with one another and give their input into the direction of the Order.

"Because I'm not concerned. I'm just pointing out that even if I was concerned, her planet is useless to Kylo and the First Order." You were only fooling yourself, but Hux elected to not wind you up any further.

"I'm sure Ren is telling her exactly that." Hux only commented to try and put your mind at ease, but you were definitely still in denial about your own jealousy.

You had nothing to fear, you were a princess from a promising planet, chosen by the Supreme Leader not for political gain, but because he had fallen for you. When he had visited your planet on a diplomatic quest, you had been charged with representing the royal family and accompanying the Supreme Leader wherever he went. Things had simply escalated from there, and now your place was at his side, helping rule the First Order.

"Do you see that?" You whacked Hux on the arm to get his attention, despite the fact that you already had his attention.

"What?" He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was completely used to watching Ren behave like this when you were being pursued by someone else, but this was the first time he had seen the roles reversed.

"Look at her! She's all over him!" You protested, perhaps a bit too loudly but thankfully nobody was stood too nearby.

Hux indulged you for a moment and looked over at the exchange between Kylo and the Duchess. He was stood in his usual rigid manner, hands firmly clasped behind his back. Meanwhile the Duchess, who even Hux could admit was an attractive woman, seemed to be finding any excuse to flash him a smile and gently touch his arm as she laughed.

"Maker knows what she's laughing at." Hux muttered, disdain written all over his facial expression, "Ren's not funny."

His comment was only further reflected in Kylo's stock expression, his lips were set in a straight line. He looked to be the exact antithesis of the Duchess. Whilst she smiled and laughed, his face remained a deadpan. Even down to their clothing - she was dressed in lavish fabrics, adorned with bright colours whilst he wore his usual black tunic and cape.

"She probably thinks she's the funny one." You snorted, swiping a champagne flute from a passing serving droid and taking a generous swig of the liquid... a swig that was slightly beyond what was deemed 'socially acceptable.'

"Even the way she's touching his arm is embarrassing." Hux remarked, barely registering that he was now stood by your side staring at Ren and the Duchess, looking just as disgusted as you.

"It is isn't it." You were quick to agree. Hux was unknowingly throwing fuel on the fire, and simultaneously justifying your feelings.

The feelings definitely weren't jealousy though. You were still reminding yourself that you didn't get jealous.

You both watched Kylo excuse himself and turn away from the Duchess, who scowled at the notion of being discarded. When he turned to face you and Hux, his brow immediately furrowed when he caught you both standing and staring at him.

Like two deer caught in headlights, yours and Hux's eyes widened and you quickly turned to one another as if you were in the middle of a conversation amongst yourselves, although it was painfully obvious that this was just a ruse.

"What's going on?" Kylo slowly asked, "Y/N?" He raised an eyebrow at you first, and you feigned innocence by taking a sip of your champagne and shrugging your shoulders.

"Nothing, what's going on with you?" Your voice was perhaps an octave too high, but Kylo decided that Hux was going to be the weaker link out of the two of you.

"General?" He pressed, and Hux also gave a shrug of his shoulders.

"We were just discussing Contria after we saw you talking to the Duchess." Thankfully he was clearly a better liar than you.

"And?" Kylo clearly knew there was something more to tell.

"And nothing, I think Princess Y/N was against an alliance with them is all." There was a slightly pointed tone to Hux's comment and you looked at him with daggers in your eyes. He had just dropped you right in it.

"Why would you be against an alliance?" Kylo asked. His interest was peaked - he had no intention in investing himself in Contria at all, but the way you and Hux had been looking at him had raised his suspicions.

"I just don't agree with their leadership is all..." You quietly said, your voice trailing off towards the end of the sentence, masking your clear insult to the duchess by taking another sip of champagne. Although now your glass was empty, which meant you couldn't keep hiding behind it.

"The Duchess?" The corners of Kylo's lips were beginning to tug upwards in a smirk, "Not jealous are you my love?"

"What? No, of course not." You quickly huffed, looking at Hux for some support but he just grimaced and turned to leave you both alone. "I just think she's after more than a political alliance is all..."

"Oh! You are so jealous!" Kylo bore a rare smile, one that never usually appeared in public, but now he just couldn't help himself. The tables had truly turned.

"I'm not!" You continued to protest, "She just clearly has ulterior motives, and when I'm stood right here watching I just think it's rude." You told him very matter-of-factly.

A quiet, low chuckle left his lips, "And I agree, but there's no need to be jealous Princess." He dipped his head to whisper in your ear, "I only have eyes for you." His lips brushed your cheek as he pulled away, a smirk on his face. "Come on, we have other guests to attend to." He then teased you, offering you his arm.

Your heart was still aflutter from his words, your cheek tingling from his touch. But you pulled yourself together, at least for the rest of the evening you did.

It certainly didn't hurt for the Duchess of Contria to have to stand and watch Kylo spend the night keeping you firmly by his side. But the second you were alone Kylo would not stop relentlessly teasing you about your sudden burst of jealousy - and something told you you would never heard the end of it.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x y/n #kylo x reader #kylo x you #kylo x y/n

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corkcitylibraries · 3 years

Text

Cork in Verse | Ana Spehar interviews Jim Crickard

Cork in Verse is a series of interviews by Ana Spehar with Cork Poets. This week Ana interviews Jim Crickard.

Jim Crickard’s poetry is camp, entertaining work that explores culture, sexuality and identity with a hint of colour. In 2020 he was invited to represent Cork in the Cork-Coventry Twin City Exchange, which was moved online due to pandemic. In 2019 he was selected by Poetry Ireland for the inaugural Versify series and performed to a sold out show at Dublin Fringe Festival. He came second in the 2019 All Ireland Poetry Slam Final (and is working through his feelings about it with a therapist). In 2018, he won the Cuirt Spoken Word Platform and was awarded a slot to perform at Electric Picnic. In 2020 his poetry was broadcasted on RTE Arena. A poem he wrote was shortlisted in the 2018 O'Bheal International Five Words Competition, and his work has been published in Automatic Pilot, A New Ulster, and Contemporary Poetry.

When did you start writing?

I started writing when was 16. I had just come out of the closet, my older brother Shane (20) died the same year in a road traffic accident. Looking back, I think I needed space for expression. I started out with a journal before sleep. It was playful, private, and helped organise my thoughts. I’d draw a little picture at the end of each entry. I acted a bit like Virginia Woolf, with a high-neck collar, writing solemnly by candle light. When people write diaries, I think they secretly fantasise them being found and read by the masses.

When I was introduced to poetry in my Leaving Cert, I found it to be a bit stiff and flowery with poets like Keats, which had some appeal, but when we moved on to Adrienne Rich and Eavan Boland I was a lot more inspired. It was seeing people use the art form to represent women and give voice to minorities, and how they both textured their work with the confessional. I started writing my own poetry at the end of my journal entries but kept it secret. After a few years, and my first break-up, I started sharing online on a site called AllPoetry. It was great because there were little competitions between users and when I won a few of them I felt brave enough to share my work on Facebook. A few people were kind, but most were indifferent.

