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nationalharryleague · 3 years

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Diplomacy

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers Royal AU

Word count: 12K (I may have gotten carried away)

Warnings: Parental Death, an American writing about monarchies she doesn’t understand

A/N: Hi everyone! I have been working on this one for a while and it’s by far the longest thing I’ve ever written and I am so proud of it (please be nice)!! I also made a Pinterest board with all the outfits from this if you want to check it out here!! SO SO SO much love to @meetmymouth @bfharry and @hardcandy-harry for helping me out when I needed it and being the most wonderful people in general :) As always, thank you so so much for reading!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and feedback/reblogs mean the world!!!

****

Y/N knew from the day she could understand the concept of marriage that she would one day be married to the little prince with wild brown curls her mother always forced her to play with. She still vividly remembered the first time he told her that she was ugly and that he hated her. She was only five years old at the time.

Fortunately, she hated him just as much as he hated her. He was rude, somehow always sticky, and seemed to have no filter or manners, letting every nasty thing he could think of fall past his lips in daggers aimed at his future wife.

As they grew older, their animosity only grew, from petty to school yard quarrels to attacks on their personalities and who they were as people. Despite her pleas to her mother to be sent to a different boarding school than the one he was already attending, she was shipped off.

She studied judiciously, what was expected of every future queen, while she watched Harry meander through his schooling. He never seemed to listen in class, never studied, and seemed to only care about football and girls. She watched with jealousy and contempt as he flirted with every girl at their school, every girl except the one he knew he was to marry; while every boy in the school knew Y/N was off limits, direct orders from the crown.

It made her uncomfortable how much she disliked him. She was not a hateful person, having been trained well to treat everyone with dignity and respect, she was a princess after all. But something about Harry just got under her skin. She barely was able to control the instinctive eye roll whenever his name was mentioned and she often pretended to gag when discussing him with her friends, especially when one of them would inevitably call him ‘dreamy.’

The happiest day of her life was the day she watched him graduate, knowing she had been awarded years of peace without having to listen to his taunts or watch him flirt with everything that breathed. During those years, she flourished. She grew from a timid girl in line for power to a confident young woman preparing for the crown. She knew her country through and through, her constitution front to back, and had even begun studying Harry’s country as well. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she would have to pick up his slack in governing his kingdom eventually, she might as well be good at it.

Four more years of education at Cambridge, brought four more years of growth and being free from Harry, but the deal she had made with her mother was quickly coming to a close. As soon as she finished her education, their engagement would be made official and wedding planning would commence. While she was tempted to beg for some sort of delay or escape, she understood this was her duty. She owed this to her people, and soon to Harry’s as well; her mother was counting on her.

For the first time in too many years, she stood inside her former and future home. She remembered running through the halls of the massive palace under the ornate ceilings that now hung above her again; reality was sinking in. Through the massive wooden doors that sat in front of her, she knew her fate awaited; a fate named Harry. With a deep breath she steeled herself and smoothed the blush pink lace skirt of her dress, preparing to see the face that had haunted her for so long.

The first thing she noticed was the playful smirk that she associated so closely with his taunts from when they were children. It was the smirk that made her stomach drop; she could only imagine the nasty things that could come past those lips now. He had years to practice.

He stood confidently next to her mother, who had a bright and triumphant grin on her face. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored forest green suit, decorated with his coat of arms pin on the lapel. She wished for the vibrance of his green eyes to lessen but the tone of his suit only made them more intense than she had remembered.

“Harry,” she breathed, as diplomatically and with as much confidence as she could muster. “It’s good to see you,” she lied, reaching her hand out for him to kiss in the antiquated custom that always made her deeply uncomfortable. He delicately grasped her hand and slowly brought it to his blushed lips, the kiss lingering longer than what could have been considered friendly. His snake-like eyes locked with hers, still containing the mischievous glint she had nightmares about. She couldn’t help but notice the hysterically hopeful smile on her mother’s face as she watched them interact.

“It’s always a pleasure, your highness,” he hummed. He must have remembered how uncomfortable that title made her. She was honestly impressed at how he managed to lie and antagonize her in the first sentence he had said to her in over six years.

“Please call me Y/N,” she instructed as politely as possible.

“As you wish,” he said with a conniving smirk on his face. She had been with him no more than two minutes and she already wanted to run for her life. But this wasn’t about her, her country would need a leader soon, and unfortunately, that had to be her.

Her mother rushed over excitedly between the two, breaking the contemptuous silence that had built between them. “Oh children, it’s so nice to see you two back together again. I remember when you used to play when you were little. Always teasing, like you had the biggest crushes on each other.” ‘Teasing’ is a nice way to refer to torture, Y/N thought to herself, never daring to verbalize a thought like that.

“We did always have fun didn’t we, Y/N?” Harry asked her, a thin glaze of politeness coating his malice.

“Oh yes, we did. I still have a scar on my thigh from when you pushed me off the monkey bars.” Her tone was tight lipped and curt, her politeness beginning to give way to the verbal lashing she was dreaming of giving him.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Y/N’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She knew he was a dirty good for nothing flirt, but in front of her mother? If her mother hadn't gently grasped both of their hands, she would have stomped out of the room. Her mother’s gentle touch brought her mind back to what this was all about once again.

“Harry is going to be staying with us from now on,” her mother interjected, clearly sensing the animosity between them. “Oh, and I nearly forgot! Harry, I believe you have something for Y/N, correct?”

“Of course.” He flashed his charming smiles at her poor mother, “How could I have forgotten about that?”

She watched him intently as he reached for the pocket inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small indigo colored velvet box. He opened the box with delicate hands to reveal one of the most gorgeous engagement rings Y/N had ever seen. A deep green emerald sat inside a ring of crystal clear diamond florets, all placed meticulously with care into a gold setting, the color of the velvet intensifying the emerald stone. “It was my grandmother’s,” he spoke softly, the first time she had ever heard him speak with any emotion or genuine feeling. “Before she died, she said she wanted you to have it. She was the mastermind of this arrangement afterall,” he said with a slight chuckle. “For formality’s sake,” he began with a sigh, “will you marry me?”

No, passed through Y/N’s head, but “Yes” fell from her lips. While her heart broke for herself and any chance she had of finding true love, the smile and happy tears in her mother’s eyes reminded her why she was doing all of this. She needs me to do this, Y/N thought to herself, my country is going to need a leader.

Their engagement was announced later that day by royal decree and their wedding was scheduled for the next month. There was no going back now.

The palace was in a flurry of planning and plotting for the big day. Y/N was rushed from meeting to meeting, instructed to make decisions about everything and anything she wanted for the wedding. She stared at floral arrangements until her eyes hurt and flipped through magazines looking at bridesmaid and flower girl dresses until her fingers felt like they were about to fall off. Unsurprisingly to Y/N, Harry was there for almost none of it. Although, she wasn’t exactly complaining about his absence.

He only surfaced when food or his suit was involved. In one vile incident, he arrived at the cake tasting with a wad of gum in his mouth, which was not only strictly prohibited for royals because it could be perceived as being too casual, but Y/N almost called off the entire wedding when she watched him stick chewed bubble gum to the bottom of a 200 year old handcrafted dining table.

“Were you raised by wolves?” she asked through gritted teeth while scolding him and desperately trying to remove the mess.

“Nannies, actually.” She knew by the smirk on his face that he wasn’t done with whatever antagonistic taunts that were planned to fall from his lips. “I’m pretty wild in the bedroom too, wifey.”

His crude comments were meant to hurt her and make her uncomfortable. He knew from their time in school together that she was constantly watched and kept far away from the gaze of any peaking boys, shining a spotlight on the massive double standard between the pair of future rulers. She wore a cloak of inexperience and innocence given to her against her will that embarrassed her to no end, and he knew that the easiest way to pinken her cheeks was to mention sex in any way. He aimed to fluster the poor girl and he got away with it anytime he flashed his dimples in a devilish smirk.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and furry before she got up from the table and stormed out of the room, muttering “pick whatever fucking cake you want,” before flying down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

She felt frustrated tears pricking at her eyes as she slid down the back of the heavy wooden door to the floor below her. She let the fabric of her once perfectly steamed dress crumple beneath her and before she let the floodgates of tears open, she looked down at the dainty silver watch that sat on her wrist. You have five minutes until your appointment with the dressmaker, she thought to herself. Three minutes to cry, two minutes to change into a new dress and fix your makeup.

For three minutes, she let all her anger, frustration, and heartbreak fall out of her in loud sobs that anyone on the other side of the door was sure to hear. For three minutes, she let herself feel every angry emotion she had ever felt towards Harry. For three minutes, she didn’t care about her country or her mother needing this wedding. For three minutes, she didn’t care about anything other than her hurt. But only for three minutes.

Then she wiped the tears away, picked herself up off the floor, dressed herself in her favorite navy blue dress, fixed her mascara, and pressed a cool cloth on her cheeks to quell their angry heat. And then she went to see the dressmaker.

The only joy Y/N got out of this whole ordeal was getting to see her dressmaker, Agnes. Agnes was a kind and quiet old woman who was one of the most talented people she had ever met. The pair would sit together for hours discussing styles, the only time her schedule allowed her to relax, and the woman was in the middle of crafting the gown of Y/N’s dreams. It was a lace long sleeved gown with a cathedral length train. The top portion of the lace was sheer, making a strapless neckline visible, before the delicately crafted lace moved crawled up Y/N’s neck into a high collar neckline. It was reserved, but elegant and unique; “just like you,” Agnes once said.

The first time Y/N was able to try the dress on was bittersweet. The dress was stunning and it made her feel like the princess she was, but she did shed a tear thinking about how this moment was tainted with Harry. She wouldn’t be wearing this dress while walking down the aisle to marry the love of her life, she was marrying someone she would consider an enemy.

She bowed down reverently when her mother placed a veil and tiara on her head. The tiara was encrusted with diamonds and speckled with emeralds that happened to match her engagement ring. The tiara was an heirloom and every woman in her family had worn it while getting married for the last two hundred years.

Her mother wept softly before her, a proud smile on her lips. “I’m so happy I get to see you in the wedding tiara before I go, sweetheart,” she said leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I know you and Harry aren’t always a perfect pair and neither were your father and I, but we made you.” The queen’s eyes flashed over her face trying to take her in, “And you turned out to be my proudest achievement and the savior of a nation.”

“Thank you, Mama.” She hadn’t called her mother by that name since she was a young girl but it just felt right at that moment. She felt like a child, needing someone to take care of her while she waited for a country to fall on her shoulders.

“I will always guide you through whatever I can,” she said tenderly. “Even when I’m not here, I will always be with you.” Y/N watched as her mother’s eyes welled with more tears, excusing herself quickly before they grew more intense.

Not more than five minutes later, she heard the obnoxious whistling that she had begun to hear in her nightmares from down the hall. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to burst through the door, not only interrupting her fitting, but seeing the dress before the wedding day.

Like all members of traditional royal families, Y/N was extremely superstitious. Her heart immediately broke as she watched his eyes look her up and down, like there was a little piece of her that thought if they did everything right and didn’t break any traditional rules, maybe they would work out. What hurt her even more was that he didn’t even try to leave. He just sat down on a chair, smacking his gum, and stared at her like he was doing nothing wrong. Her eyes were still filled with tears from the emotional moment with her mother and they continued to flow, no longer out of love, but out of anger and frustration.

“Agnes,” Y/N finally spoke, voice cracking as she tried to hold back her tears, “will you excuse us for a moment?”

“Yes, your highness,” Agnes took delicate steps backwards like she was expecting a bomb to go off, before turning around and scurrying out of the room. Her instincts were correct, because at that moment, Y/N exploded.

“What did I ever do to you Harry?” she questioned angrily. “Why are you so determined to absolutely ruin my life? It’s bad enough that I am having an arranged marriage, not even one that I have the tiniest bit of say in.” She watched Harry’s eyes grow wide, like he had never expected her to stand up to him. “I have spent my entire life being watched and guarded, and avoided by every man I’ve ever gotten close to because I was already claimed by someone who wanted nothing to do with me.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice like this at someone; she wasn’t sure if she ever had before. “You can’t even pretend that you like me or that we won't be miserable for our entire lives.”

“Y/N, I don’t want this either,” he spoke after a moment of silence, the quiet only broken by Y/N’s heaving breath. “Why can’t you just calm down?”

“Why can’t I calm down?” she repeated. “Maybe because my country is looking to me to become it’s queen. I can’t give myself to my people when I am worrying about you and your incompetence. You may not become king in your country for another 30 years; you have time to learn and grow into a ruler because you’re in my monarchy and you get to learn here first. You’re playing king with my people. Millions of people rely on us the second I am crowned and you act like your irresponsibility doesn’t have far reaching consequences.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” he spat back at her, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed in front of himself as he sat back in the chair. “I can’t believe I have to marry you and into this family.”

Y/N felt like she had been punched in the gut. She was stuck with this man for the rest of her life and here he was, disrespecting her, her people, and her family. “Get out,” she said under her breath. When he didn’t move from his seat, she began to yell once again, “Get out! I mean it!” She dropped her voice once again, and spoke more seriously than she ever had before. “I have never hated anymore more than I hate you, Harry. I am doing all of this because I love my country and my people, but I want you to know, I will never be happy because of you.”

For a moment, through her tears, it looked like he had been hurt because of her words, but he was gone from the room before she could confirm it.

She fell to her knees on the dress platform, surrounded by the piles of pure white fabric. She was a perfectly dressed ball of furry and sobs, angry at the world and her predicament. Leaning over and putting her head in her hands, she felt the tiara as it began to slip off her head, falling into her lap.

Y/N picked up the tiara, using gentle reverent hands, examining it closely. The tiara represented the monarchy and every female ruler in her family that had come before her. It shined and dazzled in the bright lights of the room, its crystal clear and emerald stones reflecting multi colored light onto the crisp white of the dress below her. “I’m doing this for you,” she whispered quietly to the tiara like it could answer, tears still silently rolling down her face.

***

They didn’t speak again for almost a week. They communicated solely through their royal secretaries, sending the poor men back and forth with angry messages, almost gossiping about what was happening with each member of the pair when they returned to the sender. Y/N hated Harry, Harry hated Y/N; the same sentiment sent back and forth over and over. The two were driving fast towards a brick wall, and the brick wall was their wedding.

When she woke up one morning about a week before their nuptials, there was a small envelope sitting on the ground like it had been slid underneath her bedroom door. We have to talk, was all it read. It was not lost on her that the stationary had a small olive branch illustrated onto the page.

Later that afternoon, they met in the garden. It felt like a neutral place to talk, the palace obviously being her territory. She had worn a casual flowing white dress, like she was raising a white flag; and she carefully walked with a mug of black coffee, a peace offering of sorts, careful not to get any of the dark liquid on the fabric of her dress.

