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immaturityofthomasastruc · 5 months

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IOTA Reviews: Representation

Oh, so NOW child abuse is bad. Could have fooled me last episode!

Let's get into the twenty-fifth episode of Miraculous Ladybug's fifth season: Representation

We start off with an English news report recapping the ending of “Revolution”, stating that Ms. Bustier is going to run for mayor, conveniently ignoring her attempted coup in “Collusion”. We also see that Gabriel and Tomoe are still uncomfortably focused on making Adrien and Kagami appear to be a couple in public, much to their dismay. While Kagami is visited by Argos (who once again sneaks up on her, like he usually does), Adrien realizes he can transform into his space form and see Marinette whenever he wants and transforms into Cat Noir, planning to reveal his identity to Marinette. Hey, did he even tell Ladybug about his sudden departure? Because it didn't go well the last time he left Paris without telling her (New York Special).

We then cut to Marinette right after the events of “Revolution”, going to the end of the year dance... even though when we saw Adrien and Kagami in London, the sun was still setting, and France's time zone is only about an hour later, meaning Adrien and Kagami must have flown there at ludicrous speed.

Meanwile, Argos and Kagami somehow got from London to Paris offscreen, and watch Marinette from afar, with Kagami revealing she knows she's Ladybug. They decide to tell Marinette that Felix knows who Monarch is in order to ensure his downfall. Nah, I'm just kidding. Here's the real reason they're coming to Marinette for help.

Kagami: My mother and Gabriel Agreste will never allow us to love each other freely. Only Ladybug can help us.

Yep, rather than prioritize the fact that Gabriel is endangering the citizens of Paris on a daily basis, Kagami is seriously more concerned about her relationship with her boyfriend being tampered with. This is like saying Lex Luthor is evil because he cheats on his taxes. Argos transforms back into Felix, and... oh, for the love of God... he disguises himself as Adrien in order to get closer to Marinette. You can't keep portraying Felix as this master of disguise if he only has ONE disguise!

Marinette sees “Adrien” and assumes he came back from London from her, assuming her boyfriend is much more active that the writers actually believe he is, so she tries to follow him while avoiding the guests at the party. Meanwhile, Gabriel and Tomoe learn their children are gone, so he goes to talk with Nathalie and—why the hell is she like that?

Seriously, this has never been established as something that happens when someone uses the broken Peacock Miraculous. Why didn't this happen to Emilie? She looks pretty healthy in her little coffin, and I doubt Gabriel is an embalmer.

Anyway, after Nathalie once again reminds us that she hates Gabriel, but not enough to call the cops on him, Gabriel transforms into Monarch and immediately detransforms back in order to akumatize himself into Nightormentor.

Nightormentor is a pretty average recolor of the Collector's design, which kind of makes sense, considering that Gabriel himself intended the Akuma for himself. The star pattern is okay, but there's not much I can really say. As for his powers, he's just another Sandboy, being able to force people to hallucinate their worse nightmares, only instead of a pillow, his weapon is a staff created from a pen containing the Akuma, with the Horse Miraculous' Voyage to boot. Why he didn't just give himself the same powers he gave Truth when he's trying to find Adrien is anyone's guess.

Cat Noir arrives at the Eiffel Tower to talk with Marinette, just as Nightormentor appears. The two fight, and after a few civilians get caught in the crossfire, Nightormentor escapes through Voyage. As Cat Noir heads to the Dupain-Cheng bakery at the advising of Max, Alya and Nino decide that the totally not useless Resistance should get involved.

While Marinette gives chase, Felix leads her into the school's art classroom, where he transforms into Argos and creates a Sentimonster using Kagami's ring. Felix and Kagami use the Sentimonster's power to do... uh... whatever the hell this is.

Yeah, this is basically a flashback, but the animators probably blew their budget needed for the new models on Ms. Bustier's baby bump, so we're getting this instead, thanks to the Sentimonster Argos created. There are several scenes of Cat Noir and Nightormentor interspersed, but like what I did with Marinette's flashback in “Derision”, I'll give you the summary before I talk about my problems with this.

When Adrien's mother and aunt, Emilie and Amelie, were born, Emilie (who was born seven seconds early) was trusted with the family heirlooms, the two rings we first saw all the way back in “Felix”. Even though this meant she would inherit the family name, Emilie didn't really like doing... whatever the Graham de Vanily family wanted her to do, but Amelie did. Eventually, while studying abroad, Emilie met Gabriel, and the two fell in love. Before marrying Gabriel, Emilie gave up her role as the sole inheritor of the Graham de Vanily family's vague legacy, while Amelie married a man named Colt to please her parents. Both couples wanted children, but it's heavily implied that Emilie and Amelie were infertile, so their wishes weren't able to come true. Emilie finally managed to get a bun in the oven thanks to the Peacock Miraculous, but this made Colt jealous that he couldn't have a child. Out of the goodness of her heart, Emilie asked Gabriel to give the Peacock Miraculous to Colt, in exchange for letting the Gorilla guard Adrien in the future. Using his own jealousy as a source of power, Colt got Amelie pregnant, though at the cost of his health. Colt figured this was the price he had to pay for using “sorcery”, and used this as an excuse to treat Felix like a monster and ordered him around using the ring containing his Amok. Felix himself was unaware that he wasn't human until Colt accidentally broke the ring (which wasn't one of the two wedding rings used to control Adrien and was an entirely different ring containing Felix's Amok), which he stole as soon as Colt died. This is meant to explain why Felix decided to steal back the Peacock Miraculous, in order to save his life. Felix later met Kagami, and the two explain that they need “Someone like Ladybug” to help them.

Now if your only information about this episode is through my summary, it seems simple enough. For everyone else who actually saw this sequence in the episode itself, I'm guessing your thoughts were about the same as mine.

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Let's go over every problem I have with this scene, starting with...

#1: The Way Kagami and Felix Explain This

Let me just ask something: Why can't Felix just talk to Marinette about what he knows since he now knows she's Ladybug instead of telling her everything through this weird play? You can still tell Marinette all of this without your two-man show. In fact, why did Felix have to wait until he knew Marinette was Ladybug instead of just talking to her the next time he saw her? Yeah, you could argue it's easier this way, but like I've been saying since Season 4, Felix has had no excuse to wait this long to tell Ladybug about the fact that he knows who her greatest enemy is.

And why the hell is it presented this way? Why does Felix have to recontextualize the story of his family's history in the form of a play? Why turn it into a stereotypical fairy tale that leaves out the names of all the important people, like Emilie, Amelie, Colt (whose name I only learned through the transcript of this episode), and Gabriel? If it was like a hidden message Felix and Kagami wanted to convey to Marinette, that would make sense, but why do they have to be so cryptic when they're only putting this show on for one person? You could easily avoid a good chunk of the questions this raises if this was a show Felix and Kagami put on for the public that Marinette was able to learn the information from. Yeah, it still wouldn't explain why Felix can't just tell Marinette about who Gabriel really is, but at least it's something.

The way it all happens kind of reminds me of this scene from this old Halloween special I saw a lot as a kid, Scary Godmother: Halloween Spooktacular. In that scene, some of the kids act out a scene of this little girl's parents entrusting her with a flashlight to explain why she carries it around, in order to scare off any monsters she runs into, using the graveyard they were in as a makeshift set. This scene works a lot more because it's done in more of a tongue-in-cheek way, with some of the kids breaking character to boost their own egos (for example, the kid playing the mom comments about how responsible she is), and how one kid in particular gradually gets fed up with the whole thing. The scene does its job at delivering exposition in a way that isn't meant to be taken too seriously, and it's clear this is being done by some kids goofing around in-universe.

With this episode, it's clear that the writers want the audience to take this whole backstory seriously in spite of how absurd it all is. Seriously look at this.

We are seriously expected to take this backstory seriously when it looks like some theater major's midterm project. The animators want it to look artsy and unique for the sake of making it look artsy and unique. Why does it look like a play these two put together themselves if they're supposedly using a Sentimonster's power to do it? If the unnamed Sentimonster's powers is how Marinette is seeing all this, why can't it actually be seen as a flashback? Was it always intended to be a handmade play that was changed to the product of a Sentimonster at the last minute?

I get that the animators probably wanted kids to pick up on the visuals of the play, but even then, it makes it hard to really stomach the serious themes this backstory brings up, like infertility and child abuse, with the way they're presented. Not only do Felix and Kagami all play the characters using these white jumpsuits and masks, they also do all the voices, meaning that the only “dialogue” we hear from Colt is delivered by Kagami putting on a deeper voice. Let me repeat that: the only times we hear Colt, the abusive parent and all around garbage human being, talk, it's done by a teenage girl trying to make her voice sound deeper.

But hey, maybe the goofy voice will be overshadowed by the nuanced depiction of child abuse, right? Right?

#2: The Portrayal of Colt and the Double Standards Regarding His Treatment of Felix

I have never seen a single show struggle this much to convey a lesson as simple as “Child abuse is bad”.

When it comes to the parents in this show, terrible parents like Gabriel, Audrey, and Tomoe are almost never held accountable for the way they treated their children. If the writers aren't claiming they really love their children deep down, they're either downplaying how cruel they are at best or playing their behavior for laughs at worst. But here we are, the penultimate episode of the fifth season, and we finally have a parent who is unambiguously treated as a terrible human being with no redeeming qualities... and I still have problems with this.

This flashback really goes out of its way to let the audience that Colt was a real piece of scum in life. He only wanted a child out of jealousy, used his Amok to force Felix to do whatever he wanted, was heavily implied to have physically beat him at times, and blamed him for his poor health on his deathbed when he was the one who wanted to use the Peacock in the first place. Now that I think about it, why did Colt even use the Peacock to create Felix instead of Emelie? Was the episode so determined to paint Colt as a bastard that he wanted to be the one to create Felix himself?

The point I'm trying to make is that the show doesn't really explain why Colt was like this. Why was he such an angry man who treated his only child like crap? I don't know, because all the show's telling me is that he was just a dick. He honestly feels more like a caricature than anything else. He's only as terrible of a person he is in order to make the audience sympathize with Felix. I'm not saying that what Felix went through was okay, but it has the same energy as scenes of Gabriel talking to Emilie's body. It's mostly there to make the audience sympathize with an antagonistic character in spite of all the things they've done.

What's really weird is that even though the whole point of this play is so Felix can tell Marinette Gabriel is Monarch, so what does Colt have to do with this? I'm not saying he's not worth mentioning, but it makes no sense for Felix to tell Marinette about his abusive father before he tells her about Gabriel. It feels more like Felix wants to find a way to excuse his actions before telling Marinette about Gabriel being Monarch. And remember when “Derision” made a big deal about Chloe's terrible parents not excusing her actions? Funny how that conveniently doesn't apply to Felix in this episode.

In fact, let's talk about the elephant in the room: The fact that this episode aired right after “Revolution”, an episode that literally said a character living under an abusive and controlling parent was a fitting punishment for her. HOW THE HELL IS THIS ANY DIFFERENT FROM THAT? If anything, this episode really shows the double standards this show has about child abuse, how the only way your situation can be taken seriously is if you're a “good victim”. Chloe's a “bad victim”, so she doesn't get any sympathy when her mother outright says she's going to take control of her life, yet when Colt actually takes control of Felix's life, we're supposed to sympathize with him now. Why am I supposed to feel bad for Felix now when you just told me I shouldn't feel bad for someone in a similar situation last episode?

In fact, one theory I have about this backstory is that it was intended to kill two birds with one stone, no pun intended. I believe that this episode wasn't just written to give us more insight into who Felix is as a character, but also to show the audience what “real” child abuse is like. As far as the show is concerned with Gabriel, Audrey, and Tomoe? They're not actually abusive parents, Colt is, so you should condemn his actions, and not those three. It's blatant double standards, which is nothing new for this show.

#3: The Way Amelie Just... Lets This All Happen

In my “Derision” review, I discussed how strange it was that so many people in Marinette's life did nothing to help her against Chloe, and the same thing applies here with Amelie.

This episode never really explains where Amelie was when Colt was abusing Felix, much less if she was even aware of it. At least with Marinette's parents, they didn't know because most of Marinette's suffering was at school. Amelie lives with Felix and Colt, so what's her excuse? She seriously didn't overhear Colt yelling at Felix or notice the orders Colt gave Felix? Was she just that ignorant to her child's suffering? Remember, this is supposed to be Felix's good parent.

In fact, does Amelie even know Felix is a Sentimonster? Yeah, “Emotion” established that Amelie knows Felix is Argos, but this episode doesn't really make it clear if she knows Felix is a Sentimonster or not. If it was clear Amelie knew nothing about what Felix really was, it would arguably make things easier to stomach, as she wouldn't know the power Colt had over him.

Instead, even though she's Felix's mother, the show doesn't really explain what she actually did when Colt was making Felix's life a living hell, especially since the flashback says that Amelie was forced to marry Colt, so you can't even say she was blinded by love here. Hell, I'm not even sure if Amelie knew the cause of Colt's untimely passing.

#4:This Doesn’t Really Do Much to Explain Felix’s Actions

Now before you say I'm being insensitive, let me make one thing clear: My issue isn't with the fact that this was done to get the audience to sympathize with Felix. The problem I have is that the backstory doesn't do enough to explain why Felix did the things he did.

Okay, Felix wants the Peacock Miraculous. Understandable, he doesn't want to die, so he has to do morally questionable things to preserve his life like betraying the only person capable of stopping the man who can kill him. What's less understandable is his plan to get the Peacock Miraculous from Gabriel. You'll notice that the backstory didn't mention Felix's first appearance, where he only stole the rings belonging to Amelie's family, and he didn't even think to look for the Peacock. Instead, it cuts from Felix realizing he's a Sentimonster to him striking a deal with Gabriel, not even mentioning that he gave Gabriel back one of the rings as part of the deal, which still makes no sense.

If Felix's goal from the start was to get the Peacock Miraculous, why did he bother stealing all of Marinette's Miraculous as a bargaining chip for the deal instead of the family ring? In fact, why did Felix even steal the ring and wait an entire season to trade it back to Gabriel for the Peacock a season later? And for someone who claims to care about Adrien, he really didn't see anything wrong with giving Gabriel one of the two rings capable of overriding his free will.

As a matter of fact, why the hell is Felix even so hostile towards Adrien? Why did he go out of his way to smear his reputation in his debut episode if all he wanted to do was make a bargain with Hawkmoth? In “Risk”, he mocked Adrien for how he talked, while Adrien himself was aware of how he made him look bad in front of his friends, and that's not even getting into how he made himself look like Adrien as part of his plan to betray Ladybug, which would have screwed him even more if Adrien wasn't already Cat Noir. For someone who claims he wants to protect him from Gabriel, Felix really doesn't care about his cousin all that much.

In fact, why does Felix even hate Gabriel at all? The show hinted that the two had a history, yet during the backstory, which I need to remind you, was told from Felix's perspective on the events, has a surprisingly generous portrayal of Gabriel. Did Felix know Gabriel was Hawkmoth/Shadowmoth/Monarch during his first appearance? Does Felix blame Gabriel for how Colt treated him growing up? Does Felix hate Gabriel for how he treats Adrien? Did Gabriel intend to get Colt sick in the first place? Seriously, what is Felix's deal with Gabriel?!

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How does a flashback organized by Felix himself do nothing to really explain why he did the things he did?

#5: The Fact That There Are STILL Several Unanswered Questions Here

For something meant to fill the audience in on several important topics, there are still so many questions about the history of the Agreste and Graham de Vanily families.

Other than the vague backstory about them being rich, we still know nothing about Emilie and Amelie other than them being rich and possibly infertile. We don't know if Amelie ever loved Colt, if she knew he was abusing Felix, or if she even knew if he used the Peacock to play god.

On a related note, why did Emilie and Gabriel decide to use the Peacock Miraculous to create a son instead of adopting? Scratch that, why did she specifically create a Sentimonster to give birth to like a normal baby? Was there some kind of Macbeth-esque guideline that Emilie had to give birth to a child in order for said child to get the inheritance? Did she use the ring to control Adrien like Gabriel does now? Seriously, this is the character the show's conflict is all based around, and we still know nothing about her other than the fact that she was nice.

This flashback just makes no sense, and is such a stupid and confusing way to deliver exposition.

Anyway, during all this, Cat Noir and Nightormentor are fighting, and for the third time this season, Cat Noir attempts to Cataclysm him someone, even when he had Nightormentor pinned down. Nightormentor breaks free and hits Cat Noir with his magic dust, causing him to hallucinate... Cat Blanc?

Yeah, the script calls this form “Anticat”, but given how it looks like a reused Cat Blanc model coupled with the petrified people of Paris, this is clearly meant to bring Cat Blanc to mind. The problem is that NEITHER CAT NOIR OR NIGHTORMENTOR KNOW ABOUT THAT. Why would you remind audiences about an Akuma that technically never existed?

Better yet, is this what Cat Noir trying to his Cataclysm on people this past season (Destruction, Jubilation, Derision) has been building up to? The fear that he'll lose control? You could have fooled me, as he never really showed that much remorse for almost hurting people other than Monarch. Yeah, you could argue that because Nightormentor based his hallucinations off his victims' worst fears, but again, this fear had little to no buildup this season because Cat Noir never felt any guilt for Cataclysming Monarch after “Destruction”, and whenever tried to use his Cataclysm on other people, Cat Noir never really realized the weight of his actions. If you want to make a character arc about Cat Noir worrying about hurting people with his powers, go more into the guilt he feels for hurting Monarch and using that guilt to affect his actions. Don't just use some “Cat Blanc” nostalgia bait to convince the audience that there's been a character arc.

Nightormentor takes advantage of Cat Noir's emotional state to get his Miraculous, only for the Resistance to save Cat Noir by... throwing stuff at him. And this is how they defeat him. While Nino, Alya, Ivan, and Zoe distract Nightormentor, Kim and Max help Cat Noir focus, Cat Noir Cataclysms Nightormentor's baton.

Zoe traps the Akuma in a jar, Cat Noir doesn't take it, he heads off to detransform and confess to Marinette, only for the hallucination to still affect him since Ladybug didn't use Miraculous Ladybug to fix the damage, and even though he knows it's just a hallucination, he still uses it as a reason to not reveal his identity to Marinette, even after Ladybug de-evilizes the Akuma herself.

The episode ends with Gabriel and Tomoe locking Adrien and Kagami in these white rooms while under heavy surveillance to ensure they won't escape, vowing to start “Operation: Perfect Alliance”. Because these two like using the word “perfect” more than they like subjecting their children to what one of my anons referred to as “white torture”.

Because that's a good way to keep your children under control: psychological torment.

Other than the stuff with Felix and Kagami, this episode was pretty dull.

There's just not much I can really say here. The plot was barebones, all Marinette did was listen to Felix and Kagami's story so the writers didn't have to involve any of them in the main conflict, and even Cat Noir confronting his akumatized father doesn't have a lot of weight to it because towards the end, it focuses more on Adrien's nightmare instead of his relationship with his father.

This episode is nothing more than a prologue for the final battle. It's only here to establish Adrien and Kagami's presence in London, Marinette learning Gabriel is Monarch, and even more setup for Gabriel and Tomoe's final plan. And trust me, the buildup will be far from worth it.

THE BIGGEST IDIOT OF THE EPISODE IS... FELIX

It's amazing. The only time this season Felix goes out of his way to actually help Ladybug, and he still screws it up. He abducted Kagami from her hotel in London without thinking of Tomoe hunting him down again when that was the entire plot of “Pretension”, only decided to tell Marinette he knows who Monarch is because he's getting in the way of his relationship with his girlfriend, did so in an unnecessarily convoluted way, and even though he made a big deal about not wanting to use Sentimonsters in his last appearance, he still used one to tell Marinette his life story instead of just saying “My uncle is Monarch”.

And if you think Felix will get a chance to truly redeem himself in the finale, think again, bucko. Other than a brief cameo, this is the last thing he'll do this season. Aren't you glad the writers made this character prominent for seven episodes over three seasons and did nothing else with him?

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heliads · 1 year

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Hey Lisa! I was just wondering if you could write a Leonard Mccoy (Bones) x reader. (Star Trek) But royalty / Bodyguard AU! Been a while since I requested something au haha.

The reader is royalty and Bones is the bodyguard and its the "we're not supposed to fall in love but we did anyways" type of thing.

He would save the reader from multiple things, attempted assassination, threats from other royals, whenever the reader is uncomfortable or needs help. Literally he would always be there to help the reader and that's what makes them fall in love with Bones. The reader would try and help Bones to be calmer in certain situations (you know he's a stubborn bean lol) and even hang out with him during training or whenever possible. And then some tragic attack happens and Bones gets injured protecting the reader or vice versa. And then they end up confessing to each other. You can decide the ending, I would love to see what you write about that!! <3

omg bless you for letting me write about star trek i had been HOPING someone would request

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Having a bodyguard is not supposed to feel like an insult, but somehow, it still does. You know that the bodyguard situation was to be expected; you are, after all, royalty, and that puts a target on your back unlike any other, but you had hopes that you’d be able to avoid all this. Yes, there are assassins out there who’d like nothing more than to end your life and reign in one pull of a trigger. Yes, the life expectancy for any monarch tends to linger around the youthful range due to the frequency of political murders. Yes, there is a reason for all this, and one you cannot avoid.

However, all you hear whenever you hear your advisors bring up the need for additional protection is that you are not capable of defending yourself. This is something that rankles more than it should, and has also been the reason you haven’t had a single soldier designated to follow you around in all your previous life. No bodyguard means that you can finally breathe without someone always watching you wherever you go, even when you try to rest. That’s what you’ve been fighting against all this time.

Once you ascended the throne, though, you knew that your claims to privacy were gone in a flash. Sure enough, the crown had hardly lingered on your head long enough to weigh you down before the nobles were eyeing each other nervously and starting to mention that it really was time for some additional security, now, wasn’t it? It’s not like they would dare say anything to your face, but someone should, and–

You endured their hemming and hawing for a couple of weeks before sighing and giving in. Of all the arguments to concede, this was the least obtrusive on your political plans. You told the head of your guard to find someone suitable for the task, and within the hour, almost as if they’d been waiting for this moment all their lives, they gave you a name.

Leonard McCoy. Top of his class. He originally planned on pursuing a career in medicine, but was convinced otherwise by a good friend of his, some rebellious fighter named James Kirk. You’d normally be doubtful of such a big switch in careers, but if General Pike says the guy is good, so be it. It’s his funeral. Or yours, if he messes this up.

Either way, it’s set in stone. You give a wary nod and Leonard is installed in your life as your bodyguard. That was years ago, and although you may have despised the change in routine back then, you have to admit that you’ve grown quite fond of the man. He may be hired only to save your life on a daily basis, but the two of you have become reluctant friends, and then there was nothing reluctant about it at all. Perhaps there would be more, if either of you were daring enough to look for it.

You aren’t, though. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. You know exactly what is expected of you in this marionette’s life of yours: a political union with some other royal, a successfully continued lineage that will be plotted out by your advisors. Still, when you feel like dreaming, you look up at the stars and pretend there is a chance you could ever be with the man you want most of all.

He’s not Leonard to you, not anymore. You tried calling him that the first day, alternating awkward first name usage with the occasional ‘Officer McCoy,’ but it didn’t work for either of you. You remember him frowning at the title, then gruffly muttering something about how he went by the nickname of Bones. His friend James gave it to him, apparently, and it stuck. You still haven’t bothered to ask if it came about from his medical history or because of his knack for killing as a soldier. Both work.

At first, most of your exchanges were like that, altered and stilted, full of glaring signs that this was never meant to be. You used every opportunity you could to remind yourself that this is why you hadn’t wanted a bodyguard in the first place. He could only ever serve as a wrench in your plans.

But then he started allowing himself to laugh at the jokes you murmured under your breath when you forgot he was listening, and the two of you began talking during journeys over to neighboring royals, and all of a sudden nothing was awkward anymore, but right, just right.

Now, you can hardly imagine that there had ever been a time in which the world had not orbited around the two of you. Bones is your shadow, your second skin; he walks as an extension of you, fights the battles with the fists you wish you had and does it all while managing to appear as unruffled as possible. You may have known him for years now, but that doesn’t stop him from wearing an icy demeanor as comfortably as someone else would a smile.

It works out for the two of you, though. You force the laughter at terrible jokes posed by foreign diplomats when he physically cannot do anything but roll his eyes, Bones glares at the overly reaching royals when you have to play by the rules of common parlor etiquette. It all makes sense. He’s your other half, the flip side to your pragmatic coin. You couldn’t imagine life without him.

The problem is that you’re never sure if he can return the sentiment. It is easy for you to forget just why Bones is there; after all, you’re not the one getting paid to be there, he is. No matter how many times you see him give in and chuckle at your terrible one-liners, or notice how long he lingers even after a given event is over just to make sure that you’re going to be alright both physically and mentally, it’s not real. Of course it’s not. This is a job and nothing else.

Yet you find yourself wondering sometimes if it could be real. You are a stormcloud of too much stress with a crown balanced on top, he is a hired sword just as solid as a castle wall, but somehow, somehow he has a way of making it seem like it’s just the two of you against the world. You would take on the toughest armies if you had him by your side.

Every now and then, you catch Bones looking at you when he thinks you don’t notice. In those moments, his gaze isn’t harsh or blunt as usual, but soft and quiet. He tilts his head to the side, thinking thoughts you could never understand. You try, though. You always do.

You’re at one of a thousand different royal functions right now, mind stuck on the same track of will-they-won’t-they as always despite the fact that you really need to be paying attention. Another royal has hosted you and a few other kings and queens to discuss a possible peace treaty to cement what had previously been unspoken agreements. It’ll be nice to get that done on paper, but it certainly makes for a tedious week.

Seeing as this is technically a peaceful mission, Bones hadn’t accompanied you on the way over. He had been busy with another military concern, and you told him that it wasn’t strictly necessary that he attend at all. That doesn’t stop you from missing him anyway, though. The assembly departs for a break in the afternoon and you walk out into the gardens, wondering why it suddenly seems so lonely to be by yourself when just years ago, you’d have traded anything to keep it that way.

An unfamiliar plant catches your attention and you pause by its rank in the endless rows of cultivated flora, furrowing your brow in an unsuccessful attempt to identify it. You’re decent with your plants, but this one escapes your knowledge.

A voice sounds from behind you, answering your unspoken question. It would have startled you if it was anyone else, but you recognize the speaker instantly.

“That’s echinacea,” Bones says, emerging from a nearby archway, “used in medicine fairly often. Decently potent.”

You watch him approach, unable to stop yourself from grinning.

“You came,” you breathe.

“It’s my job,” he says back, voice as gruff as always.

“That’s not the only reason, was it?” You dare to ask.

He pauses a moment, as if turning the words over and over in his head like yet another blade. “No,” he decides at last, “no, it wasn’t.”

It could be a confession. He says it with the force of an oath. Regardless, it is enough to stop the two of you in your tracks, and maybe that is why neither of you notice the attack until it is too late. This was supposed to be a peaceful excursion into a foreign kingdom. How foolish of you to believe that anyone would see something kind and be able to stop themselves from ruining it.

All you know is that the tranquility of the garden is suddenly destroyed by plumes of smoke rising out of nowhere, shouting voices, the clash of metal against stone and flesh. Bones is instantly alert, reaching for you to pull you out of the way of any attackers. They haven’t found you yet, mostly focused on the majority of the royals, which are still in the central part of the courtyard. You had been pensive and headed for a quieter part of the palace, which is what saved you from the initial violence.

It does not save you forever, though. A few enemy soldiers shout when they see you and start to run over. Bones starts to fight them off, shouting for you to run. There is nowhere for you to go, however, and it’s not like you could ever leave him in a time of terror such as this.

You’re still scanning the grounds for a safe place to go, and that’s when you see him, the archer on the roof. At first, you think he’s trying to shoot Bones’ attackers, one of the host royal’s guards, but you realize with a chill that you do not recognize the colors on his insignia. He’s not aiming to take down the enemy soldiers. He’s trying to kill Bones himself.

Bones, too busy getting rid of his opponents, does not notice. In fact, he won’t notice a thing until it’s too late. The enemy archer’s finger tightens on his bow, and all you know is that you must not let him die. You would not be able to live with yourself if you did nothing and watched Bones get killed, so you do something worse and make him live with it instead.

Bones is just straightening up, having dispatched the last of the soldiers, when you slam into him. He’s good on his feet, always has been, so he doesn’t move much except to stumble a little to the side. That’s all you need to get him out of harm, though, but it is also all it takes to put you directly in the path of danger.

For a moment, you feel nothing, just a sharp impact by your ribs. Then the pain hits, and you can’t stop yourself from crying out. That is when Bones realizes that something is wrong, and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to forget the look of horror that dawns upon his face when he learns what you’ve done. His head arches towards the sky and he throws a knife at the enemy archer. You hear the blade thunk into skin and bone up above you, the soldier slumping over in death.

You try to move, but your legs give out beneath you. The pain is unlike anything you expected from a mere arrow. Bones catches you before you fall, and you can hear him begging you to hear him, to keep your eyes open, to stay alive, please, and it occurs to you that this is a display of emotion unlike anything you’ve ever seen from him before.

