#all respect to civil servants i was raised by one but

[lovevalley45]

i think that u can go from being a lawyer to president. n therefore if i chose to make astra a lawyer in a fic that would be justified

[the-midnight-blooms]

ᴀʟʟ ɪ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ᴅᴏ

pairing: scholar!jeong yunho x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage, historical au (Joseon dynasty)

word count: 11.4k

warnings: heavy angst, suicidal thoughts, mentions of suicide

masterlist

The rain thundered down from the sky on a sullen morning, the clutter of dishes and whirring of teapots stirring one awake from their slumber. At once the household was buzzing with activity, the slap of sandals against the cool marble floor as a weary middle-aged man retreated to the dining table. On one end, the seat at the top of the table reserved for him, sat his boiling cup of tea and newspaper, his wife soon trailing in after him. Afterwards was his daughter, and they all greeted each other with polite “good mornings” before settling down to eat, a comfortable silence held among them.

Mr Hwang, a renown land owner found that when he left his home, he was able to find a line of servants bowing their heads to him in respect. He was, by any means no aristocrat and did not preach claims of nobility but his knowledge of literature, politics and art had allowed him to extend his name into upper class society. He was proud to claim that his name lingered on the tongues of scholars, dukes and the general along with other important men in the militia. Such men were seen as gifted in society, how could it be that a poor man who had never had the privilege of receiving satisfactory education proved to be more astute than any scholar of Joseon. It was down to sheer luck, and god, he thought that he was able to claim a reputation such as the one he now held.

About three months ago, on a Wednesday evening, Mr Hwang kissed his wife goodbye- leaving his home to travel four miles east to the large estate on a hill that he had been invited to. Every Wednesday, scholars from nearby towns had gathered to invest in the latest literature and scribble their thoughts in the margins of transcripts that had been thrown their way. They were settled within the library- men walking up and down the aisles searching for novels of interest some men sipping on cups of tea. Around three hours in, the ripple of quiet murmuring would transcend into loud chatter. Like clockwork, on that Wednesday evening, Mr Hwang settled down his quill cracking his fingers to relax the tense fibres in his muscles. He sat opposite the esteemed Mr Jeong, a loyal civil servant to the King and a member of the Royal Council.

Despite the ongoing of chatter surrounding them, the two men worked on their studies with minimal conversation. Mr Jeong was the first to break the silence.

“How is your wife and daughter, Hwang?”

“They are in good health, sir. How is your son? How is he finding his duties as a gentry scholar?” Jeong beamed at the mention of his son’s position within the royal court.

“He is too in good health. The prince informs me that he performs his duties excellently.” Hwang nodded, sending a polite smile his way before raising the cup of tea to his lips. A comfortable silence held among them but a thought provoked at the back of Jeong’s mind. “Actually, I am looking for a bride for my son as he is now of marriageable age.”

“That you should have no problem seeking, Sir. He is an impressionable young man, is he not?” Whilst Jeong felt implied to agree with his friend, there was more to his son than meets the eye. Yet for what he wanted to confess, it was better to stay quiet and agree to Hwang.

“I think I had better be open to you, my friend. I was hoping to ask if you would so kind to extend your daughter’s hand in marriage, for my son.” Hwang, taken aback almost choked on his tea for a split second quickly placing his cup down giving his friend a wide-eyed stare. A surge of emotions overcame him. Jeong was not the type of man to joke about serious matters such as marriage.

“My daughter? Wedded to your son? With all due respec-,”

“I understand that this is no conventional way to propose but you know better that I am not a man of custom. I have met your daughter. She is patient, kind and intelligent too. It seems that you have shared the gift of knowledge with her and my son does not want a wife that he cannot converse with. He is not asking for scholar but an understanding woman as such. I believe your daughter would make the perfect wife.” Jeong reasoned. The truth being there were many intelligible women with Joseon but the problem being they were either haughty or impatient. Either too vain about their looks or just purely selfish.

“If you allow me, I must discuss these details with her mother.”

“Of course, take your time. We are in no rush.” Which wasn't by any means true, but he could not exactly tell his friend to hurry up and make an on-the-spot decision.

That same Wednesday evening, Mr Hwang rushed back to his home as fast as he could running through the double doors- panting and out of breath. Without pausing to sit to down and breathe, the words spilled out of his mouth without caution astounding his wife in the process. Breaking from her momentary paralysis, she escorted her husband to the nearest chair-summoning the closest maid for a cup of tea to be brought to the study.

"We have to say yes, you must send Jeong a formal letter of proposal." Hwang nodded eagerly. Mrs Hwang thought about her daughter and what she would think. She would say no, of course.

Mr Hwang was not as ignorant as his friend thought he was. He had his eyes and ears everywhere- he knew his son's true nature. Perhaps if he was a better father, he would have declined the offer as soon as the words left from his mouth. After all wasn't this marriage an opportunity to extend his lineage into nobility? He could be richer, more reputable, more well known. How could he decline this offer?

"Begin the preparations, but do not tell her. Not yet." Reluctantly, his wife nodded.

Miss Hwang, daughter of Mr Hwang- the noble landowner, knew something was being plotted behind her back. She spent the last three months in and out of the dressmaker's, her measurements being taken for hanbok's of every colour, in silk, satin and in every other expensive material she could think off. A plethora of jewellery and fabrics were being sent to the house and as the months went by the atmosphere of the household became much more busier and chaotic. It brought her much annoyance that she wasn't able to find out- she even tried to provoke Min Cha but the youngest maid was not prone to bribery. She stared at her father at the top of the dining table, as his eyes scoured down the page of the newspaper reading the contents of the latest news in Joseon. Clearing his throat, he meticulously folded the paper discarding it to the side before making eye contact with his daughter.

"Minister Jeong and his son, Yunho will be joining us tonight for dinner. Make sure you are here and not hiding in your room" he instructed, giving her a pointed look before lifting his tea cup. A sudden thought rushed to her head. It could only make sense that perhaps they were coming over to propose. The gifts being sent at the house, the fancier clothes she was forced to wear, the hushed whispers of the maids as she walked by and their talks of marriage and children. They never bothered before, they knew how indifferent she was towards the notion of it. It could only mean that they were coming over to propose, or maybe they already had- besides she didn’t need to say yes, herself. Her father could on her behalf and it could be perceived as her approval. That was a thought she did not want to entertain, being a woman devoid of many choices was hard enough. If she could have a chance of falling in love and being loved as deeply and constantly the way that one wanted to be loved- she would grab at it. Though grabbing at it was like reaching out for a feather, its fibrils caress her fingertips only for it to slip through her fingers.

A few hours after the breakfast table had been cleared, the bustling sound inside the house had significantly quietened, doors to the kitchen quarters had been slammed shut so no sound seeped into the rest of the home. Warmth trailed the surface of the study, perched on the windowsill, head leant against the glass pane she gazed at the town below outstretched beneath the three miles of grasslands- a small cobbly path paving the way for carriages and palanquins. A creak infiltrated the room, her head snapping the other way watching a small figure stumble into the room and an older maid following after her. Tea settled down on the table, the maid scurried to the fireplace continuing her cleaning duties whereas Min Cha sat beside her on the window sill. Her hands reached to caress the younger girls face, pulling her towards her-nuzzling her in her arms. With a comforting quietude held among them, in the far distance the swaying of carriage treaded towards their home.

"Do you think that's Mr Jeong and his son?" Miss Hwang hummed carefully, fingers stroking Min Cha's dark hair. They watched the carriage come to a sudden halt outside their home; several moments later an older man walked out. The servants ran towards him, offering their greetings. After him, a taller man appeared out of the carriage, moving eloquently across the lawn. His dark hair was strikingly shorter than most young men of the common day and age, his brown wide eyes scanning his surroundings. Their eyes locked, he tilted his head slightly as if scrutinising her. Jumping away from the windowsill, she pried Min Cha off with her scurrying away to her room- to hide- exactly like her father told her not to.

Yunho noticed her eyes first. He felt like he was staring into his own when he discerned they were that they were burdening with inquisition, the length of her lashes softening a look that could have been perceived as threatening. It was her, wasn't it? She’ll make do he thought- there had to be reason for his father’s persistency. He was perfectly satisfied with being unmarried but then again his father probably wanted a grandson to carry the lineage, the establishment of this matrimony purely founded on both his father’s and Mr Hwang’s pride. For now he needed to refrain from looking ignorant for the next few weeks. Granted, he was stuck with her for life but as long as she knew her place he’d make do with her presence. They had moved to Mr Hwang's study where they had been seated around the fireplace, the cold winter air still clung to their skin, the heat of the spitting embers easing the chill that ran down their spines. His ears became heedless to the conversation the two older men shared, moulding his face to look interested with the occasional vocalisation to please his father's friend.

"I must finally introduce you to my daughter," Hwang cheered, clasping his hands together in enjoyment. Yunho forced a smile onto his face, preparing himself to meet yet another bratty daughter of a rich man. Calling for the maid, Hwang then proposed that he made his way into the garden to share a private interaction with each other.

Miss Hwang let out a small whine, shoulders slumped with an exaggerated frown etched on her features as she ambled down the steps and moved into the front lawn. Letting out a sigh of exasperation, she straightened her posture entering the garden with a sheepish smile. He was much taller than she had anticipated in the glimpse of their eye contact, the closer she moved the more intimidated she felt by his slender, towering figure. Though his features were soft and inviting, his wide eyes particularly held such a kindness in them that she had not seen in the eyes of other men. She wanted to speak in that moment, but neither of them had any idea what to say. Instead, she decided to saunter through the garden; Yunho following her. Yunho cleared his throat, her attention drifted from the garden flowers to him-she turned around to stand in front of him his movements halting as he sent a look of confusion her way.

"Why exactly are you here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I asked. What is the purpose of your visit? What are your intentions? What do you and your father intend to gain from your being here?" He cocked his head to side, and scoffed at her questions yet the look of seriousness on her face had thrown him off. He was half expecting to start the conversation flaunting about something, talk about her riches, or maybe even throw herself at him. Not question the nature of this visit, was Mr Hwang detaining the knowledge this arrangement from his daughter? If so, why?

"You are to be my betrothed." He stated, though it came out as more of a question as her eyebrows creased in scepticism. "Which I thought you would've known as you accepted the proposal-" she ran back in the direction of the home, abandoning him by burgundy dahlias. All the pieces had fallen into place now, it was dowry that was being sent to the house, all the preparations were for her matrimony. How could she have missed all of this? Storming into the study, the door banged open the abrupt dissonance making her father jump from his seat; Jeong raising an eyebrow in inquisition.

"Father, can I talk to you?" Her voice both breathless and desperate for answers. Before he could speak, she exchanged her position with Jeong- who the nearby maid had guided into the parlour. “Why have you been hiding this proposal from me?” Silence hung among them, as she glared into his eyes.

“Do you think if many months ago I approached you with this proposal you would have said yes? You would’ve spat in my face. This is for your own benefit. Did you even talk to Yunho? What must he think of you?”

“Who cares what he thinks of me? What I care about is how you’ve tried to dictate my life for me.”

“Everything I am doing is for your own benefit” There it was. That same old phrase. The same phrase that she had heard when her father pulled her out libraries and schools, pulled away from the fields and forced her into passivity and domesticity. She had gotten gone used to it finding partial amusement in embroidering, cooking, drawing while occasionally reading the odd novel but there was no satisfaction in a life where she only existed for the sole purpose of serving a man. Her whole life she listened and obeyed, her only desire being to at least choose who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Now she couldn’t even have that- her only last grasp for autonomy was being snatched away from her.

“You will tell Mr Jeong that we cannot move forward with this marriage, or I will tell him myself." She claimed threateningly, her hands balled into fists.

"No, I will not. You will marry Yunho and that is that! Do you understand me? Your wedding is in two weeks so I suggest you start preparing for your departure."

"You planned all of this, and didn't once think to ask for my consultation?" With wide eyes in disbelief at the fact that she only had two weeks left in her childhood home before her name was tied to someone else’s.

"What does your opinion matter? I am your father, I know what's best for you." He moved closer to her, she winced as the tone of his voice rose, at this point it was better to think about what the Jeong family thought of him rather than her.

"No. You know what's best for yourself. You have always prioritised yourself over your own daughter and wife. You have never cared for me. It always what Byungchul Hwang has wanted and never-" his palm connected with her cheek, the slap sending a stinging pain through the supple flesh. His coarse grip latched onto her shoulders shaking them roughly; her body oscillating as he screamed at her many of the words sprinting through her head, the echo of his strident tone ringing in her ears, vision clouding as the line of tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Something along the lines of 'ungrateful child', 'worthless', 'wretched' and any other invective he forced upon her. Nothing she hadn’t heard before. What was hearing them once more, before she succumbed to his despotism?

She could not recall how long he had endlessly been screaming at her, until her mother had stormed into the room calming her father, before sending her to her own room. The hallways of her childhood home seemed to restrict her now, the windows had been tightly sealed shut due to the wind- they seemed make the whole house feel smaller. Closed doors felt like shackles binding to her feet, restraining her. Her room was no solace, not anymore as she collapsed onto her bed a familiar numbness gnawing at her.

The two weeks had skimmed by faster than she would have hoped, the duration of them spent packing away the contents of her room into boxes. She dismissed the help of the servants wanting to savour the last parts of her childhood alone, structurally moving from one side of the room to the other. In the end there were many things that she had to throw away, keeping only the items closest to her heart. Min Cha informed her that Mrs Hwang told the Jeong family that his fiancée could not attend the dinner due to “feminine problems” to which this made both of their cheeks flush red. They shared a laugh, a genuine smile that bled into sadness soon after as it dawned on her that she wouldn’t share many more laughs with Min Cha for a long time. On her last evening at the home, she kissed the younger one before dismissing her for the rest of the night holding her a little longer, and a little tighter than she usually would have.

The creak of the wooden door, hauled at her attention head snapping up from the suitcase as her mother treaded into the room, steady but with graceful steps. She could never be as regal as her mother, she never understood how her mother maintained such a façade even after so many years of suffering from social abuse. How did one not break?

“Would you like some help dear?” Shaking her head, her hands glided over the clothes methodically stacking them one on top of the other. “I never thought the day would come, and so soon at that.” She sensed a smile on her mother’s lips, her awkwardly joyful tone striking a nerve.

“It wouldn’t have come so soon if you didn’t leave me with much of a choice.” Miss Hwang scoffed, avoiding her mother’s gaze as she continued packing her clothes into her bags. Am I ungrateful for thinking that I want a love that never dies?

“My love-,”

She shook her head furiously, pausing the words that came out of her mother's mouth. Of course she knew that her whole life she wouldn’t be allowed to have a say in her father’s decisions. She knew that eventually she’d be pawned off to the richest man that asked for hand but for a long time those were thoughts that were yet to become real. Tomorrow she’d be married off to Jeong Yunho, the minister’s son and be nothing but his trophy wife. The bearer of his children and an extension of his property. A pretty macabre way to perceive the situation that she was put in but she didn’t see any other way going about it.

“Today I am your daughter, tomorrow I will be just an object-not even worthy of being called a woman. What is a woman anyway, mother? A commodity, right? A baggage to be passed from one man to another?” She pondered as her mother gasped, tears rushing to the front of her eyes. How could her daughter have the courage to say that to her? “Don't look at me like that mother, you never once fought for me.” She bent down to knees, arms extending to grab the number of boxes that she kept beneath her bed. Her own tears pooled at her eyes. Attempting to keep them at bay, she remained on the floor sifting through boxes of jewellery, letters, books composing them into piles of what she did and did not need. She would give them all to Min Cha, with the exception of her a few sets of her mother’s pearls and diamonds. After several minutes, Mrs Hwang left from the room, she released a painful sigh. When the sun sunk beneath the horizon paving the way for the moon to rise upon the night, she had finally finished packing all of her belongings leaving them by her bedroom door for the butler to pick up and take downstairs in the morning. Glaring at the green hanbok draped on the dressing table stool, placed there by one of the maids- unbeknownst to her- she rested her head down on the silk pillow. Pulling the comforter over her eyes she shut her eyes, wishing and praying this was all a long and horrible dream.

A horrible dream it was not, she was rudely awakened from her peaceful slumber. Washed and dressed into a traditional green hanbok, hair brushed back and combed held into place by a bejewelled headpiece. The maids had painted red dots on her cheeks symbolising her youth but to also "ward off evil spirits" as the elders claimed. They left in her own room for a while, as they patiently awaited for the groom's family to arrive. The oldest maid appeared at her side, stroking her hair gently with an abating smile that even her mother failed to provide for her.

“I don’t know how to be a daughter and he’s expecting to be someone’s wife.” Her whisper transcended through Ji Hye's soul, a cry so quiet as if she was hanging onto the edge of an abandoned precipice with nothing but the rush of a hollow sea waiting to invite her death.

“Marriage is all about compromise, dear. Love him the way you want to be loved, men don’t know anything about affection- they need to be led the way. Hold his hands and promise you’ll be a devoted wife. He’ll hold yours and protect you with his life,”

Before she knew it the entire wedding ceremony had come to a close, she couldn't remember anything much other than staring into Yunho's eyes, his face hidden behind a fan as he entered their garden. It was tradition for grooms to give their brides a wild goose during the wedding ceremony, the flapping of its wings as it entered her father's arms provided her with temporary amusement. She remembered the exchange of their vows, formalising their union over a cup of wine. The few guests had eaten their food, blessing the newlyweds with nothing but happiness and prosperity in their marriage.

Entering the palanquin, she jerked at the white curtains before the bearers could, avoiding her mother's eyes through the translucent fabric. Maybe she was just being dramatic and unnecessary, but still it hurt to be used as a tool to extend the Hwang name into nobility. Not to mention Yunho had barely spared her a single glance other than when he was forced to play the role of a loving husband in front of their relatives. Leaning her head against the palanquin, exhaustion dominated her; she gave into her body’s demands to sleep.

“Ahem” a low grumble had stirred her awake from her slumber, an obnoxious yawn almost startling the servant who had been instructed to awake her. Rubbing her eyes, she stepped out of the palanquin the air burning her warm skin.

Two large black wooden gates opened to reveal the Hanok poised at the centre. It was not the largest house she'd seen a noble have but it was certainly a beauty with its glistening purple glazed tiles that decorated the curved roof and the dark brown walls of timber that structured around the home. A small set of stairs led to the porch revealing the salmun, a door made of wood panels and thick paper, allowing them entrance into the home, the path there littered with greenery that she made note to water every morning. Lifting the fabric of her hanbok she treaded up the stairs lingering by the porch as both her father-in-law and Yunho welcomed the servants to place the luggage in the front yard.

“I’ll have the maids take the rest in.” Yunho reassured his father, stood by the doorway with a questioning look of their presence, or rather absence. With a warm smile, Jeong laid a comforting hand on his daughter-in-laws shoulder.

“I’ve left this home in your hands, my dear. Yet should you need anything- I’m only one letter away.” His words held more tenderness than what was in her father’s being alone. He soon dispersed from the estate. With ease, Yunho grabbed hold of the luggage, sliding the door open to disappear into a corner of the home within seconds. All without a single word. Hastily, she followed after him; the interior of the home was almost empty, the translucency of each door feigned an impression of massiveness. She learned quickly that there were in fact no maids in the home, so then why did he lie to his father? Did Mr Jeong not know that Yunho kept no servants in his home? Not even as much as one maid?

There was little to no furniture, as she peeked her around the living space, the dining room, then she found herself wandering near a bedroom adjacent to a study and washroom.

“These are my quarters. Follow me, I’ll show you to yours.” His glacial tone had startled her, she felt her veins pulsating as blood sped through her body like scarlet rivers. Trailing after him, she noticed that the further they moved in, the colder it was wrapping her arms around her shoulders to keep her warm. The hallways seemed to be narrower in this part of the home too. Her quarters were similar to that of his with the rooms the same size and similarly furnished except in the far corner of the room there was a dressing table with a small stool. Adjacent was a washing room, however to compensate for the missing study there was a door that led to a porch extending straight to the garden. With her luggage held at the foot of the bed, her peripheral vision caught Yunho loitering by the door fiddling with his fingers as if he was unsure of what to do with himself.

