#Intellectual courtship

[recsspecs]

The kind of romance I deserve

[hrrtshape]

I want to shift to late 1800's France but I'm low-key stressing about the clothing and culture, any advice??

a guide for those shifting to late 1800s france.

hello, time traveller. we meet yet again. i'm emma, your personal guide to making sure you don't die, or worse, embarrass yourself, in your new historical setting. you’ve conquered rome, you’ve survived ancient egypt, and now you’re eyeing late 1800s france. the land of high fashion, artistic revolution, and social etiquette.

shifting to the belle époque ( 1870s–1900 ) is no small feat. this was an era of immense change, where the old-world charm of aristocratic salons coexisted with the bohemian rebellion of montmartre. your success hinges on blending in, mastering the culture, and avoiding the many pitfalls that could mark you as an outsider (or worse...a scandal).

so let’s get into it. here’s everything you need to know to survive late 19th-century france with grace, style, and, most importantly, your life and reputation intact.

꒰ clothing && fashion.

◞ fashion in the late 1800s was everything. your clothing signalled your class, your respectability, and your adherence to social norms.

women's fashion . . .

silhouettes :  the bustle reigned supreme for most of the late 19th century. skirts were full in the back, creating dramatic, sculptural shapes. by the 1890s, skirts became sleeker, and the s-curve silhouette emerged.

corsets :  absolutely non-negotiable. every respectable woman wore a corset to achieve the hourglass shape. however, they weren’t the rib-crushing torture devices modern myths make them out to be. when fitted properly, they were surprisingly comfortable.

fabrics :  if you’re upper class, think silk, velvet, lace, and fine wool. middle-class women wore cotton and simpler wool blends. poorer women had rougher fabrics.

accessories :  gloves (never go outside without them), hats (enormous, decorated with ribbons and feathers), and parasols (essential for daytime outings).

men’s fashion . . .

suits :  three-piece suits with high-collared shirts were standard. in formal settings, tailcoats were worn. the frock coat dominated the early part of the era, but by the 1890s, sack suits became more common.

hats :  bowler hats for casual wear, top hats for formal occasions. if you’re bohemian, maybe...... a beret.

shoes :  leather boots for daywear, polished dress shoes for evening events.

꒰ what, absolutely, not to do.

wearing the wrong silhouette for the decade can make you stand out (not in a good way).

forgetting gloves in polite society is very scandalous.

women wearing trousers.....? not unless you’re making a statement or running away from something.

꒰ culture & social etiquette.

greetings :  men kiss women’s hands, women curtsy, men bow slightly. if you’re informal, a simple handshake suffices. conversation :  never be too direct. small talk is an art form. discuss literature, theatre, art, and politics subtly. public behaviour :  women should never be seen eating in public unless at a formal gathering. drinking in excess is frowned upon (unless you’re an artist in montmartre, then go wild). dining :  fork in the left hand, knife in the right. never start eating before the host.

꒰ social classes.

aristocrats :  if you’re shifting into nobility, expect lavish balls, complicated courtship rituals, and constant scrutiny. you’ll be mingling in salons with intellectuals and artists.

bourgeoisie :  the rising middle class, aka, businessmen, educated professionals. they held significant influence but were still distinct from old-money aristocrats.

bohemians :  the artists, writers, and revolutionaries of montmartre. if you’re leaning into this lifestyle, expect café debates, absinthe, and avant-garde fashion choices.

working class :  life is hard, work is long, and opportunities are limited. if you find yourself here, navigating city life will require street smarts and resilience.

꒰ food & drink.

breakfast :  a simple affair, bread with butter and jam, coffee or hot chocolate. lunch and dinner :  multiple courses. expect rich sauces, meats, and delicate pastries. wine (as per) is a given. street food :  baguettes, roasted chestnuts, and crepes sold by vendors. drinks :  absinthe (if you dare), wine (always), and coffee (strong and bitter).

꒰ money & affording finer things.

◞ so. the late 1800s operated on the franc, with coins made of silver and gold. paper money existed but wasn’t as widely trusted. aristocrats and bourgeoisie : wealth is inherited or comes from business. most times it's blood money. artists and bohemians : living off patronage, odd jobs, or sheer luck. working class : paid in small wages, often in cash. watch out for pickpockets.

꒰ about staying safe.

avoid dangerous areas :  paris had its fair share of crime. stay away from the darker alleys of montmartre at night.

watch for disease :  cholera and tuberculosis were still rampant. keep clean, avoid contaminated water.

police presence :  law enforcement was strict, and corruption was common.

duelling :  still occasionally a thing among men. try not to get into those.

okay. so. shifting to late 1800s france means stepping into one of the most dazzling periods of history. immerse yourself in the art, the fashion, the culture, and live like a true parisian.

bonne chance, time traveller. you’ll need it.

[moonlitrogue]

Channeled love note ~ from a special source of love + Ask Game ↓

Dear beloved, seeker of romance. Yes, that timeless, luminous, beautifully ridiculous thing. It arrives with meaning, knocking at your door to deliver a message from someone who's keeping you close in their heart. So reach within, let the soft glow of love, pink and unimposing, flow from your heart all the way to your head and toes. Do you feel it yet? Now let's take a breath and exhale slowly through the mouth. It helps to close your eyes when you do this. Take your time. When you feel centered and the pink light glows soft and steady, choose a picture you're drawn to, below. You'll find a corresponding letter, from a special source of love in your life. They could be present in your current life - a partner, a lover... or maybe you'll meet them in a different place in time? Love is a great adventure afterall.

Let me know how your pile made you feel!

Scroll to the bottom for the ask game details

pile 1 → 2 → 3

Letter #1

How did I not fall for you at first sight? It is true, with time and familiarity, I've peeled back the layers you've cloaked yourself with. The more time goes by, the more I fall in love with your details. I'm glad we're past our early days. You loved to challenge and I loved a challenge. You were so flighty and mysterious, but you could never resist expressing yourself. You were so defiant and sharp, slicing and moulding the frontiers of my mind. I guess we can call it a form of intellectual courtship? Even in our ego clashes, we were so compatible! As much as you loved unraveling my mind and giving me sleepless nights (mostly your words... fine your voice... and your eyes?), it was also what drew us closer. Our differences were vast, our edges and history shaped by the forces of life. I like the grit and raw beauty of your soul. You leaned into my story, like moonlight falling on water, illuminating the spaces, no. Beautifying those parts of myself I was so afraid to show you. How did you manage to unravel me like so? When our voices softened to understanding, like we recognized somehow a bridge had formed with the conversations we threw like stones. Tentative and wary, we made our way across, meeting in the middle. We were like puzzle pieces, coming together. Our contrasting outlines falling into place, from which a picture of our love emerged. Now, this love that feels so natural, like an alternative possibility, of a life where you didn't exist just seems absurd to me. I want to say I love you, but this feels like more. What's more than love?

Loving you is as innate and necessary as breathing, and I know it sounds hella cheesy, but - loving you is paradoxical. I think even my breath spells your name but you make me breathless. Did you eat well? Food is food, other things are other things - not sustenance (you are mine). So eat well and rest well. I'll always be finnicky and fussing over you. Am I annoying? Good. It's payback for how annoying you are, with your annoying wit and annoying beauty. Can't have a moment's peace with that bright mind of yours. Come, torment me some more.

Letter #2 :

There are few things I'm certain of and on top of that list is how I'll love you, through our ever evolving ways. Maybe the days of our youth will pass by like this. Questioning the world and the feeling of uncertainty beating in our hearts. And I may even be reckless to think this but what do they matter? When all's said and done, only love is left in this world. Let me master you, let me learn about you the way the earth knows the roots that press deep into it. How do your days and nights sit on your shoulder, the dreams you carry beneath your ribs. The taste of your quiet, the weight of your want. Let me press kisses against the places you think I cannot, should not see, let me love you there too.

Does your chest tremble like mine does, when you say my name? Soft, sometimes teasing; always like it belongs to you.

I'll let you hold my joys, and you need not fear them slipping by. Not when my joy is you. And let me hold your sadness, for they're mine too.

I don't blame you for fearing that love is fleeting. I'm afraid of it too. No, let me show you that the world is wrong to ask that of you. It is not to be earned or bargained for, and let me be the proof that it's not. Yet, I will savour falling on my knees for you. Like the sun meets the horizon, I'll be patient to be let in when you need it the most. Sink into me. I'll hold your sorrows and joys. The way love carries us even when we do not know how to ask for it. For beyond the first desire, beyond the first moments of our passion and meeting, I find myself still consumed by you. The world will take and time will take too, only love remains. And if love is all that remains when the world is done with us, I'll give mine to you until nothing of me remains untouched by the knowing of you.

Letter #3 :

I need to be honest with you. The times we spend together, long days, longer evenings. Hearts spent and happy when we get home. Can't I get some more of you? I swing between humility and arrogance. All I ever want is to exist beside you, quietly. Dare I impose this upon you? It's ridiculous really. I'll just be sitting there minding my own business and suddenly, I'll think of you and feel this overwhelming rush of warmth in my chest. Your voice in the morning, when you kiss me goodbye, like the softness of the morning sun, slipping through my fingers.

You're my accomplice, in all things ridiculous and real. I can't believe you're stuck with me. Because I will be right here, with you. In every way a person can be, through every terrible day, through every ordinary Tuesday.

I will be here to hear your grumpy and tired sighs, when you're really hangry but you decide it's the perfect time to develop really strong feelings for that thing that doesn't really matter. And you forget it the next day. It's so cute that you're often torn between the meadow's hush and a neon-lit club, because as the end of the night rolls in ... we forget where we are.

Our shadows move in a drunken haze. The breeze becomes a poet. And your hand in mine is a song I hum forever. These moments I take in carefully. When I'm alone, in my mind, I trace your face and the sound of your voice. Us keeping each other humble. I'll never let you know how crazy I am about you. Do you still not know it yet? Is that why you let me hold you a little longer? I know you watch me and know me, learning my habits and the way I speak by heart. (And my voice definitely doesn't sound like that, but you do you.)

So, here we are, picking each others' habits. Like the way you eat fruit or place your feet up on the chair like that or chew on the poor, poor chewable objects. You're so clever, you are. I can never be subtle with you, you break the damn doors when I sulk. And it makes me smile and bite my lips, really it does. You know it when I'm too stubborn to ask for help, because you do that too, you know? And when I make a fool of myself, who's going to roll their eyes and make fun of me before I'm told, "I knew this was going to happen." You're so helpful like that. How lucky I am that our paths crossed. That I have the honour of loving you and sharing this life with you.

💌 ASK GAME : LOVE NOTE DELIVERY

• each emoji stands for a different source of love in your life. pick an emoji you're drawn to :

🍊 | X | 🥂 | 🐢 | 🥃 | 🌺 | X | 🎠 | 🦋 | 🐞

• comment the chosen emoji + a word in your native tongue or foreign language that you find beautiful.

• a corresponding note for the emoji will be shared (in the form of a short channeled message for you)

• open for the first 15 slots

Hope you enjoyed the reading ! 💕

[til-all-are-loved]

I AM IN LOVE WITH YOUR MEGATRON STORY!!! I have even downloaded it and saved it to my kindle! I love me a complex man <3 i know you see him as unintentionally creepy, but i wonder how he would be affectionate once he is in a relationship? on a personal note one of my courtship rituals that i'm doing with my to be partners is "book reports" essentially book club but written, I like know what poeple think about things. What would he do when presented with such a proposition? Sorry this is a chunky anon but I have slowly fallen in love with megs <3

Thank you so much that means everything to me oh my gosh.

I'm glad so many people are liking this version of Megatron

As for affection, once he’s in a relationship, I think Megatron would express it not through touch, not right away. but through attention.

Your courtship ritual, writing reports on books and sharing perspectives, that’s something I think would leave him genuinely moved. When presented with a reading list, he defaults to what comes naturally to him: analysis, scrutiny, reflection. His reports (essays really), wouldn’t just be summaries; they’d be his attempt to meet you on your terms, digest the information to understand your world. 

You’d notice he struggles with human concepts such as relationships, family, and belonging. He knows them intellectually, but not intuitively. So these essays would double as concealed cries: Help me understand this. Help me feel what you feel when you read it. He would never phrase it that directly.

Though he’s a reserved type of mech, stoic by habit and design. There’s something about the book reports that causes him to slip into a new way of thinking about affection and love. He starts to understand affection not just as concept, but as practice. He begins to imagine what it might look like to enact the things he reads about. 

The way a character steadies someone with a hand at the back. The way people touch to reassure and to show they’re listening. He ruminates on these actions, he picks up on when others in the room display casual affection. Constantly fantasizing about how you would react to that kind of attention. It intrigues and frightens him in equal measure, 

He begins to rehearse these things privately. Considers what it would take to reach out, to place a hand against your back, to let you lean into him. These simple gestures carry more weight than he knows how to measure. Public affection would be impossible, absolutely not with this rumor mongering crew.. But in private moments, he’d learn. Slowly.

When you offer your love, fingers at his jaw, your head resting against his chest—he accepts it with reverence. And afterward, he thinks about it for hours. Not because he doubts it, but because he’s trying to understand why it mattered. And how to do it again.

As things deepen, he surprises you. Once affection crosses into hunger, he doesn’t ration it. He kisses like it’s the only language he still remembers. Long, deliberate, all-consuming. One hand behind your back, the other braced against the wall, or the desk, or the nearest surface that can hold the weight of him. He gets caught in it,forgetting the time, forgetting restraint, until your lips are swollen and your knees are unsteady and you have to pull back just to breathe. And even then, he follows, chasing your mouth like its all he has left to hold on to 

He doesn’t mean to lose himself. But when he loves, he loves with his whole body. And when he’s allowed to touch, he doesn’t know how to stop.

[jedisupernova]

falling for a prince — choi seunghyun

notes minors dni contains fem reader (begins with reader being 23, seunghyun 25; progressively age and goes into their late 40s later in the fic), non idol au, unabashedly plus size reader as i am myself but anyone can read, reader has a middle class background, takes place in the 80s, made up details about a fictional royal family and seunghyun's role in it to build dynamic (he is the eldest—the heir to the throne), this is very much slice of life, seunghyun and reader are intellectuals, chronicles courtship; progression of relationship; engagement; married life, very gentle and poetic love that comes around once in a generation, angst (insecurity, dealing with fame, contradictory expectations, invasions of privacy, jealousy, difficulties navigating pregnancy and parenthood, classist and snobbish remarks, body shaming, reader navigating the demanding and nuanced life of a public figure, mentions of sickness and anxiety,) vignettes of smut (p in v, oral f receiving, keeping quiet,) and invitable typos though some are intentional.

requested? this is an original idea! i saw the photo in the header whilst scrolling through pinterest, and this just blossomed in my head. this is very detailed and long. enjoy!

from a young age, seunghyun knew he was important. it was drilled into him since sentience. grown men and women either bowing or curtsying to a toddler as he ran with the dogs in the garden, his nanny scolding the people in the kitchen (before he learned the word chef) when his oatmeal wasn't prepared properly, his mother and father sitting across from him in one of his family's many rolls royces and range rovers; a physical dynamic that would certifiably establish his role and purpose, being taught to scrub the words mom and dad from his vocabulary at age five for the queen and his royal highness when secretaries and other subordinates were around—most of which were not as fiercely practiced with his four siblings (two brothers and two sisters, coincidentally enough.) all except that last rule, however. mother and papa were fine on lax occasions. such as family easter brunch, christmas day, or when one has returned home from a long engagement to fulfill your duties for the boss—a term his eldest sister coined for their mother—herself. the eldest and heir apparent to his nation's throne, seunghyun isn't allotted much wiggle room. but he'll be damned to let antiquity trump autonomy.

he's kept a diary (yes, he calls it as such because words are just words, no matter how hard your youngest brother may laugh at you) since he was a boy. the practice has stayed with him well into his adult life, bemusing himself intermittently reading old entries. no matter his state of mind, he finds himself turning the yellowed pages that were once crisp white, ink still jet black as he read the thoughts of a precocious adolescent whisked away to boarding school as per longstanding royal tradition. putting on a strong face, horrendously underprepared for sudden isolating independence, and thirteen years old, he was surprisingly if not humorously so with hindsight, inquisitive. I have a mom, dad, brothers and sisters. So I have a family. But it feels like a system. We all have a part. I don't know if that makes sense. "it does." he would say to himself in his bedroom in the royal residence he inherited at age eighteen—one of over 150 owned and overseen by the royal family—equipped with seven bedrooms and drawing rooms, despite him being the sole resident apart from his staff. excess was no stranger to the uber wealthy, let alone the royals, but he made due with the space bestowed upon him: writing here . . . reading there . . . painting outside . . . testing a film camera in this garden . . . returning the queen's calls here . . .

for many monarchies around the world—including the one seunghyun was born into—it is historically believed the monarch's right to rule comes directly from the divine. between himself and only himself, he doesn't know if he believes it all that much. he's felt more spiritual than religious all his life from the moment either concept grasped his mere periphery. that's not to say, however, he will suddenly be a no-show to the christmas day church service in which hundreds of civilians camp outside for hours to catch a fleeting glimpse of the family their taxpayer dollars go towards, or reject the holy oil on his coronation day. some traditions have room to be questioned whereas others seem an untouchable force. no matter how deeply seunghyun exhaustively pondered, an alternative felt both irrationally childish and obscenely necessary. he felt his existence was a continuous contradiction: the blood of his ancestors of monarchs past flowing through his veins, but also serving as reminder he just so happened to win the greatest genetic lottery known to humankind. it could have been anyone else, he's thought to himself since he was a teenager, looking at his siblings sat with him at a polo match; all two or three years apart in age, but for some reason, it was me.

in pursuit of modernization, seunghyun has fallen privy to expectation. finishing preparatory story was akin to re-debuting to the world as he was now of age and ready to tread headfirst into the transition of working as a royal full-time. he enrolled at oxford for his undergraduate endeavors—a choice of institution purely by the power of the boss (seunghyun much preferred the programs at harvard.) his english was more proficient than he'd give himself credit for. add it to his arsenal tipped off by his mother tongue, functional japanese, elementary-level french and "just a spot" of italian—he was an intellectual force to be reckoned with. he's remained precocious all his life. surely, a product of being the eldest and therefore the designated thesaurus of all things whatever-my-mind-comes-up-with, but also the one was born to be dependable, reliable, and have all the answers both metaphorically and literally.

