#because this is something unprecedented; unheard of; and yet it's happening to him; of all people

[yolkyeomie]

The Art of Hearts | Lee Juyeon

summary — trembling hands? flushed face? nervous stuttering? this wasn’t like you, you’ve never reacted like this to anyone before. so why is it that when you were with him you acted this way?

word count — 17.2k words

pairing — juyeon x female!reader (w/ mentions of chanhee, sunwoo, younghoon, and hyunjae)

genre — princess!reader, knight!juyeon, fluff with a hint of angst if you really squint, slowburn-ish, strangers to lovers-ish

disclaimer — mentions of minor violence and sword fighting !! I spent three days writing this through a hyper fixation and I REFUSE to get this beta read, so if u see any errors pretend like you didn’t see it at all 👁 this is also really self indulgent and I’ve never even written for tbz I’m so so sorry if this is extremely inaccurate

I.

You were a little upset with yourself, you weren’t going to lie. For the past few months you had found yourself curiously leaning over your balcony railing, trying your best to catch a quick glance of all the knights in training that were just a few feet below. Eagerly you watched as they honed their skills, determination fueling their bones as they swung, slashed, and clanged their dull and worn out swords against each other in a mock battle.

They fought with all their might to become the next knights of your kingdom’s army or the next royal guards that would patrol the palace with the king and his family. Though, you knew that your mere presence made them strive for their goal even harder than before. Who wouldn’t want to demonstrate their rising abilities in front of the princess of their nation?

Your prying eyes made them itch with anticipation and wonder. Will they get a chance to greet you if they flaunted hard enough? To take your dainty hands in theirs, rough with hard work and tenacity, and place a gentle kiss atop your skin?

You weren’t interested in them, per se. In fact you had never been very interested in the upcoming knights that trained in the barracks below you. Since you were a child, the tiara and gown lifestyle wasn’t really for you, longing to hold the hilt of a long sword within your hands and slash your opponent in one clean swing. You wanted to fight, you wanted to run, you wanted to get rough and dirty with the knights that were sworn to protect your kingdom. It had been your biggest dream and fascination to even sit in on one singular match between the generals and their young and hopeful squires.

However, the amount of times you’ve been scolded for your unattainable dreams was too many to count on one finger. How unprecedented of you to even think such a thought! Young ladies are to never step foot on the battlefield, dirtier their long gowns or scraping their soft skins, that’s what you’ve been told. The swords are for the young men who fight for their country and the women who stay home and wait for them. A sword was to never be picked up by a lady, especially the princess.

But it was so boring! Why must you have to sit and smile like a porcelain doll too expensive to be rough housed with? You could never understand how your mother, how past queens and princesses, could handle such a repetitive job. Smile for the allies, smile for your king, smile for your people, and most importantly, produce an heir that will make the kingdom thrive. That was nothing you wanted to do!

Yet you were the only child of your nation’s queen and king, so that’s what was expected of you. You had no brother to hide behind and force to take the throne. You had no sister you could hide behind and force to smile and wave. You had to do it without any questions and without any backlash.

You’d think they’d at least let you learn to defend yourself since you were the only heir to the throne? Sure you will have royal guards protecting you for a majority of your life but it wasn’t bad to be a little precautious just in case a happy incident occurred.

Just thinking about the mistreatment made you frown, slumping over the balcony railing with a huff and using your hand to prop up your head in annoyance. Not even watching the knights-to-be scramble to display their tiny growing muscles or aimlessly swinging their blades around could make you feel any better.

And then you heard it, a deep and loud horn echoing across from the barracks all the way to the balcony you stood on. It caught your attention almost immediately, standing up straight and leaning over the railing to see what was going on. Unfortunately you hear what they must be saying from the height you were at, but the slow opening of the barrack gates was enough to clue you in on what was happening next.

“Oh, I’m just in time!” A voice chirped behind you, your skin jumping off its bones at their sudden appearance. You turn your head innocently to catch the sight of a fellow member of royalty slinking you to your side, his tiny physique making his footsteps light and silent as he stepped across the marble flooring of the balcony.

“Why, if it isn’t his Royal Highness, Prince Choi Chanhee of Fantasia!” You teased, watching as he rolled his eyes at his formal title. Only recently had the boy been pronounced the next king of his nation and he still wasn't used to the new form of address he had been given. You took this as an opportunity to poke fun at him, knowing all of the times he’s done the exact same to you. “What do I owe the pleasure of seeing his Royal Highness today?”

“You are so annoying,” Chanhee snided, earning a knowing smile from you as he leaned over the balcony railing just as you did before. “My father has come to discuss some important matters with your family, something involving the trading between the two kingdoms. I was forced to tag along being the next heir and I came to give you a bit of company, but it seems as though you’re already a little preoccupied.”

You couldn’t help but scoff at his last words, knowing he was trying to jab right back at you for watching the squires of your kingdom. “Very funny, Chanhee, but I’m not here to watch the scrawny pretty boy’s fight for a simple smile from me.”

“You find enjoyment in their pinning though, I know you do,” He noted, not taking his eyes off the barrack gates. They were completely open now, leading out into the field that was right front of the balcony the two of you were standing on. “You would never give a singular one of these men a chance because the little she-devil inside of you likes toying with their hearts.”

“You describe me so coldly, it hurts,” you laugh, watching a smile etch on the prince’s face at your words. You enjoyed your little banter like this, fighting back and forth like a pair of siblings rather than potential suitors. And let it be known that everyone in the palace wanted Chanhee to be the one who would finally court you, but he didn’t seem too interested in the idea either.

Once again a horn was blown to catch the attention of the people, it’s deep sound resonated across the field and the two of you turned your gazes towards the barracks once more. This is what Chanhee was looking forward to, the weekly evaluation that the knights-to-be of your kingdom endured four days every month. To be honest, you looked forward to it as well, as it usually was used as a way to not only assess the squires but show off the power of the kingdom’s next knights and royal guards.

After a few moments two horses shot out of the barrack gates, galloping across the open field at such intense speeds that if you blinked you would have missed them.

“This week is archery!” Chanhee exclaimed, clapping his hands together in glee as he pointed out the worn red targets that were placed about the field.

You narrowed your eyes as you finally settled your eyes upon one individual, Chanhee’s gaze following the other rider as they rode in the wind. The boy you were watching was riding upon a black stead, the steeds jet black coat nearly matching his slate colored hair. The only reason you could see the boy upon the black horse was because of his contrasting blue tunic and the evergreen colored grass underneath them.

As the two approached the first target, the boy began to rise off of the saddle straightening his back as lifting up a bow and arrow held in his hands. He focused in on the target in front of him, quickly snatching an arrow out of the quiver strapped around his back and nocking his bow. Both you and Chanhee watched in silence as the boys drawed back on their bowstrings, aiming carefully for the bullseye with unheard precision.

Thwish! Chanhee’s boy was the first to release his arrow, the object flying through the air and sinking deep into the plywood of the target. The boy let out a cheer as his chestnut steed began to pick up the page, charging straight for the other two targets that were left to clear. Only a few seconds after the first the boy you were watching released his arrow, stabbing into the target just as, if not harder, into the target than the first.

There was no cheering coming from him, no gesture of victory, not even a hint of an eager smile. He only grabbed onto the reins of his horse and commanded it to continue forth.

After the first moment of hesitation, he was no longer the one waiting for his fellow knight-to-be to make the first move. He surpassed the other boy in a matter of seconds, shooting his arrows deep into the plywood targets in a heartbeat.

“That’s incredible,” Chanhee couldn’t help but comment, reaching out for your arm as he stared down at the field in pure amusement. “Did you catch that Y/N? Each one of those shots, straight into the bullseye? And on the back of horse running at full speed? He’s inhuman, there’s no other way.”

“What can I say?” You bragged, a smile donning in your face as the boy’s horse began to slow into a casual trot. Only then did the remnants of a grin don his face, basking in his easily gained victory. “My kingdom’s soldiers are the best in the region? There is a reason everyone wants to be our allies and not our enemies? The boys from the village could crush yours in a fell swoop.”

The current squires weren’t everything to brag about now, but once they finished training? Ascending to the ranks of knights and royal guards? They were unstoppable, worthy of not only your praise, but the kingdom’s as well.

“That’s so unfair,” Chanhee pouted, stepping away from the balcony to throw a small fit. It was nothing too serious, just blowing off some steam from being the lesser royal member in the room. “You should really send some of your knights to Fantasia once you become queen. We could really use the unstoppable knights of your kingdom to better protect our own.”

You snort at his words, glancing down towards the open field where the targets laid. “Not a chance, your Royal Highness,” you tell him, your eyes glued to the slate colored hair of the squire below you. In a heartbeat he turned his head to the balcony, turning to the side like a dog as his gaze met yours. “Not a chance.”

II.

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn,” you say, your brain barely keeping up with the words that were spilling out of your mouth. “But what? You’re doing what?”

Your father couldn’t help but smile at your confusion, leading you down the busy hallway of the barracks. Any knight or general that would walk the same path as the two of you would gasp and bow before you, letting the king and his daughter pass them before even daring to continue on their way. Squires young and old would all gawk and stare from the windows and doorways of their rooms, their gazes never leaving their sovereign’s side until they were out of view.

You were in the barracks. For the first time in your life you were walking the corridors of the knight’s barracks, their training grounds, side by side with your father’s permission. Sure, you were still dressed in the long feet covering dress and shiny silver crown you had inherited so it meant you were not going to do any sort of fighting while you were here, but they didn’t matter to you. This was a big step for you to be taking in first place! Just walking within the barracks was a simple dream come true.

“Progress has been made,” your father’s royal adviser spoke first, explaining the situation to you as simply as he could. “The general in charge of training the newest squires from around the nation had reported that he believed that some of them were ready to ascend the ranks. So your father is here to judge and give the final verdict personally.”

“You saw the evaluation a week ago, didn’t you?” Your father suddenly asked you.

Your brain was doing marathons around the room as they spoke to you, trying your best to keep up with the conversation. Though the mentioning of the weekly evaluation snapped you back into reality, remembering the talented boy that rode across the field on the black stallion and easily demolished his competition. “Of course,” you responded, a little too fast for your liking. Quickly you added on, “who doesn’t remember the evaluation? Prince Chanhee was so impressed by the skills of our knights-to-be that he begged me to send some to his kingdom.”

“I know,” your father sneering, reminiscing over a memory you hadn’t witnessed. “These boys, the ones I’m going to evaluate, are around your age. I thought it was useful for you to see them personally, as there is a very strong potential that you’ll be growing as the next queen alongside them.”

“So…,” you mumble, stopping with your father in front of the door archway led to the courtyard where most of the knights-to-be were being held. “No training with the knights?”

Your father shot you a glance before laughing to himself, allowing his royal advisor to pass by him and walk out first into the courtyard. “No training with the knights.”

“May I present to you, his Majesty the King and Her Royal Highness, Princess Y/N!”

Both you and your father stepped out into the courtyard, everyone in the vicinity of the two of you bowing in respect. Your father spoke a few words to the general in charge, an exchange of words you didn’t quite catch. You were too distracted by your surroundings to focus on what was being spoken to you.

The ground around the archways was paved in cement, creating a small pathway to be walked on around the courtyard. Yet in the middle courtyard was completely dirt, grass only making an appearance in spotty areas from being traversed on so many times. The dirt stained the hem of your dress with a brown tint, having it been raining a few nights before and the ground hadn’t completely soaked up all of the water that had been doused upon it.

But you didn’t mind, why would you care about your dress when you were finally in the barracks! Your eyes were glued to the more important things, like the targets that were hung up against the walls with arrows puncturing the wood or the many dull swords and swords that were littered across the ground forgotten with the king and your arrival.

You must look like an idiot as you looked around the barracks like it was the most exquisite place of the century. To them squires, it was just another building that barely had anything to give. But to you? This was heaven on Earth, the garden of Eden in a cold and unforgiving world.

“General, please, no need to flatter,” your father’s voice spoke, finally snapping you out of your daydream-like state. When you looked up towards him, he was laughing and smiling with the man over all of the knights-to-be, turning towards the younger boys with an expectant glint in his eyes. “I am here to see the potential we’ve gathered within our ranks.”

“Of course, your Majesty!” He replied in an instant, turning towards the young men as urging a few of them to stand in front of him. It was only three of the boys close to your age that stood before you and king. “These are our finest boys to date, great fighters they’ve proven themselves to be, and hopefully even greater knights as well. Kim Sunwoo, Kim Younghoon, and our prized apprentice,”

It was him, the boy who has easily shot three arrows into a target’s bullseye on horseback. “Lee Juyeon.” You had never seen the boy up close before, you had never seen any of the knights-to-be up close before yet somehow, he made you falter. Your breath stopped upon finally laying eyes on him, unknowingly eying him as you tried to regain control of your brain. You weren’t used to this, being the person who was struggling to compose themselves, it was usually the other way around.

Most knights and knights-to-be were all talk and no bite, carefully trying to court you with sweet words and no skills to back up their courageous attitudes. Not even a single bat of an eyelash could make you want to give them the time of day. Yet Juyeon simply stood there, his head held high with well earned confidence and naturally captivating looks. He knew he was better off than most of the boys that had been spent off to become knights for the king, he must know!

Why else would he drop his gaze from his father to you, unspoken words passing between the two of you before he turned back towards your father. He knew you, he recognized you, and he was simply going to continue about his day. It killed you to know that you had been caught lacking, bewitched by his skills and appearance after being known as the princess who plays with knights for so long.

Was anyone watching you? Of course they were watching you, you were the princess and were standing right next to the king! Everyone must have seen you gawking at the boy before you and who could tell what was racing through their minds now?

“You're the boy from the weekly evaluation last week, aren’t you?” Your father questioned, addressing Juyeon first. You glanced between the two men for a moment, racking your brain around so you could follow along with the conversation. “Mounted archery, black horse?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” he responded politely, his voice making your hands twitch with a sudden spark. Immediately you put your hands behind your back, fumbling and fidgeting with your fingers nervously. How did he do that? The boy said three words and now your body was beginning to lose control!

You pinched the inside of your palm, cursing at yourself for allowing yourself to act in such a way. What was wrong with this? This wasn’t supposed to happen, you weren’t supposed to be reacting this way to a person you had just met!

Your father gasped in response to Juyeon’s answer, not even noticing your change in demeanor. “They don’t call you the finest for no reason then. Truly, your one of the most talented people I’ve seen come into our barracks in years. How long have you been with us, Juyeon? It must have been a year or so, hasn’t it?”

“You flatter me, your Majesty,” he smiled, his ears burning at the compliments given by the sovereign. “It’s only been two months.”

“Two months?” Both you and father exclaimed, sharing nearly identical expressions of shock. You cover your mouth with your hands, not meaning to speak out of turn. Your father cleared his throat not long after, trying to shake off the minor embarrassment from reacting in such a way.

Juyeon didn’t seem to mind though, his smile growing from ear to ear as he glanced over towards you once again. Your eyes followed his as he leaned down just slightly before speaking to you. “Are you okay, your highness?” He questioned, his own hands twitching from their place at his sides.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” you quickly reply to him, cutting the conversation short between the two of you almost immediately. Was your face red? You hoped it wasn’t red, that would have been embarrassing.

The entire courtyard’s breath stopped as they started at the two of you. Juyeon, the finest upcoming knight, and you, the princess of the kingdom, spoke to each other. Out of turn and slightly more casual than expected, none of the knights and squires had ever gotten close enough to even get a decent response from you. Yet Juyeon had not only gotten a reaction out of you, but a flustered response as well!

“Juyeon,” your father called, snapping the boy’s attention from you to the king. Thank the heavens he stopped looking at you, you didn’t know how much longer it was going to be until you melted on the spot. You hated it, the sudden and newfound emotions the squire was putting you through. Your head was going to explode if you shared one more conversation with him, and that was barely a conversation to begin with. “How good are you with a sword?”

“Excellent, your Majesty,” the general cut in, giving the boy a stern pat on the back. Juyeon didn’t move from the position he was standing in, but it definitely looked as though he felt the brunt of the general’s hit. “He probably rivals those of the recruits from last year, already on their level or higher.”

“Perfect,” the king smiled, glancing around the courtyard for a moment. Before turning back towards the general and Juyeon. “Then shall we have a mock battle? If you don’t mind, I’d like to see your skills in action.”

“Of course,” Juyeon responded, “I can do anything for you, your Majesty.”

III.

“What the hell was that?!” Sunwoo yelled, punching Juyeon in the shoulder as hard as he possibly could. The boy winced as a result, numb from the mock battle he had participated in just a few minutes earlier. Though he didn’t retaliate like he should have, slumping into the bed that was provided for all the knights within the barracks. He was exhausted, having to exert a lot more energy than he was used to in order to impress the king as best as he could.

Had he known the king and the princess were visiting the barracks today, he wouldn’t have stayed up the night before.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Juyeon responded, his voice muffled against the worm pillow he laid his head on.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” the boy insisted, twirling the dull longsword in his hands by the hilt. He stopped as he pointed the tip at Juyeon’s back, threateningly hovering the blade over him. “You? And the princess? Flirting not only in front of our faces, but the king’s face? Are you crazy or what!”

“I wasn’t flirting with the princess,” he answered, turning to snatch the sword out of Sunwoo’s hands. He wasn’t even supposed to be bringing weapons within the sleeping quarters, all of those were supposed to stay within the barracks army for safety reasons. “I have no reason to flirt with the princess.”

“You were kinda flirting with the princess man,” Younghoon spoke from the other side of the room, glancing at the two boys with a curious glint in his eyes. Juyeon had totally forgotten he was even with them, quietly slinking around the room to eavesdrop on Sunwoo and his conversation. Usually he could tell when the boy was trying to sneak around them, but it seemed as though he was too tired and preoccupied to notice this time. “I mean, what else could that whole situation with you and princess have been?”

“I said like five words!” Juyeon insisted, holding the right amount of fingers up. “Five! How could I have flirted with her when all I asked was if she was okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, leave out the important details like the way you were smiling at her when you spoke to her,” Sunwoo pointed out. “Or the way you specifically were fighting much harder than normal to catch her attention during the mock battle? Huh? How do you explain that?”

“The king!” The boy argued, “the king was right there! Did you want me to slack off right in front of the sovereign of our kingdom and embarrass myself? You saw the way the general and king kept showering me with compliments, I had no choice.”

Younghoon shook his head in disappointment before dropping it up with his arms and speaking. “The princess couldn’t keep her eyes off you man, you suddenly became eye candy for her. And it definitely wasn’t just because your skills were really good, the princess doesn’t know enough about swordsmanship in order to be watching you for your skills.”

“You don’t…,” Juyeon stuttered, trying to find a way to defend himself. “You don’t know that…”

“Yes, I do,” Younghoon confirmed. “Everyone knows the princess barely knows a lick of swordsmanship. She was watching you, Juyeon.”

He knew that, everyone knew that the princess didn’t know anything about fighting in general. It’s the first thing that a person learns upon reaching the barracks from their hometowns, the princess does not know how to fight. She’s tried for years to run towards the barracks to even just watch the knights train their apprentices but every time she’s been denied access to the barracks.

Truth be told, he also knew that the princess was watching him during the mock battle too. How could he not, for every glance he threw the king’s way he would nearly make direct eye contact with the king’s daughter. Juyeon would quickly look away, ducking below blades that were swung above his head or dodging a jab that was aimed directly at his chest.

Everyone wanted to impress the king and the princess now, knowing that it was up to the king to decide whether or not they’d ascend the ranks and become fully fledged knights. The only thing in their way was Juyeon, the two month old apprentice from the more rural area of the kingdom. If they could take down him in a mock battle, or even get a small nick on his body, they’d get a sure fire way into the ranks of knights and royal guards.

The mere fact that the princess was accompanying her father for the first time ever wasn’t really in their favor either. Juyeon knew how much everyone adored the princess of their kingdom, scrambling and begging for just a peek of her from the balcony above the barracks. Now she had been right in front of their faces, breathing the same air as them and watching them carefully for the first time in her life. There could be no mess ups here, for who knew when they’d next see the princess within the walls of the barracks once again.

But it seemed as though Juyeon continuously kept snatching up every little opportunity there was to catch her attention. It wasn’t even on purpose, but his charms and skills stood up more than anyone else who had fought against him.

It’s impossible to catch any woman’s attention when Juyeon stood in the way.

The worst part about it was that he didn’t even mind all the attention he was receiving. Usually he’d humble himself, placing his fellow peers on a pedestal to try and uplift them and provide a source of support and strength for them. Yet the electrifying feeling he got from watching the princess’s face shift from bewilderment to flustered was addictive in the worst way possible, Juyeon almost cracked a smile just thinking about it. His power was truly unrivaled in a way he didn’t even mean for it to be.

Juyeon covered face with his hand, trying his best to conceal the ever growing flush on his face. This feeling… it shouldn’t have been this addictive.

“Either way,” Sunwoo began, cutting straight through Juyeon's thoughts like a sword to the chest. “You can’t be flirting with the princess.”

“Why not?” He asked, responding a little faster than he anticipated. Both Younghoon and Sunwoo gave him a knowing look, as if the boy had confirmed their suspicions of courting the king’s daughter. “I’m not saying I was, god! I’m just asking… why I can’t if I ever wanted to try…”

“Number one!” Sunwoo called out.

“There are dozens of knights trying to court her at this very second,” Younghoon pointed out. “Becoming one of those people will not only give you an unfair advantage but also make you gain a lot more enemies than you think. I’m almost one hundred percent sure you don’t want to mess with the already established and trusted knights within the king’s circle.”

“Number two!”

“She’s a princess, daughter of the king of the entire nation,” Younghoon stated, pointing an accusing finger towards Juyeon. “What are you compared to that?”

Juyeon rolled his eyes at their words, leaning up against the bed once again before answering. “I’m a knight’s apprentice, son of a barely known blacksmith in the rural areas of the kingdom.”

“You’ve got nothing to offer. She’s got a whole kingdom, you’ve got nothing but a sword and your face,” Sunwoo told him, shaking his head in disappointment. “If you’re going to try and court a princess of all people, I think you’d need a decent background to even try. Most of the people who try and flirt with her are people with lots of money, connections, or are just close to the king and his circle.”

“Alright then…,” He mumbled, glancing between the two of them. “What’s number three?”

The two boys looked at each other for a moment, a smile growing on her faces as they turned back towards Juyeon. “We kill you for leaving us behind!”

IV.

“I hate this stupid game,” you mumbled, keeping your head propped up with one hand as you stared down at the chess pieces in front of you. Chanhee had come to visit again, companying his father on legal matters that neither of you could care for. With nothing to do for the day he had offered to play a game with you, a game he was learning to play back in his own kingdom.

You agreed believing that both of you wouldn’t be very good and manipulate the rules in order to play, but that wasn’t the case at all. Chanhee was beating you badly, snatching a majority of your black chess pieces off of the board and assaulting your side with his white pieces. He said he wasn’t good but it seemed as though he was natural at this game. “It’s not a stupid game,” he corrected you, placing his white pawn near your black queen. “This game is all about trickery and strategy, if you can’t do that how will you win a war?”

“There is no war to be fought,” you explain to him, grinning to yourself as you moved your black knight piece and took his white pawn. “Even if there was, I have generals, allies, and a council of people to help win said war. That’s kind of their job after all, planning battle strategies and executing them flawlessly.”

Chanhee snorted at your answer, innocently looking down at the board and carefully plotting his next move. “Thinking like that will make you a weak queen, Y/N. I hope you know that. It’ll make you easy to manipulate if you can’t think for yourself… checkmate.” He stated finally, using his white bishop to move diagonally towards your black king. You curse to yourself quietly as you realized the predicament you were in.

Without knowing, Chanhee had nearly completely surrounded your king. His white chess pieces were all clustered up around your king, his bishop, both his knights, two pawns, and his queen closer to him for backup. “This game is so stupid!” You call out in frustration, moving another the last black pawn on your side to take his knight. Without hesitation the prince moved his bishop and quickly took your king within his hands, replacing your most crucial piece with his mocking white bishop. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

“You don’t want to play because you’re bad at this game,” the prince teased, placing the chess pieces back into their original order as you pushed your chair away from the table like a child. “It’s not my fault you can’t use your brain to its full capacity, my Royal Highness, Princess Y/N.”

“You’re so lucky you’re my friend,” you threatened, mentally wiping that catlike smile off of his delicate features. “Had you been any other person I would have hurt you by now.”

“Oh no!” He gasped, sarcasm dripping off his tongue as he mockingly waved his hands around in fear. “The princess with no fighting experience is going to hurt me! I’m so scared, what will I ever do?”

“Chanhee!” You yelled, jumping out of your chair in a heartbeat. The prince laughed at you as he leaped out of his seat, sprinting out of the room and closing the door behind him as fast he could knowing he was going to be faster than you. While you’ve been wearing fancy dresses and expensive, custom made heels your entire life, that didn’t make it any easier to run in. “Chanhee, you annoying little prince! Come back here and take back those words!”

You grumble to yourself as you kick off your shoes, desperate to catch the boy and give him a piece of your mind. You may have little to know fighting skills, but you didn’t need to know how to defend yourself to choke someone out. In a rush you hurry towards the door, swinging it open with an intense speed you didn’t think was possible only to open it to the face of your father’s royal advisor. “Good day, your Royal Highness.”

“Oh,” you say, trying to compose yourself as best as possible before properly responding to him. “Good day, sir. Is there anything I can help you with today? I’m kind of in a rush right now… his highness, Prince Chanhee—”

“—Can wait,” the royal advisor finished, urging you to open the door wider so that he could step in. Awkwardly push it open a little more, stepping to the side and inviting him inside. He gratefully entered, not hesitating for even a moment to begin explaining things to you. “As you know your father, the king, had decided a month ago to allow a few of the knights in training to ascend to the ranks of true nights and royal guards.”

“Of course I know,” you respond, grabbing the heels you had discarded in your attempt to chase after the Fantasia prince and throwing them off to the side where the royal advisor couldn’t find them. “He told me and my mother about it, he was thinking about adding new royal guards to the ranks since a few of them had notified my father of their retirement from the ranks.”

“Excellent, I’m glad you’ve been caught up that far,” he explained, making you raise a skeptical brow. Caught up that far? What else were you missing? You were the princess, it was rather important that you were updated on things that involved you and your family’s safety and security.

“Unbeknownst to you, the king and queen had sworn in a total of five knights earlier in the day while the king of Fantasia and his family were discussing their own matters of importance.”

“Without me?” You questioned.

“Without you.” The advisor confirmed. “Prince Chanhee of Fantasia had you occupied, and no one wanted to bother you while you were having one of your very few days off within the palace.”

You didn’t know whether you should be grateful for the privacy with Chanhee or upset with the fact that your father and mother did not think to invite you to the swearing in of the new royal guards. “Do not be distraught, your highness,” the royal advisor told you, a small smile playing on his lips as he began to speak. “It was simply a matter of keeping your best interest within sight, you will meet the newest royal guards whenever you feel the need.”

You nod your head in understanding, there was no need to be upset now. The damage was already done and it wasn’t too hard to move from. “Can I at least know who has joined us in the palace?”

The royal advisor nodded his head in response, standing up straight in response as he began to recall the names of all the knights that had joined them. “The most notable names I can recall at the moment are all from the barracks here within the palace walls. Knights Kim Younghoon, Kim Sunwoo, and Lee Juyeon, your personal guard.”

You froze upon hearing the royal advisor’s words, slowing processing everything in your brain as the gears began to turn inside of your brain. “I’m sorry but,” You laughed softly, trying your best to hear correctly. “Can you repeat that one more time? Who is the new royal guard?”

“Of course, your highness,” He agreed, “the new royal guards are Younghoon—“

“The last part! I just need the last part.”

“Lee Juyeon, your new personal guard. He was the barracks finest apprentice, being the most talented and skilled boy we have received in a few years.” Your father’s royal advisor explained, highly praising the boy as he spoke, “your father decided to place him as your personal guard, to protect you from any dangers while your father is away. It’s simply a safety precaution— Princess Y/N!”

It was too late. By the time the royal advisor called your name, you had already thrown on whatever pair of shoes you could find and scrambled out of the door to find your supposed personal guard. Out of all the people the king could have picked to be your specific guard, he chose Juyeon? The one that had made you flustered and fidget? The one that made your face and ears burn with a pinkish hue at just the mere sight of his smile? The talented mounted archer from just a month or two ago? That Lee Juyeon?

You stepped out into the corridor with a disheveled look on your face, your eyes darting around anxiously for the boy. Why him? Why was he popping up into your life again, right after you had gotten over the way you had completely embarrassed yourself at the barracks?

“Princess Y/N?” You sucked your breath as you turned around, coming face to face to the boy you hoped to never see again. He was still just as breathtaking as before, his eyes shining even brighter than when you first saw him full of confidence as his face glowing like the sun rays filtered through the windows was just a simple accessory for him.

Nothing much had changed about him since the day you first saw him, the only difference was now he had a genuine sword held within the scabbard that was hanging from his belt and that he was wearing your kingdom’s crest on the fabric of his tunic. Juyeon smiled at you as he pushed himself off of the wall, taking a few steps in front of you before speaking once again. “It’s been awhile since we’ve last seen each other, hasn’t it?”

You finally exhaled, the emotions tied into your sigh unknown as you worked up the courage to reply back to him. “I believe it has been… Sir Juyeon, I guess I should start calling you? With the whole… rank change and all.”

He shook his head at your suggestion, unable to shake the happy grin off his face as he spoke to you. “No, you don’t have to. I don’t like being too formal, plus we’re around the same age, aren’t we? You can just call me Juyeon.”

“But… you’re a knight now, a royal guard even,” you insisted. “You’ve worked hard to earn this rank, to earn this title even, I should address you the correct way at least.”

Though Juyeon was persistent whether you liked it or not. “Seriously, I don’t really care about titles and things like that. You can just call me Juyeon, it’s fine I promise.”

You nod in understanding, feeling your hands begin to twitch in anticipation once again. How were you going to handle being Juyeon being your personal guard when you could barely keep yourself from nervously fidgeting around? The boy was stuck with you until your father appointed a new guard or took away his knight status completely and you could barely compose yourself just standing in front of him.

You hated this feeling he gave you. It was like he casted a spell on you, where you could no longer think correctly or control yourself upon being in the same room as him. But you didn’t know how you could get rid of it, you don’t know if you could even get rid of it at all.

“I see you two are already acquainted with each other,” your royal advisor noted, smiling at both you and Juyeon. “Perfect this will be a smooth ride from here on out.”

V.

It had been about three months since Juyeon had been assigned to you as your personal guard and you genuinely hadn’t believed things would ever shift between the two of you. Your original dynamic had been stiff and tricky, you were withholding yourself from trying to become close to the knight and he was very determined to get to know you better.

Every time he would flash you one of those dashing smiles of his while the two of you would walk down the hallway you’d have to force yourself to not twitch, hands down at your sides and face turned forward to avoid making eye contact. Though the boy seemed to enjoy your very clear struggle to compose yourself, carefully prying into your thoughts when no one was around and teasing you about how you could never truly look him in the eyes.

For a good four weeks or so, that’s how the two of you functioned. Juyeon would smile, you’d become flustered, and he’d tease you for your reaction.

That’s as far as he’d ever go though, never reaching over boundaries or talking out of turn when he was with you. Because of the clear line of comfort the two of you had placed in between each other, you never thought that you’d become any closer. You put him at arm's length for two months because you were afraid of shaking and fidgeting under his gaze.

But then somehow, he had been able to crack your nervous shell. Juyeon had pointed out one of the swords you had hooked up against the wall, shining in the dim light of your room and covered in rare and bright gemstones. Somehow he had finally found the on switch for you, pressing the button and watching you suddenly ramble on and on about your interest in swordsmanship like no one had even tried to ask you beforehand. It was a little embarrassing to explain your long term obsession with fighting, but Juyeon never seemed to mind.

After that the two of you clicked. No longer was your relationship just ‘Juyeon your personal royal guard and Y/N the princess of the nation’, but Juyeon and Y/N. Two people of the same age that got along like birds of a feather. The palace itself seemed to notice this change the two of you went through, their eyes lingering on the two of you as you passed to try and decode your muffled giggles and his beaming smile.

Though the person who was most astonished by the change was none other than Prince Chanhee of Fantasia.

He hadn’t visited the palace at the same time you had first gotten Juyeon as your guard so he had not first hand experienced your growing friendship with the knight so it was understandable how he was a little confused. “Y/N…” Chanhee began, fumbling with his fingers as he glanced between the two of you. You looked back as well to find Juyeon walking behind the two of you, distracting himself with the walls of the palace to give you and the Fantasia prince some privacy. “Of all the people you could have picked… it had to be the archer from that day?”

“It wasn’t my decision,” you insisted, turning away from Juyeon to walk forward once more. “It was a situational circumstance and it was bound to happen now that we were going to walk the same path as each other, literally walk the same path as each other.”

“I know, you’ve told me this a million times.” He nodded, yet still unsatisfied with the answer you had provided him. Chanhee quickly picked his pace to match yours, not wanting to be any closer to Juyeon than he already had to be. “But I can’t help but… odd about this.”

You raised a brow at his words, letting it sink and marinate within your mind. “You feel… odd about me getting close to Juyeon?”

“Not in a weird jealous way,” Chanhee clarified, “I would never care about you that much. I mean I’ve been noticing your body language when you’re around him. You’re very much relaxed and it’s very clear that you enjoy his company but you have… nervous quirks. When you talk to him your hands shake like a woman with hand tremors and not to mention the way your ears will burn like a night’s lantern at the same time!”

“They still do that?” You whispered, holding your hands close to your chest. You could have sworn that once you and Juyeon had become friends all of your nervous habits stopped. You were anxious around the boy because you barely knew him and the way he made you felt in a crowd of people made you embarrassed, but that should have all ended once the two of you had gotten close! “God, do you think he’s noticed at all? I tried to get over the whole hands shaking thing after our first encounter at the barracks and I didn’t feel my hands shaking at all after I started treating him like a friend.”

The prince had to conceal a very heavy sigh that wanted to escape his mouth, glancing around the hallway for a moment to find a place where the two of you could receive some privacy. Without warning Chanhee grabbed your hand and dragged you towards the study on the right side of the hall. “Juyeon!” You called, allowing the boy to pull you along with little to no effort. “Give us like… five minutes? Stand guard, we’ll be out soon!”

You didn’t get a chance to see or hear the boy’s reaction as you were yanked inside of the study, the door closing behind you as Chanhee finally let go. “What was all that about?” You demanded from him, standing in the middle of the sunlight study with a scowl donning your face.

“I can’t believe it took you this long to realize… it took you three months to realize!” Chanhee exclaimed, shaking his head in pure disbelief as he paced back and forth. “Honestly at this point you’re either completely clueless or stupid, though I could bet it was both at the same time.”

“That was rude,” you bite, slapping his shoulder in retaliation for his harsh words. A smile broke out on the prince’s face for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe you had the utter audacity to hit him. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, Chanhee. Explain yourself.”

“Y/N! Her Royal Highness, Princess Y/N of her nation!” The boy exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air before bringing them down onto your shoulders. “The princess has finally fallen!”

“Fallen?”