“I thought we were supposed to be staying in the same room.”

“I like my own space.” She nodded in agreement. Unsure of what to do, she reached for his hands to place in her own as Ji Hye had advised her to do. Hold his hands and promise you’ll be a devoted wife. Yunho looked down at her in confusion.

“I promise I won’t let you down, I'll be a devot-."

"Dear god, stop this absurdity." Roughly, he shoved her hands away from him, "Stop this foolish act." The coarseness of his words stunned her, an uncomfortable warmth spreading across her cheeks as she looked down at her feet in embarrassment wanting nothing more than the ground to engulf her and take her six feet under. "Here's my promise. Do not expect me to be a doting husband and kiss you goodnight. This marriage is at the expense of both our parents. You’re nothing but a baggage to me, weighing me down.” He snarled, bitterness hanging heavy on his tongue. "Oh and stay out of sight- I can’t stand looking at you.” He grimaced at her appearance before stalking off in the other direction, leaving her alone in the desolate hallway. What great sin must she have committed for her to be have been cursed with a man like him? Barely even a day into their marriage and he was abandoning her as one did to a wounded animal in a slum. A sharp pang penetrated her heart as she slumped down on the bed. Tucking in her knees she bit her lips refusing to let out a sob. The worst was yet to come so it was futile crying now, she’d save her tears for when he had finally deconstructed her will to live as of now if she obeyed his rules she could survive.

As expected of her, she stayed out of sight and adhered to every command. Every morning she woke up at dawn rushing to the kitchen sweating over steaming soup, chopping vegetables as fast as she could before he woke up. The simultaneous roaring of the boiling pots of rice and whistling of the kettle often made her panic, the halls becoming used to her running down it as she frantically organised the table. The last few times she was late to set the table, she was subjugated to his yelling. He did not even end up eating the food in the end, surging out of the house in anger, speeding after him she tried to reason with him but Yunho left the front gate too soon and there was no point in causing a further commotion.

Not long ago her mother had sent a parcel to the house: a gorgeous traditional dress made from chiffon and silk, with an abundance of letters. A short note from her father, a page from her mother, and about three lengthy sheets from Min Cha updating her on all of the missed gossip of the town. Yet the final line of the letter had made her stop in her path as she strolled across the garden. 'How is your husband? Does he make you happy?'

'He is in great health. Yes, he makes me happy. As happy as the sun makes the earth when it arises from the suffocating dark.'

She wore the dress to one of the dinners that Yunho had been invited to by his good friend, and fellow scholar, Kim Hongjoong and his wife. For the first time in a long time when she looked in the mirror, she was complacent with her appearance the dress accentuating her figure in all the right places- she even wore a ribbon as she tied up her braid. Patiently, Yunho stood by the entrance of their home. Mrs Jeong walked up to him; on observing her presence he did not care to give her second look guiding her out of their home and down the village to Hongjoong's estate. Her esteem had dropped a little, she would’ve taken so much as a glance her way though he wasn’t obligated to give her even that much. Additionally, it hurt that many of the wives, at the party, had their husbands fixed to their sides while Yunho seemed to never be present. Even when the husbands had formed a congregation, some of them would glance affectionately at their spouses meanwhile Yunho never cared for a second to see if she was still in the room. For a while she just hid in the garden, away from the social gathering like she used to at the Hwang estate- enjoying her own comfort amongst nature. Except this time it was not comforting at all, not when the wives told her how lucky she was to have a handsome and intellectual husband like Yunho. Simply she smiled although a pit formed in her heart that only really seemed to dig deeper each time she was reminded of the reality of her miserable marriage. If only they knew, if only someone cared enough to ask her if she was happy instead of telling her how lucky she was. If only they noticed her distance and the sadness veiled beneath the façade of contentment.

Hongjoong, who had initially been making his way to the kitchen to check on how much longer they had to wait until the food was served, noticed a feminine figure standing alone by the white chrysanthemums her fingers brushing over the surface of the petal.

“Jagiya have you seen Mrs Jeong, I can’t-,” Mrs Kim followed his line of sight to find her target. The couple shared a look before Hongjoong made his way to the garden, Mrs Kim fixing her spot by the window.

“Mrs Jeong, are you ok?” The voice of concern cracked her immersion away from the chrysanthemums to Hongjoong who held a friendly demeanour.

“Yes, I’m just not very social at big gatherings.” She admitted, dipping her head in embarrassment.

“Ah, you’re quite the wallflower. Opposite to Yunho, he’s very talkative. I wonder how you put up with him when you feign such quietness.” Forcefully, she smiled. He never spoke to her; when he did it usually out of necessity. “You should come in now, the night will be settling in soon and dinner is about to be served.” Hongjoong had left her to her own devices but as soon as he turned, the hospitable appearance had dropped and he felt a wave of fury. He could see it in her eyes, the sadness she was suffering from, he noticed the longing looks she sent him and Yunho barely acknowledging her presence. How could he be so nonchalant? Mrs Jeong returned back to the house just in time for dinner to be served, the men and women had naturally been segregated from each other enjoying the delicious dishes cooked by the servants with the help of Mrs Kim. The lady of the house occasionally peered over her bowl to see Yunho’s wife who was crammed into the corner of the room avoiding conversation. When she was dragged into one, she engaged enough to not be seen as ignorant before excusing herself to use the restroom. She hid in the bathroom until she was sure that dinner was over, it had turned out that she came back after desert but nobody paid much attention to her absence. Silently, she thanked god for their disinterest.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the table the males had been interrogating Yunho on his life as a newlywed husband. For all they knew he was smitten with his wife and treated her as if she was the Queen Consort herself, taking his distance from her at this gathering as an act of shyness.

“Thank god you settled down, I was getting worried that you were going to be taking up courtesans for the rest of your life.” Mingi, his closest companion, imputed.

“Well that option wasn’t too bad either.” He aimlessly joked, receiving a mixture of responses. Some awkwardly chuckled while others gave him a pointed look latching onto his pending lassitude to marriage. The rest of the evening flew by in a breeze, at the end all of the couples drew back to their respective pairs- thanking the Kim family for their hospitality before dispersing out of the estate with linked arms and intertwined hands.

“You have got to be more attentive towards your wife Yunho. It’s what makes the moments between you much more candid.” Hongjoong advised as Yunho came to bid him goodbye. For the first time during the evening he searched for his wife, finding her conversing with Hongjoong’s spouse by the doorway.

“What do you mean, hyung?” Yunho questioned, that great big grin of his faltering slightly.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that you should be able sense her emotions towards you at this point. Do you ever stop to think that for a married woman she looks incredibly lonely?” His tongue poked the inside of his mouth, he cocked his head as he focused his attention towards her.

“I think you’ve got it all wrong. She’s just never been much of a social butterfly.” Hongjoong begged to differ but he did not want to pry, he had his attempt at trying to get Yunho to see how stoic he was being- whether or not he wanted to understand his sobriety was his own problem. The pair approached their wives, Yunho snaking an his arm around her waist, drawing her closer to him-he sensed how stiff she had gotten from his touch.

“…and be sure to visit me whenever you’d like! I would enjoy the company, Mrs Jeong.” Mrs Kim offered. The newlyweds smiled, bid their final goodbyes and whisked themselves away from the home. Yunho kept his arm around her waist, gripping his wife to his side all really because he saw the evident scepticism whenever he spoke about his marriage, the wool could not be pulled over Hongjoong’s eyes.

“Complaining about me to Hongjoong?” Her back pressed against the wooden panel as he inched towards her intimidatingly.

“What? No, there’s nothing to complain about-” He grabbed the bottom of her chin, her neck snapped back as she looked at him her jaw paining from the intensity of his coarse grip.

“I’m starting to get sick of you,” He yanked her head backwards and forwards, a breath catching in her throat. In that moment he looked like her father, inflicting tethers of abuse to assert his dominance. With a thumping heart that beat too quickly for its own good, her vision became cloudy, breaths exhilarating as he continued to yell at her. This time, the words whirled over her head- her mind clogged with everything and nothing at the same time as the walls of the room began to shimmer, caving in on her. Ripping away from his grip, she pushed past him stumbling to her quarters as tears rushed to the front of her eyes, her mind filling with all of the trauma she had endured from her childhood, as he called after her. She broke into a sprint, tearing through the open space. Her back slumped against the door; she gripped her lips to prevent any sound from coming out as hot tears streamed down her paling skin. Irrational thoughts began to infiltrate her mind.

I can’t do this anymore.

He called out her name through the door, skin leaping of her muscles at the unusual gentleness.

“Let me come in, what’s going on?” No, he’d only mock her. She couldn’t let her guard down. Darting her eyes to the drawer on her bedside table, the hurricane of voices in her mind seemed to quieten.

No one would miss me, right?

The tears stopped, the pace of her heart regulating back again, quickened breaths slowing as she edged closer to the drawer. Chewing on her lip, she felt a roar of emotions tackle her as she gripped the cold metal handle this time not bothering to glue her mouth shut as obnoxious tears escaped her.

Min Cha would miss her. Her mother would miss her. Maybe not her husband or her father. Her husband could move on, wives were replaceable after all. Though killing herself would be a way at getting back at her father, she had no siblings- there would be no one to elevate the Hwang name. Suicide was socially unacceptable, so she’d be digging a grave for both herself and her family. The thought had crossed her mind too many times than she’d liked to admit but she lacked the strength to commit the sin. Instead she'd clasp her hands together and pray to god for a way out of this torment. Fatigue overpowered her at last, crawling to the bed she lifted the covers slipping underneath as her arms wrapped around herself to feel the warmth she was entitled to. When she slept, she dreamt of a fantasy- a life where he loved her and she loved him. As deeply and constantly as one wanted to be loved.

He stood on the other side of the door, tempted to slide it open to see if she was ok. Her eyes had held a certain type of horror that had haunted him. Yunho was too proud to admit that he had been treating her terribly, in an attempt to rebel against his father for the way he'd been forced into this marriage with no way out. Despite this remark, he was still too shallow to see that she was in the same position as himself suffering worse at the hands of his tyranny.

"My dearest Min Cha,

I lied to you. I lied to you when I said he makes me happy. How can I be happy when I have to beg for him look at me? If God permitted I ever crossed his mind it would be a blessing for he torments me with his harsh words and aloof stare-"

He called out her name.

For the first time in a very long time, since that night he stood outside the door for hours as she sobbed herself weary. The sound of him calling her name echoing the beat of her heart, every octave was every rhythm silencing the sorrowness in her soul. Even when he subjected her to his ferocity, she grappled onto the moments when he called for her because even being used felt like loving.

"I was going to go on a walk, if you'd like to join me?" His eyes darted to sheet in front of her, "if you're busy-"

"I'd love to," Maybe she said that too quickly, but he gave her a sheepish smile. Slipping the sheet inside the drawer and closing the pot of ink, she rose from her seat following Yunho out of the home.

The neighbourhood was quiet, as the sun began to sink beneath the sky. Some of the neighbourhood’s children scuttled back into their homes- all of them reminding her of her own dear Min Cha. They’d ventured out of the town centre, towards the outskirts where a large park was situated. She’d never gone there herself, but saw it on her way to Mrs Kim’s house. The park itself was desolate, the grass waving eloquently as few birds soared through the sky. She wondered what it was like to be free. Was she not free? Perhaps free from her father’s wrath, but instead subjugated to even worse at the hands of her husband. In that moment she envied Mrs Kim- and envy was a foreign feeling to her- for having someone as caring as Hongjoong as her husband. Whilst she was so whisked away in her sorrows, she didn’t notice Yunho draw his fingers closer to her- before encapsulating her whole hand within his. The sudden warmth perpetuated through her, her heart fluttering at this sudden affection. Was he starting to appreciate her now?

"Hongjoong-nah!" he called out, summoning the attention of the couple sat beneath a tree, a large number of metres away from them. Oh, that's why he held my hand. Everything was an act to him, she bit her lip to stop it from quivering. No affection was ever really genuine and no amount of praying to God would ever make it real. Hongjoong and his wife waved back, Yunho stepped forward to make his way across the fields towards them but she tugged at his arm pulling him back. He looked down at her confused, attempting to tug her along with him but her feet anchored to the ground.

"I think you should leave them be, they're having their own moment." she offered, her faint voice infiltrating his ears. Processing the thought, he pursed his lips and then nodded. They both waved at the couple, turning away to move- she half expected him to let go off her hand at that but their hands remained clasped together, Yunho tightening his grip as they walked away from the fields back to their home.

Undiscovered to them, when Hongjoong waved back he almost made a gesture to invite them over to him when his wife tugged at his arm.

"Let them be, Joong. They're having their moment." He agreed, retracting his hand, watching as his best friend walk away from him.

As suspected, Yunho’s sentiment stemmed from his guilt. After that day where they walked through the park together, he never invited another moment of closeness. Ignoring the agonising pang that struck through her, she moved on with her chores, simply deciding that she would have to live it the same way that her mother did.

Her father-in-law stopped to visit a few times. Yunho had hired maids, for the week that he stayed over. For the first time it felt odd to not be doing something, she was not at comfort with it. However, she had to manufacture a façade for Mr Jeong; so she did. Much to Yunho’s dismay, her mother had sent a letter saying that she too was passing through the town and wanted to visit her daughter.

She knocked on the door to his study, his head perked up at the sight of her. Inaudibly she handed the letter to him, to which he quickly scanned over the page releasing an annoyed sigh.

“You couldn’t have told me earlier? I wouldn’t have to dismiss the maids.”

“I only got the letter today.” Rolling his eyes, he leaned back in his chair, exercising his strained fingers. “Go.” He ordered.

“Would you like me to get you-,”

“Go.”

Her mother, meekly, ambled through the gate a small bag of luggage in hand. Yunho had not been at home when she arrived, but when he came back she had to scuttle to the doorway and make him aware so that her mother wouldn’t have to hear any of his harsh words. With a short nod, he retreated to his room to change out his scholars robes, before greeting his mother-in-law in the dining room.

“You’re so lucky, dear, to have a husband like Yunho. Tall, handsome, clever. What more could you ask for?” For him to care for me, to treat me as his equal. To not just treat me as a toy, picking and dropping me whenever he wishes. Mrs Hwang’s hands outstretched for her daughter’s, jerking immediately once she had surveyed them. They were not soft like they had used to be, but coarse-as if struck by labour. “These aren’t a wives hands. Those are tender and full of care. These are overworked.”

“He’s overworked my love for him.” She joked. Mrs Hwang gave a detailed stare before cracking a forced smile, fear rushing through her. Perhaps she was just overthinking, maybe her daughter had taken up studying again and was spending her free time writing away with her husband.

“I almost forgot. I came to hand the keys to your grandmothers estate in Hahoe. Take it as a wedding gift. You ought to visit, to see if it’s still intact or has been run over by the villagers.” Accepting the keys from her mother, she opened up her bedside drawer, waiting for the rush of sombre emotions to subside before throwing them in.

Sometimes I envy you, at least you were seen even if it was to be hurt.

A low hiss escaped from her lips as she carried the heavy tray to the dining room, a sharp stab penetrating through her lower abdomen almost disabling her ability to move through the vast hallways. After many months, the frigidity of her quarters had finally gotten to her, waking up with a stuffy nose and an abrasive tickle in her throat. Much to her dismay, Yunho was sat in his seat as she rested his food in front of him. She bit her lip as she kneeled to set out his dishes, restraining a grunt. Her hands moved quickly, partly so she could withdraw to her room, roll up into a ball and wallow in her own pain. Yunho noticed her paling skin and the beads of sweat forming above her lip as with a shaky breath she poured his tea, his prolonging beam burning into her skull. Hastily, she rose up grimacing before turning to leave. He shot out his hand, grabbing her wrist, fear bleeding onto her face.

“You should stay and eat with me.” He suggested. The words somehow warmed her heart, yet the two forces of pain and comfort repelled against each other. Tugging at her wrist, it prompted her to sit aside him Yunho moving the plate between them. "Eat up, you look really weak. Are you eating properly?" With furrowed brows and pursed lips he lifted his spoon to feed her, her hand lifted to grab the handle of the spoon but he jerked it back. "Open your mouth." he spoke light heartedly. She accepted his spoonful of food as if he hadn't subjected her to months of distance and cold words. As if a few months ago their marriage was menial and meant as much as servant meant to a king or wheat meant to a lion. What had caused this sudden change? They spent rest of the duration of breakfast taking in turns eating; she spent the whole time clutching at her stomach- and avoiding eye contact at that. He wanted something from her, her nerves jolting at the thought of being used. At the end, she picked up all the dishes to clear them from the table, scurrying out of the room so he would be unable to notice the blush forming on her cheeks when he attempted to assist her and their skin touched sending a tingle through her fingers. Though he did notice, a blush crept upon his face- even he couldn't understand the change in heart despite knowing that his indifference towards her was unjustified; he could not blame the cruelty he beguiled her to on his father and a marriage he did not want.

A sigh of relief escaped her once he left the house; she limped to her room, the pains in her stomach unfaltering. Closing her eyes, she slipped into a deep slumber. When she had awakened to a soft nudge, no light streamed in through the windows. Her eyes widened in realisation, grunting to sit up.

“Are you ok?” She jumped slightly, shifting her line of sight to find her husband kneeled beside her. Oh god. An intense consternation seethed through her blood, her heart wavering with anticipation as if waiting on his judgement. What would he do? Shout at her? Maybe grab her forcefully as he had once done? Deprive her of food? He hadn’t done the latter as of yet, but what was stopping him? His despotism held no bounds. Yet, to her surprise, he did none of it. Instead, he placed the palm of his hand to her forehead, feeling the burn of her skin against his. “Goodness, stay here. Don’t move.” Her vision wavered, as a result of her drowsiness. Tucking up her knees to her chest, she waited for him on her bed. After a while, he reappeared in her room with a tray holding an assortment of things. A bowl of hot soup, some tea, a spoon. His affection astounded her. Yunho did not even let her pick up the bowl, raising the spoon to her lips to feed her the soup.

“Have you eaten?” She asked. He shook his head.

“You must hungry, I can prepare you food.”

“Don’t bother, you’re staying here. Besides I’m not hungry. How long have you been in pain for?” Was this the same Yunho she was married to? Actually, was this all a dream?

“Not long, it started today.” His lips fell into a polite frown. She had always agreed when others told her that Yunho possessed a handsome face, yet today those features became particularly distinguished to her.

“I can call the Physician I’ll go-,”

“There’s no need. I’m-,” He arched an eyebrow in inquisition. “I’m on that time of the month.” His ears tinged red in embarrassment, an endearing smile fell on her. Then it had dawned on her. When was the last time she smiled? Truly, and not forced?

“Would you like a heating pad then?” Nodding her head, she beamed again, to which he immediately dispersed out of the room to obey her request. Yunho had realised how much he enjoyed being affectionate, hating himself for the torture he inflicted upon her. Every touch was still staggered, every kind word had come off less fluently than he would have liked.

“You have a thing for staring into space.” Yunho’s eyes met hers. “You’ll look at anything but me.” He sat in her room again, he liked it there. There was a comfort in her quarters that could not be found elsewhere in the home. Though she found comfort in the garden. He had never paid much attention to it before, his scholarly duties often prevented him from venturing into the garden- sometimes he stayed over the nights at the office, scribbling away in journals fulfilling an endless piles of tasks submitted to him by his superiors. He found himself looking at her whilst she was staring intently out of the window.

“Is that a problem?” She provoked, playfully.

“Yes. I require your attention.” She focused on his wide brown eyes for a second before raising her eyebrows in a questioning manner, one that read ‘Well what do you want from me?’ She knew better now than to interpret this sudden interest in her, as affection. “Is it too bad for me to want to you focus on me instead?” Hesitantly, he enveloped her smaller hands into his the warmth of his palms easing the tension of their embrace. Then with all the courage he had, he shifted his body to rest his head on her laps, her hands flinging upwards at the shock of the sudden display of affection. He closed his eyes as she feebly combed her fingers through his soft black hair. Were these the small moments of affection that made a happy marriage? Moments where they were basked in each others embrace, nothing but the comfort of silence draping over them.