She found him along a bed of purple Hyacinths, their sweet perfume enveloping them both, sitting on the soft ground dressed in the most casual clothes she had ever seen him in. He was wearing a simple lilac button up and a pair of jeans. He seemed more approachable this way, without the tailoring and the coat of arms that always sat on his lapel. The golden highlights in his curls came out in the sun and his tanned skin seemed to glow. He held a rose colored leather bound notebook in his hands.

“Hi,” she said softly, a sharp contrast to her screaming the last time they spoke. “I brought you a coffee. The nice ladies in the kitchen say you take it black.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he gave her a friendly but unenthusiastic smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, as she handed him the hot mug.

“Can I sit?”

“I’m not in charge of you,” he mumbled into the cup taking a sip. It wasn’t until she noticed how his eyebrow shot up and how his eyes had a playful gleam in them, that her offence washed away. “Of course, you can sit down.”

“What’s the book for?” she asked gently once she settled on the ground a safe distance away from him. She decided a few grass stains were worth being on speaking terms with the man she was supposed to marry.

“Um, it’s actually for you.” He reached over and placed the book in her hands. She ran her hands over her initials that had been embossed onto the leather cover. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while,” he said quietly, “I remember you used to write a lot when we were in school together. I thought you would like it.” She felt a confusing mixture of thankfulness for the book, guilt for her outburst, and all the frustration that she still held towards him.

“Thank you, Harry. That was really thoughtful of you.”

A silence hung among them, neither of them sure of the next steps this conversation had to take.

“Can we talk?” Harry asked, finally breaking the tension between the pair.

“Yes, please,” she answered just as quickly as he had asked.

“I wanted to apologize for interrupting your fitting like that. I didn’t know all the traditions meant so much to you and I never meant to make you so upset.” She had never heard Harry apologize before, to anyone else, and definitely not to her.

Before that moment, she had always thought of him as an impenetrable force, wondering if there even was a soul or a conscience in his body. But here he was, vulnerability and all, offering an olive branch and an apology.

“Thank you,” she said cautiously, wading into the almost friendly waters she had never been in with him. “I’m sorry for screaming at you like that. I said some very hurtful things to you.”

“So have I.”

“I want you to know that I don’t hate you and I shouldn’t have said I did. But, I don’t necessarily like you either, Harry,” she said, deciding now was the time they needed to open the line of communication. One of them would eventually combust if they continued on with their hatred like this. “You have tortured me since we were little kids and it’s going to take me some time for me to get over that.” She watched as he nodded his head along with her words, seeming to listen intently.

“I feel like that is also something I should apologize for. No offence, but I didn’t want to get married to you either- still don’t, but I was much more of a dick about it then,” he let out a light laugh, flashing one of his famous dimples before releasing a sigh. “I took out not having control of my life out on you and I’m sorry.” She never thought she would receive validation for all the hurt he put her through for so long.

“Listen, we are getting married as part of a diplomatic partnership,” she began, “I feel like we should at least act diplomatic towards each other.”

“Does that mean that we have to be friends?”

“Definitely not. Just not enemies.”

“I think I can do that, wifey.”

***

The next week passed in a surprisingly civil blur for them both. Y/N was still in the throws of getting ready for a wedding and Harry was off doing whatever Harry usually did. She didn’t expect him to be doing much but she was just glad he was out of her hair. But when they did run into each other, usually at some sort of meeting surrounding the menu, they had a new found respect for the other.

The pair hadn’t been fighting which was nice for a change, even though it did raise some eyebrows in both of their staff. At her final dress fitting two days before the wedding Agnes had asked her if she was ready to be a married woman. “Absolutely not,” Y/N had laughed, “but it’s my responsibility to my people and my country. I have lived the most privileged life imaginable up until this point, it’s time for me to begin my duties.”

“You’re a good girl, your highness. You’re going to make a great queen when the time comes. Even with a husband you may have to wrangle sometimes.” She ended her compliments with a giggle as she zipped Y/N into the dress, and she felt her heart warm. Agnes placed the final touches of the veil and tiara on top of her head, giving her a nod of permission to finally look at herself in the mirror.

The dress fit her like a glove. The delicate lace ran the expanse of the dress, starting at the very back of her immensely long train and crawling its way all the way to Y/N’s throat, and the fitted top half gave way to a full ball gown skirt. Y/N’s eyes followed the intricate lace patterns down her arm, eyes eventually landing on her hand and the ring that sat upon it. For the first time since it had begun to sit on her ring finger, she didn’t want to throw it across the room in frustration. It really was gorgeous and the tiny inkling of respect she had for Harry now made it much less painful to look at.

Staring at the mirror, she noticed the blurring of her vision and the wetness on her cheeks.

“I really am getting married, aren’t I?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes you are, your highness.” Agnes looked up at her through her thick lensed glasses with a proud smile on her face. “Now, let’s get you out of this contraption so you can go rest up for the big day.” Anges’ skilled hands freed Y/N from the beautiful layers of fabric and tulle and sent her on her way back to her bedroom.

Y/N was finally almost asleep in the early hours of the morning when she heard a gentle and almost timid knock on her door. She could have ignored it, rolled back over and let her dreams take her, but for some reason it felt important for her to get out of bed and answer the door. Her bare feet hit the cold wood floors and she tip-toed her way to the door.

When she grabbed the knob to open it, she heard a familiar voice say “don’t open the door! I don’t think I’m supposed to see you,” in a hurried and hushed tone.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was gravelly with exhaustion and had an apprehensive, almost nervous quality she had never heard from him before.

“Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” He said it so softly she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if her ear wasn’t pressed up against the doorway. The sentiment brought a smile to her lips and she wasn’t completely sure why. She was quiet for a moment, deciding if she wanted to turn him away or not when she heard him sarcastically ask, “What? I’m not allowed to talk to my wife?”

“I’m not your wife yet,” she reminded him with a tired chuckle. “But we can talk,” she assured him. “I’m going to sit down, okay? My legs are tired from my heels all day.” She kneeled down and leaned herself up against the hard wooden door.

She had been in this same position only a few weeks before, angry at the world and wanting to kill the man on the other side of it; but here she was, speaking to him willingly, even joking with him. She listened close as his own body rested against the floor and leaned on the opposite side, mirroring her own position.

“Those heels really hurt, don’t they?” he asked, voice still hushed. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have even said she heard a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, they are like little death traps for your feet and legs.” He let out a small laugh on the other side and her lips pulled into a smile that she hadn’t given them permission for.

“How many pairs do you have? You always match your dress to your shoes so you must have a ton.”

She was gradually learning that he was much more observant than she had originally thought. He apparently wasn’t the dumb boy that she remembered from school anymore.

“Too many,” she said with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. “I’m wearing my favorites tomorrow.”

“And which ones are those?”

“They’re white, obviously; they have to match,” she smiled. “They have a green gem at the toes. They match the tiara I’ll be wearing.” She stopped for a moment before continuing on. “And your grandmother’s ring.” She played with the gold band that sat on her ring finger, still somehow dazzling in the very limited light of her dark room. “Thank you, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome. She wanted you to have it.”

“Did she really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said confidently on the other side of the door. She imagined him nodding along with his words to emphasize his point, as he often did while speaking. “She kept tabs on you while we were growing up. She was always talking about how smart you seemed and that you would be a good queen one day. If I didn’t know better, I would say she liked you more than me growing up.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat up with the information. She was flattered by his grandmother’s opinion of her, but her heart also ached for Harry.

“I’m sure that's not true.”

“I think it was. I was always screwing up in one way or another; always creating messes that her and my parents had to clean up.” He paused for a moment and she heard him let out a long sigh. “Always running around with other girls and making the one I was supposed to marry feel like shit.”

She wished she could see his face. She wished that she could get a read on his emotions. But there was, literally and figuratively, a wall between them.

“Y/N,” she heard his voice squeak out through a voice crack, “I really am sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”

“I know. I forgive you, Harry.”

Saying those four words, lifted a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying off her shoulders. This moment felt like an absolution, a time to wipe their long and complicated slate clean. There was no better time for them to start anew than the night before they began the next chapter of their lives. But this chapter would be together, as a pair and a team.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry too, Harry. I know this all had to happen so fast so I could take the throne, but I know you thought you had more time. I thought I did too.”

“What do you mean? Why did it have to happen so fast?” he asked.

First, Y/N was confused. There was a very obvious answer. Then her heart began to break for him. He wasn’t ready at all for what was coming. No one must have told him.

“Harry,” she said softly, “Do you know about my mother?”

“What do you mean?” From the tone in his voice, she knew he genuinely didn’t know.

“My mom-” she began gently, swallowing the lump in her throat that always appeared when she began to talk about this, “My mom is dying, Harry.” She heard a soft gasp through the door before she went on. “She’s been sick for a while, but things are getting really bad. Her doctors think she only has a couple weeks left.”

She listened to his breathing stop, like his mouth was hung open searching for something to say. He was quiet for a few moments before he landed on what seemed like the only thing he had said over and over these last few weeks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you if you need to talk about all of this.”

His offer was not lost on her. The idea of Harry being someone she could confide in was a new one, but one that she would consider.

“It’s okay.” She choked out, wiping a few stray tears that had found their way out, off her cheeks. “I have had enough time to come to terms with it. But in our archaic constitution,” she said with a biting distaste in her voice, “a woman cannot become the sovereign of the country if she isn't married. That’s why this all had to happen so fast.”

“I see.”

The pair were quiet, both curled up on opposite sides of the wall; simultaneously experiencing a unique type of loneliness that only the other could understand. In less than 12 hours, they would be married, linked by an oath that neither of them had signed up for, in circumstances with responsibilities that neither of them were ready to handle.

“Harry,” she peeped, breaking a silence that hung heavy over them both, “you should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

She listened through the door to the rustling of him getting up off the floor beside her. “You should get some sleep too.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“So will I. I’ll see you at the altar, wifey.”

She let out a strangled laugh at the nickname he had adopted for her, her throat still tight from crying. She listened to his foot falls until they disappeared down the hallway before she mustered the strength to drag herself back to bed. Her staff was on strict orders from the wedding planner to have her woken up at 8 to begin getting ready and she wanted to get some rest before the sun came up.

And like clockwork, her curtains were thrown wide open at 8 am, sunlight blinding her as she woke up. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to her rude awakening, but soon she could make out the bustling room around her. Hair stylists, makeup artists, bridesmaids, flower girls, her mother, and some lady with an ear piece and a clip board fluttered about her bedroom with an excited chatter. Taking in the chaotic scene, it really hit her. Holy shit, I’m getting married today, she thought.

Her stomach twisted and turned in knots as the gaggle of women fawned over her, instructing her to stay still and “stop shaking” as they applied layers of makeup and fussed with her hair. Her hair was pulled into a delicately crafted low bun and her eyes were painted with neutral tones and a little bit of shimmer. Diamond and emerald earrings were threaded through her ear lobes and her fingernails were inspected to see if they needed any touch ups. Her shaky body was zipped into her dress and her feet slipped into her heels while her cathedral length veil was pinned meticulously into her hair. She was only missing one last thing.

“Your tiara, your highness,” her mother joked through the happy and proud tears welling up in her eyes. The tiara was the one last thing she needed before she was sent on her way to the cathedral. She bent down slightly, her mother delicately crowing her; when she rose, she couldn't help but grab onto her mother and hold her tight. It was hard for her not to think about the next time she would be crowned, a time when her mother wouldn’t be there to offer the guidance or support Y/N needed.

“I love you, Mama,” was all she said. It was the only reason all of this was happening. She loved her mother too much to let her down.

“I love you more, my princess,” her mother said gently, before turning away and scurrying off to do something else. Y/N tried to ignore the wince on her face when she moved too fast and the slight wheeze she made when she was speaking.

Surveying the scene around her, Y/N felt like she was about to die. Her heart was pounding hard in her ears, her palms were slick with sweat, her breathing was labored, and her chest felt tight. She had never been so overwhelmed with anxiety before. She had known today was coming her entire life, but the fact that it really was here was too much for her brain to wrap itself around.

It was like she had blacked out from fear, an hour of her life completely unaccounted for. She didn’t remember the last minute checks and touches to her hair and makeup. She didn’t remember her mother delicately resting her veil over her face. She didn’t remember getting in the car bringing her to the cathedral. She didn’t remember someone shoving a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She didn’t remember the music starting up or walking down the aisle of the giant imposing and ornate cathedral.

She was only brought back to reality when she reached the imposing altar and Harry delicately took her hand into his. His green eyes were painted with concern when he saw the worried crease between her eyebrows and the way she was chewing on her bottom lip under her sheer veil, swiping his thumb up and down her skin in an attempt to soothe her. It was the first time he had ever touched her voluntarily; it was a gentle and tender touch, full of care. She gripped back tight onto his hand, holding on for dear life as she thought over everything that was about to happen.

They were instructed to stand forward, watching the officiant as he droned on about love and duty to one’s country and spouse, but their hands stayed clasped tight onto each other, like they were being thrown into a stormy and unpredictable sea and the other’s hand was their only life line. And in a way, they were.

When they were told to turn towards each other to begin their vows, their eyes locked and she began to really look at him for the first time. She watched his plush lips closely as he recited the words fed to him from the officiant, although she didn’t hear a single word of them. Her eyes traced his strong cheekbones and landed on his adorable button nose before returning back to his eyes. She noticed the slight blue bags that sat under them, signaling he had just as much trouble sleeping as she did.

His eyes brought her a calm that she hadn’t felt in years, silently telling her that she wasn’t alone in all of this, his warm hands still holding on to hers punctuating that sentiment. There wasn’t anyone else in the massive cathedral but the pair of them anymore, just two scared kids trying to make it through the demands weighing on their shoulders together.

Shaky hands exchanged rings, her heart stopping for a moment when the ring caught and didn’t slide onto his finger gracefully. But her heart regained it’s rhythm when she heard a light chuckle coming from the man across from her, a gentle smile that was just big enough to flash a dimple at her, signaling that it would be okay.

She recited her vows without much thought, letting ‘I do,’ slip past her lips while still entranced by Harry’s intense yet comforting gaze. She watched his strong hands disconnect from hers as he lifted the lace trimming on the veil covering her face, dark lashes flickering down to her glossed lips. She let her eyes fall closed as he leaned in towards her and rested a hand on her cheek, prompted by the officiant and clapping coming from the pews, bracing herself for a feeling of disgust she hoped wouldn’t come.

He carefully connected their lips softly with a sweetness that felt gentle, tender, and caring. But there was more to the kiss than a softness, there was a respect there as well. His hand felt secure and protective on her cheek, and he pulled away with a smile after a short time, sure not to overwhelm her. The feeling of disgust in her belly that she was waiting for never came; if she didn’t know better she would say she felt an excited flutter.

