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live-laugh-loverpool · 1 year

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I Dare You To…

What happens when Liverpool FC gather together to play Truth or Dare on Valentine's Day? Chaos...

Tags: @millythegoat, @alissonbecksfan234, @moomin279, @rubybecker-rb2, @rist-mlts

The week had started off well for Liverpool. A win vs. Everton, one of their sworn enemies, had been the perfect present for the team.

With a few days until their next game, the boss decided to give the Liverpudlians Tuesday off. That particular Tuesday also happened to host a holiday--Valentine's Day. So what better way to celebrate than a game of Truth or Dare?

Henderson had been the one to propose the game, and the others had wholeheartedly agreed. Of course, with the game having been played in Liverpool for decades, there were a few team-specific traditions.

First of all, the bottle had to specifically match the occasion or holiday. This rule had been created by Steven Gerrard after a player had brought a sky blue bottle the day before they played Man. City. He'd called it bad luck, smashing the bottle in front of a young Henderson.

Secondly, everybody had to play on the dinner table. This was less of a superstition and more of a practicality, as no other table in Kirkby would fit all of the players at once and it was rather inconvenient to sit on the floor.

Third of all, best friends couldn't sit next to each other. The rule seemed odd at first glance, but it had been established after the "Bottlegate" scandal of 2008. Two players who had been close friends used their proximity to cheat in the game, helping each other in dares and offering false truths to avoid telling real confessions. Nowadays, players were arranged in ascending order of their kit numbers to avoid controversies.

There were some other, minor rules that often got changed depending on the captain or manager. But these were the three core rules, and they were called the Truth or Dare Tripod.

"Lads and men!" Henderson hoisted the bottle of choice in the air. It was a red, heart-engraved glass bottle that had been traditionally used for Valentine's Day Truth or Dare. "I hereby announce the beginning of Truth or Dare, Reds style!"

A mild smattering of applause circled around the table.

"Now." Henderson handed the bottle to a surprised Gakpo with a flourish. "It is tradition for the latest new goalscorer to spin the bottle first. Whoever the mouth of the bottle points towards is the one you ask the questions to. The questions are not pre-written--they must come from your own imagination. Remember, it's Valentine's Day, so some of the cheekier prompts would be appreciated!"

Milner rolled his eyes at Henderson's latest comment. "I'll pass the cheekiness, thank you.”

Gakpo made quick work of the process, spinning the bottle with a deft flick of his wrist. The bottle spun round and round until it pointed to Nunez. “Truth or Dare, Darwin?”

“Um…dare, I guess,” Nunez faltered. He’d seen enough truth or dare competitions between the team to know how crazy they could get, and he didn’t feel like confessing anything.

Gakpo paused to think before his eyes lit up, a mischievous grin stretching across his features. “Say ‘I love you’ to one of your best friends in their native language.”

“If you say so, then…” Nunez grabbed a microphone out of nowhere, standing on top of his chair. “S 'agapó, Kostas.”

A collective jaw-dropping ensued, and about thirty heads whipped around to stare at Tsimikas. The Greek, normally boisterous and loud, was trying his best to fight the blush on his cheeks.

“Alright, since I succeeded, it’s time for Kostas to answer me.” Nunez spun the bottle, and coincidentally the heart on the cap directly faced Tsimikas. “Truth or dare, Kosty?”

“Truth.”

Robertson gasped in delight, bouncing in his seat like a young child. “Ooh, you’re a bold one now, ain’t he mates? From blushing at a simple ‘I love you’ to confessing a truth.”

Tsimikas brushed Robertson’s observations aside with a scoff. “I’ll be fine.”

Nunez nodded, not revealing anything. “Then if you had to marry one person in here, who would it be?”

Tsimikas froze, all his previous confidence gone. “You’re seriously not going to make me propose?!”

“Nah, I wouldn’t do that to you. Just name the guy.”

“Fine, fine, fine.” For once in his life, Tsimikas looked somewhere near embarrassed. “Thiago.”

“THIAGO?!”

“I know, I know, it’s weird.” Tsimikas sent a soft glance at Thiago. The Spaniard reciprocated with a warm, gentle smile. “But he’s been so nice since we both came. I write my rap lyrics while he’s in the kitchen with me and…he’s just a really good friend.”

Elliott smirked, holding a toothpick between his teeth as if it was a cigar. “So I guess we can call you Kostas Alcantara now? Or will it be Thiago Tsimikas?”

“I’m not marrying him! It was hypothetical!”

“Okay, okay. Truth or dare, Hendo?” Thiago asked the skipper, leaning on the table.

“Truth.”

“Who was your first crush ever?”

Henderson nearly sank under the table once the question was out. “Do we have to do that?”

“Yes,” everybody insisted. Probably with a little too much excitement.

The captain sighed in defeat, pulling a photograph out of his pocket. He’d kept it with him for what seemed like forever. “Well, it’s not really a crush. But when I came here I was obsessed with Stevie.”

“Stevie? As in Steven Gerrard?” Alexander-Arnold’s eyes were as wide as the aliens that he still believed in. “The captain?”

“I guess. I mean, I’m a young lad then, he’s proper big, proper fast.” Henderson was so embarrassed that he wanted to disappear, especially when he spotted Elliott and Carvalho videoing the whole thing with their phones. “I admired him, and when we’re in training every day I can’t help but see how…fit he was. Proper biceps and calves.”

“You had a crush on Stevie G!!!!”

“ROBBO, SHUT UP IN THE NAME OF RIBENA!”

“When Stevie chose me as his successor,” Henderson went on, tightly clutching the captain’s armband in one hand, “I felt there were some huge shoes to fill. So I started to imitate him by working in the gym. I’d overwork myself, until Milly came to the club and found out how much time I spent in the gym.”

Milner nodded, grasping Henderson’s hand from across the table. “And to make a long story short, we actually became good friends from there. Hendo focused on the brains, and I focused on the brawn.”

“What about your Adam?!” Robertson piped up, clearly not taking Milner’s hint about shutting up.

Henderson smiled wistfully, staring off into the distance. “He’s the heart. With us three keeping the ducks in a row, the boss could focus on other things a little more and worry about us as a team less.”

“Not like it ever worked,” Milner retorted. Elliott slapped the Yorkshireman, and Milner barely resisted the urge to throw the feisty youngster out of the room.

“Alright, alright, moving on!” Henderson turned to Bajcetic with a fond smile. The youngster had won the hearts of his older teammates, with his precocious footballing IQ and humility. “Truth or dare, Stefan?”

Bajcetic shrugged, running a hand through his dark curls. Like Gakpo, this was his first time playing Truth or Dare with the whole team. “Truth.”

“I’ll go easy on you, since you’re a youngster,” said Henderson, correctly interpreting the hesitant expression Bajcetic carried. “What’s the loveliest eye color for you?”

Bajcetic sighed a dreamy sigh, gazing at Carvalho. “Dark brown. Simple as that—they’re beautiful.”

Carvalho had the grace to blush, while Elliott glared at Bajcetic from across the table.

“Sorry, Stef, but nobody else is gonna replace my soul twin.” Carvalho spun the bottle, and just like he’d hoped, the bottleneck pointed towards Elliott. “Truth or dare, Harv?”

Elliott’s bright blue eyes glinted with mischief, and his blond curls bounced around, only attached at the scalp. “Dare, Fabio. I’m not going to answer a boring truth question like Hendo.”

Henderson glared at Elliott, insulted. “It was a deep dark secret of mine and you call it boring?!”

“I’ll let you know that I’m Senor Aventura!” Elliott proudly proclaimed. He thumped his chest with vigor, and released his attempt at a roar.

“Well, Senor Aventura, here’s your dare.” Carvalho leaned back against his chair, placing his feet on the table. “Kiss Milly on the cheek.”

Tsimikas gasped, Henderson nearly fainted and Thiago stuffed a shrimp muffin into his mouth.

“That’s it, I’m done with you two.” Diaz took his chair and bolted from the table. “I’m running on the pitch and off it too, hasta la vista baby!”

With that, the Colombian was out of the room. For a long while everybody just stared at the empty door frame in shock, then back at the empty place at the table.

“Remember Harvey, you still have your dare to complete!” Carvalho announced, leaning on the table. He adjusted the toothpick “cigar” in his mouth, perched upon his chair like an old style cowboy. “Go ahead! Give ol' Milner a smooch.”

Panicked, Elliott turned to Milner, praying that he would overrule the dare in some way. But Milner didn't, instead posing so that his cheek was turned towards Elliott.

“Kiss him! Kiss him!” Robertson chanted like a frenzied megafan. “Just one kiss is all it takes—”

“Falling in love with me, possibilities!” Alexander-Arnold and the younger Scots joined in with gusto. Ramsay even climbed onto the table, whipping a club scarf around while Robertson passed around champagne flutes of Irn Bru.

Carvalho watched the scenes with a broad grin, excited at all the chaos. Milner and Elliott had been feuding for months now, and he couldn't wait for Milner's reaction when Elliott kissed him on the cheek.

Only to feel a pair of lips planting themselves on his forehead.

“You—” Carvalho couldn’t see his reflection, but he knew his cheeks were a flaming, brilliant red. “You kissed me?!”

Elliott shrugged, taking his seat between Gakpo and Jota. Both were as shocked as the rest of the team. “Well, I wasn’t going to kiss Milner. Jeez, he’s nearly old enough to be my dad.”

Carvalho searched Elliott’s eyes for any hint that the Surrey native was just joking. There wasn’t even a single hint. “It was just supposed to be on the cheek!”

“Aww, somebody’s had his first kiss!” Robertson called out, draining his flute of Irn Bru. He quickly ducked Nunez’s swinging fist, still grinning like an idiot.

Meanwhile, Milner watched on, arms crossed as usual. “Well, Harvey failed the dare. That means he has to do the forfeit, which the oldest one of the group chooses.”

Just like that, Robertson’s grin vanished, replaced by what Elliott could only describe as hyperactive confusion. “Says who?”

“Says Stevie G in Rule 4 of the Truth and Dare Coda.” Henderson held up the former skipper’s manual, clutching it close to his chest. “What’s the forfeit, Milly?”

For once, Milner seemed to adopt Robertson’s mischievous grin. “Harvey’s gotta kiss Fabio again—while carrying him bridal-style.”

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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Will the fascination with Napoleon continue for another 200 years?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #napoleon #french #french history #history #military history #bonaparte #france #historiography #republic #historians #personal

417 notes · View notes

lavynrose · 3 years

Note

- a oneshot for artem wing when he finally mustered up courage to ask out their s/o to hang out as friends (theme parks or just garden strolls, you can pick which type of place you want i won't mind!) to confess to them and when he confesses their s/o confesses at the same time too? and the s/o is kinda shy and awkward with him so he gets surprised and all flustered with them confessing at the same time?

(ackk this has been stuck in my head for a while, sorry if there are any grammar mistakes since english isn't my first language! i hope u have a great day!! :D <3)

- coomkie anon ♡

Artem Wing and his s/o confessing at the same time pt. 1

Title: Dedicated

Pairing/s: Artem Wing X Reader

Pronouns: Gender Neutral

Genre: Fluff

Warning/s: Grammatical errors probably

Notes: blushy artem is best artem, and we have celestine being the best wingwoman again

enjoy an amusement park date with Artem <3

Artem Wing is a dedicated man.

If it had been any other person, they would be home right now.

but not him.

Even now, as the looming hours of the night began to tick, he sits at his swivel chair, busied with the love of his life called paperwork.

"Aren't you overworking yourself?" He looked up from his papers to see Celestine waltzing inside his office with documents in hand.

The question should've made him stop and think to at least consider getting rest, but no, we're talking about Artem the workaholic here.

He has heard Celestine's question directed at him for the past few days, and from different people at that.

"Overworking means I have more time to double-check these documents," Artem said as he reached out for the folder that Celestine brought over, "Don't you think it's pretty convenient?"

"Artem," She started with concern in her blue-green eyes, "I know you're trying to distract yourself."

Artem was silent for a few moments before coughing, "Whatever do you mean? There's nothing I have to distract myself from." He said with complete calmness in his voice that he could even fool himself.

"You don't have to hide it, you know? I see the way you look at them," She smiled as she recalled the lingering stares and soft smiles setting display into Artem's face when he's around his colleague "The way you act around Y/N." she added with a hint of teasing.

The mention of your name seemed to short-circuit Artem's brain, Celestine took advantage of this with delight.

"Also... They've been getting friendly and close with that new employee.." She puts her hands on her chin, thinking.

Earlier today, she caught Artem's looks of distraught while his eyes were on you and the new guy. You were having a friendly conversation.

Too friendly.

After that, The youngest senior attorney even requested you to work with him at his desk, claiming that he, quote "needs to keep close tabs on the files that Y/N is handling." end quote.

but Celestine knew better.

Jealous is the only word that can describe how Artem was acting. She decided she will push his buttons tonight.

"Aren't you... threatened?" She beamed at him, waiting for his reaction.

"..."

"They've been on your mind lately, I reckon."

"..."

"They're getting closer with each other, don't you think?"

"..."

Hopeless. Celestine thought.

To say that she's frustrated with this whole situation surrounding the two of you is an understatement. Everyone in your circle clearly sees it - you and Artem like each other.

In the way he bought cake for the whole office that one afternoon the day after an episode of an office drama aired, or in the way that he went out of his way to take care of you in the hospital when you overworked yourself to sickness, or in the way you blushed around each other, the lingering touches, oh the lingering touches. It was all obvious.

The both of you spend your time together more than anyone else, everyone thinks your blooming affections were inevitable at this point. Solving controversial cases meant having the mental and emotional intimacy to get to know each other better compared to your average professional relationship.

You don't see each other as "working partners" anymore, it's clear that you guys want each other as a different kind of partner.

It was known to everyone except for the two of you, apparantly.

Celestine sighed before rummaging through the magazine shelf in the office, grinning when she found what she's looking for.

Artem shot her a look of suspicion. He has a bad feeling about this.

"There." She said with satisfaction before dropping the magazine into his desk.

The magazine lays there, with an eye-catching font and colorful cover page, Artem blushes as his eyes read, 100 cute date ideas...

Judging from the cover, the magazine might actually be useful when giving date suggestions. Under the big font however, there was a smaller text that read, Your significant other is waiting!

What is this...

"I'm sorry but I have work to finish." He tried his best to unsee what he just saw, and decided to turn his focus on the headache of workload in front of him instead.

Celestine raised her eyebrows at him with a frown, "Don't be stubborn now, I'm your boss, I'm giving you both a day-off tomorrow. I mean, you haven't used your day-off at all ever since you started working here. So please. " Her voice is laced with concern.

He looked away with a sentimental look in his eyes, "You don't have to do this for me. I'm fine with... Giving them affection without them realizing it."

Celestine just frowns deeper.

"Come on now Artem, doesn't it sound tempting to you?" She clasped her hands and continued a little too excitedly like a schoolgirl in love, "Having alone time with Y/N, finally asking them out on the date so the other guys threatening your future can back off."

It does sound tempting, Artem admits.

He looked away with reddened cheeks, "I'll think about it."

He doesn't need to look at Celestine to know she's sporting a big grin right now.

Later that night on his bed, his mind keeps flashing images of you. You, wearing a big, warm smile on your face. You, with your little mannerisms that he came to memorize from hours of being with you. Every little thing, every moment, as long as it's with you, he cherishes it.

Oops. The butterflies are starting.

He didn't mind.

You looked stunning today, but then again, he finds you stunning everyday.

When was I this cheesy? He thought to himself.

His thoughts kept racing with reveries about you when a new image interrupted every nice thought.

It was of you and the new employee laughing together.

He frowned and his stomach churns.

"Are they interested in each other?" He finds himself asking the wind. His mind was reeling.

He thinks about the time when he first heard you say that you were married to your work. Surely, you aren't interested in being in a relationship with some guy, right?

Right?

Groaning, he then realized that he needs to make a move now before it's too late.

To him, you're the loveliest person he's ever met, your kindness, your welcoming smile, the passion that you present when you're in the court, the way you always remain headstrong no matter how many people clash with you and try to break your principles.

The only one that occupies his heart, you.

Artem is sure he won't regret giving you his feelings, and eventually, reveal them.

He got up from his bed and sent a glare at the magazine that is now resting on the lamp table beside his bed, mocking him. He picked it up with less hesitation than before.

'What should I choose?' Artem asked himself before flipping the pages, a faint blush adorning his cheeks.

This is a big step for him, and he wants to make sure that he's going to do it right.

7:00am

You rubbed your eyes and stretched your limbs as the sunlight permeated through your bedroom window, the yellow glow giving you a peaceful feeling, a new day is about to start.

A new day without work at that.

You had been ecstatic when Celestine called you to inform you last night of your long awaited day-off, you smiled at the memory as you stand up to brush your teeth.

"You deserve it for all your hardwork!" Even through the phone, you heard the smile in her voice.

Soon, your thoughts drifted to a certain raven-haired man.

'How about Artem? I'm his assistant, does he get a day-off too?' You wondered as you finished washing your mouth, finally heading off to the kitchen to prepare for breakfast.

You were about to choose what to eat from the fridge when you hear a song play from your phone in your room.

You hurriedly went back as you recognized that ringtone - that ringtone you had set for a particular contact.

There on the screen, displays the name of the object of your affections.

Mr. Wing.

'Why is he calling this early? What could he possibly need?' you thought to yourself before pressing the green button.

"Good morning Artem, what is it?" you didn't even try to hide the happiness from your voice, Artem calling you this early doesn't happen often, after all.

"Good morning. Do you have plans for today?" His morning voice echoed through your ears. It was husky and rough, filling all of your senses.

Realizing that he just woke up, you can't help but blush at the thought of being the first person to talk to him today.

He thought of you first thing in the morning!

You tried to control the lingering heat in your face as you replied, "Uhm, yes uhh- none. I have no plans for today, Artem. I'll be thinking of what to do though. Why did you ask? " You hoped he didn't mind the sttuttering mess presented to him this early in the morning.

You wondered if there's an emergency case needed to be taken care of, he rarely ever calls outside of work.

Then again, you're always at work.

"That's good," the other line was silent for a bit. As your anticipation for his reply grew, he finally said, "A new amusement park is going be opened today. I heard they'll be having a fireworks display tonight to celebrate the opening."

You've heard about the said amusement park from your coworkers yesterday, you even heard that it was a project from PAX.

Marius' wealth truly knows no bounds, you thought.

Kiki even invited you to come with her this sunday, as it's the only freetime the both of you had before Celestine's sudden news of a day-off.

Is Artem coming there today? He doesn't seem like the type to go to amusement parks, but now you know that he likes them, or at least he didn't mind going, you added this info to your list of things about Artem that make you fall in love with him more and more. Because let's be honest, what's there not to like about the man?

He's handsome, sweet, a good cook, a senior attorney you can look up to, and he always makes sure to reassure you that you're doing well, that he's proud of you.

He cleared his throat, breaking you out of your thoughts, "Do you want to go there..." He paused, his nerves getting the better of him, unbeknownst to you, "With me? I have two tickets, and I wanted to invite a close friend. Is that alright with you? "

What?

'Is he asking me out on a date!?' you were practically screaming internally as you paced frantically in your room.

No. No way. This isn't a date. Not until he says so.

He said 'close friend' so you shouldn't overthink this. You were partners, after all!

At least you try to convince yourself.

"Of course Artem. I'm glad you invited me, I'm really happy." You weren't lying, his invite was the most unexpected thing that happened to you this week.

He hummed, "I'm happy, too. I'll be there at 2:30pm to fetch you, they'll open around 3pm. " He said in a gentle voice before hanging up.

You pumped your fist in the air. You have plenty of time to prepare.

2:30pm

Among all of the outfits that you could've worn today, you decided to wear a cute, beige, knitted sweater. A pair of faded ripped jeans, white sneakers, and a beanie to top it all off.

The amusement park being your destination, you decided to wear casual clothing since you'd be hopping on rides left and right.

You wouldn't want to wear a skirt just for it to blow on the wind while you're in the air, screaming for dear life.

Nope. You definitely don't want that.

You're now waiting outside your apartment after Artem sent you a text 5 minutes ago that he's on his way.

Your head is plagued with expectations on how this friendly date is going to go. You've never felt as giddy as this before.

It's understandable, right? The person you like asked you out to go with him to an amusement park - using his morning voice, nonetheless, so it wouldn't be strange for you to think that this is like an actual date.

You bonked yourself mentally.

You keep reminding yourself that it's just a friendly date. It's just a friendly date. You believe in the power of your mind, it's a friendly date. He even said so himself.

Artem's going to think you're weird. It's not like you're going to hold hands or anything...

Yet, you didn't even try to stop the daydream clouding your mind.

While you were busy indulging yourself in your fantasies, your eyes caught a familiar spot of black in the parking lot. Artem's car!

That's your cue. When his car stopped, you made your way over to him with a small smile on your face.

His black car opened, spilling out Artem clad in his casual clothing.

You scanned his appearance, taking in those breath-taking, familiar eyes. Taking in the beige, knitted sweater he's wearing, paired with slacks and black shoes.

Wait.

You did a double take- beige, knitted sweater?

You looked at his clothes, then looked down at your own, then back at his again.

Red and warmth crept up to your cheeks as realization hits you.

You kind of looked like a couple.

"What's wrong?" Artem inquired with concern as he stepped closer and reached out his hands to your flustered form.

He even placed his hand on your forehead to check your temperature.

Yes, you think you have a fever.

It's only when he got to take a good look at you when realization hits him the way it hit you.

He retreated his hand and looked away, face as warm as yours.

"Uhh..."

"..."

Why are you acting like a highschooler!? You're better than this, getting flustered just because you wore identical clothes.

With the person you like, you added.

The both of you stayed silent for a few seconds before you spoke up with a grin, thankful that the pink that dusted your cheeks is now cooling down a bit, "We should get going now."

