#I would like to formally and politely register a complaint

[ianxfalcon]

Amnesia: The Bunker is a fantastic game. It’s different from their other games, and I like that.

But, out of all the changes they made, why did one of them have to be REMOVE THE AUTOSAVE FUNCTION (and then give us ONE FUCKING SAVE SPOT)????

[regheart]

I’m gonna disturb the peace of your inbox starting a conversation about one of my least favourite takes on Lupin… I see a lot of people talking about how fake, cold, distant, manipulative he is by putting on this calm, collected, controlled front and making himself friendly and approachable. When I actually think that’s just his actual personality! Mild, friendly, and approachable! I am aware he needs to mask a lot in a society that persecutes him, and I do think that living with his condition shaped some of his behaviour, but I do not think he goes home and takes off the patient and nice front! And the same way wizard society had a problem with his lycanthropy, werewolves would have a problem with the fact that this guy is just… most of the time mild and easy going.

short answer is: there's no true self

long answer a rambling on language, i promise i'll get to the point

fictional or not, people are labeled as fake or performatic for acting in ways that don't seem to reflect their true intentions. we are not the same version of ourselves with our closest friends, our distant relatives, our bosses, a random stranger who asks us what time is it. each context of human interaction requires a genre of speech and each genre has a usage of language, with varied registers of formal and informal or even a completely distinct language

and if we have any ulterior motives behind a language register, it's not necessarily a mark of bad character, but a part of the social contract

when donna and jackie complain of the cold, it's not simply a statement of how the skin reacts to the environment, it's a veiled desire of not wanting to feel cold anymore, and directing the complaint at their boyfriends, it implies that they are supposed to fix that. eric gets what donna wants and offers a resolution by giving her his jacket, but kelso diverges the problem to the weather so it's out of his hands to solve the issue

so being polite will always have a secret imbedded meaning and that meaning is wanting people to be polite to you as well, a cunning evil plot if you ask me

for remus, what this means is that he knows his condition will have others treating him as subhuman, so he makes the first step of showing how committed he is to the social contract and the rules of politeness and expects others to react accordingly. being mild and soft-spoken is a way to deflect a characteristic that will deprive him if being treated, not in differential, but as an equal, and there's hardly any moral reproval to that

(when we look at a character like snape, for instance, who rejects politeness in general, it's not evidence to someone committed to acting as their true self, because he is just as performatic if not more theatrical than lupin)

and then there's the question of nature vs. nurture. how different would remus be if he weren't a werewolf? he was turned when he was four years old, before he could develope any solid sense of self, before most of his memories. there is no way to tell for sure what a remus who never had to constantly prove himself human would be like, because that version of him never existed

and professor lupin is another person entirely. being a teacher is fitting a role and that role implies a mask of authority, knowledge, confidence, trustworthiness, etc. professor lupin is friendly and approachable. moony the marauder is funny, loyal, and full of grief. remus the man is cold, emotionally detached and has to weight every interaction he has, he rarely takes action on wrongdoings he is aware of and that translates as cowardice, but he is also gentle, calm, intelligent, because people have different expressions of self for different roles in society

as a member of the order in the second war, remus speaks his mind. he interferes in the argument between molly and sirius by forcing sirius to calm down and defending his position. he states his full trust in dumbledore and, as a consequence, in snape. he argues in favor of killing death eaters and defends harry on potterwatch. those are all reasoned, strongly held opinions that he might have defended more aggressively if he were not so used to toning down his speech

when infiltrated in the werewolf camps, remus says he's never fully trusted because he carries marks of having lived amongst wizards. he speaks on goblin issues using the pronoun "we" that places him as a wizard who engages in and benefits from their oppression (it can be seen as a disconnect from his werewolf condition, or a polite awareness of the fact that if he has the right to a wand and if he has gringotts money he probably does benefit from goblin oppression)

one day we will be free of the burden of discussing the morality of fictional characters, until then we can only roll our eyes at shallow puritanical views and try to be polite

[justiceheartwatcher]

We don’t even NEED Hunter’s laptop to see the Biden corruption

If Hunter Biden hadn’t abandoned his water-damaged laptop at that computer repair shop in Delaware, would we even know anything today about Biden family corruption?

A new development tells us yes.  Yes, we still would.

BUSINESS INSIDER --- far from a conservative publication --- while working on a story they say is unrelated to the Hunter Biden saga, happened to stumble upon a couple of previously unpublished emails that do relate to it.  These emails are communications between other individuals, not including Hunter (for reasons that will become obvious) and so were not on Hunter’s laptop.  But they are so telling that, even absent the laptop emails, they make a compelling case for corruption within the Biden family.

The emails refer to a deal in Libya that apparently was never consummated, but, in the words of Mattathias Schwartz at INSIDER, “the documents offer a window into the mechanics of Beltway influence peddling, and the stock that was put in Biden’s political connections --- particularly his relationship with his father, who was Vice President at the time.”

Hunter was once again trading on his dad’s influence, requesting an annual retainer of $2 million to help recover billions in Libyan assets that had been frozen in sanctions imposed by the Obama administration in 2011.  Recovering that money would’ve been quite a trick --- reversing the sanctions would require approval of the U.S. Treasury Department and likely the United Nations.

We know that Hunter was trading on his dad’s influence because there’s no other way that Hunter Biden, working on his own, could have accomplished this for them.

For background on the Libyan deal, you might want to read this article from POLITICO, even though Hunter’s name is never mentioned in the emails from 2015 quoted in that story.  Imaad Zuberi of Pakistan, a “high-flying businessman and political donor pushing multimillion dollar deals” was trying to maneuver himself into DC’s inner circle.  In February of 2021, he was awaiting sentencing on charges of (what else?) failing to register as a foreign agent, tax evasion, illegal campaign donations and obstruction of justice.

Recall that at this time, Biden was mulling over a run for President.  He decided against this in October 2015, after Hillary had formally announced.

(Amusing side note:  emails show that Zuberi had just read Peter Schwarz’s book about Washington DC corruption called CLINTON CASH and saw it as a how-to guide to doing business in America.  He told an associate on the Libya project, “This is how America work.  How Washington work.”  No wonder he wanted to get in good with Vice President Biden.  He said, “Let me handle the U.S. people.”)

Again, it’s notable that Hunter’s name was not mentioned at all in the POLITICO story.  It’s the dog that doesn’t bark in a story about DC influence in 2015-2016.  One has to wonder if this is because his name was redacted in emails released publicly.  The story does say that U.S. District Court Judge Virginia Phillips “ordered an unsealing” after complaints from news organizations (including POLITICO) about excessive secrecy in the case.  “The judge ordered that some names in the filing be redacted...” they reported, “but allowed others to be released.”

https://www.politico.com/news/2021/02/12/imaad-zuberi-biden-inner-circle-468816

But now, we come back to the new BUSINESS INSIDER story and see that Hunter was very much a part of the discussion on this Libyan deal.

The first email that has to do with Hunter was dated January 28, 2015, and was sent from businessman and Democrat donor Sam Jauhari to Sheikh Mohammed al-Rahbani, another Obama campaign donor also involved in the Libya proposal:  Per phone conversation I met with #2 son [son of the Vice President].  He wants $2 [million] per year retainer +++ success fees.  He wants to hire his own people – it can be close circle of people for confidentiality.  His dad is deciding to run or not.

“His positives are he is Chairman of UN World Food Program, son of #2 [VP] who has Libya file, access to State, Treasury, business partner SofS [Secretary of State John Kerry] son and since he travels with his dad he is connected everywhere in Europe and Asia where M.Q. [Muammar Qaddafi] and LIA [Libya Investment Authority] had money frozen.  He said he has access to highest level of PRC [People’s Republic of China], he can help there.

“His negatives are that he is alcoholic, drug addict, kicked [out] of U.S. Army for cocaine, chasing low class hookers, constantly needs money – liquidity problems and many more headaches.”

Jauhari got the alcohol, cocaine and hookers right but he did get a few details wrong.  Hunter was discharged from the Navy reserve, and it was never confirmed that the cocaine test was the reason.  Still, long before Hunter’s laptop was ever made public, Jauhari --- and no doubt many other international business leaders --- had a pretty accurate read on Hunter.  And considering the money Hunter raked in, the power of nepotism must have trumped Hunter’s personal weaknesses.

His list of Hunter’s “positives” is chilling:  He has access to State and Treasury Departments; his business partner, Chris Heinz, was the son (actually, stepson) of Secretary of State John Kerry; and he traveled “everywhere” with his dad on Air Force Two.  He was “connected everywhere” that Libyan assets were frozen.  And, perhaps the most ominous (to us) of all, he “had access to the highest levels” of the People’s Republic of China.  Apparently this was common knowledge in these circles.

So Hunter had proposed that his team be paid a yearly retainer of $2 million, plus “success fees” that would have come out of whatever Jauhari and his partners pocketed.  This would have been as much as 5 percent of whatever sanctioned money they could free up for Libya.  According to INSIDER, it could have meant a payday in the hundreds of millions of dollars for them.  These emails don’t go into how the “success fees” were to be calculated, but Hunter would surely have done very well.

The second, follow-up email is dated a year later, February 26, 2016.  They were still in talks with Hunter’s team about the project.  A DC attorney named John Sandweg, former acting director of Immigration and Customs Enforcement under Obama, reported this to Jauhari and al-Rahbani:

“I spoke with HB’s team yesterday.  They are interested in the project, but emphasized that for them to get involved, the team (lobbyists, lawyer and PR) would need to be a small group of folks they have a tight relationship with.  They do not want a large group involved and they only want people with whom they have a close relationship...due to the sensitivities surrounding their involvement.”

“Sensitivities surrounding their involvement.”  In other words, play this close to the vest, because we don’t want it to get out.

When asked about this by INSIDER, Sandweg told them that Jauhari’s group went with another law firm instead.  Needless to say, nobody else in the story responded for comment.

INSIDER intends this article simply to offer a glimpse into how influence peddling works in DC and includes the disclaimer that “there is no evidence that Hunter Biden ever used his relationship with his father to deliver anything of substance to his clients.”  We have two words for the folks at INSIDER:  “Viktor Slokin.”

https://www.businessinsider.com/new-emails-reveal-that-hunter-biden-wanted-2-million-for-libya-deal-2021-9

Spencer Brown at TOWNHALL has also written about these newly revealed emails, and he has pretty much the same impression we do.

https://townhall.com/tipsheet/spencerbrown/2023/07/27/hunter-biden-tried-to-charge-2m-retainer-to-help-libyans-get-assets-frozen-by-obama-biden-admin-n2626300

RELATED READING:

Iowa Sen. Chuck Grassley, who chairs the Senate committee on whistleblowers, told NEWSMAX that he knew a year ago about the FBI’s unclassified “1023” that alleged bribes were paid to Joe and Hunter Biden by the founder of Burisma.  It took THAT LONG to get hold of the document.  Here are all the hoops that had to be jumped through to get it…

https://www.newsmax.com/newsmax-tv/chuck-grassley-fbi-fd-1023/2023/07/25

Miranda Devine at the NEW YORK POST has a new column about what “Bidenomics” really means, and it’s something very different if you’re just living your life as a normal person as opposed to a Biden.  A must-read.

https://nypost.com/2023/07/26/the-real-scoop-on-bidenomics-corruption-tax-evasion-and-hunter

We wrote earlier in the week about how the art marketplace is made-to-order for international money launderers.  Jazz Shaw at HOT AIR has big ideas for how it could be used to circumvent campaign finance laws, too.

https://hotair.com/jazz-shaw/2023/07/27/the-art-scam-is-probably-going-to-explode-n567429

Law professor Jonathan Turley has made it clear in interviews that the most serious legal vulnerability and biggest fear faced by Hunter --- and Joe --- is the possibility of future prosecution under the Foreign Agents Registration Act (FARA).  If Joe Biden took a $5 million bribe as alleged, that makes HIM a foreign agent and subject to impeachment in the biggest political scandal ever.  This is why Hunter’s attorneys tried to slip that plea deal past the judge this week; it would’ve taken FARA off the table for good.

https://townhall.com/tipsheet/leahbarkoukis/2023/07/27/turley-hunter-bidens-judge-raised-the-question-the-wh-most-fears-n2626278

Finally, another must-read:  Bonchie at REDSTATE sees Hunter’s legal team “fuming” after Judge Noreika’s refusal to rubber-stamp their plea deal.  They’re attacking the judge personally now.  Not a good look nor a very wise legal strategy. What have they been smoking?

https://redstate.com/bonchie/2023/07/27/hunter-bidens-legal-team-is-fuming-personally-attacks-judge-for-exposing-the-plea-deal-n782899

[gravegroves]

ace nancy 👀?? from your wips?

I'm gonna preffice this by warning that Billy knows about Asexuality but isn't all that good at explaining it or the nuanced spectrum of being Ace. Also it's the 80's, so please read the following with that in mind. (Clarification comes later in the fic)

So this fic is about Billy being pressganged by Mr Clark into joining the debate team for the State Championships for extra credit. Nancy would rather have a Demodog chomp her left leg off than team up with Billy Hargrove, but things have a way of working out.

A few excerpts:

"Be honest Wheeler, did Harrington make you come even once?"

Nancy blushes.

"Oh, holy shit, he really didn't, did he?" 

"I didn't say that--" Nancy insists, loudly.

Billy laughs, "Oh, you didn't have to, Princess. Your face says it all."

"Shut up, Hargrove, just…" Nancy huffs in frustration and goes back to picking at the label a little more aggressively, "Just don't."

"Hey, I'm not judging you, that's all on Harrington. What a dick."

"He's not really. Not anymore. It's just," Her nail finally catches and she rips another strip of wet, sticky label off the bottle and flings it into the grass, "He was my first, you know? I didn't know what to do or how to - to move, and then it was over and I just remember thinking, is that all it is? And then I thought, maybe I'm just not good at it yet, maybe I just need to try again."

She sniffs, reaches up to wipe her face and Billy realises with a sickening lurch in his stomach that Wheeler is crying. He stares at her, frozen solid with uncertainty about what to do.

"And then I thought maybe there's something wrong with him, you know?" Her voice turns bitter. "Like, why couldn't he make it good for me? It's not like I hadn't heard about the other girls talking about Steve before we got together. None of them had any complaints." 

"But then I got together with Jonathan and I thought this feeling, this is what I was missing. But-- it didn't fix anything! It didn't fix me."

Billy flounders a little, but ultimately goes with the first thing that pops into his head. "There isn't anything wrong with you, Wheeler."

Nancy cackles a little, sways on the spot, the drink clearly loosening her tongue as well as her body. "Yeah? You gonna show me what I've been missing out on, huh? You wanna take me for a ride in your Camaro, Billy?"

Billy gags a little at the thought, luckily Nancy is too preoccupied by taking another swig from her bottle to notice.

"Oh yeah, that'd end really fucking well."

*****

"You literally did an hour long presentation on Nicola Tesla last semester and spent a quarter of it talking about why he never got married. Don't tell anyone I said this, but you're not exactly stupid. Don't fail me now, Wheeler."

Nancy blinks, looks likes she's thinking real fucking hard. Maybe Billy spoke too soon.

"You ever heard of the term asexual?"

"I think so?" She says, slowly, sounding out the words with deliberate care and turning it into a question. A valley grows between her brows in concentration. "The farmers at the spring festival talked about-- about culling a rooster because it wouldn't, like, mount the hens naturally. I'm sure that's the term he used. 

"Jesus Christ." Billy sucks deeply on his cigarette. "It means you don't wanna fuck." Billy frowns, waves his hand dismissively. "Like, you can like it just fine, but you don't think about it like most people do. Something like that."

Nancy straightens of her slouch to lean back and stare at him, jerking a little when she overbalances and steadies herself by grabbing the crook of Billy's elbow. "That doesn't sound normal."

He shrugs a little, takes one last pull from the cigarette before flicking the butt at the ground.  "What the fuck is normal, huh?" He grinds the butt into the gravel and turns to look at her, "Let's get you back on your pea, princess. I think you've had enough for one night."

He holds out a hand.

Nancy takes it.

*****

Billy jerks out of doze when someone drops into the seat next to him. He already knows who it's gonna be before he turns to look.

"Morning Wheeler, you get lost on the way to your seat?"

Billy looks around pointedly, his little nook in the back of the bus cut off from the rest of the group by a good five or six rows of empty seats. Far enough to get the point across that Billy isn't there by choice or planning to socialise with any of these nerds.

"No." She says simply.

"You sure? Seems like an awful lot of empty seats for you to be getting all friendly. How's the head?"

Nancy ignores him. Stares at the back of the seat in front of her like it gave her a less than a perfect grade. She purses her lips in that awful way that reminds Billy of a cat's asshole, but she doesn't run off in a huff like he expects.

"You're right." She says, still not looking at him. He watches a muscle tick in her jaw as she grinds her teeth.

He grins.

"You about to have a heart to heart with me, Wheeler? Gotta know whether or not to turn the volume up on these things." He gestures to the headphones pushed partially off his left ear.

She turns her head and regards him cooly for a beat, before a hand shoots out and bats the thing off his head with a quick swipe.

"Watch it!" Billy scrambles to catch them by the cord before they fall to the floor.

Nancy smiles sweetly, "Don't be a dick, Hargrove."

He rolls his eyes.

"Bitch."

"Slut."

"Whore."

She shoots him a pitying look. "Oh Billy, we both know Christie Otto paid you twenty bucks to let her suck your toes."

Billy guffaws, taken completely by surprise and loving it.

Nancy stares, disbelieving.

"You actually did it?"

Billy grins.

Her face does a complicated thing before settling on a confused expression. "But why?"

"Twenty bucks is a hell of a lot of dough for us mere peasants, Princess."

Billy screws his face up, tries not to squirm uncomfortably in his seat at the memory,  "Maybe I should have warned her that I'm ticklish. Almost kicked her face in, like, three times."

Nancy coughs. Covers her mouth as she laughs into her hands, like she doesn't want him to see that he made her laugh.

"Not that this isn't nice and all--"

"Oh, I'm sorry, you got somewhere to be, Hargrove?" She snaps, deadpan, but Billy can tell she's nervous from the way she wrings her hands and hides them up her sleeves.

"I just wanted to say thank you--"

"Don't mention it, Wheeler." He says, hastily. Actually he'd prefer it if they never spoke about it ever again.

She glares at the interruption, but presses on. "-- thank you and I wanted to know if I could talk to you. More. About it."

And now it's Billy's turn to stare. Nancy meets his eyes with a determined gaze. Whatever shit Tommy and the rest of the school likes to say about Nancy Wheeler, she's got stones, he'll give her that.

"Alright."

*****

The topic is announced.

Gay marriage.

Berkeley for. Hawkins against.

They win by a landslide.

Of course they do.

The team from Berkeley registers a formal complaint with the panel the second the win is announced. Mr Scott and his Berkeley counterpart are waved up to approach the judges table. Billy wants desperately to leave, but he's forced to sit and watch the Berkeley debate coach protest the unfair conditions his team had been placed under.

"No one in their right mind would chose to side with us on such a topic. No matter how well my kids argue their case."

"I'm afraid I disagree." Mr. Clarke argues. "We debate politically and morally charged topics all the time, Mr. Davenport. The judges judge how well you present your side, not their own personal beliefs.

Billy snorts. Feels unclean after having to stand on that stage and tell the world how unfit people like him are to love. To form families. To be allowed to simply be.

Even if it's all hypothetical, Billy knows those words came damn easily out of his team mates mouths, just as the words of support clearly left a sour after-taste in their opponents.

Nancy turns to look at him.

Fuck it.

Billy gets up and stalks out of the hall. Fuck it all to shit.

