#I KNOW YOU ALL KNOW HISTORICAL FASHION PEOPLE

[wisteria-lodge]

*Fantastic* breakdown. Love this (and yes, I LOVE the headcanon that the Statue of Secrecy was passed to avoid a WIZARD civil war. Possibly with a large chunk of wizards fighting alongside the muggles.)

Just for fun, I’m going to do a run down of some of the ways I could see religion plausibly working in HP, contextualizing the little crumbs that we do have;

State Sponsored Atheism (a la - French Revolution, Soviet Russia)

Weirdly one of the *easiest* answers, given the established worldbuilding. “Merlin” “Morgana” (even “Dumbledore,” in the Cursed Child…) could definitely speak to an atheist, science-boner worldview. Presumably these are important thinkers/secular figures, like Lenin or Marx. In a world that heavily associates muggles with *witch hunts,* I could see pureblood wizards treating religion as a backwards, old-fashioned, distinctly muggle thing. Also fits with the vaguely government-coded “minister” who appears at Bill and Fleur’s wedding and Dumbledore’s funeral, and the implication that the Ministry has some say in where Dumbledore is buried. 

Celtic Paganism / Neo-Paganism 

Another way to incorporate Merlin/Morgana, and Bill & Fleur’s vaguely handfasting-coded wedding vows. Worldbuilding wise, this could also have been a cultural shift post Statute - we (wizards) are not liking “Muggle” religions and are deliberately turning back the clock to something more “authentically” purely wizard. It’s a very pureblood way of looking at the world… especially because huge chunks of this wizard neo-paganism would have to be retroactively re-constructed by wizards in the early 1700s. (Like - we just do not know that much about historical druids. We just don’t.) It could mirror the way that England in the 1800s became very motivated to have a distinctly “English” culture/mythology/literature, and so got super into like, King Arthur and Shakespeare. In the mid 1800s, you absolutely see a shift away from old-school bible names (a little puritan coded) and saint names (a little catholic coded) and towards secular options like book characters, flowers, gemstones, and surnames. 

Ancestor Worship? 

I have *never* seen this, but like… we do have portraits being treated as these important and semi-sacred magical objects. We have the screaming Walburga portrait which no one gets rid of (like… maybe they physically can’t... but maybe it's also just a huge cultural taboo to destroy a portrait? Which is why everyone is SO SHOCKED when Sirius slashes the Fat Lady's portrait?) We also have all of the past headmasters gathered together in Dumbledore’s office, which *could* be a sort of ‘channeling the past avatar incarnations’ moment. It doesn’t contradict anything, and it is kinda wild that you can just have a conversation with your great-grandfather. I’d expect that wizards might feel some sort of way about that. 

*Magic* as Religion (Promise-based magic, wand lore) 

There are definitely some spells that are treated as more important and “sacred” than other spells. I’m thinking especially Unbreakable Vows and Fidelius Charms. They both involve multiple people, and are treated as very serious mini-ceremonies. We also see that magic/magical things do operate as entities with minds of their own. Wands seem semi-sentient, Hogwarts seems semi-sentient. A lot of the revulsion around Voldemort seems to come from the ways he’s “corrupting” or “misusing” magic, which definitely gives magic itself a sort of sacred dimension, and it is interesting to think of a religion that can just *enforce itself* in that way. In that case something like a wedding, or a funeral, might involve interacting with a magical location/object? If this was the worldbuilding, I also think you could interpret the Lovegoods as effectively following a different (more fringe) magic-based religion, reflected in the very different way they seem to conceptualize magic.

The Problem of Religion in Harry Potter (or, what is Wizard God?)

tl; dr: I wish more hp fics did something with religion and the wizarding world

so to state my credentials up front: I've read a lot of hp fanfiction, a little on the Reformation and religious history--like, I have probably more background knowledge than the average person but I am very emphatically not an expert and have never actually taken a class specifically on any kind of religious history, and I'm an ex-Catholic who did ten ish years of religion classes. There are probably a LOT more people more qualified to talk about this than me but whatever I've never actually seen very much meta written out on this specific issue so I'm giving it a try. (if you have written or read such meta, please send me recs)

ahh the Problem of Religion one of the great unsolved mysteries of the hp world building (similar issues include What the Fuck is Going on with Ireland, How Does the Ministry Actually Work, What is the Population, etc) and I call it 'unsolved' because the fandom has no massively popular solution (like Lordships for the Problem of the Wizengamot) and in general tends to just not think about it, much like JKR originally did. Now IMO she probably intended most wizards to be, like, generically Church of England or whatever without much investment--basically copying the Muggle equivalent whenever it isn't spelled out how the two worlds differ, which is I think a lot of her un-filled-out world building is meant to be. Which. OK. You can do that, but, you know, religion is a very very important aspect of worldbuilding and in my opinion ignoring it and expecting it to be just the same as 1990s Muggle Britain is uninteresting and lazy.

This (wizards are meant to be some kind of Christian and probably Church of England just for simplicity's sake) is evidenced by things like Hogwarts having Christmas and Easter breaks, James and Lily having a Bible quote picked out by Dumbledore on their tombstone, and Draco Malfoy, most emblematically wizard of wizard characters who can be taken as a potential baseline, automatically saying things like 'Good God'. Which, you know, implies that the idea of a single God, and probably the Judaeo-Christian God because that's the same cultural background as the rest of Britain, is taken for granted by wizarding society. It doesn't necessarily imply anything about Draco's or even the Malfoys' personal beliefs, and of course you have other characters saying things like 'Oh my Merlin' and "Morgana" and things like that. Which in my opinion wasn't meant to be indications of some kind of Merlin or Morgana worship but more quirky and fun flavor things of the kind jkr loves to include without thinking out the implications. But you absolutely can take those statements that way--this post is absolutely not meant to dictate how people want to headcanon and I am absolutely here for giving wizards a well thought out pagan or Non-Christian religion, I just don't think that was the author's intent. There's also plenty of other things that imply Wizarding cultural Christianity that I'm not remembering off the top of my head.

And, of course, much better writers than me have extensively discussed all the Christian themes in HP. Of course, themes don't need to affect how people worldbuild in fanfic.

So: with HP canon, we are looking at a society that is probably culturally Christian and probably (key word) intended to be Church of England. But, because JKR wasn't putting much thought into it and basically just took a Chrisitian bedrock of society for granted, the implications of this are not really explored at all. So what I'm interested in is how fandom deals with it.

Mostly, that is...not at all, either taking cultural Christianity in the Wizarding World for granted the way JKR does or by ind of handwaving that wizards have evolved beyond the need for religion and that's just how it is. And that's perfectly fine! Not everyone wants to come up with a full, working, wizard society, and even if they are trying to worldbuild some aspects of wizarding society religion is often ignored, because people don't want to deal with it for often valid reasons (religious trauma, just disinterest, grew up agnostic, not Christian but thinks wizards probably are etc, etc, etc, ) Personally I wish more fics delved into what wizarding religious belief actually is, but to put it bluntly, that's just me. And I have never dealt with religion in my own fics. So don't takethis as judgement at all.

But there are interesting headcanons when people do choose to try and worldbuild religion in HP.

Fom what I've seen, one of the major ways to deal with religion in HP (aside from not dealing with it at all) is to give wizards, often pureblood wizards, some kind of pagan, often Celtic-inspired, religion. And this is quite defensible! Sometimes this is badly executed and/or turned into Death Eater apologia, but the idea of wizards having a different religion is really interesting and a good deal more interesting (IMO of course) than just not mentioning religion at all. Most fics that I've seen don't delve too deeply into, like the actual history and theology of these religions, but there are definitely some that do. (Also if you know any PLEASE send me recs). So if handled well, this is a great way to add some religion worldbuilding in the world of Harry Potter.

However, my personal favorite set of possibilities--obviously I have some personal bias as a history nerd with a long standing if never as deeply researched as I would like to interest in the history of Christianity and as an ex-Catholic--is that, well, we know the statute of secrecy started..when, exactly? 1690. So this much is obviously a result of JKR's Hollywood understanding of witch hunts (a subject for another time and someone far more qualified). For interested wrodlbuilders, we can take this as a guideline at best, as personally I think it would have taken a good deal longer than one year to agree on and implement something like the Statute and I tend to take 1690 as an end date, not a start. I also tend to take the Statue as a largely European phenomenon, at least at first. But, uh, what was happening in Britain at the time..oh, right...the Glorious Revolution....what was happening that created the conditions for the Glorious Revolution...oh, the English Civil War...which was because of...oh yeah, and what was also happening on the continent, maybe it involved, wait, thirty years..oooh, the Thirty Years War...wait weren't there a whole bunch of massive social shifts happening in Europe at this point in time isn't that funny but surely the stature of secrecy could be considered a part of these massive social shifts...all of which was heavily influenced by...you guessed it, the Protestant Reformation.

Wait. So. Maybe, the separation of Wizards from Muggles, at least in Britain, wasn't actually about Muggles hating wizards or wizards hating Muggles. Maybe it was about religion. Now personally I find this ABSOLUTELY FASCINATING. The possibilities, the possibilities...

Wizards had a massive religious civil war that created the blood status system in its modern form? Particular families have wildly different denominations? Excellent. Religion both in terms of level of religiosity and in terms of denomination is a blood status marker? Excellent. Purebloods are all Catholic (what does this do to both Catholic and not Muggleborns?) Excellent. Purebloods are all Puritans? Weird, but if you can pull it off excellent. Purebloods are all one of the wacky new denominations that sprung up after the Reformation and then either died out or conquered the world? Excellent. Pure bloods are all Lutherans who really hated Henry VIII? Excellent. One of my favoirite ways to create a wizarding religion was someone who had most pure bloods follow a denomination that split off from Catholicism in the Great Schism and then a small minority being Catholic, with the worlds splitting around the Reformation. Even the paganism headcanons can be incorporated: the Reformation could conceivably have made it much more difficult to keep practicing wizard paganism causing separation of the worlds.

Personally I would love to see a world that used the history of the Protestant Reformation super well, but it's not the only way to relate a Wizarding religion or a Wizarding religious history. I just wish more people tried to do that at all. Let wizards be religious! Or let them be irreligious but have thought about it, instead of just ignoring religion at all as something that might conceivably have influenced human societies. Maybe Wizarding Britain has state sponsored atheism. Just say that outright!

Another thing I'd like to see more fic doing is theology: how does having magic impact people's religious doctrine? Does every major religion essentially have a wizarding branch with its own theology because magic impacts their view of the world so much, or do most wizards simply follow the majority Muggle religion in their country with no modifications? if so, why? Do some wizards disagree, potentially violently, over how to incorporate magic into their religion? Do some people refuse to use magic because they think it goes against their religion? Etc etc etc you could go on forever. I've seen fic, which randomly enough was about Regulus Black, do this pretty well (or I thought so as a non-Jew) for Judaism, and I'd love it if done with other religions.

Anyway. Now I have to figure out how the hell religion works in the Wizarding Britain of my own headcanon.

[battendownthewhatsit]

I swear half my friends went to sea this year but no one is whittling clever little contraptions to pass the time there anymore. Tragic. Shameful.

[gothra]

I’m so tired of all of the stupid, bad-faith defenses of corsetry, honestly. “It’s like wearing a bra! Corsets were the bras of their time!” They were underwear, but they weren’t the “bras” of their time, because bras are the bras of their time and corsets wrap around your entire torso. And bras TODAY are uncomfortable and they only go on the top half, so how much fun do you think wearing a bra for your stomach and breasts were? Women today are taking off their uncomfortable bras in protest, I imagine that the anti-corset women of the time were probably onto something and not just being weird about it. “Women were able to work comfortably in them for hours!” Okay, I’m sure there were plenty of women who felt more comfortable wearing stomach binding fabric than speaking up about the misogynistic standards of appearance and losing friends or their job. And how do you KNOW they were comfortable? Because they didn’t complain? You’re saying that, because they didn’t do the thing that women are notoriously afraid of doing in an age where the standards for the things that women should say and do were harsher, that means that “most” of them actually liked it? Could it be possible that most of them didn’t want to make trouble? Could it be possible that they simply forced themselves to adapt, much like women do today? There are women who work in stilettos for 8-10 hours a day, gritting their teeth through the pain and pretending it doesn’t hurt, or writing it off as no big deal. Are we going to wave it all away as not really an issue because ‘her shoes were just too tight!’ Or are we going to acknowledge the fact that, like corsets, some things are inherently not designed for comfort and that comfort is a privilege when it comes to these things? Are we going to ignore the fact that there is an issue at the very heart of the design of the product? How could it POSSIBLY be comfortable to have a stiff garment wrapping around your stomach and chest and ribs that you have to wear under layers and layers of clothing? How could it POSSIBLY be comfortable for a woman to walk around all day in a pair of shoes that shorten her calves and numb her toes? If a garment restricts even ONE important facet of a woman’s life (eating, drinking, running, BREATHING DEEPLY, laying down, etc.) then it’s not sustainable as a source of comfort. “All of the fainting and stuff, that’s just from lacing it too tight!” First of all, ignoring the implications of defending a garment that could possibly injure or kill someone if misused, just because the instances where women were mutilating their bodies by wearing their clothes too tight were few, doesn’t mean that suddenly it’s fine to overwrite the other, smaller discomforts. Saying “well, they didn’t always kill people” is a shit defense that begs the question: “why were people designing clothes that even could?”

I don’t understand why it’s so difficult to just admit that some stuff of certain eras SUCKED and were bad for women? Why are the women who point out the subjugation of women shunned and called close-minded? Furthermore, do you not trust the words of the women who LIVED in those eras and spoke up against those practices? Why not? Because they were in the minority in an era when being openly disobedient to the social norms resulted in severe backlash? Of course the anti-corset resistance was small, these were a chosen few women who weren’t afraid of the consequences of resistance! Of course every other woman was smiling and working through their suffering. Do you think the ones who weren’t were all crazy crybabies? You trust the words of the women who say what YOU want them to say to defend you so you don’t have to face being misguided or even flat-out wrong! I’m so tired of the idea that pretending that women weren’t victims somehow equals them having actually been more free than we thought.

Saying “women have had to live under unfair and oppressive standards that have severely impacted their health and personhood all throughout history” is not the same as saying “women are weak because they allowed themselves to be subjected to oppression!” You people wonder why feminism doesn’t have teeth or claws, it’s because you disarm and nullify it a bit more every time you uncritically agree with Bernadette Banner. Women shouldn’t even have to wear JEANS THAT ARE TOO FUCKING TIGHT!!!!!

[batwynn]

I know a lot is going on in the world right now but this kind of loss of art is breaking my heart in two.

The Valentino’s Costume Group in Hollywood has lost everything after the death of their co-founder, the pandemic, strikes, etc. and is now being forced to do a very quick liquidation sale before having to send all of their years of hard work to be turned into rags. (Yes this is a real thing)

These people have crafted thousands of costumes over 20 years to rent to everyone and anyone who needed one. They’re sex worker and queer friendly. They’re also being accused of being “fast fashion” while being one of the few places in this world actively working against fast fashion with their work. They don’t want to have to turn their hard work into rags. It’s the only option for them with the enormous amount of costumes/fabrics they have to remove from the building very quickly.

So, Californians and anyone willing to travel to Hollywood: YOU can save a costume! (or two?) YOU can save someone’s art from being destroyed! YOU can own pieces of Hollywood! YOU can save so much sewing supplies and fabrics!

Where: 5535 CAHUENGA BLVD, N. HOLLYWOOD

Phone: 818-427-5248

Special hours for Influencers: May 20-30th 9:30am-4:30pm MON-SUN

What: Vintage, designer, menswear, historical, specialty, children’s, shoes, jewelry, vintage hats, show packages, racks, fabric, etc!

Important note: Please be kind and patient with the folks managing this sale. There’s maybe 2-3 people working at the most, and they all just suffered the death of someone close to them and the loss of their dream.

Please, please signal boost this. Their hard work should not go to waste and this terrible loss is already hard enough on them.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Werewolf Headcanons

I've been stalked by the guilty feeling that my Romanian Werewolf boy got a lot of backstory but not much romance or interaction. So there you have it: some headcanons featuring the ancient Beast, a post-kidnapping sequel.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, monster romance, mild NSFW at the end, ridiculously older yandere

You followed the gargantuan stranger back into the city, leaving the bloodbath behind as if it was just a distant dream. Admittedly, you’d expected to be dragged into some mountainous cave or an abandoned mansion, not the cozy - albeit a little dusty - apartment on a main, historical street. On second thought, he did function as a human outside of his monstrous escapades, so it made sense. “Is this your place?”, you sheepishly asked while he wiped the thick layers of blood off him. “One of them, yes”, he answered curtly. “It’s central”, you remarked, trying to make conversation. “Well, I didn’t know about it back then. It’s been a few decades.”

Your ears perked up at the words. Gazing at his features, he didn’t seem necessarily aged to you. The deep creases contouring his face felt more like a sign that he’s lived sorrows beyond most people’s comprehension. “How old are you?” You finally asked as curiosity replaced your initial fear. He abruptly stopped his movements and leaned back, brows furrowed in deep contemplation. “I’m not so sure anymore. I was born in the 80s”, he concluded. “That’s not too far back, is it?” You inquired, this time more relaxed. “80 BC, I meant. You do the math.”

He freshened himself up as you counted the millennia on your fingers, frowning in confusion. He chuckled at your intense focus, then quickly looked up into the mirror. When was the last time he smiled like this? The reflection was a foreign sight to him. “We’ll get you everything you need tomorrow”, he continued, still in a daze. What a strange idea, having someone to speak to after an eternity. And suddenly, it occurred to him just how rusted his communication had gotten: “I’m so sorry, I haven’t asked for your name once”, he said, embarrassed. “It’s (Y/N). And you are...?" Might as well introduce yourself to your benevolent captor.

The dreaded question. How did they call him back in the day? He hasn't had anyone spell it out for him, nor did he feel the need at any point to say it himself. Why would he? He hadn't anticipated meeting you. With pursed lips, he searched his mind. Eventually, from the depths or memories, from days of yore, it made its way back: "Daos."

Given your first gory encounter (where he quite literally murdered everyone else), you were surprised to find out he's otherwise a calm and polite individual. Well, he's had centuries to mature, you suppose. You've also noticed he has that rather old-fashioned chivalry to him. He's very attentive despite his stoic demeanor, and often follows with acts of service.

"You're insulting me. I can carry this myself with ease", you'll argue. "I never doubted you can. Nonetheless, it is my wish to do it for you."

As the days pass, your reluctance seems to vanish as well. In fact, you've become particularly cheeky, encouraged by his warm, unperturbed behavior. Maybe you haven't gotten the worst deal out there, after all.

"You know, you talk like an old man", you've teased him once. He was visibly taken aback by your statement, and you could discern a faint blush on his face. "Do I? My apologies, I haven't spoken to anyone in a long time. I'm not familiar with modern speech. Have I embarrassed you somehow?"

He spends his free time reading, though he will frequently take you on walks. It's an interesting affair to say the least. You can feel the curious eyes of the passersby and hear their not-so-discreet whispered gossip. You can't truly blame them: Daos is enormous even as a human. He towers above everyone else with his imposing appearance. To match, his voice is deep and coarse as a result of not using it much until recently.

The ancient werewolf is a living history book. If asked, he will narrate to you important events or details you might be curious about regarding his culture. Once, when he'd been in a good mood, he even shared fragments of his life before turning into a creature. He'd been a high-ranked Dacian warrior, spending his days training or fighting. He still remembers the flag he carried with bitter fondness, yet another irony to his fate: a wolf-headed serpent. It was meant to showcase their way of life; barbarians with no fear of death. They'd greeted the Roman Empire with nothing but a sword and a shield, no shred of doubt.

He might've been betrayed by his people, but the pride remains. The pride of a soldier who's never known defeat. You learned quickly that his beastly form doesn't count as a significant change by any means, save for appearances. The man has brute strength even as a human. You'd once strayed from his view, and a stranger approached with a daring whistle, gawking you up and down. Before you could react, Daos clawed him by the throat. You heard the twist of the skin and the creak of the bones giving in to the immense pressure of his large hand.

"It's the second time I have exposed you to such unpleasant sights", he said, discarding the body as if it was any other garbage. "Forgive me, but I will not have you disrespected like this."

He is very much aware he's taken you away from the world out of his own selfish desire. The fact that you accepted it is more than he could ever ask for. That's what he keeps telling himself, even as his eyes wander to your lips whenever you speak. Or as his hand lingers a moment too long against the curve of your back. Or as he hungrily takes in your scent whenever you're nearby.

He might be unhealthily possessive of you, but Daos will never do anything against your will. No matter how obvious his urges are. In fact, no amount of flirting or teasing will shake his resolve. You will have to be very direct with your approval.

Once the reality settles in, he'll become extremely affectionate, bordering on obsessive. To think he could have you in every way possible. Oh, he's waited thousands of years for you. All the suffering, the loneliness, the anger, they're stripped of any meaning now that he has you.

The city strolls at an awkward distance have since become a habitual excuse to hold your hand and show you off to the mortals. The quiet evenings of passing time with a book now include your merely noticeable weight cuddled into his lap. You didn't expect him to be this adoring. Being touch-starved for millennia counts as one reason, naturally, but there's more to it, so much more. And it all leads back to you.

He is a little taken aback when you ask him to do the deed in his werewolf form. "Don't be foolish. I can't overcome my instincts as well when I'm a creature. I could harm you", he'll lecture you. "Besides, you can barely take it as it currently is", he'll add, smirking at your baffled expression. It seems he's picked up on your cheekiness.

After a lot of pleading and waiting for the right moment - when he's ravaging you in a daze - he finally agrees. True to his word, his tune instantly changes. The tender hold turns into a desperate grasp sinking into your skin, and the thrusts become irregular, almost frantic. His drool cools your burning cheeks as you hold onto the coarse fur, feverish and overwhelmed.

His golden eyes rest on the small human squirming underneath him, and suddenly, he can't help but notice: you have the perfect birthing hips.

[vincentbriggs]

so i am newly in a wheelchair which has been a Massive gain in my ability to go out and about. but i realized that i have aprox 0 clothes that look Good while seated. its a completely different silhouette and i am at a loss as to what to do for it. do you have any suggestions for what could look good seated? preferably no skirts or dresses.

Edit: Check the notes for more people's input, including actual wheelchair users who know much more about what works than I could!

Congrats on chair acquisition!!

Since you're sending this to me specifically I am working under the assumption that you mean to do some amount of sewing.

A high waisted silhouette definitely works best for sitting. I make all my pants with the waistband at my natural waist, and a bit of pleating or gathering at the back just like they did on 18th century breeches, and I've never noticed any particular discomfort from sitting in them. (I think high waisted pants are more comfortable in general, and that low rise jeans are evil.)

It's something I've never really thought about before, but sitting is a very legs-forward position, so perhaps a colourful or fancy stripe down the side would work well.

(I made this pair 10 years ago and they didn't fit well and are long gone, but I should do a better version someday...)

Or some other form of side seam decoration, like these fabulous button tabs.

(I don't know what the source for this mid 19th century fashion plate is.)

Cropped jackets would also be good. The first thing that comes to mind for me is the Carmagnole, which was a style worn by French revolutionaries. It's got a pretty similar cut to a regular 1790's coat, just shorter.

(Source)

(Source)

And there are other styles of short jacket, like this one from a few decades later.

I think it might be possible to get a similar effect from cutting down a thrifted corduroy jacket, depending on the pocket placement? It's not something I've done myself though.

A fancy little bolero could be a lot of fun too! I quite like these ones made by Marlowe Lune. Super easy to sew, and could be patterned by cutting down a bigger pattern that fits the torso.

They'd be a good thing to try if you have a smallish piece of fancy fabric, or a small bit trim to use, or want to try a small amount of embroidery.

There are lots of historical styles with sleeves too, and all sorts of decorations.

(Dunno the source for this one either, unfortunately, but the pin says 1880s reception dress. I think a little jacket like that would look good with a puffy shirt and pants.)

Short capes might be practical too, and the late 19th and early 20th century have tons of fancy capelets for inspiration, like this one.

Or this one.

I hope this is somehow helpful! I don't know if you're looking to sew things from scratch or to buy and alter stuff or what, and I have no personal experience using a wheelchair, but these are the best things I can think of for a suitable silhouette. Dramatic sleeve/shoulder puffs would also be shown off to great effect, if that's something you'd like to wear.

[bvidzsoo]

The trace of you

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: psychiatrist!Jeong Yunho x patient!female reader

ꕤ Warning: bullying, mistreatment, ptsd, mentions of insanity & abuse, mental health talks, psychiatric diagnose, unethical thoughts and actions ꕤ Word count: 25.1k ꕤ Rating: mature ꕤ Genre: dated around the late 1800's, psychiatrist x patient, lots of yearning, mutual pinning, forbidden love, inspired by Alias Grace, angst ꕤ Summary: Being caged inside your home for a wrongdoing you can't even remember seems to not have the effect people have been expecting. With the arrival of a foreign doctor with studies unheard of before, your life takes a new turn. Will Doctor Jeong prove your innocence, or will he fall into your web like everyone else? Are you sane, or is he just as insane as his patients?

A/N: Helloo, my lovelies! ^^ Wrapping up this story took way too long due to me having some unplanned health issues that are still (?) kicking my ass...anyways, keep in mind while you're reading this that there are probably historical inaccuracies to this story, especially to South Korean history that I briefly read through when constructing Yunho character's background. The dresses MC wears also aren't the most accurate, but I hope you can look past that and imagine instead whatever you'd like. I watched the mini-series Alias Grace and was rather inspired by it, so you will find similarities to it within this story. I am no medical professional, so the diagnosis MC is given might be inaccurate even though I have taken my time to research these things. Let me know if I should tag anything else as a warning, and I really hope you enjoy this story as I have tried making it a bit different. Let me know your thoughts about it, I am always excited to read your feedback! <3 Oh, and, I hope Santa brings you something sweet tonight, this is my not so small present for you all! ^^ divider

            The old clock’s ticking seemed to only get louder by the second. The sheer curtains were pulled to the side to allow more sunlight inside the tea room, the grand doors opened to let in the late fresh summer breeze. The white hydrangeas lining the paths leading towards the back garden were gorgeous and carried a strong scent with them, I could smell it from my spot on the soft faded pink cushion of the sofa brought all the way from France. The tea room had been remodelled not long ago. There was something about it that gave old cottage vibes, but it has now been upgraded to a more fashionable Parisian feel. It was pretty, with hues of light peach and a darker coral, however, I used to like more the cosy feeling of the sage green and baby blue colours that had decorated the room once. Karina liked it more this way, she had said something about the lighter colours giving the impression of a bigger room. I did not understand why the tea room was required to look grander than it already was, but I didn’t question her judgment. It was best if I didn’t, not out loud, at least.

