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shijiujun · 4 years

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Okay I’ve decided to do a single rec after I finish one novel hahaha because if I wait to get around to it all it’ll never happen! Anyway because @sarah-yyy has been reading it and I’ve gotten a lot of asks/replies on this, I’m just going to do one huge list for one of my faves so everyone knows what’s going on and where to find things XD

- Part of Min’s ‘Why You Should Read’ Series -

Summary:

This is set in a historical setting where men can marry other men, but it’s usually reserved for sons who were not borne by the official main first wife of the patriarch of the family, i.e. a son born by a concubine in a family may be forced to marry a man to keep him from being able to become the next family’s patriarch for example. This is because any family’s next leader needs to be able to have children with a wife who married in as a zheng shi (lawful wife), and not a ce shi (second wife) or any other concubines/mistresses etc. Most of these men who marry other men have to take them as their zheng shi and lawful spouse in a sense, and the same goes for the royal family.

The story starts with third prince Jing Shao, who was forced to marry Mu Han Zhang, a Marquis’ second son, by the Empress and Emperor, thereby officially and effectively cutting him out of the race for the throne. He’s mocked by the public as everyone knows what this means, and for the next 10 years, he neglects Mu Han Zhang, blaming him for his predicament, and deliberately showers his three other concubines with affection in front of him, but 10 years later, when Jing Shao is accused of treason, everyone leaves him except for Mu Han Zhang. They are chased to the edge of the cliff by soldiers, and Mu Han Zhang dies in his arms having taken an arrow meant for him earlier, and Jing Shao jumps off the cliff with his dead body, and promises that if there’s a next life, he will do everything Han Zhang says, and love him.

He wakes up immediately on the night of his marriage with Han Zhang, and realizes that he’s been given a second chance to make everything right. Han Zhang is definitely afraid of him, humiliated and angry when he first wakes up after how rough Jing Shao was with him earlier on their wedding night, and he has no memories of their past life. Jing Shao then sets to SHOWER HAN ZHANG with affection, love and basically everything, because he realized that this is the only person who stayed by his side until the end, and then he falls in love with Han Zhang properly this time, and also deals with every single person who maligned and schemed against him in his previous life, with Han Zhang by his side.

Read:

Novel (Online) | Novel (Print) - Not Available | Novel Translations | Manhua (You’ll have to download the KuaiKan app, the chapters are currently all free)

Characters:

1. 景韶 Jing Shao - 3rd Prince and is the first out of his three other brothers to be given a title 成王 (cheng wang). He’s referred to as 王爷, and also 小勺 (xiao shao) by Han Zhang. Went out on his first war when he was 14, and was thus given a title before any of his brothers. He’s known for being a merciless, cold and fierce army general/commander, but this was before his second life with Han Zhang, where he puts on like his doting mode and is basically a dumbass XD who listens to Han Zhang with a lot of trust, which is cool and all.

He marries Han Zhang when he’s 19, and in his first life he was very reluctant and resistant, and neglected Han Zhang for 10 years, until he was charged with treason and hunted down.

In his first life he wanted to snatch the throne, even from his blood-related brother Jing Chen, but more out of spite than anything else because he felt he was dealt an unfair hand by having to marry Han Zhang. Not only that, but Jing Shao is not his father’s favourite son, and he always felt that the emperor was biased against him. Anyway, a huge accumulation of daddy and anger issues, which is fair.

When he realizes that Han Zhang died for him, he decides he will be good to Han Zhang if they are reborn in their next life.

2. 慕含章 Mu Han Zhang - The 2nd son of Marquis Bei Hou’s, born to a concubine. He’s called by his 表字 which is 君清 (jun qing) by Jing Shao. Official First Wife Bei Wei Hou-furen and her son (who is in line to inherit the Marquis title from his father) has bullied him all his life, and wanted to push him into greater desperation by marrying him to Jing Shao, knowing he will suffer at the hands of the supposed merciless/heartless wangye. He has a weak body because of an accident when he was younger, and in his first life he was really sick after being neglected for 10 years, and knowing this in their second life, Jing Shao does everything he can to take care of him.

He is incredibly smart, has a brain for business and sales, and is also very good at handling people, especially scheming ones. He aids Jing Shao in the beginning of their second life, and then Jing Chen later as well, as both brothers begin to fight to put Jing Chen on the throne, against the 1st and 4th Princes. Is an incredibly good tactician in war as well.

3. 景琛 Jing Chen - 2nd Prince, Jing Shao’s blood related older brother who is handsome af too. His title, given later in the novel, is 睿王 (rui wang). He was misunderstood by Jing Shao in the first life as Jing Shao thought it was his brother who led to him marrying Han Zhang, and because he’s not very good at expressing himself and shows his concern to Jing Shao by nagging at him, Jing Shao always thought he hated him. In their second life, Jing Shao already knows that Jing Chen loves him and did a lot for him in his first life, and so trusts his brother and supports him right off the bat, because Jing Chen is indeed the most suited person for the throne.

He has a wife and a concubine, 3 sons and 2 daughters at this point. He ends up helping Jing Shao a lot, and when he realizes that Han Zhang is way more adept at politics and the whole scheming thing than Jing Shao is, he begins trusting Han Zhang a lot more as well! There’s a surprise with Jing Chen hahaha which I loveee and could see, but wasn’t sure until they confirmed it in the last few chapters AHAHAHAHA.

Other Notable Characters:

1. Song Ling Xin (Second Wife) on the left, and two other concubines on the right

They’re pretty much vying for Jing Shao’s attention, but at this point apparently he hasn’t slept with any of them before. Song Ling Xin is the daughter of the Military Department’s Head Song An, and Jing Shao married her initially out of interest. The right most concubine (I forgot her name oops) was a gift given to him by his oldest brother, the 1st Prince. The two of them played a huge role in Jing Shao’s downfall back in his first life, and so in his second life, he especially detests Song Ling Xin. Plus the three of them keep bullying Han Zhang in the beginning, but thankfully Jing Shao is like: “Anything my Jun Qing wants”. They don’t stay around for long either, watch as Jing Shao gets rid of them like he’s swatting flies.

2. Xiao Yuan & Zhou Da-Ge

This is another male couple who’s been married for 7-8 years if I recall. Xiao Yuan is one of Jing Shao’s important allies and friends in the second life, because in Jing Shao’s first life, this was one of the only young officials in court who spoke up for him when the accusations of treason came about. Zhou Da-Ge is his husband, who is a cook running a restaurant in the city. Whenever Zhou Da-Ge bullies Xiao Yuan in bed a little too much, Xiao Yuan punishes him by making him wear colourful clothes out (pink, bright yellow, purple, etc.) and thus he has a reputation for being eccentric and a weirdo, but oh well, all for love.

3. Gu Huai Qing

One of Jing Shao and Jing Chen’s most powerful allies, and he becomes blood-sworn brothers with Jing Shao without realizing who he is. Later he takes a liking to Jing Chen.

(Will update with photos when they come out, but they’re a bit further into the story so we won’t have them for a few months yet ahahaha)

Amazing Scenes:

Jing Shao & Han Zhang first looks in the manhua

Jing Shao being THAT clingy husband and helping Han Zhang to wear his clothes properly so cute!!!!!

Han Zhang and Jing Shao in their first lives (10 years later), about to die, sad and then Jing Shao jumps down the cliff with Han Zhang’s corpse, regretful cuz he a dumb bij

Jing Shao unable to resist kissing Han Zhang’s cheek, realizes what he’s doing, and gets embarrassed LMAOOOO 没出息!!!!!!! (This is different from the novel, because in the novel Jing Shao just kisses and is done with that, the embarrassment part is drawn in only in the manhua hahaha)

Other Things I Like in the Novel:

Jing Shao is like, he does a 180 entirely and he is very cognisant of all his faults and what he did wrong previously, and how badly he treated Han Zhang, so he legit forces his brain to go “I will listen to Jun Qing from now on” and he really sticks to it!

Loves kissing and teasing Han Zhang, but doesn’t force him into bed after their wedding night, and instead goes to Xiao Yuan and asks for tips on how to make his partner feel less scared about sex

The both of them end up with a pet tiger?!! That’s called Xiao Huang (little yellow) LMAO

They nap together a lot which I love <3333

Jing Shao knows he’s bullied at home, so when they go back to the Marquis Bei Hou manor, he holds Han Zhang’s hand in front of everyone to let them know Han Zhang has someone to back him up

Brings Han Zhang to war because he “cannot concentrate if Jun Qing isn’t with me at all times” - and asks for special permission to do so

Han Zhang notes that since he married Jing Shao, as the ‘wife’ he is supposed to serve Jing Shao, but it’s always Jing Shao serving him - Getting water for him, bringing him to baths, putting clothes on for him, putting food in his plate if it tastes nice, massaging his back and waist etc. - and best is he doesn’t have to deal with any in-laws?!! HAHAHA

Jing Shao gets revenge on those who hurt Han Zhang when he was younger for him, and the outcome is pretty hilarious but well-deserved

EPILOGUES are cute af!!!!

#the wife is first #you own my all #qi wei shang #妻为上 #danmei #danmei novel #stebeee recs #min's why you should read

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thera-daydreams · 3 years

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INDAY

± A Trese Fic ±

[Crispin/Basilio/Maliksi/Dominic x Skymaiden!Reader]

01: Noon at Ngayon (✓)

02: Ang Kambal na Anak ni Datu Talagbusao, Diyos ng Digmaan (Link)

03: Ang Prinsipe ng Mga Tikbalang (Link)

04: Ang Pinuno ng Mga Aswang (Link)

05: (Link) 06: (Link) 07: (Link)

01: Noon at Ngayon

Back then, long before you were born, your mother used to work as a katulong of the Trese Family and was very close to its matriarch, Miranda Trese. Coming from the province, she was no stranger to superstitions—even more so after knowing the work of Miranda's husband Anton Trese, who was actually the Babaylan-Mandirigma of Manila.

Years later, after giving birth to you around the same time Miranda gave birth to her twins (one a stillborn, unfortunately), it was you and Alexandra who became best buddies instead, as different your personalities were. You two had practically grown up together and you yourself heard countless stories of the supernatural from your Tito Anton. It wasn't that hard to believe when he and his sigbin companions would sometimes come home tracking blood prints on the floors (which you'd helped your mother clean up). Heck, you'd even met Señor Armanaz, the Great Stallion himself and the ruling tikbalang of the Armanaz herd. That pretty, white-haired diwata seemed extremely fond of you, too, which was evident when you'd sneak in with Alexandra to Tito Anton's meetings and she would smile (even wave) at you happily.

You had absolutely no idea why the fae-like lady was so nice to you, but you weren't complaining at all!

However, in spite of your experiences with the supernatural, you and your mother always believed that you were normal humans. In actuality, that was who you were for the majority of your childhood. It was only until Miranda herself saw a vision of you—a much older you—fighting the monsters of the Underworld alongside her own daughter. During dinnertime, Miranda told your mother that she saw you blessed by the heavens with powers that would aid in the battle against evil.

It sounded absolutely ridiculous, right? Yeah, your mom thought so, too.

Your mother only laughed it off as she placed a steaming bowl of tinola in front of Alexandra's brothers, who instantly dug in like they haven't been fed in years.

"Boys! Dahan-dahan lang," Anton reprimanded his sons. "Or else you'll choke and the soup will come out of your noses!"

"Okay, Papa."

"Grabe ka naman, Miranda. I doubt that anything like that's going to happen to my daughter," your mom chuckled, watching your little hands try to feed Alexandra with a piece of chicken. "Unlike you guys, our lineage isn't anything special. Ordinaryo lang ang lahi namin."

Miranda sighed, looking at you and her only living daughter enjoying your time being kids, "I guess you're right. Baka panaginip lang talaga 'yun."

Anton glanced at her knowingly. Although he was aware that you and your mom didn't dabble in magic or anything like they did, he knew that whenever Miranda—one of the Seven Seers—had such vivid dreams, it was something of great importance. But he decided to say nothing, understanding how much your mother wanted to let you live as normal of a life possible in this household.

That was when you were seven years old. One year later, Miranda died fighting against a group of aswang who decided to betray Anton. Said man found the eight-year-old Alexandra hiding in a corner behind the waterfalls, scared and holding Sinag close to her heaving chest as she tried to hold her tearful sobs in.

Of course, a few days later, you and your mother attended the funeral with the mourning Trese family. All the brothers had done their best to stay strong, especially for their little sister who didn't fully understand yet what just happened. Little you ran towards Alexandra, holding her hand tightly as her mother's casket was lowered. Around you were various comrades, both human and non-human, paying their respects to their bereaved allies.

That day, as you turned your back to return to your mother's arms, you knew you would never forget the feeling of numerous unearthly eyes following your every movement.

Even they could sense that there was something about you, a so-called regular human child. You smelled human and had the aura of one, but there was something they couldn't place. It was like a tiny rock getting into your shoe, not coming out at all.

Much changed after that, but you and Alexandra remained close together. To your dismay, just after you graduated elementary, you and your mother had to move back to the province to stay with your sick grandparents. The last thing you could remember was kneeling in the back of the car, looking sadly through the rear windscreen as Alexandra and her brothers waved goodbye to you.

More than a decade had passed since then. You used to write letters to Alexandra, but after Hank told you she had to undergo the trials of the Puno ng Balete, you haven't heard from her (although Hank did disclose that she'd managed to come home safely, which was a great relief to you). You didn't blame her; you knew Tito Anton had passed away in the five years she was gone and that she had to take over the title of Lakan, as well as the Babaylan-Mandirigma of Manila. It was a demanding job! You remembered Tito Anton sometimes staying up all night—breakfast would be served and he would still be in his study, going over paperwork. On other days, he would be gone for consecutive nights handling cases all around Manila. You could only pray Alexandra was fine.

Your life had continued on, as well—you took care of your ill grandparents until they died, helped your mother in the province, went to a good highschool, then earned your degree in another prominent city that wasn't Manila.

Your mom actually recommended that you go to school somewhere else, given the constantly rising number of attacks in the capital of the country. And so you did. Life was hard, but normal until then.

The funny thing was that, when you reached the age of twenty-one, you finally understood why those supernatural creatures kept looking at you weirdly as a kid (and why Lady Diwata liked you so much).

What was even funnier was that the dramatic revelation came to you when you weren't in the Philippines. It was after you freshly graduated college, when you were traveling all over Asia to volunteer in charity projects. It was always your dream to one day expand your horizons not only beyond your province, but the Philippines itself, while also doing good in the world.

And here you were, walking that path you dreamt of.

The organization you luckily managed to become a member of provided everything you needed, and every few months, you would move from country to country. Because of that, you'd already been able to travel to so many places. First it was Thailand, then Indonesia, China, South Korea, India, Japan, Sri Lanka, Singapore, Malaysia, and currently, you were in Vietnam. Visiting those places was fun and gave you a whole new perspective of the world you lived in; it was a... learning experience, too.

Still, that incident happened when you were in Thailand, when you were the last one in the rented apartment balcony taping up the boxes for the donation drive tomorrow. Yawning, you cut more duct tape and stuck them to the open boxes tightly.

"Inday," someone said from behind you. You didn't bother turning around, thinking it was one of your fellow volunteers looking for you this late at night. Probably your roommate. She was the only one who usually called you by your nickname instead of your real name.

"Hmm?" you hummed, taping up more boxes. "Papasok na ako sa kwarto, Lyn. I just have a few more boxes to close. Alam mong mapapagalitan ako kung may hindi madidistribute bukas."

"Hindi ako si Lyn."

You paused, then slowly turned around, flinching at the sudden bright light that shone right against your eyes. For a moment, akala mo namatay ka na at hinaharap mo si San Pedro.

It was a glowing figure in white whose face you couldn't clearly see, which frightened you even more.

"Ay, mama!" you exclaimed, shielding your eyes and falling to your knees. Then, you gasped loudly, patting your body and panicking with closed lids. "Oh my God, am I dead? Nasa heaven na po ba ako?" Your lips wobbled. "Ngayon pa nga lang ako nakaalis ng Pilipinas... I haven't even done all the things I've wanted to do! Hindi pa ako nakapagpaalam sa nanay ko—aray!"

You'd felt something hit the back of your head. Hard. It was the glowing figure in white, but now you could see their unimpressed face scowling at you.

"Kalma lang, Inday. Hindi ka pa patay, pero makinig ka nang mabuti," they shushed you urgently (you weren't sure if they were male or female). "Do not be afraid. I am a messenger from the heavens, and I bear great news!"

"Great news...?" you trailed off, then your eyes widened excitedly. "Like, nanalo ba ako ng lotto? Isang milyon? Bilyon? Hala! Wait, is this a Mama Mary moment? I'm not ready to be the next immaculate conception!"

They glared at you, making you shut up instantly. "Sorry, I'll shut up now," you apologized with a mumble. This person (thing?) was kind of... strict. Whatever did you do wrong? You were just sleep-deprived and running on energy drinks (as well as kape).

"I have come to tell you that you are the vessel of the last skymaiden," they revealed, arms wide open. The light around them seemed to grow even brighter, making you squint. You felt like you were about the go blind! "Ikaw ang huling biraddali, Y/N L/N."

At ayun, zero brain cells remaining. Tunay na nagloading screen ang brain mo. Nag-error at nagcrash pa nga siguro, eh.

"... Ha? Ano?"

You blinked, completely speechless—as seen by how wide your jaw had dropped open. It wasn't that you were unfamiliar with the biraddali, it was just that you'd only heard of them once when you were just a young child. Your Tita Miranda had mentioned they were long gone from the world of the supernatural.

"Oh no, me? A biraddali? You're joking," you stuttered out, pointing at yourself. "Aren't they extinct or something? And, uh... not human?"

They nodded, "Yes. It is correct that everyone in the mystical world thought that the biraddali were long gone, even before the colonizers came to conquer the native lands. However, before the skymaidens all disappeared, the youngest and most powerful one among the seven sisters sealed her soul away to the rivers of time until the strength of a heavenly being was needed to help purify the evils of the world." The figure floated closer to you. "That last biraddali's soul, along with its corresponding power, traits, and knowledge, had chosen to reside deep within you the moment you were conceived."

Honestly, how were you even supposed to react? Your life was nowhere near ready for something like this. Was this a prank by your friends? Your colleagues? The light around this person seemed too authentic to be fake, though.

You stayed in shock for an entire minute, silent. The being in front of you only waited for a response.

"Ano 'to, Sailor Moon? Winx Club?" you whispered to yourself, before slapping your own cheek and scolding yourself. A stinging red mark was left on your face. "Inday, kakamanhwa mo 'yan! Nasosobraan ka na ata, matulog ka na!"

Sighing heavily, you rubbed your face tiredly, still in disbelief that you—according to this stranger—were apparently some old soul from a species of ethereal beings that were long gone. It sounded like something out of those reincarnation webnovels you got addicted to. What now, you were the MC? Wattpad ka, girl?

"Look, this is a mistake. I still have to wake up early tomorrow to give out the donations," you spoke to the glowing being (or whatever it was), laughing nervously. "I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong person. Either that or I must be hallucinating from sleep deprivation, because I'm definitely not a divine creature. You're probably just a product of my imagination. Sorry, I'm going to bed."

Bang!

At that moment, the power in the building went out. The only thing you could see was the thing who assumed you were a biraddali (they were so bright they were like a flashlight in the dark for you).

"Brownout?" you blinked. It felt wrong, though. It was eerily silent. "Did a fuse blow up?"

"Nagsimula na ang iyong unang pagsubok, Y/N," they announced seriously. "Creatures of the dark have already begun to take over this building. You may not have noticed, but all throughout your life, you have always been helping and giving. It is your nature as a being descended from the heavens themselves, and now, it is time for you to accept your destiny."

"Hoy, sandali lang! Sandali, sandali!" You were absolutely wide awake now as you heard the sounds of strange whispers around you. It was terrifyingly creepy, much creepier than whatever you'd seen back in the Trese Residence (and you'd seen a lot in that house). You did not want to be a part of a horror movie-like lifestyle. "Don't I have a choice in this?! I—I don't have any training or fighting skills! Hindi ako Alexandra Trese o Babaylan-Mandirigma! I'm not ready for this, holy sh—"

The candescent creature raised a brow at you, "Inday, I just told you that you have the power of a lost mystical being. And tell me, if you had the power to save your companions in this building from the forces of evil, would you save them?"

You were silent, knowing the answer.

"Well?" they prodded.

You bit your lip, "Oo naman. I'm not heartless!" But you were a little impulsive. And apparently, insane.

"That's what I thought. I just need you to believe in yourself," the being encouraged, gentler this time. It transformed into something smaller and rounder—like a ball of light. "Ikaw ang huling biraddali, Y/N, at marami kang kapangyarihan. Isa dito ay ang pagtulong sa mga nangangailangan, lalo na laban sa masasamang nilalang."

Bestie, what had you just gotten into?

You swallowed apprehensively, then nodded in determination, "Sige. So, how do I save the people in the building? Biraddali were said to be able to shapeshift, right? If I remember the tale correctly. Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening to me right now."

"That's just one of your abilities, but I'll teach you. I'm actually your guide," they replied confidently. "With me, you'll be able to master your powers and exceed your capabilities in no time!"

"Wait! Anong pangalan mo?" you asked breathlessly, following them as they speedily flew out of the room. "Grabe, slow down! I'm not athletic! I haven't even exercised this week, goodness."

"... Gabay. Ako si Gabay."

Despite the adrenaline and fear running in your veins, you still grinned up at the ball of light, "Okay. Nice to meet you, Gabay."

This was just the beginning of your supernatural combat training abroad. When you returned to the Philippines three years later, you were stronger, faster, and more powerful than you'd ever felt before. It was crazy.

Oh, that guy who tried to rob you when you came back to Manila was crazy, too. The two identical-looking men in dark suits and white ties—you wondered how they were surviving the heat in that attire—could only watch in awe as you chased down that man who stole your bag while doing acrobatics and parkour.

"Uy, Kuya Crispin, sino kaya 'yun?"

"Ewan ko, Basilio."

"... She's kind of pretty. Type ko. Type mo rin ata."

"The more important question is, paano niya na nahuli ang magnanakaw?"

"Oo nga, no? One in a million chance 'yan dito sa Maynila, haha! Ang astig ni ate!"

(Next Chapter.)

± Author's Notes ±

Ayieee, type daw tayo ng kambal! 😌

How the hell did I write this entirely random thing in one day? 2k+ words? Ano daw? 😃⁉️

You know, this was supposed to just be a Trese one-shot or a bunch of drabbles for the characters I'm currently simping for... but it turned into a full-blown, shameless self-insert slash crackfic. Kakacellphone ko 'yan. 🤦‍♀️

Nagresearch pa ako ng articles about Filipino skymaidens because I wanted something similiar to the Japanese celestial maidens (tennyo). Very random idea but why not? Gusto ko ng badass Y/N na hindi takot lumaban sa mga mumu! 👻

Also, pagbigyan niyo nalang ang matandang 'to kasi ilang taon na akong hindi nagpopost ng mga writings ko. May track record pa naman ako bilang author na hindi nagtatapos ng mga fanfic, hehe. I also haven't read the comics so please forgive me for any inaccuracies and of course, misspellings/errors. Gusto ko lang matapos 'to para makakabalik na ako sa Jujutsu Kaisen. 🥲😗

Anyways, comments and constructive criticism are welcome! Hit those heart, reblog, and follow buttons for updates! Just comment if you want to be tagged in the next chapters. ❤

#trese #trese netflix #trese 2021 #crispin #basilio #maliksi #dominic #x reader #kambal x reader #crispin x reader #basilio x reader #maliksi x reader #dominic x reader #trese x reader #thera.writes

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dwellordream · 3 years

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“Henry's marriage to Catherine had long since grown cold. Though his wife remained, and would remain, loyal and devoted, Henry was in very different case. The raptures of the early days had faded and the consequent demands upon him for self-discipline and generosity had found him wanting. Catherine was five years his senior. In I527 he was still in his prime, in his mid-thirties, she over forty. As king he could satisfy desire all too easily, for who would refuse a king easily, especially a king such as he? Fidelity was rare among monarchs and the temptation besetting him, in particular, strong.

At first Henry had been a gallant husband. Catherine had accompanied him to every feast and triumph, he had worn her initials on his sleeve in the jousts and called himself 'Sir Loyal Heart'. He had shown her off to visitors, confided in her, run to her with news. Though there had been talk of a lady to whom he showed favour while campaigning in France, he had slipped home ahead of his army and galloped to Catherine at Richmond in order to lay the keys of the two cities he had captured at her feet.

We cannot know when he first succumbed to the temptation of adultery, but it must have been within five years of his marriage, when there appeared on the scene one Elizabeth Blount, a lady-in-waiting of Queen Catherine and a cousin of Lord Mountjoy - and she may not have been the first. She caught the king's eye during the New Year festivities in I5I4, that is, shortly after he had returned from the first campaign in France. Bessie Blount eventually bore him a son, in I519. Subsequently she married into a gentle family, the Talboys of Lancashire, with a dower of lands in that county and Yorkshire assigned by act ofParliament. Hers, then, was a fate less than death; and her son, the duke of Richmond, was occasionally to acquire considerable political and diplomatic significance.

