#Difference between plums and cherries and cherry

[husbandhoshi]

title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

wc: 30.8k in total; part 1: 15.4k, part 2: 15.4k summary: between remembering last night’s party and pleasing your unrelenting family, you think being a princess is hard enough. then you’re thrust into an arranged marriage to royal darling joshua hong—straight-laced, infuriatingly obedient, and everything you’re not. pretending to be the perfect couple? impossible.   notes: romcom + smut (part 2), modern royalty!au in which yn is the princess of cotria/joshua the prince of acros (both fictional), enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, quarterlife crisis/coming of age, very very slow burn. lots of swearing, lots of alcohol, lots of feelings. smut tags: oral (m!receiving), mirror shenanigans, unprotected sex, softdom!shua, mating press, idk. they're in love your honor. [read part 1 here!] (please)

You decide June looks good on Acros. Unlike in Cotria, now sure to be perspiring with tourists, the downtown here is comfortable, inviting, even. At home, you’d be shoulder-to-shoulder with three other people right now. 

This is one of the things you like about this country: it seems to be intentionally idyllic. It’s becoming more clear to you that Joshua’s parents weren’t actually in need of anything from you other than a status boost. You suppose they’re learning the hard way what exactly that comes with.

Jeonghan’s car, or rather, the car Jeonghan happens to be in (he couldn’t drive his way out of a paper bag, try as he might), pulls up to the curb. He’s fresh off a stint of good press, meaning months of speeches, ribbon cutting, and run-ins with parliament and journalists and business moguls all vying for a bite of a future king. You’d add yourself to that list, but you know you’re at the back of the line—you practically live there now, but you’re not sure if things could have happened any other way. 

You watch him step out of the van, never windblown even though he likely just got off a flight. Always with a smile, too, one tired but recognizable, so different from the plasticky ones he wears on TV. 

The first thing he does when he gets out is throw his arms open for a bear hug. “Hey, cricket,” he says, voice wrought with jet-lag. “Missed you.” 

“Glad you had time for one more stop,” you murmur, squeezed into the million-thread count of his shirt. 

“I always have time for you,” he replies, which is decidedly untrue, but you don’t have it in you to say that. All you do lately is get into arguments, and you’re not looking to add your brother to your hit list. 

(He hugs Jihoon, too, since you all practically grew up together. Is that your gun, or are you just happy to see me? Jeonghan jokes. Jihoon’s reply: It’s my gun. It’s always my gun.) 

The second thing he does is push the brim of your baseball cap down.

“The paps,” he warns, as if they were the boogeyman.  

“If they can’t recognize us, they need to get better at their job.” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “For God’s sake, Jeonghan, we’re all wearing matching hats.” 

No, you are not kidding. Jeonghan, blue, you, red, and Jihoon, green, a la The Powerpuff Girls, which was a joke you made about six years ago and could not let go of. 

“Whatever,” he laughs. “Aren’t you supposed to be showing me around? This is your domain now.” 

“Don’t get excited. I just got here.” 

“What do you need to go shopping for, anyway?” he asks, now walking side-by-side with you. 

“I ask that question every day,” Jihoon replies, glancing at Jeonghan as if to say Women, right?, save for the fact that the both of them have exactly zero game. 

“Somi’s birthday!” you exclaim, two ticks too loudly. “Stuff, I dunno. Just trying to get used to this place.” 

“This isn’t exactly Rodeo Drive, you know.” 

That, Jeonghan is right about. You’re sure there must be a shopping district somewhere in Acros, but definitely not here. Here, the streets are lined with dense cherry plum trees, wine-stained and fragrant. They frame driftwood-paneled shop windows housing kitschy art galleries, mom-and-pop bakeries, and patioed bistros with striped awnings. 

An elderly couple passes you. They smile and wave, visible even under the shade of their parasol, either blissfully unaware of your status or too wise to care. 

“I know,” you waver. “Whatever. I'll just get Yunjin to find me something for the party.” 

Your eye wanders to the jaunty facade of a music store. The sign flaunts handmade, cursive letters with a curly treble clef in the lacquer of old paint. In Cotria, the same sign would be neon, Hollywood-esque, vain. 

“Party?” 

“Let's go there,” you interrupt, hoping to run your big mouth over with some more talking. Of course Jeonghan wouldn’t be cool with any party, nonetheless the one Somi was planning on throwing, but, either by habit or wishful thinking, the news just tumbled right out of you. 

“Party?” Jeonghan repeats. He trails close after you, hoping to grab the door before you can. Such is what he had been taught, after all, which came more naturally than navigating big-brotherhood. “Jihoon?”

Jihoon shrugs, and opens the door before the both of you get there. You’ve trained him well. 

“It’s a small thing,” you tell him. “Close friends only.” It’s not technically a lie—small is relative, and it’s not your fault Somi has two hundred-some close friends.

Inside, you notice the shop is bigger than it looks from the outside. In the front, their nicest pianos: the glossy Yamahas, the baby grands. a lone drum set, on sale, the hi-hat sparkling under the LED lights. And finally, guitars hung from the wall like posters, some lime green and child-sized, others sanded down so the mahogany glows. 

“You already know what I’m going to say,” Jeonghan says, the lilt of his voice verging on not-so-casual. 

“Then don’t say it,” you reply flatly. “You went to those parties too, by the way.” 

“Used to, but—” Jeonghan sighs because he’s beat, and he knows it. 

You absentmindedly flip through a book of sheet music—Alfred's Essentials of Music Theory. behind it, 40 Taylor Swift Songs for Piano. 

“You’ve been good, I hope?” you cut in. “Not too tired?” 

“No,” Jeonghan says.  “I've been great. You?” 

You can’t read his expression. Old Jeonghan would tell you that he’s ready for a nap, that he hates sleeping on airplanes, that his hands still get sweaty when he gets in front of a crowd and the camera flash hurts his eyes. New Jeonghan never complains, either because of some drastic change in his character or because he feels like he can no longer complain to you. Both hurt your feelings in equal measures.

“I called, you know.” 

“I was busy, cricket.” He holds up a copy of Complete Advanced Piano Solos and wrinkles his nose. He's hoping you’d laugh with him about it, but you’ve already moved on, now fixated on the shining columns of electric guitars. “I wanted to ask about, you know, all the new stuff going on.” 

“You mean my arranged marriage?” The words feel stiff in your mouth. 

The arranged marriage I'm doing for you? I split my heart open for you, and that’s the thanks I get? 

You avoid Jihoon’s tentative glare to look at your noodled reflection in the polish of a red Fender. You think of Joshua, of a corny rendition of Here Comes The Sun and a pick between his teeth, cradling a guitar held by a linty, ten dollar strap. 

Then you think of what he said on that piano bench—that somehow he could have prevented this. Actually, this might have been all your fault. One too many shots, and you ended up setting feminism back five centuries. 

“Y-yeah.” You watch Jeonghan’s silhouette appear behind yours. “Has it been okay, at least?” 

Okay is a complicated word to use. It’s hard to say, even for you. 

It would certainly be TMI to tell Jeonghan that you’ve been kissing a lot more often. First it was under the flimsy guise of practice—We have to be ready for our dinner tomorrow, Joshua had said, to which you readily agreed. You couldn’t be the unwilling victim of another headline like KISS OR MISS! It would be terrible for your ego, even more so than your public image. 

Yesterday, though, as you were winding down for bed, Joshua had come out of the shower, damp white tee and all. A sorry, unspeakable part of you willed you to posit—Hey, maybe we need a refresher? You couldn’t even get halfway through your sentence. Hell, his glasses even came off.

You really only liked each other past 9 PM—you still couldn’t quite manage to get through a conversation like normal people. At this point, you had a 50/50 split in terms of who would cast the first terrible stone of petty disagreement. The only thing we have going for us is a dubious physical attraction, seemed like way more of a mouthful than okay, though. 

“Yeah, it’s been okay.” You look around. There's a decent amount of mediocre acoustic guitars on the back wall, more than enough to scratch the itch of someone too afraid to defile something more honorable. “Hey, don’t wait up for me. I think i might buy something.” 

—

[august 10, 2:57 pm; a dress fitting. 

In the ten-foot mirror of the boutique dressing room, you watch Yunjin yank the ties of your corset into a punishing knot. Your mother watches behind you, perched on the chaise. 

“Regal and radiant,” she reads aloud, the shiny cover of a magazine between her hands. “Finally, some good news.” 

“About you and Joshua?” Yunjin asks. 

“Ye–ow!” you wince. “Yeah. We went out to dinner yesterday.” 

The dinner: an exhausting, stuffy affair at an Italian restaurant with two Michelin stars. You came in a nice dress, Joshua in slacks and his best button-up. Smile, wave, a kiss on the cheek. You fed him a spoonful of dessert, a stiff, too-sweet panna cotta. It was either raspberry or strawberry—you were too distracted to really notice. Instead, you’d been practicing the steps, the motions of a true love. 

Should we hold hands over the table? Joshua had asked. 

I don't think we have to. Your hand had curled over the napkin on your lap, as if the thought of his touch physically stung. 

“This is a nice color,” your mother interrupts. She pinches the fabric of the skirt up at your waist, watching the way it bunches over your hips. “It's suitable.” 

Suitable. Right. The dress for your engagement ball, suitable. Just like you, newly suited for the engagement. 

You watch your image in the mirror. It’s taller, more regal, likely the product of Yunjin squeezing all the air out of you, Or worse, the penetrating gaze of your mother over the top of the tabloid.

You blink hard; you waver. ]

[august 20, 10:13 pm; a quiet return to acros after a day at the beach with somi and soonyoung. 

The castle sleeps, warm under the soft glow of candlelight on marble. You pad through the halls, carefully, as to avoid waking the entire country with the thwacks of your still-wet sandals. Hopefully Joshua is sleeping. He'd certainly ask questions, either about if bikini tops really need all that padding or what the SPF of your sunscreen was. 

You approach your room, where the lamplight from the cracked door oozes into the hallway. There's a determined rustling noise coming from the interior. Incriminating. Holding your breath, you cast a long glance into the thin slice of bedroom you can see from where you’re standing. 

There sits Joshua, cross-legged on the bed. Between his legs, the guitar you bought him. It must have finally shipped. He’s tied the gift ribbon it came with to the guitar strap, a woven linen with an offensively bright jacquard pattern. 

A hesitant A major chord, then G major, offkey. Hm, he hums aloud. Then you notice his phone propped on a pillow, a Youtube tutorial rumbling in the background. He tries the G major again. Better, he says, pumping a fist into the tired air. 

God, what a dork, you think. But you don’t walk away.] 

– 

From the garden, the Acrosian moon renders the city blue, like ink from a spilled well. 

It’s quiet out here, you notice. The forest spills into the sky, and the scent of roses lies heavy on your skin. You’re seated on the bench beneath the sculpted gazebo, a worthy centerpiece, and you revel in the coolness of the granite, the bated still of the air. You like this garden better than the one at home, although it’s entirely possible that you’ve been conditioned into hating all topiaries, no thanks to your parents. 

It's only when you hear the quiet click of footsteps behind you that you realize you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been outside. You’re now able to tell them apart–these, Joshua’s, steady and purposeful, sound like they have a heartbeat. 

You don’t turn around to greet him. “So you finally had enough, huh?” you ask instead, sliding to the left so he can sit beside you. 

“How'd you know?” he chuckles. 

“I'd like to think I know at least a little about you.” 

“I appreciate it,” is his reply, surprisingly warm.

Just a few hours earlier, your parents had come to visit. They cooed and giggled and connived alongside Joshua’s parents before launching into a very long, very serious discussion about your engagement ball. You’ve learned not to sweat the small stuff, the small stuff being the color of the napkins, the members of the string quartet, the hors d'oeuvres. But then it got weird: the symbolism of the color of your nail polish, which journalists were allowed to watch you make out, when and how Jeonghan was supposed to announce his presence during all of this. 

Then things got critical, which really sucked. No one was safe this time, not even Joshua. You lasted about an hour, Joshua about forty-five minutes more. You wonder what his breaking point was. Maybe it was his mother finally telling him off for having more than three buttons undone whenever he wore a dress shirt. 

In the silence, you feel an inexplicable peace. Maybe this is the only time you can get along; underneath the same moon, the same stars, the divide doesn’t feel quite as wide. You let your mind clear, first, past the fog of Somi’s birthday bash, glittery and blinding in your mind’s eye, past Jeonghan’s tired shoulders in the music store, past all the magazine covers and photo ops. The heavy reality feels heavier in your stomach, but you’re no longer as scared, although resignation looks like acceptance when you whittle it close enough to the bone. 

“Have you ever been in love before?” 

Joshua’s voice is so low, it takes you by surprise. You look to your side and see his eyes, shaded by the long curl of his lashes, trained on the sky, his expression unreadable. There’s a piercing sincerity to it, one you haven’t seen before. 

“No,” you reply, the answer coming to you faster than any regret ever could. “How could i?” 

“So all the boyfriends before, just…?” he trails off. He's referencing the magazines, all the covers with full size photos of you and the model of the month holding hands by the riviera, sharing a martini, kissing outside a nightclub. There are too many to remember, but you’re surprised he’s aware of any at all. 

“It was just stupid fun. I dunno. We hung out, had sex, whatever. It was never serious. I didn't tell them about anything at all; I was okay with them not really knowing me, at least, not as anything other than a party girl, the runaway princess, etcetera. We didn’t owe each other anything.” 

“Sounds lonely.” 

“Sometimes,” you answer. “But it was fun. I don't regret it. I just never saw room for them in all of this.” 

Joshua hums, low and deep. 

“And you?” you ask, incredulous. “In love?” 

“In university,” he says after a brief pause. “There was a girl. I think I loved her more than I had ever loved anything else before.” 

“What? Who?” you interrupt. “Do I know her?” 

“No.” Then, a quiet chuckle. “No one did. She was a civilian, a normal girl. She wanted to be a biologist, I think. it was either that, or a nurse. We snuck around a lot. Probably more than you did.” 

“Can I ask what happened?” 

“I told her I'd marry her. I thought if I wanted it enough, it would happen. I'd go to my parents, profess my love, and all our rules would fall away somehow. Just like that.” 

Suddenly, it feels like there is a gaping wound in your chest. Every new word seems to draw the bloody edges of your skin further apart. 

“Well, they didn’t,” Joshua continues. “I broke her heart. and I learned that all of this would never go away. Not for love, not for anything.” 

There is an impossible hollowness inside you. You imagine Joshua, twenty-one and bright-eyed at Cambridge, hiding beneath the arch of the cobblestone bridge, the long one behind the quad, to carve hearts into the limestone. There's a girl wrapped in his jacket, her laughter like bells. She draws him close, runs a delicate hand through his hair, a shorter cut, more sporty than it is now. The night is still just as kind, forgiving, as it is now, and the moon still round like a young pearl. 

“And that’s why you’re…you know.” You pause. The words all feel stuck to the roof of your mouth. “You like the rules.” 

“Because it would mean that it didn’t end in vain. That it wasn’t really my fault.” 

“You don’t want to mess up again. I get it.” 

“Yeah.” 

You notice your arms are touching, that they have been touching. Somehow, you don’t want to move away. 

“Why are you telling me this?” you ask.

“Not sure.” Joshua sighs, having fully abandoned the filter he normally speaks to you through. “I don't think we’re so different. I don't know. It feels good to tell someone.” 

“Do you still love her?” 

“No. I don't think I can.” 

“I'm sorry,” you swallow, feeling the familiar lump in your throat. 

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

It’s getting cold, the twilight breeze now coming in from the sea. A silence, now sticky, caustic, settles between the two of you. The thought of Joshua, hopelessly in love, a line you hadn’t even dared to cross, seems to wind itself deep into your neurons. 

“No really,” you insist. “I'm sorry. I gave you a hard time—no, I've been giving you a hard time. I didn't know.” 

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“What?” 

“Be nice to me. No one’s watching.” 

“I know,” you say, a foolish conviction rising in your stomach. You almost feel silly, juvenile, for never really baring your heart like how he had. You’re not sure which was worse. 

You turn to look at him, really look at him. He's framed by the haze of the violets, the gentle curtain of the willows. 

“Says the real you?” Joshua asks.

“Yup,” you laugh. “Usually is. You probably get the worst of it, to be honest.” 

“She’s not so bad.” He returns your gaze; it’s honest, unsearching. “According to the real me, by the way.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

There are no words left. In fact, nothing quite says more than the way you now sit together, hands close enough to touch, without quarrel, complaint, or a yearning to prove yourself to some invisible standard. Instead, you enjoy the quiet calm, the way it drapes itself across the garden, the city, the quick of your heart. Now that you think about it, it’s the first time you’ve been able to do this without feeling like you were putting on a show.

This time, you think it’s real when you lean against his shoulder, and he leans back, chasing your warmth.

And it certainly seems to stay real when your hands find each other. You realize he does it the same way every time—the gentle skim of his fingertips down your hand before your palms meet, gently, forthright. 

And it’s here, in the uncertain glow of the summer moon, where you think you’re the closest to ever knowing just what Joshua had been talking about earlier. 

His hand curls around your cheek, holding you, wanting to see you clearer still, and he kisses you. It's not the practiced motion of an ill-conceived love, nor a hungry, blind stumble in your unlit bedroom. No, this time, it's as if you are being drawn back, wonderfully, slowly. Joshua kisses you as if it's the first time, as if to undo all the other times.

And somehow, almost by magic, the fountain song and the phantom photographers, the parents and the press, the world and everything in it, finally draw quiet. 

–

“So,” Jihoon says, reloading his pistol. “You ok? Don’t you hate the range?” 

You push your earmuffs aside to hear him better. “What?” 

“I said, don’t you hate the range?” 

“Well,” you balk. Jihoon puts the gun down and leans against the booth, looking at you from behind the glare of his safety glasses. Behind him is the paper target of a man with five bullet holes through his head. “I think I've gotten used to it.” 

This is all true—you did hate the range, but it’s where you can always count on finding Jihoon on a Sunday afternoon. Better people went to church, but Jihoon preferred to terrorize the poor center circle of a bullseye. 

“Hm.” He picks up the pistol again, stares down its iron sights. “Somi need anything for her birthday?” 

“She needs a new man,” you reply, and Jihoon laughs. 

Bang. Bang. 

“But, no, I'm getting her that vintage Cartier watch she’s been wanting forever. They were auctioning it off in Paris.” 

“Right, since it’s time for her to get a new boyfriend,” Jihoon deadpans, although he can’t quite get it out before he chuckles. “What about Soonyoung?” 

“They cannot get together. You’re just being messy.” 

“Sure, I'm the messy one. Didn’t they sleep together?” 

“That was, like, two years ago. Drunk.” 

Bang. Then a click–the clip’s empty. “By the way—you decided if you’re going to Cotria this weekend? Jeonghan will be back again, you know.” 

You pause, watching Jihoon reload the magazine, shiny bullet by bullet. You definitely know Jeonghan’s coming home—minus all the time you spend on Find My Friends, you were always acutely aware of when he was in town. The real question is if you wanted to see him again. Usually, you’d count down the days, make plans at all your favorite restaurants, buy a bottle of cheap wine to split over a shitty Godzilla movie. That was when you still talked. 

The last time you saw him was when he visited you in Acros. After the music store, you milled around a couple shops, walked through an art gallery. (Remember when you got lost at the Prado? he had asked. You were staring at that painting with all the butts. 

Kinda, you had replied noncommittally. All Jeonghan did lately was start his sentences with remember, like he wanted you to forget who he was now.) 

“I dunno,” is what you land on. “I'm busy.” 

“Well, Jeonghan asked me.” Jihoon takes down his old target and sets up a fresh one, another formless, black silhouette. 

“Asked you what?”

“If I could ask you to come.” 

“Does Josh know?” 

“He actually already helped with arrangements for you to go back,” Jihoon replies, palming the gun again. “He said only if you wanted to, though.” 

The tightness in your chest seems to coil over itself once more. Joshua had asked you about Jeonghan over breakfast one morning, before handing you a coffee and a croissant to soften the blow. You had been talking a lot more lately, which, somehow, you didn’t mind. If he wasn’t making fun of you, he was actually a decent listener. 

You watch Jihoon steady his arms. 

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

–

Like all of your great ideas, it began in the back of a car. 

Surprising, maybe. Accidental? Never. 

You’re getting ahead of yourself, though. It really started earlier tonight, at the charity event you attended with Joshua. 

Lesser beings would blame the wine, a cheap chardonnay only fit for sorority girls on a Friday night. Naturally, you and Joshua were responsible for downing about half the bottle—a fun amount, you’d like to say, although you admit you were surprised at your date’s ability to hold his alcohol. 

You, however, can peg the real culprit: a reasonably slutty dress, removed from the annals of Somi’s closet, back when she was less of a Paris Hilton and more of a Princess Diana. 

The evidence: damning. As you were getting ready—Can you zip me up? you had asked Joshua, fiddling with the rollers in your hair, already a generous ten minutes late. Then the slow, lingering skim of his touch, molasses up the hollow of your spine. At dinner, a warm hand on your knee. You didn’t hang around much longer after that, but walking to the car was a wondrous excuse for the flat of his palm to find the small of your back, fondly, comfortably, as if you had known each other for years. 

Since you had spoken in the garden, certainly you had acted like more of a couple. It came more naturally, likely due to the fact that you had no idea if you were actually a couple or not. You suppose it doesn’t matter at the end of the day. Well—sort of.

Now, you’re just being obtuse. What you’re really trying to do is explain how your hand found its way down Joshua’s pants in the back of your limousine. And still, found is too generous of a word. But you digress. 

The short version: you kissed Joshua. Jihoon parked the car out back, you had gotten tired of Joshua glancing at you through the side of his eyes, and you kissed him. Regrettably, this hasn’t gotten boring yet. You enjoy the way he searches for your touch, the part of his soft lips. 

Sometime between the third and the tenth time your tongue found its way into Joshua’s mouth, Jihoon removed himself from the situation—he was always good at that part. Two wandering hands later, your palm skimmed over the front of Joshua’s slacks. No big deal, except he was half-hard and he moaned in your mouth like he was doing the ad-libs in a Cupcakke song. 

“Whoops,” you had babbled. This whole night, you’d been searching for the brakes on the clown car winding through the horny fog of your horrible, vexed mind. 

“Fuck, sorry,” Joshua replied just as quickly, the words seeming to slip back down his throat. 

Then you had stared at each other and blinked, hard, as if that would erase the fact that, one, the prince of Acros had just cursed approximately half an centimeter from your face, and two, you’d now crossed a bridge that could not be uncrossed. 

