#just noticed i put the sign layer over the sweater layer so it overlaps the cuff but oh well im not fixing it

[werewolf-transgenderism]

gay guy dot jpeg

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Only in a Sitcom

Fandom: WandaVision Pairing: Darcy Lewis/Jimmy Woo Rating: T

Summary: Darcy has no idea what the hell’s going on with this WandaVision thing, but neither does Jimmy. It’s kinda fun to have somebody to binge-watch alternate reality TV with.

read ch. 1 one / 2 two / 3 three / 4 four / 5 five 6 six / 7 seven / 8 eight / 9 nine / 10 ten 11 eleven / 12 twelve / 13 thirteen / 14 fourteen 15 fifteen / 16 sixteen / 17 seventeen / 18 eighteen

this fic is now complete!

Darcy, Jimmy, and Monica have been working their way across Westview in as straight a line as possible, knocking on every door in every cute little cul-de-sac in their path. It was Jimmy who asserted they should never put their backs to a dangerous situation, but Monica who overruled that statement, pointing out that they were more likely to stay focused if they didn’t keep staring at the fight in the sky.

Darcy thinks they were both right. There’s a tingle rippling up and down the back of her neck, like she gets when she’s up in the middle of the night, spooked by shadows her anxious, overtired mind is too eager to turn into monsters, but the heebie-jeebies give her the energy to work quickly. She takes on an entire crescent on her own, readying people for a departure she’s certain they’ve been longing for. As she’s coming out the crescent’s other end, she realizes the Hex is getting brighter; the red storm clouds are being sucked back into themselves to leave a thin daylight.

Standing at the corner, she watches Jimmy and Monica emerge from the street opposite. Darcy jogs over, wincing. Wanda could’ve put orthotics in these Escape Artist boots. They’re blistering her feet.

“This has to be a good sign, right?” she asks, motioning to the calm skies.

“Look,” Monica instructs. She jerks her chin and Darcy and Jimmy follow her line of sight to see Wanda, Vision, and the twins coming up the main road.

Darcy gasps.

Wanda’s gone from bumming-around-the-house sweats to battle-ready chic. With her armour-like bodice, gloves that leave those magic fingers free, and an usually-shaped tiara framing her forehead, she’s both intimidating and otherworldly. But she’s smiling. Darcy would call it a sad smile and it hurts her heart to see it, even though she doesn’t understand.

As Wanda passes them with her hand held fast in Vision’s, she turns her head to nod at Monica. It’s in her eyes too, the same thing that’s in her smile. Something tired but present. Gone are the comedically darting glances of her persona as the bumbling new girl in town and the frazzled energy of a mom trying to corral a couple of superkids. It looks like she’s finally letting go of the illusion/delusion.

“Can we do anything for her?” Jimmy asks as the family continues on down the middle of the street.

“No,” Monica says. “The rest is for Wanda to do on her own.”

“We might as well head back towards the center of town,” Darcy says. “We don’t need to waste time at the edges. They’ll be the first to wake up.”

She points to where the Hex is shimmering on the horizon. The seconds pass and the shimmer looks messier, a weave of overlapping wires fritzing with energy. The edge is coming closer, but unlike when Wanda pushed the boundary farther, closing it around Darcy and her S.W.O.R.D. nemeses, this isn’t menacing. Wanda’s powers are no longer looking to consume more territory, they’re contracting. Faster than the incoming wave of the walls, the Hex goes dark. The red glow is intensely magical in the sudden night.

The three of them fan out, hitting the houses in their new route, and make their way back to the town square. They’ve been telling everyone to remain in their homes until they receive further instructions to evacuate, but Darcy spots a figure on the sidewalk by the department story. It’s Agnes, except… not as they saw her lately. No wild hair or billowing, layered outfit. No levitation. Darcy’s wary in the face of the woman who appears so much like her former self, the one supposedly under Wanda’s control. This Agnes has a damn Peter Pan collar poking out of her sweater! She couldn’t look much less threatening.

“What do you think?” she asks Monica when she joins her.

“I don’t know.” Monica peers across the street at Agnes in the dark and when Agnes notices, she flashes a wide smile.

“Well, maybe we should— Hey, no, wait!”

But the Captain strides across to meet Agnes. Darcy almost follows in her idol’s wake, but she quickly remembers that Monica has powers to protect herself that far exceed the right hook Darcy used to drop Agent Handcuffs. Whatever Agnes’s deal is, Darcy knows she’s an entirely different kind of beast from an asshole S.W.O.R.D. agent.

“What’s going on there?” Jimmy wonders, coming up beside her.

Thanks to the stress of trying to speak to as many citizens as possible in a short amount of time, including looking dozens of people still under mind control in the eye and aching for their lack of agency, the fear of and for Wanda as she witnessed that clash in the sky, and, really, the car crash that’s still pretty recent, Darcy reacts to her boyfriend’s presence by wrapping her arms around him tightly. With his tie pressed to her cheek, she feels him hug her back.

“I don’t know,” she says, carrying on the conversation without pulling away an inch, “but Monica’s finding out.”

“Agnes looks like an average Westviewer again. It’s disconcerting.”

“She must’ve been faking right up until she went head-to-head with Wanda.”

“And now she’s one of them for real.”

“Seems like,” Darcy agrees.

When Monica returns to confirm Agnes’s newly mind-controlled status, Darcy peels herself most of the way away from Jimmy, leaving her arm around his back, beneath his FBI jacket. He rests his arm around her shoulders.

“I don’t know what we do with her,” Monica says, hands on her hips. “We can’t undo what Wanda did, but do we leave Agnes here in Westview, trusting that she isn’t able to hurt anyone? Do we bring her in?”

“If it’s beyond our power to help her, maybe we just leave her here,” Jimmy suggests. “Wanda knows where she is, so we let Agnes stay in a place she can be found when or if Wanda decides to release her.”

“It’s tricky,” Darcy says slowly. “Agnes is capable of doing so much damage, and I’m sure she’s going to get good and angry while Wanda has her trapped inside herself. You and I know how that feels,” she says to Monica. “But that Agnes is secure—as far as we know—inside Sitcom Agnes, like little Agnes nesting dolls. I don’t know if this is the kind of punishment she deserves for pushing Wanda to the brink, but I do know it’s not going to be pretty if that inner Agnes is unleashed with nobody around to mitigate the consequences.”