“How was your day?” She whispered, a small smile formed on his lips.

“Pretty dull if you ask me, meetings after meetings but no progression. How was yours?”

“Also dull. But the kitchen and garden keeps me occupied.” His eyes snapped open and she halted her movements for a second.

“I could hire the servants back to help you, if it’s too much.” She shook her head as if to disagree. In all honesty, she liked the domesticity. It brought her a sense of security- if she could not entirely stable a place in his heart, she could at least have a place in his home. He made himself comfortable in her laps, flipping his head as if to indicate he was about to sleep.

“Right you can get off me now, your big head is weighing down my legs.” He snickered, that beautiful smile crawling across his defined features, plaguing her own heart. She snickered with him, sharing a small laughter between them. He did leave her that night, but not without placing a chaste kiss on her forehead leaving with her smile that fell with her when she slept.

“She just wanted a few pieces of literature. I write a few things in the margins.” On her way home from Mrs Kim's she sought Yunho stood outside of their home with another woman. A beautiful woman at that, wrought with elegance and grace. Her movements so poise, she even matched Yunho's insatiable beauty. He caught her discontentment through his peripheral vision. Picking up a book from the night stand in his quarters, where they both sat on his bed, he flipped through a few pages showing her his detailed annotation. “Most people just like to read my notes rather than the actual novel.”

“It’s very profound.” She noted, reeling through the words. He had a poetic way of writing, reflective of his image and movements. Yunho was looking at her again, whilst she was flipping through the pages in his book. He caught the long curve of her lashes, blinking as soft as a child’s blow across a face. Like the way he used to blow on his mother’s eyes to steer her awake from her sleep when he was hungry.

“You’re beautiful.” He blurted. And she was. She always was. He was just too cruel to deny himself the pleasures of being in love to admit that to himself. “I’m sorry.” A second confession, yet this one hung tensely in the air. Without looking at him, her palm settled on his cheek. She did not have the strength to say it was ok, because none of it was.

“Can you look at me?” Their eyes connected in an instant. His lips drawing nearer to her own. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, before meeting her lips, drawing her into a passionate kiss fuelled from his melancholia. I’m sorry. And they met again, in the darkness of his room, heads falling onto the pillow, kissing away their sorrows until the stars ignited in the night sky.

He had not come home for a while, his absence tormented her. She knew of his increasing number of hours at the Royal Office, regardless she launched into a fit of worry as she strode down the street to his workplace. If he wasn't going to come home himself, she would have to drag him from there. Upon reaching his workplace, piles of scholars rushed out yet Yunho was still nowhere to be seen.

“Are you ok, Miss?” A scholar had asked.

“I’m looking for Jeong Yunho.”

“In the library. Just down the hall from the entrance.” Nodding she quickly thanked him before he could question her further. Her eyes ran down the aisles, letting out an exhale when she noticed his appearance, at the bottom end. Though before she could take a step forward, the same noblewoman appeared from before. A pleasant smile graced his lips as she handed back one of his books. It had all appeared slow from then on, the way that she grabbed his collar down towards her.

She watched him kiss her.

Did the Earth stop orbiting the sun? For everything in that moment felt incredibly still, like the wind had an hitch in its throat, the delicate leaves outside had stopped swaying; the birds had stopped flapping their wings. When a dissonant gasp had escaped from her lips, the world had resumed all the same, soul thriving with vigilance. He had kissed her the same way she had once been kissed: with such raw emotional intensity, his hands settled on her waist bringing her closer to him. She couldn't watch, tears blurring her vision her sweaty palms balled into fists at her side. Tearing away from them she sprinted back towards her home- her body wracking with tears. Was it even her home anymore? It wasn't enough that she walked through the desolate alleyways, her sobs were loud enough to wake an animal from hibernation but she couldn't care less. Not when his love felt like a feather floating towards the ground, away from her and she was unable to clasp it, feeling its fibres caress her skin. It's touch was no longer satisfactory, it was addictive and she wanted more. Yet it was not hers to have, and not his to give.

All of it was a lie. She wasn't just a noble woman interested in some reading. She wasn't just an acquaintance. After all, Mrs Jeong wasn't just his wife- maybe on paper but had there ever really been moment in their relationship where his love hadn't reached after a period of hurt? There was no continuity to his affection and there never would be. The sadness within her transgressed to anger, she slipped into her quarters through the back garden- her tears ceasing as her body gushed with a familiar numbness.

How long- No.

There would be no more 'How long?' because with each passing second as she prayed for him to return to her and her alone, Yunho took advantage of her desperation to keep her looped to him. Impulsively, she yanked at her drawers grabbing at every article of clothing she possessed and shoving them into the same bags she had entered this cursed home with a never ending stream of tears soundlessly pouring down her face as she did. Her heart tugged at her when she slid the bags under her bed so he would not see if he entered her room. Residing to the table, she began to scribble at the sheet of paper, the wounding scratching of the quill against paper creating small dents.

He never returned home that night. And she didn't long to see his face, the memory of it disgusting her. She felt so tainted, marked, by his touch- is that all he wanted her for? Her body? And her, a fool she was to give it to him like it meant nothing to her. When the dawn seeped into the sky she placed a letter on the mahogany table of his study, taking the envelope containing the key that her mother had given her and fled from the estate-taking the doors at the back of the home. Her chest burned as she stormed up the hill, and when she reached to the top of it the chilling air suffocated her lungs- her eyes flung back to the home, her yearning for it ever so strong. A final look; she tore her eyes knowing that if she went back she'd only get hurt even more and there would be no one to blame but herself.

"Jagiya, I'm home!" He called into the foyer. There was no pattering of footsteps stumbling his way to greet him home. Neither was she in the kitchen, in her quarters-or his own. In replacement of her absence, in the study a crisp, folded up note sat on his desk. His heart thumped in his chest as he picked it up.

My love,

I find I cannot bring myself to say the things I want, to your face. So as the coward I am, I say them through this letter hoping it reaches your heart instead of your eyes. I’m sorry that I married you. I’m sorry that she’s not yours. I’m sorry that even though I tried, and tried and tried that I wasn’t enough for you. So I’m setting you free from the shackles of this marriage. Whilst a divorce is not an option, I wish for you to take my departure as a blessing to move on with the woman you love.

I cannot stand in the same room as you, knowing she stood there too. I cannot bear your touch knowing she felt you too, in a more sincere way than I have ever felt. I cannot and will not hear you say you love me, not when you don’t mean it. Perhaps you feel you must say it out of obligation. Now you have no obligation to me, so say it to her in all the ways I wanted to hear them.

Lastly, thank you. Whilst I could not be entitled to your heart, you gave me the comfort of your home, your money and somewhat your time. For that I’ll always be grateful. I wish you the best of luck for the future.

Sincerely,

Miss Hwang

The letter in his hands trembled, tears billowing at the front of his brown eyes. How did he lose her? Did she somehow see the kiss? The way that the noblewoman had forced herself onto him, fixing her lips to him so tightly, he was paralysed on the spot. He could have sworn he felt her presence looming in the room, he couldn’t do this to her. He had hurt her enough. Roughly pushing away the noblewoman he ran to the bathroom, scrubbing at his lips as if it would remove the cursed action in itself; take the unremovable stain off. A weak sob escaped from his lips, sinking to his knees to cry out to the moon. It was all a mistake. He needed to find her, he needed to make his way to back to her.

A little body dashed across the front lawn, parading around the bushes as his mother stood in the kitchen, stacking away the dishes back into the cupboards. Thunder cracked the sky once more as a tall figure dashed up the hill to find comfort from the rain in the house settled upon the hill. He found that a child ran around the outside, who having sought him transcend tiredly, slowly inched towards him. Having been sent to Hahoe to retrieve scrolls and various pieces of literature, he had been let out of the carriage too early left to venture his way into the town. Normally, Yunho’s navigation skills were precise though with his mind wrought with numbness- it severed at his ability to think rationally. Yunho did not find her. He had searched the whole of Joseon too. From Hongjoong’s home all the way to her parents. Every possible place he thought she could be, he checked. Her mother cried out her soul, his father taunted him. A fool he was to let a diamond slip from his hands.

Si Won watched a man walk up the hill to his home, cocking his head in inquisition. His mother, Mrs Jeong, stalked to the doorway to call her child back into the home. A few weeks after she had reached her grandmother’s home in Hahoe, she was attacked by a wave of sickness every morning, tiredness gnawing at her muscles and had suddenly manifested a large appetite. She met with the towns physician, quickly learning that she was pregnant. She came back home to cry herself to sleep, so much so that she had almost lost her child in the midst of her grief. He became her anchor, giving her a reason to wake up every morning and to survive.

“Si Won, get back inside.” The toddler nodded before dashing down the hills to satisfy his interest in the peculiar stranger. Yunho’s movements halted as he met with the boy, who had shyly stopped less than a metre away. With a kind wave, the boy smiled- one that eerily mirrored his own.

She stopped as the stranger lifted up her child, walking in the direction of her home. There was something about the way that he moved that magnetised her, though the rain beating down on them, had her rushing back into the doorway-poking out her head. Yunho’s heart stopped for a split second in his chest.

It was her.

The child released himself from his grip, squirming to be put down. Gently, Yunho set down the boy who rushed into his home and passed his mother, frozen to the ground. He called out her name, a pained sob releasing from her as she turned to grab her child.

She had left the door open, Yunho ran in. Facing away from him, her child’s head buried in the crook of her neck by the light force of her hand. All so he couldn’t see her in this moment of vulnerability. No child should ever see their mother cry. It hurt more for them watch, than the mother to endure.

“I searched the whole of Joseon for you, but I couldn’t find you.” His wavering voice, reached out to her from the other end of the hallway.

“Close the door. Take off your shoes and go into the living room.” She ordered, passing up the steps to settle her child down to sleep. Persisting through his whines to not go to bed, he shrunk into a ball under her hard stare; huffing as if that would change her mind.

“Is he mine?” The soft covers blanketed his tiny frame, her hands caressing his cheeks. She got up to face him, nodding.

“I think you should leave, Yunho. When the storm subsides.”

“You have to listen to me. It’s not what you think. I know you saw us-,” His pleads were interrupted by the shutting of the door, descending the steps she entered the front room. “It was a mistake. She grabbed me, and forced herself onto me. I would never do that to you.”

“Would you not?” She argued. “You had no problem in hurting me when we first got married. In fact, in the entirety of our marriage you have hurt me more than you have loved me.” He went quiet, panting in the air as he held back sobs. He wanted to reach out and hold her again.

“I was sincere in my apology, I realised how wrong it was of me to subject you to punishment over something that was not your fault. I hadn’t realised that you never wanted this marriage in the first place- the same way that I didn’t. I hadn’t realised how cruel your father really was, until I told him that you had left home and there was not even so much as a scent of emotion on his face.” Breathlessly, his hands shook by his sides. Taking in his face, it no longer held the youthfulness that it once did. It was spun with tiredness and sorrow, his face sunken as if he hadn’t eaten in years. She wanted to dote on him again, hold him, feed him with her own spoon. Tell him how much she loved him, but hadn’t he hurt her so much already? Was he worth the endless amount of love she held for him?

“I had to beg for you to love me. Nobody begs for love Yunho. And even if you couldn’t love me, you could’ve tolerated me but you didn’t even want to do that.” A shaky breath escaped from her lips. His heated stare burned holes into her skin, her hair stuck to the back of her neck as sweat pooled under the guise of every humiliating emotion felt to man.

"Let me be yours again, please." he went down on his knees wrapping his arms around her stomach; tears staining the front of her dress. A stream of her own pearl tears soundlessly scurried down her face as she ran her fingers through his thick, black hair.

"Oh Yunho, why can't you understand? You've always been mine. It's me who's never had the privilege of having you." Falling to her knees, she plastered both of her hands to the side of his face, lifting it up gently so she could bore her eyes into his.

“Let me have that privilege again, let me have you in all the ways that you deserve. To have you and hold you in my arms is all I want to do. I will lay down my life for you just to have you again.” A solicitude remained suspended in the air, his staggered breaths pulping the palpable tension- attempting to calm himself.

“I’ve been hurt enough. I really don’t think I can go on being hurt.” He nodded his head understandingly, a look of dejection flooding over his perfect features. Hesitantly, she reached for his hands encasing his larger palm in hers- to grab at his attention. Patting her lap, she motioned for him to draw closer to her. Slowly, he drew closer falling into her laps. “Don’t say anything. I just want to hold you.” To hold you as if I’m going to lose you again. To drink you in as if this the last of drop of water to ever touch the earth.

With his face buried in her torso, his eyes fluttered to a close. Her knees tucked up, hands roaming through his hair as if it were uncharted lands. Wind rushed into the room, the sky dimming to a stony grey.

She knew now. Her worth was void of value but her love for him transcended deeper than the earth, vaster than the seven seas. Her hurt prolonged centuries, an immortal root that would transgress generations. Her heart limped towards him, through ruptured arteries and severed limbs.

“Get up, dear. Si Won-ah is waiting for us.”

•••

All Right Reserved © the-midnight-blooms

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

‘hwang’ meaning yellow

A/N: I was hyping up how sad this would be, so I hope this actually lives up to everyone’s expectations 😭 I did catch myself crying but I am overly emotional sometimes. This has been sitting in my drafts for a good four and a half months, it’s such a relief to finally get it out.

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

[biolumien]

palette

hajime umemiya x graffiti artist!reader only a little snippet, but it might become bigger later, word count: 899

you were at home right here with the collection of paint markers and aerosol cans at your feet. your free hand adjusted the filtration mask on your face as you sprayed a nonsensical pattern onto the wall using a fluorescent green so bright it almost hurt your eyes. as you began to draw on the concrete wall using a black paint marker, you felt the sneaking suspicion that eyes were on you. 

that was odd. 

you did most—hell, all your graffiti work in the dark of night, hidden from sight. you’d been chased off by a few townsfolk when you were tagging signs or walls in broad daylight, which you supposed was fair. you were technically doing something utterly illegal, after all. but you kept at it at night, painting flowers and animals, or just random letters onto whatever surface you could. 

bofurin boys often covered it up—as was their right, too, you supposed, but it always irritated you when you’d come back around and find work you’d slaved on all night be covered up with a fresh layer of white paint. 

but back to the feeling that you were being watched. 

“who’s there?” you call out, pulling off your filtration mask slightly. 

“so you’re the one doin’ all those green tags!” a boisterous voice said, and you felt a sudden presence right behind you. you whirled around, dropping your black paint marker across the floor, wincing as it skittered across the alleyway. “did you know that this taiyaki place has called us every day for a week about the graffiti?” 

fuck. you did know that voice. hajime-fuckin’-umemiya, leader of the bofurin, who had essentially annexed and reformed furin high school by force. not only were they vigilante heroes of justice—they also practically were civil servants that served the community—and now their fucking leader was staring at you with a strange, open look in his eye. 

he wasn’t even dressed in his furin uniform—you think you’ve seen it a few times, the whistling long coat that he wore out on patrols with some of the other furin boys. despite it all, he somehow had that sort of aura of warm authority about him—paired with a brilliant and curious smile on his face.

“so what?” you ask defensively. 

“you do know the graffiti’s illegal, right?” umemiya questioned, raising an eyebrow as he walked over to where your marker had skittered across the floor, picking it up. “you could be put in jail for up to five years, you know!” he flipped the marker around, holding it out to you. 

“like i need someone from furin lecturing me about that,” you say, taking the marker back from him. umemiya seemed to deflate a little, almost like a sad puppy, upon your very subtle furin insult, so you hastily add a, “no offense.” 

“mm. i get it, i get it! i do. all the work i did to rehabilitate bofurin’s image doesn’t mean much when people remember how dangerous it was before,” umemiya says sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “but! i figured i’d come around the taiyaki shop at night, see if there was some repeat offender doing the graffiti, and here you are!” 

umemiya spreads his hands magnanimously, and you can see how worn and callused his hands are from years spent brawling against other students. there was no way he was going to start fighting you, right—?

“i just wanted to ask you to stop,” umemiya says. “i mean, i respect your artistic visions! i always thought it was a waste to paint over your works—i remember one time you did this bright yellow rabbit on a blue moon, very cool, by the way—and—“

huh?

“i really like your art! i was wondering, if maybe…”

you held your paint marker, watching umemiya seemingly steeling his nerves for a moment–

“do you want to come to furin and paint? there’s a lot of graffiti already, and most of the time when we patrol we never use the classrooms anyway, so if it was anonymity you were worried about, that’s covered—and plus, at night, you’d still get a lot of time to do whatever you want—”

“… you’re offering me a place at your school to just—paint?” you ask confusedly, raising an eyebrow. 

“well, yeah!” umemiya says. “i mean, it’s a waste to paint over your hard work, right? it’s different than the other tags.”

“... is it?” you ask, staring at your half-finished graffiti, joining other fresh tags on the wall. 

“well, i’m not really sure if i fully believe in the idea that art carries intention–but i’d like to think yours does! and it’s kind. and i think there’s people at furin who might appreciate it.” 

“well…”

you sigh, running a hand through your hair.

“well, okay,” you say. “but if anyone tries to start something–”

“please,” umemiya says. “we’re not animals. it’ll be great to have you.” and then he holds out his hand to shake, and you stare down at it.

are you really doing this?

umemiya’s expression is bright, warm. 

you shake his hand. 

his grip is firm, his thumb squeezing the space between your index and thumb–and you laugh with a hint of exasperation in your voice. here you were, pulled right into umemiya’s thrall–lured in by him like a sweet siren song.

“fine. see you tomorrow, then,” you mutter, your cheeks heating up.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Douglas Murray

Published: Feb 24, 2024

Like a number of ‘anti-colonialists’, William Dalrymple lives in colonial splendour on the outskirts of Delhi. The writer often opens the doors of his estate to slavering architectural magazines. A few years ago, one described his pool, pool house, vast family rooms, animals, cockatoo ‘and the usual entourage of servants that attends any successful man in India’s capital city’.

I only mention Dalrymple because he is one of a large number of people who have lost their senses by going rampaging online about the alleged genocide in Gaza. He recently tweeted at a young Jewish woman who said she was afraid to travel into London during the Palestinian protests: ‘Forget 30,000 dead in Gaza, tens of thousands more in prison without charge, five MILLION in stateless serfdom, forget 75 years of torture, rape, dispossession, humiliation and occupation, IT’S ALL ABOUT YOU.’ It is one thing when a street rabble loses their minds. But when people who had minds start to lose them, that is another thing altogether.

I find it curious. By every measure, what is happening in Gaza is not genocide. More than that – it’s not even regionally remarkable.

Hamas’s own figures – not to be relied upon – suggest that around 28,000 people have been killed in Gaza since October. Most of the international media likes to claim these people are all innocent civilians. In fact, many of the dead will have been killed by the quarter or so Hamas and Islamic Jihad rockets that fall short and land inside Gaza.

Then there are the more than 9,000 Hamas terrorists who have been killed by the Israel Defence Forces. As Lord Roberts of Belgravia recently pointed out, that means there is fewer than a two to one ratio of civilians to terrorists killed: ‘An astonishingly low ratio for modern urban warfare where the terrorists routinely use civilians as human shields.’ Most western armies would dream of such a low civilian casualty count. But because Israel is involved (‘Jews are news’) the libellous hyperbole is everywhere.

For almost 20 years since Israel withdrew from Gaza, we have heard the same allegations. Israel has been accused of committing genocide in Gaza during exchanges with Hamas in 2009, 2012 and 2014. As a claim it is demonstrably, obviously false. When Israel withdrew from Gaza in 2005, the population of the Strip was around 1.3 million. Today it is more than two million, with a male life expectancy higher than in parts of Scotland. During the same period, the Palestinian population in the West Bank grew by a million. Either the Israelis weren’t committing genocide, or they tried to commit genocide but are uniquely bad at it. Which is it? Well, when it comes to Israel it seems people don’t have to choose. Everything and anything can be true at once.