They stood on the altar for a moment and just stared at each other, excited and relief filled smiles creeping into their lips, his dimples prominent. “Shall we, wifey?” Harry beamed with a sigh, extending a hand to lead her back down the aisle, now as a married woman.

“We shall, husband,” she giggled back, cheeks still a fiery red from their contact. Calling him her husband felt foreign, but not unwelcome.

Harry held her hand tight, keeping her in the moment by the warm contact. He held her hand down the aisle and all the way back to the palace, all throughout the signing of their marriage license, and all throughout the many, many photos taken of the two and their wedding party. She found comfort in his warm touch, continuing to ground her through the chaos that unfolded around them. Even when they had briefly disconnected from each other, he was always close by, only a call of his name away.

She was shocked by how careful he was around her giant dress, taking calculated steps to avoid dirtying the crisp white fabric. He was playing the role of a dutiful husband, and was seeming to enjoy it.

They spent the next hours just following orders from wedding planners, shuffled around from place to place, constantly surrounded by people. All she wanted was a moment to speak to him alone, but it seemed far out of reach.

That moment finally came in the middle of a dance floor, with hundreds of eyes staring at them as they danced. They swayed together slowly, a gentle rock to the delicate sound of strings. “Thank you for staying by me all day, Harry,” she said quietly, hoping that no one could hear them over the music.

“No need to thank me, wifey,” he said with a chuckle, his lips grazing against her ear as he spoke. She chuckled like always at the name and shook her head.

“I mean it. I don’t think I would have been able to get through all of this,” she said looking out at the crowd watching them and the giant ornately decorated ballroom they were in the center of, “if you hadn’t been by my side.”

“I quite like it, actually. I could get used to standing with you.” He said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, while her heart just about stopped.

She wasn’t able to answer before the music slowed to a stop and they were pulled apart by their mothers and dragged off to speak to “very important” people. He seemed just as disappointed as she was when they were separated.

When they finally found each other again, Y/N had changed. She had abandoned her massive conservative skirt of tulle and lace for a creamy silk gown that she could actually move in. It was a simple a-line v-neck dress with cap sleeves, but the back held a deep V that ended at the small of her back coupled with a loosely tied bow.

The cool breeze on her back made her feel sexy. She knew she was pushing the boundaries on what was appropriate for a princess and she loved it.

“My darling, you look gorgeous,” he said, taking her hand and spinning her so he could fully take in the new dress, mindful of her tiara and trying his best not to knock it off. Her cheeks burned at his flattery, something he could surely feel when he pulled her close and pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek.

“You’re just saying that,” she said bashfully staring down at the floor, deflecting the compliment easily.

“Wifey,” he singsonged the teasing nickname that had evolved into a term of endearment. He lifted her chin to look up at him and he looked down at her with the most honest expression she had ever seen him wear. “You look beautiful. You have all day.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She spoke quietly, barely audible, unsure what to make of her husband’s compliments. He leaned in to her, layed a tender kiss on her forehead, and dragged her across the room to the dance floor.

They stayed on the dancefloor most of the night, almost always touching in some sort of way, while dancing and celebrating with their friends and family.

And Y/N was happy; a genuine type of happiness that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Obviously, this wasn’t ideal. She was now married to a man she knew virtually nothing about, who had been a sworn enemy of hers only a few days ago, and had only begun enjoying his company last night. But happiness isn’t linear, she thought to herself.

Their night had passed in a joyous and opulent blur that went late into the night; full of food, dancing, and a swimming pool's worth of champagne.

Eventually both of them were led, by dutiful staff as they were both quite drunk and couldn’t exactly be trusted to make it on their own, to their new bedroom, or bedrooms depending on who you asked. They were led into the massive room consisting of two separate suites connected by a dressing room of sorts in a cloud of giggles, finding themselves in a fit of laughter after passing a portrait in the hall of some distant ancestor who had an amusing mustache.

“Thank you for leading us back,” she said, trying to gain a sober composure to the men who had flanked them on their way back, “you can go now.” The men shared a look between themselves that seemed to say ‘someone should be watching them,’ but followed the princess’ orders anyway.

“I just can’t understand how he got it to curl like that,” Harry cackled, beginning to wheeze from his hysterics and slightly stumbling as he was doubled over.

“Maybe it was natural like your curls,” she suggested, through her giggling hiccups that she let return when their staff left the room. “I quite like your curls, ya know? I like it when you let them grow a bit.”

They were still holding hands, despite being alone in their new found privacy, no longer needing the support from the other to shield them from the pressure of looking eyes.

“Then I’ll have to grow them out a bit,” he said, a smile still beaming at her with droopy drunk eyes. He tugged on her hand softly, bringing her body into his and setting his hand on the exposed skin of the small of her back. His hands were warm and soft and in the moment, she never wanted his hand to move from that spot again. “I can’t refuse the princess’ orders.” His voice had dropped low, not to a whisper but to a soft and lazy volume that made her feel safe.

Their faces were close and she could smell his strong vanilla and sandalwood cologne coming off him that she wanted to envelop herself in. He looked back down at her with a face that was loving, but she attributed it to the alcohol in his system. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with adoration for this man who she had spent so much of her life violently hating. Admiring and adoring him was much easier on her soul than harboring the hatred that had eaten at her for so long.

“I have another order,” she spoke quietly, letting the words tumble from her lips without her usually logical brain’s permission, “I want you to kiss me. For real this time.”

His lips were on hers as soon as the words left her own. It was sloppy and sweet, but with a passion behind it that Y/N felt in her bones. Their lips moved in a drunken rhythm, with Harry’s aimless wandering hands sliding up and down the silk of her dress before resting on her waist and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Her hands found and twirled the few of Harry’s curls that remained after they had cut his hair shorter than usual for the ceremony at the base of his neck and sunk her fingers into it, pulling him further into the kiss by his hair.

It was not long before their tongues found each other and the kiss deepened into a desperate dance of gasping for breath and soft moans into each other’s mouths. Harry’s mouth left hers and began to press sloppy open mouthed kisses down her neck while fiddling with the bow at the back of her gown that would release it from her frame.

Feeling him fuss with the bow made her pounding heart shift from one of excitement, to one of panic. This was too soon, she didn’t know him well enough. She didn’t know his favorite color or any of his hobbies. She didn’t know how he liked his tea, or if he drank it at all. She didn’t even know his middle name.

Her fuzzy mind couldn’t deny how much she didn’t know about him or the anxiety that made her want to pull away from the man and run.

“Harry,” she breathed, voicing the apprehension and anxiety that had begun to rise in her chest, “please stop.” She had squeaked out the words, a mix of embarrassment and panic taking over her slightly slurred words.

His hands froze, pulling himself back quickly from her, a mix of worry and guilt on his face. “Did I do something wrong? I just thought…” he let his words drop off, his own fuzzy mind not sure of what to say either.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Her cheeks grew hot and her eyes became glassy.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but the kiss on the altar that morning was the first time she had ever had another pair of lips on her own. Her entire life she had been shielded from men with any interest in her, her affection already spoken for and claimed. No man had ever held her hand romantically, or danced with her, or kissed her with the passion Harry just had.

Harry had lived a life with freedom that she had never been granted. She remembered all the times she had watched him interact with various girlfriends at school, and remembered the shame she had felt when he had ended up on the cover of tabloids after he was photographed naked and kissing a random woman on a yacht. Every article had ended with the same line that she still knew by heart.

“The prince is arranged to marry Princess Y/N when she comes of age in an effort to unify their countries.”

They had lived very different lives, with very different freedoms up until this point. It was sexist and archaic and unfair, but she couldn’t deny the impacts it had on her while she was around Harry. Even though she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to feel something real for him and she believed that he felt the same; she didn’t fully trust him like that yet. She couldn’t.

“I’ve never done any of this before, Harry. This morning was my first kiss.” Her cheeks burned in a mixture of embarrassment and shame as she spoke the words. “I like you a lot, but today has been nerve wracking and scary enough. I just can’t add another new thing into the mix, especially that. It’s just all too much. I’m sorry.”

Her sheltered and delicate heart couldn’t even bring herself to say the word ‘sex’.

As he listened to her explanation, his features softened. They were no longer fearful that he made a mistake or crossed a boundary, but they moved into a soft and caring smile.

“Y/N, my darling,” he began in a soft and sweet voice, “come here.” He beckoned her with open arms to rest up against his chest again. She had curled her arms in front of herself, holding them close to her body, as she walked into his arms and let herself be enveloped by them while resting her head on his chest. “You are my wife now, but I think we both understand that we are not exactly in this position by choice. I would never ask you to do something you are uncomfortable with and I am sorry that I crossed a boundary.”

“Thank you,” she peeped before he continued on.

“Also, I heard that part when you said you liked me a lot,” she could hear the smirk in his voice, making her cheeks inexplicably hotter. “And I like you a lot too.”

The pair stood in that hold long enough for them to lose track of time, just resting against each other in silence, listening to the other’s breathing. The silence that enveloped them was comforting, but Harry eventually spoke again, inexplicably soft and gentle in tone.

“Y/N, I really want to try to make us work.”

“So do I, Harry.”

The pair stood together in their stillness and peaceful quiet, until she let out a small yawn.

Harry released her from his grasp and began walking around the room, opening wardrobes and dressers searching for something. He breathed a small triumphant noise when he opened a drawer, spinning around with a light pink and baby blue nightgown in his hands.

“Do you need any help getting out of your dress? Would I be allowed to help?” His face was so thoughtful, carefully navigating the boundaries she had made him aware of but not set in stone yet.

She took the nightgown from his hands and slipped it over her head, the silk dress beneath it. “I just need help untying the bow.” Her voice was still low, a quiet and delicate murmur.

His hands carefully untied the bow, turning around for modesty’s sake, only turning back around when he heard the silk hit the floor.

She had begun carefully removing the bobby pins that still held her bun together, causing them both to giggle when her hair was finally released into a giant poof of curls and hair spray.

She looked so sweet to him. This was the first time he had seen her relaxed like this, no longer in a fancy dress, heels, and her hair and makeup done to perfection. She looked like a real person to him, not a princess who would soon become queen.

He moved gingerly towards the door of her room, but not before pressing one more soft kiss to her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, wifey.”

“Can’t wait, my husband,” she called from under the covers, watching him close the door behind him.

***

The two were sitting on a hot beach, baking in the sun when the call came.

It was day four of their honeymoon and a week after their wedding, spending their time alone together on a small island in the sun neither of them could remember the name to. It was a paradise straight out of a movie, and she swore nothing could ruin it.

They spent their days learning each other well, often joking that they should make up trivia quizzes for each other to see who knew the other best. She had learned that Harry’s eyes lit up like a child when he saw any type of animal, especially the small lizards that would run across the deck hanging off the back of their small beach house. It was also a surprise when she found out he loved to cook, whipping up a meal that could rival some of the chefs at the palace for dinner one night.

But her favorite thing she had learned about him by far, was how he sang in the shower. He had a low and melodic voice that he didn’t know traveled into the house from the outdoor shower. She would sit by the window closest to him, often pretending to write in the pink notebook he had given her in the garden, close her eyes and appreciate the man’s voice. She swore if he wasn’t a prince, he would be a singer.

In the time since their nuptials, the pair had become lovers. Always attached at the hip and sneaking kisses; they were blissfully and unstoppably becoming increasingly obsessed with the other. The word ‘love’ often played at Y/N’s lips, seeming to always be only a drink away from letting it slip out towards him.

Every day, they would walk down a short path from their house to a pristine white sand beach, picnic basket in hand, and sit. Sometimes they would sit in silence, just staring at the clear blue ocean, and other times they would talk about everything and anything that came to mind, or they would read silently next to each other. But they were always holding onto each other; sometimes it was a hand placed gently on the other’s thigh, or fingers intertwined between them.

The shrill ring of Y/N’s phone broke their fantasy while sitting on the beach on the fourth afternoon. Her heart dropped as soon as she heard it, knowing that the palace had agreed not to bother them unless the worst case scenario was happening.

She closed her eyes and braced herself, tears already threatening to breach her eyes, as she answered the phone with shaky hands. “Hello?” she choked out.

“Your highness, you need to come home.” She immediately recognized the panicked voice of her mother’s secretary on the other end. “It’s happening.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to remain as composed as possible. “We’re leaving now.”

Harry’s face held a furrowed brow and concerned eyes as she spoke. He immediately began rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her palm like he had done on their wedding day, but today, it did nothing to soothe her pain and anxiety.

She hung up the phone before letting out a heart wrenching cry. “We have to go home,” she sobbed. “She is dying.”

The entire journey home was silent after Y/N had composed herself on the beach.

She sat emotionless, staring straight ahead, flinching away every time Harry moved to touch her. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, but her voice brought no tone with it. She had become a shell of herself, losing the warmth behind her eyes that had begun to appear after the wedding.

She felt empty, like she had lost the ability to think, while simultaneously feeling so overwhelmed, by thoughts of her future as queen and the loss of her mother. She had become blank, inside and outside, the happiness she had begun to build for herself with Harry, melting away and leaving the hollowness of grief and dread.

It took them about twelve hours to reach the palace from the time she hung up the phone, but it wasn’t fast enough. The second she stepped out of the car, she saw the guards outside the palace dressed in their black uniforms that were reserved only for the passing of the sovereign. She closed her eyes silently, as if when she opened them up again their uniforms would turn back to their usual blue and maroon; but they didn’t, their clothing still black as night.

Her heels clicked the pavement, maintaining her immaculate posture and steely blank expression as she entered the palace, the loving man she had been excited to have a life with trailing mournfully behind her. She watched as if she was out of her body when she passed people, all now dressed in black, in the hall. They all acted the same.

First, they would give her the saddest look, silently extending their sympathies to the daughter who just lost her mother, and then bowing their heads in respect to the now reigning queen.

“I need to see my mother,” was all she said, before being led into her bedroom.

She hadn’t remembered when her father had died, too young to understand. All she could wrap her head around was that her Daddy had an accident and wasn’t coming home. But she remembered her mother’s cries, loud and earth shattering sobs that traveled up and down the hallways of the palace for all to hear.

She looked like she was just sleeping; arms peacefully crossed over her chest and eyes shut gently. But she was cold when Y/N reached for her hand. She tenderly brought her mothers hand to her lips, and pressed a final kiss to her hand, before walking blankly out of the room.

Her mother was gone. And the country fell onto her shoulders.

She heard Harry saying something as he followed close behind her. While she heard him, she didn’t process a thing he said. She stalked towards their bedroom which was unfortunately on the other side of the palace, locked in her daze. He trailed close behind her the entire way, trying to say anything that could break through to her, and stood dutifully outside the door of her side of the bedroom for an unknown amount of time after she had shut it in his face.