The servants were quietly waiting outside the room as my mother paced in front of us, Karina perched on a fancy chair with an abandoned book in her hands. I knew the ticking of the old clock and the silence was driving her mad, but I remained silent as I gazed forward, eyes on the gravel path. I longed to walk in the meadow close to our house, but I wasn’t allowed to roam around on my own. Even inside my own home, I was under constant surveillance. The doctors have said it was for my own sake, but it felt like I was in a continuous cage. It was suffocative, I couldn’t sleep some nights due to it, not even after drinking Mrs. Humphrey’s delicious camomile tea. My last hope resided in summer, in the warm breeze that kissed my cold skin, everything a lush green where I looked, to keep me sane. As sane as it could, since I was deemed a madwoman long ago.

Unlike the others who hired chauffeurs and dated carriages with old horses, this doctor arrived by a fancy patent motorcar. It wasn’t him driving it, at least the servants had whispered that to each other, but his long wool coat looked expensive too. My mother finally stopped pacing and Karina sighed in irritation when there was a knock at the front door. One maid stepped forward and opened the door for the doctor, gently greeting him. I couldn’t hear his voice, I was trying to catch the song of the birds outside, but I could feel the shift in the air. It was warmer inside as if the sun had stepped through our threshold. It warmed my skin like none other. Finally, the doctor was led towards the tea room, my back to him as my lips moved in a whispered song that comforted me. If I ignored the coil of my stomach and the sheen layer of sweat over my brows, I could convince myself that I was fine. That whoever came to check on me wasn’t another vicious man eager to torture a damned soul like mine.

“My apologies, ma’am, I am unfamiliar with these roads.” The man’s voice was deep yet soft, like honey, thick but inoffensive. At least if I told myself that, it calmed my rapid heartbeat. As I continued sitting rigidly, my fingers wrung together, the tremors never disappeared. It was something natural, the other doctors have concluded, something they couldn’t fix about me. Another thing they couldn’t fix about me. It was fine, I knew I had been damned a long time ago.

“Oh, it is no issue, we are glad you made it, Doctor.” My mother’s voice was filled with deep relief as the crease between her brows finally disappeared, hands locked behind her back as she rushed towards the entrance. Karina was surprisingly silent, but her expression spoke volumes. Her eyes had widened and her mouth had parted, fingers barely clutching the book in her hands anymore. I gulped, trying to steady my irregular breathing. I knew what was coming, the same questions and objects this doctor, too, would use to check my stability. I dreaded it all, I wanted to scream and throw a vase and make it shatter against the ground, but I would only be deemed even crazier. My eyes shook when I heard footsteps approach, heavier than those of my mother or Karina, it was the man. The Doctor. He was coming further inside, I could feel his eyes trained on my nape, no doubt curious and with a glint madder in his eyes than in mine, here to dissect me, pick me apart just to never fix me. I saw polished black shoes stop before me, and the lump in my throat almost made it impossible to speak up.

“Miss Harold, my name is Doctor Jeong Yunho.” Then, unlike any other doctor had done, this one’s knees bent until he was crouching in front of me, looking at me. His eyes were round and kind, a dark brown unlike my icy ones, and they were filled with warmth and softness I hadn’t seen in any other man. His nose had a perfect slope and his fair skin was sun-kissed, the apple of his cheeks a rosy red. His lips weren’t too big but pouty and full, asking to be traced gently by soft fingertips. I shuddered, completely taken aback by his youth and beauty. The man was from faraway lands, yet judging by his speech, you couldn’t tell until you saw him. He was gorgeous, he was breathtaking, “Would you feel safe if it was just the two of us in this room?”

No, I wanted to scream. My fingers tightened against each other, I gulped and hesitantly nodded, our eyes spilling into each other’s as if a spell had them locked together. His features were serene and sincere, not a frown on his beautiful face to create creases, just a soft smile pulling at his lips. It was disarming and frightening at the same time. Then, the doctor smiled even wider as he stood back up, his height intimidating. My heart raced as I watched him, unable to take my eyes off him. And he was still looking at me as he spoke up, “If you could excuse us, I’d like to speak to Miss Harold in privacy. It won’t take long, I promise. I’m only here today to familiarise myself with her.”

“Good, yes, Doctor, whatever you need.” My mother sounded reassured as she gripped Karina’s arm, yanking her out of the tea room as she seemingly didn’t want to go. Her eyes were fixed on Doctor Jeong, and her cheeks were blushed, “Would you like a cup of tea before we leave?”

“No, but thank you, Mrs. Harold.” The doctor hummed, his voice warm, as he sat across from me. He had no leather tool bag, nothing. He only carried a ragged satchel bag, a dark green with patches made to it, and it seemed mostly empty. My heart couldn’t settle down, not yet. Maybe his tools were hidden in the pockets of his long black coat. He hadn’t taken it off, and he looked like he wasn’t planning on staying for long. I couldn’t decide whether that thought reassured or unsettled me even more. Silence stretched on as we stared at each other, my throat dry, but I made no moves to drink from my fine China cup. I gulped when the doctor finally moved, reaching inside his bag. Here it came, the torture for the next hours, he was just like all those other doctors. I could feel tears prick at my eyes and my chest felt on fire, my lungs constricting, but the world seemed to stop moving when the man finally retracted his hand from inside his ragged bag. He held no tool to harm me, instead, a slightly withering daisy was gripped daintily between his long fingers.

“I plucked this for you on my way here, Miss Harold.” The doctor spoke, leaning forward to extend his hand towards me. A daisy, from a man like him. A man who felt like the sun itself, warming my cold particles, how unusual. When I did not move to take it from him, his happy expression seemed to fall slightly. Before he could feel more disappointment, I quickly leaned forward and grabbed it from his hand. Our fingertips brushed for a second and the doctor gulped, loudly. I loved wearing my copper hair in a simple bun, lined with fresh daisies. How coincidental that I had made myself a daisy crown just this morning, and now, the doctor had brought one for me. It would’ve been endearing if it was from a suitor, but I haven’t had one since I was sent to the asylum.

“Everything has a price, Doctor, what must I offer in exchange for this?” I found my voice, less shaky than I had expected. My insides were twisting in every possible direction, my heart hammering so fast it made me feel lightheaded. I wondered whether I’d remember the doctor tomorrow morning still. It wouldn’t be the first time I experienced sudden memory loss.

The doctor frowned, sitting back on the couch stiffly, “Perhaps, your honesty? Will you answer my questions?”

“Will you measure my head and poke at my skin like all those other doctors?”

“No, I’m not here to physically evaluate you. I’m here to glance inside your mind.”

“That unsettles me more than getting cut open to determine whether my blood is still red or not.”

“Had they done that to you?”

“Yes, you should rather ask what had they not done to me, Doctor Jeong.”

The doctor gulped, his dark eyebrows pulled together now and his lips downturned. He fished for something in his pocket, and a small pair of spectacles were placed low on his nose. It made him look more mature, more serious. I wondered if he wore it so that the other doctors would take him seriously, or whether because his eyesight wasn’t the best.

“I won’t cut you open, Miss Harold, I won’t even touch you during my examinations.” My heart skipped a beat despite hammering uncomfortably against my chest, and I wondered why. His words, however, did bring a little comfort.

“How will you determine what is wrong with me, then?” I raised my eyebrows, my fingers popping when I released the tension from them. I laid my palms flatly against my sage green dress, and the doctor’s eyes fleetingly glanced at them.

“By talking, by listening to your stories and thoughts.” The doctor spoke of a practice I hadn’t heard of before, “If you trust me, that is, your secrets will be safe with me.”

“Will they be?” I smiled, a little ashen, “The committee will want to hear what I said, there are no secrets we can keep with each other, Doctor Jeong.”

The doctor hummed, an almost amused smile pulling at his lips, “My profession requires me not to disclose anything personal, so, even if the committee wants to hear it, I won’t relay our conversations word for word, Miss Harold.”

I gulped, analysing the man’s face. He looked sincere, his eyebrows didn’t twitch and he wasn’t sweating despite the coat still around him. It was summer, and it was warm outside, albeit not inside the tea room, that is why the grand doors were opened to let the warmth in. This room reflected a lot about how I felt on the inside, always cold and hollow, waiting desperate for the warm sun to fill me up with its hotness until it burned me away. I wanted to burn, I wanted to be freed of all I had to endure until now.

“You need my honesty, but are you willing to be transparent with me?” My question seemed to take the doctor off guard as his eyes momentarily widened. Then, he clasped his long fingers together and placed his arms on his thighs, leaning forward in his seat.

“As long as it helps us move forward and remains professional, I can be transparent with you, Miss Harold.”

“You must’ve read the reports about me, do you think I’m mad, Doctor Jeong?”

“Isn’t everyone a little mad, Miss Harold?”

“I don’t know, you are the doctor between the two of us, Doctor Jeong.”

“Indeed, and I claim that nobody is without faults or sins.”

“Then you must be a religious person, no?”

“My profession contradicts my beliefs, yes, but I do believe there is something stronger and greater than us, Miss Harold. If we ask for forgiveness, we shall be pardoned.”

“Father Leon would love to have you at his service, Doctor Jeong.”

The doctor chuckled, a small smile settling over his lips as I realised I hadn’t looked away from the man since he had sat down on the couch. That was news. I never looked anyone in the eyes, as I didn’t feel comfortable. I had been told by previous doctors that they could see straight to my soul, my wicked mind and rottenness in the blueness of my irises. Now I never looked long enough to let them see what was inside my eyes, but this doctor didn’t seem to be afraid of me, of what he might find inside my eyes. Could he not see the darkness of my soul? Or was his faith so strong he preferred to spot the brightness before he was proven wrong by the wicked that permeated those like myself?

“Do you believe in God?” Doctor Jeong’s voice was louder than before, more filled with emotion as if my answer was crucial to him.

“I suppose I must. Everyone says the devil was the one to make me act like this, and I wonder where had God gone to let the devil do this to me.” Doctor Jeong’s cheeks became a darker colour as he licked his lips, mouth parting, but no words left it. I hummed, placing my right hand over my left one. Doctor Jeong wore one single band of silver ring on his middle finger on his right hand. He couldn’t have been married, then, I concluded.

“Perhaps you’ll find an answer to your question once I have done my job here.” Doctor Jeong’s tone caught a solemn note, but I said nothing as he grabbed his satchel bag and adjusted the collar of his white shirt. I watched the motion, eyes glued to the fair skin of his neck even as the man stood. His ears were flushing red too, I wondered why. I suppose the summer warmth had gotten to him at last.

“You are leaving already, doctor?” I asked as I looked up, standing when I realised he was about to depart. My mother had raised me with good manners, I would have even walked him to the front door if it weren’t for Karina suddenly barging inside, her jawline set tight as she sent me a fierce look of displeasure.

“Eager to have him all to yourself, sister?” Karina’s voice dripped with venom as she rushed further inside, rudely grabbing the doctor’s arm. What if he didn’t want to be touched? Karina lacked the awareness to consider that for a second. The doctor remained silent as he looked between me and Karina, and I just chuckled, looking down to the floor.

“I already have him all to myself, no need to be eager about it too.” The forced smile on Karina’s face would’ve satisfied me, but now I wanted both her and the doctor gone from my sight. My heart was racing again and I couldn’t breathe well, the tremors of my hands would’ve made me spill my tea if I were to drink from it. Perhaps Matilda could accompany me around the gardens, I wished to become one with nature for the remainder of the day.

“I shall see you tomorrow, Miss Harold.” Doctor Jeong bowed his head slightly before he let himself be dragged away by Karina, who sent me a glare that would’ve scared anyone else but me. I let them leave as I crumbled back onto the sofa, suddenly feeling faint. I couldn’t decide whether the doctor would pick my mind apart or not, and it was scarier that I had no idea how he’d do it.

            The air felt oppressive and thick, yet I could see the doctor’s motorcar approaching in the distance. Matilda had been kind enough to accompany me on my walk around the gardens, but she had rushed me back inside the tea room when my mother sent a butler to alert us that the doctor was fast approaching. Now, sitting on a chair by the open grand doors, I could see the dark clouds gathering around in the distance. It was as if they were trying to chase the doctor away, but he kept approaching until the motorcar's engine died down and his heavy footsteps echoed around the house. There was a knock at the door as my eyes watched a small white bird on a branch of a tree, my mind absent. The heavy footsteps approached further inside, and I turned my head to look up at the doctor.

“Hello, Miss Harold.” He said with an easy smile on his lips, holding his satchel bag in both hands. He didn’t wear a coat today, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up. His nape was sweaty as the top buttons were unbuttoned. The heat had finally gotten to him, it could get rather cruel in this part of the county.

“Hello, Doctor Jeong.” The smile came easily to my face. Despite only meeting him yesterday, my heart wasn’t racing like before. Perhaps it was the absence of his leather tool bag and the fact that the man was so young and innocent-looking. Before we could proceed, however, there was a knock at the door.

“Doctor Jeong,” Karina’s unmistakable voice called out with a shake to it, “Would you like some tea before you start your…examination?”

“The heat is already killing me, but thank you.” He declined with a gentle flick of his wrist, yet Karina lingered in the doorway. She was only looking at the doctor, her favourite dress ironed out and tightly cinched at the waist. I turned in my seat and watched her with amusement. She wasn’t subtle at all.

“May I help you?” The doctor asked, sounding confused as Karina stood still and slightly jumped, looking down abashed.

“No, I’m sorry.” Then she finally departed, closing the door behind her as Doctor Jeong had asked. I slowly looked up at the handsome doctor, finding his eyes with ease as his spectacles were close to slipping off his nose again.

“Won’t you sit, Doctor?” I pointed towards the chair, which was placed a decent distance away from mine, just by the other door. The breeze had picked up into a strong wind now, it blew inside and rattled the sheer curtains. I welcomed it with closed eyes while the doctor settled in, the rustling of paper caught my attention as I slowly fluttered my eyes open once again. It was silent for a second as I looked at the doctor, who was already watching me. His pouty lips were parted and his ears seemed to be red. As my eyes travelled all over his fair skin, I noticed the glint of something silver underneath his white shirt. It appeared to be a necklace, and once he leaned forward to retrieve a pencil from his satchel bag, I spotted a silver cross hanging off it. He really was a believer, then.

“Did you want to sit here?” The doctor asked as he leaned back in his chair, crossing one long leg over the other. I hummed, clasping my hands together in my lap as the tremors slightly subsided. My heart was at ease, it finally wasn’t frantic like during breakfast and my walk in the gardens.

“Yes, I find nature most beautiful during this time,” I answered the doctor, turning my head to gaze at the white hydrangeas. Their scent was so strong I could almost taste it in my mouth.

“So, you like storms, Miss Harold?” The doctor asked and I chuckled, turning my head away when there was lightning in the distance.

“No, doctor, I’m terrified of storms.” I smiled as the doctor paused, he was jotting down my words in his notebook, I came to realise. He quirked an eyebrow, so I continued, “My father died saving me after I had fallen off the ship, the storm was terrible.”

The doctor hummed, his eyebrows slightly furrowing as he quickly noted what I had just said, “Are you afraid of water, then?”

“No,” I shook my head, our eyes meeting and staying locked as if we had been hypnotised by each other, “I’m only afraid of the destruction a storm can cause, even on land.”

“Have you seen many of those?”

“Yes, our neighbours’ barn was destroyed just last month, it was terrible.”

“Have you helped him?”

“As much as a woman can help, yes, I offered them my servants to help rebuild the barn.”

“Then you’re caring.”

“I suppose, if you say so, Doctor.”

“Do you not consider yourself a caring person, Miss Harold?” I smiled, watching the doctor’s expression even out as his pencil pressed a hole into the thin paper of his notebook.

“As a doctor, do you care for your patients?” I raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious since I hadn’t met anyone like him. If he dissected the mind, he must care for his patients, no?

“Within the limitations of my oath and law, yes, I do care for them.” Then the doctor seemed to consider his next words, licking his lips as his eyes bore into mine. They were wide and dark, and it was easy to get lost in them, “All I wish is to do is find a cure for them, to see them walk free of their shackles.”

“Can you cure madness, Doctor Jeong?” My voice sounded small, almost afraid. The doctor’s eyebrows furrowed as he averted his eyes, messily scribbling something down in his notebook. As I peeked at it, I realised the alphabet I was familiar with blended with one I did not know. Perhaps it was his mother tongue, then.

“Every person has a trigger, Miss Harold, if I find yours, I can cure it.” Then, he bit his bottom lip, and the added words were silent, “If you’ll let me.”

Silence stretched on, and I felt my heart race for the first time since I had seen the doctor today. It was unsettling, I felt my cheeks warm up. The redness from the doctor’s ears seemed to spread down towards his neck and chest, I wondered if his skin was as smooth as it looked at first glance. Then, without considering my next words, I let the truth slip past my chapped lips.

“I want to be free, sir, I don’t want to live like this for the rest of my life.” I had been young when I was convicted. My fate could have been much worse, but the men my father had been once acquittanced with owed him one, so they came to my aid. My sentence was very generous, the judge deemed me mad and unfit to be locked up in a women’s penitentiary, and instead, I was bound to constant surveillance for the rest of my life. Even when I slept, Matilda was there with me. Or my mother when the maid was too tired to continue keeping watch.

The doctor wetted his lips again, leaning slightly forward in his seat. The pencil was clutched tightly between his long fingers, and his tone had dropped lower too, “I can rid you of your burden if you’re honest with me, Miss Harold, I can set you free. But for that, you have to tell me everything that happened and made you do what you did.”

“Why won’t you say it, Doctor? Have you not read the reports? I was the talk of the whole town, still am, actually.”

“Something isn’t right about the reports, have you been truthful in your testimony?”

“Wouldn’t I be breaching the law if I wasn’t?”

“People lie all the time, Miss Harold.”

“May God forgive me for my sins, then, Doctor Jeong.”

A vein in the doctor’s forehead bulged as his jawline strained, mouth open but no words leaving his pretty lips. He huffed, then leaned back in the chair, eyebrows furrowing deeply as he wrote messily in the notebook once again. I smiled as I watched him, his black hair fell into his eyes as he looked down. His spectacles threatened to slide down his nose altogether, and I itched to fix it for him.

“Let’s start at the beginning, then, shall we?” The doctor’s tone had turned uncharacteristically soft as if he was talking to a frightened child. There was a fire in his eyes as he looked up once again and I gulped, feeling unsettled under his sudden undivided attention. His left palm pressed into the side of his thigh, his fingers tapping his black slacks rhythmically. I gulped, then nodded.

“What would you like to know about me, Doctor Jeong?”

“Tell me about your childhood. Your likes and dislikes, who is most dear to you and why. Have you loved before? Do you feel lonely now? Just tell me everything that crosses your mind.”

He wanted to know everything about me. It felt unravelling, dangerous. He had said my secrets would remain with him, would he note them down in the language only he spoke? Or would he tell the committee right after he was finished with his examination? Taking a deep breath, I turned my head to gaze outside once again, my lungs deflating as I exhaled long and loud. The lightning was closer now, the little birds were nowhere to be seen. Something coiled in my guts as my father’s face flashed behind my eyes, his warm smile and his kind tone still so present in my mind. If he were still here, perhaps nothing would’ve happened. There would be no Karina and Mr. Brooks, I wouldn’t be condemned for life.

“Much like I am afraid of storms, Doctor Jeong, I’m afraid of solace. It hadn’t always been like this, while my father was alive, I had never felt alone for even a second. He’d take me to the woods on horseback, we’d pluck flowers for my mother and he’d teach me everything he knew about the fauna and the poisonous mushrooms. He’d read stories for me before bedtime, and he had even taught me how to read. He was my favourite person, now it’s my mother and Matilda. She’s a young maid, we had found her hiding in the stable last winter. She was almost frozen to death, I thought I might be giving her a second chance at life if I took her in as my personal maid. She doesn’t speak much and I can’t tell whether she hates me or not, but I know she loves it when I take her on walks in the garden. I think she’s a little bit like me. Out there, in nature, we can both pretend to be free, just two girls roaming between flowers and giggling about the future.” The doctor’s hand seemed to be moving with my words, it was as if he tried to capture and note down everything I said. For that sole reason, I didn’t speak quickly, I let the words settle both in his mind and on his paper.

“I suppose my childhood isn’t anything special, I come from an aristocratic family, you must imagine what it was like. I was raised to have good manners and bow in front of men, but not without having an opinion and a mouth to voice them with. My father had been a fair man, he and my mother had always made every decision together, so he raised me to find a man who sees me as his equal and his other half. There had been moments when I had rebelled, I think that is only normal, but I was never a moody or explosive child. You can ask my mother about that, she’ll tell you so too.” I said as the doctor nodded along to my words, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. I took a deep breath and watched his face as I continued talking, “There was only one thing I loved as much as I loved my father, and it was ballet. But that, too, was taken away after I was admitted to the asylum. Ever since then, I haven’t touched my pointe shoes. I had even asked Matilda to hide them deep inside my closet, my heart breaks anytime I catch a glimpse of them.”

A lump formed in my throat just from speaking about it, I could feel tears in my eyes as I watched the tree branches move violently with the strong wind. The willow tree looked gorgeous in the wake of the storm, and I wished nothing but to step under it and close my eyes, let the wind destroy my bun and rip the fresh daisies out of my hair. I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the dark flashes of memories I had tried to forget so badly. The asylum was a cursed place, filled with evil people who only caused more harm. I hated it and everyone that was associated with it. I could feel the doctor’s eyes on me, and he gulped, inhaling sharply. I glanced at him, and he looked amazed for some reason.

“Can you tell me about the asylum, Miss Harold?” My muscles tensed despite the doctor’s soft tone, and my heart started racing painfully in my chest. I thought wringing my fingers tighter together would stop the tremors from worsening, but it didn’t. I felt lightheaded as my own shrill screams echoed in my ears, but I couldn’t speak. My bottom lip shook as I took a breath through my mouth, and shook my head frantically, “Alright, it’s alright, Miss Harold. We won’t speak of it, take deep breaths.”

The doctor leaned forward in his seat and I rigidly turned to face him, my eyes wide in fear as I waited for him to strike. Maybe his mask would finally slip, maybe the tools were hidden inside his satchel bag. The notebook, his scribbling, my stories…maybe they were all just distractions. And yet, the doctor’s eyes remained kind and ridden with worry as he seemed to breathe through his mouth as well, as if he was mirroring my actions. I closed my eyes as the first thunder shook the ground, and inhaled deeply, keeping the air in my lungs until I couldn’t no more. I released the shuddered breath and opened my eyes again, only to see the doctor gulp, loudly. His pupils were dilated and made his eyes seem completely black, his fair cheeks flushed deeply as his long fingers tightened around his pencil once again.

“Perhaps we should end the examination here, Doctor Jeong.” My voice was strained as I gulped around nothing, “The storm is here. You should head home before it worsens.”

As if nature had agreed with me, the air filled with electricity as lightning struck not far away, the thunder loud and following shortly after. Doctor Jeong’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, humming approvingly. He swiped his bottom lip with his thumb before he grabbed his satchel bag, adjusting his spectacles as they did slip off the slope of his nose. Thunder wracked the earth again as a colder breeze billowed past us, ruffling my dress and the hair that had fallen out of my bun. It also moved Doctor Jeong’s messy hair, jelled back and out of his eyes in an attempt to make him look classy. As the doctor stood, slipping the notebook inside his satchel bag too, I mirrored him, smoothing down my dress.

“I call what we do here sessions, Miss Harold, and not examination.” The smile was easy on his lips and I hummed, flinching when the wind slammed the grand door of the tea room against the wall. Perhaps it was time to close them, “I shall see you tomorrow?”

“Of course, Doctor Jeong, please take care on your way home.” My eyebrows furrowed in worry as Doctor Jeong nodded, opening his mouth to say something just as the door to the tea room was yanked open. The man in the doorway was unfamiliar, but he looked worried.

“Mr Jeong, we should go now if we don’t want to be stranded somewhere on the road during the storm.” He must be the doctor’s driver, then. My mother appeared behind the driver, looking as worried as if the doctor was her own child.

“We have guest rooms, Doctor, you could always stay.” My mother was a kind and loving woman, her intentions hardly questionable, “I would hate it if something were to happen to you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Harold, but I shall be on my way.” Doctor Jeong smiled widely, then faced me once again, and bowed his head much like yesterday. Perhaps it was their custom to take farewell like that, so, I bowed back to him. The doctor’s eyes widened for a second before his smile widened just slightly, and then he and his diver were gone, my mother’s expression was worried as she watched them leave from the front porch. Big droplets of water started falling from the dark clouds, and I quickly closed the grand doors as Matilda rushed inside to assist me. The rhythmic fall of the rain was a glaring reminder of my irregularly fast heartbeat.

The eyes were windows to one’s soul, or so Yunho had been taught. He had dealt with many cases during his practice period, and now as a certified psychiatrist, he had gained even more popularity in the West. He had no choice but to move at a young age, the world was an ever-changing place. He was young and curious, he wished to explore and find people that needed his expertise. But there was something so mesmerising about her eyes which left him unravelled and flustered like nothing else. Her words dripped with honey, and Yunho could swear he heard angels singing, accompanying her soft tone whenever she told stories. He was captivated. He ached to write down every single word she uttered, he felt desperate to pick apart her brain, to look inside it, to fix her. He was desperate to understand what had triggered her manic episode, he was desperate to tell the committee that she was innocent. But he was a doctor first and foremost, and his job forbade him from any personal attachment towards his patients. But whenever he looked into her icy blue eyes, the breeze brushing the fallen copper strands of her hair against her sun-kissed cheeks, he felt his very own soul stir and reach out in desperation to connect with hers, to possess it. She was a madwoman, and he was a man desperate to stay sane in her company.

            Another thing I completely wished to be free of was dinners, where I was forced to sit with my so-called happy family. The bags under Mr Brooks's eyes had been getting darker and darker lately, and the creases in his forehead were an obvious sign that something was worrying him. But it wasn’t my place to ask questions, so I continued to silently notice the small changes in his mood and behaviour. He had stopped pampering Karina, which was completely unheard of, and she was loud and clear with her complaints. She had wanted a silk nightgown just last week, but her father had denied her of it. He didn’t mention the cause, he only said she already has more than enough nightgowns. The clinking of silverware gave me something to focus on as my eyes were cast on the brussels sprouts on my plate, pushing around it as I didn’t enjoy their bitter taste. But Mrs Humphrey had cooked dinner with love, so I didn’t want to leave anything on my plate tonight. The silence around the table was broken as my mother grabbed her glass of wine, her kind eyes settling on me.

“Y/N, my dear, how are your examinations going?” I paused, feeling everyone’s eyes in the dining room on me. I gulped down the food I had in my mouth and tapped with a napkin at my lips, letting my hands fall in my lap as I hummed. Doctor Jeong’s words rang clearly in my mind, what we were doing was called sessions.

“They are called sessions, ‘ma, and they are going well,” I spoke gently, hoping she’d find my words reassuring. I knew she was constantly worrying about me, always fussing and around thinking I wouldn’t notice. I might be absent-minded a lot these days, but I’m mostly aware of my surroundings still. Mr Brooks nodded once, looking pleased as he wolfed down the steak Mrs Humphrey had made to be spicey, just like Mr Brooks liked it.

“That is lovely to hear,” My mother beamed at me, meanwhile Karina scoffed under her breath, “Do you find communication with the doctor difficult, perhaps? Or is everything clear between you two?”

