#gets ousted by something that's not even technically a flower

[aurumacadicus]

Now, this could technically work with anyone, but I'm a stony shipper at heart, so. Anyway this is sort of an amalgamation of 616 and MCU but:

Tony gave Steve permission to go wherever when he noticed that he was sort of lost. Steve's specialization is... up in the air, currently. He'd been one of the most skilled witches in apotropaic magic for centuries, so powerful he'd once diverted an entire squadron of tanks. But that wasn't so useful, now. Sure, it helped in battle, but it wasn't... something to build his life around like it had been in the war. He'd figured if Steve could wander, perhaps he'd find something else he'd enjoy spending his time with.

Steve takes advantage of this. He's not really looking for a new specialty, but he struggles to stay still long, and wandering the property gives him something to do. He happens to notice Tony sneaking out one night, and he wouldn't normally think about it too much, but... it's Tony's mansion. He's never seen him sneak anywhere, and it's weird that he's doing it now, especially when everyone else is asleep. It's Tony's business, though, so he has no right to pry.

Except. It makes him worry. Tony doesn't ask for help, even when he desperately needs it. And he's so grateful for the help Tony has given him. So. Steve avoids it as long as he can, but he eventually goes skulking after him. Even if Tony doesn't need help, it will be nice to see him in the greenhouse. He seems so at ease there, so at home. It settled something in Steve to watch him prune or plant seeds or... whatever else horticulturists do. Steve was never really into plants. But Tony has always been open to answering any plant questions he might have.

Tony is not in any position to be answering plant questions, Steve learns after making his way back to where the more magical plants are kept. In fact, he is not in a condition to answer any questions at all, if the spit-slick vine fucking his mouth is any indication. He sees when Tony notices him, body jerking in startled shock, and Steve takes an instinctive step closer with the desire to help him.

"'on'," Tony chokes, hands coming up as if to stop him, but then the vines tighten, pin his hands down by his thighs, and Steve's eyes drop instinctively to follow them.

It draws his attention to the larger vine between his legs, covered in a fine layer of yellow dust as it thrusts back and forth.

"Oh," Steve says, voice cracking, and jerks his gaze up to Tony's face. He's not sure if that's much better, because he's never seen Tony so horrified and defeated in his life. "Um. Are you--Do you need help?"

"'o 'way," Tony chokes between thrusts miserably.

"Okay. I will. Go back to my room. Um. Bye," Steve answers, then turns on his heel without waiting for a response and books it back out of the greenhouse.

He doesn't know what to do. Who to talk to. He can't tell anyone what he saw. But he can't ask anyone else 'hey, fucking plants, is that a thing?' either. He has so many questions, but he'll need to ask Tony for the answers, and he already knows, deep in his bones, that Tony is either going to oust himself from the team or simply never talk about it. Maybe it's best they don't talk about it? He doesn't. Know. How to handle this. It's a lot.

It was pretty, a thought adds, unbidden. Tony... Tony was pretty. Steve itches for a pad of paper and a pencil. But he can't draw what he saw. Right? Right. That would be weird. Except maybe it will help him get the vision out of his eidetic memory. Yeah. That'll help.

This has awakened something in him, Steve thinks, but only truly realizes what when he agonizes over which pastel to use to color the plant's flowers and Tony's blush to match. And he doubts he can ever tell Tony that either.

Stupid tentacle porn idea

[a-venti-sized-problem]

Top 5 flowers you can find in Mondstadt :eyes:

send my muse “TOP 5″ and a topic for them to answer!

“Oh! What a good question! Clearly you know just who to ask for such a thing!

The Cecilia of course deserves its mention above all others. Have you ever seen something more beautiful? With more soothing a scent? I could lay in a field of these and nap all afternoon!

The Dandelion has been a part of Mondstadt culture for as long as I can remember. What flower lives in greater harmony with the wind than this clever opportunist? And when the seeds scatter and float all around its simply ethereal. Plus its just fun!

Speaking of fun, the Windwheel Aster is hands-down the children’s flower of Mondstadt. Who hasn’t seen a little freedom-delighter tearing through the streets or gardens, stalk in hand just to see how fast they could make the top spin? They lift everyone’s spirits in the vicinity! 

Lamp grass, in a similar way is a Seelie magnet. While perhaps not as well-known by the average citizen, these little glowing bulbs attract Seelie from all over to play in them and also to play little tricks on passersby! Why, the amount of times I’ve heard stories of people rushing off a path hoping for treasure only to find themselves crashing into the side of a cliff, waving little luminescent bulb the culprit could fill a book all its own! Its hilarious. 

And while its not technically a flower, Wolfhook is a very special little berry to Mondstadt. Like many of its citizens, this berry too wishes to see the world, to become a stowaway upon the body of a great vessel and venture outwards from all it has every known. Its spirit for adventure is matched only by its ability to defend itself from those wishing to cut its exploration short. Of course, unfortunately for these little berries their vessels rarely traverse outside of that Grumpy old wolf’s territory, but you can’t deny them their spirit!”