You would love to think about it more, but it is getting awfully hard to focus. The darkness swimming at the edges of your vision is just too alluring, and even though Bones is asking you to stay with him, you just can’t do it right now. Maybe later, you try to whisper, but the words never make it past your lips.

It is dark for a while. You should be scared of it, you think, but thoughts are hard to come by. They appear and disappear in the depths of your consciousness like a child blowing soap bubbles, each one rising to the forefront of your eyes just to pop in a shower of light. The light grows by the second, though, and then you’re awake in a room full of brightness.

You’re not dead. Not yet, at least. When you open your eyes, it takes you a minute or so to realize that you’re in the hospital wing of your own kingdom. You don’t remember the return trip, or anything past losing consciousness in Bones’ arms, but he must have brought you back here in time to save your life.

Across the room, a nurse notices you’re awake and bustles over to your side. She greets you with a wide, beaming smile, and tells you how glad she is that you’re awake.

“I was starting to worry, Your Highness. Not for your health, I promise that was a quick and easy fix, but for that of your friend. Bones swore he wouldn’t leave until you woke up, but that was a couple of days ago and he’s still here.”

You follow her line of sight down the room, where you notice your bodyguard asleep in a chair. You laugh quietly. “He is rather stubborn when he puts his mind to it, isn’t he?”

The nurse smiles as well. “Yes, he is. I remember him being just as stubborn back here.”

When you frown at her in confusion, the nurse explains herself. “He used to be dead set on medicine. His friend James convinced him to try his hand at defense, and he changed his career. I used to wonder why, but it makes sense now. He’s still saving people, just doing it in a different way.”

You nod, wondering how many memories she must have of him that you never will. You cannot hold any claim to a past that is not yours, but wouldn’t it have been wonderful to see what Bones had been like before all of this, before his first kill, when he lived in a place like this and was not yours to know?

“I still feel bad for dragging him away from this life,” you whisper, “I know he chose to be a bodyguard, but I always wonder if he’d rather be here instead.”

The nurse shakes her head firmly. “Not a chance. Bones is happy now, I can see it. That’s due in part to you, you know. Almost every week he comes down and tells me how much he respects you for what you do. He hates all those politicking nobles and royals with every bone in his body, but you wrangle them into shape every time. He loves that.”

Her voice goes quiet at the end, as if full of the acknowledgement that she has shared something that was supposed to stay private. Still, you think you’re quite happy to hear it.

“Well,” the nurse says briskly, “he’ll be glad to see you’re awake. You gave him quite a scare, saving him like that. The wound will heal soon, but are you sure that you’re going to be alright apart from that?”

You pause a moment, weighing all that she’s said. Across the room, Bones stirs at the sound of voices and opens his eyes. He scans the room and his gaze lands on you. All at once, you can see a burden of stress and fear leave his shoulders. His face brightens immediately, and he starts to stand up and make his way over to you.

“Yes,” you answer, “I think I’ll be just fine.”

requested by @w1shes43, i hope you enjoy!

star trek tag list: empty for now!

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rjalker · 2 years

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once again making a variation of this post:

If you are going to plant milkweed to help monarch butterflies, you are not allowed to get mad at other insects who come to the plant and eat the caterpillars. They are also starved for the habitat that milkweed provides, and they are not evil or bad or cruel for continuing their natural role in the ecosystem as predators of small caterpillars.

Planting milkweed helps monarch butterflies. It also helps more species than I can count or even list off the top of my head. Milkweed does not exist for the sole benefit of monarch butterflies.

If you want the monarch caterpillars to not get eaten, then you can buy a butterfly cage or build one and bring any caterpillars you find on the main plant into the cage with some potted milkweed, and keep them in there until they emerge as adults.

Nature is going to keep doing its thing whether people have decided monarchs are the most important species on that plant or not. The species that prey on monarch caterpillars are not being mean, or cruel. They do not know that monarchs are endangered, and neither do the monarchs. The predators of monarch caterpillars are playing the same role they've played for thousands of years - population control.

It's not their fault monarchs are endangered. Habitat loss and climate change are the reason monarchs are endangered.

You are not allowed to blame native species for doing their job on native plants in their native ecosystem.

If you look at a milkweed plant covered in half a dozen or more different species and your response is "Ugh! But I planted this just for the monarchs!" you need to learn and care more about habitat restoration instead of only caring about the pretty butterflies.

If your single milkweed plants has half a dozen different species living on it and this upsets you, then you really need to start thinking about the word ecosystem and start realizing, "oh, if this single plant is enough to attract all these species, then they must be desperate for habitat".

If you're mad that monarch caterpillars are being eaten on milkweed you planted, then here are your options:

Get a butterfly cage or build one. It should remain outdoors. Get several milkweed plants that are in pots that can fit inside the cage. Check the main milkweed plant for caterpillars whenever possible, and if you find them, transfer them into the butterfly cage onto the milkweed in there. Keep them in there until they form chysalises and emerge as adults. If you aren't home very often, you can look up youtube videos of how to gently remove the chrysalis and hang it up outside so the adults can fly away whenever they're ready to.

Plant more milkweed. Plant as many species of milkweed are native to your area that you can get your hands on. Spread milkweed seeds wherever it will be able to grow. Encourage your neighbors and friends to grow milkweed. Save the seeds and give the seeds away for free, and spread them in wild areas where other plants are allowed to grow (Try to avoid areas that get mowed down or tended to)

Figure out a way to cope with the fact that the natural cycle of life doesn't make exceptions for endangered species. It is not wrong or bad or evil or mean or cruel for monarch caterpillars to get eaten by their natural predators. Take pictures of the other species you find on the milkweed, research what they are. If you use iNaturalist, make observations for them. Learn to appreciate all the species native to your environment, not just the pretty butterflies.

Actually, planting more milkweed should be your #1 priority. The point of planting milkweed is to restore habitat. If the only habitat available is the single plant in your garden of otherwise non-native species, then yeah, you need to plant more milkweed.

#Monarchs #danaus plexippus #milkweed #aslepias #gardening #habitat restoration #climate change #gardening tips #Monarch butterfly #monarch caterpillar #if you think milkweed belongs solely to monarchs...you do not understand how ecosystems work and you should work on learning how they do.#If you're going to get pissed off about other native species preying on monarch caterpillars then you have a lot of learning to do #so go fucking do it #don't act like other native species are bad for doing what they've evolved to do over the entire history of this planet #It's not their fucking fault monarchs are endangered #if you want the monarchs to not be preyed upon then raise them in an enclosure #otherwise you're literally just gonna have to deal with it

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idontwanttowhy · 6 months

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Review: The Legend of the Blue Sea (2016)

Lots going on...in a good way!

Synopsis:

On vacation in Spain, con-artist Heo Joon-Jae encounters a mysterious woman sporting a precious bracelet. They spend two days together as he conspires to obtain the bracelet for profit. Meanwhile, modern-day bounty hunters have been sent to capture Joon-Jae as revenge for a past conning. He and the woman are eventually cornered at a lighthouse on a cliff, where she convinces him to jump into the sea to escape. Upon becoming a mermaid when they hit the water, she saves him from drowning while erasing his memories of her with a kiss, and promises to visit him in Seoul.

A few months later, Joon-Jae is tortured by gaps in his memory and a picture with a woman in Spain he doesn't recognize. He bumps into her in Seoul, and, determined to have her fill in the gaps, brings her to his home for interrogating. But she seems out of place, keeps mum, and claims she doesn't have a name. Her naïveté earns her the name Sim-Cheong (meaning: very stupid), and she is taken under the wings of Joon-Jae and his associates/roommates as she learns the ways of Seoul while pursuing her own personal mission.

At the same time, Joon-Jae has also been plagued with dreams about the life of a nobleman who looks just like him, from the Joseon era--Kim Dam-Ryeong. With the help of a neuropsychiatrist and a former classmate/forever friend-zoned admirer Cha Si-Ah, Joon-Jae uncovers more about Dam-Ryeong, and heeds his warnings to not let history repeat itself.

And with all this going on, Joon-Jae also navigates having been estranged from his now sickly father, looking for his birth mother, and fighting with his step-mother and step-brother for a seat at the chaebol table as the rightful heir.

AC Overall: 8.5/10, renewed hope in Lee Min-Ho

This drama had been on my list since forever, as it's a kdrama classic, but I'd been avoiding it since being traumatized by Lee Min-Ho's Boys Over Flowers performance (the beginning of it--I never even finished the show). That being said, I should've watched it sooner! A classic fated-love drama with resistance from the male lead at first, and a Lee Min-Ho redemption to boot. He played Joon-Jae so well it almost (...but not quite) made me want to take a second stab at watching The King: Eternal Monarch. His role as Joon-Jae called for a range of emotions, and he did that beautifully. I can't believe I'm saying this but, he was adorable? As a 6'2" man who doesn't fit the stereotype of a soft male lead?? The main couple was sooooo cute, with Sim-Cheong trying to seduce Joon-Jae and Joon-Jae (unsuccessfully) resisting and then actually fully falling into it and....UGH. MY HEART!

The side characters were great too, and the story developed organically, in a way that was intriguing and not too boring or redundant. I was loving this rollercoaster of a drama--until I realized there were 20 episodes instead of 16. Not sure if it was because I had prepared for 16, but those last 4 felt excessive and unnecessary. And still, some strings were left out of the final bow; questions remained unanswered and the overall ending wasn't as satisfying as the journey. First 3/4-ths is GOLD, just be prepared for a few odd last episodes and unfinished business sloppy put together.

AC Comments (spoilers)

There's much too much to go over in a complete way, so I'm just going to nitpick at characters and their actors by making comments rather than whole points:

Let's start with the female lead. Jun Ji-Hyun tried her best as Sim-Cheong; loved her from My Love From The Star (with my fav, Kim Soo-Hyun...I have a condition where I have to mention him whenever I can :), but her acting here was inconsistent. At times she played naive, fresh-out-of-the-water quite well and comically, but in other moments she'd be sage-like--knowledgeable "beyond her years" in a way that was incompatible with her "dumb blonde" persona at all other times. Which only added to my confusion throughout the series of whether she was the same mermaid from Dam-Ryeong's life in the Joseon era, or simply a reincarnation/descendant of that mermaid. They acknowledged that mermaids live longer than humans but never truly clarified much else about them. Which made it harder to understand her meeting Joon-Jae in the beginning, back in Spain. Did they just happen to bump into each other, and that set off history repeating itself, or was there something she already knew before meeting him? Wish they had explored mermaids a little more...

And the last conflict, where Sim-Cheong decides to take Joon-Jae's memories before she leaves on her little sabbatical in the sea was DUUUUMB. He EXPLICITLY said he wanted their memories, and what does she do? Robs him YET AGAIN of their time together. But then Sim-Cheong returns...for what? Just for fun-zies?? Knowing he shouldn't recognize her but that there would be a ~connection~ between them, WHYYYYY would she return to torture and confuse him??? Overall I'm glad Joon-Jae* (*the writers) did the journaling work-around...but the poor guy should've either been left alone again, or not had his memories erased. Preferably the latter.

Now, Lee Min-Ho. I never got the hype, but this drama did it for me. He was able to be both childlike with his schoolboy crush on Sim-Cheong, and a suave man with the way he approached everything else. Unlike his leading lady (sorry love), he was able to balance the two personas expected of him beautifully, and his character did nothing wrong. Which is unusual for me to say of a kdrama man but, here we are. And the emotion! The scene where he breaks into his father's house to get him out before it's too late--broke my heart! Joon-Jae PLEADED with his dad but was ultimately betrayed by his own past and reputation...almost had me in tears when watching, and I'm on the brink of tears writing this now...

And then the other characters; they were cool too. The step-brother Heo Chi-Hyun was a great villian-who-tries-not-to-be-a-villian, and the step-mother Kang Seo-Hee/Ji-Yeon was masterful as the puppeteer of Chi-Hyun and his biological dad Ma Dae-Young. Although, they really lost the plot when Ma Dae-Young lost his memories and thus himself. It's almost as if the writers wanted us to lose our memories of him too or something...;).

Joon-Jae's friends and fellow conmen were cool too, although Tae-Oh and Cha Si-Ah getting together at the end was very...weird. Yet again, it's like they needed to give Si-Ah a happy ending after being betrayed (but not really bc he was never actually yours, girl), and the only way to do that was to have her be in a relationship? Not to mention that Tae-Oh looks like a high schooler...but I digress. I could go on and on about Si-Ah being a puppy for a man who never wanted her but I'd rather not waste my energy. It is what it is.

And I admit, they really had me with the fake-out that Jo Nam-Doo, Joon-Jae's OG, was the ultimate betrayer...I honestly believed it after he was such a dick about Sim-Cheong being a mermaid the first (and second and third) time he found out. But his character was redeemed when it turned out he was only pretended to betray to ultimately save his BFF. PHEW!

There's sooo much more to talk about (loved how Joon-Jae was the only one to hear Sim-Cheong's thoughts--besides the grade-school bestie--, and Joon-Jae's mother played a cool role in the drama too, etc. etc.) but I'll end it here before I do too much (more than I already have). Just...give it a watch if you haven't already, truly is a gem worthy of being a classic.

#kdramareview #legend of the blue sea #legend of the blue sea review #Lee Min-Ho best performance

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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The Magic Reveal fic we deserve, in which Merlin gets as angry as he deserves to get:

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Don’t get me wrong I LOVE a magic reveal with a Merlin who feels bad about lying. I love a reveal with Arthur being furious and Merlin crying but then they talk it out and all is well. I think it's pretty in-character for Merlin to want to see Arthur come to his own conclusions about magic, without being influenced by Merlin’s opinions

BUT I also kinda wanna see Merlin get angry? Like, why should he feel bad about hiding himself in a kingdom where "himself" gets him nothing but a pyre?? Yeah, he and Arthur are close, but unless you've lived with a secret like that (one that will get you shunned, hated, or even killed) then, and I CAN'T STRESS THIS ENOUGH, it doesn't matter How Close you are with someone, how certain you are that they would never hurt you, or care either way, it will almost ALWAYS be scary to tell them. So like. Let Merlin get angry:

I'd say Arthur has been king for maybe a year at this point. He's still a new monarch, still a lot on his plate, BUT also still plenty of time for him to have repealed the ban on magic, or at least started working on it.

But he hasn't.

Granted he hasn't executed anyone in a while (banishments and prison time are the norm, executions are only used nowadays for high treason). BUT the law still remains, it's still technically punishable by death, to be a sorcerer.

Arthur and Merlin have little hunting trips, when Arthur is getting too stressed and losing too much sleep, when he trains the knights too hard and snaps at even Gaius, Merlin (or sometimes even Leon, if they're both being grumpy arseholes) insists that they leave the city for a day or more, to go hunting.

The council have been told it's so the King can keep up with his fitness, can keep familiar with his lands, and keep his skills sharp (he only has enough time to train with the knights a couple times a week nowadays, a far cry from the several hours he used to do every morning without fail), and that keeps them satisfied.

The Gang (the Knights, Gwen, Gaius, and Morgana (she's good in this because that's what I want let me have this)) know the truth, that sometimes the two of them just need a few days to goof off and be themselves, to finally get some time to relax. They'll grab a couple hares and maybe a stag on the way back if they can, so they can at least pretend that's what they've been doing the whole time.

These trips can last anywhere between a day, to two weeks, and Arthur leaves the same set of instructions with the council and the knights every time:

"The safety of Camelot’s people is your highest priority. I leave Sir Leon in charge of everything to do with the knights, patrol, and should any form of conflict arise. If there is an emergency, you are to consult the Inner Council (I don’t know if that's a thing but let's say it is; its The Gang), and send a squire on horseback to fetch me immediately. There's one boy in the troupe who always manages to track me the down the quickest, so make sure he's the one sent, Sir Leon knows who I speak of."

(He's improved over the years, but Arthur is still very... cagey, when it comes to compliments, and his trust. Leon will never mention it, but the fact that Arthur leaves the safety of the kingdom to him, without hesitation or worry, makes him feel greatly honoured. That is the highest form of trust Arthur is capable of giving.)

ANYWAY I feel like most of this has just been backstory so let's get into it:

Normally it's Merlin or Leon who demand that the trip needs to happen.

This time

It's Arthur.

Arthur has tried to ignore it (he's trying to get better but he's not great with emotions and stuff, the big dummy) but Merlin has been in a sour mood for weeks now. He's been quiet and withdrawn, snappy, and has been avoiding Arthur whenever possible.

At first it was easy to ignore, when it started a few months ago it was barely noticeable to anyone who didn't know the two of them Very Well, but in the last few weeks it's become a problem.

Arthur reckons a trip might do them some good. Merlin can relax, and will either get over whatever is bothering him, or be comfortable enough to talk to Arthur about it.

So they head out. Merlin doesn't seem too happy about the trip but he doesn’t complain.

(Odd in itself, if Merlin is unhappy about something he usually makes it known.)

The first couple of days are... odd, to say the least. It seems that every time Arthur notices Merlin relax, he quickly tightens up again. One short, joking conversation is followed by a few more hours of painful, awkward silence.

Arthur comes to the daunting realisation, that if he wants to help is friend (and the love of his life but like... baby blondie has hardly reached that conclusion himself, he might need a bit more time on that) is to confront it head on.

So they're settling down in the evening. The fire is roaring, the horses have been fed and watered, dinner has been eaten, and the two of them are sat at opposite ends of the fire (Very Odd, they're usually glued at the hip, especially when it's just the two of them).

Arthur looks at his friend properly for the first times in a while and he Does Not Like what he sees.

Merlin is visibly exhausted, big bags under his eyes, and his skin paler than normal, scowling ever so slightly into the fire. Shoulders tense, and hands gripping each other until the skin on his knuckles is white. And despite all that, Arthur thinks that Merlin looks more sad, than angry.

Maybe Merlin notices Arthur's staring, they hold eye contact for a little while before Merlin becomes sort of... resigned?? To the fact that he's gonna have to have this conversation whether he wants it or not? He goes to say something but before he can, Arthur interrupts him:

"So Merlin. How do you think I'm doing so far?"

(Which is a stupid thing to say, really. But Arthur is, as we've already established, extremely emotionally constipated, and he figures that finding out what's wrong with Merlin indirectly, and then subtly fixing it behind his back, is a far better idea than asking him to his face.)

Merlin clenches his jaw and looks away it this, his reply and his body language clearly sending different messages:

"You know what I think. You're going to be a great king."

Arthur thinks : "(Going to be? I've been king for a year, there's been no war and far fewer attempts on my life than when I was a prince. There's been a good harvest, all diplomatic meetings have gone well, and more peace treaties, and trade agreements, have been signed in the last twelve months, than in the ten years before it. I know I can still do better but... does Merlin not think I'm good?")

Arthur says : "Going to be? I think I'm a pretty great King already if I do say so myself."

"Then why ask? Besides. There are a few things you haven't done."

Merlin's tone is biting, even though he tries to force it out casually. Arthur notices. ”There are a few things you haven't done”... that means something specific.

"Hmm. I suppose. What things did you have in mind then, Merlin?"

Arthur also tries to sound casual, but the question comes out very pointed

Merlin desperately doesn't want to say it out loud, in fear of revealing too much of himself, so he goes with the vague answer of:

"Promises were made. I guess I just figured you weren't the type to break them, that's all. I'm sure you'll get there in time."

Merlin sounds sort of hopeful there. But the sort of hope that he's been living with for years, the sort of hope that has a layer of sadness and resignation laying over the the top like a tablecloth.

Arthur notices:

"Promises?" He doesn’t want to talk too much or too loudly, in fear that Merlin realises that he's speaking openly and clams up again.

Arthur has realised, over the last year or two, that despite their closeness, despite the endless conversations they seem to have, he doesn't really know all that much about Merlin. He knows he doesn’t spend as much time picking herbs, or in the tavern, as he and Gaius would claim. He doesn't know his favourite colour, or season, or holiday. He doesn't know when abouts his birthday is, or what he likes eating. He doesn't know much about his childhood, he's never mentioned his father.

(Despite all this, he's still in love with the idiot, but again, a revelation for another time.)

Merlin responds "To the druids. You promised they would be welcomed, that magic would return. I know your opinions on magic-"

(The manservant visibly shuffles at this, uncomfortable.)

"-but I figured a promise is a promise. Keeping your word had always seemed so important to you. Before."

Arthur notices the past tense. Like Merlin doesn’t believe that Arthur holds importance to his word anymore:

"I'm not my father Merlin. There have been no executions just for the sake of it since I took the crown."

Merlin’s reply comes quickly, in a harsh tone:

"Yes I know that. But your fathers law still remains. It's technically still punishable by execution just to exist as a sorcerer in your kingdom."

(Arthur notices the thinly veiled disgust in Merlin's voice when he mentions Uther. Arthur knew that Merlin disliked the previous king, but he didn’t think he hated him that much.)

Merlin is getting more and more visibly frustrated at this point. Both at Arthur, and the topic of conversation, but also at himself, for letting himself become so worked up over something he'd sworn to keep Arthur away from.

"You really didn't like my Father did you Merlin?" He says it with a chuckle, trying to keep the conversation light and casual.

(This is NOT a conversation that should be light and casual, his friend is in pain, and revealing more of himself than he ever had before, this should be serious. But Arthur isn't quite sure how to do that, so inappropriately light and casual is what he goes for.)

Merlin responds with a quiet, but forceful:

"I hated him. I still do. He's your father, I know that you're not him, and I know you can't help your heritage. But I'll never forgive Uther for what he did. And I'm not angry that he's...gone."

Arthur's very much taken aback at that. He knows everyone has... strong opinions on Uther, but they've never voiced it in front of him.

"Why?? I mean I know he put you in the stocks a couple of times, but so have I to be fair. Why do you hate him so much?"

(This is the point Merlin gets angry. Or angrier. This is when he stops trying to hide it, stops trying to hold it in. Arthur hadn't gotten angry at Merlin for talking about Uther in such a way, he was just curious. Merlin had been planning on telling him the truth at some point anyway, so he might as well do it now, with no one else around, and Arthur in a goodish mood.)

Merlin jumps up, clenching his fists and staring Arthur in the eye for the first time since the start of the conversation, breathing deeply.

Arthur is taken even further aback at Merlin's sudden unwillingness to hide his true reaction to the topic at hand, but he doesn't say anything, and just waits for Merlin’s response

"Why?? Why do I hate him? Maybe because he was blinded fear and selfish hatred."

Merlin stops and looks away, but doesn't sit down, still tense.

I imagine he's waiting for Arthur to say something, but he doesn’t, opting to wait for Merlin to carry on himself, unwilling to remind Merlin exactly who he was talking to, and about what.

After a few moments of silence, Merlin continues, getting angrier with each word as he paces:

"Your father, the Great King Uther, murdered thousands of people. He committed genocide, because he insisted on blaming other people for his own mistakes. He didn't pay attention to the fine print, and killed his own wife and in return, he executes THOUSANDS of MY people. Just for daring to exist. He was so full of hatred, but he, of course, was infallible so it MUST have been someone else's fault. He was incapable of admitting his own mistakes and the injustice that went unpunished is indescribable, he was a tyrant, and a murderer, and I'll never forgive him."

(Arthur knows the truth about what happened to his Ma in this story, I don’t know how, he just does. And it's a topic of conversation he avoids like the plague.)

At the end of his little outburst, Merlin stills. He is shaking as he glares at the floor, and is more furious than Arthur has ever seen him before.

The King notices the little slip up.

"Your people?" He says, so quietly it's a wonder Merlin hears it.

Merlin freezes at this, at the realisation that there's no real way he can play this off. He was planning on telling him at some point anyway. They're miles away from the city in the middle of a large, barely tamed forest. If he needs to run for his life, he could get away easily enough.

"Yes Arthur. My people. You really should've let me speak first."

Arthur is reminded of the fact that Merlin had opened his mouth to say something, before he'd interrupted him at the beginning of the conversation. It felt like it was hours ago now, but it was really only a few minutes.

The King isn’t nearly as shocked as he thinks he should be. He knew there was something odd and secretive about Merlin, and he'd considered that he might have magic in the early days, but that hadn't been a genuine consideration for years.

He wants to be angry, and selfish, and furious at Merlin for lying to him all this time. But after hearing Merlin’s little speech, does he really have any right to?

Yes, Arthur hadn't executed any sorcerers, but he also hadn't changed the law. He hadn't stood up to his father and he certainly hadn't tried to stop the executions before he was King himself. Can he really blame Merlin? For being scared? For being angry?

"You're a sorcerer." It's not a question. It's a statement. In his mind he knows the truth, but it needs to be confirmed, out loud, by Merlin himself, before they can move the conversation on.

"Yes."

And that's all he says. Arthur waits. And when he's tired of waiting, when he realises that Merlin isn't just gonna carry on talking this time, he speaks up:

"And?"

"And what, Arthur? What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry I lied? Yes, I feel bad for lying to you, but I'll never apologise for protecting myself in a kingdom that would see me burn. And I would do it again in a heartbeat"

Arthur nods. He's tense, but he notices that he isn't scared and he wonders why, after all, as far as he was aware magic had only (almost only) caused him pain and fear.

(In the back of his mind he knows why he's not scared. Merlin doesn't have an evil bone in his body, and he's met the druids, he knows that some magic users are peaceful.)

He looks up at Merlin to see him staring at him, a sort of challenging look on his face, like he was daring Arthur to prove him right. Daring him to be selfish, and angry, and just like his father.

But when Arthur looks deeper. Really Looks at Merlin. He sees the fear, Arthur has no doubt in his mind that Merlin could escape, or even fight him off, now, if he needed to. But Merlin is scared.

If that wasn't enough to break Arthur's heart, the quick glance that Merlin throws to the space a few feet from Arthur's side, is.

Arthur looks over slowly, eyebrows furrowed, to see what Merlin glanced at so fearfully. His heart shatters when he realises what it is. Arthurs sword, sat underneath his bag, just out of his reach. Merlin thinks Arthur is going to kill him. Merlin is scared. Of Arthur.

Arthur looks back at Merlin, disbelief and gut wrenching sadness on his face. He resists the urge to jump up (knowing it would just panic Merlin) as he speaks, trying to keep his tone calming, but it comes out rushed and desperate anyway:

"I'm not going to hurt you Merlin, I swear. I'm...sorry, if my actions and words have led you to believe that I would EVER see any harm come to you."

It's over the last minute, the anger and fear from Merlin, that forces Arthur to realise the legacy he's dealing with. That Uther had done so much damage, had struck so much fear into Merlin, that it didn't matter how close they were. Any subtle, deliberate ignorance of the law wasn’t enough. Any small compliments, or defence of Merlin, wasn't enough.

As long as the law remained, as long as Arthur left his fathers legacy intact, with not even a small attempt to dismantle it, Merlin would be scared of him.

Merlin relaxes only slightly at Arthur's words, gulps, and glances once more at the sword before sitting down again. He’s still tense as he stares into the fire once more.

"All these years you've been putting your life at risk, to stay at my side. You could've quit at any time. You could've stayed in the relative safety of Ealdor, but you didn't. Why? I want to know everything Merlin. You... you mean a great deal to me, and it pains me to see you in fear. And I know it's no one’s fault but my own, and I want to fix it. So the whole story, from the beginning, I want to know."

It's Merlin’s turn to be taken aback now. In his mind, everything he's said and done in the last few minutes should be making Arthur angry. The disrespect of Uther, the tone of voice he had taken, the shouting. All of that even before the admittance of his greatest secret. But still Arthur wasn't angry, he was confused, and maybe hadn't quite processed it yet, but mostly he was just sad, sad that Merlin had to be angry on his own. Sad that Merlin had to be fearful on his own.

So he does. He starts at the beginning. His mother sending him to Camelot so Gaius could train him. Saving Arthurs life that first banquet. Saving his life again a few days later. And again. And again. And again

He talks about all the small insignificant magicks he did: cheating at dice games and keeping Arthur's bath water warm and making sure the fire stays lit through the night and helping the knights sleep when they're out and about.

He talks about all the big magicks he did: killing Nimueh and being the last Dragon-Lord and Balinor being his father, and all the great battles he had won and all the times he'd saved Arthur when Arthur hadn't even realised he'd been in danger.

He talks about everything in between. About every lucky fallen branch and every lucky rockslide and every lucky solution that wouldn't have worked without Merlin... nudging it in the right direction.

He talks and talks and talks until his throat is sore. And Arthur stays silent, unwilling to interrupt, listening intently and saving any questions and queries until the end.

After an hour or so, Merlin hesitates, but Arthur can tell that there's something else. Something he's not saying. Something that in Merlin's mind, is the scariest truth of all. So he stays silent, and waits for Merlin to continue:

"The old man that you think killed your father. Dragoon, the sorcerer who kept popping up but was never in the same room as me? That was me, in disguise."

He looks nervous at this and looks up at Arthur. Before, he'd been explaining everything with a blank but resolute look on his face, still staring into the fire (that hadn't been fed in well over an hour, but was still going strong).

Arthur just looks surprised, he'd never considered that Dragoon had been anyone but himself.

"I tried Arthur. I may have hated your father but I tried to save him. But the pendant around his neck stopped it from working and healing magic has never been my strong point anyway. I really did try."

