#without need for the dowry of an entertaining personality

[lilliryth]

I’m actually not unhappy. Not really, not as a person. It’s just that I can’t touch happiness. I can say without faking that I believe life can be a party, but if that’s what it is, then I’m a drifter, always in the corners. It isn’t chemical, for me. And I’m not bragging, I know I’m privileged in saying so. But I only wish this wasn’t all there is for me. I’d like to know what living feels like.

[hallucinatinghalos]

I hated the idea of Lestat being married in season three when I first saw it circulating here. But it's become a brainworm and I'm starting to think it could work. First off, it's been mentioned and is probably the reason the idea first came about, he's older than in the books and so there are more years between Auvergne and Paris that need a backstory. He's 34 when turned in the adaptation. In that time period he'd more than likely be married before reaching that age. When you consider that his family has a title but are impoverished. It's likely they would bargain him for a potential wife's dowry. It would be socially acceptable and possibly expected. Also, they violently denied him an education and priesthood, they denied him the theatre troupe for cruel and selfish reasons. Why would they hesitate in binding him to an arranged marriage for their gain? His wants be damned, always. It feels very in the spirit of TVL. I think it would need to be arranged at a young age that would've been acceptable for the time, as young as seventeen even. With her probably dying in childbirth, how soon and before or after other children would be born/conceived who knows. I'm guessing within five years of the marriage she'd pass, with around five years of him struggling in the lost state Nicki finds him in in the books, then four+ happy years in Paris with Nicki pre-turning. If he had been a father, even for a short amount of time or just an expectant one, it would make his failure with Claudia all the more encompassing without taking anything away from their arc. It also feels like you could make a psychological connection to him always making fledglings as a vampire to his wife losing every pregnancy or them losing every child. But that would be a leap, and more a head cannon thing. Ultimately, I think their life together would be short and if there were children they would also be doomed by the times or the eventual revolution. Ever plagued by loss is Lestat.

I can imagine the scene after the wolf kill when Lestat is recuperating in his room and Nicki comes with his father to present the coat to him happening still, but this time Nicki comes alone. Love instantly blossoming within Lestat, already a widower, for this man who is seeing him at his lowest but gazes at him as if he is an incredible, impossible being.

All of the emotional turmoil Lestat goes through in Auvergne, the vulnerability he shares with Nicki, would still be there but given more life experience for this adaptation's Lestat. His paralyzing fear of death more layered by being rooted in grief and loss as well as his anxiety plagued disposition.

The tragedy of him then losing his life just as he's finally finding peace and happiness would remain.

I also admit there are many reasons it could not work, like why would he have never mentioned this other important person (or children!) to Louis? But would Louis have any reason to mention it to Daniel if he had? Would it change the dynamic with Nicki too much? Gabrielle? Can they throw in such a huge change like that, and it not feel too off even if it works within the adaptation? But him being turned at 34 instead of 20 is huge. That's fourteen years of experience to be created. They have to do something and him hunting and hating his dad and big brothers (for good reason) and his circumstances for an extra fourteen years sounds less entertaining than an arranged marriage. There would also be an interesting nod to the books if they have him married off at 20 instead of turned. An unwanted marriage as a little death? I'm not all in on the idea but, point is, it may not be so bad. They could still make this part of his life have all the same emotional reverb as the book with a married backstory and I know there is far more there that this team could flesh out. So, if they go that direction, I'm not worried anymore is my point.

This is otherwise all pointless rambling so if you've made it this far thanks for hanging in there.

How about a side note since you're here? Could the painting of the woman in the coffin room, the one he placed overlooking him as he rests, be said tragic wife or just another thing he picked up cleaning out the NOLA antique shops? Could it be a parallel to Louis with his painting of Paul and Claudia's dress?

Please feel free to add to this whole thing or spit venom at it. I'm always open to corrections and new ideas and different takes. This is all just what-ifs for fun anyway. I may not respond just because I suck at it, but it won't mean I don't appreciate and enjoy your thoughts.

[high-dragon-bait]

The thing about Hawke being champion of Kirkwall is... They have to be getting marriage proposals literally constantly. Some in person, but most in the mail, letters from families both in and out of Kirkwall asking for Hawke to marry either them or their heir. Hawke has never once given any of these families indication that they would WANT to marry into them, but that doesn’t stop them from trying

And if Hawke was involved with one of their companions, even married to them instead, these proposals wouldn’t stop. They’d be involved with/married to an elf, an apostate, an elven apostate, or a pirate, none of which nobility would consider “legitimate” matches.

So uh, here’s how I think Hawke’s potential LIs would respond to seeing one of these proposal letters

- Merrill insists on writing back to them herself, which Hawke is skeptical of, explaining that they don’t need to send back a response, the silence is a response in and of itself. But Merrill is very presistant “Oh, but ma vhenan it’s only polite. They took the time to write the letter, we should say something :)” and Hawke is finally like sure. What’s the harm. Go nuts. So she does! She spends hours dilegently replying to each one, and Hawke sends them out without looking at them cause they promised, y’know? Then... the letters start coming a bit more slowly, and then... not at all. Which Hawke doesn’t mind but they do wonder. They ask one day, and Merrill says she just thanked them for reaching out but that Hawke was not interested, and a “few other things.” She never said the nature of the “few other things.” One of the noble families fled their mansion in terror a week later.

- Anders burns the first one he finds, kind of impulsively, he finds himself being more annoyed that he’s being so blatantly ignored by these people than he would’ve expected. He’s a bit... embarrassed about it honestly. He somewhat sheepishly admits to Hawke he found a proposal letter and burnt it before Hawke could read it. Hawke is not annoyed by it like Anders is, Hawke is FURIOUS that Anders is being so disrespected by these rich bastards. FURIOUS. To the point that Anders has to be the one to calm them down. Anders is given free reign to burn any letters that come after, which is kind of a middle ground because Hawke wanted to go burn down their houses, so y’know. Compromises!

- Isabela straight up catfishes them. But Isabela knows how this “arranged marriages” business works, especially fancy noble arranged marriages, and that’s dowries. So, so many dowries. She scams at least twelve noble families out of hundreds of sovereigns. No. Hawke has no idea. They don’t find out until there’s almost a diplomatic incident between Kirkwall and some Orlesian family cause they sent a dowry of 800 sovereigns and Hawke never showed up to the wedding and they were sending threats. Only then does Isabela fess up. Hawke thinks this is hilarious but also doesn’t want to fight off Orlais clown assassins forever and asks Isabela to stop. Varric is so impressed by how well Isabela writes as Hawke he asks her to help on his book.

- Fenris... doesn’t care. Like. I’ve been sitting here thinking of some sort of funny story but there is just not a reality where Fenris cares. What? You think he feels threatened by Lord Tantervale Chantryman sending a betrothal letter to Hawke? No, if anything he uses them to practice reading because they’re wonderfully entertaining. Hawke hears muffled laughter from the library one day and finds Fenris reading a betrothal letter with a Starkhaven seal on it and they just... keep walking.

[lumoshyperion]

I just want to experience the affectionate tension of always being called by my surname by that one person until the moment one of our lives is in danger and they tenderly call me by my first name

I saw this post on @bluewanderings blog with the tag "#dark au drastoria....... much to think about" and decided to write a quick scene based on that for the dark au sequel. Astoria has been hurt while smuggling a Muggleborn family out of the country, and apparates away without thinking where she's going.

This takes place a while after Draco found out about her rebellious activities. She thought he would hand her over, but he never did, and has been helping her access restricted ingredients such as aconite for Wolfsbane potions.

This is just a short, out of context scene that slots nicely into the fic!! it's a gift, for wife, with love 😘💙

Astoria leaned against the wall, holding her arm to her chest and clutching her wand with a trembling hand. She knew she had lost a lot of blood and wouldn't be able to apparate again until the wound was looked at by a healer. But she had no idea where she was, or who she could turn to.

And there was someone approaching from the laneway on her left. So she held her breath and waited for them to pass. It was a tall wizard in emerald robes, with neat platinum blonde hair. Astoria bit her lip and shrunk into the shadows of her little alcove. It can't be him, she thought. I wish it were him.

The wizard stopped, their shoulders suddenly tense. Astoria raised her wand, ready to strike them down if needs be. But then they turned and scowled at the alcove and she almost laughed for joy and relief.

"Whoever is there, I'm really not in the mood," said Malfoy, an irritated edge to his voice as he brushed his robe aside and clutched the wand in his pocket. "Show yourself."

"Well, that's a shame," Astoria replied, shakily, as she stepped out of the alcove and into the dim light of the laneway. "I was rather hoping for that dance you promised me."

The moment he saw her, his eyes widened and his expression turned to one of alarm and horror. "Astoria," he gasped, stepping forward and catching her by her uninjured arm as she tried to move further into the laneway. "Are you alright? What happened to you?"

She looked down at his hand, before glancing back up at his face. He'd never called her by her first name before. Not even when they were children. "You know I can't tell you that," she said, with a small smile. Malfoy rolled his eyes, then wrapped his arm around her waist, guiding her out of the alcove and down the laneway. She glanced around at the buildings, trying to ignore how the warmth of him made her cheeks flush. "I tried to apparate home, but I missed. Where are we?"

"Diagon Alley. My shop is just around the corner."

Astoria frowned. It was a populated area, miles away from any of the safe houses or secluded forests that she usually retreated to when things were dire. Her last thought before she apparated was of safety. A fire to keep her warm and the company of someone she trusted, someone she cared about.

She glanced over at Malfoy, as he carefully guided her away from the crowds and down a side entrance to his shop with a look of determination on his face. Perhaps it wasn't a mistake after all and she was exactly where she needed to be.

Once they arrived at the shopfront, he led her up the stairs to his flat and sat her down by the window. She slowly peeled her coat off and folded it over the back of her chair, watching Malfoy blanch as he looked at the wound on her arm. “You’re not squeamish, are you?” She asked, genuinely. “Because I can look after it myself, I just need -”

"No," he said, before abruptly kneeling down and holding his wand over her arm. "Tergeo."

Astoria winced as the blood drained from her wound. Malfoy withdrew his wand and looked up at her with concern, but she shook her head and smiled. "Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired."

"I don't usually entertain rebels," he replied, before standing up and waving a hand towards the oak cabinet on the other side of the room. "I have some Dittany. Wait here."

She watched as he retrieved a small vial of brown liquid. When he knelt down again and opened it, the smell of copper and spices reminded her of their classes in the dungeons back at Hogwarts. But before she could say anything about it, she was distracted as he held her arm in his hand and applied the potion to her wound with a tenderness she'd never associated with him before. The skin immediately started to knit itself back together, and it felt like a thousand tiny bee stings, dancing across her arm.

"Why do you do it?" Malfoy asked, suddenly and without looking up. "Surely you must know that you can't change anything."

Astoria's shoulders tensed, but he still didn't let go of her arm or look up at her. They'd had this conversation before, but it was always concealed in carefully worded questions and loaded glances. Even after their conversation on the bridge, there was still so much that she kept from him. Because, in spite of all that he had done for her, he was still a Malfoy.

He had a reputation to uphold. One that had been nearly ruined by his decision to put off his career at the Ministry for a while in order to pursue his passion in Potioneering. And if he handed her over to the Ministry, the rumour that he had gone "soft" would finally go away, and he would be elevated and lauded for his achievement.

And yet, he kept her secret. He brewed Wolfsbane for her, he kept a stock of restricted ingredients for her, and now he healed her wounds without pushing for answers on how she got them. And, beyond all of that, Astoria wanted to be honest with him. Because however much she tried to be strong and brave, she was tired of fighting on her own. She wanted the company that he offered. Whatever form it took and regardless of how much of a risk it was.

The tenderness with which he held her arm, and whispered her name in the laneway, was something she couldn't help but be drawn to - like a moth to a flame.

"Because I realised I couldn't just stand by and watch anymore," Astoria finally replied. "I know it isn't safe, and I know I can't change anything, and I'm better off just following along with everyone else, but... I couldn't do that anymore. I had to do something. Even if it only makes a difference to a few people."

She paused, looking down at her arm. The wound had healed over nicely, but Malfoy was still smoothing his thumb across her skin in slow, soothing circles. "I was smuggling a family out of the country," she confessed. "They didn't fight in the war. They lived a quiet life before all of this - in fact, their son never even got the chance to go to Hogwarts. Their only crime was being born to Muggle parents."

He suddenly let go of her arm and looked up at her for a long moment. Then he stood up and walked over to the oak cabinet, before returning to her side and holding out his hand. "There's something I want to show you," he said. There, in his palm, was a bronze key that shone in the firelight.

She looked up at him for a long time. Considering her options, wondering if she could trust him. Wishing that she could. And then she made a decision, stood up, and took his hand.

Before she could say anything, they were transported to a small clearing in the middle of a forest. The sudden journey threw her off balance, and she swayed a little, but looked around as he lay a steady hand on her waist.

"Sorry. I didn't want to risk being seen or heard leaving the flat," he said, watching her take in their surroundings. The forest was dense, stretching as far as the eye could see. And there was a sense of calm in the air that Astoria hadn't felt for a long time.

"You made a key into a portkey?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "Really?"

He scoffed. "My father did, actually. He was never one for subtlety." Astoria withdrew at that, her guard suddenly up as she pulled away from his grasp and glanced around the clearing. But Malfoy raised his hand in reassurance and continued, "He built this place in secret. Only he knew about it, and it was passed onto me when he died. The key is a portkey, but only for those that we trust with the secret."

Astoria turned around and looked at him. "I don't understand."

Malfoy inclined his head towards the forest and she followed his gaze. When they had arrived, the clearing was empty. But it was like the house had always been there, somewhere in the corner of her eye, hidden by magic, until that moment. It was a large stone house with vines crawling up the walls and the chimney, as if the forest was trying to reclaim it. She glanced back at Malfoy, who said, "It's yours."

"What?"

He shrugged. "My father had it built just before the war. It was assurance that we would always have a place to go, should we ever need it," he explained. "He was a coward, but he always put us first."

Astoria looked back at the house and frowned. Most families had a plan in place, should the war be lost. Even her father had money put aside and a promise to take them far away, if things became too dire. All thoughts of a dowry were thrown aside when the war began. Family came first, after all.

"I thought you could use it for your - friends," Malfoy elaborated, as she looked away from the house and back at him. "They'd be safe here. You would be the new secret keeper." She opened her mouth to respond, but found that she didn't know what to say. He misinterpreted her and raised a hand in reassurance. "You can wipe my memory when we get back to the shop, if you like."

Astoria shook her head. "Whether you remember this place or not, you would still be held accountable if I were found out. I can't protect you."

Malfoy scoffed. "I don't need your protection, Greengrass." She sighed and crossed her arms, and he glanced down at the key, turning it over and over in his hands. "You're just as stubborn as you were in school, you know that?"

Astoria gave a short laugh, in spite of herself, and he looked back up at her. "I don't believe for a second that you remember that." He raised an eyebrow and she added, "You never took any notice of me, or anyone else."

"I did - I noticed you," he said, genuinely. "How could I not?"

Astoria looked back at the house, for a long moment. He followed her gaze, and they stared at the old stone in silence, until she glanced back at him and said, "Draco... Are you sure?"

Without speaking, he offered the key to her. His expression was resolute, so she closed the distance between them and took it from his hand. It was still warm from his touch, and was a comforting weight in the palm of her hand.

"Well," she said, glancing back up at him with a playful look. "Aren't you going to give me a tour?"

Draco offered his arm and smiled.

[nastasyafilippovnas]

santhony + “No one will ever compare to you.”

better late than never, right? lol 

santhony + no one will ever compare to you, pre-canon, 1.5k (ao3)

It was two in the morning and the couple on the apartment upstairs was arguing again. From his place in bed, seating with his back against the headboard, Anthony could hear their shouts loud and clear through the thin material of the ceiling. Next to him, Siena slept soundly, unbothered by the confusion. Since they had started seeing each other three months ago, it had always been like this. She had told him she learnt early on to get her rest whenever she could, because you never knew when a rehearsal would run late. Before her, Anthony had never thought how much work went into becoming an opera singer, now it seemed like every moment she wasn’t with him, Siena was either rehearsing or performing. Her hair was sprawled on next to him and he played mindless with it, his father’s watch on his other hand. Soon he would have to leave her. He wanted nothing more than lay down and curl next to her, enjoying the few hours they had left together.

Unlike her, though, he had always had trouble falling asleep. There was always so much going on, problems with the state, Daphne’s dowry to secure for her season next year, it felt like his brain could hardly shut down. And when he did manage to close his eyes, even then the smallest of noises would wake him up. Needless to say, he never got much sleep whenever he spent the night at her place.

The apartment itself wasn’t that bad. Anthony had seen the awful conditions in which the lower classes lived, among the filth, sewage and rats infesting their houses. Her place, despite being terribly small, was at least clean and in a decent neighborhood. Unfortunately, in order to pay the rent, she had to share it with four other singers and there were only two bedrooms. That meant that, whenever one of them was entertaining a male companion, at least one of them had to sleep on the threadbare couch on the living room. Tonight was Lisa’s turn, if he was not mistaken. And then tomorrow or the day after it would be Siena’s turn to spend the night on the couch as Lisa had her gentleman over. Anthony frowned at that thought. Her bed was already uncomfortable, the mattress too hard and thin. He didn’t like imagining her on that couch, on the cold living room, sleeping without any of the comforts he was so used to having every night.

A loud bang echoed through the room, indicating that one of the members of the couple upstairs had finally had enough and had decided to leave, taking his frustrations on the door. Instead of just leaving, however, the man continued the discussion outside and woke up the entire floor above them.

Anthony sighed in frustration. That was the last straw. They couldn’t continue like this.

“Siena…” He shook her shoulder lightly to get her to wake up.