Next there was Mary Boleyn, since 1521 wife of William Carey, daughter of a royal councillor and diplomat, and sister of Anne. That Mary was at one time Henry's mistress, and this presumably after her marriage, is beyond doubt. Years later there was a strong rumour that she too had born Henry a son, but we cannot be sure. Anyway we may guess that the liaison was over by l526, and when her younger sister climbed on to the English throne, with perhaps pardonable pique, she dismissed Mary from the court. The latter was to do well enough, with her family at the centre of affairs during the reign of her niece, Elizabeth I - which was more than could be said of Bessie Blount. And finally there was Anne, Thomas Boleyn's younger daughter.

Following in the wake of her sister, who had been in the entourage that accompanied Mary Tudor to France in 1514, Anne had crossed the Channel about 1519 to enter the household of Queen Claude, wife of Francis I, an amiable lady who had several young girls in her care and supervised their education. The newcomer to the royal school must have been about twelve years old. She stayed in France until the out- break of war in 1522 and then came home, by which time she was on the way to becoming an accomplished and mature girl. She does not seem to have been remarkably beautiful, but she had wonderful dark hair in abundance and fine eyes, the legacy of Irish ancestors, together with a firm mouth and a head well set on a long neck that gave her authority and grace.

On her return, if not before, her future had apparently been settled, ironically by Henry and Wolsey. She would marry Sir James Butler, an Irish chieftain and claimant to the earldom of Ormond, to which the Boleyns, rivals of the Butlers, had long aspired. Anne was therefore to mend the feud by uniting families and claims. Had this familiar kind of device been executed, and had this been the sum total ofher experience ofhow marriage and politics could interweave, things might have been very different for England, if not for Ireland. But Butler's price was too high and Anne remained in England.

Her father, aided perhaps by her grandfather, the second duke of Norfolk, had meanwhile brought her to Court, as he had her sister before her. There she eventually attracted attention, first from Sir Thomas Wyatt, the poet, a cousin of hers; then from Henry Percy, son of the earl of Northumberland and one of the large number of young men of quality resident in Wolsey's household. Alas, Percy was already betrothed. At the king's behest, Wolsey refused to allow him to break his engagement and, summoning him to his presence, rated him for falling for a foolish girl at Court. When words failed, the cardinal told the father to remove his son and knock some sense into him. Percy was carried off forthwith- and thus began that antipathy for Wolsey that Anne never lost.

But it may well be that, when Henry ordered Wolsey to stamp on Percy's suit, it was because he was already an interested party himself and a rival for the girl's affection of perhaps several gay courtiers, including Thomas Wyatt. The latter's grandson later told a story ofhow Wyatt, while flirting once with Anne, snatched a locket hanging from her pocket which he refused to return. At the same time, Henry had been paying her attention and taken a ring from her which he thereafter wore on his little finger. A few days later, Henry was playing bowls with the duke of Suffolk, Francis Bryan and Wyatt, when a dispute arose about who had won the last throw.

Pointing with the finger which bore the pilfered ring, Henry cried out that it was his point, saying to Wyatt with a smile, 'I tell thee it is mine.' Wyatt saw the ring and understood the king's meaning. But he could return the point. 'And if it may like your majesty,' he replied, 'to give me leave that I may measure it, I hope it will be mine.' Whereupon he took out the locket which hung about his neck and started measuring the distance between the bowls and the jack. Henry recognized the trophy and, muttering something about being deceived, strode away.

But the chronology ofAnne's rise is impossible to discover exactly. All that can be said is that by I525-6 what had probably hitherto been light dalliance with an eighteen or nineteen year-old girl had begun to grow into something deeper and more dangerous. In the normal course of events, Anne would have mattered only to Henry's conscience, not to the history of England. She would have been used and discarded - along with those others whom Henry may have taken and who are now forgotten. But, either because of virtue or ambition, Anne refused to become his mistress and thus follow the conventional, inconspicuous path of her sister; and the more she resisted, the more, apparently, did Henry prize her.

Had Catherine's position been more secure she would doubtless have ridden this threat. Indeed, had it been so, Anne might never have dared to raise it. But Catherine had still produced no heir to the throne. The royal marriage had failed in its first duty, namely, to secure the succession. Instead, it had yielded several miscarriages, three infants who were either still-born or died immediately after birth (two of them males), two infants who had died within a few weeks ofbirth (one ofthem a boy) and one girl, Princess Mary, now some ten years old. His failure to produce a son was a disappointment to Henry, and as the years went by and no heir appeared, ambassadors and foreign princes began to remark the fact, and English diplomacy eventually to accommodate it, provisionally at least, in its reckoning.

Had Henry been able to glimpse into the second halfofthe century he would have had to change his mind on queens regnant, for his two daughters were to show quality that equalled or outmeasured their father's; and even during his reign, across the Channel, there were two women who rendered the Habsburgs admirable service as regents ofthe Netherlands. Indeed, the sixteenth century would perhaps produce more remarkable women in Church and State than any predecessor - more than enough to account for John Knox's celebrated anti-feminism and more than enough to make Henry's patriarchal convictions look misplaced. But English experience of the queen regnant was remote and unhappy, and Henry's conventional mind, which no doubt accorded with his subjects', demanded a son as a political necessity.

When his only surviving legitimate child, Mary, was born in February 1516, Henry declared buoyantly to the Venetian ambassador, 'We are both young; if it was a daughter this time, by the grace of God sons will follow.' But they did not. Catherine seems to have miscarried in the autumn of 1517 and in the November of the following year was delivered of another still-born. This was her last pregnancy, despite the efforts of physicians brought from Spain; and by 1525 she was almost past child-bearing age. There was, therefore, a real fear of a dynastic failure, of another bout of civil war, perhaps, or, if Mary were paired off as the treaty of 1525 provided, of England's union with a continental power.

Catherine, for the blame was always attached to her and not to Henry, was a dynastic misfortune. She was also a diplomatic one. Charles's blunt refusal to exploit the astonishing opportunity provided by his victory at Pavia and to leap into the saddle to invade and partition France had been an inexplicable disappointment. Of course, had Henry really been cast in the heroic mould he would have invaded single- handed. But established strategy required a continental ally. Eleven years before, in 1514., Ferdinand of Spain had treated him with contempt and Henry had cast around for means of revenge, and there had been a rumour then that he wanted to get rid of his Spanish wife and marry a French princess.

Whether Henry really contemplated a divorce then has been the subject of controversy, which surely went in favour of the contention that he did not - especially when a document listed in an eighteenth-century catalogue of the Vatican Archives, and thought to relate to the dissolution of the king's marriage - a document which has since disappeared - was convincingly pushed aside with the suggestion that it was concerned with Mary Tudor's matrimonial affairs, not Henry's. Undoubtedly, this must dispose of the matter even more decisively than does the objection that, in the summer of 1514, Catherine was pregnant. In 1525, however, the situation was different. Charles had rebuffed Henry's military plans and, by rejecting Mary's hand, had thrown plans for the succession into disarray.

For a moment the king evidently thought of advancing his illegitimate son - who, in June 1525, was created duke of Richmond. But this solution was to be overtaken by another which Henry may have been contemplating for some time, namely, to disown his Spanish wife. Catherine, therefore, was soon in an extremely embarrassing position. Tyndale asserted, on first-hand evidence, that \Volsey had placed informants in her entourage and told of one 'that departed the Court for no other reason than that she would no longer betray her mistress'.' When Mendoza arrived in England in December 1526, he was prevented for months from seeing the queen and, when he did, had to endure the presence of Wolsey who made it virtually impossible to communicate with her. It was the ambassador's opinion that 'the principal cause of [her] misfortune is that she identifies herselfentirely with the emperor's interests'; an exaggeration, but only an exaggeration.

The king, then, had tired of his wife and fallen in love with one who would give herself entirely to him only if he would give himself entirely to her; his wife had not borne the heir for which he and the nation longed, and it was now getting too late to hope; he had been disappointed by Catherine's nephew, Charles V, and now sought vengeance in a diplomatic revolution which would make the position of a Spanish queen awkward to say the least. Any one of these facts would not have seriously endangered the marriage, but their coincidence was fatal. If Henry's relations with Catherine momentarily improved in the autumn of 1525 so that they read a book together and appeared to be very friendly, soon after, probably, Henry never slept with her again.

The divorce, which came into the open in early 1527 was therefore due to more than a man's lust for a woman. It was diplomatically expedient and, so some judged, dynastically urgent. As well as this, it was soon to be publicly asserted, it was theologically necessary, for two famous texts from the book of Leviticus apparently forbade the very marriage that Henry had entered. His marriage, therefore, was not and never had been, lawful. The miscarriages, the still-births, the denial of a son were clearly divine punishment for, and proof of, transgression of divine law. Henry had married Catherine by virtue of a papal dispensation of the impediment of affinity which her former marriage to Arthur had set up between them.

But Leviticus proclaimed such a marriage to be against divine law - which no pope can dispense. So he will begin to say. And thus what will become a complicated argument took shape. Henry had laid his hand on a crucial weapon - the only weapon, it seemed, with which he could have hoped to achieve legitimately what he now desired above all else. How sincere he was is impossible to determine. More than most, he found it difficult to distinguish between what was right and what he desired. Certainly, before long he had talked, thought and read himself into a faith in the justice of his cause so firm that it would tolerate no counter-argument and no opposition, and convinced himself that it was not only his right to throw aside his alleged wife, but also his duty - to himself, to Catherine, to his people, to God.

At the time, and later, others would be accused of planting the great scruple, the levitical scruple, in Henry's mind. Tyndale, Polydore Vergil and Nicholas Harpsfield (in his life of Sir Thomas More) charged Wolsey with having used John Longland, bishop of Lincoln and royal confessor, to perform the deed. But this was contradicted by Henry, Longland and Wolsey. In 1529, when the divorce case was being heard before the legatine court at Blackfriars, Wolsey publicly asked Henry to declare before the court 'whether I have been the chiefinventor or first mover of this matter unto your Majesty; for I am greatly suspected of all men herein'; to which Henry replied, 'My lord cardinal, I can well excuse you herein. Marry, you have been rather against me in attempt- ing or setting forth thereof' - an explicit statement for which no obvious motive for misrepresentation can be found and which is corroborated by later suggestions that Wolsey had been sluggish in pushing the divorce forwards.

Longland too spoke on the subject, saying that it was the king who first broached the subject to him 'and never left urging him until he had won him to give his consent'. On another occasion Henry put out a different story: that his conscience had first been 'pricked upon divers words that were spoken at a certain time by the bishop of Tarbes, the French king's ambassador, who had been here long upon the debating for the conclusion of the marriage between the princess our daughter, Mary, and the duke of Orleans, the French king's second son'. It is incredible that an ambassador would have dared to trespass upon so delicate a subject as a monarch's marriage, least of all when he had come to negotiate a treaty with that monarch.

Nor was it likely that he should have sug- gested that Mary was illegitimate when her hand would have been very useful to French diplomacy. Besides, the bishop of Tarbes only arrived in England in April 1527, that is, a few weeks before Henry's marriage was being tried by a secret court at Westminster. The bishop could not have precipitated events as swiftly as that. No less significantly, another account ofthe beginnings of the story, given by Henry in 1528, says that doubts about Mary's legitimacy were first put by the French to English ambassadors in France - not by the bishop of Tarbes to his English hosts.

He and his compatriots may have been told about the scruple or deliberately encouraged by someone to allude to it in the course of negotiations, but did not invent it; nor, probably, did Anne Boleyn - as Pole asserted. It is very likely that Henry himselfwas the author ofhis doubts. After all, he would not have needed telling about Leviticus. Though he might not have read them, the two texts would probably have been familiar to him if he had ever explored the reasons for the papal dispensation for his marriage, and he was enough of a theologian to be able to turn to them now, to brood over them and erect upon them at least the beginnings of the argument that they forbade absolutely the marriage which he had entered.

Wolsey said later that Henry’s doubts had sprung partly from his own study and partly from discussion with 'many theologians'; but since it is difficult to imagine that anyone would have dared to question the validity of the royal marriage without being prompted by the king, this must mean that the latter's own 'assiduous study and erudition' first gave birth to the 'great scruple' and that subsequent conference with others encouraged it. Moreover, Henry may have begun to entertain serious doubts about his marriage as early as 1522 or 1523, and have broached his ideas to Longland then - for, in 1532, the latter was said to have heard the first mutterings of the divorce 'nine or ten years ago'.'

By the time that Anne Boleyn captured the king, therefore, the scruple may already have acquired firm roots, though probably not until early 1527 was it mentioned to Wolsey who, so he said, when he heard about it, knelt before the king 'in his Privy Chamber the space of an hour or two, to persuade him from his will and appetite; but I could never bring to pass to dissuade him therefrom'. What had begun as a perhaps hesitant doubt had by now matured into aggressive conviction.”

- J.J. Scarisbrick, “The Repudiation of the Hapsburgs.” in Henry VIII

#henry viii of england #j.j. scarisbrick #history #tudor

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lailoken · 4 years

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‘Heathen Survivals’

“In Scotland, as in other parts of the British Isles, the conversion to Christianity was largely led by foreign saints who were of noble birth or royal descent. They converted the tribal kings who then forced the new religion onto their subjects. For this reason the process was resisted by the lower class, and even by some members of the ruling power elite. The Chronicle of Lonecast recorded that as late as the 13th century Father John, the parish priest of Inverkiething, seduced young village girls so they danced wantonly around an ithyphallic stone idol. He allegedly 'stirred them to lust and [to] use filthy language' while leading a procession around the churchyard holding aloft a representation of 'the male organ of generation' on top of a pole. At Loch Mournie in the 17th century the local minister condemned his practitioners for continuing to practice the pagan ritual of sacrificing bulls. Twenty years later Hector Mackenzie of Mellon, his two sons and his grandson were summoned before a session of the kirk (church) elders to explain why they had killed a bull on their farm "in ane heathenish mannere". In his defense Mackenzie told the elders the sacrifice was an attempt to recover the health of his sick wife. It was not recorded who the animal was sacrificed to.

In 1650 a woman was called to account before the kirk elders for killing and burying a lamb under the threshold of a house, a magical liminal place. She told them she had sacrificed one of her flock of new-born lambs, the healthiest, so the rest would be protected from disease. When Isobel Young was charged with sorcery in 1692 for burying a live ox, her son told the court it was common husbandry practice and nothing to do with witchcraft. In a program broadcast at Hallowe'en 2009 the local radio station on the Isle of Lewis mentioned a letter written by a 17th century visitor to the island calling on the laird and the church to outlaw 'barbaric customs' at that time of year. The writer said he had seen a bull sacrificed and its blood spilt on the earth and ritual bonfires blazing on every hill. (Letter from Linda Fallows to author 31.10.2009)

On the Isle of Mull disease broke out in the herds of cattle in 1767. It was decided to take drastic measures to deal with the outbreak. A need- fire was lit on a hilltop without the use of flint and by friction between two pieces of wood. 'Need' is from the Old English niedfyr and the Old German nieten, meaning 'to churn'. The fire had to be lit before moonrise and during its lighting an old man chanted an incantation. Then a sick heifer was sacrificed and the diseased part of the animal was cut out and burnt on the need-fire. The rest of the good meat was then cooked and eaten by all those present as the fire gradually burnt down.

An ancient druidic cure for epilepsy still practiced in the Highlands at the beginning of the 20th century required the sacrifice ofa black cockerel. A hole was dug near to where the patient had experienced their last fit. The bird was buried alive while an incantation was read out calling on the earth to "swallow the evil". Shortly afterwards the sufferer would recover and, it was claimed, would have no more fits during their life.

In 1909 when a farmer died on Orkney his grieving family sacrificed his prize heifer. This was said to be an offering to the hogboy or hogboon, from the Norwegian haug-bui or haug-buinn meaning 'mound dweller'. This was the Norse term for a tutelary or guardian spirit associated with ancient burial mounds. Sometimes the hogboy was believed to be the shade or earthbound spirit of a former owner of the nearby farmstead or the ancestral founder of the family concerned. They remained earthbound to watch over their property, land and descendants and to monitor the progress of the estate down the generations.

In the 18th century Martin Martin said that the inhabitants on the Isle of Lewis still performed sacrifices to an ancient sea-god called Shoni or Shoney on Hallowe'en (October 31s). They brewed a special beer and after sunset threw cups of it into the sea. Afterwards everyone went to the local kirk and sat in the pews in silence while a candle was lit on the altar. This candle had to burn down and go out before they would leave. The rest of the night was then spent in the fields drinking, eating, singing and dancing. It was believed this ritual would ensure a good crop of seaweed used as fertilizer on the fields and therefore a bountiful harvest for the next year.

In the Hebrides St Michael, the patron saint of horses, horsemen and boats, was spoken of in the 19th century as "the god Michael". On the saint's feast day of Michaelmas (September 29th), a special bannock or oat cake was baked inside a lamb's skin. It was then blessed at a special Mass by the priest and dedicated to the saint. It was also a traditional custom on the same day to hold horse races and, unusually, both men and women participated in these events.

As well as blood sacrifices there was also a folk tradition of making offerings to the genii loci, the 'spirits of a place' or nature spirits, that inhabited the countryside. In 1697 when Martin Martin was travelling through Scotland he said country people still held pre-Christian beliefs. Although they claimed to outsiders that they were God-fearing pious folk, secretly they believed the hills were inhabited by spirits and made offerings to them. These entities could appear in an instant from their natural hiding places whenever they wanted to startle a passing traveller.

In January 1657 at Cullen in Forfarshire Margaret Philp was arrested on a charge of practising witchcraft. Her servant, Isobel Imblaugh, who may have been related to Philp's husband as they shared the same surname, testified she had seen her mistress have dealings with a spirit taking the form of a talking hare. Imblaugh said she had seen Philp put out a bannock, a jug of beer and a piece of meat for the sprite and the next morning it was all gone. On another occasion the spirit-hare had allegedly entered the house through an open window and drank the beer left out for it in a bowl. In the 19th century superstitious Highlanders left offerings of milk at 'fairy hills' (prehistoric burial mounds) and standing stones for the faeries known as brownies.

Aspects of pagan moon worship also survived in folk magic and folk customs. People believed warts could be cured by a simple ritual at new moon. When its crescent was first seen in the night sky a handful of soil was taken from under the right foot of the sufferer. This was then made into a paste using the affected person's saliva and spread over the infected part of the skin. This was then covered with a dressing and left until the lunar disc had waxed to full and then waned again. It was removed when the crescent of the next new moon was seen in the sky. It was said that this procedure was always successful in removing the blemish. Unmarried women also performed a ritual at the new moon to divine who their future lovers or husbands would be. When they could see the lunar crescent in the sky they sat astride a gate or stile without any underwear on. They then recited the following charm:

'All hail to thee the moon, All hail to thee, I privy good moon, declare to me, This very night, who my husband shalt be'

Various wells and springs all over Scotland were visited until comparatively recent times for healing purposes. Many of these places were said to have specific properties to heal diseases and illnesses in a throwback to pre-Christian times. For instance any well dedicated to St Tegla was claimed to be able to cure the 'falling sickness', probably dizziness caused by fluctuating blood pressure levels. St John's Well at Balmanno in Kincardshire was frequented by parents taking their children to be cured of rickets, a once common disease caused by malnutrition. St Kilda's Well cured deafness and drinking the waters of Trinity Well in Perthshire was reputed to be able to cure even the so- called Black Death, or bubonic plague.

St Fillan's Well near Tyndwell in Perthshire was visited by those suffering from mental illness. They were first dipped in the water by their carers and then taken to a nearby chapel. Once inside they were tied up and the chapel's bell was placed on top of their heads. The patient was then left in this uncomfortable and rather undignified position overnight. When their relatives returned the next morning at dawn they were supposed to have been cured.

Another well used to try and cure the mentally ill was situated on the isle of St Maelrubla on Loch Moree in Ross and Cromarty. Near the well was a tree where pilgrims hammered coins into its trunk as offerings to the saint or the spirit of the well. There were also the remains of a stone altar on the island allegedly used by the druids to sacrifice bulls on in ancient times. When St Columba arrived in the area he reconsecrated it to the Christian faith.

People suffering from depression, anxiety, or other mental problems were rowed out to the island in boats. Just before reaching landfall they were thrown out into the shallow water and then dragged by ropes the rest of the way to the shore. Once at the well they were forced to drink the water and a piece of their clothing was cut off and hung from one of the branches of the tree. An offering of a coin was then made by hammering it into the trunk. It was said that the well's healing properties were negated when a shepherd threw his mad dog into it. This apparently caused the spirit who inhabited the well to leave.

Some of the holy wells were only potent at certain times of the year. One example was at Craigie, which only possessed healing properties on the first Sunday in May. Its waters were said to be a powerful antidote to all known diseases, malefic witchcraft and the baleful influence of the Good People or faery folk. Crowds gathered at the well and colored threads and scraps of clothing were hung on the shrubs and rocks surrounding it.Other wells were given offerings of pins, needles or coins in a far memory of the sacrifices given to water deities in pagan times.

The prehistoric megalithic monuments of Scotland still retained their special nature after the conversion to the new religion. An ancient custom of holding legal courts at stone circles for settling property and land disputes survived into historical times. The bishop of Aberdeen held one at the Ring of Peddles and a nobleman called William de Saint Michael was summoned to attend it. He was asked to explain why he had seized some property from the Catholic Church. Forty years later the son of King Robert II of Scotland held a special court at a stone circle and called the bishop of Moray to justify why he was making a claim on some land at Badenoch. This ancient custom also survived in Wales. In the 1980s a man asked a council official to meet him on neutral ground at the Pentre Ifan cromlech near Newport in Pembrokeshire to discuss a longstanding property disagreement.

Following the conversion of the pagan Scots prehistoric sites like stone circles, standing stones and burial mounds were popularly believed to be the meeting places of witches, the haunts of spirits of the ancestral dead, and the habitat of faeries, elves and goblins. One witch was seen to regularly visit a local standing stone for unknown purposes of a magical nature. Another, Helen Rogie of Lumpahana, was accused of building a cairn or pile of stones on a hilltop for the practice of alleged 'devil worship.' She was probably making offerings to, or doing rituals involving, the genii loci.

In 1649 the male witch Andro or Andrew Man was accused of setting up a stone as an idol. He was seen to perform a "superstitious ceremony", taking off his hat to bow to it. In his defense Man claimed it was only a boundary stone marking the edge of his land and the beginning of his neighbor's. This is interesting in itself as in prehistoric times standing stones were often erected for just this purpose, to divide one tribe's land from another's. Such boundary makers were also regarded as having a magical liminal significance. The kirk refused to accept Man's explanation and decided he was performing some kind of “heathenish practice". He was ordered to break the stone into four pieces.

One of the earliest recorded examples of witchcraft in Scotland was in the 2nd century CE when King Natholocus consulted a famous witch living on the sacred island of Iona. The King had just lost an important battle with a rebel army who were trying to overthrow him. He sent a messenger to the witch to ask her advice about what he should do next. Unfortunately after consulting the spirits she predicted the King would be murdered. This dastardly deed would not be carried out by one of his enemies, but by somebody close to him who he trusted.

The King's messenger demanded to know by whose treacherous hand his master would be killed. The witch gave a mocking laugh and replied; "Even thine, so shalt be well known within these few days." The man returned to court in some distress and at first he was reluctant to pass the witch's prediction to the King. He thought if he told the truth the King would put him to death. However, if he kept it secret one of the others present might tell the King anyway. Only one possible alternative was left. Just as the witch had predicted, he entered the King's bedchamber during the night and stabbed him dead while he slept.

St Patricus or Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, was a 5th century Romano-British subject allegedly kidnapped by Irish pirates and sold as a slave to the king of the Dalriada tribe in Scotia. However an alternative story says that Patrick was forced to flee from his home country of Scotland to Ireland after being attacked by the witches of Dumbarton. He fled in a boat across the sea to escape them as he knew the dark sisterhood were unable to cross water.

During the 7th century King Kenneth became so concerned at the widespread practice of witchcraft and wizardry in his Scottish kingdom that he passed a new law condemning its practitioners to death. Three hundred years later King Duffus (who reigned from 962 to 966), the son of King Malcolm I, fell ill with a mysterious malady and began to physically fade away. His physicians could not help him and they began to believe some form of witchcraft was involved in the ruler's dramatic and potentially fatal decline in health.

A few days after the King became ill word reached the court that a number of witches had been gathering nearby to magically bring his death. A young girl who worked in the royal kitchens had been overheard threatening Duffus' life. The governor of Forres Castle immediately ordered her to be arrested and interrogated about the alleged plot. She named her own mother as the head of a witches' coven casting spells against the sick King. As a result of the servant girl's confession several women including her mother were detained. They were caught red- handed in the act of roasting a wax image representing the King over a fire. Once the image had been destroyed and the witches summarily executed the King recovered his health.”

