#published 2018

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

Reset

submitted by: anonymous

Reset (215989 words) by scotchplaid Chapters: 23/23 Fandom: Warehouse 13 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells Characters: Myka Bering, Helena "H. G." Wells, Pete Lattimer, Claudia Donovan, Irene Frederic Summary: Set several years after the end of Season 5, this fic sees the return of H.G. Wells to Warehouse 13. The Warehouse and, by extension, the world is under threat, and H.G. is the only one who can save it. However, in order to set the world right, she has to fix all that has gone wrong in her life, starting with Myka . . . .

Please tell us why you like this fic so much!

Well written fix-it, set several years after the end of season 5. It has adventure, mystery, humor, angst and everything that we could want in a fanfiction

---

Remember that you can submit fics to be featured here, too! Here's the link to the submission form (Google Form)! I am nearing the end of the queue, and would love to hear about your faves! Find every fic that was already recommended here (Google Spreadsheet)

[smilingoceanlover]

And while he spoke my very conscience and reason turned traitors against me, and charged me with crime in resisting him. They spoke almost as loud as Feeling:  and that clamoured wildly. “Oh, comply!” it said. “Think of his misery; think of his danger – look at his state when left alone; remember his headlong nature; consider the recklessness, following on despair — soothe him; save him; love him; tell him you love him and will be his. Who in the world cares for you? or who will be injured by what you do?”

Still indomitable was the reply — “I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself.”

[lunaticbookblog]

DNF - The Sword of Kaigen: A Theonite War Story by M. L. Wang

My first DNF of the year. I was pretty sure it wasn’t for me within the first 30 pages, but it came highly recommended so figured I’d push through to give it a fair shot. Got to page 100 and decided to stop there. I only continued even that far because the book felt like it could, eventually, turn into something more to my taste. Either by adding more complexity to the characters, or beginning to address themes that were being teased, or have some sort of conflict/action introduced. But by the time I stopped I was mostly just dissatisfied and not looking forward to reading. Life’s too short and my TBR list is too long to spend time reading things I don’t enjoy.

The book follows two characters, a mother and son. Part of the issue is I struggle with any media with a teenage protagonists, and found this to be true with this book. Also, in 100 pages very little actually happened. There was substantial world building done in the first part of the book, and much of it was well done; however - and this is a matter of personal preference - I wasn’t particularly interested in the world that was being built.

[baenakinskywalker]

am i bad, or mad, or wise?

When her eyes finally flutter open, it’s the sitting room ceiling she finds. Instead of her bed, she’s on the sofa, buried amongst the deep velvet throw pillows. Soft morning light streams through the linen curtains, and Feyre watches dust float in the air like glittering stars. She sits up, stretches her arms above her head, and frowns. Do I sleepwalk? And that’s when she casts her gaze toward the hallway and sees him. Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court…painting? He’s sitting on a stool before a great easel, blocking out shapes on a towering canvas. As she stirs, he turns — a lazy grin pinned across his devastatingly handsome face. “Hello, Feyre darling. Awake so soon?” or what happens if Feyre doesn't dream about the Attor after exchanging magical flirty notes with a certain High Lord during ACOMAF. written for @officialfeysandweek!

rating: m

words: 2,966

a/n: this is inspired by guilty as sin? by our lord and savior taylor alison swift, because of course it is. quoted text at the beginning belongs to sjm herself. all mistakes are my own :) enjoy!

read on ao3 or under the cut:

I was under duress, his next note read. If you want, I’d be more than happy to prove you wrong. I’ve been told I’m very, very good at licking.  I clenched my knees together and wrote back, Good night. A heartbeat later, his note said, Try not to moan too loudly when you dream about me. I need my beauty rest.

- A Court of Mist and Fury, chapter 29

---------------------------------------------------------

Sometime between getting the last note from Rhysand and readying herself for bed, shame starts to bubble in Feyre’s stomach. It creeps up slowly, steadily replacing the joy from earlier and making her doubt every decision made on that magical paper. By the time she slides into bed, there’s no trace of happiness left in her mind. Just three words, repeated ad nauseam. 

Killer. 

Traitor. 

Whore. 

What if she’s all three? What if everyone in Prythian thinks the same, or even worse? What if her traitorous human heart costs them all this war?