Mr. Brooks nodded along, one eyebrow raised as he watched me curiously. I adjusted myself in my chair and plastered on a little smile, “Doctor Jeong is well-versed and rather attentive. He notes down everything I say in his notebook, and meanwhile, I have noticed he scribbles along in his mother tongue as well, I find no difficulties understanding him. He’s coherent and speaks English as if he was born around here.”

“That’s a very reassuring thing to hear, my dear.” Mr Brooks spoke up with a smile, the corners of his lips tugging up. Karina’s jawline was set tight as she let her fork clamper down loudly against her plate, her eyebrows raised mockingly.

“Why are we letting her spend time alone with that doctor, again? How is that helping her?” Her tone was high-pitched, filled with blatant jealousy that Mr Brooks and my mother remained oblivious to.

“Sweetheart, we’ve discussed this already,” Mr Brooks said with a tired sigh, giving his daughter a disapproving look, “Y/N needs a new medical approach, and Doctor Jeong is the best in this field. He came all the way here from South Korea when he was still just an apprentice. I’ve read up on him, he’s solved cases of mass hysteria and other mental issues no doctor could even come close to. Let’s not have this conversation again, Karina.”

Mr Brooks was mostly calling me insane to my face, but his words held no malice and I knew his intentions were pure. I couldn’t resent him for wanting to find a cure for me, something that could finally fix me. He had no obligation to look out for me like this, I wasn’t his daughter by blood, yet he had only treated me with kindness and understanding my whole life. He was a good man, perhaps a bit too absent from the household, but I could see in his eyes that he loved my mother dearly, and that was more than enough for me to accept him into our home. He couldn’t replace my father, but he filled the void that sometimes got too much.

“I think she just needs attention,” Karina hissed under her breath as she slammed her fist on the table, making the maids behind her jump, “What are you waiting for, stupid cunts?! My glass is empty!”

“Karina,” My mother muttered, her eyebrows pulled together as she gave her a displeased look while the poor maid scurried to fill Karina’s glass with wine, “A lady shouldn’t use such vulgar language, nonetheless in front of her elders.”

“Yeah, whatever Mrs Harold.” She scoffed as she glared at the maid, taking big gulps of her wine. I watched with distaste, catching Leia’s gaze for a split second. Her eyes were tear-filled and I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from speaking up, it would only start an argument I didn’t have the mental capacity for right now. But Karina wasn’t done as her sharp gaze fell on me, her tone harsh when she spoke again, “I know you enjoy spending time with the doctor alone, it makes you fantasize, doesn’t it? You’re just playing with him like with everyone else around you, sister, aren’t you? How long do you reckon until you get him riled up enough to get underneath your skirts—”

“Karina!” Mr Brooks's voice was loud and stern, his eyes set on his daughter with disgust in them, “How dare you say such things to your sister? In front of me and her mother, nonetheless! You should be ashamed, is this who I raised you to be?!”

Karina chuckled, humourless, “Right, father, you didn’t raise me at all, perhaps that is why I am like this. Maybe you shouldn’t have admitted mother into an asylum because she didn’t know how to silence a crying baby, hm?”

The silence that settled over the table made my skin crawl. If anyone would’ve dropped a pin, everyone could’ve heard it in the dining room. I released a shaky breath, the tremors worsening as Mr Brooks seemed to be struggling with containing his rage in front of my mother. Her mouth was open and a hand pressed against it, eyes shaking with pain and incredulity as she looked between Karina and her second husband. I took a deep breath and pushed my chair back, grabbing my plate to try and stabilise myself, to stay in the present. Eyes fell on me, and before Leia could come to approach me, I shook my head with a small smile, “I’ll let Mrs Humphrey know she outdid herself once again, then I will be retreating for bed. Matilda will accompany me, sleep well tonight, mother.”

As I left the dining room, I heard Mr Brooks weakly whisper a good night, then Karina’s sobs as she raced up the stairs, slamming the door to her room loudly. The chatter and good mood died down the second the kitchen door swung open, Leia following inside after me. Mrs Humphrey looked concerned when she noticed me holding my plate and went to stand up and take it from me, but I quickly shook my head.

“No, stay seated, Mrs Humphrey, dinner is absolutely delicious.” I said with a smile, and the other servants and maids seemed to relax as well, “Would you mind…if I finished my dinner here, with you?”

“Oh, come here, my dear.” Mrs Humphrey’s frown was deep as she beckoned me over, making space for me between herself and our butler, Jesper. He was still a young boy, his eyes filled with a youthful spark, full of life and happiness. He offered me a small smile and placed mushrooms filled with cheese on my plate, knowing I loved them. I chuckled and thanked him, then looked over the table and realised I felt most comfortable when around these people. They were simple, they were happy, and they made the most of their days. They were free, away from society’s judgemental eyes, and they lacked the prejudice the other aristocrats hadn’t even tried to hide around me. I felt like I belonged at this table, and as the happy chatter picked up again and Jesper made small talk with me, with Carla eagerly interjecting sometimes, I could feel my tense muscles relax and the void in my chest disappear. For a little while only, while I was still at this table, enjoying my dinner with the people who looked at me as if I was just a human too.

            The doctor was quickly growing on me. I couldn’t trust him, not yet, it would be too soon. It’s been only a week since he started visiting me for our sessions, but I started believing that he wasn’t playing a character when around me. He was genuine, his eyes sparkled curiously with each question he asked, his frown was always worried and it downturned his pretty pouty lips, and when he smiled, something warm seemed to flood my chest. I could only compare it to the sun, for I have never felt such warmth when gazing upon a man before. Not even when suitors were lining up in front of our house, asking for a chance at marrying me. The doctor was considerate and kind, he hung on to my every word. It was his profession, I knew he was only doing his job, but I couldn’t help but imagine he was a man interested in me, his notebooks filled with poems and sketches of me. It was a far-fetched fantasy, but it managed to warm my cheeks anytime I dwelled on it.

I was out in the back garden as I found myself thinking about the doctor again, excited to see him today as well. We had left off at a rather culminating point of my story yesterday, I wondered if he was as eager as I was to hear the rest of it. Matilda wasn’t feeling well today, and as my mother was in town, Carla was the one supervising me. I didn’t mind the change, she was a chatty girl and easily kept me from detaching from reality. Here, in the garden, as I thumbed at the leaves of the flowers, Carla was still speaking about an encounter with a fairy. A supposed fairy as she believed in God and deemed the little creatures spawns of evil.

“Tell me, young miss, do you believe it was Satan sending those fairies my way?” Carla’s voice was full of wonder, “Have I done something bad to attract his attention to me?”

“I don’t believe so, Carla.” I answered her quietly, my eyes following a bee as it flew from flower to flower, “You go to church every Sunday.”

“Perhaps I should go from now on every Wednesday and Sunday, too.” Carla huffed, hands on her hips as she tried avoiding the bee that was flying towards her. I chuckled, straightening up. The scent of the hydrangeas was familiar as I closed my eyes, inhaling it deeply into my lungs so that they would stay there for a long time.

“I don’t believe fairies are inherently evil, Carla.” I mused as the breeze brushed upon my cheeks, already flushed from the great heat. My dress was thin and simple, I couldn’t wear pompous dresses during summertime, they were too hot. I would often feel lightheaded from the strong sun, the thick dresses would only make me faint. The white fabric was soft against my skin, and the white ribbons brushed against my nape as my hair was pulled into two small buns at the base of my neck. I could’ve performed on stage looking like this, but even so much as looking at my pointe shoes would’ve hurt my soul. I didn’t let the memories resurface despite the sudden melancholia that wished to break through my emotions, “Fairies are small creatures that protect nature, maybe you had done something they didn’t approve of. Did you disrespect their land, perhaps? Or did you step on a flower they had blessed before? Fairies are territorial beings, and they are also quite vengeful. But if you ask Father Leon to bless you after service, I’m sure you’ll be just fine, Carla.”

The scoff that followed my words wasn’t coming from Carla. I didn’t open my eyes as I became aware of heavier footsteps approaching, I had completely missed the engine of his motorcar. I felt Karina stop behind me, but I turned my head towards the sun, basking in it. I couldn’t touch the celestial without burning to a crisp, but perhaps the one it had sent to me in human form was really here to save me. A clear of throat made me blink my eyes open, and I turned to look over my shoulder.

“If you have nothing else but fairies to talk about, then I don’t see why Doctor Jeong should entertain your madness any longer.” Karina’s eyes narrowed at me, “You belong in an asylum, sister.”

I smiled, a little amused, as an ugly grimace appeared on Carla’s face upon Karina’s comment. The maid made to open her mouth, which would’ve landed her in trouble, but the doctor beat her to it, “Thank you for walking me here, Miss Brooks. But I’d like to be left alone with Miss Harold, now.”

“Right,” Karina muttered, shooting me a jealous stare, “She gets to have you all to herself, as always.”

Then, she turned around and raised her skirt above her ankles to storm off. Carla nodded her head and followed after Karina, not in a hurry so that the woman wouldn’t pick a fight with Carla as well. The doctor sighed, pushing his small glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking a little bit bewildered. Then, he looked at me and the crease from his forehead disappeared. I was already smiling at him, my hands behind my back to hide the bad tremors. I had felt faint all day, but the doctor was here finally and I could finally take my first breath of fresh air of the day. I couldn’t help but smile widely at him, and watch as the flush from his ears quickly travelled down to his chest. Even more buttons of his loose white shirt were undone, the silver cross sitting against his chest now glinting under the sunlight. His trousers were high-waisted and the shirt was tucked neatly into it, a leather belt pulled around his waist. And there, in his right hand, was something white. I tilted my head in wonder as I looked at it, curious about what it was. The doctor liked bringing small gifts, mostly silly, but memorable.

“Hello, Doctor Jeong,” I spoke up, and the doctor released a loud breath.

“Hello, Miss Harold.” His voice shook slightly, then his fingers tightened around the strap of his satchel bag, “Here, I have something for you.”

Then he extended his right hand out towards me, and my eyes widened in surprise. I could tell the ballerina was made out of a napkin, I hadn’t seen anything like it before. My hands shook despite trying to ease the tremors, and my fingers hesitantly curled around the present as our skin brushed together. The doctor’s cheeks flushed rapidly, and I found myself unable to look into his warm eyes. I wondered if it was the heat that made our hands so clammy. I looked at the ballerina in my hands, melancholy overtaking me once again. I longed to dance around in the garden, Mrs Humphrey and my mother as my audience now that my father was gone, but it only brought back bad memories. I was too faint to twirl around now, my legs weren’t as strong as they once used to be. I would fall even before doing my first pirouette, it was depressing.

“How are you feeling today, Miss Harold?”

“Faint, but it’s from the heat, Doctor Jeong.”

We stood unmoving, our eyes boring into each other’s. I didn’t want to move to the tea room just yet, perhaps I longed to sit under the willow tree. The doctor made no moves, and so I said nothing about heading for the house. We were in eyesight if anyone were to look through the kitchen window, and we weren’t doing anything wrong.

“Thank you for the gift, Doctor Jeong, did you make it yourself?” I asked with round eyes, unable to keep the smile off my lips. The doctor flushed darker and averted his eyes, thumbing at his wet bottom lip.

“Yes, I thought it would cheer you up. I hope I wasn’t wrong.” His tone was tender and just a little hesitant, the doctor was almost cute like this.

“It did cheer me up, sir, I was thinking about ballet just now.” I paused, and waited for the doctor to look up into my eyes, “It seems you can already read my mind, I wonder how you do that.”

The doctor smiled, his forehead exposed as his dark strands were brushed away from his eyes, “We are making progress, then, reading your mind isn’t as easy as one might think.”

“And why is that?” I asked curiously, fiddling with the napkin in my hands.

“Because it’s very complex, you like to speak in riddles, and you evade most of my questions.” Then the doctor chuckled and I bit my bottom lip, averting my eyes in embarrassment, “You’re cunning, but I’m good at catching all the little hidden messages.”

I grinned at the doctor’s words, my suspicions confirmed. I knew I could play around with him, he seemed like a very smart man. Hearing he could read between the lines was more than satisfying. My heart skipped a beat, but it didn’t start racing like before.

“Do you like hydrangeas, Doctor?”

“Their scent is too intense for my liking, but they are pretty flowers, Miss Harold.”

“They symbolise purity and gratitude, even vanity in some cases.”

“What do they mean in your case, then?”

“Gratitude, Doctor Jeong, towards you.” Our eyes met again as I looked away from the white flowers, a sudden calmness settling upon my racing thoughts, “I hope the end of my story will be satisfying to you.”

The doctor gulped, loudly, then motioned towards the house, “Would you like to continue inside? Did you remember something of importance, perhaps?”

“Can we sit under the willow tree?” I raised an eyebrow, “Mrs Humphrey can see us from the kitchen if that’s of worry to you.”

“Sure, if you’ll feel comfortable.” The doctor nodded, fishing for his notebook and pencil as I hummed, leading us down the pebbled path, the willow tree was just by the end of it. The territory the house resided on came with a small pond, I liked watching the still water while sitting by the trunk of the willow tree. The doctor followed after me quietly, and he watched me settle down into the green grass, dress splaying out around me. It had ridden slightly up, exposing my shins as I pulled them underneath myself. The doctor seemed to be frozen, eyes glued to where my legs had been just seconds ago. Then, he gulped loudly and settled down next to me. He sat a little closer compared to the usual distance between our chairs, but his presence was soothing. I smiled as I faced him, eyes falling on his long fingers as he got comfortable, opening his notebook to where we had left off yesterday.

“I don’t remember anything new, doctor, but we haven’t reached that part of the story yet.” I smiled, then turned my head to gaze out at the pond, “Would you like to hear what happens next?”

The doctor exhaled, “You told me this noble boy barged inside your house in the middle of the night? He must’ve been madly in love with you to do such a thing.”

I chuckled, eyes focusing on the dragonflies above the pond, “I suppose he was at one point, yes. But men are easily converted, I find love like my mother and father had once shared hard to find, doctor. Our love didn’t last long, but I’m getting ahead of myself. It was a cold spring evening and he had been visiting, drinking with Mr Brooks to ask for permission to marry me. My mother was present too, of course, but she couldn’t say much against Mr Brook’s words. In the end, the proposal was accepted and the man left, only to come barging inside hours later.”

“Why did he do that?”

“Because he was drunk, and because he had something to say.”

“Did you hear him out?”

I chuckled, facing the doctor. His eyes were wide as he was watching me, pencil pressing against the white paper, “Yes, I did hear him out, but his words made no sense. He said something about a lavished lifestyle and a farmhouse, and something about being happy together even in a later age, it was endearing but very inadequate.”

“So, what did you do, then?” The doctor wasn’t even writing down what I was saying, it made me chuckle. The corner of his lips lifted subconsciously, he looked amused too.

“Nothing, I just kicked him out and told him to come back when he’s sober. His drunken words meant nothing to me. I did not want to marry a man who made foolish confessions in an inebriated state of mind, besides, he was a gentleman. He should have known better than to barge inside a lady’s home well past midnight, no, Doctor Jeong?” I quirked an eyebrow, my question seemed to snap the doctor out of his staring. He cleared his throat and looked down at his notebook, pausing for a few seconds before he jotted something down. I couldn’t read it, it was in a foreign language.

“N-no—I mean, yes, Miss Harold. That was rather inappropriate of him, I must imagine the discomfort he had created for you.” He had barely finished his sentence when a giggle bubbled past my lips.

“On the contrary, Doctor Jeong.” I grinned, ducking my head down to hide my amusement as confusion crossed the doctor’s features, “It was the most fun I’ve had in a while. Mrs Humphrey, my mother, and I had stayed up for hours giggling about it afterwards. We even made jokes about it and Mrs Humphrey let us drink her very secret brew that tastes like flowers but could knock out even a sailor with just two jugs. I have no idea what it is, but it’s very strong.”

The doctor’s eyes were filled with awe as I laughed, memories of easier times never failing to bring me in a good mood. It would’ve been easier like this, if things stayed put and if Karina wouldn’t have meddled with everything. I have faced hardships before, but having the person I considered my sister to betray me had stung like none other. In the end, neither one of us got what we wanted, just a lot of animosity and a tension-filled relationship. Sometimes I wanted to ask Karina if all of it was worth it, but I knew not to entertain an already greedy person.

“And how does this memory make you feel now?” Doctor Jeong’s tone was airy, and he wasn’t looking at me as he was scribbling in his notebook. I pondered for a second before I placed my hands on the grass, gripping it tightly between my fingers. Sometimes the tremors stopped when I grabbed something too hard.

“Bittersweet, but mostly happy. I’m grateful I was able to experience all of that at least once in my lifetime, others aren’t as lucky as I am. I am well aware of that.” The doctor nodded along as I spoke, but then he paused writing and looked at me with a frown.

“And when you think of that man? How does he make you feel, Miss Harold?” I gulped, not having expected that question. But it was easy to answer, I’ve pondered many times over this specific question, there wasn’t anything the doctor could surprise me with anymore. I smiled softly but knew the doctor could feel the shift in my mood.

“Mostly angry that I wasted years on that man when I could’ve found someone more decent, more loving.” Then I shrugged and watched as the doctor licked his lips, adjusting his spectacles on his nose, “Do you believe that God has everything planned for us, Doctor?”

“Mostly, yes, but we have enough free will to change the direction of our lives.” The doctor answered, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. I hummed, plucking the grass from the ground forcefully. My knuckles ached from how hard I had gripped onto it.

“You can’t run from what is meant for you, Doctor Jeong, we would’ve never met if I wouldn’t have gone mad.” But Doctor Jeong didn’t seem to be too convinced by my words. He chewed on his bottom lip, sweat rolling down between his pecks. I gulped, then averted my eyes from his exposed fair skin, and instead focused on his beautiful round brown eyes, “Are you glad we got to meet?”

The man’s eyes widened at my forward question, but I meant no harm nor did I have questionable reasons to ask such a thing. The doctor cleared his throat, playing with the pencil in his hands as he thought his answer over, “I’ll be glad once you are back to being yourself, until then, I cannot allow myself to feel any sort of satisfaction.”

“Don’t you think my madness is part of me, now?” I muttered, gazing off towards the house. The curtain in the kitchen moved, but I knew it wasn’t Mrs Humphrey. She was out in town with my mother at this hour. Doctor Jeong inhaled sharply, then closed his notebook loudly. The paper made a noisy sound, making me look over to him. The man looked aggravated as if my question had bothered him immensely, but I was merely curious about how he viewed me.

“Perhaps we should continue tomorrow, Miss Harold, and we must proceed with the story. The committee is pressing me with questions, they are very curious to hear the full story.” The doctor was avoiding my question, that was unusual. He stood, brushed the dirt off his trousers, then hastily grabbed his satchel bag and clumsily placed the notebook and his pencil inside.

“Thank you for indulging with me, Doctor Jeong.” I looked up at him, and had to shield my eyes from the sun, “I love sitting under the willow tree.”

“I will keep that in mind, Miss Harold, have a nice afternoon.” The doctor then bowed his head and I mirrored his actions, then he was rushing back towards the house, looking a little rigid. Karina stood in the doorway to the tea room, a tray filled with cookies and lemonade in her hands, but Doctor Jeong merely nodded at her and left the house in haste. Karina’s glare could be felt even from the distance, and I gently stood to head back inside, keeping the arrangement in mind. I wasn’t supposed to be unsupervised, I knew Carla would be in the laundry room if she had nothing else to do.

Yunho couldn’t sleep. He kept reading over and over his notes, all the small hidden messages making his head ache. His stomach growled in hunger, but he was physically unable to stand from his study and ask the housekeeper to prepare dinner for him. The girl was frail, she was soft-spoken but witty. She liked to keep him on his toes, and she was great at making him lose track of what was most important. He felt like he was making no progress, yet the committee kept pressing him for an answer. Father Louis was understanding enough not to ambush him with questions daily, but the rest of the officials weren’t. They wanted a diagnosis of Miss Harold already, they didn’t want to understand that Yunho couldn’t give his verdict in anything but a week. Building trust took time, getting to hear the unfiltered truth from someone who loved to play with her words took patience. Yunho was a patient person, but he wondered how long he had until he’d break. Whenever he closed his eyes, he felt as if she was watching him, standing over him, smiling at him. Her skin was sun-kissed and sometimes her cheeks were burnt from staying out in the sun for too long, but Yunho knew her skin would be soft. When he had twisted and turned his napkin into shapes, absentmindedly, he realised he had made a ballerina out of it. Thus, he had made his first mistake as a professional. He had allowed himself to sympathise with Miss Harold. He had allowed himself to notice her smile was brighter than the sun itself, and that she smelled an awful lot like those hydrangeas that Yunho was allergic to. And he had allowed himself to notice the tremors of her hands, making him yearn to hold her frail hands between his with the hopes of soothing her nerves. Yunho wondered if she yearned for him like she had yearned for her once lover.

            The clouds were almost black as they expanded over the horizon. The wind was too cold for us to keep the grand doors of the tea room open, so they remained closed as I sat on the soft sofa, gazing out through the glass. Matilda had left the curtains undrawn for me, and a few scented candles were lit to ease my muscles' tension. I couldn’t focus lately, these past three days my mood had quickly reclined. I know the doctor had noticed it too, but he didn’t prod more than it would be considered rude. I was reluctant to tell him the cause of my moroseness, he wasn’t here to listen to me weep about how unfairly Karina treated me. She had been ruthless these past three days. I knew she had a vendetta against me, but ever since the doctor started coming here, she had been progressively getting worse and worse. I could handle it until I couldn’t. If I ignored her and got lost in a deep spot in the back of my mind filled with happy memories, I would end up with a backhanded slap to my face. If I talked back and stood my ground, I would only fuel her fire, giving her power over me. Karina was clever, she knew when to strike. If my mother was around us, she was an angel. If the servants were watching, she’d be sharp and arrogant towards me. If Mr. Brooks was present, she didn’t bother hiding her disdain, but she wasn’t as straightforward as around the servants.

She didn’t hold back one bit if it was just the two of us. My eyes were lost on the gloomy visage, eyes tracking the swaying vines of the willow tree. It was even more beautiful in the eyes of the storm, I could’ve stared at it for hours on end. My mind was silent like this, absent of all the turbulent thoughts that shook me to my core and kept me up at night, when Matilda, poor girl, struggled to stay up and look over me. Just last night, she had fallen asleep, and I was grateful because I had a moment to myself where I could secretly slip away and walk through the gardens in hopes of clearing my mind. It wasn’t a smart decision, however, because I couldn’t remember anything after I stepped through the threshold of the house. I just know sometime later I was gasping for air as my arms were restricted and my throat was scratchy, Mr Brooks desperately trying to hold down my trashing body. My white nightgown was dirty with mud and the ends of it were dripping wet with pond water. It wasn’t foreign that I would lose consciousness if something lay heavily on my chest and gnawed at my thoughts, but it had been long since I had lost track of myself so deeply. Not since the incident, at least.

And Karina was enjoying it, her lips pulled into a nasty smirk as my mother cried by my side, asking Matilda and Leia to bring cold towels and help me clean up. Mr Brooks had looked tired as he gently helped me back to my room and tucked me into bed, his eyes pained and suffering as if I was blood-related to him. His expression made me feel guilty for worrying not just my mother, but also him. I felt terrible, yet I couldn’t control my mind or my body when these episodes happened. Even now, as I sat on the sofa waiting for the doctor to arrive, I felt lightheaded and on the brink of losing consciousness. My body felt light and heavy simultaneously, and I could feel my pulse in my neck. My lips felt chapped no matter how much tea I drank, and my throat was tight. I wanted to see the doctor, I needed to tell him why I had done what I had done. I had always been too afraid to confess the truth, not wanting to hurt my mother and break up the second family she cherished. But I also couldn’t continue living like this, not when Karina prayed for my downfall. Her harsh words from yesterday were still fresh in my mind, and I had to blink the tears away for a second.

“I know you’re just a whore, desperate to find another man to toy with.” She had spat with flushed cheeks, a cup filled halfway with wine in her hand, “Do you seriously think that doctor wants to touch you? You’re a deranged woman now, Y/N, nobody will want you. Not even Doctor Jeong Yunho, you whore. I won’t let you have him too, you always get what you want—but not this time, Y/N, mark my words.”

And just when I had thought she was done, she had marched up to me and grabbed me by the throat harshly, making me gasp, “If he doesn’t send you to an asylum, I will kill you myself, Y/N. You’re an abomination and a disgrace, even your own mother hates you, whore.”

The knock at the door startled me, I had been lost deep in thought. I turned my head and noticed Matilda giving me a small smile, “Young miss, the doctor is here to see you. Would you like me to prepare anything for you two?”

My heart skipped a beat, but I couldn’t tell why. Perhaps because I knew he’d take my mind off things, even if I was forced to relive the past I tried to bury deep down, sequences I couldn’t even remember anymore. Or, maybe, it was because I desperately wished to gaze upon his soft face, lose myself in his warm and round eyes peeking at me over his small spectacles. I couldn’t decide which was the reason, but I needed his presence to calm my turbulent mind and body finally.

“Thank you. I will welcome him inside, and you can take a break.” I stood up, hands balling into fists as nausea washed over me, “We won’t need anything, but I hope you get some sleep, Matilda. You’ve been watching over me for three days.”

“That is my duty, young miss.” Then she bowed her head before I could tell her she needed to take care of herself, and she took her leave. I smoothed down my long-sleeved dark blue dress now that the weather wasn’t as warm as days ago. I hadn’t pulled my hair into a bun today, even if it was not ladylike, I wished to feel my copper strands brushing against my cheeks when I moved my head. It shielded my face like a curtain if I didn’t want to be seen, I hoped Doctor Jeong wouldn’t mind.

Sucking in a deep breath and bracing myself, I left the tea room in search of the doctor, who should have been in the foyer, getting rid of his coat and dress shoes, but instead, he wasn’t there. I paused for a second to listen for his voice, and a smile pulled at my lips when I realised he was in the living room. Perhaps we could hold our session inside there today, I could play the piano and show him my favourite piece, if that, of course, was deemed fine by the doctor. As my fingers brushed against the wooden door, about to push it further open, I realised the doctor wasn’t alone. Karina’s sweet giggles flooded the room before she continued speaking.

“Surely, Doctor. I am pleased to hear you do not burn yourself out by coming here daily. I can only imagine how tiring it must be to listen to my sister, she’s rarely coherent. You must have noticed, given that you are a doctor, that she often has no idea where she is or who she is talking to. She tends to get lost in her own mind and blabber on about nonsense.” Karina then paused as my heart raced, my eyebrows furrowed in distaste, “She looks completely normal upon first glance, but it quickly becomes obvious she’s—well, she’s insane, you know?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Brooks, I cannot be discussing this with you.” Doctor Jeong’s voice was neutral, and cold, unlike the tone he used with me, “But as a licensed doctor, given that I am one, I can tell when her surroundings influence her mood, or why she is in a bad headspace.”