—

Scottish Witches and Warlocks

by Michael Howard

#witchcraft #traditional withcraft #scottish witchcraft #Scottish Magic #Scottish witches and warlocks #Michael Howard

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thetravelerwrites · 3 years

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Courtship of the Headless King: Chapter One

Rating: General Audiences Fandoms: 忘却の首と姫 | Boukyaku no Shirushi to Hime | The Princess and The Forgotten Head Relationship: Female Human/Male Headless King Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Political Marriage, Power Dynamic, Headless King Words: 4366

This is not my original work!

This is a fan retelling of one of my favorite mangas, Boukyaki no Shirushi to Hime, whose original mangaka sadly passed away in 2014, leaving the series unfinished. I will start at the beginning of the manga and go through the entire story that has already been written. Once I reach chapter 20, which is the end of the published chapters, I will have to start extrapolating and imagining how the story may have played out. I hope I can do the original story justice and not disgrace the original author.

I will say that I will be fixing a few things that made me uncomfortable about the original manga, in that the female protagonist was 15, which I didn't like. Otherwise I will try to stick as close to the original story as possible, though I will be arranging it so that it's a bit more linear.

I hope you enjoy!

“Blessings to you, my lady,” The visitor said, bowing deeply in greeting. “My name is Aquamarine. I am a servant of the high king of Banfarie and a chosen attendant to the future queen.”

The summons wasn’t necessarily a shock, but it was definitely a surprise. Lilya, the third princess of the former kingdom of Tritsia, had come of age during a bloody war between kingdoms to either side, and her small, impoverished land had been caught in the crossfire. Tritsia had been absorbed by the victorious kingdom to the east, Couliea, and was now a vassal state. As such, the royal family of Tritsia were now hardly more than paupers in their own kingdom.

Lilya assumed that she would no longer be eligible for the marriage interviews that were famously, or perhaps infamously, conducted five times every month in the largest empire in the continent, Banfarie. The interviews had been happening since before she had even been born, but as of yet, no queen had been selected. Or rather, no woman had accepted.

The rules for who would be chosen for the interviews was standard for most monarchs looking for a queen: a woman of royal or noble blood with proof of lineage, at least eighteen years old but no older that twenty five, no previous marriages or engagements, no children, and… well… consent.

Lilya met most of the criteria… except for one thing: she wasn’t a high born woman anymore. Her family’s royal status had ended when the kingdom was absorbed into another. Besides, even when her father had been king, they had never exactly been what anyone would consider proper royalty. Her father worked in the fields with his people, doing the same back-breaking labor as his subjects. Back then, she could hardly be called princess, but now she was nothing more than a peasant farm girl, more suited to feeding chickens and mucking out stables than attending grand balls and high teas.

So there had been quite a stir when their unusual guest came to deliver the summons. She was a woman who appeared very young in age, no more than perhaps sixteen, though she spoke as if she were a far older creature. She had a short bob haircut and a thick fringe, but it wasn’t enough to hide her pointed ears, her sharp eyes, and her upswept eyebrows, belying a nature that wasn’t human.

Her cloak was plain, but well-made and of fine cloth, likely silk or satin. She had all the hallmarks of a servant of a wealthy, prosperous nation. She had been given entrance to the house by the only servant Lilya’s family employed, Sebastian, and was standing in the receiving room with Lilya’s mother and aunt.

“I come with greetings from my Lord King, to relay a question and to present a gift to you, beloved princess.”

Lilya tilted her head. “A gift? His Majesty didn’t need to send a gift.”

Aquamarine simply chuckled and bowed. “From his Majesty, with his kindest regards.” From her cloak, she produced a velveteen box and opened it, revealing a tiara of breathtaking beauty. Sizable diamonds and sapphires lined the circlet and rose up to create a lovely sloped and winding style like that of wind on water. It was a crown that would suit any head it rested upon.

“Oh!” Lilya breathed. “It’s breathtaking!” She rushed to her mother in delight. “This is the answer to the famine on the outskirts in the south! If we sell the tiara at the biggest market in the neighboring kingdom, we could feed the farmers for months, maybe a year!”

“Lilya!” Her aunt exclaimed in horror. “How could you suggest such a thing? This was a gift from a king, for goodness sake, you can’t just sell it!”

“But, Auntie, I can’t hoard something like this when people are starving!”

“You would not wear it?” Aquamarine asked, her face shrewdly assessing. “Is it not to your liking?”

“Oh, no, that’s not it at all!” Lilya insisted earnestly. “It’s lovely, more so than anything I’ve ever seen. I’ve never worn anything so extravagant. But… truly, for me to wear it would be like putting silk ribbons on a pig. It would be far less useful as a trinket in my wardrobe and better as a tool to feed the hungry. I’m afraid that Couliea doesn’t pay much attention to our struggles, so we have to fend for ourselves. This,” Lilya gently took the box from Aquamarine and turned it so that she could see the tiara properly. “This is indeed a kingly gift. This will save lives. There is no more noble a gift as that.” She bowed her head and handed the box back gingerly. “If his Majesty would not be pleased with my conduct, I understand, but I would hope he would see the sense in my actions.”

Aquamarine laughed a little. “I do not think his Majesty will be displeased. Quite the opposite. Even still,” Aquamarine set the box down on the table and carefully pried a dangling jewel from the very center, threading it through a silver chain she had worn around her own neck, and placed it on Lilya. “His Majesty will want confirmation that his gift was received. This will suffice.”

“Then I shall wear it to the marriage interview,” Lilya said, patting it fondly.

Aquamarine’s head cocked back in surprise. “I had not even had the chance to ask you, and yet you’re agreeing to go?”

“Well, yes,” Lilya said. “That’s why you’ve come to call on me, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Aquamarine said with a smirk. “But usually it takes much more convincing on my part. I don’t believe I’ve ever met someone so… eager.”

“At the very least, I have to thank him for his generosity,” Lilya said. “Even if he decides I’m not a good match for him, I have to express my gratitude in person.”

“You’re not scared? I’m certain you’ve heard the rumors about my Lord King.”

“Well… yes,” Lilya admitted. “I won’t lie and say I’m not apprehensive, but kindness like this can’t go unacknowledged. It’s only right that I meet with him.”

Where Aquamarine’s smile had been playful and mischievous before, it was now wide and warm. “I will happily go now and inform his Majesty of your decision. My sisters and I will return in a fortnight to collect you for your interview. You may bring a guest with you, if you wish, though I assure you that you’ll be quite safe in our care.”

“I have no doubt that’s true,” Lilya said, bowing. “Would you like some refreshments to take with you on your trip back?”

“How kind of you, dear, but that won’t be necessary,” Aquamarine said, patting Lilya’s cheek. “We shall return in two weeks. You make sure you take care now. Our Lord King would be much distressed should something happen to you in the meantime.”

Aquamarine snapped her fingers, and there was a flash of light from which everyone in the room had to shield their eyes. When they blinked, the young woman was gone.

“Witch...” Sebastian said in horror. “My Lady, you can’t meet with this monster! What kind of king employs such demons?”

“Likely someone who understands that people like them also need to earn a living, I’d imagine,” Lilya said reasonably. “Besides, I’ve already agreed and accept his gift. I can’t go back on my word.”

“I can’t believe you’d actually sell such a treasure,” Your aunt said disapprovingly. “You’re so like your father.”

She didn’t mean that in a good way. Lilya’s mother’s sister, Kiya, had always disliked her father and resented him for being too weak a king, unable to protect his people during the war. She had also resented Lilya ever since she had been born. There was worry that Sophie would not be able to carry another child at her age, and that the royal line would end as there would be no male heir to Tritsia.

The birth of Lilya’s little brother shortly before her father’s death was not enough to warm Kiya to Lilya. In fact, it seemed to drive the wedge even further, as Sophie and her brother were both terribly weak afterward and there was concern they wouldn’t survive. Kiya had gone so far as to blame Lilya, telling her that it would have been her fault if they died. As a nine year old, she couldn’t imagine what she’d have done to cause such a terrible thing, but now she understood it was just her aunt lashing out.

Perhaps it was because Lilya resembled her father the most out of all her siblings, or because she was most like him in temperament, but she doubted Kiya would ever view her favorably. She was still family, though, and Lilya tried not to take her criticism to heart, though her aunt’s cutting eyes often wore into her painfully.

“I’m doing this for our country, even if it no longer exists,” Lilya said, determinedly putting the box away in a case so that Sebastian could take it to the neighboring kingdom for appraisal. “The king has called for me. The least I can do is answer.”

“Lilya’s right, Kiya,” Lilya’s mother, Sophie, said reluctantly. “It would be improper for us to take his gift and ignore him. Though I can’t say that I’m pleased with the idea of this.” Sophie sighed unhappily. “Lilya would have been expected to marry soon as it is. I supposed we couldn’t hope for better than a king.” Sophie took her daughter’s hands in her own. “Still, I’m very worried. I should come with you.”

“No, Mama, they need you here. You’ll have to be the one to make sure that the tiara gets a fair price and oversee the distribution of the food to the needy. I’ll be fine on my own, and besides, Aquamarine said that she and her sisters were part of the Queen’s guard, and I liked her very much. I couldn’t be any safer.”

Lilya’s mother grimaced. “That doesn’t make me feel better. You have many lovely qualities, my sweet child, but being a good judge of character is not among them. All anyone needs to do is tell you a sad story for you to want to take them under your wing, regardless of their true intentions.” She smiled fondly. “You’re much like your father in that respect.”

Lilya smiled in return. “Father was not a good king,” She said sadly. “But he was a good man.”

“With that, I cannot argue,” Sophie said, but she frowned in distress. “You’re elder sisters had married before they got the summons, so I’ve never met with the king. Your father met with him only once, during a conference of kings, but he never told us anything about him other than he found him to be… striking. I think he didn’t tell us more because he want to frighten us.”

“Have you heard much about him?” Lilya asked anxiously.

“Reports are varied and hard to believe; that the king is a headless monster, thousands of years old, ten feet tall, winged and hulking, who eats the women who refused him. I’m not sure I believed any of that, but the rumors are still enough to make me trepidatious.”

Sebastian grumbled, his mustache shuddering. “It is the rumors that could be true that make me uneasy.”

“How do you mean?”

“I am an old man now,” Sebastian said. “Well into my seventies, so I remember when the interviews began sixty years ago. In all that time, and no queen of Banfarie has been chosen. It concerns me. The king himself may now be an old man.”

“Is that why he’s being turned down?” Lilya asked.

“No, young madam,” He said. “You see, even before the interviews began, Banfarie had no queen in nearly one hundred years. In fact, since that time, no new kings had been crowned, either. The king from one hundred years ago was an elusive man who few had ever met, and those who did were terrified of him. If the current king is that man’s successor, it’s certainly distressing. But if he is the same man, then he is a creature of deeply evil magic, and Lady Lilya should stay far away from him.”

“Even if he were the same man, which should be impossible, his reputation is less than ideal,” Sophie said pensively. “The house of Banfarie is known historically for it’s cruelty and harsh punishments, even of neighboring kingdoms. It instituted a law that allowed Banfarie to make judgments on the conduct of royals, indict them criminally, and even sentence retribution against them, up to and including execution. The neighboring kingdoms pushed back against this, of course, but eventually they all fell in line and wrote it into their countries’ laws. I don’t trust any man who could wield that level of power over others.”

“But think of what that level of influence could do for Tritsia!” Kiya said. “A king with that kind of power could protect us and provide for us!”

Sophie shivered. “I don’t want to know what he would want in return for that protection.”

“Well, I would think that’s be obvious,” Kiya said, looking pointedly at Lilya.

Sophie, normally a mild, even-tempered woman, grew angry. “And you’re alright with that, are you? You’re willing to sell my youngest daughter to a monster if it benefits you?”

“Sophie, don’t be sentimental,” Kiya said, folding her arms. “Political marriages are common for royalty. If we had been a stronger country, this would be completely normal, even for a third daughter.”

“We’re not royalty anymore,” Sophie said firmly.

“But we could be, that’s the point!”

“Please, don’t fight,” Lilya said, getting between the two sisters. “I’ve already made the decision. Kiya is right; if I were to marry His Majesty of Banfarie, our kingdom would then be his responsibility rather than that of Couliea. However he treats that responsibility, it can’t be worse than the wanton destruction from the war or the indifferent cruelty of Couliea. If he accepts me, even if it is only a political marriage and nothing more, it would greatly benefit us both. He would at last gain the queen he’s been searching for and our country will be protected. I will meet him. Perhaps the rumors are wrong.”

“I can only hope,” Sophie remarked grimly. After throwing an angry look at her sister, she pulled Lilya away from Kiya and spoke in an undertone. “But… is this what you really want?”

“I want my family and people safe and well above all,” Lilya said. “If this king can offer that, then I can ask for nothing more.”

“If this is what you wish,” Her mother said slowly. “Then I will respect it. But… it is not what I would wish for you.”

“I know, Mama,” Lilia said. “We don’t always get what we truly wish for. But this is as close as I can get.”

“If the king accepts you,” Lilya’s mother remarked sadly. “We may never see you again.”

“That may not be true. I would hope that his Majesty wouldn’t prevent me from seeing my family once I settle in.”

“Just be careful, my love,” Her mother said, pulling her into a hug. “Be careful.”

As promised, Aquamarine returned in a fortnight to collect Lilya to take her to the capitol of Banfarie, Rukruf. A carriage had come with them for Lilya’s comfort.

“Couldn’t you transport me like you did the day you first came?”

“I’m afraid that’s a rather disorienting way to travel for humans, My Lady,” Aquamarine said, taking Lilya’s luggage. “It would require some degree of acclamation, and I don’t think his Majesty would want you to be sick during your interview.” She lifted Lilya’s bag up with one hand. “Is this all you’re bringing with you?”

“This is all I have,” Lilya replied simply. “You admit that you’re not human?”

“I was never attempting to hide it. I’m a spirit, specifically an stone spirit, as are my sisters. There they are now.”

She jerked her head toward the carriage. There were two more women identical to Aquamarine near the carriage, one in the driver’s box and another holding open the door to the carriage. All three women had short, pale lavender colored hair and large, glittering eyes. They wore identical uniforms similar to that of an attendant, but the skirts were rather short, stopping just below the knee, giving them a freer rang of movement. Each one had a dagger hanging from their hip.

Both new sisters bowed deeply as Lilya approached.

“My lady,” They said in unison.

“Garnet,” Aquamarine said, pointing to the driver,and then to the coach-woman. “And Peridot.”

“I don’t doubt the three of you are sisters; I can’t tell you apart,” Lilya said.

“Ah, but see?” Peridot said, pointing to a white bow on the right side of her hair in the shape of a butterfly. She then pointed to Garnet, who wore a black butterfly bow on her left side, and to Aquamarine, who wore no bow at all. “Even people who know us well have trouble distinguishing us from the other, so we’ve taken to wearing these. Only his Majesty can tell us apart without them.”

“Here, my Lady,” Peridot said, swinging a beautiful, fur-lined, snow-white cloak around Lilya’s shoulders. “We’ll be going through the mountains and it’s likely to get cold. His Majesty had this made for you.”

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Lilya said, petting the soft, veltvety collar that ruffed around her neck. “I’m starting to get anxious about meeting him.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” Peridot asked ash she helped Lilya up into the carriage.

“I can’t tell,” Lilya replied, laughing nervously.

“Don’t be nervous,” Peridot said as she came in and closed the door behind her, rapping sharply on the roof before settling. “His Majesty is only a threat to humans.”

Lilya looked at Peridot in alarm.

“It was a joke,” Peridot assured her, giggling. “…mostly.”

The carriage lurched forward and Aquamarine put a hand out to steady Lilya before she fell out of her seat.

“When will we arrive?”

“Around sunset tomorrow,” Aquamarine replied. “We’ll continue on through the night rather than stop at an inn. His Majesty is eager to meet you.”

“Won’t you be tired?” Lilya asked.

“Not to worry,” Aquamarine said. “Spirits like us don’t need much sleep, only a few hours a week. We’re all rested up.”

“That’s amazing. I wish I could do that.”

“Yes, it is awfully handy,” Peridot said rather smugly. “Are you hungry? We’ve brought things for you to eat.”

The two days passed pleasantly and Lilya spent the time having long, friendly conversations with all three sisters. Lilya had never had lady friends her age, and though the women were spirits and likely far older than she was, they seemed to enjoy her company and asked her many questions.

“Oh, Lady, come and see!” Garnet said, pointing out of the window. “You can see the capitol city from this vantage!”

Delighted, Lilya looked out of the window where Garnet was pointing. “It’s huge!” She exclaimed. “I can’t even see the end of it! It must be as large as my entire country!”

“Your country is larger by about fifty miles, in fact,” Aquamarine said. “It’s the smallest country on the continent.”

“Yes, that sounds right,” She sighed. “I mean, I didn’t know that for sure, but I’m not surprised.”

“Are you sad to be from such a small country?”

“No,” She replied. “My country is beautiful and my people are good. I just wish we were better able to defend ourselves.”

“Well, you may not have that problem anymore,” Aquamarine said. “We’re nearly there.”

“Will I meet his Majesty today?”

“No, you will be tired from the trip and will rest for tonight. He will conduct your interview tomorrow after you have your breakfast. His Majesty has instructed us to see to your every comfort.”

“That’s just going to make me more anxious,” Lilya said.

“The best things are worth waiting for,” Peridot said.

That evening, they arrived at the castle, which was every bit as colossal as described. Over it was a cloud of purple, blue, and pink particles, as if it were perpetual sunset over the castle.

“What is that?”

“It’s called the Aurora,” Garnet said. “It’s a magical field that has existed over the castle for hundreds of years and is the source of the royal family’s magical power. It ascends and descends over the castle, depending on how the king feels. It’s highly reactive to his emotional state.”

“Oh, goodness,” Lilya said. “It’s rather low right now. What does that mean?”

“Hmm…” Garnet said. “I believe he may be feeling rather withdrawn.”

“I wonder why that would be,” Lilya mused.

Standing at the front steps of the castle as they pulled up were two young men in uniform, one blond and one dark haired. The blond wore glasses and seemed to be the junior of the two. They bowed as Lilya exited the carriage.

“Miss Lilya, these are the King’s personal attendants, Larima,” She gestured at the dark haired one first, and then to the blond. “And Raba. They are meeting you in place of his Majesty today.”

“Does that mean his Majesty is watching?” Lilya asked, looking up at the windows.

“Whether he is or is not,” Larima said as he straightened. “We are pleased to meet you, My Lady. Please allow us to show you to your room.”

“Yes, thank you,” Lilya replied. Curiously, she noticed as they turned that there appeared to be leaves growing out of their hair.

The sisters were following behind her at a short distance. “Are they spirits, too?” Lilya asked them in an undertone.

“Yes,” Peridot said. “They’re tree spirits. All of the staff employed at his Majesty’s main castle are not human.”

“Why?”

“His Majesty distrusts humans,” Aquamarine replied.

“But isn’t his Majesty human?” Lilya asked in confusion.

“Yes,” Peridot responded.

“And no,” Garnet said.

Lilya made a noise of uncertainty under her breath.

“Don’t worry, my Lady,” Garnet said. “You’ll understand tomorrow.”

“This is all very ominous,” Lilya said uncertainly.

“Yes!” Peridot said. “Isn’t it exciting?”

Before she could answer, she was lead to an opulent guestroom, far larger than any of the rooms in her home, filled with luxurious furniture and carefully crafted decorations.

“This can’t be my room,” Lilya said with a laugh. “What would I do with all this space?”

Raba and Larima exchanged looks. “Do you dislike it? We have a number of other rooms. You’re free to choose any one of them.”

“Oh, it’s not like that,” Lilya said hastily. “It’s beautiful, I adore it. Please, it’s not that I’m ungrateful, I just feel like… I don’t know… isn’t it wasted on me?”

The triplets sighed sadly, having become used to Lilya’s unusual behavior, but the men continued to look confused.

“You do realize that if his Majesty chooses you and you accept, you’ll be queen?” Raba asked. “This,” He gestured at the room. “Is nothing compared to the queen’s suite.”

“Oh…” Lilya replied, a little disconcerted. “This will take some getting used to.”

“I understand,” Larima said. “You’re the princess from Tritsia, correct? The smallest, poorest kingdom on the continent, now a captured vassal state of Couliea. I suppose you must not be accustomed to living so resplendently.”

“Larima!” Aquamarine hissed. “Don’t be so tactless!”

Lilya laughed a little, relieved. “No, it’s alright. I’m not used to this at all, that’s true. Will that bother his Majesty?”

Larima smiled and shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t think so. Don’t worry so much about what’s appropriate and just enjoy your time here. Come.” He lead Lilya inside and showed her two cords right next to the bed, a small blue cord and a larger red cord. “The blue cord is attached to a bell in the queen’s attendants’ quarters. If you need for anything, just ring it and one of the triplets will be here in an instant. The red one is an alarm. If you pull it, bells will go off all throughout the castle. Ring it only if it’s an emergency.”

“I understand,” Lilya said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Raba and Larima bowed and left, and the triplets ushered Lilya into an adjacent dining room to have dinner.

After a restless night of sleep and a breakfast she barely touched, Lilya was dressed in a lovely blue gown that complimented her hair, which was pulled back with matching ribbons. The bodice was tight but comfortable, the cut of the dress was simple but elegant, and for the first time, Lilya felt like a proper grown woman.

A knock on the door revealed Raba.

“His Majesty is ready for you and is waiting in his office,” He said.

Lilya stood and clenched her hands to stop them from shaking and followed Raba out of her quarters with Garnet and Aquamarine following behind her.

“Don’t worry, my Lady,” Garnet said. “I think the king will like you very much.”

“You do?”

“Oh yes,” Aquamarine replied. “We’re more concerned whether or not you’ll like him.”

“Why wouldn’t I like him?” She asked.

“Well…” Garnet began regretfully, but then stopped.

“Here we are,” Raba said, gesturing to a set of large double doors. “One moment please.” Raba knocked on the door. “Your Majesty, I have retrieved Lady Lilya for her interview. Are you ready?”

There was silence, though Raba tilted his head as if he were listening.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Raba opened one of the doors and stood aside. “You may enter.”

Gulping, checking that the pendant was in place, and taking a deep breath, Lilya stepped inside.

There, standing rail-straight behind a desk, was a tall, thin man wearing elaborate garments in keeping with his status as a king and emperor, as well as a sash and badges of his station. Almost immediately, one of the many rumors about the king was confirmed with Lilya’s own eyes.

His Imperial Majesty, the king of Banfarie, had no head.

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merakiaes · 4 years

Text

The One For Me - Aaron Hotchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Requested: By @nuvoleincielo

Prompts: #16, #30 and #63 from the fluff-list.

Warnings/notes: This is my first time writing for Hotch and Criminal Minds in general so please be patient while I get used to these new characters, might be slight OOC😭 It’s also the first piece I’ve written in a few months now and I’m a bit rusty, so please let me know what you think. Not proofread so I apologize in advance for any possible mistakes. Send in more requests for Hotch, Reid and Morgan and let me know if you want to be added to the Criminal Minds taglist! I hope you like it💕

Wordcount: 4118

Summary: Hotch has doubts about letting your relationship go further and you reassure him that he��s what you want.

After being raised in one of New York’s worst, most crime ridden and low poverty neighborhoods by a family who was constantly targeted by the law enforcement, the last thing you’d expect was that you would become an active worker of said law enforcement.

Your mother died ten minutes after giving birth to you and your father had never been a part of the equation, most likely having ran the second he found out your mother had gotten pregnant. With no other immediate family, you ended up in the system, where you were stuck for the first seven years of your life.

You jumped back and forth between families of all kinds but for reasons unknown, no one wanted to keep you. It wasn’t until a couple adopted you two days before your eight birthday that you finally felt like you belonged.

They had many children of their own as well as more foster children, all between the ages of ten and twenty-five at the time of your adoption. On top of that, the children had children of their own and aunts, uncles, cousins and friends stayed with you more often than not as they struggled to hold on to homes of their own.

It wasn’t the most ideal way to live, a dozen people staying under the same roof of a two bedroom house, but you had dinner on the table every evening and the love for family was strong, so despite the conditions you lived in and the struggles you were forced to face on a daily basis, you guessed you couldn’t complain; you’d had it better than most.

The people who lived in those parts were always getting pinned for various kinds of crimes, just so the police could get it out of their hands and go on about their lives.

The male members of your family and the company they kept were some of the biggest targets even though they rarely did anything wrong, but despite the injustices they faced every day, they remained respectful when staring in the face of a cop.

You, on the other hand, despised them. You were an outspoken little girl, too feisty for your own good and on more occasions than one, you’d ended up pissing off some rich kid in school for which your dad and uncles were forced to pay the price.

You’d always hated the injustice the less fortunate suffered every day, but it wasn’t until you witnessed your first murder at fifteen that your interest of making the world a better place really piqued.