[swordsandparasols]

The Crowned Clown: A crash course in Joseon kings

For all that The Crowned Clown is an AU historical that long since left actual history (and, as I understand it, the source movie) behind, it does still assume a lot of familiarity with the history surrounding it, much more so than other sageuks with young casts, which is why I’m hesitant to classify it as a youth fusion sageuk, even though it probably technically does fall into that category.  The youth fusion sageuks that have been dominant in recent years range from history-lite (but still decent) to window dressing history. A general knowledge of what’s going on and societies rules are helpful, but you aren’t really meant to sit and think about the larger historical and cultural contexts of the events.  One particular place The Crowned Clown assumes knowledge is when the court officials start having vapors anytime “King” Ha Seon starts actually thinking for himself and tries to get things done on his own.

 Rewind the clock about a century in actual history and you have Yeonsangun, most recently seen in Rebel: Thief Who Stole the People” and “Seven Days Queen” (You get a much more accurate and less romanticized Yeonsan in Rebel, but even he’s tamed down from the real guy.) the first of only 2 kings in Korean history to not have a temple name. Yeonsan actually started out pretty decent, showing concern for and attempting to aid poorer citizens, strengthening national defenses and whatnot.  But, as a beginning to one of the most terrifying examples of the “cool motive, still murder” meme, he learned his mother, who had been exiled and forced to kill herself by drinking poison, had essentially been set up and murdered, kicking off a revenge spree that led to two major purges of the court and things like beating his father’s consorts to death and effectively antagonizing his granny into having a stroke and dying.  Somewhere along in there he realized that he could pretty much get away with whatever he wanted and no one could stop him.  “Whatever he wanted” including but not limited to making whatever laws he wanted, killing officials and doing fun things like hanging their heads off the castle walls (the Chief Eunich  got shot by and had his limbs chopped off by Yeonsan personally for criticizing him), converting Sungkyunkwan and the Wongka-sa Temple into  his personal pleasure courts, taking custody of horses from across Joseon and forcing hundreds of women-primarily singers and dancers-into his harem.  He also intended to turn palaces into brothels, but I don’t think he actually got to that part, though he did get to forcing thousands of citizens into unpaid labor for these “renovations.”

 Anyway, eventually enough nobles and officials both got fed up with this and had spines and staged a coup to oust Yeonsan and replace him with his brother, King Jungjong.  Joseon law held that the king’s brothers, nephews, husbands of his sisters, etc, could hold official office.  Usually this is relatively useful in that it makes it harder for ambitious relatives to overthrow the king and made for easier succession.  Not that it was a flawless system, as King Sejo was happy to prove.  Anyway, for King Jungjong, this was also something of a hindrance.  Jungjong was, by all accounts, a pretty decent if average dude.  He had spent the last several years off in the woods with his wife chilling in his powerlessness and hoping his brother didn’t decide it’d be fun to hang his head from the castle walls to.  When soldiers showed, up, he, quite understandably, thought they’d been sent to kill him.  Instead, they came because he was the one they chose to make king, a job he had no training for, and was wholly unprepared to do.  Jungjong was a pretty decent king all around, but due to only being qualified for the job by accident of birth.  For the most part, he followed the advice of officials in most things (including, sadly for him, being forced to depose his first queen and wife due to her family supporting Yeonsan) and pretty much devoted his reign to lying low and trying to clean up some of his brother’s mess.  Unfortunately, his somewhat forced passivity (no one on or in front of the throne wanted anything like a repeat of the last guy) allowed corruption to start thriving again, which blocked many of the reforms he wanted.

 Somewhere among the later days of Yeonsan and Jungjong’s reign, the nobles and officials also conveniently ended up getting quite a bit of the wealth and land Yeonsan had taken, instead of the people it was originally taken from.

 Jungjong was succeeded but King Injong, who was the son of Jungjong’s second queen.  Much more ambitious than his father, he went to work on trying to clean up the corruption and get some of his father’s reforms passed. Unfortunately,  he always wanted the acceptance and approval of Jungjong’s third queen, Queen Munjeong, which, unfortunately for him, made it fairly easy for her to poison him less than a year into his reign and make way for her own son, King Myeonjong.  Myeonjong was only 12 at the time, so his mother served as regent.  Queen Munjeong actually ended up a pretty good regent and actually managed to be a bit more successful with some of the reforms and got some of the land redistributed to citizens.  Part of why she was able to do this is that she enabled her relatives to take power.  Unfortunately, said relatives also introduced a lot of new corruption into the court. In the long run, people seem to have more problems with Munjeong getting her girl cooties all over the throne than the regicide or corrupt relatives, proving nothing ever actually changes. When Myeonjong took over on reaching his majority, Munjeong still retained more power than was technically appropriate, and he didn’t properly completely take power until some years later when Munjeong died.  He reclaimed some power by reinstating the sarim scholars, who had effectively been royal and court punching bags since Yeonsan’s purges, but died only two years later.  During his and his mother’s reigns, Joseon’s defense was also becoming increasingly unstable due to attacks that the destabilized government wasn’t really able to defend against as well as it would have pre-Yeonsan.

 Myeonjong died without any living male offspring, and his nephew, Seonjo, became king,  King Seonjo  was only 16 when he became king, and while he wasn’t as wholly unprepared for the job as his grandpa, he still didn’t have as much preparation as he should have. Anyway, that largely catches us up with this post .

