#- is there. as was intended. and it's not positive for Louis

[pennyellee]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈 | 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐁 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐔 pairings: heartthrob!jk, yandere!jk x fashion employee f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: 14K beta read by @chaoticpuff17 (ily) masterlist

summary: You, a determined fashion designer, find yourself entangled in a collaboration with the irresistibly charming and egotistic heartthrob, Jeon Jungkook. Will this partnership remain strictly professional, or will he make the lines blur?

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, emotional distress, teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, jk is selfish af, jk is delulu, oral (fem receiving), forced oral (m receiving) spanking, squirting, cum swallowing, creampie, yandere behaviour, obsessive behaviour, choking, rough sex, pussy pounding, bruises, manipulation, gaslighting, strong language, oppressiveness

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, oppressiveness, which we do not condone.

author's note: so as I said in the preview, this did not go as planned but I really enjoyed writing this to the point that I might do a part 2, perhaps 3, but we'll see about that. JK is delulu af here and the reader does not think through everything. For those who did not read preview and came upon this just now - originally what i wanted to build around was how Rachel Green from Friends was offered a job at Louis Vuitton but it was in Paris and Ross did not want her to go - that was supposed to be the whole plot (with slight changes ofc), well and somehow it went a bit darker than i intended so instead of rom-com, i'd rather listed it as dark romance and yandere. Hope you'll enjoy it! Love, always.

1996

“He said what now?!” The sentence burst out of you with a high-pitched tone, nearly causing your latte to spill all over your pristine white blouse and grey blazer. Not exactly the ideal way to kick off a new month, you mused as your friend dropped the bombshell about a certain someone.

“That you’re the future mother of his children,” said your friend, an amused smirk playing on her face. “I seriously don’t know how you can still resist him, girl.” But resist him, you did.

Jeon Jungkook was undoubtedly one of the most sought-after and sexiest heartthrobs of the decade, possessed the best face card in the industry and carried the biggest ego in all of New York City. You could vividly recall the day he strolled inside of your office with the head of your department. A cocky, playful grin plastered on his face the moment his eyes landed on you.

Right from the very beginning, you made it crystal clear to Jungkook that your relationship would be strictly professional during your collaboration on the Calvin Klein project. He was given his own collection of men’s wear, and the job to work with him fell upon you.

You knew that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you to elevate your standing within the fashion circle. Jeon Jungkook’s fame was immense, and your name would be signed on the collection too. It’s not like you are head over heels that your name would be associated specifically with Jeon Jungkook, but you understood right away that this could put you on the radar. Your boss had even hinted at the possibility of a higher position within the department.

He constantly teased you, flirted shamelessly, and crossed boundaries by touching you as if you were his girlfriend. It was wildly inappropriate, especially given that the two of you had never even gone out for a work dinner or lunch alone. There were always other people from the team, and yet he always managed to find a way to sit right next to you. But it seems Jungkook was still living in an illusion where you were his girlfriend.

Your gaze shifted to the majestic Twin Towers, standing proudly in the distance, as you let out an annoyed puff of air.

“He’s ridiculous,” you finally declared.

“Or cute,” countered your friend, opposing your viewpoint. She found this pseudo-relationship with Jungkook amusing, but a small part of her secretly wished you’d just give in and go out with him. It was quite some time since you were in a relationship, and Jeon Jungkook would definitely be a nice catch. You were not interested. Or you tried to persuade others that you aren’t.

“No, ridiculous,” you retorted again, lips pursed, and brows furrowed.

“Oh, come on, give him a chance finally!!” she exclaimed.

“Absolutely not! He’s egoistic, manipulative, a cocky little bastard with damn good hair,” you said, your tone rising as you reached your final proclamation, which had simply slipped out of your mind that way.

“See? One good thing — good hair. Marry him,” she laughed it off.

“Now you’re being ridiculous, and I’m going to be late for work.” You said while dusting your black skirt, grabbing your purse, and leaving a few bucks for the coffee. The song on the radio stopped your departure for a moment, listening to the familiar voice coming from it, you rolled your eyes.

“That’s a clear sign, Y/N. Give it a chance!” she called after you, and you couldn’t help but throw a side eye her way, though a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips nonetheless.

As the day passed, you found yourself increasingly entangled in the whirlwind of meetings, fittings, and photoshoots with an ever-present Jungkook. The photoshoots, in particular, became a source of both frustration and amusement. However today, a bigger problem surfaced.

“Why’s he half-naked, Lucy?!” You hissed at your assistant. Normally, you are very kind and respectful to everyone, but Jungkook had managed to irk you the moment you stepped into your office, finding him already seated in your chair with that smirk you despised. Bringing a coffee for you, which you never drink, or donuts that you always share with the department - not eating one yourself.

Jungkook, adorned in the latest Calvin Klein designs you two had meticulously crafted together, claimed a personal touch of his persona— at least, that’s how he described it. He looked effortlessly handsome, the camera adoring him, but what grated on your nerves was that his attention was solely focused on teasing you.

“We also have shirts, why is he not wearing one?!” You continued, expressing your disagreement to what was before you. What angered you even more was that you could not stop staring at his abs.

“We shot with shirts earlier. They said the underwear and jeans will appear more artistic if his V line and abs—”

“Alright! Alright!” You stopped her in mid-sentence. You didn’t want to look that way nor you didn’t want to admit that showcasing his V-line would enhance the aesthetics of the jeans. Therefore, you took a deep breath and walked towards the refreshments, you were in need of a second cup of coffee.

You heard the photographer call for a break, but you were focused on calming yourself with a steaming cup of coffee. Despite your irritation, you couldn’t deny that he looked breath-taking in the outfits you had designed, and it infuriated you.

Suddenly, two arms were laid flat on the table’s surface, caging you in between. You could imagine his devilish grin. He did this way too often, whether it was his fingers lightly tracing your arm or tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, looking intently into your eyes until you were fighting yourself to not get lost in his Bambi eyes.

“We’re almost done for today,” he whispered seductively into your right ear, his lips almost touching it. Your breath stammered.

“And yet you did not learn a single thing about professionalism or work ethic.” You bit sarcastically, turning slowly to face him.

Jungkook’s grin only widened at your remark, and you couldn’t decide whether you were infuriated or slightly flustered by his audacity. He leaned in even closer, his breath grazing your ear as he spoke in a low, husky tone.

“Tutor me then, in bedroom — preferably” he suggested, his lips still dangerously close to the shell of your ear.

“I don’t think so. You’re beyond help,” you shot back, trying to assert control over the situation. His proximity was distracting, and you couldn’t afford to let him undermine the fact that you were in charge.

Jungkook continued to hover over you, the photographer calling for everyone to regroup for the next set of shots. You seized the opportunity to escape his magnetic pull, smoothly slipping out from between the table and his arms, deciding to escape to your humble office, seeking solace in the calmness it provided.

It wasn’t long before the shoot officially ended, and you knew damn well, that the man wouldn’t leave you alone. The door creaked open, and you turned to find Jungkook leaning against the frame, that infernal smirk still etched onto his face.

“We did a good job, why don’t we celebrate it over at my place, baby?” he complimented, but there was an undertone of something else in his voice. You overlooked his physique and leaned back in your chair, narrowing your eyes, making a clicking sound with your tongue.

“Jungkook, again, this was a professional collaboration. Nothing more,” you asserted, emphasising each word. If you did not say this sentence at least a hundred times you don’t know. He never takes it seriously; it appears as he is still trying to hammer his way into your guarded heart.

He pushed himself off the doorframe and sauntered closer. “We’ll see about that,” he said, leaving you with a cryptic grin as he exited your office. The only thing you could do is sigh.

Before you went to continue working, you heard how Jungkook’s voice echoed from the hallway.

“I bet I can change your mind, sweetheart!”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath.

“Not a chance.”

The denim collection with Jungkook was taking shape, and the buzz surrounding the collaboration grew with each passing day. A success, your boss was much more than pleased.

This success, however, meant even more for you. You were on cloud nine, basking in the glory of your hard work and the prospect of a ground-breaking partnership. Totally, forgetting to play unreachable when it came to the clinging boy who starred in this iconic collaboration. And that must have given him a false hope, perhaps a narrative in which you were his girl.

You were sitting in your office when you hung up the telephone after speaking with the vice president of Guess that contacted you earlier last week, offering you a part in a project for their brand, in Los Angeles. A dream come true for you. Leaving this place, after years of building your career from scratch, felt overwhelming. You loved working under Klein, yet it was time for you to take it higher. Your boss did not offer you a new position, and therefore, you did not hesitate to take the job opportunity and elevate yourself in fashion ranks.

It was an offer too tempting to resist, and you found yourself diving headfirst into the project, not even looking at the door when someone stepped in without knocking.

“You may leave the reception reports on the table, Lucy,” you said once feeling a presence in your office, not raising your eyesight from your computer, writing the prompts for the project Guess wants you to lead. Your twelve days’ notice already printed out, ready to be signed by your boss. You planned to stop by his office after you would finish writing the draft and sending it to the Guess team together with the copy of your portfolio that you needed to make before you leave.

When there were no reports left on your table after a good long minute, you looked up.

“You can’t just leave.” he said, standing tall in the frame of the door, stepping inside once you finally gave him your attention. You could sense a hint of desperation and anger in his voice.

You raised your brows at him. How does he know? The mere thought of you leaving for LA, leaving him behind, was enough to make him confess the depth of his feelings.

You leaned to the leather armchair and listened to him closely.

“What are you talking about Jungkook?” His eyes betrayed a mix of anxiety and vulnerability as he blurted out his fears.

“What about us? What about everything we’ve built together?” He stepped closer to your desk, looking directly to your eyes. You were taken aback by the raw emotion in his words. The air in the room thickened.

The once-confident man now stood vulnerable before you, stripped of the bravado that had defined him. And you were utterly confused and surprised how delusional this man is.

“What are you even saying, Jungkook?” you questioned, your tone a mix of confusion and frustration.

“You can’t leave me!” He raised his voice an octave higher.

“Calm your tits. I’m a grown-up woman. I can do what I want.” You sassed back at him, tired of this made up situation-ship in his head. He scoffed, a bitter smile playing on his lips.

“We’ve built something special, and I can’t watch it crumble because of some job offer!” He continued his rampage. You took a moment to breathe his words in, closing your eyes and counting to ten to calm yourself.

“Jungkook, I appreciate your honesty, but I can’t give you what you’re asking for.” This caught him by surprise. Instead of screaming at him, you chose to play the I’ll stay calm and professional card.

His eyes widened in disbelief, a mix of confusion and hurt clouding his features. “What do you mean?”

Choosing your words carefully, you said: “I genuinely value this project we worked on together, but it’s time for us to part our ways.” To fool him was your goal.

Jungkook’s shoulders slumped, the weight of your words settling upon him. “Who are you lying to, Y/N?” His words shocked you.

“I’m not lying Jungkook, I’m telling you the truth to your face, as you were too stubborn to hear it before.” You stood up from your chair, moving to lean on the front of your desk, to show him he cannot get to you.

The room fell into a heavy silence as Jungkook looked deep into your eyes, searching for the truth in your words.

“So, it’s all about the career for you? You’re willing to sacrifice everything else, including us?” Your jaw clenched, but you maintained your composed façade and with flaring nostrils and clenched teeth, you spoke.

“There is no us, Jungkook. Get it into your head already!” So much for being calm. The room crackled with tension as the argument reached an impasse. Jungkook shook his head, a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

“I can’t believe you’re throwing away what we have because of some job.” Your eyes widened even more and the fact he would not listen boiled your blood.

“Do I need to spell it out for you? I’m not your girlfriend! I was never your girlfriend, and I will never be your girlfriend!”

But Jungkook wasn’t ready to accept defeat. His frustration reached a boiling point too, and without warning, he grabbed you by the shoulders, pulling you into an intense, angry kiss. It was a clash of emotions, a tumultuous blend of passion and anger that fuelled the fiery exchange.

Your initial instinct was to resist, to push him away, but the intensity of the kiss ignited a different kind of fire within you. His lips moved fiercely against yours, gripping your ass in his hands, making you moan to his lips. Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers threading through the dishevelled locks as the kiss deepened, your frustration causing to tug them. He growled from pleasure at the sensation.

It was a collision of lips and tongues, a heated exchange that spoke volumes without a single word. Once his hands disappeared under your skirt and the heat intensified, a sudden surge of clarity washed over you, breaking the intoxicating spell.

With a forceful push, you broke away from the kiss, creating a space between you and Jungkook. You locked eyes with him, your chest heaving as you struggled to regain control of the situation.

“I need you to leave,” you stated, your voice cutting through the lingering tension, you leaned against the desk, your heart still racing from the intensity of the moment.

Jungkook, still caught in the haze of desire, tried to close the distance again, but you held up a hand, halting his advance.

“Leave!” You growled, turning your back to him. You didn’t want him to see your face anymore, because soon enough, tears would break from your eyes. You’re overwhelmed.

A loud bang of the door signalled that he finally understood and left. Breaking down with tears streaming down your cheeks you gasped for air. Tears blurred your vision as you struggled to regain composure.

You’ve counted to ten again, wiping your tears. You felt taken advantage of. He went too far this time. But this was only the beginning of his tremulous and wicked plan he had for you.

You packed your purse, ready to leave your office, you just needed to grab your work portfolio that you needed to send over to Guess. But the space it always inhabited, on the conference table, was empty. And you had one lucky guess who the thief was. “Fucking bastard.”

In the days that followed, the chaos in your personal and professional life escalated. The stolen portfolio, a representation of your work, became a haunting absence. As if the life source of your hard work was cut down.

Determined to salvage what remained of your career, you began the arduous task of recreating it. But time was not on your side, and as you delved into the meticulous process, news of your termination from Calvin Klein reached you like a punch to the gut.

The phone call was impersonal, a cold voice delivering the news of your dismissal as if reading from a script. Some Jack from the HR department spoke to you, someone you have never ever seen in the building whatsoever. Your boss did not even pick up the call when you wanted to ask what made them push the decision to let you go. You certainly did not deserve this after years of working for the brand. The reasons were vague and you knew this had to source from someone powerful. In simple terms, someone snitched that you’re planning to leave.

As the reality of unemployment settled in, you clung to the remnants of optimism that lingered, but even that proved elusive.

You were hundred percent sure that he is trying to sabotage your whole life when the call from Guess, a reason you did not fight for your position at Klein’s delivered another blow.

Their decision not to collaborate with you crushed the remnants of optimism that clung to your spirit. The dream that had seemed within reach now slipped through your fingers, leaving you in a free fall of uncertainty.

They hadn’t even granted you the courtesy of waiting for your portfolio, even though it wouldn’t be what they expected. Whatever oral agreement had been in place disintegrated. So here you are — jobless.

All this left you reeling with disbelief. The career you had meticulously built, the dreams that had taken years to nurture, all unravelling at the seams. The pain was visceral, a mix of frustration, anger, and a profound sense of betrayal.

You were certain that Jeon Jungkook himself was pulling the strings behind the scenes. And you hated him for it, needed to confront him and say that shit with your chest right to his face— he can go fuck himself. Set the record straight once you’re there.

Whatever he was thinking by ruining your career will force you to do, he better fix it before you’ll sing to the media about his bunny smile and kind heart being all fake. The line had been crossed, and he would face the consequences of pushing you to the brink. Or so you thought it would go how your brain delusional thought it through.

Hence, with a heavy heart and a determination to confront the chaos head-on, you stood before the front door of his infamous penthouse. Emotions swirling within you like a tempest.

With a deep breath, you knocked, the sound echoing through the quiet hallway. The door swung open, revealing Jungkook’s bunny smile reaching his eyes.

“Well, well well, are we ready to talk like adults, pretty?” He mocked this whole situation because he knew this would end up in his favour, nonetheless.

He moved back to let you in, and you stepped into his apartment, a mixture of anger and desperation in your gaze.

“I know you took it,” you said, crossing your arms on your breasts. The heels of your black leather boots echoed in the apartment when you turned to face him.

“Took your breath away by that heated kiss, sexy, certainly. Otherwise, I did not take anything.” Jungkook scoffed, crossing his arms defensively. The tension in the room was palpable as you square your shoulders, refusing to back down. You blinked twice at his cheesiness. The tip of your tongue moved to rest on the bottom of your upper teeth, your smile spreading on your face. The chuckle came out of you so naturally, laughing at his ridiculously ridiculous behaviour.

“Don’t play dumb, I know it was all you. You malicious sabotaging petty boy—” You retorted, articulation perfectly clear while the words laced with underlying frustration and anger.

He sighed, weariness settling over him. “You think I stole your portfolio to sabotage your career? You’re giving me too much credit, love.” Here he comes.

“I said nothing about my portfolio, Jungkook.” You said playing with his name on your tongue. A tense silence hung in the air as he considered your words, clicking his tongue, clearly annoyed and you were just getting started.

“I managed to figure that out. A drink? —” He offered, shrugging her statements of like snow in summer whilst he moved to the small bar that was a part of his spacious living room.

“I don’t want a drink, Jungkook. I want it back now,” you replied, your tone cutting through the casual offer. The anger in your gaze intensified, fuelled by the frustration of dealing with his nonchalant attitude.

“Let’s talk, baby.” He gestured towards the living room, as if trying to usher you into a more comfortable setting for the impending confrontation. He knew this was just a little shower, the real storm was still far away, giving him space to prepare.

As you moved, you could not help but notice the contrast between your demeanour and his. While your arms were still crossed defensively, his posture exuded a calm confidence that irked you further.