Arthur nods at this. He figured there had been no reason for the old sorcerer to kill his father, and after consulting Gaius and realising the truth about the pendant, he didn't blame him. Though he never told anyone, not even Merlin, why would he? His manservant had never even met the guy.

"I know. I'm sorry, it can’t have been easy, thinking I blamed you for his death all these months. I'm sorry Merlin."

Merlin looks surprised but quietly grateful. Over the course of the last hour of explanation he had slowly become more and more relaxed, realising that Arthur really meant it when he said he wasn't going to hurt him, and just wanted the truth.

Merlin was still scared, and a big part of him still believed he'd probably be banished at the least at the end of this conversation. But it still felt good to get it off his chest.

"But you still haven't answered my question. Why? We didn't know each all that well those first few weeks. Months even. We practically hated each other at the beginning. But you stayed anyway. Despite hating me and despite being in constant danger. Why?"

Merlin once again hesitates at this. He tried his best but even after all these years, he's not quite sure how to navigate conversations about destiny, especially his own, and especially how it's tied so intrinsically with Arthur’s.

Instead he says:

"What do you know about Emrys?" He really needs a starting reference for this part of the conversation, and at this point, the best way to get it is to ask directly.

Arthur goes to question why, but Merlin has been nothing but honest and straight forward with him, so he trusts that it’s important, and answers truthfully:

"Not much. A few Druids have mentioned him to me before. Apparently they've been seeing him in prophetic dreams for centuries, the Druids have quite a few "seers" in their ranks. He's meant to be some great sorcerer, whose destiny it is to bring Magic and peace to Albion, with some King or other at his side. I never payed much attention to it, I hardly believe in visions of the future."

Merlin nods at that:

"You've got most of it. Emrys is meant to be the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth, past, present, and future. When Uther started culling sorcerers, an astronomical amount of magic was poured back into the earth all at once. The Triple Goddess took that magic and put it all in one place, in one unborn baby, in the hope that said baby would grow into his power, and restore balance and compassion to the world. The Druids call him Emrys but it's just a title, like King, or Sir, not his real name. He, and the Once and Future King, are meant to rule with the support of one another, uniting all of Albion under the King’s rule, and bringing magic back into the land. Emrys and the Forever King, two sides of the same coin, their destinies interwoven."

Merlin goes silent at that, and Arthur thinks he knows where this is going, but he Needs the confirmation:

"What's that got to do with anything?" is quietly muttered.

"You're the Forever King Arthur. And I am Emrys. Though it's weird enough when the druids call me that so just... let's stick with Merlin alright?"

"All those times you said I would be a great King, all those times you had unfailing faith in me, was because of destiny?"

Arthur tries not so sound hurt, but he’s never cared for, or believed, in destiny. Up until now he'd thought Merlin had had faith in him as Arthur, his friend, not as some prophetic Once and Future King that Arthur was afraid he would never be.

"At first, sure. I was angry, that my destiny had been decided for me. That I couldn't just ignore it because if I did then the world would never know peace. I never asked for that responsibility I just wanted... I just wanted to keep my mother safe. I wanted to learn how to be a physician and use my magic to help and entertain and brighten the world. Just a little bit. And suddenly I had this big important role to play. I hated it. But I did it anyway, kept you safe. And then I got to know you as a person and you weren't your father. You Love Camelot, you Love your people, you're a good man who does everything in his power to help those around him, even if they don't deserve it sometimes. And suddenly, having my destiny be to help you to greatness... well, it didn't seem so bad anymore. Maybe it was your destiny to be that Great King from prophecy, because you were already a good man."

Arthur is speechless at that. Tears gather in his eyes but neither of them mention it and he doesn't let them fall. Merlin had been almost as nice as that in the past, but never so fully, and with the weight of the truth behind it, it seemed much more meaningful.

Merlin gives him a sad smile before he continues:

"I'm your servant until the day I die Arthur. I have faith that one day, you'll do the right thing."

Arthur suddenly remember the whole point of this conversation. That Merlin was upset and angry that he hadn't repealed the ban on magic yet, that Merlin was still waiting on him. Waiting on him to do the right thing. Waiting on him to fulfil his destiny.

Maybe they head straight home? Merlin walks into Arthur's chambers the next morning to find him already up and pacing, making a start on the repeal?

Maybe Arthur demands they go to the closest Druid settlement so he can consult them on how he should go about it? Merlin’s knowledge of magic is great and all, but neither of them were alive before the purge, neither know how it would work practically.

All I know, is whenever Merlin first comes across Arthur working on the repeal, determination in his eyes, he cries a little. That everything he sacrificed is finally paying off.

I also know, that the first time Arthur timidly asks Merlin to show him something magical (maybe that's straight after this tiring conversation, or maybe its days later, back in the safety of Arthur's locked chambers) Merlin cries even harder, Arthur is still scared of magic, how could he not be. But he loves and trusts Merlin more than anything in this world, and he wants to learn to not be scared anymore.

THIS IS COMPLETED!!

All 5 parts have been posted:)

If y’all want my thoughts on anything specific, let me know✌

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sciencespies · 3 years

Text

What Happens When Scientists Become Allergic to Their Research

https://sciencespies.com/nature/what-happens-when-scientists-become-allergic-to-their-research/

What Happens When Scientists Become Allergic to Their Research

Bryan Fry’s heart was pounding as he stepped back from the snake enclosure and examined the bite marks on his hand. He had just been bitten by a death adder, one of Australia’s most venomous snakes. Its neurotoxin-laced bite could cause vomiting, paralysis and — as the name suggests — death.

Fry, at the time a graduate student, had kept snakes for years. Oddly, the neurotoxins weren’t his biggest worry; the nearby hospital would have the antivenom he needed, and, although data is limited, people who receive treatment generally survive. Anaphylactic shock, on the other hand, might kill him within minutes.

“Anaphylactic shock is the single worst feeling you can possibly imagine,” recalled Fry, now a biologist at the University of Queensland in Australia. “It is just insane. Every cell in your body is screaming out in mortal terror.”

Fry, who had spent his life admiring and eventually studying venomous snakes, had become deathly allergic to them.

Bryan Fry observes a cobra on a trip to Pakistan. He is now deathly allergic to snake venom.

(Courtesy of Bryan Fry)

While most cases are not so extreme, anecdotal reports and expert analysis suggest that it is far from rare for scientists, students, and laboratory technicians to develop allergies to the organisms they study. Perversely, some allergy researchers say, it is the researchers’ passion for their subjects — the close observation, the long hours of work each day, and the years of commitment to a research project — that puts them at such high risk.

“It is true that some things cause allergies more often than others, but the biggest factor is the frequency of the interaction with the study organism,” said John Carlson, a physician and researcher at Tulane University who specializes in insect and dust mite allergies. “You probably have about a 30 percent chance of developing an allergy to whatever it is that you study.” While data is limited, that estimate is in line with research on occupational allergies, which studies suggest occur in as many as 44 percent of people who work with laboratory rodents, around 40 percent of veterinarians, and 25 to 60 percent of people who work with insects.

Federal guidelines suggest that laboratories have “well-designed air-handling systems” and that workers don appropriate personal protective equipment, or PPE, in order to reduce the risk of developing an allergy. However, interviews with researchers and experts suggest that there may be little awareness of — or adherence to — guidelines like these. For scientists working with less-common species and those engaged in fieldwork, information on what exactly constitutes appropriate PPE may be very limited.

Many researchers, perhaps especially those who do fieldwork, are used to being uncomfortable in service of their work, Carlson points out. “I think that a lot of researchers are so interested in the process of the research,” he said, “that they aren’t really considering the long-term effects that it could have on them.”

In general, allergies develop when the immune system overreacts to a substance that is usually harmless, or relatively harmless. The immune system monitors the body for potentially dangerous invaders like bacteria, fungi, and viruses. Sometimes, for reasons that are not well understood, the immune system identifies something benign, like pollen or animal dander, as dangerous. To help mark the intruder, a person who has become sensitized in this way produces antibodies, or types of proteins, to identify it.

When that person comes into contact with the substance again, the antibodies flag it as an invader. As part of the response, immune cells release compounds like histamine, which irritate and inflame the surrounding tissues, resulting in allergy symptoms.

Although some risk factors have been identified, researchers who study allergies are often unable to determine exactly why this overreaction occurs in some people but not others. But it’s clear that, for some substances, repeated exposures can increase the likelihood of an allergic response.

While anecdotes of allergic scientists abound, research into the issue is scant. The best documented are allergies to rodents, which are ubiquitous in biomedical research. But some scientists report allergies that are almost completely unstudied, potentially because relatively few people — at least in wealthy nations in which many allergy studies are conducted — regularly come into contact with the organisms that cause them.

For example, while most people avoid regular contact with leeches, University of Toronto doctoral student Danielle de Carle goes out looking for them. De Carle studies leech genetics in order to figure out how different species are related to one another and to understand how blood feeding evolved. To study the leeches, she first has to catch them, and like other researchers in her field, she uses her own body as bait.

“We wade into swamps and stuff, and we let them attach to us and feed from us,” she said. For most people, leech bites are relatively painless. When de Carle needed to keep the leeches alive in the lab, she would let them feed on her then as well.

Doctoral student Danielle de Carle now uses sausage casings filled with pig blood to nourish the leeches she studies.

(Courtesy of Danielle de Carle)

After about a year and a half of this, she started to notice symptoms. At first, the bites became itchy, but the more she was exposed, the worse it got. “The last time I fed a leech — which I try not to do anymore — my entire hand swelled up so much that I could hardly make a fist,” she said. “It itched like crazy.” De Carle said that, when she’s out hunting leeches now, she can avoid an allergic reaction if she removes the leech after it attaches itself to her, but before it starts to feed. For the leeches she keeps in the lab, she’s switched to feeding them pig’s blood from a butcher shop instead of letting them feed on her.

Nia Walker, a Ph.D. student in biology at Stanford University, has also begun reacting to her research organism. Walker studies how genetics influence coral bleaching resistance and recovery. She began to notice rashes on her hands during her third trip to conduct fieldwork on corals in Palau, an island nation in the South Pacific. “And then each subsequent trip after that, it got more and more extreme,” she said. “It got to the point where my face would bloat and I’d get welts on my hands from touching them.”

While her symptoms are especially intense, Walker said she’s not the only member of her lab who has developed a sensitivity. By now, she said, everyone in the lab has “developed a slight irritation to corals.” Walker has been able to manage her allergy by using protective equipment and over-the-counter antihistamines. “It’s sad,” she said, “but it’s also pretty funny.”

Sometimes, allergies that scientists have picked up during lab work can spill over into daily life. More than a decade ago, evolutionary biologist Karl Grieshop worked in a fruit fly lab in which bananas were a key part of the flies’ diet. Ever since, he said, his throat gets itchy every time he eats a banana. Jon Giddens, a doctoral student in plant biology at the University of Oklahoma, said that he didn’t have any allergies before he started studying Eastern redcedar, a small evergreen tree that is widespread in some regions of the country. But now, even though it’s been more than a year since he last worked with the species in the field, he has year-round nasal allergy symptoms, he thinks from the redcedar pollen in the air.

Likewise, Brechann McGoey, who received her doctorate in ecology and evolutionary biology from the University of Toronto, said she didn’t experience hay fever before she started her graduate work. But after repeated exposure to ragweed pollen during experiments, she developed symptoms like post-nasal drip and persistent cough. Even though she no longer works with the species, she still gets hay fever every fall during ragweed season. “It’s a souvenir from my Ph.D.,” she joked.

Reflecting previous research on occupational allergies in veterinarians, most of the researchers who spoke with Undark did not seek medical attention or get a formal diagnosis for their allergies.

Biologist Nia Walker attaches an ID tag to the base of a tabletop coral on the northern fore reef in Palau. Everyone in the lab she works in has “developed a slight irritation to corals,” Walker says.

(Dan Griffin / GG Films)

In many cases, scientists report that their allergies are annoying but manageable. But sometimes, the allergies force researchers to make major changes.

Entomologist Chip Taylor began his career studying sulphur butterflies as a Ph.D. student at the University of Connecticut. When he started his own lab at the University of Kansas in 1969, he had every intention of continuing to work with the species. But, he said, “by the time it rolled around to 1973, I realized I was so allergic to these butterflies.” Taylor began to experience asthma-like symptoms whenever he worked with them.

In the summer of that year, during a research trip to central Arizona, Taylor and a colleague rented a trailer to use as a workstation to process butterfly wing samples. “I could not go in the trailer,” he recalled. “I slept outside with my back up against a tree so my sinuses and my throat could drain.” To manage his symptoms, he was regularly taking prednisone, a powerful anti-inflammatory drug that can have serious side effects. “I decided that I had to get out of working with those butterflies,” Taylor said. “I had to readjust my career to work on something else.”

Taylor spent the next few decades studying killer bees. He returned to butterfly research in 1992, when he started the monarch butterfly conservation program Monarch Watch. Taylor said he’s never experienced any symptoms while working with monarchs — maybe, he guesses, because the two species produce different types of pigments.

Fry, the biologist who became allergic to snake venom, also said his allergy has shaped his career. The venoms of different snake species share similar components, Fry said, so someone who is allergic to one type of snake is likely allergic to many types. Because of this allergy, Fry also has to be extremely careful even around venomous snakes that are usually not dangerous to humans.

“Whenever I work with these animals now, I look like I’m going into the Hurt Locker,” he said, referencing the Oscar-winning movie about U.S. Army specialists who defused bombs in Iraq. “So, of course, in the tropical sun I’m absolutely melting.” Those limitations, he said, have made working with snakes less enjoyable. “I can’t just blithely interact with these animals that I find so absolutely fascinating, knowing that death is just around the corner at any given moment, even from a snake that normally wouldn’t be a medical problem.”

Fry survived his encounter with the death adder thanks to a snakebite kit containing injectable adrenaline and antihistamines, as well as a quick-thinking friend who raced him to the hospital. The allergy, he said, has caused him to redirect much of his research to studying venoms in other animals, including Komodo dragons, slow lorises (the world’s only venomous primates), funnel-web spiders, and box jellyfish. “I’ve managed to turn it into a good thing,” he said, “but it’s been nevertheless very frustrating.”

Allergy experts say that reducing exposure is the key to preventing allergy development. Exactly how much the exposure needs to be reduced is less clear, and increasing protection may be costly for institutions and inconvenient for researchers.

Some laboratories that use mice and rats have equipment and policies designed to reduce exposure to allergens. These labs install ventilation systems for the cages, use a robotic system to clean them out, house fewer animals per room, and provide an area for workers to change out of allergen-contaminated clothing. PPE such as masks, gloves, and gowns can also help researchers reduce their exposure.

But actually applying those preventative measures can be challenging, said Johanna Feary, who studies occupational lung disease as a senior clinical research fellow at Imperial College London.

In 2019, Feary and several colleagues published a study of seven research institutions in the United Kingdom that performed research on mice. They found that facilities that used individually ventilated cages, instead of open cages, had dramatically lower airborne allergen levels. But even that was not sufficient to prevent technicians from becoming sensitized to mouse allergens. The facilities with the lowest levels of sensitization were those where workers also wore properly fitted masks. The research, she said, demonstrated that, at least in the U.K., the development of allergies to lab animals “is probably preventable in almost all cases.”

But Feary said that lab animal allergies continue to be a problem for many people. “We should be getting better at it,” she said. “I’m not sure we are getting better at it.” The main reason, according to Feary, is that it can be costly to install equipment that reduces allergen exposure, such as those robotic cage cleaners, especially if it requires renovating older facilities.

It’s also hard to accurately assess the magnitude of the problem, she said, especially given that conditions and practices differ widely around the world. While well-run facilities will monitor workers’ exposure and health, “at the other end of the scale, you have filthy places with poor health and safety,” she said, where recordkeeping is patchy and people who develop allergies may simply feel compelled to seek work elsewhere. “So, it may look like everything’s fine, and nobody’s got any symptoms, but actually all the sick people have left,” Feary said.

It may also be the case that only the best-run facilities will report their data, she said, while the rest will simply not engage. Indeed, several years ago, when a group of Duke University researchers attempted a nationwide survey of the incidence of anaphylaxis associated with lab-animal bites in the U.S., only 16 percent of facilities even responded.

And with less well-studied allergies, there’s simply little information available regarding prevalence and what sorts of protections are sufficient to prevent their development. Several scientists living with allergies, though, said they think that more information and awareness could help increase the number of scientists taking precautions in their research.

Fry said there is more awareness of snake venom allergy than there was when he started formally studying snakes in the late 1990s. But, he added, “it’s still not as well-known as it should be.” Researchers in the field, he wrote in a follow-up email, can be reticent to talk about venom allergies. But, he said, “I’m quite candid about it because, you know, this is life-saving information.”

Walker, the coral biologist, said more research on allergies among researchers would be helpful. “A lot of these things can be addressed if you knew to look out for it,” she said.

Early-career scientists generally receive thorough training on proper handling of biohazards and harmful chemicals. Institutions often provide extensive safety plans for fieldwork to help researchers prepare for the various risks involved, from dehydration to hypothermia to bear attacks. But scientists may learn little about the potential for developing allergies to seemingly harmless organisms.

“I feel like maybe there’s a bit too much of a casual attitude about protective gear,” said McGoey, who developed an allergy after doing research on ragweed. “Maybe especially if you’re working with a plant or animal, where it’s like a natural thing, and you’re not in the lab with a chemical, maybe people are just not careful enough.”

“As silly as it sounds, just maybe having more emphasis on using PPE and the consequences of not doing it would be kind of nice,” said de Carle, the leech researcher. “It can be really easy to just think, like, ‘Oh, I don’t really need to wear gloves; I’m just touching flowers or whatever.’”

Carlson, the allergist, said that even well-informed researchers can get caught up in their enthusiasm for the work and rationalize not taking the proper precautions.

In 2009, Carlson worked on a project that involved collecting data on house dust mites, microscopic arthropods which cause nasal and respiratory issues in millions of people worldwide. Despite his expertise, he neglected PPE. “I know all this,” he said. “I know I should be wearing a mask, but it’s hot, and it’s sweaty, and I don’t have a boss telling me what to do.” As he worked, he developed a runny nose and itchy eyes — the first steps toward a full-fledged allergy. “I pushed through and I ended up hyper-sensitizing myself,” Carlson said, to the point that even getting down on the ground to play with his then-young children made him “absolutely miserable.”

Carlson is saddened thinking about those scientists who have to give up the work they love due to allergies. “I really do feel for these folks doing their work and developing an allergy,” he said. “The more we get the word out there, the better.”

Hannah Thomasy is a freelance science writer splitting time between Toronto and Seattle. Her work has appeared in Hakai Magazine, OneZero, and NPR.

This article was originally published on Undark. Read the original article.

#Nature

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snusbandxknifewife · 4 years

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Can you do fanfic or headcanon explaining The resentment between Madoc and Cardan? I feel like it has something to do with Jude and no matter how much I think about it there seems to be resentment from both sides

Enjoy some light family dinner angst I hope this is intense enough!

~~~

It was no secret that Cardan and Madoc disliked one another. Anybody with eyes could see how they glared at each other over their wine glasses whenever they had to dine together. But Cardan loved his wife, and his wife clearly had some strange familial feelings that she was confused by, and so that meant that he never complained when Jude dragged him to dinner. After all, it wouldn’t happen for long, and Madoc would be out of his life unless Jude lifted the exile.

Still, that didn’t change the fact that his forehead always hurt from how strongly he frowned at dinner.

It was quickly approaching Yule and the Elfhame monarchs had agreed to take a day’s break from planning revels and attending meetings to head to the mortal world for an early holiday meal. Cardan had never celebrated Christmas, and Jude hadn’t celebrated it in years, but Oak was insistent on trying out the new holiday and Taryn was so far along in her pregnancy that they all knew she wouldn’t be getting out much in a few weeks.

That’s why, against everything Cardan wanted, he found himself glaring down his father-in-law.

They had to put in some work to properly stare at each other. With Madoc at the head of the table and Oriana opposite him, Cardan was at a disadvantage. He was sitting next to his wife, across from the Ghost, and so he had to turn his head to flash Madoc sour looks. Jude had picked up on the tension—she always did—and was gripping his thigh so tightly that he knew he’d have bruises in the morning.

Madoc took a break from glaring to ask some question about the kingdom, one that Jude answered with all the grace of a seasoned monarch. Cardan was so distracted by using the moment to take a sip of his wine that it wasn’t until the room descended into silence that he realized his wife had left him room to speak.

“My apologies, my mind was elsewhere,” he said, coming back to the conversation and offering his wife a sheepish grin. He only looked sheepish around her, only apologized genuinely for her. Anywhere else, with anyone else, he would’ve been content to continue ignoring them. But not his Jude, never his Jude.

“It’s alri—“

“Typical,” Madoc mumbled under his breath, loud enough to interrupt Jude.

Cardan and Jude both bristled.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Jude asked, her fiercely overprotective nature cutting through any hope of maintaining diplomacy. This wasn’t a state dinner, she could rip people to shreds if she wanted.

Cardan laid a hand on her back, his long fingers stretching effortlessly over the delicate silk of her dress as he wordlessly told her that he’d take care of this.

Across the table, Taryn was considering faking labor to have an excuse to get herself and Ghost out. Down the table, Oak was secretively raising his brand new phone up past his plate, already recording for posterity (as he’d started doing after Madoc “accidentally” dropped a wine glass on Cardan a month ago). Directly to Cardan’s right, Oriana was eyeing the wine glass in front of her, wondering if anyone would notice her turning the whole thing bottoms up.

Madoc stared Cardan down and the entire room grew even tenser. “I said it was typical,” he finally stated, blinking matter-of-factly. “As in, it’s typical for you to leave all conscious thought to Jude while you go off in your own world.”

“Madoc, dear, don’t speak to our king that way,” Oriana pointedly warned.

“I’ve no king, I’m a man in exile,” he shot back instantly. “All I have is a son-in-law who isn’t worth my daughter’s spit.”

Vivi cooly wrapped her arm around Heather’s shoulders, looking for the quickest exit.

Cardan, moving quickly, slid his hand from Jude’s back to her thigh and dug his fingers into her skin to keep her seated as he looked his father-in-law up and down.

“I don’t see why there’s so much animosity for a subject we agree on,” he calmly announced. “I’ve made it quite clear that I feel undeserving of the gift it is to be Jude’s husband.”

Madoc blanched a little, opening his mouth to say something.

Cardan cut him off. “Though what confuses me is the fact that you don’t seem to feel the same way about being her father. You act like you’re entitled to the roll, like you’ve offered her something she wouldn’t exist without.”

He reached down and grabbed his wine glass, swirling it around before taking a delicate sip to build the tension.

“Like you somehow have done anything other than put Jude in danger,” he continued, studying the way the light glinted off his painted nails before turning back to Madoc. “Like you were somehow key to her success.”

If they were in Elfhame, this would be about the time that guards would move to secure Madoc to keep him from attacking the king. But they weren’t in Elfhame, so no one stopped him from slamming his fists on the table and standing tall, looking ready for a fight.

Cardan didn’t give him the satisfaction of rising to face him. Instead, he remained comfortably seated beside his wife—who was shooting rapid glances between him and her father.

“I raised her!”

“You stole her,” Cardan shot back, voice betraying his disgust. “You took her from a loving mother and father, from the safety of the mortal world, and you threw her to the wolves. You gave her and her sister up to the gentry for slaughter and you dare to call that raising?”

And there it was, the genesis of Cardan’s hatred for Madoc. No matter how many family dinners they suffered through, how much time passed, he’d always despise his father-in-law for what he’d done to Jude when she was no more than a defenseless human child.

Jude had been born into a loving family, she’d had a mother and father who adored not only each other, but also their children. She’d deserved that for the rest of her life, she’d deserved the safety that her human birth should’ve afforded her.

But no, she’d been forced—at the tender age of seven—to watch the violent murder of both her parents, and then she’d been stolen away to Faerie and thrown to the wolves that made up the gentry. A lifetime of scorn and suffering that could’ve been avoided if Madoc hadn’t been so entitled and rash.

“I seem to remember your torment was always the worst,” Madoc looked like a vein was about to pop in his forehead as his voice lowered dangerously. “You trapped my daughter in a river of nixies, you drugged her and forced her to strip in front of her classmates—“

“The everapple incident wasn’t my doing.”

Cardan had been a terrible person—arguably still was when he needed to be—and he knew he’d been evil to Jude when they were children. But he’d never engineered a situation where Jude would be both inebriated and in danger. Even when he was still trying to convince himself that he hated her, her safety was always his number one concern.

“You exiled Jude when she needed you most. You left her alone and vulnerable after gaining her trust and act like I’m the monster?”

Cardan’s eye twitched. “To protect her from you. To protect her from us.”

And then he finally stood, setting down his wine glass and turning to face Madoc. His oil-slick eyes swirled with hatred and he was thankful they weren’t in Elfhame, solely because he knew that, if they were, he would’ve already been surrounded by poisonous plants.

“You didn’t see her after the Undersea, never saw how sick she was,” he growled. “I sent her away to give her time to heal, to give her the chance to fall in love with the mortal world again in the hopes that she would stay here where she was safe.”

He stepped back and pushed his chair in, pulling Jude’s out and helping her up.

“But my darling wife returned, because she’s headstrong and she’s never cared much for her own safety. I won’t lie to you, I’m thankful for it. I don’t think I would’ve survived without her.”

He went to the coatrack and grabbed Jude’s fur before walking back to wrap it around her shoulders.

“But then you took her from me.”

Madoc opened his mouth.

“Granted, you thought she was Taryn,” Cardan acknowledged. “I suppose you, her so-called loving father, never put in the work to tell the difference.”

Jude was staring at her husband, she saw how his hands shook in anger.

“But when you figured it out, when you finally looked at your daughter and saw Jude, that’s when you truly lost any hope of being a father.” Cardan looked back to Madoc, tears of fury wetting his eyes. “Because when you were faced with your teenaged daughter, the girl you stole and brought up and taught, you tried to kill her.”

Memories of Jude crashing from the rafters flirted through his mind and he bit his cheek against the wave of nausea it always brought up.

“You gutted your child and left her to die,” he whispered. “You ran her through and you dare to say I’m the one undeserving of her?”

Jude didn’t know what to say as she looked at her husband, as she felt his fingers digging into the flesh of her arm. She’d never seen him so raw with emotion, never heard him discuss his hatred of Madoc.

She didn’t fight as her husband pushed her towards the door. So lost in her own thoughts was she that she didn’t notice Cardan stop to whisper in Madoc’s ear.

“I look forward to the day Jude stops coming to the mortal world,” he admitted, “because then I know I’ll no longer have to worry about you putting her in danger.”

“And what about you?” Madoc asked, a tinge if desperation in his voice. “How will I know that you’re no longer endangering her? You, who have always been undeserving of her?”

“Your peace of mind isn’t my problem. Her’s is.”

~~~~~

Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @hizqueen4life @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thewickedkings @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @cheekycheekycheeks @queen-of-glass @b00kworm @doingmyrainbow @andromeddea @jurdanhell @thesirenwashere @sweetlyvillainous @courtofjurdan @clockworkgraystairs @st00pid231

#cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #tfota #jurdan #tfota fic #madoc #oriana #vivienne duarte #taryn duarte #ghost #oak #family dinner fic #tyrannosaurus lex answers #tyrannosaurus lex writes

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mechawaka · 3 years

Text

Spring in Derdriu

A commission for @artsytardis

Words: 11.7k

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Claude/Byleth

Rating: Teen

Mood music: Roses & Revolutions - Dancing in a Daydream

Summary: Five years after the war, Claude is the king of Almyra and Byleth is the queen of United Fodlan - but neither of them had the courage to propose at the Goddess Tower. When Byleth comes down with a sudden fever, they might have another chance.

---

They couldn’t possibly name Derdriu the new capital of United Fodlan, Lorenz had declared the very day after Byleth’s coronation. It would ‘imply things,’ he’d said, aghast that she would even suggest it.

Lo and behold, Ferdinand and Sylvain had expressed similar worries about Enbarr and Fhirdiad, respectively, and what ‘things’ their hosting would ‘imply.’

And Garreg Mach was also out of the question. Archbishop Seteth, recently crowned himself, wanted to keep the reformed Church of Seiros as far removed from political power as possible. Byleth couldn’t make her capital there, he’d insisted. The implications!

So which will it be? her newly appointed cabinet - four representatives from each geographical region, with twelve in total - had prodded, each sect adamant that theirs couldn’t possibly be the permanent home of the new government.

And Byleth, already exhausted despite only being in charge for a grand total of one moon, had replied:

All of them, then.

That day, United Fodlan’s migrating government, colloquially known as the Wandering Court, had been born. Byleth spent one season in each capital - spring in Derdriu, summer in Fhirdiad (on which she was insistent), and winter in Enbarr. In the fall, she and the entire cabinet gathered at neutral Garreg Mach to conduct any business which required everyone’s presence at once.

For five years, the system had worked perfectly. There had been some inevitable pushback at first, mostly from anti-Imperial factions who were upset that Byleth had adopted the old Empire’s ministerial structure, but they had gradually quieted down as the continental economy stabilized and flourished under its guidance.

Moreover, Byleth liked being on the road. She was raised in tents and on horseback, always moving between destinations, and the frequent travel helped soften long days of paperwork and political debate.