You could no longer lie to yourself about the fact that you are hopelessly attracted to Joshua. You don’t even know if you want to lie anymore. You still thought of the time you ran into him, birthday suit and all, all those weeks ago in the bathroom. And, yes, you had wondered how big he was, although you blame Somi for planting that evil idea in you. 

Hence, with God as your witness (since Jihoon was no longer there), you had said, “I can help, you know. If you want.” 

You didn’t expect Joshua to nod so quickly. Then again, you now know yourself to be a poor judge of most things, especially ones relating to whatever this is. 

“Do you want to?” he had asked, eyes fogged over. 

“Yes. really.” Then you stopped. “Is this your first—”

“No. Does it really seem like it?” 

Okay. You’ll have to unpack that later. 

So, finally, here you are. Somewhere along the line, your shame had fallen to the wayside, and a new desire now rocks you. 

“Could’ve just asked earlier,” you tease, thumbing the buckle of Joshua’s belt. 

“Should’ve known you’re not one for subtlety,” he laughs softly, his eyes fixed on how you undo the clasp. It’s a silly comment, but all the blood still rushes to your cheeks at the idea of him wanting you not just now, but all night. “Next time.” 

“Really now.” The button at his waistband proves difficult with your new nails, so you instead sit your hand on the tent in his pants, palm him over the fabric. “You’d let me do this in the washroom of a charity ball?”

Delightfully, you watch him squirm. He doesn’t fight you, instead, uses his hands to bring you closer so you can feel his voice on your skin. “You’d be surprised,” he replies. 

“His highness,” you say before returning to the wretched button, “Fooling around at a formal event? Scandalous.” 

“Says the walking scandal,” Joshua laughs again, nipping at your earlobe. Then a sigh, breathy and tortured, as you finally peel back his slacks. 

“Isn’t this about the time where you be quiet and let me do my thing?”

“Is that an order?” 

“Yeah, since you seem to like them so much.” 

He opens his mouth to complain, but you’ve beaten him to the punch. Skin meets skin; you watch his eyes flutter shut, the slow fall of his shoulders as he exhales. 

Fuck, you think to yourself. If that’s all it takes for him to get hard— you force the thought back to where it came from. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Already, you’re reveling in the lewd image before you: the nation’s darling prince, legs spread and slack-jawed in the back of a limo, dizzy at the thought of a pretty girl playing with his cock. 

Your hand wraps around his length, pulls it out of his briefs. Feeling the weight, heavy and warm on your palm, makes your skin prickle. He is big, but even if he wasn’t, the way he gasps into your ear when you start pumping him is enough to satisfy. 

You start slow, just to be a little mean. He's longer than you expected, you realize. A turn of the wrist at the base, a little more pressure, and you hear him groan, loudly, shamelessly, as he tips his head back. 

“Feels good?” you ask, voice lower than a whisper. You know it does—you’re not inexperienced by any stretch of the imagination, but something about turning the prince into putty makes the months of horrible foreplay worth it. 

“Yeah,” he says, part sigh. “Really good.” 

“Good.” Then you hold out your palm in front of his mouth. You tell yourself it’s a litmus test for his freak-o-meter, but there’s a part of you that wants to make this the best handjob of his short, unexciting life. 

First, he looks at you, wide eyes unblinking. There's already a flush, pretty and pink, across his cheeks, the column of his neck. Then, it clicks. He spits into your hand, and you watch it trail down the plush curve of his lips, his chin, the ridge of his adam’s apple. The color spreads to his ears; his mouth twists shyly. Oh, he looks perfect, maybe even more than perfect like this. 

As if drawn by a magnet, you kiss him, and your hand finds his cock again. The friction alone draws out a low whine from Joshua’s chest, enough for you to feel the sound on your own tongue. Emboldened, you pump faster, harder, loving the way his hips kick up to meet your touch. 

Still, he gives no indication that he’s close. Something tells you he has more stamina than you think, which surprises you. Thirty minutes ago, you thought he was a virgin. 

“Josh?” you murmur, your lips brushing over his. “Wanna taste you.” 

He meets your gaze, expression unreadable. You think maybe you’re moving too fast, that you’ve crossed some sort of boundary, until you feel the shadow of his hand move, first on your waist, then up the back of your neck. He gathers your hair in one hand, easily, as if he’s done this many a time before, and you get the message. 

You wet your lips, swollen at this point, and bow your head. You’re running on something crazier than adrenaline at this point—even seeing the bead of precum at his tip is making your jaw feel heavy. 

The first taste, always thrilling, sends sparks to your cunt. You seal your lips around his cockhead, feeling its weight on your greedy tongue, and he pulls your hair just enough to make you moan. 

“Were you thinking about doing this all night?” Joshua asks, voice deceptively innocent. 

You can’t answer. You don’t want to. He tastes good, he even fucking smells good, and you want him bad. Instead, you take him to the base, feel him bump against your palate as you try not to gag. You can’t fit him all the way, so your hands make up the slack. He's even bigger fully hard, and already, you feel the ache in your cheeks, your temples. 

“Fuck, you must have been.” A groan, low and slutty. “Doing so good for me.”

You can’t tell if he’s being genuine or if this is his version of dirty talk, but it’s working. His hand is gentle, restrained behind you, letting you lead. The worse part of you wonders what it would take for him to break, but that’s a project for another time. 

Honestly, he doesn’t need to do much—again and again, you chase the feeling of his cock deep in your throat, enough to bruise. You don’t even care if you gag around him; when you do, he pulls your hair back, just enough to make your scalp prickle wonderfully, seemingly oblivious to the fact that you like it. 

You feel heady with arousal. You start to wonder how he is in bed, if he’d hold your hair like that, run his mouth like he is now. He's vocal, more than anyone else you’ve been with, and every little noise goes straight to your core, makes your thighs squeeze together pathetically. By now, you’re sure you’ve ruined this set of panties. 

“ ‘m close,” he says between breaths. “You don’t have to—” 

Stupid, stupid boy, you think. You don’t think you’ve wanted to do anything more. So instead of answering, you look up at him, eyes big and watery, and you suck hard. with your tongue nestled underneath his cockhead, right by the vein, it’s almost too easy. 

He groans, loud, satisfied, and you feel his release fill your mouth. Even after swallowing, it’s enough to run down your chin, get your makeup all smudged, and you like it. If you weren’t in trouble already, you are now. 

“Ah, I made you a mess,” Joshua says, gravelly and intimate. With one hand, he takes the handkerchief out of his suit jacket and cradles your jaw with the other. “Hold still.” 

“You,” you manage after clearing your throat. “You don’t have to sacrifice your pocket square.” 

“Yes, I do,” he chuckles. He wipes the corners of your mouth, your aching chin, and it almost makes you cry. “You literally gave me head in the back of a car. The pocket square can go.” 

He draws you up to his chest so you can rest your head on him. There’s a warm, melty feeling between your ribs, minus what you had just swallowed. Inexplicably, even as the horny fog clears from your brain, you still want to be close, closer than close and then closer still. 

“Head? I don’t like hearing you use normal people slang.” You pout, and you feel his laugh radiate from beneath his skin. “Good head, at least?” 

“Oh, please. Better than good,” he answers. “You’re perfect. perfect.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you start. Then he shuts you up with his mouth over yours, and you forget to think about liking him, loving him, or marrying him—this, you think you can do. 

—

“We’re in Barcelona!” 

You’re greeted by a pocket sized Somi and Soonyoung as they grin at you from your phone screen. They look to be on the balcony of a hotel suite, both wearing their matching silk robes. 

“Wow,” you reply. “And where was my invite?” 

“We did invite you, bitch,” Somi says, pulling down her sunglasses to look at you. “You said you were busy.” 

“Well, I mean…” you uncap a bottle of nail polish. “That's not untrue.”

“The ocean needs you,” Soonyoung whines, clutching his chest. “We need you.” 

“I'm sorry! Josh and I have been doing engagement stuff.” 

“Josh? Since when were you on a nickname basis?” 

“Whatever,” you interrupt. “What are you guys gonna do today?” 

“Beach,” Soonyoung responds brightly, with Somi’s Don’t let her change the subject! loud in the background. 

To be honest, you don’t even know the answer to her question. It just sort of happened, which seems to be the new normal for you. You’re also trying to pull apart last night–the freak-o-meter test came back inconclusive, and, for some reason, Joshua fell asleep with his arm over your middle. (Actually, you can think of a few reasons why he did that, but you’re not really sure how to feel about any of them.) 

“Ugh, I miss you guys.” You wipe at your pinkie toe, having smudged the polish beyond repair. “Drink a little extra sangria for me. And by little, I mean a lot.”  

“You’re still coming to Somi’s birthday, right?” Soonyoung asks.

“Yes, of course she is,” Somi replies. “Unless you can’t. Which I totally understand.”

“I still can,” you lie. “It just has to be more low-key than usual.” 

“No paparazzi,” Somi says. “And I'll tell everyone to keep you on the down low. Super duper down low.” 

“No way.” Damn, you curse to yourself—you keep screwing up painting your big toe. “Seriously?”

“Anything for my queen,” she giggles. “Pitbull is also confirmed, by the way. Secret Pitbull now.” 

“Good, because that’s the only reason I’m coming.” 

“Boo, you whore.” Somi wrinkles her nose at you playfully. (Is she being serious? Soonyoung asks in the background.) “Also, I'm still waiting for my update on the whole prince thing. I've been very patient.”

“No updates. Nothing to report,” you insist. Frustratingly, your cheeks are hot, like you’re in secondary school all over again. 

“You fucked him, huh?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Halfway. Maybe.” 

The combined sound of Somi and Soonyoung’s gasps rips apart your phone speakers, and you draw in a big breath. I did it for the plot doesn’t quite seem like the right justification, not like it used to be. The plot never used to involve the M word, love, or any sort of feelings at all. Now things are more confusing than late-stage Grey’s Anatomy, but good luck explaining that over the phone.

“So you do like him,” Soonyoung says, saucer eyes sparkly on-screen.

“I don't know,” you answer. It’s true, you don’t. To you, like was flirting over text and french kissing. Paradoxically, you had told Joshua all of that, and he still decided to do whatever he did to you on the ledge of the fountain all those days ago. It felt like he ate the heart right out of your chest. Then you had to go and suck his dick, which never made anything less complicated. 

“Oh please. Look at you,” Somi laughs. “Yeah, you do.” 

Fuck. You’ve smudged all the polish off your big toe again. 

– 

Not much surprises you these days, but you can’t say you were expecting to see your riding boots to be the first thing you see when you arrive home in Cotria. 

The second thing you see is Jeonghan, smiling at you in his big, stupid riding helmet, camo-printed because he bought it when he was 15 and his head never grew much bigger since. 

“For old times sake?” He then holds your own helmet up by the straps, and whatever twinge of annoyance you had felt earlier makes way for something softer, more forgiving. “Everything's set up outside.” 

It doesn’t take you much time to take him up on the offer. If anything, a long ride usually solves all your problems, and you definitely have problems that need solving. 

You saddle up in the stables, wordlessly, moved by habit. It seems to be the same for Jeonghan, too. Even Peanut acts like it hasn’t been years since he’s seen him, and he noses at the box of sugar cubes like he always does. Then again, horses don’t hold grudges, at least, not like you do. Even Joshua seemed more optimistic about this encounter than you did. 

“So you're back back,” you say, hooking your feet in the stirrups. “Or do you have more jet-setting to do?” 

“Back back,” Jeonghan replies. “Missed home too much.” 

He cocks his head towards the old riding trail, the one that loops the long way through the woods. The gesture is but a formality—it’s the only path you ever take. Still, you follow behind his horse, watching the beige swoosh of Peanut’s tail the same way you did when you were a little girl and things were far simpler than they are now. 

Under the cornflower sky of a near-autumn, the forest seems endless. A flock of geese split the sky in two; a warm breeze haunts the canopy, scattering the afternoon light. The dirt under you is soft, peaty from the morning rain. The hoofbeats are silent today. 

Jeonghan’s horse slows so that you ride side-by-side. 

“Hey, cricket?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I…” Jeonghan clears his throat and pauses, quite unlike him. “I wanted to come out here to talk.” 

“Everything ok?” 

“Yeah, I…” Another pause. “I know things haven’t felt normal between us. For me, at least.” 

You almost drop the reins. A strange, floating feeling is set off in your body, like a flare. 

“Yeah,” you reply. “I was kinda hoping you would say that.” 

“I'm sorry.” A hard swallow. “I haven't really been the best brother, have I?” 

“Well, not…not really.” Quickly, frenetically, words bob up in the back of your mouth like you’re playing whack-a-mole. You had been waiting for this conversation to happen for so long, you realized you hadn’t planned much further than that. “It felt like you’d changed. A lot.” 

The wind feels like ribbons around you. You sway back and forth on Astrid, as if on a boat. 

“Was it the birthday party thing?” you ask. “I didn’t mean for it to…you know.” 

“Actually, that was my fault.” Jeonghan smiles bitterly. “I shouldn't have let Mom and Dad run me over like that. You should’ve been there. It was never really the same without you.” 

“Well, I should've come,” you admit. “So we both fucked up.” 

“Maybe,” he chuckles. “But the rest—definitely my fault. I made myself busy because I felt like I had to.” 

You’re growing to really hate that word. Jeonghan had to grow up, Joshua had to break up with his first love, you had to learn to pick up all the pieces of both of these things and try to fit them back into your life. 

“You didn’t even look back.” 

“I was scared, cricket. That if I kept looking back, I wouldn't be able to go forward. And I didn’t want to leave you behind, but I did. I think there was a happy middle somewhere, I just couldn’t find it.” 

“Jeonghan, you’re not really making sense right now,” you say, flattened, and he laughs. 

“I don't even know what I'm saying. I think I'm trying to say that I just want you to be happy. And that I'm sorry.” 

You bite your lip, as if to distract yourself from the strange pressure in your throat. You think you want to cry, but you’re not sure.

“But are you happy?” you ask. “With the coronation and everything? Did you even want this?” 

“I am, believe it or not. I know you don’t, but I'm not lying. Somewhere along the line, I started liking all of the talking, the traveling, the interviews. I like that I can help people. Some of it sucks, but not all of it.” He laughs, finally one that sounds like something you can remember. “Not everything you have to do is bad.” 

“Jeonghan, I'm getting married because of you. Because of this,” you say, trying to keep your voice from cracking. “I don't know how to do this. Any of this, not like you, not like Mom, or anyone.” 

This, in fact, does make Jeonghan stop. He stills and falls silent. At once, it seems the forest goes quiet too. 

“Don’t get married, then.” You don’t respond, so he says it again. “You don’t have to go through with it. Not for my sake, at least.” 

“What?” 

“I've been thinking about it ever since it happened. I can talk to everyone. You’d rather not be with the guy, right?”

Your tongue freezes in your mouth. You thought you had an answer, but it refuses to come out. 

“I have a duty to protect you, too. I’ll be fine with or without the press.” 

“Jeonghan,” you say quietly. Many moons ago, you would have laughed at the word duty, but instead, your stomach turns over and over and over. “You don’t have to.” 

“I want to,” is his simple answer. “I want to because I care about you. We can figure out the rest.” 

Something in your bones feels heavy. You’d also been waiting to hear those words, but it didn’t feel as freeing as you thought it would. You think about Joshua, his books and his perfectly placed bookmarks, his dumb dad jokes, the way he reaches for your hand, fingertips before palm. 

“Can I think about it?” 

��Of course. The engagement ball is probably happening either way, but it’s no big deal. Bigger engagements have been called off in far worse circumstances.” 

You’re having trouble believing him, but you have no other choice. Your life would certainly get a lot easier if everything were to just end. No more press releases, scripts, or awkward pictures. And no more worrying about if you could go out on the weekends or just how much of yourself to give up to make things work. 

“There's no rush.” He turns to look at you with the same wild shine in his eyes that you’d grown to miss so much. “Truce?”

That, somehow, you’re much happier to hear. You thought you’d be angrier than this, feel the usual metal-red of your gut, but all that’s left is a sobering feeling of relief, of home. At last, things feel close to normal. 

“Truce.” 

So you ride and ride, but a decision doesn’t come to you as easily as you thought. The sunset breaks; the word duty clings to you, unshakable, unrelenting. 

—

Somehow, you have gone full circle: at the end of a long day, you find yourself back at the piano, much like you did when you were seven, and the only thing you could do right was play Hot Cross Buns. 

Joshua had bought an unreasonable amount of music books, half guitar for him, half piano for you. You’d forgotten just how much you had liked playing until that night, many nights ago, when you and he had first muddled through that duet. 

Yesterday, you and your parents had tea at the waterfront before you had left the country. You were still undecided on the engagement; frustratingly, the needle hadn’t moved much in either direction since Jeonghan had raised his proposal to you. 

Congratulations, your mother had told you, right over her cup of oolong. 

For what? 

You’ve risen to the occasion. You’ve grown up. 

To you, this was not a compliment. You didn’t know what it was. You had twisted the ring on your finger, back and forth, a habit you picked up after all the time you spent wearing it. You wondered if somewhere, you had become exactly like Jeonghan, molded and spun into someone unrecognizable. Maybe that was why Joshua finally seemed to like you.

Have you practiced for your first dance? your father asked, and you no longer had time to worry about the state of your personality—you had other fires to put out. 

Really, that’s why you’re at the piano today. You thought you could play the damn tune and somehow remember all the ballroom dancing lessons you had taken when you were younger. Unsurprisingly, it hasn’t worked yet. 

There’s a knock at the doorframe. “Come in,” you say, already knowing that it’s Joshua. No one else does that; Jihoon barges in and just starts talking, and you can hear Joshua’s parents from a mile away because of all the jewelry they have on. 

“Just wanted to see what you were up to,” Joshua says. He leans against the frame of the piano, already dressed down for the night. 

“Nothing,” you reply. “Just magically hoping that I remember how to ballroom dance.” 

“Well, first things first, you can’t dance sitting down.” He chuckles, and you pull your lips tight. 

“I'm serious, Josh,” you whine. 

“You really don’t remember?” He gives you one of those looks, one that you’re quite used to now, with the judgmental wrinkle of the brow. “Didn’t you take lessons?” 

“Yeah, like…fifty million years ago.” 

“I couldn’t tell,” he says, grinning something foolish. “You don’t look a day over fifty.” Then he offers you his hand, which you take, and he easily pulls you from the bench. 

“Flattered,” you say, unable to push down the corners of your smile. “You gonna teach this senior citizen a few moves?” 

“Perhaps, as my good deed for the day.” He holds your hand, still firmly in his, and slides it up his arm to rest on his bicep. “Left hand here,” he tells you. 

“Are you flirting with me?” 

“Not yet,” Joshua laughs. “The ballroom hold ring a bell?” His other hand finds your free one, and you interlace fingers simply, easily. Then, the warmth of a hand between your shoulder blades, one that draws you to his chest. 

“I think the only dancing I know how to do is half drunk in the dark. Can’t exactly throw it back on you in front of God and country.” 

Joshua grins, a big one, and you, traitorously, feel your cheeks get prickly. 

“I wouldn't want God looking at you like that,” he teases. 

“And country’s already seen it all.” 

“They should consider themselves very lucky, then.” His eyes meet yours, lit by the scattered light of the chandelier. “It's my turn to ask you to let me lead.” 

“Fine,” you pout, noticing that familiar warmth in your stomach. 

Joshua begins to count your steps off (one, two, three—ow, that’s my foot! —sorry!). He’s patient with you, more patient than you think you deserve. His hand seems to slot perfectly into the curve of your back; his gaze settles onto you in a way that makes your chest feel heavy, molten. 

“For someone who goes out so much, you have a terrible sense of rhythm,” Joshua says, teasing. 

“Hey,” you object. “Maybe I just have a bad teacher.” 

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” 

“Well, I'm not about to blame Britney Spears.” 

Joshua laughs, and the sound is so close to you, you can feel it on your skin. 

“I still think it’s the student’s fault.” 

“Me?!” Perfectly timed, your sock-clad feet collide (yours, striped and fuzzy, his, plain white). “Impossible.” 

“Too distracting,” he murmurs, and you notice how unfairly pretty his eyes are. “You bump into me, criticize me, you look at me like that…”

You feel dizzy. You don’t know what Joshua’s doing to you, but it’s mean. Your face is warm, and normally you’d blame it all on the alcohol but you haven’t had any. Worst of all, the soft part of you, the lizard-brained, impulsive part, can’t stop thinking about his lips and how they would feel on yours.

It’s a thought you don’t let linger, much like all of the other half-thoughts you have, and you kiss him, as if it was a reprieve from the terrible, horrible way he’s making you feel. (It isn’t.) 

“You talk too much,” you tell Joshua, right against his lips. “Not enough teaching.” 

“I'm putting you in remediation.” 

“Devastating.” 

“And giving you homework.” 

“Whatever shall I do?” 

Joshua answers that question for you. He kisses you, once, twice, still not enough, and, somehow, things feel more simple than they ever had before. 

—

Jihoon’s eyes are dark, dagger-sharp in the rearview mirror. 

“We’re coming up,” he says. “A few minutes out.” 

“I know,” you answer. Yunjin was successful, almost too successful, in her task of finding you an appropriately revealing dress for a newly engaged twenty-something at the party of the year. The filmy silk stretches around your thighs; the cowl neck flirts with the neckline of the bikini top you have on underneath. 

You look good, probably better than how you’ve looked in months. And yet, for some reason, you don’t feel good, at least, not how you’d thought you’d feel on the way to the only event you’d been looking forward to this year.

Somi’s gift rattles in your lap. It’s covered in this loud, hot pink wrapping paper unbecoming of something you had spent years tracking down on the antiques circuit. Normally, you’d have a laugh with Jihoon about it, maybe take some selfies in the car, but instead, you find yourself spinning your ring around your finger like you always seem to do these days.

You think of Jeonghan, of Joshua. Of course, what you do or don’t do on your best friend’s birthday is none of their business (although, very inconveniently, Jeonghan did have some event this weekend, and Joshua was traveling). But still, you think of the boldface headlines, the whispering gossip forums, the washed-out image of you in your little dress on the cover of a cheap magazine. This wasn’t exactly a tame party, and things weren’t just about you anymore, not like they used to be. 

Marking your arrival isn’t the GPS nor Jihoon, rather, it’s the firefly buzz of the cameras outside your limo as it’s forced to come to a stop. You squint, trying to see past the tint of your windows, and see Somi, radiant in her birthday tiara, as she pushes through the crowd. Behind her is the villa she rented, illuminated by pink and gold strobe lights. 