You took a seat on the edge of the sofa, not willing to fully settle into the illusion of camaraderie. Jungkook, on the other hand, sprawled onto a nearby chair, the picture of nonchalance.

“I need that portfolio to get a job because a certain someone has to be bitchy and sabotage my whole career because his big ass ego cannot take rejection. Give it to me,” you fired off, your words sharp and accusatory. He leaned back in the chair, smirking.

“Those are very bold words, Y/N. I would prefer to think of it as a wake-up call for you, not sabotage.” Your incredulous glare only intensified.

“Are you fucking serious Jungkook? A wake up call? You’ve just jeopardised everything I’ve worked for, and you’re calling this a wake up call?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze locked onto yours.

“I can get you a better job.”

You scoffed. The audacity of his response fuelled the simmering anger within you.

“You can’t get a shit, so give it back to me, and I’ll be on my way,” you requested.

Jungkook’s smirk remained, an infuriating mix of arrogance and nonchalance.

“No,” he said, smiling. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, the frustration reaching a boiling point. He leaned back, seemingly unperturbed by your rising anger.

“What do you mean no?!” you shot back, your voice sharp.

“You were about to make a decision that would have consequences beyond your imagination. I had to intervene.”

“What the fuck are you on again?” Jungkook’s gaze remained fixed on you, the intensity of his stare almost unnerving while your voice went an octave higher. Your frustration reached its peak, and you stood up, pacing the room as you ranted. You were breathing heavily, trying to calm yourself.

You needed that portfolio, it was a collection of years of a work and your best work to be specific. The lousy new version won’t get you a job at no high-profile fashion brand and you cannot afford to go lower than your last position.

“Alright—” You said defeated, turning yourself to face him again, you put off your black leather jacket and fixed your low ponytail, slumping back to his sofa. Spreading your arms on the backrest and cross your legs.

Jungkook took a moment to breathe in the sight before him; he was throbbing for you.

“—what do you want?” you asked. He leaned back further into the chair, putting his masculine tattooed arms to rest on the back of his head, showing his abs from under the white tank top he is wearing.

“What do I want?” he mused, as if contemplating the question but he already knew.

“Spill it out.” You barked and he chuckled at your eagerness. He got up from his seat and dangerously slowly walked towards you.

When he reached you, both of his arms pressed to the leather of the sofa inches from you, caging your body. Your breath stammered as you looked at him towering over you, the golden chain around his neck hanging.

“Firstly, I want you to be my good girl, apologise for being a brat the other day and admit there is an “us”. Secondly—” he whispered seductively, closing the approximate distance while doing so. He was right in your face, looking over at your lips evidently, he was controlling himself to not attack them. He invaded your personal space. The sudden shift in atmosphere left you breathless, and you could feel the heat radiating between you.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to succumb to the intoxicating energy he exuded. “I won’t apologise for any shit, now secondly?” You said while trying to hold your horses. You hate to admit your pussy was clenching and leaking under his gaze. He was attractive, and no one could deny that.

His fingers grazed your cheek gently, a teasing touch that sent a jolt of electricity through your body. You swallowed hard, trying to maintain a semblance of composure.

“I want these feisty little plump lips wrapped around my thick cock—” you pushed him away from you once you heard his words. Grabbing your jacket and storming your way out to the door, angry with yourself that you let it go this far.

“You walk out that door, and you’re done in this city, fuck even the whole continent if I want,” Jungkook declared, his tone heavy with a sense of entitlement. The words hung in the air, a threat laced with possessiveness that sent a chill down your spine.

“You’re bluffing.” His eyes darkened, a storm brewing in their depths.

“You’re underestimating the consequences, Y/N. I’ll snap my fingers, and you won’t get a job. Anywhere.” A bitter laugh escaped your lips. You did not believe him one bit, determined to try harder at the job hunting.

“You’ve already done enough. You can’t do worse.” You scoffed, the absurdity of his demands pushing you further away. He stepped closer, the air thick with tension.

“You’re not leaving, Y/N. Either you’ll be my good girl and apologise, or all it will take is one phone call.” As you reached for the doorknob, he grabbed your arm with a force that bordered on aggression.

“I am my own woman, Jungkook.” Your eyes flashed with determination as you wrenched your arm free, emphasising every word of the sentence you just uttered.

With that, you swung the door open and stormed out, leaving Jungkook’s apartment and the tumultuous mess behind. The city lights greeted you outside, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere within.

Your telephone remained eerily silent, devoid of the calls and opportunities that once filled it with promise. Jungkook’s vindictiveness had effectively severed the threads connecting you to your professional life, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainties.

A tear escaped your eye as you clutched the piece of paper you fetched out of your mailbox — an eviction notice. You had fallen behind on rent, pleading with your landlord for more time, promising to pay in full for two months once you secured a job. But that ended up not happening, and that’s how you find yourself sitting in a messy apartment full of half packed boxes, no job, little money left, and a bottle of cheap wine.

Moving in with friends or seeking refuge with your parents was not an option. They never supported your dreams enough to provide for you in such dire circumstances, especially at your age. Unmarried, jobless, and on the brink of homelessness, you felt trapped.

Despite your efforts to secure another job, including poorly recreating parts of your portfolio, rejections piled up, and the search for a new apartment proved equally futile. Not like you could afford it anyway.

The city that once held promise now felt like a maze of closed doors and dead ends. The mere thought of dialling his number sent a shiver down your spine, a conflicting mix of pride and necessity wrestling within you.

You drank the last of your wine, hiccupped, and cried. With only twenty-four hours to vacate your flat for the new tenant to come in. The friends you once thought you could rely on were facing their own struggles, unable to provide the sanctuary you so desperately needed. You had nowhere to go apart to his clutches if you of course did not want to freeze to death in the bustling city. It confused you how it came to having no other option.

Taking a deep breath, you dialled his number, each ring echoing the surrender of your independence. The telephone rang in your trembling hand. As the call connected, a heavy silence hung in the air and you desperately tried to calm your breathing.

“Jeon speaking,” his voice crackled through the phone. You were shaking in cold sweat, your eyes blood red from crying and alcohol clouded your mind enough to call him.

“Hello?” you heard his voice speak again, and another sob left your lips. The lump in your throat made it difficult to speak, but you pushed through the discomfort.

“I-I’m sorry.” The man on the other line smirked, seemingly thrilled to hear your voice. The next sentence you uttered, however, was even sweeter music to his ears.

“I need you.”

You heard his car park in front of your building the next morning. The boxes were long gone on their way to the heart of Manhattan where Jungkook’s penthouse awaited. It was only you and your suitcase with only necessities packed inside. The reality of the situation hit you as you looked around at the empty apartment. The purple walls, once full of pictures from trips with your friends, were now bare. The fridge stripped of silly magnets you liked to collect, stood empty. Nothing left.

Taking a deep breath, you gripped the handle of your suitcase with a sense of resignation. You glanced out of the window on your way out, finding Jungkook casually leaning against his shiny black Jaguar, smiling directly at you. Closing your eyes, you mentally said goodbye to your small apartment.

Your hair, lazily put into a hair clip when you woke up, had a few stray strands escaping, framing your face that still showed signs of swelling from crying all night.

As you stepped out into the hallway, the door closing behind you, the weight of the suitcase in your hand served as a physical reminder of the choice you had made. Is this really your only option?

The sound of Jungkook’s footsteps echoed in the corridor, approaching closer with each passing second. He ran up the stairs just as you were locking the door. His gummy smile met your gaze, a clear expression of his happiness. The heartthrob had finally gotten you where he wanted you all along.

He was dressed in a denim jacket and jeans from the collection you worked on. As if he was intent on reminding you of something. His long curly locks were gone, replaced by a short mullet.

You, on the other hand, did not feel to dress classy and elegant as you usually did. You swapped heels for a pair of white sneakers, a tight designer skirt for simple blue boyfriend jeans and your upper body was covered by a white shirt layered with a pink shirt you loosely tight on your waist, leaving the buttons half open.

“Baby?” he called out. You must’ve zoned out, as now he was holding your suitcase in his hand, ready to leave.

“M’sorry, I was in my head,” you apologised. You didn’t want to upset him by negatively reacting to the pet name even though you irked to tell him you’re not his baby.

He smiled softly, putting the suitcase down, walking over to you. He caressed your cheek, leaning in for a kiss. Turning your face, he landed his lips on your other cheek. The man chuckled and put the freed strands of your hair behind your ear. “Don’t worry. I got you now.”

The drive to Jungkook’s penthouse was filled with an uncomfortable silence as the city lights passed by in a dizzying display.

“Welcome home!” The words hung in the air, the irony not lost on you. This was far from a home; it was a gilded cage you succumbed to. You did not answer him. You couldn’t bring yourself to do so.

He was saying something about a closet, but your mind totally spaced out looking at the boxes that you packed hours prior, casually sitting in his living room.

“Baby?” You looked at him, eyes wide when you realised you were not listening to him again.

“Do you want to start unpacking or should we head out for brunch first?” He approached you. Jungkook did not stop smiling since he pulled his car in front of your building.

Unpacking felt like an acceptance of this new reality, while brunch felt like an attempt to hold onto some semblance of normalcy.

“I... I think we should talk,” you finally managed to say, your voice carrying the uncertainty that lingered within. Jungkook’s smile wavered for a moment, but he quickly masked it.

You couldn’t ignore the fact that your life had taken a sharp turn, and the unfamiliar surroundings only intensified the sense of displacement. Jungkook threw himself at his sofa just where you were sitting months prior. He motioned with his hand, silently ordering you to sit.

“I promise not to bother you long. I just need you to get me off the blacklist so I can get a job. I can’t be tied to you indefinitely.” You spoke softly, careful to not anger him just yet. You knew he wouldn’t appreciate the direction this conversation was heading, but you needed to set the record straight. This was temporary, at least in your mind.

Jungkook’s expression shifted, a subtle tension in his features. He sighed. Leaning forward, Jungkook grabbed the remote control of the HiFi that was standing proud, setting it on, and whence the soft tones of Isaak’s “Wicked Game” resonated the penthouse, you could not help but raise an eyebrow.

He petted his knee, a silent invitation. You were not stupid to not understand what he wants, yet you opted to sit next to him instead of where he wanted you.

“Maybe we got lost in translation, love.” He spoke leaning closer to you. The music seemed to underscore the unspoken tension in the room.

“You won’t leave me, baby. I’ll keep you so satisfied and happy; you won’t even want to go.” He whispered to your ear. The atmosphere became charged with a palpable desire. His proximity sent a shiver down your spine, a conflicting mix of temptation and resistance.

“You can’t keep me here against my will, Jungkook,” you asserted, maintaining a thin thread of defiance. Yet, the allure of his touch lingered in the air, clouding your better judgement.

“Try me, love. I’ve got ways to make you stay,” he countered, his tone dripping with confidence.

It took all you have in you to stand up and storm to the large windows that provided a magnificent view of Manhattan. This time, however, he was right behind you.

You heard him growl. He was angry, and he proved so once you found yourself pinned to the large window, your back facing him. He attacked your neck right away, bruising every single inch. His hand roamed over your breast, squeezing them to the point you had to moan. The situation escalated rather quickly, your resistance made him press you to his back even harder.

“I’m so tired of your running,” he groaned into your neck. You put your hands on the glass trying to push yourself away and give yourself space to free from his grasp, but he has put a majority of his weight on you. You can feel his growing pulsating bulge on your heart-shaped bottom.

“Maybe I should show you, who you belong to, princess.” He cupped your sex through your pants, and you whimpered from the sensation. You knew this was utterly wrong; you should not react to his touch this way, but you couldn’t help to notice the wetness pooling in between your legs once he continues to attack your neck with his soft plump lips.

“Jungkook-” You tried to resist, but his hand was already done with unbuttoning your jeans, sliding right down to your core. Your panties were sticky, your head was spinning, and the part of a window was getting foggy right next to your mouth from your hot breath.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good.” He pulled his hand out of your pants for a second to wet his fingers and put them right back on the little bud that was waiting to be touched. He pressed his fingertips on your clit, circling it painfully slow. The heartthrob rutted his hips into your ass, looking for a friction, making you move your hips towards his hand. He chuckled to your ear.

“If you want that job, baby, why don’t you deserve it first?” you could sense a little hint of mockery in his voice. The pulsating beats of the music seemed to echo the rhythm of his movements. Now slow and calculated.

As the song reached its crescendo, his finger entered your vibrating heat. “Hm?” He pried, his finger moving in and out in punishingly slow, drawing silent moans from you when he brushed up the right spot.

“W-what do you want?” You stammered out of yourself.

“You. All of you of course.” Jungkook replied in a heartbeat. Your heart raced and your head was clouded by the pleasure he was providing. Moving his finger slightly faster, you found yourself bowing forward, your body wanted him to reach deeper.

“Please—” you whimpered when he slowed down the tempo again.

“Give me an answer baby, will you be my good girl?” Now it was your mind that raced, grappling with the implications of his question while squeezing your walls around his finger.

“Maybe you need a little more convincing, hm?” He softly bit your earlobe whilst inserting his second finger into your heat, making you moan louder than before. You pressed your forehead onto the glass and looked down at his hand in between your legs. The sight made your pussy clench even harder. A small tear escaped your eye, you are overwhelmed, and the pleasure is clouding your sound judgement.

“What will it be, baby?” His fingers finally raised the tempo, and your eyesight was getting blurry, biting your lip from the sensation.

“Fuck—” you nibbed at your bottom lip a bit harder, trying to fight with yourself. But you couldn’t. He was playing a game, and he was winning this round.

“Yes!” you screamed louder than you intended when he hit the sweet spot, making you see stars. You did not necessarily want to agree. It was more of a reaction to how good his fingers feel inside of you. But Jungkook’s interpretation did not align with yours.

What you did not expect is the sudden feel of emptiness once his fingers abdicated its place. You protested with an unpleasant whine of frustration.

He spun you to face him, being quick enough to grab you below your ass, illocutionary forcing you to jump up. Jungkook leaned in to kiss you while he navigated the apartment blindly, right to the master bedroom.

Now you were feeling thrown. Literally. Your body bounced a little while Jungkook stood at the foot of his king sized bed adorned in black sheets. You could smell his expensive cologne on them. He was very eager to continue what you started.

His shirt was long gone and so were his pants when he was pulling down yours, alongside with your through-and-through wet panties. He very quickly inhabited his head in between your legs. Licking all the dirty juice your pussy was producing.

You could not help but to bury your fingers into his hair, slightly tugging on it once he decided to abuse your clit, sucking on it, his piercing cold against your skin. You were starting to feel the knot inside your lower belly, moaning and panting out loud.

“I’m gonna!—” you breathed out heavily. Squeezing your eyes shut, feeling the heat rushing your body.

“Not yet,” said the heartthrob, parting away from you. You shot your eyes open to look at him towering over you, his briefs thrown away somewhere in the room, and his pride leaning proudly against his abdomen, angry and red. The perfect opposite of soft. You gulped down. He was definitely not lying when he suggested he is thick.

The heartthrob helped you get rid of the rest of your clothes, bending down to lay a single kiss right above your clit, maintaining eye contact with you all the time. Sticking his tongue out yet again, making a straight wet line up your belly, ending at the valley between your breasts.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He groaned, squeezing your tits while pumping his dick, he could not take it anymore.

He spread your legs further, making space for him to fit right in. Your walls are trembling from excitement, especially when he presses the length of his cock to your lips, coating himself in your juices.

“Condo—” you went to say when his lips silenced you in a hard passionate kiss. He moaned to your mouth, pressing the tip of his cock to your entrance, stretching you open. You pressed your hands to his chest, parting away from him. He looked at you with confusion and you repeated yourself.

“Condom, Guk,” you said, using the nickname in an attempt to soften his hard features. Something told you that you might have just pissed him off. The heartthrob sighed and involuntarily got up, walking all the way to the bathroom, giving you a million-dollar view of his ass. Your gaze then shifted to his muscular shoulders, involuntarily admiring his impressive physique. You couldn’t deny he was hot as hell.

Your nipples were perky from the thrill that your body was going through. It was quite some time since the last you got laid. Maybe that’s why it took him minimum effort to turn you into a whiny, needy little bitch.

You heard the light switch going off in the bathroom, and the man himself appearing in the doorframe with the little shiny square in his hands. Tearing it open, he returned to sit on his knees on the bed while sliding the condom on.

He grabbed your legs under your knees with one swift movement, sliding you closer to him. One hand aiming his cock to your entrance the other finding its place on your throat, holding it with the right pressure to elevate your pleasure. Pushing all the way through, you whimpered loudly at the intrusion. He was big, and you felt like you’re going to explode. The heat rushed through you like a momentary fever.

The heartthrob could not wait for you to adjust to his size, and he started to snap his hips into you in a punishing tempo, making your body bounce up at every thrust and clench your eyes shut tightly. Loud moans coming out of you.

“You take me so well, baby.” He whispered into your ear seductively, panting and groaning from the pleasure. He was on cloud nine, finally having the woman he longed for quite some time.

“Got me waiting for this pussy almost the whole damn year.” You met his hungry gaze, your moaning synchronised with his. He crushed his lips to yours one more time before thrusting his cock in and out of your heat faster and deeper.

You bit down on his lip, him groaning at the sensation, slapping your ass in the heat of the moment.

“This pussy was fucking designed for me.” He claimed you.

He was hitting all the right places, making you squeeze your eyes shut again. He upheld his promise to fuck you good. You can regret this after, now it’s not the time.