“Anth…” She woke up fully before finishing his name, leaving Anthony disappointed. He had already told her she could call him by his first time and yet she insisted on keeping the formalities between them. “My lord, is everything okay? Are you leaving already?” Siena asked, glancing at the open window for a moment, to confirm that it was still dark outside. She wasn’t a clingy person, but she still felt like her time with Anthony was always cut short. It worried her sometimes she was getting too attached to something that would end, sooner rather than later. 

It wasn’t hard to figure out what was going through her mind, Anthony thought. He had promised he would stay the night. And he had wanted to. Nothing gave him more pleasure than the smile on her face when she woke up and realized he was still there, wrapped around her. He had thought they could even have breakfast together. Staying with her wasn’t the problem. 

Her annoyingly loud neighbors who were the problem. That and the threadbare couch. And the shared bedrooms. And the twin-sized bed with the thin mattress. And the one communal bathroom down the hall, now that he thought about it. This whole place was the problem. Siena couldn’t continue to live like this. 

“You need to move.” He said, instead of answering her questions.

She laughed at him, seating up next to him. It was cute how he thought she could just up and leave because her neighbors kept him awake at night. The rich were really something else.

“Do you know how hard it was to get this place with this price? Lisa had to seduce the landlord. I know you hate all the noise but it’s not that bad really.”

Just to contradict her, another loud sound came from upstairs and Anthony could swear he heard the ceiling cracking under the weight of whatever they had thrown around.

He raised his eyebrows at her and she could feel herself flushing under his stare. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t understand how this was an improvement.

“So they get loud, who doesn’t sometimes? We certainly did too last night, my lord.” He was about to protest, but she continued, “Maybe once I start getting cast as lead, I can get my own place. Mr. Piazzi told me he would pay me more once that happens.”

“Siena…” Anthony turned around, caressing her face and trying to get her to relax. He hadn’t wanted to make her upset. “You don’t have to worry about the money. I can get you a better place. A nice house in a good neighborhood, some servants…I could give you some money for expenses too. You don’t have to live like this.”

Siena had had an arrangement with an older gentleman before Anthony, just as she had started at the opera. She wasn’t ashamed of it, she would’ve never survived in London otherwise. But her and Anthony had never discussed payment before. Oh, he had given her stuff, a new dress, some pretty expensive earrings, a necklace once. It was standard practice. Siena wasn’t stupid to not know what it all meant. He had been showing his appreciation for her services. And yet, for a moment, she had forgotten who they were. She had let herself pretend they were just two people who liked each other. 

“And what am I supposed to do in exchange of that, my lord? Sit around and wait for you the whole day? Open my legs whenever you want?” She couldn’t hide the anger in her voice. She hated Anthony at that moment for reminding her what she was and what she would always be for a man like him. Just another convenient whore.

“No, of course not! You…you can do whatever you want. You are still going to be who you are.” Anthony paused, his hands going through his hair in frustration. “This is not coming out like I wanted it to.”  

“Try again, my lord. How did you want it to come out?” The words were still biting, but less so. 

Anthony looked down, and Siena noticed he was turning around the watch in his hand. 

“I don’t know how to do this right. I’ve never been in a relationship before.” He had been with other women, of course, but none had lasted as long as what he and Siena had. And none that he wanted to last for a lot longer. “I just…I thought about you spending the night in that sorry excuse for a couch in the cold living room and I wanted to do something about. There’s no reason for you to live in these conditions when I can give you something better.”

Siena bit her lip. He was still staring down at the watch and she moved closer, until she was seating in his lap. She took the watch from his hands and carefully placed it on the bedside table.

Anthony finally looked her in the eye.

“I want to take care of you.” He said simply.

She could hear the honesty in his words and see it in his eyes. Her left hand went up to his hair, caressing it softly, while the right one settled on his bare chest, above his heart.

“What happens when you grow tire of me?” Anthony opened his mouth, but she quickly put a finger on top of it to stop him. “Or when you finally marry someone?”

He kissed the finger still on top of his mouth. “If I may speak now…” Siena removed her hand from his mouth. “I think you’re forgetting a couple of things.” He said, his hand going around her waist and bringing her closer to him.

“What?”

“I have three brothers, two of them already old enough to have children, so I don’t have to get married. And…” He caressed her chin and brought her closer for a slow kiss. Before Siena could deepen it, he pulled apart. “Why would I marry? No one will ever compare to you.” 

He saw her smile for a moment before kissing him hard in the mouth and he knew it meant she had accepted his proposal.

“I can’t wait until I have you on a proper bed.” He said between the kisses.

“Shut up before I change my mind.” 

[isthemicon]

Writers really did Blair dirty in s5

*super long post because I’m angry as hell*

There was a time when I thought that season 5 is overhated. I’ve been telling myself that sure, Blair is acting unlike herself but that’s because this season is looking at her from more psychological angle and it’s looking at her character more deeply.

But then I’ve rewatched it and I’ve realized that they’ve ruined Blair completely. The depth that I was seeing is in maybe 3-4 episode and is often overshadowed by other things. And usually the deep moments are happening through other characters.

Blair in s5 is barley her own person, she does nothing that isn’t related to her relationships, she isn’t working on her status, position, career. Her whole character arc is regressed to her trying to figure out which guy should she choose or how to make the relationship she is in work.

I mean come on even Nate and Serena have bigger stories and actually do things outside their relationships.

Blair barley ever even makes her own decisions, someone else makes them for her or has to push her to make them.

In other seasons her love life is a big part of her story but in the same time she is doing something else as well.

In s1 she is trying to build her position in school, in s2 she is fighting for Yale and her position in school, in s3 she is trying to figure out her life at NYU and trying to build her position outside high school, in s4 she is going to Columbia and trying to start a career, even in s6 despite its ridicules soap opera like plot she is building her career.

And in s5? Let me tell you what Blair does in each episode of season 5

Recap of all of the episodes

05x01 Blair returns from Monaco, and the whole episode we see her trying to be able to plan the wedding. Wait is pregnant? No it’s Dorota, joking Blair is pregnant too

05x02 Blair is trying to hide her pregnancy from the royal family, while Beatrice and Dan are snooping. That’s all.

05x03 Blair is trying to figure out who is the father. Of course she can’t makw the decision on her own so Dan needs to force her to do it because of course she can’t do it on her own (still very nice friendship moment). I like ending of this episode, it’s deep and sad and emotional. And tells a lot about her mental state and what is going inside of her.

05x04 Blair is trying to convince Louis that Dan’s book is just a fiction, she is angry because the book threatened her relationship, not becuse it affected her career like in Serena’s case, not because she didn’t like the way she was portrayed like Nate and Rufus, it just that it made her fiancé doubt.

05x05 Blair and Louis tell their family about the pregnancy. Eleanor is unhappy (the only one that has a normal reaction) but then they have a beautiful mother and daughter moment but it’s a moment of Eleanor’s depth not Blair’s. Oh and also Blair is pawn in the battle called “where should they live? Which grandma will have more to say?”

05x06 Blair is trying to choose her bridesmaids (entertaining episode and shows her power, still resolves around her relationship). Probably one of the the very few were she is actually doing something.

05x07 Blair is trying to provoke Chuck to show that he hadn’t really changed. And Chuck and Dorota have to form a plan to make sure she believes he didn’t because she will be more comfortable with her relationship with Louis, again it’s not Blair making the decision someone else has to make it for her.

05x08 Blair has a bridal shower. The trouble is Serena is making it seem it’s not like Blair would like it so she is sad, but no it was a lie she has a perfect suprise party, oh and Louis is a jerk and wants to make her believe her friends aren’t her friends. She takes a break from Louis (good for you girl)

05x09 Blair is following Chuck because he had changed and she wants her fiancé to change as well. One of the lowest moments, Blair is absolutely heartless and selfish in her plan. (A very deep scene in the end but it’s coming from Chuck and just happening to Blair)

05x10 This episode I like it’s actually very deep. We are exploring her fear of being alone and her trying to figure out what’s the best thing to do. If she should listen to her heart and choose Chuck or if she should listen to reason and stay with Louis. We see Dan understanding her and trying to help her. That’s a real good episode.

05x11 Another deep episode exploring Blair’s trauma after the accident. Not gonna say anything bad about as I actually like it and here I think the focus on her being unable to stand on her own is important. And her losing her real self is actually very undrstandble here.

05x12 Blair has a bachelorette party and everybody is able to outsmart her and out plan her and Blair doesn’t see a thing. She needs others to save her because again she can’t do anything on her own. Oh and Chuck is following her.

05x13 Blair is getting married, this episode has some depth and action but again Blair does nothing on her own, Eleanor, Chuck, Serena, Louis talk to her and she just responds. But in end she wakes up and tries to run away. Finally she make her own decision.

05x14 Blair is running away from her wedding, Dan is helping her, Serena and Chuck are looking for her. But in the end Blair has one big moment when she takes responsibility and decides to stay in the marriage, doesn’t allow Chuck and her mother to buy her out.

05x15 Blair is back in the city for Valentine’s, goes to the party at Chuck’s place forcing him to leave his own party, she is followed by some woman with the most annoying accent. She is trying to play a cupid, Dan kisses her, Serena is mad, Blair is trying to explain it. The end

05x16 Blair is trying to convince Serena there’s nothing going on between her and Dan. She finds out what’s in a book and realizes Dan has feelings for her. So she decides she may want to start the relationship so she kisses Dan in front of Serena as her grandmother is dying. Sure Blair is doing things but that’s all relationship related, she is not even yet divorced and she is already thinking about going into another relationship.

05x17 Blair thinks she maybe able to get out of her marriage and be able to be in a new relationship, turns out no, she goes to Cece’s wake. She finds out about the video,Chuck and Dan fight for her, she tells Chuck she can’t be with him right now, photo of her and Dan gets out, meaning she will need to divorce and pay dowry. But Georgina says she might be able to help her out.

05x18 Blair tries to have sex with Dan and tries to be able enjoy it so she gets drunk. That’s honestly the whole plot of her story in this episode. (The worst episode in the whole show)

05x19 Blair is about to sign divorce paper, refuses to talk to Chuck, Dan is worried about the papers and tells her Chuck paid her dowry she accuses Chuck of trying to buy her, he tells her she was never meant to find out, she is sad because of the fact she will no longer be in the royal family. She doesn’t come to the conclusion that she can be strong without the title, she needs Dan to give her he fake princess moment where she is basically a tourist attraction.

05x20 Blair is trying to organize the party that will launch her and Dan’s relationship. Party is ruined because of the drama of other people. That’s it

05x21 This episode where Blair is actually doing something related to her social status. But she does it by trying to sabotage her boyfriend’s event? Very grown up.

05x22 Now we are getting to episode where she actually does something. She reunites with her friends as they try to figure out the whole Elizabeth and Jack thing. We finally see her do something outside her relationship. Of course at the same time Dan is worried and follows her outside the city. And lies to her about Rome.

05x23 An interesting episode, again Blair is actually doing something but it’s still connected to her love life. Blair is trying to help Chuck but at the same time she should be with Dan taking to the guy from the program. So she is torn. But at least she is scheming and using her talents.

05x24 Blair has to finally choose between Chuck and Dan while her secrets are being published on gossip girl and she tired or stop it. Finally she talks about her future outise love life but it’s Eleanor that starts the conversation.

That’s all she does, every single scene is related to her love life, she has no plans, no aspirations. Until the very last episode we don’t hear her talk about her work related plans and even then she talks about the matter of her heart. In season 5 Blair isn’t her best self, she doesn’t do a thing. Things are happening to her but she isn’t making them happen, she is just responding to them. And they related only to her love life. Gone is the girl that wanted to be a powerful woman, she doesn’t want a thing, even after she got divorced and is with Dan. She doesn’t talk about her plans, the closesest to her talking about future is when she talks about it is when she is wondering is she wants to go with Dan to Rome, on his writing program and when she decides to do it she is planning the trip, on where they will be eating and what will they be seeing. Not even for a moments she thinks about her future, about what she wants to do.

Blair in season 5 is a shell of a character, regressed to the love triangles, she is woman that does nothing outside her love life. So in conclusion, season 5 is the worst when it comes to the way Blair was treated. She is so much more than her love life and in s5 they completely they forgot that. And yes it’s a season of very big growth to her as she is faced with crushing realization that fairytales and movies are not real, that reality is brutal. But that’s not how you do it, multiple characters have a character growth in this season and yet we see them actually do something not just wonder which guy should she choose and not the end waiting for someone else to choose for her.

It’s an emotional season but again thoes emotions and depth are in few episodes and are usually are not really coming from Blair. More often it someone else’s growth and understanding of her that is creating thoes moments.

[teatitty]

Love, It Feels Like Only Yesterday

A/N: Listen I was emo and I hashed out a Fionn x Oonagh thing in 20 mins so here’s that if you’re interested. Also I called Oonagh’s dad “Fearghas” which is the Scottish version of “Fergus” bc I thought it’d be cute if their own son was named after him. We don’t know anything about Oonagh’s fam in myth except that her dad is nobility so I took ~ liberties ~ with his personality. I love him a lot 

“I’ve chosen who I’m going to marry.”

Her declaration is met with a curious silence from the council and an intrigued, albeit amused, look from her father. Fionn suspects he already knows what she’s going to say, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to object to it, so Fionn resists the urge to squirm in place and keeps himself silent, trusting Oonagh to handle the situation herself, just like she’d asked him to that very morning.

He wishes Diarmuid were here, if only so he wasn’t the only stranger in the room, but his friend’s temper isn’t suited for these situations, and Diarmuid himself had been the one to remind Fionn of this - apologetically, of course, with a grimace to match - so he’s here, alone, with only Oonagh to stand between him and the council.

“And?” The Lord in jewelled silks asks impatiently, a scowl turning his pencil thin moustache downwards. 

Oonagh gives him a brief glance from the corner of her eye, more a courtesy than any actual acknowledgment of his presence, and doesn’t falter for a second. She takes Fionn’s hand in her own with a soft smile directed at him and him alone, then turns back to the rest and says, “I’m marrying Fionn, naturally.”

Fionn expects a lot of things to happen; objections to be raised, weapons to be drawn, maybe a fight, someone losing their head - figuratively or literally, as these things tend to go sometimes - but nothing - nothing - can prepare him for the wide, beaming smile on King Fearghas’ face. Oonagh squeezes his hand, her rings a solid weight against his skin, and he returns the gesture, stepping forward to stand right beside her.

“Naturally,” he repeats with a chuckle but the Lord in jewelled silks is less than pleased, leaping from his seat with a stormy expression, and Fionn bites his lip to stifle his instinctual grin at the subtle eye roll he catches from Oonagh. Clearly, she is used to this Lord’s temper.

“Him?” He sputters with indignation. “An irish mercenary with not a dowry to his name? When you could have any number of Lords and Princes instead? Surely you have been affected by madness, M’lady!”

“I do not recall,” Oonagh says ever so slowly, “asking for your permission. I came here to announce my marriage, and I have done so, and there is nothing you can do or say to stop me, Lord Byron, so I suggest you sit back down and hold your tongue.” She doesn’t look at him as she speaks, but the coldness in her voice is enough to instill a shocked silence from him and though he does not sit back down, Oonagh seems content that he is, indeed, holding his tongue. 

“Father -” her voice is softer now - “you know as well as I the things that Fionn has done, and you have seen firsthand how he conducts himself with grace and respect and splendor. Surely you can agree that he is the best choice for one such as myself?” 

She is nervous, at last, and Fionn turns to her completely, heedless of their company, to wrap his arms around her and hook his chin on her shoulder. She leans back against him with a sigh and her father considers them both for a moment that is both too long and too short.

“Hmm,” he says at last. “Fionn mac Cumhaill...your mother is a woman of noble blood, if I recall, yes?”

“Aye,” says Fionn, “my birth mother comes from a noble lineage, and I was raised by two others with much the same.”

“And you have a land and home to return to? Land and home that you own yourself?”

“Aye, that’s true. Your daughter would live in comfort, but she would have whatever freedom she desired, and I have women in my clan that could attend to her when I’m away, if you are sceptical about leaving her with men.”

“Not that he needs to,” Oonagh mutters. “I have daggers for a reason.”

“We’re playing nice, remember?” Fionn reminds her quietly and she scoffs in his arms, tapping his wrist with one hand and entwining their fingers with the other.

“Well then,” King Fearghas says, addressing Lord Byron directly, “seeing as he has noble blood in his veins and a dowry that can be paid simply by ensuring my daughter’s comfort, I see no reason as to why I should object to their union. What say you, Lord Byron, since you are so keen to be heard?”

Lord Byron, perhaps knowing that there is nothing he can say to be of substantial objection, finally sits down in his seat and closes his eyes tightly. “If that is what the council agrees on -”

“It is,” the rest of the council echoes at once, and Fionn gets the very distinct feeling that everyone present is pleased to get an excuse to overrule this Lord Byron’s opinion.

“Later,” Oonagh whispers to him, “I’ll explain why no-one likes him.” Then, in a louder voice, “Father?”

“Hm?”

She smiles. “I’ll still come to visit when I’m able.”

“Of course you will! I would come to you but…” he gestures broadly around him, sighing heavily. “Responsibility keeps me here, I’m afraid.” He sounds truly regretful of the fact, and he’s right, but should Fionn extend his hospitality through a formal invitation, well, surely there could be no objections to his staying at their home for a few weeks of festivities?

“Thank you,” Fionn says sincerely, inclining his head with respect, “for your blessings.”

King Fearghas laughs. “Lad she would’ve married you regardless. She is as headstrong as her mother and as stubborn as I was at her age. I suspect,” he muses, “that if I had refused, she would’ve simply eloped in the dead of night instead.” He pauses. “Or jumped out of the window with you and stole a horse.”

Fionn had known this himself, because she’d told him as much, but to hear it from her own father was - a surprise to say the least. “Have you...done that before?”

“I have,” she confirms, without a single ounce of repentance. “I grew bored of my lessons and found a better way to entertain myself.”