“Sentient Weapon Observation and Response Division,” Monica says softly.

“Hmm?”

“S.W.O.R.D. That’s what we’re supposed to stand for. I think, without Tyler Hayward around, it’s high time S.W.O.R.D. went back to its roots of trying to understand exceptional people, circumstances, and technology instead of just attacking them.”

“Sounds as though you might have a plan, Captain,” Jimmy says. Darcy glances at his face and catches his small, knowing smile.

Monica beams back.

“The former Director may have kicked me off the base, but I’m still S.W.O.R.D. and I still believe in my mother’s original goals for the organization.”

“Hey, it’s your legacy,” Darcy says. “You have my vote for Director.”

“You want to put Agnes under S.W.O.R.D. observation?” Jimmy asks.

“Not just Agnes. Not if Wanda’s willing to listen.”

With the sky rapidly lightening, Monica roughs out a plan that involves a partnership between S.W.O.R.D. and Wanda Maximoff. A partnership because any other dynamic would surely fail. After what they all witnessed today, it’s obvious that someone as powerful as Wanda can’t be held against her will. In exchange for Wanda making reparations to the people and town of Westview (not the least of which will be repairing all physical damage, which Monica knows Wanda’s capable of, since there’s no longer a Monica-sized hole in her living room wall) and an agreement to be held in the custody of S.W.O.R.D., under the leadership of Director Monica Rambeau, Monica thinks she has plenty to offer Wanda.

“You think she’ll do that deal?” Jimmy asks.

“That’s my question too,” Darcy says. “I mean, without the deal, Wanda can go where she pleases, right?”

“But she’ll be alone,” Monica counters. “We know what her loved ones mean to her. That’s what all this has been about—Wanda doing whatever it takes in order to go through life less alone.”

“What can you give her?”

“Vision,” Jimmy says abruptly. “The other one, the one who left. You think he’ll be back.”

“I think he’ll want answers,” Monica agrees. “Whatever Hayward did to him, he did at S.W.O.R.D. and I’m betting that Wanda will see that’s her best chance to reunite with Vision.”

“Vision will come back,” Darcy says, putting it together, “and Wanda will be there waiting.”

“And in the meantime, we use her expertise as we continue our work in a… more transparent vein. Give her access, keep her busy.”

“Keep her happy,” Jimmy cuts in. Monica nods her acknowledgement.

“Yes. Show her what it’s like to help people again. What better way to remind her there’s more to the world than her artificial paradise than to have her consult on the work we’re doing in space?”

“If you need somebody to sell Wanda on the space angle, I’m your girl,” Darcy volunteers.

“I’ve already had some ideas about that,” Monica promises with a smile.

Her eyes focus beyond Darcy and Jimmy and they turn to see what she’s looking at. Black hood drawn up over her head, Wanda’s walking back into the downtown. Alone. Darcy hopes that the fact that she’s black-hatted doesn’t mean she’s already decided against working to redeem herself to rejoin the good guys.

“You better stay in touch too,” Monica tells Jimmy, shifting as she prepares to intercept Wanda.

“If you reach out to Darcy, I’m sure I won’t be far,” he says. Darcy’s heart performs quick, happy thumps.

With that, Monica walks purposely towards Wanda. Darcy watches her cautious body language and Wanda’s tension in response to being accosted, but there isn’t any visible escalation. When FBI vehicles and the team Darcy assumes belongs to Major Goodner roll up the street, Wanda doesn’t flee. Darcy looks to Jimmy.

“You better go take charge,” she suggests.

He gives her a bashful smile.

“I will in a minute. The evacuation should run like clockwork after all the prep we did. With the Hex removed, everyone’s free.”

“They’re free, I’m free…”

“Are you free Saturday?” The smile’s a little slyer now.

“After all this, I don’t even know what day of the week it is,” Darcy admits, “but yes.”

He laughs.

“What are you thinking?” she asks, twisting to face him as his hand moves from her shoulder to her waist. “Quiet night in watching TV?”

“You know, I think I need a break from TV for a while. How about a movie?”

Darcy grins.

“You buy the tickets, I’ll buy the snacks?”

“Deal,” Jimmy says, and smiles against her mouth when he ducks his head to kiss her.

[himikiyo]

cityscapes turn to dust // himikiyo week day 1

Himikiyo Week Day 1: Folklore + Magic

“Trying to defy death, hmm? You’re choosing to take the hard road just as I did. If I don’t have enough time left to change your mind, all I can do is wish you luck.”

Korekiyo's actions taking care of their sister catch up to them.

Read on AO3, DRA, or under the cut

They had to travel light these days. With the city so ravaged, it was common to pick up and leave at a moment’s notice, and there was only so much Himiko could carry. Kiyo was much stronger than her of course, but even the essentials weighed a fair bit. Most of her possessions, along with theirs, remained at their house, still locked up tight for the time being. Someone determined enough would still be able to break in, but she tried not to think about that.

Material possessions weren’t as important as a life anyway.

Despite traveling light though, Korekiyo seemed to be getting weaker. She told them they just needed rest, but they both knew that wasn’t it. The last time they visited their sister, she put up a fight. Perhaps she knew what was coming, and recognized the sickle in their hand. Either way, she bit them again. Maybe that was the final exposure their body could take after holding out so long.

Their arm was wreathed in broken veins, a sickly purplish crown centered on the bite mark. The imprint of each and every tooth was still clearly visible over a week later whenever she checked under the bandages. She picked her opportunities carefully, when they were half asleep or in a particularly good mood. That way, she hoped, they wouldn’t be quite so upset about how cold it was to remove any layers.

She checked every night to make sure they were still breathing. It was getting harder to tell.

---

People still tried to avoid saying the word zombie. Euphemisms were used: infected, changed. Sometimes there was no more than an indirect reference, like the grandmother who told her that “some of them” drove her out of her home. Maybe it was a foolish desire, since this elderly woman had clearly done well enough for herself to escape that, but Himiko wanted to help her.