“M’wanna pound this pretty ass too.” He pulled out of you, turning you to lay on your belly, slapping the already reddened skin before setting you on all fours, ass up. He did not hesitate to rut inside of you again, feeling him all the way in your stomach, you screamed his name.

“Jungkook!” his thrusts set a brutal pace that you were not sure if you’ll survive. Their moans continued to echo in the room.

“You belong to me.” He growled, pounding your pussy, the sound of skin slapping was audible ten times louder than usual. The knot in your lower belly appeared again, got you moaning uncontrollably.

Jungkook sensed that your climax was near and went to rub your clit with the desire to make you cum all over him while getting himself off with you.

“Guk—” you choked on your words, your legs and hands were trembling, tears springing out of your eyes. You desperately needed to cum.

“I know, baby.” He kissed the arch of your back, making his hand and hips move even faster, hitting your cervix. If this is heaven, you don’t want to leave.

“I-I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!” You shouted, feeling the knot untying itself rather quickly. Jungkook growled right to your ear. He was close too, dangerously close.

“Baby!” He whimpered, feeling the tension rising.

Your juice splashed the sheets as you squirted all over his cock, crying, the orgasm hitting you way too hard. Jungkook’s hips did not stop while he chased his own release, complimenting you, your body, and how you are such a good girl while doing so. With a loud moan and one last deep thrust, he came in you, holding you still while he emptied himself. The warmth of his release felt too authentic, but you were too fucked out to notice.

As you were also too fucked out to notice the empty abandoned condom laying on the ground.

“I love you so much baby—”

It was getting dark outside when you woke up, your head pounding as you looked over your naked body and evident ache in between your legs. The sheer curtains that are covering the floor to ceiling windows, once airy and light, now filter the early evening light into a soft, diffused glow, creating a cosy atmosphere. You cuddled the soft sheets that were wrapped around your lower body, thinking that you could sleep some more.

But when you heard the muted notes of En Vogue’s Whatta Man blasting somewhere in the penthouse, any hopes of serenity were shattered. A curse slipped through your lips as the reality of your surroundings hit you.

“Fuck,” you muttered through your teeth, the small fists pounding against the bed. To muffle the scream of mixed emotions, you seized a leopard-patterned pillow, pressing it against your face.

You had willingly let this happen, all for the pursuit of a damn book and damn fucking job and your damn fucking career. But why was it so precious, you might ask? Your portfolio wasn’t just a collection of pages bound together; it was a culmination of dreams, aspirations, and relentless hard work. Each design you made over the years, a carefully curated piece of your artistic vision, held a piece of your soul.

The portfolio was your identity as a designer, a visual storyteller who poured emotions, creativity, and skill into each piece of clothing. It was something you presented yourself with, and you believed it held the power to open doors. It got you your first adult job after you spent two years in the big apple on your own, dreaming big while washing dishes behind the counter.

And it got you the second job of your early fashion career, a higher position than sales assistant, the head designer at the men’s wear division at Calvin Klein. You were aiming to become the head of the department when a better offer came your way, from Guess.

The project they offered you to be a part of was a kind of interview to get through and sit as the executive director of the women’s department. You were thrilled to accept as you always wanted to design for your gender.

And he fucked it up. So, you have to excuse yourself by letting your guard down, giving him a chance to sway you. You are doing this for you and your career.

You sat on the bed, eyeing the modern bedroom that screamed his name as did the smell of the room. Just like you remembered before you blacked out from all the pleasure he forced upon you.

Sighing, you moved your sore naked body to the edge of the bed. A black leather armchair caught your eye, a clean set of underwear laid out on it, burning under your gaze. You gulped down. This was your mess after all. You let him come too close—extremely close, judging by the recurring ache between your legs.

“Fuck it, it’s fine.” You’d manage somehow, or at least, that’s how you decided to play along with his nonsensical fantasy and possessive behaviour.

You tiptoed down the penthouse, searching for the devil. You knew you were going the right way when the music grew louder. Peeking from the narrow hallway into the living room, he was nowhere in sight. Only the RCA telly with MTV on indicated that he must’ve been there.

The sizzling sound of something cooking and a pleasant aroma hit your ears and nose. He was in the kitchen, cooking. Jeon Jungkook was in the kitchen, cooking. A certain degree of domesticity welcomed you as you stepped into the all-blue kitchen. His kitchen was way nicer than yours, you noted. Large cabinets, the island full of food ingredients he was preparing. Your gaze lingered as your eyes traced his masculine, naked back, tattoos shouting at you. Your knees felt weak at the sight, your body reacting to him as if he were the alpha wolf.

You couldn’t help but bite your lip. He was swaying his hips to the rhythm of the song. Even from this point of view, you could tell he is in a very good mood. It seemed like he was glowing.

You leaned against the arch, contemplating whether to make your presence known or observe from the shadows. Before you could decide, he turned around, planning to cut the vegetables, his eyes locking onto yours immediately. Bunny smile plastered on his face, reaching his ears — a juxtaposition to how anxious you looked in his big shirt.

Quickly circling the kitchen island, he reached you in a matter of seconds. The heartthrob was beaming with happiness seeing you in his kitchen, in his shirt, barefoot, face raw, and all his. At least, that was his perspective after he finally got you where he wanted you.

“Baby!” He squeaked happily, pulling you by your wrists. The movement causes your petite frame to collide with his naked torso. Jungkook did not let you speak even if you wanted to, instead he pulled you even closer, pressing his lips to yours. You yelped, surprised by the unexpected collision. The vulnerability you felt in his presence only heightened as he claimed you, his happiness seemingly derived from having you exactly where he wanted—vulnerable and dependent on him.

The kiss lingered for a moment, and as Jungkook pulled back, his eyes locked onto yours again, gleaming with an unspoken mischief you could not decipher. He seemed to revel in the flustered state he had induced, and a cocky grin played on his lips.

“Morning, beautiful,” he whispered, his warm breath grazing your ear as he finally released your wrists, pecking your lips softly again. The shirt you wore clung to your form.

“It’s almost five pm.” You muttered back after you gave the digital clock on the stove a glance. He laughed it off, not replying.

“How do you like your steak?” he asked, his tone casual as if the passionate kiss hadn’t just occurred.

“M-medium rare,” you stammered, still processing the sudden turn of events. He chuckled, the sound resonating in the cosy kitchen as he came back to the stove to resume cooking, what you assumed is your dinner. Your stomach growled loudly when the delicious smell hit your nostrils, loudly. Jungkook even looked your way, encouraging you to take whatever you wanted from the fridge that was next to him, until dinner was ready.

You looked at the silver double-door fridge, and suddenly, your hunger vanished. Those were your magnets that were on your fridge just hours prior. He went through your boxes and unpacked them. The world was spinning, and your stomach was dangerously twisting.

He noticed the change in your expression, the playfulness in his eyes fading as he followed your gaze to the fridge.

“Something wrong, baby?” he inquired. You swallowed hard, attempting to mask the unease that threatened to bubble to the surface.

“No, nothing,” you replied, forcing a tight smile. His attention returned to the stove, the sizzling sounds and savoury aroma filling the kitchen. The clock on the stove continued its indifferent march towards evening. But your mind stopped.

“I-I think—” you stammered, it was hard for you to speak when there was an evident lump in your throat that wanted to emerge to the surface.

“Baby?” he raised a brow at you, letting everything he was doing to approach you again. You gulped down, trying to breathe it out.

“I think... I need—,” you tried, the words escaping in a breathy whisper. Jungkook’s expression shifted from curiosity to concern as he stepped closer. That got you even more anxious and a quick escape was a way you opted.

Your legs carried you back to the room where you knew a bathroom would be near. You heard him calling your name, but he did not run to get you. He must have thought that you’re trying to run again, but when he saw you going the way the master bedroom is, he did not push it.

You slumped right to your knees, emptying your already empty stomach into the toilet. Tears stringed from your eyes. Before you could calm or clean yourself the door creaked open, and Jungkook’s concerned voice seeped into the bathroom.

“Oh my god! Are you okay baby?” He hovered in the doorway, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. You didn’t have the strength to respond, only offering a weak nod as you continued to empty the contents of your stomach.

His footsteps approached, and you could feel him kneeling beside you, one hand tentatively rubbing your back.

“Easy, baby. Easy,” he murmured softly.

After a moment, the nausea subsided, and you leaned back against the cool porcelain, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Jungkook remained by your side, a true concern readable in his eyes.

As you caught your breath, you couldn’t help but notice the familiar objects around the bathroom. Toothbrush, hairbrush, all your makeup and even your pyjamas, had found a place alongside Jungkook’s in the bathroom. He was blurring the lines between your lives.

Glancing at yourself in the mirror, you winced at the sight of prominent hickeys and bite marks adorning your neck. You caught Jungkook’s worrying gaze but did not pay attention to it longer than you needed to.

“When was the last time you ate properly, baby?” he asked, caressing the small of your back, kissing the top of your head. You touched the tender skin on your neck, a mix of shame and regret settling in the pit of your stomach.

You knew very well that this wasn’t a doing of the lack of nutrition within your body but it did stop you to think for a second. When was the last time you had a proper meal and not a cheap ramen noodles from a convenience store near your building? You did not recall, so you rather opted to shrug your shoulders and reach for your toothbrush that could have melted under your gaze at this point.

“Why don’t you freshen up, and I’m going to finish dinner.” He sighed and kissed your temple. You’ve let him. He has done worse. As he left the bathroom, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being exposed—physically, emotionally, and now even in your most private spaces. Your eyes lingered back on the assortment of makeup and personal items neatly arranged beside his.

Brushing your teeth never felt so foreign and unnatural. Your eyes darted around his room after you finished, and that’s when you noticed what you did not when you woke up —a closet, half-filled with your clothes. Neatly folded, hanged right beside his. Even your jewellery was sorted by the type of metal. Your shoes, your skirts, dresses, everything. He had seamlessly integrated your wardrobe into his, as if signalling an intention far beyond a temporary stay.

Then all your pictures scattered on the walls as you walked down the corridor back to the heartthrob who swayed you here. Feeling the unease building in your stomach again.

Jungkook stood by the table, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he watched you approach. His eyes flickered with a mixture of amusement and possession. This all seemed like a stage for a performance you hadn’t signed up for.

The steak, perfectly cooked to your liking, accompanied by a side of vegetables. The spread looked delectable, and your stomach rumbled again, reminding you that you hadn’t had a proper meal in days. The scent of the meal teased your senses.

As you picked at your food, a question lingered in the back of your mind—how had it come to this? Have you really had no choice but him? Was this worth the trouble? Perhaps.

Your parents would think of you as a failure if you returned home. and your pride did not allow you to pick up your old job and be a girl for everything. You worked in the fashion industry and you were willing to do anything to maintain it.

“Are you listening to me, baby?” Jungkook broke the stream of your consciousness, his voice soft yet insistent. You hummed in response but your ears could not pick precise words that left his mouth.

“There’s Grammys next week, do you have any design for the red carpet so we could match—”

“What about the job?” You interrupted him, setting your fork down, staring at him viciously.

“So the Grammys—” he tried to continue without replying to you but you were having none of it.

“So the job, Jungkook.” You said through clenched teeth one more time. You weren’t about to let him sidestep the conversation about your career.

He sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching with a momentary annoyance. The room crackled with tension, the unspoken power dynamics unravelling before you.

“You’ve been a very good girl so far—” he lifted the handkerchief he had on his lap and placed it on top of the table next to his glass of red wine.

“Why do you have to misbehave now.” His attempt to redirect the conversation towards your behaviour only fuelled your frustration.

“I’m not misbehaving, Jungkook,” you shot back, your voice sharp and unyielding. “I need to know about the job. I need to know that you’re actually doing something concrete to help me, not just playing puppeteer with my life.”

“There’s an opening at Givenchy, and Prada or Dior but—” your eyes were full of false hope.

“—until I can be sure you won’t leave me the second you get the new job. You won’t go to any interview.” He leaned back, a predatory gleam in his eyes, as if enjoying the power play.

Your mind raced, torn between ambition and self-respect. You had worked tirelessly to establish yourself, and the taste of success was within reach. Yet, the cost demanded by Jungkook was steep—an indefinite surrender of your autonomy.

“That’s not what we agreed upon—” You whined out, anxiety clutching your insights in tight grip.

“Oh but we did baby.” He answered swiftly, smiling sweetly.

“I—” you wanted to protest, but he was quick to dismiss any argument you wanted to come up with.

“I said I want you, and you agreed, baby. You can’t take it back.”

“What does that even mean?!” You whined out.

“That I won’t let you slip through my fingers again. You belong here with me, and you better learn your place or prepare for a farewell with the magnificent fashion world of yours.” The ultimatum echoed in your mind as his gaze was trying to make you submit. Jungkook’s possessiveness loomed over you, a suffocating force that sought to confine your wings.

“You can’t force me,” words slipped past your lips, a proclamation of your refusal to succumb to his dominance.

“You underestimate the lengths I’ll go to keep you, Y/N,” he retorted, his voice low and laced with a dangerous edge.

“You’re sick.” You spat out at him, standing up to leave when he grabbed you and held you tight. You were looking up at his face, seemingly angry with your words. His eyes darkened, a fleeting moment of anger crossing his features.

“Aren’t you a bit ungrateful, my love?” he seethed, his voice a low growl. The possessive tone sent shivers down your spine, but you refused to cower under his gaze.

“I’m providing you with shelter, food, money and most of all my love.”

“It’s sick, Jungkook. This isn’t love,” you shot back, your voice unwavering. He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his grip unyielding. He scoffed, a bitter smile playing on his lips.

“You’re testing my patience, Y/N. You’re mine,” he retorted quickly, not letting you go. You wanted to protest, to tell him to fuck off, and even worse things, but he was not finished.

“Think with your pretty little head, won’t you?—” you glared at him, defiance burning in your eyes.

“—you can live like a princess, you can have your dream position and on top of that a loving significant other — me.” The seconds felt like an eternity, the weight of his possessiveness pressing down on you.

“What is success for when you cannot share the joy with someone you love.” He whispered, a sinister undertone in his words. You had a feeling he’s not only talking about you. You had to think, and you had to think quickly.

“You’re asking me to give up my autonomy, Jungkook.” You shot back, your voice unwavering. He scoffed, the air heavy with tension.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good, Y/N. You need me—” He chuckled, a condescending tone lacing his voice.

“—what were you gonna do if you didn’t come to me? Hm? Your mami and papi who are disappointed in you or your fake friends who did not bat an eye to try and help you out?—” You turned your face away from him, not wanting to let his words affect you.

“—I helped you. I am here for you!” He shook you, still holding a tight grip on you.

“All I’m asking in return is you to give yourself to me.” With a defiant push, you broke free from his grasp, leaving him seething in frustration. Covering your face with your palms, you sobbed.

“Love and loyalty is not that big of a price when you think about it.”

“You promise?” you choked out through your tears. You were tired, exhausted to the bone, and this was taking a bigger toll on you than you would expect. You wanted to trick him and instead he tricked you. But you needed to play by his rules to win in the game he started. His eyes softened momentarily, a twisted form of concern flickering in his gaze.

“I promise, baby,” he murmured, his tone almost soothing. The fire has ceased for now. Or so you thought. Despite the fragile promise, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you were dancing on the edge of a precipice, held by the strings he so skilfully pulled. But the stakes were high, and you couldn’t afford to falter. You had no shelter, almost no money and no one to turn to. For now. You promised yourself, this is temporary. You will find a way out of this arrangement.

You finished your dinner. He insisted. You stripped naked while he was drawing the bath. He again insisted. The penthouse, filled with music and the fragrance of expensive candles. You allowed yourself to be led, like a puppet, your exhaustion overshadowing your instincts. As you sat there in the hot water, vulnerable, he wiped away your tears.

The water lapping against your skin is like an ominous reminder of the depths you found yourself in. Jungkook’s hands traced patterns on your back.

Jungkook, seemingly attuned to your exhaustion, wiped away your tears, the gesture carrying a strange mixture of care and control.

“It’s all gonna feel better once you accept it.” Said he, right to your ear, sending shivers down your naked body. You pressed your legs to your chest to hide yourself, a futile attempt at preserving some semblance of privacy, even though he had seen it all.

“I cannot grasp why you would do this to me, Jungkook,” you sobbed, letting him hold you against his chest.

“I did it for us, baby.” His hands firmly gripped yours now, making them stop hugging your knees. The heartthrob wanted you to relax in his presence. A laughable request considering the circumstances that led you here.

“Stop being delusional. There is no us.” You finally let him move your hands only for you to grab the frame of the bathtub and attempt to pull yourself up and away from him. He did not fancy this attempt of yours, and he let you know that by grabbing a large portion of your hair, dragging you back.

Your body slammed to his naked torso with a loud slap caused by the wet skin on skin contact. It took your breath away for a good minute.

“You didn’t seem to argue about it earlier today when my cock was hitting all-the-right-places, making you squirt, hmm?” Said the raven haired man, still holding your hair in his fist. He did not intend to hurt you, no, it was not as painful as the whole humiliating scenery and the fact you could not break free of him. He’s putting an example of what will happen once you stop behaving again. Putting you in your place — that’s what he called it.

“Matter of fact, Imma show you again that there’s us baby, until you realise it yourself.”

Trying to wiggle out of his grasp, you whimpered every time you pulled your hair back to make you stay still. And as if he changed his mind, your body was pulled out of the warm water, letting your hair go, making you fall down to the bright rug on the floor of the bathroom. Soaking it wet you looked up to him towering over your shivering physique.