It also let her document certain supply and infrastructure problems firsthand; to this day, Byleth fondly remembered a tiny village on the Rhodos Coast whose inhabitants had sent in an official request for a new bridge - and had been shocked senseless when the queen herself, in transit from Fhirdiad to Garreg Mach, had shown up to build it.

(Petra had put her personal stamp of approval on that one; you only rule what you can see and touch, she’d written of the event.)

Today, though - this season, this cursed spring - the system was not working.

Oh, it had started normally enough. Byleth, once settled in the palace at Derdriu, had taken up her usual duty of hearing the cases which had passed since her last time in residence and breaking any tied votes.

It wasn’t until her ministers were tying up the season’s work that a heavy rain swelled the Airmid, causing flooding in four different territories and knocking out a siege-battered section of the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Suddenly, they were swamped with petitions: drowned fields, lost livestock, choked roads. All with less than a moon remaining before the court’s transition to Fhirdiad.

In short, Byleth hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours.

Her head was a splitting fissure of tectonic activity, rumbling in the background of every meeting, every hearing, and roaring to life at random intervals that left her gritting her teeth and glaring at Lorenz, wherever he was in the room.

Oh, we simply can’t stay in Derdriu permanently, she mocked him mentally as, again, a searing wave of pain spiked behind her drooping eyes. It would ruin everything, or whatever.

“- and with that in mind, the Merchants’ Association asked us to move the boundary twenty feet down the riverfront,” Marianne recited from an open ledger. She, like all the other ministers, was dressed in a smartly cut, floor-length robe of office that bore the seal of United Fodlan, with her hair gathered neatly at the back of her neck.

“Ministers Victor and Goneril voted in favor of the merchants, while Minister Gloucester and I voted in favor of the fisheries. How do you rule?” Marianne looked up from her record and across their round discussion table. Her eyes were bright and serious at first, but they creased with worry upon taking in Byleth’s pinched expression.

“Are you feeling ill, Your Majesty?”

This garnered the other ministers’ attention as well. Ignatz pushed his glasses up his nose to study her better, staring in that perceptive, sympathetic way that said he’d already identified all the faults in her appearance.

Hilda, who’d been twirling a quill pen between her fingers, glanced up and gave Byleth a detachedly brutal once-over, indicating with an arched, sculpted eyebrow that she disliked her findings.

Lorenz, meanwhile, simply regarded his queen with a dry, ‘I told you so’ stare.

“No, no. I’m fine,” Byleth asserted, avoiding everyone’s concerned faces, and especially Lorenz’s. He had warned her against overworking only a week prior, and here she was zoning out like a bored student. She’d get an earful from him later, no doubt, about a ruler’s responsibility to their subjects extending to self-care and time management.

“My apologies. Minister Edmund, please recount the case again.” Byleth pushed herself up, ignoring the pounding rhythm inside her brain. She often paced the length of the room for difficult petitions, anyway, and maybe movement would help ease the pain - but she took one step and the world went sideways.

She swayed dangerously on her feet, catching herself on the edge of the throne. Her legs were soft and wobbly as a dessert jelly; her vision swam with blots of darkness and intense color at random.

In a hushed, grave voice, she whispered, “Oh, that’s not good.”

“Quite,” Lorenz agreed curtly, having materialized at her elbow to aid in stabilization. He turned to the others, lips pursed and demeanor supremely unamused. “I believe Her Majesty is finished hearing cases for the day. All in agreement?”

Byleth barely registered the other ministers’ responses; her ears were suddenly full of cotton, dampening all incoming sound. Even Lorenz’s voice, so close at her side, was fuzzy and jumbled. She could only nod and follow him out of the throne room, vaguely aware that Marianne had joined them.

When had her headache gotten this bad? It must have been a slow progression, she reasoned as the trio headed toward her chambers, building in intensity during the meeting. She vaguely recalled an old medical lecture of Manuela’s about blood vessels in the brain, and how moving suddenly after a stationary period could cause...something. Something bad, probably.

Not for the first time, nor even for the hundredth, she wished she’d paid closer attention to the other teachers’ seminars back at Garreg Mach.

Lorenz politely turned around while Marianne helped Byleth out of her heavy court mantle and into her gigantic bed, busying himself by preparing a teapot at the dresser.

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” Byleth professed as she collapsed onto her mattress, allowing Marianne’s white magic to flow over her in a soothing current. “We can re-convene at first light.”

With his back still turned, Lorenz scoffed. “I highly doubt that.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s right,” Marianne corroborated, ceasing her spell and pressing the back of one hand to Byleth’s forehead. “You have harvest fever; you’ll need to rest for at least a week to let it run its course.”

“A week?” Byleth demanded, sitting straight up again. “But I leave for Fhirdiad in two!”

Lorenz brought the teapot over on a wheeled cart, putting his hands on either side and warming it magically. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have taxed yourself to infirmity, hmm?”

At that, Byleth shot him an impotent - and, in all likelihood, given her state, pathetic - glare, but the mere action of tensing her forehead muscles worsened her headache and she fell back onto her pillows, defeated. He was right, damn him.

“Byleth,” he continued, exasperated, dropping all formality as he always did in the absence of prying ears. “Just rest. We designed this government to run in your absence - let us handle things from here.”

Marianne echoed the sentiment with a soft smile, pouring some strong-smelling medicinal tea from the pot. “We’ll see that Ordelia and Hrym are well cared for,” she said, holding out the teacup like a peace offering.

Byleth grudgingly took it.

---

Lorenz squinted down at Byleth’s sleeping form, sprawled and content amongst her blankets, and sighed. No one had ever prepared her for a life of leadership and politics, but she’d risen to the challenge admirably in the last five years. Perhaps too admirably, if situations like this were any judge.

Her problem, he’d decided long ago - and informed her whenever the chance presented itself - was moderation. Temperance. Byleth Eisner tackled every problem with a single-minded determination that, while remarkably efficient during the war, had tended to cause a variety of problems in peacetime.

In that regard, she was quite similar to him. To Claude. And speaking of Claude -

“We had two guards and a trio of footmen at our assembly today,” Marianne observed, keeping her eyes on the bed, but her message was clear.

“Indeed.” Lorenz tapped the heels of his polished boots restlessly against the floor. He could practically hear the wagging tongues from here; he could picture the story of their fainting monarch billowing out from the palace like blood in water, ripe for scenting - and there was one particular green-eyed shark always circling for a whiff.

He forced a long, resigned breath out through his nose, and said dismally, “I’ll direct the staff to prepare the guest wing at once.”

---

Thanks to whatever was in that tea, Byleth slept straight through the next few days. Even when she woke, she was groggy and mostly insensate to the world around her; she recalled Marianne’s visits to administer medicine or urge a few sips of water, but other than that - nothing. Only light and color and sound, all indistinct and running together.

The fever itself wasn’t so bad. She was being treated by the most studied healer in the region, and the rest was good for her, as much as she resisted the notion.

No, what had her itching for freedom, for an escape, had nothing to do with the sickness and everything to do with her own shoddy mental compartmentalization. Byleth had a single unbreakable rule, and it had kept her safe and stable for most of her life: don’t slow down.

Her friends - formerly students, and now United Fodlan’s new ministers - had always struggled to understand what went on in her head, and Byleth had to confess that it was often a confusing place for her, too. That was why she spent as little time there as possible. If she was solving governmental disputes or plotting a route through the Oghmas, she wasn’t thinking about her problems - and for someone that had attended the Jeralt Eisner school of “don’t confront your problems until they literally confront you first” coping strategy, that suited her just fine.

But these hours cooped up in her bedchamber were slow, and Lorenz had taken great strides to ensure that nary a tax report breached its threshold. And when there was no work to do, no roadblock for her mind to chew on, it drifted to contemplation, to nostalgia, and then, inevitably, to Claude.

What would he think of the stalemate between the merchants and the fisheries? That one was easy. He’d find a third option, something neither of the institutions had proposed but that benefited both, and dazzle them with its presentation. He’d find a way to spin the conflict so that it wasn’t about competing guilds, but about the betterment of the city as a whole.

She wondered if he looked different now compared to when she’d seen him last, at the Alliance Founding Day celebration the previous Horsebow. They only ever saw each other in formal wear these days, painted and decorated and utterly without privacy. Had he let his hair grow over the winter like she had? Was it curling near the base of his neck, thick and wild?

Oh, here we go, she thought, rolling her eyes and then squeezing them shut. This was why she kept herself preoccupied; any lapse in activity brought these sorts of ideas to the forefront, and they always turned to indulgent fantasy. Only Claude brought out that side of Byleth - and it made her so paradoxically angry, and afraid, and lonely.

Angry because she hadn’t intended to let him in; he was just there one day, snugly by her side, a few months after she’d joined the faculty at Garreg Mach (and she would always lament, at least a little, that Rhea hadn’t put her with the students instead). Even after he’d admitted his ulterior motives in getting close to her, Byleth never had the heart to be mad at him for it. He was so damn endearing.

Afraid because, as easily as he’d attached himself to her, he’d un-attached. Byleth could admit to herself, alone in her darkened bedroom, that most of her mental evasion strategies centered around one specific memory: that early morning conversation they’d had right before her coronation, in which Claude had spontaneously announced his departure from Fodlan.

(“There’s something I need to do,” he’d said up at the Goddess Tower, and she had been so sure he’d wanted to say more, but instead he’d just...left.)

Lonely because their friendship had never been the same after that. They were both so busy, now, and with so much responsibility - and she missed him. Missed their easy conversation and matching drive; missed the academic dissections of famous battles and the late nights spent comparing various cultures’ names for the constellations.

Her remaining friends were certainly a balm, and she wouldn’t trade them for the world, but none of them were him. She’d never filled that spot at her side. Couldn’t fill it. Nothing and no one else fit there.

But she also couldn’t ask him back. He was the king of Almyra now, fulfilling everything he’d wanted and worked for and talked about with stars in his eyes - and Byleth could never begrudge him his lofty and admirable goals. Never. Instead, she’d had to accept the possibility that the grand arc of his ambitions no longer included her in its trajectory.

She sprawled out sideways on her bed, letting the warring emotions flood her body. Maybe this was good for her. Maybe, like the fever, she just needed to let them run their course. Maybe these were the natural consequences of escapism and denial.

And it wasn’t like she’d be able to get away from herself any time soon.

---

“Of all the - absolutely not,” Lorenz stated, planting himself in the center of the hall that led to Byleth’s bedroom. “There are procedures, Claude. Royal protocol. You know this!”

But Claude had already danced around him, utilizing that foot speed the mages never needed to master. “Come on, Lorenz, I’m not some Srengan diplomat - we’ve all seen each other covered in mud and guts. What’s a little illness between friends?”

To his credit, Lorenz didn’t ask how Claude had come by that knowledge. Nor were his protestations very vigorous, as if the man had foreseen this exact scenario - and for that, Claude was proud of him.

That pride wouldn’t keep him from his goal, however. He’d saddled up his wyvern as soon as the words “queen” and “sick” had left his spymaster’s mouth.

“She’s not well. You’ll be interrupting her convalescence - Claude,” Lorenz said sternly, holding his friend by the elbow and fixing him with a soul-searching gaze. “She cannot receive visitors in this state. What’s gotten into you?”

For an instant, Claude’s happy-go-lucky mask slipped. He’d been too pushy, so much so that even Lorenz got a glimpse of the panic underneath - the cold terror that had driven him across the continent and still gripped his heart. He knew it wouldn’t let up until he could confirm Byleth’s condition.

But he was a consummate faker, and so the mask slotted deftly back into place. “Why don’t you go ask her, hmm? I’m sure she’ll be positively overjoyed.”

---

When Lorenz walked in, Byleth was still in the same position, all spread out and despondent.

“How are you feeling, Your Majesty?” he asked pointedly, and his use of her title - coupled with his formal position near the door - should have clued her in to what he was really asking, but Byleth was far too addled for nuance.

She tilted her head in his direction and flatly, shamelessly said, “Fine.”

Lorenz’s disciplined expression soured a fraction. “Well, that is wonderful news -” his ironic lilt suggested that this news was anything but wonderful, “- because you have a visitor.”

He stepped back to clear the doorway, giving Byleth a look that said she deserved everything that was about to happen. “May I present King Khalid ibn Riegan of Almyra.”

Claude poked his head in much too casually for Lorenz’s theatrical introduction. “Byleth! I brought you some -”

He paused, staring at her depressed-starfish pose. Byleth, in the blink of an eye, sobered completely and experienced all the stages of grief in quick succession.

“- fruit,” Claude finished lamely. Behind him, Lorenz pinched the bridge of his nose.

---

“Claude,” Byleth intoned, dredging up her ‘serious teacher’ voice for the occasion. She’d bathed and changed her clothes since his impromptu arrival - Byleth had never possessed a single modest bone in her body, but, again, he just incomprehensibly brought it out in her - and now she sat on the edge of her bed while he occupied the bedside armchair.

“It was so nice of you to drop in,” she continued, folding her arms across her chest.

Claude laughed anxiously, holding a woven basket full of fruit in his lap half like a shield and half like an offering to an angry deity. “Okay, why do I get the feeling you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Byleth said icily. It wasn’t a lie; it was more like she was mad around him - mad at the space surrounding his stupid, handsome head - mad that he’d shown up, as if summoned, right when she was feeling so sorry for herself about him.

But that was far too complicated to explain, so instead she asked, “What’s your business in the city?”

He brightened a bit, perhaps relieved to divert the topic. “Thought I’d tour the Goldroad - see what travel is really like there outside the official inspection dates.”

Byleth cocked her head to the side, staring out her west-facing window. He referred to the winding trade route that now spanned the Throat, starting at the Locket and ending at a similarly sized fort across the border in Almyra - but that was over a day’s travel from Derdriu.

Following the path of her eyes, Claude went on quickly, “And, you know, I was in the area, so why not visit my very best friend?”

She wasn’t sure she’d classify a seventeen hour wyvern flight as ‘in the area.’ Byleth narrowed her eyes, looking from his rigid smile, to his posture, to the basket he carried, then back to his face, waiting for the actual answer.

“- All right,” he confessed, exhaling deeply. “My spies said you were sick, so I came to check on you - how are you still so good at that?”

She smiled despite herself and pointed at the basket, which he promptly handed over. Popping a dried date into her mouth, she asked coyly, “At what?”

Claude laughed heartily, reaching over to get one for himself, and that simple action propelled them effortlessly into a comfortable, familiar rhythm, dispelling their outer veneers of royalty.

They traded stories about travel, about new friends, about insufferable opposition; Claude told her about one of his subordinate satraps - which served a similar function to Byleth’s ministers, but with more concentrated local authority - who had threatened to raise an army in his territory over the price of grain, and then panicked when Claude had called his bluff and negotiated a lower price.

(“Did he even have an army?” she asked, completely absorbed in the story and eating sour cherries by the handful.

Claude, with a wide, gleeful grin, replied, “Not a chance.”)

In return, Byleth told him about last year’s failed rebellion in eastern Faerghus, in which a group of Blaiddyd royalists had tried to rally the region’s former aristocracy under the banner of House Fraldarius - and how Felix himself had ridden out to personally disband them.

(“Oof. Embarrassing,” Claude commented, making a face like someone had punched him in the gut. “What did he say to make them listen?”

Byleth snorted and modulated her voice to match the prickly swordsman’s. “‘This is not happening. Leave.’”)

As the afternoon wore on, servants brought in tea service and then dinner - and Byleth’s temporary surge in vitality upon seeing her dear friend started to fade, replaced by the fever-aches she’d come to know so well. Her movements grew slower and her answers shorter, overcast by brain fog.

Claude watched this change in her with considerable worry, helping her back under her blankets after they’d finished eating and re-situating the pillows around her head.

“Oh, stop it,” she chided, swatting away his hands. “I’m not completely helpless.”

He backed off, smiling easily, but stayed within range to aid her again if needed. “I don’t know about that,” he teased. “You know what they say about people who catch colds in the summer.”

“It’s spring,” she insisted, wrinkling her nose, but he didn’t laugh. In fact, there were no traces of mirth left anywhere on his face.

Byleth sat up straighter. “Claude, it’s only harvest fever. Marianne said it should clear up in a few days.”

He dropped back into his chair, resting his elbows on his knees so he could bridge part of the gap. “But what if it’s not, though?”

A nearby Church of Seiros’s evening bells rang out across the palace grounds. The brassy sounds changed with each echo, reaching her bedchamber as ghostly distortions.

“What, you think Marianne got it wrong?” Byleth asked, pulling her blanket up subconsciously.

“No, just -” Claude ran a hand back through his hair, pushing it even further out of its usual style, “- what if it’s related to...whatever Sothis did to you after the siege?”

He’d spoken so quietly that Byleth had to lean forward and slow her own breath in order to hear it. The concern in his tone - the restraint in his clasped hands; the uncertainty in his eyes - made her take a second pass over everything.

She no longer saw a casual check-in made by a concerned friend. Claude had traveled here with speed and intent, and now she knew why; just like their parting words at Garreg Mach had stuck with her, her long and mysterious slumber had probably stuck with him.

(The realization, while illuminating, didn’t hit her as hard as it should have. She thought some version of that truth, formless and undefined, must have been swimming around in the back of her mind for a while. It explained so succinctly why Marianne had insisted on treating Byleth herself, and why Lorenz stood vigil so often outside her room, even though the two had comparably little free time.)

Now that she thought about it, the long-term consequences of merging with a goddess should probably be a bigger concern of hers, too.

“I haven’t heard Sothis’s voice, nor felt her presence, in six years,” Byleth explained calmly, striving for an affect that would put him at ease. “And I’ve been in perfect health, besides.”

Claude gave her a long, lingering look - one that took in not only her face, but her long, mint-green braid and her customary wardrobe, unchanged from her days at the monastery - as if he wanted to commit her current state to memory. Byleth returned it with a confused frown, ready to comment on the odd behavior, but then his usual smile returned in a flash.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced with a little shrug, standing and straightening his riding harness. “It’s probably nothing serious. A few days, you said?”

Byleth’s confusion skewed into suspicion. Claude never let anything go that easily. “Yeah,” she answered slowly, searching his face for signs of duplicity. “Marianne said I’m already over the worst of it.”

“That’s great,” Claude enthused in the exact manner he’d use to win over his enemies, and Byleth’s misgivings quadrupled. “You should get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He was out the door in a flourish of his royal half-cape, paying no mind to the official etiquette of departure. (Byleth didn’t care about such things, but Lorenz was surely fuming about it in the hall.)

She let herself fall, warily, back onto her bed, pondering what Claude could possibly be up to - because he was up to something. It was only after she’d started to drift off, her head nestled warmly in one of about a dozen pillows, that the implications of his parting words struck her.

---

Ignatz rushed down the administerial wing’s main corridor, clutching a stack of accounting ledgers in one arm and several sheaves of operational business licenses in the other. Sunlight was just starting to peek through the hall’s windows, painting slowly elongating bars of yellow on the opposite walls; nobody would be in their offices yet, but if he could deliver his cargo before breakfast, he’d be able to get a head start on his own day’s work -

Thus distracted, he pushed his slipping glasses back up the bridge of his nose - using an occupied hand. Fifty business licenses, previously sorted alphabetically and geographically, drifted to the ground in a fluttering cloud of failure.

“Oh, no,” Ignatz muttered, dropping to his knees and gathering up the papers as best as he could without dropping the ledgers. If he didn’t deliver his cargo before breakfast, that would delay all of his tasks by at least an hour, thereby pushing back tomorrow’s tasks as well, to say nothing of his meeting with the merchants’ guild -

A head of shaggy brown hair and a pair of leather-gloved hands bent to organize the papers into a messy but holdable pile, then helped to situate it more snugly in Ignatz’s grasp.

In his haste and immeasurable relief, Ignatz threw a grateful, “Thanks, Claude!” over his shoulder as he resumed his flight down the corridor.

At the threshold of Hilda’s office, though, while balancing both stacks with one hand so he could turn the doorknob, he froze and shouted back the way he’d come, “Claude?!”

---

Instead of the usual morning sounds - like the rustling of Marianne’s skirts or the trundling of a breakfast cart - Byleth woke to singing. It originated somewhere to her right, winding and unhurried, and she knew this gentle melody; Claude had taught it to her during the war.

So he really was still here, then. He’d really stayed.

She opened her eyes just a hair, hoping for a chance to observe him before he noticed that she was awake.

It was still early. All the curtains were tied back and the windows cracked, letting in pale, diffused light and a sea-salt breeze off the bay. Claude stood at her personal writing desk, which Marianne had turned into a makeshift apothecary, weighing a small pile of freshly ground coriander. He was dressed more casually today, having discarded his courtly attire and riding leathers in favor of a belted Almyran-style tunic; his hair was bound in a simple but flattering tie at the nape of his neck.

Byleth watched him work - watched him thoughtfully consider the ratio of coriander to ginger to water, his hand hovering over each as he deliberated. All the while he sang that soft tune, so beautifully laden with memory and affection.

When he’d finally settled on a mixture, he reached into a pouch at his belt and uncorked a vial of honey, adding a spoonful to the mug. She tried her best to hold it in, but a tiny, breathless laugh escaped her; that rich wildflower honey was a signature of Claude’s home-brews - a sweetener to make his questionable concoctions more palatable.

He jumped and whirled at the sound, his cheeks darkening somewhat at being caught unawares, but Byleth just shook her head slowly, reassuringly, and hummed the next few bars of his song. At once, his embarrassment morphed into a wide, slanted smile, and he turned back to put the finishing touches on his creation.

“What are you still doing here?” Byleth asked, pushing herself up to a sitting position. Her hair must have been a mess, but she had to settle for a quick smooth-down.

Claude chuckled and sat on the edge of her bed, holding out the mug of steaming medicinal tea. “Really? No ‘Good morning, Claude, and thank you for taking such good care of me?’”

She took the cup and shot him a faux-scowl. “Who’s running your country, though?”

“Oh, it basically runs itself.” He waved a flippant hand, staring out a window in the direction of the Throat. “Our scholars say, ‘A king is a great ship’s rudder.’ It just so happens that my ‘great ship’ has a good heading right now.”

Byleth regarded him doubtfully. She knew this proverb, and its wisdom was definitely not intended to excuse literal flights of fancy.

“What?” he asked, rolling his head to the side playfully. “If anything happens, Nader knows where I am. Besides, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Her stern facade - only performative, anyway, since Claude never failed to disarm her - softened. “I’m always happy to see you,” she said quietly, hiding her vulnerability with a big sip from her mug. (It was delicious, of course, after being assembled so skillfully.)

The curious look he gave her in response lasted a little too long, probed a little too deep for comfort, so she followed it up with a nervous, “Where’s - where’s Marianne?”

Claude, ever-insightful, let the moment pass without remark. “She allowed me to perform her caretaking duties in exchange for a little, ah...discretion...on my part.”

That was easy to imagine. Her ministers had enough on their legislative plates without the obligatory fanfare that would accompany an ‘official’ royal visitation - so the last thing they needed was King Khalid, the former leader of the Alliance, showing his highly recognizable face all over Derdriu.

“We’re both locked up, then,” Byleth said plainly. That explained his wardrobe; a casual observer might think him no more than a member of the staff. As long as he didn’t linger in unfamiliar company, he could move freely about the palace.

“Yep.” Claude smiled contentedly, like he’d gotten the best possible end of this deal. (Byleth begged to disagree.)

In a comically professional, woefully unconvincing physician’s voice, he asked, “So, how are you feeling today, my liege?”

Byleth choked on a sip of her tea, cough-laughing and beating her chest to clear her airways. “Much better, doctor,” she spluttered, setting down her mug to prevent any spasm-related accidents. It was true; her head and body aches had been fading with each passing day, and the fever was low enough that she didn’t feel like a boiling crab leg anymore.

“Good, good,” he mused, looking far too pleased with himself. “Then what do you say to a bit of chess on the balcony?”

She gave her sternum a few more good thumps to really get all the spicy ginger out of her lungs, using the extra time to examine Claude more closely. He knew he couldn’t beat her at chess; what was this about? And was it related to - to whatever inscrutable scheme he was currently enacting?

“Sure,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t give up his plans if asked. (Not until the most dramatically poignant moment, anyway.) If she was going to figure it out on her own, she’d need more opportunities for candid observation, and chess should do nicely.

His face split into a grin immediately. “I saw a board in Lorenz’s office. Meet you back here after lunch?”

“Yeah, it’s a date,” she agreed lightly, and didn’t miss the way it tripped him up on the way out.

---

“You’re still here,” Lorenz observed with the same sort of weary derision one might direct at a persistent rug stain. He stood in the doorway to his office, holding a tea tray and projecting an aura of disappointment.

Claude, who was currently inside said office and in the midst of burgling a marble chess board, hastily clicked all its pieces back down and clasped his hands behind his back. “I am! Very astute of you to notice.”

Lorenz’s eyes flicked pointedly from his uninvited guest to his now-askew board, then he calmly strode around both to reach his polished mahogany desk. “Well, then. Would you join me for tea, Your Majesty?”

The way he gestured to the opposite chair spoke clearly of interrogation, but Claude sat anyway. It wouldn’t be polite to steal a man’s gaming paraphernalia and refuse his company.

“Why, thank you, Minister,” he answered, exaggerating his friend’s formal air, “we are simply delighted by your invitation.”

Lorenz’s poker face had improved over the years, but Claude still caught the subtle tightening of a jaw and the slightest arch of a brow; dead giveaways that he’d still snap at a piece of bait like a Brigidian piranha. Good to know.

“All right,” Lorenz said, clipped, like he’d come to a decision at the end of a long internal debate. “What are you doing here, Claude?”

Claude blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of the question. “Uh, well, Marianne and I -”

“I quite understand the generous arrangement which Marianne has afforded you,” Lorenz cut in quickly, pouring out two cups of tea. He handed one over the desk with the gravitas of a commander handing down orders. “What, precisely, are you here to do?”

Faking affrontation would be a moot point here, Claude thought. Lorenz was chasing down a specific answer, and from the set of his brow, he’d probably figured out most of it.

And that was fair. Despite their rocky interactions, Lorenz was one of the few people that Claude would say he trusted, and he knew that Lorenz felt the same (even though he had a peculiar way of showing it).

However, while Lorenz looked confident in the answer to his question, Claude didn’t even know where to start. How could he sum up this whirlwind?

Should he begin with the primal fear of hearing that Byleth had collapsed? With the breakneck flight to Derdriu, imagining all the worst possibilities in his head? (The mild shock in her eyes as she toppled backward into the chasm; her ensuing five-year absence, silent and absolute.)

Or at the boundless relief - the sheer, joyful knowledge that she had not, in fact, been re-afflicted with Sothis’s ancient sleeping sickness?

Or, should he skip straight to the certainty that he wouldn’t survive another such scare, and the unwillingness to be apart from her for even a second more, political repercussions be damned?

In the end, holding a steaming, fragrant cup of bergamot, Claude - in one of only a handful of occasions thus far in his life - couldn’t find the right words.

Luckily, Lorenz, who must have witnessed his friend’s rapid expression shifts, found one instead. Gently, and with more sympathy than expected, he asked, “Still?”

Ah, so he had figured it out.

Claude raised his teacup in a silent toast. “Still,” he confirmed, then downed it in one gulp.

“Hm.” Lorenz paused to serve out refills and scones, and Claude knew exactly what his friend was remembering.

(For five years during the war, Claude had periodically returned to Garreg Mach, even though everyone else had given up the search for Byleth. As the visits persisted in the face of increasing danger, one by one, and with varying levels of understanding and acceptance, his friends had all come to the same conclusion: their leader was in love with their former professor.)

“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” Lorenz said curtly, but not unkindly. “You have a plan, then? - Oh, what am I saying? Of course you do. The Master Tactician wouldn’t have shown up without a plan.”

Claude, who had been trying to decide if Lorenz was mocking him or not, visibly fumbled his cranberry scone at that final comment.

Instantaneously, Lorenz’s face went from invested concern to mortification. “Goddess above - you don’t have a plan.”

Claude didn’t have the heart to say that his “plans” often sprung from gut feelings like this; that, very often, he was building a bridge to his goals and walking it simultaneously, trusting that there would be another plank when he reached back for one.

In this particular instance, his bridge took the form of an impromptu and extended stay at the palace while he figured out the world’s most diplomatically sensitive marriage proposal. He wanted to tell Lorenz that, actually, he had several possible scaffolds in place, he just hadn’t chosen one yet - but Claude could see the foundational flaws in all of them, and still hovered at the juncture, unsure where to lay the next plank.

“- No, I don’t,” he finally admitted, steepling his fingers on the desk. “I’m taking suggestions, though, if you have any?”

Lorenz took a slow, calculated sip of his tea, giving Claude one of his patented ‘how did you manage to become the leader of anything’ looks. “Marianne assures me that Byleth will recover in a matter of days -”

“I know,” Claude interjected miserably. His timetable was tragically inadequate.

“- And, while your presence here is temporarily acceptable on the basis of friendship, it will become much harder to justify after the palace returns to its normal operations -”

“I know, Lorenz,” Claude said, letting his forehead fall onto the points of his fingers. The pain, he thought, was well-deserved. “Sheesh, you don’t have to rub my nose in it…”

Lorenz laughed softly. “Apologies. I’m simply savoring the moment; it isn’t often you need my strategic input.”