When I started going to O’Bheal in Cork, though, I really felt like writing could have a future for me. Writing and performing alongside other writers really makes it a lot more gratifying and instils the self-belief you need to keep going.

Could you tell us more about your creative process?

I’m always on the lookout for something to play with and tease out until it’s a poem. I write with the intention of making people laugh when they hear me perform. Unfortunately, ideas rarely happen when I’m walking around day-dreaming. I mostly need to sit down and write to find the idea or follow whatever I’ve got on my mind. One of my favourite poems that I’ve written takes a hen party in a gay bar and expands it into a series of images and scenarios that delight me and make me laugh. If it makes me laugh, then I trust that it’ll make a crowd of people laugh. I didn’t start out with that idea of the hen party though, I was trying to write a rather embarrassing romantic poem set in a gay bar, it was for a guy I was briefly dating. Suddenly there was a hen party in the corner. They abducted me with their willy-straws and novelty-glasses, and I followed their embarrassing moments and social faux-pas as they ran around, interloping and ruining the sacred queer-space. I was much more interested in them than the romantic poem I set out to write. I suppose it’s important to trust where the poem is going and let it reveal itself. If I ignored them and focused on the poem I was trying to write then I’d have missed out.

How does the creative process of writing affect your mood?

I’m elated when it comes together. I love when I get into a flow and my fingers are typing as fast as they can and what I’m writing is surprising me. That doesn’t always happen though, it can be slow and boring and the cursor can be blinking in front of me waiting for me to write something.

How often do you write? Do you write every day?

I wish I wrote every day. I’ve heard multiple sources say that that’s the best way to approach it, and I would definitely believe it. I have had periods where I wrote a new poem every week, possibly more than one. I have also had long periods of not expressing anything on the page. The latter feels depressing and I feel my life passing me by. It is this dread I feel that I’m losing precious time to grow and improve as a writer. I rationalise it by reminding myself that I need to work full-time, clean my apartment, cook dinner, which is all true. I also excuse myself by saying that I need to relax and watch some TV or listen to a podcast. I think that writing is the purest of me-time and I’d like to transform my relationship with it.

Can you tell us more about Venus Envy?

I have been known to dress in drag from time to time... I performed as Venus for Pride in O’Bheal. Afterwards I went to The Crane Lane with all of the poets. It was interesting being a drag queen out of context in another bar... People wanted to talk to me, some random stranger touched me as they passed by, and someone confided in me with something they had not mentioned before. There’s a strange power to being in drag. It’s like being a shaman, a eunuch, a jester, who is on the outside looking in. You can say things that you daren’t dream of otherwise, and people love you for it. If I had the time and money to do it more often I would. Drag will always have a special place in my heart, and on my right arm is a tattoo-portrait of Panti Bliss, the Queen of Ireland. I’ve thought about putting more drag queens beside her, but it would be like Mount Rushmore of Drag on my arm. Who knows, maybe I will.

‘Hen Party in The George’

Be careful around the corners, don’t make eye-contact at the bar,

watch out for the mom, she’s on safari, in search of exotic birds.

For a parrot to echo her punchlines,

or maybe a cockatoo,

she’s prowling around the cocktail lounge,

she’s looking for me and you.

The mother of the bride uses her lazy-eye

to her advantage,

she edges into a group of faces with meandering conversation.

Now blocking their exit, unsure

who she’s addressing,

on about her gay hairdresser, how great

he is with the scissors.

“I’ve never had a problem with the gays now myself” she says,

pausing to sip from a pink plastic penis,

pausing for praise.

And one by one, the gays fly south,

migrating to the bar,

to the dance floor, to South-Africa if necessary.

“Snobs” she calls em -

“them gays can be awful touchy.”

All her Christmases at once

when the black crow drag queen

stalking her long legs across the stage,

seven foot tall, in a silver crown of feathers refracting light off the disco-ball.

“Jesus” she says, stealing the

microphone: “you’re looking better than me”

“I should feckin hope so” the drag queen says “you’re twice me bleedin’ age!”

Slowly, slowly, the hen party has pissed off all of the George...

Abandoning punctured plastic husbands all over the stage.

Flashing so many cameras it feels like E.T.’s family has landed.

A gathering parliament of lesbians encircles the hens,

a murder of goth gays come down from their perch

I wonder if they’ve seen Hitchcock’s movie, ‘The Birds…’

by Jim Crickard

Sex in the Housing Crisis

We are the generation of born-again virgins

headboards disturb housemates on shift work,

Air-traffic controllers should be included in rent

to coordinate times to get the ride

Landlords can afford to support our sex-lives

and change carpets once in a while

We are the generation of born-again virgins

Like ships in the night, we work to survive,

but we are no thirty year old cargo boats…

anchored in the harbour, waiting for labour,

we are Ferrari red speed boats

with miles to go before we sleep,

miles to go before we sleep.

We are the generation of born again virgins

Nothing kills the mood like mildew

home-sense is built on the backs of millennials

fumigating probate houses

converted into one-beds

with constellations of mould

and half their salary paid

to make out on an old couch

facing a microwave

We are the generation of born again virgins

If you’re living with parents you can forget it

unless you can face breaking their trust

and explain condoms in the toilet-drain.

We must not forget about our parents sex-lives

afraid their carefully considered bed springs

will be heard by their thirty somethings

Let’s give the government hell for

this inter-generational dry spell!

by Jim Crickard

#corkcitylibraries #CorkInVerse #JimCrickard

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imjeralee · 3 years

Text

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 24 - Haunted

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

NOTE: I’m updating early! hope you enjoy. This chapter is quite disturbing (in a different kind of way).

Rating: General/Teen

@marydragneell here is the latest update

Haunted

…

[“Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone.”

- Solitude, Ella Wheeler Wilcox]

…

Leon sits at the table, wondering what to expect.

He isn’t really sure and he watches the rustling red curtain worriedly as Jace presses a button on his remote and the spotlight moves to shine on the drapes and the same music from the pageant’s opening ceremony begins playing.

He spares Volkner a quick glance; the gym leader is immobile, sitting in his seat with pen in hand over the paper, watching.

Leon passes a glance to Sonia and Jace next.

They look a little perturbed.

Frankie looks nervous too, sitting with Sylveon and Yamper squashed in her arms.

Meanwhile, Ezra snores on the sofa, the music drowning him out.

The curtains rustle again and are promptly pulled apart and you step out.

Leon stares, eyes wide. His hand goes limp, the pen almost falling out of his grip; you look….different.

He’s not the only one. Sonia is also gaping in shock, astounded by the difference in persona which is so glaringly obvious. Jace too, is severely spooked, gawking with eyes as large as saucers.

You’ve turned into a completely different person.

With a wide smile that reaches your ears, you have emerged in a swimsuit and high heels.

He hasn’t seen you wear so little clothing before. In fact, he’s used to seeing you in your long coat, oversized sweaters, cardigans or something…anything that was baggy and casual. He’s used to seeing you in bland, neutral colours with little or no makeup. He’s never seen you so dolled up, dressed up in such bold and bright colours and so exposed before.