“It was about time for you to show me how you are grateful to be my good girl—” he stepped closer. You did not want to look at him, knowing well what he is talking about.

“Open up baby—” you shook your head, pulling away from him and his hard member that he was holding just inches away from your face. You felt it meet your cheek and immediately retrieved yourself again which made him even more frustrated. His cock was painfully hard, and you were not cooperating.

The tattooed hand in your hair pulled you right back, his eyes bore to yours with a hard stare, and you swear they got even darker. His other hand was clutching your jaw, harder and harder until you involuntarily opened your mouth wide enough.

Taking the chance right away, he slipped his thick and hard manhood into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. He hissed at how your teeth slightly scraped his dick. You choked on it, but he was unfazed by it, continuing to thrust into your throat, making tears fall down your cheeks.

“I knew you could be my good girl.” He groaned, praising you with each of his hard thrusts into your mouth. Your breathing was shallow, and you tried to get as much air as you could. He was moaning loudly, the wet sounds of his cock slipping in and out of your mouth, covered by your saliva made him even more aroused and hungry for you.

“You just need a bit of a re-education.” He was getting lost in the pleasure your mouth was providing him, and you were deprived of the air you needed. Your hand hit his pelvis when you thought you’re going to pass out soon.

“Just a moment more, baby. I know you can take it.” He said through gritted teeth. Jungkook was panting loudly, mixing it with loud moans of your name.

“Fuck, Y/N. You’re my heaven.” Your nails were scratching his abdomen, trying to break free, but his hold was too strong. You were drooling all over his cock, and your hand started to spin from the lack of oxygen and how quickly your head was bobbing.

He was getting dangerously close and his sloppy movements reflected that. He managed to pull one last thrust before he was cumming down your throat. He was letting his dick soften, pressed on your tongue while the hot semen was springing out of his tip.

“Swallow.”

The night wore on, shadows dancing on the walls as you lay there, pressed to his chest, his hand limply laying on your hip, contemplating the surreal turn you took.

If anything arose in you during the intercourse you wish you would wipe out of your mind, it was a determination to break free from the suffocating grasp of the penthouse.

Jungkook laid beside you, his breathing steady, a façade of tranquillity painted on his features. As he drifted into a seemingly serene slumber, you waited for the right moment to seize the opportunity.

When you were certain he was deeply asleep, you carefully extricated yourself from his embrace, a shiver running down your spine as you tiptoed through the room.

The moon cast a pale glow through the sheer curtains, guiding your movements as you tiptoed across the room. Your hand grasped the cold doorknob, the soft creaking of the door threatened to betray your escape. Your body frozen in time, your pupils shaking, fearing what happens if he wakes up. You wait a minute to make sure he is not coming to drag you back before you open the door in one swift movement.

You rethought the tasks you listed in your plan. Find the portfolio and get the fuck out as quick as possible. Everything else is replaceable for you. The mindset that the portfolio is the only key to all your problems, remained.

The adrenaline surged through your veins, the pulse of your heart echoing in the quiet hallway you walked through to get to the front of the penthouse.

He never took you upstairs, therefore you assumed that’s where he must’ve hidden it.

You approached the staircase, the carpet soft beneath your feet. The air seemed to grow heavier with every ascending step. The possibility of him waking up was not zero.

As you reached the upper level, you noticed the subtle shift in the ambiance. The hallway, adorned with pieces of art that whispered tales of luxury, and all his awards he won during his career, displayed to show his success. You passed several open doors, a home recording studio in one of them, be ridden of what you were looking for.

The hallway led you towards a set of double doors. That must be it. The doors creaked open, your gaze scanning for any sign of your portfolio. Your eyes flickering between the meticulously arranged accolades and the sprawling desk. He must be using this room as his office.

The seconds stretched into minutes, the urgency escalating with each passing heartbeat. You began with the drawers of the glass table, trying to be as quiet as possible. You cannot afford to cause commotion.

Anxiety wrapped around you, a vice tightening with every passing moment. You went through the library too, looked under every surface, you could not find it.

With a deep breath, you steadied yourself. There must be another place he could have hidden it. Your eyes fell upon the stack of papers, leaning your head to the side you examined the tabloid underneath with your face on it.

You fished it out in mere seconds, eyeing it unbelievably. If you were on the cover of a tabloid you would for sure know that. But you were not aware that your face appeared in Star magazine, right beside Jungkook. “Jungkook’s Mysterious Muse Revealed!” the headline screamed at you.

It was not only you after all. Society has convinced Jungkook that you two are sort of an item. A clandestine affair, a narrative spun by the society, linking your name with Jungkook’s in a tale of intrigue.

It was dated right when you started working on Klein’s campaign, back in April. It is almost the end of November now, and this is the first time you’re seeing this. You couldn’t fathom how deeply the web had been woven around you. The urgency of the situation intensified, and you combed through every conceivable hiding spot.

A sudden noise from downstairs snapped your attention. Fear gripped you, and your heart raced. Did he wake up? The urgency of the situation intensified, and you felt the weight of the clock ticking against you.

You sobbed and when you went to rub your eyes, they fell upon the other room diagonally from the one you were searching now. The doors were slightly ajar and you could see soft shades of colours within. In a last-ditch effort you marched towards it.

But ever stepping inside you regretted. The whole scenery that was revealed once you opened the door swiftly caught your breath in your throat.

The soft shades of colours painted a haunting picture—a baby room, unfinished and untouched by time. The sight startled you, sending a shiver down your spine. This can’t be.

“No..” You whispered to yourself, panicking. Your hands found their place in your hair. He is one delusional man. There is no other explanation, he is sick in the head if he thinks he is going to baby trap you.

A sense of dread overwhelmed you, and in your shock, you stumbled over something on the floor, hitting your head in the process. You groaned from the pain, forgetting that this commotion must have been loud enough for Jungkook to wake up.

As you rolled to the side, your eyes widened in disbelief. The portfolio was taped to the bottom of a cabinet. Without a second thought, you ripped it free, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

The rain outside intensified, a symphony of droplets against the windows. With the portfolio clutched in your hands, you ran down the stairs, right to the front door you prayed would not be locked. Would he be that careless? Yes. The degree of his mental instability was enough for him to believe that you are his and you would not think of running. He cut off every single option you had.

First, by making sure that your former employer would get to know you’re planning to leave the brand, enough for them to let you go. Second, he successfully obtained your portfolio that you were stupid enough to not make a copy of, which resulted in not meeting the deadline with Guess and losing that job opportunity too.

Third, he did not expect you to not stay the first you went to his penthouse but he was determined to go to extremes. So, every single fashion brand that had department stores in New York and in the rest of the world, backlisted you. No job application you sent, assistant buyer, a visibly lower position to what you had at Klein, would be turned down.

Fourth, make sure your landlord has already a tenant replacing you, ready to pay double for your apartment if they can move in as soon as possible.

That you’re alienated from your parents played his cards right and he never wished anything bad upon someone else, but how he thanked God that your friends have either too small apartments for another person to live in or they were struggling even more than you were. But lucky for you. He was right there, waiting for your call.

The handle felt too cold in your hand once you pushed the front door open merging the distance to the elevators, you were madly pushing the down button.

The seconds felt like an eternity as you waited for the elevator. Your breaths came in short, erratic bursts, mirroring the frenetic pace of your heart. Quickly stepping inside the metal box you heard it.

“Y/N?!” Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice. His eyes momentarily locked with yours. You were clutching your portfolio to your chest, the other hand pressing the close button, praying it will close faster.

He must have heard you running down the stairs, or perhaps when you tripped and fell. You even forgot that you’ve hurt yourself. The adrenaline was overshadowing the pain.

“Come back right now!” He was mad, that much you could tell.

With the last determined push, you closed the door on him, severing the visual link between you. Letting out a relieving breath, you knew that this is far from being over. The elevator descended, carrying you away from the penthouse.

He cannot make it all the way down in time before you’ll disappear from the area. You prayed, he would not.

The lobby welcomed you as the doors opened, the room blurred as you stormed towards the exit, your heart pounding in rhythm with the rain. You burst into the rain-soaked night. Clutching the book tightly, a surge of triumph coursed through your veins.

The cold drops pelted against your skin. The relentless downpour soaking your clothes and hair. Running towards the street, you waved at the cars, hoping a taxi would stop.

It took a minute for some yellow car to appear at the curb, not wasting time, you ran towards it.

A smile appeared on your face after a long time. You did not know where you’re going, nor what you’re going to do next but Jungkook was never supposed to be your option and now you got the chance to choose differently or not? This is your second chance, and you’re willing to take it.

Your hand touched the handle of the yellow vehicle, opening the door and planning to leap inside as quickly as possible.

A strong tattooed hand closed abruptly. You gulped down an enormous lump in your throat, almost not breathing. How could this happen? It was mere minutes. Did he run the stairs? Did you take too long to catch a cab? Should you just run as far as possible?

Every single thing you could have done differently would not change the outcome it seems. And every single thing worked out in his favour, again.

His palm pressed on the taxi door firm, you could not open it anymore nor he would let you hop in the front seat. Your heart pounded in your chest, the tension and fear to face him was killing you. The portfolio now felt like a burden, if you make peace with losing it and your career, would you avoid this?

You could feel his eyes burning holes to the back of your head.

“I will not go back.” You said, voice resolute, but inside you were shaking. You could feel his hot breath on your cold skin, similarly you could feel his body pressing to your back. Once he reached your ear, you felt his lips mere inches from it, whispering.

“You will.”

I N T E R L O G U E 

Jungkook settled into the plush leather chair after he finished carefully unpacking all your belongings, believing he is helping you to settle down. His fingers deftly dialled his mother’s number. As the phone rang, he gazed out over the city lights sprawling beneath him, a realm he had conquered with ruthless determination.

His new song, obviously written about you, was an enormous hit, granting him another Grammy nomination. But what was his success for when he did not have his love to share it with?

He smiled to himself, he got you. After long months of chasing you, then giving you the space you needed to realise he is your best shot in this world, you’re finally where you belong. Next to him.

The familiar voice of his mother greeted him, warm and comforting.

“Eomma—” Jungkook said, his tone affectionate.

“Jungkook, dear! How is my baby?” His mother’s voice held a blend of joy and concern.

“I’m doing well, Eomma. I have some news to share,” he said, his eyes glancing toward the bedroom where Y/N lay, unaware of the conversation taking place.

“Oh? Do tell,” his mother replied, anticipation evident in her voice. Jungkook leaned back, a subtle smile playing on his lips.

“Y/N moved in.” His mother’s delight was palpable through the phone. Jungkook let her know the very moment he stepped into your office that he is very much interested in you. That he met the special one he wants to grow old with.

As he spoke, he subtly weaved a narrative of love and destiny, carefully crafting the tale of their supposed connection. His mother listened attentively, hanging onto every word.

“Are you going to propose over Christmas like you wanted, Kookie?” His mother gasped with excitement. Jungkook glanced at the bedroom once more, satisfaction settling within him. The diamond ring well hidden deep inside of the closet. But that’s given and final in his mind, there’s something more he selfishly wants. Not only will it make sure you won’t be able to leave him any more, it will give you reason to grow to love him back. After all, he would be the only person who you can grow old with.

“We’re trying for a baby, Eomma.”

.

.

.

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @pamzn - @jaedayy - @mylyus-blog - @vanillacupcakefrosting - @jjeonjjk7 - @darkuni63 - @jeonaraathedreamer - @urlovelily - @kissyfacekoo - @looneybleus - @btspurplesky - @seokseokjinkim - @doulcha - @sexytholland - @minyngr - @mizuumii @ali99eel - @loomipee @jkslvsnella - @tearykth - @iveivory - @lachimolalajeon - @mother2monsters

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, 𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

#bts fanfic #bts #bts fic #soft yandere #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts jungkook #jungkook seven #jeon jungguk #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x calvin klein #jungkook x oc #jungkook x y/n #jungkook yandere #bts x reader #jungkook scenarios #bts jk #bangtan #bts smut #yandere bts #yandere jungkook #90s aesthetic #fashion au #heartthrob #fic: champagne confetti #Spotify

[exactlycleverpirate]

Why Did Rafayel Do That?

My theory on what could have motivated Rafayel's actions, one in particular, in Chapter 7.11.

Spoilers for Main Story, Myth, etc, below.

So, why does Rafayel consider leaving MC to drown?

One possible explanation is that he thinks MC betrayed him, which I touch on in my post What Happened to Lemuria and Rafayel.

However, I find this explanation lacking, and given what we see in his myth, I posit another explanation.

In both the Myth and with current Rafayel, they meet MC as children, and Rafayel makes a vow to seek her out again. And both Rafayels do seek her out late as adults.

In the Myth, Rafayel is conflicted. The God of the Sea has protected the Lemurians since time immemorable, but Rafayel is no longer the God of the Sea and the Seas have dried up. Given how connected Lemurians are to the sea, I don't think it is a stretch to say that without it, they will eventually all die out, or at least fall into eternal slumber.

This is what we learn will happen to Rafayel if he does not get his heart back. He gifted it to MC, but for some reason or other, being disconnected from it appears to have caused the sea to dry up and is causing Rafayel's power and life to fade away. Possibly this is magnified by the fact that all of Philos appears to be leaching immortality off of Rafayel's heart. (Just take a moment to consider with me the possibility that Xavier would not be alive if not for Rafayel.)

So the only known way of resolving this and returning to being the protector for his people that he is supposed to be, is to reclaim his heart from MC, by killing her.

Now, given some of the other parallels between the myth and current Rafayel, let's extend that out.

This Rafayel does not refer to himself as a god, but he does feel responsible for Lemuria and its downfall, as well as for avenging it and protecting the survivors. Louis refers to Lemuria as the Siren's (read Rafayel’s) kingdom. I think it very likely that he is at the very least a prince of Lemuria. I don't think his role has changed from what it was in the myth. He has always been and will always be Lemuria's protector in every life.

But he failed in his current life, and Lemuria has all but been wiped out. I speculate that this is because MC already has Rafayel's heart, and that he has therefore been weakened, leaving Lemuria vulnerable. (Perhaps Lemuria has been is decline in the shadows for hundreds or thousands of years, ever since he first gave her his heart.)

So just as myth Rafayel must contemplate, so too must current Rafayel consider that to save Lemuria, MC needs to die and relinquish his heart. Myth Rafayel seems to genuinely consider whether or not killing MC is the right path, rather than dismissing it out of hand. Perhaps the current Rafayel also is wrestling with this. Maybe if he just let go, just swam away and let nature take its course, maybe he could return to his rightful role and save Lemuria.

But in the end, he cannot do it. He is bound to her and loves her dearly, so even though the cost is high, he is determined to find an alternative.

(Also, MC in the myth has to give her heart to him willingly. Perhaps this is what Rafayel is alluding to when he says that this is MC's "choice" when he rescues her from drowning.)

TLDR: Rafayel has two loves, MC and Lemuria. For both current and Myth Rafayel, these loves come into conflict, and he wrestles with who to save.

What do you think? Does this theory hold water (pun intended)? Am I cookoo for coco puffs? Have your own theory? Let me know in the comments or PM me!

#love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel

[pretty-weird-ideas]

Trauma Porn vs Representing Black Struggle in IWTV

TW: Domestic Violence (Focus) Rape (mentioned 1x)

Spoilers for the IWTV AMC Series

I think a lot of the distraught or incredibly positive reactions to Episode 5 of IWTV’s ending from black fans is because of the noticeable lack of genuine representation of black IPV let alone black queer people facing IPV at all. So not only was the scene without a trigger warning and absolutely out of nowhere (with of course the obvious foreshadowing and Lestat’s abusive behavior setting it up) but it was something that has barely been done for mainstream genre TV.

So as a black fan, seeing violence towards black people (trauma porn) is certainly not new to me... but seeing black queer people’s stories focus on IPV is something that I haven’t seen. It leaves me incredibly conflicted in ways that cannot be transcribed.

Genre TV, media in general, and even reality has an obsession with whitewashing (pun unintended) IPV towards black people unless it’s specifically meant to degrade us and utilize racist stereotypes. Rarely ever does IPV towards queer black people get spoken about in real life, let alone in fiction. So for a story to just be for real for a hot minute about that topic is both disturbing and jaw dropping.

I oscillate between “I can’t believe they would ever put this on TV” and “I’m so glad that they made this a plotline because nobody talks about this,”. IPV perpetrated by white people towards their black partners especially from a historical context is not talked about. And it certainly is not the focus of period pieces or literature as often as it should be.

This is even being taken away from us TODAY in history books; centuries of rape and domestic violence from the slave trade to Jim Crow is being censored RIGHT NOW. This is not isolated behavior.

And to see white IWTV fans sidestep this entirely back during the final stretch of season one to complain that having Lestat (who canonically abused Louis in other ways) assault Louis somehow ruined LESTAT’S character and THEIR SHIP. While completely sidestepping what themes they were intending and got across (you know like genuine media literacy) and the onscreen brutalization that happened without warning is disgusting.

Being able to cherry pick quotes and argue about whether or not slapping is “DV” is not only gross but it’s just not media literacy. That’s literacy... like good job bestie you can read! But it’s certainly doesn’t mean you have the range or comprehension to understand the intended themes of Episode 5 at all. And until white people begin to understand the nuances of being a black person being abused by a white person who holds power over you, it’s going to continue being out of reach.

It’s one thing to dislike it’s inclusion, because I also agree. But I’ve noticed that The Great Lestat Discourse TM has become the discussion rather than the perspective of how white supremacy aided in perpetuating domestic violence and the choice to show gory and unflinching physical abuse without a trigger warning.