The victim had been one of the boys living in your neighborhood. He was two years older than you and he always gave it his all to make something out of himself. He walked with you and your younger brothers and cousins to school every day to make sure you got there safely, studied hard, kept out of trouble and always remained respectful.

The only reason he died was because his skin was the wrong color in the eyes of the law and because he was born into a less fortunate neighborhood, and it was then your eyes truly opened to the police brutality and misuse of power plaguing your country.

You joined the police force when you were nineteen years old and you stayed there, on top of your game and determined to do it better than the bad ones, until you were twenty-one.

At that point, most of your family had passed away either out of old age, or simply from being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and your determination to help people was stronger than ever.

But even you, the tough little firecracker as your uncles had always called you, could only tolerate so much.

After two years on the force, you got tired of being undermined by your male co-workers and set out to step up your game, taking up studies of criminology and psychology among several other subjects.

You studied your ass off and was just barely able to get by with the money you had saved up over the years, and at twenty-four, you finally had your degrees and clearance to begin working in higher places.

Starting off in New York, you stayed there for six months before you were transferred to Quantico, Virginia, where you were recruited by the one and only Jason Gideon who had heard word of your talent in the field.

You had worked with the team for little over a year now and Jason, who had always acted as a kind of mentor and father figure for you, was gone, having left only a letter for you and Spencer each.

Taking his place was Aaron Hotchner, a fellow agent to which you hadn’t paid much personal attention before the departure of Gideon. But things changed when he left, a lot of things.

Hotch was fresh out of his divorce, moodier than ever and in a really bad mental state. He stayed in his office until the late hours of the night, sometimes even the early hours of the next morning, barely slept and often forgot to eat if he wasn’t reminded by his team members.

Everyone urged him to take some time off, to go home and get some sleep and to take care of himself, and although he always told them that he would, he never followed through.

Up until then, you still hadn’t spoken much with him except for when you were working on a case. You were just an agent and he was just your boss, there was nothing else to it. But you couldn’t just sit by and watch as he neglected himself, so you followed your team-mates’ example and approached him.

He dismissed you at first, like he had done everyone else who had tried to offer him their support. But as time passed by, in some miraculous way, you made him laugh, and as you continued your attempts on offering him your ear to listen, he opened up to you, and you grew to become more than just colleagues.

Your first and only date had been on your initiative. You invited him to dinner at your house during your weekend off, to which he agreed.

You cooked together and although it started off as kind of awkward – more from his side than yours – you ended up kissing later that night after having had a bit too much to drink, and fell asleep together on your couch while you were flicking through your childhood photo albums.

The next morning, he was gone. You had always been an extremely light sleeper so you found it strange that he had managed to slip off without alerting you and also having managed to wrap you up in a blanket before he left.

He didn’t leave without a word though. A note was neatly placed on the coffee table in front of you, on which he explained that he needed to pick up Jack and that he didn’t want to wake you, finishing it off with a thank you for the night before.

That was the first and last time you spent time together, just the two of you, but it wasn’t like it was intentional.

You wanted to do it again, to continue exploring the budding romance between the two of you and to see where you could take it, and although you knew nothing of his feelings, he wanted the same thing.

But work got very stressful; stressful to the point where you could never find a moment to talk to each other if it wasn’t in the presence of the entire team. But the spark between you wasn’t gone.

It was still there in the way he would let his hand hover above the small of your back when you were walking side by side and step in front of you if you were ever in danger, and in the way you would always take a second to ask how he and Jack was doing, if they were eating enough and getting enough sleep, whenever you were heading somewhere; no matter if the team was with you.

It was there in the way he would always encourage you to go on the less dangerous tasks while he took the ones that were more life-threatening and in the way he would always smile, the slightest of smiles, whenever you were exchanging jokes or sarcastic remarks with Morgan, or messing around with poor, clueless Reid.

It was there, but it was unspoken. At least until now.

The case you had been working on for the past two days was that of Gilbert Stratton; a serial killer who had targeted young women, killed them, drained them of their blood, and then proceeded to hang the bodies up by their feet in trees all around the city.

You had caught him just in time to save the last kidnapped girl and you had originally been the one assigned to question him, but Hotch had stepped in last minute after the man had made a crude comment about how ‘girls like you always tasted the best’.

You had attempted to tell him that you could take it, but before you had even been given a chance to state your case, he had shut the door in your face and you had been whisked off by JJ.

You were the one out of the entire team who was the most interested in the psychology of a serial killer so you really wanted to be the one to interview Stratton, but you knew that Hotch had taken over for the sake of your safety and not because he underestimated you, so you couldn’t even bring yourself to be mad.

While he did his job, you settled at your desk with a sigh, getting to work on the heft stack of paperwork that had been building up throughout the week.

The first ten minutes you kept close track of the clock next to you, wondering why it was taking so long, but the more time that passed, the more focused you became.

Soon enough, you only had a few reports left and you had completely lost track of time, when there was a sudden bang behind you, sounding an awful lot like a door slamming shut.

And your suspicions were proven correct, when you looked up to see Hotch march straight the bullpen.

The corners of your lips tugged up at the sight of him, but the arising smile quickly fell again when he walked right past you, without even an acknowledging glance, heading into his office and shutting himself inside without as much of a word to anyone.

Left behind with dumbstruck looks on their faces were the team, glances of bewilderment being exchanged.

“What happened?” Reid asked the question you were all thinking after a moment of silence, just as Emily walked in from the interrogation room.

Rather than answering Reid’s question, she looked right at you, offering you a small, comforting smile. “I think you better go talk to him.” She said simply, and as confusion and anxiety bubbled up inside of you, you slowly drawled.

“Okaaay…”

They all watched you as you stood up from your seat, brushing down your shirt and turning off the lamp at your desk before heading for the stairs.

You could feel their eyes following your every move and you would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous of what you were about to walk into.

Everyone had gotten negatively affected by a case or unsub at some point during their career, most more than once. They were all very good at getting into your head, no matter how little you wanted to admit it. But you had never seen Hotch react this strongly to anything before. The only time you had really seen him snap was during one single case, right after Haley had filed for a divorce.

Still, you kept walking until you reached his closed office door, stopping only then to peek inside the blinded windows to see him sitting at his desk, hands rubbing over his face.

You knocked on the glass gently and in any other case he would have looked up and meet your gaze, but when his head kept hanging this time, you let yourself in, only when closing the door behind you cutting off the curious eyes of the others.

Once you were inside, you wasted no time in approaching Hotch where he sat by his desk, analyzing his every move which led you to only one question.

What the hell had Stratton said to him to make him this distraught?

He didn’t even look up as you reached him, keeping his eyes closed as you came to a stop beside his desk.

Treading carefully, you reached out and gently put your hand on his shoulder.

“What happened?” You asked softly, the sound of your words instantly bringing a long, heavy sigh out of his nose.

“Why are you doing this?” He wasted no time in replying, causing a crease to form between your eyebrows.

“What?” You asked back, confusion lacing your voice.

Finally, he brought his hands down from his face and slowly spun around in his chair, forcing you to drop your hand from his shoulder and to take a step back.

He stared up at you, face wiped free of emotion as always. But the eyes said it all.

“Why are you so adamant on being with me? Why do you try so hard?” He questioned you, taking you by surprise.

Your eyebrows shot up and your eyes grew slightly wider, and you took a moment to regain your composure after the, to say the least, unexpected question.

“What kind of question is that?” You asked once you finally regained your senses. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you want to be with someone? Try?”

One of your eyebrows sank again, leaving only one raised in question.

Hotch’s face softened slightly and for a moment, he averted his eyes, letting out another, smaller sigh from his nose before looking back up to meet your eyes once again.

“What I mean is, why do you want to be with me?” He asked again, clarifying and slightly shaking his head in what seemed to be disbelief. “The second you walked into this office, both Morgan and Reid had their eyes on you, and they still do. They’re closer to your age, they’re energetic, humorous, full of life, while I’m ten years your senior, and can’t offer you what they can. So why do you want to be with me, when you can have them, or anyone you want?”

“What is it that they can give me that you can’t?” You didn’t waste a second in firing back.

You had no idea what had brought this on, but it was clear that it was bothering him and quite frankly, you found it ridiculous even though you didn’t like making it a habit to judge other people for what they were feeling.

“They can make you smile-“ He started explaining, and you instantly cut him off.

“You make me smile, all the time.” You shook your head, but your affirmation only seemed to fuel his frustrations even more as he was up on his feet within the next second.

“But I’m not- I’m not fun.” He stated, staring you down. “My clock is ticking. I’m ill-tempered, irritable, too serious for my own good. I’m barely capable of taking care of myself at this point much less my son. I’m miserable and I’m a bully, who only cares about this job. Why would you want to be with someone like that?”

“Where is this coming from? I thought we had something good going.” Your face fell slightly, and you carefully reached your hands out to grab a hold of the front of his suit, taking a small step closer.

“Is this because of Stratton? Is he the one putting these doubts into your head?” You asked, keeping your eyes on your hands for a short moment before looking up to meet his heavy gaze staring down at you.

And once your eyes met his, he knew there was no point in lying; you were a profiler after all, and a good one at that.

“He did.” He confessed calmly, his lips pursing into a straight line.

“Aaron…” You began, the softness of your voice matching the one in your eyes.

“But everything he said is true.” He quietly interrupted you. “I’m not fun to be around, I push people away. That’s what I do, what I’ve always done.” His eyebrows rose and he stood still.

You knew about the doubts he had about himself. You know he felt inadequate as a friend, as a colleague, as a father, and more than anything as a partner after the way Haley had left him. You were aware of all of it, and yet the sound of those self-doubts being voiced aloud saddened you nonetheless.

Silence fell over the two of you for a moment as you took another step closer, flattening your palms out on his chest and your eyes never leaving his.

“Those people didn’t deserve you in the first place. They knew what they were getting themselves into when they started building a relationship with you, whether it be a romantical or purely platonic one. They knew how passionate you are about your job, how much you value it. Them leaving… That’s on them, not you.” You said softly, shaking your head. “I’m not about to give up on you, on us, just because you happen to be a few years older than me. Derek, he wants to have fun, to be young. He may be attracted to me but he doesn’t want anything serious. Spencer isn’t ready for a relationship either, for obvious reasons, and either way, they’re not the ones I want.”

He watched you intensely as you spoke, lips still tight and strained. “What is it that you want?” He asked you, and you wasted no time in replying.

“Something serious and stable, someone who’s ready to settle down, and for me, the best chance to get that is through you.” You smiled, breaking your eyes away from his to follow your hand as you moved it up to his face. “Regardless of what other people say, you’re an amazing person. You’re passionate, driven, kind, loyal, gentle, and so much more. Despite what you may think, you do have a sense of humor and you’re the only one who can make me smile until my cheeks hurt. If that’s not a good man, a good person, then I don’t know what is. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”

By the time you finished, the remaining doubt was wiped free from his face, a small, gentle smile instead having taken its place.

It was a funny thing, Hotch only ever spared the tiniest of smiles, and yet it was them that brought you the biggest and most intense amount of happiness. It was so rare to see his ever-stoic features reflect joy that you couldn’t help but light up like a kid on Christmas every time it occurred.

And true to what you’d always been told growing up, your smile was just so contagious that he couldn’t help but to smile wider at the sight.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and visibly relaxed where he stood.

Your heart swelled in your chest when you took note of the way he was slowly but surely shuffling closer to you, picking up a significant amount of speed when you then felt his hand brush against the side of your hip.

But he didn’t dare touch you, hesitation still lingering in the air. So you did what your heart told you and grabbed a hold of his hand, and pushed it down into the curve of your waist.

From then on, he moved on his own, raising his other hand to mimic the same position at your other side, and you let your hand drop from his, instead raising them to busy with his crimson red tie.

“I know you’re struggling, with yourself, with Jack, and that you’re still processing the divorce. And if it’s time you want, then I’ll wait.” You spoke quietly, feeling your skin flush hot under his touch as his thumbs began to move over the thin fabric of your shirt. “But if you want to keep going and see where this can go, then I’ll be here every step of the way to support and help you in any way I can. You just need to let me in.”

More shyly then before, you dared loo back up at him through your lashes, hands stilling on his chest.

His smile was gone and his eyes creased together in concentration, but his eyes were soft and his head slowly nodded. “You’re right.” He said, and you allowed yourself to smile again.

“Aren’t I always?” You lightheartedly teased, tilting your head to the side.

In return, a smile spread across his face, his head shaking. “Don’t make me take it back.”

“No, no take-backs. What’s said is said.” You kept joking, your smile only widening.

He kept smiling down at you for a few seconds longer, but then his face fell again, just like that, out of nowhere, completely sudden. The gaze he held on your face grew absent as he got lost in his thoughts, and before you could question him about the sudden change of mood, the words spilled from his lips as if there was no tomorrow.

“I think I love you.”

Your mind instantly broke into a flurry of thoughts, countless emotions battling in your body. Nervosity and excitement ended up coming out on top, the mixture of the two creating an uncomfortable, sickly feeling in your stomach.

Your face fell in disbelief and your eyes searched his as he came back to reality.

“You do?”

Your voice came out so quiet and small, you mentally cursed yourself for sounding so pathetic, but luckily, you didn’t get much time to beat yourself up over the anticlimactic reacting as he continued.

“You don’t have to say it back if you don’t feel the same way, but I needed to say it. Every day, this job puts all of our lives in danger. I couldn’t bear it if one of us died before I got the time to let you know how I feel.”

You sucked in a breath, feeling yourself growing weak at the knees as he absentmindedly rubbed your waist with his thumbs.

“Just a minute ago, you were trying to end… whatever this is, and now your proclaiming your love for me?” You asked.

It was meant to be a joke, an attempt to ease the anxiety you were currently feeling, but you realized quickly that said anxiety made it sound like the exact opposite of a lighthearted, teasing joke.

Luckily, the man standing in front of you was a profiler and knew that you meant no harm, understanding how shock could render your ability to react appropriately.

“I was never trying to end what we have. I just wanted to be sure that you were sure. That I won’t be holding you back.” He explained, and you finally managed to pull yourself out of the state of shock.

“Being with you motivates me. And I love you, too.” You confessed, the smile once again returning to your face as you moved your hands from his chest to wrap around the back of his neck.

“I’m happy to hear that.” He smiled right back. “Can I kiss you?” He quietly added, and your face instantly lit up in a mischievous expression.

“In the office?” You gasped dramatically, bringing your arms down, taking a step back and lightly slapping his chest. “Aren’t you feeling frisky today?”

A large smile stretched across his lips, his chest shaking as he chuckled. “Come here.” He said simply, and before you got the chance to argue, not that you would’ve if given the opportunity, he sat back down in his chair and pulled you down with him.

The chair spun in the process, causing you to let out a squeal of surprise. Your arms wrapped around his neck and your small laughs of glee quickly became muted as he placed his lips on yours, replaced by low hums of contentment.

You clung to him as if your life depended on it, basking in the feeling of his lips moving against yours and his arms tightening around your waist, and as your entire body burned with passion, you realized that he really was the one for you.

Tagged: @must-be-a-weasley-92 @zizzlekwum @cozytruecrimeaddict @lovelynervouskingdom

(If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, send me a message, ask or leave a comment)

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotchner imagine #hotchner x reader #hotchner #hotch #hotch imagine #hotch x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #derek morgan #spencer reid

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klarolinelibrary · 3 years

Text

Hi KC readers,

We have decided to create a list of KC stories that were updated during the week which we plan to share every Friday. This is one of the ways we plan to promote different KC authors and stories in our community.

For our first weekly releases, we have collected stories on FFN and AO3 that were updated during the week of April 16 - April 10! We hope you enjoy the new stories.

Happy reading!

FFN

He's got you mesmerised (while i die)

Author: klavscaroline

Rating: T

Length: Drabble

Summary: You gave him your sweater, it's just polyester. But you like him better a.k.a. unrequited carolijah (high school au)

Date of update: April 10 2021

Klaus POV - The Trouble with Spells (chapter 20)

Author: ilovetf

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: The Trouble with Spells as seen through Klaus's eyes and his POV. Over the years, people kept liking this story and some even asked for Klaus POV, so I decided to give it a try. Hope you enjoy it. All feedback is more than welcome. Good or bad.

Date of update: April 10 2021

Black Roses (Chapter 29)

Author: xKlaroStylesx

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Vampires, witches and werewolves are welcomed at the Whitmore Academy for the Supernaturally Gifted but that doesn't mean they all welcome each other. Ambitious student witch Caroline Forbes shares a mutual loathing with arrogant yet mysterious vampire Klaus Mikaelson. A spiral of events occur when their two dueling worlds collide and a life changing connection is formed.

Date of update: April 13 2021

Our darkest moments (Chapter 8)

Author: CookieDuo

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Discovering her entire life has been a lie, Caroline is determined to find out the truth and travels to the small town Mystic Falls in search of answers. Meanwhile, in the woods outside of Mystic Falls, a "monster" prays on unsuspecting young woman. In time the connection between the two becomes clear... Dark Klaroline!

Date of update: April 14 2021

A Failed Sacrifice (Chapter 3)

Author: CookieDuo

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: She ruined the sacrifice to save her own life, and in order to survive she turned to the only other vampire who'd been able to survive the wrath of Klaus Mikaelson. She gets away, and learns from the master, but when Klaus eventually catches up to her, her life will never be the same again.

Date of update: April 16 2021

AO3

Always Finding Trouble

Author: Cupcakemolotov

Raiting: M

Length: Drabble

Summary: Assassins in love were so cliche, but here she was. Married, even.

Date of update: April 10 2021

In Your Hands

Author: ThrowMeAStory

Raiting: E

Lenght: Drabble

Summary: 4x16 au, Part 6. The date.

Date of update: April 10 2021

The blood in your mouth

Author: perfectpro

Raiting: T

Lenght: Drabble

Summary: After Liz Forbes's untimely death, Caroline finds herself at the helm of her mother's empire. She's been trained for this role, but Klaus Mikaelson is a man she hadn't known to expect.

Date of update: April 10 2021

I AM SORRY BABY 2

Author: wincefish16

Raiting: Not rated

Lenght: Drabble

Summary: CONTINUATION OF I AM SORRY BABY. THIS WILL FOCUS ON KLAUS'S CHEMO AND THE PROBLEMS THAT COME WITH IT.

Date of update: April 11 2021

Give Me A Sign (Chapter 2)

Author: PumpkinDoodles

Raiting: M

Lenght: Multi chapter

Summary: Caroline Forbes is happy that she left founders' parties, competition over guys she'd known since elementary school, and even Mystic Falls itself behind years ago. She's not second-best to Elena anymore. Even Liz would be proud of her new life working on the side of the law. Mostly. (If you need to compel someone into giving up stolen goods, is it really a crime?). Of course he's the one person from her past who comes looking for her. Klaus does that.

Date of update: April 11 2021

The Wolf II (Chapter 31)

Author: Yokan

Raiting: E

Lenght: Multi chapter

Summary: The Guerreras' threat still looms over the Mikaelson house as Caroline tries to adapt to life as a vampire, away from her daughter. But an unexpected family reunion makes everything worse, taking away the little peace Klaus, Caroline and Elijah managed to find after the war that nearly broke them. [It's The Originals Season 2, but Caroline was a witch, had Klaus' baby and now she's a vampire. Klaroline, obviously.]

Date of update: April 11 2021

A smutty anniversary (Chapter 5)

Author: kcatdino

Raiting: E

Lenght: Multi chapter

Summary: Caroline and Klaus celebrate 3 months together with a day full of smut.

Date of update: April 11 2021

One of a Kind, Two of a Kind, or the Three Musketeers (Chapter 9)

Author: Phandancee74

Raiting: T

Lenght: Multi chapter

Summary: Caroline recognizes how hard it is for Elena to be a doppelgänger, her fate predestined as well as her face. It's pretty tough being the last of your kind too though, and Caroline is determined to protect them both, with some very helpful Bennetts on their side. A fic that integrates Malivore and the larger supernatural universe into TVD from the start.

Date of update: April 11 2021

Humanity (Chapter 8)

Author: FandomizedArtist

Raiting: Not rated

Lenght: Multi chapter

Summary: Now with the power of an Original vampire Lucien had everything, everything except his complete revenge on the all mighty Klaus Mikaelson. With the help of a witch he had tracked down the only woman who in thousands of years Klaus had fallen in love with. Miss Caroline Forbes. Adding her name to his list of evil todo’s he created the plan to kidnap, drain the vervain and compel the newbie vampire to be his. In this fanfiction Klaus does have hope but Caroline did not have Alaric’s twins.

Date of update: April 12 2021

Magics Miracle (Chapter 5)

Author: 1Jemmagirl22

Raiting: T

Lenght: Multi chapter

Summary: Caroline is in Paris with out her humanity after the death of her mother. It seems her friends aren't happy with her new state so they inform the one person capable of turning her emotions back on. Klaus. When a prophecy about a second Tribrid comes about in New Orleans, shock to sweeps through the city. It seems nature doesn't consider Hope such an abomination after all as an even greater one is about to be created. The hands of power are changing and when they're done even the worlds most powerful witches won't be able to stop it.

Date of update: April 12 2021

We are young (Chapter 11)

Author: kcatdino

Raiting: T

Lenght: One shots

Summary: Basically, Klaroline flirt in front of their kids who they are barely older than, and Landon is appropriately confused. Edit: Now a series of one-shots!

Date of update: April 12 2021

When Blood Calls for Blood

Author: Cupcakemolotov

Raiting: M

Lenght: Drabble

Summary: At sixteen, Caroline helped kill monsters. Hers, his, and theirs. Ten years later, and Klaus returns to Mystic Falls with unfinished business.

Date of update: April 12 2021

The War of Succession

Author: BelleMorte180

Raiting: E

Lenght: One shot

Summary: When King William I dies without a living male child, the whole of England spends two generations at war over who is the true heir to the throne, sending the houses of Lockwood and Mikaelson into battle. When the love of her life is slain in battle, Caroline realizes that her hand is betrothed to the victor since she is the only grandchild of the late king. Upon her wedding to the new king, she vows that she will hate him for all eternity but time is a fickle thing and so it the heart. Written for Au Season Enemies to Lovers. Kind of based off the War of the Roses.

Date of update: April 14 2021

Some ancient call that i've answered before (Chapter 2)

Author: klarrolines

Raiting: T

Lenght: Multi chapter

Summary: According to Greek mythology, humans were created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves. Or all the lives throughout time that Klaus and Caroline found each other in.

Date of update: April 14 2021

Soulmate visions (Chapter 3)

Author: kcatdino

Raiting: T

Lenght: Multi chapter

Summary: On your soulmate's eighteenth birthday, you see through their eyes for an hour, but they don’t know. And if your soulmate turns eighteen before you are even born, you never get a vision. Klaus gets his soulmate vision right after he orders Tyler to bite Caroline on her birthday.

Date of update: April 15 2021

World Enough and Time

Author: perfectpro

Raiting: E

Lenght: Drabble

Summary: Caroline is perfection in and of itself, and Klaus thinks that he could search the world twice over and never find a creature so endlessly fascinating, so perfectly enigmatic that he is still finding things to learn about her a thousand years later. Or, what gift is suitable to celebrate the passing of a thousand years?

Date of update: April 15 2021

LITTLE TENSE

Author: wincefish16

Raiting: T

Lenght: Drabble

Summary: PROMPT- HUMAN MARRIED KLAROLINE. THINGS ARE NOT LOOKING GOOD IN THEIR RELATIONSHIP. DAMON IS CAROLINE'S BROTHER AND KLAUS'S BEST FRIEND. HE TRIES TO FIX THINGS BETWEEN THEM.

Date of update: April 15 2021

Reasons Not to Date a Mikaelson (Chapter 2)

Author: kcatdino

Raiting: T

Lenght: Multi chapter

Summary: Bonnie and Caroline gain a new roommate for their freshman dorm when a vision leads them to tracking down a pregnant Hayley in the Rockies. Also, Bonnie may or may not have raised a certain dead Original instead of Jeremy and Klaus takes a job at Whitmore teaching, to be annoying. He’s very good at it. This is a season 5 rewrite where the Originals never leave for New Orleans. But you know, with comedy.

Date of update: April 15 2021

Quiet Light (Chapter 4)

Author: coveredinthecolors

Raiting: E

Lenght: Multi chapter

Summary: Caroline Forbes sets off to the Bahamas with her boyfriend, Elijah, where she'll finally meet his brother for the first time. But as it turns out... she knows Klaus Mikaelson a little too well.