It could be an imbalance of pressure, he wrote in his diary a couple weeks after his freshman term began. he was clad in a white ribbed tank top and briefs in bed, cigarette hanging from his lips, fanning himself with his other hand to deal with the faulty air conditioning unit in his dorm room. seunghyun was caught in the memories of helping his younger sisters with their coursework upon his return home from boarding school for the holidays; accosted by the accusatory secretaries of the boss and her husband claiming he wasn't letting his siblings be independent, yet receiving vitriolic blame when their marks weren't high enough. But I am a master at exhausting each working part of my brain, seunghyun scribbled onto the page with his fountain pen, Despite that, I think I've grown. I do not feel that insatiob insatiable nibbling (?) or need for approval as much anymore. Perhaps its been temporarily replaced by undeterred untainted plain determination. I'll see how I feel in a few months time.

seunghyun certainly did, just not in the way he envisioned. just two days—two days—after declaring his dual majors, finding leeway for delving into his interests by choosing political science and physics concentrating on planetary science to scratch both sides of his brain, he was forced to take a two-year leave of absence from university. a few weeks after writing the aforementioned diary entry, a sour public opinion poll was plastered on the front page of one of the nation's top newspapers, alleging over forty percent of the public thought seunghyun was "underserving" as prince. despite the cloudy word choice, the number floating below fifty, and the overall danger of depending on something as fickle as a fucking poll, the queen was somehow cornered and convinced by an advisor to prematurely send seunghyun to a training course prefacing four terms at a military academy.

the idea of serving in the armed forces wasn't outlandish. his father served in the navy; his uncles the air force; his mother and aunts in auxiliary services. it fits the utmost bill of expectation. seunghyun and his siblings have known of this part of their duty since they were children, but it being this early in seunghyun's life was the disorienting bit. here he was again: underprepared, yet forced to put on a strong face. he was eerily silent on the jet and car ride home—blowing his voice and slamming doors after a yelling tirade with the boss and her husband. seunghyun knew there's no world—at least not yet—that he would win the fight, so despite being reduced to frustrated tears in his personal quarters at the palace, some part of him remained dignified that there was even a fight to begin with. he could say something—it'll lead to doing something next, or something shifting into place.

his two-year leave led him to being in your graduating class. countless summer barbecues and holiday dinners where your cousins routinely asked the same question upon arrival: "what's it like going to school with a prince?" to which you always responded, "i haven't seen him around." it's the unequivocal truth despite their animated groans of annoyance. when seunghyun returned to campus harboring a buzz cut growing out handsomely (much to the frustration of his brothers and amused fascination of his father,) and freshly branded with three honorary military titles after barely passing his combat fitness test (he dominated his flying exam though his humbleness deters any need for boasting,) he stayed mostly to himself his first term back at oxford. to reconfigure his mindset and pick up the pieces of the person he left behind, mostly, but also to find his footing. he wasn't seen outside his dormitory hall unless it was for lecture or the library; zeroing in his assigned readings and corresponding coursework before gradually integrating any extracurriculars of interest; meeting his cousin whom was a year above him on the weekends which turned into a rather large friend group. seunghyun knew he did something right when he walked into the dining hall for breakfast one morning to minimal heads turned and watchful eyes, leaving him and his mushroom omelette to just be.

you only saw him once the entirety of your undergraduate pursuits. once—and it was fleeting; seeing him walk hurriedly down one of the campus gardens, presumably late for something. upon reading in the paper that he was studying political science as well, you were remised to not feel slight disappointment from having no shared lectures or even damn tutors. not that you thought you had a chance . . . that never percolated in your mind . . . but it would've been nice to actually and tangibly see him, or perhaps hear his voice. him and his family were continuously all over the papers and covered in news broadcasts; ever-present around the globe, even reaching yours—though everything and nothing was known about them. its on purpose, you figured, as it did seem like the proper formula for the elite, let alone someone from the aristocracy: move with muted grace, but not without them knowing first. however, when this one in a trillion chance of fate aligned—going to college with a goddamn prince—it was completely understandable to be at least somewhat interested or curious about him . . . he was rather handsome . . . and seemed secure in himself . . .

your time at oxford was lively nonetheless. you were one of a small group of students whom was offered a full scholarship to the university—a direct result of your academic tenacity, your family scrounging the funds together to buy you an airplane ticket for your admissions interview, and the universe patting you on the back for your efforts. that's not to say it hasn't been difficult: it took nearly an entire term to mend the visceral homesickness that nauseated your heart and stomach, and a few failed essays to adjust to the different style of coursework and grading scheme. you were fortunate to find a tight knit group of friends who just understood you; a metaphorical warmth to embrace you in the library or anywhere, exhausted by the various part-time jobs you held to afford the international calling cards necessary to phone home, and just have pocket money in general. you graduated the top five percent in the college you studied under at university, landing you and two of your closest friends well-paying jobs in the city. a month after graduating, you were splitting rent on a modest townhouse with those two friends—happy, content, and for the first time in a long while, stable. the prince was long gone from your periphery. those sort of paths aren't meant to cross, anyway—until they did.

around a year later, tipping off the summer of 1984, the landline rang in the kitchen. it was a friend from college, passing knowledge of a get-together in the coming weekend to your flatmate who picked up the phone in the middle of dinner. "everyone who's graduated last year's coming up to the village again for drinks—to catch up and such. it was initially more intimate, but now with what i've last heard, its on the precipice of growing out of control," she giggled into the receiver. "can i count on you fun lot to be there? its next weekend—the 21st." you three took the train up to oxford the following saturday, dropping your overnight bags off at a frequented village hostel before heading to the listed pub later that evening. it was certainly bustling—the amount of people surrounding three small tables pushed together, making use of one side being one long cushioned booth whilst the others grabbed chairs from wherever they could—squashing the simplified explanation of its saturday night, illustrating that, indeed, an impromptu college reunion had unintentionally blown out of proportion.

you felt alive again—laughing the hardest you had in a long time, trading endearingly awkward anecdotes with friends you last saw on move-out day; basking in shared timidity of not knowing how to be adults whatsoever, and gradually drinking your pint. you hadn't scratched the halfway point, but it was a hell of a lot better than when you first arrived in britain all those years ago, barely able to stomach the malt and earthy flavor, let alone the amount of money you wasted to partake in the nightlife. it was when you wiped the foam from your top lip with your napkin after taking a sip that you saw the prince sat on the opposite end of the makeshift long table—on the booth side, just one or two people away from the corner. he looked deep in his own conversation, dabbing a handkerchief on the sweat building at his temple, his other hand nonverbally accentuating whatever point he was making to his friends before reaching in into the stack of peanuts between them, crushing one idly before eating the savory snack. you tried to keep your surprise muted, but your flatmate and friend—the first one you made at oxford—knew your widened eyes better than anyone else. sat on the chair side, she's been waiting for you, or anyone she knows, to notice seunghyun. she leaned in, a hand on your arm, "i know, right?" she said. "properly out of control." you giggled with her like schoolgirls at a sleepover, faces hot with giddiness.

seunghyun noticed you later on in the night, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in the midst his conversation with the live band playing in the pub. no one had felt tied to the table anymore, dispersing throughout the room. you and your friends stayed put, taking advantage of the added space. you moved completely to the booth side, arm relaxed atop the table with your hand propping your head up, laughter ringing out of you; entering the reminiscing-about-college part of the night. "i still can't believe i somehow churned 2,500 words out of me. in four hours, and weekly, mind you!" a friend tsked from the other side of the table. "i couldn't figure out for the life of me how to balance that with my dissertation." "those assigned readings were the bane of my existence." you added, a flurry of agreed nods paired with a friend who was particularly more tipsy letting out a slurred yet very parliamentarian "hear-hear," in support. "i mean—it'd say chapter five, but then chapter five would be a ghastly one hundred pages long. it was actually impossible on top of everything else. so many days where personal hygiene was compromised . . ." you erupted in laughter, catching seunghyun's ear.

he grinned to himself, the shared joy palpable despite not being in on the conversation. his swift glance turned into a lingering stare, quickly looking away when you got up. "i won't be long. you said that bathroom was just around the right? alright—thank you." you turned the corner, another person walking by when you past him. seunghyun looked over his shoulder, gradually turning around, his eyes following you until you disappeared behind the swinging washroom door. he found himself waiting, half-listening to the keyboardist go on about his prospects at college. when you emerged again, seunghyun's posture straightened, hands going into his pockets until the perspiration of his palms made itself known. you stepped to the side, inadvertently planting yourself a couple feet away from him, making room for what looked to be a group of co-workers walking by. your eyes met momentarily, feeling your heart freeze, somehow moving your head into a polite nod. seunghyun mimicked you, feeling the same grin from before stretching his mouth once again. he took a step closer, his voice next to your ear practically sending you into cardiac arrest before you could scuttle away.

"you have a very beautiful laugh." he said. you turned your head, looking up at him, seeing him scratch his chin; trying to find a word. "prolific." he spoke, looking into your eyes. "i don't think i've heard anything like it before." "t-thank you." you nodded. your mouth felt dry and your chest pounded as if you were in trouble—which didn't make any sense, because he was being perfectly polite. normal, even. but its who he is that's terrifying me, your inner monologue was screaming. like if i say something, i'll be black-bagged and taken away. "that's very kind of you to say." you told him, your arms akin to jelly and brain on auto-pilot. "i do like to . . . laugh." you descended into an embarrassed exhale, unsure of what to say. seunghyun chuckled, his eyes kissing at their respective ends. "that's always good." he concurred. "i'm seunghyun." he rested his palm atop his chest. "its lovely to meet you." you introduced yourself, shaking his hand when he extended it. he internally cringed at himself—i probably shouldn't've done that, his inner monologue voiced; too late to retract his hand. you then asked the question that would eventually lead to a new era of the royal family: "were you also—" you cleared your throat, nerves nowhere near subsiding. "were you also here for the—the, sort of— impromptu oxford reunion?"

your friends read the room and left you alone, eyes drifting over sneakily when you and seunghyun sat at your own small table, him flagging someone down and ordering drinks for the both of you. seunghyun was a skilled conversationalist and put you at ease surprisingly quickly, satisfied upon noticing your relaxed posture as you went on about your time at college. "i can't believe we haven't met before." he said, taking a sip from his drink. "i mean, we studied the same subject and all." your eyes softened, if only he knew i thought the same thing, "i know. it is rather peculiar." you said, smiling when he let out a laugh. "peculiar indeed." when your friends decided to call it a night, they tried to hurry their goodbyes as to not take you away from him, but seunghyun's niceties activated quickly. "i don't want to keep you from your friends—" "—its alright—you're not keeping her away!" your eldest friend interjected, shaking her head with a grand smile. "we're staying at the hostel just a few blocks down. its not a problem at all." with that, seunghyun nodded, bidding his goodnights to them; seeing her shoot a wink at you before heading out the door, smirking upon casting his eyes on your sheepish expression.

"i'm sorry, she can be very—" "—supportive?" he cut you off. "that's one way of saying it, yes." you chuckled nervously. he found it sweet, eyes tenderly cast on you. "i'm quite thankful for her, then." on the walk home an hour later, seunghyun's head was stirring. he walked wordlessly next to you on the side closest to the road, pondering on what to do next once you two reached your hostel. you glanced at him from the side, feeling warmth travel up from your neck into your cheeks from something other than the summer night humidity at the sight of his hands behind his back in an admittedly very princely manner. you had no way of knowing this, despite the pose feeling very familiar from photos you've seen in the paper, but its the way he's carried himself since he can remember—mimicking his father and his grandfather before him. you finally got to see his outfit outside of the dimly-lit bar: a white short-sleeve button up tucked neatly into jeans, complemented by a dark brown belt and adidas trainers. its like those tabloid photos of him and his family have come to life before you, with the addition of his cloudy round wire-frame glasses from the heat; seunghyun's forgetfulness to clean them; and his prescription eye contacts not coming in on time.

"this is me." you came to a halt in front of a brick building. "i had a—" the nerves returned when your eyes met. "i had a wonderful time tonight. thank you for everything, seunghyun." it felt so strange to say his name so casually though he introduced himself as such—how many royal protocols am i breaking? he admired the sight of you: hair slightly frizzy from the heat, skin glowing in the lingering humidity, shirt endearingly wrinkled. "its been nothing short of a pleasure." seunghyun nodded, eyes soft. the sound of your sweet, soft laugh made his brain briefly short-circuit, speaking before thinking clearly. "goodnight." "goodnight." you said back to him gently, not surprised yet feeling bittersweet disappointment. for a fleeting moment, you believed this was the start of something. but, alas, seunghyun is seunghyun, and you are you. a prince and a commoner—a tale too good to be true. perhaps this night was destined to become part of your story-telling rolodex, unexpectedly dropping it on your grandchildren in fifty years time.

he turned to make his way back to the pub and to his car when you started climbing the stairs. not even five steps in, however, did his chest sink to a level so deep that an alarm rang ferociously in his head. i'm making a grave mistake, seunghyun turned around, quickly jogging to the bottom of the stairs. "can i call you?" "hm?" you turned around, about to enter your key into the door lock. "can i—" the nerves caught in his throat, swallowing. "may i call you? i'd like to . . . i'd like to get to know you better. i'm starting my masters here in the fall, and i'd like to have a familiar face." he had plenty, but its the first thing he could think of to keep himself tethered to you. you smiled, glancing at the pavement below your feet. "y-yes, you may." you said. "have you—do you have something i can write our landline number on?" "i—" he patted his pockets—nothing. "i don't." shit. "i'm sorry—" "its not a problem," you attempted to troubleshoot this quickly. "i'm sure there's something in the hostel—" you thought aloud, looking down at him. "would you mind coming in for a second? i just want to make sure i give it to you." you chuckled nervously, seeing the smile on his face. "of course." he climbed up the stairs, sending your flatmates listening behind the door into a frenzy. "go! go—that way!" your eldest friend whispered in panic, the both of them scurrying to the other room.

thus began a new chapter in either of your lives. seunghyun worked towards his masters in art history on the weekdays at oxford, traveling to the city discreetly to visit his girlfriend on the weekends. you worked your nine to five as a policy analyst for a non-profit on the weekdays, taking the tube home to find a deliveryman walking to your gate the same time you were, holding a vase filled with flowers from your boyfriend; the note signed with an S, sneaking him in through the backdoor when he arrived late-friday evenings and left sunday night. you made meals together and took walks around the park, sharing your first kiss underneath a weeping willow tree. his hands were politely behind his back as per habit, stilled even in your holding of his face. "you can hold me, you know." you murmured. "oh, right. yes—" his hands found your waist, gliding warmly to your lower back, bringing you in, "come here, then." he kissed you tenderly, feeling and hearing your amused chuckle against him.

your flatmates were over the moon for you—exhilarated by being in on one of the most exclusive and secretive relationships in the world. seunghyun's upbringing taught him to get along well with just about everyone—having no problem chatting politely with your friends on the phone when they were the ones to pick up, waiting for you to come down to the kitchen. speaking of the landline, it was just that singular one in the entire townhome. the cord could only go so far, so when you had enough of standing or pacing, you pulled a chair against the wall. where seunghyun was staying in the surrounding oxford area, his staff watched in amusement at him dragging the connecting cable and cord to his bedroom to lay comfortably in his bed whilst speaking with you, holding in their laughter when they heard his shoes skid against the floor.

you traded annotated books, reading the pages in each other's voices; ways of thinking; inner monologues. he adored your scribbles and you his chicken scratch, though legibility was another conversation entirely: "is it a prerequisite for future monarchs to write so messily?" you heard seunghyun laugh from his end of the line. "i can hardly make out your thoughts on frost." "he's one of my favorite poets. that's really all there is to know about that," he chuckled. "the queen's penmanship is wonderful, if i'm to be candid. and your's is not all that better than mine, my love." an upside down grin pulled the corners of his mouth. "and the choice of red has me feeling i'm reading a marked essay instead of hemingway." he let out a hearty laugh at your groan and tutted good-faith insult, his face feeling warmer than before. there was equal, if not more, admiration when your eyes were casted on his mother language, thumb dotingly grazing the text before reaching his rushed etchings. you couldn't understand, but you could feel.

perhaps the rumors swirling around your four month anniversary could be attributed to your trips to the back of the movie theater; sneaking kisses between scenes, trips to the farmer's market every other sunday; clad in sunglasses and baseball caps, though a few papparazzi took some nondescript photos of you two—landing on the boss's desk, or driving with the windows of his range rover down; rolling them up once seunghyun pulled into an empty parking lot, your antics in the backseat blacked out by the glass. before seunghyun left for the weekend to see you, he routinely reminded his personal secretary to "only page me if the queen has been compromised, the family's in trouble, or if we've been found out," leading to many peaceful nights in your bed. he falls asleep so easily with the warmth of your plush body nuzzled into his chest; lovingly encased in his arms. light, content snores emit from either seunghyun and yours' nostrils after making love, failed attempts at silencing your lustful moans and whimpers through half-covered mouths—the squeaking of your metal bed frame saying enough to your flatmates if they went got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.

having a future monarch's head between your thighs, his hair messy and noises of his mouth and tongue suckling your clit so poetically lewd, was a sight to see and experience to behold. his soft palms moved romantically up and down your sides and stomach, tenderly yet briskly kneading your rolls, savoring the feeling of your stretch marks against his fingers—marks of the divine he calls them in his head—moaning lowly against your puffy lips, his hands making their way up to your perky breasts. "feel me." he egged, vibrations of his low voice against you making your eyes roll back. "feel me. feel my tongue." "o—oh—just like t-that—just like that!" you begged in a pitchy whisper. seunghyun looked up from his place being so hotly squished between your thick thighs, moving your stomach a little to make view of your face. how he wishes he occupied the talent to immortalize such beauty on a canvas whilst sat in his garden at home . . . the sheen of your supple skin nurtured by your building sweat, disheveled hair messily strewn along your forehead and pillow, lips slightly swollen from the heavy kisses you shared moments before you blessed him with your taste, eyebrows upturned, mouth agape, calling his name so delicately . . . he closed his eyes, continuing his ministrations, encouraging you to fasten your grip around his head with his palms on either sides of your thighs.

shortly before the holidays, you and seunghyun mutually agreed to tell your parents about your relationship. "i love you too much to keep being so secretive." he leaned down, planting a purposefully long kiss onto your cheek. you tsked, taking your eyeliner pencil away from your lid, seeing seunghyun smirking above you. "you're going to make me poke my eye out, seunghyun." you tutted, only to soften once meeting his eyes. "i love you, too." you moved closer, signaling for him to come down, pressing a sweet kiss onto his lips. "now behave and let me finish my makeup. we have to leave in twenty minutes." "will do." seunghyun was about to leave his spot leaning against the bathroom sink, quickly kissing your temple before you went in with your eyeliner, scurrying away when you turned, seeing him sat on the cushioned toilet lid cover. "you are the purest of evil." your smile gave you away. "ouch." he clutched his heart foolishly, your collective laughter rivaling the lionel richie cassette playing in the living room down the hall, intermittently interrupted by commotion in the kitchen.

your townhome was filled with either of your friend groups, gearing up for a night out together. you set the black eyeliner pencil down when it was to your liking, trading it out for mascara. seunghyun looked down at his wrist, fixing his watch. a question pestered his mind: "do you think your parents will like me?" "i think in any world—in every alternate dimension," your intonation was minutely altered, your mouth hanging open in the midst of applying mascara onto your eyelashes. "i should be the one asking you that question." you switched to your left eye, seunghyun exhaling through his nostrils. "i'm serious, my love. i can't help but be a bit anxious." "it means that you care." you answered, hearing him hum in acknowledgement. "don't be too hard on yourself. there's already so many other things pressuring you unfairly." "i know." "i'm happy you care, seunghyun. they'll really like you, i just know it." you screwed your lid of your mascara until it tightened. "although," seunghyun looked up, unsure of what you were going to say next. "they may not believe me for . . . obvious reasons." an amused grin tugged at his mouth. "i might require photographic evidence. or a court document." you threw in the latter to thwart off your increasingly flustered state. "i see." seunghyun let out a laugh. "i'm more than happy to oblige."

your gaze fell to the sink, avoiding his. "come here." you beckoned. seunghyun got up, taking the two steps it took to be in front of you; the bathroom wasn't spacious whatsoever. the moment your palms rested on his biceps, his arms made residence around your waist, pulling you in. "you look very pretty." he spoke softly, voice characteristically low. "i do?" the playful grin on your face said you knew the answer. "mhm," seunghyun nodded, feeling your hand travel up his chest, settling behind his neck. "very much so." "well, since you're being so nice," you closed the gap a little, but not entirely, "and so well-behaved." the breath of his chuckle tickled your skin, bringing your lips to his. seunghyun reconnected them feeling either of your hands hold the back of his neck—the kiss slow, intentional; intimate.

he rested his cheek against your temple when you turned your head away. "i have an idea." you said aloud, picking your black eyeliner from your makeup bag. "i wouldn't be opposed," said seunghyun. "but that's not going onto my eyes, is it?" "no," you shook your head. "but stay still nonetheless." "alright. have at it." you undid the first three buttons of his shirt, seeing the suggestive look on his face immediately. "don't look at me like that." you muttered, bringing the pencil to his exposed chest. he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, much to your endearing protest. "stop scheming. i told you to stay still." "i'm not scheming. i'm loving you." "you can be so horrifyingly cliché that it somehow morphs into charm." "thank you." he exhaled, mouth molding into a sheepish smile. "have a look." you told him, putting the cap on the pencil, taking a step back to allot seunghyun room to look in the mirror. what reflected back at him brought out the smuggest grin ever to grace mankind.