White fans being disingenuous and asking Louis to fade into the background until Lestat (the white character) becomes the focus for TVL. While constantly mocking and ignoring the concept of IPV towards black people makes the point for me as to why this was an interesting and purposeful direction to head in. IPV is so ignored that when IWTV includes it, fans went out of their way to argue whether or not their favorite white boy would DARE TO DO THIS, and not why the writers did this and what they were attempting to say. IPV and queer victims of abuse are so ignored that after this happened people started making posts talking about APOLOGIZING TO A FICTIONAL LESTAT for writers “slandering” him! Discussions about abuse in interracial relationships during Jim Crow are so far ignored that people started to publicly doubt that actual domestic violence in interracial relationships existed at all! So badly that the writers had to come out and say that they wouldn’t make Louis “not the victim” when recontextualizing episode 5.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #amc iwtv #TW:abuse #TW:Rape

[rosesrflo]

PAIRINGS: various!characters (MTP) x gn!reader. GENRE: fluff, slight crack.

PROMPT: ‘the floor is lava!’ WARNINGS: possible spoilers if you squint, headcanon format, unedited, lowercase intended.

#. SYNOPSIS: how would they react during a small game of ‘the floor is lava’?

even an illegal criminal organization that practically rules the underworld of london should be able to have fun every now and then, so it’s no wonder someone yells, “THE FLOOR IS LAVA!” any time they have the chance. each individuals reaction vary in many amusing ways — and your poor self ‘coincidentally’ gets dragged in every single time.

ever the slacker, MORAN is always the first to sprint to the nearest table or chair; depending on how hurried he is, he will either grab you and sling you over his shoulder, or pick you up bridal style, there’s no in between. nevertheless, 9/10 you end up in his arms as he tries to get off the floor, because there’s no way he’d leave his babe in lava. (it’s you, you’re the babe).

has an almost unfair advantage over most members due to his agility, FRED utterly dominates this game field — he has never lost the game and certainly doesn’t want you to either. so he grabs your hand and makes a run for it, if you can’t catch up, that’s fine because this guy has more strength in his body that he looks. he isn’t afraid to hoist you up and jump at the same time, of course he always places you on the furniture first, a real sweetheart.

though he doesn’t participate often, considering half the time he has a tea tray in one hand and a platter in the other, LOUIS let’s himself get clambered on as you search for refuge. he can and will balance the dishes whilst letting you jump on him, he refuses to have you stand in lava — this man is the standard, and an absolute gentleman.

another one that has you clinging on to him. WILLIAM is usually situated in his comfortable armchair, sipping on some warm tea when watching the amusing spectacle of the others scrambling across the room in search of furniture. he does not hesitate to let you clamber onto his lap, though his grip on your waist tightens so you don’t slip off.

being the dignified noble he his, ALBERT doesn’t join, instead, he spectates the chaotic scene like a play. but he wouldn’t deny you if you tugged on his arm, not giving him a chance to reply before pulling him on top a table, ‘saving him from the lava.’ he finds it mirthful, his arms will be loosely wrapped around your hips, holding you as you threw things at any remaining survivors.

his unpredictability is terrifying, especially if you’re his lover. unsurprisingly, he’s probably the one that called it out. you can never know whether JAMES will trip you up on his way to victory, or if he’ll pull you along with him. and if you do end up together, he keeps a hand on you, just in case you fall away, ‘a victory without you isn’t a win at all’ are his exact words. he invites you to hit people off their posts (moran), until he randomly shoves you off, as stated, he’s very unpredictable.

despite not having the ability of sight, he’s still very aware of his surroundings, and due to this, his other senses are enhanced. HERDER knows the entire room layout, he also has you to guide him, even though he doesn’t necessarily need it. sometimes, he pretends to be unable to navigate just so you hold his hand, a small smirk on his lips whilst you pull him close to you as you huddle together on one tiny stool. (you definitely notice it, he’s not as slick as he thinks).

MONEYPENNY is your free ticket from the lava, she’s not albert’s secretary for nothing, her position in MI6 is complimented by her physical prowess. as her partner, your safety is guaranteed, even though she herself doesn’t play much, she’ll definitely help you get to safety. although she stays composed, she’s mentally repeating to herself to help you out of the lava. the bae of baes.

THE DETECTIVES:

most of the cases he gets other than from the lord of crime bore him, so it’s no wonder SHERLOCK attempts to satiate his boredom by playing this game. of course he’s already lying on the couch, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as everyone’s yelling at him to move. the only person he’ll move for is you, he would watch you look around panicking then make a move, becoming you to him and pulls you against his chest.

she’s fiercely competitive in this game, the truth is, MISS HUDSON will help you from the lava as well. whilst waving her pan around, she easily climbs onto the table, taking you with her. she lets you throw the frying pan at sherlock, has a proud look on her face when you do.

this guy low key struggles because he’s too nice to shove someone off, but that’s alright because JOHN has you to do do it for him. with a small ‘sorry’ as you shove people into the lava, he’ll take part in sabotaging others if you ask him to though.

A/N: hey lovelies, it’s been a while, i kinda lost passion for writing, so i took a hiatus and this was originally just a side piece. probably still won’t be back on a daily basis, but i hope you enjoy this. have a good day/night. 🫶

#yuukuko no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #yuukuko no moriarty x reader #mtp x reader #moriarty x reader #william james moriarty #louis james moriarty #sebastian moran #fred porlock #jamesbonde #albert james moriarty #von herder #sherlock holmes #mtp james bond #mtp sherlock #william moriarty x reader #im finally feeding you content after months lol

[racefortheironthrone]

Would you put Louis XIV as overrated?

Oof, that's a tough one.

It's particularly hard to answer because the reign of the Sun King also saw the tenure of some of the most influential chief ministers in French history: Mazarin, and Colbert.

While perhaps not quite as famous as a certain cardinal whose schemes kept getting foiled by the Three Musketeers, these guys were world-historically important.

Mazarin was Richelieu's political heir, and brought his predecessor's policy of using the Thirty Years War as a way to break the back of Hapsburg dominance to a successful conclusion. The Peace of Westphalia not only served as the foundation for modern international relations, but also expanded France's position in Alsace and the Rhineland - especially when Mazarin pulled off an anti-Hapsburg alliance with the new League of the Rhine.

At the same time that France was winning the Franco-Spanish War, which won them a big chunk of territory in the Low Countries around Artois, Luxembourg, and parts of Flanders, and all of the territory north of the Pyrenees Mountains including French Catalonia. It also got Louis XIV the hand of Maria Teresa, which would eventually create the catalyst for the War of Spanish Succession and the War of Austrian Succession...

And while Mazarin was doing all of this, he was also busy crushing the Fronde uprising led by le Grand Condé, which he eventually accomplished in 1653, and creating a formidble system of centralized royal government through the intendants that ended the power of the feudal nobility.

As for Colbert, he was the guy who figured out how to pay for all of this. The single biggest reason why economists need to shut the fuck up when they talk about mercantilism, Colbert was the financial and economic genius of his age. Remember all those canals I'm so crazy about? Colbert built them. Specifically, he was responsible for the Canal des Deux Mers, transforming France's economy by linking the Mediterranean to the Atlantic.

He also turbo-charged France's economic development by restructing public debt to reduce interest payments and cracking down on tax farmers, reforming (although not ultimately solving) the taxation system of the Ancien Régime by using indirect taxes to get around tax evasion by the First and Second Estate, equalizing (but not ending) internal customs duties, and putting the power of the state into supporting French commerce and manufacturing. This included significant tariffs to support domestic producers, direct public investments into lace and silk manufacturing, and the creation of joint-stock corporations like the French East India Company. (This also meant Colbert's direct promotion of the slave trade and the Code Noir in order to generate hugely profitable investments in Haitian sugar and tobacco plantations for import into France and the rest of Europe.)

This makes it a little difficult to separate out what credit belongs to these guys versus the guy who hired them. What I can say is that Louis was directly responsible for Versailles, but also for the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.

#history #historical analysis #cardinal richelieu #cardinal mazarin #jean baptise colbert #louis xiv #versailles #french history #early modern history #economic development #mercantilism #political economy #early modern state-building #early modern period #early modern europe

[landhficrecs]

Asexual Character/s

Wouldn’t It Be Nice by pinkskies 36k

Louis goes to pride for the first time and meets a trans girl named Harry, who goes a little too hard and crashes on Louis’ sofa for the night. When he wakes up, she’s gone, and Louis doesn’t expect to ever see her again. Except he does. 

alternatively; Louis gets a job at a diner to pay for college, doesn't have a clue how to tell his parents that he’s asexual, and is almost positive Harry keeps accidentally running into him on purpose.

Talk with me, Walk with me by loulovehome 3k 

"I don't think sex entices me anymore."

AU where Louis and Harry’s relationship develops at the same time that Louis starts figuring out his asexuality.

Like to Keep You Laughing by kikikryslee 12k

Louis gasped. “Are you straight? Oh, I'm sorry, man. You should’ve just told me; I would’ve left you alone.”

“No, no, that’s not it," Harry said. "I like guys. I definitely like guys.”

“OK…”

“Louis, I’m ace.”

Louis snorted. “Kind of full of yourself, aren’t you?”

---

Or, the one where Louis is a frat boy who likes to hook up and Harry is someone who doesn't hook up ever.

Who would’ve thought? By iilarryii 9k

“Do you see the curly haired boy there?” Liam asks pointing across the room where a boy was standing with two girls.

Louis nods, “What about him?”

“Well I think that we should put your acting skills to work. I want to see how good you are,” Liam says smiling droopily. “So I want you to go over there and act like you're his boyfriend.”

Or a story between two boys who believed in love but didn't think that they could achieve it.

Inner Crisis by Neondiamond 5k

Louis calls an LGBTQ+ crisis hotline after coming out as asexual to his friends and family doesn’t quite go as well as he’d hoped. Harry answers his call.

Partners by 2Larry_Stylinson2 5k

Asexual Louis Tomlinson meets asexual Harry Styles at one of his college's queer clubs on campus and they hit it off right away. As they grow closer, however, they discover that their feelings for one another aren't exactly platonic anymore. But they aren't romantic or sexual either. In comes a queer-platonic relationship, brought to you by a game of truth or dare between four friends who were supposed to be studying.

Somebody Get Me Through This Nightmare by lululawrence 11k

“I am not subjecting you to my poor dog in his moment of vulnerability!” Louis cried. “That would be cruel to you, but also to Clifford.” Louis got up and started pacing again like he had been before. “He is so cuddly and honestly is also quite spoiled, and now he probably thinks I’ve abandoned him over this. And I essentially have! I’m serious, Harry, I close my eyes and the visuals of his bald head haunt me. God, how am I going to sleep tonight? I can’t even bring myself to walk back into the house.”

“You are always welcome to sleep on my couch if you need,” Harry offered immediately. “I still don’t think it’s quite as bad as you seem to believe it is, but I’d much rather you be next door than fifteen or twenty minutes away at someone else’s house.”

Louis was flooded with relief. “God, if you really don’t mind, I would really appreciate that.”

now you’re in my life (I can’t get you off my mind) by we_are_the_same 34k

Harry loves romance.

In theory, anyway.

He loves the romantic movies, the careful brush of fingers against the back of a neck, the hand holding and the endless gazes. He loves the possibilities, the tension and the wonder. He loves the idea of falling in love, finding someone to come home to.

In reality, it’s a little different. Because as much as Harry loves the concept of dating, the reality sucks.

making me sweat by honey_beeing 9k

A not-exactly University AU where Harry and Louis meet at an orgy where the both of them don't intend to have sex at.

Give me all of your love (something to dream about) by thetigersdinner 5k 

As his mind drifted off to sleep, he couldn't help but think that his life was perfect. There wasn't a single goddamn thing he would change. He had his career, and he had his friends, but most important of all, he had Louis. and Louis loved him exactly the way he was, and that's everything he could ever wish for.

_______________

OR

I couldn't sleep, so instead I wrote 5.5k words of Harry being asexual and louis loving him for it. enjoy!

Peach Blossom Has Just Begun To Bloom by flamboyo 4k

 Thoughts flood in, a mess of how are you this lovely and I'm gonna have to kiss you again and I'm not letting you go, hope you're alright with that, but what comes out of Louis' mouth is: "Shit, I got glitters all over you." * The Pride parade has always been Louis’ favorite event, but this year it gets even better when he happens to kiss a gorgeous, tattooed stranger. Losing sight of their friends, Louis and Harry decide to spend the march together talking about their identity and their pride, and eventually concluding to never let each other go.

@so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed @lululawrence @neondiamond @flamboyantommo

(Please @ the authors if you can xx)

#ao3 fanfic #hlficlibrary #larry fic #larry stylinson #larryfics #asexual #harry styles #louis tomlinson

[twelvedaysinaugust]

One question I have: I don’t see the point of such a social media strategy beyond, well, keeping Louis (and Harry) closeted. (And that definitely could be the goal.) Louis relies heavily on fan projects and engagement and most of his fans are Larries. We’ve always said that it seems like Louis and his team try to kill off his most dedicated fans during promo season. If the goal is to get rid of Larries and expand his fanbase, I don’t see much evidence of the latter.//

PR anon again. Clients don't always do what we advise them to do and sometimes they do go off script. I'm not saying I know everything about the situation or what Louis/his team intend, but I do want to make it clear that social media is a huge part of PR and while it may seem organic, it is not. The more organic it seems, the better we are at doing our job.

When I evaluate the Bentley situation, I see a great PR opportunity. It's rare to find a kid that knows your songs and seems to be a genuine fan. The mom is active on social media. The DMs and face time also hit the markers for Louis's fan engagement (personal, connected, same level, I need you/you need me). I think Louis wants to present himself as accessible to fans, but it does not mean that Louis is actually accessible to fans.

The wild card is Larry. If Louis were my client and he wanted to maintain this idea of accessibility with fans, I would advise him to control the interaction not only in person, but also within the social media landscape which is where he is most vulnerable. People will do lots of things on social media that they will not do in person. If those DMs are real (I tend to think they are based on how he approaches SM), he sets the tone immediately on Larry and then continues with the positive fan interaction. Louis and his team must have decided the positive promotion with Bentley was worth the Larry boundary. I do think boundary is the correct word. The DM was an intentional written interaction with the fan in hopes the message would reach a larger social media audience, like an influencer.

Why would he do this when most of his fans are Larries? I have thought about this from a lot of different angles. And the answer that makes the most sense to me is that I don't think anyone thought losing fans would be a risk. Louis has denied Larry before and he still has a large fan base dedicated to fan projects and they continue to be very engaged in his success. I think the intention of the DM is to draw a boundary about how Larry is discussed with Louis in person and/or on social media. It keeps him accessible to personal fan interaction and also attempts to control the interaction.

I think in the past, Louis has not been consistent with social media and at times, may have acted on his own or acted in defiance to a plan. I think since the pandemic, Louis has been more consistent in the story he wants to tell about his life publicly. I do see a more personal commitment to adhere to objectives surrounding his public image.

I think Louis wants to be close to fans, but also doesn't want to be close to fans. He wants to be close to them on his terms which can be quite difficult to navigate because people act all sorts of ways and can be unpredictable both in person and on social media. Louis does seem to excel at more 1:1 interaction and possibly his team is trying to play to his strength but in a way that doesn't harm him. I think Louis and his team are counting on fan loyalty to ignore the stuff they don't like (public Larry denials) and embrace the stuff they do like (personal Larry interaction at concerts). I think it's a gamble.

Thanks for coming back, anon. Very interesting thoughts. I think you’re probably correct.

#Louis’ DM

[allylikethecat]

“nightmares again?”

as an unfortunate sufferer of them often, i would love to hear your thoughts on this and pretend i have someone like one of the boys to comfort me 😪

The way I was like HELL YEAH I'm chipping away at these prompts! 🎉 Then I promptly reblogged another list and got more (which I am very excited about and will also get to eventually I promise) On that note, thank you so much for sending this in! I'm not sure if this is exactly what you were looking for, but alas here it is! Thank you for your patience as I took twelve thousand years to fill this prompt, I hope you like it! (If anyone else wants to submit a prompt from the late night prompts list, it can be found HERE I make no promises on WHEN I will be fill it, just that it will be filled eventually) Thank you again for sending this my way!! I hope you had a lovely day and that you have a wonderful week!

❤️Ally

WARNINGS: Nightmares, references made to drug use/ abuse / overdose, discussions of character death even though there is NOT any character death in this fic

“nightmares again?”

Matty frowned, pushing the blankets off his chest to sit up, reaching over the bedside table and turning on his reading lamp. His frown deepened when he realized that he was alone in the king size bed, George’s side of the mattress cool to the touch. He sighed, rubbing at his eyes groggily, before groping near blindly for his glasses. He slipped them onto his nose, and swallowed a yawn. 

He shivered as his bare feet hit the cement floor, and he shuffled in the dim light until he found his slippers. He felt like the old man in a horror movie, gray hair and all, trudging through his darkened home, wrapped in the red and blue plaid flannel robe that Louis had gotten him for Christmas the year before.

“Hey,” said Matty softly, not wanting to startle George, but accidentally doing so anyway. He looked up sharply from where he sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea, long since gone cold sitting in front of him. Matty yawned and hobbled over to the stove, intending to make them both a fresh cup, his knee protesting stiffly after spending the last few hours in bed. 

“What are you doing up?” George asked softly, tracking Matty’s movements as he stood on his tiptoes, reaching to retrieve two fresh mugs from the top cabinet. His robe fell open as he stretched giving George a lovely view of his tattooed chest and toned stomach. 