[fuck-customers]

i work at an ice cream store popular in the midwest. and yesterday this customer came in — she’s clearly in a mood, doesn’t respond to my ‘how are you’ (not super uncommon but usually an indicator that they’re just wanting to get this over with)

she goes “i want a pint of peanut butter chip.”

so i tell her where to find the pints with a gesture towards them. all of our pints are packaged at the factory, we haven’t ever packed them ourselves. theres a video constantly playing when we’re open that shows the process.

she says “no, i want a pint of peanut butter chip. fresh.”

i’m a team lead and was the MOD on shift, so i know it’s my job to handle the situation. and believe me i’m VERY polite. so i tell her “i’m sorry but we don’t do that here.” because WHAT ELSE WOULD I SAY

(slow, condescending tone) “how do those (gestures) get in the containers then?”

“in our factories (gestures to the video).”

“well how old are the ones in there (pint case)?”

for those unfamiliar w stocking, when you stock an item it’s hard to keep track of how long something’s been in there, with people buying it, rotating the stock, etc. ESPECIALLY when i usually only work twice or thrice a week. also pretty sure our stuff doesn’t have expiry dates? but i could be wrong. so i say “maybe one or two days?”

she grumbles about “well when i get THOSE theres always a layer of ice on top but maybe it’s because i buy it at the grocery store.” since i was silent she then said louder “what’s the maximum amount of scoops in a cup?”

and i’m like... “three? probably three.” because while we COULD do more it’s exorbitantly more expensive and also very difficult to fit. lady apparently looked confused and angry so my coworker chimes in that it’s roughly the same mass as a pint.

so she goes “get me that.” and i’m like okay sure and go to make it while coworker checks her out. well at register she apparently asked for my name.

i’m nervous because i’m probably getting my first formal complaint? and it could jeopardize my promotion? i’m saving up for surgery and i really need that raise and i swear to god if some lady angry about us not doing something WE HAVE NEVER DONE makes me lose it i’m going to quit

[cno-inbminor]

adsentio - the masque

a/n: it’s royalty!au once again! i would recommend reading adsentio AND bonus letters for the full context. thank you to those who were waiting patiently! did i rewatch ‘ever after: a cinderella story’ for inspiration? of course. 

genre: royalty!au ft. fem!reader, angst, fluff; warnings: terribly written sword fight, somewhat unedited.

summary: You’re starting to wonder if an impostor wrote those letters instead of Prince Akaashi, but the show must go on. 

wc: ~7.4k

royalty!au: adsentio (pt. 1) | bonus letters (pt 1.5) | the masque (pt. 2)

“Are you sure everything is packed?”

“Yes, mother,” you reply, voice laced with exasperation.

“Is your dress for the ceremony there as well? We absolutely cannot leave without that gown!”

“Yes, mother, it’s in there,” you reassure, pointing to a trunk that’s already in the carriage. An audible sigh of relief leaves your mother’s lips. Even though your mother’s fretting was starting to grate at your last nerves, you still felt the excitement of going back to the Fukurodani Kingdom.

After all, Prince Akaashi is waiting for you.

Akaashi’s Christmas gift had come a month and a half before the holiday it was intended for. Soon after, the two of you agreed to refrain from sending any letters during the months of frost, wanting to lessen the burden on the delivery man. He needed to be home with his family when possible, and the journey could be treacherous during those times. As warmer weather rolled around in mid-March, his familiar face had arrived at your castle steps with a small bundle of letters tied with parcel string. They were all addressed to you in a handwriting that you had grown extremely fond of.

If it were up to you, you would be adorned in your most comfortable riding attire and charge full speed ahead. You would probably be able to cut the journey time by about a third, and though it wasn’t much, it would still mean that you would see Akaashi sooner. With how forward he was in his letters, you could only bubble with enthusiasm at how different this summer could be.

Nevertheless, time passes as it does, and you’re once again at the entrance of Fukurodani’s castle. As always, the king and queen stand side by side at the bottom of the steps, the prince standing politely by them. It seems that Prince Akaashi has only grown more handsome since last summer. If you had to guess, he would be more than a full head taller than you. Besides height, Akaashi’s face seems to have lost any remaining baby fat, leaving nothing but a pointed chin and a sharp jawline. Whether or not it be a result of your newfound attraction towards him, there’s no room to deny just how handsome he truly is, bordering on ethereal beauty.

His piercing blue orbs seem to sparkle in delight when you step out of the carriage. In fact, he’s quick to take place of their usual footman and hold out a hand for you to grasp, securely ensuring that you don’t lose your step. Your grip is tight, and you can only hope that he sees the joy reflected in your own eyes. With intention and purpose, he presses his lips to the back of your hand, needing no reminder from his mother this time, and never removes his gaze from yours. Your breath seems to have escaped your lungs, even more so when he straightens and takes one daring step closer to you. Both of your parents must be brimming with satisfaction at this interaction, but all of it is ignored and disregarded. Akaashi still keeps your hand in his as he slightly leans down to whisper in your ear.

“You look beautiful as always, Princess (y/n).”

Your title had always moderately annoyed you over the last 18 years, but you decide then and there that there would be no complaint if he addressed you as so for the rest of eternity. Furthermore, if it weren’t for your dignity and pride, you would kiss him right now in front of everyone. As he pulls away, you do your best to compose yourself. After all, two can play this game.

“Thank you, Your Highness. You’ve grown more handsome since I last saw you.”

“Have we returned to formalities again?”

“Please forgive my old habits, Prince Akaashi.”

“(Y/n),” he murmurs darkly, metallic blue eyes full of warning and mischief. “Need I remind you of my given name?”

You register the tightening of his grip. Don’t even dare, his eyes seem to caution, not when so much progress was made through paper and ink. But you know he will rise to a challenge for his desires when he sees one – it’s only in his nature.

“Perhaps I need a reason to address you as such,” you quip, watching his eyes flash with an emotion you are unable to pinpoint. Nevertheless, you remove your hand from his, ignoring the yearning for the warmth that he had provided. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must greet the king and queen or they’ll have my head.”

Akaashi only watches with longing as you trek away to curtsy before his parents. Could your birthday celebration come any sooner?

-

You’re beginning to think that someone other than Prince Akaashi wrote those letters to you, that someone else had just forged his handwriting to a tee and perfectly replicated his writing style. Since the little interaction between you two on the day of your arrival, Akaashi was acting as if this were any other summer. Very little was said to or done with you – even last summer, the two of you had often strolled through the gardens while discussing various topics. Yet now, it was five summers ago all over again: the two of you at opposite ends of the castle reading your desired books.

You only ever saw him during mealtimes or in passing – even then, he would simply nod in your direction or only speak to you when he had to. Your efforts to narrow the gap diminished significantly by the third day, and by the end of the first week, you decided to completely give up. The prince has constructed a wall between you two and you possessed no ability to strike it down.

On days you weren’t reading, out of boredom and the need to fill your mind with thoughts of anything other than Akaashi, you would help prepare for the ball and your coming-of-age celebration. A private, proper ceremony would be done in your own kingdom once you returned, but it had long been determined that the festivities would be held here. Invitations and RSVP’s had steadily increased over the months, indicating that this would be a grand occasion. All the lessons on design and party-arrangement were finally paying off in its fullest, but your mother could not ignore the lack of life in your eyes.

It’s two weeks before the ball – you’re currently sitting in your chambers, lounging in a chair on your balcony with a book in your lap. You’ve recently taken an interest in philosophy, first starting with the works of Aristotle and Plato. A faint rap of knuckles on your door breaks your focus. “Come in,” you call out loud enough for your visitor to hear. The door clicks open and shut, and you’re mildly surprised to see your mother turning the corner to search for you.

“Mother, what a surprise,” you express while standing. She pulls you in for a hug without a word, only confusing you in the process as you return the embrace. After removing herself, she guides you back inside until the two of you are sitting on the edge of your bed, still holding your hands.

“Something has been bothering you, my child. Is there something you wish to tell me?” Your mother doesn’t want to push – she knows of the letters, your developed affection for Akaashi, and the lack of interaction between the two of you this summer. It’s hard to miss the lack of your figure by his side when he’s wondering around the castle, the ever pensive, calculating look on his face never fading. It’s hard to miss the way you often pick at your food, even going as far to request smaller portions for all your meals.

But it’s even harder to ignore the worried look in the prince’s eyes that’s cast your way when you excuse yourself after every meal, leaving earlier than everyone else.

You can only sigh before your teeth begin to gently gnaw on your bottom lip. “Mother, how angry would you be if this engagement doesn’t proceed as you’ve planned?”

“To be quite honest,” she begins as a small smile forms on her face. “I wouldn’t be angry at all. Not if the cost of it was your happiness.”

“But what about the merger?”

��With all these years between our kingdoms, engagement or not, a merger of sorts would only be inevitable. We only hoped that naturally, you and the prince would be drawn towards each other. But to force the two of you together would be unfair – your father and mine, as well as his parents, main concern is the happiness of our children.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“Of course,” your mother emphasizes, a hand reaching up to cradle your cheek. “In fact, if you would like…

“We don’t have to come here next summer.”

Your eyes widen. Your mother was giving you a choice in this?

“Are you...sure?”

“I’m absolutely positive, (y/n). I will not force you and neither will your father, especially if forcing you would only make your pain greater.”

“Very well then, mother. We shall see.”

“Keep your chin up, my dear. We must keep you in your best shape for the ball, and…” she pauses, her smile turning somewhat mischievous. “Perhaps remind the prince that he should be properly courting you by now.”

“Mother!”

-

“Is it proper for a princess to be sparring?”

“Bokuto, you’ve known me for so many years, yet you still ask me this question every time. Do you really think my father would allow me to marry without knowing how to defend myself?”  

“I can’t really say, Princess. At least, not without possibly offending the king.”

Every summer, you make it tradition to leave time for sparring. When you turned fourteen, many of the younger guards in training had been terrified of practicing with you, fearing that they’d be punished for engaging in behavior that could possibly harm the princess. But after much coaxing and convincing (as well as written promise from King Akaashi), they finally felt comfortable in sparring with you. Back at home, you had a few designated training partners from the royal guard, but it would do no good if you didn’t keep up with your skills.

You’ve won your fair share, as well as lost a few handfuls. But you were never a sore loser and only thanked your partner for their time, even asking for pointers. On a few occasions, you would duel with Akaashi, though for times when you were at an advantage, you would purposely lose. The prince needed faith and trust from his men, and many would be dimwitted enough to let a few losses to a woman diminish their view of him. Akaashi was very well aware of your generosity, as well as Bokuto, which only caused him to tease the prince relentlessly in private.

For the sixth time this summer, just one week before the masque, you had pleaded with Bokuto for his time. At this point, you prefer to not ask for anything from Akaashi, especially when you’re so obviously kept at arm’s length. Bokuto is much more agreeable and doesn’t treat you like a glass figurine, thanks to the many years of roughhousing during your childhoods. He isn’t afraid to use his full force behind the strikes of his sword and you could always guarantee a few good rounds from him. Additionally, he always offers a lot of good advice after each duel. When you incorporate his teachings into your skill set, he recognizes it immediately and howls with pride, praising himself for being such a wonderful instructor.

“Why haven’t you asked Akaashi to spar with you yet?” Bokuto asks while tightening his gloves. The training grounds are empty at this time, though to be fair, it’s still quite early in the morning. You wanted to spar comfortably without the overbearing heat of the summer afternoon sun. A sigh leaves your lips – it’s not as if he doesn’t know already.

“I believe you’re well aware of why I haven’t, Bokuto. He’s barely spoken to me in these weeks. In fact, I’m sure he has better things to do than to indulge me.”

“He still cares for you.”

“Well, he has a funny way of showing it,” you reply bitterly and draw out your sword. “Come on, no time to dawdle.”

Disobeying your words, Bokuto bides his time with some extra stretching. “I’m his closest friend, I would know.”

“Then he can tell me himself. Can we please start?”

“Very well then.”

His words have riled you up significantly, Bokuto notices. Your attacks are relentless and your senses seem sharper than ever, easily dodging and parrying with the footwork of an experienced soldier. In fact, your movement is breathtakingly graceful, almost as if you were dancing. The duel goes on for minutes until Bokuto accidentally hesitates and can only surrender when the tip of your sword is millimeters from his neck. He drops his sword and a big grin forms on his face.

You lower your weapon and step back as the both of you catch your breath. Behind you, Bokuto spots a familiar figure leaning over the edge of their balcony. They’re too far away to hear what you’re saying or what expressions you’re wearing, but that doesn’t stop Bokuto from coming up with a devious plan.

“(Y/n), don’t look behind you, but he’s watching.”

You freeze – you completely forgot that Akaashi’s room faces the direction of the training grounds. Naturally, he has his own balcony, but you didn’t think he’d be watching. Had he been observing all your other sparring rounds? And how was he awake now? He’s usually never up this early.

“I have an idea,” Bokuto continues. “But you have to play along, all right?”

“I’m not liking the sound of this…”

“You just need to follow my lead. Now, pretend you’re about to start another duel.”

With all the confusion displayed on your face, you warily adjust yourself into your preparatory stance. Bokuto steps closer to you while sheathing his sword, eyeing your position with his hands behind his back. He quickly checks to see if Akaashi is still paying attention, and after confirming so, he enters your bubble of personal space.

“If you begin to feel uncomfortable, tell me. If I’m right, it’ll only take a few minutes before he’s down here.”

“But I don’t want—”

“Shh,” Bokuto interrupts with a gloved finger on your lips. He smirks when he spots Akaashi suddenly straightening himself, his posture turning stiff and guarded. You watch as he reaches for the hand holding your sword, wrapping his own around your grip.

“What are you doing?” You hiss at him.

“Wait a few seconds…okay,” Bokuto removes himself from your personal space. You relax and put down your guard, resisting the urge to punch him in the arm.

“What ever was all that for?!”

“Look,” he replies, pointing in the direction of Akaashi’s balcony. “He’s gone. I guarantee he’ll be here in the next five minutes.”

“Bokuto—”

“Now, now, let’s have another round to pass the time.”

“But—”

You’re interrupted when Bokuto swings his sword towards you, your own blocking his instinctively. You could try to protest all you want, but he wasn’t going to let you have it. You would make sure that he regrets it. Much like the first round, you put your all into the sparring session, fury growing as Bokuto’s grin widens over time. He’s taunting you over and over, leaving you so focused that you’re completely oblivious to the third figure currently making their way towards the two of you. Once within earshot, Akaashi clears his throat and you whip towards him with horror in your eyes.

“Ah, Akaashi, excellent! So glad you could join us!” Bokuto yells, walking away from you to clap him on the shoulder. “In fact, would you mind taking over from here? I just remembered I needed to attend to something back inside the castle. Thank you, Akaashi!” And then Bokuto just…leaves.

A shroud of silence covers the two of you – your attention is directed at anything but the object of your affections, choosing to focus on the dew of the grass, the glint of the light on your sword, the light morning breeze blowing past your stray hairs, the loose threads at the waist of your pants—

“Shall we begin?” He asks, breaking the tranquility.

Akaashi is infuriating; infuriatingly handsome, infuriatingly good at stripping down your defenses, infuriatingly adept at raising your heartbeat to an alarming rate. It’s simply unfair, and it angers you.

You say nothing while taking a few steps backward, your feet adjusting yourself in the same position that Bokuto had you stand in just mere minutes ago. Akaashi observes and also readies himself, his stance very similar to yours. Only seconds pass before he’s charging towards you, and the fight begins.

The first round falls in his favor, his face showing little reaction throughout the whole clash. You demand another round, barely giving time for a break because you’re brimming with the need to have some semblance of a victory. Weeks of pent up furious confusion make themselves known in the way you fight – you no longer move with the grace seen earlier with Bokuto. Instead, traces of sloppiness are there in your footwork and Akaashi takes advantage of this, though he begins to worry. If this were a real duel, you would’ve long fallen victim to his sword.

The second round lasts much longer than the first due to your obstinate refusal to back down and give up. Your braid had long come undone and Akaashi can’t help but think about how beautiful you look, even with your hair seemingly flying wildly every time you spin to try to catch him off guard. His split focus costs him when your weapons meet in the middle, allowing you to push and twist his hand around to force him to lose his grip. The metal is flung towards the side and he’s met with the shimmer of your sword that’s dangerously close to his jugular vein. He slowly brings his hands up in surrender and you falter.

Both of your chests rapidly rise and fall, lungs desperate for oxygen. Akaashi struggles to remember the last time you had put so much effort into a duel, your desperation to win screaming itself into the air. He notices how much thinner your face has gotten, how your arm slightly trembles with exhaustion. You need to rest and eat more, Akaashi concludes with furrowed eyebrows. Your well-being is of utmost importance to him.

You feel yourself begin to quiver under Akaashi’s stare, yet long to know what could be going through his mind. Even though you’ve won this round, Akaashi still has your heart and the thought somewhat embarrasses you. You’ve always prided yourself in being level-headed, yet you just spent the last thirty to forty-five minutes taking out all your frustrations on him.

“Have you been getting enough sleep, (y/n)?”

Don’t say my name like that.

“I don’t see why it matters,” you sigh, moving away to pick up his fallen sword.

“You need to look after yourself,” Akaashi replies, following after her with a slight sense of urgency. You whip around too fast for him to react, only groaning from the impact when you practically shove his weapon to his chest. Nothing prepared you for this conversation – you aren’t ready to have it, and you’d rather not have it with swords nearby.

“I am looking after myself, your highness,” you bite through gritted teeth. Your feet carry you as fast as possible towards the entrance back into the castle, but a hand latches onto your wrist and demands your attention. You have no choice but to turn your body towards him, denying that his eyes are flashing nothing but concern and frustration.

“You’re eating less. You’re always awake at odd hours. Your corsets are too tight – they look as if they’ll squeeze the life out of you. You keep pushing yourself too hard during sparring sessions. It takes you longer than usual to finish books. You’re under the sun too much—”

“You have no right!” you accuse, attempting to wriggle your wrist from his grip. Why does he speak as if he’s been keeping a watchful eye on you when he can barely meet your own over the dinner table?

Akaashi refuses to relent, even pulling you closer to him under the shadows of the doorway. “Please (y/n), you must know how much I worry—”

“Then pray tell, why have you ignored me since I stepped foot into your castle?!” You cry out, tears of vexation beginning to form. “Why have you ignored my very existence, as if we are twelve again and trying to escape something seemingly inevitable?! How could—how could you build me up for months and months, only to tear me down without a second thought?”

Akaashi knows his reasoning is botched and full of fallacies – he’s beginning to understand the extent of how much his actions have affected you, but he can’t help but try to save some face. His cool, collected façade and wisdom had long taken a backseat towards matters concerning you, and he feels like a fool. A big, bumbling, inexplicably irrational fool in love.  

“Princess—”

“I would have no qualms if you had just outright told me that you didn’t care for me,” you interrupt once more, though in a calmer tone. Your body is still shaking from the emotional downpour, tears streaking down your cheeks unattractively. You wish you could just take a horse from the stables and ride home, away from all this nonsense. “But you can’t write me those letters, the very ones that I’ve so deeply cherished this passing year, and treat me as if it were all some dream that my brain so desperately sprung together.”

“I have my deepest regrets – I’m so sorry, it’s just…with the way we greeted each other on the first day, I somehow convinced myself that you didn’t mean what you wrote—”

“Keiji,” you interrupt softly. How he wishes you were saying his name in a different context, in a tone that was full of love than disappointment. How he wishes there were no salty tears tracking down your cheeks. “You have known me for almost thirteen years. Thirteen long, playful, revealing years. Nothing ever escapes you, and you said so yourself; we are old friends. Therefore,” you pause, gulping.

“Shouldn’t you know that I would never pen those words to just anyone?”

And you disappear into the castle.

Akaashi feels that there’s nothing more appropriate than beating his head into the wall, cursing himself for being so stupid.

What have I done?

-

“I must say, in the most appropriate sense, you are truly, royally fucked.”