 So, by the time Gwanghaegun takes the throne, we’ve had roughly a century of well intentioned but ultimately not overly effectively rulers.  Instead of a king doing whatever he wants we largely have a court doing whatever they want.  Then along comes Gwanghae like a middleaged 17th century Korean royal version of Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez saying ���ok, so, you know, if we made the absurdly rich just slightly less absurdly rich, it would actually hugely benefit EVERYONE” and it’s VAPORS! VAPORS ALL AROUND!  All of the reforms Ha Seon has introduced or tried to introduce in The Crowned Clown are only some of the reforms the actual Gwanghae introduced.

 To be fair, the vapors weren’t JUST because Gwanghae wanted to redistribute some of both the wealth and power to the lower classes.  Remember, Yeonsan initially started out doing some similar reforms and then went completely off the rails.  So along comes Gwanghae, who, unlike Yeonsan, also had quite the impressive military background, doing some of the same things as Yeonsan and also the first king since (aside from the very brief reign of Injong) to go “Nope, we’re doing this. The end.” on a regular basis.  The last guy ended up a terrible tyrant and ended up overthrown, so the new guy also ended up labeled a tyrant and was overthrown.  Yeonsan and Gwanghae are the only Joseon kings not to be given temple names, one is still regarded as one of the worst tyrants in Korean history, if not the worst, while the other is now largely regarded as having  been a good king and having had the makings of one of the most progressive kings, if not really the nicest guy.  (They also traded up considerably with Jungjong, but choosing Injo over Gwanghae was like those people who were all “Look, I know Hillary is qualified but I just don’t think she’s likable enough so I’m voting for Trump even though I know he’s completely unqualified for the job.” during the 2016 US elections.)

 For some sageuks pretty  good with the actual history over this period (and that I’ve seen):

 Rebel: Thief Who Stole the People Dae Jang Geum Mandate of Heaven The Flower in Prison Hwajung

 Caveat that while these are all shows I enjoyed (or more than enjoyed), the quality ranges from “ok” to “amazing” and are listed primarily for having reasonably good accountings of the key historical points.  I’ll also give Saimdang: Light’s Diary an honorable mentions because, for all the liberties it took with the main character’s life, I thought it had a really interesting take on Jungjong that’s different from others I’ve seen.

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Chapter 28: Familial Tension

Becoming the Mask 

There are technically two spoilers for 3Below in this chapter, but both of them relate to minor information with little to no bearing on the actual plot of 3Below or Becoming The Mask.

Not Enrique has not yet been identified as not Enrique.

~Text between tildes~ is goblin language.

Enrique didn't understand why humans were so fixated on changing and washing their clothes.

The Nuñezes rotated through clothing at least twice daily. Daytime outfits were usually something fresh each day, even if it looked about the same as yesterday, while the nighttime outfit tended to be reused for several nights in a row. Sometimes the humans would change clothes in the afternoon or evening, and then it was fifty-fifty whether they would switch back to what they'd been wearing even earlier before it was time to put on their nighttime clothing again.

They changed the sheets and blankets on their beds and the towels and washcloths in the bathroom at least once a week. And then they piled it all into specialized machines to scrub off the scents and stains of use.

The socks would wear away to nothing before a decent flavour built up at that rate!

Sure, he knew humans didn't eat socks, but still. A Changeling had to keep an eye on his food supply.

Claire had started her 'laundry' after getting home from 'rehearsal' that afternoon. She came into his room holding a basket of folded clothing and bedding. She took out a pillowcase and untied a rubber band wrapped around the open end. Enrique hoped she would drop and forget the rubber band. Those were tasty.

"I have a surprise for you, hermanito! I found Suzy Snooze!"

The surprise was a ragged old plush bunny with button eyes.

Claire dangled the toy over him. Enrique reached up, since that was probably the expected response, and grabbed one of the ears when it flopped down. It was pleasantly soft. Claire dropped the toy into Enrique's arms.

He hugged it. That seemed to be what his Familiar's sister wanted, because she smiled and cooed.

It was nice. The bunny toy was soft, its surface indenting and molding where Enrique squeezed, but there was a … solidity to it, as well. A … firmness? There was more substance than just fluff. He could tell that what he was holding onto was something real.

"Oh, good." Ophelia paused, passing his door, and peeked in. "You decided to let your brother have that after all. That's very mature of you, Claire."

Claire scowled. Enrique was sure Ophelia must have noticed how the girl's shoulders tensed. But the woman said nothing, and continued on her way downstairs.

"I didn't take it back, Mom, it got lost."

Claire spoke quietly, through her teeth. Enrique got that. Sometimes a complaint or disagreement had to come out, or it would build up and explode (or you had the perfect line and couldn't let it go to waste), but it wasn't safe to openly complain or disagree.

Surface life so far was a lot softer than the Darklands, but authority was authority and defiance was defiance.

Claire curled her finger and stroked the curve of Enrique's cheek with her knuckle. Each of the Nuñezes did that semi-regularly. He was almost used to it. There was only a faint urge to tuck his chin and press his back to something, to guard his throat and scruff.

"You and Suzy take good care of each other, okay? I had to make a deal with a troll to get her back for you."

… What?

That was probably a metaphor, right?

Had to be a metaphor.

Once she left him unsupervised, he switched to his troll form. The bunny, Suzy Snooze, was still pleasantly soft-but-solid in his arms.

Humans put things in their soap to cover up the chemical smells with flower and fruit smells. Enrique wrinkled his nose over the mix and sniffed deeply.