You crack open the car door and are met with a stifling deluge of camera flashes. Music pulses through the air, enough to feel beneath your heels. 

“Who's my favorite princess?” Somi exclaims, throwing her arms open. “You made it! you look hot.” 

“Not as hot as the birthday girl,” you reply, and you let her squeeze the air out of you in a wonderful, bone-crushing hug. “What's with all the cameras?” 

“Professional photographers. Just wanted something to remember the night by, because we are blacking out.” She giggles, already tipsy. “Come, come, we’re doing shots inside.” 

“Without me?” 

“We’ll catch you up.” 

Somi drags you by the hand through the sea of people, and you watch the cameras follow as they always do. She leads you up the stairs, underneath the towering balloon display, and into the foyer, already darkened, lit only by a disco ball chandelier and the neon backlights. 

You spot Soonyoung by a champagne tower that seems twice his size, as promised. He's in a leather jacket, no shirt under, and you watch his eyes light up as they meet yours. 

“A shot for her highness,” he shouts over the music. 

“I thought this was champagne.” 

“Tequila's close enough.” He laughs, eyes upturned, bright like gemstones. 

The first shot goes down easy. It always does. So does the second, unsurprisingly. Around the third is when Somi tells you that the strippers are coming in an hour. (—Strippers?! —Not everyone has a fiancé, you know.) 

And, just like that, you’re back to the beginning. It’s hard to think over the ridiculously good Kesha mix the DJ is playing, but, terribly, you think you’re starting to understand what Jeonghan was talking about. You’re still not sure how you feel about duty, responsibility, sacrifice, those heavy words that feel impossibly heavier in your mouth, but all you know is that, as much fun as you’re having now, it comes at a fair price. 

Somi told you nothing, no compromising pictures, no drama, would reach the press, but, as hard as she may try, you feel like enough people have laid eyes on you already that someone was bound to hear something. If not now, then definitely in a few hours when everyone’s on at least two and a half substances, and all bets are off.

Briefly, you recall your appearance at the derby, the memory like a shard of glass. You had stood guileless next to Joshua, tripping over your words because you hadn’t cared enough to read the damn briefing, and he had covered it up with a dad joke or two. Coming up with those abominations must have been hard enough for someone whose first book was the Oxford Dictionary, but you don’t even think God and all his angels could cover up this. More than that, the thought of everyone having to try anyway makes your gut twist. 

Someone tells you to smile for a selfie. You recognize her, but you don’t remember her name (Amelia or Alicia, one of Somi’s friend of a friends. On second glance, there are definitely more than 200 people here). Let's dance! another voice shouts in your ear. 

Your head hurts. You hate the idea that Jeonghan might be a little right, but you hate even more that you’re starting to agree with him. Maybe you need another shot. 

“Your gift,” you say, fighting over the chorus of Your Love Is My Drug. “Somi!” 

“Oh my god, you did not!” she squeals. She clasps her hands over yours, wrapped around the box, and draws them to her. “Let me take it to the table. I’ll meet you by the pool—oh, oh, there’s a hot dog stand out there too!”

“Actually,” you start. You’re not that drunk, not yet, but now you think you can feel the ground start to sway under you. It wouldn’t be too far a stretch to say that in half an hour, after a little time at the bar, you’d probably be spending the night, no question. “I think I have to run.”

“Aw, really?” Somi tilts her head and squints, as if trying to read your mind. 

“I am so sorry,” you tell her, as sincerely as one can over a pop song from the 2000s. “Swear I'll make it up to you.” 

“Life stuff, right?” 

“Yeah.”  

“It's ok,” she says. “Really really. Go home, figure your shit out, and we can have our own party.” 

She holds your joined hands to her heart. Whatever look you gave her, she believed. That, or she knows you better than you think. 

So you leave. The car ride home is silent. Jihoon doesn’t ask questions, and you can still hear the sound of the music ringing in your ears, on and on and on. 

—

You think the worst thing you’ve ever woken up to was the Crazy Frog ringtone of one of the guys you had slept with during university. 

The second worst has got to be five voice memos and three consecutive missed Facetime calls from Somi, which is the first thing you see upon opening your eyes. 

“Oh fuck,” you murmur, still coming to. Your bed is empty, but you see Joshua's suitcase in the corner of the room. He must have come home early this morning, while you were still sleeping. 

You crack open your text messages. 

–OH MY GOD.

–I AM SO SO SORRY. 

–someone must have gotten paid off for last night’s pictures…i had no idea i swear 

Then a voice memo. Then another voice memo. then a PopCrave Twitter screenshot: YOU CAN TAKE THE PRINCESS OUT OF THE PARTY–OR CAN YOU? followed by the worst, most incriminating photo of you and Soonyoung, arms linked, throwing back a shot. 

“No, no, no, no.” You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the stone-cold drop of your heart to your feet. “Fuck. Fuck.” 

Shit. You have to find Joshua and make it right. 

Somehow, you thought it wouldn’t matter, that you didn’t care what did or didn’t get out as long as you were able to have a good time—you desperately search for that same feeling, knowing that it’s long, long gone. You don’t even think you truly ever believed that. 

You race down the palace hallways, ones that feel far more familiar than the rigid bastions they were when you first got here, but it’s Joshua who finds you before you find him. Or rather, it’s his voice you hear, trickling out from behind the library door. 

Suddenly, you’re five again, and you’re spying on Jeonghan talking to your parents. You peek through the crack of the doorframe. As Somi would say, nightmare blunt rotation: there stands Joshua, surrounded by both sets of parents, and no one looks happy. 

“We knew it,” another voice says—your mother. “We’re sorry, but we said this would happen.” 

“It’s no matter. There’s nothing left to do but call the engagement off.” 

The room goes quiet. You notice your hands are shaking. Your face feels numb.  

“You’re right. I don't think anyone’s getting what they want out of this, anyway.” 

“We’ll cancel the ball. There’s no way around it. Likely a relief, right, Joshua?” 

The moment seems to squirm, suspended in time. This is what you were waiting for, right? Your parents were right—no one wanted this anyway. You certainly didn’t, and now you get your get out of jail free card. On top of that, you get to hear what you’d been expecting all along—that Joshua never liked you, that this was fun and all, but he’s ready to stop playing pretend. 

“I…I disagree.” You freeze. “She's my fiancée. I made a commitment to her, and I'm not going to walk away.” 

“Joshua, my dear, this arrangement was never going to work. You can be honest.” 

This is the part where Joshua nods, does his perfectly symmetric smile, and agrees. This is what he does, what he’s been doing since forever. The story always ends the same way. That was the point. 

Instead: “I am being honest. Since when was it illegal to go to your best friend’s birthday party? I don't care what the rest of the world has to say. She’s not who they, or you, think she is.” Through the door-gap, you watch the pursed, resolute draw of Joshua’s lips. “You didn’t even invite her here to talk about her own engagement. You never once gave her a chance.” 

A stunned silence falls over the room. 

 “I’m sorry, but this is how I feel. I won't let you take another girl I love from me. Not again.” 

Your hand flies over your mouth, and something twists deep in you, like you’re drowning from the inside out. You can’t, won’t, believe what you just heard. That somehow, beyond all the fighting, the quiet nights, the snide remarks and the fake smiles, that Joshua loved you? Loved? Enough to say all that to the people that ruled his life with an iron fist? None of this made sense, but nothing’s made sense since you got here. 

The room erupts into noise, peals of voices all colliding into each other, and you do what you do best—you leave. 

—

No one talks about that morning. You don’t even think anyone knows you were there—part of you wishes that you actually weren’t, so you didn’t have all this on your mind. (Joshua, later that day: I got you something from Seoul. From his suitcase, a bottle of soju. Just kidding. Then a jade bracelet, so vibrant it looked like the ocean.) No one talked about Somi, and no one talked about the party. 

In fact, everyone had just rolled on as usual, all the way to the end of the week, the day of your engagement ball. Even you did. The word love felt so big, so burdensome, when Joshua had said it to his parents, but you didn't mind it on you.

The lingering touches, late night talks, tea made the way you like—nothing really had changed much since shit hit the fan, but now you knew that was the label. You guess that when you told Joshua you had never been in love before, you were really telling the truth. Either that, or he was just saying whatever the hell he needed to stop your engagement from imploding. 

Still, you found yourself still reaching for him. There was an unfamiliar comfort about his nearness. You woke up this morning cradled to his side, and, for once, it wasn’t a scene you wanted to erase. 

Now, your hairstylist hoses your blowout down with hairspray. You’d spent the better part of this morning sitting in different chairs, hair, makeup, nails. A part of you waits for the other shoe to drop: Joshua’s mother would waltz in and tell you, Surprise! You’re a single woman again, just as you should be. 

It never happens. You’re wrapped in various mists and creams and powders, all the while fielding all the same questions about the ball (—Excited for tonight? Yeah, of course. —How does it feel being the surprise couple of the year? Surprising.)

It’s not until Yunjin comes in, wheeling in your giant, sparkly engagement gown, all Italian lace and satin brocade, that things feel real. 

The dress itself is beautiful, a pale champagne number, gathered at the waist with a smattering of crystals down the train. Earlier, when you’d first tried it on, it looked like a costume fit for the girl playing wife. It was another smothering thing that hung on you, just like everything else in your life. 

Today, you watch your form tall in the mirror. You meet her eyes, her uncertain mouth. It’s you, for sure, but there’s a stillness about you that you can’t quite put a finger on. Maybe Joshua’s demeanor was contagious. 

Yunjin laces your bodice up, careful eyelet by eyelet—“You’re nervous, huh?” 

“Is it really that obvious?” 

She laughs. “Breathe. You’re not getting married. Not yet, at least.”

“Yunjin, isn’t it weird that no one has talked to me about Somi’s birthday? Everyone on the planet saw the leaks.” 

“Maybe they finally learned to stop giving a shit. You looked hot, you had a good time, end of story. It’s not like anyone died.” 

True. She grabs your shoulders and looks at you through the reflection of the mirror. 

“Smile. Enjoy yourself. You look so, so beautiful.” You take a deep, soaking breath. You think about Joshua and all the sharp edges of his voice when he said he loved you. You had argued with him a lot, and you had never heard him like that. “You want this, right?” 

Well, when she puts it like that? Yeah, you do. You think you really do. 

—

The Great Hall is unrecognizable when you stand before it; the pink and white zinnias have been replaced by bouquets of calla lily and eucalyptus, the arched ceilings, once cold and imposing, now are bathed in the buttery, warm glow of candlelight. And the too-big space, usually empty, is now filled with partygoers, radiant in their best dress. 

You stand at the top of the grand staircase. A thrill, anxious and skittering, runs up your bones. You’re reminded of your last big public showing at the derby, of the sea of microphones and the eye of the camera and the crowd, all staring you down. 

You run through the cruel motions. First, a curtesy, so slow you think the audience can see you tremble. Then you take the first step down the stairs, and you watch them turn to you like the tanned halo-faces of sunflowers. 

There, in the center of the crowd stands Joshua, unwavering. He's wearing a deep blue tuxedo, unfairly flattering (though, the lone curl of hair falling into his eyes is strong competition). Meeting his gaze, you watch the corners of his mouth fold up in a way that reminds you to breathe. In, out. You’ve got this. 

Every step, you feel like you’re learning to walk for the first time, like you've lost your sea legs. Amongst the guests, you spot Jeonghan, next to him Jihoon. Then back to Joshua, like your eyes can’t stay away. He shoots you a covert thumbs up—you’d expect nothing less from the corniest man on Earth—but, nonetheless, it makes the long walk to the center of the room feel much shorter, despite the torture devices on your feet (Louboutins, not broken in).

One, two steps, and you’re face to face with your fiancé. Your heart is still racing, thrumming against the cage of your bodice like it's trying to escape. You’re sure the whole congregation could hear it if not for the quartet that’s come to life, now playing the opening notes of Blue Danube. 

Yes, that’s right, you tell yourself. You still have to dance in front of the whole fucking country. 

Before you crash out and make this a national emergency, you feel the warmth of Joshua’s touch. Fingertips before palm, always the same, he finds your hand, like he manages to do every single time. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, low enough for only you to hear. And for the first time, you believe him. 

—

Really, you could have gotten away with saying nothing. It would be much easier, to be honest. 

The ball had gone off without a hitch so far. The music was good, the food even better, and your parents were somehow silenced, instead opting to dance among the crowd like they were young again. Still, you can’t seem to put your mind at ease. With everything that had happened this week, Jeonghan’s offer only seemed to weigh heavier, more urgently upon you. And of course, there was the matter of Joshua choosing to opt into your engagement, against all odds. 

You realize you had gotten quite good at running away from things—your family, your responsibilities, the media, even Joshua—not knowing how to bear the weight of an impossible duty. Actually, you thought it was a royal failing until you had seen Joshua in the library that morning, jaw set, unbending. 

“Hey, Josh?” you ask, with a few bats of the eyelashes to soften the blow. 

He tilts his head in that way he does, and his gaze softens. Damn you, you think. Trying to distract me with those horrible, pretty eyes.  

“Can we talk about Sunday?” 

“What about Sunday?” He still looks confused, and you know the look well enough at this point to know he’s not faking it. 

“Um…Sunday morning. After the party,” you say slowly, as if giving yourself time to back out, just in case. “I heard you talking with our parents.” 

In an instant, his expression changes, and his eyebrows roll into their usual furrow. You feel his hand falter behind your shoulder blades. 

“Oh,” Joshua’s voice drops. “That.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, realizing all you do is apologize. “It was supposed to be a small thing, no cameras, I barely even stayed—.”

“Hey, it’s ok,” Joshua interrupts. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” 

“I-I know,” you fib. The thing about pretending is that you’ve both become so good at it that you have trouble believing him. “It’s just that I also heard what…what you said.” 

Somehow, the wrinkle between his brows grows deeper. 

“I said a lot of things that morning.” 

You press your lips thin, feeling what you’re about to say ball up on your tongue. Easily, you could change the subject; you didn’t have to know anything, really, you could stay silent and let the world work around you, just as you had been taught. But you watch the soft twist of Joshua’s gaze, how he studies your expression, and you know you can’t go back to how things used to be. 

“You said you…” You take a hard swallow. All the blood in your body only wants to exist in the apples of your cheeks, away from your brain where you need it most. “You loved me.” 

At once, the world spins off-axis. You feel the anxious flutter of Joshua’s heart under your palm, and your own stomach flips in its cage. The L word coming out of your mouth seems ten-thousand times more ridiculous than anything he could say, probably because you can’t remember the last time you actually said it and it came out all wrong. 

He must feel the same way. For once, he can’t meet your eyes. His mouth opens and then closes, as if hoping to delete what you had just said. Maybe you would just keep dancing, beat by beat, and this would all go away.

Silly girl, you think, traitorously. Pick a damn side. Either he likes you or he doesn’t. The problem is that, somehow, both options hurt your feelings. 

“I mean, I totally get it if you just said it to keep up the act,” you cut in. “There are a lot of reasons why this is a good idea.” 

“The act?” 

“Well, yeah,” you reply. “Isn’t that what this is? Haven’t we just been lying to everyone? To ourselves?” 

Joshua’s hand at your waist stiffens before he draws you closer to him. You expect him to roll his eyes, do one of those exaggerated sighs that he does when you’re being difficult. 

Instead he leans in, close enough for you to feel his voice against your skin. 

“Do you think I was lying back there? Or now?” 

Your heart lurches. 

“I—no, but.” You pause. Every single coherent thought you’ve ever had scatters to the wind. “Well.” 

“Because I’m not,” Joshua says, this time, more softly. “Not about this. Or us.” 

“But how? Why?” You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your chest swell in a way it never has before. “You’re perfect, and I'm…I’m me.” 

“That’s why,” he answers, simply. “You’re smart, funny, honest—sometimes too honest, even. You reminded me there was a better version of me that I had left behind. One that wasn’t perfect, but was happy.” 

He holds you in his gaze the same way he did in the garden, carved by moonlight. An impossible warmth fills your skin; at once, it feels like, in your vision, there is only him, like you're in a cartoon. 

“At the same time, I understand if—” Joshua starts. 

“I feel the same,” you blurt out. “I…I don’t know what this is, and I don’t think I ever really did, but I want to try.” 

You watch the surprise write itself all over his doe eyes, his unfairly rounded cheeks. From by the hors d'oeuvres, nosy Jeonghan peeks over the shoulder of another guest, already familiar with your lack of volume control. You watch him grin something stupid, triumphant. 

“You’re uptight, judgmental, and you make the worst jokes. But I…I think I might be falling for you too.” 

Saying it is like getting peeled back, terrible layer by layer, like you wrapped a hand around your heart and ripped it out your chest. And yet you’re glowing, newly-bitten with something that feels like freedom.  

“I thought you said I was perfect,” Joshua says, the pink of his lips already unraveling into a smile. This one, you think, finally reaches his eyes. 

“Shush, you—” And amongst a chorus of Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! (which would be, quite frankly, humiliating in any other scenario), you finally give in to your adoring public, and kiss. 

—

The walk back to your bedroom is a blur. All you remember are hands—hands on the small of your back, hands riding up the length of your thigh, hands in your hair, pulling at your roots. You remember hands, and the taste of Joshua’s mouth. 

It’s a walk you are not proud of, one that you’re glad happened in the dark, with all the guests gone home. 

“Did I tell you how beautiful you are?” Joshua says, pressed to the hollow of your neck as you fumble with the handle of the door to your room. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you. No one could.” 

Then his lips on yours, before you finally remember how to open a door. 

“Fuck, Josh,” you breathe between kisses, stumbling backwards until your back hits the vanity. “Need you, need you so bad.” 

He bites your lip, lets you sigh into his mouth. 

“Dress, off,” you tell him, and you lean forward on the table. Obediently, Joshua gets to work. His touch feels fiery, electric on your skin. 

In the mirror, you’re able to see the damage: your lipstick, smudged beyond repair, your blown-out pupils under your heavy lashes. There’s a hickey on your collarbone. 

“Now you have me wishing you'd wear one of those party dresses,” Joshua murmurs, still working at the lacing at your waist. “Far easier to take off.” 

“Really. The same ones that got me in big trouble with you lot?"

"For what it's worth," he replies, before kissing the back of your neck, then the ticklish space under your ear to make you laugh. "I always liked you in those. Even before we met." 

"No way." He’s finished with the lacing; your dress falls to your feet in a glorious heap of silk and lace, leaving you in your slip. Another kiss to your jaw, your cheek. "You hated them." 

"I almost bought a copy of Insider, the one with the cover of you in the black dress with the long sleeves." 

"Shut up," you laugh again, somewhere in between kisses. He’s talking about Soonyoung's New Year’s Eve party, a few years back. You were getting out the back of a cab, alcohol-flushed and on a phone call with God knows who. "I still have it, you know. I could wear it for you one of these days." 

"Don't tempt me." Joshua kneels, bending down to undo your heels. You feel him press his lips to the back of your knee, your thigh. “Friday. Dinner?” 

“Done.” 

Then he stands back to full height and leans into you, just so you can feel him. Like clockwork, your skin prickles wonderfully even just thinking about blowing him in the back of the limo, that night he had held you down on his cock. 

Joshua must see how you squeeze your legs together. He pushes your slip up over the curve of your ass; you feel the rough of his hands over your skin, over the flimsy lace you have on for underwear. Then, before you can say a word, he pulls the waistband back, meanly, enough to tug on the hood of your clit, and lets it snap back against your skin. 

“Oh, fuck,” you keen. You had no idea you were so sensitive, but Joshua’s foreplay game was way better than you thought. “Please, Shua.” 

“Oh? So you like when I'm a little mean?” 

You watch your face in the mirror flush pink, your bitten lips fall open in surprise. He pulls tight on your panties again, loving how your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Maybe.” You pause, humiliated. Fuck it, the cat’s already out of the bag. “Yeah.” 

Joshua’s hands are warm, so warm, when they peel the fabric down your trembling thighs. 

“Legs apart, darling,” he tells you, mouth pressed to your shoulder. “So you like to boss me around the castle, but now you want me to tell you what to do? Is that so?” 

Before you can answer, you feel a finger along the seam of your cunt. You can’t see Joshua’s face in the mirror, but you can sure see yours, and you hate how even the smallest of touches has you drooling. Then a touch to your swollen clit, just rough enough to draw a gasp from you. 

 “I-it’s different,” you protest. Two fingers now, both rolling your clit under them. A whimper tumbles out of your chest, and your hips seem to be moving on their own accord. “Didn’t know you had…experience.” 

“Still not sure what made you think otherwise.” A quiet chuckle, then the slow, agonizing push of one of his fingers inside you. “Fuck, you love that, huh? Soaking my hand.”

“Yeah…” The vanity table suddenly feels too crowded to support the weight of your body, especially like this, as Joshua continues to work your clit with his other digit. Feeling your body surge again with heat, you push aside your makeup bag, all your stupid little bottles, so you can prop yourself up on your arms.

Another finger, and your legs are shaking. Quickly, he seems to have figured out how to hit your g-spot every time, every pump of his hand knocking into you just the way you like.  

“I think it was how annoying you were that did you in,” you finally answer, trying your best to put up a fair fight. “Kinda detracts from your sex appeal.” 

“Annoying?” Joshua asks, right up against the shell of your ear. Like this, you can see him in the mirror, and it almost sends you over. The dark hair in his face, the insatiable look in his eyes. Then a third finger, and your eyes roll back. “Am I annoying you? Doesn’t really seem like it.” 

Your body answers for you. You feel yourself tighten around his fingers, fuck, you’re so close, you feel your head start to spin. You watch your reflection shake her head, glassy-eyed and dumb. 

He laughs cruelly. His free hand reaches up to find your tits, and, over the slip, he grabs one, rough like he’s a meaner man, like he’s slutting you out. 

At once, you feel the lightning heat of your release. You cry out, airy and high-pitched, and feel your body rock against Joshua’s as he pins you between himself and the vanity. 

“There you go,” he murmurs. His hand slows, letting you ride out your high, before he pulls out. “Wanted to do this ever since I kissed you that night.” 

“Which night?” you ask, catching your breath. A kiss to your shoulder blade, the nape of your neck. 

“The night you taught me to kiss. Or rather, tried to.” 

Ah, yes. The night you told him what Shark Tale was, and the night you made out for so long, you felt it on your lips in the morning. Dumb fucking Joshua, stupid and in love. The affection that surges through your body makes you mad. 

“You needed lessons.” 

“Not really, don’t you think?” 