He inwardly gulps as you begin to stroll down the aisle with the confidence and grace of a catwalk model, taking long strides in your heels, rehearsing the routine in tune to the music.

Except it’s not really you.

Keeping to her schedule, Sonia begins the introduction, clearing her throat and with script in hands, holding the microphone close to her mouth, “And give it up for the lovely Flora Warren who is here today to represent Motostoke!!!” she exclaims as enthusiastically as possible, but when she’s finished, she lowers the microphone, her lip wobbling with worry.

You parade over the red carpet, waving and smiling, oblivious.

Reading from the script, Sonia says, “Miss Motostoke is twenty years old this year. She is currently a full-time arts student at Hammerlocke University and her hobbies include dressmaking, flower arranging and volunteering at the local pokemon shelter! Her mother is an ex-beauty pageant queen with a five-year win streak and she’s hoping to carry on their legacy if she wins tonight. Good luck to you, Miss Motostoke.”

Following Sonia’s introduction, you wave to the dark audience, blowing kisses and still wearing that rehearsed smile on your face. You’re smiling so widely your cheeks are bunched together so high, your eyes creasing until they have turned into slits. It’s time to head to the left so with a hand on your hip, you head over – it's Leon’s side – and he stiffens as you look at him but your gaze is empty and not belonging to you.

You blow him a kiss and wave, a little flirtatiously, waggling your fingers.

Sonia laughs awkwardly, trying to masquerade it as much as possible. “Oh! What a bold gesture! I wonder what our judge Leon is thinking of?” she outlines, as you leave his side and head to the right where Volkner is.

The gym leader stares at you impassively and writes down his score, unaffected by your demeanour.

Leon glances at Volkner, inwardly wishing he did not get the opportunity to see you so scantily clad like this. Not just Volkner, but Jace too. This pageant is a bad idea and he is uncomfortable with this, as you had predicted. He tries not to let this revelation eat at him, though his chest clenches tightly with discomfort.

When the music is almost over, you return to the middle of the catwalk to perform one last twirl before returning to the curtain, standing in front of it. This should be the part where all the contestants did a synchronised dance and Leon watches as you perform the moves.

The music ends and after giving the miniscule crowd one last wave, you smile and vanish behind the curtain.

Leon’s gut comes undone and he pens in his score for the opening act, not that he really has an idea on how to grade you for this.

Jace blinks blankly the entire time, wondering to himself what in the name of Arceus he had just witnessed.

Frankie clutches the pokemon to herself, the colour drained from her face.

Sonia also appears disturbed, exhaling shakily before moving on to the next act.

It’s question time and you reappear in the swimsuit; Leon is certainly not used to seeing you wearing so little clothing and when you stride over to Sonia, he sees the smooth curve of your ass as you twirl and shift your weight onto one foot for a pose and he harrumphs into his fist, realising it is about to get worse.

Sonia stands at the catwalk with the microphone whilst you join her side, standing with your hand on your hip. In heels, you are taller than her an inch or so.

“Good evening, Flora,” Sonia says, a little reservedly.

“Good evening, Miss Sonia,” you reply, with that never-ending smile plastered on your face.

She hesitates: your voice has changed to a high-pitched, flirty, girlish tone.

“W-well…” she eyeballs the script briefly. “H-how does it feel to be on stage tonight?”

“Simply wonderful! It’s a dream come true!” you gush, uncharacteristically so.

Sonia is struggling to keep a straight face and to minimize her stammering. “Great, let’s move onto the questions then! Our first question for tonight is: Please do tell us something about yourself.”

“Yes, of course, I’d love to,” you speak clearly and confidently; Leon and Sonia cannot help but stare. Oblivious to them, you smile sweetly and say, “I am an embodiment of a new meaning of life. My purpose here is to find the meaning and to fulfill it. This platform is one of my steps towards reaching my goal for this destiny, which I will decide.”

“What an excellent, well-thought answer!” Sonia replies as the crowd claps in response.

You giggle and do a little curtsy, knocking one leg against the other.

She moves onto the next question. “And what would you say is the biggest problem facing our educational system, and why?”

“That is a fantastic question, Miss Sonia, and my reply is this: the biggest problem our educational system faces is that it believes it’s a system. A system is a set arrangement of things. However, education means to impart knowledge by giving and taking to empower the uneducated. This has been forgotten in the process of being a system, which needs to be learned once more.”

“Miss Motostoke, here is our final question: what do you expect to gain by participating in pageants and why?”

“By being a part of these pageants, I expect to gain an opportunity to discover my strengths and perfect them, realise my weaknesses and transform them into strengths and take home the crown.”

“Thank you, Flora. That’s all the questions for tonight.”

“Thank you.”

Sonia returns to face the audience as Leon, Volkner, Jace and Frankie erupts into applause once again and Leon writes down his score.

The night wears on until finally, it’s time for the crowning.

Frankie steps in and gathers the scoresheets off Leon and Volkner, handing them to Sonia. She checks it briefly before returning to the script; Flora is supposed to win anyway and as Sonia head to the stage. The music shifts to a drumroll, courtesy of Jace.

You emerge in the ruby red dress which glimmers brightly under the spotlight and stand behind her a short distance away.

Sonia reads out the scores, where an imaginary third and second runner up are announced.

“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” she announces, “who will be this year’s Miss Galar???”

You stand in the back, clutching your hands together with your eyes squeezed shut, holding your breath.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this year's Miss Galar Beauty Pageant is.........." Sonia leaves her sentence trailing for dramatic effect, “Miss Motostoke!”

You shriek with joy, leaping up and down on the spot.

“Give it up for Miss Motostoke!!! Congratulations!!!”

Slapping a hand over your mouth, you’re beginning to cry, thick tears oozing from the corner of your eyes.

Jace switches the sound effect to a fanfare then abandons the remote control to sprint over to the stage. He climbs up a ladder he has propped up where a basket full of confetti has been set up neatly on the top step. He promptly grabs a fistful and promptly tosses it over you as per your guidance.

As you squeal happily, a chair adorned with fancy red cushions is your ‘throne’ and it’s your final destination, a meaningful end to the night; you stride over, seating yourself with the precision and grace of a queen. You wave blindly to the crowd in the dark, smiling.

Next, Jace climbs down the ladder and abruptly tears off his sweater, revealing that he’s wearing a white shirt, suit jacket and tie underneath which he hastily adjusts before Frankie hands him the tiara and sash on a velvet cushion.

He tidies his hair and clothes before he strides over with the awards, presenting them to you.

You gasp with delight, pressing a hand to your chest, yet as you shift your glance, gazing at the pink jewel of the tiara sparkles and shimmers brilliantly under the light…

…your smile instantly evaporates.

In one fell swoop, your body abruptly lurches backwards against the chair as though you are host to an invisible force, before you’re thrown to the floor.

Sonia gasps and Leon stands up, chair legs scraping harshly across the floor as he rushes over and helps you up, snaking an arm around your shoulder and holding your hand tightly.