“Could ask you the same question,” said Matty, setting the mugs down on the counter. George looked down at the wooden surface, his cheeks pink.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said at last, “and I didn’t want to wake you up with my tossing and turning.” 

“You know I can’t sleep without you anyway,” Matty said, coming up behind George and wrapping his arms around the younger man’s broad shoulders. He pressed a kiss to his cheek savoring the warmth of George’s back as it pressed against Matty’s chest. 

George just hummed in response, taking one of Matty’s hands in his own, holding tight, swiping his thumb back and forth against Matty’s palm as if trying to memorize the divots of his lifelines. 

“Nightmares again?” Matty whispered, hesitating to break the calm that had settled over the kitchen, but needing to know. George nodded, giving Matty’s hand a squeeze. 

“Yeah,” said George, his voice hoarse, “yeah.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Matty asked softly, sometimes George wanted to talk about his nightmares, other times he just wanted Matty near. George sniffled, and Matty’s heart broke. 

“You were dead,” he said quietly, “you ODed and I was too late,” he let go of Matty’s hand to swipe at his eyes and Matty took advantage of the shift in position to drop down onto the bench next to George, wrapping his arms around George’s hulking frame as he curled into himself, then into Matty’s chest. 

“It was just a nightmare,” said Matty, “I’m alright, I’m right here.” He took George’s hand maneuvering it to press it against his bare skin, letting George feel the rise and fall of his chest. The steady beat of his heart. 

“I know,” said George wetly, “I know, but it's just,” he took a shaky breath, “it was so real, and, and it could have been real. If I had been a few minutes later—”

“No,” said Matty, pressing harder on George’s hand. “No, stop that, I’m right here.” He took a deep breath George hand moving out then in with his lungs as he exhaled. “I’m alright,” he said, his own words growing watery as silent tears streamed down George’s cheeks. 

“I know,” said George, leaning forward to bury his face in George’s shoulder. “But, but if I had been just a little later, if I planned on stopping for coffee but it was raining and I was lazy, if I had stopped it would have been too late and you would be gone, I would have had to find your body.” George hiccuped wetly, his breath hot against Matty’s skin. 

“But you didn’t,” said Matty, rubbing what he hoped were soothing circles against George’s back. “And that was a long time ago, I’m okay, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere as long as you’ll have me.” 

“It just,” said George, “it felt so real.” 

“Fuck,” said Matty taking a shaky breath of his own, “fuck, I’m so sorry for putting you through all of that, I was selfish, and it’s keeping you awake even years later, and I’m so sorry.” 

“No,” said George, “no, you don’t have to be sorry, it wasn’t your fault, you were sick, I should be over it by now—”

The tea kettle whistled, and Matty apologized, detangling himself from George and quickly pouring the piping hot water into the mugs, then adding a drizzle of honey before bringing them back over and setting them on the table. 

“I’m sorry,” Matty said quietly, nudging the mug towards George. “I’m sorry that I put you through that, and that it’s haunting you even now.”

George gave Matty a watery smile. “As long as you’re still here to haunt me in person.” 

Matty chuckled, and leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to George’s dry lips. “Forever and always.” 

#allylikethecat #ask ally #anon ask #keep it kind #fanfiction #matty fic #gatty #fanfic #late night prompts #late night prompt #late night prompt fill #late night prompt fills #prompt fill #prompt fills #not sure if you were looking for gatty but alas that is all i know how to write anymore apparently #so that's what we have ended up with #i hope you like it!! #thank you for sending it my way! #i know this was a newer one #but i couldnt get the idea of fictional!george having nightmares out of my head #i will try and get another prompt or two done this week

[gardenofkore]

"I am Manfredi, grandson to the Queen Costanza: whence I pray thee, when return'd, To my fair daughter go, the parent glad Of Aragonia and Sicilia's pride; And of the truth inform her, if of me Aught else be told. [...]

Look therefore if thou canst advance my bliss; Revealing to my good Costanza, how Thou hast beheld me, and beside the terms Laid on me of that interdict; for here By means of those below much profit comes.

Dante Alighieri, Divine Comedy, Purgatory, III, 112-117 & 141-145   

Costanza was born around 1249 to Manfredi of Sicily and his first wife Beatrice of Savoy ("et filiam suam Constantiam, quam ex prima consorte sua Beatrice filiam quondam A. Comitis Sabaudiae"). The exact date is unknown, but historian Saba Malaspina attests that when she was born, her grandfather was still alive (“imperatore vivente"). As for the place, it might have been one of the Apulian castles where the Emperor settled down in the last period of his life.

Her wet nurse was Bella d’Amico, mother of admiral Roger of Lauria. Bella, while she was alive, never parted from Costanza, acting like a mother and confidante, especially since Beatrice of Savoy, Manfredi’s first wife, had died when her daughter was just months old.

Nothing is known about Costanza’s childhood. She’s first mentioned when Berthold von Hohenburg asked for her hand on behalf of his nephew Januarius, son of his brother Diepold VIII. Berthold had married Isotta Lancia, cousin of Manfredi’s mother Bianca, and certainly intended to deepen his relationship with the Hohenstaufen’s family. Manfredi, on the other hand, was strenghtening his position (to the point he would be crowned on August 1258 King of Sicily, despite the true heir, his nephew Corradino was still very much alive, although far away in Germany) and so he could afford to reject this marriage proposal.

From a princess of low importance (despite the pretentious name which honored her great-grandmother Costanza I), Costanza soon became a valuable asset and, until Manfredi’s second marriage to Epirote princess Elena Angelina Doukaina, her father’s heir. The Sicilian King then started looking for an important match for his daughter, and ended up selecting Peter, son of Aragonese King James I.

Marriage agreements required that Manfredi supplied his daughter of a dowry of 50000 golden ounces (worth in gold, silver and jewels). On the other hand, the Aragonese crown committed to return the dowry to her family if Costanza were to die without heirs. She would also act as regent for her children (until they were 20 years old) in case Peter were to die before her. In addition, the Sicilian princess was given personal ownership of the city of Girona and the castle of Cotlliure.

Still, the future union presented some problems. First of all, that 50000 golden ounces dowry was indeed a large amount. Manfredi had an hard time collecting it (he had to increase taxes and that spread discontent among the population) and a lot of time passed before the Aragonese crown could collect it (alongside with the bride). The Papacy was obviously against this marriage, and Urban IV asked James I to give up to this union to avoid disgracing his House. Furthermore, in order to save the plans of the future marriage between his daughter Isabella and the heir to the French throne, James had to promise King Louis IX to not support Manfredi in his fight against the Papacy, as well as not helping Provençal rebel Bonifaci VI de Castellana against Charles of Anjou (the King’s younger brother).

Despite all the external pressure, James didn’t give up to the Sicilian match and on July 13th 1262, Peter and Costanza got married in the church of Notre-Dame des Tables (Montpellier). The difference between the lavish Hohenstaufen court and the more simple Aragonese one was huge (“And the said King Manfred lived more magnificently that any lord in the world, and with greater doings, and with greater expenditure”), but thanks to the accounting records of the time, we know that James and Peter tried their best to meet Costanza’s need, purchasing large amounts of luxury items. Since the incomes deriving from Girona and Cotlliure weren’t enough, she was given an annual pension worthy of 30000 Real de Valencia (a type of billon coin) which also soon wasn’t enough to cover the expenses. 

Following the death of Manfredi in the Battle of Tagliacozzo (1266) against Charles of Anjou, many of his former supporters (or simply people linked to him, like the former Nicaean Empress as well as his sister Costanza) fled the Kingdom of Sicily and took refuge in Aragon. The death of Corradino (executed in Naples in 1268 by order of Charles after the Battle of Benevento) and the fact that Manfredi’s sons from Helena Doukaina were just children and in French hands (they will die in captivity years later), made Costanza the only legitimate heir to the Sicilian crown. Starting this moment Costanza started being referred as queen (not infanta or madama) in the documents of the Aragonese Chancellery.

In 1276 James I died, and so Peter was crowned king of Aragon. In the meantime, Costanza had already given birth in 1265 (November 4th) to the firstborn and heir, Alfonso. Followed by another male, James (April 10th 1267), and then Isabella, future Queen consort of Portugal (1271), Frederick (December 13th 1272), Yolanda (1273) and finally Peter (1275). According to historian Muntaner, although it wasn’t a love marriage, Peter and Costanza came to care for each a lot and “there were never was so great love between husband and wife as there was between them, and always had been”.

On Easter 1282, Sicilians started their revolt against the French rule, starting the so called Sicilian Vespers. Peter was quick to reclaim the crown of Sicily and Apulia on behalf of his wife. To the eyes of many Sicilian nobles the King of Aragon could be considered their legitimated master due his marriage to Queen Costanza (”nostre natural senyor, per raho de la regina e de sos fills” ). Before leaving headed for Africa (from where he would launch his invasion of Sicily), Peter named Costanza and their son Alfonso regents of the Kingdom of Aragon during his absence. As soon as he took possession of the island, Peter asked his wife and their children James, Frederick and Yolanda to join him. When the Queen arrived in Trapani in the spring of 1283, she received a warm welcome and was saluted by the people as their natural leader (”cela qui era lur dona natural”;  Bernat Desclot, Llibre del rei en Pere d'Aragó e dels seus antecessors passats, ch. 103).

It is around this period that her strained relationship with lady-in-waiting and de facto second lady of the Island, Macalda di Scaletta (wife of Alaimo da Lentini, Grand Justiciar of the Kingdom of Sicily), was born. Macalda, who is described by historical sources as an ambitious and greedy woman, had tried to seduce Peter of Aragon, but without success. Since the King had declared himself devoted to his wife, the Sicilian baroness developed a burning hate towards her rival, the Queen.

In Messina, Costanza could finally embrance her husband again, but their meeting only lasted three days and it was their last. The King named his wife Regent of the Kingdom of Sicily (“Quant lo rey hac estat ab sa muller e ab sos infants en la ciutat de Mecina, e hac stablit sos balles e sos vicaris per tota Cecilia, si los feu comandament que tots fessen lo manament de la reyna e de son fill En Jaume, axi com perell, e comana la reyna als homens de Cecilia e de Mecina, e sos fills”) and returned to Aragon as his rival, Charles of Anjou, had proposed a trial by combat (who would never take take place) to be ideally fought in Bordeaux to decide the fate of the contended Kingdom. Peter died two years later in Villafranca del Penedès (Catalonia), on November 11th 1285.

Before leaving Sicily, Peter had declared that the Kingdom wouldn’t be merged into the Aragonese-Catalan territories, mantaining his autonomy, and that in thet future the succession of the two reigns would be handled separately, specifically with the Sicilian throne bequeated to the second son (at that time, James, already named Lieutenant of the Realm).

With Peter dead, Costanza didn’t choose to rule over Sicily by herself despite being its titular queen, but, as it had already been decided, relinquished her rights to her second son James (although she would keep managing the island on his behalf), while Alfonso succeeded his father. In accord to the pre-nuptial arrangements, the Dowager Queen supported her teen son in the matter of ruling the Kingdoms he had inherited.

In 1284, Costanza’s milk brother, Roger of Lauria carried out a successful expedition in the Gulf of Naples. The admiral captured Charles of Salerno, the Angevin heir, and took him in Messina, where he was saved by the angry mob thanks to the intervention of the Dowager Queen. During the same raid, Lauria had freed Princess Beatrice of Hohenstaufen, Costanza’s younger half-sister. The Queen soon put her unfortunate sister under her protection, arranging Beatrice’s marriage with Costanza’s half-nephew, Manfredo IV Marquis of Saluzzo. The wedding was celebrated in October 1286 in Messina, and during the celebration the Princess had to give up on her rights to the Sicilian throne.

In 1290 she deployed troops to defend the city of Acre, but given the excommunication of Pope Martin IV against Peter III of Aragon and the Sicilian people, those troops were sent back. The following year, 1291, Acre would be conquered by Mamluk forces.

Also that year, Alfonso III died heirless. James succeeded him as King of Aragon, Valencia and Majorca, Count of Roussillon, Cerdanya and Barcelona, and, in normal circumstances, his brother Frederick would have inherited the Sicilian Crown, but James had other ideas. The new King kept Sicily for himself, naming Frederick Lieutenant of the Realm. The dispossessed Prince then left the Kingdom headed to Sicily, where he joined his mother Costanza.

Her son’s death represented a turning point in her life. Although already a pious woman, she started pondering about a future in the cloister and retired in a Clarisse nunnery she had personally founded in Messina.

In 1295, James signed the Treaty of Anagni, an accord signed by Boniface VIII, James II of Aragon, James II of Majorca, Charles II of Anjou and Philip IV of France, which should have put to an end to the Vespers War. As part of the terms, the King of Aragon had to return the island of Sicily to the Pope (let’s remember the fact that officially, since Norman times, the Kingdom of Sicily was actually one of the Papacy’s many fiefs, and that its lords were just lieutenants), who would in turn give it to Charles of Anjou, in exchange for the annulment of the excommunication weighing over him and the concession of the licentia invadendi (the permission to invade) concerning the islands of Sardinia and Corsica. The treaty required moreover a double dinastic union, James would have married Princess Blanche of Anjou, while her brother Robert was wed to James’ sister Yolanda.

There was someone in particular, though, who wasn’t happy about this settlements. Backed up by the Sicilian population who refused to return under French domination, Infante Frederick was crowned King of Sicily in Palermo on March 25th 1296, de facto nullifyng any attempt to stop the war.

This had a huge impact in his mother’s life. Unlike her son, Costanza had always recognized the Papal authority. By not accepting the treaty’s terms, Frederick had in fact rebelled against the Pope (not mentioning his own brother). Costanza chose then not to support him and, because of this, she had to leave Sicily since, as Papal emissaries put it, if she stayed she could be considered an accomplice (“E madona la regina Costança fo absolta per lo Papa, é tots aquells qui eren de sa companyia , si que tots dies oya missa; que axi ho hach a fer lo Papa, per convinença a les paus quel senyor rey Darago feu ab ell. Per que madona la regina parti de Sicilia ab deu galees , e anassen en Roma per pelegrinatge” in Crónica de Ramon Muntaner, ch CLXXXV).

Together with her longtime supporters, Giovanni da Procida and Roger of Lauria, in february 1297, she traveled to Rome where the Pope had promised to economically support her staying in Rome (although apparently it was a short-lived promise) and where she witnessed her daughter Yolanda’s marriage to Robert of Anjou. In 1299 the Dowager Queen returned to Catalonia and died in Barcelona on April 8th 1302 (“Non sine cordis amaritudine vobis presentibus intimamus quod die Veneris Sancta, quasi in media nocte, serenissima et karissima domina et mater nostra domina Constancia, fidelis recordacionis Aragonum regina, diem clausit extremum, ex quo tanto nos pungit doloris ictus acerbus quanto per eius obitum sentimus nos tante matris solacio destitutos.” in La muerte en la Casa Real de Aragón..., p.20). 

Aside from many donations to various religious houses, in her will (dated february 1st 1299) Queen Costanza would include a small bequest in favor of her son Frederick with the condition he had to make peace with the Pope, observing thus the terms of the Treaty of Anagni.

She was buried wearing the Franciscan habit in the convent of St. Francis in Barcelona (“E a Barcelona ella fina , e lexas a la casa dels frares menors, ab son fill lo rey Nanfos, e muri menoreta vestida ” Crónica de Ramon Muntaner, ch CLXXXV). In 1852 her remains would be moved to Barcelona Cathedral by order of Queen Isabella II of Spain.

Sources

Claramunt Rodríguez Salvador, Alfonso III de Aragón

Corrao Pietro, PIETRO I di Sicilia, III d'Aragona in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, vol. 83

Desclot Bernat, Crónica

Ferrer Mallol María Teresa, Constanza de Sicilia

Hinojosa Montalvo José, Jaime II

La Mantia Giuseppe, FEDERICO II d'Aragona, re di Sicilia in Enciclopedia Italiana

La muerte en la Casa Real de Aragón Cartas de condolencia y anunciadoras de fallecimientos (siglos XIII al XVI), ARCHIVO DE LA CORONA DE ARAGÓN

Malaspina Saba, Rerum Sicularum

Muntaner Ramon, Crónica / translation by Lady Goodenough

Sicily/Naples: Counts & Kings

Walter Ingeborg, COSTANZA di Svevia, regina d'Aragona e di Sicilia in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, vol. 30

#historicwomendaily #history #women #history of women #historical women #costanza ii #House of Hohenstaufen #house of aragon and sicily #peter iii of aragon #norman swabian sicily #aragonese-spanish sicily #people of sicily #women of sicily #vespri siciliani #myedit #historyedit

[annonmaly]

Let's talk about these creepy masked dudes, or as their official name, The parade of Charlatan. In my mind, I never considered these guys as an imagination or a nightmare. Sometimes, I think that they are lost souls of dead vampires. Other times I think they are the victims of the catastrophe that resulted from the babel experiment. However, the thought that's winning in my mind now is that these creepy masked dudes are the "stolen true names" If you're bored and have lots of to spare for my 3 am rambling, you may continue reading. If not, scroll ahead.

If we think about it, Naenia's goal is to steal true names of the vampire, not to kill them. According to the dictionary stealing is to take (another person's property) without permission or legal right and without intending to return it. Therefore, these names must be in her possession, and maybe it's in plain sight, like maybe, they become part of the Parade. This idea is heavily inspired by FMA (I'm rereading the series, but part of my mind is still thinking about VnC, well, alchemy is also incorporated in vnc so this is inevitable)

This is the scene where Ed realized that there's hope after all, there's still a chance to achieve their goal of bring back their original body. (If your not familiar with FMA, google it) Now, to sum up Ed's very long explanation.

