#I AM SO INCREDIBLY OPEN TO THE FACT THAT I MAY BE WRONG ABOUT EROS PHILIA AND AGAPE. I LEARNED THIS SHIT ON A CHURCH CAMP TRIP WHEN I WAS 11 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kpopfanfictrash · 7 years ago

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Eros (I)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Seokjin

Rating: PG

Genre: Fantasy, Mythology!AU / Royalty!AU

Word Count: 9,958

Summary: In the futuristic world of Europa, Queen Venetia rules her land an iron fist. None are more feared than the Akeran, an alien race Earth fought eons ago, who bear a remarkable similarity to the angels of lore. When you find yourself at odds with the Queen, it seems that there’s no safe place on Earth for you to run. Nowhere but your mysterious rescuer, and even he may be more trouble than he’s worth.

[ A re-telling of the Greek myth of Psyche and Eros ]

[Prologue]

“Y/N, wake up.”

You hear, rather than see your blinds being pulled away from the windows. Feeling the sun too bright upon your eyelids, you let out a groan and bury your head in the pillows.

A tried, male voice lets out a sigh. Silence follows, save for the quiet – yet menacing – sound of his foot, tapping against the wood. You ignore him, almost drift back to sleep when your room abruptly fills with noise. From deep beneath your pillow mountain come the sounds of the world’s headlines.

“TWO HOUR DELAY ON THE TRANSATLANTIC DUE TO OVERBOOKED BULLETS…”

“RUMORS OF THE CONGICAN GOVERNMENT SUPPLYING EUROPAN REBELS WITH WEAPONS…”

“EUROPA DOLLAR DROPS COMPARED TO CHINESE YEN…”

Taehyung, your assistant, exhales while clicking the channels. “Boring, boring, boring.”

Though you’re not looking, you can see him in your mind – both arms likely crossed, eyes wide behind tortoiseshell frames while impatiently flicking his iComm at the screen. Taehyung – stubborn, brusque, not afraid to tell you how he feels. One of the main reasons you chose him as your assistant.

A reason which seems stupid, when Taehyung abruptly yanks the comforter off your bed.

“Hey,” you gasp, feet exposed to bitter cold – you draw these quickly upwards, like your bony body frame could ever suffice for a blanket. “A little warning,” you groan, burying your head further.

“The first warning was your blinds,” Taehyung cheerfully explains. “The second warning was the screen. This is actually the third warning and if you don’t get up now – a bucket of ice water is next.”

He sounds just threatening enough to make real of the promise, so you crack open one eye. “I’m up,” you grumble, rolling sideways. “I’m up. No need to waste good water on me.”

Plastering a huge grin on your face, you slide out of bed and head into your bathroom. Turning on the water, you begin to brush your teeth with large, exaggerated movements – as though to prove how awake you are. You’re rewarded by the sound of Taehyung’s laughter, loud from the next room. As he walks away, you see him already re-absorbed in his iComm – probably lining up the rest of your day’s schedule.

Taehyung always has a million things to think about, a million things to do because you’re currently the most popular movie star on the planet. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you switch the angle of your toothbrush and touch your iComm to the surface. News leaps from the device to your reflection, as you flick past the stories. Dropping Europan dollars, the movements of Congican rebels – seeing this, you pause, reading the word Akeron.

The Akeron. An alien race, one that’s been of great fascination to you. For many years, there have been peace between your people – but it wasn’t long ago, a furious war raged between the two worlds.

Today’s story is an interview, given by an Akeron historian insisting the alien race is set to invade Earth through your iComms. iComms – short for individual Communication device, one of which, you hold in your hand now. Setting your toothbrush back in the holder, you begin to brush your hair while the clip continues to play.

REPORTER: “Dr. Simms, why do you think the Akeron are still a threat to Earth?”

DR. SIMMS: “I think the better question is, why do some people think they’re not? This may seem shocking, but there are people out there who want to befriend the Akeron. It’s the nature of time, isn’t it? As the years pass, we become accustomed to peace. We start to think, ‘Oh, maybe we were wrong. Maybe the entire war was fought over a misunderstanding. Maybe the two of our species can coexist,’ but these people are wrong. If you didn’t see the war firsthand – if you didn’t see the destruction it brought, it’s easy to forget.”

The historian speaking a twitchy man – each sentence is punctuated by him slapping the armrest of his chair, shifting uncomfortably when he does. In between words, he twirls his pen with long, bony fingers. While the reporter continues to respond, you read the brief history of Earth and Akera scrolling across the page.

SCRIPT: EARTH BEGAN EXPLORING SPACE IN THE EARLY 2050’S, AN ATTEMPT TO FIND A PLANET WHICH COULD HOLD THE SOLUTION TO EARTH’S GROWING CLIMATE PROBLEM. IN 2106, HUMANS LANDED ON AR-VII, AN INHABITABLE MOON IN THE NIVIRE GALAXY. A COLONY WAS ESTABLISHED IN 2110 AND IN 2112, EXPLORERS DISCOVERED WHAT APPEARED TO BE AN UNINHABITED TRADING POST ON THE FAR SIDE OF AR-IIV. THE AKERON PEOPLE (PLANET XII754) REVEALED THEMSELVES TO EARTH IN 2115 AND FOR THE NEXT THIRTY YEARS, EARTH AND AKERA CO-EXISTED PEACEFULLY. BETWEEN 2115 AND 2140, HUMANS REPEATEDLY ATTEMPTED TO EXTEND THE COLONY BEYOND THE EXISTING BOUNDARIES. EACH ATTEMPT TO DO SO RESULTED IN A LOSS OF MOMENTUM, AND THE HUMANS PULLED BACK AFTER A FEW MONTHS ON THEIR OWN ACCORD. EARTH-BOUND HUMANS BECAME SUSPICIOUS OF THE PATTERN AND INVESTIGATED THE INCIDENT IN THE YEAR 2145. THEIR LEARNINGS SHOWED THE AKERAN POSSESSED A DANGEROUS POWER – PERSUASION; WHEREIN THEY CAN MANIPULATE HUMAN EMOTION FOR THEIR OWN, PERSONAL GAIN. WAR ERUPTED OVER THE DISCOVERY 2150, ONCE TENSIONS ESCALATED BEYOND CONTROL. THUS, BEGAN THE FIRST WORLDS WAR. HEAVY CASUALTIES RESULTED ON BOTH SIDES, WITH OTHER GALAXIES EVENTUALLY INTERVENING TO SAVE BOTH CIVILIZATIONS FROM EXTINCTION. LINES OF PEACE WERE DRAWN, AND UNEASY PEACE WAS BROKERED BETWEEN AKERA AND EARTH. EARTH DECLARED ITSELF A NON-HABITABLE ZONE FOR THE AKERAN PEOPLE. MOST LEFT EARTH IMMEDIATELY – THE FEW WHO REMAINED WERE IMPRISONED, AFTER A FAILED COUP-D’ETAT BY THEIR POPULATION. AS OF TODAY, THERE ARE NO AKERAN LEFT ON THE EARTH’S SURFACE.

You stop pretending to brush your hair, reading the words flashing across the bottom of the screen. Your interest in the Akeron is a closely guarded secret. One you’ve never dared tell for fear you’ll be considered crazy – or worse, branded a traitor.

With snowy wings, midnight hair and violet eyes, the Akeron look just like angels. Likely, they were the angels of old religion – there are several historians who’ve validated the Akeron presence on Earth for several millennia back. It was the Akeron, who first gave fire. The Akeron, who built the pyramids and invented the wheel. Each inexplicable, unexplainable event of human history: it can be explained by the Akeron.

Physically, the Akeron are beautiful. You’ve never seen one in person to verify this fact – only in propaganda, or through the screen of your iComm. Though the messages beneath their photos are usually terrifying, you can’t help but linger on their beauty. Hair silken as night, skin smooth as ivory but most incredible of all are their wings. Wings, stemming from their backs to brush the sky.