Laundry soap; a lingering scent of Claire, and Javier and Ophelia, and his own scent while in human form – probably his Familiar's scent, he didn't remember seeing Suzy before; some other fleshbags, not strong enough to identify more specifically than by species; and there, faintly, faintly, the fading scents of goblins and trolls.

Maybe the goblins had stolen Suzy along with Enrique, to keep in the baby's cradle in the Darklands? But where did the trolls come in? How had Claire gotten Suzy back? Why would she take back the toy, but not her brother?

Was this a message? Did she know he was a Changeling? Was she telling him she was okay with that? Or was this an obscure warning? 'I know what you are and I will oust you from my home.'

What sort of deal had she made? And with whom? A Gumm-Gumm wouldn't negotiate with a human. Any other troll would probably just curl up and pretend to be a rock if Claire spotted them.

Maybe it was a message from some other Changeling. They'd sent it through his Familiar's sister instead of approaching him directly because … because … to remind him that they could reach his Familiar's family whenever they wanted, and warn him not to get complacent and attached.

But why Suzy? What kind of message was a cloth bunny supposed to be?

Was there a message hidden inside Suzy? He didn't really want to rip it up to check. Besides, if there was and it was written on paper, it would have gotten destroyed in the wash, and he'd feel anything more solid than that through the cloth.

Enrique shook his head and put his human face back on. This undercover gig was getting to him. He was overthinking things.

He just had to wait until the family was asleep, sneak into Claire's room, and see if she had anything else that smelled like trolls. Once he knew who she was talking to, that would tell him how much she probably knew and how worried he needed to be.

"~Otto! Otto!~"

The Changeling was collapsed on a bench in the park across the street from the museum. He'd lost Stricklander and the Trollhunter hours ago and been procrastinating on confessing his failure by breaking into Stricklander's apartment and office.

Each place had been deserted. The antramonstrum had been the worst of the security measures. Otto was nearly consumed before the Book of Ga-Huel fell open and revealed the incantation to force an antramonstrum back into its home crystal.

He was in his usual human form, his glasses off and his hat tilted to cover his eyes. He pushed the hat up and put his glasses back on reluctantly.

"~What is it, Fragwa?~"

"~You must come. This way. Quickly.~" The goblin beckoned and bounced in agitation, and scurried into a storm drain.

Otto sighed, forced himself back onto his feet, and leaned back to stretch. No humans were watching him. He compressed himself into the shape of a goblin.

"~What is it?~" he asked Fragwa again. The goblin shook their head, oddly solemn.

More goblins were ahead, gathering around a pile of dark, jagged stones.

Otto smelled trolls and Changelings. Stricklander, Nomura, Jim, some troll he didn't recognize … and, from the rubble …

"~No.~" He stopped. Fragwa tugged his arm, urging Otto forward. Otto swelled into a troll shape and fell to his knees. "Bular ��"

The mighty Gumm-Gumm prince, defeated, destroyed …

"~He shall be avenged,~" Fragwa vowed. The other goblins took up the chant. "Waka chaka! Waka chaka!"

"Nein," said Otto, more sharply. The goblins' bushy eyebrows went up. "~Yes, he will be avenged, but not today. There were many traitors here who killed him.~"

Three. He'd been so sure Nomura, at least, was loyal and uncompromised. How many Changelings had Stricklander and the Trollhunter turned against the Underlord already?

"~We must know how many more there are. And then … Bular shall be avenged.~"

"WAKA CHAKA!"

The canal's cement walls were golden orange in the sunset. Barbara followed Jim and Zelda, both in their human forms. Zelda was walking them home because her car was still in their driveway. Walter left Trollmarket with them but went in a different direction.

None of them spoke. Barbara still wasn't sure what to say to the troll who had been pretending to be her child, or the other trolls pretending to be human.

She hadn't been sure what to say to the trolls who weren't pretending to be human, either, but at least them she could leave behind.

It was surreal, returning to her human home in her human neighbourhood in her human city. Far beneath tidy houses of wood and plaster and wiring, there were buildings of stone and reused rubbish. Under the smooth asphalt roads, with their painted lines and tall streetlights, there was a second city lit with neon and glowing crystals.

Humans were going about their Saturday evening – some kids chasing each other on their bikes, a teenager walking a dog, a lesbian couple bringing in groceries from their car – completely oblivious to the hundreds, maybe thousands of trolls going about their lives right below them.

But Barbara wasn't oblivious, anymore.

Zelda came inside when they got back to the house, rather than getting into her car and driving off. Barbara narrowed her eyes at the woman's back.

The remains of breakfast were on the table. There was a small plate of burned toast, covered in butter and jam to camouflage how burnt it was, a cold mug of coffee, two cold cups of tea, and the box of tea Zelda had brought and was retrieving.

Barbara was sure Jim had the same kind of tea. Still without a word, she went into the kitchen.

A cupboard was open. The tea box sat on the counter, also open.

"Jim."

"… Yes?" He sounded shy, nervous, like he was the one whose world had been upended.

"What is this?" She picked up the box and brought it out. Zelda winced.

"… Tea?" said Jim. He looked between the box in Barbara's hands and the box in Zelda's hands and must have known that wasn't going to be good enough. "It's a soothing, relaxing blend … for Changelings. For humans, it's a … very mild, completely safe …"

His eyes dropped to the floor. His voice dropped to a whisper. Barbara heard the last word as clearly as if he'd shouted it.