Here is a figure I’ve never seen anyone raise. It’s an ugly little bit of maths, but stay with me. If you wish, you might add together all the people killed in every conflict involving Israel since its foundation.

In 1948, after the UN announced the state, all of Israel’s Arab neighbours invaded to try to wipe it out. They failed. But the upper estimate of the casualties on all sides came to some 20,000 people. The upper estimates of the wars of 1967 and 1973, when Israel’s neighbours once again attempted to annihilate it, are very similar (some 20,000 and 15,000 respectively). Subsequent wars in Lebanon and Gaza add several thousands more to that figure. It means that up to the present war, some 60,000 people had died on every side in all wars involving Israel.

Over the past decade of civil war in Syria, Bashar al-Assad has managed to kill more than ten times that number. Although precise figures are hard to come by, Assad is reckoned to have murdered some 600,000 Arab Muslims in his country. Meaning that every six to 12 months he manages to kill the same number as died in every war involving Israel ever.

There are lots of reasons you might give to explain this: that people don’t care when Muslims kill Muslims; that people don’t care when Arabs kill Arabs; that they only care if Israel is involved. Allow me to give another example that is suggestive.

No one knows how many people have been killed in the war in Yemen in recent years. From 2015-2021 the UN estimated perhaps 377,000 – ten times the highest estimate of the recent death toll in Gaza. The only time I’ve heard people scream on British streets about Yemen has been after the Houthis started attacking British and American ships in the Red Sea and the deadbeat idiots on the streets of London started chanting: ‘Yemen, Yemen, make us proud, turn another ship around.’ Because like all leftists and Islamists there is no terrorist group these people can’t get a pash on, so long as that terrorist group is against us.

I often wonder why this obsession arises when the war involves Israel. Why don’t people trawl along our streets and scream by their thousands about Syria, Yemen, China’s Uighurs or a hundred other terrible things? There are only two possible conclusions.

The first is a journalistic one. Ever since Marie Colvin was killed it became plain that western journalists were a target in Syria. Not eager to be the target, most journalists hotfooted it out of the country. Some who didn’t fell into the hands of Isis. Israel-Gaza wars by contrast do not have the same dynamic and on a technical level the media can applaud itself for reporting from a warzone where they are not the target.

But I suspect it is a moral explanation which explains the situation so many people find themselves in. They simply enjoy being able to accuse the world’s only Jewish state of ‘genocide’ and ‘Nazi-like behaviour’. They enjoy the opportunity to wound Jews as deeply as possible. Many find it satisfies the intense fury they feel when Israel is winning.

Like being fanned on your veranda while lambasting the evils of Empire, it is a paradox, to be sure. But it is also a perversity. And it doesn’t come from nowhere.

==

"From the water to the water, Palestine is Arab."

This is the actual genocide.

[tuyo-truly]

The Wedding

/Where 17-year-old Crown Prince Xie Lian is to marry a princess to prevent a civil war that could have led to him being stabbed a thousand times./

Swords have always felt good in Xie Lian’s hands. He would even carry them along when he didn’t know how to fight. Now at 17, his hands have gotten calloused, but his moves are so elegant it almost seems like a dance whenever he fights. 

And swords were what he was used to anyway; the rough hilt and the sharp blade were what he was meant for. Right?

Now that he was holding hands as delicate as flower petals, this all seemed new. 

Dressed in the finest silks; robes so exquisite it would put the Heavenly Emperor to shame, his bride had walked towards him like a gazelle, enchanting the whole palace with the sounds of her footsteps. 

Xianle was facing a drought, the worst one in history. Not having enough resources had put His Majesty in a very troublesome position. He couldn’t shun his citizens as they were dying, parched, and starved. He didn’t have many options either, as the capital was running out of rations. The option left was to become an ally of their neighbouring kingdom. 

The fortuneteller told the Gong King that if his daughter was not married before the age of 18 to a righteous man, she would bring terror and calamity at the doors of heaven itself. Seeing the raised opportunity, he suggested a marriage between his daughter and Crown Prince Xie Lian in return he’ll give him resources. His Majesty was reluctant at first; considering the fact that his son was cultivating, and that too through abstinence. But he was reassured that it would not be a problem.

So now, Xie Lian and Gong Ai knelt facing each other; they bowed three times, first to the heavens, second to their parents, and third to each other. Then they washed their hands in the plates filled with water brought by servants, symbolising the ceremony's purity and solemnity. The new couple then ate the meat of the same animal followed by drinking cross-cupped wine. 

Although it was against his cultivation to drink wine, Guoshi had said that they could make this event an exception. He took one sip from his cup and waited for Gong Ai to empty half of hers. 

Throughout his childhood and teenage years, Xie Lian had one goal: ascending. One of his training was to not fall for women; due to this, he couldn’t help but feel bad for his bride-to-be, marrying a man who could not fulfil her wants.

After drinking half of the wine in that cup, Gong Ai handed the cup to Xie Lian, and he handed her his. He took another sip and waited for her to finish hers. 

Before the wedding, the parents of the bride tie a red string in her hair which is later removed by the groom. 

Xie Lian stood from his seat across from his bride to sit behind her. He pulled the string from her hair.

“Ah.” Gong Ai yelped, her hand rushing to where the string had stuck.

“I’m so sorry!!!.” Xie Lian said, trying to detangle the string from her headpiece. This shouldn’t have happened. He’s 17, he shouldn’t be making mistakes as foolish as this. As embarrassed as he was, he tried to be as gentle as possible to detangle the string and then returned to his seat.

The couple then had a small strand of hair cut off and tied together.

Xie Lian and Gong Ai got up from their respective seats, walked up, and stood across each other. Gong Ai placed her hands in Xie Lian's outstretched ones. It was time for the vows.

“I pledge to always be by your side. No cause in the 3 Realms could harm you as long as I exist,” Xie Lian said and felt Gong Ai give his hands a little squeeze. “I vow to satiate your every need and to never become the reason for your sorrow.”

“I vow to devote the rest of my life to you,” Gong Ai said and Xie Lian realised that he never fathomed that someone’s spoken voice could sound like music. “I promise to be the moments that bring joy and be the hand that supports you during hardships. I pledge to be the calm to the rout, the relief to the pain, and the conclusion to the uncertainty.” 

And with that, their vows were complete. 

— — — — — —

“Your Highness! I can not believe you said that!” Feng Xin exclaimed. 

They were walking back to Xie Lian's chambers after the wedding and the tea ceremony was over. Her Majesty had told some servants to prepare the room for the night but Xie Lian told her that, he didn't want other people in his room. So to assist him, Feng Xin and Mu Qing had come along. 

“Said what?” Xie Lian said, frowning. 

“That no one in the 3 Realms could harm her as long as you exist!!! You can't just say something like that,” Mu Qing exclaimed. “You need to be more aware of what comes out of your mouth.”

“You can’t say something like that to His Highness! Who do you think you are?!” Feng Xin yelled, and both of them started fighting again. 

Xie Lian didn't think he did anything wrong. That was his future wife, it is his duty to protect her from all harm and he vowed to her just that. There's nothing wrong with that. 

They reached his chambers and started cleaning up. They neatly placed the duet on the bed, brushed the floor, and then made the bed up with new red sheets, and a plate of dried longans, lotus seeds, red dates, and persimmons, and placed a sprig of pomegranate leaves on the bed that was given by Her Majesty. 

“So,” Feng Xin said, scratching the back of his neck, “how are you going to approach the… situation?”

“I don't wish to make it a big deal. I'll tell her that we can not consummate due to my cultivation. Simple.” Xie Lian said, being satisfied with his answer. 

“And you think she'll agree to that?” Mu Qing scoffed.

“Why wouldn't she?” Xie Lian replied, frowning. “I've heard that she's one of the kindest souls that has walked this Earth. Of course, she'd agree.”

“Whatever.” Mu Qing rolled his eyes. 

“Well if that doesn't work then I'll tell her I'm impotent.”

“WHAT?” Feng Xin had left the room to bring back a tray with a pot and two cups. As he entered he was shocked to hear what Xie Lian said. “You can not say that! You're the Crown Prince!”

“Alright alright,” Xie Lian replied. “What's in the pot?”

“Wine.”

“I already had enough wine for 20 years, take it away.”

“I can not, it's the tradition to drink it.”

“But we already did.”

“You're supposed to drink it differently this time I think.”

“Take it away.” Feng Xin huffed and left the room. 

— — — — — — — —

It was time for the bride to come to the chambers. Xie Lian was nervous, sitting at the edge of his bed, his foot tapping away. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. As the Prince, he should be ready for anything. Political marriages are one of those things. 

The door to his chamber opened and his bride entered.  Xie Lian walked towards her and took her hand in his, to lead her to the bed. He wondered how his calloused hands felt in her feather-soft ones. She had changed her wedding robes and was wearing a less embroidered set just as Xie Lian had. She also wasn’t wearing the headpiece anymore. Regardless, she looked beautiful.

They were both sitting on the bed now. Xie Lian asked, “May I lift your veil?” 

Gong Ai nodded. Xie Lian moved his hand towards the veil and slowly lifted the veil. He gasped. He had an idea that she was beautiful from all the stories and songs he had heard about her but beautiful is not the right word to use. Bewitching, enchanting, alluring perhaps. Yes, they seemed like the right words. Her eyes were dark, her lips were painted red and there was a blush on her cheeks from Xie Lian's reaction. She shyly looked away from him.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Xie Lian said. Gong Ai turned back to look at him. She shook her head and smiled at him. Xie Lian might as well have ascended. 

“I’m okay.” She replied, and they both looked away and stared at their lap.

“I need to tell you something,” Xie Lian said, “I know that we’re usually expected to do things on the wedding night but I can not do them because of my cultivation.”

“This one is aware, my mother told me.” 

“That’s good, that’s good.” Xie Lian said nodding.

“...”

“How are you liking Xianle?”

“It’s beautiful. The art here is quite different from my home but beautiful regardless.”

“It is.” Xie Lian said smiling. “We could go outside the palace sometime if you’re interested?”

“I would love that.” Gong Ai said, smiling back at him. 

“Lovely.”

“Your Highness? I think we should sleep now, it’s getting late.”

“Yes, of course. And you’re my wife, you can call me Xie Lian.”

“Xie Lian,” Gong Ai said, testing how the name sounded on her tongue and nodded “Alright.” 

They both shifted to the back of the bed and rested their heads on the soft pillows. Xie Lian felt happy. His wife was a good person. He had an idea and said, “Do you want to be held?” 

Gong Ai widened her eyes. “Um, if that’s okay with you?”

“It is. Come.” Xie Lian turned towards her and opened his arms. He read in the book that his mother gave him that the bride might feel sad after her wedding because her family would return to their home leaving her to live with the groom’s family, so it was the groom’s responsibility to keep her happy and comfortable.

She shifted towards him and rested her head on his arm. Xie Lian wrapped one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders. He felt her bury her face in the crook of his neck. She smelt like flowers. He rested his head on top of her silky hair. 

He felt her foot touch his and pull away. He slowly moved his foot towards hers and let it rest there, implying it’s okay to touch. Realising his implication, she moved her leg to rest between his, entangling them together. She brought her hand, which was resting between them, to his chest. Xie Lian wondered if she could feel his frantic heartbeat. She must have. 

Xie Lian placed his hand on top of hers, “If you ever need anything at all, I’m here for you, okay?” He felt her nod. “Sleep.”

— — — — — — — — — — —

Hiii!!! this is my first time writing a fic. Please be gentle with me, I will cry. And if anyone goes, how could you make a gay man straight, well I'm a pansexual 17-year-old, consider this as me projecting. This is an author self-inserting herself in the tgcf world.

Also, Gong means 'to give' and Ai means 'love'. So her name literally means 'to give love.' However, I don't know how accurate it is because I googled it. So yeah. It is what it is. Hope you liked it!

[plussizeappreciationfics]

OS: Was it worth it? Pt.2

Idea by: me

Requested: No

Pairing: Namor x Plus!Size reader

Warning(s): none

Images/gifs found on google/pinterest

A/N: Ya'll know I'm messy so here's part 2 lol

Your heart pounded in your chest as you sat on the throne, your baby boy sleeping in your arm and wrapped in soft cloth to keep him warm and comfortable while you held your royal spear in the other, clenching your hand around it as the nervousness started to become very intense. The guards held their positions while staring at you, keeping you protected by every passing minute. A rush of gratefulness washed over you as it still was weird to have them in the palace, your own palace. The fact that they voluntarily followed you only made you even prouder as former Queen of Talokan as the biggest lessons had never been forgotten by your people: that you stuck together as a civilization through good and bad times.

You let out a shaky sigh before clearing your throat and raising your chin a little bit. reminding yourself who you are.

“He’s here”.

You spoke in a cold tone, sensing the waves of quick motions through the water. Your heart skipped a beat before it increased its pace again as you didn’t feel fully ready to face him again. Unfortunately, you didn’t have a choice, you couldn’t keep the secret to yourself as he had every right to know the reason why everything happened in the first place.

Just seconds later the giant doors to your throne room were slowly pushed open, half of your guards turning their bodies towards the new guest while the others ’s continued to face you. Your eyes immediately rested upon Namor who came swimming into the room with the help of one of his servants, his right foot wrapped in bandages and cuts and bruises resting all over his body.

You couldn’t hide the amused smirk when he approached you before kneeling down and keeping his head bowed down to show you his respect, his servant copying his actions a few feet behind him.

“Leave us. I’ll be fine. He won’t hurt me” you ordered, sensing the doubts of your guards as they feared for the life of their Queen but still obeyed you and made sure to stay outside the room in formation in case something would happen. Namor waited until the last guard left the room and closed the door before lifting his head up and finally looking at you.

Thud…

Thud…

Thud…

You listened to his heartbeat which was steady as a rock, his eyes filled with shame, sadness and love.

You continued to scan him from head to toe and couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing, desire and love wash over you as you looked at your husband. He had obviously gone through a lot the past months and you knew all about it because your spies kept you updated on his every move. You couldn’t deny that there were days where you wanted to end it all but you couldn’t do that as the former Queen of Talokan, and now current Queen of Talyra. You were raised to be strong, to not give up as there was always hope on the other side. 

“Speak” you ordered.

“[Y/N], former Queen of Tenoch, Queen of Talyra, Mother of Tenoch and my wife, I am coming to you as a humbled King that has been defeated in a war I seeked out. Talokan has suffered a great loss, first of its Queen and now of its citizens….” tears brimmed the eyes of your husband as he allowed himself to sniffle and take a deep breath, his eyes still staring intensely into yours.

You nodded your head as a signal for him to continue.

“I-I lost everything….My honor as King of Talokan, the love of our grown children who have fled our shared palace to join you here and your love. I was a fool. Fooled myself into thinking that I would end up rising like a phoenix from the ashes without you. With someone new”.

You swallowed hard as anxiety.

“What do you want from me” you whispered softly.

“My Queen, please allow me to prove myself as a worthy husband and king to you again. Please forgive me for the hurt and pain I put you through and please let me prove that I’ve learned from this awful mistake and show you how much I still love you and will continue to love you”.

It’s time to show him, mama, the tiny voice from your son spoke in your head, making you look down at your baby boy who was now staring up at you, hiding in the royal wrap while his beautiful big brown eyes spoke to you. You nodded at him and smiled, making him let out an adorable giggle that made your and Namor’s heart flutter in happiness. He was bursting with anticipation to see his son.  You averted your gaze back to your husband, dropped your spear and slowly rose from your throne and moved your way down the few steps before hovering in front of him.

“Stand up”.

“As you wish, my Queen”.

The two of you locked eyes once the king rose to his feet and for a split second, your souls connected again. Delicate shivers ran down your spine and your heart fluttered in your chest. Even when being apart for months, your love for him was as strong and powerful as it always had been.

“Look at your son” you shakingly whispered before removing the cloth covering your baby boy and tossing it to the ground. You held baby Namir in front of his father and watched pridefully how his tiny wings fluttered on his little feet. Your husband gasped in shock before kneeling down again, pressing his forehead against the floor while soft sobs left his body.

“The reason why you have been defeated is because you were never meant to win this war. You were never meant to rule over the dry lands. Our son Namir will ease us into a new era, an era where we might have to fight against the dry land walkers. But if we don’t, we will continue to develop into a stronger and smarter civilization. You and I will not live for eternity.”.

 “I will spend the rest of my days fighting for your forgiveness, my Queen '', Namor vowed while intense shivers ran up and down his spine. He couldn’t put into words how proud yet ashamed he felt, proud for knowing that his legacy would never cease to exist but ashamed that he thought that he was worthy of eternal life. That he’d be the sole main ruler of Talokan.

He slowly got up to his feet and widened his arms towards Namir, silently asking you permission to hold his son and bond with him. The same way he always had held your other shared children and formed a beautiful bond.

“Not yet. Answer me this question” you spoke, having found your voice again while holding Namir in your arms again so that he could be comfortable. 

“I will answer anything you ask me”.

“Was it worth it?”. 

The King froze as he never blinked at your question.

“Yes. It was worth it”...”.

Thud…

Thud…

Thud…

Thud…

“I’ve now realized that this was meant to happen…She was meant to happen” your husband spoke without his heart skipping a beat, telling the truth to you.

“I allowed my ego to become bigger than everything you and I have created. Bigger than you, our children and people. She and I were able to share the same generational hatred and disappointment. I confused our shared history of pain with love. We are allies, waiting to merge our forces when future generations attack us. Only allies”.

Tears brimmed your eyes as you nodded your head.

“I am still deeply wounded by your foolish and traitorous actions towards me and our marriage, Namor”, hearing you say his name made him fight back tears again. 

“I built this city on my own, in honor of Namir. This is a sacred place I will not allow you or your enemies to destroy”.

“That will never happen”.

 Talyra will continue to exist along with Talokan, am I clear?” you stated.

“Yes, my Queen”.

“You and I will continue to reign over Talokan and Tylara as equals. Our children will continue our legacy”, you took a deep breath, “I don’t know how long it’ll take for me to process what you put me through, I cannot guarantee full forgiveness”.

“I’ll make sure to show you every day that you are the love of my life, mother of my children and Queen of Talokan and my heart, even if you find me worthy of forgiveness, [Y/N]”, Namor vowed again before surprising you by gently approaching you and holding you and Namir close to him.

“I am nothing without you, [Y/N]”, Namor his lips against yours, pouring his undying love for you into the kiss and silently promising that he’ll do anything to help you heal from the wounds he inflicted. Your heart fluttered in your chest and you couldn’t help but slowly kiss back, not knowing how your marriage would continue after a disaster like this but hoping tht it would turn for the better. For you, your children and the people of Talokan. 

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-Emmanuelle 💋❤️

[tellurian-in-aristasia]

An interesting character in the early days of proto Aristasia is Miss Helen Gilmour, or sometimes known as Miss Helen Baird or Miss Anne Gilmour. She seemed to be a member during their earliest days of the Madrian faith, and seemed to stick with them until the later half of the 1980s. A much more detailed timeline about her activities with the girls from St. Bride's can be found on the Madrian Deanic Resources blog. But, today I find myself thinking about a breif article from 1999, written about her time with the group. No scans of this particular newsclipping have been dug up, but the text version is found archived online:

With her hair pulled back in a bun, her full-skirt and blouse, Helen Gilmour looks every inch a sensible, middle-aged woman. It is hard to believe that she once gave up a promising career to join a cult whose members dressed in Victorian crinolines, and hosted dormitory romps for women dressed as schoolgirls. Now she gives advice on cults to people in the Bradford area.

HELEN GILMOUR was a civil servant in London when she spotted an advert in Private Eye. It was publicising a magazine produced by The Church of the Goddess - linked with a cult known as the Lux Madriana or Light of the Mother, and later known as Rhennes, after the Welsh goddess Rhiannon.

