#should i tag twenty one pilots? cause there are few things inspired by them on 3 and 4 pics

[valeriapryanikova]

just a few shitty pages from my shitty sketchbook. 

[lideria]

Lost in Yesterday. | Jeno | Backstory.

➥ pairing(s): jeno x gender-neutral!reader, kind of haechan x gender-neutral!reader

➥ genre: lots of angst, also fluff, somewhat suggestive, royal!au, rivalkingdoms!au, loverstoenemies!au

➥ warnings: swear words, mentions of suggestive themes, themes and mentions of war, themes of heartbreak, themes and mentions of family distress/unhealthy relationship, themes of manipulation, themes of psychological abuse, themes of confusion, drinking, mentions of injuries, mentions of gun use, mentions of disassociation. english is my second language so there might be errors.

➥ word count: 25.6k

➥ summary: the firsts and lasts of a forbidden relationship between two heirs.

➥ songs that have inspired this piece/i recommend readers to listen: lost in yesterday - tame impala, low - lenny kravitz, strangers in the night - frank sinatra, six days - dj shadow, next to me - imagine dragons, don’t you cry for me - cobi, to be alone - hozier, c’mon - panic! at the disco ft. fun, morph - twenty one pilots, moon river - frank ocean, sinking man - of monsters and men

➥ author’s note: THIS IS A REPOST, because tumblr’s algorithm did me dirty and took this off the tags. i dearly hope this does not flop heheh please like/reblog if you enjoy this! because i just about lost my mind while writing! also, a big thank you to my beta readers @shimmershimmernct and @neocity-sarai, you guys are awesome!

➥ sequels: reader’s pov // jeno’s pov

i hope everyone enjoys this, have a great morning/day/evening/night!

The Last Ball

The orchestra remains playing songs in the background even after all the past hours they have done so. Hallways are empty and partially dark if it was not for the moonlight. Most of the staff is occupied with serving the hundreds of guests in the middle wing of the palace— working in the kitchen, in the ballroom and outside stood the guards. The left wing of the palace, the one that is supposedly closed to the guests for the night, is only alive because of the two people running through its moonlit halls.

Jeno is holding your hand as he leads the way, excited giggles making their way out without much effort to stop them. The both of you run up the last set of grand stairs and Jeno runs to the end of the wide corridor. He pushes the doors of the library open rather harshly, making you both stumble your way in. His hands wrap around your waist as he pushes you to the nearest set of shelves. It does not take much time for your lips to meet.

The prince, dressed in a pure, blinding white suit with his jet black hair takes your breath away in the best way possible. He pecks you on the lips so many times it makes you dizzy, steadying you with his hands placed delicately on either sides of your jaw as lingers out some of the pecks into longer lasting, tender kisses.

As always it feels rushed and desperate. Yet so, so precious.

It does not feel like you had enough of him when he places his forehead on yours, looking into your eyes while his thumbs caress your jaw. You can hardly see him in the dark, save for his eyes that are sparkling with the weak and pretty rays of moonlight hitting them. He audibly gulps.

“One more,” Jeno whispers before kissing you again. You feel so lost in him that you have to steady yourself to know you still have the strength to stay on your feet. Your hands that had been resting against his chest come up to pull him closer to you, now stationed at his nape. His teeth ever so slightly graze down on your bottom lip, eliciting a breathy hum from both of you at the tension that seems to radiate from where your lips meet— and it clicks in him. That this is not the time or the place.

When he pulls away he takes a couple steps back, and then he smiles. Moonlight barely hits him but your eyes are, at this point, somewhat adjusted to the dark from running through dark halls and semi making out in the dark library. Both of you know why he stops and pulls away too soon before it can go any further. He cannot even kiss you for as long or as hard as him and you would like to, because people would notice from your appearances and the duration of your absence. And gossip was a deadly thing within the royal class.

It was okay. As long as you could escape with him for some time, it would be okay. You two were too used to it at this point.

“You look blinding tonight, your Majesty,” He teases, his eyes curved into the crescents they are. The nickname hitches your heart instantly, triggering all the dreams you know could not come to be. All you can do is press them down in your heart until they become so compact that you feel back in control. Him being there right beside you does not help with the situation in your heart, but the least you can do is to touch him in some way because you missed him.

Hell, you missed him even when he was right there, stood before your eyes.

So you opt to run a careful hand through his soft and silky hair, tidying the mess it had come while running. Realization hits you suddenly then, and your heart picks up again though of causes less pleasurable. “Is Jaemin out? We left so quickly.”

Jeno leaving without his guard would surely create chaos. With the tension the regional monarchies and the state kingdoms were in, and the unspoken arguments and arrogance hanging in the air, any heir even daring to breathe without their personal guards would mean letting them out into the wild with all the dangers and possibilities awaiting. Alone.

And that is a risk none of the kingdoms are willing to take.

The Prince’s eyes flutter a bit, but he sounds somewhat confident. “I was making hand gestures all the time, there’s no way he didn’t pick them up.”

As if on cue, there are loud knocks at the door when you nod. Both of your heads snap at the source of the noise— the doors are then opened even harsher than how Jeno had done some moments ago, and two figures rush in, clearly out of breath.

For a second you dare to think that you have another forbidden couple in the library, but the voice that speaks debunks your theory. “They’re here,” Jaemin breathes out in what could best be called relief. He kneels to his knees and takes a few moments to gulp and recollect himself. His silence is instantly filled, however, with another voice you know all too well.

“Excuse me for dropping the honorifics but for the sake of my poor mother stop doing this to us,” Donghyuck, your guard, complains. Jaemin lets out a laugh and nods appreciatively at his words. The guard carries on with his complaint but not without sucking in a big breath first. “At least inform us of where you’re going so we don’t have to lie through our teeth to the kings and queens while also worrying about your safety. A generation earlier and we would be beheaded if they found out what we’re doing.” Donghyuck kneels to grab at his legs as well, looking at the ground. Jaemin pats his back once in support. “The things I do for this relationship. Really, I would’ve gotten married already if I paid this much attention to my own relationships. I don’t know about Jaemin.”

The guard beside him chuckles. “You and me both at that one.”

Both Jeno and you laugh at their words, too stunned to move from your place. You both give your guards a good few seconds to catch their breaths but Jeno moves towards his guard and best friend before you can even move, waiting for him to groom his outfit and straighten up first. “Did anybody see you?”

The cautious words leaving Jeno catches Jaemin off guard, but he still answers the question rather quickly. “We kept some distance between us until we were out of the middle wing. No one was around after that as far as I could tell.” Upon his words he pats Jaemin on the shoulder as if to say good job, and he mumbles his thanks to both of the guards in gratitude— even though the two of you did not necessarily need them to find you, as in them walking in on you.

Jeno turns to you when Jaemin is done, a warm smile on his face again, probably sharing the same feelings but also knowing the consequences of not being down at the hall for longer than expected. “I will see you in the ballroom, my love.” Affection beams from his words and it makes you incredibly happy, even though you have heard the nickname countless times before.

“Hurry up already, I can hear your father scolding you.” He chuckles a breath and nods at Donghyuck, giving him his recognition and respect, before making his way out of the door with Jaemin trailing next to him.

You sigh when the door closes behind him and his company, knowing this would be the only time you could get to yourselves with him tonight. Just like that, the prince was gone.

Relationships between royals were heavily looked down upon unless they were arranged marriages, because they could bring unexpected feuds, wars, or peace. No royals wanted their love life to affect their politics unless they could impose full control over them. Considering the state the nations are in— with all kinds of political feuds and tight anger in between that waited patiently until it was the time to blow up— your relationship between two heirs of monarchies that have never necessarily gotten along feels all the more forbidden. Even after three years of being steady and having things under control.

Loving him would not be this difficult if it was your ideal world.

“Your Highness,” Donghyuck starts, looking at you with some level of concern. “You should be looking happy. Not like this.”

There is something weird about the way Donghyuck speaks to you. Most probably because of the fact that you have known each other since childhood, there is still a sense of warm and homely friendliness and informality in his words, despite the title he has to call you by. The two of you had met at eight years of age, when his mother who works in the kitchen brought him into the palace that time when his father was sick and she could not take the risk of leaving him alone with an ill man. He had been the first child that you actually made friends with outside the heir community— if it was even one.

Fourteen years of friendship. One of which was spent apart as he was sent away to train to become your guard by your father’s order, and three of which was spent with him as your guard. Mostly with laughs, sometimes with tears, lots of kept secrets, shared feelings and struggles, and helping each other with anything and everything. Donghyuck was your one loyal friend, and perhaps, the only friend you truly had.

Honestly, you could not have asked for a better primary guard. “I am happy,” The words prompt an automatic smile on your lips, albeit one of longing. “I just would’ve loved to dance with him again.”

The First Dance

The first time you had danced together was three years ago, it had also been the day  where  you had completely fallen for him. Years of silently crushing had been leading up to it— momentary glances at the dinner table when his family or yours were doing their yearly rounds of visits followed by shy smiles, playing in the snow when they visited your kingdom of mountains, exploring the beautiful forests of his kingdom of what felt like a sea of green, helping each other with duties that required a second thought, late night talks in the gardens and balconies, watching the night sky with the astronomy-lover prince. Sometimes he would tell you all about it, sometimes the both of you would lounge around and sketch architectural pieces and compete on insults and comebacks, sometimes you would ride horses together— basically, you would share what you loved doing with one another.

For years it felt like a snowball rolling down the edge of a mountain, starting off small but swiftly tumbling and getting bigger and bigger as it made its way down. Surely it would end in an avalanche where the neatly formed snowball would disintegrate into a new spread of snow that would cover every inch of the surface.

The first dance was the scream that caused the avalanche.

Jeno had come to your side in the ballroom full of royal members and the elite class, roaming through an ocean of people just to find you. He had sensed the stress around the hall— the unhappiness that swarmed within the people spread around, and he thought— you were young. In fact, most people in that very room were young except for the rulers. It should feel energetic and fresh for everyone to take a short break from duties and responsibilities. It was a ball, after all. Not a conference. Nor a summit. Nothing political, so why was everyone making it feel like it was? Why would he not ask someone he liked to a dance?

Because that person was you, and your parents’ views did not go hand in hand? Because it was basic and proper political etiquette for him to not ask you to a dance?

Well, that would have just been plain stupid and a shame in his opinion.

“Hey,” He had leant over to your ear while you were looking at some group of people who were dancing away, prompting a little jerk of your shoulders in surprise. It makes him chuckle. “Hello, and excuse you, I don’t think I heard the ‘your Highness’ part,” You had said in return. “I could start some drama with the way you are disrespecting me right now.” He saw your eyes point at a particular group of teenagers your age, ones that were heirs of ‘lesser’ kingdoms— whatever that meant. Just because they did not have much land to rule over. The heirs, though, were known to be quite the chitter-chatters. They were the ones to have a word with if you ever needed some catching up with the society.

Your eyebrows had lifted a bit then in an effort to point them out further, and your finger had slightly pointed at them as stealthily as you could muster. “All it would take is a few words with them and I swear within the next hour everyone would know how you don’t even have the manners to address people correctly.”

That made Jeno start laughing silly, but you protested further. “You should have been at the last Unity Ball. They made sure everyone knew Doyoung and, you know, his now-wife-and-the-queen were a deal. I don’t even know where they spotted them doing what because I sure didn’t see them.”

You chuckled after your words as well, and Jeno could not take his eyes off of you. He smiled fondly, relaxing his linked hands placed at his back. “I was thinking…” He held out a hand, palm looking upwards at the ceiling, relaxed enough that his fingers were not fully straight. “Maybe we could give them something to talk about.”

With a smile, you rolled your eyes. “Jeno, this will give everybody something to talk about.”

Jeno shrugged carelessly with pursed lips. “I know and frankly I do not care. I just want to dance with you.”

It made your heart skip a beat— a couple, actually. He felt the same way in his chest.

And he knew his father would be watching over him somewhere, muttering to his mother about what was he doing and why would he even do that and this is going to raise so many questions but he had meant it. He simply did not care. Jeno also did not care about what your father must think of him. If it was as he expected it to be, it was somewhere between neutral and he is tolerable. Not he is as bad as his father. Plus, if the two of you got into trouble, just how hard could it be when the two of you were the only heirs for your parents’ thrones and had your own duties every living day?

Yes. It would not be much trouble at all.

Perhaps you also had a similar thought process, because you willingly put your hand in his. The two of you walked to the floor and felt gazes shift towards your direction along the way. And then, you placed your hand on him and let him place his hand at the small of your back, linking your other half of hands together.

And you started dancing. In the same way you would have danced with anyone that was not him. As more gazes landed upon the two of you and people watched you dance instead of only seeing you, understanding and observing first hand that being rivals is not applicable to situations like these and that your parents’ disagreement do not have to be yours, you swayed and you smiled and you looked into Jeno’s eyes.

But something was different.

You got lost in his eyes. You felt your breath escape free from your chest at the feeling of his hands holding you, and your heart started beating at a much faster, hypnotic rhythm— like that of a horse’s trots when it is set free to run around. And honestly, you got lost in the feeling. The feeling of being able to say so much when none of you are speaking. It was comfortable. It was strengthening. It was freeing. Fresh, warm, calm yet exciting.

Maybe he had felt the same, because you could feel his hold getting tighter and his gaze fonder by the second as you danced.

Jeno and you colored your way through that year’s annual visit, the usual black-and-whiteness of it nowhere to be seen.

The Last Official Visit

“Mere years ago I thought it couldn’t get any worse,” You mumble quietly as Jeno and you walk your way to the dining hall. You are making sure you keep your voice down so as to prevent the staff— especially the educational staff— from hearing your complaints. Both of your hands are at your sides lightly brushing against each other’s. That is the most affectionate thing you could do when everyone is around, really. “Having too many lessons on too many subjects in one day and somehow trying to keep all of them in my mind so I can have a shot at being a decent ruler,” Jeno hums in agreement and nods a little, waiting for the actual complaint to come. “But now that I’m actually getting closer to the being a monarch, everything’s just.. I think my head will crack open if I need to memorize anything more about law. Do you ever feel the same?”

From the corner of your eye, you can feel a staff looking at you with judging eyes, so you feel inclined to add the honorific. “Your Highness?”

Jeno chuckles as you turn around the corner and nods enthusiastically, when both of you notice one of the head guards and all three of you bow a bit in greetings as you pass by each other. “I can relate to that. For me having to deal with and participating in the military is draining as I get older. A lot of the time I just want to be able to learn things I want to learn. Astronomy, music theory, science…”

“Nothing to do with politics, I know.” The two of you snicker at his words and yours. You really knew. Jeno, if there were any other heir, would give up his place on the throne immediately— because he hated politics. Not the study or the theme itself as he knew its importance because of his first-hand experience, but he rather hated the reality of being a politician. Every word he says, every action he does, and every step he takes is closely monitored and very likely to cause major changes. And he hates that. Jeno is the type of person that is more reserved, dependent on his privacy, someone who wants to engage in his own interests as he thinks it is the major way to preserve inner peace throughout his life. He wants to live an enjoyable life, understandably.

“How are things going with your father?” You ask him upon the topic with a hopeful tone, knowing it is a bitter one, and thinking that maybe asking about it while you are moving and loaded with sensory surroundings could give him the benefit of swiftly giving the answer without much occupation in his mind. “Not great. I cannot seem to make him happy, ever.”

The answer hurts your heart because it is true. Jeno’s father is never happy with him, as he is a man washed over with his own ideals and denies any alternatives. In his views, it is almost like Jeno has to be exactly like him to be a good king. Ever since you met Jeno around twelve years ago now, his father has bothered you and not only because he is the King of a rival monarchy.

The worst part is that his mother never raised her voice about it. Even though she is much more affectionate towards Jeno and  seems to approach him with love unlike the King.

“He was really upset with my performance in the military last time. Said I had to work harder if I wanted to be a lieutenant.” He adds with a barely audible huff, the two of you slowing down as you spot the doors to the dining hall. You frown, and it is audible when you speak. “We have to endure it just a bit more. It will all work out in the end— we always make things work, right?”

With that Jeno smiles assuringly. You feel his finger caress the back of your hand a couple of times as his eyes point downwards with the force of his smile. “Yes, my love. We do.”

Just out of the doorkeepers’ reach, you whisper to him. To reassure him, and to give him strength, and perhaps to apologize to him about nagging him on a topic he does not like to mention. “I love you.”

He whispers back. “I love you too.”

The two of you share a fond smile that lasts a couple of seconds before taking the last few steps to the entrance and the doorkeepers open the doors for you.

Both of your parents are seated at the table, with yours at the opposite ends of the table and his on the left side. Your parents look delighted to see you both, and his mother does look content too, but his father not as much. It is less than surprising to you at this point, but you still want to be naive enough to believe his face looks so down because of the political tension  he had with your parents and not because he genuinely disliked his son and you.

Bowing your heads slightly in greetings at the Kings and the Queens, both of you start making your way to your seats.

“Father,” Jeno greets him with a smile of his face that is rather mocking, as he walks over to them to sit at the assigned chair between his parents.

“Son,” His father greets back, watching Jeno’s movements. The King sounds stern and less than moderately content which makes you furrow your brows as a staff pulls the chair for you to sit down on the right side of the table. You realize how your chair is the only one on the right side even though the table is big enough to host grand meals and it makes you wish that the seating plan could be in a way that could have both Jeno and you sitting at the same side. Because you do not want his father to converse with him and be in close proximity to him, where he can bother him all he pleases.

Contrary to all your thoughts, though, Jeno looks okay. He places his hand on his father’s shoulder as he sits down, and turns to his mother to take her hand in his before placing a kiss at the back of it. Jeno whispers something to her that makes her smile bright, her eyes sparkling at her son, and then she brushes some of his hair that has fallen behind his ears. You can hear her asking Jeno about how his studies have gone, along with the duties he had to take care of that day that were just some document work.

Jeno tells her it has gone well, that he has taken care of everything and even has gotten a head-start on his work for the next day. She praises him in return and cups his cheek, turning back around to the table thereafter.

When the attention is at the table and the first course is served, your father takes his glass of fine champagne and lifts it up slightly with a smile on his face that you know is only professional. Him and your mother dislike Jeno’s father just as much as you do if not more for his political stances. “I’m happy we can all gather here annually and share food, thoughts and words with each other in peace even though we are not necessarily on the same side of ideas, and I’m raising a toast for everything to stay this way— in peace— for the eternity to come.”

Me too, you think. Both Jeno’s parents and your mother raise their glasses to meet your father’s with two genuine smiles and one quarter-meant. You raise your glasses as well with Jeno and say your cheers after they do so.

Jeno winks at you before taking a sip when he lifts his glass up to his lips, and you know that it is the two of you that wants your father’s wishes to come true probably the most as you smile.

The First (and Only) Time You Got Caught

It had happened on one of your yearly rounds barely a full year after the annual Unity Ball, in which he had finally collected the courage to tell you about his feelings and asked if you felt the same as you two danced with a beautiful smile on his face— presumably because it was the only time the two of you could truly be alone without your primary guards on your tails.

“Can I tell you something, in all my seriousness, your Highness?” He had asked with his hidden smile on his face, the one where the corners of his mouth were not pointed upwards but there was still a very noticeable amusement on his face. Teasing a bit, if you will. “I have a feeling that you will even if I tell you you can’t.”

Jeno had tilted his head at your words. “You are right, but only because of the heaviness of my words. I really would not tell you otherwise.”

He took a breath, and when he spoke again, it was with a much lower tone. A tone where people dancing near you would not have been able to hear it but only you would, as his voice got drowned out by the sounds of the piano and the violins and the cellos and every other instrument. “I think a lot whenever I see you and spend time with you,” Then, ever so slightly he leaned in a bit closer. “And what I think is always good and relieving. You make me feel like I can drop my mask off with you: the mask I keep on my face at all times. It is incredibly easy for me to be myself around you because of the way you are, and I appreciate you for that. But for a long time now I’ve been feeling like this appreciation and awe I have for you,”

Your brows furrowed a bit at his words as confusion took over you, and he let out an airy laugh at that before picking his words back up. “Has evolved into something much more. Something much bigger and stronger. Something that tells me it is you, and I am okay with that. I can and I do accept that, and I just wanted to tell you because it is so hard not to anymore.” Another breath. This time he leans back again to regain his composure. “But you should know that I will understand if you do not feel the same way about me, or do not want to have what I would like for us to have.”