Your eyes are closed as he shakes you gently, calling your name, and you slowly open your eyes. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees your pupils are no longer blank and devoid of life. You have returned.

Your head’s throbbing and you emit an uncomfortable groan under your breath. “….Leon?”

“I’m here, it’s me. Are you alright?”

“…I think so.…” you glance around, spotting Volkner, Jace and Sonia who have gathered round.

"What happened to you?" Volkner asks.

“Chuck, are you okay?”

“Thank goodness!” Sonia cries as she envelopes you into a hug whilst Frankie is gawping at the chair you had previously occupied.

“….Flora?” she squeaks out.

A transparent, shadowy silhouette has suddenly appeared from out of nowhere, lingering on the seat, capturing everyone's attention.

“Flora??” Frankie tries to reach out to her but her fingers only come into contact with nothingness, grappling into thin air, “Flora, say something…what’s wrong? Flora?? Flo-

-ra?”

“Flora?”

“Flora, get back here this instant!”

“Leave me alone, mum!”

They’re fighting.

She can’t remember what the reason was. It’s probably her mum who started the argument as usual, for she has been ruthlessly training her day in and day out.

She's exhausted and she wants to leave.

Locking the door behind her, she marches to her closet and throws open the door, pulling out an empty suitcase and tossing it over the bed. She begins to pack her essentials as the doorknob is wrestled for a few moments or so, before a loud thud resonates from the door.

"Open this door!" mother yells, slamming a clenched fist against the surface.

"No!"

"Open this door right now!"

"No, go away!"

When she's finished packing, she zips the case up and lifts it off the bed; she unlocks the door, coming face to face with her irate mother who had been waiting impatiently outside.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“I’m leaving, mum.”

“But the pageant-“

“That's your dream, not mine. I never wanted to participate in any pageants, you’ve just been forcing it onto me,” Flora snaps, brushing past her mother and towards the direction of the stairs.

“Flora, you can’t!” mum follows and grabs the suitcase, causing Flora to stop. “No, how could you? I’ve sacrificed too much for you to throw it all away! Don’t go."

"I'm sorry, mum, but I've had enough."

"Don’t, please don't.”

She pulls the case as hard as she can. “Mum, let go!”

“Don’t leave me!”

“Let go!”

The two women struggle, pulling and tugging the case in various directions, grappling with it back and forth.

Flora’s mother cannot fathom this betrayal and treachery, by her own daughter nonetheless. She had spent all those years training and grooming her daughter to win, to be the best and most beautiful of all.

And now her daughter was going to leave?

She knew about her boyfriend.

She had eavesdropped on the plans they had discussed, the dreams they shared.

They were planning to elope.

A vile taste rises in her mouth. She wanted to vomit from the treachery, the betrayal….from her own daughter, nonetheless.

If friends and the neighbours found out…how could she still show her face? Who knows how long she will be the talk of the town, the laughing stock? Hadn’t she been humiliated enough?

She had driven her own daughter away, just like she had driven her husband into the arms of another all those years ago! The husband who left her with two children. One born when they were in love, and the other who caused the separation in the first place. That's when she lost the crown. She was too old. It was time to move on.

Never, she thinks to herself and at that moment in time, she knew she had to stop her daughter from leaving at any cost.

She grabs an object. Everything happened too quickly, she couldn't remember, but it was large and weighty and with strength she did not realise she could even possess, perhaps it was the spur of the moment and the adrenaline and anger rushing in her veins, she brings it down over her daughter's head.

And everything goes still.

Flora stumbles, dropping the case as she shakily lifts a hand to where she had struck.

Her trembling hand is soaked with blood.

Suddenly aware of what she had done, mother drops the object in shock. "FLORA!!! Oh my god, I'm so sorry-"

Disoriented, Flora winces and stumbles away clumsily, backing closer towards the stairs.

"Flora!"

"Don't....come...near me-"

She’s too late to stop Flora from falling; the heel of her foot completely misses the step; it happened so fast. Flora disappears down the staircase.

The sounds of her body tumbling down the steps resonates throughout the entire house, accompanied with a curt scream which abruptly comes to an end as her body slams over the ground.

Her mother is still, eyes laden with sheer terror.

“…Flora?”

She rushes to the railing, peering over and promptly gasps at the sight, covering her mouth with her hands.

Flora's body lies on the ground, limbs splayed out, resembling some twisted puppet on strings. Her head twisted to one side, Flora’s eyes remain open yet robbed of life. A puddle of red begins to leak from her head.

She creeps down the steps, noticing that Flora hasn’t reacted, hasn’t moved when she calls her name, and she begins to weep as she crouches beside her daughter. Her face is ruined. How can she participate in the pageant now?

Before the light disappeared from her eyes and the darkness overtook, Flora was facing the living room of the house she had grew up in, where she had so many fond memories.

A pink glint reflected off her eyes; it was last thing she saw and it was her mother’s tiara, which was proudly displayed on the mantelpiece.

…

“Flora, what’s wrong?? Oh god, what’s wrong??”

Frankie cries out for her sister again and again, but she cannot elicit a successful response from the spirit as it hovers listlessly in the air.

“Frankie, stay back. Something’s wrong,” you utter as a dark miasma begins to emit from the spirit in shadowy wisps.

It gazes where her hands should be though they are transparent, and her fingertips are slowly dissolving into nothing.

That’s right. I’m dead.

It’s then she realizes she’s hurting all over and she’s seeing everything in a lopsided angle. Is it her neck?

It hurts.

A profound sense of dejection spreads throughout her chest, though it is comforting in many ways.

“Flora!” you yell, as the dark waves and wisps increase steadily around the spirit and begin to cocoon her; she is beginning to lose form. “Stop! Don’t give in!”

“What’s going on?!” Frankie cries out in confusion.

Flora closes her eyes as the darkness laps at her. A soothing voice beckons to her, telling her this is real. Her death was real and to embrace the truth.

My own mother.

Throwing her head back, the spirit's jaw enlarges as she proceeds to emits a pained scream as sharp and grating as nails on a chalkboard, and you and Frankie wince uncontrollably; her eyes sink in, her hair grows wild, elongating until they resemble tendrils which grow darker, more fierce, and Frankie flings her panicked glance back and forth between you and her sister; a cloud of darkness has swamped her entirely, coiling and twisting under the lights of the lab. The light does not penetrate this formless, sprawling mass.

“It’s too late,” says a quiet but gruff voice, and everyone glances to the source.

Ezra has risen from the sofa with Absol by his side.

He’s heading towards your group, his glazed eyes focused on the coiling shadow as he pulls out a thin, bronze dagger from the inner pocket of his coat.

“Wait!!!” Frankie yelps.

She runs up to him but he shoves her aside.

Ezra's wrist darts out and he tosses his dagger towards Flora’s direction.

The dagger hurtles seamlessly through the air and pierces the shadow. A strangled, ethereal shriek fills the lab before the spirit promptly explodes in a burst of black, its existence reduced to nothing but dark ashes that slowly float gently in the air before disintegrating into nothingness. The scream persists in its wake, echoing thoroughly before it fades away.