Intrigued, she sent for a copy. "It appealed to something in my imagination. I found it fascinating."

She went to a gathering of cult members. She recalls: "I didn't know what to expect. There were only five of us, but it was a moving ceremony. It had an impact on me. I was 29 and until then the only religious experience I'd had was as a child at the local Methodist church."

To the chagrin of her family, Helen, who lives in Great Horton, left her job with the Ministry of Agriculture and joined the 20-strong group full-time. She was initiated as a Lady of the Temple. She says: "It was like a confirmation and involved a 24-hour fast and all-night vigil."

The group settled in a rambling old house in Ireland, and practised a form of goddess worship based on a female creator and female dominance on earth. Says Helen: "It was an organised form of religion but it was in some respects very disorganised. It was stressful."

She puts this down to the policy to reject modern machinery and technology. "It was supposed to be a traditional, rural farming community, but it didn't work. There was not enough land to run a farm and none of us was competent enough. We had a donkey and poultry and we dug the ground, but we weren't achieving anything.

"People had to appear busy, but had nothing to do. There was a spiritual malaise, a lack of discipline and organisation which ruined the community - it filtered down from the leadership."

Television was banned - Helen still does not own one - and washing was done in old-fashioned dolly tubs. There were no electric lights and they cooked on a range or open fire.

The women wore Victorian crinolines, long cloaks and bonnets, and covered up their faces with veils. And when they opened a holiday "school" for women, offering the chance to re-live schoolgirl romps such as picnics, midnight feasts in the dorm and canings, the Press had a field day. Says Helen; "We needed to raise funds so we advertised the fantasy role-play holiday."

Although disorganised, the cult was strictly hierarchial, with a mistress of the house as boss. There were no overtones of violence or self-destruction which have made other groups, such as the Jonestown and Waco cults, so terrifying.

Helen claims she was not brainwashed, but adds: "There was something sinister at the heart if it. The founder was a remarkable person but was leading a fantasy life - we were living in someone else's fantasy."

Helen left after two years. Now 51, and a secretary at Leeds General Infirmary, she recalls her days in Ireland with affection. "I discovered a freedom, and talents that I didn't know I had."

She is a leading authority on cults and helps others through the Cultline, based at St Joseph's RC Church, Pakington Street, off Manchester Road, Bradford, of which she is an active member.

There are a couple lines I keep thinking about: ""People had to appear busy, but had nothing to do. There was a spiritual malaise, a lack of discipline and organisation which ruined the community - it filtered down from the leadership."" ... "Helen claims she was not brainwashed, but adds: "There was something sinister at the heart if it. The founder was a remarkable person but was leading a fantasy life - we were living in someone else's fantasy."" I keep thinking about the idea that what ruined the community was the lack of organization, and the idea that they were simply living in someone's fantasy, and looking back at all of the things the Aristasian group did, I feel like we can see this clearly. The constant jumping around between ideas, how Aristasia went from a fairly mundane paganism group, to ancient matriarchy, to school-girl roleplay, to Victorian secession, to BDSM heavy vintage fashion, to online roleplaying, to anime and purity culture, and ultimately to Japanese language study. Each one lasting about 5 years or so. But throughout all of these things there *has* been a strong set of religious beliefs that seemed to justify each of these things, no matter how much they contradicted the other incarnations.

[fairlyabookie]

Future

Author's note: Day 17 of February Prompts! Enjoy!

Content warning: One-sided romance | retainer x lord | mentions of incest

“Well then, what have you considered for your future?” 

The lord inquiries, scrutinizing his betrothed with steeled eyes. [Reader] regards him with a respectable answer, their demeanor cool as a serene lake. 

“I have no qualms being your retainer, my Lord. If it means helping you with your empire, I am honored to be your pick for the position.” 

A slight annoyance overpowered the blooming sensation of flattery. Beautifully articulated, as he had expected from someone from a noble family, yet lacked sincerity. He couldn’t read [Reader]’s expression; he couldn’t tell if they were troubled or mocking him in a way. Either way, he couldn’t read them at all. If anything, they could be riding on his coattails and commit a dastardly deed later on.

“Is there a way I can provide for our relationship, [Reader]? Noted, you’ve done more than I am grateful for.” 

Crewel watches for any changes in their expression, their lips curling to a thin line. 

“You don’t have to trouble yourself, my lord. My services with you is enough to consider our relationship as groom and wife.” 

“There has to be something more, [Reader]. Something from me that you wish to know, or at least wish to have now that we’ll be married in a month.” 

Crewel’s tone intensifies to a stern one, borderline hostile and domineering. 

“Would it offend you if I say I am satisfied with you as you are now?” 

Needlessly to say, Crewel was helpless. What did they mean by that? Should he prod them a little more about the true intentions? If I continue on, [Reader] might be suspicious of me. 

A sigh escapes from the lord’s lips. [Reader] was truly an enigma. Their facade was admirably infallible, untouchable like a revered deity’s statue or the scripture of a Classical text. The taste of cool, bitter tea snuffs out bits of his fiery temper. He resisted the urge to request for more tea - [Reader] would always heed his call, wordlessly and obediently. Regardless, at least asking for [Reader]’s hand in marriage was plenty of times more convenient than asking a complete rascal ho would leech off from the lord’s wealth. 

“[Reader], tel me, how many years has it been since you’ve worked with me?” 

“6 years, My Lord.” 

6 years! Crewel was stumped; at this point, he’d just discount their dynamic as a married couple if [Reader] had been with him this long! Admittedly, even if [Reader] had worked with him for that long, any form of dynamic between the both of them, save for the civil formality exchanges and briefings for important affairs, was never present. 

“If you’re willing to wed me, you must be aware that our relationship will not be the same. By offering your hand in marriage, you’re devoting yourself to me as a partner, as someone significant in your life. Do you realize this, [Reader]?” 

They nod demurely. Crewel averted his eyes from their silhouette, casting his gaze to the myriad of scrolls by his desk. How long has it been since he was given the position of Chancellor, per the Prince’s first choice? 

“You served me well in the years, [Reader], devoting your time to assisting me with paperwork and maintaining relations with the common folk,” 

Encroaching thoughts creep into his words, his thoughts manifesting into the words he always wanted to say, 

“I’ve been told by my mother that one of our servants took you in out of the kindness of her heart; your biological parents must’ve abandoned you to save their hides - they only left a cloth for you to keep warm and nothing else. If I recall, the servant came home quite distressed, holding you in her arms. I was but a child during this time, not knowing that one of our own had brought a child outside our lineage to our household. Believe me, I was shocked to see a display of their compassion - begging my own father to keep you and raise you as it were her own.” 

A frown creases on the lord’s lips. 

“I’ll spare you the details about the drama afterward. You know how much you were doted by everyone in the household. I can’t say if you were spoiled rotten, or if you were treated as royalty as much as me when I was younger..” 

He sighs, inhaling slowly. 

“You may have served me for 6 years, but you’ve been with my family for more. We may be related on paper, but not by blood. You could be a sibling, a long-lost cousin, or some other individual relating to our family, but after years of investigating, we found that your former parents had already moved on - going by different names in a different region somewhere. Unless you strongly remember your parents abandoning you at such a young age, I’m sure you don’t harbor any resentment towards them.” 

Crewel spares a glance over to [Reader], whose expression remains indifferent. 

“My past doesn’t matter, my Lord. All I care for now is that I am here, years of working the particulars of your family, your work, and your profession. True, we have inadvertently paused your parents’ prattling for marriage with my outburst on my hand a month ago. I’m sure you understand that we’ve made our choice by becoming a couple this way - you don’t have to see anyone else, you don’t have to go through your mother’s painstaking efforts of matchmaking.” 

[Reader] continues, leaving Crewel to his thoughts. 

“I don’t expect you to come to an answer right away; though, I appreciate you taking time from your routine to finally sit down to have this conversation about our relationship..” 

They approach their superior, matching their gaze with his. 

“Maybe it’s admiration, affection, or both that has made me feel this way; when I first met you in court, taken in by the servants; when I first worked with you in class as we struggled in understanding literature and arithmetic; when I was given the honor of becoming your retainer after years of working alongside your family. Gratitude understates how much I feel at this very moment.” 

They feel compelled to glance over to Crewel, who had snuck a glance over his shoulder, glimpsing what had seemed to be a shy [Reader]. They hold themselves back, finding proper words to explain the overwhelming sensation encompassing their being. 

“Perhaps, it is what your mother believed in: the powers of fate bringing us together,” 

[Reader] clears their throat, adding a quick note before continuing, 

“I’m personally a skeptic person myself, but perhaps she has a point. In other words, our relationships span more than just a retainer and lord, my Lord. Sure, I’ve served you long enough, but my love and loyalty to you resembles that of a true maiden’s.” 

Crewel detected a thickening voice by [Reader]’s explanation, a sort of emotion building up in their bosom as they attempt to correct their demeanor. 

“If you feel that our relationship is inappropriate to reconsider our future together as husband and partner, I don’t feel offended in the slightest. Besides,” 

They rest a gentle hand onto his forearm. 

“I don’t mind waiting for your answer. As your aide, I value your personal thoughts and sentiments and prioritize them before mine.” 

With a small smile by their lips, they place a kiss onto their betrothed’s cheeks. Wordlessly, they leave Crewel speechless, the words stuck in the back of his throat.

[silversiren1101]

🖊 Morolai?

Morolai is still a work in progress but I've got her mostly figured out! My Kingmaker Baroness/Queen~

Full Name: Morolai Valduin

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Class: Sorcerer Bloodrager! I decided I wanted to lean into the claw aspect way more and so Morolai is now a bloodrager/scaled fist/dragon disciple build focused pretty much on unarmed/natural attacks that relies on her own magic for buffs and then scrolls/wands for more devastating spells.

Ancestry: Half-elf! Her mother is a full-blooded Kyonin elf noble that had an affair with what she thought was a normal human, but had black-dragon heritage. It didn't manifest in them particularly potently - reserving the distilled bloodline for Morolai who would become a draconic scion powerful enough to become an actual black dragon later on.

Backstory: Raised as a servant to hide the fact she was a bastard, Morolai was a bitter and seething child and young adult. Feeling the latent power thrumming in her veins and being raised around her half-siblings that were fully recognized and lived like royalty while she was forced to serve them made her into a ticking bomb... and when her power finally burst forth in her first bloodrage, she clawed her mother's husband's face off with her newly manifested black claws. Moro took this as a sign she was right all along, though, and that she was destined for greatness and power.

The only lesson she took from the incident was to not let her rage control her. She would serve and be a slave no longer, not even to herself.

She is quite powerful and confident - a recipe for an evil queen if there ever was one... but most that live in her lands say she is a fair ruler. Moro does enough to stay feared and respected, but she knows better than to choke the life and love from her subjects. That's how she awakened to her power after all... she's smart enough not to risk sparking the fires of revolt and civil unrest through outright tyranny.

[crackspinewornpages]

Les Misérables 130/365 -Victor Hugo

121

The Bernadines don’t admit widows and don’t speak of the unknown macerations. When one postulates, they dress in white flowers and black veils as an office for the dead is sung in two rows saying she is dead and alive. The convent had a boarding school for girls whose pupils conformed to all practices of the convent, whose mothers weren’t allowed to hug them. (this convent sounds more like a cult)

122

They are still children and they played in their own groups and spoke of their mothers. A foundling who was raised there claimed their mother wasn’t there when she was born. They were into four corners of the refractory, they split into insect names which everyone belonged to one, spider, cricket, caterpillar and woodlouse, each had their own peculiarities. (these are weird Hogwarts houses)

123

Above the refractory was a prayer that disappeared under paint in 1827 and eventually memory too. In the mess hall the students ate in silence to hear a sermon from the pulpit from an old book. Once some students snuck to read it and only found unintelligible pages about the sins of young boys. Occasionally the students would sneak a fallen fruit from the trees.

Once a woman who was not a nun, Madame Albertine, was treated with great respect despite being mad. (believed she was dead which is an actual mental condition) She was usually calm until a new priest went to sermon recognizing him as Auguste, so she must belong to high society. No sound from outside made it into the convent except for a flute, several times a day for months, the girls were desperate to see the man who played it.

124

There is also the Little Convent which is the garden where the old nuns lived and those of various orders who were exiled in the Revolution.

125

From 1819 to 1825 the prioress was Blemeur about sixty well rounded in studies and the sub prioress was the nearly blind, Cineres. Saint-Mechtilde took up the job of the choir and the scholars most loved her, Euphraise and Mouthe and Michel. They were gentle on the children. With the exception of the gardener and archbishop, no man entered the convent.

126

The convent was composed of several buildings, the main hall, the carriage entrance, servant's hall and in the main arm were the cells. The streets that surrounded it were more ancient than Paris.

127

In the Little Convent a centurion lived and would talk of the old days and every year renewed her vows and kept little secret treasure, a platter a Faenza representing little loves.

128

In the convent of Rue du Temple was less severe than Petit-Picpus. The chestnut tree was considered the finest in France. Two centuries ago, two sisters, appalled by the sacrilege at two churches gave funds to found a monastery of the order of Saint-Benoit. (Hugo’s like you will read this superfluous backstory and you will like it)

129

At the beginning of the Restoration Petit-Picpus was in decay and so was the order. 1840 the Little Convent disappeared and the school, the order was so rigid and received no new recruits and over the years the population dwindled. (to the surprise of no one I imagine) The prioress in 1847 was forty and there are twenty-eight sisters left. It is now Jean Valjean arrived in the garden. (ok we’re getting back to the plot)

Mind while the author doesn’t understand the convent, they aren't insulting it, as religion is undergoing a crisis in the nineteenth century. “People on learning certain things, and they do well, provided that, while unlearning them learn this: there is no vacuum in the human heart. Certain demolitions take place, and it is well that they do, but on the condition they are followed by reconstructions.” p.328 Counterfeit of the past put on false names to call itself the future, a mask hypocrisy, remove it. The convent questions civilization that condemns them, questions liberty that protects.

BOOK SEVEN PARENTHESIS

130

This dramatic book’s personage is Infinite man is second. When encountering the infinite, you are overpowered with respect, God among the human walls so our duty to enter the convent.

(well officially one third of the way through this book)

NEXT

[madamescarlette]

Webcomics For Your Consideration

This started out as a recommendation list for @magpie-trove, but as it started getting longer and longer I decided to make it its own post! I hear there's a general migratory shift to Webtoon since Wayne Family Adventures started, so I thought I would recommend some of my favorites here.

Gourmet Hound (Completed, 166 chapters): This will probably head the list of any recommendations I make because it is quite simply my forever favorite. This is a slice-of-life story about a girl with a heightened sense of smell (and thus taste) who is reeling after the death of her grandmother who raised her, and her friendship with a former chef who is struggling after leaving his former job. This is one of the very few pieces of media that is able to describe food in the same way that I love it, with all the wonder and joy of being near it, and while it is combined with the characters' trying to find their way towards healing after their respective losses, somehow it manages to make me instantly happy every time I read it. Light, fluffy, and deeply, deeply emotional in the best way!

Your Letter (Completed, 10 chapters): A quite short comic about an elementary schoolgirl who transfers to a new school and her adventures in finding letters from the boy who used to sit at her desk. It is incredibly solid, perhaps due to its being so short, and it brushes up against the joy of being alive in a very gracious, sweet manner.

Nothing Special (Ongoing, 150 chapters): This was created by an artist who is involved in traditional comics, and it shows to very good effect! A fun, delightful romp about a high school girl who lives on the border between the magical and modern worlds, and a boy she befriends who finds out he is magical for the first time. A good 25% of my enjoyment from reading this is just reading all the extra little messages scrawled in the margins or to the side of the main conversation, and overall the tone has a happy kookiness that makes it a delight to return to.

Marry Me! (Completed, 134 chapters): Another slice-of-life manga about a civil servant who through his work ends up marrying an unemployed women, and their whole story about what it means to be a family and to actively learn to care for other people. This is a comic where very little goes on except the everyday lives of the main characters, but the sweetness of watching these two form a little family and make deeper and better friendships and gradually care for each other is SO good and calming to my heart.

Seasons of Blossom (Ongoing, 95 chapters): This story is like a coming-of-age story distilled to its very essences. It follows a revolving set of characters and focuses on a different one for every arc, each of the cast being a high school or college student in modern-day Korea. This is another one of my favorites, though the second and third arcs deal closely with heavy themes (i.e. suicide, self-harm) but in all honesty it is done in such a gentle, kind way that is deeply comforting to me. But, if those are too heavy at present, the first arc (Spring) is pretty much entirely happy, joyful fluff about a girl who tries to avoid liking the same guy as her best friend and the hijinks that ensue that can be read like a self-encapsulated story.

House of Stars (Completed, 26 chapters): If any story on this list can be knitting-circle-coded, this one would be! Though I never watched enough to be able to say this, it has vague Alice Syfy vibes. It is the story of a girl who ends up in the land of stories who takes on a quest to save them from the reign of an evil queen who watches over them all. Primo fairytale vibes, that's all I'm saying.

Knights of Asherah (Ongoing, 86 chapters): This is probably the only story I've read since Percy Jackson that gives me the same feeling as the original series did, so bear that in mind! A story about a world where people have different elemental powers, an orphan girl who finds out about her own powers for the first time, and the training/adventures that she goes on.

The Last Human (in a Crowded Galaxy) (Ongoing, 39 chapters): The story of an alien spider who decides to raise and mother a human child, and their various difficulties with concealing the child's identity as a human. This is less comforting than most of the rest of these comics, but the core relationship is so strong and lovely that it is definitely worth the stress.

Stray Souls (Ongoing, 105 chapters): Another of my favorites! It's hard to specifically describe what this is (since half the fun is figuring it out as you go along) but essentially, the story of a girl who has lost her memories and her quest to regain them and come to understand her own powers. It has my specific kryptonite in that the core relationship mirrors the princess-and-her-bodyguard dynamic that I love (if any of you read Yona of the Dawn, you'll know what I'm talking about) and the second main character is my favorite pathetic little dude that I've seen in a long while. Yet another story that I need SOMEBODY to scream over with, if anyone is out there!

Purple Hyacinth (Ongoing, 136 chapters): A crime/mystery steampunk thriller about a women who works as a detective in a city due to her obsession with an event that killed both her parents and her best friend, and how she comes to partner up with an assassin to take down the organization responsible from the inside out. This is by far the most violent option on this list, as it involves a murderous criminal organization, but the dynamic of the two main characters is again what sets it apart and helps it rise above. However, I would highly recommend building up a big backlog on this if you can, because they LOOOVE cliffhangers and the stress is. A Lot sometimes.

Like Wind on a Dry Branch (Ongoing, 91 chapters): A high fantasy story about a woman who is saved from the brink of death to be adopted into the duchy of an exiled prince who is at odds with his family. What I think is so special about this comic is that it is first and foremost the story of somebody who is coming back to life after being pushed to her limit in every other respect, and it is incredibly cathartic to watch the main character begin to want to learn and to live again. The angst is real with this one, though, but it encapsulates a good amount of restraint that I miss sorely in a lot of romance.

Swimming Lessons for a Mermaid (Completed, 101 chapters): A recent read of mine, that is all about a girl who was born a mermaid who never learned to swim, and who now resides on land with her father apart from the rest of her siblings, and a swimmer who offers to teach her to swim. This is purely sweet, happy fluff, all about kids in high school who care deeply for each other and are toddling around trying to learn how to navigate relationships with each other, but something about the simple sincerity of it touched my heart. A good read for when you just want something happy!

Extras not on Webtoon:

Plume: I read this on its original run, and though it's been a good five years since I read it last it sits well in my memory! This is the story of a girl whose father is a treasure hunter, and the magical guardian that he leaves to watch over her and their various adventures. This is a story with all the vibes of adventure films like The Mummy and Indiana Jones, combined with the very sweet friendships between the main characters that I remember fondly, and is now easily binged as its own pdf.