Karina scoffed, sounding a little offended, “Are you insinuating anything right now, Doctor Jeong? I don’t need a license to be able to tell that my sister is insane. How long until you realise she’s just trying to trap you here, twirl you up into her web of lies and fantasies? If you think you can help a mad person, Doctor, I fear you should seek help too. She’s beyond help, she’s desperate and pathetic, and as I have stated, she’s mad—”

“I am not mad!” Before I could stop myself, I let my anger take over me as I barged through the ajar room, “I am not insane, Karina, you’re always putting words in my mouth! Who has ruined everything I have ever had, huh?! You, you did, so don’t call me your sister. I am not your sister, and I will never be, you filthy skank!”

Karina gasped loudly, her hand flying up to her mouth. The doctor’s eyes had widened too, clearly taken aback by my outburst. I had been soft-spoken and kind in front of him, careful to not show anything he could incriminate me with in front of the committee. Karina had gotten what she wanted all this time, I suppose. Now, the doctor would make an early report that wasn’t favourable for me without even hearing the truth, or as much as I could remember of it. I gulped, feeling ashamed as tears filled my eyes, but I tried to keep myself from crying. Karina wailing like a banshee next to Doctor Jeong was more than humiliating enough to force me to keep myself in place.

“Enough,” The doctor snapped, his friendly and soft features morphing into something of anger and vexation. For a second, I thought it was directed towards me, but then he turned his head and his warm chocolate brown eyes fell on Karina, now sharp, “This is the last time I let you off the hook, Miss Brooks. If you don’t stop treating your sister so poorly, I will have to write you up on the board as the main suspect that causes Miss Harold’s turbulent manic episodes to occur, is that what you want? Do you wish to also be psychologically evaluated? I can do that, I can get one of my colleagues to come out here and question you, but you might be surprised to find yourself deemed insane too.”

Doctor Jeong’s words visibly shook Karina as she crumbled into an armchair, fingers sinking into her hair as she shook her head at the doctor, crocodile tears streaming down her cheeks pathetically. My heart was racing in my chest, the doctor was all I could see. His flushed cheeks from anger, his whitening knuckles around the strap of his satchel bag, his rapidly rising and falling chest—Jeong Yunho had stood up for me, taken my side. He was my doctor, he was supposed to look out for me, but he wasn’t obligated to protect me from claims that might be true. I didn’t feel insane, I never had, but Karina might still be right. Maybe I was a danger to society and Doctor Jeong hadn’t discovered why yet. It was only a matter of time until I exploded in his face, showing him my true colours. I had no idea what I was fully capable of, that part of my memory was still absent, but I could never forget the feeling of pure satisfaction and elation as I watched Karina lay on her back, gasping for air as blood trailed from her nose down to her mouth, chin, and then neck.

Doctor Jeong sighed loudly, his eyebrows furrowed as he licked his lips, shaking his head in almost disappointment at Karina. Then, he faced me and his features instantly softened. My heart raced again, and I hid my hands behind my back. Then, without many words, he came closer to me and nodded with his chin towards the stairs, “Would you mind if we skipped the tea room today, I’d like a more private setting.”

I gulped, feeling lightheaded once again, “No, the storm ruins the pretty visage either way.”

The doctor hummed as I turned around and took off towards the stairs, his strong footsteps loud behind me. My hands trembled as we ascended the creaky old stairs, my fingertips tracing the old railing. Doctor Jeong’s fingers were close to mine, tracing the same pattern as mine, so close yet so far away at the same time. I exhaled softly and tried to keep a clear head, but my nausea was getting worse as I led the way to my bedroom. My mother would’ve been outraged by the idea of leading a man inside my room, but this was the doctor, he was here to help. I couldn’t think of a more private room than my own bedroom, the heavy door closed and locked once we were inside. The doctor seemed to tense when he heard the lock, his back to me. I felt exposed, a little naked, now that the man was in my intimate space. There wasn’t much to my room except for a desk filled with books and poorly done sketches, and a vase filled with daisies and tulips. The doctor headed for my desk, meanwhile, I headed for my bed. The sheets were satin and silky as I lowered myself onto the edge of my bed, letting my hands sink into the fabric. With a questioning glance, the doctor turned my chair around to face me and sunk into it with a heavy sigh.

“I apologise.” My eyebrows rose in surprise as I tilted my head in question, “For letting your sister speak like that of you, I should have never let her go that far. I shouldn’t have even let her corner me like that and-and—it doesn’t matter. I understand if you need space after this, I might be able to convince the committee to give me a few more weeks.”

“She’s not my sister.” I whispered as I wrung my trembling fingers together, looking down in my lap, “Karina is not my blood sister, Doctor Jeong. I might have viewed her once as a sister, but not anymore.”

The doctor fumbled around for his notebook and pencil, which had gotten smaller from having sharpened it so often. The doctor’s eyebrows were furrowed as he pushed the spectacles up on the bridge of his perfect nose.

“Does this have to do anything with what happened on that day?” The doctor’s voice was gentle, understanding even. I bit my lower lip and nodded slowly, feeling my head swarm around uncontrollably. Would he know what to do with me if I were to pass out? He is a doctor, after all, but Matilda is the one who knows me best, perhaps I shouldn’t have locked the door.

“She-she really—hurt me that day, and I—” My throat felt dry as my lungs started heaving for air, “I don’t know—maybe I did want her to di-die—I can’t do this right now, Doctor Jeong, I’m sorry.”

Doctor Jeong’s bottom lip was between his teeth as he suddenly let his notebook rest on the desk behind him. He leaned forward, lowering his head as he tried to make eye contact with me. I gulped and kept my gaze focused on my tremor-ridden hands, “Listen to me, Miss Harold, we don’t have to talk about it today. I’m just here to chat, I can tell you are not feeling well. Your mother informed me through a letter that you had hurt yourself last night, may I know what happened? Can you tell me? I won’t even take notes, just this one time.”

I gulped, slowly raising my eyes to look up at the doctor. He wore a tight beige shirt today with a dark blue vest over it, his pants snugly fitting his long legs. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his fair and smooth skin, veins bulging through. The wristwatch on his left hand looked fancy, the leather a very dark blue to match his vest. Doctor Jeong’s dark hair was swept back once again, but it looked fluffier today. I itched to reach out and run my fingers through his hair, wanting to feel its softness for myself. I tensed my muscles before I could do anything stupid like that. The doctor’s cheeks were slightly flushed, and his tooth was leaving a small white dent in his bottom lip. Because he was leaning forward, there was less distance between us, but still respectable. Like between doctor and patient.

“I—” I chewed on my bottom lip before taking a deep breath, “I haven’t been feeling well lately, Doctor, so I couldn’t sleep last night. I went for a walk and…I don’t remember what I did or what happened. Sometimes I lose consciousness while I’m awake, it’s frightening. I woke up with a muddied nightgown and a cut on my arm, Matilda had patched me up though.”

“How often does this happen?”

“Not that often.”

“Do you have an idea what may cause it?

“Well, yes. I think it’s Karina, she’s been antagonising me for the past three days and I’m so tired of it all. I just disassociate when I see her approaching me now, I’m sorry.”

The doctor sighed, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. His spectacles had slipped lower once again, “Do not apologise, you haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just glad you’re alright, Miss Harold.”

“The thought of you visiting daily keeps me afloat, Doctor Jeong, I have something to look forward to now.” I smiled, widely, and the doctor’s eyes widened before he blinked rapidly, looking stunned. Afraid the moment of lightness would pass by before I could grasp it, I continued, “Would you mind telling me your story today? What it’s like where you are from? How you were as a child? Is that…is that unprofessional? Are we not allowed to speak about you, Doctor?”

Doctor Jeong’s gulp was loud, then he took a deep breath and slowly leaned back in his chair, his legs spreading wide. He looked conflicted for just one second, but upon a glance at my face, he gave in. I couldn’t help but beam at the doctor as he chuckled, taking his spectacles off to place them on the desk behind himself.

“Where should I even start?” He hummed, looking towards the window, lost in thought. He was gorgeous, and he was kind. I hadn’t met a man like him before, I wished to trace my fingers along his jawline, but Karina was right. I couldn’t be a whore, not with this man, “As a child I was energetic and always blabbering on about whatever was inside my mind. I liked to ask a lot of questions, but I was reprimanded often for being too curious. Life is…different in South Korea at this time, very much different compared to how things run here. I am lucky I managed to sail so far away, my family has made great sacrifices for me to end up here. I’m not even able to send them often letters, it’s too risky.”

“Why?”

“Because they are in hiding, our belief in God is frowned upon, Catholics aren’t safe there now.” To prove a point, Doctor Jeong grabbed the silver cross underneath his shirt and brought it forward, clutching it tightly in his hands, “I can bravely say it here despite the other religions that exist, nobody has tried to murder me for it, so far. Besides, I cannot tell whether they still live where we did before I managed to sneak onto a French ship and escape. The elite class isn’t like the one here, it’s falling apart and I cannot be sure that my family are still part of it today.”

My eyebrows furrowed as an ashen look crossed the doctor’s face, “Do you miss your home?”

“Yes and no,” The doctor answered truthfully, “I was young when I sailed here, I had nothing and no one until my foster father found me. He was a Dutchman, very kind but unforgiving. I got lucky because he was a doctor and I came here to study advanced medicine with the hopes of once returning home and spreading the word, but I cannot go back, not yet. They’d shun me away, shame me and possibly kill me. South Korea isn’t welcoming of strangers yet, and in their eyes, I’d be one too for leaving our homeland only to return with new doctrines. Even if it means saving hundreds of lives. Not that I work with the physical body, but everyone needs someone who can soothe their soul once in a while.”

“You’re beyond courageous, Doctor Jeong, I admire you.” I sounded breathless as I closely listened to the doctor, making sure no word he uttered slipped by my ears. I wanted to know more about him, who he was and why he chose to be here. I couldn’t imagine being on my own, out on the streets, away from my mother, “I promise not to waste your time here, I’m almost at the end of my story.”

“I know, Miss Harold,” Doctor Jeong smiled softly, “Rather an acquittance than your doctor, I’d like to tell you that I look forward to our sessions. You are easy to connect with, and you don’t make it hard for me to glimpse inside your mind. I cannot say I understand each choice you’ve made, but that’s the beauty of having free will and individual thoughts, it sets us apart and makes us unique.”

I couldn’t help but blush as I averted my gaze from his intense one, feeling shy all of a sudden. The doctor wasn’t calling me specifically unique, but the implication was there, and I couldn’t help myself but imagine, “What about your home? What was that like, Doctor Jeong? And your family?”

For a second, he was silent. It made me think I had offended him in some way, but then his eyebrows slightly furrowed and he looked serious, “Since I am not talking to you as your doctor, you should just call me Yunho, if I may…Y/N?”

Hearing my name fall from his lips had my heart racing and my breath shuddering. I gulped, feeling speechless for a second as my eyes bore into Doctor Jeong’s, wondering if the man knew what it meant to drop such drastic formalities. But I obliged because I wanted his name to roll off my own lips like mine had done on his, desperate to fortify this frail bond between the two of us, doctor and patient, “Right, of course…Yunho.”

Doctor Jeong’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, his gulp was loud. I watched redness coat his ears down to his neck, his fingers digging into the wooden armrests. He was still wearing the silver band around his middle finger, I wondered whose it was. Was it from someone back home? Or was it from his foster father?

“Right, Y/N, well my home certainly was smaller than your house, and also built with different architecture in mind. And people don’t wear these fancy suits at home, we have our own traditional clothes that we proudly wear. I still have the one I arrived in tucked away as a means to never forget where I come from.” Doctor Jeong—Yunho—smiled softly, eyes glazed over with memories as he spoke quietly, almost as if to himself, “I have a younger brother, he’s the loveliest. I didn’t want to leave him home, not even my father and mother, but we would’ve been discovered if we were to run away together. My mother sent me off sobbing, clutching me to her chest and wondering if we’d see each other ever again. My father was a stoic man, but he had cried too. He had enough faith in me and God to know I’d make it out alive and become what they sent me away for. I left a dear friend behind too, but he promised to follow me one day. I do not know if we’ll see each other, perhaps he’s wandering around on a completely different continent, but at least I have something of his with me.”

My eyes flickered towards the silver band Yunho was absentmindedly playing with, his lips set in a tight line. So, the ring was from someone he dearly loved and cherished, I wished I could reach out and pat his hand to offer him comfort. But Yunho’s solemn look switched into one of contentment as he looked at me again, “Our house was in a lovely neighbourhood, filled with silence and the chirping of birds each early morning. Our servants were few, so they lived with us, and they had quickly become part of the family too. I would play in the dirt with my brother when our mother was busy in the kitchen, overlooking the cooks while also helping out. Our father worked long hours but he always returned with fresh flowers for my mother and some sort of western delicacy nobody was allowed to know about. I would often take walks on the beach, if there’s anything I miss terribly, it’s the wide sea and the calmness it brought with itself.”

“I love sailing,” I muttered, tucking my hands underneath my thighs as I hummed, “Despite what’s happened to my father, I find solace in the sea. It silences my fears, much like taking walks in the garden does. I feel like I belong to nature, that I can easily become one with it.”

“Nature is a beautiful place,” Yunho hummed, swiping his thumb against his bottom lip, watching me closely, “You’d love exploring the world.”

I chuckled sadly, “I would, Yunho, but I’m forced to rot away in this house under the very eyes of my servants and family. I can’t even be left alone here, sometimes I want it all to stop. Tell me, have you travelled a lot?”

Yunho looked abashed as he shrugged one shoulder, “Enough to see all sorts of places, people, and cases. Not each one had a happy ending, but I had learned something from each of them, so it was worth it in the end.”

“I wish to see the world, Yunho. I don’t want to be caged in here anymore. Could you set me free—no, will you set me free, Yunho?”

“I—I’ll try, I really will, Y/N. If you tell me the truth, I can help you and write a promising report on your case. But you have to be transparent with me for that to happen.”

“What if they don’t agree with you? See me as unstable and a danger to society, what then? Will I require a caretaker still?”

“I’m afraid, yes. Perhaps you’ll have even more severe surveillance, I’m sorry. I truly promise to do my best, but you have to trust me.”

“And what if…what if you became my caretaker?”

The silence that followed my question felt heavy, it felt wrong. I shouldn’t have asked that, but I was desperate to know how far Doctor Jeong would go to prove I wasn’t insane. And perhaps, a hidden sadistic part of me wanted to know just what exactly the doctor would do for me, to me.

“That would imply you are very unstable, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a thing.” Doctor Jeong breathed out, reaching for his spectacles.

“But would you become my caretaker?” I whispered, gazing up into his eyes with yearning as the doctor abruptly stood, “I wish to see the world, the places you go to. I wish to see South Korea once you’re allowed to go back, Yunho. Would you take me with you?”

He was packing his things frantically, breathing through his mouth loudly, “I cannot tell, Miss Harold, it implies great responsibility to look over someone unstable. Given if you were the object of my desires, I wouldn’t even consider becoming your caretaker, but I’m your doctor and it’s inappropriate.”

“Isn’t it only inappropriate if you make it that?” I stood, facing the doctor before he could run off. He looked conflicted and angry, so I backed off, “My apologies, I have taken you for granted and stepped over our boundaries as doctor and patient. I hope I haven’t made you too uncomfortable, Doctor Jeong, that’s not what I wished to do. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I will be back tomorrow, and you must tell me what happened, Miss Harold.” With a nod of his head, the doctor was at my door, quickly unlocking it, but he didn’t twist the knob right away. He took a deep breath and released it with a whisper, “And I would become your caretaker, if I could.”

His footsteps echoed through the house just as lightning struck in the distance. I walked to the window and watched the doctor get onto the motorcar as his butler drove away, trying to avoid the storm. And then, just like that, the world started spinning as blackness threatened to coat my vision.

            My knuckles were bloody from having picked at the skin consistently since I was awake. The tremors from my hand have extended to my whole body, my head felt underwater. I couldn’t understand what was happening around me, but I jumped each time thunder rumbled the earth. I know I had been placed on a chair in front of the window in my bedroom, Matilda sitting in the corner with my mother regularly checking on me, but I couldn’t tell what was being said to me or done around me. I didn’t have an appetite this morning, and getting out of bed was harder than ever before. I knew something was wrong, that something had disturbed my peace of mind, but I had no idea what this sudden change in my mood meant. I tried to break through the veil of haziness and speak to Matilda, tell her that my head was throbbing and my joints ached from how wrung up my body was, but my lips formed no words. I tried using the breathing technique Mrs Humphrey had once taught me, but nothing was working. I wasn’t able to control my body, and it was only making me more anxious.

The door to my room opened, but I continued to look out the window absentmindedly, bracing myself for the loud rumble when lightning struck again. After the doctor left yesterday, it hadn’t stopped raining ever since. I knew he couldn’t make it today, but he was determined enough to push through the storm and visit me. Unless it was a serious issue that needed to be urgently taken care of, the doctor never cancelled our session. The thought of seeing him when I felt so unwell managed to calm my racing heart, but until he was actually standing in front of me and I could gaze into his deep eyes, I couldn’t help but take shallow breaths as my muscles tensed up even more.

“Look at you,” It was Karina’s voice unmistakably, “trembling and sweating like a dying child, aren’t you? Who are you acting for, hm? The doctor isn’t here, Y/N, no need to act all pitiful like this, nobody in this house cares about you.”

Her voice was crystal clear for some reason, it made my ears ring as I released a shuddering breath. My mind was so askew that I couldn’t even answer her, I just needed a warm embrace and a deep voice to whisper that everything was fine. Did nobody care about me? That was so depressing, it brought tears to my eyes.

“Besides, he’s not coming today.” I failed to inhale as Karina continued to speak, “He sent a letter to your mother that he couldn’t find a carriage in time, so he isn’t coming. How tragic, all this acting only for him to not witness it…”

The sound that left my mouth was quiet, but unmistakably a whimper. Matilda shifted in her armchair and cleared her throat. I could see Karina through the reflection of the window, she was smirking maliciously as she stared at the back of my head. She looked so pleased with herself, that it made tears stream down my cheeks. I wanted to say something, but the lump in my throat was getting tighter and tighter, I realised I had stopped breathing. Why wouldn’t Yunho come? Was he like Karina too, did he not care about me? Did he lie to me yesterday? Was I worth so little that he couldn’t take on being my caretaker? Why must this be my fate? Why must I be forced never to leave this estate, this house, trapped under the eyes of people who either hate me or pity me? I wanted to sob, but the more I tried to breathe, the quicker I realised dark spots had started appearing in my vision.

“I don’t know what you two do during your little sessions, but the committee has given him one more week before he has to make his final report,” Karina chuckled, I heard her coming closer, fingers gripping the back of my chair, “And then, he’ll be all mine. I already talked to my father and he considers Doctor Jeong a nice suitor, how exciting. You can’t have him, Y/N, and he won’t have you either. I see the way you look at him, you are pathetic.”

Karina’s warm breath fanned my ear and cheek as she whispered her last words, cackling like an evil witch in all those fairytales my mother had told me about. My mouth parted to inhale deeply, but the spots grew darker, becoming more.

“Miss Brooks, please,” I heard Matilda plead as she sprung up from her seat, “Leave young miss alone, she isn’t feeling well.”

“Oh, shut up, you silly goose!” Karina snapped at Matilda, throwing her a disgusted look, “You and everyone else who feeds into her delusions should be admitted to an asylum, get a grip! She’s fine, she just needs her daily dose of attention, stupid girl.”

Hearing the word asylum cracked something further inside me as I sprung up from my seat, eyes wide and body cold. I looked at where Matilda was standing, but all I could see was the face of the man who found great pleasure in cutting me open just to leave me bleeding and helpless. A scream tried to tear through my throat, but I lost my balance as I tumbled to the floor, fingers digging into the floorboards painfully. Someone shrieked as my stomach heaved, but there was nothing to empty. I could hear the man’s words, his tone unbearable and scratchy as he told me I was worthless and a whore, hungry for male attention ever since my father had died. It made my skin crawl, it made me feel dirty and disgusting as I tried to scrape at my arms.

“Mrs Harold!” I could hear the panicked screams, but I couldn’t tell where I was anymore. I felt caged and in danger, like someone was leering over my shoulder, waiting for me to pass out so I could be targeted. I whimpered when I felt hands on my back and tried to slap them away, but I was forcefully hauled up to my feet. A wail finally tore through my lips, and I started trashing around when I felt myself being lifted off the floor and carried somewhere.

“No! No, stop!” I screamed, my voice nothing but a screech as my nails sunk into whoever was carrying me, “Don’t take me back there! I haven’t done anything, please! No—no! I didn’t mean to—I don’t know—wait, no, please, I’m sorry, stop!”

My body sunk into something very soft and warm as fingertips pressed into my skin, forcefully prying my eyes wide open. My lungs heaved for air as I tried to get away from whoever was touching me, but I couldn’t, they were stronger. They were always stronger, I could never get away. They would never leave me alone, I was always their little experiment. They would cut me open as if I was a rat, they would ask me questions and whip me even if I told the truth, they liked to touch me and make me beg for them to stop…I wanted to die. I couldn’t do this anymore. Why would they torture me like this? Did my mother not love me? Had my father’s ghost abandoned me?

“Please.” I managed to whisper when my body finally froze up, all fight leaving it. My muscles and joints ached, my heart thumped wildly, and I couldn’t hear my thoughts anymore.

“My baby, please, stop.” A female voice pleaded above me, “Nobody is hurting you, tell me what’s wrong, baby. I’m here, your mother is here, please.”

How could my mother be here? The asylum didn’t let anyone visit us. My eyes burned when I opened them, but I couldn’t see well, they were filled with tears. There, looming above me stood the one man I yearned for. His eyes were kind and brown like the most expensive Swiss chocolate, his skin fair with a rosy flush to his cheeks that made him endearing, small spectacles slipping down the perfect slope of his petite nose. The doctor was here.

“Yunho, save me.” My voice was barely audible as I croaked out my words, but I noticed my mother’s eyes widening before I drifted off to the darkness that had come to claim my body. Here, nobody could hurt me.

But even in my dreams, the miscreants wouldn’t leave me alone. I couldn’t tell where I was due to the darkness that enveloped me, but I felt frozen down to the bone. My summer dress did nothing to keep me warm, and the little friction to my arms only caused me to shiver more. I tried to call out to see if anyone was there with me, but my vocal cords wouldn’t even croak. My heart was racing and my eyes burned, I could tell I was in danger but I couldn’t see because of what. The impending doom I felt, however, said to me that I needed to run and that I needed to run now. So, I didn’t wait around as I grabbed the skirt of my dress and aimlessly took off, unable to see anything due to the permeating darkness. My feet hurt from all the little rocks that cut into it, and then something touched my cheek that made me cry out. It was warm, almost scorching hot against my frozen skin. There were whispers around me that I couldn’t make out, or understand even if I concentrated on them, but then one of them started making sense. It made more sense than the others, its timber familiar and warm, kind. Then, I could feel fingers tracing my left cheek, a calming hum easing my tense muscles until I could finally take a deep breath. It burned my lungs, it felt as if I was inhaling for the first time.

“Open your eyes, Miss Harold.” Then, just so that I only could hear it, the familiar voice whispered, “I’m here.”

A gasp tore through my lips as my eyes flew open, jolting me awake as I sat, frantically looking around. It was a lot darker in the room than the last time I was conscious, and the rain was hitting the roof of the house harder than before. Matilda, my mother, Mr Brooks, and Mrs Humphrey all stood at the foot of my bed, different emotions reigning on their faces. As I made eye contact with my mother, she let out a loud sob as she fell into Mr Brooks’ arms, and I felt my lower lip trembling. I hated seeing her in a state like that, worrying over me. Before I could cry too, my head was gently turned to the side until all I could see was the doctor. My mouth opened in shock as the doctor looked at me with sad, but worried, eyes, a wet rag clutched tightly in his other hand.

“Yunho.” My throat felt scratchy as I reached out incredulously, wondering whether I was just hallucinating. I noticed my bloody knuckles were bandaged now, ointment placed on the nightstand table next to my bed, “You are here? Really here?”

“Yes, Miss Harold.” He smiled gently, hesitantly letting me touch his jaw, “How are you feeling?”

“Sick,” I said before I could mule over my answer. My stomach was aching and my head was thumping, “I don’t know what happened to me, Doctor, I cannot remember.”

“Don’t try to remember now, your body and mind are overwhelmed,” Doctor Jeong then gently guided me to lay down in my bed once again, “You need to relax, Miss Harold. You fainted, and Miss Matilda has told me you haven’t eaten all day long, that’s unhealthy.”

“I’m sorry.” I felt like a child being chastised by their parent for the first time, except that Doctor Jeong’s face didn’t look even a little bit angry like my mother’s had back then, “I thought I would throw up if I ate anything, still do.”

The doctor hummed, then slightly turned to look back at the others in the room, “Mrs Humphrey, can you bring me that tea I asked you to brew? It will greatly help Miss Harold right now.”

“It’s storming outside, why did you come?” My eyebrows furrowed as I watched the doctor’s serene face, his spectacles were missing and his hair was a wavy mess on top of his head. Looking further down, I realised he wasn’t wearing his fancy suit. Instead, the doctor wore a beige tunic with the strings undone, showing a silver of his collarbones and chest. His silver cross dangled between his pecks whenever he moved forward to check for my temperature, letting the cold rag ease the thumping of my head. The doctor’s boots were still on his feet and looked muddy, but nobody was paying attention to that as he sat on the edge of my bed, taking care of me.

“I’m a doctor, my duty is to ensure my patients are healthy and safe.” Then he glanced back at my mother and Mr Brooks, Matilda had left the room with Mrs Humphrey, “You scared everyone, you scared me, Miss Harold.”

“Thank you for coming, but what you did was unsafe, Doctor Jeong.” I gulped, eyebrows furrowing in worry, “How will you get back home?”

“He will sleep here tonight, sweetheart.” Mr Brooks answered for the doctor, looking just as worried as I felt, “Can’t let him go out in this bad weather, it’s risky. I will ask the maids to make dinner for you, Doctor Jeong. The guestroom is already being prepared, your butler can sleep with the rest of the servants, if that is alright.”

“Yes, thank you for your hospitality.” Doctor Jeong bowed his head, smiling at Mr Brooks, “I’m sorry to say this, but Miss Harold should rest now and the more of us are in the room, the bigger the risk of overwhelming her is.”

“Oh, of course.” My mother whispered, her eyes glossy again, “Rest, my dear.”

I hummed as I watched her and Mr Brooks leave, leaving me alone with Doctor Jeong as the door closed after the two exited the room. I sighed long, looking at the doctor as he removed the rag from my forehead to wring it in more cold water. We said nothing as he placed the rag back onto my forehead, gently removing wet hair strands from my cheeks. He sat close to my body, but his eyes avoided looking into mine. I gulped, trying to find the right words to say just as there was a knock at the door. Doctor Jeong told them to come in and Matilda came inside with a tray and a cup of tea. She offered me a sad smile as she placed the cup of tea on the nightstand.

“Get some rest tonight, Matilda.”

“But you are not feeling well, young miss.”