KING—not written in lettering large enough to rival a billboard, but legible to the point of it being irrefutable. "is it in case i forget?" he asked, looking at you through the mirror. "yes," you nodded, playing along. "the idea was more attractive in my head, but after the first letter i realized it would've been much easier with lipstick. it was too late to stop, though." seunghyun turned around, facing you entirely. "i can wet a cotton pad and—" "—no, no. its fine." seunghyun shook his head in quick reassurance. it clicked for you when he buttoned his shirt. "i like it. it can be our little thing." he said earnestly. "we'll try it next time with your lipstick—the deep red one." you smiled with a nod, suddenly wishing you weren't going out tonight. "okay." your voice was notably quieter. seunghyun was winning; his admiring grin on full display. your face sunk into your palms, "you truly can be so horrible to me sometimes." you complained, gentle tone contrasting with your rhetoric, feeling his arms find your waist. "how am i supposed to go out in this state?" "poor you," he tutted playfully. "so worked up over a bit of teasing." "you're awful."

before the three taxis arrived, the polaroid camera was passed around, decorating your kitchen counter with developing photos. a good number with friends, your flatmates, and seunghyun—one took candidly of you two standing together in the hall; you sat on his lap on the couch, arms around one another, grand smiles on your faces; stood up, his arms around you, cheeks pressed together—all of which you took home to show your parents when you flew home for christmas. your father was flabbergasted; your mother shocked. so many questions were hurled at you, and you answered all of them. excitement soon ensued, you having to hound your father away from the phone, halting his pursuit of calling a travel agency to book a flight to meet seunghyun. "he's telling his parents this holiday, too. i'll let you know when its a good time." "you mean the queen?" your mother raised her eyebrows. "wow—it really must be real if you're talking about them so casually."

much to seunghyun's surprise, his parents were more approving than he anticipated. sure enough, the critical look in their eyes said the trial's only just begun, but in terms of his past girlfriends, this had to be the smoothest sailing yet thus far. arrangements to meet you were quickly set into motion, his mother asking nearby staff to call for her personal secretary—seunghyun stopped her, setting his utensils down. "i would like to meet her parents first." he said. "i want us to be on an equal playing field." "surely, yes," his father spoke knowingly from across the table. "but does she happen to know who your mother is?" "full well, yes." seunghyun answered, nodding. "but, i want to take a step forward in modernizing the monarchy, as i've always desired. this would be an admittedly minute step, yes, but it could set something in motion. she has the ability—the confidence. tenacity, too." he explained. "i would like for us to meet each other's families before our relationship becomes public." "before her life is altered indefinitely, you meant to say." his mother interjected, taking a sip of her water.

seunghyun's shoulders felt heavier—the impending reality weighing down on him. "yes." he answered truthfully. "as you wish." said the queen. "i trust your judgment." he flew your parents out to britain in february, a few days after your first valentine's day together, meeting them during dinner at your townhome. he was a nervous wreck the night before and morning off, his rambles keeping you on the phone instead of preparing for their arrival ("does your mother prefer chocolates or perfume?" "just get her flowers, seunghyun." "oh my goodness, how could i have forgotten that? how about your father? what kind of ties does he like? or is he a cologne—" "—seunghyun, baby, if i don't vaccum right now, i'm going to lose my mind.")

your parents were elated to meet him. seunghyun hurdled through their interrogation with poise, despite having to clear his throat from time to time to thwart nerves. he made a good impression, exemplified by how your father patted him on the back and your mother embraced him like a son-in-law before settling into the taxi, heading to their hotel. you were officially slotted to cordially meet his family come may, ushering in summer 1985; seunghyun receiving his masters degree; closing in on one year together—until his pager beeped in late april. it was around 11:30 pm that friday night. you were laid together in bed: you having just taken the cap off your deep red lipstick, seunghyun's shirt unbuttoned. "is everything okay?" you asked, tone laced with concern. seunghyun shuffled through his dufflebag, pulling out his brick mobile, extending the antenna. "yes—i just have to call my secretary." he dialed, bringing the phone to his ear. his mind rifled through those three reasons he set forth for paging, painstakingly wondering which one it could be . . .

"your royal highness?" "yes, hello—can you hear me?" "i can, sir, yes." "is it the worst possible news?" "no, sir. thankfully not. but you're not going to like this either. i'll get straight to it—" the conversation was in his mother tongue. you gradually sat up, waiting patiently. seunghyun sat down on the edge of the bed, running his hand through his hair. though you couldn't understand, you saw he was listening intently to whatever the information was —either humming "mhm" or saying something with the cadence of a question. "its everywhere, sir," his secretary said into the receiver. "not just at home, but international outlets as well. i was able to receive faxes of the cover stories ahead of time—but there is no way out. they will be published come morning." seunghyun's shoulders didn't sink just yet. "the photos are clear. she will be identified immediately. it will be a matter of hours before the press find her residence."

seunghyun sighed. here it was: the brute, unforgiving, oncoming force touching down in less than twelve hours. with the time difference, mother and papa will find out with the rest of the world, his inner monologue reeled, hiding his face behind his palm. your worry intensified, but kept it at bay, knowing it was unreasonable to ask whilst he was still on the phone. "i suggest you leave now, sir. to avoid compromising your safety—" "—and leave her to the wolves? is that really what you want me to do? there's no world where i am cruel enough to do such a thing." "sir, with all due respect," his secretary cleared his throat. "she was—she was aware this would happen, right?" seunghyun hung up.

he hastily shoved the antenna down, holding the phone with his right hand, his left running over his face. "seunghyun?" your palm traced his shoulder, bringing him back down to earth. but he wasn't sure if this was the planet he wanted to be on at the current moment. he set the phone down on the floor, turning to face you. "that was my secretary." he explained. "my love, they know. we'll be in the papers in the morning—everywhere in a matter of hours." you didn't freeze, but the shock rattled your chest. you knew this day would come at some point—it wasn't unexpected, but in fact established in open conversation when you first started dating. however, its one thing to hear about something, and another to experience it. "we've talked about this before—" "i know, seunghyun. i'm okay." you assured. he huffed, conflicted thoughts permeating the furrow of his eyebrows. "do you want to come to oxford? where i'm staying? i can have the car ready as soon as possible." you contemplated for a moment, ultimately shaking your head. "i can't do that to them, seunghyun."

he knew you were referring to your flatmates. before he could protest, you get out of bed, making your way to the door. "i'll go tell them now—so they can prepare for the morning." "they? what about you?" seunghyun stood to his feet. "seunghyun," you let out a breath. "i've long made my decision since the moment i went on a date with you—since the moment i had a drink with you at the bar." you said, gesturing to your side, but in your head it was the aforementioned memories. "like you've said, we've talked about what's coming, and now its here. if i run away now, there's no point. i have to face them. it might as well be tomorrow." part of you knew you had no idea what you were talking about, that there was no true way to grasp the severity of circumstance until you're thrusted into it. your stubbornness persisted. "my love, you're not running away—" you cut him off by leaving the room, heading up the stairs, knocking on your eldest friend's door first.

a debrief occurred in the kitchen until three am—the makeshift council deciding it was best for seunghyun to return to oxford before morning. "please don't think differently of me." he pleaded into your neck, holding onto you so tightly it was as if you would wither away. "i won't." you said earnestly. "you're the best thing thats ever happened to me." he lifted his head, looking into your eyes. "please—please, i beg of you, don't let these vermin take you away from me." "i won't." you repeated. "come here." you said softly, molding your lips with his. he returned the sentiment, kissing you harder, his hands holding your face in his palms. "i love you so dearly." seunghyun whispered. "i love you more." you whispered back. "page me when you're home safe, okay?"

it was horrendous. catastrophic. absolute pandemonium. the night's deliberations led to the arrangement of your flatmate driving you to work. there were a handful of reporters outside that morning as the news waves hadn't entirely penetrated yet in those early hours—you kept your head down and sped walked to the car. however, stepping foot outside lended your location as if you paged the entire nation, and coming home was a disaster-filled saga. over fifty paparazzi booked it to the car—the clattering of camera shutters continuous as if an off button wasn't an option. your name was hurled at you like a frantic, hunger-filled insult, followed by some of the most invasive questions no one in your close circle could've ever drawn up. by primetime, everyone around the world knew your name and how to spell it.

you tried to exit more discreetly through the backdoor, but the press soon figured that one out, forcing you back to the front entrance. much to your benefit, you became rather skilled at strategically scurrying away—though some reporters more agile than you would give you a run for your money, shoving a microphone in your face as they frantically looked back and forth from you and their cameraman, asking any question ranging from "has his royal highness spoken with you today?" to "how do you think your prospects are to serve as queen?" it escalated to finding you on grocery runs or simply out and about running errands and living normally—the papers all filled with photos of you walking with your head down, hand covering your face. you told seunghyun exactly what you needed: "i need protection," you told him over the phone. "a driver, for a start. her poor ford escort can only take so much." he also arranged for your parents to have security, putting his own money down to pay for the cost.

it then escalated to the point of no return. reporters were knocking—some breaking and entering—your neighbor's homes in hopes of getting intel on you; photographers climbing power poles to zoom in on your windows, leading to blankets being strung up for privacy, and somehow someway the leaking of your landline number; cutting the cord after it rang for over fourteen hours. after two months of mayhem, your flatmate couldn't take it anymore. "they've started contacting my family," she said, wheeling her suitcases out through the backdoor, the rest of her belongings in her car. "i have to draw the line." that night was dreadful—a harrowing image of you sat in the living room with deepened eye bags and a thousand yard stare, commotion of reporters behind a strung up blanket. the couch dipped next to you, your eldest friend bringing you into her arms. "i really can't blame her," you cried. "i—i don't—" "—its okay, its okay." she comforted. "at least marry him so we can get a party out of all of this." she smiled hearing your meek laughter, holding you closer.

when you wouldn't give an interview (or in other words, compromise your privacy for nasty people whom you owed nothing; you and seunghyun weren't even engaged yet) then came the unsavory photos published, op-eds written, and outright lies spread. your middle-class background was villainized to falsely frame you as a gold digger ("i've learned quickly that there's nothing people hate more than those who defy their heinously preconceived notions." you told your flatmate over wine one night); photos of you with an accentuated double chin from struggling to open the car door, a body roll somewhat visible in the millisecond it took you to fix your blouse, an angled photo of your legs taken when you were throwing the garbage out; digitally manipulated to over-exaggerate your natural cellulite were intentionally plastered on the front pages with unfavorable headlines digging at your body. some language tip-toed and was more fluffy whilst others were unabashed: Princess Piggy; Biting off More Than She Can Chew?; Local retailer says she won't carry size "Infinity XL" anymore. your body was treated akin to a moral failing. you remained strong, but felt yourself begin to chip away. you were only human, after all.

seunghyun wanted to set the world on fire. he didn't attend his ceremony, receiving his masters degree quietly before being made to fly back home for good old-fashioned damage control. he donned his round wire frames for a softer, more approachable look, shaking the hands and greeting the hundreds of people waiting to see him outside of the research center he just cut the ribbon for. many were supportive, handing him flowers and other gifts whilst saying "she's so beautiful!" or "you two are such a fine match, bring her home soon! the country wants to meet her!", swiftly walking past anyone stepping over a boundary with their question or remark—until a reporter had something to say. seunghyun didn't overhear what he said at first ("your royal highness, how could you—with someone so below you!") since he was accepting a small bouquet of daises grown in a garden of a mother of four, but looked up before being ushered to the car. "its an embarrassment, sir! you're a future king!" the cameraman caught him, and the mic picked up on his voice: "you could only be so lucky."

you were flown out to meet his family in june. driven hours into the remote countryside to a castle ("i've grown up calling it an estate. its the queen's favorite of our holiday homes." "this is not the time for semantics, seunghyun. thats a fucking granite and slate castle.") the day before his siblings and parents were to arrive. seunghyun gave you a tour of the grounds whilst your luggage was carried in and set up in your quarters by staff—the greenest, crunchiest cabbage growing in the garden; ten tangerine trees scattered throughout a neighboring courtyard; the distant stable, just a mile away from a freshwater stream ("the horse i've known since my childhood is still with us. i named him ben—i was probably around nine years old." "when i was that age, i was just lucky enough to see one in a field during a long car ride."); and the part of the castle you two were staying in—seunghyun reciting facts about various portraits, art pieces, and overall architecture of one of the homes he grew up in ("do see those engravings—just by the chandelier? they've been there for over four hundred years." "that's older than me." "yes, me too, my love."; "my mother and papa usually stay just down that hall." "seunghyun, your parents are just going to be around the corner? and you're just telling me this now?")

as the evening progressed, your nerves did, too. perhaps it was the staff prefacing your surname with "miss" when addressing you, the three course dinner you had looking over massive, fruitful acreage, or staring into the eyes of seunghyun's generations-old ancestor painted onto canvas, almost falling after leaning on what was both part of the library but also dually acting as a secret door into another room, practicing your curtsy an infinite amount of times in the bathroom along with reviewing how to address certain members of his family did it all start to feel a bit too real. you didn't sleep a wink, tossing and turning whilst seunghyun slept peacefully at your side. at half three in the morning, you got up, quietly leaving the bedroom to clear your mind. you didn't stray too far, only going down the long corridor connecting the landing of the staircase to where you were staying for the duration of this trip. the ceilings are so high. its like a different altitude up there, you thought to yourself, craning your neck upwards.

your fingers brushed against the top of the wainscot rails lining the wide walls, turning the corner, finding yourself stood in front of the same portrait as before. it was humungous. the man was aged and dignified, demonstrated in his pristine posture and polite expression. though the portrait had evidence of upkeep and attempts at restoration in its scratched golden frame and crinkled corners, if you looked close enough, you could see where seunghyun got his looks from—those kind brown eyes, smooth nose bridge, and prominent ears didn't spring out of nowhere. it was one thing to know he comes from a lineage so indescribably powerful and influential, but entirely another to see it for yourself, and the person before you wasn't even alive anymore. your eyebrows furrowed, thinking i wonder when this was commissioned. you took a step closer, eyeing what looked to be white numbers in the corner. your stomach churned—1679. you clutched your mouth, running to where you remember the bathroom was, retching into the toilet.

seunghyun stirred awake. senses exhausted in interrupted slumber, he noticed you were gone, along with the subtle shin of the morning sun beginning to purify the curtains. he turned onto his left side, aimlessly grabbing the clock on the nightside table, squinting at the time reading 5:17 AM. he put it back, hand patting the surface to feel for his glasses, putting them before sitting up. a yawn escaped his lips after opening the door, shuffling his bare feet against the carpeted floors. he crossed his arms over his chest, walking halfway down the hall before spotting your head in the sitting room. "my love?" his voice was low, another yawn leaving him. "is that you?" "yes, seunghyun." "come back to bed, baby," he approached the couch you were sat at, sitting down next to you. "its so early." he muttered, eyes still half-closed, pressing a kiss to your temple. "is there a reason you're up? is everything okay?" he asked, rubbing the remaining exhaustion out of his eyes.

you were upfront. there's no point in sugarcoating it, even if the timidity of your voice contradicted that. "i'm very nervous about meeting your family." you whispered. "i haven't slept at all. i was—i was looking at the painting of your . . . your—" "uncle with too many 'greats' before his name that no one cares enough to say." seunghyun nodded after clarifying. you couldn't help the smile stretching your mouth, or the amused exhale leaving your nostrils. he always had such a way of alleviating pressure through humor. despite what others may think, he never really took himself too seriously. "yes, him." you chuckled. "i saw the date the painting was commissioned and i just . . . i just fell apart. your family's history, seunghyun . . . i am no match for it. i don't know who i think i am being here." you shook your head, looking at him pleadingly. he shut that shit down quickly, shaking his head. "nope, we're not doing this," he tutted. "not now. not ever." he moved closer to you, taking your hand in his. "we've talked about this before, my love." his voice was smooth. "you belong here just as much as i do." "thats whats wrong!" you exclaimed. "i don't—" you stuttered, frustrated. "its hard for me to share that feeling. this is all so—its all so big, seunghyun. what if . . . what if your parents don't like me? or your siblings? i don't have the faintest clue of what i'm doing. they're going to see right through me today."

