#so if you take the knife it's soft and if you don't it's cynical)

[knockknockitsnickels]

"Sacrifice the Yourself" (title pending), the hip new slay the princess swap AU, in which you and the girlies must decide if you're gonna let a giant bird stab you (and maybe.... find love?!)

[luv-beam]

IM BAAAACK!!! i was gonna save this as my bedtime story, but then i realized i can't stay up tonight 😭 but all the better for me bc i get to read this little masterpiece early 😌:

• when you don't just have a feeling that today isn't going to go well, but it's DESTINED not to go well... good lord time to panic! also the description of the dress is so pretty rah like the quiet dignity and refinement over opulence, rhe soft rustling of the skirts,, u can really feel the vibe of the family thru this and also the tension w the fact that yn feels everything BUT perfect

• WHISPERING THAT A LADY'S VIRTUE LIES IN RESTRAINT OHHHHHH U CANT DO THIS TO ME NOT WHEN YN LITERALLY IS LIKE RESTRAINING HERSELF FROM HER OWN DESIRES THIS WHOLE FIC U CANT

• fun fact but corsets were never meant to be suffocatingly tight; its kind of just a modern stereotype, but im not mentioning this to diss ur writing or anything !!! 😭😭 i think the tightness of the corset and yns lack of room to breathe is a really important symbol that lends to how she's really feeling. like the physical connecting to the emotional

• okay another comment abt ur imagery bc ur descriptions of the palace are utterly breathtaking 🤧 like White Room Syndrome is scared of u, tara

• i know whats gonna happen, but like the tension and suspense u create is enough to have anyone on the edge of their seats!! like u dont need future sight to be anxious abt what's gonna happen. like will yn get out of this scot-free or will something horrible happen?

• "you are a xu, do not falter" ugh all the pressure and expectations yn is burdening herself w just continue to distress and weigh her down further...

• GIVE THIS GIRL A HUG 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

• i hate that i like,,, get their mother's argument. like im on yn and hao's side fs but also... idk i think she just had sm going on and like mental struggles can be just as harmful as physical ones. im glad hao is so compassionate, and that her mother does have some sympathy for her daughter

• (but i know what comes next 😭😭😭😭😭)

• "a splendid display of athleticism" PLS IM GONNA SNORT SKFNDKFNFNF seokmin does have a knack for brightening the room :'))) even i was trying to mope w our mc, but then that line made me break lol

• HOPE CAN BE A SLIPPERY CREATURE YES WE KNOW .

• TARA U WANT ME TO CRY DONT U (´Д⊂ヽ NOT IN THE WAY U LONG FOR?? THE CHASM BTWN UR FEELINGS AND HIS INDIFFERENCE???? EEEUUUGHHHH!!!

• i hate how supportive seok is being, like hope truly is a slippery creature. i feel like me and the mc both r getting strung along goddamn......

• love the details of the lady's tea and the garden party — great worldbuilding details to get me even more immersed

• AWWWH THE NEW DRESS, HER MAMA'S ADORATION FOR HER UGH 😭😭😭 i hate knowing the future. besides that, love the imagery of the dress like i can piece it together in my mind as if im sketching it out!! its so pretty :')) def befitting of a princess

• such a "slipping thru my fingers" moment 🤧🤧 like it's so starkly different from the time yn was getting ready for the debut presentation where she was just worried and freaking out; now she and her mom are /laughing/ and tho there r expectations, this will undoubtedly ease a couple of those worries

• oh the the anticipation is killing me — and then the ball is positively dismal >~<

• I WAS WAITING FOR SEOK TO FINALLY COME BY AND OFFER A DANCE LIKE UR YNS BESTIE COME HERE AND GIVE HER A HAND BY ASKING FOR HER HAND WINK WINK

• the mamas leading an army line is so funny lol and who said women cant fight??

• BRUH i just speedran five different emotions like HOLY SHIT I LOVE SEOK > holy shit. does he love yn back? > holy shit this hurts > holy... shit... > oh fck. like the immediate realization that snaps into place when u out two and two together. i wanna say she's jumping to conclusions based on seok's initial surprise, but im also cynical like yn is being in this moment and yeah... idk

• OPEN HONEST DEVASTATING. TAKE A KNIFE THROUGH MY HEART ALREADY THE WAY THOSE THREE WORDS PUNCTURE MY CHEST

• the "how foolish of me" not only meant for the fact that she thought he'd gone into this w pure intentions, but also foolish of herself for believeing he actually wanted to dance w her, that she actually had a chance w him... oh i want to yeet myself off a cliff

• omg the argument btwn yn and hao... tensions were high, im afraid... like idk if chucking a shoe at his face was supposed to be funny but i feel yns fury and the angry tears like i know there were better ways to go abt this, but i am all for female rage!!!

• "the bitterness in ur chest is a wellspring of anguish" OHHHHHH 😭😭😭😭😭 oh 😭 like it's catching up to her now. also, just the fact that hope is so slippery and caused her to make her entire reputation crumble is just... someone give this girl a hug, she was not built for this

• YOU'VE TAKEN SOMETHING PRECIOUS FROM ME???? some might say its her dignity, her reputation, her agency,,,, but we all know what it really was... or who...... i love snarling female rage dialogue

• do u know the taylor swift "right where u left me"? yeah thats this whole next section 😭💔 baby just becomes a ghost who haunts the place she was abandoned and wronged

• THAT LAST LINE IS LIKE THE EXECUTIONER'S PULL ON THE PULLEY TO LET THE GUILLOTINE BLADE FLY. LIKE OH THE POWER OF A SINGLE LINE LIKE THAT

despite knowing what was gonna happen, it still hit so hard, or rather, EVEN HARDER this time 😭😭😭 like my mouth is pulled into a permanent frown skcnekfnjf IM SO SAD FOR HER LIKE I DONT MIND BEING A SPINSTER MYSELF, BUT THE EXPECTATIONS THAT COME W HER SOCIAL STATION WONT ALLOW HER TO BE 😭😭😭 she will forecer be haunted by her choises and foolishness and im so sad for her 😭😭😭 tara, u are a cruel (yet talented...) mistress 😭

i... will be back tmrw... 🥲👍

The Somerset Affair | Chapter 2: When the Music Stops

pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN chapter wc: 8.8k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, crying, mentions of a panic attack (not being able to breathe), eventual smut, more to be added a/n: sorry sorry i know ch 2 took forever // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys this could not have happened without you // 3rd chapter will be up faster than this one i swear!!!

summary: when the music stops and everything goes wrong, will seokmin always be there to defend you?

comment to be tagged when chapters are posted, or join the fic taglist here!

The morning of your debut should have been perfect. Every detail had been painstakingly planned over months, from the delicate lace of your gown to the pearls in your hair. But as you sit in front of your vanity, eyes bloodshot and heavy with fatigue, you know deep in your bones that this day is not destined to go smoothly.

You had stayed up the entire night, restless, thinking about Seokmin. Every word he had said, every smile, every fleeting touch that had seemed so innocent before now felt charged with meaning, occupying your thoughts and stealing away any hope of restful sleep. The result was staring back at you in the mirror: bloodshot eyes, dark circles beneath them, and lips that trembled as your maid worked tirelessly to dress you. It’s a pity – no amount of powders or rouge can hide the exhaustion and heartbreak written plainly across your face.

The soft rustling of your white debutante gown fills the room, each movement whispering of elegance and careful tradition. The gown is a masterful creation, carefully chosen by your mother months ago to reflect the quiet dignity of your family’s name. Its bodice is fitted, meticulously embroidered with the finest ivory threads that weave delicate patterns of lilies and vines across the fabric, adding dimension without overpowering.

Around the neckline, a border of tiny pearls catches the morning light, giving the gown a subtle shimmer that, like everything else about it, speaks of refinement over opulence. The gown’s sleeves, long and sheer, are trimmed in lace as fine as a spider’s web, designed to lay gently against your skin rather than cling, as if even the gown itself recognizes the demands of decorum.

The skirts cascade from the waist in a perfect fall of lace and satin, layers upon layers of gossamer fabric that float with your every step. Each layer, though fragile to the touch, is artfully arranged to maintain the gown’s perfect shape, a testament to the skill of its makers and the patience it took to assemble. At the hem, more intricate lacework peeks out, creating a subtle scalloped edge that brushes softly against the floor, finishing the gown with a grace that echoes the restraint of your mother’s discerning eye.

You cannot deny that the gown itself is a marvel, designed to highlight and enhance rather than dominate. It is beautiful, in the way a rose is beautiful—with an elegance that feels both timeless and delicate, whispering that a lady’s virtue lies in restraint, in never asking to be noticed and yet never failing to command attention.

But the corset. Oh, the corset. It felt as though it were designed to squeeze the very life from you.

“Breathe in, my lady,” your maid instructs, her voice strained from the effort of pulling at the stiff fabric. She pulls at the stays until your ribs protest in pain.

“I can’t breathe in anymore,” you bite out, trying and failing to draw in a proper breath. The corset feels like it’s made of iron, constricting your lungs until your vision begins to blur. “It’s too tight. I— I can’t—”

But your lady’s maid is relentless, ignoring your protests as she cinches you even tighter. She ties the final knot with a satisfied sigh. “There. That should hold.”

Hold? It felt more like it was keeping you prisoner, you think grimly, but before you can voice any more complaints, your mother sweeps into the room, her graceful presence filling the space with a quiet authority. Dressed in an elegant gown of soft gray silk, she pauses to take in your appearance, her sharp eyes noting every detail.

Your mother’s eyes scan your dress approvingly, but when her gaze lands on your face, her expression falters. “Dearest, you look... unwell.”

Your heart sinks. “I didn’t sleep much last night,” you confess, eyes cast downward, though you don’t dare mention why. The last thing you need is your mother knowing Seokmin has occupied your thoughts in such a way.

Your mother sighs softly and moves to stand beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “This day is important, darling. I had hoped you would be well-rested, but...” She trails off, her tone not unkind, but laced with concern. “There is no time now to dwell on it. The Queen waits for no one.”

You nod, feeling a rush of guilt, knowing how much effort has gone into preparing you for this moment. But the weight of the corset and your sleepless night are conspiring to make you feel utterly overwhelmed. Your mother notices, of course. She always does.

“Try not to worry too much,” she says, her voice softening, though it still holds that undercurrent of expectation. “You must keep your chin high, shoulders back. No one need know what little sleep you had. You are beautiful, my dear, no matter the circumstances.”

Her words, though comforting, do little to ease the anxiety building in your chest. But there’s no time left. Your lady’s maid places the final pearl pins in your hair, and your mother gives you a reassuring squeeze before she gestures toward the door. “It’s time.”

Your nerves flutter violently as you’re escorted downstairs and into the awaiting carriage. The ride to the palace feels both endless and far too short. Every bump in the road jostles your already-tight corset, pressing against your ribs and leaving you breathless. The palace is as magnificent as you had heard—no, it’s more. The palace itself is a marvel of architecture, an opulent structure that seems more the work of fantasy than reality. Vaulted ceilings soar impossibly high, held aloft by marble columns adorned with delicate carvings of ivy and mythical creatures that seem to come to life in the flickering candlelight. Every archway is flanked by gilded moldings, winding and curling like golden vines, each detail rendered with the precision of a master sculptor.

Each corner, each angle of the palace seems to lead to something grander than the last, as if it were designed to swallow you whole in beauty. And perhaps it is, you think, as you press a hand over your fluttering heart. For despite the elegance, there is an undeniable sense of intimidation in the sheer scale of it all—a reminder of how small you are in the face of such a place, and of the scrutiny that awaits within these towering, timeworn walls.

You can feel the architecture itself imposing upon you, weighing down like the firm hand of tradition. For a fleeting moment, you imagine yourself wandering through the palace alone, exploring every column and arch, free of the hundreds of eyes upon you. But here, now, with the gaze of history and expectation pressing down, you straighten your shoulders, drawing in a steadying breath, and follow your Mama into the Great Hall. 

The hall is grander than anything you had even dared to imagine. The polished marble floors shine like glass, capturing reflections in delicate ripples that turn the passing gowns of debutantes into pools of lace and silk. Chandeliers hang from above, so immense and dazzling that they appear to drip crystal stars. They illuminate the room with a glow that is almost celestial, casting every inch of the hall in a warmth befitting the Queen herself.