“Why don’t you stay with us?” she asked. “Just for a little while. We don’t have much, but it’d be safer than traveling alone.”

“Thank you, dear,” the woman replied, adjusting her shawl. “But I like my chances. I’ve made it this far. If you’ll accept some advice from an old woman...” She trailed off momentarily, casting a meaningful glance at Kiyo. “You may want to consider striking out on your own too. There’s something not right about that one.”

“They’ve just been a little sick lately. Once we find somewhere safe to get medicine, they’ll be fine.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, but she couldn’t stand saying anything else. Without Korekiyo, she was sure she’d be long since dead.

“Sick? Or changing? Sometimes the hardest lesson to learn is when there’s nothing more to be done.”

“No, that’s not—” She broke off, swiping miserably at her eyes. Kiyo still sat in the corner. Wearing three sweaters to fight a mild early autumn chill, they gave off the impression of an especially gangly marshmallow. It seemed like they were oblivious to the conversation, but Himiko knew better. They always observed more than people gave them credit for.

“Don’t let your friend suffer, dear.” After pressing a small, paper-wrapped package into her hands, the grandmother left. Himiko watched until she vanished from view, hoping she arrived safely to wherever she was headed.

---

“So,” Kiyo said some time later. “When are you planning to kill me? She gave you everything you need to do it, didn’t she?”

“What? No, I’d never. You know I’d never do something like that.” Perched on the edge of the couch they were laying on, she combed a hand through their hair. It helped her fight the urge to rest it on their forehead and see how much their temperature had dropped.

“Yet you encouraged me that putting my sister out of her misery was the right thing to do.”

“That’s different. She wasn’t herself anymore.” As always, she bit back the part about how even with her full mental faculties, that would have been what she deserved.

“Any day now, you might come to find that I am not myself anymore either. Then I will no longer be able to cooperate with your attempts to do it painlessly.”

“That won’t happen,” she argued, fingers involuntarily tightening in their hair for just a moment. “If it was going to happen, it would have already. That was, what, the fifth time she bit you or something? It’s like you told me that first day I found out the truth. You’re immune.”

“Immune.” They scoffed, face contorting into something between a grimace and a scowl. “That was never anything but a lie I allowed myself to believe. I’m not immune. I’m dying.”

“No, you’re not,” Himiko mumbled. She inched closer to them on the couch, laying her head on their bony shoulder. Through sweaters and blankets, it almost felt soft. “I won’t let you.”

“Trying to defy death, hmm? You’re choosing to take the hard road just as I did. If I don’t have enough time left to change your mind, all I can do is wish you luck.” Numb fingers tugged their mask down to press a kiss to her forehead. The old, scarred-over bite wound on their neck was taking on the same purplish hue as their arm.

---

She woke up the next morning with her head resting on their chest. She couldn’t hear a heartbeat.

Shinguuji Korekiyo was dead.

After she came to that realization but before she could figure out what she should do about it, they stirred, feebly trying to shove the blankets off.

“Too hot,” they mumbled, rolling over (or trying to — the attempt wasn’t very successful with half her weight still on them).

“Kiyo?” It had been weeks since they had anything temperature-related to say that wasn’t complaining of being too cold. Not to mention the bigger issue of their lack of vital signs. Straightening up fully, Himiko leaned over them to meet their eyes. They were groggy and unfocused, but they clearly seemed to recognize her.

“What? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I guess I have in a way,” she responded, choking out a shaky laugh. “You.”

They sat up slowly, giving her a perplexed look. Did they not even realize what was going on? Surely they had to feel different. She reached out and laid a hand on their chest, just to be certain. Was she so exhausted that she just missed it before? After flexing their wrist, stretching their arm — stiff, maybe from the lack of blood flow? — they overlapped her hand with their own.

“I see. I didn’t imagine becoming a zombie would feel so pleasant.”

“Pleasant? How can you be so calm?”

“I actually feel better than I have in quite some time,” they admitted. “It’s rather comfortable. I do seem to have a certain degree of numbness, but it’s a worthwhile exchange to be free from all the recent pain and discomfort I’ve experienced. Considering my mind seems to be intact, at least as much as I can tell from my own biased perspective, death might not be so bad. If nothing else, it gives me something new to study.”

“Oh. Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better, but I don’t know if it’s normal to accept something like this so quickly.”

She was forgetting, of course, that Kiyo had never quite been normal.

---

Over time, it became clear that them saying they had “a certain degree of numbness” was a bit of an understatement. If she happened to touch them when they weren’t looking, they only seemed to notice about half the time. Their pain tolerance, already high, had increased to such an extent that it was very possible for them to sustain serious injuries without noticing. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like they were in any danger of dying again.

They were still capable of healing, just at a slower rate than a living person. The bite wounds were gradually becoming less evident, flesh repairing itself in defiance of the laws of biology.

That didn’t save her from the unpleasantness of acting as their doctor.

Her first lesson in zombie surgery was a jarring one. The glass shards embedded in their leg likely could have been avoided if they had as much feeling as they used to, but there was no point in agonizing over could have beens. The good news was that they barely seemed affected, glancing down at the heavy wounds with little more than bemused intrigue.

“Ah. I thought something stung a bit. We should probably take a moment to deal with this,” they said smoothly.

“Um, yeah, probably. It really doesn’t hurt? You’re bleeding a lot. What if you run out or something? We don’t exactly know all about how this whole zombie thing works.”

“It’s alright,” Kiyo said. “I think. If I can heal from injuries, it follows that I must still be capable of regenerating my blood supply. However, leaving broken glass there could cause problems. You should remove it.”

“Me? Why?”

“You should get used to tending to my wounds just in case there comes a time when I’m unable to do so myself.”

---

She got plenty of practice. Most of their injuries were minor, but she dutifully took care of each one nevertheless. When she really thought about it, sometimes she wondered if they acted a little carelessly on purpose just to give her experience. They’d always teetered dangerously on the edge of masochism, and now there was the added temptation of learning more about zombie physiology to boot.