As sleep barrels toward her, Feyre braces for a night of turmoil. Of nausea forcing her to the toilet in the early hours of the morning. Please, she begs someone. Anyone. 

Her eyes finally close, and she sees violet before complete darkness.

---------------------------------------------------------

When her eyes finally flutter open, it’s the sitting room ceiling she finds. Instead of her bed, she’s on the sofa, buried amongst the deep velvet throw pillows. Soft morning light streams through the linen curtains, and Feyre watches dust float in the air like glittering stars. She sits up, stretches her arms above her head, and frowns. Do I sleepwalk now? 

And that’s when she casts her gaze toward the hallway and sees him. Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court…painting? 

He’s sitting on a stool before a great easel, blocking out shapes on a towering canvas. As she stirs, he turns — a lazy grin pinned across his devastatingly handsome face. “Hello, Feyre darling. Awake so soon?” 

There’s paint on his hands, curling up his arms and stopping just short of where the sleeves of his crisp, black shirt are rolled up. When did Rhys learn to paint? Feyre thinks dimly, trying to recount any mention of him favoring the arts. But then he’s crossing the room, and before she can ask out loud, he’s leaning down and —

Rhys is kissing her. Actually kissing her. His lips find hers easily, like he’s done this a million times before. Like he could do it blind. And it’s not the fiery, all-consuming kiss she sometimes imagines in the dead of night, either. His mouth is feather-soft against hers, moving slowly and sweetly in a good-morning greeting.

It feels like they’ve done this before. 

It feels good.

“Sweet dreams?” Rhys asks when he pulls away. “Must have been. I think I even heard some snoring from the general direction of the couch.” He presses another quick kiss to her mouth, then the tip of her nose. 

“I do not snore,” Feyre huffs. Her head spins. 

Rhys laughs, and her heart clenches. Has she heard him laugh like that before, so completely unbidden? “I think I would know,” he says. “After all, one of us” — he shoots her a mock glare — “falls asleep like that these days.” He snaps his fingers and nods, still smiling. “I hear plenty of cute snoring from your side of the bed, darling.”

Her side of the bed? Snoring? 

“It’s a good thing you’re finally up,” Rhys continues. “I need your help with this painting.”

She cocks her head to the side. “What on earth are you painting?”

“Only my favorite subject.” A wicked grin spreads across his face.

“Yourself?” Feyre asks, one foot back into familiar territory. The banter between them makes sense even if other details don’t. 

He laughs again. “My lady wounds me,” he says, voice gliding like the nighttime breeze through the mock-hurt on his face. He gestures at the canvas, where there are a few rudimentary shapes certainly meant to become a portrait. 

Feyre squints at the soft oval meant to be the face. The curve of two human ears. Already, a sweeping of freckles where the cheekbones will be, as if the painter got ahead of himself. She tilts her head and steps back, eyes going wide when she realizes that the canvas is no more than a mirror. Rhysand is painting her.

She raises her brows. “Me?”

“Is there anyone else?” Rhys asks, suddenly earnest. Something shines in his violet eyes, something other than star-flecked night. Something warm and healing and —

In a flash, it’s gone, replaced by that all-too-familiar smirk and mischief she’s come to know since living in the Night Court. “I thought it a fitting anniversary gift for my favorite artist.”

“Our anniversary?” Feyre breathes. The kiss. The ease of conversation, how Rhys has heard her snore. What sort of wicked dream is this? It must be a dream. She looks down at her left hand and spies the ring retreated from the weaver’s cottage. 

Cauldron boil her. 

“Did my sweet wife forget?” Rhys muses, yet another smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “How should I punish her?” 

His smile turns wicked. The glint of his canines sends a spark down Feyre’s spine that she’s seldom felt before. Not with Tamlin, as much as she’s tried to convince herself otherwise. And certainly not with Isaac. From the roots of her hair down to her toes, she feels a flush that’s no doubt painted her beet red. 

“Oh, Feyre darling,” Rhys croons, paintbrush appearing in his hand out of thin air. “Then I suppose we should make this portrait a nude.” He dusts the brush down the bridge of her nose, traces the edge of her mouth. Her lips part, and Rhys finds her tongue with the soft bristles. A question. A challenge. 