The dagger, having destroyed its target, lingers in mid-air for a second or so before it drops to the ground with a loud clatter.

The lab is bathed in silence as Jace and Sonia blink with wide disbelief whilst Volkner watches on impassively. Leon gives you a gentle squeeze on the arm as you hold him close. Frankie averts her limp gaze to you and Ezra.

“….What have you done?”

…

In Motostoke, Frankie’s mother is led out of her house in cuffs.

She’s escorted by two policemen and her expression is blank, empty of emotion. Is she remorseful that her daughter died, or resentful that she was caught? You cannot tell.

You stand a safe distance away, watching Frankie in the open doorway; she’s sobbing and shaking her head with disbelief. The sirens blare and wail and neighbours peer over the garden fence to get a closer look. Then she spots you and your mentor across the street under the streetlight, and her expression turns stormy.

She marches up to you and when she’s an arm length’s away, her eyes are ablaze with anger and hatred, reserved just for you.

“I hate you!” she hisses, “I wish I never met you!!! You ruined everything!! You’ve taken EVERYTHING away from me!!! I never want to see you again!!!”

Without another word, she spins on her heel and dashes towards the direction of her house, slamming the door shut in her wake.

Stricken with a numbness you’re all-too familiar with, you stand, immobile.

Some of the neighbours throw glances at you, wondering what had happened between you two to have warranted such a hostile encounter.

Footsteps approach you, and Ezra joins your side.

“…You okay, kid?” he mutters, breaking the monotony.

It takes a while for you to regain your composure, and you manage a meek shake your head.

“You did your best.”

“…But it’s never really enough, is it?”

“You tried...that’s what’s most important.”

Your body shudders as you exhale loudly, wiping the corner of your eyes which are growing wet. “Oh god. What the hell was I thinking? I-I couldn’t do anything after all.”

“Stop beating yourself up. You did everything you could.”

“Do you think she’ll be okay?”

“She’ll be fine, her anger will subside and she'll move on. Not sure about her mother though.” Ezra mutters; without further ado, he grabs his cane and begins tapping at the ground, disappearing from the lamplight and onto the path. “Come on, kid, let’s call it a day.”

You nod weakly, joining his side; you throw the house one last look from over your shoulder before you follow your mentor into the darkness.

…

Later, you receive a message from Graves; one of his subordinates saw and recognised you at the scene. He asks you what you were doing there and you tell him you were working on a case. He doesn't bother to berate you over text.

Though you're aware the police were investigating at the same time since you had met Frankie and when you had held the pageant, you ask for more information regarding the arrest and to your surprise, Graves informs you the autopsy revealed Flora had died in a different location (and not the Watchtower Ruins). She had suffered head trauma and was left to bleed. The injuries on her body were also post-mortem, designed to confuse and mislead but lo and behold, nothing can escape Lady Justice. Frankie's mother and her alibi didn't quite check out, and she had become the prime suspect.

It would only be a matter of time.

The truth has been revealed though your mood does not improve and when you return to the lab, you quietly clean up the whiteboard and stow away the remnants of the case into your files. Earlier, you had wiped off the makeup and gotten changed into your normal clothes.

Jace and Volkner assist with dismantling the setup; they silently take down the curtains, the lights and tidy away the carpet. They also help you return the tables and desks and chairs to their respective places before they take their leave for the remainder of the night.

Everything was a blur, but you briefly remember thanking them and they did ask if you were fine, and you assured them you were and that you wanted to be alone.

Sonia packs away her utensils but you don’t go home with her just yet. You thank her for her help tonight and she exits the lab with Yamper though she’s reluctant to leave you on your own.

That leaves Leon, and he enters the lab quietly, spotting you at the whiteboard and quickly taking down all the pins, strings and magnets.

“Hey…” he murmurs as he makes his way over and you turn round.

His arms are full; he's holding a massive bouquet of flowers, a lilac box tied all over with a white ribbon and a Sobble doll.

"Um, I got you these because I wanted to cheer you up...they ran out of Ghost pokemon dolls so I had to make do with Sobble," he utters as you gasp. "And the bouquet I got you last time was ruined so I got you a new one."

You're stunned he managed to curate all these in such a short span of time and an image of him running around from shop to shop flashes in your mind; it's enough to bring a smile to your lips and you chuckle. "Thank you, they're wonderful."

He grins bashfully as he presents you with the gifts which you carefully settle on the desk. The bouquet is far more extravagant than the previous one, filled with a multitude of brightly coloured flowers of all shapes and sizes and also looking very expensive and exotic. You quickly lean down and take a whiff; they smell wonderful as expected, and you lift up the box next for a good look. It's fancy chocolate.

Next, you pick up the Sobble doll. It is so cute and squishy, and you let it sit on the desk beside your books. Leon watches as you smile to yourself; just seeing you happy makes him happy.

"Thanks Leon," you murmur, stepping over to his side to swiftly kiss him on the cheek.

His face grows red, but he grins and before you can wander away, he takes your hand in his and gently squeezes your fingers. "...You're welcome."

"I'll take better care of the flowers this time," you reassure him and he nods; you return to the board, picking up where you left off and determined to finish up before the end of the night.

"Let me give you a hand."

"Thanks."

He grabs Flora’s photograph and pulls it off the board. You watch as he silently assists you, before you peel off Frankie’s photo and Hank’s mugshot. He continues to help you with the cleanup and when the board is clear, you grab your journal and the box of chocolates before heading for the last step of the staircase, plopping yourself down with the items balancing over your knees.

Leon joins you as expected, being mindful of his cape as he settles himself down. You have always enjoyed being close to Leon no matter what the occasion and this evening is no exception.

"Let's have a look," you say with a smile as you untie the ribbon as carefully as you can, lifting up the lid to reveal the chocolates are moulded into adorable shapes of ghost-pokemon ranging from Ghastly, Phantump, Pumpkaboo and Drifloon.

Leon watches your reaction; your eyes light up before you gesture him to take one. He chooses a Drifloon fudge and you pluck a Ghastly truffle before you both pop them into your mouths at the same time.

"Oh, it's good."

"I’m glad you like it. What should we try next?"

"Phantump caramel?"

"Yeah."

As you munch your way through your next chosen chocolate, you sigh.

"Are you okay?" Leon asks.

You shake your head.

"Come here," he replies, and you put the chocolates down to scoot closer to him; he invites you into his embrace, wrapping an arm around your shoulder whilst scooping your other hand with his. The warmth from his hands is comforting as he affectionately weaves your fingers together.

“I just wanted to help,” you murmur.

“I know.”

“Was that so wrong?”

“Of course not.”

“I wish I could be like you, Leon. I wish I could help people the way you do.”

“But you already do.”

“No, I don’t. You inspire people and actually make a difference to the world.”

“So do you,” he replies, chuckling. “I’m serious. You do make a difference, and in so many ways. You save people’s lives.”

You look up at him silently and he glances down, your eyes meeting.

“You saved me, remember? You saved the Champion of Galar. And you saved that guy called Tanner. Your heart was in the right place, and it always has been. Someone needed help and you answered their pleas; you wanted to help them in the way you knew how, which you did.”