“I know, Bokuto. I know.”      

-

Akaashi tries to make up for his mistakes in his classic fashion: silently, with small thoughtful gifts.

He has resumed leaving flowers from the garden in your chambers again: some days, you return to a peony. Other days, you return to the addition a single rose in the ardent shade of passionate love. They accumulate on your dresser, your room becoming filled with the floral scents. The lingering fragrance haunts your dreams, filled with flashes of childhood memories and anticipated encounters at the masque. You often wake up feeling as if there’s a lead weight on your chest, and even though you physically slept for eight hours, the fatigue in your eyes vehemently argue otherwise.

Akaashi becomes insistent on escorting you everywhere, always offering his arm for you to take. At first, you’re hesitant, but just a day later, it becomes second nature. Akaashi joins you again when reading – if he can, he’ll take a seat next to you. If not, he’ll be sure to be across from you, though he’s not reading most of these times. He often carries a journal with him, assistants always prepared to provide him with a writing utensil and ink, and scribbles away. Akaashi has never held back his admiration for the world’s literature, and four days before your birthday, you pause in your reading to feed the curiosity.

“What are you scribbling in there, if I may ask?”

“A…personal work of sorts.”

“Your Highness, an author? I must say, it suits you. Is it a work of fiction?”

“Not this time,” he says with the ghost of a demure, secretive smile on his face. “You could consider it a memoir.”  

“If you say so.”

-

It had been decided some time ago that the ball would be held the night before your birthday, rather than the day of. These events were known to last well into the night, so at midnight, they would make an announcement in your honor and present you before everyone invited. With these change in plans, your original deadline for Akaashi to find you had to be moved ahead, and he was less than pleased to hear this the day before the ball, even though it was anticipated.

“Fifteen minutes is precious time, Princess,” Akaashi expresses with displeasure. “Could you permit me at least five ‘til midnight?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, milord. I must have enough time to prepare myself.”

“Have I only been upgraded to being called ‘milord’?”

“How is it that your title irks you so?”

“Only when it’s coming from you, Princess. And I must say, you’re one to speak – don’t think I’m unaware of how much you greatly dislike it when you’re addressed as such. You’ve never bothered to correct me though. Why is that?”

“Perhaps…” you say, giving him a side glance full of mirth. “Perhaps you’re just an exception.”

Akaashi’s eyes widen a bit before crinkling with delight. You never cease to amaze him, reminding him at the most unexpected times that you are also invested in this growing relationship with him. He quickly looks around him before gently dragging you to the nearest empty bedroom, hoping that even though the walls have ears, they don’t have the eyes to witness this. Once the door is quietly shut behind him, Akaashi begins to take slow steps in your direction, towering over you and crowding you until your heels hit the wall. You struggle to maintain eye contact as well as keeping your breathing under control. Akaashi continues to pin you down with his piercing gaze, gradually bending down until he’s at eye level with you. Thoughts run amok in your brain as his face nears yours. Is he going to—

Your internal process ceases when he tenderly places a kiss at the corner of your lips, then moving until his breath is right by your ear. The sensation triggers a shiver down your spine, causing him to chuckle.

“To give you an idea of what I’d like my reward to be when I catch you tomorrow night, Princess,” he murmurs before moving away.

You’re blushing furiously no matter how much you fight it, barely registering when he lifts both of your hands to place a similarly gentle kiss on your touching knuckles. Part of you wants to protest when he steps towards the door and cracks it open, peeking out to see if anyone is lingering in the corridors. Akaashi keeps a hold on one of your hands, quickly leading you out and folding it into the crook of his other elbow. He fixes his gaze in front of him to bring on an air of normalcy, as if he didn’t just sneak you into a spare bedroom to do something that many would somewhat frown upon. Akaashi had yet to ask to formally court you, but he has full intentions to change that tomorrow night.

“Perhaps you’ll give me an insight on what you’ll be wearing tomorrow night?” He inquires cheekily and you send him your dirtiest glare.

“Only in your dreams, milord. Did you not read the part about making this harder on you so I could have some fun?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to have fun with each other?”

“Do you mean to tempt me?” You tease, chuckling into the back of your free hand.

“There was no guarantee that you’d refuse – am I not allowed to grasp onto any remaining hope?”

“Whatever satisfies you, milord.”

“Then let me find you tomorrow night. I don’t believe I’ll stand for any of the other suitors attempting to whisk you away with baseless words and ill intentions.”

“What would you know of their intentions?” You ask curiously, looking up towards him. His eyes darken and harden with an emotion you’re not familiar with. It’s one that is never directed towards you, almost dangerous in a way.

“More than you should know, Princess,” he replies gravely.

Before you realize it, you’re sitting in front of your vanity, sitting as prettily and patiently as you can while your handmaiden, Yachi, does her best work on your hair. You observe your current features – a faint blush had been dusted on your cheeks and a deep rouge painted on your lips. Your mask would be similar to many those of the other attendees, one more thing to pull in your favor in this game of cat and mouse.

Your heart begins to beat faster as the seconds tick by – there’s no doubt that Akaashi is already by his parents’ side, carrying a princely aura and politely greeting all the guests. The ball began at 9PM and it was already thirty minutes after. You can hear the faint sounds of the musicians playing up a lively theme, imagining that the festivities will be in full swing soon. Soon, your handmaiden is patting you on the shoulder, notifying you that she was done. In the mirror, you turn your head left and right and nod appreciatively, thanking her for her hard work. Your fingers shakily pick up your mask and Yachi ties it securely behind your head and underneath your hair.

“Do you think he’ll recognize me?” You ask nervously, fiddling your fingers in your lap. Yachi knew almost everything about the ordeal and had even come up with some good ideas to make things harder on the prince.

“If he keeps in mind that you’ll be the most beautiful maiden at the ball, then I’m sure he will,” Yachi giggles, tucking in some stray hairs.

“You’re not here to lie to me,” you whine, pouting slightly. “In all seriousness…”

“I have no doubt, milady,” Yachi says, her eyes and tone softening. “If His Highness likes you as much as he says he does, then he will certainly find you.”

You let out a deep breath before standing from your chair, the nerves beginning to course through your system. In the reflection, you gaze upon the line of flower-filled vases on your dresser, their presence somehow bringing you some serenity. Yachi is right -- with how much he boasted in letters about studying every memory he has of you, there should be a reasonable level of certainty that he would catch you by your deadline.

But now was the time to be festive. After all, the guests were here in your honor (and to have a joyous time) and you’d be rude to not partake in the activities. Some of the maids are bustling around, ensuring that drinks and food are readily available, never running low. The sound of your heels clicking along the granite echoes against the walls, yet your heartbeat seems louder and louder as you near the ballroom. The castle beholds two specific large ballrooms with double doors towards the courtyard, allowing the cool summer air in. You take a quick detour and choose to enter the ballroom from the outside, much less likely to arouse suspicion.

At least everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, you think to yourself with a smile. It’s easy to spot Bokuto in the crowd with that hair of his, just as you predicted. The band just finishes a song when you sneak in, yet starts up a familiar tune not long after. The piece calls for a large group to dance together, and wanting to join in, you make your way to the center. Luckily, one more female was needed and you are welcomed, as well as gently shoved to a tall man who seemed to be lacking a partner. It’s not hard to guess who it is, however. Even with a mask, you could recognize that crooked grin from anywhere.

As per tradition, he bows to you and you curtsy, then routinely placing your hand in his. He draws you close to him by the waist, but his grip is light and barely holds any weight on your back. Taking a quick once-over at the group, he addresses you.

“Should I be counting my lucky stars to be dancing with the princess in honor?” He teases just loud enough for you to hear. 

“I would advise against it, Prince Kuroo.”

A quiet laugh leaves his chest as he gives you a spin, flawlessly bring you back to him. “You can trust me, Princess. Bokuto has already informed me of the game in place, though I suppose it was more of a warning more than anything.”

“Oh, how so?”

“If I didn’t want to face the wrath of your dear prince, I should refrain from attempting to convince you that a merger between our kingdoms would be more ideal.”

“I must say, I’m a little surprised that Bokuto isn’t trying to stir up trouble.”

“I would advise against speaking too soon – he’s already on his third glass of mead.”

“Good gods,” you mutter in disbelief. Kuroo shakes with laughter.

“For my amusement, I’d like to see Akaashi be a clumsy fool in love. You have my word that I’ll keep this interaction secret for now,” he promises, rushing his words a little bit. Soon, the two of you will need to break apart and switch partners.

“But don’t forget to have a little fun. Happy birthday, Princess,” Kuroo says sincerely in your ear, sneaking in a quick kiss to the back of your hand before letting you go. You fall into the hands of another male, one you don’t recognize, and fall into silent routine until the dance is over. When the band comes to a stop, everybody bows to each other with a wide smile on their faces and cheeks tinted red from happiness. Momentarily, you had forgotten about your nerves and Akaashi, but now that there was nothing else to focus on, the shivers of being chased creep along your body.

In one sense, it’s almost thrilling. The thought has you questioning your own sanity, but perhaps it’s only because Akaashi is the one searching for you, finding the right time to pounce. As a result, you never stay in one place for too long, mingling into other crowds and making small talk. Very few have noticed who you were, and even Bokuto replaces his antics for a wink when he passes by you, knowing his usual behavior would give it all away.

The clock strikes eleven, each toll causing your heart to skip a beat. You grant yourself one more glance towards Akaashi.

Earlier during the dance, you had spotted him in the far corner of the ballroom staring in another direction. Now when you have the time to watch and appreciate, you can’t help but marvel at how beautiful this man is. Time boded well on him, his features and height resembling a strong, trustworthy young prince. He had the intellect and perceptive level worthy of being king, and even the atmosphere around him agreed. His head was fit to hold a crown, and any woman would fall at his feet in seconds. Tonight, he is donned in the kingdom’s colors, his own attire a regal show of ivory, ebony, and gold. The design is not overly ornate or flamboyant, yet regal enough to instantaneously remind others exactly who he is. Each hue makes him shine like a beacon of light in darkness.

Needing some fresh air, you slip out towards the courtyard and quietly make your way to the garden entrance. A couple of guards are standing watch but let you in once you untie the mask from your face. Your feet pad down a familiar path towards the rows of peonies and you’re thankful for the uninhibited rays of the full moon tonight. They’re cast in a soft glow of white and blue – you can’t help but tenderly touch petals of one half-open.

“I had an inkling that you would come here.”

The familiar tenor startles you out of your wits, your hand flying back up to your chest as you turn towards the perpetrator for your premature heart attack. None other than Prince Akaashi stands before you with his hands behind his back and a twinkle in his eyes. Then, the weight is lifted off your chest.

He had found you.

Once you catch your breath, you can only let out a suppressed laugh. There was nowhere to hide, not when your mask is grasped between the fingers of your other hand. He hadn’t even bothered to wear one, though you’ll scold him later for not participating in the festivities.

“I suppose you followed me here?”

“You could say that,” Akaashi replies with a smile, moving closer to stand right in front of you.

“It did take you over an hour and a half though.”

“(Y/n).”

“…yes, milord?”

“I noticed you the second you stepped into the ballroom.”

The statement baffles you and freezes you to the core. You find yourself unable to do anything when Akaashi grasps both of your hands in his, bringing them to his lips much like he did yesterday.

“Then why did you not come to me then?” You question after finding your voice again. Akaashi says nothing at first, only rearranging your limbs to a familiar posture for a waltz. He begins to step and lead, your own feet naturally following him as if you’ve been practicing this for a long time together. His silence makes you grow more unsure of all this.

“I wanted to observe, reconfirm my suspicions that I was already fully convinced on. In addition, I wanted you to enjoy yourself. You and our mothers have spent so many months preparing this – it’s only right that you enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

“Then you saw me dance?”

“Yes, and you were the best of them all,” he instantly compliments, always honest and straightforward to the point, sending blood to your cheeks.

“Thank you, milord,” you reply sheepishly.

“You’re welcome, Princess. Though I must say,” Akaashi’s tone turns dangerous, leaning over to whisper in your ear. He notices how your hands tighten their grips on his, perhaps trying to ground yourself. “Why did Prince Kuroo of Nekoma speak to you like this, so intimately? I thought, perhaps, this would also be left as a privilege solely for me?”

“He was doing just as you had warned before,” you chuckle, silently apologizing for pulling the wool over Kuroo’s eyes. Judging by the sharp inhale, Akaashi was less than pleased at what you were insinuating. “He may or may not have been attempting to persuade me into forming a more personal alliance with his kingdom.”

“Was he now…” Akaashi murmurs. In an effort to contain the green jealousy rising within him (and gain a little leverage), his hands slowly release yours to gently grasp your waist. For a moment, he wishes they were holding you this way in a different situation, but that doesn’t stop him from daringly ghosting his lips over the column of your neck, his breath sending goosebumps along your skin. You keep as still as possible, completely unsure of what to do. But if there’s one thing that is certain, it’s that no man could ever have an effect on you like Akaashi does.

“I have known you since you were young,” he proceeds. “And though we didn’t want anything to do with each other, we eventually grew accustomed to each other. Before I even realized it, I was watching your every move, listening to every word you said. Even when we were twelve, I found myself wanting to be near you. I wanted you to take notice of me just as I did you. When we were fifteen and you sat against me by the fireplace…there was the most wonderful sense of belonging, as if you were supposed to be right there by my side.”

Your heart might fail you at this point, aching for the man who was now lifting his head away to face you. The back of one hand lifts to caress your cheek, and your eyes catch the ardent passion in his, even in the moonlight.

“I penned those words to you with every intention of properly courting you. I wished for you to understand the lengths I would go to ensure your happiness. It was never about this merger between our kingdoms and hasn’t been for a long time. I only want you to know that should you allow me to, it would be my honor to court you and perhaps…be your husband.”

Unshed tears of joy are brimming in your eyes. Akaashi has suffered enough, you believe. A tear must have escaped because he catches it with his thumb, softly wiping it away. You can’t help but let out a breathless laugh, and Akaashi knows it’s a good sign. The smile on his face grows wider as you collect yourself to give your response.

“You do, after all, deserve a reward for finding me.”

Akaashi smirks and tilts his head forward, his lips millimeters away from yours.

“And what would that be, Princess?” He purrs.

Your heart takes a leap and you press your lips to his. Instantly, Akaashi cradles your face, refusing to separate from you. The first kiss is innocent and unmoving, allowing the both of you to revel in the sensation. A thrilling streak of adrenaline courses through your veins and sets your soul on fire as he puts more force, conveying to you his neediness and years of pent-up desire. You return it ounce for ounce until you can’t breathe anymore, pulling back to breathe in some much-needed oxygen. Akaashi doesn’t stop, sensuously kissing every available surface of your cheeks until he’s tired of waiting to kiss your lips once more. You give in and let yourself fall until the point of no return – even if Akaashi was the devil incarnate, you would gladly hand over your soul for an eternity of his love.

“As much as I want to continue this,” he states over bated breath. “We have a ball to return to.”

You sigh and nod, brushing your nose against his before allowing some distance between the two of you. Akaashi offers to tie the mask before taking hold of your hand, folding it into the crook of his elbow as he has done many times before. The two of you bide your time as much as possible, giving each other knowing glances when the courtyard is within your view again. Some of the ladies (and men) throw you nasty looks for having had private time with the prince, but none of it matters as Akaashi asks for a dance, spending the rest of the minutes until midnight with you in his arms.

After midnight strikes and being presented to the crowd, Akaashi keeps a hold on you again, ignoring the jeering and teasing gestures from Bokuto and Prince Kuroo. Kuroo, the ever honest yet playful man he is, sends you a wink behind Akaashi’s back and you bury your face into his chest. Whatever the cause may be, Akaashi continues to envelop you in his arms with a light and comfortable conversation taking place. As a natural silence passes over, he whispers into your ear, “Happy birthday, Princess.”

“Thank you, Keiji.”

Ecstasy fills his soul -- there hasn’t been anything more gratifying or more satisfying than hearing his name from your lips again. Finally, from now until death...he feels absolutely complete.

[satan-chillin]

Hereafter (1/7)

Wei Wuxian is sent off of Cloud Recesses, bade by his fathers to "have fun and make friends" which, now that he thinks about it, sounds like a gross oversimplification of what the next six months away from home will entail.

If he happens to form unlikely connections, start a matchmaking, and gets unwittingly involved in the presently strained political state of the cultivation world, those are just par for the course.

Chasing after one of the famed Twin Jades of Lan, however, is an added bonus.

(Or, WWX was sent to Gusu by his fathers Wen Kexing & Zhou Zishu)

Part 2 of Spirited Away Series. Part 1 here.

Also available in Ao3

❆❆❆

Emperor's Smile was a good wine as advertised, and Wei Wuxian lamented that he was pouring it to accompany his sullen mood.

The departure of his shixiong brought an inexplicable feeling of gloom. He had never been this far from home—oh, there had been trips to Mirror Lake Sect and Longyuan Valley once or twice a year but always with the company of either the senior or junior disciples or sometimes his fathers—and never alone like this, in almost what seemed to be the other end of the map and a place where it might as well be a different world.

He thought of the half-finished letters he would be sending back with his shixiong. The long-overdue one was for his shijie Xiaolian who in their last correspondence told him that she was expecting; it was only natural that he would suggest she took a character from his birth name. The shortest missive was for the juniors left at the Four Seasons Manor who had him promise that he would tell them of the cultivation world; their minder, Shu Feng, would read his letter to the juniors—who were yet to learn how to read on their own—as if their usual bedtime stories.

The longest letters were for a-die and baba, separated only because he doubted he could fit in his sentiments for them in a single letter. He kept their reminders at heart despite his initial complaints of their nagging; from his baba, most of all, who had hardly let him out of his sight and had prepared his favorite meals during supper in the last few weeks leading to his departure. Even his a-die had doubled his training regimen a month prior, a lot stricter and meticulous in gauging his progress, though Wei Wuxian had suspected that it had been his way to ascertain his readiness—and to spend more time with him.

Simply put, he missed his home and family already, right off his first evening in the Cloud Recesses. And to think that he had long been waiting for this moment to come, brimming with excitement for years at the prospect of delving into a world that seemingly came from a myth. He had been a child filled with wonder when told that he was originally a part of it too, that once he was of the right age he would return where his birth parents had lived.

And so far, he was... reserving his judgment in that front, so to speak.

Wei Wuxian let out a sigh. He was aware of being uncharacteristically despondent under such a pleasant evening of bright moon and a delectable wine at hand. The right company wouldn’t be so bad, and if his shixiong was amenable they might as well spend the night before his leave.

“Trespassing is forbidden in Cloud Recesses.”

It was the colors Wei Wuxian first registered: the shade of white that was almost reminiscent of his baba’s snowy hair; the soft hue of blue that was barely distinct in the dark but not so much under the moonlight, the color of his favorite robes as a boy because it was the first that he had worn at home; the long dark hair billowing in the breeze in sharp contrast with the white ribbon; the golden eyes that hinted a brewing righteous anger the longer Wei Wuxian stared without any response.

He blinked slowly, almost afraid of the night carrying away the illusion, and threw caution in the wind as the words tumbled out of his mouth.

“Not even to catch a glimpse of you?”

Not a mirage, he decided, not with the deepening frown he got in response. Wei Wuxian smiled invitingly, raising a toast to the direction of the Lan Disciple.

“Alcohol is prohibited.”

He savored the lingering tang, not moving from his spot at the roof as the disciple approached in warning. Wei Wuxian took out an empty cup and poured one for this chosen company. He received a reproachful stare for his trouble, and he gambled with a pout that he knew only his fathers could resist. “Not even to share it with me?” He was, quite expectedly, met with silence that had him shaking his head ruefully. “I toast to the moon on high. That’s two of us; my shadow makes it three.”