With his face downturned and concealed, Claude grimaced. He supposed he’d deserved that, too.

“But,” Lorenz went on, “I do have a suggestion. Given your limited available time and lack of direction, we should enlist outside support.”

Claude raised his head incredulously. “Your solution is to have more people laugh at me?”

“Yes. Hilda and Marianne, to be precise.” Lorenz smirked and crossed his legs. “And they won’t laugh - in fact, Hilda will be delighted.”

His tone of voice was too amused for the answer to be anything good, but Claude still asked cautiously, “Why?”

“Oh, because I owe her quite a bit of gold, naturally - I thought it would take you and Byleth far longer to act on your feelings, and my money was on her acting first.”

---

Byleth loved the balcony off her bedchamber. It was on the same side of the palace as the throne room, only higher, with a wider perspective of the canal below and a down-angle view of the opposite block. Sitting on it and looking out, with the stone railing acting as an artificial horizon, she really felt as if she were floating above Derdriu; the city sprawled off endlessly to her right, while its great network of canals spilled into the bay on her left, all set in miniature from this height.

A tangy sea breeze teased through her hair, rustling the many and vibrant plants - in pots, hanging from the roof, and mounted in window boxes - that scattered the area. They were in perfect health, she noticed, despite the rarity of her visits, and Byleth wondered if it was some palace staffer’s entire job to maintain luxurious spaces like these, even though some busy official might seldom use them.

She privately resolved to appreciate the balcony more often.

It didn’t take long for Claude to come whistling through her chambers, bearing a chess board like a server delivering a high-end meal. He put it down on a small, circular table where Byleth’s own board was already set up, then carefully aligned their edges to create a double-long playing field.

(They’d invented this game early on at Garreg Mach after discovering that neither of them felt challenged enough by the base rules. It had gone through several name changes before they’d agreed to just keep the original; after all, if either of them ever mentioned the game to the other, they both understood which (clearly superior) version was being referenced.)

“So, you managed to get Lorenz to part with it,” Byleth commented as he arranged his pieces and sat down opposite her. “What’d it cost you?”

Claude made a face like he’d just licked a lemon. “Oh, nothing much. Just my reputation and dignity.” He laughed it off, but there was a distinct, hollow ring of truth to his words. “Anyway. Sixty-point game?”

She cocked her head, intrigued. Their special rules allowed for custom “armies” to be built from the standard chess units, each with an individual point cost. Byleth personally liked to run an army without pawns - high risk, high reward (usually reward).

“Not forty?” she asked mildly, picking out her standard array plus an extra frontline of knights. Claude would regret handing her such an aggressive opener. “Are you trying out a new strategy?”

He grinned and laid out his own army, which seemed to focus around his sovereigns - and, as usual, contained a robust line-and-a-half of pawns. What he sacrificed in speed, he made up for in defensive surface area.

“I am. I think you’ll really like this one,” he said, playing his first (highly predictable) move.

That was the thing about Claude, though. Byleth thought his move was predictable right now, at the beginning, but he was a highly intelligent improviser. The long field between armies meant that most of the game was based on ranged path speculation.

Was a cluster of pieces actually heading toward her left flank, or would it divert to threaten other units at the last second? She’d have to put a metaphorical shield in place for the first possibility, and a sword for the other - and with Claude, it was impossible to tell ahead of time which he would actually pick.

But, despite the chaos his playstyle caused, its spontaneity was also what made him such a compelling opponent. The tactical element never got stale.

“It’s bound to be more exciting than your rook phalanx idea,” Byleth teased, starting her knights off on their long journey.

Claude gasped like she’d just insulted his mother. “Hey, that was not my fault - it was a good attack pattern in theory!”

She made a tiny sound of agreement to humor him, but remained privately unconvinced.

As usual, they lapsed into silence for the first phase of the game, each trying to dissect the other’s overall strategy. Of course, at this stage, it was largely conjecture; there would be many, many reactive and counter-reactive moves before any two units actually engaged.

The quiet was nice, though. Ships’ bells echoed in from the piers, mingling with street noise rabble and the shrill cries of bay gulls. There was no one to demand her ear or her time - a rare commodity. She could tell Claude enjoyed it, too, by his easy smiles and relaxed posture.

Why had they ever stopped doing this? It dawned on Byleth that it had been years since their last game.

“- Hey, Claude,” she said at the thirty-turn mark.

He didn’t look up from his spread. “Hm?” “What in the world are you doing?”

His green eyes, which had been bouncing between forward pawns, flicked up to her face. “Setting up my midgame?” he half-asked, gesturing to his formation like the answer was obvious. “Why, what are you doing?”

Byleth narrowed her eyes at the board. He’d split his pawns into two staggered ranks with his sovereigns in the middle, like some sort of sandwiched convoy, and the outer ring of mid-tier pieces looked to be guards.

“Your brilliant new strategy is to hand-deliver your king to my army?” she contended, tracing his column’s trek down the board with her hands, then opening them wide, fingers hooked, to mime the pieces being eaten by a sharp-toothed monster.

Claude laughed confidently. “You’ll see. The king and queen together are unstoppable.”

It was certainly an unconventional approach. By virtue of its novelty, it tripped Byleth up several times in the early game - one might even say, around turn sixty, that her opponent had the advantage. But the sheer speed and maneuverability of her knightly vanguard eventually prevailed, and by turn ninety, she had his entire escort block surrounded.

“Multi-point threat,” Byleth declared, moving in on his rear line. “This was an interesting idea, but I do believe your king is in mortal peril.”

Claude, who’d been standing for the last dozen turns, paced to the other side of the table. (He loved to do that - to see the situation from all angles, like he would in a real conflict. Unfortunately, that expanded perspective could do little for him here.)

“No, I think - listen - he still has his queen.”

Byleth examined the setup again. “Uh-huh, he sure does,” she drawled, trying to understand how that might change their fates.

“I’m just saying,” he went on, crouching so that he could view the board at eye level. “Look how far they’ve already come. Look at all they’ve been through together - it’s not like a little opposition could stop them now, right?”

She crossed her arms, a bewildered smile tugging at her mouth. “Are you seriously trying to Nemesis me right now? My bishops have them both in four.”

Claude gave a frustrated sigh. “No, this isn’t a scheme - well,” he amended, scratching pensively at his chin scruff, “okay, it is a scheme, but -”

I knew it, she thought, vindicated, and grinned accordingly.

“Ugh, forget it.” Claude toppled his king. “You’re right, it was an ill-fated venture that clearly needs outside support.”

Byleth frowned. “What? I didn’t say that.”

He waved his arms like he was dispelling the entire conversation. “Never mind. We’ve still got plenty of light - how about another game?”

---

Later that night, after Byleth and most of the palace had retired, Hilda’s raucous laughter rang out through the entire administerial wing.

“You tried to tell her with chess?!”

She, Claude, Marianne, and Lorenz all sat around a table in one of the meeting rooms, passing around a bottle of strong Faerghan whiskey.

“No wonder she didn’t get it,” Hilda continued, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes (in a delicate manner that spared her makeup). “You know how Byleth is!”

Lorenz refilled his glass, nodding emphatically. “Agreed. Subtlety will get you nowhere in that arena, my friend.”

“I thought it was sweet,” Marianne disclosed quietly.

Claude propped his feet up on an unused chair and dipped his chin gratefully. “Thank you. I also thought it would be sweet. And successful.”

He took a long swig straight from the bottle, much to Hilda’s amusement. “But you were right, Lorenz, okay? So -” he slapped the tabletop in invitation, “- go on. Advise me.”

Perhaps sensing that their friend was already punishing himself enough, no one pushed the teasing any further. Lorenz and Hilda shared a look - one that said they’d already discussed the matter privately - and then everyone got straight down to business.

“First of all, we should discuss the legal ramifications of your union,” Lorenz said, indicating the palace walls. “It’s true that anti-Almyran sentiment has died down greatly since the war, especially here in Leicester, but I fear widespread confusion - how much power would the king of Almyra suddenly have over their territories? Their livelihoods?”

Claude recoiled from the intensity. “Whoa! She hasn’t even said yes - aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves, here?”

(In truth, he had the same worries about his own homeland; it wasn’t like xenophobia was exclusive to Fodlan. His current plan - if she agreed - was to introduce her presence like he’d introduced his own: aggressively and unapologetically, with hopes that the Almyran public would regard it with the same eventual respect.)

The other three gave him bland looks.

“You really, honestly think she’ll turn you down?” Hilda asked in angry disbelief.

Claude gritted his teeth. “I don’t know - I mean, that’s Byleth’s whole deal, right? Unbeatable strategist? You never know what she’s thinking?”

“Oh, Claude,” Marianne said, patting him on the arm. “You should have more confidence in yourself.”

Hilda snorted into her tumbler.

“- Regardless, I don’t want to discuss the politics without her. If she says yes,” Claude emphasized with a stern glance around the table. “I have to get to the actual question first, okay? Lorenz. Ideas. Go.”

The man in question raised his eyebrows. “All right - well, Leonie proposed to me during a horseback ride. She’d painted all of her mounted archery targets with one word each, and in order they spelled out a question...oh, it was very romantic,” he said, his tone warming as he spoke. He then promptly cleared his throat. “But, ah, Byleth isn’t in a physical state for riding, hmm?”

Hilda propped her elbows up on the table and cradled her chin in her hands, recounting dreamily, “Marianne took me deep into the forest at night and professed her love under the light of the full moon. How could I have ever said no to that?”

Marianne hid behind her glass, her face beet-red. “I don’t, uhm, think there are any full moons coming up soon, though,” she managed to squeak out.

“Yeah, you have to do something quick.” Hilda pointed at him with her glass. “Let’s see - we already know it can’t involve winning something, so that’s out.”

Claude laughed sarcastically into the bottle.

“A grand display would not be diplomatically feasible, either,” Lorenz added.

Yeah, that made sense, Claude thought. A single plant in the throne room had brought word of Byleth’s illness to him in under three days - and he wasn’t the only one with eyes here.

“You should do something that’s meaningful to both of you,” Marianne suggested, her face returning to its usual pallid shade. “Something simple but significant. Byleth would appreciate that, I think.”

Simple but significant.

Claude swirled the idea around in his head at the same time he swirled the contents of his bottle. Significant he could do - had been doing - but simple was another story. Maybe that was his problem; maybe he just needed to go back to the basics.

“And don’t get her a ring,” Hilda said. “I never see her wearing jewelry unless the tailors insist.”

He chewed on all of that, taking slow, measured sips of whiskey. Something meaningful to both him and to Byleth - something memorable, but uncomplicated. No rings, he added mentally. That was fine; as an archer, he disliked having obstructions around his hands, anyway. (And while they were out here breaking traditions, who cared if it was one or one hundred?)

“Hey,” he began, doing some quick calculations around wyverns’ seasonal nesting habits. “How quickly could I get something down the Goldroad?”

Lorenz’s brows knit together. “From the capital to here, I presume, and with the use of your royal seal? Within the week. Why? What do you need?”

Claude grinned, luxuriating in the rush of a good plan coming together. “All right, listen to this -”

---

If she could’ve had her way, Byleth would have chosen to remain in those last days of her fever forever. Her symptoms were mild and unobtrusive, she didn’t have to do any paperwork, and Claude was there; simply put, it was the ideal situation.

They spent four whole days together playing games, mixing various drinks, going for (short and supervised) walks around the garden, and reminiscing about old times - but Marianne’s medicines were effective and all things, even good things, must end.

On the morning of the fifth day, she knew she was cured. Her mind was clear and her body strong, if a little feeble from the bed rest. Everyone else must have been on the same page, too, because Marianne came to greet her after breakfast in Claude’s stead.

“So that’s the end of the arrangement, then?” Byleth asked, trying to keep her voice even and normal.

Marianne smiled softly and pressed the back of her hand to Byleth’s forehead. “Yes. Claude will be returning home this evening, as I’m sure he has many decisions waiting for him there.”

That makes two of us, Byleth thought dejectedly.

“Your temperature is perfectly normal,” Marianne reported. “Do you have any lingering fatigue? Dizziness?”

“Nope. Nothing,” Byleth said, heaving a reluctant sigh. “I suppose I should head down to the audience chambers.”

She really, truly hadn’t meant to sound like a pouting toddler bound for punishment, but that was exactly how it had come out.

Marianne laughed. “Yes, you should - tomorrow.” To answer Byleth’s questioning stare, she pointed across the room. “I think you’ll be too busy today.”

Right on cue, something large impacted outside the windows with a dull, cracking thud. Without thinking, Byleth whirled, ready for some sort of threat - (her sword belt was hanging next to her bed, easily accessible for such emergencies) - but it was only Claude on the balcony.

Rather, it was his massive white wyvern, Sahar. She’d perched on the railing, her sharp claws gouging long scrapes in the stone, and he was mounted on her back.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for that!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Good morning! Care for a ride?”

Byleth burst out in surprised laughter, too endeared to be mad about the property damage. She looked back, confused and curious, but Marianne just shook her head.

“Go,” she said, gesturing outward. “Have fun. You have my official medical clearance.”

That was all the permission Byleth needed to throw open the doors and run out, barefoot and grinning, to leap at Sahar’s saddle. The seaside wind blasted her hair back and Claude opened his arms for her arrival, bracing in his stirrups to absorb the impact.

They’d performed this maneuver many times during the war; since Byleth preferred to do her fighting on foot, Claude would often sweep down to reposition her more quickly. Even after five years without practice, they executed the pick-up without a hitch: she landed knees-first at the front of the saddle and Claude anchored her, wrapping both arms around her midsection.

In combat, the move had been utilitarian - the fastest way to mount up. Right now, though, it felt more intimate; with no armor, no weapons, and no urgency, they were basically just hugging on wyvern-back.

Byleth quickly turned herself around, hoping he hadn’t seen the blush rising up her neck.

“That eager to get out of there, huh?” he teased, helping her get situated.

She rolled her eyes and cinched a pair of flight straps around her waist. The fit was snugly familiar, securing her to both the saddle and her fellow rider.

“You know the answer to that,” she replied, glancing down the tall outer walls of the palace. A few people in the canal-side gardens had looked up at the spectacle; they were too far away to see much detail, but this was clearly the queen’s bedchamber. “This isn’t the most discreet escape, is it?”

Claude scoffed, turning his mount skyward with a nudge. “Oh, it’s fine. Not many Fodlanese know about the white wyvern thing. Besides,” he said mischievously, testing the knots on her straps, “didn’t Marianne tell you? Our arrangement is done.”

With that, they were off. Sahar spread her massive wings - leathery and smooth, delicate and powerful all at once - to catch the current, pushing herself off into it and raining stone chips and dust in her wake.

Byleth yelped at the sudden lurch, falling back against Claude, who gladly supported her while they gained rapid altitude in the midday sky. Sahar’s rhythmic wing beats took them high above the notice of anyone in the city, down the palace’s canal and out into the bay.

She watched it all fall away as they climbed. The great trade ships shrank to the sizes of beetles in their lanes; the flocks of gulls that chased them, to mere specks. The ocean itself became an undulating cobalt tapestry, shot through with threads of white and gray.

When they leveled off and the wind died down in their ears, Claude spoke, “Remember when I taught you to fly?”

A series of images flashed in her mind: wrangling a saddle onto an impatient wyvern; losing straps and buckles under flapping wings; falling before she could even take off - so, so much falling.

“I remember when you tried to, sure,” she said, cringing at the memories. Even Leonie, who never gave up on anything, had declared Byleth’s flying skills unsalvageable. “Why?”

Claude laughed a little too hard, like he was recalling the very same foibles. “Nah. You just needed more time - we couldn’t spare any in the war. But now?”

“Are you suggesting,” Byleth said, throwing him a flat look over her shoulder, “that I fall on my ass repeatedly in front of the entire court? It was bad enough when it was just jeering students.”

“No, no, my point is -” Claude directed her attention back to their view of the bay, “- you could come out here whenever you wanted. Get away from it all.”

So he’d noticed her restlessness. Well, of course he did, Byleth admonished herself. He’s Claude.

“That would be...nice,” she admitted, giving him a half-smile. “It’s different, isn’t it? Leading during peacetime?”

He relaxed his hold on the reins and let Sahar go where she would in the open sky; she took full advantage of the freedom, floating into various air currents and skirting low, wispy clouds.

“Yeah, it is.” Claude’s tone was sober and diminished. He prodded gently, “How have you really been, Bee?”

The nickname brought unexpected tears to her eyes; he hadn’t used it since they parted at Garreg Mach five years ago. She’d forgotten how fond and welcoming it sounded - how warm - coming from his mouth.

Byleth faced straight ahead, glad he couldn’t see her expression. It must have been just as regretful and conflicted as her mind.

“I never expected to be here,” she murmured, and in her heart she finished the thought: without you. Her voice barely carried over the wind, but she knew Claude had heard it; he scooted closer to her in the saddle, whether consciously or not. “Everyone around me is so certain of their place, and I’m...not.”

Her thoughts strayed to Edelgard and Dimitri, to their twin drives that - even misguided and corrupted as they were - strove for a better world at their roots. Byleth, who held no grand vision for the future, couldn’t help but feel unfit for the mantles they’d left behind.

(Truthfully, that was one of many reasons why Derdriu was her favorite capital, and spring her favorite season. Fhirdiad’s and Enbarr’s thrones still felt like someone else’s seats to her - someone else’s dreams.)

“I don’t think anyone expected to be where they are now,” Claude said, matching her volume. When Byleth shot him another ‘quit your bullshit’ look, he chuckled and corrected himself, “Okay. Maybe I did, but nobody else did.”

“Lorenz thought he’d be leading the Alliance, hitched to some noble lady. Hilda didn’t think she’d be doing anything.” Claude put up one finger for each example. “Marianne wanted to keep her head down. Ignatz thought he’d be barred from his passions.”

He rested his chin on the top of Byleth’s head. “Expectations and reality don’t always match up. Are you unhappy with where you are, Your Majesty?”

I’m exceedingly happy where I am, she thought, easing herself back to rest against him. And that’s the problem.

“No,” she answered simply. “I’m not.”

Claude, perhaps sensing the dishonesty in her words, hummed doubtfully. The sound rumbled deep in her chest. “Well - if you ever were unhappy, you know I’d help, right? No matter what it was.”

“I know,” she said, tilting her head to smile up at him. “And - I think you’re right.”

He shifted to accommodate her better, crossing his arms over her lap to grip the saddlehorn. “Oh? About expectations?”

“No, about flying.” She settled into their pseudo-embrace, resolving to enjoy it while it lasted. “I should learn.”

Claude made a small, happy noise in his throat. “I’ll teach you. It’ll be great.”

They drifted down the Edmund coastline in a comfortable quiet after that. If not for the Throat looming in the distance - a constant reminder of the hourglass hanging over their flight - Byleth would’ve been perfectly content. The longer they went, the more she wished he would just keep flying straight over the mountains - but the sun continued on its inexorable path through the heavens, and all things, even good things, must end.

Still, though, when he wheeled them around and began the journey back, Byleth thought she detected a resonant note of hesitation in him.

By the time they’d reached the bay of Derdriu, the sun hung low and the sky had turned to vibrant oranges and indigos; the frothy crests of waves, the metal fixtures on ships’ masts, and even the scaly tips of Sahar’s wings shone golden in the rich evening light.

The palace’s white marble exterior reflected sunset-colors onto the streets and canal below. In any other instance, she’d find it beautiful, but right now it was no different than the Throat: an ominous, prohibitive barrier.

Claude guided Sahar to the balcony again, wincing as her claws ground fresh holes into the railing.

“- I’ll pay for that,” he reiterated sheepishly, then hopped down to offer Byleth a hand.

She took it, letting him assume her weight while she scrambled much less gracefully to the ground. The stone tiles, quickly cooling with the onset of night, chilled her bare feet on contact; she shivered, looking back wistfully at the evening sky.

When she turned around again, Claude was watching her intently. Unreadably.

“Did you enjoy the ride?” he asked.

“I did. Thank you.” She tried to match his tone, to hide her sadness - to appreciate the time they’d had together instead of mourning its conclusion. “I suppose you need to get going, then?”

“Mm, not quite yet,” he replied with a secretive smile, wrapping Sahar’s reins around her saddlehorn. He muttered a phrase to her in Almyran, to which the great wyvern nuzzled into his hand and took off in the direction of the aviary.

“Let’s get you warmed up, first.” He strode past her to the open balcony doors, jerking his head toward it encouragingly when she didn’t immediately follow. “Come on, it’s okay - I have time.”

Byleth trailed after him, instantly suspicious. He was using his ‘false sense of security’ voice again, like he had on the first night. “Claude, what are you planning?” she called out warily, stepping into her darkened bedchamber.

A spark struck in the hearth, setting the tinder inside ablaze and silhouetting Claude in a red-orange halo. “Why do I have to be planning something?” he countered, overly defensive, as he stoked the fire. “- You looked cold, is all.”

She gave him a skeptical once-over, then turned to grab a cloak from her wardrobe - and there on her dresser, shining in the firelight, was a lacquered ebony box the length of her arm.

It was decorated with glittering gold leaf along its edges, clearly meant to hold something valuable. Byleth whipped around to fix Claude with an accusing glare, but he just shrugged innocently and motioned for her to open it.

He had a long history of bequeathing strange gifts to his friends, always seeming to enjoy the reactions a little too much. Byleth wasn’t aware of any current holidays, though, either in Fodlan or Almyra.

She sighed and lifted the lid. “I swear, if this is another apron -”

The breath caught in her throat. It most definitely was not an apron.

Nestled in a bed of burgundy velvet, only slightly smaller than the box itself, laid a porcelain-white wyvern egg dotted with flecks of pearlescent ivory.

This time when she glanced back, it was in affectionate curiosity. “So this is why you were pushing flight training,” she said, gingerly touching the warm shell. “But - aren’t white wyverns only given to members of the royal family?”

Claude moved to stand next to her, drained of all his earlier mirth and bravado. In its place was a tense energy she hadn’t sensed in him since they’d last met at the Goddess Tower.

“Well, yeah, that’s the idea,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I was hoping you’d, uh, well - I wanted to ask you, since -”

He stopped and grunted, looking disgusted with himself. “Let me start over.”

Byleth nodded, absolutely baffled. What in Sothis’s name was he trying to say?

Claude ran a hand back through his hair and took a deep, steadying breath. “We both didn’t have the best experiences with family growing up. I mean, you had Jeralt and I had my mom, and they were great, but other than that it was…”

“Lonely,” she offered. They’d discussed their respective childhoods many times before - commiserated in the shared wounds of alienation and neglect.

Delicately, he took her hand and squeezed it. “Yeah. Lonely. And if I’m reading this correctly, so were the last five years, right?”

Byleth swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded again.

“Yeah,” Claude repeated softly. “For me, too. So, I thought - maybe neither of us has to be lonely anymore.”

His meaning dawned on her like a sunrise, blooming heat high in her cheeks. Her embarrassment fueled his, in turn, and they were left staring at one another in stunned silence; from an outside perspective, they must have looked - fittingly - like a pair of panicked deer.

“Claude,” she pronounced thickly, needing to verify her theory, “are you asking me to…?”

“Mhm,” he confirmed, a portion of his usual confidence flickering back to life in his smile. He tipped her chin upward with his index finger. “I want to be your family. I want you to be my family.”

Byleth had spent the first part of her life without adequate modes of expression. Before meeting Claude, she’d gotten by on curt gestures and a flat affect - and now, in the face of overwhelming emotion, she regressed right back to that state.

All she could do to communicate her answer was to jump and reach for him, just like she was leaping onto his wyvern - and, predictably, protectively, his arms closed around her. Anchored her.

Like always, she thought. A perfect catch.

“Woah - I’ll take that as a yes, then?” Claude asked, tentatively hopeful, laughing and stepping backward from the unexpected force.

Byleth buried her face in his shoulder and nodded, unable to speak; hot tears spilled from her eyes, soaking into Claude’s tunic collar, and her wrists trembled where they were clasped at his neck. Her heart had never beat, yet now it was overflowing, filling her chest with something happy and potent and home that she’d never dared to covet before.

In the glow of the hearth, to the crackling of logs and the faint rush of a sea breeze outside, Claude rocked them back and forth at a measured, soothing pace. He kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheekbone, wiping away her tears with his thumb and whispering in a shaky voice, “It’s okay, Bee. We’re going to be so happy, I promise. I promise.”

---Epilogue---

Lorenz understood the severity of the Airmid flooding - really, he did - but he did not understand why it needed to translate into a six-in-the-morning assembly. Anything the ministers discussed there could be handled just as easily, and with more lucidity, during their regular working hours.

Still, he trudged diligently up the stairs to the meeting rooms. If there were emergency measures to enact, then, by the goddess, he’d see them enacted. The peoples of Hrym and Ordelia had already suffered enough for several lifetimes.

He was just inside the threshold, blinking and stifling a yawn, when he saw them: Byleth and Claude, seated side by side at the head of the meeting table, the former digging into a plate of food and the latter grinning like a madman.

Lorenz’s yawn cut off abruptly; his jaw snapped shut with a click.

“You’re still here,” he grumbled, sliding into a chair on an empty side. “Somehow I doubt this is about the floods.”

Hilda and Marianne, who were sitting opposite him, giggled quietly together, their hands clasped on the tabletop. (Frankly, it made him jealous. Leonie hadn’t wanted to touch the office of royal minister with a ten-foot lance.)

“Nope,” Byleth said, pointing at Claude with her fork. “This is about the legality of our marriage.”

Hilda clapped frantically with excitement. “Congratulations! Ooh, this is going to be the biggest wedding ever - can you imagine the guest list? We’ll be curating it for months.”

“I think I’ll exclude my paternal cousins,” Claude mused. “Just to watch them squirm.”

Marianne nodded. “They deserve it.”

“Wait. Hold.” Lorenz slapped his daily ledger down on the table like a judge calling for order, and it worked just the same. The rabble died down, all eyes turning to him. “First of all: congratulations, you two. You’ve made me a marginally poorer man.”

Hilda snickered triumphantly.

“Second: this is going to be a legislative nightmare - and don’t you tell me differently, Claude von Riegan,” he added, holding up a finger when it looked like Claude would cut in.

“I’ll abdicate,” Byleth suggested, stabbing into a sausage.

“No -!” all three ministers shouted in unison - even Marianne, who’d also half-stood from her chair, hands braced on the table.

(Meanwhile, Claude simply watched his new fiancee with moon-eyed adoration; Lorenz was sure he’d humor anything she said right now.)

“That - that won’t be necessary,” Lorenz said, clearing his throat and smoothing down his ascot. “I only mean that it will take time and collaboration. Claude, I insist that you stay another week while we draft something for you to take home. I’ll write to Nader.”

Byleth let out a rare exuberant gasp; beside her, Claude glanced down the table and gave Lorenz a sly, conspiratorial wink.

“- Oh, try to act professionally about this, would you?” he insisted, but an infectious smile was already spreading across his own face.

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

Author’s Notes

candidates for game names:

byleth: better chess (rejected - judgmental)

claude: long chess (rejected - misleading)

hilda: chess 2 (considered but ultimately rejected - legality)

lorenz: tactician’s chess (rejected - boring)

#mega writes #fe3h #claudeleth #images are free to use and sourced from pexels pixabay and unsplash

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beneaththetangles · 3 years

Text

Leah for Rachel: On Tower of God

What do you desire the most? Honor and pride? Authority and power? Money, and all sorts of shining riches? Revenge? Helping, or saving, or mattering to someone other than you (even when you’re not piloting a giant robot)? Or perhaps… something even more significant, more transcendent?

No matter. Reach the top of the tower, and it will be yours. Whatever you may be looking for, you will find it there. That’s what its Guardian, Hadon, says. That’s what every character in this show believes.

Tower of God (Kami no Tou) tells the story of Rachel, the girl with golden eyes who left everything to climb, desiring to shine like the stars. And of Bam, the boy who went after her without a desire of his own. So starts a quite atypical shonen, based on a beloved webtoon, with cartoonish, colorful, quite original designs, powerful music (“TOP” by Stray Kids is an opening for the ages), references to the book of Genesis, and a deep, unflinching depiction of sin, by which I mean evil of the darkest kind, the only true evil, chosen by the human free will, in a way that can poison the universe and kill that soul forever.

The human heart and its darkness are certainly at full display at Kami no Tou. Its colorful tower of broken dreams and people who are constantly left behind has a constant aura of threat and dread, even in the more innocent scenes. Despite the swords, powers, characters who combine medieval, fantastic, contemporary and futuristic styles, and the clever ways of overcoming difficult challenges, this is not the Heaven’s Arena of Hunter x Hunter, and it certainly doesn’t have that show’s leniency with the murderous organizers of these challenges for super-talented individuals.

As Bam goes up, level after level, we come nearer to the ultimate temptation, the fall, the consequences like concentric waves, and the dark mystery of evil, a mystery that defies understanding and rational explanation. One that is linked with all the pain and suffering in the world, with the reason why reality (Kami no Tou’s and ours) constantly breaks into painful fragments and goes into cycles of horrifying self-destruction.