Date of update: April 16 2021

AO3: Contingency Plan (Chapter 3) FFN: Contingency Plan (Chapter 3)

Author: Eliliyah

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: When Stefan's idiocy threatens Caroline's carefully laid plans, she has no choice but to turn to Klaus Mikaelson for help. Unfortunately, the criminal king of Philadelphia won't be swayed by simple seduction and has a different kind of proposition for her. It's a good thing she has a contingency plan. Never try to overthrow an empire without one. Dark Klaroline Mafia AU. COMPLETE

Date of update: April 11 2021

AO3: Last Love FFN: Last Love

Author: kirti_01

Raiting: M

Lenght: Multi chapter

Summary: Klaus had promised to be her last love, was sure that Caroline, will come to him. Maybe in a year, or a 100, perhaps. But Caroline decides not to wait for that long. After graduation, Caroline moves in with Klaus to give her feelings for him a chance. And Elijah finally lets go of his obsession with Katherine and finds himself attracted to a university student, his student, a human named Samara.

Date of update: April 12 2021

AO3: A Beautiful Symmetry (Chapter 153) FFN: A Beautiful Symmetry (Chapter 153)

Author: Uppity Bitch

Rating: M

Length: One shot

Summary: A collection of random AU one-shots featuring Klaroline. *2019 KC Award - Best one-shot series* Chapter 153: The Blonde Identity. Spies on opposite sides always had one mission, and nothing should ever compromise an operation. But Klaus always had a weakness for a woman who wore murder in her eyes.

Date of update: April 14 2021

AO3: Always and Forever (Chapter 8) FFN: Always and Forever (Chapter 8)

Author: WingedLadyColette

Raiting: E

Lenght: Multi chapter

Summary: Always and Forever is put to the test when the Mikaelson siblings all gather together once more to throw the balance of nature into disarray when the Petrova Doppelganger reappears once again in a little Virginia town of Mystic Falls. But that's not the only thing that catches the big bad wolf's attention.

Date of update: April 16 2021

#klaroline library #KCL weekly releases #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline

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flurrys-creativity · 3 years

Text

Tailored

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook (BTS) x Fem!Reader; Genre: Historical AU, Fluff, slight Angst, hint of Romance; Rating: sfw, PG-13; Warnings: mentions of misogynistic society, cross dressing, Jungkook walking in on the changing reader, half exposed chest/breasts, fingers gliding over “sensitive” areas, one moan due to a little massage of tense muscles; Wordcount: 3.986

Summary: In need of a new suit you visit your trusted tailor shop again. Kim’s Tailor Shop. Though when you enter the shop the usual face of Seokjin can’t be found, instead the unfamiliar face of a young man greets you. A man, who isn’t aware of your secret, which makes getting a tailored suit way more complicated than it should be. Can you protect your secret and still get the suit in need or will your cover be blown?

A/N: I saw this one asmr from a very talented youtuber and it just inspired me.. actually I had this idea before but a friend told me it’s not enough to actually write something but after I saw the asmr I decided to ignore her and write tailor!jungkook anyway!

You strutted through the streets of your town with confidence. The long cloak flowing behind you slightly while mostly covering your whole body. You pulled the hat down to shield your face, glancing around every now and then.

Despite your confident aura, which you had put on whenever you needed to go into the public, you felt like a nervous wreck. You didn’t like to go out alone, fearing your secret might be revealed.

Normally it didn’t really matter, your outfit was too perfect to show anything but since you were in need of a new outfit you didn’t get your whole costume today, knowing you had to get rid of it anyway.

You were headed to your tailor. The only tailor you actually trusted. Kim Seokjin was a genius when it came to perfectly tailored suits. He was also a genius to make perfect suits that made you appear to be a guy.

Yes, Kim Seokjin was the only one who actually knew that you were not a man. Except for your own mother of course.

Your parents were pretty wealthy and lived a little outside of town. When you were born and weren’t the male successor for your father it was kept a secret. Your whole existence was kept a secret. And before your parents succeeded to get a son, your father died. Your mother feared she would lose the wealth and the manor so she decided to make you into the male successor.

It never really bothered you what you wore and you never really cared about gender roles to begin with but society demanded men to have power. So you became the man of the household, which wasn’t too hard until you hit puberty.

That’s when you met the old Mr. Kim, Jin’s father. Your mother had dragged you into his shop and until his death he was the one who tailored your clothes. Jin thankfully took over and since he knew you, he easily created your suits from then on.

Now, that you had successfully taken over the family wealth, people requested meetings with you to discuss further investments and other business stuff. Therefore you had to get a new suit for a spontaneous meeting in two days.

You pulled out a pocket watch and checked the time. It was still quite early and there were even some remnants of fog lingering in the streets. Not many people were out and about only a few beggars and the early birds of the town like the baker or the innkeeper.

Nobody paid any attention towards you and you felt slightly relieved, rounding another corner and hurrying over the cobblestones.

The familiar sign of the tailor shop dangled from the wall at the end of the street, moving slightly in the wind. The closer you got the more details you could see. A golden needle with a golden thimble around the cursive letters spelling the word “Kim’s tailor”.

You smiled, anticipating the greeting of your old friend. He always made you laugh and made you feel at home - even more at home than in your own house. Jin also never questioned you or your decisions. Of course he would shoot you a questioning look every now and then but most of the time Jin was simply supportive. And you really appreciated him for that.

While you walked down the street, Jeon Jungkook sat within the tailor shop, browsing through an old book behind the counter. He was utterly bored since Jin didn’t allow him to actually tailor so far. Jungkook had to finish his training first.

He didn’t even understand why he had to open the shop when he wasn’t allowed to do anything besides telling the customers that Jin was on a business trip for a few days. If he was lucky though, some customers asked for one of the general suits within the shop and thankfully Jungkook was allowed to sell those. Sadly most of the customers requested personally tailored suits by Jin though.

Jungkook yawned loudly, wishing he could sleep longer and open the shop later but Jin insisted on keeping the same opening hours as usual. Jin had been gone for a few days already and his customers knew by now that they couldn’t get a tailored suit for a few more days.

He sighed deeply and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease his tense shoulders again. With basically no movement at all, his muscles felt rather stiff for some days now.

His gaze wandered around the empty shop and he considered just taking a nap behind the counter when the little bell over the entrance door chimed through the room.

Someone shorter than himself entered the shop, a hat pulled deep into their face and a cloak hiding their whole body.

“Hey Jin!” You called as soon as you stepped into the shop, the door not even closed behind you. “I need a new suit for this important meeting in a few days and I can’t wear the same one as last time!” You rolled your eyes at the invisible rules that society had set for you. It was more than just annoying in your eyes that you had to wear a different high class suit for every new business meeting.

You halted in the middle of pulling your hat off, staring with wide eyes at the guy behind the counter to your left. A guy, who definitely wasn’t Jin. They had the same height but his shoulders weren’t as wide as Jin’s and his features didn’t seem as sculpted. His face was kind of boyish and with his surprised look he resembled a deer caught in headlights.

“Uh, Jin isn’t available at the moment.”

You stayed rooted on your spot, not wanting to get any closer to the stranger. “When will he be?”

Jungkook glanced over his shoulder to the large calendar, checking the date even though he already knew it by heart. “He won’t come back until Saturday.”

“But that’s in four days!”

He nodded silently, not sure what else he could say. Jungkook watched you turn away in distraught while you cursed under your breath. “Uhm, if it’s really that important, you could try some of the suits in our display”, he suggested with a shrug of his shoulders.

You sighed deeply and turned back to him. You knew that none of the suits in the display would fit you without a few alterations. “This won’t do.”

“We should try it, hm? There might be a lucky chance.”

A dry laugh escaped your throat. This man definitely didn’t know you and you weren’t ready to tell him your secret. An idea flashed through your mind and hope bloomed within your chest. “Jin has a card with all my information”, you told him quickly, adding your name, and hurried towards the counter, placing both your hands on top of it, “he always has a card with my measurements in a little box somewhere behind you. You could change one of the suits according to it, right?”

Jungkook smiled sadly and rubbed the back of his head. “No can do, sir. Jin doesn’t allow me to tailor suits without him standing next to me. I’m just an apprentice after all.”

You opened your mouth but closed it very quickly again. This couldn’t be. With the standard everyone was expecting from you, you couldn’t just appear at the meeting with a suit that didn’t fit you perfectly - and didn’t hide your curves. You already thought about your options, even considering wearing the same suit as last time, when you saw the hopeful expression on the man’s face. Another sigh escaped your lips. “Okay, I guess I can try a few suits.”

The man smiled broadly and you immediately thought “bunny” when you saw it. “I’m Jungkook, Jin’s apprentice. I will be at your service today, sir.” He bowed slightly and rounded the counter, guiding you to the stands of suits in the back of the shop. “You said you needed the suit for a business meeting?”

The counter was right next to the entrance while on the other side was a small sitting area for customers that waited for their turn. It even had a small stand with newspapers and magazines should something take longer than usual.

Next to it were three fitting rooms, all of them vacant at the moment so the curtains were drawn to the side, showing the large mirrors and a little stool inside. Turning back to the other side, next to the counter, were shelves with smaller things, various buttons, neckties, flies, handkerchiefs, handcuffs and more. There was even a rack full with hats at one side. If someone wished for it, they would be able to get fully dressed.

“Yes, something simple would be enough.”

Jungkook nodded and skimmed through the various suits. “A preference in colour?”

“Black? Or anything rather dark I would say.”

“Do you know your size, sir?

“No, but I mentioned the card with my measurements.”

“I’m afraid Jin took the box and all the cards with him”, Jungkook said and turned back to you, his eyes wandering over your hidden body.

You involuntarily pulled your cloak tighter around your form, scared he might notice something. You felt your heart beat out of your chest the longer his gaze lingered on you.

“I’ll get the measuring tape.”

“No!” You instinctively grabbed his arm, feeling his tight muscles underneath the fabric and stopped him from leaving. “There is no need. Just get me the smallest size”, you rambled hecticly before you turned around and walked into the last changing room, drawing the curtain behind you.

This was a disaster. An absolute disaster. Jin wasn’t there, you had no way to contact him and you needed a tailored suit in two days, which you wouldn’t get. With the upcoming meeting you knew you couldn’t just wear an old suit and you just hoped you would find something that might be good enough.

“Sir?” The voice of Jungkook interrupted your despair and you opened the curtain just a little, peeking outside. “I’ve got you two different designs. Do you want to try them on?”

You held one hand out and accepted them, pulling them inside and drawing the curtain once again. You exhaled silently, feeling your heartbeat in your throat once again. He was so close to you just now. And you weren’t even sure anymore if your increased heartbeat was due to the fear he might find out your secret or due to how handsome and charming he was.

Once you calmed down, you got rid of your cloak and placed it on the small stool. You looked at yourself through the mirror with a slight frown on your face.

You wore a simple shirt and an undershirt to keep you somewhat modest even when Jin would have measured you. You could see the prominent curve of your breasts without the traditional binding you always did. You didn’t even want to glance lower, knowing there would be even more trouble waiting.

Your hips were too wide for dress pants but a larger size would make it look weird on your legs. You feared the same would happen with the dress shirt - and you were proven right.

The minute you started to button the shirt you could already feel how the fabric tightened. You halted in fear when you heard a low crack. Carefully you continued to button the shirt until you saw the result and how the buttons barely held it together around your chest area. You knew with one wrong movement the buttons would pop off.

“And? How does it feel?”

You froze again when you heard Jungkook’s voice right on the other side of the curtain. “I - uh - I need to try the other one. This one is too tight in some areas.”

“Too tight? You seemed to have such a small build. Sorry for saying it like that, Sir. Please proceed and tell me what you think about the other suit.”

You nodded, even though Jungkook couldn’t see it and changed into the second suit, having once again the same problems. This time you barely even got the pants over your hips. After one, two, three fruitless tugs, you stopped trying and just sighed deeply.

“I might need a larger size”, you mumbled in defeat.

Jungkook heard you and immediately sprinted to get larger suits, determined to please the one customer he had in days. While he looked through the suits his mind wandered back to you. He wondered what kind of relationship you and Jin had after you greeted him so cheerfully. Jin surely never told him about you. Jungkook was sure Jin would have mentioned such a petite customer as he normally only had larger men visiting the shop - and Jin always loved to brag about special customers.

He also wondered how someone so small couldn’t fit into the suits he brought over. “Too tight”, he mumbled under his breath, shaking his head. Even with the cloak that had covered your whole body, Jungkook was sure you weren’t able to hide a large build.

Jungkook grabbed three new suits he thought would fit and hurried back to the changing room. “Sir? I got you new suits. Would you like to exchange them with the previous ones?”

You quickly hid your body underneath the cloak again and opened the curtain, taking the suits Jungkook offered you and handing the two you had back. You ignored his questioning look when he saw the cloak and pulled the curtain close again.

The first suit had similar problems to the first one before. The buttons could pop off any minute so you quickly tried the next one. Here you had a completely different problem again, the pants being too large for your legs. You would need to cut some fabric off so it would look professional. Shaking your head, you tried the last one on and were almost surprised. Neither the pants nor the shirt gave you too many troubles and fit almost nicely. You almost got excited until you put the vest and jacket on, both were way too large for you and just hung down your body like a wet sack.

“How is it, Sir?”

“Not good.” You sighed and got out of the clothes again. Unbuttoning the dress shirt, you were already coming to terms that you wouldn’t be able to wear a new suit for the meeting.

Jungkook frowned, not understanding what made you say that, and without a warning he pulled the curtain aside and stepped into the small room.

Your eyes widened in shock while you froze in the middle of unbuttoning your shirt.

Jungkook’s eyes wandered down to your hands and at first he didn’t notice anything weird until his gaze shot back up again. “Uh, oh, I”, he stammered and quickly avoided looking at you. Heat crept up his neck and turned his ears and cheeks pink with embarrassment.

Panic flooded your system once you realised what this man just discovered. It was too late to push him outside and to pretend as if nothing happened. It was too late to deny your very obvious traits now and you sighed in defeat, pulling the curtain close behind him before you crossed your arms in front of your chest. “I’m pretty sure I don’t need to explain why it didn’t look good anymore, right?”

Jungkook quickly shook his head, still avoiding looking at you at all.

You sighed again and plopped down on the small stool, looking up at Jungkook with pleading eyes. “I really need your help. Please, help me.”

He warily turned his gaze to you, trying not to look at your half exposed chest. “How do you expect me to help you?”

Contemplating your options, you bid down on your lower lip. You really wanted to ask him to just tailor one of the suits for you but he already told you he wasn’t allowed to do that. So could you really ask him to do exactly that?

Jungkook watched your expression closely, swallowing harshly when he saw how defeated you appeared. “We could start with taking your measurements, yeah?”

You just nodded and watched him slip through the curtain, leaving you alone. You buried your face in your hands while your mind ran a mile a minute from the worry. Nobody was supposed to know you were a woman after all - at least not anyone else besides Jin and your mother.

While you had a mental breakdown within the changing room, Jungkook grabbed a measuring tape, a piece of paper and a pencil, needing to write down whatever he would get from the measurements. He stopped briefly realising he had to measure you. Cold sweat appeared on his skin and he gulped audibly. He had to be professional here even though he never worked around females. Jungkook always tensed up as soon as a woman came too close to him, even though he couldn’t exactly explain why he did that. He just got too nervous around them to officially function.

Jungkook sighed and returned to you. This time he announced his entrance though, not wanting to surprise you or himself again. He quickly closed the curtain behind himself and stepped into the corner furthest away from you. “Alright, I got everything.”

You looked up at him with tired eyes and nodded before you stood up again. Being used to the procedure, you immediately stretched your arms to the side. You gave Jungkook the space he needed to properly measure you.

His hands trembled when he tugged the piece of paper and pencil into the pocket of his own dress shirt before he stretched the measuring tape and stepped closer to you. Jungkook held his breath when he leaned closer and wrapped the tape around your chest, securing it at your back and holding the ends right in front of you.

A low hiss escaped your lips when the back of his fingers brushed over your front. You quickly blinked and turned your attention to the ceiling, convincing yourself that it was way more interesting than the young man this close to you.

Jungkook hummed, focusing on the professional part at the moment, and quickly scribbled the numbers down, breathing out again, before he did the same around your waist and hips where he held his breath once more.

“Those were the areas that troubled you the most, right?”

You nodded and hummed, agreeing with his statement. “And once it’s not a problem anymore my limbs are too short for everything else.”

Jungkook chuckled lowly. “Alright, then I’ll measure your arms and legs as well.” He crouched down in front of you, holding one hand against your hips in search of your hip bone. He then pressed one end of the tape against your bone and pulled the rest down to your ankle. Again he scribbled down the numbers and did the same on your other side before he measured the length of your arms. “Let me measure the width of your shoulders as well. Just to be sure.”

You agreed and turned around to give him access to your back.

“Please relax your shoulders”, Jungkook mumbled and pushed his hands down on your shoulders, gently rubbing them to help you.

A silent moan escaped your lips when Jungkook pressed his thumbs into your tense muscles. You nearly slapped your hand over your mouth in shame but instead you just intertwined your fingers. Thinking about it you realised that you rarely really relaxed at all and were on edge most of the time.

“I know this situation isn’t ideal but you can take a breather here. This is a safe place and even though I’m not Jin, I’ll try everything to please you.” Right after saying this, Jungkook froze, feeling the heat creeping back up his neck. “Uh, I, you know, I mean I hope I can help you just as well as Jin.”

You snickered, feeling already less tense than before. It was kind of endearing to see him try so hard. “Thanks”, you whispered and turned back around to look at Jungkook.

A shy smile appeared on his lips while he gazed into your eyes. “Now that I know your body, measurements I mean”, he laughed lightly and rubbed the back of his head, “let’s check the suits and find one that fits you the best.”

You couldn’t help yourself but to giggle as well, nodding and pulling the cloak over your shoulders again before you followed Jungkook out into the shop.

The both of you were still the only ones in the shop but you somehow stayed close to Jungkook, half hiding behind his larger form while the both of you scanned the suits.

Even though Jungkook still stumbled over his words every now and then, he tried to chat with you as if you were just a regular customer. The longer he talked to you the easier it became and Jungkook quickly realised there was no need to worry. He actually enjoyed your presence and conversing with you.

“Now these suits are the closest to your measurements”, Jungkook hung up the last of five suits up in front of you, “which of these is most suited for you?” He grinned brightly at his own pun, making you snort and roll your eyes.

“You’re definitely Jin’s apprentice”, you laughed before you turned your attention to the suits. You let your fingers glide over the different fabrics and turned each suit from side to side in the light before you decided on a dark blue one. “So, now that I have a suit that fits me like eighty percent, what are we doing now?”

“Defying Jin’s orders and tailoring the suit.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and before you were even able to comprehend what you were doing, you jumped into Jungkook’s arms, hugging him tightly and thanking him over and over again.

Jungkook wrapped his arms around your waist and held both of you upright while he chuckled in amusement from your enthusiasm. “You just need to promise me you won’t tell Jin about this.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die! I would never!”

“Good”, Jungkook smiled and let go of you, pushing you towards the changing rooms, “then get dressed so I can see what needs to be tailored.”

You took your suit and rushed over to the curtain, grinning almost giddily towards Jungkook before you pulled it shut behind you. Within minutes you changed into the suit and called for Jungkook again, who quickly stepped into the small room with a pincushion around his wrist.

His gaze wandered over your form, completely focused on every little detail. He stepped closer to you and pinned parts of the fabric that didn’t fit perfectly on your body. “Okay”, he breathed and straightened in front of you again, “everything secured.” Jungkook’s breath fanned over your face and you got lost in his dazzling eyes.

“Okay.”

Jungkook’s gaze dropped to your lips for a millisecond. “You need to take the clothes off again”, he mumbled and added quickly, “so I can sew them.” He shot you a lopsided smile and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll, uh, better leave you to it then.” He was about to go when he stopped again and turned back to you. “Would you”, he took a deep breath before continuing, “would you like to stay while I tailor your suit? It’s okay if you don’t have the time. I mean, this will take a while after all and I probably won’t finish it until closing time.”

“I’d love to”, you interrupted his ramble with a wide smile. “If you don’t mind my presence for the whole day.”

He grinned, pleased with your answer, and nodded. “I’m glad to hear that.”

58 notes · View notes

orsuliya · 3 years

Text

This part (4 of who knows how many) of my Awu/Xiao Qi married headcanons resembles nothing more that a dying whale full of confused feelings. Which is exactly what I would swiftly turn to left alone with this drama without @madeleineengland’s continuous friendship and support. What I actually want to say is: Happy Birthday, my dear! I am thankful to have met you. I hope you like this instalment, even if I couldn’t quite manage to fit in a kneeling Song Huaien. Sorry!

There are some things that no woman can choose for herself. Some things simply happen – or not – as they please with no regard to wishful thinking or social status. A princess or a gravedigger’s daughter, a young maiden or a stately matron, none can simply will themselves pregnant, no matter how many prayers have left their lips and how many offerings have graced the altars, set there by gentle hands yearning to hold a living, breathing child instead of a bowl of rice or a stick of precious incense.

And yet, no matter how many times she whispers this truth to herself in the middle of the night, Xiao Qi’s broad hand resting on her lower belly in a sincere attempt to soothe the twinges of pain that come every single month without fail, there are still moments when Awu cannot help feeling as if she’s failing in the worst of ways. Not failing her husband, for until the day she dies she will never forget the truth shining in his eyes, still fever-bright from Wang Qian’s vile mixture despite the self-inflicted blood loss. And not even the twelve generations of Wang Empresses. After all, hadn’t she courted their disapproval already by choosing to walk through life hand in hand with her husband instead of living torn in half until her very last breath? No, the person whom she fails is always herself.

And in her mind she fails a lot. There is a bitter taste on her tongue as she pushes Xiao Qi’s wise, warm hand off her abdomen and rises from their shared bed to stand at the window, throwing open the shutters and trying to breathe, even as the feeling of warm blood pooling between her thighs makes her remember her first and worst failure, committed right in the middle of the palace courtyard. There were pamphlets, she knows, vicious, cruel rumours of how she bled her baby out from sheer disgust of having been bred by a man born nobody knows of whom and where. Only after every wagging tongue had already been silenced with a cloak of red silk set around her shoulders, did she realize that half the court must have been tittering excitedly over the prospect of seeing the proud Wang daughter set aside and brought as low as she had once sat high. And they hadn’t been kind about it, going as far as to comment that her swift appearance at the scene of the coup must have been motivated by her eagerness to be rid of her spouse as the balance of power finally shifted. Fools, what blind, base-minded fools all those high-born courtiers – many of them her distant kin – have turned out to be!

Princess Shangyang wouldn’t have felt such dark, all-consuming anger. Princess Shangyang, as Awu has learned in all her years as Princess Yuzhang, had been something of a fool, a bird kept in a gilded cage, encouraged to sing and chirp happily regardless of how the bars of that cage withered her wings. It was only later that this caged songbird discovered that she was no songbird at all, but a bird of prey. And like a bird of prey Awu wishes she had known of every single salacious rumour – but only so that she could tear their originators to shreds for using her poor never-born first child for their own vicious purposes, for making a spectacle out of her – their – pain.

In her anger she barely notices how her fingers have curled tightly over the windowsill… at least until big, calloused hands descend onto hers and she finds herself cradled in Xiao Qi’s loose, yet strangely grounding embrace. For a moment she wishes to slip away, to escape and simply be angry, no matter how futile it may be after so many years… And had he tried to lead her back to bed, had he spoken a single word, she might have done just that, but there is only silence between them. Only slightly unreal, moonlight-washed silence and Awu feels the flames of her anger sputter and go out, leaving only bitter, choking ash of regret.

Yet there is one kernel of failure she can exorcise right here and now for both of their sakes, even if it can never be made right in this life. If I have children of my blood, she says, allowing herself to let go of the magical ‘when’ this one time, seeing them entered into the Xiao family book would bring me greater honour and joy than if they were feted as princes and princesses of the first rank. And maybe after a moment she feels the need to explain further, to say that she would have been honoured to act as a filial daughter-in-law to his parents, no matter their birth and status, but before she can get out a word, he manages to catch her off-guard. Not with a kiss to the side of her neck, that much she has come to expect always, but rather with his quiet, sleepily tender reply: Before we get to filling any pages, we need to have a book in the first place. Help me with that in the morning? And what can she do in response to that except hum in agreement and lean backwards?

____________________________________

Some things simply happen – or not – as they please. Which does not mean one should not help them along in any way that comes to mind. Or several minds, as it happens in this case.

Doctor Shen, however wise and famous, is far from the only – or even the best – available authority on the matters of female body, partially due to not being of female persuasion himself. Unlike, for example, his assistant and niece Shen Yunxin, an aspiring female doctor in her own right. Once that accomplished, if rather young lady managed to make herself heard, she swiftly rose in Xiao Qi’s regard, and would have done so for her gumption alone, even if her medical skills hadn’t been excellent in the first place. Shen Yunxin, skipping the dancing-around that most of her male colleagues invariably tended to degrade to in the presence of any person of power, rather daringly announced that perhaps instead of concentrating solely on curing Awu’s infertility – and thank you, the acupuncture treatments she herself administers every week are going just as planned – they should perhaps focus on the picture as a whole. That is, after all, what a doctor should look at first, right? Especially as there is no material proof of Xiao Qi’s high fertility. The ‘or is there now?’ part remained unspoken; even though Shen Yunxin came to like her primary patient a lot and had her own reasons to distrust men and their promises, she – this time and always – held to the standards of professional behaviour.