Your cheeks go pink and he grins at you.

He lets go of your shoulder so he can gently clasp both hands over yours, bringing your entwined hands close to his chest before he leans down and brushes his lips over your knuckles. This display of affection makes you smile, and he presses another kiss over your hand.

“…She reminded me of myself when I was younger,” you utter, “and she also reminded me of Rosie. I even asked her if she wanted to learn. For a long time, it felt like I was swimming in a dark ocean all by myself where I couldn’t see anything or anyone but then she came along, and I wasn’t alone anymore. Someone else was swimming beside me the entire time.”

“You’re not alone,” Leon replies, “you have me. You have your pokemon, you have Ezra, Jace, Sonia, Inspector Graves, the professor. My mother and Hop, too.”

When he releases you, albeit slowly, his hands settle on your waist and you encircle your arms around his neck, resting your cheek against his shoulder. Leon emits a quiet sigh under his breath as he gathers you up in his sturdy arms and pulls you further into his embrace, holding you close to him.

As your mind begins to ease, your body relaxing, the journal finally slips off your knees and topples to the ground, your family photo sliding out in progress.

“I got it,” Leon murmurs, sliding his arm around your back as he bends down so he can scoop the items up quickly, and you chuckle as you cling onto him.

“Thanks,” you say with a grin as he hands you the journal and photo; you study your family’s smiling faces and your smile disappears. “…Leon?”

“Yes?”

“...I never told you what really happened to my family. I should have told you earlier. I’m sorry,” you say quietly, taking a deep breath. “I’ll tell you now.”

He nods.

“I’m from Kalos. We lived in Laverre Town. My family were haunted by an entity. In particular, Rosie.”

As you recount your past, explaining to Leon about Dusknoir, the incident in the basement, your mother’s disappearance and your time spent in hospital after your mental breakdown, you see Leon’s smile slowly vanishing from his face, his expression turning solemn.

And now you’re rather afraid yourself, for deep inside, you knew very well you cannot hide the truth from him and you were always terrified of what he will think of you once all the skeleton in the closet was dug out.

You cannot fathom what he might be thinking of. Maybe this will be it, this will be the final straw for him. He will decide you are a kook, once and for all and like many others, he will cease being around you. Maybe it’s too much emotional baggage to deal with and he will not want anything to do with you after all.

When you finish, Leon is very silent.

You ensured no detail was left out and now all you can do is wait for his response, albeit with incredible unease.

"So that's why you asked if I could help you find a Dusknoir," he murmurs, and you're surprised he remembered that considering it was such a long time ago.

Regardless, you nod. "I want to find out what happened to them, if they're still out there. I need to know what happened. Why Rosie, why them? Why me? Who did it...or, what did it...and why?"

Leon clamps his hand tightly over yours. "What happened isn't your fault. Don't blame yourself."

"But if I'd been stronger, if I'd paid more attention-"

"It's not your fault," he mutters, "I'll help you. Should we find a Dusknoir to get some answers? I know there are wild ones in Galar. Would that help?"

"...It might be dangerous."

He says, with a wide grin, "The Champion of Galar will do everything he can to protect you."

A huge smile worms its way over your face and you squeeze his hand tightly, "I appreciate it, Leon, but Ezra said it's nothing to do with the pokemon."

"Do you agree?"

You nod. "When Dusknoir took my family away, it was either possessed by the entity or it was receiving orders via the antenna on its head. And whatever that something is, it's from the spirit world, using Dusknoir to do its bidding. If I'm to stop it, I'll need to go in myself but even till now, I still have no clue what it might be or how to get there. I might get answers if I go into the spirit world myself but that would mean....well, I'd need to go through a Near Death Experience, or...I'll find a way to open a portal but that's completely unheard of, if not, impossible."

"You can't, that's too dangerous. Everything you've just told me is too dangerous."

"Yeah, I know. Too dangerous." you echo, nodding.

There's your dilemma, you realise.

"Any other plans?"

"....Well, Ezra said it will come for me one day. There's that."

As Leon speaks, it's then you recall that shadowy silhouette behind Charizard and Vulpix when you had watched the sunrise together.

“Hey, you okay?"

"Huh?" you snap out of your thoughts, blinking at him. "What? Sorry, did you say something?"

"Yeah, I was just asking what happened next? What happened after you moved to Galar?”

"Oh, right," you murmur, “Well….”

…

#jeralee #fanfic #fic #reader #reader insert #leon #leon x reader #Leon x you #dande #pokemon #pkmn #pokemonsword #pokemonshield #pokemonswordandshield #pokemonshieldsword #pokemonshieldandsword #archive of our own #Comfort in Despair #you

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feminist-propaganda · 3 years

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Single Mothers Will Probably Cry During Every Episode Of Queen’s Gambit - Episode 1

I’ll start this long piece with a quote by Toni Morrisson. She once said : “If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.”

After watching Queen’s Gambit yesterday I rushed to the Internet to see if someone had written all of the things I am about to write, all of the symbols I saw in the miniseries, all of the dog whistles, the references. I found articles about chess. About how the community had adopted the film, about which grandmasters the characters were based off of, about chess moves and theories, about production and the unexpected success of the series.

According to me, this is quite mediocre commentary. I eventually clicked on the New Yorker article that seemed to be a tiny bit smarter. After a couple of paragraphs I realized that the male writer was only going to rant about how the actress is “too pretty” to be Beth Harmon, and this seems to upset him. A lot.

But no one talked about Beth’s mother. Or the name of the series. Or the embroidery. The chess board. The tranquilizers. The math. The flashbacks. The exchange of queens. The sacrifice of the queen. Did no one see it? Or is it again one of those things; where the world is so obsessed with single mothers and representing them as huge, massive, quite literal train wrecks, but no one actually wants to look at them in the eye, talk to them, help them?

Let me tell you, as a single mother, this miniseries had me in tears the whole time. It’s really difficult to watch. It’s downright triggering.

Single mothers like to keep their silence. That’s because we know the world doesn’t like it when we start talking. It hurts. A lot. So instead, the world likes to make memes about how single moms are whores, how they are drunks or over worked. How they’re psychotic. How they ramble. They don’t make any sense. Bipolar. Crazy. How their children stare at the television all day, the way they microwave bad food. We laugh at them, and use them as comical relief in our ... what exactly? Cultural objects. Then we move on. We send a message to single mothers when we do this, and the message is important. You suck. Shut Up. Don’t exist. It’s your fault.

We make an entire mini series about a single mother who killed herself to save her kid, we put on the television images that hurt and harm single mothers and then the public responds with nothing. They don’t even bat an eyelash. Miss the point entirely. Great series about chess! Except it’s not about chess. Not at all. It’s about raising children alone, when the world hates you. It’s about a trailer. In the middle of nowhere. A strong willed woman who was a mathematician in the 1940s. Who taught her daughter everything she could. Realized she couldn’t do more. And made the ultimate sacrifice, the queen’s gambit. The riskiest, most reckless, bravest move of all.