“She’s a handful,” King Fearghas warns with a twinkle in his eyes.

Without really thinking about it, Fionn replies, “it’s a good thing I have two, then,” and Oonagh’s laughter is as loud as her father’s, and she is taller than Fionn and her tongue is sharper than any blade he has ever seen and her hands are strong and calloused from her climbing, and she is -

She is his wife, and he is so giddy at the thought that he can do nothing but hide his grin in her shoulder and bounce on the balls of his feet, and kiss her with reverence a hundred times over, in her old room, in his rented room, in their tents, on the road, across a table to Diarmuid’s own disgust, and, on the night of their wedding, finally, in a house that is theirs and theirs alone, away from all prying eyes where she can be worshipped more than the Divine themselves.

“I love you,” he tells her, every morning, day and night.

“I love you,” she tells him, with every kiss and bite, and he wears each one with more pride than he wields his spear.

And even when she’s gone - when he is left with antlers on his hips and a white stubborn mare who nips his fingers whenever he feeds her - that love he feels for her never fades or falters, and he knows, as surely as he knows the coming of the tides, that Oonagh loves him too.

[purplellamanator]

Hi! I saw your list and that make me so excited. My request is ShinRan for Arranged or Foreign Thank you

Thanks so much for the ask anon!! I really enjoyed doing this one. Of course it got a little out of hand cause I have no self control so it is extremely long! Further in the story you’ll probably notice I had the other language being spoken as Japanese. I am not fluent and my knowledge of the language is very slim! Anything in the story was translated from google translate which I know is not a good source but if you notice the mistakes, I do apologize! Feel free to correct me and I will try to edit it as I go. Also, I know I say it every time but I am so sorry for the wait. I work in a pharmacy so as you can probably guess, work has been crazy during all of this covid stuff! I hope everybody is being safe and healthy and that even if it is such a small thing, that I can provide some decent entertainment for someone that is stuck in quarantine! Be safe y’all! Arranged~ Person A is royalty and has to wed. They choose Person B, and B is not happy about it

Foreign~ Person A and B have been arranged to marry to keep peace between their lands. Too bad Person B can't understand a lick of what their fiancé has to say

oOo

"It's the law."

Shinichi rolled his eyes before petulantly saying, "I thought you always said my word was law."

The old man sputtered, having his words twisted around. Finally his adviser waggled a finger at him. "Your father will not be pleased by this, Shinichi-kun!"

"Is he ever?" Shinichi shrugged uncaringly and reaching his blowing point, the adviser stormed from the room, almost knocking into the head guard as he made his leave.

Staring at where the old man had made an angry exit and back to the Prince, Hattori chuckled. "I take it you're still looking for a bride," he called casually as he entered the dining hall.

Shinichi snorted before rolling his eyes. Not bothering to acknowledge the guard, he slammed his elbow on the table and braced his chin in his palm.

"You know the more difficult you be, the longer and more painful this process will be," his friend said in a sing song voice.

Huffing, he still refused to move from his position. "I could care less how long this takes. If they're worried about that, then they should call this whole thing off."

Hattori actually full on laughed at that. "Yeah, you know that's never going to happen," he said, his lips still twitching from trying to contain his giggles.

The Prince frowned. Of course he knew that but he could always hope.

"Come on," Hattori baited as he sat himself on the armrest of the chair the Prince sat in. "What was wrong with the last one? She was pretty... Well endowed," his friend wiggled his eyebrows as his gaze shot to his chest playfully.

His friend was joking. They both knew that there was no way he'd ever settle on Princess Momiji. So spoiled, and her voice grated on his nerves. She was pretty all right but she was too aware of that fact and when she realized her womanly wiles would not work on him- she had tried them on his guard.

She was not his worst option by any means. At least she was the same age. Shinichi was not really a vain person and looks were by no means what he based his decision on, but he had no desire to marry someone that could be his mother.

"You're being too picky, Shin-chan," his actual mother griped. "Maybe I'll just choose for you."

His eyes had gone panicked at the threat. He could just imagine her choice. Bubbly, full of energy, never a quiet moment. Someone that was exactly like her. And he would sooner throw himself off his balcony then be forced to share a bed with someone like that.

There was one thing he would agree on. Shinichi was being picky. He had met just about every Princess that was eligible for marriage. And not one of them were what he wanted. None of them were all the same either. Some of them wanting as much to do with him as he wanted them. Which meant not at all. Others were all over him and he knew he would never get a moment's peace.

One thing they all had in common though- their kingdoms. Each one of them had their own laws; their own norms they needed to abide to. But for the most part, they were pretty similar to his own kingdom's and Shinichi didn't understand the point of marrying one of them when they had nothing new to offer his people.

His kingdom was not struggling. His people were flourishing; the society thriving. Which was likely why he had so many offers. Because his kingdom had so much to offer while theirs had nothing but a dowry at best. And he had no need for that. He had plenty of money. He had plenty of land.

Shinichi didn't know how to explain that- or rather he did, and everybody just didn't understand. It was out of complete desperation that he had finally made his choice however. After being summoned by the King- his father, he knew he had taken too long. If he didn't have someone in mind, then a bride would be chosen for him.

But as he stood in his father's study- staring angrily at the desk his father sat before as he practically got reprimanded, his eyes focused on the map that lay sprawled out.

"How about the kingdom in the northern islands?" The thought had hit him as he continued staring at the map- the little cluster of land that was out in the middle of the ocean.

"Northern Isles?" The King furrowed his brows before noticing his son's gaze and following it.

Shinichi could understand his father's trepidation. The Kingdom of the Islands wasn't necessarily their enemy, but they also weren't their allies. After the Great War, and the threat of other more powerful kingdoms showed their colors, they had resorted themselves to complete isolation. That being said, it was a practically unknown kingdom- an entirely other world just to the north of them.

"Getting a response- let alone a positive one, is not likely," his father still appeared confused. "That and we don't even know if they have someone that is eligible for a union with you."

The King caved however. He would send a messenger with their offer. But Shinichi had already been warned.

"If this falls through- I am choosing for you."

The threat made Shinichi sweat. Not that he didn't trust the King. He trusted him more than the Queen. It was just the idea of his choice being stripped away from him.

The plans did not fall through. The response was not quick nor was it immediate, but they had indeed responded. The only thing was, the Princess would not be leaving the islands. Not until he came to visit and presented himself formally.

And got an approval.

As promised, the King left the decision up to his son. So Shinichi packed his bags.

oOo

Though many had traveled to his kingdom in hopes of having their daughter cross his eye, this would be the first he actually had to leave his own land as a possible suitor. Not that it was unusual. It was actually quite odd that he hadn't been doing it that way. But what was more unusual was the amount of effort he was putting in. The amount of effort he was putting in on trying to woo a woman he had never met let alone seen.

Well, some didn't understand but he knew the King was able to figure it out easily.

A foreign land. A foreign kingdom. Foreign Princess. There was so much to be gained from that. Knowledge wise anyway. And since he was confident his kingdom didn't lack anything else, that's all he wanted. He didn't even care to know what the Princess looked like.

And there was so much to learn about this place. The moment they were in what was considered their waters, Shinichi could already feel it from the way the humid air just lifted. The days that he was used to in his kingdom were hot ones and sometimes even the nights. The sun was always out and blazing while there was hardly ever a rainy day to cool it down.

Here, as their ships pulled even closer, a fog seemed to surround them. But the waters were calm and the mist, relaxing. Thankfully they had no issues docking even though the fog was not something they were used to though according to his escort, was very much the norm here.

Shinichi was fascinated either way. He took in the architecture of the buildings, the way people dressed, the way people looked in general. It was so different to his own land and people. He was thankful that if anything, no matter how this meeting went, at least he had seen a place so refreshingly new. Honestly, he envies what their palace looked like and was amazed of how open it was. There were no guards and practically no doors. The buildings for the most part were without windows and if they had them, they were open wide.

And he realized, there was no fear for safety here. Everybody was so open and trusting and though he got quite a few bizarre stares, nobody looked at him in any way short of polite. Shinichi was fully amazed.

But the most baffling thing yet- he needed a translator.

"The Princess can not speak in your tongue."

Shinichi almost couldn't believe his ears. He wanted foreign but maybe this was a little too much. . . How could he marry someone that he couldn't even speak to without someone else standing there to translate for them? Of course he knew that she'd have to learn his language but . . . could he really make that work. . ?

Still, he came all this way. He would meet her. It would be rude to make such a bold offer and to just leave without a word. Not to mention his father would be furious with him and also. . . be picking his future bride if he came back alone.

Shinichi shivered at the thought.

But upon introduction, the way his breath stuttered and how he could practically feel a nervous blush crawling up his neck, was humiliating. That and his instantaneous thought.

He could make this work.

"Her highness, Princess Ran."

The translator was who pulled him out of whatever reverie he had been trapped in and hurriedly, he snapped his mouth shut after having realized it was slightly agape. Stumbling over himself, he quickly bowed his head forward in respect as well as gave a greeting that he could briefly hear being translated to both monarchs.

It was at the quick quip that the Princess replied back that had him looking up slightly from his still bowing position. Of course he didn't understand a word she said but from her tone. . . he could guess. Still, he found himself looking to the translator expectantly.

The man cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh. . The Princess welcomes you and your guests. Says she prays you had a safe journey." His eyes were not meeting the Prince's as he spoke.

Yeah- that was definitely not what she said . . . Even now, she was glaring at him with such discontent till finally as if getting sick of looking at him, she looked away, turning her nose up.

Figures. The one Princess he thought he could actually tolerate and she wanted nothing to do with him.

oOo

After their initial meeting and at the refusal of his escort to translate anything the Princess actually said, dinner was a . . tense affair. The King and his wife were welcoming enough. Albeit they obviously didn't trust his intentions quite yet but they hadn't showed any outward malice like their daughter had. It also probably didn't help his image in their eyes if the Princess couldn't even bare to say something the slightest bit kind to him.

Even though it would all have to be said through his escort, Shinichi tried to begin any conversation with her. And each time the translator would look at him almost tired, as if asking if Shinichi were really going to make him try to talk to her again. Shinichi couldn't very well respond properly if he didn't know what she was actually saying to him. It was clear she didn't think highly of him and that the escort was merely trying to keep them cordial. He knew they were aware of how influential his kingdom was and it was clear he didn't want their Princess to risk making him angry with her disrespect. But he couldn't fix what he didn't know.

It was exhausting. And the language barrier was making it all the more frustrating. He was a full day in and had somehow angered the very woman he had basically already proposed to. Shinichi wanted to yell at the escort to cut the formalities- to just tell him what the Princess was saying. Before he could have the chance though, she was already spouting words that sounded as aggravated as she looked. The King responded in kind with the same amount of annoyance but this time, directed at his daughter.

Shinichi could only watch, lost.

The translator gave another uncomfortable cough. "The Princess is not feeling well. She apologizes, but she'd like to take her leave."

Shinichi was pretty sure she wasn't sorry at all but still, he nodded his head slowly while looking at her. "I hope she feels better."

If possible, she seemed even more angry with his response and in a huff, she was spinning out of her chair and exiting the dining hall.

Not long after that, they all excused themselves. Of course his escort showed him to his room. But Shinichi couldn't help but want to wander- though at the moment it may not of been a good idea. He was in foreign lands as it was and already things were tense between him and the Princess. He didn't want to aggravate the situation even more by offending their hospitality- though he'd say what the Princess showed him could hardly be called that.

That line of thinking lasted till he woke up early morning. He was usually a late sleeper but he figured due to the unknown environment, his body woke him up sooner than usual. And he sat in his designated room for about thirty minutes before he concluded that this wasn't going to work.

The Princess already showed she held no interest in his proposal- which was disappointing but there was nothing he could do to change that. The woman wouldn't even look at him unless she had to. So Shinichi figured he'd soak up this opportunity as much as possible for as long as he could. He was only invited to be here for a week, which would shorten if they gave him a response to his proposal earlier. He already had a feeling he'd be turned away so there was no use on dwelling about it or worrying if he'd upset her further. This was a new place for him- a new Kingdom. They spoke another language, held different customs. He would experience everything within his reach before he was forced to leave.

He was up, dressed, and wandering the palace halls in no time.

Again, he couldn't help but be struck by the beauty that went into the kingdom itself. Natural light flooded their halls but the fact there were no windows allowed the cool breeze from outside to flow through easily. Shinichi couldn't believe how . . . open everything was. Had they never had to deal with a threat before? To not even have guards walking around the halls- it amazed as well as reassured him. It was nice for once not to have someone breathing down his neck constantly.

This all was almost like a vacation. A vacation to get him a wife . . . but still-a vacation! He hadn't had one of those in . . well ever. The past few years had been his parents scrambling to get him engaged. As the days passed on, the scrambling got more hectic when they realized he was not making it easy.

But here, it was so open. For once he could experience a nice, sunny day without it being unbearably hot outside. And he had hardly got to experience the town when he arrived. He had been hurriedly rushed to the Palace but that was mostly by his guards wanting to get him somewhere secure. Now that no one was there however, he wondered to one of the larger windows.

He was not insane enough to take a leap from this high up but from this vantage point he could at least look upon what he had walked right by. And it was. . tiny. Not tiny in a bad way but compared to where he lived, the town was so small and quiet. And underdeveloped. But again- that wasn't in a bad way. It was fitting to the kingdom he was standing in. There were more trees and it was all colorful. There were even more animals which had him surprised. Again, his town was too large and noisy for anything to want to come close. And that was if he could ever see over the giant stone wall that served as a barrier between him and his people.

There was no barrier here. And he envied that.

Wind brushing his hair, the tree that was just beside the window finally caught his eye. Like everything else that was outside, it was so bright and full of color. It was filled with vibrant purple flowers that he definitely had never seen before. They were . . breathtaking. And he had never been one to care about such things but even he found his hand reaching out.

He wanted to take one. See if he could possibly press it into his journal to take back home. He had never seen any flower with such bright petals and he was curious if someone at home would be able to identify it for him. Someone he could ask without the use of that terrible translator.

Suddenly someone was yelling out. And from the way he was all alone, he could only assume it was directed at him. Before he could even look over though, his hand that had been leaning forward was roughly slapped and had him stumbling back in shock. Hand ringing from the sharp sting, it was probably funny how he stared at it- eyes wide and blinking.

No one had ever raised a hand to him.

Staring intently where he had been hit, he saw that it was already turning a scorching red and swelling. It honestly hadn't hurt. It was just startling. And finally looking at just who had hit him, he was even more stunned.

"Sorera ni furenaide kudasai!"

The Princess. She was yelling at him looking absolutely furious to the point tears were brimming her eyes. She was angry and that was all he could understand because he still couldn't speak her damn language. For her to slap him though he must've been about to do something awful.

Rubbing his sore hand, he glanced back at the flower he had been about to pluck and realized he had probably greatly offended her. Shinichi had been to other kingdoms where it was forbidden to remove anything from their land- places where they worshiped the actual ground they stood on and it was a crime to simply pull a flower off its branch. Foolishly he thought he'd been alone but he should've known that in a palace, there were eyes everywhere.

When he started rubbing the red flesh attempting to sooth away the sting she gave him, that must've been when she realized what she had done. Even for her it was wildishly outlandish of her to be so forward enough to hit him.

Her violet eyes got huge and she looked almost frightened. He noticed her swallow hard as if gulping before all he could see was the crown of her head, her pretty brunette hair sliding down her shoulders to hang low.

She was bowing. And saying the same thing over and over repeatedly.

"Gomen nasai! Gomen nasai! Gomen nasai!"

She was apologizing for hitting him. He didn't need to know exactly what she was saying to get that much. But honestly, he didn't even care that she did. His first instinct had told him he was the that should kneel and grovel. He was the one that was wondering around a foreign palace as a guest and with no regard to their laws or customs. Watching her panic though, he could only freeze up. He had not been expecting her to say sorry. She wasn't stopping though and it was beginning to make him uncomfortable.

"Uh. . R-Ran-?" Shinichi asked uneasily to get her attention. He did not know anything about her kingdom or their titles but he was sure if he used his own from his home she would've been confused. But he cut himself off when he realized that calling her by her first name alone definitely would've been offensive. That and her name sounded so odd on his tongue. Even with it not being his own language, he knew he sounded every bit the foreigner when he just said her name alone. It probably sounded as awkward as it felt for him to say it.

At his nervous call though, she definitely detected her name somewhere in there because she straightened abruptly to look at him with a red face.

"Don't apologize. I'm sorry," he said belatedly forgetting that she couldn't understand a word he said. When he could practically see the question mark on her face, he looked back at the flower pointedly before pressing his palms together in front of his face as if praying. "I'm sorry." He said that three times as she had done to hopefully get the meaning across as well as he bowed his head slightly.

When he finally looked her in the eye again, she was watching him intently; curiously. She was thinking about something, probably a way to speak where he could actually get what she was saying. She looked both troubled and frustrated that she couldn't properly communicate with him. To make it easier on him, he pointed back to the flower and everything else that was within his reach.

"I won't touch anything," he said firmly as he held his hands up in a defensive gesture. He assumed that's what she had been trying to tell him. That he was not allowed to touch anything that wasn't explicitly handed to him. But when she frowned he got the feeling he was wrong that or he had completely lost her.

Softly she said something, that of course, he could not understand. Her pointing finger at the flower he had just been about to touch gave him a clue though. That as well as why she actually stopped him earlier when she was taking that same pointing finger and dragging it across her neck in a straight horizontal line.

"Shi."

The very obvious and universal symbol for dead.

His eyes widened a bit at she continued to speak. If he hadn't just had the sudden realization he almost died from touching a flower, he would've found it amusing that her tone seemed kind of slow. As if not talking as fast would still help him comprehend another language. But again, he could guess. She was probably explaining what the flower was and how it would've killed him.

It made him frown because he really was curious. He would have to ask once she learned English. That and why did they have a flower that was so deadly, practically inside their palace walls where anybody could make his mistake.