“This is an order, how long until you faint from exhaustion? Please, I won’t leave my bed tonight, you shouldn’t either.” The maid looked hesitant, but didn’t say anything other than a quiet ‘thank you’, and then she was out of my room, closing the door after herself.

“Someone should check on you tonight, though.” Doctor Jeong said quietly as he helped me sit up, puffing up the pillows behind my back. He grabbed the cup of tea and handed it to me. It was still hot, its scent herbal. My nose twitched as I took a whiff of it before tasting it, cringing away from it, “It tastes horrible, I know, but it’s very good for your health. Drink it.”

It tasted so bitter I thought I would throw up on the spot, but it was supposed to make me feel better, so I toughened up and drank it as quickly as possible. The doctor watched me as I placed the cup on the nightstand, looking a little amused. I wrung my fingers together and placed them in my lap, looking down at my hands. I felt guilty for having forced the doctor to come all this way in such bad weather, yet he was looking at me with kind eyes and a soft smile.

“How do you feel now?” He asked, turning his body more to face me.

“Slightly better, my head isn’t thumping as violently as before, thank you.” I answered, sinking back into the pillows and cushions, “I think—this could be a grave accusation, but what if Karina is the reason I am like this?”

I couldn’t meet the doctor’s eyes as I chewed on my bottom lip, my thoughts whirling around too quickly for me to comprehend them. The doctor froze for a second, then I saw a hand reach out, only to settle on the blanket next to my thigh. I could feel Doctor Jeong’s body heat through the blanket, I wished he had placed his hand over my thigh instead.

“Why do you think that, Miss Harold?”

“May I call you Yunho?”

“Of course, Y/N.”

For a second, I paused and looked up with a smile. Yunho was already looking at me with a small smile on his lips, and I huffed a little embarrassed. Seeing him dressed so casually was doing something weird to me, my heart raced from excitement as I felt shy all of a sudden.

“Just like on that day, she was saying bad things to me again, antagonising me. I know she hates me, but I get so angry around her that sometimes I can’t even form words.” I gulped, eyebrows slightly furrowing as Yunho’s fingers twitched next to my thigh, “I wasn’t feeling well all day, but then she started speaking and I just—she brought the asylum up and I was back there again, being terrorised and touched—I can’t talk about it, I’m sorry, Yunho.”

“Let’s not talk about it, then.” Yunho’s jaw was clenched as he licked his lips, his forehead creasing as he leaned slightly forward.

“I don’t remember anything after that, even her words are muddy.” I felt helpless as my eyes bore into Yunho’s understanding ones, “Matilda was there the whole time, you can ask her what happened, I’m sure she’ll tell you everything. She hates Karina as much as I do, she wouldn’t lie for her.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Y/N.” Yunho nodded once, then tilted his head to the side. I gulped, feeling nervous for no reason, “Do you think you’ll be able to sleep tonight? Are you feeling tired?”

I hummed, playing around with my fingers as I looked down at my lap again. Yunho’s fingers were tapping the blanket, his breaths audible but even, “I feel spent, and I know I will be able to sleep, but I’m…scared to fall asleep alone.”

“I understand, I’ll let Mrs Harold know. Perhaps she could keep you company.”

“Yunho?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Can you stay until I fall asleep?”

My voice was quiet as I glanced up at Yunho through my eyelashes, feeling my cheeks heat up. He looked taken aback, then something I couldn’t recognise crossed his features for a split second. He exhaled through his mouth and gulped, loudly. He hummed, deep in his chest, and flattened his palm against the blanket as he shuffled his feet around until his muddy boots hit the ground. I realigned my pillows and crawled a little further away on my bed, to make more space for Yunho as he made himself comfortable, still on the edge of it.

“But I cannot stay once you are sleeping, I’m sorry.”

“I know, it’s alright, Yunho.”

Our smiles were small but appreciative. Yunho nodded and chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes raking over my face as I watched his cheeks flush a deep shade of red. It wasn’t warm in my room, but I suppose the sheets could make him feel warm too. His hand balled into a fist, grabbing a tight hold of the blanket as I glanced down at it.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

“You too, Yunho.”

Every waking moment he spent thinking of her. Even in his dreams, she appears as a vixen, tempting Yunho to do unforgivable things. He knows he cannot, he’s her doctor and she’s a patient in desperate need of treatment. Yunho knows this, she isn’t his first case. He’s met people with manic episodes before, potential dissociative amnesia too, but something sets her apart from the rest. Yunho has never once in his life wanted to reach out and cradle one of his patients to his chest and tell them everything would be alright now that he was there. But when he saw her, so frail and generous, soft-spoken and kind, he couldn’t help but feel anger whenever she told him of Karina. Yunho had a feeling she wasn’t like that unprovoked, and the more he heard of Karina and her schemes against his patient, the more convinced he was that Karina had lied in the first place to get her into that asylum, far away from the safety of her home. Yunho knew what went down inside an asylum, he’s treated many mentally unstable patients before, straight inside those horror houses, and his blood boiled anytime he saw pain and terror strike upon her face whenever the asylum was mentioned. Yunho didn’t want to know, truth be told, what had happened to her there because he was sure he’d march up to that asylum and strangle every man who had hurt her. He was a doctor, his ego and fame protected him from making a mistake, but when she had led him inside her bedroom, Yunho was close to throwing it all out the window, quite literally. Her unique scent of hydrangeas had been so potent inside her bedroom, and her sitting daintily on the cushions of her queen-sized bed had his thoughts going haywire. Yunho wanted to touch her, not just tell her that she was safe and sound with him, but show her too. He was wanting and wanting, and he wondered if her story would have a happy ending. Could he save her from the madness they plastered over her head? Or would he dig her a bigger hole once the committee hears his verdict of her mental state? But what Yunho most importantly needed to sort out with himself, was the question that’s been mulling over in his head ever since she had uttered it. Would he be willing to become her caretaker? Just to keep her safe and away from Karina, of course, Yunho was a professional, above all. He told himself he didn’t have second intentions with her, but the more days passed by spent in her company, he couldn’t tell for sure anymore.

            Karina was right about one thing, the committee had given Doctor Jeong one more week to sort out everything. He was right, I couldn’t beat around the bush anymore, besides, we had gotten close in my story to that faithful day. Doctor Jeong knew this, I knew it too. Because he was afraid of overwhelming me again too soon, he had given me two days of bed rest before he’d return to resume our sessions. The two days had gone by and I was nervously waiting for him in the foyer. After the storm passed, the heat returned even stronger. I didn’t wish to stay in the house, it aggravated me anytime I glanced towards the stairs, Karina’s injured body lying by the foot of it too clear in my mind. The doctor’s patent motorcar was louder today than other days as it rolled to the front of the house, where he was welcomed by Mr Allen, the gardener. He was an elderly man who had grown fond of Doctor Jeong like many others in the household. Myself included, which would explain why my heart was beating uncontrollably once again, sweat brimming my eyebrows.

“Will you be alright?” Leia asked as she shuffled past behind me, fresh bedsheets in her arms, “I don’t think Matilda will survive one of your episodes.”

Leia had no mal-intentions, she was just honest down to a pulp. I chuckled, glancing at her as she had stopped in the doorway to the laundry room.

“I might not survive another episode, too.” Leia’s eyes widened guiltily, but I continued to smile, “If the doctor writes a good report about me, I’ll finally be out of your hair, Leia. Pray for it.”

“I don’t believe in God, young miss.”

“Don’t let Doctor Jeong know that.”

Speaking of the devil, his knuckles rasped against the sturdy front door as Leia grinned, disappearing inside the laundry room. I opened the door before the doctor could knock again, welcoming him with a bright smile on my face. He paused, looking taken aback.

“Good morning, Doctor Jeong.” I greeted him, stepping aside to let him walk inside.

“Good morning, Miss Harold, you seem to be doing fine.” He returned a small smile as he shrugged his blazer off, wearing another tunic but fancier this time. It was a deep green, paired with his brown trousers which made him look like he was a huntsman returning from a long hunt to his wife, jittery to have her in his arms. I gulped, feeling embarrassed by my thoughts when I realised, I had imagined myself as the wife Doctor Jeong would return home to. It was inappropriate, but the thought was intrusive and fast before I could stop it.

“Thank you for letting me rest, it has helped.” I hummed, raising a hand when the doctor went to step out of his polished shoes, “Do you mind if we sit underneath the willow tree today?”

“Not at all,” The doctor beamed, taking me off guard, “I was just about to suggest it, you know we cannot postpone today’s topic. Being in a place you love might bring comfort, I hope, at least.”

“You are thoughtful,” I smiled, then led the way towards the tea room, the grand doors were pulled open, letting inside the fresh warm breeze. Mr Allen was in the doorway, trimming the bushes, but he made way for us when he spotted us. I offered him an appreciative smile as he raised his hand in a silent greeting, a straw of wheat between his teeth as he tipped his hat towards Doctor Jeong. The doctor bowed back to him politely before we made our way down the gravel path, headed towards the willow tree. The warmth today made me feel hot despite the thin summer dress I wore, its sleeves short with a sweetheart neckline. It was a sage green, a pretty contrast against my copper curls. Without needing to ask, Matilda has made a daisy crown to wrap around my bun. I felt pretty and safe covered in my favourite things, sitting underneath the willow tree as frogs ribbited down by the pond, bees buzzing by. The doctor got ready as he opened his satchel bag, taking his notebook and new pencil out. As we sat, I noticed our thighs brushing together, the doctor’s now musky cologne invading my senses. When he placed his notebook on his left thigh, twisting his upper body to face mine, the pages of it brushed against my own thigh too.

“In our last session, you spoke about visiting your father’s grave with your mother. You made him a daisy crown since he loved the flowers just as much as you do, and then, when you returned home, your once lover was waiting for you in the foyer.” Doctor Jeong’s tone was gentle but impersonal, he was a professional after all, “You stopped after you said you were fighting and it got…violent? You must elaborate on that, did nobody hear it? Did nobody help?”

I sighed, picking at the grass, “It didn’t get violent in the sense of a physical altercation, but our words were harsh and unforgiving. He called me many names that day, he broke my heart, Doctor Jeong. I know you are curious about what was said, and because it leads up to what happened between Karina and me, I shall tell you.”

The doctor was jotting down my words in his notebook, his hand flying over the page. His bottom lip was between his teeth as he pushed at his spectacles with his other hand. He hummed and briefly glanced at me when I remained quiet for too long. I had to brace myself, so, I took a deep breath and gazed at the doctor instead of at the house, finding my nerves calmer if I gazed at his beautiful face, and his chocolate brown eyes whenever he held eye contact.

“Matthew, the man I had once loved, was my fiancé. He had asked for my hand while my father was still alive, our love story goes way back. We’ve grown up together due to our father’s being friends, and chancefully had fallen in love too. He was always sweet and loving, he respected me, and always heard me out. I suppose that is what attracted me to him most, I could see a glimpse of how my father treated my mother in him. But we had our ups and downs too, he was way too jealous and hated it when I spoke to other men, meanwhile, I had no problem if he had female friends. After my father died…it was hard for me to come to terms with it, I was sad every day for a very long time. I didn’t want to see anyone but my mother, not even Matthew. He knew I needed time, but he was getting impatient, he was bringing up marriage more often than not, but I wasn’t ready yet. I had just lost my father and the thought of not walking down the aisle with him by my side just hurt too much.” I paused and licked my lips, pulling my knees up to my chest as I felt the doctor shift and lean even closer, “And then as my mother and I healed together, she found Mr Brooks. It took them a while to settle down, paperwork and whatnot got in the way as well as people talking nasty behind their backs, but when I found out Mr Brooks had a daughter too, I felt hopeful. I thought I would finally find a true friend, someone to share everything with. Karina was lovely at first, very kind and funny, I could easily consider her my sister even if we weren’t related by blood. But then, one evening we went out to a pub where she finally met Matthew, and things just…changed.”

Doctor Jeong hummed, still writing as I let my eyes take in his focused expression. His forehead was creased slightly as he chewed on his bottom lip, his neck flushed from the heat. I had also shifted more into his space subconsciously, and I had to refrain from tracing his brows before sinking my fingers into his smooth-looking hair, “You see, it wasn’t Matthew who had changed, but Karina’s attitude towards me. She became snappy and rude, she didn’t make it obvious, but I knew she was looking down on me. She barely talked to me now when my mother and her father weren’t around, but she somehow always found time to ask about Matthew. At first, I thought nothing much of it, I figured she might’ve not liked him too much and was looking out for me in an obscure way, but then I found their letters. Mr Allen was bringing in the post and I told him I would sort them out, so when I saw Matthew’s letter, of course I had assumed it was for me…except, it hadn’t been. It was addressed to Karina, and there were all sort of weird questions about me as if whatever Karina had said before had upset him.”

“Has Karina been sending him letters behind your back?” Doctor Jeong looked confused as he looked up at me, his round eyes narrowed and void of kindness. When the doctor was this serious, he looked almost frightening. But I knew he was kind and caring underneath that mask, so I didn’t care. I hummed and nodded, absentmindedly picking at the scabs that had formed over my bruised knuckles.

“Yes, and she was lying to him, saying very ugly things about me. Still to this day, I don’t understand why she did all of that. Leia says she’s blinded by jealousy and wants to be better than me, but unless Karina says it, I don’t want to believe it. Anyways, I didn’t confront Karina right away, I hurried over to Matthew’s house to talk to him.” I huffed sadly, looking at the doctor again, “He was just about to mount his horse and leave for the city, but when he saw me, he knew we had to talk. It turns out, Karina has been lying about me for months now, saying I was seeing other men behind his back and somehow even made up some evidence of it. She had sent him handkerchiefs that had been my father’s, claiming they were of those I was—sleeping with. She even told him I was badmouthing him and that I was only marrying him out of pity, and because my father had made me promise I would marry someone richer than my family. But—it was all lies! I loved Matthew, I always have! I wanted to marry him and have a nice household, but Karina took it all away from me. What he said to me…it had hurt a lot, and it still does, so I won’t repeat his words, but he broke off our engagement and told me to never appear in front of his eyes. I had loved him, Yunho…”

My throat clenched as I took a shuddering breath, eyes filled with tears. Yunho had stopped writing and looked at me with pain in his eyes, bottom lip between his teeth, “I’m sorry, you deserved better.”

I hummed with a sad chuckle and quickly wiped my eyes before the tears could fall. This was it, this is what Yunho had been desperately wanting to hear for a month now. I lowered my legs and looked at Yunho with a neutral expression, making his eyes widen minutely, “I know, but it’s okay. If God is watching like everyone claims him to be, Karina will be punished, and so will Matthew. I was a mess after that conversation with Matthew, and I cried all the way back home. My chest was clenching and my heart was thumping wildly, I thought that was what heartbreak felt like, and I still believe so. When I stumbled through our front door, Karina was just…there. Waiting for me in the foyer with an amused smirk. She didn’t even feign innocence as she asked what happened, she could clearly see Matthew’s crumbled letter in my hand. I won’t deny it, I said some very ugly things to her. I didn’t even let her speak as I exploded on her, I’m still surprised the house staff didn’t try to stop me. I have said this in my report too, but I struck first, I slapped her and pushed her back when she started laughing. She was only doing it to make me even angrier, and it was working.”

My muscles tensed as I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, keeping it in my lungs as Yunho’s jaw was clenched, his eyes focused on my face as I continued talking, “I needed space, so I backed away before I could do anything really hurtful. My head was thumping and my body was shaking, I felt like I was suffocating. Karina just continued laughing as I hurried to the stairs, wanting to lock myself in my room and cry myself to sleep. She was following after me, now cackling instead of laughing, and then she said something—something that I’ll never forget, ‘All that courting and playing around each other just to never even fuck him? Don’t worry, you’re not missing out on anything, sister, he’s not even good in bed.’ I saw red when I heard her say that, my thoughts were a mess and I didn’t even doubt the accuracy of her words. I just reacted, I know I slapped her again as I stopped on the stairs, but I couldn’t say anything as I was close to sobbing, so I just ran up the rest of the stairs, but she was still following after me. She was saying something, and I was screaming at her to shut up, but she wouldn’t. And I—I just really wanted her to shut up, to not look at me with those eyes and I just—I don’t know, Doctor, I don’t know. My whole body was shaking and I couldn’t see clearly, my head was aching and I couldn’t even hear anymore, I just—I just remember suddenly coming to myself again when there was a shrill screech. And then I remember Matilda looking at me with terror in her eyes as she called for Jesper and Mr Allen to come help, to call for a doctor.”

“In your report, you said—”

“I know what I said, Yunho, I said I turned around and gave her a backhanded slap, yanked on her hair and bashed her head against the wall before pushing her down the stairs.” Yunho’s eyes were shaking as our faces were close, “But I don’t remember doing any of those, the lawyer told me to say that to protect myself from a serious accusation. Matilda lied for me, and so did Mr Allen. In the end, Mr Brooks paid the judge and I was simply classified as insane, the case was swept under the rug and I’ve been forced to live like this ever since.”

“I knew there was something wrong with that report,” Yunho muttered under his breath, “But why did you lie?”

“I was young and scared,” I sighed, my eyes searching Yunho’s face for any judgment, but it wasn’t there, “I thought they would lock me up if I didn’t make up a story. But in the end, I was locked up in my own house for six years, a prison still, just different. I fainted in the court too, I don’t remember much from there either.”

Yunho looked troubled as his eyebrows were deeply furrowed, his bottom lip thoroughly chewed on, and his spectacles pushed up on his nose. With his free hand, he reached forward, but stopped just before his fingertips could touch my hand and instead balled it up into a fist and lowered it back into his lap. His jaw clenched as he gulped, shaking his head as he looked down at his notebook.

“I have a scar on my abdomen,” I whispered, hand pressing against my covered stomach, “from having fallen over and cutting myself, do you believe me, Doctor?”

When Yunho’s jaw just clenched and he didn’t look at me, I gulped nervously and reached towards my sleeves to pull them off, to let the dress pool at my waist, but one fleeting glance at me had Yunho reaching forward with a panic-ridden face, his eyes widening, “Stop, what are you doing? I believe you, Y/N, I do.”

His hands were big and warm, wrapped completely around mine as the sleeve of my dress swiftly slipped off my left shoulder. His thumb rubbed my bruised knuckles, and despite the sting, I welcomed the affectionate gesture as it covered my arms in goosebumps. I released a long breath, my eyes boring into Yunho’s. His eyes were easy to read, he looked conflicted and confused. I had no idea if he believed me, but I wanted him to. Hurting Karina was wrong, but she deserved it, and I was glad I managed to make her hurt at least once compared to how many times she had hurt me. But I remained silent as Yunho leaned even closer, our faces a breath away from each other. He gulped, loudly, then frowned. As I opened my mouth, he looked alarmed and scrambled backwards, letting my hands drop into my lap as he gasped, grabbing for his things frantically. I didn’t understand what was happening, but when I tried to help, he just pushed my hand away. My heart hammered in my chest nervously as sweat rolled down my temples, and I stood so quickly I got whiplash. Doctor Jeong was just about to take off towards the house when a desperate question left my lips.

“Will you save me, Doctor Jeong?” My voice was trembling just as much as Yunho’s hands, “Will you become my caretaker and take me away with you, will you?”

My questions went unanswered as Yunho ran off, not even bothering to go inside the house as he followed the cobbled path to the front of the house. The engine of his motorcar was loud as I slumped back against the tree with a dizzy head.

             The committee was more eager than I had thought at first to wrap this whole thing up. Just two days after my last encounter with the doctor, a letter came at an early morning hour that the verdict would be given today. I was nervous, but I braced myself for the worst possible ending, which would be me being sent back to the asylum. I doubted I would survive that once again, so I could only hope the doctor had taken pity on me and would be generous in his report. My mother had been buzzing around the house all morning, making sure everything was perfect for the arrival of the committee. Cookies had been baked, fresh tea was brewed, the ground floor aired out with every corner dusted off, and the tea room was decorated with vases of freshly picked flowers. The grand doors were opened, creating a serene surrounding as I sat on the sofa by myself. Nobody was inside the room except for me, something which was rare. I gaze forward, at the visage, trying to commit it to memory. I wondered if I would get to see it tomorrow too.

Matilda had dressed me in a dainty white dress to feign innocence, with my hair pulled in a low bun, and daisies hanging out of it. It felt as if the ghost of my father was here to cheer me on, to offer me some braveness before everything would unfold. And it would, way too soon. There were loud knocks against the front door before it was opened, and six people piled inside our foyer. My mother and Karina quickly walked inside the room with my mother sitting next to me, meanwhile, Karina took her spot in her favourite armchair. The image was eerily similar to the first day the doctor had arrived, it made my heart race. The rest of my future was in the hands of another man, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I knew what I had done to Karina was wrong, but a small part of me knew that she had deserved it. My muscles tensed when Mr Brooks’ voice carried inside the tea room as he led the committee and Doctor Jeong inside. My jaw clenched and my hands balled into fists as they each walked in, eyes on me as I remained unmoving.

The committee consisted of the town mayor, the judge who had handled my case, the town’s richest married couple, and Father Louis, the head of our church. My stomach churned as the familiar faces sat down surrounding me, leaving space for Doctor Jeong at the front. Mr Brook sat next to my mother and held her hand, making my mother sigh loudly. I didn’t want to look at anyone, I was afraid to see what they hid in their eyes. The doctor seemed tense as he rolled his shoulders a few times, then cleared his throat and accepted the tea from Mrs Humphrey, who had insisted on staying in the room, in the back where she didn’t bother anyone. I couldn’t focus on anyone else but the doctor as he finally seemed like he was ready to speak up. He faced the room and his eyes took in everyone, staying on me for a second too long. I could see Karina sneer from my peripheral vision, but I didn’t care. I was just as curious to hear what Doctor Jeong had to say as the committee.

“Dear committee, Mr and Miss Brooks, Mrs and Miss Harold, and of course, Mrs Humphrey,” Doctor Jeong bowed his head lightly, “Thank you for coming, and I’d like to thank the committee for entrusting me with this intricate and peculiar case. I must say before I begin, that I have encountered cases like Miss Harold’s before, but neither one has been as complex as hers. I trust my personal judgement and everything I have learned up until this point, that my verdict is the right choice, and that if the committee sees it fit as well, it shall proceed with Miss Harold’s sentence accordingly.”

Doctor Jeong’s fingers were wrung together in front of him, his dark blue suit was perfect. He looked dashingly handsome with his wavy hair falling all over his forehead and into his eyes, his spectacles perched into the pocket of his vest. His warm eyes found mine for a second before he looked around the room again, nodding to himself. He took a deep breath and continued his speech, starting to pace around the front of the room. Him standing in front of the garden and the path that led to the willow tree was dreamy, “We all know that Miss Harold had lost her father when she was young, which would be hard news to swallow for a person at any age. I assume that his early death left Miss Harold traumatised in a way that could go unnoticed unless looked upon by a professional, which didn’t happen. Her stress and repressed pain had accumulated, waiting for a small spark to ignite the explosion, which did happen as we all know it. I spent a month daily by Miss Harold’s side, listening to stories of her childhood, and her adulthood, all leading up to the moment we’ve all been curious about. During my time studying her, I’ve come to observe that she is a very kind soul, attentive, and a generous person. She is soft-spoken and very sensitive to everything that happens around her, it is rather hard for me to imagine she could even as much as hurt a fly.”

I gulped, feeling my heart hammer in my chest as Yunho spoke with much conviction, his eyebrows furrowed as he stopped moving around, his eyes settling on Father Louis, “Her mental state, however, fluctuates a lot based on her surroundings, she easily reacts to the change of weather and the change of mood of a person. People like Miss Harold aren’t only in touch with their peers, but with nature as well, as insane as that might sound, it’s a rather special attribute to have. She’s had bad days during our sessions, and I had the chance to further observe the cause of this. As a psychiatrist, I do not enjoy lightly throwing out diagnoses, but I have to ensure the health of my patients. Miss Harold suffers from manic episodes that get triggered by certain words, environmental changes, and people. In Miss Harold’s stories, I have found one person who seemed to be always around her when these episodes happened, making me confident in my theory that she is Miss Harold’s trigger.”

The people in the room gasped as they looked around. My heart was hammering, I could feel my pulse in my throat, but I couldn’t help but let out an amused huff. Karina’s eyes were wide and her knuckles white as she gripped the armrest of the armchair, fear painting her face. It felt satisfying looking at her, and if I hadn’t known the doctor better, I would’ve missed the satisfied smirk on his lips there for a millisecond, “If this wasn’t about the health of Miss Harold, I wouldn’t be throwing out names so unabashedly, but this is to ensure her safety and health. Miss Brooks seems to like to pick on Miss Harold whenever she gets the chance, and she likes provoking her sister. Before anyone could deny my claim, I was witness to such a thing happening, Miss Brooks herself has said some very rude things about Miss Harold that no lady should utter, less about their sister, even if not related by blood. That being said, I cannot throw all the blame on Miss Brooks since Miss Harold is traumatised and doesn’t know how to handle it, or how to control her outbursts.”

Then, as if there was nobody else in the room with us, Doctor Jeong’s eyes found mine, his expression softening. Karina had started crying next to me, but I couldn’t care less as my mother was glaring at her, the committee didn’t look very pleased either.

“What she said in her report…” Doctor Jeong loosened his necktie a little, licking his lips, “Turns out to be true. In a fit of rage, she disassociated and acted upon instinct. I do not know if she had told anyone, but Miss Brooks had come between Miss Harold and her fiancé, breaking off their marriage. As someone who had been in love once, much like all of you in this room, I’d like to assume, we all know what it means to experience our first heartbreak. For someone who had grown up with this boy, loved him with their whole heart, and was supposed to grow old with them, to hear their engagement was broken off based on some lies made up by Miss Brooks not too soon after Miss Harold’s has lost her father must’ve been devastating. Thus, the trauma she had experienced before due to her father’s untimely death combined with another tragedy has made Miss Harold’s mind break, lose its bearings, making her unable to tell right from wrong.”

I couldn’t breathe as my eyes bore into Yunho’s, filling with tears. I had expected him to go against me for having lied in my report, or to try and go around the topic without bringing it up much, but no, he was actively lying for me and keeping up the image that I had a lapse of judgement all this time. My mother’s hand found mine as she squeezed it reassuringly, tears streaming down her cheeks. I glanced at her fleetingly, my body buzzing with life as my hands trembled. I wanted to see the faces of the committee members, but Yunho was all I could look at. There was a heavy sigh in the room, it could’ve come from Mr Brooks or someone else, I couldn’t tell.

“I’m very close to giving my verdict, so allow me to say this before that,” Yunho smiled softly, looking towards the committee with a gentle look on his face, but with a steely look in his eyes, “Miss Harold’s is a human like all of us in this room, and she is allowed to make mistakes. She’s been punished for her mistakes, probably unfairly, and we mustn’t make the same mistake again. I have concluded, that Miss Harold needs an environmental change for her to fully heal. This house no longer feels homey to her, she feels caged in and watched all the time, plus now you all know that Miss Brooks won’t leave her alone either. As a verdict, I have concluded that if the committee and her mother agree, Miss Harold could be assigned a new caretaker. And…before you make suggestions as to who could fit this role best, I would like you all to consider me as her new caretaker for the next year. I am a doctor, I know what to do and how to act in case she is having another episode. I will be leaving the country in a month to return to France, where my foster father has requested my presence. The environmental change would benefit Miss Harold greatly, that is, if you trust me, of course.”