To your right and left, mirrors taller than any man stretch to the ceiling, framed in gold leaf as intricate as lacework. The mirrors hold your gaze as you pass, capturing the girls beside you as they float forward with their mothers, each one a shimmering, blushing vision in white. You see yourself in these mirrors too, and although the gown fits you perfectly, somehow you feel like you’re wearing another’s skin. For a moment, you imagine your reflection whispering back, “Are you really here?”

The walls are covered in the richest velvet, deep greens and ruby reds that somehow make the hall feel even grander, as if you’ve stepped into the very heart of royalty itself. Enormous portraits of past queens and kings line the hall, each gaze strong and serene, as if they’re assessing every girl who dares to walk beneath their painted eyes. Somewhere in your chest, a knot forms and tightens. It’s strange, the feeling of being surrounded by so much opulence, as if the walls are watching, waiting for something that only they understand.

And perhaps that’s why your breath is so unsteady, why your heartbeat seems to echo through the hall in time with your footsteps. The palace, beautiful as it is, leaves you feeling like a creature of some lesser world, an intruder who has somehow wandered into a realm that does not belong to you. It’s not so much a place as a spectacle, a stunning, overbearing reminder of all that you must live up to, of all the scrutiny you’ll face from these grand walls, these glittering chandeliers, and yes, the very Queen herself. Every step feels like you are walking deeper into a lion’s den, where your every move will be scrutinized, your worth as a young lady judged by the sharpest eyes in the kingdom.

You move with the other debutantes, each girl dressed in white, adorned with jewels and delicate veils, the picture of youth and grace. The line seems to stretch forever as you wait your turn to be announced. The air is thick with anticipation, the rustle of satin and silk as the ladies murmur quietly to one another, some excited, others as nervous as you feel. Your own dress, despite its beauty, feels like a trap. The corset restricts your every breath, and the weight of expectation presses on your shoulders like a leaden cloak.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you scan the room, your nerves growing worse by the second. And then, in the far corner, you spot them. Minghao stands with an air of composure, his eyes quietly observing the room, his presence as regal as ever. Your brother watches the proceedings with a detached elegance, his eyes flickering over the debutantes without much interest. His gaze flicks to you, and for a moment, you feel a strange sense of calm knowing your brother is watching.

But next to him, is Seokmin.

He stands taller than most, his posture rigid but his face warm, though tinged with concern. While your brother is a portrait of his birthright and title, Seokmin is different. His gaze is sharper, more intent, and when his eyes find yours, the familiar comfort of his presence makes your heart stutter. You try to remind yourself to breathe, but the memory of his touch, his words, from the night prior clings to you like a shadow.

Seokmin’s expression softens when he sees you, and for a moment, the whole room seems to fall away. His lips quirk in a small, reassuring smile, and though you try to return it, your own face feels tight, your nerves too frayed to muster anything convincing.

As if sensing your unease, Seokmin’s eyes narrow with concern. Does he notice how your corset presses too tightly into your ribs? Or how your eyes are puffy from lack of sleep? The warmth in his gaze is mixed with a flicker of something unreadable, something almost protective. You are painfully aware of his gaze, and the thought of him watching you stumble through this day feels like too much to bear.

The line of debutantes inches forward, each young lady presented with grace and poise, or at least, the appearance of it. Your nerves churn violently in your stomach as your name is finally called. Your mother tightens her grip, ever so slightly, and it’s a silent reminder – You are a Xu. Do not falter. 

“Miss Y/N Xu, sister of the Duke of Somerset,” the herald crows, and every eye in the room fixes on you. “Presented by her mother, the Right Honorable Dowager Duchess of Somerset.”

Your legs feel like jelly as you take your first step forward, your skirts swishing around you. The weight of the gown, the tightness of your corset, and the heavy stares from all corners of the room press down on you. You try to steady your breathing, but the corset refuses to allow for even that small comfort.

Just as you take a step, disaster strikes.

Your heel catches on the hem of your gown.

You stumble forward, arms flailing slightly to catch yourself, but the weight of your skirts and the tightness of your corset make it impossible to recover gracefully. A collective gasp echoes through the room, and you feel your cheeks flush with mortification.

The whispers are instant, rippling through the crowd like wildfire. You can feel the stares—sharp, judgmental, unforgiving. Your mother’s grip tightens, and though she says nothing, you can feel her disapproval radiating through her hold. She doesn’t need to scold you—not in public. But the sting of her disappointment is enough to make you want to shrink into the floor.

Still, you manage to regain your footing, if only barely. You take a shaky breath and continue forward, your knees trembling with each step. But it gets worse. With every move, the corset seems to tighten further, squeezing the breath from your lungs until black spots dance in the corners of your vision.

Just as you’re about to curtsy before the Queen, your knees buckle.

A choking cough rips from your throat, loud and desperate, echoing through the grand hall. You’re bent over at the waist, gasping for breath, your corset pressing tighter with every moment. You cough again, and again, unable to stop, your eyes watering as you struggle to compose yourself.

The Queen, perched on her throne in all her regal glory, watches with a raised eyebrow, her disapproval palpable. Her expression is one of distaste, as if you are a spectacle—an amusing disaster.

Your mother murmurs beside you, “Steady yourself,” and her grip tightens with fury and disappointment in equal measure. It’s too late. Your corset has robbed you of the ability to breathe, and the weight of the entire room’s gaze crushes you. Your vision swims again, and for one horrifying moment, you think you might faint right there in front of the Queen.

Finally, you manage to straighten yourself, gasping for air, your face flushed and tear-streaked. You risk a glance toward the far side of the room, where Minghao and Seokmin still stand.

Minghao’s face is impassive, though his eyes are dark with what could only be disappointment. Seokmin, on the other hand, looks as though he might bolt across the room to help you. His hands clench at his sides, his jaw tight as his eyes flick between you and the Queen.

The Queen’s cold, cutting voice slices through the silence. “Miss Xu,” she says slowly, her tone dripping with disapproval. “It seems you are... unwell.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. You manage a wobbly curtsy, your knees nearly giving out beneath you again as you lower yourself.

“Perhaps Miss Y/N should reconsider her readiness for society,” the Queen continues icily. “A young lady of such delicate constitution may not be suited for the rigors of court.”

Her words land like a blow. You rise slowly, trying to keep your chin held high, though your hands tremble and your vision remains blurry from the humiliation. All you want is for this moment to end. To disappear.

As you retreat, the whispers rise in volume, filling the grand hall with gossip and speculation. You can feel the weight of every gaze on you, every judgment passed in an instant. But it is Seokmin’s gaze that you search for in the crowd. His eyes meet yours, and though they are filled with concern, they are also gentle, understanding. A small comfort in the midst of your disaster.

Your mother, ever composed, whispers to you as she leads you from the room, her voice calm but firm. “We will speak of this later, darling. But for now, we must leave with grace.”

You nod weakly, still too breathless and embarrassed to respond. And as you step out of the grand hall, the day that was supposed to mark your entrance into society feels like anything but. All you can think about is how miserably everything went wrong—and how, even in the midst of it all, Seokmin’s gaze had found yours, steady and unwavering.

The silence presses on as the carriage trundles through the city streets, each wheel hitting the cobbles with a sound like a hammer to your heart. You’re trapped, here in this carriage, with no escape from your mother’s disappointment or the day’s memories—the whispered laughter, the blunder before the Queen, and the sheer, unbearable heat of your mortification.

Minghao’s hand rests over yours for only a heartbeat, but it’s enough to keep you from crumbling entirely. Though he releases your hand quickly to avoid Mama’s watchful eye, the gesture is enough to ground you, pulling you back to this place instead of letting you spiral into all the things you could have, should have done differently.

At last, your mother clears her throat, a carefully composed sound that cuts through the quiet like a knife.

“Well,” she says, her voice clipped and precise, “that was… quite the spectacle.” Her tone is a blend of disappointment and a tight, forced restraint. “I had hoped, naturally, for a… more dignified presentation.”

You swallow, feeling the flush of embarrassment burn anew. “I—” you start, but the words catch, failing under the weight of everything you wish to explain and the knowledge that no explanation will undo what’s done.

She adjusts her gloves with a sharp, precise tug, a calculated movement that somehow manages to convey her frustration without a single word. “I trust,” she begins slowly, every syllable measured, “that you understand the gravity of today’s events.”

You swallow, focusing on the intricate embroidery of your gown, tracing the delicate threads to distract yourself from the pressing sting of her words.

“Mother, I—” you stammer, but she holds up a gloved hand, silencing you before the words even form.

“We spent months preparing for this moment,” she continues, her voice tight with restrained emotion. “Months, to ensure you would have the debut any young lady of our family should. Your dress, your bearing, every detail was attended to so you would represent us with grace, with decorum. And yet, today…” She trails off, her eyes gliding over you with a look that could curdle milk.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Minghao interjects quietly, and though his tone is gentle, there’s a faint edge to his words, as though even he cannot quite hold back his defense. He shoots a quick, sidelong glance at you, a small, reluctant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The Queen’s hall was suffocating, and the entire affair was clearly designed to unnerve anyone in attendance.”

Your mother’s expression softens just a fraction as she regards her son, but she’s hardly swayed. “The Queen’s hall has been the site of countless debuts. If anything, the occasion called for composure, not… fainting spells.”

You clench your fists, the fabric of your dress twisting between your fingers, and look resolutely at the floor. As painful as it is to hear, you know your mother is not entirely wrong. Today was supposed to be your moment of triumph, the day you stepped forward as a young woman ready for society, carrying your family’s reputation with poise and dignity.

But instead, you remember the heat that had pressed in from all sides, the feeling of your corset cutting into your ribs, how your hands had trembled with each step. It was supposed to have been an easy task, to walk forward, cursty, and meet the Queen’s gaze with calm respect. And yet, you had felt every gaze upon you like a burn, each stumble echoing through the endless hall. And then, Seokmin’s eyes finding yours, calm and steady…

The memory stirs something warm within you, a faint flicker of relief that somehow dampens the embarrassment. The Queen’s gaze may have been unyielding, your mother’s disappointment all-consuming, but for that one moment, you had felt tethered, no longer alone.

Outside, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the city as the carriage continues its steady roll homeward. The silence stretches again, and the weight of it settles around you like an invisible veil. Minghao catches your eye, and though he says nothing, the look he gives you speaks volumes—a quiet reassurance, a reminder that this one day does not define you, that he still believes in you despite every misstep.

Your mother finally sighs, a faint softening in her shoulders. “We’ll regroup,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “There will be more opportunities, of course, but we’ll need to be mindful, thoughtful. A second chance may not be as kind.” She glances at you, and though her expression remains stern, there’s a glimmer of something almost like understanding.

The carriage ride stretches on in silence once more, each of you lost in thoughts. You glance out the window, watching the city roll by, lanterns casting fleeting golden glows against the carriage walls. It feels surreal, how a day so longed for turned into a series of mishaps, one after another. But as the carriage rounds a corner, you catch a memory from earlier: Seokmin’s eyes, grounding you, unwavering, somehow knowing how terrifying each step felt, how every misstep seemed amplified beneath the weight of so many watching.

As the carriage wheels finally begin to slow, approaching the gates of your family estate, you feel a shift within yourself. Today may have been a disaster, and yet, Seokmin’s gaze and Minghao’s quiet support linger, like small anchors in the storm of the day.

The drawing room is a sanctuary of elegance, its ornate moldings and rich fabrics designed to impress. Tall windows frame the view of the manicured gardens outside, sunlight pouring through in golden streams that dance across the polished wooden floor. Yet, despite the beauty surrounding you, it feels more like a gilded cage today. The delicate scent of lavender from the nearby vase does little to soothe the turmoil within.

You sit hunched over a needlepoint project, your fingers fumbling with the bright threads that feel foreign against your skin. The canvas before you, a swirl of colors and patterns, seems to mock your inability to focus. Your mind wanders far beyond the needlework, replaying the events of your disastrous debut like a never-ending nightmare. Each time you think of it, a fresh wave of humiliation washes over you, sharp and unyielding, like a thorn that refuses to dislodge itself from your heart.