A nameless boy awakes without memories in a system of caves where he cannot see the stars. He is taken care of by a kind, joyful girl with golden eyes. She heals him, and patiently teaches him, and soon becomes his entire world. She has a dream, too—to see the stars, to shine like them. She will ultimately depart, leaving him behind to enter the Tower.

But he doesn’t want that. He wants to be with her. Not romantically, I think, or not exactly. “I belong to her,” he says. Rachel is, especifically, someone Bam adores, his point of reference for everything, and he just wants to have her around, even if it’s not as an equal.

At the beginning, I compared this show with The Divine Comedy, Dante’s medieval poem about following the light of the loved one who has departed to Heaven. But this is a show about Babel, about a world in which humans fight to reach the skies and become like God, masters of good and evil. In our world, the limits of human power, coordination and communication (miraculously brought upon humanity for the first time at Babel), avoid a sustainable deification. And the tower, thank God, is forever left unfinished.

Not so in Kami no Tou. The desires of the heart have been completely instrumentalized to serve the present ruler. The Tower stands, every floor as great as an entire continent, and the tower itself is an empire, ruled by King Jahad, a Darwinian monarch who was the last to reach the magical top.

The characters surrounding are dangerous people, who soon reveal that they are just broken, very human individuals with a desire so strong as to risk everything. Khun is a banished prince from a well-known, powerful family. Rak the dinosaur and Haru the samurai just want to be the strongest. Anaak seeks revenge. Shibisu would like to be rich. Endorsi is a Princess of Jahad, and needs to keep her status. These are all lovable people, fun and relatable, but something is clearly wrong with them all. And something is wrong with us, too. Bam is going to learn that in ourselves, just beneath our daily reality, there is unspeakable evil, irrational, horrifying, linked to the worst evils we know, only awaiting the opportunity to manifest itself. Indifference and hate for the people we are supposed to love. A thirst that could devour others if they get in the way. Monstrous vanity, lies, violence, dreadful, intimate idols. The deep betrayal of everything that is good and true, of God and of love. And the realization that all that has been there from the beginning.

Though I liked this anime from the first episode, I think it reaches his peak with a certain twist that everyone remembers. So, spoilers for Tower of God. And I strongly advise you to experience it firsthand.

Bam becomes popular in his circle of self-centered friends because of his selfless, innocent personality that reminds them of what they have lost, or just encouraged them to help him. He wants to be with Rachel, to help Rachel. And he works hard.

In The Pilgrim’s Regress, C. S. Lewis’ version of the classical allegory, every so often a chapter is titled “Leah for Rachel.” This is a reference to the story of patriarch Jacob, who worked seven years to marry Rachel, the youngest daughter of Jethro and his loved one, who tricked him into taking his eldest daughter, Leah, instead, so he would have to restart the process to reach Rachel. In Lewis, this expression refers instead to the pain of the human heart which falls into the trap of egoistic, self-centered sexual acts when its desire for the bright, the eternal and infinite, symbolized (Utena-like) as a castle in the sky, attracts it from the distance. But, as Kami no Tou tells us, it can be just about anything. A person or a relationship, a position or a treasure, a story we tell to ourselves, a moment of pleasure or a momentary relief, an urge, can seem to us like the shining gate to a greater, more god-like world, as stars are for Rachel.

It is only afterwards that the heart recognizes, with bitterness, that over the top of the tower, there is only a darkness that engulfs you, that becomes you, that is akin to voluntarily sacrifice love and meaning, bonds and identity. And that is what happens to Bam’s Rachel.

I always trusted Rachel to have a good reason for having abandoned Bam. As Khun, I saw the warning signs. Bam was not being objective. It is wrong to idealize a person so much, to adore her, to put the entire weight of your own existence on her. First, you will never know her this way. Second, you may be more easily tempted by evil, as she betrays your hopes. But Rachel’s smile was kind and humble, and she was somehow radiant. Her character design showed that someone had thought of her with care and admiration. She had taken care of Bam, a perfect stranger, as a kind, patient, loving sister would. And I think any of us, looking the sky at night, have been filled of this longing, this thirst that Lewis calls the “Joy” and the Spanish translation, el Dulce Deseo, the Sweet Desire. I certainly never expected the chosen one, for whom all those sacrifices had been made, to willingly push Bam into the abyss to go up. It is a perfect moment of treason, sound off, seeing her go up in slow motion while Bam falls.

And then, there is the flashback. Where we only had watched her sadness, her darkness, her bitterness, her vulgarity, her spite, her greed, were all revealed. A character who was full of light, able to inspire, freely scarred herself in such a way that the thought of her achieving her goal, watching the stars at the top, is just unthinkable. Hadon himself tells her that, when he sees her cowardice. It will never happen. She’s just not capable of that sort of pure happiness. And her inner evil does not cease to grow.

And, if you were wondering, Rachel is the character in which I see myself the most.

I am a sinner. By which I mean that I habitually do things that I judge to be monstrous, world-shattering, dark and loveless beyond all rationality. Not the sort of things that may end up with me in prison, perhaps, or not often. But maybe they should. There is a seed of destruction in them, sometimes so manifest to me that I hold no doubt that the distance between it and the more showy and horrifying forms of evil is only a matter of opportunity and means.

While I’m still young, I’m convinced that there are deeper sins in me I cannot yet fully grasp, like frozen icebergs beyond the surface of my mind and soul. Also, I feel loved by God, with a love even more devoted, sacrificial and deep than Bam’s love for Rachel, a love that would, and does, travel any distance and fight any enemy just to see me happy. Whenever I sin gravely, I freely and consciously choose to hurt and betray a real person who has hope in me, and who has bought an opportunity for happiness for me, my only opportunity for happiness, at the price of His blood.

My whole being and personality, created for the good, become a carcass, a walking lie. I’m totally conscious that, for any of them, it would be just and appropriate that I should never taste happiness of any sort in all eternity. And why would I do thing of that sort, again and again? I don’t really know. It is a whim, or something that shines, or a perverse hope that this time, I will reach some happiness that way.

So, as you can see, I am every bit a son of Eve, and every bit a brother of Rachel.

If what the presumptuously named Tower of God offered was real happiness, there’s no way King Jahad would be such an egoist, murderous jerk, or that his followers would be as petty, perverse, and traitorous as they are. Neither Rachel or I will become happy or God-like by ascending the tower of human power and human pride. If we aren’t deformed and destroyed during the ascent, we are sure to meet just pain and betrayal at the top.

The one who tempted Eve and Adam to sin was an angel already in Hell. In the case of Adam, there was also the person who had already fallen, and was not happier or wiser for it. In the case of Rachel, the people of the Tower play that role, because it will be interesting to see how low she falls. And she falls really low. I know this. To some extent, so does she.

But we both forget, because we see sometime pleasing to the eye, and we infer that it would feed our hungry souls, and that we would be wiser, more powerful, and happier, even if we have to deform and destroy ourselves and the people around us and betray the purest love to achieve it. Aided by the original tempter and other human beings, we convince ourselves that we will be like loveless gods, masters of good and evil.

And we are increasingly desperate to get it at any costs, whatever may happen. I don’t think the scene in which Rachel eats the red apple is unintentional.

Of course, this is only one form of temptation. After the Fall, we can ignore the fact that there are some things that are worse than pain, and even than death, and corrupt ourselves hoping to avoid something that we feel would destroy us. Rachel won’t face the terrible creature Bam, guided as he is by love, goes against. She lets Hoh’s life be destroyed. Sin destroys our own courage, our ability to be signs of God for one another, as we were created for. And the salary of sin is pain, confusion and death. And scandal, the strike against love and hope in the hearts of those around us, that may tempt them to sin, too.

Scandal is a sin Our Lord condemns in the strongest terms. “But he that shall scandalize one of these little ones that believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone should be hanged about his neck, and that he should be drowned in the depth of the sea.” Because, as we see with Bam and Rachel, what is done to the scandalized is just like that. To believe in true love, in God, in life, after such a betrayal is very difficult.

A scarred, somber, changed Bam emerges from the abyss, pursuing Rachel. This time, he wants an explanation. In future seasons, I think, we will see the extent of the wound she has inflicted him, and to what extent his innocent heart that inspired so many of the other characters and gave them a path has been hardened, and inclined to lovelessness and sin.

What will Bam do? I don’t know. What I know is what the One who has his place in my equation did, again and again. Which was, and is, starting again and again the path into the loveless and dangerous world of fallen Humanity to reach me again, and bring me such a love that I can be moved, and cry, and change.

Jacob worked for seven more years. Betrayed by a Leah, the Lord will still fight so that her inner Rachel arises, and ultimately triumphs, whatever it takes. So that the Tower is broken, and the bridge is built, one in which we can follow Christ in His Cross, in His Ascension, to the loving embrace of a Father who awaits every day His prodigal son, His prodigal daughter, to celebrate their rescue and restore their happiness. So that the present promise doesn’t become a lie, but a hopeful, humble truth so that we are able to bring hope, and not despair, to each other, On the only condition that we acknowledge our sins and confess them, putting them in His hands, Christ will return them to us as something that He willingly suffered for us, for love.

Our evil, Rachel’s evil, will be countered by a powerful, rich, sacrificial love which will become our own, for a beating heart of flesh, that of a hero, that of a heroine. One that is able to reach the true light our hearts thirst for, and display the true power and potential of the human heart and the human will, when they accept God, as shining vitrals, each with their own colors. If we cling to His hand and walk this path to the end, we will be saved.

What do you desire the most? Are you sure? Perhaps there is something even greater. A love that burns endlessly without consuming the loved one. A light brighter than the stars.

God’s way is not the way of Babel, the way of the world. He gradually purifies our wishes, enlarges our hearts, and shows us the true nature of those signs as signs of hope that bring us true joy when we are loyal to their true meaning, even when that entails going beyond them or rejecting them here and now.

When I thought Rachel may have had a good reason to left Bam behind, it was because these reasons exist in the path of true love. God pointed the stars to Abraham the nomad, old and sterile, promising to grant him the wish of his heart, to be the father of a great family, a great people. But when the time came, he had to renounce to everything, even to the son God had granted him, and hope against all hope, believing that God could even raise the dead. God gave Abraham what He had promised, and more that he could have ever hoped for, because that’s God’s own way of doing things, and that’s how He overcomes evil.

While they may not be not as corrupted as her, the characters of Kami no Tou generally reason like Rachel, not Bam. It was Hoh who was tempted and destroyed, but it could have been anyone. But sacrificial, generous, life-affirming, pure love like that of Bam, even if it entails suffering, has a great power of attraction, and its strength makes those who embrace it truly powerful. It creates communion. Its logic trumps the logic of this world, the logic of Babel, which rises against it, which tries to hurt it by temptation and scandal.

I hope Kami no Tou continues being the kind of show which illustrates this beautiful paradox. How those who cling to their own lives are lost, and see increasing despair, despite their efforts, but those who lose them for the sake of Christ, of the purer love there is, achieve true happiness. As Chesterton puts it in his Ballad of the White Horse:

“Our monks go robed in rain and snow, But the heart of flame therein, But you go clothed in feasts and flames, When all is ice within;

“Nor shall all iron dooms make dumb Men wondering ceaselessly, If it be not better to fast for joy Than feast for misery“.

Let’s fight, not the fight of Babel, chasing after idols and illusions, but the good fight against evil and sin. And may Leah/Rachel, full of light and hope, come to cry and find salvation, and receive as a gift the shine of the stars, with a heart that can accept it, and a thousand other stars in her firmament.

=====

Tower of God can be streamed at Crunchyroll.

#Anime #Christianity #Tower of God #Kami no Tou #Sin ui Tap #Rachel #Sin #Articles #Author: Gaheret

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ivy-kissobryos · 3 years

Text

Ancestor Work and Colonisation

From my own experience, it is a common belief among Thai citizens that Thailand has never been colonised. Many believe that due to the wisdom of the monarchy, our country has maneuvered ourselves in a way that allowed us to avoid the fate of many of our neighbors. And yet, if one look around Thailand as it is today, one has to be blind to not see the westernization that has occurred and is occurring.

Chaloemtiarana (2018) argues that, actually, Thailand has been subtly suffering from the effects of colonisation too.

The court believed Thai society should look modern/civilised to the West, so there would be no excuse for the West to colonise it. At the same time, it should learn about Western culture and language in order to understand better the people they had to deal with. This policy can either be seen as a pragmatic strategy of the weak, or as what others have called auto-colonialism, self-colonisation or crypto-colonialism. Coming to terms with Western culture by appropriating what is seen as helpful to national survival, Thailand did its best to maintain some control over its own affairs, and to find ways to maximise profit from trade.

Adopting Western clothing, architecture, music and artistic tastes may have made the Thai people appear more Western, and therefore ‘civilised’ (siwilai), but the core of Thai beliefs and character remained essentially unchanged. For example, Christianity never replaced Buddhism as the predominant religion. Nevertheless, adopting Western modernity had its drawbacks—the allure of modernity compromised and changed local social and ethical values. As survival strategy, the Thai ruling elite began to send their children to Europe to learn the ways of the West and therefore become more effective leaders who understood the West—not just speaking their language, but understanding their culture and mindset.

Without giving away too much of who I am, let’s just say that the trend of sending children abroad is common among my family. My mother met her Thai husband whilst studying abroad. My grandmother met her half-Danish and half-Thai husband whilst studying abroad. I assumed my great-grandfather met his Danish wife abroad too.

With the same mindset that prompted my parents and their parents to seek an education abroad, I was raised in an international school and studied undergrad in the UK. I do appreciate my western education, but at the same time, it was only last year in which I began reflecting on how horrendous my ability to read and write Thai is, how much I’ve lost touch with my own culture. A few months ago, I couldn’t even tell the difference between ค่ะ and คะ and it isn’t just me either- many of my internationalized friends faced the same troubles.

How are we supposed to not lose touch with our mother tongue when we were shamed and heavily discouraged to speak Thai during school time, including during breaks and lunches? How are we to know our own history when all we were taught about was the history of Britain and America?

Although Chaloemtiarana (2018) claims that the “influence of the West in Thailand was self-induced, not as a form of submission but as a weapon for resistance”, I still feel that the weapon was a double-edged blade.

In another text by Reynolds (2019), it was discussed how Thailand in an attempt to avoid colonialism, Thailand became a coloniser.

In the process of saving the country from Western colonialism, according to this critique, the Thai monarchs created a colonising state that subordinated smaller centres and brought them under Bangkok’s unitary rule: ‘Reform’, says Thongchai, ‘is merely a euphemism for Siam’s imperial conquests’ (Thongchai 2011: 30). And he is not alone in advancing the idea that Siam was a coloniser. Subject Siam, the title of Tamara Loos’s 2006 study of the Siamese court’s treatment of the southern Malay territories on both sides of the Siam–Malaya border, captures with clever wordplay the double identity of Siam as a subject of Western imperial will and as a subject active in its own expansion.

And not just Malay too. Thailand had “won” parts of Laos and Burma, and to this day, many Thais that I know still hold the racist attitude that Thailand is “better” than the less developed neighbor countries. This is incredibly relevant to me, as my ancestors on my paternal side is from Chiang Mai, known previously as Lanna, which was conquered by Siam (Bangkok, Thailand). This may have been why whenever I travel to Northern Thailand, I feel a deep sense of sorrow amid the beauteous scenery. The land was soaked with blood.

I have ancestors who are from Bangkok, and ancestors who are from Lanna, and ancestors who are from Europe. If I learnt anything from studying history and praying to my ancestors, it is that one must acknowledge the past. Don’t live a delusion, nor view the past through rose-colored lens. Acknowledge how much you have suffered, and also how much you’ve caused others to suffer. Understand and accept, and do better.

Sources:

Chaloemtiarana, T. (2018). Read till it shatters: Nationalism and identity in modern Thai literature. Acton, A.C.T.: ANU Press.

Reynolds, C. J. (2019). Power, protection and magic in Thailand: the cosmos of a southern policeman. ANU Press.

#ancestor work #thailand

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shsl-fluff · 4 years

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Hey! I know you haven't done my next request yet but as a draft or request for when you get all the rest of your requests finished up, could I also have shsl fem baker s/o with the drv3 boys? y'know.. that one I requested with the sdr2 boys? I'd just like to know what you think she'd be like for V3 boys! I'm sorry for bothering you! no rush here! ☺️💕👉🏻👈🏻

Gonta Gokuhara

You two met after school when you were walking home.

He was standing frozen still near the school's courtyard. It was almost hard to see him with his dark green hair blending in with the trees.

Interested, you walked over to him. "What are you-"

He glanced at you, grinning. Cupped in his hand was a beautiful large butterfly.

You both stared in awe at the butterfly for at least a minute, until it flew out of his hands.

He suddenly grinned widely at you. "Thank you!" He said, his voice wasn't one you expected to come from such a large figure.

"For staying quiet and not running away from me and-" he paused suddenly and stood up straight and tall, brushing his suit nervously

"Gontas name is Gonta Gokuhara" he smiled

You introduced yourself after, and told him what your ultimate was

His eyes lit up brightly. "Ultimate baker? Gonta is ultimate entomologist! Ultimate baker sounds nice!"

You both talked for a while about your talents, but looped back to bugs a lot.

You didn't mind, of course! He was ecstatic to share his interests.

"Do you think you could teach Gonta how to cook and bake?" He asked suddenly, eyes wide. "Gonta wants to be a gentleman, and gentlemen are good at cooking!"

You accepted his offer gratefully.

Almost every day you would both spend time together after school. You would walk to your home together, and point out all the bugs that passed by, and then at home you would teach him how to cook or bake something new.

It took him a while to get the hang of the basics, but he was very determined.

One day before school, he gave you something joyfully.

"(Y/N)! Gonta made this for you!" He said quickly and handed you a cupcake

It was sloppily decorated with yellow and black frosting. It was a little bumblebee!

You thanked him gladly.

He was bashful as he smiled widely at you. "Gonta made it because he wants to thank you!" He said.

"A-and, because…" he went deep pink, nervously grabbing a piece of folded up and crumbled paper from his pocket and handing it to you.

"(Y/N), you are kind like a ladybug, and sweet like a cupcake! You help Gonta learn to be gentlemen! Gonta thinks you are pretty like a monarch butterfly" there were a lot of scribbled out words past that point. At the bottom in small writing "Gonta thinks you are a pretty lady"

Your heart warmed as he mumbled, "is it gentlemanly to give a pretty lady a hug?"

You nodded before he pulled you into a shockingly tight embrace.

Kiibo (K1-B0)

On the first day of school, you brought a giant tray full of cupcakes for your homeroom

You placed two on every desk and saw most of them eaten quickly. A few people only had one, but you didn't mind, they probably weren't hungry was all.

One classmate was the exception. He pushed them both over to the corner of his desk nervously and then gave them back to you at the end of class.

"Here… I'm sorry, but i don't eat. I'm K1-B0, the ultimate Robot, but… Call me Kiibo!"

You apologized for the mix up

"Oh no it's alright! I like being treated like a human" he said softly.

After school that day, you noticed him being kicked around by a few kids in the halls. They were both screaming at eachother about God knows what

You heard a lot of screams about a fake talent, and a lot of threats about a lawsuit.

Kiibo was the one who ended up backing down. He ran out of the building with you following behind.

You finally caught up to him, kicking and hitting a large tree on the campus as it shook violently.

His face was red and he was sobbing.

You stopped him before he totally destroyed the tree. "Hey, Kiibo?" You called out.

He turned around and looked at you.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He nodded silently as you say down and patted the ground next to you.

He let his frustrations out to you. How he constantly felt like he had something to prove to everyone, even as an ultimate.

How he didn't even know if he could feel. Was it all fake? A combination of ones and zeros?

He didn't know.

After that, you guys had become close, how could he not have after spilling all his secrets to you?

A few months into the school year, he came to you with a question.

"Hey, (Y/N)?" He asked quietly. "What is love like?"

"What's love like? Well… I don't know how to explain it, Kiibo…" you mumbled softly.

"Can I… hold your hand?"

You nodded and reached your hand out to him

He was deep red as he took your hand.

"I like this, (Y/N). I think I do know how love feels."

Kaito Momota

The power couple of the school

He tries to convince you to work out with him all the time, but if you get tired easily it's fine!

Even though he works out all the time, he definitely doesn't eat healthy.

Loves all your sweets to the moon and back.

You two love movie night together, and have it at least once a week.

He picks a lot of animated movies, and has definitely found some gems

He's super strong. Definitely not the strongest student at Hopes Peak, or even in your class, but still strong compared to the average teenager.

When he hugs you he spins around and picks you up.

He's very much a touchy person. Not in an inappropriate way, but in a cuddle-y way

If you're fine with PDA he definitely holds your hand in public and give you kisses.

He honestly prefers forehead or cheek kisses more than kisses on the lips, but doesn't really matter either way.

He tries to make for you sometimes but this poor guy doesn't realize how important measurements can be.

"Vanilla tastes good, so I can add 4 teaspoons instead of one, right?"

No, no you can't.

He's trying his best.

He's a big sweetheart.

Kokichi Ouma

You both have a lot of energy, but you both used it in vastly different ways.

You spent yours spending positivity, and he spent his spreading misteif.

You meet when he was trying to convince you to make an orange flavored cupcake with toothpaste frosting.

He finally convinced you to make one, but only on the condition that he would eat it himself, and not trick anyone else into eating it.

Surprisingly, he agreed and ate it then and there, cringing but laughing the whole time.

You sorta admired his ability to joke around durring every situation

You felt like he meant well, even though he pestered people sometimes

He started to hang around and pester you for a while.

He was expecting to get a good reaction out of you, maybe you weren't really all that chipper and you'd snap and show your angry side?

But instead you just laughed along.

You even started to appreciate his presence, and he started to appreciate yours.

When you found a letter in your locker asking to meet at a random building after school, you were sure it was some elaborate prank by Kokichi

When you saw him outside of the seemingly normal building, it seemed to confirm your suspicion.

When he saw you he grinned widely and brought you inside the building

Instead of an office building, it was a large lair, as if from a cheesy superhero movie

"See? I told you I had an evil organization" Kokichi laughed as you looked around in awe.

"Now, I have a question," he hummed.

"Would you like to join me as leader? As the queen of D.I.C.E?" He held out his hand

You could tell he wasn't lying.

Korekiyo Shinguji

There were a lot of rumors around school about the new freshman.

He looked rather intimidating, and hopes peak was known for having a number of strange people, so the rumors came naturally.

Some said he was a killer, some of the more spiritual students claimed he was a demon.

The rumors didn't phase you.

One day during lunch you saw him sitting all alone absorbed in a large book and taking notes. He didn't have anything to eat.

You sat next to him and took out a cookie from your bag and offered it to him.

"Oh, hello" he looked over at you. "Thank you, but I'm not one to eat in public"

"Are you sure? You can still have it for later" you gave him the cookie. "It's pumpkin"

You could see his smile from his eyes as he thanked you.

"Well, let me at least repay the favor to you. How about I tell you about my favorite fable?"

You nodded and spent the lunch period listening to him talk about fables.

He was excited to talk about his interests, even if he didn't show it.

The bell rang. "Thank you for staying with me, my name is Korekiyo Shinguji. It's been a pleasure to talk with you" he said as he got up, grunting slightly as he lifted up his piles of books

He continued to be avoided by your classmates, so you continued to sit with him.

Soon, you didn't sit with him because he looked lonely, but because you liked to spend time with him.

You were the one who confessed to him, but he was the one who fell in love first.

One day after school, he looked over at you and pulled you behind the school where they were all alone

"(Y/N), please close your eyes. It'll be quick, I promise"

You smiled and did so.

Kiyo quickly pulled down his mask and kissed your cheek softly, smiling. He pulled up his mask as you opened your eyes.

"I love you, darling" he hummed softly.

Ryoma Hoshi

As soon as Ryoma met you at school, he started to push you away

He didn't say it to your face or anything that he didn't want to be around you, but he tried to make it clear enough.

He would leave whenever you were around, or just ignore you.

You had heard vaguely of his past through rumors, and it didn't phase you.

It was kinda strange… Why would he avoid you when you were the only person in school who didn't avoid him due to his past?

It was because of how nice you were. You sweet you were. You reminded him of her.

Of the beautiful woman who did nothing wrong and he wasn't able to protect

After many weeks of avoiding, he finally let you in.

You two had lunch together and just talked.

Talked about each other's interests. About some random show that was on TV recently. About current events.

Just talked.

After lunch that day he hid in the bathroom and cried pure joy.

It was nice to not be avoided.

Even after spending a few months sitting with you everyday at lunch, he still barely opened up to you.

With the end of the school year approaching, you both knew that he would be alone for a while.

On the last day of school, he asked you to meet him at a local park.

When you met up with him, he slowly started to let his feelings spill out of him.

About how he didn't want to lose you. About how you were the only person he had truly connected with since 'the incident' (he didn't elaborate, but you could assume it had to do with his incarceration). About how much you cared for him even though he had tried to push you away. About how alone he was without you.

He cried softly as you pulled him into his arms.

"(Y/N)" he whispered quietly between sobs

"Please, let me love you. Please let me be your boyfriend"

You nodded quietly and held him close.

Shuichi Saihara

You're both very different, so people never thought you'd get together.

But actually, you balanced each other out well.

You brought him out of his shell and he helped you appreciate some of the slower things in life.

He hates PDA, but is very touch starved and likes cuddling with you when you're alone

Play with this mans hair please

He cried the first time you cuddled him just because he didn't realize how much he'd love it

He doesn't eat to much sweets, but adores yours.

You guys watch old crime movies together, even though they have a lot of inaccuracies.

Coffee dates

He loves your bread he'd genuinely die for your bread.

Please love your adorable goth boyfriend.

#danganronpa scenarios #justweebsworld #fem s/o #drv3 #gonta gokuhara #kiibo #kaito momota #kokichi ouma #kokichi oma #korekiyo shinguji #ryoma hoshi #suichi saihara #x reader

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ourplaceinthecosmosphff · 3 years

Text

Chapter 26. The Heart Wants What It Wants

'chaos is only understood when it is loved by the wild, not the weak’ - Zachry K. Douglas

I wondered, briefly, if my parents were as nervous as I was about that day. None of us had planned on me being back in England anytime soon, but there I was anyway. I suppose I should thank Adrien for continually attracting scandal and, therefore, needing me to distract the media from his wild American adventures.

In May, soon after my sister had returned to her previous insane schedule of ice skating training, there was a report from TMZ, of all places, that Prince Adrien of Savoy was now dating Sienna Lapa, a wannabe singer who’d come in second in X Factor a few years prior. This, we came to find out after asking Adrien what was happening, was the friend who had helped him find an apartment in New York when he decided to relocate there.

My parents and Adrien’s mother deemed it a ‘completely inappropriate choice’. Adrien’s sister, Natalie, seemed to be trying to keep an open mind -- she was and had always been her brother’s biggest defender, after all. Lourdes immediately pulled up all the videos from her X Factor journey to show anyone who’d listen, but that only made our family hate the girl more, as most of her performances involved her with too much energy and very few clothes.

“You can all be so close minded…” my sister complained, rolling her eyes, as Natalie watched the video over her shoulder with furrowed brows when she and our aunt came over for tea after the news broke. “We’re just looking out for him.” Our cousin told her. “So you’re on their side now?” Lourdes asked her. Natalie shrugged, defensive. “I think if Adrien likes her, she must be nice.” Her mother scoffed. “We all know your brother’s record with women is not stellar, chérie.” “He dated Faye!” “Exactly.” My father sentenced. “Maggie, what do you think?” Natalie asked.

As they all looked at me, expectantly, I took a moment to ponder how much this had been happening lately. I had been used to speaking softly before, to remarking carefully on things, in case someone would hear me. But as the Crown Princess, my opinion mattered in more ways than I had immediately realized. It wasn’t just the press that suddenly cared about me, my family, too, seemed more invested in my thoughts. As if my verdict could make or break anything within the family just because I was bound to be queen one day.

“I… I don’t think being an artist should mean she will inevitably ruin this family.” I said. My mother shook her head, and my Aunt sighed, but nobody disagreed.

After tea, my father asked me to stay behind as the others left, and sat me down to remind me, sternly, that being the heir – and, one day, the Monarch –, meant it was my duty to safeguard our family from anyone who, purposefully or not, my damage it.

“You think this girl will damage us?” I asked, suppressing an eyeroll. “Papa, she’s just a girl.” “She’s American. They don’t understand monarchies.” He replied. “Not to mention she belongs to an industry that thrives on scandal and notoriety, things that do not have a place in this family.” “We don’t even know her!” I said, smiling, amused against my better judgement. “We know she wants fame.” He replied, seriously. “That doesn’t have a place here.” “We don’t even know if it’s true.” I argued.

Unfortunately, it was. I texted Adrien after this conversation, and he was as frustrated as we were, but for other reasons. ‘Its so new’, he said, ‘we just wanted to enjoy each other before inviting the whole world into it and now here we are’.

According to him, it ‘just happened’. They’d been friends for a long time, she was really supportive after his breakup and helped him adapt to New York. He moved into the same building she lives in, and they started spending more time together; before they knew it, it was more than friendship.

He also made clear he knew perfectly well how unsuitable the relationship was: ‘she’s been trying to establish her music career for a long time, so her future lies in America’, he said. ‘She also has pink hair and a lot of tattoos… can you even imagine her in mass with the rest of the family?’