Realizing his mind had already assumed and gotten used to the idea of her leaving with him to his home made him want to slap himself. There was no confirmation yet. If anything he'd probably get the opposite. It was hard not to think that though when she was looking at him for the first time without any malice or disdain. Sure it took him almost dying to get that, but at least it meant she didn't truly hate him. If anything she looked concerned.

That was when he realized her earlier expression of what he thought had been anger hadn't been that at all. It was similar to the one she was staring at him with now. It was panic- worry. Panic that he was that dumb and worried he almost touched a deadly plant. He almost died and wondered what his face looked like as he came to that conclusion.

He really wouldn't touch anything after this.

The Princess seemed to have other ideas. Suddenly she started speaking again and pointing out the window. The blank expression he gave her hopefully showed that he didn't understand but just in case he was sure to tell her that.

Looking outside where she was pointing, he looked back at her drawing a total blank. "I don't understand," he shook his head while shrugging. Hopefully they would be able to communicate through these small gestures. She'd have no way of knowing what he really said but she'd at least be able to guess.

Ran only grinned, probably expecting that. Alarming him, with a soft hand, she gently grabbed his own. His face immediately got a small blush but as he looked at her in shock he realized it wasn't nearly as crimson as her own. By the way it kept getting darker, he knew she was aware that he was watching her intently. She wouldn't look at him though and simply pulled him forward. Her tug wasn't forceful or hard though as her significantly tinier fingers latched onto his palm.

If he had been paying attention to anything but her pretty face, he would've noticed what she was doing a lot sooner. It wasn't till his fingers were brushing against something light and smooth that he looked away.

She had placed his palm on another plant. It was attached to some vines that seemed to coil around the window. This one looked simpler and not nearly as intriguing as the deathly one he had been about to grab, but it was something new all the same and was still able to fascinate him. But when she started rubbing his hand into the petals and in doing so rubbing her hand against his- he recoiled and snapped his hand out from under hers.

Face scorching, it was his turn to swallow in nervousness as he took a small step back. Though he knew she would not understand, he couldn't help but ask, "What are you doing?" He didn't know if it was good or bad that she only stared up at him with the most innocent look. It was clear she didn't get why he pulled away. Was that normal to . . . touch people . . like that. . . ?

But then she was laughing and pressing her own palm into the leaves, rubbing her fingers delicately over the petals. When she was done, she stepped forward till she was almost chest to chest with him. Her proximity was starting to make him anxious again but she didn't seem to be as affected. Before he could attempt to move back, she was holding her hands up to him, palms facing upward.

Confused, he didn't really know what to do. Was she asking him to kiss her hand like that snob Princess Momiji? But then she was shoving her fingers forward, as if telling him to hurry up. She kept nudging her head giving him the go ahead sign but it was only when her palm was just under his nose that he understood.

Forgetting his nervousness for a moment, he leaned down slightly towards her awaiting hands. Curiously, he sniffed the tops of her fingers.

His eyes shot open.

"Vanilla?" He questioned completely surprised and also completely forgetting she probably wouldn't understand.

But surprising him, she nodded her head happily. "Banira!" She had a happy smile spread across her face.

Well at least they both understood one word.

Proving his earlier assumptions wrong though, not wasting a second she broke the flower from its tangled vine and held it out to him expectantly. Since he had been thinking it was a crime for him to take such a thing, he only stared at it suspiciously. But her hand shoving closer to him forced him to grab it.

She must've realized he wanted to take one. Twirling the flower by the stem, he looked at it before flicking his gaze back to her. "It's pretty," he complimented to the gift she gave him.

The Princess's head was tilting to the side again in her confusion. "P-pretty. . . ?" Her voice stumbled over the word uncomfortably; her accent twisting it cutely.

Shinichi nodded before nudging his head at her. "Pretty," he said addressing her like an example of the meaning before looking at the flower again. "Pretty," he repeated.

She wasn't getting it. Her brows scrunched as a small frown turned down her lips. But as far as he was concerned it wasn't important to address any of that. Especially if it would be embarrassing for him the moment she did understand. Instead he thanked her for her gift, sticking to his charades to hopefully get their meaning across.

oOo

After his brief and almost fatal exploration, she was kind and escorted him to the dining hall where they could be served breakfast. The moment he was in sight, the translator had been attached to him, almost panicking and wondering where he had been for the entire morning.

Shinichi was never one to lie. He was upfront and explained that he had walked around. Of course he left out the part where the Princess slapped him and just . . . the Princess in general. When they had started talking, he hadn't even been thinking.

It was incredibly offensive to just be walking around alone with a Princess- especially one you had proposed to. They were both unaccompanied and since he didn't know their customs very well, it would probably be best to assume that that was the same no matter what kingdom he journeyed to. As way of excuse for walking in with her, he explained that they had run into each other just outside the door. The translator didn't seem to care to question it and wanting to get further away from the topic, he asked to be shown a tour.

His escort knew a lot, Shinichi could tell. But the man mostly seemed focused on explaining their laws. Some of their customs were bizarre. They had . . female guards. It wasn't unheard of for a woman to want to become a knight in his kingdom but it seldom ever happened. They didn't grow up with the same league and in most cases, fell behind and became outclassed. Here, it seemed it may have almost been the opposite.

"The Princess took some lessons herself," the translator boasted proudly and Shinichi's brows raised further. It was odd enough for a woman to do such things but a Princess?  But now that the topic had reverted to Ran, he became curious.

"Princess Ran," he started slowly while looking at his feet as he trailed along beside his escort. "Why does she dislike me so much?" He knew it was bold of him to ask such a question so outright but he didn't know how else to get a straight answer. The Princess herself would probably tell him if she could but with their language barrier that obviously wasn't a possibility.

Like he knew it would, the subject made the translator uncomfortable. He did not want to address this topic and Shinichi was pretty sure it was because he didn't want to upset nor offend another monarch from another kingdom. The Prince didn't say anything however and simply waited for a response.

When he thought he wouldn't be getting an answer and that the translator looked like he wanted to claim he himself couldn't understand, the man sighed in defeat. "She doesn't like how . . . popular you are," his escort said a little unsurely.

Shinichi's brows raised. That had not been what he was expecting and he was honestly confused by the response. They were royalty. Weren't they all popular in their own right?

The translator winced. "That wasn't the best way to say that. You must understand your language is not my first," he apologized. "It's not you necessarily that she doesn't like. It's what your kingdom represents."

He still wasn't following. His face must've shown that because the older man looked troubled trying to think of the vocabulary to get his point across.

"Your kingdom is known far and wide, Prince. Even in our isolated state we knew of you. Her being an eligible maiden, our King was also aware you were looking for a bride."

"So she does not want to be married . . . ?" Shinichi questioned doing his best to understand.

"The Princess does not want to change," the man clarified. "She knows that if she were to marry you, she would have to leave with you; not meaning just her home. She would have to abandon her customs, her laws- her language."

Suddenly it all made sense to him. And all at once he felt like a jerk. But at the same time, he also felt like he was extremely misunderstood. He had no intention of forcing her to conform. He had no desire to change her. Yes, if they were to be wed, she'd have to learn the language of his home. But that didn't mean he wanted to completely eradicate her own. Because if they were married, it would no longer be just his home or her home. It would be their home.

Maybe his intentions hadn't been clear enough.

When he happened to find her alone again, he came at her like an explosion.

"I don't want you to change!" His voice was raised and he probably looked angry. It wasn't at all surprising that she took a step back. He was probably scaring her. But he took the same step forward and noticing she had a book in her hands, he pulled it from her without even thinking.

She gave a startled gasp but did not fight him. Again, she looked like she wanted to put some distance between them. But he wouldn't allow her to. Much like she had done to him yesterday, he snatched her hand into his own and tugged her closer.

He wasn't thinking clearly. If he had been he would’ve stopped the moment he heard her small yelp but he just wanted her to understand him. She thought wrongly of him and he wanted to correct that image of him. He wanted to change the incorrect assumptions she created about him.

Taking her palm that was latched in his own, he forced her fingers onto the page that was wide open; the page she had been reading before he rudely bombarded her. "Teach me," he said completely serious, his eyes staring into hers intently. "I want to learn."

He knew she was probably still freaked out and had no idea what he was saying. She probably thought he was losing his mind, which he very well might be. He just snatched a book she had been reading and started yelling at her in a language she could not understand.

But when she finally glanced up to meet his gaze, his breath hitched. She had been staring bizarrely at where he had forced her hand, but once she was looking at him directly, she didn't look frightened anymore. She looked incredulous and still a little unsure.

"Your language," he reiterated slowly while also pantomiming and gesturing to the writing that was very clearly in a language he could not discern- her language. Then he was pointing at his chest that was heaving from how worked up he had gotten. "I want to learn."

[tellywoodtrash]

Wow Anika's been trying to help Shivaay for so many days, and it all it took was one yelling from Gauri to resurrect Billu. What mashallah research was HS doing where she came to the conclusion that one can yell mental illness out of a person? Uff these ppl make a mockery out of real, important issues, upar se they pat themselves on their backs for it.

This. This is exactly the fucking thing. I’m making jokes about it and all, and I once said to just fix the character overnight because I can’t watch him suffering like this, but THIS is not what I meant. Not even by a long shot.

This is why I hate Gulneet’s BS “oh look, but we’re raising awareness for the issues” argument to defend bad tracks. No. You’re not raising awareness. All you’re doing is perpetuating lazy stereotypes and dangerous falsehoods about trauma and mental illness/toxic, abusive relationships/[insert topic of choice]. You’re being extremely irresponsible as content creators. I’ve seen the argument that TV is just TV, it’s not meant to teach. I don’t agree. Like it or not, accept it or not, a medium like TV has an incredible impact on society. Especially in non-urban sectors. You as a content creator have to be aware of what message you are sending out in the name of “entertainment”. If you are raising these societal issues in your show (and claiming that you’re doing it to raise awareness) then you have the moral responsibility to disseminate the correct information. Yeah, it might not be the most “fun” or “entertaining” thing to do, or get you the ratings. Then don’t raise the topic at all na? Just write the run-of-the-mill dramatic tellywood stuff. Yeh kya baat hui ki hot topic chhedna bhi hai AWARENESS ke naam pe, and then you don’t even show the correct information? It’s just total fucking bullshit. People are already aware of the problems in society; no matter how “developed” or not the audience is. You think people in Tier 3 cities/villages don’t know mental illness exists? That misogyny/patriarchy/rape/intimate partner abuse/dowry/colorism/whatever exists? That they live in some kinda utopia where all these topics are unheard of? No. They know these issues, and have these problems, but have been dealing with them wrongly for all these years. The key part of the “raising awareness” bit of the tracks is the RESOLUTION. Showing how the characters solved the unpleasant issue in a healthy manner. That’s the educational bit, that actually creates change in society. Harneet herself gave the example of Diya Aur Baati Hum inspiring lots of real life women to enroll themselves in the police force. Now I haven’t watched that show, but I believe it’s because that show actually showed a supportive husband, who went against his family and enables his wife to complete her education and do her job. That was the major narrative of the show, repeatedly showing a healthy relationship dynamic (as opposed to just ainvayi ka “support” they show in this show, with characters going back to their unhealthy relationship patterns once a particular track ends.) Change happens when you show a positive resolution. When you build it into the fabric of the show and reiterate it over and over, despite the circumstances the characters are in. It requires thought and foresight and tight writing, to keep the material both educational and entertaining. If that “knowing English is not required to be smart” Shivika track went viral, it’s because they depicted the issue being addressed in a compelling manner, that made people think and revise their long-held POVs, and educated them to change their mindset. If that ‘don’t have kids till you’re ready’ track made any impact, it’s because they wrote it with good sense and balance; having other characters offer the conventionally-held view, and Shivaay countering it and explaining his POV in an entertaining manner. Those tracks were actually done kinda well, balancing education and entertainment. This utter garbage they’re doing of “raising an issue”, and then immediately solving it in their usual tellywood manner with dramatics and crap is DANGEROUS. That fucking #MeToo track, I hate it. They made it soooooooo dramatic, with the retro party and Anika’s sting operation and lord knows what not, that it just came across as a random bullshit plot, not any different from like the time-and-again Nafratbaaz track, or the Mohit one. They completely diluted the actual topic at hand with all the glitz and glamour surrounding it and made it seem like ‘haan things like this happen in the lives of these big-big people; here’s how they dealt with it in their usual dramatic rich ppl fashion.’ It was so shrouded in “rich people shenanigans” that I doubt it made any impact whatsoever on the larger public about how a victim should be believed and supported and empowered following an incident like this. And now the same with this track. They’ve shown Shivaay suffer for 2, 2.5 weeks now, and all it took for him to heal was “the power of his own mind”. (But not really, because we can see him really struggling in the moments he’s alone.) All they’ve done is taken away the support of Anika; he’s isolated himself due to guilt and feeling unworthy of the only person in his corner, and now he’s going to be spiraling, hurting Anika (and himself) even more in the process.

I won’t blame Gauri for yelling at him. It’s what anyone in this kinda situation would have done. What I do fault is the way they wrote how Shivaay perceived the admonition. Clearly what Gauri was saying at that moment (though not articulately, because of her panic) was that “My sister is being severely affected by your condition. You cannot be irresponsible like this and ruin both your lives. She deserves to be happy and safe with you, her husband.” She was telling him, that as Anika’s life partner, he had to BE BETTER at taking care of her (which can only happen when he handles his mental illness in a responsible manner); instead, they wrote him perceiving it as he doesn’t deserve Anika, is ruining her life, and thus should drive her away by hurting her over and over. Just…. FUCK NO. That was not the fucking message to take away here. I am so angry that this was the way they made him perceive it, making Gauri into some kinda unwitting villain in this situation, when she is not. Perhaps she was unkind in that moment of hysteria, but her intention was never to imply that he isn’t worthy of Anika. She was only showing him the mirror, how this situation affects more people than just himself. Which is an integral component of mental illness.

What they could/should have shown is this: Gauri yells at Shivaay, making him realize how it’s not just his own life is being affected by his illness, but a lot of other people too, just by virtue of being related/attached to him. Anika obviously is the one most affected. Gauri is watching her sister’s suffering every day, but also that of a brother figure that she obviously cares a lot for. OmRu and Prinku are utterly lost without their father figure and need him to have some sort of stability and guidance in life. The company he created, that hires thousands and thousands, lies at risk, affecting all those people and their livelihoods. All of these people need him to heal and be at his best and lead them, like he used to. And so when Anika wakes up, he tells her wants to get better, if not for himself, for everyone else. She assures him that she will be by his side as he recovers. He sees a professional, who assures him that with medication and therapy, the mental illness can be managed and he can be just as functional as he was before, he just needs to be aware of his new limitations and learn to work around them. Show Anika and Gauri and Bhavya being supportive as fuck as he navigates this. It just requires an episode or two to show this in a responsible manner.  But nooooooooooo. Symptoms ke naam pe toh WebMD page ko ratta maar ke padha aur dikha diya, Grey’s Anatomy se topic ka scene straight chaapa, par TREATMENT (the most important part of the issue) ke naam pe yeh kuch bhi hagg diya. Literally fuck them.

Yes, ok, it’s not wildly exciting to see Shivaay in a doctor’s office. But neither is it ultra glam to see him sitting and drinking tea with Khanna. But those kinda scenes have a purpose. It’s to depict how this character has changed over the years and is living his “new normal”. They could have still had the flashy exciting makeover and his SSO avatar coming back, but to counter OmRu in the office, as he takes over and fixes everything in that domain. Him dealing with the chutiya media/business rivals/etc. etc. They really didn’t need to have it HERE in this context, that he just “fixed himself” through sheer will-power, but is also hurting Anika repeatedly in this misguided process.

[gatesofember]

The Privilla: Chapter 2

PJO Arranged Marriage/Royalty AU Part 2

Rating: G | Pairing: Solangelo

Prev | Next | AU directory | Read it on AO3 (Recommended) | Arranged Marriage AU Masterpage

Summary: Almost ten years after their first introduction, Will and Prince Nico meet again. But this time, they are no longer children. Will, the illegitimate third son of Duke Apollo, has had a few prospective suitors, but none of the offers have been as lucrative as his family has hoped. Prince Nico has had his fair share of suitors, as well; with the pressure of being heir to the throne of a kingdom in economic turmoil, Nico is expected to marry for profit and security. However, his icy personality has driven many impatient suitors away. The two young men may prove to be exactly what the other needs.

William sat completely frozen for a several minutes before his mind caught up with his aunt’s words.

“Prince Nico, Duke of Angelus,” Will repeated slowly, like his mouth was having trouble shaping the words.  He remained silent for a moment before smiling at his aunt and saying, “You should not tease me, Your Divinity.”

“I am not,” the Matestra told him.  “I have spoken to the King and written to your father.  The Prince has also agreed to meet you.”

Will could feel his body starting to buzz with restless energy as the truth of Artemis’ words sank in.  He drummed his fingers on his knees to relieve some of his agitation, trying to calm his racing heart.  When he glanced at Hestia, his aunt’s aide, she looked vaguely surprised, but she did little more than raise an eyebrow and she gathered a pen and piece of parchment from her bag to take notes on the Matestra’s meeting.  Thalia, on the other hand, did not look surprised at all.  She caught Will’s eye and gave him a smirk.

Will could remember meeting the Prince in his childhood, and he would not lie and say that his younger self never entertained fantasies of meeting him again.  To his six-year-old mind, the Duke of Angelus had seemed perfect in every way; clever, well-groomed, lively, and popular among older children.  It had taken nearly two years for Will to stop blushing at the mere mention of the Prince.  Even then, at sixteen years of age, he often felt his heart stutter when he thought of Prince Nico.

But when his aunt had stated that, beyond Will’s most absurd hopes and unrealistic fantasies, he had been granted a meeting with the Prince in the hopes of securing an engagement, he felt like he was six years old again, speechlessly sitting with Nico in Aether’s Square and listening as the Prince entertained him with stories.