The two of you continued to dance, making sure your waltz steps were matching both to each other’s and to the music playing in the background. Shocked would have been an understatement for what you felt— not because it was a surprise that he felt that way about you as you were sure the mutual attraction was real before, but because he actually told you. Moreover, because he wanted something with you in the same way you did with him. It was only when you could wrap your head around it that you let out a bright smile with a squeeze on his shoulder. “This is so hysteric.”

Jeno had shook his head in a questioning manner upon your words, but had immediately relaxed upon the ones that followed soon after. “I do. I do want to have that very same thing, because it is you for me, too.”

Needless to say it had been a tad bit difficult after that.

As it was with all new lovers, keeping your hands or eyes off from each other was quite frustrating and a demanding task. You could really only love each other physically when you were completely alone; could hug when you were alone, could kiss when you were alone, could hold hands when you were alone— being alone was a treasure. And for the communication bit.. well. Communication outside of blatantly seeing each other and talking was a non-existent concept.

But you made it work. Even at its first stages, your love had proved to be stronger than the obstacles. The two of you would find a way, eventually.

Perhaps, the one time you were not alone while you displayed your affection was the door opening to communication outside of seeing each other and between the distanced kingdoms.

The two of you were on your way to the greenhouse outside in their garden to have tea with your families, the sun shining through the big windows— not a sight you could always have in your palace as the country was usually covered in snow whether it be a light cover or a heavier one. You loved how green their palace was. It felt like an explosion of colors after staying months on end in your palace until you started your yearly rounds, visiting every single kingdom over the course of several weeks.

Maybe it was what made you more lively, too. More loving, because you do not think there could be any explanation as to why the Prince’s speech on the whole history of the foreseeable future in space sounded so charming to you. “Kiss me.”

Jeno stopped dead in his tracks at the sudden demand. You did too, and could not help but snicker at his widened eyes. “Pardon me? We’re literally in the middle of the hall, dove.” Which was true, but the hall was empty. Completely empty, as the transition halls were some of the most unoccupied during the daytime. Had it been nighttime, it would have been a completely different story. “Where’s the beautiful and bold boy that did not care when he was asking me to a dance in front of everyone in the royal and elite class?”

He chuckled at that, amused and somewhat bothered, but lighthearted. “We’re too out in the open. It would be a disaster if anyone wanted to change wings and walked in on us.” At that you let out a frustrated sigh, laughing a little at him with a slight roll of your eyes. “Just kiss me, Jeno. There is no one around.”

Maybe it is the fact that you asked him for the second time, or that he felt the sudden bravery rush over him, but he did kiss you then. With an amused smile spread over his lips he had leant over with his hands still placed on his back— presumably because it would have made pulling back easier had it come to that. It was a sweet kiss despite the frustration the two of you had in store just seconds before he did so, his lips soft yet firmly on yours as he started kissing your demand and his worries away in a careless moment.

It felt good to be careless for once. To melt into the environment, to feel one and to feel whole by taking only one risk.

Until the sound of laughter echoed through the hall, that is, and the faint footsteps grew louder in sound as the people they belonged to got closer. The footsteps were approaching rather quickly, and Jeno tried to pull away from you muttering something along the lines of see, someone has to come here just to ruin everything but you did not let him. Instead, you pulled him in closer with hands placed on the other’s jaws.

Honestly, you two really could not care. Especially after the laughs got recognizable to you long before they did to him.

And as one would have expected the steps came to a halt once they entered the hall, however as one would not have expected while you were just pulling away from each other.

If you had to stay positive about it, it was an immense embarrassment for both of you. Them possibly seeing you in that state was not something the two of you would have wanted nor planned; the plan was to pull away just before they came in, and you had failed miserably.

It would be fine, though. They were your primary guards. One of whom looked shocked beyond belief, and the other looked a bit uncomfortable. Nonetheless, they were your primary guards and your own closest friends. If anybody could be trusted, it would be them.

“Oh my god. Oh, my god.” Donghyuck rambled, mostly in disbelief and possibly a bit nervously as they kept on walking over to where you and the Prince were standing. “I can’t believe I just witnessed that, you were kissing, weren’t you?” The last part of the question had come out in the lowest whisper he could muster, and Jeno only nodded. It was not his proudest moment for sure if you took the slight blush on his cheek to account.

Mentioning what had been going on between you to them had been out of the question for so long in a dire attempt to protect yourselves from any and all eyes— even theirs, that are supposed to watch over you. Maybe if it was not for this moment you never would have told them as the nature you two held had been too cautious to do anything up until now.

The guards seemed to get even more distressed at that, especially your friend of eleven years. He turned to Jaemin with his hand in his hair, eyes closed, and his face genuinely upset. “It’s too early for this. I’m on my first year of primary duty and this is what you do to me?”

At his words, the Prince beside you cleared his throat, and everyone turned their gazes towards him. “I know this must have come as a shock to you, but we are still two heirs you are talking about.”

Donghyuck tilted his head then, and pushed his tongue against his cheek at the comment, chuckling a little as he placed his hands on his hips. “Well, your Highness, one of them happens to be my best friend of years— and for the record, I think we have well given up on the professional distance protocol at this point.”

That made Jaemin bust out an actual laugh, prompting Jeno to glare at him and the guard to simply shrug before apologizing. “Donghyuck,” You snapped at him with a warning tone. “Keep your composure.” The only voices inside the hall or at the close distance around the hall still happened to be the four of yours, which was rather fortunate considering the last few moments.

“Just let us forget about this, your Highness,” Jaemin suggested to you with a calm manner. “Both of us have vowed to be loyal to you two. Not a single word would leave from our mouths regarding this.”

And that happened to be the best thing Jaemin had ever said to you. For him, and the stressed guard beside him, it was probably the most unfortunate thing that ever did leave his mouth. A smile spread on your face as the idea hit, and Jeno must have thought the same because you saw him jerk a little in his place in a moment of eureka. The guards knew something (or anything, for that matter) would not be going their way as the same kind of knowing smile spread across your faces simultaneously.

“Vowed to be loyal, you say?” Both guards nodded when you asked, and Jeno followed suit with his own question. “And what if we asked you to help us with finding places for us two to meet at?”

The Last Promise

It is a pretty night.

The nights at your palace are always breezy and cold at the right amount: bearable with the right attires, and the type that is a dry cold where the humid cold that might stick on you is never a problem that passes through your mind. Moonlight is bright in the open sky. The stars are visible and scattered across the night like wild flowers scattered across a field. The snow is a thick blanket on top of the ground and under your feet as you sit at the entrance of the abandoned and long-out-of-use tunnel.

Jeno looks pretty, too. Despite traveling for a long time and having to cover everything up at such a time where having this relationship is even harder than it has ever been, he is glowing with pleasure. His eyes constantly seem to smile, and his skin glistens under the shifting rays of the moonlight as he speaks to you. You both were catching up on the last few weeks where you have not been able to see each other and only could deal letters to one another through selected staff that were being paid in exchange of keeping your long-going secret. A lot of it was through affection.

Jaemin and Donghyuck are guarding far in front of you— Donghyuck farther than Jaemin, keeping an eye out for the rest of the palace that was surely asleep and in the distance as the other watched out with binoculars for royal photographers. They seemed to be everywhere after noticing the drama and feud-filled relationships of the recent royal class, and they were insatiable.

“I feel so on the edge whenever I have to talk to anyone lately,” You confess to Jeno as he looks deep into your eyes. “Even on phone calls, and even though I am not my father but just a representative, everyone treats me like I am some manure sticking to their shoes.”

The Prince laughs at that, holding your hand in his and lacing your fingers without taking his eyes off of yours. “You could not be farther off than manure, my love. These are trying times for everybody is all.”

“Which is exactly why I think they should be more compassionate,” You add with a huff of frustration, a pout on your lips. Jeno lets out a breathy chuckle as he leans over and places a chaste kiss on them, before turning back to his seat. “Are you cold?”

“Not really, why?” You ask. “The tip of your nose felt really cold.” With that, he looks down at your linked hands and shrugs a little. “You could go inside. I don’t want you to be cold because of me. I got to see you, and that is what matters.”

“I am not cold. I want to stay here longer.” He smiles at the attempt to reassure him, starting to play with the tips of your fingers. Squeezing them, touching them with his own, fiddling them mindlessly. “Good.” There is a slight relief at the way his word sounds, but it is nowhere to be found with the words that follow. “Listen,”

You know what that tone means, and it means that he is being dead serious. “I don’t know if you have noticed anything about it, but there is a big likelihood that a war is coming. Some areas are already in conflict,” You had known about it a little, as the military paperwork seemed to mount up on your table about the raise of the aids and what-not— but you had not seen or heard any plans of an attack. Jeno gulps as he picks his head up to look into your eyes again. “My father just assigned me to the troops located nearest to the conflict zones as a lieutenant today and I have to be there in the morning,” A breath before he concludes his words. “I will have to fight at the warfront when it breaks out.”

His words struck you harder than you would expect it. Jeno does not say if the war breaks out, no, he says when the war breaks out. And you know he is more invested in the military than you ever will be, so his words hold an impeccable reality to them. It gets you feeling terrified because a war is a war and there is no sense of security in it, and he will have to be in the midst of that chaos fighting; and it gets you feeling angry, because how could his father do this to him? “Aren’t you his only child?” Your breath hitches as you ask, and you feel the warmness at your eyes. “Why is he sending you?”

“Because I have been training my entire life and he said he trusts me now.” Somehow, you think, and a good part of you believes that his father is only doing this because he is too much of an arrogant himself to go fight. That his father is doing this only because he wants to keep his place on the throne as long as he can. Because he is the type of person who makes you really believe that he could have been the best alchemist considering he is so selfishly determined to stay on the throne that he would have probably found elixir of life.

And you see the ugly reality that his father does not care if something happens to Jeno during the war. It breaks you that Jeno sounds so hopeful when he says his father trusts him.

So in a moment of selfishness, you ask him. “Jeno, what if you die?”

He seems to get alarmed at the point where your voice gets shaky, and he tightens his hand around yours, leaning in and placing his other hand on your cheek as he stares deep into you, trying to reach your heart. “I won’t.” He shakes his head to further emphasize. “I won’t die. I have so much to do— we have so much to do still. I will come back,” Jeno’s thumb on your cheek rubs the surface firmly, his palm growing warm now. “I promise, my love. We must hold on for a little while longer.”

A part of you thinks why can you not see it? Do you really not see how your father is using you at a matter like this? How he is using you as a pawn and as a puppet, a mere imitation to his presence at the warfront?

But the other part of you says that what is done is done. That there is no way to hold him back from going after being assigned. And that very same part also notices how confident Jeno is being about this, and yearns to believe that his father had told him truthfully that he trusts him now.

So you give him the benefit of the doubt, for now.

You nod at the Prince with a tight smile. The tears had not even arrived at your eyes because you wanted to keep him from getting upset because of your reaction, especially when he would be the one rushing to his destination to arrive by the morning and would involve himself in something way beyond training. With a turn of your head, you kiss his palm and nuzzle further into it, and he lifts your hand in his to kiss it. He does not pull your hand away from his lips and lets you recollect yourself with your eyes closed for a few moments.

“Love,” He whispers after some while. You open your eyes to meet with his fond ones that are looking at you, adoring you. “I need to ask you something before I go.”

You nod once again as he pulls his hand away from your cheek, and you start following the movement of his hand. It goes to his chest pocket on his jacket and digs something up into his palm before holding it in between the two of you.

Then he opens his palm with a smile on his face.

You notice the bunched up chain before you notice the sparkles that reflect the moonlight. And when your eyes fall onto them, there is a ring. A ring. With many small crystals all over it instead of a single or a few big ones. It looks delicate and easy to hide, with a simple knot to its shape and nothing else.

It means the world to you.

“This is not much of a surprise considering the amount of times we have spoken about the future, but,” He squeezes your hand. “Every time I look at you, I do not even dream about it anymore. I see it. And I want it. Because my heart says that it will always be you. Every day, every time. No matter what. Because I love you that much, and I want to go away this time knowing that when I come back to you, you will be my future and I will be yours.”

A bright smile that is a contrast to the dead of the night, yet one that matches his spreads across your face and he knows the answer then. But he asks the question anyway. “Would you do the honor of taking my hand in yours for the rest of eternity?”

The tears rush to your eyes and break free in a matter of maybe a couple of seconds if not within the same second and you nod. A tsunami-worth wave of emotions hit you; sadness at still not being over the fact of the war that was surely coming, happiness at the reality that you will get to keep your love for the rest of your life, nervousness at the uncertainty of it all, him going away and his father, but mostly— finally. Finally, finally.

Not finally, he asked me to marry him but finally, we are moving to the last stage of everything. We have fought for so long, and we have endured so much, and we now finally get to move onto the time where we get to be us without the obstacles. Everything is finally truly paying off.

With a smile on his face and his own unspilled tears in his eyes, he reaches over and puts the necklace on you and tucks it in to your night attire, patting the place the ring extends to. And he lets you kiss him afterwards.

He pulls away, though, before any of you can open your mouths and before the kiss can turn into anything less gentle. “I found a place. The registrar agreed to wed us in impartiality, and told me we could have a small and serene ceremony.” You listen to him with a newfound spark in your eyes that make Jeno fall for you all over again, your hands on his jaws. “You will love it there. It is deep in the forest and the road is really worn, but it only secures us further. No photographer would be able to follow us. There is a lake and lots of different trees varying from the rest of the forest at the ceremony area, and the place is so pretty at night with dim lights everywhere. It is really quiet, and the staff are very kind.”

Your lips land on his again with a quick and messy smooch, and he can feel you giggle into him. When you pull back you bite down at your lip in a smile washed over with excitement. “That sounds like a dream, Jeno.”

“I’m afraid it will all come true, your Majesty.”

Jeno laughs against your lips when you crash them onto his again, and lets you climb into his lap when you make the move.

The First Escapade

Your heart, for the lack of a better word, was racing.

Donghyuck was leading you somewhere. Neither of you were talking much, even the steps you were taking had to be calculated and soft so as not to alert any other guards that were on watch that night. Moving through the halls was a scary, almost foreign feeling— you would usually breeze through them. But not this once.

He had woken you up with a knock at your door, telling the doorkeeper that there was a minor problem with your belongings being sorted for the upcoming tour through the country that had to be sorted immediately according to your liking, and had taken you through the halls and down the many stairs. Most of which you had not once used in your life, and were widely used by the staff only.

He was good at distracting people, you had come to learn. The amount of people he had lied to and distracted by saying there was a problem with power shortage (which there was, and it was him that caused the shortage in the first place) and it had to be repaired but there were parts that had to be bought from the town (with all the businesses listed), and that the other group of guards would be coming to replace them would have been impressive even for politicians. And that was only the first of the lies he had told people that night.

Through the countless halls and stairways you passed through, you finally arrived at the basement. You had never been in there before, and it was a basement for basically just about anything— cars, old furniture, old belongings, a lot of scraps and some things covered with big, beige and gray drapes.

“We’re almost there, don’t worry.” Donghyuck had told your sleepy yet very much amazed self, bothering to turn around and laughing at whatever your expression was. You trailed behind him to the deeper corners of the basement, letting him lead you until he stopped in front of a group of furniture and what looked like instruments all bunched together.

“Is this it? They are surely not coming from the big entrance, and I would like to think you are not talented enough to smuggle them all the way inside here.”

There was a chuckle that echoed after that. “I don’t know whether you complimented or insulted me,” He was holding off on the honorifics seeing they could give everything away if someone had been watching, or were on your tails, or simply heard you. “But for the record, no they’re not.” And with that, he starts moving the old piano and the bigger pieces of furniture like a wardrobe and bookshelf— moving the rugs away and pushing the boxes with his feet until the metal square made itself apparent.

Donghyuck put the furniture he had pulled away in a way that would cover the two of you, a furniture wall if you will, and set the boxes on top of each other inside the wall as well as planting the rugs upright to imitate a cramped space behind the belongings.

It was kind of terrifying how good he was, and you could only hope he had learned such things in training.

Once he was done, he put a hand on his hip and pointed at the trapdoor. “We’ll be going in through there. It opens to the tunnels.”

The tunnels? They were more than a couple hundred years old, and supposedly in unusable condition, completely blocked. “I thought the palace was built on top of them to cover them up.”

“It was, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t an opening to it. Only the King and the architect personnel know about this I think, someone I know mentioned that he wanted to rebuild the collapsed part back up once.” He shrugs. “But he apparently gave up on it after noticing it had gotten visible to the surface after the heavy snowfall made the dirt on it collapse. We’re going to that end now, and trust me when I say no one ever goes there.”

Going through an old trapdoor proved to be harder than you initially thought. The old ladder was slippery with whatever it was, most definitely not fit for two people, and a bit shorter than the drop down.

It took quite a bit of speed walking to get to the end Donghyuck was talking about, and it was mesmerizing to you how there was this complex system of tunnels with brick walls and cracked stone with small hints of life whether it be plants that made their way in through the cracks or bugs, or the occasional stray cats.

But when you reached the end, there they were. The two silhouettes at the opening of the tunnel system and the collapsed remainder of it behind them. Moonlight was shining through in between and around them as they chatted, both of their shoulders shaking with slight laughter. Although you could not see them, you knew which silhouette belonged to the Prince. Maybe because of the way his shoulders shook, or rather because you had known him for so long already that you could basically find him with your eyes closed if you had to.

The silhouettes turned towards you at the sound of your footsteps when they were audible to them, and you could see the smile on Jeno’s face even in the shade of the tunnels. Automatically you smiled back at him and hurried into his arms that welcomed you, hugging into his chest with a happy chuckle. He kissed your cheek, breathing in your scent, and nuzzled his forehead against the side of your face and neck much like a cat as he cozied against the crook of your neck for a brief moment.

He had his hands on your shoulders when he pulled back and took a look at you. “How are you, dove?”

You smile. “Sleepy, but otherwise well. You look far better than I do.” Jeno tilted his head with his eyes squinted. “I’m sleepy as well but the cold has a way of waking people up.” Not to you, after so many years of living here.

When he noticed Donghyuck who had been standing next to you for a few seconds at that point, he asked him about his well being and inevitably cut through his conversation with Jaemin with an apology to be polite. The two guards had been standing at a bit of a distance in order to give you some personal space, you noticed.

Then, he addressed them both in his gratitude. “Thank you for taking the time out of your sleep to make this possible for us,” When he said it, he meant it. You got two bright smiles in return, and words followed those of two of your favorite people in the world.

“We vowed to be loyal to you, to protect you no matter the circumstances and to keep you in safety, your Highness,” Donghyuck quoted the same way once how Jaemin had done. But his smile spread a bit further across his face as he looked at the two of you— with you leaning into Jeno’s side and his hand placed at your waist, almost back-hugging you as he tried to warm you up with his body heat, both of you oblivious to your states.

“And beyond that, we just want to see our best friends happy.”

The Last Wound

To say that the war had broken out would be a severe understatement.

As if on cue, mere weeks after Jeno’s words governments and monarchies around the world had started declaring war against nations upon nations, showing their feuds and unmet requests as the reasons. There were sides that were established; sides that your father refused to be a part of, hiding in the safety of neutrality for the time being. That being said, the military was still getting aided economically and personnel-wise, guards being transferred into several military branches they could serve in without much training and folk (usually the ones that were severely affected by the financial hardships of the war) taken into the accelerated guard training. There were many faces all around.

The land, thankfully, had been secure so far except for the economical burdens. People were still reliable. The monarchy and your family continued to be respected, presumably because of the immense effort your parents and you put into making feel everything as normal as you possibly could.

But news came in every single day, sometimes more times than you could count, and they were scary nonetheless.