I could not.

The world couldn’t, either. Press and public alike had a lot of opinions on this relationship, which became everything anyone could talk about. It wasn’t just me that gained notoriety with Louis’ death, Adrien did, too, and, with him, any girl he could one day turn into a princess.

And that was the main reason I was sent to England. An invitation for Royal Ascot was issued every year to our family, we tended not to go simply because it was far and we had other commitments. But we needed to change the conversation, so if it took putting me under a hat and in the same picture as the British royals, so be it.

I could see my parents’ tension about this plan in the way they exchanged silent glances while we talked it through, but they didn’t voice any of it. Of course, they couldn’t. Not if they wanted me to do as I was told. So, they didn’t mention Harry, and I didn’t bring him up, either.

Regardless of this, he was very much in my thoughts essentially 100% of the time, even before the Ascot plan was born. All I had to do was just keep that to myself and, if my parents did the same, we could hopefully hold onto the lie that the issue was over.

So, on that day in mid-June, I took the train early with Cadie and Auguste and my security, headed to England, with a fancy outfit safely packed away in a weekend bag, which I changed into before we arrived.

I was wearing a salmon pink, wide-legged jumpsuit that my mother had deemed ‘too modern’, with my hair styled in vintage waves under a flowery disc fascinator.

The Royal Ascot races were a society event, with the actual races taking a backseat to… pretty much everything else: the fashion, the high profile guests, the arrival of the queen and royal family later on… honestly, it was everything but horses.

As a guest, I didn’t arrive with the other royals in a very much televised carriage ride into the main front lawn, and I was glad to be able to skip it, hoping I might be able to go straight to the viewing area, free of press. Unfortunately, that was the opposite of the goal.

So, even though I arrived privately, I was then escorted to the entry lawn for socializing before the race started. Though Cadie didn’t seem to think it was necessary – which I tended to agree with –, Auguste made sure to find me a pin with my name on it, a must-wear for every guest no matter how high ranked.

“A drink would be actually helpful.” I told them. “Not until the enclosure, I’m afraid.” Cadie replied. Auguste leaned in closer. “Though my colleague may have a different view, ma’am, I feel being seen with alcohol might not be the best course of action for what we’re here to do.” “Boss.” Cadie whispered his way, rispid. “I’m your boss, Mr. Authier. Not colleague.” “Is it appropriate to discuss that at this time, boss?”

I sighed, walking further away from them and into the crowded, sun soaked lawn. One thing I hadn’t grown used to yet was the looks. Every step taken through a public area, particularly one with such a high concentration of high class people, was the target of laser focused glances from almost anyone around. I was forced to develop the ability of confidently aiming my eyes at something abstract, so I was seen as being busy, but didn’t accidentally lock eyes with anyone. It was a perfect recipe for disaster. Which is why I should have expected it.

I didn’t bump into him, that kind of thing didn’t happen at highly planned events like this, especially when you had a large entourage of people with you whose job it was to make sure you went to the right place at the right time to meet the right people. It was more accurate to say our eyes bumped into each other.

There I was, walking slowly through the crowd, avoiding one pair of eyes after the other. First using the far away stands as a distraction point. Then using the awkwardly placed decorative flowers as a distraction point. Which led to using the one very weird hat as a distraction point, as its owner was standing right next to it. But then the hat was so weird I had to see the face of the person wearing it, but she was already looking at me, so I felt awkward and looked away as quickly as possible and, in my hurry, didn’t think too much about it, so instead of a safe distraction point, my eyes found… Harry.

“Ma’am,” Cadie leaned closer, “shall we go greet the president of the Ascot association?” “What? I–” I stuttered, barely able to take my eyes off of Harry. “Sure.”

Heaving a sigh, I allowed myself to be walked around to meet the people it was important for me to meet, doing what I had been doing every day since the last time I had seen him: smiling politely, making smart, appropriate conversation, representing an entire country. All things that were painful reminders of what kept us apart.

I woke up early, I worked hard every day to hold myself accountable to my new role, keeping busy the best I could, but every night when I closed my eyes to sleep, it was his eyes that I saw. It was his voice saying ‘don’t marry him’, the tap of his hand on mine above his heart as he told me ‘it’s yours’, and every time I thought about it my whole body shivered with joy and I wanted to cry of frustration, sadness and anger that I couldn’t just embrace something that was meant to just be a happy thing.

“Yes, my parents were so sad they couldn’t make it.” I told a trustee of the event, sustaining a neutral smile as though my entire body wasn’t shaking.

Sometimes, hypocritically, I wondered why Harry hadn’t reached out, either. I knew, rationally, that it was better that he didn’t, but he had made a point of saying he didn’t have to listen to his advisors when they told him to stay away from me, but he had. Whenever I started to feel sad about this, I reminded myself it was better this way. Safer. Healthier. Then I googled him to make sure he wasn’t dating anyone new, ‘just in case.’

But now there he was, in Ascot. Because of course of the five days of this event we would both go to the same one, believing differently was something only my parents did to help them sleep at night. On my end, I knew it was going to be this way.

It’s like I was fated to always run into him after weeks or months of absence, just to remind my heart of what it was leaving behind. Destined to try and forget him just to see him again, the man I could see, but not feel. Love, but not have. At arm's length, but worlds away.

As I turned away from the U.N. Ambassador, assuring him I would transmit his best wishes to my parents, I startled.

“Harry.” He startled, too; looked me up and down, closed his eyes in frustration, and sighed. “Damn, Mary, really?” He asked, sounding tired. “Wh-what?!” I asked, nervously, drying my sweaty palms in the pants of my jumpsuit. I’d been nervous all day they were a choice too ‘out there’. “Where do you find the audacity to look this beautiful?!” He asked, seriously.

It took me maybe two seconds to understand this flattery, and that he wasn’t actually criticizing my fashion choices, and when I did I was washed by such a deep wave of relief I was almost angry.

“Seriously?!” I slapped my handbag playfully against his arms, rolling my eyes, and turned away to walk into the building, leaving him as well as my team to catch up. “What?! It was a compliment!” He said, hurrying after me, suppressing a chuckle. I was smiling in spite of myself. “Maybe, but your tone was very misleading.” He smiled. “I apologize about my tone, Mary. May I try again?” I blinked, slowly, grinning now, and he went on. “You look beautiful.”

His second attempt was all that it shouldn’t have been: intense, yearning, full of a double meaning only we seemed to hear.

Bashfully, I gulped. “Thank you… I wish I could say the same.” “Ouch?” He laughed, taking a step back. “It’s not your fault, coats and tails is just not flattering on anyone.” “Well, that’s it.” He took off his hat and immediately started unbuttoning his vest. “What are you doing?” I asked, laughing. “I will go naked before I let you see me in something unflattering.” I took one step closer and stopped his hands with mine. “Oh, my God.” I said, looking around. “Stop!”

The main building was guests only, no press, so we were pretty safe there. But there were still guests around.

“What? You started it.” He chuckled but, at least for now, stopped undressing himself. Someone behind him cleared his throat. “Sir, you should probably button up before we go upstairs.” Harry nodded, serious. “Of course. Thank you, Edward.” He subtly buttoned his shirt while I looked around; some people had their eyes on us, but nothing too out of ordinary. “My secretary.” He explained. “Trying to keep me from trouble is literally his job, so I try to listen to him sometimes, throw him a bone, you know how it is.” “I hope you pay him enough.” I told him, teasing. “Sounds like an impossible mission.” “Touché.” Harry giggled, the sight making my stomach flutter.

We exchanged a long look, the whisper of our smiles still holding on to our lips dreamily.

“So, how have you been?” He asked, clasping his hands behind his back. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Good. Well. Merci.” I nodded. “You?” “Awful, thanks for asking.” He smiled, so it was tough to know if he meant it or not. “Oh?” “Nothing that we can fix, I’m afraid.” He shrugged. “Should I escort you upstairs?” “Oh. Uhm. Sure.”

He led the way to the elevators, our team right behind us. With our security, we crowded one elevator with no room for anyone else. Though this was a pretty safe environment, I didn’t feel safe enough to inquire about what he meant.

“So, how’s Lourdes?” He asked, upbeat. “Pretty good.” I said, nodding. “She’s skating again.” “Nice!” He broke into such a huge smile it was hard not to smile as well. “I want to see her skating, do you have any videos?” “More than I need.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll–”

I was about to say I’d send him some, when I stopped myself.

“You have her number, right? You should ask her, trust me, she’ll be delighted. She loves showing her routines to people.” He nodded, “I will.”

Though it was a very big building, the elevator stopped on every floor, where both our security alerted people it was crowded before the doors closed again. We were headed to the last, highest floor, the Royal Enclosure, which was the best viewing point for the races. It was also highly exclusive and invite only, and a person could online invite someone else after attending for four years. Divorcées weren’t even allowed in until 1955.

So the elevator ride took a long minute, which may be what gave me the courage to surrender and lean in closer to him to ask:

“Truth or dare?” He smiled to the ground, biting his lower lip, but leaned in to me as well and whispered, “Dare.” Smiling in return, only slightly annoyed I’d have to wait to ask why he said he’d been ‘awful’, I went through my head for a good dare idea. “Let’s see….” “May I remind you we are in a very public, heavily press-present event?” He whispered, still close. “Sounds like something you should have thought of before choosing dare.” I shrugged, whispering back. “Okay… get someone in this elevator to slap you.” He leaned back. “What?!” “Go on.” “How?” “I don’t know.” “Mary… I–” He sighed, looking around. His eyes paused on every person present, my staff, his staff, the security… and then it paused on the tall, slender man who he had referred to as his secretary before. “Hey, Edward, I need a favor.” “Yes, sir?” The man replied, while I suppressed a giggle. “Slap me.” The whole group looked at them for a moment, before looking away, pretending not to be overhearing. “S-sir?” “It’s not a big deal, just slap me. It doesn’t need to be strong.” Harry insisted. “Sir, I–I don’t understand!” “It’s a long story,” Harry lied, “I’ll explain later, but I need you to slap me now. Go on, I promise I won’t mind.” I bit my lip strongly to stop myself from laughing. Edward looked truly concerned, and Harry sounded increasingly more desperate. “Harry, no!” Edward said, shaking his head.

The elevator stopped in place with a melodic ‘ding’, and Harry sighed as the others filed out before us – Edward leading the way.

“Any chance you’ll slap me?” He asked, making me laugh. “Ask me again later.” I said, walking out. “But then I’ll have already lost.” He lamented. “Well, then you’ll have to live with the defeat.” He groaned, following me to a table of drinks and appetizers. There were no cameras in this enclosure, and no one else I had to be formally introduced to. As I didn’t know anyone else, this left me free to grab a drink and something to eat.

Harry, however, waved a quick hello to a handful of people as soon as we walked into the room, but continued to follow me.

“Okay, rematch.” He started. “Give me another dare, I must redeem my honor.” “God, men… it must be so exhausting feeling you have to prove yourself constantly.” He grinned. “We both know you’re judging me for not doing a dare. Go on, give me another one.” I giggled, and sighed. “Alright, remember you insisted… I dare you to…” I thought about it deeply, looking around.

There was a couple of girls a few meters away looking at us – more particularly, at him – with jealousy and desire in their eyes. I smiled in spite of myself, feeling oddly powerful.

“To improvise a poem.” He looked so confused it made me smile again. “A poem? Like, like poetry?” “Yes.” I nodded. “Take your time.”

As I took a sip of my sparkling wine, he put his hands in his pockets, looking around. I could see his mouth silently moving as he talked quietly with himself. It was an amusing sight, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice how handsome he looked deep in thought like this.

“Okay.” He nodded, seriously, approaching.

He removed his hat, brushed his hair to the side with his hand and stood unnervingly close to me.

“You're a vision in pink, I might need a drink…” He risked a look at me, but his cheeks were reddening, so he looked away again. “And I might pass out, if you gave me a wink…” I tried to suppress a giggle, as I thought any sudden movements might dissuade him from this dare. “Every day I remember, when the leaves were ember… In blue, you breezed through… your skin, warm and tender, In all of your splendor…” he looked at me again, still pink in the cheeks, but with renowned intensity in his eyes, “Waking up with me, your legs between my knees. I woke up desperate to please, and tease, with ease…”

His eyes locked on mine, intense, he recovered his color just as I felt my cheeks heaten up. He said each word slowly now, over-enunciating double meaning into each syllable.

“And squeeze, your hills, give you chills, thrills, until… Your daisy became daffodils… Asleep and awake, three days of bliss, give and take… Slow, sweet, fast or rough. Forever wouldn't be enough.”

His eyes hovered over my face, slowly lowering towards my lips, pausing there for the longest minute as I felt breathless. To the silence, I realized it was over, and struggled to think of something teasing, light-hearted enough to say to this. How to hide the way his voice – his words – made me feel?

I bit down an embarrassed grin thinking of his words. Walking in wearing blue when the leaves were ember? That was when we met last fall. Waking up with my legs between his knees? When I ran away to his home and we slept in the same bed. ‘Squeeze your hills, give you thrills, slow, fast, or rough, forever wouldn’t be enough’? That, that was… an alternate reality that felt the more tempting the more he continued to look at me.

“I don’t want to break the moment, because I feel there’s a moment here… but that was really good, right?” He asked, sounding honestly shocked.

It made me laugh out loud.

“Oh, my God, did I… write that?” He added, looking around, seemingly astonished with himself. “Did I maybe hear this somewhere? Did I accidentally plagiarized someone?” Laughing, I held on to his arm to steady myself. “Honestly, it was very good.” I managed to say. “I know! It was incredible!” “I mean, it started just okay… but it got… really interesting in the end.” “Interesting?! I think I’m a poetry miracle!”

I laughed again; throwing my head back, I had to hold on to my hat so it stayed in place.

“I need a pen and paper to write that all down before I forget it!” he added, patting his pockets. “Oh, my God, shut up.” I begged, still laughing. “Alright, alright…” He smiled. “My turn. Truth or dare?” I sighed, “Dare.” He grinned, surprised. “Oh, wow. Okay… I dare you to…” He considered it for a few seconds, looking around the room.

Silently, he grabbed my half-drank wine glass and moved to the drinks. He picked a bottle of whisky, and poured some into my glass.

“Hey!” I protested.

He did the same with the scotch, the vodka, the mango liquor, and every other bottle in the table until my glass was almost full to the brim.

“I dare you.” He said, handing me the glass. “Are you s–? This is so unoriginal.” “Just drink it.” He grinned. I smelled the contents of the glass, which smelled oddly of citric coca cola, and took a quick sip. “Oh, my God.” I complained, trying to remind myself not to yell in disgust. “You can do better, come on.” “No, I think this is enough.” “What? You drank nothing!” “Yes, but you never said I had to drink a lot, just that I had to drink.” I shrugged. He closed his eyes, and smiled, annoyed. “Wow. Such a lawyer.” I laughed. “My turn.” “Fine. Truth.” He said, rolling his eyes. I gulped, placed the disgusting concoction in my glass back on the table, but kept the smile in my lips as I asked, “Why did you say you were awful before?” His smile faltered. “Oh. You know…” He shrugged, nonchalant. “No, Harry… I don’t.” I said, softly. He avoided my eyes, but his lips sustained a humorless, emotionless smile. He took in a long breath, and looked at me. “Do you maybe have another question?” “What? No. Harry…” I shook my head, confused. “That’s the question.” He sighed. “It’s just work.” “Work?” “Yes, Marie. Work. I have a lot to do to get Invictus ready for September…” “Okay. Is that all it is? Because your tone says differently.” Still smiling coldly, he looked around, and brushed a hand through his hair, nervously. “Speaking of work, how’s your work?” He asked. “Is royal work as an heir any different?” “Harry.” I insisted, seriously, now feeling my heart beating increasingly heavier in my chest.

Finally, something snapped. He bit his lip, avoiding my eyes, then closed his eyes, muttered ‘hallway’, and walked off without affording me a second glance.

Chilled to the bone, I waited a couple of seconds before following him out, strategically avoiding Cadie and Auguste’s worried glances from nearby.

We walked out of the enclosure to the elevator hallway. It was emptier now than when we had come in, but still had a couple of people in it. So Harry passed them towards other doors, where it was emptier.

He stopped by a window, hands in his pocket, and heaved a sigh, brows creased, eyes pained. My heart ached just to watch him.

“Look, I–” He started, avoiding my eyes still. “I…” He laughed, humorless still. “Harry,” I tried, softly, “you’re worrying me.”

He closed his eyes, painfully. After a couple of seconds he opened them and stared right into mine. When our blues connected, I felt again that old chill down my spine; that feeling of being seen for all I was, that chill of knowing there was a lot being said, even if we weren’t speaking.

“Work is hard, yes, but–” He licked his lips, pausing. “I can handle it. What makes it harder, though, is that I can’t go very long without thinking about you.” I gulped. “W-what?” He smiled, a little more honestly now. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mary. I know that sucks to hear. I just…” He sighed, heavily, and took a step closer to me. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” Feeling my stomach do a cartwheel inside, I gulped. “I… W-what?!” His smile grew now, amused. “I look around my house, and all I can think is I miss having you there. I miss waking up with you, cooking with you, talking with you all day long...” He took another step closer, now in a way where his smell was all I could breathe; still the same citric L'Occitane smell I could never forget. “I think about you every time I open my bathroom cabinet and see the toothbrush you forgot.” He shrugged. “It’s pathetic. And even now as I say it, I know it’s pointless. I know just looking at you that it’s a lost cause. And it’s not your fault, even if sometimes I wish it were. It might be easier if I had a reason to be angry at you… But you didn’t ask for this. Neither did I. I just…” he shrugged. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” I sighed, breathless. “Harry. I…” “I know.” He nodded, staring at the ground. “I understand better than most. You have a duty. You have rules to follow and a huge number of people around ready to remind you why this would be a terrible idea, and I get it. I have the same. Lower stakes, maybe, but I do, and I hate it.” He smiled, in a sad, desperate way; eyes full of yearning as they looked at me. “The truth is I think about that kiss every day.” He whispered, gently. “The truth is I think about that date we never had every day, and about everything that could have been different… The truth…” He sighed, longingly. “The truth is I think I’m falling in love with you.”

My mind was both completely blank and going a thousand miles an hour. I felt my hands… shaken. My legs felt weak. I thought of Louis’ funeral again, of trying to kiss him at the worst of times, of how much it hurt when he pulled away, of when he told he didn’t want to be something I might regret.

I remembered sleeping with Chris right after, getting back together with him without even realizing it. Of the proposal and the yelling and the months of headlines about it.

If my brother was still here, Harry and I might have been just a complicated, unique love story. But he wasn’t, and because of that everything was such a mess. I was such a mess.

And yet, here he was: loving me anyway. In spite of it all. What was the universe thinking?

“Maggie?”

My fragile, already shaken up heart went cold. I looked back to find…

“Christopher?

--- ---- ---

Royal Ascot Outfit

[A/N: I know what you’re thinking, ‘how dare you not post for 2 weeks and then leave us with a cliff hanger????’. Guys, I’m SORRY! In my defence, 2020 was a hell of a year, I had to move, the holidays were a lot, I had a guest over, and I GOT A DOG! So...........a lot has happened! But things should calm down now, so I promise to try my hardest so this doesnt happen again! Spoilers: the story is going into its next phase! Secret-relationship-angst kind of next phase. But anyway, enough about me... how have YOU been? Tell me all about it, oh and also your thoughts on the chapter? hopes for the next ones? notes? criticisms? I’ll take it all! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND STICKING WITH ME AND FOR YOUR PATIENCE! PS: Lola, my fur child, is a 2 years old rescue, loves munching ice and guilting me into petting her instead of writing/working. I also accidentally scard her out of going to the bathroom where shes supposed to so now I’m slowly moving a pet-mat through the apartment back there. Tips? LOVE YOU HAVE A GOOD WEEK! BYE!

PS 2: I PROMISE I’LL COMPRISE ALL THE CHAPTERS INTO A MASTERPOST LIKE ONE OF YOU ASKED ME TO, I JUST NEED TO FIND THE TIME BUT I WILL! Thanks for the suggestion <3 ]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters

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elliepassmore · 3 years

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Children of Blood and Bone review

4.5/5 stars Recommended for people who like: magic, fantasy, non-Western fantasy, multiple POVs, A Song of Wraiths and Ruins I really liked the worldbuilding and thought the world was very vibrant. I liked that the story took us to multiple different places so we got to see a wide range of Orïsha's environments and people. Adeyemi did a good job of incorporating maji/diviners-kosidan relationships into each location so that they felt realistic. One town might have a mix of both where the maji/diviners get shaken down by the guards in a 'normal' way while the next might be brutal for the maji/diviners, and yet another might treat them as relative equals. The way the guards treated the maji/diviners was also realistic, unfortunately, and you can definitely see the influences of real-world laws and actions in the ones present in Orïsha. The magic system overall makes sense and I don't think it needs a ton of explaining: diviners as baby!maji who will get their powers from one of the gods/esses at age 13, the magic is usually passed through the maternal line so kids tend to have the same kind of magic as the mom's, and there are chants/prayers/incantations to the gods that allow the magic to flow. Simple enough. However, the incantations end up getting a bit tricky later on in the book. For one, we pretty much always see Zelie using incantations when she calls her magic, but some of the other magic-using characters are never mentioned as using incantations. While some of them, like Zélie, probably remember a few from before the Raid, that can't be true for all of them, especially ones who are too young or who get a power that doesn't correspond with one their parent had. So that bit felt a little rushed, but overall I liked the magic system in the book and Zélie's way of describing magic was interesting. As for Zélie herself: she's got a fire in her and she's determined to get things done, even if she sometimes doubts her abilities to lead. She balances herself quite well between being afraid of the guards and retaliation and rebellion, and generally seems to keep a good balance, though I do have to agree with Tzain that sometimes she does stuff without thinking. I particularly liked how much joy she took from her diviner/maji heritage and her awareness that simply living her heritage was rebellion within itself. There was a bit toward the end where she was getting doubtful about magic which was kind of confusing since she'd also used magic to fight and for more debatable reasons, but whatever. Overall I liked her character. With Amari I was kind of lost at first as to how people could call her a badass, but I definitely get it now. I'll will admit that I didn't and still don't see how she and Zelie are such great friends. Friends, definitely. But best friends? I don't think they're there yet. Something I definitely appreciate about Amari was how willing she was to learn. Some of the things she came into contact with once outside the palace scared her, but she was open to explanations and other perspectives, which was great considering her upbringing (and considering Inan's chapters). I feel like Amari really came into herself in the second half of the book. She finally gets a chance to fight for something she believes in and I think it helped transform her character from someone who shied away from the blade she knew how to use to someone who would wield a sword to defend herself and others. I could definitely see her becoming a commander of some kind in the future, though I'm not entirely sure if 'queen' suits her (I am not entirely certain the title 'ruler' suits anyone in this book). Inan is the last POV character and he was...he was a lot. Amari and Zelie are definitely my favorites, but Inan is someone I could probably do with having less page time. This boy has zero convictions of his own and is completely unable to look past his nose. Unlike Amari, he continues to believe his father's words even traveling around and doesn't really spare a second thought to how reality might actually be. The one thing I'll say in his defense is that Amari did have Binta growing up and was able to see that at least one diviner wasn't bad, which I do think helped for her to generalize this idea to other diviners/maji, whereas Inan didn't have a figure like that in his life. But enough of that. Inan is wishy-washy and swings one way then the other (though never completely all the way), and he is far too willing to return to his old ideals when things get challenging or scary. I mean, for fuck's sake he isn't even really the one suffering most of these times and is still all too ready to give up. Like, please grow a spine, buddy. I do think Adeyemi actually did a really good job of writing Inan in the sense that she manages to capture the effects abuse and gaslighting and show just how much of an effect those things can have on your psyche. So in that sense Inan was a 'good' character, but I don't think he's a good person nor do I like him. Tzain was someone whom I felt was in the background for a lot of the book. He supports Zelie and is willing to go off with her to do all these things and protects her and stands by her even when she fucks up. He is also able to be nice to Amari despite her being the princess and the daughter of the man who caused a lot of his problems. From what we do see of him Tzain seems to have a good sense of humor and is funny at times. He's also clearly holding in a lot of pain, trauma, and responsibility, though he rarely shows it. I definitely think he feels responsible for his father and Zelie and that whenever something bad happens to either of them he feels guilty, even if there was nothing he could've done. While he blames Zélie for a lot of things, which I don't like AT ALL but at the same time understand needing to direct your anger somewhere, I get the feeling he's mostly blaming himself. In terms of relationships. Someone please explain to me why there needed to be any in this book in the first place? Inan and Zélie are the main pairing, which is just dumb af since he wants to kill her for almost the entirety of the book then, after like two whole days of being together, they decide everything's fine and dandy and start kissing. I side with Tzain on this one, even if his phrasing wasn't great. I'll be honest, the Zélie and Inan's whole relationship just confuses me. I don't understand why they like each other other than 'insta-love' and I don't understand 1) why Zélie's willing to Risk It All after Inan being nice for two days, and 2) why she's willing to continue the relationship after what happens with Saran. Perhaps my biggest issue with them is Inan's so-called love wherein he thinks taking away magic will protect Zélie...completely ignoring the fact that part of Zélie is magic. *SPOILER, SKIP TO NEXT PARAGRAPH TO AVOID* That complete and utter dumbass doesn't seem to connect the fact that he stopped feeling Zélie's soul when Zélie stopped feeling magic. Like? Brains? No brains here. *SPOILER END* Okay, moving on. Tzain and Amari have better prospects for romance. Adeyemi set them up from the very beginning, even if Tzain might've initially seen her as a pretty face. They grow to like and respect for one another and I feel like their relationship could actually go somewhere. But why, why oh why does Adeyemi make Amari mention the L-word? Like, honey, you are not in love with this boy after only knowing him a week. Crush, sure. Love, no. But that matters not, since there is at least the potential. Actually, something re: relationships that I felt Adeyemi kind of brushed over (and it seems like other reviews also had this same thought) has to do with Amari. She is very much coded to be bi and it's written as if she and Binta had a romantic relationship, but Adeyemi never follows through with this. I honestly thought that Amari and Zelie were going to be the main pairing of the book at first, or failing that that Amari would have feelings for Zélie, Zélie wouldn't reciprocate, then Amari would move on to another female character. But nope. Nada. I mean, Tzain's good too, but it's just weird the way the whole thing with Amari's romantic interest(s) was/were written. Now onto something else: the throne. While becoming the next ruler isn't an outright object for either Inan or Amari (or anyone else), being heir definitely sits on Inan's shoulders and drives a lot of what he does. Likewise, Amari comes to the realization that if she were the next on the throne she could help the diviners/maji and overturn the laws and the system that her father created. The current king, Saran, sucks all around and definitely doesn't deserve his head being attached to his body. But we already knew that. The point is, Inan is clearly not good for Orïsha because he can't form his own convictions and leans solely on what he's been taught to think is right. He does, however, think he is the only person who can keep Orïsha safe and protected. Amari, on the other hand, knows she won't be queen and doesn't seem to really want to be queen until she realized what that could mean for what she believes in. However, and there's always a 'however,' she also kind of has Mad Queen Energy about her at times after she makes this decision. She is, in my opinion, also not a great contender for the throne. As mentioned, I think she'd make a great general, but there's something about her that makes me hesitate before supporting her bid for the throne. Do I think she'd be better than Saran or Inan? Absolutely. But probably so would Yemi, that doesn't mean she should get the throne. Perhaps I am merely feeling particularly democratic today, but I don't believe an absolute monarch will help Orïsha. If we are being realistic, I don't even know if a democratic one would either, but power in the hands of a diverse many would probably be better than power in the hands of one. Overall I enjoyed the story. I thought the plot was good and I enjoyed going with the characters as they (mostly) struggled to get magic back. Inan served to be a good character for demonstrating how our childhood can influence the kind of people we become and also serves as a nice foil to Amari, who has decided to be the opposite of her brother. Zélie is a good character to follow since she's so alive. She's got so much rage and love and fear and fire that pushes her every step of the way and helps her overcome so many things. I knocked off half a star for the frivolous reason that I don't like Inan and Zélie's romance and don't think it was necessary for the book. I'll be honest, the book was great, it was tough for me to put down even when I needed to, but for some reason I just don't have any desire to find out what happens in the next one. It's a bit like A Song of Wraiths and Ruin like that for me. I just...don't feel it. I don't think it has anything to do with either book since I couldn't make myself finish reading a new book by one of my favorite authors even though I was enjoying it so...just that kind of year, I suppose.

#book #book review #booklr #tomi adeyemi #children of blood and bone #zelie adebola #magic #fantasy #ya fantasy #characters of color #multiple pov #non-western fantasy

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chaoticowlpost · 4 years

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Okay since we both love Harry Potter and captive prince what about a ficlet where drarry try to learn about historical gay figures (cause it’s pride) and they learn the story of Lamen and they fall in love with it (cause let’s face it the story shares similarities with drarry) and then maybe Harry gifts Draco a golden cuff bracelet or a sapphire earring or something like that to show him his love.. idk I just think it would be cute to see these two fandoms collide!! Xx

oKAY SO I HAD TO REALLY THINK ABOUT THIS bc like everything I thought of is gonna end up really long; it’s inevitable. ALSO I ended up changing details of Captive Prince so it would fit (even if u don’t actually see all the details) (but the idea of the story stays the same) and omg there’s so much world building I thought of that weren’t included but I hope you like it kdsjjhfgbfdg

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

“I found one! It’s perfect!”