“Bed. You’re talking too much,” you insist, turning around to see him. “Also, you’re wearing too much.” 

“Back to arguing with me, I see. Can’t stay away.” Joshua’s shit-eating grin prompts you to yank his tie impatiently, shutting him up. It comes off easily, just as his belt and the waistband of his slacks. (You weren’t about to let them best you a second time).

“Maybe ‘cause you find a way to be difficult about everything.” You wrinkle your nose, and Joshua’s grin only grows wider. “Don’t make me give you another order,” you warn, fully aware that since you guys got here, it’d been him doing the orders. 

You pull your slip over your head, now only in your bra, and lay back in the bed. You think of all the sleepless nights, then the ones spent talking, the ones in his arms. To think they would all culminate to this, to you now watching Joshua undo button by button with a desire unlike any other you’ve felt—it would almost be unbelievable if you weren’t doing it right now.

Like a striptease, you watch his chest peek out between the linen of his shirt. He's wearing a necklace today, one that settles meanly between his pecs. As he moves lower, you can’t help but notice the outline of his cock in his briefs, the spot of precum on the fabric. 

Traitorously, you feel your mouth water. The shirt comes off, and your lungs fill with another shaky breath. 

You know you’re both letting your freak flag fly (one of you more surprising than the other) but it’s in this moment, caught in the lamplight, that you realize how much things have really changed. Still, you’re not able to tell Joshua that this is the first time you’re sleeping with someone you might be in the L word with, but you think he sees it too, or at least, reads the look on your face. 

You feel the dip of the bed underneath as he joins you.

“Are you ok? That wasn’t too much, right?” 

“No, it was…it was good. really good,” you admit, feeling your face heat up again. “I just…I dunno. I like you a lot, that’s all.” 

“Hm?” 

“I—” you stutter, and your mouth freezes up again. “I said I like you a lot.” 

“Sorry, I just wanted to hear you say it twice.” He sees the dismay on your face and smiles. “Hm…I like you an adequate amount. On a good day.” 

Against your will, you crack the fattest smile you think your body is capable of. “You are the worst. The absolute worst, and I still want you to fuck me.” 

Upon hearing this, Joshua does not waste time. That he does—it isn’t long before he has your knees hiked to your chest, cock between your pussy lips. 

“Say you want it,” he whispers. You feel the cold kiss of his chain on your chest, the slick rock of his length between your legs. He's so hard, so big, your cunt already aches at the thought of it. 

“Want it.” Your voice comes out small, breathy. You would fight back, but you’re realizing you quite like this side of him. “Please.” 

When the head of his cock presses into you, there is no hiding. Already, you moan, sweet and loud, feeling the familiar pressure in your gut. 

“K-keep going,” you babble. Fuck, he barely fit in your mouth and now he’s stuffing your cunt. You wrench your eyes shut, listening to him talk you through it (—Look at you taking me so well. Feels good, huh? You’re so beautiful. Honestly, it’s a miracle Joshua’s ex never had a royal baby with how much they must have fucked.) 

Your second orgasm comes quickly, not long after Joshua bottoms out. He groans right in the space where your neck meets your shoulder, and it’s the best noise you think you’ve heard in your life. 

The third comes slowly, more intensely. With your knees to your chest, you think you can feel Joshua all the way in your stomach. Every stroke fucks the sound out of you, his cockhead right up against your sweet spot as he fills you again and again. Sometime between orgasm two and three, he’s pulled your tits out from your bra, left marks across your chest. 

“Want you to touch yourself,” he tells you, voice low.

Mindlessly, you listen. One hand finds your nipple, the other your clit, and you let yourself get lost in the feeling. 

“F-feels good, Shua.” He enters you again, all the way, and the pleasure is white-hot. “O-oh, fuck,” you warble. 

“You’re so good at listening to me, you should do it all the time,” he murmurs. “There you go. Take it, take it, just like that. This must be what I have to do to get you to be nice, hm?” 

All you can do is stare up at him, positively fucked dumb, and take it, just as he told you to. One, two strokes, and you feel yourself get impossibly tight; “Fill me, need it, need it,” you whine, delirious. Everything from the look in his eyes, the flushed sweat over his brow, his collarbones to the way his expression responds with every word you say, makes you wonder why you wasted time fucking anyone else.

When he comes, he bites your shoulder, hard, and it’s what you need to follow soon after. You feel so fucking full, so satisfied, you think you could die happy here. 

Joshua flops down on the bed next to you, boneless. You think he’s about to say something akin to that you should have put a towel down, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls your body to him, lets you feel the warmth of his skin play against yours. 

He’s murmuring wonderful things to you, which you would gladly reciprocate if words weren’t coming to you one letter a minute. It’s not your fault though—you need to recover physically, emotionally, spiritually after getting the soul fucked out of you.

Then, “Me or you shower first?”

You groan as a response. 

“I’m serious.” 

“Together?” you offer weakly. 

“Fair chance we won’t just be showering then.” 

“Oh nooo.” 

That’s all Joshua needs to whisk you to the bathroom, where, indeed, he seems to be right yet again. 

—

The spring morning washes over Acros like a second skin. The birdsong rouses you; through the curtains comes sunlight from the garden, spackled on the wall as if spots on a doe. 

It’s been almost a year since your parents had told you that you were marrying Joshua Hong, prince of Acros. Six months since he had told you he had loved you. Two months since you and Jeonghan had pulled off your first joint production at the youth theater (a roaring success). One month since you were fully, fully moved in, Astrid and Jihoon included. 

After your engagement ball, you and Joshua had agreed to take it slow, as slow as two people who had very publicly announced their wedding could. But still, somehow your parents, both sets, could tolerate the two of you wanting to do things the right way. Perhaps they were still shocked things worked out as well as they did. 

“Morning,” you call out. The bed beside you is cold. “Josh?” 

You’re surprised he’s up. Last night, he went out with you, Somi, and Soonyoung. Somehow, he had drunk enough to get up and solo karaoke a Whitney Houston song, although you’re suspecting the alcohol was just a cover for his true intentions. 

Then you look out the window. You spot Joshua, seated on the bench overlooking the garden. This time of year, the roses are in full bloom, their bright heads reaching for the sky in brilliant red and gold. 

When you go to join him outside, he’s no longer at the bench. You actually don’t know where the fuck he went, but it’s no matter. Here, you’re able to appreciate the beauty of the season, the rolling green of the country you’re now calling home. 

It was also here where you had your first real conversation with Joshua without fighting, funnily enough. Now, you’d say the both of you were more agreeable, but that’d be a lie—somehow, you think you actually enjoy bickering with him, but that’s a conversation for another day. 

Behind you, someone (Joshua) clears his throat. 

“Now, what are you—” you say, spinning around. It was too damn early for games, but Joshua had no shortage of bad ideas. 

It’s then that you see Joshua behind you, on one knee. His smile tells you everything you have to know, and every thought in your mind freezes in an instant. 

“When I first saw you, I knew I would marry you,” he starts. That's a joke he’s probably been saving for months now, but instead of rolling your eyes, you can’t help but laugh, like you’re a broken soundboard. “No, really.” 

You stand there, immovable. Of course you had to be in your pajamas (his shirt and boxers, really), no makeup, hair untouched. And yet, you can’t imagine anything more perfect. 

“You drive me crazy,” Joshua continues. “In every way possible. I can't imagine life without your laugh, or your thinking face, or how you always need to have an answer for everything.” 

He produces a small box. It’s different from the first one, the one he used all those months ago when nothing mattered. Inside it, a new ring, something far simpler and more beautiful.

Joshua says your name, wonderful and reverent in his mouth. “Darling princess of Cotria, I'm asking you to marry me. Again.” 

And you say yes, for the very first time.

[END]

[lotusloong]

My Monkey, My Circus

Shopping Trip - NGNR Reader

Read it on AO3!

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You could feel his presence behind you, hovering over your shoulder. Without looking you knew what it was he had.

“Put it back baby.” You held up the two different brands of butter, seriously considering switching. You had never tried this other brand but it was cheaper…

“Peachy girl, please.” You looked over your shoulder at Wukong, the eyes of his mask flipped to hearts as he held a box of peach flavored candies before you. 

“You, mister, already have an entire box of these at home, unopened. Eat those first.” You gave him a pointed look before turning back to your butter crisis. It certainly looked like decent quality…

Wukong spun around to your other side, caressing the juncture of your neck and shoulder with a leather wrapped hand. You hummed in pleasure, leaning into his touch even as you thought.

“But peachy, the second I take that box out of hiding, you know what's gonna happen. Those vultures will swarm and I’ll only get to eat a couple before I’m completely out! This is a backup pack!” He pushed his mask closer to your face, pushing his chest against your back and surrounding you with his warmth. He had forgone his usual pink suit and was wearing a more casual fitted, but still brightly colored teal one. The smell of his cologne was heavenly. You couldn’t resist taking a deep inhale, sighing in bliss.

“...Alright, alright. Put it in the basket.” You relented. Wukong gave a happy chirp, lifting his mask just enough to press a loving kiss against your cheek as he threw the candies in with your stash of other groceries. 

“This one stinks, not a good brand.” He poked rapidly at the new brand of butter you had been contemplating. You looked between the two sticks and nodded, putting the brand you had been thinking of back. If Wukong said it smelled funny, you trusted his nose.

The two of you moved your haul of food and supplies away from the dairy section, turning to head towards the checkout of the store. You saw a familiar hooded figure standing at the entrance of an aisle, leaning casually against the shelves. Seeing you and your monkey, they straightened, leaning down to pick up the few boxes of various sodas at their feet. 

Only when they got closer to join you at the self checkout did their features become clearer.

A white heart shape on his nose, cherry red fur peeking from underneath the edges of his borrowed hoodie met your gaze.

“Did you get 'em all Ruby?” Your Wukong asked, immediately snatching stuff out of the cart to scan for you. You settled for helping by passing things along to him, glancing at the red Wukong to your side. He didn’t seem to mind holding the boxes of soda while waiting to scan them. Made sense, he seemed as physically strong as the other versions of himself, even if he didn’t have quite the same powers.

“I think so? These drinks have weird names, and this place is big for a human store. Still not used to it.” He muttered. He began to sway side to side, dancing to a tune in his head as you opened your arms up to take a soda box from him. He let you take them one by one, handing them to your Wukong to scan.

“It looks like you did! At least, mostly. I don’t know if this is the right brand of plum cherry or peach that Mihou and Sunshine wanted but…I think the brand they like only exists in their dimension.” You bit your bottom lip as you spoke, brow furrowed. You felt bad you couldn't offer them the comfort of their home but…you couldn’t change the rules of your dimension to theirs.

“At least their version of you isn’t picky. Still a good girl.” Wukong teased, his fingers pinching the meat of your hip before dancing away from your swatting, giggling to himself. Ruby was smiling as well, his green eyes vibrant even in the shadow of his hoodie. You rolled your eyes at their shenanigans as they grabbed all the bags, turning to the checkout screen. You quickly paid, grabbing the last two bags the two monkeys couldn’t manage to loop their arms through, making your way to the exit.

“Uhg, I really wish I could let my tail out and use it. How the hell do you stand it for so long?” Ruby groaned. You watched as the fabric of his sweatpants wiggled, his tail curling and uncurling where it was hidden around his leg. Your Wukong snickered.

“Better get used to it! Your world will reach a modern day at some point and you’ll need to hide it or use a glamor like me.” Ruby Wukong let out another groan at his words, throwing his head back dramatically. You giggled at their exchange, getting the keys for your car out and unlocking said vehicle.

“Oh, peachy! I wanted to ask…” Your Wukong slid closer to you as you opened the door, letting you set your bags down before following suit. Ruby let his tail peak out only long enough to pull the door handle, looking around the parking lot to make sure no wandering eyes caught him in the act. His tail immediately went back into hiding as he started loading the groceries away.

“Yeah sweetie?” 

“Wanna go for a ride later? I think we’re both due for some quality time together, hmm?” With a quick flick the eyes of his mask were in a smiling position, clasping his hands together to mimic a schoolkid asking their crush out on a date. You snorted, charmed.

“Oh I’d love that! But…” You glance at Ruby, the simian raising an eyebrow at you. “What about all of you? Will you guys be okay for a night? Our home is pretty big, sure, but…” Ruby Wukong smirks, cocking his hips to the side and leaning on the car.

“I think we can manage without a babysitter for one night. I was planning to take my peaches up to the roof of your tower for some privacy myself.” Your Wukong reaches a hand out, and without missing a beat, Ruby highfives him.

“Hell yeah. Great minds and all that.” Wukong snarks, and Ruby barks out a laugh. You reach up and pet at the white mane of fur your lover has, his body going practically boneless as he chirped in bliss under your touch. He leaned against you, mask pressing against your cheek in the closest recreation of a kiss he could give you.

“Hmmm, well if you all promise to behave I guess we could go…have some fun~” You purred at your mate, gently tugging his white hair in a way you know drives him crazy. Without missing a beat he shudders and an adorable whimper leaves him. Ruby’s eyes widen as he looks away, using a hand to block his view of you both.

“Alright, I think I’m good without the show, thanks.” You laugh, letting your Wukong go so he can stand and straighten himself out. He gives himself a vigorous shake, jewelry clinking at the motion. You make your way to the driver seat, letting the other two slide inside the opposite doors. You heard Ruby muttering to himself under his breath. 