Some nations were fighting on land, some at sea, some in the air. There were too many people that had lost their lives for absolutely no reason that should concern them and their words and actions. Too many had been left in poverty, in famine, in conditions that no human should be left in. Too many homes destroyed, too many businesses left unrecognizable.

Theoretically you had known it all. All your life you had been educated on the possibility of this exact situation. War and its consequences were something you knew too well already, but it was much different to experience it first-hand. And you were not even experiencing it truly first-hand, the people were.

Your routine had changed for the past few months as well. Everything was fast paced. You would be woken up in the mornings either by Donghyuck or your doorkeepers, and would immediately go to have breakfast, checking several newspapers in the process while listening to your father’s senior advisor read out the papers that had arrived that day and summarize the reports of the past days. Then you would move to your office to deal with all the paperwork that were unnecessary burdens on your parents’ shoulders. They would be taking care of calls and meetings while you dealt with the maths and the written bureaucracy. That would go on until it was late in the night and you had to go to sleep to start all over again the next day.

One of the most concerning facts was that you had not heard from Jeno in months, aside from the rare shared secret phone calls between your primary guards and the one letter he was able to send at the very start of things. All you knew was that he was not dead, according to the countless newspapers you had read so far.

And that was all that mattered.

Surely there were days where you were more concerned about him and his well being, but you tried to keep your attention on your work and your people. The distraction, and the fruits of your hard work helped to keep you in line.

It is on one night where you are lounging around with your family in the library to read and forget about the problems a little that Donghyuck barges in, but with a few knocks beforehand in proper etiquette.

He bows his head in greetings when your heads turn at him, and when he picks it up, you can see the slight panic on his face. “Good evening your Excellence. Your Majesty,” Then, he physically turns to you, pointing his feet at your direction where you  stood, picking out another book. “Your Highness, I have the car ready.”

You furrow your brows. “For what reason?”

“There is a tree selection going on to be distributed to people in need,” Your father says without glancing up from his book. “You have been working so hard lately and you hardly even go out to the garden. You deserve to take a breather. Go and take your coat.”

So you do.

Hurrying to your room, you ask for a staff to give you your coat and gratefully receive the help that they offer when they dress you. Donghyuck walks after you, waiting for you just outside of your door. When you come out you realize the restless look he has to his body. Especially when he starts speed walking right after you come out of your room.

He does not say a single word until you are out of the building and walking through the garden, he only encourages you to hurry up. But when you are close to the gates opening up to the road of the palace, he speaks up. “You aren’t selecting trees, I’ve got that covered.”

Your response is immediate. “Where are we going then? Did something happen?” The snow crunches below your feet and it is growing harder to keep up with Donghyuck’s pace as he keeps his eyes nowhere but forwards. “He’s here. I’m taking you to him.”

Donghyuck’s words make your heart jump in your chest half in excitement and half in worry. “How is he—?”

“They were moving bases. Jaemin said the Prince told him to make a stop at the forest,” He smiles slightly then, as you can see from the side. “He needs to see you, apparently.”

A warm feeling spreads over your chest, and excitement finally takes over, as well as happiness. “That is fortunate, because I need to see him as well.”

The car ride to the forest closer to the top of the mountains was a bumpy and somewhat long ride in the black car that melted into the dark go the night. Towns all around were strictly following a dark-out rule each night after a certain hour— to make the areas undetectable from the air and hard to detect even in person in case of an attack. Therefore the ride is definitely dark except for the shining lights of the car, the snowfall growing faster as it climbs up.

Donghyuck sits beside you instead of at the front seat and keeps his eyes narrow and focused on the road. At some point he leans forward and tells the driver that they can drop you two off at this point, and that they should be back here to pick you up in a couple hours sharp.

And then, you two leave the car.

He helps you with walking uphill in the thick snow. The snowfall, although fast paced, is with big and fluffy flakes. Nonetheless, when the slightest wind makes the flakes hit your face, it hurts.

The two of you walk deep into the forest, deeper than you would have expected, and you have a good feeling that you would not have trusted with the process if it was not Donghyuck walking beside you with a lantern in his hand. Another lantern gets visible after a while.

And you get happy, so happy like a child, slipping a bit on the snow when you try to pick your pace up.

But when you see their faces, your heart drops.

You notice Jaemin’s face first, as he is the one holding the lantern, and you notice the big healing slash on the side of his face. It is the initial alarm for you that immediately makes your gaze turn to Jeno who is standing beside him.

And surely enough, he looks horrible. There are several cuts on his face that are not as big as the slash on Jaemin’s cheek but still quite fresh, his lip has long busted before and is now almost healed, there are stitches near his hairline on the left side, and his under-eyes are almost a plum-colored purple from how dark they are. You can almost feel his hurt.

“Oh my god,” Is the first thing that leaves your mouth when you hurry towards him. “What happened to you?”

You try to hug him but he hisses, prompting you to lean back and take his face into your hands instead, inspecting the injuries. This is exactly what I was talking about, you think, I knew something like this would happen. I knew you and the people around you would get hurt somehow, so why did you have to go and fight?

“My love,” Jeno greets you by nuzzling deep into your hands, his head dropping a little, but you do not listen to him. “Are you two okay? What happened?”

“The base got raided, your Highness.” Jaemin responds, and you notice he sounds almost too good for a person that has such a wound on his face. “Hence the change of bases.”

“I am healthy. Just sore.” Jeno adds, and chuckles drily once. “Turns out I am not all too good at one-on-one combat.” He tries to be funny despite themselves, but the state they are in is too bad for it to work. Making light of whatever had happened seemed like a far stretch.

Naturally, you cannot bring yourself to laugh at his joke. “I am thankful for that,” But you smile to comfort you both despite the situation. “Not that you got your bums handed to you, but that you are healthy.”

Jeno giggles with his mouth closed at that, and lets you pull him to a kiss when you tug at his face. His face feels really cold, more so than yours, and you wonder just how long they had been standing outside deep in the forest. “You are cold,” You breathe onto his lips.

“Mhm,” He mumbles. “But I want to stay for longer.” He joins in on it when a smile spreads pulls at the corners of your lips.

Getting a move on, you both sit on the snow under a tree not wanting to stand up for longer because in all honesty, Jeno looks nothing but exhausted. Donghyuck hands his lantern to you so you could have a light source before walking away with Jaemin— not too far as it is easier than ever to get lost in the forest with the dark night and the heavy snow.

“How have you been?” You ask Jeno once you are both comfortably seated, holding his hands in yours in an attempt to warm them up even though he seems to be in some of his warmest clothes. There was no guide on how to approach someone who has been through things he had been through, so you did not know how to and the best you could do was being careful about it. “How are things out there?”

“Like hell,” His answer is immediate. “People invade anywhere and everywhere, making decisions is so difficult, sometimes everything is so loud and mostly unnecessary and—“ He takes a breath. “A lot of them die. From both sides.”

Your heart drops further. “Do the decisions you make, do you think they—?”

Jeno shrugs and shakes his head. “I do not know. I try not to think about it.” His answer is spit out quickly. He takes a hand out of your hold, shaking with stress and probably exhaustion. His fingers rub his temple and his thumb rubs the middle of his forehead to try and ease the tension. “They are not even my decisions,” He speaks with pent up frustration and anger. “What goes in the end is my father’s word and demand.”

“He makes the decisions for you?” You ask with brows furrowed further. “When you are the lieutenant in the field?” A ridiculed chuckle leaves your mouth. “Why is he not there then?”

“I try to deal with everything as peacefully as I can, I plan all these negotiations and I mean, I use the advice that the counselors and other senior military personnel give me,” Jeno rambles. “But when I tell him about it he says that it does not work out for the plan according to the policies we have when in fact they do. Then why did he let me train in the military for so long?”

His chest moves up and down quickly and deeply when he is done with his words. You can see his eyes glistening, which is why you approach him lighter with your next words. “You do not have to inform your father beforehand,” At that, he turns his face to you. “If people agree with you, the heir and the lieutenant, you do not have to get your father’s permission. Let him know afterwards instead.”

“That is ridiculous.” An airy laugh comes out of Jeno. It irks you, how his first move is to shut you out. “He is the King. He has done this for years, and even after this all ends it is his word that counts. And he is my father, I do not want to disappoint him. One wrong thing I make, and all he ever did goes to trash.”

“I am sorry to say this, but in my eyes your father is someone with dead straight views. You could prove yourself to him by showing him it could all work out if your word went instead of his around the field— you could get away with less harm as well,” You try to reach him with your words, your voice soft in an attempt to not agitate him further. “You really do not have to follow your father’s guidance.”

“I do!” You know that it is the pure frustration speaking. “You don’t! Didn’t your father send you there because he trusted you? You are a man fully grown and capable of making your decisions— you will be the ruler sooner than later. Doing what your father tells you to do, constantly, is not going to help with anything especially in the future when it will be you who has the call on everything.”

There is a silence where the two of you do nothing but look at each other. His eyes shift continuously and very slightly as if they are trembling. His jaw clenches and he lets a loaded breath out that comes from deep within his chest, letting his head turn forward again and his back hit the tree. He furrows his brows and a couple of his shaky fingers come up to squeeze the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know,” Another burdened breath. “He has been saying he is proud of me.”

And you understand what it is about.

Nevertheless you hate that he lets his father’s pride do this to him; getting him hurt both mentally and physically. Like before the war, you act in a moment of selfishness as you take his hand in yours again and give it a squeeze. “Let’s run away.” Your voice sounds firm and confident. “Get married at that place deep in the forest, and go to some other place. Run from this madness wherever it follows us and come back when everything is over with,” The smile on your face is audible in your words. “We would be so free, Jeno.”

But Jeno breaks your heart into pieces when a sad chuckle leaves his lips and a heavy whine follows. “I wish we could.”

Without another word, you lean towards him and kiss his neck, his jaw, his cheek and temple. Pulling his hand away from the side of his nose on his cheek, which became its resting place after squeezing the bridge of his nose, you place his arms around you and pull him down to your shoulder by his hair for him to rest. He kisses the side of your neck as well, smiling at the feeling of the slinging chain around it, and slides his head back down.

Your hand still in his hair playing with it, you whisper your last sense to him. “It is your pride in yourself that matters. Not his.”

Jeno only nods. And within a few minutes of his steady breathing, he is fast asleep on your shoulder.

When the guards come back after so long a while you spent playing with his hair mindlessly, you have one request from Jaemin. “Make sure he sleeps on the way, will you?”

The First Breakdown

The first time he had cried to you had happened at a surprise visit.

In fact, he had visited you because of it. Had taken more than several hours of his time and more than several lies through his mouth just to get to you and to be vulnerable. In his defense, it was because he could be so vulnerable only with you.

Even so, you had never seen him cry before.

It was in the middle of the night again when Donghyuck had knocked on the door of your office, where you were catching up on some of your studies. He had told you that you had a visitor, and that they were waiting for you, and it had been all that it took for you to stand up from your chair and start walking with him. Following him, you had gone to the basement again, moved the furniture again, went down the trapdoor again, walked a lot again, and had seen the two silhouettes at the end of the tunnel again.

Only this time, only one of the silhouettes’ shoulders were shaking. And not because of laughter.

Jeno had started crying the moment he had spotted you. Jaemin tried to talk to him, but Donghyuck only pulled him away to go away for keeping watch; gave the two of you the privacy you needed.

It came as a shock at first. Jeno never cried— not once, you think, in the entire time you had known him starting from your childhood years. Even when people cried around him. Even when he was at a funeral. Even when he was too happy. Even when he got hurt and was in physical pain. The only exception would be the times you saw him angry where his eyes would tear up, but never did they spill before.

After they left you—  without wasting any time— pulled Jeno to you, letting him hug you however and wherever he needed. He made himself comfortable with his face in your shoulder, close to your neck, and his arms around your waist with hands spread across your back. You ran your fingers through his hair as he sobbed. Violently so. You could tell whatever he was crying about was not a one-time thing. It had been bottled inside and pent up for too long.

He held you that way and cried maybe for an hour straight for all you knew. But when his tears died down and all that was left were sniffles, you had finally asked him. “What is the matter, sweetheart?”

There was a content sniffle at the choice of your rare use of a nickname, if that could even be a thing. But a few heavy breaths followed after that, like he wanted to say the things on his mind but could not bear to. You only pulled your chest away from his to be able to look into his eyes, and shook your head. “You do not have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Jeno placed his forehead on yours and stood in place, breathing with his eyes shut. You shut your eyes too, trying to connect with him at a level that is beyond words because that was what he seemed to need.

But then his voice cut through the night. “I just want him to love me.”

It angered you to no extent that you knew who he was talking about. “What did he do?”

He chuckled bitterly. “Humiliated me in front of my mother’s family and the whole staff at my early birthday celebration in the morning.” There was a gulp as he weighed the words that were told to him once again, as if they would have been lighter that time. “Said he could not believe I was his only son and only child. That a peasant would have done a better job at being a king if he placed one on the throne right then and there. That I am lost in useless studies. That whatever I do is still clumsy as if I am a kid.”

You let him rant on because whatever this was, it seemed to work. “I try so hard to meet his every demand. His dreams for me are so challenging to keep up with but I honestly try, I do.”

“I know,” But he was not done. “I try to be a good son for him and my mother and I work really hard and I train really hard and—“

“I know, sweetheart.” You pulled slightly away again, and hated that you saw tears flowing down his face once more. “What did your mother do? Did she do something?”

“She told me to go to my room and that she would come to get me,” The smile on his face was tight. “But I couldn’t.” A single sob left his mouth, defeated. “So I asked Jaemin to sneak me out.”

“You did the right thing,” Jeno shook his head and tried to turn it away from you, but your hands took a hold of it from the back. “Hey,” You forced him into eye contact, and saw that his tear-invaded eyes looked almost drunk. Empty and sluggish. Nothing like his usual sparkling, poem-worthy orbs. “You did the right thing by getting out and away from there.” But he shook his head, so you shook yours in a questioning manner, prodding him to tell you why. “When we get back they will ask him about everything first and then they will ask me. I am just troubling him.”

“Believe me when I say you are not. He is your best friend before he is your guard. He cares about you, sweetheart.”

It took awhile for that to sink in, but it did in the end and he nodded, which was what mattered. And you succeeded at making him smile genuinely when you kissed the tip of his nose.

What truly sucked then was the fact that you could not tell him that his father would love him someday. Because you did not believe in it, and you would not tell him what was a blatant lie to you. And despite it all, your beliefs, you could see how much he wanted to be loved by him. How much he wanted to be recognized by him.

So what could you have told him? ‘You do not need his love.’? That did not sound right. That felt like it was the opposite of what he should have heard. ‘Our love for you is stronger than your father’s lack thereof.’? That simply was not true for him even if it was for you and for Jaemin and for his mother, because there was a hole punched in his heart and he wanted it to be filled. Rightfully so.

In the end, you did not tell him anything related to his father. You just told him what was true to you. “Happy birthday, sweetheart. I am so grateful you are here, with me.”

The Last Breakdown

The two of you had not talked to each other in months, let alone see each other.

The war had been going on for too long at that point. It was a wake up call that showed you just how insatiable rulers were. If it was not land they were looking for, it was people that they could exploit in labor, or valuable reserves like mines or things like historical monuments that could be stolen. People were dying still. Even more so than the beginning, in fact. Some places were left in famine, a lot of places were taken over by other rules. Any war crime you could think of was most likely happening just outside the borders of your family’s rule.

Since day one of your education you had learnt about law and order, and ethics, and just like that they were all thrown out of the window in this chaos.

Standing in neutrality had proved to be harder and harder day by day as well. The economic conditions were not getting any better, trade was almost impossible because of the disassociation the other powers and partners who had declared their sides were putting you through, and the damage was big even though your family’s rule was one of the most powerful. Unemployment rates had risen despite your immense efforts to keep it stable, and in turn, healthcare had become a problem, hunger— especially throughout the population who had already been struggling with making a living below the hunger threshold— had become a problem, crime rates were on the rise.

Which was why your father, by the obligation the sociopolitical states provided him, declared sides one morning. Thinking it would be the best thing to do.

Of course it was opposite to the side where Jeno and his family’s rule had sided with. Your families’ stances had never been the same, so there was absolutely no way they could be now. And frankly, you did not care about that even though you recognized how big of an ordeal it was. All you could care about was the safety of your people and your loved ones in these cruel conditions.

Scratch that. You wanted innocent people to stay out of harm’s way. That was all.

War, in your opinion, was cowardice. You still could not wrap your head around the fact that people were mostly doing this just because they had feuds within themselves and the circle of their class. Hundreds of thousands, even millions of innocent lives were destroyed both literally and figuratively over some disagreements between only several rulers that were their ‘representatives’. Which was in fact the biggest lie you could have ever heard of, because they were just hungry for their exclusive benefits. There was nothing in this war’s roots where the actual folk were represented. Just elite individuals and their selfish problems.

Just because the said elite individuals did not want to make sacrifices.

The biggest cowardice.

After the declaration, the hard work you had to put yourself through was at least doubled if not tripled or quadrupled. You could barely get sleep anymore, and would count yourself lucky if you managed to get some shut-eye for a few hours seeing that even when you did get to lie down on your bed it would be restless with thoughts racing through your head. Most of your responsibilities still revolved around document work but at this point the document work had gotten more important and heavier in and of itself, to the point where your eyes burned and your brain screamed at you to give up reading the papers. The maths of it all had gotten a lot worse as well because now there were so many spontaneous expenses paid that sometimes there would be problems with communicating on time between bureaus and people, which would in turn lead to wrong calculations and wrong reports— which would in turn cause you to do everything from scratch again. Sometimes a single, seemingly minor error would take days to make right again.

The Prince came to visit you on one of those restless nights where you were rolling around in your bed with the discomfort weighing on your mind.

Donghyuck came to your door again and requested the doorkeepers to alert you that he was there. They did, and something in your heart immediately knew what was happening, so you only took your coat and bolted out the door.

And now he is rushing through the halls beside you, with you following him. “Where even are they?” You whisper as you pick your pace up, not even in the condition to feel excited about it.

“There is this abandoned farmhouse in the fields across the town.” He responds back, and your eyes widen. “How are they so close?”

“They are both in the military, your Highness.” His voice is serious as he speaks. “I would expect their stealth to be outstanding.”

Donghyuck leads you outside to the back road of the palace and it is raining outside, definitely with an intention to completely pour down within the hours that would follow. He covers your head as best he can with his jacket and places his hand at the top of the car when he opens the door for you, before hopping in himself.

Which is the exact point that you realize there is no driver, and that he hops into the driver’s seat.

“Donghyuck?” You lean forward with a frown on your face, placing your hand on top of the headrest-less seat which has its quality so that guards and whoever is inside can see the people sitting at the back (usually royals or their guests) better to ensure their safety. “What are you doing?”

“This is not a matter we can bring more people into at this point,” He says as he starts the car. “I basically bribed the guards to shut up about taking you outside the palace. If I brought a driver, I would have had to explain the situation.”

The frown deepens on your face just as he presses the gas and the car starts moving. “With what money?” You ask him, and you genuinely fear his answer at that moment.

He carefully drives his way out, even the guards at the gates not stopping the car to question his antics. It really was a wonder how much money he could have offered to them for their silence at only you leaving the palace with him, at an ungodly hour, in a car, and no other information given. It felt extremely suspicious even for an heir and their primary guard.

You could not help but also notice his silence after starting to drive, so you pushed your question. “Donghyuck, with what money?”

The guards tilts his head and licks his lips before making eye contact with you through the rear mirror for a split second. “I had been saving some from the allowance my mother sends me and from my paychecks for some time,” His eyes turn back to the road as your mouth falls open and your brows furrow, about to protest. But he beats you to it. “It doesn’t matter, really,” He says, and you know he means it, because you can hear the genuineness. “It doesn’t matter if it’s for the relief and happiness of my best friend and the person I’ve vowed to protect.”

At his words, you slump back against the seats. There is a lump in your throat that makes it hard to speak, so you do not. You only turn your gaze to the scenery outside your window and take out your necklace through the collar of your coat, holding your engagement ring in shame. It does give you comfort, but you still find yourself wanting to cry.