“Fallen in love!” Chanhee dodged out of the way of your fist this time, skipping around the room with a spring in his step. You couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. You? The princess known to make knights and squires squirm for just a small glimpse of you? Fallen in love?

“No, Chanhee, I haven’t—“ you tried to explain, distracted by the boy’s overwhelming excitement. “—I’m not in love. That’s crazy, Chanhee. Get a grip on yourself, this is absurd!”

The boy turned to you with his catlike grin, refusing to take no for an answer as he began to take light steps toward you. “How is this absurd, your Royal Highness? I mean, does the pieces not make a clear picture for you? You’ve fallen in love with your personal guard, that’s what all these nervous habits you have are suddenly about! Plus the fact that you turn as red as rose when you address him sometimes, there’s no other way to describe it!”

You wanted to fight back the Fantasia prince’s words, debating him on what your true feelings were and that you simply saw Juyeon as a new close friend of yours. But when you looked back on all your memories of him, the ones with the two of you together and the ones where you were alone, your words didn’t match up with your actions. All the tiny stolen glances you’d give Juyeon when he wasn’t aware, the way your heart would accelerate every time you saw him in the morning, the way your hands twitched in anticipation when speaking to the personal guard.

“No…,” You mumble to yourself, standing there in disbelief, before trying to find a chair to sit in. “There’s no way…!”

“Yes way!” Chanhee insisted, almost as if he was reading straight into your thoughts as he walked towards you. “Y/N, it’s time you come to terms with the facts that've been placed in front of you. Your own body is telling you that you enjoy your personal guard’s company a little more than the average person! Face it, Y/N, you like him.”

“This has got to be some sort of mistake, I don’t like Juyeon. Yes, I think he’s attractive, one of the most stunning knights my kingdom has ever seen, but they doesn’t mean—“

The prince let out a frustrated groan, covering his face with his hands as he fell on to a chair not far from yours. “Do you even hear yourself at this point? Y/N, you’re telling me to get a grip, you need to get a grip! How are you going to deny all of the evidence that is right in front of you? What else do you need to confirm my suspicions?”

“I don’t know!” You snapped, a burst of confusion and frustration exploding out of your mouth in the form of your tone. “I don’t want to believe that I’ve fallen in love with Juyeon, do you know how awkward that’ll be for me? I’m with him at every waking moment of day, I’ll never get a moment's rest if I really do like him. And there’s no way I could like him, I’m the one who makes knights and squires swoon, it’s not supposed to be the other way around.”

Both you and the prince sat in silence for a moment, struggling with each other to come to terms with the arguments you presented. The worst part about it is that if you have in fact fallen for your personal guard, you wouldn’t be too bothered by the thought.

Chanhee suddenly spring up out of his seat, a smile growing across his face as his brain began to twist and turn at the new thought that had popped into his head. “That’s it!” He exclaimed, turning towards you with a mischievous look on his face. “I know a way you can figure out if your feelings for the boy are true or not, and you actually like the idea I’ve come up with. It keeps your best interest in mind.”

VI.

“Prince Chanhee of Fantasia…” Juyeon began, peering into the sleeping quarters cautiously to make sure no other knight was inside of the room. The only people inside were Sunwoo and Younghoon, both who had shot up out of their beds at the sound of the boy’s voice. “Who exactly… is he to the princess?”

“You see us for the first time today and all you have to talk about is the princess?” Sunwoo snorted, falling right back into his bed with a huff. That was a fair reaction, seeing as Juyeon spent nearly twenty four hours with the princess on a daily basis. He could at least have something new and different to talk about when he was with his friends. But he couldn’t help it this time, not when he was curious about the prince who had visited for the day.

Both the prince and his father were gone now, sleeping in their giant and extravagant beds of their own kingdom instead of spending the night here. But Juyeon couldn’t help but feel some sort of way about the Fantasia prince, his eyes had been locked into his head since he had first approached the princess when he arrived. Though whether he was watching him out of intrigue or jealousy was unknown to him.

“He’s the princess’s close friend,” Younghoon shrugged, answering for the stubborn boy who refused to give him any sort of help. “I heard they’ve been friends since they were children and many people including those outside of the palace walls thought they were going to be betrothed to each other at one point. It made sense, both of them were of royal descent and have known each other well enough for it to happen. The kings of their respective nations were close to each other.”

“Oh,” Juyeon responded, falling into his assigned bed a little harder than he had originally planned. “That’s good to know.”

“Prince Chanhee has not tried to court the princess though,” Sunwoo explained, staring at the ceiling with his arms crossed. Despite handing over the information he knew, he still seemed upset with Juyeon but the boy was simply stubborn like that. “They’ve been friends since forever and not once in my life have I heard he’s ever tried to make a move on her. As much as the kingdom wants the two to get together, they’re probably just friends.”

A quiet sigh of relief left Juyeon’s mouth as he nodded, covering his face with his hands as he responded in a slightly chirper tone. “Oh, that’s good to know.”

“Hey!” Sunwoo scolded, sitting up at the speed of light as he caught the boy’s tone of voice. “What did we say about the princess?”

He groaned in response to Sunwoo’s words, sitting up out of his bed as he recited, “dozens of knights are trying to court her, she’s a princess and I have nothing to offer, and you’ll kill me if I leave you behind.”

“Exactly,” Younghoon smiled. “I’ll drive a sword right through your stomach and Sunwoo will shoot your heart with an arrow if you even think about abandoning us for the princess.”

“I can’t shoot an arrow through his heart,” Sunwoo argued, shooting a mischievous smile towards Juyeon as he called out. “Not when the princess already shot one in the bullseye!”

“Leave me alone!” Juyeon hissed, ignoring the boys devilish giggles behind him. He couldn’t help himself from being so enamored by the princess’s mere presence, especially when he was around her for the majority of the day.

When he first came to the barracks, he couldn’t have cared less about the royal family’s daughter. He simply there to train as a knight for his kingdom and provide some sort of stability for his family back home. Juyeon was usually the one innocently teasing the other knights and squires for their one siding crush on a person they could not have, but the tides had completely turned on him. Now he was the one secretly pining after royalty.

His attention was caught when he heard soft knocking on glass, turning his head towards the window as confusion crossed his face. Sunwoo and Younghoon didn’t seem to notice the noise as they were too caught up in their teasing of the boys unfortunate feelings so the boy didn’t even bother to alert them at the sudden intrusion.

As swiftly and quietly as he could he slipped out of the bed and peered through the window’s glass, trying his best to see what had caused the sound. So one could only imagine his disbelief when he caught sight of your face in the window, standing in your tiptoes to look inside of the barracks. When your eyes caught each other's, you immediately smiled back at him and confirmed to him that you were truly standing outside of the sleeping quarters. “Y/N?” He exclaimed, a little louder than he originally had meant to happen.

Juyeon turned around and saw both Younghoon and Sunwoo staring at him, unable to comprehend the fact that he had called you by your name instead of addressing you by your full title. “You’re…,” Sunwoo began, struggling to get the words out of his mouth, “you’re on a first name basis with the princess?”

“I’ll be right back, okay?” He assured them, knocking the glass to signal that he was coming to meet you. Immediately both Younghoon and Sunwoo jumped up, scrambling towards the boy with a million questions on their mind. Juyeon just narrowly dodged their onslaught, dashing to the door and closing it on their faces. “Just give me ten minutes! I promise I’ll explain everything when I get back!”

“You’re in a lot of trouble when you get back!” The younger knight whispered, but there was just enough diction in his voice to know that he was threatening him. Juyeon only smiled to himself as he took a few steps away from the door, searching for the nearest archway to lead him into the courtyard. How had you even gotten this close to the barracks? If he remembered correctly, most guards within the palace would have stopped you before you could even get close. Did you really only need to walk inside the barracks once to sneak in for good?

“Want to explain how you got here without getting caught?” He asked you as he rounded the corner, leaning up against the wall with a knowing smirk on his face.

You stood up from where you were sitting on the ground, the white nightgown you were supposed to be wearing to sleep practically glowing in the moon’s light. You hesitated to respond to him as you played with the sleeve of your nightgown unconsciously, though sharing that same smile you had given him earlier in his sleeping quarters as you asked, “did you call me by my first name in there?”

“I did not.”

“You did!” You gasped, pointing an accusing finger towards him as you walked toward him. “I know you did, you said my name without any titles attached to it. You can’t play dumb with me, I knew as soon as you noticed I was there and said something from behind the glass.”

“You’re avoiding my question,” Juyeon pointed out, putting a hand out in front of him to keep a small distance in between the two of you. “How did you get here without being caught?”

“You’re avoiding my question!” You argued. “Did you call me by my first name when you were with your friends? It’s totally fine if you did, you realize this right? I don’t mind if you don’t use titles with me, but I just want you to admit what you said.”

The two stood stared at each other in silence, refusing to let up first and wanting the other to reveal the information they had. Juyeon would have thought you would go on for longer, being the fiercer out of the duo about what you wanted. Though after a few seconds you nervously cleared your throat, stepping back and away from Juyeon to stay out of his personal space. “You know what, forget it, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Yeah, you were just about to tell how you got into the barracks without anyone catching you,” he insisted, watching as you rolled your eyes in annoyance. Despite losing the ‘staring contest’ you weren't about to give away any of your little secrets to him. “That’s a big achievement for you, isn't it? Knowing that you haven’t stepped foot into the barracks since the day you arrived with your father makes it even—“

“I want you to train me, teach me the whole swordsmanship thing,” you blurted, cutting off Juyeon in the middle of his sentence.

Slowly his smile began to drop into a look of disbelief, unsure of whether or not he had heard you right. In a rush, you quickly rambled on, “it doesn’t have to be as intense as your training from when you were a squire! And I don’t need to know everything you know, I just want to be able to fight. You know, slicing and dicing my enemies up in order to protect myself if need be— I know I have you and the entire royal guard on my side but this is just something I’ve always wanted so… please?”

“Why… why me though?”

You froze upon being asked his question, struggling to form coherent sentences to continue the conversation. “Because…,” you stuttered, your ears turning a rosy red hue as you tried to make an excuse. Juyeon attempted to not notice, keeping his eyes focused solely on you and waiting patiently waiting for your answer, but he couldn’t help himself. Whatever you were going to say to him next wasn’t going to be good enough erase the undertones of your silence.

There was a very likely possibility that you harbored the same feelings for him as he did for you, if he was reading the nature of the room right. Of course, there was the offset chance that you were simply embarrassed to give him your real reason, so he couldn’t just put all his money on one option only to be disappointed in the end.

“You’re my friend,” you finally explained. “Not only are you my friend, but you’re my personal guard and the ‘supposed’ finest knight within the kingdom’s men at the moment. So wouldn’t it make sense to learn from someone who is an acquaintance and is skilled in the area I’m trying to learn in? I don’t know, it sounds like logic to me.”

“Right,” he nodded, thought speaking more for himself than for you. Juyeon couldn’t get his hopes up, not when the person he had fallen for was a member of royalty. High hopes would only get him utterly disappointed when everything came back around. “That’s logical thinking, you’re right.”

VII.

Two nights out of every week you snuck out of your room and met up with Juyeon at the barracks. He’d cautiously sneak you inside of one of the very many training rooms that the barracks had to offer with the help of his friends and there he would teach you all he knew about sword fighting. Well… kinda.

It was a very difficult process to endure as you were something less than a beginner and Juyeon was something more than a master. Your varying levels of proficiency made it hard to work together since the personal guard wanted to skip the basics immediately and you had never even touched the basics beforehand. All your experience of sword fighting had only ever come from watching others from afar, so you truly didn’t know anything.

The perfect stance, how to hide your weak points, you didn’t even realize how heavy a genuine sword was! The mere thought that you were supposed to be the one controlling the swords slicing and slashing and not the other way around was astounding to you.

It was embarrassing to know that Juyeon had watched you nearly topple over yourself when you grabbed a sword for the first time, your arms not used to the amount of weight that you were carrying. You could barely pick it up, let alone sling it over your shoulder as the boy did ever so flawlessly. He’d giggle and tease you for floundering all over the ground with the sword in hand, slightly mocking you as he twirled his blade with ease. You’d sit there mumbling under your breath small threats and empty promises as your face would burn in shame.

If anyone had caught you two in the act of training, they would think you were a lost cause at first.

“A quick jab and turn isn’t going to do anything, Y/N,” Juyeon innocently told you, his sun rivaling grin growing across his face as he pointed the tip of his blade towards you. You were on the complete other side of the room, keeping your distance away from the personal guard instead of attacking him head on. “This isn’t fencing, these weapons are made to cut, not poke.”

“I know,” you angrily reply, growing tired with his ongoing cat and mouse game you two played. “You’re just really obnoxious.” You tried to attack him, rushing in with no genuine plan in your head. The dull swords clashed together with an angry metal screech when you swiped your blade at him, your attack quickly being blocked by Juyeon as he lifted up his own sword to block against your attack. Frustrated, you began to press the majority of your weight onto the sword, forcing it to move towards the boy’s torso at a slow pace as he fought against it.

Wordlessly he stepped forward, pushing back against your attack and forcing you to move back with a heavy foot. You yelped when you suddenly lost your footing, the weight you had pressed into the blade betraying you as you hit the ground with an unfortunately loud thud. You stayed down on the ground for a little longer than you wanted, catching your breath and making sure you didn’t potentially crack your head open on the stone floors. The two of you couldn’t train in the courtyard in fear that someone would catch you in the barracks, but now you were willing to risk the chance.

“I’m not obnoxious,” the boy defended as you secretly rolled your eyes at his words. “You’re just bad at fighting and… wildy easy to predict.”

“That’s because someone didn’t teach me the basics like they were supposed to!” You complained, lifting yourself off the ground and pointing an accusing finger at him. Juyeon sheepishly smiled as you continued to call out, “you just threw a sword at me the first day and said hit me! I nearly fell when I grabbed that thing and you wanted me to fight first thing? I thought I already established to you that I knew nothing at all?”

“I know the basics are so boring after you’ve completed it all. If you want someone else to teach you just say so, I’m sure that Sunwoo and Younghoon would kill to be in your presence and teach you how to fight,” Juyeon argued, leaning up against the pommel of his sword and curiously looking down at you. When you didn’t respond to his suggestion, he shrugged his shoulders and joined you in the ground for a moment. “That’s what I thought.”

The entire ‘Juyeon teaches you sword fighting’ idea was all Chanhee’s plan, conjuring up the brilliant idea in a matter of seconds. The Fantasia prince had suggested it as a way for you not only to learn swordsmanship but figure out if you truly held feelings for the personal guard as you would be engaged in a lot more close combat and would be alone with each other for a few more hours within the day. Honestly you think that was the first time you had ever called the boy a genius, mainly for the reason that you would finally dabble in your long term interests.

However instead of falling completely and uncontrollably in love with Juyeon, you just wanted to slice his head off. He was nothing like he usually was when it came to fighting, his condescending smirks and over the top mocking getting the best of him whenever he had fought against you. Though his continuous and annoying teasing only fueled your drive to master sword fighting even stronger than before, so you guessed that was one thing that was working out for you.

Though, if you had to be honest, you did have your moments where you faltered not because of your own lack of skill but because of Juyeon in general. Let it be known that whether you had feelings for the personal guard or not, he was conventionally attractive. Running his fingers through his hair, his beaming smile of knowingness, even the arrogant looks of victory was enough to distract you from your adrenaline fueled drive to stab Juyeon in the chest. Did he even know he had that effect on you?

Maybe it’s best he didn’t know, you didn’t need another weakness to add to your ever growing skill set of cans and can’ts.

“Why didn’t you actually teach me the basics though?” You asked him, catching his attention almost immediately. “I mean… I learned the basics by myself with no help by mock battling you for several nights straight. I’m not the best fighter but I’d at least like to stand a chance against you instead of humiliating myself over and over again.”

Juyeon thought to himself for a moment, staring at the ceiling and anxiously running his hands through his hair. “Is ‘because it’s fun to mess with you’ a valid answer to your question?”

You gave the boy a strained smile and you hissed, “No. Absolutely not.”

“Then i don’t know,” he admitted, lifting himself off of the ground and fumbling around with his hands. Juyeon wasn’t looking directly at you as he spoke, staring off into the void with an unknown emotion swirling around in his eyes. “I’m not that good of a teacher for close friends if I’m gonna be honest. I get competitive, more focused on the fulfillment of my joy and worth than actually… teaching someone how to do a task or skill.”

You nodded in understanding, all of the frustration and annoyance from earlier gone within a flash of his words. What he said was fair, some people just don’t have the ability to teach others and he just happened to be one of them. “So then why’d you agree that night?” You asked him, now trying to wrap your head around that fact. “I mean if you knew you’d have a hard time teaching me how to sword fight, you didn’t have to say yes… you do know that right?”

“I know,” he responded, before turning to you with his signature smile. Your hands began to shake once again at the sight of it, the same exact smile he had the audacity to give you in front of all the knights and squires when he was among their ranks. The one that would go from ear to ear in pure amusement and endearment from your words and reactions. That one, the one that started this mess in the first place. “I know I could have declined if I wanted to but… something in me wanted to help you anyways.”

“And that something was…?” You questioned, your words trailing off just a little as you urged him to explain. You don’t know exactly what you’re expecting for him to say. That he agreed out of obligation? The kindness of his heart? That he simply wanted to spend time with you? Did you even know what you wanted his answer to be? Or how disappointed you’d be if it wasn’t anything that would give you the false hope you were unconsciously reaching for?

He sighed to himself for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know, really. Like… I know but at the same time I don’t? It’s complicated and I don’t really want to bug you with it.” Juyeon explained, glancing down to your nervously trembling hands with a teasing smile growing on his face. “What’s with the shaking hands? When you were holding that sword you were as tough as a rock, feeling a little vulnerable without it?”

“Shut up,” you snapped at him, immediately putting your hands behind your back, squeezing them together as you tried to keep a straight face. Of course he was going to notice that nervous tick of yours one day, it was inevitable especially after the Fantasia prince had caught onto it. Chanhee wasn’t even at the palace every day to even pick up on it, he just knew you well. So why would you ever believe that Juyeon, your personal guard for heaven's sake, wouldn’t have noticed it? “It’s just cold,” you lied, “we aren’t doing anything right now and the night’s cold just gets to me something.”

“Well why didn’t you say so?” Juyeon questioned, earning himself a skeptical look from you. In a heartbeat he reached behind you and scooped up your hand and his, holding it tightly in his grasp with a grin.

You snatched your hand in retaliation, your ears burning the unfortunate rosy red as you shout, “woah! Hold on, what are you doing?”

“Relax, Y/N,” the boy laughed, gently taking your hand back and holding it up for the both of you to see. “I’m holding your hand because you said you were cold, and exchanging body heat might warm you.” His hands were so much bigger than yours, rough and firm from the work he put in as he trained with the other knights of your kingdom. It was a very stark difference from your dainty and softer hands, the only work you had ever done was smile and wave to the people and royals of other nations. Yet somehow, despite these differences, his hands fit perfectly into the gaps of yours.

You wondered how many knights and squires would have ridiculed Juyeon if they could see you two now. The princess of their nation, who was notorious for playing knights like lyres and rejecting their advances, was willingly holding hands with the finest and most favored knight within the palace walls. “Well don’t tell anyone I let you do this,” you warned, relaxing after a moment of silence. “Not even your other knights friends can know I let you do this! I have a reputation to keep up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the boy nodded, no longer paying attention to you specifically and simply observing the way his hands fit in yours. “I promise I won’t. Your secret is safe with me. I like the way your hand fits in mind anyways.”

VIII.

When your parents asked you if you had found a potential suitor to be your future king, you told them no almost immediately. Your quickness made your father raise a skeptical brow at your answer and your mother nearly fainted in shock, gasping hysterically.

Their daughter, the princess, the future queen of their nation, had not yet found a boy to be her king? Unacceptable, impossible! They couldn’t allow this behavior of yours to continue, knowing how you had played with the hearts of countless knights within the palace walls. So they had decided to take matters into their own hands, they needed to place down a platter of men around your age that you could pick and choose whatever your little heart desires.

A ball, they had told you, they were planning a ball and were inviting all their noble and royal allies to attend. They were going to bring their sons ,have them attempt to court you, and then you would pick one of the boys to be your king. Genuinely, when they first informed you of their plans you thought they were joking. They wouldn’t actually do all of that because you said you didn’t have anyone in mind yet right?

And they did.

Here you were, standing on the ballroom floor with Chanhee by your side with the most bewildered expression your face could muster. You were adorned in a large wine red ballgown, matching your family who wore nearly identical, with jewels scattered across your arms and ears for an extra shimmer to your already extravagant look. Not to forget the most important piece of the whole attire, the signature silver rhinestone crown that identified you as the princess of the nation.

The tiara and grown lifestyle, the lifestyle you haven't been fond of even as a child. You were unwillingly living it.

“Careful,” Chanhee whispered, placing a comforting hand on your bare shoulder. “I don’t need you exploding in front of everyone right now, who knows what kind of scene that’ll create.”

“I might as well!” You snap, catching the unwanted attention of the nobles around you. Both of you turned to them and smiled, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible about your true feelings of the event. When they bowed in greeting before finally turning away from you and Fantasia prince, you were back to being the ticking time bomb you had entered the ballroom being. “You think I wanted to have this event planned? You think I wanted to have this event at all?”

“Of course you didn’t, I know you. You like to horseplay and run around like a little village girl.” Chanhee explained, rolling his eyes at your prevalent attitude. “But you can’t really do that right now can you? One small misstep and you’ll embarrass your parents right before their eyes, you need to keep it together.”

“How?” You asked him, maneuvering through the crowd of nobles so that you and Chanhee could have a little more privacy. Who knew what random noble or king’s son would walk up to you in the middle of your conversation and beg you to have a dance with him? “I don’t feel comfortable in what I’m wearing, I don’t want to be here in the first lance, I’m getting on my last nerves, and who knows when some random boy I don’t know tries woo me into liking him? I might actually lose it here!”

Chanhee struggled to keep up with your demands, trying to think of another quick solution to your problems like he always did. He must have something in that brain of his doesn’t? Or was it all just full of strategies to absolutely destroy you at chess? “I got it! Just talk to me.”

“What?” Chanhee’s suggestion stopped you dead in your tracks, giving him the most bizzare expression you could make at that moment. “Your very Royal Highness I’m sorry to inform you, but people won’t care if I’m talking to you, you understand that right? They know you wouldn’t even attempt to try and take my hand in marriage so they’ll just barge in anyways.”

“I don’t mean like that,” he hissed, softly hitting your shoulder in retaliation. “Talk to me about the personal guard and I’ll lead you away from the party. We just need to super busy in order to pull off the act that we’re walking around and definitely not trying to leave the ball.”

You nodded in understanding, though feeling your face begin heat up and turn into that all telling rosy red color. “Why— why him specifically? Can’t I talk about something else?”

“Where is he now?” The Fantasia prince questioned, holding out his arm for you to take so he could drag you out of the ballroom. “He's your personal guard isn’t it, your Royal Highness? Why isn’t he flanking your every step and protecting you like a dog to its owner?”

The boy snickered at his words until you elbowed his side, stopping both of you in your tracks to watch him crumble to his knees for a moment. Did he really think he could get away with insulting Juyeon like that? To your face no less? “He’s on duty with the rest of the royal guards,” you explained, nonchalantly glancing at your nails as you waited for Chanhee to recover. The boy was all sticks and bones, easy to hinder thanks to his small body. “They’re patrolling around the palace and the ballroom to make sure no incidents occur.”

“Incidents?” Chanhee questioned.

“Like putting the king and queen pieces into checkmate type incidents,” you told you, referencing the game of chess they had played months ago. “Either way, Juyeon couldn’t come with me and enjoy this god forsaken ball with me, but maybe that’s for the best.”

“Is that in terms of you two had a sudden falling,” The Fantasia prince tried to clarify, “or as in you think you’ve finally gotten your feelings figured out?” You grimaced at the thought, unsure of how to exactly answer Chanhee’s question. Did you have your feelings figured out?

Juyeon (with the exception his friends) was the only knight whose heart you hadn’t ever attempted to toy with. You let him get away with countless things: saying your name without a title, holding your hand when it trembled, willingly allowing him to make you flustered and not suffer any sort of retribution for it. On top of all of that, you even enjoyed his company! Juyeon didn’t make you feel like a prize that needed to be one, just made you feel like… you. And you liked it.

At first, you loathed the thought of being in the knight’s vicinity because he made do and feel things you weren’t used to. You thought that maybe, just maybe, he was going to use you in the way that you lead the squires and knights of the palace along. But he didn’t, the only thing he had done to you was send you flying deep into this well of the unknown without even realizing it.

“Oh I hate you,” You mumble under your breath, shooting Chanhee a knowing look. “I hate you so much.”

He blinked a few times at your hurtful words before it finally clicked in his brain, covering his mouth with his hands as he squealed. “You’ve figured it out? You realized that you like him? Y/N I’m so—“

“Princess Y/N!” The two of you turn your heads in alarm at your name being called, the worst case scenario of someone actually having the audacity to stop you coming true. You tense up upon seeing your mother wave her hand towards you, bringing attention to both of the royals from all the bystanders around you. With her was an older man, perhaps around your fathers age, staring up straight and tall with a curious glint in his eyes. His attire for the ball was littered in gold and silver medallions, purposely flaunting all of the achievements you wouldn’t bother to learn.

Though beside the older man was a boy, around your age this time, nervously glancing between the queen and the man who seemed to be his father. He tugged on the man’s sleeve desperately, trying to get him to take action but was ultimately getting ignored due to the adults taking the lead in the conversation. The queen pointed to both the boy and man with an expectant look on her face as she spoke, “please, Y/N, come join us! I’d like you to meet someone.”

“Potential suitor,” you whispered to Chanhee.

“On the count of three, run in the total opposite direction and get out of the ballroom,” He replied back.

One. “This is General Lee from a neighboring kingdom near Fantasia,” your mother explained, quickly introducing the two of you and unaware of the chaos you and the Fantasia prince were about to create.

Two. “This is his son, Prince Hyunjae. The general is the brother of the kingdom’s current king and his son will be taking the throne as the king and queen of that nation cannot produce an heir on their own.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Hyunjae began, awkwardly bowing in front of you now that all eyes were on him. “Truly it is, I’ve heard so much about you Princess—“

“Three!” You and Chanhee split from each other as quickly as possible, darting through the crowd of people in a desperate get away. You could hear the general and the queen call for you, struggling to keep up with your speed fueled by adrenaline but you paid no mind to it. They needed your presence so that you could sit and have an unfulfilling conversation with Prince Hyunjae and you weren’t going to give it to them. No offense to the prince or anything, you just don’t think you could handle that situation knowing your heart had settled on someone entirely different,

It only took you a matter of two minutes to reach the ballroom doors, muttering soft yet empty apologies to everyone you ran into and slipped through the crack in the door.

IX.

“Stupid princess,” Juyeon muttered, charging down the palace halls as fast as his legs would take him. “Stupid Y/N!” One could only imagine his panicked expression when he was suddenly approached by Sunwoo with a nervous glint in his eyes. He was so used to seeing the younger knight’s bright smile that it took Juyeon completely off guard when the boy grabbed him by the shoulders and steadied his footing.

“The princess,” Sunwoo told him, glancing between him and the corridor leading to the ballroom. “Princess Y/N, she ran from the ballroom and no one knows where she went.”

Juyeon thought he was joking at first, brushing off his words with a small laugh and teasing smile. Yet when Sunwoo’s expression didn’t change and the weight of the situation had finally processed in his mind, he shot off like an arrow towards all the spots the princess could have been hiding.

He knew you didn’t enjoy the big fancy balls and extravagant dresses of the royal life, but he thought you were going to be able to stick it out. Every time you had mentioned the king and queen’s wild idea to throw a gathering to find you a suitor, a king of your own, you were relaxed. You weren’t bothered by the thought of all and even joked about it with him every so often, so Juyeon had trusted you to be fine.

He didn’t like the idea of the ball for completely different reasons from you. He liked you, and the thought of your parents sending you off to some noble child or prince he’s never heard of made his blood boil. Because why have a ball to father suitors when he was right there? But the constant reminder from Sunwoo and Younghoon that he had nothing to offer to you and he wasn’t even in the status to even try to become betrothed to you, made him unwillingly back down from voicing his opinion to you and opposing it.

Now he was regretting, because you were missing somewhere in the palace and he didn’t know why.

He wasn’t in the ballroom when it all had happened, instructed to stand guard and patrol around the perimeter of the gathering to protect all the guests and the royal family. Juyeon didn’t understand why he was tasked to do such a thing in the first place, when he ascended the ranks into becoming a knight he was specifically told he was your personal guard. He was supposed to watch over you and protect you, so why did they have him stationed away from you?

It wasn’t until he realized that a majority of the palace, specifically the knights among his rank, had recognized his growing fondness for the princess. If they couldn’t have the princess to themselves, then neither could he.

“Y/N!” Juyeon called, completely throwing out the titles and addressing you by your first name. It’s not like anyone was around shooting him dirty looks for having the sheer audacity to call the princess by your name only. Even if they did, he wouldn’t mind. There were more important things to worry about than what he can and can’t call you. “Y/N, where’d you go? Come on, we can’t play this game of cat and mouse forever.”

He stopped at a door at the end of the corridor he was running down, grabbing a hold of the handle and shoving it open with unnecessary ferocity. Could you blame him for being a little too aggressive? With every growing second you weren’t in his sights the more anxious he was becoming. What if you were hurt? What if you were crying? What if you were—

“Juyeon, right?” Prince Chanhee asked, sitting in a chair with his feet kicked up on top of the desk. Juyeon has opened the door to one of the very many studies within the palace and out of sheer coincidence he opened the doors to the one the princess’s friend was using. Well at least… he thought it was a coincidence. I hoped it was a coincidence.

“Prince Chanhee of Fantasia,” he began, looking the boy up and down for a moment. It didn’t seem like you were with him, not a trace of your existence left in the study. It was possible that you didn’t even come in this room at all. “Where is she?”

“God, you skipped right to the point a little fast for me,” Chanhee grimaced, taking his feet off of the desk and sitting up straight. “Do you have to know where she is like right now? Because I had this whole speech I was going to give you set up and I really wanted to—”

“Prince Choi Chanhee,” Juyeon demanded, putting emphasis on each word that came out of his mouth. He didn’t have time to play around with others right now, as much as he would have loved to encourage him any other day. You were somewhere in the palace, alone, and he had to know where you were and what happened. He needed to know if you were hurt so that he could find the culprit and drive his sword straight into the chest of the wretch.

The boy raised his hands up in defeat, shooting Juyeon an annoyed glare before clearing his throat. “Y/N is at the balcony above the barracks, where the field for the mounted archery evaluations was held months ago.” The memory of the weekly evaluation was immediately triggered in his head, seeing him back months prior to his falling for the princess. The day he had proved to all of the knights and squires around him that he was the best of the best, the day he had first laid eyes on you.

“I know where that is,” he breathed, turning in his heel and getting ready to rush out the door once again. Though Chanhee scrambled out of the chair to catch up to Juyeon, stopping him from moving any further towards the balcony to reach you. “What?”

“Before you go,” the prince began, letting go of Juyeon with the hope that he wouldn’t run off at the sight of freedom. “Please don’t do anything stupid, Y/N is my friend. And as much as I tease her and bully her, I won’t let anyone hurt her. Even if that’s her wildly skillful and kinda scary personal guard.”

Juyeon couldn’t help but laugh at Chanhee’s words, reminiscing on the fact that only a few months ago he couldn’t tell whether he was intrigued by the prince’s closeness with you or jealous of it. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dare.”

X.

You leaned up against the railing of the balcony taking night time air with a deep breath. It was hard trying to avoid all the royal guards and knights within the castle, knowing that after the scene you caused they’d be searching for you. It felt like a scene from a fairy tale really, clutching the fabric of your wine red dress so you wouldn’t trip and hastily running up the stairs. Behind you you could hear the calls of all the knights and royal guards of the places looking for you, their boots heavy against the marble floors and their armor clanging against each other.

They were like walking bells, unaware of the fact that their prized armor was alerting you of their position. If the guards were coming up the corridor, you turn around and run the opposite way. If they were going down the corridor, you’d spin on your heels and make a complete u-turn. Sometimes you’d sneak into a room on whatever hallway you were on and wait for them to pass, sometimes you’d just keep running and hope your legs didn’t give out on you knowing you were wearing heels.

It was a little funny in your eyes, but that’s because you were you. You’re almost one hundred percent sure no one else thought this game of cat and mouse you were playing was fun.

“Wait, I should have gone and found Juyeon first,” you realize, shooting up off of the ground. You were so busy with attempting to successfully make your get away that you had forgotten that Juyeon was also one of the knights in duty. He was probably worried about you, searching for you around the palace like all of the other knights within the palace. With no explanation of exactly what went down in the ballroom, he’d have no clue on what was actually going on.

“I should go find him, leaving him with no context will probably drive him insane,” you nod to yourself, marching towards the balcony doors to run back into the palace. Though you stopped once you reached the door, your hands hovering over the door handles hesitantly. You should tell him what happened, it was the right thing to do after all. But were you really ready to face him again?

In the middle of that ballroom, just seconds before you had been involuntarily introduced to Prince Hyunjae, you had a revelation. You liked him. You liked your charming person guard that had caught you weak kneed from the first time you laid eyes on him. No one had ever made you feel the way you felt about Juyeon and he had done it nearly completely by accident. He was trying to court you and you simply fell for him anyways.

His skills, his face, his smiles, his personality, just him a person entirely. You adored it all, you liked him.

Well liked was an understatement now, you had truly fallen deeply in love with him and you just had to realize your genuine feelings in the middle of a party meant to find you a king. Horrible timing on your part but you just weren't sure until then.

So maybe you should wait, wait until you can gather your thoughts and feelings together without fidgeting and shaking in front of him. The nervous habit probably would have increased tenfold now that you realized why exactly you trembled when he smiled at you, and you weren’t ready to watch that whole fiasco go down. How embarrassing would that be? To get completely weak kneed in front of Juyeon without a coherent thought in the brain? Surely you’d like an idiot, wouldn’t you?

“I’ll wait,” you convinced, stepping away from the door with cautious steps. “I’m not even going to be able to look him in the eye if I see him again, I should just wait until tomorrow… but I’ll probably get scolded by my parents for running away during the ball when they had done all that planning just for me. But it’s not like I asked them to throw that ball in the first place, just because I didn’t suggest any suitors I liked!”

You yelped in alarm when the door to the balcony swung with great speed, making you jump out of skin at the sudden intrusion. “Heavens, do you know how to knock?” You asked in retaliation, your heartbeat running marathons as you tried to calm yourself down from the shock. Though when you turned to look back toward the door again, you were greeted by the rather familiar sight of your personal guard, “Juyeon?”

The boy’s eyes widened at the sight of you, as if he couldn’t believe that you were standing in front of him right now. “Y/N,” he said in between gasps, trying hard to catch his breath as he reached his hands out for you. “Y/N, you're okay.”

“Of course I’m okay,” you tell him, unsure of the thoughts that were running through his mind. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Juyeon didn’t respond to your questions, letting go of the door handle before running towards you and scooping you up in his arms. Instinctively you wrapped your arms around him for support, not wanting to fall out of his grasp despite knowing he wouldn’t dare drop you even if he commanded to. “I thought something bad happened,” he confessed, “when Sunwoo came to me and told me you had left the ballroom, I thought someone had hurt you.”