You expected the ride to be as awkward as earlier, but to your relief, that wasn't the case at all.

Artem played the radio on your drive to the amusement park, and even asked you about how you're feeling lately and whatnot.

Honestly, with how he's always so concerned about your well-being, you're doomed to fall even harder.

"What are your favorite rides, Artem?" You decided to talk about something connected to where you're going to go.

"Hmm," as he hummed, you looked in front of the car to see the gates of the amusement park came into view. You can even see the familiar structure of a rollercoaster and a really grand ferris wheel turning slowly.

Majestic.

Is the motif for this amusement park golden!? The railings are shimmering with gold, some parts of the rides are adorned with gold, wherever you look, gold!

PAX outdid themselves with this one, definitely took "shining, shimmering, splendid" to a whole new level. Too much for the word grandeur, you think.

You can't even imagine how wide the place must be. You haven't even stepped foot inside, yet your eyes were oogling as some more rides were seen from outside the gates.

"We're here Artem! Look!" From your side, Artem turns to take a look from the road to the park, his eyes screaming nothing but amusement.

"It's beautiful," He breathed while you nodded furiously with agreement. He shot you a look, "I'm glad I get to spend my first time here with you." The softness is his eyes is blinding as you stared at him and processed his words.

"Me too..." you managed to choke out, turning away to hide your blush.

While you were taming your flushed cheeks, Artem had parked the car already.

He opened the doors for the both of you as he offered you his arm. Confusion takes over your features.

"So you wouldn't get lost, it's a big crowd out here, " He tilted his head to have a better look at your still sitting form inside the car, "Let's go?" He said with that gentle smile, as comforting as ever.

You stood up and linked your arm with his and suggested, "How about the bumpy car first?" excitement was evident in your voice.

He shook his head and chuckled, "Whatever you wish." He said as he locked the car doors with a click. You both headed to check in and do the formalities first. After all that, with a skip to your step, you pulled Artem to the bumpy car's ticket booth, and went inside.

You're elated.

"I can't believe the Artem Wing, the youngest senior attorney, is losing to me!" You sound hysterical as you bumped Artem's car with yours over and over, your bumpy car dominating his.

This is fun! Just minutes earlier, the atmosphere between you and Artem seemed a little tight because of the matching clothing incident. Just a little. However, the laughter of everyone playing in this space is infectious, it leaves you in a really good and playful mood.

It makes you feel like you were a kid again. You hope Artem feels the same.

Before playing, you made a bet with him earlier that whoever bumps the other the most, wins.

"Y/N. I think this car is defective." He said with a frown, his eyebrows furrowing as his hands tinker whatever there was in the steering wheel.

You looked over to him and replied, "We can switch cars, let me see." The two of you switched from each other's bumpy ride and you assessed the supposedly 'broken' car.

You realized he didn't push the right buttons to ride the bumper properly.

"Artem..." You looked at him blankly and said, "Have you ever been to bumpy cars before?"

He was silent before replying with darting eyes, "No, I haven't," He cleared his throat, "I have only been to the ferris wheel and escape rooms, I haven't been to bumpy rides before. Sorry."

You beamed at him.

"Don't be sorry!" You flail your arms to disagree, "There's nothing wrong with that. I'm actually happy that you allowed me to drag you here despite you not having played it before." You flashed him a thankful smile.

He looked a little surprised at first, but then that warm smile of his came back, "Thank you." You stared at each other's eyes for a few beats in time, his ocean eyes containing a sparkle you rarely see them hold. It looks so gentle, so welcoming.

So fond.

You stared at each other for a while, his deep eyes were enough to drown out the crowd. To drown out everything that existed but him.

Blinking, you snapped out of it to teach him how to drive the car.

The cars were booster types, different from the old models wherein you just turn the wheels and you'll be good. In this specific model, commands are needed to be performed in order for the car to execute it's special feature.

"You turn it like this..." Artem is a fast-learner, so the both you were back on track as soon as you guided him the directions.

In the end, you were tied, the bumper time limit resulting the draw.

"I'm definitely beating you next time!" you declared with a smug look, hands on your waist.

After the bumper, a receptionist from what seemed like a family raft ride made his way to invite the two of you.

"You guys look like you're having fun!" He then pointed at the paper he's holding and said with persuasion, "You're going to have even more fun here! The family raft ride is the only free ride we're offering in the park for it's first day, be sure not to miss out on this special bonus!" He then turned his heel to find more costumers.

You blinked, "Too bad we don't have extra clothes..." You hung your head low and you sighed as your mind thinks of a different ride to enjoy.

"Well, he did say it's a special bonus," Artem pondered, "They sell clothes here anyway, and there are restrooms we can change on," you wondered if this is going the way you think it's going, "I can see no harm in trying this free ride." He finished with the corners of his lips turned upwards.

Your eyes sparkled with so much joy that he's glad he suggested this.

"Then what are we waiting for!?" You squeal and jump from where you stand and Artem could only shake his head at you with an adoring look in his ocean eyes.

You both headed to the line of people waiting to get their tickets for the raft.

"That's a long line..." You're already mentally tired as you stared at the single file of people in front of you.

"There's still plenty of time before the fireworks at 7pm, I can go and buy us ice cream. Do you want some? "

You're face fell, remembering you were on a diet, "I appreciate the offer, but no thanks, I'm on a diet." An ice cream sounds really tempting right now, but you must resist.

"I heard they sell low-fat ice cream in here. How about that?" He proposed as his eyes glinted with satisfaction.

He knew this would do you in, sure enough, you gave him the biggest grin you could muster.

"You're the best, Artem! Any flavor is fine, by the way. " You beamed as he turned his heel to the ice cream stall, you just stared at his back the whole time he was away.

A minute later, the man wearing a cozy beige sweater that matches yours turned around and went over to you, two chocolate chip ice cream in hand. You reached out to take your ice cream, your fingers brushing.

You ignored the tingling feeling and the chills. He looked away.

While eating, you talked about how the line for the rollercoaster was two times longer than the raft's even though it's literally free.

"I believe they added a new feature to the coaster." Artem reasoned.

"You bet. The rides' golden theme is already impressive enough," You eyed the unbelievably long line from the coaster's ticket booth, "We can go back here some time to see that feature for ourselves." your face heated as you realized the implications in your words.

His eyes widened for a single moment and then looked at you with such intensity you can't bring yourself to look away, "I'd love that." a gentle look worms it's way in his features once again.

Comfortable silence dawns on your own, little world while you both busied yourselves in your ice cream.

The two of you were thrilled as it was your turn to ride the raft, ice cream long gone, replaced by the life-vest in your hands.

"Ah," you sighed, fumbling with the vest a little longer than you should have.

Artem, of course, noticed your movements. He was kind enough to help you adjust the vest.

Of course.

"Come here." He said as his arms finds it's way to your waist, pulling you towards his stature. His hot breath hitting your face while he circled his arms around you to wrap the vest securely.

This is not good for your heart...

He's so close, you could kiss him if you wanted...

He pulled away, his warmth lingering still.

Even when the both of you sat down on the raft. The ride is going to start in a few and here you are, lost in the feeling of Artem being near you.

"Y/N," You abruptly turned your head to him when he suddenly called you, "are you nervous?"

You blushed so hard you wanted to evaporate with the water, 'Yes. You make me nervous.' you're tempted to respond.

"Yes, but don't worry about me." was your reply instead, and you smiled awkwardly and stared at his blue eyes, blue eyes laced with concern.

He leaned closer, probably so that the other people within your raft wouldn't hear, "I care about you and I want you to feel as comfortable as possible," he whispered in your ear, sending chills to your spine.

This is definitely not comfortable, Mr. Wing.

Your heart is doing flips, this isn't normal!

"Please tell me if you need something." The gentleness in his voice took your breath away the way it did as the first time.

The fact that he's unaware of his effect on you angered you so much. You scanned his face for signs of teasing. Smirk, maybe a playful glint, anything.

Yet you found none.

The raft began to move, a perfect timing to change the subject!

You leaned on him, but not too close, and whispered, "It's starting."

Water began to splash, as the raft moved with the current.

The track was smooth at first, you getting small splashes here and there.

Until a bumpy track decided to present itself.

Like before, the raft went with the flow of the water, except that it bounced and rotated harshly that one particular splash of water was enough to wet you and your clothes completely.

"OH MY G-" you exclaimed when the raft hit a rough spot again, soaking everyone wet.

You were making a surprised pikachu face as the water seeped into your clothes.

You turned to look at Artem to see his state and you suppressed a giggle with how he's making the same face as you did earlier.

Never in your life you thought you'd see Artem with the surprised pikachu face.

You took pride in knowing that you're one of the very few people who gets to see this side of him.

"Artem!" you shouted through the noisy stream of water. "We look silly!" you laughed as the water rocked everyone in the raft as harsh as it possibly can. Round and round, back and forth.

"We do!" his laughed mingled with yours even when the water relentlessly kept soaking your already wet bodies.

You smiled once again, gazing at his form with profound fondness longer than just a friend would've done.

6:00pm

"That was really fun!" You shouted to the air while Artem scooted beside you, offering his arm like he did earlier, which you eagerly took.

The both of you went for another round on the raft after the first round, not caring about the long waiting line. The ride was worth it!

All you ever did was scream and laugh at each other's state, but it was the most enjoyment you've ever had in years.

You were completely dry now, changed into fresh clothes that were sold as the park's merchandise.

Even with the change of clothes, the clothes you were wearing right now still matched Artem's.

You weren't complaining.

The crowd continues to enjoy themselves, all while the sunset was making everything in the theme park look like a fairytale.

"Yes, it was. I enjoyed it very much." Artem flashed a smile so genuine, you wanted to see this sight a thousand times more. The orange glow of the sunset gives his raven hair a golden shade, light reflecting on his blue eyes, making him look so bewitching. So you carved it to your memory, not knowing how to elicit that same image from him once again.

Looking up at him, and looking back at the things that happened today, you realized something.

You couldn't take this silent pining anymore, you wanted to tell him how precious his smile is to you, to tell him you're glad he's spending his time with you, to tell him to make more memories with you.

To tell him he's the reason of the warmth flooding your whole being right now.

'I'm in love with you' is what you first thought of saying. No matter how cliche that may be, you wanted to let him know, that you're in love with him.

"Uhh, Artem, I-" You were about to spill your feelings then and there when a voice boomed the speakers of the park.

"Everyone! One hour more to go for the fireworks! Please look forward to it!"

Your confession's gonna have to wait for later.

part 2 here

do not repost © lavynrose 08/15/21.

#tears of themis #tears of themis x reader #artem x reader #artem wing #artem wing x reader #tears of themis imagines #tears of themis headcanons #zuo ran x reader #tot x reader #tears of themis oneshots #tears of themis artem #tot artem

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astermacguffin · 3 years

Text

Sorry for churning out another self-indulgent AU that will take me forever to work on, but I'm obsessed with the concept of a destiel enemies-to-lovers logician AU. (Yes I already have a joenicky/kaysanova version of this and frankly I don't care lol)

LISTEN. I know it's more popular to put Dean in professions that get his hands involved (mechanic, baker, etc.) rather than very conceptual/academic professions BUT. Dean would absolutely love the elegant simplicity of formal logic.

Easy, guaranteed, and clear-cut answers that you get out of following simple rules? Dean would LOVE that after having such a difficult and complicated life.

I think Dean would specialize in the large family of modal logics, specifically deontic logic—the logic of obligations. Dean "miserable pile of familial obligations" would unfortunately enjoy this field. (No, he won't be an ethicist because he has fucked up ethics; moral philosophy won't fix him. Maybe some therapy and gay sex will.)

Castiel, on the other hand, is a logician/theologian/metaphysicist. He went to college for a religious studies degree but it turns out he likes the application of logic in God-talk more than the God-talk itself, so he switched specializations. He's one of the leading scholars in process theology, liberation theology, and the controversies surrounding S5 modal logics and the modal ontological argument.

So. Dean and Cas are both modal logicians with different specializations. Here's what happens:

They both have presentations for a logic conference the next day, so they go to a bar to unwind and maybe get laid.

They meet, have a one-night stand, and part ways.

Turns out they're both attending the same conference. They're not fully convinced with each other's ideas. Their playful bickering in the snacks table eventually devolves into a full-on fight. Someone has to physically restrain them.

Their rivalry eventually gets notorious in academic circles. They perform "academic fistfights" by constantly writing critical response papers to each other's works. There's wikipedia articles documenting their extensive history of flirt-fighting and the surprising amount of new literature written because of their public feud.

To be clear, they're not writing garbage work just to dunk on each other. They're genuinely contributing to the academic discourse. But if you look at their bibliography of works, the staggering amount of stuff they've written about or in response to the other is...alarming.

Absolutely no one discourages their fights because (1) it's entertaining and (2) it's producing a godawful amount of insightful literature. There's bets about when they're going to fuck it out (because no one knows about their one-night stand except maybe Sam, who finds this entire thing stupid but amusing).

One time, they get drunk in an afterparty. Cue some aggressive and very homoerotic banter. This eventually devolves into an elaborate game of gay chicken. Whoever gives up first must write an article where they support the thesis of the other.

They're both "you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid" at each other. They constantly flirt and seduce one another, waiting for the other one to finally give in. They do this in conferences as well.

Fellow logicians almost prefer the shouting and near fist-fights over their very inappropriate flirty banter in public. No one dares ban them in events because (1) again, they're entertaining, and (2) they're big-name academics.

Since they're both fucking competitive, they constantly try to one-up each other. They ask each other to go out in dates and stuff. Eventually, they start to genuinely learn things about each other and go "huh. You're not so bad after all."

When they first collaborate and publish their joint work, everyone loses their mind. Are they friends now? Did they finally fuck? Both of them find the reactions very amusing.

Eventually, they start hanging out outside of their competitive dates and simply as friends. They still haven't kissed or fucked ever since. When they first both realize that they're falling in love, they're like: "Shit."

Unfortunately, they're in too deep. These bastards are too prideful to be the one to admit their feelings. Both Dean and Cas talk to their brothers about this. They're both told how stupid they are.

This all comes to a head when Cas finally gives in and fucks Dean. Cas is about to confess his feelings when Dean starts chuckling.

"What's so funny?" Cas asks. "Well, I mean. Guess I should expect that article soon, right?" Dean says in an attempt to hide his fears with playful banter. Cas squints at him. "What article?"

Dean stammers in response. "I–you know? The bet we made? The bet that started it all? That's... that's what this is all about, right?"

Cas' face shuts off, devoid of emotion. "Right. Yes. Why don't you leave now so I can start writing that, hmm?" The smile on his face is big, but Dean knows it's fake and wrong.

"Cas, wait—" "DEAN. Please. Leave my apartment." Reluctantly, Dean dresses up for his walk of shame, leaving the apartment.

The next morning, the article comes out. It's short and not written very well. Everyone is confused about the sudden drop in quality.

They stop writing response works to each other, which alerts the entire academic community. They also visibly avoid each other in conferences now. Their fellow academics take it back: they would prefer the insufferably horny flirting over this cold, silent treatment. Everyone feels the tension and it's not as lively anymore.

Cas is miserable because he thinks his feelings are unrequited. Dean feels miserable because Cas has since stopped replying to his texts and calls.

In his last-ditch attempt to get through Cas, Dean writes a celebratory primer, summarizing Cas' entire bibliography and important contributions to the field throughout his entire career. Interspersed in the writing are personal reflections on Cas' character as a thinker and a person, as well as little in-jokes meant only for Cas' eyes. It's the most sappy and gayass bibliographic summary ever written.

Cas, of course, reads this and understands the intent behind it. He finally calls Dean, they meet, they hash things out, admit their feelings, and finally kiss. Yada yada happy ending

Later on, when they finally publish their first joint work as a married couple, everyone loses their minds. Again.

#spn #destiel #destiel logican au #this was so much fun to write #destiel fic #aster writes

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diazly · 2 years

Note

6, 7, 12, 13, & 25 for the buddie asks :D

(sorry if that's too many questions ajjshs)

hi :D and thats okie it makes it easier to procrastinate tehehe

6. what's your favourite fic trope when it comes to buddie?

i am a huge angst reader bc ig i love pain so any sort of mutual pining without the other knowing is just *chefs kiss*

7. name three of your favourite buddie fics and shout out the authors if you want!

like i said i loveee angst so my faves are 1. circles all the way down [x] by @queerpanikkar 2. Leave the Light On (I'll Be Coming Home) [x] by @hmslusitania and (on a less angsty note) 3. everything's coming up millhouse [x] by @henswilsons

ive read these multiple times its honestly unhealthy but they're so good :)

12. any predictions for 5b?

i consider myself an arsonist!lucy truther if thats considered a prediction, but if that doesn't happen, I do think henren vow renewal and madney proposal may be in the works (these aren't v controversial but i digress)

13. s2 buddie or s4 buddie?

s4 all the way. maybe bc i watched s4 live but theres just so much in s4 that i will never stop thinking about

25. what is your ideal confession scene?

if i havent made it clear enough, im a sucker for angst so a third party confession with some additional pining,,,, leading up to like an argument-confession (yeah i might need some help, obviously i want everyone to be happy but first they should suffer 😈)

buddie ask game

#tysm for the ask!!#ask games #therapyeddie #answered

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mahixa · 3 years

Text

so @maxricciardo messaged me earlier today and maybe possibly probably inspired me to write this cute, fluffy lestappen fic. Listen, she’s great and she deserves to read something nice and comforting about Max after today’s race. And for any of you searching for something sweet and a short fic about the boys being happy together - I hope you will enjoy it as well.

You can read it on ao3 [HERE]

ship: lestappen

word count: 1734

fluff. It’s fluff. Boys kissing. Fluffity fluff. Let there be fluff. Max realises his feelings for Charles and thinks Charles is pretty. We all agree with Max.

The interviewer is someone Max has never seen before during their press conferences. He looks like he could live and survive on drama alone. Beastliness shines dangerously in his eyes and the way he tilts his head before he asks Max the question indicates deviousness.

Max doesn’t like this at all.

“So, Max,” his voice is obnoxious already. “We all know how painfully honest you can be. Let me ask you about Charles Leclerc.”

Something stings Max’s chest. It has been difficult couple of days for Charles, with his bad last racing weekend and a lot of family burden going on right now. The Monegasque, if asked about it, would kindly state that everything is fine and there is nothing to worry about.

But Max knows Charles and he is aware when things become too much for him. And it’s obvious that Charles has his ups and downs. Should anyone be surprised by that? No one. And yet the media keep doing what they do best – they wait for the smallest mistake, the tiniest inconvenience, and they dig deep into the topic. They remind Max of vultures, always ready to find a person during their weak moments and portray such person as the biggest victim possible. A loser. Rend their vulnerable skin and make them bleed for the sake of the headline. Pain them black and white.

For the media everything is zero to one. You either win, or you lose. You drive or you crash. There’s no in between.

And Charles is sitting right next to Max during this press conference, and Max can feel him switching his position uncomfortably as they both hear the begging of question.

“Charles seems to like creating controversy,” the man states the biggest lie Max has heard in a while and dares to continue speaking. “And recently he has been loosing his nerves in the most crucial moments. He is, let’s say, not good under pressure these days. Does it even make him a good driver then?”

Something boils inside Max.

“Does any of it have something to do with the upcoming date of Charles’ father’s death? Should Charles continue to drive during this weekend, or is he a threat to others? Clearly he might be, with his mental condition.”

The conference room goes completely silent.

Max doesn’t take his eyes off of the interviewer. He doesn’t even blink. His gaze must look dangerous enough for everyone to make them to look at him and the man multiple times, anticipating the answer. Max lifts his chin defiantly and squints, and it sends unspoken fulmination all across the room. Someone clears his throat nervously.

“You know,” Max starts, joining his hands together. “I think it takes some fucking audacity to come to this room and say such things about one of the greatest driver of this generation.” Someone gasps in the room and everyone lifts their cameras up. “So you come here, and you have your confidence, and well. You have to be confident, for sure, to ask such dumb questions and state such idiotic statements, clearly not understanding what does it mean to be a normal human in this sport, having better and worse days. So no. Charles is more than the questions about his father, he is more than your silly cheap mind games and neither him, or me, will waste our time on you. And he will drive with us on Sunday. He’s the best person out there when it comes to mental strenght and he doesn’t deserve such crap from the media. So shut up. Next question,” he finishes and points at another man.

His heart is beating incredibly fast and he can hardly hear another question. His mouth is dry, palms sweaty and his legs bouncing nervously.

He does his best to ignore Charles’ stunned look on his face and Lewis’ dropped jaw.

When Max comes back to his hotel room he is exhausted and doesn’t really know why. He has dealt with stupid interviewers on more than one occasion by now, and he thinks he should be able to handle this situation better. Not that he regrets saying what he said.

He just doesn’t know why it caused such him such an emotional response.

Before he can think about it more, there’s a soft knock on the door and there’s only one person who knocks like that.

“Come in, Charles.”

Charles’ smile is small and almost timid, as he enters the room and then looks around. Max smiles to himself, observing a very awkward Charles. As if he wasn’t here yesterday to see the room. And the day before.

“I, eh,” he starts, putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I wanted to say thank you, Max.”

Max doesn’t know how to react to his cheeks which turn bright red.

Charles has always been like that. Like that? So like what? Max thinks, forcing himself to finally understand what he has been feeling for so long, searching in his head for the best word to describe the other man.

Lovely. Charles has always been quite lovely, he admits to himself.

That describes Charles pretty well, actually. And now Max thinks about all those moments they shared together, from the early karting days too. Their fights and arguments when they were children, and Charles coming to check on Max after their races. Bringing him his home-made cookies or lemonade, and thanking Max. Or saying he is sorry. And these confessions were always a bit clumsy, always a bit awkward, but the words were always there. Charles might not always look the most confident during moments like this, but he always is there. Ready to speak and be tender when other people hide themselves and run away from confrontation. Charles is ready to say the things Max is often unable to.