So let me tell you about what it’s like to watch Queen’s Gambit when you’re a single mother. So that somewhere in the AI, it’s written. So that when our great grand children will try to understand our times, they’ll read it.

I’ll write an essay for each episode. And in each essay I will review the important lession that Alice passed on to young Beth, and how this takes her to Moscow, where she can live a much more fulfilling life than in the U.S.A.

Lesson 1 : Find A Two Dimensional Algebric Plane. Study It. Control It.

I recently learned from instagram user @itllbeokbaby and Amsterdam based artist and weaver Liza Prins that the words textile and text have the same origin as the word texture.

Text derives from the Latin textus (a tissue), which is in turn derived from texere (to weave). It belongs to a field of associated linguistic values that includes weaving, that which is woven, spinning, and that which is spun, indeed even web and webbing. Textus entered European vernaculars through Old French, where it appears as texte and where it assumes its important relation with tissu (a tissue or fabric) and tisser (to weave).

Women have been weaving, beading, sowing and stitching since the dawn of times. We also know that women used this technology not just to create clothes, tents or shoes. They used it as a container of information. As cultural DNA.

In South America, in places where writing as we know of it was never created, women would bead important tribal information into skirts. They would then use the skirts as a database of the tribe. To track births, deaths, epidemics, droughts and other important group defining events.

In modern times, women still use embroidery as a means of expression. My memories from childhood contain strong images of my aunts and grandmothers, sewing my name and date of birth onto pillow cases, bathrobes and bedcovers. They would do this by the pool, at the bottom of the ski slopes, on the beach or in the train. They would engage into conversation as they embroidered; as this activity required some concentration, but not their full attention. It was their way of being present; but also transcending into the past and projecting into the future. They sewed our lives into the cloth.

I once heard my grandmother counting the holes in the cloth she was decorating with her beautiful colours. I asked what she was doing. She said that to build the letters on the cloth, you needed to count the squares. Two to the top, four to the right, ten to the middle, etc etc. I was quite mesmerized. I was maybe eight at the time, the same age as Beth when she loses her mother. I had started learning some math in school but somehow the math in school seemed to be presented to me as the epitome of something quite different than this excruciatingly feminine passtime.

Math was presented to me as masculine, out of reach to us girls. And now I was disovering that these women in my family were geometry experts, fluent in linear algebra, and that at a higher level, they were database account managers.

In the first episode of the miniseries, in the first couple of minutes; we discover two Beths. The first Beth is in Paris, the beautiful, the chic; the glamourous Paris. Paris will always be the undisputed capital of Fashion.

Paris is the undisputed capital of fashion not because it is the home of polluting massive textile industries like the ones in Pakistan or Zara’s empire in Spain. Paris is the capital of fashion because it is the capital of Haute Couture. And Haute Couture is custom made, sowed by hand, piece by piece, bead by bead, sequin per sequin. It is delicate. It is slow. It is sacred. It is what my aunt’s did.

It is the opposite of industrial, the opposite of a sewing machine, the opposite of an engine. The opposite of yield failures, punching in and punching out. It is lace. Delicate, personal, eternal.

The second Beth we see is the eight year old Beth, that has just lost her mother. She stands on a bridge. Two cars have crashed into one another. And she stares on at the police officers. One says “Not a scratch on her. It’s a miracle”. The other says “I doubt she’ll see it like that”.

My theory is that the miniseries explain how Beth eventually begins to “see it like that”.

The first time we see 8 year old Beth she is wearing a dress, with her name embroidered on it. It reads Beth, in pink. Feminine. Purple flowers surround it. The embroidery is delicate. It’s on her heart.

We follow eight year old Beth as she gets sent to an orphanage. In the first couple of scenes at the orphanage, we think, for a minute, that maybe Beth will be okay here. The head mistress smiles, has nice hair. Shows her around. Yes, the bed is by the lavatory, but at least she has a bed, a roof over her head.

We only start despising this new mother figure when she takes Beth to choose new clothes. Beth takes off her dress, and stares at her name, written on the front. The headmistress selects a white shirt and grey dress for Beth. She hands to her these new items, symbol of her new life, of her integration within the orphanage and later mainstream society. The headmistress then grabs the dress with the name embroidered and looks at it with disgust. Then, she says “I think we’ll burn this one” and disapears.

Beth then understands that she is no longer allowed to love her mother. That to fit in this school, this orphanage, to survive, she must let go of the embroidery and all of the things she associates with her mother. Her mother, in the words of the teacher was a “victim” of “a carefree life”. A free spirited whore, a lesbian, a witch. There’s a lot of words we liek to use to describe women who don’t conform. And Beth’s mother, as we learn, never conformed.

At night, Beth sees her mother’s eyes, she hears the last words her mother uttered before dying in the car crash. “Close your eyes”. She said it with tears in her eyes and an air of great determination. She knew what she was doing, which is something Beth doesn’t want to tell anyone. Not even her new friend Jolene. Beth’s secret is her mother wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t crazy at all.

Then, Beth discovers the board. One day, she gets sent to the basement and sees the janitor playing chess. Later in the miniseries, Beth tells the journalist from Life it was the board that attracted her. Not the pieces.

As the first episode unfolds, Beth learns that the squares have names. She learns the names. And at night when she looks up at the ceiling she sees the board. She visualizes the pieces moving on the 64 squares. She moves them in her mind and imagines all of the alternatives. What the board would look like if she moved this piece to that square. What would her opponent do then?

To the journalist of the Life magazine, Beth says that the Chess board was a universe of 64 squares, and that she could control this space. All she had to do was study it.

The board is much like the cloth that Beth’s mother Alice would sew information onto when she was a young child. You count the squares and move your material through it. As you go, you make shapes, patterns, motifs. Beth looks up at the ceiling at night and the first night, without the tranquilizers, she sees her mother say “Close your eyes” which is too painful or such a young child. A young child doesn’t understand yet why a mother would say “Close your eyes” and then crash on purpose into a truck. A young child doesn’t know about the world yet.

Alice aknowledged that she was about to do something extremely risky, that the outcome was uncertain. Alice told Beth that she was going to purposely provoke the car crash.

But when Beth takes the tranquilizers at night, and now that she knows about chess, she can transfer her love for her mother into her growing obsession with Chess. She looks up at the ceiling and instead of seeing Alice’s last thoughts, she sees the Chess board. Which is the small piece of universe that Alice controlled, when she was alive. The cloth that she sewed her daughter’s name on: “So that you’ll always remember who you are”.

#feminism #single mom #the queen's gambit

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imasimpforstevengrant · 4 years

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Why do we like this clown so much?

Change the "we" for "I" and you get an usual tag I use whenever I post my content in Tumblr. And it sounds funny at first but whenever you start diving into that phrase, the deeper it becomes. So, I finally have decided to share my thoughts about this strange but wholesome attraction to this deeply flawed character. It's not something I usually do since I don't know how to write down my feelings properly and also in english so please forgive any typos (I'm from Chile so don't be surprised lol).

So...Why do we like this clown so much?

Why was it that a character precisely designed to scare and to disgust the fuck out of us ended up unchaining a series of feelings that shouldn't have taken place in a beginning?