“No, nothing like that happened,” you assured him, urging him to let you go. Just looking at his relieved face made your heart begin to race again, though this time marathons weren't the only thing that it was running. “My mother was trying to set me up with his prince from another kingdom and instead of doing as she said me and Chanhee ran for it out the room.”

“Why would you do that?” Juyeon questioned, stepping away from you in disbelief. “The queen, she’ll be furious when she sees you again. The king— your father, what will father say about you running away?”

“Juyeon I don’t care about what they think, haven’t you noticed by now?” you argued, your hands beginning to tremble at the rising tension between the two of you, “they can’t just force me to pick a boy from that gathering when I didn’t even bother to learn their names. When none of them are you.”

Juyeon thought to himself for a moment, letting your words sink and replay inside his brain. “When none of them were… me?”

“I wish I had realized before they even had a chance to plan the ball but I just have the worst timing possible,” You admitted, thinking back to all the very clear signs of your growing feelings for Juyeon that you had avoided. “I think I fell in love with you, Juyeon. Not think, actually, I know I have.”

“You’re serious?” Juyeon questioned, unsure if he had even heard you right. When you nodded your head to give him confirmation, he pulled you closer to him with warning, his eyes growing wide like the full moon that was hanging above the two of you. “You’re not joking at all, no tricks, no teasing, you’re being one hundred percent serious with me right now?”

“Of course!” You exclaim, grabbing him by the shoulders with a beaming smile etching across your face. “I’ve never been so sure about something in my entire life. Why do you think I asked you to train me in the first place a few months back, because I was just trying to use your skill set to my advantage? I know I have the reputation of being desperate for sword fighting, but Juyeon I was in love with you! I was just using the training as a way to figure my feelings or not.”

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up,” he confessed to you. “I wanted you to like me back, but Sunwoo and Younghoon didn’t want me to get my hopes over a fruitless crush. They told me that pursuing you wouldn’t work, because I didn’t have a decent enough background for me to even compare to anyone else. I mean, you’re a princess! I’m just barely a knight, I’m a blacksmith’s son, Y/N, not some high ranking noble from across the land. I have no connections, no power, no money, nothing to give you in return for your affection.”

“Juyeon,” you respond, confusion crossing your face at his words. Did he really think you wouldn’t like him just because his status was up to the standards of the king and queen? He thought you cared about things like that?

“I have nothing to offer you,” Juyeon whispered, holding your hands in his as gently as possible. It was if he thought he’d let go of you now he’d wake up from this dream like scenario you two were in, where you were no longer in his arms and in a place he could not reach. “There’s nothing I could even dream of giving to you.”

You can’t help but smile at his words, removing your hands from his and cupping his face instead. He didn’t even flinch at your touch, only turning a crimson red at your next few words. “Why do you think that matters? None of that matters to me, it never has. You could be a poor boy from a family of farmers and I’d still fall in love with you.”

“But your parents—“ he tried to argue with you.

“They mean nothing to me,” you assure him, pulling his face towards yours as you whisper, “they may be able to control this kingdom to their will, but they can’t control who exactly I fall in love with. They couldn’t even control my urge to learn sword fighting and that’s an interest I’ve had since I was a child.”

“I hate you so much,” Juyeon laughed, the words he spoke not carrying the same weight thanks to his jittery and hopeful tone. He was happy, happy to know that you felt the same way about him and that you didn’t care for anything of the things that should have been hindering your feelings for him.

“Clearly you do,” you tease in response, “you haven’t even attempted to kiss me yet.”

You didn’t need to tell Juyeon twice. He gave you one small kiss on the forehead, pulling away as fast as he registered what he had done in that moment. It felt illegal to be kissing a princess after being told countless times that trying to pursue you was a horrible idea. Though you didn’t give him any time to try and open his mouth as you threw your arms around his neck and kissed him back, grabbing onto his shirt collar and pulling him close.

His eyes fluttered closed immediately, smiling against your lips as he brushed his thumb against your cheek. “Does this mean I get to become king if I end up marrying you,” Juyeon questioned, his tone lightheartedly as he stopped for a moment.

You didn’t even open your eyes as you pulled him back towards you again, a sly grin prevalent on your face as you whispered to him. “Only if you finish the sword fighting lessons we started,” you teased, “maybe then I’ll consider making you my king.”

[mc-critical]

Watching the MY series, a generational pattern I’ve noticed in the series is how jealous daughter-in-laws become unsympathetic mother-in-laws. Such as Hafsa telling Hürrem she’ll have to learn to “share the sultan as she once did.” Or Mahidevran telling Fatma that surely Mustafa wasn’t going to seek her permission before marrying Helena or lying with other women. Or Kösem telling Aysë and Farya that their purpose, along with the rest of the harem, is pleasing her son and etc etc etc. I wonder if it’s a trauma response of sorts? Something parallel to “if I couldn’t have the monogamous married life than neither will you” kind of thing?

It's not only a pattern, I guess it was the reality of those days. A self fulfilling toxic cycle. They are different people after all and their motivations shape up how they came to be in different ways and yet, that particular behaviour obviously originates from the exact same place.

It's a part of the adaption to the circumstances in the harem, something that is just inevitable. No matter how hard one resists, there is always someone that would remind them of the rules they should follow, of their position, because it's precisely the polygamous system that is established, what the harem leans upon. Putting an end to it is unheard of and presumably impossible. But the interesting thing is, this is what all these women stand up the most against early on, the thought they would ever accept it never slipping their mind. They show hard resistence against these rules and everyone, more or less, wants the Sultan/the Prince all for themselves and the reason is two-fold: because they love him or have learned to love him dearly (most of the cases in the show, probably to minimize the toxicity in these relationships) and because this was the most effective way to gain at least a bit of peace and stability and privileges in their life. But finally, we see how they've given in and how they've absorbed and now apply what they have been told. Why? They all get so engrained in this harem life, it drains their youth, their innocence, their dreams, their ideals and when they're older, already into all the power and the intriguous, mysoginistic environment, they recite to new people all these same rules all over again. Perhaps to get used to them before they do the foolish mistakes they did, perhaps truly because of the trauma they've experienced and never got the chance to cope with, using every possible chance to hammer in the fact that these other people shouldn't even try - the fight is already lost. Trying to change this "law" would only bring in conflict and would cost everyone in the room dearly.

The MC/K franchise presents the evolution of this cycle very thoroughly with one sultana after another, connecting the adaption to the system with other different factors that depend on origin, personality and character themes in the beginning and as the series go on, so I might as well briefly go to each Sultana I can recall, one by one:

This high and mighty initial remark sets its roots, of course, with the collective representative of the old traditions herself, Hafsa Sultan. She applies it to Hürrem and Mahidevran, and is very firm in keeping it, it seems she has even devoted her whole rule of the harem to it. The notable thing is, she is a Crimean princess, a member of a dynasty, one who is actually married to her Sultan (confirmed in E49-50.), on a high position from the start, and yet, she had to witness "other women". She probably was "into" the laws even before she went to the harem, and when she had experienced blows from them firsthand, her will to keep them in check had probably strengthened even more. She may be one of these cases where she really uses the remark out of spite on a personal level ("You don't know what hardships I had to experience with Sultan Selim." i.e well, I experienced it, so should you!), but that also couples with her love for the law overall, that is so in line with who she is and her overall character traits. ("Love in this harem doesn't exist../Love makes you blind."; "The Sultan can't be with only one woman.")

Hürrem is a particularly interesting case, because she's the one whose fight with the laws and traditions is shown the most, in all stages, and yet, she succumbs to the "obligatory" remark anyway. She applies it to Nurbanu and Huricihan, which, despite of the other reasons present, is exemplary of what the harem is capable of doing even to the most daring and rebellious people. I see her character arc as symbolic to letting the past go and the adaptation to current curcumstance. She was very often going with the flow, risking it all for success, but her fight with the polygamous system was ultimately, the biggest fight she had fight with the haremly traditions. Gülnihal, Sadıka, the Russian concubines, Isabella, Firuze, Nazenin... no, it was hard and tough, having to face it in every season, and it ended only when she realized her life would be over. (signora Porzia in S04 around E131-132, while neither a concubine, nor an arc, being more of a thematic reminder of how well known Hü is around the world, still spent time with Süleiman and seemed to show a last sign of slight jealousy on Hürrem.) In fact, to completely win Süleiman over, is one of the first things she set herself to achieve (with Nigar's advice in the first episode.) and due to it opposing the system in its very core, it had the most stable traditional opposition. It questions the system itself, it risks to break it all apart, and she didn't fully succeed. It must have been exhausting for her to track one woman after another and to put her love to the test again and again. She didn't fully make it, and believe it or not, she realizes it very well. And this whole desire connected with her striving to achieve the highest position in the hierarchy. She fought to get rights for herself, but not for anyone else. So, when she finds herself in a comfort zone, she applies what Valide Hafsa and the others have once applied against her, being more than them and thus, already too far gone to sympathize. (I think this post elaborates on these dimensions of Hürrem's character way better than I ever could, though being more about how another aspect of the toxic system, the elitism, is applied in what ways, respectively.) It's more of a turning into a ready product of the environment rather than some personal negative resentment or entitlement, even though that could be it, too, as an endorsement of her ethos that she's Hürrem Sultan and no one could be like her. (as also said by Selim, her own son.)

We encounter something quite similar with Mahidevran on some extent, with her not only striving to be the only woman SS loves in his life, it was something she already had, and only then had to fight to get back - making rash, impulsive decisions due to the loss of her attachment, which is why accepting and getting in accordance with her loss is presented more as character development than regression. And ironically (or not), it began to happen after her conversation with Valide after she sent Sadıka to SS in E16, seeming to take her advice to heart. (her stopping to be jealous of other concubines, even befriending them in their distaste for Hürrem.) But then again, the coin always has two sides, because while she got calmer, wiser and more decisive in Manisa, every possible sympathy she could have to those that experience the same, is now gone. She applies these remarks to Fatma and Elena for them to begin living with it and behave accordingly. For them to accept it, just like she once did. She does judge them to herself. ("All good things come to an end. It's hard to accept it, but I accepted it. Because this is the truth.") And because Mahidevran also cherishes laws and tradition and considers every single imprudence as unprecedented and off limits, she would obviously recite the words Valide reminded her of every other day, to "keep piece and order".

After these three cases, this remark turns into a behaviour, applied more to those the Sultanas would perceive as ambitious rivals to themselves, that began building up from Hürrem and Nubanu, and would keep on to the other "generation" of the Sultanate of Women right into Kösem.

Nurbanu, albeit not so directly, applies it to Safiye. With her being sent from Mihrimah and her bold streak, Nurbanu perhaps used it as a "precaution", to warn her what is in front of her. She probably doesn't hold much belief in a monogamous relationship, especially due to what she experienced with Dilşah, but her relationship with Selim was way more stable than any of this kind in the show.

With Safiye we actually have something bizarre, because right in episode 1, she tells Anastasia that the possibility of going home is the first thing she should forget, and yet, she utters this "weird" (in retrospect) quote: "Should we tell her that the only thing that could make this cage bearable is love?". She doesn't tell her that she has to accept "other women", she motivates her to fight for her love and to get it, seeing her potential. But that happens only as a long as she's loyal to her. Once Anastasia became Kösem and she didn't give Safiye the reciprocal loyalty, their enmity began.

Kösem is the paralleling contrast to Hürrem, since she doesn't truly adapt to this system, but she merges herself with the country that is vital to this system. This is why she applies it to Farya and Ayşe. I think Kösem is the sultana that accounts personal feelings the least here, since she's the one that let them behind in favor of the country. So, her reminding Ayşe and Farya of their purpose, is to prevent them from causing any kind of unrest. Because she values her relationship with Ahmet and sees it as something beyond love. ("Today, I married not only Sultan Ahmet, but the country, too!" - this isn't the exact quote, but the meaning is the same.)

[phroyd]

Joe Biden is going to be the next president of the United States. He will be inaugurated on January 20 and take power at noon that day. There is nothing, legally, that Trump can do to stop that.

What Trump and his feckless Republican Party might do illegally to try to overturn the results of the election and prevent Biden from taking power is a different matter. Trump has evidently intimidated the administrator of the General Services Administration into refusing to acknowledge Biden’s victory and thus prevent his team from starting the transition process. Only a smattering of Republicans have acknowledged that Biden won, and most of those who have, like George W. Bush, no longer hold any political power. Trump has already filed a raft of baseless lawsuits. His people are drumming up talk of some kind of Electoral College devilry to overthrow the popular will. And Trump fired the secretary of defense, Mike Esper, yesterday, which seems like the kind of thing one does before launching a coup d’état.

Years of watching Democrats snatch defeat from the jaws of victory gives many the sinking feeling that “it’s happening, again.” But rational thought tells us that these Trump gambits, all of them, are pointless. Biden won and his ascension to power is now inevitable, whether Trump accedes to that reality or not. As a wise man once sang: Gravity always wins.

Still, we’ve all seen Trump wriggle out of approximately a billion other defeats and scandals. He’s exposed the weakness of our democratic institutions, revealing just how useless they are in the face of his norm-breaking assaults. So it feels somehow naive to believe that his loss at the ballot box will translate into his loss of an actual job. It feels smart to consider that he might have a secret plan to retain that job, despite being voted out of it. Trump is the Michael Myers of our politics: He can’t be defeated, because the horror movie franchise makes too much money to ever end.

And yet, despite all this, I have gone to bed every night since Friday confident that President-elect Biden will become President Biden. I’ve come to this peace over the objection of my amygdala, which is the part of the brain that screams in fear and anxiety and tries to overpower rational thought. Here’s what I tell myself in order to help me sleep at night. Perhaps these are conversations others can have to achieve my level of forced serenity. (Amygdala in bold italics.)

Who won the election?

Joe Biden.

Who won the election if we only count legal votes?

Only legal votes are being counted. Joe Biden won those.

What about the possibility of a recount in swing states like Michigan or Pennsylvania?

Recounts traditionally do not change more than a thousand votes. Even if we’ve gone completely through the looking glass and this recount changes an unprecedented number of votes, like 5,000, which is completely unheard of, Biden’s margin of victory is too great to overcome. A recount would not change the result in states like Arizona, Georgia, Michigan, Nevada, Pennsylvania, or Wisconsin. If Trump wants to lose twice, that’s up to him.

What about all the lawsuits, especially the ones they keep filing in Arizona and Pennsylvania?

Trump’s election lawsuits fall, broadly, into three categories: lawsuits alleging poll watchers were too far away, lawsuits complaining about the established rules for submitting mail-in ballots, and lawsuits alleging Trump voters were denied their vote because of some kind of ballot machine malfunction.

None of these lawsuits provide evidence of massive voter fraud. None of the lawsuits provide evidence of voter fraud at all. Some of the lawsuits allege some accidents, but the remedy for those accidents is counting more votes, not fewer. Trump’s claims that his poll watchers were not allowed to watch the counting of mail-in ballots in Pennsylvania is flatly untrue, and his lawyers have had to admit in court that they were allowed in the room. They’ve been reduced to arguing that their poll watchers were not close enough, which, whatever. The remedy for that is to move them closer, not throw out tens of thousands of votes.

In fact, none of the Trump lawsuits allege anything that can be used to throw out tens of thousands of votes. Throwing out votes that have already been counted is not something that courts do. We can recount votes, this time with Trump watchers breathing down the necks of ballot counters and giving them Covid-19, but again, recounts don’t usually change the balance of votes by all that much.

The important thing to ask with each new Trump lawsuit is this: What is the remedy? If the remedy is “throw away tens of thousands of votes from people whose votes were clear in their choice and timely in their submission,” then that lawsuit is going nowhere. And if the remedy is not throwing out those entirely timely and legal votes, then the lawsuit will not change the results of the election.

Why would the Trump people be pushing these lawsuits if there was no chance for them to change the outcome?

Because Trump people are dumb? Hanlon’s Razor tells us: “Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.”

Joking aside, there might be many malicious reasons for the Trump campaign to be pushing lawsuits they know are destined to fail. Stirring up doubt in Biden’s victory is a prelude to refusing to acknowledge his authority as president. Trump, or one of his kids, or somebody “Trump-approved” is surely going to run for president in 2024, and making Trump’s rabid, white-supremacist base feel like the election was “stolen” from them has a political upside as they fight for their new “Lost Cause.”

And, there’s also the grift. Trump’s campaign is broke. They’ve literally written checks they can’t cash. Trump doesn’t like spending his own money on these things (to the extent he actually has any). These lawsuits purportedly challenging the election are a huge money-making opportunity for the Trump campaign. If you read the fine print on the new fundraising e-mails Trump’s campaign is sending out to supporters, they say that “60 percent of contributions” will go toward retiring campaign debt.

Would the Trump campaign put America through 70 days of trauma to make a buck? You better believe it. The whole Trump presidency is a guerrilla marketing campaign for the Trump brand that went too far.

But the Republican Senate is going along. This is just like impeachment. Republicans wouldn’t remove Trump then and they won’t now.

Well, it’s not up to Republicans to remove Trump from office. The Constitution does all that work on January 20. Joe Biden is the president on that day whether Republicans acknowledge it or not.

But now Bill Barr has gotten in on the game, and he is the worst of Trump’s henchman.

Yes.

He’s given federal prosecutors the green light to open up investigations into possible voter fraud.

So?

SO?

There wasn’t election fraud. Trump’s legal team has no evidence of election fraud and has no money to investigate to find such evidence, so they’re using the taxpayers’ money to look for it. But Barr’s prosecutors won’t find anything because there’s nothing there. This is going to turn out the same way it did when Barr investigated but didn’t arrest Hunter or Joe Biden.

The head of the Election Crimes Branch, Richard Pilger, resigned. That should tell us how wrong this is. But Barr is not going to succeeded. It’s just another thing to remember in 70 days when Barr is out of a job. We should arrest him and charge him with abuse of power.

What if Trump refuses to leave the White House?

Biden can be president from Delaware until the White House runs out of cheeseburgers. He’ll come out of hiding eventually.

But what if Republicans never acknowledged that Biden is the president?

How’s that different from the way they treated Barack Obama?

Good point, but what about a re-vote? I’ve seen MAGA people online calling for a re-vote.

Re-voting is not a thing. There is no statutory or constitutional language that can compel a nationwide re-vote. States will certify the results of their elections in the coming weeks. And then the Electoral College will meet on December 14 in a pro-forma session to…

WHAT ABOUT THE ELECTORAL COLLEGE?

Damn it.

Can Republican state legislatures put forward a slate of electors who will vote for Trump even though Biden won those states?

Let’s be very clear: The states get to choose how they will determine their own electors, but that determination has to be made before the election. A state with a Republican legislature—let’s say, Pennsylvania—could have decided to choose electors based on a simple vote of the legislature. In fact, Republican legislators contemplated doing such a thing. But they didn’t. Instead they decided, like every other state, to let the popular will in their state determine the slate of electors.

They can’t change the method of picking electors after the election has taken place. Remember, when voters showed up to vote, they technically weren’t voting for “Joe Biden” or “Donald Trump” but for a slate of electors who would vote for Biden or Trump. If Pennsylvania wanted to change those rules, it would have had to tell its voters before they voted. It can’t run a bait-and-switch on an election. It can’t say that a vote for Biden’s electors was actually a vote for the Pennsylvania legislature to choose the electors. This is an election, not a Groupon.

The only legal recourse, which some Republicans are arguing for, is to determine that the voters “failed to make a choice” on which slate of electors to nominate, or that the results of that choice are somehow unclear. But the results will be clear once Pennsylvania certifies its election results (and, in this case, the governor and secretary of state, who certifies the results, are Democrats). It will be a close election, but voters made a choice and that choice will be clear upon certification.

States have until December 8 to certify the results of their elections.

But what if Pennsylvania’s Republican legislators insist that the results weren’t clear? Would the Supreme Court’s conservative supermajority allow the state’s Republican legislature to choose a Republican slate of electors, even though it’s unconstitutional?

Maybe? Conservatives on the Supreme Court act in bad faith all the time. But consider that Biden has likely won this election with 306 electoral votes. For this gambit to work, legislatures in Pennsylvania and at least two of the other states Biden won would have to submit a slate of Trump electors. The Supreme Court would have to OK this upending of the popular will three times in total. That’s incredibly unlikely and would spark almost immediate civil unrest directed right at the Supreme Court, which has no army to enforce its rulings.

Well, what’s our plan for that?

My dude, I don’t have a plan for “nothing matters anymore.” The end of democratic self-government is not a thing one has a legal plan for. That’s like asking what my plan is for closing a demonic hell mouth that opens in my backyard. Die. My plan would be to die. I’m not Keanu Reeves.

What if Trump fires FBI Director Chris Wray and CIA Director Gina Haspel and gets the “deep state” to keep him in power indefinitely?

I’m not Kiefer Sutherland either. I cannot find the mole.

What if Trump launches a full-scale coup d’état and uses the military to keep him in power?

Then we’re at war. Honestly, what do you want from me? Yes, there is a non-zero chance that Trump’s refusal to accept the results of the election leads to a civil war and, in such a conflict, Abigail Spanberger forms a Vichy government to “compromise” with Trump supporters, and I have to pilot a jet carrying Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez off of Naboo in hopes of finding friendly Jedis willing to fight for our cause.

But there is no legitimate way for Trump to stay in power now. There’s no peaceful way for Trump to stay in power. Either he’s gone on January 20 or he remains atop a military junta willing to use violence to enforce his will.

This makes you feel better?

I find it comforting that a full-scale military takeover is now the only way for Trump to stay in power. Because if there’s one thing I know about Trump, it’s that he is a coward. President Bone Spurs is not the guy to cross the Rubicon.

I look at it this way: Captain von Trapp hiked his enormous family over the Alps to get away; all I have to do is drive my people to the Thousand Islands Bridge while we all sing “Edelweiss.” Thinking much beyond that is pointless.

Well, you could get your lazy ass on the elliptical trainer in case you’re needed to fight.

Don’t start this with me again. Goodbye.

Phroyd

[essektheylyss]

wait! be wordy! what's your line of thinking for the assembly coup i'm so curious

okay you sent this a few days ago and I was like, you know what they asked, so here is my entire research project on the subject of why not only is the assembly in a perfect place to stage a coup and take over the empire, but also why ludinus da’leth in particular seems rather motivated to do so:

fjord and caleb discussed this specific topic during their chat on the balleater in 98, and this line just sums it up:

fjord: what are they waiting for? caleb: the moment where they can ascend.

according to the lore we’ve gotten, from canon as well as the egtw, the assembly has existed since a war between mage houses that culminated in an event that nearly destroyed rexxentrum, referred to as the eve of crimson midnight—after which the members of those houses agreed to work for the dwendalian crown (and helped conquer the julous dominion). they occupy a very comfortable place in the empire obviously, but it’s unclear how much allegiance they actually have to the crown, but when caleb talks to the martinet in episode 97 at the party, they have this pointed interaction:

caleb: the empire, we all love the empire. da’leth: to an extent.

this is in part in reference to caleb’s past, but also... is admittedly, a strange thing for someone who’s meant to serve the king to say. much of their conversation at the party reads as da’leth putting the two of them on the same page—rather circumspect in their interests, and outside of the surface level realm of the empire’s interests. it’s worth noting that da’leth is not only the oldest member of the assembly, he has also been there since its inception, and therefore was almost certainly involved in the war that created it.

now, just before this, they have this exchange:

caleb: It will be good to finish this war. da’leth: Indeed it will be. caleb: I commend you on seeing the reason in cooperation and negotiation. da’leth: I believe it is important to stem the tide of lives lost and to instead focus on the livelihood of those within the Empire and for us to pursue more important things than base conflict and disagreements.

now, like essek, da’leth is likely looking forward to the end of the war because it means uninhibited time to spend researching the beacon they do have, but based on much of what essek has said, he is far more in over his head than da’leth is. of course, that’s in part because he’s not backed by a very powerful organization. but this is important, because arguably... da’leth isn’t backed by the assembly. he is the assembly. there has never been a cerberus assembly without him. additionally, his title (“archmage of domestic protections”) literally puts him in charge of all warfare and conflict in the empire and, as mentioned, this means he’s been involved in:

the eve of crimson midnight

the conquest of the julous dominion

the last century of tension with the dynasty (by the end of which, he found a way to escalate that tension and thereby instigate a war—which really makes him either great or shitty at his job, honestly)

the war with the dynasty itself

unlike essek, who has probably had his position for 20-30 years at most, da’leth has witnessed every part of these conflicts from a place of organizing warfare. (yet again it vexes me: we still have no idea what essek does. but he’s not really important here, I’m just using him to juxtapose. but it seems safe to say, based on his reaction, that he did not have any experience with it, and does not seem to be in anyway a military leader.) he knows when to expect war, and he... probably does not care about the human toll of it, based on the ones he’s lived through. so I’m looking more at the phrase “pursue more important things”—which is where we start getting into military coup territory.

and it’s important to point out that the assembly, based on their discussion in the throne room with the king and the examination of the beacon at the sanatorium, is almost certainly keeping both their research into the beacon’s power as well as the fact that they’ve had two beacons for three years secret from the king.

additionally, the assembly’s power seems to be growing at the moment, as evidenced by cobalt soul concerns that it may need to be curbed, while at the same time, the monarch is becoming increasingly paranoid (which translates to, closed off), as well as (and this is crucial) not having an heir. as mentioned in the egtw, his son and daughter in law have not produced a child, and all three of them are seeking different ways to maintain power. king dwendal, supposedly, is currently looking for ways to become immortal. da’leth, who is functionally immortal compared to the king, probably doesn’t love that (and I have no doubt that he knows).

so we have a military leader who has external interests, secret arcane research into an unknown, fairly deadly system of magic that the crown is unaware of (and therefore doesn’t have defenses against), and a rapidly encroaching potential power vacuum. but that’s still not enough, right? to actually take the throne, who has an entire army at its disposal, you’d need some kind of paramilitary force loyal to the assembly, not to the crown.

which brings us to the scourgers.

we know that trent ikithon created and designed the scourger program, also from caleb’s conversation with da’leth, which means it is relatively new (less than 50 years old, but probably less than that—trent is in his 70s, and he would’ve had to work up into his role, so let’s give him a generous estimate of being worthy of assembly membership around 40—which only puts the scourger program at 30 years old). da’leth does have a... really interesting comment about the program:

da’leth: Although the extent of these things were not entirely part of the initial presentation, I understand that sometimes, desperate requirements might call for unsavory methods.

there’s really no explanation of what these ‘desperate requirements’ are that called for, you know, that bullshit, and the program would’ve been implemented sometime within this cold war they’ve got going with the dynasty. while those desperate requirements may have been involved in that (which is likely), it’s also possible that there are other uses for them, especially now that there is some kind of treaty between the empire and dynasty.

of course, the other thing that I looked at is how astrid discusses the empire—she suggests that what the scourgers do, the “hard choices” they make, are so that the rest of the empire can sleep safely at night, which is interesting, considering the general sentiment of the empire’s populace is that the empire has become less safe (a sentiment that is likely even more heightened now with a war on their soil) as well as less prosperous, due to the growing paranoia and neglect of the king. the scourgers are specifically loyal to the empire itself, not the king—if they can be swayed to believe that disposing the king is in the nation’s best interest, it would not be difficult to turn the assembly’s personal assassins toward the crown.

which brings me back to the earlier conversation mentioned at the party, and the phrase “focus on the livelihood of those within the Empire and for us to pursue more important things.” the martinet has been, essentially, waiting in the wings of the empire for several centuries.

within the last, say, fifty years, the following things have happened:

the quality of life within the empire has gone down

its monarch has grown closed off and scared, potentially leaving a power vacuum which will likely throw the assembly’s power into question

the assembly has created its own paramilitary assassin force

the assembly has instigated a war via the theft of foreign arcane objects

the assembly has done fully secret research on the application of that arcane power

the assembly has then ended the war very quickly, retaining control of one of these objects, and sent everyone very speedily on their way.

furthermore, with peace only just brokered, the righteous brand is likely still on the border, and will have to be mobilized over the next month or more to return them to the inner parts of the empire.

this means the assembly is unoccupied by a war, has its own forces, probably has some unheard of weaponized dunamancy, and doesn’t have to contend with the military that is wholly loyal to the king.

time for a coup, y’all.

addendum: this is a theory/analysis, and it’s only one potential thing that might happen in the next few arcs. however, a counterpoint: the assembly has enjoyed unprecedented power, a small amount of responsibility, and very little oversight during its existence. I could see the point that there isn’t much motivation to change that, especially for da’leth—except for the fact that the empire still does not have an heir. the potential of a power vacuum will likely leave the assembly in a tough spot and without a puppet to control, and a coup to take power now may be the answer to that. that really is the key: before dwendal can actually do something nuts, like beat da’leth to creating himself a phylactery lol, they may intend to grab power to maintain control over the situation in the long run.

additional reading: I wrote up this post a few months ago about why, in conjunction with this, the assembly wants to keep their involvement with the beacon theft quiet—any conflict with the king will get started on their own terms. (which is the main point of my thoughts that the assembly will also likely try to have essek killed—while he’s alive, he’s a loose end, and even if it’s his word against theirs, it’s still possible he could sow doubt with the king. luckily for the nein, the assembly doesn’t seem to know that they’re aware of that!)

[youngprofesser]

So apparently I'm turning Depa and Grey's marriage into a full on fic so here's part of it

The door to Depa and Caleb's quarters slides open just as he arrives in front of it, and he walks in to see Depa standing at the counter of the kitchenette with her Padawan nowhere to be seen. 

"Where's Caleb?" He asks, palming the door shut behind him and sitting down on a cushioned stool.

"He's out swimming with his friends." She responds, her back still turned to him as there is a  ding and she takes two plates out of the heater. "I wanted to speak with you privately."

Mace raises an eyebrow, knowing she'll sense his question even if she can't see it. He hadn't expected for this to be one of those kinds of lunches. But Depa doesn't say anything more, just turns and brings the food to the table, sliding a plate in front of him with a sandwich that smells delightful on it along a piece of fruit. "Tea or water?"

"No caf?" He asks, and she smirks at him. 

"I'm not fueling your caf addiction." 

Mace pretends to scowl at her. It's not an addiction, he just drinks several cups daily, he has been since the war started. The fact that the war is over and he continues this habit means nothing. "Water, please."

Depa laughs at him quietly, but pours a cup of water for him and cold tea for herself before sitting down. Mace looks at her expectantly, because she did say that she wanted to talk but she meets his eyes with a gaze that says we'll talk in a moment and takes a thoughtful bite of her sandwich.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, and Mace is glad to discover that the food tastes as good as it smells and would also go wonderfully with a cup of caf. With water it just isn't the same. 

He is pulled out of his thoughts (which are not sulking) by Depa picking up her knife and deliberately cutting a piece of her fruit, meeting Mace's eyes as she puts it in her mouth, chews, and swallows. 

"I wanted to ask you," She says lightly, "If you would be willing to attend an important event with myself and Caleb."

Her words normally wouldn't be suspicious, but there's something more under the words that he doesn't know.

"I would be honored." He replies, which is the appropriate response. "But there's something else you're not telling me."

Depa hums an affirmative, her gaze never leaving his even as she cuts another piece of fruit and eats it. Then she sets the knife down. "I'm going to get married."

Oh. 

Mace has known for a few months about Depa's relationship with her former Commander Grey, has been glad that she was happy and had someone to take care of her when she needed it. But the statement is still so unprecedented all he can do is stare blankly for a moment. 

She just takes a calm sip of her tea, still watching him over her glass, and Mace has to think some more because he doesn't have anything to say yet.

She's doing nothing against the code, and although not even something unheard of for Jedi knights or master's. Of course in the pre-war order those marriages were solely for procreation of certain species and the ease of potential force sensitive children from that marriage's induction into the order. To be wed simply for love would have ruined her reputation among many. Some more conservative jedi may have even argued for her to be stripped of her mastery.

But things were different now. She was not the only Jedi to have a romantic relationship with a clone, and he supposed for some of those relationships marriage is a possible next step but he didn't think the first would be his own Padawan of all people. 

"I-" he starts roughly. "I am shocked but not surprised." 

Depa smiles slightly and folds her hands on the table in front of her. "You stared at the plate for quite a while." She returns. "I was beginning to wonder if you had short circuted" 

That's an old jab, stemming from Mace's dislike of machinery-based analogies that had only increased with the war. But she's still being cautious, trying to see if he will react badly and he needs to make sure he knows that he supports her, he always will. 

"I'll admit, I never thought I ever would see you in this situation." He says, leaning back so she can see he is not upset. "But I'm happy for you."

Depa smiles, and Mace is reminded just how impossibly much he loves this woman. So he reaches out in the force, wraps his presence around her like he's putting his hands on her shoulders and lets her feel his surprise and joy.  

"I must say." She says after a long moment of comfortable quiet. "I wasn't expecting the news to go over that easily."

Mace snorts, picking up his fruit and weighing it in his palm. "You thought I would have some protests" He guesses, and judging by the glint in Depa's eye he is correct. It's true he is handling this remarkably well. Perhaps resigning from the council had done him more good than he had initially thought.

"How long have you been planning?" Mace bites into the fruit, promptly gets sprayed in the nose by juice and sets it down to cut it. 

His former Padawan smirks at his mistake but summons him a napkin with a flick of a finger. "Officially two weeks come tomorrow, but I proposed to him last month." Mace raises an eyebrow at her over his napkin and she shrugs one shoulder. 

"He wanted to propose as well, and decided to make it… elaborate."

Yes, that made sense. Mace has only had a few conversations with Grey, and knows him mostly from the stories Depa and Caleb have told him but he did seem to be the hopeless romantic type.

mace is so blissfully ignorant of all the marriages that have happened already. Poor guy

Also I'm not quite sure how long this fic will be because the file is currently a whole bunch of unconnected scenes so it will be a while before if officially comes out

[samuel-dean]

Unresolved Issues

INVOLVED: Samuel Evans, Mercedes Jones, and Patty Hughes LOCATION: Evans’ Estate; Irving, Texas TIME FRAME: Flashback NOTES: Samuel and Mercedes fly into Texas to face the fiasco at hand and Mercedes is met with Patty. Who is still very much so Samuel’s assistant.

Samuel moved into the large Texas estate after the short Jet ride into town. He licked his lips as he folded his arms over his chest allowing his lawyer to brief him on a few things as their bags were brought in from the limousine, they rode in to the home. He nodded at the man slightly before he saw Patty rounding the corner and his eyes froze on her for a moment, oh hell he thought to himself. 

 In another time and place Mercedes would have spent the better part of an hour marveling at the architecture of the mansion. If she was honest, they had left the mansion in Atlanta, this was an estate or compound. This house had to take up an entire zip code itself. She entered the main entrance, eyes moved to where Samuel stood stocky listening to his lawyer, the ridges and lines of his body seemingly tense. “Show them upstairs to the baby's room.” She said, easily, to the butler, knowing without a shadow of doubt, the staff had one already outfitted and equipped for their stay. She kissed Nouvel and moved over to where Samuel stood and rested her hand on his arm. It was all she could think to do in the moment to lend him some strength. It was like touching a marble statue. She looked up at him perplexed. He had not been this stiff on the plane or car ride over. What had she missed? “What?” She was about to ask the lawyer to repeat himself when she followed her fiancé’s gaze. What she saw was a swift kick to the chest. “Patty?!...” She said in low, hate slick hiss, that was part growl. 