Though he’s her husband in this topsy-turvy world, though they must have gone to bed together before, Rhys makes no move that she doesn’t want. It stumps her. What on earth is this fantasy she’s living in?

It’s not like Feyre hasn’t thought about it. Thought about Rhys like this. On Calanmai, even though it felt traitorous to think, he was easily the most beautiful male she’d ever seen. And back in Spring after Amarantha and everything they’d all been through, sometimes violet eyes were what she saw in Tamlin’s bed. 

Since living here in Velaris with Rhys, getting to know his family — well, those eyes have made more appearances in her daydreams. And in her fantasies. So maybe this is the culmination of all of that. Of the flirting, the dancing around each other like something inevitable is just beyond the horizon. 

Is that so bad? 

Is she so bad for wanting Rhysand?

He’s still before her, waiting to see what she decides.

Without another though, Feyre closes her mouth around the paintbrush and hollows her cheeks. Her eyes stay on Rhys, and she watches how his eyes darken, how all the air in his lungs disappears. She hears his groan, and then the paintbrush is gone, his hands are on her, and his mouth — 

Mother above.

Gone is the sweet greeting kiss from earlier. This one is a roaring fire they’ve just thrown a log on. Smoke and embers and sparks everywhere Rhys’ mouth presses, everywhere his tongue sweeps. Feyre’s knees go weak as he parts her lips with that cunning, devilish tongue, meeting hers with a curl that has her seeing stars. 

It’s so much better than she could have imagined.

Rhys pulls away, breathing heavily and smiling. She wants to commit that perfect smile to memory, wants to paint it a thousand times until it covers the walls of the townhouse — maybe even plaster it on every street in Velaris. Everyone should be so lucky to see this smile. “Wicked, beautiful thing,” he croons, gaze dropping to her swollen lips. “You’ll remember I asked for your help, Feyre.”

“That you did.” A challenge for him.

He flicks his wrist, and her nightgown is gone. 

All of her clothes are gone.

Somehow, standing stark naked in front of the High Lord of the Night Court doesn’t scare her. Doesn’t embarrass her. Feyre feels strangely powerful as Rhys takes in every inch of her body. So powerful that she cocks her head and asks, “What did you need from me again?”

He smirks. “There are a lot of things I need from you, darling. You can start by sitting down, so I can get a better look at that face.” 

Feyre sits on the stool just in front of the canvas, covering her bare breasts with her hands. “Since you’re only interested in my face,” she says. “There’s no need for these” – she squeezes, delighting in how Rhys’ eyes go wide – “to be on display.”

That rips a growl from his throat. “We’ll see,” is all Rhys says as he walks to the other side of the room. “To make sure the composition looks right,” he adds.

On the stool, Feyre wrinkles her nose. Then sticks her tongue out. She crosses her eyes, bares her teeth, and then scrunches her whole face, eyes squeezing shut. Trying out poses like a good model. “Any of those work for you?” she asks. 

“I see something that works quite nicely,” he says, drawing near her again. When he’s barely an arm away, he gives the command. “Lean back, Feyre.”

Against the canvas. The freshly painted, wet canvas. “But your hard work will be ruined,” the artist in her says. She’ll surely smear the paint, making the few shapes behind her completely unrecognizable. 

“My hard work has barely begun,” he answers, looking down at her hungrily. “Now lean back.” So she does. With a sharp inhale when her bare back touches the cold, wet paint behind her. Rhys’ paintbrush is back in one hand, and he has a palette with fresh paint in the other. He dips the brush in a dark, inky indigo, and starts painting her. Wherever the his lips land, the brush follows, from her forehead to the tip of her nose, finally reaching her hands — still covering her breasts. 

Kneeling before her, Rhys plucks her left hand from her chest and presses kisses to the whorls of magic ink signifying their bargain. He kisses each finger, then draws her thumb into his mouth and sucks, which has her moaning softly. He nips at her skin, and then moves to the right arm, where her hand is completely bare. Not for long, Feyre realizes, as Rhys drags his brush along her skin, painting a mirror of the marks on the left. Each touch is light as a feather, and Feyre squirms as he adds more detail, pressing his hot mouth against any areas without paint. 

Only when he’s finished with her arm, when it matches her bargain tattoo in a way that makes her heart clench, does he look at her breasts, now heaving and heavy with want. 