It’s small wonder, humans used to think them angels. The Akeron are oddly humanoid, if you look beyond their wings and their eyes. If it weren’t for those two features, they could easily pass for Earthlings. It’s the eyes, though. Eyes the color of violets and sunrise; on your iComm, the photos of Akeron always seem to be staring at you. Scientists explain that they don’t blink due to a heavy, purple-hued shield covering their retinas, the purpose of which blocks out foreign particles during flight.

Still, it looks freaky in photos. You blink looking at the photo – it breaks your staring contest in the mirror and you look awkwardly away.

“So, it’s a pr-etty busy day,” Taehyung admits, sauntering back into the room. Whenever Taehyung admits to something being busy, it means it’s probably unbearable. “At 9:00 am, there’s a promotional talk about the Fresh Water campaign,” he continues, munching on an apple he’s pulled from god knows where.

Your gaze moves to his in the mirror. “The what?”

“There’s a lack of Fresh Water,” Taehyung explains, waving a hand. “Company X is going to solve all that. You support Company X – Company X gives Y/N and Taehyung money in return.”

“Got it,” you mutter, turning away. Promotional appearances are just part of the job.

“From 10:00-10:45, there are touch-ups for that United Nations spot. You know, the one with the flag...?” Taehyung trails off, looking as though he’s trying not to laugh.

“And the crown?” you groan, nodding glumly. “Yep. Great.”

Just add this to the list of awful photoshoots, honestly. The UN shoot was for national pride or something, you faintly recall the messaging while getting your hair pinned into place. It was implied the Queen herself asked that you do it – though you highly doubt this to be true. The Queen has far better things to do than concern herself with you, a movie star.

Taehyung continues talking, reciting a fifteen-minute break for lunch, a couple of limo rides and one meet and greet with fans. You tune all of this out, allowing your mind to wander away.

“Are you listening to me?” Taehyung suddenly interrupts, one hand on his hip. “What if I walked out now, let you get dressed by yourself? You’d probably wear something awful, like chartreuse. Oh,” he blurts suddenly, a thought occurring to him. “Chartreuse.”

“Veto,” you respond, wrinkling your nose. “And I am listening,” you sigh, even though you weren’t.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, not believing for a second. “Well, you’re going to want to listen to this, since tonight is HUGE.”

Everything is huge to Taehyung. The sentiment is a foreign one since all concept of magnitude and scale for you have long since worn off.

“At 17:00,” Taehyung begins, voice dropping, “you’re doing a news panel… with Queen Venetia!”

Your gaze snaps up, make-up brush slipping to clatter uselessly against the counter. “Is this…” you pause, dazedly shaking your head. “Is this what shock feels like?”

Taehyung laughs. “Get used to it, emotionless girl. You’ll be in her presence in a mere ten hours.”

More than a little shaken, you look at yourself in the mirror. The Queen – tonight you’ll be meeting the Queen and suddenly, everything about you seems wrong. Your hair is flat. Your bangs are long and childish. Your usually dewy skin is dull, grey with the lackluster aura of no sleep and coffee. You tug on your bangs expectantly, as though the motion might cause them to shrink.

“Stop psyching yourself out,” Taehyung calls out as he leaves.

Sticking your tongue out in the mirror, you grab your makeup brush to pick up where you left off. You’ve never met the Queen before, Venetia is older, nearly fifty in Earthen years. She was just twenty-five when she found the throne, when the people crowned her Queen of Europa. This was at the end of the first Worlds War.

Queen Venetia is beautiful, as most things in Europa are. With auburn hair and deep brown eyes, her face is all sharp angles. Rumor has it Venetia is single-minded to the point of ruthlessness, but you prefer to think of her as ambitious. Powerful women are always feared for this fact. For all her potential faults, Venetia united your country. Long ago, Europa was a pitiful coalition of nations trapped by small-mindedness and petty desires. China laughed at you in the distance, growing its economy while you struggled with basic policy.

Being divided was a weakness, one which allowed the Akeron to easy manipulate. During the first Worlds War, Venetia was the leader of an anti-Akeron political faction. Her group gained traction by supplying Earthen troops with both military and money and most historians cite Venetia as the tipping point in the war, due to their funding leading to the creation of the Block. The Block is a (not very creatively-named, admittedly) device able to block the Akeron from manipulating waves of human thought.

The Block forced the Akeron to fight you physically, without their powers – and once this happened, they started to lose. Despite their superior strength and wings, the Akeron are a largely peaceful nation. They aren’t used to altercation and were woefully unprepared for the type of guerrilla warfare Earth instilled. This was one of the main reasons Akera decided to make peace with Earth.

This peace wounded their pride, though, which is why many here on Earth still view the Akeron as a threat. Queen Venetia does – she’s constantly speaking on the dangers of complacency. Peace isn’t bulletproof, she likes to say. In fact, the real dangers posed by the Akeron at the end of the war were so great, it led to Venetia being elected Premier General of Europa.

When Europa consolidated, it became clear that a monarchy was the best system of governance and Venetia became Queen, putting into place a large board of advisers. One adviser exists from each state in the nation, though they hold no real power beyond a certain, antiquated influence. It’s hard for any, one, voice to be heard today. It’s a problem which stems from Europa being divided into so many political factions, making it hard for any one faction to gain enough influence to be heard.

Of course, no one dares say these things out loud. Fiddling with a bobby pin, you stare nervously at yourself in the mirror. Venetia has done a lot for your people, as well as for Europa. She’s a competent Queen, one who’s enabled Europa to hold your own against the remaining global powers.

This is what you tell yourself when you resume brushing your hair, pushing all uncertainty to the back of your mind.

“If you’re not ready to go in five minutes,” Taehyung calls out, bored. “I’m going to take a picture of your messy bedroom and post it online.”

Hurriedly twisting your hair up in a knot, you leave your bangs low for the time being. Both hair and make-up will be touched up at the promo shoot, anyways. While slipping on a pair of printed pants, you hop zipping up a tan, leather top and black ankle boots. With two seconds to spare you walk out of your bathroom, just as Taehyung is entering with his camera app in one hand.

“Oh, good,” he grins, turning this off. “I was afraid you’d make me break my confidentiality agreement.” Taehyung pauses to evaluate you briefly, clinically. “Are you even wearing make-up?”

Shrugging, you shake your head no and wonder if Taehyung will tell you to go back inside. It’s always a toss-up, which he values more – your face in the public eye or your schedule.

“God,” Taehyung groans, turning. “It’s unfair that your face looks like that. Go downstairs and get into the car – the sight of you is making me sick.”

Giggling, you duck past him to head out in the hall. While walking towards the front doors, you glance sideways in the mirrors and try to see what Taehyung does. You tend not to examine your physical appearance too often, since it’s all anyone else seems to notice.

Objectively, you know you’re pretty. Your proportions are even, bone structure delicate and your eyes are a sparkling shade – dark at the edges, before giving way to a lighter center. Your eyebrows were once labeled out of control, but constant styling and tweezing has made them a, ‘defining feature.’

It’s nearly impossible to see yourself as others see. In your mind, you feel your beauty is too much. It’s like looking at the sun when all you really wanted was a candle. In theory, boys and men all want you but, they tend to go for something less threatening. Even other male actors and models won’t touch you. Every night, a different girl or boy is brought back to their bed, but never you. You’re on another level to them, a woman on a pedestal.

Turning away from your reflection, you decide to stop looking. It’s best not to look, before your reflection shows the bitterness of your thoughts.

The iCar is waiting when you step out the front door of the hotel and, fighting the usual barrage of hover-cams and photogs, you and Taehyung slip into the backseat.

“Fuck,” Taehyung mutters, glancing outside. “Those hover-cams need more restrictions, I tell you. It’s perfectly indecent, the way they pop up out of nowhere. You could’ve been naked or doing something compromising.”

“The most compromising thing I’ve ever done, was when I compromised to give up desserts but not salty foods,” you return, arching a brow.