Awu, for her part, really enjoys seeing Xiao Qi drinking bitter herbal concoctions of his own. Even if she might not be all that convinced by Shen Yunxin’s words, it surely cannot hurt anything. And why should she be the only one to suffer under a tyrannical medical regime? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. And if in truth Xiao Qi doesn’t mind the taste at all, who would blame him for exaggerating a little for his wife’s amusement? Certainly not his wife, who has seen through his play-acting at once and swiftly decided that there is something to this mouth-to-mouth method of feeding particularly vile medicines to recalcitrant patients.

And yet Shen Yunxin isn’t the only fount of knowledge to be found in Ningshuo and, truth be told, has shown much interest in the secrets of folk medicine herself, especially as practiced by Alima’s kinswomen. Although some of those women, in particular Alima’s crone of a grandmother, have proven astonishingly… direct and rather shameless with their advice, to the tune of making a fully-fledged practitioner and an old married woman such as Awu, both of them hardly prone to prudishness, blush like girls not yet through their hair-pinning ceremonies. Or perhaps the advice was actually fine and tamer that one might expect. The enthusiastic appreciation that Alima’s kinswomen seem to hold for Xiao Qi, however, could probably fluster anybody, much less the man’s wife!

____________________________________

It is not entirely out of the realm of possibility that Awu decided to follow the kindly-meant advice of Alima’s grandmother. After all, the woman had successfully given birth to nine babies and gotten eight of them to adulthood, which would make anybody pay attention. Perhaps there is something to be said for the value of hard-won experience? And perhaps it was Shen Yunxin’s acupuncture skills that helped in the end, or even her insistence to look at the greater picture first. Or Doctor Shen’s bitter tinctures, or Xiao Qi’s unwavering, ah, helpfulness. Or possibly the fact that Awu finally decided that what will be will be and threw herself with doubled energy into the whirlpool of domestic concerns… which are truly never-ending, if one counts an entire province as one’s home.

Whatever the cause, Awu eventually achieved her goal… And yet she was among the last ones to actually suspect anything, the first being Xiao Qi and A-Yue, who had informed Doctor Shen and Shen Yunxin respectively, after having noticed some rather peculiar changes. A lady’s maid knows her mistress better than her own husband, although in this case, with the husband being an exceptionally affectionate one, that might not ring quite so true. Incidentally, the symptom that both of them had noticed was Awu’s sudden heightened sense of smell combined with a rather noticeably expressed aversion to her previously favourite perfume, which, you must admit, is a rather worrying sign.

As it turns out, both the uncle and niece had a good idea of Awu’s state, going by her last bleeding being more of a spotting than anything else – and you may bet Shen Yunxin monitors that closely – and yet they remained unable to fully ascertain their suspicions without any clear accompanying signs, nor were they willing to give any early hope, which may later be dashed. In fact, Doctor Shen would have preferred to avoid any agitation whatsoever for at least a week or two more, having had difficult experiences with this patient in particular, but one look at Prince Yuzhang’s face had him rethink that plan. Had Hu Guanglie been there – or alive in the first place – he would have immediately recognized that expression as Xiao Qi getting ready for battle, which he is quite sure he can win… but not entirely sure, with his doubt rising with every hour of there being no news of enemy movements. But even an amateur would be immediately wary of this sudden tension, for all that it might be hidden under an impressive facade of pretended calm. And Doctor Shen, after thirty years of practicing medicine among the upper echelons of Cheng nobility and staying alive – which is no mean feat – has learned to be quite sensitive to his powerful employers’ moods. As a survival tactic, if nothing else.

Another important skill, which Doctor Shen hasn’t yet imparted onto his niece, is judging when and where a doctor’s presence might be wanted... and when and where it is most certainly not needed. Pulling Shen Yunxin from the room by her sleeve might seem like a rather abrupt reaction, but it was by no means unjustified. Some things are simply not meant to be seen by outsiders. Prince and Princess Yuzhang facing each other and simply looking into each other’s eyes in perfect, tremulously joyful silence before the Princess lets out a hiccuping laugh and hides her suspiciously shining eyes against her husband’s collarbone is certainly one of those.

____________________________________

Xiao Qi’s first emotion after hearing the news is joy, then absolute panic – as far as that man ever panics, that is – and then steely determination most usually reserved for military planning. Having heard one word too many about miscarriage being a real possibility this early on makes him frantic and this in turn means that something really, really foolish is about to happen. Something like riding for the capital with only ten thousand troops. Something like going into Hulan alone. Something like dealing ungodly amounts of damage and letting his hair fly loose. Hu Guanglie would call this state a silence before mass decapitation. Were he there and alive, that is. Thankfully Hu Yao is both alive and there (deal with it, people!) and manages to redirect this thrumming energy into something actually constructive, which is probably the only thing that saves Awu and Xiao Qi from having an epic row over a series of very unreasonable ideas. Like, for example, shutting Awu in her rooms in the middle of Ningshuo Fortress and standing guard over her until the baby is born.

Meanwhile, Awu’s behaviour couldn’t be more different from that exhibited by her very own husband. Now that her years of continuous disappointment are over, she refuses to even consider that something might go wrong. At least not during waking hours, when she’s surrounded by a steady throng of people and children; and there is no way she would ever agree to being imprisoned in her rooms, although she agrees to retiring at the first sign of true fatigue and actually keeps her word, which causes her to share more than one nap in the middle of the day with little Song Guanglie. Which, in turn, makes for a pretty mellow Princess, especially right after she rises.

Which is exactly why this is the exact moment the brilliant tactician Hu Yao chooses to inform Awu that her fool of a husband (even if she doesn’t use exactly those words, she means exactly that) has evaporated with a troop of six into direction unknown, which may or may not be Hu Yao’s fault. Awu confirms that yes, Xiao Qi came in as she slept, woke her up briefly and said something about going on a short trip, promising to return as swiftly as possible. The look on Hu Yao’s face is rather telling and a tiny bit guilty.

That little overnight trip? Hu Yao is reasonably certain it is a hunt for something big and impressive. A local variety of wolf? A big feline of unfriendly persuasion? Probably not Hulan raiders, such as they are those days; she is rather insistent on that last point and for a good reason. That reason being that Xiao Qi had been making things strangely tense in the training yards, which are Hu Yao’s rightful domain, and so she decided to get rid of him by asking about preparations for the birth, no matter that the happy event may be six months away yet, and describing in great detail the extent of the prospective father’s involvement in those.

And seeing as it’s paramount – for future good fortune and the safety of both the mother and the baby – that no products of the birth are allowed to touch the ground, hence the need to provide a layer of ash, rushes or perhaps a cow’s skin as is the case in the wealthier families of Hu Yao’s acquitance, and taking into account that Xiao Qi has never done things by halves, his plan is rather obvious. Awu doesn’t know whether to feel strangely amused, immensely flattered and touched… or perhaps increasingly annoyed by losing her bedmate for such paltry a cause. For the moment she chooses option one, if only because amusement helps her forget about any apprehension the word ‘hunt’ might be causing her for rather obvious reasons. She will hold her judgement on options two and three until she sees the result of Xiao Qi’s bout of paternal madness.

The hero of the hour returns four days later, impossibly smug and with a bloody enormous salted pelt of a great brown mountain bear. Which he will then proceed to cure himself, because why wouldn’t he. Awu doesn’t have the words for what she’s feeling. Exasperation? Fond exasperation? A sudden onset of unexpected horniness? And I mean really unexpected, because bears smell and she’s still not over her olfactory oversensitivity. But mainly a burst of love and womanly pride. Sure, her man might be a fool, but he’s her fool and… I mean, it is a really big bear. Very, very impressive, if one was prone to being impressed by such things. Which Awu usually doesn’t find herself to be… Oh, who is she even trying to fool?

____________________________________

Xiao Qi has made something of a study of his wife’s body, which she had always been cognizant of to a certain degree. So it’s rather hard to say that it comes as a surprise that he’s able to tell when she begins to show even before she herself does – and she shows very early due to her general slimness. All the other things, however, are somewhat more out of the left field.

Like how he starts to send Awu’s maids out every time he catches one of them with a comb even before she confesses that somehow her scalp became really, really sensitive and in a rather peculiar way. Which he has apparently noticed and decided to take shameless advantage off, especially as the pleasure is mutual; Awu’s hair has become somehow both thicker and softer, a true delight to touch for a person as tactile as Xiao Qi.

Or how he suddenly stops going after Awu’s earlobes to her sincere confusion and irritation. She liked it, dammit, and what Awu wants, Awu gets, so the next time his mouth appears anywhere in the vicinity of her neck, Xiao Qi finds himself rather brusquely pointed at the desired target. The problem is, upon his acquiescence Awu finds it not as pleasurable as all that and really rather painful, her ears apparently having become rather sensitive practically overnight. By which point she has no other choice but to demand how had he guessed before she realized this about herself. His answer turns out to be rather disarming: You haven’t worn a single pair of dangly earrings for half a month.

The worst thing is, he is absolutely right. Every single time, which at the beginning causes no little exasperation, especially when Awu’s body starts rapidly changing and sometimes she feel like she hardly knows what she even looks like anymore. Is that pale, drawn face in the mirror actually hers? Why are her eyebrows suddenly so pale and whispy? And has she always had dark patches on the underside of her breasts? As time passes, all those other changes start looking less and less dire, having taken second fiddle to the most important thing of them all: a growing, living child nestled between her hipbones, which have lost all pretense of sharpness during those last few months. And so she starts asking questions. Not to fish for compliments – she truly cannot complain of a shortage of those – but out of true curiosity. What have you noticed that I haven’t? Show me.

And he does show her, claiming and re-claiming every inch of her skin as it changes and there is not a single moment in which she does not feel beautiful, or wanted, or loved, even when she’s absolutely miserable and sick, and bloated. Although she calls him a liar the one time he truly earns it by announcing her stitches on the newest piece in the increasingly elaborate layette to be the height of perfection despite them being crooked and all over the place due to her suddenly clumsy fingers. But just as he is her guide to her own body, she is his and there is little that she finds herself unable to complain of.

It’s their journey, their child, perhaps their only chance at this miracle and she absolutely refuses to hide, especially as her time comes near. Refuses to hide both literally and metaphorically, spending hours upon hours of increasingly warm, stuffy summer evenings laying naked on top of the covers and drawing nonsensical labyrinths upon her own skin with the tips of her fingers, every line closely followed by eager eyes, calloused hands or gentle lips; every single tap or movement from within met with genuine fascination and something not quite unlike worship.

____________________________________

There has hardly been a military campaign that involved more meticulous planning than the birth of this one tiny child, Ningshuo’s first princeling. Taught by Wanru’s premature experience with childbirth, both Awu and Xiao Qi remain rather wary of any fixed dates. The child will come when it will come, rather like the enemy, announces Xiao Qi, stopping the rather spirited discussion between the womenfolk about the necessity of early preparation and earning himself a fiery glare from Awu for using such inappropriate comparisons. By which I mean there is little to be done aside from observing the terrain and getting ready for an ambush, which may or may not come at any time, he explains, trying to mollify Awu and enclose her into his self-imposed bubble of confidence, usually reserved for use upon soldiers on the verge of panic, which is exactly what this discussion of premature birth has brought into their home.

And you know what, it actually helps, if only a little. Enough to take Awu’s mind off the possible complications and redirect her nervous energy into consulting with the astronomy charts and then choosing an appropriately situated side room, setting up curtains around the bed to serve as a birthing tent and getting that blasted bearskin out of storage. Which process they will ultimately go through four times, as the star charts – and thus best orientations – keep changing every month. And which neither of them will begrudge, as every single time they move the birthing tent Awu grows just a tiny bit more confident in the success of the upcoming labour and also more attuned to her own needs. At the very last milestone – during which she is comically enormous, but no less able to give out commands – she is an absolute nightmare, having everyone running around to and fro as well as throwing an absolute fit over the birthing rope, which she has agreed to previously.

Doctor Shen, being a great believer in getting his clients through labour alive and having a long-standing grudge against the usual way of birthing practiced in the Imperial Palace – which means supine, surrounded by a crowd of panicking women and with the doctor hardly able to see the patient in order to preserve their chastity – instills a certain regime, which is perfectly in accord with the traditional ways dictated by medical practitioners of old. By which he means peace, no more that two calm attendants at one time and letting gravity do part of the work; the last thing meaning that a length of rope or cloth should be suspended from the ceiling or perhaps stretched between two pillars at at appropriate height, so that the mother can support herself while kneeling or squatting.

In Awu’s case the arrangement changes from a hanging horse bridle – which while a show of status and a portent of good fortune proved to be not that comfortable after all – to a length of silk, to a rope stretched between two pillars. Which apparently doesn’t suit Awu any longer, not providing her with a steady enough support. While A-Yue and Alima keep tying and retying the rope to Awu’s continuous disapproval and even irritation, Xiao Qi doesn’t get involved. Yes, partially because in contrast to everybody else he doesn’t find his heavily pregnant wife a nightmare to deal with. Adorable, more like, the man is that hopeless. And partially because as long as Awu acts out on her irritation, she’s not getting apprehensive or despondent. So let her rage to her heart’s content. Now, the moment she goes silent and perhaps a little bit bashful over her previous outburst, he decides it’s high time for an intervention. Any intervention, even an absurd one. Which means that he disappears for a moment and brings back his spear, which he then secures in place of the rope to the growing disconcernment of everybody present. Awu finds it steady enough for her needs and it’s not like anything else matters.

Seeing as she goes into labour the very next day and finds herself properly appreciative of this improvised solution, Xiao Qi can’t find it in himself to really mind the rapidly growing slew of jokes and ditties starting to make rounds, although he makes a point of trouncing the most intrepid joker rather soundly. Or perhaps five of those, not that he’s in the right mindset to actually keep count once the entrance to the birthing room is barred to him. Before it is, there is still time to tell Awu– not for the last time, this isn’t going to be the last time! - of her bravery, of how only now does he start to truly appreciate what it means to send a loved one into battle and of how they’re going to carry this moment through their whole lives. You’re Princess Yuzhang, you will come back with a victory, hale and whole. You will always come back, he whispers into her hair, not sure who is he actually trying to convince as he hold his entire world in his arms, desperately trying to hide his fear. And failing miserably, which Awu cannot help but notice… once she gets through the current set of contractions. Don’t you dare to be a coward now, my Prince Yuzhang, she scolds, resting her sweaty forehead against his chin. Don’t you bloody dare. I have asked for this and I don’t take upon myself what I cannot carry. And now get out and let me fight my war. You know what I’m capable of.

And by all gods, he knows. And this steely determination in her voice scares him as little has ever scared him before. This time, unlike every other time when she’s risked her life this bravely, there will be nothing he can do to help her, no miraculous rescue, no last-minute shot, no hand ready to break her fall. Has he been too greedy, he ponders, only by a miracle avoiding skewering Tang Jing straight through the gut and then actually earning a light graze from Hu Yao’s blade. Useless, she pronounces, confiscating their weapons and hurrying both men off the training field. Absolutely useless. Go and do whatever it is that men actually busy themselves with while women do all the work.

It turns out that what men actually do in highly stressful situations is sharpen their swords as well as any other blade they may encounter. They are joined in this endeavour by Xiaohe, who will later be unilaterally – and wholly unfairly – blamed for each and every single skewed edge. Of which there will be quite a few. But then, what does an imperfect sword or ten actually matter, when after long hours of absolute hell, during which Xiao Qi has imagined at least five different worst scenarios ending in a pool of blood – just like that terrible day – and prayed to all the gods he has ever heard of, A-Yue finally comes, her wide smile speaking for itself.

#the rebel princess #monarch industry #Awu and XQ headcanon time #and unto us a child is born #although the aftermath must wait #this was getting a bit too long and me a bit too weepy #I am an absolute disgrace of a human being #oh well #HAPPY BIRTHDAY MADELEINEENGLAND #also I might have read a book about childbirth in ancient China #it was full of dead babies but on the whole very interesting

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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

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Vivant, il a manqué le monde ; mort, il le possède.

- François René de Chateaubriand (1768-1848), Vie de Napoléon, livres XIX à XXIV des Mémoires d’outre-tombe (posthume)

Of course we don’t have any photograph or film of Napoleon’s death on 5 May 1821 on Saint Hélène. But we do have the next best thing: a painting. Charles de Steuben depiction of Napoleon's deathbed and his faithful entourage that served as witnesses to his dying moments became the one of the most important paintings of the post-Napoleonic era but then faded from modern memory.

I first came across it by accident when I was in my teens at my Swiss boarding school. There were times I found myself with school friends going away on hiking trips around the high Alpine chain of the Allgäu Alps and we would drive through Lake Constance to get there, or we would hike around the Lake itself through the Bodensee-Rundwanderweg.

Perched high above Lake Constance and nestled in large parklands, stood Schloss Arenenberg which overlooks the lower part of Lake Constance. At first, it appears a relatively modest country house. But this was no usual pretty looking house. Arenenberg was owned by well-heeled families before it was sold to Hortense de Beauharnais, the adopted daughter and sister-in-law of the French Emperor himself, Napoleon Bonaparte. She had it rebuilt in the French Empire style and lived there from 1817 with her son Louis Napoleon, later Emperor Napoleon III, who is said to have spoken the Thurgau dialect in addition to French. This elegantly furnished castle then was once the residence of the last emperor of France.

The alterations made first by Queen Hortense and later by Empress Eugénie have been carefully preserved and the house still bears the marks of both women. Queen Hortense's drawing room is perfectly preserved and visitors can still admire her magnificent library (all marked with the Empress' cipher) containing over one thousand books. Likewise, in the room where the queen died, every object has been maintained in its original condition: pieces of furniture and personal belongings are gathered here to evoke her memory in a very touching manner. As for Empress Eugénie's rooms, they too have been very carefully preserved. Her private drawing room is a perfect illustration of the Second Empire style with sculptures by Carpeaux and portraits of the imperial family by Winterhalter.

After 1873, the Empress and the Imperial Prince brought the palace back to life by making regular summer visits, which they continued until 1878. However, on the tragic death of her son in 1879, Eugénie found it difficult to return to a place so full of painful memories. And so in 1906 she donated the estate to the canton of Thurgovie as a testimony of her gratitude for the region's faithful hospitality towards the Napoleon family. And in accordance with the Empress' wishes, the residence was turned into a museum devoted to Napoleon.

In what is now the Napoleonic Museum, the original furnishings have been preserved, and the palace gardens had been fully restored. This in itself might be worth a visit for the view over Lake Constance which is stunning. For Napoleonic era buffs though its the incredible art collection which is its real treasure. It houses an important art collection including works by the First-Empire artists Chinard Canova, Gros, Robert Lefèvre, Gérard, Isabey and Girodet-Trioson, and by the Second-Empire painters and sculptors Alfred de Dreux, Winterhalter, Carpeaux, Meissonier, Hébert, Flandrin, Detaille, Nieuwerkerke and Giraud.

But what caught my eye was this painting, ‘La Mort de Napoléon’ by Charles de Steuben. I didn’t know anything about it or the artist for that matter, but one of my more erudite school friends who, being French, was into Napoleonic stuff in a huge way, and she explained it all to me. Of course I knew a fair bit about Napoleon growing up because my grandfather and father, being military men themselves, were Napoleonic warfare buffs and it rubbed off onto me. I just knew about Napoleon the military genius. I never thought about him once he was beaten at Waterloo in 1815. So I never really engaged with Napoleon the man. And yet here I was staring at his last breath of mortality caught forever in time through art. Not for the first time I had mixed feelings about Napoleon Bonaparte, both the man and the myth (built up around him since his death).

On 5 May, 1821, at 5.49pm in Longwood House on the remote island of St Helena, in the words of the famed French man of letters, François-René de Chateaubriand, ‘the mightiest breath of life which ever animated human clay’ came no more. To the British, Dutch, and Prussian coalition who had exiled Naopleon Bonaparte there in 1815, he was a despot, but to France, he was seen as a devotee of the Enlightenment.

In the decade following his demise, Napoleon’s image underwent a transformation in France. The monarchy had been restored, but by the late 1820s, it was growing unpopular. King Charles X was seen as a threat to the civil liberties established during the Napoleonic era. This mistrust revived Napoleon’s reputation and put him in a more heroic light.

Fascination with the French leader’s death led Charles de Steuben, a German-born Romantic painter living in Paris, to immortalise the momentous event. Steuben’s painting depicts the moment of Napoleon’s death and seeks to capture the sense of awe in the room at the death of a man whose legendary career had begun in the French Revolution. It was this, ultimate moment that Steuben wished to immortalise in a painting which has since become what could almost be described as the official version of the scene.

There is no question that Steuben’s painting became the most famous and most iconic depiction of Napoleon’s death in art history. In another painting, executed during the years 1825-1830, Steuben was to give a realistic view of the emperor dictating his memoirs to general Gourgaud. This same realism also pervades his version of Napoleon’s death, and it is totally unlike Horace Vernet’s, Le songe de Bertrand ou L’Apothéose de Napoléon (Bertrand’s Dream or the apotheosis of Napoleon) which, although painted in the same year, is an allegorical celebration of the emperor’s martyrdom and as such the first stone in the edifice of the Napoleonic legend.

And what a legend Napoleon’s life was turned into for time immemorial. Napoleon declared himself France’s First Consul in 1799 and then emperor in 1804. For the next decade, he led France against a series of European coalitions during the Napoleonic Wars and expanded his empire throughout much of continental Europe before his defeat in 1814. He was exiled to the Mediterranean island of Elba, but he escaped and briefly reasserted control over France before a crushing final defeat at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815.

Napoleon’s military prowess earned him the fear of his enemies, but his civil reforms in France brought him the respect of his people. The Napoleonic Code, introduced in 1804, replaced the existing patchwork of French laws with a unified national system built on the principles of the Enlightenment: universal male suffrage, property rights, equality (for men), and religious freedom. Even in his final exile on St. Helena, Napoleon proved a magnetic presence. Passengers of ships docked to resupply would hurry to meet the great general. He developed strong personal bonds with the coterie who had accompanied him into exile. Although some speculate that he was murdered, most agree that Napoleon’s death in 1821, at the age of 51, was the result of stomach cancer.

By contrast, Charles de Steuben was born in 1788, his youth and artistic training coinciding with Napoleon’s rise to power. He was the son of the Duke of Württemberg officer Carl Hans Ernst von Steuben. At the age of twelve he moved with his father, who entered Russian service as a captain, to Saint Petersburg, where he studied drawing at the Art Academy classes as a guest student. Thanks his father's social contacts in the court of the Tsar, in the summer of 1802 he accompanied the young Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna of Russia (1786–1859) and granddaughter of Frederick II Eugene, Duke of Württemberg, to the Thuringian cultural city of Weimar, where the Tsar's daughter two years later married Charles Frederick, Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach (1783–1853). Steuben, then fourteen years old, was a Page at the ducal court, a position for which the career prospects would be in the military or administration. The poet Friedrich Schiller was a family friend who at once recognised De Steuben's artistic talent and instilled in him his political ideal of free self-determination regardless of courtly constraints.

At the behest of Pierre Fontaine in 1828 de Steuben painted La Clémence de Henri IV après la Bataille d'Ivry, depicting a victorious Henry IV of France at the Battle of Ivry. De Steuben's Bataille de Poitiers, en octobre 732, painted between 1834 and 1837, shows the triumphant Charles Martel at the Battle of Tours, also known as the Battle of Poitiers. He painted Jeanne la folle around the same time and he was commissioned by Louis Philippe to paint a series of portraits of past Kings of France.

Life in the French capital was a repeated source of internal conflict for Steuben. The allure of bohemian Paris and his military-dominated upbringing made him a wanderer between worlds. As an official commitment to his adopted country he became a French citizen in 1823. However, the irregularity of his income as a freelance artist was in contrast to his sense of duty and social responsibility. To secure his family financially, he took a job as an art teacher at École Polytechnique, where he briefly trained Gustave Courbet. In 1840 he was awarded a gold medal at the Salon de Paris for his highly acclaimed paintings.

The love of classical painting was a lifelong passion of Steuben. He was a close friend to Eugène Delacroix, the leader of the French Romantic school of painting, whom he portrayed several times. Steuben was also part of this artistic movement, which replaced classicism in French painting. "The painter of the Revolution," as Jacques-Louis David was called by his students, joined art with politics in his works. The subjects of his historical paintings supported historical change. He painted mainly in sharp colour contrasts, heavy solid contours and clear outlines. The severity of this style led many contemporary artists - including Prud'hon - to a romanticised counter movement. They preferred the shadowy softness and gentle colour gradations of Italian Renaissance painters such as Leonardo da Vinci and Antonio da Correggio, whose works they studied intensively. Steuben, who had begun his training with David, felt the school was becoming increasingly rigid and dogmatic. Critics praised his deliberate compositions, excellent brush stroke and impressive colour effects. But some of his critics felt that his pursuit of dramatic design of rich people also showed, at times, a pronounced tendency toward the histrionic.