“Goodness, how is one expected to focus with this nonsense?” you mutter under your breath, the needle slipping from your fingers yet again and leaving a careless knot in the thread. You curse softly, frustration bubbling to the surface.

Your mother sits comfortably in her armchair, her brow slightly furrowed as she loses herself in the pages of a novel, the rustle of paper punctuating the silence. Minghao lounges on the settee across from you, flipping through a collection of sketches, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement at his artistic efforts. Every so often, his gaze flickers towards you, a mixture of concern and curiosity etched into his features, but he respects your silence, understanding that you are still recovering from the scarring events of your debut into polite society.

Just then, the door swings open, and Seokmin steps into the room, his presence a burst of light that seems to chase away the shadows clinging to your thoughts. It has been years since the butler last announced his arrival—his visits are far too frequent now, and you can’t help but feel a mix of warmth and apprehension at his entrance. His usually buoyant demeanor is tempered by a trace of concern as he takes in the scene before him, the way your shoulders droop as if weighed down by invisible chains.

“Good morning!” he declares, his voice bright yet careful, testing the waters of your melancholy. “I do hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all,” your mother replies, glancing up from her book, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “In fact, you may be just what our dear girl needs.”

You offer a small, half-hearted smile, the corners of your lips barely lifting. “And what would that be? A distraction or a dose of reality?”

Seokmin approaches, his smile as warm as the sunlight flooding the room. “A bit of both, if you’ll allow me.” He perches himself on the arm of your chair, leaning in just enough to draw your focus from the needlepoint chaos. “That was quite the debut you had, dear friend. How are you holding up?”

“Barely,” you sigh, tossing the errant needlepoint aside as if it were the source of all your woes. “I feel as if I’ve stumbled through a door marked ‘exit’ into an abyss of mortification.”

His eyes widen with sympathy, and in that moment, your heart flutters, torn between admiration and the painful reality that he may never feel the same. Seokmin has a way of making the world feel lighter, yet your feelings for him are a weight that often threatens to pull you under.

“Ah, yes,” he nods sagely, as if you have just shared the most profound wisdom. “The abyss of polite society can be quite unforgiving. I believe it’s marked with ‘no entrance’ signs, but alas, they are easily overlooked.”

Minghao chuckles softly, his attention now fully diverted from his sketches. “You do have a gift for exaggeration, Seokmin.”

“It’s a talent,” Seokmin replies, feigning an air of grandeur, his hand pressing dramatically to his heart. “But truly, do not let the Queen’s judgment define you. You are far too radiant for that.”

You snort, the sound escaping before you can suppress it. “Radiant? Is that what you call it when one trips over their own gown and nearly faints in front of our sovereign?”

“Why, yes! A splendid display of athleticism!” he shoots back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ve inadvertently entertained a room full of people—something they are certain to remember for ages.”

“But not in the way I had hoped,” you reply, frustration seeping into your voice as the memory of the evening flashes before your eyes, a storm of embarrassment churning within you.

“Ah, but hope can be a slippery creature,” he counters, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “What matters is how you choose to move forward. I have heard of many a lady whose debut was marred by similar accidents—yet they rise from the ashes like phoenixes, dazzling everyone with their resilience.”

“Is that your way of saying I should make a grand return to society?” You raise an eyebrow, your heart flickering with the suggestion. “Perhaps adorned in feathers and sequins to distract from my previous mistake?”

“I’d be the first to support such a feat,” he replies earnestly, the sincerity in his voice a soothing balm for your frayed nerves. But beneath your amusement lies an aching truth: his encouragement only highlights the chasm between your feelings and his indifference. He will never look at you the way you long for.

“Yes, Lord Lee, what a wonderful idea!” your mother exclaims, her book long forgotten. “The Fitzwilliam Ball is to be held in the coming weeks—what a splendid way for our darling girl to re-enter society!”

Your face falls. A ball? So soon? The very thought sends a tremor of panic racing through you. “Mama, I—”

“Yes, Mother, a splendid idea indeed,” Minghao muses, a teasing glint in his eye. When you turn your glare to him, he sticks his tongue out meanly, and Seokmin suppresses a chuckle.

You take a deep breath, fighting against the swell of anxiety rising in your chest. “I’m not certain I’m ready for another ball, not after—” you start, but the words die on your lips as Seokmin’s gaze locks onto yours. His expression is gentle yet determined, a silent encouragement that stirs something deep within you.

“Ready or not, life moves on,” he says softly, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “You have to take the reins, even if the prospect is daunting.”

You want to believe him, to embrace his unwavering optimism, but doubt gnaws at you. Can you truly face another crowd, the whispers, the judgment? Your heart flutters erratically, caught in a tempest of affection and despair. Seokmin’s eyes shine with an earnestness that quickens your pulse, yet it only reminds you of the gulf that lies between your feelings and his casual indifference.

“Life indeed moves on,” you echo, your voice barely above a whisper, more to yourself than to anyone else. “But what if I stumble again? What if I make an even greater fool of myself?”

Seokmin’s smile falters for just a moment, replaced by a flicker of understanding that cuts through the air like a knife. “We all stumble, but that’s how we learn to rise,” he replies, his tone steady yet soft. “And besides, I’ll be there. I promise I’ll help you navigate any disaster.”

His words wrap around you like a lifeline, a flicker of hope igniting your heart. But as the warmth of his promise settles in, a cold weight begins to press upon you. You look into his eyes, searching for something more, but find only the steadfast gaze of a friend—someone who would catch you if you fell, but only as a friend.

“Right,” you murmur, the pain of acceptance settling in your chest like a stone, heavy and unyielding, a reminder of the distance between you.

The late evening light filters softly through the sheer curtains of your room, casting a warm glow that barely reaches the pile of books haphazardly stacked beside your bed. These books, filled with tales of love and adventure, have provided a much-needed refuge from the reality of your recent debut. For days now, you’ve chosen to cocoon yourself in their comforting embrace, avoiding the whispers and curious glances of society that followed you after your disastrous introduction.

You had resolutely refused to attend any of the society events your mother deemed essential—the lady’s tea, with its orchestrated conversations and veiled judgments, or the garden party, where laughter seemed to echo around you while you felt only isolation. The thought of facing the same debutantes, the same mamas, their glances lingering a moment too long on you, made your stomach churn. Instead, you preferred the solace of your room, the pages of your books offering both distraction and comfort as you lost yourself in worlds far removed from the judgmental eyes of the ton.

But tonight, your mother is insistent. At last, the Fitzwilliam Ball is upon you, and you have no escape from your mother’s gentle chiding. “Darling,” she calls gently, her voice a melody that pulls you from the pages of your latest escape. The delicate scent of lavender wafts through the air as she steps into the room, her presence commanding yet warm. It is an unusual moment—your lady’s maid typically oversees your dressing, managing the layers of fabric and the intricate details of your ensemble. But today, it is your mother who steps into that role, a significant act that carries with it the weight of her affection and a chance to bridge the gap that your previous missteps had created.

“It’s time to get ready, my dear,” she says, her tone gentle but firm, as she approaches your wardrobe. As she opens the doors, the sight of your gown hanging inside takes your breath away.

The dress, an ethereal creation of lavender silk, shimmers like moonlight trapped in fabric. The bodice is adorned with intricate embroidery that depicts delicate vines and blossoms, each stitch telling a story of artistry and care. The sleeves are fitted, with lace cascading down to create a soft ruffle at the wrist, and the skirt flows in layers, each tier of lace and silk billowing like clouds as it moves. It is a gown befitting a princess, meticulously designed to showcase your family’s esteemed standing while allowing a hint of youthful exuberance to shine through.

“This gown is truly magnificent,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the embroidered flowers as your mother gently lifts it from the wardrobe. “I can’t believe you chose it yourself.”

“Of course, I did. It’s time for your grand re-entrance to society, after all,” she replies, a smile dancing on her lips as she helps you into the gown. The fabric wraps around you like a dream, soft and luxurious, but as your mother laces the bodice, the realization of how tightly it pulls leaves you breathless. Each tug of the laces feels like a reminder of the expectations that have come to define you, but your mother’s presence softens the edges of that pressure.

Yet, it is not discomfort that fills the room. Instead, the sounds of your mother’s laughter and intelligence wrap themselves around you. Your mother’s hands are gentle as she fastens each lace, her fingers brushing against your skin in a manner that reassures you. The stern disappointment of your debut, where you felt like a shadow beneath the weight of expectations, seems to dissipate, replaced by her usual grace and kindness. As she works, her voice drifts like a melody, recounting stories from her own youth, her laughter echoing softly against the mirror as if the memories bring light to the room.

With every loop of ribbon and every gentle tug, she weaves a tapestry of love and support, a tangible reminder that tonight is not merely a duty but a celebration of who you are. As she arranges your hair into an elegant updo, delicately weaving in pearl pins that glimmer like stars, you catch a glimpse of the woman she has always been beneath the layers of propriety. The warmth of her presence washes over you, igniting a flicker of hope that perhaps tonight will mark a new beginning.

“Are you ready?” she asks, stepping back to admire her handiwork, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.

“I suppose as ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, taking a moment to admire your reflection. The gown transforms you into a vision of beauty, yet beneath the surface, you feel a tempest of uncertainty swirling within you.

“Now, let’s see what your brother thinks.” Your mother gestures toward the door, and as you descend the staircase, your heart quickens with every step.

At the foot of the stairs, Minghao waits patiently, the embodiment of duty and familial pride. His presence, regal and calm, adds to the moment’s gravity. Dressed in a tailored coat that accentuates his stature, he stands as the dutiful son and duke, ready to escort both you and your mother to the ball. The contrast between his composed demeanor and your own fluttering heart is stark, yet comforting. As you make your way down the stairs, your mother’s gentle squeeze of your hand gives you a modicum of strength, each step drawing you closer to the world outside that awaits your return.

“Sister,” Mighao greets, mirth dancing in his eyes. “I suppose if tonight is your big night, this gown does not offend the eyes.”

“Minghao!” Your mother’s rebuke is instant, a gentle reprimand that lightens the atmosphere with her authority.

“For goodness’ sake, brother,” you admonish, donning a façade of false bravado to hide the anxiety swirling within. “It seems as if you would simply keel over before you ever paid me a proper compliment!” You attempt to feign indignation, but the corners of your mouth betray you with the hint of a smile.

As you reach the bottom step, he extends his arm, a silent invitation to escort both you and your mother to the ball. It’s a gesture of duty, but there’s an undertone of affection that brings warmth to your heart. He may be the dutiful son and duke, poised and impeccably dressed in his tailored attire, but in this moment, he is simply your brother—standing beside you as a steadfast protector against the uncertainties of the evening ahead.

Your mother glances at both of you, her eyes sparkling with pride and a hint of nostalgia. “Shall we?” she prompts, her voice carrying a note of excitement that sends a flutter through your stomach.

With a deep breath, you take Minghao’s arm, feeling the reassuring strength of his presence as he leads you both toward the waiting carriage. The air outside is brisk, filled with the scent of blooming jasmine and the distant hum of music preparing to fill the grand halls. Each step you take resonates with the rhythm of your heartbeat, a mix of trepidation and hope.

As you settle into the plush interior of the carriage, the door closes with a soft click, sealing you away from the familiar confines of home and ushering you into a world of possibility. The grandeur of the evening awaits, and as the carriage rolls forward, the cobblestones beneath you echo with the anticipation of what’s to come.

You can’t shake the feeling that this night holds the promise of something new—perhaps redemption, or at the very least, the opportunity to reclaim your place among the society that had once felt so cruel. As the carriage sways gently with each turn, you steal a glance at your mother and brother, their expressions a blend of excitement and encouragement. In this moment, surrounded by their unwavering support, you begin to believe that maybe, just maybe, tonight could be different.

Fate is certainly a cruel mistress—despite your greatest hopes, the ball is positively dismal.

The ballroom is every bit as grand as you’d imagined—no, grander. Chandeliers dripping with golden light cascade overhead, casting a warm, ethereal glow over the polished marble floor. The air is thick with the intoxicating scent of roses and jasmine, mingling with the lively music of the orchestra, where violins soar and the occasional trill of laughter punctuates the harmony. Silks and satins swirl in every direction as the season’s debutantes twirl with their suitors, their gowns a riot of color that makes you feel like a ghost in comparison.