Taehyung sighs, mock-serious. “Now, imagine a camera had been there for that.”

Despite yourself, you smile. Taehyung can be annoying sometimes, but when it comes down to it, he’s the closest thing you have to a friend.

“Front station,” Taehyung intones at the car.

An automated voice indicates affirmation and you pull away smoothly from the curb. Watching the city flicker by, you stare out the shape of your window. The two of you landed late last night, meaning it was too dark to see anything on the drive in. The city today is shrouded in fog, like most places are. Every so often, a sleek black building emerges, only to melt away quick in the sheer wisps of grey.

You think about this often, the fact that most of your life is spent in pieces. A bit of street here, the edge of a lamppost there. Most people only see what’s in front of then – wherever your eyes happen to be looking, at that moment. You’re trained to see only part of a picture, to assume the whole based off those parts. It means limited perception isn’t the fault of mankind, but perhaps your insistence on full perception is.

While the scenery slips by, grey and black are blurred by a stream of cars passing on either side. All too soon, you feel the vehicle slow – pulling off the main highway to approach a large, steel gate. Entering the building, Taehyung rolls down his window to punch in a code on a pad which wasn’t there a second ago. The doors shudder open and you continue, deep into the clear stretch of tunnel. The doors slide shut behind you and you blink, at the sudden flood of light. High-def strips blare to life on either side and when you finally reach the end of the tunnel, your car neatly parks along the side of the landing pad.

“Thanks, machine,” Taehyung says cheerfully, patting the front console before exiting, gesturing that you do the same.

You exit as well, sans the patting.

Entering the building to walk down through the hall, you pass frosted doors which are impossible to see beyond. A seemingly non-descript one is your destination, coming to a stop midway down while Taehyung knocks. A flurry of excitement results at your entrance, your arm immediately grabbed and yanked sideways to sit down at a dressing table. Coughing weakly, your eyes water at the wave of perfumes and hairspray, watching while your hair is brushed and combed, neatly styled in place. Your eyes are lined in kohl, lips plumped and glossed to perfection. By the time the artists are done, you barely recognize your own reflection, which honestly suits you just fine.

Your clothes are declared edgy and boho-chic – whatever that means. At least it means you get to wear your own items. While they’re pulling and prodding your body, you read through the speech you’re supposed to give at the event. It’s lengthy, boring and makes you sound like a complete idiot. You think this is probably a bad thing, the fact that you don’t care.

The moment you think this, you wince. You don’t mean to sound ungrateful. You know in theory, you have a good life. You’re wealthy, famous, considered incredibly beautiful by many. You’re beloved by the public, without any physical hardships to speak of. It’s hard not to notice the gaps though, the holes in your life which exist around facts. You’ve never had a friend, nor even a boyfriend. Your parents died tragically when you were young, though the tragedy has somewhat escaped you, because it was so long ago, you can barely remember them anyway. There’s a hole in your life, where attachment should be and sometimes you wonder what the point is, without the quintessential kinds of relationships the world seems to love. Ironic, that the world’s interest in you has led to your disinterest in the world.

Once your skin is considered flawless and your eyes inhumanely perfect, you’re led aside to a small, white waiting room. The furniture, the walls are all blank and you quietly pass the time alone with yourself. Perched on the edge of the couch, you recite your speech in a voice no louder than a whisper.

Water, the most important substance on Earth…

The rest of the day passes in the usual blur of lights, applause and handshakes. The meet and greet is your favorite part of the day, like usual. You love meeting the children and making them smile. Less fun are the older men you’re forced to hug, pretending not to notice when they try and cop a feel. Worse still, are the men your own age. The ones you don’t know how to converse with, nor they to converse with you. Give you a script and you’ll dissolve into character within seconds, filled to the brim with quippy retorts, snappy comebacks and romantic banter. But place you, the real you, in the middle of a room full of men, and you get something like this:

“Hi.”

Unidentified male looks around, unsure if you’re talking to him. “Uh, hi.”

Long pause.

“So,” you cough, shifting your weight. “Did you travel far today?”

Refusing to make eye contact with you, a bead of sweat rolls down Average Guy’s perfectly cute forehead. “Kind of, yeah.”

“Travel can be fun.” Travel can be fun? Why would you say that? “I do it a lot,” you inform, wondering why speaking is so hard.

“Yeah, for sure.”

This is usually the point where either A) the guy looks around in panic, or B) where he steels himself suddenly to look you in the eyes. Either way, the result which follows is rarely positive.

“…”

Silence, just silence. This is usually the end of things because the guy will inadvertently look stricken – unable to believe you look like this in person, as though he thought every photo, each video and broadcast was a trick. Some sleight of hand which made you invincible. After they look at you, there’s typically only one of two options. Most lapse into stunned silence, going through the motions of a handshake or hug with you – maybe a photo before they’re pulled slowly away by your guards. The rest adopt a sleazy bravado, as though trying to prove you don’t affect them. Today was no less than six of these jerks and when the event is finally over, Taehyung shakes his head from side to side.

“I don’t know how you put up with those people,” he mutters softly.

“They’re not all bad,” you sigh, thinking about your last guest. A little girl, no older than three who hugged you and said, “beau-thi-ful,” through the brunt of her lisp.

“You must be a saint,” Taehyung laughs, scrolling through his iComm. “Actually – from the way the people worship the ground you walk on, you might as well be.”

When he says this, you look down uncomfortably. By now, it’s hard not to believe in a higher power. Your life has held too much cruel irony, for someone not to be pulling the strings. Only some omnipotent, slightly sadistic other being could take someone as shy and introverted as you and give you the face that you have.

Upon entering your second iCar of the day, the two of you are swept away to an unknown location. Taehyung is too absorbed in his iComm to explain, flicking past messages with the touch of expert fingers.

“Oh, look – the prints from the touch-up are done,” he announces, turning his device around to look. Taehyung manages to keep a straight face as he does, which means that the moment you see them, you nearly spit out your drink from laughing.

“Oh, dear god,” you laugh, grabbing the iComm. “These are absolutely terrible.”

Taehyung starts to laugh, openly cackling while you flip through his iComm. A few weeks back, you did this photoshoot for the UN for World Unity month. The theme of the shoot was national pride, with a spokesperson from every nation chosen to take part in an interview and photo shoot. You were chosen for Europa, which came as a huge surprise. Typically, Venetia is the one who’s asked to do such things.

‘The Darling of Nations,’ reads the caption and while scanning the article, you’re surprised to find you sound rather intelligent. Your interviewer was impressed with your knowledge of current events, and the chat gradually drifted from a teen, fluff piece into something more.

The photoshoot, though. The photoshoot is comical, at best. Europa is a nation of monarchies and as such, they thought it’d be brilliant to dress you up in a crown – one so loaded with diamonds, your head still aches from the thought. Just a crown, though – nothing else, beyond the national flag. Said flag is draped provocatively across your frame, shadowing all the right place to provoke desire and not much else. It’s an interesting contrast to the content of your article, that’s for sure. The piece below it isn’t nearly so scandalous.

“I mean, I get that they’re trying to promote international unity,” responds Taehyung, tapping the frame. “But maybe they’re trying to promote other unity, as well…?” He raises both eyebrows suggestively, while you promptly sock his arm.

“I have no control over what they do or don’t make me wear, dickwad,” you grin, flipping your hair before looking outside the window. Taehyung continues to laugh on the seat beside you, while you mostly ignore him. Despite this, you’re in a remarkably good mood arriving at the Sveen Hotel.

No less than ten guards scurry outside to greet you, surrounding your car to open the frame of your door. “Looks like a storm brewing, Ma’am,” one nods, holding out an umbrella. “Best be getting inside.”

When he says this, you look up to see that yes, it is dark but then, this also isn’t unusual. When the skies aren’t covered with man-made smog, they’re enclosed by disasters of the Earth’s creation. Weather hasn’t been stable in nearly fifty years; that teetering balance of climate change tipped long ago.