The soul inside Armor Al is a real soul since he has past memories before becoming a walking empty armor

Al is creating new memories even though he's just a soul inside an armor, he has no physical brain where memories is stored.

Conclusion: Al's physical body is still existing out there.

Also note that Ed mentioned that the mind is the one connecting the body and soul.

Ed mentioned that in alchemy there are three things in humans, the soul, body and mind. This is actually a real principle in alchemy called "Tria Prima". The Tria Prima, also known as the "Three Primes" or "Three Principles," is a concept rooted in alchemical philosophy. It represents the fundamental elements of all matter and is attributed to the Swiss physician and alchemist Paracelsus (Now you know why I'm inspired). It suggests that everything in the world is made up of three fundamental elements: Salt, which is the solid part like the body; Mercury (Memory), which is the fluid and changing part like the life force; and Sulfur, which is the fiery and active part like the emotions and soul. Balancing these elements is believed to lead to transformation and harmony in both substances and ourselves. Just like in alchemy, where the balance and harmonization of the Tria Prima lead to transformation and enlightenment, achieving a balanced state of these three principles within the human body is considered vital for overall well-being and personal growth. In holistic approaches to health, understanding and addressing the physical, energetic, and emotional aspects of individuals are often seen as crucial for promoting optimal health and vitality.

Going back to the parade of Charlatan, we know that the memories, body, and soul (true names) is important. And I think that the true names (soul) can't be stolen by just rewriting one's formula. So, I think the their modus is:

Naenia will curse the vampire by tampering the formula within them

The cursed vampires would be beheaded, separating the brain where the memories is stored (Remember Ed said that the mind is the one connecting the body and soul.) We know that Ruthven is part of the group and he has a high ranking position in the vampire world so he has the power. Therefore, they may created the rule that the cursed vampire could only be beheaded to help their scheme of stealing names.

Without memories, the true names (soul) of the vampire will be part of the parade (Yeah, I'm pushing the Louis is still out there agenda)

Back in Gavaudan, when Chloe tried to give Naenia a physical body, Vani specifically warned her that they shouldn't make the former who she is, because as revealed later, the death bringer is Faustina. Additionally, as shown by Amelia and Thomas, they can't remember anything when their malnomen is acting up. This is just a proof that someone that's part of the parade or on the process of being one, has their memories cut off to disconnect the body from a soul. This may also be one of the reason why Naenia can't easily take Noe's name since the latter has a problem with his memories.

Now, why does the charlatan collect true names (souls)? The answer that I could think of is that Ruthven and co. need to use them as an ingredient for their goal. They may want to rewrite the humans formula and transform them to be a vampire or vice versa, revive someone, commit genocide, or etc. However it is clear that there are preparation needed to do what they want, like the crazy doctor's experiment, the thing they stole in Gevaudan, and maybe the true names they stole are included.

#vnc #vanitas no carte #vnc thoughts

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Colin Wright

Published: Aug 28, 2023

One might think the fact that the medical establishment is endorsing and performing experimental, irreversible, and often sterilizing medical procedures on children would be an immense journalistic discovery. But a recent New York Times article—investigating allegations made by Jamie Reed, a former case manager at the Washington University Transgender Center at St. Louis Children’s Hospital who blew the whistle on medical malpractice at the clinic traveling under the guise of “gender-affirming care”—downplays the results of that discovery in a way that privileges personal testimony over evidence.

Reed’s allegations were numerous. She claimed that the clinic was inundated with requests for transition services without adequate protocols to handle them, that patients were hastily approved for transitioning despite notable mental-health comorbidities, that individuals were not fully briefed on the risks and side effects of their prescribed medications, and that any opposition within the clinic was quelled. As Leor Sapir observes, the Times investigation corroborated most of Reed’s claims. A discerning reader who cuts through the article’s euphemisms and sidesteps the author’s political asides would discern as much.

Indeed, the newspaper of record has verified concerns that critics of “gender-affirming care” have raised for years. The current influx of trans-identified youth, primarily girls with no previous gender-related distress, symbolizes a fresh patient group exhibiting a new and as-yet-unstudied form of gender dysphoria. Gender-affirming care is experimental, with no long-term, rigorous studies demonstrating its advantages over the many obvious risks.

Yet throughout, the Times article alludes to the realities of pediatric gender medicine, while simultaneously obscuring them. Consider some representative quotes.

[A]ccording to an internal presentation from 2021, 73 percent of new patients were identified as girls at birth. Gender clinics in Western Europe, Canada and the United States have reported a similarly disproportionate sex skew that has bewildered clinicians.

Here, the Times concedes that the children currently fueling the unprecedented surge in gender-clinic referrals differ significantly from the group (natal males) that the original, ostensibly more cautious, “Dutch protocol” for pediatric sex-trait modification was intended to serve. As a Reuters investigation recently revealed, U.S. gender clinics aren’t adhering even to the Dutch approach. Instead, they’re adopting a less rigorous, highly medicalized “gender-affirming” model, which entails automatic social transition and on-demand puberty blockers, cross-sex hormones, and surgeries. Considering that this form of gender dysphoria is new and rapid, it would seem prudent to gather more data about its possible causes before offering medical interventions.

Pediatric gender medicine is a nascent specialty, and few studies have tracked how patients fare in the long term, making it difficult for doctors to judge who is likely to benefit.

This dramatic understatement amounts to an admission that the current practice of “affirming” a child’s cross-sex identity with hormones and surgeries is completely experimental. It follows that advocates’ claims that such interventions are beneficial or “life-saving” are not based on any high-quality research. Those who have meticulously monitored the data have been aware of this from the beginning, and systematic reviews conducted in Sweden, Finland, and the U.K. support this view. Yet, despite such evidence, U.S. medical organizations, including the American Academy of Pediatrics, have obstinately maintained a pro-affirmation stance.

It’s clear the St. Louis clinic benefited many adolescents: Eighteen patients and parents said that their experiences there were overwhelmingly positive, and they refuted Ms. Reed’s depiction of it.

This particularly jarring statement showcases the post hoc, ergo propter hoc (“after this, therefore because of this”) fallacy: it presumes a causal relationship between phenomena merely because one follows the other. Being cautious of this fallacy, especially in the realm of human health, is fundamental to evidence-based medicine.

Few deny that many individuals are genuinely satisfied with the results of their hormonal or surgical transition. I’ve heard heartfelt accounts from minors stating that their mental well-being improved after gender-affirming treatment, and I don’t question their sincerity. However, modern medicine doesn’t—or shouldn’t—gauge the success of a treatment based purely on a patient’s personal testimony. Without comprehensive long-term-outcomes data and controlled experiments—which Ghorayshi acknowledges do not exist—it remains impossible to know whether the “positive” outcomes mentioned by the patients she references flow from the gender-affirming procedures or if the same contentment could have been achieved without resorting to body-altering hormones and surgery.

The Times article inadvertently suggests the importance of evidence-based medicine. Evaluating the effectiveness of a drug or surgery solely based on patient satisfaction constitutes a significant departure from its fundamental objectives. Were observers to start taking personal testimonies as sufficient evidence for the success of a medical treatment, the FDA would become obsolete. We’d all be forced to embrace the extravagant and pseudoscientific assertions of any self-styled health guru or medical quack.

Compare the use of testimony to support gender-affirming care at the St. Louis hospital with the Minnesota-based “healing center” known as Spring Forest Qigong (SFQ). SFQ champions the use of an ancient Chinese ritual called “external qigong” to heal the afflicted. According to its website, illnesses, or “dis-eases,” as they are fancifully labeled, are the result of “energy blockages within the body.” SFQ asserts that qigong is the magical wand that dispels these obstructions, thereby restoring the body’s “natural balance.” This involves the enigmatic Qigong Master Chunyi Lin waving his hands over one’s body, channeling energies and dissolving said blockages. If the idea of driving all the way to Minnesota for treatment seems tedious, fear not: Master Lin generously offers to transmit these energies and conduct qigong sessions over the phone.

The SFQ site provides links to several “scientific” articles from the Journal of Holistic Nursing and The American Journal of Chinese Medicine. These papers, apparently, endorse external qigong as an antidote for chronic pain. But for novices to the mystical realm of SFQ and qigong, the site offers glowing testimonials from satisfied SFQ customers.

One says: “I’ve tried different medicines. They gave relief but didn’t cure me. This season I’ve lived allergy free and I credit it to the [Spring Forest Qigong] Active Exercises I've been doing [for the past six months]. I didn’t take even one pill. Since there weren’t any other changes in my lifestyle, diet, or anything, I credit the [SFQ] active exercise. Channels were cleared, immune system adjusted and here I am, happy and allergy free.”

Another: “I was breathing into the shoulder and seeing the pain turn to air or smoke each night before I went to sleep, and it got better and better and better. I went back to the doctor months later and showed him the improvement. He said, ‘There is no way you should be able to do what you’re doing. You should be in excruciating pain. I can’t explain how you can do it, but whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.’”

Still another: “Chunyi Lin and Spring Forest have had an amazing impact on my life. It’s given me a way to live life more fully, happier. To me it’s a God send. The practice of Qigong is something everyone can benefit from. Once you have had an experience with Qigong you want to keep it a part of your life.”

One woman even says that qigong eradicated her Stage 4 breast cancer: “I rejected conventional cancer treatments from your classically trained oncologists because they didn’t work the first time. This time it was my life that hung in the balance and I was resolved to find alternative measures to find healing. And, fast forward, after six, seven months of both medical treatments and visiting with Master Lin in the Spring Forest Qigong Center I am completely healed. My cancer’s gone. My doctors call me a ‘walking miracle.’”

Should doctors and scientists view these “overwhelmingly positive” experiences as clear proof that Qigong Master Chunyi Lin healed these patients by simply waving his hands over their bodies (or through the phone) to dispel their energy blockages? Should we confidently endorse external qigong for people with Stage 4 breast or liver cancer? Probably not. Instead, we’d likely advocate for rigorous testing of external qigong through randomized control trials, demanding tangible evidence of its benefit before suggesting it could treat even minor ailments.

But if we’d be hesitant to accept these testimonials about how qigong cured some people’s energy imbalance, then why are many political progressives so quick to accept similar testimonials from minors who claim their mind-body imbalance was corrected after undergoing sex-trait modification procedures? Why is such testimony taken as definitive proof of these procedures’ benefits? Ideology couldn’t possibly be the reason—right?

==

By the way, this is intentional. It's part of the postmodern goal of deconstructing objective reality.

#Colin Wright #sex trait modification #genderwang #gender ideology #queer theory #medical scandal #anecdotal evidence #argument from anecdote #anecdote #Qigong #external qigong #alternative medicine #religion is a mental illness

[dolphin1812]

Hugo structures this chapter fairly clearly through its title: “Is Waterloo to be Considered Good?”

The short answer: no. The powers that defeated France at Waterloo weren’t interested in the rights of the people, but in bringing about a return to the old order. This meant reducing the size of French territories and placing a monarch in charge of the country again. Hugo specifies that while the monarchy was constitutional, this was “to the great regret” of the victors, who would have preferred a monarchy like the one before 1789. This constitutional order was a reluctant concession, nothing more.

Not wanting to stay on that somber note, though, Hugo argues that Progress will ultimately triumph, insisting that things always get better with time. He cites the example of Napoleon raising men from lower ranks to high positions in spite of his “despotism,” and Louis XVIII recognizing the rights of man even though he was a king. In short, the changes that began with the French Revolution continued to be felt. Waterloo was “counter-revolutionary,” but that time living with notions of equality continued to have an impact. 

This relates to Hugo’s broader claim about how rebellion/revolution is never in vain, even when it fails. Looking from a French republican perspective in 1815, the French Revolution had failed; the Republic had been replaced by Napoleon, and worst of all, Napoleon was replaced by a monarch, bringing France under royal rule once again. However, while there may no longer be a Republic, the idea of the Republic lives on in these shifts toward greater equality and the acknowledgment of the people. “Liberty” will eventually triumph, too, making resistance righteous even when it fails:

“The century that Waterloo was intended to arrest has pursued its march. That sinister victory was vanquished by liberty.”

The last line is supposed to be sad (”On the 18th of June, 1815, the mounted Robespierre was hurled from his saddle”) in that it conveys the end of the revolutionary period, but for some reason, I can’t imagine Robespierre being “hurled” off a horse? I envision him very slowly sliding off, which makes the ending difficult to take seriously in spite of Hugo’s clear writing here.

#les mis letters #lm 2.1.17 #waterloo #you can tell Hugo is a 19th century writer #when he capitalizes Progress #and Tomorrow #somewhat surprised liberty wasn't capitalized though

[qqueenofhades]

hi hilary! thank you for all your posts about the queen lately - they've been great to read and learn from! I wanted to ask, if it's okay.. there's a post going around about how the queen actually oversaw "decolonization efforts" rather than the opposite, and I'm just really not understanding where that idea came from? I don't think there's any truth there but am I missing something?

Okay, look. I know that attempting to combat malicious misinformation on the internet is like drinking the ocean through a straw while standing on your head in a diving bucket, but as a certified Old, I'm still alarmed by just how goddamn susceptible the younger generations are to straight-up imperialist propaganda, as long as it incorporates some string of socially "woke" buzzwords. Because an internet culture has developed where you have to be the most Progressive! at all times, whether or not you have a fucking clue what is going on or what any of it means in a larger historical, political, ideological, or social context, and where you always have to be Smarter! and More Informed! than the next person, people just... swallow this stuff??? While actually acting like they're doing literally anything except playing into the long-established right-wing psyops that know how to use social justice buzzwords in exactly this way, to get ostensibly progressive-aligned young people to adopt wildly revanchist, semi-fascist positions and call them "leftist." It drives me NUTS.

Anyway, as outlined in my other posts: yes, Elizabeth II was the monarch/head of state at the time where the British Empire devolved into the Commonwealth, and many former overseas colonies gained their independence as formal countries. However, some of them remained within the Commonwealth (still accepting the Queen as titular head of state, including large Anglicized settler-colonial states such as Canada, Australia, and New Zealand), and others were actively bribed and persuaded not to leave, or at least to stay within the remit of British sociocultural (and soft-power political) influence. The claim that because the Queen was head of state at the time this process happened, she was (positively) responsible for encouraging it, is almost a total (and I suspect, either deliberately misleading or actively stupid) inversion of the actual situation, as well as committing the basic logical fallacy that correlation does not equal causation. So:

In my initial post, I discussed (and linked to sources about) the incredibly brutal British concentration camps in Kenya, during the 1952-1960 uprising against British colonialism (and as we all know, QE2 became monarch in 1952, so this is is directly within the period of her reign). In the followup to that post, I pointed out how the sheer scale of unreconstructed, old-school imperialist violence made even its proponents uneasy enough that they undertook "Operation Legacy," which intended to sanitize British actions for posterity. This involved destroying almost all the records of their crimes, which also therefore involved destroying much of the new country of Kenya's physical history and ability to investigate its own past. I also pointed out that in the present day, historians still regularly encounter difficulties in researching what happened, due to the institutional culture of secrecy (and often open distaste/public scorn) that surrounds modern discussion of the British Empire's actual impacts.

Post-WWII British decolonization, especially in Africa, is obviously a complicated subject, but at no point was it the British government's first choice or something that they actively facilitated, rather than being grudgingly forced to accept by a variety of unfavorable (for them) political, economic, and social realities. In "The Imperialization of Decolonization," W.M. Roger Louis and Ronald Robinson challenge the common belief that Britain's destroyed post-WWII economy meant that they just had to let the colonies go without a fight (after all, that would be, theoretically, the time to clutch on even harder). Instead, they point out that even when Britain was previously in crisis, it was able to muster sufficient effort to crush rebellious or nationalist sentiment in their overseas holdings, and that "decolonization" as undertaken in the immediately-post-1945 period was certainly not intended to actually grant full or practical independence, but rather to rearrange British political priorities and frame the now-distasteful language of "empire" in something more modern. After all, having just fought a world war to defeat Hitler and his attempted global conquest, it was no longer acceptable to openly aspire to do the same thing, and the techniques and vocabulary had to change. But that doesn't mean that the now-Commonwealth actually wanted to give up that power, and they were pressed into doing it for different reasons.

The general British colonial policy or "mythology" was an intensely patriarchal, patronizing mindset that admitted some colonies, such as Ghana, were now "ready" for independence, now that the (superior) whites had "raised" the (inferior) Africans like children and thus made them more "civilized." This echoed several centuries of racist polemics and racist pseudo-science that presented slavery, colonialism, and imperialism as actually "good" for non-whites, since it allowed them to participate in "civilization," Christianity, and all the other supposed benefits that Europeans were bringing them. Some of the violence was perhaps distasteful, colonial apologists agreed, but what they were bringing (railways! Correct Government! Massive genocide!) was actually far preferable to the "savage" state that these people would have remained in without the good and generous angels of European colonialism. In other words, the "good" of colonialism outweighed the bad, and it was actually an altruistic project for the betterment of humankind, etc etc. Judging by the response to the Queen's death and the general feeling in the UK about the British Empire really being not that bad, that mindset is still intensely pervasive and damaging.