***

She didn’t speak, or show emotion, or allow anyone at all to touch her for three days. Only nodding or shaking her head in response to the rapid firing of questions she was asked about planning her mother’s funeral. Harry only saw glimpses of his wife, or the shell of Y/N that she had become, usually while she shut the door to her bedroom between them.

He left his door open all day everyday.

When he awoke the morning of the funeral and found her bedroom door open, his heart jumped. He slowly walked inside to find her in a room full of black dresses. Dresses had been laid carefully over every surface for her to choose from; the dress she would wear to her mother’s funeral and her first public appearance as queen.

“Good morning,” was all he said, quiet and careful.

The person that looked back at him was someone he didn’t recognize. The light was gone from her eyes, and she wasn’t the woman he was head over heels in love with anymore. She looked like her, but emanated sadness and anxiety like nothing he had ever seen before. Dark blue bags held under her eyes from not sleeping, her hair was tied behind her head in a messy unkempt ponytail, and she was dressed in a giant and ill fitting nightgown, shoulders bent down in a fashion that made her look small. The only feature of the put together, confident, and commanding woman he was married to that remained was the bright emerald ring that sat on her ring finger.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” she said without expression, but the tears started to fall down her face before she could finish the sentence. Harry moved quickly across the room to her when he saw her knees began to shake, catching her just in time as they gave out and she fell into his arms, settling them both onto the soft carpeted ground. That was when her heaving sobs began. It was a bone rattling cry that consumed her wholly and her exhausted and hurting brain could only put together two thoughts: she missed her mom, and she didn’t want to take on all this responsibility alone.

She sobbed into his shirt, holding onto the soft and worn fabric of his t-shirt for dear life, and he held her close to his body, slowly rubbing her back and letting all of the emotion fall out of her. She cried for a long time, giving herself a pounding headache, and when the tears finally began to slow she connected her tearful ones with Harry’s ever vibrant green eyes and mumbled, “I just thought I had more time with her. And I thought we had more time to just be us.”

“I know you did, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reveled in being able to touch her again, as his heart broke a little every time she would pull away from his touch.

“I’m not ready, Harry. I can’t do this all alone. It’s too much.” She spoke softly, shaking her head from side to side, still choking back sobs as she tried to regain her composure.

“You’re not doing anything on your own. The second we were married, your problems and responsibilities became mine too,” he assured her. He moved to grab her left hand in his own and showed her the rings that sat on their hands. “Remember these?” he breathed with a light chuckle. “You’re stuck with me for life, whether you like it or not.”

He watched as she processed the realization that he was there to lighten the load. It was like a lightbulb had gone off for her, slowly nodding along with what he said. She let her eyes fall to the dresses that surrounded her, but he gently took her chin and directed her eyes back to his. “Y/N, we are a team. I am always here for you and I always will be.”

He took a deep long breath before continuing on, “I love you.”

She didn’t think when she pressed her lips to him, she just did, desperate to be close to him again. A coldness had swallowed her for days, and his words brought back the smallest feeling of warmth, a glimpse of hope she had been desperate to find.

She had known the passing of her mother was coming for years, her illness getting progressively worse over time. She had always believed it would bring more pressure, weighing down on her heavier than ever before. But looking at their rings and the man before her, she was hit by the fact that she never had to carry the weight of the country all by herself. She had Harry the whole time. He was her partner; in life and in power.

“I love you, too,” she said after breaking the kiss, salty from all her tears. She was quiet and her voice was still shaking and unsteady from her sobs, but he was there, holding her and keeping her safe.

He held her hand, slotting their fingers together as he picked them both up off the ground and helped her pick a dress. It was a black blazer dress that fell below her knees with three crystal buttons going down the left side. Harry carefully helped her into the dress, his warm and respectful hands sliding up her bare skin as he pulled it up over her shoulders. He then sat her on her bed, and began to carefully brush out her hair, doing his best to work through knots without hurting the girl who was already hurting enough. And he held one of her hands gently while she sat at her vanity and did her makeup with her free one. He refused to leave her side.

Harry stayed firmly planted by her side throughout the entire day, not daring to leave her while she needed him. He knew that photos of him holding her hand tight during the funeral would make the press, and the photos of him wiping away her tears as they left would make the front page, but he didn’t care. She might be the queen, but she was also his Y/N.

***

Their fingers were always locked together, Harry’s thumb passing back and forth over the back of her hand in the steady rhythm he always used when she was stressed. He was there whenever she needed him, gently taking hold, to remind her that he was there and they were a team.

He cradled her hand as she crushed his, gritting through the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. It felt like her entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out, but Harry’s hand was the light at the end of the tunnel. She was screaming and crying in the small crowded room, feeling like a science experiment as all the doctors looked on at her pain.

But it all stopped when she heard the smallest little cry.

Then shouts of “It’s a girl!”

Exhausted and elated tears flowed freely from her eyes that were locked on the slimy little baby a nurse was burredly placing on her chest. She was so small, delicate and breakable, with strong lungs that screamed out to announce her entrance into the world. And when her eyes opened for the first time, they revealed the same bright sea glass green tone that matched her father, the green she had been falling in love with and swimming around in for years.

This baby was so much more than just a little girl, not only to them, but to their countries. She would forge a kingdom united in the future, a product of peace and partnership. She was a symbol of unity and a future of kindness between their countries. She was the future.

But for right now, the tiny baby was just theirs.

She felt him press a proud kiss to her head before she connected their lips together in a tear filled kiss before they both looked back to their new pride and joy who was still screaming for all the attention.

“She’s beautiful, darling,” he whispered quietly though tears next to her, hand still grasped tightly onto hers. “You did such a good job.”

“Literally couldn’t have done it without you,” she chuckled, still staring down, entranced by the little girl who looked like her daddy.

The pair stayed with their baby, quiet and just being, long after the doctors and nurses left the room. They learned she liked to scream and sleep, about as much as you could learn about someone only hours old. But she didn’t have a name. They had been debating for the last nine months over what the little princess would be called.

“I think she should be named after your mother,” Harry would say.

“But I think she should be named after your grandmother,” She would reply.

Their roundabout banter never left the pair, only changed; from malicious and teasing, to one of loving partnership.

“So neither?” he quipped with a small smirk while holding the little girl tight to his chest.

“I guess we have to compromise; diplomatically,” she said with a giggle, alluding to how they got to this position in the first place.

“I feel like a loving marriage and a new baby is pretty good for diplomatic relations.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Please send feedback and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles #prince harry styles #Royal AU #Harry styles enemies to lovers #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #one direction fanfiction

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peace-coast-island · 4 years

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Diary of a Junebug

Kicking back at a seaside resort

Feel the wind in your hair and bask in the warm sunlight. Dive into the crystal clear water and immerse yourself in the world below. Float as far as the waves will take you.

I think Aqua Shores is becoming one of my favorite vacation spots. I’ve heard good things about the island for years but never got around to looking into it until a few months ago. It’s a bit hard to get there so that’s why it’s not overrun with tourists. Thanks to Isabelle and Tom Nook, we got a great vacation package deal that has made all the travel worth it!

While relaxing by the pool, I ran into two familiar faces - Dae and Marisol. They reside in Tokyo but visit Peace Coast Island once a year to host a big art exhibition at Seashore Path College. Dae Jeong is a big name in animation as she’s a producer, animator, writer, and founder of Sound Stories - an independent animation studio known for making strides in queer media.

Her wife, Marisol Alon, is a storyboarder and producer who’s the showrunner of the award winning show Flames of Amber, a must watch if you’re interested in fantasy, drama, and comedy. It’s kinda like a mix between a magical girl kind of show but aimed towards an older audience and a sitcom that tends to lean on the serious side. It’s one of those shows where it’s a mix of self-contained episodes and season long overarching plots. Season three, which is airing now, has been knocking it out of the park so far and we’re only like eight episodes in so far. It’s got dark humor, touching moments, wholesome slice of life stuff, stunning animation, and well developed characters - I can’t recommend it enough!

Dae’s the kind of person who built her life from the ground up. Having grown up in a family that disapproved of her lifestyle - specifically her interest in art - Dae is also an advocate in making the arts more accessible as well as helping those who are discouraged from expressing themselves. She’s one of those big figures - celebrity doesn’t fit her, though she might be considered one - who’s not performative when it comes to social justice. Despite what her detractors say, her activism hasn’t ruined her career, it made her stronger and more vocal. She’s the reason why animation is able to make big strides in queer and Asian representation.

It’s no question that I’m a big fan of Dae and Marisol. They’re also very much down to earth, the kind of people who like to keep it real. They mean what they say and say what they mean - even if it means putting their careers on the line. Basically if they were straight white men they wouldn’t be getting as much unwarranted criticism or be picked apart by haters.

Dae’s not one to back down from her opponents. She grew up in a super conservative, predominantly white suburban town, which explains a lot. She was born in Seoul and adopted at the age of two by a white American couple, to which she became known as Dani. Her parents adopted her because they were unable to have another child so they opted for “a poor exotic orphan” to make themselves look good. As a result, Dae never felt like she fit in with her family because they forced her to be someone she’s not.

From mocking her interests to clearly favoring her brother, it’s no wonder Dae resents her foster parents. It’s a sore subject for her but one she feels like it’s important to talk about as there’s a lot of people who grew up in a similar upbringing. It wasn’t until she left for college when Dae finally began to embrace her Asian side after years of being ashamed of her heritage.

Dae’s relationship with her foster brother is an interesting one. Jace was the golden child, the good looking athletic star who was popular and charismatic. Dae describes her relationship with him as complicated. While they weren’t exactly close, Jace was the only one who usually treated Dae like an actual person instead of a trophy or an emotional punching bag.

While things between Dae and her family were always strained, it reached a breaking point when Jace was diagnosed with cancer and lost his leg, ending a promising future as a basketball player. Her parents took their anger out on Dae while expecting her to act like a therapist as they cope badly with the circumstances. Jace also pushed Dae around but he would come to her defense at times if their parents go too far. While the parents were falling apart, the siblings came to a middle ground.

The years from Jace’s diagnosis to his death were the best in terms of their relationship, Dae once said. Maybe having cancer changed him as it knocked him off the impossibly high pedestal his parents put him on. With no one to turn to as their parents were too busy being shitty people, they reached an understanding over who their enemies were. They weren’t friends, but at least Jace admitted that the only reason why he stuck his neck out for Dae was because he found her “useful” in the war between their parents.

Jace was the reason why Dae was able to leave for good. Her parents were always against Dae pursuing art so they did everything they could to discourage her. Dae taught herself digital art so she won’t have to deal with her parents finding her art and destroying it. She worked hard to get scholarships since she’ll be paying every cent herself so she secretly joined competitions with Jace’s help. Eventually her effort paid off and she received an offer to study animation in Leeds. Knowing that it was her ticket out, Jace offered to help pay for her tuition as well as an apartment. He also made sure that their parents wouldn’t get in her way and for that, Dae is forever grateful.

In Leeds, it was like Dae was given a second lease on life. Free to be herself and pursue her dreams, she stopped being Dani and went back to her birth name. There, she met Marisol and they began dating a few years later. Jace checked in on her a few times over the next year before he died.

After graduating college, Dae and Marisol worked at a studio in London for a couple years before moving to Tokyo. Dae’s got an impressive array of works like Firefly Garden, Unknown Mysteries of the Seas, The Garden Palace, Neighbors, Northern Winters, and Carousel Dreams. Her whole career’s pretty much a middle finger to everyone who told her that she was destined to fail.

She's said that a part of her wants to go up to her foster parents and tell them to fuck off. But if they knew how successful she was - as in how much money she makes - they’d exploit her, bleed her dry, and destroy everything she worked hard for. Dae meant it when she said that she’s never going back.

It’s good to see Dae and Marisol kicking back at the pool. They’re here for their tenth wedding anniversary, taking a much needed vacation from their busy lives. It’s their first time at Aqua Shores too, having arrived a couple days before us. Both are trying not to do anything work related during their vacation, which is a bit of a challenge, especially for Marisol. The relaxing atmosphere does help a lot though.

After spending a good part of the day chilling by the pool, I invited Dae and Marisol to have dinner with us at the May Harbor Diner. So we enjoyed a beachside dinner while watching the waves and exchanging stories. I think Daisy Jane was a bit starstruck at first but by dinner she was comfortable enough to talk about art with Dae and Marisol. They both gave her a lot of helpful advice on getting her art out there, which was super nice. Dae later told me that she sees a lot of herself in Daisy Jane and I can see that too.

We stayed out until around eight and our group split up. Daisy Jane, Dae, Marisol, and I went on a ferry for an island tour that was about an hour long. At night it’s almost like Aqua Shores transforms into a different place. It’s a different kind of peaceful, like wandering the streets when most of the world is asleep so time moves differently in a way that makes you super aware of it. Too bad it’s hard to take decent pictures of the scenery - I tried and while the pics aren’t terrible, they really don’t do the island justice.

The lights are so gorgeous to look at, like who would’ve thought that street lights can be so pretty?

Then we hung out at the pool until 1, where we talked about Flames of Amber and binged on a few episodes. It’s fascinating hearing behind the scenes stuff from Marisol, especially in a casual setting instead of like a convention or something. Dae talked about what it’s like running an animation studio, which was fun to learn about. She and Marisol are so passionate and honest about their work, it makes me appreciate and respect them even more.

Before heading out, we got the next two days planned out - scuba diving and riding a hot air balloon! Plus there’s a new episode of Flames of Amber tomorrow so that’s another thing to look forward to.

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

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wordswithkittywitch · 5 years

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Barbie: A Fairy Secret

Well, it’s finally happening. I’ve lowered my standards enough to start posting my thoughts on Barbie movies. Well, my in-depth analysis so I can give all 37 (I’m counting both Barbie and the Rockers half-hour shorts as one movie. It was a continuing plot.) Barbie movies a rank based on my own arbitrary standards. And because it’s arbitrary, they are being scored out of 110 and I starting more or less randomly with the one I watched earlier this afternoon.

Barbie A Fairy Secret: Overall Score: 54/110 Why is it a score out of 110 instead of 100? Because Barbie gives 110%. Also because there are twelve categories, and only one of them is negative. Why is this score so low? Simply put, I’ve seen all the Barbie films and this isn’t the best one. I still enjoy it, and let’s find out why that is...

High points: 6/10 This is a genuinely funny movie, even if sometimes the jokes are so stupid you’re a little ashamed of laughing at them. Even if you’re watching as an adult, you have to accept this is fundamentally a kids’ movie and it’s going to be silly. Now, of course there are some kids’ movies that don’t have this problem, and some of them are even in the Barbie series. But this is a film where Ken Matrix-dodges a puff of glitter.