"you do know what you're doing." seunghyun corrected you. "in the way you round the press up like cattle and rightfully give them nothing in return, you know exactly what you are doing. the fact that you have suffered so much these last two months, and still agreed to come here with me, shows that you know what you are doing." he didn't stutter a single vowel, let alone take his eyes off of you. "you already have the spine." said seunghyun. "but its only been two months since we've gone public," you countered, him listening carefully. "what if i break? what if they break me? they've already turned on how i look. who's to say it won't be how i dress next, or how i drink from a glass of water? or how much space i take up in a fucking photo?" you ranted. a long breath escaped your lungs, eyes closing momentarily. "i know its part of the package—part of dating a future king." you said. "i know that i'll be torn to bits. fodder for gossip, target of jealousy, receiver of criticism both deserved and not. i know it so well that it weighs down on my skull, even in its infancy." you lifted your head, meeting his eyes. "but my soul is fragile, seunghyun. i'm am only a human." you shook your head, feeling your eyes become misty. "i'm not—i'm not supernatural."

"that's precisely why i want you here." seunghyun leaned closer to you. "i feel your warmth when i hold your hand. embrace you, kiss your lips. i feel it in your gaze when you look for me across the room. that's not a feeling i've known often in my life." he shook his head. "i was born into a kind of privilege i will never be able to fully understand before i leave this earth. but—but affection, space to listen and be listened to in return, to be so naturally loved . . . those are luxuries my lineage will never be able to afford. you are not a husk. you have a beating heart." his thumb ran gently over your quivering bottom lip. "what if they turn me into one?" your voice barely trailed above a whisper. seunghyun didn't hesitate in his answer: "i would abdicate before i let that happen to you, my love."

you blinked, suddenly feeling hot tears stream down your face, your fingers swiftly flicking them off. "i never thought it was possible to love someone as much as i love you." your voice quivered, an emotional frown tugging at the corners of your mouth, avoiding looking at him in fear you would cry harder. "me neither." his eyes twinkled. he leaned in, hands coming up holding either side of your face before you stopped him. "i—" you glanced down, embarrassment filling your chest. "i vomited earlier. in the . . . in the bathroom." seunghyun turned your head, bringing his lips to your warming cheek instead. "if i knew you felt so uneasy, i would've pushed this trip back." he spoke to you so tenderly, as if you were the only two people in the world. "i just needed assurance." you told him softly. "do you feel reassured?" he genuinely asked. "almost entirely." "come," seunghyun stood on his feet, tugging gently at your hand. "let's go for a walk. it helps clear my mind. i'm sure it'll help you, too."

you walked hand in hand underneath the rising morning sun, ankles tickled by the remnants of the previous evening's sprinkled rainfall soaked into the grass. the door into the horse stable was wide open, seunghyun peering in to see the two royal stablehands already hard at work. you watched swift head bows before politely greeting them yourself. "i can't believe i forgot to show you this yesterday." seunghyun took your hand, ushering you to the other side of the barn. he peered around the corner, carefully stepping onto the gravel upon spotting a fluffy tail. "one of our gardeners wrote to me saying a stray cat has had her kittens here." before you could register the anecdote, an adult cat followed clumsily by three toppling kittens emerged from behind a ledge, scuttling away to nestle underneath the shade of a tangerine tree.

his family was a mixed bag. seunghyun's parents were running late, so you didn't meet them all at once. first came his four siblings who arrived with ten minute increments between them, making your stomach feel queasy whenever the double doors swung open, preceding a brief announcement recited by a secretary of who's arrived. you were all relatively the same age, the eldest after seunghyun 24 and the youngest 17—set to begin college at cambridge in the fall. seunghyun's sisters were like looking at the same person at different stages of her life (his oldest the second eldest of the family, his youngest the baby,) whereas his brothers—the certified middle children—were at times at stark odds. the younger one was demonstrably more extroverted, laying back on the couch with his feet propped up on the table, speaking to you as if you've known one another your entire lives within five minutes of meeting, whereas the older brother was more observant; chiming in whenever needed, but not without his handsome smile.

seunghyun held himself differently, as anyone would in front of their family. there was slightly more command in the vibrato of his voice, though his relaxed body language and knack for witty banter was like looking through vignettes of memories. it was clear this bunch were true siblings, not only bound by blood, but through pointless bickering; weaponization of embarrassing stories; and playing rock-paper-scissors over who gets to eat the last scoop of bingsu for dessert though dinner hadn't started. when the queen and his royal highness arrived on the premises, the eldest sister tugged at your wrist, bringing you towards the back of the group ushering collectively down the hall. "we'll play uno after dinner with the boss." she told you lowly, checking to see if seunghyun overheard. he was occupied, fixing his cufflink. "there's positively no way you'll leave us without seeing how worked up he gets over color coordination."

the execution of your curtsy was pristine, though your heart was beating in your throat. if the queen was interrogating you, she was a master at subtlety, because that beautiful smile and warm, comfortable laugh never disappeared. his father's critical gaze earned a defiant nudge on his arm from his eldest daughter when you weren't looking, followed by hushed bickering before asking a question receiving her nod of approval. you slept better that night following a fanatical five rounds of uno, after each of which seunghyun sat closer to the edge of the couch before standing completely on his feet; pacing four steps back and forth, nearly tripping over nothing to beat his eldest sister, or anyone for that matter, in shouting the winning word. you woke at fifteen past six the next morning to use the bathroom, approached by the queen's secretary on the walk back to your bedroom. "her majesty and his royal highness would like for you to join their morning tea. either will be in the same dining hall as the night previous in one half hour."

you dressed quickly, keeping your composure. she’s just a person. she’s just a person, you repeated in your head, fixing your bracelet for the nth time whilst descending down the wide staircase. your curtsy went even deeper than the previous evening’s, nearly freezing when you felt her lay her palm atop your shoulder. “please, come join us.” her tone was unreadable (or perhaps you were just in overthinking overdrive,) but her idly soft voice put your subconscious at ease, no longer feeling your loafers pinch the back of your ankles. you dipped into a curtsy again at the sight of his royal highness waiting with his hands behind his back—seunghyun is his exact carbon copy—at the far end of the long dining table, offering you a curt nod of acknowledgement. "i was upset we couldn't speak as closely last night," the queen's voice returned your attention to her. "with the commotion of our family and all." she chuckled politely, making you grin in an unavoidably nervous gesture. "i look forward to getting to know you better now. we've heard nothing but the highest of praise." "or perhaps excitement is the preferred term." seunghyun's father chimed in, sitting himself down across from you.

"she's always been so bad at hiding when she's not being subtle." the queen's youngest son critiqued from the sitting room window, watching with his older counterpart with his arms crossed over his chest. "never." the eldest concurred. "remember when she and papa—" "move." a frustrated seunghyun forcibly nestled his way between them, making room for himself in front of the tall window. the youngest kissed his teeth, horrendously annoyed by seunghyun's nuisance. "fuck off, will you? it hasn't even been twenty minutes since i woke up." seunghyun ignored him, gesturing sharply at the view below: his mother and father on either side of you, walking along the grass. "they have her caged in—like an animal!" he thought aloud, baffled. "talk about a metaphor." the younger brother snickered, shut right up when seunghyun reached behind him, nudging the back of his head. "the second she's alone, they ring her in like prey! its like—its like they haven't changed at all! and worst of all, they're completely shameless about it!"

"what's going on?" the sisters entered the sitting room, the eldest tying her robe closed over her pajamas. "its hardly eight am and your ruckus is already carrying throughout the house." "i wanna see!" the youngest of them all chimed, scuttling over, pushing seunghyun's arm out of the way to get a better look. his eldest sister couldn't help her grin. "oh, the boss certainly means business." she let out a tired yawn, rubbing her right eye. "even brought out the translator." she referred to the man walking five paces behind you three—a polyglot the queen has employed for decades, handy for state banquets and trips abroad. she and her husband felt comfortable in their english, but kept him close by in good faith. the five of them watched in awe-filled silence. seunghyun was at a loss for words. his sister assured him like it was muscle memory. "you have nothing to worry about." she told him, the lot of them watching their father pat you on the shoulder, able to make out the comfortable smile on your face despite the growing distance. "that's the most relaxed i've seen papa in years." as if he overheard, their father turned his head, looking behind him at the sound of guardsmen walking by. "the curtain!" the youngest brother yelped, all five hastily reaching their hands up to pull the thick fabric.

later in the morning, you asked a guard where seunghyun was, politely directing you to a nearby garden. seunghyun closed his book, rising quickly from his seat on the bench, walking to you with haste. "my love—good morning." he pampered your lips with his, holding your face in his palms. "so?" was all he was able to muster, anxious thoughts running endlessly through his mind that his thinking became fragmented, eyes flittering around your face for an answer. "i think i passed?" you smiled, easing into laughter feeling seunghyun embrace you with a grip that could only be pure relief. "your father has a penchant for going endlessly back-and forth." you spoke, hands traveling up. "i can see where you get it from." you chuckled, giggling sweetly when he held you tighter.

your first public outing as a couple came july 1985 at the dual-venue benefit concert, live aid. wembley stadium was overflowing with music lovers and spectators alike. it was an atmosphere unlike any other, settling into your suite with friends who tagged along as well. photos in the papers chronicled your frizzy hair and his blowing in the wind churning through the open-roof stadium, beer in his hand, both of you donning ray bans; you two stood on your feet, moving your hands in unison with thousands of others when queen took the stage with radio gaga; you taking your lightweight blazer off, dancing and twirling in your maxi skirt whilst david bowie performed modern love, seunghyun's shy smile about to live on for years on the bedroom walls of teenage girls around the world. you looked so natural, as if you were having the time of your life, because you were! better yet, it inadvertently became a very effective optics campaign. there's nothing more relatable than two twenty-something-year-olds who love live music as much as they do each other. luckily for seunghyun, it was real love.

the tide was turning now that people know you and seunghyun were serious. the vitriolic attacks on your privacy not only persisted, but maximized: private letters leaked, random classmates you've never met claiming to be your "closest confidant" coming out of the woodworks for their fifteen minutes of fame, the outside of your car swarmed in the middle of a traffic jam—it was endless. tiresome. draining. it severed his heart to hear you sound so pitifully defeated over the phone (a new landline specially encrypted with a direct line to him, also protecting other calls needed to be made), your voice often times descending into unintelligible whispers, succumbing to tears. "i just want to tell them to get lost." you wiped your cheeks, clutching the phone like a lifeline. "but i'm afraid of what they might do next. its like they're—they're checking off a list of things to do to me, one by one. 'how cruel can we be today,' or something like that." seunghyun armed you with his family's attorneys, sending them off into battles in the courtroom to squeeze tabloids and other defamatory cases dry.

many spectators anticipated a certain announcement to follow the reporting of you and seunghyun moving in together after three years of dating. it was the fall of 1987—seunghyun began pursuing his history of art phd at cambridge, with you landing a senior position at a non-profit's policy advisory board. seunghyun happily departed from his residence after years of flying back and forth, settling into your three bedroom flat with unbridled ease, furthering the next chapter of your shared lives together. you split chores: trading who washed the dishes on an every-other-day-basis, seunghyun cooking most nights with sunday being the designated takeout day, you telling him to buy a new hoover after your current one gave out in the midst of cleaning the living room, etcetera.

your couch has seen a lot. anecdotes and conversations a rolodex of parasitic tabloids would beg on their hands and knees to obtain—offering to oust one another via sacrificial rituals to print; kisses that would scandalize seunghyun into an overnight sex symbol, defying multiple centuries of articulate public relations handiwork molding the impenetrable influence establishing him as a noble figure; you in such overtly compromising positions that would've been the most expensive paparazzi photos ever sold, if only you and seunghyun didn't live on the top floor with your curtains closed. your knees burned atop the cushions with every ministration of your hips, seunghyun's knees seemingly on opposite ends of the room from how far he's spread his legs. your respective movements were messy and disjointed—but so carnally aligned. he thrusted up into you whilst you worked yourself down onto him, condom slick and creamy, your thick, soft thighs jiggling with such force in collision with his hips. all that can be heard are soft whimpers and helpless gasps. "o—oh!" you squeaked delicately next to his ear, almost drowned out by the lewd sound of your skin slapping together. "s—seunghyun—" you mewled, holding the back of his head, pressing your temple against his. "i-i'm lost in you, my love," he panted, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. "utterly lost—hngh!" he slowed his hips, calming himself down after your gummy walls tightened mercilessly around him. his hands quickly traveled up your back to catch you when you momentarily lost balance, providing leeway to do some work. "let me make you feel good as you do me, yeah? f-fuck! o-oh my—oh my f-fucking—"

afternoons and nights where your thighs fondle his head, legs cast over his shoulders whilst his knees prop him up on the carpet floors, making love to you with his tongue. you've long forgotten about the wine glasses on the coffee table, or the load of laundry waiting to be transfered to the the dryer. that can wait for an eternity, as far as you're concerned. its a sight to behold: you taking off his glasses after they continuously travel down the bridge of his nose, putting them atop your head for safe keeping, your fingers combing his soft hair back; the subtle tinkering of your bracelets falling down your wrist egging him on further. his backpack and textbook waited patiently on the dining table—he has a meeting with his academic advisor on campus in forty-five minutes. you separated your legs, lifting your hips to lay more comfortably, pushing his head in deeper. seunghyun continued his lethal ministrations on your clit, separating your puffy lips with his pointer and middle fingers, isolating it entirely. "f-fuck! yes!" your voice croaked, cracking into an abrupt gasp. "j-just like that, s-seunghyunnie! oh my fucking god!" you almost sounded offended by how good at this he was. your furrowed eyebrows fought with your fallen jaw, "you're gonna—mmf!—y-you're gonna make me cum!" "that's the goal." he muttered. "this is not the time for—o-oh my f-fuck—" the vibrations of his chuckle shut you right up; eyes squeezing shut, back arching, in utter bliss. "i-i'm gonna—i'm—o—oh!"

two years later, you were in finland on holiday. friends came and went in their respective cabins, leaving you and seunghyun alone those last few days before flying home. you two have considered marriage for a while now—having shared many open and transparent conversations regarding the matter. on a human level, you've been ready for the question since your six month anniversary. however, on an impending-public-figure or more aptly put, future-wife-of-the-monarch-and-serving-as-queen level, it took some self reflection to say the least. his belief in you is what sealed the deal: "i was raised to be honest." he told you one night, tucked underneath the duvet alongside you. "i was also raised to root out weakness. if you didn't have what it took, i wouldn't have let my heart surpass the point of no return." he picked the ring out a few weeks before boarding the royal jet with you to finland, and a week after receiving your parents blessing, discreetly tucking it away securely into one of his duffle bags. he routinely built a sweat on that trip despite the cold winter temperatures—checking multiple times a day if the small velvet box was still with his belongings, as if it would somehow grow legs and walk away.

the aurora borealis bloomed above you. it was your second time seeing the phenomenon on this trip alone—basking in the closest thing, to you, humankind will ever come to experiencing magic. seeing it the first time earlier in the week was purely out of fortune. the skies were clear, your entourage pulling into your cabins after a late dinner, only to stand outside in your long puffer jackets and thick beanies for the next twenty minutes in utter awe. the second time it happened, only now it was only you two coming home to your cabin, seunghyun took it as a sign; a leap of faith. he non-suspiciously excused himself, muttering something about retrieving his camera, hurrying to your shared bedroom and sifting through his duffle bag—unzipping the side pocket tucked behind spare clothing, clutching the small box in his palm. he was down on one knee ten minutes later. nothing moved in the world in those moments except you two. his hands shook as he aligned his eye with the film camera’s viewfinder, the flash making the diamond ring sparkle in the night.

to think your first introduction to his nation was as his fiancée was inexplicably and objectively insane. a concurrent move of grandeur and strategic privacy, you thought, whilst preparing for the engagement photo call and subsequent interview. you looked like a match made in the portraits released to the public: stood outside of the palace; seunghyun in an ashy black suit paired with a deep maroon tie, you in a navy blue long sleeve dress that cut off right below your knees. he was holding his arm out for you, your hand adorned with the ring resting in plain view in the allotted gap. the smiles on your faces were irrefutable—this was solid; written in the stars. your eight minute engagement interview aired the following night—prefaced by b-roll of you two perusing the gardens arm-in-arm; him fixing your dress; you straightening his tie—reaching millions around the world. you were received as a kind, well-spoken, intelligent woman topped off with an endearing sense of introversion—“an expected prerequisite of stepping out of her shell,” the news anchor called it, to be specific. the details of your love story of the prince falling for a commoner (and your dress, quite frankly) led to record numbers of undergraduate applications sent to oxford the following cycle; local seamstresses became booked for weeks on end; department stores selling dupes of your dress were sold out for months at a time.

the several months between your engagement and wedding day were colorful in every possible meaning of the word. your time was spent wishing you had more time, in between moving into his residence (“our residence now, my love.”); sorting out your patronages and honorary titles you were to take on after officially becoming both a princess and the future queen; sifting through heaps of doting letters from the public and trying to respond to at least ten before heading to bed; fittings for an endless array of things (most importantly your wedding and reception dress, along with tours planned months in advance for when you’re officially a royal); cake and food tastings; visits to florists; selecting and meeting your new staff, bodyguards, and secretaries; routine visits with your fiancé to your future in-laws’ palaces to pick out a venue; setting up your office … it was endless.

seunghyun was born into this rodeo, so he helped wherever he could. he didn’t want to stifle any opportunities of you establishing your footing in a brand new lifestyle you needed to learn the ins and outs of, but also didn’t want to leave you hanging out on your own. he knew there was a very possible balance between the two, but couldn’t help but get ahead of himself sometimes (“a lady-in-waiting should be someone you’re close to. she’ll help in daily tasks and anything else you might need help with. i’ve told you this before.” “i don’t know who to pick, seunghyun. i don’t have many friends.” “we’ll find you some, then.” “no—that’s not what i’m trying to say, baby. i don’t want just anyone at the wedding, or in my daily life like that.”) he could only be so aware of his indescribable privilege and being privy to such dense knowledge of royal life. he’s admitted to these faults before, and they’ve manifested throughout your relationship. whether it be more passive—addressing luxury cars as if they were toyotas; footing the 12,000/month rent for your shared flat; using a first edition print of a classic novel as a makeshift coaster when he couldn’t find one in the kitchen cabinets; walking barefoot in his centuries-old historical residence decadent in paintings and fixtures worth millions in nothing but linen shorts and a lightweight v-neck sweater; eating a slice of pizza with a knife and fork, much to your amusement: “no, baby.” you simply tutted, getting up from your seat, a hand on his shoulder. “hm?” seunghyun turned his head, attention returning to his plate when you took the utensils out of his hands. “it comes to a point.” you told him with a grin, directing his fingers to hold the crust.

or it can be much more apparent. do not be mistaken by your faces being printed onto dinner plates and sold in gift shops—you and seunghyun are not the perfect couple. you’ve had petty arguments, a disagreement here and there, or outright misalignments. you try to talk it out, but if the circumstance proves to still be sensitive, you take an hour or two away. to seunghyun, this is your shared secret of a long lasting relationship—a testament in your trust of one another. that no matter what, a momentary rift is just that: momentary. you trust each other to feel love and happiness, but also frustration and disappointment—yes, they are equally important. there’s no point in suppressing what makes us human, especially in highly contentious environment seeking to suck the humanity out of you, such as the institution you were marrying into. he needed you, even when he acted amuck.

he had just hung up the phone with his eldest sister—a conversation ending in raised voices and inflamed discontent. he marched out of his office, running his hands over his face, trying to ease his frustration. you turned the corner, “oh, there you are.” his back was turned to you, hearing your loafers against the carpeted floors. “just when i think i know my way around this place, i walk into one of the three dining halls thinking its the hallway to your office.” you chuckled. seunghyun turned around with haste, trying to thwart his irritation. “what is it, baby?” “i wanted to tell you the appointment with our florist’s been moved to this thursday at three. my secretary received the call just a few moments ago. i’m hoping we can finalize the arrangements for the wedding.” “thursday?” seunghyun’s irritation was noticeble to you now. “this thursday? does it have to be?” “i’m afraid so.” you said, carefully observing him, a little confused. “is something wrong?”