 Patty moved towards Samuel; she pushed her hair over her shoulder as she walked in the skin tight red dress towards the man with an envelope in hand. “I’m glad you made it in safely Mr. Evans” she said to him professionally. “We have been working diligently to handle this mishap in your wake” she breathed softly. She looked at Mercedes and said “the future Mrs. Evans, nice to see you again. You look well” before she looked at Samuel and said. “We both could brief you further in your office” before she smiled at him, her eyes flickering over to Mercedes and then back to him. 

 Samuel pulled his eyes from Patty trying to play it off casually however Mercedes was alarmed. As Patty walked up and spoke, he cleared his throat and placed his hands in his pockets for a moment as he nodded his head. “Uh, yeah” he said “uh, sure” he told the woman as he looked at his lawyer. “I will meet you both in there” he said, speaking directly to the lawyer and not to Patty. 

 Mercedes watched the ghost of months past glide back into her life with such a confident air that caused Mercedes' mouth to gap open in utter disbelief. The hand that rested on Samuel's taunt bicep fell away, swinging freely in empty space between them as Patty addressed the room at large. Something shifted, cracked, and crumbled away as the blood red lips of Patty addressed her formally. Mercedes smiled a snorted chuckle bubbling up to the surface. 

 Patty looked at Mercedes again before she looked at Samuel and nodded her head. “Of course,” she said as she moved to sway off from the man and woman alongside his lawyer. She escorted the man towards the office Samuel had in the home, chatting with him all the while. 

 Samuel waited and watched as Patty and his lawyer disappeared. He turned to Mercedes and cleared his throat a bit before he said “it’s not what it looks like” he breathed “I can explain this” he tried to reason as he grabbed Mercedes by her arms ushering her closer to him. 

 Mercedes chuckles had ebbed into mildly hysterical laughter. A lot of emotions were running through her at once betrayal, stupidity, anger. Yet over both was an unsettling relief, she could not explain. The retreating, competing foot falls of Samuel’s lawyer and assistant echoed in the enormous entry way. A funeral dirge of unprecedent sadness. She stepped away disconnecting herself from Samuel, then lazily turned back to meet his gaze. As he spoke Mercedes looked around the man down the hall directly in the direction Patty had just retreated. She casually rubbed at her eyes, “My jet lag must really be messing with my eyesight. I could have sworn that woman was Patty.” She mocked in feigned relief. Mercedes went limp as Samuel hauled her back to him, his words the sentiment of every cheating man she’d ever known. She stared up at him reading the new stress line that now mired his forehead. Sadness for him welling up inside her. “Samuel... “ She said in a weary tone, “Go handle your business.” She turned her face away from his and waited to be released. 

 Samuel listened to Mercedes and he hissed eternally at himself, in his defense he didn’t know that Patty was going to be at the home. Truthfully, he didn’t know why she had come to the estate, she had her own home and office space she worked out of any other day. She swallowed hard as her mode changed in an arrangement that confused him a lot at first. When she settled on sadness, it saddens him as well. “Mercedes” he offered in response to her calling his name. He licked his lips before he looked back and then turned his head back towards her. “Business can wait a little longer” he told her, that was an utter lie. There was a shit storm going on and they needed him to calm it. However, she was more important. “You come first” he reminded her, “I know what you are thinking, this isn’t the way I wanted it to turn. But I need an assistant Mercedes, you must know I’ve had no real interaction with her outside of honest business…” he breathed. “I just need her until I can find someone I really trust, you understand, that right?” He asked. 

 Mercedes’ eyes flicked to Samuel’s face for a moment. With a simple, slow shake to the head, she bucked against his affirmation. “No… it can’t” she told him. It was the utter truth, and every word he said only reinforced that reality. She’d give it to him though, his brew of betrayal was of excellent quality. A teaspoon of mocking flattery. A tablespoon of mute sentimental jesters. Add one naive motherfucker, and a cup of truth. Lace all that shit with a dash of lies and bake. Excellent… It was so damn good she yearned to simply set that pesky little bit of bold-faced lying slide. He did need an assistant right? He’d spent almost all of his free time with her after all. Yeah… Her lovestruck brain reasoned, grabbing feebly for the straws he offered. Clinging to them desperately. “You’re absolutely right Samuel. I completely understand. Now, kindly let me go, so you can handle business and I can go check on our daughter.” 

 Samuel swallowed down her response and accepted her feelings for what they were. However, the tone and body language she was giving off just didn’t sit well with him. He didn’t let her go because of that, he wanted her in Texas because he needed her there, he was arrogant enough to think his little white lie wouldn’t catch up with him. He owed her more respect than he’d given in the last few months and he saw that now. “Baby” He reasoned with her, pulling her a little closer now gazing into her eyes as he did. “I’m not letting you go,” he acknowledged first. “I am sorry” he breathed “it was disrespectful to you, in the moment I caved. I gave you what you wanted because that’s all I ever strive to do” he told her. “I was scared, I was uncomfortable” he said seriously “she knows everything, she has access to it all. I needed time. And strategy, you said you wanted her out of your house. I did that” he pointed out. “And I’m sure the same goes for this one baby, and I’ll gladly walk her out myself. Just trust me on this. After this is over, she’s gone completely. Forever. I’ll hire someone new tomorrow, you can choose… I promise, okay? I promise. I love you; I’ll fix it, I’ll make it right” he tried to reason. 

 Mercedes' request to be relinquished was met with an opposite reaction, instead of leaving her to her thoughts, he drew her in using his proximity and words to wear her down. Her fight response began to kick in sluggishly. She groaned and rolled her eyes, “You didn’t give in. She knew!” She argued harshly, then let her voice fade away into quiet nothingness. He wasn’t lying, the businesswoman in her knew just how truthful he was being. Samuel most likely didn’t even know his own Social Security number. “No.” She told him plainly. “If you needed her months ago, you need her more now. You don’t have time to bring anyone new up to speed, especially in the middle of this fiasco. So -just don’t.” She said, biting off her words. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She said, staring him directly in the eyes. “I may not like it, but in a small way it makes me feel better that she’s here.” She said earnestly. 

 Samuel continued to watch Mercedes and he sighed softly to himself. “I don’t need anyone in this World more than I need you. You need to understand that, you need to agree with me on that” he argued back now. She was chucking this up to a lost on her part and simply agreeing to her injustice. That was bullshit for him. He’d prefer the doghouse over this, this just made him feel filthy. “Once this speech is over, I’m done. It’s a promise, facing a new obstacle is far less damaging to me right now than allowing you to feel unheard or disrespected” he told her. “I admit I thought I had time to figure this out on my own without you finding out, I didn’t intend on this happening, but it doesn’t make my actions right” he told her. Samuel sighed again to himself before he leaned down and captured her lips in a hungrily passion filled kiss. He only released her when he was ready and when he did, he release her body and lips, he looked at her. “I love you” he added again “I need you” he repeated. “And, I’ll be right back to finish this,” he said before pulling away and moving to jog down the hallway towards his office. 

 Mercedes choked on her own emotions, warding off a reflexive eyeroll within effort. She could not give him the trust or absolution he wanted. Not now -not here in this moment. But she nodded patiently, one quick jerk of the head. Feeling she had to offer him something. He kissed her then wholeheartedly. And in that physical manifestation of his uttered love she let herself feel. This was a space new. Familiar in a cold calculating way. When the infinite kiss ended and he granted her release she stood there and watched him as he disappeared from sight, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Winging It - Psalm 91:4

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael Rating: T  

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: If you think I have an actual plan, ineffable or not, for where this fic is going, think again. 'Winging it’ is not just a title: it’s precisely what I’m doing.

***

Aziraphale had no intention whatsoever to open the shop that day. 

He hadn’t even planned to stay in it, because a new Korean restaurant had just opened in Holborn and he was dying to try it, metaphorically speaking. Normally it would take some twelve minutes via the Central like - or the Piccadilly line if he felt like walking for approximately one minute and fifty-seven seconds longer from his shop - but that day, according to the radio, there were severe delays on all Tube lines due to signalling issues. 

‘Signalling issues’ meant, in that one specific case, that all screens were inexplicably showing obscene phrases while loudspeakers refused to broadcast any announcements, opting to blast out I'm In Love With My Car at full volume instead. Engineers had yet to figure out how to make it stop, as turning off all power hadn’t worked. Signals meant for train drivers kept blinking quickly, spelling out SOS in morse code over and over.

Aziraphale was… reasonably certain it had been entirely Crowley’s work, both because it would fit his style and because, the previous evening, he did tell him not to bother with the Tube. 

“No need to get underground, Angel. I’ll come pick you up in the morning,” he’d said. 

And now he would be late, most likely, lamenting the insane traffic he’d be caught in after forgetting, somehow, that traffic jams tend to happen when London’s public underground transport grinds to a complete halt.

Would he ever learn better? Aziraphale rather hoped not. He found it endearing, although he wouldn’t subject Crowley to the humiliation of being told as much to his face; and, right now, it gave him some extra time to pop into one of his favorite bakeries and have a bit of a late breakfast before Crowley got there. He’d get an extra croissant for him to try, he thought as he went to open the door and stepped out. Maybe he’d eventually get him to chew his food instead of swallowing it whole like a snake, wouldn’t that be--

Before he could finish that thought, Aziraphale fell. Azirafell, if you will. He stumbled, really, on something right at the doorway - a heap of clothes, it looked like. Not as bad as a fall from Heaven would be, but the meeting with the pavement was still an unpleasant experience. 

“Ooow! What was-- oh. Oh dear.”

What he’d mistaken for a heap of clothes left at his doorstep was, in fact, a heap of clothes. Only with a body in the clothes. Not the dead kind of body, hopefully. But really, it was a bit worrying how someone stumbling over him hadn’t even made him stir. 

Oh please, sir, don’t be dead, because then I’ll want to miracle you back to life and that is frowned upon without permission. Not that I know precisely what my standing with Heavenly authority is at the moment, but I’d really prefer not to meddle with it any more than necessary. 

Lifting himself from the pavement - he’d miracle the smudges off his clothes later - Aziraphale went to crouch next to the man, put a hand on his shoulder, and shook him. “Sir? Sir, are you-- oh.”

Aziraphale had always found the smell of blood uniquely unpleasant and if not for his angelic nature, the sight of his own reddened palm would have made him feel physically sick. But at least the man was alive, because he had felt life, beating steady in his ribcage. Who knew how he’d come to be hurt like that - stabbed, perhaps, knife crime in London was getting quite awful - but he’d come to the right place. He’d heal him, and be on his way. 

A quick glance - no, no close enough to see anything yet; but oh, how many people had walked past without even noticing him? - and Aziraphale lifted his hand to heal the man. Only that he chose that moment to stir weakly, to turn, and the blessing he’d been about to utter died in Azirapale’s throat when he saw his ashen-pale face. Or at least, a good part of it.

It was Gabriel, and not the Gabriel who occasionally delivered him a nice dinner when he was peckish but too enthralled by a book to get out to a restaurant. It was the Archangel Gabriel, passed out at his doorstep. Wounded, bleeding and absolutely, entirely, impossibly-- human. 

No. No, it couldn’t be. It was unheard of - surely, he was wrong. It was only someone who looked an awful lot like him, Aziraphale thought. But as he reached for his face, and gingerly pulled up his eyelid, he found himself looking at a familiar, distinctive purplish eye. Only that now the pupil shrank at the light, and he made a choking sound, still unconscious. His brow was covered in cold sweat, hair sticking to it. 

The blood on his back. Where his wings would be. 

Celestial nature or not, Aziraphale found himself feeling… vaguely sick. Not sick enough to return his rather delicious dinner to the world, but enough to decide he could do without croissant that morning.

“Gabriel?” he called out, mind reeling. There was no reply, except for a shuddering breath when he turned him, accidentally putting pressures on… whatever had been done to his back. Whatever had been done to his wings. 

You know what’s been done to his wings.

“Sir? Is everything all right?”

Ah, of course, the curious chap. There is always a curious chap - no curious enough to check on the man motionless in a shop’s doorway, but enough to wonder when a second man is kneeling over him and it might already be too late. With a brief shake of his hand, Aziraphale miracled the blood on his palm away and turned to glance back. He smiled. 

“All is going wonderfully,” he said, causing the man to pause and blink, his expression turning vacant. “Actually, if you could help me bring this gentleman inside and then forget everything that happened to go your merry way, that would be brilliant…”

***

Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies and Prince of Hell, looked displeased.

In itself, that was nothing out of the ordinary: perpetual brooding was only fitting their position, after all. It would be a very cold day in Hell when demons went around looking pleased, and that was not the day: temperature was holding steady at around 62 degrees Celsius, which would be 143 degrees Fahrenheit for fellows across the pond. Not quite the fiery burning pit mortals imagined, but still hotter than the highest temperature ever registered on Earth, despite humans’ clear determination to match it in the near future.

However, something was slightly out of the ordinary. Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies and Prince of Hell, looked extremely displeased.

“An angel fell.”

“So it’s been reported, my Lord.”

“And it’s not here.”

“No, my Lord.”

“Why. Is it not. Here.”

Beelzebub growled. The flies around their head buzzed. Dagon looked at Hastur. Hastur looked… very uncomfortable. Good. He squirmed. Even better. 

“I… I don’t know, my Lord. I only heard whispers, you know they never speak the names of the Fallen again--”

“Because they’re not our names anymore,” Beelzebub said with an impatient wave of their hand. “We will name it. It is ours. All the Fallen are ours.”

“But it should have-- landed here,” Dagon spoke up. “All the Fallen do.”

“Maybe it’s not Fallen?”

Two pairs of eyes, plus the fragmented ones of several flies, turned back to Hastur. 

“I mean, cast out of Heaven, but didn’t turn up in Hell? Maybe it fell, but didn’t Fall.”

A fallen angel, yet not Fallen. It would be unprecedented, an amusing puzzle to solve… and Beelzebub hated amusing puzzles to solve almost as much as they despised fly paper. 

“If it was cast out of Heaven, it’s ours. The other side doesn’t get to change up the rules now - I demand an explanation, and a new soldier for Hell,” they snapped, and stood. Not much of a difference in terms of height, but it did make Hastur step back reverently. “Bring me the Messenger,” Beelzebub ordered, their voice a low buzz.

Hastur blinked.

“... The phone, for Satan’s sake,” Dagon snapped. “Bring us the phone.”

*** 

“Come ooooooooooon.”

Crowley’s phone rang while he was in the middle of a long groan, forehead firmly pressed against the wheel. The result was a long, continuous honk that was lost in the midsts of dozens more long, continuous honks. Bloody traffic.

“I don’t deserve this,” Crowley mumbled, ignoring the fact he was the cause behind all of it and perhaps he did, after all deserve some of it. Why had he done that, anyway? He didn’t really have to do anything, with Hell doing its best to forget he even existed and thus not sending out any orders anymore. It was a matter of mere habit, at that point. Everyone is supposed to have at least one bad habit, demons most of all.

Maybe he should take on smoking, but Aziraphale would so protest the smell and-- ah, right. Aziraphale. Phone. He was late, wasn’t he? With a sigh, Crowley tapped the screen to take the call, face still burrowed against the wheel - though he muted the honk for the sake of being able to speak.

“Bit of traffic here, Angel. I’ll be there in-- give me half a hour, and--”

“I, uh, think we might have to reschedule.”

Aziraphale, suggesting they delay trying out a brand new restaurant? That alone set off more alarm bells than a gang of chimps in charge of putting out a grease fire. Or Boris Johnson in charge of managing Brexit, which was basically the same thing. 

Crowley immediately sat up straight, turning his full attention to the phone. “What happened?”

“Nothing! It’s just... oh, I suppose something did happen. You see, I was about to walk out - you know that really good bakery across the road? It opened where that Patisserie Valerie used to be, a small independent business, and they make the most delicious croissants. They use less butter than they would in Paris, they’re a bit more like an Italian cornetto, and I thought you’d--”

“Angel.”

“Right, right-- I’m getting side tracked. As I was saying, it’s a small independent business and they have it so hard these days, I figure that if needed I could give some help--”

Crowley sighed, rolling his eyes behind dark lenses and drove the car forward for a grand total of three meters before stopping again. It was the greatest gain he’d made in fifteen minutes.

“Aziraphale. I am in the middle of one of the worst traffic congestion this city has ever seen--”

“Oh, I do wonder who caused it. Clearly the work of a wily demon who did not pause to consider consequences. Or did he?”

“That’s entirely beside the point,” Crowley protested. “What I’m saying is, we are going to that restaurant. We can miracle the bakery some clients if need be, no reason to reschedule--”

“Ah, it’s not about that.”

“... No?”

“Gabriel is here.”

Oh. That arse - the utter and complete bellend who had tried to have his angel destroyed in Hellfire. The memory of his words as he believed he was sending him to his complete annihilation - Shut your stupid mouth and die already - was enough to make Crowley hiss in fury. He’d have been worried, too, if not for the fact Aziraphale’s blabbing about bakeries wasn’t the sign of someone in distress or in imminent danger. And he probably wasn’t listening to the call - maybe he was outside the shop.

“Fine, fine, change of plans - we’re meeting at rendez-vous point number 3. Then we’re going--”

“Listen, it’s best if we reschedule and you come here. Gabriel--”

“Has no business being there. Tell him to go to Heaven,” Crowley snapped. 

“Well, I don’t think he-- can.”

“... Wait. What?”

“I’m not sure why-- well, this is unprecedented.”

Crowley blinked, mind struggling to grasp what he’d just heard, and he didn’t even realize immediately that the line of cars ahead of him had begun moving. The car behind him suddenly honked, and Crowley waved his hand. The BMW’s engine died in a sputter of sparks and smoke, and the Bentley moved another couple of meters.

“Did he - Fall?” he asked. It seemed absurd - no one had Fallen in so long - and he was too surprised to have time to feel any sort of satisfaction over it. 

“Yes and… no.”

“... Did you drink?”

“Only tea. Just… try to get here.”

“All right. Then we’re heading out, because whatever happened to him we’re not rescheduling.”

“Crowley, he’s in quite a state. I can’t just walk out and leave him here in the shop like this.”

“Of course not. First you kick him out.”

“Crowley.”

A sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll come see what this is about.”

“Thank you. I am quite confused--”

“So I can kick him out.”

“Not while he’s like this! It wouldn’t be-- nice.”

“I’m a demon, not being nice is usually my thing. And he tried to destroy you.”

A pause.  “... When he’s better, surely, it wouldn’t hurt.”

Crowley grinned. “Now you’re talking,” he said before ending the call and advancing another bloody meter, wondering just what the Heaven was going on.

***

“That is classified information.”

“Don’t classified me, Michael.”

“It is policy and you know it.”

“You were always ready to throw policy out of the window when it suited you, though. Or else this back channel wouldn’t exist.” 

Beelzebub’s voice was odious as always, buzzing through her brain, oozing malice. Michael clenched her jaw, but had nothing to retort to that other than empty phrases and falsehoods. 

Gabriel was always best at those - “There are no back channels, Michael” - and that was why, between the two of them, he was the messenger and she was the warrior. They worked well together. But Gabriel was no longer there, nor one of them: for all intents and purposes, the Archangel Gabriel had ceased to exist the moment he’d been cast out of Heaven. His duties were divided up between herself, Uriel and Sandalphon; his name would be spoken no more.

“I know one of yours fell,” Beelzebub was going on. “Don’t bother denying it. What I do not know is why has it not showed up here, in its rightful place. It’s been a long time since we got a new Fallen. We’re ready to throw it a party.”

“With sulphur involved, I imagine.”

“Our side quite enjoys sulphur.”

Not Gabriel. He would hate every second of it - but there is no more Gabriel, is there?

No Archangel Gabriel. No back channels. Michael shifted the phone on her other hand, trying to block out the memories of cries and pleas, ripping noises and ragged sobs. 

“Plus, since when do you concern yourself with what a demon would enjoy? This one is no longer your concern, and given that Crowley has gone native-- yes, Hastur? Ligur who? Oh, yes. Him. Given that we lost two demons last week, it seems only fair we claim this new one.”

And do what with him? Michael’s mind went back to the trial of the demon Crowley, of the test they had made to ensure what she had brought truly was holy water. She remembered the usher being thrown in, screaming, pleading, asking what it had done to deserve destruction.

Wrong place, wrong time.

Please! Please! No!

Michael hadn’t thought much of it, then; it was the kind of thing demons would do, and she would not flinch for the fate of a lowly hellish creature. Mercy was not for them. But now…

It hurt it hurts it hurts please stop it stop it please–  Michael, please!

“He’s not yours.” Michael’s voice rang out suddenly, sharp as glass - sharp enough to make Beelzebub fall into a confused silence for a few moments. When they spoke again, their voice was a low buzz full of anger… and what might have been genuine curiosity. 

“Oh? And how come?”

“Because he’s not like you.”

“... Do I hear an Archangel defending the honor of a demon?”

“He’s not a demon,” Michael snapped, causing them to fall silent again on the other side of the line. “He’s not one of yours. You can’t have him.”

Another few moments of silence, followed by furious buzzing. “We’ll see about that,” Beelzebub seethed. “I’m done wasting time with you. I demand a meeting with Gabriel, at least he can--”

“He is unavailable,” Michael snapped, and ended the call before throwing the phone on the ground and crushing it under her heel.

***

After putting the phone down, Aziraphale could only sit and… well, wait. 

The shop was silent, the way he liked, except for the slow, regular breathing of someone sleeping in the middle of the room, where he’d miracled a carpet into a mattress to lean Gabriel onto. His breathing hadn’t been that quiet only ten minutes earlier, when he and the… volunteer had laid him down on his stomach: it had been labored, short gasps and shuddering exhales.

Once alone with him again, Aziraphale had miracled his clothes away and he’d seen… precisely what he’d expected to see, really, but that didn’t mean he’d been prepared. 

On Gabriel’s back, over the shoulder blades, there were two gaping, bleeding wounds. Something had been torn from there, leaving behind a mess of mangled flesh and, Aziraphale was rather sure, the tiniest glimpse of exposed bone. It was unsightly and quite serious, but healing it was, for an angel, a simple enough matter. 

And he had healed them: a gesture over the wounds, and they closed… but marks had remained, dark and ragged scar tissue where angelic wings had been torn away. Those were not the kind of wounds dealt by a mortal, or a mortal weapon; those were wounds only a supernatural being - angel or demon - may have caused. It wasn’t like anything mortal could harm an angel like this, and of course the missing wings were only a part of it.

Along with them, Gabriel had been stripped of his celestial nature. It seemed impossible, but proof was before his eyes. How could that have happened? Who had done such a thing? And why--?

“Nnnhh…”

Gabriel had groaned, shifted weakly. He hadn’t lifted his head, despite having been healed; Aziraphale suspected he had not yet adjusted to his new condition. Going from angel to mortal would probably feel like going from the power of a nuclear power plant to that of a depleted battery in energy saving mode. 

“Gabriel,” he’d called out, crouching next to him. Gabriel’s barely open eyes flickered towards him, the only part of him to move, cheek still pressed against the mattress. He seemed to struggle to put him into focus, but then there was something - a spark of recognition. He’d known who he was, at least. “You’re safe here,” Aziraphale had said, like he had the slightest idea of what or who had caused it. His shop didn’t even have the defenses to keep a crazed old nipple-counting witch hunter out while he was on a conference call with the Voice of God. Maybe he should take precautions, given the fate he and Crowley barely avoided by deception.

If this had been a trap, I would have been fooled entirely. 

Gabriel had worked his jaw, but not a word came out. He’d tried to lift his head, and Aziraphale pushed it down. “No, no. Don’t try to get up,” he’d said, and glanced briefly at his back again. “... What happened?”

For a moment there was no reaction, then Gabriel’s eyes shifted back on him. He looked dazed, but this time he managed to reply. “My wings,” he rasped. “Can’t feel my wings.”

“Yes, that would be because-- er.” He’d made a vague gesture and tried to change the subject. He ought not to feel sorry for him, after what he tried to pull with Hellfire, but ah, he was soft. Maybe it was a good thing that Crowley was coming. He was the one there when Gabriel had tried to destroy him, after all. He would have more sense than him. Maybe they should kick him out before he caused them problems.  “Who did this to you?” he had asked instead.

Part of him had expected the name of… some sort of demon, perhaps; for what reason they would do this to him he couldn’t begin to imagine, because it just wasn’t how they operated, but-

“Michael,” Gabriel rasped, and Aziraphale blinked down at him, not comprehending. 

“Do you want me to call Michael?” he’d asked. Just what he needed, dealing with her now. Was she going to blame him for this? Of course she would. He had no intention to drop by in Heaven and face her, but maybe a quick phone call--

“Michael--!”

Gabriel had tried to rise, faltered, and fell heavily on his side. His eyes were wide open, staring at him and yet at nothing, chest rising and falling quickly. It was so uncharacteristic of him that it had taken Aziraphale several moments to recognize it for what it was: absolute, blind panic.

“No no no no no--”

“Shush,” Aziraphale had said, and he’d held out a hand in front of his face. The panic had faded and his features smoothed in a vacant expression. “Now, you’re going to sleep. And you’re going to have--” the most wonderful dream, he would usually say in such cases, but he’d held back. All right, he may be soft, but even he could tell Gabriel did not deserve wonderful dreams. “... A reasonably pleasant dream,” he’d finished lamely.

Oh, Crowley would be so disappointed. 

And Gabriel had gone to sleep, sure enough, naked from the waist up and scars on his back in plain sight. Aziraphale had put a blanket on him - so he wouldn’t get cold, he thought, but the truth was that looking at those scars made him uncomfortable - and then he’d called Crowley. 

And now he waited. As the minutes ticked by, Aziraphale leaned his chin on his hand, staring at the still, sleeping form of what had been an Archangel until very, very recently. He thought back of his expression, the name that had left him, the terror in his voice. 

Michael. Did Michael do this to him?

The thought seemed absurd, but then again he’d never truly expected her to gift Hell some Holy Water to destroy a demon; he had never truly expected his own side - no, not my side anymore - to try and destroy him with Hellfire. He’d never known them as well as he thought he did, and how could he? He was on Earth all along while they stayed in Heaven, pulling the strings of a world they did not understand or care about.

But I was the odd one out. The curious fellow who’d stay on Earth rather than take promotions to go back upstairs - Gabriel was one of them. 

Why turn on him? Why cast him out? Why make him human, instead of having him Fall the traditional way - and why would they be so brutal about it? What reason could there be? His thoughts kept going in circles and oh, that was going to give him such a headache, wasn’t it?

Well, for Heaven's sake, we are meant to make examples out of traitors.

Crowley had quoted Gabriel’s words to him with a shrill, mocking voice over a glass of wine; while the thought of what they’d barely escaped was rather chilling, it had made him laugh. It made him chuckle now, some tension leaving him. Crowley was on his way, however slowly in the traffic, and it made him… a bit less worried. They’d figure something out, they always did. 

They had worked out how to face the wrath of Heaven and Hell and come out unscathed; dealing with an ex angel who hadn’t fallen as much as landed squarely on his face on Earth shouldn’t a huge problem. 

He wasn’t wrong on that. It would turn out to be a huge annoyance.

***

"He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart." Psalm 91:4

***

[Back to Prologue]

[Next]

[sign-from-god-complex]

A Gift From Me To You - Chapter 1

Summary: It was nothing really. Just a tiny little doodle on his inner wrist—a flower, something resembling a large daisy, but not quite. It wasn’t anything to get worked up over. Except, of course, for the most important fact: Virgil didn’t draw it.

Some people didn't ever get a soulmark, and that was fine. The four of them had, more or less successfully, resigned themselves to living their lives without a soulmate; that was just the way it was and there was nothing they could do about it. Of course, it could never be that simple.

Pairing: LAMP/CALM

Warnings: Brief suicide mention (let me know if there’s anything else I should warn for!)

AO3 link

It was nothing really. Just a tiny little doodle on his inner wrist—a flower, something resembling a large daisy, but not quite. It wasn’t anything to get worked up over. Except, of course, for the most important fact: Virgil didn’t draw it.

Virgil knew about soulmates. Most of the population were lucky enough to be linked to a certain person that was more suited to them than anyone else. The link was expressed through a drawing on their wrist which somehow related to their relationship, called a soulmark. The mark could be anything from music notes, to a shared favourite food, to a brand logo, and it usually showed up when you were around 5 or so years of age, but sometimes it was as late as 10. The link wasn’t intrinsically romantic; a person’s soulmate didn’t have to be their lover and just as commonly ended up being a lifelong best friend instead.

People had theorised for millennia over the origin of soulmarks, but Virgil hadn’t listened or cared. Because when he said, “Most of the population”, he meant the part of the population he wasn’t included in. Virgil didn’t have a soulmate.

Or so he thought.

Virgil frantically searched through his day for some reasoning behind the ink on his skin. Did Remy doodle on him while he wasn’t paying attention in class? Did he press his wrist up against someone else’s drawing that hadn’t dried fully? Did he do it in his sleep?  

He was fully aware he was being ridiculous, but when something you’ve believed for your entire life—practically built your life around—turns out to not be true, it’s kind of hard to stay calm. It’s like finding out you’re adopted or finding out Pluto isn’t a planet. It was entirely unprecedented and not entirely unwelcome. So, in the midst of his panic, he called his best friend Remy.

The phone rang a few times before he heard a voice on the other end.

“Wassup?”

Remy sounded slightly groggy, and then Virgil remembered it was 2 am and he’d been just about to go to bed before he noticed the mark. Virgil felt a stab of guilt go through him for waking Remy up from the very little sleep they managed to get. He was being silly, this could have easily waited until the morning, he shouldn’t bother them wi-

“Virge, it’s fine, gurl,” Remy said, interrupting Virgil’s spiralling thoughts, “I can nap in class if I really need the sleep. We both know I don’t understand the lesson either way.”

Remy always seemed to know exactly what Virgil was thinking and managed to cut him off at the pass before he panicked too much. It was one of the reasons they were such good friends, considering how different they were.

Remy was a massive extrovert. They lived for parties and hangouts and though Virgil remained their best friend, it was rare to see Remy without someone else around. Virgil, on the other hand, hated meeting people and kept to himself as best he could. Remy was pretty much his only friend—although he had acquaintances that he liked, he didn’t feel as comfortable around them as he did around Remy. No matter how annoying they were sometimes.

Honestly, if Virgil hadn’t known Remy already had a soulmate, he would have claimed they were the source of Virgil’s mark.

Virgil cleared his throat, “Rem, you didn’t, like, doodle on me in class or anything, did you?”

His voice shook a little due to all the emotions that were rushing through him right now. Virgil could hear Remy’s confusion through the phone.

“No? What’s going on, Virge? You’re worrying me.”

“Cause, I, uh-”

Preparing to tell Remy about his mark, he glanced down at his wrist briefly and his breath caught in his throat.

His soulmark had changed.

What was once the outline of a simple flower had become a small bouquet. On his wrist were about half a dozen daisy-like flowers, all in shades of blue, purple and red, and tied up neatly in a golden bow. It was gorgeous, bright and shining and more than he deserved.

He heard Remy calling his name through the haze that had descended upon him.

“Virgil, I swear to god, do not make me come over there and kick your-”

“Sorry, Remy,” Virgil replied, “I just… I think I have a soulmark.”

There was a good 5 seconds of silence before Remy spoke up again.

“What?”

They sounded completely baffled, like this was the very last thing they had been expecting Virgil to say, which was completely justified. People didn’t just get soulmarks. Virgil was 17, the time for him to develop a soulmark had long since passed. It was entirely unheard of…

And yet.

“Are you… are you sure, Virge? Like, it couldn’t just be a prank or something?”

Remy sounded hesitant to suggest that Virgil’s supposed soulmark could be anything but genuine. Making fun of someone for not having a mark was hugely cruel, but, of course, it happened anyway. Virgil had definitely gone through his fair share of bullying due to his lack of a soulmark, and therefore, his lack of a soulmate. But, unless the person pranking him was entirely incorporeal and able to wipe his skin completely clean and draw something new without him noticing (highly, highly unlikely, but technically not impossible), there’s no way this could be a prank.

“No, it changed, Remy. It, uh, it’s different now than it was when I called you.”

A beat.

“Oh, well that’s…” Remy took a deep breath, “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Clearly, neither of them had any idea what to do in this situation.

“This is a good thing, right?” Remy sounded unsure.

Soulmates were something Virgil had always been kind of cynical about, but mostly that came from the culture surrounding it. It hurt, being left out of something that people seemed so excited about. Soulmates dominated almost every form of media and whenever a character didn’t have a soulmark it was always a weird point of tension. Usually, these characters were robots or aliens or just plain “weird”.

Truly though, Virgil hadn’t longed for a soulmark, he’d longed for a change in the culture. He hadn’t thought of himself as weird or broken, no matter what bullies at school would say. He realised there was a percentage of the population who just didn’t have the same experiences as the rest, but just because they’re small doesn’t mean they’re less important. He’d built his identity around the belief that he didn’t need to have a soulmark to be worthy or deserving of love of any kind. So, getting one… left a lot for him to process.

He chuckled lightly, “I’m not sure? I think so? I… don’t know what I feel right now.”

“That’s… that’s fair.”

There were a few more moments where neither of them said anything, just thinking, before Virgil stirred into motion.

“We can talk about this more at school tomorrow, Rem, yeah? I think it would be best if we both got some sleep.”

A yawn was heard from Remy at the mention of sleep and Virgil’s mouth quirked up at the corners slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, sounds good,” they replied and Virgil could hear the sound of rustling blankets as Remy moved further back under the covers, “Goodnight, Virge.”

“Goodnight, Rem.”

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

Roman had noticed his soulmark almost the second it had appeared. He’d spent the evening running lines with some of his friends in the drama club, as they were coming up on their performance of Anything Goes, and Roman had been cast as the male lead.

The auditorium had long since been closed and so the small group had retired to Roman’s house to continue practising. Roman had insisted his parents wouldn’t mind, after all, they weren’t likely to be home anyway.

They’d been running through You’re The Top when Roman had glanced down at his script to clarify a line and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Roman?” Valerie questioned, “It’s your line, dude.”

Roman didn’t reply, his eyes fixated on his wrist where a small doodle of a flower sat. Where did it come from? He was quite sure it hadn’t been there before, he would have noticed it! Wouldn’t he? His world was swirling with so many emotions he almost felt he had to sit down. But first, he turned to Valerie.

“Did you draw this?”

His voice was calm, too calm for the situation. His acting skills were kicking into high gear, assisting him in keeping his emotions under wraps for just a moment longer.

“What? Roman, I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Valerie replied.

She didn’t, of course. Roman knew Valerie would never do something so cruel to him. Valerie was the Reno to his Billy, both for the purposes of the musical and also in real life. They were excellent friends and any romantic feelings either of them may have had at one point or another was put into the past long ago, as they both had someone they loved now.