I felt close to fainting by the time Yunho had stopped talking. Him, Doctor Jeong Yunho, my new caretaker? Could that be possible? Would the committee even let it happen? I had no idea, but I wanted to fall in his arms and sob as I thanked him for his effort, for listening to me, for trying to save me from this place. The committee erupted in whispered mutters amongst themselves, but Father Louis seemed more than pleased with Yunho. His brows were sweaty as he dabbed at them with the back of his wrist, his arms covered with the sleeves despite the heat. My mother wasn’t moving next to me, and Mr Brooks had turned his body away from Karina, who was trying to catch her father’s gaze insistently. Then, there was a tsk as the judge rose to his feet, all eyes falling on him.

“Thank you. Doctor Jeong, for your in-depth analysis and for the tabs and reports you’ve been keeping on Miss Harold this month, we appreciate it.” He rubbed at his chin, his hair already silver from age, “We have selected you, Doctor, to treat this delicate case because we have heard of your expertise. You have never once failed to treat your patients accordingly, and I find no reason to doubt your verdict, however, wouldn’t it be risky to take Miss Harold away from here? Couldn’t that trigger her madness even more? And if Mrs Harold won’t agree, she cannot go. Either way, we cannot let her go unless you promise to report back to us monthly, Doctor Jeong, and once the one year is up, you must return her home. She shall be reevaluated, then her fate will be decided for the future.”

When Yunho and my eyes met again, I knew my fate had been sealed. France, a new beginning by his side, sounded like a far-fetched dream that was now within my reach.

Yunho was a professional, except when it came to her. The lines had blurred long ago, he couldn’t tell who was the doctor and who was the patient when it came to her. All Yunho knew was that he could never let her go, not when she clung to him as if her life depended on him. Her lips tasted like honey and her moans were the prettiest music he had ever had the chance to hear, her skin soft and warm and her body so pliant underneath his. All it took was one touch from her for his whole being to crumble, he felt drunk on her, insatiable. Yunho knew he couldn’t let her return home, not now that he’d found Mingi too, not when the three of them were living in a tucked away village in a homey cottage, away from prying eyes. Yunho finally had what he’d been yearning for his whole life. His family was back, right within his reach, and even when he missed his home, he’d gaze upon Mingi and her, and realise that his home was here with them. And she was sweet like nectar, Yunho’s guilty pleasure that he just couldn’t get rid of—didn’t want to get rid of. He was a bad man for preying upon the innocent and unassuming ones, but may God forgive him for his sins, he was just a man after all. He knew he was bound to become insane like his patients one day, but Yunho was already a madman for her, and he didn’t care. Profession be damned, only the four walls of their cottage would truly know the truth, much like her amnesiac brain that had no desire to return to a land and home that’s treated her so horribly once. Here, Yunho was a complete man and he had wowed to protect what was his…no matter what it took. Mingi and her were staying there with him, forever.

ꕤ Masterlist ꕤ 

↳Perm. taglist: @orshii @jjoongstar @tinyelfperson @thestarskiller @zuuhaa

@aaa-sia @gong-fourz @a-tinycarat @sooberryworld @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad

@anastasiamin860 @yunhogrippers @vcutparis @tunaasan @blvckarabixnvoid

@yusalterego @arigakittyo @slowee00 @jaerisdiction @hey-syia

@vnessalau @oddracha @chatsgotmytongue @potatos-on-clouds @yunhowooyo

@watermelon2319 @yoongzsmile28 @klllerwaifu @apriecotte @hwasbbyg

@kyeos4ng @samiiy20 @woosanhobros @aswho1estuff @khjoongie98

@ateez-main-yapper @kang-ulzzang @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @ginger-mingi @redzie02

@unholywriters @autieofthevalley @roomsofangel @peachyy-joonie @baeksofty

@tunafishyfishylike @syubseokie @jycas @fandom-freak-geek @intaksfav

@itswaffleberry @e3ellie @skz1-4-3 @hoe4yunho @kyeomooniee

@winklehwa @eyesonlyformingi @khjssss @torieisawesome99 @amrose8

@faeriehwa @hongjoongsprincess @iceteainsummer @lac3ybow @aurorajoye

@londonbridges01 @hyukssunflower @hwashua-luv @halloweenbyphoebebridgers

❀ complete the forms if you're interested! ^^

[homunculus-argument]

Been at my boyfriend's family cabin this week, haven't had the attention span to read either of the books that I brought with me, but I did find something to read from their shelves: print collections of Funny Things People Have Said gathered from the very best of some regional newspaper. I don't know what would prompt someone to go "hah! that thing you just said was so funny that I am going to send it to the newspapers!" (not that I don't personally have a blog for the same purpose), but for the most part these 'clever quips' range from Children Say The Darnest Things and "what's the punchline, that's just a normal conversation" to "wow, what a cartoonishly cruel thing to say to another person." Simply, my grandma's sort of humour.

But they are fascinating in a cultural, linguistic and historical sense. The texts are written in the contemporary savonian dialect, discussing matters of the day, in 70s and 80s. And one interesting cultural thing I observed was how these remark collections regard women. Thick women, in particular. One man boasts about having such a handsome wife that you can't get sight of all of her all at once, it is considered odd that one 'old maid' (age not specified) hadn't found a man since she isn't lacking in looks, height or heft. Another man remarks to his friend that the friend clearly figured out how to put his wealth into a form that won't get chewed up by inflation, gesturing towards the friend's fat wife.

And the thing is, this isn't the American Boomer "haha wife fat and ugly" jokes, this is pure old-fashioned finnish savonian rural 70s/80s sexism. These are not people who believe in saying things delicately. As far as they are concerned, wording things nicely and being considerate of other peoples' feelings is prissy city people bullshit, and brutally mocking someone for having physical features that are considered ugly is a national sport. If a man thought that someone's wife is ugly, he'll just say that she's ugly. Oh no.

All context clues considered, as far as these people were concerned, it is truth universally aknowledged that if a man can't have a wife with an ass wide enough to knock a tracktor off its' wheels, then what's the point of being alive.

[tarre-was-right]

FINALE - You might want to read the propaganda this time. Lots of misinfo in fandom on these two in particular.

Remember, this is NOT about who would win in a fight. This is about who makes the best leader for Mandalore as a whole.

Explanation post

Seeding

Propaganda below the cut! You can submit more on this post and I will reblog it back to here! I was going to keep the text-only bits above the readmore, but we got enough in that it takes up more space than I thought.

Yes, I will even reblog the stuff based on fanon, but I will judge you for it.

SATINE KRYZE

Anon: Satine because she served. Mandalorian fashion week would love her. Manda'slay.

Anon: Satine Propaganda: Was supported by the STRONG MAJORITY, led Mandalore to be in peace for NEARLY 20 YEARS, didn't ban mando'a or armour or any part of the culture like fandom claims, is a good fighter, considered EVERY Mandalorian a Mandalorian and didn't discriminate

@lightsaberwieldingdalek: Satine propaganda: she actually ran a functioning government. Not a mercenary band, or a death cult, or a terrorist extremist organisation, an actual functioning government. Yes there was corruption, corruption she did her best to stop to the point of personally getting in firefights with smugglers, but she took a planet devastated by civil war and by the end of her rule she had schools, public works, and a justice system. - Sure, the rest can run military operations (and we don’t know Satine couldn’t, only that she *won’t*) but can they make the bins get emptied regularly to go to the recycling plants?

@lightsaberwieldingdalek: I understand Jaster has the tacticool appeal, and has the iconic armour, but guys. He did an interpretation of some problematic historical values for the more modern day, led a mercenary band, and under unknown circumstances his group started calling him the historical-cultural title of the ruler of their entire cultural group. I know he’s cool looking, and shoots real good, but at most he’s the equivalent of someone who could be a cult leader but doesn’t want to be. - Meanwhile. Satine. You have issues with her ethical code, and she’s not a cool cause she doesn’t wear the armour. And yet she is the one who *actually ran mandalore*. For 20-ish years, and not only kept it stable but built it up from the ruins of civil war! - Yes yes T-helmet cool and military man competence nice, but that cannot equal taking the ruins of a war torn society and turning it into a mostly peaceful (when terrorism happened it was a big shocking deal, not normalised) urbanised people who eat well, have access to luxury and specialised education (get a offworld Jedi to come lecture) and can ACTUALLY BREATH IN THE ATMOSPHERE RUINED BY ALL THE WARLORDS LIKE JASTER TRYING TO FIGHT THE REPUBLIC TO PROVE THEMSELVES.

Anon: Satine propaganda: she knows what the aftermath of war is like. Jaster knows war from a soldier's perspective, a commander's perspective. But Satine knows it from a noncombatant's perspective. She's seen the aftermath and wreckage it leaves behind. Rebuilding after a war takes far longer and likely costs more than the war itself. I don't think Jaster cares about what happens after the battle. But Satine most certainly does.

@archangelsunited: Efficient and long lasting leader of her faction for years, was able to navigate neutrality with the Republic during the Clone Wars. Excellent Hair pieces.

@publiusmaximum: She allowed her society to experience it's first moment of peace and prosperity in a thousand years. - After she was killed, her society was taken over by fascists and gangsters. In short order Mandalore was razed, made uninhabitable, and her people scattered. - Satine was right about everything.

JASTER MEREEL

Anon: Jaster is the one who should rule Mandalore and all Mandalorians, although he started small he searched to make a new code of conduct for Mandalorian bounty hunters, he tries to keep the culture intact yet keep Mandalore progressive and not stuck in the past and from killing each other.

@spacetime1969: He literally rewrote what it means to be Mandalorian, and he created an entire movement around said philosophy that had a good chance of becoming the controlling party of Mandalore if he hadn't been assassinated. What more do you want?

Anon: Jaster for the win, he's the most recent one who actually knows some shit (as much as I love Din Djarin this poor man doesn't know ANYTHING), besides Jango and Boba but they're both very unstable individuals.

@nerdpickle: Jaster, his philosophy perfectly balanced tradition and reform, keeping the best of both worlds, he was also one of the few people chosen by the people

Mereel is a strong and powerful leader. He defeated the traiter Tor Viszla in battle and even took in a poor, orphaned Concordian child after the battle. No more will Mandalore be forced to consider such petty ideals as peace in order to avoid outright war. Instead, we shall be known throughout the galaxy as the greatest mercenaries the galaxy has ever known. Under his rule, we shall triumph over the foolish savages of planets unconquered and be paid handsomely for it!

Anon: Mereel is a strong and powerful leader. He defeated the traiter Tor Viszla in battle and even took in a poor, orphaned Concordian child after the battle. No more will Mandalore be forced to consider such petty ideals as peace in order to avoid outright war. Instead, we shall be known throughout the galaxy as the greatest mercenaries the galaxy has ever known. Under his rule, we shall triumph over the foolish savages of planets unconquered and be paid handsomely for it!

@archangelsunited: Had a structured document for Mandalorian Culture in the modern (tm) day. He fought with the warriors he sent out and took personal interest in the results of his actions (Jango Fett mentorship). Pissed off Tor Vizla.

@nerdpickle: Satine’s Mandalore was like Switzerland, except without the well trained military, incredibly advantageous terrain, high gun ownership and giant nuclear armed alliance providing a free buffer zone on all sides.

SATINE

@bosooka: Originally here

i wrote way too much for my original draft of this (and it turned into a "fuck jaster mereel" party) so here's an abbreviated version

Why Satine is a Better Ruler Than Jaster in 2 Simple Points

Point #1: Satine actually maintained order on Mandalore for decades

This one is simple. Mereel became Mandalore in ~60BBY and Tor Vizsla tried to overthrow him a mere two years later (and nearly succeeded). He was only in power for six more years before he was betrayed by the very same violent people he allowed to remain by his side because of his belief that a Mandalorian warrior was "merely a highly-paid soldier".

Contrast Satine: ruled from approx. 42BBY until 19BBY, a reign of 23-odd years. For twenty-odd years of her reign New Mandalore was completely peaceful and there were no challengers to her authority among the people or elsewhere. Death Watch only became an issue again when they received Separatist (and ultimately Sith) backing, and Dooku discarded them for being useless. Had Death Watch not allied itself with Maul's Shadow Collective I don't think she would have been overthrown at all.

Point #2: Satine kept Mandalore out of places it didn't belong

As we've established, Mereel had no issues with Mandalorians being mercenaries, used however their clients saw fit. I won't go into the weeds of the ethical implications of mercenaries and why they are illegal under international law on Earth, but in short: letting anyone pay one to kill others is the easiest way to become the cudgel of a fascist. Coincidentally exactly what the Fett clones become when Sidious uses them to exterminate the Jedi. Mereel's "reforms" of the Mandalorian ways did not prevent his troops from getting into a fight they couldn't win against the Jedi on Galidraan (and yes, the Mandalorians shot first:

not that anyone in the fandom remembers this...) after they but an insurrection down on behalf of the corrupt governor of the planet. To be clear, the True Mandos knew that the governor of Galidraan was corrupt and most likely harboring Tor Vizsla, but they still agreed to kill "insurrectionists" for money. Their problems came when Death Watch arranged to make it look like they had also killed women and children. Truly a war between saints and monsters.

Meanwhile Satine: the head of the Council of Neutral Systems, she refused to take sides in a war pushed by the greedy and violent. Yes, she was briefly protected by clones when it comes to light that Death Watch is aligned with the Separatists, but it was immediately followed by the Republic attempting to militarily occupy Mandalore and Satine risking life and limb to keep her people autonomous. Satine refused to become a useful idiot for warmongers, even knowing that it would have been economically advantageous for her to do so. Unlike Jaster Mereel, she has ideals that she values more than credits. He would have accepted an offer from the highest bidder and turned Mandalore into a machine of war for the Sith, just like his Crusader ancestors once did.

Tl;Dr

Satine was actually respected as an authority on Mandalore for literal decades and was only challenged by a miniscule faction of terrorists who had to get foreigners to interfere in their political processes (FML) in order to actually take power from her

Satine kept Mandalore out of conflicts it did not belong in, which largely protected it from military occupation and destruction until the year she died; Mereel made a career out of interfering in the affairs of other planets if they were paid to do so

Unlike Mereel and his successor, Satine had morals to motivate her decisions that were not the pursuit of cold hard cash, including the protection of Mandalorian independence and neutrality

[cuddlytogas]

So I accidentally almost got into an argument on Twitter, and now I'm thinking about bad historical costuming tropes. Specifically, Action Hero Leather Pants.

See, I was light-heartedly pointing out the inaccuracies of the costumes in Black Sails, and someone came out of the woodwork to defend the show. The misunderstanding was that they thought I was dismissing the show just for its costumes, which I wasn't - I was simply pointing out that it can't entirely care about material history (meaning specifically physical objects/culture) if it treats its clothes like that.

But this person was slightly offended on behalf of their show - especially, quote, "And from a fan of OFMD, no less!" Which got me thinking - it's true! I can abide a lot more historical costuming inaccuracy from Our Flag than I can Black Sails or Vikings. And I don't think it's just because one has my blorbos in it. But really, when it comes down to it...

What is the difference between this and this?

Here's the thing. Leather pants in period dramas isn't new. You've got your Vikings, Tudors, Outlander, Pirates of the Caribbean, Once Upon a Time, Will, The Musketeers, even Shakespeare in Love - they love to shove people in leather and call it a day. But where does this come from?

Obviously we have the modern connotations. Modern leather clothes developed in a few subcultures: cowboys drew on Native American clothing. (Allegedly. This is a little beyond my purview, I haven't seen any solid evidence, and it sounds like the kind of fact that people repeat a lot but is based on an assumption. I wouldn't know, though.) Leather was used in some WWI and II uniforms.

But the big boom came in the mid-C20th in motorcycle, punk/goth, and gay subcultures, all intertwined with each other and the above. Motorcyclists wear leather as practical protective gear, and it gets picked up by rock and punk artists as a symbol of counterculture, and transferred to movie designs. It gets wrapped up in gay and kink communities, with even more countercultural and taboo meanings. By the late C20th, leather has entered mainstream fashion, but it still carries those references to goths, punks, BDSM, and motorbike gangs, to James Dean, Marlon Brando, and Mick Jagger. This is whence we get our Spikes and Dave Listers in 1980s/90s media, bad boys and working-class punks.

And some of the above "historical" design choices clearly build on these meanings. William Shakespeare is dressed in a black leather doublet to evoke the swaggering bad boy artist heartthrob, probably down on his luck. So is Kit Marlowe.

But the associations get a little fuzzier after that. Hook, with his eyeliner and jewellery, sure. King Henry, yeah, I see it. It's hideously ahistorical, but sure. But what about Jamie and Will and Ragnar, in their browns and shabby, battle-ready chic? Well, here we get the other strain of Bad Period Drama Leather.

See, designers like to point to history, but it's just not true. Leather armour, especially in the western/European world, is very, very rare, and not just because it decays faster than metal. (Yes, even in ancient Greece/Rome, despite many articles claiming that as the start of the leather armour trend!) It simply wasn't used a lot, because it's frankly useless at defending the body compared to metal. Leather was used as a backing for some splint armour pieces, and for belts, sheathes, and buckles, but it simply wasn't worn like the costumes above. It's heavy, uncomfortable, and hard to repair - it's simply not practical for a garment when you have perfectly comfortable, insulating, and widely available linen, wool, and cotton!

As far as I can see, the real influence on leather in period dramas is fantasy. Fantasy media has proliferated the idea of leather armour as the lightweight choice for rangers, elves, and rogues, a natural, quiet, flexible material, less flashy or restrictive than metal. And it is cheaper for a costume department to make, and easier for an actor to wear on set. It's in Dungeons and Dragons and Lord of the Rings, King Arthur, Runescape, and World of Warcraft.

And I think this is how we get to characters like Ragnar and Vane. This idea of leather as practical gear and light armour, it's fantasy, but it has this lineage, behind which sits cowboy chaps and bomber/flight jackets. It's usually brown compared to the punk bad boy's black, less shiny, and more often piecemeal or decorated. In fact, there's a great distinction between the two Period Leather Modes within the same piece of media: Robin Hood (2006)! Compare the brooding, fascist-coded villain Guy of Gisborne with the shabby, bow-wielding, forest-dwelling Robin:

So, back to the original question: What's the difference between Charles Vane in Black Sails, and Edward Teach in Our Flag Means Death?

Simply put, it's intention. There is nothing intentional about Vane's leather in Black Sails. It's not the only leather in the show, and it only says what all shabby period leather says, relying on the same tropes as fantasy armour: he's a bad boy and a fighter in workaday leather, poor, flexible, and practical. None of these connotations are based in reality or history, and they've been done countless times before. It's boring design, neither historically accurate nor particularly creative, but much the same as all the other shabby chic fighters on our screens. He has a broad lineage in Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean and such, but that's it.

In Our Flag, however, the lineage is much, much more intentional. Ed is a direct homage to Mad Max, the costuming in which is both practical (Max is an ex-cop and road warrior), and draws on punk and kink designs to evoke a counterculture gone mad to the point of social breakdown, exploiting the thrill of the taboo to frighten and titillate the audience.

In particular, Ed is styled after Max in the second movie, having lost his family, been badly injured, and watched the world turn into an apocalypse. He's a broken man, withdrawn, violent, and deliberately cutting himself off from others to avoid getting hurt again. The plot of Mad Max 2 is him learning to open up and help others, making himself vulnerable to more loss, but more human in the process.

This ties directly into the themes of Our Flag - it's a deliberate intertext. Ed's emotional journey is also one from isolation and pain to vulnerability, community, and love. Mad Max (intentionally and unintentionally) explores themes of masculinity, violence, and power, while Max has become simplified in the popular imagination as a stoic, badass action hero rather than the more complex character he is, struggling with loss and humanity. Similarly, Our Flag explores masculinity, both textually (Stede is trying to build a less abusive pirate culture) and metatextually (the show champions complex, banal, and tender masculinities, especially when we're used to only seeing pirates in either gritty action movies or childish comedies).

Our Flag also draws on the specific countercultures of motorcycles, rockers, and gay/BDSM culture in its design and themes. Naturally, in such a queer show, one can't help but make the connection between leather pirates and leather daddies, and the design certainly nods at this, with its vests and studs. I always think about this guy, with his flat cap so reminiscient of gay leather fashions.

More overtly, though, Blackbeard and his crew are styled as both violent gangsters and countercultural rockstars. They rove the seas like a bikie gang, free and violent, and are seen as icons, bad boys and celebrities. Other pirates revere Blackbeard and wish they could be on his crew, while civilians are awed by his reputation, desperate for juicy, gory details.

This isn't all of why I like the costuming in Our Flag Means Death (especially season 1). Stede's outfits are by no means accurate, but they're a lot more accurate than most pirate media, and they're bright and colourful, with accurate and delightful silks, lace, velvets, and brocades, and lovely, puffy skirts on his jackets. Many of the Revenge crew wear recognisable sailor's trousers, and practical but bright, varied gear that easily conveys personality and flair. There is a surprising dedication to little details, like changing Ed's trousers to fall-fronts for a historical feel, Izzy's puffy sleeves, the handmade fringe on Lucius's red jacket, or the increasing absurdity of navy uniform cuffs between Nigel and Chauncey.

A really big one is the fact that they don't shy away from historical footwear! In almost every example above, we see the period drama's obsession with putting men in skinny jeans and bucket-top boots, but not only does Stede wear his little red-heeled shoes with stockings, but most of his crew, and the ordinary people of Barbados, wear low boots or pumps, and even rough, masculine characters like Pete wear knee breeches and bright colours. It's inaccurate, but at least it's a new kind of inaccuracy, that builds much more on actual historical fashions, and eschews the shortcuts of other, grittier period dramas in favour of colour and personality.

But also. At least it fucking says something with its leather.

[notjustjavierpena]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter III

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: I'm excited to bring to you the next chapter! Happy reading!

Chapter Summary: In which you experience your wedding night and an uncomfortable conversation takes place.

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, religion in the form of Roman Gods, shitty parents, anxieties over wedding night, virginity loss, female masturbation, handjobs, piv sex, praise kink, dirty talk, painful sex but also not painful sex, creampie, politics, Marcus gets angry

Word count: 9k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/154904269

Chapter III: You're a woman and a wife now

After you enter the room, Marcus closes the door to his night chambers with a soft click. He secures it to give the two of you an illusion of privacy despite the many servants walking up and down the halls that now belong to you as well, cleaning the rooms of any signs of guests so that new people can relish in festivities tomorrow too. 

“I noticed you regained your appetite. Did you like the feast?” He asks as he starts undoing his sandals with steadier hands than you can muster right now in your anxiety-riddled body, untying them where they stop just underneath his knees until he can step out of them completely. 

“Your cook is better than ours,” you compliment with a little smile, your arms crossed over your chest until you can hug yourself with your palms on your back. You try to self-soothe like when you had first met but the thought of the wifely duties that lie ahead makes your heartbeat pound in your chest in a dizzying fashion. 

“He is your cook now too,” he delves into small talk, trying to make a mundane situation out of something that so evidently weighs heavily on you. He is just about to continue when you hold up your hand to stop him, reluctantly having let go of yourself to signal that you wish to speak.

“Marcus,” you start in a soft voice without knowing where the sentence will go, doing the utmost to make sure that you are not sounding as if you are going to refuse to share a bed with him in case of evoking anger in him. He watches you curiously, graciously allowing you to interrupt him all the while you swallow the lump in your throat, “I must confess that I am nervous.”

You can barely get the sentence out before tears start to well up in your eyes, your throat constricting as you find yourself on the verge of crying. You reach for some of the fabric of your tunic, clutching it desperately as you hold a sob at bay. 

Marcus looks at you with sympathy that shouldn’t surprise you but still does despite the moment you shared the last time you were alone with each other.  

“What bothers you?” He asks despite knowing the answer already. 

“Is it not obvious?” You ask with a whimper, “I am dreading the thing that all wives so desperately long for on their wedding night. I have been told stories of blood and cries, of men being cruel in their passion, and— I know that it is my duty, that this is as important as the ceremony itself but it scares me. What if my body simply isn’t made for this act?“

It is odd to confess something so personal to a near-stranger but you suppose that there is no point in tiptoeing around the fact that you are united in marriage which demands the deepest form of vulnerability towards each other. A tear manages to escape your eye and it rolls down until it drips off your chin. 

“Carissima,” Marcus soothes gently. He dares walk to stand in front of you, his bare feet quiet on the cold floor and even though he can potentially reach out to put his hands on you, he does not, “Goddess Nox has given us plenty of time to take things slowly before dawn. These stories you have heard… I wish you would not think of me as such a brutal man. Our chambers are not a battlefield.” 

You reach up with the back of your hand to swipe away the tears that have started to continuously fall from your chin, catching some on your cheeks before they even manage to go so far. You feel a pang of guilt at your assumptions because Marcus is right and the proof is in the way he kissed you so carefully yesterday when you had asked. 

“I’m sorry,” you cry unhappily and stare down at your feet again, hating the way you come off as a scared child. You are married to a general of the great Roman Empire, meant to exude grace and strength even when the two of you are alone in your home. Your home. These chambers will forever be yours too.

“I know this is difficult but this is something we must do to start our lives together as man and wife,” Marcus coos back at you. He dares to put a hand underneath your damp chin to tilt your head up again, looking into your eyes with his own that seems to be miles deep with their brown color. You whimper but he shakes his head, “No more of that. I will not have you remember your first night in these halls with remorse and terror.”

His hand moves up to cup your whole cheek with how large his palm is, and as you feel his warm and gentle fingers on your skin, you close your eyes and lean into the same kind of touch that had made you explore yourself in bed last night. He smiles as you melt a little, “Very good, that’s it.”

Your eyes shoot open again as he praises you so effortlessly, a warmth spreading through your lower body at hearing words you have never heard from any man before. A tiny drop of need pools in your belly, making you bold enough to make a request, “Will you kiss me like yesterday? Perhaps then I might relax more.”

Marcus nods. You move to remove the crown of flowers that secures the veil covering your hair. You place it on one of the many marble surfaces in the room, handling it with the care that comes from your superstition as to what would happen if you were to tear it. You do the same with the veil, draping it across a chair while Marcus waits patiently. No tears fall from your eyes anymore.

You signal to him that you are ready and you don’t flinch as he leans close, the tip of his thumb resting underneath your chin while the rest of his hand is spread across your face. He pokes his nose into your cheek, pecking you there with featherlight touches of his lips before gently going inward to capture your mouth. 

The kiss is even better than yesterday. It makes you release the fabric of your dress in an instant, your arms coming up instinctively to wrap around your husband’s shoulders. You kiss him back with a desire that must have been asleep in your body because it wakes up as fiercely as linen catching fire. 