“its just that—” he huffed. “its just that my sister’s suddenly—outlandishly demanded my presence.” “for?” “the architect i suggested for her renovations doesn’t meet her hellish standards, as she just so dotingly relayed to me on the phone just now.” he gestured dramatically to his office, returning both of his hands to his hips. you hummed in acknowledgement, nodding. you remembered she was moving into one of the family’s many cottages. as decadent and historical it was, it was aged and in need of an upgrade, at least to their standards—insert seunghyun referencing his trusted architect-interior designer duo he employed for the renovations made to his residence years ago. part of you couldn’t recognize what the fuss was all about. the cottage was huge, bigger than any normal person could ever hope for, yet there they were, bickering like it was a dinky studio apartment in the city. an air of snobbishness certainly ruminates in these halls, considering in this brief beat of silence, seunghyun cut you off before you could say something.

“she wanted an ‘egalitarian flair.’” he recited, kissing his teeth. he turned his head, watching you watch him. “you wouldn’t understand—” he cut himself off the moment he realized what words were leaving his mouth. he didn’t know what came over him, but the sight of your appalled expression served him right. “no, go on.” you challenged, crossing your arms over your chest. “i am your fiancée and the woman who will serve as your next queen. you should feel at ease saying anything in front of or to me. go on.” your stubbornness served as your defiant armor protecting you from a contradictory, unforgiving world, but being at the brunt of it was both humbling and shitty. seunghyun’s head sunk, slowly walking over to you with a stride of sympathy. “i’m sorry, my love,” he said. “i don’t know what came over me. i didn’t mean that.” “tell me what you said.” your tone was firm. “i’m not going to tell you something that i don’t mean.” said seunghyun. “why? because i might not understand it?” you retorted sharply.

frustration brewed in his chest. “if you knew what i said, why make a fool out of me?” “because you’re the one talking in circles—thinking i don’t know what egalitarian means!” you exclaimed. seunghyun huffed, “thats not what i—” “—i went to oxford too, you know.” you cut him off. “i might’ve not been at liberty to renovate my home at the drop of a hat, but i can understand where others are coming from.” seunghyun’s jaw tightened, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. “don’t make this about that.” he turned around, walking to the end of the hallway towards the terrace. “you know full well i am not the type of person to judge someone based off something as—as s-stubborn as the cards they’ve been dealt!” he exclaimed over his shoulder, sending a butler whom was walking down a neighboring corridor to re-route his path, avoiding the brewing conflict. you quickly followed after seunghyun, “you aren’t!” you said with haste. “and i know that!” you stepped out onto the balcony, the early spring wind brushing against your face.

“but—but these pockets of frustration—” it was so hard to find the words, like they were clogged in your throat, coming out fragmented. “its unfair for them to be mis-directed at me, with no warning! and with hardly an explanation afterwards.” seunghyun reached into the left pocket of his trousers, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighter. before he could open the box, you snatched both items away. “absolutely not—those things will kill you.” you scolded firmly, placing them atop the glass table behind you. brief, needed silence separated you two. seunghyun was the one to break it, “i’m sorry.” “for?” “being a stuck-up fuck.” you lifted your head, seeing him already looking at you. “i’m not going to lie and say you don’t have the tendency sometimes.” “i’m not sure if you knew this,” he eased into it. “but that’s why i have you around in the first place.”

you scoffed, unable to shake the smile off your face. “your apology’s only partially accepted.” seunghyun made the four step stride over to you, placing a kiss onto your temple. “is it whole now?” he asked. “marginally.” you answered, looking at the meadow ahead of you. you giggled at the ticklish feeling of his lips hovering closely above your cheek, kissing your lips softly. his hands made residence onto your lower back, pulling you closer when you reconnected the kiss. “whole.” you confirmed, hand holding the back of his head as he leaned down swiftly, planting a kiss just below your neck. his hand grabbed your left, pressing his lips against the back of it, humming in contentment upon feeling the diamond gently rub against his skin. “your sister needs to stuff it.” you told him. he looked at you, amused grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “can you put that in writing?”

your wedding took place in the summer of 1990. just under 1,500 guests attending the ceremony, ranging from close confidants to political leaders, to a much more intimate 200 invited to the evening reception. no amount of rehearsal could’ve prepared you for the oddity of the day. that saturday felt as if it played out in both slow motion and ten times fast—flashes of thousands lining the barricaded streets, you waving with a grand smile behind your veil and the closed windows of the rolls royce, your parents overjoyed and overwhelmed at the energy surrounding you; your eldest friend, most concrete confidant, and overall key to surviving your then-broken heart fixing the train of your off-white gown after you successfully got out of the car and made it inside, the chimes of bells filling your ears; the broadcast cameras capturing seunghyun’s siblings standing to his left at the altar as you walked down the aisle, already trying to blink away his tears; the organ drowned out any possibility of overhearing seunghyun’s “you picked a good one,” to you, quickly wiping away a fallen tear after taking in the sight of your gown and tiara adorning your fucking beautiful head—bridal boutiques were never the same; his sneaky, subtly and characteristically funny expressions to alleviate your nerves when repeating your vows the officiant recited for either of you—romance novels were never the same; suddenly, the wedding bands were on, and deafening celebration surrounded you as seunghyun’s hand held yours, helping you into the carriage before settling in himself for the public send off. “and here they are now,” a reporter from overseas spoke into his microphone, pressing down on his earpiece to hear himself. the cameraman zoomed in, capturing you and seunghyun waving graciously, smiling unabashedly. “a future king and queen—an unexpected match that has resonated with many far and wide. waving to not only the people of their realms, but to the world itself. may they—perhaps this partnership will fulfill the phrase we’ve known as children, and only from fairytales: and they live happily ever after.”

in the few hours before your reception, you and seunghyun re-cooperated at your residence. as soon as your dress was off, you made a b-line to the bathroom, soaking your feet in the cold water seunghyun had drawn in the tub at your request. “remind me to never break in heels the day i need to wear them.” you let out a breath of relief feeling the cold water hit the irritated skin of your feet, relaxing into your chair. seunghyun chuckled, pulling his own next to yours. he admired how you were able to humanize such grand things (you did just come home from a show-stopping wedding, after all) with undiluted, transparent humor. it was certainly a coping mechanism, and it worked well. “noted.” he murmured, kissing your temple. “we’ve done it, y'know.” he said, earning your attention. “we’re married now.” “we are.” you smiled. “you were magnificent up there,” seunghyun doted. “my beautiful wife.” “my beautiful husband.” you said back to him softly, earning a flustered giggle from him. “you make a very pretty princess.” he leaned in, kissing your lips gently. “i knew i made the right decision accepting your ring when the tiara started to feel weightless.” you both erupted in harmonious, organic laughter, bringing his lips back to yours.

transitioning to life as a working royal was unique. it brought about questions that opened a part of your brain and unleashed emotions you didn’t know you had: I’m not a political figure, yet a handshake or how well I do on do in outings hold as much as power as a legislator does signing a bill into law, you scribbled into your journal—a habit you inherited through osmosis from your husband early in your relationship; initially beginning as letter-writing when he was abroad—I’m not here to share to have or show my opinion, but if I don’t give the impression that I have a working brain, I’m labeled as a ditz. How funny is that? you let out a breath, stretching your arms out before returning your fountain pen to the page. Being impartial isn’t natural. No one wants me to change the world, but they want me to be it. Am I a humanitarian? A projection Something to be projected onto? I brought it up to the husband the other day during lunch, and he said I know who I am and I can make it however I want it to be. He’s got a point. He always does.

by far, he is your biggest fan. when you go on public engagements together, he is smiling in those photos like he’s the one meeting you. whether it was another hot mic moment where a reporter unknowingly picked up on him telling the head of a research facility “i can’t believe i was the one who got to marry her” before embarking on a guided tour of the building, or his asking staff to tape your news coverage when you were performing duties abroad by yourself; always making time to talk on the phone when either of you too were away—time differences were an effortless obstacle (“you are utterly magnificent, my love. you were born for this. i can’t believe it—i think you’ve given me an irregular heartbeat.” “i never thought your dramatics could be transmitted overseas, but i stand corrected.”); or trying to make light of harsh, unruly tabloids, he always stuck out for you—“this is my favorite one.” he slid the paper over to you, hiding his mischievous grin behind his teacup. “really?” you gave him a look. “the one about my armpit being too dark?” “its a ridiculous a waste of resources and insult to intelligence—thats why its hilarious!”

you never thought someone who looked like you would become a fashion icon, yet here you were. steps towards modernization came in waves: unsavory rumors began to swirl around of you being “difficult” when in actuality, you were refusing to work with luxury fashion brands if they rejected expanding their sizes for regular consumers and not just tailoring to you because of your status. it was of no problem to you since other brands naturally stepped up to the occasion, along with integrating small businesses and growing independent fashion houses into your professional and casual wardrobe, helping the underdogs of the world gain traction, as that was once you. not matter if you donned an evening gown and tiara, or a windbreaker with denim shorts and a baseball cap—things were flying off the shelves, camera shutters were going off, and fashion magazine sales skyrocketed.

your precision showed in your makeup choices, too: enhancing your features, but was ultimately sheer, particularly the foundation. you wanted the world to see your freckles; hyperpigmentation; a new spot, or whatever it was. you also had a hand in your speeches—making the language less academic, and more personable. the royal family always moved with purpose—this was just part of your personal arsenal. as confusing as this dynamic was to navigate, no matter how your secretaries or seunghyun told you to explore this multi-layered endeavor, all you knew is that you wanted to be approachable. to be real. this was just one way to do it, even if at times it compromised the amount of respect you received within palace walls. the fact that your popularity was directly derived from your subtle defiance of antiquated tradition certainly ruffled the feathers of traditionalists that shall not be named. but just one strongly worded letter from seunghyun, however, or him threatening to drive his range rover up there, and no advisor dared to say another thing. “all she does is exist as she is, and they love her. do you know how hard it is to do that?” seunghyun ranted in the voicemail box of one of the queen’s advisors that he never liked (the one that got him sent off to the military academy, specifically.) “you’ve never been able to figure out how to do yourself in the fifty years you’ve worked for my family. don’t try to now. see the bigger picture. they adore her. they saw a glimpse of her goddamn lip balm and now she has to get it shipped from elsewhere because its completely sold out. get your head out of your ass.”

you were pregnant six months later—seunghyun and you reduced to joyous tears at the sight of your baby girl on the ultrasound screen. the country and world celebrated with you: landmarks, bridges, and fountains suddenly illuminated with the color pink after the printed and framed announcement was posted on an easel outside of your residence. you continued your duties into halfway through your second trimester—photos of your darling baby bump underneath your coat and glowing skin coating the papers. but once you couldn't stand the heels as your back pain and nausea worsened, and your loafers weren’t doing the trick anymore, you gradually took a step back. your morning sickness fluctuated, at times leaving you bedridden until the early afternoon. your stomach made it hard to shave your legs; too embarrassed to ask a member of your staff to help you, and too fragile to put on stockings, you let it grow.

pregnancy was excruciating. there was no sugarcoating it. seunghyun did everything he could as per the doctor’s orders and his plain instinct from seeing you in so much fucking pain—decorating your side of the king-sized bed with the best maternity pillows in the market; massaging cocoa butter onto your bump every night and morning; making love to your puffy lips like clockwork, helping you relax overly-tense muscles before helping you dress; reading every single piece of what to expect when you’re expecting-related literature he can get his hands on; blinking away his misty eyes at the sound of guttural relief ringing viscerally from your lungs when he held your bump in his palms, pressing kisses to your shoulder—“i am so sorry.” he said meekly. “its—its duty.” you were out of breath, holding onto your wooden bed frame for support whilst seunghyun adjusted his grip below your stomach. “she’ll be worth it. our match made.” you huffed. “she kicks a lot—she’ll be a ruckus force just like her father.”

you and seunghyun have seen one another in vulnerable states throughout the years, but it seems marriage and preparing for parenthood lifted a new veil entirely. the vows for better or worse, in sickness and in health echoing through the high walls of your wedding ceremony and subsequently the world held massive merit, and though some spouses may not mean it when they say it, you two certainly did—your growing baby meant recalibrating your body from time to time to find a new sleeping or sitting position, walking in a way that didn’t have more back begging for mercy, and more pressure applied to your bladder. you were carrying, living, breathing, eating, and digesting for two now, which meant frequent trips to the bathroom throughout the night; fragmenting your sleep. if you didn’t get up from your side of the bed or shuffle across the bedroom in time, seunghyun then helped you into the shower to wash off, or sat in the bath behind you if you felt particularly sheepish.

a month before you were due, seunghyun woke up to your empty side of the bed. hastily speed-walking out of your bedroom, he heard shuffling in the kitchen. he opened the door, seeing you; heavily pregnant, standing in the dark, trying to open a jar in tears. your husband’s silhouette is second nature. seunghyun looked for the light switch, but you quickly protested, “d-dont.” you sniffled. “my—my vision’s a bit sensitive. the lighting makes me dizzy.” his hand found your lower back, lips kissing your temple. “my love, what’s wrong?” he asked so gently, lips returning to your skin upon hearing you cry harder. it didn’t matter that it was half three in morning on a tuesday night and he had to be up at seven for a busy day at work—he was here. “what’s wrong? hm? tell me.” “i just—i just wanted peanut butter.” you said weakly. “and i—and i can’t see the expiry date well because i can’t t-turn on the light. and i can’t reach the bread, because its high on the shelf and the pain is just too much,” you had to momentarily stop yourself from succumbing to blubbering through your tears. “and there’s this—there’s this itch on my back that i can’t fucking reach.”

seunghyun didn’t hesitate. “here, i’ll do it.” he said, fingers ghosting your back. “by your neck? or—” “—below my left shoulder.” his forehead found your temple at the sound of your relieved breath, his hand underneath your shirt, nails raking gingerly on the troubled spot. “i’ll put lotion and oil on your back before bed. you need to rest.” he spoke softly. “its nearly impossible to feel comfortable.” you muttered. “everything hurts.” “i know,” he whispered, kissing your cheek. “d'you want me to make some toast, baby? it won’t take long.” “how am i supposed to be a mother, seunghyun?” your voice sounded perishable. “let alone—let alone raise a fucking future monarch?” your bottom lip trembled, pressing your fingers against it in an attempt to halt the brewing tears. “i’m trembling over a piece of bread, yet there is someone on the way who will depend on me to live. i don’t even know what i’m doing half the time. what am i supposed to tell her? its all—its all guesswork for me. i—i don’t know what i’m going to do.” “you have me.” his voice remaining stable helped ease your heartbeat. he was always so good at this. “she has us. we’ll figure this out together. i know we will.”

your first-born daughter and the nation’s future monarch came into the world early in the morning in september 1991, a few months after your first wedding anniversary—screaming at the top of her lungs. labor was arduous, pushing even more so. you called desperately to your mother, whom was also in the delivery room with you and seunghyun at your request. her kind, encouraging words coupled with a tender hand on your forehead provided solace, but once it was time to push, all hell broke loose. you squeezed the life out of seunghyun’s hand, yelling in pain whilst his lips never left your temple, tears escaping his eyes as his words were extensions of his vows: “you’re doing so good. you’re doing so fucking good, i’m so proud of you. you’re the strongest person i know, baby,” breaking into a sob once he heard his daughter make herself known, staring in awe as she was dried off and placed onto your chest for skin-to-skin, snuggled underneath a warm blanket.

the following day, she was introduced to the world. swaddled safely and tenderly in what looked to be the softest blanket ever stitched, her small face and full head of hair painted the nation’s landmarks in a celebratory shade of pink once more. initially held in your arms, you and seunghyun stepped out of the hospital wing to rapturous celebration when those doors opened. it took on an entirely different, almost awestruck tone when you came into view, descending down those few steps with his hand carressing your lower back. in your time as a public figure and dutiful worker under the crown, you had never heard camera shutters go off so fast. you carefully handed her off to her father, the both of you approaching reporters side by side after giving each other a quick nod—a coordinated team effort. “she’s thankfully got her looks,” seunghyun spoke with a smile, letting out a laugh at your playful scoff, your own beautiful smile adorning your face. “well, i don’t know about that.” you chuckled. “seunghyun was actually the one who changed the first diaper!” you answered another reporter’s question with glee, hands instinctually re-tucking the blanket after a small gust of wind flew by.

figuring out parenthood, as anticipated, was at a day-by-day basis. you and your husband learned her different cries quickly, and he was a master at holding her securely with one arm by the end of her first month. you were offered nannies as protocol, but turned most of them away, preferring to be hands on as much as you could before your maternity leave ended, ushering you back into your duties. there were patterns in your daughter’s behavior, but if anything new came up, it was a quick call to action from both her mother and father. she traveled with you once she was old enough and given the all-clear by the family pediatrician—a break from antiquated tradition seunghyun was more than happy to break from, doting on his seven month old as she had her tummy time on a pull-out bed aboard the royal jet. My daughter won’t spent her most important developing years wondering where her parents are like her father did, seunghyun wrote in his diary. I was taught an at early age that my parents were busy. They were, and for good reason. But a child is a child. And sometimes, I just wanted my mother.