Will was not quite marriageable age, but he had been old enough to see suitors for about a year.  Nico, as a member of a royal family, would have started earlier.  He had likely entertained more suitors than Will by that point, and they certainly would have been more respectable candidates than Will.  As a natural-born child, most of Will’s offers had been considerably older than him and fairly low in status—mostly earls and countesses, and he had entertained a knight for a while before she turned her attentions to a marquess in Mars.  Will was fully aware that he was not a desirable suitor.  He would never inherit his father’s duchy, and his best hope for his future was to inherit a small county in Diana—although Will preferred the idea of remaining in Venadica as a consor, or perhaps moving back to Diana to enter the service of one of his older brothers.  It was simply insensible for Will to marry a prince — a crown prince, at that.

“I...I am not sure that is entirely appropriate, your divinity,” Will stuttered. “His Highness is...well, he is heir to the Pluton throne, but I have very little to offer.”

“Your father can offer a substantial dowry,” Artemis replied.

“But surely I am unqualified—”

“You are more valuable than you think, Will,” Artemis said.  “Your father’s wealth makes you an attractive suitor, for one thing, and for another, you are a consor, which, I daresay, is exactly what the royal family needs.”

“But surely His Highness would prefer a wife,” Will objected.  Same sex-marriages tended to be less common in royal families because the conception of heirs was so important for succession.

“The Prince has no interest in taking a wife,” Artemis replied.  “Simply as a matter of personal preference, he has stated that he would marry a husband.  I am aware that it seems to be an unlikely pairing, but consider, William.  Think of what you have learned in your theories of government lessons.  What sorts of problems has the kingdom of Pluto faced this past decade?”

“The disease, of course,” Will answered, sparing another glance at Hestia, who was watching with silent interest.  “The Scarlet Delirium.”  Will had been starting his training in Venadica when the Scarlet Delirium was at its worst, training under the consor Asclepius, who was the leading authority on medicine in the City of Enlightenment.  The disease, for the most part, did not spread from Pluto, as Artemis’ scientists had the foresight to recommend that all transportation to and from the kingdom be restricted.  However, the effects had been devastating.  

Shortly after Artemis’ inauguration as Matestra, the Crown Princess of Pluto, Bianca, had fallen ill with the Scarlet Delirium.  Will recalled being outside the room where she spent the last days of her life.  Shortly after she contracted the disease, the King had ordered her to be sent to Venadica, where the best minds in the world were researching the disease in a desperate attempt to find a cure.  The Princess had not survived.  However, before the feverish delirium hit her in the third stage of the disease, the Princess had requested that she might see Artemis and take the Soror’s Oath, thereby relinquishing her place in the line of succession and making her brother heir to the throne of Pluto.  

Will recalled wishing he could see the Prince and help him in any way possible, but Nico had been far away in the Pluton countryside, where he was safe from the contagion.  Bianca had been without kin, out of her mind, and paralyzed in her last moments—only Artemis had remained with the Princess until she drew her last breath.

The loss of the Princess had devastated Pluto.  She had been popular among the people—clever and pretty, with the promise of one day making a fine queen.  With the heir to the throne gone, disease slaughtering Plutons in every town, and no way of engaging in trade with Jupiter or Neptune, the once-famed wealth of Pluto had been exhausted.  A consistently functional cure to Scarlet Delirium had never been discovered, but research had found that sanitation minimized the spread of disease, and it was contained until it became all but extinct.

What Pluto needed, more than anything else, was stability.  The Prince would need to marry someone wealthy who could bring relief to the kingdom quickly.  Diana, Will’s father’s duchy, was among the wealthiest in Jupiter.  Will could see the logic in forming a marriage bond.  As a consor, Will would also be able to provide advice to the royal family and its courts in Pluto’s time of need.

“The economy,” Will said, looking up at his aunt.  “My dowry could pay for some elements of reconstruction, and ties with Diana would open opportunities for trade with southern Jupiter.”

“Excellent work, Will,” Artemis answered.  “And do not underestimate the importance of morale.  Faith in the royal family has been low ever since the death of the Princess.  I suspect that the addition of a consor—a consor primarily studying medicine, at that—would greatly boost the people’s confidence, as well as their opinion of the Prince.”

Will nodded.  He didn’t understand why there seemed to be so many negative opinions of the Prince throughout Pluto, and he could only assume that it was the result of bitterness at the loss of Princess Bianca.  He did not fully believe that Nico’s character was to blame; Artemis liked the Prince, after all, and Hestia had attested to his kindness, as well.  Still, the idea of attempting to court the Prince was terrifying, for many reasons.  He could be wrong; perhaps the Prince was as cold as the rumors said.  Perhaps the Prince would reject him without bothering to give him a chance.  Perhaps if Will married the Prince, he would be unable to see his family again.

“I...I still am not sure that I would suit His Highness,” Will said uncertainly.

“It is one meeting, Will,” Artemis replied.  “If the Prince believes you to be a suitable partner, I have no doubt that the King will agree to enter in discussions of an arrangement.  All that is left is for you to woo His Highness.  You got along well the first time, did you not?”

Will flushed at his aunt’s reference to his first meeting with the Prince and looked at his feet when he caught Hestia and Thalia giving him sly smiles.  Yes, he had enjoyed himself immensely that evening; he had been enamored by His Highness.  For a long time, there was little that Will wouldn’t do for a chance to meet Prince Nico again.  Now, however, Will hesitated—not because he did not want to see the Prince, but because he was afraid.

But then, he’d been afraid the first time, too.

“I shall do my best, your divinity,” Will said.  “I do not know how you were able to arrange this meeting, but I am indebted to you.  And before we depart, I believe I require lessons on dancing the minuet and a partner to practice Acies with.”

Next

[yeoldontknow]

It Was The Night: 1

Author’s Note: welcome to part 1! this is hopefully going to be a short mini series that remains uncomplicated (she says, writing 3 more parts and adding to them as she queues this omg) enjoy! Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: drama; historical au; romance; suspense Rating (this part): G Word Count: 2,046

I.

In the summer of 1826, the very last of my relatives surrendered mind, body, and soul to the hands of consumption.

As any typical eight year old girl, the true meanings of anguish and despair were lost on me. Often I regret, in my old age, to admit that I did not mourn the loss of my Great Aunt Thérèse. Nor did I not, as many children do, grieve out of a twisted sense of fear for my lack of parentage or even for myself. Instead, I felt a small pang of longing whenever I craved the warm arms of reassurance, or perhaps, when I fancied myself a pirate and sought a crew for my ship. I coveted, at times, those large families, filled with siblings and wild imaginations, like the other children at my school.

Her absence, I found, had commenced long before the withering of her body or the slow decay of her lungs. I remember her now less as a person and more as pieces of an ideal, images woven together throughout time to construct a memory of love, the sensation of care, the fleeting notion of safety. She appears to me now as a shadow, something hollowed, a thing I yearned for but eventually moved beyond, carrying with me instead not the soft touch of her hands but the rigidness of the posture she ingrained within me.

In the end, Aunt Thérèse became a memory of authority, a rule I was meant to follow rather than a family member to love. Instead, my sense of protection and comfort had been projected onto a tattered stuffed elephant named Claude, a birthday gift from Aunt Thérèse to love once she had become too weak to spare a fragment of emotion. Or, rather, when she decided that loving me was too strenuous, my existence a burden of charge rather than a pleasure.

Without any sort of family to love me and no kind neighbors to take me in, even as an extra hand for work, I was taken, by the state, from the fields of Berentin to a monastery in Rouen for lost and disadvantaged children. They always used the word “disadvantaged,” as though “orphan” was somehow shameful, as though it was my fault I had been so abandoned. 

I don’t believe I ever forgave dear France for dressing the term in false clothes, for attempting to force my young self into a sort of ignorance regarding the sad reality of my situation. Perhaps, even more, for attempting to gloss over the true position of my station in the new city I was meant to call home. Though in truth, I doubt I would have needed such language when there were older, more tormented children at St. Christie’s to remind me just how lost we all were.

Companions at the monastery were arduous to come by, my predilection for continued, silent observation ostracized me. My playfulness took shape in the form of imagined personas and universes, alternate worlds I felt lingered just beyond my small reach. The noise and gregarious loudness of pranks and teasing did not suit me, my version of gaming born out of compulsory solitude in golden fields. And so, suddenly surrounded by children my age, I found myself profoundly lonely rather than merely alone.

As part of our keep, it was mandatory we all sang in the choir for church  mass. We were to learn music, the traditional hymns and prayers, and were given the opportunity to master a separate instrument to broaden our musical education with papacy approved contemporary pieces. With few friends and little to entertain me beyond my daily chores, I devoted myself to my studies, quickly finding that my skills in languages and biblical translation lent themselves to the language of sight reading. It was, as to be expected, not long before I was the most advanced child in the choir, as well as in the chamber orchestra with my selected instrument, the violin.

Words escape me now, dissipating at the memory of my first touch of the ebony and tiger wood instrument. In the days of my youth, I called it fate, the current of pleasure and excitement that flowed through me as my fingers grazed over the body. Nor can I describe the thrill of longing that pressed against my heart at the sound of the bow against the strings. Instantly, I felt bonded to it, as though its voice was my own. Between us an understanding had been birthed, the music my voice, the body of wood my body - firm, unyielding, desperate to be heard and loved.

And so, by the time I was ten, I had received more solos in place of the older, more experienced girls. This, of course, was a way for one to be noticed by both the church, the public, and by children with little control over their envy. In the wake of my solos, I found my already terribly lonely childhood to be impossibly lonesome. Children teased me, threatened to shatter my instrument out of envy and jealousy. Not long after this, I took to sleeping with my instrument, terrified to wake one morning and find it gone from me, warped and broken at the hands of someone else.

My talents placed me in a bitter spotlight but they also, for reasons beyond me, caused my skills to be noticed by one Monsieur Park. I shall never understand why he chose me, why he was so profoundly adamant in his opinions, but his presence at our mass resulted in my life being changed, irrevocably.

In all my years, I seem to be unable to forget the gleaming pattern of the buttons on his waistcoat the first, and only, time he stood before me. I had given a rather whole-hearted performance of Je Chanterai that left me with clenched fists and shaking hands, eyes wet with the words of Psalm 89:1 echoing in my mind behind the lyrics on my tongue. When mass completed with its usual major chord extravagance, I shuffled, with bowed head, toward the doors of the monastery quarters when a man with strong fingers and pure white hair stopped me and Father Ezekiel in our path.

Almost immediately I sensed the conversation was not for my engagement, that much was clear by the way the stranger spoke in clipped words to Father, so instead I busied myself with the gold of his buttons. I’d never seen a man dressed in such finery, not even on the modest men who did not wear the cloth of God, and certainly not in Berentin. Mine was a humble upbringing, featuring muslin dresses and shoes of thin leather. My wealth had been given to God the moment I entered the world. Yet here was a man, draped in silks, satin tights that glistened beneath the stained glass windows, and a posture so severe I imagined him grounded to the Earth where he stood.

And the buttons, sparkling under the watchful eye of Mary, remained at my eye level as though they were made solely for me and, for the first time, I felt the slow burn of desire.

That evening it was explained to me I would be departing the next day for Le Palais Comédie Français in Paris, by far the most distinguished theatre in the country with a legacy extending well beyond my comprehension of my own bloodline. I was to join their choir, earn a working wage as a member of staff, a wage I would not be given access to until I reached an age suitable for marriage, at which time I would be given the opportunity to audition for the Opera or take my earnings as a dowry should a suitor ask for my hand in marriage.

Having spent the last year expecting to be a child of the church, having spent the last ten years being passed from adult to adult, I adamantly protested the notion, instantly felt the crippling weight of an uncertainty that had never before gripped me. In my mind, I saw myself as a transient thing, something that neither belonged nor existed within France. Forced into a somewhat nomadic existence, I had no sense of self, no sense of home, no sense of safety, and all over again I was being forced to shift my understanding of the world to meet the expectations of men far older than I. My cries proved to be futile, and, the next day, I boarded a sleek, black coach with the most incisive looking horses I had ever seen, and left to start my new life as a choirgirl popular.

Monsieur Park did not let me bring my violin, stating I would not need it. The monastery did not let me take Claude, stating there would be a child in my place who would need it more.

I sniffled as we passed through village after village, though I did not regard Monsieur Park, not directly. Allowing his domineering, stoic frame into my field of vision felt painful, thrust upon me the responsibility of questions and conversation that felt heavy, imposing, far too important for the uneasy silence that had settled in the carriage, and so I chose to watch the world as it passed. Of the trees, I asked my questions, begged their roots for answers. In that moment I envied them, their stability, their strength, their stillness. How I wished my skin would be bark, my feet claws that could bury their talons into the Earth, and proudly declare that I shall be unmoved.

It was not long before the fields and woods between villages became narrow streets, the canopy of foliage traded for a skyline dotted with domes of cathedrals. Quickly, I learned Paris is a city of distractions, bewildering and loud. We passed through market centre, slowly and pressed between homes, people, stalls, and even in the carriage the intense aroma from the fishmonger permeated the finery of the small space. Monsieur Park buried his nose in his ascot, while I and the other girls pressed ourselves to the windows. My fingers idly clutched the velvet of the curtains, clinging to their softness and their tangibility as I struggled to process all I saw before me.

Mine had been a quiet life, one filled with the silence of prayer and the cadence of hymns, entertainment held only within our music lessons and the transcription of bible verses. Never before had I been confronted with such cacophonous activity, my skin swimming with the stimulation of voices just beyond the window. All at once, I was enamoured with it. The noise of the city was difficult, yet thrilling, my heart pulled suddenly towards the chaos of anonymity and the firmness of identity. All my life, i had been told that the city was a Godless place, wracked with sin and debauchery, and little else. But, to me, the city felt vibrant, thriving, so alive that its soul pressed against the carriage in desperation to be touched.

And, here, even the women seemed strong.

It was the gold of the Opera House I saw first, perhaps because the only time I had seen such a glimmer of wealth was on Monsieur Park’s waistcoat. This, I think, was the moment he became synonymous with the opera, draped in gold and firm, just as the building itself. But those small circles were eclipsed in proportion of the gold lining the top of the Opera, gleaming in the light of the sun. Beside me, a young girl who had been weeping feel silent, awed by the sheer beauty of the architecture. Extravagance had been limited in Rouen, even in the construction of its buildings, and all at once I felt myself a heretic.

I found I coveted this life, felt a surge of pride that this was to be my home, although looking back I fear it was not the life that thrust upon me the sensation of ardor. After many years of rumination on the subject, I imagine it was the prospect of being chosen for a life, for being offered freedom and choice and chance.

It was not the life that brought me joy, but the prospect of one altogether.

[failaise]

corpse groom | min yoongi au

summary: after your death, the man who believes himself to be your husband is relentless in his pursuit. 

genre: smut/romance

band member: yoongi from bts

based off this song from the corpse bride 

death!au, corpse bride!au, reader!victor, yoongi!emily, 

warnings: deals with the concept of death, the afterlife, and the creators. this is just my interpretation of the movie and is not meant to offend any religion who believes in something other than this for the afterlife. if it somehow does, please send me a message so that i can improve this story without offending any culture or religion!

OCTOBER FICS 1/?

Your annoyance seemed to fade with each step forwards into the forest. 

The serene silence lulled your indignance. A soft breeze brushed your hair behind your ears and you found yourself, for the first time in days, smiling without force. That heaviness of your chest seemed to lift, blowing like billows of smoke up into the white sky. Beneath your boots, snow crunched into footprints, deep and with purpose. 

For once, you could breathe- away from parents, away from families, away from that devilish marriage you were meant to entertain a thought with. Your eyes were tired yet wide, barely registering the sights before you. You hadn’t slept in days, maybe. Hadn’t eaten in days, either. How could you eat when your future was being pried from your cold fingers? The idea of marrying someone whom you’d never met, of devoting your life and womanhood to a man who was an impeccable nuisance. He expected a wife, kids- for you to stay home to be both. Your heart yearned for more. Real love was amongst your desires of life. 

Paused, you found yourself stood before a clearing. Tree branches stuck out from the ground, of different shapes and sizes, while the tiny round tops of stone peeked out from the snow. You’d never gotten this far before. You wondered how long you’d been walking for. 

Pursing your lips, you continued forwards, collapsing tiredly onto a clear-cut stump.

Thoughts of your overly-exhausting day came flooding back. You caught yourself thinking of the manner of Victor, the kind but annoyance of a fiancé. He discussed his ideas of children with such an eager manner, your stomach felt ill. He expected three, one right after your wedding night. He expected you to give all, especially the dowry. Yes, he seemed quite eager about a dowry. 

Money is what drove these insanely mundane people. Your parents, wanting to climb the social ladder by marrying you off to the red-haired supposedly wealthiest family in your town. Well, if they were so wealthy, why did his parents seem so excited about the prospect of the dowry? 

“Mmm,” you mimicked their snotty voices, “’shall we discuss the… hmm.. prospects of marriage?’“ Pushing yourself to your feet, you rested your hands on your hips, ignoring the bite of cold on your noise. “‘Yes, my dear’,” you continued, spinning around to the short stump, which quite perfectly imitated Victor, your fiancé’s father. You gave it a kick. 

“With this hand,” your initiation of Victor’s nasally voice was, in your opinion, fitting, “I will lift your sorrows.” 

Twisting your shoulders, you reached out to shake a bony branch. “Your cup shall never empty, for I will be your wine.” 

The vows were incredibly cliche. You had hoped you would be able to write your own, someday- vows that didn’t sound as if you were sentencing your future to some somber death. Lowering yourself to your knees, you bent at the hips before a branch, outstretched through the snow. Your gaze flickered to the engagement ring, sparkling and small on your finger. 

“With this candle,” you twisted the ring, a size too tiny, from your hand, “I will light your way in darkness.” 