The architecture of Gloss Angeles and in particular the palace really steals the show; even if a lot of the floating platforms look like gold chocolate kisses hovering upside down. Beyond the gleaming gold and jewel-bright colours, we see a streaked pastel sky extending forever in all directions. Really. All directions. Raquelle asks how far away the ground is, and is quickly informed there is no ground.

Low points: -4/-10 The animation style wasn’t as polished as some of the later Barbie movies, and usually I can just ignore that, but it also lacked the pastel charm of some of the earlier ones. It was kind of in an awkward middle ground. The faces are a little stiffer than other films, and a lot of the emoting needs to be done with the body language.

And on a far more petty note, I don’t think that the name “Zane” sounds as much like a fairy as “Graciellla”. Or “Graylen”. Or even “Crystal”. “Taylor” is on about the same level of sounding like a fairy as “Zane” though.

WLW appeal: 6/10

I’m not saying that two women admitting that they both wanted to be closer but thought that the other one didn’t like them, hugging and then a rainbow of light transforms into fairies, shattering the cage they were in is necessarily lesbian subtext, but it’s really easy to read it that way. Especially since right after it happens Taylor says love is more powerful than a Passion Fairy’s anger.

However, Barbie and Raquelle’s moment of understanding each other pales in comparison to Taylor and Carrie’s relationship. The two are unquestionably close, never out of the other’s sight. However, the thing that made them read as most romantically involved to me wasn’t anything they did on screen: it was Princess Gracellia’s past history with them. When three people are close friends and two of them become so close they cut the third person out without realising they’ve upset them at all, it doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re dating, but any time I personally can say that I really lost a friend, it was a variation on that story. I’ve seen it in other people, and much to my disgust almost any time someone brings up that this is a problem, the blame falls on the “third wheel” for not realising that romantic love is obviously more important than any of their previous friendships, and suggesting that if they were emotionally mature they would just go off and fine someone to snog themselves, thus becoming a fully realised romantic being.

Okay, none of the romantic part of the last paragraph was textual, and I am definitely projecting at least a little bit; but this is a recurring theme across media, and it sucks, and I enjoy the fact I can avoid it. Yet another reason I have watched all the Barbie movies.

Ace Appeal: 4/10 I suppose this needs to be said at least once, and since this one is getting posted first, it’s a natural choice to get this disclaimer out of the way. No, I don’t think that anyone in Mattel offices ever stops and says, “Hang on. Does the plot of this children’s movie appeal to the sensibilities of adult asexuals?” However, I’m pretty sure there is some variation on “Not all kids like romance, and most parents want to keep the romance their kids see in media to be on the tame side, so we’ll have to pay attention to how much romance we put in and how it’s handled.” However, as an adult asexual, it is always freaking refreshing to have characters interested in something besides The Sex™, and the best place I have found to seek that is in children’s media.

In a movie aimed at adults, one would usually establish the main romantic couple with kissing, steamy stares, and other things that make your friends not want your partner hang out with the rest of the group. Or, in the case of The Airzone Solution, goosing your partner while she’s having a conversation with someone else, making her voice go up so high I finally recognise Nicola Bryant without her fake American accent. (by the way, if you’re looking for movies with asexual appeal, The Airzone Solution is not one of them.)

This is the face of a man who cannot unwatch The Airzone Solution.

Also, in a movie aimed at adults, no one can end in the same romantic relationship that they started in, which Barbie can avoid because the character of Ken cannot exist in a vacuum: Ken is Barbie’s boyfriend (the Barbie Vlogs/Dreamhouse Adventures timeline notwithstanding; especially given that there really is no question that in that particular timeline “Karbie is endgame” as the kids say.), all personality traits are related to this. If Ken appears in a Barbie movie, we know he already is Barbie’s boyfriend because Barbie is a wish fulfilment fantasy for young girls: As many rewarding careers as they like, a steady relationship with someone who adores them, a large group of friends, pretty much any material goods they can think of at their fingertips, and of course, magical powers. This, quite frankly, is why Barbie works as a woman somewhere in her twenties or thirties and why she doesn’t make as much sense when people try to age her down into a teenager. Seriously. That’s what Skipper is for. How can Barbie have a sixteen-year-old little sister if she herself is sixteen? It doesn’t make sense. But I’m getting off-topic.

This is a kids’ movie, so we establish that Ken and Barbie are dating by having them being adorable duelling with spoons over ice cream sundaes. And that’s why I’ve watched every Barbie movie ever made.

As I mentioned before, the subplot with Gracellia feeling cut out of Taylor and Carrie’s relationship feels very familiar to anyone whose friends distanced themselves for their all-important romance. And while this could happen to anyone, being dropped out of your alloromantic/allosexual friends’ lives when they discover dating is one of the most recognisable and most terrible parts of the asexual/aromantic experience. Does this mean that any of the characters present as asexual or aromantic? As usual, not necessarily. Gracellia clearly isn’t aromantic. But, also as usual, “I’ve been there! It sucks!” is a common step in headcanoning a character as ace. And even if they aren’t, it’s still relatable. We also see a happily married middle-aged couple, Reena and Graylen. Narratively, they exist to show that a marriage between a fairy and a human can work, but I could have seen way more of them being cute. But I like cute old married couples. Which may be weird for someone desperately looking for characters in any form of media who actually like their love interests and stay with them through the entire story instead of breaking up to add more drama. Anyone who has had their friends start dating knows that couples do not need to be breaking up to cause drama.

Graylen’s character design is almost exactly like the advisor in the Fairytopia series. You might not expect “older black fairy with gray muttonchops and friendly advice” to be a stock character in Barbie films, but there he is. Often, Barbie movies do not have a full mouth kiss in them. If there is, that is often because there’s a wedding ceremony. This is an example of the latter. The couple who isn’t married at the end, however, express their love by trying not to be married against their will. Still, no matter how relatable all of this is to an asexual, it does end in a very Midsummer Night’s Dream everyone paired off sort of way.

Entourage: 6/10

Raquelle- Those familiar with Life in the Dreamhouse already know Raquelle as Barbie’s self-proclaimed rival and a twisty bitch who lives for drama, making her one of the most enjoyable characters to watch. She has a different voice actress here, which can throw you a little. Especially if you’re trying to remember which My Little Pony voice actress has replaced her Life in the Dreamhouse voice actress.

Taylor- Ginger shoe fairy with a pink dress and a posh accent. Mostly responsible for the “tell Barbie the truth, go to Gloss Angeles, and rescue Ken” plan.

Carrie- Brunette purse fairy with a purple dress. Probably the slower of the two. That said, even though she supplies much of the comic relief, it doesn’t stem from her being stupid, it stems from her never-emptying purse of visual gags. By the end, Carrie’s jokes have started to grate on Raquelle:

“I think this time I’ve got a home run!”

“Enough! It’s going to be a baseball bat, right?”

Art Style: 5/10 I’ll admit this isn’t my favourite era of Barbie movies as far as animation is concerned. The faces aren’t as emotive as some of the other styles of animation. Raquelle for one makes up for this with full-body sarcasm. The architecture in Gloss Angeles is really the highlight of the film’s visuals: with large amounts of sparkling crystal and gold curlicues putting one in mind of a jewellery box with it’s contents spilling out. Particularly in the fight scene between Ken and Zane, where they recreate the “Duel” bit from that 90s Gladiators show where the contenders sand on an elevated platform and hit each other with what appear to be large fancy cotton buds. The only difference is that the contenders have wings. The architecture is shown off nicely in the “welcome to Gloss Angeles” montage. Unlike films like a Mermaid Tale, they did not feel the need to put dozens of puns in this sequence, they just put wings on everything they could think of—dogs, cats, handbags, coffee cups, shopping bags…

Plot: 7/10 The plot takes place within the “Life in the Dreamhouse” continuity: Barbara Roberts is a highly successful celebrity who lives in Malibu with her three younger sisters, is dating her longtime boyfriend Kenneth Carson, and has a close group of friends, including Rochelle who openly hates all of them (barring Ken) but remains part of the social circle.

A jealous fairy named Crystal feeds Princess Graciella, ruler of the fairies, a love potion which makes he fall in love with Ken. Graciella kidnaps Ken and declares she will marry him that very day. Zane, Graciella’s previous boyfriend and also a fairy, challenges Ken to three successive duels as Ken tries to back out of this. Barbie and Rochelle, rival film stars, come to Ken’s rescue, aided by two fairies who have been living in the human world disguised as humans and working as Barbie’s personal stylists.

The whole thing feels a lot like Barbie does Comedia del Arte, which I love. A love square that is resolved with two couples at the end, a love potion, over the top comedic figures, a lovesick woman declaring she will marry someone she just met, the upper class characters being saved by the complex planning of their clever servants; if you accept personal stylists as the modern equivalent of a tiring maid.

Zane is probably the main reason I keep thinking Comedia del Arte when I’m watching this. And it’s not just that he has the same accent as el Captaino (a stock figure in Comedia del Arte. The foreign captain who is usually a comedic rival for the young lover). In his first scene, he challenges Ken to three successive duels: “So, you think I am not bold enough for two duels? For that, I challenge you to a third duel!” “Why not? I wasn’t doing anything after the second one anyway.”

I can’t help but think about how the plot would have been different if princess Graciella had drunk the love potion three seconds earlier and fallen in love with Rochelle instead of Ken. “I have to save my frienemy who has just graduated from pain in the ass to total bitch.” would have been a very different story to “I need to save my boyfriend.”

The whole thing is a mess of consent and lack thereof. Crystal puts a spell on Graciella so she becomes obsessed with Ken, Graciella puts a spell on Ken so that a marriage proposal comes out of his mouth, much to his horror. And, if the whole “Comedia del Arte” thing hadn’t been running through my head the entire time, the fact that it pretty much starts and ends like A Midsummer Night’s Dream would have done it: Someone gives the queen of the fairies a love potion. She falls in love with the worst possible option. Humans get involved. The two romantic couples are sorted back into their ideal combination, the fairies convince the humans it was all really a dream. Even Carrie and Taylor reminding the audience of the secret at the end puts me in mind of Puck’s final speech.

The plot would have gotten a higher score if it hadn’t been for one plothole that seems to grow and shrink the more I examine it: Crystal was in love with Zane, but he was in love with Graciella. So she gets her hands on a love potion and uses it on… not Zane. I guess thought if he wasn’t in a relationship he would pick her on his own. Perhaps she wanted “real love” and was prepared to give her princess a chemically assisted version. We will never know.

Character design: 6/10

It’s not unusual for the cast to be wearing their best costumes in the final act of a Barbie film, but in this case this was achieved by putting most of them in fairly ugly outfits for most of the action.

The costuming was quite up to standards in the last fifteen minutes, but that leaves us with fifty seven minutes of unnecessary peplum to account for.

Raquelle and Barbie appear in formal gowns for the red carpet premiere:

Raquelle wears a one-shoulder purple and blue gown with a lettuce edged wrap skirt with a high-low hem, simple blue teardrop earrings, and some excellent shoes.

As usual, Raquelle is quickly upstaged by Barbie, who wears a ruby pink bodice with a peplum hem over a bright violet mermaid skirt. These are accessorised with rhinestone rose jewellery and silver pumps, although the shoes are only revealed when Raquelle rips the back of her dress up to her thighs.

While these gowns only show up in the first scene, they are easily the best looks they wear in the film, which is understandable as they are the dresses worn by the dolls. The doll look sort of reappears at the start of the final act, where Barbie and Raquelle transform into their winged form from the dolls, which is the tops from their red carpet gowns on cocktail dresses.

Barbie’s rose peplum top melts much more pleasingly into the three flounces of her miniskirt, while Raquelle has a flounced A-line miniskirt with the slightest edge of silver and pink petticoats peeking out the bottom. A silver ruffle accents her neckline and compliments her wide silver belt. The looks are finished in both cases with those curling vine heels that Mattel was putting on all the fairy dolls in the early aughts. This is such a breath of good taste after their “normal” outfits from the main part of the film.

After the premiere, the human characters really get the short end of the stick as far as costumes are concerned, and while I can see how it was important to make the humans visually distinct from the fairies, even when everyone is wearing “clip on” wings.

Raquelle spends most the movie in cobalt blue knee-length trumpet dress and a pink polka dot mini sweatshirt; which frankly should never have happened. The effect is completed with strappy silver heels which barely do not reach the end of leatherette black leggings. Sadly, the effect is “I dressed Barbie first and these are all the doll clothes I have left over”.

Barbie’s main look seems to be doing everything it can to keep a knee-length jean trumpet skirt with pink stitching from ruining the rest of the outfit. This is done with a pink and white striped tee and a half-sleeve black jacket. I don’t want to be too hard on this look, I’ll admit, because I can see my sister wearing something like that, but hopefully a more flattering cut of skirt.

But then again, I’ve always hated trumpet miniskirts; I hated them when they were in style, I hate them now that they aren’t, and I hate the fact I owned two because that’s what was for sale at Walmart in the mid 2000s and I hadn’t taken to making most of my own clothing yet. I called them “crotch ruffle skirts”. I was a bitch in high school.

Miss Roxelle appears very briefly in a tasteful white and gold two piece pencil skirt suit. As a fashion designer and the older fairy who they come to for help, it makes sense that she has a classy, mature vibe.

For the wedding, Ken gets a fashion upgrade from “we put him in a plaid shirt to make him look more heterosexual” (which was kind of ruined by the teal and metallic gold palette) to “one of those really tacky heterosexual wedding toppers” for the wedding scene. The horror of someone tied up and being forced to marry someone they barely know is somewhat diminished by the image of groomsmen elbowing each other and chuckling, “As usual, am I right, men?” That said, matching the pattern on his lapels to the pattern on his wings was a nice touch.

Crystal takes the purple/green slightly alternative route in villain costume design: fingerless gloves, cropped vest, stripy skirt, asymmetrical bob, purple leggings and black ankle boots.

And interestingly, she is the only fairy who presents as a girl who has dragonfly wings. I’m not going to say that this means Crystal is transgender, but I am definitely going to be thinking about that for a while. Part of me thinks, “Sure, why not, that’s probably going to happen in fairy society as much as human”, and part of me thinks, “Usually it’s the heroes or sidekicks in Barbie movies that get queercoded.” So let’s just move past Crystal’s boyish wings.

I spend a lot of time Graciellla is on screen trying to figure out how her hair is accomplished. Like most Barbie characters, it looks physically possible so that it can be recreated on a doll. It looks as if two French braids were started on her head, then the loose hair was tucked under itself, a little bit like a rolled chingon.

It probably is related to the fact her standard outfit is pretty basic: a petal pink strapless cocktail dress with a rose pink sash. It’s accessorised with a mess of pink rhinestone jewellery to set off her tiara.