“These,” Rhys murmurs, taking both in his hands — so large, so warm — and rubbing his thumbs across her nipples, “are simply exquisite.” He pinches one, keeps rolling his thumb across the other, and Feyre can’t breathe. Her body is wound so tight, and he’s hardly even touched her yet. If he uses his mouth, she’ll shatter fast. 

And there’s the mind reading, finally. I’ll just have to take my time, won’t I, darling?

Slowly, so slowly that Feyre could scream, he lowers his mouth to her left breast, pausing before he gets to where she wants him. Needs him, more like. He simply exhales, sending cool air across her skin and making her nipples pinch. “You bastard. Why won’t you just —”

He takes her breast into his mouth and sucks, teeth scraping and lips soothing, and it’s too much and not enough, and her hands fist into inky black hair and tug almost without Feyre meaning to. And suddenly his fingers are coated in paint, and he’s swirling more dark shapes across the rest of her chest, pinching and kneading along the way. 

And just when he’s going to make her come apart — just from this! — Rhys pulls away, eyes heavy and dark, feline smile across his face. “You were saying?”

Before she can pull his hair or pinch him or do anything, he’s nudging her knees apart and giving her a look that says she’s his personal feast. 

But he takes his time here too. Uses that painted hand to roam up and down her thighs, even writing the word mine just below the crease of her right hip. “Territorial?” Feyre asks, voice wobbling from the feeling building in her stomach. 

“I want all of Prythian to know that you’re my” — he pauses, pressing his lips together — “wife.”

If she’s letting herself have this fantasy, why not really enjoy it? “Then why don’t you take what’s yours?”

Rhys needs no other instruction. In an instant, his hands are clean of paint, and he’s got both of her legs hitched over his powerful shoulders. Wouldn’t it be nice to see his wings, she thinks distantly as his hot mouth descends on the apex of her thighs.

The mind reading again as his wings appear dark and imposing and incredibly wide. Does the wingspan match the —

“Oh, you’ll see,” Rhys answers before the first press of his tongue against her clit turns her mind to utter mush. He licks broad strokes across her center that have her legs shaking, then wraps his lips around her and sucks. One hand snakes up to pinch at her nipple, and it’s so much better than she ever imagined. 

So much better than it’s ever been. 

Her thighs are trembling when Rhys slides one finger inside her and curls, hitting that spot that only she’s been able to find before. It wrings moans from her lips that turn into shouts as he adds another finger, working her slowly but surely toward the edge of something. Is she saying his name? Is she praising the Mother? It’s impossible to tell when she feels this full, when she can hear how slick Rhys’ mouth is with her arousal. 

Rhys looks up at her from under his lashes, and there’s a glint in those starry eyes that has her practically begging for more. It’s possible she does beg, but there’s no way for Feyre to tell when she’s on the precipice like this. 

Tell me if you want me to stop, Rhys says through the bond. So convenient that they can communicate while his mouth is occupied. The fingers curling inside her rotate, still filling her so perfectly, and then —

He gathers some of her slick onto his thumb and presses gently at the pucker below her center. 

Don’t you dare stop, Feyre says down the bond. 

Rhys doesn’t stop, just presses deeper, sucks harder, thrusts his fingers further. 

By the cauldron. Never, it’s never felt like this; she’s tense, like a bow about to loose an arrow through the snowy wood. She’s so close, so dangerously close to something entirely new. To being remade. To understanding, to peace, to —

With a gentle scrape of his teeth against her clit, Feyre comes undone. She shatters. Melts. Is everywhere and nowhere at once, anchored to the world by the golden light from her bargain. Rhys licks her through the aftershocks, then draws back slightly and nips at her thigh. Kisses his way up her leg, past the paint claiming her, all the way to her heart. He presses a soft kiss where her pulse thunders beneath her skin and rises. 

In the back of her mind, Feyre swears she can hear his knees creak as he stands. Something to tease him about later, when she can form sentences again 

“Enjoy yourself?” Rhys asks, scooping her into his arms. All the paint has been magically cleaned away, save the mine on her thigh. She’ll tease him about that, too, surely. 