"Sedative."

Zelda bolted. Barbara heard Zelda's hasty footsteps, heard the door open and shut, heard a car start up and drive off, heard Jim's carefully even breathing, heard her heartbeat pounding in her ears, and did not move.

Barbara had fond memories of this tea. Sometimes, on her nights off, Jim would brew it for her. It would be hot and warm, like a heavy blanket, and all her tensions would fade away, and … she would always sleep so well on those nights …

"You've been drugging me," she said softly. "Zelda drugged me. That's why I woke up in the library." It all built up and flooded out and now she was yelling. "You've been drugging me! For years! How could you possibly think that was okay?!"

"I didn't want you to find me gone in the middle of the night," Jim told his shoes. "You'd worry."

"And you decided the best solution was to drug me?! You steal my baby, invade my home, disregard my bodily autonomy – I, I can't do this." Barbara put the box of tea on the table. "Get out."

"… What?"

"I can't live with someone I can't trust. Take your – troll stuff – and just go."

He stared at her. His mouth opened and shut a few times. He didn't speak, didn't argue. Part of Barbara was grateful Jim was speechless. She didn't know what she would have done if he'd called her 'Mom' just then.

Jim disappeared upstairs. Barbara collapsed onto one of the dining room chairs and stared into the deceptively innocent-looking teacups.

They hadn't turned on the lights when they got home. It was dark when Jim came back down and flicked the light switch. He had on his backpack, and was carrying a duffle bag.

"I'll be at Toby's."

If he hadn't sounded so sad, it might have been any of the dozens of other times he'd gone around the cul-de-sac to spend the night at the Domzalskis'.

She almost objected. Sure, the Changelings thought their 'sedative' was harmless to humans, but what if it reacted to one of Nancy Domzalski's medications?

On the other hand, Nancy had severe cataracts and probably wouldn't notice if Jim transformed right in front of her, let alone if he replaced himself with a few pillows in a sleeping bag, and that assumed Nancy ('just call me Nana, dear,') even climbed the stairs to check on the boys while they were supposed to be sleeping.

For all Barbara knew, the reason Jim and Toby were nearly inseparable was that Toby was a Changeling himself.

She decided not to ask until she could decide whether she actually wanted to know. Just like how she wasn't asking if the reason James disappeared might be because he'd found out something he shouldn't.

"Here," Barbara said instead, holding out the box of tea (sedative) in one hand, and the Amulet in the other. She didn't want either of those left in her house. Jim took them carefully, so that his fingers didn't brush against hers, tucked them into the open top of the duffle bag, and zipped it shut.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Jim left.

It wasn't until she heard the door lock behind him that Barbara realized she hadn't asked him to give back his house key.

Previous Chapter (Jim learns that trolls find it shocking and scandalous to bring back a severed head as proof of death; Trollmarket celebrates Bular’s defeat anyhow)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (Not Enrique gets caught)

Hermanito is Spanish for 'little brother' – hermano, 'brother', and the masculine diminuitive suffix –ito. Claire refers to Enrique this way a few times in the show.

Nein is German for 'no'.

Waka chaka, according to some supplementary materials (Jim Lake Jr.'s Survival Guide), is goblin for 'he shall be avenged'.

'Bodily autonomy', also called 'bodily integrity', refers to a person's right to choose what is done to their body. It usually comes up in sexual or reproductive context, but also in the contexts of things like drug use, organ donation, surgery, medical experiments, body modification such as tattoos and piercings, and dietary choices. In this case, Barbara is referring to Jim giving her sedatives without telling her they were sedatives, thus violating her right to make an informed choice about what she was consuming.

(It may also refer to "whether or not you consent to your body being cannibalized after your death by other survivors in a disaster situation", but that one wasn't covered in the Wikipedia article, so it might only refer to freedom of choice about what to do with your body while alive.)

I'd like to thank Eurydyka_Kaput for some help with the final scene. I really wasn't sure whether it would be in character for Barbara to not worry about essentially transplanting the Changeling to someone else's house, and Eurydyka_Kaput pointed out that Nana probably wouldn't even notice Jim's troll form.

The following text is crossed out to make skipping the spoilers easier for those who so wish. 

If anyone saw 3Below, missed the spoilers/references in this chapter, and is curious, they are as follows: Nana Domzalski's first name, and the fact there is at least one 'out' same-sex couple living in Arcadia. (The 'background lesbians' are seen getting up from an outdoor café table and walking away holding hands before Krel and Luug try coffee.) 

I thought about Barbara just referring to them as 'a couple' and explaining in the note that they were both women, to show that Barbara doesn't think this is particularly exceptional and attention-catching, but then I remembered "it doesn't count as representation if it's only in supplementary material and not in the actual text of the story." I mean, in my opinion it barely counts as representation when said 'representation' is background characters without names or plot-influence, but they're at least proven to exist in the story's world. AAARRRGGHH and Blinky are also a same-sex couple but I need to get more women-loving-women in here. 

Don't worry, I have a plan for that, it just can't be revealed until a few plot points down the line.