The ride does not take too long despite the rain, as there are no people outside and on the roads because of the dark-out policy, and since it is a fairly straight drive with no hills to drive up.

The two of you reach the farmhouse without a hassle. Donghyuck puts the car somewhere less visible (even though it is nighttime and the car’s exterior matches the dark) before he allows you to get out. He then guides you to the barn where the Prince and his guard must be and opens the doors.

Again, there are a couple of lanterns around that provide dim and unnoticeable light. The heir and his guard are standing apart, and you can see your love walking up and down with his hands linked at his back. He halts, however, when he sees you.

You waste no time in running into his arms, and the ugly sob that leaves your body is loud enough for everybody to hear when you tackle him with your arms around his neck and shoulders. The tears break free when you nuzzle yourself into him everywhere, squeezing him tight for numerous reasons. Because you missed him so incredibly much, because everything was going bad, because you were tired and you knew he was also tired, because he is looking better than last time where he almost gave you a heart attack, because you love him, and because it hurts that everything has come to a point where two of the people that care about both of you the most, and two of whom you care about the most, has to put themselves in danger and through many sacrifices. Because you feel ashamed for what you are causing. Because somehow everyone standing in that barn is hurt someway or another, even if they are things that all of you can make right whether it be by yourselves or with help.

“I have you, sweetheart,” Jeno whispers as he kisses your cheek, catching a tear that was trailing its way down. You smile at your shared and reserved nickname for the times where one of you had to console the other while they cried, but it is still a bitter one, because you can hear his choked voice as well. “I have you. It is alright.”

But you can see Jaemin behind him and Donghyuck, who is looking down at the ground. Jaemin looks at you with pity and genuine sadness, so much of those that you cannot give them a meaning. Yet it fires something in you when he looks at you like that. The best you can do is to cover your eyes with your hand. “Jeno, we—“

“I know. I know, my love.” He kisses you once more, this time from the top of your head. He rubs your back and holds you tight in his arms as you cry in your shame and emotional overload.

Why does it have to be this way? You think. Why is it so hard to make things work? Why is abhorrence at the base of everything, even love? I love you and you love me, so why do others have to be involved? Why do other factors have to be involved? And even if they have to be involved, why do others have to get hurt because of our love? Why does everything need to be so precise in order to have a chance for this to work? Why can’t this be happy and like a game again, where our excitement is caused by the fluttering of our hearts and not because of the dread that makes our heart race? Why do you have to do what you have to do, and why do I have to do what I have to do?  Outside of our love, why do people have to suffer? Why are people so selfish and filled with so much hatred that there is no place in their hearts for negotiation nor empathy? Why does everything link back to those people in the first place? Why are those people in charge of everything in life?

You weep, and Jeno holds you. He sits you down, and pulls you close to his lap, and he holds you. He asks the guards to please wait somewhere else, and he holds you. Your weeping subsides, and he holds you.

And you remember, when all that is left is your sniffling, that his voice was choked too. That he was about to cry too, when you first walked in.

So you ask him with your hoarse voice. “Why were you upset before, when I first saw you?”

His hand that holds you pulls you close a little tighter. “I wanted to tell you something, but I don’t think I can.”

Your eyes furrow again, but you nod once. “Why?”

He chuckles this deep, airy, thick huff that is full to the brim with emotions you cannot quite decipher, and then says what is on his mind. And his voice is so sad, so loaded and tired that you tear up again at his hopeless words. “I suppose you would not love me the same.”

A tear falls onto his hand resting on his lap with that.

The First ‘I Love You’

Dreamy, was all you could say about it.

It was the fruit of most probably the stupidest thing you two had ever done in your relationship. On one summer night where Jeno and his family were hosting a dance for his cousin’s engagement, he had stood beside you and leant into your ear to tell you that you should meet with him at the vineyard in their garden in half an hour, and excuse yourself saying you are going to your room. He seemed to be playful that night, conversing with anyone and everyone that stood in his way and entertaining them; genuinely happy for his cousin and his fiancé. On top of being entertaining, he looked like he was entertained as well. Aside from the happiness he felt for the couple, there was this whole-hearted, content smile on his face. Even when nobody was conversing with him, or looking at him.

You had gone there as a representative with only Donghyuck accompanying you. The King and the Queen were too busy with duties revolving around politics— and in all honesty, they did not want to be too involved with his family in the first place. So they had sent you as a solution.

It was a good solution for them and you. You could not protest such a plan.

Half an hour seemed to not pass at first. You were eager to be with him, as you did not have the time to meet beforehand, and to be close to him. There was something about the way he made you feel when he smiled around and beamed like a sun under the moonlight with his happiness like that.

To make the time pass, you did everything you could possibly think of. You conversed with people you do not have the slightest connections to, barely knowing who they were. Congratulated the engaged couple with a polite manner and got surprised by the same politeness they seemed to showcase. In return delivered a short speech to them about how lucky they were to find each other and to be with the person they loved and be open and celebrated about it in a world like yours where relationships like theirs between a royal and a commoner were hard to come by.

As if on cue, Donghyuck who must have been informed about the meeting beforehand called for you from just behind you, prompting you to excuse yourself by saying you had already had quite the travel, and that you would be leaving early tomorrow morning. That you had to catch some rest before you left for duty. They nodded in understanding and thanked you for coming, sending their best wishes to your family.

They were almost too good for the royal family they belonged to, but all of it was genuine.

Donghyuck walked you to the front yard then, taking you to the small vineyard area where Jeno was standing. Jaemin was at a distance as far as you could tell, conversing with other staff that seemed to not be guards. Soon enough, though, the staff he had talked to would leave and go to the backyard where the celebration was, leaving the four of you alone in the visible distance.

Jeno met you halfway, greeting you with a sweet peck on your lips. “Welcome, dove,” From the side of your eyes you saw Donghyuck leaving after seeing you two meet to greet Jaemin in the distance.

You giggled at Jeno’s words then, looking at his eyes that bore the rather occasional glasses that night. “I have been here for quite a while now.” He tilted his head and nodded, squinting his eyes, silently saying you are right but not spot on. “But you haven’t been here when it is completely empty. An immensely different version of this place.”

Furrowing your brows, you smiled at him mischievously. “What are you trying to imply?”

And he played along. “The guards are changing shifts,” With a hand, he moved his jacket’s sleeve to look at his watch with slightly furrowed brows. “We still have around five minutes, and I was thinking we could go to my room.”

He beat you to it to understand the rather shocking and awkward way his words sounded. “Only if you would like to.” Even under the weak light of the stars, you could see the embarrassment flushed over his face. The boldness he held had almost dissipated.

All honesty due, you wanted to go to his room. It sounded amazing, getting to spend time with him one-on-one completely alone for the first time outside of a library, where even guards would not enter to leave you unbothered while doing your studies. You wanted to have him to yourself truly, without guards or anybody else for once. So you nodded. “I would like that.”

The smile was back on his face. “Then we should hurry up.”

Taking your hand in his, he hurried you inside. Their palace was just as grand as yours. It was dizzying with the halls and the open plan, grand staircases, and it held a lot of colors to it presumably because of the warm climate. Paintings on the walls, lots of feature walls with art painted onto them, gold linings and marble floors. Nothing like yours, which is older than theirs so a bit grimmer with the colors. The cold climate had its effects on it too. Mostly everything was either dark in color like deep blues and greens or extremely light like almost-white grey, with old wood on the rooms’ floors and stone in the halls.

When you entered Jeno’s room, it felt weirdly familiar. Both of you had balconies, for instance. His balcony doors were right beside his bed, and his room was cluttered with bookshelves just like yours, blueprints and pencils lying around on his desk and his paintings of planets and constellations leaning against the wall under his desk, some of his favorite research papers and scientific articles messily pinned on a big cork board.

His room felt a lot like him to you. It looked all about his interests, anything other than politics which seemed to drain both of your personalities out slowly but surely.

It looked like a safe space.

He showed you his paintings and told you all about them. His love for Neptune for example, how he liked its color and its personation in mythology. How he loved sketching stars the way he understood them from the books he read, transitioning through their seven stages of life, growing bigger and stronger until they expand into a Red Giant where it is its biggest at a diameter up to a hundred times of its original diameter to then transform into a White Dwarf where everything is dense and quickly growing cold, losing all of its personality, and finally the Black Dwarves where they were so old and so cold. Jeno went on to talk to you about how in way too far into the future eventually all the stars would be Black Dwarves and the universe would be even colder than it was then, but that there would be a second explosion where something new started.

He showed you his blueprints, skimming through the lines with his fingers, and told you how he dreamt of renovating the palace with his own prints someday. And he told you about the scientists that would inspire him to not give up on learning about space no matter what.

Jeno did talk about his interests, but usually they were confined to conversations in the library. Never had you once seen him talk about it so passionately before, the kind of passion where it added new sparks to his eyes, and something about it made you extremely happy to see.

At some point he realized he had been rambling about all these things in his room and the stories behind them, and had apologized. “Ah,” He rubbed his nape as it hit him with a chuckle. “Sorry. I get excited when people pay attention to these.”

“No, don’t,” You shrugged with your own smile. “You should not be sorry. It is very refreshing to see someone be so passionate about something.”

There is the start of a silence, but you cut through it before it can take over, pointing to the board. “And I agree with those scientists. Keep learning about the universe in your free time. It would be a shame if you got shackled to the small ground underneath.”

Jeno laughed at that, his shoulders shaking with the airy release. When it died down he looked around his room, his bookcases and desk, and the door that led to his bathroom, the documents he had taken care of that day before the event had started placed on the armchair next to the bookshelf, several notes set on them reminding him to do the things he had to take care of the next day.

And then he huffed, walking over to his bed and sitting down. He fiddled with his fingers a little. Looked up at the ceiling. Another lonely chuckle left him as he contemplated on what he wanted to say. “Can you.. Do you think—?“ One more fierce huff through his nose, but then he looked at you. “Can you not go to your room tonight?”

He saw that you were about to protest on auto-control, so he stopped it before it could happen, and made it a silent promise to himself that it would be okay if you wanted to leave. Even if it happened to be right then. “We do not have doorkeepers at night. No offense to how your family does things, but it feels creepy for me to have it, so we just do not have them. You would not be stuck or anything.” He shrugged, smiling but pouting at the same time, if it could even be a thing. “It is just really nice to have you in here.”

With the comfort of what he had just told you, you smiled and hoped Donghyuck would not lose his mind until the morning. “I think I can stay.”

Walking over to him on his bed, you stood in front of him and let him hug your middle with his head on your stomach. You ran your fingers through his hair repeatedly knowing he liked the combing feeling on his scalp. At some point while you played with his hair and scalp he tilted his head, placing his chin on your stomach instead and looking up at you with a smile on his face. The genuine, happy and content smile you had seen on his face throughout the night before you fled to his room. “I think I am in love with you and I don’t know what to do.”

Your fingers faltered with the smile that spread on your face, and the warmth that spread through your chest surely reached everywhere at the spoken knowledge of being loved. Truly and utterly loved.

You had your suspicions of it before with the way his words sounded and the way he acted. But to hear them being confirmed, so casually and bold and with confidence, made you feel like the most important person alive. In a different way than how it had felt all your life. Like it was only the two of you that mattered on the face of the Earth. Hell, like it was only the two of you that existed on the face of the Earth.

Then your hands retracted from his hair to carefully take his glasses off, putting them on the side table closest to you. Slowly you knelt down until you were face to face with him, and told your love your only request from him. “Kiss me and promise me a forever.”

So he did. Jeno gulped a little at first, keeping his eye contact with an intense gaze, one that mirrored everything in and around him. But then he crashed your lips with his, bringing a hand up to your neck and tugging at it gently in hopes of bringing you down onto the bed with him, which ended up being a wish that you granted. You let him pull you down and lay you down on the bed underneath him as he kissed you, not only on your lips anymore but anywhere he could find exposed. “I don’t want to call you dove anymore, as pretty as it is.”

“Hm?” Was all you could respond with as he kissed your neck. “I want to call you my love.”

At that did something burn and tumble inside you, and you found yourself talking before you could hold it back. “Say that again.”

He laughed out a huff. “My love,” He kissed your collarbone, nibbling only a little, driving you two to the edge with the frustration of what did not come after. “My love,” The nook between your jaw and your neck. “My love.” And your lips, sinking down with all he could offer you. It sounded better— more right in his ears to call you that, and you had to admit that the feeling of being treated exactly like what he called you was otherworldly.

When he pulled away from you, his lips puffy and his gaze still intense yet somewhat softer with the adoration that made itself more apparent, he gave his promise. “I love you my love, and I will for an eternity.”

With a laugh, you gave him your own promise right then and there too. “I promise to love you until the end of time.”

He found it appropriate to meet his lips with yours again, and this time, it was with a newfound hunger you had for each other, filled with the wish to know one another on a level you could not know otherwise had you not loved each other, intimate and private and special. The kind that made your heart race and your stomach twist in the best way possible. The kind that did not feel rushed, but instead gave you relief in knowing yes, it had not been wrong all this time. It was him for you, and for him it was you; the one.

Jeno made love to you that night when he asked you if he could and you gave him the permission, wanting to lose yourself in him and his love and yours. For once you got to spend a whole night with him, making love and talking and showing your love to each other.

And after that, the memory of him under his white sheets kissing you and laughing with the light blue of the lifting night, and the weak but golden-white rays of the early morning sun became the dearest thing to your heart and mind.

Jeno and white, and Jeno in white reminded you of that night.

The Last Goodbye

Everything starts at the dead of the night.

You do not know what was more alarming to you. The crashing sounds of windows that woke you up from your light sleep? The hurried steps that turned into running outside your room, breaking into an unsettling rhythm in the pure silence? The sound of crashing doors and harshly turned locks? The sounds of metal clanking? The occasional firing of the guns and the couple of groans and shouts that follow them? The shouted codes between the guards right outside your room? The surprised curses that leave whoever’s mouths? The unsettling feeling of not knowing who is who outside, perhaps?

Or the fact that you are completely alone for a few minutes, not knowing where to hide because of the shock?

More, the fact that Donghyuck takes longer than you would expect him to come get you, pushing you into thinking did they get to him? Did something happen to him?

There is not a single question in your mind about what this is. The palace is getting raided with soldiers— not that many like a whole army, considering the somewhat inactive nature the commotion seemed to have while you listened to it from your room. Never did you ever feel grateful that your room was placed in a deep and unsophisticated hall away from the library and the archives and the throne room, but you felt so grateful for it as you could do nothing but hide yourself away, locking the balcony doors and covering the doors with your curtains— completely blacking your room out.

You hurry over to the bathroom then, waiting next to the wardrobe sunken into the wall, knowing the far right compartment of it has an opening to a pathway between the walls of the rooms in between the halls that is otherwise inaccessible except from the way down.

The commotion grows more aggressive as you wait. Gunshots grew more frequent yet did not fail to make you jump in your place, and it is when you hear an order of search around that you lock yourself further in your room, locking the bathroom doors as well. You could not see anything, so there was nothing to do but wait for Donghyuck until he came to get you. Just opening the compartment and walking into it was not a possibility as well, since you had no idea what was and was not going on down under the palace.

You lose sense of time as you sit on the cold, stone floor of your bathroom. You lose a big chunk of your sense of self as well. That big chunk of your self melts into the sense you lost, vision, and doubles your attention on hearing. Everything sounds more clear, more violent, and more scary, as you hear bodies falling onto the ground and punches and kicks if it was not guns and daggers. You did not even know such sounds could leave from people’s mouths when they shouted orders and codes and warnings.

Maybe you wait for an hour. Maybe for a few. Or only a few minutes. But in the end someone opens the compartment open silently, filling the bathroom with the artificial light coming from the lantern in their hand, and you only hope that it is Donghyuck.

Thankfully, it is.

His head peeks out from the door and he searches for you, rushing over when he spots you. He kneels down on his feet to level with you and holds his arm out. “Are you okay?”

“I am,” You say, but truthfully, you do not know how you are. You are okay in the sense that you do not have any wounds or injuries, but experiencing something so violent you had only known in theory before? Could anybody be okay when they experience such things, and are separated from the people they care about, completely isolated even though it is in an effort to keep them safe?

Donghyuck links his arm in yours and pulls you off the floor and bolts the two of you out of the compartment door. He locks it behind him, and takes his belt off of his pants, rounding it around the top of the door hinge and securing it by tying— trying to push the door forwards and back, satisfied when it does not budge the slightest bit.

He then picks the lantern he had placed on the ground and rushes over to you, leading you to the narrow stone stairway and taking you down.

The way down is far deep. You pass through rooms you had not known existed, open and close countless doors at the top of the stairways, and you have a good feeling that you go way down under the ground floor of the palace. But you arrive at the destination within a few minutes of basically running down the stairs nonetheless, and you know it is the lair under the palace that you had never been in before.

It is almost a smaller version of the palace. There is a lounging area, a very compact library and office separated in a small room, a kitchen and a bathroom all the same. The place has its own landline— though you hardly expect it to be available to anyone outside of staff.

You can see the council members, some of the military officials, and their personal guards, along with some staff from the kitchen who had most probably been doing early preparation for the next day. There are documents of all kinds sprawled across the lounge table and some across the floor, and you see the military officials jotting down their notes, as well as the heads of the council. All eyes land on you when you walk down the last step and hear Donghyuck close the door from behind.

Your parents are nowhere to be seen.

With your hands sweating immediately and clammy, you ask. “Where are my parents?”

Your father’s senior advisor stands up and walks over to you as a few others look down. There is nothing good that could come out of that, and you feared the answer, to the point where you do not know if you want to hear it. The advisor lands his hands at the sides of your arms, a touch you do not mind and find rather comfortable, considering you had known him your entire life and would trust him with everything. “Your Highness,” He starts. Donghyuck comes to stand just a step behind you before he can continue. “The King has gotten severely injured, but he is stable and soon he will hopefully be in good health.” His wrinkled, bright eyes look at you behind his glasses reassuringly and calmly. You wonder how he actually feels. “We are taking him and the Queen away to a safer place away from here. With some of our best doctors at their company.”

Worried, you feel your heart skip a beat. You can feel the sadness running to your head and chest like a wild horse, but the confusion that hits you presses it back down. “How will we deal with this if he is not here?”

The old advisor glances behind over his shoulder, and at the agreeing nods, he turns back to face you. He clears his throat. “The King is unable to attend to his duties presumably for a much longer time than the matter at hand, and the Queen is royal by crown and not by blood. Therefore, she cannot be the next ruler.”

Opening his mouth, he takes a big breath, and gives you the news with a full chest. “Hence why we need you, as our new monarch.”

A wave of high voltage electric rushes over you then within less than a second. His voice being calm, and him speaking the words out trying to ease you into them does not help at all. You feel like your knees will give out but you do not let them, because there is this part in your brain that has somehow already accepted this and is screaming at you to keep your composure. What leaves your mouth, though, is not much the same. “I can- I cannot do that, my education—“

You get cut off with reassuring words. “Your education would have continued until the day you had no chance but to become the monarch, no matter how long it took,” And then with some of encouragement. “Most fruitful practice comes out of the ruling process, and it is very unfortunate that you are in this situation your Highness, but you have trained for this all your life. There is not a person in this room who can do this better than you.”

And you can feel all eyes on you, pitying you and worried for you. Although pitiful, their eyes do have good meanings behind them for the most part, wishing you good luck for both their sake and yours. It is understandable even though it hurts to see it.

Taking another breath, the advisor speaks, holding you tighter between his hands and rubbing them a little to ground you. “I will bring the book now, okay?”

Without a single thought, you nod.