Megan Kearney's Beauty and the Beast: This is actually a rec I picked up from @ihaveonlymydreams (waves hi to Dr. Maria thank you darling!!!) that is just a simple, perfect adaption of BatB in comic form. It is just straight up sweet light happy fairytale, exactly what it says on the tin, and it's lovely.

[besanii]

MA'AM PLEASE that wangxian/xixian ficlet absolutely RUINED me. if you are so inclined, i would love to see wei wuxian's perspective on the whole thing. thank you for your hard work <3 have a lovely day!

[ part one (LWJ) | two (LXC) ]

Wei Wuxian has always tried to live his life without regrets. Everything he does, he puts all of himself into and does not look back, even when circumstances take a turn for the worse. It has caused him some strife in the past, but he's always found a way to come out the other end relatively unscathed.

He's not sure there's a way out this time.

Lan Xichen is kind to him, kinder than he'd had any right to expect from the man to whom he owes his life. The brother of the man who holds Wei Wuxian's heart, the man now laying alone in a watery grave far from home; by all rights, Lan Xichen should have handed him to Wen Ruohan as retribution for injuring Wen Chao. Instead, he had chosen to save him at the cost of Qishan's loyalty.

He looks around at the bedchamber, the sheer silk drapes around the bed offering only minimal privacy to its occupants, and at the curtains made of strings of seed pearls leading to the chambers beyond. He's always pictured his wedding night to be bathed in red and gold, for there to be celebrations and drinking and laughter. And Lan Wangji.

What he gets is a quiet chamber within the Emperor's private quarters away from prying eyes, sparsely but tastefully furnished in the pale blues of the Imperial family. There is no music, no ceremony, no laughter, no wine.

No Lan Wangji.

Let me help you.

Wei Wuxian has not had many dealings with the Emperor before, but he has always thought him to be a fair, impartial figure, involving himself very little in the squabbles between clans unless it has implications on state matters. So why now? Why has he stepped in now to save Wei Wuxian?

For Wangji, if nothing else. He would want you to be safe.

Was it really that simple? Was it really enough to put the throne at odds with one of the most powerful clans in the country? It seems almost absurd to risk a potential uprising for the sake of one man, however much he means to the Emperor's brother. If Qishan did revolt and the country was thrown into civil war, would that not cement Wei Wuxian in history as the culprit who brings strife to the nation?

He contemplates escaping, slipping out into the night and disappearing, and is halfway to his feet when he remembers. If he leaves now, he will be branded a coward and a traitor, an enemy of the state—the Jiang clan, as his benefactors, and Yunmeng as his home will be held responsible. He cannot be selfish.

So he sits back down on the bed, hands curled into fists on his lap, and waits.

--

Lan Xichen is good to him.

He's good and kind and gentle, a soothing balm on Wei Wuxian's bruised and battered heart. From the moment he walks through the door that night, leaving his servants in the outer chambers so allow them some semblance of privacy, he treats Wei Wuxian with nothing but kindness and respect.

"You do not need to do this," he tells Wei Wuxian when he reaches for the fastenings of Lan Xichen's robes to help him undress. "I can prepare for bed on my own."

"Huangshang, it is your concubine's duty to serve you," Wei Wuxian replies, and slips the heavy belt from around Lan Xichen's waist.

Let me do this for you, he doesn't say. But Lan Xichen must see it on his face because he acquiesces.

"Very well."

So Wei Wuxian sets about removing each item of clothing and accessory with methodical precision, draping the outer robes over the rack beside the bed and placing the golden guan and jade waist pendant carefully on the vanity table. The servants will have to put them away later, when they have both retired--

His fingers falter over the laces of the inner robe.

"Wei Wuxian?" Lan Xichen asks. When Wei Wuxian looks up, his eyes are soft, concerned. "It's alright. Leave the rest to me."

His heart plummets to his stomach. His hesitation must have disappointed Lan Xichen—no, the Emperor. He's displeased him.

"No, no, Huangshang, please allow me," he says hurriedly. "Your concubine was merely distracted by--by the embroidery work on your robes. They are so very fine, you see, much finer than what we see in Yunmeng—"

His fingers are trembling too much to get a firm hold on the laces. If he cannot perform so simple a task, how can he keep the Emperor happy? How can he keep Yunmeng safe? He needs to do this—needs to do this properly—

A large hand wrap around both his, stilling their movements with gentle pressure against the broad chest in front of him. He inhales sharply.

"Wei Wuxian," Lan Xichen says again. "Stop."

He should apologise and beg for forgiveness. That's what people do when they have displeased the Emperor right? He should be—

"Wei Wuxian." A sigh. "You are afraid of me."

"I-I'm not!" Wei Wuxian says quickly, his head flying up to glare at Lan Xichen before he catches himself and lowers both his head and voice again. "Begging your pardon, Huangshang, your concubine spoke out of turn."

Lan Xichen’s other hand slides under his chin, tilting his face upward again to meet his gaze—warmer and darker than his brother’s, more akin to honey than to gold—and the pounding of Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat fades to silence in his ears.

“You do not need to fear me,” Lan Xichen tells him, voice so gentle it sends a tingle down his spine. “And they cannot touch you here. You are safe here.”

The soft, incredulous snort escapes before Wei Wuxian even realises he’s made it. He ducks his head again, breaking free of the hand on his chin.

“Forgive my impertinence, Huangshang,” he says. “But if someone has put their mind their mind to hurting another, there is nothing they would not do—or find a way to do. No place they would not go.”

Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow.

“You would doubt the Son of Heaven?” he asks, voice tinged with amusement as Wei Wuxian moves immediately to fall to his knees. He catches him by the elbows before he can. “I am only jesting. There is no need to kneel.”

He reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair from Wei Wuxian’s temple. The intimacy of the gesture—the touch of warm skin against his sends warmth flooding his cheeks and neck, burning behind his ears. 

“I really am very grateful to you, Huangshang,” he says. “If not for your intervention, I would already be dead, or worse. I have nothing to offer you in return except my life—cheap and unworthy as it is—and I will spend the remainder of it repaying this debt to you.”

The corners of those honey-coloured eyes soften and the hand at his temple slides down to his shoulder as Lan Xichen sighs.

“It is what he would have wanted,” he says. 

--

Everything changes with the sunrise filtering through the window the next morning.

The servants who come in to serve them keep their heads bowed and gazes lowered, shuffling about them on tenterhooks. They address him as Wei-xuanyi and help him into fine robes of Gusu blue silk, brushing his hair until it is smooth and gleaming, and rubs creams into his calloused hands to soften them. He follows their careful directions without protest, his mind too numb to comprehend anything beyond the comfort of their practised movements.

He is startled out of his lull when warm hands come to rest on his shoulders and he looks up to see Lan Xichen smiling at him in the mirror. 

“Huangshang,” he exclaims. “Forgive me, I was lost in thought.”

“Wuxian,” Lan Xichen says, his smile widening. “I have a gift for you.”

A tray is presented to them by a eunuch standing in the corner of the room. On it sits a long, thin box lined with light blue silk. And nestled within the bed of silk—

“It is too expensive,” Wei Wuxian protests immediately. “Huangshang, I cannot accept such a valuable gift. It should be for the Empress—”

“The Empress has her own,” Lan Xichen tells him, lifting the fazhan from the box and turning back around to face the mirror. The smile has not left his lips, nor has it dimmed in any way. “Now, let me put it on for you.”

Wei Wuxian watches his movements through the mirror with bated breath, all-too aware of the keen eyes watching them from the shadows of the room. Lan Xichen does not seem bothered by their attention, running his fingers leisurely over the length of Wei Wuxian’s hair, as if Wei Wuxian were a creature to be calmed and soothed.

He slides the fazhan into the base of the half-knot in his hair with careful precision and stands back to admire the way the jewels catch the morning sun as Wei Wuxian turns his head to get a better look. The shape and design of it is simple, understated, taking nothing away from the deep blue sapphire on the end, cut into shape of flowing clouds.

“It suits you very well,” Lan Xichen tells him. There is an odd lilt to his voice Wei Wuxian cannot quite place, but it is gone when he next speaks. “It is almost as if it were meant for you.”

It is much too expensive, much too precious. He swallows through the lump that has suddenly appeared in his throat, his eyes hot.

“Your concubine thanks Huangshang for his affections,” he murmurs.

--

buy me a ko-fi!

more paper-thin fic | verse

--

Notes

I guess this is a thing now? XD

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I enjoyed reading your posts about Napoleon’s death and it’s quite timely given its the 200th anniversary of his death this year in May. I was wondering, because you know a lot about military history (your served right? That’s cool to fly combat helicopters) and you live in France but aren’t French, what your take was on Napoleon and how do the French view him? Do they hail him as a hero or do they like others see him like a Hitler or a Stalin? Do you see him as a hero or a villain of history?

5 May 1821 was a memorable date because Napoleon, one of the most iconic figures in world history, died while in bitter exile on a remote island in the South Atlantic Ocean. Napoleon Bonaparte, as you know rose from obscure soldier to a kind of new Caesar, and yet he remains a uniquely controversial figure to this day especially in France. You raise interesting questions about Napoleon and his legacy. If I may reframe your questions in another way. Should we think of him as a flawed but essentially heroic visionary who changed Europe for the better? Or was he simply a military dictator, whose cult of personality and lust for power set a template for the likes of Hitler? 

However one chooses to answer this question can we just - to get this out of the way - simply and definitively say that Napoleon was not Hitler. Not even close. No offence intended to you but this is just dumb ahistorical thinking and it’s a lazy lie. This comparison was made by some in the horrid aftermath of the Second World War but only held little currency for only a short time thereafter. Obviously that view didn’t exist before Hitler in the 19th Century and these days I don’t know any serious historian who takes that comparison seriously.

I confess I don’t have a definitive answer if he was a hero or a villain one way or the other because Napoleon has really left a very complicated legacy. It really depends on where you’re coming from.

As a staunch Brit I do take pride in Britain’s victorious war against Napoleonic France - and in a good natured way rubbing it in the noses of French friends at every opportunity I get because it’s in our cultural DNA and it’s bloody good fun (why else would we make Waterloo train station the London terminus of the Eurostar international rail service from its opening in 1994? Or why hang a huge gilded portrait of the Duke of Wellington as the first thing that greets any visitor to the residence of the British ambassador at the British Embassy?). On a personal level I take special pride in knowing my family ancestors did their bit on the battlefield to fight against Napoleon during those tumultuous times. However, as an ex-combat veteran who studied Napoleonic warfare with fan girl enthusiasm, I have huge respect for Napoleon as a brilliant military commander. And to makes things more weird, as a Francophile resident of who loves living and working in France (and my partner is French) I have a grudging but growing regard for Napoleon’s political and cultural legacy, especially when I consider the current dross of political mediocrity on both the political left and the right. So for me it’s a complicated issue how I feel about Napoleon, the man, the soldier, and the political leader.

If it’s not so straightforward for me to answer the for/against Napoleon question then it It’s especially true for the French, who even after 200 years, still have fiercely divided opinions about Napoleon and his legacy - but intriguingly, not always in clear cut ways.

I only have to think about my French neighbours in my apartment building to see how divisive Napoleon the man and his legacy is. Over the past year or so of the Covid lockdown we’ve all gotten to know each other better and we help each other. Over the Covid year we’ve gathered in the inner courtyard for a buffet and just lifted each other spirits up.

One of my neighbours, a crusty old ex-general in the army who has an enviable collection of military history books that I steal, liberate, borrow, often discuss military figures in history like Napoleon over our regular games of chess and a glass of wine. He is from very old aristocracy of the ancien regime and whose family suffered at the hands of ‘madame guillotine’ during the French Revolution. They lost everything. He has mixed emotions about Napoleon himself as an old fashioned monarchist. As a military man he naturally admires the man and the military genius but he despises the secularisation that the French Revolution ushered in as well as the rise of the haute bourgeois as middle managers and bureaucrats by the displacement of the aristocracy.

Another retired widowed neighbour I am close to, and with whom I cook with often and discuss art, is an active arts patron and ex-art gallery owner from a very wealthy family that came from the new Napoleonic aristocracy - ie the aristocracy of the Napoleonic era that Napoleon put in place - but she is dismissive of such titles and baubles. She’s a staunch Republican but is happy to concede she is grateful for Napoleon in bringing order out of chaos. She recognises her own ambivalence when she says she dislikes him for reintroducing slavery in the French colonies but also praises him for firmly supporting Paris’s famed Comédie-Française of which she was a past patron.

Another French neighbour, a senior civil servant in the Elysée, is quite dismissive of Napoleon as a war monger but is grudgingly grateful for civil institutions and schools that Napoleon established and which remain in place today.

My other neighbours - whether they be French families or foreign expats like myself - have similarly divisive and complicated attitudes towards Napoleon.

In 2010 an opinion poll in France asked who was the most important man in French history. Napoleon came second, behind General Charles de Gaulle, who led France from exile during the German occupation in World War II and served as a postwar president.

The split in French opinion is closely mirrored in political circles. The divide is generally down political party lines. On the left, there's the 'black legend' of Bonaparte as an ogre. On the right, there is the 'golden legend' of a strong leader who created durable institutions.

Jacques-Olivier Boudon, a history professor at Paris-Sorbonne University and president of the Napoléon Institute, once explained at a talk I attended that French public opinion has always remained deeply divided over Napoleon, with, on the one hand, those who admire the great man, the conqueror, the military leader and, on the other, those who see him as a bloodthirsty tyrant, the gravedigger of the revolution. Politicians in France, Boudon observed, rarely refer to Napoleon for fear of being accused of authoritarian temptations, or not being good Republicans.

On the left-wing of French politics, former prime minister Lionel Jospin penned a controversial best selling book entitled “the Napoleonic Evil” in which he accused the emperor of “perverting the ideas of the Revolution” and imposing “a form of extreme domination”, “despotism” and “a police state” on the French people. He wrote Napoleon was "an obvious failure" - bad for France and the rest of Europe. When he was booted out into final exile, France was isolated, beaten, occupied, dominated, hated and smaller than before. What's more, Napoleon smothered the forces of emancipation awakened by the French and American revolutions and enabled the survival and restoration of monarchies. Some of the legacies with which Napoleon is credited, including the Civil Code, the comprehensive legal system replacing a hodgepodge of feudal laws, were proposed during the revolution, Jospin argued, though he acknowledges that Napoleon actually delivered them, but up to a point, "He guaranteed some principles of the revolution and, at the same time, changed its course, finished it and betrayed it," For instance, Napoleon reintroduced slavery in French colonies, revived a system that allowed the rich to dodge conscription in the military and did nothing to advance gender equality.

At the other end of the spectrum have been former right-wing prime minister Dominique de Villepin, an aristocrat who was once fancied as a future President, a passionate collector of Napoleonic memorabilia, and author of several works on the subject. As a Napoleonic enthusiast he tells a different story. Napoleon was a saviour of France. If there had been no Napoleon, the Republic would not have survived. Advocates like de Villepin point to Napoleon’s undoubted achievements: the Civil Code, the Council of State, the Bank of France, the National Audit office, a centralised and coherent administrative system, lycées, universities, centres of advanced learning known as école normale, chambers of commerce, the metric system, and an honours system based on merit (which France has to this day). He restored the Catholic faith as the state faith but allowed for the freedom of religion for other faiths including Protestantism and Judaism. These were ambitions unachieved during the chaos of the revolution. As it is, these Napoleonic institutions continue to function and underpin French society. Indeed, many were copied in countries conquered by Napoleon, such as Italy, Germany and Poland, and laid the foundations for the modern state.

Back in 2014, French politicians and institutions in particular were nervous in marking the 200th anniversary of Napoleon's exile. My neighbours and other French friends remember that the commemorations centred around the Chateau de Fontainebleau, the traditional home of the kings of France and was the scene where Napoleon said farewell to the Old Guard in the "White Horse Courtyard" (la cour du Cheval Blanc) at the Palace of Fontainebleau. (The courtyard has since been renamed the "Courtyard of Goodbyes".) By all accounts the occasion was very moving. The 1814 Treaty of Fontainebleau stripped Napoleon of his powers (but not his title as Emperor of the French) and sent him into exile on Elba. The cost of the Fontainebleau "farewell" and scores of related events over those three weekends was shouldered not by the central government in Paris but by the local château, a historic monument and UNESCO World Heritage site, and the town of Fontainebleau.

While the 200th anniversary of the French Revolution that toppled the monarchy and delivered thousands to death by guillotine was officially celebrated in 1989, Napoleonic anniversaries are neither officially marked nor celebrated. For example, over a decade ago, the president and prime minister - at the time, Jacques Chirac and Dominque de Villepin - boycotted a ceremony marking the 200th anniversary of the battle of Austerlitz, Napoleon's greatest military victory. Both men were known admirers of Napoleon and yet political calculation and optics (as media spin doctors say) stopped them from fully honouring Napoleon’s crowning military glory.

Optics is everything. The division of opinion in France is perhaps best reflected in the fact that, in a city not shy of naming squares and streets after historical figures, there is not a single “Boulevard Napoleon” or “Place Napoleon” in Paris. On the streets of Paris, there are just two statues of Napoleon. One stands beneath the clock tower at Les Invalides (a military hospital), the other atop a column in the Place Vendôme. Napoleon's red marble tomb, in a crypt under the Invalides dome, is magnificent, perhaps because his remains were interred there during France's Second Empire, when his nephew, Napoleon III, was on the throne.

There are no squares, nor places, nor boulevards named for Napoleon but as far as I know there is one narrow street, the rue Bonaparte, running from the Luxembourg Gardens to the River Seine in the old Latin Quarter. And, that, too, is thanks to Napoleon III. For many, and I include myself, it’s a poor return by the city to the man who commissioned some of its most famous monuments, including the Arc de Triomphe and the Pont des Arts over the River Seine.

It's almost as if Napoleon Bonaparte is not part of the national story.

How Napoleon fits into that national story is something historians, French and non-French, have been grappling with ever since Napoleon died. The plain fact is Napoleon divides historians, what precisely he represents is deeply ambiguous and his political character is the subject of heated controversy. It’s hard for historians to sift through archival documents to make informed judgements and still struggle to separate the man from the myth.

One proof of this myth is in his immortality. After Hitler’s death, there was mostly an embarrassed silence; after Stalin’s, little but denunciation. But when Napoleon died on St Helena in 1821, much of Europe and the Americas could not help thinking of itself as a post-Napoleonic generation. His presence haunts the pages of Stendhal and Alfred de Vigny. In a striking and prescient phrase, Chateaubriand prophesied the “despotism of his memory”, a despotism of the fantastical that in many ways made Romanticism possible and that continues to this day.

The raw material for the future Napoleon myth was provided by one of his St Helena confidants, the Comte de las Cases, whose account of conversations with the great man came out shortly after his death and ran in repeated editions throughout the century. De las Cases somehow metamorphosed the erstwhile dictator into a herald of liberty, the emperor into a slayer of dynasties rather than the founder of his own. To the “great man” school of history Napoleon was grist to their mill, and his meteoric rise redefined the meaning of heroism in the modern world.

The Marxists, for all their dislike of great men, grappled endlessly with the meaning of the 18th Brumaire; indeed one of France’s most eminent Marxist historians, George Lefebvre, wrote what arguably remains the finest of all biographies of him.

It was on this already vast Napoleon literature, a rich terrain for the scholar of ideas, that the great Dutch historian Pieter Geyl was lecturing in 1940 when he was arrested and sent to Buchenwald. There he composed what became one of the classics of historiography, a seminal book entitled Napoleon: For and Against, which charted how generations of intellectuals had happily served up one Napoleon after another. Like those poor souls who crowded the lunatic asylums of mid-19th century France convinced that they were Napoleon, generations of historians and novelists simply could not get him out of their head.