[lxveille]

40 & 48 with a minghao pleaseee

summer start flash fics; wc: 2024; royalty!au

The day Minghao arrives at court, you hear word of him before you even see him. Rumors, mostly fascinated with how someone of unclear origins had become such a talented artist. One of your fellow ladies-in-waiting claims that he was a fisherman’s son who learned the art of poetry from sirens out at sea.

That version of events makes the lot of the Princess laugh. “That’s lofty tutelage to claim for someone whose work we haven’t even heard yet,” she remarks.

“But it does make you want to give him an audience, doesn’t it?”

She nods, and promises that you’ll all get a chance to see.

Rumors could not have prepared you for actually seeing Minghao perform. There is an effortlessness and grace in the very way he moves; like he’s been here a thousand times before. If you hadn’t heard so many tales of his humble origins, you would have thought he belonged in palaces, that he’d grown up surrounded by at least the same luxuries as you.

And that’s before he even performs.

Minghao is invited to stay at court. You do your best to hide your delight.

“It’s supposed to be the other way around, isn’t it?”

Those are the first word Minghao speaks directly to you. He knows who you are by now. You are a constant by the Princess’ side, particularly so on the evenings he performs. But circumstances have never aligned just right for him to do more than greet you honorably and in passing. Until now, when he’s found you by chance in one of gardens.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” you answer him, doing your very best to keep your gaze diverted to the colorful petals of flowers in front of you.

“The poet is meant to be the one admiring the noblewoman, by my understanding.”

The implication sends a jolt down your spine, has you straightening your shoulders and stiffening your neck as your gaze snaps to him. You nearly gasp aloud. Minghao has a placid smile on his lips, as if he’d done nothing more than remark on the weather. The only indication that he knows exactly what he’s said is in the faint glimmer of curiosity and playfulness in his gaze upon you.

“You don’t play much at cards, do you?” He asks, lips quirking up just a fraction more than they ought to, all statuses considered.

You bring your lips into a stern line and let your eye flicker with intentional indiscretion over his lanky frame. “Have you heard of a false tell?” you retort without hurry. You remind yourself that he is not the one with a royal’s ear; that isn’t heir to any known fortune.

He laughs, and you find yourself forgetting why you needed such reminders in the first place.

“Between a bluff and a false tell, who do you suppose would fold first?” Minghao glances towards the palace briefly before returning his sights to you. Somehow it is more intense than it had been only an instant before.

“There comes a time when you have to show your hand, you know,” you reply, falling more into ease with the conversation now that it’s a few steps removed from his opening accusation.

Minghao feigns a look of surprise. “Does there?”

“I’m afraid you’re the one who sounds inexperienced at cards now.” You smile at him, and it seems to have a mirroring effect on him; his own lips curling into a slight grin.

He bends forward slightly at the waist, decreasing the space between the two of you by only a few inches. It is enough to remind you just how charmed you have been by his appearance since the first day he arrived.

“Or perhaps I’m very good at making my opponents fold,” he suggests as an alternative. There’s a tinge of challenge in his tone that makes your heart begin to beat a little faster. He takes a step back, a self-satisfied look upon his face. “Please, send my regards to your Lady. I’ve composed something new in her honor.” With those words, he suddenly sounds like nothing more than the image of propriety, and dips his head in respect to you before taking his leave.

That evening, he does indeed perform a new lyric poem. It tells of distant, chaste ardour; of noble love for a beauty yet unmatched in the narrator’s eyes. Intrigue. Readiness to devote.

Throughout, everyone in attendance has their eyes either upon the poet or the princess. Minghao had, after all, been quite clear in his introduction that this composition wouldn’t have been possible with her.

Except his gaze is fixed on you through every stanza.  

“I thought you never showed your hand?” You find Minghao in the hallway just outside the drawing room shortly after you see him exit. He almost seems to have been waiting for you, given that he’s only half-way down the empty passage.

“Only returning the courtesy,” he replies without missing a beat.

You ought to be seeking some way to refute that; to insist once more that your shock earlier that day hadn’t in fact been a wordless confirmation of your admiration. Yet you find yourself continuing steady strides down the stonework until you are only a few step away from Minghao.

“Did you choose to be so obvious with your gaze?” you question, dropping your volume to a hush.

“I could hardly have been so obvious in my words.” A flutter runs through you at this confirmation that his poem was truly dedicated to you. “I can be more discreet, if it’s what you’d wish.”

“What am I to know, then, if you’re discreet in both your words and action?”

Minghao smiles again, something akin to mischief mixing into his gaze. “That it is impossible to write of anyone else in a court where you are.”

You try not to grin. You tell him that will suffice.

It does, for quite some time. You share private, coy conversations with him whenever the opportunity arises. And every time he presents a new poem come evening, there is never any sign even the most prying, astute eyes could find for proof that they are directed at you.

There’s no wrong in the way you engage with him, you tell yourself. Save for the technicality that it would be more proper if the artist were as genuinely enthralled by the Princess as he performs. There is no foul in sharing wits with Minghao, no harm in being receptive to his verses.

But then the night comes when you return to your bedchamber to find an envelope had been slipped under the door. It bears your name on the outside and no wax seal. Inside was a single piece of paper. On it were carefully written lines of a poem that grips you from the first line.

And brings a flush to your face and a heat to your chest.

The first stanza details a knight waiting in a pasture for a shepherdess; growing ever impatient with every birdsong and passing cloud overhead. Every sound that is not his lover’s voice a torture upon his soul.