Valerie knew his lack of a soulmark was a touchy subject. Roman was a romantic at heart, that was clear to see within one interaction with him. As soon as he’d learned about the concept of soulmates at 4 years old, Roman had been obsessed with the idea that there was a perfect person out there for him. Out there in the great wide world, there was a person who understood him better than anyone else ever could and they didn’t even know him yet. It was intoxicating, believing that you’re loved at your core from the moment you’re born, waiting for them to show themselves.

So of course, Roman’s 5th birthday went by without a soulmark. And then his 6th, and his 7th and his 8th. By the time his 11th birthday came he thought maybe his soulmark was just a little late, but when he reached his 12th birthday he’d finally given up hope. He’d locked himself away in his room for over a week, sobbing and screaming about how it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair! He deserved to be loved like that! Why wasn’t he good enough?

Roman had moved past the immediate rejection he had felt, but to this day he still felt a pang of sadness every time he watched a romance movie or saw couples in public holding hands and laughing, matching soulmarks on display. He knew he didn’t have to have a soulmark to have love, but… sometimes he forgot.

Roman’s eyes filled with tears as he struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. He spun around to glare at the other cast members in the room, his face stormy. He thrust his wrist out towards them.

“Did one of you do this?!” he yelled, his voice almost breaking, “This isn’t funny! Did you do this?!”

The rest of the cast shook their heads frantically, looking slightly terrified by Roman’s demeanour. Though he may be a drama queen, none of them had ever seen him quite like this. This wasn’t drama, this was pain.

Roman was… well, he wasn’t sure what he was about to do, but he was about to do something, except he was interrupted. Another cast member, Terrence, pointed to his wrist and said, “Roman…”

Roman pulled his wrist back to look at it again, the little doodle of a flower still ingrained in his mind, except… this wasn’t a little doodle. This wasn’t what he’d seen at all. It had changed.

And the bottom dropped out from under him and he was falling.

He sobbed the same way he had 5 years ago, completely unabashed and totally lost. And amidst all the despair and confusion, there was hope rising in his chest. Hope that he’d let go of so long ago, hope that maybe, there was a perfect person for him, hope that maybe he was loved after all.

And so with Valerie wrapping her arms around Roman’s shaking form…

Roman broke.

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

Patton was woken up by a call from his boyfriend. Quickly wiping the sleep out of his eyes, he scrambled to grab his phone from the nightstand and answer it before it rang through.

“Heya, Ro,” he mumbled, still not quite awake.

A quick glance at his clock revealed it to be 4 in the morning, which was slightly concerning. Although Roman didn’t answer to any kind of sleeping schedule, he didn’t usually call Patton during the night. Pat would often wake up to an array of texts about anything from the cool bird he saw to how much he loved him, but calls were reserved for more immediate problems and never past 11 pm. He hoped everything was alright.

A closer listen indicated things may very well not be alright. Roman’s breathing was kind of unsteady and Patton could hear sniffing like he’d been crying. He immediately shot up straight in his bed, turning on the bedside lamp to wake him up a bit.

“Ro? Love, are you alright? What’s going on? Do you need me to come and get you?”

A laugh was heard from Roman, though it was slightly watery and quiet.

“No, mi corazón, I- I just need you to do me a favour, okay?"

Patton nodded, before realising Roman couldn’t see him.

“Yeah, okay, Ro. What is it?”

“Can you just… just look down at your wrist?”

Patton sighed.

“Ro, we’ve talked about this…”

Patton knew his boyfriend got insecure about their lack of soulmarks. It was something he’d confessed to after Patton had confronted him over dropping his hand when in public. At the time it had hurt; it had made him feel like he was some dirty little secret or that Ro was ashamed of him. After Roman had admitted what was truly going on, though, all Patton wanted to do was swaddle him up in a blanket and kiss him until he realised how much he was loved.

Patton had been raised by four loving parents who didn’t all share a soulmark. Their relationship was complicated, Patton knew, but he also knew that it was wonderful. As far as he was concerned, soulmates were a building block, a foundation. They may give you a place to start, a place to call home when you’re unsure about where to go, but you can build those things for yourself! You can build a foundation and you can build a home, with a family—or a found family—there to stay by your side.

A soulmate may be an important relationship you have, but it shouldn’t be the only important relationship you have, and not having a soulmate just meant having to form more important relationships by yourself. It doesn’t make you any less deserving of love, it just means you have to do the work yourself to find it.

He’d talked to Roman about this quite a few times when he was feeling particularly down about his lack of soulmark, and he’d really seemed like he was moving forward. So this request felt like 3 steps backwards.

“No, Patton, please. Just… do this for me. Please.”

Roman sounded like he was on the edge of breaking apart, so Patton agreed, looking down at his wrists in the lamplight and…

Oh.

His breath left him in one big rush. There, on his wrist, was a beautiful drawing of a bouquet of flowers. A drawing, he surely did not do. He rotated his wrist back and forth, watching mesmerised as the colours shimmered.

“Ro…” Patton whispered, voice breathless, “How did you… ”

“Do you have one too? Patton, I-” his words were coming out shaky now, rushed and teary, “I didn't understand and I thought it was a joke but I just had to know and I-”

Patton pulled the covers back and rushed to stand up, grabbing his keys from off his chest of drawers.

“Roman, where are you?”

He didn’t even bother changing out of his pyjamas, just stuffed his feet into his sneakers and carefully crept down the stairs. He knows that if one of his parents caught him they would still let him go, but they would insist on driving him there and would probably ask for some kind of explanation. An explanation Patton didn’t have.

“I’m at th-the park, near my house,” Roman managed to get out through his increasingly quick breaths, “I just, I had a breakdown in front of everyone and I needed to think and I can’t-”

“You’re alright, sweetheart, you’re fine. Just breathe. I’ll be there in 5, okay?”

After an answering okay from Roman, Patton hung up the call. He quickly scribbled down a note to leave on the kitchen counter just in case one of his parents woke up to find him missing, before he rushed out to the car and started the drive to the park.

With all his worrying over Roman, Patton had barely had time to examine his own feelings on the situation. It was clear Roman had spontaneously gained a soulmark too, and considering the odds that more than two people would mysteriously gain a soulmark in one night, Patton assumed they were matching. Which was… wow. That was amazing.

He loved Roman, he knew that already. It hadn’t mattered to him in the slightest that neither of them had a soulmark, but he knew this was something Ro worried about. Once he got past the mess of this evening, Patton was happy that Roman would be a little bit more sure that Patton truly did love him. It did, of course, raise the question of why and how they’d even gained these soulmarks, but that wasn’t for Patton to worry about. Right now, he just had to focus on driving and getting to his boyfriend.

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

Logan hadn’t noticed the mark until later that day, considering he followed something resembling a sleep schedule.

To Logan, this had begun simply as any other day would. He took a shower, brushed his teeth, got changed and went downstairs to make breakfast. It was all done on autopilot, a morning routine that he’d gone through so many times he didn’t even have to think about it anymore. Until he tried to start breakfast.

He placed the bread in the toaster and then searched around for a moment, trying to find his Crofters. His Dad loved to hide the jars so that he could steal them himself. Logan had told him many times that he was the adult who was supplying him with the Crofters and if he wanted some he could just buy more. His Dad responded by saying that things just tasted better when they were stolen, to which Logan would roll his eyes and take the jelly to begin his meal.

After opening a few cupboards, Logan could see his jar on the top shelf, barely hidden behind a box of cereal. Logan was just tall enough to reach it, standing on his tip-toes and stretching out. He almost had it when something caught his eye.

His long-sleeved black button up was beginning to get slightly too small, so as he stretched the sleeves didn’t quite reach the end of his arms. And there, peaking out of the fabric, was something colourful on his wrist. Momentarily forgetting his Crofters, he pulled his sleeve back to get a closer look and stared in shock and awe at what he found. If you had gotten close enough to him, you may have had heard him make a whirring sound, akin to a computer that’s been given input it doesn’t understand.

He had a soulmark. He had… a soulmark. He had- fuck.

This went against everything he’d believed about himself for years.

Logan didn’t do emotions. He was logical, and there was nothing logical about emotions. Emotions were subjective and messy and caused more trouble than they were worth. His friends had often tried to convince him by pointing out all the positive emotions you can experience as well—things like love and joy and comfort and excitement, and sure. Those things weren’t unpleasant to experience, but they didn’t make up for all the negative emotions—the things like sadness and pain and grief and heartache and longing.

Emotions like those were what took his mother away from him before he was barely old enough to understand what it meant. Emotions like those are what forced Logan to have dial 911 to tell them his father wasn’t breathing and he didn’t understand why and he didn’t know what to do and if he loses him he’d lose all he had left.

Emotions were… too much.

No. Soulmates were nothing more than a fantastical idea to promote heartbreak and pain, and Logan didn’t need that.

But it seemed the universe disagreed.

In a barely lucid state, Logan walked over to the medicine cabinet and grabbed out some bandages, wrapping them around his arm. If anyone asked, he could just say he’d strained it from typing too much. Luckily, he was ambidextrous, so writing with his right hand wouldn’t be so difficult. It wouldn’t work forever, but it would work until he found a more permanent solution.

So Logan returned to his breakfast, spreading Crofters on his toast and finishing preparing for the day.

A day like any other.

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

Chapter 2

[complicatedandstained]

The Other Day at Hot Topic: Khakis

Hot Topic’s morning security feed speeds across the screen, and Axel feels both disappointed and relieved that it’s about as eventful as a commercial for laundry detergent. He begins to suspect Vanitas had been yanking his chain after all, and allows his eyes to wander, his idle, tapping fingers to flip his phone over as a notification from Demyx pops up.

Axel hasn’t spoken to him since their argument the other day, but Demyx is not one to hold a grudge forever, especially when something important crops up.

Axel taps the notification and a video plays—Demyx, dressed in athletic shorts, filming from erratic angles and dancing through the bubbles where the ocean meets the sand. Xigbar’s German Shepherd, Delilah, frolics at his side, splashing bits of water at the lens as Demyx’s giggles intersperse with the dog’s delighted yips.

“Hey there, Delilah,” Axel croons through a grin, thumb skimming the side of the screen. He can almost smell the saltwater and damp fur as something by The Beach Boys desecrates his phone speaker, grainy, as it’s likely—absolutely—playing from Demyx’s.

Chasing the incoming tide, Delilah slips through Demyx’s bare legs, her braided leather leash tangling around Demyx’s ankles as she prances. This unceremoniously knocks him down into the warm bed of sand. Demyx shrieks and laughs as her enormous paws and nose dampen the chest of his cutoff Life is Good tank top.

Definitely more important than our argument about Saïx.

The video ends abruptly as Demyx fumbles his device, and Axel raises his head, cackling, and almost misses it all.

On the computer screen, Roxas hovers over Vanitas who is sprawled on the ground, arms clutching his gut, a mite melodramatically, in Axel’s opinion—like a dying actor.

Wait. Roxas hovers over what?

Axel hits pause and rewind so fast the mouse falls off the table and the keyboard clatters.

The hell?

*           *

Axel has been told he has a temper. That temper has been described as many things. Fiery. Explosive. Volcanic. It’s not a quick temper by any means, though he has a reputation for that, too. He tends to let things roll off his shoulders like rain water on bare skin, to deal with them with clever remarks and keep his face artfully unphased.

But seeing Vanitas corner Roxas behind the register, unheard poison rising up from his sneer, Axel feels an unprecedented surge of cold in the pit of his stomach.

Anger, yes, but more than that…  

Like, when Vanitas winds his arm back to take a swing, Axel hates himself for not being there, for not making Xigbar drive a little faster, because he wants nothing more than to step between Roxas and that swing. Axel wants to take the force into his own rib cage and give Vanitas a light shove. Over the counter. Onto his face.

Axel watches Vanitas wind up on Roxas and watches Roxas notice, his dark-lashed baby blues widening, and all Axel wants to be seeing is Vanitas with blood dripping from his nose and pooling on his upper lip, and all Axel feels is cold.

So, I’m pretty much a psychopath now, I guess.

The cold turns frigid as Roxas catches Vanitas’ punch with all the effort of a child batting down a snowball.

Axel’s jaw dips low a moment after Vanitas’ does and then—then— the idiot does it again, and Roxas catches it just as easy, no surprise, no amusement, just vague irritation on his face. He could almost be channel surfing, almost be bored.  

Meanwhile, Axel’s stomach seems to have dropped out, leaving just that cold feeling crystalizing.

Axel’s knuckles whiten as he grips the edge of the desk. The chill in his torso numbs his legs. He tastes blood in the back of his throat.

Axel can only watch with his jaw half hanging open, as Roxas shoves Vanitas backwards. He hears a snarl rise up in his own throat, his fingernails digging into the underside of the desk, as Vanitas tries to take Roxas to the floor and then—

“What in hell.”

A hard, well placed jab and Roxas puts Vanitas on the ground, and straightens, unruffled, innocent looking as ever, like some kind of avenging angel.

Well. If avenging angels wore khakis. Who the hell takes somebody out wearing hipster glasses and khakis, though? Really?  

Mildly hysteric laughter clogs Axel’s throat and then pours out until he’s got his head hanging back over the desk chair and tears at the corners of his eyes. All the tension in his body ebbs away and he unclenches the desk, spinning away from the screen where the guys are, miraculously, making nice.  

Axel’s pretty sure this security footage is simultaneously the single most BA, most ridiculous, and most sexy thing he has ever seen.

And suddenly Roxas makes sense. It’s like Axel had been missing a piece of his window, had been looking at it upside down, and now he gets it.

Roxas—small, unassuming Roxas with his Renaissance-angel blonde hair and innocent, ocean blue eyes—Roxas, whose entire essence seems to say ‘pick me up and cuddle me’—could probably kill a man while blindfolded using just a stick.

And Vanitas had found out first hand.

Welp.

Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.

What Axel wouldn’t give to know what that conversation had been about.

Of course, Axel continues to ponder, if Saïx were to see it they’d both be completely screwed.

Oh. Wait.

Remembering what he’s doing here, Axel heaves a sigh, bites away his smile and keys number 7 in his speed dial. It’s only once the phone’s ringing that he realizes he doesn’t have a clue what to say.

*           *

“Is somebody dead?” Saïx asks upon picking up, in his signature, unamused deadpan. Axel can almost picture him hiding out in a nondescript, gray side hallway not far from Hot Topic’s conference room, standing next to an exotic, plastic plant in a tastefully hideous vase.

Axel knows better than to expect a greeting, especially not today, but he’s almost thrown into another fit of laughter by Saïx’s unexpected remark. “That’s a better guess than you think it is.”

Saïx grunts, words fast and clipped with irritation, “Because in five minutes Xemnas is giving one of his endless, grandiose speeches, and unless somebody is literally dead, I’m going to need you to handle it.”

And therein lies the problem. Axel tosses up an open palm out of habit, “How do you want me t—”

“However you see fit,” Saïx interrupts.

Axel chuckles, for real this time. “Oh, you are going to regret that.”

“Darling,” Saïx says painstakingly slowly, like he’d like to choke him, and is practicing enormous self-restraint, “we’ve been at this a long time. I trust you. Take care of it.”

Possibilities flicker through Axel’s head, none of which Saïx would particularly appreciate, but… “Okay.” Axel shrugs, though, of course, Saïx can’t see it. “Consider it taken care of.”

Saïx sighs in relief, probably. “Thank you.” Axel glances to Roxas on the frozen security screen again, shaking Vanitas’ hand with about as much trust as one might give a hooded stranger in a dark alley. “Don’t thank me just yet.”

“I’ll be sure to purchase a six-foot shovel on my way home.”

Axel can hear Saïx’s eye roll.

“Bye.”

Saïx has hung up before Axel can reply.

“However I see fit,” Axel mumbles, and then he finds himself grinning.

[love-we-write]

Thank You for Trying

Part III

Character: Dad!Kim Jongdae Genre: Family, some bit of drama, much fluff Words: 4,738 Summary: Because you saw how deeply Jongdae loves; saw him love his parents, his friends, his job and his fans. And it’s not the outward declaration of love to the rooftops nor is it the grand presents. It’s him constantly worrying and helping them, and constantly wanting to make them happy. Constantly trying for them.  A/N: Four five years ago, I saw a thread of how Jongdae would make such a great dad. Also a GIF in Exoluxion of Jongdae with a child. This is what my brain put together from those two. 

Part I, Part II

You saw in slow motion Hyejin’s pram toppling over. Hyejin falling outside. Yours and OO’s sweet daughter. Hyejin, only barely 10 months old. There was no noise in your ears. Not even the sound of your heartbeat. Just that sickening ‘thud!’ as Hyejin landed on the sidewalk outside the pram.

And then… the world resumes.

Hyejin began to cry. You hear someone cry. A few hours later, you realize that that someone was you.

You don’t remember anything else during that time. Someone may have taken a video, or a picture. You didn’t know. All you could remember in your head was a blank white canvas with dark scribbled words of panic.

‘hyejinshouldn’tbethereohmygodissheokayisshesafePLEASEGODLETHERBEOKAY –‘

You remember picking up your crying daughter and holding her close to you to your body. You remember that sudden moment of clarity that you probably should not move her too much in case there were any injuries. But you remember that you needed to get out of that circle fast. So, you pushed some of them roughly and broke the circle, and you find yourself not caring if they were surprised or angry or if they want to follow you. All you know is that you are walking as fast as you can while trying to keep Hyejin stationary.

At some point, you remember walking all the way to the nearest hospital. You remember thinking that you cannot risk calling an ambulance and staying put in one place with them maybe following you.

You remember calling Jongdae as soon as you manage to quiet Hyejin down and had the doctors look at her.

You remember his voice. It was bright.

“Jagi!”

Then it turned worried.

“Sweetheart… what’s wrong?”

Then, you remember your voice. It was small, hiccup-y. And it was scared.

“Dae, come down. It’s Hyejin.”

--

Jongdae is a man who worries quietly, but on that day when he burst to see you in the hospital, his worry was deafeningly obvious on his face.

“What happened?”

It’s your fault. You should have been more careful. You should have never dared to come out just like that. You should have known. You should have known.

Amidst your hiccupping, you managed to tell him your story. That you were cornered…  but you should have known not to come out like that. You were pushed – it’s your fault that Hyejin is hurt – and you bumped into Hyejin’s pram – it’s your fault – and Hyejin was knocked out of there – it’s all your fault – and you brought her as soon as possible to the hospital – oh god, your daughter is in there because of you –.  

And there you two stood, and you watched Jongdae’s warm eyes gradually darken at your each word. His eyes, normally a warm and welcoming chocolate were now dark and cold, bitter and almost black. Then Jongdae heard his phone ping twice. One message from Baekhyun, another from his manager.

Both asking if you are okay, both with links to social media accounts where he watched in agony at the video of his wife hysterically crying while running away from the crowd, and he heard his daughter’s cries of pain. And he felt his heart twist in the most painful way he has ever known. And he wondered how things have gone this wrong.

At that time, you thought you saw something snap inside Jongdae.

Ten minutes later, you were called in to the doctor’s office. Hyejin is fine and is considered very lucky to come out of the fall with minor injuries. She has no concussions, but her left arm is fractured. You are advised to not move her left arm so much when you get home, but also ‘we would like to keep her for a night here, just to be on the safe side’.  

“Will there be effects when she grows up?”

“It’s too early to know, but you should bring her for checkups when she grows up, just to see,” the doctor replied kindly.

You and Jongdae stayed with Hyejin all night. Sometimes you see Jongdae come out of the room to take a few calls and make a few more on his own. But he never left you.

At some point, you asked him.

“Dae, are you okay?”

The smile he gave you is soft, and his kiss on your forehead is reassuring.

“I am. Don’t you worry about anything.”

He promised you and held your hand.

A day later, you and Jongdae took Hyejin home. That night, he told you of his plans. You heavily objected to his plans, almost to the point of crying, because it’s unfair how he should compromise one love of his for another.

“Dae, I know you know what you’re doing, but you also know your decision… i-it’s going to be widely misunderstood! You know they won’t let you explain so easily, and if you do get to explain, you know how they’ll twist your words!”

But Jongdae held you and reassured that it’s going to be okay. That HE’S going to be okay.

“I trust them. I trust my friends.”

There he is, so loving and so trustful of the people he holds dear. You don’t know if that’s kindness, or stupidity.

The next morning, you cried but you held his hand and said you will support him in whatever he does.

A week after that, in a move that proved historical and controversial in the idol industry, Jongdae filed lawsuits against his own fansite masters.

--

People have heard of idols and their representatives threatening legal action on separate companies. They might have also heard of companies protecting their artist by threatening legal action against slandering rumors or malicious commenters.

But in an unprecedented move, one that certainly got tongues wagging and people discussing, EXO’s Chen became the first idol to have threatened a lawsuit against his own fansite masters, against his own fans as far as readers are concerned.

Eight people were charged; four were fansite masters specifically for him and two for EXO, and two were photographers from the media. The charges; harassment, stalking and potential endangerment of a minor. All were identified as being directly involved in the scuffle that led to Hyejin’s injuries last week

In a matter of a day, Jongdae’s decision to file the lawsuit proved controversial and misunderstood. In an industry that heavily involves fan interactions, negative interactions like these are unheard of and are seen as signs of ungratefulness. Never mind the fact that four years ago, he had made the rare move of announcing his relationship, now him suing his own fansite masters again brought the discussion of ungratefulness to his fans and criticism for bringing in his personal life into his professional one.

Reactions were greatly negative the first few moments of Jongdae announcing the lawsuit, and greatly exacerbated by the media. His decision was nitpicked from every aspect.

There were the people charged who spread slander about him and his decision, they also started discussions about how Jongdae has changed and that he has brought too much of his personal life into his professional one. A lot of rumors about how he has turned his back against all his fans spread through social media.

From the media outlets’ perspective, they brought up the fact that he is enforcing a monetary penalty on them, which seemed odd. That got the people talking about unfairness, about how most of his money came from his fans, yet he would disregard that when he decided to monetarily penalize his own fans.

On the Internet, his name is dragged through the mud. People wrote that his true colors are revealed. How he views his fans were questioned.

‘All the fangirls are clearly delusional; don’t you see you’re only cash pigs to him.’

‘Liar.’

‘Leave if you don’t like to be an idol, sheesh. You can’t have the best of both worlds.’

‘EXO’s getting dragged through the mud is his fault, he should leave.’  

‘Ever since he met her, he’s changed so much.’

‘He should leave’

‘He’s changed! He’s getting so arrogant, first announcing his girlfriend and the baby, then this?!’

‘It’s her fault.’

‘He’s gotten so arrogant, I don’t remember supporting someone so arrogant!’

‘He doesn’t care about his fans.’

‘Leave!’

You wanted so badly to scream at how wrong they were. That the EXO’s Chen that they see on the stage is not a fake persona, is not a mask, but it is a real extension of the man that is Kim Jongdae. He loves his family and his brothers as Kim Jongdae and he loves EXO-L as Kim Jongdae too, and you don’t understand why these two things must be so mutually exclusive.

Here is a man, who – for as long as you knew him – never talks about you or your child during his professional shows because that would be rude to his fans and who talks of them like his friends even behind closed doors. Here is a man who had the option and was actually urged to keep your relationship quiet but decided to challenge his own company to let him tell only EXO-Ls first only, not because of any ulterior motive but simply because he doesn’t want them to see him as EXO’s Chen, some unapproachable idol but just as simple human Kim Jongdae, a friend.  

And you see netizens and media questioning him on this and that is what you fear would hurt him most. More than the speculations of his motives, more than the news analysis, you feared that he would get hurt because he loves too much, and he loves too deeply.

His members, supportive and understanding as they were, could not go against the authorities of their company when they brought their decision on Jongdae. Baekhyun and Junmyeon and their managers tried reasoning with the higher-ups, tried to make them see how vital Jongdae is, if not to them as a family, then to EXO’s sound as a group. How would you be able to isolate Chen, their vocal backbone for so many years, and not expect any drastic change in their musical direction? But the authorities have spoken.

Jongdae is to be put on probation, and if him proceeding with his intention shows more harm than growth to EXO, the company and public perception of them, then he will be considered a liability and his contract terminated.

You know how sasaengs posing as fansites has strained idol-fan relationships, and you know that not all fansites are like that. You know that Jongdae and EXO has had this problem for as long as since they debuted. But you also know that this lawsuit would have never happened if it was him who got hurt. You know he filed this lawsuit to protect you and your daughter. And look at what it cost him.

For you and for your daughter, he is willing to take the risk of possibly losing his dream and all that he has worked for.

That night, it was quiet. The storm has quietened down for a while and people are asleep. Jongdae should be asleep too, he’s going to have a press conference tomorrow where he promises to try to answer all questions about his decisions, but at that time, you catch him standing beside Hyejin, stroking her cheeks softly as she slept. Without any thought, you hugged him, and you hugged him with all your might, with everything that you feel inside.

You hugged him with all the guilt you feel that he wouldn’t have had to choose if you and Hyejin weren’t in the public picture, if he hadn’t loved his fans like he did… if he hadn’t loved you or your daughter like he did.

You hugged him with all your bottled uncertainty for the future, if it really came down that his contract would be terminated, if there really was no coming back from this, if he really had to leave EXO for his family.

You hugged him because you feel sorry that he loves too deeply, and he trusts so much in the good of the ones he loves, but also you hugged him because you feel thankful that he is how he is, because you are thankful that you are loved by him.

“Are you scared, Dae?” you whispered to his back.

You felt him turn around and then you felt his lips on your forehead. When you looked up at him, he is smiling.

“Yeah… and no.”

It’s quiet outside.

“I’m scared but I’m also brave…does that make sense?” he chuckled sheepishly.

“I’m scared, sure, but then there’s you…” he said and then he cocked his head to the cot, where sweet Hyejin is sleeping without a care in world, almost as if her father hadn’t been dragged through the mud for her.

In her sleep, her face makes him forget all that he will face tomorrow. Jongdae can’t help but smile at that.

“…and there’s Hyejin too, and I feel like everything will be alright.”

“Do you regret it? This would have been much easier on you i-if we… stayed quiet from the start,” you murmured quietly.

Jongdae was quiet for a while. Over from the corner of your eyes, you see him purse his lips.

“Easier, yes. But not right.”

“It’s unfair on you and it’s unfair on Hyejin too. I knew, at some point, that what we have… it’s something that I want to continue. And I don’t want to carry on having to pretend like I don’t know you in public. And I don’t want our children to grow up hidden, with their father pretending like he doesn’t know them,” he began as he held you beside him in one arm, while playing with Hyejin’s cheeks with his other hand. You watched in wonder as your daughter, probably sensing her father, turned to snuggle into Jongdae’s hands.

“It’s unfair to them too, to the fans. Because they’ve been with us EXO for all those years, and they want to be closer to us, as we do with them. But to keep giving them the polished, pre-packaged version of EXO’s Chen after all these years, that would be a lie. They have been with us through thick and thin… and I at least owe them to be truthful as me, as Kim Jongdae in all my interactions with them. Not that Chen is a lie, it’s a part of me, but only PART of me. And with all those years of them supporting us, I want to share a little bit more of the parts the makes me Kim Jongdae. And those parts are… that I love you, I have a daughter and I love her too, and I will do whatever it takes to protect both of you.”

To this, he looked at you and smiled.

“Don’t worry, almost all of them are good. It’s the negative ones that’s the loudest.”

He said this as if he’s wasn’t just nitpicked from all across the media, given death threats and received thousands of comments saying he should give up his dream of singing, as if he wasn’t just branded a liability by the company he helped grow with his voice.

At that, you can’t help but stare in wonder at this. He may not be one for declarations of love over rooftops, but the things he does for the people he loves, how much consideration he gives them, it is something that cannot be unrivaled.

In that quiet night, when all were asleep but the two of you, your hand found his and you held it tight.

In your heart that is no longer uneasy, you thought that everyone who is loved by him truly are very lucky.

--

The next day Jongdae walked into a room full of reporters and camera flash assaulting his face and he sat down in front of them with steely determination. And then, the questioning began, and he found that he had nothing to hide.

One reporter asked him what the basis of the lawsuits were. That is easy, they were directly involved in stalking and harassing his wife and daughter, and even took videos and pictures during a time of distress when his daughter fell from the pram. Besides that, this is not an isolated incident as the people who were identified have always stalked and harassed him and his family, camping outside his home and also outside the hospital when Hyejin was born and creating disturbance everywhere.

“Simply put, the media outlet has no excuse for such an invasion of privacy, and the fansite masters are simply sasaengs posing as fans,” Jongdae said calmly. It’s hard for any of them to retort when he said it so straightforwardly without sounding mean.

Another asked him what kind of message it is that he wished to send with these lawsuits. That is also very simple, to respect his wishes to give his wife and daughter privacy. He does not want to police interactions between his family and his fans, in fact he thought that most of EXO-Ls as his friends that he’s excited for them to meet his family. It’s the small minority that doesn’t do that respectfully that he wanted to give a strong warning. He does not want his daughter to grow up with strangers pointing their cameras at her without her consent, or camping in her school in the future, or for her to be scared to make friends.

He wants them to view his family as humans too, instead of linked products to EXO’s Chen and by default have human rights to privacy.

“There seems to be talk of where to cross the line between your professional life and your personal one. At the end of the day, having to deal with unruly fans could be said to be what comes with the job of being an idol, and it comes with the high pay of your job. With you suddenly suing the source of your professional income because of your personal life, wouldn’t you say this is being unprofessional?” a reporter chimed in after Jongdae finished his previous answer.

There was suddenly a murmur as Jongdae took his time to think of his answer.

“In my opinion, the line to draw between my professional life and my personal life differ between how each fan perceive their idol. For me personally, I would rather my EXO-Ls think of me as a friend because after years of their support, I do not think of them as my fans but rather my friends. That is why 4 years ago, I shared news of my relationship and then this year of my daughter only to them. It’s because I view them not as my source of income, but as friends who has been with me and my members for so long, and they deserve to know more about me as Kim Jongdae, the man instead of just as Chen, the idol,” he began slowly.

“That’s why I would rather them think of me as human, instead of an idol the product. But I understand that to each their own preference. I understand that some might prefer to view me only as a performer who they paid their hard-earned money to see, and I respect that. Those views, however, still does not change the fact that, the product here is me. It is not my wife and it is certainly not my newborn daughter, who did not choose to be born to an idol father.”

A round of murmur began to resound in the room. Jongdae continued.

“Regardless if you view me as the idol, the product of a business, my wife and my daughter should not have to bear the same treatment. My lawsuits want to make that line clear. We can discuss the morality and what an idol owes the fan if the situation involves only me, but there are no discussions when I say my wife and daughter does not owe anyone anything.”

Another round of camera flash resumed its blinding assault on his face. Backstage, you watched his open declaration with tears in your eyes.

“What do you plan to do with the penalty of the lawsuit?” another reporter asked.

“Most probably donate it. The money is not important here, it is the principle,” Jongdae shrugged.

“Did you talk to your members about this decision?”

“Yes. I’ve talked a lot with my members and the managers before making my decision. I understand the consequences it may bring me, that’s why I want to stress that any should there be any negative consequences, those should be mine alone to bear. The activities of EXO and the other members should not have to suffer because of my decision,” the Jongdae replied decisively but not unkindly. His voice is soft, as it is always were when he speaks, however it did not waver.

“One final question; do you worry about the future, things like how your fans will perceive you, even your possible future in EXO given SM’s statement of putting you in probation?” another voice asked, this time possible directly in front of Jongdae.

Jongdae began softly with his answer.

“I think if I say I am not worried, that would be a lie. I love singing, and I love being in EXO. I also do not want our fans to think that with me doing this, I am turning my back on them or that I do not love them. They are precious to me; like a close friend that I want to make proud. I am only taking action against people who would dare hurt my wife and my daughter. What I hope that everyone in this room and everyone who will watch understands that…,” Jongdae replied slowly after much thought.

At that instant, Jongdae looked up determinedly at the camera. From behind the stage watching the live feed, you felt your heart skip beats and you fell in love with Kim Jongdae all over again.

“I love my family more than anything in this world and I will not regret any sacrifice if it means they are safe and happy”

--

7 years later, the three of you sat huddled on Hyejin’s bed, with your phone the only source of light illuminating the darkness of her room. It was that video of him in the press conference that you started with and it was the same video that you ended your story. The Jongdae 7 years younger – frozen in time in your phone – continued to stare back at Hyejin in apt determination after his fierce declaration and you watched as Hyejin looked up between you and her father beside her, her eyes tearing up more as she starts to register the magnitude of her father’s sacrifice.

“Then… what happened after that?” your daughter asked quietly, almost scared.

“Well… your father was right. It’s the negative ones that are the loudest. They threw temper tantrums, we see some boycotts, we see some burning their albums and we see some nasty pictures, articles and comments on the Internet. But on the whole, people started discussing over your father’s statements. And they realize that he is right. You are just a baby, you do not owe anyone anything. Your other uncles also spoke out soon after that in support of your father, how he is vital to them as EXO, so his termination will not be tolerated, but also that it is incredibly human of him to do what he did and there’s nothing wrong with that,” you explained.

“People started discussing about the sasaeng culture and how it strains other fans’ interaction with their idols. We see more discussion over whether idols can speak up and we see people applauding your father for doing so. And after that, people realize that EXO still have fans staying with them, fans who genuinely just wants to be happy with EXO and wants EXO to be happy. Those are the ones that you like it when they see you and say hi to you. Soon, his public image improved. And, he gets to stay and gets to sing again – soon after that, he gets to add a solo career on top of everything. Seems like good luck but it took close to a year of being uncertain.”

You stroke Hyejin’s hair.

“You see, sweetheart… when your father decided that day to announce you to the world, it took a lot of courage. He did it at a time where it was blasphemous to do so. But he did so, because he doesn’t want you to grow up being separate from him. He doesn’t want to pretend like he doesn’t know you in public and can only show his love in private.

“Then, you see whenever your father and your uncles travel. It’s a horde of reporters and fans that surround them. We know his life as an idol is anything but normal, yet he still only ever wanted to give you what any normal father wants to give his daughter; a safe and happy childhood. You get to openly be proud that your father is the amazing EXO’s Chen, while at the same time getting to have a normal childhood like anyone else without cameras following you. You get to have the best of both worlds, because 7 years ago, when your father first held you, he has long decided that he won’t regret any sacrifices he makes if that meant you get to be happy.”

You watch as Hyejin turned to her father, teary-eyed and trembling.

At some point, you think what shook her most was not your stories of the past, but what happened in the present. It’s not the re-telling of what she went through as a baby that shocked her, you think it’s the fact that she – not an hour ago – thought that her father prefers his fans over her, and to know how wrong she was. To realize how much her father tried for her.

“Of all the things in this world, he loves you the most.”

Suddenly, Hyejin tackled her father down in a burst of tears, landing face first into Jongdae’s chest as she wailed.

“I-I’m s-sorry, appa! I-I didn’t mean to… That must’ve sucked when you heard me, I’m so-so sorry!” Hyejin whined and cried into Jongdae’s chest. Jongdae chuckled, but you hear the waver in his voice.

“It’s okay, princess. That’s alright,” he soothed as Hyejin kept crying.

“I-I don’t hate you, appa. I’m sorry that I-I thought…I thought…”

“It’s alright, there there. It’s alright. Shh…” Jongdae stroked her head, rocking his daughter back and forth to sleep, in between placing soft kisses on her head and murmuring soft reassurances that everything is okay and that he is here.