“What do I do?” You pant when he gives you a moment to breathe, your faces barely an inch apart. You might drown in his eyes. 

“You trust me,” he replies without hesitation and you can do nothing but nod slightly, so eager to follow orders that it terrifies you a little. You feel his strong hands bunch up the fabric of your tunic that’s draping over your hips as he captures your mouth once more, a soft moan leaving you as his tongue slips past your lips. 

He leads you towards the bed without pulling away. You can taste the honey and fruit from the dessert on his tongue, smell him when he forces you to breathe through your nose when his mouth does not leave yours. He smells faintly of scented oil that a servant probably recommended after a shave along his neck, of sweat and of himself, which you will fall asleep and wake up to for many days to come. He has you not worrying about yourself for even a second, not even when one of his hands reaches for the woven belt around your waist to undo it with utmost care. 

It sways in the air as it falls to the floor, lying forgotten for the maids to clean up tomorrow. He allows you a breath when he breaks the kiss but he takes the air from your lungs once more when his hands touch your shoulders. You feel lightheaded as he slips the tunic off of them, the soft fabric slipping down your arms and chest until it catches on your hips. You have never been this exposed to anyone before, the slightly cooler air outside of your clothes making your nipples harden and catch Marcus’ attention. He admires your bare chest without words at first but it makes you hesitate, knowing how effortlessly he had complimented your appearance when you had first met. However, when you reach up to cover yourself, he shakes his head. 

“You are radiant,” he praises and warmth goes to your face, eyes dropping to the floor at the idea that he might mean it wholly. You gain a shred of courage, pretending that you haven’t looked at the floor again by fixing your gaze on your skirt. You work the draping fabric over the swell of your hips, ripe for bearing children if that is what he should want, and let it pool around your feet. You have already had your blood this month, so you have no garments covering your sex. Suddenly, you are more exposed than you have ever even seen the depictions of Venus. Does he find you just as beautiful now that you are in nothing but the golden jewelry that your mother said he had sent?

Without word, your instincts guide you to sit down on the large bed and Marcus waits patiently while you crawl back on the linen sheets. You move your arms back to support yourself, bending your knees slightly but not daring to let your legs fall open like you know you probably should. You consider the pose of a siren, legs together like a tail and laying to one side to show off the curve of your body. 

“Seems like Venus has favored you. I shall wonder how your father has kept you in his house for so long,” Marcus finally breaks the silence but only to make you smile shyly, stirring up a little laughter and shortness of breath in your chest. Cupid seems to have hit you square in the chest with his golden-tipped arrow, filling you up with desire for your new husband when he says praise so effortlessly. 

“Are you going to join me now?” You ask, finding that nervousness is best fought by being direct. You gaze at his face to read him but you have no clue how these situations unfold, so you are unable to read his mind and foresee his next move. 

“You will not be ready,” he shakes his head. You narrow your eyes as you ponder what he means, watching him undo the knot of red fabric on his shoulder to slip off the top layer of his toga. He hangs it on the chair next to your matching veil. 

“Ready? But I am in your bed,” you let him know of your confusion. When he turns around to face you once more, you gasp at the sight of his sex, the length of it. He is visible through the toga now that the top layer isn’t covering him up anymore. His cock is outlined by it from the way he has gotten hard in response to seeing you naked, a thing you knew was going to happen but never could have imagined what looked like. 

“Come closer,” he says as he stands by the end of your bed. His tone has changed a little but you cannot confirm whether it has to do with him being aroused underneath the remnants of his clothes. It seems like a command now, so you follow through with a pounding heartbeat until your heels are pressing into the mattress right at the edge of the bed. 

“What did you mean?” You ask. 

“When you are alone,” he begins but the tone of his voice is still to the gentler side, his hand reaching out and hovering above your knee. He makes you gasp as he grabs it, carefully pulling it outwards until the most private part of your body exposes itself to him. His eyes only look down briefly, “Do you touch yourself here? Between your legs?” 

You glance away quickly as your heart leaps into your throat. The images of last night flood through your mind and you feel embarrassed, so you shake your head in response, “No, of course not.”

“I don’t believe your words for a second, Carissima,” he chuckles, his dominant hand going up your thigh until he removes it altogether to catch your wrist. He moves your hand to rest between your thighs, “Show me what you do.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you have been holding, feeling the warmth of your cunt against your fingers and how it aches for you to caress the spots you like the most. Your pulse is everywhere now but mostly centered around your clit, the pearl-shaped nub that you have explored just the night before. 

“I don’t do it long,” you babble nervously as you start to touch gently between your legs, two fingers rubbing in gentle circles over your clit. It makes you gasp a little, the sensations in your lower body heightened by being in another person’s proximity as you touch yourself, “I always stop right before… before something happens.”

“There’s no need to stop. Something beautiful happens when you keep going and get to that pinnacle,” Marcus teaches you with a kind expression, moving his hand to push your other leg out to the side. You are opened up to him like a lotus flower but he still doesn’t seem like he will move on top of you yet, crush you with his weight, and fall asleep afterward with horrible snoring that your sisters have joked about. 

You start to feel familiar wetness increase between your legs, your fingers gliding over your cunt easier and making you speed up your touches as the pressure increases. Marcus sees it from the way your slit glistens in the dim light of the oil lamp on the nightstand. He encourages you, his cock even more prominent underneath his clothes, “If you have touched between your thighs, you will know of what I speak. I see it now, the signs of your body welcoming intrusion by making itself warm and wet for me. It will feel like you are missing something… I assure you that I will give it.”

You furrow your brow at those words while you stroke yourself and feel a flutter of pleasure intense enough to make you moan, Marcus’ eyes dropping to his own lap where his length twitches. He readjusts himself with a soft groan and then something clicks. You do feel exactly like he said, perplexed by why you have not noticed the gaping emptiness all the other times you have done this. 

Experimentally, you reach lower to prod a finger at your entrance and you groan at the way it slips effortlessly inside yourself. You aren’t sure what to do next, letting the finger stay still inside of you as you get used to the unusual pressure, but the heel of your hand starts grinding down onto your clit in earnest. 

Marcus steps a little closer at the temptation you bring him with your growing pleasure. He squeezes your thigh and you nearly laugh in surprise when you can feel your walls squeezing your finger, “Will I not hurt you if I… grip you with my…”

You cannot say any of the words you know. Cunt, heat, sex. It somehow feels more exposing, more intimate in a way than the physical gestures you are performing for him. You hear him laugh but his eyes are not cheerful when you find them, instead, they’re dark with lust and you squeeze your digit again. 

“On the contrary,” he touches himself on top of his toga, his stomach rising and falling faster than just a moment ago when he didn’t have a hand on himself, “It’ll feel like I was made for nothing else.”

There’s the familiar gathering inside of your belly. Sweat prickles at your skin, pleasure steadily blossoming from inside of you as you reach a point of no return. This would be where you would stop back home, leaving you sensitive and emotional as you forced sleep onto yourself. This time, you chase the feelings that terrify you.

You feel like the most fragile person ever; like you are made of clay that might shatter at any moment. You clutch at the sheets with your free hand, Marcus’ eyes sure to make you succumb to how brittle you are as he watches intensely. You bite your bottom lip, a small whimper escaping you as you teeter on what you have always shied away from. 

“Don’t stop,” he urges when you hesitate for less than a second. His breathing is ragged now, synchronized with your own as you suddenly realize that you are doing the same thing. He seems better at controlling it than you, “Let it come, so we can enjoy each other.” 

You cannot breathe, snapping for air as you press a little harder on your hard clit. You want to squeeze your eyes shut but then you’ll miss the look on Marcus’ face as he sees you come undone, so you power through and, and… and—

A cry of surprise and pleasure leaps from your chest as you find release. You lift your hips to meet your hand, your index finger slipping out of you as you instinctively know to focus on your pulsing clit. It is like nothing you have ever felt before, going on for several maddening seconds where you don’t know whether to chase more or stop when you can do nothing but tremble from the sensation. 

The linen on the bed is wet underneath you and a cockiness within you tells you that you could handle him tenfold if you wanted. You are disoriented by the heat ebbing out of your body, leaving you in a state of daze and a mix of emotions that you cannot fathom has nothing to do with the wine during the feast. You let your hand rest on your stomach, feeling your panting underneath it and suppressing a giggle that bubbles up all the way from your belly. 

“Will it be like that every time?” You ask and stretch your legs to let your feet hang out over the edge. 

“It can be,” he replies with slight amusement, hiding a lopsided grin. He is standing with his knees brushing against the bed, having itched to get as close as possible without overwhelming you and perhaps scaring you off. He lets your foot brush his toga, “However it might get better with time and practice.” 

You stare at him in disbelief, not sure if you believe that there’s something even better awaiting you somewhere in your future. You stare down between his legs where he must be aching like you’ve been several times in the past. You are already aware that you are wrong in the assumptions you have about pleasure because you’ve learned so much in less than ten minutes. How will it feel when he gives it to you?

“Can I touch you?” You boldly ask and slowly find the confidence to sit up, feet planted on the floor. You are so close to his lap, “When you are undressed?”

“You can,” he nods, not able to hide the surprise on his face as you look curious above all else. He undoes the belt around his waist and lets it clatter to the floor, and you watch with nervous breath how he lets his own garments slip from his body until the whole of him is revealed. It is fascinating to see a man like this, much different from the statues around Rome and particularly where you sometimes have felt scared to look. 

He steps between your knees, looking down at you and the height difference should be intimidating but is not. Instead, there’s the calming reassurance of being watched and guided as you lift your hand to rest your palm on the softness of his stomach. He has muscles there, just a little less toned than what the working men back at the village sport. His arms are what hold his tremendous strength, the effects of carrying a sword or spear on the battlefield. He is gorgeous, you think to yourself while curiosity and unexpected heat stir in your loins. 

Your eyes wander while your palm skims lower. They follow the sculpt of his torso, a long scar weaving itself around his hip distracting you until your gaze settles on the sight of his erect cock. It is much larger than you expected - thick, long, and intimidating but somehow also beautiful - and the thought of it entering you brings new anxiety to your body and mind. 

“You are nervous,” he points out, chest rising and falling slowly as you explore the fine hair on his skin which becomes thicker the further down on his abdomen they are. You run your nails through the trail just below his navel, looking up as his cock jumps at the contact. 

“I try not to be. I’d rather be curious,” you tell him, finally bold enough to touch him where he is hard and straining. You wrap your fingers around his generous girth. He is warm in your hand as you stroke him lightly to simply feel the weight of him and it takes little else before he lets out a low, appreciative groan. The confidence his response gives you makes your mouth water but despite what your brain tells you to do, that seems over the line right now. 

Instead, you look up at him with big eyes as you continue in a rhythm that he seems to like because you can hear the catch of his breath. You think he might stop you when he covers your hand with his own but instead, he adds slight pressure to guide you in how he likes to be touched. 

You hadn’t thought this was how everything would go down. There’s a strange form of equality between the two of you when you are naked together, a comfortable feeling in your chest at the idea of a whole night of giving and taking pleasure from each other being before you. What you had gathered from what Cassius so disgustingly had tried to explain to you whenever you were by the river alone, it was supposed to be a cruel act for the woman. This is not cruel. 

Eventually, Marcus’ breathing has become labored and you know that he is within reach of his own pleasure. However, he tightens his grip on your hand to slow down your movements much to your confusion. 

“You’re a quick learner, almost too quick,” he says with a warm chuckle, removing your hand from his cock. There’s a bead of clear liquid at the tip, threatening to drip down onto your thigh. The room somehow smells sweeter when the both of you have been so close to experiencing a peak together. 

“Why did you stop me?” You ask curiously and let your hand drop to your lap. You can still feel his warmth radiating from his heated skin, it glowing with a sheen of sweat already. 

“I don’t want this to be over yet,” he explains with a few controlled breaths that seem to calm him. His jaw clenches as if he is in pain but he doesn’t sound like you have done anything wrong, “And it will be if I lose myself.” 

“Am I… are we ready now?” You question once more. 

“Lie back,” he orders with a nod. You do as you are told and he joins you on the bed with confident grace, as if he has done this a million times before, the mattress dipping underneath him. Gently, he pushes on your chest to make you lie down on your back. When you are comfortable, he lies down next to you with his body turned towards you. 

You see him come closer and meet him halfway, pressing your lips to his in a kiss even deeper than the first you’ve shared with him. He makes a noise of approval at your eagerness, cupping your face with a single giant hand while you cup the back of his head with both of your own. You try to initiate more kisses but suddenly his lips descend to your throat, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he pecks along the sensitive skin of your collarbone too. You start to feel impatient for another high with him, another peak of pleasure to dance its way through your veins. 

“Marcus,” you say with your fingers in his hair, “I’m ready.”

“Let me make sure,” he says while the hand on your face settles on your thigh instead. He rakes his fingernails across your skin when he goes inwards, causing you to gasp at the idea of what he means. Are you wet for him? Yes, you are. You know you are. 

Two fingers slide between your legs. He parts your thighs slightly to gain more access and then simply feels the slick that has been dripping from your cunt since you kissed him fully clothed. A gasp leaves you at the feeling of being touched by a man in a place that you’ve been told is your most private. In return, a smile spreads across his face and a satisfied hum escapes him. 

“You’re ready,” he whispers with his gaze fixed on you. Teasingly, he holds his fingers up before you and turns his wrist so you can see your wetness shine in the light. He then puts his digits in his mouth and licks them clean, to which you want to hide your face with a squeak. He describes you as ripe and sweet, juicy like the peaches in the Summer, all the while he shifts his weight and positions himself between your thighs. 

Feeling him like this - the skin of his rough thighs, the coarse hairs that feel nothing like yours as they grace your softness - makes a fresh wave of nerves wash over you. It feels like there’s suddenly a very short time to prepare for what you have come to understand will be a transformative experience. You start to tremble, looking down between Marcus’ legs and wondering how on Earth you are supposed to allow him into your body. Above you, you hear him say your name but it sounds like you’ve been trapped inside a bell jar. 

“We will go slow,” he promises when you look like a hunted doe. He has placed his hands on your thighs to soothe you, letting his calloused palms skim up and down your skin, but you tense up even more since he has barely touched you before. You swallow as he goes on, “You will guide me with your comfort. If anything hurts, I promise it’ll only be for a moment.”

“You will stop if I tell you to?” You ask with uncertainty. A part of you already knows that you will try to power through no matter the pain. 

“Yes,” he promises and removes his hand again when he realizes its effect on you. He places it on your chest instead, feeling your unsteady breaths underneath it, “But I need you to relax, Carissima. Take a deep breath and tell me what you fear.”

You do as he says, heaving for a large mouthful of air that makes your heartbeat settle down slightly as it fills your lungs. For once, you don’t shy away from his gaze as you talk about lying with him in such explicit terms. You chew your bottom lip after a few breaths, “What if it doesn’t fit?”

Marcus laughs and you feel embarrassed. He shakes his head as he notices, leaning over you to hover just above your lips. You hold onto the arm on your chest as he reassures you, “It’ll fit, I promise on the Gods. Your body and mine were made for this; for the act of making beautiful children.”

You decide to be brave and kiss him now that he is so close, and slowly, as you taste his mouth again, you tangle together in a way that makes sense for what you are about to do. Marcus is close enough to map out every detail of your face, one hand on your hip and the other resting just above your head. You, on the other hand, have grabbed both his bare shoulders, holding onto him tight enough for your fingertips to dent his skin. He has promised that it will be okay if you scratch him with your nails, that he, if he is completely honest, likes that sort of thing. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” you say with determination, feeling the way Marcus lets go of your hip to run his fingers through your folds again. You moan softly as he lets his hand gather wetness, your eyes going down to watch him take his cock in hand and smear it with slick. 

“Don’t look down there, look at me,” he guides you gently as he prods against your slit. You force yourself to meet his eyes again, a gaze in them that holds a mix of desire and restraint. He takes a deep breath that is followed by him starting to push forward, the feeling so intense that you whimper while keeping eye contact. 

“Shh,” he soothes during the initial sensation. There's a painful sting as the head stretches your walls that have never known such intrusion. It makes you breathe rapidly and shudder from discomfort until a cry leaves you when you are breached. Tears form at the corners of your eyes as it burns. It’s a feeling that you can’t describe, a fullness that feels unnatural and natural at the same time. He pushes beyond the thick head and it makes you tighten around him, so much he has to still completely. He looks angry but he isn’t, his teeth gritted as he continues to push despite the danger of finishing, “You’re tight around me, try to relax.”

“S-sorry,” you attempt to follow his instruction, try focusing on the exciting intensity of his gaze, the delicious way he looks at you because he wants you. His weight on you is so heavenly, his skin is warm against yours that is riddled with goosebumps despite not being cold, and the sound of his breathing reminds you of the way your own breath is rapid when you pleasure yourself. 

Yet when you seem to think that the worst is over, he goes a little faster with feeding you his cock and the pain intensifies by blooming into something more sharp. The air inside your lungs feels trapped as your breath hitches but you force it out until it releases into a pained cry. Mostly, you just want to stop but you’re reminded that this has to happen if the marriage is to be successful and legitimate. So instead, you clutch at Marcus’ shoulders and whine. 

“Am I hurting you?” He asks, resting his forehead against yours and stilling his hips. You nod at first but then shake your head quickly afterward, unable to speak in case you’ll sob. He doesn’t seem convinced, “I’ll try moving. I won’t go further in before you can handle it.”

You nod in approval, your heart beating so fast it is making your mind feel clouded. He begins to move with gentle, shallow thrusts of his hips, his eyes glued to you in search of anything that might tell him that it’s too much. The first few moments have you thinking that you might split in half but you find that the repeated fill of your cunt makes everything turn into a dull ache as you get used to it. Your noises are pained yet soft, soon switching to quiet moaning as he moves inside of you. 

“Doing so well,” he praises as you welcome him further without thinking. A sensation that you had thought would only be painful has kickstarted a different kind of feeling. It’s a warmth that spreads through your lower body, pleasure that mixes in with the rest in an almost insistent way. Marcus makes a noise that makes you clench around his cock, and he finds your mouth in a messy kiss, “I’m almost all the way in. It’s supposed to feel good. Does it feel good?” 

You nod repeatedly as you feel connected to him in a way that you never thought you would with another person. He is so deep inside of you and the discomfort that you thought would persist is fading away fast, leaving only a tug of pleasure that tightens more and more. You close your eyes and squeeze them shut as you moan a little louder for the first time. 

Without control of your body, your hips rise up to meet his and he fucks you a little harder. The friction is significantly more intense than what you have felt alone, but you can feel its effects mixing with your previous orgasm’s warmth. The room fills with the lewd sounds of your shared breaths and the scent of sex. 

Marcus’ hand settles on your hip, his incredible strength hauling your leg over his own hip so he can switch up the angle. Meanwhile, his other hand reaches down and pushes hard down on the back of your thigh to open you up even further to him. He stretches so his upper body towers over you and rolls his hips with controlled desire, mouth hanging open a little in his breathless state as he concentrates on making the pain disappear completely. 

It does a moment later. An involuntary moan leaves you when the head of his cock slides over a spot that seems different from every other place inside of you. Your eyes fly open after having been squeezed shut for so many seconds, fireworks going off in your peripheral vision. Your gaze moves down between your bodies to see a faint trace of red on his cock, setting your heartbeat into overdrive. You should be shoving him off now that you are bleeding but what the hell felt so good? He hits the same spot once again to make you cry out and crane your neck. 

“You like that? Was that all I had to do?” He asks with a satisfied smirk, breathing raggedly on top of you as he treats you to even more of the same pleasure. You want to come again, your hips rising to meet his thrusts more insistently if it means him giving you pleasure like that over and over again without fail. As your pleasure starts building into another peak, a shocked laugh leaves you. 

“How do you… How did you—?“ You start. 

“I knew where I wanted to reach. Feel that? That spot is made for feeling good,” he explains with a voice rough with his own pleasure before you manage to finish your inexperienced question, “I wanna hit that over and over, fill you up so you can feel it there for days when I’m done.” 

“Don’t stop,” you groan. 

“I’m not going to,” he promises but instincts tell you to make sure, that if he even falters a little, you’ll feel the frustration of no release like you have since you discovered what is between your legs. You tighten your thighs around his hips, locking your ankles around the small of his back and the move makes Marcus growl. 

He, who you are ready to call a master in the art of love, leans down over you and drives into you like a wild animal. You whimper but it isn’t of pain, the familiar feeling of ecstasy building rapidly between your legs again. He feels huge inside of you, the whole length of him throbbing against your overstretched walls. 

And he kisses you, seemingly not in control of himself anymore when he feels the same pressure in his lower abdomen. It is messy and sweet and rough at the same time, your hands cupping his face until they automatically slide up into his hair. You can feel his chest rub against your breasts, your nipples more sensitive than they ever have been and you moan as a fact runs through your head. No man has ever been this close to you before. Only the sun’s rays or the clouds’ rain has been this close to you.

You come once more with this thought in your mind, the intense and warm feeling hitting you as suddenly as the snapping of a dry twig found in the sun. You arch your back with a groan, feeling it even deeper inside of you than before because it seems to be the spot inside of you that has triggered it. 

“Oh! Oh Gods,” you moan into the air, Marcus’ lips having descended to your now-exposed neck and kissing with the same fervor as he had your mouth. His own noises have grown in volume, his cock seeming to respond to how your heat clenches around it. You have tears coming down your face without knowing why; you aren’t upset but rather quite the opposite. Everything below your navel is sensitive, slick, and used up. 

You feel it as he goes rigid as you have just done, a rough growl leaving him as he has his own orgasm. However, you instantly realize that Cassius forgot to mention something in his horrible renditions of love-making; the sticky, warm waves that come along with a man’s ultimate pleasure. You gasp in shock, looking down between the two of you as Marcus fills you up with his seed.

You cling to him, your hands grabbing at whatever they can while you whimper, and you stare at the milky white ring that forms around his length. He keeps going for a few thrusts more, and the noises coming from your connected bodies are on the verge of making you embarrassed. It’s squeaky and wet, but it’s not making you want to pull away. Instead, it makes you reach up to cup Marcus’ face so you drag his lips to your mouth and kiss him, the sensation of his seed inside of you making you feel more connected than ever.

You kiss for a moment before your husband buries his face in your neck. He leaves you empty when he softens, eliciting a weak gasp from you when you become aware of the sticky wetness smearing your inner thighs. Marcus pants against your already burning skin and chuckles without any particular reason. You are in awe of what has just happened, seeming to somehow know that this was the completion of the act. 

This act, once so unfamiliar and feared, now feels like a revelation to you. The new dimension of pleasure, so uniquely intense and intimate, makes you wonder how anyone gets anything done when they can do this all the time. You are sticky with sweat, dizzy with tears and pleasure, and by the Gods, you want to do it again and again with him. He will not leave this bed until you get tired of feeling this way between your legs. You think of commanding him this but you are already aware that it is an impossibility. He would probably laugh at you but given the way he lifts his head and looks at you now, he might also follow through on your order by sinking back into the mess between your legs.

You miss his weight on you when he rolls off, the both of you staring towards the ceiling. The room becomes very quiet in the aftermath, torches and candlelight flickering around you. You have a hand on your chest, trying to calm your racing heartbeat to no avail and breathing rapidly to catch your breath. Your whole body buzzes, feeling like it is aglow and warm, and you dare sometimes look at your husband out of the corner of your eye. He looks the same but less surprised by the state he is in, clearly experienced and you find it all enticing when everything inside you has shifted.

You let your back and legs relax fully into the bed. Marcus watches as you stretch your body, and there is some kind of tension between you that you cannot put into words. You know it stems from the silence that is also between you, an unspoken game of who breaks it first, and when you dare peek at him, you find him staring right back at you. Your heart rate spikes once more but Marcus holds your gaze in a way that makes you unable to look away. 

“Are you alright?” He asks after a beat. You see him look at you with a softness that reflects how vulnerable you must look right now. He reaches out to take your hand, brushing your knuckles with his thumb, “You are not in pain?”

“No. I– I’m fine,” you shake your head. You say the words and realize that they are true even despite your uncertainty at first. For now, your body feels afloat but you have a gnawing feeling that it won’t last. A thought enters your mind, “What do we do now? I mean, what does one do after being together like this?”

“Well, given our roles and the expectations placed upon our union, there’s a thing that I would like to do. I’d like to help you arrange yourself comfortably if you’ll allow me,” he gently releases your hand and shifts to sit upright beside you. 

You give him a puzzled look, not sure what he is talking about but you nod. It’s natural to trust him, you find, and his proposition intrigues you, “Yes, of course.”

Marcus reaches for the pillow against the headboard on his side of the bed. He fluffs it with care before patting your thigh, causing you to follow your instincts and automatically lift your pelvis towards the ceiling. When you have given him the room for it, he slips the soft pillow underneath your hips to elevate them, resulting in them laying comfortably at a gentle angle. 

Afterwards, he lies back down beside you but this time with his body facing yours. You try to smile at him but there’s embarrassment in your chest as the intention behind his act becomes clear. However, even as he senses your vulnerability, your new husband simply reaches for your hand again to kiss your knuckles. It is soft and intimate, it is kind reassurance in your time of transition. 

A moment after, he guides you to rest your palm just below your navel and places his own on top of it, caressing where new life may spring after tonight if Goddess Juno has the both of you in her favor.

"The pillow will help," he says quietly as he gently feels the soft skin on your stomach, the skin made to carry a child, "To ensure that our union bears fruit. Our alliance is only strong if I put a baby in your belly."

The words remind you of how your partnership is a part of something much bigger than yourselves, something to do with your father’s power and greed that you aren’t sure if Marcus feels too. Yet despite the impersonal nature of your union, the General’s tone is gentle and speaks of more than just mere duty. 

“And while we wait? What then?” You question, daring to entwine your fingers and feeling your chest flutter when he doesn’t protest. 

“We may rest…” He suggests with a smile, “Or, if you prefer, we may talk. It is different in every marriage.” 

There’s something about the way he words it that makes you feel more secure in your situation, that even if this is new territory, he is giving you permission to join in on shaping your relationship. 

You nod, “I think I would like to talk.”

“Then talk we shall,” he agrees without question, “Tell me something about yourself.”

You let go of his hand to place both palms on your stomach, looking to the ceiling as you reminisce about the life you have left behind back home. You tell him about the river all over again, about the sparkles the sun leaves on the surface of it, so beautiful it makes it seem like you can pick them with your bare hands. You tell him about wine and bread from the market, about a secret orange tree that you think only you and your sisters know of, and then you tell him about your sisters who all married for love. 

The latter makes Marcus shift slightly. A fleeting expression crosses his face before he gently clears his throat and gives you a small, hesitant smile to reassure you, “Do you think you’ll be happy here?” 

You take a moment to mull it over. You don’t want to lie to him but he looks so hopeful and sad at the same time, “I suppose that there’s always going to be a part of me that is going to wonder what would have happened if I had followed my own path and married someone I was deeply in love with, but I hope I will find happiness here. Perhaps it would have been you anyway, you never know. I would be as lucky as my sisters then.”