“Do I look like that when peaches-…?” The slamming of the doors cuts him off, and you grin to yourself. No matter the universe, your monkey was still his same silly self.

~~~~~~~

When you pull the car into the barren concrete pathways of your water tower home you’re greeted by the sight of multiple versions of yourself, albeit with small differences between outfits, hair, and the like. They all sit side by side on one of the upper metal railways with their legs hanging over the edge, chatting to each other. Ruby rushes forward from the back seat, bouncing in place at the sight of his ‘you’ laughing with the others. Not wanting to torture the poor guy, you roll the car into a park, letting him jump out and rush to her side.

“Goldie! We’re back!” He cries, and she has just enough time to open her arms and catch him before he tackles her. She falls backwards with him smothering her face in kisses, her own laughter echoing around you all. Another version of you, still uncomfortable with modern day clothes and wearing her regal hanfu, gives you and Wukong a happy wave.

“There you are! We-, or I, was starting to get worried! My love was wondering if he would need to go on a rescue mission!” She laughed into the sleeve of her hanfu, some stray locks of hair coming undone from her pinned updo.

“Oh, don’t worry Queen!” You called up to her from the window of your car. Wukong had unrolled his window as well, sitting on the door itself to pop his head out and over the roof to see everyone. “No yaoguais are gonna attack us here!” You chuckled. She seemed reassured by your words, even if she still didn’t trust this futuristic place she and her own Wukong had found themselves in.

“What are you lovely ladies doing sitting out here anyways?” Your Wukong spoke, gesturing at the empty space. Goldie was still being smothered by Ruby’s kisses.

“Watching the show of course!” Another version of yourself answered. You raised an eyebrow and opened your mouth to ask, only to be cut off by the sound of metal ringing thunderously above you. You poked your head out further to look up and up, curious despite your seatbelt tugging against your collarbone.

High in the cloud layer you could make out two figures, locked in combat. A red cape was billowing in the wind, the other had golden armor glinting in the afternoon sunlight. You squinted, trying to see if you could make out any more details.

“Who’s up there?” You eventually caved, looking at the other versions of yourself. Ruby had finally settled down, sitting with his legs dangling over the edge next to your alternates, Goldie held firmly in his lap. The princess seemed more than happy with this arrangement, if the kisses she was still peppering on his face were anything to go by.

“Dasheng and Stone. Lotus says Stone wants to spar with every version of himself at least once for comparison and practice. Have to admire his dedication.” Sweetie spoke up with a shrug of her shoulders. You nodded in response, looking over the hood of the car at your own Wukong. His mask was aimed at the fight and you could see his fingers twitching.

“Oh no you don't mister-” You started, giving him a stern look. “Someone needs to help me with all this food. You can join in later.” He waved you off with a scoff, sliding back into the passenger seat of the car.

“I wouldn’t do that to you peaches, what kind of mate would that make me?” He chirps. You give him one last suspicious look before settling back into your seat, letting the car veer off towards the bottom of the water tower. The lower entrance to your home is already open, the heavy metal door propped with a brick.

You park the car and try to grab as many bags as possible in your arms, Wukong doing the same and giving you a cheeky head wiggle at the fact that he’s able to carry more than you. You give a mock offended gasp, bumping your hip against his in punishment. He doesn’t even stumble, simply shaking his glamor off and letting his tail go free to wrap around your waist and hold you close.

You giggle as you walk and the sound of music echoes around the metal foyer of your home. It’s not the music your Wukong likes to play on his gramophone however. It’s coming from an electronic speaker planted right in the middle of the coffee table, an artist you don’t recognize blaring from the small device. Spinning round and round in circles is Sunshine and Blossom, the two giggling and holding each other tight as they dance. They don’t seem to notice you, but you can see the way Sunshine’s ears flick at the sound of your footsteps, even as he holds his version of you close and presses their foreheads together.

Grumpy lounges on the couch, looking bored and annoyed without any effort. When he sees the two of you step inside the water tower, he jumps to his feet and eagerly starts circling your Wukong. Wukong pulls the grocery bags he’s holding up and around, trying to keep Grumpy from peeking inside and snatching anything that catches his eye.

“No-! Let us put them away first!” Wukong hisses, shoving his masked face into Grumpy’s, trying to block his view. The other monkey isn’t deterred, simply giving his own hiss and trying to reach his hand into a bag. Before things can escalate, you step in.

“Do I need to drag Sweetie in here to keep you in control?” You threaten. Grumpy freezes, his expressive eyes going wide and darting towards the door leading outside. He relents, rolling his eyes with a huff and crossing his arms. He stalks after you as you and your mate make your way to the kitchen, the heavy steel doors normally closed off with a lever are already open. You can hear the sounds of metal and sizzling from inside and walk in to find King at the stove, various pans and pots strewn about the kitchen and filled with food at various stages of prep.

“Wow. Someone's been busy, huh?” You teased with a raised eyebrow. King didn't seem pleased, sneering as he ran between various pots and pans. 

“Need dinner on the table but no one wants to help old monkey make it! Everyone complains about empty stomachs but suddenly need to spar instead of cook!” An uncooked dumpling fell and splattered on the floor. King gave a rabid snarl that had Grumpy quickly edging back out of the kitchen, his interest in groceries outweighed by the fury of his alternate self. You gave the stressed monkey a pitying look as you placed your bags down on a free counter, your Wukong following suit. 

“Not even the other versions of me offered? I can help-” King let out an offended gasp, suddenly in your personal space and pushing you out the door. 

“No! No, no! My sweet peach, and any version of her to exist, deserves to rest and relax. It's a mate’s job to provide and care, and that's exactly what I'm doing!” You opened your mouth, to say what exactly you weren't sure, but he kept going. “It's shameful other versions of me don't hold the same standard!” King snarled at the other Wukongs in the tower.

Grumpy gave him a side eye that would make lesser yaoguais run in fear, and Sunshine gave an offended gasp, freezing mid twirl with Blossom in his arms. 

“Hey! I take great care of my peaches! I provide all sorts of things for her-!” Sunshine argued, only for Blossom to giggle into her hands. “What!? Do you agree with him-!?” 

“W-well-” She tried to speak through her giggling, “it's true you haven't made me dinner in awhile.” Sunshine looked like Buddha himself had just appeared and declared his undying love for him, staring at his lover in shock. You couldn't help laughing along with your alternate at his expression. 

“Ahah! You see! What did I say!?” King cried, glaring at the alternate versions of himself. Sunshine huffed and put his hands on his hips, pouting hard before he turned and marched towards the kitchen where you were still being pushed out the door. 

“Fine! I'll help out, I'll make the best fucking dinner you ever tasted-!” He maneuvered around you, immediately turning his attention to one of the many unattended pans on the stove. Speaking of…

“Is something…burning?” You asked. King sniffed the air and cried out, rushing back to the oven and frantically trying to undo the damage of overcooked food. Wukong came up behind you, rubbing his mask against your cheek as he spoke. 

“Why don't you head outside and relax sweet peach? I'll keep an eye on these two and get the groceries away. Then we can head out on our ride~” He purred in your ear. A shiver raced down your spine at the heady tone his voice took on. You gave a dazed nod as he pulled back, turning on his heel and waltzing over towards the abandoned groceries, necklaces clinking against one another as he did so. You caught Blossom's eye as you shook yourself out of your stupor, and she gave you an impressive eyebrow wiggle. 

“Looking to have some fun tonight, huh?” She teased. An embarrassed chuckle made its way out your throat as you tried to wave her off. Not that you could fool her, she was you after all. 

“Come on, let's go join the others already-!” You tried to distract her, gesturing vaguely towards the opening of the water tower. Your alternate shrugged her shoulders and wandered away as you turned to where Grumpy was still lounging on a metal pipe high up top. 

“Gonna join us? I'm sure Sweetie would want to see you~” You teased, just to see the fiery blush that spread across his cheeks. It was a fascinating contrast to the black skin of his eyes.

He scoffed and stood, jumping down to join the two of you as you walked outside.

[hahahafangirl]

Plum and Cherry Blossoms — The Change of Seasons

NEW WBK CHAPTER!!!!!! NEW WBK CHAPTER MAKES ME SO HAPPY. IT MAKES ME WANT TO GO WEE? HOO? WEE? HOO? WEE?

I’m very happy to see Togame lending an ear to Sakura and walk him through his anxiety— like Togame says, there are something you just can’t talk to your closest friends about, and that where your other friends, like Togame, comes in. It’s a very important lesson I learned later on in life, I think.

But anyway, what is particularly striking in this chapter is the comparison between ume and sakura

I can’t stop being amazed at how intentional Nii-sensei is about naming. Incredibly plot relevant that ume blooms in the snow and lead winter into spring, as Umemiya entered the scene during Furin’s fragmented period (cold winter) and bring it to spring — a unified, blossoming garden where various plants and flowers come together to nurture and to be nurtured :)

And, as my roommate points out in the discussion, if ume did not carry spring into the scene first, sakura could never bloom. Just like how Sakura was before he arrived in spring (Furin), sakura could never reach their full potential in the winter. Not that there is anything wrong with that— it’s just the nature of the flower. Boiling water soften a radish but harden an egg, and so on. Everyone needs something different to bring them to fruition.

Notably, sakura blooms along with other plants. Well, if that isn’t the first-year troupe and the power of friendships :)

There comes the answer to Sakura’s problem: sakura cannot become ume, and Furin does not need him to become Umemiya. A unified Furin does not need a leader that will unify it; instead, as the time has changed, Furin needs a leader that will respond to the new challenges unlike anything Umemiya faced before. Furin changed— Umemiya, as a leader, has fulfilled his literal and symbolic functions— and so must its leadership change.

We already see this with the Extinction War arc, where Sakura demonstrated the unique strength of his leadership. Whereas Umemiya did not summon the other teams for help, instead relying on the strength of Bofurin (his inner circle) to fight as he did during the reunification; Sakura saw the scope of the problems, see how far the first-years still need to go before being of comparable strength to Noroshi, and initiated help.

It is not that Umemiya’s leadership is flawed here (we may argue about that, but it is not the narrative’s intention to say that his decision is wrong), but rather, Sakura’s leadership is where we need to head next. Bofurin reunification is an internal issues that, by building up strength in his internal circle, Umemiya was able to overcome (it also shows in his leadership style). The challenges that will come to Bofurin, or that Bofurin will seek out, has consistently been external (from other teams) problems that require a larger, more comprehensive, and perhaps organizational outlook (this is where the strategist and informant in Suo and Nirei will become relevant) than what unification needed, or was relevant to. We saw this first present in KEEL (class 1-1 getting ratioed once the strongest five is occupied), and again at Extinction War. And of course— if winter, Umemiya, and unification didn’t come first, we would not be here at all. This is time passing its baton.

There will come a day where the third-years graduate, as Nirei opened Sugishita’s eyes to. Winter passed, spring come, ume fulfilled its time, literal and symbolic function, and Umemiya graduate. Then, let’s see what spring will bring to Sakura and the flowers that bloom with him :)

[wafflefries13]

Go For It, Jamil!

Summary: Scarabia hears their Vice-House Warden has a crush and are a little too enthusiastic to help out.

AN: I really like the idea that the dorm mob loves their wardens and vice wardens. It makes me think of the tsum event where all of Savanaclaw was in tears because they thought Leona got turned into a little burrito plush, lol.

I got Omar and Babkak from the Aladdin Broadway musical. There's also a Kassim there but I thought it sounded too close to Kalim so just kept it to the two of them.

Warnings: Pining. Apparently I'm really into that. AFAB reader with she/her pronouns.

Spring had come to Night Raven College. With the blossoming trees, chirping birds, and returning sunshine, one thing everyone could count on was Kalim’s annual Welcome Spring party. Of course, he also had a Welcome Autumn, Welcome Winter, Welcome Summer, Farewell End-of-School-Year, Beginning of School, Halloween, New Year's Eve and Day, basically anything party. The difference here was that there were generally more flowers. 

“And we can have the cherry blossom trees around the entrance of the courtyard!” Kalim was saying. Jamil dutifully followed behind him by a few steps, taking down notes for the numerous things they would need to order. “That way when the wind blows the petals will swirl everywhere and it will be super pretty!” 

“MmHmm,” Jamil muttered, only halfway paying attention. 

“And I was thinking the food should be fruit-themed. Blueberries, strawberries, plums, apricots, rhubarb - is rhubarb a fruit? It’s sweet but it’s like celery, right? Cause it grows in the ground in a stalk?” 

“It’s a vegetable.” 

“Oh, and pastels! I can get bolts of silk and we can have them hanging from the ceiling in panels and string beads between everything.”

“Sure.”  

“And it’ll be the perfect backdrop when you confess to (Y/N)!” 

Jamil nearly tripped over his own feet. Both of them froze at the sound of a shattering pot. Looking up, Jamil felt dread build in his stomach as a wide-eyed first-year stared at the two of them, obviously having overheard Kalim’s (obviously totally ridiculous) announcement. There was a broken flower pot at his feet. 

“I-Uh-” The first-year stuttered. “Sorry, I’ll get a broom.” He dashed off like his feet were on fire. 

Jamil sighed. The last thing he needed right now were rumors swirling around. “Kalim, what are you talking about?”

Kalim blinked at the retreating student before looking back at Jamil with a beaming smile. “(Y/N)! It’ll all be super romantic, right? And spring’s a time for new beginnings. We’ll have a string quartet and I’ll set up a gazebo with hanging lanterns and you can take her hands and look her in the eyes and say-” 

“Okay, okay, okay!” Jamil quickly said, clapping a hand over Kalim’s mouth before another eavesdropper got the wrong idea. “You have way to clear an image of all this.” 

“Of course! I think it’ll make a great story for your wedding!” 

Jamil heard a gasp. He turned just in time to see the first-year from before ducking behind the corner with another in tow. 

Yup. There was the headache coming. 

“Kalim,” Jamil said, measuring his words as steadily as he could. “I’m not going to confess anything to (Y/N).” 

Kalim pouted. “Aww, why not?” 

“Because I don’t have feelings for her.” 

“What? Of course you do!” 

“I promise I don’t.” 

“Don’t worry, she’ll definitely say yes.” 

“That’s not the problem here.” Jamil sighed. “Look, I get that you have good intentions, but you don’t need to go overboard and be involved in everything. We talked about this, remember? The whole thing about boundaries?” Actually, (Y/N) had mediated that conversation a few days after Jamil’s Overblot. Is that why Kalim had become convinced they had some sort of romantic attraction? Because talking about feelings must lead to the extreme of those feelings? 

Kalim looked chastened, a certain wet puppy dog look that would make most people fold instantly. Jamil was not most people. “Right, I remember. I just…” Jamil waited for Kalim to continue, silently hoping he would just drop it. “I want you to be happy, you know? And I think you’d be really happy with (Y/N)!” 

Jamil looked at Kalim sideways. “It’s more of a two way street, you know.” 

“Well, yeah, but (Y/N) likes you too!” 

Jamil tripped over his own feet again. He felt a strange kind of dread at the way his heart skipped a beat as a warm feeling flooded his chest. 

“She-what-Where did you hear that?” 

Kalim shrugged, smiling coyly. “I can tell. Just like how I can tell you like her.” 

“I don’t,” Jamil said firmly. 

Kalim held up his hands in surrender. “I hear you! Boundaries! I won’t mention it again.” He added under his breath, “Even if I think you two would be really cute together.” 

“I heard that.” 

*

Behind them, hidden in the long shadows of the Scarabia hallways, a cluster of students were beginning to plot. 

*

The next day, Jamil was taking some time to relax between classes. Well, as much as he could relax. Mostly his thoughts were occupied jumping between organizing for the Welcome Spring party, creating a mental schedule of what school projects were do when, planning what he would make Kalim for lunch for the next week-

“Jamil!” 

He turned to see (Y/N) waving at him. He felt his heart start thumping rapidly in his chest. Stop it, He thought. I can’t let Kalim get in my head like that. 

“Hi,” She said, coming up to him. 

“Did you need something?” 

“Not really. Just saw you over here stuck in your own head again.” She elbowed him playfully. Jamil felt himself smile without realizing it and quickly schooled his features to a more serious expression. “Want to take a break? I snagged these cookies from Sam’s. Tomorrow’s the expiration date so I got them on sale.” 

Jamil wrinkled his nose. “Is it worth it?” 

(Y/N) shrugged, taking a bite of a cookie. “It’s in the budget. You know, whenever Crowley actually decides to pay me.” 

“You know, if you’re ever short on food you can always come to Scarabia. If Kalim’s not throwing another party with a buffet I can get you something. I always make extras for Kalim, anyway.” This was not entirely true. Jamil had had practically his entire life to get used to cooking for Kalim, and it was only recently that he had started making larger batches, packaging them up to deliver to a certain magicless prefect who’s nutritional health he definitely didn’t worry about.  

(Y/N) smiled and offered him the cookie bag. “You look after everyone all the time, don’t you?” 

Jamil smiled back and took a cookie. They sat in an alcove in the hallway, chatting about nothing of significance. Jamil told a story about how Floyd had insisted Jamil teach him how to spin on his head during basketball practice and (Y/N) told him stories of her recent trip to Harveston, Epel’s hometown, and the sled race against the surprise Royal Sword Academy students. 

Jamil saw movement out of the corner of his eye, but whatever it was disappeared before he could catch it. “Sorry, what did you say?” 

“Oh, about the stuffed animals. Sebeck won’t admit it, but I think he still has his squirrel plush in his room. I don’t think it’s magic anymore but it is really cute.” 

Jamil heard the drag of a bow on strings and looked around. 

(Y/N) frowned. “Are you okay? You seem distracted.” 

Jamil shook his head. “No, sorry, I’m fine. I thought I heard-” 

Music started to pour around them. Although it was the calming, one might almost say romantic, type, they both still jumped at the sudden noise. Jamil jumped up, looking around, and took a hit of sunflower petals directly to his face. 

“Omar!” Someone hissed. “Be careful!” 

“Sorry, Babkak,” A voice squeaked back. 

Wait, Jamil knew those voices. He whipped around the corner, seeing a group of Scarabia first-years. Several formed a string quartet, softly playing music. The other two had a bucket of flower petals, one of them throwing handfuls in the air while the other directed a zephyr spell to blow them across the hallway. The two froze with wide eyes at the sight of their Vice-House Warden. 

“What,” Jamil said, voice steely and arms crossed. “Are you doing?” 

The string players looked nervously at each other but continued to play. Omar gapped like a codfish. Babkak stood up straight with a confident smile. “We’re setting the mood!” 

“What mood?” “For your confession!” 

Oh. Oh, no. Now Jamil realized how he recognized them. Babkak was the one who dropped the flower pot yesterday and Omar was the one he had dragged with him to eavesdrop. They must have heard what Kalim had said yesterday about him and (Y/N) and taken the wrong idea. And, Jamil justified to himself, it was definitely the wrong idea. 

“Jamil?”  

Jamil turned so fast the first-years were momentarily worried about whiplash. (Y/N) stood at the corner, looking curiously at the impromptu band and flowers. Behind him, Jamil could hear them hastily whispering to each other to keep playing and trying to get the effect of floating flower petals just right. 

“Something going on?” She asked. 

“No!” Jamil said, perhaps a little too quickly. “They were just leaving.” He glared at the first-years. “After they clean this up.” 

(Y/N) took a step forward. Jamil felt his mouth go dry as she reached up and plucked a few stray yellow petals from his hair. “Is this for a botany project or something? Kind of romantic, huh?” 

Jamil felt his face burn with embarrassment. 

“No!” Jamil said, at the same time Babkak said, “Yes!” 

“Okay,” (Y/N) said, rolling closed the half-full bag of cookies. “Well, I should probably get going. I need to see what kind of trouble Grim has gotten into while I was gone. I’ll see you later, Jamil.” She waved to him and then the first-years. 

“What made you think this was a good idea?” Jamil asked, trying very hard not to yell, when (Y/N) was out of earshot. 

“Sorry, sir,” Omar said, dejectedly picking up flower petals. He glared up at Babkak. “I told you we should have gone for the romantic dinner. And rose petals, not sunflowers.” 

Babkak waved his friend off. “Don’t be so cliche. Besides, sunflowers are way better! They’re pretty and you can eat the seeds!” 

“Hey!” Jamil snapped. The two boys looked back up at him while the other first-years were trying to discreetly pack up their instruments. “I asked what you were doing? Did Kalim put you up to this?” 

“No, sir, this was all us!” Babkak said, a little too proudly. “We wanted to help.” “Yeah,” Omar said. “We’re all rooting for you, Vice-House Warden, sir!” The other first-years made noises of agrement. 

“Rooting for me?” 

“With (Y/N), to tell her you love her!” 

Jamil groaned, covering his eyes with his hand and rubbing his temples. “I am not in love with the Prefect.” Jamil missed the skeptical look the two gave each other. “Look, I appreciate the…vote of confidence, but I’m not going to confess anything to anyone any time soon. So whatever else you have planned, or whoever else you told this rumor to, you can give it a break. Understand?” 

“Yes, Vice-House Warden,” They all echoed dutifully. 

As Jamil marched away, Omar leaned over to Babkak. “I’ve got twenty madol that say he confesses before the spring party.” 

*

Jamil’s muscles were burning, and he welcomed it. He needed the distraction after this morning and basketball practice against Floyd in full force was a pretty good diversion. Ace had been uncharacteristically distracted all practice. Although Jamil couldn’t help but notice that Ace seemed to pass a little harder than necessary. 

During a water break, Ace came up to Jamil. He tossed his water bottle between his hands, taking a step away and then closer. 

Jamil knew he would regret it before he even asked, “What’s up, Ace?” 

Ace startled, surprised Jamil had made the first move. “I heard something,” He said. “In potions class today.” 

“Did someone blow up something again? Anyone get turned into an animal or something?” 

Ace pressed his lips together. “Do you like (Y/N)?” 

Jamil couldn’t decide whether to be exhausted, flustered, or annoyed. “Who told you that?” 

Ace’s eyes widened in shock. “You do?!” 

“No!” Jamil snapped back. “People are just going around spreading rumors.” 

“Huh?” Floyd asked, sliding over on the bleachers. “I thought everyone knew already.” 

“Knew?”

Floyd flashed his sharp teeth. “Come on, Sea Snake. Everyone knows you’re, what’s the land term? Head over heels for Shrimpy.” 

Ace dropped his water bottle and jabbed an accusatory finger at Jamil. “I knew it!” 

“You don’t know anything,” Jamil said, shoving Ace’s hand aside. 

“Oh?” Floyd said, leaning in a little too close. “So that means she’s available then?” 

“No!” Ace and Jamil both shouted at the same time. Ace glared at Jamil. A few other members of the basketball club glanced over, snickering to themselves at the outburst. 

Ace puffed out his chest, planting himself solidly in front of Jamil. “Look, (Y/N) is one of my best friends. And if you do anything to mess with her then… then…” Ace fumbled, running out of steam with his threats before catching his second wind. “Then you’ll have to deal with Jack!” 

Jamil crooked an eyebrow. “Jack? Not you or Deuce?” 

Ace shrugged. “Jack’s the biggest. But Deuce did used to be a delinquent. I’ve seen him be pretty brutal when he wants to. And I guess Epel can scrap up too, when Vil isn’t around. Probably couldn’t convince Sebeck to help out, he’d just lecture about a knight’s honor or something. Ooh, Ortho had a blast cannon! So, you know, watch out!” 

“I like how you didn’t put yourself in the line of fire there, Crabby,” Floyd said. He rolled his shoulders. “But you know, I think Shrimpy is pretty great, too. I don’t want to see her sad or anything. So if someone were to maybe break her heart,” He glanced sideways as Jamil with crazed wide eyes. “Can you swim, Sea Snake?” 

Jamil just glowered back at him. “Can everyone just stop talking about (Y/N) today?” 

“People are talking about me?” All three of them jumped. (Y/N) walked into the gym, Grim hanging off her shoulders. “I thought I felt my ears burning.”  

“Shrimpy!” Floyd immediately ran up to her, sweeping her up in a tight squeezing hug. Grim jumped off her shoulders with a yelp. Ace yelled and pulled at Floyd’s jersey, trying to pry them apart. 

(Y/N) weakly patted Floyd’s back with a free hand. “Hi, Floyd, hi, Ace. Sorry, I need Jamil real quick.” 

The two boys froze, slowly turning their heads to stare at Jamil, who was busy hiding his face in his hands. They watched like hawks as (Y/N) walked over to Jamil. 

“Hey,” She said. “You okay?” 

“Fine,” He said, waving her off. “Just one of those days, you know?”

She frowned. “You need me to talk to someone? I can chew out Ace if you want. Floyd is sort of out of my league, though.” 

Jamil sighed a laugh. “No, that’s fine.” 

“Oh! Right! Hang on.” She slung her backpack off her shoulder, reaching in and pulling out a familiar water bottle. “Here, you left this in the library. One of the Scarabia first-years found it and asked me to bring it to you.” 