The second tells of the mixed sensation of relief and boiling over when the shepherdess appears at last. The time between seeing and touching somehow agonizingly longer than the knight’s entire wait for nightfall.

And the third.

You think you’ll have to burn this paper for the last stanza alone.

It details everything that happens after the knight takes her hand and the two fall together in the grassy hillside under the cover of dark.

There is some space after the final line. Then, towards the bottom of the page, written at an angle rather than in a straight line: Forgive my indiscretion xx  

You could choose outrage; could probably have him ousted from court if you made enough of a fuss of it. You could choose to scorn him privately for it; burn the letter and refuse to meet his gaze and stop finding places to share quiet talks with him.  

What you do choose is this: you tuck the poem between pages of your own journal. You carry on your conversations, public and private, with him as if nothing had changed at all.

At least until he caves first and asks if you’ve received any letters as of late during one of your afternoon walks with him.  You dare to let your fingers find his, brushing lightly over his.

“I have,” you reply, “I only wish it hadn’t been from an anonymous admirer.”

Your hand starts to fall away from his, but Minghao grabs it back. He clutches at your fingertips and looks at you imploringly. He whispers out only the first two lines of the poem before bringing your hand up to brush his lips delicately against the knuckles.

“Remarkable. That’s exactly what my anonymous admirer had written,” you tease in a half-murmur.

Minghao lifts his eyes to yours without letting go of your hand. “My lady, you make me want things I can’t have,” he says; it’s a gentle warning, if not a plea for some abstract mercy you might be able to bestow upon him.

“Minghao,” you call him by name directly, a rarity that usually sets a small grin upon his features. But today, his expression remains the same. “What was your shepherdess allowed to have…?” Certainly not a knight; certainly not what Minghao wrote as occurring on a hill at night. “And what does she have…?”

It is not dark, but there is the cover of well-kept trees and low-hanging branches.

Not that kissing Minghao feels like something that needs hiding. At least not in the moment. When his mouth presses to yours, it feels like a great weight has lifted off your chest – like this kiss is the only thing you could need to subsist, as if Minghao could keep you encircled in his arms from then on until eternity.

You forget, even, that there was in fact another letter you received recently.

Or you tell yourself that you forget it. The truth is you almost always remember it somewhere in the afterglow of any of Minghao’s kisses. They grow in frequency over the days that follow. So much so you almost begin to fear someone will catch on.

A near fear is evidently not enough to keep you out of Minghao’s bed.

Minghao finds out himself, inevitably, the evening a feast is thrown to welcome home the prince and his retinue from their trip abroad. If he hadn’t been suspicious from the way one of Jeonghan’s knights had spent nearly all afternoon walking with you in the garden, the Princess’ speak at the feasts’ opening left no room for question.

She’s grinning when she mentions her delight that fate has brought not only her brother home, but also the betrothed of one her dearest companions. Her gaze turns to you, and you smile up at her in return. You spare a glance towards Soonyoung, who raises his cup with a grin upon catching your gaze, and then you look down at your lap.

Because there are eyes upon you now. Which means you can’t afford to seek out Minghao to check upon his reaction.

He catches you in a hallway later that night. The boisterous event is still in full-swing in the grand hall. Minghao’s breath smells heavily of wine as he speaks, desperate and angry, “I never stood a chance, did I?”

You stutter out a few senseless syllables. The engagement predates his arrival, you want to say. You should have drawn a line with him far earlier, you know you ought to admit. Soonyoung is good and kind and comes from a good name, you mostly want tell yourself.

“You couldn’t have really thought you could marry me one day,” is what manages to leave your lips through the haze inside your head.

His expression contradicts your assertion.

Minghao leaves court in the dead of night before the week is up.

In the morning, there is an envelope with your name written on it and no wax seal under your door.

[minitravellers]