The umbrella is opened over your head, lest your perfect curls and makeup be ruined, and you allow yourself to be herded, hustled inside while the skies open above you. Rain slams to the pavement, bouncing at your ankles when you enter the building. In the ensuing silence of the doors, you pause, shaking water free from your shoes. Tall, black beams rise from the floor, interwoven before you to meet in a peak overhead. The floor beneath you is obsidian, polished and gleaming in electronic candlelight. The sight of it is beautiful, a little over the top, if you’re being entirely honest.

Kind of like the woman walking towards you.

Queen Venetia is tall, stately with deep, red hair and pale skin. The set of her face is elegant, nose sharp amidst high brows and cheekbones. Her face is expressive, those arching eyebrows able to be a person all by themselves. Right now, though, they rest in a thin line. She mutely takes in the rest of her surroundings – including you, acknowledged with a quick sweep of her gaze.

Standing in the entryway, damp pants clinging to your legs and complexion windswept – you find yourself flooded with feelings of inadequacy. When Venetia comes to a stop before you, the emotions only intensify. It’s amazing, how she manages to look down her nose at you, despite being the same height – if not slightly shorter. Venetia seems to be one of those people always at the center of the room. Even standing in a corner or off to the side, every eye turns her way out of respect. She’s a black hole, in that way; sucking in gazes, thoughts, the attention of others. Even light can’t escape – there’s no shine to her hair, nor her eyes; rather, they seem to be the most severe form of matte. She exists to draw in color, but not release it.

It’s odd but standing here you feel a similar pull towards the Queen. Your entire body is riddled with awe and unsure what else to do, you make an awkward attempt at a curtsy. Glancing upwards, your breath quickly catches at the murderous expression on Venetia’s face. This smooths away quickly though, rearranging to one of pleasantry. The rapidness of this makes you question your sanity.

“My darling, Y/N. How wonderful to meet you,” the Queen trills. You must have imagined the earlier expression, since now Venetia is showing such concern and happiness, it’s impossible to imagine her otherwise. Enveloping you in a hug, Venetia turns her lips to your ear.

“Dry your clothes, dear. The cameras don’t like a sullied princess,” she whispers through closed lips. While the Queen pulls away, her smile never wavers. She gestures elegantly at the crowd, linking her arm through yours. “We must away to make-up! Thank you all, for kindly coming tonight.”

As you turn, dazedly led aside by Venetia’s pincer-like grip on your arm, it’s hard to control your rising panic. Still, you keep up the façade until entering a twin panel of doors separating you from the cameras. Venetia’s expression immediately drops, along with your arm.

“Those cameras drive me insane,” she mutters, her clipped tone matching her brisk pace. “What a horrible photo opportunity – the two most beautiful women in the world,” she mimics, lips curling while she walks. “You. You, there,” she intones, snapping her fingers at a black-clad assistant hurrying alongside. “Whose idea was it, having me hug her?” The Queen refers to you as though you’re no longer in the room. “As if it were not enough for me to speak to her, a hug?”

The assistant looks back and forth between you, wide-eyed. “I... I don’t...”

“Oh, forget it,” Venetia snaps, heels clicking against marble while removing a customized iComm from her pocket.

You continue to walk beside her, wondering what, exactly, Taehyung signed you up for. Only a moment ago, the Queen seemed so warm and welcoming but all that is gone, without the face of the cameras. You feel suddenly like a teenager – awkward, gawky, uncomfortable in your skin. Young, juvenile, unworthy. Words swim through your thoughts, dance in the seams to swirl before your eyes.

“Y/N? Y/N?”

Blinking, you realize you almost walked into a door. Your thoughts were so single-minded, so oddly wrapped around your feelings that you exhale, turning around for Taehyung to swim into focus. “Oh. Hi.”

“You okay?” Taehyung looks at you with a semi-concerned expression and you realize behind him, Venetia has stopped to watch.

“Yeah, fine,” you mutter, shaking your head – as though clearing any residual inadequacies.

When she sees this, she smiles, the Queen turning quickly away. Once she’s disappeared, whirled around the corner in a haze of silk and perfume, Taehyung turns his head to look at you.

“Well," he exhales, arching a perfectly-made brow. “What a truly,” you pause, when you shoot him a look, “special woman,” Taehyung finishes, smiling weakly.

“That’s our queen,” you respond, quietly pulling yourself together. Without saying another word on the matter, you enter the dressing room. Whatever the Queen’s feelings are towards you, whatever that interaction just was – you’re here because you have a job to do. Nothing more.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t vote for her,” Taehyung grumbles, following behind.

His words are utter nonsense, or course. A slur used throughout Europa to describe dissatisfaction with the Queen. The idea of democracy is now laughable, thought you cannot deny it holds a certain appeal. Having the power to be heard, to make a difference – well, it sounds like paradise. The only way to make change today is to be rich. Or powerful. Which really, means being rich.

Whenever reporters ask Queen Venetia, “Your majesty, how has Europa’s monarchy changed today’s surface of politics?” she always chooses to answer, with a withering look and a shrug.

Her answer is stark. “Simple, it has not changed the landscape of politics at all. True Democracy is a myth, a utopian state which cannot be reached. Truthfully, whether money is controlled behind the scenes or from center stage, it matters very little. Politics and power are always the same.”

The unflappable determination of the Queen has always been an inspiration to you. You’ve wanted to meet Venetia for so long, that to be so instantly despised by her is crushing. It’s your worst fears, confirmed – the fact that you’re not good enough, you never will be. It’s foolish of you to liken yourself to the Queen when you’re very clearly unequal.

She knew what to say, how to walk while single-handedly charming the entirety of the room. It was unnerving, impossible to stand beside. Thinking this now, you very nearly walk into your chair, so consumed by the thought.

“Y/N!” Taehyung exclaims, saving you in the nick of time. “Your head is in the clouds today, I swear. Pull it together before the panel,” he chides, clucking his tongue to walk in the direction of wardrobe.

The panel. A moment of panic follows, as you begin to wish you’d listened to Taehyung explaining this morning. The danger of floating through life is that you tend to miss things and from of the corner of your eyes, you see Taehyung rifling through a stack of outfits laid out for you. He shakes his head at each option – no, no, no.

“This way, Y/N.”

An immaculate woman gestures you follow, so you do. Winding your way through heaps of clothing to the make-up station, you sink into your fourth chair of the day. For someone constantly referred to as the most beautiful face in the world – this sure seems to involve a lot of make-up.

“Just a quick touch-up,” the woman nods – before proceeding to spend over an hour contouring, blending and prodding with numerous instruments of torture.

“You having fun?” Taehyung teases, appearing behind you one hour later. He smirks, bending low to lean his hands on the chair.

“Oh, loads,” you respond dryly.

Taehyung lets out a snort. “Well, whenever you’re ready – I’ve picked out your outfit. It’s fabulous, you’re going to love it.”

“Just a few more minutes,” your make-up artists allow, waving him away and the poking and prodding continues.

It feels like hours, that you stand from your chair and wandering into the dressing area, you find Taehyung has laid out your outfit. A royal blue dress with a plunging back, sensually curving to a point over your rear. Tiny pearls line the seams, stitched upwards to create a truly stunning visual. The dress itself is short, but long sleeved. Classy, yet sexy and Taehyung has truly outdone himself choosing. When you turn to look at him, you find him lounging over yet another chair, grinning.

“Told you,” he declares, waving his hand. “I’m even a little jealous you get to wear that.”

Grinning widely, you grab the dress to disappear behind the curtain. The dress doesn’t have a zipper, just slides up over your body and when you appear from behind the wall, Taehyung lets out a whistle.

“You’re going to blow them away,” he declares, walking forward. “Y/N, if you’re half as smart as you are pretty, the rest of the world doesn’t stand a chance.” Reaching out, he stubbornly fixes a loose strand of hair in your up-do. While he does this, the door slides open to reveal yet another woman in the threshold.