once she started walking, it was tough for either of you to catch up with those small legs—numerous accounts reported in the papers of people seeing you and seunghyun in the park, tuckered out by your toddler’s antics before strategically ambushing her by a picnic table, seunghyun scooping her into his arms; photos taken at the annual palace garden party hosting dignitaries and political leaders alike, the future queen scuttling quickly across the green grass meadow towards an archway decorated with multi-colored balloons whilst her parents, the heirs to the throne, just let her have her way at some point; paparazzi capturing you and seunghyun on an afternoon walk outside of your residence, clad in puffer jackets, sunglasses, and baseball caps as he pushed your sleepy daughter in her stroller. the world’s reception to you as parents was thankfully very supportive and understanding, as any parent would empathize the uncertainty that came to doing this for the first time, and on a global stage, for that matter.

your subtly unconventional approaches to what is historically practiced by the royal family routinely littered the papers, starting with the outfits you wore when you introduced your daughter to the world: a light sweater, trousers, and loafers. seunghyun wore something similar, although he had adidas trainers on. critics pointed to how royals, including seunghyun’s close relatives, donned dresses and suits when first introducing their children. to you, personally, that was outrageous and not on the table whatsoever. “to each their own,” you told seunghyun in your hospital room, gearing up for the press call after your hair was washed by a midwife you will never forget. “but i would rather not be grimacing at my heels pinching my feet as i hold the most precious cargo i could ever bear.” some part of it worked in your favor (“as always,” particularly aggrieved palace personnel would begrudgingly acknowledge) optics wise, mostly with fellow mothers: I see myself in you, a young mother of two wrote to you when your daughter was four months old. We know what that pain feels like and what it can do to our bodies. To hell with people who want us to perform.

your daughter started needing personal space at three-years-old, nudging herself off her father to have her feet on the sidewalk, holding his hand as he led her into the hospital wing to meet her baby sister. “wave to them, my love.” he told her gently, gesturing to the crowd with a flick of his head. “go on.” a smile stretched across his mouth when her palm shook in the air for a brief moment, unable to help his leaning down and pressing a kiss onto her face. your daughters were a dynamic duo if you’ve ever seen one: the youngest demanding with her limited rolodex of words that she also come to send off her older sister to her first day of kindergarten; shy, yet coordinated funny faces to cameras on the handful of royal engagements you brought them on throughout their childhood; seunghyun and you caught comedically off guard when you pointed out their grandfather in the crowd of a tennis tournament, seeing your eldest tap your youngest on the shoulder before both of them stuck out their tongues; or the paparazzi photo that sealed the belief of you being a tight-knit family: your six-year-old asleep on your husband’s chest, your nine-year-old sat in the middle seat and dozed off on your shoulder, either parent getting much needed shut-eye after a long two weeks of summertime travel, safe in the confines of the rolls royce about to leave the airport tarmac.

you took the babies to disney world when they were fifteen and twelve, respectively. despite having bodyguards, cameras following you, and eyes of strangers lingering at all times, you wanted to give them a normal childhood as much as you possibly could. you stood in lines for rides and food, dressed in light jackets and stylish sneakers—enjoying your vacation like other families. you got onto whatever your children desired, starting the day with you and seunghyun playing a quick match of rock-papers-scissors since the kids wanted to go on different rides, and either of you found yourself aligned with either of them. he ended up winning, but you got your reward later that afternoon on a water ride, laughing with unabashed joy at the sight of your soaked husband sat in a different car, as there wasn’t enough seats to fit him in with you and your daughters, sending him humorously to sit with the bodyguards. he didn't hide his chuckle when your eldest pulled you towards the drop tower shortly before leaving the amusement park in the evening, overhearing your “i don’t know if i have the heart anymore for that, baby,” before standing in line without further protest. the photos from this day didn’t leave the papers for weeks.

seunghyun sat comfortably in his seat on the royal jet. he looked to you sat across from him, his darling wife of nearly two decades, fast asleep with your arms crossed over your chest. a bracelet your youngest daughter—now fifteen years old—made for you poked out of the sleeve of your windbreaker; blue and silver beads adorning your wrist. your silvering hair glistened in the peeks of sunlight funneling through the plane window; smile lines evidence of a life lived with transparent and unapologetic emotion. you were still a princess and seunghyun a prince, protocols for his coronation—whenever that day would come—long known for you since your engagement, and him since his sentience. perhaps it was only a matter of time before that day came, but for now, you lived and served as you knew how. he’s grown with his work, finally able to integrate his academics and interests into his life as a royal—serving on the board for the country's national art archive. you have a surplus of engagements, as does seunghyun, mainly ranging charity and non-profit related endeavors closely similar to the work you did before becoming a royal.

it was a physically and emotionally exhaustive last few days. you and seunghyun helped your eldest, now eighteen, move into her dorm and settle in at oxford before term started later that week. your youngest currently resented you two for her not being able to come due to her third year at preparatory school beginning earlier than her sister’s university start-date, but you and seunghyun would address that when she visited home next weekend. your youngest’s school was much closer to home and less strict than seunghyun’s was when he was her age. he’s always the first to greet her at the door with a kiss and hug when she came home every other weekend, making sure the chefs prepare her favorite dishes and receive shipments of the palace’s tangerines in time as she’s always been fond of them.

seunghyun unzipped his bag, pulling out his journal and fountain pen. with a satisfied huff, he turned to the next open page, which was about halfway through. When I was nineteen, with a buzzcut and deeper resentment for my parents than when I was thirteen, I used to often wonder about a different version of my life. If I was born into a different family, or better yet, not the eldest. his crow’s feet crinkled with his amused grin, continuing his scribbles. I wasn’t elected to do my job, but I have to serve nonetheless. Its even more ridiculous that I have to ask someone else to do it with me, as embarrassing and greedy it feels. But when I see my beautiful daughters who are wholly the product of my gracious, intelligent, generous, and indescribably beautiful wife, I cannot help but be selfish. To tell myself I deserve the life I live, that it is not a lottery but a fruit of hidden labor, and I won’t let anyone stop it or even attempt to step in the way of it.

he took a breath. I am able to love because of her. We bicker over what to eat for dinner. I tell her when I don’t like her dress, and she tells me when she doesn’t like my tie. My daughters make fun of my shoes and scurry away embarrassed when I drop them off at school playing my cassettes. The love of my life knows me, and I know her. I couldn’t ask for anything better. For the first time in my life, I have made peace with my fate of duty. I do not have to pretend to be happy, for I am so lucky to have a beating heart.

honey's tag list! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა: @gongyoosgf, @infinetlyforgotten, @mesopotamism, @riddlerloveb0t, @pepsicolapussi, @breakmeoff

[deadrobinthoughts]

†  masterlist. ⁰⁴⁰⁴²⁵

⋆˙⟡ “Excuse me for being so intellectual. I know you would prefer something nice and feminine and affectionate.”

⋆˙⟡ just an updated masterlist so people don't get lost in the chaos. my old works can be found here. ↦ kalico note: i will, at some point, make different banners. for now, separate versions of characters will have separate lists. enjoy. + any title that is in red is adult content. please respect my rules when it comes to consuming rated media on my page.

DICK GRAYSON.

⟡ a bluebird & a phoenix. ⟡ 8:15 AM. ⟡ pocket-sized. ⟡ beat saber attitude.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

JASON TODD.

⟡ autopsy. ⟡ underlined.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

V1 TIM DRAKE. ( 90s. )

⟡ patience with a fragile heart. ⟡ tied with intention. ⟡ 1:34 AM. ⟡ playlist. ⟡ intro. | redemption. ⟡ all the flags. ⟡ compliments. ⟡ zero contact.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

V2 TIM DRAKE. ( modern. )

⟡ just in case. ⟡ 3:24 AM. ⟡ the gentle act of cat-like courtship ⟡ oh, now you're shy? ⟡ realizing he's in love. ⟡ asexual.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

DAMIAN WAYNE.

⟡ friends.⟡ masterpiece.⟡ playlists.⟡ what's best. ⟡ student life. ⟡ unacceptable. ⟡ bold. ⟡ legacy. ⟡ a flare in green. ⟡ a binding oath. ⟡ a place to belong.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

ROY HARPER.

⟡ a moment in time.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

KON-EL.

⟡ long day. ⟡ prime cuddle material. ⟡ love talk. ⟡ 2:21 AM. ⟡ kids - not a scenario.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

BART ALLEN. ⟡ a mess.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE WHOLE CIRCUS. ( various. )

⟡ marry me. ⟡ do you love me? ⟡ not now, bruce. ⟡ last words, last breath. ⟡ the final call. | i'm home. ⟡ where he belongs. ⟡ let you down. ⟡ date night. ⟡ last moments. ⟡ if you want me, you have me. ⟡ pebbling. ⟡ love at first song. ⟡ this damn city. ⟡ peace. ⟡ colors. ⟡ i hope. ⟡ love me anyway. ⟡ dreaming. ⟡ classroom boredom. ⟡ party prep! ⟡ gaming.

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

Being mated to the voltouri kings

Aro

Aro is drawn to Y/N's sharp mind and unique perspective as a human (or newborn/vampire). Their intellectual discussions become a cherished form of foreplay, with Aro eagerly absorbing Y/N's thoughts on history, art, and human nature, often prompting them with leading questions just to bask in their response..

Aro may never be the most overtly sentimental, but his affection is evident in the grand gestures he orchestrates. He'll commission portraits of Y/N, ensure they are always presented with the utmost respect and deference in public.

Aro delights in tasting Y/N, whether it's a gentle brush of lips while deep in study, or a more ravenous claiming after a particularly tiresome meeting with the council.

Aro cherishes the moments when he and Y/N can escape the formalities of the Volturi. He loves to read aloud to them from ancient texts, or share stories of his past, his voice a hushed murmur that only Y/N is privy to.

He is protective, verging on possessive,

Aro is very intentional about carving out time for just the pair of them. Whether he takes him to a hidden balcony in the castle to show him the tuscan view, or taking him to the library for some peace and quiet, he makes sure he is well looked after.

If they Y/N human, Aro offers Y/N immortality.

While usually composed, any perceived slight or threat to Y/N elicits a chilling rage from Aro. He becomes fiercely protective, his movements swift and decisive, his punishments for those who dared threaten his mate are swift, and often, very creative.

Caius

Caius detests displays of affection in public. Any kiss, caress, or even prolonged eye contact is strictly for behind the Volturi's closed doors. He sees public displays as a sign of weakness and vulnerability.

While not outwardly romantic, Caius shows his affection for Y/N through possessive gestures: a hand placed firmly on their back when in crowds, a subtle tightening of his grip when another vampire shows undue interest, or ensuring Y/N is always positioned at his side during formal events.

Intimacy with Caius is intense and demanding. He doesn't believe in gentle exploration; it's a raw, expression of ownership and power. The act of sex is about control and dominance for him, though he is not immune to the pleasure Y/N provides.

Caius is intensely jealous and possessive. Any perceived threat to his claim on Y/N, whether real or imagined, will be met with swift and brutal retribution. He expects utter loyalty and devotion.

Despite his cold exterior, Caius does relish Y/N's influence in the castle. He finds amusement in Y/N's ability to subtly manipulate court dynamics or even influence decisions, though he would never admit it aloud.

He rarely voices compliments, but Caius takes pride in Y/N's intelligence and strategic mind. If Y/N manages to outwit someone, Caius allows a small smirk to graze his lips - only Y/N would be able to notice.

Caius would never willingly admit he needs Y/N, but living without them is something that would never cross his mind.

Marcus

Marcus isn't one for grand gestures. Their courtship begins with shared silences in the Volturi library, a comfortable presence that gradually deepens into something more. He observes Y/N, studies him, appreciating the nuances of his mind and spirit.

Kisses are Measured and Meaningful Don't expect passionate, whirlwind embraces. His kisses are slow, deliberate, and imbued with centuries of emotion. They're often forehead kisses or brushing his lips to Y/n, a sign of affection and comfort.

Physical Intimacy is a Slow Burn He's old, very old. And very controlled. Sex with Marcus is a deeply intimate experience.

He's fiercely Protective, but Subtle He won't openly display possessiveness, but anyone who threatens Y/N will face the full, quiet wrath of Marcus Volturi.

He Values Y/n Opinion Above All Others: While he defers to Aro on matters of state, Y/N opinion holds immense weight with him. He seeks Y/N counsel, his perspective, and hjs honest assessment of situations. He trusts his mate judgment implicitly.

He may take Y/N to the library, a place where he can get lost in the world of ancient texts and escape the weight of his responsibilities. He will often bring Y/N there so they both can read in each other's presence.

[tinykittendelusion]

Seventeen as characters in books I'll never write

a/n: my brain comes up with kinda good ideas on a flight

triggers:

Jun: The enigmatic detective in a noir thriller who has a soft spot for you. He’s both thrilling and deeply caring, balancing danger with affection.

S.Coups: The strong, protective warrior in a fantasy novel who has a soft spot only for you. He would fight armies just to keep you safe.

Jeonghan: The mischievous fae prince in a fantasy romance who loves to play pranks but is fiercely devoted when it comes to you. He combines magic with romance.

Joshua: The classic gentleman in a Regency-era romance who is a master of courtship. His letters and gestures are straight out of a Jane Austen novel.

Hoshi: The daring explorer in an adventure novel who takes you on wild journeys across exotic locations, making each experience thrilling and unforgettable.

Wonwoo: The quiet, intellectual librarian in a contemporary romance, who spends more time reading than talking but knows exactly how to touch your soul with his words.

Woozi: The modern-day music producer in a contemporary romance who composes love songs inspired by your relationship, capturing every moment in melody.

Dokyeom: The energetic, upbeat actor in a romantic comedy who lights up your life with his charm and humor, making every day feel like an adventure.

Mingyu: The hardworking, rugged rancher in a rural romance who finds joy in the simple things, showing you how to appreciate life’s small pleasures.

Minghao: The philosophical wanderer in a travel memoir who shares his life lessons and cultural experiences with you, creating a deep, meaningful connection.

Seungkwan: The lively, charismatic bookstore owner in a contemporary romance, who spends more time making others laugh than sitting still but knows exactly how to lift your spirits with his infectious energy and heartfelt words.

Vernon: The laid-back, cool musician in an indie romance, who makes you mixtapes and takes you to underground concerts.

Dino: The earnest, young hero in a coming-of-age story, who grows into his strength and confidence with your support and love.

[slippinmickeys]

CHAPTER ONE (1/16):

Not far above the pavement of US-220, the forest dripped. The rain was gentle but steady, the highway as black and slick as a surfacing seal. Ahead, they could just make out the panning red and blue lights of a tangle of squad cars. The trees that edged the roadway pushed in and down, oppressive as low-hanging clouds. Beside her, Mulder sighed. 

They’d been awoken early by a call from a Sheriff three counties down and four over, who’d heard of Mulder by reputation. They had a body and a bit of a situation and would he and his partner come take a look? It was the first time that Scully had stayed over, and she’d felt embarrassed that she was there when the call came in though it wasn’t as though either of them had trumpeted her presence. She’d rolled out of bed and refused to meet his eye as he hung up on the Sheriff and dialed Skinner. 

Later, when he walked into his kitchen, dressed and shaven, he’d said, “Listen, Scully, if you regret what we’ve been—” 

“I don’t,” she interrupted him, handing him a steaming mug of coffee and finally bringing her eyes to his. “I don’t.” 

“Mea cuppa,” he’d said quietly, raising the brew to his lips. She’d been forced to smile at the pun.

It hadn’t been fair of her to seduce him, though it had been a glacial, intellectual courtship, inevitable, really, in every sense of the word. Mulder was tender-hearted and obsessive and after their second time together, she should have known that no amount of her stoicism or sense of workplace propriety would keep them from wanting to be together all the time. Last night, she’d had a foot out the door and was pushing him away with one hand and pulling him back with the other, his fingers tangled in her hair in rapacious bliss. 

They still weren’t sure how to be with each other, and that morning they’d walked down to Mulder’s car in a loaded, restless silence. 

Mulder eased up on the gas as they approached the cluster of khaki police cruisers and cut the windshield wipers. There were deputies leaning against hoods, wearing those ridiculous plastic rain beanies over their service caps and trying to appear important. Mulder pulled over, parking haphazardly on the berm, and looked out his window where a small inland lake spread out to the east and west, the body they’d come to investigate prostrate under a blue tarp on top of a thin strip of dark, mealy sand. 

They got out of the car and the Sheriff, holding a large black golf umbrella, pushed his way through his men, stepping up to Mulder and holding out a hand. 

“Thanks for coming,” the man said by way of greeting, and Mulder nodded toward him and introduced him to Scully.

“Call came in this morning,” the Sheriff said after trading introductions. “Dog walker found him.” He turned to one of the deputies, a younger man with blond eyebrows and a pixie-ish nose, freckles smattered over the bridge of it. “Avery, you got the file?”

Deputy Avery stepped forward. “Right here, sir,” the younger man said, handing over a beat up file folder—a brown, vintage-looking thing with a faux-wood finish. He gave the two agents a friendly smile and stepped back. 

Scully nodded at the folder now gripped in the Sheriff’s hand. “You got an ID?”

The Sheriff sort of shook his head and nodded at the same time. “That’s why we called you out,” he said, handing over the file. “No apparent cause of death,” he added as an afterthought. “Forensic unit out of Richmond are on their way.”

Mulder flipped the file open and read for a moment before looking back up. “Daly Carmichael. Missing persons?” The older man nodded, looking uncomfortable. “Must feel good to close such a cold case,” Mulder went on before looking back down at the paperwork. Scully leaned over to get a look at it. The victim was male, was in his early twenties when he’d gone missing in 1974, last seen wearing white sneakers and jeans and a yellow striped top.

“You’re confident of the identification?” she asked dubiously, ‘74 being a quarter of a century past.

The Sheriff swallowed. “There was no ID on the body, but…we’re pretty confident.”

Mulder flipped the file closed. “Let’s take a look,” he said. 

“Andy!” The Sheriff called out, and a deputy who had been standing near the tarp-covered body waved back. “Andy was first on scene,” he said to the two agents. 

Mulder noticed that when he and Scully began to pick their way down the embankment towards the small beach, none of the members of the sheriff’s department joined them.