Today’s press conference was different, though. It was the first time Max said so many things about Charles. In a room full of people, on top of that – people who were paying attention to his every word. Wasn’t that rather stupid, to go off like that? But that question has to be one of the dumbest and most arrogant he has heard in a long while. And it was about Charles.

No one should ever talk about Charles like that.

Not about Charles. How dare they? Have they ever seen the way he drives? The way he trains? How he can stay under pressure? The way he achieves his goals and keeps his cool even in the most stressful moments?

Have they seen the way Charles smiles? The way he rolls his eyes when he sees something silly or the way he wrinkles his nose when he laughs, but truly, truly laughs? Have they seen the way Charles can’t cook or dance, but he likes to do these things and it makes it even more enjoyable to observe him?

And what about the way Charles sleeps, with his lips slightly parted and his strong chest moving up and down? Or the way he gets excited over the stupidest TV programs Max doesn’t understand, but doesn’t mind when Charles asks him to watch them together, already too fascinated by the way Charles comments on things? And the way he plays the piano. The way he chooses songs and hums to himself when he plays.

The way he sneezes and then apologizes for it. The way Charles can assemble furniture from IKEA, and refuse to use any instruction, but somehow his chaotic energy helps him manage? And Max knows how it looks like.

Because Charles helped him with his furnitures.

Charles has always been there. When Max was sick and didn’t want to take any pills, Charles was there. Brining him his mum’s soup and talking how much he likes the fact that they both live in Monaco now. And when Max got completely wasted in one of those bars they like to go to, it was Charles who helped him get clean from all the unpleasant post-party aspects of the night. And he didn’t complain. He didn’t make a sound. He took off Max’s clothes, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, and helped him shower. He made sure Max made it to bed and he placed a glass of water on his bedside table.

Charles was there when Max won his most important races and he was there to celebrate it with him. He was there when Max argued with his father and when it all looked like a lost cause. He was there to rub soothing circles on Max’s back with his gentle hand and embrace him with his soft voice.

And he always says “thank you” and “I’m sorry” when other people could never do it, for different reasons. Charles has always been brave and able to rise above others. Be a bigger person.

Charles is kind and lovely.

And so damn handsome.

It all makes Max’s head dizzy. The realisation of his feelings washes over him and he has to grab the chair not to stumble. What now?

Charles looks beautiful in his blue hoodie, messy hair and his confused smile. He looks way too soft to remain reasonable or sensible about this.

“Those things you said during the press conference, did you mean them?” he asks, finally breaking the silence between them.

Max nods, coming closer to Charles who doesn’t move away. His eyes are focused on Max’s and he licks his lips.

“I meant every word,” Max says, his voice becoming almost a whisper, as he moves even closer and cups Charles’ face with his hand. “Jesus, Charles.”

Charles closes his eyes at the contact and breathes in through his nose. He looks stunning and Max is mesmerised.

“Kiss me,” Charles whispers, not opening his eyes. “Please.”

Max feels like melting. He slowly cups Charles’ face with both his hands.

“Look at me,” Max whispers back, and when Charles opens his eyes slightly, Max places a kiss on Charles’ forehead.

Then on his cheek. And then the other.

And then they kiss. They kiss and kiss and kiss, Charles’ arms around Max’s shoulders and Max’s hands on Charles’ waist. It’s the softest thing to kiss Charles, his lips eager and opened and lovely, lovely, so, so lovely, and warm.

Max moves them around the room so Charles can fall on the bed, and as soon as he does, Max climbs on top of him. The way Charles’ reaches out for him, the way he holds him closer, kissing him harder and deeper – that definitely goes on top of “the different ways of Charles Leclerc” list Max has made.

And Charles is beautiful under his touch, and he glows like a golden, Autumn sun, and he sounds like the softest, warm melody.

“I meant every word,” Max says between kisses and touches, between moans and sighs. “Every word.”

#lestappen #max verstappen #charles leclerc #fic #f1 fic #enjoy!!#my fic

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loving-daisy · 3 years

Text

Cry For Me | George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist | Cry For Me Masterlist

Chapter 5 - Eiffel For You

Words: 4.9k

Warnings: fluff, gossiping, insults, threatening, surprises, confessions, secrets getting spilled

"I’ve been yours since the beginning.”

The golden hour visibly announces its presence on the elite Slytherin 5th year. Her facial features are illuminated by the descending sun, as she faces one of the most mischievous Gryffindor in Hogwarts. The couple stands at the snow covered ground, eye to eye as they wrap themselves in each other’s warm embrace.

“Y/N Icestone, I fancy you.” George repeated for the second time.

The girl beams at him, her wide smile revealing her pearly-white teeth, making the ginger’s fluttering heart beat faster. Y/N played with the ginger hairs situated at the back of the boy’s neck, nodding a few times. “George Weasley, I fancy you.” She answered.

Once again, both of their lips were pressed against each other for a short passionate kiss.

“Be my girlfriend.” The boy muttered after they pulled away, a small gap between them remaining, together with their arms around each other.

“Is that an order or a question?” Y/N questioned, an eyebrow raised towards the ginger, trying to hide the giddiness in her voice. Similar to the scenario after the twins’ holiday party, she examined the look on the boy’s face.

George only looked at her, his face an expression of expectation and hesitance, his heart beating from all the adrenaline as his mind became full of different scenarios as to what the Slytherin will answer. Searching his eyes, the girl only saw hope, admiration, and fear, to which she was pleased as the boy really did seem to have his eyes only for her,

She pressed a hand on his cheek, carefully caressing the visible freckles as he leaned into her hand, still not breaking the eye contact. Y/N gave his rosy lips a peck, the bright smile on their faces returning.

“I’ve been yours since the beginning.”

____________________

The following Monday, it seems like the controversial Slytherin-Gryffindor relationship rose from its dying noise, as it was temporarily replaced by the news about the first wizard to ever escape Azkaban, Sirius Black, getting nearer and nearer the wizarding school. The news of the elite stone-cold heart Slytherin taking her relationship with the warm and funny Gryffindor to the next level was now the talk of the whole school.

Those sorted in the house of Salazar were divided to 70-30. 70% believing that the girl doesn’t really have feelings for the boy and that it was just a scheme to make him fall in love with her. 30% believed that her feelings were genuine, ashamed of the fact that the girl from the noble family associated herself with the blood-traitor, Weasleys.

Those from the same house of the ginger were surprised. Amazed even. Majority giving even more respect to the notorious twins for being able to steal a girl from their opposing house’s heart. However, those of the house of Godric had clashing opinions as well. Some girls were envious, defeated, and heart broken, seeing as both of their lovely twins were off the single market (Although Fred was still single, everyone knew who he had his eyes focused on). Some were happy, but for different reasons. Some thought that it was just another scheme to trash on the rival house while a couple were genuinely happy for George, finally getting a partner after how many moments of being his twin’s wingman. But some were reluctant and scared that they were the ones being played by the Slytherins.

Meanwhile, the majority from the house of Helga were happy for George and Y/N, thinking that the rivalry between the two houses would finally evaporate. In the house of Ravenclaw, most fully believed that the two wouldn’t last long, betting that they’d probably wake up from their trance and realize that they’re too different from one another.

Back when it was only Y/N Icestone that was being talked about, the girl never gave attention to the big mouths as they only said all the good things about her, praised her and envied her, for being the next heir to the Icestone family’s wealth. Back when it was only their friendship that was being talked about, her ears only perked up only for her to shoot daggers towards those who questioned her decision. But now that their romantic choices were being talked about, it seems as if the Slytherin’s patience deflated like a balloon. Always opening her mouth to give the big mouths a piece or two of her mind.

“Have you heard? It seems like Icestone and that one Weasley boy are officially together!” A boy wearing green robes, who seemed to be in a higher year than Y/N, informed the rest of the students present in their little circle.

“What?!” A girl from the house of Rowena asked in disbelief.

This time, a different girl from Ravenclaw spoke. “It’s true! I heard this girl from Hufflepuff talking about how she saw the both of them snogging during that one Hogsmeade weekend!”

“She could do so much better, honestly.” The boy from Y/N’s house muttered, fully not aware how the subject of their conversation was close, pretending to read her potions book as she consciously eavesdropped after hearing that they were talking about them.

“Both of them, actually.” The Ravenclaw said, causing her to turn her eyes towards her, memorizing her distinct looks as she faked a cough, making sure that she was heard. The three Slytherins froze on their spot, recognizing the voice, while the two Ravenclaws seemed like their eyes were about to pop out of their head after seeing who the cough belonged to.

Y/N moved her eyes back to her open book, feigning a smile. “Having fun talking about other people’s lives?”

“Icestone-” one of the Slytherins spoke. Y/N slammed her book shut, rising to her feet as she gave the group a glare. “Don’t you have other things to do instead of gossiping about me?” She spat, making the group become fearful.

Y/N examined them one by one. 1 group, 5 people, 2 girls from Ravenclaw, and 3 Slytherin boys that she recognized after a few moments of searching her head. She crossed her arms, smirking at those at the same house as hers. “Let’s see, Heather, Hampton, and Henderson. The H’s of year 7 Slytherin. H for humiliation, as it seems like all of you still ask for some Ravenclaw's help to do your homework for you.” She insulted before turning her attention towards the girls. “How about you, girls? Is your life too boring for you, that you have to speak about mine instead?”

All in the circle had a very unpleasing look on their faces, however, unable to say something to defend themselves from Icestone, who was fuming on the inside but very cold outside. She feigned a frown, pretending to be completely disgusted. “Close your mouths, sweet hearts. Your mouths really stink.” Y/N stated before walking away.

____________________

A few hours before the Great hall serves its mouth-watering feast, the fresh and hot couple of Hogwarts were found to be seated under a tree, with the tall and ginger Gryffindor presenting a big orange box to the doe-eyed Slytherin.

Y/N took a hold of the neatly wrapped box, carefully shaking it from left to right in an attempt to figure out what its contents were. Her eyebrows went close to each other, her forehead creasing as she faced the smiling boy. “What’s this?” She asked.

The smile on George’s face didn’t leave his face as he gave the girl a small shrug as an answer. “Open it.”

The Slytherin turned her attention back to the box, carefully unwrapping the black ribbon before muttering “I bet you didn’t tie this yourself. It’s too neat.”, getting a snort and a “you’re so smart.” from the ginger.

After getting the ribbon out of the way, Y/N examined the box, her heart rapidly beating in expectancy and anticipation. She got rid of the lid that blocks the content from her view before wrapping her hands around her boyfriend’s neck. “You got me a scarf? That’s so sweet of you, George. Thank you!” She cooed, placing a small sweet kiss on the ginger’s cheek.

George laughed, the weight on his shoulders being lifted, thankful for the girl’s joyful reaction. He placed his hands on the sides of Y/N’s face, pressing his lips on her forehead. “Yeah, Ron bragged to me the other day that he was able to enter the Slytherin dungeons when he was in second year - ”

“What?!” Y/N cut off the ginger, shocked by the delivered information. “How did he do that?”

“He wouldn’t tell!” George exclaimed. “But he did tell me that the dungeons get really cold even if it isn’t winter.”

“So I got you this because you’re really cold easily. At least that’s what you say to me when you blush because of my compliments.” He said, giving the girl a wink that made her groan in response. George only gave a sheepish smile before continuing. “It's not made with the finest tendered wool but it was made with love! My mum...she knitted it herself! I just thought that you needed something extra to keep you warm in case you’re cold. It’s not much but —“

Y/N, once again cut him off, this time by placing a finger on the boy’s lips before whispering “Shut up, George. I love it! I really do! Thank you, really.”

George removed the girl’s hand in front of him. He placed his forehead against hers, kissing her nose. “I’m glad you love it, Y/N.” He said, matching the softness and tone of Y/N’s voice.

____________________

A few hours later, the couple found themselves in their usual midnight escapade, seated at a soft blanket at the Astronomy tower as they looked up the various stars and constellations enveloped in the night sky.

“Ooh~ Chocolate chip cookies! How did you know that these were my favorite?” Y/N questioned as she divulged the snack, her doe-like eyes sparkling as she looked up the ginger. Truth is, Fred and George thought that it would be a good idea to head to the kitchens to ask for the house elves for some snacks. Fred’s reason was completely different from George’s as he meant to bring apple pie for him, Lee, and Ron’s friends for a little game. George just took the cookies because he thought that the pie would not pass as edible once he took it out of his robes. And no, George did not, in any way or form, know that the Slytherin loves her cookies.

“Of course, I know. I am George afterall.” He answered, grabbing a piece for himself as well. As he carefully munched on his snack, he took a look at Y/N’s glistening features under the stars. If she looked gorgeous under the sunset, she still looked good under the stars. Her eyes were illuminated with sparks, as if it were stars. George also noticed the hairdo of the girl, her hair put together by the black ribbon that came from his gift.

“I like what you did with your hair.” He complimented.

Y/N carefully stroked her locks, twirling some on her finger. “Thanks. I actually used the ribbon that came from your gift.”

“Very resourceful, you are.” “I’m a Slytherin. It’s part of our nature.”

After a few moments of silence, a thought popped out the girl’s head. “So…” Y/N began. “it seems like Slytherin and Gryffindor are gonna rival once again in the championship match for quidditch.”

George replied. “Yup! Reckon I’ll get your support?”

Y/N gave him a teasing smile, sipping on her glass of milk. “Oh you have my support, alright. At least, only you.” She said, shrugging smugly. George furrowed his eyebrows, crossing his arms against his chest. “Not Gryffindor?”

“No! I’m not a Gryffindor, I’m a Slytherin!”

“But your boyfriend is in Gryffindor!” George argued.

“Boyfriend,” Y/N repeated, smiling. “I love the ring of that.”

“I love you.” The ginger blurted out, taking the girl a back. “What?” She asked as if her ears deceived her, wanting to confirm what spoke out of the boy’s mouth.

“What?” George repeated, an innocent look on his face.

“You said something.” Y/N commented. “Yes, I did.” George answered.

“So…” The boy began, changing the subject. “Are you gonna watch the match?”

Y/N raised a brow towards the ginger before mentally pushing her thoughts at the back of her head, grabbing another cookie. “Of course! I need to show my house some support you know.”

George placed his hands on the sides of the girl’s head, pinching her cheeks after giving her a small peck. “Well, your house needs to get ready because this Gryffindor beater will not hesitate to do his best.”

“Just because his luck is going to be watching at the stands.” He declared, giving the shocked girl a wink.

____________________

The next three weeks, the couple barely saw each other as both their schedules clashed. The only time and place where they get to talk to each other, one on one, was during potions class, as they were partners. However, they only spoke of academic things, with Y/N instructing George on what to do next most of the time.

Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor quidditch team captain, was keeping all the players from leisure as he scheduled practice every day, seven days a week, to make sure that his game plan was being executed properly.

“Wood has been keeping us because he wants to win the cup so bad. Reckon it’s his last year in Hogwarts. What better way to end it than winning the Quidditch cup?” Y/N remembered George quietly telling her during one potions class, careful to not get caught by Professor Snape.

As for their usual midnight escapades, even if the ginger insisted to continue on with it, the girl opposed, saying that it was better for George to just go back to his room and rest after a long night of flying around his broom, beating a bludger.

“But I want to spend time with you!” George whined as if he was a child who got his sweets taken away.

“Me too. But you’re gonna be too tired tomorrow. You need some sleep, George.” Y/N reasoned as she stroked the boy’s hair. “We’ll see each other soon. Tell you what, let’s make a bet.”

George’s ears perked up at the word, suddenly interested in how the conversation is getting.

“If you win the quidditch cup, you get to spend time with me 24/7. If you lose, then...that’s unfortunate.” Y/N said, attempting her giggles to come out after saying that last sentence. George groaned, muttering a small “fine.” before resting his head back on the girl’s lap.

“Where’s your stupid lover boy, Icestone?” Y/N’s thoughts were cut off after hearing an obnoxious voice speaking out to her as she quietly read her book on the couch in front of the Slytherin fireplace.

She gave the sour looking boy a small glance before turning her attention back to her book. “Why is a filthy git like you speaking to someone like me?” She expressed distaste on her voice. “So unfortunate for me.” She added.

The boy scowled. “Watch your words, Icestone.”

Y/N feigned a laugh, piercing a threatening stare on the speaker. “Or what, Malfoy?”

“Or I’ll tell your father how you’ve been associating yourself with a blood-traitor like him!” He replied, a smug look on his face after seeing the effect of his words. Y/N slammed her book shut, earning the attention of the other students in the area.

“Why don’t you just mind your bloody own business?!” She bellowed.

“Because you’re tampering the noble house of Icestone!” Draco exclaimed.

“What is it to you? You’re not even an Icestone!” The girl argued.

“But I’m Draco Malfoy.” He began, his voice calmer than before in order to not let their conversation be heard. “Associated with the house of Black and the house of Malfoy. One of the remaining wizard families that remains to be pure, that includes you. Y/N Icestone, the heir. Generations from generations, your royal name has been passed. You should protect that, don’t you think?” He suggested.

Y/N shook her head in disbelief, crossing her arms against her chest as she replied under gritted teeth. “What you’re saying is pointless.”

“Haven’t your parents taught you about how important it is to remain pure? To carry on family tradition?” Draco asked, adding more fuel to the fire that is Y/N Icestone, who rolled her eyes.

“Why are you acting as if the Weasleys are not purebloods?”

“Because they love muggle-borns and adore muggles! They’re blood traitors!” Draco answered, frustrated. “And what’s so wrong about being friendly to other people? At least they have basic human decency unlike you. Grow up, Malfoy.” She answered, spatting at the boy.

“I-”

“Not another word, Draco.” She ordered. “Or I’ll hex you. You wouldn’t want to miss the quidditch match wouldn’t you?” Y/N threatened, her wand out and pointed at the boy’s chest, scaring him. She scoffed at his frightened look, pressing her wand against where it’s pointed.

“Now, shove off, shine your stupid broom or something, and leave my business out of yours.”

____________________

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s your boy, Lee Jordan here and today, we are about to witness Hogwarts’ Quidditch finals with the famous house rivals, Gryffindor vs Slytherins!” Lee, the school’s commentator announced from his mic.

The quidditch field was full of students in anticipation, the stands filled with the two house colors, red and green. Although students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff we’re also in attendance, those who belonged in the said houses put on clothing around themselves that symbolized which team they were rooting for. Majority of it being red for the house of lions.

Y/N Icestone found herself seated at one of the front rows in a Slytherin stand. Beside her was Daphne Greengrass and her sister Astoria, who was talking to each other about who knows what. On the other side of Y/N was Pansy Parkinson and her flock, to which she gave no attention to, even if the girl tried (and failed) to be in her acquaintance.

“First off, we have the Gryffindors!” Lee announced. “Bell, Johnson, Potter, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley, and their team captain, Oliver Wood! Woohoo~! Let’s go Gryffindors! Let’s go!”

The crowd present in the stands cheered with their hearts out as the Gryffindor team players’ names were called. Except for Slytherin and Slytherin supporters, of course. Otherwise, they’d be thrown off the stands.

Even if the whole school knew about Y/N Icestone and George Weasley’s not-so-friendly relationship, Y/N thought to still keep in lowkey and not show the public some displays of affection as she wanted to keep her privacy, in which George completely understood. Additionally, Y/N Icestone comes from the house of loyalty. It wouldn’t be such a great image for her if she openly supported the opposing team.

Therefore, Y/N Icestone tried to control her face from showing any sort of support to her boyfriend’s team, even if the boyfriend in question flew in the stand in front of her, blowing a kiss. Y/N rolled her eyes in response, giving the ginger a thumbs up, only to turn it upside down and mouth a “you’re gonna lose so bad.”

George feigned a hurt expression, his hands on top of his chest where his heart was placed, then suddenly changing it into a smug look and holding up a “2” and “4” on each finger and then “7” before zooming away with another wink.

____________________

The score was currently 120-90 with Gryffindor in the lead. An hour and a half has already passed but neither of the team’s respective seekers have caught the snitch to end the match. Y/N usually would want to have ended the match in an instant for her to go back to the book she’s been reading but this time, she was actually enjoying herself. It was just this match where quidditch suddenly felt very interesting to her. Maybe it was because of a certain ginger beater but who knows right?

“Gryffindor! Gryffindor! Gryffindor!” The crowd chanted like a beating drum. Y/N’s heart was beating in anticipation too. Even if she did not show it, she was actually rooting for Gryffindor to win, chanting with the majority of the crowd inside her head. Her face however, feigning distaste as her house’s team was losing.

A bludger was zooming towards George when his eyes suddenly caught on it. Looking towards the stands to make eye contact with his girlfriend, he pointed his bat towards her as he mouthed a “this one’s for you.”, before hitting the bludger away. The Slytherin crossed her arms against her chest, attempting to hide the blush that’s creeping on her cheeks as she mouthed a “show off” in response. George only gave a wink before flying away.

“Seeker Draco Malfoy with a newly recovered arm has got his eyes on the snitch as he plummets down towards it. What is this?! Harry Potter chasing him! They’re side by side, ooh the nimbus two thousand and one is really a no-match for the firebolt- okay Professor McGonagall, back to the game.”

“Harry Potter took both his hands away from his broom, reaching the fast little snitch, he’s getting closer, closer, a little more closer, and he’s caught it! He’s caught it! Harry Potter has caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins the cup!”

The crowd roars in celebration after the house of Godric has been declared as the champions. Students of Gryffindor were jumping up and down, chanting “Gryffindor! Gryffindor! Gryffindor!” as both team players from the two houses flew down and dismounted their brooms.