“Hello,” she smiles, walking inside. “I’m Nicola, I work at GNN. I’m here to guide you through a couple points before the panel tonight.” Nicola is beautiful, with flawless dark skin, brown eyes and hair pulled back in a bun. The only makeup she wears is gold eyeliner, which causes her eyes to sparkle. Her face is wide, open and you feel you can trust her instinctively.

She must be dangerous. “Sure,” you smile, pulling out your chair. “What would you like to talk to me about?”

Nicola nods, sitting delicately beside you. “Well, how is your day going?” she asks to break the ice.

You arch a brow, since you’re not used to small talk. “Fine, and yours?”

“Very well, thanks.” Nicola pulls out her iComm to flip through the screens. “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way,” she responds, stifling a smile when you laugh, “let’s get on with this. The segment you’ll be in is a follow-up to your most recent article. A ‘review and react,’ if you will,” Nicola adds pleasantly, glancing upwards.

When she details this, you freeze. Looking over at Taehyung, you see him frowning in the woman’s direction. “React?” he asks, his voice low. “To what?”

Nicola seems surprised by this. “To what? Haven’t you read the article? It’s causing a sensation, and it’s not even published. I think the key points you’ll need to address will be Intergalactic Policy, Democracy in the Present Day, and –"

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Taehyung drawls, holding up a hand. His expression, pleasant before, is now decidedly not. “Hold on. None of this was in the brief I was provided.”

“Yes, well,” Nicola crosses her ankles, the gesture smooth, “the network decided to change tonight’s content rather recently. There wasn’t enough time to notify all parties.”

“Right,” Taehyung’s gaze flickers. “I’m sure there wasn’t.”

Nicola doesn’t respond to this, merely looking away. “Anyways. Your thoughts on the matter, Y/N?”

You’re speechless, staring in horror while you begin to realize the gravity of the situation. Searching through the haze of your memories, you remember being in a rather bad mood the day of the interview. Another arrogant man who looked down on you, who thought you were just another vapid actress he’d need to handhold. When he asked condescendingly if you knew what “colloquial” meant, you began to get mad, and spouted actual opinions – not the usual, boring nonsense you rabbled. The reporter noticeably perked up, engaging you in lively conversation and you were so happy to be seen, you failed to realize what was happening.

That man was a reporter, and you were his prey. A thin sheen of perspiration breaks out over your skin, while frantically try to remember the things that you said “I…” you trail off, looking at Taehyung. “I’m sure there are less sensitive topics to discuss?”

“Oh, no.” Nicola’s response is eager, rising out of her chair. “The people want to listen to what you have to say, Y/N. Ever since the article leaked, do you know how many hits it’s received?”

Mutely, you shake your head no. Whatever the number, it can’t be good.

“Over three billion,” Nicola states, voice quiet. “The article was leaked at 14:00. It is now 16:00. Do you know how many hits per second that is?”

“I can do basic math,” you reply to her, voice stiff.

“Of course,” Nicola responds quickly, almost gently. “I only meant that it’s astounding. You’ve always held mass appeal, Y/N – may I call you that? – but now, with a newfound personality,” she adds, smile widening. “We have a true star on our hands.”

Taehyung snorts to the side, unamused.

“Not that you weren’t already a star,” Nicola backtracks. “The public has always had a certain fascination with you. But may I be so bold, to say that you rarely speak your own mind? You always sound like a character from one of your movies, never entirely yourself. Never Y/N,” Nicola comments – and it sounds as though she may have more, but Taehyung cuts her off.

“That’s enough,” he demands, standing to cross into the room. He plucks Nicola’s iComm from the chair, shoving it into her arms and motioning she leave. “Out, please. I’m sure Y/N can prepare for the rest on her own.”

“I meant no offense,” Nicola responds, as she walks towards the door. On the edge of the threshold, she pauses to look back. “Y/N, I’m rooting for you tonight. Don’t overthink the answers. Your article was a breath of fresh air, honestly.”

With that, she exits, and the door falls shut behind her.

A long, tense silence falls over the room. “Y/N.” Taehyung’s voice is quiet, deadly. “What did you say, exactly, in that article?”

“I don’t know,” you groan, biting down on your lip. Your head spins with the effort, suddenly nauseous. “It might be bad, Taehyung. I was really frustrated and,” you sigh, “I might have… just slipped.”

“Well, let’s have a look,” Taehyung snips, pulling up his ever-present iComm. With a flick of his wrist, Taehyung passes the article from his device to the wall, pulsing before you in living technicolor.

The photos are there, you draped in the flag and smiling coyly at the camera. The caption beneath it reads: “Y/N: more than just a pretty face.” When you see this, you groan, knowing there are worse things ahead.

There’s a quote of you stating, “I believe the Akeron people are misjudged, today.” Another, where you add, “history is written by the victors.” Taehyung continues to flick past each paragraph, mouth becoming a thinner and thinner line in response. He groans at, “the entire point of utopia is that it’s unattainable – it’s man’s endless drive to reach beyond that has historically, driven progress.”

When he reaches the end of the article, Taehyung clicks off his iComm. “I think… that’s enough,” he responds, looking a little sick. “I – well,” he pauses. “It’s small wonder, Venetia doesn’t seem to like you.”

Your laughter is manic, a high-pitched sound more hysterical than comical. “Yeah, after I publicly shat upon her monarchy and global policy, it’s understandable she’s not overly fond of me.”

“Not only that, Y/N.” Taehyung exhales, looking up from a second article he’s reading. “Just look at what you’ve started.”

Walking over to the window, he yanks back the curtains and looks over expectantly. Gathering your courage, you walk up beside him and let your gaze tentatively drop down below.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

People. Lots of people – hundreds, maybe even thousands. All of them craning their heads to look and when they see you standing there, they start to applaud. There come shouts of your name, shouts of approval and with your eyes wider than normal, you watch the drapes fall from his hand. “Taehyung,” you exhale, looking his way. “What do I do?”

Taehyung continues to stare at the curtains, jaw tight. “Y/N, I have no idea.”

You’re sweating, standing in the wings of the GNN news set. Tonight’s panel is comprised of a semi-circle of couches, set in the middle of a studio – mirror cameras wrapped on all sides to catch every angle. Mirror cameras – just the thought of them makes you roll your eyes. It’s a self-centered, narcissistic invention at best; a camera which is also a mirror, enabling the person being filmed to see every flaw of themselves.

Shifting nervously, you try to calm yourself by memorizing the details. It’s a game you play when you’re bored – which is a lot of the time, on your modeling shoots.

“Good evening, citizens of Europa! Welcome to the nightly news, here at Global News Network.” The announcer sits at his desk, speaking with an eagerness that exhausts you. He’s middle aged, tanned with slicked-back hair and when he flashes a smile and winks, you wince away from the wings.

“Our first guest is new. You may know her from her movies or one of her many digital spreads. Or maybe even the tabloids,” he winks, insinuating edge to his tone. “The always lovely,” he drawls, “slightly controversial,” he gestures, “darling of Europa –Y/N!”

The lights pan lower when you enter, walking out of the wings to wave at the mirrors. Smiling happily, you mouth, “hello!” to the cameras.

When you sit, you purposefully turn your back and draw attention to your dress. The newscaster takes the bait, making small talk about the designer while you nod and smile, emitting one-word answers. The newscaster’s script flashes red on the mirrors, reminding that you need to keep to a schedule and with an apologetic smile, he turns around to the audience.

“Y/N caused quite a stir these past few hours, hasn’t she?” he asks, titters answering from the dark. You sit there motionless, beatific smile frozen while you pretend you can’t hear. “Her article brings into question the very pillars from which our society is built – proving brilliant brains, to rival that incredible exterior. Is a militaristic dictatorship still necessary? Do the Akeron still pose a threat to the Earth?” The announcer arches a brow, as though posturing his doubt. “We’ll find out, in tonight’s panel.”