The portrayal of key moments in Napoleon’s dramatic military career would feature among some of Steuben’s best known works. But it is this death scene that Steuben is most remembered for.

Using his high-level contacts among figures in Napoleon’s circle, Steuben interviewed and sketched many of the people who had been present when Napoleon died at Longwood House on St. Helena. He wanted to attempt o give the most accurate representation of the scene possible. Indeed, the painter interviewed the companions of Napoleon’s captivity on their return to France and had them pose for their portraits. Only the Abbé Vignali, captain Crokat and the doctor Arnott were painted from memory. The Grand maréchal Bertrand made sketches of the plan of the room, noting the positions of the different pieces of furniture and people in the room. All the protagonists within the painting brought together some of their souvenirs and in posing for the painter, each person can be seen contributing to a work of collective memory, very much with posterity in mind.

Painstakingly researched, Steuben painted a carefully composed scene of hushed grief. Notable among the figures are Gen. Henri Bertrand, who loyally followed Napoleon into exile; Bertrand’s wife, Fanny; and their children, of whom Napoleon had become very fond.

The best known version of “La Mort de Napoléon” was completed in 1828. French writer Stendhal considered it “a masterpiece of expression.” In 1830 the installation of a more liberal monarchy in France further boosted admiration of Napoleon, who suddenly became a wildly popular figure in theatre, art, and music. This fervour led to the diffusion of Steuben’s deathbed scene in the form of engravings throughout Europe in the 1830s. As Napoleon’s stock arose within French culture and arts, so did Steuben’s depiction of Napoleon’s death. It became a grandeur of vision that permeated Steuben’s masterpiece of historical reconstruction.

Initially forming part of the collection of the Colonel de Chambrure, the painting was put up for auction in Paris, on 9 March 1830, with other Napoleonic works, notably Horace Vernet’s Les Adieux de Fontainebleau (The Fontainebleau adieux) and Steuben’s Retour de l’île d’Elbe (The return from the island of Elba). The catalogue noted that the painting had already been viewed in the colonel’s collection by “three thousand connoisseurs” – which alone would have made it a success -, but its renown was to be further amplified by the production of the famous engraving. The diffusion of this engraving by Jean-Pierre-Marie Jazet (1830-1831, held at the Musée de Malmaison), reprinted and copied countless times throughout the 19th century, made the scene a classic in popular imagery, on a level of popularity with paintings such as Millet’s Angelus.

A / Grand Marshal Henri-Gatien Bertrand. Utterly loyal servant of Napoleon’s to the last. His memoirs of the exile on St Helena were not published until 1849. Only the year 1821 has ever been translated into English.

B / General Charles Tristan de Montholon. Courtier and companion of Napoleon’s exile. Montholon managed to ease Bertrand out and become Napoleon’s closest companion at the end, highly rewarded in Napoleon’s will, which Montholon helped write. Montholon’s untrustworthy memoirs were published in 1846/47.

C / Doctor Francesco Antommarchi. Corsican anatomy specialist. Sent by Napoleon’s mother from Rome to St Helena to be Napoleon’s personal physician on the expulsion of Barry O’Meara. Napoleon disliked and distrusted Antommarchi. Antommarchi’s untrustworthy memoirs were very influential and published in 1825.

D / Angelo Paolo Vignali, Abbé. Corsican assistant-chaplain, sent by Madame Mère from Rome to St Helena in 1819.

E / Countess Françoise Elisabeth “Fanny” Bertrand and her children: Napoléon (F), who carried the censer at Napoleon’s funeral; Hortense (G); Henry (H); and Arthur (I), youngest by six years of all the Bertrand children and born on the island. She was wife of the Grand Marshal, very unwilling participant in the exile on St Helena. Her relations with Napoleon were difficult since she refused to live at Longwood. She spoke fluent English. Was however very loyal to Napoleon.

J / Louis Marchand. Napoleon’s valet from 1814 on and one of his closest servants. As Napoleon noted in his will, “The service he [Marchand] rendered were those of a friend”.

K / “Ali”, Louis Étienne Saint-Denis. Known as “the Mamluk Ali”, one of Napoleon’s longest-serving and intimate servants; He became Librarian at Longwood and was an indefatigable copyist of imperial manuscripts.

L / Ali’s English (Catholic) wife, Mary ‘Betsy’ Hall. She was sent out from England by UK relatives of the Countess Bertrand to be governess/nursemaid to the Bertrand children. Married Ali aged 23 in October 1819.

M / Jean Abra(ha)m Noverraz. From the Vaud region in Switzerland. Very tall and imposing figure that Napoleon called his “Helvetic bear”. He was himself ill during Napoleon’s illness.

N / Noverraz’s wife, Joséphine née Brulé. They married in married in July 1819, and she was the Countess Montholon’s lady’s maid. Noverraz and Saint-Denis had a fist fight for the hand of Joséphine.

O / Jean Baptiste Alexandre Pierron. The cook, dessert specialist, long in Napoleon’s service and who had accompanied Napoleon to Elba.

P /Jacques Chandelier. Iincorrectly identified on the picture as Santini who had left the island in 1817. A cook, from the service of Pauline Bonaparte, Napoleon’s sister, who arrived on St Helena with the group from Rome in 1819.

Q /Jacques Coursot. Butler, from the service of Madame Mère, Napoleon’s mother, he arrived on St Helena with the group from Rome in 1819.

R / Doctor Francis Burton. Irish surgeon in the 66th regiment who had arrived on St Helena only on 31st March 1821. He is renowned for having made Napoleon’s death mask (with ensign John Ward and Antommarchi).

S/ Doctor Archibald Arnott. Surgeon in the 20th regiment. Brought in to tend to Napoleon in extremis on 1 April 1821.

T/ Captain William Crokat. A Scot, orderly officer at Longwood for less than a month, having replaced Engelbert Lutyens on 15 April. He received the honour of carrying the news of Napoleon’s death back to London and also the reward, namely, a promotion and £500, privileges of which Lutyens was deliberately deprived by the governor.

#charles de steuben #art #painting #napoleon #bonaparte #st helena #life #death #chateaubriand #french #france #emperor #artist #aesthetics #war #politics #society #culture #arts #personal

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mudwingpropaganda · 4 years

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gimme your take on skywings bc 1) your take on mudwings is excellent 2) im writing a story that focuses on the skywing military and their employment of child soldiers and bread-and-circuses style of rule and 3) the skywings are so poorly designed and worldbuilt in canon

I LOOOOOVE the SkyWings. I’ve only recently fully understood the appeal of the tribe and after working on a few headcanons for them and Prince Cliff (pre-blog) I realized just how much sustenance they were lacking and how much they were deserving! I’d love to talk your ear off about what I have in mind.

SkyWings were once a tribe focused on music, theater, storytelling, and the arts. They prided themselves on their bards. They were known around the world as one of the most artistic tribes whose bands you simply HAD to have at your events, the sculptors you HAD to commission for your bust, the tribe you HAD to come to the parties of or else you simply haven’t lived. They were a tribe of merriment, festivals, games, and more. And don’t even get me started on their impressive air stunts and light displays, the fire dancers, and more.

The SkyWings were close friends of the SeaWings, who loved to share this passion for the arts and exchange techniques, styles, and inspiration. It wasn’t until the SeaWing Massacre that this friendship became unsteady and nerve wracking, until they cut each other off - officially, sans a few independent artists - completely.

In the grand scheme of things, the militarized SkyWings are a very new idea. It wasn’t until a few queens before Scarlet that the tribe aimed to display strength and firepower as opposed to inspiration and joy. And perhaps this is why these dragons are seen as more grumpy nowadays. They’re simply not in touch with their personal side and under Scarlet’s reign, they simply stagnated in creativity and individuality.

Scarlet’s reign used her dragons as pawns for her master plans, instead of individuals who could improve their tribe. She was inspired by the elite theater productions her mother had taken her and her sisters to when she was young. So much so that she thought the drama, the fights, the bloodshed, oh, it simply HAD to be brought to reality. She relished in the emotional turmoil of pitting her citizens together, watching reality television in real life as her servants turned against each other for fear that they’d push each other onto Scarlet’s bad side. She threw dragons in her arena for the pettiest of crimes to watch them duel, with her daughter by her side, and her sons preparing and pleasing the crowds.

This only ceased, somewhat, when the war struck. Oh, a war would simply bring so much entertainment for the arena. Scarlet organized the breeding program to further strengthen her dragons for war, children raised for battle, with more armored scales than the elder’s flexible scales made simply for flying. Dragonets without parents. Simply a duty to their tribe and to their throne.

Ruby’s reign is going much better, to say the least. She’s trying to bring back the theater, music, and arts, with Vermillion taking lead in things such as opera and theatrics. Her son, Cliff, is taking massive steps in bringing back individuality, so much so, he rejected his responsibilities as Prince but uses their wealth for a plethora of creatively inspired organizations.

But Ruby’s rule still isn’t perfect. She’s trying hard to inspire the youth to take the steps to be individuals. But they were born soldiers. They were born to fight and survive for the throne, but there’s no more war to fight, and with no families to turn to and very little stability to take them in, the tribe is trying to rebuild to accommodate these dragonets with lost childhoods.

As for appearances, SkyWings are comedically long, lanky dragons. They struggle participating in other tribes’ social spaces due to how long their spines, tails, and wings are, in comparison to their quite stumpy legs. They often walk like arched up cats or perpetually bent inchworms in order to get around on land. No wonder they prefer flying. SkyWings typically have beaks, talons, vents for their internal fire, and feathers. Though most dragons often burn their feathers by accident, those in higher positions such as royalty, merchants, or artists tend to have the cleaner, more elegant ruffs of feathers behind their ears.

An important part of the SkyWings’ cultures are their horns. Their horns never stop growing as long as they’re alive and can bend in a number of intricate patterns, remain somewhat straight, or loop like rams until they’re stabbed by their own bones. But it’s gravely looked down upon to shave your horns or trim them down, regardless of how much they might irritate your scales or may weigh your head down. Elder SkyWings struggle to get through doors because of their pride in their heavy rack. Taking care of your horns is a priority in SkyWing culture. While women are always bigger than males, there is no discernable dimorphism between their horns.

True SkyWings lacked armored scales. They were often very thinly protected by their soft scales with the texture of feathers, but as of the war, armored scales are more common, alongside inflated firepower. Firescales, in the reigns leading up to the war, were becoming more frequent due to the steady escalation of dragons with more intense fire.

Speaking of firescales, I like to take this idea more literally and say that firescale SkyWings literally look like they are on fire. All SkyWings are capable of venting smoke from their scales if they feel a bit too intensely, but can control their internal fire. Firescales are incapable of this, and burst into flames with every heartbeat, every sense of emotion, and every feeling. To kill firescales dragonets was seen as a mercy. They could never be loved properly, they claimed, and their only destiny was destruction and death.

In a similar idea, SkyWings killed animus dragons and firescales because they had a deep sense of self accomplishment. Being born with special powers was something they looked down upon, whether literally or socially. Everyone had to earn things equally, and no one could simply earn magic or the ability to set themselves on fire. These dragonets were killed on the mountain side, in the hopes they would be reborn anew. While recent queens forbade those who bore animus or firescale SkyWings, the parents were often encouraged to lay new clutches in hopes that their children would be reborn in their families.

One other idea I’d like to add is the subset of SkyWings I’ve been playing around with. Mountain SkyWings are SkyWings who are essentially hermits, recluses, and loners of the dragon world. Derogatorily deemed “feral,” mountain SkyWings are individuals who live in the cave systems of their queendom, horde the treasures they find, and enjoy their territory in their lonesome. They chase off other dragons and grow so old that they frequently die in their own caves, unable to find their ways out due to their size, deteriorating vision, or simple exhaustion.

Queen Scarlet prioritized reacquiring mountain SkyWings to “reintroduce them with a sense of nationalism,” but mostly because she simply wanted their hordes. Osprey was one of these dragons, an individual who had lived in the mountains his whole life, his scales rocky, spiked, and brittle, and was forced to join society as a standoffish, snappy SkyWing with a love of literature and law, looking for loopholes to get his treasures back. He unfortunately died before he could find a loophole from Scarlet’s “because I say so” judicial system, but found joy in giving Peril, a terrifying dragonet, someone to look up to, confide in, and talk to without going into full body trembles.

#regulus-ready-to-scream #skywings #wings of fire #skywings wings of fire

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fenixburnedarchived · 3 years

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TEST MUSES CHEAT SHEET

A.rya S.tark

girl with sword my beloved

has been through too much honestly (lots of trauma)

I would love to work with post-canon, when Arya is back in Winterfell & trying to find her new place in the family & protect them

M.argaery T.yrell

resident flower girl but with lots of ambition

let her actually be queen & live bc g-ot was bs

I run on vibes more than anything else tbh

I want her in the new order, supporting D.aenerys in the capital

J.ames St. C.lair (D.ark R.ise)

canonically the story is set in R.egency L.ondon (though obviously other periods wotk too)

was actually born into an ancient order that protects the light but turns out he’s the reborn general (called the betrayer) of the great evil, the Dark K.ing (who was also his lover in this other life)

because of that he was cast out and eventually becomes the right hand man of the guy who wants to bring back the Dark K.ing

James is just super powerful?? Like he barely has to move a finger to wipe out a whole group of fighters & make them bleed on the floor

so yeah, he’s a murderer, that should always be considered

due to the whole reborn-thing he never feels like he belongs into this world, it’s all a blur & very weird to him

actually he just doesn’t want to be controlled, but free & finally make his own choices

Katherine K.ent (Dark R.ise)

has no idea what’s going on in the whole light-dark conflict

but she’s engaged to the bad guy (that James works for), because it’s the best opportunity for her family

so Katherine does her best to be a dutiful child of her time & marry well, so she & her sister can have a future

she actually feels very trapped in that role as the perfect young lady & wants a different life

unbeknownst to her, Katherine carries a great power in herself & she’s the only hope for the light

she works in a “normal” historical setting even better than James bc until later in the story she just isn’t involved with the magic at all

G.ideon de V.illiers (R.uby Red T.rilogy)

kind of an arrogant prick

the time travel gene of his family was passed on to him when he’s 17 & since then he has to go to the past every day

that’s the role he’s been prepared for all his life & he knows nothing else (certainly not a normal childhood)

his father died & his mother left, so he grows up with the secret society/lodge that controls his time jumps

actually planned to study medicine after school, but his duties take precedence

during the course of the trilogy, he finally begins to doubt the lodge (especially their founder) & strays from the path set out for him to fight said founder Count of Saint G.ermain, (his ancestor & also a time traveller)

L.ucy M.ontrose (R.uby Red T.riogy)

a time traveller from the female line, a generation before Gideon & Gwendolyn (the protagonist)

was trained pretty much like Gideon & prepared by the lodge

but she fell in love with her time travel companion from the male line & together they uncovered the truth about the lodge’s founder & his plan to make himself immortal

she got pregnant at 16, but they could hide that with the help of her aunt

they had to escape into the past right after their daughter was born & Gwendolyn was raised as the child of Lucy’s aunt

now they live in 1912 & still try to stop the count’s plan & save their daughters life, because her death is a vital part of an old prophecy

#GOD that was more work than i thought fkasfhsajflsf #hope that helps??

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jonahintwstmchybridau · 3 years

Text

“I’m not a chicken!” *insert Donald Duck grumbling here*

Jonah the Avian

-Basic Information-

Name: Jonah Argentum

Age: 16

Gender: Male

Date of Birth: 31st October

Status: Alive

Hometown: Leaf Village

A small town underneath the Spring Cherry Mountain. The place is rich with green, luscious trees and the soil is perfect for ranching. The villagers living in this place are quite friendly and very welcoming. Jonah lives in a small vegetable farm three hours away from farm. Despite the hospitality, the villagers isn’t fully on-board with hybrids. As long as hybrids hide their traits, the villagers will tolerate them.

-Hybrid Information-

Hybrid: Avian - Duck wings

You're a chicken. If you fall, you can glide to safety and you run slightly faster than the average human. However, you need to sleep in high places (so your home is a birdhouse) and you are bound to veganism.

Additional Power: Hasn’t discover anything new yet.

Weapon(s) of Choice: He wouldn’t consider his farming tools (axe, hoe, sickle, hammer) as a weapon. As the story progress, he found a bow and started using it, practicing as the archer.

-Appearance-

Eye Color: Black

Hair Color: Cocoa-red with a bit of dolly-yellow on a few strands.

Hair Length: Pretty long, even the braids still reach just above his hips. He also has an ahoge on top of his head.

Skin Tone: Brown

Height: 157 cm

Weight: 51 kg

Wardrobe: Despite being a farmer, Jonah looks more like a pilot. He wears a white shirt with camouflage long-sleeve underneath a marigold-yellow short-sleeved jacket, along with camouflage pants. Around his neck is a cocoa-red scarf with a single with line and a tan goggles on top of his head.

-Personality-

Jonah, at his core, is a nice guy, however he has a hard time to showing it after years being told to be careful around humans. He’s hot-headed and would argue even when he doesn’t understand the full detail of the problems. He wouldn’t back down without a fight and would always believe in what he thinks is right, making him a bit stubborn in nature.

Contrast to what people believe, Jonah is a good listener. While he tried his best not to get to close, he’s willing to lend an ear and listen to people woes. Bonds is a very precious and fragile thing for him. He doesn’t want to be called clingy, but he adores touches. Physical affections like hair ruffle or just a simple pat on the shoulders, he adores them. In exchange, once you’re close enough, he would often cups his hands around someone’s cheeks and gives praise. When he got very attached to someone, he would be the most loyal person you could ever find. When the time comes, he’s willing to fight anyone who dare to bother those who he cares. He isn’t the type to seek revenge, but he won’t forget what they had done.

He also has an insecurities inside him. He’s sometimes see himself as something less, especially being an avian among the others, more powerful hybrids. He might feel useless from the lack of special talent and afraid of being the burden in the gang. He hates it when he can’t do anything during the battle because of his lacking fighting experience. That’s why he tried to get too attached. It would hurt less if one day the gang decides to kick him out.

-Background-

Jonah is born from the pair Benjamin Argentum (human) and Dinah Goldstein (avian hybrid). Benjamin’s parent weren’t the most accepting with hybrid, so the two young lovers often meet in secret. It was until one day Dinah showed up without her duck wings, claiming that she was willing to give up her duck wings in order to be with Benjamin, Thus they got married and moved away to Leaf Village.

However, it seemed that the pain of the wing cutting resurface, leading Dinah to her death after giving birth to Jonah, who grew feathers on his back. He’s also a hybrid, an avian. Benjamin raised Jonah as a single father, calling him ‘little duckling’. They’re always wary when going to the village despite them being nice. Jonah had been taught to not ever show his wings when he go to the village. Because of his avian trait, which means he can’t eat meat, Jonah was taught how to farm and cook by his father.

However, one day, when his father went out to chop some wood, a storm hit and a tree came crashing down, killing him. Jonah was an orphan. Even when the village (who still doesn’t know about his hybrid blood) offer him a place to stay, he decline, saying that the farm needs someone to take care.

-Relationship-

Benjamin Argentum

Father and son. Jonah is very close to his father who raised him by himself after his mother died in child birth. His father taught him everything. He was destroyed when his father died, however he quickly pick himself up and take care of the farm, his only inheritance.

The Villagers of Leaf Village

Close acquaintance but Jonah learn not to get too close, afraid that they will find out his wings. One day, he heard some town folks gossiping their disdain to hybrids, which made Jonah wary as he is an avian. He isn’t that close to the kids his age because of that and only come to the village when he need to stock-up or festivals

The Hybrid Kids Gang in General

Partner in travel and his second family. He’s very comfortable with them despite being the only two boys there. Relaxed that he can spread his tiny wings without worrying of getting shun at. Though sometimes, he felt ashamed how the girls can fight better than him. He personally request one of them to teach him in archery, so he ca fight along side them.

-Like & Dislike-

Like:

Trees

Jonah loves climbing tree despite being a duck. He would often take a nap up in the tree, not really worry about falling down because he can just slow-fall/glide .

No-Mayo Potato Salad

Potato salad is his comfort food and would eat at least once a week every weekend. Because being an avian means he’s a vegetarian, he can’t eat mayonnaise.

Swimming

He’s a duck, being in a pond is a basic need for him. In addition, his wings has the characteristic of duck wings so it can’t get wet.

Dislike:

Being Useless

Jonah would often try to do something. He just can’t stay silent even for a minute. It make him feel useless and a burden.

Meat

Just don’t eat meat in front of him. It’s very disrespectful.

Being called Chicken

And just don’t call him chicken. He’s a duck, dammit!

-Trivia-

Because his lack of fighting skill, he make it up as the (future) emotional support of the team and travelling-cook.

When he’s angry, his voice become higher and sounds more like Donald Duck.

When he’s going out from his house, he would be wearing a cape to hide his wings.

He found the bow and arrow when the gang were once again chased, deciding to learn how to fight.

In the middle of the story, he cuts his hair, symbolizing his want grow in defending himself, not wanting to be a burden to the team and learning to trust people.

He’s pretty content with his life before the start of his story, however as he travels, learns new things he never thought of before, and bonds with the others, Jonah doesn’t really want to go back to the silent, albeit peaceful, times. He still wants a peaceful farm life, but he wants to share it with his friends. It wasn’t so lonely now. So, he doesn’t mind if they go on another journey as long as they’re together.

#twst mc hybrid au #jonah argentum #character sheet

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vidalinav · 4 years

Text

Queen of Monsters: Chapter 6

Summary: Nesta learns more about the Rite and Illyrian traditions, but finds out first hand what that means for the potential rebellion of the largest army in the Night Court.

Rating: M (graphic elements and mature themes)

Read also: Chapter List, General Masterlist

Updates every Tuesday/Wednesday (Probably Wednesday)

“I heard he’s courting Adette,” Nesta heard, the Illyrian tucked into her fur coat, leaning a head towards her friend whispering in delightful gossip.

Nesta stood on the edge of the terrain, her hands warming besides the bonfire. One of the many placed around the field for the onlookers who watched the procession. The two girls chuckled across the way, her view tucked behind the ripple of embers burning. She thought they might have been too busy chatting to notice her anyway.

“The shoemaker’s daughter!” The other one gasped lowly, “She doesn’t have a coin to her name.”

The Illyrian rolled her eyes, and Nesta blinked at the youth they displayed. Had she ever been this young? She could distantly remember Elain’s high squeals, her own harsh opinions of this or that, but if she thought deeply on it, Nesta could only make out the remnants of starvation and petty things.

“Why would she have to? She’s beautiful.” The girl answered haughtily. “I heard Adette’s already been asked by two other males and her mother’s turned them both down.”

“What does her father say about the match?”

“What every father says. My aunt says he’s practically forcing her out the door. It’s Kallon or no one.”

Nesta lifted a cup of tea to her lips, the warmth of the liquid burning her tongue, warming her chest. The glow of the heat set the Illyrians’ hair on fire, turning the dark color into auburns and maroons. Nesta thought she might have seen the light flicker in one of the girl’s eyes, but she didn’t know if it was from joy at the news or a trick of the flame dancing in her gaze.

“Wasn’t she seeing Micah?”

“The blacksmith’s son?” She remarked sardonically. “His family disowned him two spring ago for helping out with… you know.”

Nesta did not know, though she had some idea of what occurred two years past, the subtle scream of people burning under a cauldron’s rage. The way she said it, off handed and dismissive, made Nesta want to walk through the flames and ask out right what you know meant.

“Will he compete you think?”

The Illyrian shrugged a shoulder, “He doesn’t have anything else going for him.”

Nesta lifted the mug to her lips, squinting her eyes at the two girls who laughed in their sleeves. She could hear the high-strung sound reverberate in the expansive space, and Nesta wanted to cover her ears. Like a dog whistle, it rung and pierced. Her head ached from the pitch.

Cradling her head, she leaned over the bench to set the cup down on the snow.

“He’s good for what he is,” Cassian remarked from behind her.

The cup slipped from her grasp, tipping to its side, the hot liquid spilling to the ground. Nesta sighed as the tea started to form constellations in the billowy white.

She glared at him, “Would you stop doing that!”

“I didn’t mean to” he answered, raising his hands. His eyes were bright with ease as he took in her expression, murderous and unafraid. “Seeing as you keep refusing to train with me, I’ll save the lecture on how you should be more aware of your surroundings.”

Cassian raised his chin to the male in question and Nesta followed his gaze to where Kallon and ten other Illyrian’s were taking turns beating each other to a pulp. Truth be told, she had not been watching, choosing instead to examine the two chittering females in front of her who now sat straight, quickly looking elsewhere as she caught their eyes.

Kallon was winning by far, the glittering sword in his hands made of Illyrian steel and polished to perfection. The other males’ weapons had not been half as grand.