“I think you know the answer to that,” Feyre says, voice husky from screaming her pleasure. She buries her face in the spot between Rhy’s shoulder and neck and breathes. Would it be so bad for this to be her life? To love the man cradling her like something precious after pushing her hard enough to break? He knows she won’t. Rhysand believes in her. She feels it deep in the pit of her soul, whether that soul is black or not. 

He sees her. 

All of her. 

Suddenly, her eyes are heavy. “Let’s get you back to bed,” Rhys whispers. He lays her back in the mountain of pillows she awoke from earlier and brushes her hair from her face. “I love you. My wife. My ma—”

His voice is far off, and she can’t make out the last word. “My ma—”

Or is it, “Fa—?”

“Fa—?”

“Feyre?”

---------------------------------------------------------

Her eyes flutter open. “Feyre? Are you alright?”

She’s not downstairs anymore. Instead of the couch, Feyre is back in her bed, clothes on, not a scrap of paint to be found. “Feyre, are you okay? I heard a commotion,” Rhysand says, sitting beside her on the bed. His hair is mussed, likely from a fitful night’s sleep. “I heard you scream.”

Feyre sits up, her thighs sore and slick from her orgasm. “I’m okay,” she says softly. Her voice is still hoarse. 

“Nightmare?” Rhys asks. He looks her over for any signs of hurt. This male who had joked so brazenly about needing his beauty sleep came to check on her in the middle of the night without a second thought. Dropped all pretenses tomake sure she was okay.

Feyre shakes her head. “A good dream, actually.”

His eyes narrow. And then zero in on where her nightgown has ridden up and exposed her legs. 

And the word mine in dark paint.

[bbcphile]

MLC Amnesia Fic (What's Sealed Away)

It was one thing to know what his qi felt like in his meridians–although he didn’t know what his neili was called, only that it had a name–and to know that, if he started running his sword forms, his arms and legs would guide him where his mind couldn’t. Muscle memory felt familiar. Reliable. But this? This free-floating knowledge, not connected with any event, any memory, any movement or motion? Just facts appearing in his mind? Assertions he was supposed to accept unquestioningly as truth? With no memory of how he learned them? Nothing to prove their validity? He clenched his hand around his dao’s scabbard. There had to be a better way than this.

NOTES:

I had a ton of feels about the differences between DFS and a-Fei, different types of memory and what is and isn’t lost in the sheer mindfuckery that is amnesia (very loosely inspired by my own experiences with amnesia), and a desire to explain some of the weird behaviors in the amnesia arc (why a-Fei spends so much time away from everyone else in the Mountains Red arc–-which LLH justifies with a lie about a-Fei sleeping instead, why LLH never tells FDB that it’s dangerous and painful for a-Fei to get his memories back, etc.), and thus this fic was born.

TW/CW: amnesia, body horror (finding the mind control bug), panic attack (to skip the panic attack, stop at “he pressed his shaking hands against the sheets” and start again at “His pulse finally started to slow.”)

Thanks to @momosandlemonsoda for being an amazing beta reader!!

Relationship: Di Feisheng/Li Lianhua (with hints of future difanghua)

[tomoyoo]

La Balada del Viento y los Árboles | 風と木の詩 de Keiko Takemiya, edición española

[jackfrostimposter]

genuinely why is there so much misinformation about the guardians of childhood book series?

[visionsofmagic]

things I love in gow (2018) video game:

atreus being so little and cute even though he gave headache sometimes which understandable for his age and well, condition

atreus get up kratos’ back whenever they climb somewhere [cuteee]

kratos always says atreus to stay behind him whenever he feels danger [we love protective dad in this blog]

atreus immediately tries to cut the tree that hold mimir’s body even if he literally said “no fucking thing can cut this shit”

valkyries become everyone’s nightmares since they are harder to kill than main bosses

baldur being a drama queen of all time [he deserves that place yes but he love drama]

freya being so powerful [I was like “yes my queen!” in the whole game]

faye also being one of the most powerful giants who even had her own team to kick odin’s ass

atreus and kratos giving utmost importance to faye’s request and completing it finally

beauty of realms

wonderful scenes [I really loved the main story]

mimir being the most helpful head [it was fun and cute to hear his voice while fighting since he really gave good time and calm down nature both to kratos and me]

mimir’s stories

brok and sindri came together with help of atreus and kratos

sindri being afraid of dragon [that scene was so cute!]

atreus’ diary

“boi”

[faunandfloraas]

Tumblr glitches are always so funny and weird

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

Natural Phenomena

submitted by: anonymous

This fic is user-locked - you need to be an AO3 user to access it.