Leaning back, he turns to face you. “Over the next hour, we’ll explore these issues and more. Now, some of you may not realize how high this woman’s influence reaches,” he chuckles, leaning conspiratorially into the lens. “But tonight, our World Unity spokeswoman’s thoughts captured more than just our attention. Oh, yes – tonight we will hear a rebuttal from none other than Queen Venetia herself!”

Even though you knew this was coming, your stomach drops at the mention of her name. You mutely applaud when she enters, eyes transfixed on the Queen as she crosses the stage. There’s no girly waving when she walks, merely a nod of acknowledgement from one screen to the other. Her smile doesn’t quite meet her gaze, which remains cold when looking at you. She’s dressed in an elegant black pantsuit, looking equal parts understated and in command while walking into the room.

The announcer stands to shake her hand, eyes widening, when she deigns to give him a smile. Venetia sits in the chair opposite yours, demurely crossing her ankles to gaze, stone-faced, at the cameras.

“Two of the most beautiful women in the world tonight,” the announcer chuckles, sitting back down. “I’m truly a lucky man,” he adds, while Venetia laughs easily.

“Ah, Charles – you do flatter us,” she winks, lightly touching his arm.

Charles – that’s his name. You recall this with a snap, dejectedly noticing that Venetia is so much better at this than you. When a beam of light swivels, momentarily blinding Venetia – you shake your head sideways, feeling suddenly lighter. Your thoughts were self-deprecating, more so than normal and turning away, you reaffirm your decision to ignore the Queen. Tonight, is about damage control, deflecting the results of the article.

With a tiny tinkle of laughter, you cross your ankles. “Thank you,” you murmur, lowering your eyelashes – forcing the entire room’s attention to you, while Venetia’s eyes narrow.

“Let’s dive right in, shall we?” Charles asks, blissfully oblivious to the tension before him. “Y/N, in your recent article you state you believe the continuation of a monarchical regime may limit our capitalistic growth. Why did you mean by this?”

Ah, shit. “Wow, Charles,” you smile. “You weren’t kidding about jumping right in.” A laugh track plays somewhere in the back, as you airily wave a hand. “I meant only that diversity is key in economy. Here in Europa, we have a very diverse population.”

The announcer raises a brow. “Ah. Perhaps you misunderstood my question. If I was too complex,” he frowns, “let me know. Did you have help, when you gave the earlier article?”

A slight buzzing crawls over your skin. Staring at this man, listening to the way he dismisses you, the blood in your veins starts to boil and, fingers tightening on your armrest, you struggle to control your emotions. “Not at all,” you respond pleasantly. “The idea of a monarchical system of governing being the sole driver of a nation’s economy is presumptuous, of course – but there’s no denying it has significant impact.” When Venetia’s eyes widen, you realize your mistake – but now it’s too late to backtrack. You’ve already lost your temper, already said your piece and now there’s nothing to do but continue. “The consolidation of power in one person,” you state, refusing to look at the Queen, “places limitations on the creativity of the masses. It eliminates the ‘think tank’ effect, if you will.”

“The ‘think tank effect,’” Charles jumps in, eagerly turning to the camera, “is a theory popularized in the twenty-first century, capitalizing on the worth of general human ideas. It involves a group of people sitting for long periods of time while ideating new concepts and theories. These ideas, in turn, are sold for money.”

“Well, yes,” you frown, “but also for the betterment of society. There was a trend in business, towards the middle of the twenty-first century, where larger corporations drove change; societal change, environmental change, economic change.”

“And look how well that turned out,” Venetia interrupts, her voice soft.

Both your heads swivel her way – only to find her cool, calm, collected.

“It’s true,” you nod, allowing her criticism. “Not all businesses choose to operate for the greater good, but don’t you think that’s driven from a natural human inclination to greed, not from the nature of business?” you demand, meeting the Queen’s gaze head-on.

Her lips tighten, almost imperceptibly. “In which case,” she muses, “monarchy and capitalism are really the same.”

At this, you shake your head. She’s twisting your words. “In some ways, yes. But where a capitalistic society succeeds, and a dictatorship fails,” you wince, when there are audible gasps from the audience. Venetia doesn’t like to be called a dictator. Stammering slightly, you continue, “is t-the delimitation of power, and the pressure of supply and demand. It’s the notion of checks and balances – eliminating individual greed, by having more than one voice in the room.”

From offstage, you see Taehyung’s head fall softly into his hands. It appears you’ve just made things worse – much worse. Charles struggles to regain control over the room, leaning forward – until Venetia cuts him off, dark eyes bright with her anger.

“But why,” she hisses, “should decisions be left to society? Are the masses so faultless, so irreproachable? A few hundred years ago, the people elected puppets into office. Movie stars and TV personas who did nothing but spout childish exhibitions and lead us into war. Why should they, the people, have the chance to break us again?”

Venetia turns towards the cameras. “Our lands have a bloody history from the wants of the people,” she declares – stating the word people, as one might say leprosy or cockroaches. “Each attempt to create freedom and equality led to what? Socialism, communism, war, famine,” she answers, spitting out each word with vehemence. The sound is barely human, a permeating hiss audible throughout the studio.

“We were a laughingstock,” she adds, deadly quiet, “of the universe, due to the wants of our people. The only way to rebuild is through leadership. The only way to be strong is through vision,” Venetia bares her teeth, emphasizing she is the one with that vision. Not you.

Fingers trembling, you lace them together in your lap. She’s right – but no, she’s also not. Blinking, you attempt to clear your head because it’s odd, your thoughts are all muddled. They keep snaking around one another, arriving at Venetia’s conclusions.

“Strong leadership exists in monarchies,” Venetia declares. “You want a history lesson, little girl?” she asks, turning to meet your gaze. When she does, you recoil – because Venetia’s eyes are pure, unadulterated black. Not dilated, but black in their entirety. You’ve barely time to register this, before Venetia blinks, dark eyes returning to brown and leaving you wondering if maybe you’re the one hallucinating.

Venetia tilts her head. “Allow me to quote Napoleon,” she continues. “’One bad general is worth two good ones.’ When power dilutes, the entity weakens, and the people suffer. Is this what you want – a weakened state? One the Akeron can attack, or worse?”

The Queen leaves her thought open-ended, settling back while you’re left to consider. Her fire has calmed to a dull flicker, self-satisfied smirk appearing while she waits for you to counter. You’re shaking, sweating and when you look helplessly at Charles, he looks pointedly away. Taehyung is no longer standing in the wings; you notice this fearfully, uncertain when he would have left. He’s no longer there though, meaning you’re alone – except.

You remember the article. You remember Nicola and the hundreds, thousands of people who stood waiting outside and slowly, you turn back to the cameras. You are not alone, you remind yourself – and when you remember this, you open your mouth.

“Europa,” you start. The word is too quiet, so you clear your throat. “Europa is a great nation. A mighty one, with a storied history and complex, cultured assortment of people. At one time we were fractured,” you acquiesce, bowing your head. “We were many different countries, all of them weakened by our divisions. Venetia is right, saying we are stronger now. We are stronger in our unity, but that’s just it,” you exhale, turning to look at the Queen.

When you move, you see even Charles is listening – he’s forgotten his place, leaning forward in his seat.

“We are stronger united,” you repeat. “We are stronger together. Think of a rope. A rope is one hundred different pieces of yarn, wrapped together to form something much stronger. One, single piece of yarn cannot pull a ship. A rope can.”

“Outdated,” chimes Venetia, sounding bored.

“This is not a courtroom,” Charles interrupts. “Continue, Y/N.” The Queen sits up straight, somewhat shocked by his interruption – but Charles pays her no heed, looking at you.

“Europa is a great nation,” you resume, licking your lips, “but we could be better. The limitations on business, individual expression have hindered our ideas, which in turn, has weakened our economy. Other nations – like Congica – export. We only import.”