Over her head, his eyes meet yours and the clear film of tears has long broken and were streaming down his face, but he gives you a watery smile. One that looked relieved and thankful. You leaned your head against his shoulder, felt one of his hands find yours and his kiss on the crown of your head.

As you look up to him and on towards your daughter snuggling closer to her father, you were almost taken aback with how much she has grown and how much she grows to look more and more like Jongdae as each day passes. You know this won’t be the last time she will have to face this; getting questioned on her father’s absences, on her father’s job, on her father. You both know this will come again as she grows up.

But she’ll grow up knowing that it is not true if anyone says her father loves her any less. And you know she’ll try. Try to be strong, try to compromise, try to be resolute. Because she is Jongdae’s daughter, and just as he is strong and brave and tries hard day after day for his family, Hyejin is strong and brave too, and you hope she will try hard for her father too. You hope you can try hard for the both of them too.

Because you saw how deeply Jongdae loves; saw him love his parents, his friends, his job and his fans. And it’s not the outward declaration of love to the rooftops nor is it the grand presents. It’s him constantly worrying and helping them, and constantly wanting to make them happy. Constantly trying for them.

On that day when Jongdae first held his daughter and looked at her with such love and fascination, when he tried to discreetly wipe his tears, you knew – and you hope Hyejin will now know too – how deeply Jongdae loves and you knew how lucky you both are that he tries for you two.

[crystal-snowing]

cats and dogs | kim taehyung

summary: if there was one thing your cat despised more than baths it would be kim taehyung. 

genre: fluff

a/n: tysm for four hundred !! in other news i am not dead ! i’ve just been a bit busy with school and stuff, oh by the way did i tell you i saw bts live on october 6th and let me tell you it was the most surreal moment of my life <3

Magic unlike thousands of years ago, was uncommon and unheard of. These days people scoffed at the word, thinking nothing of it and believing that it was nothing but fiction. Yet here you were, living proof that magic does exist. This secret has run through your family’s bloodlines for centuries, meaning that you knew what great lengths you needed to go in order to protect this very valuable secret. There was no telling what society would do if word got out that magic actually existed, and while many movies were made in order to parody the idea, your mind was leaning on a darker reality. People were vicious out there and you knew that they would do absolutely anything to get their hands on you or your family, as the possibilities that you could provide them were absolutely endless. While your family did not live in complete isolation from the outside world, you were secluded, meaning that you did have to travel far in order to obtain the basic necessities such as groceries, clothes and to attend school.

For the first few years of your life you couldn’t complain with the life that you had, in fact you kind of enjoyed the peace and quiet that you were able to obtain in the countryside compared to the city. Yet as time went on, the feeling of loneliness began to settle in, and you began to crave the noise and company that the large cities attracted. And your family was completely outraged when you finished high school and suggested that you moved to Seoul in order to go to college and continue your education. Not only were they completely against it, but they also worried about your safety, after all being that far away from home meant that they couldn’t look after you like they have since the beginning of your life. But, you were persistent, begging them to let you go and promising them that you would be perfectly safe and that you would use your powers responsibly. ]After packing up a majority of your belongings and having a tearful farewell with your family, you finally arrived in Seoul—and you could say that it was everything that you could have ever dreamed about and more. There was just so much life going on in the city compared to the countryside, everyone bustling and constantly moving around, you just loved every second of it. After finding a relatively decent apartment, you begin moving in, mentally preparing yourself for the new school year and different lifestyle. You knew something was off when you had first moved into this apartment, nothing bad of course, just something peculiarly off with the surroundings. Not to mention that your familiar, Luna, was going completely nuts about something inside this building. Every morning before you went to school and every night when you return from classes, you would find her pacing around your building—sniffing the walls and mumbling to herself.

You liked to think of Luna more like a human being and a companion than just an ordinary house cat like others assumed, because she was way more than just an ordinary cat. The first example being that Luna can talk, and not just words here and there, but full and coherent sentences. She’s quite sassy and blunt when she wants to be, not failing to make you laugh or cringe with her unprecedented sarcastic comments that were whispered under her breath. While she is usually calm and collected, lately she’s been a bit on the edge and for the longest time you couldn’t figure out why. Besides being your familiar, Luna has always had this sixth sense for danger, especially when it involved you—and you could only assume that it came with the territory of being your closest friend since you were in diapers. As of recently she’s been on the edge more than usual, and while she was usually a worrywart in general, this time it was different. You only assumed that it had something to do with your new and unfamiliar surroundings that perhaps she wasn’t really used to the new people and new scents.

It wasn’t until you sensed some sort of odd shift in energy, did you realize that she may be onto something. Magic was kind of like vibes and in a sense, if there was a drastic change in the presence of magic (such as a presence of another supernatural being) you would be able to sense this shift. And soon enough you managed to narrow it down to the boy next door, Kim Taehyung. It was the first one that greeted you and welcomed you to the building when you first moved in, and at first you really thought nothing of it. Sure, he was an attractive, but you knew that if you ever did end up forming a relationship with him, you were running the risk of breaking the number one rule in witchcraft—never tell mortals about magic. Yet, this idea of him being a mortal didn’t stick around for long, especially when you could swear that Luna was practically hissing at him every time he walked past the apartment or greeted you in the halls. Only then, did you finally come to the conclusion that the only time that she does that is in the presence of other supernatural creatures—or more specifically, werewolves.

There was just something about them that just drove her wild, and not in a good way. The only explanation that you possibly had was that perhaps it had something to do with the age old tale of the feud between cats and dogs. You could only assume that it was her natural instinct to act this way, but despite her efforts, you couldn't help but give him the benefit of the doubt. And my god, was everything she said completely false and a whole lie. Kim Taehyung was perhaps one of the nicest people that you have ever met, and in the span of a few weeks, the two of you were as close as you could possibly be. Every morning you would greet him on the way to your morning classes, most of the time he would walk you to your college or the bus station if he happened to be late for work that day, and every evening—like clockwork, you would find him at your bus station ready to escort you back to the apartment building. Which is why it was no surprise that you slowly but surely feel yourself beginning to fall for him, and damn did you fall hard.

Besides the fact that he may not like you back, it seemed that everything was working out in your favor. Take for example the fact that he was a werewolf, a fact that he revealed to you after one night during a difficult full moon, where you promptly told him that you were a witch (and you could not describe in words how relieved he was to hear those words come out of your mouth). Of course there were regulations which prohibited magical creatures from dating morals, but there was nothing against magical creatures dating other magical creatures. It was only after that night that it seemed as if your relationship with him strengthened, in more ways than you even knew. Unbeknownst to you that day was the day that he fell for you, in his own werewolf sense of the way. He imprinted on you and he didn't know it until he could feel physical pain from being away from you. God, did it hurt and did it hurt bad, especially on nights where there was a full moon.

Everything about those days were pure agony, from the moment that he woke up in the morning till the moment he went to bed. Each time that it happened the symptoms became worse and worse, which is when he finally had his breaking point—where he knew that he needed to confess his feelings. The pain was too much to bear, he wanted you, he needed you and no matter what the cost he was determined to have you. There were horrific stories about werewolves who failed to woo their imprint, the intense pain becoming worse than before, but there were also stories of those who decided not to confess to their imprint—some even driven mad by the pain, taking other drastic measures in order to end it. He had a feeling that trying and doing something was absolutely better than nothing, which is why he was insistent on making sure that you fell for him. Yet, there was a slight problem to his plan, which came to his plan and that can in the form of your familiar, Luna.

Not only did Luna absolutely despise Taehyung she believed that there was no way that he was possibly good enough for her master, most of the time saying that her master deserves better than a “stinking dog.” Which is why she has made it her mission to foil every single attempt that he has attempting to win you over. Including every time he managed to invite you over and snag a moment of alone time together, and in every damn moment he was ready to confess his unconditional love for you and every time your stupid cat ended up foiling his plans every time. Not only was Taehyung growing frustrated, he was also growing annoyed, wanting to bark and snarl at your cat every time she got too close. This was why he was determined to make this one time count, which is why he invited you over for a dinner at his apartment. It was romantic to say the least, his whole apartment decorated with candles and dim lighting, and even though he wasn’t too fond of the smell of roses—he scattered a bunch of them around his apartment to add to the romantic mood. And immediately once you walked into his apartment you knew that something was definitely up, the butterflies in your stomach were restless and you were so nervous that occasionally you would turn your fork into a hamster before turning it back again. Your magical abilities tending to act up whenever you were nervous. Of course Taehyung could not cook to save his life, but the takeout that he ordered was absolutely delicious, the two of you sitting down and chatting about your respective lives. You both made small talk, but no matter how awkward the conversation seemed to start off somehow the two of you managed to turn every topic exciting. And not only were his responses genuine but they were also engaging and insightful, paying close attention to exactly what you were saying.

Everything with him just felt right and as dinner began to die down you knew that you didn’t want your time with him to end. The two of you making a complete mess in his sink as you “cleaned” the dishes, giggles echoed throughout the room and soap suds were splashed all over the walls. Somehow being your clumsy self, you managed to slip on some soap suds, causing you to fall right into his arms. It was the exact scene out of every single cliche romance novel that you have ever read, yet even though you have seen so many other characters go through the same thing, words could not compare the way your heart was hammering against your rib cage when he held you in his arms. His eyes stared into yours full of this love and adoration that you haven't seen anywhere before, and you weren't sure if it was the reflection of the lights or his cheeks were actually flushed. 

“I know this might be kind of unexpected, but I just wanted to make sure that I can get it all out there before you make your decision. I'm in love with you, no wait—I imprinted on you—wait, I mean—,” he paused, taking a small breath before continuing, “I can't live without you, both physically and mentally, and while I know this sounds absolutely crazy and insane it's all true. It's painful when I'm away from you especially on nights of a full moon, the pain is practically unbearable, which is why I'm here today to confess to you. They say that after telling you it becomes easier, but I still can’t help but feeling like you don’t feel the same. Anyways, the whole point of this was for me to tell you that I love you and that I hope you feel the same way.”

You could swear that in that moment your face was on fire, wondering how he could casually just spring that on you. And while your lips were slightly parted in surprise, you couldn’t stop the quick beating of your heart and your desire to lean closer. And as Taehyung’s eyes flickered to your lips before looking back in your eyes, you knew exactly what he was thinking about doing next as you began to lean in. However, this beautiful moment was soon spoiled by your familiar and all too faithful companion, Luna, who with a little bit of her own magic managed to slip inside his apartment.

“[Y/N], I’m hungry,” she whined, her voice coming back in long drawl as she paced around outside the kitchen.

You pulled away from him immediately, letting out a deep sigh as you turned away, making sure that he couldn’t see the redness in your cheeks. Luna knew damn well that she could reach the food and feed herself, often times sneaking some treats or snacks whenever you were off at school, so the argument that she couldn’t feed herself at this moment was absolutely preposterous. Calling out from the kitchen you rolled your eyes before speaking, “You know exactly where the food is, you can feed yourself.”

“But, you moved it to the highest shelf, how am I supposed to reach it now?” she moaned, earning a groan that escaped your lips. You didn’t want to leave the comfort of his arms, and as you could feel his arms release its hold on your waist, you were suddenly seized with a flash of determination, taking his arms and placing them on your hips where they were before. Ignoring his look of confusion as you called back to your familiar.

“Go on, Luna, I’ll be there in a second.” And as soon as you heard her footsteps padding away, you reached up and stood up on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss against his cheek—causing a red blush  to make its way down his neck.

“And for the record, I like you too.”

Giving him a soft smile with your cheeks as equally flushed as his own, you turned around and walked outside to deal with your meddlesome cat.

[anastpaul]

Thought for the Day – 8 January – 2nd Day after Epiphany – It is still Christmastide!

‘If we want to live Christmas, we must open our heart and be open to surprises, namely, to an unexpected change of life’

Pope Francis’ Homily – 19 December 2018 – General Audience

Dear Brothers and Sisters, good morning!

In six days, it will be Christmas.   The trees, the decorations and the lights everywhere recall that this year also there will be a celebration.   Advertising invites to keep exchanging newer and newer gifts to have surprises.   However, is this the celebration that pleases God?   What Christmas would He want, what presents and surprises?

We look at the first Christmas of history to discover God’s tastes.   That Christmas was full of surprises.   It begins with Mary, who was Joseph’s promised bride – the Angel arrives and changes her life.   From being a virgin, she will be a mother.   It continues with Joseph, called to be the father of a son without generating Him.   A son that — in a dramatic turn of events — arrives in the least indicated moment, namely, when Mary and Joseph were betrothed and, according to the Law, could not live together.   In face of the scandal, the good sense of the time invited Joseph to repudiate Mary and save his good name but he, although he had the right, surprises us – not to hurt Mary he thinks of taking leave of her in secret, at the cost of losing his own reputation.   Then, another surprise – in a dream, God changes his plans and asks him to take Mary to himself.   Jesus having been born, when Joseph had his plans for the family, again in a dream he is told to rise and go to Egypt.   To summarise, Christmas brought unexpected life changes.  And if we want to live Christmas, we must open our heart and be open to surprises, namely, to an unexpected change of life.

However, it’s on Christmas Eve that the greatest surprise arrives – the Most High is a little baby.   The divine Word is an infant, which means literally, “incapable of speaking.”   And the divine Word becomes “incapable of speaking.”  The Authorities of the time or of the place or the ambassadors were not there to receive the Saviour – no, it was simple shepherds, who, surprised by the Angels while they were working at night, run without delay.   Who would have expected it?   Christmas is to celebrate the unheard-of God, or better, it is to celebrate an unprecedented God, who overturns our logics and our expectations.

To celebrate Christmas, then, is to receive on earth Heaven’s surprises.   One can’t live “down to earth,” when Heaven has brought its novelties into the world.   Christmas inaugurates a new era, where life isn’t planned but is given;  where one no longer lives for oneself, on the basis of one’s tastes, but for God;  and with God because since the first Christmas, God is God-with-us, who lives with us, who walks with us.   To live Christmas is to let oneself be shaken by its surprising novelty.   Jesus’ Birth doesn’t offer the reassuring warmth of a fireplace but the divine thrill, that shakes history.  Christmas is the revenge of humility over arrogance, of simplicity over abundance, of silence over noise, of prayer over “my time,” of God over my “I.”

To celebrate Christmas is to do as Jesus did, who came for us needy people and to come down to those in need of us.   It is to do as Mary did, to entrust ourselves, docile to God, even without understanding what He will do.   To celebrate Christmas is to do as Joseph did, to rise to do what God wants, even if it’s not according to our plans.   Saint Joseph is surprising – he never speaks in the Gospel, there isn’t one word of Joseph in the Gospel and the Lord speaks to him in silence, He speaks to him in fact in his sleep. Christmas is to prefer God’s silent voice to the noises of consumerism.   If we are able to be silent before the Crib, Christmas will be a surprise for us also, not something already seen.   To be in silence before the Crib – this is the invitation for Christmas.  Take a bit of time, go before the Crib and stay in silence.   And you will feel, you will see the surprise.

Unfortunately, however, the celebration can be mistaken and we can prefer the usual things on earth, to the novelties of Heaven.   If Christmas remains only a beautiful traditional feast, where we and not Him, are at the centre, it will be a lost occasion.   Please, let us not make Christmas worldly!   Let us not put the One celebrated aside as ‘happened’ then, when “He came among His own and His own received Him not” (John 1:11).   Since the first Gospel of Advent, the Lord has put us on guard, asking us not to be weighed down with “dissipation” and “the cares of life” (Luke 21:34).   In these days one runs, perhaps more than ever during the year.   So, the opposite is done of what Jesus wants.   We blame the many things that fill our day, the world that goes fast.   Yet Jesus didn’t blame the world.   He asked us not to let ourselves be dragged, to watch at all times praying (Cf. v. 36).

Behold, it will be Christmas if, like Joseph, we make room for silence;  if, like Mary, we say to God “Here I am”;  if, like Jesus, we are close to one who is alone;  if, like the shepherds, we go out of our enclosures to be with Jesus.   It will be Christmas, if we find the light in the poor cave of Bethlehem.   It won’t be Christmas if we seek the shimmering glow of the world, if we fill ourselves with gifts, lunches and dinners but we don’t help at least one poor person, who is like God, because at Christmas God came poor.

Dear brothers and sisters, I wish you a happy Christmas, a Christmas rich in Jesus’ surprises!   They might seem uncomfortable surprises but they are God’s tastes.   If we embrace them, we will have a splendid surprise for ourselves.   Each one of us has hidden in the heart, the capacity to be surprised.   Let us let Jesus surprise us this Christmas.

It’s Christmas every day!  

(via If we want to live Christmas, we must open our heart and be open to surprises, namely, to an unexpected change of life’)

[husheduphistory]

A Handcrafted Tragedy: The Story of the SS Morro Castle

Tom Burley was having a busy night at work on September 8th 1934. As the radio station manager for WCAP out of Asbury Park, New Jersey it was his job to broadcast the goings on of the world in an accurate, timely manner and tonight there had been a great deal to report. At just after 7:30pm he moved to take a break from the strenuous evening when something caught his eye outside. Smoke, thick smoke, accompanied by a terrible red glow that defied the heavy rain pelting Convention Hall that night. It was headed directly for the building when 200 feet from shore there was a crash, screeching, and finally, and awful stillness with what looked like fire and brimstone blocking out Burley's office windows. As completely shocking as this was, Burley had an idea what he was looking at. He had been talking about it all night, a nightmare that only days before was a glittering paradise in the business of making dreams come true.

When she was new she was a marvel of both technology and luxury, crafted to withstand and protect, but also to inspire awe. The SS Morro Castle was built for the Ward Line of ocean vessels for the purpose of ushering vacationers between New York City and Havana,Cuba on excursions that were affordable while still promising memories to last a lifetime. The cruises ranged from $65 to $160 which made the vacationers range from students to professionals but once on board jobs and titles did not matter, everyone was treated equally. Passengers had their names printed on guest booklets and ornate invitations to the ships's many parties and special events. Stewards and pursers were on hand to carry out any task including being called on as dance partners or buying drinks off the $14 bar account they were each allotted specifically for that purpose. The surroundings were opulent in the styles of Italian Renaissance, Louis XVI era France, and grand old New York. Everything was shining, plush, crisp, sparkling, velveteen, velour, and varnish making everyone on board feel like they were the luckiest people in the world. 

Morro Castle brochure (image from www.wardline.com)

One of the many staircases in the Morro Castle

The Morro Castle’s First Class Lounge

The Morro Castle Orchestra

The glamour was a rich coating for the bolts and steel holding it up and the Morro Castle was considered by some to be a structural marvel. She was constructed with a reshaped bow that would cut down on water resistance and streamlined rudders gave her the ability to travel at an unheard of 22 knots. Designer Theodore E. Ferris also designed a system of ducts that ran behind false wood panels allowing the Ward Line to advertise that the ship was "sea-cooled", a huge feature for passengers looking to escape the tropical air. The structure of the Morro Castle was unprecedented in terms of safety with the ship being built to the standards of the U.S. Navy. These specifications, while looking impressive, were not exclusively with the passengers in mind. In 1928 Congress had passed the Jones-White Act which offered shipping companies loans to build new liners provided that the ships would be built to specifications that would allow them to be quickly converted to warships or to be used for troop transport if needed. The ship was also built off the lessons of maritime disasters. As a result of the disaster of the Titanic the Morro Castle was built with nine watertight bulkheads and had enough lifeboats to accommodate 2,000 people, three times the amount of passengers it was designed to carry. The 1904 tragedy of the General Slocum ensured that the Morro Castle was equipped with fire detection technology with a web of tubes installed in the cargo hold, engine room, and staterooms that were used for smoke detection. One lesson that was not learned from the Titanic was not to exaggerate. The ship was advertised as being "the safest ship afloat" and it was claim that was proudly propagated by all members of the crew, especially the ship's captain, Captain Robert Renison Willmott, who could often be heard telling his passengers "There isn't a ship like her" and "you are safer on this ship than you are on 42nd Street and Broadway in New York.”

Captain Willmott had been with the Ward Line for over thirty years and he loved his job. After his appointment as captain of the Morro Castle his warm interaction with passengers and friendly demeanor elevated him to be yet another of the much anticipated attractions during the cruise. Travelers planned their vacations to make sure he was not away, they would meet him for drinks in his cabin and marvel at his many stories, and his entrance into the dining room every evening was a highly anticipated event. Eating at the captain's table for meals was a privilege and those lucky enough to grab a seat spent the time listening as Willmott told tales of his time at sea. One of his favorites was how a year earlier he had successfully brought the Morro Castle home after being trapped in a hurricane for two days. He showed everyone the watch he earned for the deed and would often comment how he and the ship were inseparable, their names were one in the same.

Captain Robert Renison Willmott

Wilmott was a beloved captain who loved his ship but on the evening of September 7th 1934 a very different man was sitting in the captain's quarters, one that had been warn down by a string of issues with other crew members on board. The truth was that while the ship was a paradise for passengers, working behind the scenes was an entirely different scenario. The Morro Castle was consistently understaffed and the staff that was there was paid only $35 a month.  The food was poor quality, the living quarters were cramped, and beginning your day at 5:30am meant no break until 2pm and then enjoying only a small window of time before launching into evening meals and plans. Upon arriving back home in New York the crew had to fly into action with only seven hours in between docking and leaving again with a whole new set of vacationers. It was mandatory that the ship be ready to leave New York city by 4pm, it doubled as a cargo ship with a contract to carry all U.S. mail. Signing off the boat to visit family was highly discouraged and normally cost you your job, the Depression was fresh in many minds and there was always going to be someone else eager to take your place on board. Even those working on the Morro Castle with very specific tasks were told that when they were not busy they were required to mop floors and polish brass. Most employees stayed silent, but on August 4th 1934 second radio operator George I. Alagna had decided he had enough. He wrote up a petition about their workplace treatment but only ended up tearing it apart when he failed to get enough signatures to bring the issue to Willmott. Alagna did not know it but word of his petition had already reached Willmott, and he was not pleased. The captain immediately contacted the Radio Marine Corporation of America and demanded that Alagna be fired upon their next arrival back home. Willmott left the ship in New York expecting to be rid of the abrasive radio operator but when he returned to the Morro Castle just before departure he was met by a Radio Marine Corporation representative who had to inform him that they were unable to find another radio operator, that he was stuck with Alagna, but that Alagna also refused to work. After two hours of deliberation with the Ward Line Alagna was back on board with two targets on his back, one from the Ward Line and one from Willmott who believed he had a dangerously unstable man on board.

Willmott had taken to confiding his concerns with his Chief Radio Operator George White Rogers who had only joined the Morro Castle crew the previous July. Rogers was regarded by many as an odd man. Standing at 6'2" and weighing 250lbs, he was not easy to miss but Rogers avoided people and could not have cared less about the Morro Castle's luxury. He was confident in his work to the point of arrogance and he spent his spare time in his bunk reading. Alagna had grown increasingly hostile to the point that Willmott had spiraled into paranoia. On September 2nd he pulled Rogers into his quarters lamenting about Alagna, "What's the matter with that second operator of yours? I think the man is crazy." He informed Rogers that Alagna was to be fired upon returning to New York but begged Rogers not to say a word because he feared what would happen if Alagna found out. He gave Rogers the key to the emergency room of the ship and told him to make sure Alagna had no access to the radio equipment inside. Now on the evening of September 7th Willmott's paranoia about Alagna reached an all new high. Rogers had spoken to him earlier and reported that he found two bottles of sulfuric acid in the radio room, but that he had saved the day by throwing them overboard. Now speaking with his first officer William Warms, the captain was predicting sabotage, telling him he could not leave his cabin, and that he had to keep the doors locked because he feared Alagna would burst in and throw acid on him. Willmott confided to Warms "I am afraid something is going to happen tonight, I can feel it."

William Warms

Warms left the captain without informing him about his own bizarre encounter with Rogers earlier that day. Smiling suspiciously Rogers confronted Warms saying he requested to speak with Captain Willmott, something he did not have to ask for being a ship's officer. When Warms asked what he wanted to discuss Rogers only smiled more and refused to tell him saying "Best I tell the captain first.” Warms was not the only crew member keeping an odd encounter with Rogers from the captain, the other was George Alagna. Alagna was asleep in his bunk the night before when he was awakened by Rogers approaching him. Rogers reached into a box above Alagna's head and then presented him with two small bottles of liquid. Rogers grinned at Alagna and asked coyly  "What are you going to do with these, George?" before strolling away. Alagna had no answer for him. He had never seen the bottles before and he knew for a fact that they were not in the box above his bunk before Rogers entered the room that night.

George White Rogers

Unaware of what was going on with the crew were the many dinner guests seated in the dining hall although they knew something was definitely off that evening. It was the last night of the of their cruise, the Captain's Ball, and  their beloved Captain Willmott had yet to make an appearance at 9pm. The passengers did not know what was going on but truthfully, neither did the crew. First officer William Warms had discovered Willmott slumped over his bathtub dead at 7:45 that evening.

As members of the crew gathered in Willmott's cabin Warms took it upon himself to take control, an appointment that technically belonged to Chief Engineer Eban Abbot but which went unchallenged. Cruise director Bob Smith was given the unfortunate task of informing the dinner guests of the unfortunate news and informed them that out of respect for their deceased captain, all evening programs were cancelled. While vacationers branched off into private parties refusing to let their last night of vacation go to waste, Warms took position on the bridge of the Morro Castle and faced a difficult evening in front of him. Not only had his friend died unexpectedly but he was made aware that a hurricane was brewing south of them and they were heading directly into a nor'easter. In telling of his triumph of navigating the Morro Castle of of a hurricane Willmott had always joked that the only damaged sustained was "a few wet towels.” Warms could only hope he would have the same luck as his friend with these storms.

He could not have ever imagined what the upcoming hours would bring.

Rogers ended his shift in the radio room after what became a very busy evening by telling the 3rd radio operator Charles Maki that he was off to bed, but not before going for a little walk. He was one of the few people on board who was thinking of sleep with many still awake at their mini private soirees and others observing how much the winds were picking up around them.  When a passenger approached steward Daniel Campbell asking about the smell of smoke just before 3am Campbell was not overly surprised. It was probably a cigarette thrown into a garbage can, no big deal. He walked into the First Class Lounge where the smell grew strong but only found some drunk passengers. He continued through the lounge to the doors ahead of him, one being the Library and the other being the Writing Room. It was inside the Writing Room where Campbell found smoke, lots of smoke, more smoke than could have come from a cigarette in a garbage bin. It was coming from the inside of a storage locker that normally held blankets, cleaning supplies, and paper. The handle was hot to the touch. Just as he opened the door Arthur Pender, a night watchman entered the Writing Room as well. He had seen the smoke coming out of a ventilation shaft and his investigation brought him to Campbell as he opened the locker door. Flames. Huge tongues of fire leaped from the inside of the locker launching themselves out to consume the fresh sea air. Campbell slammed the door shut and the men ran to alert the crew. Pender later said that what struck him was that the flames were not orange, they were blue, the telltale sign of a chemical fire.

The Writing Room of the Oriente (identical to the Morro Castle)

Within minutes the entire Writing Room was engulfed in flames and nearby crew were throwing buckets of water at the fire attempting to put it out with no luck. Not everyone on board was aware there was a catastrophe brewing. Warms walked into the ship's wheelhouse and casually ordered crew members to investigate the engine room to see if there were any problems. Alagna was woken from his sleep by the sounds of people screaming. As soon as he stepped out onto the deck he saw the horrifying glow and knew immediately what was wrong, the Morro Castle was burning up. He went back to the bunks and shook Rogers telling him there was a fire but he did not respond. Only when the 3rd radio announcer came in and softly said "Get up Chief, the ship's on fire" did Rogers suddenly spring from his bunk. Alagna ran to the radio room and was putting on his headset when Rogers burst into the room and shoved him aside taking the headset and telling Alagna to go to the bridge and get orders from Warms. Warms was giving orders, but they were still in the vein of telling crew members to go to the lounge and "take charge.” He had no idea how big the blaze had grown but the realty of the situation quickly hit him and Quartermaster Samuel Hoffman like a fright train. The Derby fire detection system on board was state of the art with a control panel with a small light representing each state room. If a room got over 160 degrees the light turned red and suddenly, all at once, the entire board went red. Smoke engulfed the entire ship and the port side was an inferno but still Warms was not worried, it had not even been fifteen minutes, there were multiple people fighting the fire, and he believed that the amount of smoke increased as fires were extinguished. Clearly the blankets of black air meant his crew was doing a good job. He could not have been more wrong. It was not until 3:05am that he sounded an alarm that went unheard by almost everyone. The only sounds were the screaming of passengers, the roaring of the flames, and the hurricane winds whipping the fire and smoke into an unstoppable force of destruction.

The scene on the decks of the Morro Castle was turmoil. Passengers in various stages of panic exited their cabins looking for an answer as to what to do next. Chief engineer Abbott dressed in his formal uniform and instructed crew members to go into the engine room and see what was going on while he went to the bridge. The chief engineer's primary job was to ensure that the engine room was running because it was the nerve center for the steering of the ship, the electricity, and the operation of the fire pumps. Instead, he headed to the bridge. Another crew member headed to the bridge was Alagna. He had attempted to get to Warms but could not get through the smoke so he returned to the radio room where Rogers sat defiant. Despite the ranging fire engulfing the ship, the heavy smoke, the thrashing winds, and the desperate chorus of screams Rogers flat out refused to send and S.O.S. signal until he got the official order from Warms to do so telling Alagna he had to "play by the rules.” On his second attempt Alagna reached Warms at the bridge and told him Rogers awaited his order. Warms remembered what Captain Willmott had told him about Alagna and all of the trouble he had caused so he opted to ignore him and stalked away without giving the official order. Alagna bolted back to the radio room and yelled at Rogers "They're a bunch of madmen up there!" Rogers calmly turned to Alagna and remarked "Cheer up, it'll turn up all right." Alagna's continued urging to do something about the fire was only met by Rogers telling him "We wait for orders. That's what the regulations say and that's what we'll do." It had been ten minutes since the alarm was sounded and there was still no S.O.S. signal sent. Alagna ran back toward the bridge.

Warms was finally having to admit to himself that the Morro Castle was not going to make it back to New York. The fire, smoke, water, turbulence, screaming, darkness, and paint being blown off the ship created an extremely grim picture for the acting captain but he decided the one thing he could do was try to reposition the ship to cut down on the wind feeding the flames. By now the steering and electricity were gone but he believed he could maneuver the propeller in a way to force the ship to turn. Alagna was back in Warm's ear begging for an order to give to Rogers when he suddenly asked if the Captain's body could be moved to a lifeboat. This request made no sense to Warms who believed Alagna was the man who murdered Willmott. Where was Abbot? The two men pawed through the smoke and found the chief engineer hunched over on the floor near the wheelhouse, wringing his hands and muttering to himself "What are we going to do?" over and over. It was moments later that the quartermaster yelled over at Warms to tell him his plan to turn the ship had failed during the attempt and now the ship was broadside with the wind allowing it to pour through the portholes and windows that had exploded from the heat. The new air only strengthened the fire consuming the ship, this was the worst case scenario.

When Alagna burst back into the radio room at 3:12am Rogers greeted him with an unbelievable message, that he had been sitting and listening to other ship’s communications asking about smoke and if anyone knew if a ship was on fire, but he never interrupted, never told them it was the Morro Castle, and still had not sent an S.O.S. signal. "They're asking about a fire" he said "but we have no orders.” He and Alagna wrapped wet towels over their heads and Alagna ran back out while Rogers continued to listen with his feet resting on the bottom rung of his chair. He could not put his feet on the floor, the heat was melting his shoes. Soon after the remaining electricity went out and the ship screamed into the darkness in response.

Names and pleading screams cut through the air trying to reach faces that could not possibly hear them. Walls of fire and smoke were everywhere, ribbons of paint flew through the air, dangerous winds pummeled the burning ship and people scrambled for a way off. For some it was hopeless, they were rendered blind by the smoke and the glue used on the decks was melting trapping some people to the burning ship by their bare feet. Many chose to jump into the thrashing ocean below thinking they might have better luck with water than with fire. Those lucky few that were able to secure life vests were not guaranteed safety, there were specific instructions on how to use them in each cabin that went unread by many. Unaware that you had to hold the vest down as you hit the water many were knocked unconscious and drowned when the vest hit their chins while others had their necks broken instantly.

A life vest from the Morro Castle sold by Kaminski Auctions

Alagna once again found Warms and begged for Roger's order but it was not until he told him that Roger's heard other ship communications about the possibility of a ship being on fire that he finally gave the official words to send an S.O.S. At 3:25am the signal went out and it was picked up by the Andrea S. Luckenbach and partially by the Monarch of Bermuda despite the intense heat interfering with the transmission signal. Batteries exploded, wires melted, and Rogers began to slip out of consciousness. It was 3:40am when Alagna, dragging the semi-conscious body of Rogers out of the radio room, made their way toward the wheelhouse where they saw Warms and and other crew members fleeing over the bridge to the forecastle, an area inaccessible to passengers. The wheelhouse had finally caught fire and before evacuating Warms set the engines to STOP and dropped the anchor. Alagna and Rogers could hear glass shattering and wood breaking all around them but were able to find a ladder to climb up to the forecastle and join Warms and a dozen other officers. Warms handed Rogers a flashlight and told him there was a ship out there and he should try to get their attention. Rogers flashed a quick S.O.S. and was answered by the Luckenbach asking if they needed assistance. Rogers signaled that they needed help immediately and the Luckenbach responded saying they would send ships. Rogers turned to everyone and declared "We'll all be safe soon. I got off the S.O.S."

As Warms, Alagna, Rogers, and the rest of the crew looked out before them they were greeted with a churning sea of horrors where water was replaced by bodies. The Morro Castle was equipped with enough lifeboats to carry 800 people, over 200 more people that were actually on the boat that night but where were they? What happened to them? Why were there so many heads bobbing in the waves? The widespread flames were partially to blame with many people not being able to get to some of the lifeboats through the fire. Other boats burned still attached to their rigging, others stuck together from the heat. The boats on the port side simply would not launch, some of the mechanisms were painted over during the last paint job preventing the boats from releasing. Some of the launching gear was constructed in a way so that the boats could only be lowered manually from a deck, a procedure put into place in order to avoid boats being launched in a panic. It was now an impossible task. The boats that could be seen were practically empty after being haphazardly launched and most of those on board were not paid passengers. Of the first ninety-eight people to escape on a lifeboat, ninety-two of them were members of the Morro Castle crew. Bodies bobbed in the frothy water while those still with breath grasped onto to them like life preservers, people clung desperately to ropes hanging off the side of the ship, passengers dived off of decks thirty feet in the air and fell like rain while other squeezed out of portholes to escape the fire. And yet, most of the lifeboats did not go back to help. One of the crew members moving away from the scene on a nearly empty lifeboat was Chief Engineer Abbot. Huddled at the foot of the boat he urged the rowers to move away from the burning ship, but said he could not help, that he had cut his hand.