Harry looked up from the book he was scanning and turned to face his boyfriend, who was waving a book excitedly in the air. They were partners for 5th Year History of Magic, because they were dating, so it was only natural, and had to create a paper on historical figures.

And, to their mutual agreement, they wanted to find gay historical figures that made an impact on history because they felt like there weren’t enough that were well known. That, and because they were sick of seeing the erasure of gay relationships in the past and they wanted to present something that was indisputable.

“Can I see?” Harry asked, making his way over to where Draco sat himself on the library floor. The book, much to Harry’s relief, seemed reasonably long. Reasonably, meaning long enough to provide them with enough information but not too long that it would want to make Harry smash his head against it.

“It’s set in the 1700s, when monarchies were still a thing for both Greece and France,” Draco explained, pointing at the lines in the book where it was stated. “Apparently, their two kingdoms disliked each other quite a lot”

“Dislike seems to be an understatement,” Harry snorted his eyes scanning the page.

“Not the point,” Draco waved him off, eyes still gleaming wildly with excitement, making Harry smile fondly. “Look! So both monarchs were, evidently, wizards, and there was some plot to overthrow Damianos - a crowned prince - by his brother.”

“His brother?” Harry frowned. “That’s awful.”

“It makes sense for their time, I suppose,” Draco shrugged, giving him a sidelong glance. “He ended up being sent to the Kingdom of Vere as a slave to their crowned prince.”

“And he didn’t just ask for help because….?” Harry asked.

“Because they hate each other,” Draco reiterated patiently. “He thought he’d get killed faster by revealing who he was.”

“Just how badly do they hate each other for them to kill him on sight?”

Draco paused for a second to scan the book before looking back at him. “So, he killed the real Crowned Prince of Vere, his older brother, and apparently they were very close.”

“I.. I see, then,” Harry sighed, finding himself more and more invested in their story. “And you’re telling me that they become lovers?”

“It sounds quite unlikely,” Draco nodded in agreement. “But that’s what happened, as it were. Here, it’s written in the text that they were what brought peace back between the two countries.”

“Huh,” Harry said, both somewhat stumped and impressed. “Alright, this story will work, I suppose.”

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

“I would like to speak on behalf of Draco Malfoy.”

There was a collective gasp from scattered members of the audience after seeing Harry Potter practically force his way into the courtroom. Ron and Hermione, ever the good friends they are, were standing behind him as well.

The judge looked at a loss for how to proceed, considering that he wasn’t officially listed as a witness for the case, and practically stared at the man who was now considered a war hero. Clearly, the judge was fighting an internal battle on whether or not he could waive those rules in this case.

However, Harry didn’t even notice. No, his eyes bore heavily into Draco Malfoy’s own eyes, dulled and exhausted but still staring back at him before looking back down. He looked unsure of himself, and unsure of why Harry was standing in the room, demanding to be allowed to defend him. It was understandable, considering everything he’s been through.

Everything Harry had just discovered.

“We will make a consideration for you to speak on behalf of Draco Malfoy,” Kingsley’s voice boomed through the near-silent room. Harry shot the newly appointed Minister a gratuitous expression with a wordless thanks and took a seat, waiting for the witness before him to finish her statement.

“Draco Malfoy bears the mark of a Death Eater, that much is confirmed,” were the first words out of Harry’s mouth. It was evident from many of the faces that they were starting to doubt whether he was really there to defend Draco, his former lover.

“But does that make him a real Death Eater?” he asked. Louder whispers erupted from the audience, loud enough that the judge had to call for silence in the room. “What I mean by that is: Did he uphold their values? Did he partake in their violent raids and contribute to the torture of countless victims?”

Dubious glances were exchanged, because they’ve all heard the previous witness statements. He was present, yes, but Harry knew for a fact that they never said he actually cast spells that hurt them.

“Draco Malfoy is a good man.” At this, Draco’s head snapped up to look at him, disbelief and shock written all over his expression. “I know the man I dated before 6th year, before you started distancing yourself from everyone and disappearing.”

At this point, he wasn’t even talking to the audience anymore. He was talking to Draco, who looked at him with the uncertainty that made Harry’s heart ache, because he doesn’t believe him.

“From what we’ve heard from the previous statements, he was present - yes - but he never actually cast the spells that hurt them,” Harry pointed out, this time talking to the crowd. “He wouldn’t. He can’t.”

“What makes you say that, Mr. Potter?” the judge asked him.

“He couldn’t cast a killing curse on Albus Dumbledore,” he said. More shock from everyone listening, including his own best friends. “He didn’t, I was there when Death Eaters invaded Hogwarts.”

That ruled off one of his accusations, but Harry knew that there was still more convincing to be done.

“He told me that his au- Bellatrix tried teaching him to cast a Crucio over the summer before our 6th year, but it would never work,” Harry added, remembering the detailed letter that made him want to wretch.

It was during their 6th year that they broke up; after Draco had been avoiding him constantly and sneaking around. Harry knew there was something wrong, especially since he knew his Aunt was hiding in the Manor, but he didn’t know that Draco was already on a mission then.

“He only became a Death Eater to protect himself and his mother,” Harry said, watching as Draco’s eyes grew wider. “If a person, more so a minor, is coerced through violence, and possibly death, can you blame him for taking the mark? Especially when his father was a part of the people that threatened him?”

Clearly, some people were beginning to think about the situation more. There were some casting odd glances at Draco, who dutifully kept his eyes on Harry.

“And what of his presence at all the attacks?” the judge asked him. “Maybe he didn’t cast the spells, but as a witness who allowed this behavior to occur, there are still repercussions.”

“Might I also be allowed to add, in defense to Draco Malfoy?”

Luna’s airy voice floated through the hall, making Harry jump slightly from surprise at her silent entrance. He let out a small sigh of relief upon realizing that she had finally arrived, just like she said she would.

“You may,” Kingsley said before the judge could even speak, possibly to repeat the same words he spoke to Harry when he first barged in.

The judge asked if Harry was ready to step off, to which he nodded and made room for Luna to pass.

“Draco was very kind to the people they tortured.” Despite the light tone she used, her face was slightly more grave and gloomy compared to what it normally was when they were back in school. Either way, she radiated the same, kind energy she always did.

“Whenever he had the chance, he would take care of those who got hurt,” she said. “I should know; I was kept prisoner in the Malfoy Manor.”

That wasn’t a public secret, but the knowledge that Draco Malfoy had taken care of them must be a surprise. It certainly was when Harry found out.

“Can you confirm that, to your knowledge, he has never caused harm to another person throughout your captivity?”

“Yes,” she replied almost immediately. The judge seemed to consider this for a moment before directing his attention to the Wizengamot. Harry, however, was already distracted, looking towards Draco, who was no longer meeting his eyes.

There were a few more questions asked, but Harry had already zoned them out. He just wanted Draco to look at him, to comfort Draco so that he knew that he would be taken care of, and that everything was going to turn out alright.

“-that Draco Lucius Malfoy will be subjected to probation for 2 years and the payment of reparation fees.”

Harry practically jumped out of his seat once the jury was dismissed, running straight to Draco, who was patiently waiting as the spells around his wrists were undone.

“Draco,” he said softly. He didn’t even wait for a response before wrapping his arms around the blond, who felt concerningly thinner in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” Draco breathed out shakily. “I know- I didn’t-”

“Shh,” Harry hushed, running his hand soothingly over Draco’s back. “I know. I understand, and I’m sorry too.”

“Why are you sorry?” Draco asked incredulously, pulling away from the embrace.

“I’m sorry for letting you go so easily,” Harry said honestly.

“I’m sorry for pushing you away,” was Draco’s response.

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

“I missed you,” Draco whispered into Harry’s chest. They were seated on his bed in Grimmauld Place, just 2 months after the trial. Even though they’ve been inseparable all that time, Draco still said those words often.

“I missed our conversations.”

Those words made Harry’s heart hurt, reminding him of the pain that he felt when they broke up before.

“You have me now,” Harry said in the same, whispered tone.

“It was hard,” Draco added after a few beats of silence. “Not knowing whether you were okay.”

“I know,” Harry said, the sound of his heartbeat beginning to thunder in his ears. “I’ve been doing some research.”

“That’s new,” Draco teased, looking up at him from where he laid his head on Harry’s chest.

“Prat,” Harry rolled his eyes fondly. “I mean - and you don’t have to do this, I completely understand, - but, well, there’s this spell…”

“Yes, Harry?” Draco urged, clearly becoming impatient.

“It’s not a bonding spell! Well, kinda. It’s like, a spell that lets us know how the other is doing. Health-wise!” Harry rambled, sounding less and less appealing with every word.

Draco chuckled softly, his shoulders shaking against Harry’s body.

“It sounds… nice,” he said eventually, giving the idea some thought.

“Yeah?” Harry asked. “Because I’m not really done researching it so there’s still a lot to be learned- if that’s alright? I know it’s probably not the most-”

“Harry,” Draco said softly, a small smile on his lips. “I’d love to try it out. We can do the research together.”

“Brilliant!” Harry exclaimed, probably a bit too enthusiastically. Draco was smiling, though, so it was okay. “But I should probably warn you that it leaves gold markings on your wrist - that’s how we monitor each other - so if you don’t want anyone to see it, then I get it and we don’t have to-”

“Harry,” he repeated, looking more and more amused every second. “It’s alright with me.”

“Okay,” Harry said, letting out a small breath of relief. Then they sat quietly, simply enjoying each other’s presence.

“Do you remember those Kings we did research on back in 5th Year?” Draco asked.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded slowly, unsure as to why he was suddenly bringing their old project back up. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” Draco singsonged. “It’s just, you seem to have taken quite some notes from them recently.”

Events from the past few months flashed through his head before he broke into a wide grin.

“I hadn’t realized,” he laughed. “Does this make you my captive prince?”

“No longer captive, love,” Draco laughed, the term of endearment making Harry feel giddy inside.

“Besides the point,” Harry waved off. Even the spell they were planning to cast was oddly reminiscent of the story.

“Well, I did rather enjoy your grand entrance during my trail, I suppose,” Draco hummed.

“I did too.”

“Idiot,” Draco laughed fondly, hitting him lightly before pulling himself closer to Harry.

“I love you,” he whispered softly, only for Harry to hear despite the fact that they were alone in their room.

“I love you too.”

-————————————————-

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JDDKFGK I WISH I COULD GO DEEPER INTO THE WORLD BUILDING BECAUSE THERE’S SO MUHC BUt i didn’t so kdbfhdf Thanks for reading <3

#hp #harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry ficlet #request #some captive prince?#idk

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a-blue-secret · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER VIII

BACK TO MASTERLIST

Chapter VII | Chapter VIII | Chapter IX

GENRES: royal au; fantasy au; magic au; friends-to-enemies-to-lovers; king!beomgyu, vizier!taehyun

PAIRING: taegyu

WARNINGS: severe swearing, mentions of blood, mentions of fire

WORD COUNT: 3.2k+

AN: this chapter took an achingly long time to complete, and while it’s not very long, it’s really important!!

SUMMARY: Best friends turned enemies, Kang Taehyun has managed to trick Choi Beomgyu into his service, and to rule for a year and a day, until his youngest brother would be old enough to take the throne. Choi Beomgyu has no intention of being obedient however, and tries to thwart Taehyun’s orders at every turn. With a growing amount of distrust and lies within the court, will Taehyun manage to keep the kingdom of Gojongja from falling apart?

"Stop fidgeting," Taehyun said through gritted teeth.

"I can't help it," Beomgyu responded, teeth similarly clenched. He waved politely as he sat down on the throne. "This is so itchy. I told the seamstress not to put the silver stitches down the side of the trousers, but evidently she didn't listen to me."

"Well do try and endure it," Taehyun said, a plastic smile on his face as he bowed to the noble who came up to him. “We have three more hours of this.”

Beomgyu crossed one leg over the other, trying to quell the itching. He rubbed his nose, annoyed. “Who made the revel this long?” he demanded, glaring at Taehyun.

“You said to keep it as if it were a real revel,” Taehyun replied smoothly. “Don’t you remember?”

Beomgyu sighed. “The flower ritual, the ballad composing, the synchronised dance and then the free dance? Is the schedule normally so packed?”

“Well, it’s a festival celebration,” Taehyun reasoned. “Those are always really long. Plus, we needed to include something like a flower ritual to make it seem real.”

Beomgyu grumbled, fidgeting with the silver stitches on his legs. “I can still go and interact with them, right?”

“Yeah sure, I don’t care,” Taehyun dismissed. “If you get mauled before your speech, it’s not my problem.”

“I won’t get mauled,” Beomgyu said. “That happened one time, okay?”

“Yeah, and since then we’ve hidden in the King’s Corner. Which you didn’t set up this time. But by all means, you’re welcome to try and see if you’ll be overwhelmed by the people.”

“Rude,” Beomgyu muttered. Nevertheless, he stayed up on the dais, elbow propped up on the throne’s armrest, cheek smushed against his hand.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

Taehyun had gotten good at zoning out during formal events. He stood, next to Beomgyu’s throne, staring at nothing and thinking of nothing. He was completely and utterly zoned out from everything that was going on around him. When he registered a finger annoying at his sleeve, however, he gradually zoned back in. Taehyun looked down, a look of mild annoyance on his face.

“What are you doing?”

“Those ruffles look annoying.” Beomgyu, eyebrows furrowed, was examining the lace ruffles of Taehyun’s sleeve, a look of utmost concentration on his face.

When Taehyun tried to tug his arm away, Beomgyu only held tighter to the fabric. Afraid of ripping it, Taehyun kept his arm in place, choosing to subtly glare at Beomgyu.

“Come on, I know you’re not really that fascinated by my sleeve. What do you want?”

“I want to know what colour this is. Ivory? No, it’s far too much of a soft colour to be ivory. Chiffon, maybe?” Beomgyu paused, frowning down at the sleeve. He leaned forwards so that his nose was practically touching the material, and spoke in a low tone. “Also, there are Lords watching me, and I don’t like it.” He leaned back with a casual smile on his face. “Ah, I’ve got it. It’s pearl.” He smoothed down the fabric, gently rearranging the folds so that they hung evenly. Taehyun’s ears burned when Beomgyu’s fingers brushed against his skin, and he quickly crossed his arms to prevent Beomgyu from playing with his sleeves anymore. He shot Beomgyu a glare, before scanning the crowds. The scowl slipped off his face once he noticed what Beomgyu had picked up on.

“You’re right.” He bit his lip, scanning the ballroom. Now he was paying attention, he noticed that something about the atmosphere felt… off. He widened his eyes a little, realising what it was. “Shit. Beomgyu, are you sure you still want to go ahead with this?”

Beomgyu looked at him as if he were crazy. “Uh, yeah? Of course? A few hostile Lords aren’t going to stop me.”

“No, no, it’s not just them,” Taehyun said. He nodded his head towards the ballroom floor. “Can’t you feel it?”

Beomgyu looked out at the ballroom, scanning the marbled room. He looked at the people, gathered together in their small groups, talking, dancing, eating. He looked at the few strange Lords lurking behind the pillars, glancing at the dais on which Beomgyu and Taehyun stood. He looked at all of this, before turning back to Taehyun. “No? I don’t feel it?”

“You don’t?” Taehyun said sceptically, scanning the ballroom himself. “Hm. That’s odd.”

Beomgyu tilted his head. “Why? What do you feel?”

“I don’t know, it just feels… something feels… not right. Something doesn’t feel right.” Taehyun shook his head. “Don’t worry. It’s probably nothing.”

Beomgyu eyed him for a moment, before signalling over one of his personal guards. “Call in the Invisi. Something’s not right here, and we need to be cautious.” The guard nodded, stepping down from the dais to carry out the order. Taehyun looked at him curiously.

“You’re bringing in the invisible guards?”

“I trust your judgement,” Beomgyu stated simply. “If something happens, it’ll be good to have them here. If nothing happens,” Beomgyu shrugged. “That’s fine too. They won’t appear unless necessary, so it’s no harm done if we don’t need them.”

Taehyun nodded slowly. “Yeah, I suppose that makes sense,” he acknowledged. “You trust my judgement that much, huh?”

“Well duh. You’re literally one of the smartest people in Gojongja. I didn’t pick you to be my vizier just out of spite,” Beomgyu said. “I’d rather like to have you by my side as I rule.” He quirked a small grin. Taehyun’s ears warmed at the unexpected compliment. With a start, he realised he missed this. Missed how warm and friendly it could feel to be around Beomgyu. The past few months, they’d constantly be surrounded by this cold, electric chill around them, as if one wrong word would ignite an explosion from either one of them. He glanced down, and gave a small smile.

“So I guess you want me to be the Queen to your King?”

Beomgyu’s smile froze in place, before slowly slipping off. He gave a small scowl. “That’s not saying I want to be King,” he said. “I still haven’t forgiven you for that.”

And just like that, the fragile, comfortable atmosphere they’d created was shattered with those words. It reminded them both of how they’d managed to end up here, and the unspoken undertone of ‘I still haven’t forgiven you for betraying me’ hung in the air between them, like a cold, unshakeable chill.

Taehyun didn’t say anything, and returned his gaze to the ballroom floor.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

The two of them stood there on the dais for a while longer. Neither said a word. Beomgyu kept glancing over at Taehyun, while the vizier was intent on avoiding his gaze. Taehyun scanned the crowds of people idly, before doing a double-take and looking more closely.

"Beomgyu…"

"King Beomgyu, if you may," Beomgyu corrected, taking a sip of water. "We're in public."

Taehyun ignored him. "Where's Lord Yeonjun?"

“Oh, he’s visiting Aruyeo,” Beomgyu said calmly. “He had a letter to deliver. I told him one of our messengers could take it for him, but he said the person it’s for is wary of strangers. So he’s taking it himself.”

“He’s riding all the way to Aruyeo?” Taehyun asked, surprised.

“Yes. He left this morning. He might not be back for a while.”

“So he took one of the horses… and left? To Aruyeo?” Taehyun said doubtfully. “Do you trust him?”

"Yeah. Don't worry," Beomgyu patted Taehyun's arm, "everything is fine."

"Did you actually plan a speech?" Taehyun asked skeptically after a few moments.

"Yes. Sort of. It's all up here," Beomgyu said, tapping the side of his head. "I'll know what to say when the time comes, chill," Beomgyu sighed when Taehyun glared at him. "Remember the impromptu speech I gave when you crowned me? That was good, wasn't it? It'll be fine."

Taehyun hummed dubiously, but didn't say a word.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

“Sir, it is almost time.”

Beomgyu nodded. “Thank you, Seojung.” He took the glass and decorative spoon offered to him, and looked over at Taehyun. Taehyun nodded.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said to Beomgyu.

Beomgyu stood up from the throne, and walked towards the front of the dais, lifting up the glass and spoon.

The light, tinkling sound of metal against crystal filled the ballroom, and gradually the chattering died down as everyone looked up at the King. As he looked around, suddenly, he felt it. There was something wrong.

Nevertheless, he willed away the foreboding feeling in his stomach, and smiled, a brilliant, sparkling smile, which lit up even the darkest corners of the ballroom. “You’re all well, I hope? I apologise for organising a revel at such short notice, but I hope you all don’t mind.” He gave another bright smile, looking around the room.

“As you all know, this revel is to celebrate the Flower Moon, which is today. Now, you may be slightly confused at this, since here in Gojongja we don’t really celebrate the Flower Moon. But, this date coincides with an important announcement I wanted to share with you.” Beomgyu clasped his hands together, and a little flicker of nervousness fluttered in his stomach. There was definitely something wrong. “About a month ago, Coronation Revels ended. During then and now, several things have happened, which I believed it would be best to tell you about.

“Some of you may know that an Aruyeonan representative came to my coronation, as is custom when a Gojongja monarch is to be crowned. This lord has the name Lord Yeonjun.”

“Cut the chase!” a voice called from the crowd. “We know what you’re going to say, so hurry up!”

Beomgyu blinked, momentarily thrown off, before quickly regaining his composure. “Alright. Lord Yeonjun came to propose an alliance, and I accepted.”

Outraged yells were heard from the crowd. Some people nodded their heads in a ‘I told you so’ way, as if they knew of the alliance already, while others looked outraged and shocked.

Taehyun’s hands, which were clasped tight behind his back, dug into the soft skin of his forearms. This was going to go wrong.

“I told you!” The same commoner as before yelled out. “I told you, that Lord told me he’d made an alliance, and no one believed me! He did this without telling us! He gave away our land!”

“Please calm down! I assure you, this alliance was made with Gojongja’s best interests at heart. I’d never give away your land. It is beneficial to us, it truly is.” Beomgyu placed a hand over his chest. “I swear it.”

“Sir!”

Taehyun’s fingers wrapped around his wrists tightly. He turned in the direction of the voice. Though his face didn’t change, inwardly, he cursed. Those stupid Lords.

“Your Greatness, if I may,” the Lord called out. “Even if this alliance was to be beneficial, don’t you think it would have been best to discuss with the public? This is their land you’re bargaining with, their lives you are potentially altering.”

Beomgyu frowned. “I am sure I just said that this alliance does not affect your land, nor your lives. The only thing we bargain is our knowledge.” He looked at Taehyun. “Is that correct?”

Taehyun nodded. “Yes, sire. The only physical part of our country that we bargain are the forests.”

“See?” Beomgyu turned back to the Lord.

“But still,” the Lord continued. “Discussing it with us beforehand gives us reason to trust you.” The Lord turned to address the rest of the public. “Do you think, having a new King make important decisions such as an alliance, without discussing with his people first, is a trait of a King you trust?”

People voiced their agreement, still glaring at Beomgyu.

“That is enough,” Beomgyu said, annoyed. “Please, sit dow-”

“Is it the sign of a good, strong King to team up with another Kingdom? Is it a sign that you are capable, if you need another Kingdom to back you up? And most importantly, is it the sign of a trustworthy King for you to do these things without telling any of your people?” The Lord scoffed. “It’s not. It’s not at all. You-” he stabbed a finger in Beomgyu’s direction- “are not a King I’d trust at all.”

Beomgyu blinked, shocked, before letting out a laugh. “Well that is indeed a pity! You don’t trust me? That’s understandable.” When the Lord opened his mouth again, Beomgyu held up a hand. “Enough. I am not even a year into my reign. And, being from a new clan, of course you don’t trust me! However, you must have seen me in court, perhaps about five years ago? And you’ll know that I am nothing if not trustworthy and have Gojongja’s best interests at heart. You, however…” he looked at the Lord, and gave a pitying smile. “You are a lesser Lord. Who, I believe, has only been in court for just over a year. What do you know about what I’m like?”

The Lord pursed his lips, face growing dark. He stood there, vibrating with anger, before rushing towards the throne. Before he could get far, though, Beomgyu thrust out his hand, presumably to use the wind to push him back. However, as soon as he flicked his wrist, the chandeliers suddenly exploded, raining crystals onto the ballroom floor. Most fires from the candles were extinguished as they fell, but some caught the ivy and set fire to the vines. People screamed, cowering away from the crystal shards. Over the chaos, the Lord continued to yell.

“He can’t even control his abilities! What sort of King is he?”

More voices began to chorus angrily against the King. Beomgyu didn’t seem to hear any of them, glaring at the first Lord who had spoken out. The Invisi had already begun to spill in from where they’d been standing to try and placate the people. Beomgyu was still stood, motionless, and Taehyun felt his hands curl into fists. He looked back out at the crowd, and saw that all the Lords had disappeared, and only the common folk remained. He felt his arm being tugged, and suddenly, Beomgyu was pulling him off the dais, away from the ballroom.

“Hey!” Once they were out in a hallway, Taehyun tried to yank his arm away to no avail, glaring at Beomgyu. “Let go.”

“Shut up,” Beomgyu glowered, striding fast down the hall. Taehyun was going to say something else, but caught sight of Beomgyu’s face. His mouth was set in a hard line, eyebrows furrowed. Taehyun hadn’t seen Beomgyu with anything other than an annoyed frown or a teasing smirk before, and this strange side of him sent chills down his spine. Beomgyu’s eyes, normally twinkling with a mischievous light, were now dark and fierce, and burned with a ferocity that Taehyun had never known a human to possess. Taehyun gulped, and let Beomgyu keep a firm grip on his arm, leading him to wherever the King was going.

“Wh-where are we going?” Taehyun asked.

“Council room,” Beomgyu replied shortly. “All the Lords disappeared, see? They’re probably there.”

“O-okay.”

Beomgyu glanced at him, and noticed the iron grip he was keeping on Taehyun’s arm, and let his hand release the vizier. Neither of them said another word.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

Beomgyu threw open the door. “What-” he roughly scraped the chair across the floor, pushing it aside- “the fuck-” he slammed his hands down on the table, glaring at the other members of the council- “was that?”

Taehyun quietly followed Beomgyu, standing behind the King.

Beomgyu’s fingers curled into the wood, ferociously glaring at the Lords, who had suddenly gone silent. “Well?” he asked.

At that moment, the one troublesome lord strolled in, followed by an incredibly tall one. “Ah, you’re here already. I don’t think I’ve properly introduced myself.” the Lord bowed mockingly, smirking. “Lord Haejun, Your Greatness. A pleasure.”

Beomgyu stared down his nose disdainfully. “I don’t care. I just want to know what that was.”

Lord Haejun widened his eyes, putting his hands up innocently. “Don’t put all the blame on me!” He looked around, and grabbed the tall lord’s arm. “It was Lord Soobin’s idea.”

Beomgyu let out a sarcastic laugh. “I’m not dumb. There’s no way this was his idea.” He stalked up to Lord Haejun, and brought his face close to the Lord’s. “Why did you do that? Why would you go to so much trouble as to put fucking bombs in my chandeliers?”

Lord Haejun looked unfazed, grinning obnoxiously. “No bombs, Your Greatness. It was simply you and your out-of-control power.” Beomgyu growled, and fisted Lord Haejun’s collar, pushing him up against the wall.

“You little shit,” he hissed. “That wasn’t me. You know that!”

At this point, Taehyun knew that he should step in, maybe separate the two, but he couldn’t seem to do anything other than stay against the wall, and watch it all unfold.

“Oops, looks like you found me out,” Lord Haejun said. As Beomgyu snarled at him, scrunching up the Lord’s collar even tighter, he let out a laugh. “Gosh, father said you were calm and composed! Where’s all that gone, hm?”

Beomgyu growled, and released the Lord’s collar. “Lord Namjae’s little boy, are you?” He turned to glare at Taehyun. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Taehyun, for some reason, couldn’t speak, couldn’t utter a word against Beomgyu’s rage. It was like all his words had deserted him. He opened and closed his mouth helplessly.

Lord Haejun straightened his collar, smirking. “He didn’t feel like there was any need, obviously. Anyways, Father’s away on business, so I planned the little… performance in his stead.”

Beomgyu clenched his hands into fists. “Little? You harmed the public! This is serious. Did you all know about this?” he thundered, glaring at the rest of the nobles. They all stuttered, suddenly unable to form coherent sentences. “Doesn’t matter. You probably all did.” Beomgyu turned his fierce gaze to Taehyun. “You take care of them. And this time, don’t fucking forget to remind me to change the members of this council.” He gave one more disgusted look to the cowering lords, and a venomous glare towards Lord Haejun, before sweeping out of the room. Taehyun stuttered weakly, hand raised. Beomgyu was just… storming out? He looked around the room, unsure what to do, before waving a hand.

“You- you’re all dismissed.”

And then, without waiting for the lords to react, Taehyun hurried out after Beomgyu.

“Beomgyu!”

Beomgyu turned at the call of his name, and saw Taehyun running to catch up with him. “What?” he snapped.

“A- are you okay?”

“I’m fucking fine,” Beomgyu said sarcastically. “I’ve just been accused of intentionally harming Gojongja, and called weak in front of the whole Kingdom. I’ve never been better.” He glared at Taehyun. “Don’t ask me stupid questions.” With that, he stalked off, leaving Taehyun standing shellshocked in the middle of the carpeted hallway.

“Sir Taehyun!”

Taehyun looked behind him to see Yeonjun coming up to him. It was evident he’d just gotten back from riding, as his boots were splattered with mud, and he still had a coat on.

“I saw all the glass in the ballroom,” he said, stopping next to the vizier. “And there’s a lot of blood, and some fire. What happened?” For some reason, the question ignited an irritated fire within Taehyun, and his mouth twisted into an annoyed frown.

“Well the announcement went fine,” Taehyun said sarcastically. “What do you think?” He glared at the Aruyeonan. “Just go to your chambers. Don’t interfere.” Yeonjun hesitated, but bowed and walked away, muddied footprints following him down the hall. Taehyun watched him go, and ran a hand through his hair. What the fuck had just happened?

#court of lies #txt #beomgyu #txt beomgyu #taehyun #txt fluff #txt taehyun #taegyu #txt taegyu #txt fanfic #txt angst #tomorrow by together #tomorrow x together

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