Sure enough though, that time Kiyo mentioned did come eventually. So far, it seemed nearly impossible for them to die again, but that didn’t do much to diminish the dread that flowed through her when she saw the exposed muscle and bone of their arm, flayed open like so many of the other shambling zombies they’d seen over the past several weeks.

They grimaced when she started to clean up the wound. It was barely a flicker of pain, but even that was significant considering how much they were able to get through without batting an eye.

“Apologies, dear,” they murmured. “Continue.”

“Sorry. Kind of weird how quickly this has become normal.” She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to their lips before continuing.

Pulling the edges of the wound together and stitching it up nice and securely...She wasn’t the neatest with her sewing, but she was getting better, and Kiyo always insisted they didn’t mind.

“Beautiful work, my love,” they praised, smiling down at their rather Frankenstein-esque arm. “That’s much better already.”

Himiko just smiled, wrapping the arm up again in their usual bandages.

“I’ll always be here to sew you back again. For now, we should probably both get some rest.” They were only a day away from the village of their hopes.

[coreastories]

The Biscuits

Part 15 of Days and Nights of Forever 

They went to New Zealand, making new life-long friends, and unknowingly starting the next part of their forever. 

Rating: NC-17

This directly connects to: 

Royal Scandal: Proof of the king and queen of Corea’s utter besottedness with each other

A Royal Twin! Meet the Most Honorable Lady Seo-gyeong

With thanks and love to @collectsfallenstars and @pateetsie for cookie supplies and (a)moral support. 

The morning they met Luna and Shin-jae-- well, Koo Seo-gyeong and Kang Hyeon-min--was a beautiful and still winter day. 

It was August in Corea. They’d left it in high summer with scorching humidity. But here, they  could see their breaths. Tae-eul thought it was too much of a flipside theme that her double lived in a country that wintered when it was Tae-eul’s summer. But she tried not to think about that. 

There was already plenty to think of. 

They took the scenic route from Christchurch to Wellington, three private compartments discreetly arranged on the train, and then a chartered boat to cross the Cook Strait. 

The rugged coastlines of North and South Islands were blanketed in snow. The primitive beauty of those slopes and mountains took Tae-eul’s breath away. 

They watched the landscape from the deck on the stern of the boat, with Gon standing behind her, his arms around her waist. He had opened his coat so that she rested against his chest with one less layer between them. 

His right hand-- the one with the glove off because he had shaken hands with the captain and accepted the silver tin of Anzac biscuits the captain’s little granddaughter had made for them-- was inside her coat, stroking her left side, firm enough to feel through her cashmere and silk layers. 

When his hand started to go higher and lower, she grabbed it and held it against her waist. She felt his torso shake with laughter, and he bent his head to hers and buried his cold nose behind her ear. 

He laughed harder when she jumped away from him. She turned in his arms and pushed both hands against his chest. “Let’s go inside before that nose falls off.” 

He mimicked her, placing both hands on her shoulder, his right hand nestling in her fur collar. 

“Are you alright? How do you feel?”

She nodded, leaning her cheek against his hand. “A little scared but I’m trying not to look too far ahead or make things up that haven't happened yet. We’re just meeting two people who would most certainly be our friends, that’s all.” 

He nodded back, accepting what she said, and knowing the truth she hadn’t said. 

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

They’d received an invitation to dine at Government House tomorrow evening, but for the most part, they were truly incognito. They hadn’t opened the house the Royal Court owned here. They were at a hotel. They drove and walked the streets of Wellington just like everyone else. 

The Royal Guard were in civilian clothes scattered around them. Gon could see Jangmi stepping aside, fiddling with his phone, and putting it against his ear as a ruse for another 360 degree check around them. 

Aside from that, it was easy to believe he and Tae-eul weren’t with escorts at all, just an ordinary couple strolling through the capital. It reminded him of all those times he explored the republic on his own. He glanced at Tae-eul and the slight smile on her face told him she was enjoying it, too. 

Tae-eul was still smiling when she saw them in the restaurant. Her smile faltered the tiniest bit and Gon turned his head to find the cause. Koo Seo-gyeong and Kang Hyeon-min were sitting at a window booth of the restaurant where he and Tae-eul were headed to meet them. 

They seemed to sense Tae-eul spotting them, because by the time Gon looked, the two were rising to their feet and bowing their heads slightly-- and then they seemed to remember the agreement that they were all meeting as civilians and they raised their heads. Seo-gyeong raised a hand and waved. 

He could swear he had seen Tae-eul do that exact same awkward wave. 

Tae-eul’s hand squeezed his. Then she pulled him toward the restaurant. 

They exchanged polite greetings. He seated Tae-eul first, and she flapped her hands at the other two to sit down, but they waited until Gon had taken his seat. They all smiled at each other, even Kang Hyeon-min. For once, the man didn’t look like he would rather be anywhere else. 

Then Gon saw the angle of their overlapping arms and guessed Seo-gyeong was holding Hyeon-min’s hand under the table. That would do it. 

Koo Seo-gyeong wore her hair like Tae-eul’s, loose and unstyled. Perhaps because it was winter, so women left their hair down for added warmth, didn’t they? But that hair had the same waves. She wore a long-sleeved simple black sweater dress, and her coat draped over the back of her seat was of a camel color that brought back more memories for Gon. 

She was looking at Tae-eul with fascination. 

“I don’t want to assume we’re twins, Mama,” Seo-gyeong said. “I certainly don’t want to think you were alone at any point like I was. But we do look so much alike. It’s uncanny.” 

Tae-eul nodded, exchanging a look with him and extending her smile for Seo-gyeong to him. They had decided they didn’t want their relationship with Seo-gyeong to stand on more deception than absolutely necessary, so here they were. “I’m quite sure my mom gave birth to me. But this is really unbelievable, yes.” 

Seo-gyeong was still looking at them with fascination. “What’s unbelievable is this. I appreciate you coming all the way here. And really, you didn’t need to. I mean, you could easily command me to change my appearance, you know, Pyeha, Mama, and I would have understood. I’m a loyal subject and servant of the crown, and I want you safe.” 