Zane starts off in a fantasy style purple vest and striped jeans in a desaturated purple palette: The gold trim and collar pushes it towards the high fantasy fairies were meant to be, but it appears that halfway down the design they realised that they wanted it to be reflective of modern fashion and gave him pinstriped jeans. Don’t get me wrong, I love purple pinstriped jeans, I own purple pinstripe jeans, but they don’t go with his top. High fantasy and mid-2000s fashion are hard looks to marry, and I’m objecting to this example. Now, I could have forgiven him for wearing knee-high boots and cuffing his trousers to show them off, if they weren’t striped jeans and black combat boots. He’s half pirate and a half “I just came from a Green Day concert”. And he tries so hard to make it work. Wearing the exact same outfit in white and gold to his wedding was a choice. Once of several stupid choices made by Zane over the course of this movie.

Zane goes full Star Trek Next Gen for his combat jumpsuit: And honestly, I kind of love it. The gold and cobalt blue set each other off beautifully, the wide gold stripes down Zane’s legs, the elegantly tooled golden breastplate, the spirals of gold coming up his boots to the wide gold edging.

We actually see the slits the back of Zane’s jacket when he gets on his knees to propose to Graciella, and all of the feminine fairies (except for Crystal, as mentioned before) are wearing tube tops and off-the shoulder dresses so that they can dress without damaging their wings. But it appears that his wings are emerging from narrow slits in the back of his vest. Which might account for why the masculine fairies have smaller, narrower wings; more like a dragonfly than a butterfly. And it might also account for why Crystal has dragonfly wings and a cropped vest.

Finally, we have Taylor and Carrie, who ride the line between fantasy fashion and human fashion by wearing some fairly simple, “this looks like a doll” dresses. They also look far more like a “set” than any other characters because while their outfits look different, they are comprised out of the same basic elements: A dress with a fitted satin bodice, capped sleeves, and a flounced circle skirt accessorised with a short bead necklace, simple earrings, a headband and a side ponytail. The only real difference between them is their magical focuses:

Carrie, being a purse fairy, has a glittery doctor-style handbag; so called because the frame opens out like an old doctor’s visiting bag, not because like the Tardis it is bigger on the inside. Though both are true. Taylor has magenta glitter peek-toe platforms with knee-high laces with wings on the heel and rosettes on the toe. Raquelle admits, “If I had to trust my life to one pair of shoes, it would be those.” as Taylor chirps: “The more fabulous my shoes, the stronger my magic!” Me too, buddy, me too.

Music: 3/10

There is really only the main theme, Can You Keep a Secret? which plays over the opening and closing credits. It’s peppy, it’s happy, it’s not so stupid you’re grating your teeth, but ultimately it’s pretty forgettable. It serves its purpose and allows the story to move on. It plays again during the “welcome to Gloss Angeles” montage.

Animal companion: 4/10 Halfway through the movie, Pegaponies show up and help the humans with their difficulty in flying with clip-on wings. The pegaponies show up, transport the main characters to the palace, and are never heard from again. They do not talk or exhibit greater than animal intelligence, but however they do greatly advance the Rochelle and Barbie friendship plot by allowing the two of them to discuss how their relationship, and their animosity, formed. All pegaponies are recolours of the same mesh: a stocky, small horse with a striped mane and sparkly lace-like wings. The heroes all ride sidesaddle, partially because they’re all in dresses and partially because they all have wings themselves. While I usually subscribe to the less-is-more approach to pets in Barbie movies, in this case more might have been more.

Antagonists: 7/10 Zane- Since Barbie has Raquelle, it only makes sense that Ken gets someone who declares himself his rival as Ken protests that they aren’t actually pursuing the same goal. And like Raquelle, Zane is over the top and hilarious. He’s probably my favourite part of the movie. Graciellla – Crown Princess of Gloss Angeles, because “queen” sounds evil unless you’ve got a kid. While she isn’t exactly a bad person, she spends most of the film trying to force someone who isn’t in love with her to marry her. Actually, that is in fact pretty bad, but it is slightly mitigated by the fact she’s under a love spell. Remember kids, love spells aren’t consent! She spreads the awful cycle of “fairies don’t need no consent” by magicing a proposal out of Ken’s mouth inbetween his protestations to let him go. So, even though she changes her plan as soon as she’s not under a spell, she still has the whole “I’m an immoral fairy who really doesn’t care how much I mess up human lives” thing going on, which I also enjoy. Kids have to learn to fear the fey sooner or later. Crystal- From her arm-warmers to her stripes, here’s the soft grunge girl here to punish the preps for existing. Well, to punish everyone around her for the sorry state of her love life. Unrequited love stinks. Of course, what makes her a villain instead a tragic hero is that she is perfect content to ruin as many lives as it takes to get what she wants. Again, fairies tend to be amoral. Raquelle- Only an antagonist in that she remains Barbie’s self-proclaimed rival, and pain in the rear, even as she joins her quest to save Ken. To be fair, at no point does Raquelle stop thinking of herself as Ken’s friend. Partnering with a rival to save a mutual friend is probably Raquelle’s most antihero moment across all media she appears in. So while there’s a lot of antagonists, ranging from rivals to villains to “manic force of nature” I would have a difficult time saying, “You know what movie has some great antagonists? A Fairy Secret.” Although it definitely gets points for variety.

Doll Tie-in: 4/10

Comparing the doll commercial to the movie, I get the feeling that the people making the commercial hadn’t been given the plot to the movie before writing the script for the advertisement.

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Personally, as someone who just genuinely likes dolls, I don’t like the moulded on bodices, since they limit the number of dresses you can put over them. I get the idea that the moulded on swimsuits are to give the dolls some vestige of dignity when the girls are leaving them undressed.

As for “transforming dresses”, the Fairy Secret dolls all have variations on the “skirt folds out into wings” gimmick.

This was also the period where the doll designers decided that plastic moulded curlicue laces going all up a doll’s shins said “fairy fashion”, and that, I’ll admit, I like.

At least the faces have better moulds than the characters in the films.

#Kittywitch has watched every Barbie film #Barbie #reviews #meta #Barbie: a Fairy Secret

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sinetheta · 7 years

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Conversation: Lawrence Lek talks Sinofuturism, automation, identity, and communism

The article published below is the full version of an interview conducted by Iris Lang for Issue #4 of sinθ magazine. This was abridged in the print edition.

Artwork by art director Elisabeth Siegel.

The Chinese language refers to the future using back, behind, below, and to the past as forward, front, above.

Yet in the alternative realities that London-based artist Lawrence Lek creates, the two are melded together into curious and evocative simulations of seemingly familiar places — art galleries in Berlin, London locales from Dalston to the Crystal Palace, and most recently a vision of Singapore in 2065 a century after independence.

In August 2016, Lek released Sinofuturism (1839 - 2046 AD), a video essay exploring the idea of China’s contemporary technological advancement and the people behind it as components of a greater Artificial Intelligence (AI) poised not necessarily to take over the world, but simply outlive it. Taking seven cultural cliches associated with China, from copying, to studying, to labor and gambling, Lek illuminates a perspective on Chinese society so transparent it has gone unnoticed by domestic and diaspora alike — until now.

Viewed through the lens of automation and AI, stereotypes of Chinese society become self-evident vindications of a future that already exists. For Lek, Sinofuturism is not about resistance or liberation. Instead, it takes the diverse array of perceptions of China and uses them to underpin a blueprint for survival that has allowed a nation once dubbed backward to continue its plough into the illusive space of forward, front, and above.

Sine Theta recently sat down with Lek (@lawrencelek) to talk about everything from the age of automation to media and identity. The following conversation was conducted over Skype in February of 2017.

IRIS LANG: In Sinofuturism, you talk about wholly embracing these clichés of Chinese society as a means of subverting cultural stereotypes. As someone who is Malaysian-Chinese and born in Germany, educated in the UK, how did you become aware of these stereotypes and how did they affect your perceptions of China and your own ethnic identity growing up?

LAWRENCE LEK: For me, Chinese society, because of its focus on the family, is something that assimilates into a culture in very different ways. Of course, every culture does that differently. I think what’s interesting is that –– obviously things like African diaspora or Chinese diaspora happen in many different ways –– but for example, I also do feel there’s a reason why, let’s say, a very big feature of overseas Chinese populations is Chinatowns across the world. You might have Japantowns or Koreatowns but generally Chinatown is the dominant one. And I think it’s to do with not just language barriers but also a different kind of family, clan, insular, isolated mentality that earlier generations of Chinese immigrants had, whether it’s in Southeast Asia like in Malaysia, Singapore, Thailand, etc. versus in the West like in the UK.

And of course, another thing that’s quite different is that the nature of Chinese immigration to America via New York or California is really different to the nature of Chinese immigration to Southeast Asia, and many of these came along at different points of history. In America, it had more to do with 19th century American history, whereas in Southeast Asia it had much more to do with British colonial expansion. My parents, for example, are Malaysian-Chinese but they moved to Singapore like many people of their generation did because it’s majority Chinese –– more opportunities and so on. Even within that specific post-colonial context, in Southeast Asia. I was born in Germany but I grew up until I was ten in Hong Kong, Bangkok, and Singapore, so I always thought about what makes me different to, you know, people who just live in Kowloon going about their life. Why am I able to have what we would now call this kind of ‘millennial’ experience? And it’s a lot to do with the growth of globalised and neoliberal society, as well as economic development of Singapore and Hong Kong, and the opening of China, all of these things. It’s all tied together.

But it’s very rare to see an artistic representation of that. For example, you have 1980s Hong Kong films, whether it’s heroic bloodshed type stuff, or martial arts films. It’s the most one-dimensional view of Chinese development. I wasn’t thinking about it consciously at the time, but there’s so many, for example, huge amounts of references to Opium War stuff in Jet Li films, which is an incredibly pro-China, nationalistic type thing, and they’re all set in Shanghai in some kind of Chinese exclusion zone such as Bruce Lee’s Fist of Fury, which was based around that kind of setting. So there’s this idea of Chinese repression, as well as Western domination from this more Chinese chauvinism point of view. This idea of Chinese nationalism is really strong today as well. But at the same time, in Singapore and Malaysia, in the kind of English-speaking, postcolonial Chinese societies, there’s not as great of a problem about it, because Southeast Asian countries have benefitted more and they never had this trauma of the Hong Kong handover, or any of this stuff to deal with. They were kind of far away enough to be independent, yet close enough to still be tied geographically to the mainland and have that relationship.

So anyway, I’ve always been super conscious about all of these different ways of framing the debate about China and Chineseness, and also because of Singapore’s idea of being a multicultural, global nation that happens to be majority Chinese, it’s often been said that it’s kind of an ideal Confucian utopia because it’s really paternalistic, really hierarchical, the government has so much power and authority — but you can’t argue with it, so the argument goes because it’s been quite prosperous. And of course there’s problems of civil liberties, but that is complex.

IL: While we’re on the topic of the Chinese empire, what relationship does Sinofuturism have to the history of the Chinese empire? I noticed with the date in the full title, Sinofuturism (1839 - 2046 AD), you began it with 1839 which is of course the First Opium War, so I was wondering what your decision making process was in choosing these dates. What does Sinofuturism have to do with the so-called ‘century of humiliation’ that China went through?

LL: So just taking those two dates, 1839 and 2046, completely ignoring the seminal events in Chinese history that may or may not have happened, looking at it through a kind of global perspective, you’re going through the Industrial Revolution, into the so-called 4th Industrial Revolution with automation and AI. This gives you a two-hundred year period that is more or less the bulk of industrialization and so-called modernity in the world, and urbanisation, changing from agricultural societies to industrial ones to post-industrial ones and so on. I think that timeline, which starts in the past but goes forward into the future, is something I’m particularly interested in. It can start with the Opium War, and it can end with this kind of film that people may or may not know it’s a reference to.

IL: The Wong Kar-wai film, right?

LL: Yeah, exactly. But with this idea of Sinofuturism –– previously, I haven’t been particularly interested in making any kind of overt statement about geopolitics or whatever. For me, it should be embedded in the work, and biographically I don’t think it should be a main point of an artist’s work to talk about themselves, unless they really want to for whatever reason, which is fine. I just particularly don’t. But for me, as you know, in the past 12 months my impressions of the UK where I’ve been living for what, 20 years now, have actually changed quite a lot, and made me realize that post-colonial countries have a strange relationship with their former ‘motherland’ or whatever. You see this with America and Britain, or Congo and Belgium, or Singapore and the UK, so it’s not so straightforward. The reason why I stayed in the UK is because I believed, and I still do, that it’s generally a liberal and quite free place. But things like the Brexit vote, which I understand for the same reasons that I don’t think the result...here’s the thing, the crazy thing is that I think if you had a similar referendum in America or in China or in Singapore, the result would pretty much be the same. They would be like, “We wanna be independent” and so on. So I think it’s a stupid thing to ask the people, because they’re easily swayed. But at the same time, I don’t think there’s anything inherently ‘bad’ about Britain, or anything inherently racist or xenophobic about it. I think fundamentally, British people do believe in a kind of fairness.

But anyway, things like this, Brexit vote, etc. –– this kind of cascade of events did make me think that actually, for me, Sinofuturism is not about a pro-China dialogue. The thing is, I had so rarely seen interesting discourse about China and futurism from anything other than a really abstract cinematic perspective. The kind of CNN perspective as well. And also, the fact that China, for some reason –– and I still wonder why this is the case –– Chinese culture and its relationship with technology or science fiction is very strange. For example, science fiction now of course is growing more, but it didn’t really have a place in Chinese cultural literature, and I feel that basically magic and fantasy take the place of science fiction in Chinese culture. You have lots of shenmo (神魔), gods and monsters kind of stories, and all the super martial arts experts who have superhuman powers but they’re not technologically enabled.

Basically, there’s no equivalent of the Marvel Comics Iron Man kind of character, who uses machines to achieve great ends. I always feel that even in Chinese movies, it’s never about machines, it’s always about loads of people really working hard to accomplish something. That has nothing to do with technology, and it really has a lot to do with work ethic and working together and all of these good moral virtues. Or like, if you want to beat that guy, you just have to train for like 5 years on a mountain or whatever, but there’s nothing technologically driven, you’re just punching the tree for 5 years and then you get really good at punching the tree. It’s kind of really dumb. The faith in technology is more to do with magic or knowledge, or supernatural things, or the knowledge of your special five-point heart exploding palm technique, that kind of thing — as opposed to actual technology.