One of the Morro Castle lifeboats making it to shore

Forty-five minuted after the Luckenbach was alerted and turned to help the Morro Castle other ships in the area began to contact it asking if they had reached the burning ship. They reported that they had, and help was desperately needed. The first boat to arrive at the disastrous scene was a 26ft surfboat from the Coast Guard stationed in Sea Girt, New Jersey and they were followed by the Luckenbach, the Monarch of Bermuda, the City of Savannah, the President Cleveland and several more boats from the Coast Guard arriving just after dawn. Throughout all the chaos George Rogers stood with the small cluster of crew members seeming almost pleased with his surroundings. Upon seeing someone preparing to jump he would slowly feign a reaction until they hit the water at which time he would say what a shame, he was just about to leap to their assistance. He repeatedly assured Alagna that they had nothing to worry about, they had kept their heads in the face of disaster. The scene was unprecedented but the rescuing ships worked quickly. They had to, the hurricane that had been in back of the Morro Castle was rapidly catching up to them. Meanwhile, the lifeboat carrying Abbott was approaching shore and when it finally hit the land Abbott warned everyone not to speak to the waiting reporters, "They would never understand.” He tore the insignia off of his uniform, marched up the beach and got into a waiting car which took him to the police.  

At 8am the Coast Guard cutter Tampa arrived on the scene and asked Warms if he wanted the Morro Castle towed back to shore. The stand-in captain agreed and the rescuing crew began fighting off the now 12ft waves in order to attach a towline to the hollow and still burning shell. Suddenly, Warms realized that the ship could not be towed anywhere, he had dropped the anchor during his failed attempt to reposition against the winds. There was no power to raise it up. The chain was going to have to be cut. With each link being three inches thick and only having access to a small hacksaw, it was going to be a long project where time was quickly running out. Warms, Rogers, Alagna, and the crew took turns on the chain with Rogers gloating the entire time about his "heroic acts" and how God had singled them out for greatness. When he was not declaring himself a hero he would randomly ask about the fire, why had it spread so quickly? When night watchman Pender told him that the flamed he saw were blue indicating a deliberate chemical cause Rogers said "Guess I was too busy sending out the S.O.S. signal to notice the color of the flames." While the chain was being cut bodies continued to wash up on local beaches and be tossed into the waves. The captain of the Tampa was not aware there were still active rescues taking place and he was not informed of this for two hours after his arrival. Horrified, he quickly sent available boats out hoping it was not too late for some. The chain was finally broken at noon and it took another hour before the crew was loaded into the Tampa and the two ships began to move. Their time had run out, the second hurricane was upon them.

The second storm thrashed so wildly that all rescue attempts had to be called off at 2:30pm despite the fact that people were still washing up all along the edge of New Jersey. The Tampa was only two miles off the coast and they had to be extremely careful not to run aground while dragging the still-burning wreck of the Morro Castle behind them. On the journey back a doctor found Alagna and commented that the resting Rogers was in bed delirious, ranting, semi-conscious, and weak. This made no sense to Alagna who had just spent hours next to Rogers while he stalked about singing his own praises. Alagna entered the room and upon seeing him Rogers launched into rambling tirade about how "they are leaving everything to George and me" before dramatically pretending to pass out. Alagna left the room undoubtedly exhausted but the disaster was not over yet. At 6:12pm the towline dragging the Morro Castle snapped and wound itself around the propellers of the Tampa. There was no choice, the Tampa's anchor had to be dropped and as it stopped the people on board gazed out watching the Morro Castle drift away from them and out into the open storm with absolutely nothing to stop it.

News about the unbelievable disaster of the Morro Castle was all over the headlines and radio stations with people trying to desperately come up with answers, names of survivors, names of the dead, causes, and the fire of the ship quickly became part of everyone's thoughts. One person who had been covering the tragedy was Tom Burley of WCAP in Asbury Park. Before he went on break that night the glowing monster he saw coming out of the fog straight for him was none other than the ship he had been reporting on all day. The Morro Castle was charging at Convention Hall and Burley yelled into his microphone "My God! She's coming in right here!" before the ship hit a jetty 20 feet from shore, turning her sideways, and blocking Burley's windows in Convention Hall with the brightly burning, smoking, screaming side of the Morro Castle. Reporter Thomad Tighe witnessed the crash and described it as "She came toward the shore with fire belching from every porthole. With rain beating down in torrents and a northeast gale blowing, she was a ghost coming out of the night. Fire and smoke drove in sheets over Convention Hall as she came to rest.” The journey of the Morro Castle was finally over, and by the time it ended 134 people were dead.

On the morning of September 8th the Coast Guard arrived in Asbury Park, New Jersey and made their was to the wreck of the Morro Castle. They were not the only ones crossing the beach that day, overnight thousands and thousands of people gathered on the beach to view the still smoking skeleton of what had once been a thing of dreams. For five hours the Coast Guard searched the wreckage and were met with nothing but horror. Decks were strewn with furniture, clothing, purses, shoes, skeletons, and piles of soot that may have been a person only a day before. Some rooms were torched to the point that only black and white walls remained. When Coast Guard director R.W. Hodge touched a railing it burned his hand. By the afternoon the number of people viewing the ship reached nearly 100,000, guided by signs along all the main roads guiding tourists to the spot and lured by the opportunity to pay a small price to go out and touch the wreckage. The same day the Tampa was finally docked in Staten Island, New York after a twelve hour delay due to the tangled towline. The press was waiting for them and they snapped photos and wrote quickly as Rogers was escorted out and away on a stretcher to a hospital. He smiled and waved at the reporters the entire time.

People gather on the Asbury Park boardwalk to view the wreck

All over the country people were asking the same questions, what happened to the Morro Castle? Everyone except the Ward Line who had their lawyers inform the ship's officers that they were not to speak to reporters and that what happened was "entirely an Act of God.” Despite the warning from the Ward Line, the public hearings showed the crew member's true feelings  with multiple accounts all stating that they believed what happened that night was a deliberate attack. When asked about the fire Warms said "It was incendiary. I think someone put something in that Writing Room." Officers told how it moved unnaturally fast, that there was a chemical smell, the color of the flames, but it all fell on the deaf ears of The Ward Line and the Steamboat Inspection Service who scrambled for other causes stretching to to even blame spontaneous combustion, faulty wires, lightning strikes, and quickly dropped stories of Communist conspiracy.

Causes were cloudy but what became very clear was the astronomically unsafe conditions on board Captain Willmott's ship. The image of luxury was of utmost importance on the ship and some of the tasks asked of officers when they were not busy that caused Alagna to write his  petition made the guest happy but also put them in terrible danger. One task was the round the clock polishing of the brass on board with a polish, already a chemical concoction, that was laced with kerosene to make the application easier on crew member's elbows. A huge amount of the ship was constructed from wood and another chemical polish was slathered all over the everything wooden on a weekly basis to keep everything shining. New layers of paint were applied every few weeks with the attention being on appearance rather than safety. I large number of lifeboats were unable to launch because of the layers and layers of dried paint cementing them to the ship. All the plywood used on board was not fireproof and was chosen because it was lightweight. The staterooms were lined in thin sheets of wood that were stuck together with eight layers of flammable glue before being bathed in varnish. The deck planking, made of Oregon pine was caulked with a mixture of glue, cotton, and oakum which melted in the extreme heat and stuck to passengers feet at they were trying to escape trapping them to the deck as they burned. The location of the Writing Room as the starting point of the blaze only added to the problems. From inside the storage closet the flamed went into a vent and spread behind a false ceiling where the Morro Castle's Lyle gun was kept along with the twenty-five pounds of gunpowder used to operate it.

Morro Castle lifeboat still fixed to the ship  

Chemicals were not the only things that doomed the Morro Castle, fault also lay thick on both construction and crew. True, the ship was fitted with a state of the art fire detection system, but that system only covered the cargo, staterooms, and engine room and the fire doors meant to close automatically once a certain temperature was reached had all of their wires removed requiring them to be manually closed. Although the cargo was equipped with the detection system, it had been turned off. Part of the cargo on this voyage was a shipment of salted hides and on September 5th Captain Willmott ordered the system be turned off to prevent the stench spreading throughout the vessel.  The same pathways that allowed the ship to be "sea-cooled" also gave the fire an oxygen-filled and totally unobstructed path to all areas.

The sheer confusion on the night of the fire was increased tenfold due to the fact that the crew members flat out did not know what to do in case of a blaze and even if their instincts led them the Morro Castle was not equipped to to allow those instincts be followed. Captain Willmott believed his ship was the safest place in the world and because of that he flat out refused to conduct any safety drills despite them becoming law after the sinking of the Titanic. When the idea was brought to the captain of doing drills to show the passengers how safe they were it was quickly shot down with Willmott stating "No, I don't want the men to run around and excite passengers. We have an old sea tradition, excitement brings panic." On the rare occasion that a drill could be conducted it was carried out by having crew members go to their posts briefly before continuing with their days. But, if you were busy catering to passengers you did not even take part in that. When Cruise Director Robert Smith proposed the idea of making games out of the safety drills for passengers Willmott immediately shut him down saying it would put ideas in people's heads that something actually could happen, which he refused to believe.

There were forty-two fire hydrants on board the Morro Castle the night it went up in flames, but almost none of them were functional. One month before the catastrophe a passenger slipped on some water that leaked from a hydrant and successfully sued the company for $25,000. Rather than fix the leak Willmott ordered the crew to remove all the hoses, nozzles, wrenches, and outlets for the hoses before having them cap off all the hydrants they could. The crew was unaware how to remove the caps but even if they did it would have been little help on the night of the fire, there was no water pressure. The three pumps that supplied water to the hose system had a capacity of 1,300 gallons per minute. However, the system was designed assuming that there would never be a situation where all the hydrants would be used so the max number that could be turned on and functional with water pressure at any one time was six. With the crew turning on every hydrant trying to find one that worked, the water pressure was cut down to a forth of its full strength.  

Surely there was no way these conditions were legal. But, on paper the Morro Castle was perfectly safe due to the fact that inspections mainly consisted of strolling the decks and taking meals with Captan Willmott. Inspection records from August 4th, just over a month before the unthinkable, claim that an inspector from the Steamboat Inspection Service was able to test all of the lifeboats by lowering them all into the water and bringing them back up, and  examine the hull, steering gear, gangways, telephones, radio equipment, anchors, and all 100 fire extinguishers and 848 life jackets in less than two hours. The Morro Castle was built to the standards of the U.S. Navy, there was simply no need for inspections.

The Morro Castle still burning while moving on September 8th 1934

As the hearings moved along the evidence of an act of arson continued to build. Crew and passengers continued to comment that the speed of the fire was nothing natural and there were reports from people swearing that they saw flamed traveling down staircases, completely defying a natural burning. The color of the flames were another big indicator. Night watchman Pender stuck to his claims that the flames he saw shooting out from the Writing Room storage locker were blue with indicated a chemical fire with temperatures over 1,500 degrees. In addition, chemical flames change color when water is applied and at lease one crew member reported that when they threw water on the flames they changed from blue-white to yellow. Another major thing to consider was where the fire began. While the Writing Room was open to the public the storage locker was hidden with the doors being made to blend in with the wall paneling, something only known by crew members. If the fire was truly an Act of God or an accident the storage locker was the worst place for fate to place a fire, but if it was deliberately caused by an incendiary device there was no better place on the ship to hide one.

If the fire was in fact arson, who could have set it? While the Ward Line was being ripped apart in the press for negligence and Alagna was being painted as the possible violent arsonist due to his issues before leaving New York, Francis Xavier Fay at the F.B.I. was looking into a tip that prompted him to get a background check of a certain crew member. The resulting report was worse than he ever could have and imagined and put a significant spotlight on the man being called the hero, George White Rogers.

The background check on Rogers laid out a lifetime of disturbances dating back to when he was a young child. There were numerous behavioral issues leading to him being thrown out of school after school until finally being expelled at the age of fifteen. In 1919 Rogers enlisted in the Navy as a radio operator and during his time there he became involved in a small chemical explosion where he bent the story repeatedly to paint himself the hero. Rogers was extremely well versed in chemistry and when the Black Tom explosion happened in 1918 he became obsessed telling people his theories on how the explosion was set and describing in detail a way he figured out to turn a simple fountain pen into a bomb. When the Navy explosion happened he was taken to the Navy Hospital feigning unconsciousness and delirium due to pain. He was discharged but while Rogers's story involved him damaging his eyes while jumping into the explosion to save a fellow sailor the medical records state that he was discharged due to dimness of vision. Nine years went by with Rogers jumping from job to job before he began working at electronic stores in New York City, during which employers reported multiple thefts and fires in their shops.

Despite his frightening history and his suspicious behavior before, during, and after the Morro Castle Rogers may have never been looked at twice had disturbances not continued after the fire that made him famous. After his fame began to fade he opened up an electronics shop which mysteriously burned to the ground. His next job was as a radio operator for the police department in Bayonne, New Jersey. Rogers quickly befriended Lieutenant Vincent Doyle but as the two got closer Doyle began to grow uneasy. Rogers grew increasingly vocal about his time on the doomed ship and he began to describe in detail how exactly he "thought" the fire was set, with a fountain pen incendiary device tucked inside the pocket of a waiter's jacket. When Doyle began to press Rogers on his knowledge about the Morro Castle fire Roger's backtracked saying it was just a guess. That was before Rogers built a bomb from missing police department equipment, planted it in a room, and lured Doyle inside  where it exploded severely injuring him. This time Rogers was arrested and sentenced to twelve to twenty years in prison, a sentence that was appealed in 1942 when Rogers signed up for parole in exchange for enlisting in the armed services. 

Vincent Doyle

By 1944 Rogers was back in Bayonne, New Jersey where he became friends with a retired painter named William Hummel who lived with his daughter just down the street from Rogers. Over the course of their friendship Rogers tried to involve Hummel in several business ventures that never took off with Hummel lending Rogers a total of $7,500. On June 18th 1953 Hummel told Rogers he would need the money back because he and his daughter were moving to Florida. Within the next forty-eight hours Hummel and his daughter were bludgeoned to death in their home. The only reason their bodies were found on July 1st was because Rogers himself told the owner of a radio store that the two were missing before the police even knew about it. Rogers was arrested and sentenced to life in prison but his time in jail was short, he died of a heart attack in January 1958 with his name never formally being attached to the deadly fire that killed 134 people.

Inquiries and accusations flew freely during the hearings after the blaze with Warms, Chief Engineer Eban Abbott, and Ward Line vice-president Henry Cabaud eventually being indicted on various charges. However, an appeals court later overturned Warms' and Abbott's convictions after deciding that the decisions of deceased Captain Willmott greatly contributed to the tragedy that night. In the end no official cause was ever cited for the fire.

The wreck of the Morro Castle remained in Asbury Park attracting millions of tourists who paid to wade out to touch it and purchased pressed pennies and postcards with the haunting charred remains emblazoned on them like a tranquil beach scene. It was not until the stench of the ship began to deter people that the wreck was finally declared a total loss and removal was arranged. On March 14th 1935 she was hauled away from Asbury Park and taken to Gravesend Bay in New York before making her final voyage to Baltimore, Maryland on March 29th where she was finally scrapped.

The wreck of the Morro Castle in Asbury Park November 1934

Morro Castle postcard

The story of the Morro Castle is the stuff of mystery novels. A luxury cruise ship returning from paradise when the captain died during one of two vicious storms, a mystery fire, a run away wreck that became a tourist destination, and a villain that was given many names but who took their identity to the grave. Despite all the unbelievable pieces of the story, it is hard to ignore that the tragedy of the Morro Castle was something that was a direct result of human hands, from the layers of chemicals that turned it into a powder keg to the person who set the blaze that transformed one last night of dreaming into one of the worst maritime disasters of the 20th century.  

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

Sources:

The Morro Castle: Tragedy at Sea by Hal Burton (1973)

Inferno at Sea: Stories of Death and Survival Aboard the Morro Castle by Gretchen F. Coyle and Deborah C. Whitcraft (2012)

Fire at Sea: The Mysterious Tragedy of the Morro Castle by Thomas Gallagher (2003)

When the Dancing Stopped: The Real Story of the Morro Castle Disaster and its Deadly Wake by Brian Hicks (2006)

Shipwreck: The Strange Fate of the Morro Castle by Thomas Gordon and Max Morgan Witts

Please check out the New Jersey Maritime Museum online at:

https://njmaritimemuseum.org/

[aubretia23]

A Ridiculous Idea Part 2

Title : A Ridiculous Idea

Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER : I do not own Naruto, its franchise or anything related to it. All recognisable characters, situations and premises are copyright of Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz Media.

SPECIFIC DISCLAIMER : This fanfiction is a sequel to The Other Talk and its sequel The Other Other Talk. Both are fanfictions written by KuriQuinn and thus her intellectual property. I have taken permission from her to write and publish a sequel to them. Therefore I will try my best to stick to events and interpretations of characters according to her. The keyword  here being “try”.

Author Note : Thank you KuriQuinn for the permission. This is my second attempt at fanfiction. Also I am not KuriQuinn, so the writing style will be different. Please bear with me. English is not my native tongue. The variant of English used here is Indian. I have also used my own headcanons , so it might not be an exact sequel but whatever.

As long as you enjoy it, it does not matter.

Alright I wrote this before Episode 8 came out so I don’t think I can stick to canon anymore. This is a fanfic anyway. Also I thought of making this a five part series earlier but now it will probably be a three parter. Therefore, I am renaming the prologue as Chapter 1. This chapter is long and goes a bit in depth with the situation but I will try to steer it back to lightheartedness in the next one.