But none of it feels as magical as you once thought it would. Instead, you stand to the side, clutching the silk of your gown, its intricate lace and delicate pearls feeling like a weight rather than a luxury. Your mother had ensured that every stitch was perfect, every detail immaculate, to help erase the memory of your disastrous debut. Yet, it hasn’t worked. The whispers haven’t stopped. Even here, amidst the splendor, you can feel the gazes sliding over you, only to dart away, as if your very presence is a reminder of your failure.

The other debutantes are radiant, their smiles bright as they are swept onto the dance floor by handsome, eligible gentlemen. But you... you might as well be invisible.

Your heart sinks as you watch them, a heavy weight settling in your chest. This is meant to be a night of joy and celebration, yet you feel like a fragile glass ornament left behind, forgotten in the bustle of a festive occasion. The laughter and music create a vibrant tapestry of life around you, but inside, you’re drowning in a sea of insecurity and self-doubt.

Just when despair threatens to envelop you entirely, a presence beside you breaks through the haze. Seokmin, as effortlessly charming as ever, sidles up, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “Quite the spectacle, isn’t it?” he remarks, his voice low so only you can hear. “I’m certain some of these mamas could lead an army with the way they maneuver their daughters.”

You blink at him, surprised by his lightheartedness. Despite the heat of embarrassment burning your cheeks, a smile pulls at your lips, momentarily pushing aside the shadows clouding your heart.

Before you can respond, he holds his hand out to you, a silent invitation, and for a moment, you hesitate. Seokmin, who could have any lady in the room, is asking you to dance? Your heart stutters, a wild flutter of hope mingling with anxiety, and you glance around, acutely aware of the whispers beginning to stir again. People are noticing the exchange, their eyes narrowing in speculation. But Seokmin stands before you, his hand outstretched, waiting with an easy confidence that momentarily disarms you.

With a deep breath, you place your gloved hand in his, and he leads you to the center of the ballroom as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The moment your feet hit the floor, however, the murmurs begin in earnest, slicing through the enchantment that had briefly settled around you.

“Isn’t that the girl?” someone whispers, just loud enough for you to hear. “The one who fainted?”

“I’d heard,” another voice chimes in, “that no one would ask her to dance. Poor dear, but what did she expect after such a performance?”

You keep your eyes firmly fixed on Seokmin, but each word is like a needle, sharp and painful, pricking at your composure. The worst of it comes when you catch sight of one of the mamas, her face set in a smirk as she whispers to her daughter—the same daughter you had once taken pianoforte lessons with. The girl lets out a small, mean-spirited laugh, and your stomach twists, the laughter echoing like a death toll.

The memory of your debut hangs over you like a dark cloud, heavy and suffocating. Your embarrassment simmers, threatening to boil over. The murmurs become unbearable, and instinctively, you move to pull away from Seokmin, ready to flee. But before you can, his grip tightens, firm but gentle.

“Leaving so soon?” he teases, his voice low and playful, a lifeline in the midst of the storm. “Didn’t your mama teach you it’s bad manners to leave in the middle of a dance?”

You try to focus on his words, on the feel of his hand in yours, but it’s no use. You feel like every eye is on you, dissecting your every movement, judging, whispering, laughing. Seokmin is a shield, but he can’t block all the venom aimed at you.

“I can’t—” you begin, your voice thick with emotion, but Seokmin cuts you off.

He reaches up, loosening a perfectly pinned curl from your hair, letting it fall gently by your cheek. His eyes are soft, almost tender, and in that moment, you feel something flutter to life in your chest. “Eyes on me, Tulip,” he murmurs, and the way he says it—so calm, so sure—makes your heart skip a beat.

For the briefest moment, you think he might love you. That despite the gossip, despite the humiliation, Seokmin sees you—the girl beneath the debutante, the one who has admired him from afar for so long. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Minghao. He stands by the edge of the ballroom, watching. And then—he nods. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but Seokmin notices, and he nods back.

Your blood runs cold.

You blink up at Seokmin, the warmth in your chest turning to ice. “Did you do this because Minghao asked you to?” The words slip out before you can stop them, low and desperate, laced with betrayal.

Seokmin’s brow furrows. “Do what?”

“This. The dance.” You glance around at the swirling crowd, the eyes that have never left you. “The attention. Did you ask me because he wanted you to? To salvage my prospects?”

His confusion is genuine, but the truth is written in his face—open, honest, and devastating. He hesitates, and it’s all you need to know.

“Damn you,” you whisper, voice shaking with fury and hurt. His eyes widen, shocked by the venom in your voice, the curse slipping from your lips like something foreign. “Damn you, Lee Seokmin.”

“Y/N—” he starts, his voice softening, trying to explain, to defend himself. But you don’t give him the chance.

“I thought,” you continue, the words tumbling out in a rush, “I thought you asked me because you wanted to, not because you were told to. I thought you held me in higher regard than this.” You laugh bitterly, a sound that catches in your throat. “How foolish of me.”

The onlookers are whispering more now, their curiosity piqued by the tension in the air, the way your voice trembles with barely contained emotion. But you don’t care. You’re done caring.

With a mocking curtsy, you drop your hands from his and step back. “My lord,” you say, dripping with sarcasm, “I do apologize for any inconvenience to your social standing.”

Seokmin’s eyes widen, panic flashing in them as he realizes the gravity of your words, the weight of what you’re about to do. “Y/N, wait—”

But you don’t wait. You turn on your heel and stalk toward the ballroom’s exit, your skirts swirling around you in a flurry of lilac silk and lace, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. The gasps and murmurs of the guests fade into the background as you flee, your vision blurred with unshed tears.

Behind you, Seokmin’s voice calls out, desperate, pleading. “Y/N, please—stay—”

But you don’t look back. You run.

The chill of the night air bites at your skin as you emerge from the grand ballroom, the sounds of the festivities quickly swallowed by the night. Minghao is hot on your heels, and you hear the familiar click of his shoes echoing against the cobblestone streets. As you enter the carriage, your fury erupts like a dam breaking.

“How dare you meddle in my life?” you exclaim, the words bursting forth with a fervor that sends a shiver down your spine. The tears spill over, mingling with the delicate fabric, each droplet a testament to your exasperation. “I wish to be left alone!”

Minghao, ever the picture of serene composure, raises an eyebrow, though his calm demeanor only serves to ignite your temper further. “I’m only trying to help you, dear sister,” he replies, his voice as soothing as a summer breeze.

“Help? Is that what you call this? You think I’m some delicate flower that requires your constant tending?” Your heart beats faster, each pulse an echo of your indignation. “You are not my keeper, Minghao!”

He opens his mouth, surely to deliver some well-meaning retort, but you are not in the mood for restraint. “You think I can’t manage my own affairs? That I need you to dictate who I should associate with? Let me remind you, I am not a child!”

In a fit of fury, you throw one of your shoes toward him, the delicate slipper soaring through the air; Minghao ducks just in time, the shoe landing with a soft thud against the carriage wall.

“Is this truly your idea of a civilized discussion?” he remarks, feigning offense. “Throwing footwear instead of engaging in rational discourse? My, how you’ve mastered the art of temper tantrums!”

“Better to throw a shoe than to be lectured like a schoolgirl!” you counter, your voice rising to match his. “You presume to know what is best for me, but you are merely reflecting your own apprehensions! You have no concept of my struggles!”

Minghao’s brow furrows, and for a fleeting moment, his expression softens, as if he might relent. But then he leans forward, his voice low and fervent. “And you believe that sulking in the corner will resolve anything? You are only isolating yourself further!”

“Perhaps I wish to be alone!” you declare, your voice ringing with defiance, the words spilling out like water from a broken dam. “Perhaps I grow weary of this charade, that everything is perfect when it is most decidedly not!”

A tense silence envelops the carriage, the air thick with unspoken words. You both breathe heavily, the conflict hanging between you like a fine silk thread ready to snap. The rest of the ride is steeped in a heavy silence, each passing moment thickening the air with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You lean against the plush seat of the carriage, your gaze fixed on the world outside. The blurred lights of the city flicker past, dimming into the encroaching darkness, and with each glimmer that fades from view, a piece of your heart seems to shatter.

Inside, your thoughts spiral. Betrayal gnaws at you like a ravenous beast, devouring any remnants of confidence you had managed to muster before the ball. Seokmin was supposed to be your ally in this fight, your so-called “loyal servant”; a beacon of warmth amidst hushed whispers. Yet now, as the reality settles in, you realize he is merely Minghao's friend, not yours. 

How could you have been so naïve? Your mind races back to moments you once cherished: the laughter shared over private nicknames, the comfort of his presence when you felt small and insignificant. He had danced with you, yes, but it had been an act of duty, an obligation to your brother, not a genuine desire to hold you close. You had hoped, foolishly, that he might look beyond your failed debut, that he might understand the person beneath the gown and lace. Yet here you are, reduced to a mere pawn in a game you didn’t even want to play.

A sob catches in your throat, but you swallow it down. Instead, you grip the edges of your gown tightly, feeling the intricate lace and delicate pearls dig into your palms, until you are sure you will have bruises in the morning.

How could Seokmin have allowed himself to be used this way? Did he not care enough to stand by you when it mattered most? He had seen you, yes, but only through the lens of loyalty to Minghao, not as the woman you wished to be, not as the friend you had thought he saw.

By the time the carriage arrives at your home, the bitterness in your chest is a wellspring of anguish. The vibrant ball is now a distant memory, a dream turned nightmare, and all you can do is silently mourn the friendship you thought would endure. You glance at Minghao, his face set in a mask of determination, oblivious to the storm of emotion swirling inside you.

As you step out of the carriage, he follows closely behind, his footsteps heavy with regret. “Y/N,” he begins, his voice low and earnest, “I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought—”

You cut him off, spinning to face him, your expression fierce with hurt. “It’s too late, brother,” you declare, the words like shards of glass spilling from your lips. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You’ve ruined everything.”

His eyes widen, a mixture of shock and remorse flooding his features. “I never meant to hurt you—”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant!” you snap, frustration and pain intertwining in a chaotic dance. “You acted without thinking. You’ve taken something precious from me.”

Minghao opens his mouth to argue, to defend himself, but the words die on his lips. The truth hangs in the air, heavy and palpable, as the reality of your fractured trust settles between you.

For the rest of the season, you do your best to blend into the walls at every ball, and you succeed. You become a shadow flitting between vibrant gowns and boisterous laughter. Each event becomes a blur of swirling colors and muffled sounds. You move quietly, navigating the sea of opulence with a heavy heart, wearing a mask of indifference that hides the turmoil brewing just beneath the surface.

You linger in corners, your fingers tracing the intricate patterns of wallpaper as if seeking solace in their delicate designs. The bright chandeliers above cast their warm glow on the happy couples swirling in perfect harmony, while you remain firmly anchored in your solitude, an invisible wall erected around your heart. You watch as others twirl and laugh, and your heart aches for Seokmin’s easy companionship, the lively conversations and playful banter that now feel like a distant memory.

With each passing ball, the weight of your isolation grows heavier. Minghao’s well-intentioned apologies echo in your mind, but their impact fades against the reality of your existence. You’ve become an expert at deflecting curious gazes, practicing the art of blending in so well that the laughter and music seem to wash over you like water off a duck’s back.

But it is Seokmin’s absence that echoes loudest in your heart. He might have always been your brother’s best friend, but you had hoped he would be something more—something real. As the music swells, the realization settles heavily on your shoulders: you are utterly, irrevocably alone.

Seokmin doesn’t ask you to dance again for the rest of the season. 

Tagging: @kibs-and-bits@moondustmemories@shinwonderful@ivehypnosis@gwend0lyne @thestoryofana13 @mellowamour @blissedjoon @begentlewithme-please @xabsolutelynothingx @reiofsuns2001 @mngyulvrs @mooniewrld @archivistworld @lexyraeworld @ateez-atiny380 @walkinganxiety01 @lovecleastrange

[roger-that-cap]

meet me in the gardens

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say not to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected your knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either. 

warnings: lots of emotions, feelings, slightly cynical and bitter reader- she’s honestly just being a realist, we are chugging forward, did not check for typos, format could be fucked up bc i’m posting from my phone quite literally minutes before i clock in- PATHETIC LMAO

word count: 2.7k

this is a short chapter by my standards, but it felt long to me because of the things in it??? this is part five! all other parts can be found on my masterlist, it’s my pinned post!