Wei Wuxian was of the belief that it must be the first time that someone had an objection to the emphasis of their ethereal grandeur, though it could be because he fell short on words to properly describe this young master’s beauty. Not that he was given the chance to convey his intentions.

He sidestepped from the obvious assault to his precious alcohol, deftly keeping it away from the flash of silver. Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue reprovingly. “Young master, if the selection is not to your liking, this one will get another and share it with you.” Unable to resist, he asked, "Will you await my swift return?"

“Leave and do not come back,” came the clipped reply that betrayed none of his growing irritation.

“Aiya, there appears to be a misunderstanding.” Wei Wuxian showed the jade token and mustered a bow as formal as his occupied hands allowed. “This one is called Wei Ying, courtesy name Wei Wuxian, who came to Cloud Recesses to study under the Lan Sect’s prodigious tutelage.”

Prodigious was in the vein of how his parents had described the Lan Sect in general. His fathers had been the one to personally explain his situation to the Lan Masters, after all, something which Wei Wuxian had sulked and grumbled over during last year’s spring when he had not been allowed to come with them. A respectable sect rooted in tradition, a-die had said; ascetic and a stickler for discipline, had come from baba, if that isn’t obvious yet with their 3,000 rules.

A bunch of hard-asses, they meant to say. It was as if they had known Wei Wuxian would have gripes with the somewhat stifling ways of the Lan Sect and had softened the blow and at the same time had given him a warning. It helped, he supposed, and while he was usually called tactless, let it not be said that he did not have his moments. He wasn’t a child and student of Wen Kexing for nothing.

At the display of abrupt politeness, the Lan Disciple seemed to ease a little, keeping a respectful distance and returning the gesture with an acknowledging nod—still miffed, however—before stating, “Venturing out at night and bribing an officer are prohibited.”

Wei Wuxian sighed. Calling this disciple a hard-ass would sound unseemly, especially when he deemed his comeliness warranted poetics. He took it back; it was all an illusion, and this display of ridiculous uptightness was the disappointing reality.

“This one asks to be forgiven for not knowing the rules. He is but an outsider who is unlearned of the ways of the Lan.” Wei Wuxian inclined his head, cognizant of how it highlighted his profile and the imploring gaze under thick lashes. “Perhaps if the young master is willing to teach this one...”

Later, he would vehemently claim that he meant no offense (truly!) with his words, but he couldn’t determine whether something slipped in his tone or it was a complete misinterpretation on the Lan Disciple’s end that earned him, and his jar, another strike which was honestly uncalled for.

Wei Wuxian dodged a well-aimed swipe at the wine as if it personally offended the Lan Disciple (it probably did) and kept to his own left side once he figured out the disciple’s dominant hand. He was light on his feet, his footwork firm and steady on top of uneven ground, and it was a mark of a good foundation that he supposed he should have expected from a disciple of a major sect.

The fluidity of his steps and the grace of his swings were an admittedly admirable display of internal balance, and Wei Wuxian had to discern any chink he could press. He twisted, chest against the elbow of the disciple’s right arm that held his sword, a masterful creation that suited its owner. Wei Wuxian leaned, his finger following the curve of the clothed forearm and to the peek of a wrist where a single touch told him of harmonious meridians that resonated with a powerful golden core. Impressive.

He drifted to the hilt of the blade. “Nice sword.” He winked.

“You—”

The Lan disciple pivoted, and Wei Wuxian crouched low from the hit that definitely wasn’t just to incapacitate. He leapt backward, a little captivated at the positively incensed look present that replaced the previously stoic expression. He had a suspicion that this one wasn’t often riled up, and wasn’t that such a regret when he looked nice when impassioned?

Still, Wei Wuxian had to pull back almost reluctantly. It wouldn’t do to antagonize someone way before he could even establish acquaintance with his peers. The last thing he wanted to reach his fathers’ and shixiong’s ears was him causing trouble less than a day since he stepped on the grounds of Cloud Recesses.

“I propose a deal with the young master,” he said, “A duel. If you win, then this one will submit to his punishment.” He smirked. “Any kind of punishment that the young master thinks befit this transgressor.

“And if I win, then the young master will consider the matter settled and this one will leave for the night… with the promise from the young master to share a jar of good wine with me next time, of course.”

Golden eyes narrowed. “Fighting without permission is prohibited.”

“What exactly is not prohibited here?” he asked dryly. “Alright, no duel. Hmm.” His eyes landed at the silk band tied at the young master’s forehead. “Keep me from taking that, then.”

Whatever protest or recitation of another rule broken that was about to escape the Lan Disciple was promptly cut off the second Wei Wuxian darted forward, as quick as a snap of fingers. To the disciple’s credit, his stance barely faltered, already on the defense.

Unfortunately for him, Wei Wuxian grew up playing this game with his senior brothers and sisters, and his favorite distraction for his junior siblings. He could picture himself in the Lan Disciple’s perspective, watching him in slow motion as he snatched the silk ribbon with a wicked, triumphant smile.

A top quality of silk with a pattern of clouds, and it glided against his palm like a touch of feather and carried a faint scent of sandalwood and incense. Wei Wuxian glanced at the frozen young master whose face remained blank as if still processing the quick succession of events, and, in a stroke of inspiration, brought the forehead ribbon to his lips.

“Wei Wuxian will treasure his reward,” he announced earnestly—and immediately retreated in a manner that he hoped was graceful enough for a hasty exit before the young master could recover from his state. “Until next time!”

❆❆❆

Come midnight, his letters were finished, and the ones addressed to his fathers were marked with the recollection of the night’s encounter. A part of him dearly wished he could hear his baba’s chuckle and his a-die’s snort of amusement. No matter. He had half a year to gather anecdotes for them, and as far as he was concerned, it wouldn’t be the last time he would see of... of…

Huh.

Wei Wuxian frowned, thought hard, and scratched the back of his head.

Wait. What was his name again?

❆❆❆

“Four Seasons Sect, take your bow.”

There were not so subtle whispers and murmurs that ensued the declaration, though most that Wei Wuxian could hear was confusion as to who and which sect it was. He stood straighter, making sure his posture exuded his pride for representing the name of his sect, his home. He fell into step next to his shixiong who spoke in a clear and equable voice.

“On behalf of Four Seasons Sect, Zhang Chengling pays respect to Master Lan. I present our disciple who is sent to learn under your guidance, and may he serve as a bridge between the jianghu and the cultivation world.”

“Wei Ying, courtesy name Wei Wuxian of Four Seasons Sect greets Teacher,” Wei Wuxian said, raising his voice amidst the growing incertitude that followed his and his senior’s words as they bowed in perfect synchrony.

“Your mother Cangse Sanren and father Wei Changze are lauded rogue cultivators,” Lan Qiren said, effectively silencing the incredulous mutterings at the distance and doubts at jianghu producing cultivators. “It is good to find their son hale after several years.”

“This one is fortunate to be taken under the care of Four Seasons Sect, to grow and be a part of them. At their behest, we present gifts to symbolize our aspirations for a fortuitous relationship between Gusu Lan Sect and the Four Seasons Sect.

“A sapling of rowan as a symbol of connection, to provide protection against malevolent beings, and to guide home those who are lost. Blackthorn for discipline and control that are the known cores of Lan Sect’s teaching, and also to symbolize overcoming obstacles and hope in the middle of devastation. The last sapling is from a tree that bears a multitude of blooms in varying colors and is native to the Four Seasons Sect where flowers bloom all year round, hence the name after our sect. These are dear treasures from the home I know, hoping for them to grow on the soil that my birth parents lived on.”

The tall man standing beside Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen—the Lan Sect heir, if Wei Wuxian was correct—smiled serenely. “The Lan Sect is grateful for the gifts, and we look forward to them growing in a year’s time. We’ve had the pleasure to meet Master Zhou and Zhen, and it shows in their disciples their virtue and great esteem as sect leaders.”

The mention of his baba’s birth name of Zhen Yan instead of Wen Kexing startled him, though he was certain that there was a valid reason for it. Chengling sent him a small smile that told him he did well, and a knowing look that promised an explanation later.

The welcoming atmosphere was suddenly heckled by a commotion from men in red and black barging in unannounced, the man in the lead sneering how easy it was to get into Cloud Recesses. Lan Xichen addressed him as a Wen, and from what Wei Wuxian gathered, the presence of the Wen Sect was uncommon, not to mention unwanted.

Coming from a sect that outright insulted Cloud Recesses’ lectures, the Wens were keen to send two of their disciples, related to the main branch, no less. Wei Wuxian was unable to contain his snort at the dramatics of it all.

“And who’s this scoundrel?”

Wei Wuxian turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Scoundrel is too big a title for me,” he quipped, a rakish grin forming when he crossed his arms. “Four Seasons Sect, Wei Wuxian.”

“This boy dares to interrupt me.” The Wen gave him a scrutinizing glare before letting out a sharp bark of a derisive laugh. “I wasn’t aware that Gusu Lan accepts runts from no-name sects.”

“After all that boast of Wen education, I wasn’t aware that disrespect is what they teach you, but here we are.”

“Fine. I’ll teach you how Qishan Wen deals with those who don’t listen well.”

“Master Wen,” called Chengling placatingly. “This is a simple disagreement. There’s no need to be aggressive.”

The attempt to pacify the situation merely grated at the idiot. “And why should I listen to vermins who don’t know their place?!” Seething, the witless Wen jerked and his armed retinue immediately surrounded them, blades drawn and pointing not only at Chengling and Wei Wuxian but also towards others who had been watching the exchange warily. Chengling moved in front of Wei Wuxian, his hand on the hilt of his own sword and keeping him partly hidden for his hand to clutch his fan on the ready.

After a tense minute that felt as if it lasted an hour, soothing notes that he recognized from a xiao resounded, deceptively lulling if not for its effect of disarming the parties involved, the Wen Sect’s weapons clattering down in warning.

“Today is Cloud Recesses’ ceremonial day for taking new students,” Lan Xichen said, his volume never rising but firm. “We ask that Second Young Master Wen conduct himself.”

A woman who called herself Wen Qing stepped in a flourish, ultimately keeping the brittle moment of stillness with her tact. “This is my and my brother Wen Ning’s first time in the Cloud Recesses, and we know not of some of the rules. We hope Teacher Lan and Young Master Lan are forgiving.”

She bowed apologetically to Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, and even at Chengling. Wei Wuxian, begrudgingly impressed, was under the impression that within the Wen Sect it was either you had modesty in spades or did not understand it at all.

The rest of the Wen retreated, though not without the Wen moron committing Wei Wuxian’s face to memory. Not that he cared a lick after that outright disrespect to his senior—he was willing to give that sneering face a healthy dose of beating next time if necessary.

He was struck with an insight related earlier when his father’s name was brought up. The name of Wen Kexing was never given, and after the distasteful encounter with the Wen Sect, he had a suspicion as to why.

Gripping his shixiong’s arm reassuringly when asked if he was alright, Wei Wuxian cast an assessing sweep across the room, restlessness blanketing pretty much everyone else from the sects present. These were inner disciples of their respective sects, so it was safe to assume that they were no stranger to this kind of behavior from the Wens.

Lan, Nie, Jiang, Jin, and Wen were prominent names in cultivation, and out of all the five, the last was the most dominant in terms of manpower and territory. Knowing how terrifyingly efficient his a-die was when it came to gathering information, Wei Wuxian had an adequate background when it came to the major sects, though he wished he had listened more if only to come up with a better approach from here on out.

He was starting to think that the advice of ‘have fun and make friends’ from his parents was a jest in poor taste. Sighing, his eyes landed on the familiar-looking disciple quietly observing him before his attention snapped elsewhere.

Lips unconsciously twitching into a smile, Wei Wuxian wondered if he was imagining the light pink dusting those pale ears.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Hi, I just found your blog (I love it) and as I was scrolling I noticed your tags for a Blue Sword AU and I just... please let me know if you ever write it, because now I want to see it

@indigo-night-wisp said: 

i would give you whatever you asked for if you wrote an untamed blue sword au

It ain’t a whole AU but here’s some headcanons, I’m appealing to my girlfriend’s better spirit because she’s Mad At Me about the Nie brothers thing.

Crown Prince Lan Wangji is heir to the throne of Damar, which would be fine (his elder brother, the king, is young, healthy, and strong in kelar) except that the Outlanders are really making themselves a presence and the Northerners are pushing south again under the leadership of their warlord Wen Ruohan.  It is not, strictly speaking, an ideal moment to be royalty in Damar, because those things are now at least partially his problem.  Lan Wangji is not, shall we say, a diplomat, but here he is anyway, in the Outlander fort, listening to the administrator, a young man named Meng Yao who is definitely in some kind of exile, do his best at Damarian.  Lan Wangji speaks perfectly fluent Outlander with only the faintest hint of an accent, but he doesn’t want to be here so he’s going to make everyone else as uncomfortable as he is.  If Lan Xichen has problems with his technique, he can come do diplomacy and leave Lan Wangji to shore up their defenses, which is what they usually do.  He would be at least slightly less annoyed if Lan Xichen had explained his change of plan.  But no.  

Wei Wuxian and his adoptive siblings were sent to Daria after the deaths of the Jiangs, mostly because...well, what else was anyone going to do with two noble children with excellent bloodlines and one ward of suspect breeding but intensely charming nature, during a politically unstable moment.  So the Queen sent them into the back of beyond to join everyone else she sent away for political reasons, including the remnants of the Jin family.  Jiang Cheng is at least in passably good standing with Song Lan, the general at the fort, but Wei Wuxian is “not suited for the army” or whatever, so he has a lot of time to kill.  This is how he comes to be out riding with Jiang Yanli in time to catch a glimpse of the Darian prince and his blazing golden eyes.

Xiao Xingchen, one of the King’s Riders, makes a few very straight-faced comments about the fact that Lan Wangji, of all people, has decided to kidnap the laughing Outlander boy, but hey, whatever, he’s been asked to do weirder in his time.  His shijie ran off and married an Outlander too, so, sure, if the prince is going to indulge in a bit of kelar-induced madness, that’s fine.  He insisted on coming, after all, when he was offered the chance to stay behind.  All Lan Xichen would say, with his familiar pleasantly noncommittal smile, was that Xiao Xingchen would be spending plenty of time in the desert soon.  Whatever that means.  Kelar-madness is going around, it seems.

Wei Wuxian gets kidnapped, which is not ideal.  He’s fairly sure that the entire camp thinks he’s been kidnapped as...maybe a concubine?  Unclear.  Especially unclear because the prince and his (secretly excellent, Wei Wuxian wishes he could see Meng Yao’s face) Homelander haven’t said more than five words strung together since the first night, when he said firmly that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t be hurt, nor mistreated, while in his care.  But the prince is beautiful, and the food is delicious, especially once Wei Wuxian learns enough of the language to ask for spicy food, and he’s given a horse, one of the magnificent Hill horses that Jin Zixuan always spoke of with such obvious envy, a stunning black mare who he dubs Chenqing and who flies across the sand beside the prince’s white stallion.  And the rest...well.  If the Hills seem to make themselves at home in his blood like an illness, if he can still sometimes taste the Water of Sight on his tongue when he swallows, if he dreams of his own voice shouting through gleaming blue light....  It is what it is.

(Lan Wangji watches the black flag of Wei Wuxian’s hair crack behind him as he leans down over his horse’s neck, as if he was born to it, as if he was crafted out of a desert wind and the brilliance of desert stars and given life with the breath of kelar that blazes in his eyes when he rages.  He names the loyal hunting cat that follows him around Suibian just to watch everyone scowl at him, and Lan Wangji tries to remember that it is unsuitable for a crown prince to be jealous of a cat.  Lan Wangji wonders, privately, if Lan Xichen has plans for their mother’s blue stone garden.)

After being drilled silly for six weeks at the hands of Xiao Xingchen--who is NOT nearly so easy-going as he led Wei Wuxian to believe, in fact, Wei Wuxian would like to register complaints--Wei Wuxian drifts through the laprun trials like a dream.  He utterly sweeps them, except for the tiny incident of clipping his final opponent’s lip when he took his mask.  Lan Wangji doesn’t say anything, just nods to him and dabs his fingers at the blood, and Wei Wuxian is swept away by his defeated opponents and the Riders.  Some of the other fighters are quite charming--a young woman named Mianmian insults him and compliments his horse in the same breath, and a young man named Nie Huaisang, who barely made it through the first melee round, cheerfully bemoans his murder at the hands of his brother, apparently a King’s Rider himself.  That night, just before the stimulant crash hits Wei Wuxian, there’s a banquet.  The nameless sword that unseals itself at his touch is the most beautiful thing he’s ever handled.

By the end of it all, Song Lan and Jiang Cheng have formally bailed on the Outlander fort, Song Lan gets made a King’s Rider (and marries Xiao Xingchen, but that happens later, after Xiao Xingchen recovers from his injuries), the filanon literally melt out of the woodwork to help handle the Northerners, led by Wen Qing and Wen Ning (long story, but suffice it to say that Northern blood mixes more gracefully with Damarian than you might think), Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli get married and become a major line of diplomatic connection between the Homeland and Damar, Lan Xichen maybe possibly has an affair with his most favored Rider and the Outlander administrator, and, of course:

Lan Wangji is waiting for Wei Wuxian, when he returns to the Damarian camp with every intention of turning himself in.  But he’s not just waiting, he’s standing there, with Wei Wuxian’s scarlet sash around his waist as if it belongs there, and Wei Wuxian is tumbling off Chenqing into his arms, and it turns out that, just maybe, Wei Wuxian is in love with this solemn Hill prince after all.

Wei Wuxian hears Jiang Cheng half-shout “Why are we cheering” over the roar of approval from the army, and then he hears Song Lan say “Your brother’s going to marry the prince,” and then he doesn’t hear much at all because kissing Lan Wangji is vastly more interesting than Jiang Cheng’s meltdown.

[phroyd]

Senate Republicans are vowing to quickly quash any articles of impeachment that pass the House and warn that Democrats will feel a political backlash if they go forward and impeach President Trump.

Republican senators say there are no grounds to impeach Trump and are daring Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) to embark on what they dismiss as a fool’s errand that will turn off swing voters.

“My response to them is go hard or go home,” said Sen. John Kennedy (R-La.), a member of the Senate Judiciary Committee, which has jurisdiction over impeachment.  “If you want to impeach him, stop talking. Do it. Do it. Go to Amazon, buy a spine and do it. And let’s get after it.”

“I think the public will feel like it’s more harassment,” he predicted.

Republicans say that impeachment will boomerang on Pelosi and Senate Minority Leader Charles Schumer (D-N.Y.), who have tried to resist pressure from the left to impeach Trump for more than a year.

Senate Republican Whip John Thune(S.D.) warned that Democrats are embarking on a politically perilous journey.

“It’s a risky strategy on their part. I know they’re under a lot of pressure to do it, but if you’re the leadership over there, you got to think long and hard about what the implications are if it looks like you’re overreaching,” he said.

Senate Republicans on Tuesday argued there is no basis for impeachment, especially after Trump pledged to release an unredacted transcript of his phone call with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky.

Sen. Chuck Grassley (R-Iowa), a senior member of the Judiciary Committee, said, “You can’t tell me they’re talking about impeachment when the president is cooperating with them 100 percent to release these things.”

“It’s premature to talk about impeachment,” he said.

Sen. Rand Paul (R-Ky.), a staunch Trump ally, signaled the House impeachment push would hit a dead end in the Senate.

“I think the Democrats have made this such a partisan exercise that I think most of the public has discounted the idea of it, because I think most believe that it’s become sort of a political attack on the president and nothing more,” he said.

Paul, however, said it’s hard to predict exactly how events will unfold in the Senate because so little is known about the latest allegations.