As I said, at no point did the British government actually attempt to help or encourage genuine liberation, or ever formally apologize for everything that it had done in terms of controlling its colonies. In 2006, Nigerian academic Hakeem Ibikunle Tijani was finally able to get his hands on official Foreign and Colonial Office documents that explicitly acknowledged how the UK power apparatus had actively worked to disrupt and demonize leftist, republican, anti-monarchical influence in Nigeria (another prized British possession in Africa). Tijani also echoes Louis and Robinson's point above about the pragmatic impetus for decolonization, in an attempt to salvage as much of the former arrangement as possible, rather than any attempt for active de-imperialization. As was summed up in a review of Tijani's book, Union Education in Nigeria: Labor, Empire, and Decolonization since 1945:

Chapter 2 details the considerable influence of leftist ideology in Nigeria from the 1920s onward. There was a shift in its public acceptability as post-World War II Nigeria became a significant arena in the battle for the hearts and minds of its inhabitants as Communism emerged as a nascent threat. As a result of this new threat and the increasing popularity of leftist ideology in Nigeria's environment of radical nationalism, anti-leftist measures proliferated as Britain sought to maintain its timeline for Nigerian decolonization. Chapter 3 picks up at this point and posits that Britain's agreement to Nigerian decolonization was not merely a result of the success of Nigerian nationalists. There was also rising pan-African identification, plummeting international favour regarding colonialism, and Great Britain's desire to foster and sustain a "special relationship" (p. 31) with the former colony, which would maintain capital flow and resource exploitation.

As I have pointed out, the "special relationship" that the Commonwealth likes to advertise itself as having with its former imperial territories is built both on previous material, financial, social, and cultural exploitation of those territories, and a desire to put a more socially acceptable public face on it. The recent anti-monarchy protests in Jamaica and Barbados pointed out that this so-called "special relationship" has done absolutely nothing for them; their nations get no benefits from their relationship with the UK, and Barbados recently completed its transition to an independent republic with an elected president as head of state, rather than the British monarch. While there is an obvious element of racism at play in all of these locales (Africa, the Caribbean, etc) the British monarchy also interfered in Australia in 1975 (see this ask) in order to discredit and dismiss a left-wing government that was viewed as having too-republican leanings and might seek to take Australia out of the Commonwealth. So it really was equal-opportunity tomfoolery.

Anyway: the queen was head of state during this whole time, and she was intimately aware of what was going on, due to both her public responsibilities (weekly conversations with the Prime Ministers who all made a point of acknowledging the value of her advice in shaping their official policy; privileged receipt of sensitive/secret state papers) and her behind-the-scenes interference in seeking to maintain a favorable legal climate for both the monarchy and her own private person and family. This included explicitly getting herself and the palace household exempted from civil-rights and anti-discrimination laws, and she never made any formal acknowledgement or historical atonement for the evils of the British Empire (because as noted, huge swathes of British society, especially elite society, still think it was a good thing and feel it was a "tragedy" that Britain was "forced" to let go of it). Britain pragmatically agreed to let go of most of its colonies at least in name, after previously being forced to fight several wars to protect its white settler-colonial interests (such as the Boer Wars in South Africa) and realizing that post-WWII, there was no capability or public desire to do that again. This, however, had nothing to do with a desire for genuine "decolonization" or loss of influence, and mostly involved efforts to rebrand it in a more palatable way, while doing their best to maintain the political interest and material benefits that stemmed from the original colonial power structure.

Tl;dr: QE2 was in no sense of the word a "decolonizer," should not be described as such (someone also tried to call her an anti-fascist because she drove ambulances during WWII against the Nazis, dontcha know!) and this argument relies on a larger and much more insidious strategy to turn ostensibly progressive young people into mouthpieces for right-wing imperialist fascism. Because if you criticize QE2 (bad!) and she was actually a decolonizer (good!) that makes you something something ACTUALLY AGAINST DECOLONIZATION!!! It's an incredibly shallow, stupid, and distorted way to actually look at the serious issues that have been brought up, and which the white supremacist establishment is doing its best to bury under images of the Kindly Old Grandma With Her Doggies. They want to make that the first thing you think of, they don't want you to actually look at the British Empire (including the parts of it that happened directly during QE2's reign) and definitely not to criticize it, and to lean into the Anglo-American "everyone loves the royal family!!!" celebrity-gossip machine that relies on you, again, forgetting, dismissing, or excusing every single bit (and then some) of what I have discussed above.

#anonymous #ask #history #british history #african history #history of racism #history of empire #long post

[mariacallous]

Russia and China vetoed a U.S.-sponsored resolution at the United Nations Security Council on Friday that urged a cease-fire in the Israel-Hamas war and the release of all remaining hostages in Gaza.

The text, which was supported by 10 other members of the 15-member Security Council, called on all parties in the conflict to abide by international humanitarian law and rejected any efforts to reduce the territory of Gaza through the creation of a security buffer zone, an idea that Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has put forward in his plan for Gaza’s postwar future.

The resolution is the latest sign of a subtle shift in the Biden administration’s stance on the war as it seeks to curb the spiraling humanitarian catastrophe in the besieged Palestinian territory. However, experts say it does not represent a meaningful departure from Washington’s long-standing support for Israel at the United Nations. 

“The U.S. was not attempting to make a fundamental shift in its policy at the U.N. over the war,” said Richard Gowan, the International Crisis Group’s U.N. director. 

Washington has historically used its position as a permanent member of the Security Council to defend Israel, including by exercising the U.S. veto. Friday was the fourth time the council held a vote on a cease-fire resolution since the start of the war. The previous three efforts were vetoed by the United States for failing to include language referring to Israel’s right to self-defense and for calling for an unconditional cease-fire that was not linked to the release of the remaining hostages held by Hamas. 

U.S. sponsorship of this latest resolution was likely intended to send a message to the Netanyahu government. “The mere fact that the U.S. was willing to do anything in the Security Council at all was a small signal to the Israelis to be cautious,” Gowan said. 

The Biden administration has stood by Israel in the wake of the Hamas attacks of Oct. 7, 2023, which saw 1,200 people killed and 240 people taken hostage, and has continued to provide the country with military aid in the face of mounting domestic and international criticism. 

At the same time, U.S. President Joe Biden has become increasingly frustrated by what he has described as the “indiscriminate” nature of Israel’s bombing campaign in Gaza and the throttling of humanitarian aid into the territory.

Even if the resolution had passed, it would likely have had little “operational impact,” said Louis Charbonneau, Human Rights Watch’s U.N. director, who noted that the text refrained from using some of the more forceful language seen in other similar Security Council resolutions. “If you wanted to have strong obligatory language, it would say ‘demands’ an ‘immediate and sustained cease-fire.’ It doesn’t say that,” Charbonneau said. 

Language used in Security Council resolutions is carefully calibrated, as even slight shifts in tone and word choice can carry significant diplomatic meaning. The 2,000-word U.S. resolution tabled on Friday, which refers to Israel by name only once, said the Security Council “determines the imperative of an immediate and sustained cease-fire.”

Russia and China cited that watered-down wording as a reason for their veto. Ahead of the vote, Russia’s U.N. ambassador, Vassily Nebenzia, said Moscow supported a cease-fire, but he described the U.S. resolution as an “empty rhetorical exercise.” China’s U.N. ambassador, Zhang Jun, made similar comments. “If the U.S. was serious about a cease-fire, it wouldn’t have vetoed time and again multiple council resolutions,” he said. “It wouldn’t have taken such a detour and played a game of words while being ambiguous and evasive on critical issues.”

Russia has faced increased scrutiny at the U.N. over the past two years for its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022. “The Russians, in particular, from the get-go used the war [in Gaza] as an opportunity to distract from their own behavior in Ukraine and put the U.S. on the back foot,” Gowan said.

Permanent council members have long wielded their vetoes to protect their interests and those of their allies, but they were often able to work effectively on other fronts. Now, tensions between Russia and the West are increasingly seeping into all areas of the council’s work, diplomats say.

More than 32,000 Palestinians have been killed since the start of the war, including some 13,000 children, according to Gaza’s health ministry, which is run by Hamas but whose casualty figures are regarded as broadly accurate. Israel has severely limited humanitarian aid into Gaza, which has left much of the population on the brink of a catastrophic famine, the World Bank warned this week. 

Friday’s vote at the Security Council came as U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken is in the Middle East on his sixth trip to the region since the war began. After a meeting in Cairo to discuss ongoing efforts to broker a cease-fire, Blinken said it would be a “mistake” for Israel to launch a planned ground offensive in the southern city of Rafah, where 1.4 million Palestinians have sought refuge from the conflict. 

A defiant Netanyahu said the operation would go ahead, with or without U.S. support. “I hope we will do it with the support of the U.S., but if we have to, we will do it alone,” he said.

[josefavomjaaga]

Napoleon, Joseph and the Tascher marriage

Just when I start to feel sympathy for Joseph, he keeps reminding me that the arseholey trait runs in the family…

As I mentioned earlier, Napoleon was peeved because a certain Jean Henri Robert Tascher de la Pagerie, one of the many cousins of discarded empress Josephine, had passed from his, Napoleon’s, service, to that of Joseph without Napoleon’s permission. Either because Tascher really was so madly in love with one Marcelle Clary, niece to Joseph’s wife Julie, as Napoleon seems to think, or maybe for other reasons (according to a footnote, Tascher had already attached himself to Joseph in 1806, i.e., in Naples). In any case Napoleon is not happy with him, as he writes to Eugène already in April 1810, after having told him details of yet another marriage of yet another Tascher boy (Pierre Claude Louis Robert).

Compiègne, 26 April 1810

[…] As to the other Tascher, I take no interest in him; he has failed me too badly for me to concern myself with him. This little rascal abandoned the French cockade in Madrid without notifying me, obeying an impulse of love, and forgetting all the duties he had towards me, especially before this circumstance. I am indifferent to what he does, to whom he marries, and I don't want to interfere at all. I do not speak of this to the Empress; but you know my principles on this matter; I shall never change them. I believe this young man to be frivolous and of a bad character. I send you back the letter from the King of Spain [Joseph]; I approve of what the Empress will do, but I do not want to give any sign of interest to an individual who has failed me.

He writes to Josephine in the same vein two days later:

Compiègne, 28 April 1810

[…] As to the other [Tascher], don’t talk to me about him, he has taken the red cockade [i.e., Joseph’s] without my order, I shall not receive him again.

So, seems like Monsieur l’Empereur feels slighted because this young man preferred Joseph over him. He also makes it clear that he is the one who gets to decide if somebody can join Joseph’s entourage or not. This is clearly a brother thing between Napoleon and Joseph.

(Did I mention that I get strong sibling rivalry vibes from everybody’s 1810 correspondence?)

Anyway, on to Joseph and how he felt about this matter. Obviously, he already had sounded out the Beauharnais side of the family about it at an earlier date, as Napoleon above writes about sending back one of Joseph’s letters that Eugène must have forwarded on to Napoleon. In July, Joseph writes to Julie:

Madrid, 16 July 1810

My dear friend, I have received your letter, brought by Tascher. His cousin [i.e., Joséphine] writes to me that the Emperor authorises him to marry your niece Marcelle; she agrees, according to what his brothers tell me. Tascher today has 50,000 livres of income in property, he has a position, he is honour itself: you must not hesitate to give him your niece; he is better than the option proposed to you.

I note that “honour” apparently has a lot to do with “income”, according to one Joseph Bonaparte. Also, there was apparently another marriage option that Julie may have preferred.

I therefore intend that Mademoiselle Marcelle should marry Monsieur Tascher, if she finds him suitable. I commit myself to him and his cousin [Josephine], to whom I do not want to break my word, less so today than at any other time [reference to the fact that Josephine has just gotten the boot by Napoleon]. Answer me in a precise manner, and Tascher will return to Paris.

Joseph repeats his explicit wish to make this marriage happen in a letter three weeks later, again to Julie:

Madrid, 8 August 1810

[…] I have written to you that I wish for Marcelle to marry Monsieur Tascher, who has just bought 40- to 50-thousand livres of income in biens nationaux [national assets, i.e., property seized by the state, most often from the clergy].

I think I want to introduce Joseph to Mrs Bennet from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. They should get along perfectly fine.

But let’s not be too harsh. After all, money is not Joseph’s only motivation. As he mentioned above, he also wants to show some support to poor Josephine in arranging this marriage for one of her relatives. Unless...

Madrid, 7 September 1810, again to Julie:

[…] If you felt that the Emperor did not want Tascher's marriage, no doubt against his will, it must not happen; in this case, he [i.e., Tascher] himself is too reasonable to enter into such a marriage: but the Empress Josephine has assured him otherwise.

Dear Julie, if it looks as if Napoleon is not happy with this, here’s your line of conduct: Tascher and Joseph are totally innocent. Just blame everything on Josephine.

Edit: Just so we know who the young lady in question is:

Marcelle Clary

#napoleon's family #joseph bonaparte #eugène beauharnais #empress josephine #tascher de la pagerie #spain 1810 #this whole family sucks raw eggs #can i blame laetitia for her sons' lack of moral education?

[fantasyinvader]

I’ve been wondering if there’s more to Edelgard’s Napoleon allusion than meets the eye. I mean, sure, Edelgard has Amyr adorned with the “Crest of the Beast,” suggesting she’s an antichrist figure much like how Napoleon was seen in the past over his ability to wage war (see War and Peace). Likewise, Edelgard is a villain while Napoleon was considered THE villain back in the day. Just look at Sir Arthur Conan Doyle hyping up Sherlock’s supposed last opponent Moriarty as “the Napoleon of crime” to see what I mean.

But what I’m thinking is how Edelgard is an absolute monarch (autocrat) whose rule is backed by the army. We see this in her Japanese ending, how Claude refers to her rule as “military rule” and her being identified as a hegemon in both Flower and Moon routes. But this rule comes after an insurrection that was meant to limit the power of the crown.

People tend to forget that feudalism isn’t just simply obeying what your king says. Titles such as dukes, counts, barons, knights are all granted with privileges, but those privileges must be respected by the monarch. It’s transactional, and if the monarch doesn’t honor his/her side of the bargain they’re liable to face uprisings. That’s why these things are backed by laws, traditions or customs. It’s not just “God says to follow this guy, so do it.” If the monarch simply tries to impose their will, it could very well lead to a civil war.

And in France, King Louis XIV/The Great/The Sun King went about weakening the nobility in this regard by centralizing power. He didn’t appoint someone as his prime minister, he did that work himself while at the same time using his charisma to get nobles to want to support him. The French nobility were too busy partying at his court, keeping them in Versailles rather than in their own lands where they ruled in his name. And while the nobles were busy, Louis XIV and his ministers went about overhauling France, taking power out of the hands of the nobility and instead putting it in the hands of selected intendents who were dependent on the king for their position.

In this context, Versailles sounds like Enbarr in how all the Imperial nobility are supposed to work out of the capital rather than their feifs. This also sounds a lot like how Edelgard frames her reforms. But if you know your history, it’s these reforms by Louis XIV that planted the seeds of the French Revolution. After all, he fed the decadence of the nobility in a time when things were good, decadence they refused to give up when times got bad. His successors also didn’t have the charisma to make this work for them.

The parallel here is Ionius, trying to consolidate power for himself and take it from the nobility. However, he appears to have lacked the charisma of the Sun King, leading to the Insurrection of the Seven. After all, he wasn’t performing his duties to his nobles and presumably his parties fucking sucked. Reforms are made to limit the powers of the monarch by corrupt individuals, each seeking to empower themselves rather than the people. Hell, these same nobles would want to join with Edelgard’s intended conquest of Fodlan in order to further their own authority, see Caspapa joining her in Houses in exchange for control of the former Alliance territories.

Sadly, this reflects how the French Revolution became corrupt, not living up to it’s own ideals and giving way to the Reign of Terror. We don’t really get much of a RoT in Fodlan, at least until Edelgard, the Napoleon figure, takes over. And of course, we can argue the hypocrisies of Napoleon and Edelgard. Whatever lofty ideals they talked about spreading didn’t really gel with their actions.

Patricia fleeing the Empire with Cornelia’s help calls to mind the Scarlet Pimpernel.

There’s also the Enlightenment angle. We have the whole Enlightenment/Nirvana symbolism with regards to Buddhism, but there’s also the European Age of Enlightenment. We have technological clues to suggest Fodlan is around the 1700’s in terms of development comparative to our world, such as the fact there’s children’s literature, with opera being from the 1600’s as well as the discovery of the speed of light. We have John Locke, believing that humans are inherently good and would work in the interest of society in opposition to the Church’s stance that people are naturally sinful and need guidance. There’s also the belief if we did away with the old order it would lead to a new golden age.

Those last two points remind anyone else of Edelgard? Bonus points, the end of the Napoleonic wars is said to be the end of the Age of Enlightenment.

Edelgard also restores the Church under her control after it was kicked out of the Empire over a hundred years prior. Reminds me of Napoleon bringing back the Catholic Church after the revolution tried to replace it with their Cult of Reason/Cult of the Supreme Being, but did so in a way he wouldn’t be under their control.

But it is known that when Napoleon was defeated, the people of the capital opened their doors to their enemies. They were sick of him and his endless wars. With regards to Edelgard, reach Enbarr and you can recruit a battalion of civilians to oppose her with Dorothea and Manuela. You don’t get that for any other lord. It’s meant to show that even her own people think she’s a tyrant, just like Napoleon was considered the first modern dictator. Both are also skilled at using propaganda, both ran police states (see Hubert about that one).

Invading a frozen country only for their capital to be set on fire as you take it?

Really feels like there was this effort to link Edelgard to a real person, one greatly debated by history, when you look at stuff like this. Too bad Fodlan didn't have a Horatio Hornblower, but to be fair he is a fictional character.