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Wanda asked while she tied your corset, not even needing to ask whether it was too tight or loose. You looked up in your vanity and immediately tried to wipe your smile away, but it was too late. She knew you better than anyone, and she had yet to see a thoughtful smile on your face, ever. Pietro, who had caught you going back inside the previous night, caught on to the fact that you looked more carefree, and that you just seemed to look like you were carrying around less. 

“Nothing.” 

“Hmm,” Wanda hummed, an entertained look on her face. Something told you that she already had an idea of what was going on, even though there was no way she could have. Besides, you hardly even knew what was going on. “I’ll ask again later.” She looked you in the eyes through the mirror, a slightly mischievous smile on her face. “Maybe then you’ll tell the truth,” she said, flicking you on the side of the head, and then letting it rest.

§§

Natasha was out in the village doing whatever it was the knights did one night, and she was planning on spending the night at a bed and breakfast before coming back in the morning. As disheartened as you were about not being able to see her for your stargazing, you were partly glad for it. You missed being with the twins. 

You had dinner with them alone, sitting and laughing about old memories and scheduling times to make new ones together. You loved the way you could be with them. Your laughter was allowed to go over the volume of a giggle without them looking at you like you had grown seven heads, your silverware were allowed to take a tumble onto your plate with a clatter without a second glance, and you were allowed to use whatever language you pleased. You missed the comfort that you felt with them, the comfort that your brain and the part of you that would always be the farm girl felt with them. 

“And Pietro chased him all the way off, you should have seen how terrified he was,” Wanda recapped, and you couldn't help but grin at Pietro, who was sipping wine with his charming grin. “That boy will never lift another skirt, I can assure you of that.” 

“I’m glad,” you mused, shooting Pietro a look that made him laugh. 

“Enough about me,” he said after swallowing a sip of his wine that was much more like a gulp. “We’re not going to talk about how you’ve been walking on the clouds for weeks now?” 

You nearly dropped your fork again. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve both realized,” Pietro said, motioning with his buttered knife towards his sister, who had a soft smile on her face as she observed your reaction. “That you have been significantly happier. Even with the circumstances-”

“Pietro,” Wanda hissed, but you just snorted and shook your head. 

“It’s like you found your own little pocket of happiness. We were worried about you, but, you’re doing alright.” Ever the blatant one out of the three of you, he leaned forward with his trademark smirk, eyes full of curiosity. “What do you know that we don't?” 

You hesitated for a second, mouth opening and closing twice as you grappled for anything to say, even a lie. And then, you settled on just shrugging your shoulders with a grin, shaking your head. “Honestly, Pietro, I know nothing. I don’t know anything.”

§§

Your heart was beating faster than normal as you looked at the woman next to you, your hand subconsciously itching closer to hers as you sat on the ground, ass on the blanket that you had brought out.  “I would like to… show you something.” 

It was probably the twentieth time that you and Natasha had met with each other, and still, you were entranced by her and everything that she did.  And you were entranced while you stared at her and waited for her answer, just a little nervous as to what she would say. 

As if she would ever say no to something you said. 

“Show me anything you’d like me to see,” Natasha urged on, and you fought back a smile. You stood up, and she did the same, and then you were picking up the blanket and walking side by side with her. It was quiet the entire way there as you walked in step with her, hand brushing against her every few steps and sending tingles down your arm every time it happened. 

The feeling that you got when she touched you made you feel both alive and scared to death. You weren’t stupid. You knew what you were steadily collecting more than friendly feelings for her, and that she may have been on the same page you were on. The game you were playing was a dangerous one, the risk threatening to swallow up the reward more and more by the day. 

You had known that being with her by yourself was bad judgement, ever since the first time you did it. Hell, the look you gave her the first time you met her was far from appropriate. Every single conversation that you had with her was a risk, and both of you knew it. And now that your soon-to-be husband was approaching, it was even more scandalous. No one knew and you hoped no one would ever find out, but hiding forever wasn’t a choice. But what would you be hiding if there were no true feelings? 

You hated yourself for falling for her and her pretty words. 

“I used to come here to escape,” you started, pulling yourself out of your thoughts, voice low as you passed the tree line to get into the thick of the woods. You narrowly missed stepping in a particularly muddy spot on the ground. “This was my spot, before I got the garden of course.”

“The woods?” 

“No, Nat,” you said, slightly amused as you stepped over a fallen branch. You smiled a bit when the sound of running water hit your ears.  “The stream.” 

You knew the exact second that she saw it, because her eyes widened and her breath hitched.  “That’s not a stream, that’s a river.”

“It’s the forgotten part of the main river,” you explained. “It’s much skinnier and more shallow, and it doesn't have nearly as much fish coming through, so people forget about it.” You looked towards her and saw how intrigued she was by it, so you judged her armor free body with a slight smirk. “What? Never seen running water?”

“I lived in the capital, all they had was the ocean. And even then I was never allowed on the harbor if I wasn’t selling clams, and I didn’t sell clams much.”

You felt silence start to grow between the two of you, so you said the first thing that you thought of. “You don’t look like a clam seller.” 

He looked away from the river and to you, a slight grin on her face even as she talked again. “And you don’t look like a petal kisser, blossom, but look where we are today.”

Your heart raced in your chest. “Blossom? Is that what you’re calling me now?” 

“It’s only payback for calling me ‘cherry’,” she said, and you stifled a laugh at the retired name, glancing up at the red hair that you had gotten inspiration from.  

“You didn’t actually mind it,” you said, looking off into the distance, only looking back at her when a warm hand slotted over yours. You blinked and looked down at your hands, which she had intertwined, and then back up at her again, only to see that she was staring straight ahead in the dark at the way the moonlight hit the water. 

“How could I?” She asked softly, a subtle breeze picking up.”You were the one saying it.” She looked at you, and in the dim lighting, you could have sworn that her eyes were saying, you can call me anything in the book, and I will own it proudly. And then, the look changed to something else, something less devoting, and something more passionate. It took you a few seconds to understand what the look meant, and before you could fully register it, she was leaning forward. 

A few seconds came and went where you could feel your heartbeat all over, and you tried to look somewhere other than in her eyes. You couldn't. “Don’t look at me like that.” When all Natasha did was tilt her head to the side and give you an even more intense version of the look, you let out a small sigh. “Please.”

“Why not?” 

She knew why. She knew why probably better than you did after living in the capital. She saw what happened firsthand to people who committed crimes, and those who committed second degree adultery. If you two did what you were wanting to do with your entire heart, you would fall right into that category. “I know where this is going,” you said softly, “and this won’t end well.” 

“Why not?” She asked again, and you turned your head to the side, shaking it slightly and closing your eyes. 

“Because, I’m about to get married,” you hissed, and though you didn’t mean to sound so angry, you did. Natasha was hardly affected. 

She lifted her arms and let them fall against her clothing with a soft slap that still echoed in the night. “You’re not married right now.” 

“But I will be, Natasha,” you said, gripping her hands and squeezing  them softly, begging for her to understand you. “What’s going to happen when I get married to a man who already has a streak for murdering his wives, and he finds out that I have feelings for you? He’ll kill me. He’ll kill you. And if he doesn’t, we’ll both be hung for adultery, after being put into torture camps for being… together as women.” 

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Y/N, you know that.” The fervency in her tone nearly shocked you as she took a bold step forward, nearly surrounding you in her scent and energy. “I would never let anything happen to you.” 

“You’re too important for me to condemn to death and dishonor just because I have feelings for you. It was selfish of me to meet with you in the first place, but I can’t let myself do this. It’s a bad idea,” You said, voice hushed even though no one would have followed you. You were trembling, hand shaking more than anything else as you tried to understand how fast everything was moving; forward and backwards, sewing together and ripping apart all the same. If you were any more attentive to her expression, you would have seen the grin that lit up her face as your confession. “We were just about to cross a line. We’ve crossed quite a few dotted ones, but this one? It is bold and blaring.” 

“Blossom,” Natasha started, and you just shook your head and kept going. 

“And-and what we were just about to do? That crosses the line. We cannot.” 

“Do you really think my feelings for you are going to change depending on whether or not we kiss?” She asked, her voice slightly deeper than usual, almost sounding insulted. “You’re telling me to close my heart off from you, not to not kiss you. And you know that.”  

“What if I am?” You asked, eyes starting to burn with tears. “I’m doing it for the right reasons, Nat. I’m trying to save us from a world of hurt when reality finally sinks in.”

“That isn’t today.” She took another step forward and this time, you couldn't find the strength in you to step back. “And it isn’t tomorrow, and not even within the fortnight. You and I have something, and I know that you know it’s different. It’s special. We would be so stupid to ignore it, so stupid.” 

“I know, I know,” you said, voice tapering off into a whine as you slowly felt your resolve come apart, even though you thought it was stronger. “I’m sorry.”

 “You don’t have to apologize,” Natasha said after a few minutes of pure silence, and you found yourself exhaling. “I just wish things were different.” 

  “I know,” she said, and you turned to look up at the sky, tears threatening to come down on your cheeks. The stars seemed to twinkle and wink at you, talking amongst themselves about a future you had no idea about just yet. 

“Guess they’re never gonna line up,” you murmured to yourself, and then you heard Natasha grumble something from your side, and then she was coming closer, a barreling energy force full of passion and intent, and you knew exactly what she was coming for. For less than a split second, you thought about it. And then you turned your head and met her halfway. 

You would have been surprised by the passion in it if you weren’t just as desperate for the contact. You twisted in her arms, already wrapped around you as she drew you in close, closer than you had ever been with her, and the tears that were welling up before were now escaping for a different reason. Your lips were pressing into hers, moving fluidly and with an air of fervor that she matched equally. You felt wanted, and needed, and you felt loved. You felt the tenderness of the moment with every brush of her fingers on the back of your neck and with every rub of your back over the thin material of your night dress. 

Your legs were shaking, and she noticed before you did that you were getting weak in the knees. She held you up and pulled back slightly, just enough for you to feel her lips brush against yours while she asked if you were okay, like she wasn’t willing to take herself from you just yet. And honestly, you weren’t ready for her to leave you, either. You nodded, and she leaned in again, much slower, and then you had time to think. 

Her eyes weren’t the same shade they were when the sun hit them, they were almost an eerie pale blue, but they were still just as gorgeous to you, especially now that they were slanted with desire. Her hair wasn’t perfect like she somehow always managed or it to be, and you realized that it was because you had gotten a hand to run through it despite the way that she had previously held you like a lifeline. Her lashes were long, and you swore that she was close enough that you could count them. Her cheekbones were accentuated in the lighting, making her look like something straight out of a fairy tale, like a floating fae creature that led people to safety. In that moment, you could have sworn that she was the answer to every prayer you had ever whispered, to every question you had ever asked your etiquette teachers. In that moment, and in every moment to come, she was your ending and beginning, your creation and destruction, your sunrise and sunset. She was Natasha Romanoff, and in that moment, no wedding or murderous man even held a candle to the way you felt about her.

  What a beautiful person. 

“Now you’re looking at me strangely,” Natasha said, her voice quieter than you had ever heard it as the both of you treated over the moment carefully, trying not to break it and leave it in shambles. “What are you thinking about?” 

“How I’m going to have to pretend like this never happened in a few weeks,” you said softly, and part of you hated yourself for bringing up the bad part of the future so soon after you both had just lost all ties to reality. 

“You don’t have to,” she said, stroking your hair. “We can just keep doing what we’re doing, sneaking off in the night and coming back in the morning before anyone realizes. Nothing really has to change, I just want you to know that I… that we can be whatever you want us to be.” 

“As long as we’re in the confines of the garden walls.” 

“And now the woods,” Natasha said, and you couldn’t help but laugh in her arms. 

“And now the woods."