A cold gust of wind brushed your hair behind your face, caressing your cheek softer than a lover could. The hush whisper of the forest life quietened, as if all the creatures were now stopped, listening to you profess your undying devotion for a branch. 

You slipped the ring onto the wood. It fell until it hit the snow, resting there comfortably. 

“With this ring, I ask you to be mine.” 

Somehow this escapade had made you feel… better. Marriage to a branch would be better than to Victor, and perhaps your vows, sad as they were, could one day be said positively to someone who you felt true love for. Sighing, you sat back in the snow, falling backwards into the clouds of white. Your body felt chilly but your heart was at ease, beating softly within the ribbed confines of your chest. The sky looked so beautiful then. You wished you could stare at it forever. 

You weren’t sure how long you laid there, poised in ice and breathing slow. Your eyelids felt heavy and your limbs tired, weighing pounds, sinking into the snow. A long sigh escaped your lips, and after a moment of hesitation, your eyes fluttered shut, finally at peace. 

Mmmmm.

It felt so nice. You hadn’t had a nap that peaceful since weeks ago. 

Smiling softly, you moved your arms from their spot, stretching your sore legs. 

Almost at once, you realized something was different. Your body was no longer cold. You couldn’t feel the breeze of night, or the tiny noises of woodland creatures. Your eyes flew open and you shot upwards. What you beheld was not snow, or trees, or the darkness of night. 

You were in a room. A nice one, at that. It had been decorated simply, a vase of dark blue roses by your bed. And your bed- you jumped to examine it quickly, only to find that it was shaped as a coffin, though with more luxurious cushioning. A silk blanket had been draped over your frame; it slipped to the ground in a puddle when you stood. 

Your chest felt tight. You felt as if you couldn’t breathe, and with a shock you found that you weren’t. Your chest wasn’t expanding, your lungs weren’t working. With eyes wide as saucers, you clasped at your throat, and spun to find the exit. 

The door to enter was shut. You rushed to open it, though you hesitated. You had no clue as to where you were, or what drugs you’d been given, or who had abducted you. 

Swallowing, you found your courage to twist the handle. The door swung back with one long, eerie creak. Its openness revealed a hallway, long and dark and dimly lit by torches hung on the wall. You tip-toed forwards, sure to be quiet, until you came to the end of it. The hall ended at another set of doors, and through the windows of the lobby you stood in, you could see that there were people around. 

It looked like your village. Yet, it was dark. You couldn’t see the sky, or clouds, or any type of sun. A grim shadow fell over the town. Vinery climbed up the walls of tall, skinny buildings. Neon green lights flashed in the windows of what looked like bars, and a fountain stood in the midst of it all. 

Confusion began to level your fright. Gulping down your fear, you continued forwards, sure that perhaps this was just some very twisted nightmare and that you’d wake in the snow, ready to go home. Suddenly the idea of marrying Victor became better than this. 

There was no cold or hot, no breeze of any sort as you stepped out into the town. You could only compare this to limbo, the empty space between heaven and hell. 

In the name of the lords, were you…. 

dead? 

The nearest person who walked past, you grabbed. “Sir?” 

The man spun around by your force, starkingly revealing a face of green and rotting, and a maggot crawling out from the empty black space where his left eye should have been. Brown, sharp teeth revealed themselves as he looked upon you with kind curiosity, “Yes?”

You let go of him instantly, trying your best not to gasp at the ungodly sight before you. Your words died on your tongue as the man squinted with his one good black eye, and something like understanding dawned upon his face. 

“You’re the new wife,” he finally said. 

You blinked, licking your chapped lips, “The what?” 

The man began to speak, but his raspy voice was cut off by some low, smooth one. 

“Wife,” it said, moving from the shadows of an alley between Emily’s Pie Shop and Snake Lounge. “You’re my wife.” 

“Excuse me?” 

The figure appeared before you, unsheathed by the darkness that had clothed him. You first noticed that he was a bit taller than you, and skinny, dressed nicely in a slightly-torn black suit, as if he were getting ready to go to a wedding. His skin was deathly pale and smooth, unlike the person before you, and he had hair of silky black locks that fell loosely around his head. Moon-shaped, dark eyes sparkled in the street fires, and light pink lips curved into the tiniest of smirks. 

“Your wife?” You repeated incredulously. “I’m- who- what’s-” 

“Perhaps you should take a moment to sit, my love,” the stranger moved towards you with a hand outstretched, ready to guide you to a chair. You jumped back from him in defense. “Really, beautiful, it is best if you’re sitting when I tell you. You must be very scared.” 

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child,” you snapped, eyes narrowed at the handsome man. “Tell me where I am and who you are.” 

“Firstly,” he took a hesitant step towards you, apparently not wanting to frighten you further. You squared your jaw. “You are where every… dead person goes. We call it Fors, which means Luck.” 

Your eyes grew wide once again. If you could have felt your heart beating, you were sure it would have stopped. 

“’Where every… dead person goes’?” Your mouth felt unbearably dry. Did you need water? Could you drink water? 

And while you wished it wasn’t true, it felt as if the knowledge he was telling you was already known; it was as if you were refreshing your mind on a topic you learned when you were young. Dead. Suddenly, the word wasn’t frightening. You weren’t sure why a wash of relief fell onto your skin, or why what he said made sense- it hadn’t before. 

“My love,” he took a step towards you, and you glanced up at him, “I found you in the snow after your vows. You seemed so lovely, so at peace. Your heart, unfortunately, dear, had ultimately been slowed until your breaths were no more.”

You had been so tired. You hadn’t eaten in days, hadn’t slept in days. Perhaps you were foolish to think that winter wouldn’t claim you, knowing your health wasn’t in perfect shape. Your mind wasn’t either. And perhaps this was for the better. Victor was gone, no longer a nuisance. Yet, your heart felt heavy with the knowledge that your excitement for education, for adventure, for travel- it had all been snuffed out by the cold grasp of November. 

“And myself,” he continued, raising his left hand to sight and momentarily silencing your thoughts. In the darkness of the town, the torch lights lit up the burgundy amber settled in the golden engagement ring on his finger.  “My name is Min Yoongi, and I am your husband.”

AHA yes i am doing october ficcs now!!! send in your spookiest ideas for bts and got7 halloween fics circa 2017! 

[tentoriwrites]

Side Route 8

You chose  Deny it’s him

Go back?

“I can see why you would think that.” I replied quickly with a nod. “It’s not him though.” She quickly slightly defeated for a moment before the smile returned to her face.

“Well I suppose it can’t be helped.” Was all she said as she went back to sipping her tea. “It’s a shame at least one of us can’t have the person we really want to be with…” Her voice trailed off and we both eyed the cook with wild grins.

“Huh?” She looked at us dumbly for a minute before the realization sank in. You could tell her brain was catching up as her cheeks caught fire with a fierce blush. “Oh no! Really! I…” I let loose a maniacal laugh as I got to my feet and ran out into the garden.

“Lord Toshiie! Can I borrow you for a moment? It seems our dear cook needs a sturdy young man to help her with something very heavy in the kitchen!” Lord Toshiie looked at me indignantly for a moment then sighed.

“Go on, my boy. We’re done for the day anyways.”

“Thank you so much, she’ll be so relieved!” We wandered over to a blushing cook and Lady Oichi already on her feet. Toshiie passed the cook a surly expression.

“Lady Oichi.” He offered a customary bow.

“Lord Toshiie.” Her reply lacked all its usual bite and he immediately looked at her uneasily. “Come on, let’s go get whatever it is you needed…” He grumbled, but there was a light in his eyes as he spoke.

“Oh um… ok…” The poor cook as clearly panic struck as she took a step towards him. Oichi pushed her foot out at the last second causing the cook to trip right into Lord Toshiie.

“Oh my! Do be careful!” Lady Oichi mused turning swiftly and walking away.

“Duty calls! Milord!” I offered a hasty bow to the blushing couple and took off after my lady.

 In the days following, Lady Oichi persistently badgered me about who I was infatuated with. I was running out of good ways to dodge the question at this point. I found myself outside looking up at the moon wondering how on earth I could have let myself fall for someone so unattainable. I stared up at the moon pondering what to do when a voice cut through the deepening night.

“You are my sister’s entertainer, are you not?” I looked up to see Lord Nobunaga, realizing who it was I bowed to him quickly. He ignored the gesture entirely and plopped down next to me and started looking up at the moon. “She has been insistent you should be wed and suggested a match with one of my retainers.” He went on not bothering to look at me. “She seems quite taken with you.” He added glancing over at me.

“I doubt she’s as taken with me as I am with her.” My whole body frozen in fear wondering if I had, in fact said that out loud. Lord Nobunaga’s hoarse laugh told me I had. “I... I didn't mean anything by that...” I whispered as I started to rub my arm out of habit.

“Oho... So my sister has a suitor, does she?” He mused with a grin.

“Please, Milord... I would like to not complicate things between Lady Oichi and I. Especially if she is to be wed again in the future.”

“My Divine Rule is getting closer everyday. It would be a waste of resources to put together another dowry for her.” Was all he said as he got to his feet again.

“Why Are you telling me this, Milord?” Lord Nobunaga just sighed in the face my question.

“I thought you smarter than that.” He answered curtly with an exasperated look on his face. He offered me no further explanation leaving me with the impression he did not intend to make Lady Oichi enter another political marriage. While that meant the world to me, I was unsure if that was something I should tell her or let him. Surely it would go a long way to mend their relationship if he told her himself. I still wasn't sure she was ready to hear it for what it really was though. Knowing her, she would just scoff and comment about how she would now be cast aside since she had outlived her usefulness. Ultimately, I could come to no conclusion and went to bed with a head full of jumbled thoughts.

 I was called to the main hall after breakfast. When I arrived only Lord Nobunaga, Lord Mitsuhide, and Lord Katsuie were there. There was a package on the floor which peaked my interest, but I ignored it for now.

“You're going to take my sister to town.” That's it, that's all Lord Nobunaga said before getting up and leaving.

“Wait... what?” I looked at Lord Mitsuhide dumbfounded.

“Milord Nobunaga feels Lady Oichi could use a change of scenery. We are not in a position to allow her to take a holiday far from the castle. This was the next closest solution. Lord Katsuie ensures us your skills with a sword would prove adequate should the need arise. I thought it prudent to perhaps try to diminish Lady Oichi's attire so as to not draw too much attention.” He motioned to the package as he explained. I could help feel nervous as I glanced at Lord Katsuie. He was positively beaming.

“I have utmost confidence in your skills, young lady! I'm certain you'll be  fine guardian for Lady Oichi.” He answered my unspoken questions with a energetic tone and confident smile. “As your mentor it is my honor to bestow this upon you.” He handed me a short sword that had clearly been well-loved. “This was my very first short sword. I would like for you to have it.” Tears well up in the older man's eyes and he sniffled. I couldn't help but smile fondly at him in return.

“Thank you, Milords. I will not disappoint you.” I took the package and the sword and walked as fast as possible to Lady Oichi's chambers.

“This has to be some kind of trick.” The words left her mouth as soon as mine stopped moving. “My brother would hardly suggest such a thing without motive.”

“So what if it is a trick?” I started opening the package of clothes. “This is a chance to do whatever you want! Go anywhere in town you want, eat whatever you want! We can't pass this up, Milady!” I urged the kimono of far lower quality than her own into her hands. She looked down at it a moment then back up at me with playful eyes.

“I demand we visit a teahouse and eat sweets until we're nearly ill.”

“Deal.”

I sighed in distress as I looked at Lady Oichi in common clothes. “Is it really that bad?” She wondered looking down at herself.

“Even in clothes such as these you are still the most beautiful person I've ever seen, Milady.” A faint blush colored her cheeks as she looked away. “My task will not be an easy one, but I wouldn't have it any other way.” I flashed her my best smile to cover my apprehension.

Maybe it was nerves from being assigned Lady Oichi's guardian, maybe it was butterflies from being alone out of the castle with her, I couldn't be certain at the time, but I couldn't seem to relax. Even as Lady Oichi glided through town perusing every shop, I couldn't shake the feeling we were being followed. We settled ourselves at a popular tea house and I finally lived up to my end of the bargain. We ate the first of what I suspected would be many rounds of sweets outside. It was a beautiful day, after all, and the sun on her skin made Lady Oichi seem to shine as well.

Unfortunately, I wasn't the only one to take notice of her radiance. A group of men approached us from the opposite side of the street. I didn't like the looks on their faces, I had seen it far to often before. “We need to go...” I grabbed Lady Oichi's hand and pulled her protesting body up.

“You promised me we would eat sweets until we were almost ill.” She quipped with that Oda defiance in her voice.

“You heard the pretty lady, she wants to stay a while.” One of them men jeered with a lecherous grin.

“Yes and I certainly don't remember inviting the likes of you...” She turned to address the man with a noble air and a sharp tonuge.

“Awe don't be like that, sweet heart.” Another soothed as he reached out to grab her.

“If that hand so much as brush her, I will cut it off.” I growled protectively as I yanked Lady Oichi back.

“Looks like we got a fiesty one here. Not bad on the eyes either... Just the way I like them...” A third leered at me and I had to physical concentrate on not gagging.

“Go... I'll take care of them.” I said firmly as I looked over my shoulder at Milady.

“I'm not going anywhere.” Of all the times to be stubborn this is NOT ONE OF THEM. One of the men reached for her again and I instinctively drew the short sword. His hand hovered a hair's breath away from her hand, testing my resolve.

“You must not be very fond of that hand...” I growled with all the disdain for every man who had ever done me wrong boiling up in my chest. The hand slowly inched away then stopped again as a dubious smirked formed on the man's lips.

“I bet it's not even sharp...” Truthfully, I wasn't even sure it was sharp... I had not reason to believe Lord Katsuie would give me a dull blade though. With that though in mind, I gripped the hilt tighter. Then, one by one, they all started wobbling and fell over.

“What in all the hells?” I bent down and inspected the sleeping man only to find a needle sticking out of his neck. My gaze flitted around like a prey animal until I finally saw a flash of silver hair retreating down an alley.

“Follow me!” I yanked Oichi down the alley looking for the person I knew had saved us. “Damn it, Yuki!”

“Mejiro...” Oichi whispered my name and I spun around to see even more men. These weren't the same as the others. These had very serious looks on their faces.

“Lady Oichi...” One of them called as he took a step forward and drew his sword. “You're coming with us.”

“Do you honestly think my brother would pay anything for used goods?” She hissed straight backed and ever defiant. No matter the circumstance she always stood strong in the face of it. She carried her burdens with a grace I could never hope to attain. She inspired me.

“I'd say he'd pay a pretty penny for you if he knew what was good for him.” He made a move to grab her and I slashed at his arm.

“You'll have to go through me first...”

 “You seem as if you've used a sword before.” Lord Katsuie commented after training one day.

“My brothers and I used to spar when I was very young. I also used to do a ceremonial dance with a sword on occasion in the tea house.”

“Now that is something I would like to see someday.” His smile caused wrinkles to form at the corners of his eyes.

“Why not today! As my thanks for allowing me to train with you and your men.” I beamed jumping to my feet.

“Only if it isn't too much trouble.” I shook my head and made my way through the motions of the dance with one of the practice swords. When I was done Lord Katsuie bore a very serious look.

“I know I'm a bit rusty...” I sighed rubbing my arm idly.

“This is your style then...” He remarked getting to his feet. “Many great swordsmen practice a particular style.  It is a style which suits them and their personality.” He went on as he grabbed a practice sword. “Your style must be fluid and graceful, strong yet soft.” He dropped into his own stance. “For you to truly benefit from my training I have to make sure to train you in the style correct for you.” A fire in his eyes and a grin on his face he beckoned me come. “Shall we dance?”

 I relaxed for the first time all day as I thought back on those words. While formulating my reply to the question, “Just who the Hell do you think you are?”

“My name is Mejiro, the Songbird of Kyoto. Trained in the art of dance by Shibata Katsuie, senior retainer of the Oda.” A self-assured smirk on my face and uttered the question. “Shall we dance?”

He didn't take me seriously until his arm started to bleed, blood seeping from a deep cut. He didn't take kindly to that and ordered the other men to get involved and put an end to the farce. I was just about to lose an appendage when another sword blocked the blade.

“Lord Katsuie?” I gasped in shock as I watched him throw the other man back.

“Now it's not very polite to expect a young lady to dance with more than one partner. “Let's even the numbers a bit shall we?”

“The Hell you going on about, Old Man?” Lord Toshiie sighed as his blade found another.

“This certainly didn't end up quite as we planned.” Lord Mitsuhide sighed as he shoved the leader back. I looked at Lady Oichi with a rueful smile.

“You were right...”

“I know my brother...”

“I suppose I owe you both an explanation...” Lord Mitsuhide began only to be cut off by Lord Nobunaga.

“I hired the first group of men to attack you.” WHAT THE WHAT?! “They were only supposed to give you a hard time then give up.”

“You planned this just so you could rush in and save the day.” Lady Oichi hissed as she marched right up to his horse. “If you thought doing something so reckless and stupid would put you back in my good graces...” He cut her off.

“I did it so she could impress you...” Lady Oichi, for the first time since I had meant her, had been rendered completely speechless. “These men were ronin that came to town recently trying to cause trouble. They had nothing to do with it. But thank you for making it easier to find them.” He gave her that smirk and she yelled back at him in frustration. He just chuckled and started to ride away. Lady Oichi drew in a deep breath and released it slowly.

“Lord Mitsuhide, a moment of privacy, please.” He bowed in response before herding the other Oda retainers out of the alley.

“We will await you on the main road. Please call for us should you have need.”

Once we were alone she looked over at me, red faced and nervous. “What need would you have to impress me that you would go to my brother?”

“I didn't go to your brother. I didn't ask him for anything...” I answered as I looked away. “I said something I shouldn't and he took it the wrong way.”

“What did you say to him?”