Oliver Wood held up a hand towards Marcus Flint as a sign of sportsmanship, who was harshly rejected as the Slytherin team captain slapped his hand away and retreated towards their changing rooms together with the rest of the Slytherin players.

Fred and George had Harry resting on top of their shoulders, who was holding the cup in his arms, surrounded by people from the same house, congratulating them. Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Angelina Johnson, the Gryffindor chasers, were huddled around crying, hugging each other in delight.

As the three houses came together to celebrate the defeat of the winning streak the house represented by a serpent, the Slytherins decided to skip that part and head towards the dungeons instead. Nonetheless, even if the Slytherin did or did not win, there was a party going to be held. It included firewhiskey and chips. Who doesn’t like a cold underground party with firewhiskey and chips?

After putting Harry down, George thanked every single student who came to congratulate him but he was rather distracted, as his eyes were looking for somebody else. The privilege of height was very useful for him as he caught the girl’s eyes in delight, who was beaming at him at the sides. George grinned in return.

Attempting to push past the ocean of crowd he was stuck in, Y/N held out a hand to halt him, her wrist flicking as she levitated a small piece of ripped parchment towards the ginger.

Meet you at the tower later.

George read. Giving a thumbs up to Y/N, who turned her heels away and left the field.

____________________

“Where you off to, mate?” Fred asked, blocking the Gryffindor common room exit away from his twin.

“Nowhere.” George replied, grunting.

“Then why does it seem like you’re up to something? Without me? Why are you keeping things away from me? I thought we were best friends.” Fred rambled, his words slurring as he was starting to get bat-shit drunk.

“Fred, how much did you drink?” The younger twin questioned, mentally slapping his forehead as he observed the bottle of firewhiskey in his twin’s hand, which had about ¼ of it left. “Don’t answer. You need to stop, mate. Or else you’re going to humiliate yourself in front of Angelina.” He commented.

“Angie?! Where is Angie?!” Fred shouted, finally moving away from the portrait as he headed towards Angelina.

“Bet you 5 galleons that he's going to puke in front of her.” Ron muttered from the side. Oh great, another one. George thought.

“Where are you going? I thought you enjoyed parties.” The youngest Weasley boy interrogated.

George sighed, his hands digging his pockets to grab a couple of gold. “Listen, if you don’t ask, move away, and not tell everyone, I’ll give you 5 galleons right away without having that stupid bet you’re proposing.” He negotiated, holding out his hand full of coins in front of Ron’s face.

“Deal!” Ron exclaimed, immediately grabbing the gold and running away.

When George arrived at the Astronomy tower, he was greeted by a red and white picnic blanket settled around his and Y/N’s usual spot. On top of it was a candle lit on the center and a big brown picnic basket.

He felt small and cold hands wrapping around his waist from behind, the owner’s hair tickling the back of his neck. George grinned before turning around to face his girlfriend, his hands resting on the sides of her face as he planted a small and sweet kiss on top of her forehead.

“You really did take your time, huh?” Y/N muttered, raising a brow towards the ginger who smiled sheepishly in return. “I had...obstacles.” He said, shrugging.

“What is all this?” George asked, pointing at the set-up in front of him.

“Your reward.” Y/N answered, pulling him towards the blanket and grabbing the contents of the picnic basket.

“How exactly did you manage to prepare all these?” The ginger questioned, secretly popping a biscuit in his mouth as the girl continued to set-up their night.

Y/N halted her actions, facing the boy, in which she caught divulging the biscuit that made him look as if his eyes were about to pop out of his head. She giggled at the sight, shaking her head from side to side.

“I owled home, asked my mom to bring me some of my favorite snacks. Or maybe it was the house elves. I’m not really sure if my parents are home right now. Oh, now I’m sure. There’s a postcard.”

Y/N, me and your father are currently in Paris. He craved some bread and pasta last night and so we decided to stop by a bit. Your owl came to me so I sent it home to order the house elves. But included are these French toast that you like. X Mom

“Ooh~ French toast. That sounds fancy.” George commented. Y/N digged through the basket, pulling out the toasts before handing one to the ginger.

“So...Paris, huh? Have you ever been to Paris?” The ginger asked. Y/N took a bite of her toast.

“Yes...and no.” She answered, making George confused. “What do you mean?”

“Well, my mother and father were into 4 months of expecting me when they were in Paris. But as you know, obviously, I wasn’t born yet so that doesn’t really count.” Y/N began. “Father told me that Paris holds a special place in their hearts because that’s where he proposed to my mother. In front of the Eiffel tower. Papa said that’s also where he realized how he loved her.” She explained.

“Bet he said ‘Eiffel for you’ in front of the Eiffel tower.” George punned, earning a small shove from the grinning girl. “That was such a bad joke.” She convinced.

“Nah~! If it was bad, you wouldn’t have been trying to suppress your laugh.” He teased. “But guess what, Y/N?”

“What?” She asked, curious.

“Eiffel for you too.” George declared, earning a loud laugh from Y/N which caused him to get infected too.

“Godric! This is so much better than watching Fred humiliate himself in front of Angelina.”

____________________

Approximately 4 in the morning, Y/N and George separated ways as they sneaked back into their house common rooms. As the Slytherin turned to the next corner to the hall, she was greeted by the sight of her cat’s tail, Lixie on its way back to her quarters as well.

“Lixie!” She called out, rather too loudly, making her flinch and look around the halls to make sure that no one caught her. After concluding that the coast was clear, she turned her attention back to the Siamese cat, questioning him, this time in a much more hushed tone. “What are you doing here? What did I say about leaving the quarters without my permission?”

“I was with little Ginny! You didn’t bring me to the quidditch finals! Good thing she took me.” Lixie replied, suddenly jumping on Y/N’s arms. “Now carry me to make up for it.” He demanded, nuzzling his body to the girl’s warm embrace.

“Even so! You should have had Mira to tell me or something. You know how worried I get.” She scolded.

“No, you’re too busy with a lover boy to be worried about me.” Lixie commented. “Besides, if I didn’t leave the quarters, you would have gotten your heart broken.”

Y/N stopped in her tracks, looking down at Lixie as confusion flooded her mind. “What do you mean?”

End of Chapter 5

____________________

Taglist: @abrunettefangirlnerd @gloryekaterina @lilypad-55449 @memekingofwwiii @leovaldez37

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cadykeus-clay · 3 years

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Would you mind sharing your thoughts about vex and Beau being cross campaign foils?

so!!!! first things first: apologies for taking weeks to answer this, finals + having adhd sometimes makes my brain turn to mush and forget every ask ive ever recieved. second of all, i’m assuming you sent me this bc of what i said in my vm vs. m9 how they view the world meta. and i’ll be real with you. i have exactly 0 memory of what was going through my head when i wrote that line, so i am simply going to type out a bunch of thoughts that i have on the similarities and differences between beau and vex and i hope that lives up to what you were expecting jsdflksjdksld

I'll detail some specifics in a moment, but overall, I think beau and vex share a very similar kind of trauma of exclusion in their formative years, that's caused them to have a lot of similar traits that manifest in different ways - for vex, she maintains control through her material posessions and beau finds an emotional control in her asshole-ness. I've broken this down into 5 points on which I think comparing the two really emphasizes that claim:

1. daddy issues: both beau and vex have awful no good terrible very bad dads. both syldor and thoreau can suck my ass. they both raised their kids with little love and impossible-to-meet expectations, alientating them and leaving them with lifelong feelings of inferiority and unbelonging. If beau and vex were to meet, i think they would have a very friendly toast to shitty dads, and then have a good drunk vent about it an hour later.

but, at the same time, the actual minutae of their trauma and the ways it manifests are nearly polar opposites. syldor wanted nothing to do with vex, or else wanted her to somehow become a full elf. her issue was that she would never be able to belong, despite her desire to, and as she grew up it lead to her being overly protective and even possessive of the people she found who DID accept her as she was.

With beau, rather than exclusion, her father created an environment of toxic inclusion. He created a role for beau to belong in, disregarding her distate for actually fulfilling it. And, as such, she ended up making herself into someone who could have no expectations and pushed away anyone who tried to set them up for her. In the end, they both came to love themselves by abandoning the woman their father wanted them to be but for vex it was the laying down of an impossible dream and for beau it was the picking up of a mantle she had feared to wear.

2. brothers: now, on the topic of family, I also think its really interesting how their interactions with their brothers play out. We've got vex and vax, tied at the hip til the very end and then some; and then we've got beau and TJ - decades apart and with beau barely acknolwedging TJ's existence. But, even that distance between beau and TJ didn't stop her caring for him when they actually met. She gave him lucky Jade, and she entertained the idea of kidnapping him to get him away from her stinko dad.

And I'd espeically like to talk about what she said outside the hag's hut - "I think Luc and TJ could be best friends", in comparison to the way Vex reacted when Vax told her was going to Zephrah with Keyleth for the year break. There's an aspect to the way they interact with their brothers that lets them slip back into those bad habits they formed growing up (NOT that i'm claiming vex and vax were like toxic for each other. but even good relationships can have unhealthy moments).

With Beau, when she offers to give her happiness so TJ can grow up safe, she's trying to take on the role she's ""supposed"" to fill - the big sister, the protector - because she failed to fill the one her father set out. And with Vex, when she grows jealous of Vax, it's because she's afraid that his leaving with keyleth is a sign that she no longer belongs in his inner circle, and she falls back on that childish, desperate desire to do anything to be accepted unconditionally.

3. romance: spoilers for 5 or so most recent m9 eps (115-120) if you haven't watched them ahead!!!! at this point, both vex and beau have an endgame romance - percy and yasha respectively. Obviously as the m9's campaign is still playing out, that could change, but like. yasha wrote her a love letter and they're officially going on a date so i'm counting that as at least endgame-track rather than just random flirting. What's interesting to me is that they both seem to flip between the SAME roles between their (in-game) general perception and their actual pursual of romance.

Vex gets characterized as a pretty big flirt, right? She's got the winks, the casual "darling". She's flashed grog her boobs on multiple instances with little prompting. Beau, similarly, has easily the most game out of anyone in the m9. She's slept with two guest characters and at least one more npc in the events of the game. Caleb made her a fuck mirror in her room in the mansion. And yet, in both of their actual romantic endeavors, they became the shy, uncertain type.

Vex only confessed her feelings when Percy was laying dead before her, and not an hour of game play before percy kissed her in the woods, she had a talk with vax about how she was pretty sure he didn't like her that way and she didn't want to pursue it. Beau, similarly, spent a very long time convinced that yasha wasn't looking for love after zuala, especially not in anyone like her, asked everyone in the party if they thought yasha ACTUALLY liked her, just to be safe, and then still terrified to ask her out after recieving a literal love letter. I'd argue this shift comes from that same sense of unbelonging - they're very good at pretending they fit a role but doubt their actual right to take it when the opportunity is presented. This time, the role is the lover rather than the daughter.

4. authority: Both vex and beau grew up shunned by the upper crust of society, and grew to mistrust those kinds of people. And yet, both of their arcs result in them assuming such a position. Vex, thrown out of high society gets her place as a baronness, and Beau, running from leadership of her father's business ends up a top member of the Cobalt Soul. There's not a lot here, but I find it interesting how both of their stories involve them shedding their baggage regarding authority and power and assuming it in a way that they feel comfortable in - invitation by someone she trusts for vex, and a promise of freedom of will and control for beau.

5. their deadliest sins: this is the point at which their similarities culminate and transform to a fundamental difference. despite everything they share - shitty childhoods, the small piece of family that's still good, flirtiness masking shy love, and a mistrust of those in power - vex and beau are such different characters because of their biggest vices. Vex, both in game and out, is "the greedy one". She's stingy with money, she haggles for everything, she mourns the loss of physical objects. Beau is "the mean one". She cares little for people's feelings if they're not in her immediate circle, she focuses on her tough guy image, she laughs at things she knows she shouldn't.

And, over the course of the campaign, as they find unconditional acceptance, they grow away from these traits (I won't say they grow out of them) because they heal from the things causing these vices to begin with. I've always been vocal about vex's greed being a manifestation of her class insecurity, and beau's asshole-ness stemming from her fear of being forced back into another position of complacency. And I stand by that now - all the similarities in their backstories are what tally up to these different women.

Despite her careful tally of party funds and her reflexive bargaining, vex is not cruel. she is not angry on her own behalf. She saves two boys from the market in the city of brass at great personal cost, she relinquishes an entire dragon's hoard to the devastated city of Westruun, she took the time to save a baby bear from a cage when she could have just cut and run after escaping her own. She's the first one most people go to when they need a shoulder to cry on, and she's devastated when they don't (thinkin about when Scanlan left). She carved "forgiveness" into the bow she stole from a man after killing him by proclaiming how much she loved someone, because she knew anger had no place in her heart.

And Beau, Beau is a bitch and she's harsh, but she doesn't hoard or protect like vex did. she spends her money without much of a second thought. She pitches in to help her friends buy a ton of glowsticks, and she loves to indulge in material desires like drink and good food and the nicer inn room. She's a member of an organization that's about making knowledge public rather than guarding it. And, though this may be controversial, I think her position with bowlgate of "its not our problem what cali wants to do with it", her long-standing mistrust of their alliance with the bright queen and and more recently with the tomb takers of "i want to go in and talk, rather than assuming they're antagonistic, even if it puts us at a disadvantage" are both examples of this non-possessiveness too - she has no need or desire to get involved in controlling what other people are doing.

so, i guess the general conclusion here is: vex struggles to let go of things, of money, of people. beau struggles to let herself be known in case she gets wrongly interpreted again. they both fight feelings of inadequacy, they both fight the feelings of not belonging, of 'doing it wrong', they fight the perception of them as shitty people because of the shells they hide in despite their absolute hearts of gold. but at the end of the day, vex's story is one of having to lay down what could never be hers so she can carry what is, and beau's story is one of allowing herself to be known so a place can be made for her.

#hope this is what you and that other anon were looking for jdsflkdsajfsaldfsa #critical role #vexahlia #beauregard #long post

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myhahnestopinion · 3 years

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THE AARONS 2020 - Best TV Show

It was prime time for TV in 2020, with many more free hours to fill. I managed to get through a lot of my backlog in fact, finally getting around to watching shows like The Strain. It’s a show about a deadly disease that tears society apart because a lot of arrogant people think they are exempt from quarantining. The disease turns people into vampires, so it’s technically escapism. Here are the Aarons for Best TV Show:

#10. The Plot Against America (Miniseries) - HBO

It’s not TV, it’s not HBO, it’s real life. The Wire-creator David Simon’s penchant for illustrating the human fallout of institutional failures made him a perfect collaborator for HBO’s Plot Against America, an adaptation of Phillip Roth’s alternate-history novel. Following a Jewish family in New Jersey navigating the increasingly-fascist America of a hypothetical Charles Lindbergh administration, the show is a terrifying warning of what happens when hatred and conspiracy theories are allowed to accumulate political force. Notably, while the book ends with history back on the right track, the closing moments here are left ambiguous. The show was a limited series, but in many ways, The Plot Against America is ongoing.

#9. Mrs. America (Miniseries) - FX

Its interests are married to The Plot Against America, but Mrs. America traces the country’s rising extremism from a more historically accurate perspective. The miniseries centers on political activists in the 1970s on opposing sides of the proposed Equal Rights Amendment, but its dialogue isn’t a strict dichotomy. The episodic format is expertly utilized to build out intersectional ideas from the likes of Rose Byrne’s Gloria Steinem, Uzo Aduba’s Shirley Crisholm, and Margo Martindale’s Bella Abzug, detailing the difficulties in building a diverse coalition, and the dangers of a single-minded one. Drawing parallels to current debates, its compelling centerpiece is how conservative Phylis Shafley (Cate Blanchett) successfully defeats the Amendment; voting against your own self-interests, Mrs. America says, is as American as apple pie.

#8. The Outsider (Miniseries) - HBO

Societal collapse comes from within in the two shows mentioned above, but the threat in HBO’s adaptation of Stephen King’s 2018 novel is decidedly an “other.” King clearly had his mind on modern manipulations of truth when crafting the ingenious premise: a man is arrested for the murder of two young boys due to irrefutable DNA evidence, only to provide an air-tight alibi for the crime. To match King’s procedural prose, HBO brought on The Night Of’s David Price, who layers the original work with meticulous mysteries. The Outsider has all the pulpy jolts expected of the author, but the show’s true horror lies in its overbearing grief, best brought to life by Ben Mendelsohn’s Detective Anderson. To say more would be to spoil its secrets; you’ll want to be on the inside.

#7. Perry Mason (Season 1) - HBO

Just like the famous fictional attorney, HBO can’t seem to lose, with Perry Mason marking its third entry on this list. The reimagining of the long running court drama actually takes place before the character’s illustrious law career; here he’s a down-on-his-luck private eye caught up in a scandalous child kidnapping case. The result’s a gangbusters production of old-fashioned moody noir: political corruption, femme fatales, and a more morally-complicated Mason, as played by The Americans’ Matthew Rhys. The lavish period details and character-actor cast, including Shea Whigham, John Lithgow, and Tatiana Maslany, will help draw viewers in, but, I’ll confess, I was already hooked by the season’s chilling opening moments.

#6. Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist (Season 1) - NBC

Dour seasons have dominated this list thus far, but Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist sings a different tune. It’s a lovably oddball premise: an accident during an MRI causes a young woman, played by Jane Levy, to hear other people’s thoughts in the form of popular music. It’s all karaoke, but, emphasized by the presence of Skylar Astin, a worthy inheritor to Crazy Ex-Girlfriend’s musical-comedy crown. The tracklist, workplace antics, and love-triangle drama all exist in a comfortingly familiar network TV realm, but the show takes additional steps for inclusion with stories highlighting Zoey’s genderfluid neighbor (Alex Newell) and an American Sign Language performance of Rachel Platten’s “Fight Song.” During a year in need of shuffling off stress, there was no better time to queue up Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist.

#5. What We Do in The Shadows (Season 2) - FX

FX’s expansion of the mockumentary feature film of the same name lit up some of the darker corners of its universe in the show’s second season, transforming mundane-seeming material into something completely, uniquely batty. Each creature of Shadows took their turn in the spotlight this season, from a middle-management promotion gifting energy-vampire Colin Robinson unlimited supernatural power, to undead Nadja befriending a doll possessed by her own ghost, to Matt Berry’s Lazlo forging a small-town persona as a bartender/volleyball coach to escape a vengeful Mark Hamill. As always, it was the sympathetic Guillermo (Harvey Guillén), a Van Helsing descendent desperate to become a vampire, who gave the show its emotional stakes, and the vampires within a different kind altogether.

#4. Stargirl (Season 1) - DC Universe

Shadows was lit, but few things burned brighter this year than Stargirl (perhaps too brightly for the flamed-out DC Universe). The superhero drama is one of several that will outlive its original streaming service - fitting, given its obsession with legacy. Based on a character created by DC Comics stalwart Geoff Johns after the tragic loss of his sister, the show finds a young girl taking on the mantle of a fallen hero after moving to a town run in secret by supervillains. With sprightly fight choreography and an unabashed embrace of its comic book lore, Stargirl outshines the overabundance of small-screen superheroes out there. Its highlight is the bright performance of lead Brec Bassinger; put simply, she’s a star, girl.

#3. BoJack Horseman (Season 6b) - Netflix

Throughout its run, BoJack Horseman garnered acclaim for routinely delivering unexpected pathos, and the final season kept it on that track until the end. ...Get it, because horses run on tracks? The unexpected porter of television’s legacy of antiheroes ended in much the same vein as its sister shows - with consequences finally catching up with its protagonist. No amount of fanciful animal puns could soften that painful catharsis, as the show finally trampled its tricky web of abuse through bittersweet means. The series closed out with an especially thoughtful scene, the kind viewers who looked past the wonky pilot years ago were regularly blessed with; to the very end, BoJack, you were a gift, horse.

#2. Better Call Saul (Season 5) - AMC

As good as Bad ever was and better than ever before, the fifth season of AMC’s spin-off completely upended the world of its eponymous lawyer while bringing Vince Gilligan’s universe one step away from full-circle. Saul Goodman found himself in way over his head, and viewers found themselves way on the edge of their seats, as his first foray into “criminal” lawyering swiftly dovetailed with an escalating drug war. Despite the emotional distress of watching fan-favorite character Kim Wexler placed in perilous situations, there are no objections to be had with the drama’s continued masterful storytelling. Ramping up the slow-burn storytelling, season five saw Kim and Saul’s relationship develop in rich and unexpected ways, while still keeping their final fates unresolved. Fans are thus waiting with bated breath for the show’s final call next year.

#1. The Great (Season 1) - Hulu

Who could be the best but The Great? There was a minor television controversy this year over Netflix marketing The Crown as a historical drama despite its fictional interpretation of events; The Great has no such pretentions. An asterix adorns every title card of the show, letting viewers know that its take on Catherine the Great’s coup against Emperor Peter III of Russia is only “an occasionally true story.” The show indeed is not great for education, but it’s the most entertaining television of the year, locking stars Elle Fanning and Nicholas Hoult in a battle of wits and a fight for the country’s soul under the watch of The Favourite co-writer Tony McNamara. The uproarious comedy slyly collates leadership based in cruelty with leadership based in goodwill in the background of its quite bawdy escapades, a subtle bit of relevant political maneuvering that lets it successfully claim the crown this year.

NEXT UP: THE 2020 AARONS FOR BEST TV EPISODE!

#tv #TheAarons #TheAarons2020 #TheAaronsTV #best of 2020 #the plot against america #mrs america #the outsider #perry mason #zoey's extraordinary playlist #what we do in the shadows #stargirl #bojack horseman #better call saul #the great

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minghaocouture · 3 years

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Pairing: Templar!Kim Mingyu x Elf Mage!Reader Genre: Dragon Age AU, enemies (?) to lovers, angst, established universe WC: 5k+ Warning: magical lobotomy (through branding), language

A/N: So this is for @merakiiverse job au collab! I’ve been wanting to write a Dragon Age au for like...ever, and this just gave me the push I needed. So there are some terms from the game used in the fic but I did my best to explain them without taking away from the story. Also really glad i finished this before i got sick lol.