Gon shook his head even while his brain wanted him to nod, because yes, of course, Seo-gyeong, raised in a family instead of growing up alone and having to fend for herself, would be just like Tae-eul in her sense of duty. 

“We’ll do no such thing,” he said. “We appreciate that you understand the delicacy of the situation. You could still refuse, of course.” 

Gon left it at that, giving Seo-gyeong a real opening. He looked at Tae-eul, and she was already looking at him, giving him quiet approval. 

The other couple had also exchanged looks. Seo-gyeong said, “Well, I’ve been convinced that this is all for my benefit. I’m gaining another sister and the protection of the Royal Court. It’s no loss for me to pretend to be your twin, Mama.” 

“Maybe you could call me by my name? It’s not just pretend,” Tae-eul said. Gon added, “Not pretend. We do have the lab work to back it up. And you gain a brother, too.” 

Seo-gyeong made a half-grimace, half-smile Gon also recognized. “Let me wrap my head around that, Pyeha--oppa. Omo. That’s so weird, isn’t it?” 

They all laughed, except Kang Hyeon-min, who said in a flat tone, “You haven’t even called me that and this is when you say it. To the king. You’re embarrassing.” 

 Judging from how Seo-gyeong jerked slightly and then the way Kang Hyeon-min’s face also jerked in momentary pain, Seo-gyeong must have kicked him under the table.

“Mama-- um, Tae-eul, can you tell me more about yourself? Let’s start with your job. You must know everything about me. I’m at a disadvantage.”

Tae-eul said, “Oh no, no, we didn’t look you up like that. We only have your public record. That’s how we knew you had the same face as mine, of course. And I remember-- well-- Gon told me he remembers your name from the recommendations he signed. I worked in violent crimes in my organization, too, like you. And you know it can get dreadfully dull sometimes until you’re trying to solve a murder.”

Seo-gyeong said, “Right? You either help other teams with their cases until you have yours.” 

Tae-eul nodded. “And when you do, they’re so much work.” 

Seo-gyeong nodded emphatically. “Stakeouts. Chases. Not sleeping to hunt for evidence. Waiting for stuff all the time from forensics and other labs. I don’t miss it.” 

Tae-eul was doing the half-grin, half-grimace Seo-gyeong had done earlier. “And don’t get me started on the paperwork. I came across the traitor’s men completely by coincidence in one of my cases and here we are. That’s it, really.”

Gon’s eyes went from one woman to the other, and he noticed Kang Hyeon-min doing the same, his expression unreadable. Gon had read about the likeness of twins’ minds-- not linked, but alike-- and while this was a completely different case because Tae-eul and Seo-gyeong weren’t twins but parallels of each other, they were certainly alike in many ways. 

He could tell them apart, of course. Even in this timeline, Tae-eul’s eyes were still more forthright, more dauntless. But if the two women had more differences aside from Seo-gyeong being less reserved than Tae-eul, it would probably show up if they spent more time together, certainly not right now while they were only talking about their very similar jobs. 

Seo-gyeong leaned back in her seat, smiling. “Seemed like destiny since it meant you met your husband now.” 

Tae-eul met his eyes, all traces of trepidation gone now. Only amusement remained. Destiny was their best friend. They grinned at each other. 

Then he saw her catch Hyeon-min’s eyes and Tae-eul’s grin didn’t quite falter like earlier, but Gon saw the way it turned into a wistful smile. She was truly happy for this Kang Hyeon-min, but she was also understandably sad about him. “I’m thankful for your part in this, Kang sunbaenim.” 

“It’s nothing, Mama,” he said, gruff but still respectful. 

The food they’d ordered arrived then and they ate, touching on light topics, life in New Zealand, Seo-gyeong’s mother sending packages of Corean things every two weeks, the work in Interpol, Tae-eul studying English and Seo-gyeong giving her tips and promising to send audiobooks she loved, and then just as they were all dunking Anzac biscuits into their teas and coffees, Prime Minister Koo arrived. 

She had removed her thick black coat. She wore a black leather jacket, a white pullover, and light gray jeans. And on her feet were modestly-heeled boots. As far from the image of Corea’s prime minister usually was.  

And like Gon had done earlier, Koo Seo-ryeong moved her eyes between Tae-eul and Seo-gyeong. Then she sighed, sat down, ordered coffee, and said, “What are you doing here?” 

To Kang Hyeon-min. 

“Their Majesties are here for my sister. You didn’t need to tag along. My sister’s got enough spine to sit here and have tea with her new family. You’re just cluttering up this table.”

Kang Hyeon-min slurped his coffee loud enough to be heard at the next table and then deliberately looked out the window without answering. 

Gon felt Tae-eul rather urgently squeeze his arm several times. So he spoke and redirected Koo Seo-ryeong’s attention to him. “Right. Prime Minister, our people have taken care of the lab results. The Royal Public Affairs Office has also prepared the announcement. Your office will likely be asked for a statement.”

“Ye, Pyeha, my statement is also ready. What do the lab results say?” 

“Some copy variations, but probability of full siblingship at 98%.” 

Seo-ryeong looked at Tae-eul. “And you’re really sure your mother gave birth to you, Mama?”

“Yes, there were photos and even a video.” 

“Just you?”

“Koo Seo-ryeong!” Seo-gyeong said, horrified. 

“Yes, just me,” Tae-eul answered, unflappable. 

Seo-ryeong turned to Seo-gyeong. “You’re still a foundling and not a lost girl then. Never mind. Now you’re practically royal.” 

“I am not. Will you stop?” 

Seo-ryeong smiled and sipped her tea. Apparently, she only liked poking Seo-gyeong a little, not with real malice. 

But Kang Hyeon-min made a noise and malice returned to the table. Gon felt Tae-eul squeeze his arm again. Seo-ryeong put her teacup down. 

“What are you snorting about?”

“Just thinking how ironic this is. You’ve always wanted to be queen but you’re not. And now your sister’s even beaten you without trying. She’s now related to the crown.” 

Seo-gyeong elbowed him. “I didn’t beat her in anything of the sort, are you crazy? Unnie, ani!” 

Too late. Seo-ryeong had already thrown the Anzac at Kang Hyeon-min’s head. And she grabbed another and threw it, too. 