“Do they have to do this every year?” Nesta complained, tucking her hands into the sleeves of her coat. Even next to the fire she was freezing, and she wondered why, for a race of people who’d lived longer than at least ten human generations, they did not host these fights indoors. “Compete,” she clarified.

“Yes, every year,” Cassian nodded, sitting next to her. She heard the creak as he jostled, setting his wings so they did not lie in the snow. Nesta wanted to brush them away, suddenly feeling like she needed more room on that small, tight bench. “The games are held every mid-winter to select the warriors competing in the Blood Rite in the spring.”

Nesta set her head in her palm, watching another Illyrian use the butt of his sword to blunt Kallon in the nose. She couldn’t resist the smirk that had somehow appeared on her face.

“How do they choose who gets to go?” She asked.

“Here, they have males compete for a spot and only send the top three. Whoever wins enough rounds will go to Windhaven. They’ll compete in archery, sword fighting,” He said, gesturing to the ring. “hand to hand combat… The ceremony usually lasts a couple of days before they decide.”

Nesta winced as she watched Kallon take on two males at once. He was skilled as far as knew, though she admitted it wasn’t much. The only thing she knew of battle was watching Cassian’s guts spill out and she could not very well use that to measure the skills of the sword.

Cassian leaned closer to her and she could feel his breath near her ear. Even if she knew it was more to keep the words, he was about to say, private between the two, Nesta still held her breath, careful not to take in the earthy scent of sap and firewood.

“Kallon is hoping to win, and he will, because even if he’s the son of a lord, he doesn’t earn the respect of his title until he stands on the monolith on Ramiel. If he does at all,” Cassian added, off-handedly.

Nesta titled her head towards him. Her face close enough to see her flushed reflection in his eyes.

“I heard…” She swallowed the apprehension down, “that only the three of you have done it.”

“It… as in standing on top of the mountain.” He inquired, his gaze gleaming. “not the only ones, but I admit there’ve been very few.”

Nesta watched as his gaze traveled down to her lips, a quick glance and then back again. But she’d seen it and he knew, because Cassian smirked, one, lone dimple appearing in his cheek. Nesta wanted to poke at it with her thumb.

She marveled at the silence in that moment, the civil conversation making their interaction light and airy. It seemed the cold weather was not bad for their fiery words, perhaps it had subdued him enough to not poke fun and had iced that wounded part of her that ached incessantly.

“Why? Does that impress you?” He asked teasingly.

Or not.

Nesta chose to ignore his words. “Did Lord Devlon make you participate in these competitions?”

Cassian’s grin widened at her aim to distract but appeased her anyway.

“It’s up to each camp lord to decide who gets to participate and how they’ll make that choice. Many believe only the special elite should have the right—the families from long lines of money or titles,” Cassian shrugged, staring off into the clash of swords and teeth. “Devlon, even if he’s a lord and sometimes too traditional, doesn’t care about these frivolities. He’ll let any Illyrian who thinks they’re strong enough.”

Nesta thought she admiration in the look he wore, and she was surprised, for all she’d seen were grimaces and rolling eyes when mentioning the male.

“It didn’t matter that I was born a bastard, Azriel some discarded son of a lord, or Rhysand, a half-breed with some unknown, unrivaled power. To Devlon, we were warriors—could be warriors,” He admitted. Begrudgingly, so, because his jaw clenched as if the words were hard to get out. “For that, even if on most days I want to ring his neck for making things difficult, he will always be better than them.”

He jerked his chin lowly as theirs gazes went to the males on the raised platform with their own bonfire, sequestered off from the rest of the Illyrians. Lord Ovis and Lord Ymran sat on their chairs that seemed more like thrones than casual viewing platforms. Nesta caught sight of the female from before who’d taken the basket of fruit. Even heavily pregnant, and she was heavily pregnant, they made her serve them drinks and did not offer her anywhere to rest.

Nesta almost wished one of the swords would go accidently flying through the air, stabbing at least one of them horrifically in the eye.

“What are you supposed to do here?” Nesta asked, behind gritted teeth.

Cassian paused, chewing on his lower lip and Nesta wanted to brush her thumb against it and tell him to stop. “I am supposed to keep the camp’s in order. This one especially. It’s part of my job as being the acting general-commander.”

Nesta noted that he didn’t elaborate why this camp had become an issue, and she sighed internally. Would they never trust her?

Cassian was careful to choose his next words. “After the war—even before then—many have… questioned whether I am fit for the position.”

She could hear the gasps of the girls as the bonfire flashed. The fire swelling higher for a moment then dipping back to its original size.

“Why would they ask such a thing?” She roared, suddenly angry at anyone accusing Cassian of not doing his job.

Cassian only looked solemn, facing away from her. “Because their sons didn’t come home.”

“There was a war.” She said sternly.

“It was my job to keep them alive.”

“It is your job to protect as many as you can.” She surmised, her voice growing louder even if Cassian grabbed her wrist to lower her back down as Nesta rose to her feet. “Don’t they know what you sacrificed? What we sacrificed for—”

Nesta shook her head, distraught and a loss for words.

“They were lucky they died before the war ended. Look around! Death was a privilege.”

“Not to those who died. Not to the families who have to live without them.”

Cassian looked at her, something blooming in his eyes that Nesta couldn’t name, but she swallowed it down. He still held on to her wrist as he shushed her. His calm silence breathing air into her lungs.

Nesta blinked away the harsh burning in her eyes.

“It’s hard for them, I think... It’s hard enough when people pass, but to admit to themselves that warriors are meant to die. I think it ruins the perception. This fanciful idea of being the strongest or the fastest or the most talented with a sword.” Cassian lifted a shoulder, his lips forming a thin line. “We go to war to die. I think every soldier knows this when they step out onto that battlefield. Whichever it might be.”

“My father wasn’t a warrior.” Nesta gasped. She clenched her fists and somewhere deep in her stomach, she could feel fire burning, feel her face warm up, steam rolling through her lungs like thunder. “My sisters? No... Why do they also suffer?”

“Nesta...” Cassian began, “I’m sorry that—”

Nesta couldn’t stand the look. The regret so deep in his bones. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Stop.” Nesta clenched her jaw, her teeth aching at the impact. She could hear her heartbeat, had not learned to tune it out. It sounded like a funeral dirge. She could envision the tombstone back in Velaris, though she’d never once set foot on the land.

Here lies Nesta’s hopes and dreams.

Failure. Father. Gone.

“Please... just stop.”

Cassian’s nostrils flared as if he might try once more, but a lankly looking boy ran up them. Cassian looked furious at the interruption.

“General... Commander... General-Commander.” He paused. At Cassian’s murderous expression, he gulped, looking down. “The Lords would like to speak with you about tonight’s council meeting...They say it’s urgent.”

Cassian grumbled, his chest rumbling with unsaid words and phrases.

Nesta took a breath. "Go.”

“But Nesta,” He began to argue, but she was through. The day had already settled lamely on her shoulders and she could not bear to carry it any longer.

“Go!” She yelled.

Cassian did, sulking as he lifted himself off the bench, and followed the young Illyrian. Nesta didn’t watch to see if he looked back or not. She supposed, he probably did. He was just that type of person to coddle a wounded stag after shooting it.

Nesta picked up the mug that lied haphazardly on the ground, tracing a chip on the handle she’d not noticed before.

She wanted to throw it a wall, but there was none she could see and so she carried it with her, holding it close as she walked away from the bonfire.

Distantly, she could hear the girls giggle.

“My brother told me they almost died for each other,” She heard one of them say.

“Do you think they’re in love?” The other asked.

Nesta tuned them out. Once again remembering what it was like to be young.

She thought of Tomas in that moment—where he must have been. She hoped he still had the scar on his cheek from where she’d hit him with that rock. The only thing she could find as she laid pinned under him.

She had not loved him. Hadn't cared for him even before then. But Nesta couldn’t help but wish she’d grabbed the rock again... Beat and plunder everything he took that day.

Here lies Nesta’s innocence, his tombstone would read. It was gone before he even made the first blow.

The memories seemed to follow her as she left the outdoor arena.

Her dreams did not comfort her as she trotted through the snow.

It was almost evening when she made it to the outskirts of the camp, the buildings growing less and less until all that remained were a few houses scattered about.

It must have been strange to live on a mountain, she thought. Nesta had spent so much time thinking about how Ramiel could somehow bury Windhaven, it seemed concerning that no one here had thought what the mountain would do. There was no way to plan for destruction, but it always loomed. Chaos following them around in its dark cloak looking for a chance to strike when they least expected it. A thief in the night.

Nesta wished she were a better thief. Perhaps, she could have stolen food while Feyre was galivanting through the forest, learned how to pick the pockets of those wealthy ladies she’d used to know, who raised their noses when she’d walked by; her clothes reeking of stale, dowdy water.

But no, she’d prided herself on being lavish even in troubled times. Poverty may have stained her clothes, but it would not seep into her skin where gold and diamonds had glittered.

It was that opinion, though, that had made them suffer, made her starve, and it was these opinions that Nesta found as she looked towards the forest floor, the opening dark and unknowing. She listened for the hoot of owls or chirp of birds but found none. Besides her thoughts, it was utterly quiet in the trees.

Still, she walked. If Nesta could not find the shop that sold thistle, dried basil, and thyme, another few plants on the list, she would go collect them herself. No matter how impossible that seemed in the middle of winter.

The forest didn’t scare her as much as the first time. Where there was no light, there were secrets hidden in plain view. Where there were pockets of sunshine, Nesta found the forest to be a perfect reading spot. The trees were thick but comforting. The wind chilly, but talkative.

At the very least, it was better than being around people, she thought. The snow covered the ground where she walked, the gnarly roots poking out where the leaves had covered it and Nesta wondered if Feyre had ever felt peace hunting in the woods. She’d scorned them sure. For letting her hunt. For not making it easier. But did she secretly enjoy the thrill? Did she ever look into the field and think, had she not been starving, this might have been a hobby, a calm, peace of mind?

Nesta couldn’t imagine what Feyre would say.

She knew what she would say. That no amount of peace of mind would make her hold a bow.

No amount of pleading would make her train with Cassian. No amount of love or time or regret would make her forget what the cauldron made her, or what Hybern had done to her family. Being calm? No, there was only calamity and Nesta wanted to collect it, store it in the empty space of her veins, and gulp it down as if she were swallowing a universe of stars.

Nesta looked towards the sky, the trees painting clouds where they parted. Where she thought she might have seen the burnt orange glow of a raging sunset, Nesta only saw smoke. She gripped the paper in her hands. Ira’s words faint where she’d held it in her fist.

She followed the trail as best she could. The smoke disappearing under leaves. Nesta had nearly tripped on a broken log, searching for its origin, but a few steps forward and there it would be again.

After more than a few stumbles, Nesta traced it to a cabin.

Worn and abandoned, the brick crumbled from brown to grey. But the sign at the front, scribbled on and lazily written, contained the only word she knew how to read in Illyrian.

Tucked into curling lines, like vines crawling out towards her, tucked in between letters brushing the foliage. The root word, in all its glory, bloomed.

Plants.

Nesta breathed in a sigh of relief.

Staring at the building, she wondered why Ira hadn’t told her that the shop she’d needed was in the forest. A ways away from the cluster of shops in the pavilion of Ironcrest’s judgmental stares. Perhaps, the female had wanted to punish her… for being annoying, stubborn, not easily dismissed. Perhaps, she’d wanted Nesta mad.

She was certainly furious as she kicked the door open.

Four days.

Four days she searched, climbing up the peaks of this blasted town.

Four days, getting hissed at by residents who couldn’t stand her walking around freely, never lowering her gaze, never following some archaic, undisclosed rules.

Four days, she’d worked harder than any week in her entire life.

All for what? A list of plants they could have had imported in from Velaris!

Nesta huffed as she entered the small store, the warmth swallowing her as it did the freezing, frigid air. Four days of that, too.

A soft bell rang as the door slammed shut, and Nesta surveyed all inside.

Bookshelves lined all four walls. Nesta traced her fingers along dusty spines, and were there wasn’t books, all kinds of flowers grew. She’d never seen so many, even thinking back on Elain’s garden. How many types of colors did roses come in? For there were many collected in vases. How many stalks of delphinium? They stood taller than her and Nesta reached high to measure.

Plants seemed to grow out of the floorboard, and she circled the room, only stopping as her gaze landed on a bouquet of amethyst.

In the bouquet, the deep purple flowers she’d seen attached to doors and above mantels, soaked in vase of water, along with others Nesta was not familiar with. Some white, some a dark shade of violet. Their petals twisted menacingly. They bloomed as if they were facing the sun.

Nesta reached out for one, but a cough made her jump back.

“The darkest one is wolfsbane. The white—moonflowers, and the other, the one that looks like a trumpet, is nightshade.”

Nesta turned to face the female who’d spoken. She wore a light summer fabric that Nesta found odd, even in the warmth of the room and as she stepped closer, Nesta noted that it didn’t reach her feet. Instead it crept towards her thigh in a way that made Nesta want to pull her own dress down.

Her hair, dark as midnight, was braided back and even so it went all the way to her waist and she was beautiful. Nesta wanted to roll her eyes at the thought. All fae seemed to be beautiful. But the female was not fae. Not in the way that she was… She looked towards her ears and found them human-like. Not at all pointed in ethereal warning.

“You sell a lot of them,” Nesta remarked slowly. Not a question, really, rather an observation of things she’d seen.

The female shrugged, her hair swiping behind her. “The Illyrian’s have odd ideas about what lurks in these woods… and what keeps them away. Who am I to not satisfy their whims and fancies?”

Nesta held the moonflower up to her nose. It smelled of honey and sweet dreams. “You speak as if you are not Illyrian.”

“Well, I don’t have the wings do I?” She noted, looking towards her back as if to check if she indeed carried wings. She looked back towards Nesta solemnly, seemingly disappointed.

“I have a list,” Nesta spoke, setting the flower down and handing the paper to the awaiting female. She watched as her eyes trailed the page.

“You know, for as long as I’ve been working with Ira, which I admit hasn’t been long, she’s never once sent a fae.”

“I’m new,” Nesta commented. The female shrugged and started taking out baskets, pulling out plants from the floorboards as Nesta suspected. There were a million and one places to store herbs, she thought, as the not fae, not Illyrian moved around the shop.

“You are younger than I thought you’d be.”

The female snorted, glancing up at Nesta. “We look the same age.”

“I am not very old,” She remarked.

“And I am not very young.”

“How old are you?” Nesta questioned, as she was genuinely curious, and she seldom knew anyone who’d she felt comfortable enough to ask.

The female huffed a laugh, pulling out a pair of shears from a glass planter in the shape of a frog. “Ope, what are those doing there?” She chortled, setting them in her basket.

At last when she made it to the counter with a collection of Ira’s order, she peered at Nesta, her eyes sparkling.

“We all have to keep some secrets,” She answered, smiling mischievously.

Nesta opened her mouth to reply, but a voice called out from the back of the shop.

“Ruby!”

At the small tone, the female sighed.

“Ruuu-by!” It sang, increasingly loud.

“You know just take the basket,” She said, moving the batch of plants into her arms. “I owe Ira a favor so tell her it’s settled.”

The female, Ruby, Nesta assumed, rushed ahead opening the door for her, but before Nesta could follow a little boy appeared behind the curtain leading to what seemed to be an apartment in the back. His brown hair floppily fell across his eyes and he pushed it away, revealing the prettiest eyes Nesta had ever seen. Bright green, like fresh fields.

Nesta also noted the lack of pointed ears, the normalcy in his face. He could have been human, she thought, though she knew it to be impossible.

“Jamie, go to your room! I’m helping a customer.”

“But I’m hungry!”

“You just ate an hour ago,” Ruby said, placing her arms on her hips as Nesta imagined every mother did at some point.

“But that was only a snack,” The boy whined, his lips drooping down in a pout. At Ruby’s stern look, Jamie reached up to the counter, taking a jar that Nesta remembered being nettle, and peered inside.

“What’s this?” He asked curiously, sniffing the contents. Ruby rushed to take it from him as he looked up at her with big eyes. She sighed deeply, a whole world of annoyance in that one exhale. Nesta smiled softly in sympathy.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Ruby spared her a glance, giving her a tight smile and waving her off.

“Don’t be a stranger now!” She called, happily at the last moment.

Nesta chose to take the suggestion lightly. As friendly as her words had been, she was still the nameless assistant to a crass healer and she wasn’t going to stay in Ironcrest for long. Besides, most people never meant what they said, she told herself.

She rarely had ever meant what she said.

There was chaos in the streets.

Nesta couldn’t say she was surprised. Destruction would always find them, after all.

But the commotion was not caused by falling rocks as Nesta stood there, casually tracing the people forming a group in the center of town. The cacophony came from voices, ringing high and taut. She could hear the shouts before she could see the Illyrians they had come from. Maybe the noise had come from them all. Some harmonious, calamitous symphony.

She walked towards them, her hands reaching out for the music.

“They’ve taken our sons!” A female’s voice croaked. “They’ve taken our pride. What more will they take from us in the name of the High Lord?”

She heard yells in agreement, her vision blocked by a flurry of wings that lifted higher.

“Who has seen the reward they’ve promised?” Another shouted. “Or was it the limbs our brethren lost, the memories that haunt their vision. What reward will amend for my son being blown to pieces?”

Nesta closed her eyes, suddenly seeing wings obliterated in the recesses of her mind. Ashes, but no blood. It sprinkled around her like rain.

“Who will take care of our baby?” A female screeched. Nesta stood on her toes to see an infant being raised into the air. The child hung blinking at the crowd, wailing as he heard the shouts reach a crescendo of awful sounds. Nesta huffed. As if the child didn’t scream because of his mother.

She pushed through the crowd, hearing the words hey! And stop pushing! Nesta continued until she was in the center of them. Females and males. She could not make out their faces. They blurred in unfamiliarity.

One of the females, her hair dark as night, her face covered in angry lines, pointed.

“Her!” She screamed.

Nesta only stared as the others began to look at her, too. Some sneering, some spitting on the ground near her. Nesta stepped back in repulsion. But the Illyrians stepped closer, as if they might bury her under their bodies and sweat.

“She did this to us!”

Nesta turned her gaze away, sighing slightly as her back seemed to straighten on its own accord, her chin raising in nonchalance.

“See how she mocks us.”

Nesta scoffed quietly.

“She thinks she’s better than us.”

True, Nesta wanted to reply, but thought better of it.

“Her and that bastard making a mockery of this camp!”

Nesta paused at the words, some feeling nagging at her. Like an itch she couldn’t scratch. But she didn’t brush the feeling off, instead she let it ruminate—let it build.

“Some cheap whore,” She breathed, “coming to take our lives away.”

Nesta grimaced, clutching her head. “Would you stop yelling?” She spit. “You’re giving me a headache.”

One of the females, an older Illyrian who looked matronly in her long coat and her wool hat, looked outraged at her remark, shocked that she had such a casual attitude. Nesta wanted to smile, but she merely raised a brow. Try again, it said.

One of the females, the youngest looking, sauntered closer, but Nesta didn't back away. She could feel all of them closing in, the heat of their bodies making her feel sticky in the furs.

“Go back where you came from,” The female seethed, the words forced out of gritted teeth. “human scum.”

“That’s enough!” Cassian roared, breaking through the crowd. His hair tied and tight, his leathers sticking to his skin as if he had just come from training.

She blinked lightly as he turned towards her, his eyes asking if she was okay. Nesta crossed her arms and gave him a look. She could have handled this. By herself.

The group started to grumble but Cassian cut them off, circling them as he waded in the center.

“GO! All of you!” He yelled, pointedly staring at the males who had gathered. Probably marking them down for those who’d receive punishment in the form of extra drills and training. “Anyone caught here again today will suffer the High Lord’s wrath and my own.”

“You cannot tell us where to gather, boy,” the matron scowled. If Nesta didn’t already harbor so much hatred for this female, she might have been impressed.

“Need I remind you that you have another son in my ranks,” Cassian answered, his voice leaving no room for argument.

He seemed to have made a point, for the furiosity in the female’s eyes dimmed. But Nesta knew the Illyrian wouldn’t stay that way forever, just as much as Nesta knew she could never really let go. Anger was just like that. It was a hidden wound in a healthy body. The longer it was there—the longer it didn’t heal—the sicker they became. And one day, one day soon, they’d find it to be too late to heal from their own neglect. They’d die with that pain still raging through their bodies.

But for now, it was bright and burning.

The female dipped her head, smiling mockingly. The others didn’t so much as look at them as they dispersed.

Nesta watched them go, almost sad that the fire had dulled so soon.

Cassian whipped towards her, reaching out a hand as if to grab her, but he caught himself and lowered his arm. He breathed deeply.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

Nesta was going to begin telling him why he should have left it alone, why she didn’t need him there, why it was all his fault to begin with, but her gaze strayed to the building beside them.

Lord Ymran was there.

He did not smile at the two of them or offer them greetings. He just stood there, his wings high, his eyes glowering. Nesta wondered how much he saw; if he’d been there all along and had done nothing. Maybe, he’d also been a part of the crowd.

Cassian followed her gaze, his shoulders going taught at the male who seemed unbothered by their perusal of him.

This time Cassian did grab her. His hand held her wrist gently and her brows furrowed at the touch.

“Can we go somewhere else?” He asked, his voice lowering to a hush. For the prying ears, she assumed.

She nodded her head, and within moments he had grabbed her by the waist, and they were soaring through the smoky skies.

Nesta didn’t want to admit that she had let out a breath as the town turned into another dot on a map.

Cassian set her down at a clearing far from the camp and Nesta ripped towards him. The flurry of snow kicking up as she moved. Cassian didn’t want to admit that he was almost joyous she was furious. Angry Nesta meant healthy Nesta.

“This is your fault!” She yelled, her cheeks blooming into rose colored daydreams.

“My fault?” Cassian fumed, astonished at her accusation.

Nesta wagged a finger, her eyes burning behind grey-blue. “This never would have happened if you hadn’t taken me to this camp!”

“You wanted to come!”

“I never wanted to be here! I never wanted to see you again! But nooo.” She sang, her words pitching higher in imitation, “Oh, Nesta you need to go to Illyria because we can’t stand to see you spending our money on ale. This apartment isn’t pretty, you should move to somewhere nicer, closer to us. Those males, they don’t mean anything to you, you shouldn’t be sleeping around. It’s not healthy for you!”

Cassian’s eyes widened as she rambled, and he waited for her to catch her breath. The red of her face trailed down her neck.

“Well you know what I like to fuck and I don’t give a fuck what you say or my sisters or any of you rotten lot. I wish I had never come here and I wish I had never met you! And I wish I’d never become fae, and I wish I would have died in that cabin all those years ago!”

“Look Nesta,” Cassian had heard enough, “I know you feel like life is shit right now. But it is shit a lot of the times and you just have to accept that, because it’s not always like that. It does get better.”

“Oh! Stuff a sock in it!” Nesta roared, her hands waving dismissively. “Don’t tell me how to live my life when you don’t know jack shit about your own. Or did you forget that you’re just as alone as I am!”

Cassian raised his hands in surrender. “You know what? I’m done. Fine. You don’t want to be here? I’m taking you back!” At the words, Nesta crossed her arms, pieces of her hair falling out of her coronet, never settling in place as the wind picked up. “You want to be happily clustered in that shitty apartment, drinking your wits away? Fine. Go head. See if I care!”

He squinted, huffing as the anger seemed to build as much as it had in Nesta. Well, two could play that game. “I hope someone loves you they way you deserve to be loved, Nesta,” He mocked, “With all the pompous half-assery, with your mediocre feelings and your hit the wall moods. Maybe your sisters can find it in themselves to just accept you that way. Nesta, their true, loving sister.”

Cassian’s eyes stung as he stared, Nesta’s red around the edges. Her lips pursed and that bitter brightness that had taken residence in her gaze lessened into a deadly stillness.

“Oh? And here, I thought you said you couldn’t understand how my sisters could love me.”

The mountain seemed to still as the words settled around them like dust, the snow refusing to fall as if it were to afraid to be there with them.

Cassian, in a moment of utter foolishness and because of his penchant for pain, reached out to her. He was always reaching. Never getting nowhere.

Nesta didn’t even look at him as she tucked her hands in her coat, walking towards a rock where she sat, facing the field of snow and sterile silence. Cassian, knowing full well, he was stuck in this moment until she wanted to leave, took up space on another rock.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he chastised.

Tagged: @my-fan-side @ekaterinakostrova @anastasia-orlov @lord-douglas-the-third @autumnsletters @soitsgorgeous @sjm-things @courtofjurdan @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @queenestarcheron

I love writing Nesta being oddly protective of Cassian even if she thinks she hates him right now or has some unknown vendetta against him. I just want them to be together already but legally I am not allowed. That would be defamation of character and, to me, romance is a subtle thing. Creeping up slowly and pouncing when they least expect.

Oh, god I love writing them arguing. It raises my blood pressure, but fyuh it’s cathartic!

Anyways, Like, Comment, Reblog and Happy Reading!

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #acofas #acowar #acomaf #qom #vidalinav

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