Natural Phenomena (17863 words) by beyondthesea Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Warehouse 13 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells Characters: Myka Bering, Helena "H. G." Wells, Pete Lattimer, Claudia Donovan, Steve Jinks Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Storm Chasers Summary: There's nothing as lonely and volatile as the Great Plains in late spring, except for, perhaps, the woman standing at the bar, but that's what draws Myka to tornadoes and it's also what draws her to Helena.

Please tell us why you like this fic so much!

A good AU with our traumatized heroines about a field I didn’t know much before

---

Remember that you can submit fics to be featured here, too! Here's the link to the submission form (Google Form)!

[lunaticbookblog]

White Sand Vol 1-3 by Brandon Sanderson

These were available so I skimmed them in one day. My opinion on graphic novels has not changed; I still find them visually overwhelming and difficult to read. Just overall not my thing. (The exception being The Sandman, but that’s a different story).

Can’t say I absorbed much of the plot, but the art is good. The first style reminds me of the way scenery used to be animated in “old” movies like The Aristocats. The second style felt more modern. Starker lines, fewer details. An art style I don’t like as much, but it made it MUCH easier to focus on the written words. The third art style strikes the best balance between interesting art while not being so overwhelming with the details as to detract from the words.

This felt a bit like Star Wars and Cosmere crossover. Got strong Tatooine vibes. Overall, I found most of the characters a bit annoying until the last half of volume 3. However, this is the introduction of Khriss, so worth checking out for her backstory, and for more info about another Cosmere planet (Taldain) and magic system. If you’ve read Mistborn Era 2, it adds some context. Surprised Sanderson included a stay at home dad character, which was a fun surprise. Whoever drew Baon in volume 3 knew what they were doing and I’d like to thank them for their service.

Of them, volume 3 was the most interesting. Worth noting that there is an Omnibus version. After doing some comparisons with a friend, they are not identical. There is some different dialogue throughout. And the Omnibus includes other things, like Khriss’ notes.

[helenofblackthorns]

Thomas going from defending Alastair to his friends and doubling down even when they all obviously disagree with him and wistfully remarking that he "like[s] his nonsense" in 1901 to saying him and Alastair are definitely not friends & that Alastair is objectively awful & debating if he should even speak to him in 1902.... like that has to be one of the most bizarre changes in character that has not and will probably never will be explained or even acknowledged

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

nooooo disillusioned little british man don’t set course for Barnard’s Star with a hold full of your friends and relations in cryosleep! there’s no planets there! and your so sexy haha

[dancing-mylife-away]

i was inspired by @highways-are-liminal-spaces to post the best (fiction) books i've read that were published in the last 5 years! (which was inspired by an IG stories template lol)

i tried to organize the rows by genre as much as possible...literary fiction, romance, sci-fi, mystery/thriller, and miscellaneous

for books that are part of a series, i picked either the first book or a later book that was published in the last 5 years, but the rest of the books in those series also all my favorites. just figured one book per series would suffice :)

[kommabortsig]

Івано-Франківськ,_вул.Ак.Гнатюка_26,_Житловий_будинок.jpg

[rabbitcruiser]

The hangul alphabet was published in Korea on October 9, 1446.

South Korea Hangul Day

South Korea Hangul Day, also known as Korean Alphabet Day, is observed annually on October 9. It’s a national holiday to commemorate the invention and proclamation of the Korean alphabet, known as Hangul (or Hangeul). It’s also celebrated in North Korea on January 15 as ‘Chosun-gul’ Day. Before the invention of Hangul, Koreans wrote using Classical Chinese with native phonetic writing systems. Hangul Day has been a national holiday since 1970, except for the years 1991 until 2012. We observe the day to commemorate King Sejong’s achievement and the promulgation of the ‘Hunminjeongeum,’ a document describing an entirely new script for the Korean language, which was later known as Hangul.