****

this is short, but i couldn’t see anything being tacked on to this. we’re at an important part, and from here it’s gonna be fun!! thank y’all for reading; if you liked it please drop a like and a reblog bc it makes my day!! comments also make me ascend y’all

tags!! : tags! : @teenwonder @saamwilscn @procrastinatingsapphictrash @fayhar @8plasma @slut-for-nat @dontmindmejustreading @swords-are-cool @200605chaeng @thescottishavenger @antidaytime @jenny-song @madamevirgo @natasha-danvers @blackxwidowsxwife​ @shycucumbersandwich @dailyavengering @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ima-gi--na-tion @chickenhavewisdom

so sorry if i forgot anyone!!!!!

[cienie-isengardu]

Erron Black. Arguably a character I don't know much about. Is Erron Black feminist, sexist, or just soft on girls? Now I know MK everyone can fight everyone, but in story mode...

In MK10 Milenna impale his hand with a knife, but he doesn't fight her. I'll except injury for that one.

But then with Cassie Cage later, he fights her, only after she engages him, but once he knocks her down he stops fighting her to fight Kung Jin in the market.

Later on the bridge fight, we do see him fighting Jacqui Briggs, in the background, but she charged him, so she initiated it, and when they focus in he is fighting Kung Jun again.

In MK11, when young Erron Black goes after Jade and Kotal, he let's Jade leave without so much as a glance.

In the Black Dragon fight pit, even though she is right next to him, he ignores Sonya Blade until she actually attacked him. He doesn't even point the other gun at her, he points it up and looks away, until she punches him.

The only time it looks like he initiated a attack on a woman was when Sheeva got shot in her shoulder armor (and shrugged it off), but we immediately see him chasing down Nightwolf, so that looks like a accident. And they only fight after she punches him across the room.

And in the comic's when he kidnapped Cassie and Jacqui he defended them against Kano, telling him not to hurt them, and when he realized they were in serious danger, tried to free them and help escape.

Unless I'm missing something, well he doesn't avoid it, he doesn't fight initiate fights with women.

Before I will talk at length about Erron Black and his attitude toward women I wish only to emphasize this is my subjective opinion and there is no need to agree with me on this. Because no matter how much source material will be brought into discussion, there are many ways to interpret his mindset, especially since A) what Erron says is not always compatible with what he is doing and B) the specific game mechanics that limit and/or adapt his “personality” to the needs of the storyline.

Long text ahead!

Mortal Kombat X’s stated Erron Black was hired by Shang Tsung 150 years ago. So he was born and raised at least the previous century and half, thus his approach to women may be old-fashioned but I wouldn’t say he was somehow deeply concerned per se about gender to begin with. Yes, the mentioned examples suggest otherwise but their context is as important as Erron’s action alone. Because the context of the game will not always work well with in-universe logic. I’m talking here stricte about game mechanics that are built around chapter’s main hero that must win against the opponents and in the mentioned examples Erron was sadly just an obstacle to beat down so it is not like he could headshot Mileena, Sonya or Sheeva or any woman and be done with the problem despite how marksmanship is his forte. Also, the game mechanic in MKX kinda made me joke that Erron shouldn’t be left on his own for too long because his competence in those chapters seemed that bad (from Outworld’s main cast only D’Vorah looked to me as a competent character and she was a traitor, that says a lot about Kotal’s team doesn it?). Anyway, on the basis of the specific nature of the game alone I wouldn’t go so far to judge Erron’s mindset, especially since he was a background/supportive character in MKX and MK11 story modes. So far, Black didn’t have his own chapter - thus the story isn’t told from his POV.

To be honest, games and comics present Erron in different lights, thus his approach to women may vary from one source to another. Because of that let’s firstly look at the sources separately.

In MKX, on Kotal’s voiceless order, Black was going to kill Rain. Mileena attacked Erron by surprise before he could shoot down the rebel but it was Kotal’s chapter so the emperor was the one that dealt with her. Erron was part of the background during chapter 2 without any impact on the story.

Then we have chapter 4 about Kung Jin.

When Cage Team met Erron Black for the first time, the man demanded to know what is Special Forces’ business here including “a reason why we shouldn’t kill you”. Despite the not so friendly welcome, Erron was willing to address Takeda’s remark (“I can read you… You’re not from Outworld.”) and did not resort to violence once Cassie’s explanation did not satisfy him. Looking at the uncertain situation of Outworld, Erron’s lack of trust is understable - Kotal was still at war with Mileena thus in constant danger. Of course, it is up to interpretation, did Erron listen to Jin solely because the prospect of money spoke to him so much or there is some bias (thus the cynical remark about Raiden’s seal and dismissive attitude) against Cassie, the woman in charge. I personally tend to think Erron was simply cautious because the last Earthrealm that got close to Kotal tried to kill the emperor. And yeah, Kano is nothing like Cassie, Jacqui, Takeda or Jin but there was no way for Black to know that for sure, especially since Outworld and Earthrealm weren’t really at the best terms at that time and Raiden’s name did not foreshadow anything good.

The next sequences may be interpreted as Erron being soft on women but I’m gonna present here different possibilities:

Once Jin went ahead to disrupt the execution, Erron’s first reaction was to shoot him yet Black took aim instead of shooting blindly without care for the crowd (or at least the slow down of his action is how it looked to me). Because he was focused on Jin - the main culprit whose action caused unwanted riot, Cassie easily stopped the attack. Should Erron be more focused on the female soldier at his side? Most likely, but all of this happened in mere seconds so I can understand why stopping Jin acting on his own accord was priority to the mercenary since it was related to his job and he was the one that agreed to take Earthrealmians to Kotal. Which may be the reason why Black just knocked down Cassie and immediately ran after Jin. And mind you, Erron knocked down Cassie by hitting her on the head with the butt of the pistol, which is not a gentle way by no means.

The chapter 6 is focused on Takeda and partially on Cage Team’s run from captivity. The Earthrealmians were important hostages, even if falsely accused of working with D’Vorah. So it makes sense that “Outworld Champions” weren’t trying to kill them. Otherwise Kung Jin would be shot down for good yet Erron kept him just at gunpoint. Once again, the game mechanics don’t make much sense considering how Jin stayed behind as air support but somehow ended up on the bridge while Jacqui disappeared somewhere in the background. Also, the same as with Cassie in Chapter 4, Erron did not kill defeated opponents nor tortured / injured for fun (Rain is a different matter because Erron went for killing only after Kotal’s voiceless order to finish the traitor).

In Chapter 11, Erron is even more degraded into a support role and he did not attack nor take part of the skirmish in the forest until Jacqui beat down Kotal. Personally I suspect he could be (in universe) too injured for hand to hand combat but once Team Cage was surrounded and Kotal gave the order for execution, Erron was aiming at Jacqui and if Sub-Zero did not show up, Black most likely would shoot to kill.

(Also, he did not shoot any enemy from a distance, so the women and men were treated the same although if this is a matter of game mechanics or Erron’s own moral code, hard to tell. Black recognized himself more as Outworlder than anything else so he may actually follow the common there idea of one on one fight.)

So, MKX story mode alone does not tell us much about Erron’s mindset about women because he has never been the one starting fights in the first place. This kinda makes sense since he is a mercenary and kills or injures only those who Kotal wishes to see dead or punished. Besides that he didn’t injure / kill Cassie when he had a chance but he didn't do so with Jin either. MKX!Erron gives the impression of a collected, detached type of person who is far from macho stereotypes or psychopath/sociopath like Kano.

Thankfully there is additional information like dialogue intros and Erron’s ending (from what we learned about Erron's approximate age) that aren’t canon per se but at least give some insight into his psyche.

The best counter argument for eventual Black’s habit of going easy on women is his own ending in which he ambushed and killed Cassie, Jacqui, Takeda and Jin (this situation was repeated in Briggs’ ending except this time Cage Team was saved by Jax). This is a rare moment in which Erron was the attacker and on his own initiated the violence toward others. In this case, he attacked women and men alike.

Then we have intro dialogues in which Erron usually deals with people in a professional manner, some even sometimes addressing in a polite way. Like “Mr. Kung” to Lao, “Mr. Hasashi” to Scorpion and “Mr. Takahashi” to Takeda. Surprisingly, he addresses Cassie and Sonya by their military rank (Sergeant Cage and General Blade respectively) which suggests that whatever Erron learned a century or two ago about gender-related social norms most likely evolved accordingly to his own life experiences, especially those gained in Outworld.

At the same time, it seems some of outfashioned - harmful - convictions are still enough deeply rooted in him to say stuff like that:

Kenshi: The friendless wanderer.

Erron Black: Least I don't take orders from a woman.

Kenshi: Which century are you from?

Which is kinda ironic since Kenshi takes orders from Sonya whom Erron addresses by high military rank without any snide comment about a woman in the army. But as far as I managed to check the intros, this is the only(?) one outright sexist thing Erron said to anyone and surprisingly, he didn’t say that to any woman, just to Kenshi. Frankly, if the idea of taking orders from women was so offensive, why would Erron bother to call Mileena the Crownless Queen or Kitana the Fallen Princess, if both titles by itself imply facing women that are used to give commands or even hire people like him? Once again, there is little to no sexist attitude toward women in context of their power over other men. Which suggests that whatever prejudices Black may have, he does not allow them to affect his interaction with other characters. Usually, at least.

Okay, the insult toward Kenshi could be some of Erron’s deep-seated sexist beliefs adding to the reason why he didn’t support Mileena in the fight for the throne. Yet, at the same time, if that was the case, he could outright say he doesn’t agree to be bossed by a woman to her (or he could be accused of that by her or any character really). Of course, it could be something similar to Black’s claim to care only about money with MK11 strongly hints he is saying one thing and doing differently but I will come back to this topic in a moment.

Another argument against this insult: Erron was one of the characters that did not mock Mileena’s look, origin or called her crazy. If he really thought listening to women's orders was so bad, then he didn’t show that when interacting with her or other female characters.

At the same time, like many other male characters, Black is not immune to the beauty of women around him and some of his comments sounds disrespectful and are unwelcome by the ladies:

Sonya: The gunslinger.

Erron Black: I could take you away from all this.

Sonya: I must be a jerk-magnet.

→ Sonya is not amused by Erron’s words at all.

Erron Black: Hello, beautiful.

Jacqui: Messin' with the wrong girl.

Erron Black: But it feels so right.

Jacqui is like the only one woman described by MKX!Erron as the beautiful one, the other he usually referred to along the lines of hot / sexy. Yet once Jacqui outright warned him to not mess with her, Erron deliberately ignored her because it amuse him. Whatever it is a sign of an old-fashioned mindset (a remnant of the times he grew up) or just simply (male’s) egoism on his part, Erron likes to flirt with women but he does not always respect their opinion or wish to be left alone.

At the same time, Erron rarely tried to change women’s minds about him or their eventual relationship. So far, only the intro dialogue with Kitana seems to be the exception:

Kitana: Stop!

Erron Black: We've barely begun, my lovely.

Kitana: It will end quickly.

Black may put his own amusement above other people's personal comfort, yes, but didn’t act creepy like Kano did, especially toward Blade-Briggs-Cage family as a whole.

So we have this

Jacqui: I really don't like you.

Erron Black: I really don't care.

Jacqui: As long as we're straight on that.

in which Erron doesn’t care for Jacqui’s dislike of his person but doesn’t impose himself on her. He does not resort to the common rapist “excuse” that woman says no but her body says otherwise, like Kano did (“Your mouth says Kano, but your eyes say Kan-yes.”) and this contrast puts Black in a more positive light. Similar thing happened in the intro dialogue toward Tanya.

Erron Black: My friend, Tanya.

Tanya: We are not friends, bounty hunter.

Erron Black: Have it your way...

Again, whether trying to be friendly or ironic, once Erron was “turned down”, he simply accepted the situation without any additional crude remarks.

Interestingly, interaction with Sonya showed that Black was capable of rethinking his statement about hot/sexy women:

Erron Black: Girls with guns? Always hot.

Sonya: I'll shove 'em up your ass and fire.

Erron Black: Almost always hot.