Trump has acknowledged that military aid was withheld from Ukraine and that he discussed former Vice President Joe Biden with Zelensky during a discussion on corruption. He has said there was no quid pro quo between the two issues and that there was nothing improper in his communications.

A whistleblower within the administration did file a complaint, and the administration has refused to turn that over to lawmakers. While Trump said he would give Congress the transcript of his call with Zelensky, he did not mention the whistleblower complaint.

Senate experts say that Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-Ky.) is required to act on House-passed articles of impeachment, which would require 67 votes, or a two-thirds majority, to convict the president.

But McConnell has broad power to set the rules and could ensure the trial on the Senate floor is as brief as possible. He could strictly limit the arguments of House Democratic prosecutors as long as he’s backed up by his fellow GOP senators.

Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts would likely preside over a Senate trial, but he would have to follow the rules and traditions of the Senate, where the majority leader sets the schedule and has the right of first recognition.

Under the Senate manual’s rules for impeachment trials, Roberts would rule on all questions of evidence, but any senator could ask for a formal vote to appeal a decision.

It would take a majority under Senate rules to sustain or overrule a ruling from the chair.

That means Democrats would need to convince at least four Republicans to break with the GOP conference in order to bring in any witnesses or exhibits that McConnell decides to block.

McConnell on Tuesday declined to say what he would do, telling reporters only that it’s up to the Senate Intelligence Committee to review the complaint that an unnamed whistleblower filed with intelligence community Inspector General Michael Atkinson.

Atkinson and acting Director of National Intelligence Joseph Maguire are scheduled to appear before the Senate Intelligence Committee in closed session on Thursday.

Senate Judiciary Committee Chairman Lindsey Graham (R-S.C.) on Tuesday said articles of impeachment based on the report by former special counsel Robert Mueller would be disposed of quickly in the Senate, reiterating comments he made in May, a month after the report’s release.

“Yeah, if it’s based on the Mueller inquiry,” Graham said when asked if he still believes the Senate will quickly quash articles of impeachment.

Graham said it’s harder to say how the Senate would handle articles of impeachment based on a whistleblower complaint because little is known about its contents.

“Who knows what’s in it,” he said of the Ukraine-related complaint. “I haven’t heard anything. I’m not going to speculate on stuff like that.”

Polls conducted since the start of 2017, when Trump took office, have shown voters consistently oppose impeachment.

An NBC News–Wall Street Journal poll conducted in July showed that 50 percent of registered voters nationwide oppose the launch of impeachment hearings, while only 21 percent said they supported the start of hearings.

In March, the percentage of voters who opposed impeachment hearings stood at 47 percent, according NBC News–Wall Street Journal polling.

An ABC News–Washington Post poll conducted at the end of June and beginning of July found that 59 percent of adults nationwide opposed the start of impeachment proceedings. That number was up from 54 percent in March.

Sen. John Cornyn (R-Texas), another member of the Judiciary Committee, said there haven’t been any discussions among Senate Republicans about how to handle an impeachment process because GOP lawmakers assumed that Pelosi wouldn’t embark on a path that registers so much disapproval from voters.

“I just can’t imagine a universe in which Democrats are stupid enough to do that,” Cornyn said hours before Pelosi’s press conference. “I can’t imagine a universe in which that would happen because Nancy Pelosi is simply too shrewd to allow things to get out of control.”

Cornyn said there haven’t been any preparations for impeachment.

“You prepare for the probable, not the improbable,” he said.

Some moderate Democrats are also skeptical about moving ahead with such a divisive process.

Sen. Jon Tester (D-Mont.) said articles of impeachment aren’t going anywhere in the Senate and said the smarter strategy is to push Republicans to conduct oversight of the Trump administration, such as by pressing them to ask for the intelligence community inspector general’s report on the whistleblower complaint.

“The last time I checked, this body is controlled by Republicans. I'd rather get government to work functionally and hold people accountable. I'd rather get the Republicans over here to hold Donald Trump accountable on all sorts of stuff, from building a wall to how he treats our allies.”

Phroyd

[lililiyababe]

sugar, spice, and everything nice || y.jh

→ pairing: yoon jeonghan x reader

→ genre: pastrychef!reader x barista!jeonghan/fluff

→ warnings: none! just pure fluff

→ word count: 5.3k

→ summary: when you opened up your dream bakery, you were certain that you were the happiest person in the world. but that all changed when a particular barista with sugar-coated words somehow made your life impossibly sweeter.

→ a/n: ahhh little anonnie you have no idea how much you made my day!! this was my first ever request and i was SO excited to complete it. hopefully i did your idea justice!! as always, dear readers, my inbox is open to more requests if your heart’s desire. in the meantime, enjoy!!

The first thing that Jeonghan noticed about you was the passion that twinkled in your eyes and the flour that was smattered in your hair. The small bakery across the street—your small bakery—had only opened a couple weeks ago, and already the town was alive with a buzz, raving about how delicious your pastries were. Luckily for him, he could spot the delectable desserts that left your doors through the windows of the cafe he worked at, and they were indeed tempting. That particular day, Jeonghan’s sweet tooth had gotten the better of him. Why not go inside and check it out before my shift starts? He thought as he peered through the glass, It’ll only take a minute.

Unbeknownst to him, that was the first of many lies Jeonghan would inadvertently  tell himself in regards to you.

As the sweet smell of dough baking in the oven and the chatter of hungry customers flooded your senses, you smiled, but it was no ordinary grin. No, you were beaming from ear to ear, watching the chaos that ensued around you with a proud gleam in your eye because it was your chaos. Your dream was finally falling into place after years of hard work and dedicated practice, and you could not be more thrilled with the outcome. Sure, it wasn’t perfect; there was always room for improvement and growth, but now that you could successfully share your passion with your friends and neighbors, you had no complaints. You simply allowed yourself to be consumed by the thrill of it all—the quick footsteps that are required to navigate around a small, fast-paced kitchen, the blur of customers as they line up and leave in the blink of an eye, the comfortable pain in your cheeks as you laughed while whipping batter and frosting cupcakes. You were happy, unbelievably so, and you didn’t think that it could get any better than this.

Of course, you were wrong. You didn’t know the true meaning of happiness until you saw it reflected in his dazzling smile.

In all honesty, you didn’t notice him at first, sitting at the table closest to the counter with his cheek resting against his fist, a small smile adorning his delicate features as he studied the display of sweets behind the glass. He had definitely noticed you, though, for the beauty that resided within your lively irises would have been impossible for him to miss. He didn’t have to utter a word to you to know that you were born to run this store because the expertise that rolled off your tongue as you helped a struggling coworker was unlike any other. He could have sat there all day, staring at you, save for the fact that he needed to be at his own job across the street in ten minutes. With that in mind, he stood with a quiet sigh and made his way to the end of the line, his eyes never leaving your figure as he contemplated which treat he would try today.

“I can help whoever’s next!” You voice rang out, and for some reason, a wide smile tugged at the corners of his pink lips as he made his way to the register.

“Hi! How are you today?” You smiled at him, and even though he knew it was a formality, he couldn’t help but notice that his heart had skipped a beat as your gaze locked onto his.

“Hi,” he spoke a little breathlessly before clearing his throat and trying again. “I mean, thank you. I’m...really good, actually,” he smiled sheepishly and ran a hand through his silky caramel locks.

But before he could continue, a frantic voice shouted your name, drawing your attention away from him and towards the mess that the kitchen staff was making with a malfunctioning electric egg beater. Panic consumed your lovely features as you ran over to help, throwing a quick apology at Jeonghan as you fled back to the kitchen. “I’m sorry, sir! Someone will be with you in a moment!” you yelled over your shoulder, and he could hear you ask someone named Lillian to take your place at the register. Much to his discontent, she obliged and pleasantly took his order, but he couldn’t refrain from nosily peeking over her head in hopes of catching another glimpse of you before he left. His efforts, however, were in vain; you were caught up in your work, and he was caught up in the sweet melodies of your voice as you calmed the frazzled nerves of your coworkers.

Then it’s decided, he told himself as he slipped out of the bakery doors with his bag of fresh cream puffs tucked underneath his arm. I’m coming back tomorrow.

It was a rainy morning, the March weather finally giving way to it’s stereotypical behavior as the afternoon slowly began to approach. You didn’t mind the showers, however, for there was something serene about listening to the raindrops tap against the windows of your bakery. On a typical day, there was so much chatter that you could barely hear your own thoughts, and while you were elated by the success that you’ve had in recent weeks, you gladly accepted the break that the dreary skies provided you. You told your staff to take their lunch break earlier in the day than usual so that they could be back before the rush started. This meant that you were left alone for the next forty-five minutes while they ate. In the meantime, you busied yourself, wiping down the tables, sweeping the floor, and munching on a cookie or two. Just as you began to wonder when they were coming back, the bell to the front door chimed, indicating someone’s arrival.

“Hey!” you spoke with your back turned to the door as you swept some dirt into a small green dustpan. “I just checked in the back, and we’re kinda running low on butter...I know you just got back, but since we’re not busy—” You froze in the middle of your sentence because, as you turned around, the realization struck that you were staring into a set of eyes that definitely did not belong to one of your employees. Rather, they rested upon the face of a boy about your age—a customer. “Oh god.” Your cheeks tinted pink, and you let out a breathy chuckle, momentarily allowing yourself to be influenced by the amused smirk that was tugging at his plump cheeks. At least he has a sense of humor, you dismally thought as you shook your head at your own stupidity. “I’m so sorry, I—”

“It’s not a problem,” he said softly as he leaned against one of the tables. He was tall and lean, you noticed from your spot on the floor, and as he looked down at you, a wisp of his brown hair fell into his eyes. He was good-looking, you decided, not that it really mattered because he would only utter a couple words to you before slipping out the door he had just entered. You offered him polite smile and swiftly stood, practically jogging over to the counter so you could take his order and shake yourself of the awkwardness that followed you. “What, uhm, what can I get you today?”

He hummed and tilted his head to the side as he thought, his golden brown eyes skimming over the menu board that was displayed behind your head. Cute, you thought while watching the gears turn in his head with a smile, but you were thrown completely off guard by the question that followed. “Well...what do you like to eat?”

“I’m sorry? What?”

His smile only brightened. “If you were in my shoes, standing here about to order, what would you get?” He was staring directly at you, and while you admitted you were slightly charmed, you were also confused as to why he was dragging this process out. You had things to do, a business to run, and he must have noticed the crease in your brow because he simply chuckled and shook his head. “Do you...not eat your own food?”

For some reason, you felt your cheeks heat up in an blush, and words quickly tumbled out of your mouth in a hurried effort to explain yourself, “Well, I, uh, I’m pretty busy around here so I don’t eat much. I-I do try new recipes before serving them to customers to ensure that they are the best quality, and sometimes I snack on cookies—”

“But what’s your favorite?” He asked innocently, and you could have sworn that he was batting his eyelashes, causing you to shift you gaze away from his intoxicating features and toward your shoes. You glanced up at him and noticed there was something unusual glimmering in his gaze, for he now had the pleasure of watching you contemplate an answer.

“I don’t know...I guess...” You glanced at the display shelf and nodded as if you were reassuring your own thoughts. “Our chocolate cupcakes are pretty good. In fact, I just pulled them out of the oven about ten minutes ago.”

He was digging into his pocket before you could even finish your sentence. “I’ll take two of those, then.” He seemed almost proud of himself as he retrieved his card out of his wallet. “One for now, and one for later.” He chuckled, but judging by the excited gleam in his eye, you doubted that he was actually joking.

“You know,” you retorted with a smile, “if I weren’t such a greedy business owner, I would warn you that consuming so much sugar in one day probably isn’t good for you.”

He scoffed, shaking his head and allowing his beautiful hair to fall into his eyes once more. “Trust me, I’m a barista. My body is very much used to being abused by unhealthy amounts of sugar and caffeine.”

“Oh really now?” Your humored him with a laugh as you placed his cupcakes in a small container.

“Yeah. Actually, I work at that cafe right there.” He pointed at the building across the street. “You should come in sometime. Ask for Jeonghan.”

There it was again—that smile. That smile with something compellingly rare in it’s fabrication. That smile that, although only seeing it a handful of times, made you falter slightly and compelled you to stop in your tracks just to admire it for a moment. It wasn’t simply cute or charming; it was beautiful in every sense of the word, and it brought about a smile of your own that Jeonghan swore was crafted from the stars themselves by how brightly it shined.

“Maybe I will, if I ever get out of here,” you joked while handing him his cupcakes.

“I guess we’ll have to make time then.” He winked in the cheesiest way, at which you laughed and shook your head at his awful attempt at being cool. Nevertheless, you were intrigued, and you were sure that’s what he wanted, so in a way, it was a smart move on his part. As the lunch crowd began to fill up the bakery, though, you quickly forgot about the pretty boy with kind eyes and his words that were delicately crafted to gain your attention. Meanwhile, Jeonghan had spilled two cups of coffee because he his mind was preoccupied with the sound of your laugh and how he’d give anything to be the cause of it once more.

The next time Jeonghan saw you, it was later that week inside his own cafe, and he nearly tripped over his feet when his eyes landed upon your figure. You were wrapped in a heavy coat—today’s weather was particularly frigid—but he knew it was you bases on the twinkle in your eye and the way that you busied yourself on the phone. He caught snippets of your conversation, something about a cake decoration request and whether or not your bakery offered delivery services, and he smiled. Even when you weren’t inside the wall of your bakery, you were always working. He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet as he whipped out orders at the speed of lightning; he figured the faster he served the other customers, the sooner he would be face-to-face with you once more. You still hadn’t hung up the phone when you finally did reach the front of the line, instead politely ending the conversation with the inquisitive customer before shutting off your phone and sliding it into your pocket.

You hadn’t even uttered a word to him, yet Jeonghan’s heart was beating out of his chest. “Hi,” his sultry voice pulled your attention away from the menu that was placed on the counter and directed it immediately toward him. He was slouched over again, his head resting in his hand, and he couldn’t help the giant grin that took over his features as he watched recognition spark to life behind your gaze.

“Oh, hi. er...” He noticed you falter, taking his smile with you as his name rested just out of memory’s reach. Your features morphed into the similar look of embarrassment that they wore during your last encounter, and, in response, Jeonghan merely cleared his throat and adjusted his name tag.

“Jeonghan!” You exclaimed with a little too much force, making him chuckle at your relief. He wondered if you were easily embarrassed, the prospect of discovering more nuances to the person who had been holding his attention for the past couple days thrilling him slightly.

He simply hummed in acknowledgement while his soft eyes shamelessly drank in every detail of your delicate face. “You look pretty today,” he muttered while tracing invisible shapes on the counter with his index finger. With a little smirk, he watched your eyes widen, probably slightly baffled by the sheer amount of confidence the boy in front of you was exuding.

“Oh, uh, thank you...” you stumbled over your words, which Jeonghan, of course, found incredibly endearing. “Are you like this with all your customers?” you joked with a slightly forced chuckle. “Is that how you get so many tips?” You rocked the jar that sat on the counter gently, the coins inside jingling as if to prove your point.

“Maybe,” he laughed. “Or maybe I just know beauty when I see it...” At that remark, you scoffed, but he could see the red that adorned the tips of your ears. However, he decided he had teased you enough for now, so he stood up straight behind the counter and tried his hardest to remain professional as he took your order. You rattled it off without hesitation, and he couldn’t help but wonder if you had been in here previously, if he had somehow missed you walking through those doors countless times before now. No, he decided, there’s no way I could have missed a face like that.

You were preoccupied on your phone again while you waited for Jeonghan to prepare your drink when an idea struck him. Perhaps it was crazy, maybe a little too forward, but Jeonghan was never one to allow small anxieties to prevent him from fulfilling his own wishes. Ten digits were scrawled across your plastic cup in messy Sharpie, complete with a rushed signature and a message that simply read Feel free to call me <3. A proud smile tugged at Jeonghan’s lips as he called out to you, the lovely rhythm of your name enhanced by the sheer joy that he felt pooling in his stomach. He was going out on a limb, and, in all honesty, he should be petrified; yet, for some reason, the thought of your eyes skimming over his words only piqued his excitement.

You took the cup with a shy, unsuspecting smile and a small thank you, your fingertips brushing against Jeonghan’s hand as you placed a small tip in coins into his palm. “Keep the change,” you muttered. He opened his mouth to speak, to attempt to charm you once more with genuine words from his heart, but the cash register demanded to be attended to. A group of teenagers had entered, and he couldn’t risk ignoring them no matter how badly he wanted to.

“Wait.” His voice was steady, but he was practically pleading you with his eyes. “Please, just...I’ll be right back.”

And you nodded, slightly unsure of yourself, but you nodded nevertheless and that was good enough for him.

However, he wasn’t surprised by the crushing disappointment that stung his heart when, after what felt like forever making decaf coffee for giggly thirteen year olds, he searched for your familiar face and was simply met with empty space. A work emergency, you would later tell him, but Jeonghan feared that his chances with you were slowly slipping away from him before his very eyes.

Today was horrible. You had decided that this morning when you somehow slept through your alarm, but unfortunately that was only the beginning of your troubles. Customer service was not always cheery smiles and gratitude—you learned that today when a customer was so upset with her pie that she deemed it appropriate to throw it onto the freshly waxed floor in a fit of rage. After that incident, your day was officially ruined, and the only glimmer of hope that you had of saving it was the knowledge that you could go home, crawl into bed, and scroll endlessly on your phone for hours until the images of that horrendous lady were the furthest thing from your mind.

Or at least, that was the plan, until your car broke down on your way home.

Honestly, you weren’t too surprised, considering that your car was fairly old and was practically falling apart at the seams, but the timing was so inconvenient that when you lifted the hood only to be met with a cloud of foul-smelling smoke, you shouted and kicked your front tire. This, of course, accomplished nothing except sending a shooting pain up your foot. A million different curses flew out of your mouth, and you limped to the backseat in search of your purse. Upon finding it, you fished out your phone, only to discover that it, too, was dead.

“Great. Just lovely.” you griped to yourself, and it took all of your willpower not to throw your phone onto the hard concrete out of pure frustration. “Well,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Guess I better start walking.”

You were lucky; there was a gas station a mile away from your car. It wasn’t the best quality, with rust painting its metallic exterior, but as the harsh wind slipped into the gaps in your winter coat, you figured going inside was better than freezing to death. The screeching sound of the old door welcomed you, and immediately you were faced with disappointment. Not a soul lingered within the abandoned gas station, and upon facing this realization, you began to pace with your arms folded over your chest and a scowl plastered onto your face. You were about to start your trek back to your car when a voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Can I help you?” A boy no older than twenty had appeared behind the front counter, and despite being a good five feet away from him, you could smell the marijuana stench that radiated off of him as if you were a drug dog. Nevertheless, you approached him, telling yourself that you would take any help that you could get.

“Hi, my name is Y/N, and my car broke down like a mile back. Do you know anything about cars or have a charger or anything that I can use? My phone is dead, and I don’t really know how I’m gonna get home...“

He stared at you blankly, his bloodshot eyes hardly registering your presence as you spoke to him. After a solid minute of this, he finally commented, “Shit, man, that sucks.”

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply in an attempt to keep your composure. “Yeah...” you said with a sigh. “Yeah it does. And I’m guessing even if you could help me, you’re way too stoned to even comprehend half of what I’m saying, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he laughed, despite the lack of amusement in your tone, and you groaned in response, throwing your head back as all hope fled from your heart. You were definitely going to die here, you had decided, when the cashier slumped forward. “Uh, but we do have a phone if you wanna try that.” He offered you a dumb smile, but you harshly shook your head, practically feeling your last ounce of patience leave your body as he guided you to it.