History of South Korea Hangul Day

Since its first inception in 1926, the date of Hangul Day has varied. In 1945, the South Korean government declared October 9 as Hangul Day, an annual legal holiday, and since October 9, 1970, Hangul Day has been an annual national holiday in South Korea. However, between 1991 and 2012, Hangul Day’s status as a holiday was canceled due to the South Korean government being pressured by major employers to increase the country’s annual number of workdays. As a result, the day remained as a commemoration but workers didn’t get the day off. On November 1, 2012, its status as a national day was restored.

Before Hangul was invented, Koreans used Chinese characters to write with native phonetic writing systems. In addition to a large number of characters to be learned, the grammatical differences between Korean and Chinese languages also became difficult for Koreans to write using Chinese characters. As a result, only those who had the privilege of education were literate. Therefore, King Sejong decided to create the Korean alphabet to promote literacy among all Koreans, and he proclaimed the publication of Hangul in 1446.

Despite all the benefits of Hangul, it almost went out of existence during the Choson dynasty. At the time, the elites who desired to preserve their status saw that Chinese characters were the only true way to write Korean. Hangul was then effectively banned by King Yeonsangun in the early 16th Century but then saw a revival towards the end of the century. It then had a resurgence in the 19th Century, and gradually grew more common, especially due to its role in Korean nationalism during the era of the Japanese occupation. In the 1970s, there was a decline in the use of Chinese characters, paving the way for the prevalent utilization of Hangul in almost all Korean writings today.  

South Korea Hangul Day timeline

1894 The Initial Use in Official Documents

Hangul is adopted and used in the writing of official documents.

1910 The Continued Use in Schools

Although the official language of Korea becomes Japanese during the Colonial Rule, Hangul is still taught in Korean-established schools.

1938 The Script is Banned

Hangul is banned in schools as part of Japanese cultural assimilation.

1941 The Documents are Outlawed

All publications written in Hangul are outlawed.

1945 The Script is reinstated

Hangul is reinstated in Korea’s writing system following Korea’s independence from Japan’s colonial rule.

South Korea Hangul Day FAQs

Is learning Korean hard?

Korean might be ranked as one of the more difficult languages to learn by the Foreign Service Institute (FSI), but it’s still very much possible to learn as a non-native speaker.

Is Korean read left to right?

In today’s Korea, the majority of Korean is written horizontally, to be read from left to right.

Is Hangul scientific?

The Korean writing system, the Hangul, is considered to be the most scientific phonetic alphabet system. This is because its characters are based on the shapes of the parts of the human body that are used to enunciate the sound of those characters.

How to Observe South Korea Hangul Day

Visit the museum of King Sejong

Learn the alphabet

Raise the national flag

It’s fitting to visit the museum of King Sejong to celebrate Hangul Day. He was the one who invented the Korean alphabet. You can see exhibits explaining the creation of Hangul inside the museum. His reign is often seen as a golden period in Korean history.

The best thing to do to celebrate Hangul Day is to learn Hangul itself. If you are a non-Korean but interested in Korean culture, you may want to learn its alphabet. Hangul Day is the best time to do so!

A simple way to honor Hangul Day is to raise the Korean national flag. It can represent the pride of the country — the Korean alphabet.

5 Interesting Facts About The Korean Language

It’s a language isolate

‘Seoul’ means capital city

Verbs come last in the Korean sentences

It’s different in North and South Korea

It’s ‘our’ instead of ‘my’

It is said that Korean is commonly classified as a language isolate, meaning that it shows no significant link to any other existing languages.

Seoul, the capital city of South Korea, literally means ‘capital city’ in Korean.

Korean is a subject-object-verb (SOV) language.

The North and South Korean languages have distinct pronunciations, vocabularies, and even grammatical rules.

In the Korean language, the speakers use ‘our’ or ‘we’ instead of ‘my’ or ‘me.’

Why South Korea Hangul Day is Important

To commemorate

A holiday to learn

To celebrate where we come from

Hangul Day is observed to commemorate the invention and proclamation of the Korean alphabet. Besides, it’s celebrated in honor of King Sejong as the creator of Hangul.

Hangul Day can be observed by learning the Hangul itself. It’s the best time for those who are interested in learning about the Korean language and its alphabet.

Language is said to be a fundamental aspect of cultural identity. Celebrating Hangul Day can mean taking pride in one’s national identity.

Source