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Tae-eul leaned against Gon in the car, half-asleep, half immersed in memories. 

Every single time she took the bigger half of the popsicle and the few times he forced her to take the smaller one. 

The day he’d told her and her dad the story of his family’s bankruptcy. His father’s arrest. His mother’s gambling addiction. 

Every single time he had bitten her head off when he was waiting for the results of the police exam. 

The days he left and came back from military service. 

Every single time he was on her side. In their squad. Against lowlifes. During fights. Or against her dad even, when it mattered and he wasn’t sucking up. 

The day he’d told her he loved her and couldn’t let her go, but did so anyway, giving her what she’d asked for, and paving the way for her to keep her memories, didn’t he, because she had been inside the gates when Gon had altered their time. 

She couldn’t bear to think what would have happened if she had been outside when the ripple happened. 

It was all thanks to Kang Shin-jae, who was in fact Kang Hyeong-min. He was a big part of why she was happy right now, with Gon’s arm around her. 

And he had bowed his head in goodbye to her as if he wasn’t. Because he didn’t know. He wasn’t the friend she’d known since she was sixteen. To him, she was the queen, and now the sister of the woman he loved.

She was the sole keeper of those memories now, of that life she’d shared with him. 

Seeing Kang Shin-jae in the republic was different. That Kang Shin-jae wasn’t her Kang Shin-jae at all. He had been asleep all this time. 

It was Kang Hyeon-min who had been her hyeong-nim in the republic. Kang Hyeon-min who had tearfully wondered if he was where he was supposed to be, who had asked her if he still had her welcome. 

Well, he was where he was supposed to be right now. And he was happy. She took a deep breath and blinked away tears. 

Gon held her hand and didn’t say anything until they were inside their suite at the hotel. And then he looked at her inquiringly as they finished shedding their winter outerwear, leaving them in their lighter coats. 

“I’m fine. I’m good. You? Did it scare you when Seo-ryeong threw that biscuit? And with deadeye accuracy, too. That should teach you not to infuriate her, you know.”

He looked at her, amused, and… something else. He suddenly lifted her up and placed her on the escritoire. It creaked under her and she clung to him and half-pushed, half-pulled him as a lever to try to get off the antique desk, but he blocked her way.  

His gaze locked with hers and she knew she wasn’t fooling him for a second. His eyes said he understood. “Did you see the look on her face when Kang Hyeon-min started saying those things?” 

Tae-eul laughed. She loved this man. He always knew what she needed. She stroked his arm affectionately. “I thought she was going to throw her tea at him, not the biscuit. Like an angry chaebol mother.” 

They laughed together. And then his eyes were going half-lidded, focused on her grin. He kissed her, a soft and gentle press that she returned. He parted from her for a second, still smiling, and then he kissed her again. This time in earnest, the kiss she’d wanted all along. 

Because Seo-gyeong, Kang Hyeon-min and Seo-ryeong were on their side. 

Because fate seemed to be. 

And because this man continued to prove himself worthy of defying fate. In a hundred small ways that made her love him more. 

So she smiled and kissed him back, her arm sliding around his neck, his sliding under her jacket, both of them pulling each other closer. 

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When he came out of his office after getting waylaid by phone calls, Tae-Eul was already dressed for their dinner with the governor-general, already buttoned into her camel coat. 

She stood by the window, and she had opened it to the crisp winter air. Gon looked at her for a long moment, taking in all the beautiful lines and curves she had from her loose hair to her heels.

Today, they had pretty much just slept in. Yesterday was a day of revelations and it had shaken them more than they’d admit. So they’d slept in, had a quiet day in their suite, and now she was ready for dinner with one of the many world leaders she was bound to meet as queen. 

His footfalls made no sound on the thick carpet, so she startled a little when he put his arms around her waist from behind. Then she leaned back against him and sighed, letting her arms rest over his, their fingers interlacing. 

“Are you all right?” 

She nodded. “I feel like I miss her already. I wish we could spend more time together, but there’s also this fear that we shouldn’t do that. That she belongs here in New Zealand and I belong in the kingdom. Does that make sense?”

He nodded in turn. 

She spoke again. “She’s different, but not really. She’s still the same Luna I met. She fetched Lee Lim for me, you know. She took care of my dad. I’m so glad she’s not sick this time.” 

Gon saw her swipe at her cheek. So he said, “He’s still exactly the same though. He still looks constipated when he looks at me. And I haven’t done anything to him.”

That made her laugh. 

“Your Majesties, the car’s ready.” 

Just in time. She turned in his arms to walk to the door but he kept his arms around her, held her close for another second, inhaling her sweet scent, and then kissed her on the forehead. She smiled at him, kissed him on the lips, and then gently pushed him off, straightening her coat.  

They walked hand in hand, and he glanced at that froth of black lace at her throat that peeked out of her camel coat. She was lovely, she was amazing, and he could feel his chest just bursting with pride for her. 

He wanted to show her off to the world, but that could come later. 

The dinner at Government House would be private. It was just the four of them, Dame Patsy Reddy and her husband Sir David Gascoigne. Gon had left her a message to thank her for the invitation and to request this intimate dinner because it would be among the queen’s first. Dame Patsy had returned the call and confirmed that yes, it would be just the four of them, and they wouldn’t even have press at all.  

It was simply a warm welcome to the visiting royalty from the queen of New Zealand’s representative. 

Gon was glad for Tae-eul’s sake when they arrived without the din of reporters. Dame Patsy and Sir David were waiting at the door to welcome them, and Tae-eul warmly greeted them, offering her hand. 

Then she turned to him and he loved that shy and brilliant smile she gave him as she waited for him to translate the rest of the greetings. 

“You two are so sweet,” Dame Patsy said. “I’m so glad to meet you in that newlywed look.” 

This was simple enough for Tae-eul to understand, and she predictably smiled her shy, closed-mouthed smile with that cute nose scrunch. It made her look about nineteen.  

Cute was still in his head and he was still smiling over how adorable she was so it completely gobsmacked him when she was helped out of her coat and he saw her dress.

It was a softly glittering cloud of black lace. 