So according to BBC breakfast today my generation (those born between 77 and 83) are called the Xennials - apparently we forged the way between the old & new and got the best of both worlds! We experienced a childhood of playing outside, children's TV, Mattel toys and the first home computers & consoles. Our generation saw the original Transformers, Care Bears, My Little Ponies and He-man. We adopted Cabbage Patch kids with squished faces, strange names and autographed bottoms. We had the Broom Cupboard, Going Live and Wacaday. We appreciated that we had 2 hours of tv that was just for us at the end of the school day. We sang the tunes to Willy Fogg and Dogtanian and thought that Cities of Gold would never end. We thought that Dynasty was super glamorous and Byker Grove was gritty. We all wanted to live on Ramsay Street and we cried when Scott and Charlene got married. (We secretly knew all along that Plain Jane would be pretty once she took her glasses off.) We watched Degrassi Junior High, read Sweet Valley High and wished we went to school in America. We got excited when the tv trolley was wheeled into our classrooms and had one BBC master computer that we got to use as a treat...usually to make a robot go round a maze or something equally as exciting. It didn't matter though because the BBC Master used floppy discs which were a thousand times faster than the cassettes we used on our Commodore 64s at home! We remember the countdown clock that the BBC showed before their school programmes & can remember being genuinely scared whilst watching 'Dark Towers.' The last day of school was games day and someone always brought in Screwball Scramble which nobody could ever complete! We could create our own games without staring at a computer screen. We played tag, denio 123 and British Bulldog (before the teachers banned it!) In the summertime a sprinkler could provide hours of fun. We didn't watch YouTube videos of people unboxing toys - we played with our own! A 'Choose your own Adventure' book allowed us to choose our own destiny - especially when we could go back to page 22 to avoid being killed! We learnt how to make plans without the need for WhatsApp, group messenger or email. We chatted for hours to our Friends on the land line & got yelled at by our dads when the phone bill arrived! Our friends were actual people that we knew - not online followers. We received real cards on our birthdays not text messages or exploding marshmallows and had to write actual thank you letters to our Grandma's rather than sending a message online. The postman used to come twice a day and there was no online shopping so the delivery of a parcel usually meant a present! Oh and we all really really wanted a Mr Frosty for Christmas but never ever got one! We took proper photos on actual cameras and had to wait for them to be developed before we could see how awful we looked. A 'selfie' was taken at arms length and usually came back from Truprint with an 'over exposed' sticker on it! There were no filters to disguise those spots & red eyes but on the plus side there was less embarrassment as the images would not be posted on social media for all the World to see! We had to use an actual book for our high school homework but discovered the joys of 'Ask Jeeves' as we did our A-levels - that was if our Mum wasn't on the phone hogging our dial up internet connection. At university we typed our essays & dissertations on a word processor as there were no laptops. We queued up to use the computer suites but spent most of our time sending long emails to other friends at uni rather than doing any work! We owned mobile phones that could not fit in your pocket and could only text people on the same network as you. We spent hours playing Snake on our Nokia 3310s. We all knew someone who had a pager but we could never really see the point in them! We grew up watching the greatest films ever made; Ghostbusters, The Goonies, Grease and Gremlins. We all watched Karate Kid and believed we could be a champion too because we could 'wax on...wax off.' We watched Dirty Dancing and hoped that one day we would have a holiday romance with a Patrick Swayze look a like. We watched the Back to The Future trilogy and worked out how old we would be in 2015 which seemed so far away. We grew up with an awareness of the World that our parents did not have. We giggled at 'Position of the fortnight' in More magazine and all read 'Forever' by Judy Bloom, but were still innocent enough to be shocked by Zammo's drug addiction on Grange Hill, PJ being shot in the eye with a paintball gun and the uncensored lyrics to 'Don't stop' (wiggle wiggle) by the Outhere Brothers. And as for the naked man playing tennis on the beach in the early sex education videos we watched at school - we were totally traumatised!! We also grew up to be more considerate of others. We remember the original Band Aid single and all the subsequent re-releases (even the dodgy 1990 version featuring Bros & Sonia) We can recall the horror we felt when John Craven showed us images of starving children in Ethiopia. We were the Blue Peter 'Bring & Buy sale' generation raising money for wells in Africa & orphans in Romania. We were fearful when we heard about the hole in the Ozone layer and embraced the 'No animal testing' mantra of the Body Shop. We saw the first televised lesbian kiss on Brookside, watched Mark die of AIDS on Eastenders and saw the demise of the old-school racist, homophobic & sexist comedians. We remember when a 10 penny mix up bought you 10 (or more!) sweets! When a MrFreeze cost 5p and Curly Wurlys were really long! We know the excitement of opening a box of cereal to retrieve the free gift hidden inside. We remember proper milk bottles on the doorstep & Barr pop where you got 20p back when you returned the bottle. We can never hear the words 'Accrington Stanley' without replying 'Who are they?' In a dodgy scouse accent. We didn't wear the most stylish of clothes & we never posted photos to share our daily outfits. Tammy Girl was the only place to shop till you fitted into Topshop sizes. A gift basket from Body Shop was the ultimate birthday gift and we slathered ourselves in Dewberry, White Musk, Exclaimation & Impulse believing that one day a stranger would actually stop to give us flowers on the street just like the advert. We made the move from vinyl to cassette and Cd. The Walkman was the ultimate accessory and we taped the top 40 every Sunday desperately trying to avoid the DJs voice! We read Smash Hits and Look In and tried to learn all the words to 'Joe le Taxi' because Vanessa Paradis seemed so sexy & aloof. We hoped one day that a boyfriend would present us with a mix tape but in the meanwhile we made our own. We boosted our cd collections by repeatedly subscribing to Brittania Music. Of course we now all have iTunes but we still can't bring ourselves to throw away our cd collections! We went to university before tuition fees and bought houses before prices became inaccessible. We watched Big Brother when it was good and cheered when Craig ousted Nasty Nick. We saw people become famous because they were talented - not just because they appeared on a reality show. We were old enough to be out partying on Millenium Eve and were relieved that the World did not succumb to the Millennium bug after all; no planes fell out of the sky and no nuclear bombs were launched by accident! We travelled more than our parents did thanks to the emergence of budget airlines, teletext holidays, inter-railing, Club 18-30 and Twentys. We thought we were so independent but still wanted our dads to drive us to the airport & still had to give our parents 'three rings' to let them know we had arrived safely. So yes, to all those who like me were the babies of the late 1970s, the children of the 80s, the teens of the 90s and the young adults of the new millenium, I think we did get the best deal. More technically savvy than our parents but experienced enough to know that social media & technology are not the be all and end all. To be honest I am pretty proud to be a Xennial - aren't you? http://ift.tt/2t37FoE