“Come on wake up!” You groaned, slapping away the hands of your best friend as he tried to shake you awake. You had gotten to sleep pretty late last night, having snuck into the circle library to do a bit more reading after hours so you were trying to bask in the last few minutes of sleep before your lessons today.

You heard a loud groan from the younger male before everything seemed to turn upside down and your frame was sent tumbling to the stone floor of the Apprentice Quarters with a loud thud and a shriek. Your eyes snapping open to glare at your dear friend Chan with his hands still gripping the mattress that he had just thrown you from.

Quickly you shoved your palms against the chilled stone flooring to push yourself up, as the male laughed hysterically and dropped the mattress back onto the simple wooden frame of your bottom bunk.

“Chan, I want you to remember that we are trapped in this tower together for the rest of our lives. So I will be getting you back for this.” You muttered angrily as you brushed off your scratchy white sleeping robes that the circle had provided for you. Fueled by frustration, you quickly fixed up your bed so that the senior enchanters wouldn’t be angry with you for making a mess.

“Hey come on, don’t be like that!” He quickly exclaimed, offering you some assistance with fixing your bed if only so he could get on your good side once again. It’s usually what he would do to try and get on your good side, things like taking your cleaning duties or distracting the templars so you can sneak into the libraries at night. “I woke you up for a reason!”

“And what would that be?”

“They brought in new templars, fresh new faces for us to make fun of!” He made a good point. During your extended stay in the circle Chan and you had taken to picking at the Templars that were assigned to ‘guard’ the tower, well the Templars that wouldn’t immediately attack or detain you for your teasings. You shuddered as you remembered being thrown into the cramped cell that was used for solitary confinement.

“How many this time?” You questioned, pulling your daily robes from the chest at the foot of the bunk beds that you and Chan shared. You swiftly stripped yourself of the uncomfortable white material of your night robes and slipped on the navy blue skirt, once again curious as to why the skirts had such delicate embroidery on the hem if they were simply to be given to mages. Maybe it was something to make your people think they were in a higher position than they were, either that or a small ‘oh here are some pretty robes, we definitely consider mages people!’ kind of thing. You weren’t too sure.

Chan took a seat on the bed as you tied the skirt to fit your waist, he wasn’t bothered by your disrobing at this point. After all, the two of you had been in this tower since you were children and it wasn’t like the tower offered much privacy for any of the apprentices. If you wanted that you would have to pass your harrowing, only then would you receive private quarters.

You struggled with your skirt for a moment, it being far too big for you, but it wasn’t like they made new robes for every apprentice; everything you owned was a hand me down from either a senior enchanter or...a tranquil.

“There were four of them, they all looked like they came right from training too. No old farts this time,” He explained, lounging on your too thin mattress as you slipped the top piece on, the long sleeves and thick fabric felt just as suffocating as it did every day, and it also continued to show your status as a lower being in the eyes of these people. The small gold trim wasn’t as nice as it was on the human’s robes, and you were sure that was the point. It was something that looked nice, but not as nice as the human mages robes that Chan wore. It wasn’t enough that your mage abilities make you a lesser being but your elven blood as well, you were certain that the Maker had a sense of humor when he made you.

With practiced ease you tied the laces of your sleeves around your wrists before working on the clasps of your belts. It was a constricting and suffocating outfit that made you feel quite claustrophobic at times. As if the robes were just as bad as the tower itself.

“Well, I guess let’s go check them out. Gotta let these newbies know that not all mages are just gonna let them walk over us.” You tried to seem optimistic but after being in this tower for almost 16 years, it was a little harder to force that smile sometimes. Which was why you were grateful you had Chan with you, the two of you looked out for each other no matter what happened.

He hopped off of your bed and took a firm grasp on your wrist before pulling you out of the shared apprentice chambers, ignoring the strange looks from the templars and other apprentices as the two of you dashed into the hallway on the first floor of your prison.

The two of you peered around the corner into the entrance hall as you watched the initiates be inducted by Knight Commander Greagoir, the head of your captors, he was telling them all about their duty to the citizens of Ferelden and the Chantry, all that nonsense. It was basically just propoganda to make these people feel like they had the right to place themselves above you.

The new initiates weren’t too impressive, once again all humans of course, because the precious Chantry couldn’t trust elves such as yourself to become Templars. Most likely because elves would be more likely to opposed the confining of people just for circumstances of their birth, at least the ones who weren’t already brain washed into believing the Chantry’s inane teachings. That thought always reminded you that even if you weren’t trapped in this tower, you would simply be in an alienage in one of the many towns around Ferelden, another prison. Elves simply weren’t welcomed or free anywhere, at least not in a human society. There were surprisingly three women and only one male this time, which was abnormal because women seemed to stray more towards becoming Chantry sisters than Templars. So that was interesting, you’d have to figure out their names. The only interesting thing about the male was his ridiculous height. He looked almost tall enough to be a member of the Qunari, all he was missing was the horns, or at least you assumed since you had never seen a Qunari in real life.

If only you knew what would follow this day.

***

“You know, you aren’t supposed to be in the library after lights out.”

You almost screamed in surprise at the unfamiliar voice. You knew the schedule for the Templars and usually you were able to skirt around and hide whenever it was time for their rounds to reach the libraries. Apparently tonight was determined to be different. Glancing up from your book you flashed the Templar a sheepish smile, instantly recognizing this man as one of the new initiates whose name you had yet to learn. It wasn’t exactly...forbidden but initiates were definitely encouraged to not give their name to the mages or learn the names of the mages either, it was probably so they didn’t connect that you were real living beings and develop a conscience.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I said I had an incurable illness that causes me to sleep walk around the tower, would you?” You were likely to be in deep shit because of this. Knowing how new recruits were, usually the super brown nosing type, they wanted to make superiors happy so that they could get promotions. Unfortunately for you, that usually meant getting mages into trouble.

Knowing this was probably why you were so shocked to hear the giant male snort, in an attempt to hold back a laugh. In all the years of living here, you hadn’t met a Templar who actually laughed at your jokes or smiled at you...like this male was doing right now. He glanced over his shoulder looking towards the opening in the shelves that hid the two of you from view. This library was almost perfect for hiding, the rows were like their own little hallways with bookshelves that almost reached the ceiling which was perfect for blocking the light of your candle when you were here at night. He must be checking to make sure that none of his co-workers had entered the library after him.

Soon his attention was back to you, a small boyish smirk on his faces as he spoke. “Well I suppose I’d ask you to tell me about this terrible illness, is it contagious? I’m not sure the other mages would like it if I was roaming the halls in my sleep.”

You were once again dumbfounded by this human. You wouldn’t expect him to think about what would and wouldn’t upset the mages, usually the Templars just did what they wished with no regard for those they were meant to be watching over.

“No, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t like that. Lucky for you, I was born with it just like my hideous magic.” You didn’t truly believe that your magic was horrible. If everything was done by the Maker for a reason, then so were mages! People were just taking Andraste’s “Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him,” thing a bit too far.

“I don’t think your magic is horrible. It’s a gift from the Maker! The Maker doesn’t give bad gifts,” He confessed, quite a controversial opinion for a Templar to have. With one more glance over his shoulder to make sure that the two of you were still alone, he pulled out the chair across from you and took a seat.

“I’m Mingyu. What’s your name?”

***

After that fateful night in the library, Mingyu and you kept in contact but only in the dead of night and only when he was scheduled to patrol the first floor library. Tonight was one such night.

“Chan is getting suspicious, ya know?” You mentioned, laughing softly from your seat at the table the two of you frequented. He raised a brow at you and tilted his head slightly, his lips jutting out in a small pout. He honestly looked pretty adorable like that, nothing like the fearsome Templar act he had to put on during the day.

“He thinks I’m shaking up with another apprentice and not telling him.”

“Imagine the look on his face if he knew you were just hanging out with me.” Mingyu retorted, going to rest his cheek on his palm only to remember that he was wearing his gaudy templar armor and deciding against it. This caused him to pout more and for you to laugh, making sure to keep your volume down so you weren’t caught by anyone else patrolling the area.

A silence fell over the two of you as your laughter subsided. It was here where the two of you were illuminated only by candlelight that you felt safe. That was something you weren’t used to feeling. In the Circle, there was a constant need to watch your back and be on your guard just in case some random Templar got pissy because you ‘looked at them funny’. It was a struggle for survival.

These nights were different though. You could almost imagine that you weren’t locked inside this tower you could dream about possibly being free and in the outside world that you vaguely remembered. Hell, how long had it been since you had seen the sun?

"How long have you been in the Tower?"

The question was innocent enough, but it definitely threw you off guard. It wasn't something you liked to think about often. It had been so many years ago and it wasn’t exactly a...pleasant memory.

"It's been...I think about 17 years almost? I developed my magic when I was around 6 years old and my mother was very devout. So she turned me into the chantry, saying that the Maker had frowned upon her and her family by giving them a Mage for a daughter." It hurt a lot thinking back on the day that your mother had abandoned you. Her pleas to the Chantry mothers, begging them to take you as she also begged for the Maker's forgiveness. Thinking she had obviously done something wrong if she had given birth to a mage.

You watched a frown set it self onto his face, obviously not having expected to hear such a thing. Most parents went so far as to hide their children from the Chantry, making them apostates, illegal mages, so that they wouldn't lose their precious bundles of joy. Just like Chan's parents. They had fought tooth and nail to keep him when the Templars came, it even cost them their lives. Chan didn't like talking about it but you knew that he still had frequent nightmares about that horrible day.

"What about you?" You questioned, diverting the attention from your situation and onto Mingyu. "Why did you become a Templar? I'm sure being a regular knight would have been just as nice, if not easier. At least knights aren’t also stuck inside the Circle tower." It may not have been a prison to the Templars, but they were still trapped inside these halls as well. Most weren’t really able to leave either unless they were going to visit their families, and even then that was rare.

He chuckled dryly at your words and shook his head.

"Something we have in common, I suppose. My family is also very devout, very deep into the teachings of the Chantry. All the men end up becoming Templars if they can. It's in our blood. So of course, as soon as I was old enough to hold a sword I was sent off to training to try and become the best Templar the Kim line had ever seen." The look on his face was one of melancholy, one that you recognized as a look that you had seen on other mages. The look of someone trapped in their own fate.

"Guess we're...kinda in the same boat, huh?" You gently nudged his arm that rested on the table with one of your fist. It was a small gesture, but one with meaning for both of you. Reaching out he gently, or as gently as he could while wearing full plate mail, took your extended hand in his own. The cold metal was a stark contrast against your heated skin, causing you to shiver lightly. He gave a small squeeze and a tiny smile made it’s way onto his face, as if he had been comforted by your words.

You felt your heart stutter for a moment, watching the features of his face in the candle light. It was still for a moment before he released you hand and stood from his chair.

"I should get back to my patrols before any other the others get suspicious. I'll leave a note in our spot when we can meet up again."

You were moments away from responding but stopped short as he leaned down and pressed his lips softly against your forehead. You were stunned still and silent as you watched him pull away, smiling at you once again, before slipping off into the night.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared after him in shock. Your face flushed with heat, and you knew that Kim Mingyu would be the death of you at this rate.

***

"I hope this doesn't offend you but...what is so bad about being made Tranquil?"

You winced slightly at his words, the thoughts of the Tranquil always frightened you. Of course, being a Chantry boy, he had been told from a young age that being made Tranquil was a mercy for mages. Because if you were Tranquil then at least you were alive. It was all a lode of rubbish. Instead of just answering his question, you decided to ask one of your own.

"Do you know Owain? The Tranquil who runs the Circle stock room?" He nodded slowly, unsure of where exactly you were going. "I arrived at the tower before he was turned. He was a kind man who took me under his wing and helped me adjust to life at the tower. I was very young and so very scared, but Owain had basically turned into a father figure for me. I cared for him so much." You felt tears prick at your eyes, threatening to spill over as you recalled the man you once knew.

"One morning, a few years after Chan had been sent here. I had to have been around 11, well we woke to find Owain standing in front of the stock room just like he does now. Only he was no longer the kind, father figure I had grown to love. He was so cold, lifeless. Being made Tranquil isn't a mercy to mages, it's taking every part of them that makes them who they are and ripping it away." You tried to keep quiet, but the more you spoke the more anger and fear bubbled in your guts. You had barely even registered that you had begun crying.

"You become a lifeless husk that holds the shape of who you used to be."

You couldn't bring yourself to look up from the table, to watch the emotions that were surely playing out on his face as he watched you cry. You were surprised at how silently he had moved, because you were soon pulled to stand and held tightly against his armored chest. It wasn't too comfortable because of the plate mail he constantly wore, the metal poking into your skin and it reminded you that while this embrace was comforting...it was also dangerous. Against your better judgement, your arms quickly wrapped around him and pulled him closer as you tried your best to keep your cries quiet. As you sobbed you heard him whisper soft nothings to you, but one stood out from the rest.

A promise that he would never let you be made Tranquil.

***

It wasn't long before those soft forehead kisses from before became kisses of passion. Soon you didn't need the candle light as your guide as you followed the curves of his body under his armor. Things changed quickly, and before you knew it two years had passed and you were hopelessly in love with Kim Mingyu. Something that should have never come to pass.

You were certain that at least First Enchanter Irving knew, he somehow knew everything that happened in the Circle Tower, and while you weren't a very religious woman, you found yourself praying to the Maker that Knight Commander Greagoir was still clueless. Unfortunately the one person you wanted to talk to about this was the person you were most determined to keep in the dark.

Lee Chan, your best friend.

"You should tell him." Mingyu, gently caressed your cheek, his gloves had been taken off long ago as the two of you lounged in your usual spot in the library. Your meetings had gotten farther and fewer between as he rose in the ranks of the knights and you stayed a simple apprentice.

If you were being honest you were a bit worried about that as well, but Mingyu assured you that it was nothing to be concerned about.

“Oh sure, that’ll go well. I can picture it now. ‘Hey Chan, you know the Templars who watch our every move and are sometimes ordered to strip us of our entire sense of self, yeah I’m in love with one of them. The tall lanky one that has been trying to joke with you, yeah the one you complain about all the time that’s him’.” You chuckled to yourself as you thought about his reaction to that, and not really realizing what you had just admitted. Not until you glanced over at Mingyu and found him staring at you dumbfounded.

“You love me?”

You froze, like a A million thoughts raced through your head, all of the best and worst possible outcomes. What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if this was just fooling around? What if he said he could never love an elf and he had just been using you? What if, what if?! Your heart thudded loudly inside your chest as you stared at him, unable to enunciate the way he made you feel.

Luckily for you all of those what ifs were cut off as his hand grasped the back of your neck and pulled you into a kiss filled with such fire that you could almost feel yourself being burned. Everything he wanted to say was trapped inside this kiss, you weren’t alone with your feelings and this kiss told you all you needed to know and more.

After a string of long, intense kisses that you were almost certain would lead to another round of light touches and soft moans, he pulled away. His forehead pressed against your own and a large almost blinding smile was plastered on his face.

“I love you too.”

***

You stared at the small flame of your candle in silence, he was late. Usually he was exactly on time, never early and definitely never late. It was too dangerous otherwise. Your stomach was in knots at the thought of what could possibly be keeping him. That’s when you heard the sound of armor clanking against the stone flooring, almost like the person was running. Since you weren’t entirely sure it was him, you quickly blew out your candle and slid under the table to hide.

The footsteps got closer and your heartbeat seemed to be almost as loud as the steps themselves. You only relaxed at the small call of your name. The familiar voice had you out from under the table in record time.

“You scared the daylights out of me Mingyu, I was worried something had happened.” You confessed, using a small bit of your magic to light the candle’s flame once again. The light gave way to the terrified look on his face, streaks of tears stained his cheeks, and you found yourself running to his side to wipe away the fresh batch that was threatening to spill out.

“Mingyu, baby what’s wrong?” You whispered, doing your best to comfort him by taking his hand in your free one and using the other to gently caress his cheek.

“We need to go. The Phylactery chamber, we need to find yours. I need to get you out of here.” His deep voice cracked as he tried his best to control his tears. He looked so frightened and pale even, despite his tanned skin. Your heart sunk as you thought of your Phalactery, the vial of blood that had been taken from you when you arrived and was stored inside a chamber with all of the other apprentice’s. It was the templar’s way of tracking you if you had ever escaped, and was the biggest reason you had never attempted to escape the circle.

What he was suggesting was crazy though, there was no way the two of you would be able to storm the Phalactery chamber, there were two locks and it required a fully realized enchanter to unlock one of them and you...had yet to be called for your Harrowing. So you tried to console him.

“Baby, what are you talking about? You know we can’t do something that crazy. If we get caught you’ll be kicked out of the order or worse, sent somewhere like Aeonar. Why are you ev-”

“They want to make you tranquil.”

Your heart stopped at his confession, eyes going wide as your blood chilled within your veins. Subconsciously you took a step away from him in disbelief, you didn’t question the legitimacy of his words because you knew for certain that he wouldn’t lie to you like that. Not when he knew your fear of being made Tranquil. You watched as he stared helplessly at you and began speaking once more.

“Knight Commander Greagoir thinks that...he thinks that you might be a blood mage. Even suggesting that you- that what we have is because of a demon’s influence.” He took a step forward to close the distance between the two of you, taking your hand back into his own. He liked holding your hand, he had said in the past, it made him feel loved so very loved.

“I know it’s not. I tried to talk to him but he...he wants me to perform the rite. Which is why we have to get you out of here!”

Your mind seemed to be going a million miles per hour but also seemed to stop all at once. Your limbs had gone numb as you stared blankly at the floor in terror, you weren’t sure what to do. If you ran on your own then they would just send Templars to find you and with your phylactery, it would be quick work and both you and Mingyu would end up dead. If you followed Mingyu’s plan, you would most likely be caught and turned Tranquil anyway only with this route he would also be punished for his crimes. Lastly, If you stayed, you would be made tranquil at the hands of the man you loved. There was no winning in this situation, there was never a winning choice for a mage.

You pulled your hand from his grasp, causing a small pained sound to leave his lips, breaking your heart as it did so.

“You have to do it…”

“Y/N no! We talked about this I won-”

“We don’t have any other choice!” You cursed yourself after your outburst, though at this point you weren’t sure you could get into anymore trouble. “If you got caught you would never be able to see Minseo or your parents again!” You had spoken of his family in great detail before, and you couldn’t bear to know that he would never see them again just because of his attachment to you.

You didn’t want to be made Tranquil, but you also didn’t want anything bad to happen to him. This was the only option where at least one of you would be able to keep living freely.

Thinking about the fact that your days were now numbered scared you, the numb feeling from before seemed to linger but you couldn’t find it in yourself to cry. Not now, not when you had to seem like you were certain of your decision. He needed that from you.

So you swallowed your terror and gently cupped his cheeks in your hands.

“You have to do this Mingyu. There isn’t any way of getting out of this. Not that will actually work.” You muttered, voice soft as you kept eye contact with the male. You felt his hands reach up and rest over your own, and took solace in the fact that what the two of you felt was real. At least for a little while longer.

“If it’s you...it’s okay.”

You had never lied to Mingyu before, but...this seemed like a good time to start.

***

The grip on your forearms was sure to form bruises, but at least after this you wouldn’t feel them.

You stared before you as the branding rod held in Mingyu’s tight grip lingered over the open flame, making sure that the metal would be hot enough to etch itself into your skin.

You couldn’t stop the tears that fell from your eyes, and you had sure tried. You knew that seeing you cry could cause Mingyu to hesitate, falter or even flat out refuse the order which would make this all for naught. At that moment, you felt so hopeless. Everything you had worked for, everything you had lived for would be coming to an end. All because of that simple, unassuming brand that your lover held.

At the command of Greagoir, he moved the brand away from the flame and stepped towards you. Reciting the Chant of Light as he did so. It was supposed to bring comfort to the mages and remind them that this was the Maker’s will, you found the words mocking even coming from Mingyu’s lips.

“Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.” His voice strained as he spoke the Chant of Light, it broke your heart to hear him in such pain. His grip on the haft was so tight that you were almost certain that the metal of the rod would break.

“Foul and corrupt are they who have taken his gift, and turned it against his children.” His armored footsteps echoed against the stone flooring. Tears threatening to spill as he stepped closer to you. You felt the grip on your arms tighten as his fellow templars held you in place.

“Remember, that...that this is a mercy.”

With those last broken words escaping him, he lifted the sunburst brand and held it above your forehead. You saw the heartbreak burning in his eyes, and he hesitated refusing to move the brand any closer to your forehead.

Your eyes met his and watched as he desperately tried to keep his composure. You forced a small pained smile onto your face, and that seemed to be the only thing he needed. Not a second later, the metal pressed against your forehead and sparks of blue lyrium seemed to burst forth as the sunburst brand stripped away every bit of emotion you had to replace you with a husk that could no longer connect to the fade, to magic. A husk with free will but a husk nonetheless.

“I’m sorry.”

#caratwritersclub #kdiarynet #kdiner #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #seventeen drabble #svt x reader #svt imagine #svt scenario #svt drabble #mingyu x reader #mingyu imagine #mingyu drabble #mingyu scenario

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desbianherstory · 4 years

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In 2003, the relationship between Sree Nandu and Sheela, a lesbian couple in Kerala, attracted national media controversy after a tabloid published an article on them. In 2004, Sree and Sheela told their story in their own words:

Sree Nandu: At a wedding function, I met the girl whose face I had seen in many of my dreams. A fair girl with a chiseled face, good body structure and melancholic eyes. I saw her looking at me. This girl was Sheela, who had, in fact, mistaken me for a boy, thanks to my way of dressing and hairstyle. We spoke to each other, and soon became good friends. I gave her the name ‘Anjali’, which I had desired for my lover in my dreams. I quite often call her Achu, short for Anjali. We realized that we were destined to be friends, for our problems and worries were similar.