Judging by the expressions of admiration and delight from their hosts, he wasn’t the only one who noticed how beautiful it was. How beautiful she was. 

“My dear, how absolutely ravishing, your frock. Look, your husband is speechless.”  

Gon heard that but it was another second before it registered. Then he shook himself inwardly and smiled at the GG, offering her his arm, while Sir David escorted Tae-eul. 

“You didn’t tell her what I said, Your Majesty?” Dame Patsy asked, giggling now. “Did you hear me at all?”

“Of course I did, Your Excellency.” He turned to Tae-eul. “Dame Patsy said--”

He was about to embellish what the GG had said, just to make her blush, to make her cute again so he could function at this dinner. But his words died in his throat when Tae-eul said in nearly perfect English, “I heard what she said. I was waiting for you to speak. Good for you. You’re too smooth sometimes, is that the word?” Turning to Dame Patsy who was already chuckling, Tae-eul added, “Thank you so much.” 

The evening was just a haze to Gon. He took care of Tae-eul, of course, translating when needed, answering her questions, but he had no idea how well he did. 

He was used to women wearing the most beautiful dresses. But this was Tae-eul, and he wondered if he’d ever get used to her stunning him with her beauty. The dress was modest, the neckline at the base of her throat, the sleeves to her wrists, the hemline at her knees, but all that lace-- and how well she spoke in a language she’d just begun learning-- short-circuited his brain. 

He thought about unsolved math problems throughout the dinner. And if their hosts noticed he was distracted, they were only amused. At least he’d entertained them for the evening, hadn’t he. 

Sir David was going to show him something or other in his study, but Dame Patsy vetoed that. “We shouldn’t keep you. Thank you so much for your generosity in spending the evening with two old people, Your Majesties.” 

They said goodbyes, Tae-eul inviting them to Corea for the festivals. He couldn’t remember which. He took her coat from the butler and helped her into it himself. 

She caught his eyes over her shoulder and blushed then. Oh now, she’d blush? 

He wondered if Yeong had seen the dress during the security scans and that was why Yeong had ordered the Royce Phantom as their car for this evening. 

Ahh, Yeong. 

He bundled Tae-eul into her seat and then took a deep breath of the frigid winter evening. The ride to the hotel was around ten minutes. That was nothing. Only ten minutes. 

He got in the car. Tae-eul was looking at him strangely. “What were you doing standing outside for a minute?”

He focused his eyes on her forehead, on the delicate wings of her eyebrows. He just smiled at her as he put on his seatbelt. Then he looked out his window. 

He felt her reach for his hand, resting their arms on the car’s infuriatingly huge center console. He took a deep breath. And regretted it because he got a lungful of her fragrance. 

He looked at his watch. Only three minutes had passed. 

He turned to Tae-eul. She was looking out her window, both hands in her lap. Belatedly, he realized he had disentangled his hand from hers when he looked at his watch. 

Gazing at that profile, the city lights swathing the lines and curves of her face in gold and shadow, he saw the queen she would become, had already become: poised, fierce, and brave, always brave. For him, for them, for this life they’d chosen. 

“Tae-eulah.” 

She turned to him. And she was so beautiful in that moment, in her simple questioning glance, that he wondered what idiot had possessed him to make him think he’d last ten minutes without touching her. 

He pushed the button to turn the car’s electrochromatic privacy glass opaque. 

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

Tae-eul looked from Gon to the glass and back. 

“Why did you do that? Now Yeong and Jangmi will think we’re doing unspeakable things here.”

Gon laughed. “We can speak it. They can’t hear us. Come here.” 

“No.” 

“What do you mean, no?”

“We’re in the car!”

“I want to kiss you.”

She inhaled sharply. She was still trying to catch her breath from those words, said in that voice, when his hands were there, pulling at her seatbelt for more give, and then pulling her close, and then his lips were on hers.

He thoroughly caressed her lips with his for several breathless moments. He nibbled on her bottom lip next, teasing it with his tongue, and then went back to that drugging lips on lips friction that sent her nerves on fire, before nipping her lower lip again and drawing it into his mouth, suckling gently, tasting and stroking it with his tongue. 

When he finally, finally touched his tongue to hers, she heard herself groan, and she couldn’t help the soft moan that followed when he gently delved and twirled his tongue with hers. His hand was on her ribcage, his thumb caressing the curve of her breast, the other hand cupping her cheek with his fingers in her hair. 

Her arm was trapped between them on the console, so she only had one hand free, but she couldn’t do much but cling to his wrist as he moved his mouth to her cheek, then her neck and the shell of her ear, where he paused to kiss and nip, making her shudder as sparks rushed from that spot on her ear and straight to her core. 

“Neo-neun wan-byuk-hae. Saranghae.” 

She sighed. She was just about to reach for him with both hands so she could kiss him again when the car stopped. 

Gon kissed her briskly, reached a hand to her waist to release her seatbelt, removed his, and then he was out his door and opening hers. She felt the strands of hair he’d loosened from her chignon flutter back and forth against her neck as he led them from the car to the hotel lobby and then across it to their semi-private lift. 

The liftman bowed and pushed the button to their suite. Tae-eul hid her heated face against Gon’s arm. She poked his side when she felt him laugh. 

In contrast to the dignified but still slightly mad rush through the lobby, they walked slowly to their door, saying good night to In-yeong and Ho-Pil standing in the hall. 

Once they were inside, she kicked off her heels and removed her coat. Then she fished for a  biscuit from the tin on the console. Gon stood there watching her, unmoving. 

As if she couldn’t feel her blood heating her neck and cheeks almost unbearably hot, she bit into the cookie and said, “What?”

He said in English, “You are absolutely ravishing.”

She looked like she was going to imitate her earlier bravado, but it lasted only two seconds. She looked down and said, “Oh stop it. You don’t think this was too much? Chung-cha said queens only wore two fabrics in the evenings, lace or silk. Or both.”

He removed his coat, put his arm around her, and led her to the sofa, planting his lips on her temple and not letting go even as they dropped onto the cushions, hip to hip. He took the biscuit from her and finished it in one mouthful.   

“You can wear whatever you want. Since when can you tease in English?”