Of course that’s changing now I feel, because there’s more interest in science and computers in Chinese society. Engineering is the thing now, and with the more technocratic society, it’s all slowly changing. But all I’m saying is, it took a long time to get to China, for whatever reason –– maybe Cultural Revolution ideas to do with science and progress, and also maybe I’m guessing in the 60s, 70s, 80s, a lot of Chinese technology was very much to do with heavy industry, and they had a lot of their knowledge in partnership with the Soviet Union and that Communist bloc, as opposed to the kind of open science idea of the West. But science and technology, and science fiction are closely linked to portrayals of science in popular media. For example in America, the space race was obviously closely allied with the intercontinental ballistic missile program, but of course it was the PR –– the space program is PR for military stuff. Or in the SU, where the space race was tied in with military development. But I think since forever, China has had way more civil war problems than anywhere else, so it tends to stay more insular.

IL: I guess you kind of answered it already, but why do you think China took so long to embrace technology and sci-fi –– do you think part of it stems from how China views technology as being associated with ‘the West’ and how so much of China’s cultural consciousness is built off of making itself different from the West?

LL: Totally, a lot of it has to do with the general refusal to learn from anything apart from a certain section of history, for example. Let me put it to you this way: I might be wrong, but in Europe at least, the Enlightenment kind of revolutions and political theory and philosophy and culture and science all happened in parallel with a destabilisation of religion as the central force in peoples’ lives. For example, if Christianity and the church still stayed the dominant force, of course science would never go anywhere.

But I think the history of Chinese insularity is very, very old, and this is very broad history –– I don’t know how accurate this is –– but it does seem there is a refusal to learn from not even just the West, but even from the Middle East and other places. I feel that because China never had religion as the guiding force of peoples’ life, they never had really doctrine-heavy “Thou shalt not xyz” because that was just Confucianism, which was tied into politics and management of society. They didn’t really have this parallel integration of church and state, like there was in, what, the whole of Europe or the Middle East. It’s much more about management and military, hard power like that, rather than the soft power of religion which is about social control in a different way.

I mean, the belief of Confucian societies is “if it’s not broke, don’t fix it”, right? So if it’s not broke, what do you need technology for? And it’s also this kind of classic thing where, from what I understand, with many of the Chinese inventions they were like “We invented the compass and all this crap”, but what did you do with it? You didn’t go anywhere, it’s just for fengshui and stuff like that, right? It’s not to cross the ocean and pillage a whole continent. I feel also the whole attitude of newness and innovation is very different –– the attitude towards the individual over the welfare of the collective, the attitude of innovation as opposed to continuation of history, all of these things are, again, cultural stereotypes, but really very strong I feel.

And even in the case of, let’s say typical Chinese stuff like the dynasties –– no matter what dynasty took over, they would all implement the same system essentially. The Manchu emperors would take on some Chinese name, they would basically conform to the historical system as opposed to establishing a really revolutionary one, which is again probably more to do with good management than innovation. And then of course, there’s the question again of whether the Western Enlightenment was good in terms of what we call social freedom and social welfare, and whether you can implement that in tribal societies like in some parts of the Middle East without huge problems. It’s not the perfect solution.

The problem is, with China, that the scale of implementation and also the levels of development. Places like Singapore or America were basically inventions that came at a very specific time in history, to some peoples’ benefit and to some peoples’ suffering. And on a personal level, I just have this feeling, and I’m sure you do as well, that sometimes reporting on China is annoying. Even on the simplest level, in some of the news clips I use in Sinofuturism, all the time it’s just stuff like “China is making guns.” “American can’t make bullets.” There’s this phrase that this news commentator used, “China’s not just exporting metal, they’re exporting unemployment.” These kinds of ideas, which to a large extent are right and hugely accurate, but the interesting thing for me about Sinofuturism is that because China is such a huge part of the world’s industrial economy, just the shit that is made –– the desk, the pen I’m using, the computer –– it’s all part of it, so it’s not just about Chinese nationalism, it’s the furthest thing from that, it’s just about gaining a different understanding of how the world is made culturally and historically.

Because also, having grown up here [in the UK], I just assume everyone understands the same things, or the same geopolitics as I do. And of course just because I’ve grown up in a different place, all these things I’ve grown up with –– addiction to gambling, studying hard –– it’s hard to see them as something other than… what your aunt does, do you know what I mean? To see them as something that actually reveals some kind of deeper truth. People love gambling because they work really hard, and it makes complete sense, right? And psychologically speaking, the desire to have these really strict hierarchies and structures — basically, Daoism and Confucianism go hand in hand, because one is about absolute personal freedom, and the other one is about absolute obedience and subservience to a notion of control. So I find that these two contrasting things are kind of like Satanism and Christianity, they almost go hand in hand perfectly.

But anyway, in the last year with personal Brexit stuff and my reaction to that, I was kind of disappointed after talking with some people that Sinofuturism as a thing just didn’t exist. It did in bits and pieces, obviously there’s lots of articles talking –– especially in American press –– about whitewashing The Last Airbender or The Ghost in the Shell, but that’s not interesting to me, because they’ve done that with black culture for the last hundred years, and they’ll do it with Bollywood, they’ll do it with anime, whatever, who cares? That’s important from a kind of racial activism point of view, but for me, I don’t fully identify with either side so it’s just not personally true if I said I’m against xyz. I think it’s interesting to be mixed and to think about the kind of possibilities of that.

IL: In many of your works, such as Unreal Estate, Europa Mon Amour (2016 Brexit Edition), and Shiva’s Way, you make use of multiple languages in both audio and text. What role does language play in your art?

LL: First of all, it came out just by using a lot of different collage sounds and sources. I’d extract clips from films I like, those of Wong Kar-wai and Tarkovsky, that all talk about, in very basic terms, the disembodied experience of traveling and people on a journey - e.g. in films like 2046 or Stalker. And in those languages, characters reflect on their psychological state while they’re in a different place or experiencing a different environment. For example, in Tarkovsky’s Stalker, there’s a Zone which is this other place that people go to realize their fantasies, which is quite a common trope, especially in science fiction: this idea of a wish-fulfillment fantasy that gets realized in another place. And similarly, in Wong Kar-wai’s films, the place of memory or recollection can be something as straightforward as a bedroom, or a futuristic train. It’s all about the link between memory and the future. So for me, language is used to suggest the idea of an internal monologue like the thoughts that you think to yourself, and not just dialogue that’s spoken between characters. There’s also dimensions where it’s more about the idea of what establishes a sense of place, because classically in cinema you’d have the setting, what city it’s set in, what language these things are spoken in, but I’m much more interested in the idea of disorientation and the place where you, as a viewer or player or audience or creator, are situated.

IL: What makes something a ‘place’ for you? From the way you describe it, it almost seems like using language as a way to explore one’s internal monologue can also paint that monologue as a place in itself, is that how you view it?

LL: Yeah, I mean there’s many different interpretations of the idea of ‘place’, and I think especially nowadays, the idea of ‘place’ –– let’s say, site-specificity, or any concept of a certain location that has to do with the identity of that particular place –– generally goes back to this idea of disempowering some kind of certainty in life. For example, political acts of ‘place’ had to do with nationalism, migration, immigration –– this very legal definition of borders that reinforce both the legal structure and social system of any particular country or city. There are a lot of formal borders in that kind of place, which of course we have to navigate in our daily lives. So there’s that very infrastructural notion of place. And then there’s a much more psychological and loose notion of place, where you’re sitting on the train but you’re thinking about somewhere else, which of course certain film directors do particularly well, especially when it’s about uncertainty and memory. So there’s that notion of place as well, which in cinematic or virtual world terms is much looser, because of course the audience is seeing the film, which is generally set in a different place, which may have been shot in a different place, to where it’s actually portrayed in a film studio and rendered on a computer or something like that. It’s multiple places nested in each other.

So there’s infrastructural ‘place’, then the representational space of portraying somewhere else, and also a more ‘fine art’ definition of the distinction between space and place, where space might be universal, and place that e.g. site-specific art or environmental architecture deals with more specifically –– the idea that every location on earth is different from the next one, either culturally, or topographically, or physically. I’m interested in all of these, and it’s quite a dynamic thing I guess.

IL: What kind of relationship does Sinofuturism have with this burgeoning notion of techno-orientalism, of ‘the East’ as this huge technological and financial giant that will take over the world and how that view is another way of ‘othering’ East Asia? Do you think Sinofuturism in a way perpetuates this view, or does it subvert it?

LL: I mean, I don’t know. Let’s take the statement, “Chinese people are good at maths.” Because actually, in Singapore, I was not particularly good at maths, but when I came to London, I was a freaking maths genius, right? Why is that? It is unmistakeable to say that even though technology came late to Asia, they took it up so readily. Why is that? For example, what happened in Japan on the manufacturing side because of American investment after the Second World War, and investment in Korea after the Korean War. You could say a lot of it has to do with the multinational company influence that bleeds into local education and skillsets and visas to study overseas. The problem with any stereotype is there’s a lot of truth in it. I’m a Chinese guy making video games as art, what is nerdier than that? There’s definitely a true point in that, and whether I’m subverting or perpetuating these myths is not for me to say.

What’s important for me with Sinofuturism is simply that nothing about it existed before. What I’ve seen, in Asia as well, is this increased interest in learning about culture and the humanities, as opposed to sciences and professions over the years. And that means many more art institutions — I mean you get NYU in China, Yale in Singapore. And of course the academics who are a part of these institutions, with the best possible intentions, also can teach views of Asia –– they don’t want to, but what happens is they end up reflecting back Asia, to Asians, through the eyes of someone not from Asia. And of course, that’s always been the case. I mean, even if we go back to Orientalism in the 20th century –– that became hugely unfashionable of course, but if you look at early chinoiserie stuff in Paris or whatever, there really were these people who were just interested in Asia because it was different, and of course that became this ethnic othering, exoticism kind of thing and took on negative connotations. But at the end of the day it’s like, I like listening to music from Marley for example, because it’s interesting and a human made it and I like listening to it, what’s the bloody problem with that?

So on the first level of orientalizing, it is quite simply you are interested in a different culture, nothing wrong with that whatsoever. Then on the next level, which of course Americans especially are particularly militant about, is cultural appropriation. Like, don’t make chow mein because it’s not real Chinese food for example. I cook pasta and I’m not Italian, who cares? So what? But of course it’s more to do with the exploitation of minorities who might not see the benefit of what you’re doing, which I agree with. In principle though, there’s nothing wrong with appropriating cultures, because that’s what culture is. It moves and mixes around. But again I also feel that it gets more problematic when we talk about –– let’s be kind of left wing about it and say, ethnic minorities in the arts, or black actors who’ve won Oscars, this kind of conversation. One way of framing it is: there are no Chinese artists in American museums because of racial discrimination. Then there’s another way of framing it, there are no Chinese artists in American museums because their work is shit and derivative. There’s also another way, there’s just not very many [Chinese artists]. And I do kind of feel that it’s all kind of true and valid.

But anyway, I feel that what’s been nice is that Sinofuturism, for all its problematic hypotheses or whatever, a lot of people have been interested in it from many points of view. To a Western audience, it’s interesting from a philosophical point of view. But I think to a Chinese audience it’s actually quite genuine, because everything I’m saying there is true and it also rings bells of “Why hasn’t this been said before?”, which is kind of strange. But it’s also to do with a cultural stereotype, which is passivity and [is] very hugely dominant. Not just in the context of orientalizing, where a beautiful Chinese lady is passive or whatever, but it is also slightly true in the sense of “don’t stir up trouble.” So I think in the future, there will be even more scope for artists and writers with different points of view and I think that’s only a good thing. For example, a generation older, you have people of Chinese descent, let’s say, who have done interesting stuff that has been recognized in the West. But if I were to look at that interesting shit that has been recognized in the West — it’s so fucking limited, it’s unbelievably limited.

IL: There’s like, Ang Lee, and that’s it.

LL: Exactly! The problem is, when any culture has just a few stars in any field, they tend to dominate so hugely, which is completely a double-edged sword, right? I also think the role of like, Jackie Chan, and Bruce Lee for those a little younger than my parents’ generation –– people [would] just go up to you in the street and karate chop you. I guess this is the issue with not only representation in popular media and especially in America, it’s also to do with visibility and cultural visibility. The difference with like, the African American community is because their particular employment niche for stars is basically sports and music, so they’re highly visible. It creates this crazy contrast between the perception of the multi-billionaire Kanye Wests and the Boyz n the Hood kind of thing.

I think the difference for Asians is about visibility in the arts for doing something other than being like, a token actor in something, or something so niche. But America is a particular case of that, where I feel like I’ve never been identified as a ‘Chinese artist’, thank God probably, you know? Just as someone who makes stuff, sometimes in Chinese. But maybe it’s also to do with the generational thing, that if I was like 15 years older, I would definitely be a ‘Chinese artist,’ or an ‘artist of Chinese descent’ or whatever. Which I am but it’s never highlighted, because of course if you saw my work in those terms, it would be different. I guess it might also have to do with the more liberal culture of the UK or London. If you don’t want to identify yourself as xyz, it’s not forced on you—I imagine it would be quite different in the States, because of the notion of visibility. Visibility is about like, whitewashing of Asian stuff, or Jung Chang or Tiger Mom that kind of book. It’s so insane to me. Like are you fucking kidding that that’s the discussion, the model minority thing and all this shit, like it’s interesting but it’s nothing –– do you know what I mean?

IL: It’s very one-dimensional, like it’s all we ever talk about.

LL: Exactly. It’s kind of like –– I can even in the smallest way imagine how one-dimensional it is to be African-American, like Jesus Christ. It’s a really different situation.

IL: Why do you think this kind of discourse has a relatively smaller presence in the UK? Because if you compare the US and UK, they both market themselves as ‘multicultural’ nations with ‘diversity’ and so forth — why has this discourse around ethnic discrimination and representation risen so much in the US and not as much where you are?

LL: Well, I mean, again I think it’s super complex. But I think from my limited understanding, it seems that the history of ethnic discrimination in the USA hasn’t been solved. Far from it, especially today. But also its very foundation, basically –– you can’t really say this without sounding like a left-wing spokesperson –– but its very foundation is horrifically unfair, whether it’s for native populations or to do with slavery, which of course the UK is totally complicit in. It seems that America has always struggled with this idea of supremacy and kind of like, ethical innocence, and white guilt, and all these terms that are very specific to America. And of course, the more ethnic minorities or cultures become aware of it –– you know, classic Chinese Exclusion Act, Japanese internment camps, Native American reservations, all of these things –– it kind of all just feels insanely unfair.

I read this quite nice description by this British political writer called Will Hudson, and he framed it quite well. He said that the core belief of America is justice, in the sense that “okay, you shoot me, and I’m gonna shoot your kid, because that’s justice” and that’s kind of exactly what gun laws are based on. So the American core values are based on justice, and retribution, right? It’s very Biblical, eye for an eye. In the British system, the belief is less about justice and more about fairness –– this is kind of what he described it as. For example, you might say that the British belief is like, “You took this away from me, but I don’t need exactly the same thing from you, but we should compromise and find some kind of solution to it.” So it’s kind of more like soft power, which on one hand is highly manipulative and lets them control colonies not just by military force. The British way of control is not by military force but by wanting the elite of a foreign country to be British. So this is exactly what happened in India, Malaysia, Singapore — you just have English-speaking schools where the elite indigenous people go, and they grow up wanting to play golf and cricket or whatever, and then tada, you don’t even have to do anything –– it’s just the ultimate consolidating power.