As they approached, Mulder got a better look at Andy the deputy, who barely looked old enough to drive. It was likely he’d pulled corpse-sitting duties in an act of hazing. His arms were crossed over his chest while the walkie clipped to his shoulder gave a steady susurration of dispatch chatter. He gave off an air of indifference, but he was plowing through a stick of gum, working his tongue at it elaborately, snapping it nervously through his teeth. 

“What time did the call come in?” Scully asked, crouching down next to the body, her knees softly popping. 

“About six am,” he answered, then added, “ma’am.”

“Someone walking their dog, the sheriff said?” She lifted up a corner of the tarp to get a look at the victim’s face. Mulder watched as her eyebrows furrowed into a chevron of confusion.

The deputy nodded, continuing to gnaw on his gum, and hooked his thumbs through his shiny utility belt. 

Mulder noted pawprints and the shoe prints of the dog walker who’d found the body. The sand underneath them was damp, but firm, and showed only a few other prints, all of them looking to be standard police-issue. 

A couple of bright green leaves cartwheeled across the marks, propelled by a gust of wind, one of them briefly catching on the deputy’s shoe before going on its merry way.

“Did you examine the body?” Mulder asked him, finally looking up.

“There was no pulse, no ID on him,” the deputy replied. 

“How did you—”

“Hey Mulder?” There was a sharpness to her tone that made Mulder stop talking. “Can you take a look here?”

Scully peeled back the corner of the tarp, revealing a young-looking man with dark hair. He was dressed in jeans, white tennis shoes and a yellow striped tee shirt. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Mulder glanced down at his hand, which was still holding the archaic looking missing persons file. “Huh,” he said. Scully reached up and touched his wrist, finding his pulse suddenly beating rabbit-quick. 

“If you don’t mind,” the deputy said, clearing his throat. “I’m going to…” He hooked a thumb up toward the rest of his compatriots and beat a hasty retreat.

“Those clothes don’t look twenty years old,” Mulder said. 

“Twenty-six,” Scully corrected, still hunched close to the ground. “Can I see the file?” Mulder handed it over without a word, and Scully flipped through it quickly, her eyes scanning the contents. 

“This can’t be right,” she said.  

Mulder shrugged. “Let’s ignore that particular elephant in the room, and see what else we find,” he suggested, and gave Scully a moment to collect her thoughts. “What can you tell me about the body?”

Scully turned back to the victim in front of them.

“Lividity isn’t fixed. Temperature is more difficult with the weather and exposure. I’ll have a better idea on the time of death after the autopsy.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, the victim appears to be male. Cursory examination, I’d say he’s early twenties, if that.” With this, she shot him a look. “No obvious cause of death, though I suspect drowning. He’s on the shore. His clothes are wet.”

“It has been raining,” Mulder said, snapping on a pair of latex gloves that he’d produced from his pocket. He leaned down and started unlacing the man’s shoes. 

“Mulder, we should wait until the forensics unit can come in and process the scene.” 

“I just want to check something, before the rain gets any worse,” he said, and carefully removed the victim’s shoe. He pointed to the top of the man’s foot. “Look,” he said, and Scully had to bend down to look at what he was trying to show her. The sock on top of the man’s foot was dry. He hadn’t been submerged in the lake. 

Mulder carefully put the shoe back on, and moved to reach inside the man’s pockets. 

“The deputy said there was no ID on him,” Scully reminded him. 

“I want to know what else is in here,” Mulder said, and pulled his hand back, producing several gold coins and a small dark rock.

He flipped them all over in his rubber-covered palm. “Odd markings,” he observed, looking at the coins. 

Scully leaned in to look. There were faces on the coins, but not the profiles of presidents or queens or even Caesars. They were clearly old, the etchings worn down, but she could still make out faces; some laughing, some looking angry, one wearing a crown of leaves and looking ghoulish. “I don’t see a country of origin,” she said. “They could be archaic. Maybe he was a collector.”

Mulder gave her a sideways glance but didn’t reply. The rain had turned to more of a mist and was curling the hair around her face, lending her beauty a neoclassical verve. He had to stop himself from reaching out to touch it.

“What’s the rock?” Scully asked, reaching forward to graze it lightly with her finger. 

“I think,” Mulder said, squinting at it. “I think it’s an ingot of iron.”

Mulder looked up and out around the lake and trees that surrounded it. There were no waves to speak of, but above the water was a line of algae in an undulating, unending rope, lying along the sand where the water had pushed it when the wind was stronger. The shore was dotted with round, smooth stones and the sharp carapaces of invasive zebra mussels. Twenty yards beyond the body, Mulder could see a child’s abandoned plastic bucket with no handle, and closer to the corpse, a beer bottle with a faded orange label. The hem of the forest looked impenetrable, the edge a solid mass of thick cedar and bracken with one small opening due east of where they stood, as dark and forbidding as the mouth of a cave. Mulder gave an involuntary shudder and turned back to his partner. 

“Okay,” he said, turning to her. “Let’s talk about the elephant.”

“Our victim appears not to have aged since 1974,” Scully sighed. 

“My kind of case,” Mulder smiled.

“Our kind,” she corrected, which widened his grin considerably. 

“What do you know about the fae, Scully?”

Good Christ, he had a theory already, Scully thought. 

“Probably a whole lot less than I will five minutes from now,” she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and settling in. After a moment, she realized he was waiting for her to actually answer, but she was having none of it; she knew the precise trajectory of his thoughts. “You think this man was taken by fairies, Mulder? That’s a stretch, even for you.”

“It’s been suggested that fairies live in dimensions parallel to our own. String theory posits that there are up to ten or eleven dimensions that exist in the universe, not just the four we humans experience. We can move within those four dimensions. Who’s to say other beings can’t move among more? Or move us with them?”

“So this man hasn’t aged because he went to live with the fairies? Mulder, string theory smooths out the mathematical inconsistencies that currently exist between quantum mechanics and the theory of relativity. Yes, there may be other dimensions we can’t see, but time—one of those dimensions that we can measure—only moves one way: forward.”

“Doesn’t the theory of relativity posit that time slows when you’re moving faster than the speed of light?” Scully heaved a sigh. Only Mulder would pick a physics fight with her. “Eminent theosophist E. L. Gardner likened fairies to butterflies, whose function was to provide an essential link between the energy of the sun and the plants of Earth. They would travel between. He claimed that growth of a plant which we regard as the customary and inevitable result of associating the three factors of sun, seed, and soil would never take place if, and I quote ‘the fairy builders were absent.’”

“Please don’t tell me that you’re about to suggest that fairies are actually aliens. And that they’ve found a way to travel faster than the speed of light.”

“You said it, not me.” 

“Mulder!”

“What?” 

“Little gray men are a far cry from ethereal sprites who use protective charms and mischievously lead travelers astray. You can’t have it both ways.”

“I’m not trying to have it any way, I’m merely suggesting avenues of inquiry lining up with the facts of the case as we have them. Anyway, Gardner described fairies as having no clean-cut shape but rather ‘small, hazy, and somewhat luminous clouds of color with a brighter sparkish nucleus.’”

“You’re describing a proton.”

“So was he,” Mulder shrugged. “But taking away the strange coins and the ingot of iron—historically believed to repel fairies, I might add—how do you account for the fact that this man hasn’t aged in over twenty years?”

“Good genes?”

“The only person I know with genes that good is you. And don’t you have Celtic forebears?”

Scully blushed. It wasn’t fair, flirting. Their relationship was new, and their romance improbable.

Mulder threw a look up to the local law enforcement leaning against their vehicles and watching them work. He reached out and squeezed Scully’s hand once. She looked at him with the same kind of embarrassed moue as when a stranger's dog sticks its nose in your crotch.

“I know this is hard for you,” he said, his voice low. 

“It’s fine,” she said, an old safeword. 

He remembered her sitting in her bed in the oncology ward, small and slight, as withered as a new chick emerging from a shell. Her eyes had been sunken and her small shoulders stuck out from beneath the hospital gown like wire coat hangers. I feel fine , she’d said. 

Mulder felt her skin’s warmth before releasing her hand and he walked over to the bottle of beer, picking it up and turning it so that he could read the label. “Huh,” he said, holding it up so that Scully could see it. “Oberon.”

“What?”

“The kind of beer. Bell’s Brewery. It’s called ‘Oberon.’”

“The king of the fairies?” Scully said dubiously. 

Mulder shrugged once again, and she sighed. “Leave it where it is,” she said, casting another glance at the local boys in brown. “Let the forensics unit bag it.”

A big blue van had just pulled up behind their fleet sedan. The team from Richmond had arrived.

Mulder set the bottle carefully back down where he found it. When he straightened, he looked towards the forest and could have sworn that the hole through the bracken of the woods looked bigger than it had a few minutes before. He took a few steps toward it.

“Mulder?” called out his partner. 

“I just want to check something out,” he called over his shoulder without looking back. 

The forest was restless, the tops of the trees agitated and shivering. 

A thought occurred to him and he turned around. “You want to come with me?” 

The look she gave him communicated quite clearly that she did not, but she turned to follow him nonetheless, another sigh passing between her lips in a steamy vapor. 

“Look,” she said, pointing forward toward the trees when she reached his side. “There are footprints coming out.”

Mulder peered down. Sure enough, there was one set of human footprints leading from the dark opening, the edges of the prints crumbly and ill defined from the rain. 

They traded a glance and went in.

[saintsenara]

Wait why are you not a fan of Snape and Hermione?? 2 nerds who care a socially awkward amount about the things they care about nerding out together at levels of romance people who can be chill and normal about things can’t comprehend?? It’s not one of my fav ships but I can definitely see it!

I headcanon that Snape picks on Hermione being a muggle raised know it all thirsty to prove and lacking self awareness because he was one himself when he arrived at school and James and Sirius picked on him for it! It’s like that you’re most repulsed by the things you’re self conscious of in yourself thing to me. Or maybe a him trying to live out being the “cool” one in that dynamic thing

But when she’s a grown woman and more self possessed like he became too I feel like that same energy ness has potential for love!

Hermione is famously respectful and compassionate enough towards all beings to be more understanding than say Lily Evans of his prickly tender ego if he had another m word style outburst and such a people pleaser she’d keep coming back for more snark as long as he peppered it with the odd encouraging compliment

And I feel like a Snape in reciprocated love could absolutely veer into inventing beautiful and helpful spells to impress his lover or sending “made me think of u 😘” notes with verses of elaborate obscure poetry territory that would be frankly the level of literary and academic courtship our Herms deserves 😌

Is it cause they’d both be the highly strung worrier one and they both need someone to ground them? Or maybe too pessimistic together and one of them needs to be the cheerful one?

anon, i genuinely love this for you - i'm always thrilled to get people explaining their love for ships in the ol' inbox, especially when they're ships i don't instinctively vibe with, and i have been won round to stranger premises than this by a passionate defence of why two characters should kiss.

where i still think snamione isn't clicking for me, however, is that the way you describe both snape and hermione here doesn't align in any significant way with what i personally think would be interesting to explore about either character in a relationship and have them still feel meaningfully like their canon selves.

[i will say, though - because i always think it's worth reiterating my fandom commitment towards being neither a cop nor a priest - that i literally don't give a shit about either the age gap or the student-teacher dynamic. i know that's an objection to pairings like snarry and snamione which lots of people do express. but i will never be one of them.]

the primary reason that i don't vibe with many of the more... sapiosexual hermione ships [by which i mean not only snamione but tomione] is that they hang on the idea that hermione's intellect expresses itself in a way we never actually see in canon.

or, the idea that snape and hermione are intellectually compatible [and that they would enjoy hanging out being nerdy about stuff] is just... not true.

throughout the seven-book canon, the way that hermione shows herself to be clever is that she displays an excellent memory and an enormous capacity to rote-learn. her intelligence is overwhelmingly demonstrated - both in the classroom and during the trio's year on the run - by her being able to regurgitate swathes of information, very usually verbatim from the source she got it from.

she is clearly able to use this ability to retain information to understand the theoretical component of magic in a way neither harry nor ron ever manage, and she is able to use this understanding of theory to work out how to perform spells which are ahead of her expected level on the hogwarts curriculum.

and this is intelligence - and i want to be very clear that i'm not trying to suggest that hermione shouldn't be thought of as intellectual, or that her academic achievements should be devalued. but it isn't the way snape's intelligence manifests itself.

because hermione is never shown - at any point in canon - to be a particularly creative or experimental thinker.

she places an enormous intellectual trust in disciplinary authority - teachers and textbooks - and is frequently rattled when these are revealed to be partial or incorrect, as we see in her shock at hogwarts: a history not mentioning house elves or her anger at harry getting better results by following the modified instructions in the prince's textbook [despite knowing nothing about the theory underpinning them] than she does with the "official" ones.

she also regards the gatekeeping of inquiry which disciplinary boundaries enforce to be a positive thing and she never displays any inclination to step beyond them. she dislikes the spells in the prince's textbook because they aren't ministry-approved - and i must say that i think the idea that she'd be won over by a man creating spells for her is wishful thinking...

she is immediately mistrustful of anything she can't find something she regards as an empirical source for - notice, for example, that she only comes round to the idea that prophecies might be real once she encounters them in the ministry of magic.

even when we see her using magic on her own terms - the jinx she uses on marietta edgecombe, for example; or the protean charm on the da coins - the magic she's using is sophisticated, and is being applied in a way which wouldn't be classroom-sanctioned, but it's not magic which is being used in a way which is removed from the spell's original purpose. the protean charm on the da coins is impressive because it's a flawless execution of newt-level magic by a sixteen-year-old. it's not impressive because hermione is using it in a strange, experimental, or radical way.

[in contrast, the dark mark - which harry notes the coins mimic - is clearly a spell voldemort himself invents.]

snape, on the other hand, is an experimenter. he's someone who clearly sees magic as a creative force which he has every right to shape as he sees fit by adaptation and invention. and he's someone who evidently rejects the logic of disciplinary gatekeeping - one tension in his relationship with dumbledore prior to half-blood prince is that snape evidently retains an enormous intellectual interest in the dark arts [which, as he tells us, are an area of magic which is feared precisely because they can't be neatly contained within disciplinary boxes - they are ever-changing, unfixed, mutating...]

and it's these conflicting views of what magic is and how it should be used and thought about which is the cause of the intellectual incompatibility we see between snape and hermione in canon.

he is unequivocally in the wrong for his dismissive classroom manner towards her - because he is an adult and she is a child. but he isn't wrong in principle that hermione just repeating what she's read in the textbook and refusing to synthesise her knowledge [she always goes massively over word limits! she never gives answers in class in her own words!] isn't actually a demonstration that she understands the material. [and therefore something a good teacher would guide her through conquering... snape having no interest in doing this is his own fault.]

and - from a snamione-specific perspective - it's all the evidence snape needs that, actually, they're not going to enjoy hanging out chatting about academic pursuits. hermione values knowledge like a dragon hoards treasure. snape wants to take that treasure, melt it down, and turn it into new and weird things.

once again, i don't think this a flaw in either of their characters - it's just something which is. and i don't think it's an insurmountable obstacle to writing snamione, because i believe any ship is possible if an author has enough nerve. but it's an aspect of both characters' canon personalities [and hermione's above all] which never seems to make it into snamione fics - all of which, as far as i've encountered them, are beholden to an idea of hermione's approach to academia which is considerably more flexible than we actually see in the books.

of your other points, i'm not particularly convinced by the idea that snape sees his younger self in the teenage hermione. this isn't just for the reasons outlined above - hermione isn't trying to prove herself in the same way he was, which was by creating and experimenting in a bid to be noticed and considered impressive - but also because of the massive gulf in their respective class backgrounds.

hermione is really posh - and, while she's obviously subjected to discrimination at hogwarts on account of her blood-status, she also comes from a family with both the financial resources and the cultural language to make her familiar with the vibe of the elite muggle boarding schools hogwarts is a pastiche of.

the teen snape - in contrast - stands out from his cohort in that he is visually identifiable as working-class [which does appear to be genuinely unusual at hogwarts]. his class background is something which clearly drove a lot of the marauders' bullying of him [i'm sorry to the girlies who think james and sirius targeted him out of some righteous desire to stamp out his prejudice - it was because he was poor and uncouth] and which he still has a chip on his shoulder about as an adult.

this - again - is not an insurmountable barrier to a snamione relationship [as it's not a barrier to thousands of real-world partnerships and friendships]. but it is something an author needs to grapple with if they want to make the pairing - at least, in my opinion - seem plausible. but the standard vibe seems to be that snape would be comfortable in the grangers' home fairly quickly, and that he'd be delighted to have hermione swanning around offering suggestions for how they could do up spinner's end... instead of him resenting this as the unwelcome meddling of people who've never had to worry for money.

i'm also not particularly convinced by the idea that hermione would get over being called a mudblood - especially by an adult man. while i think it's completely plausible that she'd handle this differently than lily [although lily's reaction is entirely justified - and i don't think we should throw the baby out with the bathwater of contextualising the teenage snape and the motivating factors behind his decisions by pretending that cutting off your friend because he called you a slur is a petty, ill-thought-out, or unreasonable move], i don't think that her reaction would be automatically forgiving.

hermione is compassionate towards kreacher when he calls her a mudblood because kreacher is a slave, whose prejudicial views are inextricably bound up in the magic used to oppress him [i.e. that if he received an order to use the term, or to refuse to serve a muggleborn food, from his masters, he would have to punish himself violently if he disobeyed it]. she is not - quite rightly! - compassionate towards someone like draco malfoy when he calls her one, since he is a free person with full agency to choose not to do this.

could she forgive him - or snape - for using the term? sure! absolutely! but i don't think it's a given - and i also think she'd expect a demonstration of how sorry snape was which wouldn't necessarily align with how he'd think he'd demonstrated his regret.

i do agree that - as you say - hermione is a people-pleaser, and she definitely has a far greater tolerance for being treated cruelly by people she wants to impress [especially authority figures - including snape himself] than either harry or ron. and i think this has the potential to introduce an extremely thorny dynamic into a snamione fic - in which the power dynamic inherent in the age gap [which, to reiterate, i think is completely fine for an author to enjoy] is compounded by hermione being unwilling to anger or contradict snape [which is a vibe - as i've said in answer to an ask about harmony - we also see in her relationship with harry... it's also obviously exactly how snape's relationship with dumbledore works.]

on a couple of the more minor characterisation notes, i'm afraid that the idea of snape as a great romantic has never hit for me. it seems really bound up in the way alan rickman portrayed him in the films, which i've always found a bit toothless. i also don't like the trope of "actually snape's really hot" which seems to always accompany it - ugly, odd men to get to bone too!