She laughed. “I had Seung-ah’s help. We just thought up scenarios and she helped me with the words I wanted to say.” 

He dropped his head on the sofa’s back. “You’ll be the death of me one day.”

“Good. Because you always, always make me feel like I’m dying.” 

Maybe it was because of his kiss. Maybe because she was still tingling from that kiss. Maybe it was the way he exposed his delicious jawline and neck to her just then. She didn’t care. She hitched the skirt of her dress high on her thighs so she could do what she wanted to do, which was straddle her husband. 

It was comical how fast he put his head back upright when he felt her settle on his knees. His arms went around her back, supporting her, always protective that way. She smiled and threaded her fingers through his soft hair. 

She ghosted her lips over his nose, his cheek, his ear, doing what he’d done in the car and nipping him there. She felt him shiver and she loved it, almost as much as the feel of his hands traveling up her back, leaving a trail of delicious heat through her layers of silk and lace. 

She felt her dress loosen when he found the hidden zip and pulled it down. 

She leaned forward and relished the heavenly feel of settling against the solid warmth of his chest, and then--she didn’t know who closed the remaining distance-- they were kissing each other, tongue tips touching and teasing. He growled as he sucked her tongue into his mouth and she shuddered as that sucking and that growl set off sensation everywhere.  

If she thought a previous kiss was good, he always, always made it better. 

She had straddled his lap to initiate things, but now she was happy to be kissed senseless, just clinging to him as he kissed her like it was their first time, parting from her lips and then going back in at a slightly different angle, again and again, until she’d had enough of it and she placed both hands against his neck so she could kiss him properly. 

He tasted-- they both tasted--like the butter and coconut in the Anzac biscuits they kept eating here. It was delicious. But then it was always delicious between them. He smiled against her lips, letting her take control. 

And then he was moving his hands, gently but insistently pulling her dress over her shoulder and down her arms. It got stuck at her elbows, and they laughed a bit while she showed him the hidden zippers at her wrists. 

They both stood so she could shimmy out of her dress and he got rid of his suit jacket and trousers. And then she pushed him back down on the sofa and followed him there, her knees back on either side of him. She was in her silk slip, and he hitched it higher up her hips and pulled her closer against him. 

Her breath caught when her core connected with his arousal, only his and her underwear between them. He gave a soft thrust and she returned it, settling and rubbing against him and giving a soft, drawn out sigh of pleasure. 

Her fingers shook as she unknotted his bowtie and discarded it behind the sofa. 

“Ahh, Tae-eulah.” He growled this against her neck as he grabbed her hips and rocked her against him. She gasped and nearly tore one of his shirt buttons off. She finished them and he shrugged off his shirt and then pulled her slip over her head in one smooth movement. 

One would think they’d been apart for weeks instead of a few hours, the way they both relished being skin to skin. She shivered at the sensation of his chest against hers and smiled at how he looked at her with dark eyes, his lips kiss-swollen, and his chest rising and falling, breathing hard.  

And then he was bowing his head to sip at her lips, and then making her writhe and moan with open-mouthed, nibbling kisses on her neck. He pushed her back a little in his arms and she clung to his neck and gasped as he leaned forward and took first one nipple in his mouth and then the other, suckling tenderly for long, long moments. 

Electric pleasure was both shooting down to her core and ricocheting outward from there because he was also gently rocking against her.  

His arms were the only thing keeping her anchored, serving as her back rest with her leaning back on his lap, and this was a tiny, nebulous thought that nonetheless added to the thrill and pleasure running through her. 

She pulled him up for a kiss and he pulled her back upright against him. She said something incoherent, her fingers pushing down his boxers and gently pulling him out. He groaned against her mouth. 

“Gon--” 

She didn’t know what she wanted-- she was a little desperate at that point. But he understood. He reached between them and used his thumb to push her panties aside. And yes, yes, that was it, and she almost sobbed with relief when he pushed inside her. 

He buried himself to the hilt and she crumpled against him, only staying upright because her arms were around his shoulders. She gasped when he lifted her up--the drag and heat of it making her boneless-- and slammed her back down. 

Somehow, some way, her knees functioned again and she whimpered against Gon’s neck when she used her knees to lever herself up and discovered an angle that hit a particularly delicious spot every time she came down. 

Gon was cradling her with arms loose around her waist, letting her move as she pleased, whispering and groaning praise against her ear. Until he reached a point where he stopped praising. 

“Go faster now, Tae-eul.” 

She leaned back, “Oh?” She rolled her hips and they both groaned. 

“If you won’t do it, I will.”

She laughed at the slightly disheveled and unhinged look in his face. 

In the middle of that laugh, he rammed her hips up into hers, making her gasp. And just like that, her knees almost turned to water again because she was close. 

Gon kept at it and she clung to his neck and met his thrusts. 

“Gon, harder.” 

At her whispered command, he growled and reversed their positions, gently but efficiently placing her on her back and ramming into her, one of his arms sliding away from her waist to brace his elbow on one side of her head. The other held her close as he continued with his relentless pace, and she could only hang on, her legs cradling his hips, ankles locking behind him. 

He kept their eyes locked as he made love to her, except when he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers, and when she closed her eyes when the pleasure became blinding and unbearable and she cried out softly as her orgasm rolled through her. 

It was intense. Waves upon waves of white hot pleasure, her neck straining and the top of her head pressing onto the sofa, her mouth open in a soundless scream. 

“God, Tae-eul,” Gon groaned against her, and he was thrusting erratically with his own climax. She hugged him and cradled his head with her hands, whispering, “Saranghae,” as they stayed joined even as they both finished. 

She sighed and kissed his hair. He turned his head and kissed her cheek, and then they were both laughing softly, fondly. 

“What was that you said?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Something about making you feel like dying?”

“Shut up.”  

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This is for everyone who are still reading and still can’t move on from TKEM. Drop me a line. :) 

You can look up Elie Saab cocktail dresses for the inspiration for Tae-eul’s dress. 

You can also look up the Rolls-Royce Phantom to see what the car is like. What, I like cars, and they serve fictional purposes.  

The continuation of the Corean Awards Night coming up next.