It was an old payphone around the back that you were genuinely surprised still functioned properly, but, as you suspected, the stoner guy did not have any change for you to use. So you were forced to dig through your purse, praying that there were some spare coins hidden at the bottom. You practically danced with joy when you found the correct amount laying next to a piece of paper with a familiar number scribbled across it—Jeonghan’s. You had transferred the number from the cup to a spare receipt after you had finished your drink with the intention that you would text him when you got home and explain why you had bolted, but that was four days ago. In all honesty, you had forgotten about the incident, but with the wave of remembrance came a wave of guilt. Before you even had time to process your actions, your hands were moving, slipping the coins into the slot and bringing the receiver to your ear as you shivered in the cold of night.

“Hello?” His voice was groggy, and you cursed yourself for not thinking of the time, or even thinking at all, before calling him.

“H-Hi, Jeonghan? It’s Y/N.” Your teeth were chattering, and you tried your hardest to repress the urge as the wind gradually imbedded itself into your bones. There was a small silence, and panic consumed you. You didn’t know why you had even bothered to dial his number, for after introducing yourself, the sentiment behind the call escaped you. Although your original goal was to call someone for help, the idea of Jeonghan discovering your current situation made your stomach lurch, partially because you feared he would try to help and you didn’t wish to inconvenience him, and partially because of the sheer embarrassment that consumed you at your own stupidity. You really didn’t want to be the type of person who only called someone when they needed a favor, so, despite your urgent need for warmth and a tow truck, you kept your mouth shut.

“Y/N...” He was smiling, you could hear it in his voice, and despite the ache that settled in your cheeks from the cold, you also found your lips also stretching into a wide grin. “It’s late, you know.”

“Y-yeah,” you sighed as another violent shudder racked your body. “I’m sorry.”

There was another pause and a drastic change in Jeonghan’s tone. “Are you okay?” His voice was softer than before, and you winced at your obviousness.

“Mhm. I just wanted to c-call you up and see how you’re doing and...and apologize for r-running out the other day. It was a work emergency.” Your fingers shook as you tightened your jacket around your torso, but it was to no avail. You knew that you had to be quick, for both the payphone itself and your tolerance to the midnight wind limited your time severely.

“Are you outside?” He muttered, and the concern that laced his tone provided some warmth to your chilled cheeks. “You sound cold. Shouldn’t you be at home?”

It had only taken him a couple of seconds to discover the secret that you were desperately trying to conceal, especially since your teeth were beginning to chatter as you spoke. “Well, I, uh...My car broke down on my way home, b-but I’m fine! That’s not why I wanted to call you. I just wanted to let you know that I wasn’t trying to ditch you the other day. I would h-have called sooner but I’ve been b-busy at work and everything—”

“Where are you?” Jeonghan’s voice had lost its sweetness, and instead the gravity of urgency entangled his words. You knew better than to argue, for your time on the phone was swiftly running out, so you simply listed off your surroundings as your fingers began to sting from the cold. “Okay.” You heard him sigh into the receiver, followed by a rustling and the jingling of keys. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Try to stay warm, okay?”

It had taken Jeonghan approximately twenty minutes to find you huddled in the corner of the grungy gas station underneath the heating vent, and despite the fact that his flannel pajama bottoms were sticking out from underneath his puffy winter coat, he offered you his hand with a soft smile. “Come here,” he muttered and pulled you close in an attempt to warm your shivering figure. As his hands ran up and down your arms and you curled into his chest, Jeonghan hoped that you couldn’t hear his thundering heartbeat and shaky breath. Meanwhile, you hoped that, beyond all reason, you could sit in this disgusting gas station just for a moment longer if it meant that Jeonghan’s fingers would continue to ghost over your skin.

The car ride to your house was a quiet one, the beginning mostly consisting of apologies on your behalf, but Jeonghan shut them down with a wave of his hands before they could completely leave your lips. His eyes never wavered from the road, and as you watched the moonlight pass over his feminine features, ease gradually replaced the anxiety and guilt that sat in your stomach. He hummed softly to the music that drifted out of the radio, and you turned it up in hopes of hearing his beautiful voice give into the temptation of the rhythm.

He sang so effortlessly, his sweet melodies causing your jaw to drop slightly. You fixated on the way his slender fingers tapped the beat against the steering wheel before closing your eyes altogether and allowing his voice to envelope you in a blanket of warmth. When his lullaby had died down and you opened your eyes once more, they latched onto the pair of rich chocolate irises across from you as if it were second nature. The car had stopped for a red light, you noticed, and rather than focusing on the road ahead of him, Jeonghan was enraptured by the way your eyelids fluttered shut and how the corners of your lips turned up into a smile whenever he held your gaze long enough. Even if the light had changed, there was nothing compelling the car forward, for the road was barren for miles aside from the two of you. It felt as though you had created your own small moment, frozen in time and hollowed out from the world outside of Jeonghan’s car. The air smelled of coffee and the faint musk of cologne as the two of you inched closer almost magnetically.

“Y/N...” He practically purred your name while reaching out for your hands, which rested idly in your lap. You allowed them to connect, a mellow form of electricity shooting from your palm where his skin brushed against yours. Jeonghan possessed this magical ability to quicken the speed of your heart while simultaneously calming the rush of blood that compelled you to flee anytime you weren’t engaged in your work. He was both your sedative and your stimulant, blurring your surroundings one moment with a smile and, in the next, everything was moving at the pace of molasses simply because you caught his gaze. And just like those drugs, Jeonghan was intoxicating, mysterious, addictive, dangerous—yet, in that second, you wanted him more than you ever thought possible.

“Can I tell you a little secret?” His silky voice interrupted your thoughts. You simply nodded your head, a pink heat rushing to your cheeks as you found his lips crashing against your own. Surprisingly, they tasted not of caffeine and artificial sweetener but of gentle breezes, of cloudless skies, of buttercream icing and pure ecstasy wrapped up into one beautiful package. His hands were still holding yours gently, a fact that you were reminded of when he squeezed them as he pulled away from you with a soft sigh. You were also breathless, both from the overwhelming emotions that tugged at your chest and the unexpected act itself stealing the air straight from your lungs. He was grinning cockily with his forehead pressed against yours, and you wondered how easily you could knock that smirk off of his lips using nothing but your own.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he finally confessed as his fingers slipped out of your grasp so he could tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His smile was dazzling as a result of his bravery, and in that instance, he had never been more charming.

“Well, what’s stopping you from doing it again?” you teased with a chuckle before closing the gap between the two of you once more.

The next morning, you awoke on your living room couch to find Jeonghan across from you, curled into a ball on the plush leather chair that sat on the opposite side of the room. After he dropped you off at your place last night, the two of you had decided that it was far too late for Jeonghan to drive back home alone, so instead  you stayed up until dawn discussing every topic under the sun. That night, the two of you learned a lot about each other. You learned that Jeonghan was an intelligent, witty, talkative individual with a large group of friends that felt like family to him and a bewitching laugh that enamored you every time you got the pleasure of hearing it. You learned that he had a small diamond tattoo on his wrist because, as he put it, diamonds are only born out of extreme pressure, transforming into one of Earth’s strongest materials as a result, and that message reminded him to never give up no matter how difficult his struggles may seem. You learned that he loves the sensation of your fingers threading through his brown locks whenever you kiss him, and if he’s laying on your chair, such an action might accidentally put him to sleep. However, you didn’t mind; on the contrary, you found his short breaths and fluttering eyelashes quite adorable.

Similarly, Jeonghan learned a lot about you as well. He laughed at the work stories you told him about crazy customers or disgusting requests that your clients would sometimes demand of you. He held your hand as you recounted the recipes you taught yourself as a child and served to your family with a proud, lopsided grin. He stared up at the ceiling beside you as you spilled your heart’s contents to him—your past mistakes, your fears, your hopes for the future—while he echoed his back to you because there was something about lying on the floor at 3 a.m. that forbade him from withholding the truth. He didn’t even remember what time he had passed out or when the blanket that was draped around his shoulders appeared, but he did know one thing for certain. Out of everything Jeonghan had learned that evening, the most important fact was that fate truly did exist, because walking into that newly-opened bakery one random morning before his shift was one of the happiest coincidences Jeonghan could have ever hoped for.

[patriotsnet]

What Did Radical Republicans Stand For

New Post has been published on https://www.patriotsnet.com/what-did-radical-republicans-stand-for/

What Did Radical Republicans Stand For

Road To The Presidency

What Do Democrats Stand For?

At the Republican presidential convention the same year in Chicago, the delegates were divided into three principal camps: the Stalwarts , who backed former president Ulysses S. Grant; the Half-Breed supporters of Maine Sen. James G. Blaine; and those committed to Secretary of the Treasury John Sherman. Tall, bearded, affable, and eloquent, Garfield steered fellow Ohioan Shermans campaign and impressed so many with his largely extemporaneous nominating speech that he, not the candidate, became the focus of attention. As the chairman of the Ohio delegation, Garfield also led a coalition of anti-Grant delegates who succeeded in rescinding the unit rule, by which a majority of delegates from a state could cast the states entire vote. This victory added to Garfields prominence and doomed Grants candidacy. Grant led all other candidates for 35 ballots but failed to command a majority. On the 36th ballot the nomination went to a dark horse, Garfield, who was still trying to remove his name from nomination as the bandwagon gathered speed.

Radical Republicans Battled President Andrew Johnson

Following the assassination of Lincoln, the Radical Republicans discovered that the new president, Andrew Johnson, was even more forgiving toward the South. As might be expected, Stevens, Sumner, and the other influential Republicans in Congress were openly hostile to Johnson.

Johnson’s policies proved to be unpopular with the public, which led to gains in Congress for the Republicans in 1866. And the Radical Republicans found themselves in the position of being able to override any vetoes by Johnson.

The battles between Johnson and the Republicans in Congress escalated over various pieces of legislation. In 1867 the Radical Republicans succeeded in passing the Reconstruction Act and the Fourteenth Amendment.

President Johnson was eventually impeached by the House of Representatives;but was not convicted and removed from office after a trial by the U.S. Senate.

The Radical Republicans Take Control

Northern voters spoke clearly in the Congressional election of 1866. Radical Republicans won over two-thirds of the seats in the House of Representatives and the Senate. They now had the power to override Johnson’s vetoes and pass the Civil Rights Act and the bill to extend the Freedmen’s Bureau, and they did so immediately. Congress had now taken charge of the South’s reconstruction.

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How Successful Was Radical Reconstruction

Reconstruction was a success in that it restored the United States as a unified nation: by 1877, all of the former Confederate states had drafted new constitutions, acknowledged the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Amendments, and pledged their loyalty to the U.S. government.

What Were The Goals Of Reconstruction For Radical Republicans

They wanted to prevent the leaders of the confederacy from returning to power after the war, they wanted the republican party to become a powerful institution in the south, and they wanted the federal government to help african americans achieve political equality by guaranteeing their rights to vote in the south.

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How Did Reconstruction Start

The period after the Civil War, 1865 1877, was called the Reconstruction period. Abraham Lincoln started planning for the reconstruction of the South during the Civil War as Union soldiers occupied huge areas of the South. On December 18, 1865, Congress ratified the Thirteenth Amendment formally abolishing slavery.

Why Did The Radical Republicans Eventually Abandon Reconstruction

Slaves had little rights or opportunities, such as the freedom of assembly or the right to an education. Why did the Radical Republicans eventually abandon Reconstruction? Reconstruction was no longer progressing as they had hoped. Northerners were outraged at the Souths secret attempt to expand slavery.

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Radical Republicans And Reconstruction

These policies were not severe enough for the Radical Republicans, a faction of the Republican Party that favored a stricter Reconstruction policy. They insisted on a dramatic expansion of the power of the federal government over the states as well as guarantees of black suffrage. The Radicals did consider the Southern states out of the Union. Massachusetts senator Charles Sumner spoke of the former Confederate states as having committed suicide. Congressman Thaddeus Stevens of Pennsylvania went further, describing the seceded states as conquered provinces. Such a mentality would go a long way in justifying the Radicals disregard of the rule of law in their treatment of these states.

President Johnsons Reconstruction plan had been proceeding well by the time Congress convened in late 1865. But Congress refused to seat the representatives from the Southern states even though they had organized governments according to the terms of Lincolns or Johnsons plan. Although Congress had the right to judge the qualifications of its members, this was a sweeping rejection of an entire class of representatives rather than the case-by-case evaluation assumed by the Constitution. When Tennessees Horace Maynard, who had never been anything but scrupulously loyal to the Union, was not seated, it was clear that no Southern representative would be.

What Northerns And Southerns Thought of the Civil War

This article is one of many of our educational resources on Reconstruction.

What Was The Radical Republicans Plan

Republicans need to ‘grow a back bone, stand up to corporate America: Sen. Cruz

The Radical Republicans reconstruction offered all kinds of new opportunities to African Americans, including the vote , property ownership, education, legal rights, and even the possibility of holding political office. By the beginning of 1868, about 700,000 African Americans were registered voters.

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The National Endowment For The Humanities

Stevens carried the resolutely determined spirit of a fighter with him throughout his life.

Illustration adapted from Matthew Brady photograph / The Granger Collection, New York

In 1813, a young Thaddeus Stevens was attending a small college in Vermont. This was well before the time when good fences made good neighbors. Free-roaming cows often strayed onto campus. Manure piled up. Odors lingered. Resentment among students festered. One spring ;day, Stevens ;and ;a friend borrowed an ax from another students room and killed one of the cows, and then slipped the bloody ;weapon back into the unsuspecting classmates room.;

When the farmer ;complained, the school refused to let the wrongly accused man graduate. Stevens, unable to stomach this injustice, contacted the farmer on his own, fessed up, and ;made arrangements to pay damages. The farmer ;withdrew his complaint, and, within a few years, Stevens paid the farmer back. In gratitude, the farmer sent Stevens a hogshead of cider.

The anecdote demonstrates early on in his life Stevenss basic characterhis rashness, his inconsistencies, his convictions, and his tenacity.

Future president James Buchanan worked with Stevens on a case being tried in York. During a break, Buchanan attempted to persuade the rising attorney to get involved in politicson the side of the Jacksonian Democrats. Stevens declined, as he was still in search of the political party that best matched his beliefs.

Steve Moyer is managing editor of Humanities.

What Are The Four Powers Of The President As Outlined In Article 2

He shall have Power, by and with the Advice and Consent of the Senate, to make Treaties, provided two thirds of the Senators present concur; and he shall nominate, and by and with the Advice and Consent of the Senate, shall appoint Ambassadors, other public Ministers and Consuls, Judges of the supreme Court, and all

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Understanding The Old Confederate Anti

The following paragraph is meant to illustrate the logic of the old Confederates, this is not my stance, this is just an example of the type of justification an anti-Radical Republican like Clymer might have given ,

The Rich Elite Radical Republicans want;Black suffrage;so they can;make African Americans;THE EQUALS of the poor white man . Those newly granted votes will;be used to assert the Republican ideology, to ensure their rule, and to punish the south. With that the Republican elite will rule both the negro and the poor white man, stripping their liberties one-by-one. Their radical reconstruction policy and call for Negro suffrage;isnt a compromise like the three-fifths or the other compromises their social policy is just a thinly veiled;attempt at taking control away from the states and ensuring Republican control of the central government.

So, like it was with states rights and individual liberty being a justification for slavery pre-Civil War, the post-War logic of the Confederates is a little hard to grapple with today.

With that said, even if their logic was valid, doesnt it make the;modern Democratic Party, who had;93% of the black vote under Obama, into the Rich Elite Radical Social Liberal of today?

Even by the old logic of the anti-Radical-Republican of the 1860s, the parties switched.

Reconstruction: A State Divided

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2016 Sunset Report

Introduction Reconstruction I Reconstruction II

The Freedmen’s Bureau

Reproduced from Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper

The Black Press Louisiana had the first black newspaper in the South, L’Union, and the first black daily in the nation, the New Orleans Tribune. Working along with other groups and institutions, the free black press strove to give voice to and unite the desires of Louisiana African Americans.

L’Union May 12, 1864 Loaned by Gaspar Cusachs

L’Union was founded in 1862 and circulated as a biweekly and triweekly. Published primarily in French, the paper ran a few issues in English beginning in 1863. Dr. Louis Charles Roudanez was L’Union’s primary financier and Paul Trévigne its editor. Both men were prominent leaders in Louisiana’s civil rights movement, and under their direction, the paper primarily spoke for Louisiana’s established community of free people of color, although also for slaves and newly freed blacks. The paper suspended publication on July 19, 1864.

Louis Charles Roudanez c. 1870 Reproduced from R. L. Desdunes, Nos Hommes et Notre Histoire

The Riot in New Orleans Harper’s Weekly This image illustrates the violence in the Mechanics’ Institute during the riot

Carpetbag c. 1870

Hon. John Willis Menard, Colored Representative from Louisiana in the National Congress December 27, 1868 Reproduced from Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper

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What Group Opposed Lincolns Plan

The Radical Republicans opposed Lincolns plan because they thought it too lenient toward the South. Radical Republicans believed that Lincolns plan for Reconstruction was not harsh enough because, from their point of view, the South was guilty of starting the war and deserved to be punished as such.

Who Uses Radical Republicans

The Radical Republicans played an important role in US history, and they are widely referenced in formal discussions of the Civil War and Reconstruction.

Contemporary liberal and progressive American politicians who push strongly for reforms and champion racial equality may be compared to the Radical Republicans, despite the irony that historic Democrats variously opposed the empowerment of black Americans.

Alternatively, members of the modern conservative Republican Party who are particularly vehement about their political ideologies may be called Radical Republicans, though their positions may far from resemble their partys historic ones.

Outside of the United States, a Radical Republican Party existed in early 20th-century Spain, and is used in the context of Spanish history as well.

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What Were Abraham Lincolns Plans For The South

In December 1863 Lincoln announced a general plan for the orderly Reconstruction of the Southern states, promising to recognize the government of any state that pledged to support the Constitution and the Union and to emancipate enslaved persons if it was backed by at least 10 percent of the number of voters in the

Andrew Johnson: Impact And Legacy

What Do the Republicans Actually Stand For?

For the most part, historians view Andrew Johnson as the worst possible person to have served as President at the end of the American Civil War. Because of his gross incompetence in federal office and his incredible miscalculation of the extent of public support for his policies, Johnson is judged as a great failure in making a satisfying and just peace. He is viewed to have been a rigid, dictatorial racist who was unable to compromise or to accept a political reality at odds with his own ideas. Instead of forging a compromise between Radical Republicans and moderates, his actions united the opposition against him. His bullheaded opposition to the Freedmen’s Bureau Bill, the Civil Rights Act of 1866, and the Fourteenth Amendment eliminated all hope of using presidential authority to effect further compromises favorable to his position. In the end, Johnson did more to extend the period of national strife than he did to heal the wounds of war.

Most importantly, Johnson’s strong commitment to obstructing political and civil rights for blacks is principally responsible for the failure of Reconstruction to solve the race problem in the South and perhaps in America as well. Johnson’s decision to support the return of the prewar social and economic systemexcept for slaverycut short any hope of a redistribution of land to the freed people or a more far-reaching reform program in the South.

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What Did The Radical Republicans Stand For

Radical RepublicansRepublican

The Radical Republicans believed blacks were entitled to the same political rights and opportunities as whites. They also believed that the Confederate leaders should be punished for their roles in the Civil War.

Additionally, what were three policies that the Radical Republicans proposed for reconstruction? On the political front, the Republicans wanted to maintain their wartime agenda, which included support for:

Protective tariffs.

Liberal land policies for settlers.

Federal aid for railroad development.

Thereof, what was the Radical Republicans plan?

The Radical Republicans‘ reconstruction offered all kinds of new opportunities to African Americans, including the vote , property ownership, education, legal rights, and even the possibility of holding political office. By the beginning of 1868, about 700,000 African Americans were registered voters.

Did the radical Republicans favored emancipation?

Radical Republican. Radical Republican, during and after the American Civil War, a member of the Republican Party committed to emancipation of the slaves and later to the equal treatment and enfranchisement of the freed blacks.