[what he would be - i think - is a magpie. get ready to be handed odd stones and bits of leaves on dates.]

i also think they're highly-strung in ways which differ enough to mean they'd just annoy each other. hermione is highly-strung in that she flusters easily and is very poor under pressure, but she's actually pretty emotionally stable [and i'd dispute that she's a pessimist - this is a girl who thinks that she's successfully eradicating slavery at hogwarts by knitting hats; she's pretty robust, funny, cheerful, and idealistic]. snape is highly-strung in that he has a hair-trigger temper and is very emotionally volatile, but he's obviously an extraordinarily good liar, very quick on his feet, and very good under pressure. he'd think she panicked too much [and over insignificant things he didn't care about], she'd think he tanked the vibe of a date by taking offence at someone breathing too loudly.

where are they similar? well, they have a shared self-serving streak [hermione is appalled by behaviour from harry and ron she considers perfectly moral when she does it]; capacity for cruelty; tendency towards secrecy; tendency towards pettiness and pleasure in the misfortune of others; loathing of flying a broom; cutting sense of humour; stubbornness; resilience; clear dislike of slumming it in nature; love of puzzles; and a weakness for red hair.

i think you could make it work on the grounds that they'd probably have the time of their lives being haters together - especially, i feel, about rita skeeter.

and - y'know - because love is weird.

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

so for a decent chunk of time now i have been thinking to myself that i need to like really enter the phase of my life where i read seriously for artistic purposes ie read as a writer, which i have kept putting off for various reasons including what taking that goal seriously requires admitting to myself, but this year is the year, i have decided, and am doing ok at this so far. one of the strands of this process is that i am trying to catch up on some of the holes in my reading by reading for example authors considered major that i have thus far totally ignored. the mental list of shoulds has been percolating for longer than i’ve been back into reading. all of this is a long way of saying that not without feeling weird about it i am currently for the first time reading a book by alice munro, who was revealed last year to have treated her daughter with monstrous callousness after being informed of her daughter’s sexual abuse at the hands of munro’s husband. this post is not about that or about my weird feelings (mostly not about those), i just think that with this information still so new and munro’s reputation still so huge it would be off to talk about her without mentioning it. for what it’s worth i’d avoided her since well before then because as i have expressed before i tend not to love short stories and nothing about the way people talked about her fiction made it seem like she would be the exception, except maybe for the fact that everyone in the world is crazy about her stuff.

anyway. so i went with hateship friendship courtship loveship marriage bc that seemed to be the famousest one. the first story i liked a lot and really really admired from a craft perspective. it’s structured like a perfect little music box and the plot is wacky but somehow step by step feels totally believable, so that by the end you feel like someone has played a trick on you but in a good way. i was like ah fuck i do get it. and also i was like, ah see but the thing about her quiet sparing prose style is that this story is actually incredibly plotty and intricately designed and full of action - quiet character based action but action nonetheless. this is a story where things actually happen, which is what a lot of stories lack. ok i have cracked the code! i am ready to read the rest of these stories and probably then not read her anymore because while she’s undeniably very good i simply do tend to prefer writers with different styles and preoccupations and that coupled with the situation makes me feel like i don’t need to prioritize diving in any deeper but perhaps my mind would change. either way ok. i get it. i get the munro thing.

however! then the next several stories were exactly the kind of boring “well observed” nothingburgers i usually harbor such distaste for. and i could still see that she was in many ways better at doing this kind of thing than a lot of people. (her characters feel distinct from one another, which, you know? they don’t always. and her ear is not bad. i would not say i enjoy the way she uses language but her ear is not bad.) and there was the occasional detail i appreciated. but overall it just did not add up to enough for me to give a shit. i didn’t get to the end and think “ah, a magic trick” or “wow, real life.” i didn’t have any feelings at all and was also pretty bored. and actually i have started to kind of suspect that maybe i have more strongly negative feelings about certain traits in her writing than “don’t get it, not for me,” but i have to think about that a little more and maybe finish the collection before i can articulate that grievance. i mean she did win a nobel prize. for reasons of my own intellectual integrity i should read a whole book before i decide i think maybe she’s [redacted].

anyway. mostly i made this post because i decided to read or at least start her next story while treadmill strolling and i got as far as the bottom of the first page and read “in the countryside where i lived as a child, wells would go dry in the summer” and was like “fuck you.” and i wanna be clear that i know this is not a meaningful criticism and in fact possibly reflects poorly on my incurable city bitch blinders. i’m just sharing that i had such a strong aversion to you want me to read about fucking wells??????? that for the time being i simply could not bring myself to keep going although at some point i will because i am building readerly discipline. but. my god. 30 pages ahead of me of quiet spare unobtrusive (read: uninteresting) prose and you want to talk about fucking wells.

[queereads-bracket]

Queer Fiction Free-for-All Book Bracket Tournament: Round 3

Book summaries and submitted endorsements below:

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin

Endorsement from submitter: "That book was written in 1969 and yes, not everything hold up today, but for the time is very progressive"

A groundbreaking work of science fiction, The Left Hand of Darkness tells the story of a lone human emissary to Winter, an alien world whose inhabitants spend most of their time without a gender. His goal is to facilitate Winter's inclusion in a growing intergalactic civilization. But to do so he must bridge the gulf between his own views and those of the completely dissimilar culture that he encounters.

Embracing the aspects of psychology, society, and human emotion on an alien world, The Left Hand of Darkness stands as a landmark achievement in the annals of intellectual science fiction.

Science fiction, classics, speculative fiction, anthropological science fiction, distant future, adult

Light from Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki

A defiantly joyful adventure set in California's San Gabriel Valley, with cursed violins, Faustian bargains, and queer alien courtship over fresh-made donuts.

Shizuka Satomi made a deal with the devil to escape damnation, she must entice seven other violin prodigies to trade their souls for success. She has already delivered six. When Katrina Nguyen, a young transgender runaway, catches Shizuka's ear with her wild talent, Shizuka can almost feel the curse lifting. She's found her final candidate. But in a donut shop off a bustling highway in the San Gabriel Valley, Shizuka meets Lan Tran, retired starship captain, interstellar refugee, and mother of four. Shizuka doesn't have time for crushes or coffee dates, what with her very soul on the line, but Lan's kind smile and eyes like stars might just redefine a soul's worth. And maybe something as small as a warm donut is powerful enough to break a curse as vast as the California coastline. As the lives of these three women become entangled by chance and fate, a story of magic, identity, curses, and hope begins, and a family worth crossing the universe for is found.

Science fiction, fantasy, adult

[sailorgoon13]

Lorenzo Berkshire

Basics:

Full Name: Lorenzo Berkshire

Nickname: Enzo

Gender: Male

Date of Birth: 10 June, 1980

Heritage: English, Portuguese

Blood Status: Pure Blood

Wand: Mahogany, Dragon Heartstring, 11 1/2", Stiff

Appearance:

Hair Color: Chestnut brown

Eye Color: Brown

Skin Tone: Olive undertones

Height: 5'11"

Body Type: Lean and muscular, with defined muscles in his arms, legs, and abdomen.

Style: Sophistication, elegance, and a hint of edgy flair. Favors fitted pants paired with tailored button-down shirts. For formal events, he gravitates toward sleek suits in rich fabrics like velvet or silk, often in deep, bold colors that command attention. Loves his accessories like a bold watch or thin gold chain necklaces.

Features: Jawline, Intense gaze, Well Groomed appearance, Confidence, Style

Personality:

Traits: Funny, Charming, Competitive, Loyal, Complex

Likes: Fashion, Socializing, Intellectual Challenges

Dislikes: Incompetence, Losing, Close mindedness, Disrespect

Hobbies: Quidditch, Dueling, Drawing

Fears: Failure, Mediocrity, Rejection

Family and Friends:

Father: Mr. Berkshire

A shrewd businessman who oversees the family's investments and enterprises.

Values hard work, ambition, and determination

A dynamic and adventurous wizard

Mother: Mrs. Berkshire

Comes from an old English wizarding family known for their wealth and influence.

A socialite who is actively involved in wizarding society

Down-to-earth and compassionate. Values kindness, integrity, and loyalty

Friends: Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theo Nott, Mattheo Riddle

Magic:

Special Abilities: Exceptional flyer

Boggart: His friends turning to the Darker side

Patronus: Falcon

Polyjuice: Rich golden hues. Would smell like expensive cologne and freshly-cut citrus. The taste would start with a sweetness like ripe figs or dates, followed by a warm, spicy kick of mulled wine or aged oak. The after taste would be like sipping fine brandy.

Amortentia: Cologne, Subtle notes of wet grass from the Quidditch pitch, red wine

Backstory:

Lorenzo Berkshire was born into a world of wealth, privilege, and magic. His parents were prominent figures in the wizarding community, known for their influence, intellect, and refined taste. From a young age, Lorenzo was immersed in a world of luxury and sophistication, surrounded by the finest things money could buy.

Growing up, Lorenzo was groomed for success from the moment he could walk. His parents instilled in him the values of ambition, determination, and excellence, encouraging him to pursue his dreams with unwavering confidence and tenacity.

As he entered Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Enzo quickly established himself as a formidable presence among his peers. He excelled academically, earning top marks in his classes, while also demonstrating exceptional skill and agility on the Quidditch pitch as a Seeker for the Slytherin team.

Outside of academics and Quidditch, Lorenzo's magnetic charm and charismatic personality made him a natural leader among his classmates. He effortlessly navigated the complexities of social dynamics, forging alliances and friendships with ease, while also earning the respect and admiration of those around him.

He also had a penchant for romance, enjoying the thrill of courtship and showering his romantic interests with attention and affection. He loved taking girls out on extravagant dates, wooing them with grand gestures and heartfelt compliments. However, despite his best intentions, his relationships often fizzled out quickly, leaving him feeling disillusioned and disheartened.

Academics:

Best Subject: Charms

Favorite Subject: DADA

Favorite Professor: Snape

Worst Subject: Arithmancy

Least Favorite Subject: Transfiguration

Least Favorite Professor: Trelawny

Student Life:

Always eager to learn and expand his magical knowledge.

Quidditch is not just a sport for Enzo; it's a passion and a way of life, and he pours his heart and soul into every match

A social butterfly

Well-liked and respected by his peers, known for his magnetic charm, quick wit, and kindness

The nicest asshole you'd ever meet

Grapples with his own insecurities and fears like any teenager

Template: @hazyange1s

[emmg]

Did you end up writing that smutty fic about Emmrich talking nonstop :00

Yes lol it’s on my ao3 I’ll drop the link below, sorry I think I didn’t tag it with my personal tag thingie so it doesn’t appear in my writing tab, oopsie daisy 🌼

The man is so intent on yapping about operas and “proper courtship” that he seems utterly oblivious to the fact she’s practically crawling all over him. It’s almost impressive, really—his sheer ability to intellectualize his way out of getting laid.

[indelicateink]

if you're having s3 thoughts, there's a hunger for your prompts over on the IWTV anonymous kink meme--kink optional! (there are also, of course, many many requests that are not post-s3!)

Thank you to @vampire-dove for maintaining our kink meme.

Armand/Daniel Molloy

"Armand absolutely does not covet a copy of Lestat's numbered special limited edition double album--gatefold with the silver foil alternate cover and colored vinyl. And he doesn't wish he had one of the exclusive Indianapolis concert tees with the set list printed on the back in glow-in-the-dark ink. Why would he want an actual Vampire Lestat guitar pick. Who cares about the already-out-of-print Long Face Japan cassette single. A signed copy of the Vampire Lestat tour concert program book would be intellectually interesting, but it's not like Armand actually *wants* such a thing--that would be silly.

"Interviewing your situationship's obsession on tour has its perks.

"A courtship in five merch items."

--

Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac

"Crack treated seriously. Five times rockstar Lestat de Lioncourt had to issue a press release that he's fine, everything's fine, despite the latest incident causing the world to spasm in concern over his seeming continual breakdown over his estrangement from his ex, Louis de Pointe du Lac.

"There was no backstage post-performance fire at SoFi Stadium.

"His social media was hacked with deepfakes, Lestat would never post an explicit thirst trap that violated terms of service.

"His remarks at last night's concert were taken out of context, a ten minute digression worshipfully describing the "dewy plush wonderland" of Mr. du Lac's body was in fact a fictional excerpt from a volume of fictional erotica Mr Lioncourt has been attempting since he's interested in *fiction.*"

--

Daniel Molloy/Louis de Pointe du Lac Substance Abuse, Top Daniel Molloy, Bottom Louis de Pointe du Lac

"newly turned daniel convinces louis to get high on some willing donor's blood together —you could get serious about what this means for two former addicts or not, what kind of high is up to you"

--

Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac, Armand/Daniel Molloy

"Turns out Lestat and Daniel are compatible and become fast friends. Armand and Louis are suffering as a result."

--

Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac Long-Distance Friendship, Sexual Tension, Developing Relationship, Clothing Kink

"Louis and Lestat tentatively re-establish a connection with each other over Facetime while Lestat's on tour. Louis is used to seeing Lestat in early 20th century clothing.

"He can admit to himself he likes Lestat's new slutty rockstar look.

"Lestat can tell. And the clothing budget is starting to get out of hand."

--

Daniel Molloy/Louis de Pointe du Lac Fake/Pretend Relationship

"After the events of the season finale, Louis and Daniel accidentally convince both Lestat and Armand that they're in a "companionship" and then decide to just go with it, for fun (and yeah, maybe a bit of revenge too), except they definitely both have real feelings for each other. (Loustat, Armaniel and/or all of them together in a poly situation is fine to include in addition to the Danlou. Or not. Whatever you prefer) No preference for the rating."

--

Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac Casual Sex, Ex Sex, Pining

"Louis is firm: he doesn't want to get back together with Lestat. Not in this century, at least.

"Doesn't mean the sex isn't great.

"Four times Louis dropped in on Lestat's tour to hit it and quit it.

"Four managers who got fired for pointing out Lestat's mood swings post-visit were going to ruin the tour."

--

Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac Switching, Top Louis de Pointe du Lac, Bottom Louis de Pointe du Lac, Top Lestat de Lioncourt, Bottom Lestat de Lioncourt, Sex Toys, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut

"5 times Louis shows Lestat wonders of modern sex toy industry + 1 time Lestat surprises Louis with finding of his own"

--

HBomberGuy vs. IWTV by Daniel Molloy

"Entirely inspired by this excellent tumblr post: https://www.tumblr.com/penny-anna/757372478406459392/

"Interview With The Vampire by Daniel Molloy is the book of the summer. 5 million copies sold, massive interest, and the author still insisting it isn't his first novel but instead a non-fiction memoir like his previous work; he now also only does interviews on late-night shows and wears sunglasses in all of them.

"When Hbomberguy begins researching for a video to fact-check the book, he does so from the understandable position that the whole thing is a marketing gimmick. Unfortunately for his existing worldview, every single claim made is somehow... checking out?

"My life for a fic that is just a transcript of Hbomberguy slowly losing his shit over a several hour long video as the rabbit hole goes deeper and deeper, and ends with him saying 'welp I guess vampires are real and now Molloy is probably one of them. On an unrelated note, I'm going into hiding in another country.'"

--

Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning

"Louis doesn't tell Lestat about stones. He spent 80 years deliberately keeping them there, inside his body, ever present warning to himself to not forget, never forget who he lost. Louis got used to them like you get used to scars, out of necessity for they will always be part of you.

"So, no, Louis doesn't tell Lestat about stones. Except Lestat, Lestat who seems to remember every inch and Idiocracy of Louis' body, notices that he walks differently.

"(Lestat finds out about Louis having stones in his feet and about his deliberate decision to keep them. Hating to see his beloved hurting, Lestat makes effort to help Louis properly grieve and let go of their lost heart, Claudia. Slowly, one by one, they remove all stones. And maybe, Lestat starts healing along the way too.

"Would greatly appreciate, including loustat making a grave for Claudia in New Orleans)"

--

Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac

"He's full of contempt for the process, but Lestat doesn't hold back on telling his story. To Louis's annoyance, Daniel sends him uncut parts of the more incendiary interview sessions as the weeks go by.

"Four times Louis almost picked up the phone, and one time he did call Lestat."

Awesome kink meme prompt fills are listed here

[cherryrainn]

Hello! If you still write for RDR, could I request some general relationship headcanons for Hosea and Dutch with an S/O (separately)?

━━ ✧ 𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

─ ✩ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ; hosea matthews + reader, dutch van der linde + reader

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ; i love these old farts

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; none

𝙃𝙊𝙎𝙀𝘼 ★

hosea is a gentleman with a touch of old-world charm.

he believes in courtship and traditional values, making the relationship feel like a slow-burning, timeless romance.

hosea appreciates intellectual conversations and enjoys spending time discussing literature, history, and philosophy.

if you share these interests, you'll often find yourselves engrossed in deep conversations late into the night.

hosea is a complex man with a troubled past, and you understand and accept him for who he is.

you provide emotional support and comfort when hosea reflects on his actions and past mistakes.

despite hosea's calm and composed exterior, he appreciates and reciprocates affection.

you find comfort in his gentle touch, whether it's a hand on the small of your back or a reassuring squeeze during tense moments.

hosea's calm demeanor is a source of stability for you.

in the gang's turbulent lifestyle, you find comfort in hosea's presence, knowing he'll be there to guide you through the storms.

hosea respects your independence and personal space.

he understands the importance of allowing you room to breathe, especially in a life as tumultuous as yours.

despite his sometimes serious demeanor, he enjoys surprising you with small gestures of affection.

this could be a wildflower picked during a ride or a stolen moment to dance under the moonlight.

𝘿𝙐𝙏𝘾𝙃★

dutch sees you as his equal in strategic thinking.

he values your input in planning and respects your ability to provide valuable insights.

your partnership is not just emotional; it extends to the tactical decisions that shape the fate of the gang.

despite dutch's strong exterior, he appreciates the emotional support you provide.

in moments of doubt or internal conflict, you stand by him, offering a listening ear and reassurance.

your unwavering support is his anchor in the storm.

he takes pride in your refined taste and elegance, often complimenting you on your attire.

the two of you make a striking pair, and dutch enjoys showcasing your style during social events, making a statement wherever you go.

behind closed doors, dutch reveals a more vulnerable side to you.

the weight of leadership and the challenges they face weigh heavily on him, and in these private moments, he seeks comfort and warmth in your presence.

dutch can't help but feel a protective instinct towards you.

he takes it upon himself to ensure your safety in dangerous situations, showcasing a softer, more caring side that few get to witness.

dutch, despite his stoic demeanor, expresses affection in subtle ways.

it could be a gentle touch, a lingering gaze, or a soft smile reserved only for you. these gestures speak volumes about the depth of your connection.

you understand the heavy burden of leadership that dutch carries.

while he may be the charismatic leader of the gang, you see the toll it takes on him.

your empathy and understanding become a source of strength for him, creating a unique bond.