It happens in a blink of your eyes. The advisor moves to the library and everybody stands up from their seats, and those who're standing away come just a bit closer. They still give you the space you need, and Donghyuck pats your shoulder lightly, giving you the most genuine smile he could muster at that moment. And when the senior advisor comes back he holds out the book of constitutional law upright, looks into your eyes seriously, tells you to put a hand on the book and the other in the air, and asks you to repeat the Oath after him. “You can take your time,”

But you do not. You repeat the words after him at the same pace. I vow to protect my people and love them as my own family. I vow to work towards my people’s best interests. I vow to see and listen to them. I vow to see them as my equals no matter the situation and the differences. I vow to never stop working for the betterment of my own, until the day I pass, or until the day I have to step down. I vow to see my place on the throne sacred and important, and I vow to recognize my power and its consequences. And I take the oath, right now and in the witness of my aiders and the people, to serve them as their monarch for the days to come.

Everyone in the room bows and kneels around you, and you take your hand off the book. Just like that you become the monarch and nothing about it is as you imagined, even though you have never imagined it before.

“Your Excellence,” The advisor smiles a soothing smile. The change of honorifics feel unnatural immediately. “I sincerely hope better days are destined for your rule.”

You hope so, too.

There is no time for anything to sink in as the seniors all take you into the small library to have a meeting. They tell you all they know, that a remote number of soldiers still roaming around at least a couple thousand have broken into the palace and the nearby town mostly in civilian outfits, and that there is a number of people that has been taken hostage. Not much damage was done according to them, as in there was not an expectedly big number of people who had lost their lives as these some thousands of soldiers broke their way in. The towns were left in relatively good shape. “I suspect they are here for the palace and your father, your Excellence.” One of the military personnel says, and adds. “Our troops are after the soldiers with all their equipment to take the hostages back. They will be severely outnumbered, so I am positive we will succeed.”

And then, they talk about national security following this night, and the guards who have lost a significant amount of staff. They talk about the upcoming days where you would have to appear in front of your people to address these events and to give your condolences, describing in detail what is being done in the aftermaths of this first-hand attack your people and you have experienced, and what will be done to ensure the security’s, the justice’s, the politics’ and the legislation’s wellbeing, as well as addressing your efforts of the sociopolitical betterment that will inevitably see positive progress if you do the right things.

That is exactly what scares you to no extent. The possibility of not doing the right things at a time like this.

So when they leave, you stay in the library, digging into your most trusted sources of law, security and sociology. You take notes, and read, and take more notes, and think of how you might apply these theoretical things practically, and take notes when the ideas come to discuss with the advisor later, and read— and it becomes a cycle. At one point the landline in the library that you had not noticed its existence of rings, and you get the news that around a dozen of soldiers have gotten captured across the land, one close to the palace who was being interrogated. You work on the documents given to you by the seniors, sometimes calling them in and asking them questions and advice on your notes as they have been specifically at these things for years. You do not recall ever working harder before in so many areas at the same time, and you hate that it is such a thin ice you are walking on. One wrong step and you fall in the icy water, bringing the people you have vowed to protect along with you.

Some things go well. The hostages got released suspiciously early on, before the troops in your rule could get to them. They took the hundreds of hostages back with them for interrogation and to provide them food and water, and if needed, healthcare. Which only meant one thing, really.

This was a dirty work. An attempt at an assassination, most likely targeting specifically your father, and espionage. A wide network of an espionage, and thousands of soldiers had left with whatever information they had. Their targets were you and your family, not the people, even though a good part of them got affected.

It felt incredibly wrong for you to admit it, but you were almost grateful that the palace was the target instead of the people. You would have rather lost information than people, because you were strong, and you knew you could tackle whatever problem was thrown at your way once you got the hang of things.

And since you do not have the luxury of time, you were already getting the hang of things slowly but surely.

After a couple of hours, while you are tackling everything related to law and law in war as they are most important to you for the night, Donghyuck excuses himself in with a knock at the door.

By the way his face looked, you could tell you were going to get bad news.

“Your Majesty,” He starts. But you notice that he cannot find it in himself to look into your eyes. “I have the reports back from the interrogation of one of the captured soldiers.”

He hands you the papers, and you gladly take them. Name, Huang Renjun. Position, Private. Why did they raid? To get information from the archives. For what reason? For the use of the King. Was he involved in the assassination attempt? No, he was not appointed to that purpose. Did he hate your land? No, he did what he had to do. Why did he have to do it? Because he has a mother to look after, and the military pays well enough. Why was he involved in espionage? Because he had done it before. Why was he dressed in uniform? Because he wanted to get back to his mother if he ever got caught and had to serve time in jail, he did not want to take the right away from her— the right to visit him. Why was he shaking? They would not do anything to his mother, right? No, they would not. They are not that type of people. He has been providing useful information and been hopefully truthful until now, could he tell his lieutenant’s name?

Lee Jeno.

Surely it cannot be real.

You look at Donghyuck, and see him looking at you now. “I’m sorry.” Is all he can say.

It is as if someone pours a bucket of boiling hot water down your head, and another bucket of ice cold right after. You feel your heart sink. Disappointed, sad, let down, but what hurts the most is that you do not feel like it does not make sense.

Your hand tightens, squeezing the pen in your hold as the other lifts to rub your temple, both elbows placed on the table for support. Although you want to cry and scream, what leaves your mouth instead is an airy, unhumorous chuckle.

It takes a few seconds for it to kick in. “Take me to him.”

The guard opens his mouth, but you shut him up. “I do not care where and how. Just take me to him.”

Donghyuck comes back to get you in what feels like less than an hour.

When you get out of the small office you had been stuck in for hours, most of the military and security advisors and seniors are nowhere to be seen. They were most probably dealing with the finalization of the reports of the captured soldiers, transferring them to the hands of the judiciary system. The lair, at that point, was more of a place used simply because the palace could not be used still. Duties were still duties and not all of them could be delivered to a few floors underground.

The senior advisor— your senior advisor was about to protest when he saw you walk away with Donghyuck alone, but you simply told him you had to see it for yourself as the reason for your outing. You decline when he offers you more company, saying he could provide you with more guards.

Then, you were out.

But you do not make your way through the palace. It hurts when you notice Donghyuck is taking you through the basement again, even though it makes sense. Nobody knew about the tunnel system still.

You make a note in your mind to change that after today.

Feeling numb in the eerie quiet of the palace, you let Donghyuck lead the way, helping him with the furniture, dropping down the trapdoor, and walking beside him. Neither of you talk. What could he possibly say? What Jeno had done was beyond words.

When you arrive at the end of the tunnels him and his guard are there. Standing in silence. You pick your pace up, unlike the excited and hurried steps you used to take, but angry, disappointed and confronting. Jaemin looks at you before he does, and you see his pitiful look. He does not greet you with the usual nod he does. Jeno looks at you only when you are a couple of big strides away from him, his eyes bright at first, but dimming slowly.

This is the first time you meet him ‘alone’ in early daylight. And frankly, you do not care if somebody finds this place and discovers him at that point.

Taking the last couple of strides, you come to a halt in front of him with a considerable distance between you two. Your chest rises up and down with all the emotions you are feeling and all the thoughts that are racing through your head. With one particularly angry breath, you speak. “Jeno, I have one request from you, and that is for you to tell me my best friend and primary guard is lying and mean it.” At the mention of your guard you had pointed at him with your finger, looking into Jeno’s eyes to find something.

But he does not speak. Because he cannot lie. Because your best friend and guard was, in fact, not lying to you. Because he really was at the lead of all of this. And the guilt, you could see in his eyes that did everything to avoid your intense gaze.

Figures you were not the only one who noticed that, because you hear the sound of Donghyuck’s pistol behind you. You look back at him to see his gun pointed at Jeno, and you hear another one drawn behind you. Namely Jaemin’s, pointed at Donghyuck.

Everything really kicks in then.

Alarmed, you raise your voice. “Nobody is shooting anyone.”

Jeno does nothing. Does not back you up, nor say his independent thought. He just watches, frozen in place, looking at you and yet not looking at you. “Donghyuck, lower your gun down.”

“But—“ You shut him up for the second time within a few hours. “I said, lower your gun down.”

He does, and Jaemin follows suit. You turn back to look at the person standing in front of you.

You do not know who this person is, you cannot tell. Because the Jeno who stands before you is not the one you know. He is not the one you love as well. Because the Jeno you love is someone who has his own pride, feelings, dreams and conscience. Someone who has his own passions. Someone who stands against all the bad and all the evil. He is someone who loves people and who loves you, who is truthful to the people he loves and cares about. And he cares about a lot of people.

But this person in front of you, this Jeno, is not him. This is someone who wanted his father’s acceptance so much that he let it swallow him whole. When, even though he protested he was not, he was someone fully capable of making his own decisions. This is someone who is alright with being used as a puppet for the foreseeable future. This is someone that gave up his personality and dreams just to go with someone else’s. This is someone that did not care if others got hurt because of him. This is someone who is selfish, willfully blind and deaf.

The Jeno standing in front of you was someone you would pity at best. The Jeno that stood in front of you was someone that would be much like his father. Not respected and looked down upon. Oblivious to his doings.

There was so much you wanted for the person that stood in front of you. You desperately wanted him to have a part of himself that recognized the things he had done until this point, whatever he did to you and long before that. You wanted him to experience the aftermath for years to come. To hear the consequences was one thing— they could enter through one ear and immediately come out of the other, as fast as if he had not even heard it. But seeing the consequences would be different. Turning a blind eye every single day would be impossible. You want him to live in the reality of what has happened, and you want some part of him to recognize everything from today on as well.

Looking at his empty eyes, you furrow your brows and sigh. “Most of the soldiers will be handed over once their judiciary process is done. They were caught in uniform.”

You do not even feel like talking to him. It is so disappointing, he is so disappointing; you had such hopes both for the two of you and him. He had his dreams and this person he wanted to grow to be. And nothing about this was what hope entailed for you two. Individually and as a pair, and as people who had huge populations of people dependent on you and following you.

Instead of saying all the things you would like to say to him, you reach for your necklace with a shaky sigh. You take it off, and hold the ring out for him to take.

Jeno obediently opens his hand under yours, and you drop the ring into his palm. You cannot even find it in yourself to close his hand when he fails to do it promptly. Partly because you are scared you are doing the wrong thing and that there is hope for him still, and partly because you knew you would break if you did.

“Leave, Jeno. Take your hand off my rule, my people and my family. Take your men, too.” You take a deep breath and straighten up, looking deep into his eyes that still have sparks somehow.

Not being strong was not an option. “And never come back.”

Jeno nods only once ever so slightly, gulping and closing his palm, putting the necklace into his chest pocket before turning back on his heel and walking out into the bright and silver snowy morning light that surely consumes him whole with his guard on his trail.

It is extremely difficult to watch him walk away. Because the bottled up emotions rush to your chest and the memories rush to your mind, and it hurts when the acknowledgement of the past few years of your life is being thrown into the trash dawns on you. The past genuinely beautiful and happy years of your life where the two of you had taken so many risks, so many things to account, had told so many lies to make everything work. Where you had shared so many laughs, some tears, a lot of secrets- the biggest secret the two of you could possibly ever share, so many kisses and fond words and physical affection. Where you had shared your true love at the expense of living it undercover. Because you had loved each other so purely and so intensely that you could do anything for each other. Still, you believed that what you two had was such an incredible, true, and big thing.

Which was exactly why your heart physically hurt when he disappeared from your sight.

Because you knew who did this was not him, and that the person who disappeared from your personal life for good was not him. The ‘him’ you loved was nowhere to be found in whoever this was; someone who lived according to the strings that were being pulled. Who this person once was, would only live in your memories. And even those, with the start of your healing process, would slowly but surely die down.

So much for an eternity.

The First Vow

After the war everything turned back to normal slowly but surely.

You were becoming better and better at this ruling business you had to attend to, keeping in touch with the communities more in the aftermaths, occupied with duties of all kinds from any branch, meeting people, going on travels for said meetings, seeing beautiful sceneries. There would be new faces at the palace to get acquainted with every once in a while. You would get to go to trips in your own land, visiting farmers and asking about how harvest season was treating them, visiting businesses to see if they could hold up in the fragility of post-war days, visiting families in need to have a chat with them and hear them out, to see if you could do anything for them. More often than not you would be able to provide them care and whatever else it was that they needed. Sometimes you would visit schools and the neighborhoods no one dared to go into, and you would try to help them, too.

Sometimes you would check on the prisons and courts to see how the atmosphere was, and sometimes you would have a brief chat with Renjun on visiting days, updating him on his judiciary situation yourself.

Did the anxiety completely dissipate after what happened? No. Definitely not. The fact that you had gone through espionage on a very big scale was a fact that still stood strong.

But your father was there to aid you with his wisdom. Back on his feet and retired, living at a house far from the palace, your mother and him kept the doors open for you for whenever you had the time or the wish to pay a visit. Him and your mother’s experiences as well as their advice helped you so much during the beginning of your rule where everything felt like you had to learn how to walk again. You were grateful for them and your advisor, who would not comply with your words and just retire because he wanted to help you out as long as he possibly could.

Some things were nice. You were adored by the people, because you had been loyal to the oath you had taken so far. Your full days and duties were keeping your mind off of most things that could bring you down. The palace staff and you seemed to have a close relationship as well, genuinely having fun in your daily life because of your young aura that beamed with energy. Truthfully you were energetic. There was no way you could do what you did if you were not as energetic. You pushed yourself to be happy too, reminded yourself of these things to keep you going.

Yet, some things were bad. There were a lot of things that you could not get no matter how hard you tried, but that was okay, because you were trying no matter what too. The fact that your parents had moved out left you with the reality of living alone in an utterly gigantic space. You would have to eat breakfasts and dinners alone, reading a book while you ate because no one would agree to have a meal with you even though you told them it was okay— except for Donghyuck who would agree to have lunch with you most days. Going to your room would leave a bitter taste inside your mouth. And when you laid down on your bed, sometimes the daydreams of what you could have been come up.

You try to push them away, but sometimes you find yourself breaking down over them anyway.

And then, there are some realities. Like the fact that all these duties, although incredibly helpful at distracting, were growing to be a bit too much for you. The fact that you really needed to share these duties with someone to get some workload off your shoulders. The fact that although wise and helpful, your advisor is growing older and older, and you want him to have a retirement.

The fact that you need another monarch.

It is ridiculous how you deal with it. On one restless night where your mind is flooded with things you need to take care of and the things that are yet to come, you find yourself leaving your bed and your room. Without a drop of sleep in your eyes you walk down the halls and greet the guards silently with a smile on your face, changing the wings of the palace twice to go to the far left end and walking down numerous sets of stairs to get to the room you were looking for.

When you do get to it, you knock only once and excuse yourself in not caring if the guards were staring, finding your guard and best friend on his bed about to pass out. “Why is there such a thing where royals can walk into places without any alert beforehand?”

“I knocked.” He hums at that, and you move to take the seat in the chair at his desk across from his side of the bed. You look at him, who has his arms under his pillow, and think that it is better to pull the bandaid quickly rather than easing it. “Donghyuck.”

“Hm?” You love how he has given up on the honorific in this setting. Usually he would call you by your rather new honorific to get his mouth used to it. “Will you marry me?”

He snickers. “Isn’t that a rather important question to ask me at this hour?” You only smile, so he questions further with his squinted eyes. “Why?”

You shrug. “I need someone to share duties with, and I need someone who will understand me. The only person I can trust is you.”

That makes him smile sleepily, a soft huff of breath leaving his nose, causing his chest to jolt a bit forward. “Well I think I will have to take you up on that.”

“You do not have to,” You whine, a bit annoyed at yourself. “I can hold on for longer. Assign another senior advisor, I don’t know.” But it would not be the same as having someone you could constantly trust. And you needed that, someone who can be there for you whenever you needed them to, as much as you needed another monarch.

You also needed a partner if you were to commit to something so big.

“No, really,” He assures. “I feel honored. I don’t have much of a life outside of my life as your guard already. Which is okay, because I love it. I love that I get to spend so much time with my closest friend despite what they have to do, so when you ask that from me, it feels as something I would only benefit from,” There is a silence before he picks his words back up again, realizing they do not sound the greatest when they are left there. “As a person.”

“It is not that simple,” You warn him as you feel he leaves out some important points. “You will be the King. That is going to take a lot of work, at least a couple of years’ intense education. And all this time you have gotten used to shadowing people. It is a completely different thing to have countless shadows following you with every step you take.”

In all honesty you expect for him to consider it. To retract from his words, and to say that he is in fact not fit to that role because he wants to live a life more free. But he does not. Donghyuck just smiles and buries his face deeper into the pillow, and holds out a hand to you. “I was serious when I said I’ll have to take you up on that. I am willing to do whatever it takes.”

Relief washes over you then. It feels as if almost a big, heavy weight has been lifted from your shoulders at the knowledge that you will get to have someone to really help you out with everything and be there for you; someone who you will be willing to do all the same for them. And how fortunate it was that your closest friend would be that someone, because you think you lacked the energy to look out for new people at this point.

You sigh as you place your hand in his, holding onto his fingers when his curl into yours. “Thank you.” You whisper, and feel your hand get tugged towards him before you can feel his lips on your knuckles. “Let’s give these people the most flamboyant royal wedding they will ever witness.”

The two of you share a light laugh that would have surely been louder if it was not for the stupidly late hour this conversation took place in.

And that was it.

You had to remove Donghyuck from his position as your guard when you announced your engagement, getting rings the day after the conversation and breaking the news to the council at an emergency meeting. Thankfully they seemed to be on board with that, and teased the two of you for all the times you disappeared together without much explanation.

It made your heart pang that no, although you had disappeared together you two had not been the lovers. It was for and with someone else. Nonetheless, you were glad that they felt that way, so you made light of the situation by joining in on their laughs.

Donghyuck starts his education immediately after the announcement. It is a nightmarish process almost, seeing him so deep into studies you are far too acquainted with at that point, being reminded of your own struggles trying to learn. Sometimes you would meet him at the library if you had piled up document work to meet and work with him, which would result in him asking you questions about stuff he did not understand when the tutor was not around. Some other times he would nervously laugh at the dinner table (that he could finally join you at) when you would quiz him on things he should have learned, but he would do a great job at that as well, even with his occasional slip-ups.

Donghyuck would make public appearances with you from time to time, and the people would be loving the idea of you and him together. They would tell you how you went so well with each other and how you were so powerful together and they were great compliments, they were, but sometimes they would hurt you deep down even though you had a smile on your face.

In the first year of his education, you get a letter inviting you to a conference held in impartial land. A conference where safety measures and war prevention will be the focus, and one that will be held annually. You agree to it, go alone, see faces (one face in particular) that you do not want to see, and come back.

At a grand meal close to the end of the year with your family and the staff and the council and their own families, someone asks about the wedding plans. That happens to be the exact moment when you realize you do not have plans for your own wedding, and they tell you it is okay before drunkenly jumping from idea to idea on the colors and the venue and whatever else they had to talk about.

Mid-year after that, you slowly start letting Donghyuck in your business. You give him first-hand education, saying these documents should be handled like that and these types of documents should be taken into meetings instead of those ones even though they are basically the same thing, and these reports come from here to go to there, and they go there when you hand them to someone (which sometimes happened to be him in the past) but when you are the one sitting down while doing all your work you call people over like this when you want something to be delivered. And when you file them you can have your own way but one that is preferably neat, I like to do it this way, for example. It becomes an occurrence that grows more and more frequent as time goes by.

Around the cold fall of that year, Donghyuck almost gets done with his education. He had known quite a lot in theory having been with you for a long time and that was probably what helped with him and his pace, and since it came to that, the wedding planning started. Your parents joined in at that as well, and you got to see Donghyuck’s mother and siblings for the first time in years. Which was why you proposed to him the possibility of moving them into a house closer to the palace, or even into the palace that night. Because you knew his relationship with his family was close and sacred to him, and you knew that it had been interrupted by his heavy shifts as a guard and his obligation to stay in the palace. So, you thought it would be convenient for both sides if they lived closer.

Attire fittings for the wedding are always eventful with chitter chatter, some dramatic emotional response from both mothers and fathers as you two stood on platforms with your arms wide open to the sides, the tradition about to-be spouses not seeing each other’s attires until the wedding inapplicable simply because everything has to be perfect at a royal wedding.