The debate runs on today no less intensely than in the past. Post-Second World War Marxists would argue that he was not, in fact, revolutionary at all. Eric Hobsbawm, a notable British Marxist historian, argued that ‘Most-perhaps all- of his ideas were anticipated by the Revolution’ and that Napoleon’s sole legacy was to twist the ideals of the French Revolution, and make them ‘more conservative, hierarchical and authoritarian’.

This contrasts deeply with the view William Doyle holds of Napoleon. Doyle described Bonaparte as ‘the Revolution incarnate’ and saw Bonaparte’s humbling of Europe’s other powers, the ‘Ancien Regimes’, as a necessary precondition for the birth of the modern world. Whatever one thinks of Napoleon’s character, his sharp intellect is difficult to deny. Even Paul Schroeder, one of Napoleon’s most scathing critics, who condemned his conduct of foreign policy as a ‘criminal enterprise’ never denied Napoleon’s intellect. Schroder concluded that Bonaparte ‘had an extraordinary capacity for planning, decision making, memory, work, mastery of detail and leadership’.  The question of whether Napoleon used his genius for the betterment or the detriment of the world, is the heart of the debate which surrounds him.

France's foremost Napoleonic scholar, Jean Tulard, put forward the thesis that Bonaparte was the architect of modern France. "And I would say also pâtissier [a cake and pastry maker] because of the administrative millefeuille that we inherited." Oddly enough, in North America the multilayered mille-feuille cake is called ‘a napoleon.’ Tulard’s works are essential reading of how French historians have come to tackle the question of Napoleon’s legacy. He takes the view that if Napoleon had not crushed a Royalist rebellion and seized power in 1799, the French monarchy and feudalism would have returned, Tulard has written. "Like Cincinnatus in ancient Rome, Napoleon wanted a dictatorship of public salvation. He gets all the power, and, when the project is finished, he returns to his plough." In the event, the old order was never restored in France. When Louis XVIII became emperor in 1814, he served as a constitutional monarch.

In England, until recently the views on Napoleon have traditionally less charitable and more cynical. Professor Christopher Clark, the notable Cambridge University European historian, has written. "Napoleon was not a French patriot - he was first a Corsican and later an imperial figure, a journey in which he bypassed any deep affiliation with the French nation," Clark believed Napoleon’s relationship with the French Revolution is deeply ambivalent.

Did he stabilise the revolutionary state or shut it down mercilessly? Clark believes Napoleon seems to have done both. Napoleon rejected democracy, he suffocated the representative dimension of politics, and he created a culture of courtly display. A month before crowning himself emperor, Napoleon sought approval for establishing an empire from the French in a plebiscite; 3,572,329 voted in favour, 2,567 against. If that landslide resembles an election in North Korea, well, this was no secret ballot. Each ‘yes’ or ‘no’ was recorded, along with the name and address of the voter. Evidently, an overwhelming majority knew which side their baguette was buttered on.

His extravagant coronation in Notre Dame in December 1804 cost 8.5 million francs (€6.5 million or $8.5 million in today's money). He made his brothers, sisters and stepchildren kings, queens, princes and princesses and created a Napoleonic aristocracy numbering 3,500. By any measure, it was a bizarre progression for someone often described as ‘a child of the Revolution.’ By crowning himself emperor, the genuine European kings who surrounded him were not convinced. Always a warrior first, he tried to represent himself as a Caesar, and he wears a Roman toga on the bas-reliefs in his tomb. His coronation crown, a laurel wreath made of gold, sent the same message. His icon, the eagle, was also borrowed from Rome. But Caesar's legitimacy depended on military victories. Ultimately, Napoleon suffered too many defeats.

These days Napoleon the man and his times remain very much in fashion and we are living through something of a new golden age of Napoleonic literature. Those historians who over the past decade or so have had fun denouncing him as the first totalitarian dictator seem to have it all wrong: no angel, to be sure, he ended up doing far more at far less cost than any modern despot. In his widely praised 2014 biography, Napoleon the Great, Andrew Roberts writes: “The ideas that underpin our modern world - meritocracy, equality before the law, property rights, religious toleration, modern secular education, sound finances, and so on - were championed, consolidated, codified and geographically extended by Napoleon. To them he added a rational and efficient local administration, an end to rural banditry, the encouragement of science and the arts, the abolition of feudalism and the greatest codification of laws since the fall of the Roman empire.”

Roberts partly bases his historical judgement on newly released historical documents about Napoleon that were only available in the past decade and has proved to be a boon for all Napoleonic scholars. Newly released 33,000 letters Napoleon wrote that still survive are now used extensively to illustrate the astonishing capacity that Napoleon had for compartmentalising his mind - he laid down the rules for a girls’ boarding school on the eve of the battle of Borodino, for example, and the regulations for Paris’s Comédie-Française while camped in the Kremlin. They also show Napoleon’s extraordinary capacity for micromanaging his empire: he would write to the prefect of Genoa telling him not to allow his mistress into his box at the theatre, and to a corporal of the 13th Line regiment warning him not to drink so much.

For me to have my own perspective on Napoleon is tough. The problem is that nothing with Napoleon is simple, and almost every aspect of his personality is a maddening paradox. He was a military genius who led disastrous campaigns. He was a liberal progressive who reinstated slavery in the French colonies. And take the French Revolution, which came just before Napoleon’s rise to power, his relationship with the French Revolution is deeply ambivalent. Did he stabilise it or shut it down? I agree with those British and French historians who now believe Napoleon seems to have done both.

On the one hand, Napoleon did bring order to a nation that had been drenched in blood in the years after the Revolution. The French people had endured the crackdown known as the 'Reign of Terror', which saw so many marched to the guillotine, as well as political instability, corruption, riots and general violence. Napoleon’s iron will managed to calm the chaos. But he also rubbished some of the core principles of the Revolution. A nation which had boldly brought down the monarchy had to watch as Napoleon crowned himself Emperor, with more power and pageantry than Louis XVI ever had. He also installed his relatives as royals across Europe, creating a new aristocracy. In the words of French politician and author Lionel Jospin, 'He guaranteed some principles of the Revolution and at the same time, changed its course, finished it and betrayed it.'

He also had a feared henchman in the form of Joseph Fouché, who ran a secret police network which instilled dread in the population. Napoleon’s spies were everywhere, stifling political opposition. Dozens of newspapers were suppressed or shut down. Books had to be submitted for approval to the Commission of Revision, which sounds like something straight out of George Orwell. Some would argue Hitler and Stalin followed this playbook perfectly. But here come the contradictions. Napoleon also championed education for all, founding a network of schools. He championed the rights of the Jews. In the territories conquered by Napoleon, laws which kept Jews cooped up in ghettos were abolished. 'I will never accept any proposals that will obligate the Jewish people to leave France,' he once said, 'because to me the Jews are the same as any other citizen in our country.'

He also, crucially, developed the Napoleonic Code, a set of laws which replaced the messy, outdated feudal laws that had been used before. The Napoleonic Code clearly laid out civil laws and due processes, establishing a society based on merit and hard work, rather than privilege. It was rolled out far beyond France, and indisputably helped to modernise Europe. While it certainly had its flaws – women were ignored by its reforms, and were essentially regarded as the property of men – the Napoleonic Code is often brandished as the key evidence for Napoleon’s progressive credentials. In the words of historian Andrew Roberts, author of Napoleon the Great, 'the ideas that underpin our modern world… were championed by Napoleon'.

What about Napoleon’s battlefield exploits? If anything earns comparisons with Hitler, it’s Bonaparte’s apparent appetite for conquest. His forces tore down republics across Europe, and plundered works of art, much like the Nazis would later do. A rampant imperialist, Napoleon gleefully grabbed some of the greatest masterpieces of the Renaissance, and allegedly boasted, 'the whole of Rome is in Paris.'

Napoleon has long enjoyed a stellar reputation as a field commander – his capacities as a military strategist, his ability to read a battle, the painstaking detail with which he made sure that he cold muster a larger force than his adversary or took maximum advantage of the lie of the land – these are stuff of the military legend that has built up around him. It is not without its critics, of course, especially among those who have worked intensively on the later imperial campaigns, in the Peninsula, in Russia, or in the final days of the Empire at Waterloo.

Doubts about his judgment, and allegations of rashness, have been raised in the context of some of his victories, too, most notably, perhaps, at Marengo. But overall his reputation remains largely intact, and his military campaigns have been taught in the curricula of military academies from Saint-Cyr to Sandhurst, alongside such great tacticians as Alexander the Great and Hannibal.

Historians may query his own immodest opinion that his presence on the battlefield was worth an extra forty thousand men to his cause, but it is clear that when he was not present (as he was not for most of the campaign in Spain) the French were wont to struggle. Napoleon understood the value of speed and surprise, but also of structures and loyalties. He reformed the army by introducing the corps system, and he understood military aspirations, rewarding his men with medals and honours; all of which helped ensure that he commanded exceptional levels of personal loyalty from his troops.

Yet, I do find it hard to side with the more staunch defenders of Napoleon who say his reputation as a war monger is to some extent due to British propaganda at the time. They will point out that the Napoleonic Wars, far from being Napoleon’s fault, were just a continuation of previous conflicts that arose thanks to the French Revolution. Napoleon, according to this analysis, inherited a messy situation, and his only real crime was to be very good at defeating enemies on the battlefield. I think that is really pushing things too far. I mean deciding to invade Spain and then Russia were his decisions to invade and conquer.

He was, by any measure, a genius of war. Even his nemesis the Duke of Wellington, when asked who the greatest general of his time was, replied: 'In this age, in past ages, in any age, Napoleon.'

I will qualify all this and agree that Napoleon’s Russian campaign has been rightly held up as a fatal folly which killed so many of his men, but this blunder – epic as it was – should not be compared to Hitler’s wars of evil aggression. Most historians will agree that comparing the two men is horribly flattering to Hitler - a man fuelled by visceral, genocidal hate - and demeaning to Napoleon, who was a product of Enlightenment thinking and left a legacy that in many ways improved Europe.

Napoleon was, of course, no libertarian, and no pluralist. He would tolerate no opposition to his rule, and though it was politicians and civilians who imposed his reforms, the army was never far behind. But comparisons with twentieth-century dictators are well wide of the mark. While he insisted on obedience from those he administered, his ideology was based not on division or hatred, but on administrative efficiency and submission to the law. And the state he believed in remained stubbornly secular.

In Catholic southern Europe, of course, that was not an approach with which it was easy to acquiesce; and disorder, insurgency and partisan attacks can all be counted among the results. But these were principles on which the Emperor would not and could not give ground. If he had beliefs they were not religious or spiritual beliefs, but the secular creed of a man who never forgot that he owed both his military career and his meteoric political rise to the French Revolution, and who never quite abandoned, amidst the monarchical symbolism and the court pomp of the Empire, the republican dreams of his youth. When he claimed, somewhat ambiguously, after the coup of 18 Brumaire that `the Revolution was over’, he almost certainly meant that the principles of 1789 had at last been consummated, and that the continuous cycle of violence of the 1790s could therefore come to an end.

When the Empire was declared in 1804, the wording, again, might seem curious, the French being informed that the `Republic would henceforth be ruled by an Emperor’. Napoleon might be a dictator, but a part at least of him remained a son of the Enlightenment.

The arguments over Napoleon’s status will continue - and that in itself is a testament to the power of one of the most complex figures ever to straddle the world’s stage.

Will the fascination with Napoleon continue for another 200 years?

In France, at least, enthusiasm looks set to diminish. Napoleon and his exploits are scarcely mentioned in French schools anymore. Stéphane Guégan, curator of the Musée d'Orsay in Paris, which, among other First Empire artworks, houses a plaster model of Napoleon dressed as a Roman emperor astride a horse, has described France's fascination with him as ‘a national illness.’ He believes that the people who met him were fascinated by his charm. And today, even the most hostile to Napoleon also face this charm. So there is a difficulty to apprehend the duality of this character. As he wrote, “He was born from the revolution, he extended and finished it, and after 1804 he turns into a despot, a dictator.”

In France, Guégan aptly observes, there is a kind of nostalgia, not for dictatorship but for strong leaders. "Our age is suffering a lack of imagination and political utopia,"

Here I think Guégan is onto something. Napoleon’s stock has always risen or fallen according to the vicissitudes of world events and fortunes of France itself.

In the past, history was the study of great men and women. Today the focus of teaching is on trends, issues and movements. France in 1800 is no longer about Louis XVI and Napoleon Bonaparte. It's about the industrial revolution. Man does not make history. History makes men. Or does it? The study of history makes a mug out of those with such simple ideological driven conceits.

For two hundred years on, the French still cannot agree on whether Napoleon was a hero or a villain as he has swung like a pendulum according to the gravitational pull of historical events and forces.

The question I keep asking of myself and also to French friends with whom I discuss such things is what kind of Napoleon does our generation need?

Thanks for your question.

[zuko-always-lies]

ATLA AU Idea which is Basically “Azula Raises Katara for Several Years”

I’ve had this idea kicking around my head for months, and, since I have no intention of writing it, I figure I might as well post it. To be clear, the premise of this fanfic is “Azula, Katara, and Sokka get traumatized in ways they weren’t in canon, but the events that traumatize them potentially help lead to a better outcome in the long-term,” so be prepared for rough sailing.

This idea is very much inspired by all the “Katara gets kidnapped young and raised within the Fire Nation royal family” fanfics, which I think can be excellent if done with care. However, in a situation where Katara and Azula develop a relationship when they are young, the natural tendency is to make Katara the “motherly” or parental one, and I wanted to turn that on its head. I also wanted to explore some of the possible implications of Azula taking on adult sized responsibilities as a child and of the perverse ways that power differentials can influence things. I also wanted to explore some of the ways that Azula’s commitment to duty and responsibility can be a positive thing. Another ~2000 or so words under the cut.

The premise is that, shortly after Zuko gets banished, Katara gets captured by the Southern Raiders as the last Southern Water Tribe waterbender and brought back to Caldera and presented as a trophy to Ozai. Ozai’s first reaction is to have her executed, but fortunately Azula is also present in the throne room. For reasons which Azula doesn’t entirely understand herself but which definitely have something to do with her guilt over what happened to Zuko, Azula decides to intervene, despite the risks involved. However, not being Zuko, she manages to do this without provoking Ozai, through convincing him that Katara is more valuable alive as a trophy, a symbol, and a plaything than she is dead. Ozai doesn’t really care that much, so he pawns Katara off to Azula and basically forgets about her, accidentally using language that implies to Azula that Katara and taking care of Katara is now Azula’s responsibility. Azula is at an age where she’s started to take her responsibilities and duties with deadly seriousness.

Katara doesn’t know what to make of this all.  She’s been severely traumatized by being kidnapped and torn from her family and culture and by having her life threatened by Ozai. She’s aware that Azula saved her life, but the language Azula used to in order to do so sounds warped and screwed up to Katara, who is unaware that Azula had to say what she said in order to manipulate Ozai.  Katara noticed that Azula seemed a little nervous when she talked to Ozai, but Katara doesn’t initially know how risky and dangerous what Azula did was.

Again, Azula takes her responsibilities with deadly seriousness. So, when it becomes her responsibility to take care of Katara, Azula is determined to do the best possible job, even though she’s 11 and Katara is also 11. If there were any responsible adults present, they would intervene and talk to Azula about how awful an idea this is, but there aren’t any left.  In any case, Katara’s waterbending abilities make it so she has to be kept under some kind of supervision, Azula is perceptive enough to worry that Katara might be mistreated if she got fostered out, and in any case Azula is convinced she can do a better job than any foster family.

Azula is a badly abused 11 year old who grew up indoctrinated in an absolutely toxic ideology. She’s never really seen good parenting in her life. The idea of her trying to parent should be terrifying. Yet she’s aware that Ursa didn’t do the best job with her, and since Katara isn’t a “monster” Azula sees no reason to replicate Ursa’s behavior. Azula believes the way that Ozai treats her is absolutely justified, even though she has some knowledge of its negative effects on her, but since Katara isn’t a princess who has immense duties to her nation and family, Azula sees no reason to treat her that way. In fact, Azula is aware of ignorance about parenting, and tries to read as much about parenting as she can. She also reads as much about the water tribes as she can in order to try to understand Katara better.

In terms of being a “parent,” Azula is overall a little standoffish, absent, and demanding.  She doesn’t need to directly look after Katara’s physical care(she has servants for that), but she has to look after Katara’s emotional needs, her education, and her overall care. As a temporary measure, she arranges that Katara sleep on a cot in Azula’s room because she’s not sure where to put her, and this arrangement becomes permanent. This means Azula and Katara usually eat together, since Azula has taken most of her meals in her room, but Azula is very busy with her duties, training, and education, so they don’t spend much time together in a typical day. Azula has Katara officially declared a servant(but one who only reports to Azula) in order to regularize her status and allow Katara to draw a salary(most of which Azula holds in escrow for when Katara comes of age), but Azula only rarely asks Katara to do work; Katara had far more chores back in the Southern Water Tribe. On the other hand, Azula demands that Katara work hard in her education and on practicing her waterbending. Katara is too old to be sent to the Royal Fire Academy for Girls, but Azula obtains tutors for her, in addition to getting her whatever waterbending scrolls she can and trying to obtain the best possible bending coaches for Katara’s waterbending, sometimes even stepping in herself to try to coach Katara.

Azula is aware that Katara wants to return home, but she doesn’t think that Ozai would ever allow that, and, in any case, Azula is an imperialist who thinks Katara is better off being “civilized” in the Fire Nation than she would be back in her ignorant and “savage” home.  A large portion of Katara’s education is intended to “civilize” her. Azula doesn’t have firm ideas of where adult Katara will fit into Fire Nation society but plays with the idea of marrying her into the nobility or of making her governor of the conquered Water Tribes. So overall, Azula does a shockingly good job as “parent” given she’s an abused 11 year child acting within the toxic norms of the Fire Nation, but that still means she does a bad job, and her relationship with Katara remains pretty toxic.

Ozai and the rest of the court have some awareness of what’s going on, but they honestly don’t care as long Azula continues to be an exemplary princess, fulfills her duties, and continues to exceed expectations. Some members of the court even find Azula’s personal commitment to “civilizing” a savage to be inspiring. However, the burden of taking care of Katara means that Azula is under even more pressure than she is in canon, with the good news being that Azula has something more of a support network than in canon. Katara provides some measure of support, and in this AU Azula never has the energy to really push Ukano’s political career forward, and so Mai never has to leave, so Ty Lee also stays put.

Katara, again, is severely traumatized by her experiences, and to a degree feels helpless. She knows that she can’t escape and go back home. She’s resentful of Azula and particularly of the efforts to cut Katara off from her culture, but at the same time Katara ends internalizing some Fire Nation culture. Yet after a while Katara gets a sense of how toxic the environment is at the Royal Court, and she soon(after overhearing a conversation between Mai and Ty Lee which was supposed to be confidential) learns what happened to Zuko and realizes how much Azula risked in order to protect Katara, and Katara can’t help but feel intense gratitude to Azula for it. Azula also gradually becomes more and more respectful of Water Tribe culture, and Katara deeply appreciates the emphasis Azula places on Katara mastering waterbending.  Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee are also the only people in the Fire Nation who are ever consistently kind to Katara, and Katara ends up deeply bonding with each one of them, although the resulting relationships are not the healthiest. Katara eventually starts to develop a sense of how each one of them has been deeply victimized by Fire Nation culture. Azula goes to great lengths to hide her own struggles and pain from Katara, but Katara spends a lot of time with her and sometimes notices. Several years in, Katara notices some positive changes in Azula and begins to play with the idea that she can positively influence Azula so that Azula will be become a kinder and anti-imperialist Firelord.

Azula thinks Katara’s waterbending is the coolest thing ever(well, aside from firebending at least), a sentiment shared to a lesser degree by Mai and Ty Lee. Azula also thinks that learning to fight is vital, so she brings Katara along for her spars with Mai and Ty Lee. Katara makes rapid progress, particularly due to her access to many waterbending scrolls. As a result of this, and of Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee not separating, all four girls end up being significantly better combatants than they were in canon.