Which Republican President Inspired The Teddy Bear

Theodore Roosevelt, a Republican U.S. president from 1901 to 1909, inspired the teddy bear when he refused to shoot a tied-up bear on a hunting trip. The story reached toy maker Morris Michtom, who decided to make stuffed bears as a dedication to Roosevelt. The name comes from Roosevelts nickname, Teddy.

Republican Party, byname Grand Old Party , in the United States, one of the two major political parties, the other being the Democratic Party. During the 19th century the Republican Party stood against the extension of slavery to the countrys new territories and, ultimately, for slaverys complete abolition. During the 20th and 21st centuries the party came to be associated with laissez-fairecapitalism, low taxes, and conservative social policies. The party acquired the acronym GOP, widely understood as Grand Old Party, in the 1870s. The partys official logo, the elephant, is derived from a cartoon by Thomas Nast and also dates from the 1870s.

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Or Use Our Power Search Technology To Lookfor More Unique Definitions From Across The Web

What does RADICAL REPUBLICAN mean?

Radical Republican

The Radical Republicans were a faction of American politicians within the Republican Party from about 1854 until the end of Reconstruction in 1877. They called themselves “Radicals” and were opposed during the war by the Moderate Republicans, by the Conservative Republicans, and by the pro-slavery Democratic Party. After the war, the Radicals were opposed by self-styled “conservatives” and “liberals”. Radicals strongly opposed slavery during the war and after the war distrusted ex-Confederates, demanding harsh policies for the former rebels, and emphasizing civil rights and voting rights for freedmen.During the war, Radical Republicans often opposed Lincoln in terms of selection of generals and his efforts to bring states back into the Union. The Radicals passed their own reconstruction plan through Congress in 1864, but Lincoln vetoed it and was putting his own policies in effect when he was assassinated in 1865. Radicals pushed for the uncompensated abolition of slavery, while Lincoln wanted to pay slave owners who were loyal to the union. After the war, the Radicals demanded civil rights for freedmen, such as measures ensuring suffrage.

What Brought Reconstruction To An End

Compromise of 1877: The End of Reconstruction The Compromise of 1876 effectively ended the Reconstruction era. Southern Democrats promises to protect civil and political rights of blacks were not kept, and the end of federal interference in southern affairs led to widespread disenfranchisement of blacks voters.

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What Did Radical Republicans In Congress Think About President Johnsons Reconstruction Plan Answer Choices

The Radical Republicans opposed Lincolns plan because they thought it too lenient toward the South. Radical Republicans believed that Lincolns plan for Reconstruction was not harsh enough because, from their point of view, the South was guilty of starting the war and deserved to be punished as such.

[davidjjohnston3]

Wish I could deliver top-shelf right now... I feel almost as if I will be left with naught but the notebooks, like Flaubert's "Sentimental Education" working notes.

1."You're too philosophical" - it turned/s out he is trying to become conscious of something. 

2.The damn thing is, 2010 Korea is not a warped society.  People are ignorant or naive about some things; and they have a w/Way that worked/s for them.They are trying to help; they want to be mothers and fathers and daughters and students and sons faithful.Great nation.

3.He is unaware of women.  The beauty of the office-buildings at night, when everyone is still at work, captivates his doesn't educate entirely as he's unaware of women and girls and boys at home; he thinks, "family unit."  It's Americanism / mental Americanness.  He has no sense / conception of man, woman, child, m/Mom, p/pop.

4.Abortion-culture, abortion, abortion, abortion."Our point is that we have no point; post hoc ergo propter hoc, you have no point because God isn't real and we are God.

"5."In the Valley of the Butterflies" - a meditation or reflection on how to some people fantasy and unreality are closer to [Adonai] than are their own parents, "parents," friends, "friends," teachers, "teachers.

"6."Minima Moralia Covidiana: Reflections on a Mentally Ill Era from North Korea Policy and NK Studies to Obama to Metascience, Metatheology."

"It's not Houellebecq that's depressed; it's the world that's depressing." - Marie-Pierre Houellebecqa) 

Everyone suddenly became their "brother's keeper, neighbor-lover" but it's more like judge thy neighbor and teach thy neighbor according to crypto-communist evaluations of wokeness.  Also, no qualifications to teach + primitive tools + no mechanism for assessing performance or firing incompetents or the morally depraved.

b) Biden obviously, POTUS, one of the most powerful men in history, says so many right things or right-sounding but at bottom I feel he neck-kneels me in the name of his political macro-economy and is more than willing not just to despise Afghans and throw them away but to silence anyone who registers an eloquent-enough complaint about American throwaway culture, anti-religion, anti-belief, anti-truth, anti-child-ism, anti-Otherism.God love him and give rest to his soul!

c) I am in trouble for being Christian and Christianist but not Frank McCourt or the guy from "Calvary" who gets kilt on the beach.  Jesus / Yesunim was not thrown out or casually murdered by disturbed victim of someone else's crime.  He was arrested by the greatest empire in human history - the last empire - interrogated by a magistrate, sentenced by the religious right and institutional ecclesial / synagogic supreme prestige of his time, and subject to formal capital punishment with full ceremony.  He was also buried with honor and gifts by women and men who loved Him.  He was and is King with all authority on Heaven and Earth and many grown men - in some places - have authority.These people saw too many movies.  

d) Taeyeon Kim's "Circus."We are supposed to take up our Crosses and follow Jesu but Milwaukee's a waterpark / flush-toilet .  "Circulation."

e) David J. Johnston's recurrent wish to write that get-out-of-Babylon bestseller but it'd take 2 years to process through the publishing industry "irregardless."

f) David Cameron's "Life Chances" speech influenced by "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother," a book which kept me awake for some 36 hours the first time I read it despite already knowing what Chinese mu'ai (mom-love) was like in its outlines.

"I'm not against the welfare-state."  - Si.  It's far different to show material as well as spiritual charity to the poor than to to tell them they're all victims who deserve Santa Mao's grab-bag and a guillotine or torture or Xinjiang vivisection and serial gang-rape forced abortion bonanza to boot.

"Family is the basic welfare-state."  - Sadly assuming sincerity, faith, veracity on the part of Anglo-American relationality and family-roles.

g) Saint John Paul II, "Papa Karol."  Humana Vitae / Human Life.  Again and again again and again and again, from the city to the world, generation after generation.  Abortion, euthanasia, rampant Medicalism and Scientism.  If I were to extend JP2's observations through "Theology of the Body" as well I would say that Man's contemporary despising of the soul and Spirit have also infected American literature with the twin outcomes of a) censoring the Spirit and b) despiritualizing and ultimately robbing of all sacredness the material and physical.  In my view this might lead to what I called "liquefaction" or "deliquescence.'  I feel as if communitarian Catholic theologian Charles Taylor might find this idea relatable to "ontology of flesh not bodies" from "A Secular Age," suggesting that Covid-19 and the policies and souls and wills responding thereto led out to a "state of things" (R. Dienst Rutgers) at which people began to actualize a madcap hostility to the physical integrity or integrality or wholeness of the Other.  Part and parcel of this disintegrationism or disintegrationisticity (sorry) other than structural inefficiencies and wasted lives characteristic of socialism / communism, moral confusion, is the outsourcing and supply-chain-disruption and -invasion (is that a Huawei chip in your X-1 or are you just cannibalistic to see me?) or distally "sparagmos" (Gr. "tearing apart; rending limb from limb") of human bodies, but particularly culturally Other men, women, and girls.  Americans not even aware of their own psychopathically malevolent spirits.

g-i) Korean American Literature, though / / Yoon Choi.I don't know if I should be this "medical" but I rem. something about those "This is what a feminist looks like" shirts which were sort of like rainbow-colored Soviet cluster-bombs in the Soviet-Afghan War that attracted women near to toxic (and/or unprepared) men then harmed them... I kept thinking, "Yeah well this is what a semenist looks like" just b/c I was in a bad mood dealing with ideology while trying to "become the man" but it turns out Man would have been better-served to reflect on the characteristics of seed than to devise mechanistic and deterministic monster-murder-Moloch-machines and that's not even "Dreiserian or neo-Dreiserian Naturalism," it's literally part of the intelligence design of the body.  g-ii) If anyone knows of a hole in the ground in Los Angeles preferably with a mirror so I can shave...

7.I keep remembering the lines from "Lincoln" - the only good lines that that bourgeois bench-warmer Kushner perhaps wrote - "millions now unborn... now, now, now."  Human trafficking, abortion, beyond-awful schools and teachers...

8. DJ is always trying to improve his platform without realizing that he has a voice.  He takes the bait again and again and again, both in terms of finding a wife / girlfriend / "coming to an arrangement with _" in the Victorian sense and being baited into a defensive crouch for what he stands to lose.

9. Ownership, "so yu kweon."

10. Everyone taking advice from SF / special forces soldiers on YouTube and a psychologist who deliberately dealt with extremes, Jordan B. Peterson, such as Marxism, Nietzsche, &c.

11.

"Everlasting Consolation."  

"Stepfather."

They are watching TV, reading memoirs, being "Episcopalian" in the old-fashioned regard of having the Bible and the newspaper both, the "Cross of Lorraine" maybe kind of.  But his parents are Democrats and democrats to the core and want to character-assassinate any leader they don't like; they will do anything to reduce a king to a doctor even if this ruler wanted to serve God.  They love nothing more than to find out the ways in which someone is hypocritical or labors under astheneia (weakness), whether monetary of social (no friends, antagonistic sideways deflectionistic teach-you-everything-(to-become-me) / push-me-pull-you neighbors)

12.

I want to exchange poems on Twitter with Pastors Timothy Keller NYC and John Piper BCSMN Bethlehem Baptist Church Twin Cities.

[crazy-coeurl-lady]

Homecoming: Part 1

Iyrn didn't wait long for the gangplank to be laid down before she burst out of the ship, the cold, fresh winds slapping her in the face and blowing her hair about.  A chuckle emerged as she recalled just how often she'd worn braids before coming to Eorzea for just this very reason.  The Trachisil winds were brutal this time of year. There were quite a few Trachsili gathered at the docks, the return of the two Haerkoenwyn sisters apparently registering as some sort of an "event" to the folk in the main village.  Several just watched; a few waved and cheered. Mildly embarrassed at all the fuss, Iyrn just waved back sheepishly until she heard a familiar voice call out to her.  "Welcome home, koenthota." Koenthota.  King's daughter.  A title that, in the moons away, she had finally shed, and hearing it again felt strange to her ears.  It might have annoyed her, had she not wished to see the man that spoke those words so much.  Her gaze turned to see the elezen man standing at the end of the dock, dressed in formal garb to greet her, clearly apart from the rest. 

Even without the ornate clothing, though, he would have stood out amongst this crowd; nearly all denizens of Trachisil and the archepelago at large were roegadyn, with a few groups of highlanders.  The dusky elezen was of Keltoura, the one island in the chain where they made their homes.  In centuries past, Trachsili had not been fond of Keltoura's elezen, but for as long as Iyrnbryda could remember, they had been treated fairly, on account of her father's policies.  It hadn't stopped the many curious glances and whispers and rumors about them, but it had, at least, brought a measure of acceptance. This elezen in particular was a most familiar sight to her, a welcome one, whose mere presence brought her relief from the anxiety welled up inside her from this trip.  His name was Felinoix, and the youthful excitement on his face belied that he was actually older than she was.  He was the Keltouran ambassador's son, but more importantly, he served as Iyrn's retainer. "You haven't been waitin' at the docks all day, have you?" she answered, a smile crawling across her face as she approached. "Perhaps."  His grin was facetious, as well as infectious.   "Tsk," Iyrn scoffed in bemusement.  "All right then, since you're eager, you must have somethin' good to tell me."  She began striding towards town, waving here and there to the onlookers, though many of them had since moved on to watching her sister Eiden disembark instead.   "I wouldn't call it all good news, but I think I'd be failing my duties if I didn't report to you first thing," Felinoix replied, a little more seriously now, though he added, "Also, I wished to see you.  It's been a long four moons." Had it really been so long already?   Truthfully, Iyrn had barely noticed.  The time since arriving in Eorzea had flown by, with few moments of homesickness.  "If you're gonna give me a hug, at least wait until we've not got half the island watchin'," she teased the elezen. "I would never shame you so," he smirked.  "Though, I ought to brief you before you head into the great hall."   "I did expect I'd need to change.  I doubt anyone would care much normally if I smelled like sweat and the sea, but special occasions bein' what they are..." Felinoix nodded.  "I've already made arrangements for that.  We'll just stop by my quarters; the seamstresses have delivered a series of dresses for -" "Dresses?" Iyrn groaned. "I was hopin' for somethin' with drake scales.  It's traditional enough!" "Don't tell me that you've been gone so long that you can't put up with a dress for a few bells," he chided.   "No, I probably wear more of 'em in Eorzea than here, but here, people actually look at me," she grumbled.  "You know how much I hate bein' looked at for the wrong reasons." "You'll have to get over it," he shrugged, taking her complaints with little seriousness.  "Though, I might have to call to have new measurements taken for you, come to think of it." Iyrn stopped, a glare forming.  "Please tell me you're not about to call me fat.  I'm runnin' an inn, there's sweet things everywhere, I can't help it." Felinoix cleared his throat diplomatically.  "I was going to say, koenthota, that you had clearly put on some muscle." "That's better.  Think of it as a welcome home present and lie to me for a while first." "I wasn't, actually," he interjected.  "You look almost as if you've grown an ilm in your absence." "Really? Huh."  If that was true, she hadn't noticed.  Though it was just as possible that he was just up to his usual jests.  It wasn't worth trying to figure out which it was, for now, especially as they'd just arrived outside his quarters. Felinoix opened the door and motioned for her to enter before him.  Ever the polite kind, even when no one was around that cared for such things. Especially not her. "Bath first, then the necessary gossip," he instructed, taking a seat on a cushioned chair to wait. "I must truly reek for you to insist on that," she called back at him as she headed down the hall. "No, you're as sweet as wyznfroea blossoms in the spring." Iyrn rolled her eyes and disappeared into the bath.  Aye, he was jesting after all.

(to be continued)

[khalilhumam]

Winners and losers in the Supreme Court decisions on Trump’s finances

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Winners and losers in the Supreme Court decisions on Trump’s finances