Throughout everything, choosing outfits, choosing themes and colors, choosing the venue and sending the invitations, there is always a slight pull at your heart’s strings. The kind of pull where it feels a bit pitiful and hard to breathe. Sometimes your hand lands itself around the area on your chest where your first engagement ring would fall onto, and most times you can stop yourself by saying it is completely unneeded but sometimes you cannot stop it— and sometimes you can see Donghyuck realizing it.

But the hardest is when the wedding day finally comes right after the new year’s, on a bright sunny day without snowfall, which was extremely rare for where you lived. Everything was still and calm outside but not inside, neither inside the venue nor inside your heart and mind.

The reality of getting married gains another dimension when you walk into the venue. At the heart of a town rather far from the palace, the venue does not have the feeling of being far from home with its stone structure, greenery that surrounds it, and its grand scheme. Decorated in royal blue and a bright red that matches the liveliness of the blue, everything looks like how a royal wedding should look. There are golden lights on the walls and dropping from the ceiling that bring the power of the decorations down with their warmness yet somehow also emphasize the importance of everything. The old structure has cracks in which various plants and ivies have made their way in, the sole reason you and Donghyuck had chosen this place. Because you both believed that they symbolized second chances and faith, seeing as these plants had somehow survived the cold and the stones placed on top of the earth, and had been strong enough to crack through and claim this place as their home.

Overall, everything is bright, red and blue and green and golden, and it looks like this is your destiny. And everything including Donghyuck welcomes you, even though there is a road of hurt and imperfection that you still have to walk on.

You are grateful for that feeling.

Yet, suddenly everything feels wrong and out of place when you start the process of getting ready. Not because of Donghyuck and his dear soul that was trying his hardest, but because of yourself. Because your past self that was once in love with a person that did not exist anymore was still looking for a way and time to throw a tantrum about it all. It made sense, somehow, that it was at the most inappropriate moment that it would decide to act up.

The bigger problem is that a lot of people can see how you feel, presumably because you get quieter and inactive. You are extremely distracted from everything that you get so clumsy, tripping all over the place in the old, stone building that had greenery cracking through its a few centuries old material. The people who dress you might as well have been dressing a toy with how nonchalant and flappy your body was.

Despite the obstacles, they get you dressed and taken care of at your room, where you can hear people starting to walk into the venue. At first it is a few greetings between some handfuls of families and people, but it so quickly turns into a sea of undetectable voices that it is almost scary. Everyone sounds excited and happy outside in the hall, and you can hear them dining and conversing on topics that were mostly around you. That was nice after having your name in gossip for quite a long time regarding the espionage and your seemingly amateur ways of ruling, and the ones that suspected a relationship between you and the person you used to love.

Neither side shut the gossips down, but they died down anyways. You had gotten engaged shortly after their surfacing.

At some point people’s voices start to dim down. The wavy ocean turns into a much more still sea with hushed conversations, and it is then that you are able to hear the chants outside.

The happy chants of your people, who had come there to celebrate.

Donghyuck walks in when you get frozen in place, looking at the big, frosted and stained windows as if you could hear the chanting clearer if you did so. From the corner of your eye you see him nod his head slightly to the side and smile, silently ordering people to leave the room to only the two of you.

The ceremony would start soon.

He comes to stand in front of you, and he opens both of his hands, palms looking upright. You look down at them when you notice his moves and let your eyes linger there, not knowing if confidence or hesitance would take over you first.

Not being strong was never an option.

You place your hand in his with a deep exhale, and meet his eyes. Donghyuck smiles at you, as if to say it is alright. It will be okay.

And then he speaks.

“I know I am not the one you would have liked to have here today,” He starts, and that hurts you perhaps with the truth but also with your newfound care for him upon getting engaged, but he does not let you protest. “But I have once sworn to protect you with my life, and I just want you to know that I will continue on with it. And I swear to you— forget the Oath I will take in a matter of minutes now, I swear to you that I will try to be the best I can be for you, for us, for whatever that means from now on, and for our people.”

You smile at him with your first genuine smile of the day when a fresh comfort washes over your heart the same way an angry and fizzy ocean wave washes over the shore, and give his hands a squeeze, holding onto the hopeful future they offer. Thank you.

[thecocchamchronicle]

Title: Smithereens

Summary: Finan sees his friend, Y/N being sexually harassed and comes to her aid (full story requested by @ruby-246)

Words: 1495

Warnings: mentions of sexual assult (no rape), swearing, gore

Tags: @valhallasubstitute, @sihtric​

A/N: The title for this fic was inspired by Twenty One Pilots’ song Smithereens. “But if I’m feeling someone stepping towards you, can’t describe just what I’m feeling, for you I’d go step to a dude much bigger than me.”

  You were heading to the alehouse to meet your friends and fellow warriors, Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric. Before you could cross the street, unknown hands gripped and pulled you into the shadows against the side wall of the stables. It was a man that had snagged you. His face was foreign to you; you did not know him. 

   “Evening, love.” he started. The stranger was broad and muscular. He towered over you. His stature reminded you of a giant. You were told stories of the huge, ugly creature as a child, and boy did he fit that description.  

   “Let me go!” you pounded against his chest and tried to wiggle away, but the man quickly grasped your wrist and pinned them at your sides.  

 “Please stop.” You begged. There was no way you were going escape while pushed up against a wall. Your hands struggled to reach the knife at your side but the man pulled the blade from it’s sheath and tossed it to the ground. 

His hot, vile breath was on your neck. “You’re not getting away love. You’re mine now.” 

Tears welled up in your eyes as you thought about what was to come. You’d seen women taken without permission. It was always a nightmarish sight. 

The stranger spun you around, smashing your face into the wooden wall of the stable. His rough hands bunched up your skirt, pulling it up and over your buttocks.He then pulled at your undergarments, your back side now on complete display.  A cool breeze caressed your legs, making you feel even more exposed. You writhed under the man’s grip, which only made him more forceful. His fingers tangled with your hair and he drove your head against the wall. 

   “Do not fight me woman.” he threatened. He took to gripping your backside, his unwanted touch disgusting you more and more by the second. 

In the distance you saw a glimmer of hope, your friend Finan. By a stroke of luck, Finan spotted you from afar. He locked eyes with you and quickly realized what was occurring. Finan’s blood boiled with fury. His legs carried him with purpose across the street, going against the flow of the villagers. 

   “Oi! Ya bastard!” Finan called out. 

   The man stopped grasping your buttocks for a moment, “This is none of your business arse.”

   “It is, ya little runt. She’s not your woman.” Finan spat. 

The assailant clenched his huge, calloused hand around your throat. You felt that he could suffocate you with one good squeeze. “How would you know?”

   “I know her and even if I didn’t I know she wouldn’t stoop to the likes of you.” 

   “I think it’s best if you leave us be.” The man said. 

Finan lunged forward and threw his fist into the side stranger’s head. Both you and your harasser tumbled to the ground. You quickly pulled up your undergarments and recovered your knife. You readied yourself to use it once you were upright again. Though it seemed there would be no need for that Finan was doing just fine on his own. Finan was straddling the man, relentlessly landing blow after blow against the man’s face and head. Finan’s fists were quickly covered with the man’s blood as he continue to teach him a lesson. Once your assailant was subdued and helpless, Finan went still. 

Looking down at the man, you observed Finan’s handy work. You harasser’s lip was busted and caused a bloody mess to trickles down his chin. Surely Finan had broken your assailant’s nose and quite possibly a cheek bone. Many areas on his face were already starting to bruise, an indication on how fiercely Finan had beat him. 

  Finan crouched down to meet the man face to face. “If I see you touch her or any woman against their will and I will kill you, that’s a promise.”

Finan drove his boot into the dirt, kicking dust into his victim’s face.

   “Did he actual-?” he started.

You brushed a few strands of loose hair back behind your ear and wiped the tears from your eyes. ”Um. No- no he didn’t, but um, thank you.” 

   “Of course.” Finan reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver coin and placed it in your hand. “Why don’t you have an ale, on me. It might help calm your nerves. I should go wash the fight off of me.” he said motioning to dirt coating his face and arms. “I’m sure I’ll see you later on.”

Finan turned on his heals and started towards the river. 

You grabbed his wrist, preventing him from leaving. “Finan.”

You handed the coin back to him, “I’d rather not be in a alehouse full of men right now. I know that is stupid, since I am a fierce warrior, but I do not wish to be around strange men...I know this is bold, but could I accompany you to the river? I mean not to wash with you, but to have some comfort, knowing I have a friend near by.”

At first Finan was taken aback by your request, but he wanted to be there for you. He smirked. “Alright, Y/N, just no peakin’.”

*     *    *    *    *    *     *      *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

At the banks of the river you spotted a large boulder, on which you perched yourself. You faced away from the river and away from Finan, who you knew was undressing. He removed his leather armor, dropping it on the ground with a loud thud. He slipped out of his tunic and breeches, revealing countless scars across his toned body.

“Remember, no peakin’!” Finan joked.

“You have my word! And the gods as my witness!” You chuckled. 

Unclothed, Finan dipped his toes into the water. It was cooler than he anticipated, but he waded in nevertheless. Finan allowed the river consume him until the brisk water reached his chest. The Irishman dunked himself under the surface just once and started washing the dirt from his body. 

The urges and curiosity of your mind got the best of you. You turned, glancing over your shoulder, catching just a glimpse of him. Luckily he was facing the other direction, so he did not see your wandering eyes. Finan was a handsome man, clothed or not. You studied the muscles of his back and noticed long, thin scars criss-crossing his skin. Your heart sunk at the realization of how he’d come to acquire such marks. You’d heard whispers of his time as a slave, though you dared not ask him for more details. 

Finan began to turn around and you quickly returned to facing forward again.

He sloshed through the water and stepped back up onto the river bank. Water dripped from his toned body and along with the breeze, caused him to shiver.  Finan jogged back to his garments, longing for the warmth they would provide.He quickly threw the tunic over his head and strapped the armor back onto his chest. After shaking out his hair, he headed back to you. 

You heard your friend’s footsteps nearing, “Are you decent?” 

He scoffed. “As decent as I’ll ever be.”

You smiled, but worry and paranoia racked inside your mind. “What if he decides to come back for me, Finan?”

For a moment Finan mulled over your question. What could he say to comfort you? “I doubt it. I don’t think the bastard will be able to see for days.” 

You chuckled. “I know you are right, but somehow that does not deter my thoughts. I fear he’ll return while I’m asleep. Finan...would you mind staying with me for the night? Just for tonight, if it’s not too much trouble.”

   “It’s no trouble Y/N.” Finan answered. He pulled you into a soothing hug. “I hope you know that you do not deserve to be mistreated like you were.”

You sighed, “I do, though men do not consider a woman’s feelings when they do such things.” 

   “Those men are the shite of the earth if you ask me.”

   “Yes, yes they are.” you replied.

The two of you started back towards the village. It was not long before you and Finan reached the door of your quaint home. 

   “I’ll be back with my furs.” he promised. 

Finan returned shortly, his furs folded over his arm. Once inside, he laid them on the floor along side your meager bed. The darkness of night over took Coocham as the moon rose in the sky. With a flame crackling in the fire place, you and Finan settled in for the night.

   “Finan?”

   “Mmm?” he questioned sleepily.

   “I can’t express how grateful I am for what you did today.” 

   “It’s what us warriors do, protect our own. You have protection from us all, me, Uhtred, Sihtric. I’d do it a thousand times more, should I need to.”

You quickly fell asleep with the assurance that should any man come into your home intent on causing harm, that Finan was there to protect you.

[hyacinthetic]

IF I CAN LIVE THROUGH THIS, I CAN DO ANYTHING: interpreting shiro's character in season 8 of voltron

i've been thinking about shiro's character development a lot since vld ended.

of voltron's seasons, s8 seems to have been the most controversial and criticised. many reactions have articulated feelings i couldn't quite express for myself in the first few weeks after the finale, so the backlash has been endlessly fascinating to me.

much of the shiro-specific criticism seems to boil down to "shiro was passive in scenes when he should have taken action." by and large, i agree with this. but season 8 was very clearly not a season about either keith or shiro's personal growth. we know from the production codes that voltron's production team structured the show into three seasons of twenty-six episodes apiece. coming on the heels of season 7, season 8 was written as the back-half of an arc that spent its first half highlighting shiro and keith's new roles. in order to balance out the preceding season, these thirteen episodes were supposed to be the culmination of the lance/allura romance, the last stage of The Galra Empire Strikes Back -- and the final installment of a highly-anticipated mecha/sci-fi show, which often puts show-writers under pressure to plug in a lot of explosions and Now The Stakes Are Higher Than Ever.

this means that, by design, both keith and shiro had to take a back seat in season 8. there just wasn't enough room to highlight them in the chapter that the production team wanted to write: a final chapter where the atlas is ultimately a support for voltron and keith is, above all, a leader to the rest of his team, someone they can count on for personal advice and inspirational koans. thus, shiro had to miss narrative cues that he would have picked up in seasons 1-6. it's a simple case of "don't take it personally, babe, it just ain't your story".

that answers the question of "why did they write shiro like that?" the questions of "but what are our in-universe justifications for shiro's behavior?" and "where is shiro likely to go from here?" are separate issues. both, i think, are essential for anyone interested in creating fanworks for a canon-compliant post-s8 time period.

as an important foreword: i didn't write this post to criticise the show, to defend its characterisation choices, or to suggest that this is what the vld writers intended when they wrote the final season. this post is a non-definitive reading of shiro's character. it was written for people who found it difficult to recognise his inaction and distance from his team in season 8, and still haven’t come to their own conclusions. it takes shiro's s8 portrayal at face value, as presented, and attempts to reconcile it with the way we interpreted the character in the preceding seven seasons. ultimately, my hope's that someone in this tag enjoys it unironically. all ... 5,800 words of it. good lord.

here's my argument: the shiro we saw in season 8 was still recovering from the loss of his role as a paladin of voltron and his connection with the black lion. he hyperfocused on his new role as the atlas's captain in an effort to crush down any remaining longing for his old life. this is not a new habit: more than once, shiro has fixated on his role for a greater cause, and used that role to deny something significant in his own life. every time, that fixation's come back to bite him.

*

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S MORE FULFILLING THAN BEING A PALADIN." the importance of roles to takashi shirogane

in eight seasons of canon, we see shiro go through a five-stage cycle over and over: (1) he wants to deny something, (2) he finds a role that will allow him to live in denial of that thing, (3) he succeeds in the role, but only by defining himself almost exclusively according to its duties, shutting out everything that could oppose it, and eventually (4) pouring everything he's got into his role hurts shiro more and more (5) until he's cut off from that role and forced into a new cycle.

(i don't intend to argue, either here or at any point in this post, that shiro's only reason for becoming a pilot/paladin/captain is because he knows he can use it to live in denial; i don't think it's even a primary consideration. but it's interesting to note that the way he occupies these roles always helps him to ignore his own issues.)

for clarity's sake, i'll be using the following template to look at shiro's cycles through his roles as garrison pilot, black paladin, and captain of the atlas:

(1) denial —

(2) role —

(3) temporary success —

(4) losses —

(5) breakdown —

let's start by looking at shiro's garrison record. we know that, at least one year before the kerberos mission's launch, shiro discovers that he has a neurological degenerative disease. adam's remarks strongly suggest that shiro's record at the garrison was driven by this, at least in part. ("there's nothing left for you to prove. you've broken every record there is to break", s7e01.) undeterred, shiro continues on his path as the garrison's best pilot; he lets adam go without protest when the latter breaks up with him, and makes sure that his remaining years of assured good health will be spent in space.

or, to rephrase:

(1) denial — shiro wants to deny his illness.

(2) role — shiro goes beyond the usual reaction of refusing to allow his illness to define him, and explicitly chooses to inhabit a role/life that should be barred to a man in his condition. in effect, he uses this role to further his denial.

(3) temporary success — shiro becomes the garrison hero, and a highly-regarded commander's go-to pilot for groundbreaking missions.

(4) losses — as a direct result of these choices, shiro loses the man he was once willing to marry. i can't stress the enormity of this enough. the show strongly implies that shiro has no family left on earth -- even in season 7, the season where every single one of the human paladins is reunited with loved ones, the only close relationships we see for shiro are with keith, sam holt, and adam, the three people who seem to know that he's sick. and shiro deliberately sets that last one aside before the series even starts, all for the sake of living out his role. being a successful pilot is more important to shiro than not being alone, because the role defines who he is.

(5) breakdown — shiro's cut off from his role as pilot when he's kidnapped by the galra.

the next time we see him on-screen, shiro's fresh from a year as the champion of the galra's prisoner arena. we aren't given enough information from that period to know exactly how shiro survived that role, but it's clear that the experience traumatised him -- we see shiro suffering flashbacks, memory loss, and hallucinations. despite the fact that shiro knows the galra's priorities -- e.g. to conquer earth and find a weapon on the planet, both much more important than punishing a single escapee -- he responds to seeing a galra warship in the sky, not with a hero's anger, but with the very personal horror of a prisoner who has nightmares about getting taken back to his cell: "they found me." (s1e01)

in spite of this, shiro pulls himself together to pilot the black lion. he leads the paladins to save planets left helpless under galra rule. but shiro also isolates himself from the rest of the team in a hundred different ways. when we see shiro in his downtime, he's usually alone, doing push-ups in his paladin gear or reviewing star-system data. he puts an unnatural responsibility on his own shoulders, one that seems to be expected from no one else. even knowing that memory extraction doesn't require his presence, shiro stays with sendak's pod in s1e09, waiting for the process to start, focused and unmoving with an intensity that the scene takes care to show isn't matched by any other member of his team. when zarkon tries to take control of the black lion in season 2, shiro responds "i'll have to forge a new bond with my lion. one that's stronger than his." -- in spite of the fact that allura just announced that there'd never been a precedent for two paladins battling for the same lion, and so what he suggests might not even be possible.

it takes us seven seasons to find out that shiro was ever sick, because he never drops any hint of it to the team -- except keith.

over the course of the show, we see pidge, lance, hunk, and allura admit their secrets, their fears, and their personal goals to the other paladins. we even see keith share his concerns with krolia, shiro, hunk -- and, on a few occasions, allura. but it's very rare that shiro gets any opportunity to be vulnerable. outside of his moments with keith ("how many times are you going to save me?"), and a minor breakdown with lance to foreshadow the kuron project, every instance of shiro's weakness happens when he's alone.

the show never outright states why shiro chooses to isolate himself. but i think it's reasonable to suggest that shiro didn't want to detract focus from the war, and -- as with his position at the garrison -- didn't want to be defined by what he's been through. voltron isn't only a unit of soldiers -- it's a group of friends who increasingly tell each other to take it easy and rest as soon as they see one another faltering. as soon as the team knows that he has a debilitating disease, they'd know that his time as black paladin is limited, and part of voltron's focus would have to be diverted towards training a new leader. that would be a practical step for a man who knows that he has to step down sooner or later -- but, by and large, shiro holds back.

see also: denial.

to recap:

(1) denial — shiro wants to crush down and deny the trauma he still suffers from his time as a prisoner/experiment of the galra.

(2) role — shiro goes beyond the usual reaction of refusing to allow his trauma to define him, and explicitly chooses to inhabit a role/life that should be barred to a man in his condition. in effect, he uses this role to further his denial.

(3) temporary success — shiro becomes the leader of voltron: its face and its hero.

(4) losses — time after time, shiro isolates and pushes himself to the breaking point. these incidents range from minor to life-changing: shiro stays behind when the other paladins go out together to see an alien space mall for the first time. he keeps his own worst fears and concerns secret from everyone but keith. in s1e09, shiro's inability to deal with his own trauma alone causes shiro to jettison sendak's pod into space. as kuron, he diminishes his own issues as "a weird headache". and his isolation means that haggar's mind control takes everyone by surprise. tellingly, shiro sums up his entire philosophy in blackout,* the season 2 finale: "one way or another, this may be our last battle. we've got to give everything we have." and in the end, he does -- the original shiro dies in the course of voltron's first major victory against zarkon.