Mai and Ty Lee have complex reactions to Katara, but they eventually come to like and even love her. There is an element of resentment present because Katara takes up so much of the ever busy Azula’s time, but Azula forces her friends to spend time with Katara, and they end up bonding with her.  Katara’s empathy and compassion works in her favor here, especially since she rapidly develops into one of the few people who sees and appreciates them for who they are. Mai and Ty Lee also find Katara’s waterbending to be an interesting and intriguing method of combat, soon come to respect Katara’s budding combat skills, and, as people deeply unhappy with their own places in society, they find Katara’s stories of life at the south pole to be interesting. Mai has issues with Katara being a little too “motherly,” but on the other hand appreciates that Katara pays attention to Mai’s actual desires and needs.  Ty Lee sometimes finds Katara to be a little too similar to her for comfort, but also at the same time appreciates Katara’s caring side and the way she’s not reluctant to give her positive attention. Frequently Azula is too busy to join her friends, so Katara, Ty Lee, and Mai end up hanging out together. Freaks and outsiders stick together.

Azula, through her research into the Water Tribes, personal experience with Katara, and interest in Katara’s waterbending, begins to subtly yet strongly move in anti-imperialist directions and doubt Fire Nation ideology, but her transformation has scarcely begun by the time Book 1 begins. She does benefit from better relationships with her friends, though, and Katara gives her some emotional support. Meanwhile, to a lesser degree Mai and Ty Lee have had their own doubts develop about imperial ideology.

Azula tends to see her relationship with Katara mainly in terms of responsibility and duty, but she ultimately comes to fiercely love Katara.

Zuko and Iroh do their things, just like in canon.  They receive vague reports about Katara’s presence in court, but they don’t understand the significance of them.

Sokka gets badly traumatized by losing his sister and believes her to be killed by the Fire Nation. Hakoda, Bato, and the water tribe warriors also still leave to fight the Fire Nation. Sokka is absolutely dedicated to seeking vengeance on the Fire Nation, and when he accidently defrosts Aang, he sees an opportunity.

Book 1 largely plays out the same, with minor changes. I think an interesting one is that Suki ends up joining a badly understrength Team Avatar and temporally leaving her warriors behind in order to aid Avatar Kyoshi’s reincarnation with the fulfillment of his destiny.

Book 2 opens with Azula being sent to capture Zuko and Iroh. Mai and Ty Lee tag along, in part with the hope of making sure Zuko is captured without being harmed, and Azula decides to bring Katara too rather than leave her alone in Caldera.  However, the operation goes south, and Azula, Mai, Ty Lee, and Katara soon find themselves hunting the Avatar. Katara’s loyalties are about to be tested like never before…Meanwhile, Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee all have seeds of anti-imperialism growing within them, but what will it take for these seeds to blossom and give fruit? Meanwhile, Azula grapples with not only her canon trauma but also the trauma she experienced through her parentification.

[scotianostra]

On July 12th 1803 Rev Thomas Guthrie, founder of the Ragged Schools, was born in Brechin.

A famous quote about Guthrie is from an unnamed young boy “ He was the only father I ever had."

Thomas was just twelve when he entered the University of Edinburgh. For ten years he studied a wide range of subjects, including medicine and science. After leaving school, he became a minister.

At his first church, in Arbirlot, near Arbroath,  he not only taught the gospel, but doctored the sick and helped his people establish a savings institution. 

After seven years Thomas Guthrie was called to serve at Old Greyfriars. His initial impressions of the parish were not good. The Cowgate appalled him. He described it as, “one of loopholed poverty, where men and women were hung with rags, and naked, cracked red ulcered feet of little shivering creatures trod the iron streets”.

He made a tour of his district and reported appalling conditions. "I wandered...whole days without ever seeing a Bible, or indeed any book at all. I often stood in rooms bare of any furniture; where father, mother, and half a dozen children had neither bed nor bedding, unless a heap of straw and dirty rags huddled in a corner could be called so. I have heard the wail of children crying for bread, and their mother had none to give them..."

Th reality of life for the poorest  in Edinburgh  in the early to mid 18th century, a time not talked about much in the history books or the tours that trudge around the Old Town, misery doesn’t go down well with the tourists, they want the romance, the royal connections and the literary greats that graced the city.

Thomas Guthrie opened "ragged schools" and fed the children who attended. He had a hand in every good work, fighting alcoholism, improving housing, calling for better work laws. He was one of the preachers who joined in creating the Free Church. Its ministers became directly dependent upon their people rather than living off the state as civil servants. When many were thrown out of their parsonages and suffered severely, Thomas raised over £100,000 in less than a year to build parsonages for them, a massive amount for that era.

In addition to his social work, he preached faithfully. Hundreds of lives were salvaged through the efforts of the godly man who was born this day.

When Thomas Guthrie was buried in the Grange Cemetery in Edinburgh on 28th February 1873 there had not been a funeral since that of Sir James Young Simpson. It is said some 30,000 people lined the street of Edinburgh to pay their respects, it shows the love the citizens of the city had for the man.

His friend and fellow preacher Robert Smith Candlish spoke of him in a sermon a week after he was laid to rest saying  

‘Men powerful in thought are often raised up; but genius, real poetic genius, like Guthrie’s come but once in many generations.  We shall not look upon his like soon, if ever.  Nor was it genius alone that distinguished him.  The warm heart and the ready hand; the heart to feel, and the hand to work.  No sentimental dreamer or mooning idealist was he.  His pity was ever active’

The statue in the pics is a replica of the one on Princes Street by  by Frederick William Pomeroy and is on display at the  Glenesk Folk Museum in Tarfside, Angus.

[kiribaku-queen]

The Blood King and his Queen [4]

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Romance, Angst, Drama

Word count: 2.9K

Summary:  From being a mere servant girl to marrying the scariest prince in existence, your world changed right before your eyes. Exchanging places with the princess, you knew, wasn’t going to be easy. But could you have found love on the way? Or was it never meant to be?

A/N: Thank you for all the love you have given to this series so far! As I’ve said before, this is my side blog so I can’t reply directly to your comments. But I love reading them. I love reading your tags when you reblog. It really makes my day. And if I could respond to each and everyone of you, I really would because I just appreciate you so much <3 Just know that I FREAK out everytime i get a sweet comment. Like, I could comment on my main but like... thatd be weird. let me know though if youd like me to do that?

Anyway. lets get to the chapter! Happy reading :)

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After a whole days worth of exploring this new unknown, the sun began to set in the distance and the dark, night sky was quickly approaching. This led Bakugou and his soldiers to set up camp nearby. Not far away from the town you were in was a hill that came with a very beautiful view. It overlooked the entire town and when it becomes fully dark outside, that’s where the magic comes. Lanterns and torches lit up the entire place, creating this orange and red array of beautiful sunset colors.

Bakugou’s soldiers were split into three groups: setting up camp, starting the fireplace, and making food. While everyone was doing their respective tasks, you were sitting under a tree to shade you from the setting sun. Bakugou, on the other hand, wasn’t resting like how a prince normally would. He was helping along side his soldiers; talking, setting up camp, and… laughing. It was the first time you had seen him with a genuine smile on his face.

You tilted your head at the sight. He looked kind. The way he talked to his soldiers, the way he treated them, how he looked like he could be himself… was this the real prince? How could you have made him out to be this horrible person in your mind, only for him to act like a normal person?

As you were deep in thought, Bakugou couldn’t help but take a few glances at you every now and then. You were sitting all alone at the top of that hill and he was here, actively avoiding you. How could he even approach you? Forget that he was practically with you the entire day. He didn’t know how to start a conversation with you. Or with anyone for that matter. He’s not used to having a fiancée that is also a stranger. Being raised sheltered didn’t help him become a people-person. So he opted to helping set up camp. He needs something to keep him distracted from a beauty that keeps looking his way.

“Just go talk to her,” Mina, his female soldier, finally huffed. She was tired of how shy his highness was acting. It was not a sight she usually saw and if she had to take anymore of this fluffy behavior, she was going to pass away.

“I can’t,” Bakugou gave up so easily.

“What do you mean you can’t? Nothing is stopping you from talking to her,” Mina pointed out. But still, Bakugou was reluctant to go.

“What do I even say?” he asked for advice.

“Get to know her! Ask her how her day was. Ask her what her favorite color is. She’s your fiancée, soon-to-be queen. You’re going to have to spend the rest of your life with her. Ya might as well get comfortable with her when you have the chance,” Mina pushed Bakugou slightly towards your direction. Yet, he still wasn’t budging on his own. The female solider groaned and put her hands on her hips.

“I didn’t say you had to fall in love with her. At least try to be friends!” Bakugou’s face became flushed upon hearing the god forsaken L word. He became so flustered that he couldn’t even talk straight.

“W-Who said anything about… l-love,” his voice became quiet at the end.

“Go on, your highness,” she joked, taking the wood from his hands. “Give me this, and go talk to her,” she said one last time and faced away to continue setting up camp. With a deep exhale, Bakugou finally turned to you and walked up the hill.

You saw his highness making his way up the hill to you. Your breath hitched in your throat and you became stiff. By the time Bakugou had taken a seat next to you, you had already straightened your back to create the perfect posture, as a princess should.

There was an awkward silence at first. You and Bakugou just sat in front of that tree while you watched everyone do their job in setting up camp. It took a few moments for Bakugou to clear his throat and finally talk to you.

“How are you enjoying your trip so far?” he asked. That should be a good start, he thought. He glanced at you and got a glimpse at your big, doe-like eyes. You were a bit surprised that he was talking to you in such a civil manner but also made you relax.

“I’m very much enjoying it. It’s the most fun I’ve ever had,” you told him truthfully, childish excitement twinkled in your eyes.

“I’m glad,” Bakugou replied, still flustered at your reaction. He wasn’t expecting such an innocent response from you. You definitely are different from other princesses he’s encountered. But the conversation ends there. Back to silence once again. It was until curiosity got the best of you. You didn’t think about it and went ahead and just said it.

“Your people aren’t scared of you,” you commented. You didn’t realize how insensitive the comment was until it came out of your mouth. You wanted smack yourself in the head but it already came out. You forgot for a moment that you had to pretend to be the princess. And the princess would think before she spoke. But your dumbass thought it was smart to just say whatever came to your head.

“Why, are they supposed to be scared of their prince?” Bakugou asked. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes. What do you even say to that? Do you address the rumors you’ve heard?

“I-um,” you stutter. Stupid, stupid! Why did you even say that? After you thought the prince wasn’t actually all that bad, he was going to hate you now.

“I see the rumors travel far,” he says. He shifts in his seat, allowing himself to lay back on his elbows. “It’s not like my people don’t know about the rumors. Even I know about them. They just don’t know what their prince looks like.” He opens up to you. Unlike his brothers, Bakugou likes to hide his face from his people. And he does it well. He wanted to make sure that his identity was hidden and wasn’t made known to anybody. This was the only way that he was able to leave the palace and roam around freely in his kingdom without fear from his people.

“Why would you hide your identity?” you ask, curiously. You’ve never heard of a prince or princess hiding themselves from their people. It was only natural that they are bathed in glory and loved from the public. To hide your identity, you are stripped away from a certain power that only they could hold.

“Because I wouldn’t be able to do this,” he says, opening his arms up to the world. You looked out and couldn’t understand what he was trying to say. Bakugou saw the confusion in your face and chuckled.

“I wouldn’t be able to enjoy this freedom. This open air. I wouldn’t have been able to see my kingdom for how it really is. I wouldn’t have been able to be here with you.” You finally meet his eye and you guys hold each other’s stare. That’s when you understood. You could see his story through his eyes. Although you couldn’t see all of it, you understood at least a little. You could see the pressures and difficulties of being the prince, the Blood Prince no less.

Bakugou opens his mouth to say something else but quickly shuts it. He decided that it wasn’t the time to tell you just yet. You caught that little act and frowned.

“What is it?” you ask. Bakugou shakes his head and disregards it.

“In due time, princess,” he says. Before you could rebuttal, Kirishima calls you both down from the bottom of the hill.

“Dinner’s ready!” he shouts. Without a moment’s hesitation, Bakugou is already on his feet to head down. You, on the other hand, take a little longer to head down. Thanks to your dress, you had to gather it, careful not to step on it while getting up. A hand appears in front of your face and you looked up to see the owner. The prince had offered his hand to you while looking away shyly.

Little did you know, Bakugou had planned on doing that. He was already heading down to where the hot food was being poured out in bowls. But Mina had turned to him furious and motioned for him to go back. Bakugou couldn’t understand what she was trying to do. So Mina had physically act out him offering his hand to you as a romantic gesture. Clueless Bakugou did just that. And that simple act made your face heat up.

You and Bakugou made it to campfire with your arm around his. His soldiers held back their snickers and smiles and handed you each your dinner. Inside your bowl was a hot serving of porridge with meat and vegetables to fill you up. The smell was immaculate. You couldn’t wait to taste it. One sip of the porridge and your eyes lit up.

“Delicious!” you exclaimed, downing more of the food.

“I’m glad it’s to your liking, princess,” Sero, another one of Bakugou’s soldiers, bowed in respect while addressing you.

“It’s the only thing he’s good at,” Denki, another one of Bakugou’s trusted soldiers, poked fun at him.

“At least I’m good at something. You’re not good at anything!” Sero bit back and a round of laughter filled the air.

“I’m good at a lot of things!” Denki tried to defend himself.

“Yeah? Name 5 things right now!” Mina joined in. There was more laughter around the campfire when Denki paused to think about his answer. Even Bakugou was giving a hearty laugh at his soldiers joking around.

It was interesting. To see Bakugou’s true self come out around his comrades, or more like his closest friends. Who knew that the angry, scary Blood Prince could smile so wide like this? If you told the girls that the oh so famous Blood Prince wasn’t actually the scary killer we all knew, they’d laugh in your face.

Not long after dinner, you found yourself yawning. Nightfall was already upon you. Since you still had a long way to go for your trip, Bakugou advised you to sleep early so you could depart as soon as possible when the sun rose. Fortunately for you, the tent was already set up. You got into the tent and waited patiently for Bakugou.

This made your heart race. This was the first time you guys were sleeping together and you weren’t wedded yet. Was this okay to do? His soldiers were sleeping a bit farther away to give their prince and his fiancée some privacy. It’s not like you two were going to do anything. Just the thought of having him next to you while you slept in this small tent was something you thought you’d never do. But it couldn’t be avoided. You just had to breath and calm down. It won’t be for long anyway.

You continuously away for Bakugou but he never comes. You peek out the tent and he’s laying out on the grass, hands behind his head and eyes already closed.

“Um,” you speak out and Bakugou peeks one eye out. “Are you not coming in?” you ask.

“The tent is for you, princess,” he says nonchalantly and closes his eyes again. You frown at this.

“Do you not have a tent?” you question.

“I’m used to sleeping on the ground. Don’t worry about me, you should get some rest,” he continues to say with eyes closed. That didn’t sit right with you. It gets very chilly at night. Without any coverage, he’s bound to get cold. It wasn’t fair that you very comfy inside this tent while he is outside in the cold. The more you’re around him, the more your image of him changes. Everything he is doing and saying is making you think differently of him.

You gather your blanket and plop right down next to him. Bakugou jumps and sits up when you get situated in your new sleeping spot.

“What?” you ask, looking up at him.

“What are you-” he couldn’t even finish his question because he is so speechless.

“I’m not going to let you sleep out here by yourself. Come,” you pat the grass next to you. “Lay down.”

Still shocked with confusion, he lays down next to you. Now you were shoulder to shoulder. Going through a roller coaster of emotion, Bakugou is now freaking out because you are so close to him. His heart is beating faster and his mind was racing. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep tonight.

You thought sleeping next to him was going to be no problem. You were so tired that you wouldn’t mind sleeping next to your ‘fiancé’ and just knock out. But it seems like any signs of tiredness was thrown out the window because now you were wide awake.

Probably an hour has passed since you laid down next to the prince. Bakugou noticed that you were restless next to him, constantly moving to get comfortable but never enough that you were able to fall asleep. Should he talk to you? What does he say? Should he follow Mina’s advice?

“Are you awake?” Bakugou’s raspy voice shocked you.

“Ah, yes,” you answer, moving to lay on your back.

“What’s your favorite color?” Bakugou took the courage to ask.

“Lilac purple,” you say. “Do you have a favorite color?”

“Red,” he says simply. “Do you have a favorite food?”

“I like simple dishes like what we ate today. Porridge, soups, stews.” Well, that’s actually all you were able to eat as a servant. But he didn’t have to know that. “You?”

“Anything meat. Favorite piece of literature?” he asked. This made you pause. As a servant, you weren’t able to read anything so how could you answer this question. You tried to think back to a time when you saw the princess studying because for the love of you, you couldn’t remember any names of those books.

“Ah, there’s so many. I can’t name one,” you made up on the spot. But Bakugou believed it.

“I guess I could say the same. Hm, how about favorite animal?”

“Let’s say it at the same time,” you suggested. Bakugou smirked.

“Alright. 1,”

“2.”

“3.”

“Dragon!” you both say at the same time. But at the same time, you both rolled to your side to face each other and that led to your faces being extremely close together. You both stared at each other, wide eyed. Though both stunned, you couldn’t look away from each other. Bakugou looks down at your lips but clears his throat and looks away. You do the same and turn away from him. You cover your face in embarrassment because you saw the way he looked at you. What was that!? Bakugou balled his hands into fists and knocked his head. What was he even thinking?

The more you got into your head, the more you started to drift into sleep. Eventually, your eyes shut completely and you fell asleep. Throughout the night, Bakugou couldn’t sleep. His mind kept replaying how close your face was to his. God, he didn’t even know why his eyes steered towards your lips. As if he wasn’t embarrassed enough, he was even more so for acting like that. He peeked at you and saw you shivering from the night breeze. That blanket was so thin, it wasn’t doing anything to help protect you from the wind. So he takes his cape and wraps it around you. When he adjust the cape to cover all of you, you moved so that you were cuddling up right next to him. You were so close that he could feel your breath on him. Bakugou froze. He was afraid that if he moved, you would wake up. As silently and as slowly as he could, he laid back down with you practically on his chest. Huh, you were so warm for someone who was shivering. It was only a minute that you were on him and he felt his eyes getting heavier with every passing second. Eventually, he falls asleep with you resting in his arms.

The next morning, Kirishima and the rest of the crew wake up early to pack and get ready for the rest of the journey. Kirishima brings Denki along to head up the hill where you and Bakugou were still sleeping. As soon as your sleeping bodies came into view, Kirishima stopped dead in his tracks. You were fully resting on top of his chest, your arm wrapped around his upper body. While Bakugou had a hand under you, wrapped around your waist and his chin rested on top of your head. Kirishima’s eyes softened at the sight. But it was all ruined when Denki got too excited and smacked the red head next to him.

“Dude! You see what I’m seeing?!” Denki whisper shouted. Kirishima rolled his eyes, grabbed his shoulders and turned him around.

“You’re gonna wake them up you idiot!” he scolded, and forced back down the hill to give you guys your privacy.

The sun hit your face just perfectly for you to wake up naturally. You stretched your arms and yawned. At the same time, Bakugou was also just getting up. The moment your eyes saw each other and saw how you were positioned, blush immediately appeared around your cheeks and you both separated from each other. Thank god you guys woke up before anyone saw you like that, you thought. But the soldiers had already seen you two together.

A/N: I’d love to hear what you have to say about this chapter! Lots of fluff so far! I literally can’t wait for the drama to begin but we gotta build up to it! Any drama you want to see happen? Let’s spice this baby up!

Also let me know if you want to be tagged for the next chapter! Spoiler: danger next chapter???? Can’t wait to see you next Monday! Thanks for all the love <3 I love you guys so much!

Tagged: @superblyspeedydragon @melasnchz-things @animexholic @bkgwrites @sam-i-am-1025 @apexqueenie @katsukibabe @germfart3 @tspice283 @angie-1306 @bakugous-trauma​ @bakugousmrs​