You say the last sentence with a twinkle in your eye, a soft and playful smile on your face, and Marcus looks almost shy, the importance and duty that he usually carries crumbling. You take the opportunity to see further under the surface, “And what about you? Do you have family that you are close to? I couldn’t help but notice that there were no formal introductions at the festivities.”

He hesitates briefly before answering, “My parents passed when I was merely a child. Thus the military became my family in many ways. I’ve always admired their dedication to each other. The responsibilities for the men I command seem like the next closest thing.”

“I’m sorry about your parents,” you say sincerely, touching his wrist gently, “I suppose it explains your dedication.”

He looks modest as he smiles, “I suppose it does.”

There’s a comfortable silence in the large chamber. Marcus looks down at your hand, opening his palm to invite you to place your own in it. You take his hand without hesitation and it feels natural, a thing so calming and warm, which invites you to venture further into his world. 

“May I ask you something?” You ask. 

“Of course,” he replies.

“Our conversation was interrupted earlier by one of your men, and I wanted to ask what was whispered in your ear. I hope I am not intruding—“ You tiptoe into the conversation, hoping your curiosity doesn’t come off too strong. 

He interrupts you, waving a hand dismissively, “We are husband and wife. I support the idea that we shouldn’t keep secrets from each other.”

“Yes. Yes, I quite agree with that,” you say with relief in your voice, “So you’ll tell me?”

“There was some unrest in the city today. The man was one of my men telling me that there’d been an incident - a confrontation - in one of the town squares. It led to the death of two of my soldiers.”

You gasp, “Gods! That’s terrible!” 

“The loss is shameful and upsetting, yes, but the people are hungry,” he explains simply, “Even the smallest of disputes can escalate when tensions are high. When one feels unheard by leaders, one can be driven to acts one might never have considered before.”

“But surely Rome’s subjects know better than to challenge Roman authorities?” You note with your brows furrowed, suddenly finding yourself speaking words that you have heard too many times around the dinner table at your childhood home, "A firm hand might be necessary to keep the peace. If the people are allowed this kind of behavior towards the empire - and thus the emperors - they might sometimes need to be reminded of their place."

There’s a shift so small that you could almost miss it in Marcus’ expression but disappointment clouds his eyes. You notice it because he follows it by subtly slipping his hand out of yours. He measures you with his gaze for a moment, “You don’t truly believe that instilling fear with unyielding force is the right way to rule?”

You sense his disapproval and feel embarrassed flood your system. With warm cheeks, you sit up and stutter a reply, "I... I suppose that's what I've been taught. My father always says that strength and control keep the empire strong and unwavering."

“And if I ask you to look past your upbringing?” He says it casually but there’s a command in his voice. Suddenly, the security you had felt moments ago is washed away by the feeling of being a mere little girl.

You look down at your hands, not able to keep eye contact despite how close you have just been, "I didn't mean to offend. I don’t— I don’t think I have ever taken the time to consider other perspectives. My father has given little room for such discussion."

“Is that so?” He raises a brow, “And does he seek influence in Rome’s leadership?”

"Yes," you reply hesitantly, still yet unaware of the implications of your words, "He hopes that our marriage might help him gain favor, perhaps even become an advisor to the emperors."

“It seems like your father was unaware of the fact that I served under Maximus Decimus Meridius, a man who believed in ruling with honor instead of fear. He would have done himself a favor by seeking alliances elsewhere if he aligns himself with ruling through oppression. Perhaps he should have married you off to the emperors themselves,” he says firmly, jaw tight and words filled with frustration, tingeing on angry. They come out a lot more venomous than you think are his intentions yet they sting nonetheless and you have to bite your lip to keep tears at bay. 

“I didn’t— I’m sorry, I was just repeating what I have always heard,” you stammer, swallowing around a lump in your throat. The vulnerability of your situation suddenly crashes over you like a wave trying to drown you, making you choke on a sob as his hard gaze scrutinizes you. You are young, barely out of childhood, and thrust into the role of a wife. You have never been expected to relay your views to anyone let alone a commanding general of the highest order in Rome. 

For a moment, an uncomfortable silence fills up the growing distance between you. You try to shift away on the bed but there’s a sudden ache between your legs from the previous activities of your wedding night. It’s shameful to look back at him but you have no one else to turn to right now. A tear escapes your eye but you find the courage to say what you need to say even if it is with a dizzying heartbeat, “My whole life, I have been taught to be obedient, to serve along with my sisters. My mother even. I don’t know who I am outside of that.”

Marcus suddenly mirrors your expression of shame, evidently grappling with his own emotions behind his eyes. He gently lifts his hand to catch the tear running down your face until it threatens to drip down from your chin. 

“Forgive me, I should not have raised my voice at you,” he says sincerely. He cups your cheek with a softening demeanor and you allow him, needing the affection and this is where you can receive it, “I know you have your concerns but I hope you can entertain the idea that this union might not just be a different cage.”

You nod, leaning your cheek into his gentle touch and earning a smile. There’s a promise beneath his words and despite everything, you allow yourself to feel hopeful. This man is not your father, actually far from it, and he is offering you something you are not used to; partnership and respect. 

Instead of answering him, you chew on your bottom lip and try to find the same courage that made him apologize so you can address the ache in your lower body. The pillow under your legs is all askew. You try to busy yourself by straightening it, “It has started to hurt where you…— Is that normal?”

"It can be," he says gently, and the hand on your cheek goes to skim over your bare thigh in an attempt to soothe,  "Your body needs time to adjust and recover.”

You pout as you automatically lie down again. You look like a child not getting their way, “Time to recover? Does this mean we can’t do it again?” 

Marcus’ expression flashes with amusement at your eagerness. He raises a brow, “Eager, aren't we? I admire your enthusiasm, but it's important that you give yourself time to heal. Rest might help.”

“Surely there's something else we can do?” You only just abstain from pleading him, tilting your head.

“This, my dear wife, was your husband's subtle way of saying goodnight,” Marcus chuckles quietly and you find that all tension has slipped from the room once more. He dips down to kiss your forehead, the tip of his nose skimming down the length of yours. He stares into your eyes, only an inch from you, “Say it.”

You smile and kiss him softly, “Goodnight, Marcus.”

“Goodnight, Carissima,” he whispers.You go to sleep next to your general, the man who is slowly becoming the commander of your heartbeat, unaware that your conversation has changed the course of your father’s future gains from your powerful marriage.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[3liza]

I feel very defensive about the "goth is bougie" shit because it is historically incorrect, yes, but also and more personally, because it just erases the generations of goth kids who grew up in trailer parks and project housing or just straight up homeless, helping each other out.

it's specifically such a supportive subculture for poor and neglected kids and I really fucking hate that this has been revised and erased. juggalos and goths are very culturally close and many subcultural people are both, and juggalos have the same (and, I would argue, even better defined) culture of collective support. the Skids in Letterkenny are not made up for the show, that's just a real type of rural subcultural person. this has also been forgotten in the interim but in the 90s and 00s we didn't even really refer to OURSELVES as "goths" very much except in a joking way. goths had regional endonyms (like "skids" or "trenchies") even if they could all go to a convention or a club in a city and in that context be all called "goths" together, once they went back home they would go back to being whatever the locals called them or whatever they called themselves. this is a whole linguistics and sociology subtopic that's out of scope for a Tumblr post but is sort of related.

my point is that people who wore actual rags, and sharpie instead of nail polish, and wet n wild eyeliner instead of black lipstick, and dyed their hair with markers or food coloring or kool-aid, were and are the core of the goth scene. the majority of the pictures the mallgoth blogs are posting are from catalogs, fashion shows, costume events, yearly balls and fetes like Wave Gothik Treffen, and other places where people save up literally all year, or many years in a row, to put together ONE outfit. and there's nothing wrong with that, personally I'm proud and pleased that our hard work is being recognized and preserved. but just like formal studio photographs from the Victorian era, it is not representative of the daily or even weekly (for clubs) reality of people in the scene, some of whom were completely out of goth clothing during the day or week just to fit in at work or sometimes just to get along without being bothered at home by family members who thought the Cure was Satanic.

the people who RUN the scenes, the promoters and DJs and gogo dancers and independent designers and people who run the mailing lists and websites, the people who organize the room parties at conventions, and yes even most of the original Burning Man camps like Thunderdome, they mostly live in poverty. especially if they're young. when people organize club nights and shows, they're lucky if they break even. I wasn't aware of any of this until I started working at DNA Lounge in San Francisco, which hosts one of the oldest goth nights in the country, Death Guild. I got to know the owner of DNA well enough to find out about the financial reality of the entire scene, even the people who own the means of production and the actual property in this case, and it's not lucrative. I mean, it sometimes is, if you're running a bar for normal people and have investment captain etc, but the majority of legit subculture economics is just barely breaking even. every single event is 90% volunteer labor.

the issue of labor is maybe the confusing thing for the zoomers who are confused. goth outfits take actual physical work. maybe the Aspirational Spectacle of Labor that makes up most of TikTok has made it appear unreal to the audience rather than something you can just sit down and do?

it takes forty seconds to make the fishnet tights into a shirt. you don't need instructions, you really can just look at it and figure it out. then you think, hm, if I can make fishnets into a shirt I wonder what other things I can turn into something else. your brain will amaze you. my mom would save her tights from her formal work outfits for me when they got holes or whatever and I would just go crazy with scissors and safety pins. lots of young designers are getting attention for this layered, tights-n-pins look at the moment and it really is a fantastic aesthetic but I wonder if people think there's something special about the people who make these clothes? there isn't. you can just do it at home while you watch trashy youtubes.

one time, around 2008 or so, @gothiccharmschool and I were at the photoshoot for tabletop RPG Unhallowed Metropolis. we were there with a bunch of local goths to all make the pictures for this book together. we had all brought tons of our costumes from home to cobble together outfits for the book illustrations, and there was a moment when I just handed Jilli a pile of black skirts and some pins and said hey Jilli, could you please make me up a bustle skirt for this model real quick while I shoot these other models? and of course she did, and they were beautiful, because she knows exactly what she's doing, and because that's all a bustle is: it's a way of bunching up a skirt with another skirt. you can do it at home. you don't need instructions or to hire a seamstress or watch a video. you can just look at something and say hm does it look like a bustle? let's drape it and play with it and pin whatever works. and then you wear it for the photoshoot, or to the club!!! and then next week you pin it a different way and it's a cape instead and you wear it again!!!!!!!

[caladblog]

A BASIC GUIDE TO VICTORIAN CLOTHING, FOR FANDOMS

wherein VICTORIAN CLOTHING is understood to mean "common clothing from the 1830s to the end of the century, in fashion as set by London and followed to a greater or lesser extent in the rest of the British empire"

This is very much meant as a starting point or a cheat sheet, not a comprehensive historical essay, for people who want to know what the Fuck is happening under that morning coat and/or dress the size of a kitchen table. I've also included a little bit on likely materials and colors so you can add some texture to your fics.

Here's the rule of thumb: Victorians loved LAYERS, BUTTONS, and DECORATIVE SHIT. When in doubt, slap several layers of clothing on your guy, button 'em all together, and flourish the hell out of the top layer. Congrats, you have dressed a Victorian.

Read on for details! And check my reblogs for a note on trans characters. A Part 2 on Mending/Laundry is in the works, because it had a much bigger impact on Victorian dress at all levels of society than it does on modern fashion and I think it's worth talking about.

UNDERWEAR FOR MEN:

a warm and comfortable and easily washable undershirt (typically called a vest) with sleeves that went down to the wrist

drawers, also warm and comfortable and easily washable and covering the whole legs, fastened with buttons or ties at the waist and ankles

pair of socks

If you cover your whole body in this base layer made of undyed, unfashionable, who-cares-if-it's-stained fabric, the sweat and dirt of your body stays on this easily-washable layer and spares the outer layers of clothing that would be damaged by hot water and soaps, or at least that was the philosophy.

The most common fabric for this underwear was flannel, as it was cheap and fairly soft. Bands of cotton could be stitched to the inside of the wrists, ankles, waists, and collar if you found the wool itchy. Socks were almost always knitted wool, holes or thin spots mended with darning whether you were poor or rich.

UNDERWEAR FOR WOMEN:

the chemise / shift: a simple, short-sleeved cotton tube that fell to the mid-thigh

other underwear requires a bit of a history lesson, sorry. At the beginning of the century, you wore like 85 petticoats and no bloomers. Then crinolines--a sort of metal cage skirt that held your dress away from your body to obtain the fashionable wide silhouette--were invented in the 1850s. It was great, because they replaced 30lbs of underskirts, but also inconvenient, in that hoops of steel are inherently bouncy. To preserve modesty (and also warmth) women began wearing bloomers, open in the middle and buttoning at the waist and either at or below the knee. These were also made of plain cotton and only occasionally decorated with a bit of lace-- for all your underthings, male or female, you wanted to be able to 1) make a bunch of sets quickly and cheaply so you could change every day without needing to launder as often and 2) use cloth that could be laundered easily.

stockings were longer and more decorative than men's socks, made of wool, cotton, or silk. White was popular at the beginning of the century, but bright colors and patterns became fashionable in the middle, and conservative black stockings dominated the end of the era. Wool fabrics were the most common, warmest, and cheapest; silk stockings were for very wealthy and fashionable women as they required the most care. Near the end of the century stockings were suspended from the corset, but up til that point stockings were held up by garters tied above the knee.

MIDDLE LAYERS FOR MEN:

shirts, with much longer tails than the button-up shirts we're used to, with a buttoned slit that only went about halfway down the chest rather than all the way down the front of the garment. Lots of volume in the sleeve around the armpit, buttoned up at the cuff. At the beginning of the period, rich men's shirts were checked or patterned while working men's shirts were white(ish), but this swapped over the course of the century as colored fabric became cheaper. (It hides stains better.) The gentleman's shirt from midcentury onward was a crisp, bright white.

As a middle layer, parts of it (like the cuffs and front) could be seen in public, but you absolutely could not go out without a waistcoat and jacket. You only removed your jacket and showed your shirtsleeves at the end of the day, amongst your family.

Trousers were held up by braces / suspenders that went over the shoulders, not belts that fastened around the waist, and you did NOT let them show. They were meant to be covered entirely by waistcoats.

MIDDLE LAYERS FOR WOMEN:

As a very carefully tailored and shaped garment that couldn't really be washed, corsets went over the shift. All women wore them, even laborers, even prisoners and people in workhouses as part of their (institution-provided and deliberately demeaning) uniform. They were viewed as necessary armor to support your weak internal organs, and the physically upright posture they created went hand in hand with moral uprightness in the Victorian mind. They could lace up in the front or back, and the boning could be made of steel (cheap and sturdy) or whalebone (springier and therefore a bit more comfortable) or wood (if you are truly broke AF) or even just stiff cord (mostly for young girls, in which they were called stays).

camisoles (also called vests or corset covers) were tailored shirts worn over the corset, and could be either extremely decorative with embroidery and lace or plainer and made for warmth.

then you've got the crinoline, tied at the waist, a skirt made of steel hoops as already described.

then a couple of petticoats, decorated at the hem for fashion, layered for warmth and to hide the crinoline's hoops.

OUTERWEAR FOR MEN:

trousers, made of cotton or wool. The big differences between Victorian trousers and today's are 1) zippers hadn't been invented yet, the flies were buttoned and 2) the modern waist sits around the hipbones, while the Victorian waist was at the bottom of the ribcage.

jackets, made of thick heavily felted wool that was decently wind- and rain-proof. Darker colors in jackets and trousers lasted longer, so light-colored cloth was mostly worn by the young and rich (or those who wanted to look rich) and flashy.

waistcoats were where the fashion REALLY was. As the back was always made of plain cotton not meant to be seen, even poor men could often afford the cost of the fabric needed to make a neat waistcoat. The front could be made of embroidered silk for luxury, wool for added warmth, or printed cotton making full use of the brilliantly-colored (and relatively cheap) dyes that had just been invented. It's a little bit like people today wearing simple suits and shirts paired with wild socks.

OUTERWEAR FOR WOMEN:

and here you finally get to the f*cking dress. I couldn't possibly go into all the variations on dresses in this era, but I can say that bright colors and patterns were common for women of all classes (but were also part of the ever-present anxiety about people acting "above their station", if a maid dressed too fashionably). The design of the sleeves and the decoration of the hems changed regularly with fashion, as did the precise shape of the feminine silhouette, but the bodice was always tight and the skirts were always full. The average woman would spend more money on flourishes--ribbons, lace, other trimmings--than the dress itself, largely because the average level of skill in sewing was so high that they mostly bought the fabric for the dress and cut & sewed it themselves.

ACCESSORIES FOR MEN:

the collar was not an integral part of the shirt! It was detachable and had to be washed, starched, and ironed separately. Laborers didn't wear them, just a loosely-tied cloth around their neck, but a stand-up collar was necessary for anyone working in a business setting whether you're rich or making really terrible clerk's wages. Turned-down collars like the ones on most of our shirts today were informal and for wealthy men at leisure.

a stock or necktie, ideally black silk. Modern neckties weren't around yet, but the century moved slowly towards that and away from cravats.

gloves. Especially when status was a concern, so, men outside the home not engaged in business and servants waiting on their masters. These were tight-fitting, pale in color, and damn near impossible to launder and mend.

ACCESSORIES FOR WOMEN:

a shawl, often. Your lower half would be covered in stockings and plentiful skirts, while your upper half would only have a few layers that were usually made of cotton, so freezing your tits off was unfortunately common.

gloves. Like men's gloves, these were also status symbols worn when visiting your acquaintances or waiting on your masters. The vast vast majority of servants were women, and the rough labor of washing and cleaning fell to them, so these gloves also covered the evidence of that rough work.

HATS/BONNETS:

Everybody wore a hat when out in public. It's just what you did. The type of hat varied based on fashion, occupation, and social standing, but you had SOME kind of thing on your head when you left the house.

SOME SPECIFIC CLOTHES:

Fishermen wore knitted jumpers instead of jackets. Laborers out in the country (muddy when it rained, dusty when it didn't) wore gaiters, which were basically just rectangles or tubes of cheap-ass sacking that tied around the ankle and below the knee to keep the mud / dust off their trousers. Surgeons and people who worked a lot with ink (clerks, stationers) had sleeves, which were tubes of canvas that tied around the wrist and elbow to protect their shirtsleeves. The advantage of sleeves and gaiters is that you can remove them, toss them in a bucket of water, and beat the shit out of them to wash them without worrying about rips or tears OR getting the stains (mud, ink, blood, etc) onto your other clothes.

Maids and other laborers didn't wear crinolines, but they did wear a corset and a couple of petticoats under their dress.

More prosperous laborers might still own a collar / crinoline, but only wear it to church on Sundays or other occasions that called for nice dress.

When at home and not working or entertaining visitors, both men and women would wear slippers that could be super fancy or very simple or your kid's first sewing project, etc etc. Depends on your preference.

Men would sleep in long, loose nightshirts and women would sleep in long, loose nightdresses. Practically speaking there wasn't much difference between these garments; both might be decorated a bit with embroidery or lace. Rich people would have finer fabrics, fashionable people would have more decoration, poor people might just sleep in whatever combination of day clothes is the most comfortable. Fairly straightforward.

TO RECAP

MEN: vest + drawers + socks > shirt > trousers + braces + collar > waistcoat + stock or necktie > jacket + shoes or boots > hat

WOMEN: shift + bloomers (optional) + stockings > corset > camisole > crinoline > petticoats (minimum 2) > dress > shawl > shoes + bonnet

===

SOURCES

How to Be a Victorian, by Ruth Goodman

Inside the Victorian Home, by Judith Flanders

Episode 342 of Antiques Freaks, Historical Costuming for The Terror (2018)-- the first ~8 minutes talk about men's clothes in general, then they go into naval uniforms until minute 15ish.

[howtofightwrite]

Have you read GRRM books? He claims swords needed to be “especially designed for women’s hands” how true is this?

About as true as all of those, “girl guns.” Because, as you know, a woman cannot hold a Glock unless it's pink or sky blue. Which is to say, not even remotely true.

You might get a situation where a child would be unable to operate a weapon designed for adults because the grip is too cumbersome, but even this is going to be something of an outlier. Even years later the Nicholas Cage's line from Lord of War (2005) sticks with me, when describing the AK he narrates, “...so simple a child could use it, and they do.”

Just like basically any other common grip you encounter in your daily life, from screwdrivers to steering-wheels and cell phones, selling smaller, or more colorful ones, is strictly a marketing gimick.

Now, is a legitimate context, but it doesn't really have anything to do with the wielder's sex. If they had the money, the time, and the desire for a perfect grip, they might commission a smith to produce a grip specifically for their hand. Though, the only place I've ever come across this was in competitive fencing. I have seen cases where someone modifies their blade's grip with tape or other materials to better fit their hand, or the addition of a leather (usually shagreen) wrap over their grip, but even that is somewhat unusual. (Shagreen is leather from a shark or ray, and it grips the skin, making it easier to hold, especially when wet.)

Ironically, girl guns do illustrate the one case where have some weight: Weapons as fashion accessories.

I know I've complained about weapons (particularly handguns) as fashion accessories in previous posts, but the truth is that using weapons like this is not new behavior. In the early modern era, one of the ways the rising middle class liked to display their status was with a sidearm. (In this case, referring to a sidesword or, later, a rapier.) I've looked specifically into women carrying sidearms at that point in history, but it really would not surprise me in the least if they did, and if there were, that at least some of those swords were specifically designed to be more delicate and, “feminine,” per their owner's tastes. (Though, to be fair, a more delicate grip on a rapier would be fairly impressive, as the grips tend to be pretty thin.) This is a case where you might want to look into it further, if it really catches your interest, but I've never really run this down before.

If you're still dubious, feel free to wander into nearly any HEMA event, and you'll have a better than average chance of a woman being willing to prove this idea false with a Zweihander, that may in fact be taller than she is. (Historically, Zwiehanders could be over 2 meters long, and chances extremely good that you're shorter than 2 meters.)

I know I'm regurgitating previous posts here, but it really is worth remembering that swords are much lighter than people think. Zweihanders are some of the heaviest battlefield swords from history, and even the heaviest examples weigh less than 9lbs. Women in HEMA can, and do, use them effectively. Swords aren't about being big and heavy, they're about being a (in this case) seven foot long razor blade.

Since we're on the Zweihander specifically (and this may also apply for some of the other greatswords, such as the Scottish Claymore), this is a case where you might have a custom weapon forged for you. However, in this case, that's more about the right blade length, then worrying about the grip being too thick or too thin. Ideally, you want the blade length to match your height (roughly), this is because of the drills with the weapon itself, though you could adjust to a longer blade if that's what you had.

Now, to be clear, the idea of someone, particularly a noble, having a blade custom forged for them specifically isn't strange. That's something that did happen, both at the noble's request, and also as diplomatic gifts from other nations. Examples of the latter resulted in beautiful art pieces that you would never take into battle.

If you had a situation where you couldn't use a sword because the grip was too large (for, whatever reason), there are ways to fix that. In an ideal situation, you could simply pop off the pommel and grip, and then replace the grip with one that was a better fit to your hand. If the tang itself was the problem (this is the metal core of the grip, and is part of the blade, which the pommel attaches to), you might be able to shave (or file) down the tang, and then replace the grip with a new one, fitted to the now smaller tang. I'm not particularly wild about modifying the tang directly, simply because there is a (minor) risk of reducing the structural integrity of the sword in the process. Though, replacing the grip (especially on a sword with a threaded pommel) is very doable, and unless someone, somehow, screws up catastrophically, it should be a pretty trivial modification. (Again, replacing a sword's original grip with a new shagreen grip does make a lot of sense if the owner wants that improved grip.)

But, to the original question, it's not really a thing.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

[tossawary]

I wish we saw more casual diversity among Vulcans in regards to... well, everything: fashion, art, history, geography, language, religion and philosophy, occupations, familial units, and logical styles and emotional management, and so on. The monoculture that "Star Trek" tends towards is both unrealistic and kind of boring.

(I think that my ideal "Star Trek" show would have a minimum of two matching non-humans in the main crew who are from opposite sides of their planet; these two alien coworkers have almost NOTHING in common. It immediately creates compelling character dynamics.)

Anyway, even within the specific Surakian Logic sect that Spock and his family seem to belong to, there's still opportunity for fun, divisive hobbies among this particular group of Vulcans. We can have judgey Vulcans looking at other Vulcans' weird, harmless antics and saying, "What illogical behavior," while the other Vulcans are judging them back for being illogical in their own opinion. Let Vulcans be REAL nerds: I think that pre-Surak historical reenactment is not an uncommon hobby, both casual LARPing and hardcore reenactment.

It's educational to spin and weave and sew your own pre-Surakian garments! It's educational to forge your own weaponry! It's grounding, like meditation! It is humbling to truly realize the complicated labor involved in fabrication. Even when they were surrendering to their emotional urges, you know, Vulcan ancestors were not completely illogical: they knew how to fashion a comfortable garment well-suited to the desert. Camping in the wilderness and foraging for food connects oneself to nature, teaches about history, and settles oneself in the present.

Also, it's good physical exercise and emotionally cathartic to beat the shit out of each other with foam-wrapped lirpa, screaming at the top of your lungs. It's very logical. There's a medical team on standby, reading on their pads and drinking tea.

You beam down in the wrong part of the desert at the right time and find a bunch of scantily-clad Vulcan warriors (outfits depend on the chosen time period and location) (of all genders) shrieking and rolling in the dirt, until a timer goes off, and then the scheduled mock-battle is over and everyone helps each other up. (Depends how hardcore the group is, of course.) (Also, yeah, obviously, some of these groups have a hook-up culture attached / embedded.) Two bleeding guys who were previously punching each other in the face salute each other and part ways, one to go write a new archeological paper based on his findings here ("Fascinating") and the other to his low-level government desk job ("Most invigorating exercise").

If this happens anywhere near where people live, then the neighbors are shaking their heads and saying to each other, "I don't know how anyone could come to their conclusions and call it logical. Their foundational premises must be flawed." 😐 Some of them while closely watching the entire scandalous affair through binoculars and telescopes, of course. 🤔

[manyeyedmoth]

So hey, to anyone who does femme historical fashion anywhere between 1885 and 1950-

Cornell University has the entire archives of Good Housekeeping up from that time period. And Good Housekeeping used to have English-language fashion plates with clear instructions as to fabric, colour, and cut.

They were ads for the personal shopping service Good Housekeeping apparently??? ran around this time???? and they are a fucking goldmine if you're remotely interested in fashion history or if you're looking to build a 20th century historical wardrobe.

Just, like, look at this?????

An itemized layout of every piece of a young bride's (aspirational) wardrobe in 1930. Including prices. And then below it, a fashion plate, with English-language descriptions of what all these things are and what fabrics they're made of. And an ad for Good Housekeeping's fucking personal shopping service again. XD

IDK, most people who do historical fashion on any kind of serious level probably already know about this??? but I didn't and was stunned and overjoyed to find out that this existed. my research at the library gave me a bunch of high-level overviews that weren't helpful for more than colour and cut.

SO YEAH. THANK YOU CORNELL UNIVERSITY.