 Confess

Tell her a lie

[beyond-katie-blog]

An Analysis of Elizabeth Bennet: A Viewpoint of the British Class System in the 19th Century

Pride and Prejudice, a staple in romantic literature and regarded as a classic, was written by Jane Austen and published in 1813. The novel is based in the nineteenth century near the end of the Georgian era specifically during the Regency period, a time of cultural development before the famous Victorian era. Elizabeth Bennet, a twenty-one-year-old woman that is the second eldest of her five sisters, did not seek marriage like her sisters which was atypical for the time. Elizabeth, unlike the majority of girls and woman like her mother and certain sisters, disliked the pressures and notions of formal society. Elizabeth marries Mr. Darcy, a man with prejudice and pride akin to hers but in different prospects, and it teaches her more about the reality of class and their own troubles. It is expected that “A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved.” (Austen 45) and also improve her mind in the form of extensive reading. Men, in this aspect, are expected to be handsome, gentlemanly yet formidable, and who known all formal graces of courtship of a woman of great standing or a plentiful dowry. In Pride and Prejudice, life can act as a viewpoint of the marital and societal expectations in the British class system by analyzing Elizabeth Bennet’s personal relationships with family, friends, and romantic interests.

In discussions revolving around the 19th century, the social and romantic aspects of the century is what is most commonly seen: For beneath the surface glitter of Regency life - the opulent interiors, the elegant dress, the grand, scenic architecture - was an underlying malaise, a pervasive emptiness and a sense of loss that afflicted a wide spectrum of the populace. (Erickson 8) Elizabeth Bennet shares quite similar views in the way that she abhors what is expected of society in the marital sense. Elizabeth is regarded as the second most beautiful compared to her oldest sister, Jane, and as the most peculiar and expressive. She enjoys dancing, laughing, and being free with her emotions and purpose. She did not hide how she felt but when it would compromise someone else, particularly her sisters or husband. In 19th century standards, she is not the woman a man would usually wish to marry as she is overly witty, intelligent, and stubborn in her opinions of society. These traits were not desirable in women of that time, subservience was expected, and conversation was the least concern compared to confirming succession and wealth for the family. Behind marriage lies the ideal of money not love, most women from a young age were raised to yearn for a man with a plentiful fortune. For the British Class System in the 19th century, “consequence of continuing material progress, the national distribution of income and wealth slowly became somewhat less skewed...” (Goldthorpe/Lockwood 142) it lessened the power dynamic between the classes but did not abolish it. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. (Austen 4) Elizabeth settles that she would die an old maid, a woman who never marries and gets no money from a marriage, rather than enter a loveless marriage. Love is not optional for her but a necessity, the presence of her husband is to be enriching, riveting, and comforting. Elizabeth’s family knows this is an important part of who she is and what eventually led to her self-proclaimed passionate and loving marriage to Mr. Darcy, in which her father accepted due on this basis.

Elizabeth’s parents are dissimilar, as the very first mention of the character illustrates their core personality differences:

Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to develop. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and news. (Austen 6)

Mr. Bennet does not care for his children’s marriages as fervently as his wife, Mrs. Bennet, and certain daughters did. Starting from the eldest sister is Jane, twenty-three, who is known for her beauty and is “so admired” (Austen 15) marries a kind and wealthy heir named Mr. Charles Bingley [a close friend of Mr. Darcy]. Elizabeth is her father’s favorite and shares the closet bond with him due to their shared understanding and admiration. Mary, nineteen, is the middle child and “a young lady of deep reflection” (Austen 9), she is also the only one to remain home after all her sisters married. Catherine “Kitty” Bennet, seventeen, is the fourth sister daughter and is often in the shadow of Lydia, her youngest sister, who “She will follow wherever Lydia leads. Vain, ignorant, idle, and absolutely uncontrolled!” (Austen 265). Lydia Bennet, fifteen, is the youngest child and she is described as “lost to everything” (Austen 318) and was determined to married an officer. This determination to led her elopement with the charming, yet very deceptive officer Mr. George Wickham [a former childhood friend of Mr. Darcy], who Elizabeth herself said “...will never marry a woman without some money.” (Austen 318) Though Mr. Bennet did not expect and greatly disliked the elopement of Lydia and Mr. Wickham, the marriage had to properly happen in order to protect the Bennet family’s honor from total ruin and disgrace. The sisters are all quite different in many regards and can fit into many modern stereotypes, such as Kitty and Lydia falling into the stereotype “all woman are obsessed with men” and Mary being “the silent type.” Ms. Bennet was the one to entertain the younger sister’s obsession with marriage, which led to the Lydia’s predicament but also was able to prevent Kitty, and the reputation of those living in the manor, from the same fate. It is also essential to mention Mr. Collins, a cousin of Mr. Bennet, who is a clergyman, and landholder at the estate of his patroness, Lady Catherine De Bourgh. Mr. Collins, in the event that Mr. Bennet’s dies and none of his daughters are married, is the devisee of the Bennet manor. Due to this, Bennet needed to marry a woman of or in relation to the Bennet family. His first choice was Jane for superficial reasons but that did not work out because she was in active courtship with Mr. Bingley. For that reason, Mr. Collins later proposed to Elizabeth, who swiftly rejected him leading him to marry her best friend.

Charlotte Lucas, twenty-seven, is a close friend of the family and Elizabeth Bennet’s best friend who marries Mr. Collins for his wealth and also her growing age. Charlotte was known “for her compassion” (Austen 129) and would recognize the romantic chemistry between Jane and Mr. Bingley, and even Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy from the beginning. Charlotte would listen closely to anyone; she was not bothered by Mr. Collins curt mannerisms. “Marriage vied with inheritance as the most important way to transmit power and wealth.” (Phegley 110) Charlotte and Mr. Collins was not a ‘proud’ one nor was it for love, but for the sake of herself and family’s prosperity. With this, Charlotte and Mr. Collins were able to easily coexist in the marriage where “mutual entertainment between couples would appear to be relatively rare” (Goldthorpe/Lock-wood 142). In the 19th century, especially in the Georgian era “…daughters were seen as the way forward, the family member who could boost the status and fortunes of a whole generation.” (Courcy 29) which is why Charlotte was so hastened to marry Mr. Collins. His air was grave and stately, and his manners were very formal. (Austen 74) His impact is considerably small as a character but as a characteristic of the time he is an example. Mr. Collins is written as the average man to marry in that period, a wealthy and monotonous man whom only pursued marriage on the basis of inheritance and his own steadfast loyalty to whomever held power. Despite Charlotte being Mr. Collins third choice, as a husband he treated her well, as expected, which is described in Cruelty and Companionship: Conflict in Nineteenth Century Married Life:

But despite this [the customs of courtship] rigidity, by the end of the nineteenth century the exposure of marital misconduct among men of all social classes had brought to an unprecedented amount of attention to proper ideals of male behavior in marriage, so that one result of the long marriage debate was a challenge to prevailing concepts of marriage. The ‘manliness’ of husbands was tested increasingly by their marital conduct, and not only their breadwinning capacities, which could not help but encourage more intense questioning of their family authority. (Hammerton 2)

Colonel Fitzwilliam, thirty, is a gentleman whom Elizabeth took frivolous liking to, but were just friends. Though perceived as a complete gentleman, he does admit that he would be unable to ever marry a poor woman, inadvertently emphasizing Elizabeth lower economical stance, as he must provide for himself. He is cousin of Mr. Darcy and the guardian of Georgiana Darcy, the beloved younger sister of Mr. Darcy, and accidentally supplies knowledge to Elizabeth that lessens her opinion of Mr. Darcy. Colonel Fitzwilliam is who tells Elizabeth of Mr. Darcy’s involvement in separating Jane and Mr. Bingley, though he was not aware that Jane was her sister. The colonel said that Mr. Darcy had “congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage...” (Austen 212).

Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy did not start out being so ardently in love with each other but actually held hard feelings toward each other due to misunderstandings of each other’s character. They first met at a ball and whilst in Elizabeth’s earshot makes a rude remark of her appearance, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me…” (Austen 14) which decides her opinion of him being “the proudest, most disagreeable man in the world…” (Austen 13) Elizabeth and Charlotte discuss his status in society, and how he has the right to be prideful, and Elizabeth even says, “I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.” (Austen 23) Elizabeth notices his apprehension for dance, which was a very prominent social activity in the Regency/Georgian era that was not taken lightly and was subject to many works of art such as Albert Ludovici Jnr., The Regency Dance:

Pride and Prejudice, a suitable title and phrase for the relationship between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy represents their equal prides and prejudices based upon the British Class System. The class system held favorably to the rich and negatively towards the poor, even more to those who lived in complete poverty. Elizabeth was prideful and had a prejudice against the wealthy, as she felt they all saw the poor as lesser than them. Mr. Darcy was just as prideful and had a similar prejudice on the opposite end of the spectrum as he felt all the poor, especially woman, only cared for wealth. Mr. Darcy, as previously described, separated Jane and Mr. Bingley because of his prejudices without truly seeing the type of person Jane was, and immediately generalized her due to his own skewed perspective. Shortly, only five pages, after Elizabeth finds out his involvement in the separation of Jane and Mr. Bingley, he proposes to Elizabeth. Mr. Darcy confesses that “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” (Austen 217) After the confession, Elizabeth is left astonished and in shocked silence which gives him the fuel to continue the explanation of his conflicted and quite derogatory reaction towards his own feelings. During this, Elizabeth remains calm until she finally becomes angry and responds with a outright and notable response, addressing her main provocation: “I might as well inquire,” replied she, “why with so evident a desire of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil? But I have other provocations. You know I have. Had not my feelings decided against you—had they been indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?” (Austen 219) In the 2005 film adaption of Pride and Prejudice, suitably named after the novel, makes Mr. Darcy “look more passionate than the literary original”. (Gymnich/Ruhl 26) By using the actor as a tool, Joe Wright, the director was able to direct them to display emotions not commonly represented in the 19th century. Such as making the scene occur in the rain, a romantic trope very commonly used in iconic romance films like 

The Notebook, Breakfast at Tiffany's, and Enchanted

, instead of in the lackluster guestroom of the Collins house she was occupying. For this reason, Elizabeth “referred for the truth of every particular to Colonel Fitzwilliam himself—” (Austen 237) as there was no reason for him to be untrustworthy or biased in her eyes. In gaining Elizabeth’s trust he also fortuitously lessened her opinion of Mr. Darcy, especially after the displaced proposal. She over time finds out he was responsible for saving her family’s reputation by arranging the elopement of her sister, Lydia, to Mr. Wickham and assisting in reconnecting Jane and Mr. Bingley. Through her established friendship with the colonel, and circumstances connecting Mr. Darcy and herself, they began to see one another in a positive light and Elizabeth contentedly agrees to become Mr. Darcy’s wife upon seeing the happiness Jane’s engagement with her Mr. Bingley brought. In finally seeing what was behind his negative behaviors was actually concern and kindness for the people he cared for, Elizabeth was able to admit that she loved Mr. Darcy. When asking her father, Mr. Bennet, for permission to marry Mr. Darcy he asked if she really like him, this was her vivid response:

“I do, I do like him,” she replied, with tears in her eyes, “I love him. Indeed he has no improper pride. He is perfectly amiable. You do not know what he really is; then pray do not pain me by speaking of him in such terms.” (Austen 424)

With this, Elizabeth’s were assured and a stereotype of 19th century marital expectations was broken, as she loved her husband and he did in return, a rarity found in the time of rising society. 

To conclude, in examining Elizabeth Bennet’s family, friendships, and romantic interests it was possible to analyze the marital and societal expectations of the British class system. Mr. and Ms. Bennet, though quite drastically different raised intelligent and mature young women, maybe with the exceptions of Kitty and Lydia Darcy, who even if they make mistakes can improve from them. Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy, along with Jane and Mr. Bingley, were able to break the stereotype of dispassionate marriages, instead entering healthy and tender ones. On the other hand, Charlotte Lucas and Mr. Collins acted as a prime example of the reality of marriage in the 19th century. Charlotte, only a short time away becoming an “old maid”, ended the burden on her parents and was able to financially ascend with the help of her marriage to Mr. Collins. However, this is not to be misunderstood. Charlotte was not in love with Mr. Collins, but she was content and treated well by Mr. Collins, together developing a unique companionship. With this, 19th century expectations are broken down and evolve into positive representations of what could be seen as negative. Prejudices between the rich and poor occurred in many ways, by not accepting a simple dance or even a proposal, it can take so many shapes. Pride truly takes many forms throughout society; Not enough words or to many, rejection, a superior wage, a bigger home, or just a phrase can hurt another person’s pride. Pride and Prejudice whilst generally focusing upon the marital aspects, it also expresses the moral lacking’s of individuals and their thoughts in society during the Regency era. It made possible, in examining Elizabeth Bennet’s family, friendships, and romantic interests it is possible to properly observe the marital and societal expectations and limitations that live within the British class system.

WORK CITED

Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. AmazonClassics, 2017.

Courcy, Anne De. The Husband Hunters: American Heiresses Who Married into the British Aristocracy. St. Martin's Press, 2018. Dillon, Sarah. “Pride and Prejudice.” Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 10 Jan. 2020, www.britannica.com/topic/Pride-and-Prejudice.Erickson, Carolly. Our Tempestuous Day: A History of Regency England. William Morrow Paperbacks; Reprint Edition, 2011. 

Goldthorpe, John H., and David Lockwood. Affluence and the British Class Structure. University of Cambridge, Department of Applied Economics, 1964. Gymnich, Marion, and Kathrin Ruhl. Gendered (Re)Visions: Constructions of Gender in Audiovisual Media. V & R Unipress, Bonn Univ. Press, 2010.

Hammerton, A. James. Cruelty and Companionship: Conflict in Nineteenth-Century Married Life. Routledge, 2016.Jnr. Ludovici, Albert. The Regency Dance. 1852-1932. Art and Antiques, Oxford, England. Bonhams. https://www.bonhams.com/auctions/18050/lot/18/?category=list“Romantic Rain.” TV Tropes, Tvtropes, 13 Aug. 2014, tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/RomanticRain. Phegley, Jennifer. Courtship and Marriage in Victorian England. Praeger, 2012.

[technologyinfosec]

'Sab Kushal Mangal' review: Everything is not fine with this romantic comedy

Whether Sab Kushal Mangal is a mindless romantic comedy or a paean to forced marriages is a question that will plague you throughout the movie. Helmed by debutant director Karan Vishwanath Kashyap, the movie centres around a small-town political goon Baba Bhandari (played with absolute aplomb by Akshaye Khanna) who forcibly gets local boys married off to girls whose hapless families can't meet the dowry demands of the grooms' side. When a hotshot media personality (their words, not ours) Pappu Mishra (Priyaank Sharma) is kidnapped off the streets by Baba's henchmen to be married off to local girl Mandira Shukla (debutant Riva Kishen) confusion abounds. Without giving off too much plot points suffice to say the convoluted three-way love story that develops between the trio ensures the movie meanders through 2 and a half hours before coming to a final end. Padmini Kolhapuri's son Priyaank makes a decent enough debut though we have to admit his 'Pappu hairstyle' is a huge distraction throughout the movie. In fact, it is the roguish Baba who captures our hearts and drives the movie, rather than the fickle 'love at first sight' couple Pappu and Mandira. Udayprakash 'Pappu' Mishra, we are constantly told, is something of a celebrity in the small town of Karnalganj. He is described as a local hero who is a hit with the girls. While admittedly the charm doesn't translate well on the big screen, even the tepid romance that develops between him and an infatuated Manda, who initially shows great potential as a spunky girl, fails to excite us. Supriya Pathak and Satish Kaushik who play Pappu's parents and Rakesh Bedi who essays Manda's father, in fact, do more to keep us entertained. And of course, Khanna, who single-handedly needs to be credited for lifting this movie from a flaccid small-town romantic comedy into a watchable one. As a love-struck small town don who undergoes a 360-degree transformation into a coffee guzzling, jeans-clad 'metro' man, only to please a girl, he strikes all the right notes. Faced with the truth about Mandira's real love, at the end of the movie, when he asks, 'but why didn't you tell me earlier?', you tend to echo his sentiment. Sab Kushal Mangal is a film that's confused about its own intentions. Watch only if you are an Akshaye Khanna fan. And hopefully, the sequel (the message is loud and clear at the end of the movie) will be built around a more robust and feisty story between Baba and his 14-year-long romance with Nilu. Read the full article

[thefortyeightlawsofpower-blog]

LAW # 31 : CONTROL THE OPTIONS: GET OTHERS TO PLAY WITH THE CARDS YOU DEAL

JUDGEMENT

The best deceptions are the ones that seem to give the other person a choice: Your victims feel they are in control, but are actually your puppets. Give people options that come out in your favor whichever one they choose. Force them to make choices between the lesser of two evils, both of which serve your purpose. Put them on the horns of a dilemma: They are gored wherever they turn.

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW I

From early in his reign, Ivan IV, later known as Ivan the Terrible, had to confront an unpleasant reality: The country desperately needed reform, but he lacked the power to push it through. The greatest limit to his authority came from the boyars, the Russian princely class that dominated the country and terrorized the peasantry.

In 1553, at the age of twenty-three, Ivan fell ill. Lying in bed, nearing death, he asked the boyars to swear allegiance to his son as the new czar. Some hesitated, some even refused. Then and there Ivan saw he had no power over the boyars. He recovered from his illness, but he never forgot the lesson: The boyars were out to destroy him. And indeed in the years to come, many of the most powerful of them defected to Russia’s main enemies, Poland and Lithuania, where they plotted their return and the overthrow of the czar. Even one of Ivan’s closest friends, Prince Andrey Kurbski, suddenly turned against him, defecting to Lithuania in 1564, and becoming the strongest of Ivan’s enemies.