Sheela is the eldest of three daughters of Vijayanandan and Omana, who are Christians. Her father is an auto rickshaw driver. They belong to the lower middle class section of society. But more than poverty, it was the cruel nature of her drunkard father that tormented her. [...] When she was pursuing her predegree, one day, one of her friends came to her house. Vijayanandan scolded her for some reason, also scolded her friend and beat Sheela in her friend’s presence. The friend narrated the episode to all her other friends in college, which made Sheela go in a cocoon even in college, which was her place of freedom from home. However, she somehow completed her BA in Economics. She fell in love with Aneesh, son of her father’s cousin. At that time, she thought it was love, but now in retrospect, she doubts whether she had at any time really loved him. For her, talking to him was a welcome relief from the shackled life at home. Her parents, however, did not object to her mingling with Aneesh, who made her pregnant and ditched her. She kept this to herself for a while, but one day, decided to confess everything to the priest of her church. But it so happened that when she started to confess, the priest told her that he was very busy and that she had to finish her confession in a minute or two. Sheela felt totally let down.

That was the time she met me at a marriage function. She mistook me for a boy, and fell in love with me. But even later, when she realized that I am a girl, her love for me did not fade. She told me it was not the gender that mattered, but real friendship that she was looking for, and that she found it in me. That was when we both realized that we were deeply in love with each other. Sheela told the story of her life to me. I consoled her, and told her we would together face all storms boldly.

One day, we spent hours at Neyyar Dam sight, near her college. She told me that she had lost interest in going to college. She revealed that it was to avoid being at home that she chose to study. She also told me that in me, she found the friend she had been looking for all these years. I am the first and the only person in her life who gave her a patient listening. This feeling is mutual. What more do you need in life once you get a person, man or woman, who can understand your feelings, share your thoughts and console you as a friend? The best lovers are the best friends. For me, Sheela encompasses different shades of love that I have longed to experience in life. She is my lover, mother, father, brother and sister. And Sheela has told me that she has the same feelings towards me. So, we made perfect lovers.

Meanwhile, for a few weeks, I could not contact Sheela because my mother had fallen ill in Cochi, where she was staying with a few relatives, and I had to be with her day and night. Sheela somehow came to know that I had gone to Cochi where my mother was living with relatives.She went to Cochi in search of me. Not knowing where to find me, she then went to Sultan Battery in Wyanadu, where she had a cousin, as she could not have remained home without seeing me. However, her parents brought her back from there and tortured her so much that she fell unconscious. Her father threatened to kill her with a knife, because he was ashamed that she was carrying a child out of wedlock. He beat her with a chair and asked her to leave home the very same night. Even her mother and two sisters echoed her father’s sentiments. She ran to her neighbour for help, but in vain. She then spent a few weeks at different orphanages.

When I came to know of all this later, I went to the orphanage where Sheela was living. I lived with her when she delivered her child. Sheela had developed some problem with her legs and she could not walk properly. I nursed her and ‘our’ child. Later, when she recovered, we left the orphanage. But we left the child there, as we ourselves didn’t have any place to live. We went our separate ways. Sheela’s aunt then took her to ‘Snehashramam’, an institution run by nuns to rehabilitate women prisoners after they had served their term of punishment. That was sometime in June 2003. I came to know that Sheela was in ‘Snehashramam’ some three months after she was made an inmate there. I immediately went there and became an inmate myself.

‘Snehashramam’ was a weird place. Actually, there were no women convicts there. It was all, only on paper. There were 14 inmates, and the ashramam was getting aid from various agencies. During her stay there, Sheela was once made to draft a letter to a foreign agency, which read that the ashramam was in the process of rehabilitating 14 girls salvaged from the red light areas. Which meant that Sheela was also presented as a prostitute. When she questioned the nuns about this, they beat her up. Life in the ashram were the most horrible days of our life. We were forced to do hard, physical labour. But were given only light and low quality food while the nuns ate protein enriched food. They often caned the inmates. Sheela requested me that I should take her away from there.

One night, we left the ashramam and reached my home. My parents allowed us to live in my home. They were very good to us, and did not ask us any uncomfortable questions. But that calm atmosphere did not last long. One day Sheela’s father and the nuns of ‘Snehashramam’ came home, threatened us, took Sheela’s academic certificates by force and left. A few days later, Sheela’s father came again and created an unpleasant scene. Finally, he took her away by force. I complained to the police that my friend had been taken away without her consent. When we reached Sheela’s home with the police, Sheela’s father came running with a knife to kill me. The police, however, stopped him.

We then planned a mock suicide attempt at Sheela’s home. Sheela was alone at home, and I went over to discuss our plans. We pretended that we had mixed poison in our halwa and consumed it. Her parents took us to Medical College Hospital to be treated for poisoning, in Thiruvananthapuram, where we told the nurses our real story. We told them that we only pretended to have consumed poison. The nurses allowed us to escape from the hospital. We then took a bus to Waynadu, where we lived as paying guests. We made the people, in whose house we stayed, believe that we were husband and wife who had come to Waynadu in search of jobs.

Since I always wore trousers and sported a boy cut, it was easy for people to think of me as a man. For some time, I worked as an auto driver. Then I worked as a night guard in rice fields. We were living happily in disguise, when in the first week of December, ‘Fire’, a weekly, carried a perverse story on us. The story was a distorted version of what Sheela had confessed to the nuns at ‘Snehashramam’. We were baffled to know that the nuns had leaked Sheela’s confession to the press. I borrowed ₹1,000 from a friend of mine and we fled Waynadu that night itself. We realized that we had reached the end of the tunnel and there was still no light. We decided to end our lives, but not before telling the whole world about our struggle to live a peaceful life.

We decided to give an interview to Asianet Television. That was in the first week of December. The Asianet people told us that there was still hope. They asked us to meet Maitreya and Jayasree, who gave us shelter in their home. We started helping them in their AIDS prevention project at the Foundation for Integrated Research in Mental Health (FIRM). Meanwhile, we launched a complaint with the Circle Inspector requesting him to help us retrieve Sheela’s certificates, which her father and the nuns of Snehashramam had taken by force. On the previous day, while we were going to FIRM, Sheela’s father saw us. He chased us, and reached the FIRM office with the police. On his request, the police bundled us into the jeep and took us to the Women’s Cell.

At the station, the police pushed us around, closed Sheela’s mouth, didn’t allow her to speak and used abusive language. They told us that Sheela would have to go with her father. When she objected, the police told us that they would book us under IPC 377 for being involved in unnatural sex. There are a number of men living together in lodges or rented homes. Nobody has booked them under this section. Nobody labels them as homosexuals and parades them before the public. No journalist chases them. No photographer takes their photos. What then makes our living together a bigger issue than any other? Is it because we are women? Whether we are lesbians or not is our very personal and private affair. We did not invite anybody to peep into our private life. We are not public figures. The police, press and society can play havoc with women’s lives, and push them towards committing suicide.

But we were not ready to take things lying down. We have decided to fight out this gender discrimination. We made it clear to the police that we are majors, and the Constitution of India has given us freedom to live life the way we want. Sheela put the same in writing. That left the police with no option other than to leave us. The drama ended there. [...] The next day, the media flashed reports saying that we are lesbians and that we have pained our parents. But nobody asked us before printing these stories why we found our homes hell. Nobody asked us whether our parents loved us. Nobody asked us whether we were loved by anybody. Nobody asked us why we had to live in an orphanage for months together. Nobody asked us how we lived in Waynadu doing physical labour to eke out an existence. Nobody bothered to ask us why we love each other so intimately. Instead, they gave a onesided, and that too distorted, version in their stories, and they call it journalism. They claim that they are the watchdogs of democracy. We confronted the media, and we decided to take the bull by its horns. We convened a press conference on December 23 at the Thiruvananthapuram Press Club. [...] There were contrasting press reports the next day. We had broken the stigma. We have become visible in our own way. Tomorrow, no journalist will chase two girls living together. No police will nab them. Considering the pretentious moral orthodoxy of the Kerala society, I think, we two girls have done a remarkable job.

It is a wrong notion that women need the company of men to live. I think, women are compelled to do so. Given a chance which sensible woman would live with a man? What more does a man have than a woman, other than his muscles? And who needs muscle power? What humans need is love. Not power. There is hierarchy in a man-woman relationship. Which sensible woman wants to be under a man? A woman-to-woman relationship is built on love. There is no hierarchy here. There is only sharing. Since this love breaks all norms of society, it is that much more powerful. We are happy that we met, we loved each other, and we still love and live together. We will face the world together. I believe we have given an opportunity to hundreds of similar friends in Kerala to make their decision public.

All this said, we now need space to live together. We are right now with Sangama, an NGO based in Bangalore, working for the cause of lesbians, gays, transgenders and intersexuals. We need a job. Sheela’s certificates are yet to be returned. We are two women out of our homes. We need support. Though Kerala gave us so much pain, we want to return there, because that was where we first met. We want to live together, till our death. We want to adopt a child. We don’t know how to reach the child that Sheela gave up for adoption, but would like to give any child a home and build a family quite different from our families. You don’t need to have your own children. And what is the guarantee that all parents would love their children? We know that from our own lives. Sheela and I want to give shape to a family where love and love alone would be supreme.

Sheela: I love Nandu more than anybody else in this world. She is the first person in my life who was ready to listen to me, understand me, console me and give me moral support. Once you get a lover who loves you the way you want to be loved, your life becomes meaningful. The man whom I trusted, ditched me. I was pregnant. When I told that to Nandu, she consoled me. She nursed me and my child like a mother. I hate my father and the nuns of ‘Snehashramam’. Today if we suffer, it is because of them. There is no sneham (love) in ‘Snehashramam’. It is a cruel world where the nuns beat you, make you do hard labour, deny you proper food and, more importantly, reveal confessional statements to others. All these years I have been searching for someone who really loves me. I found the lover of my dreams in Nandu. The gender doesn’t matter when you love a person. It is the care and love you get that makes you love a person. From Nandu, I am getting different shades of love.

The two split after a four year relationship. In 2008, a documentary, XXWhy, was released on Sree Nandu who now identifies as a trans man.

#indian lesbians #indian trans men #sree nandu #people #sangama

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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

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Anonymous asked: I have always appreciated your thoughtful views on the defence of the British monarchy, and as a university historian it’s reassuring to see someone using history to make invalubale insights to a controversial institution. I wonder what are your own thoughts on the passing of Prince Philip and what his legacy might be? Was he a gaffe prone racist and a liability to the Queen?

I know you kindly got in touch and identified yourself when you felt I was ignoring your question. I’m glad we cleared that up via DM. The truth is as I said and I’m saying here is that I had to let some time pass before I felt I could reasonably answer this question. Simply because - as you know as someone who teaches history at university - distance is good to make a sober appraisal rather than knee jerk in the moment judgements.

Contrary to what some might think I’m not really a fan girl when it comes to the royal family. I don’t religiously follow their every movement or utterance especially as I live in Paris and therefore I don’t really care about tabloid tittle tattle. I only get to hear of anything to do with the royal family when I speak to my parents or my great aunts and uncles for whom the subject is closer to their heart because of the services my family has rendered over past generations to the monarchy and the older (and dying) tight knit social circles they travel in.

Like Walter Bagehot, I’m more interested in the monarchy as an institution and its constitutional place within the historical, social, and political fabric of Britain and its continued delicate stabilising importance to that effect. It was Walter Bagehot, the great constitutional scholar and editor the Economist magazine, who said, “The mystic reverence, the religious allegiance, which are essential to a true monarchy, are imaginative sentiments that no legislature can manufacture in any people.” In his view, a politically-inactive monarchy served the best interests of the United Kingdom; by abstaining from direct rule, the monarch levitated above the political fray with dignity, and remained a respected personage to whom all subjects could look to as a guiding light.

Even as a staunch monarchist I freely confess that there has always been this odd nature of the relationship between hereditary monarchy and a society increasingly ambivalent about the institution. To paraphrase Bagehot again, there has been too much ‘daylight’ shone onto the ‘magic’ of the monarchy because we are obsessed with personalities as celebrities.

Having said that I did feel saddened by the passing of Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh. After the Queen, he was my favourite royal. Anne, Princess Royal, would come next because she is very much like her father in temperament, humour, and character, so unlike her other brothers.

I have met the late Prince Philip when I was serving in the army in a few regimental meet-and-greet situations - which as you may know is pretty normal given that members of the royal family serve as honorary colonel-in-chiefs (patrons in effect) of all the British army regiments and corps.I also saw him at one or two social events such the annual charitable Royal Caledonian Ball (he’s an expert scottish reeler) and the Guards Polo Club where my older brothers played.

I’ll will freely confess that he was the one royal I could come close to identify with because his personal biography resonated with me a great deal.

Let’s be honest, the core Windsor family members, born to privilege, are conditioned and raised to be dull. Perhaps that’s a a tad harsh. I would prefer the term ‘anonymously self-effacing’, just another way of saying ‘for God’s sake don’t draw attention to yourself by saying or doing anything even mildly scandalous or political lest it invites public opprobrium and scrutiny’. The Queen magnificently succeeds in this but the others from Charles down just haven’t (with the exception of Princess Anne).

However, many people forget this obvious fact that it’s the incoming husbands and wives who marry into the Windsor family who are relied upon to bring colour and even liven things up a little. And long before Kate Middleton, Meghan Markle (very briefly), or Lady Diana Spencer, were the stars of ‘The Firm’- a phrase first coined by King George VI, Queen Elizabeth II's father who ruled from 1936 to 1952, who was thought to have wryly said, "British royals are 'not a family, we're a firm,” - it was Prince Philip who really livened things up and made the greater impact on the monarchy than any of them in the long term.

Prince Philip’s passing belied the truth of a far more complex individual: a destitute and penniless refugee Greek-Danish prince with a heart breaking backstory that could have been penned by any 19th Century novelist, and also eagle eyed reformer who tried to drag the royal family into the 20th century. At the core of the man - lost scion of a lost European royal dynasty, a courageous war veteran, and Queen’s consort - were values in which he attempted to transform and yet maintain much older inherited traditions and attitudes. Due to his great longevity, Philip’s life came to span a period of social change that is almost unprecedented, and almost no one in history viewed such a transformation from the front row.

Prince Philip would seem to represent in an acute form the best of the values of that era, which in many ways jar with today’s. He had fought with great courage in the war as a dashing young naval officer; he was regularly rude to foreigners, which was obviously a bonus to all Brits. He liked to ride and sail and shoot things. He was unsentimental almost to a comic degree, which felt reassuring at a time when a new-found emotional incontinence made many feel uncomfortable. Outrageous to some but endearing to others, he was the sort of man you’d want to go for a pint with, perhaps the ultimate compliment that an Englishman can pay to another Englishman. This has its own delicious irony as he wasn’t really an Englishman.

There are 4 takeways I would suggest in my appraisal of Prince Philip that stand out for me. So let me go through each one.

1. Prince Philip’s Internationalism

It may seem odd for me to say that Prince Philip wasn’t English but he wasn’t an Englishman in any real sense. He was a wretch of the world - stateless, homeless, and penniless. That the Prince of Nowhere became the British Monarchy’s figurehead was more than fitting for a great age of migration and transition in which the Royal Family survived and even flourished. That he was able to transform himself into the quintessential Englishman is testimony not just to his personal determination but also to the powerful cultural pull of Britishness.

He was born on a kitchen table in Corfu in June 1921. A year later in 1922, Philip, as the the great-great-grandson of Queen Victoria and nephew of Constantine I of Greece, was forced to flee with his family after the abdication of Constantine. He grew up outside Paris speaking French; ethnically he was mostly German although he considered himself Danish, his family originating from the Schleswig border region. He was in effect, despite his demeanour of Royal Navy officer briskness, a citizen of nowhere in an age of movement. From a very young age he was a stateless person, nationally homeless. Indeed, Philip was an outsider in a way that even Meghan Markle could never be; at his wedding in 1947, his three surviving sisters and two brothers-in-law were not permitted to attend because they were literally Britain’s enemies, having fought for the Germans. A third brother-in-law had even been in the SS, working directly for Himmler, but had been killed in the conflict.

Even his religion was slightly exotic. He was Greek Orthodox until he converted to Anglicanism on marrying Elizabeth - what with his wife due to become supreme head of the Church and everything - but his ties with eastern Christianity remained. His great-aunts Princess Elisabeth of Hesse and by Rhine and Tsarina Alexandra are both martyrs of the Russian Orthodox Church, having been murdered by the Bolsheviks; Philip’s mother went on to become an Orthodox nun and a “Righteous Among the Nations” for saving a Jewish family during the Nazi occupation of Greece, spending much of her time in squalid poverty.

His parents were part of the largely German extended aristocracy who ruled almost all of Europe before it all came crashing down in 1918. When he died, aged 99, it marked a near-century in which all the great ideological struggles had been and gone; he had been born before the Soviet Union but outlived the Cold War, the War on Terror and - almost - Covid-19.

The world that Philip was born into was a far more violent and dangerous place than ours. In the year he was born, Irish rebels were still fighting Black and Tans; over the course of 12 months the Spanish and Japanese prime ministers were assassinated, there was a coup in Portugal and race riots in the United States. Germany was rocked by violence from the far-Left and far-Right, while in Italy a brutal new political movement, the Fascists, secured 30 seats in parliament, led by a trashy journalist called Benito Mussolini.

The worst violence, however, took place in Greece and Turkey. Following the defeat of the Ottoman Empire, what remained of Turkey was marked for permanent enfeeblement by the Allies. But much to everyone’s surprise the country’s force were roused by the brilliant officer Mustafa Kemal, who led the Turks to victory. Constantinople was lost to Christendom for good and thousands of years of Hellenic culture was put to the flames in Smyrna.

The Greek royal family, north German imports shipped in during the 19th century, bore much of the popular anger for this disaster. King Constantine fled to Italy, and his brother Andrew was arrested and only escaped execution through the intervention of his relative Britain’s George V. Andrew’s wife Alice, their four daughters and infant son Philip fled to France, completely impoverished but with the one possession that ensures that aristocrats are never truly poor: connections.

Philip had a traumatic childhood. He was forged by the turmoil of his first decade and then moulded by his schooling. His early years were spent wandering, as his place of birth ejected him, his family disintegrated and he moved from country to country, none of them ever his own. When he was just a year old, he and his family were scooped up by a British destroyer from his home on the Greek island of Corfu after his father had been condemned to death. They were deposited in Italy. One of Philip's first international journeys was spent crawling around on the floor of the train from an Italian port city, "the grubby child on the desolate train pulling out of the Brindisi night," as his older sister Sophia later described it.

In Paris, he lived in a house borrowed from a relative; but it was not destined to become a home. In just one year, while he was at boarding school in Britain, the mental health of his mother, Princess Alice, deteriorated and she went into an asylum; his father, Prince Andrew, went off to Monte Carlo to live with his mistress. "I don't think anybody thinks I had a father," he once said. Andrew would die during the war. Philip went to Monte Carlo to pick up his father's possessions after the Germans had been driven from France; there was almost nothing left, just a couple of clothes brushes and some cuff-links.

Philip’s four sisters were all much older, and were soon all married to German aristocrats (the youngest would soon die in an aeroplane crash, along with her husband and children). His sisters became ever more embroiled in the German regime. In Scotland going to Gordonstoun boarding school, Philip went the opposite direction, becoming ever more British. Following the death of his sister Cecilie in a plane crash in 1937, the gulf widened. As the clouds of conflict gathered, the family simply disintegrated. With a flash of the flinty stoicism that many would later interpret, with no little justification, as self-reliance to the point of dispassion, the prince explained: “It’s simply what happened. The family broke up… I just had to get on with it. You do. One does.”

In the space of 10 years he had gone from a prince of Greece to a wandering, homeless, and virtually penniless boy with no-one to care for him. He got through it by making a joke of everything, and by being practical.

By the time he went to Gordonstoun, a private boarding school on the north coast of Scotland, Philip was tough, independent and able to fend for himself; he'd had to be. Gordonstoun would channel those traits into the school's distinct philosophy of community service, teamwork, responsibility and respect for the individual. And it sparked one of the great passions of Philip's life - his love of the sea. It was Gordonstoun that nurtured that love through the maturation of his character.

Philip adored the school as much as his son Charles would despise it. Not just because the stress it put on physical as well as mental excellence - he was a great sportsman. But because of its ethos, laid down by its founder Kurt Hahn, a Jewish exile from Nazi Germany.

Hahn first met Philip as a boy in Nazi Germany. Through a connection via one of his sister’s husbands, Philip, the poor, lonely boy was first sent off to a new school - in Nazi Germany. Which was as fun as can be imagined. Schloss Salem had been co-founded by stern educator called Kurt Hahn, a tough, discipline-obsessed conservative nationalist who saw civilisation in inexorable decline. But by this stage Hahn, persecuted for being Jewish in Nazi Germany, had fled to Britain, and Philip did not spend long at the school either, where pressure from the authorities was already making things difficult for the teachers. Philip laughed at the Nazis at first, because their salute was the same gesture the boys at his previous school had to make when they wanted to go to the toilet, but within a year he was back in England, a refugee once again.

Philip happily attended Hahn’s new school, Gordonstoun, which the strict disciplinarian had set up in the Scottish Highlands. Inspired by Ancient Sparta, the boys (and then later girls) had to run around barefoot and endure cold showers, even in winter, the whole aim of which was to drive away the inevitable civilisational decay Hahn saw all around him. To 21st century ears it sounds like hell on earth, yet Philip enjoyed it, illustrating just what a totally alien world he came from.