I don’t know about other countries but in India, marriage registration and weddings are not the same. There is a civil wedding and a legal marriage. If your marriage is registered, then you are legally married but a civil wedding is almost always happens alongside it. It gives societal legitimacy and acknowledgement by the family, the extended clan and the society. If you got married in a civil wedding but didn’t register yet, your wedding will be considered legally valid but it leaves you in a precarious situation if you ever have to prove your marital status especially if you don’t have photos or wedding guests or distant relatives to vouch for the wedding.

~~~~

A veil of whispers and murmurs descends upon the assembly. Naruto nods to Shizune who informs the clans’ leaders that the emergency meeting was over. As the last of the leaders file out, a handful of close and relevant people stay back. Shikamaru shuts the door of the hall in order to ensure complete privacy for what was to come next.

“This is utterly outrageous.” Koharu bites out furiously through her toothless mouth.

“The sole Uchiha scion and one of the only two Uzumaki scions cannot marry each other. They have to marry someone else in order to carry on their clan lineages. They are the clan leaders on top of that. Two clan leaders marrying each other is unprecedented. Seventh, you must track your son and your apprentice down. You must stop them before this sacrilege occurs.”

“They love each other. And they want to merge the two clans - the Uchiha and the Uzumaki - into one.” Naruto informs her tiredly.

After all, Himawari’s prodigious Byakugan prowess qualifies her for the leadership of the Hyuga. Even though he doesn’t want it for her, Himawari’s enthusiasm and closeness to her maternal clan has elevated her to the status of the unofficial Hyuga heiress who will succeed her still childless and unmarried aunt. Perhaps if he tries, Naruto can persuade her to carry on the Uzumaki lineage for the sake of the village but he knows that Himawari’s happiness lies in the Hyuga. Her smile is something he can die for to protect.

Koharu and Homura stare at him scandalised.

“Clans branching out is one thing, clans merging together is unheard of-” A laughter cuts off Homura.

Hanabi rolls down to the floor at this point, her stomach aching due to incessant laughter.

Kakashi, his eyes crinkling, grins behind his mask, cementing his status as the only one besides her in the entire hall who is amused at the situation.

“This is outrageous! There is no way that those two are getting away with this.”

Sasuke hisses at Hiashi’s thunderous declaration, his head stubbornly throbbing in pain.

“I had an entire wedding planned out for those two!” Ino wails out, sobbing. Her doting aunt tendencies were at their strongest for Sarada, despite her niece’s stubborn aversion to cheesy romances.

“Well, everyone knew that Boruto and Sarada were meant to be. I mean, everybody knew they were in love with each other since they were in diapers.” Iruka was met with sour looks from Naruto and Sakura. Sasuke shoots him a dirty glare while Hinata shuts her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation, her other arm wrapping around her middle consolingly.

Shino sighs at this. Chouji tries to nervously evade looking at the concerned foursome.

“It’s like it was just yesterday​ when they were twelve or thirteen. All blushy-blushy over each other and Boruto declaring that he will protect Sarada and support her as Hokage and what not.” Moegi reminisces, a bright grin slowly breaking out on her face. The new Ino-Shika-Cho sniggers at this.

“Yeah, we even have a bet going on who will realise their feelings first and who will confess first. With Naruto and Sasuke’s dense and oblivious genes being unfortunately dominant, nobody thought​ that it will amount to anything before they turned twenty or something.” Tsunade turns towards Shizune.

Naruto raises an eyebrow at this declaration.

“It is a village-wide bet.” Shizune admits shamefacedly.

“Forget that. They won’t be able to get married. They both are underage.” Temari brings everyone back to the point.

“Well, the law states that the marriageable age is sixteen. Although you need parental permission to get married before turning eighteen.” Shikamaru wants this meeting to be over as soon as possible. Perhaps a cup or two of really strong alcohol might just do him some good.

“Temari’s right. Once the two realise that they won’t be able to get married without your legal permission, they will come back on their own.” Sai tries to reassure his former teammates and Hinata.

“They won’t come back.” Hinata’s quiet statement can be heard over the babel.

“And why not?” is all a frowning Konohamaru manages with broken jaw.

“Because they have our written permission.” Sakura informs dryly.

The hall falls silent.

“What the hell, Sakura?! Why would you guys give them permission to get married while they are still underage? They could have easily waited till they both turned eighteen. That’s a little over an year away!” Ino screeches at her best friend.

“Sarada is pregnant.” Sasuke informs them darkly, the words coming out from a far away place. At least in Sasuke’s mind.

The assembly looks at Sasuke in utter silence.

“Who’s the fa-” Sai cuts himself off as he realises the utter stupidity of his question.

“When did this happen?” Temari demands.

“Well, Sarada is six weeks pregnant.” Naruto replies with a sigh.

The entire assembly stills at the implication of these words.

Two months ago, Uzumaki Boruto was sent on a highly dangerous S-ranked mission. Despite the support of the new triclan team, the mission took a dangerous turn when Kawaki got involved. Sarada and Mitsuki had to be sent in. Boruto completed his mission but Kawaki escaped. Not before fatally injuring the former, one which put him in a week long coma, ripped his vitals apart and nearly costed him his dojutsu and life. It was only due to the timely and combined medical intervention of Sarada, Mitsuki and Inojin that Boruto came out of this mission alive. The scar running down Boruto’s right eye is no longer angrily red but still serves as a reminder of the near-death experience.

Naruto looks at the third Sannin for an explanation. Mitsuki shrugs.

“Sarada was hysterical when Boruto went into coma. We had to knock her out to let her body rest a bit. We left them alone after Boruto woke up because all he would do at that point of time was to ask for Sarada. No one disturbed them after that. At least not for the night after he woke up.”

Mitsuki’s account fitted together with what the Uzumaki and Uchiha couples could glean out from their children after Sasuke calmed down enough from attempting to murder his student. The teenaged couple was reluctant to give out details but eventually under Hinata’s disappointed stare, the one which always made Sasuke feel as though he has kicked a puppy, they gave in.

Underneath what at first seemed to be immature and rebellious teenage dating and sex, and consequent irresponsibly accidental pregnancy, a different story emerged, albeit if only by a bit.

Boruto’s near-death experience had brought him and Sarada to terms with their deep-rooted feelings for each other. Their verbal confirmation of mutual love, trust and commitment was followed by a physical reaffirmation of their passion for each other. Undisturbed by their teammates and traumatised by their experience, the new couple forgot about everything except each other. Everything including something very important.

Contraception.

They had dated for a month after that under the guise of medical checkups, recuperative exercises and training, mostly because they knew their fathers would immediately deem their relationship to be inappropriate or immature or both, before one evening, Sarada began feeling nauseated at the smell of fried octopus while on a date. Boruto had used his dojutsu in order to figure out whether her chakra was off-balance or not. All he saw was a foreign chakra in her lower belly.

Sarada and Boruto were left staring at each other, frozen in shock, as the possible implication seeped in. After several pregnancy tests bought by Boruto’s henged shadow clones, Sarada confirmed her pregnancy.

After initial bafflement, a mild tantrum and some tears later, joy and laughter filled the otherwise empty Uchiha household. Boruto had proposed marriage to Sarada who answered it with pushing him into the nearest bedroom and getting down on her knees.

Unfortunately, the said bedroom belonged to her parents who were not supposed to be in the village for some time. The said parents had returned without a warning.

Once the Uchiha couple got over their initial trauma, they called a kangaroo meeting with their daughter’s boyfriend at the Ichiraku. The meeting ended with Sarada breaking Konohamaru’s jaw for his uninvited interference and Sakura being generally threatening. Boruto had not spoken a word since then and his back had begun to hurt due to rigidity. Sasuke’s death glares might have something to do with it.

When the news reached the Uzumaki couple, Hinata and Naruto were at a loss for words, embarrassment and bafflement being their default settings.

After accidently informing their parents about their pregnancy later that night at dinner at the Uzumaki residence, Sarada had stubbornly refused to back down after her father attempted to murder the father of her child. Sasuke’s irrational anger at that point was met with immature tantrums and comebacks from Sarada’s side. Which was enough to tire her out sooner that expected. Boruto had caught her before she could hit the floor.

His piercing blue eye met his mentor’s mismatched black and violet ones. For the first time in his life, Sasuke felt afraid of his student.

While Sakura checked up on her daughter, scanning her with Mystical Palms and asking her general questions regarding her health, pregnancy and sex life, Hinata had walked Himawari to the Hyuuga Compound where she would be spending the night. Kakashi stuck around hoping to dissipate tensions. Once they all gathered back in the Uzumaki living room, Boruto and Sarada sat down with their parents and Kakashi, hoping to come to a rational resolution.

Protectively wrapping his arms around her, Boruto explained rationally what Sarada was expressing emotionally.

That he and Sarada loved each other. Had done so for years.

That they were dating seriously. And sleeping together. And had no intentions of ever taking a break.

That they were going to become parents.

That their child is the proof of their love for each other.

That they wanted to get married.

That even without the baby, they would have gotten married the day Sarada turned eighteen.

That he and Sarada had enough money to establish a married life and family of their own. Being talented at a young age meant being sent on high ranking missions early irrespective of their nin rank which translated to a high income.

That all they wanted was love and support from both sets of their parents for their child and themselves.

And of course, being still underage, their permission to get married as soon as possible given the circumstances.

Sasuke had stormed out of the house at the end of this conversation. Sarada was reduced to tears while Boruto tried to console her.

Sakura was furious at this point. Whether it was at her husband or daughter or the situation itself was unknown. Possibly the first option because she stormed out of the Uzumaki residence as well after telling Sarada that she is going to put her father in his place.

Hinata and Naruto seemed bewildered even at this point. But soon, Naruto sat down to lecture Boruto on irresponsibility - general, sexual and marital. Hinata diced some fruits and along with a bowl of custard managed to draw Sarada into a conversation over them. Kakashi wandered off outside, hoping to catch his two former students before they damaged public property.

He soon found the couple at an all-night bar. Sasuke could have been mistaken for being passed out on Sakura’s lap after what seemed to be several bottles of very high grade sake.

Except he was sobbing quite audibly. The loss of his only beloved daughter to another man was just too much for him to bear.

Sakura was gently patting her husband’s head, her face decidedly softened since the entire drama began. As she caught Kakashi’s eye, she gently informed her husband about the onlooker. Sasuke immediately pulled himself up to sit straight, swaying a little, and glaring drunkenly at Kakashi, daring him silently to repeat this to Naruto. Kakashi merely smiled in amusement and joined them, ordering shochu for himself and umeshu for Sakura.

Half an hour later, they were joined by Naruto and Hinata. He was carrying a marriage contract. One with an underage permission clause attached to it.

Hinata informed Sakura as the latter poured out a cup of umeshu for the former that Boruto and Sarada had decided to spend the night together at a hotel. Sasuke made an attempt to bolt out of there but Sakura’s steady glare pinned him down.

Naruto broached out the subject of unifying the two clans. It was something unheard of before. Boruto and Sarada’s status as clan leaders easily disqualified each other as a marriage candidate for each other. But Boruto figured that if the two clans were merged into one, something that should not be very difficult granted the meagre number of both the Uchiha and the Uzumaki, he and Sarada, as the joint co-leaders of the new clan, could welcome their child without the explosive question of which clan did he or she belong to. The question of kekkei genkai was a different matter altogether, one which was dependent on sheer luck.

Ultimately, all four of the parents decided to sign over the contract. The reality of a grandchild was becoming more dominant over their children’s idiocy. The two to-be grandmothers began discussing the cuteness and gender of the unborn baby, while Naruto and Sasuke ended up having a chakraless fist fight after the former goaded the latter by saying that he will be the more favourite one out of the two grandfathers. Kakashi smiled in serene satisfaction.

Since the clock at the bar already read 3:43 AM, Hinata thought it would be best to just discreetly have it delivered to their children via one of Sasuke’s hawk summons. It would certainly cheer up both their children, Sarada more specifically to be honest. Half an hour later, they received a note from Boruto thanking them for everything.

Naruto announced that he would be heading to the Hokage’s office. Clan merging or whatever would need a good amount of legal paperwork.

Sasuke and Sakura decided to return to their home. Sasuke being wobbly on his feet had to be supported by Sakura. Hinata decided to go over to the Hyuga Compound, hoping to meet her father personally and inform him about this turn of events. Kakashi decided to stay back at the bar, surrounding himself with more alcohol and pulling out his orange book.

At 6:00 AM, Naruto sought out Shikamaru for advice on legal aspects of the merger.

At 7:30 AM, he called for an emergency meeting of clan leaders at 9:00 AM in which Boruto and Sarada’s upcoming nuptials would be announced. A private meeting with the Konoha Council was avoided, firstly because it was a private family matter, and secondly, because of the excessive high-handed nosiness of the two Elders. With all the legal paperwork set right, thanks to a disgruntled and unsettled Shikamaru and his genius brain, Naruto knew the two oldies could no longer interfere.

At 8:50 AM, he was presented a letter by a very calm and pleased Mitsuki.

It explained in Boruto’s rather neat handwriting that he and Sarada are eloping.

That they had registered their marriage at the Konoha Marriage Registration Office at 8:10 AM. The new Ino-Shika-Cho served as their three witnesses.

That he and Sarada intend to exchange vows somewhere alone and to have a long honeymoon as they know that they won’t get any alone time together once the baby was born.

That he hopes that they forgive them.

That they will write to them every week.

That they will be back before the due date because Sarada wants her mother to be the midwife.

And that they will have another wedding just for their parents and the rest of the village on their first wedding anniversary.

At 8:58 AM, a murderous Sasuke had his ribs broken by Sakura when they learnt about this. Hinata was informed discreetly by Shikamaru just prior to the start of the meeting. The look she sent in the direction of the village gates was spine-chilling.

Koharu is the first to gain back her footing.

“This is a sacrilege! What kind of an abomination would this child be?! Born of a half-breed Uchiha and a hybrid of Uzumaki and Hyuga? Seventh, you not only need to stop these two, separate them and forbid them from seeing each other ever again, but also annul this marriage.”

Homura agrees to this, “But first of all, Hokage, you must ensure that this monster of a child is not born. The bloodlines of Byakugan and Sharingan mixing into one being will yield no good.”

Everyone turns towards them in slow motion as the words sink. The room’s temperature drops by a good several degrees.

Sakura is the first to act in the defence of her child’s child. Homura is thrown out of the conference hall on the fourth floor of the Hokage office building, the glass window shattering on his head while on his path down.

Koharu has her chakra points blocked by an absolutely furious Hinata, her activated Byakugan ablaze with fury. Her pointed fingers threaten to damage her heart if the Elder moves even a little.

Naruto feels anger leaving his tensed shoulders as he nods to Shizune to pick up Koharu and send her to the hospital and on her way there, also pick up Homura if he is still alive even after having each and every bone shattered by Sakura’s punch. Sasuke’s broken ribs were the only thing which prevented him from going after the duo and ensuring their demise. The murderous intent of the rest of the gathering was ebbing was well.

The whole group of friends and extended honorary family was protective about the future Ninth Hokage and her bodyguard. Quite naturally, it was immediately and instinctively extended to their child.

A cool wave of exasperated silence and exhausted contemplation washes over the occupants of the hall.

Sai laughs out. “Well, I suppose this is karma. “

“For what?” Sasuke raises an eyebrow at him.

“For having a year long sexathlon of a honeymoon and giving birth to a secret baby about whom no one knew outside the village.” Ino trills in.

Sasuke groans out loud while general amusement at his expense ensues.

Everything will be fine, Naruto supposes. As his eyes meet Hinata’s, a smile blossoming on her face, Naruto feels lighters, happier, giddier.

A grandchild would be nice, he thinks. Yeah, it would be very nice.

“Well, if anything, all this will come back to bite them in the ass.” Sakura says lightly. A tremor of devilish amusement enters her voice. A dangerous smirk slowly snakes out on her increasingly gleeful face.

“What do you mean by that?” Hinata frowns.

“I found this out while I examined Sarada. I wanted to inform Boruto and Sarada about this after the meeting but since they have decided to behave irresponsibly and idiotically again, I suppose it will be cosmic punishment when they learn about this.”

“Learn about what? Is the baby and Sarada alright?” Sasuke asks.

“ You mean the babies.”

“Huh?” The entire group looks at her bewildered.

“Boruto and Sarada are going to have twins.” Sakura says happily.

Naruto feels a sense of dread entering him. Flashbacks of Boruto’s antics in childhood and admittedly his own come back to the fore.

Konoha is truly doomed, he thinks meekly.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Touch

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Bo Dallas/Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Welcome aboard, to another Thirst Party Saturday! This installment is brought to you by three fingers (or so) of delicious honey bourbon, and dedicated to everyone who's ever had some thoughts about their professors. Tagging the usual suspects, @tox-moxley, @oraclegazes, our steadfast captain @hardcorewwetrash and @jazzytoosweet! Enjoy!

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: For brief mentions of divorce and marital problems.]

Professor Dallas was a breath of fresh air on campus. A younger teacher who wasn’t yet burned out or bitter, he always had a bright smile and something encouraging to say. His button-down shirts were a bit too big for his frame, and he wore loud, paisley ties. When asked about the ties, he just grinned broadly and said that he’d inherited his father’s love of math as well as his tie collection.

He had shoulder-length brown hair that he usually kept pulled back in a bun, and warm brown eyes with smile wrinkles already starting to set in around them. He let students eat during his lessons as long as they weren’t too distracting (which was a huge hit for the exhausted college-goers who didn’t have time to get to the cafeteria between courses), and since he was on the younger side many of his students felt more comfortable talking with him. This led to livelier classes and him quickly becoming a ‘favorite’ among the student body.

You had come into the course in the fall fully resigned to fumble through to a barely passing grade. You were terrible at math, but it was a basic prerequisite for the program you were interested in. So you had walked to Professor Dallas’s classroom with a heavy heart.

“Call me crazy, but you don’t seem thrilled to be here!” Professor Dallas had said to you. “It’s the tie, isn’t it? Blue is not my color.”

You were caught entirely off guard, squinting at the tie. There…might have been some blue in it? It looked mostly red to you, but it was so hard to tell. The pattern was outrageously eighties. “N-No, the tie is fine. It matches your…binder?”

His face had lit up at that, brown eyes crinkling at the edges when he smiled. “Really? Wow, that’s so nice of you to say! But if it’s not my tie, what could it be?”

“I know I’m going to fail.” You confessed. “I’m no good with numbers and nothing seems to help. But I really need to pass this class.”

“Prerequisite hell, huh?” He had asked sympathetically. “I hear you, I remember getting stuck in that vortex. Look, if you don’t understand something, just ask. Or wave. Send me a smoke signal.” He smiled again when you giggled. “The thing about math is that a lot of people don’t understand it, but they’re scared of being singled out as ‘the dumb one’ so they fudge their way through it and don’t end up learning anything.”

“You know me too well, Professor.” You replied wryly.

He spread his arms, tugging up his shirtsleeves. “I’ve been you! It’s okay. Hey, if you feel like you’re interrupting class by asking questions…well, don’t feel that way because that’s what I’m here for, to answer questions and help you learn! You can always catch me after class, though, if you’re not comfortable with it at first. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of grading to do, stuff like that. So make a note every time you don’t understand stuff and I’ll do my best to get you up to speed.” He offered.

Professor Dallas was a man of his word with the patience of Job. Multiple evenings after class were spent in his classroom, you plying him with questions while he graded quizzes and did out his lesson plans. The excitement that he displayed when you figured out a problem in your head was infectious. Never mind that it had taken you over five minutes, your fingers tapping on your desk as you mouthed numbers to yourself in an effort to keep track of everything.

Professor Dallas took to calling on you in class, giving you a chance to become more confident in your budding skills. Even if you didn’t have the right answer, it was incredibly satisfying to think that your professor believed you might. He was endlessly energetic, bounding from desk to desk as he sought the student who might know the correct answer. Then once he found them, he would ask their method and explain it to the class to the fullest of his ability.

Professor Dallas liked to explore the different ways to solve problems, from doing out all the steps to cutting corners. “There’s no wrong way to do it, as long as you’re not looking at an answer key.” He had said. “Math is a constant. If you do it right, no matter how you do it right, the answer will be right.” Sometimes the way the professor wrote things out didn’t make sense to you, but then someone else in the class would have a different way of doing the equation that you could understand.

You were pretty sure you weren’t the only one in the room that was managing to pull your grade up out of the garbage. This was the Math ninety class, dubbed “Catch All”, for the young adults like yourself who had no hope of passing math. Professor Dallas obviously knew that when he accepted the course. Technically it could have been an easy paycheck for him, it wasn’t like anyone was paying attention to how many kids flunked out of the simplest math class the college offered. But he worked hard to get even the most hopeless students engaged in the lessons. “Someone else might have a better way of doing it! Who can help them out?” He created an atmosphere of teamwork, the whole class offering different methods until they found one the individual could understand.

Professor Dallas loved quizzes. Normally they would fill you with dread, but all of his were either open book or take home, which allowed you ample time to figure out the correct answers instead of frantically guessing like you always had before. Take homes he would assign on Wednesday and ask that they be turned back in by Friday, “I know you guys probably have important stuff to do during the weekend!”

The last class before Thanksgiving break though, the Professor Dallas that walked into the classroom was…off. His smiles didn’t come easy and his enthusiasm seemed forced. He stayed seated for almost twenty solid minutes, which was unheard of.

When a loud ringtone interrupted him mid-sentence, he visibly cringed and held up a finger. “Excuse me guys, I have to take this. I'll be in my office. Just...keep reading the book.” Normally he had everyone silence their phones, so this was entirely unprecedented.

Once he left the room it practically erupted with concerned whispers. “What’s up with Professor Dallas?” “Maybe he’s sick.” “He looked really upset!” “Wonder who’s on the phone.” You were just as worried as everyone else, trying to focus on the words in the math book before you finally gave up and slammed it shut. Professor, I hope you're okay.

His office was across the hall from the classroom, so it wasn’t a long walk. But Professor Dallas didn’t return for a good half-hour. A couple of the other students left early, wishing everyone a happy Thanksgiving as they did. The normal three-hour block for the class was almost up by the time Professor Dallas finally reappeared.

He looked terrible, his hair all tangled up like he’d pulled it out of his bun and then tried to fix it again. He kept his eyes down and braced his hands on his desk. “I’m sorry that I…wasted everyone’s time today. I-I should have known better than to come in like this. You guys…you guys have a good holiday, okay?” He sat down heavily and put his face in his hands, waving off the worried questions that flew from the few of you still in the classroom. The rest of the students slowly trickled out until only you remained.

Professor Dallas raised his head and saw you still sitting there, and for just a second he almost looked better. “What…what can I do for you?” He asked quietly.

“Professor, what’s wrong? What happened?” There was no reason for him to answer you any differently than the six or seven other people who had asked, but you hoped against hope that he would.

He shook his head, sighing. “It’s alright. I’ll…you don’t need to worry about me, okay? Just some bad news.” He chuckled sadly. “Some really bad news.” He started fidgeting with the ring on his finger, sliding it around and around. He’d mentioned during one session (with the cutest blush you’d ever seen) that he was “kind of newly married, it’s been almost two years.” The class had of course dissolved into a juvenile chorus of coos and overly-sappy “aww”s, making the young professor laugh and hide his face in embarrassment.

“Are you going to be alright?” You asked, getting up from your desk after shoving your notebooks into your backpack. Professor Dallas nodded after a few seconds, not meeting your eyes. “That’s not very convincing, professor.” You couldn’t help the scolding tone your voice took.

“I know.” He replied weakly. “I’m uh. I don’t feel very convincing right now.”

“I’m really worried about you. You’ve done so much for all of us. I just want you to be okay.” You said sincerely.

Professor Dallas snorted. “I think this class cares more about me than--shit, sorry. I um. You should go. Don’t want to miss your train or bus or however you’re getting home for Thanksgiving.” He mumbled.

You dug back into your backpack for one of your notebooks, ripping a piece of paper out and quickly jotting down your phone number. Then, you slapped the paper onto his desk and proceeded to fold it in half, and in half once more. “If you need anything over the week, Professor. Someone to talk to, anything.” You said firmly, taking his hand and closing his fingers around the paper. “We need you, okay? I’m not one for big gestures or any of that stuff, but you seem to actually give a damn whether we fail out of your class, and I know you don’t have to. I don’t know what happened but you’re obviously upset.” You pointed out. “So if you need someone to talk to, I’m here for you. Do you want a hug?”

Professor Dallas nodded after a minute, standing up from his desk. You wrapped him up in a tight embrace, startled when he let a shuddering sob escape. “Professor…” You murmured, even more worried now. “Are you alright to go home? I can wait here if you need someone with you.”

“No no I'm fine. I'm...I'm fine.” He choked out. “I really shouldn't keep you. I...you go ahead now. I'll be alright.”

You weren’t convinced but finally agreed to head out, with the condition that he send you a text once he got home safely. You gave him one last hug before you left, and he offered you a shaky smile when you pulled away. It wasn’t anything close to his usual grin, but it was an attempt.

…

-i’m home. thank you.

You frowned down at your phone, finger hovering over the call button. You didn’t want to be intrusive. His next text came while you were debating.

-am I at least liked in the CLASS? I seem to be.

-Of course you are, Professor Dallas! You’re an excellent teacher.

-ok.

You tapped your fingers on the table. Was it strange to be this concerned about your professor? He had been incredibly kind and patient all semester. It only seemed fair to return the favor when he appeared to need it.

-Professor I hope I’m not invading your space or anything like that, I promise I’m not trying to be pushy. It’s just kind of scary seeing you like this and obviously I want to help if I can.

You bit your lip, worried that even that might be overstepping your boundaries. You’d resigned yourself to the fact that you had probably pushed too far when your phone finally lit up with his reply.

-hey, I’ll be okay. thank you for caring, for what it’s worth. just got my parade rained on is all.

-You have a place to go for turkey?

-big brother lives out in Louisiana. holidays usually happen at his home. lots of room. always a good time.

-Alright Professor. I know I speak for all the class when I say I hope you enjoy your holiday. See you next week!

-so formal! just call me bo.

-Okay, Professor Bo.

…

Professor Dallas--Bo was an old hand when it came to communication. He started sending snapchats once he arrived at his brother’s house and didn’t stop for much. Bray (his brother) apparently had a taste for the macabre and was covered in tattoos, with a mountain man beard and piercing blue eyes.

“He’s got Dad’s eyes.” Bo explained in a brief clip, holding up a picture of a burly man wearing a very familiar white shirt and brightly-colored tie. “We both got his smile though.” He smiled broadly then, like he used to. “Real trio of heartbreak kids, we were.”

Over the course of the break he seemed to drink a lot, but he also seemed to brighten back up. He was damn near despondent for the first few days so it was a relief to see him return to almost normal. His snapchats got goofier as the week went on, and you found yourself looking at your phone every time it went off in the hopes that it was Bo with another holiday update. Bray seemed to appreciate his antics to a certain extent, the occasional smile quirking his lips when he thought the camera wasn’t on him. Obviously you and the class weren’t the only ones worried about Bo.

“Bray say hi t’ my star student!” Bo exclaimed drunkenly one night, his brother shaking his head at him. “He’s shy.”

Me? Star student? You were confused, tilting your head as another snap came through.

It was Bray, looking apologetic as he quietly said, “Sorry about that. Gets in his cups since the wife left him. I’m takin’ care of him though, make sure the class ain’t worryin’.” You quickly replayed the snap, unsure if Bray’s heavier accent was playing tricks on your ears.

“Since the wife left him.”

Bo had been happily married as far as you knew, what on earth could have happened? He didn’t exactly seem like the type to abuse someone or cheat on them. Bray had said she left him though. That snapchat was apparently the last one for the day, however, which meant you went to bed curious. You tossed and turned for most of the night, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what could have gone wrong.

You texted Bo the next morning after waiting as long as you were physically able, yawning widely as you did.

-Hey, your brother mentioned something about your wife last night. Are you guys okay?

That didn’t seem too nosy, right? You really weren’t trying to be annoying. Honest! You were just…concerned.

-as good as we can be, I guess. Was Bo’s short reply. You took the hint and quickly changed the subject, asking him what was on his agenda for the day.

-Any quizzes for us Prof?

-you’re on break! don't worry I’ll have plenty of new ideas for the rest of the semester. once I get rid of this godawful headache.

-Party Professor! You grinned down at your phone.

-heck no, I should have quit years ago.

…

After the break Professor Dallas was much better than the last time you’d seen him in class, but he still seemed less enthusiastic compared to how he’d been before that fateful day. It was almost as if he was putting on a show or a brave face most days, trying to keep everyone from worrying about him.

Finals were drawing near and for the first time in years you felt like your chances at a solid ‘C’ grade were actually good. With that weight off your shoulders, you found your thoughts preoccupied more and more with your young professor's well-being. Maybe it was the newfound confidence you had, or maybe it was something a little more base. But after your final exam had been turned in you stood nervously outside the door of Professor Dallas’s office, hand raised and ready to knock.

“-not the one that asked for this, alright?” Bo sounded frustrated. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, it just…kind of happened. “You wanted this and I went along because if you weren’t happy then why the heck should I be?” He paused. “No no, you don’t get to pull that with me. I am…no. I’m not. You blocked my number right after the divorce lawyer called me, so don’t lecture me about communication.”

Your eyes widened. His wife? Or…I guess ex-wife? Not wanting to inadvertently listen in any longer, you knocked loudly on the door.

Professor Dallas cleared his throat. “Come in!” He called.

“Professor.” You peeked your head around the door. “I'm sorry to interrupt, I wanted to talk to you before you headed out for the night. Should I come back some other time?”

“No no, I was done anyways.” He grimaced. “Did you uh...how much did you hear?”

“Oh, not much!” You replied cheerily. “I only just finished organizing my notes. Figured I'd pop over, I had a question.”

“Of course, whatever you need.” Bo shuffled his papers around on the desk, starting to stack everything into a neat pile so he could file it. “What's up?”

“I uh...” Now that you were actually here, it was a little more daunting. “I wanted to talk with you about...um. H-How you're doing?” You asked awkwardly, your fingers picking at the frayed strap of your backpack.

“How you're doing?” Bo asked in confusion, “Well you're doing great! I mean, your improvement is phenomenal and, well, I keep meaning to say this but I can never really find the right time.” He folded his hands on his desk and swallowed, seeming almost nervous. “You've really made me proud in this class. You came in here with reservations and doubt but you've performed admirably. You never shirked or wallowed in self-pity, you just kept at it until you finally seemed to understand.”

“I didn't wallow in class, that is.” You had to interject, making him laugh. “Trust me, my dorm was wallow central. 'Professor Dallas obviously hates me', was my life for the first couple of classes.” You took a deep breath. “But I wasn’t asking about me, Professor. I was asking about you. You’re still...you’re not yourself yet. We've noticed.”

There. You’d said it.

“Oh.” Bo said weakly. “How I’m doing. Well I…I mean I’m fine, I’m not too bad. You shouldn’t worry about me.”

“’Fine’ and ‘not too bad’ are sort of on opposite ends of the spectrum, professor.” You pointed out. The time for worrying about whether you were being invasive had apparently passed.

Bo looked startled for a second, like he couldn’t believe that you’d called him on it. “I…”

“Remember what I said that day? If you need anything. If you need someone to talk to.” You reminded him quietly, sliding your backpack off your shoulders and resting it on the ground beside the door. “I don’t know when I became the class spokesperson, but everyone is worried about you. Not just me.”

“I know. I’m sorry about that. I thought I was doing pretty good.” Bo groaned, plopping his face into his hands. Your eyes widened as you noticed his wedding ring was gone. “My wife and…I mean, my ex-wife. Um, right before Thanksgiving, she uh…” Bo lifted his head, huffing in a breath. “Filed for the divorce. I should have seen it coming. She wasn’t happy with the fact that I was teaching, seemed to think I’d give it up once we got married and get a job with the government or something.”

“Why didn’t you? Probably would pay better and you wouldn’t have to deal with the dregs of the mathematics community.” You pointed out.

“I wanted to help people learn.” Bo replied softly, his eyes fixed on his hands. “I wanted…look, my dad worked for the IRS. He loved it. But it wasn’t for me. I need to move, I need to smile and talk and help people. I can’t do that sitting in a cubicle.”

“So she…”

“It’s been put through.” Bo’s smile was strained. “If everything goes well, it'll all be finalized come March. I suppose I should be thankful that we didn’t have any little ones to get caught up in the mix.”

“Professor I’m so sorry.” You felt awful for him, but a tiny, selfish part of you was glad that he talked to you. You had grown very attached to the young man in front of you during the break and time spent in class, and it was somewhat validating that he chose to confide in you.

“Don’t apologize. Obviously it was doomed from the start. She expected me to get a different job, I expected her to understand that teaching is all I want to do.” Professor Dallas shrugged. “It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Still hurt, but I think I’m over the worst of it now.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” You asked, putting your hands on his desk and giving him a serious look. “Anything I can do to help? Do you need food? A place to stay? Stuff like that.”

“Oh no no, I’m fine. She said I could keep the house. She’s so gracious, permitting me to continue living in the house I’m paying the mortgage on.” Bo’s tone was dry and you couldn’t help your giggle. He grinned after a second, standing up and walking around his desk. “You’ve been an absolute breath of fresh air during this whole fiasco. Even when my snapchats got out of hand.”

“I love your snapchats and texts so don’t go there, Professor. I’m glad I can talk with you.” He smiled again and you couldn’t help but smile back, tilting your chin up. “There you are. Been a while since I’ve seen you, really you, Professor.”

“Been a while since I’ve felt like myself.” His smile softened. “Thank you.” The kiss he gave you was sudden and unexpected. You made a startled noise and Bo flinched, pulling back and pressing a hand over his mouth. “Oh, oh my God. I’m uh. Shit, I didn’t mean to do that.” He finally sputtered. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t-”

“Why are you apologizing?” You asked quietly, feeling like your heart was going to beat out of your chest.

“I got carried away, I--um. That was incredibly inappropriate of me. I’m so sorry.” He sounded horrified. “I’m not normally like this, I promise. It’s just…I mean, we’ve been talking a lot and you’ve been so kind to me through this whole process, I-”

That vibrant paisley tie made the perfect handhold and you dragged his head back down for a second kiss, your fingers firmly gripping the fabric. Bo whimpered into your mouth and you pulled away, feeling incredibly self-satisfied when he leaned to follow you. Bo looked dazed, his eyes half-closed and his chest heaving. “You…what?” He asked after a minute, the uncertainty in his voice heartbreaking. “If this is a joke, it’s not funny.”

“I want you to be happy again, professor.” You said firmly, loosening his tie. “And if this is how I do it, that’s fine by me.”

“Oh wow.” He mumbled. “Just for me, though? I um…wow.” Bo straightened up abruptly. “Wait, wait. I can show you your grades right now if you want, you…you don’t have to do this.” He spoke slowly, reluctantly.

Your eyes narrowed as you realized what he was implying. “This isn’t about my grades, professor!” You answered sharply, exasperated. “I’m here to help you, okay? I don’t want anything in return, just...let me help, dammit.”

Bo still seemed skeptical, fidgeting under your stern look. “You…you have to understand, alright, it’s not because of you.” He mumbled finally. “My w--my ex-wife said certain things and it’s been…um, difficult to get past some of them.”

“I’m not her.” You crossed your arms. “Tell me what you want, professor.” Bo put his face in his hands, his cheeks a brilliant shade of pink. Whatever he said was muffled by his hands and you tugged them away from his face. “No hiding from me, Bo. What do you want?” Your voice was a little gentler this time. “What do you need from me?” You knelt in front of him, hearing his sharp intake of breath when you unbuttoned your jacket and tossed it to one side.

“Y-You can’t do that.” Bo stammered. “Can’t just…not like that, oh God.” Despite his words, he didn’t seem to be able to help the way his fingers ran through your hair carefully. He swallowed hard. “Would you…” He paused, biting his lip. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Highly unlikely. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” You assured him, smiling.

That seemed to give him enough confidence to open his mouth again. “Would you maybe…unzip my pants?” Bo asked, looking worried. “Only if you want to, of course! I don’t-” His words died in his throat as you unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly, then looked up at him expectantly.

“Now what?” Granted, you could guess at what he wanted, but you hoped he would ask you anyway.

He squirmed at your continued eye contact, his hands fiddling with your hair. “I...c-could you maybe. Um.” Bo took one of your hands and brought it to rest on the swell of his hardening cock in his boxers. “P-Please.”

“I can do that.” You said softly, sliding his boxers down a little so you could wrap your fingers around his cock.

Bo jolted with a gasp, body quivering nervously under your touch as you stroked him to full hardness. “Oh no, oh God...” He moaned, hips shuddering when you mouthed over the head of his cock. “Don't stop, please, please, don't stop-”

“I won't, I promise.” You whispered, guiding his hand to the back of your head. You wrapped your lips around his cock and sloppily licked the underside, getting a keening noise out of him that sent a shiver down your spine. He began thrusting his cock into your mouth, just barely. Little pulses of his hips, like he was afraid of choking you. You took him as deeply as you could, the head of his cock tapping the back of your throat for a split second.

Bo slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound he made, eyes wide as he watched you suck him off. “Oh my f-ucking God.” He gasped, biting down on his knuckles directly afterwards.

You whined around his cock, the swear sending a hot wave of arousal through your body. Professor Dallas usually refrained from cursing in the classroom, he said it was distracting. Now you could see what he meant, because hearing him swear in that breathless manner was incredibly distracting.

“Wait wait wait-” Bo suddenly tugged at your hair, slowing your bobbing motion. “M' gonna' come if you keep that up b-but I...God dammit I want to fuck you, please let me fuck you, please.” He begged, cupping your face and pulling your mouth off his cock. “Please, please-” He groaned when you lightly ran your fingertip up the underside of his cock, smiling.

“Sit down, professor. I'll take care of you.” You murmured, pressing one last kiss to the head of his cock.

Bo grabbed your arm and hauled you upright, pressing your body to his and emitting an odd, humming sort of croon into your mouth as his cock rubbed against your stomach through your clothes. “I have to confess, there were a couple of times I...thought about you in ways that I shouldn't.” He breathed. “Wondered if there...i-if maybe I was just flattering myself. I don't believe...I can't believe this is really happening.” He gestured at you, and then at himself.

You frowned at him. “Sit down.” You ordered curtly, moving away to lock the door. Professor Dallas obeyed almost instantly; you heard the creak of the chair as he sat. “You thought about me in ways you shouldn't, huh?” You asked, smiling to yourself as you began working your tights down your legs. You toed off your sneakers and bent over to step out of your tights, listening to the stifled whine you got in reply when you dragged your panties down with them. “Naughty professor.” You scolded, whirling around to face him.

Bo looked absolutely breathtaking, splayed out in his office chair with his pants around his ankles and his hair mussed out of its bun in a couple of different spots. His cock stood proudly upright, beading precome at the tip. You began unbuttoning your shirt and his eyes widened, following your fingers hungrily. “A-All I can do is...is beg for your forgiveness.” He replied weakly.

You shook your head, trying to seem disappointed. “No, what you're going to do is let me fuck your cock. We'll see what happens after that.”

“Y-You really-”

“Did I not say I would take care of you? Weren't you just asking to fuck me?” You reminded him, stifling the noise you wanted to make at the flush that reddened his cheeks. “Stop questioning me.”

“Okay. I...okay.” He whispered.

His quiet response concerned you a little and you tugged his chin up, searching his eyes. “This alright? Too much?”

“N-No! No no, I'm...I like it, I promise. I told you, she...she said some things to me.” Bo answered, seeming pained.

“Let me get them out of your head, okay? What do you want me to do next?” You asked, surprised when he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his lap.

“Let me...please, let me have sex with you.” He implored, hissing in a breath as you straddled his cock. “Yes, yes, please-” Bo threw his head back, whole body shaking as you sank down onto him and he gripped the armrests of his chair. “Oh, fuck!” He cried, like he couldn't help himself.

“Jesus, Bo-” You moaned, rocking your hips against him. The way he shook all but undid you and you huffed out a breath. “Th-This is fucking ridiculous, I can't-”

“Please don't stop, don't stop, don't tease me-” Bo half-sobbed, burying his face in your neck. His hands dragged at your blouse, pulling it off your shoulders. “I haven't been fucking touched in months, p-please, please-” He begged frantically. “I need you to fuck me, I need you to fuck me, please.”

Your mind struggled to catch up with the way his words spilled out, foggy with arousal. “You haven't...?” You paused, draping your arms lazily over his shoulders and tilting your head. “Really?”

Bo shook his head jerkily, looking torn. “She didn't want to touch me. M' a disappointment, always c-come too soon-”

“That's fucking stupid.” You interrupted him bluntly. “You come when you want to, Bo. That's the shittiest excuse for not touching someone that I've ever heard, and I'll tell her that to her face.”

“Oh my G-God thank you, thank you, Jesus fucking Christ-” A few tears rolled down his cheeks and he tucked his face into your neck again, kissing the skin there. “Th-Thank you for having sex with me, thank you for touching me, thank you so much-” His words were muffled but still made their way to you.

“Shh, it's okay. It's okay.” You soothed, feeling oddly protective. You cupped the back of his head, whimpering when he mouthed over the swell of your breasts. “Bo, whatever she said to you...” You trailed off as he nipped at one of your peaks through your bra. He nosed over the area curiously, finally tugging your bra down so your breasts spilled over the top. You couldn't help the needy sound you made while he pawed at you clumsily, thumbs sweeping across your peaks. “God, you're so good to me.” You praised, smiling down at him when he looked up. “Anyone who has you is lucky, Bo. Remember that.”

“R-Really?”

Your response was shifting your body against his own, digging your fingers into his tangled bun. He groaned, lavishing your breasts with attention as you fucked yourself on his cock. You rolled your hips hard, your body already in spasm around him. “You’re patient. You’re kind a-and always willing to help.” Your voice broke when Bo thrust up into you. “You smile and you laugh and you give great advice. I d-don’t…I don’t understand how anyone could not want you, honestly.” You shrugged your shoulders, leaning forward over him and grinding your body down to meet his thrusts.

Bo’s mouth had gone slack and you took the opportunity to kiss him sweetly, moving his hands until they rested on your hips. “I’ve…no one’s ever really wanted to…I mean, I thought she did, but…” Bo mumbled in a fragmented manner until you shushed him, fingers stroking his hair. “I’m sorry, you j-just feel so good around me, I--” He panted, his hips bucking underneath you. “I’m so glad you’re here with me, Jesus Christ I’m so glad-” He lowered his head to your breasts again, getting you to whimper as he circled his tongue around one of your nipples. He gently tugged on it with his teeth and you arched your back, making him groan around his mouthful.

“Mm, I love your mouth.” You said breathlessly. “You’re amazing, fuck, you’re so good.” To drive the point home you picked up the pace, using the desk for leverage so you could fuck down onto him properly. You were determined to give him a performance that would at least be in his top five, if not number one.

Bo choked on his breath, fingers gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. “Oh God, sweetheart you can’t--Jesus you…God, keep going, just keep going. M’ so close, fuck.” He pleaded. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop-”

“I won’t, I promise, we’ll get off.” You wondered dazedly what his ex-wife had done to him to get him this riled up, just over coming. But you didn’t devote much time to thinking about it, too focused on the heat in your stomach that begged for release. “Come with me, please?” You requested softly, twining your fingers through his.

Bo looked at your joined hands, seeming like he was about to punch through his lower lip with how hard he bit down. His reply was nothing but a wordless moan, pulling his fingers from your grasp to rub firmly at your clit. You shuddered as he roughly caressed you, his brow furrowed from focusing on the task at hand. Your orgasm still managed to sneak up on you, turning you boneless over him. You were only just able to wrap your arms around his neck to support yourself, rocking back and forth slowly and crying out as pleasure took over. “Bo!”

He buried his face in your neck again, his cock ramming up into you hard and fast as he came with a strangled moan of your name. You sighed in content, undoing the elastic from his hair and dropping it on the floor so you could run your fingers through the long brown strands. Bo hadn't stopped shaking yet and you hummed softly to him while you finger-combed his hair. You knew he had been physically neglected so it wasn't too far off to assume that he had been emotionally neglected as well, and normally nothing made you feel better after sex than if your partner stroked your hair while you came down.

“Are you alright?” You finally murmured, framing his jaw with your hands and making him meet your eyes. “Was that too much? Are you okay?” A couple more tears tracked down his cheeks and you bit your lip, emotions a little close to the surface after your intense orgasm. “Oh, sweetheart...”

“No no, n-no, I'm...these are happy.” Bo sniffled. “I don't usually cry, I p-promise. That'd be weird.” He rubbed at his eyes, puffing out a shaky breath. “It's...it's just a lot to handle. I...thank you, really. Thank you so much.” He said sincerely. “Can...c-can I have another kiss? One more?”

“You can have as many as you want, professor. This isn't a one-night kind of thing unless you want it to be, okay?” You assured him, letting yourself be drawn down to his mouth.

“Thank you, thank you, Jesus Christ thank you.” He breathed when the two of you parted, pressing his forehead to yours. He searched your eyes, seeming pensive. “Just so you know,” He began hesitantly, “You...you got a B plus on your final. I promise, it had nothing to do with this, I can show--”

“Professor! I didn't want to have it spoiled!” You protested. Then, his words hit you. “A B plus?! Oh hell yeah!” You were halfway through pumping your fist in victory when you remembered that you were still partially naked in your professor's lap. “I mean, uh...”

Bo started to laugh, the happy noise filling the room. “Glad I could make your night.” He finally wheezed out between his giggles, rubbing his nose against your own. “I really...I don't want this to be a one-night thing.” He admitted. “I like talking to you. I'd like to talk to you a lot more. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two.”

“That's fine by me, professor.” You bit your lip, smiling at him. “You feeling up to a late night cram session?”

[northernmisery-blog]

Monk(ey) Business

So, the church has ex-communicated the Monk.

Either he’s a snake, or Radrizzani has his PR head on.

Whichever way you want to look at things, Garry Monks tenure as Leeds United’s head coach is no more.

First and foremost, I absolutely hate the term “Head Coach”, but, it would appear we are going down the continental route of having too many chiefs and not enough Indians at the club and lining the structure with superfluous roles and positions, Technical Director, Director of Team Strategy, Director of Football, etc, etc, etc.

What happened to the manager having a coaching team, training the players, seeing who he wants for the team and getting the chairman to sort it?

Where did football turn into this multi-levelled three ring circus? We were paying Brian McDermott upwards of £800,000 per year and we were tight, so Derek Acorah only knows how much some of these other Championship Managers are on. These owners and chairman appoint managers on sometimes multi-million pound contracts and then expect them to just get given staff to work into their preferred methods.

Quite frankly, along with half and half scarves and plastic clappers, it’s one of the reasons so many people look at modern football with disdain.

Although the flip side of this is people like Neil Warnock, Harry Redknapp and Sam Allardyce, allegedly preferring certain players to follow them around in return for a slice of their weekly pay packet, so maybe total autocracy by a manager isn’t as nice as it sounds and we look back on the old way with rose tinted spectacles.

That aside, at Leeds United we are going to follow the continental model and we will just have to ride it out and deal with it.

We’ve had worse, we had to follow the Ken Bates model of selling all our players for cream cladding, the GFH route of buying players based on Football Manager ratings and the Massimo Cellino route of abandoned, wanton, Chivas fuelled chaos.

With Radrizzani, he seems composed. His business dealings are above board and googling his name doesn’t return stories of pistol whippings, ships with missing cargo and murdered sailors, tax evasion, embezzlement, fraud, false accounting, sexism and pages and pages of embarrassing news articles.

Radrizzani has taken the time to do his due diligence. He has pored through the accounts and the black holes. I guess we will never truly know the full extent of the Bates, GFH or Cellino eras. I imagine their accounts are very much like a Yeti hunt – exciting for five minutes, then boring as you realise someone is just playing silly buggers and messing you about with misdirection because the truth is actually non-existent.

He makes the right noises and has said already that he is not happy with the end of the season capitulation.  A feeling echoed by the fans.

He has stated his desire to repurchase Elland Road – Note, he has not promised that tomorrow he is going to the bank, he has not promised he will buy it by Thursday, he has stated he wants to. That should be a given for anyone sensible taking over at Leeds United.

He’s said he isn’t happy with a losing mentality and has moved to quickly tie up the brightest prospect at the club to a four year deal, unheard of in recent years.

Andrea’s tenure started off positively – we were finally rid of the crooked lying charlatan who had dragged our club from embarrassment to embarrassment, now it was time to change, yet Garry Monk, for whatever reason, is not going to be part of it.

It’s easy to blame the bloke who has officially owned the club for three days.

It’s also easy to blame Monk, calling him a snake and louse like we tend to do when we feel betrayed or hurt. Even I have called him satsuma balls in my faux outrage. (Although Judas was ginger and he betrayed Jesus, so maybe there is something in religiously titled people hanging people out to dry in exchange for money)

There are clearly two sides to the story;

One is that Monk decided back in February, amidst his stock rising, that he would not entertain extending his contract.

Whether this was off the back of him not feeling he was backed in the January window is possible.

It is also possible that, out of work last year, he decided to work for Leeds United with a view to using the club as a stepping stone. (There’s not a chance he took the job expecting to ride out a full season under Cellino anyway, such a step was unprecedented)

The other side is Monk desperately wanted a three year deal and the club don’t want him, so messed him about with a contract offer so he walked.

Any new owner will look to do things their own way. Not many clubs have a takeover without a change of personnel. Radrizzani has been involved one way or another at Leeds United for nearly a year since he initially spoke to Cellino in May 2016 about buying the club. There were rumours Radrizzani stopped Cellino sacking Monk after 6 games. Cellinos track record lends credence to these rumours.

Maybe Monk was upset with the proposed continental structure and maybe the club feel that he wasn’t going to share the ethos.

I personally thought the initial contract extension was to drive off interest from other clubs, giving Radrizzani the opportunity to sit down with Monk and strategise. Perhaps I was wrong, perhaps it was an attempt to call Monks bluff as has been claimed online.

The club claims Monks agent told them not to trigger the extension as he would not be entertaining discussing a new contract. Monks statement claims he wanted a long term strategic deal.

However, I suspect the truth lies between all of these factors. 

If the club and by extension Radrizzani had truly wanted Garry Monk, they would have moved heaven and earth to keep him. If Garry Monk had truly wanted a three year deal at Leeds United, he would be sitting there today having signed a contract.

Sometimes, people just aren’t a good fit for each other. It’s why 42% of marriages in the UK end in divorce. Sometimes, just sometimes, you have to move on.

Our younger fans will not remember George Graham being given a job at Leeds when nobody would touch him after his ban from football. He immediately ditched us and went to Tottenham as soon as his stock had risen. From those ashes we inherited David O’Leary and had some of our best football memories in my lifetime, outside of 1992.

Our younger fans may not even remember Simon Grayson and his kamikaze football. Simon Grayson, who, had he been backed by the Bearded Clam Ken Bates would have had us promoted years ago and we would never have had to suffer GFH or Cellino.

They certainly won’t remember Wilko, hell, even I am too young to have seen us play under The Don in person.

These are all fondly remembered managers, and Monk, for this season, isn’t on a par with achieving anything that any of them achieved.

Monk wasn’t the be all and end all. He was the best option at the time when Cellino was looking at the likes of Karl Robinson.

At times last season, we were woeful. We were inadequate at the latter third of the season when it counted and we were very, very often lacking in a plan B, C or D when things went against us. It was masked by Chris Wood banging goals in and everyone falling in love with the likes of Bartley and Pontus. 

Yes, Monk gave us our best season in ages, but, as I’ve said before with the shit sandwich analogy, it’s still a shit sandwich, even if you stick some lettuce and fancy mayo in there.

However, in the face of adversity, working for an unhinged and chemically induced crooked fraudster lunatic, Garry Monk and his team did deliver something we have not had in eons – hope.

For that, I will be grateful to Monk.

I didn’t make that clear to him when I retorted to “fuck off” in response to him issuing a statement he had blatantly had prepared weeks in advance, my reaction was that of anger. Putting it aside, I can see things in a different light.

He did give us a sliver of hope. His coaching staff and the players who put in a shift for him last season did their jobs “good”, but ultimately, not good enough.

Monk will leave with my thanks and barbed comment that he will never, ever, ever manage a club like this, with fans like this (for better or worse) who chant his name at a boxing event, who can make the earth tremble beneath his feet with the roar they generate inside a football ground.

Radrizzani will be given time to assert himself and show his intent. The fact he has no form as one of the biggest twats in football affords him this luxury.

Whoever comes in as manager or head coach, even if I don’t want them personally,  will be welcomed and given time to prove they are the right person for the job.

Events this week put football into perspective – but purely from a footballing point of view, we will move on to our next head coach or manager with Radrizzanis version of Leeds United Football Club.

Unless he appoints an underqualified PE teacher who strategises with condiment pots in a Travelodge, and has a late night pissed up phonecall with a mental Michael Jackson soundalike, then all bets will be off.

MOT.