(5) breakdown — after his return in season 6, shiro's literally cut off from his role when allura pulls his soul from the black lion, thus -- according to showrunner interviews -- stripping away the bond necessary for him to be black paladin.

(* sidenote: in retrospect, there's something horrifically funny about the title 'blackout', which doubles as a morbid joke: 'black, out'.)

two roles aren't a significant sample size, but shiro's behavior in each role gives us some clues as to what attracts him to them. shiro doesn't limit himself to roles that play to his strengths. instead, he goes for roles that will help the biggest number of people. shiro favors roles that keep him at the frontlines, capable of making decisions based on his own discretion -- but also roles that force him to minimise and ignore his own weaknesses for the greater good.

with this in mind, we can make some guesses about shiro's mindset from seasons 6 to 7 as he transitions from black paladin to captain of the atlas.

* "WE'VE BEEN THROUGH MORE THAN YOU COULD EVER IMAGINE." shiro's recovery through season 7

for the first half of season 7, shiro's very obviously kept away from the action: he, romelle, and keith's wolf are left behind when krolia leads the paladins to investigate the blades of marmora rally point in s7e02. krolia explicitly notes that shiro's "still recovering" during their flight away from zethrid and ezor's ships. despite the affirmation of the keith-shiro bond only two episodes ago, it's lance that keith tells to keep the team back together as they escape in the final act of s7e03. and in the same way that coran and romelle have to hold onto krolia and hunk respectively as they fly through space back to the lions, so does allura hold onto shiro. he is, in every way, positioned as a non-combatant: someone who can't be expected to fend for himself in an ongoing warzone.

as the season goes on, shiro starts to take an active role again. he tells the team that "replacing the castle of lions is our top priority" in s7e06, a leaderly decision that keith backs up immediately. he stands against admiral sanda when she suggests using the lions as a bargaining chip with the galra. in a bit of mysticism inspired by his time in the black lion's timeless void, shiro's the one who tells the team that they're capable of the impossible: remotely directing their lions to earth.

still, while it was clear that shiro was getting better over the course of the season, i was never quite certain that these scenes were meant to show that shiro'd fully recovered. as i noted at the end of the previous section, shiro tends to choose roles with clear responsibilities -- roles that keep him in the fray, where he may be responsible for the safety of others as part of a team but which give him some leeway to make his decisions independently. as a mentor, a strategic advisor, and a part-time leader, shiro had a role that gave him some of these things. but ultimately, mentorship didn't seem to offer the same agency that he'd once had as the kerberos pilot or the black paladin.

this uncertainty seems to fade in the last three episodes of season 7. i don't think it's a coincidence that shiro takes a decisive step forward in each of these episodes: in episode 11, he oversees the launch of the igf atlas and takes command as its captain; in episode 12, he faces sendak, who was a memorable and visceral trigger for shiro's ptsd in season 1; in episode 13, shiro manages to transform his new ship into a giant mecha fighter in its own right -- just in time to support his friends.

the end of season 7 could have been groundwork for the final act of shiro's recovery. in an interview, lauren montgomery confirmed that, in kuron's body, shiro no longer has the disease which once put a time limit on his piloting. he's faced his worst horrors -- failure, dying, sendak -- and come back from them. i think it's reasonable to suggest that shiro at the end of season 7 is stronger than the one we meet in season 1. at the close of the season, shiro has a promising new role with opportunities for action, and a group of friends who have supported him through his every trial. while he still had a few storylines to tie up (most notably: the fallout from being replaced by 'kuron' and the staggering loss of his bond with the black lion), these weren't impossible for season 8 to address.

to end shiro's arc on a satisfying chord, his recovery needed to hit three notes: (i) show that shiro didn't lose his connection to the paladins -- the bonds that got him through actually physically dying -- when he became captain of the atlas; (ii) show that shiro has moved past, or is in the process of moving past, his death and his loss of the black lion; and (iii) show that shiro's new position as captain of the atlas fulfills him in the same way that the positions of garrison pilot and black paladin once did.

what we got, instead, was a season that drove shiro's development backwards on each point. by failing to cement shiro's recovery, and ignoring his unresolved issues, shiro in season 8 comes off like a man relapsing into a familiar unhealthy cycle: denial, obsession, and a breakdown on the horizon.

* "WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS." shiro's isolation as captain of the igf atlas

there are quite a few descriptors you could use for shiro's behavior as captain of the atlas in season 8. but the one that you can't use, i'd argue, is joyful. gone is that tone of open delight from when shiro said "welcome back to the fight, paladins!" in s7e12, the relief when he looks at sam holt and offers him a place on the igf atlas as its chief engineer, the worldbreaking resolve that drives him to transform the atlas and save voltron. throughout the season, shiro's stern. he's distant. he addresses his friends -- the only people who know exactly what he's been through -- collectively as "paladins". he's exhaustively business-like. in thirteen episodes, only once do we see shiro take a break; in every other scene, he's in the bridge, in the strategy room, or frozen in place in a garrison flyer, just a little too late to rescue one of his closest friends.

so what changed between the moment that shiro took command of the atlas and season 8?

easy. the atlas failed.

in the closing episodes of season 7, shiro fought as hard as anyone to win against haggar's robot. after an extended recovery period -- presumably an unsettling and restless state for a man who's hardly ever gone easy on himself -- shiro came back just in time to throw himself against impossible odds. and, for a while, he seemed to be winning. driven by willpower alone, shiro forced an unflyable ship into the air; he drove it to transform into a mecha fighter even bigger than voltron -

and he still had to watch as his friends pulled a ticking bomb into space to save the earth from its blast radius. he watched its explosion swallow their lions, and watched them fall to earth, knowing that he'd tried his best, and that it hadn't been enough.

remember: shiro's used to being the one people count on. from the garrison to the castle of lions, he's always taken a disproportionate share of the responsibility for himself. he's done it because he wants to, because being in the thick of the action fulfills him, because giving everything he has to the cause is what shiro does best. but based on past incidents, we know that shiro responds to personal failure by pouring even more of himself into the fight. we know that he spent over half a season on the sidelines, treated as a non-combatant while people shielded him. we also know that he has multiple losses that he hasn't addressed by the end of season 7 -- nor can he address them without diverting time, energy, and resources away from the fight at hand.

what better way to suppress his own issues than by obsessing over his new role as captain of the atlas?

so, to recap:

(1) denial — shiro has no productive way to deal with the losses he's faced over the series: being stripped of his bond with the black lion, his feelings over dying and getting trapped in a timeless void, his issues with being replaced by kuron (whom he describes, rather reductively, as an "evil clone"), and his failure to protect his friends against haggar's robot. thus, he has a strong incentive to deny them.

(2) role — shiro goes beyond the usual reaction of refusing to allow his losses to define him. thus, he throws himself headlong into being captain of the atlas. in effect, he uses this role to further his denial.

(3) temporary success — shiro lives and breathes his duties as the atlas's captain. he oversees the repairs to the atlas, galra activity around the milky way, and the rebuilding of earth's defenses (s8e01). he inspires and encourages the people who turn to him, and he takes no time for himself.

(4) losses — as a result, shiro's losses in season 8 are small but increasingly felt. after telling garrison crew, rebels, and voltron paladins alike to take a night off and "be with the ones [they] love" -- shiro disappears for the rest of s8e01. in an episode explicitly about reinforcing the bonds established in the preceding seasons, shiro's absence feels deliberate. for the next twelve episodes, shiro gets exactly one moment of familiarity -- when he's standing with the rest of the paladins, showing his quiet, grieving gratitude for the final sacrifice of the woman who gave him back his right arm. in a season that starts off as a story about the universe coming together to defeat the galra once and for all, shiro is emotionally isolated in almost every scene: a man who lives to strategise and give orders and nothing else.

point (4) seems especially worth examining. shiro's disconnection from the paladins, and from his own former role as the black paladin, is staggering. where he once flew and fought in his own right, shiro-as-captain only succeeds when he's managing and delegating tasks. he might give the order to fire, but someone else is pulling the trigger and telling him what happens when it hits. when we see shiro take a break at last, it isn't of his own accord -- a tough-talking alien has to show up and guilt-trip him into it. even then, shiro justifies the day off as something the atlas crew needs: "morale on the atlas is low after what happened on oriande. who knows? a few hours at the carnival might give us the boost we need to get back on track." (s8e08, clear day.) no mention's made whatsoever of the paladins' feelings or exhaustion, let alone his own.

bearing in mind shiro's previously established character -- a devoted leader and a friend with nothing but good intentions -- this lack of explicit interest in his friends' well-being is pretty disorienting. but it's understandable, i feel, if you read shiro as a man trying desperately to distance himself from a bond that once defined him and whose loss he hasn't properly mourned, struggling to distinguish his new role in every way from the one he can never take back. as black paladin, shiro was largely independent -- he was responsible for a team, but he could fly alone and make his own decisions in battle with the pull of a lever. as captain of the atlas, he has an entire crew to do that in his stead; his authority stems from the garrison and he can no longer afford to make independent judgment calls. as black paladin, shiro's priority was the well-being of the paladins, his friends; as the atlas' captain, shiro's top priority has to be the professional one -- watching out for the officers serving aboard the atlas, his garrison-assigned crew.

but this creates a new problem -- specifically, monitoring and managing the atlas isn't what brought shiro such triumph and joy in season 7. in episode after episode, we've seen that shiro thrives in roles that allow him to save people directly -- roles that let him charge into the action for himself, and that give him as much independence as possible. it's why the atlas's transformation in s7e13 resonates as the final step in the season towards shiro's ongoing recovery, and it's why his actions as captain in s8 fail to carry any such emotional charge.

merely being the captain of the atlas isn't what shiro needs -- at least, not if it's as hands-off and delegatory as it seems for most of season 8. but it's the only role he has left to help his friends, and it's his best chance of crushing down any inconvenient feelings of personal loss. given his choices, it shouldn't surprise anyone that shiro goes back to an old familiar cycle.

this tension between what shiro wants and shiro allows himself, i think, works as a useful explanation for a lot of his behavior in season 8. shiro's pouring everything he's got into his new role; he's running on autopilot, and wearing out fast. as examples, here are four more commonly raised criticisms:

why does shiro only ever address his friends collectively as "paladins"? because it's their formal title. it's correct according to garrison procedure -- which, as the commanding officer of a garrison ship, he's bound by regulation to follow while on duty. and it reminds him, over and over, of what he isn't -- what he can never have again.

why isn't he with his friends in any of the scenes where they're taking a break? because he's working -- monitoring every force on their side, reviewing the atlas's operations, and all the thousand other managerial details of an ongoing war. going into season 8, shiro knows that he's already failed his friends once, and that they nearly died in the process. how can he give himself a break when he's already been shown that his best isn't good enough?

how does shiro fail to notice that it isn't keith on the line in s8e05, even though the false keith spits out stiff lines like "we had some technical difficulties" and "we're still assessing that", and why does he freeze up when he sees zethrid on the precipice holding keith by the throat? hey buddy, have you ever tried facing the living embodiment of your nightmares after months of overworking and sleeping four hours a night?

no, but seriously, a handgun? whatever the garrison's feelings on firearms before the war, i feel it's fair to assume that every ranking officer started carrying some kind of ranged weapon once the galra invaded. as a newly-promoted captain, shiro would have been entitled to the privileges and regulations that come with his rank. as to why he'd use a gun -- what are the odds that shiro, exhausted and overworked, would put his faith in his own self-control when it's already failed him so many times? taken by itself, the character decision is bizarre but not inexplicable; in context, it's one more sign that he's leaning into his role of 'garrison officer' more than 'former paladin' or 'man with non-regulation weaponised prosthetic'.

we aren't shown the full scope of shiro's duties as captain of the atlas in the closing scenes of season 8. but what we see doesn't seem to be especially engaging for shiro on a personal or a professional level. shiro takes a supporting role as hunk handles the actual speech at a table of feuding alien diplomats. learning that sam holt's stabilised the teladuv technology, shiro responds as if pidge's news is pleasant, but completely new, information: "that'll make travel on the atlas much easier." he's unfamiliar with the most recent developments on daibazaal, the epicenter of a culture that was still conquering galaxies only a little while ago.

in short, shiro's shifted away from the highly managerial role he took during the war. this final transition from part of the action to a role whose duties are mostly delegation and support shouldn’t be particularly surprising -- the atlas is, after all, property of the garrison, and shiro operates it under the garrison's authority, which was (despite its name and design) introduced by emphasising its scientific function, not its military one. but it's clear that shiro's no longer the primary contact for coordinating efforts between the garrison, the rebels, and voltron. it's also clear that he's drifted apart from both keith and sam -- the two people who once saw shiro through some of his lowest moments. in a way, shiro's succeeded in what he's set out to do when he latched onto his new role as captain of the atlas: he has completely divorced himself from the man who helped sam holt achieve his dreams, and the black paladin who first forged voltron into a true team.

shiro isn't, strictly speaking, isolated at the end of season 8. but it's hard to be happy for a character who goes into his epilogue stripped of what he'd once fought for so desperately.

* WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE? speculations on shiro's epilogue

given our limited context for shiro's post-series responsibilities, it feels very difficult to analyse his epilogue photos (stubble, glasses, marriage) in any meaningful way. but if we accept this post's hypothesis that shiro tends to go through role after role in cycles, then it doesn't seem entirely unreasonable to suggest that he's overdue to leave his role as captain of the atlas, or at least the duties framed in season 8. shiro's denied himself so much in order to live up to the position. there's no sign that its supporting/delegation-heavy role dovetails with anything he loved in his previous roles. and the show's final scenes don't do anything to suggest that shiro's attempted to tailor the role to fit his own passions at all.

so let's go for some wild conjectures.

let's assume, first of all, that shiro wants to be happy, and can eventually recognise when he isn't.

assume that shiro continues in his position as the atlas' captain for a while after the team dinner on allura day in s8e13. the epilogue photos leave this possibility open -- despite never having any issues with eyesight or with keeping himself clean-shaven before, shiro turns up in the second team photo with glasses and stubble, both of which tend to be fairly standard cartoon-signals for overwork. assume that shiro isn't stupid and realises over time that -- having poured all of his energy into his position, having made sacrifice after sacrifice to serve the atlas crew well, having pushed away the bonds that he'd once formed as black paladin -- being a garrison captain isn't exactly what he wants either.

with the above as our basis, let's go further and suggest that the shiro we see at the allura day reunion dinner is a shiro who, despite continuing to put in his best efforts, already has one foot out the door, looking for a more fulfilling role. this accounts for his continued distance, his ease in playing a hands-off backup role, and his surprise at the world-changing news from each of his friends.

but shiro's still shiro. so when he decides he wants to be happy, he thinks of the most ordinary, far-off dream of happiness. he imagines something that contrasts his duties as captain of the atlas in every way -- and dials that up to eleven, because shiro doesn't commit himself by halves. in short, shiro moves away from the action and backlashes into devastating normalcy: he finds an attractive man who seems to like him and he marries him as soon as he can, hoping that the role of 'good husband' will finally be enough.

let's take a moment to acknowledge that the wedding photo's caption is vague: "left the battlefield behind" is not synonymous with "retired and never touched intergalactic matters again". hunk left the battlefield and became a chef, and yet his epilogue photo leaves it plausible that he's still very much involved. but i think there's a reason that so much of fandom read shiro's leaving the battlefield as retirement, and it's this: in eight seasons of canon, we've never seen shiro torn between multiple personal priorities for long. he has always committed himself to a single role at a time. if you read shiro as a character who puts everything he's got into one passion, then it's likely that you recognise him as someone who won't juggle his roles -- he only exchanges them, one for the next: garrison pilot to leader of voltron to atlas captain to husband.

and yet: even if we disregard his multiple unaddressed issues and assume he no longer misses the freedom of being garrison's top mission pilot or the black paladin, shiro's new role doesn't feel plausibly satisfying. in season after season, shiro's been consistent about his need for independence, his desire to help and save as many people as possible, and his interest in doing the work with his own two hands, as directly and immediately as possible. consider what we know about shiro's ambitions and passions. he was the first human being to fly to kerberos. he's rejected every opportunity he's ever been offered to live as an invalid or a mentor or any position on the sidelines. time and again, he's saved the universe, and he's never been more fulfilled than when he's been on the ground and at the heart of the action.

whether or not shiro keeps his position aboard the atlas after marriage, what are the odds that playing spouse, supervisory officer, or second-string diplomat will be enough to make him happy?

read in this light, "the end is the beginning" is the perfect title for the show's final episode. like his friends, shiro's story is far from over. if vld was meant to be a show about hope, then let's close on this thought: shiro arrives at the epilogue as a character who's lost and denied himself so much -- but he hasn't lost everything. a little backsliding doesn't put an end to all hope of recovery. whatever shiro's left behind, there's a chance that it can still be won back.

if there's hope, then there is a satisfying place for shiro in vld's infinite universe -- somewhere in the thick of the action as star-systems begin to heal from galra tyranny. there's a place where he can take charge without resorting to violence or deferring to the garrison's authority or diplomatic rites. keith clearly found one, after all -- we see in his epilogue photo that he's delivering supplies to areas still getting used to being free, traveling to far-flung worlds desperate for the kind of help that few can offer.

so it's not hard to imagine that shiro might find something similar -- that his search will bring him back to the people who love him as he learns to prioritise his own strengths, weaknesses, and needs at last. of course he'll find happiness eventually.

all he needs to do is to keep looking for it.

[annie-marie94]

I Will Not Kiss You

Reader x Sam

Reader has terminal disease and tries to avoid Sam so he won’t have to see her die.

Inspiration: Music - Cancer by Twenty One Pilots , Movie - A Litre of Tears

Warning: Angst, Sadness,  Incurable disease , Abuse

Tags: @iamascreamerbabymakememute @thyotakukimkim

I Will Not Kiss You Part 1

“I am sorry Ms. L/N, you have Spinocerebellar Ataxia.” Doctor James said. My heart stopped. I had wished that it would skip my generation. My grandmother had it. Her grandmother had it. I knew that it would just be a matter of time before it happened. Why now?

“Ms. L/N, Spinocerebellar Ataxia is a disease that causes…” Doctor said.

“I know what it is Doc, my grandmother had it.” I interrupted. “How long do I have?” I asked. I just hope that I have long enough to do what I needed to.

“You have two year before you lose all muscle coordination. I am sorry. Is there anything we can do for you? Is there anyone we can call?” Doctor asks.

“No, I have it sorted out. Thank you.” I said as I stood up and walked out.

I had a hunch that this would happen. Recently, there were moments that I would drop whatever I was holding or my hands would shake. I was just in denial. My life was finally great. I had a good job, had a place to stay, and a man to love. Sam Winchester. What am I going to tell him? No, he mustn't know. I know what I have to do.

My grandpa told me stories about my grandma. They were lucky they married early and had kids. Grandma died when the kids were young. Grandpa raised his kids alone. He never had the heart to remarry. Grandpa could remember vividly what happened to grandma. He remembers taking care of her. She could not move or talk towards the end. She was lucky to have grandpa. I have Sam, but he must never know. That leaves me with no one.

---

Thank God Sam and Dean were on a hunt in South Dakota and would not be back for a few days. I had time figure out my master plan. There was no question. I had to leave Sam. He did not deserve to be with me. He deserves someone who is strong and healthy. I would only break his heart. As much as it would hurt us in the beginning, he would heal and move on. It was for the best.

“Y/N! We are back!” Sam yelled. It was time to execute my plan. I took a deep breath. I was about to do the one thing I vowed not to do. I had to hurt him. It had to be real. He had to believe it.

“Did you guys take that long on purpose?” I asked, my face straight. Inside, my heart was hurting. But this is not about me, it is about Sam.

“I am sorry, baby, but it was a hard hunt. We were outnumbered and the witnesses…” Sam explained. He was genuinely sorry, I could tell.

“Don’t give me excuses. I have been here on my own for a week!” I said, voice slightly raising. That was not a lie. I was alone for a week.

“Come on Y/N, it is not like we were on vacation.” Dean said. He was irritated. This is good. I will need all the help I can get.