Taking another breath in, you relish the freedom of speaking your mind. You’re saying too much, you know you are – but you also know the damage has already been done. Looking at Venetia, you see her fuming. Her gaze threatens to strike quick where you stand, so you look up and continue.

“This paranoia over the Akeron, the constant preparation for a war we aren’t fighting – it’s distracting us from our true potential,” you insist, wishing desperately to see the citizens you’re addressing. Instead, all you can see is the mirror image of yourself.

“I’m not trying to overthrow, anything here” you add, somewhat quietly. “I’m not suggesting we reinvent the system, nor that we put an end to the current one.” Looking over at Venetia, you manage to backtrack. “I’m merely suggesting, your Grace, that the people of Europa are worth more than what they’re currently valued.”

That’s it, that’s all you have to say. A dangerous silence falls, radiating from every pore of the room while the Queen seethes before you, though her face doesn’t change. Her beauty is a mask, one which smiles in agreement with everything you’ve just said. Her eyes, though – her eyes on yours are death incarnate.

“Wow, wow! What a night – what a show!” Charles beams, attempting to wrap things up. His naiveté and charm seem to serve as a reminder – the Queen breaks eye contact with you, as turning to face the host.

“Yes,” she laughs, an almost natural sound, “what lively debate!”

Folding his hands before him on the table, Charles nods in satisfaction. “It was, indeed. Unfortunately, this is all the time we have for tonight.” Waiting a beat, pre-recorded groans echo through the studio. “I know, I know,” he smiles, blindingly white. “I’m disappointed, as well. All good things must come to an end though, and we were very lucky to have the whole hour! I doubt this will ever happen again,” he winks, while canned laughter plays.

“Ladies,” he nods, gesturing forward.

At the end of competition, it is customary in Europa to shake the hand of your opponent. It’s a symbol of respect and understanding – and so, you extend your palm. Venetia watches, taking her time, extending so slowly you start to blush in response. When your hands finally meet, you exchange the smallest, briefest of touches before she yanks quickly away.

“And we’re off,” someone yells, blinding lights instantly dimmed.

You blink, taking a moment to adjust to the change and when you’re able to see, Venetia is no longer onstage. She’s gone, leaving just you and Charles alone – while a halo of red-brown, disappears down the corridor. She leaves so quickly, you can’t even be certain it’s her. Charles clears his throat awkwardly, mumbling something about an early dinner appointment before exiting the stage.

You’re now left alone and, heart hammering, you start to descend from the stage. Walking away, you meet the gazes of several curious stagehands, but they look quickly away – exchanging hushed glances and whispers, behind their hands as you pass. You need Taehyung. Need to find him, but while you half-jog through the hall, Taehyung is nowhere to be seen. He should have been there at the end, waiting for you. It’s unusual, that he was not.

“Excuse me,” you ask, tapping a woman on the shoulder. “I can’t seem to find my assistant, could you –”

When the woman sees it’s you, her eyes widen and shaking her head quickly, she brushes past you offstage. It’s strange, and when you try to ask another individual, they barrel directly past you without allowing for eye contact. Slowly, a pit forms in the center of your stomach. It’s okay, it’s fine, you’ll find the way back yourself.

Peering down the hall, you quickly realize all the marble corridors look the same. This was stupid, you shouldn’t have left the set so fast – Taehyung likely just went to the bathroom, will probably be looking for you in a matter of minutes.

Despite telling yourself this, you can’t manage to believe it. Something about this seems off. Something about tonight seems off, as you walk slowly forward. Beginning to walk faster, you berate yourself for your cowardice. Nothing is wrong, you’re being paranoid about that and it’s only after the third or fourth hallway that you notice the quiet.

Taehyung, Nicola, all the skinny, black-clad assistants from earlier – they’re all gone. Steady silence sits in their place, filling the halls with an ominous weight. It presses into your skin while slowly, your speed-walk turns into a jog. Then a run and before long, you’re sprinting, fast through the halls. Shiny black surfaces stare back, reflecting the state of your obvious panic. Skidding around a corner, you pause only remove your god-awful awful heels.

Starting to run again, you have an odd, almost dream-like sensation where you find yourself questioning why, exactly, you’re running – but this moment disappears as quick as it came, when your internal terror eventually wins out. Panic weaves through your veins, forcing you to remember everything said on air and you know that people have been imprisoned for less. The memory of the Queen’s eyes – black and burning – creeps, unbeknownst in the back of your mind. This all can’t be coincidence, it can’t be a dream.

You’re alone, lost – assistant vanished, midway through the show. There’s no way Taehyung would have left you, no way he would have abandoned you so fast. It it’s her, you realize, this must be Venetia.

The moment you think this, there’s a flicker of light and the hall plunges suddenly into darkness.

[Masterlist]

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mattmcgorrysourceit · 7 years ago

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Matt McGorry talking about "How Becoming a Feminist Felt Like Falling In Love" for Cosmopolitan, 8 Semptember, 2015 - (traduzione in italiano sotto). “I cried. And not just a little. I had just finished watching Emma Watson's U.N address and I had "all the feels." I wasn't sure at first how to pinpoint the underlying emotion that was making it rain (granted, my allergies made me want to stab out my eyes at the time), but it felt familiar. To be clear, crying is not something I particularly shy away from, except for on a first date to see the movie Her — and even then, the number of tears produced by the end of the film could've washed my clothes for a week. I probably would have been able to hide my reaction were it not for the fact that my date's head was leaning cutely on my shoulder. But I digress. I've never been told not to cry. My parents never told me to "man up"; if anything, they taught me that expressing vulnerability is braver than putting on a stoic front — the alternative response so highly prized by male culture. I was taught that my insecurities, my fears, and my hurt were best shared with the people around me, rather than locked away in a box built of faux toughness. Unfortunately, I don't know that most men were taught these same beliefs. And this is part of the flip side of feminism and gender equality that benefits men as well as women: The notion of men being "strong" and therefore unable to admit to having "weaker" emotions is incredibly damaging. I hurt for all the boys and men who stuff away their feelings because they believe that this is the way to be a man. My parents never framed what they were teaching me as "feminism." They pushed me to ask the question "How do I become a better and more evolved person?" — and the pursuit of an answer to that question inevitably led me to my current path, which began in earnest about seven months ago, when I first watched Watson's U.N. speech. The moment I heard Watson say, "If not me, who? If not now, when?" I felt a shift inside of me. It wasn't the chicken burrito that I had scarfed down 15 minutes prior, but the rare and instantly recognizable feeling that I would never be the same. I now know that the feeling reminded me of falling in love. One of the most thrilling and deeply moving experiences in life is the pants-shitting feeling you get when you realize you've met someone who will force you to grow in ways you'd never previously imagined possible. You feel like your boundaries are being pushed and your worldview is shifting. It's terrifying, but it's also one of the most exhilarating and fulfilling emotional states you can know. This is the internal stirring I had the moment I heard Watson's words. I've always been hyper-conscious of offending other people or making them feel uncomfortable, especially since becoming a bit of public figure in the last two years. It's certainly easier to remain on neutral grounds when it comes to social and political issues. After all, I'm not a huge fan of people on social media telling me, "Ur a dumbass," (sic) even though, logically, I know full well that I'm rubber and they're glue and whatever they tweet bounces off me and sticks to you (them). Given my resistance to speaking out on social issues in the past, my tears were a moment of passionate realization that I could and would no longer remain quiet. It scared me. What kind of resistance would I encounter from fans, haterz, other people in the industry, and even those who supported the same movement but thought that I was going about it wrong or opportunistically? Would I risk ostracizing myself? But the thing was, I didn't fucking care. It would be easy to say nothing, just like it would be easy to avoid love by curling into an emotional fetal position every time you were confronted by someone with the capacity to push you, change you, and challenge you to explore all those terrifying nooks and crannies of your psyche. But, as humans have known for all of their existence, most good things in life require difficulty and courage. Also known as, YOLO. Much like finding someone to love, you can't really know what to look for in a social cause until it crosses your path. You can use all the words that you want to describe what you're looking for, but at the end of the day, when you find the right one at the right point in your life, you'll know. But you have to be open to the possibility in the first place. And now that I've had my own awakening of sorts, it's turned out to be a more incredible path than I could have imagined. I've become increasingly interested in other social issues, for example, such as Black Lives Matter. About a year ago, my good friend Patrick, whom I know from the improv comedy world, became vocal about the Black Lives Matter movement, posting articles and stories on his Facebook page. I slowly began to read some of his posts and "like" them, appreciating his outspokenness from a distance. Patrick is a white, heterosexual, cisgender male and, like me, he has spent a lifetime benefiting from that, most likely without even realizing the full extent to which he has. His willingness to acknowledge his privilege was something that taught me about mine as well. Even now, I acknowledge that my own privilege affords me the luxury of this cushy and positive outlook on fighting inequalities and injustices. I have the choice to confront these issues — they aren't implicit in my life due to my gender, the color of my skin, my sexual preference, or any other parts of who I am as a person. I don't know where my new passions will take me next, but I do know that however they evolve, I will always be changed, and at least some part of the world around me will therefore be changed too. My hope is to follow the love and continue to learn what it means to be the best ally that I can be.”