Those examples suggest Erron may treat women differently, depending on their “fighting experiences”, age and origin and maybe even how sexually / aesthetically appealing they are to him. For example, veteran Sonya’s threat was taken seriously while (novice / new generation) Jacqui’s warning was ignored. At the same time, the intro dialogues didn’t hint at any romantic or sexual interest in Ferra (a young female symbiote) nor D’Vorah (Kytinn) and relatively good looking Mileena who deserves a separate paragraph.

To be honest, Erron, Johnny and Kano are like the main three men openly showing their (sexual?) interest in women around them. Understable, Black’s flirting / comments rarely were appreciated yet he still was less creepy or aggressive towards others than Kano. Erron didn’t bother to hide his eventual (sexual) interest in beautiful women but it can’t be said A) he had no control over his sexual drive and B) has rapist / sexual predator tendencies.

Another interesting thing: with few exceptions like Kano or Quan Chi, Erron threatened people with violence usually after they offended him and most of the time maintained professional neutrality toward his rivals. In that regard, Erron treated other characters the same regardless of their gender.

This is something worth keeping in mind how Black, as mercenary, in general is not the initiator of violence. Unless someone will pay him. For money, Erron would attack (kill) anyone, including women (to Tanya, “The Kahn wants your head.” + Erron’s Epilogue).

The last detail to talk about: one of the intro dialogue with Cassie suggests Erron thought she was an easy opponent.

Cassie: Is something funny?

Erron Black: I'll win this easy.

Cassie: You're going down hard.

but to be fair, he thought the same about Sub-Zero

Erron Black: You're an easy target.

Sub-Zero: As are you.

Erron Black: Bullets beat snowballs any day.

so I wouldn’t say it was the bias toward Cassie because of her gender and just Erron’s own arrogance (and maybe lack of good judgement on his part).

In summary, MKX!Erron in game alone tends to act in a professional manner. He had an occasion to shoot defeated opponents but did not seize the opportunity against not only Cassie but Jin as well. During the storyline he was rather collected, emotionless. In intro dialogues he openly expresses his interest in tough, relatively attractive women yet the banter is far from the creeping tone of Kano’s interaction with female characters.

Then we have Mortal Kombat 11 in which past and future timelines are messed up. Sadly, Erron’s characterization departs from the neutral-polite one seen in the previous game. Of course, this could be blamed on the younger version of Erron, but frankly, twenty years for someone living at least for a century and half shouldn’t make that big difference in behaviour and well, MK11 outright claims Erron is prone to violence for violence’s sake instead of just money. Which is one of many plot-holes and divergences between both games I guess.

Anyway, Erron, again, was the background character to beat down, so it is worth remembering that he couldn’t permanently hurt or kill anyone from the main cast. In chapter 2 he let Jade get away when he was facing Kotal and frankly, there is little explanation for that in-universe wise. I personally suspect it may be related to Erron’s own sense of honor, as in respecting one on one fight without cheap moves like shooting someone’s beloved person. Not practical in the mercenary job but it is possible for someone born and raised around two centuries ago. Also, Shao Kahn’s anger was focused mainly on killing Kotal for taking the throne. Because of that Erron could be not interested in Jade who simply did not have any significant political matter at that time. Sadly, it is really hard to say for sure what was on his mind.

In chapter 6, past!Erron stormed the Special Forces Base alongside Black Dragon members. There were women in that group but sadly, Black did not interact with anyone beside Johnny Cage. We can at least assume, Black did not mind fighting side by side with women.

Similary, present!Erron in chapter 7 showed up in the background during the alliance attack on Coliseum. The attack was led by Kitana (albeit did Erron join her to save Kotal out of loyalty or for money, it was not explained) and there were female fighters in the group. It seems then Erron does not mind fighting side to side with women.

During the pit fight (chapter 8), past!Erron faced the past!Sonya and the past!Johnny. Frankly, the same as in the previous chapter, game mechanics make little sense because there was no real reason for Erron to open the ring and face the characters when he could simply shoot down both from a safe distance. This really undermines the whole point of Black being a gunslinger, isn’t it?

Anyway, Cage took the forward position (which I think is both because despite his injuries he tried to shield Sonya AND because he actually met Erron during an attack on a Special Forces’ base) and got shot in the arm. After a short skirmish, Erron knocked down Johnny and aimed to kill the injured man.

The most logical thing for Erron in this situation would be to shoot down Sonya first and then finish already beaten down and exhausted Johnny. In defense of the Black though it is worth emphasizing that he didn’t completely ignore Blade nor turned away from her.

Most likely the weird slow-down action of aiming at Johnny was a moment of distraction that Sonya simply used to attack. Similar to MKX, game mechanics do not allow Black to headshot the main heroes, even though, in-universe, he should do just that and be done with the job. There is also a possibility that past and present Kano still wanted to keep Sonya alive for their own amusment (torture and sadly most likely rape) what could explain why Erron didn’t shot her from safe distance. I mean, the game alone did not voice what Kanos really ordered Erron to do.

I know that MK games like to slow down action for dramatic effects, but I strongly believe it was actually a matter of a few seconds of distraction (Erron looking aside to shoot Johnny and aiming) that Sonya took advantage of rather Black ignoring her on purpose. Even more since Black did not hesitate to shoot at her and seemed to enjoy facing “the legendary” Sonya Blade.

The same as MKX, Mortal Kombat 11 does not explain Black’s mindset. He does not shoot Jade or Sonya when he has a chance but he does not make any rude remarks toward women in general. However the intro dialogues shed a light on the complicated relationship that Erron has with women.

From what we learn about Erron, his childhood was far from normal or safe. We don’t know details, but what he shared with Cetrion and Cassie strongly suggest that Erron’s both parents were abusive people:

Cetrion: You shot your own father, Erron Black.

Erron: Sonofabitch had it coming.

Cetrion: Honor thy parents, mortal!

or

Erron: My Ma would’ve loved you, Cassie Cage.

Cassie: Aw, sounds like you miss her bunches.

Erron: I hated Ma.

or

Erron: I grew up around tough women.

Cassie: Didn’t they teach you respect?

Erron: They taught me to hit back.

The last statement suggests young Erron was abused by women (most likely including his own mother) to the point he is now willing to hit back anyone regardless of their gender without remorse. Erron himself says “I ain't above shootin' a lady” (intro dialogue vs. Sonya).

Beside that, an abusive mother alone could influence Black’s approach to women - and most likely she did, since he admitted to hate her. Surprisingly, Erron uses the past tense (“I hated Ma”) so there is a chance he gained distance over time in that matter. It also seems like whatever he feels about mother usually doesn't affect his relationship with other female characters. For example, in the mentioned banter he did not insult Cassie for reminding him about the abusive parent. Despite the bad childhood intro dialogues hint Black actually likes dangerous women.

Erron Black: I stepped out with Nitara before you.

Skarlet: You clearly have a type, Erron.

Erron Black: Just like living dangerously.

Like in the previous game, Erron openly shows his (sexual) interest in various women. The interesting change however is how:

His interest extends now to more alien-looking female characters like Nitara or Sheeva. Surprisingly, Mileena’s advances are still rejected. Also, Erron has like zero respect for the goddess Cetrion but to be honest, he does not respect any god.

Erron is more disrespecting by using nicknames like Legs or Baby Doll for Sonya or Sugar for Cassie. Of course, it may be just the “charm” of younger Black - hard to tell in most cases which version is speaking - but it creates an overall feeling of ironic, at times irritating or insulting approach to female fighters. At the same time, there are women that Erron refers to in a rather consistently respectful manner - Jacqui (Miss Briggs, Little Lady), Jade (ma’am, missy), Kitana (Princess, Kahn).

Before I will focus on the complex situation with Mileena, I need to talk about Erron’s important trait: he often says one thing but does the opposite. This is especially noticeable in intro dialogues concerning money and loyalty. Both games agree the main motivation for Black is a good payment, albeit MK11 highline also the thrill of danger. Anyway, Erron admitted he is willing to betray Kotal, a current employer, if someone offered a better deal (“Until a better offer comes along.”, “There's always a better offer, Kotal”). This strengthens the impression Black cares only about himself yet he rejects all propositions coming from Kotal’s enemies such as Shao Kahn, Rain or Mileena, Quan Chi, Shinnok and Kano/Black Dragons. At the same, he is willing to work with/ for Kitana who happens to be the best friend of Jade, Kotal’s beloved. Which makes Erron still operate in a group wishing no harm to the ex-emperor.

I’m bringing this into discussion because there is strong possibility that under the tough guy act, Erron still follows some “old-fashioned” sense of morality and is decent enough to not attack or harm women (and in my opinion, people in general) unless A) it is part of the job or B) is self-defense. Which could explain why he let Jade walk away or why he didn’t shoot Sonya from a safe distance but faced her in hand to hand combat. Depending how long he lived in Outworld, he could simply adapt into local customs - the people of Outworld are a combat-focused society and because of that have a strong sense of honor code. Erron’s eventual softness toward female fighters would get him in serious problems and I doubt he could afford such weakness when serving Shang Tsung or Shao Kahn.

So, why did Erron not want to serve Mileena, the designated successor? As the Empress, she was in position to offer the best (materially wise at least) deal after all.

In MKX!banter Erron claims Kotal paid him better:

Mileena: You aided the usurper.

Erron Black: He offered more coins.

Mileena: ...and no protection.

Meanwhile, MK11!Black outright says it was not a matter of money but of Mileena’s behaviour. Considering how prone to violence she was, it is no wonder why Erron decided to work for someone else.

Erron Black: Now what's got you all rip-snorting mad?

Mileena: When I gained the throne, you abandoned it.

Erron Black: Wasn't no pay worth dealing with your crazy.

This brings me back to the MKX’s banter suggesting Erron may dislike being bossed by women. Considering the implication he is currently negotiating a proper deal with Kitana Kahn (“New Kahn, same deal?”), the problem is more complex than judging someone by gender alone. I mean, Erron worked for Shao Kahn who himself was a cruel tyrant so sadism shouldn't be anything new for Black, right? Except, he was hired by Shang Tsung and because of that I think it is highly possible Erron had just indirect contact with the Emperor. Thus Erron could be not ready for Mileena’s unstable nature(?) and cruelty.

I mean - Erron comes from a pathological family and grew up around tough women. In his opinion Cassie has some traits or behaves in a way for which his mother would’ve liked the girl. So there are certain things that Black connects to hated mother. Now, Cassie is more of an extrovert type of person, showy and with sharp ripostes but she is one of the good guys and cruelty for fun is not her thing. So, if someone like Cassie can somehow make him think of a hated parent (that most likely is dead for decades now), how much Mileena could trigger Erron in the wrong way? To the point he chooses his mental health over money and/or thrill of danger?

If this is true, we may further wonder if bad experiences with tough women in childhood are the reason why despite flirtatious nature, Erron’s interest in female fighters usually is strictly sexual attraction? Because it really looks like he does not try to emotionally connect with women. Even his “thing” with Skarlet seems to be more a matter of thrill than a serious relationship, considering how Erron was okay with her eventual death.

(The possibility of Erron being freaked out by Mileena also rises an interesting question about her mental state between MK9 and MKX)

This is why I think Erron did not have a problem with working for women as long as they did not remind him too much of past abuse. And this is pretty nice implication, considering how tough guy Erron is for most of the time.

Because of that, Kotal questioning if Erron is jealous of Jade could be read in different way too:

Erron Black: So, you and Jade, huh?

Kotal Kahn: Jealous, Erron Black?

Erron Black: She's quite the looker, Kotal.

And yeah, Erron brings this to the matter of appearance alone, but hopeful as I proved earlier, Erron sometimes says one thing but does (thinks) something totally different. Because of that I suspect he may not be really jealous of Kotal for having a sexy lady but actually of the relationship itself. You know, build on respect and love than just build on sexual drive.

Like I said before, the game cutscenes and character banters may be interpreted in many ways but for me MK11!Erron Black - at least the older version - seems to mask his trauma and/or complex nature of his relationship with women under the act of tough guys. At the same time, there is a high possibility he still follows an out-fashioned sense of honor and though he is not above shooting women, he does not attack them unless it is demanded. Though to be fair, in my opinion this is how he approaches everyone. A mercenary’s mindset that distinguishes him from the likes of Kano.