“Whatever.” I said as I walked away. I did not want them to see the tears in my eyes. The next few months would be painful.

---

That night, I went to bed early. Usually, after a hunt, Sam and I would spend the night talking or making love. After my stunt this afternoon, I was not about to let my guard down. I was preparing myself for the next act. Sam walked out of a bathroom. That was my cue. Sam crawled into the bed and cuddled up behind me. I loved the way he smelt after a bath. It was my drug. I mustered all my strength and fought with all my might.

“Baby, I am so sorry we took all week. Forgive me, please?” Sam pleaded.

“Not tonight. Let me sleep. Goodnight.” I said. With that I slept. I could sense that Sam was speechless. This is the first time I had not accepted his apology. A while later, I felt him sleep beside me, his hands never leaving my body.

---

The next few months was excruciating. Hurting Sam was a lot harder than I thought. Sam and I were fighting constantly about everything. It would get so bad sometimes that he would sleep in another room.

Meanwhile, the disease had started to take it’s toll on me. I would fall easily. My balance was off. I could not hold things properly. My time was running out. I had to leave Sam as soon as possible. He was smart and would realize something is wrong with me.

That night, Sam came into our room. I was sitting on the bed, my back facing him. He climbed onto the bed and started kissing the back of my neck. I missed his kisses. I was debating if I could give in for one night. But that would destroy months of work. So, I pulled away.

“I am not in a mood Sam. Just leave.” I said coolly.

“Baby, I missed you. I know we had a rough couple of months but please can we just make up?” He asked.

“If you want someone to make up with you, find someone else! I am not in a mood!” I said, voice slightly rising. I think that finally did it.

“Fine, I’ll find someone else. I’ll find some trashy bar waitress who would treat me better than you. Don’t blame me then!” He said and stormed out of the room.

As soon as he left, I ran into the bathroom and locked myself in just in case he came back. I cried my heart out. It hurt so bad. I wished that I did not have to do this. But it is too late to turn back now. All I need now is to break up with him and that would be it.

---

Dean was on my side, without him knowing of course. He was absolutely convinced that I was bad for Sam. I am sure he had told Sam on several accounts when they were out hunting. One night, while Sam was out getting dinner, Dean confronted me.

“Y/N, can we talk?” Dean asks.

“Sure. What do you want?” I asked.

“I talked to Doctor James yesterday. He told me everything.” Dean said. Of course he did. Fine, Dean should know.

“Did he say that I only have a year left? Did he tell you that by the end of next year, I would be a human vegetable? I wouldn't be able to move or talk. I won't be able to take care of myself!” I said. I was close to tears.

“Is this why you are treating Sam like trash?” Dean asks. He sounded like he understood my predicament.

“Yes, I don’t want to break Sam’s heart. He doesn’t deserve it.” I said.

“Fine.” Dean said. I was shocked. Shouldn’t he be discouraging me? I looked at him questioningly.

“Under one condition, let me help you. I know you don’t have anyone, no living relatives. You need help. I won't let you die alone.” Dean said.

“How? Sam will always be with you.” I asked.

“I’ll find a way. You don’t have to worry.” Dean said as he walked away.

---

I had planned to break up with him the next day. I had packed all my belongings. I took one of his flannels to bring with me. That is the one thing I will bring to my grave.

The time had come. It was time for the finale. The break up scene. Only this time, there will be no making up, no happy ending. Dean left to give us space and also to make preparations for me. I called Sam out to the living area.

“I see you’ve packed. Are you sure you didn’t miss anything? I would hate for you to come back for something.” Sam said.

“Well, I guess we can skip ahead to the part where I leave and not come back right?” I asked.

“The door is right behind you. Don’t lock the door on your way out. I am expecting company.” Sam said. His was serious.

“Oh, that trashy bar waitress. Tell her I said hi then.” I said. I turned, took my bags and headed out the bunker.

“I would, but we are usually preoccupied with other things.” He said. I left without a word.

Outside, Dean was waiting for me. He loaded my bags into the Impala. I turned back and looked at the bunker. It would be my last time looking at it. Dean came around and took my hand in his. I broke down the minute Dean pulled me into a hug.

“You can still fix this Y/N. Tell him. He won’t love you any less.” Dean said.

“No, he hates me now. Let’s keep it that way.” I said. I pulled away, wiped my tears and opened the door to the impala. Dean helped me close the door and he too entered the car.

“Let’s go Dean.” I said.

--- 6 months later

To: samwinchester@gmail.com

From: james@united.health.com

Subject: Y/N Health Emergency

Dear Mr. Sam Winchester,

I am Doctor James. Ms. L/N listed you as an emergency contact. I have lost contact with her. She does not have any living relatives. I am concerned about her well-being. Her disease should be worsening by now. She needs to be taken care of by professionals. Please let her know that she needs to have a regular doctor’s appointment. Although there is no cure, there are ways that can help her be more comfortable. Thank you Sir.

Regards,

Doctor James

Dean hits the send button on his computer, silently hoping that Y/N would forgive him.

[avengerofyourheart]

“And the Grammy goes to...” (reader x Sam Wilson)

Characters: reader, Steve, Natasha, Sam.

Summary: Excited for the Grammy’s, you find out you might have to watch them alone when a teammate surprises you in more ways than one. 

Warnings: Fluff. Pregnancy mention I guess? Tiny bit of language. 

Word Count: 1.6k

Tags are at the bottom

A/N: I wrote this in honor of @imaginingbucky‘s birthday !! I hope your day is incredible, Chanel!! Love you, girl!! :) Also, I apologize if the events of the award show are out of order. I didn’t watch the whole show so I just caught up through clips. I have no strong feelings in regards to the award results so if you do, just keep your comments respectful, please! :) 

________________________________________________________

They only came around once a year. This was something you had been looking forward to for months, and now had no one to share it with besides your friends from home who would squeal with you via text. Out of all the available Avengers who weren’t out on missions, you couldn’t convince a single one to watch the Grammy’s with you.

As a last enticement, you had spent the entire afternoon preparing delicious treats to enjoy during your viewing party, including baking cupcakes and decorating little Grammy statues on top to the best of your ability. They looked a little lopsided, but it was fun and at least they would taste good.

As the airing time approached, it looked like it would be a party for one as you settled in front of the large projection screen in the living room, a delectable spread of snacks before you. The sound of footsteps approaching piqued your interest, peering over the couch to see Natasha come into view.

“Accepting my invitation finally, Nat?” you asked, trying to remain casual but a wishful tone snuck into your voice.

The redhead exhaled, “Sorry, Y/N. I’m heading out for the night. I’ll take a cupcake for the road, though.”

Disappointed, you waved a hand toward the snack table, “Help yourself. Have fun.”

“Will do,” she said with a wink, licking frosting from her fingers.

Half an hour in, you had enjoyed the musical introduction by James Corden and a few of the smaller awards. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw something and jumped when you realized it was Steve. Geez, you needed to put a bell on the Star-Spangled Man. He’s too stealthy for his own good. And for your poor, startled heart.

“Hey, Steve. Coming to watch?” you hoped, tearing your eyes from the screen for a moment.

“Sorry, Y/N. Gotta catch up on some paperwork, but I heard there were snacks? Do you mind?” he asked sheepishly.

You huffed out a sigh, “Not at all. Take all you want.”

He smiled, “You’re the best, Y/N.” Cap grabbed a plate and piled it with Chex Mix, potato chips, a few cupcakes, and a handful of licorice. It was a good thing that Super Serum speeded up his metabolism, you thought, eyeing his muscled physique for a short moment as he walked away.

Not even 10 minutes later, you flicked your eyes to the side to see Sam approaching and he gave you a smile. He was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, looking like he was dressed to stay in tonight. The dark purple of his t-shirt was surprisingly masculine on him, nicely complementing his chocolatey skin as it hugged his muscles.

You returned the smile, then waving lazily toward the snack table as you returned your gaze to the screen. “Food is up for grabs.”

“Sweet. Thanks, Y/N,” he spoke as he grabbed a water bottle and a handful of M&Ms. You expected him to leave as quickly as he came, just like the others, so you were surprised when you felt his weight sink into the opposite end of the couch.

With a questioning side-eye, you silently observed him and thought to ask if he was really staying but didn’t want to jinx his presence, so you kept quiet. Once again, you got caught up in the awards and started to enjoy it, clapping at performances and making small comments about certain artists, mostly to yourself.

As the category for Best Pop Duo or Group Performance came up, you held your breath waiting for Nick Jonas to read the name. Hearing the words “Stressed Out. Twenty One Pilots”, you about lost it, clapping and hollering to finally see one of your favorite bands win a freaking Grammy, but then your eyes grew wide as the duo both dropped their pants in the aisle and then made their way to the stage.

With a laugh, you suddenly loved those boys even more as they told the story about watching the Grammy’s in their underwear. “Holy crap, this is the best night ever,” you spoke joyously.

“Damn,” you heard Sam say. “Now that’s how you accept an award. Good for them. I like some of their stuff.”

“Really?” you asked in surprise, finally looking to the man beside you.

“Yes, really. My taste in music is incredibly varied, Y/N. Now put your eyes back in ya head and watch your show,” he chastised you and then grabbed a few more snacks before him.

Ed Sheeran’s performance was fantastic, Shape of You being one of your favorite songs. You found it particularly inspiring and sensual without being overtly sexual. He truly was an artist.

“Holy hell. He really is a one-man band,” Sam admitted. “Dude’s got some talent.”

You just smiled and focused back on the screen because coming up soon was the moment you had been waiting for: the pregnant Queen Bey’s performance. Beyonce’s music gave you life and the fact that she now was pregnant with the luckiest twins ever to be conceived, you couldn’t get enough of her and her beautiful bump.

A few more awards were given and then there she was, looking like an absolute goddess with belly on display but then…wait. She was in a gold beaded dress with a golden, crown-like headdress completely fitting for her. And then…you just watched in awe as the performance unfolded with flawless holograms of her and her daughter and more, exuding the beautiful power of women. This was a moment in history. You would forever remember this performance, seeing Beyonce’s strength and power and femininity all combined in one moment.

You could feel a few tears escape your eyes, living for this performance and this show. Completely lost in the moment, you were startled when Sam let out a low whistle as Beyonce’s performance ended.

“She sure knows how to command an audience. Damn. If aliens ever show up again and ask me to show them our leader, I’m just gonna show ‘em that performance. That was just…wow,” he shook his head, looking almost as enthralled as you were. Once again, he surprised you but this time you didn’t question it as you smiled at him.

Turns out Sam was a great viewing partner. Each of you made small comments, but mostly kept your focus on the events unfolding. And then it was time. The last award of the show was about to be given: Album of the Year. There had been speculation that there was some rivalry between Beyonce and Adele with guesses on who would take the Grammy home, but you knew who would win. There just wasn’t any contest in your eyes.

Faith Hill and Tim McGraw were the presenters and as she fumbled with the envelope, your heart was racing.

“And the Grammy goes to….25. Adele,” Faith Hill spoke into the microphone.

You felt as if all the air had left the room. What…how…that can’t be right. Adele was amazing, but she was no Beyonce. Lemonade was literally transforming and too incredible for words. Beyonce deserved to win. Speechless, you turned to the side and saw a mirrored expression on Sam’s face. He was the first to speak, letting out a string of curse words.

“What the hell, man…I mean. 25 was great and I’m glad Adele’s back at it after so many years, but…this was Beyonce’s year. Even as a man, Lemonade was empowering for me. Damn,” he shook his head in disbelief.

Still in shock from the award upset and Sam’s response, you watched in silence as Adele accepted the award. Except…she didn’t? Adele spent her time in front of the mic praising Beyonce, just as anyone should really. The British pop star claimed she couldn't accept and that Queen Bey was the “artist of her heart” and “our light” which was just….accurate. As she wrapped up her speech and the show came to a close, you turned your whole body toward Sam and gave him a cheeky smile.

“So,” you began, “you’re a Beyonce fan, too?”

He huffed out a laugh, “Girl, everyone who breathes is a Beyonce fan, some just don’t know it yet. And…okay, so maybe I watch the Grammy’s every year and listen to all the nominees beforehand.”

“What??” you screeched.

He held his hands up in surrender, “I know, I know…I should have told you and accepted your invitation outright, but I get flack for it sometimes, so I lied. A little.”

You just shook your head with a grin, “Well, I’m glad you came. This has been fun.”

“It has been. Thanks for the invite. And the snacks, those cupcakes were killer, girl. But seriously, can we start a petition about this Album of the Year business, cause the ‘academy’ is wrong, I mean…”

Laughing at how passionate he was about his, you started to see Sam in a new light. That night you ended up talking for hours about your shared love of Beyonce and her favorite album or yours (other than Lemonade, of course). Sam confessed that he was even a fan of Destiny’s Child back in the day.   The subject moved away from music and on to Beyonce’s upcoming twins, which he was also just as excited about.

You even talked about movies and tv shows, discovering that you had very similar tastes. He was also a fan of Brooklyn 99 and Parks & Rec, two of your absolute favorite shows. Somehow he brought up football and was surprised to hear you were a Patriots fan. He said he just had to support his Falcons, but respected your dedication to Tom Brady.

It was a night full of surprises and by the end, you knew this was the beginning of a great new friendship with Sam. Or maybe even more…

___________________________________________________

I hope that was fun! Let me know your thoughts! I haven’t written Sam much so any feedback is appreciated. :) Also, I just realized this is my 50th fic I’ve posted, which is nuts and I can’t believe it. You are all amazing and I appreciate you! 

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[meralee727]

I want to work for Rob McElhenney.

There you go.

Now, before the calls and letters to mental hospitals in and around the San Fernando Valley begin….

I would like to plead my case.

I have only recently become creepily obsessed with the brilliance that is It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

Yes, I know.

Admitting that you have a creepy obsession with any show is really the best and only way to land a job.

Now, I don’t have the statistics on that but I’m sure it’s right up there with showing up at social events dressed as Jeffrey Dahmer and asking people if they’d like a bite of your sandwich.

So yes, in my unemployment depression and angst that would cause even the most angst ridden teen to declare that I should simply lighten up, I have become a fan of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

Watching the show, behind the scenes interviews and reading message boards until the wee hours because unemployment insomnia is a super fun thing, has only resulted in my fandom increasing and me deciding that one day I would want to call Rob McElhenney my boss and I would of course thank him for the opportunity and the health insurance.

It was through this obsession and countless interviews I may or may not have watched, I decided to heed the advice Rob, Charlie and Glenn seemed to espouse over and over again:

Create your own opportunity.

So I did.

On a hot summer day, while I was delivering Ben and Jerry’s ice cream that someone had Postmated and laughing at Kaitlin Olson’s Instagram stories, I decided I would do just that.

And then I would get a job and Postmate my own damn ice cream.

Seemed simple enough.

The LA Pride Parade back in June seemed like the perfect place to make this happen.

I would tell Rob McElhenney, my future boss who doesn’t know it yet….

Okay, side note…seriously, so not in the mood for a restraining order and the mental hospitals are probably full…so what you’re thinking you might need to do….no need.

Anyway, Pride….

The Paddy’s float was amazing. I loved that I was there before the Sunny cast arrived. I was there early because I was supposed to be volunteering with Project Angel Food but I kept being dragged back to the Paddy’s Pub float in all its wonderful colorful glory.

Standing there, watching the float come to life, I made a decision.

I would tell them.

I mean, I had already made a decision to tell them but now I would definitely tell them me.

I would tell them how they inspired me. How I was creating my own content and how much I appreciated them.

I had played the conversation in my head:

Me: Hey, Rob….I’m doing a project. You truly are inspirational. Also have you been lifting weights?

Rob and/or Kaitlin….I don’t know, maybe they’d speak in unison…I won’t judge: Yes, oh, that is awesome. Send it to us when you are done, you brilliant genius of a person. Also, have you lost weight? And you also look like you are twenty one years of age.

What? Too far?

It’s my fantasy and in my fantasy, they say that and also, they say, we would also really love to hire you and have you fill out a 401K.

Of course, much like Instagram, the reality was far sadder. My excitement led to inane small talk about t-shirts.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pitch my idea. Maybe I just thought it wasn’t the time, not appropriate.

Maybe he wasn’t there for himself.

Sure, Sunny was the draw but it was a vibe. He was there as support, not as the star.

So I didn’t.

But I still filmed my project.

Five chapters using Rob McElhenney’s words as guidance.

Wrote. Directed. Created. Edited.

Acted.

I want a Razzie for my acting.

Then sent it out completely unsolicited.

Which those not in the know, is never the best plan but honestly, it was between that and running down the street screaming, “hey, watch me now…..bee-yotches!”

And honestly, I think I made the right decision.

What came out of this and what came out of the speech I would give later for KPCC Unheard LA about growing up hearing impaired in a fully hearing world,  was several things….

1. Everything you do might bring you closer to your goal and if you got nothing left to lose, might as well do it.

2. The thing I’ve already said several times. Why must I repeat myself?

But before the ink dries on the inevitable restraining orders, I would like to once again plead my case as to why I want to and should work for Rob McElhenney.

Here are the reasons:

I have no experience in television development.

I have been a special education teacher for twelve years.

I have two Masters Degrees.

I’ve taken so many UCLA Writing Extension courses that I actually might be a few credits shy of a third degree.

I’ve done a little freelancing.

I’ve written two unpublished books.

I spoke in front of two hundred people about being diagnosed as hearing impaired at age six.

I created my own content.

I am delivering groceries for Postmates.

I am 40.

I also know how to sell myself really well.

All that side, which I think are all very strong selling points, I want to work for Rob McElhenney, Charlie Day and Glenn Howerton because they’re smart.

They know what they’re doing.

They look to create content that hasn’t been seen on television.

They look for people who are different.

Who have different takes, different ways of looking at something that may or may not have been done many times before just to get a laugh.

Everything they do has a purpose as if they are speaking to the audience.

Rob gaining weight or getting in shape, there’s a message attached to the madness. A reason. He didn’t just inhale doughnuts because it was fun although, let’s be honest…it probably was fun.

I can go into that and all the very publicized reasons why he gained and/or lost weight but I’m going to focus on something that hasn’t been reported about.

Maybe because it hasn’t aired yet but this thirteenth season, the Sunny gang is taking on the Time’s Up/Me Too movement and the episode is being written by Megan Ganz.

Megan Ganz?

The woman who came forward with her own harrowing Me Too story about Dan Harmon while writing on Community many years ago is writing the Time’s Up episode?

There is no way that is a coincidence.

And it’s brilliant.

It’s also strangely and unbelievably kind hearted.

How cathartic that must have been for Megan to be able to take on that episode and put her own humorous spin on the movement that she herself was unfortunately too familiar with.

What an amazing gift to give, so why wouldn’t I want to work for a group of men who seem eager to give women a voice.

And if they would do that, then what would they do with a hearing impaired woman who knows all to well the pain of being told her voice is simply not good enough?

I want to work at place where I know I’ll be heard.

I want in.

I want to watch in amazement as a show that presents itself to be a low budget, thrown together comedy is anything but.

I want to work for a company that not only listens to their writers but also listens to the audience, hears them closely, taking in every comment.

Mac is never going back in the closet for this reason.

So maybe saying anything at Pride wasn’t appropriate. Maybe writing my goals in a blog that he may never see though I will tag him and Kaitlin anyway and if by some miracle, they actually do read this than might I say you both look lovely…..which I know is incredibly creepy statement….

That also might be inappropriate.

But a wise man once said he did the pilot to It’s Always Sunny because he had nothing left to lose.

Neither do I and that’s the fun part of having nothing to lose.

You never know what might happen.

Maybe you’ll somehow end being responsible for creating a sitcom that will end up becoming the longest running live action sitcom of all time beating Ozzie and Harriet.

From ‘Honey, I’m Home’ to ‘I will eat your babies bitch!’

So where do I send my resume and cover letter?

I’m ready for the interview but don’t worry, I will look far better than I do in the picture below.

I Want to Work for Rob McElhenney I want to work for Rob McElhenney. There you go. Now, before the calls and letters to mental hospitals in and around the San Fernando Valley begin....