Whereas the American system is like, fuckin’ throw them in jail or hang them. The difference is that the British evolved their notion of power from a force-based military, because it’s a small island, to a more manipulative but, you could say, fairer system. America just has much greater resources in comparison to do what it wants, unfortunately for some, especially nowadays. And it’s also interesting with these two things in mind, to question how China will exercise its power. Because a lot of it is to do with internal stability, which is obviously since Confucian times been the most important thing. Otherwise, literally millions of people die, so that’s fair enough.

IL: Going back to what you said earlier about this notion of passivity in Chinese culture, how do you think this notion of ‘victimhood’ as part of the modern day Chinese narrative figures in with Sinofuturism? Is Sinofuturism built off this narrative of Chinese people previously as victims?

LL: At the end of Sinofuturism, I kind of say that the thing about Sinofuturism is nothing to do with guilt or victimhood or being a manifesto. It’s to recognize that these aspects of Chinese culture are what allow this organism –– which we might call an AI or which we might call Sinofuturism –– to exist and persist and basically survive. I feel that the strongest motivation –– I’m generalizing here –– but the strongest motivation for Chinese culture/civilisation is not for it to prosper or stand out or achieve fulfillment in whatever. The main motivation is survival. It’s really as basic as that. Because I feel in places where survival is taken for granted, in tropical countries, survival is taken for granted because you’re hungry, there’s a mango, you eat it, you’re fine. I mean, I really do feel that that is a model for life. In the West, the idea of survival is taken for granted because of social safeguards, and quite sophisticated social welfare and things like that, even in America.

Whereas in China I feel it’s much more to do with survival, because life has been threatened so much more. I think that’s the main motivating factor. What’s interesting, if we think of the concept of “survival of the fittest”, is this kind of self-driven narrative. It’s survival of the fittest so you just have to kill the other monkey or whatever, and then you survive. Whereas the Chinese one it’s like, you can kind of run away and as long as you don’t stick your head out, you’ll also survive. So it’s another model. And both work, at the same time. But I think as this idea of Chinese passivity –– as people are exposed and just want to make a name for themselves, quite simply, this will definitely change. And I also feel it’s a generational thing, where it’s just part of millennial culture. Everybody wants to be an individual and be like a free-floating butterfly and that kind of thing. And there’s also [a sense of] “I want to escape from responsibility.” Every generation wants to have greater freedoms than they think their parents or grandparents had. I think that’s natural as well. And I’m not saying anything new but I think that’s also emphasized more with a kind of one-child generation, single child generation.

IL: Moving onto a different piece of your work, in Unreal Estate, you created an alternative version of the Royal Academy where its fate had fallen into the hands of a Chinese billionaire. Why specifically a Chinese billionaire, and do you envision China itself leading a ‘new world order’ in the future whether that’s technologically, economically, or politically?

LL: As a Londoner, since I’ve been here –– even in popular media, let’s say, 10-15 years ago –– there was this ‘rich foreigner’ who changed his identity. So people from the Middle East for example, rich Arabs with their ‘dirty oil money’ would come and buy whatever, and then it became like, dirty Russians. Roman Abramovich comes here and bloody buys Chelsea Football Club, and then people from the Emirates come and buy our football clubs. It’s kind of a play on that, and you see in the Evening Standard and whatever newspapers that Chinese come and buy all the penthouses in London, pushing up property prices, etc. So I thought, what’s a way to comment on that kind of social othering? But also, at the same time I thought as a relatively poor Chinese artist or person in London, there’s an element of critique to it obviously with that — the idea that everything, including art, is for sale. And at the same time, this idea of fantasy where it’s like, I would love to live there. Like, it would actually be awesome if that was your house, like wouldn’t that be crazy?

So there’s both this complete fantasy, like what I would genuinely want, and what would also be a bit of a nightmare for London as a whole. Also in the voiceover, which was taken from Tatler magazine and actually just translated into Mandarin — the things that are being said are kind of insane from a certain perspective. Like, “be careful when you hire your servant, have a butler,” that kind of stuff. But at the same time, they’re still incredibly genuine, because it is genuinely good advice from one billionaire to another if their friend just had bought this mansion. So that’s the crazy thing –– it’s both completely surreal, and completely genuine at the same time. I kind of like that combination.

IL: Going back to Sinofuturism, what place, if any, do ethnic minorities in China have in this narrative of Chinese people?

LL: There’s one point of view, where let’s say I made a video called US-futurism or whatever, and it was all focused on 25 Silicon Valley entrepreneurs and their assistants in California churning out pristine products. Then it would be problematic because it’d be like, “what about the American car industry, or what about the ethnic minorities who pick oranges for orange juice,” stuff like that. In terms of my model for the futurism part of Sinofuturism, the culture of China is to do with what I’m more familiar with, which is the South, and in particular coastal cities.

The crazy thing is that the kind of interface of China with the West is on the East side of China, simply because of the ports and Opium War blah blah blah, the maritime side. And it’s to do with the sides of China that have been industrialized because of this exchange, whereas to the best of my knowledge, the ethnic minorities in China have been those on the Northern borders, Mongolia, the Hui in Xinjiang, and those towards the Southwest in Guangxi and stuff like that, where they’re not just isolated geographically, but they’re also isolated industrially as well, because there is relatively little industrial –– and of course Tibet too –– because most of the industrialization, and I’m talking about the modernised industrialization as opposed to heavy industry which has kind of spread around, but the modern industrialization which is centered along the coast. I don’t know enough about how ethnic minorities in China are treated. I know they have special autonomous regions and there’s obviously a lot of problems that I’ve read to do with like, not whitewashing, but let’s say Han-washing Tibet, replacing populations. Of course that creates problems with Uyghur nationalists and stuff like that, but I don’t know enough about that to say much about it.

The Chinese situation maybe has more in common with Russia and its former Soviet countries that it likes bullying basically, and the many ethnic minorities that live within Russia as well. So the Chinese situation is more to do with how China has expanded over the centuries, kind of like Russia, taking over these places and then retreating, and then having bits of other countries inside themselves. It has more to do with the Russia thing than with America, because America is more to do with lots of people from different places or who were there first, who live in what’s now America.

But with China it’s more: the heart of China is this and then it expanded, and that’s where all the problems lie. Whereas America has grown to be a massive thing, and now it’s distributed in a different way. For example, obviously there’s the Dakota Pipeline, but there’s reservations all over America scattered around, but in the Chinese sense they kind of basically keep the minorities in the same place. I don’t know what the legal restrictions are to their movement, but I’m sure they’re not free to move anywhere they choose. But I think it’s definitely an interesting and different problem. What do you think, do you know more about it?

IL: I know as much as you do, but I just question whether China can continue exist as all these regions it encompasses, and I’ve read about how China has brutally invaded Tibet and the southern parts of China in the course of its empire, and nobody in China that I know of really talks about that. There’s this narrative of ‘peace’ and ‘the five principles of peaceful coexistence’ or whatever and it often feels like the Chinese government tries to brush a lot of its own imperialism under the rug.

LL: No totally, and how closely that imperialism just morphed into like, communist imperialism and so on. I might be wrong, but there was a Republican revolution yet I don’t imagine that much really changed. Because maybe it can’t — for example, let’s say in the UK there was a civil war and stuff like that, but it’s more of a gradual shift of power away from one side to another, it’s not like the French Revolution where it was a huge break with the past and they just killed everyone. It was more gradual transition and not as traumatic as in China or in Russia, and also maybe the scale of paranoia in early leaders wasn’t as bad [in the UK]. But I don’t know, like, I also imagine just an economic map China is very unequal, so I guess the desire for autonomy from certain places –– like Quebec in Canada, of course they want to be autonomous, they’re wealthy. Whereas with Xinjiang, it’s like, what are they going to do? Or like Scotland right, it’s wealthy now but really?

IL: Now that you’ve mentioned communism, do you see communism as fitting into Sinofuturism in any way? Do you think it’s another indicator of Sinofuturism? Because I’ve read a lot about how communism, like true communism, is sort of the ultimate end goal of this age of automation and AI and everything.

LL: There’s a lot of accelerationism which talks about emancipation from labor, basically. From what I understand, Engels-and-Marx-style communism is based on a kind of emancipation of the proletariat, from the terrible bourgeoisie. So the next stage is like, we can think of automation as the way to liberate humanity from the drudgery of work altogether, and live with a universal basic income, happy lives of tomato farming or whatever we so choose.

The really interesting thing is, say, if you were to ask what politics Futurism subscribes to. For example, if I were to say, “communism believes in the absolute equality of every individual and the eradication of property distinctions between them, irrespective of whether someone’s an absolute genius or just the laziest whatever in the world, totally divorced from actual active input.” So let’s say the politics is based on the principle that full equality is number one. The politics of Sinofuturism, if there was one, I think is much messier because it involves the belief that technology will liberate –– actually no, it won’t liberate you from anything –– Sinofuturism isn’t about liberation, it’s simply that your life will improve, and you will survive. So I don’t think it’s incompatible with capitalism or neoliberalism or late communism. It’s more of a cultural theory on how the very patterns which allow you to survive –– literally survive and eat and travel and so on –– should be seen not just as inherited traits or genetic stereotypes, but as something you can develop or challenge, whatever that means for you.

It’s also about taking things that are very culturally inherent and completely strong, and thinking about which of them are just inherited and no longer useful, for example your appendix or whatever –– like communism, right? Like many political theories, it’s beautiful in intention and in theory, but because it has to be executed by individuals, it’s hugely flawed –– because people are not all the same, they should have equal rights but not equal rewards. For example in terms of left-wingness in the UK, I find it really problematic as well. You see all of this Jeremy Corbyn Labour Party in disarray and it’s exactly the kind of case where they might have very strong values and they go down to coal mines and they cut trees down or whatever, but their work is just like everyone else’s. The paradox of human existence is that when people work really hard, you dream of like a free life where you’re just eating strawberries, but in reality when it happens it’s difficult.

IL: When you talk about embracing cultural stereotypes, or pushing them further, do you think doing that — as opposed to counteracting them — is a more effective means of deconstructing them or kind of diminishing their power?

LL: Let’s say with any phenomenon — okay wait let’s get philosophical here. Let’s say you have a thing. The Hegelian way of dealing with anything is you have a thesis, so let’s say “Chinese love gambling,” right? And artistically I’m going to make a film about Chinese people gambling. The antithesis is this kind of hubris thing, “Chinese people love gambling because they think they’re going to win the world but actually they lose everything and then they die.” And then the synthesis, which is like the finale where “They lose these things but they realize that life is actually more than gambling”, for example. So you could deal with this cultural stereotype of gambling by tackling it head-on. The most extreme example would be, I’m going to make an Adam Curtis-style documentary about the gambling problem in China, and I’m going to be straightforward about it. You might term that the most one-dimensional embrace of that way of thinking.

Or you could think like, how can I get away from that? What’s the farthest I can get away from that? So you might make a work about like, working really hard at doing something and taking no element of chance left aside. You know the Tehching Hsieh Time Clock thing? He’s a Taiwanese performance artist who did this performance where every hour, he punched a clock. It’s an amazing performance, but that’s basically the epitome of a [Sino] person working insanely hard at doing something all the time. It’s kind of like a work that has no element of chance in it, no element of fate or gambling. On one hand, you can do the most random playful thing, let’s say not even a film about gambling, but that I got a £10,000 grant and I’m going to spend all of it at the casino. On the other hand, I’m going to do this performance piece where I am literally working so hard for one year and proving it. They’re not a million miles away from each other, if that makes sense. And I think with a lot of these cultural patterns, not even stereotypes, like gamble, work hard, they actually go perfectly together.

For example, the idea of studying and working –– they’re kind of like total opposites at the same time, right? The more you work, the better you can do your particular job. The more you study, the more you can change the nature of the job that you do. So the paradox is, you can study what you’re working –– so like, “I’m a Chinese brush painter and I’m going to study the old masters” –– and you can also work really hard at studying. So they’re all very closely related and linked together. And I think depending on your own personality, people tend to prefer following patterns in order to gain their freedom, and some people like leaving all that stuff to one side, and then reintegrating into the society. Either they burn their bridges first and then they find their own way, or they find their own freedom through particular systems, and both work.

Maybe another thing that’s interesting with this post-automation communist thing is the notion that you can’t escape because the world is changing, and the climate is changing, for the worse probably, the nature of automation and artificial intelligence is also going to totally revolutionize both human knowledge-based work and service sector work as well as mechanical work. So the question is, what are you going to do? Not in this conspiracy theory way, but in a really tangible way. Can everyone really be a creative worker and write things for a living, is that feasible? Maybe it is.

But from a cultural perspective, these things are certainly happening. From an artistic perspective what’s interesting is when these things do happen, are we just going to replicate the same kind of work, or the same kind of thinking that people have done before us? Because for our generation, we’ve learnt more and communicated more. I probably have more tertiary education than the last 6 generations of my actual family, which is insane right? But knowing this, what is possible?

Let’s say for someone who has dedicated their life to studying or being involved in arts and culture –– there’s one way of saying it, where the kind of self-doubt involved can be: “Why am I not being a dentist and being of use to society”, right? “Why don’t I have a real job?” That kind of question, which is very valid. “Is what you’re doing of use?” Then there’s another way of thinking: Of course what I’m doing is of use, because culture will only be of more importance in the years to come, and that will give us our sense of self-worth or whatever.

And then there’s also the notion that probably your great-great-great-great grandparents would think it’s quite cool if you’re like studying in the UK and you have freedom. It’s also this notion of time, which is very different and of course it’s a very traditional ancestral thing to think about –– your family but also the people who came before you. But I feel that it’s like how religion gave way to science –– when that happened, individuals and society lost a lot of psychological support networks that they used have like the promise of an afterlife and all this shit about how heaven is great.

IL: That cushion.

LL: Yeah exactly, that cushion right? In the same way I also feel that modernity and industrialisation and blah blah blah in China will also have big repercussions on those psychological safety nets that I guess Chinese culture has depended on for so long. The family in many ways provides psychological support for the individual in Chinese culture. So as that gets eroded, or changes because of smaller families and technological changes, I think there’s a different set of things that Chinese artists will respond to subconsciously. But the way in which that will turn out, nobody knows yet.

#lawrence lek #interview #sinofuturism #contemporary art #video #simulation #issue4 #visual #written

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