Let's take a look at the background: Joaquin Phoenix was cast as Arthur Fleck/Joker in 2018. The first image of him as the aforementioned character revealed a deeply disturbed man. We knew the plot. A man driven to insanity after a brutal history of abuse, creating concern in people if the upcoming film would inspire real life violence. Incel violence and mass shootings, more specifically.

(the image in question)

As 2019 arrives, the two trailers generated so much hype that media needed to fuel its concern about it. Since it wasn't your typical comic book film, media basically bombed our minds making us believe this film was going to be a total disaster, an excuse to cause harm to others among other nonsense, as if the film would justify everything Arthur would do in the film, eventually. As the release date is closer, the film receives thunderous applause and unanimous praise from critics. At this, fans rejoiced and expressed impatience to watch the film.

October 5th.

People left the theaters amazed, shocked and genuinely moved by the inhuman treatment Arthur received in the film. The fear media tried so desperately to infuse in us with all the incel bullshit and such turned out to awake one of the most positive, best feelings in humans:

E M P A T H Y

The word that so gloriously cleared away any dark thoughts or actions not only proves media was wrong but it turned out to ridicule it in way nobody will forget: Hundreds of people advocating for mental illness, calling out to the kindness that could change a person's bad day and questioning how politicians and rich people are indifferent to social problems proved how much as a society we have changed in comparison with the one shown in the film.

However, since we are on Tumblr, I'll get straight to the point and try to explain why the fuck does this clown has us dying out of love and compassion (and lust).

I. Background.

As nurturing as we women are for a biological matter, we see a man deprived of a good job, is on seven different medications, working like a slave to sustain his ill mother, putting aside his own health and well-being to look for her, struggling to make his dream of being a comedian despite everyone stepping on him, underpaid and treated like a freak for a disorder he did not ask to suffer, which makes it impossible to be indifferent to all the horrible ordeal that eventually will reach the limit of what he can tolerate without going insane. It is impossible to not say or think, at least, that someone (even if it's just one person) should stand for him just as it is impossible not to feel the need to throw ourselves at him to shield him from people who hurt him or simply offer him our shoulder whenever he has had a bad day, specially when he learns he was sexually assaulted by his step father.

This horrid behaviour terrifies newer generations because they get a taste of what being a social outcast was like more than thirty years ago in comparison with today, where there's more acceptance and treatment for mentally ill people like Arthur. We see in him someone who could have been saved with a proper education and emotional support instead of descending into madness as a criminal. Others simply saw themselves being treated like him at some point in their lives and couldn't help but put themselves in his shoes.

II. Personality.

TRUTH BE TOLD:

There's something called "attraction by proximity". It is the explanation to the eventual love you feel whenever someone doesn't catch your eye at first terms of physical attraction but his/her personality does attract you. This happens to be the base of this situation. His shyness, introverted nature, tenderness and innocent desire to make people laugh and put on a happy face awake some kind of tenderness we cannot resist. This combined with the gloomy background increases our understanding (but not justifying) of the bad decisions he'll eventually take during the course of the film. This traces a line of harsh, almost hurtful contrast of the violence he shows later on the film. Once again, it is not justified in any way but it is certainly understandable.

III. Appearance.

Arthur Fleck is unconventionally attractive.

This happens to be a plus for most women. He is out of the male beauty standards (no abs, not too muscly or particularly tall), which makes him even more unique. It is precisely the fact that he's not a model one of the reasons women love him. He could easily be your man next door or your colleague or the guy you always see but never dare to talk for fear to bother him Because it's about proximity. Arthur looks like your common neighbour. He's not meant to be your typical desirable male protagonist at all.

... And yet.

Jesus Christ, he's so fucking hot I can't even---

It's not about how beautiful his green eyes are, his long slender fingers, his hair or his smile only. It's the charm behind it.

Another "magnet point" is the way he dresses. I know he's impoverished and his wardrobe tend to be repetitive but it is so unpretentious, so simple that is hard to not fall for. The modesty of the shirts, ironed trousers reminds us of a mature man deeply withdrawn into himself, love starved and longing to be seen and loved by others, like a war veteran who still fights the most important war: with himself. Is someone who needs to be listened and understood.

AND OF COURSE WHAT'S NOT TO LIKE ABOUT IT?

He's also brought back the old gentleman outfit, white shirts, red/yellow vest, red suit and elegant dancing moves and the retro style of the film boosts this attractiveness.

People keep comparing him with the previous interpretation of Joker (Leto's) whose costume appealed to young women with a tattooed, gangster, mumble rapper crazy-guy wannabe which didn't connect with the audiences (young people in general). This supposedly was to match or even have a sexy, tormented and desirable villain like Marvel's Loki. We all know how that story ended but it's the link for the next point below.

IV. Transformation

This is a particularly strong point considering how much we loved to watch the process of this weak, powerless, forgotten caterpillar into a beautiful and visible butterfly that will gracefully stir its wings for everyone to see its colours.

When Arthur transitions to the Joker, it's so cathartic to see taking revenge on those who wronged him (even when we're not supposed to root for him) like seeing his shyness fading away into a vivid confidence when dancing half naked in the bathroom, or witnessing him making way to make his name known to people in Murray Franklin's Show:

Adding to this newly gained confidence, there's another turn on: the way he walks.

At the beginning, his pace is hunched and limping, displaying his submission to violence, which makes the viewer more satisfied to see his broken yet beautiful soul turning the past pain of his existence into art: he lets music guide his moves as a way to tell the world he's a new man by cutting most of the sick, evil roots that harmed him, that he's invincible, that no one can stop him. Watching this cathartic display of euphoria was the most iconic scene in the film, following his speech at the TV and the inevitable meltdown that caused Murray's death.

Going to further appreciation, even his clown make up is beautiful. Why? Simple. The combination of colours, shapes and the intimidating glare just embellishes even more the character.

The dark blue triangles in his expressive eyes makes the light green colour to highlight, specially in dark backgrounds, giving the impression he's piercing your soul whenever he stares directly at the camera. Same can be said about the red smile and emerald green hair. They boost an already intimidating look.

The cold and warm colours paint a picture of a man full of intense emotions, mirroring it in a simple yet masterful artistic way.

Another interesting point is the way Joker dresses. Usually we had almost every single live adaption of this character in purple coat, hat, etc. But this particular version is not following any comic, which gives more freedom to creativity and once again, out of the standards of what we could have expected.

Red is a colour related to passion, action, love, strength, motivation and excitement. As for yellow, it indicates freshness, happiness and enlightenment and finally, green. Green is renewal, growth and regeneration. Colours that represent a new stage in his life, a mirthful chapter at last. We finally get to see our battered, always humiliated protagonist (or hero) descending into madness, but finally free from his repressed man who held his soul captive like a bird to fly away, to never come back. An insanity that despite being his downfall, turned out to be his ticket to freedom as he walks to the light in Arkham Asylum dancing at the end.

Ladies and gentlemen: behold the film nobody asked... But the film we fucking deserved.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk

❤️💚💛

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