That ethos became a significant, perhaps the significant, part of the way that Philip believed life should be lived. It shines through the speeches he gave later in his life. "The essence of freedom," he would say in Ghana in 1958, "is discipline and self-control." The comforts of the post-war era, he told the British Schools Exploring Society a year earlier, may be important "but it is much more important that the human spirit should not be stifled by easy living". And two years before that, he spoke to the boys of Ipswich School of the moral as well as material imperatives of life, with the "importance of the individual" as the "guiding principle of our society".

It was at Gordonstoun one of the great contradictions of Philip's fascinating life was born. The importance of the individual was what in Kurt Hahn's eyes differentiated Britain and liberal democracies from the kind of totalitarian dictatorship that he had fled. Philip put that centrality of the individual, and individual agency - the ability we have as humans to make our own moral and ethical decisions - at the heart of his philosophy.

At Dartmouth Naval College in 1939, the two great passions of his life would collide. He had learned to sail at Gordonstoun; he would learn to lead at Dartmouth. And his driving desire to achieve, and to win, would shine through. Despite entering the college far later than most other cadets, he would graduate top of his class in 1940. In further training at Portsmouth, he gained the top grade in four out of five sections of the exam. He became one of the youngest first lieutenants in the Royal Navy.

The navy ran deep in his family. His maternal grandfather had been the First Sea Lord, the commander of the Royal Navy; his uncle, "Dickie" Mountbatten, had command of a destroyer while Philip was in training. In war, he showed not only bravery but guile. It was his natural milieu. "Prince Philip", wrote Gordonstoun headmaster Kurt Hahn admiringly, "will make his mark in any profession where he will have to prove himself in a trial of strength".

2. Prince Philip and the modernisation of the monarchy

In his own words, the process of defining what it meant to be a royal consort was one of “trial and error.” Speaking with BBC One’s Fiona Bruce in 2011, Philip explained, “There was no precedent. If I asked somebody, 'What do you expect me to do?' they all looked blank. They had no bloody idea, nobody had much idea.” So he forged for himself a role as a moderniser of the monarchy.

He could not have had much idea back in 1939. Back then in Dartmouth in 1939, as war became ever more certain, the navy was his destiny. He had fallen in love with the sea itself. "It is an extraordinary master or mistress," he would say later, "it has such extraordinary moods." But a rival to the sea would come.

When King George VI toured Dartmouth Naval College, accompanied by Philip's uncle, he brought with him his daughter, Princess Elizabeth. Philip was asked to look after her. He showed off to her, vaulting the nets of the tennis court in the grounds of the college. He was confident, outgoing, strikingly handsome, of royal blood if without a throne. She was beautiful, a little sheltered, a little serious, and very smitten by Philip.

Did he know then that this was a collision of two great passions? That he could not have the sea and the beautiful young woman? For a time after their wedding in 1948, he did have both. As young newlyweds in Malta, he had what he so prized - command of a ship - and they had two idyllic years together. But the illness and then early death of King George VI brought it all to an end.

He knew what it meant, the moment he was told. Up in a lodge in Kenya, touring Africa, with Princess Elizabeth in place of the King, Philip was told first of the monarch's death in February 1952. He looked, said his equerry Mike Parker, "as if a ton of bricks had fallen on him". For some time he sat, slumped in a chair, a newspaper covering his head and chest. His princess had become the Queen. His world had changed irrevocably.

While the late Princess Diana was later to famously claim that there were “three people” in her marriage - herself, Prince Charles and Camilla - there were at least 55 million in Philip and Elizabeth’s. As Elizabeth dedicated her life to her people at Westminster Abbey at the Coronation on June 2, 1953, it sparked something of an existential crisis in Philip. Many people even after his death have never really understood this pivotal moment in Philip’s life. All his dreams of being a naval officer and a life at sea as well as being the primary provider and partner in his marriage were now sacrificed on the altar of duty and love.

With his career was now over, and he was now destined to become the spare part. Philip, very reasonably, asked that his future children and indeed his family be known by his name, Mountbatten. In effect he was asking to change the royal family’s name from the House of Windsor to the House of Mountbatten. But when Prime Minister Winston Churchill got wind of it as well as the more politically agile courtiers behind the Queen, a prolonged battle of wits ensued, and it was one Philip ultimately lost. It was only in 1957 that he accepted the title of “Prince.”

Even though he had almost lost everything dear to him and his role now undefined, he didn’t throw himself a pity party. He just got on with it. Philip tried to forge his own distinct role as second fiddle to the woman who had come to represent Great Britain. He designated himself the First Officer of the Good Ship Windsor. He set about dusting off some of the cobwebs off the throne and letting some daylight unto the workings of the monarchy by advocating reasonable amount of modernisation of the monarchy.

He had ideas about modernising the royal family that might be called “improving optics” today. But in his heart of hearts he didn’t want the monarchy to become a stuffy museum piece. He envisaged a less stuffy and more popular monarchy, relevant to the lives of ordinary people. Progress was always going to be incremental as he had sturdy opposition from the old guard who wanted to keep everything as it was, but nevertheless his stubborn energy resulted in significant changes.

When a commission chaired by Prince Philip proposed broadcasting the 1953 investiture ceremony that formally named Elizabeth II as queen on live television, Prime Minister Winston Churchill reacted with outright horror, declaring, “It would be unfitting that the whole ceremony should be presented as if it were a theatrical performance.” Though the queen had initially voiced similar concerns, she eventually came around to the idea, allowing the broadcast of all but one segment of the coronation. Ultimately, according to the BBC, more than 20 million people tuned in to the televised ceremony - a credit to the foresight of Philip.

Elizabeth’s coronation marked a watershed moment for a monarchy that has, historically, been very hands off, old-fashioned and slightly invisible. Over the following years, the royals continued to embrace television as a way of connecting with the British people: In 1957, the queen delivered her annual Christmas address during a live broadcast. Again, this was Philip’s doing when he cajoled the Queen to televise her message live. He even helped her in how to use the teleprompter to get over her nerves and be herself on screen.

Four years later, in 1961, Philip became the first family member to sit for a television interview. It is hard for us to imagine now but back then it was huge. For many it was a significant step in modernising the monarchy.

Though not everything went to plan. Toward the end of the decade, the Windsors even invited cameras into their home. A 1969 BBC fly-on-the-wall documentary, instigated by Philip to show life behind the scenes, turned into an unmitigated disaster: “The Windsors” revealed the royals to be a fairly normal, if very rich, British upper-class family who liked barbecues, ice cream, watching television and bickering. The mystery of royalty took a hit below the waterline from their own torpedo, a self-inflicted wound from which they took a long time to recover. Shown once, the documentary was never aired again. But it had an irreversible effect, and not just by revealing the royals to be ordinary. By allowing the cameras in, Philip opened the lid to the prying eyes of the paparazzi who could legitimately argue that since the Royals themselves had sanctioned exposure, anything went. From then on, minor members of the House of Windsor were picked off by the press, like helpless tethered animals on a hunting safari.

Prince Philip also took steps to reorganise and renovate the royal estates in Sandringham and Balmoral such as intercoms, modern dish washers, generally sought to make the royal household and the monarchy less stuffy, not to have so much formality everywhere.

Philip helped modernised the monarchy in other ways to acknowledge that the monarchy could be responsive to changes in society. It was Prince Philip - much to the chagrin of the haughty Princess Margaret and other stuffy old courtiers - who persuaded the Queen to host informal lunches and garden parties designed to engage a broader swath of the British public. Conversely, Prince Philip heartily encouraged the Queen (she was all for it apparently but was still finding her feet as a new monarch) to end the traditional practice of presenting debutantes from aristocratic backgrounds at court in 1952. For Philip and others it felt antiquated and out of touch with society. I know in speaking to my grandmother and others in her generation the decision was received with disbelief at how this foreign penniless upstart could come and stomp on the dreams of mothers left to clutch their pearls at the prospect there would be no shop window for their daughter to attract a suitable gentleman for marriage. One of my great aunts was over the moon happy that she never would have to go through what she saw as a very silly ceremony because she preferred her muddy wellies to high heels.

A former senior member of the royal household, who spent several years working as one of Prince Philip’s aides, and an old family friend, once told us around a family dinner table that the Duke of Edinburgh was undoubtedly given a sense of permanence by his marriage into the Royal Family that was missing from earlier years. But the royal aide would hastily add that Prince Philip, of course, would never see it that way.

Prince Philip’s attitude was to never brood on things or seek excuses. And he did indeed get on with the job in his own way - there should be no doubt that when it came to building and strengthening the Royal Family it was a partnership of equals with the Queen. Indeed contrary to Netflix’s hugely popular series ‘The Crown’ and its depiction of the royal marriage with Philip’s resentment at playing second fiddle, the prince recognised that his “first duty was to serve the Queen in the best way I could,” as he told ITV in 2011. Though this role was somewhat ill-suited to his dynamic, driven, and outspoken temperament, Philip performed it with utter devotion.

3. Prince Philip’s legacy

One could argue rightly that modernising the monarchy was his lasting legacy achievement. But he also tried to modernise a spent and exhausted Britain as it emerged from a ruinous war. When peace came, and with it eventual economic recovery, Philip would throw himself into the construction of a better Britain, urging the country to adopt scientific methods, embracing the ideas of industrial design, planning, education and training. A decade before Harold Wilson talked of the "white heat of the technological revolution", Philip was urging modernity on the nation in speeches and interviews. He was on top of his reading of the latest scientific breakthroughs and well read in break out innovations.

This interest in modernisation was only matched by his love for nature. As the country and the world became richer and consumed ever more, Philip warned of the impact on the environment, well before it was even vaguely fashionable. As president of the World Wildlife Fund (WWF) in the UK for more than 20 years from 1961, he was one of the first high-profile advocates of the cause of conservation and biological diversity at a time when it was considered the preserve of an eccentric few.

For a generation of school children in Britain and the Commonwealth though, his most lasting legacy and achievement will be the Duke of Edinburgh Awards (DofE). He set up the Duke of Edinburgh award, a scheme aimed at getting young people out into nature in search of adventure or be of service to their communities. It was a scheme that could match the legacy of Baden Powell’s scouts movement.

When Prince Philip first outlined his idea of a scheme to harness the values of his education at Gordonstoun by bringing character-building outdoor pursuits to the many rather than the fee-paying few, he received short shrift from the government of the day. The then minister of education, Sir David Eccles responded to the Duke’s proposal by saying: “I hear you’re trying to invent something like the Hitler Youth.” Undeterred he pushed on until it came to fruition.

I’m so glad that he did. I remember how proud I was for getting my DofE Awards while I was at boarding school. With the support of great mentors I managed to achieve my goals: collecting second-hand English books for a literacy programme for orphaned street children in Delhi, India with a close Indian school friend and her family; and completing a 350 mile hike following St. Olav’s Pilgrimmage Trail from Selånger, on the east coast of Sweden, and ending at Nidaros Cathedral in Trondheim, on the west coast of Norway.

It continues to be an enduring legacy. Since its launch in 1956, the Duke of Edinburgh awards have been bestowed upon some 2.5 million youngsters in Britain and some eight million worldwide. For a man who once referred to himself as a “Greek princeling of no consequence”, his pioneering tutelage of these two organisations (alongside some 778 other organisations of which he was either president or a patron) would be sufficient legacy for most.

4. Prince Philip’s character

It may surprise some but what I liked most about Prince Philip was the very thing that helped him achieve so much and leave a lasting legacy: his character.

It is unhelpful to the caricature of Prince Philip as an unwavering but pugnacious consort whose chief talent was a dizzying facility in off-colour one-liners that he was widely read and probably the cleverest member of his family.

His private library at Windsor consists of 11,000 tomes, among them 200 volumes of poetry. He was a fan of Jung, TS Eliot, Shakespeare and the cookery writer Elizabeth David. As well as a lifelong fascination with science, technology and sport, he spoke fairly fluent French, painted and wrote a well received book on birds. It’s maddening to think how many underestimated his genuine intellect and how cultured he was behind the crusty exterior.

He didn’t have an entourage to fawn around him. He was the first to own a computer at Buckingham Palace. He answered his own phone and wrote and responded to his own correspondence. By force of character he fought the old guard courtiers at every turn to modernise the monarchy against their stubborn resistance.

Prince Philip was never given to self-analysis or reflection on the past. Various television interviewers tried without success to coerce him in to commenting on his legacy.But once when his guard was down he asked on the occasion of his 90th birthday what he was more proud of, he replied with characteristic bluntness: “I couldn’t care less. Who cares what I think about it, I mean it’s ridiculous.”

All of which neatly raises the profound aversion to fuss and the proclivity for tetchiness often expressed in withering put-downs that, for better or worse, will be the reflex memory for many of the Duke of Edinburgh. If character is a two edged sword so what of his gaffes?

There is no doubt his cult status partly owed to his so-called legendary gaffes, of which there are enough to fill a book (indeed there is a book). But he was no racist. None of the Commonwealth people or foreign heads of state ever said this about him. Only leftist republicans with too much Twitter time on their hands screamed such a ridiculous accusation. They’re just overly sensitive snowflakes and being devoid of any humour they’re easily triggered.

There was the time that Philip accepted a gift from a local in Kenya, telling her she was a kind woman, and then adding: “You are a woman, aren’t you?” Or the occasion he remarked “You managed not to get eaten, then?” to a student trekking in Papua New Guinea. Then there was his World Wildlife Fund speech in 1986, when he said: “If it has got four legs and it is not a chair, if it has got two wings and it flies but is not an aeroplane, and if it swims and it is not a submarine, the Cantonese will eat it.” Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Philip quickly developed a reputation for what he once defined, to the General Dental Council, as “dentopedology – the science of opening your mouth and putting your foot in it”. Clearly he could laugh at himself as he often did as an ice breaker to put others at ease.

His remarking to the president of Nigeria, who was wearing national dress, “You look like you’re ready for bed”, or advising British students in China not to stay too long or they would end up with “slitty eyes”, is probably best written off as ill-judged humour. Telling a photographer to “just take the fucking picture” or declaring “this thing open, whatever it is”, were expressions of exasperation or weariness with which anyone might sympathise.

Above all, he was also capable of genuine if earthy wit, saying of his horse-loving daughter Princess Anne: “If it doesn’t fart or eat hay she isn’t interested.” Many people might have thought it but few dared say it. If Prince Philip’s famous gaffes provoked as much amusement as anger, it was precisely because they seem to give voice to the bewilderment and pent-up frustrations with which many people viewed the ever-changing modern world.

A former royal protection officer recounts how while on night duty guarding a visiting Queen and consort, he engaged in conversation with colleagues on a passing patrol. It was 2am and the officer had understood the royal couple to be staying elsewhere in the building until a window above his head was abruptly slammed open and an irate Prince Philip stuck his head out of the window to shout: “Would you fuck off!” Without another word, he then shut the window.

The Duke at least recognised from an early age that he was possessed of an abruptness that could all too easily cross the line from the refreshingly salty to crass effrontery.

One of his most perceptive biographers, Philip Eade, recounted how at the age of 21 the prince wrote a letter to a relation whose son had recently been killed in combat. He wrote: “I know you will never think much of me. I am rude and unmannerly and I say things out of turn which I realise afterwards must have hurt someone. Then I am filled with remorse and I try to put matters right.”

In the case of the royal protection officer, the Duke turned up in the room used by the police officers when off duty and said: “Terribly sorry about last night, wasn’t quite feeling myself.”

Aides have also ventured to explain away some of their employer’s more outlandish remarks - from asking Cayman islanders “You are descended from pirates aren’t you?” to enquiring of a female fashion writer if she was wearing mink knickers - as the price of his instinctive desire to prick the pomposity of his presence with a quip to put others at ease.

Indeed many people forget that his ‘gaffes’ were more typical of the clubbish humour of the British officer class – which of course would be less appreciated, sometimes even offensive, to other ears. It’s why he could relate so well to veterans who enjoyed his bonhomie company immensely.

But behind the irascibility, some have argued there also lay a darker nature, unpleasantly distilled in his flinty attitude to his eldest son. One anecdote tells of how, in the aftermath of the murder of the Duke’s uncle and surrogate father, Lord Mountbatten, Philip lectured his son, who was also extremely fond of his “honorary grandfather”, that he was not to succumb to self-pity. Charles left the room in tears and when his father was asked why he had spoken to his son with so little compassion, the Duke replied: “Because if there’s any crying to be done I want it to happen within this house, in front of his family, not in public. He must be toughened up, right now.”

But here I would say that Prince Philip’s intentions were almost always sincere and in no way cruel. He has always tried to protect his family - even from their own worst selves or from those outside the family ‘firm’ who may not have their best interest at heart.

In 1937, a 16-year-old Prince Philip had walked behind his elder sister Cecile’s coffin after she was killed in a plane crash while heavily pregnant. The remains of newly-born infant found in the wreckage suggested the aircraft had perished as the pilot sought to make an emergency landing in fog as the mother entered childbirth. It was an excruciating taste of tragedy which would one day manifest itself in a very princely form of kindness that was deep down that defined Philip’s character.

When about 60 years later Prime Minister Tony Blair’s spin doctors in Downing Street tried to strong arm the Queen and the royal household over the the arrangements for the late Prince Diana’s funeral, it was Philip who stepped in front to protect his family. The Prime Minister and his media savvy spin doctors wanted the two young princes, William and Harry, to walk behind the coffin.

The infamous exchange was on the phone during a conference call between London and Balmoral, and the emotional Philip was reportedly backed by the Queen. The call was witnessed by Anji Hunter, who worked for Mr Blair. She said how surprised she was to hear Prince Philip’s emotion. ‘It’s about the boys,” he cried, “They’ve lost their mother”. Hunter thought to herself, “My God, there’s a bit of suffering going on up there”.’

Sky TV political commentator Adam Boulton (Anji Hunter’s husband) would write in his book Tony’s Ten Years: ‘The Queen relished the moment when Philip bellowed over the speakerphone from Balmoral, “Fuck off. We are talking about two boys who have just lost their mother”. Boulton goes on to say that Philip: ‘…was trying to remind everyone that human feelings were involved. No 10 were trying to help the Royals present things in the best way, but may have seemed insensitive.’

In the end the politicians almost didn’t get their way. Prince Philip stepped in to counsel his grandson, Prince William, after he had expressed a reluctance to follow his mother’s coffin after her death in Paris. Philip told the grieving child: “If you don’t walk, I think you’ll regret it later. If I walk, will you walk with me?”

It’s no wonder he was sought as a counsellor by other senior royals and especially close to his grandchildren, for whom he was a firm favourite. His relationship with Harry was said to have become strained, however, following the younger Prince’s decision to reject his royal inheritance for a life away from the public eye in America with his new American wife, Meghan Markle. For Prince Philip I am quite sure it went against all the elder Prince had lived his life by - self-sacrifice for the greater cause of royalty.

This is the key to Philip’s character and in understanding the man. The ingrained habits of a lifetime of duty and service in one form or another were never far away.

In conclusion then....

After more time passes I am sure historians will make a richer reassessment of Prince Philip’s life and legacy. Because Prince Philip was an extraordinary man who lived an extraordinary life; a life intimately connected with the sweeping changes of our turbulent 20th Century, a life of fascinating contrast and contradiction, of service and some degree of solitude. A complex, clever, eternally restless man that not even the suffocating protocols of royalty and tradition could bind him.

Although he fully accepted the limitations of public royal service, he did not see this as any reason for passive self-abnegation, but actively, if ironically, identified with his potentially undignified role. It is this bold and humorous embrace of fated restriction which many now find irksome: one is no longer supposed to mix public performance with private self-expression in quite this manner.

Yet such a mix is authentically Socratic: the proof that the doing of one’s duty can also be the way of self-fulfilment. The Duke’s sacrifice of career to romance and ceremonial office is all the more impressive for his not hiding some annoyance. The combination of his restless temperament and his deeply felt devotion to duty found fruitful expression; for instance, in the work of Saint George’s House Windsor - a centre and retreat that he created with Revd. Robin Woods - in exploring religious faith, philosophy, and contemporary issues.

Above all he developed a way to be male that was both traditional and modern. He served one woman with chivalric devotion as his main task in life while fulfilling his public engagements in a bold and active spirit. He eventually embraced the opportunity to read and contemplate more. And yet, he remained loyal to the imperatives of his mentor Kurt Hahn in seeking to combine imagination with action and religious devotion with practical involvement.

Prince Philip took more pride in the roles he had accidentally inherited than in the personal gifts which he was never able fully to develop. He put companionship before self-realisation and acceptance of a sacred symbolic destiny before the mere influencing of events. In all these respects he implicitly rebuked our prevailing meritocracy which over-values officially accredited attainment, and our prevailing narcissism which valorises the assertion of discrete identities.

Prince Philip was Britain’s longest-serving consort. He was steadfast, duty driven, and a necessary adjunct to the continuity and stability of the Queen and the monarchy. Of all the institutions that have lost the faith of the British public in this period - the Church, Parliament, the media, the police - the Monarchy itself has surprisingly done better than most at surviving, curiously well-adapted to a period of societal change and moral anarchy. The House of Hanover and later Saxe-Coburg and Gotha (changed to Windsor), since their arrival in this country in 1714, have been noted above all for their ability to adapt. And just as they survived the Victorian age by transforming themselves into the bourgeoise, domestic ideal, so they have survived the new Elizabethan era (Harry-Meghan saga is just a passing blip like the Edward-Wallis Simpson saga of the 1930s).

There was once a time when the Royal’s German blood was a punchline for crude and xenophobic satirists. Now it is the royals who are deeply British while the country itself is increasingly cosmopolitan and globalised. British society has seen a greater demographic change than the preceding four or five thousand years combined, the second Elizabethan age has been characterised more than anything by a transformational movement of people. Prince Philip, the Greek-born, Danish-German persecuted and destitute wanderer who came to become one of the Greatest Britons of the past century, perhaps epitomised that era better than anyone else. And he got through it by making a joke of everything, and by being practical.