When Kurbski began raising troops for an invasion, the royal dynasty seemed suddenly more precarious than ever. With émigré nobles fomenting invasion from the west, Tartars bearing down from the east, and the boyars stirring up trouble within the country, Russia’s vast size made it a nightmare to defend. In whatever direction Ivan struck, he would leave himself vulnerable on the other side. Only if he had absolute power could he deal with this many-headed Hydra. And he had no such power.

Ivan brooded until the morning of December 3, 1564, when the citizens of Moscow awoke to a strange sight. Hundreds of sleds filled the square before the Kremlin, loaded with the czar’s treasures and with provisions for the entire court. They watched in disbelief as the czar and his court boarded the sleds and left town. Without explaining why, he established himself in a village south of Moscow. For an entire month a kind of terror gripped the capital, for the Muscovites feared that Ivan had abandoned them to the bloodthirsty boyars. Shops closed up and riotous mobs gathered daily. Finally, on January 3 of 1565, a letter arrived from the czar, explaining that he could no longer bear the boyars’ betrayals and had decided to abdicate once and for all.

The German Chancellor Bismarck, enraged at the constant criticisms from Rudolf Virchow (the German pathologist and liberal politician), had his seconds call upon the scientist to challenge him to a duel. “As the challenged party, I have the choice of weapons,” said Virchow, “and I choose these.” He held aloft two large and apparently identical sausages. “One of these,” he went on, “is infected with deadly germs; the orher is perfectly sound. Let His Excellency decide which one he wishes to eat, and I will eat the other.” Almost immediately the message came back that the chancellor had decided to cancel the duel.

THE LITTLE. BROWN BOOK OF ANECDOTES. CLIFTON FADIMAN, FD., 1985

Read aloud in public, the letter had a startling effect: Merchants and commoners blamed the boyars for Ivan’s decision, and took to the streets, terrifying the nobility with their fury. Soon a group of delegates representing the church, the princes, and the people made the journey to Ivan’s village, and begged the czar, in the name of the holy land of Russia, to return to the throne. Ivan listened but would not change his mind. After days of hearing their pleas, however, he offered his subjects a choice: Either they grant him absolute powers to govern as he pleased, with no interference from the boyars, or they find a new leader.

Faced with a choice between civil war and the acceptance of despotic power, almost every sector of Russian society “opted” for a strong czar, calling for Ivan’s return to Moscow and the restoration of law and order. In February, with much celebration, Ivan returned to Moscow. The Russians could no longer complain if he behaved dictatorially—they had given him this power themselves.

Interpretation

Ivan the Terrible faced a terrible dilemma: To give in to the boyars would lead to certain destruction, but civil war would bring a different kind of ruin. Even if Ivan came out of such a war on top, the country would be devastated and its divisions would be stronger than ever. His weapon of choice in the past had been to make a bold, offensive move. Now, however, that kind of move would turn against him—the more boldly he confronted his enemies, the worse the reactions he would spark.

The main weakness of a show of force is that it stirs up resentment and eventually leads to a response that eats at your authority. Ivan, immensely creative in the use of power, saw clearly that the only path to the kind of victory he wanted was a false withdrawal. He would not force the country over to his position, he would give it “options”: either his abdication, and certain anarchy, or his accession to absolute power. To back up his move, he made it clear that he preferred to abdicate: “Call my bluff,” he said, “and watch what happens.” No one called his bluff. By withdrawing for just a month, he showed the country a glimpse of the nightmares that would follow his abdication—Tartar invasions, civil war, ruin. (All of these did eventually come to pass after Ivan’s death, in the infamous “Time of the Troubles.”)

Withdrawal and disappearance are classic ways of controlling the options. You give people a sense of how things will fall apart without you, and you offer them a “choice”: I stay away and you suffer the consequences, or I return under circumstances that I dictate. In this method of controlling people’s options, they choose the option that gives you power because the alternative is just too unpleasant. You force their hand, but indirectly: They seem to have a choice. Whenever people feel they have a choice, they walk into your trap that much more easily.

THE LIAR

Once upon a time there was a king of Armenia, who, being of a curious turn of mind and in need of some new diversion, sent his heralds throughout the land to make the following proclamation: “Hear this! Whatever man among you can prove himself the most outrageous liar in Armenia shall receive an apple made of pure gold from the hands of His Majesty the King!” People began to swarm to the palace from every town and hamlet in the country, people of all ranks and conditions, princes, merchants, farmers, priests, rich and poor, tall and short, fat and thin. There was no lack of liars in the land, and each one told his tale to the king. A ruler, however, has heard practically every sort of lie, and none of those now told him convinced the king that he had listened to the best of them. The king was beginning to grow tired of his new sport and was thinking of calling the whole contest off without declaring a winner, when there appeared before him a poor, ragged man, carrying a large earthenware pitcher under his arm. “What can I do for you?” asked His Majesty. “Sire!” said the poor man, slightly bewildered “Surely you remember? You owe me a pot of gold, and I have come to collect it.” “You are a pet feet liar, sir!’ exclaimed the king ”I owe you no money’” ”A perfect liar, am I?” said the poor man. ”Then give me the golden apple!” The king, realizing that the man was Irving to trick him. started to hedge. ”No. no! You are not a liar!” ”Then give me the pot of gold you owe me. sire.” said the man. The king saw the dilemma, He handed over the golden apple.

ARMENIAN FOLK-IALES AND FABLES. REIOLD BY CAHARLES DOWNING. 1993

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW II

As a seventeenth-century French courtesan, Ninon de Lenclos found that her life had certain pleasures. Her lovers came from royalty and aristocracy, and they paid her well, entertained her with their wit and intellect, satisfied her rather demanding sensual needs, and treated her almost as an equal. Such a life was infinitely preferable to marriage. In 1643, however, Ninon’s mother died suddenly, leaving her, at the age of twenty-three, totally alone in the world—no family, no dowry, nothing to fall back upon. A kind of panic overtook her and she entered a convent, turning her back on her illustrious lovers. A year later she left the convent and moved to Lyons. When she finally reappeared in Paris, in 1648, lovers and suitors flocked to her door in greater numbers than ever before, for she was the wittiest and most spirited courtesan of the time and her presence had been greatly missed.

Ninon’s followers quickly discovered, however, that she had changed her old way of doing things, and had set up a new system of options. The dukes, seigneurs, and princes who wanted to pay for her services could continue to do so, but they were no longer in control—she would sleep with them when she wanted, according to her whim. All their money bought them was a possibility. If it was her pleasure to sleep with them only once a month, so be it.

Those who did not want to be what Ninon called a payeur could join the large and growing group of men she called her martyrs—men who visited her apartment principally for her friendship, her biting wit, her lute-playing, and the company of the most vibrant minds of the period, including Molière, La Rochefoucauld, and Saint-Évremond. The martyrs, too, however, entertained a possibility: She would regularly select from them a favori, a man who would become her lover without having to pay, and to whom she would abandon herself completely for as long as she so desired—a week, a few months, rarely longer. A payeur could not become a favori, but a martyr had no guarantee of becoming one, and indeed could remain disappointed for an entire lifetime. The poet Charleval, for example, never enjoyed Ninon’s favors, but never stopped coming to visit—he did not want to do without her company.

As word of this system reached polite French society, Ninon became the object of intense hostility. Her reversal of the position of the courtesan scandalized the queen mother and her court. Much to their horror, however, it did not discourage her male suitors—indeed it only increased their numbers and intensified their desire. It became an honor to be a payeur, helping Ninon to maintain her lifestyle and her glittering salon, accompanying her sometimes to the theater, and sleeping with her when she chose. Even more distinguished were the martyrs, enjoying her company without paying for it and maintaining the hope, however remote, of some day becoming her favori. That possibility spurred on many a young nobleman, as word spread that none among the courtesans could surpass Ninon in the art of love. And so the married and the single, the old and the young, entered her web and chose one of the two options presented to them, both of which amply satisfied her.

Interpretation

The life of the courtesan entailed the possibility of a power that was denied a married woman, but it also had obvious perils. The man who paid for the courtesan’s services in essence owned her, determining when he could possess her and when, later on, he would abandon her. As she grew older, her options narrowed, as fewer men chose her. To avoid a life of poverty she had to amass her fortune while she was young. The courtesan’s legendary greed, then, reflected a practical necessity, yet also lessened her allure, since the illusion of being desired is important to men, who are often alienated if their partner is too interested in their money. As the courtesan aged, then, she faced a most difficult fate.

Ninon de Lenclos had a horror of any kind of dependence. She early on tasted a kind of equality with her lovers, and she would not settle into a system that left her such distasteful options. Strangely enough, the system she devised in its place seemed to satisfy her suitors as much as it did her. The payeurs may have had to pay, but the fact that Ninon would only sleep with them when she wanted to gave them a thrill unavailable with every other courtesan: She was yielding out of her own desire. The martyrs’ avoidance of the taint of having to pay gave them a sense of superiority; as members of Ninon’s fraternity of admirers, they also might some day experience the ultimate pleasure of being her favori. Finally, Ninon did not force her suitors into either category. They could “choose” which side they preferred—a freedom that left them a vestige of masculine pride.

Such is the power of giving people a choice, or rather the illusion of one, for they are playing with cards you have dealt them. Where the alternatives set up by Ivan the Terrible involved a certain risk—one option would have led to his losing his power—Ninon created a situation in which every option redounded to her favor. From the payeurs she received the money she needed to run her salon. And from the martyrs she gained the ultimate in power: She could surround herself with a bevy of admirers, a harem from which to choose her lovers.

The system, though, depended on one critical factor: the possibility, however remote, that a martyr could become a favori. The illusion that riches, glory, or sensual satisfaction may someday fall into your victim’s lap is an irresistible carrot to include in your list of choices. That hope, however slim, will make men accept the most ridiculous situations, because it leaves them the all-important option of a dream. The illusion of choice, married to the possibility of future good fortune, will lure the most stubborn sucker into your glittering web.

J. P. Morgan Sr. once told a jeweler of his acquaintance that he was interested in buying a pearl scarf-pin. Just a few weeks later, the jeweler happened upon a magnificent pearl. He had it mounted in an appropriate setting and sent it to Morgan, together with a bill for $5,000. The following day the package was returned. Morgan’s accompanying note read: “I like the pin, but I don’t like the price. If you will accept the enclosed check for $4,000, please send back the box with the seal unbroken.” The enraged jeweler refused the check and dismissed the messenger in disgust. He opened up the box to reclaim the unwanted pin, only to find that it had been removed. In its place was a check for $5,000.

THE LITTLE, BROWN BOOK OF ANECDOTES. CLIFTON FADIMAN, ED.. 1985

KEYS TO POWER

Words like “freedom,” “options,” and “choice” evoke a power of possibility far beyond the reality of the benefits they entail. When examined closely, the choices we have—in the marketplace, in elections, in our jobs—tend to have noticeable limitations: They are often a matter of a choice simply between A and B, with the rest of the alphabet out of the picture. Yet as long as the faintest mirage of choice flickers on, we rarely focus on the missing options. We “choose” to believe that the game is fair, and that we have our freedom. We prefer not to think too much about the depth of our liberty to choose.

This unwillingness to probe the smallness of our choices stems from the fact that too much freedom creates a kind of anxiety. The phrase “unlimited options” sounds infinitely promising, but unlimited options would actually paralyze us and cloud our ability to choose. Our limited range of choices comforts us.

This supplies the clever and cunning with enormous opportunities for deception. For people who are choosing between alternatives find it hard to believe they are being manipulated or deceived; they cannot see that you are allowing them a small amount of free will in exchange for a much more powerful imposition of your own will. Setting up a narrow range of choices, then, should always be a part of your deceptions. There is a saying: If you can get the bird to walk into the cage on its own, it will sing that much more prettily.

The following are among the most common forms of “controlling the options”: 

Color the Choices. This was a favored technique of Henry Kissinger. As President Richard Nixon’s secretary of state, Kissinger considered himself better informed than his boss, and believed that in most situations he could make the best decision on his own. But if he tried to determine policy, he would offend or perhaps enrage a notoriously insecure man. So Kissinger would propose three or four choices of action for each situation, and would present them in such a way that the one he preferred always seemed the best solution compared to the others. Time after time, Nixon fell for the bait, never suspecting that he was moving where Kissinger pushed him. This is an excellent device to use on the insecure master.

Force the Resister. One of the main problems faced by Dr. Milton H. Erickson, a pioneer of hypnosis therapy in the 1950s, was the relapse. His patients might seem to be recovering rapidly, but their apparent susceptibility to the therapy masked a deep resistance: They would soon relapse into old habits, blame the doctor, and stop coming to see him. To avoid this, Erickson began ordering some patients to have a relapse, to make themselves feel as bad as when they first came in—to go back to square one. Faced with this option, the patients would usually “choose” to avoid the relapse—which, of course, was what Erickson really wanted.

This is a good technique to use on children and other willful people who enjoy doing the opposite of what you ask them to: Push them to “choose” what you want them to do by appearing to advocate the opposite.

Alter the Playing Field. In the 1860s, John D. Rockefeller set out to create an oil monopoly. If he tried to buy up the smaller oil companies they would figure out what he was doing and fight back. Instead, he began secretly buying up the railway companies that transported the oil. When he then attempted to take over a particular company, and met with resistance, he reminded them of their dependence on the rails. Refusing them shipping, or simply raising their fees, could ruin their business. Rockefeller altered the playing field so that the only options the small oil producers had were the ones he gave them.

In this tactic your opponents know their hand is being forced, but it doesn’t matter. The technique is effective against those who resist at all costs.

The Shrinking Options. The late-nineteenth-century art dealer Ambroise Vollard perfected this technique.

Customers would come to Vollard’s shop to see some Cézannes. He would show three paintings, neglect to mention a price, and pretend to doze off. The visitors would have to leave without deciding. They would usually come back the next day to see the paintings again, but this time Vollard would pull out less interesting works, pretending he thought they were the same ones. The baffled customers would look at the new offerings, leave to think them over, and return yet again. Once again the same thing would happen: Vollard would show paintings of lesser quality still. Finally the buyers would realize they had better grab what he was showing them, because tomorrow they would have to settle for something worse, perhaps at even higher prices.

A variation on this technique is to raise the price every time the buyer hesitates and another day goes by. This is an excellent negotiating ploy to use on the chronically indecisive, who will fall for the idea that they are getting a better deal today than if they wait till tomorrow.

The Weak Man on the Precipice. The weak are the easiest to maneuver by controlling their options. Cardinal de Retz, the great seventeenth-century provocateur, served as an unofficial assistant to the Duke of Orléans, who was notoriously indecisive. It was a constant struggle to convince the duke to take action—he would hem and haw, weigh the options, and wait till the last moment, giving everyone around him an ulcer. But Retz discovered a way to handle him: He would describe all sorts of dangers, exaggerating them as much as possible, until the duke saw a yawning abyss in every direction except one: the one Retz was pushing him to take.

This tactic is similar to “Color the Choices,” but with the weak you have to be more aggressive. Work on their emotions—use fear and terror to propel them into action. Try reason and they will always find a way to procrastinate.

Brothers in Crime. This is a classic con-artist technique: You attract your victims to some criminal scheme, creating a bond of blood and guilt between you. They participate in your deception, commit a crime (or think they do—see the story of Sam Geezil in Law 3), and are easily manipulated. Serge Stavisky, the great French con artist of the 1920s, so entangled the government in his scams and swindles that the state did not dare to prosecute him, and “chose” to leave him alone. It is often wise to implicate in your deceptions the very person who can do you the most harm if you fail. Their involvement can be subtle—even a hint of their involvement will narrow their options and buy their silence.

The Horns of a Dilemma. This idea was demonstrated by General William Sherman’s infamous march through Georgia during the American Civil War. Although the Confederates knew what direction Sherman was heading in, they never knew if he would attack from the left or the right, for he divided his army into two wings—and if the rebels retreated from one wing they found themselves facing the other. This is a classic trial lawyer’s technique: The lawyer leads the witnesses to decide between two possible explanations of an event, both of which poke a hole in their story. They have to answer the lawyer’s questions, but whatever they say they hurt themselves. The key to this move is to strike quickly: Deny the victim the time to think of an escape. As they wriggle between the horns of the dilemma, they dig their own grave.

Understand: In your struggles with your rivals, it will often be necessary for you to hurt them. And if you are clearly the agent of their punishment, expect a counterattack—expect revenge. If, however, they seem to themselves to be the agents of their own misfortune, they will submit quietly. When Ivan left Moscow for his rural village, the citizens asking him to return agreed to his demand for absolute power. Over the years to come, they resented him less for the terror he unleashed on the country, because, after all, they had granted him his power themselves. This is why it is always good to allow your victims their choice of poison, and to cloak your involvement in providing it to them as far as possible.

Image: The Horns of the Bull. The bull backs you into the corner with its horns—not a single horn, which you might be e able to escape, but a pair of horns that trap you within their hold. Run right or run left—either way you move into their piercing ends and are gored.

Authority: For the wounds and every other evil that men inflict upon themselves spontaneously, and of their own choice, are in the long run less painful than those inflicted by others. (Niccolò Machiavelli, 1469-1527)

REVERSAL

Controlling the options has one main purpose: to disguise yourself as the agent of power and punishment. The tactic works best, then, for those whose power is fragile, and who cannot operate too openly without incurring suspicion, resentment, and anger. Even as a general rule, however, it is rarely wise to be seen as exerting power directly and forcefully, no matter how secure or strong you are. It is usually more elegant and more effective to give people the illusion of choice.

On the other hand, by limiting other people’s options you sometimes limit your own. There are situations in which it is to your advantage to allow your rivals a large degree of freedom: As you watch them operate, you give yourself rich opportunities to spy, gather information, and plan your deceptions. The nineteenth-century banker James Rothschild liked this method: He felt that if he tried to control his opponents’ movements, he lost the chance to observe their strategy and plan a more effective course. The more freedom he allowed them in the short term, the more forcefully he could act against them in the long run.