“Oh, thanks. I was wondering where it was.” Jamil didn’t mention that he hadn’t been in the library at all today. As he reached to take it, their fingers brushed. Jamil grabbed the bottle and jerked back like he had been scorched. His heart was hammering, not from the exercise of basketball practice, and he was momentarily worried (Y/N) would be able to hear it. Not to mention if she would notice how clammy his hands had suddenly become. 

“Well,” (Y/N) said. “I guess I’ll get out of your hair-”

“Wait!” 

The entire basketball team, plus (Y/N) and Grim, turned to the sudden outburst. Babkak had half way thrown himself out of the doorway entrance to the gym, hand extended in a Stop motion. Omar guilty peaked out from the door frame. 

“Uh, I mean,” Babkak said, back peddling. 

“You should stay!” Omar jumped in. “I mean, we should all stay to watch practice! Support your local team and everything!” He weakly punched the air. “Go team?” 

Jamil opened his mouth to chastise them again before (Y/N) spoke, “That sounds fun. I don’t get to see you guys play too often. If that’s okay with you, though.” 

“Oh, um,” Jamil stuttred. 

Floyd jumped up, throwing himself over Jamil’s shoulders and smiling wide. “Of course you can stay! You can watch Sea Snake show off!” 

Jamil elbowed him. “You’re the one who shows off, Floyd.”

(Y/N) shrugged, smiling. (And Jamil definitely didn’t feel his heart flip.) “I don’t have any plans.” 

As everyone got back in position for practice, Ace took his place, whispering to Jamil, “Remember: Ortho has a laser cannon.” 

Jamil rolled his eyes. 

From the corner of his eye, Jamil saw the group of Scarabia first-years shuffle into the bleachers around (Y/N) and Grim. He thought he saw a few of them hiding objects behind their backs, but was pulled back to the game before he could investigate further. 

He lost himself back in the game. Sneakers squeaked against the waxed wooden floor, the bounce of the ball reverberated around the gym, each quick and practiced movement by the players blurring at the edge of Jamil’s vision. Another player passed him the ball. He faked left, turning around Floyd, before lining up a shot at the three point line. He raised the ball, arms tensing in preparation to shoot and- 

A blare of sound echoed through the gym, bouncing off the acoustic walls and tumbling down around everyone in attendance. The ball slipped from Jamil’s hands, falling uselessly in a pathetic arc and bouncing across the court floor. Jamil turned to the bleachers where the noise had come from. The first-years, Jamil now recognized them as the string quartet from earlier, now made up a brass band. The noise he had heard was the blast from a tuba. The rest of the band joined in, trumpets, french horn, and bugle. They started playing a high-energy marching tune. How many instruments did these people know how to play anyway? Omar and Babkak had red and yellow pom poms, waving them enthusiastically. Babkak passed a pair to a bewildered (Y/N). 

“Go, Vice-Housewarden Jamil!” Babkak cheered. 

“Show them who’s boss, sir!” Omar whooped. 

Everyone froze, looking from the impromptu cheering section and band to Jamil then back again. Jamil’s face felt as hot as the Scalding Sands desert at noon. It didn’t help at all when Floyd started cackling. 

He began to march over to confront his dorm mates, again, when a new echoing sound made him pause. (Y/N) had thrown her head back in laughter. She stood, waving the pom poms above her head. 

“Go, Jamil, go!” She cheered. 

Jamil was pretty sure he was going to spontaneously combust at any second. 

*

The rest of practice had been a disaster. Every time Jamil got the ball the bleachers would erupt in noise, distracting him and everyone else trying to play. Jamil had never felt so off his game, fumbling the ball, bumping into his teammates, and losing focus at every moment that mattered, and most of the ones that didn’t, too. He purposely avoided turning in the direction of the cheering squad, partially because he wanted to discourage whatever activities the first-years were insistent on doing, and partially so he didn’t have to see (Y/N) cheer for him so enthusiastically. (And, maybe, so she wouldn’t be able to see how flustered he was becoming with every second.) 

A teammate had patted Jamil’s shoulder in sympathy as they headed to the showers after practice. “Don’t worry,” He said. “I bet she still likes you.” 

Jamil resisted the urge to punch him. 

Now, at least, he was back in a rhythm of something he knew how to do: cooking. Ever since his stint in the Culinary Crucible, the ghost chefs had tapped him and a few other stand out cases to help out in the kitchen every once and a while. 

The kitchen filled with the scent of roasting spices and sizzling meat, spilling out into the cafeteria sitting area. Students had started lining up way before the kitchen officially opened to secure their plate of Jamil’s cooking. Jamil felt the tension melt out of his shoulders, much like the butter in the pan he was currently using, as he fell into his familiar rhythms. 

“Thanks again for your help,” One of the ghost chefs said, floating by with a steaming bowl of freshly made turmeric rice. 

“Not a problem,” He replied. “It gets me out of my own head.” 

“Oh?” Another ghost asked. “Having troubles, youngster?” 

“Girl troubles, maybe?” Another snickered. 

All the ghosts jumped as Jamil brought down a butcher knife to decapitate a fish. They collectively decided it was maybe best to drop the topic, already deceased or not. 

“Ah, Jamil, chef, sir?” A student volunteer said, warily eyeing the butcher knife. “Someone was having an issue with their meal. They wanted to talk to you.” 

So much for his relaxation. Jamil quickly let the others know what to keep an eye on in the kitchen and headed out to the main sitting area. He scanned the tables. It looked like everyone was enjoying their food as far as he could tell. He looked back into the window of the kitchen. The volunteer student pointed at a table near the back by a window. He was about half way across the room when he realized that the student was a Scarabia student, a first-year in fact. And, now that he thought of it, he didn’t think he had seen that student in the kitchen before he had come to talk to Jamil. 

Jamil froze, seeing exactly who was sitting at the indicated table. This was a set up. He turned around to go back, only to be stonewalled by two now very familiar Scarabia students. 

“Hello, sir!” Omar chirped. 

“Taking your dinner break?” Babkak asked. “Great! We have the perfect table for you.” 

They both hooked their arms around Jamil’s and practically dragged him over to the table where (Y/N) and Grim sat. 

“Oh, hi,” She said, blinking at the surprise arrival. Jamil felt his throat tighten and couldn’t formulate a response. 

The musically talented first-years descended to the table, quickly picking up her plate of food to whisk a tablecloth over the table, setting down a candelabra which was quickly lit, and a vase with a dozen roses. 

“Roses,” Omar whispered to Babkak with a sly smile. Babkak rolled his eyes. The two shoved Jamil into a seat opposite (Y/N). A plate of food was set in front of him. The sneaky Scarabia student from the kitchen grabbed Grim, shoving a plate of tuna tartare in his paws before he could protest. Then, the group of wannabe restaurateurs vanished as quickly as they had appeared. The two left at the table, Jamil and (Y/N), looked at eachother with confusion. Jamil dropped his head to stare intently at his plate, stabbing at the sayadieh with his fork. 

“Hey,” Jamil was jerked out of his thoughts by (Y/N)’s voice. “I wanted to apologize for earlier, at practice. It looked like we were a pretty big distraction.” 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Jamil said. “It wasn’t your fault.” He glared at the first-years eagerly watching from a table a safe distance away. 

“Yeah, but still, I don’t need to make your life any harder.” 

Jamil looked up at her. She was twirling her spoon around the tabouli, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. “You don’t make my life harder,” he insisted. “In fact, you’ve made a lot of things easier. My relationship with Kalim is a lot better now, for one thing.” 

She smiled at him, and his heart definitely didn’t skip a beat. “Well, glad I can help, then. But don’t sell yourself short. You’ve been doing a lot of work since everything that happened.” She waved her hand, regarding the invisible thing they both understood. It was still hard to talk directly about his Overblot, the manipulation, abuse of magic, and kidnapping aside. (Y/N) had told him she wanted to give him space for it, to consider how he felt and talk to others at his own pace, but still trying to address the root of the issues. That was when she had started organizing those sessions between her, Jamil, and Kalim, giving them a place to directly talk with each other without outside pressures and influences, helping them work things together as friends instead of the master/servant role Jamil so often felt himself confided to. 

“This is great, by the way,” (Y/N) interjected, scooping up a mouthful of tabouli. “I can always tell when it’s your cooking. Thanks for those leftovers the other day. I know Grim really likes them too.” 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” He said. He didn’t say, “I didn’t make it for Grim. I made it for you.” He blanched at the intrusive thought and snatched up his water glass, taking a large gulp and trying not to choke. 

“You sure you’re okay?” (Y/N) asked. “You’ve seemed kind of on edge all day.” 

“I’ll deal with it later,” Jamil said, looking over at the first-years who started enthusiastically nodding and giving him thumbs-up. 

(Y/N) drummed her fingers against the table.  “Listen, actually, there’s been something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about-” 

“Lgeimat!” Jamil shouted. 

She blinked at him. “Sorry?” 

“The lgeimat! I left them in the fryer! Sorry, have to go, have a good night!” Jamil shot up and zipped back to the safety of the kitchen. 

“I didn’t know we were having lgeimat tonight,” Omar said from their spying perch. 

Babkak thudded his head on the table at their third defeat. “We’re not.” He grumbled. 

*

Jamil collapsed on the low couches in the Scarabia common room, arm flung across his face to cover his eyes from the late evening light. The day felt like it went on forever. Jamil had caught himself constantly looking over his shoulder, jerking at every unexpected sound, in anticipation of an over eager group of first-years. 

“Hi, Jamil-Oh,” Kalim stopped himself, looking over at his drained friend. “You okay?” 

Jamil sighed in response. “Long day.” 

“Oh.” Kalim sat down next to him. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Jamil peered out from under his arm at Kalim. At least that was one improvement, again, thanks to (Y/N) specific intervention. Kalim had slowly been teaching himself not to jump to conclusions or take it upon himself to fix everything by throwing money or extravagance at it, but by taking the time to hear other people, namely Jamil, out first. Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t throw money or extravagance at the problem in the end, but progress was progress. 

Jamil gave Kalim a halfhearted glare. “It’s all thanks to that rumor you started.” 

Kalim blinked. “Rumor? Oh, you mean about how you’re in love with-”

“Yes!” Jamil cut him off, sitting bolt upright. “That! Some first-years heard you the other day and have been following me around, trying to start up some grand romantic gesture.” 

“Oh, yeah, I heard about that. I think it’s sweet.” 

“Sweet?” 

“That everyone believes in you! Everyone knows how hard you work. We all want to see you happy and with the person you love.” 

Jamil stood. “Kalim, I’m not-” 

“Nope.” Kalim said shooting up. He put his hands on the taller boy’s shoulders, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You’ve been different ever since winter break. You smile more when (Y/N)’s around. You’re not so tense all the time. And whenever we’re in a group, like at the cafeteria or dorm meetings or parties, you’re always looking for her. And when you see her your whole face just lights up! Do you know how often you talk about her? It’s a lot, Jamil! ‘Oh, I wonder what (Y/N) would think about this. Do you think (Y/N) has that in her world? Do you think (Y/N) likes spicy or sweet food? Do you think (Y/N)’s doing okay at Ramshackle? Do you think she needs help with any repairs like when we stayed there during VDC training? (Y/N) sure works real hard to catch up with a whole new culture. Do you think (Y/N) would want this extra curry?’”  

“I don’t sound like that,” Jamil protested weakly. 

Kalim sighed, hands on his hips. “I’ve known you my whole life. I know what you’re like when you’re mad, I know what you’re like when you’re sad, I know what you’re like when you’re happy, and now I know what you’re like when you’re in love.” 

Jamil pushed back. “I’m not in love with her!” 

“Yes, you are!” 

“I’m not-” Jamil cut himself off. He felt suddenly dizzy. He sat down hard. “Oh, I’m in love with her.” 

Kalim threw his hands in the air. “Yes! Thank you! Finally!” 

“But,” Jamil continued, and Kalim tried really hard to keep his frustration to himself. “I can’t tell her that. I can’t… put that kind of pressure on her. She has enough going on with Grim and Ramshackle and trying to find a way home and… Sevens, she’s going back home, Kalim! I don’t know when or how, but she won’t even be in this universe! And what, I’m just supposed to show up and dump this emotional baggage on her when she already has everything else to worry about?” 

Kalim sat down next to Jamil. He twirled his fingers together, trying to collect his thoughts. Why was it always so hard to know the right thing to say? “You said feelings were like a two way street yesterday, remember? So don’t you think (Y/N) should have a say too?” 

“Kalim, I can’t-”

“Yes you can!” Kalim shouted, jumping up and clapping his hands. “You’re Jamil Viper! If anyone can do it, can do anything, it’s you! And keeping everything bottled up isn’t fair to you or her or anyone. So-So-” Kalim frowned, trying to look stern, a very strange expression for the normally boisterous boy. “So go tell her how you feel right now, and let her decide what happens next! That’s an order as your house warden!” Kalim flinched. “Please.” 

Jamil stared at him for just a second too long, making Kalim squirm with worry that he had gone too far. Then, Jamil sighed, resigned, a half smile on his face. “Well, if my house warden is ordering it, how can I say no?” 

*

Despite what he had told Kalim, Jamil dreaded every step towards Ramshackle dorm. Even with the ‘order’ from his house warden, Jamil considered turning back. Instead, with each uncertain step, he plotted out exactly what he would say. Was it just as simple as ‘I have feelings for you?’ Should he have some grand gesture ready? Absolutely not. Those first-years had spoiled that concept for him. 

Before he realized it, Jamil was walking up the pathway to the dilapidated dorm. He stood at the front step, fist up ready to knock. It hovered there. A plan, he still needed a plan. He couldn’t just walk in without a plan of what to say, what to do. He’d had the entire walk over here, how had he not come up with a more solid idea? 

The door snapped open in front of him, Grim hurdling out, crashing into Jamil’s chest. “What-? Oh, hey!” Grim said, rubbing his head at the bump then cracking into a wide smile at the sight of Jamil. “Did you bring us dinner again?” 

“Uh, no, not this time,” Jamil said, already thrown off. 

Grim frowned. “Meh, whatever. I’m going to Sam’s anyway to get some tuna.” 

“Milk and eggs!” (Y/N)’s voice called from inside. “You’re getting milk and eggs! And oranges if they have any.” 

“That too!” Grim said. He winked then sped off down the path. 

(Y/N) appeared at the doorway, clearly having sprinted to catch the dire beast before he left. “Grim, I said we don’t have the budget to- Oh, he’s gone. Right, sure, why not?” She sighed. “Hi, Jamil.” 

Jamil swallowed hard. “Should I come back later?” 

(Y/N) waved the idea off. “No, it’s fine, you’re already here. Come on in.” 

Jamil followed her into the dorm to the sitting room just past the entrance hall. Despite the age and wear of the building, it was clear that (Y/N) had taken a lot of pride in fixing it up and keeping everything in order. 

“Sorry, I was in the middle of doing dishes,” (Y/N) said, whipping her wet and slightly soapy hands against her skirt. “Go ahead and take a seat, I’ll get some tea and snacks.” 

“It’s fine,” Jamil said, quickly standing back up after having just sat down on one of the overstuffed couches. “I know where everything is, I’ll get it.” 

“No, no, you’re a guest. Take a break, I’ll get it.” 

“It’s fine really. I’m sure Crowly has been keeping you busy all day.” 

“And you’re just as busy. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

“No, really, I-” 

“Jamil!” Jamil jumped at her sudden outburst, his hands frozen in the air. She huffed and put her hands on her hips. “Honestly. You take care of everyone else all the time. Let me take care of you for once.” 

Oh no. Oh no. 

“Now sit down while I go make some tea.” 

He sat down. This was worse than he thought. He really was in love. 

She wanted to take care of him. Of him. When was the last time someone offered to take care of him, to lighten his load, to take responsibility for the burden? For as long as Jamil could remember that had been his job, his life. Kalim, Najma, his parents, the Scarabia students, everyone and everything. It was like he didn’t realize just how tired he was until (Y/N) offered to help. Why did her snapping at him just now make him feel so relieved? 

Almost without thinking about it, Jamil’s feet took him into the kitchen. (Y/N) was standing at the stove, setting down a heavy teapot on the burner. She was mumbling to herself about something, Jamil couldn’t really hear what. His ears were ringing. 

(Y/N) noticed that Jamil had come into the kitchen, turning to face him. She frowned, eyebrows knit together. “Jamil, I told you that - Oh!” 

Ignoring his anxiety, ignoring that nagging thought that he didn’t have a plan, ignoring the churning nervousness in his stomach, Jamil pulled (Y/N) into a tight hug, burning his face in her hair. 

“I like you,” He said, so softly that he had to repeat himself to make sure she heard, to make sure she understood the depth of his feelings. “I like you. I think I might even- I feel better when I’m with you, like I can be better. I don’t feel like everything I’ve done up until now is just in service to someone else, because all of those things lead me to meeting you. I feel like I can think clearly, that I don’t always have to be on alert. I want to take care of you, I want to be with you, I want us to be together. And I know - I know I’ve done horrible things in the past, I know you’ve seen me at my lowest. But you still see me, me, not anything else. Not the servant, not the diplomatic aid, not the Overblot monster- How could I not fall in love with you? So, (Y/N), please. I just - please.” He wasn’t quite sure what he was asking ‘please’ for, he only hoped she would understand. 

(Y/N) trailed her fingers along his back, threading through his long hair. She pulled back, as much as Jamil’s embrace would allow. The corners of her eyes were dotted with tears. “Jeeze, Jamil,” (Y/N) said. “Way to steal my thunder. I wanted to say it first.” 

Jamil let out a cracked laugh, tears welling up in his own eyes. “You did?” 

(Y/N) hiccuped, laughing. “Yeah, of course. I thought I was being kind of obvious with it. I finally decided to suck it up and tell you at dinner earlier, but you just ran away so I thought you knew what I was going to say and didn’t feel the same.” 

“Sorry, I guess I was nervous. And those first-years all day…” 

(Y/N) laughed out loud. “I was wondering what was up with that. Was that Kalim or something?” 

“For once, no. They took it upon themselves to try and set us up.” 

“Aww, they care about you.” She hugged him close. “And I can see why.” 

*

That weekend, it was finally time for the Welcome Spring party, and there were, indeed, more flowers than usual. Kalim was flitting around, making sure everything was organized and where it needed to be. Jamil had asked if he could leave for the morning, coming back when it was time for the party to start. And, even though he had been the one to ask for the time off, Jamil had double checked that it was okay with Kalim no less than a dozen times before he actually left. Kalim insisted repeatedly that he would be fine, that he had a handle on everything. And, maybe, for the most part he did. It definitely helped that Jamil had assigned tasks to several other dorm members the night before to make sure Kalim didn’t get too overwhelmed. 

Just as the golden hour set in, magical floating lanterns bobbing along in the air amid swirling flower petals, the guests started to arrive. Kalim had sent out a recommended dress code ahead of time, requesting pastels, whites, and gold. Something to fit in with the refreshing and floral mood he wanted to create. Mostly, he was happy to report, everyone was able to follow the requirements. Heartslabyul students especially were rigidly adhering to the dress code under the watchful eye of their house warden. Most of them wore pinks, as it was the required color when taking care of the dorm flamingos so they already had something that would fit the theme. Savannaclaw didn’t much stick to theme, but had tried to comply with sticking puffy peony blossoms through belt loops or behind their ears. Octavinelle wore light blues and corals, studded with shimmering scales, pearls, and other bits of underwater flora. Scarabia, of course, as the hosts, were the most bejeweled, taking inspiration from the fairy gala that had inadvertently plunged the campus into chaos, but also resulted in beautiful flowing white and gold garments. Pomfiore stayed mostly in lavenders and lilacs, highlighted by golden embroidery in fantastic scenes and shapes. Ignihyde, for those who did show up, dug out whatever was the lightest color in their wardrobe, mostly staying in light blues. Similarly, no one was expecting much from the usually dour-toned Diasomnia. But, not wanting to create a social fopaux at one of the few events he had received an invitation to, thanks to (Y/N) reminding Kalim to expand his guest list at the last minute, Malleus had ensured that all his dorm members wore mint and emerald green with gold dotted throughout. 

There was a noticeable absence of two usually prominent figures, but Kalim assured everyone Jamil and (Y/N) would be arriving soon. And, although Jamil had tried to slip in quietly while everyone’s attention was focused on the dance floor for an aerial ribbon performance, Kalim’s squeal of delight quickly diverted everyone’s attention. Jamil held in a groan as attention whirled to him and (Y/N). They both wore outfits from the fairy gala, meticulously designed and created by Professor Crewel. She squeezed his hand in support, dragging him further in, head held high while ignoring the stares. A few Scarabia students gave congratulations, thumping Jamil’s back as he passed. Ace caught Jamil’s eye from the other side of the room. He pointed to Ortho, who was waving excitedly, and drew a finger across his throat. Jamil rolled his eyes. 

As the aerial dancers finished, (Y/N) drew Jamil to the dance floor. As a band kicked up (seriously, how many instruments did those Scarabia students know how to play?), (Y/N) wrapped her arms around Jamil’s neck as he placed his hands on her hips. He really hoped she wouldn’t notice how sweaty his palms had gotten. 

“You’re nervous,” (Y/N) said. “I’m not used to seeing you like that.” 

“I’ve just never really done this before,” Jamil said. “Not dancing, I’ve done that plenty. Just the whole relationship thing. I never really had a chance before. I don’t want to mess this up.” 

“I think you’ve been doing pretty good so far.” 

Jamil smirked. “It’s been two days.” 

“Well, see? You’re gaining experience already.” She leaned forward, placing her head on his chest. “I’m nervous, too, you know. Not about this. I’m really confident how I feel about you, and I want to stay with you for as long as I can. I mean about everything going on around us. There’s a lot of unknown. Technically, you know, I don’t even exist. Don’t have any papers like a birth certificate or passport or even a valid nationality. But I know I have great people helping me out, including you. And knowing they’re on my side, it helps make things a little better. And I’m on your side. So everything will work out, you know?” 

Jamil hummed. Lowley, in a quiet voice so he could dismiss it if she didn’t hear him, he asked, “Can I kiss you?” 

(Y/N) looked up at him, smiling, eyes twinkling. “I’d like that.”  

*

Off to the side, behind a bolt of silk cloth, Babkak handed Omar a 20 madol note.

[reveryfics]

Hi! Could I perhaps get Daryl x M!Reader Daryl is touch starved?

Reader and Daryl have been dating for a few months, and Daryl’s always kinda shied away from touch without realizing why. Reader never pushes him, but then he comes back injured and Reader can’t help but hug him.

Daryl kinda realizes that he hasn’t been touched like this in decades and he just can’t get enough.

Touch

Daryl Dixon x Male Reader

Summary: You noticed how Daryl always seemed to shy away when you moved towards him, or even from a simple touch.

A/N: Y'all are eating these Daryl requests up, I'm obsessed with them all. Not set in any specific season (aka I wasn't paying attention while writing)

TW: Mention of injury - Slight angst - Fluff

The twilight clung to the edges of the horizon, a bruised plum bleeding into softer lavender and rose. You remained perched atop the dusty camper van, the worn spine of your paperback novel resting against your knee. The cigarette, a familiar comfort, dangled from your lips, its cherry glowing intermittently in the fading light. The words on the page blurred, your focus hijacked by the gnawing unease that had settled in your gut. Daryl was late.

His absences were a familiar rhythm in your shared life, a consequence of his scavenging runs and his solitary nature. You’d grown accustomed to the stretches of silence, the empty space beside you. It was a testament to the unspoken understanding that had formed between you, a delicate dance around his inherent need for distance. Even after the raw ache of Merle’s loss, a wound that had subtly shifted the landscape of your group, you’d maintained that respectful space. You hadn’t pried, hadn’t demanded explanations for the invisible walls he’d built around himself, especially the ones that seemed to rise whenever your hand lingered too long on his arm or your bodies brushed in the cramped confines of your makeshift home.

But tonight felt different. The air was thick with a premonition you couldn't shake. The usual quiet hum of the camp had lulled into a deeper stillness, everyone else seeking the fragile safety of sleep. You remained your lonely vigil, scanning the tree line for any sign of his return. Then, a flicker. A faint, almost imperceptible flash of light in the distance. Three quick pulses, the agreed-upon signal. Relief, sharp and sudden, pierced through the knot of anxiety in your chest.

You scrambled down the ladder, your boots thudding softly on the van’s side. The light grew steadily closer, resolving itself into the swaying beam of a flashlight. Soon, his silhouette emerged from the darkness, a familiar, lean figure. As he drew nearer to the hood of the camper van, you noticed the way he leaned heavily against it, one hand pressed to his side. A low groan escaped his lips as he shifted his weight.

Without a word, you moved towards him, your concern overriding the ingrained habit of keeping your distance. You reached him just as he let out another pained breath. Your hands moved swiftly, relieving him of his crossbow and the worn satchel slung across his shoulder. “Come on,” you urged softly, your hand finding his back, guiding him towards the van’s rear doors.