I hope I don’t exaggerate when I say that in our troubled times over identity, and our place and purpose in the world, we need to heed his selfless example more than ever.

As Heraclitus wisely said, Ήθος ανθρώπω δαίμων (Character is destiny.)

RIP Prince Philip. You were my prince. God damn you, I miss you already.

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #prince philip #duke of edinburgh #queen elizabeth II #the queen of spades #monarchy #britain #british #royalty #politics #history #culture #europe #crown #icon #great briton #society

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gracereadstoomanybooks · 3 years

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answering questions I’ve been asked on TikTok✨

QUESTION: how did you get into reading?

So, when I was in middle school (many moons ago) we had this thing called AR Testing. Basically, you read a book and take a test on it—the questions were things that happened in the book, it was really simple. If you got a good grade, you got points. The more points you earned, the more eligible you were for the reading party at the end of each semester. Me, being the nerd I am, got top of my class because I went through 8th grade level books like it was nothing. The librarian at my school brought me books from the high school to read since everything was easy for me, and alas, my addiction began. And now that I have adult money, it’s a true addiction. Also, telling my father “I’m bored” and his response being, “go read a book or something” so thanks dad.

QUESTION: what’s one book you ALWAYS recommend to people?

This one is tough because I’ve read THOUSANDS of books, but if I had to choose one, it would probably be Confess by Colleen Hoover. I fell in love with her work in high school when I first read Ugly Love, but Confess is the type of book that pulls at your heart strings, y’all. It has everything people love: humor, sexual tension, drama, love. GO BUY THE DAMN BOOK. Or honestly any book by Colleen Hoover—she’s a fucking amazing author.

QUESTION: outside of making TikToks, what do you do for a living?

I currently work at a restaurant and hate every second of it. If anyone tells you to become a server, DONT. It’s not worth the hassle, I promise you. Sure, you can make decent money but the amount of rude customers and shitty tips you receive each shift is very disheartening. If you really need a job, do anything BUT work in the food industry.

QUESTION: what’s your wattpad story about?

First question: which one? I have about 30 drafts sitting there waiting to be posted. But, I’m going to assume you’re talking about the Harry Styles fan fiction I’ve been working on for the past 4 years and haven’t had the courage to post. I’ll tell you a little about it: Elaine Aldridge is forced into a betrothal to a man she’s never met & loathes. She goes to his court and realizes things aren’t what they truly seem. And the guard her future husband sticks on her??? None other than Mr. Harry Styles. Add in some magic & deaths and you’ve got my story— The First Prince. (Honestly, that’s an extremely shitty description so if you wanna check it out go to my wattpad account)

QUESTION: how old are you?

Ahem. . . twenty-one.

QUESTION: what is your dream career?

Being a published author and having people rave about my books. That’s all. Or, an editor for a publishing company. Imagine reading all day and being paid for it🤩

QUESTION: what was your least favorite read of 2020?

I already KNOW I’m gonna get shit for this but....... the wicked king. YALL I LITERALLY COULDNT GET THROUGH IT IM SO SORRY, I STILL HAVENT FINISHED IT

QUESTION: current favorite author?

Sarah. J. Maas. I don’t know what it is about her writing style, but it’s addicting. Throne of Glass is hands down the best series I’ve ever read. A Court of Thorns and Roses is the first book I’ve EVER reread. Her stories truly suck you in and hold onto you—you get lost so easily in her writing and it’s like once you’re done with a series, nothing will compare. Or, at least that’s how I felt after finishing Kingdom of Ash. Honorable mentions: Jennifer L. Armentrout, Penelope Douglas, L.J Shen, Elle Kennedy and Kennedy Fox.

QUESTION: any recommendations/tips to give to a new reader?

I’ve always given this advice to people who want to get into reading: find what you like and start with that. If you like romance, I’ve got a list for you to choose from. Mystery? Another list. Sci-fi? I GOT YOU. Fantasy? Yes! Sports fiction? It might take me a second but I’ll find you a book. Nonfiction? I’m zero help in that category, honestly. The point of the matter is that you’re never going to enjoy a book if you aren’t interested in the underlying topics.

QUESTION: do you ever find yourself comparing your life to fictional life?

Yes. All the time. I daydream about being apart of the Inner Circle and living in Terrasen with Aelin and Rowan. I think about what it would be like to have real powers and a mate. It drives my boyfriend crazy—but he loves me anyway.

QUESTION: what are your most anticipated books of 2021?

Here’s a list:

A Court of Silver Flames by Sarah J. Maas

The Crown of Gilded Bones by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Gods and Monsters by Shelby Mahurin

Crescent City 2 (Untitled) by Sarah J. Maas

A Vow So Bold and Deadly by Brigid Kemmerer (I just ordered this one & it arrives tomorrow)

Blessed Monsters by Emily A. Duncan

QUESTION: why did you start a Tumblr?

Honestly, I used to love tumblr when I was in grade school (way too young to be on here then but what else is new). I like having an extra space to get my questions and comments out without having to compress it into a 60 second video for TikTok to see. Tumblr is a good place to blog & post things like this.

QUESTION: what’s your favorite song right now?

I’ve listened to Carry You by Novo Amor every day for the past two months and I cry each time.

QUESTION: why write Harry Styles fan fiction?

Simple: I love Harry Styles. I’ve been a fan of him and One Direction since they were on X FACTOR. Read that again. X. Factor. I used to watch their performances on YouTube before WMYB even came out. Of course, I love all of the 1D boys but I was always a Harry gal. And I look up to him in a way—I’ve read things about people wishing they knew him personally and honestly? I would never want to meet him. I like the version of him I’ve cooked up in my brain over the past 10 years. I like the symbiotic relationship I have with his music. Fine Line is a ✨masterpiece✨. HS1 is a ✨work of art✨.

now, some topics I’ve been asked way too many times and want to finally get to:

QUESTION: political views?

the saying “anyone but trump” has been in my brain for the past four years. No, I’m not a republican. No, I’m not a democrat. I like to think of myself as a progressive (ahem, liberal) Did I vote for a democratic candidate? Yes, and I’d do it again and again until the US isn’t one of the worst countries—I’m sorry, businesses— to be apart of. I wanted Bernie but got Biden, and I’m alright with that. And my girl Kamala🥳

QUESTION: how did you feel about the BLM protests?

I went to multiple BLM protests and donated a lot of funds to BLM & other organizations. It’s 2021, people... stop being fucking RACIST. And don’t be afraid to call racist people out! Black Lives Matter, even if no one is posting about it anymore.

QUESTION: thoughts on abortion?

your body your choice, queen! not my uterus, not my problem.

QUESTION: there was a comment on an old video of yours talking about r*pe, why did you delete the comment?

I made a video when I first started my account on TikTok about reading in public and feeling “turned on” by it. Go watch it if you don’t know what I’m talking about. BUT, some ignorant male decided to comment and say “this is how girls get r*ped”. Whew. So. I deleted the comment because ....

I am a victim of sexual assault. Along with a lot of other women. 1 in 5 women have been victims of sexual assault. Talking about being r*ped isn’t funny.

No one else needed to see his comment. I reported it immediately and his account was shut down.

I never got justice for what happened to me, and the fact that some random male—who had never even met me or seen me before my video showed up on his FYP—had the nerve to comment that? Unacceptable.

this question isn’t as controversial but

QUESTION: what’s the best way to get out of a toxic relationship?

okay, let me just start off by saying that the people around you who love and support you are going to be your backbone. Leaving a toxic situation is hard, and every situation is different, but my best piece of advice to offer you is don’t be afraid to ask for help. Your loved ones are going to be there for you when you need them, even if you don’t believe they will. If you explain what’s happening, someone you know and love will drop whatever it is their doing to make sure you get out safely. good luck my babes.

now, back to our regularly scheduled program:

QUESTION: any tips on making tiktoks?

Literally none. I post what I think is funny and relatable and if anyone agrees, I’m satisfied. Even if it’s one view, it’s good enough for me. So I guess my one tip is to not base your life off of an app and followers.

QUESTION: favorite Harry Styles fanfic?

DONT MAKE ME CHOOSE. Duplicity is up there, along with Stall 1&2, and Kiwi. After? Absolutely not.

QUESTION: favorite WEBTOON?

y’all already KNOW. LORE OLYMPUS BY USEDBANDAID. Rachel is a genius and I have reread the series a million times. Hades is my soulmate and Apollo can rot in the fiery pits of the Underworld. also, if we’re talking about other webcomics, reading Walk on Water on mangadex...🤫

QUESTION: favorite movie?

Howls Moving Castle. I will be getting my “a heart is a heavy burden” tattoo very very soon.

QUESTION: I read your Elain theory on tumblr, can you explain a little more?

I thought I was pretty straightforward but I’ll say it again: she is always the “good” one and it’s too suspicious. SJM has already given one Archeron sister a happy ending, Nesta’s is obviously inevitable, but Elain? She has too many options for a happy ending. Lucien, who is her “mate”. Azriel, who is intrigued by her slightly. Her human guy—I don’t remember his name—who is disgusted that she’s not human anymore. Or, alone, planting flowers all day. BUT! My point is that she’s not truly happy. She was forced into the Cauldron just like Nesta. She was ripped away from the life she loved so dearly and didn’t want to give up. The man she was going to marry now hates her guts because she’s a High Fae. She has the perfect set up for a villain plot line and I’m all here for it.

well, that’s all I feel like doing tonight. hope you enjoyed my little q&a! be kind, and talk to you later! byeeee!

#a court of silver flames #acotar #harry styles #one direction #sarah j maas #throne of glass #wattpad #tiktok #elain archeron #howls moving castle #lore olympus #q&a time #walk on water #persephone #lore olympus hades

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taekooktimeline · 3 years

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1) Idk how much this makes sense but this is like a little theory i thought about and i would like to hear your opinions: i feel like while for JK sexuality isn't important and when he talks about love is always about Tae (a specific person), for Tae, who always seemed more closeted, was always something connected with his inner self and not only with JK. Like, Tae writed Stigma and made a lot of personal songs while JK covered fools and paper hearts which are all songs about someone else

DISCLAIMER - please keep in mind as you read our ask responses that that this is merely our opinion / theory on the matter, separate from the timeline where we remain as objective as possible to ensure integrity of facts presented. In asks we tend to allow ourselves to more freely theorize. Thank you!

Kayla: Anon - who are you?! I love you 😭I feel like Jk is the most transparent member, the easiest to understand, yet I feel like he’s the most misunderstood / most inaccurately read and I don’t get it. And here you come saying everything I’ve always thought. I 100% agree with you. I think Jk came from a progressive family and loves who he loves. He doesn’t worry AS MUCH about the validation of others, despite what some think. My biggest example is he got tattoos knowing it’d be controversial. He did it because he wanted to. And I think that mentality translates to his relationship with Tae - he loves Tae and he’s not worried about what people think. His circle loves and supports. That’s all that matters. He’s been pretty bold in his own way the last year. Whereas, at least from my understanding, is that Tae comes from a more conservative family and really struggled with his sexuality. He’s mentioned school and puberty being hard. I read “confessions of a mask” and I’ll admit it’s boring BUT I gained a lot of insight into Tae’s mentality in connection to the writer - how he tried to be what society deemed “correct” and struggled to come to terms with how that just wasn’t where his attraction lay .. hence “stigma” “singularity” and lgbtq references in “4 o clock”.. plus I sometimes wonder if some down moments are linked to this (again, recalling how he read CMBYN during pride month in 2020 then said “I want to be happy too🥺” the next day on Weverse speaks volumes). I agree with Sara that he came into BTS knowing who he was, whereas Jk had to figure it out in the spotlight, which must have been hard. He’s expressed concerns about how ARMY will perceive him when the mask comes off but, from what I see, Tae is the one who turns to ARMY when he’s struggling more than any other member. He may get sassy but when you compare the two, he appears to lean more on the approval and acceptance of others. I think Tae def is more self introspective towards his identity and wants people to know this part of him (hence the lyrics in some of his solo work, acknowledging pride month since 2018, repeated rainbow references, LGBTQ support and references in various ways). Jk has hinted - “I’m still me” - but Tae, at least to me, is much more vocal about his identity. Perhaps it’s more important for Tae for the public to recognize this whereas Jk’s not bothered by public perception so much. Just my opinion😅

Sara: These are my rough thoughts as of 9th of November 2020. General Disclaimer - I could easily change my mind about anything that I say that isn’t included in the actual Timeline due to insufficient pondering / research and just writing down quick thoughts without much contrasting, meaning I could even contradict it. In that case the Timeline prevails. I see where you are coming from, but I disagree in saying Jk isn’t introspective in regards to his identity. I do think that in the past Tae was more concerned about this while Jk was more focused on the love he felt without worrying too much about external factors, but I think he reached a point where it got too real and the circumstances hit him, starting to have self worth issues as well when he realized not everyone would accept him. I’d say he developed these issues along 2017. You can see it in his yet-to-be-released song “Decalcomania” where he sings about his real hidden self not being good enough and envying his perfect public persona. In 2019 Yoongi said that Jk was very young when he started working in the spotlight and was confused about who he was, that he suffered but eventually understood himself. In 2018 they also mentioned this and added “even last year he was so young (2017)”. I think Jk got caught up in his emotions without questioning them too much while Tae had already faced himself prior to joining BTS and was well aware of his identity and unwelcoming environment. Jk didn’t interiorize all of this until he was deep into the relationship due to the hectic idol lifestyle. He was going through this while living in a bubble. I just think their journeys of self discovery were a bit different but they both ended up in similar places. Now, it is possible that Jk’s initial apparent nonchalance could also be linked to his family possibly being more progressive plus Jk’s overall personality. There was a time in 2014 where Jk talked about wanting tattoos. He was warned against it by another member who was genuinely concerned saying it would make armys sad (it’s pretty taboo in korea) but Jk said “It’s okay, I said I loved them. If they love me they’ll accept it”. I do get the feeling that Tae is more worried about approval but I’m no expert so can’t really know the causes. Basically, I only partially agree.

#taekooktimeline #discussions #asks

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onemistresstorulethemall · 4 years

Text

Reading Session

Originally posted on ao3.

The book mentioned does exist, but it's really explicit, so beware.

To: @reahaelll Your wish is my command 💕

Nsfw, F!Mc

You grabbed your book and headed to Satan's room. You agreed to a reading session as he confessed he would like to know more about human world authors and well, more about your taste in literature. Because the purpose is to learn new information, he specifically asked of you not to bring any classics, because chances are he already knows their work. You complied and brought something more unheard of, more controversial. You picked Juliette by Marquis de Sade. Hopefully the book was dark enough for the Avatar of Wrath.

With the book in hand you knocked on his door. After a few moments it opened and you were greeted with a familiar smile.

"Ah, there you are! Glad you could make it in time.", the blond demon invited you into his layer.

You realized he had made tea for the both of you. If you didn't know better you wouldn't be able to tell he was, in fact, the embodiment of Wrath.

You sat yourself on the bed followed by Satan. His legs were spread and you sat between them, your back pressed against his chest, while his chin rested on the top of your head.

"What are we reading today, y/n?", he cheerfully asked.

"I picked Juliette for today!", you showed him the cover of the book.

Once he saw the cover and read the author, he giggled a bit. But before you got the chance to ask why, he added:

"Well, we shouldn't waste time. Let's get to reading!"

You obeyed and opened the book. Your reading sessions consisted in one of you reading aloud from a book. It was usually you because Satan liked to hear your voice. So far you have discovered his favourite demon authors and you brought some books from the human world of which he had never heard before.

Within the first pages of the book you already found yourself reading sex scenes. You had an idea what this book was about, but you didn't necessarily know it was going to be all sex and sin. The sex scenes happened between so called nuns which made everything even more sinful. You brushed it off, in your head, thinking it was the right book to read to a demon.

If you were on your own, it wouldn't have affected you so badly, but being into the demon's arms, feeling his chest move as he breathe while having to read aloud lesbian sex scenes between "women of God" made you feel hot and bothered.

You took a small break to drink a bit of the tea Satan prepared for you. Your throat was getting dry. Also, you needed to stop for a second and get your act together.

"I didn't know you are into this, y/n", his voice was lower than usual and his tone more seductive, "You should've told me sooner, we could've had a lot of fun.", he pulled you into a tight embrace.

"I-it's just a book...", you stuttered sounding unconvincing.

"Do you know what the Marquis de Sade is famous for?", he genuinely asked.

You shook your head, unaware.

"The term 'sadism' comes from his name.", he giggled but it sounded quite dark, "Great choice there, y/n, reading a book from the father of sadism to the Avatar of Wrath. What are you hoping to achieve?"

"Look, Satan, I d-didn't mean t-to..."

He grabbed your throat gently, turned your head to the side and upwards, so you faced him. His eyes were gleaming, but it sent shivers downs your spine. His sweet smile meant nothing but the fact that he was holding in the rage that could turn the world upside down.

"You want to tell me that you brought in a book without even knowing anything about it? How are you supposed to learn if you don't inform yourself?"

"I-I'm sorry..."

"No need to apologise", he let go of your throat and flashed you a radiant smile, "Let's just get back to reading!"

You sigh in relief and go back to reading the obscenities illustrated in the book. Soon enough you felt a pair of warm hands caressing your body. You stopped reading and gasped in surprise. The demon lifted your top and exposed your lacy f/c bra.

"Keep going, y/n.", he whispered into your ear and he rubbed circles around the visible parts of your chest.

You obeyed, not wanting to make the demon angry. Well, angrier than usual. Stuttering and gasping from time to time, you continued to read. Your core started to tingle and you felt your panties getting soaked under your skirt.

"My, my, what am I going to do with you? I asked you here so we could both delve into a deeper understanding of the world, but instead you leave my thirst for knowledge unsatisfied... It pains me to say this, but y/n, you have to be punished.", his voice echoed into your mind long after he finished saying those words.

You zoned out for a moment and found yourself bent over Satan's knees with your skirt lifted and your butt out in the open. He started touching you gently, caressing you, kissing the small of your back and when you relaxed and got comfortable enough...he spanked you. A moment of break. No touch at all. And than another spank. He trailed his fingers down your spine, gently and then he spanked you again.

Although he only did it three times, taking into account his -although controlled- inhuman strength, it was enough to make your bottom red. You felt his hand move and you flinched out of instinct, but his hand made no contact with your skin. Instead, you heard laughter.

"You're just so easy to play with, y/n. It's almost impossible to resist..."

"It's not like that..."

He stopped for a moment. The silence was uncomfortable and you laid there, on his knees, awaiting his next move.

"You're right. How rude of me. You came here to read and reading is what you shall do."

With a swift motion he took off your underwear and helped you up.

"What do you think you're doing!?", you asked shocked.

"You ask too many questions, princess~"

The sound of his voice calling you princess made you melt and go on with whatever Satan had in plan for you. It was completely and utterly irresistible.

He tapped on the bed signing you to sit down. When you did, he handed you the book and ordered you to read. When you started doing so, the blond demon spread your legs and began tasting your dripping wet core.

"I can't fucking r-read like t-this, Satan...", you whined.

Like he couldn't even hear you, he kept going, giving you agonizingly slow and long licks, followed by him sucking on your sensitive spot. However, he made sure to get his point across by digging his fingernails into your thighs ever so slightly. The pain felt so good it made you moan in the middle of reading a sentence. That was the moment when he finally stopped.

"I truly refuse to believe that the line went like that", he smirked, "You're more pathetic than I thought. Can't read a book to save your life... Oh well, I guess I can still put that mouth to good use."

He climbed on top of you, took the book from your hands and placed it gently next to the bed. After that, his whole focus was on you, kissing you passionately, tangling his fingers through your hair. At some point he broke off the kiss, unzipped his pants and came closer to you. His member was centimeters away from your mouth.

"Open your mouth.", he ordered and you executed.

In an instant his lengthy thick cock was shoved into your mouth. Slowly, at the beginning, but his pace became faster and rougher and soon enough he was grabbing a fistful of your hair as he was skullfucking you into oblivion. You had tears falling down your cheeks and saliva was dripping down your chin onto your neck. Eventually, he stopped and pulled away, letting you finally catch your breath.

"You're a good toy, y/n, I'll give you that.", he said in an almost mocking tone.

He backed away and stood on the bed on his knees before grabbing your hips and pulling you closer. He lifted you up until your hole was on the same level as his member. He eased into you, holding your thighs so you don't fall.

As he moved faster, his nails dug into your skin, making you scream. You wished to keep quiet, but you couldn't contain yourself. It was all too much. Craving release, you reached out and started rubbing your swollen nub and Satan continued to talk dirty to you.

"Such a desperate needy little slut... I asked you here to read, but now it's clear that you were thirsting for something else..."

He continued to mock you as his nails were still into your skin and his cock was continuously hitting deep and hard into you. The stimulation from the penetration and your own attempt at finding release got you into a critical point.

"Satan, I'm gonna..."

"Beg, princess~"

Your eyes widened, but you swallowed your pride and added:

"I'm begging you, ah fuck, please... Ugh, please, Satan, let me cum!"

He giggled, but told you that you're allowed and quite frankly, that's all you needed to hear. The moment you heard his words of approval, your hand moved faster, your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your moans got louder and your legs started shaking. Even for a demon, it was a bit of a struggle to keep your legs in place.

Soon after, Satan pulled out of you, letting you sink into the mattress as he rubbed his cock above your tummy. In a few moments his semen coated your abdomen. Following his own climax, the demon crashed next to you on the bed and kissed your forehead.

"Bring this book for our next reading session as well, won't you?", he smirked.

#satan obey me #obey me! shall we date?#shall we date satan #shall we date #one master to rule them all #smutty #the smuttier the better #smut

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