In Mortal Kombat 11: Aftermatch, Erron met Sheeva, when the Shokan Queen in the company of Fujin, Nightwolf and Shang Tsung carried a coffin to the Soul Chamber. Black and Baraka decided to confront the Shokan woman and it quickly turned into a fight (and the typical game mechanics).

There is a question though - did Erron really take Kitana's offer or did he stay with Kotal? Because it’s really suspicious that he happened in the place where defenless, injured Kotal was in the healing process. Anyway, whatever the case, Black directly or indirectly worked for the new Kahn so it is highly possible his actions were dictated by Kitana’s best interest rather than his liking or disliking anyone.

Let’s just look at the situation - Kitana is the empress but she promised to treat her allies as her equals. That means Sheeva, as well respected Shokan Queen, plays an important role in the new regime - killing her or permanently injuring was out question, otherwise Shokan people could rebel against Kitana and in result the freshly established peace would go straight to hell.

In my opinion, this is why Erron asked Sheeva’s group to go with them quietly so the situation could be explained to Kitana without unnecessary violence. Black actually was okay with Sheeva go to Soul Chamber as long as Shang Tsung (Shao Kahn’s sorcerer) and the suspicious coffin was returned to him. Thanks to Shang Tsung, one of Tarkatan warrior died and thus the situation got out of hand. It makes sense Erron was more focused on Shang Tsung (hated by Kitana), Nightwolf (whose current self is revenant) and Fujin than on Sheeva who, potentially, was protected by political immunity.

When the Shokan Queen beat down Baraka, Erron in my opinion did not try to hurt her, only fired a warning shot. Maybe to make sure Sheeva will not kill Baraka (another important leader whose support Kitana needed to uphold the peace in Outworld). The Earthrealmers on other hand were another matter. Maybe Erron was too trusting or too reckless to not pay more attention to Sheeva or simply didn’t really think she was the traitor. It was after learning she is trying to resurrect Kitana’s evil mom - a dangerous, not consulted with Empress decision - Erron faced Sheeva in hand to hand combat.

Not much to analyse here, especially not with limitations of game mechanics yet I strongly believe Erron’s course of action was dictated by political situation and Kitana Kahn’s best interest so killing or seriously injuring Sheeva could be out of question. Also, like I said previously, Black is rarely the aggressor, what I believe is related to his mercenary’s mindset.

The last source, Mortal Kombat X comics series, requires a little clarification: I treat it as a potentially additional insight into Erron’s psyche than any real canonical material. Partially due to many plot-holes but also because of overwhelming violence used for violence’s sake alone. That said, here what happens:

Earthrealm (Special Forces) and Outworld (Kotal Kahn) weren’t on the best terms. To help Kotal, Erron and Black Dragons kidnapped young (under 21 years old) Cassie and Jacqui and took them to Outworld. During the journey through the dangerous jungle, girls tried to run away but got hurt in the process by Kano. Erron openly talked against brutal treatment of prisoners.

Looking at the difficult situation of Kotal, it was in Erron’s best interest to keep Cassie and Jacqui in one piece. Otherwise the whole plan would fail and then Kotal would be forced to deal with really pissed off Sonya Blade. And that would take a bad turn for Black himself. But like I said earlier, the tough guy act could also cover Erron’s more empathic nature that in the mercenary world was seen as a weakness to exploit. I personally think he did not like torturing people if that was unnecessary but also that he would have spoken against it even if Cassie and Jaquie were boys.

Then the Red Dragons attacked to take over hostages.

(Once again, a tough guy act with the “girls are Kotal’s property” as in cover up his worries about the situation or his true mindset, or mix?)

When the fight started, Erron went to tied hostages:

One one hand, Erron needs the girl to stay alive and not be taken by the enemy. On the other hand, he does not promise them safety nor ask them to run away. He is freeing them so the two girl (both under 21 years old) will fight against experienced criminals armed with swords and other dangerous stuff. This is actually an interesting detail, because it suggests Erron thought Cassie and Jacqui had a chance against thugs or that at least that way they wouldn't be a burden to him.

Jacqui punched him and Erron, either was taken by surprise or did not want to hurt her, was “saved” by Kano. And then betrayed by the Black Dragon leader.

Kano’s worlds raise a question, how much Erron is driven by the money and how much he uses the tough guy act to actually hide his unwanted “vulnerability” (as in, having moral sense and not being the heartless psychopath like Kano).

My general conclusion about Erron is that, for a side character he has a really complex relationship with women around him. I strongly believe that Erron sticks to some old fashioned sense of honor that mixes well with a mercenary's mindset. Thus rarely he is the one attacking first. This most likely influences his interaction with female fighters but at the same time, Outworld is not a place where people are judged by gender but for their skills and powers. So, Erron living there for decades for sure got influenced by that mindset to some degree.

I would not call him a feminist - not because he couldn’t be one but for lack of proper material to analyse. Feminism has many shades but in the most general sense is about establishing the political, economic, personal, and social equality of the sexes. Erron does not show much opinion on that matter and does not interact with “common” women; those truly weaker than him, disabled or anything else other than warriors, soldiers or queens. With lack of such interaction there is no chance to come to a proper conclusion.

Does Erron have a soft spot for women? It is possible but that would not stop him from hitting back or killing them if the situation called for such action. I think the safest option is just that Erron is in general a more emphatic and honorable human that he wants to admit, to not look weak or be exploited by others. In contrast to Kano, Black for sure has some moral code he follows no matter what. Even if this get him into trouble more often than not.

Hope it answers your question!

[allaboardthemetro-blog]

Entering the Final Act || Akira || ATTN: All Passengers

His smirk grew slowly as everyone reacted.  He was glad to see Airi put the knife down; getting stabbed would really put a damper in this moment he was savoring.  The anger, the fire everyone was spitting out… He’d even gotten Billy to snap. And here he’d thought the guy was too foolhardy to actually crack.  This was beautiful, honestly. If only there were more people to see it.

Would applauding a little overdo it?  It would probably overdo it. Still, it wasn’t like he was going to be regularly interacting with these people after this.  Just some things for the police, maybe a little for HPA, and then home free. And jegus, the urge to clap was just too strong right now.

So, he did it.  He brought his hands together, his slow claps echoing throughout the trial room.  Congratulations, everyone, you found the mastermind. You found the one who put you on this train and didn’t stop until the station of living hell.  Bask in your glory.

Here he was, and he was about to talk your goddamn ears off.

“So, why’d I do it?”

“I’m sure you’ve all been waiting long enough for some sort of answer.  You’ve watched your classmates die around you, send some of them to their deaths by your own hand, and for what?  Why would anyone want to do this? And especially to us, just innocent little HPA students?”

He cracked his knuckles and took a deep breath.  “Well! You’ve heard of the Reserve Course, right?  I’d hope you would have, given that I’ve been here this whole time.  So I’m not going to explain it for you if you don’t. Too bad.

“What you might not know is what sort of treatment the Reserve Course students get.  Long story short, we’re like the red-headed stepchildren of the establishment. Even though we pay the outrageous tuition that funds the whole place, we’re treated like substandard by pretty much everyone on campus.  We’re students, but we don’t get to use any of the fancy equipment our money pays for, we don’t get the benefit of ‘guaranteed success upon graduation,’ and we don’t get any goddamn respect.

“And it’s not even like we all wanted to be here!  Sometimes, it’s just your parents assuming oh he must want to go!  Let’s uproot him from his friends and isolate him with the person he’s known since forever and see how they improve, hm?  Oh, this is gonna be great…”

He paused for a few seconds, then cleared his throat.  “But I digress. Anyway…

“The one thing I despise most about HPA?  It gives kids false hope. They sell this narrative about talent, how if you work hard enough, even you, you pathetic little Reserve Courses, you too can join us in the Talent Course!  The goddamn Land of Milk and Honey. It's all bullshit.  Like, seriously, that's not cynicism, that's just reality.  You come from all over the world, have experiences all over the world.  Talia’s from Australia, at least, and this is just a sample group. There's so many more.  There's no way any average Reserve Course student would be able to replicate that sort of world experience and recognition.  No matter how much they want it, no matter how determined they are, no matter how much money their parents funnel into them. But the academy puts this shitty idea in their head, that maybe if they work hard enough, they’ll be able to compete with these ridiculously lucky people who had all the right opportunities!

“And some people actually believe it.  That if they can run a kickass newspaper on campus, they're sure to become a Talent Student, the SHSL Reporter.  But they can't. There's no way that can compare to someone else who's had better opportunities. It'll get overlooked, in spite of all the effort she pours into it.  They just won't care.”

He paused again, but for less time than before.  After a deep breath, he balled his hands into fists, thrust them down at his sides, and continued.

“So, pretty damn clear I hate this place.  But, I'm not alone. Far from it! In fact,there's more than one organization that'd love to see this academy go down in flames.  One particular organization -- though I'm not going to name them, I'm sure they don't want the authorities on their tail -- had the perfect idea to do it.  Create a scandal so devastating, something that would be such a blemish on the academy, they just couldn't stay open. And it should be pretty obvious to you what this scandal is: the mutual killing game.

“So, they have the plan, and they have the means!  There's just one thing they don't have -- an in. They have no way to get in and legitimately gather some HPA students for this, without the academy getting suspicious.”  At this, he chuckled. “That's where I came in. What better place to find a like-minded individual than on the internet? They find me, a genuine student, and with pretty good standing thanks to the student-run paper I'm part of, the Reserve Hope Shimbun.  I have the connections, they have everything else they need, it's a perfect match.

“So we make a deal.  As satisfying as it is to bring down the shitshow that is Hope’s Peak Academy, it's not something I do for nothing.  And I have this friend, you see -- the other founding member of the Reserve Hope Shimbun. She's a good girl, earnest, hard-working, and wants more than anything to be a reporter.  And for some stupid, bullshit reason…” He took a moment to glare out at the students in the trial room. “...she thinks she needs to go through HPA to do that. But now, that doesn't have to be the case.  Her getting a job as a reporter at a news station somewhere in Japan was one of my conditions. And since I've held up my end of the deal, they're legally bound to hold up theirs. She'll get what she's wanted all her life, and she won't have to stake everything on some shitty school that can't even protect its own students from themselves.

“As for me?  I want a life away from all of this.  From all this chaos, all this snubbing, all this talent.  After I get the fuck out of HPA, I’m angling for an average job.  That was the other part of my contract. I'd love a job as an accountant, but, y’know, I'm not picky.  Any sort of salaryman job’ll do. Then maybe I can pick up life where it left off. Move up on the corporate ladder, build a nice family, make a good life for myself.  I've got simple dreams, I'm not asking for much.

“As for you guys?  Heh. It's been pretty damn fun watching you all fall apart, and it's gonna be fun watching what happens next.  This organization I'm working for has their eggs in a lot of baskets, including the media. Useful for getting my friend that job, and useful for making sure Hope's Peak Academy burns.  Once we get out of here, just about every network is gonna wanna know the details.  What toils you went through, what depravity your captors subjected you to.  You'll never be able to get a moment's peace!  You'll never be allowed to forget what happened here.  And you'll never be able to say who did this to you.

“But, at least you'll be able to live your lives.  HPA won't be so lucky. They send their students off to see the headquarters of a newspaper, and then they do nothing when they're kidnapped along the way.  I really did take the time to schedule a field trip, by the way. I asked the faculty for permission, set up the outing with the newspaper itself, it all checked out on paper.  They had no idea it was just a front. Until we failed to show up, of course. Naturally, the organization in charge of this set up the train and the venue. They even set up the conductor!”

The mention of the conductor seemed to remind Akira why they had all gathered here in the first place.  With a peeved sigh, he looked away, then shrugged.

“Oh yeah.  Speaking of Jenova.  Guh, the fucking wimp.  Yeah, I killed him, you're welcome.  He was right, I was sort of planning to kill him, but not from the outset of all this.  He was doing fine at first, but...honestly, if you're going to start a dirty job, you finish the dirty job.  He was getting soft, wanted to wrap this up because ‘he couldn't take it.’”  He scoffed. “Couldn't take it… You do what you need to do. Beggars can't be choosers, he ought to have know that better than I did!

“So… Are we ready to wrap this up?  Ready to get back to the rest of our lives in the real world, for better or for worse?  Because I'm sure as hell ready to see what arises from all of this…”