Inside, the meager light from a battery-powered lantern cast long shadows. Daryl sank onto the narrow bed with a grunt, immediately shucking his dirt-stained shirt. It landed in a crumpled heap on the floor, revealing a dark stain blooming on his side. Your breath hitched. You turned away quickly, your movements brisk as you rummaged through the designated compartment, your fingers fumbling slightly with the latch of the metal medical kit.

Kneeling before him, the antiseptic smell of the wipes sharp in the confined space, you finally let loose. “What the hell were you thinking, Daryl?” Your voice was low and fierce, laced with a worry that bordered on anger. “You can’t just go off like that, being so damn reckless! Do you have any idea…” You trailed off, unable to articulate the fear that had clawed at you during his absence.

Daryl just sighed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. He didn’t offer excuses, didn’t try to downplay the situation. He simply watched as you carefully cleaned the wound, your touch surprisingly gentle despite the harshness of your words. He’d noticed that about you, the way your hands, calloused from survival, softened when tending to injuries. It was a stark contrast to his own rough edges, a tenderness he’d always observed from a safe distance, too guarded to ever truly accept it for himself, even now, with the unspoken intimacy of your relationship.

Your brow furrowed in concentration as you threaded the needle, the thin strand of suture glinting in the lamplight. Each stitch was precise, your movements practiced. You cursed under your breath when he flinched, muttering apologies as you continued your work. Finally, you snipped the thread and covered the wound with a clean bandage, pressing down gently.

Looking up, your eyes met his. He was watching you, his gaze softer now, something unreadable flickering within their depths. Before he could speak, before he could even form the words that might bridge the gap between you, you acted on impulse. You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, your face pressing against his bare chest. The relief was overwhelming, a physical weight lifting from your shoulders. You were simply too caught up in the wave of worry that had crashed over you to register the significance of your own action, the breaking of your self-imposed barrier.

For a moment, he was still, surprised by the sudden contact. Then, slowly, hesitantly, his arms came around you, his rough hands settling on your back. He hadn’t realized how much he’d craved this, this simple act of being held. It felt grounding, anchoring, a stark contrast to the constant instability of your lives. The warmth of your body against his, the steady beat of your heart against his ear – it was a tangible reassurance he hadn’t known he desperately needed. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “Needed this,” he mumbled, the words barely audible.

A small smile touched your lips against his skin. You rubbed soothing circles on his back, a low hum vibrating in your chest. You pressed a few soft kisses just below his stubbled chin, a silent acknowledgment of his vulnerability.

He held you close for a long while, the tension slowly draining from his body. The only sounds were your quiet breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric. A comfortable silence settled between you, a silence that felt different, less guarded than before. Eventually, you felt his grip loosen, his breathing deepening into the slow, rhythmic pattern of sleep. You gently kissed his cheek, the stubble rough against your lips. Carefully, you slipped from his grasp, a quiet sense of hope blossoming in your chest. The walls had finally begun to crumble, and you prayed, with a fierce intensity, that this time, the change would last.

[saintfelina]

perfumes for kinky sluts part two

pure sexbot. you're nothing but metal and wire under that artificial flesh. you smell like playstation air between the thighs. im so hard right now please let me pull the cord.

you 100% have an intoxication kink because this smells like a heavily tampered with blueberry wine. theres a film cigarette ash floating at the top but you still drink it down like its nothing.

charlotte_twister's lost cherry review cranked up to 11: oiled up pvc drenched in liquor and cherry flavored lube. you're first foray into a sex club so you get as hammered as possible but you come out smelling like sweat, whiskey, a lip gloss.

the librarian you have a crush on smells just like this. she's quiet, kinda of a mess but you walk back and froth past her desk. when you peek up her skirt you get a whiff of the powdery orchid and iris and it makes you dizzy so now you fantasies about fuckin her in cooking section.

southern baptist kind of horny, like it's way too hot and the smell of your church's damp pews never leaves your clothes after you sit on it. probably because you keep fucking on them after the congregation leaves.

you have a living doll fetish in that you want to be the doll. plastic lips, plastic hips from top to bottom. your owner buys all your clothes and dresses you for different scenarios everyday with their face buried in your neck and their hand up your skirt.

bimbofication taken back to its roots. there's nothing but air and cotton candy in your head and thats how you like it. your clothes are pink, your room is pink, your life is pink. everything about you is calculated to be the perfect dumb arm candy. the only numbers you know are 20s, 50s, 100s.

you watched secretary way too young and this is emblematic of it. a sort of surprising sexuality with its rich plum and powdery iris. lee saying 'put your prick in my mouth' in the bathroom.

cannabis, strawberries and something kinda metallic. you go to the bathroom for a coke break and find a glory hole instead.

youre the classroom crush who always sits at the front of the class. everyone wants to sit next to you, everyone wants to be your partner. your quiet mysterious vibe is a draw because you always smell cozy, musky and vaguely like pen ink. too bad they'll never have a chance you're too busy getting spanked by your teacher after hours.

[nardo-headcanons]

National Holidays in the Ninja Villages + Bonus

I've had this idea in mind for a while, and now I finally got to write it down. Feel free to use these for your own works. Please tag me so I can read em all! <33

Iwagakure: The Lunar Lights of Gratitude The moon has a special place in the heart of every Iwa citizen. To them, it is a part of the earth, now observing its mother body from space. So naturally, the spectacle of a blue/super moon is a special occasion in Iwagakure. To honor and greet the moon, which is actually called "daughter" in the earth country's language, large fireworks are organized every new moon after a blue moon. As previously established, the earth country's firework industry is the largest, which Iwa shinobi are very proud of. Lighting the sky on fire and turning night into daytime is the Iwa way of giving back some of the light that the moon gives us at night.

Kirigakure: The Moonshine Sea Festival Despite the rivalry between the land of earth and the land of water, there is one thing they have in common, which is their spiritual connection to the moon and space. To water country citizens, especially the fishermen, the moon is a protector and guardian of the night, along with the stars. They strengthen the their connection to their biggest source of both faith and fear: the sea. The special climate in the water country, combined with its great biodiversity give a great habitat for biolumescent plankton, turning the sea itself into a starry night sky. It is one of the only pieces of culture that has been preserved, since the celebration itself was founded by the water country's union of fishermen, who don't belong to a particular clan with a kekkei genkai; most of the kekkei genkai wielders in Kiri have been wiped out, along with their culture, traditions and religions.

Sunagakure: Winter's Return The wind country is often ravaged by agonozingly hot summers, sand storms and heat waves are not a rarity in this country. While foreigners might groan and roll their eyes at the thought of the return to cold, foggy winter days, in Sunagakure it is a day for celebration. On the day where the sun stays for the longest, in the middle of the year, a large celebration is held across the nation. The way it is celebrated is different from family to family, and every Suna family is convinced that their way is the right one. Typically, markets are closed the whole day, and any missions rank B or below are halted for the day.

Kumogakure: Whale Festival of Generosity During winter, whales can be found emigrating along the lightning country's coast line, towards the land of iron. This holiday once came to be to celebrate the whales emigration towards a more prosperous habitat to mate and provide enough food for their young - a truly generous gesture. Over the years, many kumo shinobi have forgotten the old tale behind this festival, and it has turned into more of a mere gift giving occasion. And yet, it is widely popular and celebrated throughout the whole country.

Konoha: Cherry and Plum Blossom Viewing In Konoha, Hanami is annually celebrated. It is a custom celebrating the transitionary nature of cherry and plum blossoms blooming in spring.

BONUS: Uchiha Clan Honoring one's ancestors and traditions is of high importance to the Uchiha. Every year, on a clear fall night, the whole clan gathers together to light up little candles using their katon. The tealights are arranged in the Uchiha crest and left to light up the night and the clan share the evening together eating dinner, drinking hot tea and praying at the nakano shrine.

That's all, folks!

[libraryofmoths]

Moth of the Week

Red-Belted Clearwing

Synanthedon myopaeformis

Image Source

The red-belted clearwing is a part of the family Sesiidae. It was first described in 1789 by Moritz Balthasar Borkhausen as Sphinx myopaeformis. This was later changed to Synanthedon myopaeformis. This moth is called the red-belted clearwing in Europe, the apple clearwing moth in North America, and the apple borer. This is due to their tendency to damage their host apple trees. It is considered a pest in Europe.

They may be confused with the large red-belted clearwing and the red-tipped clearwing.

Description This moth has a thin, dark blue, segmented body. The body is hairless aside from a bushy tail at the end of the abdomen. They are noticeable due to a bright red-orange band on one of the segments of the abdomen. The wings are clear with a dark outline and veins and a fringe on the outer margin (outer edge). The wings help distinguish the red-belted clearwing from the large red-belted and red-tipped clearwings as the wings have no red-orange markings.

Wingspan Range: 1.8 - 2.8 cm (≈0.71 - 1.1 in)

Diet and Habitat This species eats mainly apple, specifically Crab Apple (Malus sylvestris), as well as Pear (Pryus communis), Hawthorn (Crateagus monogyna), Almond (Prunus dulcis), Rowan (Sorbus aucuparia), apricots, cherries, mountain ash, peaches, plums, and quince. In Canada, adult moths have been attracted to the flowers of the snowy milkweed.

They can be found natively in Europe, North Africa, and Asia Minor. This species was noticed to North America and first detected in Canada in 2005. They inhabit well established orchards and gardens, hedgerows, open woodland, and mature scrub.

Mating Adults emerge from their cocoons in early summer and on flight from May to August, this is presumably their mating season. Females can lay up to 250 eggs, usually singly in the cracks or damaged areas of the trunk and branches they are hosting in. Females attract males with pheromones released from glands. A 2010 study found that 3,13-octadecadienyl acetate is the primary sex hormone.

Predators The larvae of this moth are preyed on by parasites, fungi, and bacteria. The main parasite of red-belted clearwing larvae is Liotryphan crassiseta. Other parasites are Nematodes, Steinernema sp. The fungi Beauveria bassiana and Metarhizium brunneum are common causes of death in larvae as well as the bacteria Bacillus thuringiensis.

Fun Fact

The adult red-belted clearwings are significantly less active on cold days compared to warm days.

In 2014, Judd and Eby found that S. myopaeformis does not discriminate between yellow, green and white or between purple, blue, red, and black. This suggests that they are dichromatic, meaning they can perceive mainly two colors. This affected traps set to catch this species as they acted differently depending on the light reflected.

As this species is considered a pest to apple trees, people have attempted to control the population. This has been tried with pheromone/mating disruption, pheromone laced traps, other chemical traps, the use of predators/enemies, and the covering of apple tree trunks in oil.

(Source: Wikipedia [1][2][3], Butterfly Conservation, Michigan State University)

[spuirrelwiththeletterp]

sharing crossbreeds first since I categorized some Heroes as crossbreeds and I only made like 3 Hero models

everything under cut since there's quite a lot v

Combinations Chart

Tawny Crossbreeds

Caramel, Rajah, Saffron, Taupe, Grape, Copper, Almond

Cocoa Crossbreeds

Caramel, Terra, Waffle, Indigo, Mulberry, Syrup, Pecan

Snowy Crossbreeds

Rajah, Terra, Vanilla, Glacier, Blueberry, Whipcream, Peanut

Platinum Crossbreeds

Saffron, Waffle, Vanilla, Moss, Lilac, Golden, Cashew

Cobalt Crossbreeds

Taupe, Indigo, Glacier, Moss, Night, Amaranth, Aegean

Violet Crossbreeds

Grape, Mulberry, Blueberry, Lilac, Night, Cherry, Plum

Tangy Crossbreeds

Copper, Syrup, Whipcream, Golden, Amaranth, Cherry, Hazelnut

Chestnut Crossbreeds

Almond, Pecan, Peanut, Cashew, Aegean, Plum, Hazelnut

In General (notes)

Breeding

for clarification: - parent breed = breed required to make the crossbreed - pure breed parent = monkey parent that's not a crossbreed - crossbreed parent = monkey parent that's a crossbreed - breeding 2 different pure breeds has a 32% chance of the offspring being a crossbreed - breeding a crossbreed with a pure breed has a: if bred with a parent breed: ↳ 64% chance for the offspring to be a parent breed (i.e. Caramel + Tawny = 64% chance Tawny) ↳ 4% chance for the offspring to be the other parent breed (i.e. Caramel + Tawny = 4% chance Cocoa) if bred with a non-parent breed ↳ 2% chance for the offspring to be the breed of the pure breed parent (i.e. Caramel + Snowy = 2% chance Snowy) ↳ 16% chance for the offspring to be a crossbreed between one of the crossbreed parent's parent breeds and the pure breed parent (i.e. Caramel + Snowy = 16% chance Rajah or Terra) - breeding 2 completely different crossbreeds has a: ↳ 16% chance for the offspring to be a crossbreed of its parents parent breeds (i.e. Caramel + Vanilla = 16% chance Rajah, Saffron, Terra or Waffle) ↳ 2% chance for the offspring to be one of its parents parent breeds (i.e. Caramel + Vanilla = 2% chance Tawny, Cocoa, Snowy or Platinum) - breeding 2 crossbreeds that share a parent breed has a: ↳ 32% chance for the offspring to be its parents shared parent breed (i.e. Caramel + Rajah = 32% chance Tawny) ↳ 4% chance for the offspring to be either of its parents other parent breeds (i.e. Caramel + Rajah = 4% chance Cocoa or Snowy)

Spawning

- all crossbreeds would have a small chance to spawn in monkey towns ↳ Tawny crossbreeds in plains and forest monkey towns, Cocoa crossbreeds in taiga and dark oak monkey towns, and so on - Snowy, Platinum, and Cobalt crossbreeds would have much smaller chances to spawn in other towns ↳ i.e. Whipcream, Golden and Amaranth Monkeys would have an even smaller chance to spawn in flower and cherry monkey towns than other Tangy crossbreeds ↳ but Whipcream/Golden and Amaranth Monkeys would still have the same spawn chance in snowy/jungle and bamboo monkey towns

Jobs

- all Snowy crossbreeds can have the Ice Monkey job - and all Platinum and Cobalt crossbreeds can have the Druid job ↳ which means Vanilla and Glacier Monkeys can have all monkey jobs ↳ technically Big Vanilla/Glacier monkeys can have all monkey jobs

if, more specifically when I make this mod because I 100% want/plan to, crossbreeds will definitely be a later addition

pure breeds

[dr-demi-bee]

[A knock at the door this time. Opened to reveal Doe in thick rabbit fur gloves and soft fur-lined boots, leather trousers and tunic. Her hair has grown since she last saw Gale, cascading to mid-back. In her arms, a basket of goods- home-made bread, meat pies, fruit pies of apple and cherry and plum, and several kinds of cheese.] 'I um. I thought it best to come by in person. I hope you don't mind...?'

There was a loud clamoring and thundering of steps down stairs - and a string of choice exclamations in Gale's voice before the door swung open. Gale opens the door part of the way looking a bit frazzled, but his expression warms immediately upon seeing Doe.

"Doe! What a lovely surprise!" The wizard beams. "You didn't come all this way just to see us, did you?"

He notes the basket of treats and his eyes light up.

"That's quite the spread! Did you make that for us?" Gale huffs a pleased laugh, "You shouldn't have-"

He looks about to say more, but is interrupted by a massive snout shoving it's way under his arm between the door jam and his body. The great black nose wiggles frantically as the great creature it belongs to sniffs rapidly (and none too quietly). There's a great snort of annoyance and the snout retreats before pressing in again from a different angle over his shoulder.

"Miri-" Gale grouses, scowling over his shoulder at his wife, "We've talked about this-!"

There's a loud whining and clamoring behind the wizard as he tries to hold the door shut. He back bows forward as a great fuzzy head butts against his back to push and Gale valiantly holds tight to the door and the jam. His expression doesn't suggest any surprise but rather only exasperation. Clearly, he's done this before.

Another moment of struggling and the great white beast gives a loud bark. Gale gives Doe an chagrined look.

"Apologies-" he grunts out, "She's a bit excited to make your acquaintance."

The sentiment is emphasized by two great white paws stretching past either side of Gale to claw at the ground, accompanied by high pitched whining.

The great, enormous white wolf that is Miri then sticks her face between Gale's legs, just far enough that her eyes are only just uncovered by the bottom of Gale's robe. Over Gale's shoulder Doe can just make out the raise white rump and quickly swishing tail.

Bright chartreuse eyes peer up at Doe with a startling amount of intelligence and sparkling enthusiasm. She chuffs loudly, blowing up some of the dirt and snow at the front door in front of Doe's feet.

Looking a bit embarrassed, Gale looks up at her with a sheepish smile. He clears his throat softly.

"Doe, this is my wife," he says meagerly, gesturing to her with one hand, "Miri Dekarios."

Miri barks a greeting (though it's clear she's trying not to do it too loudly.)

[frostfires-blog]

Tiān Guān Cì Fú Hanakotoba Analysis Part 1

◤━━━━━━━━━◥✿◤━━━━━━━━━◥

-> 1) Peach Blossom/Plum Blossom/Cherry Blossom

While the flowering trees featured in the donghua as well as in its opening credits, official artwork and ending credits could be plum blossoms (Prunus mume) or cherry blossoms (Prunus serrulata), they are most likely to be peach blossoms (Prunus persica). Despite the fact that they can be difficult to differentiate between at times, especially when referencing a drawing, these three blossoms do have a few distinguishing features, which are as follows. Peach blossoms have pointed petals, plum blossoms have rounded petals, and cherry blossoms have a notch at the tip of their petals. Peach blossoms produce two flowers from a single node, whilst plum blossoms produce one flower per node and cherry blossoms produce several flowers per node. Finally, while plum and cherry blossoms develop leaves after their blossoms fall, while peach blossoms seem to produce leaves concurrently with flowering. Despite these distinctions, these flowers are frequently confused with one another, resulting in a significant overlap in their symbolic meanings throughout different cultures; thus, my decision to feature them all here.

1.1) Peach Blossom

Peach blossoms are known as táohuā (桃花) in Chinese. They symbolise immortality, vitality, longevity, peace, good luck, success and prosperity in Chinese culture. Furthermore, peach tree wood was believed to protect humans from evil spirits, therefore branches were hung above doorways to drive demons away, and peach wood wands were used in exorcisms. Furthermore, its Chinese name “táohuā” has the figurative meaning of “luck in love affairs; luck in love”. Peaches are also known as senki or senka in China (meaning tree or fruit that gives power to the gods), and it has been believed since ancient times that peaches have the divine power to grant people perpetual ageing and longevity.  Peach blossoms are known as momo (桃) in Japanese. Its meanings in hanakotoba are “I am your captivator”, “invincible under heaven” and good-natured. Its symbolic meaning of "invincible under heaven" stems from the fact that peach has traditionally been used to fend off evil spirits and as a spiritual medicine for immortality. In Western floriography, peach blossoms symbolize longevity, gentleness, honour, peace, happiness and generosity. The peach blossom also has the meanings "I am your captive" and "your charms are unrivalled qualities." The peach blossom has been used as a symbol of renewal and growth in Western literature.Xie Lian’s infamous quote “Body in the abyss, heart in paradise” (MXTX, p. 6) is translated from the original “Shēn zài wú jiàn, xīn zài táo yuan” (身在无间, 心在桃源)—which can be roughly translated as “Body in Wujian, heart in Taoyuan”. The word "paradise" in his quote actually corresponds with the Chinese phrase "táo yuan" (桃源)—which is short for táohuāyuán (桃花源)—which means "peach blossom valley," and is a saying for paradise/heaven. The phrase is taken from the title of Tao Yuanming's 421 CE fable, which details a chance discovery of an ethereal paradise where its inhabitants live an ideal existence in harmony with nature for centuries, remaining oblivious of the outside world. This phrase can also refer to an idealistic place of serenity and rest, but it is also used to refer to an unrealistic fantasy. Additionally, the peach blossom’s symbolic meanings of immortality, longevity, good luck, generosity, honour, good-natured, prosperity and “invincibility under heaven” as well as its association with gods and divine power suit the attributes of the heavenly realm—which is where they are primarily seen in the series—as well as the values its officials are meant to aspire to. The tree’s symbolic meanings of “your charms are unrivalled qualities”, “luck in love”, renewal and growth greatly complement Xie Lian and Hua Cheng’s relationship. Despite having his luck sealed away and being catastrophically unlucky from then on, Xie Lian was extremely fortunate in discovering profound and enduring love. Furthermore, Xie Lian's immense generosity and compassion for people, albeit an unattainable ideal for many, was part of what drew Hua Cheng to him: "If your dream is to save the common people, then my dream, is only you" (MXTX, p. 1953). This corresponds to the peach blossom's association with dignity, serenity, charity, and "unrivalled charms". The scene in the second season's ending theme visuals during which a peach tree branch is shown enduring weather conditions throughout all four seasons is a representation of Hua Cheng's patience and dedication while searching for Xie Lian during the 800 years between the latter's second banishment and third ascension. It also parallels Xie Lian's patience and fidelity while waiting for Hua Cheng's return after the final battle.

1.2) Plum Blossom

Plum blossoms are known as méihuā (梅花) in Chinese. They hold the symbolic meanings of endurance, perseverance, vitality, inner strength, hope and thriving through adversity in Chinese culture because they are one of the hardiest flower species in the world and blossom during winter defying all the vagaries of winter weather. When their blossoms valiantly emerge during the latter weeks of winter, they are seen as a hopeful omen of spring and are treasured for their splendour during the darkest time of year. Plum blossoms thus herald the arrival of spring and signal the end of winter. Plum blossoms are also China's national flower, serving as a national symbol. Plum blossoms are associated with longevity because their blossoms remain in flower for a month. Plum blossoms can also represent those with a strong personality who are unafraid of difficulties.   In Japan, plum blossoms are known as ume (梅). Its meanings in hanakotoba include integrity, patience, elegance, loyalty and faithfulness. In Western floriography, plum blossoms symbolise keeping promises, fidelity, beauty and longevity. Plum blossoms are also associated with the end of winter and represent hope, tenacity, perseverance, courage, and beauty's capacity to overcome adversity. Furthermore, plum blossoms represent prosperity, fruitfulness, beauty, purity, and good fortune. Wild plum blossoms in particular represent independence. The intricate dynamics of Hua Cheng and Xie Lian's relationship are complemented by the symbolic meanings of hope and the onset of spring evoked by plum blossoms. After 800 years of roaming alone, Xie Lian meets Hua Cheng. Bringing a sense of fulfilment, excitement, and happiness to his life that he hadn’t felt in a long time; as he told Hua Cheng, "Only after meeting you, did I rediscover that it's such a simple thing to be happy" (MXTX, p. 1060). Plum blossoms can also represent individuals who possess strong personalities and are not intimidated by challenges, which complements Xie Lian's character well. Despite being subjected to tremendous adversity, he continues to be as unyielding and resilient as he was before his first banishment, remarking, "I might not be able to decide whether the road is easy or not, but whether I walk it is entirely up to me" (MXTX, p. 1125). The plum blossom’s symbolic meanings of integrity, patience, fidelity, perseverance, courage, beauty, independence and elegance also complement Xie Lian’s character. The plum blossom’s symbolic meaning of keeping promises greatly aligns with Hua Cheng’s character, especially when referencing his declaration to Xie Lian near the end of the novel, "There is no banquet in this world that does not come to an end...but I will never leave you. I will come back...Your Highness, believe me" (MXTX, p. 1954). True to his promise, he defies death once more to return to Xie Lian after replenishing his spiritual power for an indeterminable amount of time. Hua Cheng’s unwavering devotion to Xie Lian is a core part of his character which also ties into the plum blossom’s meanings of fidelity, loyalty and faithfulness. Hua Cheng’s favourite poem referenced in the novel—Ache of Separation by the Tang poet Yuan Zhen—is a reference to his immense devotion. The poem states “After seeing the vast sea, no water can compare; Scattered from the peak of Mount Wu, there are no other clouds… Many times I’ve passed through the flowers, yet I spare them no glance; For half my fate is in cultivation, and the other half, in you.” This poem, which is akin to Hua Cheng's feelings for Xie Lian, describes the poet's unwavering love and devotion for his late wife Wei Cong and how nothing and no one else can compare to her presence in his life. This once more relates to the plum blossom representing devotion, loyalty, and fidelity.

1.3) Cherry Blossom