By Richard Lempert President Trump’s initial outraged reaction to the Supreme Court’s decisions in the presidential subpoena cases surprised no one, but determining winners and losers in these cases requires going beyond the Supreme Court’s bottom lines. Indeed, although he lost on his core claims in the grand jury case, Trump v. Vance, Trump emerged mainly as a winner. Other winners include the Congress, even though the House saw its committees’ subpoenas nullified in Trump v. Mazars, grand juries, the Supreme Court, Chief Justice Roberts, and the rule of law, including especially the constitutional system of checks and balances, which was left pretty much unscathed by the results. Losers include the presidency and House Democrats. It remains to be seen whether, when the dust has settled, we should consider Cyrus Vance, the New York district attorney, a winner or a loser. Let me explain. Trump’s victory: Keeping his tax returns hidden until after the election. Assessing President Trump’s status requires us to know his goals. If his goal was to maximize the power of the president and to ensure that a sitting president was immune to subpoenas from grand juries and the Congress, he lost big time. His most grandiose claims for presidential power and executive authority were rejected by the Court, and the vote wasn’t close. But if his primary concern was, as I believe it was, to ensure that his financial records, including especially his tax returns, remain hidden until after the November election, then he won big time. In Mazars he won a complete victory since the House subpoenas were, in effect, quashed, although formal quashing awaits action by the D.C. Circuit Court. New House subpoenas cannot be crafted and survive the court challenges they will face soon enough for the House to secure any documents before the election. Indeed, if Trump is reelected and a new Democratic House seeks again to get his financial records, it will probably be several years before the legal issues raised by new subpoenas will be resolved. In Vance, the case he nominally lost, Trump’s political victory seems nevertheless almost as complete. Although the Court ruled against him on his broad immunity claims, it left the door open for objections to specific subpoenaed documents based on grounds open to any litigant, like the claim that the subpoenas are intentionally harassing, unduly burdensome or issued in bad faith, as well as on grounds specific to the executive, such as the claim that the subpoenas are designed to interfere with the president’s official duties or will impede him in carrying out those duties. Regardless of how these issues are resolved on remand, there seems no chance that the issues left open will be resolved before November. Moreover, in a significant sentence, the Court gave President Trump another potentially important victory. It specifically acknowledged his ability to bring complaints seeking to suppress the subpoenas to either state or federal court. Since Trump has now appointed about 200 federal judges, even if the original trial judge is assigned the case on remand, there is a good chance that as the case wends its way back through the system, judges sympathetic to Trump will have a say in the outcome. Trump also won some smaller doctrinal victories in Vance. In particular, the Court recognized that separation of powers issues exist even when it is the president’s personal papers that are sought, and it regards as irrelevant the fact that subpoenas for a president’s papers are directed to third parties rather than to the president. Except to the extent that his subpoena was politically motivated, the New York district attorney, Cyrus Vance, neither wins nor loses at this point in time. That determination will turn on what documents he is able to acquire and how soon he gets them. Ultimately, he will probably be able to get most of what he sought. Congress’s victory: A president is not immune from a congressional subpoena The Congress wins because in Mazars the Court held that a president cannot prevent the House from acquiring his papers if the papers are sought pursuant to a properly drawn subpoena. Executive authority and the separation of powers do not render a president immune from a congressional subpoena. Moreover, the Court rejected the argument that Congress must establish a “demonstrated specific need” before a president can be required to turn over his records. It pointed out that this standard, drawn from U.S. v Nixon, which the Solicitor General advocated, involved subpoenas seeking privileged information and does not apply in cases like Trump’s, where no privilege has been claimed. The Court did, however, establish special standards that a congressional subpoena must meet when a president’s records are sought. These are: (1) “[C]ourts should carefully assess whether the asserted legislative purpose warrants … involving the President and his papers.” Specifically, “Congress may not rely on the President’s information if other sources could reasonably provide Congress the information it needs to achieve its legislative objectives.” (2) To prevent unnecessary intrusions into the Office of the President, subpoenas should be “no broader than reasonably necessary to support Congress’s legislative objective.” (3) “[C]ourts should be attentive to the nature of the evidence offered by Congress to establish that a subpoena advances a valid legislative purpose,” particularly when the contemplated legislation “raises sensitive constitutional issues, such as laws concerning the Presidency.” (4) “[C]ourts should be careful to assess the burdens imposed on the President by the subpoenas.” The court also left the door open for additional standards, noting that, “one case every two centuries does not afford enough experience for an exhaustive list.” House Democrats lose If Congress, and by extension the House, won, the same cannot be said for the House Democrats. They have been thwarted in their political objectives. Absent leaked information, they now have no chance of acquiring the president’s financial records before the coming election. They also lost in that the shabbiness of their preparation for this clash of titans was exposed. The House committees at the start of their investigations could have constructed narrower, better-justified subpoenas for the records they sought. Instead prominent Democrats, upon gaining control of the House, openly celebrated the investigations they could launch. Later, when they were ready to issue subpoenas, they phrased their record demands broadly, described their documentary needs in general terms, and allowed different committees to issue identical subpoenas, suggesting a scattershot rather than a targeted approach to acquiring information. Next time the House (and the Senate) should realize they need to consult their best lawyers before, rather than after, they attempt to subpoena personal presidential documents. Presidential immunity to subpoenas loses If Trump won in what I expect matters most to him, concealing his financial records through the election, the same cannot be said of the presidency. Limits on the power of presidents to resist subpoenas directed to them are clearer than they have been. Although presidents can expect that by virtue of their office they will be accommodated in ways other persons would not be, they cannot claim immunity to subpoenas issued in connection with judicial proceedings or congressional investigations, nor can they expect that rules that apply to others will not apply to them. Moreover, the Court has given Congress a blueprint describing what it must do if it seeks to subpoena a president’s papers. But the decisions’ costs to the presidency are not huge. Although presidential immunity to subpoena is ruled out, substantial protection against frivolous or politically motivated subpoenas is mandated, particularly when Congress is seeking the information. Grand juries won Grand juries are also winners, and to a greater extent than Congress. The Court was unanimous in holding that grand juries can investigate sitting presidents. Moreover, not only are sitting presidents unable to claim immunity from grand jury subpoenas, but also a grand jury is not obliged to meet a heightened relevance standard when a president’s personal papers are sought. In addition, unlike the situation with Congress, the grounds on which a president can resist grand jury subpoenas are narrow, and for the most part shared by all citizens. The rule of law, the Supreme Court and Chief Justice Roberts won The rule of law, the Supreme Court, and Justice Roberts are winners for related reasons. The rule of law wins because the Court once again proclaimed that no person is above the law and that generally speaking the law has a right to every person’s evidence. In an ordinary presidency this might not amount to much, but too often President Trump has acted as if he is a law unto himself, uncontrolled by legal strictures, and he has also, as in the cases just decided, claimed that the law had no right to his evidence. These propositions are specifically rejected. Also, the Court once again reaffirmed its place in the Constitution’s separation of powers scheme—it is the only branch with the power to state finally what the Constitution demands.  This reaffirmation is hardly surprising, but it is nonetheless a win for both the Supreme Court and the rule of law. More importantly, however, the Court is a winner because of the opinions it issued. These opinions, together with the fact that seven justices signed on to each, make Justice Roberts, the opinions’ author, a winner as well. Roberts’ opinion in Vance is well-crafted but not special. Unless the Court was willing to revisit and overturn the precedents established in U.S. v.Nixon. and Clinton v. Jones, the outcome in Vance and the grounds on which it rested were pretty much ordained. Trump’s arguments rested on reeds too slender to bear the weight that the president’s attorneys tried to place on them. This seemed clear at oral argument, and it is clear from the opinion. The opinion in Mazars is a different story. It breaks new ground, gets the Court out of a bind precedent seemed to have placed it in, is exceptionally well crafted, and without insulating the president from congressional subpoenas, it establishes reasonable, if strict, standards for future congressional efforts to secure a president’s personal papers. To appreciate the Court’s opinion in Mazars, one must understand prior law. There were two lead precedents, Kilbourn v. Thompson, decided in 1880 and McGrain v. Dougherty, decided in 1927. Kilbourn was authority for the proposition that Congress may issue subpoenas only if it has a legislative purpose. In particular, the Constitution does not allow Congress to subpoena documents or witnesses to expose wrongdoing or to punish. McGrain reaffirmed and made binding what had been dicta in Kilbourn. It also held, however, that if material sought by a congressional subpoena was relevant to possible legislation, Kilbourn’s legislative purpose mandate was satisfied. Moreover, courts should not probe the motivations that led to a subpoena, but should simply ask whether there was a possible nexus between the material sought and an issue on which Congress might legislate. These holdings were cited as controlling precedent in a number of subsequent cases. Oral argument made clear that the Mazars court had deep concerns with the range of subpoenas precedent allowed, and counsel for the House did not help his case when he was unable to come up with even one example of information Congress might seek that could not in some way be connected to a subject on which Congress could legislate. The concern clearly lingered, for the Court noted in its opinion House counsel’s inability to find an example of a subpoena that would necessarily be out of bounds. The genius of Robert’s opinion in Mazars is that while endorsing the longstanding precedent that congressional subpoenas must have a legislative purpose and without repudiating the notion that courts should not render judgments based on motives they impute to Congress, the opinion lays down principles which form a more or less objective test (described above) for determining whether material Congress seeks from a president is essential to a legislative task Congress is engaged in. Yet it manages to leave in place the highly deferential standard that leads courts to ignore suspect congressional motives when Congress seeks material outside of the separation of powers context. If the standards the Court lays down were not reasonable ones, I would not be celebrating the Mazars opinion in this commentary. But they make sense.  Congress should be able to spell out in a subpoena why it needs the documents it seeks. It should not be subpoenaing presidential papers if it can get the same information from other sources. Congressional subpoenas must have a legislative purpose and should be no broader than what the Congress needs to fulfill its legislative mission. The separation of powers and the potential for politically rather than legislatively motivated subpoenas justify particularly close scrutiny of congressional subpoenas seeking presidential papers as well as attention to whether congressional subpoenas excessively burden the executive. Importantly, in laying out these requirements, Roberts’ opinion does not close the door on Congress’s ability to secure information from the president. Rather it provides a road map for how Congress need proceed when it seeks presidential papers by subpoena. Precedent calls our attention to past cases, but the Court sees its opinions as precedent for the next ones. Here is a potential weakness of the Mazars opinion. Although the standards it enunciates have an objective ring to them, they are still open to considerable subjective interpretation by trial and appellate court judges. What, for example, are excessive burdens on the executive, and what makes a subpoena insufficiently narrow. A strength of the Court opinions in both Vance and Mazars is that the text suggests no obvious political bias, and the notion that the justices’ votes were motivated by political rather than legal considerations seems implausible given the number of justices who signed on to the decisions—three from the Court’s conservative wing and four from its liberal wing. Future cases that flesh out the Mazars standards, including especially lower court level decisions, may, however, suggest that politics is motivating judicial judgments. Still, if cases like Mazars arise only once in two centuries, there is little reason for concern. Unfortunately, only an incurable optimist can be sure that the clash between Congress and the executive that gave rise to Mazars is not a harbinger of clashes to come.

[bigyack-com]

JNU students, teachers attacked by mob, at least 23 injured - india news

Groups of masked men armed with sticks, rods and hammers stormed Jawaharlal Nehru University on Sunday evening and attacked students and teachers, triggering waves of condemnation and forcing the city police to set up a high-level inquiry later in the night.Videos and television visuals showed men in jeans and shirts, with strips of cloth covering their faces, vandalise hostel rooms and common areas, hurl stones and hit students with sticks on the south Delhi campus.At least 23 students and teachers were admitted to the All India Institute of Medical Sciences with injuries from the violence that began around 6pm after a demonstration against hikes in hostel and academic fees. “I was brutally beaten up,” said JNU student union president Aishe Ghosh, who suffered a head injury and was seen bleeding.“It was a riot-like situation,” said Bikramaditya K Chowdhary, an assistant professor who lives on the campus and whose wife was chased by the mob. She escaped unhurt.The Left-backed union and many students alleged that members of the Akhil Bharatiya Vidyarthi Parishad (ABVP), the student wing of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, attacked them.“Masked men were roaming around and entering hostels with sticks in hand. They were breaking property and attacking students,” said Saket Moon, JNUSU vice-president. Police, who initially refused to enter the campus as the mob rampaged inside, didn’t comment on the identity of the attackers, but university vice-chancellor M Jagadesh Kumar told television channels he will file a formal complaint.“The violence in JNU is very worrisome and unfortunate. I condemn the violence inside the campus. I appeal to all students to maintain peace in the campus,” said human resource development minister Ramesh Pokhriyal ‘Nishank’.The Union home ministry said minister Amit Shah spoke to Delhi Police commissioner Amulya Patnaik and instructed him to take necessary action.“Hon’ble minister has also ordered an enquiry to be carried out by a joint CP level officer and asked for a report to be submitted as soon as possible,” the ministry tweeted.Lieutenant governor Anil Baijal, who controls the city police, said he asked the force to coordinate with JNU administration to maintain law and order & take action against the alleged perpetrators. “The situation is being closely monitored,” he added.The ABVP dismissed the charges and said members of the Left parties had led the violence. “The attack on ABVP today shows the violent side of these organizations. Left cannot intimidate students through violence,” said Durgesh Kumar, president, ABVP JNU unit.Police -- who entered the campus a little after 9pm, almost three hours after violence first erupted -- said a fight broke out between two student groups who “vandalised hostels and indulged in violence”.“At least seven students from both sides moved to hospital. Those seen in sticks are also students. There is no such mob outside JNU at present. We will register a case accordingly,” said deputy commissioner of police (southwest) Devender Arya. Police said it entered campus after getting a request and permission from the JNU administration.Arya claimed that a flag march was conducted and the campus was normal but late into the night, students and teachers from the university claimed the situation was tense, with large groups of people gathered at the main gate of the campus.Political tensions have been rising on the campus for almost two months because of a stand-off over a proposed fee hike, which, in some cases, meant that a pupil would be paying 30 times the current amount. The agitating students, led by the JNUSU, had also called for a boycott of the ongoing registration process of new students.Some professors said scuffles broke out after a meeting on Sunday afternoon.“We saw a mob of 25-30 students with rods and lathis. The goons came from outside, went from hostel to hostel beating up students and teachers,” said Sharad Baviskar, an assistant professor. There was a similar mob on campus on Saturday afternoon, he added.But the university administration blamed students protesting against the fee hike for the violence.“The students who are for the registration were beaten up by a group of agitating students opposing the registration. Some masked miscreants also entered the Periyar hostel rooms and attacked the students with sticks and rods,” said a statement issued by university registrar Pramod Kumar.As news spread of the violence, political parties and leaders condemned the violence and traded charges. “I am so shocked to know about the violence at JNU. Students attacked brutally. Police should immediately stop violence and restore peace,” tweeted Delhi chief minister Arvind Kejriwal.Foreign minister S Jaishankar and finance minister Nirmala Sitharaman, both alumni of the university, condemned the violence. “Condemn the violence unequivocally. This is completely against the tradition and culture of the university,” said Jaishankar.Sitharaman said the university she remembered was a place for fierce debates and opinions but never violence. “I unequivocally condemn the events of today,” she added.Senior Congress leader Priyanka Gandhi Vadra reached AIIMS late on Sunday night, and said students with broken limbs and head injuries told her that they had been hit by goons and police. “There is something deeply sickening about a government that allows and encourages such violence to be inflicted on their own children,” she tweeted.The Congress blamed the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) for the violence.“Brutality & beatings unleashed. No police anywhere, no JNU administration! Is this how Modi government seeks revenge against students & youth?” asked Congress chief spokesperson Randeep Singh Surjewala.But the BJP dismissed the allegation. “This is a desperate attempt by forces of anarchy, who are determined to use students as cannon fodder, create unrest to shore up their shrinking political footprint,” the party tweeted Read the full article

[kittyboo8015]

So I’ve been working on this drabble for a couple of days and somehow it grew to 2045 words. This one’s for @survey-corps-rookie based on an AU she told me about involving Comic book nerd Levi meeting his favorite actor, Erwin Smith. I wanted to do this as a thank you for always helping me find merch I’m looking for and I really enjoy talking about Eruri together. I hope this turned out ok. Also thank you to everyone whom looked over this for me, I appreciate it so much<3 I’m gonna just post now because the wind is blowing pretty hard right now and I don’t want to lose power XD

Levi checks over the items in his backpack one last time before zippering it closed. He slings it over his shoulder and takes a quick look in the mirror. He adjusts his glasses and grabs his keys off the dresser. He tries to ignore the nervousness in his stomach as he heads to his car. The day of the Con had finally arrived after an agonizing 6 month wait. Levi had rushed to register  as soon he had seen the poster in his favorite comic store advertising this year’s  special guests. He would finally get the chance to meet his favorite actor, Erwin Smith. 

Levi had never been a fan of movie versions of his favorite comics. They always butchered the plot and the casting was always terrible . One boring Saturday night about a year ago  had changed his mind. Hange and Moblit had dragged him to some shitty remake and Levi had only tagged along because Hange always got free tickets from their job at the theater and he had nothing better to do.

At least he could kill a couple of hours by pointing out every single plot hole and have a good laugh at the shitty acting that was sure to accompany it. His mind had been changed that night. For the first time ever, Levi had watched the entire movie. The film was still loaded with flaws but he was too mesmerized by Erwin’s performance to notice. As soon as he had arrived home, he went straight to his computer to find out everything he could about Erwin Smith. 

 .

Levi pulls up in front of the house shared by Hange and Moblit and honks the horn impatiently. After a few moments the front door is thrown open and a slightly disheveled Hange exits being trailed by Moblit. Levi’s irritation leaves his face temporarily at the sight of them. He unlocks the doors and tries to bite back a laugh when Hange slides into the back seat trying not to lose her wig while Moblit gets in next to Levi. .

“Took you long enough, we have to be at the hotel by two pm for pre-judging for the cosplay contest!” Hange whines, wig still slightly off center. “Do people even watch “Sailor Moon” anymore?” Levi questions as he pulls away from the curb. She straightens her tiara with a huff. “Pretty bold coming from a grown ass man who still plays with toys!” She snaps. “They’re action figures and I collect them, there’s a difference!” Levi shouts back. “At least I don’t guilt people into wearing lame costumes!” Moblit turns nervously towards the window. “ Tuxedo Mask isn’t lame, right Moblit?” Hange asks. Moblit  just nods and continues to stare out at the road.

Two long hours later, Levi pulls into the hotel parking lot. He huffs in annoyance as Moblit helps extract Hange from the back seat after her boot somehow got caught. They finally make their way to the hotel entrance from the parking lot. After obtaining their passes they decide to split up and meet again later in time for the signing. 

Nervous excitement is still buzzing through Levi’s veins just thinking about how close he is to meeting Erwin. He checks his phone and sighs upon noticing he has some time to kill. He heads into the dealers room to see if he can score some more merch for his collection back at home. 

Levi’s collection was small, only being able to buy figures here and there when he had some money to spare but it was his pride and joy. He kept them on a shelf in his room he had built himself and cleaned them once a week to keep them from getting dusty. 

He makes his way around the rooms, stopping when something catches his eye. He ends up buying a couple of keychains to add to his backpack and makes his way back to the lobby. He takes a seat on one of the empty couches and just people watches for a while. 

He lets out a small laugh when he receives a text from Hange bragging that she and Moblit had managed to win 3rd place in the Cosplay contest. He jumps slightly when the alarm he set goes off indicating that it was time to get in line for the guest signings.

After meeting back up with Hange and Moblit, they slowly make their way through the queue. Levi tries to get a glimpse of Erwin and then curses himself for being too damn short to see around the large crowd. “What’s the matter shorty, do you need a boost?” She says with a grin. “Ow, I was just kidding!” She cries when  Levi casually stomps on her foot in response. 

After an eternity of standing in line being subjected to Hange’s litany of complaints about starvation and tingling in her foot, they finally approach the guest table and Levi can feel his heart hammering in his chest. Now that he has an unobstructed view, he can clearly see Erwin and he is a hundred times more handsome in person. As Levi approaches him, Erwin looks up at him and smiles and Levi swears he feels his heart stop. 

Levi gasps as he is thumped on the back by Hange. “Aren’t you going to answer, Erwin asked you  what your name is?” She hisses quietly from behind him. Levi feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment as he looks up at Erwin who is still smiling and waiting patiently. “Um, I-I’m Levi.” He manages to stammer. Erwin extends his hand to him. “Nice to meet you, Levi.” He says, grasping Levi’s hand firmly shaking it causing Levi’s blush to reach up to his ears.

Levi places a poster and a couple DVD cases on the table for Erwin to sign. “Oh, so you’ve seen some of my movies?” Erwin asks as he starts signing. “He’s seen all of them at least a hundred times and he’s the president of your fan club in our city!” Hange  chimes in from behind and Levi just wants to sink into the floor. 

“I’m sorry, someone obviously forgot to take their meds this morning.” Levi apologized, glaring daggers up at Hange. Erwin turns to Levi and smiles warmly. “No need to apologize, I am honored to meet such a supportive fan, thank you Levi.”  He gazes sincerely up at him with his beautiful blue eyes and Levi almost melts. Levi looks down at his hands.

“Um, it’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Smith.” He mumbles. Erwin chuckles. “No need for formalities , just call me Erwin.” He finishes signing and slides the items back across the table. Levi quickly but carefully returns the items to his bag. “Thank you, Erwin.” He replies shyly and gets ready to leave.

“Wait, Levi, I would like your email address if you don’t mind, I like to keep in touch with my fan clubs, I wouldn’t be here without them after all.” He says handing Levi a pen. Levi takes it nervously and scrawls down his name and email. “Thank you, Levi, I appreciate it.”  Levi’s cheeks heat up again. “No, problem.” He says with a small smile. “I’ll be in touch.” Erwin takes the paper back with a smile and waves at Levi whom waves back limply and walks away with Hange and Moblit in tow.                    ________

It was about a week later that Levi first heard back from Erwin. He honestly didn’t think he would ever hear from him in the first place. Erwin was a popular actor and a very busy man. Levi was sure that Erwin was just being polite after Hange had embarrassed him. Levi wasn’t mad at her though he knew Hange long enough to know that she tends to get overexcited sometimes. 

Late one evening, he checked his email like he always did before going to bed and to his surprise there was an email from Erwin. Levi felt a flutter in his stomach as he clicked it open. Levi had expected that it was just a formal mass email that was sent out as a formality but the only recipient of the mail was himself. Erwin had thanked him again for the support and coming out to see him. He had ended with a few questions for Levi about his hobbies and what fandoms he was into. Levi carefully typed out a short response and hit send.

After his initial response to Erwin, Levi started receiving messages from him once or twice a week sometimes less when Erwin was busy filming overseas. They started small, exchanging small talk about their lives and backgrounds. Levi found out that they were only five years apart in age when Erwin had mentioned he had just celebrated his thirtieth birthday a few weeks prior. Over time they had learned that they had quite a bit in common. They both were  collectors of comics and both got their start from their parents.

 Levi told Erwin how his mother had bought him him his first comic and how that day was was one of his favorite memories of her. Sadly she had gotten sick and passed away when Levi was still very young and that comic had gotten lost between moves to foster homes. Levi always keeps an eye out at cons hoping to find a copy of it again someday. 

Erwin had gotten his start by collecting with his father. He would go to the comic shop every other week with him and add to his collection. Levi chuckled when Erwin told him that his dad still sends him a comic occasionally in the mail. As time moved on the emails moved to Skype, and recently the occasional text. Several months before the con came into town the following year, Levi had received a phone call from Erwin saying he was invited to attend again and that he would like Levi to come as his guest. 

                         __________

Levi draws in a deep breath as he knocks on the door to the room where Erwin was waiting. As soon as he enters Erwin walks towards him with a smile. Levi blushes and pushes his glasses back up as they slide down again. Erwin tries to turn away quickly hoping Levi didn’t catch him blushing. “It’s good to see you again,Levi.” Erwin says reaching out to shake hands. Levi can’t help but notice that Erwin’s hand feels just as clammy as his. “Oh, I almost forgot, I have something for you!” Erwin replies as he grabs a package off of a table and hands it to Levi.

Levi tears open the paper carefully and tears almost spring to his eyes. In his hands was a copy of the comic he had lost long ago. “How did you find this?” He asks softly. “I called in a few favors.” Erwin replies and invites him to join him on the couch. “Thanks but you didn’t have to do this, and I didn’t bring you anything.”  Erwin smiles. “You coming here was enough and besides I owe you an apology.” Levi raises an eyebrow at him. “Apology? For what?” He asks, confused. “I wasn’t exactly honest with you, when I asked for your email address because of the fan club, I have people that take care of that for me because I’m so busy.” Erwin averts his eyes momentarily.

“I just wanted an excuse to talk to you again.” Levi is silent for a minute. “So you made up some bullshit excuse to talk to me, why?” He asks, cheeks still slightly pink. “I thought you were cute.” Erwin admits nervously. Levi feels his heart race slightly. He chuckles. “Apology accepted, and Erwin?” He asks moving closer. “Yes?” Levi moves forward and kisses him on the cheek. “Maybe, I think you’re cute too.”