_____________________________________________ “Ho pianto. E non solo un poco. Ho appena visto il discorso di Emma Watson alle Nazioni Unite e ho avuto "tutte le emozioni". In un primo momento non ero sicuro di come individuare l'emozione di fondo che stava facendo piovere (va bene, l'allergia mi fa venire voglia di colpire i miei occhi a volte), ma sembrava familiare. Per essere chiari, il pianto non è qualcosa di cui mi vergogno, tranne ad un primo appuntamento vedendo il film Her - e anche in questo caso, il numero di lacrime prodotte dalla fine del film potrebbe aver lavato i miei vestiti per una settimana. Probabilmente avrei potuto nascondere la mia reazione se non fosse per il fatto che la testa della ragazza con cui ero era appoggiata simpaticamente sulla mia spalla. Ma sto divagando. Non mi è mai stato detto di non piangere. I miei genitori non mi ha mai detto di "fare l'uomo"; se non altro, mi hanno insegnato che esprimere vulnerabilità è più coraggioso di mettere su un fronte stoico - la risposta alternativa così tanto apprezzata dalla cultura maschile. Mi è stato insegnato che le mie insicurezze, le mie paure, e il mio dolore sono migliori condivisi con le persone intorno a me, piuttosto che chiusi in una scatola fatta di finta durezza. Purtroppo, so che alla maggior parte degli uomini non sono stati insegnate queste stesse convinzioni. E questo fa parte del rovescio del femminismo e dell'uguaglianza di genere che avvantaggia gli uomini rispetto alle donne: La nozione che gli uomini sono "forti" e quindi non in grado di ammettere di avere emozioni "deboli" è incredibilmente dannosa. Mi sento male per tutti i ragazzi e gli uomini che mettono via i loro sentimenti perché credono che questo è il modo di essere un uomo. I miei genitori non hanno mai inquadrato quello che mi insegnavano come "il femminismo". Mi hanno spinto a porre la domanda: "Come faccio a diventare una persona migliore e più evoluta?" - E la ricerca di una risposta a questa domanda inevitabilmente mi ha portato al mio percorso, che è cominciato sul serio circa sette mesi fa, quando ho guardato il discorso all'ONU di Watson. Nel momento in cui ho sentito Watson dire: "Se non io, chi? Se non ora, quando?" Ho sentito un cambiamento dentro di me. Non era il burrito di pollo che avevo divorato 15 minuti prima, ma la sensazione rara e immediatamente riconoscibile che non sarei mai più stato lo stesso. Ora so che la sensazione mi ha ricordato l'innamorarsi. Una delle esperienze più emozionanti e profondamente commoventi nella vita è la cacarella che si prova quando ti accorgi di aver incontrato qualcuno che ti costringerà a crescere in modi che non avresti mai immaginato possibili prima. Ti senti come se i tuoi confini siano stati spinti e la tua visione del mondo si stia spostando. È terribile, ma è anche uno dei più esilaranti e appaganti stati emotivi che tu possa conoscere. Questa è l'agitazione interna che ho avuto nel momento in cui ho sentito le parole di Watson. Sono sempre stato iper-cosciente riguardo l'offendere altre persone o farli sentire a disagio, soprattutto da quando sono diventato un po' un personaggio pubblico negli ultimi due anni. Certamente sarebbe più facile rimanere sul terreno neutro quando si tratta di questioni sociali e politiche. Dopo tutto, io non sono un grande fan delle persone sui social media che mi dicevano "sei un idiota," anche se, logicamente, lo so bene che io sono gomma e loro sono colla e tutto quello che tweettano rimbalza via da me e bastona voi (loro). Data la mia resistenza a parlare sui temi sociali in passato, le mie lacrime erano un momento di appassionata realizzazione che non avrei più potuto rimanere in silenzio. E mi ha spaventato. Che tipo di resistenza avrei incontrato dai fan, gli haters, le altre persone del settore, e anche quelli che hanno sostenuto lo stesso movimento, ma pensano che lo sto affrontando nel modo sbagliato o opportunisticamente?Avrei rischiato di ostracizzare me stesso? Ma il fatto era che non me ne fotteva niente. Sarebbe facile non dire nulla, proprio come sarebbe stato facile evitare l'amore, stando emotivamente in una posizione fetale ogni volta che sei stato di fronte a qualcuno con la capacità di spingerti, cambiarti, e sfidarti ad esplorare tutti quegli angoli terrificanti della tua psiche. Ma, come gli esseri umani hanno saputo per tutta la loro esistenza, le cose più belle della vita richiedono difficoltà e coraggio. Più o meno come per trovare qualcuno da amare, non si può davvero sapere che cosa cercare in una causa sociale finché non incrocia il vostro cammino. Puoi usare tutte le parole che vuoi per descrivere ciò che stai cercando, ma alla fine della giornata, quando trovi quella giusta al punto giusto della tua vita, lo sai. Ma bisogna essere aperti alla possibilità, in primo luogo. E ora che ho avuto il mio risveglio, è risultato essere un percorso più incredibile di quanto avrei potuto immaginare. Sono diventato sempre più interessato ad altre questioni sociali, per esempio, come "Black Lives Matter". Circa un anno fa, il mio buon amico Patrick, che conosco dal mondo della commedia d'improvvisazione, è diventato portavoce del movimento "Black Lives Matter", pubblicandi articoli e racconti sulla sua pagina Facebook. Ho lentamente iniziato a leggere alcuni dei suoi post e ho messo "mi piace", apprezzando la sua schiettezza a distanza. Patrick è un bianco, eterosessuale, maschio cisgender e, come me, ha passato una vita beneficiando di questo, molto probabilmente senza nemmeno rendersi conto di tutto ciò che aveva. La sua volontà di riconoscere il suo privilegio era una cosa che mi ha insegnato la mia. Anche ora, riconosco che il mio privilegio mi offre il lusso di questa prospettiva comoda e positiva per combattere le disuguaglianze e le ingiustizie. Ho la scelta di affrontare questi problemi - non é implicita nella mia vita a causa del mio sesso, del colore della mia pelle, della mia preferenza sessuale o qualsiasi altra parte del chi sono io come persona. Non so dove le mie nuove passioni mi porteranno la prossima volta, ma so che comunque si evolvano, sarò sempre cambiato, e almeno una parte del mondo intorno a me sarà quindi cambiata. La mia speranza è quella di seguire l'amore e continuare a imparare che cosa vuol dire essere il miglior alleato che posso essere.” Source: http://www.cosmopolitan.com/entertainment/tv/a45912/matt-mcgorry-feminist-essay/

#Matt McGorry #actor #activist #feminist #Emma Watson #feminism #masculinity #man enough #love #htgawm #oitnb

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