The cherry blossom (Prunus serrulata) is also known as the Japanese cherry and is the unofficial national flower of Japan. Its Japanese name Sakura (桜) has been derived from the word “saku” which means “to bloom”.  Its meanings in hanakotoba are “beauty of spirit”, grace, chastity, excellent beauty, gentleness, good education and the “transience of life”. In Japan, cherry blossoms are also a symbol of the “beauty of impermanence”—a Shinto concept better known as “mono no aware” (物の哀れ) as their falling petals are a reminder that although life is short, it is beautiful and should be savoured. The Japanese concept of “natsukashii” (懐かしい) likewise emphasizes the fleeting nature of cherry blossoms. This concept refers to the happy-yet-wistful nostalgia for times and things that we will never be able to go back to. We will never get to experience those moments again, just like the ephemeral cherry blossoms, which makes them even more significant. Cherry blossoms bloom from March to April which is the start of the new fiscal year in Japan. As a result of this cherry blossoms have also come to symbolise new beginnings and springtime. Given that feudal Japanese soldiers associated cherry blossoms with honour, discipline, and dignity—falling flowers were thought to be symbolic of a Samurai's death. In Western floriography, cherry blossoms herald the changing of the seasons and symbolise renewal and rebirth. They also symbolise the fleeting nature of life, tenderness, forgiveness, strength, beauty, love, confidence, peace, friendship and gratitude.

In China, most of the Cherry blossom’s Japanese symbolic meanings are more strongly associated with plum blossoms. Cherry blossoms are known as yīnghuā (樱花) in Chinese and symbolise life, beauty, femininity, power and mysteriousness in Chinese culture. While still occasionally connected to the concepts of life and death, Cherry blossoms are more connected to the concepts of love and romance as well as beauty and femininity in Chinese culture.

Cherry blossoms are primarily associated with the transiency of life. In Xianxia novels like Tiān Guān Cì Fú, where characters can achieve immortality through cultivation, themes such as the transiency of life are not majorly relevant. However, in Tiān Guān Cì Fú, gods are powered by the faith and worship of their followers and without this faith they would fade into non-existence. These Heavenly Officials are not all-powerful but are beholden to fate like all other living things and are capable of death. It was also stated by MXTX, that Heavenly Officials banished or not, are not included in the wheel of reincarnation after death. This reaffirms that while long-lived, “when humans ascend, they are still human; when they fall, they are still human” (MXTX, p. 541). Xie Lian’s first 2 ascensions and subsequent banishments are also reminiscent of the fleeting nature of life—“He ascended to the heavens quickly, but his fall from grace was even faster” (MXTX, p. 10). At one moment he was “the crown prince who pleased the gods”, at the pinnacle of prominence and the next he was “the laughingstock of the three realms”. This ties in with the cherry blossom’s representation of the fleeting nature of life. Xie Lian’s words to Hua Cheng in chapter 31—“Those who have known each other for decades can become strangers in a day. We've met by chance, and we may part by chance. If we like each other then we shall continue to meet; if we don't, then we shall part. At the end of the day, there's no banquet in the world that doesn't come to an end, so let's go all more with the flow, and I'll say what I want to say” (MXTX, p. 267)—are also reminiscent of the fleeting nature of life.

The Cherry Blossom’s association with the “happy-yet-wistful nostalgia for times and things that we will never be able to go back to” is reminiscent of Xie Lian’s halcyon days before his first ascension as well as the friendship of the Xianle Trio before the fall of Xianle. Additionally, the cherry blossom also symbolizes strength, dignity, “beauty of spirit”, peace, forgiveness gratitude, friendship and tenderness which are all qualities that can be associated with Xie Lian. 

-> 2) Peony

“At the corner of the jade altar table sat a tiny, lonesome flower. A far-gone memory surfaced in Xie Lian’s mind, and he was momentarily stunned. It was like a dust-covered picture, but when he tried to wipe it clean, it remained blurry. Unspeaking, he frowned and loosened his grasp to pick up that flower. Hua Cheng put down his brush as well and slowly began to grind some ink. “What’s wrong?” Xie Lian smiled. “Nothing. Just…this flower’s scent is refreshing. I’ve always liked this sort.” Offerings of flowers in temples and palaces were far from rare. However, most devotees offered large, fresh bouquets of bright red or purple blossoms, or handcrafted imitation flowers that never wilted. After a pause, Xie Lian said, “Could this be the flower which Crimson Rain sought?” Hua Cheng smiled. “Gege has such godly premonitions.” (MXTX, pp. 765-766) Despite the flower Hua Cheng shielded from the blood rain after raiding Qi Rong's hideout—“…a shower of blood rain poured down from the skies. He saw a flower was getting battered by the bloody rain, so he tilted his umbrella and shielded it” (MXTX, p. 120)—earning him the alias "crimson rain sought flower”, it is never named in the novel. It is however confirmed to be the same kind of flower he always places as an offering on the altar of Xie Lian's temple. In the donghua however, it is portrayed as a white peony (Paeonia). Peonies are known as mǔdān (牡丹) in China and were regarded as China’s national flower during the Tang Dynasty (618 to 907 A.D.). In accordance with this, they symbolise prosperity, honour, wealth and beauty, love and happiness. The Chinese term for peonies means "the most beautiful” while other Chinese names for peonies are "fùguìhuā" and "huawang," which translate to "king of the flowers" and "flower of riches and honour," respectively. In Japan, peonies are called botan (牡丹) and symbolize shyness, wealth and regalness in hanakotoba. The flower's profound appearance, notably its multitudes of large petals that are thin and silk-like, is considered to be where the peony symbolising wealth and regalness originated. In Western floriography, peonies represent bashfulness and compassion. It is speculated that the reason Hua Cheng shielded the white flower to prevent it from being stained by the blood rain is because he associated the flower with Xie Lian.

-> 3) Wild Rose

The flower featured in the above panel is likely a red rose. In China, roses are known as méigui (玫瑰), and in accordance with their universal symbolism, they are strongly associated with romance, passion and love. Thanks to the Chinese monthly rose (Rosa chinensis), which blooms in almost every month of the year, creating a "spring" that never ends, roses are also associated with longevity and the perpetual spring in China. Considering that the colour red is auspicious, red roses are also thought to bring good fortune in China. In Japan, roses are called bara (薔薇) and its meaning in hanakotoba is love and beauty. Red roses in particular symbolize affection and passionate love; while rose thorns represent “happiness in misfortune”.  In Western floriography, roses symbolize love, passion, beauty, romance and secrecy. Red roses symbolize enduring passion, desire, affection and romance. A single rose is said to symbolize love at first sight. The rose flower’s symbolic meanings of enduring passion, romance, “love at first sight” and secrecy tie in well with Hua Cheng and his motivations—“My beloved is a brave, noble, and gracious special someone. He’s saved my life; I’ve looked up to him ever since I was young. But, I wanted to catch up to him more, and become an even stronger person for him. Although he might not remember me well. We never really talked. I want to protect him” (MXTX, p. 1953). The wild rose flower depicted in the opening is seen wilting as Xie Lian walks by leaving only thorns. This could be a depiction of how Xie Lian’s naïve, fragile passion from his youth has long since wilted leaving behind someone wiser who is able to find happiness in misfortune and life’s simplicities. The scene could also possibly be an allusion to how in the novel’s original character concepts Xie Lian was supposed to become a flower god in charge of flowers blooming and wilting after being banished.

◣━━━━━━━━━◢✿◣━━━━━━━━━◢

╰┈➤ Part 2 𐀔

╰┈➤ Anime Hanakotoba Posts Directory

[I had to split this post in half due to Tumblr's image/gif limit so please find part 2 on my blog. Also, I wanted to post this on the release date for S2 of the donghua but felt like the post wasn't ready yet so decided to postpone it till this week. If you liked this post, check out my other hanakotoba analysis posts... Also, if I've gotten any of the kanji, romaji, hanzi or pinyin incorrect, feel free to correct me]

[inspofromancientworld]

Flowers of Mythology - Cherry Blossom

By 京浜にけ at Japanese Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=13102978

The particular cherry blossom that appears in mythology and legend is the blossom of the ornamental cherry tree, such as Prunus serrulata, as opposed to those that are grown for their fruit. This tree appears in the wild and is native to the Northern Hemisphere, especially centered in Japan and East Asia. The trees that produce the cherry blossoms are prone to genetic mutations, which makes it complicated to classify them, though recent studies place them under the 'Cerasus' (true cherries) subgenus of flowering shrub and stone fruit bearing genus of Prunus.

The time when cherry blossoms bloom depends on their genetics and when they're planted. Because of their cultural significance, many cultivars have been developed over the course of time. The genetic variability between wild trees leads to them blooming at different times where cultivars can be grafted or grown from cuttings, leading to the ability to have large swaths of genetically identical trees planted at the same time that bloom at the same time. These cultivars are also developed to produce larger or even double flowers to enhance viewings.

By 京浜にけ at Japanese Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=13102674

Viewings of plum blossoms existed in China from antiquity, but the small size of many of the wild cherry blossoms in China led to them not being considered suitable for culturally significant viewing. In Japan, though, the wild cherry trees tended to be larger and distributed more widely. The custom of holding viewing parties is said to have begun during the Nara period (710-794) with the ume, or plum blossom tree. By the Heian period (794-1185), cherry blossoms supplanted the plum blossom so much so that 'sakura', cherry blossoms, became synonymous with 'hanami' or 'flower viewing'. that is, the whole point of flower viewing parties became to see cherry blossoms.

By Utagawa Hiroshige - Museum of Fine Arts Boston, William Sturgis Bigelow Collection https://collections.mfa.org/download/217834;jsessionid=42B4232FD10E6E81A7EB7C8DD419B5A0, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=98808403

The custom of flower viewing in Japan began with the Imperial Court and upper classes and gradually moved through the samurai class to the lower classes and common people. Tokugawa Yoshimune, the eighth shougun of the Tokugawa shogunate (ruled from 1716-1745), planted parks of cherry trees to encourage flower viewing parties.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Mihou: I don't wanna ruin our friendship! I mean a lot happened *mumbles*possession*mumbles* between us!

Plum: I mean, you don't have to treat him differently. Both of you are used to showing affection towards each other you don't need to change it.

((I imagine that peachbuds confession will just be like "You're into me" scene from the 2017 Jumanji movie. Except it's kiss to the cheek since Mihou might faint from overjoy.))

Plum just keeps finding Mihou listening to "Jenny" by Studio Killers in the dark and is like "oh dude, deja vu."

Meanwhile with the SWKs;

Shihou: "What does love feel like?" Peach, eating: "Feels like you wanna sit on the beach and eat fruit together forever." Smokey, dramatically: "That your very heart has been stolen from you and you hesistate to retrieve it." Dasheng, chuckling: "Like you would walk into Diyu just to see them smile." Ace: "Like you would die for them. Kill for them. Either way what bliss." Starfruit: "They can make you feel the best and worst things like UGH!!" *frustated loud groan* Cherry, tail curled into a heart: "Like you wanna burn heaven together while smooching." *giggles and kicks feet in air* Sugar: "When the thought of being two and us makes you smile!" Shihou, face red and determined: "I feel all those things about Mihou!!" *gets kinda sad* "But I don't think he feels the same way." All the SWKs who've seen Peachbuds interact: "Odds are; HE DOES."

Most of the LEMs overhear this convo and are like "Aww!!!"

And oh gosh the actual Peachbuds confession would be so awkward and messy. They're teenagers after all.

(The Jumanji confession scene in question)

Mihou & Shihou: *about to have a dramatic kiss moment* Ginseng, interupting: "C'mon! I dont want to see that - not today. While you two were professing your love for eachother, I found the Havoc Demon's cave."

Also the comparison to Jumanji 2017 is making me think of the "Baby I Love Your Way"/Dance Fight scene but with Mihou as Martha. He sees all his alternates as these beautiful warriors, femme fatale-esque fighters, or charismatic idols, and he's feeling like "oh... I'm just me." :(

All the other LEMs disagree full-heartedly. They think Mihou has figured things out a lot better than they did at his age. A big feelings/self-esteem talk happens where the LEMs talk about aspects of themselves they don't like/praise the "flaws" the others see in themselves.

[peachykeenman]

On scale from 1 to 42 10 how much do you like peaches?

The peach (Prunus persica) is a deciduous tree first domesticated and cultivated in Zhejiang province of Eastern China. [3] It bears edible juicy fruits with various characteristics, most called peaches and others (the glossy- skinned, non-fuzzy varieties), nectarines.

In 2018, China produced 62% of the world total of peaches and nectarines. Spain, Italy, Turkey and Greece, all situated in the Mediterranean region, are prominent producers of peaches. [8]

Peaches and nectarines are the same species, though they are regarded commercially as different fruits. The skin of nectarines lacks the fuzz (fruit-skin trichomes) that peach skin has; a mutation in a single gene (MYB25) is thought to be responsible for the difference between the two. [6][7]

Prunus persica trees grow up to 7 m (23 ft) tall and wide, but when pruned properly, they are usually 3-4 m (10-13 ft) tall and wide. [9] The leaves are lanceolate, 7-16 cm (3-6/2 in) long, 2-3 cm (3/4-1/4 in) broad, and pinnately veined. The flowers are produced in early spring before the leaves; they are solitary or paired, 2.5-3 cm diameter, pink, with five petals. The fruit has yellow or whitish flesh, a delicate aroma, and a skin that is either velvety (peaches) or smooth (nectarines) in different cultivars. The flesh is very delicate and easily bruised in some cultivars, but is fairly firm in some commercial varieties, especially when green. The single, large seed is red-brown, oval shaped, around 1.3-2 cm long, and surrounded by a wood-like husk. Peaches, along with cherries, plums, and apricots, are stone fruits (drupes). The various heirloom varieties including the 'Indian Peach', or 'Indian Blood Peach, which ripens in the latter part of the summer, and can have color ranging from red and white, to purple. [10]

Cultivated peaches are divided into clingstones and freestones, depending on whether the flesh sticks to the stone or not; both can have either white or yellow flesh. Peaches with white flesh typically are very sweet with little acidity, while yellow-fleshed peaches typically have an acidic tang coupled with sweetness, though this also varies greatly. Both colors often have some red on their skins. Low-

*keeps ranting*

[desertdollranch]

It has become an annual tradition for me to help Antonia put together her farmer's market booth, where she sells all of the fruits, vegetables, and homemade goods that her family's community farm has produced over the past year. Every year, the harvest brings more and more goods. But this autumn, she has outgrown the farmer's market, and is now selling at a roadside stand!

Antonia is ten years old in 1978, when she is inspired by the American Indian Movement to help establish a community farm on land her family owns. It's been a huge success. It has strengthened bonds between friends and neighbors as they all care for each other and make sure that nobody goes hungry.

Whatever is left over after everyone is fed, is then sold at the roadside stand. Antonia is also supplementing with a few special handmade extras that help bring in a little more money. The money will help pay for everything needed to help Snow Mountain Farm grow bigger and better.

Antonia is so proud of what the fields and orchards have grown.

Just look at the size of some of these pumpkins!

Under the cut, Antonia will give you an up-close look at what she's selling....

Everything seen here was either made by me, harvested from the wild, or purchased. (See if you can guess which ones were handmade/bought/gathered!)

The gourd and squash harvest was abundant this year. Antonia managed to coax the garden into producing a few giant pumpkins.

Lots of other fruits thrived as well!

Pears are new this year.

Beautiful pink plums are also new.

Apples are a returning favorite. There are three varieties this year: sweet yellow apples, tart green apples, and a red striped variety that has its own unique flavor.

In the front row are apples, plums, chiles, and pears. On the shelf there are fresh flowers and packaged seeds, various fruit jams, honey, apple cider, dried ground herbs, potted herb seedlings, packaged seeds, and bottles of apple cider.

Up on the shelf there are several varieties of jam: rose petal, peach, grape, prickly pear, and strawberry. Next to them is honey that the farm's bees made from the local wildflowers. The apple cider is made from apples grown in the farm's orchard.

One particular farmer is very gifted in the art of raising flowers. Here you can buy fresh cut flowers, or seedlings for your own garden.

Fruit and vegetable seedlings or seeds are also for sale.

On the checkout counter, Antonia is selling popcorn and apple cider donuts. Directly below the donuts are cartons of eggs, which include white, brown, and speckled eggs.

Below the checkout counter is the small shelf offering some smaller items. In the plastic bags are freshly made tamales, which are like dumplings of meat, veggies, beans, or cheese mixed with a corn dough and steamed inside corn husks. To the right are two wheels of goat's milk cheese. In the middle are skeins of yarn dyed with natural sources, like prickly pear fruits and cabbage leaves. Next to those are bars of soap, in sagebrush or rose petal scent. And on the right end of the shelf are bagged pine nuts, gathered from the wild.

Below that is more produce! On the left, colored corn. In the crates there are potatoes, cherries, strawberries, tomatoes, peaches, and cauliflower.

Antonia is especially proud of the fancy colored corn she has grown. It's fun to open the ears and see what colors the kernels are!

Next to that are giant sunflowers. Above that are the pretty gourds and squashes.

On the bench are some lovely watermelons. And surrounding those are even more pumpkins and squash!

These, too, emerged in all sorts of different colors and shapes. Antonia lets the different varieties cross pollinate, so that the appearances of the resulting pumpkins are a surprise.

Thanks for stopping by! Here, take a sunflower home with you!

[kingofthe-egirls]

STOWAWAY: LUFFY x HIYORI

(cw: you are still the narrator, wano spoilers, hiyori gets sick from motion sickness, food/eating)

Songs: “Leader Of A New Regime” by Lorde

words: 1.4k

****

Luffy sits across from you, his legs spread and dangling from the wooden crate he’s straddling. He’s appraising you, his eyes hazy and his soft lips parted. He’s staring at your frame shamelessly. His crew is somewhere above deck, far away from this smuggled-into, tiny space.

Mugiwara no Luffy.

He’s sliding his strawberry tongue across his lower lip. A small, raspy breath leaves him as he kicks a sandaled heel against the wooden crate. He swings his leg, the dark hair shadowing his calf muscles.

“What’s your name, stowaway?”

He asks you, plainly.

His black coat sits heavy around his shoulders, his red cardigan left open over soft, strengthened abs. You shift, in the barrel he’d seen you pop out of after he’d spied you in this closet space. You lick your lips, switching between the lies in your mind you’ve studied like prayers.

“Hiyori.”

It’s your true name,

the one your father

gave you.

He smirks, pleased. “Nice to meetcha, Hiyori!” He says your name plainly, with an accent so different from your own dialect. He says it like—Hee-ya-or-ee—as he sounds it out. He seems to like its taste.

“Same,” you murmur.

He squats on the crate, his sandals firmly planted with his heels flat on the wood. You scratch the back of your neck, behind your satin collar.

“So, whatcha stowin’ away for?” He tilts his head, steady in balance even as the ship tips in rapid waves. Your own stomach is seasick, sweat beading cold along your face.

You swipe away the moisture on your soft upper lip. ��Escaped,” You whisper, throat scratchy. You haven’t had fresh water in several days.

His expression scrunches, as he stares at you with a crooked head.

“Saw your wanted poster—in the News Coo,” You say, stepping out of the barrel on shaky feet. You’re wearing plum, pleated pants that billow out before tucking in at your ankles. Your kimono is a matching plum satin that’s embroidered with cream-silk cherry blossoms. Your wooden sandals clack on the storage room’s floor. You reach out to steady yourself on a nearby crate. “Sick—,” You warn, heavy-headed, before swallowing down the bile in your throat.

Strawhat Luffy suddenly hops down from his perch, his face stricken as he closes the short distance between you. His hands are warm and soothing as they cradle your face. “Hey…,” He whispers, worried, “Are you okay?”

You shake your head.

Your stomach churns.

Luffy sees you turn to wretch into the barrel you’d just been stowing away inside. It smells vile.

“Sorry…,” you rasp, swiping the back of your hand across your mouth.

Luffy is silent, before grabbing your hand and leading you upstairs.

****

It’s four days, before you’re allowed to leave the infirmary bed.

Sanji—chef with an even stranger accent than Luffy’s—is sitting next to you, spoon feeding you ginger soda.

“Slow sips,” he’s saying, his voice gentle and quiet. His flaxen hair is sifting over one eye.

“S’okay…,” You say, reaching for the bottle yourself. You’re sick of feeling sick. “I can drink the rest myself.”

Sanji scowls, but he hands you the green-glass bottle. You sip from it, gently. Eventually, your stomach settles.

“So…are you looking to join our crew?” He sits back in his chair, splayed out legs strong and lithe beneath his black slacks. The style is so strange here. So varied.

Searching the ceiling for answers, you suck your teeth as you decide what to say next. The spiderweb in the rafter isn’t helping you much at all.

“Sort of…,” you say, drawling out the words as slowly as syrup. They taste strange on your tongue, too.

“Is someone after you?”

You shake your head.

Sanji stares at you, his eyes burning hot coals into the side of your face.

You study the floor.

“So, what is it you want, Hiyori?”

You stare at the floorboards, your eyes focusing in on the glossy wood. There’s an acorn-shaped spot of knotted wood. It doesn’t help keep your head from spinning, and your saliva still tastes like ginger.

You sip the soda, and

speak:

“Freedom.”

****

So now you’re straddling the neck of the Going Merry’s goathead. Your hands steady yourself as you spill your stories to Strawhat Luffy.

He’s scrunching his eyebrows at you: drawn dark and serious over brown, sunlit eyes. He’s silently listening.

“…and I just wouldn’t. He said I had to, so I left. Escaped. Swam in a barrel until I somehow found my way to your ship. I need ya,” you sigh, swiping your hand across your face as you slurp up the sweet juice of the plums he’s feeding you.

“Need me?”

You nod, sinking your teeth into the plum’s scarlet flesh.

“Aren’t ya supposed to be the best, most dangerous pirate in the seas? News Coo says so much shit about ya,” You swallow, squishing the stone fruit between your forefinger and thumb. You steal another bite. “So you’re the person I want to have help me…find something. M’not sure what it is yet,” you sigh, seeing him perk up at your words. You stare at the plum’s stone heart. You scratch it with your thumbnail as you speak. “It’s silly, but…i have ambitions, y’know?”

“Dreams?”

Strawhat Luffy finishes your sentence. He regards you with softness: curious and honest.

You nod.

“What are your dreams, Hiyori?” He asks, sparkles in his eyes shot gold from the sun. He grins, radiant.

Fuck.

“Um…,” You stare at the side of the ship, at the sea’s choppy waves. The boat rocks still, but ginger and plums have settled your stomach—somewhat. You scrunch your nose. “I’m not sure…of the specifics. Yet. It’s something—with dreams. And…stars. And moonlight. But that’s it,” You say as you shake your head. Your thoughts are so scattered—so symbolic.

“It’s a song.”

Strawhat Luffy tilts his head. “A song?” He seems curious, intelligent. Interested. Chewing your lip, you respond.

“Yeah…a song. Something so—beautiful, that. Everyone else will listen to it and…say that they’re in love with me,” you trail off, swallowing the last of your plum piece.

Luffy scratches his head.

“Sounds like ya just kinda want someone to fall in love with ya,” he snickers. He sees your maddening blush and stops in his tracks. “S-sorry! I wasn’t meaning to be rude—,”

“No, it’s alright,” you snicker, scrunching your nose as you shrug in defeat. “That’s a way more honest way of saying it.”

“So,” he touches your knee, leaning in like he’s whispering you a secret, “What is it you actually dream about?”

“Sex,” you whisper, sedated by his chestnut eyes and sweet stone fruits.

“Sex?” He asks, tilting his head in earnest curiosity. You nod, far too risky with your own honesty.

“Sex is something I’ve dreamed about for a really, really long time. It’s something I really wanna start having, so that I know what it is and if it’s something I wanna keep doing. Y’know? So…for sex to start happening, I need…someone in my life. Who sees me. And…”

Here is where you turn sheepish.

“…falls in love with me.”

Silence.

Luffy is staring at you, his eyes tracing your features like he’s an artist studying a painting. His breath is sweet, as he speaks in whispers, “Is…sex something you need, from me?” He asks it curiously, appreciatively, as if he’s admiring you for saying such a secret thing.

You swallow.

“So…yeah,” you admit, fearsome blush staining your cheeks rosy. He smiles as you fidget with your fingers in your lap. They’re still sticky from the shared plums.

“Is that why ya liked my wanted poster?” He grins, all teeth.

You nod.

“Shishishi!” He snickers, hand on the back of his head to keep his sunny hat in place. He rocks back and forth, pleased. “Seriously?” He asks, wide grin only getting wider. He shrugs, delighted. “Me?”

You nod, sober as the sea breeze blows wispy turquoise hairs across your face. Your voice is steady.

“You.”

He smiles even wider now, as he slaps the back of his hand against your kneecap. He stands, letting out a satisfied grunt. “Welp!” He says as he helps you stand up, “We’d better get started,” he supports your elbow as he helps you stumble down from the Merry’s sheephead.

“Started on what?” You ask, flushed and rosy from the brief physical contact. He stares at you like he’s confused as to why you’re not getting it yet.

“Falling in love, duh!”

****